#Collecting them all impossible challenge

[cryptablog]

In case you thought the sudden influx of mp100 posts was for nothing

someone returned this at work today.

so Im about to party hard if you are catching my meaning

[mostlysignssomeportents]

You should be using an RSS reader

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

No matter how hard we all wish it were otherwise, the sad fact is that there aren't really individual solutions to systemic problems. For example: your personal diligence in recycling will have no meaningful impact on the climate emergency.

I get it. People write to me all the time, they say, "What can I change about my life to fight enshittification, or, at the very least, to reduce the amount of enshittification that I, personally, experience?"

It's frustrating, but my general answer is, "Join a movement. Get involved with a union, with EFF, with the FSF. Tell your Congressional candidate to defend Lina Khan from billionaire Dem donors who want her fired. Do something systemic."

There's very little you can do as a consumer. You're not going to shop your way out of monopoly capitalism. Now that Amazon has destroyed most of the brick-and-mortar and digital stores out of business, boycotting Amazon often just means doing without. The collective action problem of leaving Twitter or Facebook is so insurmountable that you end up stuck there, with a bunch of people you love and rely on, who all love each other, all hate the platform, but can't agree on a day and time to leave or a destination to leave for and so end up stuck there.

I've been experiencing some challenging stuff in my personal life lately and yesterday, I just found myself unable to deal with my usual podcast fare so I tuned into the videos from the very last XOXO, in search of uplifting fare:

https://www.youtube.com/@xoxofest

I found it. Talks by Dan Olson, Cabel Sasser, Ed Yong and many others, especially Molly White:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MTaeVVAvk-c

Molly's talk was so, so good, but when I got to her call to action, I found myself pulling a bit of a face:

But the platforms do not exist without the people, and there are a lot more of us than there are of them. The platforms have installed themselves in a position of power, but they are also vulnerable…

Are the platforms really that vulnerable? The collective action problem is so hard, the switching costs are so high – maybe the fact that "there's a lot more of us than there are of them" is a bug, not a feature. The more of us there are, the thornier our collective action problem and the higher the switching costs, after all.

And then I had a realization: the conduit through which I experience Molly's excellent work is totally enshittification-proof, and the more I use it, the easier it is for everyone to be less enshittified.

This conduit is anti-lock-in, it works for nearly the whole internet. It is surveillance-resistant, far more accessible than the web or any mobile app interface. It is my secret super-power.

It's RSS.

RSS (one of those ancient internet acronyms with multiple definitions, including, but not limited to, "Really Simple Syndication") is an invisible, automatic way for internet-connected systems to public "feeds." For example, rather than reloading the Wired homepage every day and trying to figure out which stories are new (their layout makes this very hard to do!), you can just sign up for Wired's RSS feed, and use an RSS reader to monitor the site and preview new stories the moment they're published. Wired pushes about 600 words from each article into that feed, stripped of the usual stuff that makes Wired nearly impossible to read: no 20-second delay subscription pop-up, text in a font and size of your choosing. You can follow Wired's feed without any cookies, and Wired gets no information about which of its stories you read. Wired doesn't even get to know that you're monitoring its feed.

I don't mean to pick on Wired here. This goes for every news source I follow – from CNN to the New York Times. But RSS isn't just good for the news! It's good for everything. Your friends' blogs? Every blogging platform emits an RSS feed by default. You can follow every one of them in your reader.

Not just blogs. Do you follow a bunch of substackers or other newsletters? They've all got RSS feeds. You can read those newsletters without ever registering in the analytics of the platforms that host them. The text shows up in black and white (not the sadistic, 8-point, 80% grey-on-white type these things all default to). It is always delivered, without any risk of your email provider misclassifying an update as spam:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/10/dead-letters/

Did you know that, by default, your email sends information to mailing list platforms about your reading activity? The platform gets to know if you opened the message, and often how far along you've read in it. On top of that, they get all the private information your browser or app leaks about you, including your location. This is unbelievably gross, and you get to bypass all of it, just by reading in RSS.

Are your friends too pithy for a newsletter, preferring to quip on social media? Unfortunately, it's pretty hard to get an RSS feed from Insta/FB/Twitter, but all those new ones that have popped up? They all have feeds. You can follow any Mastodon account (which means you can follow any Threads account) via RSS. Same for Bluesky. That also goes for older platforms, like Tumblr and Medium. There's RSS for Hacker News, and there's a sub-feed for the comments on every story. You can get RSS feeds for the Fedex, UPS and USPS parcels you're awaiting, too.

Your local politician's website probably has an RSS feed. Ditto your state and national reps. There's an RSS feed for each federal agency (the FCC has a great blog!).

Your RSS reader lets you put all these feeds into folders if you want. You can even create automatic folders, based on keywords, or even things like "infrequently updated sites" (I follow a bunch of people via RSS who only update a couple times per year – cough, Danny O'Brien, cough – and never miss a post).

Your RSS reader doesn't (necessarily) have an algorithm. By default, you'll get everything as it appears, in reverse-chronological order.

Does that remind you of anything? Right: this is how social media used to work, before it was enshittified. You can single-handedly disenshittify your experience of virtually the entire web, just by switching to RSS, traveling back in time to the days when Facebook and Twitter were more interested in showing you the things you asked to see, rather than the ads and boosted content someone else would pay to cram into your eyeballs.

Now, you sign up to so many feeds that you're feeling overwhelmed and you want an algorithm to prioritize posts – or recommend content. Lots of RSS readers have some kind of algorithm and recommendation system (I use News, which offers both, though I don't use them – I like the glorious higgeldy-piggeldy of the undifferentiated firehose feed).

But you control the algorithm, you control the recommendations. And if a new RSS reader pops up with an algorithm you're dying to try, you can export all the feeds you follow with a single click, which will generate an OPML file. Then, with one click, you can import that OPML file into any other RSS reader in existence and all your feeds will be seamlessly migrated there. You can delete your old account, or you can even use different readers for different purposes.

You can access RSS in a browser or in an app on your phone (most RSS readers have an app), and they'll sync up, so a story you mark to read later on your phone will be waiting for you the next time you load up your reader in a browser tab, and you won't see the same stories twice (unless you want to, in which case you can mark them as unread).

RSS basically works like social media should work. Using RSS is a chance to visit a utopian future in which the platforms have no power, and all power is vested in publishers, who get to decide what to publish, and in readers, who have total control over what they read and how, without leaking any personal information through the simple act of reading.

And here's the best part: every time you use RSS, you bring that world closer into being! The collective action problem that the publishers and friends and politicians and businesses you care about is caused by the fact that everyone they want to reach is on a platform, so if they leave the platform, they'll lose that community. But the more people who use RSS to follow them, the less they'll depend on the platform.

Unlike those largely useless, performative boycotts of widely used platforms, switching to RSS doesn't require that you give anything up. Not only does switching to RSS let you continue to follow all the newsletters, webpages and social media accounts you're following now, it makes doing so better: more private, more accessible, and less enshittified.

Switching to RSS lets you experience just the good parts of the enshitternet, but that experience is delivered in manner that the new, good internet we're all dying for.

My own newsletter is delivered in fulltext via RSS. If you're reading this as a Mastodon or Twitter thread, on Tumblr or on Medium, or via email, you can get it by RSS instead:

https://pluralistic.net/feed/

Don't worry about which RSS reader you start with. It literally doesn't matter. Remember, you can switch readers with two clicks and take all the feeds you've subscribed to with you! If you want a recommendation, I have nothing but praise for Newsblur, which I've been paying $2/month for since 2011 (!):

https://newsblur.com/

Subscribing to feeds is super-easy, too: the links for RSS feeds are invisibly embedded in web-pages. Just paste the URL of a web-page into your RSS reader's "add feed" box and it'll automagically figure out where the feed lives and add it to your subscriptions.

It's still true that the new, good internet will require a movement to overcome the collective action problems and the legal barriers to disenshittifying things. Almost nothing you do as an individual is going to make a difference.

But using RSS will! Using RSS to follow the stuff that matters to you will have an immediate, profoundly beneficial impact on your own digital life – and it will appreciably, irreversibly nudge the whole internet towards a better state.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

[aventurineswife]

Could I request Dr Ratio revealing that he's married and everyone just goes "what?" ? Poor Ratio gets bombarded with questions about who his spouse is, why did they choose him, etc.

“Doctor, you're married?!”

Summary: Dr. Veritas Ratio, a brilliant and often aloof member of the Intelligentsia Guild, shocks his colleagues by revealing that he is married. The announcement sparks a flurry of questions as the guild members are left stunned and curious about his mysterious spouse, leading to Ratio’s rare, cryptic responses about the uniqueness of their relationship and the reasons behind their choice.

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Fluff, Humor, Mystery, Surprises, Confession.

Warnings: Mild language, arrogance, light teasing

The grand hall of the Intelligentsia Guild was abuzz with activity. Members from every corner of the universe had gathered for the annual Symposium of Wisdom, and as always, Dr. Veritas Ratio commanded attention. His sharp, calculating gaze swept over the crowd, taking in the latest developments in research, eager to challenge, refine, and improve them. A figure of intellect and authority, Ratio was often surrounded by his disciples, eager to absorb every word that came from his lips.

Today, however, something unusual was about to happen.

Ratio stood before a podium, a holographic display flickering behind him, showing intricate patterns of equations and theories. His hair swayed gently as he turned to the audience, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he spoke.

