#i would ask someone to write this but the person who needs to write it the most is myself wahh

[stillarobyn]

I understand the intention behind this post and I don't disagree with it. I don't.

If you're writing a period piece or something with a certain dark tone, then yes, you absolutely want to keep to that, give your gruff sailor a mumbled line about not being like most other men, or your scattered workaholic scientist can say she never felt like she was missing out on anything by not having a partner while they save the world.

But do not limit the reach of fanfiction by expecting it to be held to the same standards.

Because we need both. Because the target audience for a lot of works that employ this are young, they're disconnected from community, and they're lost. They think they're broken or they don't fit or they are made wrong.

I, a millennial, didn't know about bisexuality until I read about it in fanfic somewhere around 2003 (I was 13). I didn't know any out gay or queer people growing up. It was still scandalous on tv, and my parents didn't have any problem with it, they just didn't talk about it. I can't imagine how isolating it would have felt if my parents prevented me from watching anything with gay characters or spoke negatively about them.

My first discovery of nonbinary identity was in a bandom fic I read in 2010 (I was 20, for those playing the home game). It was maybe two years after that that I began to talk with nonbinary/genderqueer/genderfluid people online. I knew a couple of binary trans people in college, and one in high school, but this was my first time meeting people who weren't a binary gender. In 2012! It took another two years for me, at this point a full-ass adult, to start describing myself that way.

All of this oversharing to say...my understanding of queer identity was not hand-held by anyone in my life, but boy I learned to accept these foreign ideas I saw in myself because I had a safe fictional environment to explore these concepts and terms.

I think it was 2014-2016 when fanfic spaces had a boom of "everyone is trans" AUs and headcanons, and they were often rose-tinted and a bit twee, but that's the point of them. I saw identities I had to look up, and when I asked in follow-up "okay, but what does a person who feels like that look/act like?" it was all crickets, except in fiction, and specifically fanfic.

"But the world is different now, not knowing is no excuse" NOPE. not with anti-lgbtqia legislation passing in the US, or in other hostile countries around the world (I'm from the US, my argument is US-centric based on my experience and knowledge, but by no means exclusionary of people in other countries), or even family situations or rural upbringing or any other circumstance that isolated young queer folk from other queer folk.

A popular live-service video game introduced a nonbinary character and I saw twitch chats full of people who were just confused and uneducated. Ignoring those who were hostile was easy, but the uninformed, especially the non-English-speakers and people who didn't come from Western cultures, were largely open to learning something they never had framework for. Made all the more frustrating in a game environment where the characters didn't make a habit of having these discussions on screen, but that's a different rant.

I don't know if OP intended this in reference to original media, or toward fic, but I saw a lot of established characters in the reblogs so I just want to address that. I'm a characterization first fic reader, so I get it. "Everyone is trans" fics aren't for me, but there's a space needed for them if someone needs to see Captain Kirk and Spock debating the application of terminology of human gender and sexuality in interplanetary cultural settings...now actually I kind of want that fic so I played myself.

Dragon Age Veilguard came under attack for daring to openly and forwardly use the term "nonbinary" in its fantasy world, as though something about the word is inherently incompatible with the fantasy genre? But the game was pretty clear in its goal to create a safe gaming space for marginalized folks when so often their experiences are erased, ignored, tokenized, or stereotyped. The narrative, therefore, had to be hostile to the unaccepting, educational for the ignorant, and validating to the vulnerable. Getting to play in a world where people are referred to as nonbinary (just like me) and where people use they/them pronouns (just like me) and where no one ridicules or attacks them specifically for this? It felt comfortable and safe and the world was ending in the game, but I felt a personal empowerment in my immersion.

More complex and nuanced discussions by characters about their queer identity add to the picture. It shouldn't be in every work because every author has their own angle and their own philosophy about it, but they have just as much a right to a seat at the table. You can have your fics where Tony Stark's sexuality is a smirk and a wink, and you can have your fics where he explains that he used to call himself bisexual but the world is bigger and weirder so he considers himself omnisexual now. And if you don't like that, scroll past it. The author didn't write it for you, but someone else needs to hear that.

Maybe this is just a personal vent that escaped containment, but I feel the need to remind some folks that some people need the LGBT center brochure version because they didn't get one in the mail. It's a tough time for everyone in this community, no need to make it tougher.

he would not fucking say that but it’s he would not fucking talk about his queer identity like he was reading out of a college campus lgbt center brochure

[gumisbwunni]

Satoru is soooo friends to lover

tysm for the support, i want to start writing other characters so lmk who i should write! ps. ignore any typos :/

───────────୨ৎ───────────

just think about it, that disgusting slow burn, like as you gradually grow with him. he knows you like the back of hand, he knows you.

he knows when youre upset, or when youre uncomfortable because you bite the inside of your cheek, and your eyebrows slightly furrow.

and he knows when he should step up and back down. He'll let you have your space if you ask for it but he also knows you need someone to lean on, and if thats hititng his chest angrily, crying on his shoulder, ranting your ass off, hell be there.

Satoru took a liking to you because, for once in his life, someone saw him. Not the prodigy, not the heir to the Gojo legacy—just Satoru, your best friend.

you never treated him any differently, even when everyone else put him on a pedestal. You were the one person who kept him grounded, and he didn’t even realize when he started falling for you.

maybe it was the way you’d laugh at his stupid jokes, or the way you’d roll your eyes at his antics but still always have his back. Maybe it was the way you challenged him, called him out when no one else dared to. Or maybe it was just… you.

and how could you not fall for him, too? He’s Satoru, your best friend who defends you no matter what, who lets you see parts of him no one else does. The one who’d do anything for you—even if you told him to jump off a cliff, he’d probably ask, “How high?”

but there’s always been this line between you, this unspoken agreement to keep things platonic. Until… it starts to crack.

it starts with the little things—like the way his jaw tightens when you talk about your dates, or how he goes suspiciously quiet when you get dolled up for some guy he already knows is a waste of your time. He hates seeing you walk out the door, knowing the night will only end with you disappointed yet again.

and when you come storming back, heels in hand, muttering, “You would not believe the nerve this guy had,” Gojo’s sitting on the couch, grinning like he knew it all along. Of course he did. The guy probably asked to split the bill or talked about himself the whole night. Gojo always hated the way these guys never saw you the way he did.

because if you were on a date with him, you wouldn’t need to bring a purse. He wouldn’t even let you think about paying. He’d take care of everything, because he’s just that guy.

but he knows he can’t—he shouldn’t. It’s a line he’s not supposed to cross, no matter how badly he wants to.

and yet… he catches himself thinking about the way your eyes light up when you look at him. Those big, doe eyes that make his heart stutter in his chest.

he hates when you’re mad at him, but at the same time, you look so cute when you’re all fired up that he can’t help but push your buttons, just to see you pout.

he'll beg for your forgiveness afterward, of course, but there’s a part of him that loves how your attention is all on him, even if it’s because you’re annoyed.

his feelings are a fragile balance, always sitting just at the edge of his tongue.

it only took one moment—one crack—and it all spilled out. He told you everything. How much you mean to him, how the thought of a life without you is unbearable.

and now that you’re officially his girlfriend, it’s like a dam has broken. He wants to spend every waking moment with you, like he needs you to fill his lungs, his thoughts, his everything. He needs you bad.

and, it’s no surprise to anyone—not Shoko, not Geto, not Nanami. They all saw it coming from a mile away. Everyone knew. Everyone but you.

[kaivenom]

I just want you to know you done yandere pretty smooth and now I need yandere one piece dilfs, totally your fault for writing good

Yandere!OP DILFs x reader HCS

Characters: Mihawk, Doflamingo, Crocodile, Smoker,Shanks.

A/N: many people asked for this, so here it is, FINALLY

Masterlist

Dracule Mihawk

Once you put a foot on his castle, expect no return.

He is silent to the point of being scary, his castle is tricky and inmense, the only way of getting out is his boat, which is imposible for you to reach.

Once you accepted your new situation, you started to feel alone, that's when he noticed that not only he had to isolate you from the world but also make himself your world.

Expect attention, gifts, souvenirs and all kind of love and affections.

But once he is gone on missions for weeks or even months, you would get really sad and lonely.

On the time that Perona is there, at least she makes you company (Dracule made sure that you thought that this was also a gift), and when he is back, he abducts your attention again.

Sometimes you are scared of how serious he is, like he was about to explode on some point and that is the point of him, make you stay on the edge.

Later on the relationship (mostly due to Perona's going) he lets you go to other islands but only accompanied by him and for an afternoon.

You are to precious for the world to see you and you are only his.

Donquixote Doflamingo

We know this man is already a yandere himself.

Possesiveness, anger issues, attacks of crazyness, killing and torturing, etc.

You are his darling and precious pet, always following him and wearing the collar he gave you... or any other gift he puts on you.

You sometimes are lucky that you are wearing clothes cause surely he would be the kind to view you as his personal pet/hoe and would make you dress with lingerie in public, chokers, etc.

Sit on his lap is a most, there is no sit for you other than this, and he would grope you ass and touch all over your body, not caring about who is looking.

Definetly the worst part would be when he becomes jelaous cause he is a little too much of a paranoid.

The person he was jelaous off would be out of map, tortured and killed on a blink, and you would have to make it up for him.

Cause you are the best muse and little pet that anyone can have, so it's a little your fault that everyone looks and desires you, so you would have to compensate him.

Lullabies, dances, kisses, sex, cuddles, worship, licking his boots... anything that goes thru his mind at the moment, and you know that you aren't strong enough to resist, nor physically nor mentally.

Sr. Crocodile

Picture the typical relationship mafia boss and wifey, but now ad that you can't escape.

Gifts are his love language and the proof that you are his, everything is personalized to confirm that you belong to him and that you are untouchable.

He expects you to be his biggest support, even if you have a horrible day, you must comfort him first.

Expect to be isolated from the world and work from home or don't work either, typical homwife of the 50s.

You can only go out with female friends, if he catches another man near you, he would hire a detective to investigate them.

He would in fact make the detective investigate everyone in your life and if someone isn't of his like them he would slowly remove them from your life.

Expose hidden secrets from them, make up rumours, put you against them, etc.

Everything to make them expensable and him your only support.

He already is your financial support, add to this the emotional part and he would be the pillar of your life, nothing more.

He makes sure of that.

Smoker

Uses his position of marine to keep you from leaving.

If you are also a marine then he would do anything on his power to be your superior.

