#i rarely include comments in a reblog but I have a lot of Thoughts on roseddie

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Squeaky Clean 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You start work as a maid but you're not prepared for the mess your client brings with him. (maid AU -- plus!reader)

Note: yeah...

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

This isn’t where you pictured yourself. Even as a cynic, it’s not a job you would aspire too. You’re realistic. Practical. You do what needs to be done. And you suppose, at the end of the day, that’s all this is. Cleaning is rarely enjoyable but it needs to be done. 

You have your kit. The agency gave that to you for a $30 fee. Wonderful, you get to pay for supplies. Business is business. Just another way of the world. The bucket is weighed down by the cleaners, the sponges, clothes, etc. The vacuum is a rental and weighs down your trunk with the broom and mop from your own apartment. You’re not buying a whole new set just for this. They’ll do the job. 

You can settle for that. For what will do. For the bare minimum. Life has been a lot of that. You’re not the only one living that way so why feel sorry for yourself. Get through it, get over it. 

The map on your phone leads you to the address. It’s a big place. One of those high-end townhouses. Not new but renovated. Protected by some city ordinance for ‘historical preservation’. Under that, they sell for nothing less than two million. Yep, you expect that. Logic and practicality are easy bedmates. 

You park and feed the meter. Again, paying to make money. The world runs on money. Put in a little and hope for a few cents to get you by. 

You get out and grab your bucket. You'll come back for the rest when you need them. Zuli, the woman who went over the expectations with you assured you that most clients are away during a service call. They don’t like mingling with the help. If they are around, you likely won’t see them. Or they won’t acknowledge you. 

You can suck up your pride. It’s that city mindset. When you’re on the subway, you keep your head down, you don’t make eye contact. If you hadn’t taken this damned job, you wouldn’t be slogging through New York traffic in the company pinto. A job is a job, money is money, everything is simple if you just parse down your expectations. 

You climb the front steps and as you go to ring the doorbell, a lens built in to protect the overpriced property, the door opens. You retract your hand in surprise. Bad timing? 

The man that greets you is tall and blond. He wears a button up; brown plaid, and khakis. He looks like a cut-out husband from a 1950s advertisement for laundry soap. ‘Give your a fresh scent’ or whatever. 

 Strangely, he also tweaks your memory. Do you know him from somewhere? That’s not possible. You don’t know anyone you’re not forced to know. 

“Mister...” You lift your phone and check the app. “...Rogers.” 

Oh, right. Steve Rogers. You thought it was a coincidence. It can’t be a very uncommon name. You really didn’t anticipate the Captain America opening the door, even in Brooklyn. 

“You must be...” he says your name with a smile. “You can just call me Steve.” 

He holds out his hand. You look at it and stiffly set down the kit. You shake it, out of courtesy. Just your luck. You get one that wants to chat. 

“I’ll give you the tour,” he squeezes your hand firmly before he lets go. “You can get the lay of the land.” 

Another false promise. You should be used to those by now. Those written directions Zuli mentioned are out the window. You get the full curated walk through. 

“Thanks,” you nod and bend your knees. 

He’s quicker than you. Stronger too. Obviously. But the way he easily scoops up the bucket, it’s like he’s picking up no more than a pillow. The act adds to the hint of mortification in prickling behind your ears. Here you are, in sweats and a bandana, in a nice neighbourhood, and now you’re faced with the primped and pristine golden boy. 

He backs up and gestures you inside, the bottle of bleach wiggling in the bucket. You enter and stop on the matter. You slip out of your shoes as he shuts the door. He turns, coming close, close enough that his warm radiates through the back of your hoodie. 

“You can hang up your sweater,” he reaches to tap a peg on the coat rack mounted on the wall. 

“Sure,” you unzip the hoodie and hang it. 

The house is nice. Organized. You wonder why he needs a maid but then again, you suppose even if he can do it himself, he might not want to. Or have the time. How much leisure does he have when he isn’t saving the world. 

It’s a pretty standard layout. You’ve seen homes with a similar floor plan by the fixtures are loose and corroded and the floorboards splintered. Nice places, just aged. Owned by those who can’t afford hired help. 

You notice a few original pieces, restored, but emblazoned with the patent that demarcates them as turn of the twentieth century. Almost as old as the man leading you around. You go through the first floor, the second floor, and come back down. 

“So, I’ll be around here and there. I don’t really have a solid schedule but I’ll try to have you come in around the same time, make it easy on you,” he explains. He has a hand on his hip as he gestures with the other; like he’s ordering around his soldiers, rather, his avengers. 

“Right,” you nod again.  

Taking orders isn’t that hard. They remind you of someone else but they’re not difficult. It’s harder when you don’t know what others want. When disappointing them is easy. 

“Any questions?” He asks. 

“No,” you shake your head. You stand awkwardly, waiting. You clear your throat. “I can take that.” 

You reach for the kit and he flinches as he looks down. He chuckles, “oh, oh yeah. Heavy. Let me know where to put it. I’ll save you the pulled muscle.” 

“Really, I can handle it,” you grab the handle, next to his hand. He resists for a moment then lets you take it. He could keep it from you if he wanted. That thought is something else. This man is powerful in more ways than one. “Thanks.” 

“No problem, and whatever you need, water or whatever, let me know,” he offers as he slides one heel back. “I’m up in my office today so you can do that last.” 

“Makes sense,” you accept and turn away.  

Kitchen first, that’s the most tedious. 

[requiemforthepoets]

it’s you that i’ve been waiting for, all of my life ⟢ LN4

final part of the crazy rich asians au ⟢ part one part two

PAIRINGS: lando norris x asian!female!reader

SUMMARY: with a lot of your family and friends are either getting engaged or married, it made you think about a lot of things—well, mostly marriage.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: non-use of y/n, reader is asian, foul language, traditional family, asian culture & tradition, food, crazy rich asians inspired + plot, heiress reader, named characters (except reader, names are mostly taken from CRA), social status, high society, mentions of marriage, reader having a wedding fever, fluff, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 9.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: finallyyyy, this is the last part of my crazy rich asians au. the rest of the updates for this series is already smaus—which will be updated sporadically. to all that read, commented, and reblogged, thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. tbh, i wasn’t even sure/confident with this three part series bc it was literally my first time writing this kind of fic, so thank you so much. as always, your reblogs/comments are highly appreciated, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this last part! also, happy new year, guys! 🥺❤️

You and Lando had just finished settling into your hotel, when your phone buzzed with an incoming facetime call from Nick. Surprised but not entirely shocked by his timing, you answered the call and held your phone up as you sat on the edge of the bed. Nick’s face appeared on the screen, expression tense and unusually serious.

“Hey, is Rachel with you right now?” he asked without preamble, tone laced with urgency.

You frowned, confused by the question. “No, she’s not,” you replied, glancing at Lando, who was sitting on the edge of the bef watching your conversation. “Lando and I already left Singapore earlier, we’re in Malaysia right now. Why? Is everything okay?”

Nick ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily before diving into the whole explanation. He told you and Lando about how your Auntie Eleanor had hired a private investigator to dig into Rachel’s background. Your stomach sank as he laid it all out—the dossier that your Auntie Eleanor had compiled, which included several Chinese news articles and missing person reports with Rachel’s mother’s photo. All these revelations had been shared with your Ah Ma at the wedding reception, and things had escalated from there.

You can slightly hear Nick’s voice trembling as he recounted how your Ah Ma had become mad and forbid Rachel from continuing her relationship with him, declaring that Rachel’s family background poses a threat to your family’s reputation. The words made your chest tighten, and you felt a mix of anger and sadness bubbling inside of you. Then it all started to make sense now—Rachel’s disoriented state, the way she fled from the reception without looking back.

“Wait,” you interjected, still processing everything. “Ah ma was at Colin and Minty’s wedding? I didn’t even see her, she rarely goes to events like that unless her presence is absolutely necessary.”

Nick nodded, confirming your thoughts. “She was there. It wasn’t planned for her to come, but I think Mom had managed to convince her.”

You sighed. “Well, that explained a lot. No wonder Rachel was running off like that, she must’ve been completely blindsided.”

He paused before continuing. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of her, but she’s not answering my calls or texts. I just—” he trailed off, his frustration evident.

Thinking quickly, you remembered something Rachel had mentioned in passing. “Maybe she’s staying at her best friend’s house? She told me once that she has a close friend in Singapore.”

Nick’s eyes lit up slightly. “That's a possibility. I’ll try to find out where her friend lives.”

“Do you need me to come back?” you asked, words spilling out before you could second-guess them. “Lan and I can fly back to Singapore tonight if you think it’ll help.” you glanced at Lando, who nodded in silent agreement.

He shook his head quickly. “No, no, don’t worry about it. I think I can handle it for now. But if Rachel answers your texts or calls, can you let me know right away?”

“Of course,” you said firmly. “I’ll text her again and keep you updated.”

“Thanks,” Nick said with a small, grateful smile.

“But hey, listen,” you said carefully, “if you find Rachel—in which I know that you will, you have to give her some time. Don’t push her, and don’t force anything.”

Nick was quiet on the other end, so you took it as a queue to continue. “She’s been blindsided, completely blindsided by all of it. Think about it, the information that Auntie Eleanor dumped on her, how it was thrown at her, none of it was easy for her to process. She didn’t even see it coming, and honestly, no one would’ve been ready for something like that.”

“I know,” Nick murmured. “But I just want to fix it. I want her to know that none of this changes how I feel about her.”

“I know you do,” you said gently. “But right now, Rachel needs space to process everything. Imagine if you’re in her shoes—finding out things about your family’s past in such a public and humiliating way. That kind of betrayal isn’t easy to shake off, especially when it comes out of nowhere.”

You paused, choosing your words carefully. “You have to be patient with her, Nick. Let her come to you when she’s ready. If you try to force her to talk or rush through it, it might just push her further away.”

There was another silence, then a resigned sigh from Nick. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I hate it, but you’re right. I just feel so useless sitting here, doing nothing.”

“Nicky, you’re not doing nothing,” you assured him. “The best thing you can do right now is respect her boundaries and be ready when she’s ready. Let her know you’re there, but don’t overwhelm her, and Nick…” you trailed off.

You briefly hesitated before adding, “Rachel was thrown into a pit of wolves. Our family, for all its grandeur and well, admit it or not, can be really cruel. She wasn’t prepared for it, but that’s not on her—it’s completely on us, and if you love her, you’ll help her navigate through it when she finally comes around.”

Nick’s voice softened. “I do love her, more than anything.”

“This might sound very cliché, but trust the process,” you said. “She’ll come back to you when she’s ready, and when she does, you’ll be there for her.”

“Thanks again,” he said quietly. “I really needed to hear that.”

“Anytime,” you replied. “Just keep me updated, okay? Don’t lose hope.”

“I won’t,” Nick promised.

“Alright, take care.” you said before ending the call.

As the screen went dark, you tossed your phone onto the bed with a sigh, staring at the ceiling in frustration. Your call to Rachel had gone straight to voicemail, and though you had sent her a message, you couldn’t shake the knot of worry in your chest. Flopping down beside your phone, you exhaled deeply. The fact that your Auntie Eleanor had gone so far as to hiring a private investigator made your blood boil. It was not just meddling—it felt invasive and cruel.

“Why?” you muttered to yourself, running a hand through your hair. “Why did she have to go that far?”

Lando glanced over you from where he was sitting, watching you silently for a moment before he laid down beside you on the bed.

“Hey,” he said softly, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s just…Auntie Eleanor. Why would she do something like that? Nick and Rachel were happy, and Ah Ma already liked Rachel, so why did she have to ruin it all? What does it even accomplish?” your voice wavered slightly as you spoke, your emotions bubbling to the surface.

Lando listened patiently, letting you vent. When you paused, he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I get it,” he said gently. “It’s frustrating, and it’s not fair to Rachel. But you know Nick, he’s not going to give up on her just because of this. They’ll figure it out eventually.”

You looked at him, brows furrowed. “But what if they don’t? What if this just ruins everything?”

“It won’t,” he said firmly. “They’ve come this far, haven’t they? Something like this might take time to work through, but if they’re meant to be, they’ll find their way back to each other. You’ve got to believe in that.”

His words were calming, and you found yourself nodding slowly. “You’re right,” you said, though the knot in your chest didn’t fully loosen. “I just want them to have the happy ending they deserve.”

“And they will,” Lando assured you with a small smile. “But right now, you’ve got to focus on what you can control. We’re in Malaysia, come on, let’s enjoy our time. Relax, and take a breather from all the chaos back in Singapore.”

You gave Lando a weak smile, appreciating his efforts to make everything better. “Yeah, you’re right. We should make the most of it while we’re here.” pushing yourself off the bed, you glanced towards your suitcase. “We’ve got dinner plans later, don’t we?”

Lando grinned, standing up and holding out his hand to help you. “We do. Let’s go have a great night.”

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet, and smiled at him. “Alright.”

The first day in Malaysia began early, with the rising sun casting a soft golden glow as you and Lando set off for George Town in Penang. The drive was long, roughly about four hours from Kuala Lumpur, where you’re staying, but the journey was as much a part of the adventure as the destination. Lando was behind the wheel, where one of his hands was steady on the wheel, and his other free hand was laced on your fingers. His eyes occasionally darted towards you while you admired the scenery as you passed by.

