#and then i can post the rest of the calls

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

mean!rafe slowly getting soft for reader but she realizes what sort of sick person he really is so she leaves him and now rafe is the desperate one (this would be really appreciated pretty!!!)

i loved, i loved, i loved you

mean!rafe cameron x desperate!fem!reader

cw — talks of murder, stalking, manipulation

summary — after overhearing a conversation between your boyfriend and his best friend, you begin to rethink your decisions.

authors note — can be read as a standalone but is apart of the mean!rafe series. part 1 is “i just wanna be one of your girls” and part 2 is “but i’ll do anything for you.” part 3 is up! “even when you pushed me away” i’ll probably make a masterlist for this cause it’s probably going to end up turning into a series tbh so lmk if i should do that! please request more!!

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

“baby?” you heard him call out from the living room as the front door shut. he shrugged off his jacket and hung it up on the coat rack then followed the smell of food into the kitchen where you stood all pretty. you had a cute little pink sundress on, a white apron with a ribbon adorning the middle, and your hair was perfectly curled. “you look like a fucking dream.”

he walked over to where you were standing and pulled you into him with his big hands lightly squeezing at your hips. “thank you, rafe. i made your favorite,” you replied with a smile on your glossed lips as you rested your hands on his shoulders. “how was work?”

a sigh left his lips and his body tensed. “same thing as usual. nothin’ for you to worry your pretty little head about,” he said with a kiss to your temple. “i missed you, angel.”

you frowned slightly and hugged him. “i missed you too, rafe.” you nuzzled into his chest deeper and he held you close, taking in the delightful scent of your shampoo. you pulled away a little sooner than he would’ve liked and pulled out his designated chair at the table. “why don’t you eat before the food gets cold?”

he nodded and sat down, laying the napkin over his lap and unraveling one pack of utensils you spent your afternoon packaging up to look professional. you sat across from him in your own seat and waited for him to take his first bite before beginning to eat your own.

he wrapped up some of the noodles on his fork and placed it carefully into his mouth while you sucked in a breath and waited for his validation. “it’s amazing, sweetheart,” he praised while getting more onto his fork. “you always prepare the best, you know that.”

you smiled to yourself and glanced down at your own plate, a red blush spreading across your cheeks. you began to eat as you two sat in a comfortable silence and enjoyed the pasta.

once he finished and was getting ready to get up and place his dish in the sink, you stood and beat him to it. “i’ve got it,” you said softly. you knew how long and draining his work days were and you’d do anything to make the rest of his day better.

“thank you, angel,” he replied gratefully while standing and brushing past you with a loving squeeze to your hip. “i’ve gotta finish up some stuff on my laptop. i’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

you nodded and began to wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen. once you were all finished, you neatly folded your apron and placed it in the closet in the living room before heading up the stairs and to the office to see if he needed anything. before you could even knock, you heard a loud bang, which you assumed was his fist against his desk.

“goddamnit barry! i fuckin’ told you that i had it handled,” he spat into his phone. “i took care of him, alright? they got rid of the body, the evidence, all of it and now you’re over here screwing it up.”

the body? you placed a hand over your mouth to cover the sob threatening to slip past your lips. you pressed your ear closer to the door and waited for him to speak again.

you heard him curse under his breath and laugh angrily. “it was all going to plan and then—“ he paused. “get rid of him. do whatever you have to do, just fuckin’ get rid of him. i’ll do it myself if i have to.”

a tear hit your hand and you quickly backed away from the door and quietly walked into your shared bedroom. you immediately began throwing clothes into a bag until you heard the office door open. you shoved it under your bed and sat at the edge of it.

he came in and immediately made his way over to you, kneeling in front of you and holding your hands in his. “hey. what’s wrong, sweet girl?”

you just shook your head and faked a sad smile. “i jus’ miss you, rafe,” you lied as convincingly as you could.

he sighed. “i know, baby. and i’m sorry,” he mumbled softly. “look. i gotta go handle something really quick but we can spend the whole night together the moment i get back, ok? i promise.”

a shaky breath left your lips as you nodded and allowed him to kiss you then your forehead as he stood and made his way out towards the front door. the moment you heard it shut, you packed everything you could and sprinted out towards your car. you didn’t know how much time you had until he got back.

you were quick to disable your location on everything and turn on do not disturb before speeding off towards your parents house an hour away. you hoped it would be far enough and undisclosed so he’d never find you.

and only 30 minutes into the drive, you had 72 missed calls and 101 texts from rafe.

[willowsnook]

an experiment pt. 3

lando norris x reporter!reader

a/n: 😈

pt. 1, pt. 2

tags: @sarx164 @wildflowerrsszz, @jaematthews15, @opastries81 @armystay89 @hadesnumber1daughter @dying-inside-but-its-classy @chlmtfilms @freyathehuntress @ashley-k @charlesgirl16 @widow-cevans @cmleitora @rawr-123s-stuff @majapapaya4 @fullmugwolffish

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

Y/N: ABSOLUTELY NOT LN: non-refundable, sorry. See you tomorrow

You threw your phone across the room, furious. Hadn’t he done enough? You had your resignation letter typed out, for god’s sake. Begrudgingly, you moved across the room to find your phone, calling your best friend. 

“What’s up?” David asked.

“Lando Norris is coming to Austin to see me,” you said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Wait, why?” David questioned. You could hear his confusion over the phone. 

“I don’t know, he posted that thing on Insta and then texted me that he bought a flight,” you complained. 

David snorted, "He posted that thing and then immediately bought a flight? Sounds like someone's feeling guilty," David said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

You groaned, flopping back onto your bed. "I don't care if he feels guilty. I don't want to see him."

"You sure about that?" David asked skeptically. "Because it seems like you two have some unresolved tension."

"The only tension we have is me wanting to strangle him," you muttered.

David laughed. "Right, because that's totally normal behavior between two people who hate each other."

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn't see you. "What am I supposed to do? He's just going to show up here."

"Well, you could always not be there when he arrives," David suggested. "Or you could hear him out. Maybe he genuinely wants to apologize.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” you complained to him and you heard him laugh in response. 

“I’m always on your side, but let’s just say that Carlos isn’t the only one betting on when you two will get together.”

Instead of answering you hung up, not interested in hearing what he had to say anymore. You groaned before pulling yourself off your bed to begin cleaning. Deep cleaning your apartment always cleared your head and it killed two birds with one stone considering that Lando was coming the next day. 

Lando didn’t answer any of your texts the rest of the night and you started to convince yourself that he wasn’t coming which had you relieved. That was shortlived when you heard someone knocking on your door the next day as you were eating lunch. 

“You’re kidding,” you said, shocked as you opened your door to see him standing there, exhaustion written all over your face.

“I don’t have the energy to fight with you right now,” he mumbled, pushing past you with his small suitcase. 

“I didn’t invite you to come,” you shot back, following him angrily. He set his stuff down near the kitchen island before turning back to you. 

“My guilt was eating me alive so I had to come,” he said plainy.

You rolled your eyes, “I would have saved you the trip if you just would have called.” 

He gave you a pointed look, you both knew you wouldn’t have answered. 

“Can I please take a nap before I read the apology speech I prepared?” He asked and you fought hard against the laugh threatening to escape. It didn’t go unnoticed by Lando who smiled triumphantly. 

“Fine,” you agreed, showing him to the guest room. “Why do you have your suitcase?” 

“I didn’t book a hotel,” he replied nonchalantly. 

“Then where are you going to stay?” He didn’t answer and you furrowed your eyebrows. “No. No way. Do you not remember that I don’t like people staying over?”

“I remember every single thing about that night. In detail,” he shot back and your face flamed red. “We won’t be in the same room so it should be fine by your rules.” 

You stormed out of the guest room and slammed the door. You paced back and forth in your living room, trying to process the fact that Lando Norris was currently napping in your guest room. This was not how you expected your day to go. After about an hour, you heard the door open and Lando emerged, looking slightly more rested but still jet-lagged.

"Feel better?" you asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of your voice.

He nodded, running a hand through his messy hair. "Look, can we talk?"

You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall. "Isn't that why you flew halfway across the world?”

"I had no idea what was happening y/n, you have to believe me,” he said honestly. “I got rid of social media mid season because of the amount of hate I was getting. I’m so sorry this happened.”

“The things that have been said about me Lando…” you trailed off, resolve cracking. “How could I want to keep doing this?” 

Lando's face fell as he saw the pain in your eyes. He took a tentative step towards you, his voice soft. "Y/n, I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. What they've been saying, it's not okay. Not at all."

You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "It's not just what they're saying. It's... everything. The threats, the harassment. They found my personal information, Lando. I don't feel safe anymore."

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt evident on his face. “You’re too good for us to lose you. That article you wrote? It was brutal, but it was honest. And that's what makes you great at your job.”

You didn’t say anything but didn’t stop Lando as he stepped even closer to you, his hands coming to cup your face. 

“I need you there,” he admitted. “I need you to keep me on my toes, to keep me accountable. Don’t let them win.”

A tear escaped your eye and Lando brushed it away with his thumb, staring intensely at you. You laid your head against his chest, taking a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you again. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” you replied softly. Pulling away, you tried to collect yourself before turning back to him. “How long are you here for?”

“Couple of days,” he said sheepishly. 

“You know I’m not going to sleep with you again just because you’re here,” you said and he rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll try not to be offended that you thought that was what I wanted,” he replied. 

“Whatever,” you said, heading towards your room. 

“Pain in my ass,” you heard him mutter under his breath as you left. 

The next day was actually enjoyable, as much as you didn’t want to admit it. You and Lando got brunch before walking around the city, you showing him the touristy sights. 

As you walked along the river, you couldn't help but sneak glances at Lando. He seemed more relaxed here, away from the pressures of the F1 world. You had to admit, when he wasn't being an insufferable prat, he was actually quite charming.

"What?" Lando asked, catching you staring.

You quickly looked away. "Nothing. Just surprised you haven't complained about the heat yet."

He chuckled. "I'm not that delicate, you know. Besides, the company makes it bearable."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't hide your small smile. "Careful, Norris. That almost sounded like a compliment."

"Don't let it go to your head," he teased back. “What are we doing tonight?” 

“Maybe just a movie back at the apartment,” you said. “Thanks to your apology speech, I actually will have to go back to work tomorrow.” 

He grinned at you. “Glad to hear that.”

“Yeah my first piece back will be ‘Why Oscar Piastri is my pick to win the 2025 championship.’”

You squealed as he moved into you, tickling into your sides. 

That night, you and Lando were curled up on opposite ends of your couch, watching a movie. You kept sneaking glances at him, noticing how relaxed he looked in your space. It was a far cry from the tense interactions you usually had at the track.

As the credits rolled, Lando turned to you with a soft smile. "This was nice. I'm glad I came."

You nodded, feeling a warmth in your chest you weren't quite ready to examine. "It was. Thank you for coming, Lando. I know I gave you a hard time, but... it means a lot that you cared enough to fly out here."

He reached over, gently squeezing your hand. "Of course I care, y/n. Despite our... complicated history, I've always respected you. And I hate that you were hurt because of me, even indirectly."

“I appreciate it,” you whispered. He stared at you a little longer, his eyes flickering down to your lips before he spoke again. 

“Sequel?” He asked and you smiled, nodding your head. 

As the next movie started, he didn’t move back to his spot, instead staying very close to you. As you felt yourself drifting off, you snuggled into his side, much to his amusement. The last thing you remember was him placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. 

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, gently rousing you from your slumber. As consciousness slowly crept in, you became aware of a warm presence beside you, a steady heartbeat beneath your ear. Your eyes fluttered open, and the events of the previous night came rushing back.

You were still on the couch, curled up against Lando's side, his arm draped protectively around you. Sometime during the night, he had pulled a blanket over both of you, cocooning you in warmth. The TV screen was black, the movie long since ended.

Panic seized your chest as the full weight of the situation hit you. You had spent the night with Lando. Not just in a physical sense, but in the most intimate way possible - wrapped in each other's arms, vulnerable in sleep. This was exactly what you had always feared, the reason you never let anyone stay over.

Slipping out of his arms, you tried to calm yourself down as you headed back into your room. Your mind was racing as you showered, your feelings for Lando bubbling to the surface even though you pushed them down. 

Lando was sitting up and scrolling through his phone when you came back into the living room. He looked up at you, face instantly scrunching as he saw you. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked. 

“Nothing, what time is your flight?” You asked, without any emotion. Lando moved off the couch towards you, grabbing your arm as you turned away from him. 

“Y/n, what’s wrong? Is this because of last night?” He asked and you flinched, giving him the answer he needed. 

“You need to go Lando, thank you for coming, but it’s time for you to go.” 

“Wow,” he said in disbelief. “I’ll go when you can look me in the eye and tell me that all you still feel for me is hatred.” 

“Lando please,” you said, begging. 

“Why are you pushing me away?” He asked, frustration evident in his voice. 

You took a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. "Because it can't work, Lando. We can't work."

His eyes flashed with hurt and anger. "Why not? Give me one good reason."

