#i really want to be as informed as possible

[gweniveretheponderous]

It's the reason I think that so many trans ppl still use 4chan. Not bcuz its good for you or particularly enjoyable, but bcuz they want the ugly truth about themselves without the frills, without the "you're so valid queen!!". Whether they get that is very questionable, but it can feel like the information you need to blend in is being gatekept by the ppl who just want you to "be yourself" when doing so is obviously only bad for you, someone who has to catch up on at least a decade of the training most women get on how to blend in.

You can be honest and give tips without just going "everyone is valid, femininity is a construct". Passing to me, it's like a martial arts discipline: don't live by it, use it only when necessary for self defence. Bcuz it really is self defence in the realest way possible.

i hate when you're in a trans-friendly environment and talk about like. doing things to pass better and TME people are like "what even is feminine anyways? what is a woman? the things women are made to feel like they have to do are so misogynistic, I think you shouldn't be worrying about those things."

like thanks for the feminism 101 dude, but I don't need musing about the nature of misogyny, I've been a feminist for over 10 years. this is about how people treat me poorly if I don't pass well enough. like i agree with you on all accounts, seeing as how I am affected by these things, but like. believing they're wrong doesn't mean I'm not still pressured by them. :/

like i went into the voice training clinic last year and I told the lady how I wanted to train my voice to be more feminine because I was struggling with keeping it in register, and it's been upsetting for me because when I fall out of register people treat me differently, gender me as a man, view me with suspicion, and I'm worried about how it might happen when a man tries to hit on me or something and the idea of a man thinking i "tricked him" into "being gay" is really scary for me, and she's like "oh, what even Is a feminine voice, anyways?" like. thanks girlie. it's definitely just my internal perceptions and not my lived experience.

just, the way TME people just Assume trans women don't know about feminism is so frustrating. constantly on the back foot like "no, no, I'm a feminist, believe me, however, I've been threatened for not passing well enough, so I face a lot of pressure to do so, sorry that you think I'm enforcing the gender binary by trying to preserve my safety."

[wonysugar]

g!p sugar mommy giselle🫦🫦🫦

g!p.... sugar mommy...... giselle..... ANON. holds you by the neck dearly thank you for this. also! it’s barely even mentioned at all but just know giselle is like 37ish and reader is in her mid-twenties. :]

cw : age-gap!

giselle as the sugar mommy you randomly met on your day to day minimum wage job at a fast food place MHMMM LET ME COOKKK..... having her be a regular who always comes in like once a week, always wearing something super fancy.. like a black prada trenchcoat or sometimes even a dolce & gabbana blazer. point is, she immediately stuck out like a sore thumb among the rest of the crowd.

plus, you found her undeniably gorgeous as soon as you laid eyes on her, so it's not like she'd go unnoticed otherwise, either.

she often approached you at the register and made small talk, as stupid as it often was. she'd find some stupid excuse not to use the self checkout machine and would find a lame conversation starter while you're watching her pull out a dior purse, proceeding with the payment of her order. that often lead to you asking her questions of your own.

"why do you eat here? you look like you have other.... better places to be eating at."

she'd chuckle at your words, finding them amusing, before answering in a gentle tone, "trust me, i do. my niece doesn't seem to think the same way i do, however, as she seems to really like this place. i appear to be the only one indulging her."

soon enough, you'd warm up to her with each visit of hers and the conversations would get much, much longer. so much so that, often times, your manager would have to step in and remind you to get back to work prompty. it got annoying quickly, as the conversations were just getting good; chatting about studies, travel plans, ambitions and goals, etc.

so, wanting to have these incredibly interesting exchanges in a more comfortable and relaxed setting, aeri asked for your number.

naturally.

who cares that she was like, ten years older than you. it wouldn’t hurt to make a friend… right?

numerous nights of friendly-texting-turned-flirty later, you two quickly agreed on a set date and location, which turned out to be a friday evening spent in the very expensive restaurant right across the block from your workplace. it was a date! she informed you to come in 'appropriate' attire, whatever that meant. how would you know? your closet consisted of hoodies, sweaters and some t-shirts as well as your work uniform. that being said, you showed up to the date wearing a low cute dark blue dress you found laying around in the darkest depths of your drawer for probably more than seven years. saying you were nervous would be nothing but a huge understatement.

she, on the other hand, came wearing a creamy white turtleneck under the black trench-coat she was usually seen wearing when ordering food at your job, the look topped off by wide legged black pants and really expensive looking black leather heels.

what the fuck are you doing.

getting cold feet, you nervously sat down at the table and bowed your head in her direction. intimidated by the light yet impacting amount of makeup she had on her face, you avoided eye contact as much as possible. she was breathtaking.

she told you to choose whatever you’d like on the menu and to not look at the price, as she insisted you not to worry at all about the bill. you, of course, felt guilty so you proceeded to pick the least expensive thing on the menu and attempted to convince her that you genuinely loved the dish, hence why you’d pick it among everything else.

who were you kidding though, you couldn’t even pronounce whatever fuckass french name it was that you picked to the waiter. she smiled at you as you finished ordering, making you turn red in embarrassment.

“you know y/n, i couldn’t bring myself to mention it in a place as unflattering as your workplace, no offence,” she started as you shook off the statement, practically agreeing with her before she continued, “but i must say that i think you are absolutely adorable.”

it gets to a point. and at this point you’re just short-circuiting at her words and intense eye contact, finding it difficult to even act properly in front of her!

she noticed that, of course, especially in times during the conversation where she called you endearing names such as “darling”, “love” and “honey”.

that wasn’t much different in bed, either.

as it turns out, you really did want her to fuck you at the end of the night! honestly, how could you not when she’d been opening every single door for you, insisting on paying for the entirety of the bill at the restaurant and offering to drive you home despite it only being a 10 minute walk?

she’d done nothing but drive you crazy all evening with her sexy and gentle manners, it’s only natural you gave her a sloppy handjob whilst she drove her grey lexus lx back to her own house with the pure intention of fucking the shit out of you.

…and she did! very well, at that!

two of her fingers deep into you, she circled your clit with her thumb and left gentle kisses on your jaw down to your collarbone. slow and steady pumps of the digits, she thrived in hearing your soft whimpers.

that didn’t last long, however. she was getting impatient, and her dick was aching to feel you.

ass up face down, you’re getting pounded relentlessly into the mattress before you know it. getting treated like nothing but a queen all night only to be later fucked like a depraved slut… it had to be the best thing you’d ever felt in a while. of course, you let her know of that with guttural moans that left your body with each thrust of her cock. she didn’t care, her house was big enough to muffle your screams, after all.

she whispered obscenities into your ear whilst you did so, gripping a fistful of your hair and humming at each sound that came out of your mouth. talking about how tight your cunt was for her, about how good it felt, how she couldn’t wait to use it every other day, about how she would kill to take care of a pretty little thing like you.

gripping onto your sides and ramming into you shamelessly as she drove you to your climax, you bit your lip until you felt like it was bleeding. her breathier heavier and each of her moans slightly higher than the previous, you both orgasmed together, a wave of euphoria washing over the two of you immediately.

oh and, you know what she said about ‘taking care of a pretty little thing like you?’ yeah, she meant every word.

soon enough, she’s taking you on dates every other weekend, referring you to a slightly better paying, less agonizing job thanks to the connections she possesses, sending you excessive amounts of money she labels as your ‘monthly allowance’ and overall spoiling you with whatever your heart desires. hell. she even payed your university tuition! she finds it endearing to see you always so shy and embarrassed to accept the money she gives you; you always go on about how ‘you don’t give her anything back’ and how it isn’t fair.

but to her, you do give back. your happiness and joy is what aeri does it for, and you give her great amounts of that. not only that, but you also give back by whoring yourself out and looking pretty for her. giving her unwarranted boners by sending her risky pictures and videos while she’s at work, having you wear the lingerie she buys you, knowing you use the toys she got you whenever she’s too busy to take care of you, etc. aeri could name nothing better than having you be the beautiful doll she gets to play with every now and then. :]

[sassypleia]

Like my Blog, I’m curious by choice. It’s a natural instinct to want to know more. By nature I like to look at the whole puzzle and then do my research before entering my two cents to the conversation. Half theories and droplets of information is fine and dandy…. However it leaves way too much room for interpretation. Now you may say that’s hog wash and that anything we receive is gold.

But again… ever heard of fool’s gold?

“Fool's Gold can be one of three minerals. The most common mineral mistaken for gold is pyrite. Chalcopyrite may also appear gold-like, and weathered mica can mimic gold as well. Compared to actual gold, these minerals will flake, powder, or crumble when poked with a metal point, whereas gold will gouge or indent like soft lead. In addition, actual gold will leave a golden yellow streak when scraped on a piece of unglazed porcelain. Pyrite and chalcopyrite will leave a dark green to black streak and the common micas will leave a white streak (https://www.usgs.gov/faqs/what-fools-gold).

We are given information purely based on what is chosen to be released. The way I interpret an event, statement or picture could be different than how everyone else does. I see a kinship with Nic and Luke while others may not see this. Does not mean that I will go and lecture them on why they are wrong while I am correct. (Also does not stop the TROLLS from stating their own opinions).

What we saw on the WT and with all interviews published, they hold a strong bond and respect for one another. In the past we were spoiled with the WT so we saw them together all the time. Now that we do not see them interacting or together publicly does not mean BTS they are not. They have other projects and Bridgerton (Nic did confirm they popped in and out while filming). I think silence and the fact we don’t see what we had seen before speaks volumes. Especially since the WT was supposed to be PR (“supposed to” being the word to focus on) to get the word out about S3 dropping.

When we see behaviors changing between two people, we stop and think. Or we should, some of us went to the theory that they are beefing (insert eye roll 🙄 ). Because we saw their beautiful performance in S3, we knew that they had great chemistry. Always claimed that they had a great friendship. The interviews these two gave. Ofta. Put ideas in our heads. But realistically, it’s known to happen. Friendship like theirs could grow into love.

“The truth is that if the person you have strong romantic feelings for is already your friend, it’s a good thing! How and why? It’s because a close friendship lays a solid foundation for a romantic relationship!

Think about it: you already know them quite well. You know that they have great qualities (which is possibly why you caught feelings, to begin with), and you know and accept the flaws too. Hopefully, your friend also knows and accepts you as a whole.

So, there won’t be this need to be the best versions of yourselves in that initial phase of infatuation and attraction in the relationship (https://www.marriage.com/advice/love/signs-a-friendship-is-turning-into-love/)!

⬆️ A really good article! See the ⬇️ signs

17 signs that your friendship is blossoming into love:

1. The communication frequency suddenly increases

2. You start experiencing jealousy

3. The body language between you two evolves

4. You’re both single

5. You two start flirting with each other

6. Your friend’s behavior turns hot and cold toward you

7. You start having long conversations with each other

8. When something happens, you need them to know first

9. You both try to find ways to be alone with each other

10. The pet names for each other change

11. You tend to mention your friend very frequently

12. You both feel an air of awkwardness and nervousness

13. Your friend is being more vulnerable than usual around you

14. Your common friends know what’s happening

15. They ask you out

16. There’s more physical touch

17. Prolonged eye contact

Does any of these sound familiar? Don’t make me bring up that bracelet Luke received with the engraving from a “fan” (Sure Jan 😉)

Again, your honor, I rest my case.

Xx 🩵

[studyinglogic]

[Continued from above]

Mistake 1: Asymmetrical Studying

Assuming you don't just want to do a single activity in a language, or are learning a language like ASL, a language requires 4 parts to be studied: Speaking, Listening, Writing, Reading. While these have overlap, you can't learn speaking from reading, or even learn speaking from just listening. One of my first Chinese teachers told me how he would listen to the textbook dialogues while he was biking to classes and it helped him. I took this information, thought "Yeah that's an idea, but sounds boring" and now regret not taking his advice nearly every day.

I think a lot of us find methods we enjoy to study (mine was reading) and assume that if we just do that method more ™ it will eventually help us in other areas (sometimes it does, but that's only sometimes). Find a method that works for you for each area of study, even better find more than one method since we use these skills in a variety of manners! I can understand a TV program pretty well since I have a lot of context clues and body language to fill in any gaps of understanding, but taking a phone call is much harder—the audio is rougher, there's no body language to read, and since most Chinese programs have hard coded subtitles, no subtitles to fall back on either. If I were to compare the number of hours I spent reading in Chinese to (actively) training my listening? Probably a ratio of 100 to 1. When I started to learn Korean, the first thing I did was find a variety of listening resources for my level.

Fix: Find a variety of study methods that challenge all aspects of the language in different ways.

A variety of methods will help you develop a more well-rounded level of mastery, and probably help you keep from getting bored. Which is important because...

Mistake 2: Inconsistent Studying

If there is one positive to a language app, it is the pressure it puts on keeping a streak. Making studying a part of your everyday routine is the best thing you can do. I benefited a lot from taking a college language course since I had a dedicated time to study and practice Chinese 5 days out of the week (and homework usually filled the other two). Memorization is a huge part of language learning, and stopping and starting is terrible for memorization. When I was in elementary school, we had Spanish maybe a couple times a month. Looking back, it seems like it was the first class to be cut if we needed to catch up on a more important course. Needless to say, I can't even speak Spanish at an elementary level.

However, I'm sure many people reading this don't have the time to do ultra-immersion 4-hour study sessions every day either. Find what days during the week you have time to focus on learning new vocab and grammar, and use the rest of the week to review. This can be done on your commute to school/work, while you do the dishes, or as a part of your morning/evening routine. Making this as realistic as possible will help you actually succeed in making this a habit. (Check this out for how to set realistic study goals)

Fix: Study regularly (ideally daily) by setting realistic goals. Avoid "binge" studying since remembering requires consistent repetition to be most effective.

Mistake 3: Resource Choice

This is really composed of two mistakes, but I have a good example that will cover them both.

First, finding resources that are at or slightly above your level is the most important thing. Easy resources will not challenge you enough and difficult resources will overwhelm you. The ideal is n+1, with n as what you know plus 1 new thing.

Second, getting distracted by fancy, new technology. Newer isn't always better, and there are often advantages that are lost when we've made technological developments. I often found myself wanting to try out new browser extensions or organizational methods and honestly I would've benefitted from just using that time to study. (Also, you're probably reading this because of my DL post so I don't think it has to be said that AI resources suck.)

