#but like none of those things are a problem???

[myartisscribbles]

I was going to do tags but I'm a lawyer so I actually have a lot to say about this:

In the US, our right to sue is literally our most protected right (look into 5th and 6th amendment if you're interesting in delving into this!) because it is often the only legal remedy available to anyone. Over the years, other protections like "statutes" and "regulations" have been pared down so systematically that they're basically worthless.

This is also why other countries consider America sue happy - most other countries actually have methods to hold people (and businesses) accountable for their illegal actions that don't involve going to court, if you can believe it.

The fact of the matter is, we do need to challenge every single improper word used in every single improper law because those are the only tools we have right now. Republicans control every arm of the government, including most judicial seats and the entire supreme court. That means literally the only thing we can do right now is sue, especially on the state levels. (besides mutual aid and civil war, which most people are (rightfully!) not truly interested in participating in)

That said, I get where the frustration with this is coming from. Does the fact that the law "made everyone women" make trans folk safe? No. Does it even matter if it does say that if this administration has been so successful at ignoring the rules and getting away with it? Probably not.

None of this will make trans folk safe right now, or stop deportations, or end war in Gaza - which is why so many people, especially younger folk, are frustrated. And the fact of the matter is, they should be.

I have not been alive for a period of time where a Republican has legitimately won an election. And I'm not talking about popular vote vs. electoral college, I'm talking about the fact Republicans stole the 2000 election from Al Gore even after a recount showed Florida was in favor of Gore, got away with it, and then stole two more elections right after using the same methods and the same cast from the first round. Ever wonder how Roberts became the chief Justice? Or how Amy Coney Barrett and Kavanaugh got their seats? The Supreme Court has 3 Bush v. Gore alumni on it.

We are at a historic low of trust in the judicial system and the supreme court, because so many Americans have not been alive for a period of time where the Republicans were playing fair. Unsurprisingly, as of December 2024, only 34% of Americans trust the supreme court - down from 45% before the election (a number that was already abysmally low). This is an easy metric to look at and say "no duh" given how corrupt the current court is, and it's easy to ignore the implications, but this is one of the most dangerous statistics out right now. Our entire legal system is based on believing in the legal system, and when the majority of Americans don't believe it works that means the majority of Americans have already accepted the status quo must change - aka actual civil war.

The only other countries that had a drop this steep in judicial trust recently are: Syria in the runup and early years of its civil war, Myanmar during the period that overlapped the return of military rule in 2021, and Venezuela from 2012 to 2016 during the extreme economic collapse and political power vacuum.

There are two factions fighting here who both want the same outcome! A functioning legal system, an end to Gaza genocide, trans protections, abortion, lgbt rights etc etc etc: group 1 that fights with the tools that are available, and group 2 that rebels in search for a solution because they've lost trust in the tools. Neither group is wrong, but the solution to group 2's problem must be much more violent than group 1 - and I think most of us still want things to work out without literal war breaking out in the US.

That means we need to use all of our tools right now - malicious compliance, obstruction, technical legal language, mutual aid - before giving up and accepting that nothing will work. Because admitting that means the only solution is actual civil war, and I think we should plug away systematically at a few other options before we insist on signing people up to kill each other while the rich watch us from another country.

“This thing is legally dubious and therefore technically unenforceable.” Is not a “useless liberal gotcha” it’s how legalism works in this country. Tying up stupidly worded EOs in court is the quickest way to keep them from being implemented. It is the definition of “doing something.” But it doesn’t usually involve much tweeting so of course a certain type of leftist feels obligated to mock it.

[wonallofme]

pinching!

tw and tags: bully!heeseung x plus size!fem!reader, descriptions of bullying, a lot of physical contact, noncon then heavy dubcon, oral sex (f receiving). word count: 2.3k note: originally written with a different idol in mind, this fic was already posted in my old blog. while talking to one of my best friends in the app we decided to re-post old fics for fun and idk why but while checking some of them I felt this one fitted Hee. I changed it a lot tho. anyway, hope someone here likes the concept. i’m a big fan of plus size/chubby reader but haven’t had the opportunity to talk about it here in the blog yet so, if you like it too, please don’t hesitate to hit my (empty) inbox! special thanks to fairy for being my first-ever beta reader ❤️

You have a couple of memories from that place, like how good it felt to hug your grandmother before bed, how there was a little stall in front of your school that always had tasty sweets, and how there was a little boy you used to walk home with after classes finished.

There wasn’t much objection once your mother said you would go back and live together in your grandmother's place not to leave the house empty. You had a couple of friends, but it was nothing special, so you said goodbye to them and moved with your mother without problem.

You had to admit you were kind of happy to move. Yeah, you wouldn’t be able to hug your grandmother, but at least you would feel her presence with the old floors and flower decorations that surrounded every room. Perhaps you could eat those sweets again, and there was the chance of making new friends too. Good things could come, you thought.

If you’re honest, you just hoped you could see him again.

You should've known at that point in your life that having expectations only leaves the sour aftertaste of disappointments.

The stall wasn’t there anymore, the entire house had changed because of your mother's decision, leaving no trace of your grandmother behind, and the sweet boy that used to follow you with a smile now followed you to make fun of you.

It was easy to recognize him. He had the same eyes and shiny smile, and you were elated to see a good, old friend all grow up into a real man. Sadly, he wasn’t as happy as you to see you again, showing you a disgusted face once you told him who you were.

‘’Don’t fucking talk to me,’’ he said, and you didn’t understand what you had done wrong. Perhaps you were too confident, your perfume wasn’t to his liking, or your hand was sweating too much when you touched him. You honestly had no idea why he reacted like that, but you understood that, just like his appearance, he had changed too. 

After all, that sweet boy you used to know would’ve never talked to you that way.

That interaction alone was enough to make you never want to approach him again. You didn’t want to hear that tone or see that expression again, so you did your best. You avoided him in the hallway, you stayed in your seat not to cross his way during breaks, and you didn’t look his way when you recognized his voice. 

It was all useless though.

You had become his new favourite thing.

At first, he was all words and no bite. He’d throw comments every now and then about your physical appearance, like comparing you to a pig when you ate your lunch in the cafeteria or mocking your uniform for being bigger than normal because of your size. 

His friends only laughed at these comments, and those who weren’t his friends stayed silent. They were different groups but shared one same trait– None dared to approach you, afraid of receiving the same treatment from him.

Then, he started to touch you.

He pinched your arm, telling you to give him your homework to copy it. Later, it was your cheeks, telling you to stop eating if you didn’t want to gain weight. Finally, one day, when everyone had left for the PE class while you were searching for your towel in your seat, approaching you silently from behind, he pinched your waist.

Scared, you turned to him. It had hurt a lot more than when he did it to your cheeks. You knew that, more than to bother you or call your attention, like on the other occasions, he had done it with all the intention of hurting you.

When you looked at his face, you noticed that his typical grin wasn’t there, replaced by a surprised expression and curious eyes instead. Somehow, you felt that something bad was about to happen, so you pushed him out of the way and walked out of there as soon as you could without caring that you were leaving with empty hands.

‘’Where’s your towel?’’ your teacher asked you.

‘’I forgot it,’’ you answered, not wanting to return to the classroom.

Later, Heeseung arrived with your towel in his hand, and you got punished for not bringing all the obligatory material.

He got worse.

if he crossed you in the hallways, he would shamelessly pinch your waist until you hissed, and when he found you in the library, between shelves, he would pinch your ass, grinning from ear to ear at the picture of you biting your lips not to make a sound so you wouldn’t get in trouble again.

As if everything he did was an innocent game, he smiled at you after nipping different parts of your body, like the side of your ribcage when you decided to walk away from his teasing, the back of your hand when you tried to push him away, or your thighs when he sat beside you in the cafeteria or the study room.

‘’Why are you doing this?’’ you whispered, pushing his hand away from prying under your skirt and pinching your upper leg.

‘’Look at all that skin,’’ he answered, grabbing your round hand with force to stop you from getting away. ‘’Your body is begging for it.’’

When you tried to do it again, to get away from his hands, he pinched the space of your chest that your bra didn’t cover.

Making you whimper in pain, he laughed at your hurt expression.

‘’It really hurts!’’ you tried to reason with him, but he was a lost cause. It didn’t matter that you were full of little purple and green spots, flinching at the mere sight of him lurking around, he wanted more.

This is going to end at one point, you tried to tell yourself.

He’d get tired and leave you alone when he found a new toy. It was impossible he only focused on you the entire time, and even if it was like that, it was your last year. After that, you prayed, you’d never see him again.

Everything comes to an end.

Your house was the only safe space you had. Even if it wasn’t anything like the warm memory you had about it, it was a place that had never been tainted by Heeseung, unlike your school, or the streets you walked to arrive there.

Sometimes, he would follow you while murmuring insults, pretending to be a good friend walking you home. Nonetheless, once you opened your entrance door and saw that he stayed feet away, you would exhale, relieved that he didn’t try to follow you inside, too.

‘’Your friend is waiting for you in your room,’’ your mother smiled. ‘’I’ll go and buy something for you to eat later’’ 

She, unlike you, was excited to have him there, and you, trying to breathe properly not to show how the panic was consuming you, nodded.

‘��He’s become such a handsome man,’’ she murmured before leaving.

