#Reverse 6 of Clubs

[juat-another-card-reader]

Cardinal Card Spread August 17th 2024

#Core-The-Autumn-Equinox: The time of harvest has ended, it is time collect all you have sown and grown, and prepare for the frigid winter. Batter down the hatches and ensure you have enough to survive the frost

#Woe-Reverse-6-of-Diamonds: The taste of victory drowns out all else, just because you have prepared well and see no faults in your plans does not mean it is fool proof. The old adage “men plan and fate laughs” was made for situations like this. You might have completed all your goals and met all your milestones but nobody knows what the future holds, not truly, stay vigilant.

#Weal-The-Crone-Summer: Don’t be to serious now though, planning is well and good but if you can never celebrate and enjoy the now because your to busy planning the perfect tomorrow than what’s the point? Take a moment and relax, let loose, take a cheat day and recalibrate, let future you be thankful for present you for once

#Within-Knight-of-Quills: Step forward, confident in what you know, in where your skills are, use them to your fullest and let not others stop you due to their jealousy and envy, but make sure if they bring up those things they are skilled and mastered in you listen. You have your strengths, and others have theirs, it is in combination with others that humanity rises to lofty heights it has.

#Without-Reverse-IX-of-Swords: The world seems like such a violent and dangerous place now doesn’t it, but we must not let the danger and violence become our entire world. Keep the blades sharp and yourself knowledgeable about their usage for when they are needed, but do not let them become your whole life. Don’t let yourself forget how to live in peace.

The future needs to be prepared for, but don’t let it consume you to the point where all that you will have will be “what could have been”. Take moments to enjoy the simple things and small delights, while planning and saving for the future.

[kato-neimoidia]

Made myself a Sabine Wren outfit for Halloween!

Didn't have time to add all the details I wanted to (shoulders and arms), or make the helmet, but I can do those later for another time

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

Blossom Reverse (Yandere Batfamily x Neglected! Poison Ivy's Daughter! Reader)

Chapter 6

A/N: so the next chapter will be crazy guys lol. I feel like there is always more happening. And there are only two more chapter I have finished writing and still need to edit. Then I will need to move my ass and write more. Hope you like this one!! Btw the taglist is closed for now, my phone can‘t handle the length of the list 😓 I will edit this later, and i‘m writing a new Drabble for this verse right now. Any suggestions or ideas are welcomed. :)

It started with a single sentence.

“Join us for dinner tonight.”

He’d said it so simply.

Calm. Final. Like a man who hadn’t ignored her existence for the better part of a decade.

Bruce Wayne. Standing in her doorway.

Looking down at her with the same expression he gave the board of directors at Wayne Enterprises—measured, controlled, unreadable.

And now he was inviting her to dinner.

She’d wanted to say no.

She almost did.

But something in his tone—low, grounded, irreversible—told her this wasn’t optional.

And part of her—some small, childish, weak part—didn’t want to say no either.

Not to his face.

Not when he was finally speaking to her.

So she nodded.

And smiled.

Just a little.

And said, “Okay.”

⸻

The table was longer than it needed to be.

Gothic carved edges. Candles flickering against the dim chandelier. The food was laid out perfectly by Alfred, as always—elegant dishes, polished silverware, cloth napkins she didn’t dare wrinkle.

She took her seat like she always had.

At the end. Near the wall.

The place she thought they preferred her to be.

Only this time—

They were all there. Almost all.

Bruce at the head.

Tim just two seats down from her, casting intense glances every so often.

Dick on the other side, trying too hard to smile naturally.

Damian across from her, arms crossed, eyes occasionally narrowing when she looked away too quickly.

And Alfred standing nearby, silent as ever, though his gaze lingered at her side longer than anyone else’s.

Y/N sat stiffly, fork light in her hand, barely picking at the soft roasted vegetables on her plate.

No one was talking.

At least, not much.

Dick was the first to try.

“So… how’s school?” he offered, smiling her way.

Tim echoed it, “Yeah. Classes good?”

“Fine,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

No one followed up.

The silence dripped in again.

She felt like the spotlight was burning.

Because for the first time in her life—

They were all looking at her.

Watching.

Studying.

Not maliciously.

Not mockingly.

Just… intensely.

Like she was something rare.

Or fragile.

Or worse—like she was someone they suddenly remembered was breakable.

She cut a piece of the food and pushed it around on her plate.

Her heart beat quietly in her chest.

She tried to breathe through her nose, smile when anyone looked her way. But her skin was too tight. Her hands cold.

And all she could think about was how she used to sit at this table, four chairs away from anyone, completely invisible.

And somehow… she preferred that.

Because now they were here.

And now they were seeing her.

And she didn’t know why. And she knew it couldn't be because of anything like love towards her.

No, she was sure. None of them would or even could ever love her.

It happened halfway through the silence, just as her fork hovered again above untouched vegetables.

Dick leaned forward, resting one arm casually on the table. His tone was warm—too warm. Like someone handling delicate porcelain he’d once dropped and only just remembered existed.

“So,” he said, “what’ve you been up to in school, little flower? Any clubs? Anything new?”

Her hand paused.

The silverware clinked quietly against her plate.

And then—she blinked, wide-eyed, her voice quieter than it should’ve been.

“…Are you talking to me?”

The table froze.

The stillness wasn’t angry—it was shocked.

Tim’s head tilted just slightly, a furrow forming between his brows.

Dick blinked, smile faltering. “Uh—yeah. Of course.”

Even Bruce’s eyes narrowed with a strange weight.  Alfred’s brow twitched slightly where he stood, pouring water into Bruce’s glass.

Damian scoffed from across the table, arms crossed.

“Tt. Are you too self-absorbed to hear your name when it’s spoken?”

The insult wasn’t sharp—just typical. Delivered with that familiar dismissiveness, the kind he always used when he felt confused or off-balance.

But Y/N still flinched.

Because it reminded her—again—that any attention from them was foreign. Unnatural.

And hearing her name in their voices still felt like some distant echo of a life she’d never fully been a part of.

She lowered her gaze to the plate again, then mumbled,

“I’m… the school representative this year.”

A pause.

Then she added, “Student rep. I got elected.”

There was a flicker of surprise around the table.

Tim blinked. “You? Really?”

Dick leaned back, grinning. “Hey, that’s actually really cool.”

Bruce didn’t speak. But he watched her closely now. His brow slightly furrowed, his posture still.

She shifted uncomfortably, voice quieter.

“I’m also in the gardening group. I help take care of the greenhouse.”

Her fingers tightened slightly against her lap.

“It’s stupid.”

Dick frowned. “No it’s not.”

She didn’t look at him. Damian muttered, “Figures.”

Not cruelly. Not coldly.

Just… like it was expected.

Like of course she would gravitate toward flowers.

And that—somehow—still hurt. It reminded her of her heritage, one of the reasons people will forever despise her.

Her fingers curled tighter around the hem of her skirt.

She could still feel it.

The glances.

The weight of their eyes. Not cruel. Not mocking. But pressing.

Watching her like she was something foreign, something that might wilt or crumble if they said the wrong thing.

She didn’t belong here.

She’d known that for years.

But this—this silence—was different.

Before, they’d ignored her.

Now, they looked at her like they didn’t know her at all.

Because they didn’t.

She remembered how dinner used to sound without her.

Voices. Conversations. Occasional arguments. Dick teasing Damian. Tim venting about casework. Even Bruce occasionally commenting about missions, news, politics.

Tonight?

Nothing.

The silence was because of her.

They hadn’t stopped talking for her.

They’d stopped because she was there.

And that made something in her chest coil with shame.

Alfred poured her water.

She hadn’t touched her plate.

Not one bite.

He said nothing.

But she saw it in the way his eyes lingered on her too long.

He noticed.

⸻

She swallowed.

Then gave a soft, breathy smile and said, “I need to help Maya with something. We have to call about our project. She’s not doing well with the script.”

She stood before anyone could respond.

Didn’t wait for permission.

Didn’t look anyone in the eye.

Just turned.

And walked—too fast.

Her footsteps light. The way she’d learned to move when she didn’t want to bother anyone.

She didn’t run.

Not until she was past the hallway.

She locked her door.

Slid down against it, breath shivering.

She wasn’t angry.

She wasn’t even crying.

She just felt… cold.

Because even now, when they finally remembered she existed—

It still didn’t feel like love.

The silence hung like smoke in the air.

Dick was still watching the doorway she’d disappeared through.

Tim’s fingers had gone still on his fork.

Even Damian looked mildly tense now—his shoulders sharper, jaw tighter.

Bruce didn’t move.

He just looked down at YN’s untouched plate.

Steam rising.

Completely full.

As if she’d never even tried to be part of the meal.

“She didn’t eat,” Alfred said quietly.

They all knew it already.

No one spoke.

Not even Damian.

Bruce stayed silent.

His hands folded neatly in front of him.

But his eyes didn’t leave that full, untouched plate.

___

Her plan was almost finished.

The envelope was sealed.

The fake signature was in place.

The burner phone was pre-loaded.

She’d picked out the back gate she’d use—the one where the cameras never worked right.

She’d even mapped the bus route to the far end of Gotham, where names blurred and no one asked questions.

Next Monday night.

She’d be gone.

⸻

In the last three days, she’d perfected the lies.

She told Bruce she had a student council report due.

Told Tim she had extra lab hours.

Told Dick she had sleepovers planned.

Even managed to slip past Alfred twice when he offered to drive her to school.

And she made sure to smile—like she used to.

To keep them calm.

Distracted.

Because the more they noticed her, the more they hovered.

And she didn’t know why.

⸻

They didn’t know what they were missing. But they knew they were losing something.

Bruce didn’t say it aloud.

But he noticed her shoes by the back door weren’t the same polished ones she wore to school.

He noticed the bus card tucked into her notebook.

He noticed the new shadows under her eyes when she returned late—even when she claimed it was “just Maya.”

And when she smiled too fast, too sweet, too easy…

He saw Martha’s softness in it.

And something hollow beneath.

⸻

Tim was the first to try casual contact—offering help with homework. Chess. Even suggesting he walk her to the bus once.

She dodged all of it.

At first, he thought it was shyness.

But now—he couldn’t help but check the cameras.

Track her phone once.

Then again.

But he never found her.

Because it wasn’t with her.

⸻

Dick visited more often. Every time he entered the manor, he asked Alfred if she was in. If she’d eaten. If she’d left anything in the kitchen.

He tried knocking once.

She said she was on a call.

Another time, she said she was baking cookies for her class.

He knew she was lying.

But all he could do was smile and say, “Tell Maya I said hi.”

⸻

And every day, she slipped out quietly.

Tended the garden behind the crumbling apartment building.

Talked politely with the landlord, who now left her old tools and gloves.

And smiled like she wasn’t holding her life together with shaking fingers.

Because when she left… she’d lose everything.

Her friends. Her name. Her school.

Her self.

But it was safer than dying again. Than knowing that the people you wished to care for you would never do.

⸻

That Night

She woke up gasping.

Sheets tangled. Skin cold. Eyes stinging.

It was the same dream again.

The memory.

Of the last few hours.

Before she died.

⸻

She remembered the smell of smoke.

Her own voice screaming.

A cold metal chair.

Wires digging into her skin.

A hand around her throat.

And a voice in the dark.

“Too soft. Too sweet. Should’ve never been a Wayne.”

⸻

Her body jolted upright.

She pressed her hand over her mouth.

And choked down the sob before it could wake the house.

When she was little, she used to go to Bruce’s door.

Tiny fists knocking in the night. Waiting. Hoping.

He was never there.

Alfred would find her sometimes. Scoop her up. Rub her back. Hum lullabies no one else remembered.

But eventually even he stopped hearing the cries.

Because she stopped making them audible.

And started enduring.

Alone.

She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve.

⸻

Alfred

He wasn’t surprised to hear footsteps.

Soft. Bare. Careful not to creak the floorboards.

But no one was more practiced at silence than Alfred Pennyworth.

And no one knew the rhythms of this house better than he did.

So when he heard her—

Miss YN, tiptoeing down into the kitchen at an hour where no child should be awake—

He didn’t call out.

He simply watched.

She moved like a ghost.

Shoulders curled in. Sleeves long over her hands. The glow of the stove light casting pale shadows across her cheeks.

She was thinner than he liked.

Too pale. Too quiet.

And far too distant.

Even now, her small fingers reached for the kettle like she was trying not to disturb the air.

Something had changed in her.

Something deep and quiet and frightening.

He’d noticed it for weeks. Longer, even.

But tonight—

Tonight he knew.

She was slipping away.

“Miss Y/N,” he said softly, just above a whisper.

She startled—just slightly. Her hand pulling back from the kettle, eyes wide, pupils dilated from the nightmare that still lingered behind them.

“Alfred,” she breathed. “Sorry. I just couldn’t sleep. I’ll go back up soon.”

He stepped into the light.

