#because it hasn't been published yet.

[askfallenroyalty]

[both img and link have ids]

New AFR Redraw Update!

[teenycabb]

🌹 🌹 🌹

*claps excitedly* ooh yay. so, i know the prompt is a rose for a single sentence, but i'm gonna throw in a bonus couple sentences because i can.

this is from an unfinished Luke/Mara one-shot that i have been meaning to finish, but you know, life. the prompt/trope that inspired this was "accidental marriage".

___

“Mara, I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, it’s not likely that Magistrate Viijaamn isn’t going to spread my blunder across the galaxy. He’s not the type.”

“‘Not the type,’” Mara mocked. “It doesn’t matter if he’s not the type. He’ll contact someone in the New Republic, who will share it with someone, who will then share it with someone else, and before you know it, your sister is inviting me to Life Day parties, and Karrde will be on my ass about keeping this supposed marriage hidden from him. Not for keeping secrets mind you, but because I deprived him of the opportunity to give a truly detestable wedding gift.”

[elytrafemme]

grief is a really strange thing, isn’t it. like. i’ve spent the past two years grieving the death of someone only to find out that they aren’t dead, but they aren’t alive either. i don’t know if it’s possible to grieve something that has never existed at all, because grief naturally proceeds from betrayal but is it even possible to feel betrayed by something when what betrayed you isn’t there? how far can we conceptualize the abstract, and even love it, without finding yourself slipping away from what reality truly is? i only know grief as this angry, lasting piece of my life that even the possibility that i’m grieving in a way that feels like relief is strange. because you would think that it is reversed, that relief is what you seek out when you are in the process of grief, but i don’t think that is what i’m feeling right now. there is a weight that has been on my chest for two years that has been lifted, and with that, i am forever mourning.

[adhd-coyote]

Raise your hand if you've ever written a rarepair for a fic, become obsessed with that rarepair, and then spend several weeks in anguish because there's little to no content, fan or otherwise, for that rarepair

If it wasn't clear, I'm talking about myself

Save me

[manjiroscum]

n knee way

[ariaste]

Hello, published author here who just noticed a thing in the s3 teaser that may help us to determine the timeline:

This is not an ARC. ARCs, aka "Advance Review Copies" or "Advance Reader Copies" are sent out in advance of the publication of a book in order for magazines/newspapers/whoever (and these days, online book influencers) to review it, and for booksellers to have a chance to read it so they can order copies for their store and hand-sell it better on publication day. ARCs usually go out around 3-4 months before publication.

ARCs are also sometimes called "advance uncorrected proofs" because they usually haven't been through copyedits yet (aka typo-finding and punctuation-checking). ARCs are always clearly marked on the front cover as what they are, to make it harder for people to sell them online and so that bookstores don't accidentally put them out as merchandise.

We know that the IWTV team knows this becaaaaause, from the end of s2e8:

*THAT'S* an ARC. You can see how it says so all over, both "advance reader's copy" and "advance uncorrected proof". It's also a paperback (as ARCs usually are) rather than the hardback that Lestat is holding -- all very typical and correct.

And here is a finished copy. And we know exactly how far after publication it is, because:

Daniel also gives a shout out to a "book fair" and Atlanta, which I take to mean the Decatur Book Festival, which takes place in October. So that means the book would have been published in June -- nice timing! Get all that good Pride Month promo for this gay-ass vampire memoir. So far we are nailing the Expected Publishing Industry Timeline And Behaviors.

So the only thing I can tell you definitively about what this means is that Louis got that ARC probably in February, aka around eight fucking months ago at the end of s2, and still hasn't even skimmed it, and that is HILARIOUS of him. not a shred of guilt on him about it either. (if you get a print ARC (as opposed to an e-ARC) and you don't even read it, it is polite to be a little embarrassed about that. not my personal best friend Louis DPDL tho.)

As for whether Daniel is a vampire during the s3 trailer -- the thing we are all clamoring to know -- I have two possible ways the timeline could be working, given the publishing industry stuff:

OPTION 1: Louis leaves Dubai -> Goes to New Orleans for Depression Hovel reunion, refuses to get back together with Lestat -> Lestat "I will woo him back with a Song, just like last time. ok that didn't work I'LL GO BIGGER. that didn't work. BIGGER" Lioncourt starts his rockstar career as a Gotta Get My Man Back tantrum -> Daniel finishes the manuscript, delivers it to his publisher, and sends an ARC to Louis (February) -> Book is published, bestseller (June) -> Daniel (who was turned at some unknown point) goes on TV about it (October) -> famous currently-bestselling journalist gets in touch with up-and-coming rockstar to get his side of the story -> Lestat has a mental breakdown on camera about how Louis is not even paying attention to all the albums he is recording, hurtful, tragic, heartbreaking

or

OPTION 2: Daniel DEFINITELY got out of Dubai alive -> [all of the above up to "Daniel sends an ARC to Louis"] -> book is getting great reviews -> already-famous Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist gets in contact with up-and-coming rockstar to do the sequel even before the book is out (slightly odd publishing choice but when you have two Pulitzers, the rules are different, so it's not implausible) -> Daniel gets his finished copies of the book (which brings us to probably May at the earliest; you don't usually get your finished copies more than a month in advance) and has one on set for interviewing Lestat -> Lestat has his sexy little rockstar breakdown on camera -> Daniel is human for interviewing Lestat but gets turned by Armand somewhere in the five-month span between finished copies arriving in May and his TV interview in October.

Option 1 gives the show writers a little more timeline wiggle room, which can be useful, but Option 2 is more Dramatic and builds extra tension if Daniel is trying to do this interview while not having a good time with his Parkinson's. Either way Louis is just out here not answering anybody's phone calls or reading the lovely ARC he was so thoughtfully sent bc he's busy redecorating his house.

THAT SAID, please take all of this with a grain of salt, i have been losing my mind over the s3 trailer and i may have missed something

this has been your war correspondent a report from the publishing industry. thank you and goodnight

[aroaceleovaldez]

okay last one for the night but. honestly i really hate how the franchise has been using loyalty to Rick as a shield for so long. If Rick was involved in a project or not doesn't matter, especially not anymore.

ReadRiordan and the publishing for the franchise has been using this tactic for ages - they obscure if any writing related to the series wasn't written by Rick unless it's special circumstances. It's near impossible to find out who the ghostwriters are (Stephanie True Peters and Mary-Jane Knight). TSATS was promoted as the first time we got a non-Riordan (Rick or Haley) author working on one of the companion novels despite having seven already existing ghostwritten books in the series. The only reason Mark Oshiro was emphasized so heavily for TSATS was because they also work as a sensitivity reader for topics such as queer identity, and Rick had received backlash in the past for being a Straight Cis Old White Guy repeatedly falling into bad habits (that he hasn't broken out of) with certain characterizations that he kept doubling-down on or retconning into oblivion. The show emphasizes that Rick was involved, but the LA Times article brings into question exactly how much he was involved, and it doesn't even really matter either way. The ReadRiordan site actively avoids putting any writing credits on their articles (or art credits...) or anywhere on their site.

Practically the entire fandom unanimously agrees the musical - which had zero involvement from Rick - is the best adaptation of the series so far, including the TV show. Some of the best writing to come out of the series recently was the stuff ghostwritten by Stephanie True Peters (Camp Half-Blood Confidential, Camp Jupiter Classified, Nine from the Nine Worlds, etc). And yet when promotional stuff is posted about CHB:C, there's clearly coded language used to hide the fact that Rick himself didn't write it. Yes, that's how ghostwriters work, but at this point we should really stop pretending "Rick Riordan" isn't just a pen name for a group of authors like "Erin Hunter" and that Rick is actually writing everything in the series. I can easily look up and see which Animorphs books were ghostwritten, and who those authors were. I can find every "Erin Hunter" easily listed on official sites. And yet most people don't even know the Riordanverse franchise has ghostwriters at all.

And the franchise is still trying to use the "Tio/Uncle Rick" stuff. Author loyalty and marketing parasocial relationships isn't going to save the franchise when the author himself can't hold up his own original themes or even keep basic series bible details straight, and especially not if the editors are barely if at all doing their job. And please at least get a goddamn series bible by this point.

[breelandwalker]

Why is Wicca not a preferred way of practice? I’ve read a couple of posts, and Wicca isn’t favored.

Moral puritanism and performative outrage, plain and simple. There's nothing inherently wrong with Wicca or Wiccans. Some people in the community just aren't doing the work and seem to think that decolonizing our thinking begins and ends with screaming BOYCOTT at anything they deem even remotely reprehensible.

Let's do some of the work and dig a little deeper, shall we?

The main complaint is that Wicca started with people who had problematic worldviews and has had some growing pains and issues with racism, sexism, cultural appropriation, and bad actors in the community as it has evolved, reaching into the present day.

But here's the thing - SHOW ME A RELIGION THAT DOESN'T HAVE THESE PROBLEMS SOMEWHERE IN ITS' HISTORY OR CURRENT CULTURE. GO AHEAD, I'LL WAIT.

It's neither fair nor reasonable to judge a religion based on its' beginnings, or to dismiss the ability of a community to grow and evolve over time, or to pretend that the modern witchcraft movement doesn't owe a large part of its' existence to Wicca. Like it or not, if it weren't for Wiccans, we wouldn't have the kind of organization or recognition that we do, nor would we have had certain landmark legal cases that led to pagans being able to claim the protection of law against religious discrimination in the States.

(And because someone somewhere is going to demand the encyclopedia answer - This is not to discount the contributions of other groups, but the historical fact remains that the people responsible for the foundations of Wicca kickstarted the movement in the UK and subsequent practitioners brought it into public view in a positive light during the counterculture movements of the 1950s and 1960s. And it was Wicca that was first pagan religion in the US to be recognized and therefore included under the constitutional guarantee of religious freedom. This does not change the CULTURAL AND SOCIETAL response to witchcraft or paganism, or the problems that witches and pagans still face in other places, only the presence of civil rights that were not there before. And that has, in fact, contributed to an increase in wider normalization and acceptance. We may not owe EVERYTHING to Wicca and Wiccans, but we would not be where we are as a movement or a community without them.)

Not to mention, Wicca hasn't even been around for a whole century yet and already it's being judged like it has the same kind of cultural and political clout that, oh say, Christianity does in much of the Western world. And it's no coincidence that a good number of the criticisms leveled at Wiccans are the same ones flung at Christians.

Wicca DOES have a strong influence on modern witchcraft, because Wicca and Wiccans were such a big part of the foundation of the movement. Furthermore, many of the published works viewed as standard beginner texts were written by Wiccans or heavily influenced by Wiccan ideas and concepts. Admittedly, there was a tendency for quite some time to think of Wicca and Wiccan tenets as the default for modern witchcraft, and now that we're moving away from that and discovering just how much of our thinking relies on that framework and the ideas present within it, there's backlash happening.

It's important to try and decolonize your thinking as much as possible when it comes to witchcraft. But that involves more work and more effort than just pointing fingers and broadly condemning anything remotely problematic or anything that's ever been touched or influenced by people whose moral and ethical codes don't pass muster under a modern lens. We cannot and should not expect people from 50+ years ago to toe the line when people living today can't even do so reliably.

