#that corporations do not need her support

[willowsnook]

Act my age

ham, steak, salami + veggies with white bread pleasee thank you 💞

Lewis Hamilton x gf!reader

The age gap between you and Lewis was a topic that the F1 media couldn’t seem to get over, even though you’d been together for two years. The 15-year difference was all they talked about, but you tried to brush off the chatter.

As an associate attorney practicing corporate law in Monaco, you felt you had the "maturity" box checked for dating Lewis by media standards. Still, recently the constant expectation to act “older” started to weigh on you. You were 25, and sometimes you just wanted to be you—without the shadow of “younger girlfriend” following your every move.

Feeling stressed, you called your friends and planned a night out. Lewis kissed you goodbye with a smile, promising to pick you up if needed and reminding you to stay out of trouble. A few hours and several drinks later, you found yourself on the dance floor, lost in the music. Taking a break, you stared at yourself in the restroom mirror for a little too long, realizing it was probably time to call Lewis.

“Lewis!” you chimed when he answered.

“Hi, sweetheart. Ready to come home?” he asked, amused.

“Yes, please,” you slurred. “Can we get Taco Bell?”

“That’s terrible for you.”

“Oh, live a little!” you teased, sensing his playful eyeroll over the phone. True to his word, he arrived in minutes. As you slid into the car, you leaned over to give him a soft kiss.

“Hi,” you whispered, and he gently brushed his thumb over your cheek.

“Hi, I missed you,” he murmured, making you giggle.

“It was only a couple of hours,” you reminded him.

“Still too long,” he replied with a smile.

“Yeah, it was good to relieve some stress.” 

The look Lewis gave you after you said that made you smirk, knowing he had another way to relax once you got home.

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

The Friday before the Mexico GP, you were in the McLaren garage with Lando while Pato took the wheel for FP1. Lando was one of your closest friends in the paddock, and with you both living in Monaco and being around the same age, you bonded quickly. Caught up in a playful 1v1 soccer match, you giggled as you nutmegged Lando, who tackled you in a dramatic attempt to stop you.

You landed awkwardly, wincing as you hit the ground, and Lando immediately looked worried.

“Shit, Y/N, are you okay?” he asked, glancing around nervously. “Lewis is going to kill me.”

Crossing your arms, you raised an eyebrow. “Are you more worried about Lewis than me?”

“Uh, yes,” he admitted without hesitation, making you laugh.

Later, back in the Mercedes garage, you waited for Lewis to finish his interviews. As notifications began flooding your phone, you noticed you’d been tagged in a video from one of Lewis’s interviews:

Reporter: “So, Lewis, nice to see Y/N out here supporting you this weekend. Interesting video of her and Lando Norris playing football.”

Lewis: “Yeah,” he chuckled, “it’s like I’m babysitting a kid sometimes.”

Embarrassment hit you like a wave, and before you knew it, you had quietly excused yourself and called for a ride back to the hotel.

Back in the hotel room, you tried to calm yourself down in the shower, but when you stepped out, you found Lewis waiting, worried as he noticed your puffy eyes.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asked gently.

“Just thought you could use a break from babysitting,” you replied sharply.

He flinched, realizing the hurt his words had caused. “I didn’t mean it that way, Y/N,” he tried, but you shook your head.

“How else could you have meant it?” you asked, folding your arms defensively.

He sighed. “I just see Lando as... still a kid. And when you’re with him, it makes you look that way too.”

“You do know Lando and I are the same age, right?” you countered. “If you didn’t want to ‘babysit,’ maybe you should’ve dated someone your own age.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, pulling you into his arms. Tears slid down your cheeks as he held you tightly. “You’re the only one I want to come home to. Always.”

Exhausted, you nodded, letting the conversation drop as you both went to bed.

The next day, you still felt out of sorts but kept quiet to avoid distracting Lewis before qualifying. As he was stopped for a quick Sky Sports interview, you hung back with Lando, who shot you a sympathetic look.

“Rough night?” he asked gently, and you nodded.

“This isn’t your fault, Lando,” you assured him. “He shouldn’t have said it.”

Lando’s expression shifted, and following his gaze, you saw Lewis speaking with the interviewer, his hand resting on her lower back as he laughed at something she said. A wave of anger and hurt rushed over you.

“Y/N…” Lando started, but you brushed him off.

“I’m leaving.”

Storming out of the paddock you were pissed. You knew Lewis would think nothing of it and expect you not to either and to “take the high road.” But you were so fucking over that. Mixed with yesterday’s emotions you were feeling slightly crazy and you weren’t going to contain it. 

Calling Lewis’s assistant, you made her book you a flight home immediately and went to the hotel to get your stuff. By the time you reached there, you had seen countless pictures of Lewis and the reporter cozy together, so naturally, why not print them off for him to frame? You were a woman on a mission in the hotel business room printing these pictures. Spreading them out on your bed, you snapped a pic to send to your sister, who called you insane and then left.

Instead of Monaco, you took a shorter flight to New York, where Lewis kept a penthouse. You settled in, ordered takeout, and watched the race on Sunday from the penthouse, glad to see him finish P4 but still seething.

You weren’t expecting to see Lewis until tomorrow, so you went to bed around 11, only to be jolted awake at 1am by someone pounding on the door.

"Just let me in," you heard Lewis call out.

Groggy, you opened it to find him standing there, exhausted, dressed in a Mercedes hoodie and sweats.

He dropped his bags on the living room couch and crossed his arms, facing you. “Nice touch with the photos,” he said, his voice steady.

“I thought they were fitting,” you shot back, arms crossed.

Lewis sighed. “You know that wasn’t anything. She isn’t you.”

“Who cares that I know that?” You yelled. “You are mine! Not hers! And you know what I wanted to do? I wanted to march over there and rip her off you by her hair.” 

Lewis’ eyes widened but you kept going. 

“I’m done pretending that I’m too secure with myself to care about this shit because, guess what? I do fucking care! I do care when girls throw themselves at you all the time. So yeah, I printed off those pictures for you, and yeah, I knew that was crazy, but if that’s what I have to do to get an emotional reaction out of you, then I’ll do it every time.” 

After your outburst, the room felt charged with a heavy, vulnerable silence. Lewis looked at you, his face softened by something between understanding and regret. He took a deep breath, then stepped forward, gently wrapping his arms around you. You could feel the warmth of his embrace as he held you close, grounding you.

“Y/N,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low and tender, “I’m so sorry. I never, ever want you to feel like you can’t be yourself with me. I love you—exactly as you are. I didn’t realize how much pressure you’ve felt to fit into… some idea of what everyone else thinks you should be. I don’t want that for us.”

You looked up at him, eyes still glassy but softening as his words sank in. “Sometimes I feel like I have to prove I’m ‘mature enough’ to be with you,” you admitted quietly. “Like I have to be some version of me that fits everyone else’s expectations.”

He sighed, holding you even tighter. “Y/N, you’re perfect just as you are. I love you, not some ‘ideal’ of you. I love the person who’s goofy, carefree, strong… the person who prints off photos just to make a point,” he chuckled, squeezing your hand. “You don’t have to change or hold anything back for me.”

A small, relieved smile crept onto your face, and you let yourself melt into his embrace. “Thank you,” you whispered. “I just needed to hear that.”

He nodded, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I want you to feel free to be yourself with me. I’m here because I want all of you, Y/N—all the real, unfiltered parts of you.”

You closed your eyes, taking in his words, letting them wrap around you like a promise. Finally, you looked up at him with a new lightness, feeling the tension in your chest ease.

