#your worth is not defined by your accomplishments

[firefly-fez]

a liberating realisation that the multiverse of potential you have inside your head does not exist. it never did. that opportunity you lost would not have afforded you a grandiose life without these sufferings. there is no other you, there is only now and what you make of it and so there is no sense in punishing yourself for lost potential. you are who you choose to be from this day forward and every choice you make stewards your identity. there is no ghost, there is no other you. you are not haunted, you are here - and that is enough

what are your twenties if not an endless string of the ghosts of who you thought you would become

[rainerioun]

𝖶𝖧𝖤𝖱𝖤 𝖶𝖨𝖫𝖫 𝖸𝖮𝖴 𝖡𝖤 𝖨𝖭 2 𝖸𝖤𝖠𝖱𝖲? | 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽.

— Hello! I know this is a shorter post, but I wanted to share something. This was requested anonymously, so thank you for the suggestion! ♥

ORIGINAL DATE POSTED : JUNE 16TH, 2024.

HOW TO CHOOSE A PILE : The outcome may vary based on whether you receive clear messages visually or intuitively. If you resonate more with selecting a pile visually, trust that inclination. Personally, I believe the notion that 'looks can deceive,' so I prefer to take a deep breath and close my eyes, allowing the pile I'm meant to connect with to come to me. You might see the color of the pile, sense or hear a number, or simply feel its overall vibe.

Please don’t redistribute or edit my content.

MUST READ + MASTERLIST. | KO-FI.

PILE ONE

Where Will You Be In 2 Years? The Empress [Reversed], The Chariot, Knight of Wands [Reversed].

In two years, you're definitely the one in control. If you're facing any hurdles, especially with dreams left unattended or ideas just lingering without action, that fades away over time. You might still encounter creative blocks and timing issues, but you'll handle them much more effectively, learning self-control and taking decisive action. You'll realize that your accomplishments don't solely define you; they're just an added bonus. You should know to slow down, it will grant you a clearer perspective to seeking security.

What Energy Will You Radiate? Networker — Light : Enhances unity through sharing of information. Engenders social awareness and empathy. Shadow : Conveys information only for person gain. Spreads fear and falsehood.  The Merchant : Self-worth, Trade. 

You could find yourself in a more social setting or perhaps in a higher position in your career, whether it's the same job or a new one. You're confident but not cocky, aware of your self-worth, and others notice this too. In some way, you seem to be a messenger, spreading kindness. This doesn't have to be taken literally; it could relate to anything. Whatever came to mind when you read that might be it.

PILE TWO

Where Will You Be In 2 Years? Ten of Pentacles, Knight of Swords, The Tower.

If you're starting something you've been wanting to begin or have been thinking about it, know now is the right time to do it. The next two years will be intense and different from what you're used to, but you can handle it. All your hard work will definitely pay off. In two years, you'll achieve what you wanted—be it wealth, security, or some kind of success. This will finally become permanent. However, expect significant changes, some of which you may not like at first. Any upheaval or chaos is just a way to build an even stronger foundation. For those considering starting a family, think about your circumstances carefully. Don't rush. This aspect will bloom within the coming years.

What Energy Will You Radiate? Queen — Light : Radiates the regal feminine. Uses her benevolent authority to protect others. Shadow : Becomes arrogant when authority is challenged. Controlling and demanding.  The Adventurer : Responsibility, Expectations.

Again, for those considering starting a family—if not, feel free to skip this part—you'll find yourself strongly in the parental role. This doesn't necessarily mean with a human child; just know you'll feel content. Some of you might be stressing over the mere thought, but rest assured, it'll bring fulfillment. As for the rest of you, you'll develop a stronger sense of responsibility. However, this doesn't mean you can't explore. The next few years are about stabilizing, rebuilding what's been lost, but in two years, you'll regain your 'freedom' once more. You are always the one in control, don't get lost in a little box.

PILE THREE

Where Will You Be In 2 Years? King of Swords, Seven of Cups, Four of Wands.

Pile three, you'll find yourself in a place of mental and physical clarity. It's a very calm and peaceful state. You're enjoying life, with a sense of harmony and relaxation. Home feels like a welcoming place. You deserve this, so keep following your instincts. There are many paths and decisions ahead, but there's no wrong choice. You get to decide for yourself. Whatever starts now will lead to peace in the future. While life won't be stress-free, you'll accept the struggles, not rushing to figure everything out immediately.

What Energy Will You Radiate? Hermit — Light : Seeks Solitude to focus intently on inner life. Serves personal creativity. Shadow : Withdraws from society out of fear or negative judgements of others. Refusing to help those in need.  The Vengeance : Overcoming Slights, A Choice. 

In two years, I envision you embracing the homebody life, in your own zone. It's all about you and your close circle. You'll find contentment in solitude, focusing on the little things with acceptance—chores, hobbies, and everyday routines. When I think of this scenario, I see someone sitting in a chair, leisurely watching their pet play without a worry in the world. It's a heartwarming scene; some of you might even welcome a new pet into your life. In two years, it's a time for retreat, and if you believe you can get there, you will.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Mortality Defined

Masterlist Word count: 1.6 k Halsin x Reader Read on AO3

Summary: You are a human, Halsin is an elf. Your lifespan is much shorter than his and he wonders if life is worth living if you're not in it.

Writer's note: I don't know why but I still can't post a full work here. I don't know why. Tumblr just doesn't allow me to add any words to these one-shots. If anyone has any solutions for me, please let me know. I'm getting frustrated.

The year changes from sunlit beach days to a sunset of leaves. Halsin always admires this time of year. The dying of the world in anticipation for new life. It's a wonderful thing and something he often ponders on.  A year is an hour in the long, long lifespan of an elf. In Halsin's busy and chaotic life it feels more like a second, but these past weeks travelling with her and the other friends he made felt like centuries. She, so humble and kind, carried the world on her shoulders.  He feels he will never understand her fully. She is human. Where he has already lived 350 years, she will get a 100 if she's lucky. With their way of life, it will probably be less. A human's body dies around them every second of every day after they're done growing.  She was 27 when they embarked on their journey to safe Faerun, a young adult in human years. When he was 27 he was just latching off the helping hands of his parents. She told him she had been living on her own since she was 18.   Now she's 32 and has been living with him since the Absolute was put down. He can tell she's slowly ageing. She is forming some smile lines and little crows feet at the corners of her eyes. Halsin hadn't really thought about elderly people as his kind doesn't visibly age much after a certain point, but then he was confronted with Shadowheart's mother who looked so frail. It suddenly made him realize that she will someday look like that as well.  Even so, there's this thing that is only found in those that are human. The phenomenon of the Impenetrable Human Spirit. A death grip on life, refusal to let go in the direst of times. When all the odds are stacked against you but you refuse to let them define you. Which sounds strange until you meet a few humans in time of war. After he realized that, he understood why so many Flaming Fists are human.  He hopes he'll never have to witness it again but to see someone so fiercely cling onto life while any other would have already perished in the same circumstances is truly a sight. Humans are a force to be reckoned with. Even with their short lifespans, they try to put something worthwhile on this plane. They want to feel accomplished.  'Halsin, dinner's ready,' her angelic voice calls from inside and Halsin snaps out of his trance. 'Did you want to eat outside?' He looks over his shoulder through the open backdoor of their cosy little cottage, straight into the kitchen where she is plating up dinner. She's a wonderful cook, an amazing partner, and a great artist. His days are spent trying to find the best way to worship her being in hopes it'll buy her another year.  'That'd be lovely. Thank you.’ She walks out with two plates and a smile on her face. He takes his plate from her as she sits down on the grass next to him.  'You were so far away all day,' she notes with her smile still on her lips, 'where did your mind go?'  'My heart, you would not want to know.'  'Don't worry me, love. You can tell me.' Halsin takes a second to compose himself, playing with his food for a second. She always tells him everything, what reason does he have to keep his worries to himself? She'll understand. She always does.  'I was pondering your mortality.'  'How so?'  'Well, I have nothing but time, but that is not the same for you. I have lived over three centuries. That's three, maybe four, human lifetimes. You are merely a tenth of my age and yet you feel like an equal.' He looks over to her, a somber smile now plays on her lips.  'That's not all, is it?'  'It is not.'  'Are you worried you will be alone after I pass? That you won't have enough time to know me?'  'Something like that, yes.'  'Something like that?' 

Read the remainder on AO3

[chris-prank]

Do you have any fun facts or ideas about your little guys (gender neutrally) that you haven't shared/ properly shared yet?

I’m glad I can share some LOREEEE 😆

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Martin

🪓 I don’t know if it was clear from my drawings in part 1, but Martin is in fact trans! I didn’t mention it explicitly because I didn't find a way to write it in organically. In future works his transness will be mentioned and have more of an importance, but don’t worry guys he won’t be defined by it only!

🪓 When the apocalypse started, he stayed by his mothers side to protect and care for her, just like she did to him when he was small. He really loved his mother dearly. One of his earrings is actually from her!

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Atlas

💿 Currently in his timeline, Atlas is the most advanced android on earth and not only because of the coding Hydrotech gave him. When he was saved by the reader, his program changed, making him more independent and capable of human feelings

💿 There’s a childproof setting on Atlas, meaning that his private parts can be retracted inside of him. In his main story, it is still active, since the reader didn’t canonically do anything with him yet so they don’t know about it.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Esteban

📈 He has ✨ daddy issues ✨, but more seriously he really has a bad relationship with him. When Esteban was younger he wanted to prove to his father his worth, but in adulthood he realized that he would never be proud of his accomplishments. There’s still a part of him that yearns for it, but he doesn’t expect it anymore.