So to wrap it all up - there's nothing wrong with Wicca and there's nothing wrong with being Wiccan. We are none of us completely unproblematic and until we address the fact that issues with racism, sexism, manipulation, cultural appropriation, and so forth exist in MANY parts of the modern witchcraft and pagan community, we don't get to tar and feather any one group. A bit of critical thinking and self-reflection, and a great deal of Knowing Our Own History, is the key to moving forward here.

Because until the people voicing these complaints most loudly can realize the head-splitting irony of condemning Wicca in one breath and celebrating the Wheel of the Year or venerating a Maiden-Mother-Crone-model goddess in the next, we're not actually getting anywhere.

Anyway, I hope this helps to answer some of your questions. For more information, I highly recommend reading Margot Adler's "Drawing Down The Moon" and Ronald Hutton's "Triumph of the Moon" for a more comprehensive overview of the history of the modern witchcraft movement. Both are written from an outside scholar's perspective and are presented as research rather than rhetoric. Part of knowing where we are and deciding where to go next is knowing where we started and where we've been, after all.

[inkskinned]

we really didn't get violent enough about roe v wade being overturned. but and also - you're one person. you donated money. you went to the protest. you did what you could, which felt like doing basically nothing.

recently some big paper published an op ed (why did you even read it? you knew you'd get upset) about how it's gross that men can't find a partner because women don't want to suffer bad dates - they'd rather go to yoga class. you actually laughed - well, yeah! and it was funny until it wasn't, because something about it made your stomach churn. this is the thing, you want to say, but you don't have the words for what the thing is. just that men being bad at dating is your fault.

the thing is also on instagram. you don't know if it's a setting or algorithm thing, but these days, the most hurtful comments always seem to skim the top. simple reaction is don't read the comments but - you're human, so you're curious. you want to respond to every weird, sanctimonious one with replaying something a million times to find evidence they're lying about their gender is literally sexual harassment you shouldn't be proud of this or maybe get a fucking life you absolute dickhead but you've gotten into enough of these battles as a kid. nothing ever resolves. it just makes you upset.

your father was radicalized. the thing is - you go to therapy about it and yet never find the words for exactly the way that one hurts.

the other day your sister predicted that a commercial that aired during the superbowl was going to cause trouble. you wanted her to be wrong about that. this morning, while scrolling, you saw someone post exactly that - he got so angry i had to leave. it was terrifying. it reminds you, however bleakly: there are entire swathes of people who do not worry about domestic violence. who have no idea why you would put keys into your fist. who do not understand "it's better to be rude than dead." who have never googled am i being gaslit.

the other day you found out there's a bill that would make it so if you have a uterus and are braindead, you could fulfil your cattle purpose and carry a fetus to term. you think about the fact that the leading cause of death for pregnant people is murder. you think about ongoing and informed consent. you think about how, out of fear, if your ex boyfriend had pressured you, you absolutely would have said yes to it. in the comments, you write there is no way that these documents wouldn't be immediately forged. this is going to be misused. and then just delete it, sighing. get up and go to work.

the other day they overturned roe v wade. we weren't nearly violent enough about it. somewhere, a clock is ticking. it's been ticking a long time. you want to say it's time, but it's been time for a while, hasn't it.

[dduane]

The first part of that last message got me curious -- given how long-running of a series YW is, how do you keep track of All That when writing a new entry? Copious amounts of notes? Re-reading the entire series backlog? Keeping a fully-functioning simulation of the entire YW universe running in your head with perfect accuracy? (only mostly joking with that last one)

And somewhat-relatedly, did you have any plan or idea when you started for how long YW would run? Or was it more of a "I'll keep writing about this universe until it stops churning out ideas," type of thing and that point just (very thankfully!) hasn't happened yet? I know for per-book purposes you're a proponent of outlining (I swear I'll try writing to one one day Q_Q) but do you also apply that to a series as a whole?

Let me take this backwards, as it may make more sense that way.

Particularly when doing series work, outlining is more vital than usual for me. (Which is saying a lot.) Some of the most basic reasons for this are laid out over here.

The simplest one, though, for series outlining, is logistical. Without having achieved a sense well in advance of what events (or effects of events) are going to be most formative or important (or both) for the characters in a series, you won't have allowed yourself time to think about them enough. And to fail to spend enough time on this is to cheat both yourself and the books in the series. (And your readership.)

If you're smart, you learn very early on that attempting to save time by shortchanging or omitting the planning stages is potentially profoundly destructive. You need to have a plan... and you need not to let anyone make you ashamed of needing one. Putting off your detailed character-interaction and event planning in the name of some magically occurring fit of inspiration, or theoretical bid toward creative spontaneity, will serve neither you nor your creation. You can throw "Hail Mary" passes all you like... but you'd better be damn sure there'll be someone in the end zone to receive. ...If not Herself.

...And just in case you're worried, your initial plans can be really loose! They don't have to jump out of your head full-formed like some local war goddess after somebody hits her dad in the head with an axe. The plan for the Middle Kingdoms books—after The Door Into Fire dumped me gasping by the side of the road and left me a few minutes to breathe—was nothing more than "Now that his boyfriend's finally upped the ante beyond all expectations, Freelorn finally gets off his feckless Would-Be Robin Hood shit and gets to work becoming king." I then spent the next decade thinking purposefully about how that was going to happen, and writing the second book in the series—while sufficiently working out the fine details of the climax (and beyond) to then be able to get busy executing the third book. Even though there was a change of publishers between the beginning of that series and the end of it, the basic dead-simple MK plan from a very early stage quickly became detailed and robust enough (because the series was short enough) to withstand the change. Not least because I'd been thinking about it in a general way since the early 1970s... and continue to do so, pretty much daily. The Door Into Starlight is still hanging fire...

YW has been a different story—quite literally—because the only plan extant at the start of things was, "Everybody slowly gets older (and slowly closer)." I always knew there were going to be more than the original three: there was way too much interesting ground to cover to just stop with those. (I've never yet succeeded in finding out who started the rumor that there were only going to be three books. Over time it's become one of those things you just shrug at and move on.)

(Adding a break here, because this does go on a bit. Caution: contains publishing skullduggery, plans ganging aft agley, approximate word counts, software recommendations, and value judgments.)

("Now wait just one minute. 'Feckless would-be Robin Hood shit'? Can she just say that??")

The circumstances surrounding the writing of Deep Wizardry and High Wizardry, though, made it plain to me that I was not going to be at the then-publisher (Dell) all that much longer. By the time HW came out, they were already starting to pull away from midlist books and authors in order to spend that part of the budget on best-sellers... so it became plain to me that attempting to construct a long arc with/at that publisher would have been folly. Because who could be sure what was going to happen next, and blow everything I'd built to smithereens?

Sure enough, when I finished A Wizard Abroad, Dell declined to pick it up (even though the books had been selling steadily and increasingly strongly in paperback). This annoying validation of my concerns—and my shiny new agent's—made it plain to me that further books in the series were going to need to be thematically driven, rather than mostly character-event-driven, and almost entirely capable of being taken as standalones. Any long arc was going to have to be one that could be suspended, or reworked, with little warning. Because what happens to you once, in publishing, doesn't at all mean you're immune to it after that.

It wasn't until the YW books were picked up by Harcourt in the mid-90s, with a strong editorial team behind them, that I felt confident enough to start building longer-arc material into the books, beginning with the arc that kicks off in The Wizard's Dilemma and more or less completes in Wizard's Holiday and Wizards At War. There is a secondary (and I assume, generally less obvious) arc that picks up material still unhandled in the "War Arc," and deals with it in A Wizard of Mars and Games Wizards Play. But plans for those stories' management were already nailed down in electrons as soon as 2001, because I had made some early choices about where I was going with the characters and their situations; and as new books came out, my editors agreed with me that the choices had been sound, and should remain.

I'll say this only because I've said it before: there is one piece of business planted in So You Want To Be A Wizard that has never been explicitly dealt with/followed up on in any of the books, and is at the core of YW #11. For the moment, it's safest merely to say that I do not willingly leave loose ends hanging. Beyond that, I'll leave you all to your own deductions.

...Now. How do I keep track of all this stuff? (The urge to mutter "With great difficulty" and run off into the wings is strong. But never mind.) :)

The question's fair, as there's a million-plus words' worth of it in the series at the moment. ...Mostly my guide remains the books themselves, in ebook form (in their NME versions. If I need to, I refer back to the traditionally published versions as necessary). I normally have a general memory of where a given event happens or where a given issue comes up for handling. I then pull that copy of the ebook(s) in question, and do a search on various useful target phrases until I find what I'm after, and where it leads.

For new work, or stuff not yet committed to what passes for canon, I do have lots of notes. Some of them are actually out in public, at the currently-being-revised Errantry Concordance (though they're not in any form that anyone but me will recognize). Others are tucked away in the notes sections of pertinent Scrivener files—this being one of the most valuable things about Scrivener, as far as I'm concerned: the ability to store project notes in the project itself as opposed to "all over the damn place." Others yet are in my iPad, as either typing or dictation, and get transferred to other files/formats as necessary.

But the very first thing that happens, when a new work comes into train, is an outline. Sometimes a hilariously simple one, sometimes one with more detail in the middle than at the beginning or the end. Doesn't matter what shape it starts in. All notes, scraps, prose chunks, random thoughts, and midnight cogitations, get slotted into place in this until it's ready to be organized and sent off to an editor. And this outline—no matter how fragmentary or how polished—remains ready to hand at all times until I've finished with correcting the book's ARC and am looking at the release date.

And then I zip it up and put it away where I can find it later if I need to... because some other plan, still in the building stages, may need something in that one that never happened, but now has its chance. Because in YW, as everywhere else in my work, it's so often about the things that have always almost happened... until they do.

...Anyway: HTH!

[03jyh23]

🌏⌇atlas┆song mingi

│part of goes to waste the series based on my favourite keshi songs

│listen here

rapper!mingi x non-celebrity!reader

│synopsis: in the heart of bustling seoul, you and mingi shared a luxurious penthouse apartment. despite the grandeur, loneliness consumed you as mingi's skyrocketing fame distanced him from the loving boyfriend you once knew.

│genre: lovers to strangers, angst

│trigger warnings:  heartbreak (obviously), mature language, mention of past trauma and pain

│words: 8.9 k

│playlist: empty box an album by song mingi, tracklist: after hours, too late, killing me (english), wait, paranoid, drunk, lonely heart, empty box (english)

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there! finally, here's the next part of goes to waste series. i had to take some time off after publishing 2soon (check it if you haven't yet), which was a truly personal piece, but now i'm back! atlas is very loosely inspired by the song; it's more about the vibe the song gave me than the actual lyrics. i also changed the original synopsis quite a bit because i honestly didn't feel like sticking with the first version. same as with 2soon, i spent some time creating a playlist, and if you do decide to listen, i hope you enjoy the songs i've chosen. oh! and if you read through my small author notes, then you're lucky because i can finally reveal that both the reaper (jongho) and right here (yeosang) will be published as a mini-series (but only after finishing finding our way back)!

love, monika ♡

i’d be so grateful for a little love – a tagged reblog or comment would truly make my day!