“Alright,” you said softly, a hint of playfulness returning to your tone. “Then get ready, because the real me definitely wants Taco Bell at 2 a.m.”

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Fine. But we’re getting fries, too.”

With your hand in his, you both headed out the door, leaving behind the weight of everyone else’s expectations. It was just you and Lewis—real, imperfect, and perfect for each other.

[rispwr]

Hate you - chapter 3 - J.JK

Pairings : ex! Jungkook x ex! Reader

Notes : didn't get to do my word goal again:(( will definitely do it again next chapter. we don't talk anymore by charli puthh "what kind of dress you're wearing tonight, if it's holding onto you so tight, the way i did before"

Genre : Ex2L, angst, slow burn, fake dating, slice of life, fluff, e2l, corporate rivals, smau, smut

Sypnosis : ‘You were always told that hating someone is the only way it doesn’t hurt but what if you can’t hate him? No matter how hard you try your heart will always find it’s way to his’

2 years after breaking up with your boyfriend of 2 years you were finally on your way to become the ceo of your family’s company your rival turns out to be your ex.

Contents/warnings :

Misunderstood break up, insecurities, mentions of self harms or mental health issues, jk is mean at the start, yelling, sensitive language or words, mentions of family trauma, corporate au, smart (both), mentions of yoongi x oc, mentions of cheating, soon to be ceo! Jk, soon to be ceo! Oc, oc is still named Y/n or {__}, corporate rivals?, fake dating, lack of communication, death of a character, mentions of suicide attempt. not proofread

series masterlist

Can't believe this

February 10, 2027 — Present Time

You’d decided it was finally time for Yoongi to meet your mother. His calm demeanor and unwavering support had been your anchor during some of the toughest times.

Your fingers were laced with his, the warmth of his hand grounding you. The two of you looked effortlessly coordinated in matching blazers—his in classic black, yours in a crisp white.

As you reached the door, you took a deep breath and pushed it open.

And then you saw him.

Jungkook.

He was seated next to your mother, deep in conversation, his voice low and composed. His hair, once a warm chestnut brown, was now jet black, styled into a sleek, elegant mullet. It framed his face perfectly, the strands slicked back with precision. His right arm rested casually on the table, the sleeve of his shirt rolled up just enough to reveal the intricate tattoos that snaked up his skin.

This wasn’t the Jungkook you once knew. He carried himself differently now—poised, polished, and every bit the powerful CEO.

Your heart clenched, a mixture of shock and betrayal surging through you.

“Mom?” you said, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the room.

Both your mother and Jungkook turned to face you, but it was your mom who spoke first. “Oh, Y/N, dear. I was just about to tell you about our new brand deal—”

“No,” you cut her off sharply, your tone icy. “I don’t want to, Mom.”

Your mother frowned, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. “Y/N—”

Before she could continue, Jungkook stood, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Y/N, listen—”

“It’s Ms. Kim Y/N to you, Mr. Jeon,” you snapped, your voice sharp and unyielding.

Yoongi shifted beside you, clearly sensing the tension. “Uh, maybe I should step out—”

“No, no, Yoongi,” you said quickly, your tone softening as you glanced at him. “It’s fine. We’ll be out of here soon.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His gaze flickered briefly to Yoongi, his expression unreadable.

Your mom sighed, attempting to mediate. “Y/N, this partnership could be beneficial for both companies. Jungkook’s team—”

“I don’t care,” you interrupted, your voice firm. “We don’t need this deal, not if it involves him.”

The weight of your words hung heavy in the air.

Jungkook’s face remained stoic, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—regret, perhaps, or frustration. “Understood,” he said finally, his tone even.

Without another word, you turned and walked out of the room, Yoongi following close behind.

Once you were out in the hallway, Yoongi gently squeezed your hand. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded, though your heart still raced. “Yeah,” you said quietly, looking up at him. “I am now.”

I gathered my bag and slid out of the car with his help, the cool morning air brushing against my face. Adjusting my blazer, I turned to him and said, “I’ll be out late, so don’t wait for me or pick me up. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a respectful nod. His stoic expression didn’t waver, but I knew he’d make sure everything was handled as usual.

Just as I was about to step inside the building, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was Yoongi. I couldn’t help but smile as I answered. 

“Heyyy, wanna go out tonight?” he asked, his tone playful.

I hesitated for a moment, remembering the plans I’d already made. “Well... I kinda have plans with Namjoon and Sana tonight at the club,” I admitted. “But you can come. Can you?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said without missing a beat. “Pick you up or just stay at your place?”

“My place,” I replied, knowing it would be easier that way.

“Alrighty. See you, pretty,” he said smoothly, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

“See you,” I said, hanging up.

I slipped my phone back into my bag and walked into the towering office building. The lobby was sleek and modern, filled with employees and visitors. I walked confidently across the polished floors, my heels clicking rhythmically as I made my way to the private elevator reserved for executives.

Once I reached my floor, the familiar scent of fresh coffee and crisp paper greeted me. My assistant, Sejun, was already waiting by my office door, his usual clipboard in hand. He was a sharp dresser, his navy suit perfectly tailored, and his hair neatly combed back.

“Good morning, Ms. Kim,” he greeted me with a polite bow. “Someone sent you a letter. It’s on your desk.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A letter?” It wasn’t often that I received personal mail at the office, especially in this day and age.

“Yes, it was hand-delivered this morning,” Sejun explained as he opened the door for me. “It seemed urgent.”

I hummed in acknowledgment, stepping inside my spacious office.

I sank back into my chair. After all the training, coaching, and pressure to step up as CEO, I’d finally started to find a rhythm that felt… right. There was satisfaction in this work, a sense of control I hadn't experienced before. For months, I'd felt buried under the weight of everyone’s expectations. But now, as I glanced around my office, I felt the slightest glimmer of pride.

With a small smile, I gave in to a rare moment of relaxation, spinning slowly in my chair. Just as I was beginning to feel settled, something caught my eye. A sleek,brown, small envelope lay on my desk, standing out starkly against the polished white surface. I frowned. The name on it was written in bold, elegant script:

To: Kim Y/N, CEO of RNT Inc. From: Jeon Jungkook, CEO of GCF Productions.

My heart dropped as I read his name. Jungkook. After everything, after years of hurting me, he was reaching out now? My fingers hovered over the envelope, hesitant, but curiosity won. I picked it up, feeling the weight of the paper in my hand, the texture rich and smooth under my fingertips. Slowly, I slid my nail under the seal and pulled out a letter, already bracing myself for the frustration I knew would come.

The very first line felt like a slap to the face.

Dear Y/N, the love of my life.

A harsh, bitter laugh escaped me, almost involuntary. "Is he kidding?" I muttered to myself, rolling my eyes. He had to be joking. This was the same man who’d walked away without a single explanation, leaving me to piece together the wreckage of my heart on my own. Yet here he was, casually calling me "the love of his life," as if that title could erase everything that had happened between us.

Taking a breath, I continued reading, my fingers gripping the edges of the paper.

I wrote this letter back in December 2025, almost a year after we broke up. Well, after I broke up with you. I know what I did could never be justified, nor will it ever be okay, and I’m writing this to tell you I’m truly sorry.

I’ve spent every day since hating myself for how I hurt you. I couldn’t even bring myself to face you and say it out loud. I was selfish, Y/N. I was only thinking about myself, my fears, my insecurities. But the truth is, losing you was the biggest mistake of my life. I know I didn’t deserve you then, and I probably never will. You deserve someone better, someone who can love you fully and without hesitation. I was never that person, and for that, I’m sorry.