No scolding. No sternness.

Just that familiar, unbearable softness in his gaze.

“You’ve always come here after bad dreams, sweetheart.”

Her eyes dropped.

She gave a nervous little smile.

“I’m fine. Really.”

But her voice trembled on the last syllable.

⸻

The night had been thick with tension.

Ivy’s operation was falling apart.

The GCPD didn’t find her first.

Bruce did.

He returned that night to the cave bloodied and furious—but with something else in his arms.

A file. A name. A girl he had to find.

And later—when the cleanup team was sent to sweep Ivy’s hideout—

Alfred was with them.

He remembered the dark walls covered in vines. The broken glass. The abandoned chemicals and rotting moss.

And then—

In the corner of a cracked nursery, under a heat lamp and a pile of vines—

A toddler.

She looked up at him.

Eyes wide. Wet cheeks. Trembling lip.

And the expression.

So small. So lost.

But in that little face, he saw Bruce.

Saw the same tightly clenched jaw. The same furrow of the brow. The same eyes that had once looked at him from the crib in the east wing of the old estate.

She didn’t cry when he approached.

She blinked.

Then toddled forward. Shakily. Holding out her tiny hand.

And when he crouched down—when he extended his arms—

She fell into them like she’d always belonged there.

He’d whispered to her then, as she nuzzled into his coat:

“There now, my little bloom. You’re safe. You’re home now.”

She’d asked about her mother.

And he’d lied, gently.

“You’ll see your father soon.”

Because even then, he knew.

Even if Bruce didn’t.

She was his.

And Alfred—who had served generals and kings, fought wars and buried brothers—had only ever had one secret favorite.

One child in that cursed manor whose laughter made the halls feel alive again.

And he’d sworn, silently, holding her close:

“No one will ever take you from me.”

Not Gotham.

Not God.

Not even Bruce Wayne.

⸻

He set the kettle to boil.

Y/N sat on the stool like a child who had shrunk back into her bones.

He handed her a warm cup with honey and lemon—just the way she liked it as a toddler.

She wrapped her hands around it slowly.

Didn’t drink.

Didn’t speak.

“You’re planning something,” he said gently, after a moment. “Aren’t you?”

Her eyes lifted in a flash of panic.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t accuse.

Just smiled softly.

As if to say: Don’t lie to me, darling. I’ve raised you since your first breath in this house.

“You’ve always been my little bloom,” he said, voice low. “I know when you’re wilting.”

She didn’t answer.

But her eyes shimmered.

And Alfred Pennyworth, ever the gentleman, ever the shadow—

Decided then and there:

If she tried to run,

If she tried to vanish,

He would bring her back.

_____

Damian

She was lying again.

He watched from across the courtyard, arms crossed, jaw tight as his eyes tracked her movement. A soft laugh. A toss of her hair. That smile.

That damn smile.

He’d seen it before.

A long time ago.

Back when she used to run up to him after training. When she used to leave him little flowers on his practice mat. When she’d beam at him for a single glance in her direction.

Back when her world revolved around them.

Now?

Now she smiled like that for everyone but them.

He’d noticed the change before anyone else.

Of course he had.

He was raised to observe—to dissect.

And she was easy to read. Always had been. No poker face. No ability to lie worth anything. Her tells were childish, obvious.

Fidgeting. Blinking too much. Looking away when she spoke.

Only now, she was doing it constantly.

Her excuses were thin. Transparent.

“I’m helping Maya with something.”

“I’m organizing for student council.”

“I have a meeting after school.”

Maya didn’t exist.

He had checked.

Twice.

And still she kept slipping through their fingers.

Avoiding them.

Avoiding him.

And it infuriated him.

Because even if she was just a kid—even if she was soft, and fragile, and meant to be protected—she was still his.

And her behavior made no sense.

She was supposed to be the one who clung.

The one who lit up when he entered the room, even if he only sneered or turned his head. The one who offered him cookies, or asked him to walk her down the hall, or tried to braid his hair when she thought he was asleep on the couch.

She used to follow him like a kitten.

Now?

Now she walked ahead of him.

Away from him.

And smiled for strangers.

It made something in his chest twist.

And it made his mind sharpen.

He didn’t want to admit it aloud—not even to himself.

But she looked…

Like she was getting ready to leave.

And for the first time in a long time—

Damian Wayne felt something he didn’t like.

Not anger.

Not superiority.

But something sharp.

Tight.

Fear.

He clenched his fists inside his blazer pockets.

His eyes locked on her where she stood with her friends, laughing at something someone whispered to her.

And he felt it again—

That low, gnawing hatred.

Not for her. Never for her.

But for them.

The ones who got her smile now.

The ones who got her attention.

The ones who didn’t even know what she was.

⸻

She belongs to us.

To me.

And if she thinks she can just disappear…

He turned on his heel.

Cold.

Focused.

Determined to find out exactly what she was hiding.

And to stop it.

Whatever it was.

____-

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

But the second he heard it—the name, floating lazily off someone’s tongue—

“Wayne.”

His shoulders tensed.

His boots stopped cold.

He turned. Quiet. Dangerous.

The boys behind him hadn’t even noticed the way his gaze had sharpened.

He used to beat them for this.

All of them.

Any fool who threw his name around like it was cheap.

Until Father pulled him aside and told him it wasn’t honor—not like this.

And for once, he listened.

He backed off. (At least most of the times)

He tried.

But then he heard the rest.

“Yeah, she went up to Silas like last week. Alone. Just walked up to him and paid him off or something—like, what the hell?”

“Didn’t think someone like her would be talking to him.”

“Bet he was trying to pull her into his little side business—”

He didn’t even remember moving.

In a blink, he had one of the boys pressed hard against the locker wall, forearm across his throat.

The others stumbled back, shouting.

“What did you say?!”

His voice was ice.

Sharp. Refined. Deadly.

“Damian—chill, man—it’s just gossip, we didn’t say anything—”

“What. Did. She. Want. From. Him.”

The boy’s breath hitched.

Damian’s eyes narrowed.

No one touches her.

No one speaks her name.

No one gets close to her unless I allow it.

When he dropped the boy, he didn’t even wait for an answer.

Because he was already moving.

Already storming.

The fire in his chest burned with something worse than anger.

Rage.

He found Silas near the side building, leaning against the wall like he wasn’t a roach. A dirty cockroach. Someone that wasn't even allowed to breath the same air as his sister.

Damian’s fist connected with his face before the other boy could even speak.

The second hit drove him against the bricks.

“What the hell—!” Silas shouted, clutching his face.

“You spoke to her,” Damian hissed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—!”

“Y/N Wayne,” he growled, teeth gritted. “She came to you. What did she want? What did you give her?”

Silas spat blood to the side.

“She paid me. I promised not to say.”

Another punch. Silas dropped to his knees.

“I don’t care what she paid. I will know.”

A kick into his gut.

Silas wiped his mouth. Voice tight.

“She didn’t… do anything wrong, man. She just asked for a signature. A fake one. That’s it. I don’t know what for. I swear.”

Damian’s body stilled.

Signature?

A fake one?

His brain started to whirl.

Why would she need that? What is she planning? What the hell is she hiding from me—

But Silas wasn’t going to say more.

He could see it in his eyes.

He was keeping her secret.

Just like everyone else had kept things from him his whole life.

With a last punch that send him into unconsciousness, Damian spit on the boy.

He turned on his heel.

His eyes were determined.

Storming.

Hunting.

When Damian Wayne entered a room with rage in his steps, people moved.

They turned. Whispered.

Doors shut quietly. Eyes dropped.

Because when the youngest Wayne snapped, the whole school listened.

He found her.

In the courtyard.

With her friends.

Smiling.

Laughing.

That soft, sunlit expression that used to belong to him.

His voice rang out like thunder across stone.

Loud. Sharp. Echoing.

“YN. ELOISE. WAYNE.”

Every head turned.

Even hers.

And when their eyes met—

She flinched.

Her smile shattered.

And in her chest, something sank.

Because she knew.

He found something.

She was running out of time.

And she had to run from him.

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[maruflix]

☁️ UNIVERSITY DAYS! A WIND BREAKER SMAU

welcome, y/n, to the prestigious furin university! we have many clubs for you to join and a reputable student council for those looking for new friends! just watch out for the boys that are competing for your heart!

started 14/6　　⎯⎯　next update 23/6

content female reader, college/university au, law student reader, reverse harem, cursing, use of kms/kys jokes, suggestive and crude humor, ignore the time stamps, photos of y/n and other characters isn’t intended to depict actual race/physical attributes it’s merely for poses and vibes

taglist OPEN (22/50)

TEASER. FURIN UNIVERSITY: YOUR SOCIAL GUIDE! 🧷 letter of acceptance, the campus base, the group chats

✱ 01. FRESHMEN HUNTING

✱ 02. EMERGENCY CLUB MEETING ✍🏻

✱ 03. ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND PRESENTATIONS

✱ 04. *record scratch* YUP, THAT’S ME—

✱ 05. JOIN THE MMA CLUB!

More stories still being written...

EXTRAS. finalpresentation.pptx

a/n: SURPRISE DROP!!! happy 1,4k followers!! please reply to this post and this post only to be added to the taglist!

[duckysprouts]

can i have teenage dirtbag dick grayson hcs pls?? my parents are getting divorced i want to relate to him

in high school, dick was… interesting

1. he went to a prestigious private school with uniforms and never wore it properly. sometimes he would wear his gymnastics jacket over the summer dress shirt to hide the bruises and bandages that would peek through when he sweats. other times he would lie and say it was a sports accident

2. always red eyes. could have been weed, insomnia, or his daily breakdown in the bathroom

3. literally never shows up on time and comes up with increasingly wild excuses for why. still the top of the class

4. dyed his hair and wore jewellery even tho it was against code. they still let him keep it cause he was captain of the mathletes team and they couldn’t afford to lose him to win nationals

5. carries a pot and portable stove in his bag so he can make hangover ramen in class

6. hands always had bandages and sports tape

7. they made him get rid of his sneakers and wear dress shoes, so he started wearing weird socks instead. the worst was when he wore the grippy socks he stole from the mental health center

8. would pick up jason from book club and scare the shit out of everyone

9. got into fights a LOT. bruce sent a lot of gift baskets to the rich parents of the kids. but he secretly thought dick was in the right so all the gifts consisted of things he knew the family hated or were allergic to

10. regulated inconsistently between “energetic popular guy who is witty and fun to be around” and “dead inside” many times throughout the day

11. once borrowed a wax pen thinking it was a vape and was SO high for a geology exam that he resorted to licking the rock samples to identify them. he got a 98% on it, 2% off for spelling his name wrong

12. once stabbed himself with an epipen to stay awake long enough to study, nearly pissed himself

13. set the back of his hair on fire during patrol in sophomore year and had a reverse mullet for a few months (see picture)

[kamospeach]

(any pics without tags are bc i didn't know who they belonged to!)

plot: you wouldn't believe who you ran into

content warning: nothing yet

dean's (aka peachy) yap: are we ready?

if anyone asked how you got here, you wouldn't even know what to say. how did it come down to you being 3 inches away from gojo's face? how did you end up in his apartment, draped in his clothing? how did you end up finding out the nerd wasn't so innocent? how did you end up falling in love with him?

4 years ago

"there's an anime club... on campus?" you asked, brow furrowed in confusion. you couldn't believe your ears. who came up with that corny idea?

"yes! they're recruiting! isn't that so exciting?" she gushed, and you nodded slowly, not really relating to her excitement. it's not that you weren't into anime, but join the club? hell no. you weren't ashamed that you watched anime. if anyone asked you, were willing to nerd out? but you weren't willing to throw yourself in the line of fire for immediate bullying.

"for you, yeah." you nod with a laugh as you hiked your purse up on your shoulder. "what nerd came up with that weird shit anyway," you said and your friends mouth opened and closed no words leaving. your friend never answered your question, but satoru gojo surely did. slamming his hands on the table, clearly angry.

"this nerd." your face was frowned up as you looked at him. your first inital thought was: 'he's a nerd?'. but his glasses and sweater vest really pulled it together. but he was a lot nicer looking than the rest of the nerds around this university. "if you don't want to join then don't join but you don't have to talk shit about it."

"it's really not that serious." you shrug turning to look at your friend who was giving you a look. "i mean my friend is joining so just be happy about that," you said trying to take the attention off your shit talking. At any other time, you would have stood ten toes on your opinion. but this nerd was intimidating, and he was very good-looking.

present time

this was how you and gojo became academic rivals. from your first year all the way to your junior year, where it felt like you had every single class together. 4 out of 6 of your classes were online, so the two that were in person were now with none other than satoru gojo.

"i don't think gen z is addicted to social media. i think we intentionally spend a lot of time on the internet," you said, and satoru laughed, and you turned to look along the desk. he sat at least 10 people down from you, and you weren't in the mood today.