A good example of this was my time using Clozemaster. I had actually recommended it when I first started using it since I thought the foundation was really solid. However, after long term use, I found that it just wasn't a good fit. The sentences were often too simple or too long and strange for memorization at higher levels or were too difficult at lower levels. I think that taking my textbook's example sentences from dialogues into something like Anki would've been a far better use of my time (and money) as they were already designed to be at that n+1 level.

Fix: "Vet" your resources—make sure they will actually help you. If something is working for you, then keep using it! You don't always have to upgrade to the newest tool/method.

Mistake 3.5: Classrooms and Textbooks

A .5 since it's not my mistake, but an addendum of caution. I think there is a significant part of the language learning community that views textbooks and classroom learning as the worst possible resource. They are "boring", "outdated", and "ineffective" (ironically one of the most interesting modern language learning methods, ALG, is only done in a classroom setting). Classrooms and textbooks bring back memories of being surrounded by mostly uninterested classmates, minimal priority, and a focus on grades rather than personal achievement (imagine the difference between a class of middle schoolers who were forced to choose a foreign language vs. adult learners who self-selected!) People have used these exact methods, or even "cruder" methods, to successfully learn a language. It all comes down to what works best for you. I specifically recommend textbooks for learning grammar and the plentiful number of dialogues and written passages that can function great as graded readers and listening resources. (Also the distinction made between "a youtube lesson on a grammatical principle" which is totally cool, and "a passage in a grammar textbook" is more one of tone and audio/written than efficacy).

Classrooms can be really great for speaking practice since they can be a lot less intimidating speaking to someone who is also learning while receiving corrections. Speech can be awkward to train on your own (not impossible if you're good at just talking aloud to yourself!), and classrooms can work nicely for this. Homework and class schedules also have built in accountability!

Fix: Explore resources available to you and try to think holistically about your approach. CI+Traditional Methods is my go to "Learning Cocktail"

Mistake 4: Yes, Immersion, But...

I realized this relatively quickly while learning Chinese, but immersion at a level much higher than your current level will do very little for you. What is sometimes left out of those "Just watch anime to learn Japanese" discussions is that you first need to have a chance at understanding what is being said. Choosing materials that are much higher than your level will not teach you the language. It doesn't matter how many times someone at HSK 1 hears “他是甘露之惠，我并无此水可还”, they will not get very far. Actual deduction and learning comes from having enough familiar components to be able to make deductions—something different than guessing. An HSK 1 learner, never having heard the word 老虎 will be able to understand "tiger" if someone says “这是我的老虎” while standing next to a tiger. This is not to say you can never try something more difficult—things should be challenging—but if you can't make heads or tails of what's being said, then it's time to find something a bit easier. If mistake 2 is about the type of method, this is about the level. If you wouldn't give a kindergartener The Great Gatsby to learn how to read, why would you watch Full Metal Alchemist to start learning a language?

Side note: Interesting video here on the Comprehensible Input hypothesis and how it relates to neurodivergence.

Fix: Immerse yourself in appropriate content for your level. It's called comprehensible input for a reason.

Mistake 5: On Translation

I work as a translator, so do you really think I'm going to say translation is all bad? Of course not. It's a separate skill that can be added on to the basic skills, but is really only required if you are A. someone who is an intermediary between two languages (say you have to translate for a spouse or family member) or B. It is your job/hobby. In the context of sitting down and learning, it can be harmful. I think my brain often goes to translation too often because that's how I used to learn. Trying to unlearn that is difficult because, well, what do people even mean when they say "don't translate"? They mean when someone says "thank you", you should not go to your primary language and translate "you're welcome" from that. You should train yourself to go to your target language first when you hear the word for "thank you". A very literally translated "thank you" in Chinese "谢谢你" can come off as cold and sarcastic. I don't tell my friends that, I say "谢啦～". Direct translation can take away the difference in culture, grammar, and politeness in a language. If there is a reason you sound awkward while writing and speaking, it's probably because you're imposing your primary language on your target language.

Fix: Try as hard as you can to not work from your primary language into the target language, but to work from the structures, set phrases, and grammar within the target language that you know first.

Mistake 6: The Secret Language Learners Don't Want You To Know...

...is that there is no one easy method. You are not going to learn French while you sleep, or master Korean by doing this one easy trick. Learning a language requires work and dedication, the people that succeed are those that push through the boredom of repetition and failure. The "I learned X in 1 year/month/week/day!" crowd is hiding large asterisks, be it their actual level, the assistance and free time available to them, "well actually I had already studied this for 4 years", or just straight-up lying. Our own journeys in our native tongue were not easy, they required years and years of constant immersion and instruction. While we are now older and wiser people that can make quick connections, we are also burdened with things like "jobs", "house work", "school work", and the digital black hole that is "social media" that take up our time and energy. Everything above is to help make this journey a little bit easier, quicker, and painless, but it will never be magic.

I find that language learning has a lot in common with the fitness community. People will talk about the workout that changed their life and how no other one will do the same—and it really can be the truth that it changed their life and that they feel it is the ultimate way. The real workout that will change your life is the one you're most consistent with, that you enjoy the most. Language learning is just trying to find the brain exercise that you can be the most consistent with.

Fix: Save your energy looking for shortcuts, and do the work, fail, and come back for more. If someone tells you that you can become fluent in a ridiculously short amount of time, they are selling you a fantasy (and likely a product). You get out what you put in.

For those that made it to the end, here are some of my "universal resources":

Refold Method: I don't agree with their actual method 100%, but they've collected a lot of great resources for learning languages. I've found their Chinese and Korean discords to also be really helpful and provided even more resources than what's given in their starter guides.

Language Reactor: Very useful, and have recently added podcasts as a material! The free version is honestly all you need.

Anki: If I do not mention it, the people with 4+ year streaks with a 5K word deck will not let me forget it. It can be used on desktop or on your phone as an app. If you need a replacement for a language learning app, this is one of them. Justin Sung has a lot of great info on how to best utilize Anki (as does Refold). It's not my favorite, but it could be yours!

LingQ: "But I thought you said language apps are bad!" In isolation, yes. Sorry for the clickbait. This one is pretty good, and more interested in immersing you in the language than selling a subscription to allow you to freeze your streak so the number goes up.

Grammar Textbooks: For self-taught learning, these are going to be the best resource since it's focused on the hardest part of the language, and only that. If you're tired of seeing group work activities, look for a textbook that is just on grammar (Modern Mandarin Chinese Grammar is my rec for Chinese, and A Guide to Japanese Grammar by Tae Kim is the most common/enthusiastic rec I've heard for Japanese).

Shadowing: Simply repeat what you hear. Matt vs Japan talks about his setup here for optimized shadowing (which you can probably build for a lot cheaper now), but it can also just be you watching a video and pausing to repeat after each sentence or near simultaneously if you're able.

Youtube: Be it "Short Story for Beginners", "How to use X", "250 Essential Phrases", or a GRWM in your target language, Youtube is the best. Sometimes you have to dig to find what works for you, but I imagine there is something for everyone at every level. (Pro tip: People upload textbook audio dialogues often, you don't even have to buy the textbook to be able to learn from it!)

A Friend: Be it a fellow learner, or someone who has already mastered the language, it is easier when you have someone, not only to speak to, but to remind you why you're doing this. I write far more in Chinese because I have friends I can text in Chinese.

Pen and Paper: Study after study, writing on paper continues to be the best method for memorization. Typing or using a pen and tablet still can't compare to traditional methods.

The Replies (Probably): Lots of people were happy to give alternatives for specific languages in the replies of my DL post. The community here is pretty active, so if this post blows up at least 20% of what the last one did, you might be able to find some great stuff in the replies and reblogs.

I wish you all the best~

Language Apps Suck, Now What?: A Guide to Actually Becoming "Fluent"

The much requested sequel to my DL post that was promised almost a year ago.

I'm going to address all of the techniques that have helped me in my language learning journeys. Since 95% of these came from the fact that in a past language learning mistake, they are titled as my mistakes (and how I would/did things differently going forward). For those that read to the bottom there is a "best universal resources" list.

Disclaimers:

"Fluency" is hard to define and everyone has their own goals. So for the purpose of this post, "fluency" will be defined as "your personal mastery target of the language".

If you just want to pick up a bit of a language to not sound like a total foreigner on vacation or just exchange a few words in a friend's native language, feel free to ignore what doesn't apply, but maybe something here could help make it a little easier.

This is based on my own personal experience and (some) research.

Mistake 1: Asymmetrical Studying

Assuming you don't just want to do a single activity in a language, or are learning a language like ASL, a language requires 4 parts to be studied: Speaking, Listening, Writing, Reading. While these have overlap, you can't learn speaking from reading, or even learn speaking from just listening. One of my first Chinese teachers told me how he would listen to the textbook dialogues while he was biking to classes and it helped him. I took this information, thought "Yeah that's an idea, but sounds boring" and now regret not taking his advice nearly every day.

I think a lot of us find methods we enjoy to study (mine was reading) and assume that if we just do that method more ™ it will eventually help us in other areas (sometimes it does, but that's only sometimes). Find a method that works for you for each area of study, even better find more than one method since we use these skills in a variety of manners! I can understand a TV program pretty well since I have a lot of context clues and body language to fill in any gaps of understanding, but taking a phone call is much harder—the audio is rougher, there's no body language to read, and since most Chinese programs have hard coded subtitles, no subtitles to fall back on either. If I were to compare the number of hours I spent reading in Chinese to (actively) training my listening? Probably a ratio of 100 to 1. When I started to learn Korean, the first thing I did was find a variety of listening resources for my level.

Fix: Find a variety of study methods that challenge all aspects of the language in different ways.

A variety of methods will help you develop a more well-rounded level of mastery, and probably help you keep from getting bored. Which is important because...

Mistake 2: Inconsistent Studying

If there is one positive to a language app, it is the pressure it puts on keeping a streak. Making studying a part of your everyday routine is the best thing you can do. I benefited a lot from taking a college language course since I had a dedicated time to study and practice Chinese 5 days out of the week (and homework usually filled the other two). Memorization is a huge part of language learning, and stopping and starting is terrible for memorization. When I was in elementary school, we had Spanish maybe a couple times a month. Looking back, it seems like it was the first class to be cut if we needed to catch up on a more important course. Needless to say, I can't even speak Spanish at an elementary level.

However, I'm sure many people reading this don't have the time to do ultra-immersion 4-hour study sessions every day either. Find what days during the week you have time to focus on learning new vocab and grammar, and use the rest of the week to review. This can be done on your commute to school/work, while you do the dishes, or as a part of your morning/evening routine. Making this as realistic as possible will help you actually succeed in making this a habit. (Check this out for how to set realistic study goals)

Fix: Study regularly (ideally daily) by setting realistic goals. Avoid "binge" studying since remembering requires consistent repetition to be most effective.

Mistake 3: Resource Choice

This is really composed of two mistakes, but I have a good example that will cover them both.

First, finding resources that are at or slightly above your level is the most important thing. Easy resources will not challenge you enough and difficult resources will overwhelm you. The ideal is n+1, with n as what you know plus 1 new thing.

Second, getting distracted by fancy, new technology. Newer isn't always better, and there are often advantages that are lost when we've made technological developments. I often found myself wanting to try out new browser extensions or organizational methods and honestly I would've benefitted from just using that time to study. (Also, you're probably reading this because of my DL post so I don't think it has to be said that AI resources suck.)

A good example of this was my time using Clozemaster. I had actually recommended it when I first started using it since I thought the foundation was really solid. However, after long term use, I found that it just wasn't a good fit. The sentences were often too simple or too long and strange for memorization at higher levels or were too difficult at lower levels. I think that taking my textbook's example sentences from dialogues into something like Anki would've been a far better use of my time (and money) as they were already designed to be at that n+1 level.

Fix: "Vet" your resources—make sure they will actually help you. If something is working for you, then keep using it! You don't always have to upgrade to the newest tool/method.

Mistake 3.5: Classrooms and Textbooks

A .5 since it's not my mistake, but an addendum of caution. I think there is a significant part of the language learning community that views textbooks and classroom learning as the worst possible resource. They are "boring", "outdated", and "ineffective" (ironically one of the most interesting modern language learning methods, ALG, is only done in a classroom setting). Classrooms and textbooks bring back memories of being surrounded by mostly uninterested classmates, minimal priority, and a focus on grades rather than personal achievement (imagine the difference between a class of middle schoolers who were forced to choose a foreign language vs. adult learners who self-selected!) People have used these exact methods, or even "cruder" methods, to successfully learn a language. It all comes down to what works best for you. I specifically recommend textbooks for learning grammar and the plentiful number of dialogues and written passages that can function great as graded readers and listening resources. (Also the distinction made between "a youtube lesson on a grammatical principle" which is totally cool, and "a passage in a grammar textbook" is more one of tone and audio/written than efficacy).

Classrooms can be really great for speaking practice since they can be a lot less intimidating speaking to someone who is also learning while receiving corrections. Speech can be awkward to train on your own (not impossible if you're good at just talking aloud to yourself!), and classrooms can work nicely for this. Homework and class schedules also have built in accountability!

Fix: Explore resources available to you and try to think holistically about your approach. CI+Traditional Methods is my go to "Learning Cocktail"

Mistake 4: Yes, Immersion, But...

I realized this relatively quickly while learning Chinese, but immersion at a level much higher than your current level will do very little for you. What is sometimes left out of those "Just watch anime to learn Japanese" discussions is that you first need to have a chance at understanding what is being said. Choosing materials that are much higher than your level will not teach you the language. It doesn't matter how many times someone at HSK 1 hears “他是甘露之惠，我并无此水可还”, they will not get very far. Actual deduction and learning comes from having enough familiar components to be able to make deductions—something different than guessing. An HSK 1 learner, never having heard the word 老虎 will be able to understand "tiger" if someone says “这是我的老虎” while standing next to a tiger. This is not to say you can never try something more difficult—things should be challenging—but if you can't make heads or tails of what's being said, then it's time to find something a bit easier. If mistake 2 is about the type of method, this is about the level. If you wouldn't give a kindergartener The Great Gatsby to learn how to read, why would you watch Full Metal Alchemist to start learning a language?

Side note: Interesting video here on the Comprehensible Input hypothesis and how it relates to neurodivergence.

Fix: Immerse yourself in appropriate content for your level. It's called comprehensible input for a reason.