│taglist: @skittyneos │@kyeos4ng │ @vcutparis │@hoeforalbedo

You were sitting on a bed in the bedroom you shared with Mingi in your very own luxurious penthouse apartment in the bustling center of Seoul. It hasn't been long since you moved in here, but the vastness and elegance of the place made you feel even lonelier than ever. Mingi was out, performing at a sold-out arena show, and the glaring reality was that you weren't there to support him. It wasn't that you didn't want to attend; the painful truth was that he simply forgot to invite you—his girlfriend of the last 4 years, someone who had stood by his side through thick and thin. You looked at the floor, your eyes catching the sight of your suitcases and bags packed meticulously with your belongings, ready to move out of this once cherished home. The thing was, you couldn't quite leave without seeing Mingi one last time. Your heart ached at the thought of parting without a final goodbye, and it didn't let you go. You didn't know life without Mingi, and the prospect left you shit scared. The very thought of navigating through your days without his presence was enough to send shivers down your spine. However, you couldn't pretend any longer that Mingi hasn't changed. The boy you once fell in love with, who was caring, attentive, and always made you feel like the center of his universe, seemed to have vanished. In his place was someone distant, preoccupied, and seemingly indifferent to your feelings. You tried to rationalize his behavior, blaming it on the stress of his career and the constant pressure he was under, but deep down, you knew it was more than that. The connection you once shared felt like a distant memory, and the reality of who he had become was impossible to ignore. 

It all started not even a year ago. Mingi's song went viral on the internet, and he gained a massive following in a span of three days. From being an independent artist playing in clubs for maybe a couple of hundred fans, he went straight to signing a contract with a major company, making huge checks and selling out arenas in a span of minutes. The transformation was almost surreal. One day, you were cheering him on from small, dimly lit venues where you could see the sweat on his brow and the fire in his eyes as he performed. The next, he was being whisked away to luxurious studios and high-profile meetings with industry moguls. It felt like you were living in a dream—or a nightmare, depending on the moment. Suddenly, the simplicity of your shared life was replaced by a whirlwind of glitz and glamour. Mingi's phone never stopped buzzing with calls, texts, and notifications. Invitations to exclusive parties, collaborations with big names, and interviews with top media outlets flooded in. While his career skyrocketed, your relationship seemed to plummet into an abyss of neglect and misunderstanding. As he became more entrenched in his new world, you noticed changes in him. The boy who once couldn't wait to spend a quiet night in, watching movies with you was now constantly on the go, his calendar filled with events that didn't include you. The intimate conversations you used to have, were replaced by strained, hurried phone calls and text messages that felt more like obligations than genuine connections. Despite your best efforts to be supportive and understanding, the growing distance between you became an insurmountable chasm. Mingi's success had come at a steep price, and it felt like you were the one paying for it. The man you had known and loved for years was slowly slipping away, replaced by someone who seemed more like a stranger with each passing day. 

The night was getting later, and there was still no sign of Mingi. Maybe he wasn't planning to come back today; maybe he was too busy with his new rapper friends to even care to come back. You couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment and frustration. You glanced at your phone, hoping for a message or a missed call, but there was nothing. Well, it wouldn't be the first time he had left you waiting, feeling like an afterthought in his increasingly busy life. You tried to occupy yourself, turning on the TV and flipping through channels, but nothing could distract you. The boy who once couldn't stand to be away from you was now someone who seemed to have forgotten you existed.  

With every passing minute, the reality of your situation became clearer. Mingi might not come back tonight, tomorrow, or even the day after that. He was out there, living his life, while you were stuck in a place that no longer felt like home. You still vividly remember your first day in this apartment; it was a momentous occasion. Mingi had received his significant check from the tour ticket sales, as well as the royalties, just a week passed since, and you were moving into the luxurious space. The excitement and anticipation were palpable as you both looked forward to starting this new chapter in your lives together. You left your one-bedroom apartment with a tingle of sadness, each corner filled with cherished memories of the life you had built together. However, the excitement and anticipation of creating a new home in a spacious, luxurious penthouse overshadowed any melancholy you felt. You both dreamed of this moment, envisioning a future filled with endless possibilities and new adventures. The thought of decorating the new place, hosting friends, and building new memories brought a sense of joy and hope. It was a new chapter, a fresh start, and despite the nostalgia for your old apartment, the promise of what lay ahead made the transition feel like the beginning of something wonderful. So, you never thought you would be leaving this place like this. Heartbroken. The walls that once echoed with laughter and joy now felt cold and distant. Every corner of the penthouse, which had been a symbol of Mingi’s dreams and aspirations, now seemed to mock your pain. The spacious rooms that once brought a sense of freedom now felt like a labyrinth of sorrow. You recalled the countless evenings spent planning your future together, the whispered promises of forever, and the dreams you had woven into the very fabric of this home. Now, those dreams lay shattered, scattered like fragile pieces of glass. The weight of your decision to leave pressed heavily on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. You never imagined that the place which once brought you so much happiness would be the same place you'd have to walk away from. 

You promised yourself you wouldn't wait longer than 3 AM, and as the hour approached, you picked up all your belongings and took them to the hallway. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of your decision sinking in deeper with every passing second. You glanced once again across the apartment, taking in the memories etched into every corner of the space that once felt like a loving home. With a heavy heart, you left your keys on the kitchen counter. As you put your shoes on, you paused for a moment, feeling the finality of your actions. You were ready to turn off the lights and walk out of the door, the silence of the apartment echoing your own sense of abandonment. Just as you reached for the switch, the doors opened with a soft creak that seemed to reverberate through the entire space. 

There stood Mingi, his face pale and eyes wide with a mixture of shock and disbelief, as if he had seen a ghost. His presence, so unexpected and surreal in that moment, made your heart skip a beat. The silence between you was deafening, filled with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions. For a split second, neither of you moved, as if frozen in time. 

"What is going on?" he asked, his eyes finding your gaze as he swallowed hard. 

You took a deep breath, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I can't do this anymore," you replied, your voice trembling. 

His expression shifted from confusion to concern. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?" 

"I mean us, Mingi. I'm not even a part of your life anymore," you said, tears welling up in your eyes. "I packed my bags. I'm leaving." 

Mingi's eyes widened in shock, and he took a step closer. "Leaving? No baby, you can't just leave." 

You shook your head, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on you. "I deserve more than this. I'm done. We're done," you said, almost out of breath, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow. 

Mingi's face contorted with emotion, his eyes pleading as he reached out to you. "Please, let's talk about this," he said, desperation lacing his voice. 

You looked at him, your heart breaking all over again. "It's too late, Mingi," you responded, trying to keep your resolve strong even as tears streamed down your face. "I'm so sick of pretending everything's alright, that you haven't changed," you continued, your frustration bubbling to the surface. 

Mingi stepped closer, his hands reaching for yours, desperation evident in his voice. "What are you talking about? I'm still the same, I’m still your boyfriend who would do anything for you." 

You took a deep breath, your voice trembling as you confronted him. "Are you even aware my birthday was a week ago and you haven't showed up to the party?" 

Mingi's face fell, a look of guilt and realization washing over him. "I... I didn't know. I'm so sorry," he stammered, but the damage was already done. 

"So no, Mingi, you are not the same. My boyfriend would show up to my birthday party, hell he would organize it himself. And you know what you did that night? You were sitting in a fucking club with your fellow rappers doing God knows what," you spat, the pain in your words cutting through the air. "My boyfriend loved me, he wanted to spend time with me, he cherished me, he would never leave without kissing me and telling me he loves me," you said, your voice cracking. "You are not him." 

Mingi's shoulders slumped, the weight of his actions finally seeming to hit him. "I messed up. I know I did, and I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. 

‘’Sorry is not enough,’ you took a deep breath, your eyes filling with tears. "I'm so sick and tired of justifying your shitty behavior in front of my parents, our friends, and most definitely myself. Every time they ask me where you are or why you're not around, I must come up with excuses. It's exhausting, and honestly, I'm tired of lying for you." 

Mingi's eyes filled with tears, his voice breaking as he whispered, "I never wanted to let you down. I know I've been distant, but I never stopped loving you." 

You shook your head, "You don’t love me, Mingi. Actions speak louder than words, and your actions have clearly shown me where I stand in your life. When was the last time you took me out, huh? When was the last time you asked me how I was doing? When was the last time you made love to me, not just fucked me after your show, huh?" you demanded, each question hitting him like a blow. 

Mingi's face crumpled as he absorbed your words. "I didn't realize... I thought you understood how busy I've been," he mumbled, his voice tinged with regret. 

"Busy? We all have busy lives. But love means making time, no matter what," you said, wiping away your tears. "I can't keep waiting for you to remember that." 

Mingi's tears began to flow freely, his voice barely a whisper. "Please, don't go. I promise I'll change, I'll make things right," he pleaded, but you could see the doubt in his eyes. 

"Since you went viral, you haven't even taken me to your shows, to the afterparties. I don't know your new friends. Do they know about me?" you asked, your voice rising with each word. Mingi's hesitation spoke volumes, and you felt another crack in your already shattered heart. "That's what I thought," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. "If they don't know about me, then maybe you don't want them to. Maybe that's why it's easier for you to forget I exist." 

Mingi's eyes widened, realization dawning on him. "No, it's not like that," he tried to argue, but the conviction in his voice was gone. The silence between you grew heavier, filled with all the things left unsaid over the past months. 

"Tell me honestly, now. You're rapping about fucking bitches and maybe that's really what you're doing in those clubs, huh?" you spat, the accusation hanging heavily in the air. 

Mingi's face paled, his eyes wide with shock and hurt. "How could you even accuse me of that?" he asked, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and pain. "I would never do something like that to you. You mean everything to me." he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a step closer, desperation in his eyes. "I swear, it's not what you think. Those lyrics, they're just part of the persona. They don't mean anything." 

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound echoing through the silent apartment. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? That it's all just an act? Because it doesn't. It just makes me feel like I don't even know who you are anymore," you retorted, your voice trembling with emotion. "You spend all your time with these people, living this life that I'm not a part of. How am I supposed to believe you when you say it's not real?" 

Mingi's shoulders slumped, the weight of your words pressing down on him. "I know I've made mistakes. I know I've been distant, but I never wanted to hurt you. I thought you understood how much pressure I'm under," he said, his voice cracking. 

"Being under pressure doesn't give you the right to treat me like I don't matter," you shot back, wiping away the tears from your rosy cheeks. "You used to make me feel like I was the most important person in the world. Now, I feel like I'm just another obligation, something you can push aside when it suits you." 

Mingi's eyes lit up with a sudden realization. "Please give me a moment, I know what will make you stay," he said, his voice filled with a newfound sense of urgency. Before you could respond, he turned and rushed towards the bedroom. You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest as you listened to the sounds of Mingi frantically ruffling through drawers and opening cabinets. The noise grew louder, punctuated by the occasional clatter of objects being moved aside. After what felt like an eternity, Mingi emerged from the bedroom, his face flushed and his breath heavy. Clutched tightly in his hand was a small, elegant box. He walked towards you, his eyes never leaving yours, and with shaking hands, he opened the box to reveal a stunning, custom-made Tiffany engagement ring. 