There was nothing you could do to run away, it was your house, and opening your room door, you saw him calmly looking at your stuff.

Your pillow wasn’t where you left it, so it was impossible to deny he had been roaming around for a while, invading your space and doing whatever he wanted, like he always did.

Standing in front of your bookshelf, one of your diaries open in his hands, he sensed your presence.

‘’Didn’t know you took so many walks, thought you would never come,’’ he said, passing the page and inspecting its content as if there was something in particular he was looking for. ‘’It doesn’t explain why you still look like that though.’’

‘’Heeseung, I’ve done nothing to you,’’ you sounded as if you were begging at that point. ‘’Why– I just don’t get why.’’

‘’I have my reasons,’’ he answered, closing the book and leaving it where it previously was.

You flinched when he showed the intention of getting close to you. Your hands became fists behind you, fully alert, one of them gripping the knob, ready to run into another room in case he tried to hurt you again.

‘’We were friends,’’ you said, lower lip slightly trembling. ‘’Please, stop. It hurts, Heeseung. It hurts a lot.’’

He saw you like that, broken, vulnerable, and he beamed.

Walking towards you, you thought your body would listen to you and escape, but it didn’t.

As you remained frozen in your place, caging you with his body, he finished closing the door behind you. Too late, you only reacted after hearing the loud click the secure did.

You started trembling as you realised he had blocked the only way of running away you had.

‘’But if I don’t touch you, who else will?’’ he whispered, taking your shaking hand in his. 

Not pinching it this time, he interlocked his fingers with yours and pulled you closer to him. Your torso compacting his made you more conscious of how you were completely alone in your room, and, therefore, of how unrestrained he was allowed to act.

‘’If you’re good, I’ll stop being so hard on you. What do you think about that?’’ he offered.

You didn’t understand him. Being good with what? 

Looking up at him, you couldn’t move your chest from pressing his because his other hand, forcing you to stay in your place, went to rest over the small of your back, the generous curve from your ass to your waist that was the object of so many of his jokes.

You could see where his actions were going. 

You felt yourself get nauseous with his body temperature and his aroma suffocating you due to the inexistent distance between your bodies.

‘’My mom will come back in any second…’’ you didn’t know what other excuse to use.

‘’I’ll be quick,’’ he smiled, wetting his lips, unconsciously sending a signal to your brain that screamed for you to just be good and get it over with.

‘’Will it hurt?’’ Your face betrayed you, plainly showing all the fears you had, giving him, once again, the upper hand.

‘’Not anymore,’’ he assured you. His hand that used to bring you so much pain suddenly became gentle and trailed up, caressing your arm with multiple marks created by him before finding your chest, and groping it with obvious satisfaction a few times, he felt them until he decided he wanted to touch more of you.

His hands continued their way until he found his new goal.

He cupped your face with a tenderness you had never met from him before, and not wanting to provoke him in any way, you muted yourself. 

To his unpleasant care, thumbs caressing your cheeks, you didn’t make a single noise, not the hiss you always let out when he pinched you, nor the cry when he painfully rubbed your soft skin.

‘’Well done,’’ he praised you, proud of what he recognised as your acceptance.

He expected you to continue being so obedient when he obliged your thighs to open with his knee.

Quickly, he found his place.

You didn’t know what to expect, but you never imagined the situation would end with him ditching your pants somewhere in your room and desperately dropping to his knees so he could accommodate between your trembling legs, slurping all the involuntary wetness your body made you drip not to suffer when the moment of taking him arrived.

Not being able to call his name properly, you whined when his palms gripped your meaty thighs a bit too hard and his tongue found your entrance, penetrating it with sloppy stabs.

The sensation of the tip of his nose bumping against your clit and his fingers separating your plump folds made you bite your lips to stop what felt like a moan.

He was eating you out like a starved man.

Your hands went to his hair, and you have no idea what flooded you, but you felt free to hurt him too. 

You wanted him to suffer too.

Full of unknown courage, you pulled his hair and moved your hips to crush his face, using him instead of the other way around.

Then, it felt good– To hurt him felt way too good. 

You thought, maybe this is why he does it, because you had never felt so powerful and in control before, especially, with him.

Looking down, you two made eye contact even with your chubby stomach prodding out. 

His eyes had nothing of the mockery they always showed. Instead, they were completely lost, drunk and unfocused. You couldn’t contain your moans anymore when his eyes batted and he seemed pleased to have your attention on him.

Not much after he started fucking you harder with his tongue, the knot in your stomach started to feel so tight you knew it would snap in any second.

Without intention, or maybe with all the intention, you closed your large legs around his head, not caring that you were crushing his face as you strongly came over his mouth and nose. 

He mewled, hugging your legs as you asphyxiated him for many seconds before your orgasm finished and you inevitably relaxed. 

Just after giving him everything you had, you finally allowed him to breathe. 

You freed him from your hold, but he didn’t move away immediately.

Gulping your remaining juices, he hardly inhaled once through his nose before he started licking the drops of your orgasm inside your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses along the way until he found his new favourite thing.

With both hands on the back of your thighs, he blinked multiple times before his tongue found its way between your folds, searching for your clit to leave a last loving lick.

As if he was proud you had abused him, only separating forcedly because of your hands pushing his head away from your sensitive clit, he took open-mouthed deep breaths with a still dazed expression.

Regaining some of his senses, he talked with the lower half of his face glistening.

‘’See? This didn’t hurt, right?’’ he smiled.

[plumeria1]

Family Time

Note: This post is for @trinityobsessesovatings who made this cute demand asking. I thought I wouldn't finish it until tomorrow, but since I just finished it, I'm posting it now. I hope you like it.

Pairing: Caitlyn Kiramman x Fem Reader

Warning: None

Content: Fluff, etablished relationship

Summary: A sweet moment with your wife and your daughters

You loved rainy days; those were the days when you and your wife, Caitlyn, could spend the day at home.

Since the end of the war against Noxus, things had calmed down. You had accepted Councilor Medarda's proposal to join the council.

When Caitlyn was offered to take her mother's place on the council, she refused, preferring to focus on her job as sheriff. But she had warmly recommended that you take her place; she knew you would do very well.

Shortly after you joined the council, Caitlyn invited you to dinner, pretending to want to celebrate the end of the war and your new job. But at the end of the dinner, she had taken you to the garden where she often spent time with her mother.

That was where she had proposed to you. You had never been happier, your face covered in tears of joy, and you had accepted while pulling her into a long, passionate kiss.

After your marriage, you settled into the Kiramman family mansion, and soon the topic of children came up. It was something that Caitlyn and you had in common; you had always wanted children.

But the problem was that it is impossible for two women to conceive children, so it was only logical that you turned to adoption.

After a year, you had adopted two six-year-old little girls, adorable twins: Cassandra and Calliope. The name of the first had made Caitlyn smile; she found it ironic that one of her daughters bore the name of her late mother.

It took a little time to adjust, but within three months, you all got used to each other, and since then, your daughters had never left your side.

Cassandra was a bit closer to you, and Calliope to Caitlyn, but they loved you both equally. And since their adoption, your lives had been perfect.

Today, you had planned to spend the day outside with the three of you, but the rain had ruined your plans. Fortunately, you quickly found something to keep you occupied all day.

After dinner, sitting in front of the fireplace, the twins played with dolls under Caitlyn's gentle supervision, who was having fun with them. On your side, you were coming back from the kitchen where you had gone to get something to snack on.

You loved what you saw: your family gathered away from the world’s complications and the traveling noise. You saw Caitlyn soften as she looked at your daughters. You spoke from the doorstep.

-So, you're playing without me?

-Mama!

Cassandra abandoned her doll to run toward you.

-Come, I made you a drawing.

You laughed when she took your hand and pulled you toward Caitlyn and Calliope, then made you sit down before handing you a sheet full of colors. On it, you could see four stick figures, two smaller ones between two larger ones.

-Look, it's you and mom, and this is Callie and me.

-It's very beautiful, sweetie.

You placed the drawing next to you and took her in your arms. Then you turned to Caitlyn and Calliope.

-So, what were you playing before I arrived?

-The heroes of Piltover, Callie is Mel.

-And who are you?

-Mom.

Caitlyn laughed upon hearing that. Knowing that your daughters saw her as a heroine warmed her heart.

You ended up sitting with them until it was time for bed. You had to carry the girls because they could barely keep their eyes open.

Once in their beds, you tucked them in and gave each of them a kiss on the forehead to wish them goodnight and went to bed yourself.

When you joined Caitlyn in your bed, she was in her pajamas, eagerly waiting for you. She also had a hard time staying awake, but she didn’t want to sleep without you. She loved holding you in her arms when she slept; your presence warmed her inside and out.

-It was a good day.

Barely seated beside her, she pulled you into her arms, making you laugh. Then she rested her head on your shoulder.

-Yes, we should do this more often.

-Mmh.

You were about to say something else when you noticed she had fallen asleep. Instead, you turned off the light on your bedside lamp, kissed her on the top of her head, and snuggled up to her with a smile. In a few minutes, you fell asleep too.