📈 I hinted at it in my previous posts, but Esteban really enjoys cooking and he is skilled at it too! He especially loves to be able to make food for his partner! To him, the effort that goes into a meal is the best way to show the extent of his feelings!

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Dr. Seraph

🧪 He turned to a life of crime because people in the scientific world didn’t believe that his ideas were possible, so he couldn’t explore his whole potential. Fatalité was the one to approach him and to offer him a job in exchange for limitless funding.

🧪 Vincent even used to have a small crush on Fatalité, since he was the first to believe in him. But soon it died down because of the verbal and physical abuse.

[theambitiouswoman]

Read This If You Want To Stop Caring About What Other People Think 🧐💭💡

Life is short, and we only get one shot at it. Think about this: someday, when you're 95 years old, do you want to regret not doing what you truly wanted because you were worried about other people's opinions? I don't want that, and I'm sure you don't either.

Here's the thing: people are mostly focused on themselves. They're not dwelling on your actions or thoughts like you might think. Have you ever noticed how you nitpick your own behavior but hardly notice the same things in others? That's because we're all caught up in our own worlds.

Caring about what other people think will hold you back from being your true self and pursuing your true passions. When you're clear about your own path, and actively working towards your goals, other people's opinions become less relevant.

You can't please everyone, and that's perfectly fine. It's impossible to have everyone like you while staying true to yourself. Everyone has their own judgments and biases, often based on their personal experiences. Other people's opinions are just that – opinions, not facts. Their views don't define your worth or identity. Some won't like you no matter what, and that's not a reflection of your worth. Remember that everyone has their own insecurities and struggles. When you see people through a compassionate lens, their judgments lose their power.

Acknowledge and celebrate your achievements, no matter how small. Building your self-confidence through accomplishments can help you care less about external validation. Spend time with people who support and uplift you.

Remember, it's your life, and you should live it for yourself, not for the approval of others. Learn to say "no" when necessary and prioritize your well-being over seeking approval from others. Changing your mindset won't happen overnight, but with time and effort, you can make progress. Keep reminding yourself of these key points:

Life is short, so avoid regrets.

People are mostly focused on themselves.

It's okay if not everyone likes you.

Be authentic and true to yourself.

Instead of obsessing over what others think of you, shift your focus to how you feel about yourself. Your self-perception should matter more than anyone else's opinion. Stopping caring about others' opinions isn't easy, but I promise it's worth it. As you continue to remind yourself of these reasons, you'll find more freedom to be the real you. Remember, nobody can be a better "you" than you!

[shakingparadigm]

may i ask your opinions on what ivan is truly like ?

( without pretending to be someone or something else entirely ? )

Okay !! Finally back to answering asks !! Once again, please be mindful of the fact that these are mostly my own personal thoughts. Always take them with a grain of salt.

The thing is, Ivan is an incredibly difficult character. He was written to be complex and multi-faceted, literally having more than just one "face". His actions almost always have another layer of depth to them and he tends to contradict himself, further complicating people's perception of him. It's not easy to pin him down, and that was exactly the intent. They made sure that the viewers wouldn't be able to fully grasp his emotions.

( I find this fact rather funny, because in one of the behind posts QMENG herself says that sometimes Ivan does things she cannot understand. The creators just allow Ivan to be complicated. He is what he is, and while there are undoubtedly reasons for it, the full truth remains unknown to us. )

Regardless, this is what I personally think.

Ivan seems to define himself by his imperfection, so much so that his actions and perspectives are influenced by his deep self-hatred. It's established that Ivan is "lacking" something, he is fundamentally different from others. Ivan builds himself around this since he literally has nothing else. He defines himself by his lack of definition. The fact that he is different and needs to be "cured". Ivan grows attached to the qualities that he "lacks", drawn to the biggest personality in the garden like a moth to a flame. He is fascinated, not envious, and I think that says a lot about him. He places those qualities on a pedestal, believing them to be so much better than himself. He feels that it's something he will never achieve or deserve, something he can't have.

It's interesting that the only time we can pin Ivan as "envious" is not when he's faced with his opposite, but with his parallel. Someone he believed to be just like him.

One thing about Ivan is that he is (unsurprisingly) lonely. Since his entire life is defined by this feeling of separation from others (either literally through the segyein's selection or more intangibly through his mental and emotional difference from others), Ivan feels constantly isolated. Nobody has been able to properly understand him, which further worsens the feeling that something is wrong with him.

When he finally finds someone that he can relate with, it brings him a sense of relief. Note that when Ivan refers to (what he perceives as) their similarity, he uses derogatory language. Twisted. This is how he views himself.

( translation is by @sorrowcure ! )

Compared to his interactions with others, his confrontation with Sua is uncomfortably honest. Ivan is most critical with the person he relates to, further emphasizing how deeply critical he is of himself. Ivan is not envious of Till or Mizi, who are so fundamentally different from him, he's envious of Sua because she is just like him yet has something that he doesn't.

It may feel unfair for the one person you saw yourself in to accomplish something so out of your reach. Her love was reciprocated in full, adored and revered by the person she loved most. They weren't the same, after all. It reinforces what he always believed to be true: he was alone.

( translation by @/oreganocactus on Twitter! )

There are many other instances of Ivan's self-deprecation and low sense of self-worth that leak into his behavior, such as down-playing himself in his interview, referring to his own feelings as "shallow", convincing himself that he was never truly cared about, etc. His deep dissatisfaction of himself rises to the surface quite often, shown in the way that he takes pride in his achievements (his work), yet cannot view himself as a person in a positive light.

INTERVIEWER: What do you think is your charm?

IVAN: I can't really think of any, because I think I have more flaws (haha),

To me, a lot of the "actual" Ivan can be seen in his younger self. It's not a complete display of what Ivan is truly like, obviously. He was a child and hadn't yet developed in certain areas. Still, it's a period in Ivan's life where he didn't mask or play up a different image. The quiet, stoic, and blunt Ivan seems to be a more genuine side of him, at least compared to his more charming persona. QMENG considered Ivan with his hair down to be "most like himself", and I think it's no coincidence that the most memorable version of Ivan with his hair down is his child self. The infamous Bowl Cut Ivan.

With this fact in mind, I also find it no coincidence that in ROUND 6, where Ivan is presented as a "perfect actor" in costume, he starts off with his hair slicked back.

And when he finally drops the mask, when he acts out of his own volition, his hair falls onto his face. Hair down, most like himself.

Another notable instance of Ivan's hair being down is the casino/karaoke room scene, which was quoted as an example for Ivan's emotional immaturity, his supposed "childishness".

There's so much to be said about Ivan, including the neurodivergent/autistic traits that have been discussed by other people in more depth (notably his difficulty in understanding/expressing certain emotions, his masking, his often misconstrued actions, etc). There's also many of Ivan's more conflicting aspects (which seem mostly confined to the patreon? so I'm not sure if they're still planning to incorporate it into the publicly official content or if it was overhauled), but I'm going to stop here because I feel like this post is already pretty random and disconnected.

The gist of it is that I don't think I can give a solid answer on what Ivan is truly like. I'm not even sure if he can answer that, as he seems to be at war with himself quite frequently. Ivan, under his charming and cheery facade, is unable to feel or express emotion in the same way other people do, which causes difficulty and struggle in many other aspects of his life. Not like the one he has is completely his anyway, but, you know.

[tainbocuailnge]

i watched fight club today. really not hard to see how this became such a cultural mainstay. i feel like the opening sections before tyler even shows up are possibly even stronger than the rest of it, this setup of this guy with his cushy office job and his pleasantly furnished apartment being so chronically unfulfilled in his picture perfect life that he ends up visiting support groups for the terminally ill to vicariously get access to a framework through which he's allowed to lament his life, but even within these support groups everyone's lament has to adhere to a certain safe image, the narrator fucking hates marla for doing the exact same thing as him because she's not even pretending to go along with the image of beautiful lament despite her being extremely suicidal and just as much in need of support, and when chloe complains about her struggle to get laid now that she's consigned to a beautiful tragic cancer death she is quickly pulled away from the microphone. everyone on screen is excruciatingly unfulfilled because so much as voicing your desires outside very rigidly defined frameworks of acceptability is severely frowned upon.

it's extremely obvious why the men who join fight club are drawn to the allure of a framework through which they're allowed to desire and obtain the experiences of the flesh. all of tyler's crimes involve the taboo of the flesh somehow. splicing porn frames into movies. pissing and nutting into the food he's serving. stealing liposuction clinic fat to make soap and explosives. and of course starting underground fight rings. because the physical is inherently transgressive to these allowed frameworks of success and lament. when tyler lists the rules of fight club all the men present giggle at "no more than two guys per fight" "no more than one fight at a time" because just the fact that they're all here gathering as unfulfilled men indulging in the taboo of high impact physical contact gives everything a (homo)sexual angle that they have to laugh off. because even here in their transgressive taboo secret club they have to adhere to what is allowed! they're not gay. they're manly men who want to fuck women. they are deeply unfulfilled and deeply desperate for a place to belong among other men. they are simply exchanging one rigid framework for another.

it's no coincidence that the first support group the narrator goes to is for testicular cancer either, all these men crying about how losing their balls ruined their lives not because they almost died but because their wives divorced them for not being able to impregnate them anymore, because it destroyed their masculinity and thus their value as human beings, and especially bob who used to be an accomplished bodybuilder but needing to get his balls removed lead to hormonal imbalances that lead to breast growth and now this once masculine ideal is nobody anymore because he's no longer a proper man. he's the only one in tyler's army who gets to have a name.

