#of those people who will not be helped by anyone no matter what you do

[lizardsfromspace]

It's tempting to call out evangelicals on grounds of hypocrisy - on ignoring the teachings of their own religion - but to them, it all makes sense, because they've developed a framework that basically amounts to Jesus having no real philosophy

They acknowledge the many verses about caring for the poor etc, but take it either as a code or of lesser importance. It's not about changing society, it's about individual charity, but not about compelling people to be charitable, just that it's nice. When Jesus spoke of the "least" of society, that wasn't about helping marginalized people, that was either about Christians, or about what side to take in the war that happens after the rapture. Simple. You may think "wait, but right before that it mentions caring for the poor, sick, and imprisoned" and their answer is, as I understand it, that you can just read every verse of the Bible in isolation from every other verse and it still makes sense on its own, so it doesn't matter (for reference, the New Testament wasn't split into numbered verses until 1551, when they were decided on by a random Frenchman)

This doesn't make sense on many levels. Anyone outside the sphere would point out that, religion aside, it would be really weird to have a story about someone telling a bunch of people to help the poor and then reveal "actually, it was all about events that will happen thousands of years after everyone present was dead! Nothing that was said matters to you or most people reading this!" Like what's the point. But within the sphere they have so many rationalizations, like how it's taken as writ in evangelical circles that it's okay to be rich because the "Eye of the Needle" was a specific gate in Jerusalem that was merely difficult to get through. Meanwhile, outside their culture, no references to that gate exist, because it didn't exist

One fun strain of this thinking is this

The Good Samaritan is a parable that ends with the directive to "go and do likewise". So clearly, the real point of the story is that you can't do anything. Jesus told everyone to go and do likewise to prove that nobody can ever show the impossible love to...help a guy who got robbed? Because Jesus was perfect, all advice from Jesus can be disregarded, because nobody can follow it because they're not Jesus

This idea, that every story Jesus told was just about how nobody can ever be like Jesus, is a thing in those circles and it's such a baffling foundation for a religion. Follow our messiah, who told us to be nice to people, but we know all the secret messages about how all those stories meant we SHOULDN'T be nice to people. Their sacred text is not a guide to living, it's a textbook for the apocalypse and how to go to heaven disguised as a guide to how you should be nice to people and help poor people. But a bunch of well-off white people discovered the secret parts of the Bible absolving them of the responsibility to care about people, so

[echo-riot]

✞⛧ Being Ambessa’s 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓲𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰 girlfriend (headcannons) ✞⛧

• Ambessa doesn’t care about the gossip or whispers about your age gap; she’s fiercely unapologetic about your relationship.

• “Let them talk,” she says dismissively, her tone laced with confidence. “They’re just jealous they’ll never have what we do.”

• She adores your youthful energy and often teases you about how “adorably naive” you can be in certain situations.

• Ambessa is incredibly protective, especially when people make snide remarks. She’ll shut them down with a single glare—or a sharp retort if needed.

• She takes pride in teaching you things, whether it’s her favorite chess strategies, combat skills, or life lessons from her years of experience.

• Ambessa spoils you relentlessly to make up for any negativity you might face. Gifts, lavish trips, and surprises become the norm in your relationship.

• She adores showing you off at high-profile events, draping you in luxurious attire and keeping you close to her side as if to say, “Yes, she’s mine.”

• The way you admire her wisdom and strength secretly softens her, though she’d never admit it outright.

• Ambessa’s favorite moments are when you challenge her or bring a fresh perspective to her life. It reminds her why she fell for you in the first place.

• She enjoys teasing you about your inexperience in certain areas but always in a way that’s playful and affectionate.

• Ambessa’s leadership instincts kick in when she sees anyone try to take advantage of your youth. “You’ll regret underestimating her—or me.”

• Despite the age gap, she never treats you as anything less than an equal. Your voice and opinions hold just as much weight as hers.

• Ambessa is amused by your ability to bring out her softer, more playful side—something very few people ever get to see.

• She loves hearing your dreams and aspirations, always encouraging you to chase them. “The world is yours, darling. Take it.”

• When people question your relationship, Ambessa doesn’t bother justifying it. “Our love is none of their business.”

• You bring a sense of lightness and joy to her otherwise intense and calculated life, something she deeply values.

• Ambessa can’t help but be captivated by your youthful curiosity. She enjoys answering your questions about her life, career, and the world she’s built.

• She has no patience for anyone trying to undermine your intelligence or capabilities because of your age. “She’s smarter than you’ll ever be.”

• Ambessa takes her role as your partner seriously, ensuring you feel safe, loved, and supported in all aspects of your life.

• She often jokes about how much you keep her young at heart, though you know she secretly means it.

• Ambessa’s love for you is obvious in the way she looks at you—as if you’re the only thing that matters in the room.

• In private, she’ll sometimes confess her worries about the age gap, but your reassurances are all she needs to push those doubts aside.

• She makes an effort to learn about your interests, even if they’re completely foreign to her. It’s her way of showing how much she values you.

• Ambessa loves hearing your laughter, especially when she’s the one to cause it. She sees it as a sound worth protecting.

• When the two of you are alone, Ambessa drops her tough exterior entirely, letting her love for you shine through in soft touches and tender words.

• She sees your youth as a blessing, not a disadvantage. To her, it’s a chance to nurture something pure and beautiful in her otherwise hardened life.

• Ambessa has a habit of calling you pet names like “little one” or “darling,” often in a tone that’s both teasing and affectionate.

• She loves taking you on spontaneous adventures, just to see your face light up with excitement.

• If anyone dares to call your relationship “inappropriate,” Ambessa will coldly remind them who they’re dealing with: a woman who’s conquered armies and built empires.

• You’ve learned to keep up with her sharp wit and tongue, and she secretly delights in your quick comebacks.

• Ambessa enjoys spoiling you with decadent meals, often inviting you to dine with her in private, candlelit settings where she can lavish you with attention.

• She’s a natural at slipping into a protective role, always scanning the room to ensure you’re comfortable and safe.

• Ambessa has a soft spot for seeing you in oversized sweaters or robes when you’re lounging—it’s a reminder of how much younger and carefree you are compared to her.

• She frequently surprises you with handwritten letters, filled with poetic musings about her love for you, which you treasure deeply.

• When you get flustered or shy, Ambessa finds it utterly endearing and can’t help but smirk at your innocence.

• She secretly adores how you bring color and warmth into her often stoic and structured life, even if she pretends to be unaffected.

• Ambessa always notices when you’re uncomfortable in a situation, quickly diffusing any tension and whisking you away to somewhere more private.

• Despite her strong exterior, Ambessa allows herself to be vulnerable with you, sharing stories from her past that she’s never told anyone else.

• You’re the only one who can convince her to take breaks from her work or relax for a while. “Only because you asked so sweetly,” she says with a smirk.

• Ambessa can’t resist buying you jewelry, particularly pieces that remind her of you—delicate yet bold, just like her beloved.

• She loves running her fingers through your hair, especially when you’re lying together in the quiet moments of the night.

• You bring out Ambessa’s playful side; she’ll jokingly challenge you to games or competitions, knowing she’ll let you win just to see you gloat.

• Ambessa often comments on how lucky she is to have you, even if she doesn’t say it in front of others. “You’re the one thing in my life I’ll never take for granted.”

• When you’re upset, she doesn’t always know how to comfort you with words, but her actions speak volumes. Whether it’s holding you close or solving the problem for you, she ensures you feel loved.

• Ambessa can’t resist showing off her strength, often lifting you effortlessly just to see your surprised (and slightly flustered) reaction.

• She enjoys sharing quiet evenings with you, sipping wine by the fireplace as you discuss everything from history to your latest passions.

• Ambessa loves when you lean on her—both physically and emotionally—knowing that she’s your safe haven in a world that can be harsh.

• Whenever you’re apart, she sends you small tokens of her love, like pressed flowers or notes that remind you she’s always thinking of you.

• Ambessa is fiercely loyal, and she expects the same in return. The bond you share feels unshakable, despite the outside world’s judgment.

• You’ve managed to make her smile and laugh in ways she never thought possible, and she cherishes those moments more than she’ll ever admit.

• Despite her composed demeanor, Ambessa secretly enjoys when you surprise her with kisses or small gestures of affection.

• She always keeps her promises to you, whether it’s something as small as a date or as grand as a life-changing commitment.

• Ambessa doesn’t just love you for your youth—she loves you for the unique light and life you bring into her world, making it brighter and more beautiful every day.

•|||——————————————————————|||•

[pyxxiestyxx]

Class-D

"Umm....?"

You stare at the affini sitting across from you, who is sipping casually from a large mug of tea.  She had grown close to you over the last year, but the last few weeks in particular had been...more?  She suddenly seemed intent on pushing you towards florethood, and more specifically towards one of the more...simple lifestyles.

'There are as many ways to be a floret as there are florets', as the saying goes.  You considered yourself an outgoing and independent type, one who had (with effort and support) gone far, despite any neurodivergencies that often ground progress to a slow crawl.  But the way Ea would look at you...the things she said...well, like what she JUST said, for example.

"I'm merely suggesting that you give it a try, dear.  No contracts, no implants...unless you want those.  I'm referring to something a bit simpler."

You frown, crossing your arms.  "And what exactly do you have in mind, Ea?"

A brilliantly red flower blossoms before your lips, the needles tip glistening green.  "I give you a Class-D, of course.  One that prevents those pesky inhibitions and falsehoods from getting in the way.  And then you and I can chat a little, and I may ask you to do a few things, to see if they make you feel good.  Is that really so dangerous, sweetie?"