“Indeed, the hypothesis I’ve been working on regarding the nature of dimensional folding is nearly complete,” he said, his voice dripping with confidence. “The implications of my findings will revolutionize our understanding of spacetime. However—”

He paused dramatically, his eyes scanning the room as if daring anyone to challenge him. The silence was heavy with anticipation.

“—I have a personal announcement to make.”

A collective murmur rippled through the crowd. Ratio, always so focused on his work, rarely shared personal details. Whispers of speculation began circulating.

“For years, I have dedicated my life to the pursuit of knowledge, to dismantling the walls of ignorance,” Ratio continued, his tone softer, almost uncharacteristically vulnerable. “And in that time, I have found someone who shares my passion... someone who has, against all odds, chosen me as their partner.”

The words hit the room like a thunderclap. The attendees, who had long known Ratio as the brilliant, aloof scholar, were now in a state of collective shock.

“What?!” one member gasped from the front row. “You’re married?”

“Wait—wait a minute!” another voice chimed in, disbelief coloring their tone. “You’re married? To whom?”

Ratio’s gaze narrowed, and his expression shifted, becoming the usual blend of smug self-assurance and mild irritation. “Yes, I am married,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “And yes, it is quite unexpected. But I assure you, my spouse is a person of remarkable intellect. Perhaps even more so than many of you.”

The room erupted into a chorus of questions, everyone eager to know more. A flurry of hands shot up, and Ratio’s patience began to wear thin.

“Dr. Ratio, who is it?” asked one scholar, almost falling out of their chair in their eagerness. “How could anyone possibly choose you as a spouse? You’re—well, you’re... Dr. Veritas Ratio! You’re impossible to approach!”

“Are they a genius, too?” another person asked. “Or did they settle for you because of your... accomplishments?”

The rapid-fire questions only seemed to irritate Ratio further. His expression hardened as he raised a hand, signaling for silence.

“Enough!” he snapped, his voice ringing out like a command. “I do not owe you any further explanations. The fact remains that my spouse has the wisdom to recognize true potential when they see it.” He glanced around the room, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It is precisely because they are not like the rest of you that they are a perfect match for me.”

The crowd fell quiet, the audacity of Ratio’s statement sinking in.

“So… they’re... not a scholar?” one voice dared to ask.

Ratio’s eyes glittered. “No. Not a scholar,” he said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “They’re far more... practical than that.”

“And they chose you?” another person asked, a note of incredulity in their voice.

“I’m not here to discuss the reasons for their excellent taste in choosing a spouse,” Ratio shot back, his posture unbending. “However, I will say this: My spouse values substance over superficiality, and their brilliance lies in recognizing what others cannot. And, yes—they chose me.”

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. The room seemed to be processing the sheer audacity of Ratio’s revelation. How could someone who had always been the epitome of intellectual superiority possibly be… married? To someone?

“Who are they?” a voice finally broke through, cutting through the stillness. “I mean, really. Who would marry someone like you, Doctor?”

Ratio’s eyes flickered briefly with something akin to amusement, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. “I’m not here to satisfy your curiosity. My spouse is beyond your understanding. Let’s leave it at that.”

"But..." someone piped up again, unable to resist. "You said they're not a scholar. What makes them so special?"

Ratio stood up straighter, his presence commanding the room with a newfound confidence. "You see, while you all waste your time dissecting every molecule of thought and idea, my spouse works in the real world. They use their knowledge and their intellect to bring about actual change. To improve lives. To create."

The room was filled with silence once more. Some attendees exchanged glances, trying to fathom what Ratio meant.

“Who are they?” the same scholar asked again, more quietly this time.

Ratio paused. His usual arrogance softened, just for a moment, as he scanned the room. "Perhaps," he said after a beat, "it is not the who that matters, but the why. They chose me not for my degrees, my titles, or my intellect alone. They chose me for my purpose—and because, unlike many of you, I am not a fool."

The cryptic answer left the room with more questions than answers. For a long while after, whispers echoed around the hall, a flurry of speculation and astonishment. And Ratio? He simply stood there, a satisfied smirk on his face, basking in the rare moment of intrigue he had created.

It was clear: He had shocked the entire Intelligentsia Guild, and in doing so, had solidified his belief in one thing—knowledge may be the key to everything, but mystery? Well, that was a whole new level of power.

Continuation?

[skzdarlings]

bets and situations ; skz ; minho x reader

original ask: requested by anonymous: minho and “is that how you usually get out of these situations? by fucking your way out of them?” please

pairing: lee minho/reader content info: rivals to lovers. street racing. stubborn!reader. placing bets, betting sex (still explicit consent), fucking vs making love. outdoor sex. sex on a car. explicit sexual content. word count: 3400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

-

Sure, you are a little insufferable. 

But Lee Minho is worse. 

He carries himself with an elitist pomposity, like he is above the other drivers just because he once raced professionally.  Trophies or not, he is out here with the rest of you, illegally racing cars down desert roads, placing bets in the dead of night. 

You were content until this fucker came along.  Lee Minho and the stupid pretty face that won him fan clubs and brand deals.  Ugh.  You hate him for having that life and for giving it up when it is a fantasy for you.  The world of professional racing is notoriously hostile to women.  You admit there is a tinge of bitterness on your side of every interaction, but he goads you like an asshole.    

He arrives with his usual entourage.  A couple of them are racers, though not professionals, and a couple just spectate and mind his vehicle.  He has a nice car, almost as pretty as him.

You whistle as he approaches.  He looks at you with his usual exasperation, delicate features pinched with annoyance.  His hair was a vibrant red in his racing days, quite the act of showmanship, but it’s a natural dark brown now, framing his mean, stupid, handsome face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you say.  “Finally gonna grow a pair and race me?”

His scowl turns to a bitchy little sneer.  He laughs sarcastically. 

“Not worth the mileage,” he says.  He shoulders past you, his leather jacket against your denim.  “Winning against a little girl does nothing for my massive ego.”  He says this with a sarcastic flourish, mocking your derision of him. 

You know the comment is a deliberately cheap shot.  Unfortunately, in reality, Minho is the least chauvinist racer you have ever met, treating the women here with the same basic dignity as the men.

It’s just you he hates, because you hate him too.   It was inevitable.  You were hostile when first meeting.  You challenged him to a few too many personal races.  You were a sore loser and even worse winner.  What started as an effort to prove something spiralled into a rivalry. 

You won the last couple races.  You gloated a little too hard and now he is refusing to race you again. 

“Sure,” you say.  “Sounds to me like you’re scared to lose for the third time in a row.” 

He just keeps walking, ignoring you, which is so much more infuriating than when he snaps back. 

You decide to keep your distance tonight.  If you continue to agitate yourself, you are going to develop a stress aneurysm.   So you keep to your own group, race your own races, and collect your own winnings. 

But, ugh.

He is right there. 

Just in the corner of your eye, just skirting the periphery of your space, just breathing the same night air.  When you are looking at him, he captivates you.  When you look away, he is like an impossible itch, begging for your attention again.  You constantly catch him looking at you too, which does not help matters. 

By the end of the night, you feel like a live wire, all electricity and unbound energy.  Not a single race has satisfied you.  You won three of four, making way more money than you lost, but it is not enough.  It is never enough.  You already know how good you are.  You know you can beat most of these guys blindfolded. 

Your only perfect match is Lee Minho.  The only victory that matters is that one. 

As the crowd disperses and everyone departs, you march towards him.  He is saying goodbye to his crewmates, his back to you, but his buddy cracks a grin when he sees you coming.  He smacks Minho on the shoulder before turning away. 

Minho turns around with a befuddled look on his face.  When he sees you, it slackens to that unamused vexation.  He pockets his hands in his leather jacket and slouches against his car.  He shakes his head as you stomp up to him. 

“One race,” you say. 

“No,” he replies, without missing a beat. 

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” is his insufferable reply.

“That’s not an answer,” you say.

“That’s too bad.”  He gives you a final shrug then turns, opening his car door, preparing to leave. 

“Wait,” you say. 

You heart is racing.  Somehow, you feel like tonight is different from every other night.  Maybe it is the perfect crispness on the breeze, the remarkably clear sky, or maybe just the way those jeans seem to hug his thighs.  Stupid hottie.  You will have him and his attention.  You will get the better of him, one way or another.  It was all leading to this. 

“One race,” you say.  “A bet worth the mileage.” 

“I don’t need your money,” he says.

“I’m not offering money,” you reply. 

Finally, he closes the car door.  He sighs, a very loud and dramatic sigh, like you are the biggest inconvenience on earth. 

“What are you offering?” he says, facing you.  The disinterest in his tone is betrayed by the curious sweep of his gaze, an up-and-down perusal like he expects to find his prize somewhere on your body. 

Oh.

You feel flushed inside, realizing that it exactly what he is thinking.  Looking at you with a hungry, lecherous gaze, anticipating you are about to offer up yourself as a potential prize. 

It makes your heart stutter and your lips do the same, your next words all tangled up on your tongue.  It did not even occur to you to offer such a thing.  You hate him, so of course you would never think about him that way.  But now that he is looking at you like that, his expression coloured with interest and suggestion, you find yourself too shocked to even parse your feelings. 

The only thing that is obvious, abundantly obvious, is the punch of heat in your gut.  No, lower.  Heat that curls up inside you and makes you second guess.  Heat that is curious about the look in his eye. 

Then you shake your head.  You resist the urge to smack him for throwing you off.  You were in control and now you are flustered. 