To control and keep an eye on you, if someone it's to close, then a file is open and maybe that person would be fired.

He would dissmiss your authority if you are his superior.

The point it's that he always has to be with you, control you and have more power than you.

He decides what you wear, where you work, how you spent the times together, and everything he can.

And somehow, you didn't care, he made it look so easy and so comfortable that you don't make the effort to choose anything, you've gotten too used to him doing it.

To the rest of the world, especially his male coworkers, you both are the perfect couple cause you do everything he says.

Akagami Shanks

He is so fun and so nice that you wouldn't notice at first.

He is really possesive and at first you saw it like a cute thing, then it became something a little more twisted.

He justifies himself by saying that since he is a yonkou, he doesn't want to risk you.

But then you started to not have one minute alone, always with him near or with some of his guards, but mostly him, he doesn't trust anyone with you.

He follows the same strategy that Luffy does (in another hcs i have), he goes for emotional blackmail.

If you leave him he would be sad, if you don't give him a kiss or sex before a battle then he will die, etc, small rituals of affection that if you don't follow, then something bad would happen.

You are man handled by him, no matter what, you are always on his lap or next to him with your legs on his.

You can't escape his touches or affection, he always catches you and makes you feel loved, that compensates with the fact that he goes drinking and flirting with people (not doing anything, he is really loyal in that part).

He makes you feel the most loved ever but the shadow of something happening if you dont is always present.

[solxamber]

Hello! I have two things to ask:

1, Do you have a Yuusona? If so, what’re they like?

2, Neige request; A Neige with a reader a lot like the delinquent stereotype in anime. Like piercing, cutting class, riding a motorcycle, etc.

Even if you’re not still open for requests, please remember to pace yourself and take care of yourself when writing! You don’t want to burn yourself out, and there’s nothing wrong with taking a break! Remember that you are the person you should aim to please most in your writing, so it should be done on your own timeline. I hope you have a great day :)

hi! i do not have a yuusona rn! and i will take breaks when i need them, thank you for the incredibly kind message!

also this barreled out of control but i hope you like it!

Campus Scandal || Neige LeBlanche

Neige: hopeless romantic. You: begrudging (absolutely willing) participant.

or: Opposites attract— you, the resident delinquent and Neige, the campus golden boy, fall for each other.

w.c: 4k

The classroom was empty when you arrived, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow on the rows of desks. You glanced at the clock, scowling when you realized you’d somehow arrived thirty minutes early.

Mandatory classes weren’t your thing, but attendance on the first day was non-negotiable. Not that you cared much about school rules—your 2% attendance record spoke for itself—but you figured showing up on day one would keep the advisor off your back for a little while longer.

With a sigh, you dropped into the farthest seat in the back, kicked your feet up on the desk in front of you, and pulled your jacket over your head. Might as well get some sleep if you were stuck here. The soft hum of the air conditioning was surprisingly soothing, and soon enough, you were out like a light.

By the time other students began filing in, you were dead to the world, a picture of absolute delinquent indifference. Your tattoos peeked out from under the rolled-up sleeves of your shirt, the silver of your piercings catching the light. The sight of you—motorcycle helmet resting on the floor beside your desk, boots propped up like you owned the place—was enough to send whispers rippling through the room.

“Is that them?”

“Yeah, the one with the bike. I heard they got in trouble for skipping finals last semester.”

“Do they even go here? I swear I’ve never seen them in class before.”

The whispers grew quieter as more students trickled in, each one taking great care to avoid the seat next to you. Nobody was brave enough—or foolish enough—to risk waking you up.

Enter Neige LeBlanche.

Neige was never late. He was the type to set his alarm thirty minutes early, leave the house with a perfectly packed bag, and still have time to pick up pastries for his classmates on the way to school.

So, naturally, he was horrified when his alarm didn’t go off that morning. After rushing through his morning routine at record speed, he burst into the classroom, cheeks flushed and hair slightly out of place—a rarity for him.

The first thing he noticed was that the room was full. The second thing he noticed was the empty seat in the back, right next to someone who looked like they’d walked straight out of a biker gang recruitment poster.

Neige hesitated, clutching his notebook like it was a lifeline. He’d heard the rumors, of course. Everyone had. You were the mysterious rebel who showed up just enough to avoid expulsion, with a motorcycle that could be heard roaring across campus at odd hours of the night. You were intimidating, sure, but Neige wasn’t one to judge people based on appearances. Besides, he didn’t really have a choice.

With all the courage he could muster, he approached your desk and tapped you lightly on the shoulder. "Um… excuse me?"

You stirred, one eye cracking open to glare at him from under your jacket. “What?”

“Ah, sorry to wake you,” Neige said, his voice as soft as ever. “But… is this seat taken? It’s the only one left.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, taking in the rosy flush on his cheeks and the faint scent of sugar and flowers that seemed to follow him. He looked like the kind of person who helped old ladies cross the street and spent his weekends rescuing stray kittens.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, dropping your feet from the desk in front of you. “Do what you want.”

Neige practically beamed. “Thank you!”

He sat down, carefully placing his notebook on the desk, and tried to focus on the professor who had just started lecturing. Tried being the operative word.

From the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help sneaking glances at you. Everything about you screamed cool—your half-lidded eyes, the way your piercings glinted in the light, the lazy slouch of your shoulders like you couldn’t care less about anything or anyone. Even the scowl on your face seemed effortlessly stylish.

For the first time in his life, Neige LeBlanche felt self-conscious. His usually immaculate white sweater suddenly seemed plain. Was he staring too much? He was staring too much. What if you noticed? What if you thought he was weird?

Meanwhile, you were too busy trying to stay awake to notice anything. You caught snatches of the professor’s lecture, but most of it went in one ear and out the other. The only thing you did notice was the faint, almost nervous energy coming from the guy sitting next to you.

“Stop fidgeting,” you muttered, not even bothering to look at him.

“Ah—sorry!” Neige straightened in his seat, cheeks pink.

You rolled your eyes but said nothing more, settling back into your slouch. Beside you, Neige tried not to melt into a puddle of embarrassment. For someone so intimidating, you sure had a way of making his heart race.

And class had only just started.

Neige was screwed.

Absolutely, completely, irrevocably screwed.

Because this—this dizzying rush of warmth in his chest, this fluttering in his stomach, this unstoppable urge to look at you every other second—wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to him.

He’d been on stage in front of thousands without breaking a sweat. He’d received countless love letters and confessions, always accepting them with gentle grace before kindly turning them down.

He was not supposed to be this much of a mess over someone who, as far as anyone knew, only appeared on campus about twice a month. You were a phantom, a ghost of the school roster, a local cryptid people whispered about in the hallways.

And yet here he was, sitting in his room after class, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out how the universe had conspired to throw him headfirst into whatever this feeling was.

It was your fault, of course. If you hadn’t looked so effortlessly cool napping in that back corner, he wouldn’t be in this situation. If you hadn’t let him sit next to you with that lazy, unimpressed nod, he wouldn’t be losing his mind. And if you hadn’t existed, period—well, Neige wasn’t sure how to finish that thought.

When he walked into class the next day, he half-expected you to be gone, vanishing back into the mysterious ether like you always did. That’s why he nearly stopped in his tracks when he saw you in the exact same spot as before, jacket thrown over your head, looking as indifferent and untouchable as ever.

His heart skipped a beat.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to calm down. It wasn’t a big deal. He was just sitting next to you because there were no other seats. No other reason.

(That was a lie. He absolutely could’ve sat somewhere else. Half the class had seats open now that attendance was starting to dwindle. But Neige LeBlanche wasn’t one to lie—except, apparently, to himself.)

He made his way to the back of the classroom, his footsteps soft as he approached your desk. You shifted slightly under your jacket, one arm draped over your face, but otherwise didn’t react.

“Good morning,” Neige said, his voice gentle.

You peeked out from under your jacket, your expression groggy but still sharp. He thought you might tell him off, tell him to get lost or take another seat. But instead, you just gave him a single nod, as if to say, Whatever. Do what you want.

Neige couldn’t help it—he smiled. Wide and bright, the kind of smile that made his eyes crinkle and his cheeks flush. “Thanks,” he said, sliding into the seat beside you.

You froze.

It wasn’t like you cared what people thought of you. You’d spent years being judged for your tattoos, your piercings, your habit of rolling into campus on your motorcycle with exactly zero regard for the stares or whispers. It didn’t bother you. You liked being the outsider, the delinquent, the one who couldn’t care less about anyone or anything.

So why the hell was your heart pounding so hard just because Neige LeBlanche had smiled at you?

You quickly averted your gaze, pretending to focus on some invisible speck on your desk. It was just a smile. A stupid, friendly smile. Nothing to freak out over.

But it wasn’t just the smile. It was the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, the way the soft flush on his cheeks made him look even more radiant, the way he looked at you like you were something more than a rumor or a passing shadow.

“What's that stare for?,” you muttered, your voice quieter than you intended.

Neige blinked, startled. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, still avoiding his gaze. “Just… nothing.”

Neige nodded, biting his lip to keep from smiling again. He didn’t want to push his luck. But as he opened his notebook and started jotting down the professor’s notes, he couldn’t help stealing another glance at you from the corner of his eye.

You were sitting there, pretending to be unfazed, but the corners of your lips were slightly quirked.

And suddenly, Neige didn’t feel so screwed after all.

It was freezing.

Neige tightened his scarf as the cold bit at his cheeks, his breath visible in the night air. He shuffled down the street, the empty to-go cup in his hand a sad reminder of his dorm’s coffee machine betrayal.

He couldn’t believe this was how his midterms week was going—a late-night coffee run because he couldn’t stay awake long enough to finish his notes.

The streets were quiet save for the occasional car passing by. Neige adjusted his scarf again, grumbling softly to himself, when the unmistakable roar of a motorcycle engine split through the silence.

He turned his head just in time to see a bike pull up beside him, its rider clad in the usual mix of leather and defiance that made you impossible to miss.

“LeBlanche,” you called, your voice cutting through the cold air. “What the hell are you doing out here at this hour?”

Neige blinked, startled. “I, um…” He held up his cup like it was a shield. “The coffee machine in the dorm broke. I needed—”

You rolled your eyes. “Get on.”

“What?”

“Get. On.” You jabbed a thumb at the empty space behind you. “I’ll drop you at the coffee shop and back. You’ll freeze your ass off walking like this.”