[eldritchmochi]

popping in as someone who "sexualizes everything"--ive worked in the porn industry for a hot minute so i am well aware of how rule 34 truly hit the head of the nail. if it exists, people WILL be horny for it, regardless of how niche or inoffensive or downright absurd. those weird diy videos on facebook of the pretty women doing unhinged crafts? i bet dollar to donuts a good portion of those ARE in fact someones weird spankbank, and at least some were created with that appeal intentionally catered to. i can spot this shit a mile away and it has absolutely ruined some media for me, but that is a me problem

and also like

sincere question: why does the fact that some people will eroticize [insert whatever here] devalue it, or that person's connection or enjoyment of it? beyond just "it makes YOU feel gross"

folks up thread are right: other people's enjoyment of something, even things you yourself have created, is none of your business. i agree that there is a time and a place for hornyposting, especially on things that are not explicitly intended to be horny, but what people do in the privacy of their space is their business

policing that is bad

because policing stuff like this is a direct slippery slope to policing other "undesirable" "obscene" "degenerate" things like, ya kno, a man holding hands with his boyfriend, or heavens forbid, a trans person using a public bathroom

kill the thot police that lives in your head. you dont deserve to live in shame for normal ass behavior, especially not the mere concept of someone else's completely normal ass behavior

I think the biggest shame about people becoming way too comfortable sexualizing everything is that it limits creative freedom. now you have to worry about someone's obscure fetish just in case you write something and you have freaks online like 👀 ayooOOO like shut up man. if you're finding sexual undertones in mundane things, you don't 'see the world differently', you have a mental disorder.

No one should have to carefully scoot around something because the internet has made it ok to see everything through a sexual lens

[ashblooddragons]

My Tears Ricochet

This was requested by @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored I know it isn't exactly what you asked for but I hope you like it none the less

Summary: You and Daemon are in a failing marriage, whispers follow you everywhere you go. Whispers that speak of his infidelity. And when you confront him of these rumors will it end everything or will it bring you back together.

Word Count: 2461

Warnings: inner turmoil, rumors of Daemon cheating (though he never did), argument, marital problems, angst, tell me if I missed anything

My nails dig into my palms as whispers and glances are thrown my way. 

It started when my husband and I, the Prince Daemon, got into our first quarrel that led us down this road. 

It was over something so small, well at least in his eyes. He had spilled wine on my dress with no idea how expensive it was. 

The silks had been made by the finest fabric maker in Myr, and that alone made the dress absurdly expensive, and then on top of that, it was a gorgeous light purple with diamonds, sapphires, and pearls sewn into the bodice and the embroidery was pure gold thread. 

I could have forgiven him, it was a mistake and everyone makes those. But when my dear, dear husband laughed at the irreversible stain, I saw red. And on top of all this, the dress had been a gift from my Father for my nameday. So to hear my husband laugh at such a mistake, and then roll his eyes when I explained my frustration, I was less than pleased. 

But I should have known that was only the beginning. That the dress was only the beginning of the end. 

I should have known that instead of trying to work on our marriage, he would instead decide to warm the bed of his niece. Nor should I be surprised she would let him, for if she can birth two bastards and claim them to be my brothers, then why wouldn't she let another man other than her Strong join her? 

I can handle the glances, the whispers, but when I see people start laughing under their breath is when I've had enough. I pick up the skirt of my dress and rush up the stairs towards my shared chambers with Daemon. Not fast enough for the court to have their laughs and know they hurt me, but also not slow enough not to make a point. 

When I enter our chambers I find it the way it's been for at least a moon. The bed is only slightly used on the left side, and the blue velvet settee with a thin quilt and two plush pillows. I know that even though he sleeps here at night he still has plenty of time to visit a whore or his darling niece. 

“My Lady.” I hear my son's Nursemaid say as she gives a clumsy bow as she holds my little boy. 

“Hello Dahlia.” I say to the mousy girl. Her hair is a dull red almost seeming brown in certain lights. Her face is pudgy with freckles spotting all over her face and arms. But what makes her stand out is her eyes, the most beautiful sage green. You could almost smell the scent of bark and foliage when you look at them. 

“The little Prince has just finished his feed if you wish to hold him?” She asks when Daelor starts to whimper and squirm in her arms. 

Always a Mama's boy. I think, taking my son into my arms. 

He is such a sweet little thing, only six moons old and yet already knows who his favorite is. Though I have heard that Targaryen boys tend to prefer their Mothers. 

I take in his sweet cherubic cheeks that have a slight rosy tint to them. His soft silver curls that are untameable though I would never want to. But most of all his eyes, a soft periwinkle that matches my own. Everything about his coloring from skin, hair, and eyes shows that he is mine. But his features are of his Father's. From the strong straight nose, to his brow that always seems like he's ready to scold you. It is clear he is mine and my husband's son. Not even Rhaenyra can try and deny that. And she has only to try and protect her sons. 

I hear the faint creak of the door open followed by the soft steps of Dahlia leaving me so I may spend time with my little boy. 

“Nine moons you were in me, and yet you are practically a clone of your Father.” I jest as he moves to touch my hair.

I figured out quickly why most mothers have their hair pulled up tight and out of their babes reach, for though they are small they have grips that rival the greatest and strongest knights.

He starts babbling, looking around the room and pointing at things. It almost seems like he's telling me about his day.

“Oh, well that all sounds wonderful.” I say to which he nods, resting his head against my chest. 

“What sounds wonderful?” I hear from behind me. There is no denying who the voice belongs to. The deepness missed with amusement only matches one man. 

My husband. 

“Our son was just telling me about his day, that is all.” I respond, turning around watching as he undoes his jerkin sliding it off so only the rich red undershirt is left. 

He gives me a strange look before looking at our son and a joyful smile plasters itself on his lips. 

“I do not think that is true, my wife, the boy can't even say Mama or Papa.” He jests but his words sting. 

He never called me ‘Wife' until two moons ago when everything started falling apart. There wasn't a night where we didn't have a screaming match only for it to end in cold silence as the other slept across the room. 

I wish I could say that's when the whispers of him visiting brothels or his niece started, it would make more sense. But sadly it isn't, two moons, it was two moons after our son was born when they started. And that's when the whispers started who knows when he truly started warming others beds. I always knew my husband had a high appetite, I myself was his meal of choice, but I never thought he would be so cruel as to find others so soon after our son's birth. That he couldn't wait a couple moons for me to heal. 

Though I suppose I should've known. Everyone warned me, even ladies I had never spoken to had said he would only pump a babe into me and then find another. I didn't believe them, and when his desire for me only grew as my belly swelled I knew they were wrong. But that joy soon came crashing down like a freezing bucket of ice water.

I'm brought back to the present when I feel a tug on my arm. I turn to see my Husband reaching for our son taking him from my arms. I know he is only being a father but I can't help the rage that fills my belly. He's embarrassed me after Daelor's birth, and yet he has the audacity to take him from me? I was the one who screamed and bled for a day and a half, I was the one who was ripped apart to bring the son he so desired only for him to rip my heart from my chest and stomp on it. 

All the pretty words, all the words of adoration, all the ‘I love you's’. I should have known, why didn't I know? 

“Where were you? I went to the training yard but you weren't there, was that not where you told me you would be at this hour?” I ask with such venom I see him almost flinch. 

“I was, though I had to cut my training short, I was needed in the city.” He responds with a nonchalant shrug before setting our son down on the floor by his toys. 

Now he won't even try to deny his visits to the brothel? Is this truly what has become of our marriage? I think as a silent tear rolls down my cheek. Though he would never know of it for his attention is on our son and not me, never me. 

“Of course.” I whisper before moving towards our, no, my bed and picking up my book from the side table. 

I can feel him staring at me, feel the way he assesses me. But I don't react, I refuse to. But his words are what makes me finally look at him in shock. 

“I don't know when things changed, or why, but I want to work on us. Why won't you let me?” 

I look down at my heralds for a moment, I need to decide if now is the time to confront him on his affairs. When I look up at him again, seeing the confusion and hurt across his face I know I must. 

“You act as if you didn't do this, as if you didn't run off to your niece or some whore. How long did it take you? A week mayhaps the very day our son was born.” I demand as tears threaten to fall but I refuse to let him know how much he's hurt me, how many tears I have shed because of him. 

He doesn't say anything, only picks up our son and opens the door whispering to the guard and then waits. I know what he's doing, he's calling for Dahlia, Daelor doesn't need to hear our screaming matches. 

It feels like only seconds but at the same time millennia until Dahlia has Daelor and walks away towards the gardens. 

Tis the farthest place from our chambers, he shouldn't hear us from there. 

I watch as Daemon shuts the door with a soft click. He doesn't turn to look at me, only looking at his hands with utter defeat. 

This is it, the moment our marriage will finally break completely. No more sweet words or soft touches, no more vows of devotion or I love you. The bridge will finally crash and burn into nothing but soot. I think as he finally turns to look at me. 

“And who had put such rumors in your head? Why would I go to a brothel? Why would I visit my niece? You know how I hate what she has done to the Targaryen name and yet you think I will follow her into bed? Do you truly think I have no restraint?” He asks, pain filling each word, as more tears begin to rim his eyes. 

I stand from my spot on the bed moving towards him. “Do not play me for a fool, Daemon! Everyone knows, they whisper it with each step I take. I can't leave these chambers without lords and ladies laughing and whispering behind my back. So do not play the victim, you have even admitted to going to a brothel! And your Niece has made sly comments here and there of how--how you will not desire me anymore.” I scream tears rolling down my cheeks. There is no hiding my pain anymore. I have bottled this up for too long, six moons is too long to hold this burden. 