"We live in different countries, for starters," you said, your voice strained. "Our careers are completely incompatible. I'm supposed to report on you objectively, and you're supposed to trust that I won't use anything personal against you in my articles."

"That's bullshit and you know it," Lando snapped. "Look at Fernando and Melissa. We could make it work if we wanted to."

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. "It's not just that. We're too different, Lando. We argue constantly. Half the time I want to strangle you."

"And the other half?" he challenged.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said. 

“It does to me,” he shot back. 

“What would happen if we were together Lando?” you asked tirelessly. “If your fans hated me for writing about you, how would they treat me for dating you? I’ve seen how they treated your exes.” 

Lando was quiet for a moment, anger steaming off of him. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally said, coldly. “I guess I’m not worth it.”

You started to call after him but he was already gone. 

—--------------------------------------------

Lando’s season started off incredibly, winning the first three races all by over 5 seconds minimum. You would think that he would be ecstatic, his boyish energy returning to interviews and PR videos but that was not the case. He was pissed. Anyone that tried to talk to him was met with short answers and anytime McLaren made him do anything, he looked like he was being held at gunpoint. 

He wanted to get over you but he couldn’t. He’d never had anyone challenge him the way you did and he could still feel you sleeping in his arms that night from a couple of months ago. His friends were walking on eggshells around him and Carlos was about to lose it. 

“Please just call her,” Carlos begged, sitting next to Lando at dinner in Monaco. They had a couple weeks in between races and what was supposed to be an enjoyable break, was turning into a nightmare for Carlos due to Lando’s moodiness. 

“She doesn’t want anything to do with me, she made that quite clear,” Lando replied. 

“She’s just scared Lando, she’s literally been checking up on you,” he told his friend. A look of interest flashed across Lando’s face so Carlos kept going. “Oscar said she asked how you were doing just last week.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Lando finally said and Carlos groaned, resting his head into his hands. 

You were miserable. The past few months since pushing Lando away had been some of the hardest of your life. You threw yourself into work, covering IndyCar and trying to ignore the ache in your chest every time you saw news about Lando's incredible start to the F1 season.

But no matter how much you tried to distract yourself, thoughts of him kept creeping in. The way he looked at you that morning on your couch, hurt and confusion in his eyes as you pushed him away. The feeling of falling asleep in his arms, more content than you'd been in years.

You knew you had valid reasons for ending things before they really began. The complications of your careers, the distance, the intensity of F1 fandom. But the longer you went without talking to him, the more those reasons felt like excuses born out of fear.

OP: Hey, you asked about Lando last week. Thought you might want to know he's in a pretty bad mood lately. Carlos is at his wit's end.

You frowned, guilt gnawing at you. Was Lando's mood because of you? No, that was ridiculous. He was probably just stressed about the season, despite his early successes.

Y/N: Thanks for letting me know. I'm sure he'll snap out of it soon.

OP: c’mon y/n, I know you’re just as miserable as he is. 

You cursed your friend David who you knew told Oscar about how depressing your life had become. As you sat in your apartment that night your mind wandered back to that last conversation. 

Why did you push him away? Because you didn’t want to get hurt? 

The truth was, you were terrified. Terrified of letting someone in, of being vulnerable, of potentially getting your heart broken. But as you reflected on the past few months without Lando, you realized you were already heartbroken.

With shaking hands, you picked up your phone and dialed a number you had been avoiding.

"Hello?" Lando's voice was hesitant, guarded.

"Hey," you said softly. "It's me."

There was a long pause. "Y/n? Is everything okay?"

You took a deep breath. "No, actually. Everything's not okay. I... I miss you, Lando. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for pushing you away."

Another pause. And then nothing. He hung up.

pt. 4

[sunseed-fandump]

The Tarot from the new trailer has me FLIPPING OUT (Sorry for the shitty screenshot) I was already making an analysis on the previous cards we got, but THIS has really got me doing backflips in my head because of the implications.

Let me explain.

First off, have you noticed that one of these cards is not like the others?

The first card, Strawberry Cookie, is in reverse. She is on the major arcana card XII - The Hanged Man. When the Hanged Man is in Reverse, it represents Delays, resistance, stalling, indecision, stagnation.

"The upright Hanged Man encourages you to pause for a moment and see things from a different perspective. Reversed, this card can show that you know you need to hit the pause button, but you are resisting it. Instead, you fill your days with tasks and projects, keeping busy and distracting yourself from the actual issue that needs your attention. Your spirit and body are asking you to slow down, but your mind keeps racing. Stop and rest before it’s too late. The Universe will only dial up the volume if you ignore it, and as a result, you may end up crashing. So, as soon as you hear the call, clear your schedule and make the space so you can tune in and listen."

Next we move on to Gingerbrave's card: 0 - The Fool.

In the Upright Position, the Fool represents new beginnings, innocence, spontaneity, a free spirit, and adventure.

"To see the The Fool generally means a beginning of a new journey, one where you will be filled with optimism and freedom from the usual constraints in life. When we meet him, he approaches each day as an adventure, in an almost childish way. He believes that anything can happen in life and there are many opportunities that are lying out there, in the world, waiting to be explored and developed. He leads a simple life, having no worries, and does not seem troubled by the fact that he cannot tell what he will encounter ahead."

Finally we have Wizard Cookie's card: I - The Magician.

In the Upright position, the Magician symbolizes logic, desire, resourcefulness, willpower, intelligence, skill, and manifestation.

"When you get the Magician in your reading, it might mean that it's time to tap into your full potential without hesitation. As a master manifestor, The Magician brings you the tools, resources and energy you need to make your dreams come true. Now is the perfect time to move forward on an idea that you recently conceived. The seed of potential has sprouted, and you are being called to take action and bring your intention to fruition. The skills, knowledge and capabilities you have gathered along your life path have led you to where you are now, and whether or not you know it, you are ready to turn your ideas into reality."

So what do these 3 cards mean together? Well, we have someone who is stagnating, who is stuck and unable to move forward. But they go through a rebirth - an epiphany - and start on the path of a new journey. And on that new path they unlock their full potential.

This is Pure Vanilla Cookie's story in the next update in a nutshell!

Sorry for the sorta long post, i just wanted to geek out about this since I love love love it when Tarot is used as a narrative device :)

[marvelstoriesepic]

Soft spot

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Alpine is determined to gain access to your room while you are resting.

Warnings: Bucky’s conversation with a cat lol; fluff; feelings; Bucky is a sweetheart

Author’s Note: I just needed to write a little something and this came out. Hope you enjoy! Also, I probably will be posting the next chapter of like a Phoenix tomorrow.

Masterlist

“Nah, Alp, c’mon now.”

Bucky sets his mug of tea down on the kitchen counter with a quiet clink - he never used to drink tea before moving in with you, but living with you changed that.

The little white kitten Bucky and you adopted from the shelter a few months ago paws insistently at your bedroom door, tiny claws scratching against the wood. She lets out a sharp, impatient mewl.

Bucky sighs, before striding over to her hurriedly and scooping the little ball of fluff into his arms before she can make more of a racket.

“Alpine,” he warns, almost too firmly considering he is talking to a cat. “Cut it out, yeah? You’re gonna wake her up.”

The kitten wiggles in his hold, clearly unimpressed. She meows again. Loud. Indignant. Bucky huffs a laugh through his nose, shaking his head and scratching her behind her ear.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, glancing at the closed door to your room. “Ya miss her. But she’s had a rough couple weeks, alright? Stress n' exams, you know, the whole damn deal. She needs the rest. Can’t have you climbin’ all over her like the little menace you are.”

Alpine stares at him with those big blue eyes, as if she understands every word but refuses to accept the reasoning. Another sharp meow, this time more of a protest.

Bucky sighs dramatically, shifting her into one arm and rubbing her chin. “Yeah, yeah, don’t gimme that look. I ain’t the bad guy here, buddy. Just tryna let her sleep.”

Alpine doesn’t seem to hear a word.

Before Bucky can react, the little furball twists her tiny body and slips right out of his grasp, landing softly on the floor.

In an instant, she is back at your bedroom door, paws crawling, tail flicking, and meowing like she is under torture.

Bucky groans quietly, dragging his hand down his face. “Jesus.” He crouches down, resting his forearms on his knees as he watches her.

He reaches out, rubbing slow and soothing circles on her soft white fur. “You just wanna be near her, huh, girl?” His voice is softer now. He sighs, deep and heavy, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, I get that.”

Because Alpine loves you. She doesn’t hide it - follows you everywhere, curls up in your lap, meows until you give her attention. She’s got no hesitation when it comes to showing how much she adores you.

And that is what Bucky envies.

Because Bucky loves you too. He just can’t show his affection that outright. He’s your best friend. Your roommate. And that’s the part that stings.

He would do anything for being able to show you how much he adores you without crossing the line he is afraid to.

His chest tightens long enough for him to really feel the ache and he stands up, exhaling through his nose with a resigned breath.

“Alright, you little punk,” he mutters, shaking his head as Alpine turns those blue eyes back up to him. Expectant.

Slowly, he reaches for the door handle, giving the kitten another warning glare. “Just for a quick visit, yeah? No bouncin’ on her. No wakin’ her up, got it?”

Alpine meows.

Bucky huffs, pushing the door open carefully.

The small cat whooshes past Bucky the second the door cracks open, a blur of white fur darting straight for your bed. He barely stops himself from calling out, biting back a curse as he runs a frustrated hand down his face.

Damn cat’s got a one-track mind.

But he can’t really blame her. You’re on his mind probably even more often.

He steps inside, deliberately avoiding the creaky floorboards. He’s been in your room often enough to have memorized them by now.

Alpine reaches your face and bumps her small head against yours with a high chirp before rubbing along your cheek.

You don’t stir in your sleep.

Curled up on your side toward the direction of the door, hands tucked near your face, you’re completely dead to the world, your breaths slow and even.

Bucky guesses the stress from the last weeks must have finally caught up to you because you don’t even twitch when Alpine starts licking at your fingers.

“Alpine,” he whisper-yells, stepping closer, ready to scoop the little cat up and drag her outside before she wakes you.

But Alpine starts to circle, once, then again, before settling right against your hip, tucking herself into a comfortable little ball. She lets out a soft, contented sigh.

Bucky stops in his tracks, hands on his hips, shaking his head with an amused smirk on his lips.

“You’ve got no idea how jealous you’re makin’ me right now, Alp.”

Something tugs and turns in his chest, watching the way you sleep so peacefully, completely unaware of anything. Of how easy it is for Alpine to curl up against you and claim you like it’s the most natural thing to do.

He lets out a breath, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “Alright,” he utters in a whisper. “Guess I’ll just stand here like an idiot while you get all the cuddles.”

Alpine flicks her tail.

Bucky stands there for a moment, arms crossed loosely over his chest, just watching you.

The way your brows are at ease, your face soft and relaxed - peaceful and serene in a way he hasn’t seen in too damn long.

And oh how it calms something deep inside him.

The past few weeks had been brutal on you. It was a mess of late nights, long assignments, and that damn stubborn streak of yours keeping you from slowing down, no matter how many times he told you to.

You pushed yourself too hard - always do - and every time it drives him up the wall.

He hates seeing you stressed and he did what he could. Brought you tea, draped blankets over your shoulders when you were too caught up in your work to notice the chill. Left food by your side when he knew you’d forgotten to eat.

And you accepted it all - gave him those sweet little smiles accompanied by a thanks, Buck in that soft voice of yours that always knocks the wind out of him - but you never really listened.

Never listened when he told you that pushing past exhaustion isn’t the solution. That not having a clear head is worse than not being prepared at all.

But now you are finally resting.

For the first time in what feels like months, you are letting yourself breathe.

And Bucky feels like a weight is falling off his shoulders, a tension he was gripping finally loosening.

He exhales a deep, relieved sigh, raking a hand through his hair.

Alpine stirs slightly at your hip but stays balled up, her soft purring filling the room beside your deep breaths.

It’s then that Bucky notices the book half-tucked against your arm. You must have been reading before finally crashing, trying to quiet your mind enough to let yourself sleep.

He steps closer, cautiously, eyes flickering to your face to make sure you don’t wake up.

For a second, he worries it’s one of your damn textbooks - because if you fell asleep studying for god knows what now, he is going to have to give you some words.

But as he leans over you slightly, fingers brushing the covers and gently pulling it away from your arm, he lets out a pleased breath. Just a novel. Good.

He carefully marks the page, folds the book shut, and sets it on your nightstand.

Bucky straightens, and he knows he should walk back out - really, he should - but his eyes stay on you a little longer. He almost feels like some kinda creep just standing here, watching. But hell, he can’t help it.

You look so damn adorable with your little pout. So damn beautiful with your hair falling just so, features so soft, color in your cheeks.

His breath hitches unintentionally and his pulse skips, his heart only a trembling thing in his chest.

Taking in a deep breath, he takes a hold of your blanket and gradually tugs it up over your shoulders, up to your chin.

The fact that Alpine gets dragged along with it and the grumpy chirp she lets out gets ignored by him. She glares at him in annoyance but does not move from her spot.