"I..." Yes, of course it was...was what you wanted to say.  But if it really was just a Class-D, then it wouldnt change your mind.  They were there to reveal the truth, and the truth of the matter was that you were capable and competent, and it's about time she figured that out.  Sighing, you roll up your sleeve and extend your arm, wincing as the injection slips into your skin.  The verdant drug travels up your arm and to your brain, and an....interesting feeling seems to settle on you.  Not the fresh-out-of-a-dryer blanket of a Class-A, but a slightly warm sheet, perhaps.  You blink a few times, then look at Ea expectantly.

She gently snaps her fingers at you, then points at the floor next to her seat.  "No no, darling.  We aren't going to one-half ass it here.  I intend to show you what I mean, through actions as much as words."

You gawk at her, blushing furiously.  "But...but I don't want to do that!"

"Why?"

"It's embarrassing!"

Ea tilts her head, a coy look passing through violet eyes.  "The only one who thinks it is embarrassing is you, petal.  No one else in this case will care in the least, and you already know what I think you need." She smiles. "If it helps, just think of it as me...coercing you into it.  If anyone asks, you can explain that you didn't have a choice here."

You squint your eyes at her, but your gaze soon follows her arm down to her pointed finger.  Crumbs, she really was serious.  You look around the cafe again, noting how the others weren't even looking your way.

Blushing, you let yourself go limp, flowing off the lip of the seat and into a kneel as you shuffle towards her spot.  When you arrive, you keep your gaze firmly fixed to the left, your hands grasping themselves out of a need to hold onto something.

You wait for her to speak...but she stays silent.  She waits until you give in, until you sneak a glance at her, and only then does she cup your cheek in one large hand as she whispers, "Good Pet."

"I...y-you...it-" she slides her hand over your mouth, preventing the words from haphazardly tumbling out.

"Sweetheart, I said we would chat.  I never said you would get to use people words~"

The hand returns to your cheek, a thumb gently brushing across your lips as she smiles triumphantly.  "Now then, pet.  You are a wonderfully skilled sophont, make no mistake.  But a trained pet is still a pet, honey.  And not everything trained into you is Good."

You open your mouth to protest...only to let the words die in your throat at the warning in her eyes.  Instead, the softest little slip of a whimper manages to drip from your tongue.

Ea smiles wider, her other hand joining the first on your head as she begins to pet you, long firm pulls of her fingers through your hair.  "You know that you push yourself too hard, don't you?  That you keep moving, because the inertia is part of how you stay upright.  You need the constant motion, because you're worried that as soon as you slow down, you'll topple over and shatter."

You try to deny it.  You try to disprove it.  But in the end, you are forced to admit it to yourself:

She's right.

She gently brushed a tear from the corner of your eye, softer than the petals of her flowers.  "But that needn't happen, honey.  Not if you have an Owner to care for you, and hold you close, and keep you safe.  You know this too, don't you?"

You did.  You do.  And it hurts.  And it heals.

Your eyes make a desperate plea towards her, though for what, you aren't sure.  She seemed to be waiting for it, though, because her eyes glow golden ichor.  "And so, since you are being honest with me, I shall be in turn with you.  I will not wait a single second longer to give you what you want, need, crave.  You are my pet, honey.  I will Own you, I will train you, I will condition away any independence and wrestle your thoughts into simple submission.  And, in the end, you will thank me for it."

Her hand brushes one last time over your head as it makes its way to the back of your neck, tracing a line where you know the implant will soon reside.  You shudder as she presses down, down, Down, pushing your face into her vines as you finally are honest with yourself and admit what you realize you always wanted, always needed.

You surrender.

[juudesgirl]

soulmates - jude bellingham

“a soulmate is someone who challenges you to do better, someone who can’t stand seeing you sad, someone who stays faithful, loyal and committed to you, someone who helps take care of you when you’re sick, someone who stands by your side through the good days and the bad days and someone who wants to grow old and grey with you”

if jude could picture the perfect person, it would be you. from the moment he had laid eyes on you, he knew you were something special.

you had met him through one of your friends, it had been your friends’ birthday and they had thrown a party to celebrate. after 5 minutes of arriving, you had bumped into jude navigating your way through the swarm of people at the party. as soon as your eyes locked, jude had been captivated by your beauty.

the way your doe eyes lit up, the blush formed on your cheeks by the heat of the room and the bright smile on your face as you looked at him, made his stomach do somersaults. he hadn’t seen anyone as beautiful as you, he knew he had to speak to you. throughout the night, you both were stuck by each others’ side all night - laughing at eachothers’ silly jokes, laughing at the semi-drunk people around you, it couldn’t of been a more perfect night.

you had exchanged numbers before leaving the party, as soon as you left, jude had messaged you straight away asking if you had enjoyed the party and if you had gotten home safely. from then, you kept contact with eachother regularly.

-

to say jude was obsessed with you, was definitely an understatement. whether it was at training or speaking to his family or one of his friends, he’d always mention you in his conversations - he couldn’t help it, he was reminded of you wherever or whatever he was doing, it was like you were stuck in his mind. jude wanted to be around you whether it calling you, texting you or seeing you, he just loved the feeling of you being in his life. jude loved spending time with you, even if it was just the both of you sitting down doing absolutely nothing, he enjoyed it. you were one of the few people who he felt safe and happy with, you were his person and he adored the hell out of you.

jude was one of those people that no matter what, always made you feel special. he’d always surprise you with getting your favourite flowers delivered to your house if he wasn’t around to show and let you know that no matter where he was, he was thinking of you and that he was missing you, he always wanted to show you the affection that you deserved. even after a tough training session, he’d stop by to see you. you loved being around jude, and he loved being around you, you both were like a breath of fresh air to eachother no matter how long you’d been seeing eachother.

as time went on, jude had started to fall for you more and more each day, he couldn’t help but not too. jude had mentioned you to his family, always praising you and telling them how much you meant to him, and how excited he was for them to meet you. family is an important factor in jude’s life, so to have you all together, would be so important to him. his family especially his little brother jobe, were happy for jude to have finally found someone, especially someone who’s been able to bring the spark back into his life - they were excited to meet you.

“you know there’s no one else I’d rather be with other than you? you really do make every day worth living and i enjoy spending any bit of time I have with you” jude said to while standing outside of your house, dropping you off after another successful date.

“i love spending time with you too jude. i haven’t met someone like you who makes me laugh so much or makes me feel so comfortable before” you gushed, while brushing your hand on his cheek, while his hands found your waist and pulled you close.

“i feel the same y/n, you’ve made me the happiest i’ve felt in a very long time. there’s never not a time where i’m not thinking when i’ll see you again or thinking about you. i just want to be with you all the time, i just want you around all the time. so i was wondering if you wanna be my girlfriend?” jude said nervously. you could tell he was nervous, the grip he had on your waist had loosened and he begun to chew bottom lip as he waited for your answer. “i understand i-if you say n-no it is too soon and i-” he started once again before you interrupted him with a beaming smile.

“aw jude, of course i want to be your girlfriend. you don’t know how long i’ve been waiting for you to ask me” you said giggling while putting your arms around his neck softly.

jude laughed softly before he pulled you into a soft hug. his head instantly fell the crook of your neck and he began to place soft and delicate kisses on your neck as you hugged. liking the softness of his kisses along your neck, you decided to tilt your head back and to enjoy the feeling more. he placed a few more on your neck, before pulling away and leaning his head onto yours which made stand up onto your tiptoes before kissing him softly. you both sighed happily into the kiss, very thankful for this sweet moment and how excited you were to be jude’s girlfriend.

as you and jude kissed, he begun to think about how his life has changed dramatically so quickly. he always knew you were special, and sometimes he joked but seriously thought you was his guardian angel. once upon a time, he was in the most dark and fragile time of his life. he didn’t think that he’d be able to come back after the hard times at all. then you came along into his life unexpectedly, protected and guided him throughout the journey and helped him to feel like him again.

jude couldn’t help but fall in love with you, as everything shattered, you came along and picked all the pieces up and fixed it. jude was finally as happy as he could be; all because of you, because you saved him and knew from the moment he met you, you were soulmates and you’d find eachother in every lifetime no matter where you guys were.

[sungiescheotluv]

champagne supernova ⭑.ᐟ park jisung

pairing: park jisung x gender neutral reader

word count: 4.2k

tags/warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, emo(ish) jisung, non-idol au.

summary: making friends as an adult is difficult. luckily for you, the rock/alternative online community welcomes you with open arms, one person in particular catching your interest.

notes: hi thereee! 😁 back again with another jisung fic, one that i actually came up with myself lmao. since getting back into the dreamies, i've been a bit surprised by (but absolutely love) jisung's taste in music. hence this silly fic, which i do hope you enjoy! thank you so much for all your recent support, it makes my heart smile whenever you like or comment on a post! anyways, happy reading! much loveeeee! <3

The concept of internet safety is lost on you. How else could you explain sharing a hotel room with someone you’d never met before in real life? 

Perhaps, you should retrace your steps. See how you’ve managed to find yourself in such a dangerous position, the front door locked and your body pinned to the bed.

Making friends as an adult is difficult. On par with counting every grain of rice in a field, you’d say.