Neige hesitated. It wasn’t like he was scared—okay, maybe he was a little scared—but it wasn’t every day someone offered him a ride on their motorcycle.

“C’mon, it’s cold,” you added, impatience flickering in your tone. “You don’t want to get sick before midterms, do you?”

That was all the convincing he needed. Awkwardly, he swung his leg over the bike and settled behind you, clutching his cup like it was his lifeline.

“Hold on tight,” you said, your voice firm.

“Oh, uh, okay.” Neige hesitated again, then gingerly wrapped his arms around your waist. His cheeks flushed as he realized how close he was to you. The warmth of your jacket, the faint scent of leather and something faintly sweet—it was… distracting.

When the engine roared back to life and the bike shot forward, Neige yelped and instinctively clung to you tighter, practically burying his face in your back.

You felt his grip tighten, his forehead resting against your shoulder, and for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you didn’t tell him he could’ve just held onto your shoulders instead.

The ride was quick, the cold air biting at your face as you sped through the empty streets. You pulled up outside the coffee shop, parked the bike, and glanced back at him. “C’mon.”

Neige scrambled off, looking a little dazed but mostly exhilarated, and followed you inside. The warmth of the shop was immediate, and the sweet scent of coffee and pastries filled the air.

You both walked up to the counter, and Neige looked over the menu. He ordered some kind of overly sweet monstrosity with whipped cream and caramel drizzle, while you stuck with something more straightforward.

When he tried to pay, you shoved his hand away and slapped your card onto the counter instead. “I got it.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue with me, LeBlanche,” you said, cutting him off.

He looked at you for a moment, then relented with a small, flustered smile. “Thank you.”

The two of you found a table by the window, the silence between you surprisingly comfortable as you sipped your drinks.

Neige, though, was fidgeting. He glanced at you, then down at his mug, then back at you again. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “Would you… maybe want to do this again sometime? I mean, not because of the coffee machine breaking or anything, but just—”

You raised an eyebrow, cutting him off with a laugh—one that came out louder and more incredulous than you meant. “You’re insane, you know that?”

The way Neige’s face fell made your stomach drop. His shoulders slumped, his smile faltering as he looked down at his mug, and for the first time, you realized how fragile he could look.

You cleared your throat, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I mean, yeah. Sure. We can do this again. Whatever.”

His head snapped up, his eyes wide and hopeful. “Really?”

You nodded, avoiding his gaze and hoping he couldn’t tell how flustered you were. “Yeah. Sure. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

But when he smiled—radiant and genuine, like he’d just been handed the moon—you couldn’t bring yourself to regret your answer.

Neige had a way of looking at you that made your chest tighten, like you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. It wasn’t the kind of look you were used to—there was no judgment in it, no wariness or fear. Just pure, unfiltered awe, like you’d hung the stars in the sky.

And it scared the hell out of you.

You weren’t blind. You’d seen the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you weren’t paying attention—the soft smiles he tried to hide behind his coffee mug, the way his face lit up when you walked into class, even on days you were late. It was written all over him: Neige was smitten.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same. How could you not? He was… everything. Kind, warm, patient in a way that didn’t feel forced or performative. He saw the best in people, even you.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Neige was sunshine, pure and untouchable, and you… well, you were the storm cloud everyone avoided. People whispered when you walked by, flinched when you spoke too sharply, or straight-up bolted if you so much as scowled. You were used to it. Hell, you encouraged it. It kept people at arm’s length, where they couldn’t get close enough to disappoint you.

But Neige had never been afraid of you. He talked to you like you were normal, smiled at you like you were someone worth knowing. And now, every time you caught him staring, every time his voice softened when he said your name, you could feel the weight of his feelings pressing down on you.

You wanted him. God, you wanted him. But you knew yourself, and you knew your reputation. People like you didn’t get to keep people like Neige. He’d see the cracks eventually—the temper, the flaws, the parts of you that didn’t match the person he thought you were.

So you let him look. You let him smile. And you let yourself pretend, just for a little while longer, that none of it meant anything.

It was better this way, you told yourself. Better to let him think you were clueless than to risk ruining what you had.

But then he’d smile at you—bright and genuine, like you were the only person in the world—and for a moment, just a moment, you wondered if maybe you were wrong.

The shift in campus perception was honestly more amusing than anything. People used to scatter like birds at the sound of your motorcycle engine; now, they smiled at you nervously, whispered in tones laced with intrigue rather than fear.

You had Neige to thank for that—his perpetual sunshine seemed to have melted the icy rumors that clung to you like a second skin.

Not that you cared. Let them think you were some misunderstood rebel who just needed the "right person" to bring out your hidden soft side. Whatever. As long as no one tried to cross your boundaries, they could make up whatever fairy tale they wanted.

You were mid-thought, hands stuffed into your jacket pockets, when someone bumped into you. Instinctively, you reached out, steadying them before they could stumble.

"Ah, thank you!" they said, looking up at you with wide, shy eyes, a faint blush coloring their cheeks.

And then they smiled.

That was new. Usually, people avoided eye contact like their lives depended on it, let alone smiled at you. You stood there, blinking, thrown off by the sheer normalcy of the interaction.

It was in this moment of confusion that you noticed Neige in the distance, his usual radiant expression frozen mid-bloom. He was staring, though his smile quickly returned—but something about it was... sharper. Too sweet, like honey laced with arsenic.

Before you could process it, Neige was suddenly beside you, his sugary demeanor dialed up to eleven.

"Ah, pardon me," he said with a voice so warm it could melt glaciers. He turned to the person you'd caught, his hand gently pulling theirs from your grasp. "Thank you for keeping them company, but we'll be on our way now!"

The stranger opened their mouth to protest but quickly thought better of it under Neige’s disarmingly sweet gaze.

Without missing a beat, Neige hooked his arm around yours and steered you away, his grip firm, yet not tight enough to hurt.

"Coffee?" he asked brightly, as if nothing had happened.

You at him, raising a brow. "You good?"

His smile didn’t falter, though his hold on your arm didn’t either. "Of course! I just thought we’d get a head start before it gets crowded."

You weren’t buying it. His cheerful tone was laced with something you couldn’t quite place—possessiveness? Jealousy?

Whatever it was, it made your heart skip in a way you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

The weight of Neige's silence sat heavy between you as you parked your bike and pulled him gently to a quieter corner of campus, away from prying eyes and ears. His hand was still gripping your arm like a lifeline, but he avoided your gaze like he thought it might shatter him.

“Okay, what’s going on?” you asked firmly, voice softer than you thought yourself capable of. “Just spit it out, Neige. What happened?”

He shook his head, his hair falling slightly into his eyes, still refusing to meet your gaze. Frustration bubbled up, but it wasn’t directed at him—it was at the tears threatening to spill over in his red-rimmed eyes.

You sighed, stepping closer, and placed your hands on his face, tilting it up so he couldn’t avoid you anymore. “Look at me,” you urged, voice gentler now. “Neige, tell me what’s wrong. Who hurt you?”

The dam broke. Tears welled up and fell freely, and he didn’t say a word before throwing his arms around you, burying his face in your chest. His grip was tight, desperate, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around him, shielding him from whatever invisible storm he was weathering.

“Neige,” you murmured, your voice soft yet insistent as you ran a hand over his hair. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe, alright?”

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, his body trembling against yours as he clung to you. Slowly, his breaths evened out, and the tension in his shoulders began to ease.

When you finally pulled back enough to look at him, his eyes were still glassy, his cheeks flushed from both the crying and how close you were holding him. You wiped his tears away with your thumbs, your touch careful, your voice low. “Tell me what happened.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes searching your face like he was committing it to memory. Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. His lips were soft, desperate, and warm against yours, and for a split second, you froze, completely blindsided. But then everything you’d been holding back—every stolen glance, every lingering moment, every unspoken word—burst out of you all at once. You grabbed his jacket, pulling him closer, kissing him harder, pouring all the feelings you’d been too scared to admit into that single moment.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, lips swollen and faces flushed. Neige’s wide eyes met yours, his voice trembling as he finally spoke.

“I-I thought I was losing you,” he confessed, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ve liked you since the day I said hello to you, and I thought—when I saw you with someone else—that maybe I wasn’t as special to you as you were to me. And it hurt. It hurt so much.”

Your heart clenched as you cupped his face again, your thumb brushing gently along his cheek. “Neige, you’re the most special person in my life. I’ve liked you too, but I held myself back because of your reputation. I didn’t want to ruin how everyone sees you.”

His brow furrowed, and for the first time since you’d known him, Neige looked genuinely upset—though it was more at your reasoning than at you. He raised a hand and gave you a weak punch to the shoulder, his pout oddly adorable. “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me,” he muttered, his cheeks still red.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, pulling him close again. “Okay, okay. That’s fair. Then let me ask you this: Neige, will you be mine?”

The tears welled up again, but this time, they were accompanied by a bright, teary-eyed laugh. “Yes,” he said, his voice cracking as he buried his face into your neck, holding onto you like he never wanted to let go. “Of course, yes.”

The campus was abuzz the moment you and Neige stepped onto the quad together, hand in hand. Conversations hushed, heads turned, and phones subtly (or not-so-subtly) appeared to capture the moment.

There you were, the campus’s local delinquent, the untouchable cryptid who never gave anyone the time of day, walking side by side with Neige LeBlanche, the golden boy who could charm the birds out of the trees.

But what really sent the gossip mongers into a frenzy was how soft you looked. Gone was the usual detached scowl, replaced by a faint flush on your cheeks, your usual sharp demeanor melted into something almost bashful.

And Neige? Oh, he was radiant as ever, but there was an unmistakable air of triumph in the way he held your hand—a sweet, subtle smugness in his satisfied smile as he glanced at you, completely wrapped up in your presence.

The whispers grew louder with every step:

“Is that…?”

“Are they holding hands?!”

“No way. Them?!”

“Neige really bagged them?”

“They really bagged Neige?”

But honestly, who cared? You sure didn’t. Not when Neige looked at you with that gentle, heart-stopping smile, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of your hand as if to remind you he was there.

The rumors, the stares, the whispers—they all faded into white noise. None of it mattered when you had that smile aimed at you, lighting up every corner of your world and making you fall for him all over again with each passing second.

Masterlist

[mikanotes]

heavenly way to,

hyunju x gn!reader

genre: angst comfort, established relationship. » warnings: death, blood, mentions of injuries, murder, firearms, canon divergence. » note: yes i’m back to writing for the series that basically started this blog. hello! i love her.

synopsis: Is sacrifice for your lover a gift to be grateful for, or a burden worth being cursed for? The thought grows heavy on your mind the longer you spend in the games.