A slight tremor ran through my hand as I lowered the letter, blinking back the prickle of tears that threatened to gather. So that was it? That was all he had to offer? An apology scratched out on a piece of paper, years after he'd torn me apart? I felt a strange mix of rage, sadness, and exhaustion welling up in me as I reread his words.

I’d spent countless nights trying to understand why he’d left. I’d gone through every possible reason in my mind, analyzing each argument, every little moment that might have led him to walk away. And here he was, admitting to being "selfish," "insecure," and telling me he’d "made a mistake." But it wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed an answer that made sense, something to validate the pain I’d gone through.

I let out a shaky breath, the frustration building inside me. His "explanation" was just a reminder of how deeply he’d scarred me. All those moments I’d doubted myself, the insecurities that had crept in because I thought I wasn’t enough for him. And now, he was telling me that none of it had been my fault? That he’d just been... scared?

I felt a surge of anger rise, mingling with the hurt I’d buried over the years. “So that's it, huh?” I muttered to myself, voice edged with bitterness. “You just get to come back and apologize? You get to ‘hate yourself’ for what you did, and that’s supposed to be enough?”

Another part of the letter caught my eye:

You deserve someone better, someone who can love you fully and without hesitation. I was never that person.

My eyes narrowed as I read those words. I didn’t need someone to tell me what I deserved—I’d worked hard to find peace, to rebuild myself without his validation. I’d made it to where I was now because I had pushed through the heartache, and I refused to let him swoop back in and disrupt the life I’d built for myself.

My gaze drifted to the windows, the city skyline gleaming in the afternoon light. This was my world now—a world I’d crafted from the pieces he left behind. And the more I thought about it, the angrier I felt. He had no right to just appear out of nowhere and stir up these emotions, no right to force me to relive the pain I’d worked so hard to bury.

I glanced down at the letter one last time, reading the final lines, feeling the bile rise in my throat.

If I could go back, I’d have done things differently. But I can’t change the past, Y/N. I know you might never forgive me, and I understand. I just needed you to know how sorry I am. You deserved better, and I’m sorry I couldn’t be that for you.

With a bitter laugh, I folded the letter neatly, my fingers pressing down on the creases with a sharp finality. “You’re sorry?” I whispered to the empty room. “No. It’s too late for that.” My voice trembled with the weight of years of bottled-up resentment.

For a brief second, I considered crumpling the letter, letting it join the discarded pieces of him I’d long since cast away. But instead, I placed it back on the desk, staring at it with a cold, unfeeling gaze. Jungkook could write all the letters he wanted. He could regret everything he’d done, but he’d never be able to undo the damage he’d caused.

“You miss your mommy, huh? How about me? Don’t you miss me?” he said in a playful, high-pitched voice, scratching behind Cosmo’s ears. My dog wagged his tail enthusiastically, clearly enjoying the attention.

Smiling to myself, I crept quietly toward the couch, leaning down to wrap my arms around Yoongi’s shoulders from behind.

“Y/nnn!” he whined in surprise, tilting his head back to look at me.

I laughed, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. “Surprised you, didn’t I?”

He huffed, a small pout forming on his lips, before breaking into a grin. “Cosmo misses you,” he said, pointing dramatically to the dog. “And this person too.” He jabbed his thumb toward his chest.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, you’re funny,” I said, shaking my head. “Let me get ready, and we can head out to the club?”

“Sure,” he replied, leaning back into the couch. “Which club is it, anyway?”

“Oh, Namjoon just opened a new one nearby,” I said, making my way toward the bedroom. “It’s called Serendipity.”

“Cool,” Yoongi said, his tone casual. “Leave it to Joon to pick a name like that.”

--

After finishing the final touches on my outfit, I stepped out of the bedroom, feeling confident. My eyes immediately met Yoongi’s, who was leaning casually against the armrest of the couch. His gaze softened as he took me in, a small, appreciative smile curving his lips.

“You’re always beautiful, babe,” he said, his voice low and warm. He pushed off the couch, closing the distance between us. “You know, I was thinking…” His hand reached up to gently brush a strand of hair from my face. “Maybe we could just stay home tonight? Just you, me, and Cosmo.”

I crossed my arms, giving him my best pout. “Yoongi,” I whined. “This is the opening night. Namjoon will kill me if I don’t show up.”

He chuckled softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to my pouty lips. “I’m just kidding,” he said, his laughter rumbling against my cheek. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Besides,” he added with a wink, “I can't wait to see the new club anyway.”

at the club 

“Babeee! You made it!” Namjoon grinned, pulling me into a quick hug. Sana followed, giving me a playful nudge before turning her attention to Yoongi. She stepped back, arms crossed, and eyed him from head to toe, a teasing glint in her eyes.

“Ohhh, so you two are together now, huh?” she said, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Well, not exactly yet,” I admitted with a small smile, glancing at Yoongi, who simply shrugged with his usual calm demeanor.

Sana leaned in closer to him, lowering her voice. “Listen, Yoongi,” she said, her tone light but with an edge of protectiveness. “You know what her ex did. He broke her, left her shattered. If you even think about pulling something like that…” She smirked, “Let’s just say you’ll be picking up your pieces from the floor.”

Yoongi didn’t miss a beat. With a playful grin, he gave a mock salute. “Understood, ma’am. Won’t let you down.”

Sana laughed, giving him a soft punch on the shoulder. “Good. I like this one,” she said, turning back to me. “Don’t mess it up.”

Namjoon chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, Sana, let the man breathe. Y/N’s got good taste.”

We made our way deeper into the club, finding a table near the center. The place was packed, people swaying to the beat under the shimmering lights. Namjoon leaned in, his voice barely audible over the music. “You might want a heads-up,” he said. “A lot of important people showed up tonight.”

“Oh? Like who?” I asked, taking a sip of the cocktail Sana had handed me.

Namjoon hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’ve got a new partnership lined up. They’re interested in using the club as a film set.”

“Really? That’s amazing!” I said, genuinely impressed.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his expression slightly cautious. “It’s with GCF—Golden Closet Film Productions.”

The name hit me like a freight train. My smile faltered as my grip tightened around the glass. GCF. Of all the production companies, it had to be his.

“That’s…interesting,” I said, keeping my tone neutral, though my heart raced.

Namjoon noticed the shift in my demeanor. “Are you okay?” he asked, concern evident in his eyes.

Before I could respond, a familiar figure stepped into view. The air seemed to thicken around us as Jungkook made his entrance, his confident stride drawing attention. His sharp suit and slicked-back hair.

He didn’t notice me right away, but when his eyes finally landed on our table, they locked onto mine.

The moment Jungkook’s face came into view, panic surged through my fading consciousness. He couldn’t get my company, and now he had to come after Namjoon’s? My mind spiraled, and the pounding music faded into the background. My vision blurred, and before I could process what was happening, my legs buckled beneath me.

The world tilted, and everything went dark.

When I came to, faint voices surrounded me. My head pounded, and the bright lights overhead stung my eyes. Slowly, I began to piece together what had happened. I was lying on the floor, my body weak and heavy. As my vision cleared, I saw three men hovering over me.

Yoongi was the first to catch my attention, his face etched with worry. His hand rested gently on my shoulder, his voice calm but firm as he whispered, “Y/N, stay with us. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Namjoon was on my other side, his brow furrowed in concern. “Breathe, Y/N,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with panic. “You’re going to be fine. We’ve got you.”

And then there was him. 