"This... this is what I was waiting for," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I wanted everything to be perfect before I asked you. I know I've messed up, but please, give me one more chance. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you." Tears welled up in his eyes as he held the ring out to you, his entire being pleading for forgiveness and another chance. You stared at the ring, the weight of the moment pressing down on you as you tried to process everything. Mingi took a deep breath and then, in one fluid motion, he dropped to one knee, holding the ring up towards you. His eyes were filled with desperation and hope, the tears streaming down his face reflecting the sincerity of his words. "Y/N please, marry me," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I know I've been distant, and I know I've hurt you, but I want to make it right. I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, showing you how much you mean to me. Please, give me another chance." You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked down at Mingi, the man you had loved for so long, now kneeling before you with a ring in his hand. The future you have always dreamed of was right there in front of you, and you cried harder at the sight. The ring, a symbol of the life you had envisioned together, glittered in the dim light of the penthouse. It was everything you had ever wanted, yet the weight of the disappointments and heartbreaks made it difficult to embrace. The tears streamed down your face, mixing with the raw emotions that had been building up inside you. You couldn't help but think of all the broken promises, the lonely nights, and the feeling of being forgotten. The ring was beautiful, but it couldn't erase the pain that had accumulated over time. 

Mingi kneeled there in front of you, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and desperation, waiting for your response."Now we have enough money to book the beach venue you dreamed of," Mingi started, trying to control his own tears. "I will order you a custom dress from the designer you told me about, inspired by the Disney princess you loved since you were little," he added, his voice trembling with desperation. "And we will go to Belize for our honeymoon," he continued, his words coming out in a rush. "We will rent a whole house by the beach, just like you always wanted. Every morning, we'll wake up to the sound of the waves, and every night, we'll fall asleep under the stars. There won't be a single day when I won't prove to you how much I love you," Mingi's voice cracked, his eyes pleading. "Please, give me another chance. Please marry me. I promise I'll be the man you fell in love with, the one who would move heaven and earth just to see you smile. We’ll make new memories, beautiful ones that will overshadow all the pain I’ve put you through. I swear, I'll spend every moment making it up to you, showing you that my love is real and unwavering. So please, please say yes." The image he painted was truly everything you ever wanted, the plans you made together on countless nights, dreaming of a future filled with love and happiness. The beach venue, the custom dress, the honeymoon in Belize—all of it was exactly what you had envisioned. It was as if he had taken every whispered wish, every secret hope, and turned them into a tangible reality. His words, filled with desperation and promise, tugged at your heartstrings, making you yearn for the life you had once believed was possible. The thought of waking up to the sound of waves, falling asleep under the stars, and creating new, beautiful memories was almost too tempting to resist. In that moment, you saw a glimpse of the life you had always wanted. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you tried to steady your racing heart. The weight of the moment felt almost suffocating, but you knew you had to make a choice. When you opened your eyes again, you looked at Mingi, your voice barely above a whisper, 

"I can't," you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt like shards of glass slicing through the air. You saw the hope in Mingi's eyes flicker and fade, replaced by a look of utter devastation. His shoulders slumped as he dropped completely to the floor, the ring slipping from his grasp and falling to the floor with a loud echo. You heard him cry out in agony, and it broke your heart all over again, shattering it completely. For a moment, the silence was deafening, filled only with the sound of your ragged breaths and Mingi's soft sobs. You stood there, frozen, the weight of your decision pressing down on you like a physical force. Every fiber of your being wanted to rush to him, to take back the words and make everything alright, but you knew deep down that it was too late. 

Mingi's tears flowed freely now, his face a portrait of anguish. "Please, don't go," he pleaded, his voice raw with desperation. "I need you. I don't know what I'll do without you." 

"I'm so sorry, Mingi," you said, your voice trembling as you took a step back. "I wish things could be different, but I can't keep living like this." 

Mingi looked up at you, his eyes red and swollen with tears. "Please, don't leave me," he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation. "I can't lose you. I'll do anything to make it right, I swear." 

You shook your head, "It's not about what you can do, Mingi. It's about what you haven't done." With a heavy heart, you turned towards the door, picking up your bags. Each step felt like a thousand, the weight of your decision making it almost unbearable to move. As you reached the door, you paused, looking back at Mingi one last time. The sight of him, broken and pleading, was almost too much to bear. "Goodbye, Mingi," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I hope you come across something more than better, something that brings you true happiness and fulfillment. And I’m so sorry it’s not me." With those final words, you turned the knob and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door softly behind you. The echo of the door click reverberated through the empty penthouse, a stark reminder of what you were leaving behind. 

eight months later

It was a Saturday evening, and you were lying in your bed, scrolling through TV channels because apparently your best friend forgot to pay for your Netflix subscription. These past months, you were figuring your life out from the base. With your breakup, everything changed. You were now living in a small apartment, shared with two of your friends to make the rent cheaper. You hadn't saved up much while being with Mingi, mainly taking part-time jobs to be available whenever Mingi needed your help with his career—booking a venue, simply helping around with scanning tickets or delivering merch. You used to spend your days running errands and managing small tasks that kept his career afloat, and in return, he assured you that you didn't need to worry about your own income. Then, when the money came, he simply wouldn’t let you work, claiming what was his was yours, and he had more than enough. His generosity was comforting, but it also left you unprepared for the financial independence you now had to face. So apart from dealing with the heartbreak, you’ve also been struggling a bit with a reality without him. 

Now, as you lay in your small bedroom, you couldn't help but reflect on how drastically your life had shifted. The luxurious apartment you once shared with Mingi was now a distant memory, replaced by this compact space that you now called home. It was filled with laughter and companionship from your two friends, but it also served as a constant reminder of Mingi’s absence. 

The breakup had not only shattered your heart but also forced you to reevaluate your priorities and rebuild your life from scratch. Every day was a struggle to find your footing, to rediscover who you were without Mingi, and to carve out a path for yourself. Despite the challenges, you were slowly learning to embrace this new reality, one step at a time. 

After a long search, you finally stumbled upon a music award show where a band you liked was performing, and you found yourself intrigued. A few other performances passed; the MC announced they would reveal the winner for the Album of the Year in the rap category. Despite trying to ignore all updates about Mingi, you knew he had released a new album earlier this year, so seeing him being nominated didn’t surprise you. You couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions as his name was mentioned. You saw him through your TV screen, his hair now cut short and dyed a vibrant pink, a stark contrast to his previous look. His nose was pierced, and you must admit it made him look even hotter. He was wearing a sleek black blazer with nothing underneath, the simplicity of his outfit highlighting his confidence. He looked absolutely gorgeous, his features as handsome as ever, capturing your attention completely. You couldn’t help but smile, a wave of nostalgia and admiration washing over you. Your heart began to beat faster with the excitement and joy of seeing him again. 

And of course, Mingi won. You didn’t know exactly why, but you couldn’t help yourself—you clapped your hands enthusiastically. You were so incredibly proud of him and his achievement. With a wide smile on his face, he stood up from his seat, took a deep breath, and confidently hopped on stage. He walked over to the microphone, adjusted it to his height, and paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. "Thank you, everyone," Mingi began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "This album means the world to me, and it wouldn't have been possible without the incredible team behind me and the fans who have supported me through everything." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I want to dedicate this award to someone very special to me, someone who was with me since my early days." Mingi's words hung in the air, and you felt a lump form in your throat. You knew he was talking about you. The memories of your time together, the sacrifices you made, and the dreams you shared all came rushing back. Despite the pain and heartbreak, a part of you was deeply touched by his acknowledgment. He continued, "I know I've made mistakes, and I've hurt the only person I have ever loved. But this album represents a journey of growth and redemption. It's about learning from those mistakes and becoming a better person." The audience applauded, but your mind was elsewhere, lost in the whirlwind of emotions Mingi's speech had stirred within you. You couldn't help but wonder if he truly had changed, if he had finally realized the impact of his actions. As the applause died down, Mingi took a step back, holding the award close to his chest. He looked directly into the camera, his eyes seemingly searching for yours through the screen. "You know," Mingi continues, "this special person told me that since I gained popularity, I’ve been only rapping about fucking bitches, and she hated that." Mingi smiled and looked at the award in his hands. "So, with this album, I came back to my roots, to lyrics that truly mattered and reflect who I am." As the applause echoed around him, Mingi took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words and the emotions they carried. He remembered the countless nights he spent writing, the struggles he faced, and the moments of doubt. "I don’t know where she’s at now, what she’s doing," he paused, running a hand through his hair, his eyes filled with regret "I wanted to be a man and respect her decision to leave me, so I never reached out." His voice cracked, the weight of his words sinking in "Because the truth is she deserves way better than me." He swallowed hard, his eyes glistening with unshed tears "I don’t even know if this will reach her, but if it does, I just want her to know that I still, very much love her." A tear finally escaped, rolling down his cheek "And that life without her is shit." He took a deep breath, his voice barely a whisper. He glanced around, seeing familiar faces of fellow artists and friends who knew his story then he looked straight at the camera. "So, to my ex, to the one I prayed to end up with, thank you for breaking my heart. This one is for you." He raised his award and bowed. As he left the stage, you couldn't help but feel a surge of mixed emotions. The love you once shared was still there, buried beneath the pain and heartbreak, but his words made you wonder if there might still be a chance for redemption and healing. You sat there, stunned and overwhelmed, tears streaming down your face. The raw emotion in Mingi's speech had reopened old wounds, but it also made you question if there was a possibility for a new beginning. 

Too caught up in your thoughts, you didn't notice when the cameras started to broadcast live from backstage. An elegant reporter, dressed in a chic green dress, stood waiting with a microphone in hand. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she spotted Mingi approaching, clutching his award tightly. She greeted him with a warm smile and a nod, gesturing for him to join her on a plush, cream-colored couch set up for the interview. As Mingi took his seat next to her, the reporter's smile widened. "Congratulations, Mingi, on your incredible win tonight!" she began, her voice smooth and professional. "How does it feel to take home the Album of the Year award?" 

Mingi took a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions. "It feels surreal," he admitted, his voice slightly hoarse from the whirlwind of emotions he had experienced on stage. "This album was a labor of love and a journey of self-discovery. Winning this award means the world to me." 

The reporter nodded; her expression empathetic. "You've mentioned that this album, Empty Box, holds a lot of personal significance. Can you tell us more about the inspiration behind it?" 

"The title of the album, Empty Box, symbolizes a metaphorical space where I have placed all the love I couldn’t give, oh god I hate to call her that but, to my ex-girlfriend." Mingi's eyes welled up with tears, and he swallowed hard. "It encompasses not just the love, but also our unfulfilled dreams, the cherished memories we created together, and the mistakes we made along the way." He paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, his emotions visibly overwhelming him. This album reflects my journey, regrets, and lessons I've learned. Each song is a chapter of that story, a piece of my heart that I hope resonates with those who listen." He took a deep breath, his voice cracking as he continued, "I wanted to create something that speaks to the pain of losing someone you love, the guilt of not being able to give them what they deserve, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, we can all find a way to heal from our past mistakes." Mingi's eyes were filled with a mix of sorrow and determination as he spoke, his words carrying the weight of his emotions. He looked directly into the camera, his eyes searching for a connection with those who might be watching. "To anyone out there who feels like they've messed up, like they've lost their way, I want you to know that you're not alone. We all make mistakes, we all have regrets, but that doesn't mean we can't find a way to move forward. This album is my way of reaching out, of saying that it's okay to feel broken, it's okay to struggle, but it's also okay to hope for a better tomorrow." 

The reporter nodded, her eyes reflecting the depth of Mingi's words. "Thank you for sharing such a personal journey with us, Mingi. Your honesty and vulnerability are truly inspiring." She paused for a moment, letting his words resonate with the audience. "What's next for you? Are there any upcoming projects or plans you'd like to share?" 

Mingi took a deep breath, a small smile breaking through his tear-streaked face. "Right now, I just want to take some time to reflect and reconnect with myself. But I promise, there's more music to come, and I hope to continue growing both as an artist and as a person." 

