#no matter what people say it's a lot better

[enkays-den]

An anonymous trans donator asked skizz if he'd say a "trans rights" for pride month and he softly shut it down saying "this channel about good times good vibes, and not anything political. I've got nothing against anything, I've driven that home."

I know it's parasocial to be disappointed that a man in his mid 40s considers queer rights a political topic and it doesn't mean I won't watch him but,,,,, I couldn't help but feel my heart sink a little as that played out live. Skizz says he wants to bring happiness, and joy, and that's literally all this person wanted. A firm, no room for doubt affirmation that Skizz sees and cares for his trans fans. I don't think he's transphobic, but I do think he has a misconception about why saying "trans rights" matters, and why it SHOULDNT be political. Pride month exists for the same reason there's a women's month, and a black history month, and a Juneteenth, and a Veteran's Day. We are lucky to be alive, and we're still fighting for our rights to this day, so we need times to just celebrate our continued existence.

And like,,,, I'm sure that he's heard a lot online but the discussion on trans rights is only political because basic human rights are being denied to trans people for no reason other than bigotry. We want basic human rights for all, for trans people, gay people, disabled people, people of color. We want the standard of care the government and its services and the businesses of our country to be better, more accessible, and affordable for EVERYONE, regardless of gender, race, political belief, religion. The fact that THAT desire is a political matter is because politicians keep denying it.

There were also members of his chat that subtlety ragged on the anonymous donator, saying it was "weird" and "cringe". I have no words for them.

I know Hermitcraft is supposed to be a safe space, and a place to get away from the world's problems, but so you know what is counteractive to that? Bigotry. Transphobia. There are so many young queer fans of hermitcraft, and to say that their existence, this one little piece of affirmation isn't allowed, is insulting and disheartening. Good vibes isn't all free speech and being neutral, it's explicitly saying "you are safe here. I see that you are in danger and you are safe."

I will also leave this video here because I think it's important to be firm about keeping bigotry out of your community, regardless if it means you get less viewers or are seen as "political"

[UPDATE: this is where my story ends in this matter]

[elysiansparadise]

Ruler of the 4th house in the houses

Ruler of the 4th house in the 1st house

For you, home is a place where you are able to be yourself without feeling pressured, limited, or repressed. A place where you are welcomed with a smile for being you, without having to change or be what they want you to be. You bring spark, excitement, and warmth to your emotional ties. You are a person who remembers every detail and takes it into account when creating a home. You have the ability to make others feel safe, that they shouldn't wear masks around you; you feel like finally being home. In your childhood, you may have experienced situations in which you had to defend yourself, who you truly were, or your integrity. You likely inherited one of your parents' faces or many pronounced personality traits. It can be difficult for you to let go of the past; you are able to relive the past with vividness and great detail. Family is of great importance to you, whether it's the one you grew up with or the one you will form later in life. Speaking of which, you'll create an accepting home, one that's always in motion, filled with laughter, warmth, and the certainty that you have each other to defend against anything and anyone; no one will fear you anymore. You may be remembered for your passionate, authentic, and strong personality; people can say a lot about you and the heart you put into things/connections/actions when something mattered to you.

Ruler of the 4th house in the 2nd house

You are a person who consistently, carefully, and affectionately nurtures the bonds you value most. For you, attention and being there for others is the true expression of love. For you, emotional nourishment is as important as having tangible possessions to offer. You are aware that there are voids that are not filled with frivolities, but with meaningful things. You tend to keep objects of great emotional value, as well as being a person who associates certain aromas, textures, or sensations with people or moments from your past. For you, home is a place where you don't have to be on your toes, a place where you can relax, and where love and affection are constant. A place where you don't have to earn things, but where everything is given to you because you are loved. A significant family inheritance is likely awaiting you. And returning to the topic of home, in the future you will be able to create a home where you shower your loved ones not only with gifts and material stability, but with that emotional understanding and the certainty that as long as you are there, there will always be someone attentive to what they truly need. You will be remembered as someone who was always there for those they loved, someone with whom people felt safe. People will talk about your strength, and how even though it abounded within you, it never made you insensitive; on the contrary, it blended with those sides of you that you wanted to be protected as well.

Ruler of the 4th house in the 3rd house

You feel a sense of home when you are listened to, when your opinions are taken into account, and when you feel you're in a place or with a person with whom you can talk openly about any topic, no matter how difficult the subject. You value heart-to-heart conversations, those in which you show off the rarest flowers in your garden and the person appreciates them as much as the ones right in front of their eyes. You may have a tendency to revisit photos or videos to relive the past; you also have melancholic tendencies. History, both more general aspects like humanity and the history of those you love, are things that genuinely interest you, as they allow you to get to know them better and in a more authentic way. You may have grown up in a family environment or one where you shared many moments, trips, and time together; or one where you always talked about other people's lives (much depends on the aspects of the ruler). You're not a person who asks questions for the sake of asking; you like to focus your mental energy on things that genuinely hold emotional importance for you. You tend to prefer long, in-depth conversations to small talk, even if you have a knack for making small talk comfortable for others.

Ruler of the 4th house in the 4th house

For you, home is a place where you can allow yourself to be vulnerable and let down your walls; a place where there is love and patience, and your emotions are validated. You find comfort in knowing that others are trying to understand your emotional world, your history, and what shaped your heart—the scars, the hopes, and the eccentricities. You have a huge heart and the beautiful quality of knowing how to love others; and no, it's not a coincidence; it's because you put your time and energy into getting to know others so well that you're able to learn to love them through their language. You know what it's like to want to be loved through your language and fail to be loved. You desire to build a home based on love, care, and closeness; to create that safe place for those you love, to be someone they can turn to regardless of the nature of their emotions. You are someone who is aware that there is more beyond what meets the eye at first glance. You know that each person has a past, a story, or something to tell. You don't see this as an excuse, but rather as a guide to understanding them. You will be remembered as the person who, although not easily visible, had the most loving, warm, and caring heart. Who cared for those he loved with genuine affection, not with a "what can I get in return" approach. Genuine, sensitive, and empathetic.

Ruler of the 4th house in the 5th house

Inside you, there is a person who feels things intensely, someone who is more in touch with their emotions than their appearance allows others to deduce. You are intimate with your emotional world; you enjoy the purity and intensity of emotions. You will always prefer to follow your instinct, especially when it comes to romance. You deeply value people who show you they are truly interested in uncovering your layers and are not looking for something superficial, because that is not for you. In terms of romance, it is crucial that you feel your emotions are validated and that the other person gives them the same importance that you do. That brings me to my next point: home for you is one where you are allowed to shine and be yourself without feeling you have to hide so as not to upset others; where your emotions are seen and appreciated, not swept under the rug. You will be able to form a loving and warm family where you will not make the same mistakes you felt you made in the past. You will teach them from a place of love, and you will seek their happiness and emotional satisfaction. You'll make it. You'll be remembered as a deeply loyal and caring person for those who managed to enter her heart; as someone with whom love, laughter, and funny stories were never lacking. You can also be remembered for your talents, your brilliance, and how you shared them with others.

Ruler of the 4th house in the 6th house

You do things from the heart, with purpose, and with your soul; you hate having to do things just “because you have to”; you prefer things that have a true meaning for you. You have a preference for activities that bring you comfort, and you reject anything that forces you to do things you're not yet ready for. You're easy to work with as a team because, beyond caring about the outcome, you genuinely make sure that the people you work with feel supported and taken into account. Working from home, collaborating with family, or family businesses are likely. Also, jobs in which you take care of others or details. There's a tendency to want to feel useful or helpful to others, which leads us to the following: for you, home is where your actions, no matter how small, are valued; where you feel a sense of purpose and where you put your energy into them without feeling overwhelmed or stressed. Where you are loved without having to do things to "earn it." You firmly believe that it's the small, consistent details that strengthen bonds. Authenticity and satisfaction do not lie in empty words, but in what you demonstrate to each other through actions. You will create a home where you all are a team; everyone supports and appreciates one another, learning that there is no stronger language than a well-intentioned and well-executed action. Warmth and practicality will blend, creating a place where everyone is valued. You’ll be remembered for your devotion, your efforts, and how your actions brought satisfaction, security, and love to those around you; but most importantly, for your quality as a person and who you were behind each gesture.

Ruler of the 4th house in the 7th house

Emotional intimacy is of great importance to you in any type of relationship, which makes you prefer relationships that you envision as long-term and those that make you feel you connect deeply with them. Precisely for this reason, you're not as keen on casual relationships. Your relationship with your future spouse can feel like a refuge for you, and you'll find in them a place where you belong and feel cared for. You look for someone who trusts you as much as you trust them, someone who knows with certainty that you can both rely on each other. Being vulnerable with your partner is important; you're someone who is very protective of your emotions, sometimes keeping them to yourself, so having someone you feel you can open up to and find refuge with when things get difficult is important to you. Home, for you, is a place where everyone is treated as equals, where what the other person thinks or wants isn't more important than anyone else's. For something to feel like home in your eyes, there must be justice, honesty, and equity, and home is built through mutual work, affection, and dialogue. If you decide to start your own family, you'll achieve a harmonious home where, despite the ups and downs, all members will strive to make things right, understand each other, and learn to overcome differences. People will remember you as the pillar that keeps people together, as that person whose company is comforting and easygoing. People will remember your ability to connect with them.

Ruler of the 4th house in the 8th house

There’s a strong feeling with this overlay since you fear emotional intimacy, but deep down, you crave everything that comes with it: the idea of ​​being able to trust someone with your soul, the idea of ​​having each other no matter what, and being with people capable of doing everything to protect you, just as much as you would be. You may have grown up in environments that led you to believe you were better off on your own, that trust is a treasure you shouldn't easily give away to others. It's even likely that you've begun to break negative family patterns that have been growing stronger for generations. You're selective about who you open up to, and it's not usually an easy task. Within that strong shell, there's someone with a soft, precious heart who simply seeks love and feels they can let their guard down. Home for you is the feeling that you're always chosen, through thick and thin; through your light and darkness; through your ups and downs. It brings you comfort to have someone take your darkness in their hands and be able to love it as much as your light; someone with whom you can't pretend to be okay when you're falling apart inside. One of the most loyal overlays, as they are people who fully commit when they set their minds to it. You may have some fears or insecurities about having your own family, but if you decide to do so, you'll be able to create a space where, even if poetry and flowery words aren't abundant, promises won't be broken. They'll know they can count on you for anything, and you'll be certain that you're there for them.

Ruler of the 4th house in the 9th house

You are a person with a welcoming and comforting energy, not from a tender or soft perspective, but rather from an independent, friendly, and genuine warmth. You can easily inspire other people and evoke positive and joyful emotions in them in a lighthearted way. It's very likely that you feel that "home" isn't where you grew up; you may have had the feeling that you didn't belong in your environment, or that you would simply find comfort outside your roots. You have a mix of cultures, and I'm not just talking about lineage or your blood, but rather that you don't cling intensely to your culture (although of course, you appreciate it), but rather you create your own with elements that make you feel good. Home for you is where you can satisfy your curiosity; where even the most different people take the time to get to know and understand each other, without prejudice or negative biases. It's that place where you are not questioned to challenge or point fingers, but rather to appreciate and honor both who you are in the present and what forged you. This placement is common among people who migrate, people who find or make their homes in distant lands far from their birthplace. You want to create a home where there's closeness yet independence, where there's freedom with the certainty that you can return here if you need a break, where there are no limits that can dampen your spirit, but rather a guide your loved ones can lean on when things seem uncertain.

Ruler of the 4th house in the 10th house

This overlay shows us transparency in you. You're someone who isn't afraid to put yourself out there, as you may have learned as a child. However, there may also have been the possibility that your family [especially one of your parents] shared a lot of what happened inside the house with others, which may have made you feel emotionally exposed. You're open, yes, but incredibly reserved about what you want to keep between you and your conscience. This is precisely why "home" for you is the place where you're taught that showing your emotions isn't a cause for mockery, threat, and, of course, the place where your vulnerabilities aren't exposed without your prior consent or without you doing so first. You're protective of everything kept in your heart, not only out of distrust, but you enjoy privacy. Your inner child may carry some demands and expectations that, even if you set and thought them, didn't come from you. There's something about your presence that naturally makes people feel drawn, appreciated, and warm; You have a very particular way of paying attention and listening. You make people feel truly seen, not with expectations or through rose-colored glasses, but seen, with virtues and defects, and despite this, also feeling appreciated. You'll be remembered as the person who knows what kind of comfort to offer, who easily provides reliability, whether it's practical advice or emotional comfort. Your considerate and gentle nature with those you love will also be appreciated no matter the passage of time.

Ruler of the 4th house in the 11th house

There's something very beautiful about you, and that's that you provide comfort to others by making them feel included and welcomed. You may have experienced the feeling of not belonging among your family or clashing greatly with them in terms of ideas or personalities, and that's precisely what makes you feel that if you can avoid making those you love feel that way, you will. With this overlay, you likely feel some distance from your family, whether emotional or physical, and even if there's no major drama, it may be difficult for you to trust them. You can form friendships that feel like family. You may not have the largest circle, but you know that everyone protects and cares for one another. For you, home is having a cozy place where you feel like you belong, where no one places expectations on others, where you simply enjoy their presence. You are an extremely empathetic person and can easily connect with others, even giving them the confidence to open up to you. You are very warm-hearted with your friends, and can be the one they turn to when they need emotional support or a listening ear. If you decide to start your own family, you'll make sure each member feels loved and accepted, and above all, you'll prefer to support their individuality and dreams rather than judge them. You may be remembered as someone who was kind, polite, and respectful, even if you didn't know the others. Likewise, you'll be remembered for your dreamy side, full of creativity and aspirations.

Ruler of the 4th house in the 12th house

Family can be a complicated topic for you, either because it's a sensitive issue or because you didn't feel emotionally seen, appreciated, or heard by those you're related to. Distance from one of your parents (or both, as the case may be) is very likely, and this applies both emotionally and physically. In your childhood, you may have felt alone or misunderstood, which made your solitude a refuge but also painful. For you, home is where others show interest in learning about your deepest inner self; when they accept your vulnerabilities, your fears, your bright sides, and those you don't even want to look at. You are deeply devoted to your relationships and are capable of feeling emotions, especially the pain of those you love, very intensely. This overlap is common in people who can find their home or feel a sense of belonging outside of their homes, whether with other people, in other cities, or countries. You are a person with much more power than you let on, with a knack for reading, intuiting, and deciphering others' emotions; you are capable of disarming people with a few sharp and accurate observations. You don't like showing off and aren't comfortable drawing excessive attention to yourself. You will be remembered as someone who didn't open up easily, as someone enigmatic, mysterious, yet deeply sensitive and perceptive. Many will remember those times you stayed and helped them even when things got tough; and as a person who, no matter how many wounds you carried, always showed yourself to be stable and supportive towards the ones you loved.

[anothermariamorales]

Years ago I wanted lip filler. It wasn't as common back then so it didn't feel like it was everywhere. Really glad I didn't though, because I feel like keeping MY face, my features as I inherited them, is an act of rebellion these days. It's not like dysphoria for me, it's just vanity and comparison and feeling like I need an advantage to look prettier to give me further advantages in life.

And now it's like a med spa arms race with everyone "enhancing" their features and either lying about it or acting like it is basic grooming.

I volunteered at SXSW this year and I mostly saw educational or film/tv sessions, but I was put into one session on the beauty track and I haven't been the same since.

I looked out at the crowd and realized the audience of mostly women all pretty much had the same face. I know we've gotten used to seeing Instagram face on, well, Instagram, but the rate at which we encounter those faces in real life is a lot lower than when we're scrolling. Those feeds are not representative of our experiences in the world, where we still encounter some variety and features beyond the limitations of an inoffensive mathematical average. This crowd, however, was also not a representative sample and seeing it in person felt wrong. I was in the uncanny valley and my moderate lips felt thin, my nose felt bulbous, and I listened to the speakers talk about their beauty products that would make us, in the audience, more beautiful with less effort while upholding our values and representing our needs.

Film and TV aren't much better. The crowds at SXSW were mostly people who worked out of sight of the camera and public scrutiny. It's more acceptable to be unattractive because it's not your job to be looked at.

However, I've noticed every time I'm at an event or function for the film and tv industry, everyone is so god damn hot. Pretty privilege is probably more potent in industries where people in power are surrounded by professionally attractive people all the time.

It's pretty much expected for talent to prioritize their looks, to get the treatments and the surgeries as subtly as possible so they can continue competing with the new talent who never had an awkward phase. We look at actors who came up in the 90s and were held up as standards of beauty and applaud them when they delay aging, saying "wow they still look great, what a timeless beauty!" We don't see the irony that even in their "prime" (don't get me started on that phrase) they wouldn't hold up to the current expectations because their features were a little too different, too imperfect, too organic. To top it off, they're getting worse at emoting because their faces can't move naturally anymore. Beautiful in still photography, but film is not a still medium. Still, the aesthetics are being prioritized over the performance.

When it comes to media, low and no-budget indie are my last safe haven. I love watching the talent, who look like people you see all the time. When they're beautiful, they're beautiful in the way that your school crush was. Not perfect, but it doesn't matter because you're attached to them anyway. Sometimes they're not beautiful and it's even better because most people aren't A-list level beauties. I'm not saying beautiful people can't be interesting but, if they are famous as a hot A-lister, they are literally an exceptional beauty and we need more stories that are representative of us.

If we only ever see beauty that takes extraordinary effort or money and we compare ourselves to that, it's going to limit us. We're going to divert our energy and resources to keep up with it or feel bad because we can't keep up with it. Think of all the things we could do if we didn't divert those resources to keep up appearances. All we could do if we weren't too self-conscious or afraid of comparison from brutal audiences to put ourselves out there. We have plenty of people who can portray a story, but we're going to have a shortage of stories worth portraying.

Normalize ugliness. Normalize imperfection. It's so liberating not just for yourself but for everyone who witnesses your refusal to hold yourself back because you're not "pretty enough" to be comfortable with being observed.