“Mhm… Buck…?”

Your voice is thick with sleep, soft and drowsy, and it nearly knocks Bucky off balance. Literally. His foot catches on the floor and he stumbles slightly, heart lurching in his chest like the idiot he is.

His gaze snaps to your face. You blink up at him, slow and unfocused, brows scrunching in confusion. Eyes half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion, your voice slurring slightly.

Jesus. You’re so damn cute like this.

Bucky clears his throat, forcing himself to school his expression. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he coos in a whisper, gentle and soothing. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” He shoots Alpine a pointed look, but the cat, as usual, doesn’t seem to give a damn.

You shift slightly, nestling deeper into the sheets, eyes fluttering shut again. Without thinking, Bucky brushes his hand through your hair, over your cheek in slow and soothing motions to coax you back into sleep.

You hum in contentment. That little sound does something to him, settling deep within him.

And hell - if his heart doesn’t clench at the sight of you like this. So soft, so sweet, so damn beautiful it hurts.

A lightness swells beneath his ribs. An airy flutter dances.

He focuses on the way your breathing evens out, the way your body melts back into the bed.

And when he’s sure you’ve slipped under again, Bucky lets himself lean down, lips ghosting over your temple in the lightest of touches, giving you a soft kiss. He lingers just a second, long enough to whisper against your skin, voice barely more than a breath.

“Sleep tight, doll. You better dream of me.”

And with one last glance, so full of longing, he forces himself to pull away. He lets Alpine stay with you, despite the fact that he wants to be the one who gets to do that.

But he slips out of the room as quietly as he can, shutting the door behind him with a faint click. Leaving with you the racing of his heart you caused and the ache of something he isn’t sure he’ll ever have the guts to say out loud.

“Her, because she makes life poetry, she turns every bit of it into art.”

- butterflies rising

[fear-is-truth]

CHO SANG-WOO (조상우)

₊‧꒰ warnings ꒱ ‧₊˚ soft dom!sang-woo ۶ৎ age gap ۶ৎ s1 spoilers ۶ৎ nsfw 18+ . . . headcanons ˚₊˙⋆ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊. ˚₊‧꒰ note ꒱ ‧ i was trying to be realistic so…

PRE-GAME

۫ ꣑ৎ he takes you to meet his mother early on—this is huge, considering sang-woo is a private person, and his mother is the only family he has. so if you meet her, it means he sees a future with you. she adores you, treating you like the daughter she never had.

۫ ꣑ৎ your parents simply love him. they can’t believe their child is dating a graduate from seoul national university. it doesn’t even matter that he’s a few years older than you—they brag about him constantly. “he’s a genius,” they tell their friends. “successful, hardworking. polite, too.”

۫ ꣑ৎ if you don’t like him smoking, he promises to cut back. never smokes in your presence, doesn’t lets the scent cling to his clothes when he comes home to you. he’s careful about it, rinsing his mouth before kissing you. if you catch him sneaking a cigarette on a particularly bad day, he sighs and stubs it out before you even have to say anything.

۫ ꣑ৎ sang-woo thrives on intellectual conversations, especially enjoys debating with you, because he finds your mind fascinating.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s a perfectionist in every aspect of his life, including your relationship. sang-woo holds himself to an impossibly high standard, and sometimes, that extends to you—he doesn’t mean to be critical, but he has expectations, and when they aren’t met, he gets frustrated. he learns, over time, to be gentler with you, to let go of the idea that everything needs to be perfect.

۫ ꣑ৎ chronic insomniac. but if you’re beside him, if your hand is resting on his chest or your leg is tangled with his, he sleeps a little easier. on nights when sleep won’t come, he watches you instead.

۫ ꣑ৎ occasionally gifts you with expensive jewellery, but nothing gaudy. real gold and diamonds—elegant in their simplicity. he prefers to see you in things with longevity that won’t lose their value. doubles as an investment piece, not just accessories.

۫ ꣑ৎ no matter how busy he is, sang-woo never forgets important dates. your birthday, your anniversary, even the day you first met. he never brings it up in advance, but he always has something special planned.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s disciplined, wakes up at the same time every day, drinks his coffee black, works for hours without rest. but for you, he bends—just a little. if you want to sleep in, he lets you, only sighing fondly when you roll over and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his back. “five more minutes,” you moan, and against his better judgment, he stays.

۫ ꣑ৎ not outwardly possessive, but he is a bit controlling. he won’t tell straight up dictact who you can and can’t see, but he will casually criticise them if he thinks they’re a bad influence. he won’t demand your location either, but will insist that you check in with him, just so he “knows you’re safe.”

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s very reliable (until he isn’t) at first, he’s the perfect lover. calls when he says he will, never forgets your birthday or anniversary, handles things efficiently. but as his debts mounts and pressure builds, there’s a certain tightness in his jaw when money is mentioned. he won’t talk about it. he won’t let you in.

POST-DEBT

۫ ꣑ৎ not emotionally available, prefers to keep things bottled up. when sang-woo is stressed, he withdraws into himself.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s haunted; the investment failure eats him alive. gradually becomes distant, distracted, and hates when you ask questions about his finances. sang-woo lies—first to you, then to himself—because the truth is unbearable.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s frustrated at himself, but it manifests in other ways—he snaps over small things, withdraws from conversations, goes through more cigarettes per day.

۫ ꣑ৎ still tries to take care of you. he won’t let you pay for things, even if he can’t afford them. he’ll miss meals before letting you notice that money is tight. his pride is too big to let you see how bad things have gotten.

۫ ꣑ৎ he hates that you don’t leave; he wants to tell you to go. you should be with someone who isn’t drowning in debt and in constant fear of the police. but he can’t bring himself to say it. instead, he avoids you, keeps you at arm’s length.

۫ ꣑ৎ if you ever found out about his debt, the man would break down—nobody is supposed to know. not his mother, especially not you. if you find out and don’t leave? he’ll be both relieved and devastated, because you should leave. and yet you don’t.

۫ ꣑ৎ he debates leaving you “for your own good.” he genuinely thinks you’d be better off without him. if you catch onto his self-destructive tendencies and reassure him that you want to be here, he just stares at you like he doesn’t understand why.

NSFW

۫ ꣑ৎ not the type to outright deny you, but when he’s teasing, it’s in an excruciatingly nonchalant manner. he’s busy, he says, without even looking up from his laptop. too much work, too little time—yadda yadda. he makes you wait, makes you impatient, until he finally shuts his laptop and pins you to the mattress as if he hadn’t been ignoring you for the past hour.

۫ ꣑ৎ doesn’t experiment much, because he knows what works and doesn’t see a reason to change it. but if you want to try something, he won’t shut it down, either. he’ll simply raise an eyebrow, consider it for a second, and say, “if that’s what you want.”

۫ ꣑ৎ doesn’t talk much in bed, but because he doesn’t see the point. he’s focused, too busy paying attention to you to bother with unnecessary words. at most, you’ll get quiet groans, maybe a low, approving hum if you’re particularly responsive.

۫ ꣑ৎ mostly vanilla sex. no elaborate kinks, except for the occasional bondage using ties (but it’s more for effect). he likes routine, and that applies to the bedroom too. sang-woo knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly how to get the reaction he wants out of you.

۫ ꣑ৎ when he’s stressed though, he gets rough; burying his face in your neck as he fucks you like he’s trying to forget everything else.. not intentional, just a byproduct of the pressure he’s under. afterward, when he realises how rough he was, he’s gentle again—hands smoothing over your skin, lips pressing on your temple as an apology.

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s a soft dom!!!! and you’re his pillow princess, whether you intended to be or not. he prefers to the one doing the work.

SQUID GAME

۫ ꣑ৎ he’s shocked to see you there. horrified, even. sang-woo was ready to do what it takes to win, but you weren’t supposed to be here.

۫ ꣑ৎ will not let you slow him down. sounds cruel, but sang-woo is in survival mode. he will help you, but only as long as it doesn’t jeopardise him.

۫ ꣑ৎ if it comes down to a split-second decision—you or him—sang-woo doesn’t want to think about what he’ll choose.

۫ ꣑ৎ tells himself he doesn’t afford to love you under the deadly circumstances. but when he closes his eyes, all he sees is you.

pic creds to AESTHCORE_276 on pinterest

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[gf2bellamy]

Hi! can you do a post prison spencer x reader where they were kind of a thing before he went in and then prison happened, then he gets out and he finally makes a move since he thinks he should lose more time. Dont know if I explained it well. Love your writing!

time — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader wears a dress a/n: hii thanks for your request !! <33 i hope this is what you asked for

Was it weird to sleep in the same bed as Spencer Reid? Maybe. But then again, he had asked you to. And who were you to deny him that request, especially after everything he had been through? After he had just gotten out of prison, after the nightmares, the isolation —how could you say no? 

Right now, he was practically draped over you, his head resting heavily on your shoulder, his breathing slow and steady. You hadn’t fallen asleep yet, but he had, and you weren’t surprised.

The exhaustion was etched into every line of his face, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to the toll the past few months had taken on him.

But here, in this moment, he looked peaceful. Content.

And so were you. 

It had been a couple of days since he’d been home, and every single one of those days, he had called you over. He didn’t want to let you out of his sight, as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he looked away for too long. You didn’t mind.

You never minded when it came to Spencer. 

Your fingers absentmindedly played with his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingers as you listened to the rhythm of his breathing. His warm breath brushed against your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine despite the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

You didn’t know what you were to him—or what he was to you, for that matter. Even before he went to prison, the two of you had been… something. Not quite defined, not quite labeled.

Just something.

Friends, maybe. But then again friends didn’t make your heart race the way he did.

You glanced down at his sleeping form, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, his face relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in months. Your heart fluttered, just like it always did when you looked at him. It was ridiculous, really.

You had known him for years, had seen him at his best and his worst, had laughed with him, cried with him, argued with him.

And yet, every time you looked at him, it felt like the first time all over again.

You had missed him. God, you had missed him so much it hurt. It wasn’t just the kind of missing that made your chest ache—it was the kind that left a physical void, a hollow space that only he could fill.

And now that he was here, now that he was real and solid and warm in your arms, it still felt like a dream. Like if you blinked too hard or breathed too loudly, he’d vanish, and you’d wake up alone again. 

You felt him stir, and you immediately stilled your fingers in his hair, not wanting to wake him. He’d only been asleep for an hour or two, and he needed the rest more than anything.

Spencer shifted slightly, his head nuzzling deeper into your shoulder, his hair now brushing against your face. His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, as if even in his sleep, he was afraid to let you go. 

You waited a moment, holding your breath, before slowly resuming the gentle motion of your fingers through his hair. Your eyes stayed fixed on him, tracing the lines of his face, the curve of his lips, the way his lashes rested against his cheeks.

You loved looking at him—more than anything in this world

Suddenly, his voice broke the silence, soft and sleep-roughened. “I like it when you play with my hair.” 

A smile tugged at your lips as you saw him crack one eye open, peering up at you with a drowsy, half-awake expression. “Sorry,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

He loosened his hold on you, shifting slightly as he lifted his head from your shoulder. You immediately missed the weight of him, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, and you followed suit, propping yourself up on one elbow. 

“You didn’t wake me,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?” 

You reached over to grab your phone from the nightstand, the screen lighting up as you checked the time. “5 p.m.,” you replied, setting the phone back down. 

Spencer blinked, his brows furrowing slightly as he processed the information.  

“I didn’t mean to sleep that long,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and you couldn’t help but smile at how endearingly rumpled he looked. 

“You need the rest,” you said softly, noticing how he scooted closer to you, his shoulder brushing against yours. The small, almost unconscious gesture made you smile.

“Have you eaten?” he asked, his voice still a little rough from sleep as he shifted toward the edge of the bed. He stood up, reaching out his hand to you almost instinctively. You took it without hesitation, your fingers curling around his as he led you out of the room and towards the kitchen. 

“No, I was being suffocated by someone,” you teased, shooting him a playful grin. 

 Spencer glanced back at you, his expression a mix of amusement and mild exasperation, but he didn’t let go of your hand. If anything, his grip tightened just a little.

He opened the fridge, still holding onto your hand, and you couldn’t help but stare at the way your fingers were intertwined.

Even before Spencer went to prison, he had always been touchy with you—more so than with anyone else. A hand on your shoulder, a brush of his fingers against yours, a casual arm slung around you during movie nights.

But since he’d been back, it seemed like that habit had intensified.

“There’s nothing in here,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you, as he absently began tracing small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

The gesture was so natural, so unconscious, that it made your heart skip a beat. 

“We can go out and get some food,” you suggested, glancing up at him. You also thought it would be good for him to get out of the house.

Since he’d been back, the two of you had barely left, and Spencer had spent most of his time catching up on sleep.

A change of scenery might do him some good. 

Spencer turned to look at you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. 

He had spent so much time in prison, so much time away from you, and now that he was back, he didn’t want to waste another second.

Sure, he was holding your hand. Sure, he had just spent the last hour curled up with you in bed, his head on your shoulder, your fingers in his hair.