He only stares at me before a curse leaves his lips. “I don't know what Rhaenyra has said to you, or the court but it is a lie. And when did I ever admit to going to a brothel?” He demands stepping closer. One more step from either of us and our chests would meet. 

“You said you went into the city, why not tell me? The only clear answer is you are hiding something.” I all but sob out, I know I must look like a hysterical mess right now but I can't find any reason to care. 

He freezes seeing all my hurt, every stab to the heart now open for him to pick apart and destroy me more. 

He sighs and looks down at his jerkin and I already know what is going to happen. He will slip it back on and leave to clear his head only to come back smelling of soot and wine. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you, I was trying to do something nice.” He says picking up his jerkin but instead of putting it on he reaches into one of the pockets pulling out a small box and something with a chain. 

“I thought– I thought maybe I could show I cared if my words didn't. You hardly let me touch you now, I can't speak without you becoming quiet and withdrawn. So I thought A gift might help mend things. But I see now it only fueled your mistrust.” He says as he clutches the gifts so tightly his knuckles turn white. 

I think about his words over in my mind, trying to find when it all changed for us. We used to be so perfect, we used to be inseparable. There were many at court who were jealous of the devotion my husband showed me. So when did we fall apart? 

I step forward taking his hand in mine before gently opening his hand. Inside is a gorgeous necklace, diamonds encrust each and every part but what holds my attention are the two dragons. One made of ruby and the other made of sapphire. 

Our mounts, Caraxes and Nightfyre. I think with a smile as I touch the intricately carved stones. 

“It's lovely Daemon, I love it.” I say looking up at him. I can see a faint smile Grace his lips before he opens the little box. 

Inside are matching earrings, a diamond on top and then our mounts made of stone warped around each other. Just like the necklace. 

“They are both lovely gifts.” I say tears slowly rolling down my face instead of the fast sobs. 

“I want to work on us, I want us to be together again. Not just in a room, but in our hearts. And if that means leaving the Red Keep, leaving my brother and family behind. I will, because I would rather have you and our little family than any of this.” He says, wiping my tears. 

I see now that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, that maybe, just maybe we can be us again. That we can be in love once more. 

So all I can do is nod, as I hug him for what feels like the first time in ages. And he hugs me back. 

I know it's going to be a long road ahead, but now I feel like I'm not alone anymore.

“You still have a lot of explaining to do. And so do I, I suppose.” I say into his chest. 

I feel his chest rumble with laughter as he strokes my hair. “Then it's a good thing we have all the time in the world.” He responds and for some reason, at this moment, I've never felt more loved.

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @athzhowakar @baybaybear1 @themoonlitquill @thelastemzy

[generalluxun]

The OG Five were still the best Miraculous team imo.

The OG Five had all the appearances of a carefully crafted team. 5 is a classic sentai number. All the members had interesting established interpersonal dynamics. None of the powers overlapped, or were narrative problems. It would have been an excellent base to develop from.

Instead they expanded the team to 17! members which no show can properly flesh out or explore. You don't fault ML for not executing it. You fault them for even attempting it m when there is tons of research material on hand for them to use.

I still say the larger class would have worked better purely as civilian 'heroes' with the occasional one off. Utilizing the other miraculous could have been done via fusions.

From a merchandizing standpoint it just makes sense too. You're not dropping 17 different hero models into the market, that's just begging for dead stock. (Yes some franchises get away with it, but TF is in a fairly unique position. Heck even DC/Marvel don't dump all their heroes out there)

Having an OG5 would have let them built up those 5 civilian characters and the fusions/use of different miraculous would let you still make many different toys. A kid won't care about having 10 different heroes, but 10 different *Ladybugs*? 'Mommy mommy I neeeeeeeeeed it' 😂

OG5 lets them explore a broader range of topics, because you can always do things 'Marinette adjacent' while never making it feel like the show would 'lose sight' of her.

The list goes on.

[goldsbitch]

Twelve Grapes

-chapter 7, part 2 - A bit of a bad boy

It's no coincidence Cruel Summer came out that year...

or - ✨ Austria 2019.✨

word count: reasonable warning: hard racing

Two entire races go by before he gets so much as a glance from Charles. In both of those, Charles ends up ahead of Max. It feels like getting personally kicked in the balls. Max plays the PR game the best to his abilities and self-control, but behind the scenes, it's a total mayhem. Anyone who questions him about anything receives a snapshot answer. He hands out sarcastic comments like Halloween candy. The only time he laughs is when he beats Daniel in their little video game nights.

The first week, Max loses all remaining inhibitions and keeps blasting Charles' phone up with calls and texts. Unhinged amount of advances, jokes and random questions. No reaction.

The second week, he goes radio silent and tries to get hold of Charles around the paddock. He never goes looking for other drivers after the race, especially when they get to stand on the podium and he doesn't. As always, restraint regarding Charles never comes as easily. However, the Monegasque is always two steps ahead of him.

Alas, finally, they end up next to each other in a post-qualifying media pen in Spielberg. Max is not subtle about trying to catch Charles' eye. For a brief moment, he does. It turns his stomach over immediately. Max searches Charles’ face like it holds an answer, some kind of hidden message buried beneath the surface, but there’s nothing. Not a flicker of hesitation, no softness, no ghost of the Charles he used to know. They used to share a look that would say it all. No trace of that now.

His expression is cool, unbothered, a perfect mask of professionalism. The same way he looks at a journalist asking a pointless question, or a sponsor he doesn’t particularly care about. Detached. Uninterested.

Max wants to do anything else than be swamped by useless questions now. Not when he's eating crumbs in the form of overhearing Charles' voice. He has to force himself to even look at the journalist standing in front of him, let alone take in what she has to say. Charles, on the other, does not seem to share this problem. His voice is passionate, excited and his words land like a punch in the face. Max can't see it, but since he'd studied Charles from every angle possible, to be able to picture his smile clearly, just based on the tone. It's the nonchalant, I'm-the-world's-sweetheart smile that always works on everyone. Max is secretly present on social media, he has seen the fan edits of his - well, not boyfriend apparently.

"Charles, you seem to be on a great run of form lately, have you and the team at Ferrari found good rhythm after the unfortunate Monaco Grand Prix?"

Max has heard many things on that topic from the restless Reb Bull strategists. All of them flaunting ideas and theories around, none of them realizing what Max knew. That the magic fuel Charles is running on is spite. He asks the journalist in front of him to repeat the question, while he focuses on Charles' answer.

"Ah, you know how it is...The start of the season has been challenging. Changing teams, new environment...All of this takes time to process. But, I am stronger than ever. I've cut away all unnecessary distractions keeping me from being locked in on the target and pulling me to the wrong direction. With the amazing team I have - I am finally recognizing myself in the mirror after few strange months."

Charles must know that he can hear every word coming out of his mouth. Max's blood boils and freezes at the same time. He doesn’t react. Giving away anything more seems like a direct pathway to hell.

He stands there, nodding absently to whatever the journalist in front of him is saying, his mind busy with reading in between the lines, Charles' words echoing through the media pen like a fucking death sentence.

Distraction. That’s all he's reduced him to. His heart beats like it's about to go to a fight. The realization settles in his stomach, cold and heavy. He tilts his head slightly, just enough to catch Charles in his peripheral vision.

He’s still talking, crafting the perfect story. His posture is easy, he's leaning closer to the reporter than one probably should, his voice is smooth and warm. It has the word likable written all over it.

It's hardly a surprise that the reporters eat up every single sentence he says, playing up to be the golden boy everyone wants him to be.

And maybe he is. Charles keeps getting better and better at this - playing the part, giving people what they want. He’s charming and sharp, smart enough to be a goddamn PR dream but ruthless enough to keep them all at arm’s length. Except he wasn’t like that with Max.

No. With Max, he was real. Unfiltered. Messy. The kind of Charles who picked fights just to feel something, who grabbed Max’s face like he couldn’t breathe without kissing him, who pressed his forehead against his in the middle of the night and whispered things he could never say in the daylight. The kind of person who acted on what his heart desired, instead of what reason demanded. That's not the Charles standing next to him.

Something inside Max cracks. It doesn’t come in a rush - it settles, careful and slow, a icy coldness spreading through his chest.

Fine.

If Charles wants to erase him, to pretend he was just a mistake, Max will make him remember. Not with words. Not with apologies or late-night texts, stupid fucking phone calls or dangerous public driving.

Tomorrow, on track - where it’s just the two of them, where he can't pretend or avoid him endlessly. Charles will feel exactly what happens when you try to push Max Verstappen away. If he wants to pretend Max was just a distraction, Max will remind him that distractions don’t just disappear into thin air.

"It's great to be on pole, but points are tomorrow. But of course, the idea of a first win is something you can't not get exited about," he hears the last part of yet another one of Charles' speeches and this time he smiles. Time to prove everyone wrong. Make the damn strategists happy for once again.

//

It's hell. Pure, unfiltered hell. Charles arrives in Maranello in a state of a complete breakdown. He was running on some sort of manic fuel the whole Monaco drive. All was somehow bearable - until Max stopped chasing behind him. The absence of his headlights in rear-view mirror worked like a bomb detonator. He is a crying, miserable mess the whole drive. One time he has to stop over, because his breath gets stuck in the lungs and it sets his head into a dizzy spin. He collapses onto his bed in the small Maranello safe house and spends the night fighting terrifying nightmares.