The reporter's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she leaned in slightly. "Is this album some type of closure for you? Are you ready to go out there and find love again? I bet there's plenty of girls, or guys who would die to have a chance with you." 

Mingi took a moment to reflect, his eyes distant. "In many ways, this album has been therapeutic for me. It's allowed me to process my emotions and come to terms with my past. As for finding love again, I think it's important for me to focus on healing and personal growth first. Love is a beautiful thing, but it requires a strong foundation." 

The reporter nodded, her smile warm and understanding. "Thank you for your honesty, Mingi. Your journey is truly inspiring, and I'm sure your fans appreciate your openness." 

Mingi smiled back, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Thank you. I'm grateful for the support." With that, the interview concluded, and Mingi stood up, shaking the reporter's hand before walking away. As the camera panned out, you turned off the TV, your mind racing with thoughts and emotions. And you knew you needed to see him again. You've been staying strong since you left him, but now, the wall crashed down and you couldn't stop your racing heart, you couldn't prioritize your mind screaming at you not to do it. The memories of your time together flooded back with an overwhelming force, each one more vivid than the last. The late-night conversations, the shared dreams, the laughter, and even the fights—they all played in your mind like an old movie reel. Despite the pain and the heartbreak, you couldn't deny the love you still felt for him, a love that had been buried but never truly extinguished. Your emotions were a tangled mess, a mix of longing, fear, hope, and regret. You thought about the life you once envisioned with him, the future that seemed so bright and full of promise. Would it still be possible? Could you find a way to rebuild what was broken, to heal the wounds that had festered for so long? As you sat there, your heart pounding in your chest, you knew that you couldn't ignore these feelings. It was as if something was pushing you towards him, giving you a nudge to take a step towards reconciliation. The thought of seeing him again both terrified and excited you, but you knew that you had to follow your heart. With trembling hands, you picked up your phone and stared at the screen, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Should you call him? Text him? Show up at his door? You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and made your decision. You were going to see him. 

You run to your closet, your heart racing with anticipation and anxiety. You put on a hoodie as the autumn air was getting colder, layered a denim jacket on top for extra warmth, and decided to go. Living on the opposite side of the city now, getting to Mingi's place would take more than an hour, but you didn't mind the long journey. As you left your room, one of your roommates looked at you, her eyes filled with curiosity. 

"So, I guess you heard the speech?" she asked, a knowing smile playing on her lips. You could feel the pride welling up inside you, making you even more determined to reach Mingi and share your feelings with him. 

"Yeah, I did," you replied, your voice trembling with emotion. "I need to see him." 

"Honey, I know you want to, but don't forget why you left him in the first place," she said gently, her eyes filled with concern. "You were heartbroken and exhausted. It took so much strength for you to walk away and start rebuilding your life." She paused, her expression softening. "I understand that his speech stirred up a lot of emotions, but please, think carefully about this. Remember all the nights you cried yourself to sleep, all the broken promises. Just don't lose sight of why you made the decision to leave. You deserve to be happy and to find someone who truly values and respects you." 

You nodded, taking her words to heart. "I know, and I won't forget. But I need to know if things can be different now. It's just, I am so proud of him, and I just wish he knew that" you whispered to your roommate, your voice filled with a mix of hope and determination. Your roommate, who had been silently listening, came closer, her eyes reflecting concern and empathy. "I know we've been through so much, and the pain was unbearable at times. But seeing him up there, pouring his heart out, made me realize that a part of me still cares deeply for him. I can't ignore these feelings. I spent so many nights crying myself to sleep, feeling hurt and abandoned, but maybe he's changed. Maybe he's truly learned from his mistakes. I need to see for myself if there's a chance for us to rebuild what we once had, to heal together and find a way back to each other." 

Your friend reached out, gently squeezing your hand, her touch offering a silent reassurance. Her eyes softened as she spoke, "I understand why you feel this way. It's not easy to let go of someone you love, especially when there's still a part of you that believes in him. But you need to be sure that he's really changed, that he's willing to put in the effort to make things right this time." 

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I just wish he understood that despite everything, I don't hold any grudges. I want him to know that I forgive him and that I'm willing to give him another chance if he's ready to make things right." Your voice trembled slightly, the weight of your emotions making it difficult to speak. 

Your roommate gave you a warm, encouraging smile. "You have a big heart, and it's clear that you still care about him deeply. Just make sure you protect yourself too. If he's really changed, he'll show you through his actions, not just words. Take it one step at a time and trust your instincts. You deserve to be happy, and if giving him another chance feels right to you, then follow your heart." Her words offered a sense of comfort and clarity, helping to ease the turmoil inside you. You took a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of hope. 

"Thank you," you said, your voice filled with gratitude. "I need to do this for myself, to know if there's still a chance for us." With that, you hugged your best friend and stepped out into the autumn night. 

The journey to Mingi's place felt like an eternity, each passing moment filled with a mixture of anticipation and fear. As the bus drew closer to his building, you couldn't help but feel a surge of doubt. What if this was a mistake? What if you were setting yourself up for more heartache? But the memory of Mingi's heartfelt speech and the love you still felt for him pushed you forward. 

When you finally arrived, you stood outside his door, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. With a trembling hand, you knocked, the sound echoing through the hallway. To your surprise, the door is opened by an elderly man, dressed in an elegant suit. His eyes widen in surprise as he sees you standing there. "Good evening, sir," you say hesitantly, trying to mask your confusion. "I’m sorry for the late visit but I'm here to see Mingi. Is he already back?" The man's expression shifts from surprise to bewilderment. 

"I'm sorry," he replies, his voice carrying a hint of confusion. "But I believe you have the wrong address. Nobody by the name of Mingi lives here." He looks at you sympathetically, as if trying to help you figure out your mistake. 

Your heart sank, and you felt a wave of confusion wash over you. "But this was his address," you murmured, feeling lost. 

The elderly man gave you a kind smile, "I moved in here few months ago, maybe he was a previous owner of this apartment?" 

Your heart sank even further as you realized that Mingi had moved. "Thank you," you said softly, turning away from the door, feeling a mix of disappointment and confusion. As you walked back to the bus stop, the doubt began to creep in again. Maybe meeting with him would be a mistake? The universe seemed to be throwing obstacles in your path, as if trying to tell you something. Perhaps it was a sign that some things are better left in the past, that moving forward meant leaving certain chapters closed. You couldn't help but think about all the reasons you left in the first place, the pain and the heartbreak that led you to this very moment. Was it worth reopening old wounds for a chance that things might be different? As you boarded the bus, you decided to give it one last shot, you took your phone out. You scrolled through your contacts and found Mingi's number, your finger hovering over the call button. Taking a deep breath, you pressed it and held the phone to your ear, your heart pounding as it began to ring. After a few moments, you heard a familiar message on the other end, "The number you have dialed no longer exists." 

The automated message echoed in your ear, a stark reminder of the distance that now separated you from Mingi. You pulled the phone away, staring at the screen in disbelief. How could it be? You had been so certain that reaching out to him was the right thing to do, but now, it felt like the universe was conspiring against you. You tried calling again, but the same message played, confirming that Mingi's number had indeed been disconnected. A sense of finality washed over you, making the reality of the situation sink in even deeper. It felt as if a door had been firmly closed, leaving you standing on the outside, unable to reach the person you once held so dear. As you sat back on the bus, the city lights blurring past the window, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. Disappointment, sadness, and a lingering sense of what could have been. The memories of your time together replayed in your mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love you had lost. Deep down, you knew that this might be the universe's way of telling you to let go, to move forward with your life. With a heavy heart, you put your phone away and leaned back in your seat, taking a deep breath. As the bus continued its route, you gazed out at the city, the lights flickering like distant stars.  

six months later

You just started your shift; the day was going to be long and tiring. With holidays fast approaching, people were buzzing to buy new goods. You were working as a manager in one of the luxury shopping centers, a position that demanded a great deal of patience and resilience. The opulence of the surroundings was a stark contrast to the stress that came with the job. The elegant displays and high-end brands attracted a clientele that was demanding and often indifferent to the staff's efforts. Managing a team in such an environment was no small feat. You had to ensure that everything ran smoothly, from inventory management to customer service. The rich customers, with their endless requests and high expectations, often tested the limits of your endurance. They seemed to suck the life out of you, leaving you drained by the end of the day. Yet, you couldn't afford to show any signs of fatigue. Your role required you to maintain a calm and composed demeanor, addressing complaints with a smile and ensuring that every shopper left satisfied. The holiday season only amplified the challenges. The influx of customers meant longer hours and heightened pressure. Each day felt like a marathon, with waves of shoppers flooding in, eager to make their purchases. The store was a hive of activity, with sales associates rushing to assist customers, restock shelves, and manage transactions. Amidst the chaos, you had to keep a watchful eye, ready to step in whenever issues arose. 

You were on your way to the staff area to take a break for lunch, feeling exhausted from the busy morning shift. The holiday rush had turned the shopping center into a whirlwind of activity, and you were grateful for a brief break. Just as you were about to reach the staff area, one of your co-workers called out your name. You rolled your eyes, already anticipating another request or issue that needed your immediate attention. With a deep breath, you turned to face her, trying to mask your frustration with a polite smile. 

"I'm really sorry to bother you, but we have a situation that requires your expertise. There's a particularly demanding customer, and the supervisor has tried everything but just can't seem to handle it. She asked me to find you because we really need your help with this. Would you mind stepping in to assist? I know you're on your way to lunch, but it would mean a lot to us." 

You sighed internally, knowing that this was part of the job. "Alright, lead the way," you replied, forcing a reassuring smile. Following your co-worker, you mentally prepared yourself for yet another challenging interaction, hoping that it wouldn't take too long so you could finally enjoy your much-needed break. 

She led you to one of the private dressing rooms. From a distance, you could hear a female voice demanding something from her, you supposed, boyfriend. "Oh baby, what do you think about this one?" you heard as you approached the door. Your heart skipped a beat when you recognized the voice that responded—it was Mingi. You stopped in your tracks, your mind racing. The reality of seeing him again, and with someone new, hit you like a ton of bricks. But you took a deep breath, steadied yourself, and pushed forward, opening the door to the dressing room. Inside, you saw Mingi standing next to a woman who was examining herself in the mirror, holding up an elegant dress. The room was filled with an awkward tension as Mingi's eyes met yours. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the memories of your past flooding back with a vivid intensity. 

Mingi's expression shifted from surprise to a mix of emotions—confusion, regret, and perhaps a hint of longing. The woman, oblivious to the charged atmosphere, continued to admire herself in the mirror, adjusting the dress and waiting for Mingi's opinion. 

You felt like the air was taken out of your lungs. He was here, standing before you, after so much time had passed. Memories of your time together flooded back, each one more vivid and overwhelming than the last. You had to swallow hard and clench your fist to keep the act up, to maintain your composure in front of him and his new girlfriend. The mix of emotions inside you—shock, longing, regret—threatened to break through, but you knew you had to stay professional. This was your job, your life now, and you couldn't let the past disrupt it. "Excuse me madam, I’m a manager here," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "Is there anything I can assist you with?" 

"Oh yes, we've been looking forward to buying the limited-edition shoes from the new collection," she said, her eyes lighting up with excitement. 