But that wasn’t enough. Not anymore. He wanted more. He wanted to take you out, to show you how much you meant to him, to make up for all the time he had lost.

The idea popped into his head suddenly.

A date. 

He wanted to take you on a real date. Not just this—not just quiet moments in his apartment or yours, as much as he loved those.

He wanted to take you somewhere nice, somewhere special.

You raised your eyebrows, trying to decipher the unreadable expression on his face. “What?” you asked when the silence stretched a little too long.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, finally looking away, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

Nothing except the fact that I’m going to take you on the best date you’ve ever been on, he thought.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, he just squeezed your hand gently and said, “But yes, we can do that.”

A couple of days later, you were sitting in your own apartment, trying to convince yourself that everything was fine. But the truth was, you missed Spencer. You missed him so much it felt like a physical ache.

Over the past few weeks, you had spent so much time at his place that being back in your own apartment felt… wrong. It didn’t feel like home without him.

Your couch felt too empty, the silence too loud, the space too big. 

To distract yourself, you picked up one of the books he had given you for your birthday.

It was a thick, well-loved novel with a note scribbled in the margin in his familiar handwriting.

You smiled faintly as you traced the words with your finger, remembering the way his eyes had lit up when he handed it to you.

“You’ll love this one,” he had said, his voice brimming with excitement.

You sat comfortably on the couch, the book open in your lap, while the TV played softly in the background for some noise.

But your mind kept wandering, drifting back to Spencer.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed, breaking you out of your thoughts. You glanced at it immediately, your heart skipping a beat when you saw Spencer’s name on the screen.

A smile tugged at your lips as you opened the message. 

"I was thinking… perhaps you could wear something nice tonight? I’ll be there at 7. If that’s alright with you, of course."

You stared at the message for a moment, your smile widening as you typed out your reply: "Okay, sure. I’ll see you then :)"

You hesitated for a second, your thumb hovering over the send button. Then, before you could overthink it, you added: "But just so you know, you’re being weirdly mysterious right now. I’m intrigued."

Slowly, you set the book and your phone aside as you stood up, making your way to your bedroom.

You stood in front of your closet, staring at the rows of clothes.

What exactly did “nice” mean? A dress? Something casual but elegant? You hesitated for a moment before grabbing a simple dress from the hook, deciding it was your safest bet. 

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You took a deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of your dress before opening it.

And there he was—Spencer Reid, standing on your doorstep in a suit. Your mouth fell open slightly as your eyes raked over him. Sure, you had seen him in a suit before, but this… this was different.

He looked good. Too good. So good that your brain short-circuited for a moment, leaving you momentarily speechless. 

He looked at you with wide eyes, his breath catching as he took in your appearance. “You look… beautiful,” he said, his voice soft.

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and you glanced down for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “Thank you,” you said shyly, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just kept looking at you as if he was memorizing every detail.

Finally, you broke the silence. “So… what exactly am I dressed up for?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. 

Spencer hesitated, his hands fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves before he took a deep breath. “I don’t want to lose any more time,” he said, his voice filled with emotion. “I want to take you on a date. A real one.” 

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and for a moment, you just stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. A date.

Spencer Reid wanted to take you on a date. 

“A date?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yes. A date. I’ve wasted too much time already, and I don’t want to waste any more. Not when it comes to you.” 

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. But then you smiled, a soft, genuine smile that made his eyes light up in return.

“Okay,” you said softly, stepping closer to him. Your hand found his, fingers intertwining as you gave it a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go on a date.”

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 12

Y'all are getting two chapters today because a little silly someone, won't @ because they haven't asked to be tagged in the tag list and Idk if they'd like the call out but they know who they are, liked every chapter and I loved your little comments so I finished chapter 13 so I can post this chapter only fueled by your excitement 🥰🥹

CW: people are getting their ass beat, so mention of blood and decapitation.

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 12 >>next(TBC)

With Nolan completely refusing to face anyone lately, and the announcement that the guardians are dead, you had to get away. You couldn’t sit and wait for him, couldn’t cry over the guardians, couldn’t sit by and watch how worried Debbie was every morning when he’d left. You just couldn’t.

So, while Mark went to university with Amber and William, you cashed in your vacation days and let the shadows lead you away over the seas to Romania. Softly landing in the Hoia-Baciu Forest felt—surprisingly—like home.

The whispers of the shadows nudged you around the forest, deeper and deeper, past the oddly shaped trees straight to a burnt circle of land where dried trees grew. Walking past the circle changed the scenery, from gloomy grey trunks to moss-covered, flourishing weeping willows circling a little lake.

Walking back to the edge of the circle, you stuck half of your body out and back observing the change happening right before your eyes. It seemed to be a Midnight City magic dome thing. Inside the dome, it was quite beautiful, the astilbes and the Japanese irises giving some color to the landscape. Your hands softly traced the taller flora as you got closer to the lake, lifting off the ground to move towards the center where a small piece of rock was.

This was a great place for an altar and the shadows greatly approved, too. Sitting on your ass, crisscross apple sauce, you placed your hands on the smooth surface, transfiguring it to expand and even out a bit more.

By the time you were done setting wards so no one could find the place and adding the actual altar and the statues for Lady Gotham and Death it was already so late.

With a small sigh, you place yourself in front of the altar once more. You were never religious, your biological mother didn’t care, Bruce didn’t, the Graysons didn’t- it felt awkward to pray to them. Constantine mentioned that praying to them could just be talking to them, they’re not Yahweh, they’re not Allah, they don’t abide by those rules.

So, you didn’t either. You thanked them for the blessings they gave you, hoped they were well, and told them about your day, leaving them with a bowl of sliced apples and some flowers, deciding to visit the rest of the country while you still had a few days of vacation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Went to Mars, almost got killed by Martians, got the shit beaten out of me for trying to help the Titan, got half of Teen Team- er… the new Guardians in hospital. Also, his one guy in the college was kidnapping male students he saw as peak alpha males and modifying them to essentially turn them into robocops wannabes consisting of no free will and mech bodies, including William’s boyfriend, for the betterment of the human race.” Marks sighs tiredly. “Amber and I broke up and made up again. Told her I’m Invincible… she knew.”

Debbie just looked at her son, before turning to look at you. Maybe she should stop asking how everyone’s day was. “Don’t look at me like that, ma. For once I had a normal day. Visited a lot of places in Romania after finding a little nook for my altar and got some presents for you two and our friends.” You shrug as you take another bite of food. “How was your day?”

Your mother smiles. Well, maybe she shouldn’t, it was the little normality she had in her life. “Sold a penthouse to a billionaire who had a set of all gold teeth.” You snort at that. “That’s one way to show off.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Since sunrise Mark has been searching for his dad and once he did, he immediately tackled him, rolling through the air for a bit before stopping. “Where have you been?! Why haven’t you said anything?” Nolan didn’t get to respond Mark continued. “Are you cheating on mom? Do you have a second family or something?”

“What?! Of course not! Why would you-“ Nolan stutters at the audacity. “Because one day you just decided to up and disappear! You barely come home anymore- Do you even love us anymore? I need you to think about it before you answer- really consider it, because I want you to mean it truthfully- Do you love us?”

The older Viltrumite couldn’t hide the shock, the anguish as he actually thought about it. Loving them meant going against his mission- to a small degree, sure, he could still finish it- but- “Yes... I-I do. I truly love your mother and you deeply. I love your sister just as much. You three are very important to me.”

“Then stop this- nonsense!” Mark waved his arms around. “You’ve been missing for almost two months, barely come home to sleep- You know how paranoid my sister is, she’s making plans over plans on how to take you down because she thinks you snapped and are trying to conquer the planet.”

“She thinks I plan to conquer Earth?” Nolan asks softly, hands clenching at his side. “Yes! She thinks me and mom don’t know but I found her encrypted files- she thinks now that you know the Viltrumites can create offsprings that have powers with humans, you have started making plans to take over. She thinks you killed the Guardians because they could have slowed you down, maybe even stopped you- she thinks you’ll come to me and ask me to help- that you’ll come clean and confess that the Viltrumites are- are these-“

Mark couldn’t finish… How could he? You didn’t come up with these ideas out of thin air- you had evidence. Circumstantial evidence- but it still was so compelling, too many coincidences to be just nothing. “She made plans that could take me down, too. Just in case I would accept to help you- she’s gone mad, dad. And- and I started to believe it too.”

Mark looks at his father, straight in his eyes. “So I need you to come home, to talk to us- I don’t want to believe it- I don’t want to think that you’d ask me to do such bullshit.” The young man clenched his fist. “Please tell me she’s wrong- because if she isn’t- I won’t help you. I’ll do anything to stop yo-“ Mark didn’t finish as Nolan threw a punch, breaking his mask and making him bite his cheek.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Honestly, Eve, I can’t believe you didn’t dump Rex the first time he cheated.” You sipped on your soft drink as you walked with Eve. “I know- It’s just- we both-“ She tried to come up with a reason, just a tiny one to try and keep her pride. “You both got your powers in a lab- yes. I know. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve the respect of a man. And I can’t believe Kat jumped at the first opportunity- is the ‘not your bestie’s ex’ not in the girl rulebook anymore?”

As Eve opened her mouth to respond to that, what came out was a gasp of shock as her eyes caught the fight happening on the news. “What? Are the news more import-“ As you tuned to look behind you at the TVs in the electronics shop your mouth dropped with the drink you were holding.

The flashing pictures of Mark and the Immortal fighting furiously against Nolan make your blood run cold. The robot cameras that were flying around the men managed to pick up some of the conversation, mostly Immortal furiously yelling but- “This isn’t you! You don’t want to do this! You just feel like you have no choice, but you do!” they caught Mark too.

“Is your dad being mind-controlled?” Eve asks, clearly worried as she looks at you. “No…” Is all you say before you disappear with a breeze of air. It wasn’t a good idea to travel via magic right now. Eve caught a glimpse of Omni-man decapitating The Immortal before she changed into her costume and tried to keep up with you.

Somewhere in space, the League of Justice and Laughing Magician could only watch in terror as the news kept up with the man and his son. “Please don’t… Please don’t try and stop him.” John’s whispered payers were met only with Batman’s suspicious glare. “We should go and help!” Superman’s worried pleas was quickly shut down.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mark couldn’t register everything his father yelled at him as they fought through the air, and he definitely could not after being thrown into the ground and punched twice. But he could answer one question. “You and her… I’d still have you and my sister, dad.” And Nolan hesitated on his third punch. But you didn’t.

Your hit threw Nolan off Mark, making the older man crash into a crater of his own. You didn’t let him get a break. “I trusted you! We all did!” Punch after punch, the ground beneath his head created a bigger and bigger hole. “Mom and Mark love you! I love you! And you go and chose them?!”

You didn’t even notice when John Constantine popped in, almost stumbling through the portal as he ran to your brother, racking his brain for every healing spell he could use. He didn’t care that Bruce would corner him when he went back and interrogate him about this, not when you needed him.

“What is so important about them that we didn’t give you?! You haven’t seen them in years-“ Your yelling cracked as you sobbed, your tears mixing with the blood of the man. Why didn’t he choose you? “Why not us? Why them?! Why are you letting me beat the shit out of you?!” As your hands clenched above your head in a double axe handle motion, ready to turn his face into mush, you’re stopped by your brother’s voice calling your name.

Your fury turns to fear and worry as you look towards him, getting up just to stumble towards him and John. Your tears clouded your vision as you fell to your knees by Mark, gently holding his hand as you inquired about him. “I’m fine- just like, five punches to the head and a throw to the ground.” He croaked out, flinching slightly as his nose set back into place while John continued doing his best to heal the young man.

“In other universes, you either die or get the snot and spline beaten outta ya- this is so much better kid.” Constantine immediately cringes at his words, his eyes meeting yours as he instantly apologizes. “- I should have told you, hen-“

The sound of the sonic boom doesn’t even make you flinch. If Nolan wanted to run away, that was fine by you. “I knew. Nobody is that kind just to help out of the goodness of their hearts.” You said softly, reassuring him with a squeeze of his arm. “I should have done more. Should have told the Guardians or someone about my suspicions, my plans on how to deal with him-”

“You made contingency plans?” At your stutter and confused look, Mark could only laugh, immediately getting what the man meant. The rumors of Batman’s paranoia were true after all. “She even made a few for me in case I accepted.” John huffed in amusement at that. “Well- then we better keep you away from the Bat, he may just adopt you.” Some of the League’s members couldn’t hold in their laughs at the utter disgust your face showed. “With my track record of father figures you better keep the furry as far away from me as possible.” Constantine could hear Hal's laughter from where he sat as she finished speaking.

“We should get going before Cecil shows up.” You sigh while helping Mark get up. “We’re moving again? I just got here…” Eve said as she finally landed, getting Mark’s other side. “You both were hard to find, and I missed everything.”