Mistake 5: On Translation

I work as a translator, so do you really think I'm going to say translation is all bad? Of course not. It's a separate skill that can be added on to the basic skills, but is really only required if you are A. someone who is an intermediary between two languages (say you have to translate for a spouse or family member) or B. It is your job/hobby. In the context of sitting down and learning, it can be harmful. I think my brain often goes to translation too often because that's how I used to learn. Trying to unlearn that is difficult because, well, what do people even mean when they say "don't translate"? They mean when someone says "thank you", you should not go to your primary language and translate "you're welcome" from that. You should train yourself to go to your target language first when you hear the word for "thank you". A very literally translated "thank you" in Chinese "谢谢你" can come off as cold and sarcastic. I don't tell my friends that, I say "谢啦～". Direct translation can take away the difference in culture, grammar, and politeness in a language. If there is a reason you sound awkward while writing and speaking, it's probably because you're imposing your primary language on your target language.

Fix: Try as hard as you can to not work from your primary language into the target language, but to work from the structures, set phrases, and grammar within the target language that you know first.

Mistake 6: The Secret Language Learners Don't Want You To Know...

...is that there is no one easy method. You are not going to learn French while you sleep, or master Korean by doing this one easy trick. Learning a language requires work and dedication, the people that succeed are those that push through the boredom of repetition and failure. The "I learned X in 1 year/month/week/day!" crowd is hiding large asterisks, be it their actual level, the assistance and free time available to them, "well actually I had already studied this for 4 years", or just straight-up lying. Our own journeys in our native tongue were not easy, they required years and years of constant immersion and instruction. While we are now older and wiser people that can make quick connections, we are also burdened with things like "jobs", "house work", "school work", and the digital black hole that is "social media" that take up our time and energy. Everything above is to help make this journey a little bit easier, quicker, and painless, but it will never be magic.

I find that language learning has a lot in common with the fitness community. People will talk about the workout that changed their life and how no other one will do the same—and it really can be the truth that it changed their life and that they feel it is the ultimate way. The real workout that will change your life is the one you're most consistent with, that you enjoy the most. Language learning is just trying to find the brain exercise that you can be the most consistent with.

Fix: Save your energy looking for shortcuts, and do the work, fail, and come back for more. If someone tells you that you can become fluent in a ridiculously short amount of time, they are selling you a fantasy (and likely a product). You get out what you put in.

For those that made it to the end, here are some of my "universal resources":

Refold Method: I don't agree with their actual method 100%, but they've collected a lot of great resources for learning languages. I've found their Chinese and Korean discords to also be really helpful and provided even more resources than what's given in their starter guides.

Language Reactor: Very useful, and have recently added podcasts as a material! The free version is honestly all you need.

Anki: If I do not mention it, the people with 4+ year streaks with a 5K word deck will not let me forget it. It can be used on desktop or on your phone as an app. If you need a replacement for a language learning app, this is one of them. Justin Sung has a lot of great info on how to best utilize Anki (as does Refold). It's not my favorite, but it could be yours!

LingQ: "But I thought you said language apps are bad!" In isolation, yes. Sorry for the clickbait. This one is pretty good, and more interested in immersing you in the language than selling a subscription to allow you to freeze your streak so the number goes up.

Grammar Textbooks: For self-taught learning, these are going to be the best resource since it's focused on the hardest part of the language, and only that. If you're tired of seeing group work activities, look for a textbook that is just on grammar (Modern Mandarin Chinese Grammar is my rec for Chinese, and A Guide to Japanese Grammar by Tae Kim is the most common/enthusiastic rec I've heard for Japanese).

Shadowing: Simply repeat what you hear. Matt vs Japan talks about his setup here for optimized shadowing (which you can probably build for a lot cheaper now), but it can also just be you watching a video and pausing to repeat after each sentence or near simultaneously if you're able.

Youtube: Be it "Short Story for Beginners", "How to use X", "250 Essential Phrases", or a GRWM in your target language, Youtube is the best. Sometimes you have to dig to find what works for you, but I imagine there is something for everyone at every level. (Pro tip: People upload textbook audio dialogues often, you don't even have to buy the textbook to be able to learn from it!)

A Friend: Be it a fellow learner, or someone who has already mastered the language, it is easier when you have someone, not only to speak to, but to remind you why you're doing this. I write far more in Chinese because I have friends I can text in Chinese.

Pen and Paper: Study after study, writing on paper continues to be the best method for memorization. Typing or using a pen and tablet still can't compare to traditional methods.

The Replies (Probably): Lots of people were happy to give alternatives for specific languages in the replies of my DL post. The community here is pretty active, so if this post blows up at least 20% of what the last one did, you might be able to find some great stuff in the replies and reblogs.

I wish you all the best~

[warblogs17282]

ngl I'm really hoping that there's a point in the show where Blitz just gets to talk in-depth about all of his horse ocs and shit to Stolas, because alongside it probably being a good bonding moment between Stolas and Blitz, I need to know as much as I possibly can about Blitz's horse ocs.

You cannot give me this many horse ocs as a background detail on the whiteboard and expect me to not want even more information about each and every single one where possible

[greatmistakes]

Dad Bucky Barnes

Summary: Bucky and you give a talk to your daughter after her being called to the Principal’s office.

Note: No use of y/n or specifications of the character. Drabble inspired by this gif and my love for the idea of Bucky as a father.

Also, my main language is not English. If there’s any mistake please let me know kindly 🥰

“So… how was school today, Becca?” Bucky tried stating the conversation. You were silent, collecting your thoughts and sanity, after receiving the call from the principal.

Your daughter, Rebecca, was called in to the principal’s office because she almost hit a classmate of her. Apparently she was about to get in a fight with a boy. If it wasn’t for her teacher, the poor kid would probably had left with a red cheekbone or something like that.

“It was… not great.” She said from her car seat in the back row.

Okay, at least she’s not trying to lie about it.

“Really? How so?” You continued, trying your best to sound as normal and collected as possible.

“Hmm… the pincipal talk to me.” She was waddling with her tiny hands while looking down at them. Such a cute little copy of you.

“What for? Something good?” Bucky tried to get more information from her before you slammed the breaks anxiously waiting for her to explain.

He regretted not being the one on the wheel.

“Mmm… not really. I… I did something that the Ms. Medina and the pincipal say is not good.”

That made your eyes immediately look at her through the rearview mirror. Thankfully you were at a stop sign and you didn’t have the necessity to hit the breaks.

Before you could say anything, Bucky spoke. Trying to keep the peace.

“Oh? So you think you did something good?”

“Well yeah, Gale is a bad boy. He needs to be better.” Rebecca was more confident while explaining now.

“A bad boy huh? What makes him a bad kid?” Her father continued investigating.

“He bothers my friend. He pulls her hair when Ms. Medina not looking and he always push her in playglound time.” Her tiny arms were crossed, showing she was mad while remembering all this kid did.

“And what did you do, Rebecca?” You asked. Thankfully almost home.

“I told him to stop, many times. And he not stop!”

“And what happened after he didn’t stop?” Your husband continued.

“I was mad. And I want Gale to be good and I push him. And then I go to hit him but Ms. Medina says stop and to go to talk to the pincipal.” She said so fast she even got her eyes glossy.

You arrived to your home’s driveway just in time.

“You wanted to hit him? Why Rebecca? That is not how you solve problems, you know that.” You said, no longer containing your self and looking back at her once you stopped the car.

“But he a bad boy! Daddy always hits and fights bad mans!” Rebecca tried her parents to make sense.

Well she’s not wrong. You and Bucky look at each other and sigh.

“Becca… you can’t just go around wanting to hit people… that’s not… you just can’t do it.” Bucky tries to explain while getting out of the car to help her daughter out.

“But daddy you hit and fight! And then bad mans are good mans.” Her pouted lips and tone showed how much she didn’t understood what she did wrong.

Bucky couldn’t resist that little baby cute face when he opened the door. He almost gave in and left the conversation there, but he sighed and placed his arms on his hips while trying to find a way yo explain. Thankfully you came to his rescue.

“Baby, remember that Daddy has to do a lot of work before going to stop bad guys. And that’s what he does, prevent them from harming others. Once words and reasoning does not work, your dad just tries to stop the bad men to make more harm.”

“But I tried talk to Gale.” At this point, tears were rolling down her eyes, making both Bucky’s and your hearts tight with regret for causing those tears in a way.

Bucky, finally giving up, piked her daughter up from her car seat and hugged her tight while soothing her.

“Princess, its okay. We understand that you did what you thought was right.”

“Yeah, you are a great friend trying to defend your classmate. We are very proud of you being a good friend.” You swiftly dried her tears on her chubby cheeks with your thumb. “Just remember that it is important you always remember that violence is not the answer.”

“You can always talk to your teacher and to us. And if the teacher can’t solve it, we are going to do everything in our power to help you and your friend. We will always listen and help you, no matter what.” Bucky adds, moving her daughter so that he can carry her with his right arm.

“You promise?” Her eyes finally stop crying while hearing that.

“I promise baby. I’ll tell you this, mommy and I will go to talk to Ms. Medina and the principal tomorrow morning and help your friend out. That sounds good?”

“Yes, thank you daddy. Thank you mommy. Im sowy.” The three of you share a hug, still at your house’s driveway but not caring one bit.

“Oh my sweet girl, we know you are sorry.” You left a sweet kiss on her forehead. “You now know better and you will continue to be that sunshine friend you are.”

“We love you, Becky.” Bucky says while giving her a noisy kiss on her cheek that makes her laugh. “So much.”

[helvegen-s]

midnight in paris

a Charles Leclerc one-shot

Summary: A canceled flight, a midnight rain, and two strangers crossing paths in Paris. As they wander beneath the city lights, sharing laughter, stolen glances, and unspoken truths, the night becomes a world of its own. But when morning comes, reality awaits—leaving only the question of whether fate will bring them together again.

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: alcohol, implied sex (not explicit), abandonment

A/N: Soooo, this would be my first one-shot! I'm really happy with how it turned out—I had never written one before because I feel more comfortable with longer stories. But I absolutely loved it! I hope you enjoy it and give it lots of love! <3

masterlist

The sound of loudspeaker announcements echoed against the high ceiling of Charles de Gaulle Airport, blending with the murmur of hundreds of passengers who, like him, were stranded there without a clear destination.

"All flights have been canceled until further notice. We kindly ask passengers to contact their airlines for more information."

Charles Leclerc let out a heavy sigh, resting his hands on his hips as he stared at the large departure board, where each line turned red one by one. Canceled. Canceled. Canceled.

Fantastic.

He was in Paris for a Ferrari event and was supposed to fly to Monaco that same night. But the storm sweeping across half the continent had brought air traffic to a standstill, leaving him with only two options: remain trapped in a crowded, frustrated airport or venture into the city and find a hotel.

His assistant had already tried to book him a room somewhere, but the nearby hotels were overwhelmed.

"What if I try leaving the airport?" Charles asked, sliding a finger across his phone screen as he scrolled through transportation options. He heard his assistant sigh through his earpiece.

"Traffic is awful," his assistant replied. "There are barely any taxis available, and the trains are experiencing delays too."

Charles sighed. The last thing he wanted was to spend the night in an airport chair, only to wake up with a stiff neck the next day.

"I'll try anyway. I'll let you know if I find something."

With that, he ended the call, grabbed his handbag, and wove his way through the throng of frustrated passengers.

The rain was falling in thick sheets when Charles finally stepped outside. A long line of people was waiting for taxis, but by some stroke of luck, he managed to flag one down before anyone else could.

Just as he was about to get in, the taxi driver rolled down the window.

"Sir, with this weather, there are very few taxis. I have to ask you to share if possible."

Charles frowned, about to refuse. But then he noticed a woman standing nearby, hugging herself to keep warm. Her dark coat was drenched from the rain, and though she wasn’t looking in his direction, it was obvious she was trying—unsuccessfully—to get a taxi.

For some reason, without overthinking it, Charles approached her.

"Excuse me, would you mind sharing a taxi? It’s just me—there’s room for both of us."

"Oh! Thank you, really. I was starting to think I'd shrivel up like a raisin in this rain."

Charles was caught off guard by how casually she spoke to him—the way she smiled at him so effortlessly. When she slid into the car, she gave her head a small shake, sending droplets of rain scattering from her hair.

"Thanks," she said again, not looking directly at him as she shut the door.

Charles gave a small nod, sneaking a glance at her as the taxi pulled away.

Minutes passed, and the taxi crawled through the rain-slicked streets of Paris. Droplets trickled down the windows in twisted streams, distorting the city lights outside. The driver, an older man wrapped in a thick coat, muttered in French about the traffic and the terrible weather, though neither passenger paid much attention. Now and then, the windshield lit up with the glow of a red traffic light or the headlights of another car passing too close. But inside the taxi, the quiet remained.

Charles leaned an elbow against the window, tapping his fingers absently against his knee. He stole another glance at his companion. Her profile was softly illuminated by the streetlights, and there was something about her expression—the way she watched the rain outside with a faint smile—that intrigued him. She didn’t seem annoyed by the delay or the storm, but rather… curious.

The taxi stopped at a red light, and for a moment, everything was still except for the relentless drumming of the rain. Charles took a slow breath and turned his head slightly as if about to say something—but he hesitated. He didn’t want to break the fragile bubble that surrounded them.

Finally, she was the first to speak, her voice soft but tinged with amusement.

"Did you expect your night to end like this?"

Charles let out a short laugh, still watching the fogged-up glass.

"Definitely not. But I should probably be used to last-minute changes by now."

She nodded, crossing her legs with an air of calm, as if the delay and uncertainty didn’t bother her in the slightest.

"Airports have a funny way of reminding us that, in the end, we’re not in control of much at all."

Charles turned to look at her more closely. There was something about her tone, the way she said it, that made him wonder how many canceled flights, how many changes of direction she had experienced in her life.

Another silence stretched between them as the taxi moved slowly down the avenue. Through the rain-streaked window, the Eiffel Tower loomed in the distance—a hazy reminder of the city they were stranded in.

"Where are you headed?" Charles finally asked.

She blinked, as if she had almost forgotten her own destination.

"I don’t know," she admitted with a small shrug. "My flight was canceled too, so I was going to find a hotel, but it looks like I’m out of luck."

"Yeah, same here," Charles replied, letting out another quiet laugh. "I didn’t plan on spending the night in the airport, but right now, I don’t have a better plan."

The taxi turned onto a narrower street, where the lamplights cast long shadows over the wet cobblestones. Outside, the city carried on, indifferent to their uncertainty.

She rested her forehead against the window for a few seconds before speaking again.

