#but this is one of the things i actually liked about the issue

[clockwayswrites]

Fresh Birb! Part 32

masterpost

“Thanks for the excuse to get some fresh air,” Danny said. He sounded grateful enough that Jason felt a little bad for using the ‘stroll around the yard’ as an way to gather some intel.

“Hey, trust me, I get how overwhelming the manor can get,” Jason said, “and there are a lot of us in house right now. It’s easier in small doses for sure.”

“I could see that,” Danny agreed. “But there’s also something nice about the full house. It’s all very… alive feeling.”

The words were more melancholy than they should be. They were more like how Jason, who knew the feeling of death all too well, might say them. It brought troubling thoughts to mind.

“Yeah, that can be nice about it. Sure is quieter if I’m not here or at Roy’s,” Jason agreed after maybe too long a moment.

“Is Roy that much more talkative when it’s just the two of you?”

“Oh, no. Well, yeah, but it’s more about his little girl, Lian. She’s three and a half and an absolute handful most days. She’s also at that age where she’s pretty much narrating her own life in half understandable babble so there’s just a lot of constant noise.”

Danny chuckled. “I bet. Stayed with a friend for a bit when I was between jobs and stuck there for a few months by a non-complete clause. Her one kid was that age at the time and the oldest five. I didn’t know just how much everything there was when having kids that age. It made me actually feel a little sorry for my parents.”

“You the youngest, oldest, or middle?”

“Youngest. I’ve got one older sister, Jasmine,” Danny said. “You could sorta say there’s a half a sibling too. I basically grew up with my best friend and there were some weeks I spent more time at his house than ours.”

“That close to him?” Jason asked.

“Yeah. That and it was easier, sometimes, to not be at home.”

“Oh.”

That implied some unfortunate things that Jason hadn’t quite been expecting. Danny seemed pretty well adjusted. He was even good at handling Damian, but Jason supposed that maybe part of that was because Danny had been through his own issues.

Danny just shrugged. “I have a life long friend out of it. We don’t see each other in person much these days since we’re on other sides of the country, but we still talk plenty.”

Jason gave a soft hum and, a beat later, asked, “What made you end up in Gotham of all places?”

“Wayne Enterprises, actually,” Danny said. “The rep in the industry as place to work is unparalleled really, especially for what I want to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Help people,” Danny said, honestly and with a crooked little smile. “Which I know sounds cheesy, but I really wanted to create things that help people. It’s not like I mind making a better cellphone battery or anything, but it’s nice to know that I get to work on things that help not just with the little, everyday issues but also the big, life changing ones. The fact that those things get to help the city I live in too is a real plus.”

“Gotham has a way of getting to you like that,” Jason said.

“Yeah,” Danny replied softly, gaze in the direction of the Gotham sky line.

And then a scream split the air.

Not a human scream, thankfully, but a repeated screech that had both of them starting and looking around for the source. The screech turned to a warbling clucking as Jerry emerged from behind the landscaping. His tail was high and spread, his wing tips brushed the ground, and he was looking almost shockingly colorful.

“A turkey?”

“Damian’s.”

“Damian has a turkey,” Danny said slowly.

“And a cow,” Jason said. “Cat, dog, a few snakes. He tried to keep a rat but Alfred stopped that pretty quickly.”

Danny rubbed at his temple. “This is why he knew how to take care of wings, isn’t it?”

Jason tried not to smile. “That came up, huh?”

“He’s been sending Bruce information about it,” Danny answered.

Jerry made another loud warble and struck what Jason could only describe as a pose.

“So… does he do this often?”

“His name is Jerry, and nope,” Jason said and pulled out his phone.

Jerry strutted closer to Danny, tail feathers shaking.

“Oh… oh,” Danny said with the tone of someone for who horrible realization was dawning. “Can you, ah, talk him down?”

“I’m afraid I’m morally obligated to film this,” Jason said somberly. He couldn’t hold back his smirk any longer.

Danny shot him a withering look and started to back up towards the Manor. “Really.”

“Really. Good luck.”

“Well, fuck,” Danny said and then took off running.

Jerry followed at top speed with a scream.

Jason sent the video to Bruce. ‘You have competition.’

[hsnlv]

🧸ྀི - jaeyun and his (cute) jealousy issues?

pairing: husband!jake x wife!reader • pls mind the fact that this is an actual (almost) teeth-rotting fluff!

a/n: im actually tooo lazy to make a proper layout for this one but enjoy it regardless! reblogs and comments are highly appreciated 🎀here’s my masterlist!🎀

—

you honestly have no idea what is going on with your husband lately.

jake’s usually the most easygoing, playful person you know — the kind of guy who laughs at his own jokes and kisses you on the forehead whenever he walks past. but lately? he’s been a walking storm cloud, and you’re starting to feel like you’re married to a grumpy old man instead of the golden retriever boy you fell in love with.

it started small — sighs when you took a little longer getting the baby to sleep, huffs when you missed dinner because the baby needed you. then it got worse. now, he snaps over everything.

tonight is no different.

“it’s just laundry, jake,” you sigh, leaning against the armrest of the couch as he paces like he’s on a mission to wear a hole in the carpet.

“just laundry?” he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “the whole load smells like mildew now! that’s like… five shirts! gone!”

“you have fifty more in the closet,” you deadpan.

he opens his mouth to argue, then closes it with a glare.

you watch him, eyes narrowing. this isn’t about laundry. you’re sure of it. he’s been like this for weeks — tense, restless, snappy over the tiniest things. and every time you ask, he just mumbles “i’m fine” and stomps off like a teenager grounded from his xbox.

you’re tired of it.

“jake,” you say carefully, sitting up straighter. “can you please tell me what’s going on with you? you’ve been weird for days.”

“i’m not weird.”

“you’re literally brooding.”

“i’m not brooding.”

“you’re pacing dramatically and sighing like you’re in a sad music video.”

“i’m not—” he stops mid-step, glaring at you again. “i’m not brooding.”

you stare him down, crossing your arms.

“jaeyun.”

his jaw clenches.

“it’s nothing,” he mutters, turning away.

“jake,” you try again, voice softer now. “i’m your wife. talk to me.”

he doesn’t respond.

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. okay. plan b it is.

“if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” you say slowly, “i’m going to assume it’s something ridiculous.”

he snorts. “yeah, sure.”

“like… you’re mad because i finished the last of the cereal.”

“what? no.”

“or because i didn’t let you buy that life-sized iron man figure last week.”

“hey, that would’ve been cool.”

“or,” you pause dramatically, “you’re jealous of the baby.”

silence.

jake freezes.

your eyes widen.

oh. my. god.

“…you’re jealous of the baby?” you whisper, half in shock, half on the verge of laughing.

“no,” he says quickly — too quickly.

you gasp. “you are!”

“i’m not jealous of our kid!” he protests, turning red.

you stand up slowly, like you’re piecing together the biggest mystery of the century.

“oh my god. that’s why you’re acting like this? because i pamper her too much?”

he groans, dragging his hands down his face.

“it’s not — i didn’t mean —” he stumbles over his words, looking mortified.

you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of you.

“jake,” you giggle, stepping closer to him. “are you seriously mad because i give the baby more attention than you?”

he groans louder, tipping his head back like he’s praying for the earth to swallow him whole.

“you do, though!” he finally bursts out, voice high-pitched and frustrated. “you kiss her all the time! you hold her, cuddle her, play with her — and i’m just… here! i get, like, one kiss a day now, and even that’s a forehead kiss while you’re half asleep!”

he’s full-on pouting now, looking like a kicked puppy.

you bite your lip, trying so hard not to laugh again.

“jaeyun,” you whisper, stepping closer to cup his cheeks. his face is warm under your hands. “are you seriously telling me you’re jealous of our three-month-old daughter?”

“i’m not jealous,” he grumbles, but his voice cracks. “i just… miss you. i miss when you looked at me the way you look at her. i miss cuddling without a baby monitor going off. i miss being the one you kiss all the time.”

your heart squeezes so hard it almost hurts.

you stare at him, his brows furrowed, lips downturned in the saddest little frown — and you realize he’s not even mad. he’s just hurt.

“oh, jaeyun,” you whisper, your voice softening. you pull him into a hug, feeling him melt into you instantly.

“i love you,” you murmur into his shoulder, holding him tight. “so much. you’re not in second place. you’re my first everything — first love, first choice, first home. you’re my person. and yeah, i’m obsessed with our baby, but that doesn’t mean i stopped being obsessed with you.”

he doesn’t say anything for a second — just squeezes you tighter, his face buried in your neck.

“i’m still mad about the laundry,” he mumbles.

you snort.

“you’ll live.”

he laughs, finally, and the sound is so warm and familiar that it makes your heart swell.

and from that moment on, jake doesn’t even try to hide how clingy he is.

he follows you around the house like a lost puppy, wrapping his arms around your waist whenever you’re cooking or cleaning. if you’re sitting down, he’s immediately in your lap — or pulling you into his. he whines when you get up, pouts when you leave the room, and steals every possible kiss he can.

“jaeyun, i have to go check on the baby,” you giggle as he tugs you back onto the couch for the third time that afternoon.

“she’s sleeping,” he huffs, nuzzling into your neck. “she gets you all day. i get you now.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

“yeah, but you love me.”

“unfortunately.”

he gasps dramatically. “take that back!”

“make me.”

he tackles you onto the couch, smothering you with kisses until you’re both breathless with laughter.

and honestly? you wouldn’t have it any other way.

©️ all rights reserved | hsnlv | 2025

[swarm-mother]

Guacamole: Don't really like the taste and the consistency gives me sensory issues.

Olives: Don't like the taste and all the olives I've ever tried to eat have been really rubbery, which I guess is also a sensory issue.

Mango: Meh. Never really had an actual mango before but mango flavored candies have always been hit or miss for me.

Hummus: Consistency gives me sensory issues.

Tomatoes: in sauce is fine and even very tasty but whole or uncooked, absolutely not.

Cannolis: I don't really like cream filled anything. I think it's another sensory issue thing but I'm less sure about that one.

FOOD DISCOURSE: reblog with ur opinions on guacamole, olives, mango, hummus, tomatoes, and cannolis

[idontevenlikedragonage]

This is just my personal issue, but I’m genuinely annoyed at how much of the criticism of Veilguard is just people hunting for plot holes or being deliberately dense about how fiction works. It’s that CinemaSins-style nonsense I absolutely hate. “Why doesn’t anyone grab Rook and tell them Varric is dead?” Well, I guess for the same reason no one kicks Solas in the balls and stabs him in the prologue—because otherwise, there would be no story.

At some point, you have to engage with a story on its own terms rather than treating it like a logic puzzle to be solved. Fiction isn’t meant to function like some perfectly optimized machine; it’s crafted for emotional and thematic impact. The obsession with “plot holes” completely ignores things like pacing, character motivations, and dramatic tension—all of which are way more important to storytelling than whether someone did the most logical thing at every possible moment.

And sure, if something actually breaks the internal logic of a story, that’s worth discussing. But most of the time, these complaints aren’t about that. They’re just demanding that characters behave like omniscient robots rather than people with emotions, biases, and limited perspectives. It’s exhausting. No story holds up if you go into it determined to nitpick every little thing—not even Citizen Kane.

[seasidefallenangel]

now say i'm the only one you need

ranking the bllk men on how good of a boyfriend they are ft. isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, karasu tabito, otoya eita, yukimiya kenyu, michael kaiser, alexis ness

song from here listen to it to get a kiss from me

༄ isagi: 10/10

one third of the “perfect boyfriend trio.” he’s incredibly attentive of all your needs and overall is very good at balancing his soccer career with your relationship. dictionary definition of “walk him like a dog.” anything you say goes and he’s more than happy with things being that way. actually has a pretty high tolerance for whatever things you might put him through, he tends to be good at solving problems before they can spiral out of control. the most you’ll have to deal with is the fact he can be kind of on the more awkward and shy side of things, unsure how to really be in a relationship. he wasn’t really popular or well known at all before blue lock, so at most he had crushes that were one-sided. his friends joke and tease about how you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. he doesn’t even care that they’re right.

༄ bachira: 9/10

the thing with bachira is that you’re not gonna date him unless you’re okay with all of his quirks, so there’s really nothing “bad” or unexpected going into the relationship. at his worst he can be clingy and a smidge overbearing, but he’s terrified of you deciding you want something more, better than him. he’s very easy going because of this, and really won’t have any disagreements with whatever ideas strike you. you’re actually a rock in this life, and he feels safe confiding all the thoughts clawing at his mind when he’s being held in your arms. despite what people may think, he does have a calmer temperament to him - generally after practice or late at night. he’s a big cuddle bug and will most likely fall asleep on your stomach, clinging to you so you can’t leave him.