“No need- I can help with that.” John groans as he gets up, brushing his pants off before he opens a portal to Mark’s home. “Alright, let’s get the lad home.” He lets the kids through first, and before he steps in too, he makes sure to flip off the robot cameras, just for Bruce.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou

[vampzity]

1-800-hot & fun | BC

★ DAY TWELVE: PHONE SEX WITH BANGCHAN ★

pairing: best friend! bangchan x f! reader

after a long day of studio work, bangchan just wants to relax. except all he can think about is you. he tries to take care of it, only to get a call from you with complaints about the day you had. little did you know how much your voice turned him on.

[warnings]: MDNI 18+ !!!, smut, drabble, phone sex, masturbation, mentioning of circulation play, reader has no idea what chan’s doing, pet names (baby, babygirl)

word count: 1.4k

Bangchan sighed to himself as he leaned back in his chair, head thrown back with his eyes closed. He held his throbbing cock in his hand, jerking it softly as he scrolled through the countless photos he had of you.

They weren’t anything lewd, in fact it was far from that. Simply normal selfies you took and sent to him for his opinion on which to post.

He was beyond exhausted from today’s work in the studio, just wanting to wind down a bit before he took to the road. Though his mind was racing with sensual thoughts of you and it wouldn’t stop.

You two weren’t together— in fact he wasn’t even sure if you liked him, but he knew one thing for sure. Bangchan had the biggest crush on you, he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He wasn’t sure if he was being obvious about it, though one may say so with how possessive he was about you when the rest of the boys were around.

He scrolled through every photo of you, landing on a couple of pictures from your modeling gig. You had on light pink lingerie, lace that sat nicely upon your curves. The positions the camera caught you in were vulnerable, unlike anything he’s ever seen before. It was everything he imagined you to be.

Innocent and sexy.

Your doe eyes stared into his as he worked his angry cock, groaning at the thought of your plump lips around his tip. The way it would feel for you to suck him off as cum leaked out of him. How well he would train you to take his size into your mouth, the tears that would run down your cheek from his tip hitting the back of your throat.

He scrolled to the side, seeing a close up of your body in the lace outside. His eyes widened, heart racing as your tits sat nicely in the cupped bra, your cunt making a small pint in the fabric. The way the babydoll casted a slight shadow of your silhouette.

Bangchan was practically in heaven, his hand fastening its pace around his cock. He could feel himself about to burst at any moment, until he felt his phone buzz in his hand. Startled he quickly shoved his member into his pants and answered, clearing his throat to mask his previous situation.

“Hello?”

“Channie! You wouldn’t believe the type of day I’ve been having.”

Chan smiled at hearing your voice, as it’s been a while since you two have talked at all from your mix of busy schedules.

“Hey babygirl, what’s up?”

You scoffed on your side of the phone, rolling your eyes at his personal nickname for you.

“Well I got to the studio for my modeling gig and my coffee just fell!! It tasted perfect too like how upsetting is that,”

He listened to you ramble on, feeling his dick twitch in his pants as his mind started to race with thoughts of you once again. He thought about you in different types of lingerie, imagining how nicely your body must fit into them this time around.

He pulled his member from his pants, his tip leaking as it ached to be touched. He stroked it softly, throwing his head back in pleasure as he tried his best not to be heard.

“And if that wasn’t enough, my makeup is so splotchy. I think i’ll have to redo it too!”

Bangchan tightened his grip on his cock, fastening his strokes as he listened to your complaining whines. He tried his best to focus to what you were saying, but his mind was fogged with dirty thoughts of you. Dirty thoughts of you all over him, of him ripping that little lingerie off of you.

“Mmm, I’m sorry to hear that baby.”

A soft moan escaped him, making him freeze up in hopes that you didn’t hear him.

“Everything ok, Channie? Was it a rough day in the studio?”

He chuckled to himself slightly, his thumb rubbing across his leaky opening. He began stroking his cock again, twisting his hand with the motion.

“Yeah, yeah.” he panted heavily, watching as his cock leaked some more. “But hearing your voice made it better.”

You blushed softly, taking your phone and posing in the mirror. You took a picture of today’s outfit— one of many that you’d be wearing and sent it to Bangchan, eager for his reaction.

“What do you think? Too slutty?”

His jaw practically dropped at seeing you. His ears grew red, feeling as if the room was heating up from seeing you in such an outfit. The black polkadots weren’t nearly enough to cover how see through it was as your nipples still peeked through.

Bangchan stopped himself from groaning outloud, struggling to keep his composure toward you.

“You look beautiful as always.” He leaned over his desk, spotting your hair tie next to his computer.

He grabbed it, closing his eyes as he vowed to never give it back to you again. Especially not after what he was about to do. He placed the hair tie on his cock, a long sigh leaving his lips as it tightened around his length.

“Should model for me, yeah?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” you raised your eyebrow, unaware of what he meant. Chan quickly caught himself, trying to cover up the sultry meaning behind his sentence.

“My company, I mean you should model for my company.”

You laughed, going on a tangent about all the things wrong with his entertainment. As much as he’d like to listen, he just couldn’t. He was too drunk on the thought of you and your body in this newfound picture. Your pussy barely covertly the small piece of fabric, your tits practically spilling out of your bra.

He stroked faster, quicker, not stopping his movement as his cock throbbed in his hand. With every throb, every time it tried to swell, he could feel himself getting closer as your hair tie held him back.

And of course, you were still as oblivious to what was going on.

Bangchan quickly muted himself, setting his phone down as he groaned out in pleasure. His precum drooled down the side of his cock as he thrusted into his hand.

“Fuck, fuck baby.” he admired your picture once more before throwing his head back.

“Gotta cum all over that pretty face of yours one day.”

His groans soon fell into whimpers as he stroked faster. Your hair tie was suffocating him, making it harder for him to hold himself back. He imagined you in his head; thinking of you riding his cock while your tits bounced in front of his eyes.

He imagined how it would feel for your cunt to suffocate his dick in the same way while it pounded your sweet spot. He wondered how your sweet sounds would be, how much you’d beg as his tongue toyed with your swollen clit.

“Fuck, I would stuff you so good.”

That was all it took.

Within seconds his hand was covered in cum, dripping onto the chair as he slowed his strokes. His breath was staggered, heart racing and shaking ad he tried to bring himself back to reality.

“Channie?”

Oh fuck.

He quickly cleaned himself off, picking up the phone to answer you.

“I’m sorry.. I was trying to focus on this track we’ve been working on.”

He heard a small laugh come from the other end of the phone, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion as he tried to figure out what you could be laughing for.

“Yeah, and I bet you didn’t notice you were unmuted either, huh?”

His heart sank and his face flushed red. He froze, unsure of what to say to you as he was beyond embarrassed. You had no idea— maybe not even a thought of Bangchan ever liking you, as you always thought he’d seen you as a close friend.

Funny, since he had thought the same.

“You don’t have to apologize Channie.” you looked at the time on your phone, realizing you had to start your shoot soon.

“Maybe when I’m done here,” You bit your lip, thinking of the lewd sounds you heard coming from his end of the phone.

“I can stop by your place and give you what you want.”

Bangchan instantly agreed, his cock itching at the thought of being able to feel you, be in you. You giggled, sending him a farewell and hanging up the phone. His phone lit up with the precious picture of you in your lingerie, a small smile creeping onto his face.

He was about to see you dressed like this in person, right before his eyes and it would take everything in him not to rip it off of you.

back to valentine’s masterlist

a/n: day 12, this is a short one! if you haven’t noticed a change in the masterlist…. i’m planning some bonus days as a thank you to those who showed so much support to my series! :3

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @h4untedgrl @rvereri @scarfac3 @jjongibears @kittykat-25 @yyaurii @hwasddeongbyeoli @tiredlittlevirgo @joonezra @honeyhwaaa @evidive @potentialgay @dollywoo @losrpark @motherseonghwa23 @inniesfanblog @stephanieeeyang @galaxy4489 @nickgurl4life @fangirljas929 @desirehorizon @channiesluvrclub @bluesungology @katsukis1wife @unbel1ve4ble

★ comment to be added to the taglist or fill the detailed form here!

[dixons-sunshine]

Good Girl, Officer | Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: Nervous on his first day on the job as a cop, you opted to try and help Steve calm down and relax. However, while doing so, you ensured that you’d be in for one hell of a night when he got back from work.

Genre: Fluff, a little suggestive.

Warnings: Some sexual innuendo.

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: I don’t know what this is. Honestly, this isn’t my best work, but this has been sitting in my drafts for days and I figured I might as well post it. I hope it’s still somewhat enjoyable! And if anyone wants a part two with smut, I’d be willing to try and write one.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

Looking up from the cup of coffee in your hands, your eyes locked with those beautiful amber ones of your husband’s in the mirror. He was busy fiddling with the collar of his button up shirt, the jacket with the familiar “Hawkins PD” logo on it hanging open on his broad frame. It was chilly outside, the rain and wind making it necessary to wear one. His glasses were perched on the tip of his nose, his eyes nervously darting between you in the mirror and his outfit.

You placed the cup down on your nightstand and made your way over to Steve, wrapped your arms around him from behind and rested your chin on his shoulder. “You’ll do great, Stevie,” you reassured him, your tone soft and sincere.

Steve inhaled, before exhaling a shuddering breath. “I don’t know,” he began quietly. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up. Maybe even die.”

You hummed and pressed a kiss to his clothed shoulder. “Take a deep breath, okay?” After he followed your orders and took a few deep breaths, you continued. “You’ll be just fine, Steve. I know it. You’ve been working hard for this. Plus, if push comes to shove, you know Hopper will help you out in a heartbeat. He loves you.”

Steve managed to give you a small smile at that. “Sure. The ‘don’t fuck it up, Harrington’ and pat on the back he gave me at my graduation screams ‘I love you’.”

“It does if you’re Hopper,” you told him through a small chuckle, stepping back when he turned around to face you. Instead, you looped your arms around his neck, your husband’s hands going to rest on your hips. “But seriously. I know you’ve got this. You worked your ass off for it, and it shows. I promise you’ll be just fine. And hey, if anyone gives you trouble, I’m just a phone call away. I’ll come to your rescue.”

He chuckled at that. “My hero,” he said, before leaning in to give you a soft, tender kiss. His nose bumped against yours, and his glasses pressed against his face awkwardly, but he didn’t care. When he pulled away, he smiled at you lovingly.

You returned the smile. “So do you feel better?”

“A little bit,” he began, his thumbs tracing idle circles on your hips. “I still feel like m’gonna throw up, but at least I don’t feel like I’m gonna die.”

“That’s good,” you replied. “Well, not the throwing up part, but the not dying part is great. Who else is gonna give me such awesome back rubs if you’re gone?”

Steve laughed and rolled his eyes. “Nice.” He stepped back from your embrace and fiddled with the zipper of his jacket, his hands a little shaky and only being successfully zipped up because of your assistance. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” You glanced behind him at his car keys, before looking back at him. “Well, officer Harrington. All you need to complete this…” You pressed your hand against his chest and trailed it up and down slowly. “...very sexy look is a pair of handcuffs, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, and a gun,” he began, completely oblivious to the innuendo behind your words. “But I’ll get both of those down at the station. Hopper’s orders.”

You smiled and shook your head, stepping back from him and heading over to the nightstand to grab your coffee. “That’s not what I meant, but okay.”

Steve frowned. “What did you—” You nearly burst out laughing when a look of realization spread over his face. “Oh.”

You took a sip from your coffee and sat back down on the bed, smiling brightly. “Yeah.”

He scratched the back of his head, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You into that kinda thing? I mean, you’ve never brought it up before.”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see, huh?” You blinked up at him with a faux innocent look. “I promise I’ve been a good girl, officer.”

Steve inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game.” He opened his eyes and glanced down at his watch. “And I’ve gotta go soon.”

You hummed and got up from the bed again, placing the cup back where you found it and walked back over to Steve. You straightened out his uniform for him, before leaning up to press a kiss to his lips in greeting.

“Go,” you whispered, pecking the corner of his lips for good measure. “Go make the world a better place, officer Harrington.” You leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “We’ll test the whole handcuff thing when you get back.”

The look he sent your way as he slowly retreated backwards sent a shiver over your spine. You knew that if he didn’t have somewhere to be, the two of you wouldn’t leave the room that day. But alas, he had a job he needed to get to. You would have to wait until later that night to do anything about it.

You laughed lightly when Steve stopped and strode back over from the door to give you one final kiss, gently pushing him away when it got a little too heated for someone that needed to be out of the house in five minutes if they wanted to be on time. “Woah there, cowboy,” you halted him. “You gotta go.” Despite your words, he continued to press little kisses to your face, making you smile. “I’m serious. Go.”

Steve looked like a man in agony when he finally pulled away. “It’s your fault, you know?” he said. “You were the one that put that idea in my head. How am I supposed to focus after that?”

“With great effort,” you joked, before giving him a peck on the cheek and stepping back. “Now go. You don’t wanna be late on your first day.”

Your husband sighed deeply and nodded, adjusting his glasses on his nose. “Okay,” he began. He sent you a pointed look. “Until tonight then?”

You nodded. “Until tonight.”