"Paris is different when it rains. Less perfect. More real."

Charles raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the comment.

"I never thought of it that way."

She turned her head then, meeting his gaze for the first time, her eyes catching the reflected glow of the streetlights.

"Maybe it’s because we always see it in postcards, with clear skies and golden lights. But like this… with the rain and the cold, it feels more honest."

Charles didn’t respond right away. There was something about her words that resonated with him, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. He watched the city through the window, allowing himself to see what she saw.

The taxi slowed again, and after a few moments of silence, she leaned slightly toward him, a thoughtful expression crossing her face.

"What if, instead of looking for a hotel, we take a walk?" she suggested, her tone more contemplative than impulsive.

Charles looked at her in surprise, then glanced at the rain pouring outside.

"Walk?" he repeated, as if needing to process it.

She smiled, a playful glint in her eyes.

"It’s not every day you get to see Paris with empty streets and no rush. Just for a while. No maps, no plans."

Charles exhaled lightly before nodding.

"I suppose there’s nothing better to do."

She chuckled softly, handed the driver a bill, thanking him in carefully practiced French, and without another word, opened the taxi door and stepped out. Charles followed her, letting the door close behind them.

The rain greeted them with a fresh chill, and the city stretched before them, waiting to be explored.

Charles reached into his jacket and pulled out a tiny umbrella, opening it swiftly. It wasn’t big enough to fully cover them both, so they had to huddle closer under the dark fabric. At first, they tried to keep a respectful distance, but the wind and the angle of the rain inevitably made their shoulders brush.

“I didn’t think we’d have to share an umbrella,” she remarked with a playful smile.

“Me neither,” Charles admitted, adjusting the umbrella’s position to shield her better. “But I guess it’s better than nothing.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, amused by his attempt to keep them dry as the rain persisted. With each step, the rain-soaked city felt more intimate, more theirs, as Paris continued revealing its secrets beneath the storm.

After a few minutes of aimless wandering, they stumbled upon a small bar, its warm lights glowing invitingly, the soft sound of a saxophone drifting through the slightly open door. They exchanged a glance before stepping inside, shaking the moisture from their clothes.

The interior was cozy, with wooden tables and a small stage where a jazz band played live. They settled into a quiet corner, ordering two glasses of red wine. The warmth of the place contrasted with the cold outside, and conversation began to flow more easily as the music wrapped around them.

“I definitely didn’t expect my night to end like this,” Charles mused, staring into his glass before looking at her with a faint smile.

She swirled the wine in her hand, thoughtful.

“Sometimes, the best nights are the ones we don’t plan.”

The wine softened the edges of time. The band kept playing, the saxophone weaving notes through the air, slipping between them effortlessly. Their conversation moved with the same natural ease, as if they had forgotten what time it was.

Charles watched her from across the table, his elbow propped up, fingers idly turning his glass. He was completely captivated. There was something about the way she spoke, how she tilted her head when listening, how she filled silences without fearing them.

“So, you don’t like planning too much,” he observed, a half-smile playing on his lips.

She shrugged.

“Let’s just say I make plans, but I don’t mind changing them if something better comes along.”

Charles raised an eyebrow.

“And how do you decide what’s ‘something better’?”

“Sorry.” She smiled, feigning an apology. “That’s a secret.”

Charles chuckled, shaking his head as he brought his glass to his lips.

“You’re hard to read.”

She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand.

“Does that bother you?”

“It intrigues me,” he admitted, feeling the warmth of the wine mix with something deeper inside him. “I’m used to figuring people out pretty quickly.”

“Why?”

“Because in my world, reactions are everything. If you can predict what someone will do, you have the upper hand.”

She studied him in silence for a moment.

“That must be exhausting.”

Charles tilted his head.

“What?”

“Always analyzing everything.”

He let out a short breath, glancing down at his glass.

“I don’t know if I can turn it off.”

“Maybe tonight, you could try.”

She held his gaze with a subtle challenge, and Charles felt something inside him tighten, like a spring coiling. He let out a low laugh, not looking away.

“And what do you suggest?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she raised her glass and clinked it gently against his.

“To welcomed chaos,” she toasted.

Charles mirrored her, still watching her closely.

“To welcomed chaos.”

They drank together, the warm wine sliding down their throats. The music shifted, deeper, more intimate. Charles set his glass down and leaned back against the seat, studying her in the dim, flickering light.

“If you don’t like planning too much…” he said after a moment, “what’s the most impulsive thing you’ve ever done?”

She narrowed her eyes, thinking.

“Probably this.”

Charles let out a surprised chuckle.

“Going out to explore Paris with me?”

“Mhm.” She held his gaze with a playful glint. “And you?”

Charles tapped his fingers against the table.

“Maybe this too.”

“Wow.” She bit her lip, thoughtful. “I guess that makes us partners in crime.”

Charles rested his elbow on the table, leaning in slightly.

“Partners in crime for what?”

“For the idea that tomorrow, we could go back to our lives as if tonight never happened.”

The words lingered between them. Charles felt the weight of them, and for the first time in a long while, he realized he didn’t want something to simply disappear with the morning.

The alcohol made everything feel more real, more tangible. Or maybe it wasn’t the alcohol. Maybe it was her.

Charles nodded, a vague sense creeping in that whatever was happening between them wasn’t something that could easily be replicated. Paris, the rain, the spontaneity of the night—it all felt like it was stitched together with fragile thread, as if by dawn, the magic would unravel, and the city would return them to their separate realities.

But for now, they still had Paris.

Outside the bar, the rain was still falling, a steady whisper against the rooftops.

Charles opened his small umbrella, instinctively tilting it toward her, making sure she was covered more than him. She hesitated for just a second before stepping closer and, in a subtle motion, hooked her arm through his to stay as close as possible.

Charles felt the warmth of her body against his, the soft brush of her coat against his arm. He didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t stop a small smile from forming.

“Better this way,” she murmured.

“No doubt,” he replied, his voice lower than necessary, as if the rain had wrapped them in their own little world.

They walked without rush, the cobblestones glistening under the streetlights. They had no real destination, but Paris had a way of leading people to unexpected places.

“You never asked my name,” she noted after a while.

Charles glanced at her.

“You didn’t ask mine either.”

“No.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but rather charged with something else… something Charles chose not to define.

“Do you prefer it this way?” he asked.

“Sometimes it’s nice to talk to someone without knowing who they are.”

He nodded, as if he understood exactly what she meant. And he did. For years, he had been “Charles Leclerc, Formula 1 driver.” Never just “Charles.”

“And what do you do when you’re not walking around Paris with strangers?” he asked, his tone lighter.

She let out a soft laugh.

“I travel a lot. Too much, I’d say.”

“For work?”

“Mhm.”

Charles didn’t press, but he watched her with curiosity.

“Do you like it?”

She hesitated before answering.

“Yes. Sometimes it’s exhausting, but… I don’t know how to do anything else.”

Charles understood that better than he should.

“Then it must be something you love.”

“It is. And you? Do you love what you do?”

Charles let out a quiet chuckle.

“I can’t imagine my life without it.”

She tilted her head, studying him.

“Then you’re one of the lucky ones.”

Charles wanted to ask her more, but before he could, they reached the edge of the Seine.

Before them, the Eiffel Tower loomed through the misty rain, its lights shimmering over the river.

“I guess it was inevitable we’d end up here,” she murmured, a half-smile playing on her lips.

Charles didn’t look at the tower, or the Seine, or the city. He looked at her.

“I guess so.”

She noticed his gaze and held it, unwavering.

The rain kept falling around them, but Charles barely felt it.

He didn’t know how long they stood there before she finally looked away, her eyes drifting to the water.

“You know, I like playing the piano when it rains.”

The confession slipped out, and Charles latched onto it like a puzzle piece.

“You play?”

“Mhm.”

“Professionally?”

“Too many details.”

“Right.”

She shot him a playful smile.

“And you? Do you have something you can’t stop doing?”

Charles smiled, because the answer was obvious.

But he didn’t say it.

Instead, he looked at the Eiffel Tower, the rain sketching shadows over the city lights, and thought that for the first time in a long while, his world didn’t revolve around a racetrack.

Not tonight.

“I suppose that’ll remain another mystery,” he said, still watching her.

She just laughed, letting the silence say the rest.

The air grew cooler as the night went on. The rain had left a damp sheen on the streets, and Charles’ umbrella remained their shared refuge as they wandered aimlessly.

"If you could play anywhere in the world, where would it be?" Charles asked, watching her with genuine curiosity.

She took her time to answer, as if she had never stopped to think about it before.

"At home," she finally said with a slight smile. "Not in a grand theater, not on a stage in front of thousands. Just at home, on a night like this, with the rain in the background."

Charles nodded slowly, as if he understood exactly what she meant.

"And you?" she asked then, turning toward him. "If you could do what you love anywhere, without anyone watching… where would it be?"

The question caught him off guard. He hadn't expected her to turn it back on him, let alone with such precision.

Charles remained silent for a moment, his gaze drifting past her to the city lights reflecting on the water.

"In Monaco," he said at last, his voice softer now. "In an old car, just for fun. No timers, no pressure, nothing at stake."

A quiet chuckle left her lips, the sound warm against the cool air.

"So, you're a driver."

Charles grinned, turning back to her with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"I never said that."

She tilted her head slightly, studying him, amused.

"You didn’t have to."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The rain had softened to a mist, the city humming around them. Charles wondered if she had pieced together who he was, or if she was simply playing along. Either way, it didn’t matter.

Tonight, he wasn’t Charles Leclerc, the Formula 1 driver.

Tonight, he was just a man walking through Paris in the rain, standing beside someone who made the world feel a little quieter.

They kept walking until they reached a small overlook with a view of the city. The lights shimmered over the water, reflecting in golden and bluish hues.

"This place is beautiful," Charles said quietly.

"Paris always is," she replied.

She leaned against the railing, letting the night breeze tousle her hair. Charles glanced at her from the corner of his eye, noticing how the city suited her, like a stage built just for her. There was something about her that pulled him in, in a way he didn’t quite understand.

"Do you ever get scared?" he asked suddenly.

She turned her head toward him, caught off guard by the question.

"Of course," she said after a moment. "Who doesn’t?"

"You seem like someone who never allows herself to doubt."

She let out a soft laugh.

"Doubt and fear aren’t the same thing."

Charles frowned slightly, intrigued.

"Explain."

She turned, resting her back against the railing, meeting his gaze directly.

"Fear is inevitable. It’s a reflex, something you feel before you even have a choice. Doubt, on the other hand, is a decision."

Charles looked at her in silence, letting her words settle in his mind.

"So, you never doubt?"

"I doubt all the time. But only about things I know I can control."

Charles smiled, finding something unexpectedly familiar in her answer.

"You’re different from what I imagined when I saw you drenched at the airport."

She raised an eyebrow.

"And what did you imagine?"

"Someone more... distant. More unreachable."

She tilted her head, amused.

"Maybe I am."

Charles shook his head, his smile curving with a hint of mischief.

"No, you’re not."

A brief silence settled between them. The kind that wasn’t uncomfortable, but rather left room for something else. Something unspoken lingering in the air between them.

The rain had stopped completely. Charles closed the umbrella and rested it against the railing, but she didn’t step away. She remained close, arms crossed over her chest, her expression caught between caution and the desire to keep exploring this conversation.

"It’s late," she murmured finally.

"It is," Charles agreed, yet neither of them moved.

The reflection of the city lights in her eyes gave them a special glow, and in that moment, Charles knew he wanted to keep listening to her. He wanted to keep deciphering what lay behind her gaze, behind her calculated words, behind the way she observed the world as if she saw stories in every corner.

"Should we head back?" she asked, still not moving.

Charles held her gaze for a long second.

"Or we could keep walking."

She let out a soft laugh but didn’t answer right away.

And Charles waited, unhurried.

For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t in a hurry at all.

She looked at him with a mix of curiosity and something deeper, something Charles couldn’t quite decipher. The night breeze carried the distant echo of a street song, the sound of a guitar and a raspy voice singing in French.

"Let’s keep walking," she said at last.

And Charles smiled.

They walked without a clear destination, simply letting the city guide them. Their conversation slowed, becoming more intimate, as if they no longer felt the need to fill every pause with words. They talked about their travels, about the places they had always wanted to visit. Charles mentioned Monaco and his love for the sea. She spoke of Vienna and the magic of visiting the Musikverein, though she didn’t reveal she had once stood on that stage as a performer.

They passed through cobbled streets, by cafés that were closed for the night, through plazas where lamplights cast long shadows. Eventually, they found themselves by the Seine again. Charles stopped and rested his hands on the railing.

"You know what’s the strangest thing about tonight?" he asked.

She leaned beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.

"Tell me."

"That I know this wouldn’t have happened at any other point in my life."

She turned her head toward him, intrigued.

"Why do you say that?"

Charles looked at the water, considering how to put it into words.

"Because I always have a plan, a schedule, somewhere to be. I don’t miss flights. I don’t allow myself to miss them."

"And yet, here you are."

Charles met her gaze, finding an unspoken challenge in her expression.

"Yeah," he admitted quietly. "Here I am."

The streetlights cast golden reflections in her hair. Charles felt his heart beat a little faster when she held his gaze without looking away, as if measuring the distance between them.

And then, without another word, she stepped closer.

He met her without hesitation.

The kiss was slow at first, almost exploratory, as if neither wanted to break the magic that had led them here. But when their lips parted just slightly, hovering between continuing or stopping, Charles made the decision for both of them and kissed her again.

This time, there was no hesitation.

It felt like the inevitable conclusion to a night that had never been a coincidence. Like a story already written, waiting to be lived.

When they pulled apart, she let out a soft, amused laugh, resting her forehead against his shoulder for a moment.

"You really shouldn’t miss flights," she murmured.

Charles smiled, his fingers intertwining with hers in an almost unconscious gesture.

"Maybe I should miss them more often."

The city kept glowing around them, indifferent to the story that had unfolded between them in a single night. It didn’t matter if, by daylight, they would return to being strangers with separate lives.

Because tonight, Paris belonged to them.

The rain was falling again over Paris when they entered the hotel room. The dim glow of the streetlights filtered through the curtains, painting golden shadows on the walls. They didn’t speak much as they crossed the threshold, but words weren’t necessary. Charles set the umbrella aside, shaking the water from his jacket, while she took a few steps forward, gazing out the window as if trying to etch the image of the rain-soaked city into her memory—still alive in the early morning hours.