You underestimated how easy maintaining friendship was when younger, third places like school, daycares, extra-curricular activities demanding your presence, inadvertently strengthening your social life. Not that you were the most social, you had a hard time approaching people actually, but maybe that was a part of your charm. Bringing you out of your shell, like all your friends did before your bond was cemented in tree trunks or sandy beaches. University is the last place you take this ease for granted, exposed to all different kinds of people and relationships, some platonic and not-so much. Either way, despite the barge of assignments and countless nights out, you’d make it into adulthood relatively unscathed.

Adulthood, however, doesn’t turn out as you expect. You’d been sold a dream, one eight-year old you envisioned dabbling with the stars accompanied by a lavish life and all the ice-cream you could get your hands on. Unfortunately, no star would be rubbing shoulders with you anytime soon and any that would, you’d have to pay a large sum of money to even see. A large sum you did not have. So, yeah. Just that, toxic work culture, endless bills and a whole host of other obligations linger above your head like a grey cloud.

What helps is finding the small joys in life. Slow mornings when the city is asleep, the scent of coffee at the crack of dawn, the sunshine against your skin, friends who despite their busy schedules carve out time to see you. All pieces of your life that make it worth living. Music is in there too, the art of melodies and lyrics strung together having the strange ability to carry you throughout even your worst days.

Your moods refuse to stick to a certain genre and in the midst of dark afternoons and frost covered roads, you find yourself gravitating towards alternative music. Slow, steady and aching. Like how your life moves with the severe lack of sun. It’s not a genre your circle of friends dabble in as much as you do. It’s to be expected, anyone who deviates from a standard of ‘normalcy’ was outcasted, one too many examples found in your high school days where kids got called weird and satanic for wearing a Green Day t-shirt to school. The thought makes you laugh now, but back then, when all that matters is fitting in, it was sad and suffocating. Seeing a part of yourself denied before your very eyes. Sometimes you’d hang out with those kids, bond over your collection of CDs and even go to a few gigs together. However, when Monday came around and they’d approach you and your friends, raving about the concert - you froze. Confronted into either owning yourself and being outcasted like the rest of the emo kids or ignoring them, deny yourself for the sake of social standing. 

You pretend like they’ve grown two heads, feigned confusion knitting your eyebrows together while your friends laugh and hurl insults at someone who you considered a friend - a better one than the ones at your side. And yet, you let the laughter continue, a coward with its tail between its legs as you depart, the taste of iron on your tongue.

Maybe this is payback for those poor decisions. A dead-end job, a successful but shitting ex and enough inner turmoil to make a therapist clutch their pearls. 

You abandon those friends when you get to university, getting better ones that wouldn’t make someone feel small due to their own insecurities. You make amends with the emo kids, your apology marking the true end of your friendship. You search online spaces for like-minded people, showing up as yourself and being embraced as. Everyone in the Reddit community is unbelievably sweet, sharing their music recommendations, concert wishlists and pictures of their cats. Some members, including yourself, form a closer bond, taking your conversation to a Discord server that becomes your escape in a way. A channel for heartfelt discussion that extends past your love for music. You’re not as active due to work obligations, but whenever you pop up, one member in particular always greets you with a warmth like no other. 

Linkin.parkjisung is his user, his icon the rock and roll hand sign over his face. Likes Blur, Green Day, Oasis and of course, Linkin Park. He’s like you, dips in and out, types a few responses before he’s gone again. It’s a scenario where other members grow closer, and your anxiety around speaking in the group begins. They’re already close, it seems almost futile to interrupt, right? 

What if you’re ignored? What if you’ve missed your window of opportunity? 

It’s a line of thinking that crosses your mind when you send in an apology for being inactive, moments later your phone pinging with a notification.

Linkin.parkjisung: no need to apologize! life gets busy for everyone, myself included. hope you’re doing ok (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

Other group members echo his message, sending in their own real-life obligations that the group ends up bonding over, complaining of rising car insurance and overly demanding bosses. 

It’s the start of it all, really. That one message, a hand extended to yours that breaks you out of your shell and kick starts your friendship with Jisung. From that day onwards, you move more freely throughout the server, making good friends with everyone but better friends with Jisung. Somewhere down the line, you end up privately messaging each other. What starts out as simply giving each other music recommendations (since he apparently always loves the songs/artists you send into the server) becomes sneaking into the bathroom during a busy family reunion to call Jisung about how your grandmother wore a catsuit to impress her ex, your grandfather. You grow that close, no details spared on life events. How else is there space for secrecy when you’re video calling drunk, watching festival performances of Fontaines D.C.?

In any case, you’re close. You text everyday and call every week like clockwork, namely because you live some hours away from each other. During your calls, he’s shrouded in a low darkness, self conscious of the way he looks, he says. You’re unconvinced, slivers of his features in photos he sends you with his roommates’ three cats or on call saying otherwise. Regardless, you let it slide because Jisung becomes more than his face - he becomes a source of comfort, someone who makes you laugh as much as brings you calm, someone you slowly can’t imagine your days without. In hindsight, this is where your romantic feelings develop. And with convenient timing too because one of the bands you recommended to Jisung, Wunderhorse are on tour, set to perform in a city two hours from the both of you.

“Tickets are going onsale at 10 am on Thursday,” Jisung murmurs, the clicks of his cursor coming through your laptop speaker. “Remember to set your alarm.”

“Will do. Lemme set a remin-” opening up your calendar, you see an unwelcome surprise. “Fuck.”

“What’s up?” Jisung’s voice echoes with sincere concern.

“I forgot I have a shift that day,” you groan, already knowing by the time your lunch break came, the event would be sold out. “We’re understaffed as is, so there’s no way I can get someone to cover for me.”

A deep hum vibrates from Jisung’s chest, a few more clicks of his cursor sounding before he asks in a small voice. “Well, I could just get the tickets for us both.”

“You would?”

“Yeah, I’m meant to be working from home that day anyways. And not to flex, but my internet’s pretty decent.”

You laugh. “Is that for your job or your crippling gaming addiction?”

“A bit of both,” he chuckles back, the sound blooming a warmth of happiness in your chest. “Working in CompSci has its perks.”

“So, I’m finding out,” you smile, an underlying layer of discomfort shifting you against your desk chair. “Are you sure, though?”

“Of course. I’d hate if you lost out on this knowing I could’ve done something to help,” Jisung explains. “You were the one to introduce me to them anyways. Plus we’d have a better chance of sticking together in the pit if we get them together, right?”

You swallow a lump in your throat, something taking flight in your airy chest. “Yeah, you’re right. Just send me your bank details so I can transfer you the day of.”

“Coming right up!” he jokes, and you laugh, however lame he claims himself to be.

On Thursday, he sends you a photo of his solid black high-tech set-up, a PC he’s constructed himself with more monitors than you can count. The side of his face is included in the picture, silky black hair, a brown eye and a beauty mark on his cheekbone you dream of kissing later that night. You find out he secures the tickets on your lunch break, your debt towards him being booking the hotel you’d be staying at. Due to the limited funds you’re working with, you end up getting a shared room, an option that gives him pause before he agrees in a tremored voice. You’re a bit apprehensive yourself, but you booked for two beds, so it should be fine. If worst comes to worst, and something happens between you two – like him turning out to be a sexist neckbeard loser he couldn’t take no for an answer - you’d sleep in your car (or kick him out, actually). At any rate, you had options (and a friend tracking your live location).

In no time, weeks fly by and Wunderhorse drops their latest album. It’s the best thing you’ve experienced since sliced bread, an opinion Jisung shares as you two listen to it over call late one Friday night, speaking about your favourite songs amongst other things. You don’t know how it starts, perhaps it’s a lyric that sticks out to him that he mentions or something else entirely, but suddenly, you’re reminded of high school you. How deeply you wanted to be accepted by others, and how that satisfaction depended on the person you got it from. That you preferred conformity instead of individuality, because being seen with popular shallow kids meant something to you.

“I wasn’t a good person in high school,” you find yourself admitting, your body hollowed out with guilt. Regret like ash on your tongue. “I hurt people because I valued other people’s opinions over my own. I know I was young, but-”

“You said it yourself: you were young,” Jisung comments, the serious intent in his voice catching you off guard. “The fact you recognise your behaviour and feel remorse for it shows how much you’ve grown. I mean, high school can be very unforgiving because nobody really knows who they are or what the fuck they’re doing, so it’s only reasonably to make choices you may regret. What’s important, I think, is how you’ve chosen to move forward,”

“You said it yourself, you’ve apologised to those you hurt. Not many, if any person in your position, would do the same, which shows how much you genuinely care to make things right,” you sniff, vision blurring with tears of relief and sadness. “So, if you ask me, I think you’re being a bit hard on yourself. It’s all a learning curve, you were doing what was best to protect yourself then. And now, you’re a better and kinder person because of it.”

Another time you should’ve known you’d fallen for him. Yet, you remain none the wiser. All the way until concert day, getting off work early that Friday afternoon and making the journey down to the bright city lights of Seoul. Everything twinkles and dazzles, a 180 from your modest living in your hometown. You suppose your excitement for the concert has some role in this too, but considering the lack of vibrancy in your life, you allow yourself to sink your teeth into this. Feel the goosebumps against your skin, the lightness in your limbs and the uptake in your heartbeat.

You check into the hotel first since Jisung has a last-minute team meeting at work, setting yourself up on your side of the cosy room of wooden and white hues. As you slip on your Hello Kitty headband to do skincare, a knock rasps against the door, audible above the sound of your music.

With furrowed eyebrows, you approach the door, revealing a sight that stops your heart in its tracks.