Steve straightened his jacket, grabbed his keys from the dresser—keys he would have forgotten if he hadn’t decided to turn back and give you a kiss—and turned back to you. “I love you.”

You smiled at him softly. “I love you too.”

With that, Steve finally left the room. You could hear his footsteps retreating down the hall, and you sat back down on the bed. While you knew you had other things you needed to think about, there was only one thing on your mind:

You were in for one hell of a night.

[imaginespazzi]

All Fell Down ~ Part 3 ~

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

* masterlist in collaboration with @azzibuckets *

summary: paige and azzi have never really been just best friends

a/n: Hello, hello my lovies <3 I'm so sorry; I literally just fully forgot to post this part yesterday because life has been so very hectic. But I think having an Azzi Fudd masterclass before this chapter is probably ideal. As always let me know your thoughts my loves!

Azzi should have expected the deafening silence that follows Paige’s name leaving her lips. If it wasn’t for the sound of the other girl’s breathing -staggered and heavy- she’d have thought perhaps it was a phantom call with no one on the other end of the line. And really Azzi doesn’t know what she was expecting; doesn’t know why she’d expected anything but exactly this when she’d picked up her phone. But when Paige’s CallerID had flashed on the screen, the buzzing of the ringtone cutting into Azzi’s pity party, there hadn’t been much else in her brain other than this sudden burst of hope. It had taken barely two rings before she was scrambling across her bed, grabbing her phone and hitting the green answer button with far too much vigor. It was one syllable but she’d wrapped Paige’s name in a desperate mixture of i just miss talking to you and please can can we fix this. And she’d gotten nothing in return.

“Paige?” she tries again, fighting the fresh new set of tears threatening to fall from her eyes; she’s lost count of how many times she’s cried tonight. 

There’s a sharp intake of air on the other end but still no response and whatever thin string had been holding the remnants of Azzi’s heart together seems to fray even more.

“Okay,” she breathes out, closing her eyes as she digs her fingernails into her palm, “okay Paige,” she repeats, her tone resigned and ready to accept something that feels a little too much like defeat, “I get it. I guess this was um- this was an accident or something so I’ll uh- I’ll hang-”

“Canyoucomepickmeup?” Paige’s words come out hoarse and slurred together as she cuts Azzi off.

“What?” the brunette’s eyes widen, unsure if she’s heard wrong. 

Azzi hears Paige gulp; can almost picture the blonde chewing at her lips like she usually does when she’s nervous, “I asked if- if you could um- can you come pick me up?”

“I-”

Paige begins to ramble before she can say anything, “it’s just uh- it’s just that the rest of team seems to be having a lotta fun and I- I think maybe I drank too much and my head’s throbbing and Evina says I should go home but-”

“Okay.”

“I can’t drive myself and I don’t- I don’t wanna ruin anybody else’s night-” Paige cuts herself mid sentence, taking a second to process what Azzi had just said, “wait- okay?”

The brunette has already slipped off her bed, rummaging around her bedside table for her car keys. She thinks she’s probably giving in a little too easily, thinks she should probably be more pissed at Paige’s audacity to not speak to her for two weeks and then call her out of nowhere to ask for a mundane favor. But it’s Paige. Her Paige. And Azzi knows that if the blonde asked her to show her the stars, she’d find a way to steal the whole night sky for her.

“Okay,” Azzi confirms as she slips into her sneakers, “I should be there in a couple of minutes.”

“You’re actually coming,” Paige’s voice is slightly dazed. 

There’s a pang in Azzi’s chest at the slight surprise in her best friend’s tone. It’s a testament to how much has changed between them. Those unspoken promises of we’ll always be there for each other that had been the solid foundation of their relationship seem to be clouded by fears of are we still the same us? It hits her then the depth of the abyss between them. They’re stranded on opposite sides of it and Azzi just hopes they still have enough strength to build a bridge over it and get to each other again. 

“Do you still want me to come?” she asks timidly as she steps out into the wintry Storrs air. It’s freezing cold but Azzi thinks it’s nothing compared to the way she knows her heart will ice over if Paige says no. 

That familiar silence lingers between them as Azzi waits for Paige to say something. It feels like that’s all she’s done for the past two weeks. Waited. She’d waited for the answers to her list of ever-growing questions as Paige had pulled further and further away from her. She’d waited to catch her best friend’s avoidant eyes so she could try and decipher the storm brewing in them. She’d waited, arms outstretched, for her Paige to come back to her. But she thinks that if Paige says no now, if Paige decides to keep building this wretched wall between them instead of helping Azzi tear it down, then she won’t wait again. Because the weight of waiting is just too much and there’s only so much longer that Azzi can hold on. 

“Evina said to go home,” Paige’s voice trembles when she finally speaks, “she said to go home and all I could think of- was you.”

“Paige,” Azzi whispers. 

“Azzi,” and that same desperation from before echoes in Paige’s tone, “please come take me home.”

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Margaret Sullivan at American Crisis:

Jamelle Bouie gets it. The New York Times columnist wrote something a few days ago that stood out to me because it was so directly stated and so horrifyingly correct. It began: “Even if anyone had elected Elon Musk to anything, the past week would still be one of the most serious examples of executive branch malfeasance in American history.” Bouie went on: “Musk has seized hold of critical levers of power and authority within the federal government, apparently enabling him to destroy federal agencies at will, barring congressional action or judicial pushback.” The piece was titled, “There is No Going Back.” Here’s a gift link. Read it in full and weep for what we’re losing, day by day. But Bouie’s sense of alarm, well founded as it is, is strangely rare in Big Journalism these days. Witness, for example, a piece last week by Jason Willick, a regular opinion columnist at the Washington Post, who wrote something titled “Save the panic over Trump’s ‘power grabs.’ It might be needed later.” Calm down, Willick counseled, mocking the idea that a coup is underway, and concludes that, instead of having what he calls a “meltdown,” everyone should just wait and see. Why? Because, he argues, casting Trump and Musk’s early moves as a constitutional crisis “will diminish the force of such warnings if they are needed.” Willick was appropriately blasted in the reader-comments section: “This sycophantic, willfully delusional apologia for the dismantling of the American republic and the shredding of the constitution … is contemptible sophistry of the very worst kind,” said one. Read Willick’s column, if you have the stomach, and judge for yourself; here’s a gift link. Overall, the tone in the major media is much more like Willick than Bouie. For example, the popular Times newsletter, The Morning, offered this tepid headline one day last week: “A Constitutional Crisis?” Then it considered the question from various angles, including only one quote from a lawmaker — Republican senator Thom Tillis of North Carolina who notes that what Trump and Musk are doing “runs afoul of the Constitution in the strictest sense,” but “nobody should bellyache about that.” As Jamelle Bouie put it in the column I mentioned above, no question mark is appropriate here. In fact, calling what’s happening a constitutional crisis “does not even begin to capture the radicalism of what is unfolding in the federal bureaucracy.”

[...] Righteous indignation like that is hard to come by. That’s why I wrote a Guardian column last week about two new-generation Democrats who have become strong voices: Congresswoman Jasmine Crockett of Texas and Senator Chris Murphy of Connecticut. I quoted political consultant Sawyer Hackett: “There’s been no better messenger in the first two weeks of Trump 2.0 than Chris Murphy. At a time when too many Democrats are afraid of their shadow, Murphy is showing how to fight back with a compelling populist message that should be a blueprint for the Democrats moving forward.” My Guardian editor asked me to include a paragraph at the end about what’s giving me hope right now. You can read that, and the rest of the column, here.

Margaret Sullivan is spot-on: Our press needs righteous truth-telling during these constitutional crisis times.

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

MORE MEAN!RAFE PLEASE!!! Maybe leading from the last ask and it’s him being the desperate one and she’s just scared of him now but she still loves him or smth idk lols

even when you pushed me away

mean!rafe cameron x desperate!fem!reader

cw — stalking

summary — rafe somehow finds you after you frantically ran away from home.

authors note — this is a continuation of my mean!rafe series. it is in my rafe cameron masterlist under “au’s” if you’d like it read it as a series instead of a standalone. thank you guys for all the love with this au, it means the world to me. please request more!!

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

“why are you here, rafe?” you asked, your voice firm and unwavering even though you were slightly terrified and cowering behind your half-opened front door. “how did you even find me?”

he shook his head and brushed it off. “why am i here? because you just got up and left. no note? text? a call? nothing,” he explained calmly. “why? and where is all your stuff?” you bit your bottom lip nervously and stared at him. to your surprise, he looked genuinely confused. “did i do something?”

you almost laughed. did he do something? was he serious? “you should leave. i don’t want to talk to you,” you stated while beginning to close the door.

he lunged forward quickly and pushed back on it slightly, not enough for you to be scared that he was going to force his way in or anything like that, but just to keep you from shutting it in his face. “please, baby. i jus’ wanna talk to you. i want you to come home. i wanna know why you left in the first place.”

your resolve was beginning to slip. he was being so sweet and his eyes were all glassy like he was going to cry. “rafe, i don’t want to talk to you. i can’t,” you said a little more forcefully.

his bottom lip trembled slightly and he stared at you with wide eyes. “why not? what did i do wrong? if its about not spending enough time together, i promise i’ll change. i’ll clear my schedule for the rest of the week and we can spend every second of it together. jus’ please, come back home.”

“it’s not about that,” you replied. you wanted to leave with him so desperately. he sounded so torn and sad and it was beginning to make your heart break for him. “you’re not a good person. i can’t get mixed up with that.”

a tear slipped down his cheek as the realization set in. “baby, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered softly before talking a step closer to the door. you threatened to close it, narrowing the gap between you and him. that made him take a step back instantly. “please. jus’ come home and i’ll explain. i promise you. no lying, no bullshit. i’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

you felt your nose begin to sting and tears pool in your waterline. “i can’t, rafe.” you quickly shut the door and twisted the lock. a loud bang sounded on the door and you instinctively jumped back as you sobbed.

“open the fucking door!” he shouted angrily. you could hear his voice tremble before he began to repeatedly bang on the wood. “open the door!”

you slid down the wall and curled up into yourself, letting the tears call and the ugly cries escape your mouth. you’d never seen this side of him and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t terrify you to your core.

“baby, please! i’m begging you to open the door. i just want to talk to you,” he said, his voice slightly muffled through the barrier. “i need to talk to you. i need you to know that i’m not a bad person. please.”

you were pretty sure you were past that point now.

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

You Swear A Lot | One Piece HC

For V Day, here's another little post! I haven't done an imagine/headcanon in a while, so this is a little blurb that's been in my drafts. Are you someone who swears a lot? Here's what these boys would think!

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Kidd

CW: GN!reader, no specific relationship mentions, could be early relationship/pre-relationship

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

LUFFY

Doesn't seem to notice or care. 

Honestly, he's so used to Nami's mouth at this point that it hardly registers. Not to mention Ace and Sabo growing up. Luffy himself is very familiar with strong verbiage.

When the swear words are used for comedy, though, he won't stop laughing. He loves a well-placed swear word or crass comment.

If you're getting more creative, be prepared to explain what you just said to him. 

“Hey - what did you just say? ‘Never heard that word before.”

Great, now the crew has to deal with Luffy learning a new word. Thanks for that.

ZORO

Will call you out on it, make fun of you, and join in. 

Zoro’s got a colorful vocabulary himself, but really only uses it sparingly.

The first time he hears it from you, though - oh, boy, it’s shocking that something so crass comes out of such a pretty thing like you.

“Wow. You got a mouth on you, huh?” 

But then it begins. No bars, no restrictions. Zoro’s gonna challenge you every step of the way, coming up with rude and worse things to say.

It’s a competition now. And Zoro never loses.

SANJI

Sanji’s no stranger to cursing. He’s a cook, after all - he has his own crass vocabulary to contend with.

Hearing it from you though? Someone so beautiful, seemingly innocent? 

Just like the rest of the crew, he’s heard just the same from Nami, but even still…

He blushes. Completely floored. 

“You're too pretty to be speaking like that, angel!”

He secretly likes it. In fact, he likes it so much that he has to control the places his mind goes when he hears you.

Whether you’re cursing out of anger, frustration, or just using it as an adjective, he always takes notice. 

LAW

Law is pretty crass himself, but even he has his limits.

The first few times he hears it, he doesn’t seem to comment or care. He lets it slide because it just doesn’t seem worth it. He may even find it funny or endearing, though he'd never let you know that.

Even if, in certain circumstances, he may feel that it’s needless.

Finally, after one particular day where you’ve had enough of his stern looks and you bust out your dictionary, he’s had enough.

“That mouth is going to get you into trouble one of these days.” 

That being said, if anyone else were to say that to you, he’d defend you with just as much of a crass mouth. He’s very familiar of the trouble a mouth like that will get you into, and a part of him secretly wishes to see it.

KIDD

This man is so much worse than you, so he finds it funny. 

“Finally - someone who can keep up with me!”

You guys feed off of each other. It’s not just a competition - it’s a goddamn talent show.

The rest of the crew on the Victoria Punk ranges from being humored, shocked, to annoyed.