like specifically bob and sophie really stand out to me as very bold statements especially considering when this movie was made and also very clear signs of what its trying to say here. the extreme social and physical alienation of modern consumerist society and the way it intersects with harmful ideas of masculinity to create a genre of extremely volatile reactionary asshole. and also the fact that the reason the narrator even ended up going to this support group is because his doctor was calling him a fucking pansy for not just powering through his insomnia and telling him to have a look at these tragically emasculated men if he wants to see what's really worth pitying. and having your balls cut off repeatedly being used as the worst threat you could possibly make to a man in this movie because being emasculated is worse than death.

tyler constantly tells the narrator he needs to be prepared to die if he wants to be free, he needs to lose everything and destroy everything if he wants to become able to do whatever he wants, but it's only after the narrator kills himself -> kills tyler and the ideal of masculinity tyler represents that he's actually able to desire something without being told what to desire. the narrator doesn't know what he wants and can't tell tyler what he wants when tyler demands to know, because being tyler isn't actually what he wants once it becomes clear to him where that ideology will lead, but as long as tyler is looming over him as his concept of the ideal (masculine) self he still can't be or even conceptualise his actual fulfilled self. because tyler is taking up all his brainspace to be nothing but a volatile reactionary asshole at the center of a death cult. it's the least masculine man in the movie who gets to be named, martyred even, in the pursuit of tyler's masculinity, and he's named because the narrator realizes he cannot abide tyler's ideal of masculinity. anyway. good movie.

[puppy-phum]

Pit Babe Characters x Cartomancy ➣ Part 1: Charlie & Babe

Five of Spades: Focusing on self, putting own interests first. A reminder of your self-worth. Ace of Hearts: New beginnings; new relationship and love. A chance for something better.

for @pitbabeanniversary week 1 prompts: charlie & babe

(more thoughts under the cut!)

disclaimer: i am not an expert in either cartomancy or tarot reading. i did a lot of research on these two sites to come up with these cards for the characters. some of the meanings associated with the cards are still only my own interpretation, so they might not be completely accurate.

as ppl who know me probably can tell, i am (despite my lack of knowledge most often) a huge nerd who loves this type of stuff (personality tests, astrology, mysticism etc.). most of all, i love analyzing stories and characters, and so this idea was born. never thought i'd approach it through pit babe though, yet here we are.

thoughts on my picks for charlie and babe:

charlie: it was hard to pick a card for charlie, but behind all the happiness and sunshine, i think the defining characteristic for charlie is (self-)sacrifice. while growing up under tony's "care", charlie learned that he was worth less: less than other (special) alphas, less than other tony's children, less than the world beyond the house, and of course, less than someone as perfect as babe. and so as he leaves the house and embarks on this adventure to help babe and set them all free, he assumes he must sacrifice himself to accomplish those things. his sacrifice comes in many forms, yet even the most ultimate one (his death) does not seem to bother charlie.

based on these thoughts, i found it fitting that charlie's card would remind him of his own worth and make him think about his own (selfish?) desires. he's not just a body thrown at tony's feet to keep others safe – he's also a human with his own hopes and dreams, with his own purpose. he seems to find this with babe (and the rest of the x-hunter pack) and learns to accept himself as someone who cannot be replaced and who can just live for himself.

babe: for babe, the card felt more obvious. first of all, it was clear to me that babe would get one of the hearts – he is, above all else, an emotion driven person. he is arrogant, confident, proud, ambitious, and even aggressive at times, but he is also a boy searching for love. i know that he's learned that love doesn't come without conditions; that whenever love is offered, people ask for something (most often painful) in return. and so as the show starts, babe's motivation to go on this journey isn't victory or fame as he already has those, but love. what he lacks in life is love, and that's what life decides to gift him.

so this thing with charlie offers him a new chance, a new beginning, where things seem better and easier. of course it doesn't last, and they fail at times at love as charlie's lies get revealed and other ppl betray them, but eventually they head towards something better. the newly found intimacy and love with charlie changes babe's life and also changes him as a person. he becomes softer, happier. he learns that he can be loved unconditionally and that there are ppl out there who are willing to stand beside him even when he's not pit babe or a special alpha with special senses or tony's perfect son capable of anything (or worth a million bahts).

and then these two as a pair? i cannot say much about it bc i cannot read cards, unfortunately. but i find it interesting (and very fitting) that charlie and babe belong to the suits of spades and hearts. charlie brings with himself trouble, pain, and challenges (unintentionally and he'd rather hold those at bay but well, his past follows him everywhere). there are also hints of obsession and fear on charlie's side. meanwhile, babe is filled with emotion, both positive and negative, and he is tightly tied to all the relationships in his life. he is the heart of the pack in a sense, and so thinking of him as the beginning of emotion, as the ace of hearts, feels suitable. he is the new beginning for everyone bc babe is the one who pulls charlie in who bring with himself the change for the whole pack and other ppl involved with them.

(if someone more knowledgeable about cartomancy or tarot who also enjoys pit babe stumbles upon this, feel free to come share more thoughts with me!)

[xortstories]

Contrary Writing Advice: Tell, Don't Show

Wherein I give advice that runs contrary to commonly shared writing tips, because some short bits of advice get repeated without context until they become actively detrimental to the process.

Today, we're looking at a common adage: "Show, don't tell."

On the surface, this seems to be (and often can be) good advice. "Showing," in the context of writing, is all about description. Don't say "He was sad because he had to go to work", say "His shoulders were slumped and he walked with slow, trudging steps to his cubicle."

It paints a picture with words. It implies the sadness, allowing the reader to interpret it by picking up on the cues in the writing, thus increasing engagement in the story.

It's not always that simple, though. For the most basic problem, let's compare word counts. In the example given it's not that egregious—10 words for "telling" vs 14 words for "showing," but that's still a 1.4x increase to the word count of your book, and it could get much more than that. There is value in shorter, telling sentences. For starters, they break things up and can be used to punctuate the end of a sequence. Let's have an example paragraph, which we'll then try two final sentences for.

He desperately raised his shield as his foe rained down a series of heavy blows on him. Once, twice, three times the knight's mace collided with the shield, splintering the wood and driving him to his knees. His shoulder ached, and the shield began to fall low enough that his head would soon be exposed. Then, out of nowhere, another soldier—one of the many allies whose names and faces now bled from his mind as adrenaline washed away all conscious thought—appeared as if from nowhere, colliding with the knight and thrusting his dagger frantically at the weaker parts of his foe's otherwise impenetrable armor.

Probably not the best fight scene I've ever written, but it does the job of being a very strong example of "showing." Now let's look at two ways to follow up this paragraph.

#1: Showing

He turned, heedless of his ally's struggle, and dashed away. His heart pounded in his chest and he struggled to keep his shaking limbs steady, stumbling and faltering every few steps. The sounds of battle surrounded him, overloading his senses, and he narrowly avoided several errant strikes from others embroiled in conflict as he raced through the battlefield.

Again, not the best, but a pretty good paragraph. We'll talk more about it in a moment though, as now we're gonna look at a second followup:

#2: Telling

He ran for it, leaving the battlefield far behind him.

So, let's examine what each of these followups actually does for the story.

For starters, we need to consider what we want this scene to accomplish and how important it is. If this is meant to be a defining moment for the character, the culmination of several chapters of buildup where he trained for the upcoming battle, grew close to his allies, struggled with his fears and insecurities, and now in the heat of the moment loses his nerve?

Yeah, it might be worth it to drag things out and continue "showing" what he does.

But let's say instead that this, instead, is meant to be an establishing moment for an already-true fact about the character. Let's imagine that this is from the opening scene in a story that, we will soon learn, is about a cowardly soldier. The buildup of the main paragraph above sets up a suitably intense, epic fight scene. It paints the main character ambiguously, as someone who is fighting but unable to hold his own, but it leaves open the possibility that he'll join his ally and finish off the knight that was hammering him down.

And then comes the rug pull. Just when the reader expects the intense fight scene to continue, nope! He's running away. The short and to-the-point nature of "telling" what the character does there leaves things unambiguous and drives the idea home immediately. We see that the character is a coward, and that sudden rug-pull creates a great moment where the reader goes "Oh, I see. He's a coward."

Basically, it's a punchline. And a punchline has to be... punchy. You can't draw it out with sentences and sentences of "showing." You just "tell."

Let's also consider the fact that ending a long series of "showing" paragraphs with a short, simple "tell" can be a great way to transition out of a scene. It signals that that sensory feast is over, wraps it up and puts a bow on it, and lets the author move into another discrete chunk of writing.

"Telling" is also great to summarize boring, inconsequential parts of the story. If your book is about political machinations, where the draw is the characters going toe-to-toe with clever enemies in social scenarios, then it's totally fine—sometimes imperative, even—to just say "After three weeks of travel, where x, y, and z, happened, Bobson finally reached his destination."

I could go on, but this post is long enough already. Remember, the point isn't that "showing" is always bad, just that you need to understand the benefits of telling and know when it's best to do one or the other, because 100% of either does not make for a very good story.

Also I'll probably write more of these in the future. I've got plenty of beef with common writing tips.

If you like my posts, feel free to buy me a coffee!

And if you're interested in seeing what I'm working on, check out my Blood of Dragons master post!