The air between them was thick, charged with something that went beyond desire. It wasn’t just the pull of a fleeting night; it was the feeling of having stumbled upon something ephemeral and yet impossible to ignore. Charles approached her slowly, resting a hand on the window frame beside her. He said nothing—just looked at her, as if making sure she was really there, that the rain hadn’t blurred her into a fleeting illusion.

She was the one to close the distance, turning just enough to meet his gaze, lifting a hand to trace the line of his jaw with her fingertips, as if committing him to memory through touch. Charles closed his eyes for a brief moment, leaning into her caress, and then, whatever lingering doubt had remained between them dissolved completely.

The first kiss inside the room was different from the one they had shared under the rain. Slower, more deliberate. As if they both knew they were standing at the edge of something irreversible. Charles held her by the waist, guiding her gently, letting the softness of his lips speak for him. She let herself be drawn in, threading her fingers through his damp hair, feeling the way their bodies recognized each other in the dim light.

Their wet clothes fell away naturally, unhurriedly. Their skin met in the warm darkness of the room, exploring with the reverence of two strangers who, for one night, had decided to forget everything that existed outside those four walls. There were no questions, no promises. Only the silent language of fingers tracing invisible paths over bare skin, of breathless sighs, of heartbeats finding rhythm in the intimacy of a Parisian night.

When dawn began to timidly peek through the windows, Charles felt the weight of exhaustion settle over his body—but there was something else, something light and indescribable, lingering between exhilaration and peace. He drifted off with the certainty that she would still be there when he woke up, that when he opened his eyes, he would find her beside him, her head resting on his pillow, her lips still curled in a sleepy smile.

But when the golden sunlight finally filled the room, Charles woke up alone.

There was no trace of her. The space beside him in bed was empty, the sheets cool to the touch. No note, no lingering perfume to mark her presence. As if she had never been there at all.

For a moment, he lay in silence, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the absence. Then, he exhaled slowly, letting his head sink back into the pillow, closing his eyes.

Paris had been a dream. And she, its most unforgettable mystery.

Life went on.

Charles returned to his routine of constant travel, to circuits repeating in an endless cycle. The adrenaline of Formula 1 filled his days, and on the surface, everything seemed the same.

But when it rained…

When it rained, something in him stopped.

The sound of raindrops against the windows of his hotel in any city in the world immediately transported him back to that night in Paris. To her laughter under the umbrella. To the way her hand had slid into his without thinking too much about it. To the warmth of her lips in the early morning hours.

They didn’t speak. They never exchanged names or numbers.

And yet, she had never stopped being there.

On the other side of Europe, in a different city every week, she lived a similar story. Her days were marked by rehearsals, by packed auditoriums, by the perfection of every note played on her piano. The life of a solo concert pianist allowed no respite.

But when it rained…

When it rained, her hands hovered over the keys a second longer than usual.

Thinking about the only time she had felt that a night needed no music other than the sound of the city and the voice of a stranger.

Zandvoort – Dutch Grand Prix

It was just another night in Zandvoort, after a day of practice sessions. Charles was leaving the paddock, his mind still occupied with strategies and lap times. The hotel wasn’t far, so he decided to walk instead of waiting for the team car.

That’s when he saw her.

Or rather, he saw her image on a poster, in the middle of one of the city’s avenues.

Not her name. Not a grand advertisement.

Just her face, in a black-and-white photograph, with a piano slightly blurred in the background.

The name of the concert hall and the time.

That was all he needed.

By the time Charles arrived at the theater in the center of Amsterdam, the rain had already begun to fall. He shook the water from his hair before entering and bought a ticket at the entrance without even asking how full the venue was. He just needed to see her, to make sure he hadn’t imagined everything.

The concert had already started when he found his seat.

The stage was elegant yet simple. A black grand piano occupied the center, illuminated by a single beam of light. And there she was.

Charles held his breath.

There was no doubt. It was her.

The pianist’s fingers glided over the keys with hypnotic mastery. She played with her eyes closed, completely immersed in the melody, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

And yet, when the piece ended, she opened her eyes and looked at the audience.

And she saw him.

There, among hundreds of strangers, was the guy from Paris. Soaked from the rain, his heart pounding in his chest.

The seconds stretched into eternity.

And then, she smiled.

A small smile, almost imperceptible.

But enough.

Charles remained in his seat even as the rest of the audience began to rise and leave the theater. He rubbed his face, trying to gather his thoughts. What was he supposed to do now?

When he finally stood up, he searched for her. She wasn’t on stage. She wasn’t in the hall. He rushed toward the theater exit, weaving through the lobby in the hope of spotting her in the crowd. But there was no trace of her.

He discreetly asked a staff member, but the response was simple and disappointing: She left right away, she had another engagement tonight.

Charles exhaled, frustrated. He hadn’t thought about what would happen next, but part of him had assumed he would see her, that they would talk. But no, the mysterious pianist was already gone.

He stepped out of the theater and into the rain, light but persistent. Pulling up the collar of his jacket, he buried his hands in his pockets and walked back to his hotel in silence. Tomorrow, he had to focus on the race, on the championship.

But for the first time in a long while, Formula 1 wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

She had wanted to go out after the concert, to breathe in the Amsterdam night air and lose herself in the city. But Marie, her assistant, had other plans for her.

"The gala is in twenty minutes. You need to be there, you know that."

"Marie…" she tried to protest.

"No excuses. The sponsors expect to see you. And we can’t afford for you to seem distracted."

She sighed, with no choice but to comply.

An hour later, with a glass of wine in hand and a rehearsed smile on her face, she listened to conversations about contracts, upcoming tours, and collaborations. But her mind was elsewhere. In the concert hall. In the eyes of the stranger who had shared that night in Paris with her.

She hadn’t recognized him at first. But something about him felt familiar.

Now that she had a moment to think, she tried to recall more details—his way of looking at her, the slight tilt of his head as he listened to her play, as if he were deciphering something.

And then, in the middle of a dull conversation about classical music and funding, she heard his name.

"I think I saw Charles Leclerc at the concert tonight."

Her attention sharpened instantly on the two people speaking nearby.

"The driver?" someone else asked.

"Yes, he was in the audience. I saw him when the hall was filling up. Pretty discreet, but it was him."

Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt so dumb. Of course!

Charles Leclerc, the driver.

Now everything made sense.

She felt the sudden urge to leave, to find him. But it was too late.

She forced herself to stay at the gala long enough that no one would notice her impatience, and as soon as she could, she excused herself and returned to her hotel. There, she looked up the Formula 1 calendar and bought a last-minute ticket.

Charles moved almost on autopilot through the paddock, greeting engineers, signing the occasional cap, adjusting his race suit as he walked to his garage. The constant hum of Formula 1 surrounded him—conversations, tools, roaring engines in the distance—but his mind was still trapped in the night before. In the theater. In the music. In the fleeting image of her on stage.

The fine rain had returned, a mere veil of moisture hanging in the air. He ran a hand over his neck, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had lingered since he left the concert hall.

And then he saw her.

At first, it was just a shadow in the crowd. A movement amidst the chaos of the paddock, a silhouette that didn’t quite belong in this world of fireproof suits and sponsor logos.

Then, the details.

Her hair styled elegantly, just like that night in Paris. The sunglasses that hid her expression, but not the faint curve of her lips, barely noticeable.

Time slowed.

Charles stopped in his tracks, his heart pounding. Something warm spread through him, a wave of surprise and recognition that nearly stole his breath.

It was her.

It was really her.

She stopped too.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They didn’t speak. They just looked at each other, caught in that precise moment when coincidence stopped being coincidence.

The air between them crackled with electricity, with all the words left unsaid, with all the unanswered questions.

She lowered her sunglasses slowly, letting her eyes meet his completely.

And Charles felt the ground vanish beneath his feet.

"I couldn’t leave you wondering," she murmured, her voice soft but firm, with that mischievous tone he had heard that night in Paris, under the rain.

Something clicked inside him, like the perfect note at the end of a melody.

He exhaled a quiet, incredulous laugh.

"You came to see the race."

"Or maybe I just wanted to check if you were real."

He tilted his head, studying her.

"And?" he asked, his voice lower, more intimate.

She smiled, her gaze full of secrets he had yet to decipher.

"I’m still not entirely convinced."

Charles laughed—a genuine, liberating sound.

The world around them kept moving—mechanics rushing, engines roaring, teammates watching them with evident curiosity—but for Charles, all of it faded into the background.

Because she was there.

Because against all logic, against all odds, fate had brought them back to the same place once again.

And deep down, he knew it.

Their story wasn’t over yet.

Charles still couldn’t believe she was standing there. A part of him feared she was just an illusion, that at any moment she would disappear into the paddock crowd, just like she had that night in Paris.

Yet, she kept smiling with that enigmatic calm, as if this were nothing more than a coincidence and not some invisible force pulling them back together.

Charles wetted his lips, feeling the urgent need to make sure that this time, she wouldn’t slip away before he could reach her.

"Stay," he said, without thinking too much. His voice was lower, more personal. "After the race. Don’t leave without saying goodbye… like in Paris."

She blinked, surprised by his request. Then, she tilted her head slightly, wearing that same mischievous expression he remembered.

"I don’t usually repeat the same trick twice."

Charles let out a brief, almost relieved laugh.

"I’m glad to hear that."

She turned her head a little, letting the humid breeze ruffle a few loose strands of her hair. Looking up, she watched the cloudy sky and the fine drizzle falling over them.

"It’s raining again," she murmured. "Seems like fate has a peculiar sense of humor."

Charles studied her, his smile softening.

"Or maybe the rain is a sign."

She looked at him then, her eyes meeting his with silent intensity.

The sounds of the paddock still buzzed around them, the race loomed on the horizon, but for a moment, it was just the two of them, standing under the drizzle, in a world where coincidences no longer felt like coincidences.

"Then, I’ll see you after the race, pianist." Charles' voice dropped a note, testing the nickname with satisfaction.

She let out a small laugh, stepping back before turning gracefully.

"See you after the race, driver."

And with that, she disappeared into the crowd.

But this time, Charles knew it wasn’t a goodbye.

[berrybore]

I get what you’re saying about choice but that’s also what I was saying, too. Percy wants a normal life, yes, but he also wants a straight answer when he asks a question. They all go behind his back repeatedly or hide very critical information from him. He’s gaslit for weeks if not months after being attacked, he’s school hopping, even if they aren’t boarding schools.

I get Sally not telling him, I really do. I know demigods scent get stronger when they know who they are, I was just pointing out what it did to his self esteem. I still maintain that he should have been told after the fury incident��not before— whether he would have been happy to be dropped off at camp for an indefinite time or not, that’s not the point anymore. He’s not safe. The danger found him, it was more dangerous to leave him in the dark.

As for the nature of her relationship with Gabe, she was unquestionably abused by him, they both were. I know she was stuck. I was just saying that we don’t actually know all that much about it because she doesn’t have a pov and Percy is still too young at that point to really know the ins and outs. We don’t know anything except what Grover says, that she married him to conceal Percy for as long as possible. Everything else is open to interpretation, how much she knew or didn’t going in, at what point did things go from bad to worse or f they were always like this from the get go and she put up with it out of desperation, etc. I know it’s not canon and we can differ here, that’s fine.

I wasn’t implying that Percy would be safer at home or at camp, I was pointing out that he didn’t need to rush to camp in a middle of a thunderstorm, chased by a monster, and watch his mother die. It happened because they kept making his choices for him past what was strictly necessary.

Sally Jackson choice safety over stability in terms of how she'd take care of her child. Both her and Percy faced years abuse by the hands of one man. Does this make her a good mother who was in over her head or an unprepared one making an impulsive decision?

You found the one hot take even I haven’t dared say aloud yet, because I think it may just be my most unpopular opinion in this fandom. One thing everyone in this fandom seems to agree on is the “universal truth” that Sally Jackson is the best mother in the history of fictional mothers. So, here’s my hot take:

Sally Jackson is not that perfect mother the fandom pretends she is.

Sally during the series? Presented as a loving and good mother. But to get to that point? Pre-series Sally is not written as a good mom; she’s written as a plot-device with the things the author needs to happen in mind and not the motivation of a good mother who prioritizes her child’s happiness and safety in mind.

And I’ll back that claim up with three ways in which Sally has failed Percy as a mother. Not just once, but repeatedly, for years.

But before we get into that, I’d like to switch what you said first. Sally Jackson chose stability over safety. Sally chose the stability of keeping her child at her side over said child’s safety. She made an inherently selfish decision that was not with her child’s best interest and overall safety in mind.

Now, the first - and most obvious one - is Smelly Gabe.

And before I can elaborate on that, I need to clarify one very important thing here, before anyone goes “don’t blame the victim!” on me: Sally Jackson is not a victim; she’s a fictional character. Fictional characters can be written as victims, but they are not autonomous people who make their own choices; their choices are very deliberately made by their author for them. And I want to look at the choices that went into writing her this way, writing her story this way.

Real abuse victims get stuck in abusive relationships for a variety of reasons and they don’t get out of them for equally various reasons. Most of the time, it’s something like “he was so sweet and kind at first, but by the time he showed his real face, it was too late” (and, as a note to that; Percy describes Gabe as having been nice to them for a total of thirty seconds before showing his real face. Now while that is, of course, and exaggeration, it still goes to say that Gabe was pretty much upfront about what kind of person he was).

I’ve never heard one start with “he was the most disgusting, grossest man I could possibly find”. Sally Jackson chose this man. Not just in the way one picks a partner. She went out there and chose the stinkiest, grossest man.

It was a deliberate choice on Riordan’s part to have Sally choose an abusive relationship over sending her son away for his own safety. And this decision did not keep Percy safe; Percy Jackson was abused in his own home, by a horribly stinking man, for six years of his life. That’s not keeping your child safe.

The choice was not made to keep Percy safe; the choice was made to keep Percy with Sally. It was inherently selfishly motivated; she didn’t want to send him away, she wanted to keep him with her.

Sally loves Percy, she loves him dearly and fiercely, I’m not arguing that. But that love led to her not wanting to let go of him. And sometimes, parenting means making tough choices, sometimes loving someone means you have to make a tough decision.

In this case, the “tough decision” is presented as Sally bravely putting up with six years of abuse at Gabe’s hand. That’s the narrative chosen by the author.

But the actual “tough decision” would have been to send Percy to Camp Half-Blood, where he would have been safe. That’s the tough choice a mother would have had to make to keep her child safe.

