#whats your code of ethics

[barewiththemoon]

They call it darkness

This cave

I wonder if it is

Or is it just perspectives

Is it just judgment

For I,

I —

Have called this darkness

Home.

It brings me warmth

A fireplace of love.

Heating up every cold hearted etch

That tries to carve out my love.

It brings my light.

A beacon unbearable as any.

Could you see the lighthouse before you called it darkness

Could you see a safe haven before you called it

Well it doesn't matter anymore

Because you've come to me

Not I you.

As you always do.

A bare does not ask to be s wolf

A lion does not ask to be a tiger

S bird does not ask to eat the prey

No! It's more instinctual than you can think of '' fooled

We have all been.

Don't believe me.

Then check the Bear necessities within.

[myghostmonument]

.

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

once again furious at how AI has been implemented and fucking. hyped up and goddamn bullshit. the way its being used to steal creative works and fuck with artists and create porn of real people is fucking NASTY. but god fucking damnit it could be so useful. fucking. ai voice reader for my stupid incomprehensible textbooks where the voice isn't datamined against the person's will. ai npcs that didn't steal their fucking data. ai routine builders that can learn a person's typical day and preferences and help build checklists for people who struggle w tasks. they could be SO USEFUL. but no. no. we can't have useful things. improving lives??? nahhhhhh we've gotta make Pretty Pictures and Steal Fucking Everything to do it

[hybbat]

You know a world where your ability to carry something is determined by quantity rather than size or weight is very easy to accept in a video game, because of mechanical convenience, but would probably be so strange in a story in any other medium, and I think a few more books and shows could stand to get a little funkier with the fundamentals of their reality like that.

[veganagenda]

fascinating new argument has entered the animal rights field: "it's okay to breed animals for a specific human-related purpose over a long period of time and then continue exploit their bodies for that purpose even when they are no longer obligated to because they enjoy fulfilling that purpose. because we bred them to enjoy it"

Not to sound like I was raised by protestants, but I think those kids who argue that it's animal abuse to put working dog breeds to work doing the tasks they were bred and born for have simply genuinely never encountered the concept that they, too, could be genuinely happier if they could do work they found wortwhile and enjoyable. Like engaging in useful and constructive activities might genuinely make life better than a life of doing absolutely nothing because nobody's making you do anything.

[andhumanslovedstories]

A code status is what you want the hospital to do if your heart or breathing stops, and we've got two basic options: full code which means we do EVERYTHING and Do Not Resuscitate or DNR which means we do less than everything. There's like little add-ons like intubated or not intubated, or blood products or no blood products, but that's basic gist of it. Do you want us to try everything we can to save your life or if your heart stops, is that it? And then we take that information and put it in your chart and make it very prominent in case we need to find it quickly in an emergency. Jane Doe, 72 years old, DNR. John Whatsisname, 49 years old, full code. Like that.

Anyway I'd like to propose a third code status that we'll call "DNR!!!" This is when you not only don't want heroic measures to extend your life, you are so excited to die. I thought of this recently when getting report on a patient, and the day nurse talking to me was like, "Alice Smith, 80 years old, DNR and she will tell you that herself." And I was like, "I don't think code status is gonna come up organically," and the nurse was like, "It won't, but she'll tell you anyway." And then I introduced myself to the patient, and like three minutes in as we're talking about pain meds, she goes, "and by the way, when I'm dead, I'm DEAD. Don't be bringing me back! Every woman in my family has lived past 90, and I'm here to break that tradition! NO one needs to live that long, and I certainly don't, and frankly it's indecent for me to have made it this far. God willing the reaper will come for me any day now. I would never take actions to make him come sooner, but I'm not moving that fast and he is DAWDLING. Disgusting. No work ethic these days. And don't bother with a grave, just chuck me out the window and let the birds at me."

And I'm like "so is that a no to the tylenol"

And she was like "oh no, I'd love some tylenol and a warm blanket too. Now look at me. I've done everything I could possibly want to do in this world and quite a few things I didn't want to do, and personally I don't think I should have to keep doing things. I'd also love a cranberry juice."

Anyway. DNR!! I'm sorry to say she made it through the night completely unscathed.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Can’t live without your love inside me now

Tags: sextherapist!Nanami x fem!reader, nocurse!au, taboo romance, heavy topics such as sexual assault, dead dove due to the power imbalance and heavy conversation, is this considered angst? idk

Synopsis: In which Kento Nanami is a sex therapist, and his client is a young neglected wife with an emotionally absent husband. He teaches you what love is really all about.

An: Just another warning that this fic deals with heavy themes. It’s honestly been so therapeutic for me to write due to my own history. If it’s not for you, I have plenty of other Nanami fics that are more lighthearted. For the anons in my requests asking for more Nanami, this is for you.

Part one. | Part two.

“With those things in mind, I’m interested in what has brought you into my office today.”

“I’m not sure… Sex just doesn’t appeal to me much anymore.”

Being a sex therapist, Kento Nanami has heard it all. He’s seen this same presenting problem again and again. He’s counseled young and older men with erectile dysfunction. He’s counseled persons of the LGBTQ+ community come to terms with their sexuality and how that relates to sex. He’s counseled so many people who come from purity culture and struggle with sex. He’s counseled couples who can’t seem to get it right in the bedroom. He’s counseled sexual assault survivors.

Kento Nanami prides himself on upholding the ethics of counseling. He keeps the code of ethics proudly sat upon his shelf. His goal as a therapist was to give everyone a safe space to divulge their most vulnerable inner thoughts to him.

Sex was too often treated as a taboo, offensive subject, which is why Nanami got into sex therapy in the first place. He wanted to change the stigma around it. Sex was a basic need for the majority of individuals, and many times, people have poor experiences with sex since it’s not normalized and hardly talked about.

“Okay, so is it fair to say you don’t often feel like you’re in the mood for sex?” he asked as he looked towards his client. A pretty young lady sat across from him on his couch. His “office” was in his home, finding that people often didn’t want to talk about sex in what they considered to be a “public” space like a therapist’s office.

“Yeah, I mean… I just...” your voice trailed off. You already felt like this might be a mistake. Your arms crossed over your chest as it felt like you were naked in front of your incredibly handsome counselor.

His office was nice, serene almost. He had different seating options and all kinds of fidget items around his office. He also had a plethora of books on a shelf behind his desk.

It seems he enjoys spending his time reading up about the art of sex. You can’t help but feel your face warm from thinking about him reading those sorts of things in his free time.

The walls were painted a nice soft blue grey color, and the office smelled like fresh linen from the aroma diffuser in the corner of the room. Several different houseplants were also scattered about. They all looked healthy, assuring you that Nanami paid attention to detail. He was responsible and consistent.

“Take your time,” Nanami assured you as he sat back in his chair. “The first visit is always the hardest. Don’t feel pressured to get down to the bottom of why you’re lacking a sexual drive. These things take time and trial and error.”

That was… almost reassuring. You took a deep breath as your fingers absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair behind your ear. The familiar ministration worked to calm your mind.

“I’m young, and I’m recently married. I have no kids. I feel like I should be… I don’t know— at my sexual prime or something.”

“What gave you that idea?” Nanami probed as he continued observing your small nervous habits. He found his lips trying to curl into a smile, but he kept his face meticulously trained as a look of interest.

“Well, girls talk, you know? My girlfriends talk about their lack of a sex life stemming from other obligations or from a lack of a connection…” you explained as you briefly looked up at Nanami. Each time his hazel eyes met yours, you had to look away immediately.

When you found his information online, you didn’t think he’d be this handsome. You just saw all of his credentials, and you had heard good things about him on different websites centered around “rating” therapists.

Of course, you had done some digging on him. There was no way in hell you were going to go to some strange man’s house to talk about sex. That sounded ridiculous.

“Do you compare yourself to these so called ‘girlfriends’ often?” Nanami asked calmly. His voice was even and smooth, allowing you feel even more safe to open up.

“I mean, no. They’re just all I have in terms of what’s normal for sex.”

“Okay, so let me make sure I understand this right. You lack a sexual drive. You feel guilty that you lack sexual drive because you believe you don’t have a good enough reason to not want sex on a regular basis, and you think that you’re not normal. Does that cover it?”

You winced a bit as it was all laid out on the table for you. Your eyes squeezed shut, trying to hide from how pathetic you sounded. You sheepishly nod in response.

“Y/n, open your eyes for me,” his voice spoke gently, coaxing you to slowly flutter your eyes open to look into his. Once he had your gaze, he went on, “These are all normal feelings to have. I can blab on and on to you about how our society is blatantly misogynistic when it comes to sex, but I’ll spare you the details since I’m sure you’re painfully aware. We’re going to figure this out together, alright?”

You took a deep breath, letting his words wash over you as a security blanket. It was nice to have someone to just talk about these things freely to. You felt a glimmer of hope shine through.

“Okay,” you said with a small nod, feeling more confident now.

“So, you mentioned earlier that you're recently married. Tell me a little bit about that."

You try not to have a physical reaction when Nanami brings up your husband. It was a topic that felt too raw.. too close to home. You’re supposed to be a dutiful wife, right? So, why would you feel that way when talking about your husband?