༄ chigiri: 5/10

rose-glasses off, chigiri kinda sucks. he’s very selfish without the whole egoist thing going on, and it’s confirmed in canon that a lot of people get turned off by his personality after being drawn in by his looks. he obviously has some interest in you if you’re dating, but that doesn’t mean his bad traits magically go away. his mindset is very “me before you.” if you’re arguing he’s going to bring up points for the sole purpose of hurting you because he has to be right. he has too much pride to admit when he's wrong but also to apologize for his actions. on the opposite side of that, though, is compliments and the like are easy for him to give you. he’s pretty open with his opinions so if he likes a certain thing about you he has no qualms with telling you as such. he would never deny you're dating and generally likes to show you off, wanting everyone to know he bagged an incredible person. he’s not the worst person to date, but it probably won’t be worth anything as a long term relationship.

༄ nagi: 6/10

nagi is my favorite character and that’s why i need to say this. he does have some merit for what it’s worth. he’s very physically affectionate and is also really easy to be around. i see him as being more open to compromise if you’re stern enough with him. he might complain a bit but he’s not that hard to convince. the biggest issue with him is that he just… doesn’t care. if he goes to a new cafe with you it’s cause you asked him, not because he wanted to. it’s not that he doesn’t love you, he just doesn’t process things like this in his brain. the concept of ‘doing things for your partner before they ask’ doesn’t click. he’s not a mind reader, so isn’t just being vocal about what you want the easiest? he doesn’t really expect much from you as a partner so easily grows confused at why you have these random demands and expectations from him when you know exactly how he is. it might not be a dealbreaker, but it does make you question if he’s ever actually enjoying his time with you.

༄ reo: 8/10

reo’s biggest issues are 1.) he's absurdly jealous and 2.) his money. the thing with his money is the fact he uses it almost as a deflector of sorts. if you have a genuine problem you need to sort out with him, he's giving you new jewelry, designer bags, dinners at michelin star restaurants instead of talking it out. he doesn’t want to give you the chance to bring up your displeasure in regards to something he’s done. it’s his default answer because it’s the only thing people have wanted from him. reo is actually very scared of conflict. he’s worried you’ll leave him at the first sign of him not being the picture perfect boyfriend that’s expected from him, which ties into the jealousy. if someone has a trait you admire, he’ll mold himself to fit that thing you seem to like.  he hates when you even acknowledge other people’s talents or attractive features  (save for nagi.) speaking of nagi, it’s played out but i do believe he’s the only person reo will share you with. if nagi wants to cuddle, kiss, act like your boyfriend, reo has no issue as long as he’s involved too. when you’re someone reo truly loves, he’ll let you do pretty much anything to him with no repercussions. it’s very easy to take advantage of him as long as you promise stay by his side.

༄ rin: 7/10

no matter how much he denies it, rin tries very hard to be sae. he wants to be the nonchalant boyfriend, never losing his cool and making it seem like you’re always running back for more. in truth, he couldn’t be more obvious about how badly he needs you. he has this sort of non-stop identity crisis going so he’s going to have this front of “fine with you, fine without you.” he wants you to think he doesn’t need you that bad because he’s worried you’ll seem him as weak. the thing that makes it obvious is that when you’re threatening to leave because he’s just too hot and cold, he caves instantly. teeth gritted, he’ll ask what you want him to change, what kind of person should he be for you? after sae, he became so desperately starved for love that the second you started dating  he felt like he was suffocating, always needing your validation but unable to ask for it. similarly to reo, he’s easy to take advantage of if you insinuate that you’re unhappy with something currently in your relationship. be gentle because you can break him apart and he’ll always think it was his fault.

༄ sae: 9/10

i’m gonna go against the grain and say that sae is actually a great boyfriend because he wouldn’t bother getting into a relationship to begin with if he didnt think it’s worth his time. he’s an incredibly self assured person so he has no reason to be all wishy-washy with who he’s interested. sae’ll make it clear he wants to date you and obviously you’re reciprocating because duh, he’s sae itoshi. from the get go he’ll remind you that soccer is his career, his lifeblood, and while he loves you more, his priorities lay there. the fact he straight up admits it instead of letting it become a festering issue is exactly why he’s so good because neither of you will have wasted time in the relationship. he’s also easier to talk to than one might think. sae generally believes drawn out arguments are pointless  and wasting energy on them doesn’t help anyone, so any that you two have are squashed pretty quickly. affection comes pretty easily to him but he can be a little emotionally absent at his worst. it’s not really something that changes over time, but he has other methods of making sure you know he adores you. it’s very “what you see is what you get.” if you’re acquainted with him at all, there’s really no negative surprises or unexpected twists that put a damper on the romance between you both. if nothing else, he makes sure the whole world know exactly who you belong to, and it leaves you with no room to doubt he plans to keep you by his side forever.

༄ karasu: 10/10

one third of the “perfect boyfriend trio.” this is generally a shock to people who know the kind of company he keeps around but the thing is that karasu doesn’t approve of otoya’s behavior. he goes from insinuating otoya could be doing better things with his time than leading girls on to flat out telling him he’s pathetic for not holding down a relationship. most of the girls who have their hearts broken by otoya fall in love with karasu right after from how kindly he treats them and the way he apologizes for his friends nasty habits. karasu holds a lot of respect for you as a person since he’s attracted to people he can analyze and read into. a common bonding activity is just him asking your opinions on certain topics or how you’d approach a theoretical situation and he’ll sit back and listen, trying to dig into your mind. he’s also very self aware of his flaws and will admit he isn’t perfect but is always working to better himself (“his weakness is that he can't be nice to people he thinks are mediocre and knows he needs to fix that.”) it’s not like you’ll never have issues, but he always resolves them in a way that doesn’t add tension or doubt to your relationship. he’s also good with all 5 love languages and prefers to show them all to you, but if you have ones you prefer or dislike then he can easily adjust. he’s always listening to you, learning about you, wanting to be the best version of himself he can for you.

༄ otoya: 6/10

the glaring bone of contention with otoya is obvious to anyone who knows him - but not in the way you think. otoya can be a good boyfriend if he wants ; he knows what girls like, what makes them happy, how to keep them satisfied. he’s had enough practice for it to be second nature. once you're in a genuine relationship with him, he’s going to treat you pretty well. thing is - that’s exactly his problem. in the back of your head you know why he’s so good at this. you know you’re an idiot for thinking you can change him despite the fact you did. it’s just impossible to believe. every time he tries to reassure you that yes, you’re his only, he doesn’t want to go back to his old ways, you’re just staring at him thinking to yourself, ‘wonder how many times he’s used this line on someone.’ you’re just never going to have a sense of security with him because there’s always this lingering "what if" bouncing around. the worst part is that it’s not an unreasonable line of thought. mindless paranoia is one thing, but there’s so much proof against him that you’d be more humiliated for assuming he isn’t cheating on you - you can’t date a serial cheater and be really that mad or shocked if he does. you know what you signed up for accepting his confession, so your entire viewpoint is that it’s a matter of ‘when’ and not ‘if’. you can never ever say with full confidence he's 100% yours, even when he is.

༄ yukimiya: 10/10

one third of the “perfect boyfriend trio.” i know it’s like beating a dead horse since this is a commonly shared sentiment but he really is incredible. a big part of the reason why is actually the fact he’s emotionally mature. he’s in tune with how he feels and knows how to convey it respectfully but isn’t so set in his ways he can’t see what points you want to make if you were to disagree on something. something else is that he’s very good at reading your micro-behaviors and can fall in line pretty well with how you act without compromising his own personality (in comparison to how someone like bachira or alexis would.) if you tend to be on the shyer side, not really one to defend yourself, he has no issue stepping in and solving whatever problem is going on. on the flip if you are more outgoing and not scared to bite at people then he'll fall back, only intervening when he can sense things’ll get ugly if he doesn’t tug on your leash a little bit. something he particularly enjoys doing is picking up hobbies or skills that you enjoy or would appreciate. he’ll learn how to cook if you hate it or asks you to read your favorite books to him at night, wrapped in his arms while he presses a gentle kiss against your temple. 

༄ kaiser: 4/10 to 8/10 

the thing with kaiser is that he’s a really good boyfriend, but you have to go through hell to get to that point. he has so many walls and has all these little “tests” where he tries to catch you using him for his money, status, looks, etc. kaiser wants to convince himself that love obviously isn’t real ; look at his parents for god’s sake. so he’s always trying to plan some “gotcha” thing and catch you in the act. the issue is, he doesn’t. you’re really like this from the bottom of your heart and he can’t wrap his head around that fact. so he goes to the emotion he knows best - anger. he’s lashing out at you for lying to him, accusing you of all sorts of things because surely there’s no way this is real, that he has something fully his, someone who cherishes him and sees him for his best. this entire process isn’t a few months either - this is a good two or three years. he has a lot of built up trauma to navigate both on his own and with you. if you somehow have the conviction to get through this then he’ll be a really incredible guy to have around. he loves you so fiercely that he’d rather die than let the one good thing he’s been gifted to slip from his fingers, but everyone in your life is going to hate him by then and insist he hasn’t changed, feeling like you’re going to eventually be broken by him.

༄ alexis: ?/10

alexis is actually pretty similar to bachira, just more extreme. in any other context, his obsessions would be viewed as something of concern or distasteful but dating alexis means you already would know about it and in turn only get into a relationship if you were okay with it. it’s not as if his attachment to kaiser is a secret. if you’re going in with the “i can fix him” mentality then you’ve doomed yourself already. you have to already accept his quirks and such to really reach him in a way that matters. a relationship with him is this unending back and forth. you're actually not really going to be viewed as this untouchable deity because he's already yours. he doesn't have to prove his worth like with kaiser. the thing is that kaiser molded who he is now so kaiser is kind of his tie to humanity - without him, alexis doesn’t really have much keeping him tied to earth. don’t think you’re not important to him because and he’s going to insane lengths for you to accept his unhealthy outlets of showing his love and devotion to you. he feels so much more human with you because you’re giving him the attention that he has to beg kaiser for but without the requirements to earn it - you just love him naturally. he’s not trying to prove that he deserves your love, he’s trying to prove that he loves you just as much back but he doesn’t know how to do it normally. he doesn’t know how to offer himself to you in a way that isn’t self destructive. he’s stuck in this non-stop cycle of you trying to convince him he doesn’t need to like earn your love and him thinking that it’s you saying he’s not doing enough to to earn your love and thus he goes to more extremes. if you can handle it then he’s great for you, you’ll never question that he’s madly in love with you. but if you get overwhelmed then he grows more unstable, and you’re stuck trying to make him better while he makes himself worse to hopefully get you to finally praise him for shattering who he is.

[vettelsvee]

LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO + MAX VERSTAPPEN PLS

LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO | Max Verstappen

⋆ PAIRING: Max Verstappen x Ex girlfriend actress Female!Reader ⋆ SUMMARY: After breaking up with Max, your boyfriend of three years, you decide to move forward and show people that you weren't the villain of your story ↳ REQUESTED: Yes! Thanks for requesting and hope you like it anon 💖 Part of REPUTATION in MY TORTURED DRIVERS DEPARTMENT ⋆ WARNINGS: Curse words ⋆ WORD COUNT: 2574 ⋆ VEE'S NOTES: Does university have me mentally draining? Yes. Did my doctor tell me to take a break since I'm on lots of medication and I didn't listen? Also yes ✨ Anyways, hope you like this one, and remember that I'd love to read your comments and feedback, and that reblogs are very much appreciated as well! Thank you so much, and enjoy your reading! <3 ↳ TALK TO ME! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST | CITY OF STARS F1 AU

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

The worst part of the breakup wasn’t losing Max.

It was losing yourself.

Despite being a world-renowned actress with a thriving career long before you started dating the Dutchman, the last three years of your life had revolved around him. 

You weren’t just one of the most admired couples in the paddock, you were also Hollywood’s golden pair. The actress and the Formula 1 world champion, unstoppable together. Rumors of weddings and pregnancies swirled around your seemingly perfect (at least in the public eye) love story.

So when everything ended abruptly, without explanation from either of you to everyone, the world needed a villain.

The headlines spoke for themselves:

"Y/N Y/L/N DUMPS MAX VERSTAPPEN AFTER USING HIM FOR FAME" "DID Y/L/N EVER LOVE VERSTAPPEN?" "FORMULA 1’S GOLDEN BOY, BETRAYED"

The comments from people who once admired you were even worse. If the insults were harsh, the death threats were unbearable. Demands flooded in for you to issue a public apology for a “crime” you hadn’t committed, for nothing more than just a breakup that Max himself had initiated to focus on his career, as he told you and excused himself with. Every interview you gave was twisted, your words manipulated. And instead of staying silent, like your words, the press loudly proclaimed that you were the reason Verstappen's performance had declined last season.

Max knew about it all. After all, he’d been asked about it countless times during press conferences. Reporters bombarded him with headlines starring you both, turning your private lives into international gossip. Yet, all he did was smile politely and dismiss the questions as if they were mere inconveniences.

You had expected at least a call from him to find some way to put an end to it all. But when he never reached out, you decided to call him yourself. All you got was a voicemail telling you to try again later. And when you did, again and again, he ended up blocking your number, showing you how things actually were between you both.

You never got an answer. You never found out why he decided to ignore how the world was painting the woman he had supposedly loved.

That’s when you decided to stop waiting for an answer, a real and proper explanation. 

If they wanted a villain, you’d give them one.