“So,” he started, glancing at you with a teasing smile, “are you going to be my personal tour guide for the day?”

You grinned, looking at him. “Of course.”

When you arrived, George Town immediately swept you off of your feet. The streets were alive with so much color and culture, with the British colonial buildings standing gracefully alongside vibrant Chinese shophouses and intricate mosques. The air smelled of spices and street food, and the chatter of locals filled the space with a sense of warmth and energy.

“Look at that one,” he said, pulling you gently toward a painting of a little boy riding a bicycle. “We have to take a photo here.”

Lando pulled out his camera and posed next to the mural, with a wide grin on his face. “Your turn, come on,” he said after snapping his photo, motioning for you to take his place. “Hold on,” he gestured for you to pose in front of the mural. You rolled your eyes playfully but obliged to his request, striking a simple pose.

“Perfect,” he said as he snapped the photo before lowering the camera. “Though the real thing’s better than the photo,” he added cheekily, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Smooth,” you teased, shaking your head but smiling nonetheless.

You wandered through the streets hand in hand, occasionally stopping every so often to admire the architecture of the small shops selling everything ranging from antiques to handmade crafts. At one point, Lando pulled you into a quiet alley where a local artist was painting a new mural. He tilted his head, examining the work.

“Think I could pull something like this off?” he joked, referring to the mural’s intricate design.

“Absolutely not,” you replied, laughing. “But I’d pay good money to watch you try.”

The day would not have been complete without food. You introduced Lando to char kway teow, a flavorful stir-fried noodle dish. He took his first bite, his expression shifting from curiosity to delight.

“Okay, this is incredible,” he said, nodding enthusiastically as he went for another bite.

“You have a good taste,” you replied, stealing a noodle from his plate.

“You mean you have a good taste,” he corrected.

The day continued like that—strolling, laughing, stealing kisses, and taking photos. Every corner of George Town seemed to hold a story, and every moment felt like it was just for the two of you.

As the sun began to set, the sky turned a warm orange, and Lando snapped one final photo. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget today,” he said softly, looking at you instead of the view.

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Me neither.”

The second day began with the sun streaming through your window, casting a warm glow over the start of what you knew would be an unforgettable day. After breakfast, you and Lando set off for Paradise 101 in Langkawi, a private island that promised a perfect blend of adventure and relaxation, and just an hour away.

As soon as you stepped onto the island, the soft sound of the waves lapping against the shore and the salty breeze filled your senses. Lando reached out for your hand, giving it a light squeeze he looked out at the clear blue sky.

“Ready for some adventure?” he asked with a contagious smile.

“Always,” you replied, already feeling the excitement bubbling up.

The first activity on the list was parasailing, something you had always wanted to try. Strapped into the harness side by side, the instructor began counting down, and then, the boat picked up speed, lifting you and Lando off the ground, soaring above the waters. The world below looks so tiny, and the ocean stretches endlessly beneath your feet.

“This is insane!” Lando shouted over the wind.

You turned your head to look at him, his expression lit up with excitement. “Right? Look at that amazing view!” you replied, pointing towards the horizon where the ocean met the sky.

“Look something out of the painting,” then glancing at you, there was a mischievous glint in Lando’s eyes. “Though the view isn’t half as good as the one next to me.”

You laughed, swatting at him lightly. “You’re such a cheeky little shit.”

When your feet touched the sand again, Lando was already pulling you toward the ziplining station. The zipline took you across the island’s canopy, and each time you landed, Lando was there waiting, stealing quick kisses before moving to the next line.

“Race you to the bottom,” Lando challenged, a mischievous smile lighting up his face.

“Oh, you’re on,” you replied, determined.

As the two of you zipped down, the wind whipping past, the sound of your laughter had filled the air. Lando had beaten you to the bottom, of course, but he immediately pulled you into a hug when you joined him, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

The afternoon was reserved for a private yacht cruise, just the two of you. As the boat glided through the calm waters of Langkawi’s northern coast, you couldn’t help but marvel at the picturesque coastline, with the emerald-green water shimmering under the sun.

“Perfect, isn’t it?” Lando asked, leaning back beside you, his sunglasses perched on his nose.

“Perfect,” you agreed, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his.

“You know,” he began, “we should bring the others here sometimes. They’d love this.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you replied, looking at him. “Though I kind of like it being just us right now.”

“Me too,” he said, voice soft, brushing a kiss on your forehead.

You decided to give kayaking a try, but knowing Lando, it probably would be a chaotic one. “You’re paddling the wrong way, babe!” you exclaimed as Lando’s oar splashed water everywhere. “Are you sure you know how to paddle?”

“Of course I do!” he argued.

Lando was just kept on paddling in circles, the kayak even refused to cooperate—or so he claimed.

“Babe! You’re just steering us into circles. You’re doing it wrong!” you called out, grinning mischievously.

“I’m not—hold on, are you gaslighting me right now?” he accused, realizing your game.

“I would never!” you said, feigning innocence.

Lando almost toppled over the kayak trying to adjust, and you couldn’t contain your laughter. But eventually, you found your rhythm, paddling side by side through the tranquil waters.

“Okay, maybe this teamwork thing isn’t so bad after all,” he admitted, voice softer now.

“You think?” you teased, glancing at him with a smile.

The highlight of the day came with the private UNESCO Geopark mangrove cruise. You and Lando had been transferred to a small explorer boat, where you were taken through a landscape that felt almost otherworldly. Sheer limestone cliffs rose majestically from the water, their forms resembling ancient temples.

“This is incredible,” Lando murmured, voice tinged with awe as he leaned over the side of the boat.

You nodded, eyes fixed on the towering cliffs. “It feels like we’ve stepped into another world.”

The guide led you through the Tanjung Rhu River, Kisap River, and Kilim River, each stretch offering breathtaking views. At one point, you visited a fish farm and even ventured into the crocodile and bat cave, marveling at the natural formations.

When the cruise ended, the day slowly gave way to evening, and you returned to the resort. Lando had made a reservation for an outdoor dinner at the resort’s restaurant, with the table set against the backdrop of the sparkling Andaman Sea.

You were sitting right across from Lando, the soft glow of the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink. “Today was really perfect,” you said, voice warm.

Lando reached across the table, taking your hand in his. “Well, that’s because I spent it with you.”

“To more days like this,” you said, raising your glass with your free hand.

“To more days with you,” Lando replied, raising his glass as well.

The waves whispered against the shore as you clink your glasses together, ending the amazing fun filled day in the most serene and beautiful way imaginable.

On the third day, which is your last day in Malaysia, felt like the perfect opportunity to slow down and enjoy a more relaxed pace with Lando. After having your breakfast at the hotel’s restaurant, you decided to explore Kuala Lumpur together and do some shopping, mostly picking out Christmas gifts for family and friends. Your first stop was Cartier, where the staff immediately recognized you and Lando as you entered the boutique.

“Welcome back,” one of them greeted warmly. “Please, follow us to the VIP room.”

The room was elegant and private, with plush seating and pristine glass displays showcasing Cartier’s finest collections. You scanned the displays carefully, selecting gifts that felt personal and meaningful. From time to time, you would turn to Lando for his opinion, holding a piece to show it to him.

“What do you think of this one, love?” you asked, turning a bracelet in your hands.

Lando leaned in to get a closer look, studying it for a brief moment. “It’s nice, but maybe this design suits them better,” he suggested, pointing to another piece that has more classic finish to it.

His input was reassuring, and you found yourself smiling more with every choice you made. So piece by piece, you finalized your selections and decided to have each of it engraved with the names. While the staff began the engraving process, you took the opportunity to explore the display cases further.

Your eyes fell on the iconic Love rings, their sleek designs catching the light. The delicate design, with its understated elegance and signature screw motif had drawn you in immediately. You paused, gazing at them a little longer than you had intended. They were very stunning, and the thought of having matching ones with Lando crept into your mind.

For a moment, you let your mind wander. The thought of having matching Love rings with Lando made your heart flutter. It would be such a sweet symbol of your relationship, a quiet nod to the love you shared. But as quickly as the thought came, doubt crept in. Would he even want to wear something like that? You had only been together for a year, and while your relationship felt deep and serious, you weren’t even sure if he’d see it the same way.

“Miss?” the associate’s voice gently pulled you back to the present. “The items have been engraved and wrapped. Would you like us to send them directly to your hotel?”

You smiled, nodding. “Yes, please. That would be perfect. We still have some plans for the day.”

The associate assured you that everything would be taken care of. You thanked them again and turned to Lando, who was casually leaning against the counter, watching you with an easy smile. What you didn’t realize was that he had caught the way your gaze lingered on the Love rings earlier. But he decided not to say anything, only offering you his hand as the two of you prepared to leave.

“Ready to go?” he asked, voice gentle.

“Yes, let’s go,” you replied, sliding your hand into his.

As you both left the store hand in hand, the shopping bags destined for your hotel, Lando’s mind was already working, his thoughts drifting back to the love rings and making a mental note.

Finally, Dior was your final stop, and as you stepped into the elegantly designed VIP room, the ambiance felt as refined and luxurious as always. The staff greeted you warmly, offering refreshments and giving you a moment to settle in before showing you all of the latest collections.

You browsed through the items thoughtfully, then occasionally turning to Lando for his input, yet again, on potential gifts and personal picks. He followed you closely, hands tucked casually in his pockets, his easy demeanor adding a comfortable balance.

As you admired a pair of beautiful heels, Lando leaned in slightly, tone light but teasing. “You know your luggage is already packed to the brim, right?”

You paused mid-reach, blinking at him as his words sank in. “Wait…really?”

He nodded, trying to suppress a grin. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you’d have to sit on it just to zip it up.”

With the sudden realization, you glanced back at the shelves, and you turned to the sales associate with a smile. “Do you have any luggage available in stock?”

The associate’s face lit up. “We do, actually! Let me bring it out for you.”

As the associate disappeared into the back, Lando let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Only you would come shopping for gifts and leave with luggage to carry it all.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging his arm. “Well, if you’re going to go shopping, might as well do it properly.”

The associate soon returned, rolling out a sleek Dior luggage piece in a design you hadn’t seen before that caught your attention immediately. Its understated design and impeccable craftsmanship stood out, and you took a moment to examine it closely.

“This is perfect,” you said decisively, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “I’ll take it. I don’t have one in this design yet, so it’ll be a great addition.”

Lando chuckled softly beside you as you made your way to the counter. When the associate had totaled the purchase, he casually pulled out his black card and handed it over, placing it on the counter.

“Here, I’ve got this,” he said smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small grin.

“No,” you reached into your bag without hesitation, pulling out your own black card and handing it to the associate directly. “I’m paying for this, please. It’s my shopping.”

The associate glanced between the two of you, clearly confused and trying to decide whose card to take. You were sure that the associate would take your card, so you focused briefly on a nearby display of handbags, thinking which designs might fit into your collection. While you were distracted, Lando seized the opportunity.

“Swipe it on mine,” he said quietly, giving the associate a quick, reassuring nod.

By the time you turned your attention back, the transaction was already complete, and the staff were carefully packing the luggage and other items into Dior’s signature paper bags.

“What just happened?” you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly as Lando smiles cheekily at you.

“Nothing, babe,” he replied, tone far too innocent to be convincing. “Just making sure you’re not overworking your card today.”

You sighed, half-exasperated but mostly amused. “You’re impossible.”

“Just making sure your new luggage is properly christened,” he teased.

Shaking your head with a small smile, you turned back to the associate and asked, “would it be possible to have everything be delivered to our hotel? We’ve got a dinner reservation coming up, and it would be easier if we didn’t have to carry all this.”

“Of course, Miss,” they replied, nodding. “We’ll ensure everything is delivered promptly.”

“Thank you,” you said warmly before turning back to Lando. “Ready to go?”

Lando placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards the exit. “Let’s go.”

By the time you stepped out of Dior, the soft glow of dusk had already begun to settle over the city, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The streets were alive with the hum of evening traffic, but your thoughts were focused on the dinner reservation at Akar Dining.

The drive to the restaurant was peaceful, with Lando’s hand resting on your thigh as the car navigated the streets. You arrived just in time, the warm ambiance of the restaurant immediately wrapping around you as you stepped inside, the host greeted you and guided you to your table. Lando, ever the gentleman, pulled out your chair, his hand lingering briefly on the back of it as you sat down.

“Thank you,” you murmured with a small smile, adjusting the hem of your dress as you settled in.

Lando took his seat across from you just as a waiter approached your table with the menus. The dimly lit atmosphere, paired with the sophisticated decor had made the evening feel intimate and special. As you scanned the menu, your eyes immediately caught a few dishes you knew you would enjoy, while Lando appeared slightly less certain.

“So, what are you thinking of getting?” you asked, glancing up from your menu to find him frowning slightly.

“Honestly?” he set the menu down for a moment, leaning back in his chair. “Most of these seafood dishes aren’t really my thing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “It’s fine, just pick something else. You don’t have to love everything on the menu.”

Eventually, he decided on the braised aged duck, and you ordered a seafood dish that intrigued you. As you waited for the food, you took a sip of your water, your gaze lingering on Lando. The memory of what happened at Dior earlier was still fresh in your mind, and you decided to address it.

“By the way,” you began, setting your glass down. “Thank you for paying earlier at Dior, but you really didn’t have to, Lan.”

Lando shrugged casually, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Of course I did. You shouldn’t have to pay for something when I’m right here.”