“Oh, uh… well,” you stammer, looking away from Nanami as you suddenly came up blank on your own marriage. “We got married about a year ago. Some say we’re still in the honeymoon phase, but…”

Nanami perks up a little in his chair. Some therapists take notes or record their sessions. Nanami doesn’t believe in it. He thinks it takes away from the moment. He’d much rather be present with his client rather than jotting down notes.

“But..?” he urges you to go on.

“But… I guess it just doesn’t feel that way.”

“What is your idea of the honeymoon phase? What does that look like to you?” Nanami asks, clasping his hands together in his lap as he relaxes into his chair.

You take a moment to process his question. What does the honeymoon phase look like?

“For me, it looks like the movies where couples do things for each other without being asked. They’re attuned to each other’s emotions, and they make a conscious effort to be sensitive to their partner’s feelings.” Your eyes meet Nanami’s once again, and you let out a deep breath. No one told you that counseling would be this mentally strenuous.

“Okay, what about in your current life? Do you feel like that’s how it is now?”

You nearly laugh from the question. You mentioned that sort of love being in movies because you’ve never seen it in real life. You’re nearly convinced that it doesn’t happen in real life, and anyone who claims to have that type of love must be lying.

“No, I feel like we’re both focused on our own lives… We just happen to also be in a marriage together.”

“That doesn’t seem like an active partnership,” Nanami responds as he searches your face thoughtfully. He can feel his heart ache for you. This is by far his least favorite presenting problem to work with because he can’t just tell you that you need to leave your husband. All he can do is inspire you to seek the changes you need. “What are you focused on in your own life right now, y/n?”

You feel the tension set in your shoulders and neck as soon as you hear that question. Just thinking about what all you have to do is enough to stress you out. “For starters, I work full-time. It’s a standard corporate job from eight to five, but it can be a lot.”

“That’s not easy, y/n. Just because that is what’s considered to be standard, doesn’t mean it’s easy. I’m sure that’s a lot on your plate.” His voice was low and calm. His presence felt so warm in the room; you feel like you’re finally able to open up a little.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I also take care of the house and our pets.”

“The housework… is that all your responsibility?” Nanami asks as his eyebrows knit together slightly. He feels like he’s already scratching the surface of why you don’t have any sex drive.

“Yeah. If I want him to do anything, I have to delegate the work to him. My husband always says to just tell him whenever I want something done, and I should be grateful that he’s willing to help—“

Nanami couldn’t help himself. He doesn’t like to interrupt clients often, but the more you talk about tour husband, the more he’s having to hold himself back. “That’s the bare minimum.”

You’re slightly taken aback, and you look away from Nanami. A part of you knows that he’s right, but… you didn’t want to bad mouth your husband. A large boulder of guilt settled into your stomach.

“Tell me what you’re feeling right now,” Nanami’s voice returns to that gentle tone. “That probably wasn’t appropriate for me to say. I apologize.” He knows he shouldn’t have said that, and he knows he has to appropriately handle this if he wants you to feel comfortable enough to open up again.

“I guess I just… It feels wrong talking negative about my husband to another man. It just feels different when I’m ranting with my girl friends.” You straighten your posture and take a deep breath. It feels good getting that out in the open.

Nanami slowly nods his head. He can see why you view that act as troublesome. “So, you’re feeling tense because of our opposing sexes? Tell me. Does your husband know where you are right now?”

“Well, yeah… He was honestly the one who told me I needed help since I don’t feel any sort of sex drive.”

Nanami’s teeth subtly clench together, but he keeps a stoic expression as best as he can. The thought of your husband claiming that there’s something wrong with you absolutely repulses Nanami.

“How does that make you feel?”

Your fingers twitch a bit as you look down to the ground. You should be honest with Nanami if you really want the help that you came here for.

“I guess it makes me feel like I’m not good enough for him. Every time we have sex I try to cater to him, but it just feels like it’s never enough. If he had it his way, we’d probably have sex everyday, but I just don’t have that kind of time, energy, or desire.”

Nanami feels his chest tighten while he listens to you. This is why he hated working with this presenting problem. This man is ruining your confidence and self-esteem, and your low sex drive is either completely natural or it’s because of him.

If Nanami could show you what it was like to be truly loved, he would. Then, you’d probably open your eyes and see that your husband is the one who isn’t good enough for you.

He shakes those thoughts out of his head. He knows he’s bound to a code of ethics. He can’t pursue you romantically or sexually. It’d be morally wrong.

“That’s heavy.” He nods, allowing silence for reflection. He then speaks up again after a pregnant pause, “Let’s break down what you said sentence by sentence, okay? First, you have said that you feel guilty and not good enough in terms of sex.”

You slowly nod, still avoiding eye contact with Nanami. Why didn’t anyone tell you that this would be so emotionally exhausting.

“Do you put a lot of pressure on yourself to perform?”

That question alone opened up the floodgates. Tears bit into your eyes, and you covered your face with your hands. “All the time,” your voice cracked, betraying how deep this affected you.

“Oh dear,” Nanami says softly. He grabs a box of tissues, and he hands them to you. “Sex is meant to feel natural and progressive. It’s understandable that you don’t feel any drive if you’re constantly pressuring yourself.”

You nod as you take the tissues, dabbing your eyes gently.

“I just,” you let out a deep shaky breath, trying to calm your nervous system. “It’s easier to just do it and get it over with rather than to hear him ask multiple times.”

Nanami clenches his jaw. His hand gently finds your shoulder, and he makes you look up at him. “Listen to me. If you take nothing else away from this entire session, take this. Asking multiple times even though the answer was clearly a no is coercion. Whenever he asks multiple times, he’s hoping that you get tired of telling him no and just give in.”

Your eyes meet Nanami’s, and your eyebrows furrow a little. Coercion? No.. no, that can’t be right. He’s your husband. He’s just asking to make sure you hadn’t changed your mind. He wouldn’t coerce you into anything you didn’t want to do…

You slightly pull away from Nanami. “I don’t think that’s right… He wouldn’t do something like that. He’s not abusive.”

Nanami leans back. He chides himself internally for going in too deep too quickly. He’s grateful that you’re giving him grace right now. You definitely could’ve just left the session after he blatantly told you that your husband was a conniving piece of shit.

He takes a deep breath. “I apologize. I must have it wrong,” he says as he regains his posture. He knows he needs to make you understand. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Oh—? Uh, no.. no I’m okay, thanks.”

“Are you sure? It’s good tea.” Nanami leans in slightly, not breaking eye contact with you.

“Yeah, I’m sure… I don’t really think I can stomach it..” you respond, confused as to why he was suddenly wanting to make you tea.

“Tea is good for digestion. It might help your stomach. You really don’t want any? I can make it quickly with an electric kettle I bought the other day.”

You slouch back a little, a frown covering your lips. “I mean.. I guess tea would be okay.”

Nanami then gives you a knowing look, and the realization hits you. “Did you actually want the tea, or were you just going to accept the tea because I kept pestering you?”

Goddammit. This therapist is good.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah

[luna-azzurra]

Romance List Prompts

Forced Proximity “Oops, There’s Only One Bed” & Other Nightmares (aka: trapped together, forced to talk, and now I’m noticing your eyelashes??)

✧ They hate each other. Of course they do. But now they’re snowed in at the same remote cabin. One bed. No signal. Nowhere to run from each other or their feelings. ✧ They barely know each other, just enough to be annoyed in passing. Then they get stuck between floors, in the dark, and suddenly all the things they don’t say become impossible to ignore. ✧ They agree to a long-haul drive for mutual convenience. Cue broken-down car, sketchy motel, and sharing snacks like it’s an act of war. By night two, they’re sleeping back-to-back and trying not to notice how quiet it gets when the other person isn’t talking. ✧ They’re both responsible for watching someone else's pet/kid/home. They bicker like divorced parents. They bond over chaos. And somewhere between late-night takeout and arguing over dishes, they accidentally become something like a couple.

Forbidden Romance “We Shouldn’t, But God We Want To” (aka: slow burn with a side of inner turmoil)

✧ They were raised to hate each other. But then they meet, outside the context, outside the war, and start to realize they’re not what they were taught. And it wrecks them both. ✧ They’re assigned to protect someone who is completely off limits. Flirting is forbidden. Feelings are dangerous. And yet? Every glance feels like a confession they can’t afford to say out loud. ✧ Teacher/Instructor x Student, but make it ethical and age-appropriate. It’s a short-term class, a writing retreat, a combat training course. The power dynamic is there, but so is the connection. They try to keep it professional. They fail. Beautifully. ✧ Best Friend’s Sibling... They’re off limits. Point blank. But the tension? The tension is screaming. Especially when the best friend keeps leaving them alone together, completely unaware.

 Grumpy x Sunshine “Why Are You Like This?” (aka: emotionally constipated x aggressively full of feelings)

✧ Roommates from Opposite Vibes... One’s all color-coded calendars and 7AM smoothies. The other hasn’t done laundry in three weeks and growls before coffee. They clash. But one rainy day, the sunshine one leaves soup on the grump’s desk with a dumb little smiley note. It breaks them. ✧ Coffee Shop Owner x Frequent Customer... Grump runs the quiet, broody café. Sunshine comes in every morning with messy hair and too much enthusiasm. The barista rolls their eyes, but they always remember their order. Always. ✧ Hired for the Same Job. Grump is practical. Sunshine is chaotic. They’re forced to collaborate. The tension is delicious. Especially when the sunshine one starts to get under the grump’s skin and into their heart. ✧ They're on a team. The world is ending. The sunshine one makes jokes to stay sane. The grump one acts like they don’t care, until the sunshine one gets hurt. Then suddenly they’re soft, scared, and furious about it.

 Extra Angst & Emotional Damage For the Writers Who Like to Hurt (and Heal)

✧ “You Remembered?” They thought the other didn’t care. They’re used to being forgotten. But then, in the quiet, the other person says something, something small, something specific, and it hits like a train. ✧ “I Would’ve Picked You Every Time” They lost each other once. Circumstances. Timing. Fear. Years later, they meet again. And this time? This time the truth comes out. And it’s raw, and ugly, and healing. ✧ “Don’t Look at Me Like That” They’re breaking. Mid-fight. Mid-confession. One of them cracks and says the thing they swore they wouldn’t say. The other just looks at them soft, wide-eyed and it’s too much. ✧ “I Never Stopped Loving You” Classic. Heart-shattering. Should only be used when you want your readers to cry at 2AM while whispering “why did you do this to me”.

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Building A Culture

Culture is defined by a collection of morals, ethics, traditions, customs and behaviours shared by a group of people.

Hierarchy and Social Structures

Within every culture, there is a hierarchy. Hierarchies are an important part of any culture, usually do ingrained that one within the culture wouldn't even question it. Hierarchy can be established either by age, gender or wealth and could even determine roles within their society. Sometimes hierarchy can may be oppressive and rigid whilst other times, ranks can intermingle without trouble. You should consider how these different ranks interact with one another and whether there are any special gestures or acts of deference one must pay to those higher than them. For example, the Khasi people of Meghalaya (Northern India), are strictly matrillineal. Women run the households, inheritance runs through the female line, and the men of the culture typically defer to their mothers and wives. Here are a few questions to consider:

How is a leader determined within the culture as a whole and the family unit?

Is the culture matriarchal? Patriarchal? Or does gender even matter?

How would one recognise the different ranks?

How would one act around somebody higher ranking? How would somebody he expected to act around somebody lower ranking?

Can one move socially? If not, why? If so, how?

Traditions and Customs

Traditions are a staple in any culture. These can be gestures or living life a certain way or to the way a certain person should look. Traditions are a personal detail to culture, they are what make it important. Tradition can dictate how one should keep their home, run their family, take care of their appearance, act in public and even determine relationship. Tradition can also be a double edged sword. Traditions can also be restrictive and allow a culture to push away a former member if they do not adhere to them, eg Traditional expectations of chastity led to thousands of Irish women being imprisoned at the Magdelene Laundries. Customs could be anything from how one treats another, to how they greet someone.

How important is tradition?

What are some rituals your culture undertakes?

What are some traditional values in your world? Does it effect daily life?

Are there any traditions that determine one's status?

Values and Opinions

Values and Opinions are the bread and butter of any culture. This is the way your culture sees the world and how they approach different life hurdles. These may differ with other cultures and be considered odd to outsiders, what one culture may value another may not and what opinion another holds, one may not. There will be historical and traditional reasons to why these values and opinions are held. Cultures usually have a paragon to which they hold their members to, a list of characteristics that they expect one to if not adhere to then aspire to. The Yoruba people value honesty, hard work, courage and integrity. Here are some questions to consider?

How important are these ethics and core values? Could somebody be ostracised for not living up to them?

What are some morals that clash with other cultures?

What does your culture precieved to be right? Or wrong?

What are some opinions that are considered to be taboo in your culture? Why?

Dress Code

For many cultures, the way somebody dresses can be important. History and ethics can effect how one is meant to be dressed such as an expectation of chastity, can impose strict modesty. While other cultures, put more importance on details, the different sorts of clothes worn and when or what colour one might wear. The Palestinian people (من النهر إلى البحر ، قد يكونون أحرارا) denoted different family ties, marriage status and wealth by the embroidery and detailing on their thoub.

Are there traditional clothes for your world? Are they something somebody wears on a daily basis or just on occasion?

Are there any rules around what people can wear?

What would be considered formal dress? Casual dress?

What would happen if somebody wore the wrong clothes to an event?

Language

Language can also be ingrained as part of a Culture. It can be a specific way one speaks or a an entirely different language. For example, in the Southern States of America, one can engage in a sort of double talk, saying something that sounds sweet whilst delivering something pointed. Bless their heart. I have a post on creating your own language here.

Arts, Music and Craft

Many cultures are known for different styles of dance, their artwork and crafts. Art is a great part of culture, a way for people to express themselves and their culture in art form. Dance can be an integral part of culture, such as céilí dance in Ireland or the Polka in the Czech Republic. Handicrafts could also be important in culture, such as knitting in Scottish culture and Hebron glass in Palestine. Music is also close to culture, from traditional kinds of singing such as the White Voice in Ukraine and the playing of certain instruments such as the mvet.

Food and Diet

The way a culture prepares or intakes or treats certain foods are important to a culture. In some cultures, there is a diet yo adhere to, certain foods are completely banned. With Jewish culture, pork is prohibited along with fish such as sturgeon, along with shellfish and certain fowl. Meat must also be prepared in a certain way and animal byproducts such as dairy, must never be created or even eaten around this meat. This is known as kosher. The way one consumes food is also important to culture. In some cultures, only certain people may eat together. Some cultures place important on how food is eaten. In Nigerian culture, the oldest guests are served first usually the men before the women. In Japanese culture, one must say 'itadakimasu' (I recieve) before eating. Culture may also include fasting, periods of time one doesn't intake food for a specific reason.

What are some traditional dishes in your world?

What would be a basic diet for the common man?

What's considered a delicacy?

Is there a societal difference in diet? What are the factors that effect diet between classes?

Is there any influence from other cuisines? If not, why not? If so, to what extent?

What would a typical breakfast contain?

What meals are served during the day?

What's considered a comfort food or drink?

Are there any restrictions on who can eat what or when?

Are there any banned foods?

What stance does your world take on alcohol? Is it legal? Can anybody consume it?

Are there any dining customs? Are traditions?

Is there a difference in formal meals or casual meals? If so, what's involved?

Are there any gestures or actions unacceptable at the dinner table?

How are guests treated at meals? If they are given deference, how so?

[buckysfaveplum]

her weakness

summary: you’re an enhanced individual with strong abilities and one moral code- you only fight with them when your opponent is also enhanced. during the fight with john walker, that code gets broken when bucky is hurt

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: violence, blood, fighting, it’s a fight seen so yea expect things relating to that

a/n: i rewatched tfatws and this fight always makes me so worried for my bbs so yea this was born. I typed it up helllllla quick so I'm sorry if its trash, I'm not too proud of this one idk.

masterlist | send requests

Your feet followed closely behind Bucky as you approached the warehouse. Your limbs were stiff and your skin clammy. Your hand stayed firmly in Bucky’s grasp as you approached John Walker. Sam had tracked him to a storage warehouse near the square you had just witnessed brutality in.

He murdered him, in cold blood, with Steve’s shield. You couldn’t get the screams of the public out of your head, the sound of the vibranium as it slashed into the flagsmasher’s body. You would’ve thrown up if Bucky hadn’t pushed you behind him. You had seen much worse, much more gruesome violence in your line of work. But something about this was sickening, rotting away in your stomach as you tried to grapple with the truth that the shield your friend once carried with honor and pride was just used by an unhinged soldier who found joy in the worst parts of the job.

Bucky stayed ahead of you, following Sam as they entered the building. Your hand trembled in his vibranium grasp. His thumb gently brushed across the veins and bones of your hand, trying to bring you comfort before the scene he knew was about to play out.

As you walked into the large space, you saw him. He was too composed and stoic for what had just taken place. His tall and slender figure loomed as he casually walked up to you all, barely acknowledging Sam as he tried to get him to listen.

“Walker,” Sam started. The soldier brushed Sam’s stern tone off, hopefully delaying what he knew was coming.

“You guys should see a medic, you don’t look so good,” He said, walking past you.

“Stop, Walker,” Sam took a few steps closer, trying again to get him to focus.

Your jaw tightened as you watched the man pace erratically in front of you. He was muttering quietly before responding as if trying to convince himself what he was saying had any truth.

“What?” He asked, coming closer. “You saw what happened. You know what I had to do.”

Your grip on Bucky tightened, sensing Walker’s anger began to boil over. You knew a fight was coming, it always was. 

“I killed him because I had to! He killed Lemar!” Walker shouted, his arms waving now and revealing how off the deep end he had gone. 

You knew the moment you saw him in that fight. He stole the serum and took it for himself. This behavior just confirmed it. But the serum only enhanced what was already bubbling under the surface. The same John you meet on the highway. The same John who waltzed into the police station as if he had the authority or right to control Bucky and call him an ‘asset’. It was always there. 

“He didn’t kill Lemar, John.”

Bucky’s smooth and deep voice cut through the tension in the room. You felt his grip on your hand squeeze for a moment, making sure you were okay. He could always sense your anxiety in the field. Your powers made keeping your calm difficult. You would never use them in battle unless your opponent was enhanced as well. You were a skilled fighter and agent, you didn’t need them. And it didn’t always seem ethical. But keeping them at bay, in check, could prove difficult- especially in heightened situations such as this.

Walker scoffed at Bucky’s words, dismissing the truth like it was nothing.

“Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well,” Bucky said.

“I’m not like you!” Walker’s voice was full of disgust and resentment. From the moment you met him, you could sense his quiet disdain for your best friend. Looking down his nose at him like he was some scum left over from Steve's life, something he’d always have to deal with. Yet at the same time, resentment. Jealousy over his power, control, and abilities in his enhanced body. As if that’s what made him an excellent fighter. Or a good person.

Your spare hand moved between Bucky’s shoulder blades, giving him a subtle and quiet support as you prepared.

“Listen, it was the heat of the battle, okay?” Sam said, taking a step closer to Walker. That shield danced in your vision, taunting you as he paced back and forth. “If you explain what happened, they may consider your record.”

Walker’s distress spread across his face, his brows furrowing and eyes scrunching as he tussled with Sam’s words.

“We don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” Sam said.

The warehouse went silent as Walker stared at the ground before him. Bucky gave you a soft, tight-lipped smile before begrudgingly dropping your hand. He slowly took a step towards the man, joining Sam.

“John…” Bucky said, calmly. 

“You gotta give me the shield, man,” Sam said.

That did it. You could feel the room shift that second.

A disturbing serene aura washed over Walker at that moment. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to you all. His eyes were dark, lacking a certain warmth and compassion you had grown so used to seeing through that blue cowl. A certain warmth that left when he hung up the shield.

“Oh…. so that’s what this is,” Walker said. “You almost got me.”

You could see his grip on the shield tighten, the leather straps twisting between his fingers.

“You made a mistake,” Sam said.

You slowly took a step forward, your hands flexing as you prepared for what was to come. Walker finally turned his gaze to you. His eyes roamed you up and down. You could’ve sworn you saw Bucky’s jaw clench, that familiar muscle tightening in distress. Walker smirked at you before glancing at Bucky. He could read the protectiveness radiating off of your supersoldier.

“You don’t wanna do this,” Walker said to him.

Bucky didn’t meet his gaze. His fists balled at his side, practically shaking with anger. He never took pleasure in a fight, every punch or kick felt like a necessity rather than enjoyment. But he couldn’t deny how much he desired to rip that shield from his grimy hands.

“Yeah we do,” Bucky said.

Sam lurched forward first, Bucky soon following suit. Your feet moved quickly, moving behind Walker as your friends attacked from the front. The man moved with a speed you had yet to see from him, a brute force you could only get from the serum.

With a harsh kick, Walker sent Sam flying away, leaving you and Bucky alone. You tried to knock Walker down from the back as Bucky grappled with the shield. As you sent a harsh kick into the back of Walker’s knees, he spun quickly and sent a jab into Bucky’s gut sending him backward in pain and knocking him off balance. Before you could back him up, Walker slammed a harsh punch into Bucky’s jaw. Your heart raced and your hands shook as you watched him drop to the ground. You sprung into action, pulling the shield back in your hands and keeping Walker from smashing it into Bucky’s face. Sam leaped in, kicking the shield up and drawing attention to him.

You slammed a kick into Walker’s back, sending him stumbling forward as Sam slashed at him with his wings. Bucky leaped up, his arm aiming to come down on the faux Captain America’s back hard but was ultimately blocked by the shield. 

You were growing frustrated. Walker never packed this much of a punch. The serum raged through his veins, lacing each kick and swing of the shield with force and hate. As you and Sam continued to trade blocks at Walker, Bucky attempted to pull him down but was quickly met with the shield swinging into the side of his face. Your legs shook. The longer this dragged out the more difficult you find keeping your emotions in check. The longer you watched your favorite person in the world become decorated with blood and bruises, the more your ethical code began to look like a suggestion. Walker deserved a swift blast to the face and more. But you held off. 

Walker slammed the shield into Sam’s back, sending him down. As your two friends recovered briefly, it was just you and him. You surged forward at the man, dodging as he swung at you. Being smaller than the two Avengers alongside you made it much easier to evade Walker’s sloppy attacks. You sent a firm kick into his chest followed by an uppercut into his chin. As he spun and tumbled, Bucky was back on his feet and meeting Walker with punches. Bucky’s attacks quickly led the pair into a tight spot, backing Walker up into a heavy piece of machinery. The pair spun in circles over the shield, yanking the vibranium disc back and forth and trading beatings in between. Sam quickly followed you over, diving in for aid, but quickly was sent flying back by Walker’s attacks. His body slammed to the ground with a grunt.

While Bucky worked, you glanced at Sam. He pushed himself to his feet slowly, preparing to dive back into the fight. In your moment of distraction, the fear and care for your dear friend overriding your common sense to keep fighting, you heard Walker’s voice pull you back. Bucky was trapped between the shield and a machine. You rushed over to help but it was far too late.

“Why are you making me do this?!” Before you could register what Walker was saying, you watched as Bucky went flying. 

Walker’s forceful swing of the shield sent him hurtling across the warehouse. Your body froze as if someone had filled your veins with cement. The dramatic scene Walker had created came to an end with Bucky’s body smashing into an electrified pole and crashing to the ground. The might of his impact snapped the pole in the middle, sparks cascaded from the steel and flooded onto the floors; leading your eyes to Bucky. 

“Bucky!” You screamed.

His body lay limp and splayed out on the cold dirty floors. His face was smushed into the cement. His limbs didn’t dare to move. Except for his vibranium arm, which twitched and spasmed under his body; blue and white sparks burst out from the plates adding to the horror.

Your breaths were heavy and shaky, your hands trembled at your sides as the vibrating blue of your powers began to spark at your fingertips; mirroring the sight of your best friend’s arm. The room was spinning, at least that’s what made sense to you. Your balance was unstable, your knees threatening to buckle at any moment. You turned to spare a look at Sam, begging him for permission. But he was already back on his feet and rushing towards Walker. 

“Go!” He shouted.

You had never been faster. Your abilities never gave you the gift of flight but in that moment they very well could have. Your legs became weak and your steps messy as you neared Bucky. You crashed to your knees beside him, pain radiated up your thighs from the impact but you couldn’t care. It couldn’t be worse than the expanding tight pain in your chest as you struggled to breathe.

Your hands quivered as they hovered over his body. With him lying so still you could finally take in the damage Walker had done to his face. Blood was splattered all over, deep purple and blue hues bloomed across his cheekbones, and a nasty split had opened on his lip. Worst of all, his nose was broken.

The sparks continued to burst from the plates of his arm, his hand jerking and spasming with an unsettling sound of grinding metal. Quickly, you placed your hands firmly on the vibranium. A deep blue beamed from under your palms, cascading the metallic golds and blacks of his arm in your glow. The excess electricity from the crash moved in waves through the arm up into your hands. You focused as all the veins in your body became electrified, an aqua glow shone through your skin as the energy you. Your once y/e/c eyes were quickly overtaken, the cool energy overriding your iris’ and leaving an intense indigo shine. With a sharp gasp and breath, you let go. His arm had stopped moving, now lying as still and motionless as he did. 

“Bucky,” you said, giving his damaged body a soft shake. “Bucky, wake up.”

He didn’t move, his face slack and limps heavy as you struggled to turn him to his back and off of his arm. Your hands rushed to his face, cupping his cheeks and holding him close as if you could shield him from more of John Walker’s savagery. If someone had the power to take your abilities and trade them for the ability to heal, you’d offer them anything they wished just for the potential to spare Bucky from his pain even for a moment. 

“Buck… come on wake up,” the fresh blood from his injuries spilled into your fingertips, the crimson caked into your cuticles and threatened not to leave.

“Plum, please,” His body twitched; your lungs finally filled with air. 

His breaths were labored but there, his chest rattled as he sucked in much-needed air. Your fingers moved to his neck, their shuddering finally stilling as you felt his pulse return to a firm and strong pattern.

The sounds of Sam’s grunts and Walker’s cries swiftly pulled your attention back to your friend. He was up in the air, a long metal cord pulling on the shield and attempting to free it from Walker’s venomous grasp. To no avail, as soon Sam was flung back to the floor and across the room. The shield clattered to the ground, equally laid between the two men. The smug and determined look on Walker’s face enraged you, the blue glow returning to your eyes. Sam glanced over at you before rushing for the shield. He needed you.

You turned back to Bucky, still unresponsive to your touches and voice. He was breathing, his pulse steady. Taking in the broken state of his body, his face battered and bloodied, you couldn’t hold back your rage any longer.

It was as if something had possessed you. Gently, you laid Bucky back to the ground, pressing a trembling kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, your voice monotone yet determined. The expressions of concern, fear, and horror that had played upon your face just moments ago were now gone. You were cold and still, as you rose to your feet and walked over to the two men fighting behind you.

Before Walker could grab the shield, a harsh blast of blue energy sent him flying back in the opposite direction. The man was studded, confused by how he could have been knocked down. He looked up to see you rushing towards him. You were steady in your movement, not running but with each step winding up for the next blow. Your hands were baked in a fierce glow of aqua as you channeled more energy through your fingertips. 

Walker scrambled to his feet, preparing for the offense. Before he could even take a step he was back on the ground with another blast from you. A loud cry fell from your lips as you slammed him down with force from your power. As you ran up to Walker, he quickly sent a firm hit to your jaw. You stumbled back, regaining your vision to see him coming at you. You jumped up, knees to your chest and feet pressing on his as you blasted him once again. 

He was on the ground with you towering over him. His face was coated in shades of black and blue, mirroring the face you were trembling over just seconds ago. Good, he deserved that and more.

You blasted him again as he struggled to crawl away. You followed him, hot on his trail as energy overflowed from your hands. The shield was long forgotten by you, only driven by your need for revenge. Bucky couldn’t even answer you, couldn’t move. He needed to pay.

Walker’s body slammed back into machinery as you surged more energy at him. He was done, hands shaking above him as he prepared for your next blow.

“We’re better than this right? Captain America doesn’t do this,” Walker said through his split lip and shaking jaw.

You scoffed; if only he had thought that way an hour ago. You wouldn’t be here. Bucky would be okay.

“Good thing I’m not Captain America,” you said. Walker shielded his face as you wound up your aim. Energy radiated from your fist up your forearm as you pulled it back to deliver one last shot.

“Y/n, stop!” Sam shouted.

Your blast was halted by a firm hand on your upper arm. You recognized the stillness and coolness that held onto your body. Turning you saw Bucky behind you. He was shaking as he stood, breaths labored and heavy, but there he was. Sam ran up behind the two of you, shield in hand as he looked at you. But all you could focus on was Bucky.

Bucky stepped forward, shaking his head softly as he lowered your arm. 

“This isn’t you, you don’t do this,” he said. Your nostrils flared as you breathed heavily, struggling to reel your rage back in. You glanced back at Walker who lay on the ground, glaring at you smugly. Your eyes shone brighter, your fists clenching as the glow intensified. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, taking your face and turning you to look back at him. “You’re not him.”

The energy overtaking your body began to fade as you relaxed under his firm touch. The uncontrollable blue glow began to fade back into your body, leaving you panting as you tried to calm your emotions. Bucky stood before you, vibranium hand stroking your own.

“You’re okay,” you said.

“I’m okay. Hey, hey, I’m okay. It’s over,” he said, pulling you away from the scene you had created. He walked you slowly back towards Sam, you shook in his grasp. Walker struggled to stand as he watched the three of you leave. The shield taunted him as it hung off of Sam’s arm, finally back with its true owner. The Captain America.

“I’m sorry,” you said, looking at Sam. “I just….” you glanced at Bucky, once again seeing the battering of his beautiful face. Your throat swelled as you lost your words, choking on your fear.

“We got it back,” Sam said, giving your shoulder a firm squeeze before heading out of the building. His limp as he walked didn’t escape you.

Bucky gripped your hand tightly, pulling you with him as he walked. He didn’t make it far before his knees began to buckle, his body slipping as he fell. You were at his side in a heartbeat, arm hauling him back up beside you; refusing to let his body crash to the filthy ground again. 

“Hey, hold onto me,” you said. You wrapped his arm around your shoulder and his other gripped at your waist as you began to pull him from the warehouse, his feet limping and tripping as he struggled to walk. Walker’s body began to fade in the distance as you left.

“Why did you do that, doll?” Bucky asked as you walked, his voice slurred and low. Each wince and suck of breath stabbed at your side like a pecking bird, refusing to let your wound heal. 

“I don’t know, I’ve never done that. I….” you paused, stopping your feet as you gave him a moment to catch his breath. “When I saw you hit that pole, I lost it.”

“I’m okay, Y/n,” he said, yet his words seemed to hold no weight as he struggled to stay upright at your side.

“Your arm was sparking, Bucky. You weren’t moving. I-I thought that you…” You couldn’t finish, gripping him tighter as your voice shook. As if letting him go would give the world a chance to tear him from you once again. Your fingertips dug into his tact suit, determined to embed yourself in him.

“Hey, babydoll,” he said, hoisting himself up just enough to take your face in his hands. He swayed on his feet as he stood, intent on holding you close as he spoke. Your hands held him steady at his side.

“I’m here, I’ll always be here. But no matter what happens to me, I don’t want you to lose yourself,” he said, stroking your cheek. “I can’t have that.”

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you said.

“You won’t. I’m right here, I’m always coming back to you.”

You nodded softly as you rested your head on his chest. His hands moved to your hair as he held you close. Your hands wound around his center, keeping him safe in your arms. As long as you were around, no one would take him.

“You’re so good, you’re so special, Y/n. You need to be strong, even if I get hurt. You can’t drop your morals for me. They mean too much to you,” he said.

“I think you may be my weakness,” you said, your voice muffled in his chest. He tucked himself closer into you at your words, his head resting upon yours. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head.

“You’ve always been mine,” he said softly.

---

taglist:

(comment to join <3)

[strawberrysznn]

Beauty AND brains. Your knowledge is your weapon.

Let's not only be insanely beautiful but also disgustingly educated. Other than discipline and hard work, your knowledge is your weapon in this world of chaos, something that you can sharpen and use.

Where can you expand your knowledge? What areas, what topics

How can you expand your knowledge? In different circumstances and preferences such as if you're too busy or if you have a short attention span

Where can you expand your knowledge?

I DO NOT mean that you need to be an expert at everything. You don't need multiple degrees for each type of intelligence. However, if you want to sharpen your weapon, sharpen your knowledge.

These are the areas where you CAN sharpen your knowledge AND the areas where you SHOULD know the basics in:

Emotional, Communication, Morals, Ethics. Be human, and make others feel human too. Cultivate empathy, understand mental health, build your conscience, and differentiate right from wrong. Communicate frequently and effectively.

History, Culture, Politics. The world is chaotic — learn to stand your ground. Understand history, politics, corruption, culture, and the overlooked heroes. Know what shaped the past to navigate the future.

Digital Literacy. The internet is a double-edged sword. Learn to navigate it safely, protect your privacy, spot misinformation, and adapt to evolving technology.

Manners, Etiquette, Body Language. The way you present yourself matters. Respect others, read unspoken cues, and master the art of presence.

Self-Sufficiency, Life Skills, Livelihood. You won’t always have someone to rely on. Cook, clean, manage time, handle money, and adapt to life’s challenges. Be independent.

Literature, Language, Writing. Words are power. Read, write, and communicate with depth. Language shapes history, culture, and thought—use it wisely.

Critical Thinking, Problem-Solving. The world isn’t black and white. Question everything, analyze critically, recognize manipulation, and think for yourself. Don't be swayed easily by others.

Science and Math. The foundation of everything. At least know the basics, enough to understand the forces shaping the world — logic, numbers, and the universe itself.

Self-Care, Hygiene, Fitness, Health. Your body and mind are your greatest assets. Eat well, stay active, manage stress, and prioritize your well-being before it’s too late.

How can you expand your knowledge?

When you have free time When you're busy When you prefer learning visually When you have little to no attention span

You are what you consume. Now that you know what topics you can expand your knowledge on, these are what you can use / do to consume those information:

Have some free time? Do / use these

Read books, take online courses, or watch in-depth documentaries. (Example: history books, finance courses, science explainers) Engage in discussions or debates to refine your thinking. (Example: politics, ethics, critical thinking) Try hands-on learning like experiments, DIY projects, or journaling. (Example: cooking, coding, writing) Attend workshops, seminars, or community events.

Too busy? Do / use these

Listen to podcasts or audiobooks while traveling, doing tasks / work / school work, or doing chores. (Example: podcasts on Spotify / Tiktok, Youtube videos where the creator is more on speaking, audiobooks on Audible or by downloading a free e-pub format e-book online then uploading it into Google Playbooks and using the audiobook / text-to-speech format) Follow bite-sized content on social media. (Example: short educational / history Tiktok videos, digital literacy infographics, photos on Pinterest) Take advantage of apps and tools for productivity, learning, etc. (Example: budgeting apps, language-learning apps) Watch short, informative videos during breaks. (Example: TED-Ed, Ted Talks, short Tiktok videos)

Like to learn visually / by watching? Do / use these

Watch video explainers, documentaries, or animated infographics. Use apps that gamify learning. (Example: Duolingo for language, Codecademy for coding) Follow visually engaging content creators. (Example: finance charts, body language breakdowns) Make mind maps or illustrated notes to break down complex topics. (Example: self-care routines, political structures, problem-solving techniques)

Little to no attention span? Do / use these

Learn through short-form content like TikToks, reels, or infographics. Play interactive or gamified learning apps. (Example: strategy games, trivia quizzes) Follow meme-based or storytelling-style education accounts. Try hands-on, fast-paced activities. (Example: debate flash rounds, real-world problem-solving challenges, DIY experiments)

Begin small, learn the basics, take a step at a time, and start from there. Be BOTH beauty and brains. You have a weapon (your knowledge), sharpen it and use it.

[lvrclerc]

JOB REQUIREMENTS

summary: when you signed up to become f1's new rising star isack hadjar's personal assistant, you didn't realize that taking care of his three-year old daughter was going to be part of the job requirements.

F1 MASTERLIST | IH6 MASTERLIST

pairing: young single dad!isack hadjar x pa!reader wordcount: 2.2K content: alternative universe - single dad, toddler behavior, fluff, use of y/n note: wrote this in one sitting who am i. this is more of a pairing exploration than an actual fic, the idea just attacked me. lmk if you want to see more of them!

EVENT MANAGEMENT THRIVED on a few core elements, but in the high-octane world of motorsports, less was always more: organization, determination, and adaptability. These three qualities were preached like holy gospel to every employee, an anthem you recited with choir-like devotion.

You adored it.

You prospered in the rhythm of conscientious planning, relishing the sight of your carefully color-coded folders transforming into seamless hospitality experiences for the Racing Bulls team. A rainbow gradient arranged each of them following their respective topics, and your notes were written in neat 1.5-line spacing with a smooth gliding blue pen. 

What started as a side hustle to earn additional money had become the heartbeat of your life, so much that your college degree in marketing had shifted to online classes so you could commit yourself fully. After all, a student’s timetable was rarely vacant, and availability was another salient currency when you dabbled in a world as tumultuous as Formula One. Combining event management with its adrenaline was a gamble, one you’d taken with hungry hands, much to your parents’ overly vocal dismay.

Your work ethic would have eventually led to a promotion; you were sure of it. Although you hadn’t quite expected that promotion to be a spot as Isack Hadjar’s personal assistant.

The reason for the switch had been told through hurried whispers, something about his PA quitting right before the season opener, leaving his calendar messy and unattended. The team scrambled to find a replacement. A day in, and your name had apparently come up, your expertly organized folders had spoken for themselves, and next thing you knew, you were managing Racing Bulls’ up-and-coming talent.

You didn’t speak much to him during the first few weeks. Mostly, they were about cleaning up the mess his last assistant had left behind: you wondered how they’d managed to get anything done with the thousands of stray, half-written notes left around on crumpled paper, each one threatening you with an aneurysm. Still, amidst the handful of emails you exchanged and the scattered conversations you had, you managed to gather a few keywords that could classify what kind of man Isack Hadjar was.

Easygoing. He never fussed about the social media obligations you threw his way and partook in them with blinding enthusiasm. He happily interacted with the crowd, would quickly fire off replies to your emails about an upcoming event, and always ended them with an unprofessional (but oddly charming) smiley face. Shy, awkward. As confident as he appeared in his car or around the team, Isack often stumbled over his words in more intimate settings: the few times you were by his side to run through his daily schedule, he’d give you half-answers with cheeks flushed pink, followed by an horrid attempt at a joke, and inevitably a water bottle knocked somewhere. Young. At twenty-one, the same age as you, he often hovered between friend and boss, hesitant to treat you like a subordinate or even as a colleague.

It was part of the reason you were so astonished upon learning he had a whole daughter. See, Dad was not a keyword you’d planned to add to your mental files.

“I’m very sorry to ask this, really,” Isack had apologized on media day during the Bahrain race weekend, his eyes earnest and rimmed with exhaustion. “But I couldn’t find a daycare that would take her in, and no family member could babysit.”

You blinked at him. The request replayed in your mind like a broken record. “I’m not a babysitter, Isack. I’m your assistant,” you said, but your mind was halfway there.

He offered a sheepish grin. “Technically, you’re already babysitting me.”

“You’re a grown adult,” you deadpanned, deeply unamused. “You don’t need me to change your diaper, unless you forgot to tell me about a pharmacy run for incontinence medicine.”

“She’s three,” Isack said, his brows knitting together, and he looked more offended at your accusation toward his daughter than your jab at him. “She doesn’t need diapers anymore. She’s very capable. I just— I need my assistant’s assistance to take care of her. For one weekend, just one.”

Assia Hadjar was a beautiful girl, truly. With thick brown curls, wide hazel eyes that reminded you of a startled deer, and freckled tan skin, she was the spitting image of her father. She’d looked so shy the first time Isack first introduced you, hiding behind his legs and shifting nervously in her sparkling blue shoes. It had fooled you into thinking that, even though your gift didn’t lie in childcare, you could manage it for a single race weekend. You heard Isack’s weak “Oh putain, merci” when you nodded.

What naivety.

You’d expected that one weekend with Assia would be the longest forty-eight hours of your life, but nothing could have prepared you for the sheer mayhem that ensued.

First, there was the meltdown over the blue cup. You’d given her the green one: same shape, same cartoon princess (Tiana, if you’re interested in any precision), but somehow the wrong color. Cue tears, snot, and decibels you imagined an opera singer could reach, not a three-year-old. You’d tried to explain that all the cups were the same, even offered to swap them, which was deeply ironic coming from someone who wouldn’t write on anything other than squared paper, but by then, she’d upgraded to the “lying on the floor and wailing” stage.

Then came the pasta incident. Who knew a girl no more than three apples tall could have such strong opinions on pasta shapes? Again, coming from the one person bossing the entire staff team around. Apparently, penne was a direct insult to her pride, and only the twirly ones were acceptable. When you’d asked her to demonstrate “twirly ones” with a picture, she’d drawn what looked like a worm on the back of your neatly printed itinerary.

By the end of one weekend, you’d found pasta shapes you never knew existed—and probably didn’t—, learned that the Pokemon theme song on repeat will break your sanity, and discovered that the N-A-P word was a threat to national security. You were certain you’d done a horrible job because, at some point, you’d shamefully texted Isack an emergency SOS about a crying tantrum when you’d forbidden her to adopt a random spider from the paddock.

But when Isack came to pick her up, Assia had run to him grinning, eyes bright, babbling about how “Y/N was the best ever” and you “made the pasta worms taste sooooo good”. You’d braced yourself for mockery, but instead, he’d looked at you with a relieved gratitude that made your chest ache.

The following day had entailed your full initiation to toddlerhood, which included watching Disney’s Mulan on repeat for the hundredth time. You wondered how she didn’t get tired of hearing the same song, with the same lines, over and over again (yes, you were still reluctantly humming along. It’s Mulan.)

Halfway through the hundred and first time, Assia had fallen asleep curled into your side, half-lying on the floor and back against the feet of your hotel room couch. Her sparkly blue shoe had been abandoned in a pile of her belongings, including an Umbreon plushie, next to your bed. You’d meant to get up and tackle your emails, maybe catch up on the sponsorship decks that were piling up, but somewhere between a shirtless Li Shang and the beginning notes of A Girl Worth Fighting For, your eyelids had grown impossibly heavy.

You woke up as the credits rolled quietly in front of you, a crick in your neck and a crayon in your hair. Looking around, eyes bleary and slightly dazed, you noticed Isack leaning against the doorframe of your room. His arms were crossed on the Racing Bulls compression shirt he was wearing, hugging his biceps tightly, and you found yourself staring a beat too long in the dim light of the room. A fond smile thinned his lips.

“Rough night?” he asks, and he must have taken your stare for confusion because he stumbled upon an explanation. “You— you gave me a duplicate of your key for the room. So I could pick her up after the interviews.”

“I remember, I remember, I just— Ugh,” you groaned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and not speaking too loud so as to not wake Assia. “I fell asleep during a children’s movie. I think that’s a new low.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Isack laughed. His gaze drifted to the almost empty blue cup. “At least you figured out she liked the blue cup, this time.”

You glared at him, but reached for the water bottle on the table. “Contrary to popular beliefs, and by popular I mean mine, she likes a lot of things,” you grumbled, unscrewing the cap. “Except naps. Or any vegetables with funny textures. Or fizzy sodas. Or—”

You paused, catching the way his smile softened as he watched you. It occurred to you that you’d never had Isack like this in your presence: relaxed, not fumbling over himself. “What?”

“Nothing.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just… I think you’re better at this than you think.”

“Right.” A snort escaped you, and Assia’s asleep form shifted against your side. It was late, Isack could still carry her to bed without waking her up, so you smoothed her hair with a featherlight touch, hoping to soothe her back to sleep. She frowned, small fingers clutching the crisp fabric of your carefully ironed shirt, and buried her face deeper against your ribs. “She’s so stubborn,” you murmured absentmindedly. You couldn’t help but add, “just like her dad.” The few months you’d worked for him had taught you the family resemblance was striking in that regard.

Isack arched a brow. A surprised chuckle fell out of his lips. “That’s rich coming from you.” He padded over quietly, sneakers muffled on the carpet, and settled himself next to Assia. Slowly, with a carefulness that constricted your chest, he tucked a curl behind her ear. “She’s never that… open. With strangers, I mean. She likes you.”

Your eyes darted from the small girl to her father in amusement. “Does she, now? The tears and screams could have fooled me.”

“She does, she couldn’t shut up about you,” he insisted, huffing out a laugh. “She, uh— she takes after her dad for that too.”

That time, your carefully maintained professional front cracked, a tiny fissure in the businesslike ice wall you so meticulously built over time. Your eyes widened, heat tightened your cheeks and crept up your neck, and your hand froze on Assia’s hair—right next to Isack’s. He wasn’t doing any better. The admission seemed to have robbed him of his usual confidence, leaving him unable to meet your gaze for longer than a second.

“I— I mean, I’m, I’m glad that—” You never stammered. You were composed, efficient— your voice carried, and your words were deliberate, measured. Now, you weren’t sure you even remembered how the English language worked.

Isack smiled to himself as the title screen to Mulan rolled on again. You wanted to throw a pillow at him. Yet, with Assia curled up and fast asleep between the two of you, you still sat through another hour of songs about fighting and honor.

You thought it would be the end of it. One ambiguous weekend, and you’d slip back to your usual schedule, rearranging Isack’s meetings and leaving his daughter to his capable family or caretaker. You could ignore anything ever happened that night, and pretend the glances you stole when you thought the other wasn’t looking was a figment of boredom during bland days.

But the next race weekend, Assia refused to go to daycare as a whole.

“She said she wants to be with you,” Isack said, looking ridiculously apologetic. Jesus, that little girl really had him wrapped around her finger.

You, on the other end, had been stunned to silence. “Me? She wants to be… with me?”

“She’s been asking for you all week,” he admitted, eyes darting to the side. “And I—” He hesitated. “She’s… she’s happier with you than she’s ever been at daycare.”

You stared at him. You had a sneaky feeling that the universe had played a cosmic joke at your expense. “But— Isack— I’m not even good at this,” you protested. “My entire process was based on Google, a spreadsheet she doodled on, and a prayer.”

His laugh sounded awkward. “Like I said, she likes you,” he said simply. The softness in his voice was foreign to you, but not entirely unwelcome. What he said that night in your hotel room came back full force, and your cheeks darkened a few shades. “That should be enough, right?”

You wanted to tell him that, no, it wasn’t enough. You were in over your head, it wasn’t what you signed up for, and your messy color-coded folders cried out for a well-needed weekly organization. Instead, you found yourself nodding, because somehow—despite your many, many failures—you’d become the one person this tiny human trusted more than anyone else.

That was how your weekends became a strange blend of racing schedules, sponsor meetings, and toddler tantrums and giggles. And for reasons you couldn’t quite comprehend, you found you didn’t mind it at all. At first, you thought it was the job requirements. The obligations, as usual.

But maybe it was Assia and her loud determination. Maybe it was Isack and the way he stared when he thought you didn’t notice. 

Maybe it was a bit of both.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[astrologydray]

Ruler of the 6th through the houses

This is where we get into daily life, service, work, wellness, and routine. Think of it as your “how I get sh*t done” energy — the ruler of your 6th house shows what area of life demands the most effort, structure, or healing🖤.

6th House Ruler in the 1st House

You are your own project.

Your identity is wrapped in your work ethic and wellness. People see you as productive, reliable, and self-improving. You’re the type to biohack, optimize, or self-discipline like a boss. You serve: Yourself, your goals, your growth. Wellness style: Actively engaged with body + health. “My body is my schedule — and my brand.”

6th House Ruler in the 2nd House

You work for stability + values.

You’re motivated by security, comfort, and building something solid. You probably have a slow-and-steady daily rhythm and need to feel grounded in your routine. You serve: Through practical help + financial support. Wellness style: Nourishment, somatic care, massage. “My routine = my resource.”

6th House Ruler in the 3rd House

Your mind is always working.

You thrive on movement, communication, and mental stimulation. You may multitask like a machine and keep a busy schedule. Writing, teaching, or running errands = daily bread. You serve: Through ideas, words, and helpful info. Wellness style: Breathwork, nervous system care, mobility. “My calendar is color-coded chaos — and I love it.”

6th House Ruler in the 4th House

Your home is your office or temple.

You crave comfort and emotional security in your daily rhythm. You may work from home or be drawn to caretaking professions. Wellness comes from emotional safety. You serve: Family, home, emotional healing. Wellness style: Nourishing food, rest, inner child care. “My peace starts at home.”

6th House Ruler in the 5th House

You work with passion or not at all.

You thrive when your work lights you up. You bring creativity to your job, and you may serve others through play, art, children, or entertainment. You’re here to infuse joy into the mundane. You serve: Through performance, love, creativity. Wellness style: Movement, pleasure, artistic release. “If it’s not fun, it’s not sustainable.”

6th House Ruler in the 6th House

You were born for systems, routines + service.

You’re naturally drawn to work, health, and structure. You may have a career in healthcare, healing, or support roles. Routines come naturally — but beware of overworking. You serve: Through consistency, integrity, mastery. Wellness style: Functional, optimized, routine-based. “Structure sets me free.”

6th House Ruler in the 7th House

You show up for others.

You serve through partnerships — whether romantic, business, or client-based. Your work may involve 1:1 relationships, and wellness improves when your relationships are in harmony. You serve: Lovers, clients, collaborators. Wellness style: Balance, connection, mirrored growth. “Your peace = my peace.”

6th House Ruler in the 8th House

You work in the shadows.

You may serve through healing, therapy, finances, or emotional transformation. You’re private about your daily habits and need depth + purpose in your work to avoid burnout. You serve: Through psychological or energetic work. Wellness style: Detox, shadow work, deep rest. “My work transforms me — and others.”

6th House Ruler in the 9th House

You work from the mind and the spirit.

You may serve through teaching, spirituality, law, or travel. Daily life needs meaning. You might crave movement or a higher mission behind the grind. You serve: Through wisdom, beliefs, or worldly perspective. Wellness style: Walking meditations, breathwork, education. “My routine is my ritual.”

6th House Ruler in the 10th House

You turn routines into legacy.

Work is your identity. You’re ambitious, career-oriented, and likely to rise in your field due to your consistency. You might manage others or become known for your service. You serve: Through leadership, professionalism, influence. Wellness style: Structured, goal-driven, visible. “Work hard, shine harder.”

6th House Ruler in the 11th House

You serve the collective.

You may work within communities, collectives, or online spaces. You need freedom and innovation in your day-to-day — and you’re likely to rebel against rigid schedules. You serve: Friends, networks, causes. Wellness style: Group classes, tech tools, unconventional methods. “My work serves the future.”

6th House Ruler in the 12th House

Invisible service, sacred structure.

You work best in solitude, or in healing/behind-the-scenes roles. Your routines may be intuitive or chaotic, and wellness is deeply tied to your emotional + spiritual state. You serve: Spirit, the unseen, vulnerable populations. Wellness style: Sleep, silence, dreams, energetic healing “Sacred rest is my medicine.”

[quarterlifekitty]

What kind of slasher are they?

cw: violence, slut shaming

Ghost is like Michael Myers or, Bobby from Sorority House Massacre. The reasons for what he does aren’t explicitly clear, and he’s not about to tell you why he’s doing what he’s doing. His kills are indiscriminate and he doesn’t even relish in them— it’s just something that needs to be done. He’s pursuing you because you are (or at least resemble) someone important from his life before. And he has unfinished business with you.

Gaz is like Pearl (from Pearl) or Patrick Bateman— he kills to cope with the meaningless mundanity of his life. He’s meticulous in his appearance and knows he’s not like everyone else— he just can’t be. There’s something rotten inside, so he has to be beautiful on the outside. You’re spared because you don’t play by the rules that he knows society to operate on. You listen when he speaks, you don’t just wait for your turn to talk. There’s something behind your eyes when you smile. You’re real, and he isn’t, and you need to be preserved.

Soap is like Freddy Krueger or the Driller Killer (from Slumber Party Massacre 2). He’s the man of your dreams, and above all else, he’s here to have fun. Usually that means goring pretty things like you and turning them into blood fountains, but if you happen to be more fun alive than screaming for mercy and impaled? He’ll probably wanna keep you around. Too bad about all your friends, though.

Price is a resident killer, like Vincent from Motel Hell or Chuck Connors in Tourist Trap. It’s you who walks into his domain, and it’ll be the last mistake you ever make. He’s nested quite nicely, and made the perfect system to kill, process and dispose— all with a smile and a family name that makes him beloved in the small town. You’re spared because, well… it’s about time for him to settle down. And of course you’re none the wiser now, but when you’ve gotten used to everything? He wants you to help him.

König is like Jason Vorhees. He kills because you’ve done something bad— a violation of his own personal code of ethics. He’ll strike swift and true, clearing out all of the filth from his own little corner of the world. You’re spared because you’re such a good girl— just the kind his mother would’ve loved. You’re not like one of those whores traipsing around in his woods… No, he’ll save you from all of those bad influences you find yourself surrounded by.

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 0.17 The start of a never ending fight

PREV PART trigger warnings: (semi) violence, talks about wanting to die, illnesses, (past, kinda) medical + physical + emotional neglect, DRUGGING SIDE EFFECTS, anger, (light) infantilzation, tell me if I missed any! main m.list    series m.list    good ending m.list

Something is wrong, terribly wrong. You went home to confront Dick and Jason yet here you are in your bed unable to move without your sight disappearing and you basically passing out. Perhaps you should have listened to Francis, perhaps you should have gone to the hospital with them like the ambulance worker suggested. Perhaps you should have listened to your supervisor and calm down before you stormed over there.

But it doesn’t matter, you can’t change your choice.

You just need to get Duke here, perhaps he can get Alfred and Bruce of your back. Because if you hear your sperm donor tell you another bed-time story you will join your mother sooner then later. You don’t know why but you feel as if something is wrong with medication, as if the pills might be expired even though the date on them says otherwise. The American health care system isn’t known for their transparency and ethical bounds, so you wouldn’t be surprised if the company that made your medication cut corners.

There is no way Bruce messed with them right? He wouldn’t have done that… Not when he is Batman ‘protector of the weak, the dark knight’. That would be going against his moral code, right? Especially when the chemical reaction of a drug with another drug could easily kill you, your sperm donor isn’t that reckless… Right?

But then again, all of his robins started at a young age, he didn’t take you the hospital when Jason had beaten the shit out of you and he ignored how long it took for you to finally walk properly. He had refused to send you to a physical therapist that isn’t Alfred, too terrified of your injuries being reported and then his secret would have been exposed. But not the secret of how neglectful he truly was, he doesn’t really care about that one. He knows he can buy off any journalist that would even think about spreading the truth such fake news. No, even then he cared more about Batman than you.

You can’t count on Bruce having morals when he never had chosen the right path in his life as Bruce Wayne, all he has ever done as a Wayne was put up a mask and harm those around him.

You can’t trust him. Even if you know that you are being paranoid, you just can’t shake the feeling of something sinister hiding behind his eyes.

The same sinister look that you had seen on Alfred’s face so often that you no longer tensed up when you saw it. But on Bruce’s face it feels even more dangerous, it sends your whole nervous system in overdrive. But you can’t tense up, you can’t show a sign of your pain increasing because that would trigger Bruce to start coddling you.

Even more then he has already been doing.

You don’t know how late it is, but you feel as if you have been in your room for longer than a day. But you can’t read your digital clock and pulling out your burner phone would fuck up your line of communication with your friends for when you can see.

“What day is it?” you ask Bruce, swallowing your pride as you cringe at how your voice sounds. It sounds high and hoarse at the same time, it sounds painful to talk and it is. It is as if the vibrations of your voice is enhancing your headache, enhancing your pain. You know it hasn’t, it can’t be, not when you know every pain trigger and every movement that can enhance your pain as if you had gotten a guidebook when you became ill. No this has to be induced, or your illness has gotten worse.

If it did, you just hope it will finish the job.

Bruce doesn’t answer, of course he doesn’t. “Don’t worry about that,” he whispered, brushing some of your hair out of your face. “do you want to take a bath? You have been sweating quite a lot.”

You can’t believe this, but you do want to take bath. Not just to wash the sweat of you but to also get the fuck away from this man and use your burner phone. “Yes,” you say as you push yourself up, ignoring how the world spins around you and most importantly ignoring the look of pity Bruce send your way. “get out.”

Bruce scoffs; “You are not taking a bath alone, you could drown.”

You laugh, pretending to wipe away a fake tear in amusement. “I didn’t know you had humour old man,” you say, trying to look as casual as you can. “but I am taking a bath alone. I am almost an adult, I do not need daddy dearest to watch over me as I clean myself.”

“Do you want Duke to help you wash up?” He asks, clenching his hands onto the book he’s holding. He’s almost tearing the pages, he’s clearly jealous.

“No,” you spat out, rolling your eyes. “I don’t want anyone helping me bathe, you see I like this thing called privacy.”

This time Bruce laughs as you have just said the funniest thing alive. “You are lucky that you even have a door,” he hisses, his eyes narrowing but you just glare back even if you are unsure of where to look. Your mama didn’t raise someone who would just back off the second a confrontation got hard, no she raised you to be a fighter and if you have to fight you will. “you should be happy that I didn’t move you into my own room or the living room where you can be watched at all times!”

You don’t care about what Bruce things, so you push yourself off your bed as you attempt to make your expression passive. Truly, you would think you would have perfected a poker face after being ill for so many years. After hiding all you have been through, but to Bruce you look like Dick attempting to intimidate his scowl for the first time. He just can’t seem to find it threatening, even when he sees your mother’s face in yours.

“You have no say over how I should feel,” you hiss, stepping closer to him as Bruce stands up from the chair he has been sitting on. You ignore how your heart starts pounding louder when he grabs your arms hard enough to Bruce, hard enough to increase your pain. “especially when you continuously hurt me, even now.”

NEXT PART is my writing block decreasing a bit? Seems so :D

taglist (OPEN): @justsaii, @bbmgirll, @cruzerforce4256, @frank-vanderboom, @lilyalone, @mat5u0, @blackheart1454, @wisefuncherryblossom, @lingxio, @c4xcocoa

[fear-is-truth]

THE 5 LOVE LANGUAGES 𝔵 JASON TODD

ⓘ love language : a person's characteristic means of expressing and experiencing love. note. got covid so i wrote the majority of this in bed lol

❝ ACTS OF SERVICE ❞ ⸻⸻⸻⸻ ⸻ ﹒

jason’s dominant expression of attachment is through action, often coded as protection. now he doesn’t articulate affection directly, but his decisions (frequently violent, morally ambiguous, or self-endangering) reveal an ingrained instinct to shield others. from early adolescence, he understood that love, if it meant anything, had to be proven with action.

under bruce, he learned to channel this drive into something more structured: protect the innocent, follow through, serve justice. jason internalised that, but filtered it through his own experiences. his ethic of care was shaped by loss, abandonment, and death. to jason, if you care about someone, you fucking do something about it. after the lazarus pit, this trait only intensified; he became more militant about protecting people he saw as his responsibility. this goes without saying that he’ll kill for you—has, and will again. notably, he may reject help from others, perceiving self-reliance as a survival mechanism. when he allows others to assist him, it signifies a very deep trust.

❝ PHYSICAL TOUCH ❞ ⸻⸻⸻⸻ ⸻

complicated. pre-trauma (pre-death), anecdotal evidence suggests jason was physically affectionate. post-resurrection though, physical touch may trigger hypervigilance or dissociation. he’s not exactly avoidant. on some deeper level, he wants it, craves it, even. but only on his terms and without surprise. if he’s letting you touch him, he’s already made a conscious choice. contact tends to trigger fight-or-flight unless it’s from someone he’s mentally filed as “safe.” even then, it takes time because he needs to assess the intent and pattern first. you’ve learned not to startle jason. when you do reach for him, he won’t always meet you halfway, but he won’t stop you either. sometimes, he’ll even lean into it, let your hand cradle his jaw or your knee press lightly against his under the table. when initiated by him, physical touch is always intentional and super rare.

❝ WORDS OF AFFIRMATION ❞ ⸻ ⸻⸻⸻

he generally distrusts verbal assurances. years of emotional inconsistency, perceived abandonment, and betrayal have rendered language hollow in his worldview. when someone tries to express affection verbally, his first instinct is suspicion. compliments may be deflected or mocked. and when he does offer verbal affection, it’s often oblique—dry humor, begrudging respect, dark jokes. moments of direct affirmation are intensely vulnerable and often framed through anger or defiance (e.g., “i never stopped caring, that’s the problem”). receiving affirmation may cause him visible discomfort, though it still registers.

❝ RECEIVING GIFTS❞ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

selective, but significant. the paperback you tracked down (the out-of-print edition he’d mentioned only once, in passing.) the gloves you left folded on the counter after noticing the ones he wore were splitting at the seams. jason doesn’t view objects as inherently meaningful—he doesn’t assign value to things, only to the intent behind them. he’s not effusive in return. most of what he gives is pragmatic, given without ceremony or explanation. a stun gun mysteriously appears in your bag after he walked you home one night. a second helmet on his motorbike. his hoodie folded on your bed because he’s seen you shiver in the mornings and doesn’t want you to have to ask.

when it isn’t strictly practical, it still has function. a dog-eared copy of the latest novel he read—left on your nightstand, filled with underline passages and margin notes that read like he’s talking directly to you. his gifts are silent acknowledgments: i see you. you matter to me.

❝ QUALITY TIME ❞ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

jason’s used to solitude. silence doesn’t unsettle him—it’s the baseline. you people either stick around or they don’t. most don’t. being around him isn’t easy, he’s aware of that too. if you choose to stay near him, you’re exposing yourself to his volatility, the sharp edge that never fully dulled. it’s not an easy choice to make.

he doesn’t require conversation. half the time, jason prefers the silence. he’s comfortable with proximity without pressure (e.g., watching crappy TV, eating takeout on a fire escape etc.)

the more time you spend with jason consistently, the more he lets down the armor. not all at once of course; but in increments. when he starts talking unprompted—thoughts he normally keeps to himself, tidbits of his past.

 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑-𝐈𝐒-𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 2025 — do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content. ꕀ