We're here to live a life for ourselves. Let the actors worry about the audience.

it is so important that you are a little bit ugly. please get comfortable with having unplucked eyebrows and nonexistent jawlines and wrinkles. let your blue hair grow out into an uneven pale green and your clothes be old and mend them and modify them until they’re unique to you. wear lipstick which doesnt compliment your skintone and mismatched outfits which went out of fashion 5 years ago. be a little bit too loud and a little bit too passionate and as weird as you can be because oh my god there is nothing more disturbing to me than perfection. beauty is manufactured and sold to us and you need to realise that you are a fucking animal to live a joyful life I am so serious. you cant obsess over aesthetics forever please just live messily and make your body your home however you please.

if you dont do it for you, do it for all the teenagers who will see u in the street and know that they are not obligated to be attractive

[lov3notts]

amora congratulations on 1k babes!! i’m so happy for you and your celebration is so pretty ♥️!

i was thinking cupids arrow w/ theo nott + "i think it's time we take a break." (feeling all the angst with theo lol)

1k Celebration!!! ;Navigation

i missed writing angst!!! thank you for this brooke😽

You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone—at yet another unread message, another unanswered “Are we still on tonight?”

You stared for a while. Then stood.

Because you had grown tired of his games.

But by the time you found him, he was in the common room, backlit by firelight and hunched over a book he clearly wasn’t reading, something inside you snapped.

He didn’t even notice you at first.

That used to be impossible.

You stood there for a second too long, waiting for him to look up, to say “hey, love” to smile like he used to.

He didn’t.

You finally spoke. “So, are you going to keep pretending I don’t exist, or is that just how things are now?”

He sat back slowly, eyes narrowing. “Okay. What’s going on?”

“You tell me,” you snapped. “Because I’m tired of guessing.”

Theo blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’ve been distant, Theo. You barely speak to me, you cancel plans without a word, you act like I’m bothering you just by being here.”

He closed the book sharply, standing. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m being honest,” you said. “Do you even care anymore? Or are you just too much of a coward to tell me you’re done?”

His jaw tightened. “I’ve got a lot going on, alright?”

“So say that!” you shouted. “Say something! You just shut me out like I don’t matter anymore—like we don’t matter. And I’m sick of making excuses for you.”

“I don’t know, alright?” His voice rose. “I don’t have some neat answer to make you feel better. Maybe I’m tired. Maybe I’m overwhelmed. Maybe I just need some space without being accused of falling out of love with you every five seconds.”

That hit you like a slap.

Then he moved closer to you, tension sharp in his shoulders. “You don’t get it.”

“Then talk to me, Theo! Let me in! That’s what people do when they’re in love!”

His mouth opened—then closed again.

And that silence burned more than anything he could’ve said.

You laughed bitterly, wiping at the tears starting to slip. “Right. That’s what I thought.”

He looked away, jaw tightening. “I didn’t say I don’t love you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

A beat passed, heavy and quiet.

Then Theo muttered, “Maybe I just need time.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Time? Theo I’ve been giving you nothing but time.”

“Well, apparently not enough,” he snapped.

You nodded slowly, chest burning, eyes stinging. “Fine.”

You turned, this time not waiting for him to stop you. Not hoping.

Because you had lost hope a long time ago.

At first, he thought it would help.

Space.

It sounded reasonable when he said it. He told himself he needed air, time to think—some distance to quiet the noise in his head. He hadn’t meant to hurt you. He just… didn’t know how to explain what was going on inside him. And you were always there, asking, worrying, caring—and he couldn’t live up to it. Not then.

But now?

Now it was too quiet.

You stopped walking with him to class. Stopped waiting for him outside the library. Stopped sliding into the seat next to him at lunch like you always used to, shoulder brushing his, warm and familiar. He didn't even realize how much he'd relied on those moments until they disappeared.

Now there was an empty seat beside him. Every. Single. Day.

And that seat was louder than any fight you’d ever had.

At first, he tried to pretend he was fine. He shrugged it off when Mattheo raised an eyebrow and said, “You look like a kicked dog.”

He ignored Blaise’s snort when he muttered, “Mate, you asked for this.”

But he saw the way they looked at him when you walked past without sparing him a glance. He felt it—the hollow ache when you smiled at someone else down the corridor, your eyes never even flickering in his direction.

He thought he’d feel lighter. But he just felt lonely.

So one afternoon, he found you alone by the edge of the Black Lake, where you used to sit together and talk for hours about everything and nothing.

You were sitting on the grass, picking absentmindedly at the hem of your sleeve. The sunlight caught the side of your face, and for a second, it hit him all at once—how much he missed you. Your voice. Your warmth. Your presence.

He cleared his throat softly.

You looked up.

Theo hesitated, hands shoved in his pockets. “Hey.”

“Hey.” It wasn’t cold. But it wasn’t warm, either. It was… careful. Like you were building a wall and choosing not to let him through.

“I, uh…” He shifted. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He hated how polite you sounded. He hated that he didn’t know how to fix it.

“I know I said I needed space,” he started, eyes locked on the water, “but—”

“But now you’re ready for me to be here again?”

His head snapped to you.

You weren’t angry. That’s what made it worse. You were calm. Resigned.

“I gave you space, Theo,” you said softly. “And in that space, I had time to think too.”

He swallowed hard. “Think about what?”

You shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. “About how much of our relationship was me trying to hold it together while you pulled away.”

Theo’s chest tightened.

“You said you needed time, but you never said why. You didn’t trust me enough to let me in.” Your voice cracked, just a little. “And maybe that was my answer all along.”

“I do trust you—”

“Do you?” you asked, finally looking at him. “Because it didn’t feel like it.”

Silence settled between you. Cold and final.

He didn’t know what to say. He’d thought the distance would give him clarity—but all it did was show him how much he’d taken you for granted. And now… now he wasn’t sure if there was anything left to come back to.

“I’m not mad, Theo. I just… I don’t know if I can keep trying for someone who won’t meet me halfway.”

You took a shaky breath, fingers digging into the sleeves of your jumper.

“I think it’s time we take a break.” The words tasted like betrayal in your own mouth.

Theo’s breath caught. “No. Don’t say that. Please.”

“I’m tired,” you whispered. “I’m so tired, Theo. Of chasing after someone who keeps running.”

“I’m not running,” he said quickly. “Not anymore. I’m here—I’m here. I messed up, but we can fix this. Just—don’t give up on me.”

You looked at him, eyes glassy and throat tight. “I didn’t give up on you. You gave up on us. I just finally listened.”

He reached for your hand, and for a moment, you let him take it.

“I love you” he said, with every ounce of fear and hope in his chest.

You gave a sad smile, eyes dropping to the place where your hands touched.

“And I…..loved you.” You stood slowly, gently pulling your hand away.

He didn’t stop you when you walked away.

He wanted to. God, he wanted to.

But maybe this time, he didn’t deserve to.

ᥫ᭡reblog's & comment's are appreciatedᥫ᭡

©lov3notts ,do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

[her-lipsticks-smear]

Sevika x Brothel Worker Reader Headcanons

hello!! sorry for the wait, i got a lil busy (ahem…scrolling through the sevika x reader tag) anyways here my headcanons based on that poll i made! (also like…so many people voted on that…ummmm kinda crazy!)

She’s used to being fast. To not caring. To being inconsiderate. To focus on her own pleasures and emotions.

She used to only come to the brothel when she had time off, nothing to do, and was particularly horny. But when she decided to meet you for the first time after her usual was unavailable, something in her changed.

She became a regular, to the place and to you. Instead of the monthly or rare every other week visits she usually gave, it was a weekly thing to see her.

Sevika isn’t used to this, but she tries not to think about it. Thinking about it means thinking about other feelings she isn’t quite ready to think about. So she just focuses on what she knows:

She knows how to fuck.

And she definitely knows how to fuck you.

During your “sessions” she’ll do some dirty talk, you know how it is. One of the things she’ll occasionally say is how she’s the only one who can properly fuck you, and to be honest, she’s right.

Despite how clear she made it seem that she was only interested in blowing off some steam from work and hookups to sate temporary feelings, she sure seemed to care about your own pleasure a whole lot.

If she hadn’t made you come on her tongue or fingers once, she must’ve spent the whole night punching the wall because that’s not how things go. Not with her.

The two of you are used to the same things. Insincere, ingenuine, grunts and pants, half hearted moans.

So it’s certainly something different when she comes in, slamming the door shut, anger radiating off of her in a mile radius. She’ll flop onto the seat you’re sitting on, right beside you, and right as you think you’ll just start like you would with any client, barely any foreplay, her har hand, ever so soft despite its calluses and hard work evident in the skin, will land on your thigh and she’ll look at you with eyes that hide a silent plea.

She always asks.

Never out loud. Always in silent ways that make you want to melt into her. You always nod or move quickly, but no matter how fast you are, she’s on you quicker.

Usually, your lips slot together, she’s careful not to bite you unless she knows you’re ready to take it further—which, with her, you always are. Her arms cradle you closer, pulling you tightly.

She loves to taste you.

Her mouth has to be on you at all times. And if it isn’t, she’s praising you for taking her so well, or sometimes, depending on how eager you seem and how rough she is, she’ll just insult you. Degrading and filthy.

“Slut, whore, bitch”

And coming from any regular old man, it would disgust you, make you want to quit. But from her, it just makes everything all worth it. It makes you want to be her slut, her whore.

She’ll leave marks. On your neck, on your ribs. Across your upper thighs. She doesn’t care if you cover them or not, but if you do, she’s sure to make more. I mean, she can’t have you forgetting just who made those marks, can she?

From how often she visits, you know a little bit about her.

Everyone knows she’s Silco’s right hand man. Everyone knows she’s just about the baddest bitch in Zaun, for lack of better words.

You know the workload gets stressful, even for someone as rock hard as her. That, she’s confessed, is why she often comes to your place of work. It helps to blow off steam by pounding into some nobody.

What you don’t know, is much beyond that.

You don’t know that she lies awake at night, thinking about you, on the days she was unable to see you

You don’t know how often her hand sneaks into her pants as she thinks of your moans while she fucked you

You don’t know about her fantasies.

She’ll fantasize about bending you over her kitchen counter, pounding you into her sofa, marking you against the wall. Throwing you on her mattress, headboard banging against the wall in a rhythm.

And then, she’ll think about carrying you into the bathroom. She’ll draw a bath, the water warm and soothing. She’ll place you in nice and gentle, maybe she’ll step in behind you, maybe’s she lean over the ledge, letting herself get wet as she cleans you up all nice. She’ll let you fall asleep, then when you rouse as she’s dressing you in her shirt, she’ll murmur and whisper sweet nothings into your ear as she rubs circles into your back.

She’ll carry you to her bed and tuck you in, then she get in right beside her, turning over so she can snuggle up against you, her arm wrapping protectively around you.

She wants to buy you out of that brothel.

[militarywifesvt]

Defending the quiet

Pairing : bestfriend!seungcheol / student! seungcheol x student!reader /bestfriend!reader

Summary : he couldn't stand up for himself , so you did it instead .

Genre : fluff

Warnings : bullying , seungcheol being insecure about his belly ( people need to seek help fr )

A/n : since btches can't shut up about coups' cute little belly , here's what I would do if they bullied him in front of me . Also this is kinda inspired by the Bollywood movie " dunki " I've been crying since I watched it :( . The song is from the movie when she was the first person to defend him and he instantly fell in love🫠 . Ok I'll shut up now , enjoy !

At such a young age , seungcheol was miles away from anyone at his age . When they worried about exams and midterms , seungcheol was flying interviews and photoshoots with famous brands . Of course he was popular at school , all eyes were on him every time he enters a classroom . He never liked this spotlight , and wished people would treat him like a normal person . And he found that wish in you , his best friend of almost 10 years now . You never cared about his fame or his growing audience . to you , he was just cheol . The person you would share your snacks with in 3rd grade , the person who would laugh at your jokes no matter how cringe or awful they are .

But in his last comeback , things took an awful turn . Sure , the song was fantastic , multiple days at number one , international awards , millions of streams and still counting . The album wasn't the problem . The problem is that some insecure imbeciles had a lot of things to say about seungcheol's belly . According to them , he was fat or whatever . But in reality , his belly looked completely normal . His picture spread really fast , and even people from the school saw it , and now , everyone is talking about it . That made you really frustrated , and you noticed a lot of changes in seungcheol's mood . You tried to hype him up like you usually do , crack a few jokes , buy him ice cream which he refused to eat saying he's on a diet . But nothing worked , so you gave up , but always stayed by his side just in case he needed someone to talk to .

The next day , you were sitting next to seungcheol during break . You and some other students decided to stay in the classroom . Seungcheol didn't talk much , but you yapped anyway , because you know he's listening . Suddenly , a group of classmates approached you two . And with an ugly , mocking voice he said :

" hey seungcheol , didn't take you a six pack to be rich and famous , huh ? "

He laughed even louder while another one added

" I guess money can buy success , just not a gym membership "

They continued mocking him like he doesn't have feelings . You thought he would stand up for himself . How could he not , right ? He always defended you when people mocked you . But to your surprise , he stayed silent , head looking at the floor , barely blinking . Then , something inside you snapped .

“ And who do you think you are to talk to him like that ?” your voice cut through the room silencing every person who was whispering and gossiping about him . “ Just shut up. You think you’re better than him when you obviously look like that ? He’s out there changing lives with his music and talent while you sit in the same chair every day , rotting in your own arrogance . You would quit after one bad day if you were in his shoes . "

You answered without hesitation , your eyes blazing with a fire no one can take down . Every word came out sharp, fueled by pure loyalty and frustration you had held inside for too long. Your voice cut through the classroom , turning the mockery back on them with the weight of truth . Seungcheol looked surprised at your action . He never saw you this mad , he couldn't even say a word to calm you down , he just looked at you with pure shock in his eyes , with a tight feeling in his chest he couldn't quite understand . And what caught him completely off guard was the moment you gently grabbed his wrist, your voice soft as a whisper, urging him to get up , before leading him quietly out of the classroom , leaving everyone stunned by your action . In that instant , A sudden warmth grew in seungcheol's chest , steady and impossible to ignore . It wasn’t just your touch or voice , it was how nobody has stood up for him before . Usually , people leave him when things get hard , but you didn't. You were the first person to be there and stand up for him when no one else did . In that moment, his heart sped up, and he realized he had fallen head first , in love with you .

Getting into longer fics these days , I might write a part two~

[antianakin]

No. That's NOT what I'm saying here, AT ALL. Move away from biology and nature being the end all and be all.

First, Leia is Leia. She is not just "Character A with some of Character B sprinkled in." She is her own person with her own motivations and flaws. I am comparing her to Padme because I think the narrative intentionally builds that parallel for us and I find it interesting to look at the ways in which Luke and Leia are deliberately set up to be the successes to their parents' failures. That does not mean that Leia IS "Padme" in any way.

Secondly, Leia would never in any way be fortified by any of Anakin's anything. Anakin is a piece of shit and part of the reason he's a piece of shit IS his self-righteousness. And it's not like Padme didn't have plenty of her own self-righteousness, too. Leia is fortified by BAIL AND BREHA ORGANA, but it's not "self-righteousness" she's fortified by. She's fortified by their passion, their discipline, their wisdom, their kindness, their bravery, their willingness to stand up for what's right without burning down everything around them in the process. She's fortified by their absolute will to remain who they are in a world that wants them to capitulate everything out of fear. Leia learns how to be a good leader because she's raised by two of them.

Thirdly, Leia learns how to be a good leader because she actively CHOOSES to be a good leader when given the options. Leia does not succumb to despair and selfishness the way both of her biological parents do. Leia does not let love cause her to give up something that would allow the rebellion to win the war. She loves Luke, but she lets him go to the Death Star as a self-sacrifice because she knows it's necessary if they're going to win this war and respects the choice he is making in this moment. Padme starts off as someone who chooses to be a good leader, and remains someone who makes that choice SOMETIMES but not all of the time. Padme CANNOT give up Anakin for the sake of the war or anything else. She chooses to exonerate him when he murders children, she chooses to cover his murders up, she chooses to trade Grievous for him despite what that will mean for the war effort and the people who died to capture Grievous in the first place, and she chooses to lie to Obi-Wan to protect Anakin even after she discovers that Anakin committed a genocide and helped destroy the Republic. Padme would never have made the choice Leia makes in ROTJ.

If you think "self-righteousness" is what allowed Leia to let Luke go in that moment, then you might need to go watch it again. It's not self-righteousness that saves Leia from Padme's mistakes. It's compassion, something Anakin barely had any of in his adult life and something Padme struggled with by the end. And by compassion, I mean the way the term is actually utilized in Star Wars, a selfless love towards everyone. It's the opposite of attachment, it's an ability to let go of biases in order to show kindness to everybody, no matter who or what they are.

And then of course there's Luke. Again, it is not anything from Padme that saves him. He's never met Padme and, unlike Leia, he doesn't seem to have any kind of latent memory of her nor do the Larses seem to have ever told him any stories about her (not that they'd have had that many to tell, but we know they told Luke that his dad was a smuggler of some kind, so it's not out of the realm of possibility that they could've come up with a lie about who his mother was, we just never hear about it). If Luke is a better Jedi than Anakin, it's not somehow Padme's influence that saves him.

It's the Larses. This is Owen and Beru's down to earth hardworking values coming in. Unlike the Organas, Owen and Beru aren't really represented as these brilliant paragons of virtue. Owen and Beru make mistakes, even in terms of how they choose to parent Luke. But what this does for Luke is it shows him how to LEARN and GROW from his mistakes, something he uses quite a lot during the original trilogy. Luke learns how to be dependable and resilient. When it matters, Luke can rise up and do what needs to be done. He DOES have some of Anakin's darkness in him, that's a major element of his character and his narrative, but it's not his biological mother's compassion that saves him. It's Owen and Beru Lars's values, and it's the Jedi philosophies he was taught by Obi-Wan and Yoda. THAT'S what keeps him from making the same mistakes Anakin did.

Leia is Bail Organa's righteous passion and willingness to enter a fight tempered by Breha Organa's discipline and wisdom.

Luke is Owen Lars's protective instincts towards those he loves and firmness of opinion tempered by Beru Lars's empathy towards everyone she meets and open-minded acceptance of change.

As interesting as it can be to look at how Luke and Leia parallel their biological parents, they will always be so much more a product of the Organas and the Larses than Anakin and Padme.

People are SLEEPING on the most interesting Leia & Padme comparisons because there's so much focus on Leia being "like Anakin" because she gets annoyed sometimes and Padme being this perfect moral beacon of truth and justice despite all of her very canonical lies and cover-ups and obstructing of justice.

If Luke is the Jedi that Anakin should've been, then Leia is the LEADER that Padme should've been.

Padme is a hypocrite, proclaiming that all people deserve basic decency and the right to safety, but at the same time allowing Anakin to get away with a mass murder with no consequences by covering it up.

Leia doesn't even let Han get away with being a little bit of an asshole, there's no way she'd let him get away with mass murder. She holds everyone around her to a higher standard, believing in the best of them but also but refusing to accept excuses for cowardice and selfishness.