"i disagree our generation's reliance on social media has become so pervasive that functioning without it would pose significant challenges. it has shaped our social and cognitive habits in ways that are difficult to reverse," he said, and you scoffed, not even in the mood to argue with him today. after class, you felt a hand on your shoulder, and you turned around, seeing it was gojo.

"what do you want?" you asked, not in the mood for gojo to berate you for not being as articulate or smart or poised or strong-willed or whatever his big brain could think of.

"i'm surprised you didn't argue back today. turning over a new leaf?" he asked, and you snorted, perish the thought you had the urge to grow up.

"i'm just not in the mood to argue today. it's about to be our final year, let's figure out how to get along." you offered a truce, and a serious one at that. truthfully, you did feel like you had grown out of the silly little arguments you and satoru previously engaged in.

"right... well, if you can prove to me using social media is a choice and not an addiction, i'll take your proposal seriously," he offered, and you nodded, not opposed to the idea.

"how will you monitor it?" you asked, and he smirked, leaning over you as you deleted your social media.

"guess i'll just have to spend every moment of every day with you," he says, and you look up at him in utter disbelief. there was no way he expected you to tolerate him any longer than your regular and already lengthy class.

"hell no!" you said, and he sighed.

"how else will i make sure you don't cheat me? we'll just have to figure out things to do." and that you did for the rest of the week you and gojo were hip and hip. arguing about every little thing, where to eat lunch this day, and should you get smoothies this day.

“gojo, please, i’m tired. i want to sleep,” you begged as gojo skimmed through the books in the library. he didn’t care about your pleas; he just wanted to find his book. so he kept on looking and looking until he found the one. you were silently celebrating, thinking gojo didn’t notice.

“don’t get too excited. i need to go to the gym,” he smiled, and you scoffed. what nerd goes to the gym, you thought to yourself, only to find out not only was he athletic, he was also ripped? he even tried to encourage you to join his workout.

“no thanks, i’m not in the right clothing.” you shook your head and crossed your legs as you watched gojo lift the weights. “why do i have to follow you around? why can’t you follow me?” you asked, and he hummed, pretending to think on what you said.

“i mean, i could, but i don’t want to be cordial, you do. plus i don’t want to,” he says, letting out a deep sigh. he wiped his face with the hem of his shirt. unfortunately for you, you were flashed a full rack of abs. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8?!

the spit got caught in your throat as your eyes moved towards the thick trail of white hair leading into his workout shorts. you didn’t find him as attractive as you did right now. the way his lean body flexed and glistened in sweat under the gym lights.

your core was practically begging to see it from a different angle. preferably on top of you.

“no… no,” you whispered to yourself, attempting to rid yourself of the impure thoughts. which only caught gojo’s attention, turning to look at you.

“you talk to yourself? i mean, it’s okay if you do, but you could’ve warned me,” he said with a cheeky smirk that usually would make you wanna throw up. except this time, it made your lower body tingle with desire.

“no." was all you could get out without it sounding shaky and desperate. he just laughed to himself, not noticing the effect he had on you. after gojo's little workout, you both found yourselves at a cafe. sitting across from each other, he had a shit eating grin while you wore a stern face.

"what's wrong now, sweets?" he asked, head condescendingly tilting to the side. you were fed up with running behind gojo for a whole week. you had enough of looking like a lost puppy; it was time to put your foot down.

"look here, satoru gojo we need to make some rules," you said, and his smirk grew larger as he sipped at his drink.

"i like the way you say my first name," he said as his big blue eyes glistened under the artificial light. the air in your lungs seemed to get thicker. no way he was flirting with you right now. "what are the rules?" he asked, and you cleared your throat, ready to set your boundaries.

"first this challenge is only going to last 3 months which is the rest of the semester." you start and gojo hums mumbling a 'you sure you can last that long?' which only made the nasty thoughts in your head double no triple! "second one week i'll follow you and the other you'll follow me. but if we have important meetings we'll have to work it out with one another. don't get in each other's way, just act like friends who can't stand being away from each other."

"sure," he agreed without even thinking as you nodded to yourself, proud that you set boundaries between the two of you. staying off social media for 3 months would be hard for you, but you would never admit that to gojo.

"maybe we should... uh, get to know each-" you were cut off by a group of guys walking over to the two of you, a guy with long hair, a guy with pink hair, and a guy with two pigtails.

"no way we caught satoru on a date!" the one with the long hair laughed, making gojo wave them off. they all sat at the table looking between the two of you.

"it's not a date, and if this were a date, you all would be very out of line to be sitting at the table with us," he said with a slight attitude, giving the group of men a sharp glare.

"we knew this wasn't a date, satoru. you haven't been on a date since i've met you," the guy with pigtails said, rubbing his stomach. "i'm hungry."

"me too! let's get something to eat and put it on ryo's card," the long-haired one said, making the pink-haired one, who you assumed would be ryo, look up.

"says who?" his voice was deep and gravelly, actually very attractive. but honestly you preferred gojo's saccharine, cocky, condescending, and arrogant tone. you looked up at the tall man, only for you to feel a kick on your leg. you quickly turned to gojo, giving him a side-eye.

"it's rude to stare y/n," he said his familiar cocky smirk returning to his face. you rolled your eyes not in the mood to deal with his bullshit today, especially not in front of all these people.

"whatever, gojo, take me home," you said, now irritated that he embarrassed you in front of his friends. you began to stand until you felt a light grip on your wrist.

"you can't leave yet. satoru hasn't introduced you to us." now, his voice you could get used to: sultry, smooth, caring, and just overall sexy.

"let go of her wrist, suguru," he said, making this 'suguru' release his grip on you, allowing you to freely move. "we'll make the introductions quick so we can get out of here. geto, choso, sukuna," he said, pointing to them all and standing.

gojo didn't know if he was more embarrassed or jealous. embarrassed because they leaked his slow, unexciting, and nonexistent dating life. or jealous you looked at sukuna with such awe from his deep voice. or from the way geto softly grabbed your arm, using his voice to seduce you. 

he didn’t care after a while, he just wanted to get the two of you out of there. and so that’s what he did, grabbing your hand, practically dragging you out of the cafe. pulling you to his car, opening the passenger door for you to get in (that was the first time he’s done that out of the whole week).

“what’s gotten into you?” you asked, and he scoffed, looking out the windshield, not paying you any mind. he thought he hid his emotions better, but maybe not, since he practically rushed the two of you out of there.

“what are you talking about?” he asked, pressing on the gas, going way over the speed limit. it’s not that he didn’t want you around, he just wanted you out of his car. your perfume was suffocating him, clouding his better judgement to not admit- no…no. it was all his imagination, yeah imagination.

“i mean you got a little flustered in there when choso said you hadn’t been on a date in forever.” you tease and gojo chokes on his spit, making you giggle a little from his shocked reaction. making a swift turn pulling up outside of your apartment. “aww, kicking me out so soon?” you jokingly asked and he huffed as you laughed, climbing out of the car.

“bye, y/n,” he said, still looking forward not daring to spare you a glance.

“bye, satoru!” you say knowing how you saying his name affected him.

‘fuck’ he thought to himself, i need to get home now!

to be continued...

one two three four five six

university masterlist

taglist (open):

@grignardsreagent @stardollwrites @iiluvvslutss

[simpforbighands]

•WOULD YOU RATHER•

🫧 Enhypen ver. 🫧

*smut

🫧1. Be blindfolded and tied up by Jay while he teases you OR Sit on Heeseung’s lap blindfolded while he places hickeys on your neck

🫧2. Have your first time with Jungwon OR Have your first time with Jake

🫧3. Tease Jake OR Sunghoon teases you

🫧4. Quick sex before Jay’s performance on stage OR Unexpected sex with Niki after his hard workout on the gym

🫧5. Give Heeseung a hand job OR Give Sunoo a blow job

🫧6. Dominate Sunghoon OR Sunoo dominates you

🫧7. Make out with Jay in a cinema restroom OR Make out with Jake in his car

🫧8. Niki teases you sending his half naked photos saying that he is needy OR You tease Heeseung by sending your half naked photos while he is working

🫧9. You ride Sunghoon all night but then you are late for work and you get fired by your boos OR You ride Sunoo all night but then he is too tired and can’t dance to the new choreography

🫧10. Jay eats you out but Jungwon caught you and joined OR Give Jake a blow job but your best friend caught you but they doesn’t care and left

🫧11. Reverse cowgirl with Heeseung OR Doggy style with Jungwon

🫧12. Sunghoon slaps your ass till it’s red OR Niki bites your inner tight

🫧13. You moan Jake’s name while he fucks you hard in the practice room OR Sunoo moans your name while you ride him in his room

🫧14. Have rought sex with Jay getting to know his wild side OR Have gentle sex with Niki because it’s his first time

🫧15. Make out with Heeseung OR Give Jungwon a handjob

🫧16. Have a 3some with Jake and Sunghoon OR Have a 3some with Sunoo and Niki

🫧17. Watch porn with Jay and you end up fucking OR Watch porn with Sunghoon but he fingers you while watching

🫧18. Dress up in a maid costume and have Heeseung praising you OR Jake dresses up in a maid costume and you praise him

🫧19. Sub Niki but you don’t let him cum OR Sunghoon subs you but he doesn’t let you cum

🫧20. Have Sunoo cuming on your face OR Cum on Jay’s face while you ride his face

🫧21. Go to the sex shop with Jungwon and he buys everything you want OR Go to the sex shop with Heeseung and he buys everything he wants

🫧22. Try out bondage with Jake OR Try out shibari with Niki

🫧23. Have a wet dream of Sunoo OR Jungwon has a wet dream of you

🫧24. Call Jay “daddy” OR Have Sunghoon calling you “mommy”

🫧25. Have Jake give you chest hickeys OR Have Heeseung give you thigh hickeys

🫧26. You being too tight for Sunghoon OR Sunghoon being too big for you

🫧27. Go down on Jay in the bathroom at a party after you both got high OR Let high Niki finger you under the table at a club

🫧28. Lose your virginity to Jake OR Take Sunoo’s virginity

🫧30. Have slow, romantic sex with Heeseung OR Have a quick, rough sex with Sunghoon

**and that’s all..I promise I will make a longer version one day but this is all I have for a moment 😭**

[acesw]

Book Recommendations to various R1999 Characters

To celebrate the China release of Reverse: 1999's Artbook, Bluepoch decided to host an offline event where they'll sell the books + hold a book club event. Thus, they've set out book recommendations for various characters here, let's get to know them. :)

Vertin: How to Build a Shed

We hope that Ms. Vertin will enjoy this detailed guide to building a shed. When she's free in the suitcase, she can sit down with a cup of coffee and build a small shed to shelter her friends from the wind and rain in this chaotic era... We're all very much looking forward to Ms. Vertin's woodworking debut!

Lilya: How the Steel was Tempered

The cruelty of the battlefield, the torturous illness, the unyielding bones, the iron will—and the ideals and beliefs that have never been abandoned. The pilot girl from Zeno flew across the white land, and her alcohol jug contained many bitter and glorious stories.

6: The Myth of Sisyphus

Even if the boulder will eventually roll down, even if the end of the truth is to be questioned and overturned, at the moment of leaving the philosopher's cave, they've all transcended into their own destinies. Experience the absurd, fight against the absurd, and choose realism in the absurd. Perhaps the hermit watching from the sidelines will choose to nod his head. Sometimes, silence requires more courage than speaking.

37: Peter Pan

We have chosen this wonderful and interesting novel for Ms. 37: Even if she chooses to face this complicated world, we hope that when she turns the pages of the book, her clear mind will be able to return to the "Neverland" in her dreams once more.

Isolde: The Nightingale and The Rose

On a starry night, the nightingale wept blood for the rose under the moonlight. This romantic opera was brought about by death. We chose this masterpiece made by Oscar Wilde and gave it to Ms. Isolde, who has been pursuing art and love, to add color in her dreamland.

Kakania: Selected Stories from O. Henry

We recommend O. Henry's classic to Ms. Kakania, who is keen on interpreting the characters' inner thoughts. The intriguing coincidences, the suspenseful and ingenious structure, the twists and turns of the plot—within reason and beyond expectation, what kind of ending will sincerity and true love usher in?

Tooth Fairy: Doctor Zhivago

In the torrents of time, a doctor went against these tides alone, and composed a profound and moving song of freedom. He never gave up the life of any patient and never hesitated to resist every injustice faced. We believe our Ms. Tooth Fairy would also agree: above the absolute truth, there is the purest humanity.

Ezra: Let's Go Gardening (by Zhang Chenliang)

There's no doubt that every friend that likes planting will have fun in this book and learn more interesting knowledge about nature. We invite you to feel their every breath, observe their growth in every moment, and stay with these silent companions for a long time.

They give out these silly bookmarks when you buy some of the recommended books and depending on how much you spend. :')

[maddascanbe-blog]

Oh guys. We are so back.