[hplonesomeart]

Hehe this man is broken and severely emotionally distressed. Silly lovable guy but given self esteem issues because of the crushing weight of perfectionism. Not so funny if you think about it too long. But at least on the upside he cries pretty :))

No but seriously for all those who relate to Mr. Puzzles just want you to know your accomplishments alone do not define your value and worth as a person. Even when you’re a messy work in progress, you are loved and appreciated more than you may recognize. Thank you for being here. Don’t get me wrong it’s good to be idealistic and set goals, but don’t undermine yourself if you don’t get that perfect score….or if you start to fall behind compared to everyone else. Everyone goes through those moments of doubt or perceived failure. We need to fail every once in a while. And that’s okay

…a-anyways funny goofy dramatic TV guy we love him so much so silly so slay he lives in my head rent free yipeee. This animation is dedicated to him because if anyone in the cast deserved a feature length film it was definitely him, and he sure took up the spotlight in Puzzlevison and absolutely owned it. I’m excited for his future endeavors ✨

[selfhelpforstudents]

i always see people around me being more productive and starting revision earlier and doing everything much faster. i’m already trying my best, but i start panicking when i see them be better, and feel like i’m lagging behind. how do i snap out of this mentality?

How to Stop Panicking About Productivity:

We’ve all been there. You’re grinding away at your own pace, and then you glance around and see everyone else seemingly miles ahead. They’re breezing through tasks, acing their exams, and looking like they’ve got it all figured out. Meanwhile, you’re fighting off panic, convinced you’re falling behind. But before you spiral further, take a breath. You’re not alone, and there’s a way to snap out of this productivity panic.

1. Realize You’re Not in a Race

First off, let’s get one thing straight: life isn’t a race. Sure, it feels like everyone around you is speeding ahead, but that doesn’t mean you’re losing. Your journey is your own, and comparing your progress to others is like comparing apples to oranges. Different people have different strengths, learning styles, and paces. What works for someone else might not work for you, and that’s okay.

2. Practice Mindful Self-Compassion

When you catch yourself spiraling, pause and check in with yourself. Are you being too harsh on your own progress? Give yourself some credit. You’re doing your best, and that’s enough. Start practicing self-compassion by treating yourself like you would a friend who’s struggling. Would you tell them they’re a failure, or would you encourage them to keep going? Be your own cheerleader.

3. Focus on Your Progress, Not Theirs

It’s easy to get caught up in what everyone else is doing, but the only progress that really matters is your own. Take a moment to reflect on how far you’ve come instead of how far you think you have to go. Even small steps forward are still progress. Keep a journal or a list of what you’ve accomplished each day, no matter how minor it seems. This will help you stay grounded and motivated.

4. Set Realistic Goals and Celebrate Wins

Instead of trying to match someone else’s pace, set goals that are achievable for you. Break your tasks into manageable chunks, and celebrate each win, no matter how small. Finished a chapter? That’s a win. Wrote 200 words? That’s a win. You don’t need to conquer the world in a day—just keep moving forward at your pace.

5. Take Breaks and Recharge

Burnout is real, and it can sneak up on you if you’re constantly pushing yourself to keep up with others. Schedule regular breaks to recharge. Go for a walk, watch an episode of your favorite show, or just chill out for a bit. Remember, productivity isn’t about working nonstop; it’s about finding a sustainable rhythm.

6. Limit Social Media Consumption

Let’s be honest—social media can be a huge source of comparison and stress. Everyone’s posting their highlights, but you’re not seeing the full picture. Consider cutting back on your social media usage, especially when you’re feeling vulnerable. Out of sight, out of mind. Focus on your journey instead of getting sucked into someone else’s highlight reel.

7. Find a Support System

Surround yourself with people who uplift you. Whether it’s friends, family, or a study group, find a support system that encourages you rather than makes you feel inadequate. Share your struggles and victories with them; chances are, they’re feeling the same way too. A strong support system can make all the difference in keeping your mindset positive.

8. Accept That Perfection Isn’t the Goal

Perfectionism is a trap. Striving for perfection will only lead to more stress and dissatisfaction. Instead, aim for progress and improvement. Mistakes are part of the learning process, and they don’t define your worth. Embrace the idea that doing your best is more than enough.

9. Remember, You’re Doing Great

At the end of the day, it’s important to remind yourself that you’re doing just fine. The fact that you’re even worried about falling behind shows that you care about your progress. Don’t let the comparison game steal your joy and motivation. Keep your eyes on your own path, trust in your process, and give yourself the credit you deserve.

So next time you feel that productivity panic creeping in, take a step back, breathe, and remind yourself that you’re on your own unique journey. You’ve got this.

Best,

Sophia

[genericpuff]

Hey quick question.

How do you know if you should make a webcomic? I have this story idea that’s been floating around in the back of my head that I think could work well for a comic series. But the problem is I’m mainly used to writing screenplays and more traditional writing.

What I’m saying is, how can I tell if making a webcomic is worth it or if I should stick in my comfort zone?

I mean, there's no definitive right answer when it comes to "knowing" if you should make a webcomic. It really just comes down to you. Do you really like the medium? Do you feel your story has to be told within that medium to achieve its goals?

Same thing goes for whether or not it's "worth it", it really comes down to how you define that. For some people, simply posting their comics online to a few readers each week is worth it. For others, if it doesn't get into print or publishing or whatever have you, it might not be quite so justifiable to keep up with. Neither is better or worse than the other, both reasons are valid because it ultimately comes down to what we as individuals are trying to accomplish and what we define as "worth it" on a personal level.

I actually live on both sides of the spectrum right now because with Rekindled, posting it on Tumblr and getting all the great feedback and company through the audience it's gained makes it worth it. But that worth was defined by my expectations going in - I wasn't making Rekindled for money (legally I can't), I wasn't making it to get an Originals deal or anything of the sort, I was just making it because I found myself deadset on going through with it after months of it living in my head rent free, and so what I've gotten out of it as a result is very much worth it, all I was really looking for was maybe some other readers who would enjoy reading a transformative 'foe fiction' from a former LO fan and I've found those readers in spades simply due to the demand.

Time Gate, on the other hand, was something that I wanted for years to be a 'successful' project, defined more by actual tangible growth and gain. Because I came up with it as a kid, for a long time it was my "magnum opus" project, the thing that I wanted to see get turned into books and an anime and a video game and all those sorts of things as 'proof' of how good it was. Of course, I know now years later that those expectations were WAY too high and it resulted in me feeling incredibly depressed over it for ages. It made it hard to work on and even though I did have some readers, I didn't see it as "worth it" because my expectations were a lot higher than that of Rekindled's going in. But that was simply a matter of experience at that point, because I had been making original comics for so long, when I went into Rekindled I knew a lot more what I was capable of, what I wasn't capable of, and what boundaries I was willing to put down for myself. Even still, I do still want to return to Time Gate some day and when I do, I want to still treat it like a series I want to get off the ground as an actual published piece of work - it's just that this time around, I actually know how to make those steps and be proactive in my approach (and I know where to keep my expectations) which is certainly a perspective and skillset I didn't have when I was 15 LMAO

I will say, realistically speaking, it is a lot harder to pursue webcomics as a writer, because the reality of this medium is that most people who go into it are artists who learn how to write to make a webcomic, not the other way around. Unless you're willing to learn how to draw - which is a whole other skillset that requires years of work and patience - you're likely going to have to seek someone to collaborate with and - I cannot stress this enough - it's not going to be someone you simply find on reddit who's willing to work for free. Again, many of us as artists went into webcomics with a project already in mind, so most artists are already working on their own passion projects, trying to convince someone else to work on yours is just not realistic or fair. I'm fortunate enough to have @banshriek along for the production of Rekindled and even then I still pay for their contributions out of pocket, they're as invested in an LO rewrite project as I am (and thus they're given a lot of room to make suggestions in both the set designs and the writing), and I still had to carry the first 20ish episodes on my own before they joined along, i.e. I would still be making Rekindled if they weren't onboard, but having them is a massive help that's taken the comic to a whole other level in its artistic production.

But that doesn't mean it's hopeless! There's a lot of interest right now in webnovels and writing comic scripts is still a completely viable way to get into the comics industry if you're really interested in doing so (fun fact: before I was making comics, I wrote fanfiction! This is probably not shocking to hear all things considered LMAO) There's a reason Webtoons owns Wattpad now, webnovels are a no-brainer when it comes to adaptations to visual mediums, and webcomics have become part of that environment by extension. So at the very least, if you want to get your story out there, there are loads of ways to do it that don't require you to make a comic - but if you really want to make one, there are ways to get into that industry through writing in other ways such as pitching scripts to comic publishers and/or going indie with webnovels. Ultimately, if many of us webcomic creators stopped drawing our works, we'd still be coming up with stories to write, because that's what's really at the heart of these sorts of projects. So even if you can't get into comics right away due to lack of visual artistry, that doesn't mean it's off the table forever ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

Sorry, that was a lot of rambling but I hope it helps ! Remember to keep your goals and expectations manageable, and most of all, write lots! You'll be doing it anyways regardless of whether or not you get into comics, so whatever value you see in getting into comics is up to you to determine! You don't have to know right away, it might be something you'll find along the way or have to adjust as you get more experience, but don't stop yourself from getting creative and messing around until you find out what works! You won't know if it was worth leaving your comfort zone until you try it <3

Good luck! (•̀ᴗ•́)و

[hungrywriter]

The Middle Child (one-shot)

Jobe Bellingham x reader (Platonic!) Jude Bellingham x reader (Platonic)

A/n: I'm sorry if this broke your heart, because it broke mine. To all those who struggle with their family's support, remember that your worth and potential are not defined by the validation of others. Embrace the strength in you.