Padme talks so much about wanting the war to end, but then allows one of the opposition's biggest generals go free just to get Anakin back because she cares about him, causing the war to continue to go on for even longer.

Leia lets Luke sacrifice himself because she knows it's possibly the only way they might have a victory and beat the Empire, even though she knows what he is to her and loves him. She knows what has to be done and respects the choice Luke is making and would never condemn their efforts just to keep him with her.

Padme's story parallels Anakin's, she devolves as the narrative goes on, until she's barely a shell of the person she used to be. That strength and moral clarity she showed as a Queen is entirely gone, leaving only a scared woman pleading with a murderer to come back to her.

Leia's story parallels Luke's, she gains more and more strength and clarity as the narrative moves forward. The bossy young woman we first met has become a confident rebel leader who knows she doesn't have to harden her heart to be strong.

[jirai-dirt-2009]

The issues with cherry/ landmineconfessionl

So there has been a LOT of drama surrounding them for a while. Although while you are reading this keep in mind I only went back to mid may. If there is more drama deeper within their blog I have not seen it.

also I want to make it clear I do not support the hate that is going to cherry. BUT While they are a minor I do believe they should be held accountable for their actions.

The main issue is it seems that Cherry is using the confession to be bigoted. Some people believe that they are also the ones sending themselves the asks but I will get into it later.

Here are some of the “anons” that have sparked the debate.

The issue is Cherry tends to mod what gets posted BUT still decides that stuff like this (which isn’t helpful at ALL and can make people worse) needs to be on their blog. In other posts that have been hateful they can corrected the anon but when it comes to invalidating şħ or masc jirais they don’t even try to correct anon. There is MANY more posts like this but my phone is being iffy with screenshots so i suggest you go look at their account to find them.

This has lead people to believe that Cherry is sending themselves these anons. Cherry doesnt really ever respond well to those accusations. They just kinda say “it’s not me bc I would do this if it was me” which doesn’t really help their argument.

Again, this doesn’t really make the matters better. Their defensive posts back tend to make them look more guilty. And while I can understand having issues with coming off defensive and aggressive they are this way when someone says anything to them.

Here is another screenshot. I find it ironic have they call their blog a safe space but also decide to post bigotry and content invalidating mental health.

Another thing is that they always use tge “landmine confessions are needed!! And ppl like the other accounts!!” The other accounts actually mod what they post most of the time.

Also they have been blocking almost every account that calls them problematic. That doesn’t really help their case at all.

There is a lot more deeper within their account but again, my phone is being weird with taking screenshots right now and I only went to may if their account. I strongly suggest you take a look at this for yourself to better form an opinion.

This post was not intended to send hate to Cherry, just discuss the recent events.

If there is anything else you want me to add please tell me. I only lightly brushed through the info.

[orphiclovers]

I think what would greatly benefit everyone's understanding of orv's worldbuilding is a passing aquaintance with the Cthulhu wiki. and this is the one and only case where the wiki is a BETTER source of information than the original works by Lovecraft, because the Cthulhu mythos is a "collaborative writing shared universe" and who's worldbuilding is vague and contradictory between authors. think Maurauders fandom or SCP foundation, only more classy than fanfiction.

Anyway, ORV takes a lot from the Cthulhu mythos, because it takes a lot from every myth in the world. The whole Outer God thing will make a lot more sense if you know what its supposed to be, the same way its easier to understand the Olympus constellations if you know the greek gods and their myths. The Majority of characters in orv are real mythological or historical figures and the outer gods are no different, I and maybe you are just less familiar with them.

Heres a small glossary of relevant information:

1. "great old ones" are sometimes mentioned in orv as spying on Kim Dokja, and mentioned by other Outer Gods as the most powerful beings. they're from the lovecraft stories.

They are "beyond imagination" i.e beyond Oldest Dream's Star Stream/the universe comprehended by humans and exist outside of it.

2. "The Great One" is what outer gods in ORV call the Oldest Dream. He seems to be the only Great One in the orv universe, but In the myths there are multiple and are described like this.

Gods of the dreamlands->oldest dream the connection is there. Take notice of how the Great One is protected by Nyarlathotep, hes important.

3. Have you ever wondered what was up with those "Shantaks" living in N'gai forest? These are from the myths too.

They have horse head like in orv and Nyarlathotep rules over/is allied with them.

4. The Nameless Mist that attacks the 73rd demon realm and causes KDJ to sign the outer god contract with SP and get sent to 1863rd round is also an Outer God from the myths. Specifically, it is one of Nyarlathotep's siblings.

5. Best for last, there is of course Nyarlathotep himself i.e The Crawling Chaos i.e Secretive Plotter.

Kim Dokja straight up thinks that SP is Nyarlathotep and calls him that to his face. he is right. While SP "neither confirms or denys being the Crawling Chaos/Nyarlathotep" he obviously...is him. (SP lies about his identity a lot. but this time he didnt even say he WASNT, just that it doesnt matter and to call him SP please). SingShong basically plagiarised everything about him completely from lovecraft

First of all, in their first meeting SP looks like a black shadow person with glowing white eyes, which is why Kim Dokja drew the conclusion that he was Nyarlathotep, since this is how he looks too

Nyarlathotep is the avatar of other outer gods an has a clear personality and is more rational and human than the rest (KDJ says this bout SP too)- he hates his masters (like SP hates his sponsor).

Kim Dokja once says that SP is like no other outer god because he actually speaks human language and can communicate clearly and rationally. Nyarlathotep is the only outer god who can do that and is the messager of them.

The event referenced here where Nyarlathotep causes people to go insane is mentioned in ORV too, as SP talked to the Recorders of Fear and drove them to insanity. He has darkness powers and knows the future of the universe that no one else does.

He looks like a human being and has a thousand different forms (like the different regressions).

He can shapeshift and possess people (SP does both. shapeshifts into YJH and possesses him)

Also as previously mentioned he protects the Great One (OD) and rules over Shantaks in the forest. On top of looking exactly like Nyarlathotep and having the same abilities as him and the same role and traits and literally getting told "You are Nyarlathotep" by Kim Dokja I think it is pretty safe to say that he IS Nyarlathotep.

Also, the reason why KDJ thinks SP can beat The Nameless Mist and calls him is because he thinks that is SP's/Nyarlathotep's sister. which is just kind of funny to me. go get your sibling dude its eating my planet

[cakypa120]

Ok Billy keeps coming back au.

Seeing all those people, I just imagine everyone are careful and sad now, so imagine that either this is the first time Billy didn't got killed, or the first time someone who still haven't killed Billy killed him.

I'm don't want to lie I hope he survives, but everything you post says that he won't

Billy sighs. Everyone is tiptoeing around him. Which he expected anyway. Billy doesn't blame them. He just.... He wishes they'd stop being so careful with him.

And then Signal shows up at the Watchtower. Gotham's daytime vigilante. Billy had only seen him three times, since he usually died before Duke joined the Batfamily. Now was the perfect opportunity to meet him.

Marvel: Hello! I'm Captain Marvel! You're Signal, right? Gotham's daytime hero? Nice to meet you!

Signal: Nice to meet you too.

They shake hands. Marvel laughs loudly, although he feels Batman's piercing gaze, as always, watching his brood like a hawk.

Marvel: Are you here on business? Or just annoying your father like your brothers and sisters?

Signal: He is not my father, I don't know where you got that idea from. And I am here to familiarize myself with the internal affairs of the League, since I will be more accessible during the day, unlike Batman.

Marvel: I see. Then let's go, I will show you our cafeteria, where Batdaddy takes coffee as dark as his soul to get energy to suck the strength out of people.

Billy takes Duke to the cafeteria, ignoring the boy's complaints and an irritated Batman. In the end, Billy shows Duke everything, explaining everything in detail, sometimes telling funny stories about Bruce and others from the Bat Clan.

Duke eventually returns to Gotham, and Billy and Bruce see him off. After Duke leaves, Bruce asks the expected question.

Batman: Has he ever...?

Marvel: No. I was dying before he showed up in your family. Well, it's time to go on duty.

Duke doesn't know how to react to this smiling hero.

Duke: Dick, how do you like Captain Marvel?

Dick: A good hero, a wonderful person, has seen too much shit in his entire life.

Duke: He seems too cheerful to me.

Dick: ...... Believe me, if he weren't like that, then... a lot would have gone wrong.

Duke was a breath of fresh air in Billy's life. Ignorance was a blessing. No one wanted to enlighten Duke about what Marvel had to endure. And for that, Billy was grateful. Duke was the only one who talked to him normally, without any guilty looks or awkward silences. Billy liked talking to him. They even got to know each other better.

And then comes the day when the sword of Damocles falls on Billy.

The mission went wrong. Billy and Duke are sealed in an ancient seal that requires a human sacrifice. Billy can't break the seal, because it is too powerful. Created from the suffering of an entire people, created to contain the Gods. Even as the Champion of Magic, he will not be able to break this seal.

Marvel: The seal requires a sacrifice. A human sacrifice.

Duke: Like blood or hair? An arm? A leg?

Marvel: No. You have to kill a person and put it on this seal. The sacrifice will be accepted, and a portal will open through which you can exit.

Duke: What?

Marvel: Magic based on human suffering always requires a sacrifice. This seal is designed to contain God. And this seal is very ancient. We better follow the rules.

Duke: That means one of us will have to die!

Marvel: Yes. Unfortunately. But better than both of us rotting in this prison.

Duke: Maybe we can get help? Well, on the other side! And we will both stay alive!

Marvel: I understand your hope. But... A sacrifice will still be needed. From this side, from that side... It doesn't matter. Someone has to die.

Duke: No! We can't just give up! We have to fight! You have the wisdom of Solomon!

Marvel: The Seal is poisoning you. You're human. You won't last long.

Duke: I'll hold out. I'll survive. We'll be rescued.

Marvel: Duke, I know you believe, and that's good.

Duke: How do you know my name?

Marvel: I know many things. And I know that only one of us will leave this place. And that one will be you.

Marvel materializes a dagger, the blade of which was made of eternium. Duke flinches when Marvel hands him the dagger.

Marvel: It's one of the few things that can kill me.

Duke: No...

Marvel: I know it's hard, but... It's necessary. Sometimes we have to make difficult decisions.

Duke: No! No! No! What are you talking about?!

Marvel: Signal...

Duke: Why are you giving up on life so easily?! You have a family! Friends!! A city that loves you! Are you really going to leave them because of me!? I'm just a newbie! My death won't matter to anyone.

Marvel: *grabs Duke by the shoulders* Don't talk about yourself like that! You're so talented and kind! You'll become a great hero! And you also have family and friends who are looking for you, hoping that you'll come back alive.

Duke: What about you? What about your family?

Marvel: My family... My parents are dead, and my sister... she knows the risks I take by becoming a hero. She understands. The League will understand, too. They won't be mad at you. Trust me. They won't.

Duke: Are you really just going to give up?

Marvel: Maybe. Better me than you. You have to live, Duke. You have your whole life ahead of you, and I'm an old man.

Marvel places the dagger in Duke's hand. Duke's lips tremble. Billy looks at the seal and stands in the middle. He turns and looks at Duke. Billy spreads his arms out to the sides, a bright smile on his face.

Marvel: One blow will do.

Duke:.....

His hands were shaking, holding the heavy dagger. He looks at Marvel, who smiled brightly and spread his arms out to the sides. As if inviting him for a hug. Duke picks up the dagger. He closes his eyes. He has to do this. He has to. But he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to!

Duke takes a deep breath and runs. The dagger pierces the flesh, and Duke feels the warmth of Marvel's body. He slowly opens his eyes and looks at where it struck. Golden blood flowed from the wound. Slowly, the gold turned red. Duke froze, his body stopped obeying him.

Warm hands take his hands and tug. The dagger leaves the body with some kind of sound that Duke cannot understand. A few moments later, Marvel falls to his knees, and Duke continues to stand and stare blankly into space. Marvel's voice breaks him out of this strange trance.

Marvel: You did well, Duke. Great...work...

Marvel lurches to the side and falls. Blood soaks into the seal. The seal lights up brightly and Duke finds himself in the woods. He blinks. Where is Marvel? Wasn't he supposed to come back with him? He needs to be buried, right? Marvel deserves peace. Maybe if Duke searches, he can find Marvel? He's probably nearby. He wanders through the woods, looking for Marvel's body. He doesn't know how much time has passed.

He hears his name being called. But who is calling him? Someone is hugging him. Suddenly, Duke becomes aware of his surroundings. Bruce is hugging him, and Superman, Damian, and Flash are standing next to him. And their faces are sad.

Duke: I killed him... I killed him... I killed... killed... him...

The dagger falls out of his hand. Why was he even holding that abomination? His legs give way and he falls to the ground. Bruce follows him. Duke continued to whisper, "I killed him." Bruce stroked his back and whispered that it wasn't his fault. Duke feels tears, he screams, hugging himself. Before his eyes, again and again, is Marvel's corpse, with a peaceful smile frozen on his face. Bruce hugs him tighter, as if trying to hide Duke from all the pain, from everything that happened. Duke no longer screams, he cries quietly, burying his face in the man's armor.

Duke: I...

Bruce: It's not your fault.

Duke: He...

Bruce: It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault.

Duke presses himself closer to Bruce. Bruce continues to hug him. Duke just hoped that Marvel had found the peace he deserved.

In another universe, a newborn took his first breath.

[venusscore]

Bat family gets neurodivergent kid (reader)

(non-specific, but I try to add as much as I can to make everyone feel included. I will probably make one specific for my personal things in the future, but this is just a general one :))

ALSO I know I usually do all of the Batfam, but I’m still working on ideas for the others, so I will have to just post it with the main batsons (Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Bruce)

Bruce has found out he has another biological child, but they’re neurodivergent:

Bruce had, of course, known about your diagnoses (if you have one) beforehand. He thought it’d be fine- he had dealt with so much more than just a kid who’s a little special, right?

He didn’t realize that there’s a big difference between a kid with severe trauma, and a kid who is naturally different than the rest of the people around them

So one thing he was surprised by was your ability to obsess/hyperfixate on something. It’s not like he minded buying you the merchandise, or bringing you to the cons, or listening to you talk for hours about your interest (he actually quite enjoys listening to you, and it makes it easier to shop for your birthday and Christmas), but he just didn’t expect to be fully taken aback by your enthusiasm

He also didn’t know how to handle your abnormalities with schoolwork, especially if you’re unmedicated. He still loved you, of course! He loved you so much. You’re his baby, no matter what age you are, but he’s had to learn to accommodate you

Dick has known many people, and he’d be lying if he said that none of his teammates or friends were neurodivergent, so he had a much easier time adjusting to your needs

You’re overwhelmed? Here, he has some earplugs and knows the perfect breathing exercises! You want to sit in complete silence and shut down? Dick will make you some little snacks and make sure everyone leaves you alone! You need to ramble? Dick wouldn’t mind listening!

He’s your brother- your OLDEST brother- and he wants you to rely on him/have somewhere to go

Jason is NOT equipped to handle this. He’s in the boat with Bruce of ‘trying to learn, but has a long ways to go’

Sometimes he says jokes you take too literally, so he’s had to teach himself to cool it a bit, or at least clarify that no, he does not hate you at all. Sometimes he gets too loud or worked up when you’re shutting down, so he’s gotten you to give him a signal when you need him to tone it down or just leave you be.

He’s trying. He may not understand as well as Dick or Tim, but he’s trying, and he appreciates that you’re being patient with him

Tim is great with you! He did his homework, obviously, (come on, he’s Tim!) and he’s got as many things as you’ll need. He’s learned to carry fidgets in his pockets, headphones/earplugs if needed, and is ready to help in social situations when needed.

You and him both are mutual yappers. He yaps, you listen, and vise versa. It’s actually very refreshing! You feel better, knowing you can both enjoy each other’s company

Damian, to everyone’s surprise, is the most understanding.

Actually, many people assume that Damian IS neurodivergent (whether he is or not, he’s never been tested), so he’s pretty pleased to have a siblings that understands he isn’t being irrational on some things.

You need things organized a certain way? Him too. You hate change? He wishes everything stayed static. You don’t feel emotions the same way as everyone else/respond inappropriately to situations? Finally, someone who gets it! (ASPD, certain people with ASD, etc.)

You end up being one of his new favorite siblings

Extra:

(I keep seeing theories that Batman is autistic/neurodivergent, and I think those are cute so here’s my take on if you and him both liked bats a lot because I need fluff in my life)

Okay, so Bruce gets you, his second biological child (or first, depending on age), in his custody, and what does he see?

Well, it’s you, but the second you walk inside and see ANY piece of Bat memorabilia, you get all excited! It’s so cute!

He watches you guess what kind of bat is which, show him your own toys/shirts/etc. of bats, and when he tells you he’s the BATMAN? He finally feels like a cool dad!

Alfred is frozen SOLID. It’s just a mini-Bruce.

Suddenly, Christmas is very easy when it comes to shopping. One year, Dick decides to get you both matching pajama sets, and Bruce felt like he could cry.

He likes to call you “Little Bat” and stuff, which starts to be caught on by the rest of the family. It doesn’t matter if your 3 or 18, he’ll always call you that.

(Lmk if you like this a lot because I’d LOVE to write more of just Bruce and reader being hyperfixated on bats together)

———

Tysm for reading!! I plan to finish this with the others. I love them all, but these were just the easiest to think up ideas for

if you have a specific condition you’d like me to write for, lmk!

Thank you for all the support btw! This is so fun are y’all are so sweet!! 💕

[himasgod]

Hehehehe

First years with reader who is Ace's sibling? Reader is an absolute sweetheart to the point people question if they are actually related to Ace.

DEUCE X READER

Where he falls in love with Ace's kind sibling

I'm sorry if it's not what you expected cuz I didn't feel like writing about all the first years today, instead, I focused on deucey, hope u like it anyway <3

Deuce hears it so often he’s not even surprised anymore.

From underclassmen in the cafeteria to random upperclassmen in the hallways, the reaction’s always the same.

“You mean that Ace? Like, Ace Trappola? No way they’re related. Are you sure?”

The confusion never ceases to amuse and confuse everyone—except Deuce.

He gets it. You’re kind, quiet, polite to a fault. You smile at ghosts when they float by Ramshackle and thank the chef ghosts for your meals. You’re always the one with band-aids in your bag, the one who helps Grim reach the higher shelves in the library without complaining about his fireballs.

You're basically the unofficial nurse, therapist, and cheerleader of any anxious student, while your brother…

Well.