You didn’t just delete your social media and vanish from the public eye, you also returned to the industry in full force, accepting a lead role in a film after years of turning projects down just to support Max race after race. A psychological thriller that intrigued you from the moment you read the script, because the character felt too familiar and close. A woman scorned, reborn from the ashes of her own destruction.

“She gave them everything, and now she’ll take it all back.”

That one line was enough to fuel your performance, turning it into a masterclass in acting. Your director praised you endlessly, your co-stars were in awe, and even the producers—one of whom had once been a key sponsor of Max—were captivated. You convinced them to join the project though you weren’t really sure if they ended up doing so out of pity or as a subtle jab at the driver who had severed ties with them at the peak of his career. 

Either way, the message was clear: a middle finger to the boy in a narrative where you were only ever relevant because of him.

Then came your real return to the public eye. Your rebirth.

The docile girl who once stayed quiet, who barely spoke to the press, who even put her acting career on hold. The girl who lived in Max Verstappen’s shadow, was gone.

Your first public appearance, where you began promoting the film that would mark your resurgence, was at the Cannes Film Festival. You walked the red carpet with a confidence you hadn't felt in years, perhaps ever. The camera flashes were relentless, but you smiled because you knew exactly what they had expected to see: a broken, shattered woman.

Instead, your thirst for revenge made sure you left an impression, one so striking that it became the talk of the town for days.

“Y/N Y/L/N: UNBOTHERED QUEEN OR A POISONOUS SNAKE?”

You couldn't help but smirk when you read the article. In fact, you couldn’t resist making it your first Instagram post in that new era.

“Let them talk,” you thought. Because in a few weeks, everything would become even more interesting.

You had known you’d see Max again the moment you received an invitation to a TAG Heuer event as part of your film’s promotion. Your agent had tried to find a way to decline, suggesting excuses convincing enough to avoid the inevitable encounter.

Your answer?

You told her to find the best designer in the industry to create a dress dripping in subtle, unmistakable messages. A dress that would make it clear just how much you had moved on.

And so, in the heart of Monaco, in a lavish mansion hosting the exclusive party, you finally saw him again.

To no one’s surprise, he was wearing the same suit he always chose for events like this. His hair was styled, though slightly tousled because you knew he hated looking too put-together. A champagne flute rested in his hand as he moved through the room, making conversation with the other guests, effortless as ever.

Then, just as he finished speaking with his team principal, Christian Horner, and his wife, he turned.

And his eyes met yours.

415 days.

That’s how long it had been since the last time he looked at you.

You couldn’t lie, it hit you like a punch to the gut. A searing, burning weight in your chest, making it hard to breathe. Especially when he began walking toward you slowly, deliberately.

And when you saw the flicker of emotion in his gaze, when you felt the sting of tears threatening your own eyes, you reminded yourself why you were there.

You thought of every headline they had written about you. The way the media had twisted your story, painted you as something you weren’t. The way your reputation had plummeted overnight, forcing you to rebuild yourself into someone new, someone unbreakable.

Most of all, you thought about the moment Max chose to cut you out of his life completely when all you ever wanted was just an explanation for the breakup.

Just for him to care enough to silence the world that had made your life a living hell.

That was the moment you realized you were ready to see Max again.

He, however, wasn’t ready to see you.

“Y/N. Long time no see.”

He stood in front of you, avoiding your gaze. His voice was rough, uncertain.

“Max,” you murmured, taking a sip of your champagne, ignoring the way his eyes lingered on your lips. “It’s been a while.”

He didn’t answer, and you didn’t bother to say anything else. Instead, you turned toward the balcony just a few steps away, where the view stretched across most of the principality. The city lights shimmered before you, captivating you, reminding you that this place had once been your safe haven, your refuge… The setting of dreams that never became reality, of a life you once envisioned but that crumbled before it could ever be built.

You tensed at the sound of footsteps behind you, but you didn’t turn around.

You knew it was Max. And you also knew you should have left. Should have walked away, let him drown in his guilt, let the weight of regret eat away at him.

But instead, you drank the last sip of champagne, carelessly let the empty glass slip from your fingers, watching as it shattered into tiny shards against the floor, then turned to face him.

“Are you just going to stand there looking at me like I’m the best thing you’ve ever seen in your fucking life, or are you going to say something that makes sense for once?”

He inhaled sharply. You knew you had hit where it hurt the most: his pride.

“Is this what you wanted?” His voice was low, but his frustration was unmistakable. “To play the vengeful ex? To prove something? To prove something to yourself?”

You let his words settle, rolling them over in your mind, searching for a reply that would cut just as deep.

“Prove something? To someone? To myself?” You tilted your head back and let out a hollow laugh. “That’s funny, Max, because I don’t think I’ve ever needed to prove anything to anyone, including you. Tell me, have I ever needed to prove anything to you?”

Yes, that you loved him with everything you had. And where had that gotten you?

“You’ve turned this into a game, into some kind of performance,” he said coldly, his blue eyes cutting into you like daggers.

“If you want to say so…” you smirked, voice laced with mockery, "Honestly, I wouldn't mind being the actress starring in your bad dreams but, between you and I… I think I already am."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. Max, however, wasn’t laughing. His irritation was growing, his anger simmering beneath the surface, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of unease at the way he was looking at you, clouded with something dark, something dangerous.

“A game? Seriously, Max?” You spoke again, stepping closer, fingers playing with the fabric of his tie. “Tell me, who was the one who started this game? Was it me, when I heard you say you wanted to focus on your career instead of a relationship? Was it your fans, when they decided I was the villain in our story? Was it when they painted me as the ruthless bitch who left you the moment I got the fame I wanted? Or was it when you stayed silent, letting them believe it, knowing damn well it was all a lie?”

Max flinched. He knew you were right, but his pride, his damn pride, kept him from admitting it.

“I never—”

“Oh, cut the bullshit,” you cut him off, turning away before spinning back to face him. “You never defended me. You let them say whatever the hell they wanted. You let them tear me apart while you laughed at their comments, dodged their questions… feeding into the rumors you knew weren’t true.”

“It wasn’t that simple—”

“No, Max, it really was that simple,” you shot back, raising your voice. “It was as simple as telling the truth. Or saying something, anything, really. Even a lie would’ve been better than leaving me to burn the way you did. You let them think I used you, that I never loved you, that I walked away without a second thought.”

“You did walk away, don’t act like you didn’t—”

You froze. You had heard that accusation before, over and over. But the way he said it now, the coldness in his tone, it was what finally made you snap.

“What the hell was I supposed to do, Max? Follow you around like some desperate puppy after you told me you wanted to focus on your career?” you shouted, not caring who might hear. “Stay with you while every headline called me a gold-digging whore? Let strangers tell me and truly believe that, if I had a career, it was only because of you?”

Your breath was coming faster now, your chest tightening with an anxiety you hadn’t felt in a long time, and you didn’t miss.

“Do you even know what it’s like, Max? To have your entire existence reduced to being someone’s girlfriend and the main character of a series of meaningless scandals?”

Max said nothing.

“You never had to explain yourself, Max. Never. If you won races, they praised you. If you lost, they still worshiped you. If you got into fights or disappeared for weeks, you were still Red Bull’s golden boy, still the one everyone adored. But me?” You shook your head, laughing bitterly. “I had to justify my own success… the success I had built long before you and I were ever a thing.”

“I never wanted that for you—”

“And yet, you let it happen.” Your voice softened, a hint of something almost like pity creeping in. “You let them destroy me just to keep yourself clean. I don’t know if it was your idea, your dad’s, or your PR team’s, and honestly, I don’t even care anymore. I don’t wish the same on you, Max, I really don’t… but I do wish you’d had to live through it, even just for a second, so you’d understand.”

“I…”

Max dragged a hand through his hair, restless. His eyes darted around, unable to meet yours, his whole body tense with unspoken words. And despite everything, despite all the pain, you knew one thing for certain: at the end of your reputation, you were truly feeling alive.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he finally admitted. “I didn’t know how to fix it. How to make it stop—”

“That’s the thing, Max,” you murmured, tilting your head. “You never had to fix anything. You just had to stand by me.”

The weight of those words settled between you both, heavy and inescapable.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You simply stood there, staring at each other, reliving every second, every memory, every moment you once thought would last forever.

Max thought about how much he wanted to go back to those moments. You simply smiled to yourself, knowing you had walked away from the person who had broken every single promise to protect you.

“Did you ever love me?”

The question caught you completely off guard. A lump formed in your throat.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to remember everything…

The way you looked at him, and he at you, as if nothing else in the world existed. 

The way he held you in his arms every night before bed, only to do it again as you both drifted off to sleep.

The way you cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, in front of everyone, after he won a race, a championship, feeling as if the world around you had vanished.

A year ago, even a few months ago, that question would have been easy to answer. But now?

You remembered how lonely you felt when the world turned against you. How Max seemed to disappear from the face of the earth, only to reappear on TV, in Formula 1, no longer as your ex-boyfriend but as a public figure you had once idolized enough to believe you belonged by his side.

“I don’t think that matters anymore.”

You didn’t say anything else. Wrapping your arms around yourself, seeking comfort, reassurance, trying to convince yourself you were doing the right thing.

"Goodbye, Max."

For the first time, as you walked away from Max Verstappen, you didn’t look back.

He felt lost. For the first time, he truly understood that he had lost the love of his life and regretted not doing anything to stop it.

But you? You simply smiled and kept walking, head held high, feeling better than ever because this time, for the first time ever, you had won.

And also, for the first time ever, you weren’t going to apologize for winning.

If you like my content, and would like to support me, you can do it here <3 Thank you so much for reading until the very end! <3

[lulujamesspencer]

I think for sensitivity/authenticity readers you need to approach it like any other outside reader or editor: approach it as you would a therapist and pick one that fits with your style of working, actually reads and likes your genre, and will be able to give their edits/critiques in a way that is accurate AND kind. This is especially important for neurodiverse folks (solidarity fist bump to my RSD neurodiverse folks).

Story: About 10 years ago, I graduated seminary and had an idea for a theological non-fiction book on mulit-faith spirituality, which also strayed into politics and other issues. I wrote an introduction that I thought was good and interesting, so I sent it to someone who I thought would give me good advice on some of the topics, since she had experience in those areas, and maybe point out if I'd gone too far afield with some of the topics.

When I got their comments back, it was devastating and soul crushing. They ripped it to shreds, and, in areas I thought we shared similar opinions they shredded my manuscript as if they put it in a wood chipper then stomped on the mulch. Much of it the shredding was due, I think, to a mininterpretation of my wider neurodivergent thinking, but it may just be that I didn't explain myself right or... well, I just don't know, since it was hard to get past their criticisms and telling me how I was completely stupid and wrong about all of it. Now, if their comments were more like, "I don't think I agree with this statement. Did you mean for it to come off saying XYZ?" of "This doesn't happen in my experience, could you explain what your thought process was here?" I probably would have been fine, but instead they were angry and mean and assumed I didn't have knowledge about certain areas when I actually did have extensive knowledge. It was my first foray into non-fiction and as I said earlier, it was soul crushing. I really wanted to write that book, and still wish I could, but to this day I can't even start writing non-fiction without thinking about that and getting extrememly anxious. (And yes, I go to therapy, etc etc) For my fiction stuff, I'm much more careful about who I let read my early drafts. My Wife is my first reader/listener and she loves scifi and fantasy and she's able to give me feedback that's constructive, but also kind and compassionate. I have a great editor who is also very good at giving me constructive edits and feedback, but is also very kind and compassionate in the way she does it. I have a lot of friends from different experiences in life that I am comfortable asking questions of if I need to check things and I'm also very good at research. This, so far, has worked for me, and now I have 5 books of fantasy and science fiction out.

This is also why I self-publish. The constant rejection of traditional publishing would stop me from writing all together. I still can't write non-fiction in book form and that was from just one person who didn't really think about how their criticism would effect me. I also don't do writing groups, as many writing groups use a model that would absolutely ensure I never write again. So, if you are an editor, beta reader, part of a writing group, or even an agent or publisher, know that your rejections, harsh criticisms, or tough love, doesn't improve most writers, especially neurodivergent writers. Know that a lot of writers DO want to do justice to characters from experiences that they don't have experience in. I've heard stories like mine with really mean sensitivity/beta readers, and a number of those people will never write again, or never write publicly again. Please be aware that you can kill someone's passion and talent, possibly permanently.

And writers, be careful who you ask to read your stuff, and if someone has been mean, know that it's not you or your writing. Try not to give up, or give in to the tapes in your head that tell you you're horrible. Find better people to read your stuff.

On sensitivity readers, weakness, and staying alive.

The other day I was part of a Twitter conversation begun by a fellow-author on the subject of sensitivity readers, in which he said that no serious author would use sensitivity readers, and spoke of work being “sanitized”. The conversation devolved, as it often does on Twitter, but it got me thinking. It must have got someone else thinking too, because a journalist from the Sunday Times got in touch with me the next day, and asked me to share my ideas on the subject. Because I have no control over how my words are used in the Press, or in what context they might appear, here’s more or less what I told her.