“Not me,” you snap. 

His eyes, which have made their way down your whole body, follow the same path up.  He meets your gaze eventually.  Then he says nothing, because he is the worst, and just lifts an eyebrow at you. 

“My car,” you say, with no-nonsense finality.  “I bet my car.” 

He blinks at you.  Long, slow blinks like a cat.   It takes him a second to find a sentence. 

“Your car,” he says.  He tilts his head and squints, looking at you with scrutiny, like he is trying to see through your ploy.  “And what do you want if you win?” 

“Admit I’m the better driver once and for all,” you say.  The words feel a little foolish leaving your mouth.  You have been chasing the high of that confession, aggravated every time he dodged it, but saying it out loud makes you feel needy.  You clear your throat and stand straight like you are unbothered.  “That’s all I want,” you say.

He rubs a hand across his jaw, laughs incredulously, then swings his arms out at his sides. 

“Fine,” he says.

By now, everyone else has gone.  It is just you and him under the streetlights, the long empty road stretched across the dunes ahead.   You stare at one another, like there is no road and no sky, no world at all outside each other.  It is intense and all-consuming.   

You hold out a hand.  He takes it and yanks you closer to him.

“I would have told you that for free,” he says.  “Since it’s the truth.  You just had to ask.”

Now it is your turn to blink, looking at him with shock.  You would have been less stupefied if he called you a tirade of rude names, or tried to weave doubts in your mind.  Instead, he smiles at you, and it is not half as smarmy as usual.  He drops your hand and turns away, leaving you gawking at the air as he ducks into his car. 

He honks the horn, snapping you to attention. 

The heat rushes back in a hurry.  You swallow, then walk to your car on suddenly shaky legs. 

-

He wins.

Of course he wins.

You were distracted by his parting words.  You and him are so closely matched in skill that a fleeting weakness is all it takes for one to overtake the other.  You were faring well at the start, but his engine revved and your attention strayed.  Your prize was somewhat nullified by his confession, your behaviour embarrassing in hindsight.  You bet your car.  What were you thinking?

You weren’t.  And it was all his fault.   

Your car skids to a screaming halt just seconds after him.  You smack the steering wheel with frustration. 

Maybe I should have just bet my body, you think to yourself, a thought that has you shivering from something other than adrenaline.  Thoughts like that are not like you.  And Lee Minho is the last man on earth you could ever want.  Even though he is simultaneously the only man you want, or at least the only one with an opinion that matters, the only man whose attention you ever want.  He is always the highlight of your night. 

Oh god, you think with a nervous twist in your gut, I like that arrogant loser. 

Facing him is hard and it has nothing to do with losing your car. 

He is not gloating because he is not the type.  He is just leaning against his vehicle with his arms crossed, watching your nerves and passion get the better of you.  He does not flinch when you get right in his face, huffing from exertion.

“Do-over,” you say.

“Absolutely not,” he replies. 

“You got in my head on purpose.” 

“I can only do that if you let me in,” he says, looking smug.

“One more race,” you insist. 

“You have nothing left to bet.”

“Me,” you blurt.  “I bet myself.” 

You feel some satisfaction at the flicker of surprise that creases his brow, but then he is just staring and blinking again.  Your heart still thinks it is in a race, stampeding so far ahead that your whole body is awash with heat. 

“You,” he finally says.  His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, then he tilts his head in that studious way. “What does that mean?” 

You feel so hot it is making you a little woozy.  It’s just aftershocks from the race, you tell yourself, even though that heat comes from somewhere much more intimate. 

You cross your arms stubbornly.  You look away.  You even stomp your foot. 

“You know what I fucking mean,” you snap. 

“Is that how you usually get out of these situations?” he asks in a teasing tone.  “By fucking your way out of them?”

You refuse to answer.  You arms are still crossed, your face still turned.   

He touches your chin, a painfully delicate touch.  Whenever you do fuck someone, it is hard and fast, like everything else you enjoy.  Your greatest rival should be touching you with the roughest touch of all, but it is the very opposite.   It is a suggestion of a touch, little more than a caress as he turns your face to his.  You swallow until the intense focus of his sharp eyes. 

“I don’t fuck like that,” he says.  He bats his pretty eyelashes while smirking like a devil.  “I don’t have to make bets.  I make love to people because they want it.  Sorry.”  He rolls his eyes and turns away, wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic good-bye wave as he slides into his driver seat.  “You can keep your car.  I don’t want or need it.  Good night.” 

You put yourself between the door and car, stopping him from closing it.  He looks at you, eyes narrowed more intensely. 

“Now, now,” he says. 

“I’m a big girl,” you snap.  “I don’t need you protecting my honour.  I wouldn’t offer to let you fuck me if I didn’t mean it.” 

He stares at you, contemplative behind those dark eyes.  He has just returned your vehicle so you have no reason to make another bet, other than to prove the veracity of your previous offer: that you do want to fuck him, even if you don’t want to admit it.

“I told you that you can keep your car,” he says. 

You are amazed smoke is not blowing out of your ears, considering how hot your face feels. 

“I heard you,” you say. 

He gets out of the car slowly, holding your gaze the entire time.  You take a step back. 

Then he walks at you, which forces you to take another backwards step.  Step by step across the tarmac.  The breeze tousles a bit of his hair, but nothing stops his stride and his eyes never leave yours. 

You find it difficult to catch your breath.  Garnering this man’s undivided attention has been your only goal for months, and the reality of it is heady.  He is intoxicating. 

It seems the feeling is reciprocated, given how he looks at you, which just makes you stumble in your backwards trek.  He catches your wrist, tugging you upright, yanking you closer.  You collide with his chest, disoriented from so little. 

“So,” he says.  “If you win, we fuck.  And if I win, we make love.  Is that correct?” 

“Whatever, there’s no difference,” you say.  You are instinctively combative when flustered, redirecting the source of your embarrassment to confrontation. 

It seemingly works.  His attention diverts and he says, “Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t.” 

“Yes, there—”  He stops himself from retaliating with the same childish rejoinder.  He props his hands on his hips, shaking his head at himself as he stares up at the stars.   

Eventually he huffs, rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, then looks at you. 

“Fine,” he says.  “We’ll race.” 

Your heart is already revving like an engine.  You take another couple steps back to smirk at him triumphantly.  You walk right into your car, that smug face dropping in surprise.  It gives him the opportunity to crowd you against it, planting his hands on either side of your head.  You hold your breath. 

“You have to pass my test first,” he says. 

“Excuse me!”  Your own incredulity resounds.  You smack his chest but he does not move. 

“It’s just two questions,” he says.  “You’re a smart girl.  You’ll figure it out.” 

He is tormenting you.  You hate him.  You hope he never stops. 

“Fine,” you snap.  His smirk makes your whole belly swoop with anticipation. 

“Good,” he says, then stands back. 

You hold his stare, refusing to show any weakness.  At least you can catch your breath in the space between you. 

Then he says, “Get on your knees.” 

Your legs are already shaky – from nerves, from the dwindling adrenaline of your race.  There are a lot of reasons your knees buckle.  Plenty of explanations for why you do not hesitate, sinking to your knees right there on the road. 

Your gaze drops, flustered by his demand and your response.  You look at his shoes, all black, well-worn, scuffing the tarmac as he steps towards you. 

“Now tell me,” he says, then gathers a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back.  He meets your gaze as he says, “Is this fucking or making love?”

Then his fingers are in your mouth.  You let him in without any hesitation, like your whole body is instinctively attuned to his.  His grip is firm, his fingers relentless, undoubtedly fucking your mouth with the sloppy, mean thrust you would expect from an enemy.  Still, it feels good, unbelievably so, your mouth wet and hot and his fingers sliding over your tongue, the soft suction of your lips making his eyes blaze and his throat bob as he swallows. 

When he slides out, a trail of spit connects his fingers to your lips.  Your lips quiver with a shuddering breath. 

“Well?” he says. 

You swallow, but eventually manage a weak, “Fucking.” 

“Good,” he says, grinning that wicked grin.  “That’s one out of two.  How about this one?” 

He drops to his knees.  You are face-to-face now, kneeling on the road in the dead of night.  There are no witnesses to this scene except maybe the stars, the clear night revealing all your secrets. 

His face is as open, his expression suddenly so devastatingly soft and vulnerable.   Your breath stutters before he even moves.  He cups your cheeks with both hands and draws you to him.

Your eyes close when your lips touch.  He strokes his thumbs across your cheeks and licks into your mouth with decadent slowness, like he wants to savour every second of your taste.  Your mouths move together like they were made for each other, never racing too far ahead. A perfect give-and-take. 

When he stops, you feel dizzy and bereft, but only for a second.   He cups your jaw and tilts your face just so, then his fingers are parting your tender lips and the taste of him is on your tongue once more.  Your eyes close and you moan thoughtlessly, bobbing your head to the gentle rhythm he sets. 

“This,” he says in a feathery-light voice.

You shiver as he slowly withdraws his fingers.  He wipes his thumb across your lips to clean you.  You let him cup your chin and tilt your face, this time so he can look you in the eye. 

“Tell me what we’re doing,” he says.   

The suggestion makes you throb.  You are hot and aching when you admit, “Making love.”

“Good,” he says, then pecks your lips before rolling onto the balls of his feet and shooting upright.  “Now we can race.” 

-

It is a perfect draw. 

You are both distracted.  When you slam on the brakes in the same place at the same moment, it is with a singular purpose in mind. 