After losing the next day by being glued to his phone, waiting for Max to call for one more time, he decides he can't take that anymore. He missed his chances. Ran away, fucked up everything and tired Max out. He knows him - if he stopped calling, he stopped caring. Charles can't bare himself to get to be the one to make the desperate move, especially after he let so blatantly known that he's totally under Max's spell. He cried in front of him. Nearly begged - but who knows, the whole conversation is becoming a blur, like an old tape wearing thin from being rewound too many times, the sound glitching, words distorting until they barely make sense anymore. So, the first evening after the fight, he blocks Max's phone number. This way, he can still hope that he is trying to reach him and he does not have to stare the unbearable truth in the face. That Max does not, in fact, call anymore.

He completely drowns himself in work. His trainer has to remind him to eat, even though the thought of food makes him sick. He's floating around, allows the team to handle him about and keeps his focus on racing exclusively. Because, that is the only means of communication with Max he's got left. On track, nothing changed. They still cruise around each other, expertly read each other's moves and for once, it all works out in Charles' favor.

The irony of him finally getting a grip on racing when he feels like he'd rather jump under the car instead is not lost on him.

The first step into the paddock after their fight feels heavier than it should. No matter how much he tries to shake it, there’s still a glimmer of hope that he and Max can fix this. But hope, in all its twisted absurdity, only makes him avoid Max more. Because, if this is suppose to be the end, he wants prolong this uncertain period as much as he can. His own misery is becoming the only thing he has left from Max and if that is the truth, he will cling on it. It's him and Max. Any reminder of that is better than nothing.

Red Bull ring. Half of the grandstand is covered in eye-searing orange, the other in signature deep blue that keeps haunting him. They are all waiting for him to fail. He can't. If he has to suffer, because of his feeling towards the Dutch driver, so should everyone else. No matter how mellowed down their devotion to Max might be compared to his own.

It's scorching hot. As is should be in hell anyway. Charles is sitting in his car, front row providing a clear view to the task ahead. Beat Max on track. It's like he can't see any other of the remaining eighteen cars. Lights out and away we go. The all familiar noise of roaring engines makes his ears hurt. His reaction is perfect, almost divine. He launches forward, sliding through the first turn like a man possessed, and when he glances at his mirrors, Max is gone. Buried in the chaos behind him, swallowed by his own mistakes. A chuckle bubbles up in Charles’ throat, raw and breathless, nearly manic again. This is what he wants. Him being able to prove that he is sharper, better and faster when giving as similar chance as Max. Not only that. To himself, and in extension Max too, he needs to prove that he can exist without Max fucking Verstappen.

He flies away, leaving the rest of pack behind. It's only in lap two where he figures out that Max fell five places down. There is a momentary wave of sorrow, one intrusive idea about Charles wanting to be the only to beat him, regretting that other drivers are doing so too. But they're both on their own. Max would never share this sentiment towards him. Whatever Charles is doing must be working, because it looks like he got into Verstappen's head. He's slowly extending the lead, keeping Bottas in a safe distance, far enough no DRS.

Ten and few more laps later, he notices Max working way up the field quite effectively. He keeps calm, because with every car Max passes, Charles makes up a second on Bottas.

Max's got the fastest lap now. Charles is managing tires, bracing for the future. Pit stop - the one thing he truly fears - gone right. He's in a completely calm and periodic rhythm, none of the cars providing a real challenge. He prays to the gods of racing for no mechanical failure this time. Destiny owes his at least that. Give him the right tools, he won't ask for help when all it lies on is his own abilities. He's making his way through the traffic, lapping cars and occasionally looking behind his back at Verstappen fighting Bottas. And after few more laps of this routine - Max is the first car on his tail. Charles expected nothing less. He digs into everything he has - not only in him, but in the car as well. The whole race was just a prep for this moment. Barely four seconds. Max is faster, a fact his dearest fucking engineer feels the need to point out, as if he couldn’t see it himself. But quick math tells Charles he should survive this. 3,8. 3,6. For Charles, there really is no other car on the track than Max's. The others are just annoying little gravel stones, hitting his visor and robbing Charles of clean air. A half of a second is lost only by having to cruise between them. He tries his best to stay cool. One final wish goes towards his tires.

He gives it all. Five final laps and the gap is dangerously close to one second. He spends what feels like two years stuck between Pierre, who's suppose to let him through and Max who is closing in on him. Two Red Bulls. Please, Pierre. This is the first time Charles regrets not telling his friend about the love affair. He knows Pierre is instructed to make it as hard as possible for Charles to get through while keeping it all legal.

"Verstappen behind, one second."

"Leave me alone."

And then - it's on.

It's like he can feel Max breathing down his neck. The DRS is inevitable. Max is inevitable. Charles defends for his life. He forces him to have to go around the outside, off the racing line. Turn 4 is the Achilles heel and Charles survives the first time they pass it through.

But he knows Max. Understands the way he moves, instinct in perfect symphony with logic, calculating every weakness...No stone left untouched. Why should Charles be the exception. He remembers the way he looked at Charles the first time they kissed - half a dare, half a warning. It's the way he uses his touch - firm, yet gentle - to bend Charles into whatever shape he wants. 

On the next lap, Charles watches his mirrors, waits for the lunge. This time Max doesn’t go for the outside. No, this time, he comes from inside, slicing through the turn with an aggression Charles thought he was ready for. It’s all so quick, just like their fallout. 

The wheels are millimeters apart. Charles tries to force him wide, but Max refuses to back off. Of course he does. Max has never learned when to let go. Never knows when to stop taking.

And then, it comes again.

Max is right there, alongside him, closer this time, pushing, forcing. Charles grips the wheel tighter, body locked in, blood roaring in his ears. He doesn’t lift. He doesn’t yield. Max doesn’t either.

A nudge. A shove. Space shrinking into nothing. Everything slows.

He’s back at the Monaco apartment, late at night, Max’s voice low against his neck. “If I have to take a win from you, will you ever kiss me again?” Charles had laughed, breathless. “You already take everything from me.”

Charles barely registers the moment his tires leave the track, but he feels it. The smudge of gravel beneath him, the split-second loss of control, the sheer force of what Max has done.

Max’s fingers curled around his wrist in a hotel hallway, yanking him back to the room before they could be seen, grinning like it was a game. "You can’t get enough of me," Charles had scoffed. "Give me all you have, Charlie," Max hummed in between kisses.

The back of Max’s neck in the early morning, hair still damp from post sex shower, heartbeat steady under Charles’ hand. "Would you ever crash into me?" Max had asked once, drowsy, barely awake. Charles had said no. Max had never answered.

The car snaps back into control just before he spins. Charles feels it all in his arms, his whole body resisting the centrifugal pull. No. It takes him half a second to realize what just happened. The next half is spent knowing, with absolute certainty, that it wasn’t fucking legal. Max robbed him. They have to make him give the place back.  Charles grips the wheel so hard it might break, breath coming short and sharp. His visor feels suffocating, the heat pressing in from all sides. He should have known. Should have known Max would take everything.

He genuinely can't remember the rest of the race.

Just like that, it's over, he's getting out of the car and his own disbelief is preventing from believing any of this is real. His mind stayed back somewhere around Turn 4 and he's having something he thinks others describe as out of body experience. He understands there are words coming out of his mouth, but no one is in control of them. They roll of automatically and he's only aware that most of them are about the stewards having to have a look at the move.

He is painfully aware of the cameras in the cooldown room. That is the only thing grounding him and not flying into a shout festival with Max. The words he has reserved for this man are intended for him and his ears only. Survival mode kicks in and he tries to ignore him as much as he can.

He'd prefer getting punched instead of having to stand on this podium. Any attempt from people trying to congratulate is met with a face one does not forget. Max's smile is impossible to ignore, bright and shamelessly arrogant, the kind of grin that demands to be seen. Mercilessly cuts through like a knife.

Charles sees the way Max points at the Honda logo on his race suit, exaggerating the motion, playing up the moment. A distant memory flickers in. Charles remembers when Max came home one day, irritated after yet another Red Bull PR lecture about mentioning Honda at every possible opportunity. Max had rolled his eyes, complaining about contractual obligations, flapped himself on the couch and refused to talk. So, Charles came up with a game, with hopes of turning the mood around. Say it so much they beg you to stop. He still remembers Max’s mischievous smirk, the way they looked at each other every time he did that. Now? It feels like Max deliberately twisting the knife he shoved into Charles' guts. As if Charles isn't standing right there, watching it all, bleeding out behind a forced expression. Max took it all. No one would be mad or surprised if he hadn't won today. It means he did all of this on purpose. Inflict as much as he possibly can. Something he appears to be very good at.

Someone puts the dreaded Dutch anthem on and every note drags on and on.  Charles stares to the deep hills, avoiding the crowd below. His nails pressing so hard his racing suit he’s surprised there isn’t blood between his fingers. This is the sound he will die to. The tune that will crawl inside his skull, rot there, and play on an endless loop. If there’s a god waiting for him at the end of it all, this is what they'll hum as the gates get shut in his face.