“TRAPPOLA!” Riddle roars in the background, and Deuce flinches.

Yep. That.

So no one really blames Deuce for being a little surprised the first time Ace introduced you. He’d been expecting another troublemaker with a grin like a loaded slingshot.

Not someone who greeted him with a soft, “Oh! You must be Deuce! Ace says a lot about you,” with a smile that knocked the breath out of him.

“Not all bad things, I hope?” he’d stammered, ears turning pink.

You just giggled, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“Well… it is Ace. But I don’t believe everything he says.”

And just like that, Deuce was gone.

“I’m serious, I think my sibling’s casting some weird love spell on everyone or something,” Ace grumbles one day, flipping a playing card over in frustration.

“They’re just… nice,” Deuce says, ducking his head to hide his blush.

“Yeah, to the point it’s suspicious. It’s like they got all the angel genes and I got all the cool ones.”

“Wouldn’t call it that,” Deuce mutters, but Ace is already too busy cheating at cards to hear him.

The truth is, Deuce can’t help it.

He finds himself looking for you on campus. Not in a creepy way—he just feels better when you're around.

You talk to him like he’s not just a delinquent trying to play hero. Like he’s someone worth talking to.

Once, you caught him struggling to carry potion ingredients, and without a word, you took half the load into your arms.

“Teamwork makes the dream work,” you’d smiled.

He had to stare straight ahead the whole walk back so you wouldn’t see how red his face had gotten.

“Hey, Deuce?”

He looks up from where he’s fixing something outside the dorm. You’re hugging a pillow to your chest, hair tousled from a nap, and his brain short-circuits for a moment before he manages, “Yeah? Did you just wake up?”

“I was sleepy, so I took a nap…but that doesn't matter... I mean, you want to go to the Mystery Shop with me?” you ask.

“Ace’s stuck in detention, and I… well, I kind of wanted your opinion.”

“My opinion?” Deuce blinks. “On… what?”

You shift shyly.

“I want to buy a charm. For someone. But I’m not sure which one suits him better.”

He stares. His eye twitched a little unconsciously as he felt his heart now beat in a sadder rhythm.

“...Is it for a classmate?”

You hum.

“Mhm. He’s really sweet. A little clumsy. Tries really hard to do the right thing. I think he likes bastcycles?”

Oh.

Oh.

His brain stutters like a bad engine.

“...Wait. Is that—”

Your grin breaks through like sunlight.

“It’s you, dummy.”

He just about drops the wrench.

By the time you two are officially dating, the confusion on campus triples.

“Ace’s sibling? Them? Dating Deuce? What is going on in that family?!”

But Deuce doesn’t care what people say. You make him feel calm. Whole.

Like maybe he doesn’t have to prove himself all the time just to deserve good things.

And when you sit next to him during class and gently fix his tie, or when you sneak him snacks during long lectures with a wink, he feels it again—that dizzy warmth in his chest.

Love, probably.

And if he sometimes ends up sparring with Ace over who gets to walk you to class, well… he’s not sorry.

“Just don’t break their heart, Spade,” Ace says one day, not looking at him.

Deuce nods solemnly.

“I won’t. Ever.”

Because you’re nothing like Ace—but maybe that’s what makes this so special.

And somehow, that kindness of yours?

It’s exactly the kind of chaos Deuce Spade’s heart needed.

[magpiemirroring]

I am always sort of astonished by people who expect me to sheepishly shrug and go "Oh well, I suppose there might be a god, haha, but this is what I feel, yanno?" as if I should be embarrassed or ashamed of being an atheist. As if I might have doubts about this after growing up in an aggressive majority Christian country where admitting you don't celebrate Christmas makes people look at you as if you've grown a second head while they sputter that Christmas, the holiday that celebrates the arrival of the Christian savior, Jesus, is for everyone. (As if that isn't kinda weirdly presumptive when it comes to anyone who's just not that into Jesus.)

I am conscious that religions provide more to people than simply spiritual guidance and set of beliefs about the world. So I looked at a bunch of other open (or open if you follow the right path) faiths just in case something else spoke to me and I was still like, hmm....none of this is doing it for me. I get a lot more peace and confidence out of not worrying about gods or other spiritual matters. I like wrestling my morality without having to get a religion mixed up in it. (I'm pretty moral and fairly kind. A fact that astonishes some people so much that I once had someone tell me straight out that they didn't know atheists could be nice. I don't believe in a higher power. I haven't abandoned the ideas of responsibility for my actions or participating in some sort of social code or contract with other people. I still have empathy for others based on the fact that we're all people. I have even fought to ensure that minority religions are not ignored in my workplaces and work projects on the basis that whether or not I believe in a religion doesn't matter when it comes to protecting both the freedom to practice a religion and the joy of representation.)

On the flip side, I know some religions are cults and the more I have learned about cults, the more I am determined to be openly, kindly atheist when I can. Not to convert people to atheism. But to show them that there is a world outside their cult that can be kind and supportive so that if they want to escape something that functions as a controlling or abusive relationship, they have some hope that folks outside the cult will be kind and helpful. The world is not as your church says it is. There are even nice nonbelievers out here. You have options if you want them.

And every so often I check in with myself to see how I'm feeling about it and to check in on my beliefs and values and attitudes towards the world to make sure that I am not letting things get to me in a way that leads to me to reactionary bullshit. For me, atheism is not a nihilistic giving up and shrugging. It's an active part of who I am.

So why would I be shy or ashamed or self-conscious about it? I put a lot of thought and a lot of work into defining who I want to be and being that person. Sometimes I am cautious about admitting it until I get a sense that people are not gonna treat me like shit about it, but that's yanno, normal for anyone not a part of the religious majority in this country. You gotta make a judgement call sometimes. Am I gonna get hate-crimed for being myself?

And, yeah, some leftist spaces are, no matter how open-minded they proclaim to be, still functionally culturally christian spaces that get real uncomfy if you don't pay lip service to the idea that believing in a religion or some vague form of spirituality is the default (and better) position and being an atheist is functionally an attack on people's beliefs more than simply holding different beliefs would be. (I don't care what you believe. Just don't force me to follow rules based on your religious belief system.)

There's something about atheism that I've repeatedly tried and failed to put into words on several posts on this blog but I think I finally got it.

Atheists are the only religious minority who, even (or sometimes even *especially*) in ostensibly progressive spaces are not allowed to ever act like they're sure of their beliefs.

[ellswritings]

In My Corner

(Part 1), (Part 2), (Part 3), Part 4

CM Punk/Phil Brooks x reader

Seth Rollins/Colby Lopez x reader

TW: The usual angst, lots of confrontation, fluff, Damian and Rhea being flirty, this is over 14k words, but it’s a cute and a very important chapter.

Tags: @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling , @scream4mami

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

“I’m walking in right now, Joe,” Y/N tells her best friend, phone smooshed against her face as she carries her duffle bag into the arena with her. It was an unusual night where she would be performing on Monday Night Raw at the request of Adam Pearce. Paul Levesque had informed her of a new rivalry angle between her and Nia Jax who is still currently signed under the red brand.

Y/N takes pride as an actively defending champion. No matter who it is, or whatever brand they perform on, she’s open to the challenge. It also gives her more opportunities to appear on both brands which is even better exposure. It’s always been her dream to be the face of WWE so she’s not afraid to put in the work to do it.

“You know he’s gon’ be there tonight, right?” Joe reminds her warily. “And after Friday night, I dunno how comfortable I am lettin’ you be near him.”

“Joe, it’s just a match near the end of the show,” Y/N tries to calm him down. “I can just stay with Colby the whole night and it’ll be fine.”

“I just don’t understand why you gotta have a match every week,” he huffs playfully, wishing she would spend more time relaxing. Her schedule would stress caffeine out. “You could be out on the lake with me, Galina, and the kids.”

“Okay, first of all,” Y/N laughs loudly, “Absolutley not. Galina doesn’t get to see you much as it is so I would never intrude on a family outing. Second of all, I don’t mind having frequent matches. It keeps me sharp, reminds me that I can always learn more.”

Joe sighs, “I know. Just bugs me that you never take time off.”

“I don’t have anyone to take time off for,” Y/N says nonchalantly as she walks inside the building. She smiles, sending waves to some of the people she knows as she heads to Pearce’s office. “My parents are always doin’ some cool vacation stuff with their retirement money and my siblings are off doing their own thing. I swear we meet up for Christmas and Easter and that’s about it. I’m pretty sure the last time I did thanksgiving at home was the year of my debut.”

“That’s what I’m saying though,” he says exasperatedly. “Even if it’s not for your biological family, you can always take time to hang out with us.”

“If it was a whole family affair and the entire Anoa’i, Fatu bloodline was there, I’d go,” she tells him. “But this is a small family thing for your wife and kids. Just enjoy it and stop worrying about me.”

“When you gonna get it through that thick head I’m always worried ‘bout you,” Joe’s voice softens, surprising her with how genuine he sounds. “You my ride or die, Y/N/N. No matter what. You my wing woman, my right hand. No matter how hard Colby tries to get you to switch sides,” he adds the last part smugly.

Y/N rolls her eyes, practically hearing the smirk on his face. “If there’s one thing I can say about myself is that I’m one loyal SOB,” she grins even though he can’t see her. “I love Colbs, but my brothers come first.”

Joe nods, his heart warming. “Thas my girl.”

Y/N rounds the corner, locating the door with Pearce’s name plate on it. “Ight, well I gotta go. I have a quick meeting with Pearce before the show starts. I’ll talk to you later, Chief.”

“Okay.” Joe responds, but as Y/N goes to hang up, his voice stops her. “But Y/N… just promise me one thing.”

“What’s up?”

There’s a brief pause, “Don’t let him talk on you like that. ‘Cause if he does, I’ll send Josh out there faster than he can say his own damn name.”

Y/N looks down at her Air Force ones, forcing herself to not relive what was said that Friday night. She shakes her head, jaw ticking, “Trust me, if he wants to talk shit, he’ll be saying it to my face this time.”

“Good,” Joe nods, satisfied with her answer. “Okay, well have a good show, alright? Go kick my cousin's ass.”

“Will do,” she adjusts her bag strap. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

And with one click the call ends. Without wasting much more time she finally knocks on Adam’s door. She waits maybe two seconds before the man emerges with a warm smile on his face. “Y/N, please, come in, come in.” He opens the door wider for her, allowing her to take a step inside. Once she’s comfortably situated in the office, he closes the door behind them.

There are papers and multiple different documents places in an organized fashion on his desk. Y/N takes a seat, smiling softly when she notices the amount of pictures adorning Adam’s desk. He’s always been a very personable guy, not afraid to show his love for the people in his life. He’s also a fantastic general manager, one she’s missed working with since being on SmackDown.

Adam rounds his desk, taking a seat in his own chair. “First off, I just want to say thank you for doing this on such short notice,” he says gratefully. “We were planning on doing a segment with her and Becky tonight, but the writers thought this would be a nice little Easter egg to throw in for a future feud.”

“Yeah, no worries,” Y/N waves him off. “Lina and I got a chance to go over our bumps a few times over the weekend at the performance center so it should go as planned.”

“I’m not worried,” Adam smiles. “I trust ya. I’m sure you and Lina will have the match of the night.”

“I sure hope so,” Y/N agrees with a light laugh.

“All right, well, you are more than welcome to leave your things in the women’s locker room,” Adam tells her. “Or if there’s somewhere else you’d feel more comfortable, feel free to go wherever.” Y/N nods as he stands, reorganizing some papers. He smooths over his blazer, “So after we wrap here, production’s gonna get a live shot of you walking out of this office. Just a little beat to show your arrival for the night — nothing long, just enough to set the tone and let the crowd pop.”

Y/N nods, already mentally timing the beat between the office door opening and the moment she walks into frame. “Got it.”

“From there,” he continues, grabbing a clipboard from his desk, “you’ll take the usual route — head down the main hallway, wave to a few crew members, and we’ll plant some familiar faces along the way.”

He flips the clipboard around to show her a short list of names.

“Damian, Rhea, Dom — they’ll be hanging around catering. Seth’ll be near Gorilla later, so we’ll have him cross paths with you on the way. The idea is to stir the pot a bit. Nothing overt. Just enough interaction for people to start guessing.”

“Guessing what?” she grins, playing dumb.

“That you’re thinking about jumping ship. Getting friendly with Judgment Day. Cozying up with the Monday Night Messiah again. You know how it works,” Adam smirks. “We just want a bit of a reaction.”

She chuckles. “Can’t wait to see the Twitter meltdowns.”

He sets the clipboard down, his expression shifting slightly — not serious, but intentional. “And there’s one more thing I want to go over with you.”

Y/N watches him closely, sensing the shift.

“Phil’s officially signing with Raw tonight.”

There’s a pause. Just a breath. Y/N doesn’t move — not a twitch of the jaw or flick of the eyes. She’s been trained for moments like this.

Adam gives her a moment, then continues. “You don’t need to say anything. I just thought you deserved to know. I respect what you’ve built on SmackDown, and I know you and Phil have a… history. Didn’t want this to feel like it came out of nowhere.”

Y/N gives a small nod, keeping her tone even. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

He studies her face a second longer before softening again. “I just wanted you to hear it from me instead of being blindsided by it.”

Y/N could feel the meeting come to an end so she stands. She sends him a small smile and reaches forward to shake his hand. Adam holds it for an extra second longer, a genuine look in his eyes, “And Y/N, for what it’s worth… if there ever comes a point where you want to call Raw home again, there’s always a top spot for you. You’ve earned that ten times over.”

Her heart squeezes in her chest, but she doesn’t let it show. “I appreciate that, Adam. Really.”

He opens the door slightly, a cue that her live cue is coming. A stagehand just beyond the frame gives them a two-finger countdown.

Adam gestures with a smile. “Show’s yours.”

Y/N adjusts the strap of her duffle bag and steps through the door just as the red light above the camera switches on.

The door to Adam Pearce’s office cracked open with a low creak, and within seconds, the arena reacted like someone lit a fuse. The camera caught her first — just a glimpse — before the crowd fully processed what they were seeing.

Y/N, walking cockily, ready for her match with Nia later that night, the Women’s Undisputed Championship perched perfectly on her shoulder like it was born there. Her black and gold trimmed leather jacket covers her cropped black tank top, tight leggings accompanying the other parts of her outfit. Her duffle bag swings back into place as she rolls one shoulder, adjusting the strap without even looking.

She stepped into the hallway like she owned it. She kind of did.

What Pearce hadn't mentioned in the contract meeting — what he didn’t prep her for in that brief meeting— was the angle the Judgement day would be playing at with her.

The cameras followed her as she continued walking down the hallway. That’s when she sees them. They weren’t standing in formation. That wasn’t their style. They were draped across production crates and bathed in purple LED backlight like they’d been born out of the shadows. All three of them — Rhea Ripley, Dominik Mysterio, and Damian Priest — watching her like they already knew something she didn’t.

Rhea saw her first. A smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth, and she pushed off the crate with lazy confidence, arms folded, chains glinting in the low light. “Well, would you look at that? Look who SmackDown decided to lend us for the night.”

Y/N’s pace didn’t slow, but her smirk did creep in. “Don’t tell me you missed me already.”

“Babe,” Rhea said, voice low and smooth, “I never stop.”

There it was — easy, sharp-edged banter. Her and Demi have been tight for years outside of kayfabe, but inside the walls of WWE, nothing was off-limits. Least of all the chemistry.

Y/N’s gaze flicked to Dom next. He straightened up from his slouch and tossed her a grin. “What’s up, champ?” he said, casually adjusting the chain around his neck. “Lookin’ like a million bucks.”

“Someone’s feeling bold,” she replied, eyebrow arched. “Or maybe something else caught your attention?” She nods down to her championship belt, subtly calling him a gold digger.

Dom didn’t blink. “Nah. I just call it like I see it.”

She chuckled under her breath — okay, cute. That was fair.

But then Damian stepped forward, and everything about the energy shifted. He didn’t grin. He didn’t nod. He looked at her — eyes dragging from her boots to the curve of the belt on her shoulder, then landing on her face like he was seeing something worth burning for.

And then he said, voice just rough enough to scrape under her skin: “Didn’t think Pearce had the balls to bring in someone with your bite… even if it’s just for the night.”

Y/N’s breath caught — just barely — and she masked it with a scoff. That wasn’t in the run sheet. “You know Pearce,” she said coolly. “He plays it safe… until he doesn’t.” She shrugs, shining off her belt with a smile, “Besides, I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.”

Damian took one more step — closer than needed, just enough to force the camera to tilt up slightly to catch them both in frame. She didn’t move back. “You always look this good after business meetings,” he said, eyes flicking to her mouth, “or is this just a special occasion?”

That stopped her. Just for a second. Long enough for her to wonder if Pearce had strategically kept that part of the script vague. Long enough for her to feel it — the pull, the electricity that wasn’t part of the job. She arched a brow. “You flirting with me, Priest? Or maybe this is some sort of recruitment tactic,” she looks him up and down, lifting an eyebrow.

Damian’s smile was slow, lethal. “Why not both?”

And okay — that got her. Bold move, she thought. Definitely not in the brief.

Rhea watched the exchange with open amusement, leaning in toward Dom like they were courtside at a basketball game. “She’d look good in our colors,” Rhea murmured, not to Y/N — just loud enough for her to hear.

“Think Roman would survive that?” Dom added, grinning as he looked between them. “The champ sliding in with us?”

Y/N clicked her tongue, sharp like a warning “Careful,” she said. “The Bloodline’s got long memories. And longer reach.”

Dom held his hands up. “Hey — no disrespect. I’ve seen what Solo does to people who get too close.”

Rhea smirked. “And I’ve seen what you do to people when you’re bored. That’s why I said to them that we should find you, have a little chat.”

Y/N turned her head, pretending to study a nearby monitor just to keep the grin from fully forming. God, she loved this job.

Damian stepped back — barely — giving her enough space to breathe again. But he kept his gaze on her like a challenge left hanging in the air. “If you ever get tired of standing behind Roman’s throne,” he said, softer now, lower, “we’ve got room for more than one crown.”

Y/N’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t stand behind anyone.”

She took a step past him, not rushed, but deliberate. The camera followed her shoulder as she passed Judgment Day in full — Rhea smirking behind her, Dom mouthing something like “Daaamn,” and Damian still watching like he wasn’t done yet.

Y/N tossed one final look over her shoulder. “Tell your boss,” she said, “next time he sets the trap, he should warn me about the bait.”

Damian just chuckled, voice like thunder low on the horizon. “Who said anything about bait, princesa?”