“Why?”

Hyunju’s voice has never sounded so broken. She’s too astounded to even think of not letting her guard down, simply weak and vulnerable as she stares up at you. The shake in that one word, the sickening concern in her eyes— It almost makes you regret what just happened.

Almost.

“Because I care about you more than—”

“Nevermind…” she scoffs, eyes widening. She presses her lips together but it doesn’t stop the tremble of a sob waiting to escape her throat. Her gaze averts to a wall in the dormitory, silently putting a stop to whatever you were going to say.

You decide to give her space.

The bathrooms are empty, leaving you silence and space for thinking. You look at your reflection in the mirror, the blood on your face and neck. You did not kill anyone. You assured your safety. You did not kill someone. They were a problem. The thought repeats steadily in your mind as you turn on the faucet, letting water flow into your palms.

It’s as if you can see the overflowing blood on your hands, still. That player you fought to throw out of that room, the sight of the bullet shooting through their head once the door finally locked, the weight of their grip of the other the side of the handle loosening until a thud confirmed the end of a life. But they were in the spot she needed. You could not risk it. What if she had died? It was only right.

The blood washes off. The thought remains. You aren’t sure how long you spend staring at the mirror, barely even really looking at your reflection. You just know you’re asked to return to the dormitory, and that you go to bed, then the lights turn off.

You think Hyunju hates you.

You thought she would come to hate you here over trying to protect her, maybe. Now you realize, now that the blood is there, that she could simply hate you for taking away someone’s life— Even if indirectly. It makes sense to hate a now-murderer.

Yes.

Then, if she hates you, you’ll be able to sacrifice yourself for her sake if need be without wondering how well she’ll take the loss—

“Don’t just disappear.” A familiar soft voice speaks behind you. Hyunju’s arms circle around your waist and her head presses gently into your nape. She’s so warm. You almost forget your train of thoughts.

Once it comes back to you, your expression pulls into confusion. “Sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t think you would mind.”

“Were you trying to give me space?”

“Yeah.”

She sighs, but hugs you tighter. “Because I was angry? Angry that you got yourself in so much unnecessary danger for my sake? Try making some sense.”

Your body relaxes into her hold before you even realize it, and soon, you’re turning over to look at her. She just seems a bit sad. Your hand slowly moves to her face and cradles her cheek, caressing the skin with care. “I pushed someone straight to their death and you’re telling me you were mad because I was in danger?”

She doesn’t respond, simply pursing her lips. A silent yeah. Exactly that.

“In danger? Me?”

“One second off and they could’ve switched you out of the room. And then I would have been alone with someone who practically killed you. And that would have been it. No more you at all,” she explains, and her voice begins shaking, “No more— I wouldn’t see your face anymore, wouldn’t have you with me, wouldn’t have the knowledge you’re there for me when life fucks me over— Think about it, come on.”

She’s trying so hard not to cry and stay quiet you wonder how much it must hurt. So you were wrong. It isn’t at all that person’s death that made her look at you this way. It’s somehow even worse.

You turn fully to return her embrace, hugging her firmly and kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t risk dying for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

She hides her face in your neck. “I love you.”

She says it with every single fiber of her being. After all, her touch, her tears, her words before this— They’re all marks of love. You feel her hand brushing over your arm, an injury you earned yourself during that game. She traces it gently and you think you could never promise her not to die for her.

“I love you too.”

[ariaste]

Props to OP for answering so gracefully, but I'm not going to answer gracefully. It is more important than ever to call out fascism whenever you see it -- especially the quiet, soft, poisonously insidious kind that Anon is practicing here.

Anon ostensibly wants to know: "Do authors realize that they're writing about things that some people might find disturbing, horrific, upsetting, repulsive, or simply just TMI?" (Yes, obviously they know. Authors are not stupid; that's usually a requirement of the job (not always. But usually).)

But what Anon is actually asking is, "Why don't authors stop themselves from doing a Bad Thing? Why doesn't anyone else stop them?" The assumption underlying that question is: "Surely if they realized that they were doing something disgusting, they would stop immediately." Even more covertly implied: "I think writing about certain things automatically taints you with moral degeneracy--that is, it marks you as a possible or potential criminal."

To that I say: My friend, writing is just thoughts copied onto paper, and thinking is not a crime. Only actual actions can be crimes. What does it matter what other people think about? Literally so what? Why do you want people to be stopped from thinking about those things ("did their editors ever gently ask them...")? Why do you care? Do you feel that an author should provide a list of justifications and excuses before it's permissible for them to write about something? Why? And who do you think should be in charge of that? The government???? YOU???????

To any person reading this post: If the above questions are personally upsetting to you, if you find yourself huffily thinking something like, "Well, I care because it could normalize--", NOPE, STOP RIGHT THERE. 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩 This is a big red flag: You (much like the Anon) are exhibiting some early warning signs of Fascism, and that is not something to take lightly in the current political climate. There are some drugs you shouldn't experiment with even once, and fascism is one of them. Repeat as often as needed: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS THOUGHTCRIME. WE DO NOT LIVE IN GEORGE ORWELL'S 1984.

But we already talk about thoughtcrimes now and then, don't we? I can't remember seeing someone talking about crimestop (also from Orwell's 1984):

In the Newspeak vocabulary, the word crimestop denotes the citizen's instinctive desire to rid himself of unwanted, incorrect thoughts (personal and political), the discovery of which, by the Thinkpol [Thought Police], would lead to detection and arrest, transport to and interrogation at Miniluv (Ministry of Love). The protagonist, Winston Smith, describes crimestop as a conscious process of self-imposed cognitive dissonance: The mind should develop a blind spot whenever a dangerous thought presented itself. The process should be automatic, instinctive. Crimestop, they called it in Newspeak. . . . He set to work to exercise himself in crimestop. He presented himself with propositions—'the Party says the Earth is flat', 'the Party says that ice is heavier than water'—and trained himself in not seeing or not understanding the arguments that contradicted them. Moreover, from the perspective of Oceania's principal enemy of the state, in the history book The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism, Emmanuel Goldstein said that: Crimestop means the faculty of stopping short, as though by instinct, at the threshold of any dangerous thought. It includes the power of not grasping analogies, of failing to perceive logical errors, of misunderstanding the simplest arguments if they are inimical to Ingsoc, and of being bored or repelled by any train of thought which is capable of leading in a heretical direction. Crimestop, in short, means protective stupidity.

Read that twice, and then reread the Anon's question. Translate it through that lens: "Why," says the Anon, delicately disgusted, "are these authors not practicing better crimestop? I practice it all the time. Why aren't they?"

Great question, Anon. Why AREN'T they? Turn off your crimestop and give it some real thought.

(Hint: If the answer you come up with is "Because they are moral degenerates" or anything in that neighborhood, you are unfortunately still doing fascism. Try again. If you have tried several times and the only answer you can manage to come up with is a still a synonym of "moral degeneracy" then this is above my paygrade and I would recommend talking to a trusted grownup, a therapist, a spiritual leader, or possibly your least-online friend.)

Do you think authors sometimes don't realize how their, uh, interests creep into their writing? I'm talking about stuff like Robert Jordan's obvious femdom kink, or Anne Rice's preoccupation with inc*st and p*dophilia. Did their editors ever gently ask them if they've ever actually read what they've written?

Firstly, a reminder: This is not tiktok and we just say the words incest and pedophilia here.

Secondly, I don't know if I would call them 'interests' so much as fixations or even concerns. There are monstrous things that people think about, and I think writing is a place to engage with those monstrous things. It doesn't bother me that people engage with those things. I exist somewhere within the whump scale, and I would hope no one would think less of me just because sooner or later I like to rough a good character up a bit, you know? It's fun to torture characters, as a treat!

But, anyway, assuming this question isn't, "Do writers know they're gross when I think they are gross" which I'm going to take the kind road and assume it isn't, but is instead, "Do you think authors are aware of the things they constantly come back to?"

Sometimes. It can be jarring to read your own writing and realize that there are things you CLEARLY are preoccupied with. (mm, I like that word more than concerns). There are things you think about over and over, your run your mind over them and they keep working their way back in. I think this is true of most authors, when you read enough of them. Where you almost want to ask, "So...what's up with that?" or sometimes I read enough of someone's work that I have a PRETTY good idea what's up with that.

I've never read Robert Jordan and I don't intend to start (I think it would bore me this is not a moral stance) and I've really never read Rice's erotica. In erotica especially I think you have all the right in the world to get fucking weird about it! But so, when I was young I read the whole Vampire Chronicles series. I don't remember it perfectly, but there's plenty in it to reveal VERY plainly that Anne Rice has issues with God but deeply believes in God, and Anne Rice has a preoccupation with the idea of what should stay dead, and what it means to become. So, when i found out her daughter died at the age of six, before Rice wrote all of this, and she grew up very very Catholic' I said, 'yeah, that fucking checks out'.

Was Rice herself aware of how those things formed her writing? I think at a certain point probably yes. The character of Claudia is in every way too on the nose for her not to have SOME idea unless she was REAL REAL dense about her own inner workings. But, sometimes I know where something I write about comes from, that doesn't mean I'm interested in sharing it with the class. I would never ever fucking say, 'The reasons I seem to write so much of x as y is that z happened to me years ago' ahaha FUCK THAT NOISE. NYET. RIDE ON, COWBOY.

But I've known some people in fandom works who clearly have something going on and don't seem to realize it. Or they're very good at hiding it. Based on the people I'm talking about I would say it's more a lack of self-knowledge, and I don't even mean that unkindly. I have, in many ways, taken myself down to the studs and rebuilt it all, so I unfortunately am very aware of why I do and write the things I do most of the time. It's extremely annoying not to be able to blame something. I imagine it must be very freeing. But it ain't me, babe.

Anyway, a lot of words to say: Maybe! But that might not stop them from writing it, it might be a useful thing for them to engage with, and you can always just not read it.

Also, we don't censor words here.