I think a lot of people (some of them authors, most of them not) misunderstand the role of a sensitivity reader. That’s probably mostly because they’ve never used one, and are misled by the word “sensitivity”, which, in a world of toxic masculinity, is often mistaken for weakness. To these people, hiring someone to check one’s work for sensitivity purposes implies a surrendering of control, a shift in the balance of power. 

In some ways, I can empathize. Most authors feel a tremendous sense of attachment to their work. Giving it to someone else for comment is often stressful. And yet we do: we hand over our manuscripts to specialists in grammar, spelling or plot construction. We allow them to comment. We take their advice. We call these people editors and copy-editors, and they are a good and necessary part of the process of being an author. Their job is to make an author’s work as accurate and well-polished as possible.

When writing non-fiction, authors sometimes use fact-checkers at the editorial stage, to make sure that no embarrassing factual mistakes make it into print. This fact-checking is a normal part of the writing process. We owe it to our readers to be as accurate as possible. No-one wants to look as if they don’t know what they’re talking about.

That’s why now, increasingly, when writing about the lives and experiences of others, we sometimes use readers with different specialities. That’s because, however great our imagination, however well-travelled we may be and however many books we have read, there will always be gaps in our knowledge of the way other people live, or feel, or experience the world. Without the input of those with first-hand knowledge, there’s always a danger we will slip up. That’s why crime writers often consult detectives when researching their detective fiction, or someone writing a hospital drama might find it useful to talk to a surgeon, or a nurse, or to someone with the medical condition they are planning to use in their narrative. That’s why someone writing about divorce, or disability, or being adopted, or being trans, or being homeless, or being a sex worker, or being of a different ethnicity, or of a different culture – might find it useful to take the advice of someone with more experience.

There are a number of ways to do this. One of my favourites is The Human Library, which allows subscribers to talk to all kinds of people and ask them questions about their lives  (Check them out at https://humanlibrary.org/). The other possibility is to hire a specialist sensitivity reader to go through your manuscript and check it. Both can be a valuable resource, and I doubt many authors would believe that their writing is sanitized, or diluted, or diminished by using these resources.

And yet, the concept of the sensitivity readers – which is basically another version of the specialist editor and fact-checker – continues to cause outrage and panic among those who see their use as political correctness gone mad, or unacceptable wokery, or bowdlerization, or censorship. The Press hasn’t helped. Outrage sells copies, and therefore it isn’t in the interest of the national media to point out the truth behind the ire.

Let’s look at the facts.

First, it isn’t obligatory to use a sensitivity reader. It’s a choice. I’ve used several, both officially and unofficially, for many different reasons, just as I’ve always tried to speak to people with experience when writing characters with disabilities, or from different cultures or ethnic groups. I know that my publisher already sends my work to readers of different ages and from different backgrounds, and I always run my writing past my son, who often has insights that I lack.  

Sensitivity reading is a specialist editorial service. It isn’t a political group, or the woke brigade, or an attempt to overthrow the status quo. It’s simply a writing resource; a means of reaching the widest possible audience by avoiding inaccuracy, clumsiness, or the kind of stereotyping that can alienate or pull the reader out of the story.

Sensitivity readers don’t go around crossing out sections of an author’s work and writing RACIST!!! in the margin. Usually, it’s more on the lines of pointing out details the author might have missed, or failed to consider: avoiding misinformation; suggesting authentic details that only a representative of a particular group would know.

Authors can always refuse advice. That’s their prerogative. If they do, however, and once their book is published, they receive criticism or ridicule because their book was insufficiently researched, or inauthentic, or was perceived as perpetuating harmful or outdated stereotypes, then they need to face and deal with the consequences. With power comes responsibility. We can’t assume one, and ignore the other,

Being more aware of the experiences of others doesn’t mean we have to stop writing problematic characters. Sensitivity reading isn’t about policing bad behaviour in books. It’s perfectly possible to write a thoroughly unpleasant character without suggesting that you’re condoning their behaviour. Sensitivity is about being more authentic, not less.

People noticed bigotry and racism in the past, too. Some people feel that books published a hundred years ago are somehow more pure, or more free, or more representative of the author’s vision than books published now. You often hear people say things like: “If Dickens were around today, he wouldn’t get published.”

But Dickens is still published. We still get to read Oliver Twist, in spite of its anti-Semitism. And those who believe that Dickens’ anti-Semitism was accepted as normal by his contemporaries probably don’t know that not only was he criticized by his peers for his depiction of Fagin, he actually went back and changed the text, removing over 200 references, after receiving criticism by a Jewish reader. And no, it wasn’t “normal” to be anti-Semitic in those days: Wilkie Collins, whose work was as popular as Dickens’ own, managed to write a range of Jewish characters without relying on harmful and inaccurate stereotypes. 

But it isn’t automatic that a book will survive its author. Books all have shelf lives, just as we do, and Dickens’ work has survived in spite of his anti-Semitism, not because of it. The work of many others has not. Books are for readers, and if an author loses touch with their readers - either by clinging to outdated tropes, or using outdated vocabulary, or having an outdated style – then their books will cease to be published, and they will be forgotten. It happens all the time. What one generation loves and admires may be rejected by the next. And the language is always changing. Nowadays, it’s hard to read some books that were popular 100 years ago. Styles have changed, sometimes too much for the reader to tolerate.

Recently, someone on tumblr asked about my use of the word “gypsy” in Chocolat, and whether I meant to have it changed in later editions. (River-gypsies is the term I use in connection with Roux and the river people, who are portrayed in a positive light, although they are often victims of prejudice.) It was an interesting question, and I gave it a lot of thought. When I wrote the book 25 years ago, the word “gypsy” was widely used by the travelling community, and as far as I knew, wasn’t considered offensive. Nowadays, there’s a tendency to regard it as a slur. That’s why I stopped using it in my later Chocolat books. No-one told me to. It was my choice. I don’t feel as if I’ve lost any of my artistic integrity by taking into account the fact that a word has a different resonance now. On the other hand, I don’t feel that at this stage I need to go back and edit the book I wrote. That’s because Chocolat is a moment in time. It uses the language of the moment. Let it stand for as long as it can. 

But I don’t have to stay in one place. I can move on. I can change. Change is how we show the world that we are still alive. That we are still able to feel, and to  learn, and to be aware of others. That’s what “sensitive” means, after all. And it is nothing like weakness. Living, changing, learning – that’s hard. Playing dead is easy.

[softfem-dom]

bill relationship headcanons please…*claws at screen* it can even include Nsfw if you want. I just need content

a/n: of course! dating headcanons, sfw and nsfw, for Bill Dickey coming right up!

wordcount: 1,3k — masterlist 𝜗𝜚 navigation post NSFW CONTENT MINORS DNI

⮞ alright, let's start off with the obvious. he's a total mysognist and I don't make the rules.

⮞ he mansplains everything. everything.

⮞ he'd be the type to see you going to grab a pickle jar and snatch it up to open it for you, but he can't so he awkwardly returns it to you only for you to open it right away.

⮞ he'll affirm he 'loosened it up' for you.

⮞ he has huge jealousy issues.

⮞ you can just be talking to a random guy on the grocery store queue and he immediately assumes you're going to leave him.

⮞ gets terribly passive-agressive about it too, acting like a moody kid about to throw a tantrum.

⮞ he thinks every guy is trying to hit on you even if it's just a cashier handing you the change with a polite 'have a good day'.

⮞ there's a fifty fifty chance that he'll either take it out on you or the other guy for it.

⮞ he refers to himself as 'your knight' and says totally cringe stuff like "I would fight to the death for you, my lady" (he has never been in a real fight in his life).

⮞ if anybody ever insults you online you can bet your ass he's immediately writting a three-pharragraph response.

⮞ he's clingy as hell. but not in a cute way, but in an extremely annoying one

⮞ he's always texting, calling, or showing up at your house. and whenever you take too long to answer, he assumes you're going to break up with him and suddenly you're being spammed with over 50+ messages.

⮞ he has no real romantic experience so he just like.. showers you in gifts... of things he likes.

⮞ like... he could randomly get you an expansion for D&D despite you not having played it in your whole life and then he is the one using it😭

⮞ he calls you the cringiest petnames ever. like bro wdym my elven princess, the goddess of my realm and my player two wtf

⮞ he has you as his phone screen. both of them. no, he will not change it.

⮞ he always brags about you to the club and they are so damn sick of it.

⮞ he always tries to impress you with his wide RPG knowdelge, rambling on for hours about some obscure lore assuming you're impressed by it lol.

⮞ he actually loses his mind if you wear something nerdy, like a Star Wars shirt or something. specially if it's his.

⮞ if you cosplay (because he forcedasked you to) a videogame/series character, specially one he likes, he goes full-feral.

now, moving onto nsfw territory...

⮞ he's horny.

⮞ all the time.

⮞ he acts like he's never been touched by a woman before (because he hasn't) and is greedy about it.

⮞ he thinks he's masking it real good, but his eyes are always drift down whenever you're near him.

⮞ he's addicted to groping. this man doesn't control himself. ass, titties, thighs, everything and anything he can reach he'll grope.

⮞ he literally read guides on how to make out, watched tutorial videos, studied like it was a damn exam.

⮞ and once he got a taste, you literally can't spend five minutes with Bill before he's leaning in to initiate a make-out season.

⮞ he's lowkey a bit of a creep. he gets hard from just smelling you on his clothes.

⮞ a pantie stealer.

⮞ he goes feral whenever you wear short skirts or tight clothes. he'll play it cool in public, but the second you're alone he pounces like a damn animal in heat.

⮞ he does the moterboating thing btw..

⮞ he's mouthy as hell and doesn't know when or how to shut up. he's groaning, grunting, babbling, rambling and choking on moans the whole time.

⮞ he always leaves marks. and visible ones where you can't hide them, he doesn't care if you told him to be subtle, he wants everyone to know you're his.

⮞ he can barely last the first times btw. real pathetic virgin behaviour. will cum in under two minutes of being inside.

⮞ would and will absolutely get off on you grinding on his lap.

⮞ he freaks out over your moans and every noise you make, the first time you moaned out his name he came on the spot —no further stimulation needed.

⮞ he wakes up with morning wood almost everyday. he can't stop thinking about sex even in his dreams.

⮞ his grip is iron tight, expect to find finger-shaped bruises on your hips after every time you fuck.

⮞ when you're fucking you're his to play with. he'll take whatever he wants, satisfy himself, and then satisfy you. his pleasure comes first, sorry.

⮞ he teases you and mocks you so much especially if he's been pent up for a while. “what’s the matter, sugar? can’t handle it?”

⮞ he pins you down. full on pressing his chest against your back or chest and forcing you down on the mattress with his whole weight.

⮞ he looooves pulling your hair, the sounds you make go straight to his head (both of them, actually-)

⮞ expect to be ordered around, because when I tell you this man is bossy I mean it.

⮞ he loves making you watch yourself on the mirror while he fucks you. "look at yourself, baby. look how good you take me, sucking me in, huh? s'needy.”

⮞ and when it's over, he'll just grin at you from above —cocky, smug as if he just won over Josh— while panting like an animal in heat. "was good, huh? must've been if y'can't even answer to me. no, nods don't count as answers, doll"

[coriihanniee]

WE WOULD'VE BEEN TIMELESS — ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𓂃۶ৎ ALTERNATIVE : boynextdoor reimagined through countless worlds and eras

𓂃۶ৎ PAIRING : boynextdoor x f!reader

𓂃۶ৎ GENRE(S) : alternate universe (au), romance, fluff, angst, fantasy, historical, supernatural

𓂃۶ৎ WARNING(S) : violence, mature themes, angst, mental health issues, a bit of profanities in Taesan's, major character death(s) in Sungho's, Taesan's and Leehan's, author loves angst lol

𓂃۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 1.3k - 1.7k words / member

𓂃۶ৎ A/N : this has been sitting in drafts for SO long bcs I thought it wasn't well-written out but you guys seem interested in reading it so here it is!

SUNGHO 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : world war II (1939 - 1945)

˖➴ PAIRING : soldier!sungho x nurse!reader

The sound of distant gunfire never seemed to fade, lingering in the thick, smoky air like a constant reminder of the chaos outside the hospital walls. The battlefield was never far from your thoughts, even here—where bloodied soldiers came and went, and where you worked tirelessly to heal their wounds.

But then there was him.

Sungho. A young soldier who looked as though the war had aged him years beyond his actual age, though he still carried himself with a quiet dignity. His sharp jawline, the dark circles under his eyes—everything about him screamed of someone who had seen too much, endured too much. Yet when his eyes met yours for the first time, there was something soft in them, an unspoken plea for something other than survival.

He was brought to you after a raid, his shoulder bleeding and his face pale with pain. Despite the chaos around you, your focus zeroed in on him, and in that moment, everything else seemed to fade away. You worked quickly, cleaning the blood from his injury and applying a bandage, but his gaze never left you.

His lips parted in a faint, strained smile. “I didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to get a nurse like you.”

You chuckled, a soft breath escaping your lips as you kept your eyes on the task at hand. “You’re the lucky one. There are many others waiting for help.”