And that — that — was when she knew. This wasn’t the end of the moment. It was just the start.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The show is going extremely well. The crowd in Cleveland is one of the most reactive they’d seen in a while. Y/N had dropped her bag off with Josh, letting him take it to wherever he kept his things. She’d managed to get changed into her ring gear, earning a low whistle from Josh in the process.

It’s a newer set, black and gold to match the leather jacket from before. Normally, she’d wear red or black to demonstrate her loyalty to the Bloodline, but the stylists had insisted on a new look for the night. She’s on her own tonight, and she’s the champion, might as well look the part.

Josh couldn’t stay with her for long unfortunately. His match with Drew McIntyre was the first of the night so he had to head to Gorilla pretty much right after helping her get situated. He kissed her on the cheek softly right before taking off. Y/N had watched him with a small smile before continuing backstage. Eventually she found a relatively empty area with a monitor so she could watch his match in peace.

McIntyre has had problems with the Bloodline in Kayfabe. They had been interfering in his matches and making his life hell for the past few years. He’s been on the hunt to punish every member of the faction, having gone after Sami Zayn first. He perceived them all as an enemy.

The match has gone back and forth, favoring both men at certain points. Y/N watched carefully, picking up on certain moves she wouldn’t mind adding to her own combat set. Michael Cole and Wade Barrett’s commentary is nice comedic relief from the intensity of the match. Even though it’s all carefully choreographed, sometimes the sells look a little too real.

“You know, I’m not surprised you’re the one who managed to find the only quiet corner in the whole stadium.”

She turned just in time to see Rami Sebei walking up with that same scruffy charm and warm-eyed smile that had somehow survived a thousand promos and even more betrayals. He was already grinning like he’d caught her doing something secret.

“Rami!” she beamed, immediately scooting to one side on the production crate and patting the empty space beside her. “Come here, sit. I haven’t seen your face in forever.”

“Shocking, considering it’s my best feature,” he said dramatically, making a show of fluffing his beard as he plopped down beside her.

She snorted, nudging him with her knee. “Your best feature is your heart and we both know it.”

He raised a brow, touched a hand to his chest. “You flatter me.”

“I try. But really,” she leaned her head lightly on his shoulder for a second, “it’s good to see you.”

“You too,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t even know you were on the call sheet until like… an hour ago. Were you hiding from me?”

She smirked. “Obviously. You caught me. I changed my name, dyed my hair, and faked a new finisher just to avoid running into you again.”

“Wow. Hurtful,” he deadpanned. “After all the emotional labor I did carrying our Honorary status together.”

Y/N laughed, the sound full and easy. “Please. I was the one keeping you from throwing a mic at Roman half the time.”

“Exactly! Emotional labor.”

They both giggled, the kind of laughter that didn’t need context, the kind built on long nights, dark hallways, and sharing too many chips at catering while dodging Heyman’s wrath.

“You’re still you,” she said after a beat, smiling at him softly.

“And you’re still the younger sibling I never asked for but would absolutely throw hands over.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but her grin stayed in place. “You always say the nicest things.”

“Well,” he shrugged, “you’re kind of the only person around here who never treated me like a side character. So, yeah. I’m allowed to be biased.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder again, this time letting it rest for a moment.

“God, I missed you.”

“I missed you more.”

They stayed like that for a few beats, the quiet settling comfortably between them as Josh kicked out of a near fall on-screen. When Y/N straightened up again, she stretched her arms out in front of her with a small groan. “Can’t believe I’m actually working tonight,” she said, still watching the match. “Creative didn’t tell Lina or me until early Saturday morning. We basically lived at the PC all weekend getting everything ready.”

“Classic,” Rami said with an understanding scoff. “You’d think being a champion would earn you more notice ahead of time.”

She shrugged. “This is my eighth defense in like… a month and a half. At this point, I just show up where they tell me and pray my entrance jacket doesn’t rip mid-segment.”

“You ever just… get tired?” he asked, giving her a sideways glance. “Not just physically. I mean, all of it.”

She let out a breath, not quite a sigh. “Always. But I love it too much to stop. So the tired part doesn’t scare me.”

He nodded, thoughtful again, one arm braced on his knee as he leaned forward, watching the screen with her. McIntyre landed a punishing neckbreaker on Josh, and Y/N winced in solidarity, but didn’t look away. “I used to think that,” Rami said, tone quieter now, “about the tired part. Told myself I’d rather be exhausted doing something I love than bored out of my mind anywhere else.”

Y/N glanced at him, reading more than just nostalgia in his voice. She nudged him gently with her knee. “You miss it?”

“The Bloodline?” He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Not the chaos. Definitely not the paranoia. But…” He shrugged. “The purpose. The feeling like you’re part of something. Yeah. That I miss.”

A pause stretched between them, comfortable. “Being ‘honorary’ was a hell of a weird gig, huh?” Y/N asked, a soft laugh in her voice.

Rami smirked. “No kidding. All the responsibility, none of the family dinners.”

Y/N laughed fully at that. “Or the family drama. Although I think I got stuck with more of that than you ever did.”

“Oh, you absolutely did,” he said, grinning. “You got Roman on a leash and Solo breathing down your neck half the time. I just had to survive Jimmy’s nicknames and Jey’s side-eyes.”

“Lucky bastard.”

“I keep telling people,” he said with mock gravity. “Nobody listens.”

She elbowed him again lightly and leaned back on her hands, her boot tapping rhythmically against the side of the crate as Josh kicked out of another pin on-screen. For a moment, it felt like old times — her and Rami, hiding in plain sight backstage, stealing moments of peace in between chaos and storylines. But then his tone shifted again, a little quieter.

“You know,” he started, not looking at her, “I’ve been watching the way they’re setting you up lately.”

Y/N raised a brow. “And?”

“And… it doesn’t look like they’re keeping you Bloodline forever.”

She turned her head sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean…” He finally looked over, something gentle but serious behind his eyes. “You’re on Raw tonight. No backup. New gear. New color scheme. You just did a whole segment with Judgment Day that looked suspiciously like foreshadowing. You really think that’s just coincidence?”

Y/N’s lips parted, ready to refute him, but the words didn’t come. She frowned instead. “It’s just creative trying to stir the pot, get reactions out of the audience. Maybe even trying to start some conspiracy theories to keep WWE trending. It’s not that deep.”

Rami gave her a knowing look. “You think Pearce didn’t hand-pick that segment? I heard him on the phone last week — said he wants ‘stronger female anchors’ on Raw. Plural. Not just one-off appearances. He wants people who draw eyes, Y/N.”

She looked away, jaw tightening.

“And I know you’re smarter than to pretend you didn’t notice that your name’s on a new merch board,” he added, softer now. “Without red.”

Y/N sighed through her nose, the kind of breath that held back the truth. “I’m not leaving the Bloodline,” she said flatly. “Paul wouldn’t do that.”

Rami hesitated. “You mean Levesque?” he asked, voice more careful now. Y/N didn’t answer — not directly. But the slight tension in her jaw spoke volumes. He nodded slowly. “Paul’s not the only one calling the shots anymore, Y/N. And if the higher-ups think a certain kind of drama sells…” He trailed off, but she heard it loud and clear. If the boardroom thought her past — her history with Phil — was worth cashing in on, they wouldn’t hesitate.

“They wouldn’t,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“Wouldn’t they?” Rami replied, softer. “You know how this works.”

She did. The only way they’d move her brands entirely was if she lost the championship — and she wasn’t planning to let that happen anytime soon. That was her safety net. Her line in the sand. But even as the thought formed, a stagehand appeared around the corner.

“Y/N?” they called, politely but urgently. “Your segment with Seth is going live in five. Just a quick hallway run in before his promo with Punk”.

Y/N stood, reluctantly, brushing her palms over her thighs and adjusting the strap of her title on her shoulder. Rami stood with her, “You sure you’re good?” he asked, eyes scanning her face.

She nodded, lips tight. “Always.”

He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Hey — whatever happens next, you’ll be fine. Bloodline or not. You’re more than that.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “You always say the right thing.”

“I’ve got a gift,” he said with a wink, stepping back.

Y/N turned to follow the friendly stagehand, every step deliberate, the sound of the crowd growing louder with each footfall. She wasn’t sure what tonight was really setting up. But for the first time… she wasn’t convinced she was the one steering the wheel anymore.

The camera glides behind her as she walks down the hall as she was instructed— slow, deliberate, almost reverent. Y/N strides through the backstage area like the queen she is. Her boots echo off the concrete, her posture unbothered and unbent. The Raw crowd roars through the walls, but in this corridor, it’s just her — black and gold gear hugging every curve, leather jacket half-shrugged off her shoulder like she couldn’t be bothered to wear it properly.

She has to fight off the smirk threatening to stretch across her face. It’s always an ego boost whenever she hears the crowd get loud for her, even if it’s just a backstage appearance. The women’s championship glistens beneath the overhead lights. Centered, heavy, confident — just like the woman wearing it.

And then — the crowd erupts.

Because ahead of her — leaning casually against a production crate like he was summoned by pure chemistry — stands Seth Rollins. Black suit. Black shirt. Gold accents. Gold aviators. And that glinting World Heavyweight Championship slung over his shoulder like a weapon made just for him.

The moment their eyes lock, it’s over. Seth’s breath catches — just for a second — because damn.

Matching.

Not planned. Not discussed. But matching perfectly. Black. Gold. Leather. Power. It hits him square in the chest. She looks like trouble wrapped in gold-plated glory. And she looks like she knows it. He pushes his glasses down his nose just far enough to see her better. And damn, she’s even more lethal up close. The sharp look in her eyes. The smirk tugging at her lips. The swagger in her walk like she’s walking toward her prey — or her next mistake.

Seth steps forward, slow and calculated, grinning like he’s already halfway in over his head. “Well, well, well…” he says, voice smooth but loaded. “Didn’t expect you to bring all that gold to my show.”

Y/N stops just short of him — toe-to-toe, eye-to-eye, not an ounce of hesitation. “It’s not your show if I’m here,” she fires back, lips twitching into something playful. “You’re just keeping it warm for me.”

The crowd — even backstage through the screens — reacts immediately. Loud. Screaming. Someone yells “OOHHHHH” off camera. Seth doesn’t blink.

He grins wider. “Careful,” he murmurs. “Say things like that, and people might start thinking you’re after my spot.”

“I can’t want something that’s already mine, Rollins,” she says, slowly tilting her head. “Just go ahead and ask your General Manager.”

He feels his jaw flex. That wasn’t in the script. Neither was the way she steps in even closer — just a whisper of space between them now. Titles practically brushing. The lights above them flicker, like even the building feels the heat building in the space between their bodies. Seth was supposed to say something else next. Something safe. Something scripted.

But he doesn’t.

Because instead, he tips his head and lets his gaze drag down — her title, her outfit, the precision of how everything matches his — and then back up. Slowly. Almost disrespectfully. “Was this little matching incident an accident?” he asks, voice softer now. “Or are you looking this good just for me?”

Y/N’s brow lifts. She’s not supposed to touch him — but the script's already in shambles. So she reaches out — slow and smooth — and straightens the lapel of his jacket. Fingers linger. Press. Brush against the gold chain at his collarbone. “I match energy,” she says, voice like velvet. “Looks like you finally brought the right one.”

The crowd explodes.

Even backstage crew watching nearby are clutching their faces like they’re watching a scandal unfold in real-time. Seth leans forward, his grin tugging at the corners like he’s holding back something way too bold for live TV. “That right?” he murmurs. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re burning the whole place down just by walking through it.”

Y/N chuckles — low, dangerous — and drags her thumb across the edge of his title this time. “Guess we’ll see who survives the fire.” Their eyes lock again — and this time, it’s longer. Hotter. The kind of moment that teeters right on the edge of something explosive. “And between you and I… I’m hoping it’s you.”

His breath catches and neither of them move. Neither of them want to. They're both fully off-script now, and they know it — but no one’s stopping them. It’s too good. It’s too real.

Seth finally pulls back just a hair — like if he doesn’t, he’s going to do something that’ll break PG. “Enjoy your little visit, sweetheart,” he says, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. “But remember — you’re not the only one who knows how to steal a show.”

Y/N smirks, eyes glinting. “Good,” she says, stepping past him with one last brush of her hand along the edge of his suit jacket. “Then maybe I won’t get bored.” She walks off without a second glance.

And Seth stands there — for just a second — completely wrecked. Because he knows something just happened. Something no one planned. Something the entire arena — and probably the entire internet — is already screaming about. He laughs under his breath, shaking his head and adjusting his sunglasses again. “Damn…”

Even back at commentary, no one knows what to say about what just happened. The buzz of the crowd fills the dead silence until Michael Cole snaps out of whatever haze he and Wade were stuck in.

Cole’s voice cracks. “Uh—did it just get very warm in here?”

Wade Barrett whistles low, still watching the monitor. “I’ve seen staredowns. I’ve seen mind games. But that? That wasn’t mind games. That was—”

“Foreplay?” Cole blurts before immediately clearing his throat. “I mean uh, that was—intense. Very intense.”

Barrett leans back in his chair. “Roman Reigns has made it very clear where his loyalties lie. And his golden girl? Just got very friendly with someone Roman still considers enemy number one.”

Cole nods slowly, visibly rattled. “If this is how Y/N shows up when she’s just visiting Raw… I’m scared to see what happens if she ever decides to stay.”

Barrett chuckles darkly. “Rollins might not survive it. And honestly? We might not either.”

Y/N could feel every part of her body burning after that. She knew it wasn’t smart to go off script, but she couldn’t help it. He looked too damn good not to add a little steam to their interaction. Y/S/N and Seth have always had that banter, but they may have let Y/N and Colby slip through a bit too much. It was a lot easier than either of them would have imagined. Probably because they could easily hide behind their characters.

She could feel people’s eyes on her as she continued walking backstage. She kept her eyes forward unless someone blatantly walked up to her. She noticed a lot of people heading towards catering. It was early on enough in the night to get a quick bite without worrying about missing a cue.

Once she reached another monitor, she caught the tail end of Punk’s speech on SmackDown last Friday. She exhales, nostrils flaring as she stares at his face. That must mean he’s on next. He’s announcing where he’s officially signing.

As if on cue, the monitor comes back to life, showing Adam Pearce standing in the ring with a folder in one hand and a microphone in the other. Y/N crosses her arms over her chest, watching with a stoic look on her face.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the time for a sales pitch is over.” There’s a dramatic pause, the crowd roaring before he continues on. “After going to SmackDown and talking to Nick Aldis, and going to NXT to talk to HBK, the man I’m about to bring out here may not need an introduction, but he needs to make a decision.” A buzz of anticipation and excitement fills the room as Pearce expertly creates the build up for Phil to announce his decision to the public. “And after twenty-five years of knowing him, I’m sure he’s gonna make the right one. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the man that calls himself the ‘best in the world,’ C…M… Punk!”

That tv static pulses through the entire building, the crowd screaming loudly for him as he walks out from backstage. He’s wearing the same shirt he wore at SmackDown, just a different pair of jeans and shoes. He struts down the ramp, making sure to high five every person who sticks their hand out towards him. His smile is wide and bright as he continues to soak in every ounce of praise thrown his way. He slowly makes his way to the ring, stopping to acknowledge the audience one more time before climbing into the ring.

He shakes Pearce’s hand respectfully, the two men sharing a brief embrace before Adam hands him his microphone to allow him to make the announcement. His music fades out as the crowd begins to loudly chant his name. It’s like Friday night all over again. She didn’t blame the crowd though. It’s an exciting time. People have been chanting his name for years since he left. There was a point in time where she wanted this day to come more than anything. It’s just funny how much things change.

“I thought I was in a bit of a sullen mood, and then I come out here, and I see all these signs, and I hear all these people…” the crowd increases in volume in response to his words. He allows them to cheer, smiling at the support being thrown his way. “Truth is, I have a huge decision to make. We, if I may, have a huge decision to make.” Y/N rolls her eyes. He’s already made his decision. But he’s always been good at making people feel important, valued, even if he never planned on taking their words into consideration.

“And I’ve been thinking about it all week. And the reason I’ve been so consumed and worried about it is because I love you guys,” Punk gestures out to the crowd. “But the truth is, this town, and this building specifically, hasn’t always been kind to CM Punk.”

The people boo in response, some of them knowing the lore behind Cleveland, others being too new to wrestling to understand. But the one person in the building who knows his quarrels with this building more than anyone is Y/N L/N. In fact, she was present for most of his issues that happened here. She was the shoulder he rested his head on when the most frustrating events of his life happened.

Until the night he walked out. The night he left this building and decided he didn’t need her anymore.

“I walked back here through the hallways, there’s a lot of ghosts, ladies and gentlemen, and I’m doing my best to face ‘em head on.” Y/N wants to laugh at that. Or maybe she’s just angry at the fact the one ghost he hasn’t faced was her. That the only way he would acknowledge her presence was if he could embarrass her in front of an entire sold out arena.

“A lot of people might not know this, but I debuted in this building.” The crowd cheers. “Yeah! Was anybody there? I had Mickie James on my arm.” Once again people scream in support. “We walked down that ramp, we got into this ring, and it was so good, I went back and they said, we’re sending you to Louisville Kentucky. Have fun in OVW.”

Y/N might not have been there in person, hell, she hadn’t even had her own debut yet, but she remembered seeing it on her tv back home. She was watching it with her dad after spending an entire week at her own hometown wrestling academy that she had been performing at since she was six years old.

Little did she know that at that point she would end up right by his side only a few years later.

“And, gosh, I didn’t wanna go, but while I was there, I embraced being uncomfortable, and I learned how to love it. Exactly like when I came to the WWE for the first time, and I didn’t know what I was in for. But I embraced being uncomfortable and I learned to love it.”

His eyes never leave the camera and for a moment it feels as if he’s staring straight at her. Y/N knows he’s not, he probably doesn’t even know she’s watching, but the way his eyes bore into the lens, it feels like he knows. She curses under breath at the way her heart skips a beat at the passion in his voice. Even after all this time, hearing him talk about what he loves to do still affects her that way. It’s like a conditioned response. Even though her mind says she never wants to speak to him again, her body still remembers how it felt hearing him all those years ago.

“I triumphantly return to this town, this same building, World Heavyweight Champion! I was ready to put on a show for everybody here!” He starts pacing the ring back and forth, finally looking away from the camera and towards the cheering fans. “And, then, Randy Orton kicks me in the head backstage… and I wake up and they tell me, ‘By the way, we stripped you of the title. You couldn’t compete. You’re no longer the champion.’ And I was like ‘Cleveland!’” He raises his fist in the air, jokingly cursing the town. “Again!”