Jungkook.

 The one person I never expected—or wanted—to see like this again. His face was pale, his hands trembling slightly as he checked my pulse. His eyes, usually so confident and cold, were filled with something I hadn’t seen in years—genuine fear.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Jungkook’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding. “Now!”

I blinked slowly, my vision flickering in and out. I could feel Yoongi’s grip tighten protectively, as if shielding me from the man who now knelt beside me.

“Y/N, wake up,” Jungkook pleaded, his voice softer now, almost desperate. “Please.”

Why was he here? Why was he acting like he cared? The questions swirled in my mind, but my body betrayed me. I was too weak to push him away, too drained to tell him to leave.

The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me again was Yoongi glaring at Jungkook, his jaw clenched, as if silently telling him to back off.

But Jungkook didn’t move. He stayed right there, holding my hand, as if he had any right to.

The ambulance raced through the city, its sirens blaring as it made its way to the hospital. Inside, tension was thick in the air as Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jungkook all hovered around me, waiting for any sign of movement. The nurses worked swiftly, checking my vitals and preparing me for transport.

One of the nurses, a woman with a no-nonsense attitude, looked over her shoulder at the three men. "So," she began, glancing between them, "what are your relations to the patient?"

Namjoon spoke up first, his voice steady but tinged with concern. "Uh, I’m her best friend. Kind of like a brother, but we’re not family... just very close."

Before the nurse could respond, Yoongi interrupted, speaking with an air of calmness that didn’t match his inner turmoil. "I’m her... partner. We’re not exclusive," he said, his eyes still on me.

The nurse raised an eyebrow, but she nodded, jotting something down on her clipboard. Then her gaze shifted to Jungkook, who had been unusually quiet until now. "And you?" she asked, her voice neutral but probing.

Jungkook hesitated, his eyes flicking to me before he finally answered. "I’m... her ex." His voice faltered just a little, but he didn’t look away, clearly uncertain of how to explain himself.

The nurse gave a quick nod, her expression unreadable as she continued her work. "Alright, noted," she muttered

Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jungkook all nodded in unison, their faces still drawn with worry.

As the nurse made her way to the front of the ambulance, muttering something under her breath, it was clear she wasn’t too keen on this complex situation. "Tough," she mumbled, not entirely directed at them but loud enough for all of them to hear.

The other nurse cleared his throat, breaking the awkward tension. “We’re almost at the hospital. Just hang in there, alright?” He gave a reassuring smile before turning his attention back to the equipment.

at the hospital

"Okay, it seems like her vitals are stable," the doctor began, "but it appears there may be an underlying issue—more psychological than physical. I suggest she undergoes a check-up with her psychiatrist."

He paused, looking from Yoongi to Namjoon, then to Jungkook. "Does she have any psychiatrist or—?"

Before he could finish the sentence, Yoongi spoke up, his tone calm but firm. "Yes, she has a psychiatrist, and a therapist as well," Yoongi added, as if it was no big deal, but the words seemed to hang in the air, carrying an unexpected weight.

The doctor nodded in acknowledgment. "Good to know. I'll make a note of that," he said, before turning back to the charts.

Meanwhile, Jungkook's eyes narrowed, shooting Yoongi a quick glare.

Is he trying to rub it in on me that he has her or what? 

Jungkook thought, feeling the subtle sting of jealousy. But he kept his thoughts to himself, watching as the others focused on the doctor.

The doctor continued, "I'll send the nurse in with the medication and a prescription."

Namjoon, who had been mostly silent up until now, spoke up, his voice tinged with concern. "Is there anything she should avoid or...?"

The doctor looked up, his expression softening slightly. "Avoid stress, skipping meals, too much screen time, excessive caffeine, and salty foods. That should help, at least for now," he advised. "She will be discharged tomorrow once she wakes up. We’ll keep monitoring her overnight."

Yoongi and Jungkook, both clearly anxious and equally invested in my well-being, bombarded the doctor with questions at the same time.

"When should she take the medication?" Yoongi asked, his voice urgent but trying to remain composed.

Jungkook jumped in right after, his tone sharp with impatience. "And how much should she take? Should we be worried about any side effects?"

The doctor looked between the two, raising an eyebrow at the sudden competition for answers. It wasn’t lost on him how the situation was unfolding. "It’s really up to her, but I recommend following the instructions on the prescription. If you’re both helping her, make sure she stays hydrated and follows a good routine," he said, handing over a piece of paper with the details. "Just keep an eye on her mental health. That’s the priority right now."

Namjoon, who had been standing back a little, exchanged a quick glance with Yoongi. He couldn’t help but chuckle lightly under his breath. "I think the doc's right, you guys. She needs care, not a competition," he joked, trying to break the tension.

"Where am I?" I mumble, still feeling dizzy.

And then it hits me, my confusion turning into full-blown panic. I sit up quickly, my head spinning, my eyebrows furrowing in frustration. "what the fuck is happening?" I yell, completely freaking out. My heart is racing as I try to slap myself, muttering under my breath, "This is a dream. This is a dream." I say it enough for them to hear me, hoping I’m just imagining this whole nightmare.

Before anyone can respond, I hear the doctor’s voice, soft and nonchalant. "Alright, I think it’s time for me to go out," he mumbles, and the door clicks shut behind him.

I stare at the empty doorway for a moment before scoffing bitterly. My emotions are spiraling out of control. I turn my attention to Jungkook, the rage bubbling up inside me. "Wow. Just—just wow," I say, pointing a shaky finger in his direction. "You! You took two, three and a half years to finally show up in my life again?? Are you trying to ruin my life or something?" My voice is shaking with anger, every word feeling like it’s tearing me apart.

"Y/N," Yoongi tries to calm me down, but I don’t want to hear it.

"No! This is all stupid!!" I yell, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. My hands cover my face as I try to stop myself from breaking down. I can’t hold it in anymore, and I let out a frustrated yell. "Fuck! You guys should’ve let me die there!" The words slip out before I can stop them, too raw, too real, but they’re there, and I hate myself for saying them.

"I’m sorry, Y/N..." I hear Jungkook’s voice, but it only makes things worse.

"No. Save your fucking sorrys," I snap, cutting him off, my heart pounding in my chest. "When you can finally man up and tell me why the fuck you left me, and what was your reason for it, then maybe I’ll listen to your sorry. Until then? You won’t be hearing a fucking word from me."

"fine!" I watched as Jungkook stormed out of the room, his blazer in hand, his anger vibrating through every movement.

taglist : @crazyovayou @minghaosimp @pitchblack0309 @kpopsmutty69 @junecat18 @primadonnasdream @minimoniminimoni @7lilacpetals @vonvi-blog @jk97bam @kissyfacekoo @baechugff @chuberry22 @nerdycheol @etaernaluv @kooloveys comment if you wanna join

[palmtreepalmtree]

My mom, just now: I'm thinking of signing up for Threads just to support it...