You took a deep breath at her words, trying to maintain your professionalism. "I'm really sorry to inform you about this, as my coworker already told you, madam, the shoes I believe you are referring to are only available for special order." 

Her enthusiasm faltered slightly, replaced by a look of disappointment. "Special order? Is there any way we can place one now?" 

"Unfortunately, the special-order period for those shoes has already ended," you explained gently. "They were available for a limited time, and we are currently out of stock. However, we do have a selection of other exclusive items that might interest you." 

You caught Mingi's eyes boring into you, his face pale and expression frozen. He stood still, as if rooted to the spot, and he seemed to not even breathe. The intensity of his gaze sent a wave of emotions crashing over you, each one more overwhelming than the last. You felt your eyes watering, a rush of emotions threatening to spill over. You blinked quickly, trying to get rid of the tears and maintain your composure. This was neither the time nor the place to let your feelings show, but the sight of him, so close yet so distant, made it nearly impossible to hold back the tide of emotions. 

The girl in front of you sighed, clearly disheartened by the news. Mingi, sensing her disappointment, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's all right," he said softly. "Let's take a look at what else they have. I'm sure you can find something you'll love." 

She turned to you with a sharp expression, her tone shifting to one of impatience. "Do you even know who my boyfriend is?’’ 

You swallowed hard, forcing a polite smile despite the tension. "Yes, madam, I'm well aware. Please allow me to show you some other exclusive items that might catch your interest."  

"Baby, won't you do something about it?" She once again turned to Mingi, her voice carrying a hint of frustration, but his eyes never left yours, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air between you. 

Mingi shifted uncomfortably, his eyes meeting his girlfriend for a brief moment before he turned to you again. "I'll see what I can do," he said softly, trying to soothe her. 

You took a deep breath, gathering your professionalism. "As I mentioned earlier, the special-order period has ended, and we are out of stock for the limited-edition shoes. However, if you'd like, I can take your contact information and notify you if any new limited editions become available in the future." 

The woman sighed, clearly not satisfied, but nodded reluctantly. "Fine, let's do that then." She handed you her information, and you quickly jotted it down, aware of Mingi's gaze still lingering on you. 

"Thank you for your understanding," you said, handing back her details. "Is there anything else I can assist you with today?" 

She shook her head, her disappointment evident. "No, that's all. Come on, baby, let's go." As they turned to leave, Mingi hesitated for a moment, his eyes locking with yours one last time. You could see the unspoken words and the regret in his gaze, you silently hoped he would say something, anything. You gave him a small, professional nod, and without a word, he turned away, following his girlfriend out of the dressing room. Once they were gone, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. 

You realized that the man you loved was no more. Instead, you met with someone who wore his face, who had his voice. Someone who was a stranger. The warmth that once radiated from his eyes was now replaced by an unfamiliar coldness. It was as if time had reshaped him into a different person, one that you could no longer recognize. The memories of your past seemed like a cruel illusion, a reminder of what once was and what could never be again. You realized with a heavy heart that the essence of the man you fell in love with had faded, leaving behind a mere shadow of who he used to be. 

Don't talk to strangers, they say, or you might fall in love. And when that love fades, those familiar faces turn into strangers once more. The irony of it all stung deeply. The very person who once knew you inside and out had become an enigma, a puzzle with pieces that no longer fit. As you watched him walk away, hand in hand with someone new, you couldn't help but feel a profound sense of loss. The man you once knew, the man you once loved, was gone. And in his place stood a stranger who bore his likeness but none of the familiarity. 

The journey of love had taken you full circle, bringing you back to a place of solitude and reflection. The lessons learned were etched deeply into your soul, a testament to the transient nature of relationships. You couldn't help but wonder if you would ever recognize that familiar face again, or if he would forever remain a stranger, a fleeting memory in the tapestry of your life. 

[dilemmaontwolegs]

hiiii, I'm new here. saw that your reqs r closed but I'd like to share one scenario idea. the choice is yours whether to write it or not.

Daniel (or Carlos) is your bff. You see each other rarely because of his career. It's summer break, he's back home and you've just had your heartbroken by an asshole. You convince you friend group that you need to go out & celebrate Daniel's (or Carlos') comeback in the hope of getting laid. As the night goes on the driver is more n more frustrated with the guys you choose. He get a lil too much to drink n becomes possessive of you, starts touching you intimately and doesn't care about people surrounding. The night ends in a bedroom where he fucks you slow and sensually like he thinks you deserve and none of those jackasses in the club could

hope you've a nice vacation

Peace out ✌🏾

This is for Carlos since Daniel hasn't gotten rid of that moustache yet

Red Flags || CS55

Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, oral, friends to lovers WC: 2.4k

It hurt a little that the first notification you received that Carlos was back home came from a gossip page you followed. Maybe it shouldn’t come as such a surprise when a distance had grown after you started dating Marco, you weren’t sure if Carlos even knew what had happened since the last time you spoke to him. Your families were close, but even your parents were reluctant to speak to anyone about the breach of privacy your ex had caused, the photos he had tried to leak. It had cost a huge sum to keep them from being published and you had been trying to get over the betrayal since.

Recent coping methods included the company of your friends and the string of nightclubs that lined the beachfront.

“I picked up a stray,” Liana called out as she walked into your house without knocking. You could always count on your friend to be up for a party and she had accepted the invite before anyone else. You stuck your head out of the living room where you had been pouring yourself a stiff drink and found her arm curled around the back of Carlos. “A handsome one too.”

You couldn’t believe it had been nearly six months since you last saw him and it looked like he had somehow matured even more. His beard had filled out to cover his entire jaw and his hair was lush and dark. 

Excitement filled you and you rushed towards him as he opened his arms with a smile. “Carlito!” 

“Bomboncita,” he replied with a laugh, his strong arms tightening around you as he picked you up and twirled in a circle. “Missed you too.”

“Come out with us, let’s celebrate your win!” You didn’t wait for an answer as you rushed back to get your clutch with your ID and cash.

“She just wants to get laid,” Liana whispered to Carlos. “You can help me keep her away from any red flags.”

There was one thing you could always count on and that was Liana to be the mother of the group. More mature than the rest of your friends put together, she always made sure you got home safe. Everyone else lived in the city but the mansion your parents had given you was out on the coast, thankfully she was more than happy to sober drive for you. Unfortunately, the only cars on the driveway were two seater sports cars.

That was how you ended up starting your night sitting on Carlos’ lap.

“This reminds me of old times, bombón,” he murmured as you looped an arm around his neck and held on tight. 

“I don’t know how you passed basic maths,” you shot back with a laugh before looking at Liana. “He would always invite more people than we have seats for during the summer break.”

Liana shook her head with a smirk. “Maybe he just liked having you on his lap.”

“What guy wouldn’t,” you joked, well accustomed to the years of teasing over your close friendship with Carlos. But for all the times you sat in this very position, he had never seen you as more than a friend. 

“Should we stop her?” Carlos asked, a quiet growl in his words as he watched you dance with another man. Your hips were too enticing, too sexy, and he had to look away to down his drink and quench the sudden thirst he had. 

Liana didn’t seem fazed by your ability to hook a man in with a seductive smile and dance with them until Carlos interrupted or they said something that made you push them away. 

“No way, she deserves to have some fun after what happened with Marco.”

He placed the empty glass on the bartop and turned his attention to Liana, a frown etched into his forehead. “What happened with Marco?” 

“Oh, she should probably be the one to tell you. I thought you knew.”

A woman in a very low cut dress slipped between Liana and Carlos, interrupting their conversation as she placed a hand on his arm. “You’re that driver, right? Want to dance?”

Carlos shook his head with a polite ‘no thanks’ and brushed her hand off his, rubbing the spot on his sleeve to erase the feel of her touch. “What did he do, Lee?”

The tone left no arguing and Liana chewed her lip nervously before giving in and leaning closer so no one overheard. 

Rage burned through Carlos in a way he had never felt before. He had felt anger, sure, frustration too, but this was white hot and liquid molten in his veins, deep in his core. He was lucky that Marco wasn’t in the same city or he would surely be finding himself on the wrong side of the law at that moment.

Carlos didn’t even realise he had crossed the room until his fist bunched into the shirt of the man holding you close and he pushed the stranger away, ignoring the protests he made. 

“Carlito!” you giggled as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Dance with me.”

Some of the fire eased as your fingers twirled the strands of hair at his nape and his hands came to rest naturally on your hips as he pulled you closer. “We have a lot of catching up to do, bomboncita.”

You looked up as the odd tone cut through your buzz and immediately knew what he knew. His own eyes were a little unfocused and you could smell the whiskey on his breath, not helping him to control his emotions. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The air hissed between your teeth as you sucked in a breath and dipped your chin down so you didn’t have to look him in the eyes. “You would have said I told you so.”

His hand slipped away from your body and you missed the heat of it instantly but then it was cradling your throat, his thumb pushing your chin back up and forcing you to connect with his dark irises. “I told you he wasn’t good for you, he wouldn’t treat you how you deserve.”

“Carlito...” It was a familiar argument every time you had a boyfriend. He would always find reasons to dislike them.

“Listen, please, bombón,” he said as he took a step closer so every inch of his body was flush against yours. His lips brushed your cheek as he turned your head away and whispered the secret he had kept all these years. “Let me show you how you should be treated.”

Surprise filled you and you licked your dry lips at the thought of what he was implying. “Here?” you asked breathlessly and his laugh warmed your cheek.

“No, bombón,” he all but purred as he teased the column of your neck with his nose and his hands danced over the curve of your ass. “What I want to do to you…no, not here.”

His eyes narrowed at someone behind you and you turned to see it was someone you had been dancing with earlier. You couldn’t remember his name, or maybe he hadn’t even told you it, either way you had no interest in taking the drink he offered.

“Red flag, mate,” Carlos growled as he pulled you under his arm and put himself between you and the stranger. “Walk away.”

The man wisely walked away and you laughed as you stepped back into Carlos’ arms. He had held you a thousand times over your long friendship but the way he held you now, possessive and jealous, it changed everything. There was no going back to how it used to be. 

“I kind of like this new you,” you teased as you danced with him, turning in his arms and rocking your hips in time to the beat. “So commanding, Carlito, why don’t you try it on me?”

His lips cocked up in a smirk that you saw as you peeked over your shoulder and dragged his hands down your body. “Because you’ve never listen to anything I say.”

Turning to face him, you looped your arms around his neck and brushed your lips softly over his before you could change your mind. “Maybe you just never said what I wanted to hear.”

Carlos swallowed as he saw your pupils dilate with lust and the thin material of your dress did little to hide the fact you wore no bra beneath it, your peaked nipples begging him to take them in his mouth. “We need to leave,” he groaned as he squeezed your ass and bit his lip, “before I get us both into a lot of trouble.”

You barely remembered to thank Liana for dropping you off at home. You barely remembered the drive when every ounce of your brain capacity was spent trying to behave yourself while you sat on Carlos’ lap. You tried to keep still on the corners but you felt his hard length beneath you with each turn and squirm.

It seemed to take forever for Liana to finally pull into your driveway and your foot tapped the tile floor impatiently while she drove off and you slapped the button on the wall to close the gates. You didn’t wait to see them close as Carlos’ lips were on yours and his feet led the way blindly through your home. 

Your bed was a mess. You hadn’t planned on bringing a stranger back to your place, but Carlos was no stranger, in fact, he knew you better than anyone ever could or would. He smiled knowingly as he laid you down on the sheets, kneeling between your legs as they parted for him.