That’s the tough choice the parents of most of the year-rounders have made. Mister Beauregard sent his daughter all the way from Paris to New York to give her this safety. The distance alone guaranteeing he wouldn’t see her for years potentially - because flying between New York and Paris is not necessarily easily affordable for everyone. Sally’s option was to send Percy to a camp that’s literally one and a half hours away. She could have still seen him, he could have easily visited her.

But her solution was to mask Percy’s scent by marrying a stinking, gross, abusive man.

Let me just stretch once more: Sally’s choice did not keep Percy safe. Sally’s choice made their home unsafe. It brought the danger and pain into their home. It may have moderately protected Percy from monsters - until The Lightning Thief kicked in - but it did not keep Percy actually safe, because it put him into a different kind of danger and through a different kind of pain.

For six years. And, this is where the “not a real person but a fictional character” thing comes up again, because this isn’t a woman where one choice leads to a date with a man which leads to a relationship which leads to abuse that she doesn’t know how to get out of anymore. She is a fictional character whose journey was set out to end with her being in an abusive relationship.

And we also don’t know why she didn’t get out of it. She’s not a real person, we don’t know if she was so scared of Gabe that she didn’t know how to leave, if her lack of a support system is what led to her not leaving him, or if it was the motivation of not giving up Percy. The real, actual reason is that Riordan wanted to keep her in there and keep Percy out of the loop until he was twelve and The Lightning Thief could happen. Because she was able of getting rid of him as soon as the truth unravelled and Percy met camp.

And I’d like to use the way she did that to drive back home just how bad Gabe was, just how bad the situation Sally and Percy were in for six years, really was.

She murders him. She flat-out murders him. Both, her and Percy, together. This twelve-year old child who we meet and get to know as kind and not... not a murder-child, is ready to kill a man. That’s how badly Gabe abused them; both of these kind people chose murder to get rid of him.

And it’s just something I’ve never gotten over. Riordan really made the decision that his protagonist’s mom would rather get them both into an abusive home than give Percy up to camp. That was his decision; there could have been other ways. One thing that would have made this seem less like a deliberate choice would have, for example, been Sally not knowing about camp.

If she was a desperate mother, who saw no other options? That’d have made the situation different too. But we know Sally knew about camp. She knew there was a place she could send her son where he would be safe from the monsters, but she decided against that, she decided that she wanted to keep him close, at any costs - and the cost was six years of abuse.

I do not think that this decision should be framed as a heroic sacrifice, because the fact that she knew of an actually safe solution and decided against it was inherently selfish. She did not put up with six years of abuse for selfless reasons because there was “no other way”; there was, she knew that, but the author didn’t want her to take that.

Sometimes, the sacrifice is letting go of your child. And, as mentioned before, she wouldn’t have let go of him for good - camp is in the same bloody city as she is living. Literally one and a half hours away from her.

Now on to the other two ways in which I think Sally Jackson failed Percy.

For one, the lies about his father. Now, real people who are left by their partner with a baby, they can pick whatever to tell their kids whenever. But, again, this is a fictional character and the author makes the decision for her. And this, again, was a decision made solely based on the end result; Riordan needed Percy to not be in the know by the time The Lightning Thief came around, even though from a character-perspective, telling Percy the truth earlier would have been the logical and right decision.

If your kid is a demigod who is attracting real actual monsters with his scent alone? Percy started really attracting monsters when he was six years old and for the next six years, Sally didn’t disclose the truth to him; not about monsters, not about his father, not about the fact that Percy may have powers.

Percy attracted so many monsters that it led to Sally getting married to Gabe. That’s how badly he attracted monsters. Which also implies that Percy must have seen monsters. We get to see in The Lightning Thief just how much Percy thinks he’s going crazy with the things he sees. And that’s  been going on for six years too - six years and in those, his scent only got stronger.

This, again, isn’t just one decision she made. This is a decision she made every single day over and over again. The decision not to tell Percy about his father, the powers, the simple reassurance that he’s not going insane, that monsters are real. This was Percy’s reality and it would obviously only become more and more of an issue the older Percy got, but every single day, she chose not to tell him, to let him believe not just a lie but also steadily that he was going crazy.

And it’d have gone a long way if he had just known. Even with Gabe in their life, even if she hadn’t made the choice to send him to camp at age six, it’d have helped him so much to know the truth and be prepared for this life.

Because this wasn’t just an issue of “the guy left me, I don’t want to talk about it with my kid”, this was inherently about, once more, Percy’s safety. Knowing what to watch out for, knowing the thing you should watch out for is actually real, are huge factors in Percy’s safety. Having him as well-prepared as possible.

She knew his father was Poseidon. It’s not even that she had sex with some dude, not knowing who he was. She knew he was Poseidon. She knew what Percy’s parentage was, she must have observed the slow development of Percy’s powers over the years.

But again, she chose to leave him in the dark about it. He could have been well-prepared by age twelve. Read up everything on Poseidon, experimented with potential powers he may have, understanding why the fishes in the aquarium are talking to him and that he is not actually hearing voices, learning.

But that’s not useful for the author; Riordan wants an unprepared Percy who can be used to introduce this world to the reader.

The choice to not tell Percy the truth about his father and about being a demigod was made deliberately and, again, not in Percy’s best interest. And in this case, there really is no other interpretation left aside from “the author needs it to happen this way” - with Gabe, there is the legitimate argument that she may have been at one point just an abused woman stuck in a relationship with no out because we don’t know enough to know what her motivation and situation were exactly - but there is... no benefit at all in lying to Percy about this, no reason for it.

The moment he first started being in actual life-threatening danger because monsters came after him, it became a pressing matter to tell him what monsters are, that they are real and why they are after him and to prepare him for it.

Which brings me to the third instance.

She never prepared him - even just in a mortal manner. Even if we let the first two - the marriage to Gabe and the lies about his father - stand as they are, Sally could have done something very simple to prepare Percy for his life and to help keeping him safe.

Self-defense classes. Judo. Martial arts. Sword-fighting classes. Whatever.

Many parents teach their kids these kind of things from a young age. Parents whose kids aren’t in constant danger of being attacked by monsters. One of your first parental instincts should be to teach your kid to be safe; to protect themselves. Give him the means to fight back.

So, that’s it. That’s the three very vital and important instances in which I think Sally failed Percy as a mother; not just once, but repeatedly, for years.

Instead of sending him to a safe place where he could learn about his heritage and learn control of his powers as well as learning how to fight the monsters after his life, she chose to marry an abusive, smelly man whose scent would mask Percy’s. Probably. Hopefully. But it didn’t really, not all the time. As shown by The Lightning Thief and monsters coming after Percy. And Percy starts to think he’s crazy, because at no point did she tell him about the monsters, and at no point does he really know how to fight for his life, because at no point did she put the means to defend himself into his hands.

No. No, I do not think that those are the decisions a good mother would make. Those are decisions the author made because he knew the starting point of his story and he knew where Percy’s character needed to be for that.

The thing that’s glossed over are the choices Riordan implicitly made Sally make. To get to this point for Percy, at age 12, he had to make Sally repeatedly act against Percy’s best interests and deliberately not tell Percy the truth or teach him way to stay safe. So he masks those choices by putting on a framework that’s meant to make you only look at her suffering and the outcome, not the choices that led to it. That was Riordan’s choice and he framed it in a way that the fandom ate up and celebrates, when... neither Sally, nor Riordan, had do to that. There was another option on the table and, if Riordan had sat down and thought hard, I’m pretty sure there would have been more options.

The bottom line, what Sally’s parenting comes down to in the end, is that she and Percy got stuck with an abusive man for six years, because she didn’t want to send him to an actual safe place, she spent six years essentially gaslighting Percy about the things he hears/sees by not telling him the monsters are actually real and she repeatedly left him in unnecessary danger by not giving him the means to defend himself in any way whatsoever. And those are not signs of good parenting, not in my book.

But it’s just so much easier to ignore all of that and pretend that blue candy and trips to Montauk are the end all be all and that Sally’s fierce love for her son is the most defining trait of parenting. I know that. Most of the time, I’m right there with you - I love fanon!Sally, I love to pretend she’s the best mom ever and never did anything wrong, because I know the decisions are inherently made by Riordan and are a by-product; I know he wants her to be a good mother, I know throughout the series, he writes her as a good and loving mother.

But if I have to be honest and if I look at the whole text, including the implications of their past, canon!Sally isn’t that good of a mother.

[wlwsoccerfics]

Why the Hate?(Magda Eriksson x Pernille Harder x Teen Reader)

AN: i Hope you like my Interpretation of this. I know it's short but i just wanted to get some requests out.

Warnings: mentions of Homophobia, Adoption, bullying

Summary: you get bullied at school for being adopted and having two moms.

You loved having two moms. It was one of your favorite things ever. What you didn't like though was the comments people made about your Family.

You walked to your next class when your bullies started shouting at you again.

"Look it's gay Orphan Annie! Her two moms made her gay too!" One of them yelled out and the others started laughing hysterically.

You sigh softly and continue to walk. Trying to ignore what they are saying. But it was easier said then done!

The bullying continued over the rest of the school day. You were thankful when you got home and your moms were still at practice so you didn't have to face them. Cause it was obvious you had been crying. And you didn't know how to explain that to them.

You went to take a quick shower and then started doing your homework. It was around 6pm when you moms came home.

"älskling?" Magda asked. You opened the door to your room, peaking your head out.

"hi Mama, hi Mom!" You said softly.

"hi engel!" Pernille replied.

"i am making dinner now." Magda informed you.

"i am not really hungry, Mama!" You answered softly. Biting down on your bottom lip. Your moms glanced at one another. It was obvious that they knew something was up.

"y/n? Are you getting sick?" Pernille asked.

"possible. The flu is going around at school right now, Mom!" You just said, which wasn't even a lie. The flu was in fact going around. But you weren't getting sick. You just weren't feeling very well. Which had mental reasons. Being bullied sucked.

"Go get some rest, Love! We gonna Check on you later!"your Mama answered.

"vi elsker dig, engel." Your Mom answered.

"i Love you Guys too!" You told them and offered them a tried smile. Closing the door to your room and sitting down on your bed, taking a deep breath before you started crying. You couldn't stop yourself. Tears just happened to run down your cheeks. Sobs escaping your mouth.

Your moms went to check on you after dinner, around 45 minute later, you haven't really moved from your seat on your bed.

They knocked on the door.

"skat, kan vi komme ind?" Your Mom asked.

"yes you can." You replied and quickly wiped away your tears but your face was all red and puffy. Magda and Pernille walked in and frowned. Sitting down on each side of you.

"what's wrong? Talk to us?" Your Mama whispered out.

"i don't know how to start! It's...complicated!" You answered.

"we don't judge. I Hope you know that Love!" Your mom said softly.

"i do know that!" You replied with a small smile. Before frowning again. Going through so many emotions all at once.

"i get bullied at school." You explained.

"who is bullying you and why?!" Your moms both asked in shock.

You didn't know how to explain all of this without exposing your Secret. But you knew you had to speak up.

"because i am adopted and because i have two moms! I am not ashamed or anything! I just hate how they act! That they don't just leave me alone! And they disrespect you! Which is what i hate the most! They also call me gay!" You tell them and sigh softly.

"Just ignore them! You know yourself the best!" Magda told you.

"but they are right! I am gay! I didn't say anything anf i am dating a Girl from my Volleyball Team!" You finally admitted.

They both give you a side hug. You call this kind of hug a 'moms sandwich' . Which you liked alot. They always made you feel safe.

"sweet Girl! This Is great! We are Happy for you and we can discuss another school for you or something like that if it's really needed! We can figure something out! You are not alone in this! And we are Happy for you that you found your true self!" Pernille let you know. You stayed cuddled up to them both.

Talking a little more. Promising them they would get to meet your girlfriend Mina soon. And you would talk to some other schools as well.

[wildymoon]

Why Hotguy (Probably) Isn't Possessed: A DDVAU Post

.... Or at least why it would be a bit biased to say that is the case right off the bat just cause the blorbo said something you really didn't like.

(NOTE: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR DDVAU) (Also the images I've used are all from the comic, go take a look either on Tumblr or Webtoons)

Part 1: Would This Face Lie To You?

Yes. Because everyone has the capacity to lie, and Scar canonically has a silver tongue. Look at 3rd Life and try to tell me otherwise. I will laugh at you.

But the difference is framing. In 3rd Life and nearly everywhere else this silver tongue of Scar's is used, it's in a silly white lie way at best and simply to win a game at worst. Hell, even in other works I've seen it's primarily used to benefit others, not himself.

For this reason (among others that vary from person to person that I won't elaborate on here cause that's complicated), it becomes much easier to believe that Scar here isn't acting normal. He's tapping into his cunning side with much more ruthlessness than we're used to seeing from him normally, and thus we grasp for any other option. Not only that, but the Motherspore Incident gives us the perfect excuse for his behavior, especially with what is said at the end.

Was the target truly Grian, or were they trying to get at Hotguy? We won't know for sure until later, but the idea of him getting possessed is something for the copium to take advantage of, and as such it does so.

(Even for me. I have almost an entire two-monitor screenshot in which I copypasted almost every detailed Hotguy face to analyze and make a decision based on the expressions compared to the latest volume. This I will get into in the part dedicated to his expressions and why they matter for both sides of the argument.)

Either way, assuming someone who is known for using that silver tongue of his to get what he wants isn't doing that of his own free will, even if it feels unkind or out of character at first glance, isn't exactly the smartest thing.

Part 2: The "Pragmatic" Approach Is Not Kind

Aka, "local utilitarian explains the logic behind being a dick in this scenario", or "devil's advocate except the supposed devil is just a blorbo getting into real blackmail".

So, let's first consider Hotguy's primary options for how he could've taken that interrogation, and their effects. I'll list these in order of action taken against Grian for simplicity's sake:

Leave Grian alone entirely. At first, this looks like the best option. Grian needs time to heal, and Hotguy just barging on in like that is stressful at best for someone who'd just been told he got possessed and tried to kill people. But this temporary peace would come with consequences. With no one to tell the public otherwise, Grian would likely get arrested for hiding his status as a mutant from the government. So this one is simply not worth it.

Reason with Grian. This is the option most likely expected from Hotguy before the page rolled around. It gives him a chance to exercise the softer side of his silver tongue a bit more, and is a significantly less aggressive way of trying to get the information he needs to protect the public. The issue with this is that Grian is not cooperative. He does not like Hotguy very much, and definitely would give as little information as he possibly can to what is basically a cop. "Everything you say can and will be used against you," and all that jazz. He's also pretty much immune to Hotguy's charm, so being niceys won't change that. Essentially, no matter what way he goes about it he's going to have to deal in something that Grian actually cares about.