He sighs, spinning on his heels. “Was anybody here ten years ago for the story I’m about to tell?” There are scattered voices in the audience as he goes on, “I’m not gonna bore you with details ‘cause a lot of it is in my rear view mirror. I’m focused on the future. I’m focused on the now. I’m focused on everybody here in this building today.” He all was the crowd to have their reaction time. “But ten years ago, I had to take myself off the hamster wheel. I had to, for better or for worse, make the hardest decision of my life. And I don’t regret it. I don’t look back.”

Y/N tilts her head, wondering to herself what exactly was the hardest part of that decision. He says he’s moved on, that he doesn’t look back on that fateful day, but part of her doesn’t believe that. There’s no way he’s managed to move on like nothing happened when that day ten years ago still manages to haunt her in the present. But perhaps that’s her own weight she needs to carry, not his.

“But there was always that part of me that wondered if anybody paid to see CM Punk that day I walked out of Cleveland, if they were disappointed. Backstage, I saw a young lady by the name of Indy, and she told me that she felt betrayed as that little kid. And I told her a story of when I saw ‘Rowdy’ Roddy Piper appear on WCW television. And as a young wrestling fan, I felt the exact same way, so I understood. So, if you’re here now, if you’re watching at home, and you’re disappointed that CM Punk walked out, I understand. And hell, ladies and gentlemen, I apologize.”

The applause for that is thunderous. Y/N watches, her eyes widening at that last sentence. Punk? Apologizing? She never thought she’d live to see the day. But that’s his whole new brand now. Older, wiser, just here to have a good time and make money.

“I’ve gone to SmackDown, and I’ve listened to what Nick Aldis has to say. He put together a very substantial offer. You understand. I went down to NXT, I hung out with Shawn Michaels, and there’s a fifteen year old CM Punk somewhere in the universe who’s tickled to death that he got an offer from Shawn Michaels to go help mold the next generation of Superstars. It’s a great deal.” He glances down to his right, “Adam Pearce has put together a deal that, honestly, is head and shoulders above both those other deals.”

That’s when it finally clicks for everyone in the crowd as they realize the Second City Saint is about to sign a contract right in front of their very eyes. “But can I be very real and very honest with you folks right now? My mind was probably already made up when I looked at the calendar and I saw Cleveland. I’m here to bury those ghosts. I’m here to right a few wrongs. My future starts now.” He smiles cockily, shrugging his shoulders. “You couldn’t write a better television show, ladies and gentlemen. Ten years, almost to the day, CM Punk walked out. And regardless of how you feel about it, CM Punk walks right back in!”

That’s when he stops pacing, making direct eye contact with the camera again. “And if you’re happy about it… if you’re mad about it,” his voice lowers then, almost in a deliberate fashion. “You better learn to love it, ‘cause congratulations, Adam Pearce…” Adam sticks out his hand to seal the deal. “The newest Raw Superstar is named CM Punk…” the crowd goes bananas, “and CM Punk is home!”

With that, he shakes Pearce’s hand, taking the folder from him and signing it with that same unshakable confidence he’s always had. Everyone backstage claps at the segment, some of the other stars cheering as one of their all time favorites has just returned to the company “officially.”

Y/N continues watching blankly, ignoring commentary and the chants of his name. Punk runs to the corner of the ring, celebrating with the crowd as her hearing seems to go out. He’s actually back. Avoiding him is going to be much harder now. The only reprove she might have is that he won’t show up much on Friday’s. The only thing that seems to snap her out of her haze of thoughts is the familiar scream.

BURN IT DOWN!

Y/N looks back to the monitor and suddenly Colby’s form appears on screen. Punk doesn’t bother to hide his irritation as Seth dances down the ramp, living for the way the audience sings his song. He doesn’t linger for much longer, tossing his sunglasses haphazardly into the audience, championship belt snug around his waist as he beelines it for the ring. Y/N knew this confrontation was on the call sheet, but after what Phil said in the ring on Friday, she doubts this is going to surmount to anything professional.

The look on Seth’s face says everything Colby is thinking. It makes Y/N’s heart spike with nerves and without doing much thinking, she darts towards Gorilla. When she enters the small space, people shoot her off looks, telling her it’s nowhere near time for her match.

“I know, I know,” her eyes dart back to the monitor. “I just�� got a bad feeling about this,” she mumbles. “I promise I’ll go if nothing happens. I’m just here as a precaution.”

Albeit reluctantly, they allow her to stay, on the condition that she remains quiet since they are so close to the entrance. Any loud noise could interrupt the show.

Punk watches Seth with narrowed eyes, quick to meet the Visionary in the center of the ring. The two of them puff their chests out, lifting their heads as a show of dominance. Pearce tries to deescalate the situation, but the two men can’t seem to take their eyes off of each other. The audience chants “Holy Shit” as a newfound tension seems to infect the ring. There’s no avoiding this bout. It’s a head on collision waiting to take out everything and anything in its path.

The crowd fights to support their favorites, some singing Seth’s song, others chanting for Punk. It only stops when Seth brushes past Punk to get his own microphone. Phil crosses his arms, attitude on full display as he gestures for Seth to go ahead on his tangent, as if he already knew this was coming.

“CLEVELAND, OHIO!” Seth screams, his voice coming out in that growl that never fails to send shivers down Y/N’s spine. Her eyes never leave the monitor as Seth turns to face Phil again, “C…M… Punk.”

Both men are not afraid to show their disdain for each other. Punk’s nose scrunches up, his arms crossed, subconsciously showing just how closed off he is. How he doesn’t welcome Seth out there in the slightest. Seth stalks forward, eyes narrowed, “Welcome to Monday Night Rollins!” The crowd says it along with him, only boosting his ego further.

Punk simply allows Seth to get in his face, nothing but that same cocky grin on his face. Anyone could read exactly what that smirk means. He plans on making sure that Raw is his show, no one else’s.

“I hope you know how incredibly fortunate you are to be standing in this ring right now. But could you just do me, just one, one little favor, just one thing, please?” Seth gestures wildly with his hand, almost in a flimsy manner before his face falls and his limbs go rigid. He looks Punk dead in the eyes, “Don’t you dare call this place your home.”

The crowd boos in response, an elongated silence stretching between the men as everyone starts chanting CM Punk again. Seth gives him a moment to respond, but when he doesn’t he raises the microphone back up to his own lips. “You abandoned this place ten years ago. Not only did you abandon it, you actively tried to tear it down. You spent ten years slandering me, slandering every person back in that locker room,” he points towards backstage. “And then, you wanna walk back in here and call this place your home. This is NOT your home! This is my home!”

Y/N’s heart clenches at Colby’s words. Sure, this was all planned, but that dialogue, that came straight from him. Not Seth. Colby. He poured exactly how he’s felt for the past decade into that monologue and she couldn’t be prouder of him. He’s been the workhorse of the company since she could remember and he deserves his flowers more than anyone.

“I’ve been here. Everybody in the back, those are my brothers and sisters,” Seth continues on passionately. “Everybody here, everybody watching at home, that is my family, and this is our home!” He circles around the ring like the true showman he is. “And I will do everything within my power to protect it from people like you!”

Punk simply smirks in response, his blue eyes lighting up with mischief. Seth can see his expression shifting so he doesn’t give him a chance to respond. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I don’t want there to be any confusion. I know I’m a bit worked up. I want everybody to understand. I’m going to say it plainly, with every fiber in my being, I hate you.”

The roof damn near explodes off the arena as the crowd screams at his declaration. Y/N feels her eyes widen at how simply he said it. Like it’s just another fact of life. Phil looks down at the floor, grin only growing, almost as if he’s willing himself not to laugh. Everyone can feel the other shoe about to drop and it makes Y/N nervous. There’s way too much animosity out there for it to end like that.

“But… if you’re going to be a part of WWE again, then I want you on Monday Night Raw,” Seth laughs evilly. “Because the truth always comes out, pal. The truth always comes out. I know, you know, everybody else knows… this is your last chance. And, so, one of two things is gonna happen. Either you’re gonna expose yourself, you’re gonna self-destruct like you always do. And I’ll be the first person in the back to slam the door shut on your legacy!” He pauses, “Or, if by some miracle, you have changed… and you’ve got any gas left in this old tank… maybe one day, you’ll be lucky enough to stand across the ring from me in a World Heavyweight Championship match. And, then I will expose you for the fraud that you are.” His glare intensifies with his voice. “I will show you that there are levels to this, I will wrestle circles around you, and I will let you understand in real time… what it means to be the ‘best in the world.’”

For the first time in Seth’s whole rant, Punk finally raises his mic up. His eyes are cold despite that constant shit-eating grin on his face. He bravely steps up to Seth, voice tight. “Are you done?” He doesn’t even give him a chance to reply. “That’s your one pass to stand here and speak to me disrespectfully without me coming after you.”

He takes a step forward, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “But I see what this really is. You’re not out here defending the ‘future’ or waving some flag of morality. Nah, this ain’t about the locker room. You’re just trying to rewrite history — polish up your little redemption arc with smoke and mirrors. But behind all that screaming, all that passion, there’s just one thing you’re really afraid of.” His eyes narrow, laser-focused. “Her.”

The crowd makes a collective sound — part gasp, part groan. Seth’s expression doesn’t budge, but his shoulders do. Just slightly. Enough.

“Oh, now I’ve got your attention,” Punk sneers, licking his lips like he tastes blood. “Don’t act like you weren’t waiting for me to bring her up. You always knew it’d come to this. You can drag out every camera-friendly version of the truth you want, but everybody backstage knows exactly what went down when I left.” He gestures behind him, then jabs a thumb in Seth’s direction. “You didn't earn her trust — it was handed to you by management. You were the golden boy, the chosen one. So when I walked out, they slid her next to you like some prop to keep the Shield from falling apart.”

Seth flinches.

“But you? You ran with it. You got close. Real close. And suddenly the world forgot what came before. You got to play the hero in the fairytale while I got turned into the villain — again.” He steps closer to Seth now, voice lowering. “But she wasn’t yours to win. You didn’t earn her loyalty, Seth. You inherited it. And deep down, she knew it too.”

Seth mutters something under his breath, but Punk talks over him, venom dripping from every word. “You paraded her around like she chose you. Like she picked the guy who stayed. But let’s be real for once — she never made a choice. She was never given one.”

Punk stops pacing, turning his full body toward the hard camera, voice rising again. “So how ‘bout this? Let’s stop pretending this is about brands and belts and legacies. Let’s talk about betrayal.” He turns his head slightly, back toward Seth. “Not mine. Hers.”

Seth’s entire face shifts — his eyes flash like he’s about to leap across the ring. The crowd explodes in reaction. “Because if anyone stabbed anyone in the back, it was Y/S/N.” Punk’s voice drops to a snarl. “She stood beside me for years. Knew what I fought for, what I bled for. And when things got hard, when I needed her most? She let me walk away alone. Worse — she stayed. She became everything we used to fight against.”

A second of silence.

Then—

“Enough.”

The voice cuts through the arena like thunder. The crowd erupts as Y/S/N storms onto the ramp — mic already in hand, expression unreadable but blazing. She doesn’t look to the crowd. Doesn’t smile. She’s a bullet, aimed straight at the ring.

“You really wanna do this here? Fine. Let’s hash it out since apparently it’s become damn near impossible for you to keep my name out of your mouth!”

Y/N couldn’t believe she was doing this. After doing her best to avoid him like the plague, she was throwing all of that away. It was time to confront her demons. If he wanted to come at Seth sideways, she’d make sure he knew that she had something to say about it.

She slides under the ropes without hesitation, rising to her full height, nose-to-nose with Punk like gravity doesn’t apply to her. “You wanna talk about betrayal?” she asks, her voice deceptively calm. “Let’s talk.”

Punk’s smirk twitches. “Look who decided to show up.”

She doesn’t blink. “You left. You walked away. From this place. From me. From everything. And you want to call me a traitor?”

“I needed you,” he bites, quieter now, but sharper. “You didn’t come.”

“I waited!” she fires back. “I waited for months. I defended you when nobody else would. I almost lost my job trying to justify your choices. I begged them not to turn their backs on you. But you didn’t call. You didn’t write. You disappeared. And when they came to me with Shield gear and a script I had no say in, what was I supposed to do? Say no? Get fired? Go down with a ship you set on fire?”

Her voice is shaking now, fury and grief tangled like a noose. “So don’t you dare stand there and act like I owed you anything more than that when you didn’t even tell me goodbye.”

He scoffs bitterly, like the sound hurts him. “You think I had a choice?”

She shoves him — full force. “YES!”

The arena gasps, then breaks into a frenzy of noise. “You had every choice. You chose to run. And now you come back and try to punish me for continuing on without you?” Her voice breaks, just for a second. “I didn’t betray you, Punk. I mourned you. You didn’t just leave the company. You left me. You left the version of yourself I believed in. And when I finally stopped looking over my shoulder hoping you’d come back — you did. But not as the man I knew. Not the man I fought side by side with. Just another bitter stranger picking a fight with the past.”

That lands harder than any slap could’ve.

Punk stares at her, jaw clenched so tightly it looks like it might crack. His mic raises again, but now his voice is raw. “You don’t get to stand there and call me a stranger when every part of you changed the moment they handed you a title and a spotlight.”

Y/S/N lets out a sharp laugh. “You think this is about titles? I earned everything I have. You think you’re the only one who bled for this place? I’ve bled. I’ve broken bones. I’ve gone through tables, cages, and hell just to prove that I belonged here. Not as your shadow. Not as Seth’s trophy. Hell, not even as Roman’s right hand. But as me.”

Punk steps forward, his words now a whisper between them. “Then say it.” He never breaks eye contact with her, daring her to confirm what he’s thought over these past ten years. “Say you never cared about me.”

Silence stretches. The crowd holds its breath. Both of them knew what he really meant by that. The late nights they spent together, the endless hours of training, the emotional nights spent tangled up in the same hotel bed, trying to figure out who they were and what they meant to each other. Cared is not the word he wanted to use. It’s what came out of his mouth, but they knew he meant more.

Love.

Y/N could read between the lines. “Say you never loved me,” was the underlying message that died on his tongue. Her eyes shimmer, but her spine stays straight. She breathes in — just once — and says: “I did. More than you’ll ever know. And I still let you go.”

That’s it. She turns her head, locking eyes with Seth, who’s still frozen at the edge of the ring. Y/S/N raises her mic one last time, voice clear as glass. “But I’m done being someone else’s ghost story.” She drops the mic, and the arena erupts. She walks to Seth, grabs his hand, and together they leave, backs straight, heads high. Punk doesn’t chase her. He just watches — with bloodshot eyes and a silence that says everything.

The second they pass through the curtain, the roar of the crowd fades into a dull roar — like thunder muffled through concrete. The crew around gorilla doesn’t say a word. Nobody tries to high-five them or offer praise. They all saw what just happened. They know it wasn’t all scripted.

Y/N’s chest is rising and falling fast, her knuckles white at her sides as her mic gets stripped from her hand by a passing tech. Her face is unreadable — not a blank mask, but a storm barely contained. The heat still clings to her skin, and her jaw clenches so tightly it looks painful.

Colby was right there beside her, breathing just as hard. But his face was tight with something else — not just exhaustion. Not just relief. He was furious. Not at her. Never at her. But his jaw was clenched so tight he could barely speak, and the vein in his neck was pulsing with restraint. She could feel it radiating off him — that Seth Rollins fire threatening to explode. But he pushed it down, shoved it back, because his only priority was her.

They turned the corner into the hallway behind gorilla, and the second they were alone, Colby finally spoke. “You okay?”

Y/N stopped walking. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, like she was physically trying to hold herself together. “I’m fine,” she lied automatically, eyes fixed on the floor.

He raised a brow, gently reaching for her arm. “Y/N—”

“No,” she said quickly, stepping back. Her eyes flicked up to his. “There was no reason for it to go that far. That wasn’t part of the plan. You were supposed to keep it professional.”

Colby didn’t flinch, even though her voice had sharpened. His anger toward Punk flared again, just under the surface — but he swallowed it, because she was what mattered right now. “I know,” he said quietly. “You’re right.”

She blinked, not expecting the easy agreement. Her lips parted slightly, but he kept going. “I let it get personal. I lost control. And I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to step in. That shouldn’t have been your burden. I shouldn’t have crossed that line.”

Her walls cracked then — not all the way, but enough. Enough for her to let out a small breath and lean back against the cool wall behind her. “He said some seriously messed up shit, Colby. Not just about me, but about you too,” Y/N runs a hand through her hair. “And God, I didn’t even care what he said about me, but as soon as he went after you, it was like–” she sighs. “I couldn’t even think before I walked out there.”

“I know,” he murmured. His hand came up, brushing a piece of hair gently behind her ear. “And if I hadn’t already promised you I wouldn’t beat the shit out of him backstage, I’d be halfway down the hall right now.”

That drew a weak laugh from her, one that died almost immediately — but Colby caught it, savored it, and offered her a half-smile in return. “God,” she groaned softly, dropping her face into her hands. “What a mess. I don’t even know why I got involved like that—”

“You got involved because you’re you,” Colby interrupted gently. “Because you care. And because he knows exactly how to get under your skin.”

She looked up at him then. Really looked. And for a second, they just stood there in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by silence and low flickering lights, everything unspoken passing between them in a glance. Then, without warning, she stepped into him. Her body collided with his chest, and his arms wrapped around her without hesitation. She buried her face into his shirt, breathing him in like he was the only real thing left in the world.

Colby kissed the top of her head and held her tighter, his fingers curling around the back of her neck protectively. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve always got you.”

Y/N didn’t answer at first, just sank into his hold like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Like if he let go, she might fall apart completely. Then, barely audible against his chest: “God, I love you.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I love you more.”

She leaned back just enough to meet his eyes — those deep, honey-brown eyes that saw every part of her. “You don’t have to take care of me right now, you know,” she whispered. “You’re allowed to be angry too.”

“I am angry,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I want to rip his head off. But that won’t fix anything. You will always come first. That’s not a choice. That’s just… what it is.”

Her lip quivered at that, and she didn’t even try to stop herself from kissing his cheek. It was soft — nothing like the firestorm they’d just walked through — but real. Grounding. He closed his eyes, pulling her even closer than she already was, like she was something fragile and precious that he’d die to protect.

And for just a moment, everything else disappeared. No Punk. No crowd. No WWE. Just them.

“I know I just said it, but I really do love you,” she whispered again as they pulled apart, forehead to forehead.