After ALMOST A YEAR I finally got around to drawing the guys. I started with Marc, because I already knew where I wanted too go with his design. All of their civilian designs need revisions, mostly because of art style changes.

I already mentioned in his first redesign that I was pretty much overhauling his personality. That's still true here. The only thing Marc lacks confidence in is his showing his writing to people, he's very friendly and really excited to try things his friends recommend, like soccer or joining art club. Just not with showing his fanfictions to people just yet. Hey we've all been there buddy.

He's got a decent following on Ao3 i'd imagine.

As for design, the darker skin tone is an obvious change, I kept misremembering Marc to have darker skin so I figured I'd role with it. I also made his hair brown instead of black and- Oh, oh fuck his hairstyle in cannon. Agh, it hurts. Note, I don't think Marc was intentionally supposed to look very fashionable, and I tried to carry that through here, bro is wearing mixed metals, a red jacket and a tye dye muscle tee, but at least the colors are a little nicer.

Reverser isn't too different, aside from the lack of hood and no lipstick. Mostly cause I spent 20 minutes struggling to draw his mouth. But I hope you can forgive me because I did give Rooster Bold lipstick instead!

I like rooster bolds design- in theory? I think it looks kind of off in cannon. Definitely my favorite design from Penalteam.

Oh and uh, the season 6 design, we've only seen him in the intro, but why is Rooster Bold 80% blue now?? When Oriko is explicitly orange?? Love the shoes though.

[Edit:]

I have also decided to change the Rooster Miraculous itself some. Now the power is called Chicken Scratch, and the function is that a user writes down a rule. But everyone must be effected by it, not just the attacker.

So theoretically, RB could write "Everytime someone score a point everytime they have the ball." But not "I score everytime I have the ball." So he needs to be clever about it. In addition, the rules tend to have a monkeys paw effect, so the user needs to be willing to take the bad with the good.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Let the Horny Tata Agenda Continue (AKA Happy Pride)

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

June 2025 Week 1

Ongoing Series - Thai

Knock Out (Fri WeTV ) ep 4 of 12 - Oh they are great together and I adore them but I'm so nervous about how soon in the arc they're in the sack. This pacing usually means dark times are coming for our boys in the 2nd half. I would’ve preferred a slow burn and external conflict. I sense a breakup and lots of angsty trauma incoming.

My Stubborn (Sun iQIYI) ep 6 of 10 - This show is foolishly good, emphasis on fool. I love Jun getting some of his own back. Biting off more than he can chew. Erm... sucking down more than he can swallow? I think Sorn may have a neck fetish and I support this kink. I adore him defending his chew toy against yet another HR violation. Add in some honorific negotiation? I'm so happy. I love that they actually let the lipstick lesbians' lipstick get all messy. Sorn showed his hand a bit with the “want to be her daughter-in-law?” line. Delightful. Carry on absurd sexy show, you might actually be a kind of BL surrealist art. I haven't decided yet but I'm enjoying the journey.

Reset (Mon iQIYI) ep 1 of 10 - Pond & Peterpan (we love this idea) in yet another celebrity melodrama? Srs? (Yes it's a 2025 trend.) And another time travel thing? Oh boy. (10 points if you get THAT joke, also, you're old.)

And yet... I love it. It's riveting. They cast two very charismatic leads. It’s engaging for all that it's not a very original concept. Does originality it matter when the team is this good? It’s reminding me of a mixture of My Stand In + Triage. And I’m not mad about that combination. I didn’t know I wanted it, but apparently I did. I’m gonna enjoy my Monday nights for the next couple of months.

Pit Babe 2 (Fri iQIYI) ep 6 of 13 - Babe should have let Charlie beat up Willy, everyone would’ve enjoyed that. Bf putting his own superpowers to good use. It was fun to see Alan go all Daddy on Babe though.

I just want Kenta & Kim to quietly become this solid stable judgy couple sitting on the sidelines and observing all the other chaos gays around them while going home together shacking up and eating.

Look by all measures this is a Very Silly Show. But I grin like a fool most of the time i’m watching it, so who tf cares? 

Eye Contact (Weds WeTV) ep 4 of 12 - it’s hilarious that we think the dad is going to step in and ruin everything, when instead he just pushes them closer together. I did have a chuckle at the reversal of that particular trope. Fun times. Next week looks bad tho. Like bad BAD.

Speaking of bad. The acting in this one so awful it’s beyond awkward. Everyone except Tora of course, who is experienced at the genre. That said, I would still like to see the actor playing Chain in a lead. He is so pretty and I am so shallow.

The BangkokBoy (Sat Gaga) ep 7 of 12 - Sun is so baby. Yet again I would like more BL and less gangster.

The Next Prince (Sat iQIYI) ep 6 of 14 - The dad suddenly being interested does not read as authentic to me. Even though I think he is meant to be a sympathetic character. Wildly amused by the matching cream lace men’s lingerie on our side couple. I guess that’s a thing in BLandia now. Please make it a thing. I do like their dynamic and that our pet is given agency within his whipping boy relationship. JimmyOhm give good kiss, tf! 

I did enjoy the sequence of them all at the club together dancing, Royals on the loose. Cutie vallet getting picked up in background! You go baby! A pleasant sojourn for all. Minus the fighting, I guess. Look here, a bodyguard with a rain phobia in a part of the world where there is a rainy season and monsoons is patently ridiculous. He should not be doing that job. Excuse for kisses I guess. But honestly I couldn't be less interested in the leads.

Boys in Love (Sun iQIYI ) ep 7 of 12 - OK so everybody is officially boyfriends now, how we gonna drag this into 12 eps? They are all v so cute! Even the teachers. Especially the teachers. They are my favorite. They are adorable. Wish the show was entirely about them. Cute cuddling and all but SHOES ON COUCH!  

My Sweetheart Jom (Fri YT) ep 4 of 12 - I’m not mad about this being Yoon’s era of playing everybody’s hot older brother. Also I’m enjoying this show more now that I’m watching it on a faster speed. I don’t like to do that with Thai stuff (because I’m trying to get better at the language) but this one is just taking too much out of me on normal speed. So it's at 1.5 now and I gotta say, much easier to swallow.

I Promise I Will Come Back (Mon WeTV) ep 3 of 10 - I'm not wild about this but also I have to point out that this would be a lot worse if the leads were not seasoned BL actors. which is not to say that this show is good, cause I don’t feel like it is, but it certainly better than it has any right to be. Victor is very smooth! NO SINGING shower or otherwise. The night market date was very cute though.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Sweetheart Service (Korea Fri YT) ep 5 of 12 - Fantastic. Nonverbal chest inertia gets us all in the end.  

Ball Boy Tactics (Korea Thurs iQIYI) ep 1 of 8 - After retiring from gymnastics, painfully shy Jiwon is struggling to survive university. Campus heartthrob and basketball star JeongU might actually make things worse... or better?

I love it. Of course I do. It’s great, sort of Semantic Error meets FC Soldout, carry on with your bad self, Korea. 

Moon and Dust (China YT) ep 3 of 6 - The only reason this isn't higher up on this list is because it's China and I don't trust it. It's so delightfully warped and craptastic and I am obsessed. But also terrified. Never forget The On1y One happened to us recently.

The Sparkle In Your Eye (Singapore Sun Gaga & Viki) eps 5-6 of ? - weirdly, I’m liking it more now that they are pining and separated and everything has shifted to become a bit darker and more sophisticated. This is still not my kind of BL, but I appreciate it a little more now its gotten twisted. I like that it’s a tangled chewy interesting story, like knife-cut noodles.

What's happening to me? Is my taste getting... mature? Surely not.

It's airing but......

The Ex-Morning (Thurs YT) 10 eps - sorry all I dropped this half way through ep 3. I just felt like it was pulling teeth to keep going and I was just angry at it, at GMMTV, at the script, at the characters. That's not healthy for any of us. I do this for fun. If it's really amazing in the second half I might give it a try, but for now, I'm out.

Loy Kaew First Love (Fri YT) 6 eps - Dropped at ep 4. Just too much other stuff too poorly acted, edited, scripted, just everything bad.

Season of Love in Shimane AKA Ai no Kisetsu: The Season of Love (Thai) - Sequel to Kiseki Chapter 2 which I intensely disliked. I won't watch this.

Mission to the Moon (YT) 12 eps- Watching but I can't keep track. Too short, too many, too YT. I will report at end.

In case you missed it

Sweet Tooth Good Dentist ended tf - GMMTV would like you to know that JimmySea are endgame in every BL ever, even if it’s not their own. Which is a shame, since they both have chemistry with other boys. But whatever. I will say the sex positivity of this show, especially at the end, is a real bonus. But it's the only one. Still, GMMTV how far you have come.

Summary

What a disappointment. I was super excited to have Mark lead a BL finally. And he did his best but I wasn’t sold on the chemistry between the main couple, even though Mark has demonstrated he can have chemistry with everybody. Poor directing then? Or was it his partner? Putting that aside, it was more the plot, or weird lack of one, and underdevelopment of characters that disappointed. There was just something off all along with this show. It’s difficult for me to put my finger on exactly what it was. Which makes me thing it was mjltiple somethings. It made this show a challenging watch from about episode three on. And I don’t imagine ever returning to this with any kind of enthusiasm. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t very good either. 7/10 and there’s a part of me that’s tempted to drop it all the way to 6. 

In other news: that "stressed desserts" sweatshirt is the first merch I’ve actually ever wanted to buy off of a BL.

Top Form ended - It was an OK ending. Honestly, I simply never got into this show in the way that most of the rest of the hellsite did. I blame the honey.

Summary 

Two actors who are in competition with each other professionally fall in love and it gets complicated. This show was well acted with good chemistry (that honey scene is one for the history books) but it was a bit off for me. The ego conflicts of the filmmaking industry came to the fore but awkwardly (like this sentence). Frankly? I didn't enjoy the premise or the story and I can’t get away from that. Based on Japanese IP, I think this might have been better left to Japan. This is a solid Thai BL and if you like its brand of messy gay and actor narcism full frontal, then you'd likely give this a 9/10. I don’t, so it gets an 8/10 from me. But I recognized that this is my specific taste and no reflection on its quality as a BL.

Fight for You ended - even though I wasn’t particularly invested in the sides, I loved the closure of that triangle and it did make me cry. Ultimately that side pair is SO PRETTY I hope the actors get their own show. Also, absolutely nobody does domesticity as well as Taiwan they are so cute. NO SINGING. A solid v taiwanese sappy ending. 

Summary

There is a lot to like about this BL, it has a cops and robbers romance thread running through it with intelligence officers trying to catch a gang of criminals. The valentine's operation does have the secret identity drawback of one character constantly lying to his mark. While this dynamic is intrinsically distasteful IMHO, the Liar is so sunshine and charming and earnest (about everythign ELSE) it's somewhat mitigated. Ultimately this lost its way a little bit, but the support cast was excellent. The pretty side triangle, while it ended poignantly, was underdeveloped. That said, the whole thing was colored positively by Taiwan's sexy charm and signature chaotic domesticity, but that jarred with the gangster premise. In the end, I’m torn. It’s classic Taiwan: a bit messy dramatic, sweetly sincere at heart, but overly sappy. None of which I’m not opposed to. Still, I don’t think I’m gonna be re-watching this one very much so I'm giving a solid 8/10, and that's abut where it belongs.

My Golden Blood finished its run. Word on the street is a solid ending. Not enough to temp me. I'm leaving it a dnf.

Making Thai Subtitles: Culture, Slang & Curse Words - excellent interview with a professional translator (who translates English media into Thai for Netflix). I know it's the wrong direction for most of us but still very fascinating to hear a pro talk about her work.

Vertical KBL No Dating in Boarding School AKA Boarding School Love Story has shown up cut together as full on grey sites and YouTube. Stars Jeon Woo Jin & Han Kyu Min. I don't like verticals but I really enjoyed this one and you will too if you like uni BL and its component tropes and quirks. The story of shy quiet studios and poor Jinwoo who gets sucked into the drama of rebellious rich kid Eunhyeok. They fall in love despite their own, and everyone else's, objections. Here from a fan subber, catch it while it's avaiable. I will not be held responsible if you miss it.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Coming Up

(I'm not confident on any of these, mostly rumor-based.)

6/13 I Became the Lead in a BL Drama 2 AKA Zoku BL Drama no Shuen ni Narimashita (Japan ????) 6 eps - Another 2nd season I certainly did not want. This time the story tells what challenges they have to face as a relationship. Also the story of the managers continues.

6/16 Revenged Love (China Gaga) 16? eps - A remake of 2015's Falling in Love with a Rival. From China ON GAGA? Wild. What alt-reality IS THIS? I have had them for 3 seconds but I'm already obsessed with the side couple.