Max is right there, right fucking there, barely an arm’s length away, standing taller, chest out, sweat still clinging to his skin like it’s something to be proud of. Charles doesn’t dare look at him. Doesn’t trust himself not to flinch, not to break. The heat between them is unbearable, suffocating, a reminder that not long ago, Max had pressed against him in a different way. The hand he now had to avoid from accidentally brushing against is the same one that used to grip Charles like he was something for Max to own.

He knows Max doesn’t even think about that. Not now. Not while he stands here, grinning like he was made for this moment, swimming in the praise from crowd that loves him, while Charles stands frozen beside him, barely holding himself together.

The anthem swells, the final few notes longing out like they’re mocking him, and Charles forces himself to swallow, forces the bile back down his throat. He knows it's over. Deep down inside, he stopped hoping for stewards standing by him.  Another mistake and he looks down the crowd. Roars of people suffocating him, stealing the air directly from his lungs and among all of those, one face stands out. Everyone is looking at Max, apart from this person, who's unmistakable smirk reminds him so scarily of the smirk he used to love. Jos Vestappen is unashamedly staring down at him, even though he's several meters below him. For the first time, he sees the resemblance between Max and his father.

He calls himself stupid about fifty times. The door for Max would not have opened if he hadn’t allowed it. He got burned once. It can’t happen again. Things have to change. He has to change.  The champagne tastes like a spoilt milk, Charles does everything in his power to get out of the podium stand as quickly as possible. He will go on to the stewards with his team, even though he knows the battle is lost. If there is one thing he is grateful for, it's the crying Honda spokesman, that wiggles in between him and Max for the final photo. Charles is spared of the final blow - feeling Max's cruel hands on his back again.

//

The come down of emotions is quick. He did it. Snatched Charles' first victory right from his hands. Celebrated so loudly, encircled Charles so efficiently he was sure he must be getting claustrophobic. Killer instinct called upon him and he gave in completely. Charles can't rely on ignoring him. He won't go away without a fight, without destroying him. Max is hardly a sappy dreamer, but all of today feels like it was written long time ago and he was just following the script. Charles is sitting by his right side during the press conference - exactly where he belongs. There is an evil joy Max feels from having him so close during his first win of this season. Charles has no choice but to endure every second of it. Weeks of silence, of trying to erase Max from his life, and yet, here they are. No matter how hard he tries, he can't escape him.

The questions roll in. "How does this win compare to the ones he's had before?" Oh, he has many words he can't say out loud. The reported receives some basic technical summary, but what he really wants to say - scream, shout to the world - is that this win feels sweeter than any candy, he's reclaiming his strenght back and Charles can try as much as he can, but Max proved today that he won't back down.

"When did you start to think the win was possible today?" Easy. Once the door shut behind Charles when he ran away. When his smug smile started to haunt Max in every waking moment. When he heard the words, his former lover, calling him a mere distraction.

Next question is aimed at Charles. General, basic, nothing out of the order. He steals one glance. A thunder of a feeling he can't name properly shoots through him. His bloodshot eyes, purple lips and hands with practically no nails left on them scream the truth louder than anything else. It's the moment Charles finally speaks, his words rolling out of his tongue when Max's heart stops. It is probably unrecognizable for the crowd of journalist in front of them, but he knows this tone. It's the utterly broken one. His words make sense, it's composed and measured, but the accent creeps in and gives away all. Just like it did whenever Charles felt unsure about their love affair. His voice is soft, too soft for a post-race fatigue. Max has to put his head down, to hide behind his cap for a moment. He hears Charles gulp and surprisingly it's that what breaks Max. Numbness descends over him. Next question is aimed at Valtteri and for once, he's glad.

Max sinks in. He tries to stop the guilt from drowning him. For once, this is a battle he can't win. The darkest worry Max always had about himself is that he it too ruthless. Can't see the line until he's way past by. Cruel, calculating monster, that will destroy anything or anyone standing in his way. Suddenly, he find himself regretting it all. His move was over the top, but he can't admit that now. This wasn't racing anymore, this personal vendetta, childish anger spree, because Max can't have what he truly wants. Maybe it's sadly better this way. By forcing Charles to hating him, he will make sure he stays far away from him. Max knows he'd crumble apart, had Charles given him any inclination that he wants him back. That man could probably ask for anything and he'd give it to him. Max is not strong enough to resist Charles. He's also just proven how much of a selfish dick he can be when things don't go this way. The reality of him coming to the conclusion, that Charles hating him instead of loving him might be safer and better option for the Ferrari driver is a hard pill to swallow. Max had spent years perfecting the art of fighting for every inch, of clawing his way to the top no matter the cost. And now, sitting here, drowning in his own victory, he wonders if the cost this time was too high. Max knows his actions today bought him all the time in the world to wallow around this idea. Because, it's obvious Charles can't stand him anymore. He finally sees Max for what he is. His father's son.

Another question, particularly snarky one comes at him and Charles together and something inside Max takes over. He's saying words, explaining the nature of his specific overtake and it takes him everything he has to prevent his voice from shaking. He ends up defending himself again, but the doubts flood his consciousness. Charles finally throws in a sarcastic comment, calling the move illegal, and something ugly inside Max likes it. If Charles has to hate him, let it be like this - spiteful, angry, not distant and indifferent. At least anger means he still cares, even if it’s in the worst way possible.

He will forever admire Charles for being able to sit through this, so strong and still.

We never gave up, he hears himself saying. His only hope is that Charles won't give up too.

"Charles, do you feel like this one has been stolen from you?" Yes. Obviously. Once again, Max questions the sanity of everyone in the room. Another punchy note about the legality of the overtake and Max revels in it.

"Will you stop being the polite driver you are?" Is this the first time people watched Charles racing? A polite driver? The menace that would rather have them crash into the barrier than get overtaken? The driver Max had to pull out his dirtiest trick only to get a chance on getting in front of him?

"On track I'm a bit of a different person than in the car." Max has never disagreed with something more in his life.

------- @chezmardybum @biancathecool

[queenofshenanigans]

I decided to write about it more. Have an excerpt (I'll be posting the full thing on AO3 in the next day or so.)

“You’re not going to die,” Jeff says, looking around until he can find Gareth and Corey to  summon them over. He dealt with Eddie’s last crisis of this sort, and he was tapping out. Time for someone else to step-up and walk Eddie through his latest Harrington related meltdown. “We go on in ten minutes, so you’ve got eight to get your head on right.” 

Eddie slides off the drums, making Jeff think of a cat again. “Jefferby. Jeffries. Jefferson–”

“None of those are my name.” 

Eddie continues as if Jeff hadn’t interrupted. “You didn’t <i>see</i> him out there. All…” Eddie waves his hands wildly and nearly faceplants into the floor.

 Jeff looks around for Gareth or Corey. Fuck, he’d even take one of the Freshmen at this point. They were coming to the show, he was pretty sure, <i>and</i> they were Harrington’s so by default they should be the ones dealing with any Harrington related problems. 

“Biteable.” 

Okay, maybe a bunch of fourteen year olds shouldn’t deal with this Harrington problem. But why did it have to be Jeff? Why was it always Jeff? But since it looked like it was once again all up to him, he had to try to talk Eddie off this particular gay ledge. 

I just really love the visual image of Steve at a Corroded Coffin concert at the Hideaway but in full preppy style. Like no effort to be metal or punk or even rock, just full polo shirt, khaki pants, sweater around the shoulders. And like...he doesn't dress this way all the time, not so...purposefully, so everyone is a little confused why he's going all out for the concert, like he's going to look SO out of place.

but little do they know he's doing it entirely on purpose because he knows it drives Eddie absolutely batshit insane to see Steve all slutted up like this, and Steve's a little mean and wants Eddie to suffer because Eddie won't fuck him in the week leading up to a show because it distracts him from practice and stuff. So anyway, Steve rocks up to the Hideaway looking like Eddie's biggest wet dream.

Bonus: douchey prep jock Steve

[darcytaylor]

When “Just Looking at the Evidence” Becomes a Problem

Before I get into this, I want to be clear - this is not directed at shippers who simply enjoy Luke and Nicola’s chemistry, those who appreciate them as people, or those who respect their private lives.

Shipping is a natural part of fandoms, and when done respectfully, I think it’s fine.

This post is directed at the people who have taken shipping to an extreme - those who have convinced themselves they are "just looking at the evidence" while weaving together wild, invasive, and often insensitive theories. At that point, it’s no longer shipping - it’s something entirely different.

Shipping vs. Fantasizing: Know the Difference

There’s a huge difference between harmlessly shipping people - whether fictional characters or even co-stars - and creating elaborate fantasies about real individuals. While shipping can be a fun way to engage with a story or fandom, projecting detailed, speculative narratives onto real people can cross into invasive territory.

Shipping: Enjoying the chemistry, friendship, or dynamic between people, often in a fictional or lighthearted context.

Fantasizing: Constructing speculative stories about real people’s private lives, often based on incomplete information (and flawed so-called "evidence") without regard for their boundaries.

Why Fantasizing About Real People Crosses the Line

When fans create elaborate narratives about real people, it can:

Blur the line between fiction and reality: Making it harder for others to separate speculation from truth.

Perpetuate false narratives: Leading to harassment or invasions of privacy.

Disrespect individuals: By reducing their lives to a storyline crafted for entertainment.