It may be one of your most attractive qualities to him, quite honestly.

[nieceeee]

Just For Tonight

PS: What happens when your mortal enemy shows up at your doorstep battered and bruised?

Pairing: spiderman!gojo x black!reader

WC: 1.4k

A/N: Something that was just in my head and I wanted to get it out. Not sure if I like it but I had writer's block and I needed to post something.

Tonight had been a success. 

You were just about to pull the skin tight black suit from your tired body, the leather feeling like a second skin as you gently remove it from your body. As the warm materiel comes off your skin, the cool night air hitting your bare skin. It's been a long night-- your latest heist went off without a hitch. The robbery was perfect, a clean getaway with your new favorite possession. A clear cut diamond necklace. You slipped in and out of the shadows like you always do, leaving only chaos in your wake. 

The adrenaline still buzzes through your veins, but now, there��s nothing left to do but let the rush wear off. A nice glass of wine, a warm bubble bath and your faux fur blanket is calling your name. Curling up in your bed and forgetting about the outside world was all you wanted to do for the rest of the night. After your shower, you slip into a black lace two piece set and make your way towards your bedroom. Wine glass in hand, hair tied back and skin moisturized, you walk back towards your bedroom. But just as you begin to hang the suit up, the soft sound of knocking interrupts my stride. Three taps against your front door. 

You freeze. 

Who the hell knows where I am? You think to yourself. You are for sure that you slipped out without a trace from the heist. Your heart beats a little faster, a slow pulsing warning trickling down your spine. 

There was only one person that could’ve potentially knew you location but… “That's not possible..” He wasn’t even around. Three. Little Knocks and a deep vibrato calls through from the other side of the door as you press your ear to it. “Kitty.” it speaks breathlessly. You gasp.

Gojo Satoru.

Spider-man.

You’ve faced him more times than you would ever care to admit, crossing paths in alleys and on rooftops. His mask hiding that arrogant smirk while you throw all your skill and wit at him. And he always beats you. Always. It’s absolutely infuriating—because you know what’s beneath that mask, you know the real Gojo. The real Satoru. He’s never just the hero, the do-gooder Spider-Man. 

He’s always something more, something... dangerous.

He’s the man who’s spent more time in your thoughts than you care to admit. But tonight? Something’s off. You’re not sure what it is, but the knock—three solid raps on the door—feels too urgent. Too desperate.

You try to ignore it. Pretend like you didn't hear it. But your instincts won't let you. His heavy presence sitting on the other side, waiting patiently. The air was heavy with uncertainty and pain. Do not open this fucking door. You reprimand yourself. You don’t owe him anything. He’s your enemy. Your rival. You don’t have to deal with him. 

But again, the knock comes. Three more taps, more frantic this time. Something inside of you shifts. Maybe it’s the way it feels like he’s not just knocking for the hell of it—maybe it’s the way it sounds like he’s reaching out for something, or someone, in a way that makes your gut twist.

You move before you can think it through, your hand already turning the doorknob before you even realize what you’re doing. You swing the door open, and there he is. Your Spider-Man. But not the confident, invincible hero you’re used to seeing.

His normally spiky white hair is matted down with blood, a trail of crimson streaking down his face, mixing with the dirt and grime from the streets. His iconic suit—the one that’s almost always perfect—is torn, shredded in places, as if he’s been through hell. His mask is gone, revealing a face twisted in pain, lips parted with shallow breaths.

He stumbles forward as the door swings open, barely managing to keep himself upright, and you catch a glimpse of the raw vulnerability in his eyes before he speaks. 

"I didn’t know where else to go."

You should be angry. You should slam the door in his face, tell him to go crawl back to whatever hero group he’s part of and leave you out of it. You should remind yourself that you’ve spent years as Black Cat, battling against him, using your every ounce of skill to outsmart him, outmaneuver him, to get ahead.

But instead, you’re frozen. 

You stare at him for a moment, processing the sight of Spider-Man broken, desperate for help, standing on your doorstep. The man who’s always made you feel inferior, who’s always been one step ahead, now crumbling in front of you as though you’re his last hope.

Your thoughts clash. You can’t help him. You shouldn’t help him. He’s your enemy. You know his secret identity, and he knows yours. Every time you’ve crossed paths, it’s been a battle of wits, a dangerous dance, one that always ends in defeat for you. You’re Black Cat. He’s Spider-Man. The line is drawn in blood.

But there’s something in his eyes that makes the usual anger and frustration dissolve into something... softer. Maybe it’s the way his shoulders are slumped, or the weakness in his voice. The vulnerability that you’d never thought he had. He takes a hesitant step forward, and you can’t help but instinctively step aside, making way for him to enter. You hate yourself for it. You shouldn’t do this.

He stumbles past you, falling to one knee as soon as he’s inside, his breath ragged and shallow. You watch him, heart racing for reasons you can’t understand.

“Shit, Gojo,” you mutter, your voice catching in your throat as you kneel beside him, almost against your will. “What happened to you?”

“I—” He hisses through gritted teeth, clearly struggling to stay conscious. “I didn’t... I didn’t think I’d make it. Thought it was the end this time. They got to me... some of the others—" He winces, his hand instinctively clutching at his side where a deep gash bleeds through his suit. 

You feel a sharp pang in your chest, but you push it down.

“Stop talking, Gojo.” You grab his arm, helping him upright, guiding him toward the couch. “You’re bleeding all over my floor.”

He laughs weakly, eyes glazed with pain. “You’re not exactly a hero, pretty kitty. You’re not supposed to care.”

The words cut deeper than you expect, because they’re right. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t be helping him. You should be pushing him out the door and leaving him to fend for himself. And yet, here you are. Tending to him like he’s not the person who’s ruined your plans for years.

You pull his torn suit away from his wound, your hands brushing his skin with surprising tenderness as you assess the injury. “Who did this to you?” you ask, your voice low, cold. “Tell me, so I can make them pay.”

He lets out a ragged breath, eyes flickering with confusion. “Awe kitty. Sounds like you’re really starting to like me.”

You don’t look up, focusing on the wound as you start applying pressure to stop the bleeding. “I don’t. I’m going to kill them for making sure you come here and bleed out on my couch.”

His chuckle is weak, but there’s something behind it, a thread of something you can’t name. It feels too intimate. Too... real.

For a long moment, the two of you sit in silence, the only sounds the faint rustling of fabric, the steady drip of blood onto your carpet, and the quiet, rhythmic breaths coming from his chest. You work in silence, knowing that every second you spend here is a second you’re walking a thin line—between enemy and ally, between Black Cat and Spider-Man. The distance between you, the walls you’ve built over the years, feels like it’s dissolving as you stare at him, seeing the man behind the mask in a way you never have before. It’s complicated. Dangerous. And yet, you can’t seem to make yourself walk away.

You should hate him. But... you don’t.

Instead, you just finish what you’re doing, your fingers trembling ever so slightly as you secure the bandages around his torso, your breath catching when your skin touches his. “Thanks,” he says, his voice strained but grateful. You don’t respond right away. You just... breathe. “You’re welcome,” you finally murmur, and the weight of that phrase settles between you, leaving the question hanging in the air: What happens now?

But for now, it’s enough to simply exist in this strange space between hero and villain.

Just for tonight.

[utilitycaster]

A couple things before I do this as I said I would here

I’ve decided it’s more effective in the long term to bring up a handful of people than everyone who’s ever been obnoxious, mostly to maintain ongoing leverage, ie, maybe if people leave me alone they can get away with their lower-key shitty behavior, and if people don’t, then they won’t.

Do not harass nor send hate to the people I've mentioned; take the high ground. Blocking, vagueing and openly going “what the fuck is wrong with that guy (gn)” however is chill, but I won’t be taking anons personally that are pile-ons on these people because that is not the point of this exercise.

Similarly I just delete anon hate or post it if I have a funny enough response for it but it won’t elicit this kind of thing for various reasons I don’t care to get into right now.

If my good opinion is important to you, really, the quickest way to lose it is to treat me expressing my own opinions on my blog as a personal attack on you. I wasn’t specifically judging you until you decided I was; now, I will ruin your day or week and I won’t feel sorry.

Now, I’m going to be honest. The reason I haven’t done this earlier despite the shit I and many others have waded through all campaign is that the vast majority of people who engage in harassment, hate, or “how dare you exist and have opinions that aren’t mine, don’t you know the world revolves around me” will then immediately make a post like this, such as the loser who led to this: (rest below the cut)

source

To be clear I do hope they get whatever presumably important medical procedure this is and I too am in opposition to transphobia on an active political level, however, if you take your own shit out on me, a random woman on the internet, I will continue to fight for what I believe to be your fundamental human rights like gender expression and healthcare but there is no right you have that prevents me from calling you a stupid thin-skinned loser and that I feel sorry for anyone who has the misfortune to love you as I suspect you’re incapable of truly returning it, and also your blorbo still sucks. This has been: if you attempt to treat me even slightly like your punching bag, I punch back.

With that in mind let’s go to the people I’m talking about today. If you're not into this, skip the cut.

I think it goes without saying that warrior/inrecovery was an embarrassing blight on this fandom and imo/dna shippers’ steadfast laxity in taking out the trash is yet another reason why this ship ain’t it chief. I’m posting all of the aliases under which they attacked me and others, but they flamed out during the Laudna addiction metaphor and hopefully got help, though as you can see their blog for the past like, decade, is them attacking people over femslash ships, so idk if it’s gonna stick, pals. Anyway, they have a distinctive style so hopefully if they ever rear their ugly head again I’ll be able to get and post an IP address. I did have some suspicions about Tulsa OK but they are not sufficiently founded. Anyway: you can also find them under tlb/wc (they use that one to make death threats); thatguy/10592; clearcowboy/angel; screechingalpha/nightmare; and holysoul/enthusiast, all of which are still up and have the evidence as of posting

Honorable mention to the person who called me a hypocrite for checks notes liking callowmoore more than Imo/dna (series of asks from November 11th, 2023 in which they harassed not just me but many people who had simply interacted with my posts). I have my suspicions as to who it was [noted tar pit from Westphalia, Germany absintheheartbeat, who I also think sent this Dorym ask] but as I have no proof that’s really all there is. While we’re talking about generic tar pits disconnectedkat is a discourse blog that is just generally a piece of shit and is one of those people who clutches pearls about HOW DARE YOU TRY TO WIN AT FANDOM WITH LEFTIST CAUSES ignoring the big elephant in the room of “countless C3 fans lecturing incompetently about this being a revolutionary anticolonialist narrative and how we’re just status quo loving conservatives and then crying when we point out that they are being shitty in real life.” If you are one of those people reading this and finding yourself getting huffy, do take a look at the people mentioned throughout this and ask yourself: are you okay with them? Because if so, then your issue isn’t “it’s mean to call people stupid and attack them on a moral basis”; your issue is “it’s mean to call me stupid”, and you are part of the problem, and, moreover, I am in your walls.

Theshepardshuffle deactivated but I do want to point them out here just to note that I have in fact suffered more than Job and been more steadfast than any US Marine at the hands of imo/dna shippers for the sin of saying “this ship isn’t very good.” I’d also want to point out that they are why I started checking on people I’ve blocked. See, this is a side blog, so if you block me I cannot interact with you, but I can still see you, and our buddy shep joined tumblr, blocked me, and then posted discourse about me constantly not realizing I could literally see it (and to be clear. I know people I have blocked can see this. I hope they do.)

Anyway, the main event: let’s talk about noted racist idiot hecate astralley/wright (main blog bone/heat), to my knowledge a white American cultural Christian, seen here (archive link if they delete it) mocking someone who found Bells Hells’ behavior justifyingly reminiscent of a conquering colonialist army as their family experienced, and horrifying for it (note: this mention is made with everypigeondeserveslove’s knowledge and permission; they are well aware of this bullshit). Hecate decided it was a good time to be a truly unfeeling piece of shit about this in the service of checks notes convincing people that Bells Hells was an anticolonialist narrative. They did, to be fair, just start reading Wretched of the Earth, so they do know who they’re talking over. I mean about. They also accused me of, when I pointed out this article’s discussion of history and whether it was written by the victors, Godwin’s law, which is not really what that means (saying ‘this phrase has its origins in a lot of hateful groups who used it to evade their responsibility in historical events, and also even if history is written by the victors, that doesn’t mean every alternate viewpoint is automatically wrong’ is simply factual), then turned around and claimed, in a truly stunningly insolent case of putting words in someone’s mouths, that criticism of Imogen and Laudna on the basis of their unkind actions was akin to calling them degenerates (archive)to the point that people were confused. This is an ongoing pattern with that circle; you’ll see it with cringefae/compilation too of just. Making shit up. 