6/17 SunTiny (Thai iQIYI) 10 eps - MaxNat are back as SunNuea from their Y-Destiny showing. The spoiled prince with the hot tutor (in case you forgot). They in an LTR and then... bodyswap. I know I know, I'm confused about all of this too. But Cooheart is looking FINNNEEEE so what the hell.

6/20 Memoir of Rati (Thai Netflix or YT) 12 eps - GreatInn in a HISTORICAL with a class divide and everyone's favourite side couple, AouBoom. Initially I was v excited but now 2 things: Netflix (I do not chill) and sad ending. I might save this to binge. I am getting serious I Feel You Linger in the Air vibes. And I can't go through that again right now.

6/20 Depth of Field (Japan Fuji TV)

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

From Sweet Tooth Good Dentist (they got me, okay?)

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In Bloom 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, allusions to trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After wasting much of your youth in a toxic situation, things are starting to look up. That’s until you meet a certain flower seller.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Note: My sweet pathetic man.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You clasp your hands in your lap as the car radio buzzes. You’re thankful for the noise as you don’t have much to say. Uncle Morris is nice, always helpful, but you just don’t know what to say. It doesn’t bode well for the day ahead. He’s just driving you to the farm, then you’ll face the real challenge. 

You watch the fields pass. Horses shake flies away with their long manes, cows chew on grass, and crops sway in the wind. It’s peaceful; pastoral as one of your books might describe it. It’s much nicer than staring at the same fading and peeling walls every minute of every day. 

Uncle Morris turns the car and slows the wheels. He squints up at the farmhouse then taps his phone, mounted on the dashboard. He grumbles. 

“Think I got your aunt’s instructions right,” he says. 

“This looks like it,” you assure him. You recognise the painted decoration hung on one of the pillars; a sheep in a crown of flowers. Adorable in an absurd sort of way. 

“Hm, alright. You got everything, kiddo?” He asks. 

He still calls you that despite your age. You suppose he still remembers that quiet little girl who used to hide behind her hands. You probably haven’t changed that much. You still feel just as terrified. 

“Yes, thank you,” you say as you undo your seat belt. 

“Anytime,” he chimes. “I’ll be back in the afternoon to get you. Your aunt’s got one of her club meetings after work.” 

“Okay,” you nod and open the door. 

You get out and step back. You wave at him as he reverses and veers around. He drives off and you take a breath. You grip the handles of your lunch bag. Aunt Beverly bought it for you; purple checkers on white. She also got you a new pair of gardening gloves with sunflowers on them. You brought those in case. 

“Hey,” Cole’s voice startles you as you stare after the rolling speck of your uncle’s car. 

You face him and give another tiny wave. He smiles. He’s always so happy. 

“You’re early,” he says. 

“I...am?” You croak. 

“No worries, better early than late,” he comes down the steps of the porch. “What’s that?” 

He points to your hand. You lift your hand slightly. “My lunch.” 

“Oh. You didn’t have to do all that. Ma left some food in the fridge for us,” he says. 

“Um, sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says.  

“Okay. I’m sorry. I mean--” you stammer, the sweat trickling down your nape.  

At the market, it was you and Cole and all those strangers. Now it’s really just you and him. You wish Aunt Beverly was here. She always knows what to say. 

“You want some coffee or something before we get started?” He offers. 

You shake your head. 

“Tea?” 

“No thank you.” 

“Well, it gets really hot so we’ll get you some water.” He gestures you closer. “Let’s go put that in the fridge.” 

You near him and he waits until you’re up the steps and next to him before he moves. He wears a short-sleeved flannel shirt, unbuttoned to show his ribbed white tank beneath. He turns and opens the door, holding it for you as you enter. You stop inside and he nearly bowls you over. He touches your hip as he slips around. 

“Oop, almost knocked you over,” he says. 

You blanch and put your hand where his had been. He’s not bothered. He didn’t mean to. You shouldn’t be. 

“Here, let me take that,” he says. 

You nod. 

“Everything okay?” He asks you give him the bag. 

You look up the staircase, “don’t wanna wake your mom or anyone.” 

“Oh, she’s gone. Out of town. Went up to see her sister. Dad too.” 

You don’t say anything even as the panic surges through you. The thought, the reality, of being out here all by yourself with just him, in the middle of nowhere... Cole hasn’t hurt you. He’s helped you. You need to stop being so... you. You need to get over it. 

You look down as he goes down to the kitchen. You stay on the mat. You rub the back of your hand where the scar is. The fridge liner sucks as it opens and closes then a drawer slides out. His footfalls thump again and he appears. 

There’s something in his hand as he approaches. He holds out the baby blue cloth. 

“Thought you could use this. Tie it around your head. For the sweat,” he explains. 

“Oh, thank you.” 

“It’s simple work,” he points you back out the door. “I’m sure you know how to plant.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“And prune?” 

“Sure.” 

“I’ll have to show you what to look out for. The rot and all that,” he follows out across the porch. You feel heat along your lower back, like he might touch you again. 

“Right,” you go down the steps. It comforts you when he talks about the flowers. That’s something you know about. 

Like last time, he takes you to the greenhouse. The sun gleams off the glass panels. He opens the door and you enter the stolid building. You tie the bandana around your head, knotting it tight. 

He leads you down the table near the right wall and he stops you by a table of jars. 

“These things always sell well. The novelty of it.” He reaches for a mason jar already filled with dirt and a cluster of petunias. “I try to do a little of each. The bee balm sells well since it attracts humming birds.” He turns the jar. “Tie a ribbon around the top...” he touches the little bow there. “You can use twine too.” 

You nod. You’re not sure you’ll be very good at that part.  

“People like stuff they can reuse, you know?” 

You frown as you fixate on the tidy bow. You lean forward to examine the tails, exactly the same length as each other. You can try. 

“Here, I’ll show you how,” he says. He takes an empty jar. “Jar, fill it with soil, pick your flower.” He works with certainty, “transfer.” He delicately moves the periwinkle over and packs the dirt with his fingertips. His hands are much bigger than yours but precise. “The ribbon... sometimes it’s easier to do that first.” 

He bends down and narrows his sights at the ribbon as he weaves it around and expertly loops it into itself. The bow is just as perfect as the first. You hold back another grimace. 

“Um... okay.” 

“You do one,” he dusts of his hands. “Come on, you can do it.” 

You look at the table, then him, and back to the table. You slowly drag over and empty jar. You add a little soil, like he did, then choose some marigolds. You do your best to pack down the dirt; not to tight. You focus on the work, trying not to think too much about him watching you. 

You get to the last part. The ribbon. You fumble it then manage to get it around the short neck. You struggle to loop it and when you finally do get it to catch, the bow is lopsided and twisted. You step back and throw your hands up. 

“I... I can’t--” 

“It’s okay. It takes practice,” he assures you. “You can try again.” 

You shake your head. 

“I can’t.” 

“It’s really not a big deal.” 

“Can you do it? I can plant them and... you could do the bows.” 

He gives a thoughtful hum, “that works for me.” 

You move closer to the table. You take another jar. He bends to fix the ribbon you contorted. The simple task of rehoming the flowers is easy. It makes being here a little less jarring. 

You hand off the second jar and start a third. The swear streams on your neck and the bandana dampens with your scalp. The humidity inside the greenhouse is made worse by that without. 

You keep a tempo. You pass on the jars, he decorates them with a ribbon and a tag. You wonder how he does all this by himself.  

He backs up and you glance over curiously. He unbuttons his flannel shirt and strips it off. The white tank clings to his sweaty skin. You can almost see the fabric. You avert your gaze, trying not to notice how your own tee shirt sticks.  

He comes back to the table. Your eyes stray again. This time you notice his bicep and how thick it is. He must be strong. Very strong. 

Thinking about it, your hands begin to shake. The thought is not only scary but forbidden. You shouldn’t think about what he looks like. 

A jar slips from your grasp towards the edge of the table. You try to save it but can’t, too flustered to do more but help it in its ruin. It smashes on the ground before your feet and the dirt and petals explode across the floor. 

You back up and bring your hands to your mouth. They smell like soil and pollen. You bat your lashes as Cole straightens and looks at you. You whimper. 

“I’m so sorry. So so sorry.” 

“Hey, it’s okay, sweetie. Are you--” 

“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you babble and push your shoulders up as you tuck your chin down. You put out a hand. “I didn’t mean to break it. Please.” 

“Woah, it’s alright. I’m not mad.” He says. 

You suck in a breath and let it out with a shudder. Your eyes sting but you keep the tears inside. You put your hands to your cheeks. Your heartbeat pounds behind your ears. 

“You’re-- not?” You ask. 

“No,” he half-laughs. “Accidents happen. Oh gosh, you know how many of these things I’ve broken?” 

He bends and picks up the bigger shards. “You should back up though. I don’t want you getting cut, okay?” 

“No, I can help,” you squat down and grab for the glass. The slice makes you hiss and recoil. 

“Hey,” Cole says again. “Oh my god,” he drops the glass carefully cradled in his hands. “Oh no, you’re cut.” 

You look down at your hand. There’s a gash across your palm. Your brain buzzes and your skin tingle. You’re no stranger to the sight of blood. Not your own, at least. 

He grabs your hand and reaches for his shirt. He wraps it around to stymie the flow as you whine. He’s touching you. He’s touching you and it hurts. But it’s not his fault. You cut yourself. 

“Ow,” you gasp as he squeezes. 

“I’m sorry,” he tugs you away from the table. “It’s pretty bad. We gotta get it cleaned up.” 

“Oh, uh... oh.” You sputter dumbly, dizzy as muffled voices nip in your head. 

“Are you squeamish? You gonna faint?” He asks with concern as he reaches the door and feels behind him for the handle. 

“N-no,” you wisp. 

He drags you outside and turns you toward the house. He keeps a hold of your hand and his other arm hooks over your shoulders. He marches you up toward the farmhouse. Your legs are stiff and your steps heavy. 

You blink and suddenly your inside. Your vision speckles and clears. It’s like you just lost minutes. You watch him lift the wadded dishtowel and check your hand. 

“Nothing I can’t fix,” he says. “But I’m a bit iffy with blood myself. Still, watched Ma fix me up a few times.” 

“Cole,” you garble. “I’m very sorry.” 

“Please, stop. Don't be sorry.” He says and takes your other hand. “I need you to keep pressure on this while I get the first aid kit.” He clings to you, squeezing until you do the same. “Can you do that for me?” 

You nod. He huffs. 

“Alright, I’ll be right back, alright?” 

He grips your shoulders and you flinch. You just dip your chin down again and again. Your hand barely hurts as the sensation of his touch singes across your skin. The fire spreads and consumes you even as he lets go. 

You lower your head and sink on the stool. You already messed this up. Aunt Bev is going to be so mad. Is she finally going to see what you really are? 

[vamptember]

WELCOME BACK TO THE VAMPIRE PARTY! 🦇

Welcome to our third annual Vamptember event celebrating Anne Rice's The Vampire Chronicles and all its adaptations! 🖤

For the month of September please join us in making vampire stuff! Fic, art, headcanons, playlists, meta, anything you can think of! Base it on the books, the 1994 movie, the AMC show, the musical, whatever you want! Canon or AU, get creative!

RULES

1. There are no rules. Please have fun!

2. Each day has THREE PROMPTS in case one doesn’t speak to you! Pick one or combine them or rearrange them, it’s up to you!

3. Tag your posts #vamptember so that we can reblog! If your post isn’t showing in the tag please don’t hesitate to DM it to us!

4. We finally have an AO3 collection this year, find it here!

Tell your friends and share to spread the word! Daily prompts (3/day) under the cut!

1. 1920s / Experiment / Eros & Psyche

2. Pomegranates / Sick / Dating App

3. Eucharist / Slice of Life / Gentleman Death

4. Private Jet / Tape Recorder / Missing Scene 

5. Romeo & Juliet / Meet Cute / “The easy cleft of my mortality”  

6. Library / Genderswap / Shrine

7. FREE DAY

8. Medieval AU / Honey / “Evil is always possible” 

9. Colosseum / Flights of Devils / Slow Burn 

10. Phantom of The Opera / Rat / Ceremony

11. Nomad / “He ate my heart” / Aphrodisiac 

12. Beautiful Boy / Grocery Store / Magic

13. Night Club / Tiara / Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

14. FREE DAY 

15. Ghosts / Breakfast In Bed / Three Is Company

16. Roleplay / Office / Forest

17. Kittens / Reverse AU / “You made a mess”

18. Lost In Translation / Eras / Marriage

19. High School AU / Metamorphosis / Dream Daddy

20. The Romance of Certain Old Clothes / 1497 / Blind Date

21. FREE DAY

22. Music Video / Pupil / Egg

23. 5 + 1 / Cigarette / Guardian Angel

24. “Half in love with easeful death” / Divorce / Mercury

25. Hospital / Celestial Bodies / Garden

26. Funeral Pyre / Tea Time / Dress Up

27. Drag / Reptile / Hair Washing

28. FREE DAY

29. Hunger / A Mother’s Love / Insects

30. Your Age / Tattoo / Epilogue

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 6: Tarzana]

A/N: Where has the time gone??? We are officially halfway done with this series! Thank you so much for reading, besties. It has been an honor to curse you all 🥰🪄

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, T.J. Maxx, Chinese food, a phone call from Minnesota, illness, entertainment industry misogyny, Jace is clueless, Becca bakes bread.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

“What happened to your foot?” Baela asks from the kitchen. She’s doing yoga poses in the middle of the floor. Jace is noisily pawing around in the refrigerator. His iPhone is on the counter, and from it emits a horrible throbbing Charli XCX song that sounds like something they would use to torture prisoners at Guantanamo Bay.