People are far more nuanced than the curated glimpses we get online or in public. Social media posts, photos, or even patterns of behaviour aren’t a roadmap to someone’s inner life or relationships. They’re just snapshots - fragments of a much larger, unseen picture. And often, those fragments don’t connect the way people want them to.

The Loophole That Isn't a Loophole

I’ve seen some people claim that Nicola saying "If you have an opinion about me, that's ok. I understand I'm on TV and people will have things to think and say, but I beg you not to send them to me directly" somehow gives them permission to speculate about things like pregnancy.

Let’s be real - that is absolutely not what she meant. She’s literally acknowledging that people will have opinions, but she’s also making it clear that things like that make her uncomfortable. Saying "Don’t bring it to me" doesn’t mean she’s fine with people debating her body - it means she knows shitty people exist, but she’d rather not be subjected to it.

And sure, maybe you’re not sending it to her directly - but you are still doing the exact thing that makes her uncomfortable. And by putting it out into public spaces, you’re making it far more likely that it gets back to her indirectly. So whatever justification people think they’ve found? It’s fucking moot. It’s still insensitive.

Belief Doesn’t Equal Truth

Believing you’ve pieced together the “truth” because some moments appear to align is misguided. It overlooks the unknowns - the context we’re missing and the layers that exist in people’s lives. Just because something can seem a certain way doesn’t mean it is that way.

Humility matters. Recognizing that no matter how much you think you know, you actually know very little. Taking a step back and saying, “I don’t know what’s really going on” is not only more truthful but also shows respect for the people involved.

It’s okay to want people to be together - innocent shipping of loving chemistry between people is okay - but it’s not okay to create wildly speculative stories that exist only in your own mind.

Humility in Speculation: Knowing What We Don’t Know

Here’s the truth - I don’t know the full picture. None of us do. I don’t know Luke and Nicola as people, and I don’t know the ins and outs of their personal lives. And that’s okay. I'm not going to piece together and come up with my own flawed story about other peoples lives.

What I do know is that certain theories and speculation can be harmful, even when people think they’re harmless. Just because something is being discussed publicly, or even “positively,” doesn’t mean it isn’t invasive. (Cough spreading invasive pregnancy rumors cough). It doesn't mean it is kind. The line between curiosity and intrusion is thinner than people think.

Even if you think you've “figured something out,” there is always so much more you will never see, hear, or understand. Just because an idea feels compelling or fits a certain pattern doesn’t mean it reflects the truth.

So before engaging in deep speculation, it’s worth asking:

Am I respecting their privacy?

Am I letting curiosity turn into entitlement?

Am I remembering that these are real people, not fictional characters?

On the Idea of “Being Duped”

I’ve also noticed some frustration in the fandom, with people feeling like Luke and Nicola somehow “duped” the public with their behaviour on tour.

What we saw on tour was not unusual for two people who:

Are comfortable with each other.

Work together (and especially in the acting world).

Have shared an intense, career-defining experience.

This kind of dynamic isn’t uncommon in the entertainment industry or in any field where people work closely together (I know from personal experience). Their bond is unique, but that doesn’t mean it has to be romantic. To me, it’s always read as a deep friendship, a strong professional partnership, and two people who genuinely enjoy working together. And it really is beautiful!

I think some people wanted their interactions to confirm a specific narrative, and now that things aren’t aligning with that, they feel misled. But that’s not on Luke or Nicola. It’s a reminder that interpretation is subjective, and that sometimes, we project our own expectations onto things rather than seeing them for what they are.

The Consequences of Unchecked Fantasies

Making up stories about real people and treating those stories as fact (even when you say that you are okay if you are wrong, or if you say that you are just speculating) adds to:

Noise and confusion: Amplifying drama and misinterpretation.

Unnecessary pressure: On the individuals involved, complicating their personal lives further.

Public harassment: Rumours often escalate, influencing others to unfairly judge or attack. Bringing it indirectly to the main people in your fantasies.

Sure, you can feel like you’ve pieced together a narrative in your mind that makes sense to you. But actors are human beings, not characters in a fan-fiction. They shouldn’t be stripped down to an idea of what you think they should or shouldn’t be doing.

I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again - people are nuanced. People are dimensional. If you don’t know them personally, you have no idea what goes on in their day-to-day lives. A few curated moments from interviews or social media will never give anyone the full picture.

I’ve seen a lot of people build theories around what they believe is evidence. But if you really looked at it critically, you would find that much of it is based on assumptions rather than actual confirmation. It’s worth asking - are you trying to make reality fit the story you want to believe?

Public speculation/fantasizing can have consequences that extend beyond the screen - impacting the real people you claim to support.

[ganondoodle]

so, after this phase of depression, i am back at too many ideas at once and getting overwhelmed by all of it bc i cant do it all and dont know how to decide which one to focus on or which ones actually good and not just a brainfart

(so, some more botw2/totk rewritten ideas-

mostly text but i am unsure what to actually work on and draw or if its even any good, so id be very happy to hear your opinion on some of this qoq)

-was thinking about designing the sonau even though they might not show up physically, to keep their mystery alive, but i am playing with the idea of a dead one preserved in crystal in a larger cave, perhaps their last stronghold, i like the thought of them being rather small monkey like creatures with long tails that end in a light fern looking thing

--been also thinking more about the ancient queen zeldas and ganondorfs relationship bc i feel its compelling for them to have had a much more personal grudge agaisnt each other than i previously planned, gives more weight to everything-

though it is mostly background stuff that is not directly shown in the game, except for environmental storytelling -which botw was pretty good at- and diary entries you can discover (perhaps finding it and then telling riju and a gerudo researcher about it since it would be in ancient script zelda hadnt encountered before?), current thought was to have there be a secret lair that one of ganondorfs daughters used to live in after the sealing disaster sent both kingdoms into conflict, and with their mother dying in battle the eldest daughter would surrender and agree to whatever the princess of hyrule demanded, while the younger one would not bow down and those that followed her split off to live in the gerudo highlands, like another reoccuring theme with this being the prescursor to what happens with the shiekah and yiga later- of those are none left by this time (or should there?) and the diary of the younger daughter talks about her fathers secret hideout having being sealed shut as a sign of respect- it is inaccessible due to the structures beign damaged, but its serving as a hint there will be more; it will be made accessible after the mid game fight with ganondorf, in which you see the scene of the sealing, and he changes his position from hyrule castle that fell into the underground to the innards of the plateau- that being the final dungeon- in his room, might also be a part of his diary, at least from his younger days, and a bracelet of obviously hyrulian origin, which is meant to imply-

that the ancient queen zelda and him were in love once when they were both younger, though neither really acted on it (noble families pressures and conflictions yippie) until it was decided she would be married to a young knight of a noble hyrulian family, as it had been per tradition, after which they would not be able to visit each other anymore in the way they sued to as her father wanted her to prepare to take the throne and was way more strict than before, with one last meeting in that secret chamber and her leaving a bracelet there as a gift-

now heres the problem i ran into, that they had feelings for each other and used to be very close, as well as both having their own families later on is pretty solid and i want to keep all that but i also randomly thought about weaving the drama further (in that noble families kind of way especially, though again this would only be mentioned in his diary entry from the secret room you unlock, and since his younger daughter doesnt mention anything at all save for makign a point about not rummaging through her late fathers things out of her deep respect for him, its pretty clear she didnt know and neither did anyone else except for ganondorf himself and perhaps his mothers, this is all meant to make all of these characters have more depth even with getting little to literal no screentime, not to be a big focus)- so there was the stray idea of the ancient queen having a daughter 'just' after being married to that hyrulian knight.. and it being obviously not his, but gerudo, as gerudo traits are rather dominant(i think?) and the knight and ganondorf look nothing alike, so to avoid any sort of royal disaster that daughter would be secretly given to ganondorf to raise instead (which he would gladly do), and the official story being it was stillborn (the whole thing being worked out by a few maids sworn loyally to their queen .. im torn about the queen herself knowing or not tbh or if that even matters in the grand scheme of things (though i do like the idea of her knowing but acting like it is nothing to live up to being a wise and proud queen now thats shes under that pressure, she would change alot during her time of reign, going from that more typical unsure of herself but trying her best princess to a self confident cold and calculating queen, maybe he could even make a short remark about it), again this is still just vaguely implied background details most wouldnt even find out about, i just .. like to think about the background of things that make sense and give more weight to it all but arent what it revolves around and its neither essential to know, might as well be one of those things people would likely hear about in youtube videos)

i didnt find or dont know if theres any rule that princess zelda cant have siblings (i think she had a brother once but idk that may be different about sisters is the question) bc ganondorfs older daughter then not awakening any special (zelda reserved) powers could be simply bc she wasnt trained to do so (perhaps she would be able to hear things like zeldas often do but that too being only mentioned offhand) and him just not putting any focus on royal hyrulian traditions, it could be a secret rite too and honestly .. why would he try to train her to be the traditional princess of hyrule, awakening powers that are reserved for the hyrulian royals would make everything go haywire in terms of the secret about her mother, though im worried it would seem like her being gerudo is seen as 'tainted' instead, like she isnt a 'real' or 'pure' zelda and that being the reason, which somethign i do not like at all

either way that second part is purely an idea that i am 50/50 about using since its really not a big deal in the end and ultimately doesnt change much except make their relationship a bit more messier