On the other side of the door is who you should’ve expected: Jisung. What you don’t expect, however, is his sharp features, black smooth hair with matching formal clothing to contrast so beautifully with his porcelain skin. The dark, ocean blue contacts he wears with a pretty pink lip tint. Not to mention that beauty mark you’ve been thirsting over for the past few months? Yeah, that’s all in eye-view now, close enough to touch and it’s this fact that sends your brain into overdrive.

While you malfunction, Jisung dips his head, a large fist curled to his lips to hide his sheepish smile. Chuckles in a bit of an awkward and embarrassed way. 

Oh my god?!

“Nice to finally meet you,” he greets, black leather overnight bag clutched to his side. A fluffy blue and pink keychain of Little Twin Stars hangs off the zip, a cute juxtaposition to his intimidating outfit. And height. God, he really wasn’t lying when he said he was nearly 6 ft. 

“I texted you I’d arrived, but you hadn’t read them,”

A forceful blink out of your trance brings you back to reality, one where you’re not openly drooling over how handsome your internist best friend is. “Yeah, sorry. I was busy getting ready.”

“I figured so,” his eyes scan your clothes - your ripped baggy jeans, leather platform shoes amongst what you have on - and his lips curve, admiration in his eyes. “You look great.”

If there weren’t societal ideals of an inappropriate reaction to that compliment, you would’ve tattooed it to your forehead, or on your lower back. Maybe ripped off your shirt and kissed him before combusting because what do you mean, this very handsome man, thinks you look great?!

“Thank you,” you blush, your body running hot like a furnace. Even so, you decide to take advantage of the situation, leaning in for an embrace that he reciprocates as you mumble into his shoulder. “Nice to finally meet you too.”

The rest of the afternoon blurs, the few moments of scattered glances and awkward silence incomparable with the ease of conversation that flows between you once his favourite song, Poppy, comes on. Catching up to speed with each other’s day as you two get ready, it’s not lost on you how domestic the scene is - how familiar, or right it feels. Jisung, in all aspects of the word, is endearing - flustered by the compliments you send his way, brightening up at the new additions to the setlist and best of you, timid with pink cheeks when he hands over a ‘first meeting’ gift - an assortment of snacks, a Hello Kitty plushie and a card that makes you coo. It takes everything in you not to sink your teeth into him, overwhelmed by the sweetness that laces his actions and words, riding the high he and the music gives you as you make your way to the venue after you’re both finished.

Long lines snake around the arena, grey clouds permeating the area as rainfall clatters to the pavement. Jisung, ever so prepared, brings along an umbrella that you share, squeezing underneath so much you feel the warmth of Jisung through his bare, very defined bicep. How someone looks so good in a silver sequin top under a tattered sleeveless black vest is beyond you. Then again, him being single is beyond your comprehension too. Considering his calm and thoughtful demeanour, coupled with his good looks, you would’ve expected people lining up by the thousands to plead their case. However, whenever you two talked about this, he’d simply say his go-to phrase and change the topic, his phrase being:

“I’ve got my eye on someone. Just working up the courage to ask them out.”

Whoever managed to catch his eye, you’d thought to be lucky. Maybe they’d saved a small village in their past life because as people push when the doors open, Jisung shields you from any damage, reminding you how good of a romantic partner he could be. Especially so when you’re inside and he snaps all your photos, accompanying you to the bar and merch table where you get matching t-shirts before he keeps them with him so you’re free throughout the concert. Dimmed red lights and chatter fill the spacious hall, a flood of warm bodies surrounding you as you peer at the stage, the band all set up and ready to go come showtime. You sing along to the host of songs the venue plays beforehand, enough nudges in the shoulder to get Jisung to sing along and of course - of course - he has a beautiful voice too. At this point, you were convinced he either had a missing toe or had weird opinions about the order of cereal because the more you spent time with him, the more he shines in your eyes.

Eventually, the chatter dies down and all lights go off, screams rising through the crowd as Wunderhorse comes onto the stage. Buzzing at a frequency unheard of, you bounce off the balls of your feet, hand holding Jisung as you exclaim, “It’s them! It’s really them!”

Missing how flushed Jisung becomes at the contact, you sing with all your heart - offkey and all - to their opening song, Midas. The energy is through the roof, a dizzying world of flashing lights and music that retches the lyrics straight out of you. In a moment’s chance, Jisung and you turn to each other mid-song, smiles bright as the stage lights outline your damp faces, chest heaving with a mouthful of lyrics in their wake. It’s the happiest you’ve been, holding his hand like this, and as the night winds to simmer, you sway to slow songs and thank your lucky stars for finding your way back to this.

After the show, you two chatter with other adoring fans before trekking to your nearby hotel, stomachs growling for food. Jisung finds a great Chinese place that delivers until 2 am, a gesture you simper at, unaware he’d even remembered you’d liked the cuisine. At this point, you’re drained in the best possible way, a dull ache in your feet but riding a high of something you’ll remember forever. 

Now, you’re up to speed. Great. Let’s get back to your current dilemma.

Somehow, someway, your unlaced and stubborn platform shoes cause a stumble, one that Jisung tries to save you from but ends up caught in the mix. How, you might ask? Well, you’re not entirely sure but what you definitely know is that you’ve fallen on one of the beds, Jisung’s body caging yours as he braces his own fall. Face-to-face. With you.

Ok.

You’re close enough to share a breath, within reach to see his long lashes and shaky pupils that dart from your eyes to your lips, back to your eyes again. Suddenly, the room temperature dials to an unprecedented heat, walls closing in on you two as you lie in waiting. Waiting for the other to make their move. To lean in or pull away, heads or tails on a coin.

His phone rings, cutting through the tension-filled air with a knife. The moment, gone. 

“You okay?” he rasps, a knit in his eyebrows as if he’s holding himself back. You blink wordlessly, your answer in an absent nod. “I’ll, uhm…get the food.”

It’s not a suggestion, nothing that you can object to, particularly when he’s long gone and you’re clutching at your chest, months of infatuation knocking the breath out of you.

When Jisung returns minutes later, you’ve turned the TV on, preparing to fill the silence if need be. It proves necessary, only groans of pleasure and compliments to the chef shared between you two as you eat your weight in noodles. Not much is said when you’re getting ready for bed either, brushing your teeth together as if you're a couple and settling into separate beds, all the lights turned off.

Still reeling for the fall, and convinced his shallow breaths allude to his slumber, you’re startled by the call of your name, head turning towards Jisung beside you.

“Yes?”

“You sure you’re ok?” he asks before clearing his throat. “That was…some fall.”

You can say that again.

“I’m ok,” you lie. You’re on high alert, frazzled at every end with a heart you’ve just realised longs for the man not even two metres away from you. “Are you?”

Silence. The only feedback you hear is the crinkle of his duvet as he shuffles in his bed.

“Ask me another question.”

You turn to him, shrouded in darkness. “Like what?”

He doesn’t speak again, lets the silence devour the space between you before he says. “Ask me about the person I’m interested in.”

Water that rivals the arctic pours down your back, a harsh call to reality as you remember. Right, he has someone he’s interested in. Someone who he’ll devout his time to, listen to their music recommendations and hold their hands at concerts. And you? Well, you’ll still be friends, but maybe not as close. Maybe not even friends at all.

The thought closes an iron fist around your heart.

“Why haven’t you asked them out?” is what you manage, because it’s on your mind - what time and place he’ll find himself in when he confesses his feelings.

“Because I’m scared,” he admits, small and in a whisper. “Considering we met online, it’s kind of hard to gauge their interest or read any signs. You don’t give me much to work with,”

You still. “I don’t?’

“I mean, I haven’t been too obvious, but I’m crazy about you,” he confesses. “I love the light in your eyes and the kindness in your heart. You’re so deeply human and live life like it’s your first and last. There’s no one like you and I think the idea of knowing how special you are triggered my fear of rejection. Because what would my life be without watching festival performances while drunk with you? What would it be if you didn’t laugh at my lame jokes and didn’t command my every thought?”

Jisung shuffles again, a flicker of dim light in between you two at a lamp source as he stares over at you, wholehearted and vulnerable. “It’d be an empty one - not worth living.”

Slowly, your body brings you upwards, the two of you hanging off the edges of your bed. So close if you’d reach out, your hands would touch. 

“When?” you croak, unable to meet his eyes. “When did you…start feeling this way?”

His eyes lower, a slight curve to the corner of his lips. “Around November?”

Electricity zaps your back straight. Five months ago? “When we joined the server?”

“Shortly after that,” he admits, a coy grin breaking out against his flushed features. “I was having a really hard day and you’d recommend a song in the chat, Favourite by Fontaines DC, and said how nostalgic and hopeful it felt to you. I gave it a listen and…it was like a battery in my back. I cried, but I also smiled too because I understood what you meant by it all,”

He threads his fingers together, peering up with shining eyes as he adds, “it felt like a peak into your soul, and mine too….I think that’s where it started.”

Your hand finally reaches out, overlaying his as tears fill your sight. “You know you’re my favourite, right?”

“No one stood a chance after that drunk video of you singing along to Champagne Supernova,” you share a laugh, reminiscing of the video he accidentally sent into the server one December night. A die-hard Oasis fan till the end. “I mean it. There’s no one I’d want to spend my days with, listen to music with and discover all there is to life. No one but you.”

His bottom lip gives a wobble, hands unearthing from yours as his thumb grazes your knuckles, bringing the hand up in a searing kiss. One he looks you right in the eyes for as he says, “Can we push the beds together please?”

You bark out an unexpected laugh, fondness shaping your smile as you speak with all of your heart. “I would love nothing more.”