Me: .............SCREAMING INTO THE VOID

[inkskinned]

one of the things that i think we should pay attention to, socially, about the disney v. desantis thing is that it is really highlighting the importance of remembering nuance.

in a purely neutral sense, if you engage in something problematic, that does not mean you are necessarily agreeing with what makes it problematic. and i am worried that we have become... so afraid of any form of nuance.

disney isn't my friend, they're a corporate monopoly that bastardized copyright laws for their own benefit, ruin the environment, and abuse their workers (... and many other things). this isn't a hypothetical for me - i grew up in florida. i also worked for the actual Walt Disney World; like, in the parks. i am keenly aware of the ways they hurt people, because they hurt me. i fully believe that part of the reason florida is so conservative is because it's been an "open secret" for years now that disney lobbies the government to keep minimum wage down, and i know they worked hard to keep the parks unmasked and open during the worst parts of Covid. they purposefully keep their employees in poverty. they are in part responsible for the way the floridian government works.

desantis is still, by a margin that is frankly daunting, way worse. the alternative here isn't just "republicans win", it's actual fascism.

in a case like this, where the alternative is to allow actual fascism into united states legislation - where, if desantis wins, there are huge and legal ramifications - it's tempting to minimize the harm disney is also doing, because... well, it's not fascism. but disney isn't the good guy, either, which means republicans are having a field day asking activists oh, so you think their treatment of their employees is okay?

we have been trained there is a right answer. you're right! you're in the good group, and you're winning at having an opinion.

except i have the Internet Prophecy that in 2-3 months, even left-wing people will be ripping apart activists for having "taken disney's side". aren't i an anti-capitalist? aren't i pro-union? aren't i one of the good ones? removed from context and nuance (that in this particular situation i am forced to side with disney, until an other option reveals itself), my act of being like "i hope they have goofy rip his throat out onstage, shaking his lifeless body like a dog toy" - how quickly does that seem like i actually do support disney?

and what about you! at home, reading this. are you experiencing the Thought Crime of... actually liking some of the things disney has made? your memories of days at the parks, or of good movies, or of your favorite show growing up. maybe you are also evil, if you ever enjoyed anything, ever, at all.

to some degree, the binary idealization/vilification of individual motive and meaning already exists in the desantis case. i have seen people saying not to go to the disney pride events because they're cash grabs (they are). i've seen people saying you have to go because they're a way to protest. there isn't a lot of internet understanding of nuance. instead it's just "good show of support" or "evil bootlicking."

this binary understanding is how you can become radicalized. when we fear nuance and disorder, we're allowing ourselves the safety of assuming that the world must exist in binary - good or bad, problematic or "not" problematic. and unfortunately, bigots want you to see the world in this binary ideal. they want you to get mad at me because "disney is taking a risk for our community but you won't sing their praises" and they want me to get mad at you for not respecting the legit personal trauma that disney forced me through.

in a grander scheme outside of disney: what happens is a horrific splintering within activist groups. we bicker with each other about minimal-harm minimal-impact ideologies, like which depiction of bisexuality is the most-true. we gratuitously analyze the personal lives of activists for any sign they might be "problematic". we get spooked because someone was in a dog collar at pride. we wring our hands about setting an empty shopping mall on fire. we tell each other what words we may identify ourselves by. we get fuckin steven universe disk horse when in reality it is a waste of our collective time.

the bigots want you to spend all your time focusing on how pristine and pretty you and your interests are. they want us at each other's throats instead of hand in hand. they want to say see? nothing is ever fucking good enough for these people.

and they want their followers to think in binary as well - a binary that's much easier to follow. see, in our spaces, we attack each other over "proper" behavior. but in bigoted groups? they attack outwards. they have someone they hate, and it is us. they hate you, specifically, and you are why they have problems - not the other people in their group. and that's a part of how they fucking keep winning.

some of the things that are beloved to you have a backbone in something terrible. the music industry is a wasteland. the publishing industry is a bastion of white supremacy. video games run off of unpaid labor and abuse.

the point of activism was always to bring to light that abuse and try to stop it from happening, not to condemn those who engage in the content that comes from those industries. "there is no ethical consumption under late capitalism" also applies to media. your childhood (and maybe current!) love of the little mermaid isn't something you should now flinch from, worried you'll be a "disney adult". wanting the music industry to change for the better does not require that you reject all popular music until that change occurs. you can acknowledge the harm something might cause - and celebrate the love that it has brought into your life.

we must detach an acknowledgment of nuance from a sense of shame and disgust. we must. punishing individual people for their harmless passions is not doing good work. encouraging more thoughtful, empathetic consumption does not mean people should feel ashamed of their basic human capacities and desires. it should never have even been about the individual when the corporation is so obviously the actual evil. this sense that we must live in shame and dread of our personal nuances - it just makes people bitter and hopeless. do you have any idea how scared i am to post this? to just acknowledge the idea of nuance? that i might like something nuanced, and engage in it joyfully? and, at the same time, that i'm brutally aware of the harm that they're doing?

"so what do i do?" ... well, often there isn't a right answer. i mean in this case, i hope mickey chops off ron's head and then does a little giggle. but truth be told, often our opinions on nuanced subjects will differ. you might be able to engage in things that i can't because the nuance doesn't sit right with me. i might think taylor swift is a great performer and a lot of fun, and you might be like "raquel, the jet fuel emissions". we are both correct; neither of us have any actual sway in this. and i think it's important to remember that - the actual scope of individual responsibility. like, i also love going to the parks. Thunder Mountain is so fun. you (just a person) are not responsible for the harm that Disney (the billion dollar corporation) caused me. i don't know. i think it's possible to both enjoy your memories and interrogate the current state of their employment policies.

there is no right way to interrogate or engage with nuance - i just hope you embrace it readily.

[slightlycomicobsessed]

"we need more complex and irredemable female characters!" yall couldn't even handle Natasha Romanoff

[you-have-made-a-fatal-error]

need to shell out for a new laptop before the end of the year - for a lot of reasons but mainly bc support ending for win8.1 makes fixing the current beast rather pointless :/ (and. admittedly. there is a lot to fix. she's old and she has suffered.)

but my current beastie is from the last gen of laptops with a disc drive and the thought of using an external/usb disc drive is enough to make me cry tears of blood

[gatsby-system-folks]

I have a lot of thoughts about ai and most of them are sad

[loremonster]

I'd say the children of people who shouldn't have had kids.

Still, fully agreed.

we are the daughters of parents who should not have had kids

[buttercuparry]

Genocide flattens every discussion. There are no new conversations to be had about the destruction, death and cruelty. After more than a year, there is nothing left to be said about various media houses, corporations and international bodies of law aiding and abetting all that has been happening in Gaza, either. It is the banality of evil, it is colonialism. However even in this atrociously banal circumstance, I do think what still is a continued point of hope for Gazans and what still pushes so many of them to reach out to the world, is the support people around the globe have shown and still continue to show. Which is why I am here on behalf of the Shehab family ( @fahedshehab-new ) and requesting  you to help them survive through this winter. This won't take much of your time so please read: 

Fahed is currently supporting 13 family members in total- his own family and that of his sister’s.

He has to look after 8 children now, with the youngest being his son Yayha who is barely having anything to eat because the price of baby milk  is exorbitantly high in Gaza. 

The genocide has taken a toll on Fahed’s daughters. Sahar and Dana spent a whole year under the threat of bombs and right now instead of getting to be teenagers, they ask their father if they will survive. They have even said they don't want to live if they lose someone. 

The family right now immediately needs clothes to keep them warm throughout winter. Fahed’s family is from the north and has been displaced several times before they came south. Displacement is dangerous and a silent killer because often essential items are lost and cannot be replaced in time. 

Please consider that the weather has already turned colder around the world and that which is only mildly uncomfortable to us, presents a dire situation for Gazans. The families don't have a shelter and there is no way for tents to adequately protect from cold winds and rain. So right now the immediate need is for warm clothes and it can cost upto $400 per person. With THIRTEEN PEOPLE to take care of Fahed immediately needs to raise at least 5k to buy the required apparels. So please boost and donate. 