You sighed lightly, tilting your head at him. “Lan, I can pay for my own things. I don’t want to rely on you all the time, especially when it’s my shopping.”

“I know you can,” he replied, tone soft but firm. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to. It’s not about whether you can afford it—it’s about me wanting to take care of you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a playful grin. “And before you argue, I’m not budging on this.”

“Well, if you’re so insistent on paying for everything,” you said, leaning forward slightly, “then at least let me pay for dinner tonight.”

“Not happening, love,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair with an air of finality.

“Lando,” you started, but the waiter returned just then with your food, momentarily halting the conversation.

As you both began to eat, you couldn’t help but glance at him occasionally, trying to come up with a way to outmaneuver him when the bill comes. Lando seemed thoroughly engrossed in his braised aged duck, nodding approvingly after the first few bites.

“This is actually really good,” he remarked, gesturing to his plate with his fork.

“It was worth the try,” you said with a satisfied smile, enjoying your own meal.

When the plates were cleared, the waiter had returned with the bill, and you reached for it instinctively, smiling as you’re about to get a hand on it, but to your dismay, Lando was faster. He snatched it from the waiter’s hand with a smoothness that left you momentarily stunned, his card already out and ready. Without a word, he placed it on the bill and handed it back to the waiter before you could even blink.

“Lando Norris!” you hissed, voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “I told you I was paying for dinner.”

“And I told you that you’re not,” he replied, tone calm and unbothered.

You stared at him, incredulous. “You can’t keep doing this. I have my own money, you know. I don’t need you to pay for everything, my love.”

“I know you don’t,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “But I wanted to. A gentleman never let his woman pay. End of story.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupted gently, gaze soft but resolute. “I know that you’re independent, and I love that about you. But letting me take care of you every now and then doesn’t make you any less independent.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “At some point, you have to let me pay too. I don’t want to feel like I’m relying on you for everything.”

“I get that. But tonight isn’t the point,” he said, as his thumb gently caressed your knuckles and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly. “Letting me take care of you once in a while doesn’t mean you’re relying on me. It just means that I love you.”

Your heart softened at his words, the sincerity in his voice melting away your objections. “Fine,” you murmured, though a playful edge crept into your tone. “But one day, you’re letting me pay for something. Mark my words.”

Lando chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a wide grin. “We’ll see about that.”

After an amazing dinner, you were finally back in your hotel. The moment you stepped inside the room, the exhaustion from the day’s adventures hit you like a wave. You slipped off your sandals with a sigh of relief, placed your bag on the vanity, and immediately collapsed onto the plush bed, letting the softness swallow you whole. Lando was not far behind, shutting the door with a soft click before walking over to where you lay sprawled out. He chuckled as he kicked off his sneakers, tossing them aside without any care.

“You look absolutely done,” he teased, voice laced with affection.

Without another word, he climbed onto the bed beside you, his arms snaking around your waist as he pulled you close. You didn’t protest, in fact, you just melted into his embrace—his warmth and familiar scent of his cologne instantly soothing your tired muscles.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” you murmured lazily, though you made no effort to move. “We still need to pack for tomorrow. I need to arrange the things we bought today inside the new luggage.”

Lando nuzzled his face into your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Mhmm…packing can wait.” he said as he kissed your collarbone. “I just want to stay like this for a bit. It’s been such a good trip.”

You smiled faintly, tilting your head slightly to rest against his. “It really has. I think this was exactly what we needed, huh? Just us, no distractions.”

“Uh huh. No meetings, no interruptions…” Lando added with a sigh, tightening his hold on you. “I wish we could stay longer. Feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface here.”

You laughed softly. “You’re the one who extended our stay by an extra day. If we keep this up, we might not even make it to the UK in time for Christmas.”

He groaned dramatically, pulling you even closer. “Fine, you win. We’ll leave tomorrow, but I’m telling you, we’re coming back here next year.”

“Alright,” you replied, voice muffle as you buried your face in his chest.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke, content to lie tangled in each other’s arms as the city lights outside cast a faint glow into the hotel room.

“Okay, okay,” you finally said, breaking the peaceful silence. “We really need to pack, babe. I’m not about to start throwing things into a suitcase at five in the morning.”

He groaned again but rolled over, propping himself up on one elbow as he looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “How about I do the packing, and you stay here looking all pretty?”

“Absolutely not,” you replied, swatting his arm lightly. “If you pack, I’ll end up with half my things missing and thrown with wrinkles.”

Lando laughed, sitting up and pulling you up with him. “Alright, fine. Let’s get it over with, but you owe me cuddles afterwards.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you slid off of the bed. “Deal. Now, let’s get moving before you start whining again.”

He grinned, grabbing his suitcase and tossing it onto the bed with enthusiasm. “You know me so very well.”

As you were neatly folding a dress and placing it neatly in your suitcase, your phone rang, cutting through the quiet hum of activity in the hotel room. You glanced at the screen and saw Nick’s caller ID flashing. Your eyes immediately widened, and your stomach sank slightly—you had completely pushed aside the chaos from earlier in Singapore.

“Nicky,” you murmured, picking up the phone and quickly answering. Lando glanced up from his own packing, curious.

The moment the call connected, Nick’s face filled your screen, grinning from ear to ear. Before you could say anything, he shouted out, “WE’RE GETTING MARRIED!”

Your jaw dropped, and your heart leapt. “WHAT?!” you screamed, startling Lando, who immediately moved closer to check. “Oh my god! Nicky, are you serious?!”

Nick nodded excitedly, his smile growing wider. “Yes! I proposed to Rachel earlier, and she said yes! We’re getting married!”

A loud scream of happiness escaped you, and grabbed both Lando’s hands and jumped up and down, causing Lando to follow your lead, with you chanting ‘Nick and Rachel are getting married’ a couple of times. Both of you jumping like you’re in a cult, chanting to summon something.

“Nicky, this is amazing news! I’m so happy for you and Rachel! Oh my god, I’m going to cry!” you said, nearly dropping your phone in the process.

Lando laughed and leaned into the frame, resting a hand on your waist. “Congratulations, mate! That’s incredible news!”

“Thanks, man!” Nick said, grinning even wider. He turned back to you, clearly eager to share more details. “Mom finally came around, and she gave me the emerald ring to propose with. I actually chased Rachel to the airport, it turns out she was about to leave, already inside the plane and I just dropped on one knee and proposed to her. You should’ve seen Rachel’s face when I pulled out the ring, she was so shocked.”

You clutched your chest dramatically. “Nick, that’s so beautiful. I’m so, so happy for you both.”

Nick chuckled, his excitement very evident. “But wait, there’s more. I’m throwing a surprise engagement party for Rachel tomorrow night, and I need you both there. Please say you can come.”

You glanced over at Lando, your eyes silently asking if he was okay with changing plans. Lando, ever the supportive boyfriend that he is, nodded without any hesitation.

“We’re both in,” you said to Nick. “We’ll fly back to Singapore tomorrow.”

Nick let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you! I can’t wait to see you both, and don’t worry, it won’t be a massive party, just a small gathering of close friends and family.”

“We will not miss it,” you assured him. “But just so you know, we’ll have to leave right after the party. We’re expected in the UK before Christmas.”

“Fair enough,” Nick said, still beaming. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow then, and thank you, both of you, for being there for us.”

“Of course,” you replied, voice soft with emotion. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

After ending the call, you turned to Lando, who was smiling at your obvious joy. “Looks like we’re making another detour,” you said with a laugh.

“Well, wouldn’t have it any other way,” Lando replied, pulling you into a quick hug before returning to his packing.

The flight from Malaysia to Singapore passed quickly, only an hour long. You and Lando had decided to leave in the afternoon to allow yourselves some extra time to relax before the engagement party. By the time the private jet touched down at a private tarmac in Changi Airport, the sky had shifted to a warm, dusky hue.

You were already dressed for the event, adjusting the hem of your dress as you prepared to disembark. Your outfit for tonight complimented Lando’s outfit perfectly, a choice you both had coordinated without much effort. Deciding not to take your belongings off of the jet since you would be leaving Singapore immediately after the party. Taking one final glance at the jet’s sleek interior, you then stepped out.

Lando walked beside you, his hand firmly holding yours as he guided you down the steps of the jet. The heels you wore, though elegant, weren’t exactly forgiving, and his grip gave you the balance you needed. Once you reached the car waiting on the tarmac, he moved ahead, opening the door for you.

“Careful, love,” he murmured, holding out a hand to help you inside.

You gave Lando a small smile as you slid into the seat, careful not to wrinkle your dress. He followed right after, shutting the car door behind him. The soft hum of the car engine filled up the space as the vehicle pulled away, heading towards Marina Bay Sands. You then leaned into Lando slightly.

“You know,” Lando began with a playful smirk, “I think we’ve spent more time in Singapore lately than in Monaco.”

You laughed softly. “Tell me about it. It looks like we’ll be back here again sooner rather than later for Nick and Rachel’s wedding.”

He tilted his head in mock resignation. “I guess I’d better get used to the humidity then.”

“Oh come on,” you gave him a teasing nudge. “You’ve survived it so far. Besides, you look so good here, very tropical chic.”

Lando chuckled, resting his hand on yours. “Thanks, love. But seriously, it feels like everyone’s getting married or engaged all of a sudden. What’s with the December air.”

You sighed dramatically. “Tell me about it. First Colin and Minty, now Nick and Rachel, also don’t forget about my friend from Parsons! She’s getting married in Moscow next year and has already sent in the invitation.”

“Moscow, huh?” he mused. “Another flight for us?”

You glanced at him with a small smile. “If you want to come with me, that is. I don’t want to pressure you into attending all these weddings, I know that it can be really tiring.”

Lando tilted his head, pretending to think it over. “Moscow, a wedding, and a chance to see you again in another dress? Sounds like a total dream, so it’s a yes for me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging his arm. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love every bit of it,” he quipped, grinning.

As the car drove on, your thoughts began to drift. Weddings, engagements, proposals—it seemed like everyone around you was taking those big steps. You didn’t want to admit it, but that idea of marriage had been creeping into your mind more and more lately. It was not something you wanted to bring up, not yet, but still, it is a topic that had been occupying your mind.

You shook off the feeling, focusing instead on the city lights beginning to twinkle outside the car window. “Yeah, and I think that we’re going to need a bigger calendar,” you joked.

Lando laughed, resting a hand on your knee. “As long as you’re on it, I don’t mind.”

The car rolled to a smooth stop at the grand entrance of Marina Bay Sands, with the city lights reflecting off the sleek glass facade. The chauffeur had exited first, circling around to open your door, and before you could step out, Lando was already at your side, extending a hand to help you out of the car.

“I’ll be here at the agreed time to take you back to the airport, ma’am.” the chauffeur said as he tipped his hat.

“Thank you,” you replied with a polite smile.

Lando intertwined your hands, and you both began walking towards the entrance. The evening air was warm, and the energy surrounding the iconic building was palpable. A few people by the lobby immediately recognized Lando, and their eyes widened when they noticed you by his side.

“Excuse me,” a young woman asked hesitantly, clutching her phone. “Would it be alright if I can get a quick photo with you both?”

Lando exchanged glances with you and nodded warmly. “Of course, just a quick one.”

You stepped aside with him, pausing for a few photos, each person thanking you both profusely afterwards. Once the small crowd dispersed, you and Lando resumed your walk, making your way to the elevators that would take you to the sky deck. The elevator ride was smooth and swift, and when the doors opened, the familiar faces of your family, Nick’s closest friends, and your cousins scattered throughout the beautifully decorated space.

As your eyes scanned the crowd, you spotted your mother first. She stood near one of the seating areas, speaking animatedly with one of your aunts. You guided Lando over, and her expression shifted to surprise the moment she saw you both.

“Darling!” your mother exclaimed, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“Hi, Mom,” you greeted, smiling warmly before stepping aside so Lando could greet her.

Your mother opened her arms invitingly. “Lando, come here.”

Lando hugged her briefly but warmly, a soft laugh escaping him. “Hello, Auntie. It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” your mother replied, taking a step back to look at you both. “I thought you’d already be in the UK by now.” she said, raising an eyebrow at you.

“We were supposed to leave after the day after the wedding,” you explained, “but we decided to make a quick stop in Malaysia for a few days. Then Nicky called last night and asked us to come, so here we are.”

She smiled knowingly. “Always the supportive cousin. But you’re leaving tonight?”

“Yes, the jet is on standby at the airport,��� you confirmed. “We’ll head straight there after the party.”

Your mother nodded in satisfaction, and gave Lando a pat on the shoulder. “Well, you enjoy yourselves tonight. It’s a rare sight to see you two so relaxed.”

You and Lando exchanged a small smile before moving on to greet Colin and Araminta, who were just chatting near the champagne table.

“Hey!” Colin greeted, giving you both a hug. “I didn’t think we’d see you two again so soon.”

“Neither did we,” you replied with a laugh. “But here we are.”

You turned to Araminta, who hugged you warmly, then stepped back, smiling brightly. “It’s so good to see you again, and Lando, of course! You’re becoming quite the fixture at family events!”

Lando grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Colin smirked. “At this rate, uncle’s going to give him the talk soon, if he hasn’t already. Then we all know whose wedding we’ll be attending soon after Nick and Rachel’s.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Too late, Dad already gave him the talk, and even Ah Ma had given her blessing.”