His shirt had been abandoned somewhere on the stairs, your dress along the hallway, his trousers at the foot of your bed. You had seen him in this state of undress before, when you would sneak out as teenagers and go for midnight swims in the bay, but the moonlight had left the memory faded. In the light of your room, his skin glowed and shadows highlighted the dips of his defined muscles that lined his body. It was like seeing him in colour for the very first time.

“Are you okay, bombón?” he asked as his fingers danced down your legs lightly, tickling your skin and leaving goosebumps behind until he reached your heels. His thick fingers shouldn’t have been able to remove the delicate clasps so gracefully but he eased each shoe off before massaging the aching soles of your feet. “You look like you are thinking too hard.”

“I am thinking you are going way too slow,” you teased. His thumb hit the right spot in your arch and a moan parted your lips while he chuckled at your reaction.

“I told you, princesa, I’m going to show you how you deserve to be treated.” Tantilisingly slowly, he massaged his way up your legs, devoting his time to your relaxation until you were putty in his hands. Your legs were trembling in anticipation when his thumbs finally reached the laced edge of your panties and he let out an unsteady breath at the damp patch darkening the material. You lifted your hips for him as he hooked his fingers into the waistband and dragged them down your legs. “I want to taste you, princesa.”

“Please, Carlos,” you begged as he licked his full lips enticingly.

You recognised the look in his eyes, the one that told you to be patient and the groan that had been building morphed into a gasp when he grabbed your hips and pulled you onto his thigh. The pressure was teasing and you rocked your hips wanting more as he blanketed you with his body and sealed his lips around your breast. 

“Fuck,” you moaned as his tongue flicked over your nipple, sending bolts of lightning to your core as you tightened your legs around his thigh and combed your fingers into his hair. “Oh god, do that again.”

He was more than happy to follow your command and you felt like your body would ignite beneath him. He sensed the change in your body as your breathing laboured and a sweat broke out across your skin. “Not yet,” he warned as he kissed his way up your neck and captured your lips in a blistering kiss. “I want to taste you when you come, princesa.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as you shamelessly rode his thigh, the pressure building. “Then you better hurry up.”

A whimper escaped with the disappearance of his leg but when you opened your eyes you were struck by his dark ones, watching you watch him make his way down your body. You sucked in a sharp breath as you felt him blow a cold breeze over your skin and you shivered as he warmed it again with his tongue. 

“I’m starting to think you get off on teasing me,” you whispered with a strained voice. 

“I simply get off on you,” he replied just as quietly.

The questions you had were erased with the leisurely stroke of his tongue, tasting you for the first time. He hummed at the reward he had earned with his teasing and his fingers gripped your thighs tighter as he held you spread open for him to devour. 

The room filled with the sweet sounds that clawed from your throat as your head swum and your legs quivered. The salacious song grew louder when Carlos curled one finger into your cunt, then two. He pumped his digits as his tongue circled your clit and together they threw you over the edge and you came with undulating waves that rocked your body against his lips.

“Carlito…” you panted as he lapped at your dripping folds, indulging in the decadence he had been craving for years.

“I love you,” he admitted as he rose above you.

You reached for his face, your thumb tracing the shape of his swollen lips that were still shiny with your arousal. “I love you too.”

“No more red flags,” he said as he lined himself with your entrance. “You’re mine, princesa.”

“I’m yours,” you echoed as you pulled his face to yours and sealed the promise with a kiss.

“You always have been.”

[hero-israel]

sorry if this is a dumb question and i understand if you don't want to answer but do you have links to posts explaining why israel isn't an apartheid state? i swear i read posts like that on your blog before but i don't know how to refind them

Israeli Arabs have legal equality with Jews. Same restaurants, same pools, same seats on the bus, same voting rights. I would favorably compare the treatment of Israeli Arabs with that of any minority group in any country on Earth.

The West Bank has a military occupation, with (pretty fast) checkpoints and no right to vote about the government running that military. Military occupations are bad and some of us have been against this particular one for decades. The anti-occupation movement hasn't gotten anywhere, they've just been stuck. Being stuck in a military occupation for X more years doesn't make it apartheid, just like being stuck in a bad marriage for X more years doesn't make you divorced. Meanwhile, the 2020 Abraham Accords showed that multiple Arab states were willing to accept this unchanging status quo and deal with Israel as it is. Those two factors - the stagnant, unchanging nature of the occupation, and the clear loss of interest in the Palestinian cause - combined to have the latest crop of awareness-raising college interns at some shifty NGOs try to force change by abracadabra'ing together a new concept of "apartheid" that exists solely for Israel. And it is working, just like "Christ-killer" and "stabbed Germany in the back" worked.

In 2010, Human Rights Watch published an extremely critical report on Israel's occupation of the West Bank. Dragged them up one wall and down the other. Yet there was no accusation of "apartheid" there. In the report, page 33, they cited a lawsuit by the Association for Civil Rights in Israel that had said it was apartheid for the West Bank military occupation authorities to ban Palestinians from driving on Highway 443 after repeated firebombings / shootings against Israelis. The Israeli High Court ruled that it was inappropriate to ban Palestinians from the road, and it re-established their equal driving access - they have had it ever since. The court also said that the accusation of apartheid behind that now-ended ban was dishonest, because the security concerns were not based on race; there were and are no "Jewish-only" roads anywhere, even when WB Palestinians were denied road access, Israeli Arabs could and did drive there. The HRW 2010 report included a long summary of that finding, without challenge. As bad as they saw Israel, they agreed it wasn't apartheid.

Then in 2020 came the Abraham Accords, so while nothing at all had changed in the administration of the West Bank, in 2021 HRW said it actually was apartheid. It really is that simple. The most famous legal convention banning apartheid specifies that it is race-based. HRW instead went with a different legal convention on apartheid, one that says it could be based on national origin if it involves discrimination among citizens of the same country.... and then they up and added their own twist to that, saying they will consider it apartheid if there is discrimination based on national origin AMONG PEOPLE WHO AREN'T CITIZENS OF THE SAME COUNTRY. In a very real sense, HRW declared Mexico is an apartheid state because Americans can't vote in its elections.

In 2022, Amnesty International followed with their own report, saying that not only was the military occupation now "apartheid," but that Israel itself had been an apartheid state ever since it was established in 1948. This moral perversion had the effect of saying Israel literally INVENTED apartheid since in May 1948 it didn't even exist in South Africa yet. It also said that Amnesty International - founded 1961 - had been looking at an apartheid the whole time but never recognized it. To make things even more dishonest, Amnesty said they "are not claiming Israeli conditions are analogous to South Africa," meaning anything that shows how Israel is different from South Africa doesn't count. They're using the South African word for the South African policy but it's actually not like South Africa at all so be quiet, neener neener no backsies.

I shouldn't have to take that seriously. Neither should anyone. Palestinians and their advocates should be ashamed to have to lean on such an obvious bad-faith lie.

Nelson Mandela, who died in 2013, never once accused Israel of apartheid, and instead repeatedly said he supported Zionism and a 2-state solution. Mandela's lawyer, still alive, says the accusation is a lie. Mansour Abbas, leader of the Arab Islamist party that joined Israel's governing coalition in 2021, says the accusation is a lie. And if people want to bandy around NGO business cards, here is the International Committee of the Red Cross in 2017:

“The Red Cross was very familiar with the regime that prevailed in South Africa during the apartheid period, and we are responding to all those who raise their claim of apartheid against Israel: No, there is no apartheid here, no regime of superiority of race, of denial of basic human rights to a group of people because of their alleged racial inferiority. There is a bloody national conflict, whose most prominent and tragic characteristic is its continuation over the years, decades-long, and there is a state of occupation. Not apartheid.”

There's a lot more you can see about the shifty terminology, unreliable sourcing, and longstanding culture of antisemitism and racism within Amnesty International. People who can cite chapter and verse of why the Salvation Army, Autism Speaks, Chik-Fil-A and Harry Potter are problematic should not be shocked.

[rin-fukuroi]

Hi! How are you!

May I request semi-exhibitionism with Dan Heng and his s/o as she strokes his horns, chest, and back while giving him a handjob?

Hi! Thanks for the request!

I hope you're in a good mood and haven't died from waiting, my friend ♡(>ᴗ•)

𝐍𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞 [𝐃𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐠]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: Dan Heng x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, established relationships, semi-exhibitionism, handjob, dragon shape, excessive stimulation.

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

art: @enirate

Ever since Dan Heng returned from the meeting, which he never said a word about, he looked rather depressed. Although, perhaps, it seemed to you that his eternally indifferent expression on his face began to look different only because your lover had changed in general. It was awkward to stare and ask to touch his unusual body parts, which were revealed to your eyes only now, when he guiltily explained and apologized to you for not telling you about his past right away, but since that day your head hasn't left the thought of what this iridescent mother-of-pearl scales feel like, adorning the tail, and how will Dan Heng feel if you touch his jade horns?

However, now is probably not the time for that either, but on the other hand, when will you ever see him in this form again? Dan Heng promised that he would return to his former form soon and who knows when you'll have another opportunity to explore these amazing features of your lover's body.

And, of course, it's very inappropriate to do this now, when both of you are trying to distract yourself from the intense events that took place at the Loufu by whiling away time at the festival in Aurumaton Allay, but patience has never been your strong suit.

— Dan Heng, — you stop when you both walk past a deserted alley, grabbing your lover by the wrist. — Shall we stop here for a while?

— Hm-m? — the man turns around, giving you an incredulous look, but still humbly follows you when you pull him around the corner of one of the buildings. — What happened, Y/N?

You look around, checking to see if anyone is nearby, before letting go of Dan Heng's hand, standing on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.

— May I… Touch your tail?

The man's emerald eyes widen as you lower yourself back down, looking at him with the most innocent look you're capable of.

—Wh-what? Right now?

— You said yourself that you'll return to your old form soon! Besides, what's the big deal? It's just a tail.

— Then why did you bring me here? — Dan Heng crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow.

— I thought it might embarrass you!

It's hard to argue with your absurd logic, and he doesn't even want to do it. Vidyadhara exhales heavily, dropping his arms in resignation before turning his back on you.

— Just do it quickly.

— So it's embarrassing for you after all! — you giggle maliciously, stretching out your hands to the long tail gently swinging on the asphalt.

The first touch was especially exciting. The scales, which previously seemed sharp, turned out to be quite pleasant and smooth to the touch when you slowly ran your fingertips over the surface of the tail. More confidently, you wrapped both hands around the tail, feeling it flinch slightly from a more tangible touch. It's amazing that Dan Heng's body has always been so warm, but his tail is quite cool. You gently stroke the slippery scales and slide your fingers along the ridge line, curiously watching the tail wriggle slightly in your hands.

Dan Heng confusedly blunts his gaze at the wall opposite, curling his fingers into fists.

— I think that's enough, — the man says sharply, indifferently turning back to face you and pulling his tail out of your grip.

— Hey! I haven't finished yet, — you puff out your cheeks, already about to scold your lover, but instead you look up, causing Dan Heng even more concern with your returned curious look. — Then can I touch them?

You point your finger at vidyadhara's horns, and Dan Heng suddenly backs away.

— Next time, it's time for us to go back, — the man is about to slip away from you, but you stop him by grabbing his forearm and forcing him to press against the wall of the building behind.