Y/n Bellingham, the middle child of the Bellingham family, had always been living in the shadow of her famous brothers. Jobe's rise to soccer stardom and Jude's recent signing with Real Madrid had propelled them into the limelight, leaving Y/n feeling like an afterthought in her own family.

As Y/n grew up, Mr. and Mrs. Bellingham couldn't help but notice that she had a different passion and interests compared to her brothers. While Jobe and Jude thrived in their love for football, Y/n seemed to gravitate towards a different path. Instead of kicking a ball with her feet, she found joy in catching and throwing with her hands. It was a small detail, but it spoke volumes about her individuality.

Y/n's lack of interest in her father's work further set her apart from her brothers. Her father, hoping to pass on his love for football, had dedicated much of his time and attention to Jobe and Jude's development in the sport. Y/n's divergence from their shared passion caused her father to shift his focus solely onto his sons, unintentionally neglecting the unique interests and talents that Y/n possessed.

It wasn't that Y/n lacked talent or capability; rather, her abilities simply lay in a different realm, one that wasn't immediately understood or appreciated by her family. Unlike her brothers, Y/n found love and passion in volleyball. A sport that was uncommon in the Bellingham family. Since young, Y/n had always wished to compete in the Volleyball Women’s National League. When she had finally reached 17, she had signed to one of the biggest Volleyball teams in England. Once again, her parents were too busy to care.

At the age of 19, Y/n was promoted to captain of the volleyball team. She came home giddily, excited to announce the good news. She was also a bit nervous. How would they react? She longed for her family's support and recognition, yearning for them to be present on this significant day. But as the news of Jude's signing broke, the entire household erupted in joyous celebration, forgetting Y/n's accomplishment amidst the chaos.

Heart heavy with disappointment, Y/n stood in her room, gazing at the captain's armband in her hand. The weight of her brothers' success pressed upon her, threatening to crush her spirit. She had always been proud of her brothers, cheering them on from the sidelines, but now it felt like her own achievements were inconsequential.

Days turned into weeks, and the disparity between her brothers' fame and her own accomplishments deepened. Y/n poured her heart and soul into leading the volleyball team, hoping to find solace and recognition within her own passion. Yet, each victory and milestone seemed to fade into obscurity, overshadowed by the constant spotlight on Jobe and Jude.

It was the day that Jude finally signed the papers for Real Madrid. Y/n had an important match that day that determined whether the team was allowed to participate in the championship. Before and after the match, she keeps checking her phone. No text or calls. Y/n scoffed. 

It was dinner time when Y/n reached home. She was sweaty and tired, and all she wanted to do was take a nice hot bath and have an early rest. She made a mental reminder to change the bandage on her father, as she had an injury during the tournament. When she entered the house, her family was sitting at the dinner table and there was silence when her father bellowed her name.

“Y/n! Where the hell have you been? You missed the proudest day of our lives! And what happened to your forehead?” Your father shouted in anger. Normally, Y/n would shrug it off. But hearing the phrase ‘proudest day of our lives’ finally set her off. 

“Maybe if you had paid attention to me more, you would have known what happened,” She talked back. Her family was shocked at her outburst. Her father’s face was becoming red and her mother was trying to calm him down. 

“I learned to tie my own shoes. I memorised the route home from school because no one was there to take me home. I learnt how to make my own food, because while Jude and Jobe got pasta or-or steak, I had cereal. Do you know what I was doing today, Dad? Mom? Do you know what I want to be when I grow up? Jude? Jobe? Hell, do you even know what sport I play?” She roared, and at every sentence, she stepped forward towards the dining table.

She pulled out a photo from her jacket that she had kept for 2 years and slammed it on the table. It was a photo of her signing the contract with the volleyball team. “2 years ago, I signed for the top league volleyball team in england. It was the most important day of my life. Look at the picture. Do you know what’s missing? MY OWN GODDAMN FAMILY.”

“How could you all forget me? How could you let my accomplishments fade into oblivion while you showered Jobe and Jude with all your attention? Am I not worthy of recognition? Am I not important enough to be seen as an individual?”

“Y/n, please try to understand…” Mark Bellingham said as he stood up from his seat,

“Understand? I understand perfectly! I understand that my dreams and achievements mean nothing compared to Jobe's goals and Jude's signing! I understand that I've become invisible in my own damn family!”

With a heavy heart, Y/n turned away from her family, leaving them to grapple with the reality of their actions. Deep down, she yearned for a future where her worth was recognized, where she could stand tall in her own accomplishments, and where her family truly saw her for who she was.

She left the house and walked straight towards the park. The only place that brings her comfort. She took a seat at the bench and put her head in her hands to clear her head. After a few minutes, she could feel two figures sitting beside her, one on each side. When she saw both her family, she broke down again. This time, her mother hugged her first and cooed her. The rest of the family soon joined in.

“I’m so sorry. I was stressed because of the whole captain thing,”

“Oh baby, don’t be sorry. We’re sorry. We promise we’ll do better,” Her mother whispered as she rubbed her arm down her daughter’s back. Y/n smiled back, and she finally felt seen and heard. For the first time in her life, she had a reason to hope.

With time, Y/n's own star began to rise. Her talent and dedication to volleyball brought her recognition beyond the confines of her family, and she became a respected figure in her own right. She learned that her worth wasn't defined by comparisons or the validation of others, but by her own strength, passion, and the love she held for herself.

In the end, Y/n's struggle had forged an unbreakable bond within her family. They realised that each member, regardless of their accomplishments, deserved to be seen and valued for who they were. And together, they embarked on a journey of unconditional support, celebrating the victories of each sibling, no matter how big or small.

[fishwithtitz]

Was It Worth It? (Cardinal Terzo x Reader)

Summary: Worth (n.) - the value equivalent to that of someone or something under consideration; the level at which someone or something deserves to be valued or rated.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Cardinal Terzo x AFAB reader / 6.2k words

Warnings: language, graphic description of piv sex, religious trauma, alcohol, poorly translated Italian, angst

aO3 link

Part One: What Goes Up...

Sometimes, when the sun was low in the sky like this, and you could still feel the occasional pitter of droplets dispersing against your skin, you took the risk of abandoning your responsibilities and popping outside for the evening. It was peculiar how the salmon rays of the sun peeked through heavy, sodden clouds. The beams heated the water in the air and made it sticky and heavy. “Hot rain” your Granddad had called it. It reminded you of simplicity. Of home. 

You stepped right outside the cloister on the farthest corner of the abbey to soak the weighted air and shafts of light inward as self-anointing. The grass was springy under your feet, verdant, and you lost track of your steps as you meandered out into the less-manicured side of the grounds towards the wooded border of the property’s boundaries. 

It had been two years since you decided to join the order. Your family, long gone at the prospect of you choosing a life of sin and vulgarity, and your friends feigning happiness that slowly dripped away as time wore on and contact faded into simple memories. You didn’t mind it. If being a part of the ministry had taught you anything, it was that change was normal - healthy, even - and that embracing and adapting was necessary to find self-fulfillment and true absolution.

The first year as a Sister of Sin proved a heady challenge. With scripture and philosophy to study, on top of a laundry list of new procedures and rituals and ways of living to memorize, you had your hands full. There were some nights where sleep was truly a blessing from below and you started to understand the pull of addiction as you filled your coffee for what seemed like the umpteenth time at breakfast before starting your shift washing the ministry’s linens. 

Uncertainty and impulsivity had inspired you to join. Desperation had encouraged you to stay. Like a mid-life crisis happening 20 years too soon, you clung to any open window to find purpose and opportunity. You longed for a defined path outlined in thick black marker on a map with an ‘x marks the spot’. 

It wasn’t until a year and a half into your tenure as a Sister of Sin, fresh out of novitiate, that you met a young Cardinal Terzo (as he liked to be called) and your outlook on this new life began to shift. You couldn’t exactly point to why he had chosen you out of all the other sisters. You didn’t feel as though you were the most attractive, or the most seductive, or the most educated or intelligent. You didn’t feel secure in any specific talents and you didn’t feel a drive to accomplish anything specific. If anything, your energy was spent on yearning for direction. 

Perhaps he had noticed your propensity to velcro into anything novel or interesting. Or maybe it was your enthrallment and willingness to engage. Whatever the reason, Terzo had chosen you to devote his time to. 

You had been assigned to his detail as a temporary member of his small team of siblings. Though your past experience noted a range of clerical skills and literary study, you had instead been chosen to keep his chambers. It had taken all but a few days to learn Cardinal Terzo’s particulars. His sheets, which were a stereotypical black satin, had to be positioned just right (heaven forbid the fitted sheet have a loose corner…one would think that Papa himself had been murdered). Because of their color and Terzo’s…life choices, both the top sheet and the fitted sheet had to be changed nearly daily to save them from resembling Pollock’s “Lavender Mist”. His clothing had to be organized by occasion and style (and as you quickly found out, by random personal preference that seemed to change on a whim). Terzo required his wine fridges (plural) to be stocked twice weekly (including the large collection of reds that rested atop each fridge at room temperature), and it wasn’t uncommon to fulfill last minute requests for antipasto, fruit, candles, or other carnal delicacies to be brought to his room for later that evening. 

Completing tasks was a nightmare. You never knew if your assigned shift would lead you into an empty (and disarrayed) room with Terzo having been up and out early in the morning, or an occupied suite that stayed inhabited up into the early afternoon. The latter still caught you off-guard and you made frequent mental notes to work on your stuttered apologies as you awkwardly left his bedroom to wait until it was empty to resume your duties.