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Plastic Surgery

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✯ pairing:  Franco Colapito x GF! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: plastic surgery mentioned✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

Dating someone so public and admired was definitely an experience. There was a reason she wanted to keep it private, but the media found out much earlier than they had planned. One day, as he was picking her up from college, someone snapped a photo, and just like that, everyone knew.

The scrutiny was as brutal as she had expected—people dissecting every piece of information they could find online. Perhaps more hurtful, though, were the comments about her appearance. Any perceived flaw was pointed out by countless strangers. Of course, not every comment was critical, but who pays attention to the kind ones anyway?

That only aggravated her already fragile self-esteem, leaving her even more self-conscious about her appearance. She began obsessively refining her makeup, perfecting her hair, and scrutinizing every detail of her looks. But no matter how much effort she put into superficial improvements, it never felt like enough—enough to stop the criticism, enough to silence the noise.

Inevitably, her thoughts turned to a single conclusion: the only reasonable path was cosmetic surgery, wasn’t it?

Franco drove down the road with ease, the afternoon sun painting golden streaks across the dashboard. She sat beside him, phone in hand, her thumb scrolling incessantly. Her brows were furrowed, lips pressed together in that way that meant she was deep in thought—or trouble.

He glanced over as they slowed for a red light, his curiosity piqued. “You know,” he teased, his accent wrapping around the words, “you look way too serious for someone who just got out of class. What’s going on, amor?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, a little too quickly, tilting her phone away from him like a guilty teenager.

Franco smirked, his instincts kicking in. “Oh, come on. ‘Nothing’ with that face? Let me see,” he teased, leaning slightly to sneak a look.

“Franco, watch the road!” she protested, locking her phone and shoving it into her lap, but not before he caught a glimpse of the open webpage.

His smile faltered as the word “cosmetic surgery” registered. His playful demeanor softened, replaced by quiet concern. At the next stoplight, he turned to her, his voice gentle. “Amor... what’s that about?”

“It’s nothing,” she repeated, her gaze fixed firmly out the window.

“Really?” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “Because it looked a lot like ‘I think I need surgery dot com.’”

Her cheeks flushed slightly, but she didn’t say anything, her fingers twisting in her lap.

Franco’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, and he let out a small sigh. “Is this about the comments?”

Her silence was all the confirmation he needed.

“Dios mío,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “Amor, why do you even read that stuff? Those people—they’re bored, miserable, and lack a life.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, but he caught the tiniest twitch of her lips.

“I’m serious!” he continued, his voice animated now, trying to coax a smile out of her. “You think someone with their life together is online talking about you? No. They’re too busy living. The ones who leave those comments? They’re jealous. Of your talent, your looks, and—” he grinned, throwing her a quick, cheeky look—“the fact that you get to date me.”

She couldn’t help it; a small laugh escaped, though she quickly stifled it. 

“I’ll take that laugh as an agreement” he said, triumphant. “So why are you letting ridiculous people get to you?”

Her smile faded, replaced by a vulnerable look she rarely showed. “It’s not just them, Franco. It’s... everything. I just... I don’t feel good enough.”

He softened immediately, his teasing giving way to something more sincere. “Amor,” he said, reaching over to rest his hand on hers. “You don’t need surgery. You don’t need to change anything. Not for them, not for anyone.”

She looked at him, her eyes doubtful. “You really think that?”

“I know that,” he said firmly. Then, in true his fashion, he couldn’t resist adding, “But if you’re still not convinced, I could always pull up other fan pages. The comments about my hair after races alone will make you feel like a queen.”

That earned him a real chuckle.

“See? Much better,” he said with a grin. “No more websites like that, okay?”

She nodded, her heart lighter, and when his fingers gave hers a reassuring squeeze, she squeezed back.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: English is not my first language, and I hope you liked it <3

[vodika-vibes]

Sugarpop

Summary: Loving Cody is easy. It is too easy, for all that he doesn’t and will never feel the same way. But, maybe you can turn your attention to someone who’s been waiting for you to see him.

Pairing: One-sided Cody x F!Reader, Pre Bly x Reader

Word Count: 1500

Warnings: Reader gets kidnapped and starved.

A/N: It was just too cold to write this morning, lol. But I've warmed up since then and I love Bly, so here it is.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

From the day you met him, you’ve loved Cody.

You love his smile, his quiet jokes, and how you feel safe when you’re with him. You love the way his eyes crinkle when he’s genuinely happy, and the way his nose scrunches when he’s disgusted.

And he’ll never feel the same way.

Oh, you don’t doubt that he’s fond of you. He’s always happy to see you, and he enjoys how you’re happy to cook for him and his brothers, though he teases you about using them as taste testers, rather than cooking for them because you want to do something nice.

He’s protective of you, and your time, and you know he’ll never allow anyone to take advantage of you, or harm you, so long as he’s around.

But he doesn’t love you.

And it’s fine.

Really.

He doesn’t have to love you. You aren’t entitled to his love just because you loved him first. You’re happy having his affection and his friendship. You are.

Sure, some nights you lay in bed and fantasize about what-if. 

What if he did love you? What if he looked at you like you look at him? What if, when you’re with him, his stomach flips and his heart clenches? What if he lays in bed and thinks about you?

Most nights, however, those thoughts turn into tears.

But, no one knows about it. The only one who knows your silent grief is your comforter, and it doesn’t tell stories.

And so, you go on day by day. Greeting Cody with bright smiles and light jokes, and when he shows up with a girlfriend, you greet her politely and make sure that she doesn’t have any food allergies, and you treat her like a friend.

Sure, maybe she doesn’t last longer than a month or, in one situation, an evening, but you’re still kind and polite.

It’s ironic, you’ve actually managed to make some friends with his exes. 

And you know Cody appreciates it. He told you, once, that he was glad that you were so welcoming to the people around you, and then he continued by telling you that you’re too nice for your own good.

You can’t help how you are as a person, and so you wave off his concerns when he brings it up. It doesn’t matter, in the long run, because he has all of his brothers looking out for you.

So, you suppose, if you want to be accurate, you have to admit that he does love you. But he loves you like a friend loves a friend, not like how a man loves a woman.

At least he’s still in your life, even if it’s not how you want. You just have to take what you can get.

But, all the same, when you’re kidnapped several months later due to your friendship with several Marshal Commanders, you know that no one will come for you.

All you can do is keep your mouth shut and pretend that you don’t know what your kidnapper is asking. You can’t do much, but you can protect them at least a little.

You’re not sure how long it’s been. There’s no way to tell what time of day it is here in the cell that has been your room since you were snatched from your apartment. 

It must have been at least a month. At this point someone must have noticed that you went missing, right?

It’s not like your kidnapper was subtle about snatching you, seeing as they kicked open the door and destroyed your apartment in the process of kidnapping you.

Of course, who would they send to save you? The Guard? The Police?

No one?

The idea of dying in a tiny cell so far from home, so far from the people you love most, makes you want to cry. But you stop yourself before you can start. You only get a single cup of water a day.

You can’t afford to waste it.

Just as you wrap your thin blanket around you, and are considering moving to the other side of the thin cot that has been your bed for who even knows how long, you think you hear the sound of blaster fire.

Your gaze flickers towards the door of your cell as the sound gets louder and louder.

And then, you hear a voice. Familiar in the way that all clone voices are familiar.

“Here! I found it!” You hear some scuffling from outside the door, and then what you assume is a curse in Mando’a. Then, finally, the door slides open and stays open.

The man on the other side of the door is wearing white armor with yellow markings. Familiar yellow markings.

“...Bly?”

“You’re a hard lady to find, Sugarpop.” You scrunch up your nose at the nickname. Yeah. It’s Bly. He’s the only person in the galaxy who calls you Sugarpop.

“It’s not like I did it intentionally.”

“I know.” He steps into the cell and with surprisingly gentle hands, he coaxes you to your feet, “How are you? Are you hurt anywhere?”

“...I’m hungry. And cold.”

“I bet you are. No shoes?”

“They took them so I couldn’t run away.”

“Fuckers. We should have killed them slower.”

He really shouldn’t sound so cheerful when saying that. But it doesn’t actually bother you.

“Bly?”

“Yeah, Sugarpop?”

“Can I go home now?”

He stills and then a slightly strangled laugh fall from him, “Well, you see…”

“Bly?”

“We’re not on Coruscant.” He says hurriedly, “We’re actually in the outer rim. You’ve been a guest of the Hutt Cartel for the better part of 6 months.”

You stare at him, “Six…?”

“Yeah, Sugarpop. Six.”

“...my job…my apartment?”

“Ah, well…the Jedi did what they could, but both your boss and your landlord decided that you were dead three months in and you lost both.”

“Oh.”

“But, it’ll work out!” Bly sets his hands on your shoulders, and you can almost see his brow furrow through his visor, “You’ve lost weight. A lot of weight.”

“Well…well…I probably needed to anyway…” You offer, feeling slightly numb.

“Bullshit, you were perfect.”

You blink at him again, “Thank you?”

“We’ll get you healthy again, and you can help out in the kitchen.” Bly offers cheerfully as he guides you out of the cell and lifts you over a pile of broken droids, “It’ll be great.”

“There are a lot of droids here,” You mumble, more to yourself, as you nudge something away with your foot.

“Yeah, looks like the Hutts are working with the Seppies.” Bly glances at you, “You know what, Sugarpop? I think I’m just going to carry you.”

“You don’t have to—”

He scoffs as he scoops you into his arms, “Have to? Please. I’d pay for the honor.”