Doors slam.  You meet in the space between your vehicles. 

“I won,” you say, just to be argumentative. 

He is shrugging out of his jacket.  It his the ground.  He does not break his stride, already going for his belt.  Your knees nearly buckle again. 

“Fine,” he replies.  “Then get over here.  I’m fucking you on the hood of my car.” 

Fucking you is exactly what he does.  It is not making love.  He strips you methodically, your jacket and shirt and bra.  Your jeans get shoved down past your knees and he bends you over the hood, still warm from the purring engine.  You are hot and frantic, cheek pressed to the hood of your rival’s car while he works you open and shoves himself inside you. 

You make a sharp sound then a low moan, hands plastered to the hot hood.  He fucks you like he races you, without holding anything back because he knows you can take him. 

It feels as primal as a race, the animal instinct that conquers you in a rush of adrenaline.  It is your singular focus, the steady thud of him inside you.  You do not care about appearances, about seeming ridiculous, meeting every thrust and moan with your own.  He sounds good and feels better, your bodies in harmony, chasing each other to the finish line. 

He yanks you up, your back arching as he turns your head for a kiss.  It puts you over, clenching hard around him, setting him off.  He makes a soft sound then groans with pleasure.  He stays there for a minute, both of you breathing hard.

“I want you to keep your car,” he finally speaks, “because I need you to come back tomorrow and race me again.” 

You gasp when his hand moves between your legs, working you up again, slowly but surely.   

“Because next time I’ll win,” he says.  “You sounded so good getting fucked.  I want to see your face when you come on my cock again and again from making love.”

“Won’t happen,” you say, even while your on the cusp of doing just that. 

“Mm,” he says, then laughs that light, evil laugh as you come all over his hand.  He kisses the side of your head and says, “Wanna bet?” 

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞.

✦ in need of a kiss? well, feel free to pick an experience from our finest collection! perhaps you’ll find one suited perfectly to your tastes?

(or, in other words, the types of kisses they give, and what it’s like to kiss them.)

✦ featuring: aventurine, dr. ratio, jing yuan.

✦ warnings: very kiss focused, not proofread.

✦ notes: these characters with this concept were particularly inspiring today, so i jotted down a little something really quick (might add more characters later in a pt. 2 later? idk)

also forgive me for any characterization errors please i'm still studying them

aventurine.

his kisses are greedy. 

he’s greedy, far too greedy, and selfish to boot— he wants everything you have to give, all for himself. he tastes like a burst of citrus on your tongue, always, always keeping you on your toes, his lips sneakily capturing everything they can, right down to the slightest sound that leaves your lips.

he wants as much of you as he can possibly get, and he’s perfectly capable of drawing it all out from you, bit by bit. he just needs the right bargaining chip, and he has it already, doesn’t he? 

a kiss, for a kiss.

 a fair trade, wouldn’t you say?

(he doesn’t make deals that don’t pay off, after all. and this thing he’s doing with you? well, it sure is raking in the profits.)

veritas ratio.

dr. ratio doesn’t do things in half measures. when he kisses you, it’s all or nothing; he will put his all into it.

he doesn’t confine himself to your lips, either. the philosophy is simple: what kind of learning would one hope to achieve by limiting themselves?

his hands travel all over, learning the wheres, the whens and the hows, almost as if he’s trying to see how you tick, while his lips embark on a journey of their own across the skin of your face, your jaw and your neck.

he kisses with diligence and precision and passion, meticulous and methodical, quickly adapting his methods to even the slightest of hints you send his way. every action he does is intentional and deliberate, so why should this be any different? 

oh, but make no mistake, for all his versatility and straightforwardness, he will not make it easy for you to keep up with him. 

but you can take a challenge, can’t you? 

jing yuan.

he is gentle, he is soft, he is slow— he kisses in the way that honey flows; lazy, languid, almost hypnotizing, like he has all the time in the world. he savors you the same way he savors the tea that lends his lips the subtle bitterness they carry, but they taste sweet all the same.

when he pulls away, a smile graces his face, one that lights up his eyes with adoration. soft as they are, they still command your undivided attention with the way you cannot seem to tear your gaze away from him. his hands still remain on your person though, holding you impossibly close.

and when he tenderly cradles your face in his palms, worries evaporate into air, thoughts slip away to spaces unknown, and moments stretch into lifetimes.

[sosa2imagines]

An Alley of Passion

Warning- Smut, Steve Rogers is a warning, sex in an alley, little bit of tearing of clothes, dominance.

Disclaimer- This is my submission for @mercurial-chuckles writing challenge, "Smutty September Fest" I hope everyone who reads likes it.

The plan was simple, enter the sophisticated nightclub, head to the back room, and collect the data.

But things rarely ever went according to plan. As soon as you and Steve entered the main floor of the club, the two of you were spotted by some goons.

You wore the expensive black halter dress, courtesy of Tony’s money. It was tight against your body, fitting perfectly against every dip and curve.

Steve, your partner on this mission, looked absolutely stunning in a tight black shirt and black pants. It hugged his body in all the right places and made his blue eyes stand out even more.

Despite the odds being against the two of you, you and Steve managed to fight off the goons and retrieved the data you came here for. However, just as you breathed a sigh of relief, more goons arrived, this time armed with deadly weapons, leaving you both cornered.

Steve grabs your hand and runs towards the exit. With the goons high on chase, Steve takes a turn towards an alley assuming it's empty.

However the two of you found yourselves in a surprising situation as you looked around. Instead of the empty, dark alley you'd expected, it was filled with couples. Some were engaged in deep conversation, others were whispering sweet nothings, and yet others were passionately making out.

Steve and you knew that the best way to avoid suspicion would be to blend in.

Steve leaned over and whispered against your ear, “Do you trust me?” You could hear the edge in his voice, the hint of urgency in his words. You nodded, looking into his eyes and hoping he had a plan to get you both out of this sticky situation.

In a swift and unexpected move, Steve pushed you against the wall. His body was so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He then turned, placing his back facing the goons, effectively shielding you with his body, his hand slipping around your waist.

Steve's grip on your waist was firm, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your own. The steady rise and fall of his chest provided a sense of stability amidst the chaos.

Despite the dire situation, the sensation of being held so closely by him was electrifying, both comforting and thrilling at the same time as your heart pounded in your chest.

Time seemed to stretch out impossibly thin as the two of you stood there in silence. You could hear the goons continue their search nearby, their footsteps echoing through the alley, each sound sending a jolt of adrenaline through your system, making your heart rate quicken.

All the while, Steve stood close, his body acting as both a shield and a safety net, providing a sense of security in the midst of chaos.

As the silence continued, you swallowed, attempting to moisten your suddenly dry throat. The close intimacy of your shared space, with your body firmly against Steve's, added a new layer of intensity to the danger that surrounded you.

Every part of your being felt more alive than ever before, and as he shifted and tightened his grip on you, you felt a flutter deep within your stomach, a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

Steve could feel the tension radiating from your body as you leaned slightly into him. He drew in a steady breath, attempting to calm himself. His own heart was beating erratically, and the realization of this took him by surprise.

It wasn't just the adrenaline from the situation that heightened his awareness, the proximity of your body to his had added a new layer of complexity. The protectiveness he was feeling towards you was no longer just professional; it had become deeply personal.

With the goons closing in, checking the couples around them, Steve knew he had to act fast. In a split second, his instincts kicked in, and he acted on impulse, pulling you closer and kissing you.

The action was abrupt, unexpected, but undeniably necessary to sell their cover. He could feel the soft surprise of your lips against his, the taste of your gasp, and the heat that suddenly emanated from your body.

The moment his lips met yours, a rush of heat and electricity surged through your body. Despite the shock of his impulsiveness, you found yourself responding, your body instinctively leaning into the kiss. The world around you faded as the warmth of his mouth against your own washed over you, making your head swim for a brief moment.

As Steve's lips pressed against yours, his body trapping you against the cold, rough wall, the action held a multitude of meanings. On one hand, it was a desperate measure to keep their cover, to blend in with the other couples in the alleyway. But on a more primal, subconscious level, it was also a release of the built-up tension he hadn't even been aware he'd been carrying until that very instant.

The battle between Steve's mind and body was palpable. His body responded in a way that he hadn't anticipated, his mind striving to catch up and make sense of the situation.

The kiss deepened, and he pressed you closer against the wall. While on some level, he knew it was a necessary part of the act to maintain the ruse, the way your body fitted against his, the taste and feel of you, felt intensely real, igniting a sense of awareness that he couldn't deny.

The goons finally moved on, leaving the narrow alley once again secluded. Steve slowly broke the kiss, his breath ragged and his voice a low rumble against your ear as he spoke. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” The words were tinged with a hint of frustration and pent-up desire, suggesting that he was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in his taut muscles as he slowly backed up, allowing some space between the two of you. His gaze was intense, filled with a mix of protectiveness and frustration, his eyes burning into yours.

You mustered the courage to speak up, meeting his gaze with a hint of daring. “I don't regret it…” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

A flicker of surprise flickered across Steve's face, replaced quickly with a look of desire that sent your heart racing. “Good.” he murmured in response. Before you could react, he closed the distance between you once again, claiming your lips in another heated kiss.

The kiss was hungry, filled with a raw need that caught you off guard. Steve's hands came up to cup your face, angling it to deepen the kiss, his tongue seeking entry into your mouth. You responded willingly, your bodies pressing closely together, both seeking and taking what the other offered.