However, one day that seemed all but special, you entered his bedroom to change his linens and refresh his wardrobe, only to find Cardinal Terzo hunched over the mantel in front of the fireplace. His head hung low, browbeaten, and a rocks glass of scotch was perched between heavy fingers while his fist was clasped to his right. If you listened closely enough, you swore you could hear his aggravated breathing laced with tears. You froze at the sight. 

“I’m sorry, Cardinal. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you eventually peeped out, trying your best to keep your tone even as to not portray any perceived judgment. 

Terzo hadn’t turned to face you, but was quick in his reply — his voice gravely and gruff. “It’s best if you go, Sorella,” he responded, gripping even tighter onto the glass. The air felt thick and you could feel your own sweat (whether from the heat of the fire or the anxiety of catching Terzo at an inopportune moment, you weren’t sure) pooling on your forehead. 

Despite his request, you stayed stationary. 

You couldn’t help but look over the way his hair hung down to frame his painted eyes, tracks of tears threatening to wash away the intricate circular design and painted bow, and how his lips pursed in the firelight. Do you dare overstep your professional boundaries to show a touch of common humanity? To show that despite his role as a prominent Cardinal in the church, he was still a human being that deserved empathy and kindness? It was then that you decided to be bold. You took a deep breath. 

“Do you need a hug?”

Your words seemed to catch Terzo off guard, and he suddenly raised his head and craned his neck to look at you, eyebrows furrowed. You gently set down the basket of clean laundry and took a step towards him, wringing your hands in apprehension as you approached him. 

Upon seeing you, soft-faced and vulnerable in the dim light, his own expression dampened and he turned his body to face yours. “I think I would like that, Sorella,” he replied. 

It was from the moment that your small frame enveloped him, your head tucking in against his chest while your hands moved comfortingly against the smooth fabric of his jacket that hugged against his back, that you felt your heart beam against his. And maybe, you reasoned, you weren’t crazy in thinking that you felt his beam back against your own.

Over the next week or so, your daily visits to his chambers began to change. You could almost bet on him being present for your visits now, and while it had made you nervous before, you had begun to look forward to seeing him lounging about in his chambers, coffee in hand as he greeted you with a warm, “Good Morning, Sorella.” Dinner in the refectory had been previously uneventful, but now was punctuated by stolen glances from (and to) the head table, with Terzo occasionally lifting his ever-present glass of red in your direction — a subtle, yet definite nod to your existence. You couldn’t help but internally swoon. 

The second week after your fireside interaction, after replacing the linens, replenishing the firewood, and restocking a few choice wines in Terzo’s chambers, you were met with a personal request from the Cardinal. 

Like many nights during weeks prior, Terzo had left his room with a special request for the evening. “A sensuous feast” he had called it, and having fulfilled his wishes before, you knew exactly the way it was to be done. 

Ignoring your disappointment (and the pang in your chest when you read the note), you worked with the kitchen ghouls to create a charcuterie board to remember, rife with various fruits, cheeses, nuts, and the homemade rosemary focaccia you knew he enjoyed at dinner. A bottle of prosecco sat on ice in a marble wine chiller on the low mahogany coffee table (and you made sure to stock a couple extra in the nearby wine fridge for good measure), and two glasses were perfectly polished beside it, waiting for eventual effervescence. A low fire was kindled and warmed the plush rug that lay in front of it as it waited for its future occupants. 

Swallowing the sharp spasms that assaulted your chest, you gave the room a small, unreturned smile and surveyed your work. 

“Beautiful job, Dolcezza.” Terzo’s silken voice frightened you as it broke the quietude in the room. You let out a breath, a chuckle laced between it and your words, and you replied with your same gentle smile. 

“Thank you. Will that be all, Your Eminence?”

You had been prepared for the Cardinal to shoo you away, possibly thanking you with another one of his thousand-yard smirks, but to your surprise, he didn’t. Instead, he wrinkled his brows in thought, walking slowly over to the velvet-tufted loveseat across from the mantel. His gloved hand stroked the back, fingertips brushing so lightly that they didn’t even leave a mark. 

“Actually, no, Sorella,” he said, eyes fixed on the raspberry-hued fabric. You felt your lungs tighten. Had you forgotten something? You’d be the first to admit that you’d been distracted in your work lately, and it wouldn’t have surprised you to see that you missed something crucial. Terzo interrupted your worried visage, his duochromatic eyes flickering up to you with a sultry gaze. “...would you like to stay?”

His words had hit you square in the jaw, which you were sure was now hanging open just slightly at your surprise. You swallowed and stammered out, “I-I don’t want to intrude on your company, Cardinal.”

“I was hoping you would be my company tonight, Dolcezza.”

It was the first of many evenings spent with Terzo. The debut of your time together, if you will — and it was not at all what you had expected. 

Tentatively, you agreed to the invitation, only doing so because you knew that his room was the last on your list to freshen and you were now technically done with your duties. You had watched as Terzo held his hand out to motion towards the seating by the fire, and you hesitantly moved to take a seat on the plump leather couch across from the loveseat. 

To say that you had been nervous would be a gross understatement. Your senses drank in the stimulus around you — the pop of the bottle of sweet wine, the fizz of the bubbles blooming in the glass, the spicy, floral musk of Terzo’s cologne drifting through the air as he held out the flute for you to timidly accept — they all became cataloged in your mind as sensory memories of this first excursion. 

If Terzo’s smooth, charming attitude hadn’t calmed you down, the prosecco surely had. Not long after you’d taken your first sip, Terzo had sat on the other side of the couch with his own glass in his gloved hand, his cardinal cassock floating down over his crossed legs like sin, and he had struck up a conversation. His body was turned towards yours, eyes always drinking in your form like it was the preferred spirit of the evening, as he asked you more about who you were. 

He was easy to talk to (far easier to talk to than you’d expected). You divulged your history with the church and briefly described your one and a half year commitment with a peaceful pride. As a Cardinal, you were sure he spent the majority of the time discussing the intimacies of the ministry and you didn’t want to bore him. 

“And what led you to the light bringer, Sorella?” he had asked you, fingertips stroking the stem of the champagne flute delicately, tenderly. 

Even though you’d initially fabricated walls to guard you from revealing your past, Terzo’s soothing yet fascinating energy knocked them down almost instantaneously. You explained the falling out with your parents over your decisions for your career and lifestyle, how they’d refused to support you following your passions as it didn’t seem “financially prudent” to do so. With forlorn fondness, you recalled your relationship with your Granddad that had ended abruptly with his unforeseen death and how it had cracked your mother’s inward countenance and plastered it back up with vodka and Valium. The final straw, you explained, was your decision to openly renounce your faith and begin the exploration into different forms of spirituality. Terzo had listened intently, his face bleeding sympathy and compassion as you unraveled your past in a way you hadn’t since joining the order.  

But despite the heavy conversation, the night turned to one of true connection as you both polished off the first bottle of prosecco (and eventually, most of the charcuterie). Laughter frequently permeated the air after the second bottle had been opened, and you giggled over shared stories of gossip about the ministry — Terzo even letting a few more secretive and scandalous pieces about the clergy loose after his fourth glass of bubbles. 

By the end of the evening, you began to see Terzo in a new light. Before, he’d been the suave, debonair Cardinal with a reputation of philandry.  But now, Terzo felt like a true kindred spirit. As you’d gotten up to leave (sea-legged from the alcohol, you might add) the Cardinal had offered you his hand to steady you. After helping you up, he continued holding onto your hand, his body advancing closer to you with a half-step.

You remember the light of the fire reflecting off the yin-yang black and white eye as he took in your features. You remember the notes of apple and pear on his breath. Most of all, you remember the words he purred out in a low, dulcet hum. 

“I’m going to kiss you now, Dolcezza.”

And he had. Searingly slow, his lips lingered on yours for countless seconds before he pulled away completely. 

It was the beginning of the downfall.  

🜏🜏🜏

A mere two days after your memorable night with the Cardinal, you arrived at the workroom connecting the laundry to the housekeeping stores in increased anticipation to start your duties. Yesterday was your day off, and as such, you hadn’t had the opportunity to see Cardinal Terzo. 

As soon as you set down your coffee thermos, Sister Teresa, a senior Sister of Sin, approached you with a jollied clap on her hands. She explained that the sister you’d been covering for had healed quite nicely from her surgery and was returning to work early — today, in fact — and your services in housekeeping would no longer be needed. With a chuckle, she reached out to touch your arm, saying, “It’s a blessing of timing from the Dark One. We have been running behind ever since you left!”

Outwardly, you nodded and thanked the sister for letting you know before heading through the connecting door to the laundry. Once out of sight, you sighed, turning to make your way down the walkway towards the oncoming chutes, closed fist lightly pounding against a pile of folded bedsheets as you passed. You weren’t exactly sure when you’d get to speak with Terzo again, which of course disappointed you, but you were arguably more disappointed that you’d spent the time shaving your legs and fussing over the exact flavor of lip balm before leaving for work today — all for naught. 

That evening, you took your usual seat in the refectory with a slogged posture. Your hands smelled of bleach and detergent, and your skin felt dry from the dryer sheets you’d spent the afternoon picking from the dryer vent. After pouring yourself a healthy glug of table red from the decanter, you sighed and leaned back, watching as other siblings filled the room. After a few lengthy sips and more disassociation than you’d care to admit, you saw a flash of a black cassock from the corner of your eye. Towards the front of the refectory, seated at the clergy table, was Cardinal Terzo. He was mid conversation with one of the bishops and looked surprisingly pleased as he took a seat and accepted a glass of red similar to yours. His glance turned to your direction by chance and he met your eyes, smirking before raising his glass as he had so many times before. You raised yours back. 