You stare at him, even as you slide your arms around his neck so you feel more secure, “Bly?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you flirting with me? While rescuing me?”

He glances at you, “Yeah. I am.” Bly glances away, “Cody’s a blind idiot if he can’t see how you look at him.”

Your face burns, “I wasn’t trying to be transparent…”

“You weren’t Sugarpop. I just watch you a lot.” Lightly, he bumps his helmet against your forehead, “Just waiting for the day you look at me like that.”

Bly steps over a pile of something that was probably a person at one point, and you drop your head to his shoulder. As he walks, you go back through all of the conversations you remember having with Bly, and slowly you come to a realization.

“Bly, have you been flirting with me since we met?”

He laughs, “You’re just now noticing? Oh, Sugarpop, we need to give you lessons on being more observant.”

You huff and nudge him gently, “Don’t be mean. Humans are notoriously bad at detecting flirting.”

“Yeah, well…” He pauses for a moment to kick a door open, “Cody’s an idiot and I’m right here if you want to turn those pretty eyes on me.”

“Just like that?”

“Hey, I’m a patient guy. And it’s a long flight back to Coruscant.” He carefully sets you back on your feet and he lifts his helmet to rest on top of his head, “I think you’ll find that I’m a pretty charming guy.”

It’s at that very moment that you notice that his grin is slightly lopsided and that his eyes are a few shades lighter than Cody’s. And it almost feels like a betrayal when your stomach flips nervously.

“Is that your opinion?” You ask as you ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

His grin widens, “Nope, lots of people have that opinion.” Something in his gaze softens, and his fingers brush your cheek, “I’m glad you’re not hurt, Sugarpop.”

A tiny smile lifts your lips, “Thank you for coming to get me, Bly.”

There’s a serious glimmer in his gaze as he takes your hand and brushes his thumb across your knuckles, “Always.”

@heidnspeak

@justiceandwar98

@etod

@kiss-anon

@lonewolflupe

@silly-starfish

@msmeredithrose

@cdblake1565

@badbatch-bitch

@continous-mistakes

@falconfeather23435

@tiredbi-peach

@kimiheartblade

@clones-cyare

@cc--2224

@0revna0

@mira-loves-star-wars

@trixie2023

@rebell-ious

@padawancat97

@sweater-sloot

@bekahcurlygirl

@bb8-99

@maniacalbooper

@wax-birds

@adriennelenoir

@omegaprime18

@bad4amficideas

@bekah_curlygirl

@dukeoftheblackstar

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

[mrsmangi]

black dahlia ! <3

denial - luigi mangione

♡ flower prompt: black dahlia - lie - meaning: symbolic of betrayal and sadness ♡ w.c.: 2.4k ♡ a/n: wrote this sick af. angsty. hope you guys enjoy!

♡ send me a flower & i'll write a drabble based off the prompt ! ↪ prompts that have been requested

It began with a fleeting look. Luigi never meant to linger, to observe, to hold his glance for just a second too long; but you had a way of drawing people to you, like moths to flame. 

Luigi convinces himself that his attraction to you is harmless, that there’s no real damage in observing the details that make you who you are. He tells himself it’s not a crime to notice the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re bored or how the corners of your eyes crinkle into crow’s feet when you laugh. Those things were small, he reasoned–details anyone could notice, nothing out of the ordinary. He tells himself he’s just being attentive, but the more he notices you, the harder it is to pull away. 

There’s safety in silence, in pretending he doesn’t see what’s so plainly in front of him. Luigi has always been measured with his words, careful not to betray anything more than what’s expected of him. He’s an expert in deflecting, in shifting the conversation to avoid focusing on himself for too long. He offers vague smiles and light-hearted quips that leave questions at bay to his friends–to you. When you ask him about his day, he chooses his answers with precision, giving you just enough to keep the conversation alive, but never enough to come within arm’s reach of him. 

“How was work?” he recalls you once asked, leaning against the counter as he fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve. 

“Fine,” he replied quickly. “Busy, but you know, the usual.” 

You tilted your head, clearly unconvinced. “You say that every time. Is it really always the same?” 

His lips twitched into a small smile. “Pretty much. Routine keeps the place running, I guess. Not too much room for excitement.” 

You chuckled softly, letting the conversation drop, but he noticed the way your eyes lingered on him. How your smile had faltered at the edges, like you were waiting for him to say something else. Luigi noticed, and he felt the weight of it–your expectation hanging in the air, but said nothing. Instead, he shifted slightly, breaking eye contact like the moment didn’t matter; as though the silence between you didn’t carry all the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. Just like that, the moment slipped away, like it had never existed at all. 

Some moments, though, aren’t so easily brushed off. 

It’s a Thursday evening when you ask Luigi a question he isn’t ready to face. The sun has already set, and the two of you sit across from each other. The faint sound of cars and incoherent conversation passes outside. You’re relaxed, leaning back slightly, but your expression is steady when you speak. 

“Luigi?” you call. 

“Yeah?” he replies, looking up from his phone, eyebrows lifting slightly. 

There’s a pause as you fidget with the hem of your sleeve, gathering your thoughts. You lean forward, gaze meeting his. “Do you ever think about us?” 

For a moment, Luigi stares at you, his brow furrowing as though he doesn’t quite understand the question. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice light, nearly playful, as if you’ve just told him a joke he doesn’t fully get. 

You don’t waver. “You know what I mean, Luigi.” 

He blinks, tilting his head as if he’s searching your face for a clue. “Are you asking if I’ve ever thought about us like…more than friends?” He keeps his tone casual to distract himself from the weight of the question. 

“Yes,” you answer, plainly. 

Before he can help it, he lets out a short, breathy laugh–the kind that sounds more like discomfort than humor. “What?” he says, brows knitting together as he leans back. “You mean, like us? Together?” 

You nod, expression calm but insistent, and Luigi shifts in his seat. “I mean,” he stares, trailing off as he scratches his head, forcing out another quiet chuckle. “I don’t know, I haven’t really…thought about it.” 

He’s lying. He knows it, even as the words leave his mouth. He keeps going, keeps up the casual façade because he can’t tell if admitting the truth would make things better or worse. “We’re just good the way we are, right?” he adds, his voice a little too light. He really hopes you’ll just agree and let the conversation die, just as you have so many other times before. But you don’t. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, watching him with an expression that makes it clear you’re not buying into his act. 

“You’ve really never thought about it?” you press, your tone soft. 

Luigi’s heart gives a sharp twist, but he keeps his face neutral, or at least he tries to. “Not really,” he says, forcing another shrug. His smile feels thin, stretched, like it might just snap under the heaviness of his words. “I just… I guess it’s never crossed my mind, you know?” 

Lie. Lie, lie, lie. It’s a flimsy excuse, and he can see the way your face changes–how your lips press together, the way your eyes narrow, and how your nose scrunches in disbelief. He’s convinced you’ll call him out on his bullshit, but you only nod, sitting back a little. 

“Right,” you say simply, but your voice holds an emotion he can’t name. 

Luigi isn’t ready to carry the weight of the silence that follows. He taps his fingers against his knee, movements precise and practiced, as if he’s trying to convince himself he’s unaffected. Every second that you hold his stare feels like another crack forming in the wall he’s spent so long building. He shifts again in his seat, glancing at the door, the table, anywhere but you, because he knows if he looks at you for too long, the truth will slip out before he can prevent it. 

Have you already figured it out? Have you noticed how his voice falters when he says your name or how he catches himself glancing your way even when there’s no reason to? Maybe you’ve been keeping a record of the times he’s brushed you off in conversation, every moment he’s chosen his words carefully to avoid giving himself away. His knee bounces once, then twice, and he forces himself to stop, planting both feet firmly on the ground. He clears his throat, but it doesn’t help or ease the tension coiling in his stomach. He knows he should say something, anything, to break the silence, but every word that comes to mind disappears before he can voice it. 

“You okay?” you ask quietly, and Luigi’s stomach twists at the way your words cut into him. 

“Yeah,” he replies quickly. The sound of his own voice feelings foreign, like it doesn’t belong to him. He forces another laugh, but it doesn’t sound convincing. “I just wasn’t expecting this conversation, that’s all.” 

Your eyes linger on him, and he swears he can feel them peeling back every layer he desperately tries to keep intact. Can you hear his heart pounding? See the way his hands are clenching to keep himself from fidgeting? 

“I didn’t mean to throw you off,” you say softly, and your voice is so honest, Luigi finds it harder to keep up the charade. 

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. The only thing he can think about now is how much he simply wants to tell you the truth, how much he wants to admit he thinks about you more often than he’d like to admit, how much it kills him to act like you don’t mean more to him than you should. 

It’s for the best, he thinks as you finally look away. He says nothing. Your attention shifts to something else and Luigi tells himself that keeping his distance will protect you–the both of you–from the complications of what could be. The space between you feels wider than it ever has before, and Luigi knows it’s his fault. He’s created this distance, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. 

“Thanks for your honesty,” you add, though the words sound hollow. 

He wants to say more, to explain himself, to pull you back from the space that seems to have opened between you at that moment; but Luigi only watches as you smile–polite, but not warm. You shift back slightly, to create distance from him, even as he sits with you in the same room. 

After that, things change. 

Luigi notices the way you pull back, the way your laughter becomes less frequent around him, the way you seem to hesitate before starting conversations you once dove into effortlessly. He hates it, hates himself for putting that distance between you. Still, he tells himself it’s what’s right, that keeping you at a distance spares you both from destruction. He can’t stop himself from having moments of weakness. 