As you finished, you allowed your eyes to meet his again, taking in the quiet strength in his features. He didn’t flinch or protest, even as pain lanced through him. There was a certain calmness in his presence, a kind of bravery that resonated with you more than any heroic story ever could.

“You’ll be alright,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his skin as you reassured him, though the words felt almost empty in such a place of endless war.

“I’ll be fine,” Sungho said with a gentle smile. “As long as I don’t have to fight another battle with you.”

You smiled back, a flicker of warmth spreading through you despite the cold, sterile surroundings.

As days passed, Sungho began to recover. Slowly but surely, he moved from the bed where you had patched him up, to standing beside other soldiers, offering them words of encouragement. It was in these small moments that you saw who he truly was—a man who didn’t give up, no matter how bleak things seemed.

But the more you saw him, the more you realized how deeply you had started to care. The way he spoke to you in quiet moments, his eyes always holding something unspoken, something tender. He would often appear at the makeshift hospital when the night grew quiet, bringing you a cup of warm tea or just standing by your side when you needed a moment to breathe.

“You should rest,” you would tell him, but he’d just shake his head, that faint smile never leaving his lips.

“I can’t rest while you’re still working so hard,” he would say, his voice soft with genuine concern.

There was a lightness in the way he moved, an effortless grace that made your heart flutter. It was a quiet kind of charm, not loud or brash, but steady and comforting. Sungho didn’t need grand gestures to make you feel seen. Just being near him was enough. He was the calm in the storm of war, a beacon of hope in a place where hope was scarce.

But then, just as you began to settle into the strange rhythm of life at the hospital, everything shifted again.

The night came quickly, swallowing the light of the day, and with it came the sounds of distant artillery. The hospital, once a refuge from the war, began to feel less like a sanctuary and more like a ticking time bomb. The quiet hum of the infirmary was punctuated by the sounds of soldiers in pain and the occasional scream as a patient was brought in, bloodied and broken.

That night, the sounds outside grew louder—closer.

You were stitching a deep wound on a young soldier’s thigh when the door burst open, a medic rushing in with urgent news. “The front lines are advancing faster than expected! We need more hands!”

The panic was palpable, and you didn’t have time to think. You grabbed a fresh set of bandages, ready to do what you did best—patch them up and send them back to the fight.

Sungho, who had been standing by the window, turned to look at you with a furrowed brow. “Be careful,” he said softly, though you knew he couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice.

“I always am,” you replied, offering a small, reassuring smile, though your heart was anything but calm. The reality of this place—the war—had a way of stealing all sense of control, of taking away any semblance of safety.

As the hours wore on, you worked tirelessly, your hands growing numb from the constant stitching and bandaging. You barely noticed the clock ticking, the minutes slipping by unnoticed until you felt a sudden shift in the air—something was off.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the light dimming as the distant sounds grew louder, too loud to ignore. The familiar hum of the hospital was interrupted by a series of explosions, shaking the walls and rattling the windows. The lights flickered once, twice—before going out completely.

And then came the sound that would haunt you forever: the deafening roar of artillery shells, followed by the shriek of metal tearing through the air.

“Get down!” Sungho shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

You didn’t hesitate. You dropped to the floor instinctively, covering your head as debris rained down around you. The walls seemed to tremble, the ground beneath you shaking as though the earth itself was being torn apart. The sounds of the explosion echoed in your ears, followed by the blaring of alarms, the shouts of soldiers, and the frantic cries of the wounded.

Sungho was by your side, pulling you into his arms as the building groaned and shifted around you. “Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice desperate, the urgency in his tone more than you had ever heard before.

You clung to him, heart pounding in your chest, a surge of fear rushing through you. This was it. This was the moment you had both feared and tried to push out of your mind. The war was here, and it was claiming everything.

A second explosion rattled the walls, sending dust and debris scattering through the air. Sungho's grip tightened around you, his body pressed protectively against yours, as if somehow he could shield you from the devastation tearing through the building. His breath came in shallow gasps, and his voice was barely more than a whisper when he spoke.

"I won't let you go," he said, his words heavy with fear and determination. "Not like this."

You tried to nod, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. The hospital, your last semblance of safety, was crumbling around you, and you were trapped in the middle of it. A deep crack sounded from the ceiling above, and the world seemed to tilt violently. You could hear the anguished cries of the other soldiers—people you had cared for, patched up, sent back out into the madness. But now, the madness was here, inside these walls. And you, Sungho, and everyone else were caught in it.

"Sungho..." you whispered, your voice trembling. "What if—what if we don't make it?"

He didn’t answer at first. He only tightened his arms around you, as if trying to shield you from the horror that had already begun to unravel. But there was no protection from this, no way to stop the inevitable. The explosion had already torn through the building. The foundation was weakening.

"I don’t care," he said, his voice breaking, raw. "I just want you to be okay. I’ll take the fall, if it means you’re safe."

Your heart cracked at his words, because in that moment, you both knew. This wasn’t a fight you could win. The war outside had finally breached the hospital’s fragile defenses, and there was no way to escape it. Even if you ran, even if you tried to make it to the door, you both knew it was too late.

"Stay with me, Y/N," Sungho breathed, his forehead resting against yours. His face was pale, his hands shaking, but his eyes—those eyes that had seen too much—still held that quiet strength. "Don’t leave me alone in this."

But you knew—there was no leaving this place. No running. No escaping.

The building groaned once more, and then came the deafening crash of falling debris. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The walls around you buckled, and the floor cracked beneath your feet. You could feel the air growing thick, the dust filling your lungs, and the heat from the fires that had started in the chaos. Sungho’s arms were still around you, holding you close, but you could feel the tremor in his body. He knew, too. There was no saving you now.

RIWOO 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : victorian era (1837 - 1901)

˖➴ PAIRING : nobleman!riwoo x servant!reader

The estate was a world of rules and expectations, where lines were drawn and crossed by those who had the privilege of wealth and status. You had spent years in the shadows of that world, bound to your position as a servant in the grand estate of the Lee family. The aristocratic family had long been known for their lineage, wealth, and impeccable reputation, and you—born into a life of service—had always been the quiet observer, playing your part without complaint.

But then there was Riwoo.

He was different. Though born to privilege, he had always treated you with a warmth and kindness that set him apart from the others. While his family considered you a mere servant, Riwoo never saw you as beneath him. His smile, the glint of humor in his eyes, the moments of quiet conversation—those were the things that made you question everything you thought you knew about love, about yourself, about your place in the world.

And so, it began—unspoken but undeniable—a feeling that crept in slowly, quietly, until it was all-consuming. You were drawn to him, though you dared not say it aloud. It wasn’t just the way he treated you, as though you were something more than a servant. It was the way he saw you. In his eyes, you weren’t invisible. You were worthy of his attention, his affection.

But you knew better than to entertain the thought. He was a nobleman, his life already mapped out for him in a way you could never hope to achieve. Riwoo was promised to another—someone of his own status, a woman whose family was as high-born as his own, whose name carried the weight of society’s expectations. You, on the other hand, were a servant. A woman who knew her place and never dared to dream of crossing the line that separated you.

But as time passed, the bond between you two deepened. The stolen glances, the shared moments of laughter in the garden, the way he would find excuses to speak to you alone in the quiet of the estate. It was intoxicating, that quiet affection, and it was impossible to ignore. There were moments when his gaze lingered on you a little longer than it should, when his hand brushed yours as he passed you something, when the air between you thickened with the weight of something unspoken.

One crisp autumn afternoon, the estate was quiet, the gardens bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. You were carrying a tray of tea to the family’s private sitting room when you ran into Riwoo. He was standing near the windows, gazing out at the landscape, his back to you. The sunlight caught his hair, casting an almost ethereal glow around him. You hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Is something troubling you, sir?” you asked, using the polite form of address you always did.

He turned to face you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I was just thinking,” he said, his voice low, almost contemplative. “About how beautiful the world can seem when you stop and actually look at it.”

You set the tray down on the nearby table, your gaze lingering on him. His words struck a chord within you, as though they held a deeper meaning. But you couldn’t allow yourself to get lost in them. You couldn’t afford to entertain thoughts of him beyond what was proper.

“You should focus on your duties,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral, though your heart felt heavy.

He frowned slightly, stepping closer, and for a moment, you thought he might say something that would change everything. But instead, he simply reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with surprising tenderness.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “I always forget how much I’m supposed to focus on the family’s expectations. Sometimes, I wish I could just leave it all behind.”

You swallowed, fighting the sudden surge of emotion. "It’s not something you can just walk away from. You have your future planned out, Riwoo. You have responsibilities."

His eyes locked with yours, and you saw something there—a quiet defiance, an unwillingness to accept the fate that had been mapped out for him. “Maybe," he said quietly, "but what if I don’t want that future? What if I want something more?”

Your breath caught, and you pulled away, not trusting yourself to look at him any longer. "You can't have what you want, Riwoo. It’s not possible."

Days passed, and the weight of those words lingered like a shadow. You tried to bury your feelings, focusing on your tasks, your duties. But every time Riwoo came near, it felt as if the world tilted slightly, pulling you toward him in a way you couldn’t explain.

It was on one of those nights, as you worked late in the drawing room, dusting the shelves of books that lined the walls, that Riwoo found you. The soft light of the candle flickered as he stepped into the room, the faint sound of his footsteps on the stone floor making your heart flutter.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Riwoo said, his voice low and warm.

You turned, startled, but the moment you saw him standing in the doorway, you felt an ache deep inside. You knew what this was—the weight of what you could never have.

“Riwoo, I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat.

He walked closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and your breath hitched. “Why do you always run from me?” he asked, his voice a mixture of frustration and longing.

“I’m not running from you,” you said quickly, though your heart was pounding in your chest. “But you’re promised to someone else. We both know it.”

He shook his head, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. “I don’t care about that. I care about you.”

Your breath caught. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let yourself believe that this was real—that his words weren’t just fleeting, a momentary lapse in judgment. But you knew better. You were nothing more than a servant, and he was a man of noble birth. It was a love that had no future, no place in the world that had been built for him.

“But you don’t get to care about me,” you whispered, stepping back, your voice breaking. “You have responsibilities. You have duties. You’ll marry someone else, someone with a name, someone who fits into your world. I don’t belong there.”

Riwoo’s expression softened, a deep sadness in his eyes. He reached for your hand, gently taking it in his. “Then why is it that when I’m with you, I feel like I’m finally where I belong? Why does everything else feel so empty?”

You wanted to pull away, to tell him to forget about you, to move on and marry the woman he was supposed to. But the way his hand held yours, the way his thumb brushed gently against your skin, made it impossible to resist.

“Riwoo, you don’t know what you’re saying,” you murmured, tears welling in your eyes. “You’ll regret it. This can’t happen.”

He leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I won’t regret this,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “Not if it means being with you.”

For a moment, the world outside the estate faded away, and there was only the two of you. The weight of your worlds, of your stations, felt far away, as though in this moment, nothing else mattered. His lips hovered just inches from yours, and you could feel the electric tension between you both. But just as the distance closed, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and reality crashed back in.

Riwoo pulled away, his expression conflicted. He knew the consequences of what he was about to say, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“I love you,” he said, his voice fierce, though his eyes were filled with regret. “And I will find a way to make this work. I’ll make it work, I swear.”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You can’t. You’re bound by duty.”

“I’ll find a way to break those chains,” he replied, his voice filled with determination. “Just wait for me.”

JAEHYUN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : 1920s hollywood

˖➴ PAIRING : hollywood star!jaehyun x screenwriter!reader

The air was thick with anticipation as you walked through the sprawling Paramount Studios lot, the golden California sun casting long, languid shadows. The sound of the filmmakers' hushed whispers, the clatter of crew members adjusting lights, and the hum of the cameras rolling all seemed to blend into the same seductive hum of Hollywood’s eternal glamour. It was here, in this world of bright lights and silent whispers, that your dreams were beginning to take shape.

You were a screenwriter—an uncredited one for now, but that was about to change. Your latest script had caught the attention of a powerful producer, and it had found its way into the hands of Hollywood’s rising star. Myung Jaehyun. The name rolled off the tongues of everyone in Tinseltown, synonymous with talent, allure, and an effortless charm that had made him one of the most sought-after men in Hollywood.

Jaehyun wasn’t just another actor. He was a phenomenon—a man with a smile that could stop traffic, a voice smooth as velvet, and eyes that carried the kind of depth that turned heads both on and off the screen. You had seen him in countless movies, his face always illuminated in black and white, always perfect, always untouchable. But now, in the midst of this chaotic world you both inhabited, he was more than just an actor to you.

He was about to be your leading man.

When the production began, you found yourself constantly at odds with your own nervous energy. Jaehyun’s presence on set was nothing short of commanding. He moved through the scenes with an effortless grace, making it seem like the world was his stage. His performances were impeccable—his boyish smile, his quiet confidence, his ability to draw the audience in with the flicker of his eyes. But the more you saw him perform, the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else—something hidden beneath his perfect exterior.

In truth, you weren’t sure what to expect when you first met him on set. He had been cast for your script, after all, and there he was, bringing the very words you had written to life.