He smiled, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

Y/N’s match with Nia was approaching rapidly. She knew it was going to go well, she trusted Lina with her life, but she still couldn’t go out there completely cold turkey. She had to at least get in a light warm up before heading out there.

She was mid-lunge when a shadow fell over her peripheral vision. She didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“I figured I’d find you back here pretending you're not fuming,” Demi said, leaning casually against the crates, arms crossed, signature smirk in place.

Y/N groaned. “Am I that obvious?”

Rhea chuckled. “Only to people who know what it looks like to hold in a scream.”

Y/N let out a sharp exhale, standing upright and wiping the sweat from her brow. “Don’t start. I already had the whole heart-to-heart with Colby. I’m emotionally tapped out.”

“Relax, I’m not here to dissect your trauma,” Demi teased, pushing off the crates and strolling up beside her. “I just wanted to make sure you’re good. And maybe tell you that if Nia gets in one cheap shot, I’ll jump the barricade and help you powerbomb her through commentary. No questions asked.”

Y/N cracked a smile. “Now that’s friendship.”

“Damn right,” She smirked, nudging her shoulder. “Also, full offense — that was wild out there. You really came for his soul, huh?”

Y/N winced. “Didn’t mean to go that far. I just… snapped.”

“Well, he deserved it. You don't spit fire like that unless you've been burned. He knows it. We all do.” She paused, a beat of real sincerity slipping in. “You okay though? Like, actually?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing down at the wrap on her wrist. “I don’t know. He looked at me like… like he still—” she stopped herself. “Never mind.”

Rhea didn’t push. She just shrugged with a knowing look. “Men are dumb. Especially the broody, wounded poet ones with vendettas and outdated merch.”

Y/N snorted. “Jesus.”

“Anyway,” Rhea clapped her hands together. “If you’re not emotionally obliterated by the time you’re done with Nia, Luis and I are hitting the gym after the show. Nothing says therapy like flipping tires and judging each other’s playlists.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Is that an actual invite or are you just giving me something to think about other than CM Misery?”

Rhea smirked, eyes glinting. “Bit of both.”

A cue came through Y/N’s headset — four minutes. She rolled her shoulders and took one last breath. “Thanks, Demi. Really.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Rhea said as she started walking away. “If you don’t win, I’m telling everyone I offered and you said no. Gotta protect my rep.”

Y/N grinned after her, then turned back toward the curtain — fire in her veins, and a little less weight on her chest.

Her heart hadn’t quite stopped racing, even as Demi’s footsteps disappeared down the hallway. The encounter had been brief, but grounding — a spark of levity in a night that had, so far, been drenched in fire and emotional chaos. Demi’s offer lingered in her ears like a song stuck on loop. Flipping tires and judging each other’s playlists. Therapy, indeed.

Still stretching, Y/N exhaled a steady breath and stood tall, rolling her shoulders out as a production assistant’s voice crackled in her headset. “Two minutes to curtain.”

She gave a nod, then peeled the sweat-damp towel from around her neck, tossing it aside. The title belt gleamed from the corner of the room, resting atop a folded chair — her name engraved on the side plate like it belonged there. And it did. Because she earned it.

Focus. Be present.

She draped the championship over her shoulder, stepped toward the curtain, and waited for the storm to begin. And then it did.

A sonic boom of bass dropped as her entrance music blared through the arena’s speakers, vibrating through the floor and rattling through her chest like a war drum. The moment she stepped through the curtain, a wall of light and noise hit her all at once — pyro lighting up the sky behind her, the jumbotron splashed with her name, and thousands of fans rising to their feet in a unified scream of reverence.

“Y/S/N! Y/S/N! Y/S/N!”

The chants filled every inch of the stadium, growing louder with every step she took down the ramp. Her presence was magnetic, unstoppable. She moved like a storm in boots — chin high, eyes sharp, the title belt now raised above her head with pride and defiance. Cameras flashed as she slid into the ring and climbed the ropes, pointing to a sign in the front row that read: "CM WHO? OUR CHAMP STAYS WINNING." A half-smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She couldn’t afford to focus on that right now, but it still warmed something frozen inside her.

The lights shifted. And then the mood changed. Nia Jax’s music cut through the electricity like a serrated blade. The boos were instant. Loud. Justified. Nia stepped out with all the arrogance in the world, her eyes already locked on Y/S/N, a smirk playing across her face like she knew something the rest of them didn’t. She moved slowly, deliberately — her entrance less about showmanship and more about dominance.

Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t blink. She just waited. The moment Nia climbed through the ropes, they were on each other — eyes locked, breaths heavy with tension, the air between them practically crackling. “You sure you wanna be here tonight, sweetheart?” Nia asked with a saccharine sweetness that made Y/N’s lip curl. “After getting dragged by your ex in front of the world, you might wanna sit this one out.”

Y/S/N leaned in closer, running her tongue across her teeth, her voice low but lethal. She takes a defiant step forward, “He’s not my ex,” she snaps out. Y/N knows Lina is only doing it for the sake of their oncoming feud, but it still caught her off guard. But she has to remember, everything is in character. “And you know what? I was planning on going easy on you. Now I’m not.”

The bell rang before Nia could even snort a response. The match was a war from the opening second. It began with brute force — a lock-up that turned into a raw test of strength, Nia tossing Y/N across the ring like a sack of flour. But Y/N popped back up, hitting a clean kip-up and nailing a dropkick that landed square in Nia’s chest. The crowd erupted again, hungry for more.

The pace quickened. Y/N ducked a wild clothesline and rebounded off the ropes, throwing herself into a spinning back elbow that rocked Nia just enough to take her to a knee. Another dropkick. Then another. But every time Nia stumbled, she bounced back harder. Ten minutes in, Y/N was on the mat after taking a brutal Samoan drop that nearly knocked the air out of her lungs. She rolled away, clutching her ribs.

Fifteen minutes in, they were both running on fumes — sweat pouring, limbs heavy. The mat itself felt like it was shaking beneath them. Y/N drove a boot into Nia’s knee, followed by a snap DDT that planted her hard. She tried to go for a pin, but Nia powered out, roaring like a wounded animal.

Each time Y/N hit the ropes, it was with renewed fire. Each time she fell, it was with purpose — because she always got up. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Just pure, unfiltered resilience.

From backstage, Phil Brooks watched it all unfold on the monitor. He stood in the shadows, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw clenched so hard it ached. The light from the screen cast flickering shadows over his face, his eyes never leaving her — not even once.

She was brilliant.

A warrior in motion. Every strike she threw had venom. Every counter, every transition, every dive — it was like watching a symphony composed entirely in punches and pain. He’d known how good she was. He just hadn’t wanted to admit how beautiful it was to watch her thrive without him.

That was the worst part.

Even now, after all the bitterness and venom and distance between them, some rusted part of his soul still ached when he saw her shine. Because it reminded him of what they had, and how he had been the one to dim her light — and she still burned anyway.

He didn’t want to feel anything. But he did. God help him, he did.

Back in the ring, the match thundered toward its climax. Y/N rebounded off the middle rope, twisting mid-air into a beautifully brutal springboard tornado DDT that dropped Nia square on her back. Without pausing, Y/N scrambled to the top rope, legs shaking from exhaustion, and flew with a precision moonsault that landed clean across Nia’s chest.

She hooked the leg.

“ONE! TWO!! THREE!!!”

The bell rang, and the crowd exploded. Y/N collapsed back onto the mat, lungs burning, chest heaving, fingers curling tightly around the championship belt as it was handed back to her. She rolled onto her knees, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second as the weight of the match — and the night — settled on her shoulders.

She had survived. She had won.

The crowd was chanting her name again, and this time, it wasn’t just noise. It was affirmation. It was love. She stood slowly, holding the title high in the air as the camera zoomed in on her face. Sweat streaked her hairline. Her eyes shone with something unspoken. And somewhere backstage, behind that monitor, Phil exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Y/S/N was still the champion.

And he was still very, very confused on where the true line between hate and love was drawn.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The roar of the crowd was still echoing faintly through the hallway when Phil stepped back from the monitor. She had done it. Again.

There she was, championship hoisted high, sweat shining on her brow like a damn halo. And the worst part? The worst, most soul-wrenching part of it all? She hadn’t even looked at him.

No glance in his direction to celebrate her win. No asking if he was proud of what she had accomplished. She didn’t need him. Not anymore. The moment she stepped through the curtain, the hallway seemed to shift around her — an energy he hadn’t seen in a long time. People clapped her on the back as she passed, voices congratulating her left and right. She was magnetic, glowing. Untouchable.

She laughed — breathless and real — and that sound cut through Phil’s chest like shrapnel. Colby was the first to pull her in. Not in a subtle, casual way, either. His arms looped tightly around her waist, his face buried briefly in her hair before he leaned back and said something that made her tilt her head and laugh again — softer this time, private. Too private.

Phil’s gaze darkened.

Josh and Cody joined seconds later, all grins and praise. Even Sami wandered over from catering with a smug “told you so” smirk, but Phil didn’t process their words. He didn’t hear anything over the pounding in his ears as his eyes tracked that one damn detail like a target he couldn’t miss:

Colby’s hand. Still on her. Fingers spread low across her back, like he belonged there.

Like Phil hadn’t.

The heat rolled up his spine like a fuse being lit. He stepped forward before he could think better of it, legs moving on instinct — but a hand suddenly shot out, firm against his chest. Stopping him. “You need to slow the hell down.”

Phil turned, already bristling. “Becky—”

“I swear to God, if you take one more step looking like you’re about to reenact a scene from Fight Club in the hallway, I’m knocking you out myself.”Her tone was bright but dangerous—witty in that razor-sharp Irish way that left little room for argument. Her copper hair was braided tight, her eyes sharper.

“Let go,” he muttered, trying to pull his arm back.

She didn’t. “Nah. I’ve seen that murder-glare before. I was there when you punched John in catering. I was there when you almost caved in Hunter’s door. So believe me when I say—don’t be dumb.”

Phil scowled. “You think I’m gonna cause a scene because she won a match?”

“I think you’re seconds away from throwing a tantrum because she didn’t run into your arms after the bell.”

His jaw clenched, sharp and immediate. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please.” Becky rolled her eyes, releasing his arm but stepping in closer. “You’ve been standing back here for ten minutes looking like you want to burn a hole through Colby’s skull with your mind. And let’s not pretend you’re here to congratulate her.”

Phil’s glare could’ve leveled a building. “You done?”

“Not even remotely.” Becky’s grin sharpened. “Look, I get it. You’re used to people bending over backwards for you. You're used to women waiting around while you figure your shit out. But guess what? Y/N doesn’t have time for your brooding Shakespeare routine.”

He laughed bitterly. “You think this is about me being broody?”

“I think you’re spiraling because for once in your miserable, emotionally constipated life, someone you care about moved on—and you weren’t the one who called the shots.”

Phil’s temper snapped. “Don’t talk like you know what happened between us.”

Becky’s eyes blazed. “I don’t need to know the details, Phil. I’ve seen the reruns. She trusted you. You shut her out. You picked fights, she tried to fix it, and you made her feel like she was never enough—when really, you were just too much of a coward to admit how you felt.”

“That’s not what happened,” he bit out, voice low and dangerous.

“Then what did?” she fired back. “Because all I’ve seen is you treat her like she’s the villain in a story you wrote, while she’s out there earning every bit of this moment.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not when the words were crawling up his throat and making it impossible to breathe.

Becky shook her head, softer now. “Look at her, Phil. She just main-evented Raw, defended her title, carried that crowd on her back—and all you can think about is that Colby’s holding her too close?”

Phil glanced over his shoulder again, and sure enough, Y/N was still nestled against Colby, shoulder pressed to his chest, hand on his arm. Like home.

“You’re pissed because she looks happy without you,” Becky said. “But here’s the part that’ll really burn yer arse— no matter how angry you pretend to be, you still love her.”

His gaze snapped back to hers, a flash of something wild in his eyes. “I never said—”

“You don’t have to say it.” Her voice had dropped now. “It’s written all over your face.”

The hallway suddenly fell away and he was right back in that hotel room in Atlanta. It smelled like rain, cheap beer, and leftover Chinese food cooling in its styrofoam container on the coffee table. The low hum of the TV filled the silence—wrestling reruns from earlier that night, blurred and grainy, flickering over the walls in dull shades of blue.

April stood near the window, her arms crossed tight over her chest. Not in defiance. In desperation. Like if she let go, she’d unravel. Her lips trembled, but her voice didn’t.

“You’re always there when she is.”

Phil didn’t look up from where he was unlacing his boots. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she snapped. “Every event. Every promo. Every backstage interview. She so much as coughs and you’re halfway across the arena, checking on her like she’s your responsibility.”

“She’s my friend, April. Or am I not allowed to have those anymore?”

April’s laugh was dry, bitter. “You keep saying ‘friend’ like that makes your behavior okay.”

Phil straightened up, shoulders stiff. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I watch you,” she said, stepping forward. “I see you. The way your whole damn face changes when she walks into the room. The way your tone softens when you talk about her. Like she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to wrestling—and to you.”

He scoffed. “Don’t start with this jealous girlfriend crap.”

She flinched like he’d slapped her. “Jealous? Jesus, Phil, do you even hear yourself?”

He rolled his eyes, turning away from her.

April’s voice sharpened. “You talk about her like she’s untouchable. Like you’re lucky just to be around her. I’ve never heard you speak about me the way you speak about her in interviews. Not once.”

Phil spun around, his eyes flashing. “You’re twisting everything. This isn’t about her—it’s about you. You’re insecure, and you’re dragging her into this because you don’t want to admit it.”

April’s breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t back down. “Insecure?” she echoed, stunned. “You think this is insecurity? No, Phil. It’s recognition.”

He froze.

“I see what you refuse to admit,” she went on, her voice rising. “You love her. You don’t have to say it—it’s written all over your damn face. And maybe you haven’t crossed any physical lines, but emotionally? You’ve been gone for a long time.”

Phil barked a harsh, humorless laugh. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

“You remember that angle she did with Cody?” she continued, ignoring him. Her tone almost patronizing, like she wants to get a reaction out of him. She saunters over, her need to hear him confess the only thing keeping her from completely snapping. “The one with the kiss? I remember exactly how you reacted. You didn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the night. You trashed the locker room, told everyone it was about creative—but it wasn’t. It was about her.”

“That kiss wasn’t in the script,” Phil said through clenched teeth. “It was stupid. Cheap. Just for a pop—”

“No, it was a kiss, Phil. A basic wrestling spot. But you acted like she cheated on you.” April moved in closer, her hands shaking now. “Same thing when she posted that picture with John. The one backstage after that panel in New York? Where he treated her for coffee and she said she was the luckiest girl in the world? You threw your phone across the room.”

He pointed at her, his voice rising. “Don’t act like you know what’s in my head.”

“I don’t need to,” she spat. “I’ve seen enough. You pretend to be above all this shit—above drama, above feelings—but when she’s involved? You fall apart.”

Phil’s breathing was heavy now, erratic. He raked a hand through his hair and turned his back on her again.

“She started dating that random kid she met at a convention. What was his name? Something stupid with a T. Trevor– Tyler? And you didn’t talk to her for two weeks. You ignored her texts, ducked out early every night, acted like she stabbed you in the back.”

“I was busy,” he growled.

“You were pissed,” she corrected. “Because you didn’t like it. Because it wasn’t you.”

He whipped around, voice suddenly thunderous. “I TOLD YOU TO DROP IT!”

April didn’t flinch, in fact she got closer. She was never one to be afraid of Phil’s temper, especially about this. It was all just a wall for him to hide behind. “Why? Because I’m right?”

“Because you’re making shit up!”

She stepped into his space, eyes brimming with hurt and fire. “No. I’m just saying the quiet part out loud.”

Phil looked like a cornered animal. Pacing. Clenching and unclenching his fists like he needed something to hit. His jaw twitched violently. “You’re delusional,” he muttered.

“I’m done letting you lie to me. Stop insulting my intelligence by trying to make it seem like it’s all in my head.”

She was close now—so close he could smell her shampoo, see the rise and fall of her chest as her voice caught. “You think I didn’t see it before? That moment at WrestleMania two years ago—after her match with Charlotte? When she came through the curtain and hugged you first? Not her boyfriend at the time. Not her family. You. And you looked at her like she hung the damn moon.”

“Enough.”

“You stood by the monitors for her every match. You never did that for me.”

“Enough, April!”

“She was crying after her match with Becky last year, and you sat outside her locker room for forty-five minutes just trying to get her to come out. Didn't even tell me where you went. You think I didn’t know?”

“I said that’s ENOUGH!”

And then he snapped. He turned and punched the wall so hard the plaster cracked under his knuckles. A low, guttural sound tore from his throat as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cool, ruined drywall. His whole body shook—rage, shame, confusion.

April didn’t move. After a long beat, her voice cut through the quiet like a blade. Quiet. Steady. Brutal.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel anything for her.”

He didn’t turn.

“Do it,” she said. “Look at me and say it. Say you don’t love her.”

His shoulders caved in like the weight was finally too much. Still, he didn’t turn around.

April’s voice broke, and still she stood her ground. “That’s what I thought.”

She didn’t slam the door when she left. She didn’t have to. The silence she left behind was louder than anything she'd ever screamed.

The memory snapped back like a rubber band to the face—sharp, stinging, and impossible to ignore. Phil blinked, the echo of April’s voice still ringing in his ears like a ghost he hadn’t laid to rest.

"That's what I thought."

Becky was still standing in front of him, arms crossed, chin tilted like she knew exactly what that silence meant—even if she didn’t know the story behind it. Her eyes flickered, searching his face. “You good now, tough guy?” she asked, her voice still laced with that Irish bite. “Or am I gonna need to get a straight jacket?”

Phil exhaled through his nose. It wasn't a laugh, not really, but it was all he could manage without splintering again. He wiped a hand over his mouth and forced himself to meet her eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Becky didn’t move. She just raised a brow. “No, you’re not,” she said softly. “But I’ll let you keep lying. Just… don’t mess with her. Not unless it’s to fix everything wrong between ya. She deserves better than that.”

Then she walked away, leaving him in the hallway with the hum of the exit sign and the ache of things he never said.

And still couldn’t.

✧･ﾟ:*ᴵ’ᵐ ᵇᵉᵃᵘ ᵗᶦᶠᵘˡ (ꈍ ꒳ ꈍ✿)*:･ﾟ✧*

The gym Demi dragged Y/N to buzzed with familiar energy—weights clinking, music humming low through the speakers, occasional grunts and laughter echoing off the walls. It smelled of chalk, sweat, and rubber—harsh, but oddly comforting. Y/N had grown used to it. Sometimes it was the only place that made sense.