The world faded away, the only point of focus being the heady sensation of Steve's mouth on yours. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt, craving the contact. The kiss was primal, filled with an untamed passion that left you both momentarily breathless.

Steve's voice was a low, commanding growl, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. “I. need. you. Now!” he emphasized, his words filled with an possessive intensity that sent heat pooling in your stomach. The need in his voice was undeniable, a demand that was impossible to resist.

You turned around, with your back pressed against his chest. Steve's hands roamed you body, as they slowly guided up your chest.

His palms perfectly cupped your breasts, feeling their weight, he kneaded them. An obscene moan escaped his lips.

Steve's hands were everywhere as he turns you around, rough and impatient, he began to tear the fabric of your dress, creating a perfect slit down the center. The sound of the material giving way was loud in the silence of the alley.

Steve's gaze roamed over the torn dress, a lopsided smirk playing on his lips. “Much better,” he declared, his voice roughened with desire. “I'll buy you a new one.”

You could only shake your head in response, your mind too wrapped up in the haze of desire to form coherent thoughts, let alone speak.

In one swift motion, Steve's hands moved to your hips, lifting you up and bringing you against his body, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. The action left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, heightening the sensation of his hard muscles pressed against your curves.

Steve's mouth claimed yours again, his kiss deep and urgent, his tongue tangling with yours in a desperate dance of lust and need. His body moved against yours, the friction between your bodies igniting a fire within you. Your hips rocked slightly against his, seeking more of that delicious friction.

Steve's hands moved from your hips to your thighs, his fingers gripping the delicate material of your flimsy underwear. Your breath hitched in your throat as he began to tear the fabric in a one swift, possessive motion.

The thought of how much your torn panties had cost flickered through your mind, but as soon as Steve's teeth found your neck, at the sensitive spot that sent waves of pleasure through your body, any concern about the ruined garment vanished.

Your sharp intake of breath was both involuntary and a clear indication that you were entirely focused on the sensations Steve was stirring within you.

His teeth nipped at the skin softly before his tongue soothed the sting, his lips trailing down to your collarbone and sucking gently. You arched into his touch, silently begging for more, your body responding fiercely to his kisses and bites.

Steve's command, delivered in a low, urgent tone broke the silence between you. “Undo my pants, doll, set me free!” he ordered, his voice filled with a raw desire that sent shivers down your spine. Your hands trembled slightly as your fingers worked to undo his pants, your obedience a testament to the power he held over you in that moment.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the restraint he was exercising to keep himself in check. Finally, his pants fell open, giving you access to what you both craved. You could feel the heat of his hardness against your core.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, your body reacting instinctively to the contact. Steve's hips moved against yours, his hard length pressing against your sensitive pussy, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through your body. His mouth claimed yours again, his kiss now more desperate, urgent, mirroring the fire that was burning between the two of you.

Steve dipped his fingers inside you, to see if you are ready for him, before putting them in his mouth, making a show of sucking them making an obscene sound that made you crave him more.

“Steve please…” You moan, gently rolling your hips against him, the anticipation almost driving you over the edge. He pauses as his eyes move over you, drinking in the sight of you, his breathing is heavy. “You're so beautiful...” he says, sliding a hand up your thigh to your hip.

Steve kisses you deeply as he pushes into you, your pussy takes all of him in. His thick length stretches your walls.

“Yes...” escaped your lips, the word a mix of pleasure and relief.

His breath catches in his throat, at the feel of you wrapped around him. His hips soon found a suitable pace, as he starts to move against you slowly. “So tight and perfect...”

You cling to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin. There was no gentleness in his movements, only the primal need to claim you entirely. Each thrust was a testament to his desire, a reminder of the pent up tension between the two of you.

Your bodies moved together in desperate harmony, desperate need driving each movement. The sound of skin against skin, the harsh pants and moans filling the air, created an intimate symphony that was a reflection of the intense connection.

Steve speeds up, making your breath hitch. He presses deeper and your nails slightly dig into his shoulders. “Steve...” you moan his name, as he hits deep in your cunt, making all your thoughts scatter.

“Look at me, doll,” Steve's command was punctuated with a powerful thrust, the words spoken between grunts and pants. He wanted your eyes on him, needed to see your reaction as he claimed you, his gaze burning into yours.

Each movement was a testament to his dominant presence, his desire to take control and possess you entirely. With each breath, the air grew hotter between the two of you, the connection both physical and emotional.

His grip on your hips tightened, his touch a mixture of possessiveness and tenderness. In this moment, you were entirely his, your body responding to his every touch, your desire matching his own. The world outside faded away.

He watched intently, his gaze fixated on every flicker of pleasure that flitted across your face, his name becoming a mantra on your lips, a silent testament to the power he held over you.

He increased his pace, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate. He was losing himself in the feel of you, the way your body responded to his touch, the sounds of pleasure that escaped your lips.

His mouth found yours, his lips hungry and demanding. He kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours in a frenzy of passion.

As he hit a spot deep inside you that made you cry out in pleasure. He smiled against your lips, a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

He continued to move, his movements becoming faster and more frantic. He was lost in the sensations, consumed by the feel of you and the sound of your moans in his ears.

His movements were growing more erratic as his own desire threatened to overtake him. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, but he forced himself to hold back, wanting to make you come first.

“Just let go, doll…” he whispers in your ear, his hips moving faster, his lips against yours. The words push you over the edge and you cry out his name, against his lips, as waves of pleasure wash over you.

You moaned into the kiss, as you came hard, Steve followed suit as he spent himself inside you. Filling you up to the brim. Catching his breath, he buried his face in your neck.

Steve gently set you down, his hands supporting your shaking legs until you were steady on your feet. Despite the intensity of the moment, his touch was tender, a stark contrast to the fierce need that had consumed him moments before.

As you stood there, trying to get your bearings, Steve smirked, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Can you walk, doll?” He asked, his tone light but filled with a smug satisfaction.

“I...I think you were a little too rough...” you retorted, a playful pout on your lips as you tested your legs, finding them shaky and unreliable.

As you took a few tentative steps, you found your legs still weak and unstable. Before you could even react, Steve scooped you up in his arms with an ease that made your heart skip a beat.

“I know you can walk,” he said, his tone amused but affectionate. “But I'm not done with you yet, doll, and I want you to save your energy.”

You couldn't help but gasp as you saw the look in Steve's eyes. The intensity in his gaze, the fire that burned within him told you that this night had only just begun. A mix of anticipation and trepidation filled your heart, knowing that the night would be long and passionate.

Also dedicated to @rogerbarnesss @buckysdoll85 @caplanbuckybarnes

[theunsinkableship1]

Lukolaship: Why are you here?

I have one simple question for you: Why are you here?

If you’re a fan of Nicola or Luke individually, there’s no reason to be so deeply invested in their private lives. Supporting them as actors and celebrating their professional achievements should be enough. If your goal is to see them happy in life, you could simply assume they are, because nothing publicly suggests otherwise. Why concern yourself with what others think about their personal lives? Focus on your own and sleep peacefully at night.

Here, however, we are focused. We are here for a specific purpose, and that purpose is rooted in a belief in the bond between Nicola and Luke as a duo. We don’t ship them with just anyone, nor do we treat this connection as trivial. We see something rare and precious that transcends the superficial dynamics often seen elsewhere.

We believe they are uniquely compatible in every way professionally, personally, and emotionally. As they’ve described themselves, they are very similar, and their connection is something that doesn’t come easily. It’s not the kind of bond you let slip away without a fight.

If you don’t share the belief that the best foundation for their love is friendship, then it’s worth asking yourself what you’re doing in this space. Because staying here while harboring doubt or skepticism will only lead to frustration, disappointment, or even resentment. And why put yourself through that?

Of course, this is a space open for discussion, but we must acknowledge that engaging in conversations centered on ideas completely opposed to what we’re collectively rooting for is both unnecessary and counterproductive.

This space is for those of us who see, believe, and hope. For those who recognize something special when they see it and want to nurture that belief, even from afar. If you don’t share these wishes and expectations, perhaps this isn’t the place for you and that’s okay.

But here, we celebrate, support, and believe in something extraordinary. If that resonates with you, welcome. If not, it’s best to part ways now to save yourself and others unnecessary grief.

I want to start by emphasizing that I don’t know the truth in this situation. I don’t know these people personally, so I can’t claim to speak for their reality or their intentions. What I have are beliefs and speculations based on the reality they have chosen to present to us. And among all these uncertainties, one belief stands unshaken: they belong together. That belief is the cornerstone of my presence in this corner of the internet.

Now, let me clarify I’m not opposed to the idea of Lukola being in relationships with other people. They could very well be in relationships with entirely different people, and we wouldn’t have any way of knowing.Life is complex, and these things can happen. Nor am I opposed to the idea that they might already be together but keeping it private. In fact, that’s the outcome I’m openly hoping for.

The truth is, either theory whether they are in other relationships or together in secret is just that: a theory. Speculations woven from bits of information and perception, none of which constitute definitive proof. I resist accepting either scenario at face value because, frankly, this story isn’t straightforward. There are too many inconsistencies, too much plausible deniability, and far too many coincidences for it to be simple.

Some individuals are actively seeking out this space, a niche corner of the internet that is not easily found unless you are deliberately looking for it solely to challenge the idea of Lukola being real. They argue that it’s all just PR and treat the very notion of their connection as if it’s utterly impossible or absurd. What’s puzzling is the intensity with which they dismiss it, often acting as though the mere suggestion of Lukola’s reality is offensive or preposterous.