But the first time you locked eyes with him in person, you realized that he was more than just the face you had imagined in your head while writing. Jaehyun was a man of contradictions. Behind the laughter and the charming persona, you could see the weight of something darker—something far more complex.

One late evening, after a long day of shooting, the set was nearly empty. The crew had gone home, and you were alone in your thoughts, reviewing the script one last time. You felt the faint hum of the projector still running in the background, but it was Jaehyun’s voice that made you pause.

“You’re still here?”

You looked up, surprised to find him standing near the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. His tousled hair and the loosened tie around his neck only added to the rugged allure he wore so effortlessly. His smile was warm, but there was something softer in it that caught your attention.

“Yeah, just... trying to get this right,” you said, your voice betraying the weariness that had settled deep into your bones.

“You’ve been at this for hours, haven’t you?” Jaehyun asked, stepping into the room with slow, deliberate steps. He didn’t look at the script in your hands; instead, he focused on you, his gaze lingering like he was trying to see past the professional façade you both wore. "You should take a break. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends."

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Not when I’m this close,” you said, a wry smile playing on your lips. “I can’t afford to fail. This script—it’s everything.”

Jaehyun’s eyes softened. He didn’t respond immediately, instead letting the silence hang in the air between you two. He took a step closer, his tone light but full of sincerity. “I get it. The pressure’s... a lot. But you’re doing something incredible here. Don’t lose sight of that.” He leaned in, his voice lowering as he added, “We’re all counting on you, you know? I’m counting on you.”

His words were quiet, but they made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with nerves or exhaustion. The way he spoke, the intensity behind it—there was something in his gaze that made you feel as though you weren’t just another person in Hollywood trying to make a name for herself.

You shifted slightly in your chair, feeling a sudden tightness in your chest. “I don’t know if I can live up to this,” you admitted quietly, your eyes now focused on your hands, gripping the edge of the desk.

Jaehyun stepped closer still, his presence calming, and gently placed his hand over yours. The weight of his touch sent a ripple of warmth through you, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Hey,” he said softly, lifting your chin with his fingers so that your eyes met his. His gaze was intense, yet tender, as though he was seeing all the parts of you that you were too afraid to show the world. “You will live up to it. I have no doubt. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

There was a softness in the way he spoke, and it made your chest tighten. The quiet sincerity in his voice was so different from the public persona he wore. For a moment, Jaehyun wasn’t the glitzy movie star—he was just a man who understood what it felt like to be on the edge, caught between expectations and the overwhelming weight of living up to them.

You swallowed, a nervous laugh escaping your lips as you tried to break the sudden tension that had settled between you. “You’re the one who’s going to make my script a success, Jaehyun. I’m just a writer. All I do is type words.”

But Jaehyun shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No, you’re more than that. You’re the one who gave me the words to speak. Without you, I’d just be another pretty face.”

The way he said it—so simply, but with such conviction—made your heart skip. There was a sincerity in his eyes that sent a flutter through you. It was just the two of you in the dimly lit room, where the outside world couldn’t touch you.

“You’ve got a way with words, don’t you?” you said, your voice a little quieter now, the flirtation in your tone impossible to ignore.

Jaehyun’s smile deepened, and he took another step closer until he was standing just in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence. His hand remained on yours, gentle yet firm, grounding you in the moment.

“I’m just speaking the truth,” he replied softly. “But if you want me to say something else—something different—just say the word.”

Before you could respond, Jaehyun grinned mischievously, his fingers lightly grazing the back of your hand. His gaze dropped to your lips for a moment before flicking back to your eyes with a spark of teasing intent.

“Well, if you really want me to say something else…” he leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your ear, “I could tell you that I’m more than just a pretty face.”

His voice dropped to a near whisper, and for a moment, you swore he was closer than he’d ever been. You felt heat rise to your cheeks, your pulse quickening in the most unexpected way.

And just as quickly as it started, Jaehyun stepped back, flashing you a playful grin. “But, of course, that’s for you to decide.”

He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving you standing there, wide-eyed and flustered, the lingering warmth of his presence making it impossible to focus on anything but the playful tension that now hung in the air.

TAESAN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : zombie apocalpyse

°˖➴ PAIRING : protector!taesan x survivor!reader

The world, once full of laughter, bustling cities, and endless possibilities, had collapsed into nothing. It started slowly at first—a virus that seemed like any other flu strain, a quick outbreak that was initially contained. But it spread with terrifying speed, mutating faster than anyone could comprehend. Cities fell. Governments tried to maintain order, but there was nothing they could do. What had started as a series of isolated incidents exploded into full-blown panic as the virus turned the infected into the ravenous undead, driven only by hunger. Soon, civilization as you knew it was gone.

You had been running from the horrors of your home colony, the last of its inhabitants trying to hold onto what little hope remained. The colony was overrun, and you barely made it out alive, clutching a few meager supplies and running on nothing but adrenaline. Your legs burned from the effort, your lungs seared with the cold air as you ran through the overgrown streets of the abandoned city. You had no direction, no destination, but you kept going. Because stopping meant dying.

It was on that fateful night that you stumbled upon a small, fortified group of survivors—Taesan’s group. At first, they were wary, watching you from behind the makeshift barricades they’d built. You knew what they were thinking: Another stranger. Another liability.

But when Taesan looked at you—his piercing eyes scanning you with a mix of caution and something softer—you knew you were not just a stranger to him. You were another soul lost in the world, just trying to survive. And somehow, amidst the chaos of the world crumbling around you, you both found something in each other that you weren’t sure existed anymore: a chance.

Days turned into weeks. You and Taesan barely spoke at first. He was a man of few words, hardened by loss, his hands stained with the blood of the countless zombies he’d fought off to protect the group. But there was something in the way he looked at you, something that made your heart ache in the best way. It wasn’t pity or obligation; it was a quiet understanding that you both had seen the same horrors, that you both carried the weight of the apocalypse on your shoulders.

One night, as you both stood watch on the outskirts of the small camp, the silence between you was thick, filled with unspoken words. The wind howled through the broken city, and you could hear the distant groans of the undead, far too close for comfort.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the cold night, barely louder than the rustling leaves. “I don’t know why I’m here. I should’ve stayed back, tried harder to save them… to save my people.”

Taesan shifted beside you, his eyes fixed on the darkness. “There was nothing you could do. They were gone before you could make a choice.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you wiped at your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “But they were my responsibility.”

“You’re still here, though,” he said, his voice soft, almost tender. “That means you didn’t give up. And that’s what matters.”

The words felt like a balm to your raw soul, soothing the ache of loss that had consumed you for so long. You had almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone who cared about your well-being in this world that was nothing but a relentless cycle of survival.

“You don’t have to carry all that weight alone,” Taesan continued, his eyes briefly flicking to you before returning to the night ahead. “We’re in this together.”

His words hit you harder than you anticipated. It wasn’t the survival that was the hardest part of this world. It was the loneliness. The isolation. The fear that no matter how many people you met, no matter how many battles you fought, you would never find someone who truly understood what you were going through.

But here was Taesan, standing beside you, offering something you never thought you’d have again—a connection. A lifeline.

The next few days passed with more quiet moments between you and Taesan. You still didn’t speak much, but there was an unspoken understanding. He would protect you, and you would do everything in your power to help him protect the group. The world had become nothing but survival, but in the small moments, in the silent exchanges, you both began to heal.

One evening, as you worked on fortifying the camp’s entrance, Taesan came over, his footsteps light against the rubble. He stood a few feet away, watching you with an unreadable expression. Finally, he spoke.

“If you ever need to talk about… well, any of this,” he began, his voice gruff but sincere, “I’m here.”

You met his gaze, seeing something there—something that wasn’t just about survival, but about trust. “I’m… I’m not used to this,” you admitted quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Not having to do everything alone.”

For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to truly feel the relief that his presence brought. He wasn’t a savior, and you weren’t some helpless soul. You were two survivors, two people who had witnessed the end of everything and still found a reason to live.

Taesan nodded, his gaze unwavering. “I get it,” he said simply, and you felt the sincerity in those words more than anything else.

There was no grand declaration. No sweeping gesture. But as the days passed and the two of you navigated the horrors of the new world together, you realized that what you had with Taesan wasn’t just about survival.

It was a promise.

A promise to protect, to fight for something more than the end of the world—to fight for each other.

The night had fallen again, and the world outside the makeshift barricades was silent. Too silent. You knew it was coming. The warning signs had been there—the sudden surge of zombies near the perimeter, the strange movements in the shadows. Your heart raced in your chest, the air thick with the stench of fear and the eerie quiet that only preceded a storm.

"Stay close," Taesan's voice was low and steady, a sharp contrast to the pounding in your chest. His hand gripped his weapon tightly, ready for whatever came next. The once-confident leader, the protector of this ragtag group, was now standing right beside you, offering a calm you wished you could match.

"I’m not leaving you behind," you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. You'd grown too close to him. Taesan wasn’t just the man who protected you anymore. He was someone you trusted, someone you relied on in a world that had stolen everything from both of you.

He didn’t reply, but there was a flicker in his eyes. Something raw. Something real.

A loud crash echoed from the east side of the camp—zombies had breached the barricades. The horde surged forward like an unstoppable force. You and Taesan were both already moving, adrenaline taking over as you fought your way through the chaos. But something felt different this time. The air was too heavy. The weight of something… terrible.

In the frenzy of the battle, the world seemed to slow down. Your heart pounded as you watched Taesan, his movements swift and precise, cutting down zombie after zombie. You followed, staying close, making sure no one got left behind.

And then it happened.

A sudden sharp pain shot through Taesan’s side. You didn’t see the zombie approach, didn’t hear the crack of its teeth sinking into his flesh. But you saw the blood—the crimson stain spreading on his shirt.

"Taesan!" you shouted, rushing to his side.

His face was pale, the color draining from him rapidly. His grip on his weapon faltered. "It’s nothing," he tried to assure you, but his voice was strained, ragged.

"Don’t lie to me!" you snapped, your hands frantic as you pressed against the wound, desperately trying to stop the blood flow. "Shit, we need to get you inside. Now."

But Taesan shook his head, his eyes dark with something that made your heart seize. "It’s too late. You know it is."

"No!" you cried, shaking him. The panic surged through you. You couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not after everything.

He chuckled weakly, but it was bitter. "You should have stayed away from me," he said, his voice rough but filled with the kind of regret that sliced through you. "I’m not the man you think I am."

"Don’t fucking say that!" You shook your head, tears filling your eyes. "Please, just hold on."

But he didn't listen. His hand reached for your cheek, his fingers cold, trembling. His gaze softened as he traced the outline of your face, as if memorizing every detail. "I tried to protect you," he whispered, so softly you almost missed it. "But it was always you who was protecting me."

Your heart stopped. You shook your head, unable to process the depth of his words, the weight of his confession.

"Taesan," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Don’t—"

"I need you to know," he rasped, his breathing labored. "I—"

His words were cut off by a groan of pain as he collapsed to his knees. You scrambled to catch him, but his weight was too much, and he slumped forward, his head resting on your shoulder.

"I… I love you," he gasped, his eyes half-lidded with pain. "I never… I never said it, but I do. Always."

Your breath hitched, the tears spilling over, soaking his shirt. He was confessing. He was confessing now, at the end, when it was too late.

You felt his body growing cold in your arms, the transformation already beginning as his grip loosened, his body twitching.

"No," you breathed, trying to hold him up. But his body was already changing, his eyes flickering to that dark, vacant stare of the infected.

Your heart shattered. You couldn’t let him suffer. You couldn’t let him become one of them.

Without thinking, you pulled out your gun—the one you had hoped you'd never need to use. With shaking hands, you raised it to his head.

"Taesan," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I’m so sorry."

The last flicker of recognition in his eyes lingered for a moment, just long enough to know that he understood. And then, with one final tear, you pulled the trigger.

LEEHAN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : 18th century, coastal village

˖➴ PAIRING : fisherman!leehan x mermaid!reader

Leehan had grown up hearing the stories.

Old fishermen, with their weathered hands and salt-stained voices, spoke of mermaids—creatures of the deep, neither fully human nor beast. Some swore they were monsters, dragging sailors into the abyss with their haunting songs. Others claimed they were omens, appearing before a storm to warn those wise enough to listen.

But there was one tale that had always stuck with him.

"A mermaid’s love is a curse."

"Once a mermaid chooses a human, they are bound forever. But the sea is jealous—it never lets them keep what they love for long."

Leehan never believed in fairy tales.

Until the day he met you.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day. The sky was clear, the waves calm, and Leehan was focused on his fishing net when he saw something unusual—a shimmer just beneath the surface.  

At first, he thought he was hallucinating. The sun reflected off your iridescent scales, casting flecks of light over your skin. Your hair clung to your face, eyes wide as you stared at him, both of you frozen in shock.  

Then, you smiled.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," you teased, tilting your head.  

Leehan swallowed hard. "You're real."  

You floated closer, resting your arms on the edge of his boat. "I could say the same about you. Most humans never get this close."  

"Most humans don't believe in you," he admitted, though he couldn't take his eyes off you.  