---ahem, anyway, i also decided i wanted to model most sky islands after this one photo in my collection since it looks cool and would make sense to have these island be worn down by constant winds

---- i also want to flood the tabantha canyon with the forgotten temple and considered actually breaking of some pieces of landmass, like it is now a giant island, imagine akkala a kilometer away from the mainland for example, it wouldnt inherently change much about the structure but it would make it feel alot more different and provide good ground for different kinds of interactions since the people there would need to adjust to that, you can melt ice around the riot region easier than you can reattach a broken off giant piece of land after all

[midnight--sadness]

k-pop idol AU anon here ˭̡̞(◞⁎˃ᆺ˂)◞*✰ i'm glad you liked my idea!! ♡ and do not worry about intruding or anything like that i love & value your comments!!

here's what i'm thinking for inhun... we need to go back to the 90's for this one.   ☾  .𖥔 ݁ ˖༘⋆𐦍⊹₊ ⋆｡˚

inho got an opportunity from a friend of his great uncle (and that friend is none other than the music executive of a famous record label in seoul, oh ilnam), leaving university behind and decided to pursue a music career instead. he didn't want a monotonous life as some office worker anyways.

people are in love with his looks, his music, his bad boy persona... wearing cutoff shirts and the like (SUN'S OUT GUN'S OUT ! 😤). as to which genre, that's up to you guys to decide! but his albums are selling like crazy and his songs are always up top on the charts, never second place. until...

oh ilnam scouted for new talents but to no avail. there is money to be made here! luckily for him, ilnam struck gold when he felt hungry and wanted some comfort food like tteokbokki. because then he saw the most prettiest and beautiful young man at a stall, helping his friend's mom with the orders. the young man is a bit clumsy (he almost dropped ilnam's soju bottle on the ground). his name is seong gihun. a little reserved, sweet eyes, beautiful lithe build. oh, what an angel. a smile that is worth more than diamonds and gold in the earth. KA-CHING! that's the sound of money pouring in!ilnam asked gihun if he can sing. "ah, well, i love going out for karaoke but i wouldn't say i'm excellent at it..." but that's not a problem, nothing a couple of vocal lessons that can't fix!

the next day gihun found himself in the studio along with ilnam and other important figures to brainstorm how to mold him into a superstar. everyone is complimenting his physique and gorgeous face, making gihun blush and play with the hem of shirt. one thing lead to another, and looks like the industry has another rising starlet!

i really love the sound of 90's R&B, so i think i'll choose this genre for gihun (づ˶•༝•˶)づ♡ what started out as playful, captivating, funky songs developed into very foxy, sultry, and smooth. gihun evolved as an artist and got out of his shell, becoming more sure of himself, going with concepts that he likes and what he feels like fits the most. and that is by being an artist portraying himself as both innocent little kitty and a sexy siren. he experiments with outfit too! does not matter if it's a skirt or jeans, clothes are clothes and he is here to look CUN-TY! women, men, no matter who - everyone wants gihun (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*

i think it would be funny if inho never got to meet gihun immediately because he himself is busy recording, touring, practicing choreo, attending award shows, etc. but he does notice there is competition around. on the top 10 charts for songs or album sales they are so close to each other. then he sees gihun on a cover of playboy ("i know he's not a girl, but he's pretty like the rest of 'em! believe me, those magazines will be flying off the shelves!" said gihun's manager. and she was RIGHT). inho's brain short circuits but he quickly snaps out of it has to focus on performing live on a late night show. fuck, gihun was attractive. beautiful curves and features. he needs to know more about him. he needs to have him.

inho and gihun eventually meet at a staff party, celebrating record-breaking profits. inho finds out that gihun might be older and slightly taller than, but he can wrap his strong arms around gihun's tiny waist and lift him up easily. they get to know each other very well, and ilnam sees the chemistry between both singers. he gets this brilliant idea - those two should tour together.

and it's a big success, there is an entire crowd of screaming fans waiting for them to perform solo and together. i'd imagine inho and gihun spending time with each other during the tour would make them fall head over heels in love. not just as artists, but for who they are (,,♡ᵕ♡,,) as people, as one nerdy guy interested in crime/detective books and a clumsy fellow who took in stray cats until his mother scolded him. amidst the singing and showbusiness, they found each other (╥﹏╥)💜💜💜

believe me when i tell you inhun would fuck like rabbits because they're two young men and gihun's hips are made to be gripped at, but because they're two high demand artists and under strict regiments they're not able to fully savor their relationship... i'd imagine there would be many fanservice moments on stage though. like inho holding gihun's waist or giving him a kiss ln the neck. making the audience go WILD. ilnam isn't opposed to this because money but he did tell them to keep it at that and don't go beyond unless they want his higher ups to chew him out (so PDA is not okay but making gihun pose for playboy? alright *rolls eyes*)

PART 2 COMING SOON, HWAIT FOR ME UNNIE~ ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

omggg 🥹🥹😩😩💖 this is incredible!!

i think inho could rap! that way when they are together the music flows since rap and r&b go great together!

maybe, gihun's manager could be geumja? and even when she has a baby boy she continues working and brings little yongsik with her! years later, he debuts in a boygroup!

and if inho raps then u know he was thanos' inspiration 🫶

omg inhun not being able to share their love with the world 😭😭 sleazy record producers working them like dogs and their only refuge is each other 💖

YES PLEASE GIVE ME ALL OF IT!!!😫😤

[sirfrogsworth]

Canada: The Crudest Crude Oil

So, Canada has some shitty oil.

I don't know what Canada oil ate, but it might need a juice cleanse or something.

Trump is putting a 10% tariff on this shit.

This is called heavy sour crude oil. Because not all crude oil is the same. It can be light. It can be sweet. It can be heavy. It can be sour. Light and sweet is the easiest to refine. Heavy and sour (the Canada poop) is the most difficult.

But the US specializes in refining the shittiest crude. That's why we import so much from Canada. We have developed the best technologies to turn this shitty tar sand oil into something useful. We buy it cheap from Canada, make it useful (gas, kerosene, plastics, asphalt, etc), and then resell it.

This ends up being about a $700 billion business that generates about $175 billion in tax revenue.

To make things more interesting, the US has a lot of its own oil. Which is why Trump loves to say "drill, baby, drill." But our oil is light and sweet. It's the good stuff. Easy to refine.

That's good... right?

Not so fast!

Since no other countries are very good at processing the shit oil, we send our good stuff to Europe. They can easily refine it and we make a lot of money selling it to them.

Here's the rub...

The US isn't really set up to refine the good shit. Most of our refinery infrastructure is meant to process the Canada poop. So even though we technically have plenty of our own oil, we don't really have a lot of places to process it.

So I guess we would have to send it to Europe and buy it back.

Or we would have to build new refineries.

Or we would have to get shit oil from other places.

And those places?

Russia and Venezuela.

I have no idea if Trump understands any of this. Or if he thinks all oil is the same. But I feel like fucking with a $700 billion industry is bad for the economy.

I really don't understand why this is happening. I don't know if Trump is going rogue and doing this on his own. Or if Putin set this up so we will buy oil from Russia. Or if there is some other special interest group that wants to torpedo our refinery economy.

None of this makes a lot of sense to me and I don't see many people talking about this aspect of the tariff problem. I don't think oil quality is well known to the general public and maybe Trump's puppeteers are counting on that ignorance to do some sinister shit.

In any case, I imagine gas prices are going up. I'm sure the MAGA crowd, famous for being angry at gas prices, will finally see the light and turn on Trump.

I'm just kidding.

They will find some way to say it is a good thing and keep kicking themselves in the nuts.

[fantaxzia]

Well I've personally seen responses that state that she deserved to die in the cauldron, or be raped in hybern after she came out. Or the classic: that she should die in childbirth if she ends up with Azriel. Is that enough malice for you?

Besides, turning this into some kind of competition is wrong. Misogyny is happening in both the cases. Let's not play abuse or misogyny olympics.

Shitty people are saying these things about these characters. It's not about race. Because, barring one, all those women are white. (Tbh I've personally never seen anyone shitting on Emerie. Idk where you're getting that from). And how the fuck do you even know if it's all white people being shitty or playing victim on behalf of Elain? You cannot tell someone's race just by that. Plus, being POC doesn't mean that that person cannot be shitty or even racist.

I urge you to please separate reality from fiction. It's ok to not like certain characters, it's ok to like certain characters. The reality is that all characters may get malicious hate, their fans get threatened too. It's not ok, but it happens.

But please don't manufacture problems where none exist.

it's the middle of the night so this isn't a comprehensive post but I've been thinking about how defensive and weaponizing e/riels and toxic elain stans are, especially in comparison to other characters and stans, and I think it has something to do with white women's tears, and white feminism as a whole, exacerbated by the rise of traditionalism.

but thats just a theory, a game theory.

[aggressionbread]

Me after finally getting an airbrush

[shannonsketches]

[girlrandomstuff]

Anakin Skywalker: as your husband I demand for you to step down from your duty if I feel treaten by it.

Han Solo: “Hey, don’t apologize to me for taking this seriously, okay? You put duty first. Drives me crazy sometimes, but that’s who you are. It’s also probably why the New Republic is still in one piece.”