“Yeah, I wanna dance to me, me, me, me, me,

When I go to the club, club, club, club, club…”

You are lying across the orange couch with your left ankle elevated on a stack of pillows and covered with an ice pack. You flip a page in one of those heavy coffee table books with lots of pictures from Barnes & Noble; Baela’s parents bought it when they were furnishing the apartment, and again you are reminded—the weight in your hands like solid gold—of how much they believe in her. The book is about the history of Los Angeles. “Becca pushed me.”

Jace gasps and looks up from the refrigerator. “Why would Baela do that?!”

“No, Jace, Becca,” you say. “My agent’s fiancée Becca. That’s who pushed me.”

“Oh,” he says, and resumes rummaging around in the refrigerator until he finds a cannister of Pillsbury biscuits. He cracks it open and begins plopping pucks of dough on a baking sheet.

“Did Becca find out?” Baela asks you as she does the Reverse Warrior pose. “About the…you know…”

You shrug, guilty, defeated. Your swollen ankle pulsates hotly. You are bone-tired and wholly uninspired, a foreign feeling that makes you wonder if the part of you you’ve always assumed was eternal could die after all. “I guess. I kind of tried to confess but she seemed to already have it figured out.”

Baela snaps upright and gawks at you. “Why would you confess?!”

“I thought you said what I did was wrong.”

“Well yeah, it was, but that doesn’t mean you tell his fiancée! You don’t know her! What if she’s crazy? What if she’s like that astronaut lady who put on a diaper so she could drive nine hundred miles to pepper spray her ex’s new girlfriend?!”

You frown morosely down at the book. “You’re right. It was stupid. I just felt bad.”

Jace slides his baking sheet of Pillsbury biscuits into the oven. On the kitchen counter, your sunflowers are beginning to wilt and shrivel in their vase. You have fed them and meticulously trimmed their stems at an angle as Google recommended, but still, they cannot last forever. Perhaps you’ll dry them and they will endure perpetually in some other form, trapped in a pressed flower frame, arranged into a wreath.

Now Baela is sympathetic. “Are you in a lot of pain? Your foot’s not broken or anything, right?”

“It’s my ankle. And according to Google, it’s probably just sprained.”

“Do you want me to take you to an urgent care place for an x-ray? Or get you a brace from the Rite Aid down the street?”

“I really don’t think I need an x-ray…and if my parents see the health insurance got billed, they’re going to freak out and call me asking why I’m burning through even more of their money. But a brace sounds awesome!”

“Okay,” Baela says, and gives you an encouraging smile. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. You’re going to slay the Marvel audition on Friday.”

“How’d you know about that?”

She points to the calendar. “You wrote it on there.” And sure enough, you did: red ink in a small black box labeled Friday, July 11th. That’s two days from now. Baela says to Jace: “Come on, we’re going to Rite Aid.”

He is distraught. “But I have to watch my biscuits!”

She groans. “How long do they need to bake?”

“Fifteen more minutes.”

“We’ll walk fast,” Baela says, and drags him out the door. Blessedly, Jace takes his iPhone and its disturbing Charli XCX music with him, now playing a song that sounds like television static.

As you lounge dispiritedly on the velvet orange couch, you return your attention to the book about the history of Los Angeles. A hundred years ago, Elysian Park was an oil field, lattice-like wooden rigs peppering the hills that now host Dodger Stadium, narrow sloping streets of working-class homes, Aegon’s unpretentious half-duplex, and you wish you weren’t thinking about him but regrettably you usually are these days.

You grab your phone and open Instagram. You are startled to see Becca’s profile picture in the row of stories at the top of the screen. She must have accepted the follow request you sent her weeks ago.

Why the hell would she do that now?

Surely, there are no benign reasons. After a moment’s hesitation you can no longer resist and click on Becca’s story to view it. It’s a photo of her giving Aegon a kiss on the cheek; they’re both laughing, his nose is scrunched up, it’s honestly pretty adorable. You tap the X in the corner of the screen to escape the image as quickly as possible, and yet it remains: red neon glowing on the backs of your eyelids, flames of arson in your throat.

You go to Becca’s profile. A quick browse of her stories and posts reveals homemade baked goods, scenic outings in nature, faux-candid selfies, and lots of home decorating. She has a blog that is linked in her bio—rebeccawilsonwrites.wordpress.com—like she’s freaking Gwyneth Paltrow recommending jade yoni eggs on Goop. She also has three Pekingese dogs, woefully inbred wobbling wheezing creatures, and you are reminded of your mother’s colony of Akitas.

Becca’s most recent culinary masterpiece is apple cinnamon bread. The loaves look flawless, golden brown and scrupulously sliced. Her caption reads: Made with delicious Honeycrisp apples, picked fresh at a local orchard! @superstargaryen loved them! Then there is a series of emojis: apples, hearts, bread, more hearts.

You return to your main feed and scroll manically through the photos and video clips there, desperate for a distraction. You see a post featuring a quote from Robin Williams—I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy—and a foggy memory is evoked like the rippling distortion of heat refraction rising up off a freeway.

You think: Didn’t Robin Williams die by suicide because he had a terrible disease?

You go to Google, conduct some basic research, and confirm the details. Then you search: Viserys Targaryen Lewy body dementia. But you find no relevant results.