This behavior raises several questions: Why does the idea of Lukola trigger such strong reactions? Why do these critics go out of their way to invade a space they fundamentally disagree with? A psychological phenomenon like reactance might offer some insight.

Reactance is a reaction to perceived threats to autonomy. When people see others confidently supporting a theory or belief they don’t share, they might feel compelled to push back, not necessarily because they have concrete evidence against it, but because they view it as an encroachment on their sense of "truth."

What’s even more contradictory is that these critics often engage in behaviors strikingly similar to those they criticize. They comb through interviews, scrutinize body language, and form conclusions all while claiming to be grounded in “realism.” If Lukola isn’t real and this space is so misguided, why invest so much energy here? The truth is, some of these individuals may be grappling with their own unspoken doubts or insecurities about the narrative and find it easier to ridicule others than to explore those feelings honestly.

Ultimately, this space is built on a foundation of speculation, patterns, and observed dynamics not absolute certainty. If the concept of Lukola is so untenable to someone, perhaps they should question why they feel so compelled to disprove it rather than simply disengaging. This kind of behavior only underscores the uniqueness of what’s being defended here. Why else would they care so much ?

This brings me to what I believe is happening with certain Lukola shippers who react under the guise of pragmatism and so-called reality. When the facts are murky and there’s no concrete proof one way or the other, it’s natural to feel uncertainty. But for some, the fear of being wrong of committing to a belief that might not hold up pushes them toward the opposite stance. It’s a kind of cognitive dissonance avoidance or fear-based contrarianism. Rather than risk the emotional discomfort of being wrong, they align themselves with a narrative that feels safer because it seems more grounded in realism, even if it goes against what they truly want.

But this reaction isn’t as rational as it appears. By clinging to the guise of pragmatism, they often ignore the layers of meaning, patterns, and behaviors that suggest this situation isn’t as clear-cut as it might seem. They risk dismissing the extraordinary connection that brought us here in the first place, the looks, the smiles, the synchronicity, and the undeniable intimacy.

What’s unsettling, however, is the behavior of certain non-believers. Some have started attacking others, calling them delusional or crazy for holding onto their beliefs. What’s ironic and frankly hypocritical is that many of these people were doing the exact same thing not long ago. They were analyzing smiles, interpreting body language, and weaving narratives just like the rest of us.

Psychologically, this could be explained by reaction formation, a defense mechanism where individuals suppress emotions or beliefs, they are uncomfortable with and adopt an exaggerated opposite stance. For example, someone who once believed in Lukola but feels betrayed or disillusioned may go to great lengths to ridicule others who still believe, as a way to distance themselves from their former vulnerability.

Another phenomenon at play is projection. Those who call others delusional may actually be projecting their own internal conflict and doubts. It’s easier to label someone else as "crazy" than to confront the discomfort of one’s own cognitive dissonance.

Finally, there’s the bandwagon effect. When a few vocal individuals start asserting that believing in Lukola is irrational, others may follow suit to align themselves with what appears to be the majority opinion. This creates a cycle where dissenting voices are silenced or shamed, even though everyone in this fandom is ultimately speculating and interpreting limited information.

It’s not just hypocritical but it’s unkind as well to attack others for believing in something extraordinary. We are all here because we were drawn to the same connection, the same magic that transcends the mundane. Whether you still believe or have chosen to step away, there’s no need to tear others down.

The truth remains elusive, and it’s okay to admit that we don’t know everything. What’s not okay is to dismiss or ridicule the hope, joy, and creativity that others bring to this space. What is absolutely unacceptable is harassing Lukola, their friends, or their families online simply because they aren’t aligning with or reinforcing our preferred narrative. Such behavior crosses the line from passionate support into harmful intrusion, and it reflects poorly on this community as a whole.

We must remember that Nicola and Luke are real people with lives, relationships, and choices that extend far beyond what we observe or speculate about. Their friends and family are not all public figures and certainly not part of this fandom discourse. Dragging them into the conversation or pressuring them to validate a narrative diminishes the respect and admiration this space claims to hold for the pair.

Moreover, harassing anyone be it directly through comments or indirectly through insinuations and speculation achieves nothing. It doesn’t bring clarity or truth; it only fuels division and hostility. This behavior contradicts the very foundation of why many of us are here.

If anything, such actions could damage the very dynamic we cherish. It creates an atmosphere of distrust and negativity that might push them to withdraw further from public interactions or force them into making statements or actions they wouldn’t naturally take.

As fans, we must hold ourselves to a higher standard. Our actions should reflect kindness, respect, and understanding, not entitlement or hostility.

Let’s remember why we’re here and not go overboard, this ship is rare and beautiful, even if its true nature isn’t yet fully revealed. Until clarity comes, let’s choose kindness and patience over judgment.

In conclusion, we are not required to take a definitive stance right now. There’s wisdom in waiting, observing, and letting the truth unfold in its own time. For me, this isn’t about being right or wrong. It’s about honoring the belief that their bond is rare and worth rooting for, whether the evidence for it is subtle or glaring. Until clarity comes, I will continue to hold space for the possibility that love complicated, layered, and extraordinary is at the heart of this story.

[mack-mack-mack]

Very Demure, Very Mindful-Toto Wolff

First time posting on Tumblr. I think you all would appreciate this more here than on AO3.

Summmary: Mr. Wolff was the…most interesting person to work with. He was always willing to participate in a trend, but he always took extra convincing. I have to basically beg on my knees every time I step into his office asking for content. He seemed to enjoy watching me struggle and I still don't know how to handle that. It felt like I was losing a game I didn't quite know I was playing.

or

Toto is very mindful, very demure (We all saw the video).

I love my job. I swear I do. I mean how many get to say they follow the Mercedes Formula One team around, convincing them to participate in social media challenges and trends?

Unfortunately, some days it was an impossible task. On other days, it was the best job in the world. Today was one of those rough days. 

George was the easiest person to make videos with. He was charismatic and funny. The audience ate him up every time. Lewis was an enigma. I was terrified of the man. He was way too cool for TikTok let alone casual conversation with the social media manager. The crew was always eager and the junior divisions often came up with their own ideas…that they would send me at all hours of the day, begging me to do whatever it was the next time they were together. 

And then there was Toto. 

Mr. Wolff was the…most interesting person to work with. He was always willing to participate in a trend, but he always took extra convincing. I have to basically beg on my knees every time I step into his office asking for content. He seemed to enjoy watching me struggle and I still don't know how to handle that. It felt like I was losing a game I didn't quite know I was playing.

He flusters me. He makes me blush and I have to fight the giggles that try to escape when he speaks to me. And then he makes this really intense eye contact and I forget how to breathe. Every. Single. Time. 

It wasn't right to have a crush on the Team Principal. But honestly, who didn't? Have you seen him? Can I be blamed? No. 

I had already collected footage of George, Kimi, and a few others for the day. That was easy and it was fun. Lewis wasn't in today so his photoshoot from the last race weekend would suffice. Huge weight off my shoulders, really. If I had to work with both Lewis and Toto today I don’t think I would have survived.

Maybe I’ll post a Roscoe slideshow and count that for Lewis. I’ll text his agent later. 

I nodded and wrote down a few notes on the outline attached to my clipboard, noticing the limited content I gathered while at headquarters. It was race weekend so everyone was heading to Zaandavort in a few days. I knew I would end up with more footage over the weekend and plenty to edit before we left. 

It was time to visit Toto though. Which meant I had to stop avoiding the office at the end of the hall on the top floor and actually speak to the older man. I checked the watch on my wrist and saw it was 4:30. I had an hour to get up the nerve, talk to him, film things, and not melt into a puddle at his feet. Easy.

Most people had left the office already, preparing to jet off the next day, so it was silent as I made my way to the elevators and up to the top floor of the building, turning left at the landing. I took a deep breath, shaking out my hands as I approached the end of the hall. I stopped in front of his slightly ajar door and gave myself an internal pep talk.

You're a bad bitch and you will not succumb to Toto. He is just a man. You eat men for breakfast. 

I rapped on the door three times, waiting for the response from inside.

I heard the tapping of keys cease after a moment and then an accented voice spoke, “Yes?”

I pushed the door open with shaky hands, “Hi, Mr. Wolff,” 

He smiled when I walked in and shook his head, “I’ve told you to call me Toto,”

“And I told you I can’t do that, sir,”

The man stared at me from behind his desk, his head tilted and the same small smile on his lips. Very kissable lips.

Stop it.

“Very well. Come in. Shut the door.” He motioned me into the room.

I walked in and stood in front of his desk and closed the door behind me. I walked to his desk but didn’t sit down on any of the plush chairs. I was far too jumpy to take a seat. 

“How can I help you, dear?” Toto asked standing from his seat, coming to the front of the desk, and leaning a hip against it.

Did he just call me dear? Why is he so close to me?

I resisted the urge to take a step back, maintaining the foot of space between us. He was close enough I could smell him and it was already starting to cloud my senses. 

“Umm,” I had to remember the question. What did he ask?

He arched an eyebrow at me but said nothing as I stuttered in front of him. Was he smirking? Did he think this was funny?

“I-uh. I need some social media content from you if that's okay. There's this trend that everyone is doing right now and the crew thought it would be the most funny if you were the one to do it. And I have to listen because they are so right. It would be hilarious. Really it would. But only if you want to, Mr. Wolff. It’s silly really,” I was rambling. I shut my mouth mid-thought and stared up at the man in front of me.