"You do."  

Leehan hesitated. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe it would be easier if he didn’t. But something deep inside him—the same part that used to listen wide-eyed to old sailors' stories—whispered that he always had.

So, he nodded.

And you smiled, like you had been waiting for that answer all along.

Days turned into weeks. Every morning, Leehan would take his boat out a little farther than usual, knowing you’d be waiting. And every time, you’d greet him with that teasing smile.  

“You should be careful,” he warned one day as you played with the ropes on his boat. “If anyone sees you—”  

“They’ll try to kill me?” you finished, unfazed. “I know. Humans are predictable.”  

Leehan frowned. “Not all of them.”  

You looked at him then, and for the first time, your teasing expression softened. “No. Not all of them.”  

It wasn’t long before you started waiting for him, not just to talk, but to listen. You wanted to know everything—what it was like to live on land, to see the stars without the water blurring them.  

And in return, you told him about the ocean. The parts of the world he would never see. The beauty of the deep, the dangers lurking where light couldn’t reach.  

“You love it, don’t you?” he asked one evening, watching the way your face softened as you spoke.  

“The sea is my home,” you admitted. “But lately… I wonder what it would be like to stay here instead.”  

Leehan’s breath caught in his throat, but before he could say anything, you laughed.  

“Relax, fisherman. I wouldn’t last a day on land.”  

But you both knew it was too late.  

You were falling. And so was he.  

The village had always feared the sea. It was in their blood—their fathers and grandfathers had warned them of the creatures lurking below, waiting to drag them under.  

And now, they had proof.  

You never saw them coming. One moment, you were waiting in the shallows for Leehan, the next, hands were on you—nets tangling around your limbs, rough voices shouting.  

“Look at the size of it!”  

“It’s real!”  

“A monster—”  

You fought, but the more you struggled, the tighter the ropes became. The air burned in your lungs. The sun was too bright. And then—  

“STOP!”  

Leehan’s voice cut through the chaos. He shoved through the crowd, panting, eyes wide in horror as he took in the sight of you—trapped, helpless, terrified.  

"Let her go," he demanded.  

One of the older men turned to him, scoffing. "You knew, didn’t you? You’ve been hiding this thing?"  

"She's not a thing,” Leehan shot back. “They’re—” He stopped himself. He din’t know what to say. What could he say? That you weren’t dangerous? That you weren’t a threat?  

No one would listen.  

The village had already made up their mind.  

The sky was painted in the colors of dusk when they decided your fate.  

A harpoon. A single strike to the heart. It would be quick, they said. A mercy.  

You had stopped struggling by then. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the realization that there was no escaping this.  

Leehan tried to run to you, but strong arms held him back.

“No—” Leehan thrashed against their hold, but the villagers’ grip was unyielding, rough hands digging into his arms, keeping him in place. He struggled anyway, desperation surging through him like a raging tide. “Let me go! Please—”

His voice cracked on the last word, raw and broken, but no one listened. No one cared.

You turned your head slightly, eyes finding his through the chaos. And then—despite everything—you smiled. A soft, tired thing.

“…Leehan,” you murmured, voice gentle, as if you were comforting him.

Leehan’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. “Don’t—” His voice wavered, thick with grief. “Don’t act like this is okay.”

Your gaze softened. There was no fear in your eyes, no anger. Just a quiet acceptance. “It was always going to end like this, Leehan.”

“No.” His struggles weakened, exhaustion creeping in, but he still fought against the hands that held him back. “No, it wasn’t.” His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurred with unshed tears. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

You inhaled slowly, as if savoring the air one last time, then exhaled, your expression turning wistful. “You were the best thing I ever found on the surface.”

A sharp inhale. His jaw clenched. His whole body shook with the weight of words he couldn’t force out.

“Don’t—” His voice cracked again, barely above a whisper.

Your fingers twitched slightly, as if reaching for him, but the ropes were too tight. “Leehan,” you breathed, softer now, like the final note of a fading song. “If things were different... if I could stay...”

He shook his head violently, chest heaving. He still fought, still tried, but the hands on him only tightened. It was useless.

So you did it for him.

“I would have chosen you.”

And then—  

The harpoon struck.  

A gasp. A shudder.  

And then, silence.  

The water, which had always been so full of life, was still.  

Leehan's hands trembled at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching as if he could still reach you—still pull you back from your predicament.

But nothing could.  

Not even love.    

The village cheered. The monster was dead.  

But Leehan didn’t move. He stayed there, frozen, his body trembling as he stared at you. The villagers slowly loosened their grip, but he didn’t fight anymore. There was nothing left to fight for.

Slowly, he lifted his head.  

And for the first time in his life, he hated the sea.  

WOONHAK 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : present day, with a twist of supernatural

˖➴ PAIRING : hunter!woonhak x human!reader

The first time you met Woonhak, you had no idea just how much your life was about to change. It was late at night, and you were walking home from a late study session, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. That’s when you saw it—a figure in the distance, a dark, twisted shape moving toward you in the alley.

It didn’t take long for you to realize what it was. The gleam of fangs in the darkness made your blood run cold, and before you could react, the vampire lunged at you. The world seemed to slow down as the creature closed in, its eyes glowing with malice.

But then, everything went quiet. A sharp crack echoed through the alley, and the vampire stumbled back with a horrible, gurgling sound. Your heart raced, your breath caught in your throat as you turned to see him—Woonhak. Standing tall, his gaze focused and intense, a silver blade in hand, glinting in the moonlight.

He moved with a precision you couldn’t even fathom. The vampire didn’t stand a chance as Woonhak sliced through the air with swift, calculated strikes. Every movement was practiced, sharp—like he’d been doing this for centuries. In moments, the vampire crumpled to the ground, lifeless, a dark puddle forming beneath it.

You stood frozen, your legs barely holding you up as you watched him wipe his blade clean. The silence that followed felt deafening.

Finally, you managed to speak, your voice shaking with the remnants of adrenaline. “Who—who are you?”

Woonhak turned to you, his expression softening as he met your gaze. A small, reassuring smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though there was something unreadable in his eyes. “Just someone who takes out the trash,” he said with a lightness that didn’t quite match the intensity of the situation. Then, his voice softened, his gaze never leaving you. “Are you okay?”

You backed away slightly, still in shock, trying to process the scene you had just witnessed. “That was... real, wasn’t it? You... you killed it.” The words felt like they were coming from someone else, your brain struggling to make sense of the new reality you’d just been thrust into.

Woonhak nodded, wiping his blade with a practiced hand. “Yeah. Vampires, demons... they’re real. You’re not safe here anymore,” he said, his tone growing serious. He looked at you with a quiet intensity, his gaze never faltering. “I’ll protect you. But I need you to trust me.”

Your mind raced, trying to keep up with the chaos of the situation. “Why should I trust you?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “You’re just... a stranger. Why me?”

His expression darkened slightly, a flicker of something—pain, maybe—passing through his eyes. “Because I’m your only chance at survival,” he said, his voice steady but with an underlying edge. “And because this isn’t the first time the supernatural world has taken an interest in you.”

As the days passed, Woonhak stayed close, always keeping an eye on you but never making you feel suffocated. His playful banter filled the quiet moments between your training sessions, making the tension of your new life seem almost manageable. He trained you, not in the usual way, but in self-defense. His hands were firm as they guided yours through each motion, his voice confident and lighthearted, always adding a bit of humor to keep the mood from getting too heavy.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” he said one evening as you practiced a defensive maneuver. “But trust me, you’ll be thanking me when you’re knocking out vampires with one punch. You’ll look so cool doing it.”

You shot him a playful, frustrated look, unsure of how to process everything he was telling you. “And you’re just... some supernatural hunter? Why me? What’s so special about me?”

He paused, looking thoughtful for a moment before flashing you a grin. “It’s not just that. You’ve got this... energy, this connection to things that are way bigger than you or me. And hey, I’m just here to make sure you don’t get eaten alive in the process.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “What do you mean? Am I... am I a target?” The thought made your stomach churn.

Woonhak’s grin softened, and he gave you a reassuring nudge. “Yep, you are. But, hey, don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Always.” His smile was wide, full of the confidence that made you believe, for a moment, that everything was going to be okay.

The weeks that followed were filled with moments of laughter and small, meaningful conversations between your patrols and training sessions. Even with the tension building around you, Woonhak’s humour kept things light. It was hard to stay too overwhelmed when he made it seem like every supernatural creature was just another silly challenge to face. You even started looking forward to his jokes, his smiles, and the way he made you forget just how crazy everything around you really was.

Then, one night, after barely escaping an ambush by a pack of rogue werewolves, you found yourselves standing side by side, breathless and covered in dirt. The tension in the air was thick, both of you still riding the adrenaline, but there was something else there, too. Woonhak turned to you, his face lit up by the soft glow of the streetlights. His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, the playful edge in his expression was replaced with something more genuine. He took a step closer, his gaze softening.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, his voice low but reassuring, as he reached up and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered there for a moment, gentle and warm. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

Your pulse quickened, your heart hammering in your chest. You wanted to ask more questions, to figure out what exactly was happening between you two, but when his eyes stayed on yours like that, all you could think about was the way his warmth felt, the way he was so close and yet so careful.

“But... why?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself. “Why do you care so much? I’m just... a normal person.”

Woonhak’s playful grin faltered for a moment, and his hand stayed close to your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw softly. His voice was quieter this time, more honest, and without his usual cheerful tone. “Because... I don’t want to lose you.” His words were raw, sincere, and they made your chest tighten. “I don’t know when it happened, or why... but I think I’m falling for you.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his words. “Woonhak...” you whispered, barely able to process what you were hearing. The world seemed to slow down as his gaze deepened, and you saw something in him you hadn’t realized before—vulnerability, a hint of fear, but something else, too. Something real.

He closed the distance between you, his hand gently cupping your face as he leaned in just a little closer. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, and his smile returned, though this time it was softer, warmer. “Sorry if I’m getting too close,” he murmured, his voice a little teasing but filled with a tenderness you hadn’t expected. “But I just... can’t help it.”

You felt the warmth of his body, the pull of his presence, and in that moment, you knew. You knew that, despite all the danger surrounding you, you were willing to take the leap with him.

“I don’t know how to feel,” you admitted softly, your heart racing. But deep down, you could already feel what your heart was telling you. “But... I don’t want to lose you either.”

Woonhak’s smile softened into something genuine, the lightness of his usual demeanour blending with a quiet intensity. “Then we’ll fight together,” he said, his voice filled with determination and warmth. “We’ll face everything, you and me. Together.”

@coriihanniee ☁️

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

perm taglist : @lvlyhiyyih @supi-wupi @tinyelfperson @8makes1atom @s0shroe @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @mydeepestsecrects @brownetry @pumpkg @heeheesang @jungwonbropls

[capn-merca]

I’d just like to make it public plain that I, as a trans woman, will always assume that anyone who believes this crap this is a TERF. I mean, if you’re agreeing with one stupid thing she’s said, I have no reason to believe you don’t also agree with other stupid things she’s said. You can’t say oh she’s wrong about trans woman but also right about all Harry Potter enjoyers agreeing with her; she’s either full of shit or she’s not, if you’re agreeing with her on this, you’re agreeing with her other claims.

Also like, there’s no such thing as thought crime; simply enjoying Harry Potter doesn’t magically make you agree with Rowling that’s so dumb and makes no damn sense. You can enjoy Harry Potter and still acknowledge the story’s faults, you’re not going to lefty hell for liking a story.

At the end of the day, there’s plenty of other stories headed by outspoken transphobes that don’t get nearly as much attention or whose fans don’t get any hate at all. The entire anti Harry Potter thing is so blatantly just an excuse to bully people while stoking a holier than thou ego; Rowling already has all the money and influence she could possibly have, even if you directly gave her money you wouldn’t be allowing her to do any real harm to trans people that she couldn’t already do. If y’all actually wanted to help trans people, you’d be talking about real issues and how to fight systemic oppression, not bullying Harry Potter fans.

Anyway, I’m sick of my people being used as an excuse to bully people, it makes me sick. I fucking hate assholes like this, please keep my name out of your damn mouth.

-Sincerely, a trans woman with real problems that doesn’t give a shit what other people enjoy in their free time

[professional-rat-eater]

The Dubai apartment is depressing for so many symbolic reasons but also because Armand gives off the energy that he should have trinkets everywhere.

If he were allowed to actually relax in a relationship (or get as close as he’s physically able to) I feel like he would just have stuff everywhere. He takes up every conceivable hobby there is and either sticks with it for ages or loses interest in a week. The Devil’s Minion chapter backs this up I feel. He is both a magpie attracted to shiny objects and a crow who brings ‘gifts’ to Daniel.

I want to see Armand not worrying about meticulously curating and micromanaging the absolute fuck out of his relationship and instead collecting weird shit that he just leaves lying on every surface, and then maybe one day he snaps and throws all of it out but only to make room for his latest fixation, or maybe Daniel tries to convince him to move some of it but he can’t bear to part with any of it.