Lando grinned, playing along. “Proud to say that I’ve passed all the tests by now.”

Araminta gasped dramatically, nudging Colin. “See? It’s official now. We’ll start saving the date!”

The four of you exchanged pleasantries and some laughs for a few moments before your attention was drawn to a surprising sight. Standing by the bar were none other than Bernard and Kitty, a pair you had not expected to see here at all. You caught Lando’s eye, and he gave you a subtle shrug, clearly just as a surprise.

Shaking it off, you turned your focus back, making your way toward your aunts. Auntie Alix, Auntie Eleanor, and Auntie Jacqueline, who were all chatting in a tight circle. You approached with Lando by your side, greeting each of them in turn with a polite kiss on the cheek and a warm smile.

“Ah, you’re here!” your Auntie Alix smiled. “I thought you were in the UK already.”

“Nick called,” you explained with a smile, “so here we are.”

“Well, we’re glad you made it,” your Auntie Jacqueline chimed in, “and you’re glowing tonight.” she added, her gaze flitting between you and Lando.

“Must be the Malaysian sun,” Lando jokes, earning a soft laugh from the group.

Your Auntie Eleanor gave Lando a sharp but playful look. “You’re certainly making yourself comfortable with this family, aren’t you?”

Lando smiled politely. “I’m just trying to keep up,” satisfied with his answer, your Auntie Eleanor waved you off with a chuckle.

Nick and Rachel hadn’t arrived yet, so you and Lando decided to take the opportunity to mingle with other guests. The evening was lively, with laughter and champagne flowing freely.

Several guests had approached you and Lando for photos, and you obliged, posing with ease. Lando kept a hand on your lower back, guiding you smoothly through the crowd as you moved from one group to another.

From across the room, you noticed your cousin Oliver weaving his way through the crowd, a bright smile on his face as he head towards you. As he approached, you and Lando turned to greet him.

“Oliver!” you said warmly, pulling him into a quick hug.

“Hey you two,” he said, giving you both a smile before continuing. “I want to introduce you to Rachel’s best friend. She’s dying to meet you.”

Curious, you exchanged a glance with Lando before agreeing. “Of course! Lead the way.”

Following Oliver, you navigated through the elegantly dressed guests until you stopped in front of a small group of people.

“Here we are,” Oliver said, motioning toward a striking woman with a vibrant smile. “This is Rachel’s best friend, Goh Peik Lin.”

You extended your hand toward her. “Peik Lin, it’s so nice to meet you!”

Peik Lin shook your hand warmly. “And it’s so nice to meet you as well!”

Your gaze traveled briefly over her outfit, a beautifully tailored dress that exuded elegance and sophistication. “I have to say, your outfit is incredible. You have such impeccable taste.”

Her smile widened, excitement evident. “Oh stop, you’re going to make me blush! But thank you, it means a lot coming from someone as stylish as you.”

Oliver then turned to the older couple standing beside Peik Lin. “And these are Peik Lin’s parents, Goh Wye Mun and Goh Nenna.”

You offered a polite smile as you greeted them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both, Mr. and Mrs. Goh.”

Nenna’s eyes sparkled as she took your hand. “Just call us Auntie Nenna and Uncle Wye Mun! And my goodness, you’re even more gorgeous in person! I’ve seen photos of you, and they don’t do you justice! You’re very stunning, my dear!”

You laugh softly, feeling a light warmth rise to your cheeks. “You’re too kind, Auntie Nenna. Thank you so much.”

Then you turned to Wye Mun, whose expression shifted slightly as recognition dawned on him. He tilted his head, studying you for a moment.

“You’re one of Harrison Sr. and Elizabeth Young’s children, aren’t you? Their only daughter,” he said, tone a mixture of surprise and admiration.

You nodded, smiling. “That’s right. I’ve heard of your family before as well. If my memory serves me right, you’re the owner of Goh Developments, correct? One of Singapore’s most successful real estate companies?”

Wye Mun chuckled, clearly pleased. “Yes, that’s about right. I’m flattered you know about us.”

“Of course!” you said. “Your company’s work is extraordinary. Some of your developments are architectural masterpieces.”

The brief exchange shifted naturally into a short discussion about real estate, with Wye Mun enthusiastically sharing tidbits about recent projects. Peik Lin listened intently, Oliver and Lando conversing with each other, while Nenna just watched the whole conversation with a smile.

You then gestured towards Lando afterwards, who had been standing quietly beside you. “Allow me to introduce to you my boyfriend, Lando.”

Lando extended his hand towards Wye Mun, who shook it firmly. Wye Mun’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Ah, Lando Norris! I watched you win the Singapore GP last September. Quite an incredible race, I must say. You’ve got some serious talent.”

“Thank you so much,” Lando said with a polite smile. “It was an unforgettable race for sure.”

“And I didn’t know that you were dating the darling of the Singaporean social elite!” Wye Mun added with a playful tone, eyes twinkling.

“Oh Wye Mun, look at them!” Nenna interjected, her gaze moving between you and Lando. “They look so good together, a very beautiful couple. Perfect match!”

Wye Mun nodded in agreement, tone light. “Quite the power couple, I’d say.”

You couldn’t help but smile at their comment, glancing at Lando, who was already looking at you with a soft expression. “Thank you,” you replied simply.

The conversation continued easily, with the group exchanging stories and laughs. The atmosphere was warm, and you felt genuinely pleased to meet Rachel’s best friend and their family.

As the buzz of conversation faded into hushed whispers, Araminta stepped forward with a smile and announced, “Nick and Rachel are on their way up now! Everyone, take your positions.”

You and Lando stood slightly off to the side, his hand on your waist, caressing it softly and tracing shapes. The elegant lighting of the sky deck reflected off the cityscape, casting a soft glow over the gathered guests.

Lando leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “You know,” he whispered, tone teasing, “it was so hot watching you talk business with Wye Mun earlier. You looked so serious and confident.”

You glanced at him, barely suppressing a smile, and gave his chest a soft slap. “Stop being cheeky right now, Norris,” you muttered, keeping your voice low to avoid drawing any attention.

But it looks like Lando was not done yet. He grinned at you mischievously, his voice dipping lower. “I mean it, baby. The way you talked about developments and projects? Very impressive, very attractive.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed slightly. “Lando,” you whispered warningly, “behave. This is not the time.”

He bit back a chuckle, amusement evident. “Fine, fine. But you should know, I can’t help it when you’re like that.”

You shushed him quietly, your finger briefly brushing his lips. “Quiet now,” you insisted softly, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention.

As you returned your focus to the party, your thoughts flicked back to your earlier conversation with Wye Mun. Real estate development has always intrigued you—the intricacies, potential, and stories behind every project. It was not just a polite conversation, it was a chance to learn and build connections.

“Besides,” you murmured to Lando, keeping your tone casual, “it’s always good to broaden your network. Even if I already have so many, there’s no harm in widening the circle.”

Lando nodded, his expression now a mix of curiosity and pride. “Well, you’ve got a point,” he said softly.

You let your eyes wander across the crowd, noting a few familiar faces mingling among the guests. “This place is full of businesspeople—major players in the industry, tonight,” you whispered to him. “I can recognize a few who could even be potential sponsors for McLaren.” Lando raised a brow at you, intrigued.

You turned to him, giving him a playful wink. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll help you land a deal or two.”

Lando smirked, leaning in closer to you again. “Now that,” he said, tone low and teasing, “is a kind of teamwork I can get behind.”

The sky deck fell in a hush as everyone stood in their positions, waiting for Nick and Rachel’s arrival. The atmosphere was buzzing, a mix of excitement and happiness among the crowd. The distant hum of the elevator announced their approach, and then, with a soft chime, doors slid open.

Nick stepped out first, his hands gently covering Rachel’s eyes as he carefully guided her forward into the middle of the crowd. Rachel, her posture both curious and expectant, laughed lightly, clearly amused by the surprise. The whole crowd held its collective breath, watching as Nick finally removed his hands from Rachel’s eyes.

The second her eyes opened, the silence of the crowd was replaced with an eruption of cheers and applause. Screams of happiness echoed across the sky deck, led enthusiastically by Colin and Araminta. Rachel’s expression had transformed into one of pure, radiant happiness as she took sight of everyone gathered for her. Overwhelmed with emotion, she raised her hand, showing off the stunning emerald ring that sparkled under the lights, then pointing to it with a grin.

People surged forward, surrounding Nick and Rachel with hugs and congratulations. You and Lando joined in with the crowd, your laughter blending with everyone else’s as you approached the newly engaged couple.

“Congratulations!” you said, beaming as you hugged Rachel tightly. “I’m so happy for you both.”

Nick grinned, pulling you into a quick hug as well. “Thank you for being here. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

Lando shook Nick’s hand before giving Rachel a warm hug. “You two are perfect for each other.”

Nick, ever the joker, glanced between you and Lando, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You know,” he began, tone playful, “I have a strong feeling you two might be the next one.”

Rachel, catching on, nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, absolutely! We’ll have to start planning your engagement party real soon.”

You and Lando exchanged amused looks, chuckling. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you replied, though your heart skipped a beat at the thought.

As much as you adored Nick and Rachel, you did not need them adding more fuel to the fire—you were already simmering with wedding fever.

After the flood of congratulations, Nick took Rachel’s hand and gently guided her attention towards the infinity pool, where a group of synchronized swimmers began an elegant performance, their movements perfectly timed to the music. Rachel gasped softly, her eyes lighting up with wonder as she watched.

Then, from the corner of our eye, you noticed Rachel spotting your Auntie Eleanor standing a little way off. For a brief moment, the noise and excitement seemed to face as the two women exchanged a look, one of understanding and newfound respect. The warmth in Rachel’s smile and the subtle nod from your Auntie Eleanor spoke volumes. It filled your heart with joy to see that your aunt had finally come around, embracing Rachel in the way she deserved.

Nick then pulled Rachel into a tender kiss, earning a round of applause and cheers again from the crowd. Lando stepped behind you, wrapping his arms securely around your waist, holding you close. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and you could feel his warmth radiating through you.

The sound of fireworks exploding above pulled everyone’s attention upward. Bright colors lit up the sky, reflecting off the glass and water, painting the moment in vibrant hues. The cheers grew louder, people pointing and marveling at the display. You stayed like that, wrapped in Lando’s arms, watching the sky.

With fireworks still illuminating the sky and Lando’s arms wrapped securely around you, a quiet realization settled in your heart. It was not something sudden, it was something that had been building over time, piece by piece, moment by moment. The depth of love that you feel for Lando was staggering, overwhelming even, and yet it felt so natural.

You had dated before, countless boys who had seemed charming or interesting at the time, but none of them had ever come close to Lando. They never understood you the way Lando did. With him, there was no guessing, pretending, or effort to mold yourself into someone else’s idea of what love should look like. Lando saw you, truly saw you, in a way that no one else ever had. To be seen was to be loved.

This was what set Lando apart. With him, you never had to explain your silences, quirks, or the way your mind wandered to far-off places. He did not just tolerate those things, in fact, he cherished them. He loved them. With Lando, you felt understood in a way that words could never fully capture.

You thought back to the other relationships before Lando, the boys who had come before. They had their moments, but they always felt…incomplete. There had been a disconnect, a lingering sense that you were only partly there, only partly understood. They never have you the feeling that Lando did—feeling of being wholly, entirely loved. Lando was the man that you had been praying for, and for once, God had led Lando to you.

Sure, the way he loved you was not perfect, but it was honest. It was raw and real, and it made you feel more like yourself than you ever thought possible. Lando had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world, like his entire focus was only on you and no one else. That was the truth of it, wasn’t it? You had never felt this way with anyone else, and you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that no one else could make you feel the way he did. Lando was not just someone you loved—he was the person you wanted to spend your forever with.

The thought settled deeply in your chest, filling every corner of your heart with an indescribable warmth. It was not just that you loved him—it was that he was home.

“I love you,” you looked up at him, smiling.

Lando looked at you, smiling. He then whispered, “I love you too, so fucking much.”

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Sadly, we do not have the time nor resources to vet and check the legitimacy of fundraisers. We here at JoffyWorldInc are in full support of Palestine and believe strongly in many other political issues across the world but lack the time to do the checks owed to fundraising efforts. We are sorry, but we will mention what we can where we can.

FAQ:

Who is Joffy?

Joffy is me! My pronouns are he/him (because to be frank I am him) and I am currently 20 years old but beyond that I will remain anonymous.

Why is Joffy?

Honestly, we don't know! He is here solely to spread positivity and love and he hopes you enjoy his efforts!

Where is Joffy?

Probably in your reblogs or comments! He loves to spread joy and happiness wherever he goes and if he's commented under your works of art, writing or other content you produce, it is out of love for what you do!

What is Joffy?

Joffy is an anonymous identity concocted here at JoffyWorldInc and JoffyBroadcastingCo. to spread good vibes and overall show his appreciation to the beautiful people of Tumblr and especially the Cult of the Lamb fandom!

When is Joffy?

JoffyWorld adheres to a rather loose schedule centered around the GMT timezone. Times active are usually around 1pm to 2am GMT, with some leeway either way.

Why does Joffy like, comment and reblog all my stuff?