She was flat on the mat, abs burning as she knocked out the final few sit-ups of her set. Her breathing was labored, controlled, and she counted each one silently until her body finally gave in and collapsed with a huff. A shadow crossed her peripheral vision.

“You good?” Luis asked, crouching down beside her, a water bottle extended like a peace offering. Sweat glistened on his biceps, the towel slung around his neck damp with effort.

Y/N didn’t answer at first. She just took the water with a grateful grunt, unscrewed the cap, and drank like her life depended on it. “Alive. Barely,” she managed between gulps. “Pretty sure Demi’s secretly a sadist.”

“Confirmed,” Luis replied easily, eyes flicking toward the bench press area.

Across the gym, Demi gave them both a look that was equal parts smug and amused. “I heard that!” she called, not even out of breath. “And you’re welcome.”

“You both suck,” Y/N muttered, lying back down dramatically.

Luis grinned. “And yet, here you are. Voluntarily.”

“Peer pressure.”

He shrugged. “Nah. You needed this. Better hangin’ with us than being stuck backstage.”

Y/N huffs as Luis sticks his hand out to help her up. She accepts it gratefully, allowing him to pull her onto her feet. He lazily slings his arm around her shoulder as Demi finally makes her way back over to the two of them.

“Alright,” she announced, “what’s next on the torture agenda?”

Luis gestured toward Y/N. “She wants to spar.”

Y/N sat up. “No, I don’t.”

“Too late,” Demi grinned. “Luis, you’re up. You two, in the ring. I’ll ref. Let’s settle this once and for all.”

“Settle what?” Y/N asked, brushing the towel off.

Luis stood and stretched, his smile cocky. “Who’s scrappier.”

Demi cracked her knuckles. “Spoiler: it’s me. But I’m feeling generous today.”

Y/N sighs loudly as Luis gets in position to actually wrestle her. Her body burns from the heavy lifting she did, but Y/N’s never been one to back down from a challenge, even if her opponent is a whole torso and head taller than her.

Luis stands across from her bouncing on the balls of his feet, shirtless now, tattoos flexing with every motion. “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, flashing her a grin that was somewhere between charming and challenging.

“I don’t need to be ready,” Y/N said, rolling her neck. “You should be worried.”

“Oooh,” Demi muttered from the sidelines, already smirking. “You gonna let her talk to you like that?”

Luis’s brows lifted. “Talk? Nah. But she can show me what she’s got.”

Y/N smirked. “Keep talking, Romeo. I’ll plant you faster than your last situationship ghosted you.”

“Damn,” Demi said, laughing as she dropped into a crouch beside the mat. “I’m just here to ref, but this is better than Raw Talk.”

Luis lunged first—light on his feet, playful—but Y/N dodged easily, sweeping behind him and tapping the back of his knee. He stumbled but caught himself, already spinning with a smirk.

“Okay, okay,” he said, circling. “You got reflexes. I’ll give you that.”

“I’ll take that and your ego in one go,” she said, darting in. They grappled briefly, a tangle of limbs and tension. Luis was stronger, no doubt, but she was quick and scrappy—half laughter, half precision.

He caught her by the waist mid-move, spinning her around before she could land a knee.

“Tryna take me down, princesa?” he murmured, breath brushing her ear. “You’re gonna have to buy me dinner first.”

She twisted in his grip, laughing. “I don’t date guys who lose to me.”

“Then let me win.”

“That’s even worse.”

They crashed down onto the mat, Luis letting her get the upper hand just long enough for her to think she had it, before flipping them both with a grin. Y/N squirmed beneath him, both of them breathless and sweaty, their faces close enough to feel the heat between them.

“Pinned,” Luis said smugly.

Y/N arched a brow. “That’s cute. You think this counts.”

Before he could respond, Demi blew an imaginary whistle. “Alright, break it up, horn dogs. I’m not about to explain to HR why y’all are dry-humping on the sparring mats.”

Luis let Y/N up with a groan as she rolled her eyes. “For the record,” she said, brushing off her leggings, “if this were a real match, I’d have won.”

“Sure you would’ve,” Luis said, winking. “But if you need another round to prove it, I’ve got time.”

Demi made a gagging noise, but the sound was cut off by the slam of a gym door and a low voice calling, “What did I miss?”

Y/N turned to find Joshua Fatu walking in, hoodie slung low on his frame, sunglasses still on indoors like the menace he was. He scanned the scene—Y/N still flushed from the fight, Luis shirtless and smirking, Demi looking way too entertained.

“Please tell me I’m not too late for the main event,” Josh said, tugging his hoodie off.

“You’re just in time for the post-match commentary,” Demi quipped.

Josh came to a slow stop in front of Y/N, giving her a once-over, then grinned. “You beat him?”

“I would’ve,” Y/N said with mock offense. “But your boy fights dirty.”

Luis held up his hands. “Hey, I was respectful.”

Josh laughed. “That’s your first mistake.”

“Y/N’s the one who started it,” Luis said. “I just responded to the energy.”

Josh leaned in, lowering his voice just enough. “Yeah, well… her energy’s dangerous.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a smirk, but before she could fire something back, Josh reached over and tugged at her ponytail. “You know, you should spar with me next. Bet you’d look cute talking all that shit from the mat.”

Luis rolled his eyes. “You wish, Fatu. She barely survived me.”

“Please,” Demi said, wiping her hands on a towel. “You two have been flirting harder than commentary during a mixed tag match. Get in line.”

Josh tilted his head. “So there is a line?”

“I didn’t say you were at the front of it,” Y/N teased.

He held a hand to his heart. “Ouch. Damn mama, don’t gotta bruise my ego.”

Luis draped an arm over Y/N’s shoulder. “It’s okay. She likes ‘em with wit and a winning record.”

“Oh, that’s how we’re playing it?” Josh said. “Alright, alright. We’ll see what happens next time we’re booked together.”

Demi, ever the chaos agent, grabbed Y/N’s phone and waved it. “Okay, picture time. Before you two fight each other for real.”

Without warning, Luis jumped up on Y/N’s back causing the woman to grunt as she tries to hold him up.

“Wait, wait—what are you doing—Luis!” she shouted, laughing as he propped her up on his shoulders with a satisfied grunt.

“You’re gonna thank me when you see how good your arms look from this angle,” he said. “All this pressure’s gonna give you the pump of a lifetime.”

“You’re gonna thank me when I drop you flat on your ass,” Y/N muttered, still grinning as she balanced.

“Everybody shut up and smile,” Demi said, placing the phone at a good enough distance before setting the timer. “This is going viral.”

The camera clicked.

@Y/S/Nwwe

liked by trinity_fatu, wwerollins, rhearipley_wwe, and 626,356 others

tagged: rhearipley_wwe, archerofinfamy, uceyjucey

Y/S/Nwwe: Fought for my life and then got body-snatched for the selfie. Friends like these 🫠💪 #gymrats #chaosunit #sendhelp

View all 12,367 comments

@beckylynchwwe: Who needs enemies with a squad like this? 😂🔥

@trinity_fatu: Y’all are a mess. I love it.

@otiswwe: I volunteer as next lifting partner 🙋‍♂️

@uceyjucey: Don’t let this post distract you from the fact I’m prettier in person.

@rhearipley_wwe: I’m the real MVP for this shot. You’re welcome.

@archerofinfamy: I am not as heavy as she’s making me look 🙄.

@fansince2009: I knew she was strong, but DAYUM.

@justhereforcolby: This is cute but… where’s Colby? 👀

@idontlikeherfr: Not her flirting with every guy in the locker room 🙄

@sheeatsyouup: @idontlikeherfr Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, babe.

@mommyynation: I would kill to work out with her. 🔥

@burnitdowngirl97: Why is everyone flirting with my wife??? 😤

@CMpunk.fanpage01: Notice how Phil liked this five minutes after it went up? 👀 Coincidence? I THINK NOT.

@legendkilla_32: Seth’s not gonna like all that touching.

@AntiY/N_Burnbook: Okay but why is she everywhere lately? Mid in the ring, mid on the mic, and now a thirst trap in gym shorts. Yawn.

Y/N scrolled through the comments without really reading them, half-laughing at some, rolling her eyes at others. She was used to the internet—its praise and its poison. What she didn’t expect, though, was the subtle change in expression when she reached the top of the notifications.

@CMPunk liked your photo.

Her thumb hovered. Just for a second. No comment, no message—just a like. And somehow, that was louder than anything else.

[spitdrunken]

'Ant' Tenna x Reader (Deltarune)

Notes: Horror undertones, but they're for things Tenna also does canonically. Happy ending...? I keep seeing people saying that this guy is going to be the new Tumblr sexyman, but I don't see anyone being feral about him yet. So. Here you go.

You’d gotten the TV from Toriel, practically for free. She’s well-known in the little town you’re renting a single-room apartment in, and had practically insisted you take it. (“My son… Is also a student, but he moved out. If he needed something, I would be happy knowing he got help from someone too,” she’d told you with a smile.)

Because, yeah, you are a struggling student, with a commute lasting about 4 hours a day, but you couldn’t afford any other place and were desperate enough to get away from home to take it. The town is beautiful and quiet, the rent is dirt cheap and the people are nice, though you can tell it’s not the same compared to if you had grown up here.

Your half a day long commute prevents you from doing much socializing, you’re always thinking about what time you’ll be home, how busy it’ll be on the roads and what the hell you’re going to be eating for dinner that night. Though, to be fair, even without that added hurdle you’ve never found approaching people the easiest. Like, ever. So, you spend a lot of time in your apartment, alone, doing homework or being online, either on the couch or in bed (which, considering they’re in the same room, kind of feel like the same thing). And, now, you have a television to add for entertainment.

It’s old. Toriel had warned you about ‘images that wouldn’t leave the screen’, and as soon as you turn the thing on there’s clear burn-in from the logos of kid’s tv channels and other things, an unfadeable memory. You can’t do a whole lot with it except watch cable… It doesn’t even have a HDMI port.

Still, you’re thankful for it and the old game consoles you’d brought with you from home out of pure nostalgia. Now you can finally dust them off and use them, remember what you loved about those games you played for hours and hours, on your own, as a kid. It feels warm and you find yourself smiling, face illuminated by the screen’s light.

But it always comes to an end. You turn it off, eyelids drooping, and the stress of your day-to-day with its rising expenses, loneliness, student debt and an already dead future career, rushes back to you all at once. You don’t want to leave your room, sometimes. It’s crushing. You don’t have any say in the matter, though, so you get up and keep going, every day practically the same. With a flicker of hope that it will, eventually, someday, get better. That’s what you’ve always been told.

One night, you fall in sleep in front of your television and have the strangest dream, one that feels as real as reality but surely cannot be. There, you’re chaperoned by a man(?) named ‘Ant’ Tenna, treated like the star of the show, the contestant in a quiz that has questions tailored specifically to your personal niche knowledge, and you absolutely blow it out of the park.

You’re not used to being the center of attention like this… Even if the crowd seems more like a mass of moving audience members, rather than actual people. Your knees are trembling for the first five questions and, even after, you struggle and stutter from time, but the host never calls you out on it. It’s surprisingly… Nice. To get this attention, to feel like you’re being acknowledged.

You linger after the show is over, unsure of what to do in the Green Room. You’re not really hungry or tired, which makes sense considering you surely must be dreaming. You wander outside, led by red carpet, and almost run straight into Tenna. He’s huge, absolutely towering over you, easily twice your height. You pull and tug a bit at your clothes as you crane your neck and smile up at him. “I wanted to say—Um, thanks for having me, mister Tenna! It was… Really fun!” Bright, white teeth shine at you from the screen that is his face. He folds his hands behind his back and leans forward, just a little. “Oh, sweetheart, just Tenna is fine! We don’t have to be all formal with each other, do we? I already feel like I know you so well!” You feel a little bit of heat rising to your face. The quiz had been perfectly finetuned to your interests… But that all makes sense, considering this is all happening in the safe confines of your brain, and this man is just a figment of your imagination. It’s all good. Tenna claps his hands in front of his body and you’re jolted from your thoughts. “If you were having such a good time, how about another round?”

And you do. You play and win at a whole variety of games, until your head is spinning—The dream seems to drag on, and on and on. More than anything, you’re having a good time shooting quips back and forth with Tenna, feeling seen and listened to. You don’t think anyone has ever laughed this hard as something you’ve said… Ever? It’s certainly flattering, to say the least, to have someone be so interested in you.

All good things must come to an end, though, and eventually you do get tired, and the life that you had temporarily left behind starts calling to you again. In your mind, it’s inevitable, so you might as well get it over with.

“Leave?” It’s the first time Tenna’s smile wavers during your… Day? Session. “But we’ve been having so much fun—” He laughs, stuttering over part of the noise. “Why do you want to leave?” His hand drums on the back of his head, making a dull clanking noise. “I can think up some more games, some more fun quizzes?!” Tenna’s voice shoots up in pitch. “We can save that for next time?” You say with a smile. This notion, the thought that you’d like to return, seems to settle Tenna somewhat. His hand drops back to his side, swaying back and forth. “Oh! You’d like to return… I mean, of course you would!” He beams at you. “I’ll—I’ll have some more time to think things over, for them to marinate! It’ll be great!!” “Yeah,” you say, a little breathless. “Thanks. Again. This was fun. I don’t…” you trail off and swallow. “I don’t really talk to a lot of people anymore. So this was really nice. Thank you.” You don't know why you say it. Perhaps because you don't think any of this is real. You've never been this vulnerable around anyone in real-life. Before you completely realise what’s happening, he lowers himself in a crouching position and pulls you into a tight hug. “I know,” he says softly. “I know. Me neither.”

You wake up with a sore neck and dried spit on your chin. It takes you a while to will your body to move. It’s heavy and sluggish. Unlike other dreams you’ve had, it remains crisp in your mind as ever. The world around you seems more gray-toned than ever in comparison to the bright colours and flourishes of the world you’d entered as you were dreaming… One where you didn’t have to worry about anything, with someone who has eyes just for you. Well, if he has eyes at all. Maybe that kind of saying would be considered offensive.

When you fall asleep that night, you do it on the couch in the exact same position, as if that were the reason behind the dream you had the night before. It takes ages for you to drift off. Embarrassingly enough, you’re so excited that your heart keeps racing. You fall asleep, going there again and again, a personal little place of peace you return to every single night. Maybe it’s all some kind of illusion your brain has conjured up to help you to cope and, if that’s the case, you could still have peace with it. You drag yourself through the days for the nights that offer relief.

“Why don’t you just stay here?” Tenna asks, eventually, uncharacteristic in his stillness. He’s an entertainer by his very nature. Even when he’s not on the stage, he’s always moving, always loud, always working to keep your attention on him. Now, he grabs your interest with nothing but quiet. “I know you’ll come back. You have so many times, but—Why even leave? What’s still waiting for you out there? A bleak future? People who don’t appreciate you? Stay with me…” For the first time since you met him, Tenna physically shrinks down in size, becoming close to your height. His head is hung low. “Please. I’d like, no, love for you to stay.” You reach up and stroke the glass of his face. “Me too. I’ll do it.” “You promise?” “Yeah. Definitely.”  He swoops you up and you screech as he suddenly increases in size once again, carrying you high up in the air all at once. As he breaks out in silly, impromptu dance moves, laughter bubbles up from your throat and fills your entire body. This is a happy ending, you tell yourself, though a little lingering bit of doubt retains. (Is this the easy way out? Have you chosen stasis over a life of infinite possibilities?) But… Well, if it’s lazy or weak or too easy, you decide that you deserve an easy life.

[jewishbarbies]

since you just talked about noah schnapp, i really wanted to add something because i am in the st fandom and recently i do see some pushbacks (mostly people who are fans of his character) against the bullying and harrassment he is subject to. while i feel relieved about that, i just cannot shake off the unsettling feeling in my gut whenever i see some of those people preface their defense with something along the line of "he was a stupid kid, he made a mistake" or "he is jewish he doesn't know any better".

just yesterday, i saw a post about this issue and these are some of the comments in the reblogs (word for word): "noah was raised jewish and likely adopted the zionist viewpoints from older people around him, which is commonplace in children raised around certain views." "The hate over a then 19 year old being mislead and brainwashed by pro Israel propaganda is absolutely insane" "While his statements did have problematic things in it in my opinion it was more because of ignorance than actual malice and he needed to be educated and not attacked like that"

i'm not sure if it's my place to speak on this because i'm not jewish and i was pretty much ignorant about antisemitism for like the first 20 years of my life. in my country, whenever we talk about jews, it's either in relation to the holocaust (i remember very clearly that it was only a section in a very generalized lesson about ww2 during my history class. we never dived deep into this subject because world history was not really prioritized compared to lessons about our local history) or that jews are smart. hell, i never even heard anyone refer to israel as the jewish state and mostly as a middle east country whose people managed to turn a desert into a habitable thriving land. the last two years have certainly shaken my worldview up a lot and ngl i have grown somewhat hardened over any overt antisemitic remarks and behaviors, but there is something about those comments above that just stucks with me - the way they sound so casual when being dismissive and disdainful towards his Jewish upbringing and belief. i wonder if it's just me being oversensitive these days or that i'm more attune to these casual dismissive acts as i didn't grow up with all sorts of degrading beliefs about jewish people instilled into my brain.

sorry for this incoherent rant. i also happen to be an eurovision fan so seeing the way that fandom treated yuval, then the dc shooting and then this… i just have a lot in my mind and i really don't know how to articulate it coherently. i'm so sorry for what is going on and how the world dismisses Jewish and Israeli people's pain and suffering. no matter what, i'll stand with you guys and words cannot express how much i admire your solidarity, determination, and the amount of attention you guys have towards each and every hostage. love ❤️

no, you’re not over sensitive. those comments are disgustingly antisemitic.

I’m not surprised from the st fandom, given my own horrible experience as a jewish person in that fandom years ago. to my knowledge, Noah has not changed his views in any way, so to say he was “just raised like that” in a sense is way off and disgustingly ignorant. it’s all truly phrased as if being jewish in and of itself is problematic regardless of zionism status.

it’s easier to pick up on these days simply because the bigots have gotten louder, more honest, and doubled in number. they’re not playing coy or saving it for a private gc, they’re just saying exactly what horrible things they think right up front and they’re proud of it.

thank you for your kind words. we really do deeply appreciate anyone who supports us, especially with everything going on.