And on this went for the remainder of the week — you, successfully seeking out his gaze and him acknowledging you with a raised glass, a smile, or as of the night before, a wink. Each time made your heart patter so high in your chest that you could taste it in your throat (or maybe that was the pinot noir). 

This particular night, after placing your napkin on the table and sipping the last drop of wine from the globe of the drink ware, you realized that this week put you into a state of melancholy. You’d felt trapped (an odd feeling in a church based on free will) and you craved a break in your monotonous routine. A walk would do you good, you'd decided. You breezed past a group of siblings and out the refectory doors so quickly that you hadn’t heard the voice calling your name from the other end of the room. 

Down the cloister and to the gravel path your feet traveled, and just after you felt the crunch of the rocks beneath your shoes, a hand reached out to cup your shoulder. You’d turned with an inward huff, nearly frightened, but each muscle seemed to relax when you’d seen that it was just him, just Terzo, and a smile crept across your cheeks.

From an outward observer, the walk would have seemed ordinary. It wasn’t out of character for siblings to peruse the gardens in the evening, and members of the clergy indulged too, of course. But as you made your way through the carefully pruned rhododendrons and lilac-lined pathways, Terzo admitted something that made the stroll all but ordinary. 

“I miss seeing you in my chambers, Dolcezza. I hope our kiss did not frighten you away.”

And of course you had assured him that it was anything but, explaining the predicament that brought you to the housekeeping staff in the first place, along with the reassignment to the ministry laundry earlier in the week. 

As time wore on, you kept to your work in the laundry and he to his in the clergy, but both you and il Cardinale continued your joint traditions — the hushed glances at dinner, the occasional stretch through the church’s gardens. You shared the stories of your respective days, with the conversations always morphing into a mishmosh of memories or past experiences, with the occasional smattering of theological conversation. Sometimes you sealed the evening with a kiss, sometimes you didn’t. However, regardless of how the night ended, you always thought of the taste of his lips on yours (wine-bathed and smoky and soft). 

Luckily, on occasion, the senior Sisters of Sin pulled the laundry staff to help out with housekeeping duties in the event of someone falling ill or needing to take time off. Each time this was proffered, you quickly volunteered, buttering the situation with the explanation that you had already filled in before and knew the routines and procedures, including the particulars of the clergy members. It made you appear as if you were flexible, hardworking, and willing to help the ministry in any way needed. Deep down, however, you knew that your real motivation was the off-chance that you’d get to see your raven-haired Cardinal. 

One of these days you had all but physically jumped at the opportunity to help out with housekeeping. Your enthusiasm was nearly crushed when you found out that not only were they short staffed, but they had fallen behind due to a fairly extensive disaster left behind in an upper clergymen’s room by what appeared to be an entire pack of ghouls. In spite of your utter exhaustion at the end of the day (and shudders at the recollection of all the oddly sticky surfaces you had to wipe down while tidying up the ghoul pack’s aftermath), you found yourself 

making the familiar trek to Terzo’s chambers. Ghoul juices aside, you had a slight jaunt in your step. The day’s unfortunate proclivities wouldn’t put a damper on your excitement of seeing the Cardinal. As soon as you entered his room, however, you noticed something felt strange. 

Hoping to finish your more formal duties quickly, you beelined into the bathroom to replace the towels and gather the dirty laundry before passing through to his bedchambers. Removing and replenishing his sheets was like child's play now, and after a couple of minutes you had already balled up the used linens and placed them in the basket with the other laundry before turning to exit his bedroom. 

You heard the crackling of the fireplace in his living space before you saw the dim flames, and the occasional scribbling sound of a pen against paper was even more of a telltale hint that you were not alone. Setting the basket down, you padded over to the leathered couch that reminded you of your first visit with the Cardinal and rested your hands against the back of it. Terzo was sitting against the rug, feet outstretched by the fire, with a notepad in hand. It had indeed been him slugging the fountain tip across the page, and from the balled up sheets of paper littering the floor, you gathered that whatever he was getting at was not a success. 

“Your Eminence?” you rasped out softly, so quietly that he didn’t hear you. “Cardinal?”

With your slightly louder inquest, Terzo’s head shot up and his pen dropped against the paper pad with an audible clunk. The delighted expression on your face dimmed, though, when you noticed his own. 

His usually slicked-back hair hung down in messy strands across his forehead, barely covering the lines that had formed there undoubtedly from a frequently furrowed brow. His eyes looked a little glassy, and although the paint around his eyes and upper lip didn’t seem to be tear-scathed, you could tell that he had rubbed at his face more than once by the blurry edges of the black makeup. In sum, Terzo looked doggedly stressed. 

“Dolcezza,” his voice perked up with a hint of surprise, “What a treat it is to see you here.” 

You could feel the color creeping into the apples of your cheeks like ripened fruit. “They needed a little extra assistance and I offered to help,” you explained, your voice calm and surprisingly steady at the scene in front of you. 

“Ahh, bene.” Terzo threw the notepad down to the floor with a little more oomph than you expected, stretching his feet out in front of him. You noted that they were dangerously close to the fire.

“Is everything alright?” you asked as you came closer, rounding the couch to sit down next to him on the floor, “you seem a little —” you paused, unsure of whether to continue lest you come off insulting, yet decided to risk it, “ —stressed.”

The Cardinal sighed. “SÌ,” he breathed out, slipping his hand through his hair for what had to have been the dozenth time that evening. “I am to give the sermon at black mass tomorrow.”

Your lips curved into a proud smile. “Black mass? That’s…well, an honor, really.”

Terzo nodded. “SÌ… however, I have yet to finish it. I keep coming to a stop, like a eh—” he paused, his hand motioning in circles as if to demonstrate that he was searching for the correct word, “ —barrier, in my mind.”

Folding your legs underneath you (and being careful to adjust the skirt of your habit), you turned to face him. “You have writer’s block?”

“If I am to be completely honest, I have never delivered a sermon at Black Mass before.” He sighed again and you noted that there was a lot of weight in that sigh. He looked down, flipping the pen to and fro between his slender fingers. “A lot is riding on this performance and I fear I will be nothing but a disappointment.”

At this, your body stiffened. Terzo had always seemed so confident, so demure, and you were taken aback by his insecurity. “Cardinal,” you began, inching just a bit closer, “you are anything but a disappointment.”

At this, the painted man beside you laughed. “Ahh, yes, il stronzo, perhaps…”

You rolled your eyes at his self-deprecation. “Based on our conversations during our walks, I think you will do beautifully. You have quite the mind for theology, and you speak eloquently and with conviction.” You licked the curve of your lips, craning a bit to try to see his downtrodden eyes. “Maybe it’s yourself you should have some faith in?”

At your kind words, Terzo raised his head, his hair partially hiding the milky white eye that you had never quite become accustomed to. “I’m afraid I will just disappoint you, cara. As well as the congregation.” At this, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his fist clenching as he softly pounded the ground in frustration. “Figlio di puttana…”

The way he looked right now reminded you of the first moment you approached him: vulnerable, closed in on himself, raw, and before you knew it, you reached out your hand to gently touch his left arm, your own fingertips brazenly trailing up and down the wool-covered limb. Your touch surprised the Cardinal, and his eyes  met yours once more — this time, the widened emerald one peering straight through you. 

What you didn’t know was how touched Terzo was by your compassion at this moment. Of course, he knew how much you cared and sacrificed for others, but you never ceased to amaze him with your empathy and tenderness. His heart beamed in a way he hadn’t felt since childhood, and as he drank in your alluring stare, he couldn’t resist the urge to study your beauty in the firelight. He noted the way the flames etched against the contours of your cheeks and jaw, shadows drawn across bone. 

Putting his gloved hand on your own, he found himself leaning towards you, his fingers squeezing yours as his breath stilled in his throat. Warm lips — one painted and one bare — pressed against your own and you felt at home again. Your kisses with Terzo had always felt this way, and although they were a bit of an unconstant, you relished in the moments you’d get to feel him like this. 

Your eyes fluttered closed. Head tilting ever so slightly, your body mirrored his own as you melted into the touch. Faint wine and the bitter tang of paint touched your tongue while you moved your lips against his, the slower series of pecks diverging into something a little more heated, urgent, needy. 

As you sat like this, all you could hear was the crackling of the fire in front of you, the light smacking of your lips moving in unison, and the intakes and exhales of shared breath. It felt much more intimate than you were used to with Terzo. But most of all, it felt right. 

His hand trailed from yours and danced across the flesh of your neck to your jawline, cupping it gently as he tilted to deepen your connection, tongue tasting your lips (for self-gratification or permission, you weren’t sure). You also weren’t exactly sure how you ended up lateral on the thick rug, or how your hand had found purchase in his slicked back hair, or how his own had pushed the fabric of your skirt up around your bare thigh, or even how your bodies had been pulled so impossibly close. Nevertheless, you found yourself wrapped in air thickened with firewood and his cologne and the humid heat of your kisses and exhales, and Satan below the way his trouser covered leg had parted your own to tangle you both into one being had your mind swimming.

“Let me take you,” he had whispered to you, his breath warm against the corner of your lip and the curve of your cheek, “let me have you here, like I’ve always wanted to.”

That was all it took. The look in his eyes had been flooded with desire and it overcame your ability to do anything but completely submit to his request.

He moved over top of you, his arms lifting up criss-crossed to pull his jacket and button up off his slender, muscular frame. Flamed illumination danced across the ridges of the muscles of his chest, the smooth, lightly tanned skin that still seemed so deliciously pale for an Italian man, and your eyes took in stills to catalog in your memory while he slid his hands up and under your dress uniform. 