Because you're awesome that's why! Joffy loves to see art of all forms from the raunchy to the family friendly and by God will JoffyWorld serve as the Internet's Library of Alexandria and Abbasid House of Wisdom for the things Joffy loves (mainly being Cult of the Lamb content)!

Can I follow or interact with Joffy?

Yes! He is a regular person! This charade of being a company is all an entertaining way to provide information! He loves people, he loves you, and a message or a kind word makes his day a whole lot brighter, and he hopes it does the same for you!

What to do if I find Joffy annoying?

Tell him! He is a person and quite socially inept at that so inform Joffy if you wish for him to no longer comment as frequently or turn your notifications off. Notifications are on for his favourite accounts, so you will likely see him being first to reblog and comment fairly often!

Joffy's Frequent Tags (Subject to Updates):

#JoffyJoff

Regular hijinks, the thoughts and feelings of Joffy in the wide world (usually without any specific subject)!

#AskyJoffy

The responses and asks sent by you! The dear viewer! Usually responded to the same day if not within an hour or two. Anonymous asks are welcome and asks are not restricted to any topics! Let your mind run free!

#JoffyAnnouncements

Announcements regarding the meta of this account, including updates regarding it's creator and the running of it's functions such as redesigns of the page and its' content.

#JoffyWrites

This is the tag where creative works will be stored! Don't expect fully in-depth cohesive stories or ao3 works of art, it'll mostly be short and sweet poems with possible character analysis made afterward to dive deeper into the characters, who knows?!

#Poetry!au

This is the tag similar to JoffyWrites, but specifically for the poetry about the au within the poems. This au tries to stick to canon as closely as possible, but with some elements open to interpretation there is plenty of gaps to fill!

Aaaand that's it!

Welcome to the world of Joffy, we hope you enjoy your stay. Any questions not answered in the FAQ? Feel free and encouraged to drop an ask in the JoffyWorld askbox and you will receive the answers you desire.

Thank you! Enjoy your stay!

[forlornmelody]

I actually like the pining, will-they-won't-they trope, BUT there has to be a payoff. It works really well in a novel. I'd say it's harder to show in a 2-3 hour movie. But it's fucking impossible in a comic book/television show format, cause there's always that risk of the story getting canceled before we can get a satisfying ending.

I think this could have worked, had they not killed off Eddie while Rose was off dismantling super-powered fight clubs/cults/sex-trafficking rings.

Eddie you either need to tell Rose that you have feelings for her OR stop being so jealous of every male in her general orbit. Because you can't totally flounder in your feelings and then be mad that she's not waiting for you. Doesn't work that way.

[lakunalaika]

[‼️TW: This post is not sexual content itself however it talks about asexuality and thus also discusses sex.‼️]

Before pride month ends I want to talk about Transformers characters that are on the aroace spectrum!!

I want to clarify that since Cybertonians don't reproduce sexually that makes them all asexual in cannon!

...However the fandom still has a lot of different interpretations and headcannons. Some of these include procreation while others are robots being sexual for the sake of "fun" rather than biology. I personally feel VERY uncomfortable with the idea of sexual reproduction in transformers but fandom is fandom and I am well aware of how it ignores the cannon so this list is made with that in mind.

As for the aromantic part of this post....

Sadly none of those are actually cannon since the creators haven't said anything about it and it's never said out loud in the media these characters are from HOWEVER I feel like most of these are very heavily implied. If you're confused about labels please look them up!

Sorry this post only contains three characters, I'm writing this literally last minute before going to the airport lol. I feel like there are maybe some more that I've missed so you're welcome to comment or reblog if you want to add to the list!

-

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Shockwave: aromantic, asexual, could be aplatonic in some continuities.

I HAD to start with him. Speaks for itself really, if you're in the fandom you're probably familiar with how little emotion Shockwave expresses in general. Sadly though most people either see him as a completely emotionless monster or make him the super ooc :( He has no interest in sex or romance and some versions of him do not care for platonic bonds either.

The fandom sadly does not understand this, I'm not completely against him being shipped with other characters I just wish it was written properly and with his sexual/romantic orientation in mind. I feel like there's some interesting queer platonic lab partner shipping potential here but again this fandom is terrible at not sexualising him for some reason.

He does show care for others in SOME continuities, in Cyberverse we see that he used to be friends with Wheeljack and possibly some other characters. He does have emotions, even in other shows/media, we see him get visibly angry in TFP and Earthspark. So just saying that he doesn't feel anything is a straight up lie. He follows logic although we do see him make non logical choices when influenced by emotions, it's rare but it has happened.

I'm planning to make more content about him and being aroace spec soon. I want to show people that just because you don't feel forms of attraction or love towards others doesn't mean you're completely heartless. And yes I know an extremely stereotypical evil robot probably isn't the best character to use to prove a point like this but I just need people to stop mischaracterising him.

-

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Shadowstriker: aromantic, asexual.

[most of this is refering to her in Cyberverse, thought I do mention IDW briefly]

What is it with clearly aroace female characters, usually villains, and being called masc lesbians? No offence to lesbians but please y'all let us have some representation. Sorry pooks she doesn't want a girl, she doesn't want anyone actually. Which doesn't mean she doesn't value friendship, just look at how she interacts with Soundwave and Lazerbeak! That's found family if I've ever seen it!

I think she's someone who struggles a lot with emotions and intimacy just in general, though we do actually see her emotions slipping through the "mask" more towards the end of the show, even being happy [thought it was quite bittersweet] and part of a group hug in the last episode. Well done her for actually accepting physical touch that isn't punching someone in the face! She's a very untrusting character who tends to assume the worst in everyone and is really aggressive for most of the show. She has absolutely no interest in romance or sex and is probably apothisexual/apothiromantic. But as previously stated I think platonic love is really important to her. She's the type of person who would kill for her found family, in fact considering she's a Decepticon she probably has.

She's one of those extremely interesting and emotionally complex characters and yet somehow she's always overlooked. I see people talking about wanting more well written female characters and HERE SHE IS! Honestly I'd recommend watching Cyberverse even if you're just doing it for her, it's worth it. I could write a whole essay all about her. Can y'all tell she's my favourite? Because she is.

As for shipping I do like the idea of her being in a queer platonic ship with Flamewar and Slipstream in the IDW comics they're in, though again, I don't think people know how to write qp relationships...

-

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TFP Soundwave: demiromantic, asexual.

This one is only specific to one continuity and that's Transformers Prime. Not saying other versions aren't on the spectrum, I have a quite couple headcannons, though I feel they might be a bit ooc/self indulgent so I'm not including them since I'm trying to keep this list as "likely to be cannon" as I can.

In the show he doesn't speak and doesn't really have a face so he doesn't really express himself a lot. Though he still definitely shows emotion, just, differently I guess? He is uninterested in sex, I think he could be in a romantic relationship but it would have to be someone he's already emotionally attached to. Platonic love is extremely important to him but specifically his cassettes, they're his family. Others however.... I feel like he doesn't really care for a lot of the characters in the show but then again he doesn't show emotions much so he could just be hiding it.

-

-

[reigningqueenofwords]

Fucks

I've been trying to work on my mental health and shit lately. Part of that includes doing a reread of a few books I own: Unfuck Yourself, the Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck, and You Are a Badass.

Not getting into detail about all of them, but one main point of the Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck is actually choosing what to give a fuck about. It's not saying be an indifferent asshole. It's saying that you need to make your fucks count. Like, do you really need to give a fuck that some guy online thinks you're weird? Not really. There's no point. But should you give a fuck about that weird thing your back has been doing? Probably. See what I'm saying?

My entire life I've given too many fucks about shit that I have no need to give a fuck about. What's that gotten me? Anxiety. A lot of fucking anxiety.

Last night, as I cuddled Xena in bed, I was thinking this over.

And I realized...I am not going to give a fuck about my writing anymore. I'm not going to stress over it. I get so worked up about getting work out that I get writer's block. I get so worked out to keep updating things ASAP. And why? For 4 likes, MAYBE a reblog, and the rare comment? "Write because you love it!" Because I know I'll hear that tired ass line. You know what? That's only part of it. You know what I love? Honestly (because one thing I will keep giving a fuck about is honest, but like...being totally honest), the validation. I love when people interact with my work. I love when I put something I worked on out where and people go bonkers over it. Why would I keep giving a fuck when I post it and get...crickets?

I'm not saying I'm quitting, either. I'm simply just choosing to write when the mood hits. No more sitting here and going "I need to write 500 words by tonight". I'll still update fics that are already written, though. That takes no fucks and no efforts lmao

I had another thought, but I have other things to do. And, frankly...I'd rather go do those things.

Also, rewatching Supernatural for the millionth time. I think the boys would be proud of me for choosing to not stress over silly shit. :)

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Are you open to writing smut? I would love RD x Caliban smut so much. If not full on smut something a little spicy would be great. If not that's fine, keep up the good work I enjoy your fanfics a lot.

(Just to clarify: I'm not trying to shame any smut-writers out there. We all have different opinions/boundaries, and writing fictional stuff rarely ever harms anyone. I'm just explaining my own thoughts/preferences here.)

Well, I definitely DON'T write smut for several personal reasons. I did include a warning about that in my intro, but my intro is also pretty wordy in general. Apologies for that, I guess.

And as for spice...I can ocassionally make an exception or two, but that's also kinda iffy for me? Again, I have my reasons. The primary one being that these characters are fanegos. They're based off of real content-creators.

Even if said creators have no idea that I even exist, I still feel very uncomfortable at just the thought of writing raunchy stuff that would technically be in their image.

So...sorry, but no, I can't do that. (It's kind of a shame; I'm pretty sure this is only the fourth creative-focusing ask I've gotten for this whole damn year.)

Thank you for the kind words, though. Since my stories haven't been getting too much attention (*cough-cough* reblogs and comments *cough-cough*) lately, it's really nice to know that some people are still interested/reading.

However: though I'm busy with a current WIP, and have another one that revolves around something else after that, I'm still planning to write a story specifically for Caliban and R.D. somewhat soon.

So, you'll get to see some fluffy, couply stuff with them in the future. (As fluffy and couply as you can get with a cannibal mobster and a mostly unethical scientist, lol)

[jackobbit]

Hey folks, sorry about having to be a bit serious but somethings made me a bit uncomfy recently, so I thought I’d just be transparent about that real quick.

An old post I made back in April depicting my AU’s Bloodmoon in a bunny suit is making the rounds again, and it’s going around a crowd I’m not super comfortable seeing reblog and engaging with it. Namely, minors and RP blogs that I can also only assume are also minors.

I understand that simply wearing a bunny suit isn’t inherently suggestive. But it does have a suggestive history and context behind it, which is why I tagged it the way I did. I thought that the tags would deter a younger crowd but unfortunately it doesn’t seem like that was the case.

I’m considering taking that picture as well as the matching Solar Flare picture down too. I don’t want to have to do that but I refuse to let it stay up if people keep tagging other minors to see it. Unfortunately, Tumblr doesn’t have a system where I can just boot followers or other folks who are below a certain age so it’s much harder to control who sees what.

I’m asking yall to please be considerate of what you reblog and tag someone in if it does happen to be suggestive and tagged as such. Lots of people did a wonderful job of including the content warnings in the tags of their own reblogs but unfortunately it still slipped through the cracks.

I do not believe that I will be making any further art of a such a nature going forward unless it is on a platform where I can control who sees it. It makes me incredibly uncomfortable to see minors engaging with such works right next to comments other people have made under it that are also of a suggestive nature.

I thought I’d simply speak about this first before I make any solid decisions, such as taking the posts down or imposing an age limit on my blog alla DNI. My usual content and artwork is not suggestive, and it’s very rare for me to create something like that to begin with, but I don’t want this to happen again. I’d even wager to say that my art shouldn’t be consumed by anyone under a certain age bracket anyways on account of my swearing and some topics depicted and such.

A lot is still up in the air regarding this topic, but again, I just wanted to speak about it first before anything is super final regarding it.

[gardenerian]

I know you've been on Shameless and Gallavich tumblr for a while and I was hoping you could give me some advice. I hope this doesn't sound too pathetic.

I'm a massive Shameless and Gallavich fan. I have been here for nearly a year and I feel very excluded. I really want to connect with the others in this community, but it's not working no matter what I try. I don't write, draw, make art or create gifs. I don't have any creations to offer and share. I know those types of things would get me some attention and for people to notice and interact with me. I like and reblog a lot of other people's posts daily. I leave comments on people's posts as often as I can to praise their work or to share my thoughts but I rarely get any responses from the person. I post random Shameless and Gallavich thoughts and head-cannons with tags but they rarely get many likes and no one ever comments to strike up conversation. I take part in the tag games and tag others, but week after week never get tagged to participate, but I participate anyway. Still, I never get comments on the stuff that I share about myself to let others get to know me. I have tried sending ask to people about things they have posted to strike up conversation, but I either never get a response or it's a one time response that doesn't go anywhere after that.

I suppose the gist is that I keep trying to strike up conversations to connect with the people in this community and it falls flat every time. I'm simply at the point where it makes me sad to come on here and to see how tight-knit this community is and how much you all interact with each other, hype each other's posts and make posts for and mentioning each other like on birthdays. I know you are part of an especially close group so it seems like you might be just the person to ask.

I'm not writing this as a complaint or to accuse anyone of anything. It's the opposite. I want to join in in this community and feel included. I want to no longer feel sad and ignored when I am on here trying to participate and interact. Like I said, I don't write or make art so do you have any tips about how I can get noticed and accepted into this community? I just want to make friends with all of you and finally feel a part of this community.

hi there 😭 i am so sorry you're feeling this way. wanting to connect is such a human thing, and it's not pathetic at all to reach out. i think it's great. so thank you for coming to chat with me about it, and i hope i can help ❤️

excluding people is never something i want to do. i want to engage fully and enthusiastically - i think we all do! and while there are so many ways to get involved, i do think engagement around here (on tumblr as a whole!) is different than it used to be. for me personally, i was on tumblr 24/7 for a long time, but now that i am working again, it's a little harder for me to be present as much as i want! it comes and goes in waves, really. sometimes i am tagged in things that i don't get to, sometimes i forget to respond to asks, sometimes i miss posts that go around during busy times. and sometimes i think i'm following people when i'm not! this happens to me a lot and it's super embarrassing 😭 and i think these kinds of things happen to just about everyone! sometimes we just can't be here the way we want, even if we love it. and we do love it! so much!

i'm glad you're participating! and i want to make sure that everyone knows that making or posting things is not a requirement to be here. there's no entry fee to enjoy fandom space. if you want to give it a try, please do! but you don't owe us anything; your presence is more than enough.

for me the answer was just to keep talking. i wish i had more direct tips, but i just have not shut up since 2019. people started talking back, but for a while it did feel like i was just talking to myself. i know you've been putting yourself out there, and it's really brave and wonderful. i hope you'll keep trying. there are people that will love you, and i'm sorry if i've missed you so far. i don't want you to feel sad here. if you feel comfortable, shoot me a DM! tag me in things! i will hype you up, i promise. i want to hear what you have to say, and i want to get to know you. there are friends here for you 💓 edit: join the discord if you can!

anyone else with tips is welcome to chime in.

[batmans-cheerleader]

discountenance

includes: jason & damian

wc: 2k | rated t | m.list | cross-posted on ao3

warnings: emotional baggage, child abuse, drug usage, addiction, neglect, mommy issues, disrespect of boundaries, angst, hurt/comfort

a/n: hey so this is a) not talia bashing and i will not accept talia bashers in the comments b) reflective of my experiences with my mother and not the end all be all for how the parent-child relationships are in batman nor how they should be dealt with in real life

please reblog!

“Hey, Squirt.”

“Todd, don’t call me such demeaning names. Did Grayson send you in here?”

Jason snorts, sitting on the edge of Damian’s bed. “Obviously. He was worried about you.”

“I am perfectly fine,” Damian sniffs.

“Tell that to the judge,” Jason cracks, raising his eyebrows. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

After a long moment, Damian shifts, looking down. “My mother and I had a fight.” 

Jason looks over at Dick, whose eyes reflect the confusion he feels. Damian had just stomped past them, slamming to door to his room shut in an uncharacteristically loud manner. What had happened? Neither Bruce nor Tim were at the manor, which eliminated the most likely causes.

Dick sighs, standing. “I should go see if he’s alright.” 

“You sure he doesn’t need some time to cool off?” Jason questions, and Dick shrugs. 

“Only one way to know. I’d rather ask him than just assume he does when he really wants to talk to someone.” 

“There you go again, being all mature and shit,” Jason snorts. “Hopefully he doesn’t bite your head off.” 

Dick dissapears down the hall, and Jason returns his attention to his book. Well, tries to, anyway. Despite his flippant attitude, he really is a little concerned about the kid. It’d been a while since he’d had an outburst like that (oh, the joys of teenage puberty) and though Jason likes Damian’s firecracker personality more than he lets on, it’s rare for him to be set off so suddenly, without a trigger. 

A known trigger, that is. Maybe he and Superboy had fought? Look, Jason's really wracking his brain here. 

Straining his ears, Jason tries to detect yelling or the sound of Dick’s return, but doesn’t hear either. A good sign, he supposes. Means Dickiebird’s got it all in hand.

A few more minutes go by, and right when Jason’s getting back into his novel, he heard Damian’s door open. 

“Everything alright in there?” he asks Dick, whose lips are pressed together thinly. “Wait, don’t answer that. I can already tell it’s not. What’s going on?”

Dick scrubs a hand across his face. “I guess he and Talia fought. He’s really upset, and I can’t really help him. He needs advice right now, not just a listening ear.” 

“And why can’t you help him?” Jason asks, putting his book down. “I thought Richard Grayson was an expert in fighting with one’s parents.” 

“Asshole.” Dick rolls his eyes. “Regardless of the issues Bruce and I have had, I don’t exactly have a lot of experience in the ‘mother’ department. Damian needs someone who does.” 

It doesn’t take long for Jason to put the pieces together. “Oh, hell no! You want me to talk to him about mommy issues? No fucking way!” 

“I can’t force you to do anything, and if you don’t want to think about that trauma, that’s totally valid. But I think out of all of us in the mansion right now, you’ve got the best chance at being able to empathize. And you’ve also spent time with Talia, which might be helpful.” 

“How upset is he?” Jason asks eventually, and Dick grimaces. 

“It’s pretty bad.” 

“Fuck. Fine. Don’t say I’m not a good older brother, alright?” 

“Jay, nobody says that. You’re a great older brother.” Dick just looks so earnest. 

“It was a joke. Anyway, does he need time? Or can I go in there now?”

“You can head in now. But Jason, seriously, if you think talking about this will hurt you or bring up bad memories you don’t have to do it.” 

“Please, you worry too much. But I appreciate it,” he adds after a beat. “Now let me go do my thing.” 

Knocking on Damian’s door, he waits until he hears a muffled ‘you may enter’ from the depths of the room. Shutting the door behind him gently, he takes in Damian, who’s sitting at his desk, a scowl on his face. 

“Hey, Squirt.” 

“Todd, don’t call me such demeaning names. Did Grayson send you in here?” 

Jason snorts, sitting on the edge of Damian’s bed. “Obviously. He was worried about you.” 

“I am perfectly fine,” Damian sniffs. 

“Tell that to the judge,” Jason cracks, raising his eyebrows. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” 

After a long moment, Damian shifts, looking down. “My mother and I had a fight.” 

“You and Talia? About what, if you feel like sharing.” And look, Jason may not be the best at the whole big brother thing, but as Robin, he’d gotten lots of experience talking to other kids or those he helped, so he at least kind of knows what to do. Shoutout to Bruce, for drilling the victim checklist into his head. 

Damian shifts uncomfortably. “Well… she is being unreasonable. And not listening to me.” 

That sounds like Talia. Jason has his own opinions of her, separate from Damian, but even in her best of days, she can be stubborn and disrespectful of boundaries.

“I just wanted to have a nice, insincere conversation with her,” Damian continues, “but she began speaking ill of Father. And speaking of Grandfather. I’ve asked her before to please not do such things, and I asked her again today, but instead of listening, she merely dismissed me and continued on.” 

“That must have been tough,” Jason says, “but hey, kudos on telling her that. Your mom can be kind of a hard person to say that stuff to.” 

Damian inclines his head slightly. “Sometimes I don’t like talking to her that much.” He hesitates. “Sometimes I don’t think I like her very much. Does that make me a bad son?” 

The rare and open vulnerability on Damian’s face makes Jason’s chest hurt. 

“No, Damian. Not at all. Those are perfectly valid feelings to have.” 

“They are? But I feel like I’m betraying her. I mean, she’s my mother! Shouldn’t I love and respect her regardless of what she says or does?” 

“No healthy relationship works like that,” Jason begins, choosing his words carefully. “Believe it or not, I struggle with the same thing.” 

“With Father?” 

Jason chuckles. “With my own mom.” 

This gives Damian pause. “Your mother?” 

Jason nods. “I don’t speak of her often, so you probably don’t know very much about her, now do you?” 

“Didn’t she turn you over to the Joker?” 

Jason makes a face. “Not her. That woman will never be my mother. No, Catherine, the woman who raised me from birth.” 

Damian is silent, and Jason takes that as a sign to go on. 

“Before I was taken in by Bruce, before I was out on the street fending for myself, I lived with my mom. My dad wasn’t really around, since he was in jail a lot, and so it was just her and I for a lot of my childhood. But just because we were together, doesn’t mean she was there, you know? Catherine had a real bad drug addiction and most of my memories involve her being high or drunk, or both, to be honest.” Jason sighs. “Someone struggling with that level of addiction can’t take care of themselves, let along a young child. So I was neglected pretty badly, and also forced to take care of her in various ways. I went hungry, without power or water, and even without decent clothes during my growthspurts.” 

“I knew you grew up in Crime Alley, however…” 

Jason smiles ruefully. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad, isn’t it? You’d think that would be grounds for hating her or resenting her, and believe me, I do, but I can also remember times before she was addicted to drugs, or the few times she’d tried to get clean, and those memories are some of the best times of my life. We’d do things together, I’d have someone who’d take care of me, for once I didn’t have to worry about everything. But those moments didn’t last long, because she could never quite kick it. I still struggle with my feeling about her, because like you said, she’s my mom! How can I hate her? But how can I look past the things she did to me, to her, to our family during the times she was high or mentally unwell? It’s really difficult and something I still struggle with today.” 

“So there’s no fix?” Damian’s tone is raw. “I’m always going to struggle with this?”

“I didn’t say that. There’s no easy fix, at least not in my experience, but it’s something you don’t have to have figured out right this moment. It’s something you can change your mind about when you want and how you want. Talia is a good woman, and I know you love her, but that doesn’t mean you have to listen to her speak about Bruce, or Ra’s, or whatever. You’re allowed to get mad at her, to hang up on you, to tell her your own opinion and ask that she respects it. And if she doesn’t, you’re allowed to tell her that you don’t want to talk to her until she does, or that she’s pissing you off.” 

Damian’s fists clench where they rest on his desk. “I hate this,” he says. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair that I have to deal with this. It’s not fair that I had to have the childhood I had, or that I have to be the one to set these boundaries. She’s the adult!” 

“You’re right,” Jason says. God, he can remember thinking the exact same thing. “It’s not fair. It’s fucking stupid, and kid, I am so, so sorry that you have to go through this. You can deal with it as much as you want or as little as you want right now, and if you want to talk about it, I’m always here, and so is Dick. Or we could even get you set up wth someone on the outside that’s probably a hellova lot better at these types of talks than I am.” 

“What, like a psychologist?” 

“A therapist, yes. I’ve never told anyone this, not even Bruce, but I’ve spoken to one on and off over the years and she’s been really helpful as I work through all of my issues. Do you know Black Canary?” 

“That’s who you speak to?” 

“It is,” Jason confirms. “And you also don’t have to make a decision right now about any of this either. You can sit with it and think about what you want to do. I’m not trying to pressure you into picking a path right this very second.” 

Damian nods. He doesn’t seem completely opposed to speaking with Dinah, which is a pro in Jason’s books. Lord knows their family needs more people willing to ask for help when they need it (though Jaosn can’t really be talking). 

“I’m still upset with my mother,” Damian says eventually. “I do not understand why she cannot simply respect my words.”

“And that’s fine. You can be upset with her. For as long and as much as you want. And sometimes, people have a hard time listening to others, especially when they think they’re right. Your mother is very headstrong, and while that serves her well, it can also make it hard to work with her on an interpersonal level. And I’m not even experiencing the mother-son dynamic you have to navigate.” 

Damian is silent for a long moment, so Jason leans forward. 

“Do you want to talk about it more, or talk about anything else? I can also stop bothering you if that’s what you want too.” 

Pushing himself away from his desk, Damian stands. “I do not wish to speak of it any longer. I want to think.” He turns hopeful eyes to Jason. “And I would also like a hot chocolate from the bakery on fifth and third.” 

Jason chuckles, shaking his head. He’ll let Damian milk it for once. The kid deserves it. “You know what? Hot chocolate sounds perfect. We should probably take Dick though, make him pay.” And assuage his worries before he gets an ulcer , Jason thinks privately.

“If we must,” Damian sighs. “But if he must come, then I also get a pastry. And to use you as a shield to block his hugs.” 

“Brat, we both know you don’t mind his physical displays of affection as much as you claim.” 

“Do not call me ‘brat’!” 

Jason grins, pulling Damin’s door open. “Squirt it is, then.” 

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: I hope you all enjoy this random idea.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

One hand guides the fabric as the other turns the wheel. Your work is slow but steady, every stitch perfect, every seam precise. Your fare may be modest and your product simple, but its quality cannot be contested. Your labour as yourself is honest and plain.

The noise of the machine is your only company. The one-room shop nestled behind the butcher’s rarely sees a customer through its door. Instead, the orders are sent from the factories, returned with the printed adverts you disperse outside their doors. The writs are sent along with an envelope of pence and shilling and you complete each with equal diligence before sending them back bundled in paper and twine.

The operation isn’t especially fruitful but the profit is enough to subsist. Enough to guarantee your independence; a small apartment just above and a pot of stew to last you through each week. This humble existence is preferable to any marriage you’ve witnessed. 

The letters from your sisters reaffirm your spinster’s fate. You’d rather a hand wheel and a needle than a brood and broken back. A husband seems to provide several jobs at once, you’ll happily settle for one.

As your hands work from memory and your head wanders from tedium, the bell above the door gives a single sharp toll. You ease the wheel to a halt and leave the seam unfinished. You peer up above the black iron machine, reminding yourself to fix your hunch as a client enters. You can’t but wonder if he may have come to the wrong shop.

By his attire, he is a class above the factory women who require gray skirts and simple stays. His waistcoat is embroidered and his jacket is pressed and clean. He is tall, locks part tidily so his curls lay gracefully. His face is fresh-shaven, square jaw with a cleft, and shoulders broad and strong. He does not share the same sinewy gauntness as the labourers with the coal-dusted noses.

He carries a fine leather bag. Another clue to his status. His shoes, another. Polished and without creases.

You stand to greet him, “good afternoon, sir. Might I help you with something?”

His answer is not prompt. He takes in the finished dresses hung by the east wall and turns to examine the rolls of wool and cotton. At last, he returns his attention to you.

“Afternoon,” his deep timbre fills the small space, “you are the dressmaker.”

It isn’t a question, but you answer, “I am.”

He narrows his eyes as he approaches your desk, the sole fixture in the space. From without, the shop is just as bare. The blackened windows offer not insight into the business, its only suggestion the sign hung above the door, though the paint requires a fresh coat.

“And the shop owner?”

“That is me as well, sir,” you assert. The presumption is not uncommon.

“Ah,” he accepts your explanation without comment, “so, you will have sewn this.”

He puts his bag on the desk, nearly knocking your shears from the corner. You try not to flinch as they teeter near the edge and he pulls open the top of the leather bag. He pulls out a swath of grey. You recognise it and he rolls the cuff to show your initials sewn within.

“Sir,” you say precariously, “is there some issue with it? Is it your wife’s dress?”

“Wife? No, no,” he dismisses, feeling the fabric between his fingers, “rather I am in search of the dress’s owner. The initial must belong to them, yes? So you would have a name for the buyer.”

“Mm, no, those are mine,” you point at the letters, “as it is my handiwork.”

“That makes sense,” he frowns in disappointment. “So you wouldn’t know who would wear it?”

You rub your chapped lips together. You find your tongue sliding over them often when you work, turning them raw with the habit. The man’s lips are rosy and smooth, as well-kempt as the rest of him. He is no factory worker’s husband.

“I might… would you take it out?” You ask.

He obliges as you pluck up the metal cylinder from your desk and unfurl the tape measure from within. He shakes out the dress, holding it by the shoulders to reveal salt stains along the skirts and unleashing a dingy smell in the shop. You wiggle your nose at the stench but worse roils in from the butcher’s on hot days.

You take the measure of the sleeves and the waist, then to the hem. You scribble the numbers on a scrap and take that to compare with your ledger. The measurements are in now way defining but might narrow it down. He keeps the dress aloft and you return to him to check the thread along the seams. A few months ago, you changed the thickness as the factory workers complained of splits under the arms.

“Hm, it is a recent purchase,” you assure him and return to the ledge. 

He lowers the dress and approaches. You snap the book closed and turn your face up to consider him once more, “why do you need to know, if it is not your wife?”

“You are very discerning,” he remarks as he folds the dress and drapes it over his bag, “I’m certain then you can surmise the woman who wore this dress did not meet a kind fate.” He tugs up the hem and shows a tear trimmed in scarlet, the colour not obvious from a distance. “Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. I’m a detective and I’m trying to identify a poor woman found not far from here. I believe it is in your own interest that I discover her assailant.”

“I cannot say for certain which she is,” you turn over the scrap and re-open the ledger. You write down three names which match the measurements and hold the paper out to him. He takes it, his thick fingertips brushing yours. “Those are the ones which align with the dress.”

“Mm,” he hums as he tucks the paper into his chest pocket, “and your name? I couldn’t make it out on the sign.”

You recite your name flatly, “it isn’t on the sign.”

“It requires new paint,” he admonishes, “I could hardly find you.”

“I am aware,” you reply. “Thank you for noting.”

He’s quiet, “being a detective, however, I did indeed put together the clues.”

Is he making a joke? You cannot tell. He folds up the dress completely and puts it back in the leather bag. The smell persists.

“What are you prices?” He asks abruptly.

“Sir, I sew dresses for factory women, sometimes a few communion pieces, but I’m afraid I don’t do much suit work.”

“My sister requires a dress,” he sniffs, “as simple as it is, I can see your work is fine.”

“I have only wools and cottons,” you counter.

“Do you always turn away business?” He challenges.

“I wasn’t, sir, I’m only clarifying what I currently do. My prices are set for those fabrics,” you explain.

“I will pay for the muslin and velvet,” he waves his hand staunchly, “you will be paid for your labour. Can you sew with more than wool and cotton?”

“I can, sir, but you could find a ready-made dress in a market boutique if the dress is required promptly.”

“I can afford the time and coin,” he insists. “You are not a talented advertiser, are you?”

You’re taken aback by his bluntness. Often, his ilk have that demeanour. It’s why you’d rather the factory workers and the fish sellers’ wives.

“I suppose not,” you agree, “I would need measurements before I begin. You may send the numbers along with the fabric, then. And I would require a style. Perhaps your sister is a purveyor of fashion magazines?”

“I will send a messenger,” he shrugs. “Thank you for your time. I shan't get in your way any longer.”

“Good day, sir.”

“Good day to you,” he takes the bag from your desk and the shears fall to the floor with a clatter.

You skirt around to grab them as he bends and swipes them up first. You recoil as he closes the blades with a snap. He examines them before placing them back on the desk.

“Apologies,” he says, “and miss,” he looks at you, “take to heart what I’ve told you today. Keep away from the allies and perhaps you may consider locking your door.”

“Thank you, sir, your concern is appreciated.”

“Rather you might just keep those close, eh,” he points to the shears and his cheek dimples.

Again, you can’t be certain of his humour. You keep a placid expression, neither smiling nor scowling. He clears his throat and runs his hand down his jacket, gripping the lapel.

“Very well then, I’ll be off.”

He turns on his heel and marches to the door. You stay by the desk as the bell rings with his departure. Once the door closes, you cross the shop. You turn the lock into place, his foreboding lingering with the stale scent of dirty water.

🪡

Despite the unusual visit, your days roll on like a hand on a clock. The thought of the woman’s tragic fate looms like a shadow but fades. You have too much stitching to do to fret over that man and his ominous words. You assume his interest in your work thereafter was wholly feigned as he does not return.

That day, you pass off six parcels to Eustace, the driver who takes them down to the stacks to hand off to the floor bosses who will parse them out to the women they’ve been cut for. You pay him his toll before he climbs back into the seat of his cart, his horse kicking impatiently.

“Excuse me, sir,” another driver clops up along the other side of the street, a narrow squeeze between the slanting buildings. “I’m in search of a dressmaker. I believe the store is tucked behind the butcher’s and…” the man’s voice drifts off as his eyes flit to the meat sellers marquee.

“Right here, good sir,” Eustace responds, “wouldn’t ya know, she’s right here.”

You lift your chin to see past the cart and spy the driver. He removes his cap as his gaze meets yours. Eustache dips his chin as he adjusts his own hat and snaps his old mare into a canter. As you're left alone with the carriage driver, a vehicle rather lofty for a block like this, you fold your hands behind you.

“Sir, you hardly look in need of a work woman’s dress,” you say.

“Miss,” he ties the reins off and jumps down from his seat, “I am sent for you, not a dress.”

“For me?” You echo.

“Mr. Holmes has sent,” he crosses the muck and nearly slips. “He said he made an appointment for a seamstress.”

“An appointment? I wasn’t informed of the time,” you rebuff. “I’ve a shop to run, orders paid for. I can’t simply leave.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Holmes made mention of a fee,” the man feels around his striped coat, “he said a deposit would be needed.”

He takes out a brown envelope and hands it over. You take it, a small weight within. You look at the driver before you pull back the flap and peek inside. A large gold sovereign sits in the corner of the paper; a whole pound. That’s at least three days work.

You hold your breath, trying to maintain some composure. If that’s the deposit, what is he offering for the rest? You slip out the folded paper within, a page torn from a fashion journal. The dress is elegant if not extravagant. You don’t often do off-the-shoulder or ruffles like that but it isn’t beyond your skill.

You fold the flap closed again and lift your chin to face the driver, “I must lock up, you see?”

“Take your time, miss,” he says kindly. “Mr. Holmes isn’t expecting you to hurry.”

“Thank you, sir,” you bow your head and turn away.

You measure your steps along the facade of the butcher’s shop and curl around to the alleyway. You let yourself into your shop and tuck the envelope into your apron pocket. You take your sewing bag from under the desk and shake off the dust. You don’t often have reason to use it.

You open it up and pack away your shears, a measuring tape, pins with a cushion, your notebook, and a few other bits and bobs. Just in case. You grab a role of linen from against the wall. It’s heavy but you can manage.

You take the key from your desk drawer and switch off the overhead light. You lock the door and continue back out to the street. The driver puffs smoke from a pipe as he waits.

“Miss, allow me,” he snuffs out the pipe and puts it in his pocket. He nears and reaches for the roll of linen.

“It’s quite alright, sir,” you say.

“I insist, miss, can’t have a lady doing all that,” he takes it, not forcefully, and you let him.

As he goes to the carriage and opens the door, you give pause. You don’t know if you should be so easily swayed on a gold coin. Mr. Holmes hadn’t been entirely pleasant and you do prefer your simple work. Still, you can hardly turn your nose up at a pound. Not with the summer fizzling to a finale.

You lift your skirts and cross the street to the open carriage, “sir, might I have a name?”

“Gavin,” he answers, “and I have yours. Mr. Holmes made sure of it.”

“Yes, very good,” you say as you approach, another sliver of doubt trickling through. Mr. Holmes claimed to be a detective but is that really the reason he was strolling around with a dead woman’s dress? You gulp and look at Gavin then the carriage, “might I keep the window open?”

“Surely you can,” he agrees amiably. “Mr. Holmes lives quite a ways, shouldn’t mind the air. I’ll be certain to stay away from the stacks.”

“Thank you, sir,” you accept his proffered hand and he helps you up into the carriage. 

You settle on the bench as the door shuts and you open the window from within. You lean back, your hand grasping the top of your bag. You unclasp it as you feel Gavin climb up on the driver’s seat. You dip your hand inside and clutch your long shears.

You don’t forget all of what Mr. Holmes said.

[misc-obeyme]

🪿anon here Hey hello! I thought I put in another ask before the one you replied to, but I think tumblr ate it somewhere between you and me. So sorry about the confusion, you didn't miss me at all. Your reply was lovely and I loved reading about your headcanons, especially how Mammon would totally biff people with his wings. Ask game time tho! 🦈 What is the character you have the hardest time writing? And as a bonus, if you're up for it: 💛 What's an impactful lesson you've learned about writing? I'm a fellow (and often struggling) writer and I love hearing what other people have to share, especially in the fandom space. Honks and hisses! 🪿

Ahhh okay, that explains it! Tumblr has been known to eat asks on occasion! Phew, I'm glad I didn't miss you! I'll go ahead and add your emoji to the list now!! Ah, I'm glad you liked my reply too I felt bad that it was so lengthy lol.

🦈 What is the character you have the hardest time writing?

Siiiiigh it's Levi. I'm much better with him now than I used to be, but I really struggled with him for a long time. His anxiety really reminded me of myself irl, so I had a hard time separating the anxiety of his character from my own. And this was an issue for me because it messed with my characterization of him.

I also struggle with Mammon sometimes. This is because I think the fandom's version of him and the canon version of him are different. So my brain is always flip flopping between them when doing his characterization. And I was so worried about writing him OOC that I would just kinda... not write for him much at all? But then I kinda reconciled it by deciding I was going to write my version of him and just own it! LOL.

💛 What's an impactful lesson you've learned about writing?

Ohh an interesting question! I would say the understanding that there is no "right" way to write a story. You get to decide what works for you. Even if a lot of other writers swear by doing this one thing, you only need to do it if it actually helps you. Otherwise, chuck it!

Specifically to fandom things, though, I would also add that having fun is the most important thing. How other people react to your writing is not an indication of how good it is. Things like how active a fandom is, how popular a ship is (if you're writing a ship), how many people are looking for this specific genre (e.g. fluff, angst, etc), all of that is going to impact how people react to what you wrote. You might have written the most exquisite novel length fic ever, but if it's about something not a lot of people are interested in, you might get only a handful of comments/reblogs/likes etc.

So the important thing to focus on for fanfic is how you feel about writing it. Write things you enjoy, write for yourself. You're spending a lot of time and effort and energy on that story. Make sure it's one that you're proud of, no matter how people respond to it.

I'm writing Arsenios's story and it's been such an amazing experience. I absolutely love it and I'm throwing my whole heart & soul into it. But OC stuff rarely has the same engagement as canon. So when I finally start posting it, I won't be surprised if it doesn't do very well, especially compared to some of my other stuff.

But the thing is, it won't matter. I'm writing that story because I love it, because it's fun, because it makes me happy. So how well it does or doesn't do won't impact the experience I got out of writing it.

OOF sorry to ramble so much, but I hope that makes some sense! I just think people get too hung up on numbers and things (myself included lol) when really that's not the thing that matters most!

Ahaha but I could write about writing all day... I guess it's my special interest. :)

Anyway, thank you for asking!

Fanfic Writer Ask Game

[randomfoggytiger]

Also curious about 9 and 21... :)

Thanks for dropping back back in! :DDDDD

9. Hmmmm, no unfinished fics; but I have a few free-floating metas around. Two? three? that are for the randomfoggytiger Christmas presents. And, actually, I might have one in my drafts that I forgot about. (Drafts are mostly filled with fic lists and a sentence or two to flesh out later.)

21. Quite a few! ;))) I treasure each tag and I treasure the repeat readers or viewers who like my work and I treasure the rare drop-in. All have their advantages, and all are the spice of life~.

However, my specific, prominent memories were a bit long; so I had to include a cut.

You replying to each and every one of my HTGSC meta posts with an enthusiastic gif really, really made the work I put into that series worth it and more. I looked forward to putting out each post and running to the tags to read you and @baronessblixen and @dd-is-my-guiltypleasure comments (all of which I treasure); and I'd even include sections or points I thought would be particularly interesting for the three of you to come across organically as you read. ;)))

The support behind my first "Musical" X-Files episode edit was so kind that I pop them open to reread occasionally; and it was @baronessblixen's enthusiasm for the section where Scully walks in and the music softly changes that gave me the extra push to work on the next one--TINH: Scully's Solo-- which I believe is my favorite despite its inadequate lip sync at times (that song gets me every time.) Not to mention she and @demon-fetal-harvest left the first two (of three) comments that still make me tear up, mainly because it was such a rewarding moment for an editingfoggytiger.

I've already said every single comment on "Son of Egypt" because it was my first fic and everyone I tagged piled on and left something so, so wonderful in the reblogs; but ALSO every single comment on "The Dead Are Everywhere, Scully". The first fic was a shoot-from-the-hip, the second was more "planned"; and I couldn't be more awed and thrilled that both were so well-received.

Specific fic moments that meant a lot (because I'll do an overview sometime before the New Year, I've just decided): @baronessblixen loving the banter in my longer, bantery fics ("Time Passing in Moments" and "Something Approaching a Normal Life" and "I Think He's a Hard Kid to Love"), which is my favorite style to write; @agent-troi crying a little over "The Dead Are Everywhere, Scully", and tagging "naughty naughty puffball" (which I quote in unhealthy doses) on my AU Queequeg fic ("Regardless of His Actions Last Night"); @amplifyme's poignant encouragement as I flexed my writing muscle (and that my Krycek fic was one of her reblogs~); @perpetually-weirdening and @baronessblixen enjoying the comedy I didn't know I'd written into "How Much You're Like Ahab"; @nachosncheezies's tags on "My Religious Convictions Are Hardly the Issue Here" making me feel like a peacock; and @xxsksxxx and @tossingmyglossymane and @stephy-gold and @wexleresque (and agent-troi and you!) enjoying how all their prompts turned out~. (And every single comment on “Kids Today, Huh?” because it was out of my canon wheelhouse and I worked hard to maintain their more mature relationship while sidestepping IWTB and Revival requirements.)

And I just wrapped up Eight Nights of Mulder-- my second fic event (and first personally created event! with friends!)-- with fics I'd written the previous month; and, though their style was a bit wonky for my norm (weird writer things that happen), they turned out alright, I think. The comments on Day 2 (and the not-Hanukkah wedding swan getting broken) were a highlight, ngl. ;)))

And that's that! XDDD It was long; but I had a lot to say, apparently.

Drop in anytime; and thanks, again, for the ask! :DDD

[trans-axolotl]

This post is getting a ton of reblogs all of a sudden, so I thought I'd share some more info and address a lot of things people are saying in the comments.

Anytime advocates criticize 988 or other crisis hotlines, I always see a lot of crisis line workers come online to say "We only call the cops in really severe situations! You have to be actively harming yourself/have a plan/tell us that you're actively suicidal! We rarely call the cops, as long as you don't tell us you're suicidal you'll be fine!"

And I think that is a misleading statement that is ignorant at best, and actively harmful at worst. It's true that according to 988's stated policy, counselors should only call the police when someone has a "desire and intent to die and has the capability of carrying through on this intent." However, 988 has a huge transparency issue--this one investigation found that there was a Houston call center where 65% of their calls to law enforcement were unnecessary. Many survivors can tell you of stories where we called the line, said that we were safe, did not have a plan, and were not going to attempt, and still got the cops called on us. I once called the lifeline, expressed that I was having a hard night but was not at all suicidal, and then ended the call, only to wake up to cops banging on my door. There really is not oversight about this--counselors are encouraged to loop in law enforcement and emergency services if they think it's necessary, which leaves a lot of room for individual counselors and centers to make their own decisions. Survivors know that there are many, many circumstances where cops are called against their own policies--we've lived it, and no one listens when we speak up about it. Even without the data, we know that this is happening.

Furthermore, even if individual call centers have better policies and are strict about only calling in cases of actual suicide attempts, there are plenty of centers that do not strictly follow policies and call law enforcement frequently. When you call 988, there is no guarantee which call center you'll get routed to. Even though it's supposed to be the local center to you, if that center is busy, you will get rerouted to one of the national overflow centers. There is no way to accurately assess the risk of getting the cops on you when you have no way of knowing what center you'll get routed to, their internal policies, and their oversight process. And yet, there is almost no transparency, and this information is not made available to people unless they spend time going through the website and privacy policy. This goes against everything in the Crisis Caller's Bill of Rights, and does not treat suicidal people with the respect, transparency, and compassion that we deserve.

A lot of advocates and researchers I've spoken to think that the statistic that "only 2% of Lifeline calls involve law enforcement" is an understatement. Requests for more specific data through freedom of information acts have been hard to accomplish. Even if it is only 2% of calls, according to this data that would be 100,000 calls involving law enforcement per year. That's over 270 crisis calls with the cops per day. That is an incredibly high number, representing really serious risks to the people calling for support. These articles talk about some of the harms, including instances of police murder after cops became involved, arrest, involuntary hospitalization, and more. Suicidal people deserve much better: we deserve care that enables us to access support we need and that respects our autonomy, instead of care that actively endangers our wellbeing.

overall, if you work at a crisis line, I really think that you need to reevaluate what your role is and confront the ways you are complicit in an oppressive and carceral system. If you want to do any type of ethical work within the system, you need to be able to grapple with the harms of the system, and listen to what suicidal people say about the best ways to support us. Calling the cops on any of your suicidal clients actively endangers us: we deserve systems of care that don't come armed with guns and the power to incarcerate us. Reacting defensively to survivors pointing out the very real harms we've experienced will not help suicidal people access care and support. It creates more barriers and further traumatizes us.

for anyone who wants to learn more about mad pride and liberatory antipsychiatry, check out my mad liberation tag, especially this post about alternatives to psych hospitalization.

i wish more people were aware the vast majority of crisis lines have the power to call the police and will call the police on you if you express that you’re suicidal because i see crisis lines being spread all the time in leftist spaces but most people don’t add the information about police and i think that can be really dangerous. it’s fucked up that crisis lines can do that and i really fucking hate it and i wish that it was more widespread knowledge so that people could make informed choices about the resources they access. 

[telenovelameta]

woo let's go. new blog! created this mostly so i dont spam my main with stuff most gringos haven't even heard about lol

so as anyone who's talked to me for 2 minutes irl knows... i watch a lot of novelas. like a lot. specially when working all-nighters... i usually get through a lot of storylines pretty quickly (i can hit 20+ episodes in a night easy, healthy? idk... but there's just something about melodrama that hits The Right Chemicals in my brain, esp during Deadline Crunch Time). but, i'm usually someone that likes to analyze and criticize the stuff i watch, and it's usually pretty frustrating to not have anywhere to put those thoughts (besides the after mentioned off-topic spam on main), i also feel this medium is kinda under-scrutinized, even by "professional critics" (who are usually, tbh, pretty baseline in their analysis), so, hence this blog. expect takes / opinions / analysis just general comments on novelas i'm currently watching. maybe some gifsets reblogs here and there when i catch those rare fish, maybe some fanart if im really in the mood... in general tho i'm extremely busy w/ other projects (fandom projects included) so expect this blog to be rlly informal and "train of thought"- ish. sorta like ur personal broadcast of my internal monologue from injecting 200+ hours of melodrama into the brain. .... so, what to expect? currently i'm going through: 1- a viagem (the 90s globo remake, am at chapter 61 of 167)

2- totalmente demais (have about 10 eps to finish)

3- bom suceso (about 30 eps to finish i think?) 4- alem da ilusao (i was following this day-to-day when it was airing but kinda lost interest in the last month, i'm looking to finish it at some point though) --- there's 3 novelas that live rent free in my head and i will probably post about sporadically as well: i've also been doing an on-and-off rewatch of senhora do destino (third one, this time with my mom), we're on episode 90 or so I believe. it's been about 2 years of a rewatch tho so lol may take at least another 3. besides that, some n i'm part of the team of @floricientasubbed , and am always translating and analyzing the eps of floricienta. mostly the new takes i get while doing that are kept on our discord, but if there's a worthy enough idea to share, i'll put it here. i'm also working on a long-term sequel project (fan comic format) to cheias de charme, which i may also post about from time to time. --- in the future im looking to watch some venezuelan ones... and maybe rewatch las aparicio (maybe after reading dona flor y sus dos maridos? i feel in first watch i missed some of that literary context). i have more brazilian stuff in the queue as well, but i would like to switch it up a bit after finishing the ones i'm currently going through. well, that's it for now! back to the proverbial tube...

[blkkizzat]

I've been following your blog for a while now, and I hope this isn't weird to ask but I think you may have the best answer since you're an amazing writer. My friend has been taking down their works and giving up on telling others they even write fics because they feel no one likes their writing. They think this because when they ask for feedback it's silence. They keep comparing themselves to other writers and I feel bad they don't believe they're a great writer. As a writer did you ever have these feelings or do you have them now at certain times? I just want to be a good friend and motivate them to keep writing.

Oh wow. Well first, thank you so much! That really makes me happy you 1) like my writing so much but 2) even coming to me with this question!

(this is a long reply sorry lol but two parts, advice for friend and then my own personal insecurities)

Advice for your friend:

First, who your friend is asking? Are they asking on their blog or to a group chat or dms to others? Even though it shouldn't seem like it asking for feedback on your blog is probably the worst way. People rarely even reblog nowadays so asking them to take the time to comment and give something meaningful isn't likely going to happen (also people could feel shy too!).

However, I would tell your friend to reach out to people who regularly interact with their content the most and ask them if they would beta read or provide feedback. It may seem a bit intimidating to ask especially if they don't know them but if the person is liking their content that much I'm sure they would be flattered at the ask. Or start interacting with other writers more whose work they do like. I wouldn't ask right off the back for tips and feedback but if they begin chatting with them regularly and become mutuals then it'd be okay to then ask. A lot of writers, myself included, love talking about writing.

But at the end of the day tell your friend to write for their own satisfaction in their own perspective. My thing is if it don't make me, cry, laugh, horny or any of the main emotions I want to feel while writing it I keep working on it. It's my fic and I can't get anyone to feel an emotion if I don't feel it when I am writing/reading it back. Thats also what gets me out of my funk cause I tell myself I will continue to work on it until i do like it.

I'm not saying here to not care about interactions (cause everyone wants feedback) but to just write until you personally feel good about it and to be honest about when that is. You will feel a lot better about the work you do put out when you write for your preferences alone and I feel more people respond to that as well. Even when taking requests, sure people are asking for something but at the end of the day they are asking for your version of it still. People don't want to read you trying to be someone else they want to read you! Think of it like this. Never doubt your idea. Your plot is rarely the problem because we all end up recycling similar ideas, nothing is revolutionary here. As far as technical skill you can improve your writing by being more descriptive, using a variety of different words (use word lists for smut/feeliings/etc), and tapping more into how the characters are feeling in the moment. About my insecurities:

I feel like its natural to be your own worst critic and I am definitely mine. You are never going to view yourself or your work as others view it which is a shame because I feel like people wouldn't struggle so much with insecurities if they could honestly tap into others true thoughts of them at will.

About mid-fic is where I notoriously hate every single fic I write and have to will myself to push through to finish it. I love writing but working on one story at a time can be fatiguing so I tend to work on multiple. That way if I am stuck and hating something, I can hop to another and give my brain a break as I am usually overthinking it/too deep in it and need to step back.

I honestly don't compare the quality of my work to others as I do like my style as much as the frequency of work I do. I am a very slow writer and I write in a very non linear fashion where I write sections and then weave them together and then comb over them 3-4 times before moving on to the next part and jump around. It stuns me how some writers say they never re-read their work because I will reread 10x times tweaking things here and there until my OCD is satisfied and I'm happy with it. I definitely get envious of writers who can just pump out quality fics like hot cakes and post multiple times a week. I'm lucky to get 1-2 done in a month haha. Especially frustrating when I have a ton of ideas (like almost 30 fic ideas currently) I'm dying to write and like 5+ half written fics cause I keep jumping around lol. To top it off I'm more of a descriptive writer so a fic being under 5k to me is a miracle lol.

I love reading others fanfics too (what inspired me to write in the first place!) but sometimes I have feel guilty and not been able to really enjoy because I'm like "I'm reading these when I could be writing mine and i have like 10 requests sitting in my inbox on top of that lol."

Clearly I'm long winded af cause I did not mean for this to be this long either lol. But I hope you got something from this that can help your friend. Keep being encouraging to them! I'm glad they have you in their corner!