—Please, just once, — you plead, pressing your chest against Dan Heng's body and stretching your hand up.

— D-don't, Y/N… — your lover's words are cut off, replaced by a quiet languid sigh as soon as your curious fingers touch one of his horns, and you freeze, lowering your gaze back to Dan Heng's face.

The man's cheeks are powdered with blush, and his emerald eyes shyly avoid eye contact. He's really embarrassed! On the one hand, you wouldn't want to put your lover in an awkward position in a place like this, which anyone present at the festival can pass by at any moment, but on the other… Dan Heng looks so cute when you slowly slide down his horn, ripping another sigh from the man's parted lips.

Although he asked you to stop, it doesn't seem like your lover really wanted to. Each gentle touch of your fingers responds with an intoxicating tremor in the man's body, dissolving any objections that have settled on his tongue, and you only press on him even more, now wrapping your palm around the horn, gently tracing the tip with your thumb.

— Y/N… — Dan Heng whispers, leaning slightly towards your touch, but grabbing your forearm in a feeble attempt at protest.

— I didn't even think you were so sensitive here, — you smile, unclenching your fingers and leaving only the tips on the horn before slowly dragging them down. — Is it really that pleasant for you?

Dan Heng doesn't answer, instead blunting his gaze at his feet until he closes his eyes completely when the pads of your fingers reach the top again. The man finally gives up, just leaving his hand on yours. His legs weaken from the sweet impulses of pleasure tormenting vidyadhara's body, and Dan Heng shifts the weight of his body to the wall behind, barely restraining the moans that accumulate in his throat.

Despite his cold appearance, he has never shown much dominance over you either in life or in bed, but this is the first time you see him in such a mess. Dan Heng is so docile and lost in the thrall of the pleasant sensations that your fingers give him that you involuntarily catch yourself thinking that this isn't enough. Neither you nor him.

You extend your free hand forward, pressing your palm against Dan Heng's groin. A strangled moan still escapes from the man's chest when you gently grasp his erection through the fabric.

— Oh, are you really turned on by me touching your horns? — you ask mockingly, letting go of his horn, instead moving your hand to the bare skin peeking out of the neckline on the man's chest. — It seems that now you don't want me to stop?

— N-no … — Dan Heng answers quietly, turning away from your gaze.

— Does "no" mean that I can continue or…? — you tease your lover by wrapping your palm more tightly around the outline of a hard cock hidden behind your trousers.

You laugh when you get only a restrained groan in response, and slip your fingers under the fabric on Dan Heng's chest. Of course, you understand what he really wants, but you couldn't resist embarrassing your lover even more.

— If you moan so loudly, someone will definitely hear you, — you lean into Dan Heng's ear, whispering softly as your hand, resting on his dick, moves to the waistband of his trousers, carefully making its way down until it reaches his heated erect flesh. — I don't think I'd want anyone else but me to see you like this, so try to keep your voice down, okay?

Dan Heng's cock shudders when you squeeze the base in your palm, slowly sliding your fist up and down, not missing the opportunity to run the pad of your thumb along the urethra, smearing the pre-ejaculate on the elastic head. The palm on Dan Heng's chest gently squeezes the tense flesh before your fingers close on the man's nipple, gently pinching the hardened flesh.

You don't even notice how your breathing is getting short as the movements of your hand caressing your lover's cock accelerate. The sight of his flushed face and the feeling of his hips pushing slightly towards you every time your hand goes down the base are so tempting that a pleasant heat flares up in the bottom of your stomach, and moisture sticks to your underwear, forcing your legs to close around Dan Heng's exposed knee.

— Y/N… that's enough, I'm going… — the man clenches his teeth, holding back the loud moan stuck in his throat. Dan Heng's head hits the wall, and you feel his cock swell in your hand.

— Hush, hush, I'll take care of everything, — you laugh playfully, on the contrary accelerating your movements, pulling your other hand out from under the fabric on Dan Heng's chest to grab the waistband of his trousers, hurriedly lowering them lower along the man's hips.

Dan Heng resignedly presses the back of his hand to his forehead, exhaling in a strangled way as you squat, continuing to casually slide his palm over the base of the throbbing dick before wrapping his lips around the swollen head just in time to catch every viscous drop of sperm pouring out of the urethra with his mouth.

Vidyadhara lets out a hoarse restrained moan into the air, his hips tremble until the last sticky drop settles on your tongue, and the waves of orgasm do not subside, gradually returning Dan Han to reality. He feels your lips and palm pull away, exposing his sensitive penis to the coolness of the air, and the man's heavy eyelids open slightly, allowing turquoise eyes to meet your teasing gaze as you defiantly slowly swallow his sperm, licking your lips with satisfaction.

— Y/N, you… — Dan Heng says irritably, glaring at you from the height of his height, while you carefully straighten up, returning his trousers back to the belt.

— You should have seen your face. Can I take a picture of you next time while I'm stroking your horns and put it on my phone screen saver? — you laugh melodiously, putting your hands behind your back and leaning forward.

— No way. It won't happen again, — Dan Heng mutters discontentedly, turning around and indifferently walking back to the busy streets of the alley.

You giggle to yourself before catching up with your lover, aligning your step with his.

— O-oh, that's it! And I was hoping for a continuation in your room.

[nicosraf]

It's my birthday! And Angels Before Man's second birthday from the original publishing! And almost three years since the original draft of it! Wow! Thank you all a million times for being here. Really, genuinely

I'd like for this extremely long post to be happier ! But a lot of people are really troubled by the United States election. There's a lot of fear-mongering online about what'll happen and a lot of real threats to marginalized people in the U.S. and abroad. I don't talk about my own identities a ton. I'm a gay, trans, Mexican from the US-Mex border. The vast majority of my family, community, and friends are immigrants of varying legal statuses. I could lose everything!! I fear for my family! My friends! For my body and my heart!

My mom called me yesterday morning, though, basically asking for an explanation. She told me she was shocked, she was scared, and I said that so was I, then we said, "Pos ni modo." Ni modo!! Oh well!!! What can we do now? We can keep doing what we've always done. Survive. That's all you really have to do at the end of the day, you know, survive.

My family is from a rough Mexican city that fell apart when I was little, a place where my own family has been kidnapped and bodies have been left mutilated in the street for everyone to see. The radio spoke in code to let you know not to go outside when things got really bad. There used to be mariachis in the street to greet American tourists but by the time I was little, they were mostly gone. Boarded up, abandoned stores and boarded up, abandoned homes. I remember being scared, and I remember not knowing what to do listening to a shoot out right outside. I remember my heart stopping when my family was stopped by the soldiers and they demanded money out of us for the first time.

(And I can talk also about living on the other side. The hyper policing, ICE, the racism when my school played against other schools, my parents forbidding me from speaking Spanish outside our Mexican enclave and to stay close to them, and I can talk about the aggression from the white nuns at my catholic school toward the latino kids, I can talk about having to see the border patrol every day just to go to school, I can even talk about Trump-supporters coming down to the border and making a mess of the place and I can talk and I can talk but why? what for??)

My family is all (mostly) still around. I'm here also. We're still here. All of that horrible stuff happened and is still happening to us y ni modo!! Ni modo ! The fight continues. You'll be fine if you allow yourself to be, and if you're not, then you really gave it your best shot, and the people around you will see that you did.

I know for a lot of people there might be the urge to spiral into doom and grieve, but you don't need to borrow the grief of the future. Today you can get up and roll up your sleeves and clean the house. That's what my parents tell me to do when I'm sad. Ponte a limpiar. Ponte a trabajar. I used to get mad at them for it, but in the end, you're only in charge of yourself and the places/things that you upkeep.

I was raised around nopales (prickly pear cacti) and, many years ago, I threw one out of my parent's house because I didn't know what to do with it. I didn't want it. I figured it'd get eaten by something or die somehow. The nopal started growing instead, and it's still there. It even grew a flower, though it hasn't given us a pear yet. My dad doesn't like the pears/tuna but my mom does, so we went out to check on it and while we were there, we heard a bird singing. He looked up and he told me it was a cenzontle and that it was singing a little song for the nopal. I had this thought about how even though I basically tried to kill it, the nopal was growing, thriving. it's an easy metaphor to make, but the earth gives you simple lessons sometimes.

(The monarchs pass by every year. They don't even do it legally. They cut the border line and don't wait their turn to talk to the Customs guys!!! They just fly overhead then look back at us like we're crazy. How can we explain this to them? How do I tell them that there's a place that hates us both)

All you have to do is survive. Whatever happens to me or my family or my friends, we will find a way to grow and find birds to sing along with. If there's so much grief in the future, then we can grieve when that time comes. In other words, canta y no llores. All you have to do is survive. Take it hour by the hour. Pick up the broom and get to work while you can.

Because I've talked too much, I wanted to remind everyone that my ebooks versions of my writing will always be free to read.

Maybe it'll come as a shock to you that a lot of ABM was about coping with losing a home forever, of remembering the feeling of wall paint that you will never feel again. But it's about survival too. I hope you all take care of yourselves as much as we can. This isn't a sad post! Go out and enjoy what you have! Go for a snack. Protect yourself however youre able to. I'm so lucky to have a birthday, to have lived this long. I hope my work will live on no matter how much the world might despise it. I've survived this far despite the world too, and so will ABM... I hope ! :)

[louisupdates]

Louis Tomlinson Is Officially Embracing His Gray Hairs at 32 — and of Course Fans Are Swooning!

The singer leaned into his silver fox status while at Glastonbury Festival in England

By Hedy Phillips Published on July 1, 2024 05:32PM EDT

Louis Tomlinson with his sister Lottie Tomlinson at Glastonbury Festival. PHOTO: LOTTIE TOMLINSON/INSTAGRAM

Louis Tomlinson is officially a silver fox.

The singer, 32, embraced his grays while at the Glastonbury Festival in Somerset England during the last weekend in June. Tomlinson's normally shaggy brunette hair had wisps of gray strands peeking through, mostly on the sides.

Tomlinson was at the festival with a group of friends and his sister, Lottie Tomlinson, and the "Silver Tongues" singer and his crew made waves for bringing a TV onto festival grounds to watch the England football club's UEFA match because there was nowhere else to watch it during the festival. Thanks to his bold decision, Tomlinson (and his grays) made it all over social media, onto the news (including the BBC!) and into headlines.

Tomlinson's fans have been quick to swoon over his status as a silver fox, praising him all over every social media platform.

One person captured a video of Tomlinson from one of the newscasts, adding little emojis to the gray hairs and wrote, "I will protect you louis’ gray hair, while another added, "Louis’ gray hair being one of the most talked about twitter discourse, with locals writing paragraphs to defend him was not on my bingo card. Atleast everyone is appreciating this silver-fox dilf."

Tomlinson, who rose to fame as part of One Direction alongside Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Niall Horan, has slowly been embracing his gray hair over the past couple years as he's gotten older (and the quick-witted and sassy artist would probably have words for us for calling it out).

A few gray hairs have poked through all over his head from time to time, and fans have captured the evidence in plenty of photos that they've shared on social media (with fervor). While he hasn't yet gone fully gray, he's gone in and out of brown and gray phases — even with his facial hair.

One thing is for certain, his fans, are here for the grays. One fan put it very simply (also quoting one of Tomlinson's own tattoos): "let's just say I am a silver fox fan and will always be a silver fox fan. Love the gray hair. It is What it is!"