A few days later, it’s a late afternoon when the two of you end up on a park bench, although neither of you is entirely sure why you’re there. You had sent Luigi a text earlier in the day, asking if he wanted to get some fresh air. He hesitated, staring at the screen for longer than he should have before replying with a simple, “Sure. Meet you at the park.” 

There wasn’t a plan to say anything heavy–it was supposed to just be a walk, casual, quiet conversation to fill the gap that had been growing between you. As the two of you meandered through the trails, the silence felt heavier than usual. Every lighthearted comment you attempted to make seemed to fall flat, and Luigi couldn’t help but give clipped, almost distracted responses. 

When you spot a bench tucked beneath the shade of an old oak tree, you gesture to it. “Want to sit for a bit?” 

Luigi glances at you, observing you, before nodding. “Yeah. Sure.” 

So, here you sit, side by side, the quiet stretches on. Neither of you speak for a while, and it’s only when the silence finally becomes unbearable that Luigi breaks it. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he says, voice soft, but his words carry an unrecognizable edge. 

“Have I?” you ask plainly, your foot nudging a stray leaf. 

“Yeah. Feels like…you’ve been pulling away,” he nods, exhaling a breath. 

You don’t respond, tracing the grooves of the bench’s armrest with your fingertips. Your lips press together before you finally speak. “Maybe I am,” you admit. 

Luigi’s stomach turns. He forces himself to look at you, brows furrowing. “Why?” he asks, even though there’s a knot in his chest that tells him he already knows the answer. 

“I’ve been so stuck, Luigi,” you say, looking at him. You hold his gaze longer than you have in weeks. There’s a look in your eye that he can’t place–one of hurt, maybe, or resignation. “I’ve been standing still in the same place for days, weeks…and you’ve already made up your mind.” 

He opens his mouth slightly, as if he’s about to argue, to tell you that you’re wrong, that he hasn’t decided anything, but no sound comes out. The truth–messy, tangled, and heavy–lodges itself in his throat, impossible to force past the weight of the lie he’s been holding onto: he doesn’t have feelings for you. Instead, he looks at his hands, jaw clenching. 

“You know, it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” you continue after a beat, gently. “I’m not trying to…force anything, but it’s hard to keep pretending everything’s fine when it feels like you’re not being honest with me, Luigi–or with yourself.” 

He knows he should give you an answer, something solid. A part of him wonders if this is the point of no return–if saying nothing will just make you drift further away from him. His mind churns with half-formed thoughts, excuses he doesn’t even believe, but all that slips out is a weak, “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t realize it felt that way to you.” 

Luigi hears your sigh. From the corner of his eye, you shift slightly, leaning away from him on the bench. As much as he’d like to reach for you, he stays in place, hands interlocked together in his lap. 

“Um,” you begin and pause. You sigh again, leaning back against the bench. “I think I need a fresh start.” Your voice is tinged with sadness, and Luigi suddenly feels uneasy for a reason he can’t explain. “Somewhere new. Different.” 

Luigi feels his chest tighten, stomach falling at your words. He looks at you then, really looks at you, and there’s a finality in your face that he isn’t ready to confront. He manages a small nod, voice strained as he mutters, “That makes sense.” 

You gaze at him, softly and with resolute, and then glance down at your shoes. “My mom has been asking me to come stay with her for a while,” you confess, sounding uncertain. “She thinks a change of scenery might be good for me. She’s in California now, close to the coast, actually. She’s been saying I could take some time to figure things out, you know? Clear my head and whatnot.” 

Luigi says nothing. He should say something–ask you not to go, tell you that you don’t need to figure things out on your own, he’s here for you–but he only nods again, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “That sounds nice,” he says softly. 

“Yeah,” you say, smiling faintly. It doesn’t reach your eyes. “I think it might be what I need. It’s not forever, just a little while, but it feels like the right thing to do.” 

His heart sinks further at his words, and he watches as your gaze drifts, your mind clearly elsewhere. Maybe you’re daydreaming about the possibilities of what a fresh start could mean for you. Luigi wants to tell you that he’s sorry, to apologize for the reason you’re feeling lost, but he doesn’t know how. 

Finally, you stand, movements slow as if you’re preparing to leave something behind. Leave him behind. “Take care, Luigi,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. Then, without another word, you turn and walk away, footsteps light. 

Luigi stays on the bench, rooted to his seat, hands clasped tightly in his lap as he watches you disappear down the path. As the sun dips lower and the world around him continues to move, Luigi remains frozen on the bench, clinging to the fragile hope that this isn’t the end—holding on to denial, even though deep down, he knows you’re already gone.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Lisa Needham at Public Notice:

You’re forgiven for forgetting about TikTok for the last couple of days, what with the horrorshow avalanche of executive orders and gleeful deployment of Nazi salutes (plural!) from the world’s richest man. Nonetheless, TikTok is ostensibly banned in the United States as Democrats and Republicans overwhelmingly voted only nine months ago to outlaw the app unless its parent company, ByteDance, agreed to sell it. The US Supreme Court even upheld the law just last week. However, TikTok lives, thanks to the whims of Donald Trump, the same person who, in August 2020, issued an executive order giving ByteDance 45 days to sell the app or see it banned. Trump has been extremely transparent that he flip-flopped on TikTok because the app helped him win the election last year, in part because it became a hotbed for criticism of Biden’s support for Israel. “We won young people and I think that's a big credit to TikTok,” Trump told Newsmax earlier this month (even though he in fact lost the youth vote). “So I'm not opposed to TikTok ... I had a very good experience with TikTok." Lost in the current discourse about TikTok is an important conversation about whether it violates the First Amendment to ban a social media app based on national security concerns about its Chinese-owned parent company. Also lost is a debate about whether it’s fair to single out TikTok over worries about user privacy, data harvesting, and manipulative algorithms when such issues are common to all social media platforms. There’s also a discussion to be had about whether singling out TikTok is racist — though there’s a good argument it is. Instead, what’s happening here is the creeping oligarchy of companies and capital aligning around an authoritarian president, with everyone fully aware that sucking up to Trump personally, ideally along with staggering sums of cash, is the only way to evade scrutiny.

[...]

The art of the deal

To be scrupulously fair to Trump, he isn’t the only person who reversed course on TikTok. Once it was clear that the public opposed the ban and that the Supreme Court might not step in to save legislators from themselves, the Biden administration spent last week trying to figure out how to keep TikTok alive. Massachusetts Democratic Sen. Edward Markey introduced legislation to delay by 270 days the initial January 19 deadline for TikTok to be sold, despite having voted for the ban in the first place. The problem these efforts faced, however, is that TikTok wasn’t interested in working with the Biden administration or Senate Democrats to fix the problem. And why would they be, when Democrats are hobbled by a persistent inclination to actually follow laws rather than treat everything as an episode of The Apprentice, where flattering Trump as a master dealmaker is all that matters?

It’s exactly the latter approach that TikTok took. The ban required Google and Apple to remove it from their app stores or face steep fines for each user who downloaded the app. What it did not do, however, was penalize anyone who already had the app on their phone or accessed TikTok on the web. So the real financial peril would initially fall on Google and Apple if they kept the app available. After the Supreme Court decision last week, the Biden administration suggested it would not penalize those companies for continuing to host the app, a move TikTok said didn’t provide them enough “necessary clarity and assurance,” and they would therefore shut down in the United States on January 19. Thus began the public kayfabe of TikTok pretending that only Trump could fix it, knowing full well that he would happily go along. So the app went abruptly, ostentatiously dark on the evening of the January 18, only to pop back up some 12 hours later on January 19 with a gushing message to Trump: “We thank President Trump for providing the necessary clarity and assurance to our service providers that they will face no penalties providing TikTok to over 170 million Americans and allowing over 7 million small businesses to thrive.”

One might note, of course, that Trump was not president on January 19. One might also note that what Trump did promise — basically, that he would not enforce a law passed by Congress, signed by the president, and upheld by the Supreme Court — is not functionally any different than what Biden or Markey were trying to offer, albeit without a demand the company show them personal fealty. But if TikTok had simply left the lights on for those 12 hours and waited for the incoming administration to decide how to enforce the ban, it would have missed the opportunity to let Trump be the savior who brought the app back from the dead. And the one thing social media companies have learned about Trump is that their success will rise and fall with his impulses.

When social media platforms let Trump and his hangers-on say and do whatever they like, he loves them. Once X was purchased by president-unelect Elon Musk, it became transformed into a MAGA megaphone and no longer faces scrutiny from Trump. That’s a change from January 2021, when Trump complained that then-Twitter was “not about FREE SPEECH” after it banned his account following the insurrection. Though Meta didn’t change hands, it still transformed — or more accurately, perhaps, deformed — to meet the new Trump era. CEO Mark Zuckerberg got rid of third-party fact-checking on Facebook, calling it “politically biased,” and revised its hateful speech policy to explicitly allow for attacks on trans people. Zuckerberg donated $1 million to the inauguration, went to church with Trump Monday morning, and hosted a reception Monday night. For the inauguration itself, Zuckerberg, along with Musk, Amazon founder Jeff Bezos, and Google head Sundar Pichai, was basically in the front row. Nothing says “incipient oligarchy” like an inauguration dominated by the richest men in the world, private citizens all.

TikTok’s cozying up to Donald Trump is a bad thing.