[hearts4werka]

TW for this whole post, there’s mentions of a lot of stuff so like be aware of what you’re getting into guys

Okay so I didn’t expect to be making this post but this is just completely disgusting and I cannot leave this just without adding a say into this, the whole situation happening rn and going around with @sturniololuv08 is just genuinely making me sick to my stomach, I met Bri when I was in the group chat on discord with her but previously we were following each other on here, she hasn’t private messaging me like it was with Kay and gray (check out their posts) but a lot of the times I would be on voice chat with bri in them and some of the stuff I would hear in them, there were other people but they would leave quickly cuz they said it made them uncomfortable, I didn’t wanna be rude so I was the one that stayed the longest in them and I heard almost everything the others said she was saying. The one thing that freaked me out when she said was about the poll for her next fic, the axe option that was winning currently she said that sadistic!matt would take the axe and cut off the girls toe and make him suck the blood out of it, the cnc fic was just sickening, personally I haven’t read it cuz it feels triggering for me, I’m so sorry for anyone who has read it and was either triggered or traumatized from some of the asks my friends have sent to the group chat of anons in their inbox talking about it, and I also want to talk about the relationship between bri and grace who is freshly 18, all of us are concerned for the most part for grace cuz having such a big age gap and being freshly over the age of 18 is also kind of weird to engage in it, I don’t know grace’s side of the story so I’m not going to assume anything but this relationship doesn’t seem like a good relationship at all, especially with a person like bri. The stuff she was saying in the chat as well as the voice chat were just very uncomfortable to everyone involved, including myself, every time she would write something or send anything about her fics she would constantly ping either me or everyone and was you could say pressuring us into reading it even though if someone wasn’t exactly comfortable with reading it, she would as well not add much tw with snippets she would send to the chat, gabby who is the owner of the group pointed that out multiple times and told her to put it as a spoiler or put it in tw - main but her excuse was just that everyone should know that her stuff is triggering content. The whole situation is very uncomfortable and overwhelming but I’m making this cuz bri hasn’t taken full accountability for her actions as well as she keeps making excuses for them, if you’re reading this then I advice stop texting minors to say the least and don’t do shit like this anymore nor write ‘different’ type of fics cuz we are perfectly fine with the ‘basic repeative fics’ on here, for your age i thought you would take a more mature approach to this and actually take accountability and properly apologize for this cuz talking to people way younger than you in this way is not okay, I fear you need mental help and a therapist first and foremost, maybe I’ll make another post about this maybe not but for now this is my response to this. Peace out.

Please block/report her accounts

@/letstrip1975 & @/sturniololuv08

— @mattslilies @m4ggvt @y3sterdaysproblem —

[respectthepetty]

Each week I write that I won’t focus on whatever is happening with Yellow Yal Arm and Red Rascal Arc’s colors, so in the thirteenth episode, I’m telling myself the same thing since, once again, I got bigger fish to fry!

Like these two and their kinks!

And these two and their toxic relationship with its back and forth breaking up and fighting, which shocks me since Black Brooder Klao is lightening up because of Warit.

But most importantly, Green Guy Gun is in love with Black Brooder Yotha since he keeps wearing Yotha’s black.

Yet there is a divide between them as beautifully emphasized by the background of their room.

Luckily, Green Guy Gun has color-coded friends to support him: his bestie Kong who is a Blue Boy, Franc, the Pink Person, and Book being whatever color that is.

And I can't forget about Yotha’s Blue Boy brother, Faifa!

Who he’ll really need since the beautifully colored scene is about to crush us all.

Including our usually chill and jovial Green Guy.

Look at how he turns red sitting next to the boy who has kissed him several times AND HIS EX!

And look at Arc be red, as he should be because he is a Red Rascal. I don’t know what is happening with Arm, but back to the drama!

And boy oh boy is it some drama as Warit emerges from the red exit.

These two are back on their color-coded bullshit.

And these two have to witness it BEFORE ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE!

Green Guys are too chill because Gun asked Yotha not to go out, watched Yotha kiss his ex, sat at the dinner with them, watched everyone get punched because Yotha is ghosting girls, then cleans Yotha up, and doesn’t even pop off like a bottle of Champagne at a bridal shower. Like . . . my dude! Get upset!

Even him moving away from Yotha was so soft that it hurt me because he still wasn’t trying to hurt Yotha. He never wants to hurt Yotha!!!!

So thank goodness for Yotha’s brothers stepping in when they did because I think Gun would have cried on the spot if he thought he was hurting Yotha more.

Faifa is the best Blue Boy for getting Gun to admit that Gun doesn’t even feel like he can be upset since he is in a situationship with Yotha and doesn’t feel like he has any right to get mad. Look at how that Blue Boy looks at him! He is going to be mad for him!

And now a chill Green Guy Gun is caught in the middle of a Black Brooder and a Blue Boy, and although I don’t like that both of them told Gun to be quiet, I do appreciate that Faifa is going IN on Yotha because Gun would never. Gun doesn’t believe he should be upset, so Faifa is making sure that Yotha knows someone is upset, and it’s him!

Side quest: WHAT IS HAPPENING WITH THEIR COLORS?!

Oh, thank goodness, Arc is packing red clothing. All is well. There is hope for these two!

And there is hope for these two too.

Yotha is lucky that his brother is a Blue Boy and not a Red Rascal because he would have murdered him the second he walked back into that room.

But the color-coded crew is coming through and making sure their Green Guy is protected at all times.

AND YOTHA IS FINALLY WEARING GREEN!!!!!

I know Blue Boy Sand and Green Guy Po, I’m shocked too! Yotha is in love with Gun and wearing his color! HE FINALLY FIGURED IT OUT!

And now he is sitting on a green bench trying to plan how to get Gun back while realizing he just doesn’t want his roommate back, but his future boyfriend back! OH HEAVENS YES!

Arm wearing blue is messing up my happy mood, but it’s okay because Yotha isn’t in full black! He is lightening up! He is showing his feelings! HE IS IN LOVE!

Arc in red is all I need to remember that Arc and Arm were consistently color-coded during their portion of this show, and that the wardrobe department was probably fighting for its life during this show.

And now we end here, with Yotha, the lightest he has been so far, matching colors with Gun, and I’m thrilled.

And not just because I get to see Tawan again next episode!

[alacants]

The source of those rumors is a guy from Carlos's family's tennis club who is close to Kiko Navarro & knows some members of Carlos's team & is a regular collaborator with Punto de Break. According to him (he's said this before) Carlos & Juanki had a significant fight towards the end of 2023. But the claim that they nearly split up back then came from someone else who's less reliable.

As for 2025, the first guy says Carlos's dad has apparently not been happy with what Juanki is doing for a while... but it seems like Carlos doesn't agree. If things don't turn around after clay season his family might push for changes to the team.

From my perspective it's hard to understand the coaching strategy sometimes. Like you said Juanki's strength is not tactics but it seems like that's what Carlos really needs. This is just one example but I think it's crazy that he sat on court in silence for three sets without suggesting Carlos change his return position v Djokovic - Carlos eventually figured it out... in the last game of the match. And that was honestly the main factor in him losing. You could argue Juanki wanted him to figure it out himself but why on earth did they not discuss that beforehand when it also cost him massively at the Olympics (which Carlos said he didn't even think about before the match?)

I know Juanki's whole thing is treating team like family but there are a lot top coaches who say that after 5ish years a coach has nothing to give a player anymore & I wonder if their partnership has run its natural course. Carlos doesn't seem any more tactically equipped than he was two years ago & his technicals have mostly not improved either (return... backhand...).

thanks for this background - after replying to some earlier asks i dug around and saw some folks citing punto de break but not any specifics so this is appreciated. this does immediately increase the credibility to me bc i know pdb values their access and would not jeopardize it for nothing lmao. tho if it's like, a guy who sometimes writes for them and is mostly posting on his own time... i guess that's somewhere in the middle. (btw i still haven't seen anything other than reports of reports of reports? if you've got links i would very much appreciate them!)

as usual i think we're looking at two questions here: could carlos benefit from a different coach, and does carlos want a different coach.

i think we are all in agreement that for carlos to continue to develop as a player he needs something he's not getting at the moment, whether we're thinking in terms of incorporating a new addition to the team or making a wholesale switch. and i don't disagree with you at all about the natural lifespan of a coaching relationship. i've cited this before in discussions of juanki's own career (stuck with one guy; was it a mistake?) and of ferru's (split but waited too long; chalked the delay up to personal feelings).

but as long as it's presented to carlos as an all-or-nothing choice i don't think he's there yet and i would not be surprised to find out that his recent post-match declarations were a message. (tbc it very much MIGHT be an all-or-nothing choice, regulars here know i have plenty of thoughts about the academy lmao.)

the thing is that at this point the unknowns are still really, really risky. if you've had the same coach for most of your teen/adult years and you're ready to strike out and try something new, then that's exciting and stimulating and you're in a good place to make the best of it. but if you're dragging your feet? if you feel like you've been pushed? maybe someone else could give you more, but you have to be ready to receive it, you know? if you're an environment that you know enables you overall to perform at a high level (4 grand slams), where you feel overall confident and supported even if you're lacking direction in some big matches, where you get value from your coach's presence above and beyond the specifics of tennis--it is inherently going to be a risk to make a big change and if you're not all in on doing so the risks will be even more likely to find you.

that's why i keep saying is that i don't see it happening unless carlos' results gets much worse than this--or, potentially, unless a voice that holds as much weight with him as juanki's (so, his dad) gets strong enough that he listens to it. that might be where we're headed!

(incidentally i have feinted at this without saying so explicitly, but there is an unbelievable amount of money riding on carlos' success or lack thereof--i don't mean prize money, i mean his brand as a star--and it would be naive to pretend that's not a factor in decision-making. that's one of the reasons i've pointed to a sustained slump, rather than one or two disappointing slams. when the results start to affect the brand.)

just talked this over with friend who compared the ideal set-up to darren/simone for jannik--supervisory coach + tactical/court coach. if so, then the question is whether they come to that same conclusion and get the set-up in place before the decision is out of their hands, so to speak.

[cripplecharacters]

Hi, 

So, I have written expression disorder and dysgraphia, which means this might be a bit rambly or unclear but I’ll try my best to stay on as clear and as brief as I can. 

I’m currently writing a fanfiction for Wynonna Earp as a way to improve my writing skills without needing to stress about it. Background on the show: It’s a supernatural show based around a descendant of Wyatt Earp who was a legal officer in the wild west and got involved in a massive feud. It also has his friend Doc Holliday becoming immortal and being a love interest for the main character. The primary reason I’m doing this is because I dislike how they portrayed Doc Holliday in the series (often outright the opposite of the reality) and also because they just left out the fact he was disabled completely. Due to a gunshot wound when he was fairly young, probably along with weakness due to having tuberculosis for most of his adult life, which did eventually kill him, he used a cane part time. He also had a cleft lip and palate that was surgically corrected and he got surgery for it as an infant and had speech therapy, which doesn’t really seem to have impacted his adult life much in what I’m writing.