What you need to know about them is in the end they’re mostly just a hypocrite and a loser. They’re really into 9/11 jokes, which to be clear I’m not personally squeamish about, but I also don’t go around screaming about how cruel the fandom is to Aeor, a city that is entirely pretend, while joking about real-life civilian deaths. Absolutely terminal case of caring more about pretend people than real ones. As for the idiot part, interesting to claim at one point that Orym would be saved by the Wild Mother and should, and this is a direct quote from someone who, again, is only now reading the first book listed the “Notable Theoreticians And Theories” list on the Postcolonialism wikipedia page, that he should “read theory” and then claim to have Gotten It From Hearthdell after spending much of the intervening time, as discussed, arguing for the deaths of the gods. In fact, I recommend looking back through their blog in depth for a combination of tiktok-brained politics, an utter lack of empathy, and Consistently Getting It Wrong And Lying And Pretending They Didn’t. 

Second person is cringefae/compilation. When they’re not throwing tantrums interspersed with gifs of the pink My Little Pony, or throwing different tantrums about Kipperlily Copperkettle, or throwing different tantrums about Essek and Verin Thelyss existing within the narrative, you can find them throwing tantrums about how everyone but them is a bigot, often in the main tag. This has been commented on by the general fandom, and it is notable that even others in their circle often won’t touch their vent posts (also many of said posts directly attack others in their circle, which is funny to me). Now I’ll just keep it very basic: I think what’s going on is that cringefae does not think they are a very good person, deep down, but is trying to project an image of being a very good person, and so they have decided that people in the fandom, of which I was public enemy number one before they seemingly discovered the native text block function, are the Real Bad People, and don’t seem to have the ability to process. Now the thing about cringefae is that if you dislike a character OR like but would enjoy them experiencing some fictional horrors and that character is not Essek Thelyss; the Briarwoods; a character I personally like such as Fjord when they are on the warpath (they actually seem to personally really like Fjord and I think high key hate that I like him because they have basically no consistent identity other than contrarianism; they do not seem to like anything, really, other than possibly the pink My Little Pony); or a white cis straight man that they do not headcanon as not that, then they will call you a bigot. Now: you may notice, with a quick perusal of their blog, that they believe Ludinus Da’leth to be a racist who started a race war, which would imply Essek Thelyss is nonwhite, but they have definitely argued against this as well, and recently argued both in favor of Ludinus having a redemption arc and also that they don’t believe in zero-effort redemption arcs, because again, there is zero logical coherence other than attacking people they don’t like for whatever reason. I don’t even have links; just scroll down their blog for a few minutes and you’ll get the vibe (bad). They too have a tendency to make up a guy and get mad at that guy (and have to clarify they're just making shit up in the notes); possibly to assume the worst of the fandom in order to feel better about themself. And whereas I think astralley/wright might know deep down they're attacking real people to defend pretend people and hoping no one will notice and call them on it, cringefae seems to be genuinely too stupid to understand the concept of "it can be interesting for a story to be tragic." They also tend to frequently insult the positions of people in their circle and conflate everything they don't like into one person; again, horse-immorality (deactivated) was one of the loudest "bor'dor is a dog" people and cringefae liked them and now is like IT'S SUPER RACIST TO SAY BOR'DOR WAS A DOG because again, it's not about any position, it's just about finding some arbitrary scapegoat and attacking them so that you can feel righteous, and in doing so, they become a cesspit of a person.

I think the kindest thing you could say about cringefae is that in their incoherence it all kind of cancels out, and absolutely no one really seems to take them seriously. They seem entirely unaware of the concept of crying wolf and how maybe if you say that a woman who checks notes happens to openly prefer the canon art of Jester, Yasha, and Imogen to fan redesigns, canon art that was checks notes designed by women and checks notes drawn by women is a “soft MRA” you might be wildly irresponsible in your accusations to the point of eroding an ability in the fandom to actually point out misogynistic views (also, hanging out with astrall/eywright does kind of fuck your image as caring about the oppressed). It’s accusations as a tool against the people they’ve decided are The Bad Ones. And really that’s the thing. I know we’re all online here, this is explicitly my fandom sideblog and I try to keep it light on politics not because they’re not vitally important but because I do see Tumblr largely as an escape and not as a news source, but I would bet good money this is someone who doesn’t like, do anything other than post. Anyway, just kind of a stream of nonstop constantly shifting incoherent bile worth a block. One of those cases where you're like "have people...just put up with this person in their fandom spaces forever? why? don't fandoms deserve to not have a missing stair like this?"

[bloomzone]

2025 : #18 THE ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT BURNOUT

i feel exhausted. And I don’t mean like "Oh, I need a nap" exhausted y'all know exhaustion that sits in ur bones that makes even the smallest tasks feel like moving a mountain Even when I do get some rest like sleeping for 8h do breathing techniques I still wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck. And not a small one I'm talking an 18-wheeler, full speed (call it whatever u want) . I was tired all the time yet somehow also restless. I wanted to do something, but I also didn’t want to do anything. I was stuck in this weird, miserable limbo where everything felt pointless, but at the same time, I was stressed about not doing enough. Like, how does that even make sense?And honestly, it got to a point where I wasn’t even living anymore I was just existing. Just floating through days waiting for the next one hoping I’d feel better but never really doing anything about it. Because when you’re that deep in burnout, it’s hard to even believe that you can feel better.

But you can. And I know that sounds cliché as hell but listen to me for a second. If I could drag myself out of that deep, dark hole, you definitely can too. And I’m not saying it’s gonna be easy, but I swear to you, it’s possible.

ᡣ𐭩 sᴛᴇᴘ ᴏɴᴇ: sᴛᴏᴘ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟғ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴀ ғᴀɪʟᴜʀᴇ

If someone talked to you the way you talk to yourself you’d probably wanna fight them Like imagine your younger self sitting right in front of you. If they were struggling, feeling drained, feeling like a failure, would you yell at them to “get their shit together” and call them lazy? No, right? You’d probably comfort them, tell them it’s okay, tell them they don’t have to be perfect.

So why the hell are you so mean to yourself?

Burnout doesn’t happen because you’re weak or lazy but it happens because you’ve been pushing yourself too hard for too long bu experience cuz when I study every single day like NOO stop wake up early,homeworks,school and the same loop go for 1 month I burn out for maybe 15days after (like rn) And let’s be honest, most of us don’t even realize it’s happening until we’re knee-deep in exhaustion. You keep telling yourself, “Oh, I’ll rest once I finish this” or “I just need to push through a little more,” until one day, your body and brain just quit on you.

So the first step? Start being nice to yourself. Start talking to yourself the way you’d talk to a best friend who’s struggling. Because you are not the problem burnout is.

ᡣ𐭩sᴛᴇᴘ ᴛᴡᴏ: ʀᴇsᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪғᴇ ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅs ᴏɴ ɪᴛ (ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ɪᴛ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴅᴏᴇs)

I know resting sounds like the most obvious advice ever, but do you actually do it? Because scrolling on your phone for five hours doesn’t count as rest. Lying in bed while spiraling about everything you should be doing? Also not rest.

Real rest means giving yourself permission to slow down without feeling guilty. It means doing things that actually recharge you so don't force urself to do ur hard tasks like intense workout at 6am saying yes to extra tasks or project ... But say yes to take walks , listening to music, watching a comfort show DO ANYTHING THAT MAKE U HAPPY not everyone have the same (happiness detox) so yeah . And most importantly, it means not punishing yourself for needing a break.Because pooks you’re not a machine. You weren’t built to be productive 24/7. Even your phone needs to be charged, and you’re out here expecting yourself to run on 2% battery every day? Yeah, no wonder you feel like shit.

ᡣ𐭩sᴛᴇᴘ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ: ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴀᴍɴ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ғʀᴏᴍ sᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ

i know. "But I just use it to relax." Do you? Do you really? Because last time u checked, scrolling through Instagram or tiktok for hours and comparing your life to a bunch of people who only post their highlight reels doesn’t exactly scream relaxation.

Social media is draining u .fr u don’t even realize it half the time, but it’s constantly feeding your brain unrealistic expectations. One second you’re watching someone’s “That Girl” morning routine, and the next, you feel like a failure because you don’t wake up at 5 AM to drink matcha and do yoga on a balcony.

And don’t even get me started on doomscrolling. Like, do I need to know every bad thing happening in the world the second I wake up? No. But do I do it anyway? Also yes. And then I wonder why I feel like shit before my day even starts.

So hear me out pookie log off. Even for just a day. Delete the apps if you have to limit time . Go touch some grass. Read a book. Hell stare at the ceiling if you want. Just give your brain a break from the constant noise. Trust me, you’ll feel a million times lighter.

ᡣ𐭩sᴛᴇᴘ ғᴏᴜʀ: sᴛᴏᴘ ᴍᴇᴀsᴜʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛʏ

I used to think that if I wasn’t being productive, I wasn’t worth anything. Like, if I wasn’t working, studying, or doing something “useful,” I was just wasting my life. And if I had a day where I didn’t get anything done? the self-hate would kick in.

But fr your value is not based on how much you do. You are not just a machine made to produce work and complete tasks. You are a human being who deserves to exist without constantly proving yourself.

Think about it .. do you judge your friends based on how productive they are? Do you stop loving someone just because they took a lazy day? No. So why do you do it to yourself?Taking a break doesn’t make you a failure. Resting doesn’t make you lazy. And slowing down doesn’t mean you’re falling behind. Sometimes, the most productive thing you can do is give yourself space to breathe.

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛʜᴇ 𝟷-ʜᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇᴛʜᴏᴅ: ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟɪғᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ʙᴜʀɴᴏᴜᴛ

U feel exhausted, unmotivated, and even simple tasks feel like a challenge. You know you need to do something, but damn you can’t even bring yourself to move. I get it.

So here’s the deal We’re not fixing your whole life in one day buuuut Instead, we’re using the 1-Hour Method—because when you’re burnt out, committing to an entire day of productivity feels impossible. But one hour? That’s doable.

Step 1: The One-Hour Reset

You don’t need to “fix” everything. Just commit to one hour of doing something that will make you feel 1% better. That’s it.

⏳ The Rules:

Set a timer for 60 minutes.

Pick 2-3 small things that will make you feel lighter.

Do them with zero pressure. Imperfect action > no action.

Examples:

⏰ Minute 0-10: Get out of bed. Wash your face. Brush your teeth. You don’t need a full “that girl” routine, just refresh yourself.

⏰ Minute 10-20: Make your space 5% cleaner. Not a full deep clean—just clear the trash, fold a blanket, or open the window. Small changes, big difference.

⏰ Minute 20-40: Do one small productive task—answer an email, write one sentence of an essay, organize one folder. Just something that reminds you that you can do things.

⏰ Minute 40-60: Move your body. Stretch, walk around, dance to a song—anything to shake off the mental fog.

One hour down, and I guarantee you’ll feel even slightly better than before.

Step 2: The 1-Hour Rule for Self-Comparison

Nothing drains your energy more than constantly feeling behind in life. Comparing yourself to others? Yeah, that’s a fast track to burnout.But the people u’re comparing yourself to? They have bad days too. They feel lost too. They struggle too. You just don’t see it.

So for the next hour try this:

Write down 3 things you’ve accomplished last days or months No matter how small. Maybe you learned a new skill, took care of yourself on a rough day, or simply kept going when you wanted to quit. That counts.

Unfollow or mute accounts that make you feel “less than.” If it doesn’t inspire you, it’s draining you Simple.

Shift your mindset. Instead of “Why am I not there yet?” ask “How can I grow at my own pace?”

You’re doing better than you think. You don’t need to rush. Your journey is yours.

Step 3: The 1-Hour Rule for Overwhelm

Burnout often comes from having too much on your plate. So, instead of drowning in to-do lists, use this:

→ Pick 1 hour a day to focus on just ONE thing. No multitasking. No distractions. Just one task that actually matters.When you train your brain to handle things one at a time, everything feels less overwhelming.

You don’t have to “get your life together” overnight. You just have to start.

ᡣ𐭩sᴛᴇᴘ ғɪᴠᴇ: ғɪɴᴅ ᴊᴏʏ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ (ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴍᴀʟʟᴇsᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢs)

I know what you’re thinking “ I don’t even remember what joy feels like.” And I get it. When you’re burnt out, everything feels dull, like life lost its color.But you can bring it back. And no, I’m not saying you need to go on some self-discovery journey. Sometimes, it starts with the smallest things listening to a song you used to love, rewatching a movie that made you happy, making a dumb inside joke with a friend, buying yourself a little treat just because , go through ur old photos, remember ur high grades or whatever makes u joyful and full of love

Joy isn’t always some big Sometimes it’s just a tiny moment that reminds you life isn’t all stress and exhaustion.And the more you find those small moments, the more you start to feel alive again.

ᡣ𐭩 ʟᴀsᴛ sᴛᴇᴘ : ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ, ɪ sᴡᴇᴀʀ

If you’re reading this and thinking, “Damn, I don’t even know where to start,” that’s okay. Just start small. Start with one thing whether it’s being kinder to yourself, taking an actual rest day, stepping away from social media, or just reminding yourself that burnout does not define you.Because you will get through this. You’re stronger than you think. And one day, you’re gonna look back at this version of yourself and be so damn proud that you kept going.

Until then? Take it one step at a time or even an hour at the time be gentle with yourself pookie and remember: you are not alone in this.

@bloomzone