[genderqueerdykes]

This might be a reach since I'm a bit emotional about it but in response to one of your recent posts:

I've also noticed a lot of "trans friendly" cis people (who are usually not actually as progressive as they believe they are anyways, even regarding transfems) using "trans women are women" or equal shorthands to signal their support and in turn just... completely brush over the existence of enbies and mascs as a whole.

Like obviously the statement in itself is true. Trans women are women. But it's used as the end all be all of the trans community. Like that's the only thing that matters and that we're fighting to have recognized.

It sounds a little whiney, but I wouldn't be so bothered by it if those same people then didn't turn around and spew the most hateful shit about men either in complete disregard to trans men&mascs or, even worse, including them in their hatred.

I don't know. Am I reaching? It's just been frustrating me...

you're not whiny or reaching, that's definitely happening in real time. it's okay to feel fucked up by this, it's not okay.

generally speaking whenever someone runs some kind of account on social media where they want to look like they accept trans people, they will immediately default to saying "trans rights!" and then "Trans women are women!" and then that's literally where the conversation dies. i do not understand why people continue to do this. yes it's important to uphold trans women but why does the conversation literally fucking die right after that?

i don't get why transfemininity and trans womanhood are seen as the entirety of/end all be all of transness by a lot of people but it's frustrating because it's used to put a blanket over a lot of other people to silence them for no good reason. like you can type a few more words. "trans men are men!" the silence is genuinely deafening.

some people don't realize that it's not what they say, but what they leave out that says so much about how they feel.

take care of yourself. i don't think this behavior is right at all. people really do think the conversation about trans acceptance begins and dies at transfemininity and trans womanhood. it's just weird i literally don't understand it. if it's malicious, i just don't understand why. it's not helping anyone

[tanadrin]

"Zero-sum game" anon returning. I am surprisingly capable of maintaining optimism of the will, but ONLY as long as I stay away from the news or even other people liable to be upset by it. This unfortunately includes not only everyone I care about personally, but quite a few of the larger communities committed to organizing against those who would harm them. Advice to "try to change the subject or else walk away" works mainly for the former, and in any case is much harder to do when it's your own life at stake too.

Last month, you covered a related phenomenon in an excellent musing about the dangers of conflating identity with suffering. "Everyone secretly hates me and is out to destroy me" is terrible enough as a self-concept, but as a rallying point has even more potential for harm. This is where I think an element of peer pressure comes into doomerism: If catastrophizing is part of what holds a group together, then non-participation becomes a perceived threat to unity no matter what the rationale. Never mind that I want to avoid a mental breakdown from dwelling on all the reasons bigots want me dead; plenty of loud doomer activists from multiple demographics would still declare me as evil as a bigot myself for this "crime" of wanting to turn away from our shared pain.

In theory, balanced ways must exist between obliviousness and burnout. In practice, I feel disloyal to anyone I share even the remotest crumb of kinship with for even daring to consider such a thing. And yes, I do realize now how that might be actually be part of the problem.

yeah i'm sympathetic to the whole "sometimes binging news coverage is a huge fucking bummer that drags me down" thing; and there's not actually any inherent virtue to Bearing Witness to the Horrors, especially if you find that shit demotivational. and if people want to make Bearing Witness to the Horrors, or even worse, Being Victim to the Horrors, the non-negotiable determinative element of a shared group identity, the thing you must do to prove your trust and virtue to others, run the fuck away!

people who demand you make misery central to your identity or your worldview aren't just wrong, they are dangerous. they are emotional vampires. they are interpersonal varelse. many people acquire social antibodies against that sort of thing as they mature, but not everybody, and sometimes these kinds of people will try to leverage the mechanisms of shared identity or in-group language to sink their metaphorical fangs into your metaphorical jugular. so for those people that need it, i am giving you explicit permission to tell people like that to Fuck Off. you don't need to give them the benefit of the doubt--it doesn't matter whether they do it on purpose or not. you don't need to feel sorry for them--they will feel plenty sorry for themselves. you don't need to try to help them--they do not want your help. just tell them to fuck off. then ignore them forever. you're allowed!

[buubonita]

What do you think the bad sanses love languages are? Like physical touch, gift giving, etc

Well this is a hard one to define. Mainly because it will be an answer based on what I understand of the characters and not so much if it is canon appropriate or not.

But canon doesn't matter.

BSP displays of affection, do you mean between them or towards each other? I still can't figure out how they work together. So I'll talk in general.

I think Killer has no idea what it is to give affection. And if he does, his ideas must be distorted by his own experiences. The closest thing to a display of affection he could have is to warn others from the knowledge he has about his environment and the people around him if that can avoid an unpleasant moment (I go back to that post where I said he would advise Dust and Horror about Nightmare and when or how to handle him)

I don't see either of them being physically affectionate. Killer touches others as a method of keeping himself grounded rather than with a good intention. I'd say it depends on the state of his soul but I'm not sure either (state 3 and 4 seem to be prone to extreme violence and 1 is the full awareness of guilt eating away at the poor guy)

Killer doesn't have the best references when it comes to giving affection either. If we think of a setup where Murder and Horror are there as "toys" that Nightmare gave to Killer, I can see him translating Nightmare's behaviors to the two of them.

Though who knows, maybe he can learn a thing or two from the right person.

Murder and Horror seem to be the most willing to do something terrible in the name of those they love the most.

Horror doesn't seem like the gushing type at all, Sans didn't usually be either but he showed his affection for his brother in small gestures (reading to him before bed, helping him make costumes for his party, peeling an apple for him) so I think he would follow that same pattern of doing small things, niceties to take care of who he cares about. Maybe he knows Dust has a favorite color and gives him a gift of that color, or maybe he lets Killer name his weapons and addresses them that way.

Small nonsense but it makes it known that he is there.

What I do see as a form of affection, and partly because his memory fails, is that Horror gives nicknames to the people he hangs out with. The more nicknames, the more dear they are to him.

I also don't see him touching anyone so openly. Maybe on rare occasions and they are simple touches like punches or pats.

However, he is not above hurting or simply ignoring their personal desires and convictions. He fed his brother human flesh despite Papyrus telling him he didn't want to, he lied to the entire town about a new policy because he didn't want to take responsibility for things getting screwed up because of him, and he condemned his friends (although he is not the only one to blame) to a screwed up life.

Nightmare.

All of Nightmare's "displays of affection" lead to violence. Nightmare can't feel healthy affection for anyone in his corrupted state. I think even if he wanted to love someone, he'd end up hurting them.

I've said this before, but Nightmare would definitely compliment anyone in the group while they're dying because he finds their pain "too irresistible."

Becoming the object of Nightmare's affection only brings more pain unfortunately.

In a healthy version it's even hard to determine, because the best mercy Nightmare could give the MTT is to let them go. While some like to explore the idea of ​​Nightmare striving to improve, I personally like that but it also depends on how heinous Nightmare's actions have been and trying to determine if it makes sense for the rest of the MTT to trust his promise of wanting to change for the better.

If he did change for the better, their relationship wouldn't stop being complicated. There are no perfect relationships, there will always be instances of tension between parties even in the best of times and it's a matter of everyone involved doing their part to make it work. Relationships are not one-sided and one person cannot and does not have to bear all the responsibility.

It would be nice to see, if Nightmare were to redeem himself, teach others to better manage their "negative" emotions in less destructive and healthier ways. And above all learn to respect everyone's personal boundaries.

Nightmare would be fine with physical contact if he was the one to initiate it, I think. He would have to trust someone a lot to let them touch him and it wouldn't last long.

And lastly there's Dust.

I really like the idea that Dust writes. He doesn't know how to voice his feelings very well so he's better at writing them down. Maybe little notes left in the space of the people he cares about, even if they're just loose sentences, it doesn't take a lot of words to express great things when it comes to feelings.

And sometimes saying I love you feels like an impossible feat or something sacred that not many feel ready for.

Dust and physical contact don't get along very well either, but I like to think that sometimes he would initiate contact, leaning on his companions to make himself noticed and know that he is there.

I hope this satisfies you, anon! Thank you for your ask, i have fun braining all this.

[benevolentgodloki]

korg kept your brother alive when nobody even checked on him

"Much as I enjoy insulting the Avengers, it seems to be a common theme to presume actions on the basis of the constraints of narrative. Tell me, after five years of being pushed away by a being with phenomenal power, when every attempt to reach out has been exhausted, after your friends and families and world have been obliterated and you can barely keep yourself together to make it day after day to survive, when said being is one of the most stubborn people you will ever meet, do you really think that you would have the slightest hope of pulling him out of it?

"Honestly, I thought you might have had more faith in your heroes, and yet here Loki is defending them."

[skunkes]

if life is categorized by Before Loss and After Loss then I exist in the before but with a countdown to the after. and the countdown is always always present and debilitating. the loss will be debilitating too but i cant help myself. i will always suffer twice.

[lilacerull0]

i feel like reading/watching mbf immediately means knowing who i am as a person and... i cannot allow this

[dallonwrites]

actually making my tags from my last post into their own post. writers who struggle with grammar, spelling, typos, errors etc i love you. writers who struggle with rereading their stuff thoroughly no matter how much they try, who don't always have access to other people to help them read i love you. whilst reading through and checking for these things is good practice i really believe that the weight of it should not be put wholly on the writer's shoulders. especially writers who are neurodivergent, disabled, have any condition that can impede their reading + comprehension, are overworked and overtired, are not writing in their native language, list goes on....because grammar mistakes/language mistakes/typos have nothing to do with your abilities as a creative. this is where editors should be uplifting writers, helping them, not scrutinising them for something they cannot always control