Terzo mimicked the action with your dress, pulling it over your head quickly before tossing it casually to the side. His hand slipped underneath you and before you realized it, the tension of your bra loosened and the garment was quickly abandoned. As cool air pricked the skin of your breasts, the Cardinal’s eyes wandered down to stare at them in the dim light. He bit at the tips of his gloved fingers to loosen the silken material, pulling them off to reveal slender, strong hands that reached for your soft skin. 

He must have noticed he look of insecurity that painted your face, of shyness, because he began to trace your curves with his fingertips, just barely, butterfly wings against the surface, and murmured out “Cosi bella…” as they shimmered across the peak of your nipples. 

Far back in the recesses of your mind, you felt dips of worry. Was this something that he said to everyone he was with? Was this how he treated all the women he’d brought back to his quarters — the quarters that you’d cleaned and prepared? But each time your mind wandered there, you pulled it back with a yank of a leash to the present. You were here, this was now, and you were going to enjoy what was happening in this moment. 

Your mouths connected again, this time more wantonly, and all you could taste was the uniqueness that was simply Terzo — the wine, the smokiness, the dark face paint. A groan escaped his lips into your own and he moved to box you in with his thighs on either side of your body. One hand found room just by your head against the ground and held him above you, while the other clutched to your left breast, kneading and squeezing at you with a mix of adoration and longing. 

When he brought his hips down to press against your own, you let forth your own series of moans into his mouth, and he all but combusted as he ripped your lips apart, hands hurriedly unbuckling his pants to shimmy them down his legs. Your reaches crossed one another’s as you both grasped at each other’s undergarments and tandemly pulled them down over hips and skin, revealing your bare forms in communion. 

From there you lie naked on the rug, Terzo on top of you, with sweat-slicked skin osculating as tongues and teeth gnashed passionately. Veil and shoes were long forgotten. You could feel his hard length pressing against the space between your sex and your thigh and it made a chill wash over the expanse of your body. As his hips rutted against your pelvis, he slid between your folds, slick coating him with delicious friction, and your arms wound under his own to curl around the strong muscles of his back and shoulders. You broke the kiss with a whimper and crooked your neck to the side. 

“Cardinal,” you hummed out, a little more needy than you had intended to, “don’t make me wait any more.”

He lifted his head to look in your eyes, a chuckle reaching past his lips as his hair nearly dripped across your forehead. 

“The virtue of patience isn’t something we celebrate in our faith, Dolcezza,” he purred as he brought his face close to yours, breath pricking across your lips and cheek as he moved his mouth to ghost your earlobe, “ —and I think you’ve waited long enough.”

With that, he pulled his hips back and you whined at the brief loss, your breath stilted as he pushed forward almost immediately, his cock pushing past your folds and into you firmly. You let out a choked groan and your eyes ripped open, watching the darkness of his pupils overtake his unmatched irises as he sank into you to the hilt. 

Your leg came up to hook around his hip and thigh as he pistoned in and out of you. Your hand gripped the furry fibers of the rug below, the other still curved around his back to hang onto his shoulder like he’d disintegrate if you let go. With every thrust you found God, and every retreat you went searching for redemption. 

Your Cardinal found solace in the arch of your neck, teeth nipping at skin and tendon as he grunted along with each forward movement. 

“Così buono con me. Sei così buono con me.”

Tension built up inside of your core, tugging at the muscles of your abdomen, and you felt your grip tighten around Terzo. Despite the stricture, you could feel your core blooming, softening taking everything he had as he worked himself inside of you, hips rolling and grinding. 

The smell of the sweat on his skin and the burning wood of the fire lit your own flames deep within you and you could feel your impending release begin to blossom. “More,” you cried, the noise so sweet in taste and sound to Terzo that he couldn’t help but obey. 

He pressed his lips to your neck in a series of wet marks. Your hand abandoned the rug and came up to card through his air, fingertips winding around the strands with a needy tug as you felt your pussy begin to contract around his thick cock. He knew you were close because he kept going, never faltering in his pace or touch, moaning little praises into the skin of your clavicle until lightening rushed through your veins. 

You came and it felt like everything and nothing all at once. You weren’t sure if you’d made any noise at all, but as your jaw hung open, eyes fluttering back into your skull, you were certain that within the Cardinal’s arms was the only place you were meant to be. Here, now, releasing yourself to him completely, with the firelight plaguing the walls as a reminder of your devotion to him, your Cardinal, and to the flames of hell and the one below. 

Terzo was soon to follow with his own orgasm. You could sense him tensing, his length twitching as his hips began to jolt against your own unrhythmically, throaty growls punctuating his movements. And as he filled you, you trembled against him from the fiery char of your release, your own inner muscles twitching as you welcomed his spend as sacrament.

Breath stilted and waned as he lay collapsed against you, skin slick with the proof of your union, and your fingertips found purchase soothingly stroking against his scalp. A beat passed and you relaxed in the aftermath of just the two of you. Terzo was the first to speak. 

“Was it worth it?” he hummed out, eyes peering up at you from his head that rested against your soft breasts. 

You furrowed your brows with a small smile. “What do you mean?” you asked.

He tittered and brought his hand to trace along the line of your jaw. “The wait,” he clarified, thumb rubbing sweetly over your chin, “Was it worth it?”

You felt warmth course through your chest and leak into your limbs. It was different than before. It was new, yet oddly familiar — like remembrance, uncovering a dusted memory. Your hand came up to clasp over his own on your chin, and you brought it to your lips, pressing them slowly, repeatedly against his skin. 

“You’re always worth it.”

🜏🜏🜏

Yet now, as you soak in the humidity that paints your skin while you move across the courtyard and to a lesser occupied area of the Ministry gardens, your mind replays your words from that night. “You’re always worth it.” Always. So finite, so absolute. 

You continued to walk, searching for a prayer, a sign from the one below that everything will click into place and the grand plan will be revealed over time. And as you settled down onto an earthen stone bench overlooking an old statue of the Emeritus family, eyes cast towards the statue that partially formed the man you’d fallen from grace for, you realized that there was no hot rain.

Only tears. 

Tag list: @copiasghoulfriend @copias-juicebox @the-lisechen @anamelessfool

Image Credit(s): Pinterest

[south-of-heaven]

Poly Judgement Day hurt comfort

Readers family tells her shes a disappointment and a burden and should leave tjd that she is an embarrassment to them

Rhea and the boys have to convince the reader that it's not true that they love her

Reassurance || The Judgement Day x Reader

Summary: Your family shows up and absolutely tear you apart mentally. You're left sitting alone on the locker room floor sobbing. Your partners enter and their hearts break at the sight of you.

You feel the weight of their words like a heavy anchor, pulling you down into a sea of doubt and hurt. Your family, the people who are supposed to support you, have just torn you apart with their harsh judgments. The stinging words echo in your mind, and you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of emotions as you try to process what they've said.

Tears stream down your face as you sit on the cold floor, the dressing room's harsh lighting making everything feel even more overwhelming. It's as if their criticism has stripped away your confidence, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

But then, as the door creaks open and your partners walk in, the atmosphere shifts. Rhea's presence is like a comforting shield, her arms enveloping you as she lifts you up. You find yourself on her lap, held securely against her chest. The warmth of her embrace contrasts sharply with the coldness you were feeling just moments ago.

Dominik, Damian, and Finn gather around you, their expressions a mix of concern and anger. They urge you to speak, to let out the pain that's been building up inside you. And as you do, their words of reassurance and love start to weave a protective cocoon around your shattered heart.

Rhea's fingers brush away your tears, her soothing voice telling you that your family's words don't define you. Finn's hand gently rests on your back, his voice firm as he reminds you of your accomplishments and strengths. Dominik and Damian chime in, echoing sentiments of support and understanding.

In that moment, surrounded by your partners who genuinely care for you, the negativity from your family begins to lose its power. Their love wraps around you, creating a barrier against the doubts that had threatened to consume you. You start to realize that your worth isn't determined by anyone else's opinion.

As they continue to hold you close, offering words of encouragement and reminding you of the love you share, you feel a sense of healing begin to wash over you. Your partners are your foundation, the ones who see your true worth and refuse to let anyone tear you down.

With their unwavering support, you begin to mend the broken pieces of yourself. The hurt is still there, but now it's tempered by the knowledge that you have a team behind you who believes in you wholeheartedly. And as you lean into their embrace, you understand that their love will always be your strength, no matter the challenges you face.

[hanaegpy]

I don’t know how he does it.

Drivers have always gotten hate, because they win too much or they win too little, because they complain too much or don’t complain at all, because they celebrate or don’t celebrate, because they congratulate or not congratulate, but social media really has become the most toxic environment for fans and drivers.

We all have favorite drivers and other drivers we don’t sympathize with as much, but the respect can’t get lost in the rivalries or what happens on track.

All 20 drivers have done something right to be there, whether they perform or not they all deserve at least our respect. Everybody makes mistakes, those mistakes don’t define them.

Imagine having millions of people telling you all your life’s work is worth nothing, you do everything wrong, you don’t deserve what you’ve worked so damn hard to accomplish.

Max has gotten hate even before he started driving, he’s been criticized for actions and behaviors that people praise on other drivers, yet he’s still there, standing tall and proud and proving everybody wrong.

I’m proud to support Max, not only beacuse of his incredible talent but also for his unmeasurable strength.

He has nothing to prove.

His name is written in the history books.

He’s one of the greats.

Shame some people won’t appreciate him until he’s gone, only then they will realize what an unbelievable talent they’ve been lucky enough to witness.