His purchase history on the app story is batshit and Daniel is answering the door every five minutes to collect another Amazon parcel. Armand leaves shit all over the floor just outside of their coffins because he swears need to have it within arm’s reach. He’s buying the same exact items in multiple colours because he needs to but he also has a serious issue with object permanence so whenever something is no longer within his line of sight, he forgets it exists. Thank god Daniel is a vampire already because the number of times he’s tripped over random things lying on the ground probably would’ve killed him already if he were still alive. I need to see Armand letting his freak flag fly but specifically regarding his weird hyperfixations.

There’s also something very sweet and uncharacteristically innocent about his childlike habits because the safety and security he would feel with Daniel, despite being much more powerful than him, would imply that he’s able to regress just a little to being the child he was never allowed to really be.

[nefkyology]

As much as I (*don't) like Christopher Nolan as a director, I sit in fear of what Odyssey will be, and I'll probably refuse to watch it when it comes out.

Partially because I worry for the interpretation of Circe and/or Calypso, but mostly because I know no one will actually take the time to talk about Odysseus's bow like it needs to be.

Like a comedy skit.

I have little knowledge on these things, so forgive my inaccuracies.

His was deacribed as a palintonos horn composite bow. Not only would it bend backwards when relaxed, but it needed time, knowledge, and patience to be reshaped and strung correctly, which the suitors didn't have.

For reference, this is a Turkish horn composite bow at the MET,

And here a series of diagrams on the Asian composite bow, including the form it needs to take to perform correctly, without it falling apart.

Note: this tells us, whichever model is closer to the one intended for Odysseus', that the bow was fit for warriors.

You can see that just positioning the arrow should be an effort that involves your whole body. The string itself needs to be pulled far enough that it looks like an arrow pointing backwards, and your grip needs to be solid as the tension is stronger.

Now imagine you didn't know all that, and dear queen Penelope presented you with the challenge to shoot an arrow with this.

Like me, you've already pictured the string in the wrongest position possible.

Blumineck the Arrow Bard on Youtube tried demonstrating this issue here, and the account Inspired Cosplay expanded on the difficulty of the challenge in a few videos, but I'll just leave these two here and here.

Point is: How. How did no one laugh. How did Penelope not have to bite the inside of her cheek once. How did Odysseus himself remain serious? Was he looking away the whole time? I'd look away too if people were touching my stuff and damn near breaking it for nothing.

[evilwriter37]

Apparently tonight I’m just vague blogging to address more widespread issues, but someone on a post where I’d written about authors of adult fiction not needing to put a disclaimer or “don’t do this in real life” statement on their works because most people have a solid moral compass by then, and that doing so only infantalizes the audience, went and said “I actually appreciate those disclaimers, because when I was a kid reading that stuff I—”

Let me stop you right there.

I said “adult fiction.”

I am not writing for an audience of children. When my fics are rated mature or explicit it is for a reason. It is not for kids!

Authors of adult fiction shouldn’t have to put “don’t do this in real life” just in case a kid wanders in when they’re not supposed to.

You were not the audience for those stories, and are admitting that you were way too young to be in a place on the internet that you shouldn’t have been in.

A strip club doesn’t have signs like: “Oh no! Nudity! Avert your eyes if you’re under 18!”

Like, come on… You were the one who lied about your age and went somewhere you weren’t supposed to, and putting the blame of your actions onto adults strangers online is not good or useful. Being young does not absolve you of consequences.

So, no. Fuck stupid, infantalizing, virtue signaling disclaimers on fics and things like that. I’m not putting a disclaimer on a fic just in case a kid might show up. They’re not supposed to be there in the first place!

[theclockworkjudas]

Below the cut is an off the cuff, 600 word on topic essay done in a half hour to show how easy it is.

Writing 600 words is childplay. Look, I can write 600 words about this topic right now, off the top of my head. Like, I feel like in any other circumstances that collaboration should be considered a good thing, but not at the expense of doing the work yourself. Part of the issue I'm seeing is that children aren't taught properly how to learn, and therefore how to formulate their own ways of thinking about things. And this is hard, because different children learn in different ways, and it's hard to come up with a classroom style that suits all the needs of every student. So, instead, teachers are taught how to teach in a single unified way, that leads to children not having their needs met. They aren't even taught how to seek out tools to meet their own needs, so they grow up with the concept of learning, period, as being an uncomfortable thing. This leads to children taking shortcuts like the one mentioned above and going above and beyond to avoid doing the work. This might lead to a rise in cleverness in children, but not actually knowledge retention.

Add to that the rising prevelance of "fast media" constantly speeding up and shortening everything. Quick soundbites. Youtube shorts. Tiktok. Vine. Heck, I recently saw a "study aid" that played a narrarator reading out study notes over tiktok compilations. Which, that's ingenious, don't get me wrong, but these teens should have enough attention span that they shouldn't need it, damnit. It sucks that 20 minutes of focus is so unbearable to the average teen that they have to have "Cocomelon for teens" playing in the background to keep any sort of attention. And how much are they actually retaining with the constant distraction. And this isn't to say that some people (hello fellow ADHDers) struggle with keeping focus. I need a hand stim for pretty much any focused task. But a good way to hone the skill isn't by adding more input, it's by practicing focus, with medical support if necessary. 311. We're more than halfway there at this point. It's taken me 20 minutes. And believe me, focusing is hard, as someone with adhd myself.

Let's circle back to the concept of teachers only teaching a single unified way of learning. This problem, in my point of view, is caused by three things. Firstly, teachers have been taught to teach only a single way, because their teachers have taught them to teach in a single way, etc, etc, forever and ever amen. This leads to a vicious cycle in which we are stuck teaching the same teaching methods because it's "the way it's done" and if anything heaven forbid is done differently it's quickly squashed because teaching in any way that isn't beholden to standardized testing will invariably lose the school money. That's right, standardized test scores are very tightly tied into how much funding a school gets. Because if the school isn't doing a "good job" teaching their students (i.e, making sure they can pass a standardized test) the school doesn't deserve funding. Never mind the fact that consistently underfunded schools don't have the materials or staffing ability to give their students the tools they need to actually learn in any way that matters, let alone pass a test. So that leads to kids already at a disadvantage getting more and more disadvantages, and the private school kids getting a great education, but leaning towards religious based or conservative schools. Which is to say that all this is by design to keep the ruling elite on top, the poor peons on the bottom to uneducated to even realize what a disadvantage they are at or ever get the tools to get out of it. Which is why I say, hone the skills you have, and don't be to hard on the kids who the system is rigged to fail, and instead reach a hand out and help in any way you can. And that was over 600 words.

[corevibeself]

Wʜᴀᴛ ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ ɪs ɢᴜɪᴅɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ? 🌾🐇

How to pick a pile: Close your eyes and take a deep breath. once grounded, choose the image that pulls you in. Don't overthink it!

This is a short reading with a one-card pull, because I had some time on my hands to post it <3

Ｐｉｌｅ ��� 🦅

You guys got the Falcon!

So, what I'm getting from this card is that you might be waiting on some type of opportunity or scoping out something you will choose. The Falcon spirit is guiding you right now, helping you narrow down a few things.

Falcons have sharp eyes and are great hunters. You might notice their guidance through a random impulse to do something that feels important, or you may see more opportunities appearing in front of you that you wouldn't have noticed before. They're broadening your perspective, is what I'm getting. The falcon wants you to snatch up whatever opportunity you set your sights on!

Don't worry about missing these opportunities—falcons have incredible eyesight. They'll make it clear to you.

Ｐｉｌｅ ２ 🐘

You guys got the Elephant!

Elephants are literally one of the most emotionally intelligent animals on this planet. If you've been going through a lot emotionally or feeling like a caretaker for others, this animal is here to help ground you to your own inner guidance and help with emotional release and being open with people.

You might notice their guidance through a sudden urge to take care of yourself, or a burst of wisdom that comes at just the right moment. Stay true to yourself—that is your strength at the moment. Stay authentic and open. I just remembered how elephants are afraid of mice, even though they're so small compared to them; what I intuitively felt from that was that whatever issue or fear you're faced with, you can handle it; you've got the strength to.

It can also be a reminder that the issue is actually smaller than how it feels, but your feelings are valid; that's why the elephant is encouraging you to be more vulnerable, because I'm seeing that friends or family could be a great source of support right now, so open up. Elephants work together.

Ｐｉｌｅ ３ 🦉

You guys got the Owl!

Have ya'll been staying up late? Lol.

I'm seeing someone in bed with anxious thoughts, unable to sleep—maybe because of a specific situation that's keeping them up at night.

Guys, the owl is here to help you see through the bullshit. Notice how owls are quiet as hell and then just ask, Who? Like, girl, you already know who. Stop acting clueless, HA! This guide is helping you see things more clearly—things you may have been unsure about. It’s also serving as a discerner, helping you filter through what’s real and what’s not.

This is a time of release—finding out something about a friend, having realizations, uncovering truths. These revelations have a purpose, and you need to be aware of them because we’re seeing past the fog.

Just like owls can turn their heads 360 degrees, if you think you know or see everything right now, turn your head a bit. That’s what this owl is guiding you to do.

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

Hope you enjoyed the reading! It was really fun to make! hehehe xxx<3

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Where was this “censorship is bad” attitude when it came to the confederate flag. Or does this only apply to pedophilia.

Anon, I know you aren't actually interested in the answer to this question, because if you were you wouldn't throw it into my inbox like an accusation while hiding behind the mask of anonymity, but I'm going to treat this question like it was sent in good faith, because I think the issue with this argument is that people aren't willing to apply nuance to situations and to paint everything with the same brush.

I'll be honest, this question DID trip me up. I feel that these situations are different... but WHY? I'm going to make an attempt to answer, but do keep in mind that I'm a white woman and that readers of color would be better able to articulate the arguments here, but I don't want to burden them with responding to this as they have already spoken up and have had to defend their presence in this fandom more than they have had to already.

1. Tagging/Consent:

The fic featuring Joel and his daughter was tagged with all appropriate warnings. Readers could read the warnings and determine whether they wanted to read the fic or not. The themes (that most, including me, would find disturbing) were communicated at the top, and if someone ignored the warnings and continued to read and be upset by the content, that's on them.

The use of a confederate flag (as a tired and harmful stereotype of "southern" aesthetic) was NOT tagged. Readers did not know about the existence of disturbing/upsetting content because they were not warned. Readers were unaware and could not consent, and as a result some of those readers very politely (AND PRIVATELY, AHEM) asked that the author remove the reference, explaining their reasons. Things escalated when the author refused.

Alternatively, the author could have kept the reference in and tagged it as "the main love interest is a piece of shit racist" and then people could have decided if they wanted to interact with it.

2. Audience response

These two situations were met with a very different response. It might not FEEL different to those blogs that feel they are fighting for taking disturbing and/or harmful content off of the internet right now, but it is, I promise.

In the case of the confederate flag: first, the author was messaged privately and asked to remove the content. They refused. Then, several posts were made explaining the harmful history of the confederate flag and why it's inappropriate in a fic that isn't tagged appropriately warning the reader of racism. At no point did anyone "call out" people who interacted positively with the fic. No one made lists of people who liked it and called them racists. People only attempted to point out WHY it is harmful, AND educate others on the history of the flag, because as many people pointed out, non-Americans don't necessarily have the same context.

Now, in the current situation, that's not what happened. To my knowledge, no one reached out privately to the author about it. (BUT once again I must refer you to point 1, where this was tagged appropriately with warnings and any reader should have been aware of what they were consuming). The reaction was to publicly call out not just the author, but everyone who had interacted with the post, and then started picking fights with others who were adding commentary. The "I'm just raising awareness" argument falls on deaf ears because that's NOT what is happening. If that were the case, no one would have posted screenshots of my blog and insinuated that I, as a mom, abused my own child. I let that one go in the interest of keeping things civil, but that is a personal, inflammatory attack on me and does not fall under the guise of "raising awareness." This WAS meant to incite a negative response towards specific people in the fandom and we all know it.

3. Miscellaneous thoughts

I read the post detailing Tumblr's terms of service and it wasn't entirely clear to me whether fictional content involving minors is included on the list of violations to the ToS, and frankly, it doesn't really matter to me. The fic was taken down, and from screenshots of the original fic, it looks to me like the author was internationally trying to be inflammatory, which is their perogative, and I'm not particularly bothered that the fic was taken down. I'm not crying "boohoo, censorship!" because I want to read it or because I think incest is good, actually.

So it was removed. But is writing it a crime? No, it's not. Just because something may violate a website's ToS doesn't make it a crime, and people are throwing around that accusation regarding this fic, and it simply isn't true. That's where I got involved, because I'm a precise and literal person and I like it when things mean what they are supposed to mean. That fic wasn't illegal. Gross? Sure. In bad taste? That's up to opinion, and mine is yes, but my opinion on whether it's yucky or harmful does not make it a crime, nor does the fact that it violates the terms of service of Tumblr dot com. I chimed in because words like "illegal" have specific definitions, and this does not meet it.

Thanks for the question, I do hope you read and think about my response, and if anyone else has anything to add regarding the difference between these two scenarios, I'd welcome the discussion because I'm sure there are nuances I've missed.