You open your email, and at last you have your distraction: a reply to a message you sent yesterday night, an invitation for an interview.

~~~~~~~~~~

Her office is on the third floor. Early afternoon daylight floods in through the glass walls; there is a large tropical orange flower in one corner of the room, a specimen that could never survive here in the arid Southwest without shade from the sun and religious misting. Marion May Davis, Mari for short, is in her mid-fifties and has lines in her face and natural grey hair cut into a tidy Anna Wintour bob. She looks her age, and she looks real, two things you liked about her when you found her online. Mari is an agent. Maybe she’ll even be your agent soon.

“Oh, I love Maroon 5,” she sighs romantically as she scrutinizes your resume.

“Me too!” you lie, smiling so forcefully your cheeks are beginning to ache. You don’t want to leave Aegon, but you have to. He’s torturing you, he’s killing you. The Marvel audition is tomorrow, and you cannot bring yourself to care about it. There is a pink neon sign on Mari’s office wall that reads in whimsical cursive: good vibes only. Not terribly original, but you appreciate the sentiment.

You tap your black ballet flats anxiously against the bamboo floor as you watch Mari contemplate your resume. You have hidden your ankle brace in your purse. You are wearing a simple sleeveless grey sheath dress that Baela saw at a Brooks Brothers and bought for you—It’s so classic! she had said—and matching cool-toned eyeshadow: sparkly lilac Betrayal by Urban Decay, silver Iced Out by Huda Beauty.

Mari asks: “Did you have any trouble finding the office?”

“No, not at all! But I did have to park super far away because I am awful at parallel parking, and somehow it feels even hotter than usual here.”

“Well, we’re so far inland.”

You are in Tarzana, and it is Thursday July 10th, and you have the sense that time is rapidly ticking down, not just to the end of the year when your parents will summon you back to Minnesota but to September when Aegon is getting married on Turks and Caicos. From outside you can hear cars and pedestrians on Ventura Boulevard, an east-west asphalt artery of shops, hotels, and offices in northwest Los Angeles, the site of a former ranch established in 1919 by Tarzan author Edgar Rice Burroughs.

Mari puts your resume down on her transparent glass desk, naked except for a MacBook Pro. Frigid air pumps out through the vents on the ceiling. “Okay, I’ll take you.”

“Really?!” you squeal; and yet you cannot ignore that this feels bittersweet. Aegon’s really getting married? I’m really leaving him? “Yay!”

“Yeah, I like your energy. And your outfit is great, very European, very chic. The makeup, well…” Mari chuckles. “They’ll do that for you at shoots. But tone it down a bit more for auditions. They want to see you as a blank slate they can scribble all over.”

“Sure,” you agree instantly. “I’ll do anything you say. I’ll be your best client ever!” I won’t even hook up with you and thereby enrage your significant other!

Mari is typing on her MacBook Pro. “Give me a few days to send your stuff out and see what I can find for you. I love that picture of you with the sunflower…where was it taken?”

“The Flower District,” you say, thinking of the day you went there with Aegon and got ice cream afterwards, and he had remembered that you like vanilla.

“Delightful.” Mari is still typing. “I’m also going to email you the contact info for a friend of mine. He’s a plastic surgeon, he’s fantastic, I recommend him to all my clients. I’d like you to do a consult with him.”

You are ripped out of your not-so-distant memories, your effortful enthusiasm, and you have to be intentional to not seem offended. “Thank you so much, I really appreciate that, but I’m not interested in breast augmentation.”

“Oh no, I was thinking of your face.”

You stare at her. Reflexively, you touch your fingertips to your cheek. “My face? You want me to change…my face…?”

“Not change, dear!” Mari says. “Just enhance. Just make little tweaks here and there. I think you could really benefit from a rhinoplasty, and maybe something around the brows too…a lift? John will know when he examines you. He’s a magician! Have you seen the before and after pictures of Blake Lively? Or Mindy Kaling, or Taylor Swift? You’ll still look like you. You’ll just be an even better version of you!”

Outside, some tiny dog is yapping from a stroller or a purse. In this office, icy air blows down from the ceiling vent. You study Mari: undyed hair, no face or neck lift, probably not even Botox or Juvederm. “But you…you haven’t had any procedures done, have you?”

Mari smiles patiently, like she’s trying to explain a hard truth to a child, the fact that parents don’t always stay together or that pets inevitably die. “I work behind the camera, dear. Not in front of it.” Then she resumes typing on her MacBook Pro.

You watch her for a few seconds, listening to cars whooshing by on Ventura Boulevard. Then you grab your black Michael Kors purse—borrowed from Baela’s closet, at her suggestion—and stand up. Your wounded left ankle gives a shriek of protest. “Thank you for your time, but I don’t think this is a good fit. Have a great weekend!”

“What?” Mari says, peering up incredulously at you from behind her laptop, like she’s not used to being the one who gets dumped. You are already at the doorway.

“Bye!” you call with a wave, and sprint to the elevator at the end of the hall. You hammer the circular button and run inside when the doors open. Once you are alone and descending, listening to an instrumental version of Despacito, you take your ankle brace out of Baela’s Michael Kors purse and put it on. Then the elevator doors open again, and you are in another cold sterile hallway, and you hurry through a glass revolving door and escape out onto Ventura Boulevard.

The sun is blinding, the heat like an oven, your heart pounding heavily in your ribcage; your ankle throbs through the dose of Advil you took this morning. You stand on the sidewalk, jostled by women carrying shopping bags and men striding importantly by as they talk on their phones, and you try to remember which direction you came from.

I don’t want another agent, you think dizzyingly, nauseatingly. I want Aegon. But he’s driving me insane, and he’s hurting me, and soon he’ll be gone.

You get your bearings and walk east. It must be a hundred degrees. The palm trees are sparse and very tall and cast almost no shade; sweat drips down your face, your underarms, the ridge of your spine. You can’t tell if you’re panting because of the heat or because you’re freaking out or both. It’s probably both.

Your phone is ringing. You yank it out of the Michael Kors purse and answer in a breathless huff. “Hello?”

“Hi, honey!” Mom chimes. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” you say, although you’re certainly not. The sun is beating down like you’re a lizard under a heat lamp. “I just had an interview with—”

“Listen, we have to get you home for bridesmaid dress shopping,” Mom continues briskly. Ambiently, you can hear Clara chatting away about different fabrics, chiffon and tulle and satin and lace. “I’m looking at flights right now. How’s the first week in August?”

“Well, Mom, I’m really not sure because my schedule is changing all the time and I never know when I’m going to have an appointment or an audition and my manager Josh yells at me when I don’t put in enough hours at Cold Stone and—”

“This is important,” Mom snaps. There is the click click click of her manicured fingernails against her laptop keyboard. “Your sister only gets married once.”

“I know it’s important.” But what I’m trying to do out here is important too. “And I’m really happy for her and I’m thrilled about the wedding. I love weddings.”

“Then act like it.”

“I just honestly don’t have a regular schedule right now and missing a week can make a big difference. Do I have to be there in person for the dress thing? Can I just send you my measurements? You and Clara have a vision for this, so just pick whatever you want me to wear.”

Mom sighs impatiently. “No, we can’t do that! Honey, you know you have difficult proportions. We need to see the dress in person and order any alterations.”

“Okay,” you concede, feeling woozy and leaning against a streetlight that burns your arm. “Fine. Yeah. The first week in August is great.”

“And it’s especially vital that you look your best because you’re going to be the maid of honor. Yay! Isn’t that exciting?!”

You touch your furrowed forehead; it’s slick with sweat. Your period started this morning, and that can’t be helping the situation. “Does Clara want me to be her maid of honor?”

Faintly, you can hear Clara saying something about her best friend Kinsley, and your mother shushes her. “It should be her only sister,” Mom tells you.

“…Is that a no? Because Kinsley can do it, I really don’t mind. If I land a role I’m not necessarily going to be able to fly back for planning and parties and stuff—”

“You will be the maid of honor,” Mom insists. “Your father and I are paying for the wedding. We want you to be the maid of honor. Friends come and go, but family is forever. That’s the end of it.”

“Okay,” you say, and it comes out like a whimper; the heat is overwhelming. “Mom, I have to go, I have to try to find my car. I forget where I parked.”

“I’ll email you the tickets once I buy them.”

“Thanks!” you manage weakly, then hang up and wobble on your sprained ankle in the direction of your Honda, eastward, away from the ocean, back towards the Midwest from which you once made your botched exodus.

Suddenly you feel violently ill, and your vision begins to go dark, and you know you need to sit down before you pass out on the sidewalk and roast to death. You dart into the nearest building, a T.J. Maxx, and flee through throngs of shoppers to the furniture section. You collapse into a leopard-print armchair and sit there slumped and gasping, glistening with sweat, the room spinning around you. There is a fawn-colored shag rug on the floor that reminds you of one of Becca’s Pekingese dogs. You lean over and vomit the contents of your stomach onto it: a piece of toast with a teaspoon of peanut butter, a banana, some red grapes, a lot of Diet Coke.

Oh God. Oh no.

You look around to see if anyone has noticed yet; it doesn’t seem like it. Then you quickly roll up the shag rug and shove it under a dresser. You return to your leopard-print armchair and cover your flushed face with your trembling hands, your blood like boiling water beneath your skin.

Do I have to change my face to be an actress?

You shake your head, trying to expel this thought like seagulls from a picnic, sharp bold beaks pecking mercilessly for crumbs.

I have to get out of here. I have to get back to my car.

Your 2003 Honda Accord is parked no less than a ten-minute walk away. You wait a little while to give yourself time to cool down—a T.J. Maxx employee asks if you need assistance and you politely decline, then he frowns down at the floor as if he’s thinking: Isn’t there supposed to be a rug here?—and then you venture back out into the heat. Immediately upon leaving the shade and air conditioning of the T.J. Maxx, your nausea returns with a vengeance and you stumble as the sidewalk sways beneath your black ballet flats. People laugh at you like you’re drunk or high. You retreat back into the T.J. Maxx and seek refuge in the leopard-print armchair.

What am I going to do?

You fumble your phone out of the Michael Kors purse and go to call Baela…then you remember she’s currently on a transcontinental flight to Paris to film Yorgos Lanthimos’s new movie. You call Jace three times, but he doesn’t pick up. Maybe he’s in class. Maybe he’s asleep.

Aegon?

“No,” you mutter to yourself. “No way.” Out of ideas, and not able to think all that well anyway under the present circumstances, you call Mason. He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey!” he says excitedly. “You back in Minnesota?”

“No, sorry, I’m in L.A.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “How’s that going?”

“Actually, not that great at the moment.”

“Yeah, you sound weird.”

“I’m really sick. I think it’s the heat. I’m trapped in a T.J. Maxx and I can’t get to my car, and even if I could I’m worried I’d crash while driving home.”

“Damn, that sucks,” Mason says distractedly, and you can hear that he’s typing two thousand miles away in his Minneapolis office.

“What should I do?”

“Call an Uber?”

This is sensible, and yet you moan helplessly in your armchair. A T.J. Maxx employee is sniffing around the dresser where you’ve stowed the soiled shag carpet, grimacing. “A ride all the way down to Harbor Gateway is going to cost over a hundred dollars. And my parents will see the charge on my card. And what if I pass out and the Uber guy robs me?”

“Call your agent?” Mason suggests. “He probably won’t rob you.”

“I can’t call him.”

“Why not? Isn’t that his job, to take care of you?”

You blink dazedly at a rack of baby clothes, sailboats and elephants and ladybugs. “It’s complicated.”

“Well I can’t drive to L.A. to pick you up, so you gotta figure something else out.”

“Okay,” you surrender. “Thanks anyway. Bye.”

“Bye. Let me know next time you’re home for a visit!”

“Totally.” But you have no interest whatsoever; you can’t even envision kissing him. You are, to your misfortune, very much so a one-dude kind of girl, as Aegon put it.

You stall for a moment, opening random apps on your phone, scrolling blindly through Instagram. Now you feel less sick and more exhausted, like you could fall asleep and never wake up, although you’re developing a powerful hammer-like thudding just above your left eye. Another T.J. Maxx employee asks if you need help finding something, and you pretend to be considering buying the leopard-print armchair. A manager is using her radio to ask if anybody knows where the shag rug went. Out of alternatives, you call Aegon.

“Hello?” he says when he picks up, like he’s surprised to see your name on his screen.

“Hi,” you reply miserably. “I’m dying.”

He snorts a laugh. “You’re not dying. Where are you?”

“I’m stranded at a T.J. Maxx in Tarzana. I think I have heat sickness or something. Every time I try to walk to my car I almost pass out.”

“Yeah, you’re not used to temps like this, are you?” Aegon sounds kind, gentle, wise, and you hate how much you want to like him again, to be friends, to be more than that. “Well, you’re in luck, because I’m just finishing up a shoot in Studio City and I can probably be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Cool!” you cheer feebly.

“A T.J. Maxx, right?”

“Yup. On Ventura Boulevard.”

“Okay. See you soon, I’ll let you know when I’m close.”

“Thanks,” you murmur drowsily.

“No problem,” Aegon says, and hangs up.

You drag yourself to the bathroom, splash cold water on your face, gulp some down to clean your mouth out and immediately throw it up into the sink. You hide in a stall and rest your head in your hands for a while—ankle throbbing, skull aching, cramps in your lower belly—and only leave when Aegon texts you that he’s two minutes away. As you stumble past the leopard-print armchair now damp with your sweat, you see an employee discovering the shag rug under the dresser and unrolling it. He recoils and shouts: “What the fuck is that?!”

Just outside the T.J. Maxx, Aegon is double-parked and receiving jeers and honks from his fellow motorists. He ignores them. Aegon has closed the top of his Chrysler Sebring convertible and inside the air conditioning is on full blast, an Arctic tundra, the ice cream freezer at Cold Stone Creamery. You throw yourself limply into the passenger’s seat and pull the door shut, which feels like it takes immense effort. Then Aegon surges into traffic and barrels down Ventura Boulevard. You rest your head against the car window and close your eyes.

Aegon prods you with a large chilled bottle of blue Powerade he must have grabbed from a 7-Eleven or something.

“I can’t drink that,” you say dimly.

“Yes you can.”

“Do you have, like, a sugar-free version or—?”

“Shut up. Drink the Powerade.”

You take the bottle, twist off the top—again, this seems to take far more strength than it should—and swallow several gulps, hoping they’ll stay down. Almost immediately, the hammer strikes just above your orbital socket begin to dissolve away, and you feel a little more alert, and your nausea does not make another appearance.

“Better, right?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” you admit, touching your skull in dull amazement.

“It’s the magnesium. It’s good for headaches. And the salt helps you rehydrate. What the hell are you doing all the way up here in Tarzana, anyway?”

You sip your Powerade as you stare out the window, watching buildings and palm trees soar anonymously by. Aegon gets on the 101 heading east towards Elysian Park. You know that’s where he’s taking you without needing to ask. “Do you think there’s something wrong with my face?”

“What?”

“My face. Like my nose and my eyebrows. Do I have weird eyebrows? Is that why no one thinks I can be an actress?”

“Your eyebrows are fine,” Aegon says, glancing over at you, confused. He’s wearing the black suit that he dons for film sets, a skinny tie, a half-untucked white shirt. He notices the brace on your left ankle. “Damn, Sunshine, you’re a mess today. What happened there?”

You drink your Powerade as you debate whether to tell him about Becca. You decide against it. “I tripped and fell because I’m an idiot.”

“Why are you dressed like that?”

“So my new agent will take me seriously.”

Aegon must be startled—he turns to look at you, then back to the rushing five eastbound lanes of the freeway—but he stays calm, dispassionate, like he’s trying not to scare you away. “Is that who told you to cut up your face?”

“Turns out I don’t like her, so. Never mind.”

“Guess you’re stuck with me,” Aegon says, sounding a bit relieved.

“I am.” And maybe you’re relived too. “For now.”

“You down to get lunch?”

“I don’t want to vomit in front of you.”

He smiles. “I’ve seen worse things, I guarantee it.”

“What about my car?”

“Where exactly did you leave it?”

You have to think for a while, finishing the Powerade and letting your mind become useful again, and then you recall that you parked on a side street by a dog daycare, Dog-E-Dayz or Dog-E-Den or something like that.

Aegon picks up his phone and calls his receptionist Brandon. “Hey, Brando! Listen, your favorite client left her car in Tarzana. Yeah, I know. Way out there. So it’s parked near a dog daycare about a half-mile from the T.J. Maxx. Can you look up the address and get a tow guy to pick it up and take it down to the garage at her apartment building? Great. You have the model and plate number and everything? You’re a genius. And I’ll pay you extra for the inconvenience. No, no, I insist. Talk to you later. Bye.”

Then Aegon plugs his phone into the aux, and for some reason he puts on an Eminem playlist, and you doze against the cool clear window until you get to Chinatown.