 I do have chronic pain due to an injury which was pretty bad when I was younger, so having a character who’s portrayed as dealing with that and continuing to be brave and selfless would have meant the whole world to me at that point in my life and still will. But as I was doing research I ran into a few things I knew very little about. 

My own disabilities are invisible, which means that I don’t have much experience with how people respond to seeing mobility aids. It would be interesting to show people’s responses, especially since he pretty famously took offense easily and didn’t leave things alone. There’s a fun scene there but I’m not sure what a common response to set it off would be. The biggest problem I have, that I haven’t been able to find a lot about: according to a medical article I read even when it’s cured people who had tuberculosis typically have some lung damage. I haven’t been able to find a lot on how that would impact someone day to day. He was cured of it magically but the idea of there still being damage makes sense based on the in universe rules and also someone being magically cured is generally considered not good. So how would it impact someone on a daily basis?

There’s some things in the research I did that make me think he was autistic (namely literal thinking to the point where he almost killed someone due to not understanding that a duel was meant to be a joke as a teen). Or maybe I’m just projecting because I am. Any ideas for how somebody who grew up in a time where nuerodivergence just wasn’t known would accommodate himself and be helped by friends? How would they understand it at that time?

How in general do friends respond to disabilities and try to help now?

There’s a few other things but they’re mainly just me being a beginner writer who doesn’t honestly. Thank you so much for reading through this even if you don’t end up responding!

[part 2] clarification: I meant the cleft palate wouldn't come up in what I'm writing because he's an adult and it didn't seem to have huge bearing on his adult life. I'm so sorry I left out part of that sentence in my ask bc I have a learning disability! didn't mean to! I'm so sorry and thank you again!

Hello!

People respond in many ways. In the modern west a lot of it involves random strangers being intrusive as shit ("what happened to you??") but in historical times I think it would be more of avoidance, especially if he has visible symptoms of tuberculosis. People still think that "visibly disabled person coughing = plague". If you're going for historical accuracy, it wouldn't really surprise me if strangers didn't want to sit next to him.

Long tuberculosis (affecting 25% of those who had TB) seems to be very similar to COPD, so the main day-to-day effect would probably be fatigue, being out of breath after physical exertion, etc. COPD is an incredibly common disability so you should be able to find a lot of info about it and how it can be managed.

Friends will also respond in many ways, and it also depends a lot on the disabled person. This guy sounds like the "hyper-independent physically disabled man" type and in my experience most of them don't talk about their needs much, especially not with the boys. In this case the accommodation is often just silently agreed on after spending some time together (e.g., after a few times going out they can see how annoyed he gets when they suddenly change plans so they learn to tell him as soon as they know, if he drops something they pick it up for him without saying anything since they know it's tiring for him to get up, etc.). If they know him well enough to know he takes offense easily they probably wouldn't bring up his inability to do something to not upset him and try to work around it instead.

I don't have enough historical knowledge to answer the second question, so I'll leave it to other mods. But I think it'd make sense if they just thought he was eccentric or weird rather than having a medical condition.

Hope this helps,

mod Sasza

Hello, thank you for your ask! In regards to the second question, it would depend on his symptoms, how well/if he could mask, and how other people view(ed) him.

I'm assuming he's level 1 / low support needs, as you don't mention him having a caretaker or difficulty doing tasks. Some of the examples include specific autistic traits that he may or may not have/used to have, they're mostly there to be examples. These are also assuming you're writing him as an adult only, if you want some info on how it would be like growing up during this time let us know!

Without good knowledge of autism, most people would think he's very strange if he cannot [fully] mask. Flat affect, lack of social understanding and other symptoms would make most allistic people uncomfortable, with responses ranging from thinking he's just weird [and would want to avoid him] to believing he's angry at them specifically [and would either want to avoid him or get aggressive themselves]. Most people will probably just see it as character quirks rather than symptoms of anything, or even think he's choosing to act the way he does. His friends would most likely be other neurodivergent people who either experience the same symptoms or don't have enough of a social understanding to realize he's not acting 'correctly' if he doesn't mask.

Unless his friends/family experience similar symptoms to him, they probably wouldn't understand why he does/reacts the way he does. This isn't to say they wouldn't try to accommodate him still, that moreso depends on the individual, but those who don't understand might try to push him to 'get over it' more than someone who gets it. Like Sasza said, over time his friends would be able to accommodate him by noticing what makes him upset/happy and how to help. 'Doc likes to keep his hands busy so I gave him my butterfly knife to spin' or ' the yelling in the hall was bothering him so I asked if he wanted to go to outside with me' could be ways of accommodating him without realizing, basically seeing his symptoms and trying to find an easy solution to help, wether or not they understand them. They could also give him unhelpful solutions while trying to accommodate, which would probably just further stress Doc if given in a stressful situation. Essentially unless he knows what helps and tells them it would be a guessing game for them [if he does that or his friend[s] respect it depends on them]. Try to think of his symptoms and what might be available at the time to help [like stim toys didn't exist back then but butterfly knives did, and ear defenders weren't a thing but he could walk away if needed].

As to how he'd accommodate himself, he wouldn't know words like 'stim' or 'overstimulated,' but if he doesn't care about/understand social norms he would be more likley to 'move in odd ways' or exit an upsetting area. A more socially conscious person might try to hide it, like using small tactile stims [i.e. rubbing a cloth or tapping his foot] or making excuses to leave an upsetting area. He might also be able to mask and try to just bear it, only unmasking around friends or in private.

Also the wiki said he was born in 1851 but died in 2020, and although autism would be named during his lifetime I'm not sure he would identify with it. The first medical documentation of autism was in 1877, and at the time it was called developmental [r-slur]. I doubt he'd want to identify with that, and even later on autism was only ever studied in children, and of course was not thought of well. It was thought to be caused by cold parenting or a form of psychosis/schizophrenia exclusive to children in the early to mid 1900's. For many, many years the only idea of autism he'd have would essentially be that. Because most studies at the time thought autism could be 'grown out of' [with exception to higher support needs people] he'd have lived most of his life at that point believing it was a child only disease. Even if he hadn't heard about autism until the late 1900's-early 2000's, it was still thought of as a stigmatized childhood disease by the public until recently [even by people today, hence the blog's existence]. If he's the type of character to be less set in his opinions at an old age then maybe later he could read on modern autism and identify with it, but I find older people tend to prefer dismissing disability for the sake of avoiding any change.

I hope this was at all helpful!

Mod Rot

[kimingyuslover]

Love me not

Love isn't too late for anyone, right? Word count : 2,324 words Pairing : kim mingyu x reader Genre : angst, love triangle, bestf to (?) Warnings : uhh, as always, tears (duh), mingyu is straight-up asshole, reader is a girlboss and also a resident doctor, wonwoo's a cardiothoracic surgeon, mingyu's job is not specified, mentions of drink, kind of minimal dialogue but at the same time it's not & like 1 (one) curse word, lmk if i miss any! ★ i'm in my active era, with nothing to do in my life so I just decided to write this in like, what, total 8 hours? it’s just a random thought that caught up in my mind for dayssss. need to repost this (cry)

☆ check out my other works > main masterlist

Mingyu's smile flattered when he read the invitation envelope he received this morning. There, he found a picture of you with another man— the man he saw at the coffee shop.

He could feel the way his heart clenched, and he sensed a twinge of jealousy in his heart.

Perhaps it's his fault, not caring about you enough that makes you think that you can't handle him anymore.

Or the way he would cancel your meetings abruptly because he just got a call from Jira where he rushes to everywhere she goes without asking any questions. Leaving you hanging alone in the restaurant that you both had decided to have dinner together.

The way he always mentions her names in every conversation, bringing her like she's the goddess god sent from the sky himself.

God, he can even imagine the way your smile slightly dropped and the disappointment evident on your face when he brought up her name that he had once not noticed, not caring about what you had said earlier.

Despite that, you stay by his side, offering your shoulder everytime he feels sad because of her, assuring him that he’s enough.

Mingyu remembers the day when everything started to shift.

You're not as welcome to him as before. Always avoid meeting him in person, and you are always busy.

He thinks it's normal at first, you're a resident after all, of course you're going to get busy someday that you can't even spare a glance or reply to his texts.

Meanwhile you, on the other hand, think that it's the best for you. Well, it is.

You're willing to step-out from the “more than friends but not in a relationship” situation with him, your heart also aches really great while you have to stay calm for him when he's telling his story, with her in it.

So after a while, you decided that you had enough of his & Jira's story, and you need to move on.So you do what you have to do earlier this time, you avoid him, busying yourself with patience, and always looking for surgery that needs an assistant, minimising your interaction with him.It's not that hard, actually. You're literally a cardiac resident. You will always get busy.

There you met who you called now– the love of your life, Jeon Wonwoo. He’s the main doctor for organ transplant operation, and you're the assistant.

After the operation was successful, he treated you to a coffee shop down the road and both of you had fun, talking about patience cases that you have, and even some stories on the ER where you are located right now.

“So, any interest in a relationship, or you're just single?” He asks while sipping his cup of ice americano– he claims that's what keeps him awake in every before or after a big operation.

You think for a few seconds, this is the first time when you feel like yourself again and have people asking about you, not any other person.

Feeling like you zoned out, he calls your name again, in which you respond with a shy smile on your face, and you apologise for spacing out.

You open your mouth to speak again, “No, I don't have any interest in a relationship for now, I want to focus on being a doctor first, like you!” you said with a light-hearted laugh. He did the same.

Then someone opens the coffee shop door, making the bell rings, your eyes trained to the glass door, you freeze when you see Mingyu, in all his glory.

He seems to notice you too, but when he looks in your direction, you already turn your eyes towards the doctor in front of you. Yes, he searched for you in the ER, but the receptionist said that you're currently in a cafe with a doctor.

After placing his order, he sat next to the counter, waiting for his name to be called by the barista.

He noticed the way you laugh so freely, like the burden on your shoulder just lift up when you are with that man.

He frowns, you never be as free as you are right now when you're with him, you always keep your distance, and he's your best friend! That doctor is just someone you met along the way.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

“What do you want, Mingyu?” That's it, no more ‘gyu’ and the tone of your voice is cold, stabbing him in the heart.

He took a long breath, “What's wrong with us? You never seem to notice me anymore. Hundreds of my messages go unread, and you never gave me a check”

His words really make you wanna laugh. What's wrong with you both? You don't know, but one thing for sure, he needs you to tell the story about him and his beloved to you, crying his heart out and then leaving like nothing's going on between you.

You bite your bottom lip. Before allowing yourself to let out a chuckle, Mingyu cuts you off.

“Why are you laughing? It’s not a time for that” You seriously want to punch the guy in front of you, “You not here anymore when i needed you the most, Jira and i–”

That's where you draw the line, you put your “I don't care, Mingyu. Actually, fuck you kim mingyu” His breath hitched when you said that, hands growing cold.

“You are always nagging this and that about you and Jira, I don't care about her, I only care about you, all my whole life I only cared about you” Your finger pointed at him accusingly.

You stop yourself for a second, trying to catch your breath, you see Mingyu opening his mouth, wanting to speak but you cut him off.

“No, you don't get to say anything about this. All i ever do is just a backburner, the person who you came when you have any problems and dump all your problems with me, and then when you feel better you always go to her even you knew that she would make the same mistake over and over again and you will come running to me with your tears stricken face”

“You promise to listen to me too, I've had enough of your drama, I've talked to you before you even brought her up, and somehow you still did even if it's not relevant. I'm sacrificing my own happiness for you, Jira had everything i've ever wanted and that is you”

You snatched your bag from the seat beside you, pulled out a 50 dollar bill, put it on the table and you stormed off.

Mingyu was just sitting there, and that's when he felt it come back. The ache in his heart, he feels his heart clenched in the worst way possible.

Only you can make him feel like this, not even Jira can do this to him. Hearing the words fall off from your mouth is hurting him, and he doesn't know why.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

Days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months. It's been approximately 7 months since the last time Mingyu saw you and heard from you.

You moved out from your old apartment the next day, making him ponder since when you start to pack your things, have you been planning this all the months back?

In the first month, he felt so lonely without your presence, no one sent him a ‘good morning’ ‘evening’ and ‘night’ text, his apartment also felt cold without you.

You used to come here often on saturday and sunday night, warming up the apartment with movies ready on your disk.

Now, his weekend nights feel empty, no one would play and watch his favorite movie with him.

And in the third month he realised when he saw you again, this time with Wonwoo beside you, talking and laughing together. He felt a throbbing pain in his heart when he saw that scenery.

oh.

oh.

All the times he felt in your presence, is the sign that he likes you or worse yet— loves you.

He realised he never felt anything towards Jira, that it's just a passing crush to keep his true deep feeling. He has liked you since the day you turned 14, the way your eyes light up when your family and him decide to surprise you in your sleep.

The memory just made his wound that he considered still fresh getting sprinkled by a handful pinch of salt.

It burns him alive and he loses all the respect he has for himself.

He thinks he has moved on, the old trick under the sleeves, getting over someone by getting under someone.And finally, it's now been a year and a half since he last heard from you.

Mingyu walks to his apartment with groceries on both of his hands, and then when he gets inside, he puts the things on his kitchen counter and goes to the bedroom to change his outerwear.

He's not in the mood to do anything today, so he took his laptop to watch some movies, but then an email caught his attention, it's from you.

So he opens it, and finds an envelope there.

Mingyu read the body of the email, because a word cought on his eyes.

hi, sorry. I know we have been in no contact for a year and a half, but I want to invite you, we once have something, don't we? :) Love is in the air.docx

He lets out a shaky breath, scared if he opens the document then his heart would shatter to the ground beneath his feet.Oh well, he opens it with hesitation on his face and heart. He takes a deep breath before finally opening the invitation.

The document has three pictures of you with him, the doctor he hates so much with all of his heart despite there's no interaction between them.

It’s a wedding card.

There's the date and time of your wedding ceremony and the reception.

He feels his tears on the edge of his eyes, threatening to fall right now and then, he already has his heart shattered the day you leave and now he feels another throbbing pain with the fact that you will never be his.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

“Don't marry him” You feel like the time has just stopped right now.

Seeing Mingyu all dressed up in your wedding was definitely on your bingo list— well, last year. but seeing him now? It's just like the burden you had on your shoulder a year ago came back to you.

You used to imagine yourself going through a wedding ceremony with you as the bride and him as the groom.

You're very much confused by his behavior, so you open your mouth, though you didn't say anything because you’re speechless.

Mingyu repeats the words he just said the second time to you, looking at you with hope in his eyes.

“Why?” you asked, you want to add something after that but you halt your actions, waiting for him to answer you.

Mingyu started at the ground for a moment, before looking at you, yet again, “Why? You know why”

You snap, saying no to him only for it to be denied by him, making you say no to him again.

“What?” Then he asked, after pinning him for years, hearing him say that makes your blood boil.

You want to slap Mingyu, but you compose yourself, not wanting to make your special day be ruined by a man that doesn't know and seems like he's not willing to know about your feelings even when you gave him a clear sign.

“No, no Mingyu– You're being mean. stop it.” he can hear the finality of your words, but he didn't want to stop there, “How am i being mean?” there's a stern expression on his face.

“I have been second to Jira my whole life, in everything and that including you. I'm not going to be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her”

“I won't do it, because i've been wasting my entire life loving you but all you see is just Jira, never once i crossed your mind, and you don't have the right to stop me from marrying the man i love” You don't even want to cry anymore, tears for him is already dry long time ago.

Mingyu tries to hold your hand, wanting to confess his feelings, but instead he lets out a question and the second he finishes his sentence he regrets it, “Isn't I the man you love?” his voice is silent, not quite above a whisper.

“Don’t make me laugh Kim Mingyu, you get rid off me as soon as you and Jira reconcile, even both of you were not in a relationship, you run into me when Jira is busy and then the next day you gone for a week and the cycle keep going leaving me stressing over my own feeling”

Before he could say anything, you told him to get out of the room, but you know he's a rock headed person, so you already told the groomsman to wait outside the door after he gets in.

Mingyu heard the door open and he knew it's time for him to get the fuck out and wait for your ceremony, he said something before he leaves, “i love you, i'm sorry” and so he get his last words to you.

For the rest of his life, Mingyu can only hear your voice from a distance, the way Wonwoo kisses you is heart wrenching to the guts of his body.

Now he can only see you again when suddenly bumps into you, or when he goes to your favorite places and on his screen.

And even then, you're not alone, you will be with your new husband that you're marrying today, there's no chance for him to be in your picture.

[girl-lostconnection]

can we get some graves kissing fluff :( how does he like to kiss?

Sure thing, anon! I didn’t write for him for some time so I’m glad you are asking

Graves’s kisses wary, depending on circumstances and how much time he has, but overall he is the man that loves kissing.

Especially if he’s kissing you.

He presses lips to your temple after a long day, murmurs “hey there, beautiful” and wraps himself around you.

He kisses your forehead or cheek when he hurries out — lips pressing for just a second, hastily throwing “gotta go, darlin’, be good” above his shoulder as his one foot is already out the door.

He trails his lips down your neck and peppers your shoulders with kisses when he has time to really savour it, practically purrs with satisfaction because god, this is nice, that’s what life is all about, you know?

I think the traditional upbringing in him would be thrilled at the thought of kissing your cheeks and jaw, showing off his affections to his pretty spouse, grin a little too wide when you smile at him.

He shows you off a little, a bit of silent claim for anyone who had been looking at you a little too long, his lips curling against your cheek in a wider green, breathing out “lookin’ good, darlin’, let’s go before someone tries to steal you away. I can feel 647 men already droolin’.”.

But it’s actual kisses that Graves would savour, pressing his lips to yours, diving into the kiss like he’s submerging himself into the lake, knowing full well it’s too deep for him to feel the bottom.

He wants to feel lightheaded and little lost when he pulls away. He wants to forget about the world and lose train of any thought he had before because this moment when he kisses you — it’s something only for you two. No one else. Nothing else.

Graves kisses like every one of his kisses is delectable little thing and he just needs to feel every damn shade of the colours that burst inside of him when he kisses you. Tugging your lower lip with his lips, probing your mouth open.

He’d be drinking in every sound and expression, breaking kisses just to kiss you again. And again and again.

I think he’s a person who really could spend significant amount of time just kissing, letting his lips trail lower sometimes — murmuring soft sweet nothings in your neck and collarbones before returning to your mouth.

Who’d knew that a man like him kisses so sweetly.

[subzeroparade]

*flying in on the wings after finishing chapter 11* If I were a big artist, I would've been the most insufferable Huw/Messmer propagandist ever. I would've drawn legions to their church 😂 (It's actually a subsidiary of Messmer's harem church, but shhhh - Huw would be one of the top two waifus in there. Or husbandos. Whichever one prefer.) Hope you don’t mind me asking - how did you discover the ship, and how did they end up in the outline of your fic in their final glorious form? 😌

Anon you do not need to be a "big artist" to make and enjoy your own propaganda. Make whatever you want forever (◕‿◕) When I lay down to die I do not intend for one of my last regrets to be “damn, I wish I’d made more niche cringe art that brought me personal satisfaction and served as a joyful escape from the crushing realities of life.”

As to how I “discovered” the ship, it just seemed to me the most (canonically) compelling way to contrast, in writing, the intimacy and eventual breakdown of Messmer’s familial situation (himself, Melina, Marika) with his navigation of the world beyond that (and who else might serve as an influence/conduit for his actions and worldview). It’s one of the more interesting implied facets of his character: that while he is cursed and eventually abandoned, his armies are/were loyal to him to the point of accepting eternity in a forsaken realm to see their duty done. This also makes any kind of rebellion/betrayal starker and more intriguing.  

To be obvious, devotion -> betrayal is incredible scaffolding already over which to build the progression of a relationship - which can then further explore all these junctures of loyalty, subservience, camaraderie, intimacy, and so on. 

And that Messmer is betrayed by someone close enough to him personally that he is canonically remorseful about it: there was already nuance, but now there are STAKES. Warlord doesn’t think twice about his quotidian genocidal crusade, but he is upset that a subordinate left him on read. Also, power dynamic. 

And that is why, despite not being a “big artist”, I am in my corner making them kiss.

[11vein]

Hello! 11vein, this is my first time sending you an ask so I hope I am doing this properly! Anyways—

I want to know what inspired you and everybody else in Team 6x11 to choose to set the story of Qualia Automata in Iraq, out of all the Middle-Eastern countries. Like, I know that Carbon Monoxide on your team is Iraqi, but still, my question remains that why Iraq specifically? I’m not Iraq, but I live in an Arab country and, from my observations of cross-cultural representation, countries like the UAE and Iran and Saudi Arabia, as examples, are usually represented more often in stories set in the Middle East. So I was wondering why you folks chose Iraq as the setting for the story of Qualia Automata, and I’ll be glad to hear how you were inspired to do so as well. Tell me all about what brought the team to the decision. Reply back soon, please!

i wish i could say we had an elaborate reason to make QA's story based out of a futuristic iraq, but it was kinda spontaneous haha. we were deciding the ethnicity of tamari and went with iraqi because some of the members knew someone who was iraqi (carbon monoxide) who we could consult for further ideas. this later led to them being added to the team :) i asked carbon for further input: "while i can't speak for why the team chose to make tamari arab initially, i can say that i haven't seen too many experiences related to my specific ethnicity depicted in media, and it's something i've been wanting to work more towards. iraq occupies an interesting place in american culture, i feel; most americans know of iraq ofc and know of the iraq war, but if u were to ask a random person on the street, they likely wouldn't be able to tell u much about the country outside of that. my family had to escape as war refugees when i was extremely little, but i'd very commonly fly back home to spend long vacations with extended family. i'm very intimately familiar with the effects of war, it was fundamental to my development and my identity as an iraqi person. infrastructure was still ruined from bombs dropping, streets were destroyed or not maintained at all, power would very routinely go out and i vividly remember need to grope around in the dark for flashlights and fighting with my cousins for the limited supply of lamps, and that's all stuff that was YEARS after the actual conflict. not to mention all the generational trauma, the metaphorical and cultural scars that war creates that has ruined people and families.the first-hand accounts of war from the perspectives of my mother and older siblings were extremely harrowing.

when i first moved to america, it shocked me how little people knew about iraq, how deeply-embedded imperialist propaganda was baked within the fibres of american culture. a lot of people i'd met were completely ignorant to this thing that shaped everything about me before i was even born, that blew me away.

qualia automata of course isn't ABOUT the iraq war, it's set years afterwards and it was never meant to really reflect any sort of real-world historical events. but i put a lot of myself and my family into these characters, and just by virtue of me being iraqi and helping write iraqi characters, i've seen war refugees from my country comment on how they relate to what's being represented. fayrouz in particular was the character i had the biggest hand in shaping, and she's someone who's deeply-molded by generational trauma, and the attitudes iraqi women had to adopt in order to survive during such awful times being passed down throughout the years. it's the type of thing only other people with these experiences would be able to immediately point out, but i'm always happy when people do

that and i think it's very useful to just write about iraqi people as, well, people. there's a stigma around arabs especially, but like i said before iraqis occupy a very unique space within american culture, so i think it helps normalize these cultures and experiences by just, having characters exist as they are!"

[ekko-askme]

(OOC) AN IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER.

I didn't think this kind of post would be needed right now given our relatively small community, but so be it.

THE FOLLOWING BEHAVIORS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED BY ME OR ANY WHO REBLOG THIS POST!

-Impersonation. This includes making new blogs pretending you're someone else (like if someone made a blog for one of the characters and said they were one of my blogs, for instance)

-Abusing anon asks. Sending someone an ask while pretending to be me and/or following one of my storylines with someone, or otherwise abusing anonymity for your own gain, such as bullying the character and/or player for no good reason, as has happened to @-jinx-askme in the past. (The obvious exception to this being in-character interactions, like Jinx pestering Caitlyn for instance.)

-Idea theft. This means taking one of the storylines I'm currently writing and trying to follow through with it in my stead without permission (ex: making your own Ekko blog to finish the marriage thing with Jinx because you don't like the direction I'm taking it in rather than just making your own storyline))

And, as a more personal grievance of mine...

-Character assassination. We are all doing our best here to have a good time with Arcane AUs and interactions, even if all of our characters are basically OCs at this point. But please put in an effort to actually understand the character you are playing, and at the very least finish watching the show. If your character gets reduced to stereotypes and basic shipping fodder, I'm not making a callout post because it's not that serious, but I am gonna avoid interacting with you. The warning has been made.

As for OCs...

-DO NOT BASTARDIZE PRE-EXISTING LORE. This one should go without saying, but if you want to include an OC in this story, or make up a headcanon for a character... Make sure it makes at least some sense?

Scar's partner is a great example of this being done right! There is room to do basically whatever you want with the other parent to Scar's baby, and it's especially nuanced in this AU since his original partner full on died, and the one we're interacting with is an alternate version that causes no conflict with either Arcane lore or our own writing.

But if you want to make your character be Jinx's long lost sister who is also the biological daughter of Vander and Cassandra Kiramman having an affair who also has Warwick powers and Shimmer and Hextech built into them and also can bypass time travel..... You better have an EXTREMELY good explanation for all of that if you'd like me to engage with that🙏

If any of this sounded pretentious or selfish....... Yeah it's my blog and I get to pick and choose who I interact with, have a good rest of your day everyone👍

[michuga]

turkish coffee

summary: there is a custom in turkey of adding salt instead of sugar to the coffee of the suitor who visits your home to ask for your hand. imagine jeongguk's surprise when he takes a sip of the coffee his soon-to-be-dear-wife made him, to be met with.. salt? or what is a little salt in return for marrying the love of your life?

pairing: jeongguk x reader (interethnic rs)

content: korean boyfriend visits your home to ask for your hand in marriage, requesting a place in your very turkish family. sickeningly cute, i love this sm.

warnings: cursing, mentions of sex

wc: 1k

a/n: hope y'all don't get sick of me.. i finally finished exams and i love writing little drabbles like these ㅠㅠ enjoy!

you can hardly believe it; you’re buzzing with nerves. tonight, your boyfriend is finally meeting your parents to ask for your hand in marriage.

it feels surreal, you never thought you'd see the day. on jeongguk time, one day is an entire year. after four (and very rewarding, of course,) years of dating, this is nothing short of a miracle.

you can't say it's been easy. dating someone outside of your culture has been.. a whirlwind, to say the least. some jokes would get lost in translation, traditions needed to be learned, mannerisms getting used to..

but it didn't matter when it came to jeongguk. nothing mattered when it came to him. you were willing to learn the entire history of korea, if need be. he wouldn't even have to ask you to, the very prospect of being able to understand him wholly burned you blue. you knew there was only so much you can learn about a person outside of their culture, their heritage, their roots.. you wanted to know him inside out.

in fact, you would crawl into his skin if physically possible. but that's besides the point.

as for your parents, they were on the fence at first, but they came around. you knew they were only looking out for you; in the best way they knew how to.

when you hear the doorbell ring, you jolt. seated on your vanity chair, you take one last look at your reflection.

your hair is done up, simple makeup enhancing your features and beautiful jewelry adorning your body.

and of course, the star of the show, your dress.

you wear a satin maxi dress, elegant and timeless.

here goes nothing.

walking out your bedroom door, you spot your father motioning jeongguk inside your living room.

your boy looked dashing. you didn't think it possible for a human being to look so other-wordly; it's like he gets better looking every time you see him.

all done up in a black turtleneck and slacks, he was dressed to the nines and ready to impress.

your heart melts. he knew how important this was, and you had no doubt he wanted to do his absolute best for you.

you and jeongguk knew everything about eachother. there was simply no room for secrets in your relationship; you knew him like the back of your hand.

there is one thing you haven't told him, though.

a certain.. custom in turkey.

you add salt instead of sugar to the coffee of the suitor who visits your home to ask for your hand. it's a custom that's been carried on for centuries, the bride-to-be and her parents being in on it.

the act of drinking the salted-coffee demonstrates the groom’s patience, tolerance, and willingness to endure challenges in the marriage.

failing to drink the coffee or reacting negatively however, might be seen as a lack of patience or commitment. the bride’s family could take note of his reaction as a sign of his personality, or how he might handle challenges in marriage.

you would be lying if you said you weren't a little worried. your parents were a wild card.

so when you get up to obey your father when he tells you to make them coffee, you brace yourself.

buzzing with anticipation, you prepare 4 cups of coffee.

sugar, sugar, sugar, salt.

you just hope he doesn't get mad. oh god, what if he spits it out in front of your parents? that'll be a hard one to come back from. you're not as fickle, but your dad will surely lose all respect for him.

slowly coming out of the kitchen, tray in hand, you walk back over to the living room.

you lean to place the tray down, locking eyes with jeongguk, who sits right in front of you.

"thank you, love," he coos with adoration, immediately getting up to take the tray from your hands and help you set it down.

you smile lovingly in return, taking your seat on the opposite site.

and you watch in anticipation.

a few minutes pass, and nothing happens. you breathe in, out.

jeongguk makes small talk with your mother, slowly bringing the small porcelain cup to his lips. finally, show time.

he takes a sip.

gaze catching yours; he stares directly at you.

one second, two seconds pass..

and then he gulps.

tight smile plastered across his face, he shifts his focus back to your mother, picking up their conversation. as if nothing happened.

did he just..

in awe, you keep watching him. surely he has to give some sort of reaction? you wouldn't blame him; god knows you would have thrown up had it been you!

but nothing.

minute after the next, he drinks more and more, finally finishing his cup and placing it on the coffee table in front of you.

no more tricks up your sleeve, you finally focus on the conversation unfolding in front of you.

and the night went on.

"it was so nice meeting you, mom and dad. i look forward to planning the engagement," jeongguk says, the evening finally coming to end.

he continues, "and thank you darling, for the delicious coffee. bless your delicate hands."

with a subtle smirk only you notice, he takes a hold of your hand and brings it up to his lips, to kiss.

"you look beautiful, by the way," he whispers in your ear.

your parents bid him goodbye, closing the door after him.

"i'm impressed," your dad starts. "i didn't think korean boy had it in him, to be honest with you," he says with an amused chuckle.

"you've gotta give it to the kid. when i tried that with your father, the poor guy's face turned beet red! killed us all of laughter," your mother adds, reminiscing. "a real catch you got there."

"come on now, it wasn't that bad.." your dad says with a roll of his eyes, huffing in disbelief.

"you pushed that cup so far away from you it almost fell off the coffee table! yeah, right."

as your parents bicker back and forth, you retreat to your room with a besotted smile. you can't believe he did it either.

you are sooooooooooo going to fuck his brains out.