“It would be funny if I did it, you say? And why is that, darling?” He was fully smiling now, his eyes sparkling with something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. 

“So there’s this trend, right? And it's really silly,” I was repeating myself. I want to crawl into my skin, “Basically there was this creator on TikTok who made a video and it blew up and now everyone is making videos saying ‘very, demure, very mindful’ and it would be funny if you did it cause y’know…um,” I trailed, fidgeting under his unrelenting gaze.

“Because I’m so very demure, very mindful,?” Toto cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“I mean, I um well...I mean do you feel demure and mindful, Mr. Wolff? I can’t tell you how you feel so do you feel demure and mindful? If you don’t want to we won’t make the video and I’ll leave you be. It’s really okay, I’ll ask George to do it this weekend. It’ll be funny too,” I couldn't stop talking. I always word-vomited in front of this man. Have since I was hired. I am praying for the day he finally decides to shut me up.

He just stared at me, that same look still dancing in his dark eyes. I stared back at him, frozen in place. I could feel my cheeks getting hot. 

Please stop looking at me like that or I’m going to combust.

“What was that, darling?” Toto asked, licking his lips and leaning back onto his hands. He looked at me from foot to head and came back to rest on my face.

“What was what?” I asked quickly, too quickly.

“You’re going to combust if I look at you like this? How am I looking at you, then?”

I said that out loud. Shit, I said that out loud. 

My eyes widened and I felt my mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land, “I am so sorry, sir. I just meant. I mean I. I-. Shit. Shit, I can't say shit in front of you. I’m going to stop talking and I am going to leave. Have a great day, Mr. Wolff,” I placed a foot behind me, ready to turn and run out of the office and go home. I wanted to crawl into bed and never come out.

It could've been worse. I could've said a lot worse.

“Wait,” Toto reached out and grabbed my hand.

I froze staring down at my hand in his. 

What the fuck? Why is he holding my hand? 

I looked back up at him and released the breath I had been holding.

“Yes, sir?” I whispered, my voice barely audible through the tightness in my throat.

“You need to stop calling me sir or I might be the one to combust,” He whispered back, equally as quiet.

What? Did I hear him right?

“Sir, you're my boss. It’s kinda the thing to call you,” I replied, confused.

“Ah, ah. I am not your boss. I do not give you directions or sign your paycheck. I already feel wrong enough, do not call me your boss and make it worse,” Toto tugged me closer, taking the gap between us from a foot to mere inches. 

I gasped sharply at the movement, afraid to look away from our hands resting on his lap.

“Make what worse…sir?” I looked at him through my lashes, pulling my lip into my mouth.

He tracked every movement, his hand tightening around mine.

“You don’t want to know, dear. Somethings are better left unsaid, yeah?”

We were whispering in the quiet room as if someone nearby would hear us. As if the building wasn't empty at almost 5 o’clock the day before race weekend began. 

“But what if I do? What if I want it to be said? What if I want to make things worse?” I met his eyes finally, nerves or butterflies churning in my stomach. I couldn’t tell. I don't think I cared all that much. The way he was looking at me was enough to clear any anxiety I was feeling. 

“That’s a very dangerous thing to say, dear. Only say things you mean not things you’ll regret,” Toto’s eyes were hooded, as he looked at me, brushing his thumb over my hand.

“I like living on the dangerous side, Mr. Wolff,” I did not recognize the voice that came out of me.

I do not do dangerous. I don’t ever do dangerous. What am I saying?

”I told you not to call me that,” His voice had gone deep and husky and it was doing something to me that I didn’t want to admit. 

“Make me, sir,” Who the fuck was she? That couldn’t have been me, no way. 

Toto made a noise in the back of his throat and it sent shivers down my spine. He pulled me closer, placing one of his free hands behind my neck. I was inches from him. I could feel his breath on my skin, “I am going to kiss you now, is that okay?”

I nodded, my eyes falling shut, my head tilting up. He pressed his lips to mine and every thought left my mind. He was so gentle, nothing like I thought he would be but somehow so much better. His hand was firm behind my neck, keeping me in place. We were still holding hands and he continued rubbing his thumb over mine. 

He slowly explored my mouth with his, moving his lips with mine. He lightly licked my bottom lip, requesting entrance. I opened my mouth, letting him in, begging him to take me. 

The kiss deepened. He removed his hand from mine and moved it to my hip, squeezing gently and pulling me close. I was standing between his open legs, hands at my side, still in shock from what was going on.

Wait what was going on?

I pulled away, somehow, “Wait, wait, what is happening, Mr. Wolff?”

He looked at me and chuckled softly, “I am kissing you. I would like to continue to kiss you and much more if I am being honest with you, darling. Is that okay?”

”Yes but why?” It took all of me not to fall back into him but I needed to know. I couldn’t just let this man kiss me out of nowhere without some kind of explanation.

”Because you are beautiful. And you are strong. You are kind to others and very funny. You are excellent at your job and I admire you. I want to do this because I want you and I have for a long time. And I see the way you look at me. I see how red your cheeks become and the way your breath catches when I get close. I know you want this too. Am I correct, darling?” His gaze didn’t move from mine, captivating me in its intensity. He was being honest that much I could tell.

I nodded taking a shaky breath, “Yes. You’re right. I do. I really do, Mr. Wolff. I-“

He kissed me again, crashing our mouths together, an effective way of shutting me up. He tugged me to his body, his chest and mine pressed together. His hand on my waist went around to the small of my back, pulling me until our bodies were completely flush. I could feel every inch of him against me. Every inch.

I laced my fingers into his hair, moaning quietly. He bit into my bottom lip, then licked into my mouth. We stayed like that, pressed together, exploring each other for a while. I couldn’t tell how long I was lost in Toto’s embrace.

He pulled his mouth and pressed it to my ear, “What can I do to you?” He pressed a wet kiss to my neck as I took in what he said.

”Anything, sir,” I was breathless, his lips leaving flames everywhere he pressed them.

”Anything?” He asked in my ear again.

I nodded, choking on another moan.

”Lovely,” He stood from his desk and turned us around. He put his hands under my thighs and lifted me onto the desk, pushing things out of the way. Some pens and files fell to the floor and he made no move to pick them up. I placed my hands on his chest, fiddling with the buttons on his white shirt. He nodded and made a soft noise, urging me to take it off. I slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his strong shoulders. I dragged my hands down his toned chest, taking in every hard plane and soft angle. 

Toto tilted my head to the side to gain better access to my neck. He continued his journey off my neck and down my shoulder, pulling the neckline out of the way to reach my skin. The hand that wasn't in my hair was fiddling with the bottom of my shirt, silently requesting me to take it off. I promptly yanked my shirt over my head and I heard him let out a low chuckle.

”What do we have here?” He asked, raking his eyes over my naked abdomen and breasts still trapped in the dark lace of my bra.

 He ran his hands up my hips and sides and back down, his calloused thumbs a perfect contrast to my soft skin. His mouth was warm as he pressed his lips to my collarbone, working his way across my chest. He hovered his mouth above one of my nipples, his warm breath raising it to attention. He took it into his mouth and bit down lightly with his teeth, then licked it to soothe the sharpness. He moved his mouth to the other side, leaving a wet splotch in his wake, and did the same thing, until my breasts were aching to be set free. I arched my chest, begging him to touch me, please me, anything. 

“Someone’s eager, isn’t she?” Toto’s hands were on the top of my thighs and he slowly spread them further apart. 

He fell to his knees in front of me, and I stared at the top of his head in shock.

Toto Wolff, team principal of Mercedes, was on his knees in front of me kissing my thighs. What the fuck was happening?

“What are you doing, sir?” I asked, placing my hand in his hair and the other on the desk behind me. 

“I plan on eating a little snack. Is that okay?” Toto looked up at me, a smirk on his swollen lips.

Holy fucking shit. He wants to eat me out. How the fuck is this happening right now?

He pulled off each of my shoes one by one, cradling my calf in his hands as he did so. Toto raised his hands to the waistband of my pants, popping the button and slowly taking down the zipper. He let his hands drift back up to the bare skin of my stomach again, gentle fingers dragging across my skin, leaving goosebumps behind. I let out another shaky moan at his touch, fisting the hair I held in my hand.

He drew his mouth down from my belly button over the open seam of my zipper. He used his hands to start shimmying my pants off of me. I lifted my hips so he could continue pulling them down and off my body. He drew a hand up my leg from my ankle to my knee to my thigh and back down. Then his mouth followed a similar path on the inside of my leg. I was in a daze, his mouth had me entranced. My breath was ragged and my hands were barely holding me up. I let out a louder moan as he licked a long strip up my center and continued kissing down my other leg. He let out a hungry growl as he did it. 

I panted quietly, feeling the wetness I knew he tasted through my panties. I needed him to hurry up,  “Mr. Wolff, please, sir,” 

“I love when you beg for me, darling,”

I softly moaned at his words, feeling myself clench around nothing.

”Please,” I said again, reaching for him, to drag him closer to my middle.

”So needy for me,” He whispered on my inner thigh before brushing another kiss there.

He tucked a single finger into my underwear, feeling the desire gathered there. He traced his finger down my slit, gathering some of the slickness, removing it, and then sticking his finger in his mouth, maintaining eye contact the entire time, “So fucking good, baby,”

My thighs tensed around his head and he turned his head to press another kiss to my thigh. I placed a hand in his hair, tugging him forward.