Currently at $66,248. He needs to reach $71,248. Please help however you can. 

Vetting link

Please remember that every donation, even if it is 5 dollars, is a ray of hope for the families who have lost everything.

Tagging for reach 🙏🏽

@brutaliakhoa @appsa @malcriada @aces-and-angels @three-croissants

@schoolhater @briarhips @timetravellingkitty @tiredguyswag @neptunerings

@brokenbackmountain @transmutationisms @fuckgimp @jezior0

@imjustheretotrytohelp @sunflowersmoths @khanger @autisticmudkip @zigcarnivorous

@maaszeltov @contra-file @venus-is-in-bloom @fading-event-608 @lesbianmaxevans

@girlinafairytale @heliopixels @celadonwanderer @paparoach @furiousfinnstan

@forgetfulrecord @flyskyhigh09 @aflamethatneverdies @thedigitalbard @lesbincineroar

@noble-kale @maoistyuri @lamngen @thatsonehellofabird @roadimusprime

@a-shade-of-blue @ramshackledtrickster @C-u-ckoo-4-40k @galacticmermaid @heydreamchild

[evandore]

actually gonna piss me off if i dont get the team lead position not because i want it cause i dont really id only accept for the pay increase but these mfers are getting me to close like 3 of yhe 5 times im working per week and making me do all this extra shit and if they give it to the other new girl oh god that will annoy tf out of me

[hotvampireadjacent]

Racism is alive and well in America

This Juneteenth as we celebrate and reflect on the progress we've made and look to what we can do to improve equal rights for black folks I want to bring attention to an issue far too closet to my heart- environmental racism.

I had a friend who died, far too young. It's been many years so newer tumblr users won't know him. His name was james and he was a popular tumblr user when he was alive @kumagawa . I idolized him like an older brother, and still do. He lived in Flint, Michigan. He was around 27 when he died. He was a healthy man, other than the fact he lived with dirty water in Flint, Michigan.

I'll never fucking forgive the US government for killing my friend, my brother. Why did James die? Because Flint, Michigan is 56% Black. Because it would be expensive to fix the lead pipes that gave my friend lead poisoning and killed him.

As of April 24,2024 the city of Flint, Michigan still hasn't replaced all the lead pipes that are poisoning the people living there.

https://www.aclumich.org/en/press-releases/residents-still-waiting-city-flint-replace-all-lead-pipes-10-year-anniversary-water

If you can help, give money to Mari Copeny's go fund me.

Mari Copeny, better known as Little miss Flint, is now 16 years old and over the past few years has raised nearly a million dollars for her community.

She has a website to links for other ways to support the community

Please reblog this post if you can't give any money... It would mean the world to me if I could use my friend's memory to help promote environmental racism and the issues still facing his community today.

[renthony]

I need people to stop buying into the idea that "small business" = "ethical business." Many small businesses are wonderful, and absolutely deserve your support, but plenty others aren't. If you're genuinely concerned about where you spend your money, you have to do your due diligence even if a business isn't a mega-corporation.

The lady who owned the small business I used to work at was horrible to work for, gave free coffee to cops, treated us all like shit, and got pissed if you didn't worship the ground she walked on for giving you a job. I would never work for her again, and if someone asked me if they should apply to work for her, I'd tell them to run for the fucking hills. The turnover rate was atrocious when I worked there, and I wouldn't be surprised if she still burns through employees at an unholy rate.

Small businesses are just as capable of worker abuse as big businesses, and they frequently get away with it because people refuse to believe that their beloved Mom & Pop Shop is run by rancid assholes who think Jeff Bezos has the right idea about how to run a business.

Small business owners CAN be better! They CAN be pro-worker and pro-union! But it's not inherent, and small business owners can be some of the most abusive pieces of shit you've met in your life.

[shannonsketches]

I have ranted so much about how hard Super’s anime fumbled Super’s story man 🫠 Easily Top Ten Disappointments for adaptations

Super confirming Vegeta knows how to MarioKart gave me a thought and I had to draw it

[saucingitup]

Kraken broadcaster JT Brown shares why Pride is so important to him and why he’ll be celebrating the LGBTQ+ community all month long

June is an exciting month. There’s Stanley Cup final hockey on the TV, the sun is shining down on Seattle, I hit the links on Father’s Day, and it's Pride month—a month dedicated to celebrating the LGBTQ+ community and commemorating the 1969 Stonewall Uprising in Manhattan. In our house, June is a busy month, but nothing gets celebrated harder than Pride.

Earlier this month, I had the honor of playing in the Seattle Pride Classic at the Kraken Community Iceplex. The invitation to share the ice with LGBTQ+ players from all over is an honor I don’t take lightly. Striking up a conversation on the bench between shifts, I turned to the player next to me. “Nice tape job. Canucks fan?” I said, noting the different colors of tape spiraling down the blade. “No, these colors represent one of the queer flags,” they said.

The bad news is I felt like an idiot. The good news is, I’ll always recognize that flag. Trying means stumbling, losing the puck, shooting wide (pick your analogy), but I’ve never been too proud to admit I caused the turnover and apologize. And we both laughed because sometimes falling on your ass is funny.

From ice to asphalt, the Pride celebration continues as my family and I will be at the 50th annual Seattle Pride Parade on June 30. As someone who is known for their flair for flashy game-day suits, it should not come as a surprise that I love an excuse to get dressed up. Throw in good music and free swag and you’ll understand why I don’t miss a pride parade.

And no one does pride quite like Seattle. It’s no wonder the Kraken pull up to the parade every year with a crew so deep I momentarily worry we’re going to hold up the parade. We’re out there flinging Kraken giveaways like someone is keeping score of how many each employee can hand out—I always aim for the high score.

Of course, being an ally isn't just flinging Kraken patches into a crowd or embarrassingly mistaking flag colors for rival team branding. A lot of it is just showing up.

I show up for my queer wife so she knows I support her even if I still don’t understand what “Brat summer” means. I show up for my kids so they know I love their authentic selves no matter what. I show up for my friends so they know they’re safe with me. I show up because there are LGBTQ+ people out there who are being stood up by the ones they love, by policies, by corporations, by strangers.

People always praise me for being an ally, but having been on the receiving end of bigotry, I know how much easier it is to stand on this side. When I fight for BIPOC equality, I am always lifted by the voices and support of the LGBTQ+ community. Every single time, they have supported me in my fight to help end racism in hockey.

They have been incredible teammates to me and so being one to them was never a choice I made, it was just something I did—and will continue to do with whatever platform I’m given. Everyone deserves the safety and support to live their authentic lives. When we lift up those who need us most, we all reap the benefits of a safer and more inclusive space.

This Pride month, I’d like to encourage others to show up—unabashedly loud and proud—for yourself and for others. Have a happy, safe, and fun Pride!

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Rainy Season

Azriel x Reader

An angsty little one shot. Azriel’s mate is tired of being at the bottom of his list of priorities.

Update: Due to popular demand, this is being made into a series!

Part 2

The air’s getting heavy and we both know why

There was a time when an evening like this brought solace to my weary soul.

Azriel’s hand wrapped around my waist, caressing my stomach, pressing soft kisses to the juncture of my neck and shoulder. His hair tickling against my sensitive skin as we hid under blankets absorbing the incessant melody of drip, drop, drip, drop and the echoing pitter patter of rain drops hitting the roof. His warmth seeping right through to the coldest depths of my soul.

I’d turn around, pressing my bare breasts against his muscled chest. Our breath hitching as his sunburst eyes of brown, amber, and gold bore into mine, his soft lips whispering promises of forever.