The waitress Lanying asks Aegon about his siblings—“How is Aemond? What about Helaena? Okay, and what about Daeron?”—and Aegon smiles and nods and patiently reiterates that they’re all fine. You are led to the usual spot by the fish tank, massive black-and-orange oscars floating behind the glass and glowering at you, their bulging eyes reddish and hostile. Soon the table is cluttered with a tea kettle and two cups, wonton soups, your moo goo gai pan, Aegon’s boneless spare ribs. You eat cautiously, each bite slow and groggy. A family seated nearby has a baby girl, and she giggles and smacks the table with her tiny chubby hands each time you wave at her. Aegon watches this, oddly wistful for someone who admittedly has never wanted children.

“Here,” Aegon says, offering you a forkful of his boneless spare ribs. “Eat.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“You look droopy. You need fat and sugar and deliciousness.”

You acquiesce and let him feed you the morsel of pork, sweet and fatty and rich and sublime. You chew very slowly, and still it’s gone too soon.

“You have to eat more,” Aegon says. “I think that was part of the problem today.”

“Thank you for rescuing me. I’m pretty sure it was just the heat. And I was kind of upset about the appointment with the agent lady, and my mom called and stressed me out about Clara’s wedding. And oh, by the way, I got my period so no need to worry about that. Whoo hoo.”

Aegon doesn’t seem to appreciate the joke. He gazes at you thoughtfully, then uses his fork to point at the baby girl at the next table. “Do you want kids?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. I love kids. But I have like fifteen more years to reproduce, and if I want to be an actress I kind of have to do that first.”

“I figured. You worked at summer camps in Watts, right?”

“After-school programs. All the other employees hated me, I never wanted to yell at the kids or tell them what to do, I’d just get down on the ground and play with them. I’m so great at Uno.”

Aegon smiles. “Yeah?”

“And Sushi Go, and Scrabble, and Apples to Apples.”

“Apple girl from Appletown,” Aegon says, skimming the zodiac calendar written in red ink, twelve animals and their descriptions, attributes, shortfalls, perfect mates. Then he taps it. “Which one are you?”

You flinch, cave in, feel tremendously low. He really doesn’t remember. It didn’t matter to him, I didn’t matter to him. You stab at your moo goo gai pan with your fork, looking down so he won’t see how upset you are. “You are so fucking mean.”

But Aegon is bewildered, like he’s not sure what he’s done wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, July 14th, and you are ringing up a Gotta Have It-sized Cookie Doughn’t You Want Some for a Los Angeles Southwest College student when Aegon walks into Cold Stone Creamery, the string of metal bells jangling against the glass door. You go to meet him by the ice cream freezer, where Aegon scans the menu of Signature Creations. He is carrying a manila folder and wearing a yellow t-shirt with a tan jacket thrown over it, dark jeans, and white-and-gold Nike Killshots. He seems confused.

“You don’t want an Our Strawberry Blonde like last time?” you say. You haven’t seen or heard from him since your Marvel audition, which was pretty dismal. Aegon stood in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest, and even though he put on his black sunglasses and grinned at you when it was over, you could tell he didn’t mean it.

“Oh yeah,” Aegon says. “Yeah, I do, thanks. That’d be perfect.”

You make his ice cream, Aegon pays in cash, and then you ask Josh if you can take your fifteen-minute break now. Aegon evidently wants to talk to you; he sits at the table by the window and watches you expectantly. Josh reluctantly agrees and you take a seat across from Aegon. He holds out his spoon and won’t speak to you until you take a bite. Eventually, you do: chunks of fresh strawberries, sticky caramel, rich fluffy whipped topping, jarringly sweet and cold and perfect, even if it’s not what you’d usually order.

“Well, you didn’t get the Marvel job,” Aegon says.

“I’m not shocked. They barely looked at me.”

“But I might have found you something else.”

“A dog food commercial? A brief and soulless flashback of somebody’s dead wife?”

“A feature film,” Aegon says, and you stare numbly at him.

“What?”

“Indie, Sundance. Starring role. First billing. I got you an audition.”

You snatch the balloon down just as it begins to float away. You’re trying to prepare yourself for disappointment. “They’re not going to like me.”

“They might,” Aegon says. He lays the manila folder on the table and slides it over to you. “I’m not supposed to let this out of my office, so don’t lose it.”

“It’s the script for the audition?”

“It sure is.”

This can’t be happening. “How did you get them to agree to put me on the list?”

Aegon shrugs. “I didn’t do anything. They reached out to me.”

You place your palm on the folder to make sure it’s real. “What’s the movie about?”

He smiles as he licks strawberry ice cream from his spoon. “Vampires.”

“It’s horror?”

“Kind of horror. Kind of romance. I think it’s just right for you.”

“When’s the audition?”

“This Saturday.”

“Okay,” you say, savoring it, this liminal hope you can’t stop yourself from feeling. You’ve always been an optimist. Perhaps no number of curses can change that. “Okay. I’ll be ready, I promise.”

“Don’t forget about the charity gala,” Aegon reminds you. “It’s Saturday night, the same day. But there are like ten hours in between so it shouldn’t be a problem, even if the audition runs late.”

You peer through the window at pedestrians walking by outside. It’s twilight, and streetlights are turning on, and neon tubes glow with cold chemical fire. “I don’t think I want to go to that.”

“You have to. It’s work. I can introduce you to industry people.”

“Is Becca going to be there?”

“Of course. But she won’t bother you.”

Why does he cheat? you think forlornly, and then you remember something Aegon said the day you first met: Life is short. I try to keep it delicious. “I’ll go,” you agree under duress.

“You sure will,” Aegon says, and scrapes the last of the ice cream from his bowl and gives it to you, his plastic spoon heavy with melting pink magic.

When you return to your apartment well after 11 p.m., Jace is sprawled across the orange couch in his pajamas and watching Blade. He is noisily slurping Pad Thai from a takeout container. You kick off your work Sketchers and remove your ankle brace. It still twinges, but you’re healing.

Abruptly, you recall Aegon’s paranoia concerning Jace’s presence at your 4th of July festivities. “Hey, Jace?” you say, getting an idea.

He glances lazily over at you. His dark hair falls in chaotic curls around his face. “Yeah?”

“I have to go to a charity gala on the 19th. That’s this Saturday. It’s very fancy and very formal, and I don’t really want to go alone and have no one to talk to. Do you want to go with me?”

You had imagined this might take some convincing, and yet Jace is immediately amenable and has only one question. “Will there be free food?”

“Yeah, I assume so. Probably an open bar too.”

“I’m in.” Then he winks and makes a joke. “It’s a date.”

[the-clumsywitchtarot]

How Can You Improve Your Health in the New Year? Pick-a-Card Reading

(Tarot & Oracle)

Because we're all about self improvement over here.

Cards

The Tower (Reversed)

Temperance (Reversed)

Knight of Wands

Immediately I got that this pile might want to focus on their mental health. I feel like this pile might really struggle with anxiety but with the tower in reverse I feel like you worry needlessly most times. But you're just so afraid that the one time you relax could be the time that things fall apart. With temperance in reverse and the knight of wands I feel like you try to regulate your emotions and calm down but the moment something seems like it might go wrong you go back into freak out mode.

Oracle Cards

Rose Quartz: Love - Heart Chakra

Malachite: Nature - Heart Chakra

Cinnabar: Business - Sacral Chakra

With the rose quartz crystal coming out I feel like you need to show yourself more love when you face these moments of anxiety instead of trying to make yourself snap out of it. The malachite crystal has to do with the heart chakra and nature in this deck, getting out into nature may help to make you feel more emotionally stable. Cinnabar is associated with business and the sacral chakra in this deck, this makes me think some of the anxiety you may be feeling could be about work. Consider working with these crystals to help balance your heart and sacral chakras. The sacral chakra is actually connected to the emotions and I also consider the heart chakra to be closely associated with emotions. If you decide to use cinnabar please use extreme caution, be careful with malachite as well.

Cards

4 of Cups

6 of Swords

5 of Swords

I feel like this pile's main focus needs to be on physical health. Some of the people in this pile might already be into physical fitness and for those people I feel like you do workouts that you don't really like for the sake of weight loss or just because you think it's a workout you should be doing. But with the 4 of Cups I feel like there are other workouts that you could be doing that you would actually enjoy but you aren't looking into any other form of exercise. I also feel like this pile could really struggle with body image, the coming year (2025) is really the time to try and release that and realize that you don't have to be at war with your body. Your job is not to make your body look a particular way (especially not a way that is impossible to achieve without extreme behaviors) your job is to make sure that you keep your body as healthy as you can.

Oracle Cards

Seraphinite: Honesty - Heart & Third Eye Chakras

Obsidian: Obsidian - Root Chakra

Dioptase: Direction - Heart Chakra

I feel like with the honesty card (seraphinite) you are being called to look at yourself, really look at yourself and see yourself for who you are. Beyond your body, beyond other's perceptions of you, beyond what you've been told you are based on other family members. Really look into your heart and soul and begin living your life from your soul and not based on your physical appearance.

Cards

4 of Pentacles

3 of Cups

The Empress (Reversed)

This pile might want to work on their financial health in the New Year. The first thing I'm hearing is you don't have to be at every brunch or outing your friends have because it's really starting to add up. For a very small group of people that chose this pile, I feel like you might enjoy clubbing often and it's becoming quite expensive. And I feel like everyone in this pile really enjoys going out but instead of going somewhere where you have to spend money look for more inexpensive options. Instead of going for a boozy brunch consider meeting up with your friends at a coffee shop, or going for a picnic in the park, or find affordable or free events in your area that you can go to. But whatever you do, you might really want to consider saving more of your money.

Oracle Cards

Peridot: Teach - Heart Chakra

Carnelian: Self-Confidence - Root & Sacral Chakras

Malachite: Nature - Heart Chakra

With this first card (Peridot) I feel like some of you could be teachers but I mostly feel like by you taking on this new attitude of financial responsibility. That you'll teach those around you how to be more financially responsible too. I feel that you feeling like you have control over your finances will give you a boost of confidence. I feel like malachite will help you to manifest more money but also help you during this time of going from someone that used to be somewhat financially irresponsible to someone that knows how to manage their money well.

I hope this reading resonated with you and please feel free to let me know which pile you chose! And please get professional help to improve your health if you think you need it. 🩷

-Erika, The Clumsy Witch

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

So because apparently both parties in my country oppose trans healthcare to some extent I want to make it very clear to cis people what healthcare they're opposing.

There's a lot of fearmongering about children undergoing medical transition. So I'm gonna walk you through what might happen to a child who is transgender and wants to go the full medical route. Let's say our hypothetical transgender child, I'll make him a him because I'm a him and I'll call him Rat because he named himself when he was 6.

So Rat would probably, unless he experienced precocious puberty, go on hormone blockers at age 9 or 10, a year or two before he would start experiencing puberty just to make sure he doesn't experience any female puberty symptoms. Then at about 13 or 14 he would have an appointment with his doctor and they would decide that he has been sure that he was a boy for many years now and he's at an appropriate age to start puberty, at which point he would be taken off the hormone blockers and put onto a dosage of testosterone that is typically of what his perisex camab peers produce naturally. Because he never produced estrogen he would not have grown breasts and not need top surgery. He would develop exactly how his camab peers develop.

Now I want to put an interlude here that literally all of this is reversible. At any point Rat could change his name back and go off the testosterone jabs and his ovaries would start functioning again and they would produce the appropriate estrogen to give him breasts and hips. He could take the same vocal training classes that trans women take, he could get laser hair removal on the places where appropriate, and it would be as if he'd never been on the hormones at all.

But he doesn't want to do that. He wants a penis so let's move onto that.

As far as surgery goes, he would not be able to have either metoidioplasty or phalloplasty until he was on hormones long enough to experience the necessary bottom growth to occur, which takes a couple of years. (At least that was what I was told in 2016 please lmk if standards have changed since then). So at this point we're already about 16 years old before surgery even comes up as an option at the doctor's office. And Rat, if he is particularly gung ho about getting a penis and his parents can afford it/insurance will pay for it, probably gets put on a waiting list for a consultation with a specialist in genital reconstruction. Let's say at that consult which probably takes a few months minimum to get into, he opts for the most similar to perisex male genitalia: phalloplasty with testicular implants. Right there we're looking at at least three different surgeries and not all of them are going to happen at the same time. He's 17 before he's ever even on the operation table and he's been consistently identified as male since elementary school. This is the fastest possible bottom surgery route I'm laying out for you here and he still not slanging it until senior prom when he'll give it an ill advised test run in the back of his parents Subaru with Kelly from the anime club. All of that is assuming there's a doctor who will do it for him that can fit him in. Some people wait years for surgery.

Now some people get top surgery younger, but guess what, breast implants both exist and can be removed. If a 14 year old gets a double mastectomy and regrets it when they're 23 they can get implants. If a 16 year old gets breast implants and regrets it when they're 20 they can get those taken out. Top surgery is not complicated and I've heard from guys who truely would not have made it if they hadn't gotten theirs done.

I know this won't convince anyone who opposes trans healthcare but I hope it at least explains transition to cis allies who support trans people getting healthcare but still might think minors not being allowed to have surgery is a moderate position. I invite any trans person to add onto this with a MTF perspective or how their surgeries helped them.

[ariasautumn]

Clock in

Summary : Reader realizes they’re stuck in the same day. Weird déjà vu. Matt’s aloof, kind of skeptical — until he starts noticing it too. They agree to track the days.

warnings: cursing,nothing else really.

english isnt my first language

not proofread

this fics song

You woke up and got ready,putting your casette of “everybody wants to rule the world” on.You danced to the song in your pyjama shirt and after that you started getting your hair ready for work,you start today at 4PM and its currently 2PM in your apartment.You got your hair ready and uniform on in just enough time that you werent late.

You walked inside and started working,but after a few orders you saw your colleague matt,you weren’t bestfriends or anything,you guys know eachother and sometimes talk during work but otherwise you guys dont talk.looking just as confused as you were.You walked up to him to talk to him.

“Hey,matt” you said looking at him “is it just me or does today feel eerily similar to yesterday?” matt shook his head “no,for me too,the last three orders ive had were the same people like yesterday,the sneezes or hair flicks at the same time too.This is weird.” you nodded at him and looked around,and suddenly at the callender,it was still on yesterdays date you thought.You asked another colleague and she refused,saying it was tuesday and not wednesday.You walked to matt again “everyone around here thinks its thursday,but thursday was yesterday..”

You and matt both looked confused.What was happening to you two?,and why do only you two remember the date and yesterday?You two decided to ignore it.But as you were working suddenly the jukebox started glitching,the bext song wasn’t supposed to come yet,but it did.It was ‘time after time’.bit in the middle of the song,for a few seconds the vocals reverse into a slow warbling whisper.This happened at 5:15.

The next weird thing happened at 6pm,A regular named Lou slides into Booth 6 and tells the same story about his dog “Sneakers” running off… even though you’ve never heard it before. He laughs at the punchline before Reader can react

the third weird thing happened at 7:30,meal swap, The ticket printer spits out “Club Sandwich, no mayo,” but the cook calls back, “Sorry, we’re out—have some scrambled eggs?” you watch as the same perfect plate of eggs lands at every table.You thought it was weird,all the plates scrambled egg looked exactly the same,and plastic for some reason.This was gettibg weirder and scarier.

At 8:55 the fourth and last weird thing of the day happened.Your Shift ends.You shut off the coffee machine; Matt unplugs the jukebox. They lock up and go home. you sen a text to a friend about the weird day—but it never delivers.This was called closing time reset.

what will happen tommorow?

taglist: @sturniolohohoho @cherryystemm @courta13 @fakelaceyy @h3arts4harry @mattspillowprincess @sturns-mermaid

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws