#<- i want to experience every media i had before in reality.

[haziells]

my way

until it reaches the void state

(this will be a long post)

1. the end, the beginning.

I knew about the law of attraction years ago thanks to social media, so there it was, like every day trying to manifest my desires.

I was fed up, every day was the same.

My heart healing and breaking everyday, the same cycle of hope and hopelessness continues.

was it always going to be like this?

would I always have to let fears take over me?

I couldn't trust, I didn't believe that just by believing I could get what I wanted but at the same time I had no other option.

I couldn't go on like this, I didn't want to go on like this, I just wanted to end my life, I gave up and cried, cried, cried thinking that this would be the end, that I wouldn't be able to be happy and that was it.

I gave up and thought I was resigned to living a shitty life.

But I cried so much that all the sadness that was in me came out, all the fears that were clinging to me came out.

That's when I felt peace, when I realized that no, I wasn't going to give up that easily, that I first have to do it and do it well, not keep trying.

So I persisted for only 2 days, as I already had my desire for that moment and yes, after 2 days my 3D had already reflected it, it was exciting.

did i reallt do that? was it just a coincidence?

No, it was really me.

I was happy for a few days until the fears returned but this time I was afraid of losing my desire, that's when I realized that fears have no meaning.

I already have it, why would I lose it?

2. I discovered Tumblr and the void state.

I didn't know what void state was, but as soon as I read about it, it caught my attention.

By then my self-concept had improved, I was still dealing with my fears but not as much as before.

So, I made a friend who explained to me more about the void state and she told me that she manifested her house through the void state.

I got excited and hopeful, I read some methods on how to get in and tried to do it, but I couldn't.

I couldn't do it, the simple idea of getting everything so easily sounded easy and fantastical to me.

But one day I realized who I really am, that I am everything, that nothing and no one has power outside of me.

I was filled with satisfaction, joy, peace, I felt like laughing knowing who I am and how easy everything is.

How did I first enter the void state?

so I had a subliminal audio playing in the background while I was meditating.

I thought...I am so powerful, I am capable of anything, I can have whatever I want whenever I want.

At that time I was very sleepy because I had taken some exams, so I just thought "my physical body is going to sleep and rest and I'm going to the void state"

After all, the void state is me and there is nothing easier than being me.

And so it happened, I entered the void state and knew that I already had everything just as I wanted, then I came out and continued sleeping while I didn't stop smiling and feeling a sensation of peace and extreme happiness.

I woke up and stood calmly until I realized what had happened...

I was scared shitless when I realized that I had entered the void state for real and that at that moment I should have everything I wanted and that was when 3d reality disappeared before my eyes.

Everything began to collapse and I felt a huge current of energy running through my entire body, as if it were a waterfall flowing inside me.

I was very scared, I won't deny it, but after all I did it.

(I swear that just as you see in the gif, that's how I felt at that moment)

The following days I couldn't stop shaking and feeling scared because I didn't understand how it was possible that 3D could disappear just like that.

Then I read someone here talking about non-dualism. @lotusmi

Then I understood my experience.

Since that day everything is much easier for me.

I have entered the void state 3 times.

that manifests?

.cure my depression.

.cure my anxiety.

.trust myself.

.longer eyelashes.

.money.

.be able to manifest easily.

.prettiest voice.

.I am spoiled.

The rest of the things I manifest are more private.

But basically for me this is the best thing that could have happened to me.

I will mention who were the bloggers that I read to understand more about the void state and about who I really am.

@gorgeouslypink

@lotusmi

@beesfairlyland

I will also mention a blogger whose information I also like and I find it cute.

@sugarplumfairy777

If you want to know more, you can send me a direct message, no problem.

[callikari]

──────── 🕶️ PAPARAZZI

。 i'm your biggest fan, i'll follow you until you love me. i won't stop until that boy is mine

... 西村 力 x fem!reader 🖇️ fan to idol , angst if you squint, slow burn 1238 wc ( • ᴖ • ｡) idol pressure, hints of unrequited love (in beginning), obsessive tendencies

【 more like this 🎬 】

it was never supposed to be this way.

you never imagined the glittering world of k-pop would consume you this much. it all started when you were a teenager, watching idols on tv, dreaming of standing on that stage yourself. but dreams are never as pretty when you’re trying to chase them.

you were sixteen when you entered the trainee system at hybe, surrounded by hundreds of others with the same goal. at first, it felt like a whirlwind. you had no real idea what you were doing. the rigorous training, the constant pressure, the competition—it was overwhelming. but every night, you returned to that same dream. one day, you’ll be an idol.

it wasn’t until you met him that you started believing it.

nishimura riki. the effortlessly charismatic maknae of enhypen.

at first, you only saw him from afar. he was a senior by a few months, already known for his talent, his looks, his undeniable stage presence. every time he walked by, it was like the air around him shifted. you’d be training in the same building, and for some reason, every time he passed by, it felt like time would slow down. maybe it was his aura. maybe it was the way his smile made everything around him light up. but you, a mere trainee, couldn’t help but watch. you didn’t dare speak to him. you were too far out of his league, or so you thought.

he was perfect. and you were just trying to get through one more training session.

the day you finally debuted as part of aeris arrived, and the reality of it hit you all at once. this was your dream come true. but what they didn’t tell you was how hard it would be to keep it.

aeris wasn’t just a group. aeris was an experience. bold, futuristic, and intense. your concept was about power, control, and breaking free from expectations. the styling, the music, the choreography—it was a perfect reflection of the unrelenting pressure you felt as an idol. the whole world was watching, and for once, you were ready for it.

people called you enhypen’s sister group. at first, it didn’t mean much. but over time, the comparisons grew louder. the media would always bring up him—riki. how much your group resembled enhypen in both style and talent. it felt like there was always this connection between your two groups, one that you could never quite escape.

and then, there was that interview.

you were sitting on the bright stage, the lights of the camera flashing in your eyes, as the reporter sat in front of you, his pen poised. another interview, you thought. just another day in the life of an idol.

“so, y/n,” the reporter began, his voice cheerful and warm, “aeris has made a huge impact in such a short time. tell us, what made you decide to become an idol?”

you smiled, trying to calm your nerves. you’d answered this question a thousand times, but for some reason, today felt different.

“honestly,” you started, your voice a little more vulnerable than usual, “it was seeing the way idols like nishimura riki pushed themselves. he made me believe that even though I was just a trainee, I could become something bigger. he inspired me to chase my dreams, even when everything seemed impossible.”

you could feel the room go still for a moment. the reporters exchanged glances, and a few whispered under their breath.

“nishimura riki? enhypen’s riki?” the reporter asked, clearly surprised.

you nodded, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “yeah. he was always someone I looked up to, even before I joined hybe. I didn’t think I’d ever get close to someone like him, but the way he performed, the way he carried himself—it made me want to be better. to push myself beyond my limits. he’s the reason I’m here.”

the reporters seemed to hang on to your every word. “and now, your group is being called enhypen’s sister group. how does that feel?”

you tried not to think too much about it. it wasn’t like you wanted to be compared to enhypen—you were your own person, with your own identity. but still, you couldn’t deny the strange mix of pride and pressure that came with it.

“it’s an honor,” you said with a smile, your voice steady. “but I think we’re more than just a sister group. aeris has its own identity. we want to make our mark, too.”

you smiled politely, but in the back of your mind, all you could think about was riki. the one person who unknowingly pushed you this far, who made you feel like anything was possible. you were here, in front of the cameras, trying to show the world who you were—but was he even aware of you?

the night was buzzing with excitement. the atmosphere was electric as your group prepped for the next performance, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. something about tonight felt different, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

as you walked down the hallway, you heard familiar voices and laughter coming from around the corner. you turned, your heart racing. and there he was.

nishimura riki.

he was talking with some of the enhypen members, but when his gaze met yours, everything around you seemed to fade away. for a split second, it felt like time had slowed. he smiled at you, a knowing, almost teasing look in his eyes.

you froze. did he hear the interview?

riki’s gaze softened as he excused himself from the group and walked over to you. his footsteps felt like they were echoing, but you couldn’t look away.

“y/n,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “I saw your interview.”

you blinked, a small knot forming in your throat. “you did?”

he nodded. “yeah. I didn’t know I was such an inspiration to you.”

there was something in the way he said it—playful, but also sincere. you had no idea what to say. you weren’t prepared for this.

“thank you,” you whispered, your heart racing. “really. you were the reason I kept going. even when things were hard, I thought about you and how you pushed yourself. it made me believe I could do it too.”

there was a quiet pause before riki took another step closer, his eyes now focused entirely on you. “you did,” he said softly, the smile fading slightly, replaced by something more intense. “you really did.”

the tension was thick between you two. and then, before you could say anything else, riki reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m proud of you, y/n. you’ve come a long way.”

your breath caught in your throat. did he really just say that? did he mean it?

“thanks,” you managed to whisper, your hands trembling.

he smiled, the edge of it more knowing than before. “you’ve been chasing something. but now, maybe you don’t have to anymore.”

he gave you one last look before walking away, leaving you standing there, heart pounding. your thoughts raced. what did that mean?

but even as the night went on and your group performed with all the fire and intensity you’d promised the world, one thought stayed with you.

maybe you were no longer chasing that boy. maybe, just maybe, he was chasing you.

enhypen taglist : @ash-engen @chrrific @cheruphic @jungwonbropls @ijustreallylike2read

© callikari — all rights reserved

[anya-nya-nya]

The Charmony Dove that he and Robin released so long ago didn't fly away. It crashed and died, losing both the untried freedom of sky and familiar safety of the cage. If Sunday did learn something from this experience, then only the strong conviction of harm the one brings upon themselves without supervision. The bird that never raises its head upon the sky would never miss the wind and clouds, so all he needs to do is prevent people from even thinking about the reality beyond Penacony.

If one particularly cheeky gambler would describe this page of Sunday’s past, he would use one of his favorite phrases for dove's end - little birdie took the all-or-nothing plunge and didn't hit the jackpot among white puffs of clouds. Such a sad incident, but Aventurine saw enough big wallets with an akin story crushing down their property, money, and lives the same way in the casino. Boom! Every loss from their side is like another mortified bird falling on the ground with the sound of jingle coins, like in some videogame.

So how would they both carry their worldviews when a new dove would fall from the sky?

SFW, isekai'd reader, GN! reader, yandere, angst, abuse, imprisonment, stalking, mention of slavery in Aventurine’s part

Sunday

When Bloodhounds called him on the emergency of a suspicious illegal tourist who insisted on being from not another planet but another world, Sunday already knew it would be a special meeting. And oh Aeons, how right he was!

After a little talk with a few tricky questions, the head of the Oak family realised that the lie in your words was completely non-existent. You ARE from another universe, the incident of shifting that never had been described in any scientist book Sunday reads before. And, as delusion as he already was, this halovian couldn't see your appearance as something less than divine providence from Ena herself.

From the very start Sunday's actions were directed to fully patronize you and there's nothing wrong! He just needs to show the hospitality of this world, and, as your story differs from any unusual tourists Penacony saw before, it's only natural for someone with his status to help you around. The budget he's controlling is big enough to set aside a sufficient sum to provide your well-being while the best scientists of the Penacony study your case and try to find the way to send you back (not like he wants them to succeed on that, but it's the thing he needs to do for the media.)

Also, it's only natural for him to invite you to his mansion to learn about your past and the world you came from over a cup of tea. It's a new experience and new stories he can muse over after, maybe there's something in your Earth that their universe is lacking in!

..With politeness and official but soft tone Sunday use, it was hard to notice when topics of your meetings slowly slid to the direction of your personal life. Especially when direct questions about such things as having a lover were never raised: Sunday was more interesting to collect information about your behavior, habits, etc… The reports he received from allocated to you guards wasn't enough, apparently, as well as all the cameras and microphones he equipped in the apartment you live in for now.

It doesn't matter how strong and independent you were or weren't in your life before, as now you're completely vulnerable in his eyes, and needs to be under supervision. If you ever would try to call him out on that, asking about the absurd amount of guards and protection you got in such a safe place as Penacony, he would shrug it off without any problem - you know nothing about this world, so it would be hard for you to survive on your own. And don't even try to say it's almost the same as your own planet, so you kinda feel like you just moved to another country, nothing more: he would get irritated and decide you're more naive than he implied.

I feel like Sunday is smooth enough to lead you to almost date-like meetings with him, the homely atmosphere gets more and more comfortable with every visit, but when he decided it's time to step further, he would be pretty official and direct about his love. The path of his ideology dictates him to be pretty strict on this topic, that's why Sunday would allow himself to touch your waist and kiss you only after this step would be crossed. And of course you immediately move into his mansion, where the control he already implied in your life would grow even more.

Your diet, sleep schedule, even your daily plans would be discussed with Sunday as he would ‘help’ you to correct it in a more healthy lifestyle. In the start. As the times go by, he would slowly try to drag the whole responsibility for your well-being to himself, every detail including even your clothes: darling, he loves your sense in fashion, but you don't have even a coin in local currency, and without local education you will never find a job, so let's him buy everything you need! Of course Sunday is not cruel enough and wants you to see him as your boyfriend and not some kind of dictator so he wouldn't mind taking you shopping and choosing a few suits together. How ironic: he LET you go with him to buy clothes for YOU.

Yet the current state of relationship comes as a picture of idyllic heaven only for his eyes, not yours. Every step to overprotection that Sunday makes is just another tick of a second hand signaling about how little time is left before you grew completely tired of his suffocating love.

Your questions about succession of researchers pops up occasionally and makes Sunday slightly irritated but he prefers to brush your worry away with another romantic dinner. Even though the selfish part of the sinner in him was getting offended and finding you ungrateful, his idealistic religious beliefs suppress any blasphemous irreverence to you. At least till you didn't get annoyed enough to ask him directly about your return to your universe.

Any romantic relationships here seems to be doomed in your opinion, especially something as serious and heavy as what Sunday forced from you. For nigh on all these months through the sincere feeling of joy a deep indisposed guilt spreading like an ink on white calico. As if you're the one who's feeding your boyfriend with all these delusions and not other way around. So when all the confusion and stress due to being treated like some pet finally pile up enough for you to raise such a topic, trying to either stop your relationship or at least change the flow of it, you did expect a negative reaction, but the feedback Sunday gives you was much worse.

With the unusual coldness that never linger even in his the most strict lectures your boyfriend just told you to stop throwing tantrums and appreciate what he gives you at least for once. How ungrateful and blind you should be to refuse the safety the shadow of his wings brought upon you. How naive and insolent you should be to actually dreaming to get back in the dangerous of your original world. You told him about all the problems and disasters your planet facing right now and you STILL prefer to get back in such a mess?

Would guilt trip you with phrases like this A LOT. Is his company that bad in comparison with your old friends? Is care he gives you so disgusting you prefer to get back to reality with work, diseases, wars, deaths?

At this point Sunday delusional enough to think it's just learned helplessness speaks for you. It's okay, you just a little bit confused as it's hard for you to get used living under full protection. The bird that never raises its head upon the sky would never miss the wind and clouds, and if he can't push the taste of wind and view of sky out of your mind he would MAKE you forget it. He would make you savor the sugary of isolation and learn that even the smallest cage is better than the vast blue palate if there's someone supporting you every need.

And he's not paying lip service with his metaphor for cages: Sunday already restricted most of your freedom, so putting you in actually cage wasn't something he incapable of. It's doesn't contradict his ideology, but supporting every thought of it as there's no harm but only boon for you. In Sunday's eyes it's not even a punishment but a soft restriction that he's more than happy to take off when you will fully understand the goodwill of his intentions. And till this time you will enjoy getting cared for through golden bars of your prison, learning with everyday how thankful you should be for this bliss of safety.

The story of your successful return back to your universe would be feed to the media and as time pass, everyone would quite forget about it, when in reality the only success you got is expanding your cage to the size of the bedroom in Sunday's mansion.

And it's not like he doesn't mind to shrink it back to the one that still stands beside the bed if even one word about your planet would slip from your lips ever again.

Aventurine

When the familiar scent of champagne and risk hit Aventurine at the entrance to his favourite casino, he still managed to notice slight change in the atmosphere. Such a hubbub and provoked not by his unbelievable strike of wins, but by someone else? That's definitely worth of checking out.

On one of the tables among the faces Aventurine knows good enough to recognize as regular customers, a new one attracted his attention by unusual pallor he didn't quite recall even in faces of full bankrupt. But such reaction quickly get understandable when the soft glint of chains sparkled under dim light of the club.

With as much nonchalant curiosity as Aventurine can muster thanks for all the ages spend in learning faking every of his emotions to the point he believe in it himself, he asks to join the game. Learning enough about the exotic bet one of the man decided to take with himself together takes just one round for risky gambler: an illegal tourist that slaveholders were lucky enough to caught faster than Bloodhounds. No documents, no money, no status - one of the best choices for riches who wants an easy way to find a pet without that much of a problem with the feds.

And though all in the circle laughed at your crazy story about being suddenly teleport to this dimension, Aventurine find it hard to join them with suffocating lump in his throat. Of course he knows even before this accident that his dear ‘bosom friends’ were as much of a shit as his last owners were, but getting hit so straight in the faces with reminiscent of his past..

He wins you. The usual tactic with fueling interest of his enemies for a few rounds to push them for biggers bets didn't even cross his mind today as Aventurine was simply annoyed by all the circus he saw. Second round and he was already leaving with you following him to some place where he would be able to took off the chains.

Don't get me wrong: Aventurine is sensitive to all the slaves no more, especially the ones who got in cuffs for a few system hours. And he would explain this, concealing the fact he did it more for his own whim.

But every investment he do is calculated and need to pays him off someday, and he just saw the right opportunity for your case and how it can help him in finding more proofs of instability in Penacony. You got dragged in some shady business before government managed to help you, you got in chains right under Sunday's nose..! Who's is Sunday? Don't worry, darling, Aventurine would explain everything about this world and his - and now YOURS - goals, but only under conditions of accepting both his problems and his help.

With the amount of luck he got, supporting your basic needs comes out less than quarter of his daily wins in gambling, if not even less. He finds a separate apartments for you, buys designer clothes and delicious foods, and all of these in simple exchange for your existence in this world.

It's didn't take that much time before your meets would transfer from discussing the business and the way you can help to dig into den of leadership in Penacony to more simple and causal themes. The differ between Aventurine’s home place and planet of Festivities is not the thing he want to chat about, but doesn't mind to hear about your universe, just a little bit. Psychology is such a delicate thing and even he understands that to buy your trust he need to spend something more than money: attention and time.

As times go by, the first germs of obsession and anxiety would bloom in his soul. Suddenly it's prohibited to leave apartment without his approve, and the only reason you can step outside is to meet Aventurine. It's for your own safety: the family wouldn't be that happy about threat you posses to their well-being, and with the gift of the gab Aventurine can play and put the real facts the way even the smallest of it would cast a shadow big enough to scare you completely.

It's not in his taste to hire some security, it would add the unnecessary weight to the seriousness he wants you to feel. Instead it would be much worthy to took you with him: so Aventurine can always keep an eye on you and raise the level of trust… Two birds, one stone. Or maybe it's more suitable to say one chip, as most of the times he drags you around clubs and casinos.

Sometimes it's feels like you took his mission with more responsibility than gambler himself, so arguments about your original agreement would occasionally erupts out of blue. With every evening spended in the restaurant or at the table with poker where he playfully asks you to sit on his lap to increase his luck, your confidence in purety of his actions gets thinner.

Aventurine would sense it, his habit of learning even the slightest changes in opponent’s expression let him already remember all of your reaction. That's why even with so many conflicts you still managed to bear with him: cause he knows when he can just brush off your concern with teasing smile and when he need to actually talk about business. Cause he knows how to not annoy you with his permanent presence but inflict it the way you would start feeling the same interest towards him.

Pretty soon you would move in his own apartments, and thought Aventurine still smoothly persuade you of urgen necessity of such action, there's some sultry hint in his voice. He's not the type to tell you straightforward about his feelings as he enjoys the ticklish thrill of unsaid words, and with his eloquence it's easy to toeing the line. As if the simple confession would make him look vulnerable even for a second, and it's not the risk he's ready to take. For now.

In some wrong, twisted way, Aventurine rely on his role of supervisor: there's literally no one in the whole world who you can call a family or friend beside him. Having a full control over someone's life is not a thing he's thirst for, so even in the peak of his obsession the full restraint is taboo for him. But the satisfaction of being responsible for your life makes him softer and calmer. Maybe only in front of someone as defenseless and exposed as you are for him right now Aventurine would be able to open himself. Even the slightest sliver of power in your hands would be impediment that could raise to the height of mountain during his moment of showing vulnerability and turned against him, at least that's what the fear in the back of his mind whisper through another sleepless night.

Albeit bearing such paranoia, Aventurine truly loves you and wants let you learn the story of his past and the main reason he get so rabid in your first meet. That's why he would take the last pieces of independence you had: he's already providing every aspect of your well-being, so why can't you just put your whole life in his hands? It would be a fair deal, as in return he would let you hold his heart: a thing much sensitive that you could ever imagine.

[beiasluv]

forbidden fruit | Charles Leclerc

a/n: new to the f1 communityy 😬 apologies for any term or idea i got wrong. female!reader. no proofread! enjoyy 🤍

summary: the princess of mercedes and the prince of ferrari, what could possibly go wrong?

“y/n! y/n! she’s in her last turn! leclerc’s trailing behind! can he do an over take?”

splashing champagnes and listening to the dutch national anthem were never your favorite of winning a podium, but who cares?

you were on P3 and charles leclerc was not.

perhaps retelling the story of your rivalry with the mon��gasque driver would take a whole frustrating, aggravating, and lengthy year for us to get through; and perhaps it was for the best to leave it where it is, never to be touched, but to reminisce with a needle of cringeness poking through your heart.

although an honorable mention to verstappen, for taking the lead role of leclerc’s personal favorite rival.

it was all an inchident, of course.

smirking back to the driver in a flashing, scuderia ferrari, red fire suit, you could only feel your ego bubbling to the top of your throat. charles leclerc was staring. and staring hard. what a shame you couldn’t even take out your phone and take a snippet of his raging glance. what a fun sight for the whole news headlines to see.

‘charles leclerc, envy and jealousy…’

of course, he couldn’t lash it out. how could he? would the handsome, young, and talented ferrari driver want to ruin his reputation in the media? obviously, not.

of course, you knew it all too well. every day you wake up with the tip of a knife, aiming at your throat, ready to nick you anytime you take a wrong step on the luxurious path of an f1 driver. being the only female driver on the grid makes your life a thousand times more challenging.

but who were you to be a nitpick?

the media loves drama. we all do. perhaps it was a little bit more entertaining to see what you are wearing when the races had gone wrong. what hairstyle were you wearing for the big race? or, maybe, just which driver you were dating on the grid this season?

never once you could escape the dating questions or all the bullshit misogynistic attitudes from the journalists, press, media, and, well, …you name it.

perhaps you have to give it to leclerc for never going easy on you just because you are of a different gender.

“congratulations on P3, y/n,” max turned towards you and gave you a pat on the shoulder; simultaneously, bringing you back to reality.

“t- thanks.”

—

“you win this one, l/n.”

he took off his helmet, and clutched it loosely to his side. the cheeky smirk plastered on his face. the eyes searched for the depth of yours.

only you knew how much pain it was for him to force his lips to create such a soft and fake smile for the thousand camera lenses, waiting to catch the two rivals lacking. bumping into leclerc after the race, fresh and full of adrenaline, alone in the hallway of the track was never an enjoyable experience to endure.

“good race, leclerc,” you muttered out as many PR and drivers walked past you two.

“same to you.”

what a shame your PR manager ushered you out for the media room before you two could give a shot of throwing hands - elegantly, of course.

—

“good work on the qualifying round, l/n. return to the garage. over.”

“copy that,” you tapped your headset, notifying the engineer of the prestigious mercedes team.

driving for mercedes in f1 could count as your biggest dream since the karting days. and the race won against ferrari was a - personal - success.

slowing your baby down, and pressing the brake mechanism of the car, you came to a halt as the friction overpowered the tires. one or two seconds later, you could hear the mercedes team rushing and scurrying over to your parked position to collect you back to the mothership.

“take her back, guys!”

the screaming of your fans nearby erupted as you ascended out from the cramped space of your f1 seat. taking your helmet off, and waving to them; you gracefully jumped down from the car and headed towards the mercedes headquarters.

a long walk, but who are you to make a fuss?

an f1 driver should have no problem walking a couple of miles. oh but how annoyingly a group of fans quickly crowded over you and blocked your ways…red flags, horses, and charles leclerc faces. clearly, you knew whose fans they were.

fussing, grabbing, and pulling, you were harassed, unfortunately. autographs, hats, pictures, postcards, and questionable stuff were pushed into your face.

“y/n! please! sign my shirt!” “get the hell away from charles!”

“charles deserved p3 today!” “l/n!! l/n! say hi to my dad! he loves you!”

trying to fulfill all of their requirements, you realized you had found yourself in the sea of scuderia ferrari fans. it is an unspoken fact that you were the rival of charles leclerc; you could say some fans were more enthralled by that fact than others.

“y/n! what do you think about charles? are you guys dating?”

sometimes you hate technology. the cameras pointing at you reminded me of the knife you carry mentally with you every day. it could gain you thousands of thousands of likes in a few tiktoks or perhaps get ready to say goodbye to your f1 position.

“…we’re not talking. in any complicate way,” smiling through the pain you signed the cap that was shoved into your face. gosh, mercedes. where was your security?

your patience could only last so much until one fan decided it was worth it to grab your hand and pull you down for an instagram-worthy photo. and he possibly thought the best way to execute it was to, firstly, seize your waist. how thoughtful of him.

“fuc- please don’t-”

“y/n! i love you!”

man-child was not having it. sweaty and clammy hands could send chills down your spine if you didn’t know.

“please-”

smile through the pain. smile through the pain. it was all part of the job, at the end of the day. the fans still won and you were just a doll for f1. breathe in, breathe out.

he pulled his iphone 7 out of his pocket, painfully slow; slower than the ferrari’s pitstops. his side was squished to yours. the cologne, the smell, the sensory, everything-

“hey, hands off.”

you could say it was the first time you were glad to see charles leclerc from your entire life; wearing his race suit sluttily around his waist. leclerc - being leclerc - stunned his fans, leaving a big hole in the crowd around you.

he was reaching out for your waist; surprisingly, in a way you were pleased, and pulled you out of the red crowd. and just like magic, the security came rushing in and ushered the mob of fans away from the scene.

wearing that stunned face of yours, you regained consciousness and your rival emotions. clearing your already cleared throat, charles took it as a signal to let go of your waist. how suddenly you realized it was all happening over the armor of your fire suit.

thank god.

“..thanks”

“no need to thank me,” the competitive tone made its way through his annoying lips again. scoffing, he looked at you with his hand clutching his helmet by his side, “i don’t understand why they need to adore you this much.”

how rude.

“for the record, they are your fans, leclerc,” you scoffed offendedly, and your hand found its natural place on your chest; clutching for dramatic effect.

“what did i do to deserve such loyal fans, l/n…” not even looking at you he smirked under his nose. “they shouldn’t be acting this way, no?”

he looked over at you, seeing you in your distressed state and a chuckle left his lips. the cameras settled on the stands far away in the distance and stared at you two, they were definitely on.

shit.

this is going to end up in the headlines.

—

“check out your new title…” your manager cleared his throat as you nervously waited.

“you can’t just leave me hanging here!”

placing your phone in your lap your hands returned to the comfort of the steering wheel. twisting and turning, you maneuvered your mercedes inside the driver's garage.

“calm the fuck down! i’m pulling out the source for accuracy,” you swore you could see your manager rolling his eyes. “wait for it…‘charles to the rescue. mercedes and ferrari, love or rivalry?’”

“shut up.”

“i can send you the links.”

“please don’t,” you sighed as you looked over your shoulder to slide into the parking lot like a distinguished f1 driver. “…the devil works hard, but the media works harder, or what?”

“we could use a little PR for mercedes, y’know?” the crackled chuckle left your phone.

please.

“the signal is shit in the parking lot, i’ll see you at the paddock. bye.”

“alright, be quick.”

gathering your bag and phone, you checked your face one last time in the rearview mirror and opened the car door. unfortunately, the infamous ferrari entered the parking lot with its signature roars, as you stepped out of your car.

the devil had worked hard once again. walking to your trunk, you kicked it open and snatched some of your essential stuff for the race. and who would’ve thought charles leclerc could park his car in under 20 seconds?

not to mention, it wasn’t straight. (oops)

getting out of his car, he checked his hair and fixed his shirt. obviously, aware of the paparazzi lurking around the track’s garage for the big day, and hoping to sell a couple of pics for something a little more than a couple of bucks. perhaps an even better price for them if they caught you and your rival having a ‘friendly’ chat.

don’t get close to him. don’t get close to him.

“what a coincidence,” leclerc approached your mercedes as he locked his ferrari with its infamous beeping.

“how so?”

smirking back at him, you slammed your trunk closed and shut off; locking your car in the same manner. catching the glimpse of his eyes you made it your personal goal to escape him as fast as you could possibly can.

flicking your head away and taking off, the path inside the track was as empty as you hoped it could be.

“slow down, i just wanna talk.”

“leclerc.”

“you walk too fast,” you swore if you looked back and he is grinning. “you trying to escape from me?”

fuck.

“got a problem with that, leclerc?”

his dark green eyes met yours after you decided the risk was below the ‘manageable’ level to turn around.

“no,” he grinned at you. how you wish you could smack it off of his face. “i jus’ want some company while walking to the track, no?”

company, my ass.

clearing his throat, he looked at you, “you’re a pretty good rival though.”

gaining a nod and a smirk from you leclerc was cut short of his run time as his PR manager came to collect him to the ferrari garage. how sad. his messy hair, the confidential wave, and two eyes met yours one last time before you decided to head to the mothership of your mercedes headquarters.

big trouble, y/n. big trouble.

—

“y/n, we neeed to talk.”

the paddock was usually quiet upstairs, all the mechanics and engineers spent their time in garage down below. only toto, george, lewis, your manager, and their managers, and - obviously - you would spend time up here. also. is every private manager in the world annoyingly scary and friendly at the same time or what?

sitting down next to you on the black sofa of the mercedes headquarters by the pitch, you were face-to-face with your lovely manager.

clearing your nonexistent anxiety, “…yes?”

“look…the media is starting to notice your relationship with charles…”

“and..?”

“and,” he crossed his arms, “we need to work on keeping this situation private…it could affect your reputation. maybe after the soft launch phase is over, you can publicize it…if you want to, obviously.”

the fuck?

“…what are your thoughts?”

he looked into your face, not a single thought behind it. somehow the racetrack outside the notoriously big, shiny window of the mercedes paddock suddenly gained your attention, and he restored to snapping his fingers in front of your face.

“what-? oh right- for fuck’s sake! we’re not in a relationship!”

“and what about those paparazzis’ pictures? I thought we agreed on sharing every ‘public’ detail about your life with me?”

“first of all, privacy. second of all. you believe that?! anthony! you’re my manager, i would’ve told you if i was dating a ferrari driver!” grabbing a quick breath,

“do you think i want to date the reddest of all flags on the grid?!”

“yeah? but that’s not the impression the media got,” he said. “even max! max verstappen thought-”

“who cares what max thinks!” you thrown your head back on the sofa.

“PR could be good, but we don’t know if it’s going to blacklash-”

george russell. he walked up to you two arguing on the black sofa and smirked at you; clearly, he heard your talks about ‘the reddest of all flags on the grid.’

“shut your mouth, russell,” sighing sarcastically as you could and you turned to your manager, who was having the time of his life.

“I’m not saying anything,” he raised his hands defensively, grinning the shit out of the corners of his mouth.

“I’m a driver, not a play doll you could match-make for the team’s reputation. hell. doesn’t charles have a girlfriend?”

anthony pulled out his phone and scrolled through ‘something,’ “yes…charles…has a girlfriend, PR relationship?”

“what do you mean?”

putting his phone away, “doesn’t matter. but what the media care about is to get a story out of nothing.”

“…and?”

“you have a reputation of being a private figure, and you're an expert in keeping it that way. we just need to do that until the end of the season.”

george chuckled sarcastically, "she seems angry at us, guys.”

“i am. and i’m not dating anyone for mercedes. done,” you stood up from the sofa and beelined towards the door. “also. i’m telling toto.”

and someone finally heard you this time. the whole room’s atmosphere seemed to tense up as someone entered the door.

toto wolff.

“is there a problem, y/n?” toto asked as george smirked at the unfolding situation.

you swung your head towards the origin of the sound and cleared your throat, “your employee, mr. wolff, is trying to matchmake me with a ferrari driver.”

toto chuckled.

toto chuckled?

“so there is something between you and charles?” he raised his eyebrow at you. expectedly, george was holding his laughter in for his dear life.

“why does everyone thinks that we’re dating?! even toto?!”

“so you’re not dating leclerc?”

“no!”

congratulations. you have successfully crashed onto the sofa once again, groaning your pain out.

“she’s lying,” george chimed in.

“I. am. not.”

how surprising that george’s back kissed the sofa as you tackled him jokingly down. a moment of silence for toto to watch many of his best drivers tackle each other like it’s a normal day in kindergarten.

“are you sure you are not dating, leclerc?”

last straw. you clutched your bag and left george dysfunctional on the couch. walking past the room, you glanced back one last time and said with the best sarcasm, “i’m not. and I’m not dating him for mercedes. done! I’m a driver, not a doll!”

slamming the door shut, you headed for your private driver’s room.

"she's angry at us…” george chuckles nervously; obviously, with a hint of joy.

“no shit sherlock”

—

edit: part 2

part 2?? reblog, like, whatever the heck you want would be appreciated 😘

today’s a great day to take care of yourself, lots of luv 🤍

[iamquiantrelle]

XOXO YOUR FAVE WAG (ONE SHOT) • iamquaintrelle

# summary: the whistling takes it course on kylian and for once, it also becomes too much to bare. requested by this ask and this one too. # wc: 3.6k # pairings: kylian mbappe x black spoiled gf (fc: 6kenza) # tags: @kmlottin @masn-mount @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @szariahwroteit @muglermami @goodgyalgonebadd @sailurmewn @perfecttrashface # author’s note: got a scenario for your fave wag? - send them here // one shot series masterlist

PART III: BIG MAD

She knew from the moment the final whistle blew.

Four-nil. At home. Against Barcelona.

The Bernabéu fell into a stunned silence before the whistles started—thousands of Madrid fans expressing their disgust at what they'd just witnessed. El Clásico wasn't just any game. It was THE game. And Madrid hadn't just lost; they'd been humiliated.

She watched from her private box as Kylian trudged off the field, shoulders slumped, avoiding eye contact with everyone. The cameras followed him relentlessly, zooming in on his face—capturing every flicker of frustration, every clenched jaw, every downcast glance. Tomorrow those images would be splashed across every sports newspaper in Spain.

"Merde," she muttered under her breath. She knew exactly what was coming.

When Kylian was happy, he was sunshine—playful, affectionate, practically radiating joy. But when defeat hit, especially a defeat like this, he became a different person. Distant. Silent. Unreachable.

By the time she made it down to the family area, most of the other WAGs had dispersed, nobody wanting to linger after such a devastating loss. Camila gave her a sympathetic look as she passed.

"Good luck," she whispered. "Rodrygo's already smashed his water bottle against the wall."

"Thanks," she replied grimly. "See you... whenever they start speaking to us again."

The players' tunnel seemed longer than usual as she waited. One by one, dejected Madrid players emerged, most walking straight past without acknowledgment, lost in their own disappointment.

Aurel came out first of the French trio, his expression stormy. He managed a small nod in her direction but didn't stop to talk. Cama followed shortly after, sighing heavily as he approached.

"C'est pas bon," he said quietly. "He's... tu sais comment il est."

"I know," she nodded. "Is he coming out soon?"

"He's still sitting in his locker. Coach tried to talk to him, but..." Cama trailed off with a shrug.

Twenty more minutes passed before Kylian finally emerged, hair still damp from a shower that had clearly been taken in record time. He wore the official post-match Real Madrid outfit, but his usual careful styling was absent. His eyes met hers briefly before sliding away.

"Ready to go?" she asked gently.

He nodded once, saying nothing.

The car ride home was silent except for the low hum of the radio, which she turned off after hearing the announcer mention the "disappointing debut season for Madrid's French star." Kylian stared out the window, his jaw working silently as he clenched and unclenched his teeth—a nervous habit from childhood that only emerged when he was truly upset.

At home, he dropped his kit bag in the hallway and headed straight for their game room. She heard the familiar sound of FIFA loading up—his go-to form of therapy after bad matches. Sometimes he'd play as himself, scoring impossible goals in the virtual world that he hadn't managed in reality. Other times, he'd choose entirely different teams, losing himself in matches that had nothing to do with his own disappointments.

She left him alone, knowing from experience that pushing him to talk before he was ready would only make him retreat further. Instead, she took Milo and Gatsby for their evening walk, giving him space while she scrolled through social media—a masochistic ritual she couldn't seem to break.

The comments were already brutal:

"€150 million for this? He should've stayed in Paris"

"Disappears in big games. Always has, always will."

"Madrid got scammed. Not worth half what they're paying him."

Worse were the comparison videos showing his missed chances alongside Mbappé goals from PSG, set to sad music. As if he'd somehow left his talent behind in Paris.

What none of these commenters knew was the additional pressure weighing on him—the ongoing legal battle with PSG over unpaid loyalty bonuses. Millions of euros still withheld despite contractual obligations. The lawyers' calls, the media speculation, the former club painting him as greedy while conveniently forgetting their own broken promises.

When she returned home, Kylian had moved from the game room to their bedroom. The lights were off, but she could see his silhouette sitting at the edge of the bed, phone in hand, its blue light illuminating his face.

"You shouldn't be reading that stuff," she said softly, closing the door behind her.

"Why not? They're right." His voice was flat, emotionless.

"They're reactionary fans and click-hungry journalists. They don't know shit."

"Four-nil at home. I had two clear chances and fucked them both." He looked up at her, eyes hollow. "Maybe I made a mistake coming here."

Her heart clenched. This was the real fear—not just that he was playing poorly, but that the dream he'd held since childhood was crumbling around him.

"It's been three months, Ky. Teams take time to gel."

"Bellingham came at the same time and he's already breaking records."

There was no good answer to that. Jude Bellingham had indeed adapted seamlessly, becoming the darling of Madrid while Kylian struggled to find his rhythm in a system that hadn't yet figured out how to utilize his strengths.

"Come to bed," she said finally. "Tomorrow looks different."

But it didn't. The morning papers were merciless. MARCA's headline simply read "FRACASO" over a picture of Kylian looking defeated. The online buzz grew louder when news broke about the escalation of his legal dispute with PSG—his lawyers filing formal complaints about the withheld payments.

Kylian withdrew further, barely speaking during breakfast, leaving early for training without his usual kiss goodbye. That evening, he came home late after extended solo practice, his body exhausted but his mind clearly still churning.

The pattern continued for days. At home, he was a ghost—physically present but emotionally absent. The playful banter, the random singing in the shower, the impromptu dancing in the kitchen—all gone. In their place was a tense silence broken only by necessary communication.

"Dinner's ready."

"Thanks."

"Are you coming to bed?"

"Later."

"Cama called. He wants us to come over Saturday."

"Not in the mood."

The Milano match loomed. A Champions League night at the Bernabéu, a chance for redemption. She watched him prepare with almost desperate intensity, his pre-match routine extended with additional stretches, extra visualization, more video study.

"You'll be great tonight," she told him, trying to infuse her voice with a confidence she wasn't entirely feeling.

He nodded, distracted. "I have to be."

The Bernabéu was electric that night, the fans seemingly determined to push their team to victory despite the Barcelona disappointment. For the first half hour, it worked. Madrid played with intensity, and Kylian looked more like himself—making darting runs, combining well with teammates, threatening the Milan defense.

Then came the counterattack. A Madrid corner cleared, Milan breaking with speed, their star striker finishing clinically. 1-0 down. She watched Kylian's body language change instantly—the shoulders dropping slightly, the frustrated glance skyward.

By halftime, it was 2-0 to Milan. The whistles had started again, scattered at first, then gaining volume. When Milan scored their third early in the second half, they became deafening. Madrid pulled one back late, but it was mere consolation. 3-1. Another home defeat.

This time, Kylian didn't even shower at the stadium. He emerged quickly, eyes averted from everyone, including her. In the car, he broke the silence first.

"Don't say anything. Please. I can't hear any more fucking platitudes about time and patience."

"I wasn't going to—"

"Just... don't. Okay?"

She fell silent, hurt but trying to understand the depth of his disappointment. At home, instead of heading for the game room, he went straight to their home gym. Soon she heard the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the treadmill, then the clang of weights being slammed with more force than necessary.

He worked out for nearly two hours before coming upstairs, sweat-soaked and hollow-eyed. She was in bed reading, or pretending to read, when he emerged from the shower.

"You should eat something," she suggested. "I saved you dinner."

"Not hungry."

"Ky, you need to—"

"What I need," he cut her off, voice sharp, "is for everyone to stop telling me what I fucking need!"

The sudden anger made her flinch. In three years together, she'd seen him frustrated, seen him disappointed, but rarely had that anger been directed at her.

"I'm just trying to help," she said quietly.

"You can't help!" He ran a hand roughly through his damp hair. "Nobody can help because nobody understands what this feels like. To have everything you've worked for, everything you've dreamed about, turning to shit while the whole world watches and laughs!"

"I understand it's difficult—"

"No, you don't." His voice was cold now. "You get to post your pretty pictures and do your brand deals regardless of whether I win or lose. Your career doesn't depend on ninety minutes every week where millions of people judge your entire worth as a human being."

The words hit like a physical blow. Tears sprang to her eyes before she could stop them.

"That's not fair," she whispered.

"None of this is fair!" He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, shoving it in her direction. "Look at this! Look!"

The screen showed a compilation video: every missed chance, every misplaced pass from the Milan game, set to circus music. The caption read: "€150 million circus act."

"I didn't come to Madrid for this," he continued, voice cracking slightly. "I didn't leave everything behind to become a fucking joke."

"You're not a joke," she said firmly, despite the tears now rolling down her cheeks. "And I didn't follow you to Madrid to be your emotional punching bag when things get hard."

Something in her tears seemed to break through his anger. He stared at her for a long moment, the realization of his words slowly dawning in his eyes.

"Merde," he whispered, shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Yes, you did," she cut him off, wiping roughly at her tears. "Maybe not the way it came out, but you meant it. And it really fucking hurts, Ky."

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. "I know. I'm sorry. I just... I don't know how to handle this. Nothing in my career has felt like this before."

The raw vulnerability in his voice melted some of her hurt. She moved across the bed to sit beside him, not touching yet, but close.

"Talk to me," she said softly. "Not the angry stuff. The real stuff."

He was quiet for so long she thought he might not answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.

"I'm scared I made the wrong choice."

There it was. The fear beneath the frustration.

"Coming to Madrid?"

He nodded slowly. "What if I'm not meant for this team? What if the system never works for me? What if I've ruined everything I built in Paris for... this?"

"The system will adapt," she said. "You're Kylian fucking Mbappé. Teams build around players like you, not the other way around."

"It's not happening fast enough. And now with the lawyers and PSG..." He trailed off. "It's like I'm being punished for chasing my dream."

"Look at me," she said, waiting until his eyes met hers. "You are exactly where you're supposed to be. This rough patch doesn't change that. The goals will come. The connection with the team will build. But you pushing everyone away—me, Cama, Aurel—that's only making it harder."

"I know," he admitted quietly. "I just... I hate anyone seeing me like this. Weak. Failing."

"It's not weak to struggle, Ky. It's human." She took his hand, relieved when he didn't pull away. "But you can't shut me out when things get tough. That's not how this works."

"I made you cry," he said, looking stricken at the realization. "I've never done that before."

"Well, don't make it a habit," she attempted a small smile. "My mascara isn't that waterproof."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips before fading. "I'm really sorry. You're right—you didn't sign up to be my emotional punching bag. You deserve better than that."

"I don't need better. I just need you—the real you, even when you're struggling. Especially when you're struggling."

He pulled her into his arms then, holding her tightly against his chest. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"You were you," she said simply. "The boy from Bondy who stole my heart long before the world knew his name."

They sat in silence for a while, the simple comfort of connection beginning to heal the rift that had formed. Finally, Kylian spoke again.

"What if I never find my place here?" The question was soft, vulnerable.

"Then we adjust. We figure it out together." She pulled back to look him in the eyes. "But you will. You're too good not to. And when it clicks—when you and this team finally sync up—it's going to be magnificent."

For the first time in weeks, she saw a flicker of genuine hope in his eyes.

"You really believe that?"

"With my whole heart." She brushed her lips against his. "Now come to bed. The world looks different in the morning."

This time, he believed her. And as they lay together in the darkness, his breathing slowly steadying against her skin, she silently vowed to weather whatever storms came their way—the losses, the criticism, the doubts. Because behind the superstar that the world saw was just her Ky, trying his best to carry the weight of impossible expectations.

The road ahead wouldn't be easy. Madrid was unforgiving, the press relentless, the fans demanding. There would be more defeats, more criticism, more difficult nights. But they would face them together—the petit baddie from Bondy and her footballer, figuring it out one day at a time.

Sometimes love meant holding space for the darkness, and trusting that the light would eventually return.

[sirenesolace]

SOLAR RETURN CHART 2024!!

Solar return charts usually last until your next one BUT because the year is almost over, i wanted to look at some of the predictions my chart indicated😸 some of them were WILD so hold on tight!!

DISCLAIMER: I am NOT a professional astrologer and these are just OBSERVATIONS I am doing purely for having fun!! My aspects or placements may not turn out like yours so don’t worry 💕 These observations were made thanks to several already written posts on here about solar return charts, my personal experience and some researches😽

HAPPY HOLIDAY ❄️☃️

————————————————☆★!!

VIRGO RISING: starting with the rising sign. I read on here (I’ll try my best to tag the creators), that the year you have Virgo rising on your solar return chart, will one of your busiest years, and BOY WAS I BUSY. I started college (as indicated with my packed 9th house) and every time I thought I could relax there was a new assignment to do or notes to take for a class. I was practically drowning in homework.

SATURN + NEPTUNE 7TH HOUSE: because I was so busy all the time, i barely had time to really form any romantic relationship even tho I daydreamed about it a lot (Neptune). I was rejecting people + dates left and right, because I was busy but also I am very inexperienced with relationships: so I was sorta scared of diving into them. (Saturn representing blockage and fears in the house of relationships). Another interesting point was me manifesting and visualizing a relationship with a specific man (Neptune)

9TH HOUSE STELLIUM: I not only started college this year, but I also traveled a lot! A lot of my travels were done by plane this year. I went to a whole new country, and visited some family in another country.

4TH HOUSE LORD IN THE 9TH: the 4th house sign is Jupiter, and it’s placed in the 9th house; because I am going to college in a new country, I moved away from my home country. I’m already settled in and I absolutely LOVE the city I’m studying in😸! The people there are so freaking sweet and nice!

SUN + VENUS IN 11th HOUSE: I made sooo much friends this year and I’ve gotten so much compliments 🤭 I also became so confident this year, and that reflected in my reality. Compliments from strangers were so common this year. People would literally walk up to me and tell me the most unique compliments. It wouldn’t be the 11th house if i didn’t talk about social media. I started posting so much more on my socials (which is funny because before my solar return I took a social media break). I gained so much followers and overall focus on posting + creating content. Also I took manifesting seriously this year and gotten so much of my desires.

CHIRON 8TH HOUSE: I avoided having intimate relationships so much this year💀 Not necessarily a bad thing for me, but it’s very paradoxical knowing that I was wishing to have it so bad. I honestly was very avoidant and kinda scared to be intimate because I never experienced it AND before I can be intimate, I have to truly love someone intensely. That didn’t happen so I’m actually glad I wasn’t intimate with anyone. The solar return chart will run all the way to 2025 until my birthday (July 12th) so who knows 😛

JUNO 21°, 1ST HOUSE: I kid you not, a stranger that saw me at my hotel (while on vacation in a foreign country) asked my mom for my hand in marriage 😭😭 my mom speaks little English so he google translated what he needed to say to my mom💀 Juno in the 21st degree makes it interesting because it’s linked to Sagittarius: languages, foreign countries and long distance .

MOON 5°, 1ST HOUSE: I read on here (pls help me tag the creator) that planets at a 5° signify change. The moon is linked to menstrual cycles and because 2024 was a leap year, there was a change in my cycle. I also became better at regulating my emotions (I started meditating, doing breath work and Yoga) and became better at transmuting them so I could persist in my manifestation instead of having break downs about my reality.

LEO MERCURY IN 12TH HOUSE: I DID ACTING!! One of the things I manifested for myself. I did theatre and I had so much fun playing the character. The ugly side was that I was extremely drained from doing homework, coming late from rehearsal and I was barely sleeping + eating (literally had a breakdown multiple time and I was hopping they would kick me out the show). One of the directors (FUCK THAT BITCH) literally didn’t care fr and acted like she did. It’s a relief my mom came to visit the week before the big show and stayed with me till now. I was well fed and had so much energy because of it. Show went extremely well and my cast members kept mentioning how much the audience always were more responsive when I was on stage, so that made me so happy that they loved it🥹 One thing is that I’m never joining the theatre club again. It’s extremely demanding with my time and as much as I enjoyed acting, what I went through wasn’t worth my sanity😭 The next time I will be acting, I know it will be film acting instead because i didn’t enjoy theatre acting that much.

VIRGO AURA CONJUNCT ASC: this one was super interesting. People kept telling me you give off the vibe of someone who’s super intelligent, organized, confident and focused on her study. The word “aura” at the moment is very well known to mean “someone who radiates a lot of power/confidence” and people have told me I do radiate that; because of it I’ve gained a lot of suitors and admires (men and women).

PLUTO 5TH HOUSE: This one is gonna be a STRETCH but, I think Pluto here kinda explains me feeling burnt out about theatre 😭 the 5th house does govern this so I think it makes sense. 5th house also governs crushes and casual relationships, and i tried to avoid these as much as possible this year. I will say that I did have at least 1 crush this year which was super exciting knowing that I haven’t had one for 3 years. He acted like a “know it all”, was not a gentleman, did nicotine (one of my biggest turn offs) and when I finally did want to make time for him/ tried to reciprocate his feelings (because he literally loved me from the first time we met💀), he kept giving me mixed signals. I take a mixed signals as a “No” so I immediately stopped giving him any attention after that.

I hope you guys had as much fun reading as I had fun making this😽

[xclowniex]

You're a zionist Arab Jew? Are you also a member of the Snow Leopards Eating My Face party? Are you white passing enough that zionists don't know you're Arab or do you just hate yourself? Are you unaware of the unabashed anti Arab racism that Israelis spout out every day on social media? Or do you think you're just "one of the good ones"?

Time for everyone's favorite game show!

"What deranged shit in Clownie's inbox today!"

To turn to a more serious note, Whilst I do not not live in Israel, my family does.

My family have only faced minimal racism for being arab, mainly stuff back in school years ago. I do not speak for all arab jews or even all Arabs in Israel, but that is mu family's experience. Just schoolyard racist teasing which is obviously not a good thing, but isn't a problem anymore than anywhere else in the world.

My family has full rights as other arab citizens do and other jews do.

Most jews I speak to have no problem with me being arab too. Do anti arab jews exist? Probably as no group is a monolith. I have just not encountered any yet, which is again, just my experience.

Zionism is also not an anti arab ideology inherently. Zionism literally just means wanting self determination in Southern Levant. That looks like a lot of different things, however most jews who are zionist believe in either a two state solution or a land for all solution which allows for jewish self determination and Palestinian self determination.

I think it's also important for me to say that I do not know which arab country my arabness comes from due to my family being told to "leave or die" a few generations back because they were also jewish. I really wish that history had not been forgotten in the past 4 generations but it has.

When it comes to my appearance, is white passing something you ask every other poc on this site? Or just arab jews.

For your information, I am not white passing, I look mixed. People can tell that I'm not white. I have faced anti arab sentiment and racism before too because of how I look. I've even had someone think I was the cousin of an arab acquaintance too if that gives you a better idea surrounding my appearance.

I would have a better time in Israel as an arab jew than I would in most arab countries as an arab jew. Also there is a decent community of arab jews in Israel as well.

Lastly I would like to leave you with this, if your world view is threatened by an arab jew being a two state solution zionist, then your world view is weak and not at all based in reality.

I an arab jew, am holding hands with all other arab jews, non Jewish arab and non arab jews. Fuck off with your arabs vs jews rhetoric

[genderkoolaid]

We don't have good statistics or estimates for the population size of transmasculine sex workers. Part of that is a lack of data on sex workers in general, but part of it is that trans men are often not visibly trans when they participate in sex work. A lot of the trans men and transmasculine people who sell sex do so under a female persona. The escorting profile of a trans man might be indistinguishable from the profile of a cis woman – intentionally on his part – to attract as many clients as possible. This means that in practice, this segment of the transmasculine population are recorded as cis women. If we were to assume the population of trans men selling sex was accurately reflected by the profiles visible on escorting sites, we would likely come to the conclusion that trans men are a tiny group within sex work. The reality is that even openly trans men are much more likely to engage in more informal kinds of sex work, such as on apps like Grindr or with people they meet and in social spaces, just like cis gay men who sell sex. The transmasculine people who claim to be cis women whilst working do share needs with cis women who sell sex, but such resources do not serve all the needs of those hidden trans people. Trans men who are not socially or medically transitioning are driven to sell sex by the same forces which push women to sell sex, with the added pressure of saving money towards transition care and the certainty that they will not be able to sell sex under a female persona forever. Their clientele are also much more likely to shift towards gay and bi men when they do come out, which will change the experiences they have at work and may change their health concerns. [...] [...] So on what basis do I assume the real numbers are so much higher than the few ads we can find online? The impetus for my initial wondering was prompted by the fact I sold sex for many years before I even came out to myself as trans. And I continued to work under a cis female persona until I had been on testosterone for several months. I’m not arrogant enough to think I’m an exceptional case, so I kept an eye out for others like me.  As I began to speak about my experiences in sex worker group chats, on social media, and in meetings with advocacy organisations, I began to hear from many others in the same situation. Every time I speak up, I hear from more trans men and non-binary people who are hidden. No advocacy group is going to find these people unless they identify themselves this way, and transmasculine people are unlikely to do that when an organisation is explicitly geared towards women. I’ve heard from more trans men working under female personas than the total number of openly out trans men advertising across all of the escorting sites I use. I’ve never explicitly asked anyone if they have this experience – they’ve all come to me. And with every story I hear there’s a common thread: they want to medically transition, but fear losing their entire income when they do. Top surgery is a definitive end to being able to work as a cis woman for most, but even testosterone alone can be prohibitive given enough time. By three months on testosterone, clients were beginning to suggest I was a trans woman who’d had genital surgery, and were much more violent with me. This kind of violence rooted in transmisogyny won’t be everyone’s experience, but it happens.

Also, for those interested, check out Jack Parker's Transmasculine Guide to Sex Work

[deerdoegone]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝄞 some geeky. some from the mid 2000s. some i'm obsessed with. town names are abbreviated.

my waiting room : not much to say about her aside from the two facts that she's where i'd like to permashift to and stay the rest of that aaliyah's life. heavily inspired by the pink palace apartments from coraline with subtleties of chilling adventures of sabrina. whimsygoth decor and things you'd find in a new orelans voodoo shop.

wstpt, new hampshire : east coast vampires in a fictional college town, inspired by twilight, life is strange one, the vampire diaries, and more. embodies late 2000s to early 2010s with emo and indie-twee influences. this reality is of my own, but was HEAVILY inspired by a non-shifting user, so all credit to her and her original work. meet aaliyah doe.

mrcv, california : 2008 ranchos palos verdes inspired coastal city known for it’s mermaid motifs and middle - upper class residents with tons of tourists for the summer and fall months, all trying to catch a real mermaid every year. cliffside homes and country clubs with new york socialites a long way from home. meet aaliyah pearle.

fame, director and screenwriter : hollywood but i wanna pursue my desire to create. first big film around 2011 at age twenty-one. cult following similar to sofia coppola but not in the lana del rey tumblr girl way. be Normal. inspired by david lynch, sofia coppola, jordan peele, and catherine hardwicke. affinity for psychological horror and supernatural. introduction soon.

fame, actress : hollywood but i wanna pursue my desire to bring creations to life. first breakout role in 2009 at eighteen, probably stole the role of jennifer check. idolized by all, sweetest experiences with fans and peers. starts around 2010, can you tell i love 2000s and 2010s media and culture? paris hilton presentation with fluttershy notes. introduction soon.

fame, youtuber / streamer : dolly aesthetic before it was cool. sorta. entirely decked out in pink, starts around 2019. does a bit of everything? get ready, gaming, makeup, come file my taxes with me so the irs doesn't take my home. bit of everything like i said. introduction soon.

movie, challengers : still building this reality don't ask questions or i'll shake like an anxious sick old dog (jk just ask and i'll answer as best as i can) introduction soon.

television, common law : the final boss against my craving for old bad but fun television. homicide detective. detective work has never looked so trendy. back when beige and brown were the sexiest colors. dark honey blonde hair with platinum highlights that blends into my skin color. bangles and hoops. break room coffee and dollar store cinnamon vanilla perfume. introduction soon.

television, house m.d. : diagnostics team. if a cool teenage girl was also a distant unwell aunt. crushed on a married man. hates the australian. kinda. deserves as many smoke breaks as she wants. attachment to her oncology chew toy. scarily good at roulette and blackjack but shit at poker. introduction soon.

television, my babysitter's a vampire : had this reality before i even knew what shifting was at 14. crazy. haven't tried to shift here but adding it because it is special to me. somewhere between awkward youngest daughter in her human family and the average guilt-ridden white chapel vampire or witch. haven't decided. undead couture. something akin to hannah washington and jessica riley. introduction soon.

video games, life is strange one : indie sleeze before it was uncool. fashion designer with runway model intentions. evie zamora's closet. tragic backstory covered by extroverted party girl persona. haunts the narrative in before the storm. sortakindanotreally friendship with victoria chase. facebook icon. good student and liked by teachers. rachel amber kind of popularity. gossipy. can make really good pancakes, like i'm talking mouth melting, my god. introduction soon.

video games, watch dogs two : ummm pretty hacker girl this reality is very new still but ask questions and i'll answer as best i can!!!! introduction soon.

[dev-solovey]

Reading up on the history of American Idiot (album) and realizing exactly how revolutionary it was and I just have to yell about it for a hot second

So, before they started working on American Idiot, the band was having problems and they were thinking they were going to break up. But for a couple of reasons, they switched directions, most notably because they all felt strongly about the Iraq War and how it was manufactured by greed and warmongering from the Bush administration, which was amplified by the news media. I read a quote from Billie Joe Armstrong where he talked about how the news media was becoming "more of a reality show" than it was news, and he couldn't have been more right. In fact, that problem got worse, and now we're living in an era of rampant misinformation where everything is politicized to a point where just supporting human rights for marginalized people is considered controversial. The song American Idiot came out in 2004, and when Donald Trump first visited the UK at the beginning of his presidency, it was the top played song on every UK radio station, 12 years after it was released. Most things would be culturally irrelevant at that point.

When creating the album American Idiot, a lot of thought went into it - they had a very specific message in mind, and their goal was to send that message to youth. This is because they realized at some point that their fanbase was a bunch of teenagers, and even though they hadn't necessarily intended it that way, they suddenly had a platform with the youth of America and they decided they ought to do something good with it. The drummer, Tré Cool, said something along the lines of "I've never really liked the idea of preaching to kids, but I realized we don't really have a choice at this point." And I love that so much because like, so many people who get rich and famous just become completely out of touch, and when they get a platform, it's very easy to exploit that platform, influence them with terrible ideas, or encourage them to act in terrible ways for self-serving reasons (ex: JK Rowling, Andrew Tate, Dream, Logan Paul, Onision, etc etc). Green Day refused to allow themselves to get to that point. They know the platform they had gave them power and they made an active choice early on to be responsible with it. And a lot of that moral code comes from the fact that they came up in the DIY punk scene in Oakland, which held its members to a very high standard of ethics, a code that they still follow even after they were disowned by that scene when they signed on with a major record label in 1994.

The song American Idiot has a message of "this mass media hysteria is manufactured bullshit, don't fall for it," and it is not subtle about that message. It punches you right in the face. I remember being 12 years old and listening to it and thinking, "yeah, I don't want to be an American idiot." And now, at the age of 28, I am a staunch leftist who is firmly against the atrocities the US government commits, and I feel strongly about stopping misinformation. So I can say with absolute certainty that they succeeded.

I also get like, really upset when people say that American Idiot is the album where they sold out, because that's objectively not true, both for the reasons I've provided above, and also because of the song Wake Me Up When September Ends. Not a lot of people know the story behind this song, but it's actually a song that Billie Joe wrote about the experience of his dad dying of cancer when he was 10 years old. The story, as he tells it, is that when he came home from school, his mom gave him the news, and being (understandably!) upset, started crying, ran to his room and slammed the door. When she knocked on the door to try and talk to him, he shouted "wake me up when September ends!!" in response. It took him decades to be able to write this song, and it shows because it's the perfect grief song, having been played at benefits for 9/11, hurricane Katrina, and so on. The first time I heard that song it reduced me to tears, because you can hear the intense sadness in it. A "sellout" would never write a song like that!! (Side note: maybe stop tweeting at Green Day to wake up every October 1st, it's super tone deaf given the subject matter,,,)

Anyway, I think I'm done being autistic about Green Day (that's a lie, they'll forever be my special interest), so TL;DR:

Thank you, Green Day, for creating a generation of leftists who aren't about the bullshit

[bangtanhoneys]

Grace & Namjoon - AU Headcanons

ARMY has always been fascinated by the bond between Grace and Namjoon. From the very beginning, their relationship stood apart—Grace was the first person Namjoon met at Big Hit after the executives, and from that moment, she became a guiding force in his journey. She trained with him, refined his already impressive English, and helped shape him into the leader she always knew he could be. What started as nervous introductions quickly grew into mutual respect, and over time, into something even deeper.

There was no singular moment when their feelings shifted—no grand revelation or sudden realisation. Instead, it was a quiet, natural progression. For Namjoon, it was in the early days, standing back and watching Grace fight for her place in Bangtan, holding her own in an industry that wasn’t ready for her. For Grace, it was the way Namjoon meticulously deleted or reported cruel messages in their chat, protecting her in ways he never spoke about.

The four-year age gap means nothing. Though she’s technically his noona, he has never once seen her as anything but his equal.

Their relationship remains a secret—not out of shame, but out of caution. They’re unsure of how the rest of BTS, the company, or the world would react. But the boys? They knew before either of them ever admitted it.

Telling Big Hit was the hardest part. The company had expectations, rules, and a brand to uphold. But Grace and Namjoon were strategic, making sure that if their relationship ever threatened their careers, they could step back from each other without jeopardising BTS.

Because in the end, no matter what, Bangtan comes first.

Without anyone noticing, they slipped seamlessly into their roles as co-leaders. It felt natural—Grace, with her British accent and effortless ability to connect with female fans on a personal level, brought a different kind of relatability. She had known the idol world and the music industry a little longer than Namjoon, and that experience gave her an edge.

For Namjoon, as the first member of BTS, his role remained unchanged—his intellect, his poetic mind, his “Namjooning” ways—he was magnetic. The industry wanted him. The world listened when he spoke.

And when the two of them stood side by side at the Blue House, delivering a speech on the realities of idol life, something shifted.

The world finally saw it.

This wasn’t just a couple. This was a force to be reckoned with.

The speech was meant to be a moment, a simple conversation about the pressures of idol life. But as Grace and Namjoon stood before some of the most powerful figures in Korea, speaking with the kind of conviction that couldn’t be ignored, it became something much bigger.

They spoke about mental health in the industry, about the expectations placed on idols, the unrealistic standards, the sacrifices no one talked about. They didn’t just talk about change—they demanded it.

The room was silent, but the world outside? Explosive.

Headlines dominated every major outlet:

“The Leaders of BTS Call for Change in the Industry.” – The Korea Times

“Namjoon and Grace: The Power Couple Redefining K-Pop.” – The New York Times

“When Two Leaders Speak, the World Listens.” – TIME

Social media erupted. “This isn’t just about BTS anymore. This is about every idol who has ever suffered in silence.” “Grace and Namjoon have officially entered their ‘revolutionary power couple’ era.” “If I ever disappear, just know it’s because I called them Korea’s Beyoncé and Jay-Z.”

Even industry insiders couldn’t ignore it. Labels scrambled to release statements, idols subtly showed their support in hidden ways—song lyrics, small gestures, even just the way they carried themselves in interviews.

But for Grace and Namjoon, it was just another moment. Another stand they took together, without ever revealing the full extent of what they were to each other.

That is, until Big Hit’s announcement.

As Namjoon prepared to enlist, the company released its standard statement—urging fans to respect his privacy during his service. But this time, there was an addition.

“We kindly ask for your support and understanding as the artist fulfills his duty to our country. Additionally, we request that you respect the privacy of his partner, Grace Chu, as she navigates this time while continuing her solo career and her role as the 8th member of BTS.”

The world stopped. And just like that, the secret was out.

Big Hit had anticipated backlash, expected their stocks to drop, and foresaw antis going mad over the news. However, what actually transpired made them pause. There was celebration, rejoicing; their stocks surged into overdrive, interest in Grace’s solo career increased, and magazines were clamouring for the first exclusive interview with the couple the moment Namjoon was discharged.  

ARMY were counting down the days to his and Taehyung’s dischargement. Not because they missed them, but because they knew what was coming. Grace had been there for every single one - Seokjin, Hobi, then Namjoon and Taehyung, then Jimin and Jungkook and finally Yoongi. But ARMY wanted to see how the couple would react in public, with cameras on them as they filmed the idols leaving the military for the final time. 

And there it was—a simple hug. But the world saw the way Namjoon instantly relaxed, as if all the weight he’d been carrying had vanished in an instant. They saw the way Grace tucked her face into his neck, the quiet comfort in that fleeting moment. The way the boys, ever the protective brothers, casually blocked the cameras just long enough for them to whisper something only they would hear.

And then, just like that, it was over.

No updates. No V-LIVEs. Nothing for an entire week.

The Korean media went into a frenzy, speculating on their sudden disappearance. Some guessed they were locked in the studio, cooking up a diss track. Others whispered about a secret project.

Then, finally, an answer—one that didn’t come from a news outlet or an official statement, but from a single tweet.

A fan posted a blurry picture of a couple from behind. The image was unassuming to most, but to anyone who had followed them for years, it was obvious.

"ARMY! I’ve been holding this in for so long, wanting to respect their privacy, but I can’t anymore! I was in Rome last week and GUESS WHO WAS THERE?! Namjoon and Grace!! They were literally everywhere we went. Just vibing. No one knew who they were except for me and my sister. They were just… normal. A simple couple, living their best life. No stress, no pressure—just them.

The cutest thing? Namjoon buying Grace gelato, then holding her cone while she ran into a shop real quick. I just—ugh. They’re soft and domestic, but also effortlessly powerful at the same time. When they have kids? Just know those babies are about to inherit everything.”

The moment they stepped foot back in Korea, it was straight back to work. The world demanded their attention. Magazines fought for the first exclusive interview. Artists lined up, eager for collaborations. The Met Gala extended a personal invitation. The Grammys were calling. Everyone wanted a piece of them.

Yet, despite being the most sought-after couple, Namjoon and Grace remained the most understated. They didn’t chase the spotlight—it followed them. They didn’t need to prove anything to the world. They were enough as they were.

But Vogue Korea got to them first. The Cover That Said It All

Instead of a grandiose set or an elaborate concept, the photoshoot took place at HYBE.  The cover? Striking in its simplicity.

A black-and-white shot of their silhouettes standing in front of BTS’ legendary trophy cabinet. No faces, no theatrics—just their presence, side by side, casting long shadows over a decade’s worth of history.It wasn’t just a statement. It was a legacy.

They never attended the Met Gala, leaving the spectacle to others. The GRAMMYs? Only with BTS. Always with BTS.

Because their focus never wavered. It wasn’t about the glitz, the headlines, or the status. It was about the music, the message, and the family they built with ARMY. And now, the world was waiting—breath held, hearts racing—for the comeback that had been promised for so long.

Fans were treated to BANGTAN BOMBS, behind the scenes of the album planning, the tour that would be announced with big fanfare and ARMY could see the couple back in their natural roles but their relationship was never put on display for the camera. They remained professional, focused on the job. 

When the tour ended, BTS didn’t disband—they evolved. Some members focused on family, others on solo projects. For the first time in years, there were no restrictions, no deadlines. Priorities shifted. They had spent so much time on the road, so much time away from home. It was time to breathe. For Grace and Namjoon, starting a family was a want, but not a need. Their focus was elsewhere—on the future.

On idols trapped under strict contracts. On those suffering under agencies that didn’t care. On those who abused their power and fame. On those who didn’t survive the idol life.

They had lost too many. And they refused to lose more. That’s when the documentary was born. It was raw. Unfiltered. The truth.

Grace’s story—from the very beginning. The moments when producers doubted her, when they questioned whether she was “Korean enough.” The whispers, the hurt, the battles she fought to be heard and seen. How idols, faces hidden, used to say things about her looks and her body. How the internet used her to either demean her or over sexualise her. 

Namjoon’s perspective—the way he and the boys stood by her, not because she was Korea’s Noona, not because she was an asset, but because she was one of them. A Bangtan member. A leader. A fighter. The documentary shook the industry.

Companies could no longer pretend. Fans could no longer ignore it. Idols, both rookies and veterans, began to speak up. And just like that—the conversation changed.

HYBE stood behind them—not just as a company, but as an ally. They had started as BigHit, a small company that had fought against the industry norms. Now, they were facing the biggest shift in idol history. They issued a statement. Not just of support, but of change.

The industry had to evolve. Fans had to see idols as people, not untouchable gods. They could date. They could smoke. They could have families. And they deserved a life beyond the stage.

Then came the moment that shook Korea. Grace and Namjoon stood at the Blue House, side by side, dressed in matching black suits—a power move in itself. The Korean media couldn’t look away.

This wasn’t just an idea anymore. It was a movement.

They announced their plan: They weren’t taking over HYBE. They were taking back BigHit.

Back to its roots. Back to the company that had given BTS a chance. A company built on belief, not control.

And with it—they unveiled their program.

Mental health support integrated into idol training.

Proper nutritionists ensuring idols weren’t starving to meet beauty standards.

Programs on financial stability, legal rights, and navigating fame without losing oneself.

It was radical. It was unheard of.

And yet—idols were already lining up to join.

The moment Grace and Namjoon left the Blue House, the world exploded.

News outlets. Talk shows. Twitter.

Every headline screamed the same thing—

"Kim Namjoon & Grace Chu: The Couple Changing K-Pop Forever."

Within days, the shift was undeniable.

Idols started speaking up.

Former trainees exposed horror stories from their past.

Fans, once blindly loyal to companies, demanded change.

And the industry? It panicked.

Labels scrambled to issue statements, some denying abuse, others vaguely supporting reform. But everyone knew—this was no longer something they could brush under the rug.

Then came the announcement that shook the world: BigHit Entertainment was officially under new ownership. Not by faceless executives. Not by outsiders chasing profit. But by the very people who built it: Grace, Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, J-Hope, Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook.

The ink had barely dried before the reforms started.

Contracts were rewritten—no more slave deals, no more seven-year traps.

Health and safety protocols became mandatory.

Dating bans? Gone.

Mental health breaks? Encouraged.

And just like that, the idol world changed.

For the first time in history, idols weren’t just products. They were people.

It was only a matter of time before one of the biggest labels cracked. A high-profile scandal surfaced—one of Korea’s largest entertainment companies was exposed for decades of abuse, contract manipulation, and cover-ups.

And this time? The public didn’t look away. They fought back. Boycotts. Protests. Investigations. For the first time, a major K-pop company collapsed under its own weight.

And in the middle of it all, Grace and Namjoon stood their ground. They weren’t just Korea’s Power Couple. They were the change the industry never saw coming.

Their work was nearly complete. The industry had changed, the idol world had evolved, and they had done what they set out to do. So when Namjoon and Grace finally announced that they had secretly married, no one was surprised.

What did surprise them was the second announcement— Grace was pregnant.

And with that, she bowed out of BTS. Her journey as an idol had come full circle. Her work wasn’t over—far from it—but it was time for a new chapter. While Namjoon continued to take the stage with the boys, Grace would take her place alongside Bang PD as the CEO of BigHit. She wasn’t stepping back. She was stepping up.

As BTS continued their encore performances, the world couldn’t help but wonder—what came next? For the group, for the industry, for Namjoon and Grace. Speculation ran wild, but Grace, ever the strategist, remained quiet. Her focus was on BigHit’s transformation, on shaping the next generation of idols, and on preparing for the most important role of her life—motherhood.

Then, one crisp autumn morning, Big Hit issued a simple statement: “Welcome to the world, the brightest star.” No names. No pictures. Just a message of love, respect, and privacy.

But the industry felt the shift. It wasn’t just the birth of Namjoon and Grace’s child. It was the start of a new era—one they had built from the ground up, one where idols had choices, where the industry was no longer a machine but a home. And when Namjoon finally returned to the stage, his wedding ring glinting under the lights, his voice stronger than ever, ARMY knew—this was never an ending.

This was just the beginning.

[oopsallgoalies]

False Confidence: Chapter 11

Pairing: Javy “Coyote” Machado x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: The Athletic named Javy Machado the fifth sluttiest player in the NHL last year. He’s a known playboy who leaves every game with a different girl. As far as he’s concerned he’s living the dream, playing his dream job with the dream lifestyle. Unfortunately his friends and bosses don’t agree. At 33, they think it’s time for him to settle down. You’re a kindergarten teacher at an esteemed private school. You don't expect much when you finally accept your colleague’s invitation to attend her husband’s hockey game but when you accidentally get separated in the post-game rush, you find yourself in a compromising situation with the last person you’d ever expected to meet. When his PR rep suggests a mutually beneficial agreement, your hands are tied. How long will you have to keep up the act? And how long will you be able to?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, angst, fluff, fake relationship, suggestive language, anxiety, school system inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: I planned to wait until 5pm but fuck it, we ball

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

You pick at the knit fabric of your sweater before you remember how much it cost and forcibly pull your arms back to your sides. The sweater and skirt you’re wearing under it are another product of your shopping spree with Nat and you’d secretly chosen it for today, planning of course to find some Javy-related event to wear it to later to justify putting it on his card. You couldn’t help it, you wanted something special for tonight. After an anxiety-ridden week spent pacing your living room every night trying to choose the pieces you wanted to showcase, it’s finally the night of your gallery showing. Pop-up gallery, you remind yourself. It’s a one-night event, promising minimal exposure for your art, but the idea of hanging it somewhere that’s not on your walls is enough to have you bouncing on your feet as you overanalyze your canvases currently hanging on the wall. You didn’t have the budget for the ornate frames you secretly envision your pieces inhabiting so the naked canvases are on display and you try not to let it bug you. Your little area is flanked by plenty of other artists, ranging in notoriety. None of them are particularly mainstream, but you’ve heard of a few of them on social media including the one hosting the event.

You’ve only been allowed five pieces tonight, but you know even that is more than nothing. Hanging in the center is the piece Nat had complimented and then gone on to text you about multiple times this week insisting that you include it in the gallery exhibition. You gaze at it as you bounce on the balls of your feet. The gallery should be opening anytime now, and while Nat promised to swing by sometime tonight, you aren’t expecting any other company. Your art has always been something intimate and personal, and you don’t talk about it often. Most people don’t know you paint, and even those who do rarely get a glimpse of your art. Despite your unwillingness to share it with the people in your life, you long for the world to see it, just perhaps not those who know anything about the artist. You tell yourself that you want your paintings to speak for themselves instead of adding to your friends’ perception of you. In reality, you’re probably afraid of criticism, of them seeing the darkest parts of yourself, unveiled and hung on a wall for their scrutiny. What if they don’t like what they see?

The painting of the bay makes your stomach twist. You don’t usually paint scenes from your life, rather using your experiences and emotions and pouring them into whatever your brush creates out of them. This painting feels oddly intimate, but you assure yourself that it shouldn’t. The only person who could possibly recognize it is Javy and he won’t ever see it. To the rest of the world, it’s simply another piece in your collection. Your eyes trace the canvas, slowly but surely making their way to the nondescript figures in the corner. Your heart tugs painfully as you’re taken back to that night, remembering the storm in your head and the way he’d quieted it with a single touch.

“Holy shit, Meep, this is amazing,” you almost think you hear his voice and chuckle to yourself. That is until you hear it again and feel a body step closer to you, the air between you crackling with electricity. “You’re amazing,” you turn in surprise, face transforming as you run through a thousand emotions at once. Shock at his sudden appearance, surprise that he’s here, terror that he’s here, and joy because he’s here. Your lips part in shocked surprise as you stare at Javy, standing next to you, eyes glued to the canvas in front of him, a bouquet of tiger lilies in his arms.

“Javy?” Your voice comes out choked with the emotion you can barely contain. He’s here. What’s he doing here? He turns to you and the strength of his smile almost sends you to your smile. “What? What are you doing here?” You stammer, as your brain fires at a mile a minute as it tries to understand how.

“Meep, as disappointed as I am that you didn’t tell me about this, I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“B-but how?” Your brain has descended into a world of gray static as you stare at this man standing here, who showed up for you when you didn’t even ask.

“Nat said the gallery opened at 8, but she’s running late because she’s always running late. I would get used to that, by the way, she doesn’t mean anything about it, she’s just always been that way-” You cut him off as you throw your arms around his neck and seal your lips against his.

***

You’re kissing him. Javy’s brain short-circuits. He’d expected a lot of things when he arrived here without an invitation. Nat had mentioned that you’d seemed surprised that she’d even wanted to come, and he was sure you’d already be overwhelmed by the event itself, and even more by Nat’s presence since he knows she can come on strong. Not to mention that it sounded like she essentially invited herself to the event. He knows he’s not much better, but you’ve been entertaining a lot of his antics. You’ve come to games, you’d come with him to the auction, and on top of that, you somehow hadn’t blocked him despite all the silly texts he’s been peppering him with. Not to mention that he wants to be here. He’s wanted to see your art since you first mentioned it, but you’ve never offered. You’re even protective over your home, which he’s realized is at least partially due to your art being all over the living room according to Nat. Today is different. If the public gets to see your art, he should count as a member of the public, right? He’s brought the flowers as a peace offering. That and he can’t erase the look on your face when he gave them to you out of his mind.

He’d expected you to be good, you’re a hard worker and determined. You put your all into everything you do, and he’s sure it would translate to your art as well. He hadn’t expected to be so completely blown away, though. He almost feels silly, having taken you to that auction, paying such high prices for someone else’s art for his home when he’d rather have your work all over his walls. Especially the piece in the center. He recognizes it immediately, the stretch of road off the coast of the bay where he’d been scared he’d lose you before he’d even gotten to know you. The cliffs, the highway the water churning below, are all painted in various shades of dark moody blue, and there in the corner, a pair of indestinct figures locked in an embrace. Suddenly all his feelings are at the front of his mind, and he wonders nervously if maybe you feel for him a fraction of what he feels for you and it sends his heart into a tizzy.

Then there’s the look on your face. He watches every emotion process clear as day as panic slams against his ribcage, afraid of overwhelming you, afraid of hurting you, afraid of ruining your evening, afraid of ruining everything. Then before he can find the words, words to apologize, words to try and calm you in an effort to calm himself, your arms around his neck, and your lips are on his.

He can’t breathe but if this is what not breathing feels like, he never wants to take another breath. Your lips are soft, so damn soft. How does he not remember them being this soft? Though the initial kiss was full of adrenaline-fueled determination, he can feel you begin to falter, your lack of experience threatening to let the nerves win so he kisses you back, meeting your hunger with his own, doing his best to control himself from pinning you against the wall like the piece of art that you are. He lets his hands find your waist, hauling you impossibly close as your fingers twist into the fabric of his turtleneck, holding on for dear life as he kisses it out of you. He guides your lips with his own and you’re the perfect student, as your nerves melt and you let your body respond to him. He registers a sticky texture on your lips and almost groans against your mouth as he recognizes it as the gloss you’d worn to the art show. He’d been desperate to kiss it off you that night and he takes the opportunity to do it now. His tongue darts past his lips to taste it before he can stop himself but your soft whimper in response tells him it’s okay. He almost sinks to his knees right there at the sound.

***

Your brain turns to mush as you feel Javy’s lips move against your own. His hands find your waist in a way that’s simple, perfectly respectable, and yet the force that he’s gripping you threatens to leave bruises on your skin. Secretly you hope he does so you can assure yourself later that this is real, that you’re really kissing Javy Machado. And he’s kissing you back, returning the hunger that’s been stoked to life in your heart. You feel something wet dart against your lips and your eyes almost roll into the back of your head as you realize it’s his tongue. The deep rumble that comes from his chest after that forces a whimper from your throat. Heat washes over your face as you realize but he doesn’t seem deterred or embarrassed, he just pulls you closer and you go like a moth to a flame.

It’s been so long since you’ve kissed someone and meant it. It feels like falling into a fire and somehow coming back to life after burning down to microscopic ashes. Your heart squeezes in your chest as your brain pounds with the realization. He wants you. He wants you back. He wants you too. You want it to last forever, even as you grip Javy’s shirt with a desperacy that screams at him not to slip through your finger. That screams at you not to be the butt of another joke. But you won’t be, not this time, because he wants you. The cynical voice in your head drowned out by each desperate press of your lips. You want it to last forever even as your lungs beg for relief. Your head and heart are at war and you’re not sure how you’ll make yourself choose that is until a voice breaks through the pounding in your ears.

“Really? Come on, you guys, we’re in public for heaven’s sake.” You reluctantly pull away from Javy and your vision spins as you come back down to the ground. You don’t get very far, Javy’s lips chasing yours until he registers the voice. He groans and you suppress the urge to shudder at the rumble of it against your skin as he leans his forehead to your temple as you turn to face Nat who’s standing with her hands on her hips, a playful look of disapproval on her face as she suppresses the giddy grin fighting it’s way to the surface and you follow her gaze to where the bouquet Javy was holding has fallen to the ground and your cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“Fuck off, Nat,” Javy grumbles, pressing a kiss to the side of your face before turning to pepper the nearby skin with dozens of small pecks.

Nat raises a single eyebrow. “This is Roadie’s big night, Javy, come on, let her have her moment.” He groans against your skin, still not moving.

Your eyes widen as Jake appears behind Nat, coming around the corner, followed by Bugs, Zam, Bradley, Dragon, Bob, Mickey, Reuben, and Josie with the kids. You feel tears well in your eyes as Jake approaches and you realize he’s carrying a cake. He grins and you catch sight of the cake. The edge has been decorated to look like a frame and inside are the words, “You’re a Work of Art, Congratulations Roadie!” You don’t realize you’re crying until Javy pulls you against his side and strokes your hair gently.

“Congrats on the gallery spot, Roadie!” Jake says and suddenly you’re surrounded by these people who are slowly but steadily becoming your friends and you’re sobbing harder as each of them hugs you. When you finally get to Nat you throw yourself into her arms and she squeezes you tight.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you sob over her shoulder.

“Welcome home, Roadie,” she whispers back and you hold her tighter.

That’s how your first gallery show that you’d spent the whole week stressed out over turns into a party. Everyone sits down on the floor around your wall and Josie expertly cuts the cake that Zam reveals Bradley made, to which you launch onto him to give him a big hug he instantly stiffens in response to before he relaxes and hugs you back. Mickey brought paper plates and soon you’re all eating cake and chatting, and if the other artists give your group dirty looks, you don’t even notice.

You’re leaning against the wall under your paintings when Javy scoots beside you, shoulder brushing yours. “So, is any of the art here for sale?” He asks and you shake your head, gesturing around the room.

“Not exactly, this is different than an actual sale, but I’m sure some artists end up selling if someone shows up and is willing to pay a good price. We come here for publicity and hopefully to make some connections, but if you sell a painting I’d say it’s a pretty good night.” He nods before turning to you.

“And your art? Is it for sale?” Your eyes widen in surprise.

“My art?” He nods. “You want to buy my art?” You stammer, trying to wrap your head around the idea. “I couldn’t make you pay for my art,” you say, frowning and he pokes your forehead with a finger, soothing the frown away.

“You wouldn’t be making me do anything, I want to. After all,” he gives you a pointed look, “it’s the least you can do after letting me pay $50,000 for what you claimed was the perfect centerpiece for my living room.” You frown again and he reaches up to attempt to smooth it away again.

“I meant that, why, did you not like it once you hung it up?”

He chuckles. “I like it just fine, but not as much as this one,” he moves his finger from your forehead to gesture above him to the cliff painting. Your cheeks warm as you follow his finger.

“Javy…”

“I mean it, Meep. I love that painting, more than anything else we saw last week. I love it even more knowing that you painted it.” He leans his head against yours. “I want to buy it.” He turns then and you feel his nose brush your ear as he whispers, “I want to buy my girlfriend’s painting and have it hanging in my house because that’s where it belongs.”

Your cheeks are burning and you feel dizzy as Javy whispers that word. It feels different somehow and you find your lips repeating it, trying it on, trying to reconcile that it’s real. “Girlfriend?” He nods against you.

“If you’ll have me,” he whispers back and you reach down where his hand is splayed between the two of you and lace your fingers together before you turn slightly so his nose slips against yours.

“I’ll have you,” you whisper against his lips and he shudders. This big, strong, proud, cocky man shudders at your words. You look at him in silent awe, committing every bit of his face to memory. His beautifully smooth skin so close to yours, his eyes so dark and yet so bright, dancing with mirth when he doesn’t notice, and those lips, so full and steady and you marvel at the way they’re slightly swollen, your subtle mark on him.

“Like what you see, Meep?” he asks, his voice a soft exhale like he’s trying to avoid breaking your concentration as you stare at him. You hum in affirmation. You want to paint him, to try and capture his likeness even when you know you’d never be able to do him justice, like taking a picture of the moon.

Nat blows a raspberry at the two of you and Javy squeezes his eyes shut like he’s praying for patience. Your cheeks heat as you’re reminded that you’re not alone. Nat winks at you cheekily and you turn back to the group. Jake looks over and gives you a fond smile that you return shyly. You look around at the people who’ve come into your life over the last week and smile as you think over Nat’s world. Maybe they could be your home after all.

***

Javy’s thigh bounces as he watches the screen of his laptop while the video call rings. He’s been abnormally poor about catching up with his family since he met you. Deep down he knows why, but he’s finally decided he needs to say something. He doesn’t doubt that Isa’s opened her mouth since he told her about you but he’s hoping he’s in time to do some if any damage control. His oldest sister is more than capable of reading him for filth and has done so her own fair share of times over the years. Most of the time he deserves it.

The call finally connects the four faces that pop onto the screen. Isadora’s sitting next to his mother and Javy’s once again stricken by how similar they look. Cecilia and Sophia are perched on kitchen stools behind the older women, but even they’re not little girls anymore and Javy finds himself mourning the days when they still looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. Instead, all four women are wearing the same suspicious look and he heaves a sigh. It’s going to be a long evening.

“Hi Mama,” he starts but before he can continue, her eyes narrow.

“Don’t you ‘hi, mama’ me, Javier,” he swallows, hard. “You haven’t called in almost a month. Don’t think I didn’t notice. I know you’re busy but it looks like you’ve been busier than usual this month.” He swallows, again. “It seems everyone but your own mother knows you have a girlfriend.” She arches a single eyebrow in question and wishes you were here. You’re so much braver than him.

“Fake girlfriend,” Isa clarifies, and Javy closes his eyes as he braces for the onslaught about to come his way.

“Okay but is she a fake girlfriend, if he actually likes her? Doesn’t that just make her a crush, or is that one of those ‘situationship’ things?” Cece pipes up and Phe rolls her eyes.

“Javy doesn’t even know what situationships are, how could he possibly be in one.” Phe points out. His youngest sister has a good point but it doesn’t keep Javy from frowning as Cece gives him a shrewd look.

“Okay, but do you like her, Javy, or did you just tell Isa that as a cover?” Cece asks with an accusatory tone. He suddenly wishes he’d just called every member of his family separately to explain before attempting a group call.

“Why would I even call Isa to ask for help buying her flowers if I didn’t like her? I have female friends, you know.” He points out and Cece rolls her eyes. “I consulted a professional for a reason.”

“And that reason is?” Isa asks even though she knows.

“Look I know what you want me to say but I’m not saying it to you before I say it to her, that’s cheating.”

“Javy, you wouldn’t know cheating if it had its tongue down your throat.” Cece remarks and Javy glares at her even as his stomach roils. She doesn’t know the half of it.

“Well, I’m not saying it, until I tell Roadie, I stand by that. And if you’d let even get two words out, I’d just tell you that she’s my girlfriend. My real girlfriend, not my fake girlfriend, and yes I know the difference. I asked her out yesterday.” He fights the urge to cross his arms defensively as he scowls at the screen. He thinks it might be frozen because for once the figures on the other side don’t say anything.

That is until Cece breaks the silence “And she said yes?” It’s Javy’s turn to roll his eyes and this time he does cross his arms across his chest.

“YES.” They all fall quiet again and then Phe screams. She jumps off her stool and brings her face up close to the camera.

“JAVY HAS A GIRLFRIEND! JAVY HAS A GIRLFRIEND!” Is his youngest sister twenty-six years old? Yes.

“Sophia sit down.” Javy’s smile dies before it fully eclipses his face. Phe returns to her stool, flashing him a supportive smile before his mother speaks again. “Javy, I want the whole truth, not just bits and pieces from you, Isa, and the media.” He swallows, hard. He’s done a lot of regrettable things in his life, but he’s never had to explain them to his mother before.

He fights the urge to squirm in his seat and he’s wishing you were here again. A wet nose nudges his hand he looks down to see Roxy cocking her head at him. He scoops her into his lap, letting his fingers bury themselves in her fur and trying not to wish it was your hair. “So, I… I met Roadie after a game. She came with her friend who’s one of the other guys, Reuben’s wife. I found her wandering around lost after a game, and I thought she was a puck bunny looking for a hookup so I kissed her.” He winces as Cece’s jaw drops and his mom’s and Isa’s mouths tighten into identical thin lines.

Roxy nudges his hand for pets and he continues. “The press somehow managed to get a photo and it started making the rounds. Zam had her come in so I could apologize and we could find out if she wanted to sue, which she would have been well within her rights to do, and instead, we made an agreement. She would pretend to be my girlfriend to help my public image, and I would pretend to be her boyfriend because the school she teaches at has some new backward policy that has her teaching contract renewal hinging on whether she’s in a relationship.” He shakes his head in irritation at the unfairness of your situation all over again.

“So we started fake dating and it turns out she’s amazing. She’s a kindergarten teacher and she’s so good at her job. The kids love her, and you can tell she loves them. She also does art in her spare time,” he pauses then, bends the laptop screen back, and picks up the computer so he can show off the painting hanging behind him. “She painted this,” he explains proudly. “She’s so damn talented.” He sits back down, places the computer back on the coffee table, and Roxy climbs back on his lap. “I fucked up somewhere in the middle. I could tell I was starting to have real feelings for her and I hurt her,” he falls silent, the image of your teary eyes as you pushed past him at the karaoke bar playing before him.

“She helped me realize that there were things I needed to fix, to change. My friends all helped me try and get her back, and she let me back in. We decided to continue the charade as friends but I was already in love with her. It was too late. And then yesterday she kissed me.” He feels hope bubbly giddily up in his stomach. “It's still new and it’s probably too soon to say, but I think she’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m going to fight for her. Not because I deserve her, because she deserves a hell of a lot better than me, but because she chose me, and that’s enough.” He looks back up and sees a small smile on his mother’s face as she watches him. He expects her to say a lot of things, but he doesn’t expect the next words out of her mouth.

“Bring her to Dallas, Javier, I want to meet her.”

A/N: AAA AAAA AAAAAA!!!! I’M LOSING MY MIND!!! It’s been a long time coming~

[bennie-jerry]

My Beef with Killmonger - An MCU Rant

I think people struggle to understand that not ALL villains are misunderstood—they’re choosing to be evil and that's it. 

Take Killmonger for example (I’m doing the MCU specifically because I haven’t read the comics—cry about it). 

Besides committing the atrocity of making those half dreads the Frank’s Red Hot for every media with black characters lately, there's aspects I don’t hear people touch on when it comes to Killmonger as a character. And if there are, I sure haven’t heard it yet---so I really hope there's some info on this man I'm missing here. But if no one's gonna call out this man’s BS, I will.

I definitely comprehend that Erik losing his dad was extremely traumatic for him to experience as a child. But Killmonger was only focused on revenge and power alone. Because of the fact that T’Chaka was dead, Erik couldn’t take it out on him and instead decided to channel his anger towards the entirety of the Wakandan royalty—even towards T’CHALLA (even though T’Challa had NOTHING to do with it). 

Even then, T’Challa was MORE than kind enough to let Erik see a Wakandan sunset BEFORE he died. 

“I’m sorry my father was a POS. Here’s a sunset, bro.” 

I get he's played by the oh-so handsome Michael B. Jordan, but let's remove the rose-colored lenses and consider something here.

On top of being a complete narcissist (who killed his GIRLFRIEND by the way), the guy also was just never EVER fit to hold power in ANY capacity to begin with. When the guy did kill (or believe he killed) T’Challa, what was the first thing he wanted to do? 

Did he try to help other poor children in the neighborhood he grew up in?

Did he make a memorial for his dead father?

Did he start a program for fatherless children (like HE was)?

Did he even TRY to do ANYTHING of value that would’ve been beneficial to others in ANY way shape or form?

Newsflash: The answer to all of that is NO.

The FIRST thing this man does as KING is start a WAR between Wakanda and the United States.

Literally his FIRST act as king is to begin an event that could very well have left so many of his people to DIE and cause mass amounts of generational trauma. Meaning there'd potentially be a bunch of children in Wakanda that ALSO won't have their fathers should they die in the war. Is that NOT a major red flag? 

The guy didn’t even DRESS like a king, he just walked around shirtless with a jacket like he was an NYC pimp. 

Even pre-kingship, he already killed LOADS of people before he got to that point. Sure, you could argue that it was in order for him to reach Wakanda or what he planned to do. But does that not raise MORE red flags about his original intent, then? 

Killmonger has a scar on his body for every person that he’s ever killed. The man’s torso is covered top to bottom in scars, meaning he has a major body count. So you’re telling me that this dude's okay with murdering innocent people just to get to a goal that was gonna lead him to kill more people ANYWAY?

Yes, I understand his trauma. Yes, I understand why he's angry at the world. Yes, I do think he's a great villain because every good story needs a good villain. But one thing I'll NOT do is act like this man's actions are justified when they're not. His conquest to create conflict highlights a SEVERE lack of genuine care for the very people he CLAIMS to wanna help.

He's a grown man who had every chance and choice to become better and he never took it because he chose to take his anger out on everyone else since the one who ACTUALLY committed sin against him had already DIED.

And when the “What If” series came out, Killmonger turned on EVERYONE he worked with, took the gauntlets for himself, and tried to reset reality.

Sure, you could say that Killmonger is a representation of black rage and on some level, I'd agree with you in terms of a story telling perspective. But storytelling dynamics don't change the fact this man is a piece of crap.

Don't EVEN try lying to me. The only reason this man has simps on Tumblr is because he's played by someone who's attractive. I bet if he was played by Steve Harvey, you'd all change your tune. 

Trauma never is/will be an excuse to do horrible stuff. Once again, trauma can make a good villain and good villains are necessary. My ONLY issue with Killmonger is that he has a railroad of fans that try to justify his actions.

It's one thing to like a horrible character. And it's another thing to say a horrible character is justified in what they do. The reason why I think it's so dangerous to do that is because it CAN (not that it always does, but CAN) translate into real life instances where people defend ACTUAL human-shaped monsters for things they do as well (ie they're traumatized and/or attractive). That's why we have hybristophilic fangirls slobbering over Wade Wilson (if you know, you know).

But at the end of the day, everyone has choices. Killmonger made his.

Even Killmonger's FATHER was saddened by what his son became while speaking to him on the ancestral plane.

N’Jobu: No tears for me? Killmonger: Everyone dies. It's just life around here. N’Jobu: Well, look at what I have done.

DAWG, WHAT MORE PROOF DO YOU NEED—

[utilitycaster]

How can Molly's death be considered a major mistake? It's the crux of the entire campaign.

so I think about this a lot, because you're right, and it really comes down to like...a lot of factors in how people interact with fiction, and some stuff I feel about fandom.

The short answer is that Molly is some people's favorite character, and they really wanted to watch him for 141 episodes and not just 26, and they didn't get to, and so it's valid to feel sad about that. But I think what personally grinds my gears is the idea that it's a mistake and because this is a Fan Favorite character he SHOULD have come back. Setting aside the fact that he had both his fans and his detractors from the start and a lot of people (myself included) who found him irritating didn't say much for a good chunk of C2 because, well, he was dead, this isn't a fucking competitive reality show. You don't get to vote on your phones to decide who wins a resurrection.

I think the longer answer is that there is a certain type of person in fandom, born of a certain type of person in social media communities, who just...is not willing or interested in considering not just that their experiences, preferences, and philosophy are not universal, but also that they are not objectively best and correct and that everyone who disagrees is wrong. It's often really common in, though not exclusive to, people who have particularly limited experiences - young (like, teenager/early 20s), people who haven't lived in a diverse area or in multiple different areas, people who for whatever reason do not get out much - which both makes sense (haven't been exposed to a ton of different perspectives irl) but also means that you get people who, for all they may talk about global politics, kind of unconsciously seem to act as though everyone they interact with online is a variant of someone from the same 3000 person town in the United States in which they've spent all 21 years of their life. ANYWAY getting back to the main point I feel like Molly attracted a lot of that kind of person, who just...doesn't get that while Molly is, to them, a deeply validating expression of gender identity, for many people he is "guy you meet at your friend's birthday party in a two-bedroom 6 floor walk up and within 5 seconds he has pissed you off so profoundly with his overfamiliarity that you go into the kitchen and mainline as much vanilla vodka as possible to not stab this guy with a secondhand knife that says "CHEESE!" on it even though you hate vanilla vodka and it's summer in NYC and you're on the 6th floor in a small apartment with too many people so it's approximately 117 degrees Fahrenheit in this kitchen and the vodka isn't much cooler, and you succeed in this goal, and then after sending your friend who couldn't make it because they were at a family thing that weekend a picture of a rat on the tracks of the 3 train with a caption "this u?" at 1:54 in the morning you're like "so this guy Molly was there" and they're like "oh my god I met him at Cameron's last party, he SUCKS" and you're like "I KNOW". Like a lot of people just do not get that Molly was very popular with their circle, and also a lot of people either were neutral-to-not-feeling-it. This is before we get into the post-death idealization of who he was that takes him from "irritating but I think he'd have grown on me in some ways eventually had he lived" to "horrible and insufferable fake-ass bitch."

And then we get to the true impasse: the idea that something that does not fulfill every single one of your personal wishes might still be a great story.

I'm certainly not perfect, and there's things I thought I wanted for the end of C2 that I didn't get, and there's some things I do wish we'd have gotten to see (or that we'd have done in C3), but I like to think that I try to remain at least partially open to the possibilities. I like to think that my enjoyment of a story isn't contingent on whether one single character survives, even if they are my favorite (and I say this as someone whose favorite ASOIAF character was immediately Ned Stark, a statement that should surprise no one who follows me) nor that the story precisely reaffirms my existing worldview. I want stories to tell me something new and interesting that wouldn't come from my own head, and I want them to sell me on it. I think that a lot of people lost the thread of the importance of representation, namely, they forgot that while it's great to see people like you in a story, you should also be trying to see people not like you and perspectives that aren't yours. I am extremely defensive of my and other people's right to say "I didn't like this story and here is why" without someone being like "Give it a chance! Here's why I think it's good" but at the same time, there is a difference between "I really wish Molly had stayed alive and I don't like that he died," and "everything that happened after he died was A Mistake because it wasn't what I Wanted, and someone should fix this." Like that's what toddlers do. That's not an adult way of interacting with narrative.

So those people don't even get to the point of "the entire campaign is deeply influenced by the loss of Molly; that is what binds the rest of the Nein together and makes them what they are; the fact that Lucien wears the face of a departed friend is crucial to the entire final arc comprising about 20% of the campaign; and the fact that he does not come back, but someone new, with new chances and new choices to make does is emblematic of a campaign about people who find that they cannot undo their pasts, but neither are they trapped or damned by them." They're stuck at "guy I liked died and I'm throwing a tantrum 6 years later."

[whyanne4]

Memories

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Verstappen! Reader

Part: 1/2

Category: angst

Summary: After months of sneaking around with your brothers biggest rival, Charles, you to end your relationship in order to protect both yourself and him from the medias praying eyes.

Right person, wrong situation. Loosely based on Conan Gray’s song: Memories. and Illicit affairs by Taylor Swift.

Masterlist

“Charles stop, we can't do this anymore.” You said as you felt the brunette slip his arms around your waist and kiss your neck gently. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine.

“Why not Y/N?” He whined into your neck.

“Charles I’m serious, stop. What if Max finds out?” You asked as you untangle yourself from his embrace.

“I don’t care.” Charles said defiantly, stepping back a bit.

​​"Well, I do. Max is my brother, and if he finds out about us, it'll ruin everything," you declared, stepping away and plopping down on the couch in his driver's room and in your mind all you could think of was all of the time you’d spent with Charles on that very same couch. How he’d kissed you and told you you were the most beautiful girl in the world.

You had met Charles through Max, your older brother and fellow F1 driver. The two of them were fierce rivals on the track. And you knew that if Max ever found out about your secret relationship with Charles, it would not only strain their relationship but also create chaos in the F1 media.

Last season, when you started attending more races and spending time with Max's team, you and Charles had found yourselves drawn to each other. It was effortless, like two pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly together. You had tried to resist the temptation, knowing the potential consequences, but love has a way of breaking down walls.

The months that followed were filled with stolen glances, secret rendezvous, and stolen kisses. Every moment with Charles felt like a dream, and you knew that what you shared was special and rare. Everything was perfect. He was perfect, he still is but the fear of Max's reaction and the media scrutiny always lurked in the back of your mind. 

You both had agreed to keep your relationship a secret, knowing that the repercussions of being discovered would be severe. But as time passed, it became harder to hide your feelings for each other. The thrill of the forbidden love mixed with the danger of being caught was intoxicating, but you knew it couldn't go on forever.

You know that it would be terrible for Charless image if the media found out. You were 4 years younger than him and you know that the people on twitter would be having a field day if your relationship ever got out.

So you never told anyone. Not Max, not your friends, nobody. Your relationship was a well kept secret. Sneaking out to see him at his apartment in Monaco or in his drivers room. Secret vacations to foreign countries. Hotel rooms under fake names. Think of anything forbidden and the two of you’ve done it. During those months of sneaking around both you and Charles fell hard for one another.

Those months were probably the best months of your life. He was the perfect guy for you and you hope that you were the perfect girl for him. The love you shared was something out of a fairytale and you knew that it was one for the ages. The kind of love only a few lucky ones get to experience during their lifetime.

But the reality of your situation was inescapable. You knew getting involved with him was a bad idea so you’d broken everything off three months ago. You knew it was the right decision. Trying to maintain your secret relationship would only lead to heartbreak and trouble.

Yet, the heart wants what it wants, and when you saw each other again for the first time since the split at this weekend's Grand Prix, he pulled you into his driver’s room like so many times before. You tried to resist, but your connection was too strong to ignore. One thing led to another and suddenly you were being pushed against a wall with his lips on yours before you came to your senses. Which leds to where you are right now:

“Y/N please listen to me.” Charles begged as he followed you and sat down on the couch beside you. You looked into his gorgeous emerald green eyes like you had a million times before.

“Charles, please don’t.” You tried with him but he wouldn’t let you finish.

“No! I don’t want to stop loving you. You are the one for me and I don’t want to spend my life with anyone else.” He confessed wholeheartedly. You felt the tears start to form in your eyes.

"Charles, please, we can't keep doing this," you said, tears forming in your eyes. "I love you, but we're only hurting ourselves by continuing like this. You knew getting into this that it wouldn’t last. However much I want to, we can never be.” You reasoned with him.

“I don’t care. Y/N you are the love of my life. We can make it work. We don’t have to tell anyone if that's what you want. Or we can tell everyone. Whatever you want.” He pleaded with you. “Or if you don’t want that I can quit F1 and we can run away together. We can get a secret house together in the countryside of France and start a family together or something, anything. I would give you everything I have in a heartbeat. Please just don’t give up on this Y/N. Don’t give up on us.” He started crying quietly and so did you. 

“Charles, you know that wouldn’t work. Our families would find out eventually and so would the media. You will be bashed for dating me and your relationship with Max will be ruined.” You pleaded with him.

“I don't care. Y/N, you are the love of my life. We can make it work. We don't have to tell anyone if that's what you want. We can keep it a secret until the time is right,” he pleaded, holding her hand in his.

“Charles, it's not just about the secrecy. It's about our families, Max's feelings, and the media. It's about everything. As much as I love you, I can't put everyone else through that,” she said, her voice filled with sadness.

“So, you think what we had was nothing?” he was rightfully upset, but you didn’t know what else to tell him, he clearly wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Please, Charles. This is hard enough as it is. Don’t make it harder than it already is okay. I know that one day you’ll find an amazing girl who will steal your heart and whom you will love 10 times more than me.” You put your hand on his cheek and felt his tears hit your thumb.

“That’s not possible, baby. I don’t want anyone else. We can make it work, please, you’re the one for me. I know it. I’ll never love anyone as much as I love you.” Charles pleaded.

“I love you too, Charles, so much.” You confessed to him. Even if you knew it wouldn’t help the situation at all. You felt the need to let him know that the feelings were not one sided. You loved this man with all your heart and if the circumstances were different, if you his rivals younger sister and if he wasn’t an F1 driver with the whole world watching his every move: You would probably get married, have a couple of kids and then grow old together. You would have the whole white picket-fence dream. But instead you were trapped in this situation and all you could do was try to let him go even if it was hard. 

“See, you love me too. Y/N, I promise that things will work out.” He took your hand in his and caressed your palm gently with his thumb. His touch felt so familiar and you just wanted to let all your walls down and let him love you, let yourself love him. But you knew you couldn’t.

“Charles, as much as I want that, it’s just make-believe. It will never work out the way we want to and everyone will be hurt in the end, honey.” You felt the nickname slip from your lips before you could stop it. It was what you called him all throughout your secret rendezvous and the simple word held so much meaning for both of you.

“I know that, baby. I just don’t want to let you go. You’re my favorite person in the whole world. I don’t know how I will ever move on from you.”  He seemed to finally give in and as much as it broke your heart you felt relief that he understood and didn’t argue more with you.

“I know it’s hard, honey. Which is why we can’t keep going back to each other from now on, okay? We can’t find an end to something that we keep beginning over and over again. From now on, I can’t be your friend or your lover, Charles. As much as it kills me inside I can’t hold you back from falling in love with somebody else.” You knew your words were harsh but you really needed to put an end to this here and now.

“I understand.” He put both of his hands on your cheeks and met your gaze. Both of your eyes were red from crying and held so many emotions and so much love for one another. “You’ll always be my person, no matter what happens or who I meet. If you ever change your mind I’ll be there for you with open arms no matter what. You’ll always have a piece of my heart Y/N. Please take care of it.”

“I will, I promise.” You vowed to him, your voice cracking as you tried to speak through your tears. “If things were different..” You tried to explain.

“Shh… Don’t worry about it, baby. You don’t have to explain.” He cut you off. “I’m not mad at you, I could never be mad at you.” 

Silence followed as both of you gazed into each other's eyes, trying to savor your last moments together as a couple before all you had left were the memories of better times.

“Can I kiss you one last time?” He asked quietly as if he was afraid of shattering the moment.

“Yes.” Was all you could say before his lips met yours in one final, heart shattering kiss. Your tears mixed as they ran down both of your cheeks. His hands were still on your cheeks and you felt him pushing your face closer to his. You pulled away for air and he did the same. 

“I’ll always love you, Charles.” You finally broke the silence.

“I’ll always love you too.” He said and you felt his soft hands leave your tear stained cheeks for the last time before he kissed your forehead and let go of you. You exited his driver’s room, heartbroken with only the memories of him left.

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

A few weeks after #MeToo exploded on the internet, an old friend and I did what so many women did during that time: We got on the phone and finally began to acknowledge what had happened to us. My friend shared a story of hers from college. Back then, we’d all just considered it a “bad date,” but she now recognized it as sexual assault. She also shared that at nearly every single job she’s had since college, a boss or co-worker has sexually harassed her.

The month before our conversation, I had published an essay sharing my own experience of sexual assault while traveling abroad. Like my friend, it was not my only experience—it was one of many. But I’d only included the one, because in the early stages of #MeToo, the idea of sharing one assault story still felt risky. The idea of sharing more than one felt culturally impossible. My friend agreed.

“As a woman, you’re only allowed one #MeToo moment,” she told me. “After that, people begin assuming the problem must be you.”

Out of the many celebrity #MeToo stories told in the past five years, only a handful have acknowledged the experience of multiple assaults. In an HBO documentary, Alanis Morisette spoke about repeated incidents of statuatory rape that happened when she first entered the music industry, all of which “fell on deaf ears” when she tried seeking accountability. In her memoir, Selma Blair wrote about a teacher who sexually assaulted her, as well as the many men who raped her in her 20s. In an interview with Dazed, Amber Rose said, “I cannot even count how many times a famous guy touched me inappropriately.” On a social media post during the Kavanaugh hearings, Tatum O’Neal wrote about her multiple assaults: “It was not my fault when I was 5, 6, 12, 13, 15.”

Stories that emphasize the ubiquitous nature of assault are vital in a world that so often focuses on one dramatic episode, with visceral details of the violation and an easily identifiable villain. This amplifies the false idea that assault is just a singular, horrifying incident—when in reality, many of us experience it as part of a larger, more insidious culture.

Once a person is assaulted, research shows they’re more likely to be assaulted again, a phenomenon called “revictimization.” Around 50 percent of children who survive sexual assault reexperience it later in life, and even a single incident of sexual assault in adulthood can increase the risk for it to happen again. As psychologist A.E. Jaffe and her colleagues wrote in a 2019 paper on revictimization: “Perhaps the most consistent predictor of future trauma exposure is a history of prior trauma exposure.”

Why would this be? In lieu of a good answer for it (more on that in a moment), we often blame victims themselves. We easily justify these statistics by suggesting that anyone who has survived multiple incidents of violence must be asking for it—either by acting promiscuously, hanging around too many shady men, or getting themselves into precarious situations. One survivor I interviewed told me that though she received some form of victim-blaming in response to all three sexual assaults she experienced, she noticed a stark decrease in support each time it happened again.

“After the second and third, some people began saying, ‘What’s happening in your life to attract that?’ or ‘Do you have enough awareness to know when men want to harm you?’ ” she told me. “One person even asked why I was ‘trusting men so much.’ ” Another friend who experienced multiple assaults went through a similar line of questioning, only with herself. “After so many times, I began asking myself, ‘What is it about me that brings on these experiences?’ ” she said. I told her I ask myself that question all the time.

In his essay “Spectator” for Roxane Gay’s anthology on sexual assault stories, Not That Bad, Brandon Taylor wrote about his best friend telling him she was beginning to think she was “just the kind of person this stuff happens to.” For a long time, that’s what I believed, too. As a travel writer and a single bisexual woman, I figured that at some point, I’d pay the price. Eventually, I’d have to face some element of physical harm—wasn’t that the obvious trade-off for attempting a liberated life? To me, survivorship—more than resilience, bravery, or strength—often felt like resignation.

But in some cases, it’s exactly that resignation that influences repeat assaults. While there’s no conclusive evidence as to why revictimization happens, we do know that normalizing assault can contribute to future harm. If a survivor has not internalized their experience as exceptionally traumatic, they are less likely to advocate for themselves, or demand accountability if it happens again. If they, like me, accept violence as an obvious fact of their lives, then when it repeats, they don’t seek the support they need to process and heal from each experience.

In an article for Psychology Today, psychotherapist and clinical social worker Keith Fadelici called this a “cognitive accommodation to ongoing violence.” The trauma continuously gets downplayed as victims attempt to normalize their assaults, which helps them feel more in control. “This dissociative process is a common symptom of PTSD,” Fadelici told me. “And can also later make survivors less capable of detecting risk by numbing the fear that is supposed to trigger alertness to danger.”

Oppression also plays a significant role. Those with marginalized identities are more at risk for experiencing assault in general, and thus more likely to experience it again. LGBTQ+ people are four times more likely to be assaulted than the general population (bisexual women and trangender people also are far more likely to experience assault than gay men and lesbian women). Rates of sexual assault for Indigenous women are three times higher than non-Indigenous women, and Black women are much more likely to experience assault than white women. Neurodivergent people are 11 times more likely than neurotypical people to be victims of violent crimes.

“If this is coming up repeatedly with one individual, it might be because that person is within systems and structures that facilitate assault more often,” said Jaffe. For those of us living with any of these identities, we normalize violence because living under oppression is consistently violent. In order to survive, a “cognitive accommodation to ongoing violence” is necessary. We train ourselves to get used to it, and move on.

After #MeToo, I began reading and rereading the legal definitions for rape and sexual assault to make sense of what had happened to me. Any sexual contact that occurred without consent constitutes assault? Any sexual contact that included penetration without the other person’s consent constitutes rape? The criteria felt almost too easy. Under these standards, I had been raped twice, and assaulted several other times—all stories I had not yet fully internalized, and was not yet ready to tell. Dozens of legal crimes had been committed against my body, but that idea felt so unfathomable I hardly knew what to do next.

In the three years after publishing that first story, I experienced more incidents, and I still don’t know what to call them. I don’t feel comfortable firmly declaring them as “assault.” I don’t like how it connects so deeply with an oppressive legal system, and how it automatically connotes some excessive form of violence. Even today, it seems too strong and rough a word for how these episodes played out: often with little physicality, with only brief conflict and polite turns toward quick forgiveness, until weeks later when I’d unpack the severity of what had happened. As I began sharing more of these stories with close friends, I would catch myself saying “technically” before saying “I was assaulted,” acknowledging the semantic disconnect I still felt. This hesitation is common among many survivors: As one 2019 meta-analysis showed, rates of victimization increase when participants are asked “behaviorally descriptive questions” about what happened to them, rather than questions that use terms like “rape” and “assault.”

Sometimes, people ask “How many times all together?” I say “six-ish,” a number that captures the amount of experiences that have dramatically changed the way I relate to my body—how it experiences intimacy, how it engages with the world: The one that happened at work, just weeks into my first job out of college. The one at a festival in India. The one while getting a deep-tissue massage. The one at a New York play party. The one so common I learned it has its own name (“stealthing“). The one with a lover I had loved and trusted deeply. The one with another lover, a violation that was not sexual but physical and thus, as yet another nonconsensual act done against my body, still felt so connected to all the rest.

And this still does not take into account every time I was nonconsensually touched in public—the men who pulled and grabbed my arms, my back, my butt, my shoulders to try to get my attention on the street—nor the times I’ve been followed, harassed, physically threatened by strangers on the street.

The accumulation of more and more of these events creates a compounding impact, one where each additional incident begins to amplify the ones before. For me and most survivors I spoke to, we are not healing from trauma—we are learning how to exist in a world where trauma continues to accumulate.

Every survivor I interviewed for this piece told me they fully accept the potential that they’ll experience assault in the future. Still, most of them admitted to me that it��s still easier to only share just one story with the world—never the full range of what has happened to them. “When you only have one story, the enemy is the rapist,” one survivor told me. “But when you have several people with a lifetime of these experiences, the enemy is all of us.”

This is what we mean when we talk about rape culture. The first thing we can do to start to dismantle it is to recognize what we’re up against.