Say that this storm is just passing through

But Azriel wasn’t here. He hadn’t been for 6 days, 23 hours, and 50 minutes now. It would have been laughable, comparing the past to now, if it weren’t so damned sad. In the beginning there’d been long, doting love notes with risqué quips regarding his intentions upon coming home, little gifts that he couldn’t resist bringing back from his travels, and the stolen hours where he’d sneak in a visit during the intermittent downtime on his missions. As a realist, I knew that it was not sustainable long-term but relished in it as the gift it was. Newly formed, passionate love that exceeded anything I had ever imagined upon finding my cauldron-blessed mate.

As the years went on I understood when the love notes became briefs and the thoughtful gifts became pecks on the cheek as he hurried through the door to exchange his leathers for clean ones, wipe down his weapons, and rest before his next mission. But time went on, as is inevitable, and distant were the memories of stolen moments away from missions, the desperate caress of his hands roaming my body as if he couldn’t quite believe I was fully corporeal before him - needing to touch me to reassure him that this was real. Now the touches were detached, perfunctory, another task on his never-ending to-do list.

Drop after drop we’re destroying this house and eachother.

The boiling point had been simmering for a while, left on the fire with reassurances of “Things are just busy right now”, “It’ll slow down soon”, “I would stay if I could, love. You know I would. I have no choice.”

But we both knew all too well that there was always a choice. There were times when Rhys let it slip that Azriel had volunteered for missions that his other spies were perfectly suited for, times when all I wanted in the world was to be curled up and listening to the rain with my mate.

Missions became tasks with the Valkyries, “chaperoning” Cassian and Nesta, and emotionally supporting the lovely doe-eyed fawn - Elain - who was the delicate cherry blossom of spring opposite of my wild summertime storm.

It wasn’t her fault. The trauma inflicted upon her, the loss of autonomy that came with being thrown into the cauldron and having her mortality stripped away without her say. The powers she never asked for overwhelming her senses. Hell, maybe it wasn’t Azriel’s fault for responding to the traumas of his past and the need to overcompensate for every ounce of blood he’s drawn by saving anything and everything that needed rescuing.

The problem lay with the fact that where Elain is a “seer”, my ability to “sense” when things are amiss was strong and Azriel’s intentions with her were becoming blurred. Feelings of lust had become more frequent down the bond along with flutters of joy and adoration. When it began I thought maybe things would look up in our relationship - he was missing me, fisting his cock to fantasies of taking me over and over when he returned home - but he only became more distant. He’d return more often than not smelling of jasmine and honey. The strength of the scent coating him correlating with the increase in enamored feelings slipping through the bond.

Six days ago when I’d asked him to skip out on training with Cassian and Nesta and whatever it was he and Elain would do - that was when the thunder clapped and the sky opened. “I can’t just stay home and cater to you all the time. I have duties to this court. Why can’t you find a hobby to occupy your time? Nesta reads and trains with the Valkyries, Feyre paints, Elain gardens and she evens bakes! Why can’t you be more like-“

He caught himself too late, immediately reaching out to place a gentle hand on my shoulder and apologize but it was too late for that.

Please, make it stop

It wasn’t that I wasn’t a forgiving or understanding person. i appreciated his dedication to his court and family and those in need but…

“Why can’t I be more like what? You can stop mid-sentence but you already said it all.” I looked down, shaking my head as silver lined my eyes. Gods, I hate that I’m an angry crier. “You want to know why I can’t be more like Elain in your eyes, Azriel? Because I exist in your fucking blind spot! I have been helping Feyre AT the studio, volunteering at a food pantry in Velaris, and teaching self-defense classes to women and children at the park but you wouldn’t know because you never ask me what I’ve been up to while you’re gone.”

He started to speak but I wasn’t finished. “The reason I cannot be more like Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta is because I’m none of them. I am ME. And you know what? I like me. I don’t want to be anybody else.” Trying and failing miserably to hold my head high I pathetically fell to my knees, shuddering as tears of rage flowed freely.

Warmth enveloped me as Azriel knelt down to soothe my quaking form. I let him if only because I didn’t have the composure to tell him otherwise as he began pressing kisses to my forehead. “I’m so sorry. I have been a terrible mate. I love all that you are- I- I’ll stop with Elain. She’s doing much better and Nuala and Cerridwen can keep an eye on her, so can Rhys and Cassian, and her sisters. It will be okay.”

That consolation attempt only drove the blade of bitterness deeper into my heart. Elain had so many in her corner and who did I have anymore? My chronically absent mate? The family I left behind to move to Velaris with Azriel? There was nobody close by.

“I think you should leave.” I sobbed out.

Azriel ignored the shaky command, continuing to hold me. Fuck - is this what it took for him to notice me? Breaking my heart so he could stitch it back up again?

“Azriel.” I stated firmly.

He met my eyes.

“You should leave.”

His look grew puzzled. “I thought you wanted me to stay - to spend time together? Please, Y/N. Let me make this better.”

“I need space. Give me one week.”

“But-“

“One. Week.”

Azriel’s shoulders slumped, head hanging low for several minutes before realizing that my decision was firm.

“I love you.” He said before heading out the door.

——————

Like clockwork as 7 days, 0 hours, and 1 minute were up, the front door to our home opened and Azriel’s footsteps padded in behind me, my gaze remaining fixated on the rain falling outside the window. A lump formed in my throat as I avoided turning to meet his gaze.

So dance one more dance and tell one more lie.

Azriel stepped around me, wordlessly extending a hand, patiently waiting as I avoided his gaze a moment longer before taking it. His shadows began humming faintly, increasing their melody and reaching a crescendo as Azriel began dancing with me through the room.

Say that you love me even if it’s not true

I let myself melt into the warmth of his chest. The thick air remained heavy upon my soul but I could have this. I could let myself enjoy this moment.

We wordlessly danced through the room in the soft glow of the fae lights.

We made our way through the hall into our shared bed that had become so neglected.

“I love you, Y/N.” he murmured as he laid me down, stripped bare underneath him.

“I love you too, Azriel.”

——————

Wish I could just say it and words were enough to keep you from being the one giving up.

The middle of the night left me restless as he lay soundly asleep beside me. My senses tugged me toward his bag that he’d discarded at the entryway. I brought out his dirty clothes from the week only to be greeted with the fresh scent of jasmine and honey.

Like the sky letting go for no reason

I packed my essentials and voyaged out into the pouring rain. Its patter on my skin washing away the salty tears streaming down my face. Following my senses to where the love was true back to my Summer Court home, my family. As free as a summer storm.

It's just the rainy season.

—————————————

A/n - I know there are plenty of Azriel x Reader and Elain fics out there. It was rainy and dreary here yesterday and this song was in my head for the first time in like 10 years so…. I wrote this.

[qqueenofhades]

I would like to... gently shake the people going 'Dick Cheney/Alberto Gonzalez/[insert neoconservative architect here] endorsing Harris is entirely and only a bad look for Harris' because that's not the point. And like, I get feeling weird about it (I've been unimpressed with Dick's backpedaling since Liz Cheney got primaried), but: Trump is proving too extreme for THE PEOPLE WHO MADE HIM POSSIBLE. This is their consequences. THAT'S the point.

Look, this is what I think about it: I fucking hate Dick Cheney and all the architects of the Bush Junior neoconservatism-early-aughts-War-on-Terror-Patriot-Act-No-Child-Left-Behinding Republican Party that laid the groundwork for the Tea Party and then for Trump. If there was any justice in the world, Dubya would be at the Hague for a war crimes tribunal and not allowed to sit in Texas painting dogs and enjoying a quiet retirement. But he was fortunate to be the president of the most powerful country in the world, and America doesn't obey international law unless it feels like it, so that's what we get. (And yes, someone asked Dubya if he was going to endorse in 2024, following Cheney, and was told, no doubt with much pious handwringing, that "President Bush retired from presidential politics many years ago." But he's still raising money for MAGA Senate candidates in Pennsylvania, evidently. Fuck you, George W. Bush. Kids these days don't say it enough.)

However, since literally the entire pre-Trump establishment Republican party is now deciding that Trump is too insane, fascist, and dangerous even for them, I'm not surprised but still annoyed that Online Leftist Logic (TM) has translated that to "Harris must secretly be an early-noughties hard-right neocon Republican and that's why they want to vote for her!!!" Most if not all of them have said that they openly disagree with her policies but are voting for her anyway because she is the only way to maintain American constitutional democracy. And yes, we're all shocked that DICK FUCKING CHENEY, architect of the Iraq War and the Patriot Act, felt that there was in fact a line of fascist government overreach that he wasn't willing to cross, but if that's the case -- if even these completely terrible warmongering corporate assholes are like "uh Trump is too bad even for us to support," then you should, I don't know, maybe listen to that. But as ever, I search for logic in vain.

Likewise: Harris has made zero policy concessions to these Republicans and she never went fishing for Cheney's endorsement specifically. She didn't suddenly declare Iraq a totally okay and normal thing in order to get Cheney and his warhawks on board, and yes, Old Dickhead probably has no small amount of personal motive to get back at Trump considering what he did to Liz. But that's the thing where apparently political motives should only ever be pure, moral, and Perfect, and taking the right action for the "wrong" reasons is still disqualifying because you weren't thinking enough pure moral thoughts while you did it, or something. I don't give a fuck why Cheney decided to vote for Harris, because I don't respect his opinion and can't foresee myself ever doing so. But because we are in an unprecedented historical moment where even DICK GODDAMN CHENEY thinks that Donald Trump is too dangerous to ever have power again, I will thank him for doing that and that alone and then tell him to hit the f'n road if he thinks he deserves a scrap of credit or Democratic policy concessions for it. He doesn't. He sucks. But he's still making a choice that we need to see made at this moment, and people who don't get that, as usual, can STFU.

Basically: Cheney's endorsement is not directed at you, and it's not intended to move voters who already fit your profile and therefore think, like I do, that Cheney can eat shit. It's directed to all the career-Republican-politician types who can see him doing that and decide that they can do the same thing. Hell, we just had 17 former staffers of Ronald Reagan announcing their Harris endorsement (in addition to the 200+ Bush, McCain, Romney alumni who already signed on and all the ex-Trump officials at the DNC) and going so far as to insist that Ol' Ronnie Raygun himself would have supported Harris. Now look. I hate Ronald Reagan more than any other twentieth-century president. The degree to which he ALSO laid the groundwork for incredible damage to America cannot be overstated. But because I am not an idiot, I can see that this does not mean Harris has suddenly turned into Reagan in her policies. So. Yeah.

The other thing to note here is that Harris has seen the advantage in cultivating a bipartisan coalition and making a cross-party case for voting her to preserve American democracy. Now, a lot of the Republicans have said that they are going to stay Republicans and they want to purge their party of Trump and MAGAism, they are trying to buy time for that transition to happen by voting for Harris, and while I have never voted for or agreed with a Republican in my whole life, I actually think that's a good thing! I don't WANT to fear the end of American democracy every four years because the Republican Party has become a screaming shitgibboning insane vehicle of American Gilead while inciting stochastic terrorism against Springfield, Ohio and everyone else who doesn't bow down to Trumpist Dear Leader and his KKK alt-right Elon Muskified supporters! I don't WANT this howling fascist conspiracy-theory-puppet-of-Vladimir-Putin black hole of violence to be just what we have to accept as the center-right (except you know, now far-far-far-far-can't-see-it-with-a-telescope-right) party in America! I would prefer it if we had a functioning democracy again where both parties were engaging in fair competitiveness and good faith and had the basic premise of making people's lives better, even if they disagreed about how to do it! I would REALLY like it if we could go back to the days of disagreeing about taxes and foreign policy and social welfare -- you know, NORMAL THINGS -- instead of Commander Vance and the Project 2025 foot soldiers trying to install a theocratic fascist dictatorship! I WOULD LIKE THAT A WHOLE LOT!

That said: I have pretty much reached my limit with asking people to vote. I have done it for 8+ years (since before Trump was elected the first time) and I'm done. Either you know the stakes of this election at this point, or you're so blindly and stupidly committed to misunderstanding them that there's nothing I or anyone else can possibly do to convince you. I still see people posting a lot of stuff from the bad-faith anti-democratic leftist cranks and arguing with them endlessly and... why? Why? Why are you giving them the oxygen and exposure that they crave, and which is giving them more attention than anyone else is giving them? Block them. Mute them. STOP ENGAGING WITH EVERYTHING THEY SAY EVEN IF YOU'RE TRYING TO REFUTE IT. It's not going to work, and at this point, it's not remotely conducive to winning this election. The Great Myth of the Undecided Voter (TM) is another one that, I hope, can finally bite the dust, and the actual undecided voters who are out there are not the ones posting dirtbag leftist bullshit about Harris on The Website Formerly Known as Twitter. This election is now completely down to a numbers game: who can make their identified voters turn out to vote. So please. Spend your time and energy on reaching those folks, who might want to or have said they will vote but need a push or extra help to make sure they do.

That being the case, if lifelong Republicans want to vote for Harris and help defeat a Trump dictatorship, they're actually being more helpful for the cause of American democracy than every single shrieking Online Leftist out there, and maybe they should think about that. I'm amused at how they still think they can make demands of the Democrats, because -- when your entire plan from the word go has been "I'm not voting for the Democrats and there's nothing you can do to make me!!!" -- why are you surprised that they don't take your thoughts and opinions into account? That's the basic simplest Democracy 101 version of how electoral politics works. If you have removed yourself from their voter pool and laugh and scoff at any suggestion that you should enter it, then they're not gonna listen to you or think that they should make policy to appease you (which is good, because most of these people are fucking nuts). That's why they're blowing a gasket disowning AOC, still one of the most left-wing members in the House, because she wants to actually win and make real changes in society and has reached a happy-ish marriage with the Democratic party, instead of virtuously losing her seat and becoming irrelevant like some other members of the Squad who got primaried out this year. And the Democrats have accepted many of AOC's views as mainstream policy! She didn't change, but she stayed in the party and worked with it, and the party as a whole is moving to where she was all along. But because any hint of compromise or working to get results, rather than just posting self-righteous screeds on the internet, is Bad, she had to go, I guess. Or something.

Anyway. That's the that on that. If you want to win this election, target and talk to the people who have already identified themselves as likely or possible voters, they just need that extra push to become definite voters. I'm over the anti-democratic hypocritical leftist cranks as much as I am the screaming shitgibboning racist-mob-inciting fascists. If it takes some Republicans gritting their teeth and getting on board the "let's save American democracy" boat with me, then fine. They're actually willing to do the smallest tiny thing to make that outcome come about, and that means, for right now, they are the enemy of my enemy and I'll accept their help. After that, I would in fact like it if we had a sane center-right party again, once Trump is in jail and we can fumigate the MAGA rot. It's up to them.