Blackmail Grian. This is the choice Hotguy made, and he didn't sugarcoat it very much either. I'm thinking the reason he did could be related to how he knew simply reasoning with Grian wouldn't work; had he really gone in with the honeyed words, Grian would've told him to cut the bullshit even sooner. This, while more visibly putting Grian in a spot of bother, isn't actually that much more dangerous for him than the other options. I've already explained why the first option actually sucks, and the second option relies on Grian trusting Hotguy (which he doesn't). It also gives Hotguy two things simultaneously: information (his priority), and keeping his friend out of jail (so long as he cooperates, which he has). The second thing may or may not be important to him, but it's still an added bonus. This is the option in which Hotguy is guaranteed to get the most information about the incident.

Turn Grian in immediately. If you hadn't realized there was a worse option than 3 then surprise! There is! This is the option that I believe would actually be out of character for Hotguy. Even if he wanted Grian imprisoned for whatever reason, his priority would still be to get information, nothing else. And there's no guarantee Grian would tell absolutely anything in custody, let alone anything about the incident. It would take potentially blackmailing him here to do it, and that feels like a step too far. Hotguy only needs information, and he knows stigma too well to truly take part in it, especially if it probably won't net him what he needs. So, not that option either.

In all, Hotguy's choice was the only one that could truly get him the yield he wanted: information on the attack in hopes he could prevent any further ones. Do I think he went too far? Yes. Absolutely. He should've stopped with his threats the moment he stopped asking actual questions about the incident. There was no reason (in my opinion) to continue with them.

But for the most part, I believe this isn't a man possessed, just a cop seeking intel. Speaking of.....

Part 3: "Duty"

Sorry guys, superheroes funded by the government are technically cops. This makes Hotguy a cop. Your blorbo is a cop.

In all seriousness, Hotguy does in fact have a job, and as such it is his duty to protect the citizens of the city from the bad and such, blah blah blah. This includes Grian, since he was possessed by the bad and not the bad itself (as such that makes him a victim).

The question, however, remains. "How best does one protect an entire city?" I've answered this already with Hotguy's highest priority in the interaction with Grian: information. To get this information while protecting the most citizens, he must threaten or harm at least one no matter what he does. Because simple threats harm the least, his answer is to threaten two for the sake of maximizing the future harm reduced.

It is, once again, a utilitarian stance on things. But if your goal isn't to be strict to the rules, that's how choices should be made: Not with biases, but with thought given to all options and all those affected.

Now, does his duty state he should be that much of an ass? No, but I already went over this. "He made the best overall choice but he should've been more considerate." It doesn't get much simpler than that.

Part 4: Expression And Tone - The Other Argument

Here we go. This is what originally inspired the making of this post, as an argument for the side that claimed Scar was possessed.

The reason behind it? I'd noticed a significant shift in Hotguy's expressions even without going through each individual page. As someone who cannot read body language for shit usually, this was a pretty significant indicator that something was wrong for me.

Upon further inspection and reflection, this isn't quite the cause for alarm I'd thought it was, but it's still one of the better arguments for Scar being possessed so I'll elaborate.

Before the Motherspore Incident, each of Hotguy's expressions that were close enough to the camera to be drawn properly showed at least one eye through his visor. There is exactly ONE exception to this in my eyes, and even that one can fit in with my claim here: Hotguy's action shot in Chapter 7.

Here, the panel is big enough that if it was any regular panel it would likely show his eyes, but the visor is too small to really draw good eyes for the panel here, not to mention it would probably take away from the composition. But that's not what's important here; that honor goes to the fact that this is the only instance of a bigger panel in which Hotguy's eyes are not shown.

.... Up until Motherspore, that is.

Here, this makes sense: The eye in the first one would get in the way of the text, and in the second one his hair is covering his visor. The third is an action shot, similar to the one in Chapter 7. These make sense.

But then... something shifts once the fight is over and Hotguy carries Grian out. Once he reaches the outside, the amount of times we see his eyes, his expression? TWO.

Both are heavily simplified, with specific intent on making his expression clear on a small panel, but in every other panel from that point on in the chapter show him with the visor covering his expression.

And that's when we get into Chapters 14 and 15. This is when the shift becomes obvious. Instead of all his expressions on large enough panels showing at least one of his eyes, instead we're given almost the exact opposite.

This is the only. I repeat. The ONLY larger panel in which both his eyes are shown (when he has the visor on) since the end of Motherspore.

It's almost the only panel in the entirety of the chapter like that, but there's a singular smaller panel here with both his eyes:

That's it. Everything else has the way his expressions interacting with his visor the exact opposite way from the entire rest of the story so far.

This is why I thought he was, in fact, possessed at first. It was such a dramatic change that, when you don't consider the other reasons why this could be the case, it feels wrong. It feels like he could be possessed.

Especially if you consider this as related to it:

It just feels, if you compile everything together and build that argument, as something that could be plausible.

Plausible, not guaranteed. But plausible nonetheless.

But what could go against this? The tone.

Because, before Motherspore, this whole thing had a much more lighthearted tone. Hotguy had a much more lighthearted tone. Then he has to handle Motherspore. Then, the public, after a fight that made him require backup (true backup, unlike what we see from Cuteguy).

He puts on a mask to the public. That's what happened at the end of Chapter 13.

And then again, when facing Grian. He cannot slip up, cannot let Grian notice who he is or even consider it. He puts on a mask to ensure he can get what he wants safely. That's why we only see his eyes open behind his visor the one time, when Grian cannot look at his face.

He's taking a page from Cuteguy's book, in a way. Not the newest trick in any book, but I figure y'all'd like the connection.

Part 5: In Conclusion

Is Scar possessed? No, probably not. There's always a chance, but it's more likely that everyone got a bit blindsided by the cutthroat way Hotguy handled interrogations.

Remember that characters can make bad or mean decisions! Even if that character is meant to be a good guy, they still can make these choices, mistake or not. Sometimes, it's the best decision they can make. And sometimes, they just went about it in a way they probably shouldn't've.

Either way Hotguy's going to pay in spades by however Cuteguy's going to handle meeting him again, probably.

Bonus: All those copypasted Hotguy faces, for your enjoyment and my going bonkers insane

(There are no notes written down here because I am bonkers on the level that my brain moves too fast to type it all down.)

(ONCE AGAIN, the images I've used are all from the comic, go take a look either on Tumblr or Webtoons)

[writingdevil]

Hello! You do such amazing work! 👏🥰

I feel like we need some good old-fashioned ParaHero! You can't go wrong! ☺️💖

(Absolutely! You're so right! Parahero is one of my favourite ships, and you can NEVER go wrong with them! Enjoy!)

Hero hated arguments.

That might seem like a given, considering how much bickering went on in the construct, but even when all the voices got their own bodies and they weren't in any danger, Hero still disliked the thought of them all arguing and throwing around words that could potentially be really hurtful to somebody.

He was often the peacekeeper between fights, but even though everyone looked to him as the 'leader', he didn't know how to diffuse a situation most of the time. It was a lot more complicated when they all had individual bodies now, and everyone could just do whatever they wanted, regardless of Hero's words. It made him feel useless, sometimes.

Despite all that, there was one voice that Hero was the expert in talking to.

Paranoid.

Hero wasn't sure what it was, but he just knew the things that Paranoid was trying to explain, knew what was the main driving fear in that moment for him, and Hero kept finding that Paranoid only managed to listen to Hero in those moments.

Hero didn't know why, but his heart fluttered whenever Paranoid gave him his full attention, looking at him with those intense eyes that had so many thoughts behind them, and Hero wouldn't mind listening to every one of them. He felt a selfish sort of pride that Paranoid only listened to him sometimes-it was as if Paranoid regarded his opinion as more trustworthy than the others.

He knew that realistically that wasn't helpful, but Hero couldn't help but want more of Paranoid's attention, to just be that safe space for him.

Like right now.

Hero had been relaxing in his room, when he suddenly heard voices arguing, quiet at first, but then louder, and he knew they were coming towards him.

The door flung open, and Paranoid was shoved inside, and Hero saw a smiling Oppy behind him, who met Hero's eyes and went, "Hey friend, can you just talk to him for a bit? Thank you!" and then shut the door before Hero could even open his mouth.

Hero just sat on his bed in confusion, before Paranoid hugged himself and began pacing up and down his room.

"It's a stupid idea, Hero!" he snapped, and it took a few seconds to figure out what he could possibly be on about, until it hit him.

"Oh, you mean the plan for Hunted-"

"Yes," Paranoid said, "I don't think we should do it."

Apparenty, some of the others suspected that there was a creature roaming around their home. They talked about hearing rustling at night and hearing weird noises that they've never heard before, and just this morning, Hunted came in to inform everyone that it looked like their garden of vegetables had been ruined, with some vegetables destroyed or uprooted entirely.

Skeptic did a quick survey of the damage, and had merely suggested that Hunted, the best survivalist and most equipped to traverse the woods, go out and try to track down the creature. Hero had been fine with the idea, but Paranoid was apparently having none of it.

"We don't know what's out there!" Paranoid argued, gesturing at a window behind Hero. "We can't just blindly send Hunted off without knowing what he's up against."

That was true, and at first, Hero had also been apprehensive about sending Hunted off, but he also knew that if anyone could get to the bottom of this, it was Hunted.

Hero watched as Paranoid kept flexing his fingers against his arms, fighting the urge to preen his feathers for comfort, but both he and Hero knew that would only result in overpreening.

Hero stayed sat on the bed, knowing that if he suddenly started moving and closing in on Paranoid, he would just start to feel tense and on edge. Paranoid viewed Hero's bedroom as a safe space-he's barged in enough times either in the midst of a panic attack, or with too much on his mind to relax, for Hero to know that his presence, or at least Hero's room, calmed him down, and he didn't want to break that.

"I get where you're coming from," Hero said, making Paranoid pause in his pacing to look at him, and the intensity of his gaze made a shiver go up Hero's spine, but he didn't let that show. "But Hunted's not stupid. He knows how to handle himself out there."

A look of frustrated confliction came over Paranoid as he nervously bit his lip, and Hero had to make a pointed effort not to stare, and focus up.

Paranoid sighed sharply. "I know that, it's just-" Paranoid cut himself off, glaring at the floor in concern and annoyance, until Hero softly said, "Para," making the bird in question flinch and look up at him.

There was a few, heated seconds, where they just stood there in silence, staring at each other, and Hero saw Paranoid's feathers puff up, and he found himself feeling his heart pound against his chest.

Not now. Not now.

Hero smiled at Paranoid, ignoring the heat on his cheeks as he said, "It's okay. Take your time."

That seemed to snap the spell that they were both under, and Paranoid coughed before continuing, "It's just that I hate the thought of Hunted going out there on his own, and potentially finding the thing that's terrorizing us. What if he gets hurt, and there's nobody to help him? What if he gets so injured that he bleeds out and dies, and we wouldn't know until his body started to rot?"

Paranoid took a shuddering breath in, and Hero's heart ached at how worried Paranoid was for his flockmate. Some of the others see Paranoid's behaviour as nothing more than just a general distrust of everything, to the point where he looked crazy-but Hero knew better.

Hero knew that Paranoid thought of problems that others wouldn't care to, that his fears often gave him the strength to act and fight back. His ferocity to keep others alive and safe was one of the things that Hero admired most about Paranoid.

If there was one voice that Hero never hesitated to trust, it was Paranoid.

"How about," Hero spoke up, and Paranoid's arms came down to his side as he gave Hero a questioning look, "I go with Hunted to track the creature down, so that if something bad really does happen, we can protect each other or get help. How does that sound?"

Paranoid stared at him in silence for a few, tense seconds, and Hero was beginning to think that he was about to call his idea stupid, when Paranoid nodded, and simply went, "Okay."

"Really? You're okay with that?" Hero was honestly expecting more of a fight from Paranoid.

But Paranoid's body seemed to finally relax as he slowly made his way over to Hero. "Yes," he said, avoiding eye contact, "while I don't love the idea of you putting yourself in danger either, it does make me feel better if you're there with Hunted."

Hero smiled as Paranoid sat down next to him on the bed. "I'm honoured you think that."

"Yes, well, I-I trust you."

Those words made Hero freeze, staring at an increasingly flustered Paranoid, who refused to lift his gaze from his lap.

Hero knew exactly how much those words meant to Paranoid, and how incredible it was to know that Paranoid trusted him. Maybe it should've been obvious, but Paranoid was so cautious and defensive that it was hard to know where his true loyalties were. But to hear it so clearly from him-it made Hero's heart beat with joy and love for the other.

Hero smiled fondly at him. "I trust you too, Para."

Paranoid's wings twitched at his words, but he didn't speak, and soon enough, they were left in silence, the atmosphere full of tension and unspoken feelings.

But then Hero felt a hand softly intertwine with his, and he had to fight the urge to whip his head down to stare, because he knew Paranoid would definitely jump and run away then.

So they sat there, holding hands, and Hero felt like nothing was impossible anymore, his head being overwhelmed with love and endless questions about where to go from here, how to move forward with their relationship like this.

Sure, maybe it was silly for them to be acting this embarrassed about feelings that had been burning for a long time-but this was the pace that Paranoid was comfortable with, so this was the pace that they'd go.

Hero didn't care if it seemed ridiculous or dumb. All he cared about was Paranoid, so Hero will gladly match his pace, right up until he gets to embrace and kiss him.

[propenseverbosity]

Not a Date - Lucanis/NB!Rook

Tumblr is being weird with links at the moment so my apologies if this doesn't preview properly but I'm working on another Rookanis fic!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63141781

Word Count: 2k (so far)

Chapters: 1/2

Summary: Lucanis invites Rook to a meeting with his cousin. They end up going shopping instead. It's not a date, not really. (Or is it)

Warnings: None, lmk

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

Since moving into the Lighthouse, Rook often found themselves staring off into the endless abyss of the Fade. They liked to sit at the edge of the courtyard, letting their legs dangle over the side to watch the assorted debris float by.

From what they remembered of their dreams, they expected the Fade to look much different. Thick fog through a dark forest, with demons lurking in the darkness. Certainly not a lonely little island with its own personal sunshine and a permanently fresh spring breeze. Strangely peaceful, but it wasn’t difficult to see how easily Solas made it his home. It was quite literally built to be inviting.

As they wondered how it was possible for gravity to only affect some of the structures on their island, they missed the whining hinge of the dining room door.

“Rook? Do you have a minute?”

They turned at the sound of a smooth Antivan accent, leaning back on their palms as they found Lucanis approaching.

“Sure. What can I do for you?”

He stopped long before reaching the edge, refusing to peer over the side. “I received word from Illario.”

“Did you want to sit?” they asked, gesturing to the empty space at their side.

“No- thank you.” he replied, far too quickly.

Rook also wondered what made Lucanis choose a windowless pantry, knowing there were nicer rooms with spectacular views of the Fade. They suspected his assassin training was only part of the reason.

“Afraid of heights?” they teased.

“I’m not afraid.” he said, firmly. “And I wouldn’t call an endless drop into nothingness a ‘height’ exactly.”

“Suit yourself.” Rook chuckled, noticing the way he’d stepped back even further. “What did Illario have to say?”

“He wants to meet. Says he has information. Fancy a trip to Treviso?”

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

Full on Ao3

[bitkahuna]

“You, Councilman, are my problem. Despite your relatively new status, you hold just enough sway with the younger dwarves to be a thorn in my side. So. I’m telling you now to back off.” He watched as the Councilman eyed him warily. Bilbo let the moment hold a while longer, tension settling, before quickly breaking it with motion, pulling correspondences from his desk. “Guarantee of restitution from Mirkwood, their post-campaign route plans, and a promise from King Thranduil himself to commit more supplies to the campaign.” He said as he laid it all on his desk and turned it for Lain to see. “Everything I said I would get, I did. I’ll present it all at the next Chamber Council. But before that, I need to know if you support the retaking of Dol Guldur.”

Lain laughed, face flooded with an almost smug sort of disbelief. “Shoulda known y’d only brought me in here ta strongarm me. Spymaster through and through, aren’ ye?”

“I am.” He didn’t even try to hide it.

“An if I don’?”

“Let’s not let things get ugly so soon, Councilman.”

“Will they?”

“They very well might. Which is why I ask you to very carefully consider your next move, because I promise you, this is as nice as I’ll be.”

Lain only gave a bitter smile, looking down at his lap. “Yer gonna threaten me inta compliance?”

“Only if this isn’t enough.” Bilbo shrugged. “It’s your choice.”

Lain's eyes narrowed as he studied the hobbit before him. There was a sharpness to Bilbo's gaze that hadn't been there before, a hardness that spoke of battles fought and won. For a moment, the young dwarf felt a flicker of doubt. "And what exactly would 'ugly' entail, Master Baggins?" His voice low and challenging despite the unease settling in his gut.

Bilbo leaned back in his chair. "Oh, I'm sure you can imagine, Councilman. Information has a way of surfacing when it's most inconvenient." He paused, letting the implication hang in the air. "Your family's mining contracts, for instance. It would be a shame if certain … discrepancies … came to light."

Lain's face paled, bravery faltering. “I- I don’ know wha ye mean.”

“It wasn’t your fault, I’m certain.” Bilbo spoke with a predatory form of sympathy in his voice. His smile was less of a smile and more the baring of teeth. “You were still new to the job. Mistakes were bound to be made.” He reached into his desk once more and pulled out a copy of a contract, certain sections circled and lines underlined. “It’s a good thing the Miners Guild never noticed that tiny little misplaced decimal. Otherwise, they’d realize they were getting … shafted.” He chuckled at his own little mining joke. “And, by my calculations, your family would be in quite a debt. Tough debt to pay.” Bilbo sighed as if saddened by the situation. He was being as cruel as possible. “It really would be a shame if the legacy of your forefathers was ruined after less than five years as the head of your family.”

Lain's face had gone ashen as the implications sunk in, his eyes wide with fear and disbelief. "H-How did ye … ?" He stammered, unable to finish the question.

Bilbo's smile never wavered. "I have my ways, Councilman. It's my job to know things." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Now, let me be clear. I don't want to ruin you or your family. I actually quite respect the legacy your ancestors built. And I understand mistakes can happen. But I will not hesitate to use every bit of information at my disposal if you continue to be a problem."

The young dwarf swallowed hard. "Wha do ye want from me?" He asked, his voice barely audible.

-----

Bilbo girlbossing in Erebor after Thorin was too stupid to admit his feelings, and instead, gave Bilbo a ridiculously high position in his royal council.

[defectivehero]

I LOVE your writing!!

Could you please do the "Who did this to you?" one?

thank you so much! and yes I can.

@badthingshappenbingo Prompt: "Who Did This to You?"

"Who did this to you?" the hero frowns as they study the villain's bloodied, almost mangled torso. It's hard for them to tell where the skin ends and their clothing begins: it's all torn to shreds. The villain looks like they went through a meat grinder.

"Does it really matter?" the villain scoffs. They look a bit dazed, and, honestly, the hero is impressed that they're still conscious. "What are you going to do, throw them in prison again?" Their enemy rolls their eyes. Honestly, the villain's commitment to being insufferable is truly astounding. The hero willingly brought their enemy into their home to treat them... and they can't show an ounce of gratitude.

It takes a few seconds for the hero to refocus their attention to the conversation and, subsequently, the villain's wounds. They ponder those words and frown. "Again?" the hero repeats, coming to a realization. "That narrows things down." Few criminals who are imprisoned in the city's correctional facility manage to escape, thanks to the recently improved security protocols. However, there's one supervillain who made a rather daring escape from confinement recently....

"Damn it," the villain huffs, "You could pretend to be stupid sometimes, you know."

"Too much work," the hero smiles teasingly, refusing to acknowledge the ugly feeling at the pit of their stomach as they stare at their battered enemy. The two of them are enemies, sure... but the hero has never gone this far. They always had a bit of an unspoken rule when it came to their fights: they're both able to walk away from it at the end, albeit with an occasional stumble or staggering frame. "Was it Echo?" the hero remembers to ask, when their heart calms a bit. They focus on cutting away any remnants of the villain's suit on their torso.

The villain is silent for a long moment, before sighing theatrically. "Fine, yes, it was Echo," they admit in a bit of a breathless remark. "What are you going to do with that information, exactly? Report her to the hero commission? Hell, your agency will probably thank her for curb-stomping me."

"She curb-stomped you?" the hero questions incredulously, reaching out before they can contemplate the consequences.

"Just a figure of speech," the villain remarks, raising an amused brow at the hero's hand on their forearm. The hero quickly removes their hand, as if burned. "So? What's the plan, dear enemy of mine?"

"What plan?" they mutter as they clean the villain's wound. Their enemy is almost worryingly quiet—not even a slight hiss or exhale of breath to reveal their pain. The hero is still as careful as possible. They don't want to cause their enemy any additional pain—and wow, that's a truly frightening thought.

"You know, your plan," the villain enunciates determinedly. "Storm into her headquarters and defend my honor." A hysterical laugh leaves their enemy's lips and the hero's concern only grows. The villain is really in bad shape. They would never admit that, of course. But still.

"I don't have a plan," they argue. The hero isn't sure who they're trying to convince now.

"You most certainly do," the villain asserts. "You have that look in your eyes."

"Oh—kay," the hero drawls awkwardly. Damn it, why is the villain so good at reading them? Of course they have a plan. It's just not particularly... heroic.

"Come on, this is embarrassing enough," the villain frowns, their words almost slurring together. "I don't even have a shirt on right now. There's no room for secrets here."

The hero resolutely keeps their eyes fixed on their enemy's face, ignoring the inexplicable urge to look elsewhere. Then they groan in annoyance. "Fine!" they snap, loudly enough to make the villain flinch. "You want to hear my plan?"

The villain's eyes flit about their face before they nod ever so slightly. They're never so agreeable—just another sign of their dwindling consciousness.

The hero takes a slow breath, before beginning to bandage the villain's wound. For some reason, they need to keep their hands busy. They feel weirdly restless. Do they really care so much about what the villain thinks of them? ...Ah well. The hero doubts their enemy ever held them in high regard in the first place. And now, they're certain they never will.

"I'm going to kill her," the hero says with frightening composure, "so she can never harm you again."

The villain blinks at them blearily. The clock on the wall is the only departure from an otherwise tense silence. For a moment, everything seems to fall still around the two enemies.

Then the villain smiles.

©2025, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

Bad Things Happen Bingo masterlist

author's notes:

me to my mom as we're both typing quietly: is it meat grinder or meat grater my mom, unbothered: meat grinder.

^ she didn't even care about the context 😭 stg she's so sick of me asking random writing questions bahaha

anyways, heeheeeeeee, i love this ending. mwhahahahha!

thanks for reading! <3

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[bazpango]

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

OH MY GOD.

I have watched this so many times, I cant stop watching it. My heart is on fire. I need to punch a pillow. Oh my god. I am going to upload screencap without your consent and gush about them individually because I cannot believe you made something THIS elaborate and beautiful (and might I just say, the execution is chef’s fucking sloppy kiss)

Firstly, what a fucking opener. The spy film cold open that says This is a Story about Rivals, paired with the newspaper transition????? Lawliet’s little grin. Light’s hesitation, his anxiety, his inability to determine what he is doing out of sheer survival instinct and what is a genuine want? I’m fucking deceased.

PUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

Bro. Bro. You have no idea. You have no fucking idea. THIS is EXACTLY how I pictured the scene in my head. THIS IS IT. The complete disdain in Light’s face and body language to be getting checked out by a professional ™ and then Lawliet’s just sitting there LITERALLY minding his own business (like a renaissance damsel draped over fine silk jfc). That happy trail makes my mouth water. I am horny now. Oh my god. Oh my god!!!!!!!!

UGH. Your use of camera to create either a sense of invasion or isolation has my knees fucking WEAK. The static crawling up his face is SUCH a clever way to showcase how he is feeling (or rather, very visually, how feelings are HAPPENING to him whether he likes it or not). Me too Light, me too. That close up contrasted by this just, horrific fish out of water isolation he has out on the ice. There is discomfort or there is nothing, and what a way to live? I’m fucking sick.

Finally finally finally the thing that made my heart LEAP out of my chest. You don’t understand. You don’t understand Nezz. Bro. Just. I’m fucking sick. The way you connected these two ideas. It’s just. Holy fuck it’s better than anything I could have ever imagined.

I love you I love you I love you I am going to watching this one thousand times every day I can’t believe you’ve done this. I’m sick I’m fucking sick, this was so fucking beautiful to watch.

so normal about @bazpango 's hockey people guys did you know im normal about hockey people

i love how you can just tell when my hands were getting tired but i desperately needed to get these men out of my mind anyways cough uh go read hockey yaoi im SO normal about them

[katyspersonal]

I need to share this information with someone because its a huge revelation and it drives me insane that this fanbase is still peddling the lie that there was a cut ending for SOTE. Okay, here goes - demoncorejr on Bluesky, I am not affiliated, made an interesting post about the original design of the Divine Gate which includes a possible answer for the lost cutscene of Miquella at the end of the first SOTE trailer. I implore you to read their full post, it is some excellent datamining.

This, combined with the cut Miquella dialogue where he is still addressing Radhan, leads me to fully believe that this cutscene was just an early draft of the phase 2 cutscene of him stepping out of the gate - not an ending where he was going to 'unveil' the Land of Shadow, which would have been impossible to implement into the base game technically anyway, given how huge the Land of Shadow is!

Would love to hear your thoughts on the matter.

ENDING WHERE MIQUELLA WOULD "UNVEIL" THE LAND OF SHADOW WAS NEVER MEANT TO EXIST AS REVEALED BY A DATAMINER!!!

Lol sorry I NEEDED a header to pique the interest of all 6 of you who are reading fdsjfhsd Anon, thank you for bringing this to my attention, because I already did have a thought that maybe the scene with Miquella reaching for the Scadutree was just one of the angles of him stepping out of the gate!!! I did not address it because I wondered if it was overthinking, but seems like I should have trusted my hunch? XD

Okay so, here is the thread in question:

This was an interesting read, so here are some core points I want to reshare as thread is a bit long:

1) The original draft of the Divine Gate was appearing to look very bloody and rotting, just like it looked in the SOTE promo trailer where Marika pulled some golden strings out from it:

Here images themselves, for closer look:

2) The arena was ALSO going to be rather "liquid", full of blood/rotted waters/whatever!

3) The initial intent is also still there in some ways; according to KERA, the initial textures were tweaked to have that pale, petrified, "sandy" look to them, to fit the surroundings. Including two screenshots because it is a video file on Bluesky of moving a slider and idk how to reshare it:

The second, very brown one, is correct colors of this texture, and the first screenshot is a tweak, not actual way this texture is intended to be!

I needed to reshare the key points from the thread and paraphrase, but yeah guys, read the whole thing, it is very insightful! So yeah, you can really see how initially they intended to keep the Divine Gates the same as it was shown in the trailer:

4) There is still effect for the corpses attached to the gate to bleed:

So that brings us to the question: how does it prove that a different Miquella's ending was never a thing?

5) The Miquella's cutscene seen in the trailer was cropped due to artistic changes of what the DIVINE GATE looked like, not plot changes!

They could not show him stepping into a bloody and decaying arena anymore, because.... it was no longer bloody and decaying! THIS was the change!

ok sorry I will stop with the Big Text lol

But yes, I am absolutely convinced that they've removed it over this reason! As for why the Divine Gate changed, I am not sure? I think maybe it would thematically fit more that Marika "killed" it when she pulled the golden strings from it? Or artistically it would not feel right if Miquella came out of a very "dirty" and bloody spot all perfectly clean and devoid of all "filth", so the gate had to look very polished and clean for the lack of better term?

I've also mentioned that I thought so myself, and after your ask, I finally remembered why:

(Start from 2:20) In this video, the creator does point out it simply looks like the essentially same cutscene, but from another angle and, well, with different arena!

You also can see the map further changed, like this tower appearing!

So, yeah, when I saw that video it felt legit, but not convincing enough, yet the thread you shared was a life-savior!!

I also do agree that it was obvious from the start that an extra ending with Miquella would never happen, unveiling Shadow Land or not! Miyazaki said RIGHT after the trailer dropped in the interview, that SOTE would not have an impact on the base game!

(From this ( x ) page)

The effects of "unveiling" the Land of Shadow would be so drastic that there would be no way to preserve the base game map with the changes. It would straight up jump into a new ending... that was confirmed to not happen!