He kissed me through my panties again with a breathy laugh. He placed a finger on each side of my hips, under my underwear, and tugged them off, until I was completely bare before him. 

I should be nervous. I really should. But I wasn't I just needed his mouth on me as soon as possible. 

Toto looked up at me again, waiting for my nod of consent.

”Please, Toto,” I said. 

”Sir. You call me sir,” He pressed his mouth to my core, kissing directly onto my clit, sending a shock through my system.

”Fuck! Yes, Sir.  Mr. Wolff, I need you,” I moaned loudly, my hand clenching in his hair. 

Toto licked a stripe down my slit and back up, circling the little swollen bundle of nerves. He took it into his mouth, sucking lightly before releasing it and going back towards my entrance. He dipped his tongue, lapping up the pre-cum already collecting. He grabbed one of my legs and placed it over his shoulder, changing the angle and driving himself deeper into me. He moved his hand from my thigh and dragged his thumb from his tongue to my clit. His thumb pressed against the bud and worked it in circles while his tongue was moving inside of me.  

The noises I was letting out were filthy. He continued his silent assault and I felt my orgasm building. He removed his mouth and pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh. He took one long finger, inserted it in me, and curled it, immediately hitting a spot deep in me that made my hips buck in response.

Toto tsked me and lightly bit down on my thigh as his finger continued working me. He added a second finger and brought his mouth back to my clit.

”Mr. Wolff, I’m not going to last much longer,” I panted out, feeling the precipice approaching rapidly.

”Good. Come for me, darling” He curled his fingers again and took my clit between his teeth. That did me in.

My entire body tensed and I exploded on Toto’s fingers, walls clenching around him. 

“That’s a good girl,” Toto purred, continuing to draw the orgasm out of me. 

My body stopped shaking after a moment and he removed his fingers from inside me. He took them into his mouth and licked them clean. 

I stared at him wide-eyed, breaths coming rapidly, watching him clean up. He stood and reached over his desk to grab a tissue. He patted the inside of my thighs, removing the dampness there. He reached down to the chair by his side to retrieve my panties before gently sliding them back up my legs. Neither of us had spoken yet.

He stood up and stepped between my legs, placing his hands on either side of my face.

”Are you okay?” Toto whispered, thumbs brushing my cheekbones.

I nodded and he pressed his lips to my forehead before wrapping his arms around me. We stayed there for a while, wrapped in each other. 

We pulled away when I shivered as the air conditioning kicked on, realizing I was still in my panties and bra.

Toto bent to help me collect my discarded clothing and handed it to me. I pulled on my shirt and pants and tugged back on my shoes. Toto stood watching me the entire time and I glanced up to meet his gaze when I was done.

“Yes, sir?” I asked, a blush warming my cheeks.

His eyes flashed at the word choice and he shook his head, “I want to do that again soon,”

I giggled and looked down, “Okay, Mr. Wolff,”

He shook his head at me, stepped forward, and placed another kiss on my forehead. 

“Mr. Wolff?” I said a moment later when he pulled away.

“Hmm?” 

“We still have to make that TikTok,”

He threw his head back and laughter erupted from him, “Maybe at the paddock we can do something, yeah?”

I nodded and smiled at him, “We can make that work. I’ll draw something up for us to do,” 

Toto stared at me a moment longer, “Do you want to go get dinner, darling?”

I looked at him, slightly shocked, “Dinner?”

Toto nodded and moved behind his desk to grab his things and shut down his computers.

“With me?”

“Yes of course with you. I know it’s the wrong order but I figured we could go out to eat,”

My mouth dropped open “Like a date?”

Toto looked up at me, confused at my confusion, “Yes like a date,”

I nodded slowly waiting for him to say Nevermind.

He did not.

“Okay. Well. Okay. Yeah, let me get my things then. I need to stop at my office,”

Toto grabbed his jacket and his bag and came around the front of the desk, “Let’s go then,”

He took my hand in his and started tugging me out of his office. 

“Yes, sir”

[xxxdreamscapexxx]

Only for you

Emo!Wanda Maximoff x FemReader

Word count: 4.2k

Summary: Just the above, but I also added some reader backstory

Warning: Reader backstory including: physical pain, arguing, bullying, mental instability, manipulation, R being held against her will Present time storyline: mutual pining, Unestablished lesbian relationship, slight teasing by the team, jealousy, posessiveness, love confessions, fluff, Happy!Ending <3

Joining the Avengers was a challenge. It wasn’t the constant work outs and strict diet to keep you healthy and strong, it wasn’t even the danger or the threats to your life, even the annoying attempts of the media to follow you and snap pictures of you didn’t bother you that much. They all got buried by the government before they saw the light of day anyway. It was the people. Not that you weren’t grateful to them. They had saved your life after all. Gave you a purpose in life. But… The Avengers were a tough group to get to know and even tougher to live with sometimes. Of course, some preferred having their own homes, like Clint and his family, or the notorious Captain Marvel, that didn’t even live on Earth, and just as expected, those that did live in the tower had their own floors, rooms, offices, so you didn’t even meet them that much, but that just made it even harder to really connect. That’s why Steve insisted on team building activities, training together, even attending Tony’s stupid parties, all in the name of bonding. The man meant well and he really had a big heart, but he just couldn’t see that some of the Avengers had very little in common.

The thing is… You were born a witch. Not from a powerful clan, or with deeply rooted ancestry, and you probably would have stayed that way, had you not made a terrible mistake. Truly, you were just angry at the time. Barely a teenager, who thought she had all the answers. You were arguing with your mother about something, not that you could even remember what for. It was probably so stupid. But you both lost your temper, screaming at each other, until she had sent you to your room. She thought she was de-escalating the situation, giving you both time to calm down. What she didn’t know is that you had been through her collection of spell books and brought them all to your room. So when you slammed the door behind you, stupidly, unthinkingly, you grabbed the books. You weren’t sure what kind of spell you were hoping to find. Just something to make all the emotions inside you stop raging. But you found an absorption spell instead. In your head, you thought that if you just learned this spell and then performed it, you’ll search through the books much faster and then you’d able to do… What? God, you had no idea. Thinking back now, that was such a ridiculous thing to do. But you learned the spell, grabbed the candles you had in your drawer, surrounded yourself with all the books you had taken and just started the chant, hands touching the pages of the books and starting to feel their content seeping into your skin. It stung! That’s what you remember most. The feeling of that black ink seeping into your skin, as if splitting it open to make its way inside, clawing its way in your veins. It hurt so bad, but it wouldn’t stop. You had said the words, and now the spell was doing its work, emptying the pages of the books around you. You tried to pull your hands away, struggled to get it to stop, but it wouldn’t. Every painful second felt like hours. The panic inside you was rising, watching the inky blotches making their way up your arms, crawling like black maggots under your skin, up your shoulders and neck… You were so scared, heart pumping wildly in your chest as you watched it happen, begging for it to finally stop.

But with the end of the spell, you found yourself facing a greater torment. You had taken too much, too fast for your brain to fully comprehend. All the words swirled in your head like a hurricane, making it impossible to distinguish your own thoughts. You tried to calm down, tried to put those racing thoughts in order, trying to meditate, just like your mother had thought you, but it was useless. It wouldn’t stop. In the end, it was your screams that attracted your mother to your room, panicked and scared, just as you were, trying to get you to tell her what you had done, but you couldn’t even put a sentence in order. Your brain was so scrambled, growing more incoherent by the second. Maybe that’s when you passed out? You couldn’t tell. You had very little recollections from that time. The next days were a blur. You don’t remember much. Just your room. Your mother told you that you were consumed by madness. Spewing lines from spells, incoherent and jumbled together. But sometimes you would get one right. She’d had to confine you to your room and bind you with runes, so you wouldn’t start casting without even knowing it. She told you it took you two weeks, before you started to come back to yourself. It was a miracle you even managed it. Some witches never recovered from such a thing. By the time you came back to your school, there were so many rumours about you, people whispering behind your back. You were changed. Thinner, more withdrawn, trying to keep to yourself. But kids were cruel and curious. They teased you, tried to get you to admit why you were missing from school all this time, attacking you, when you tried to ignore them. You should have known it was inevitable that you snapped and did something you’d regret.

It was just before summer break, you thought you had gotten through the worst of it, that you had your emotions under control, practicing every day, just so you could keep all the magic from spilling out. Many people didn’t know, but grimoires weren’t just books full of spells. Each spell, written within the pages was also a tiny bit of magic, leaving its imprint and taking root. You hadn’t just absorbed the knowledge, but the magic too. It was more than you’d ever felt, more than you knew how to control, so you practiced relentlessly. But when pushed, it bubbled to the surface. Fucking Madeleine Dupont, daughter of the Patric Dupont – owner of the biggest, most profitable manufacturing business in town, was obnoxious, spoiled, annoying and with a mean streak wider than her daddy’s newly acquired 23 acres of land for their grand mansion. The girl loved to pick on everyone, but recently, she had set her sights on you and in that fateful day, she and her friends cornered you into an empty classroom, taking drugs out of their pockets and trying to get you to take them. When “gentle” persuasion failed, one of them grabbed you, holding you by the hair and trying to force your face onto a desk, where they had spilled some powder. You didn’t even know what it is. But they started to overpower you, and the tears spilling down your cheeks as you tried to tell them that you didn’t want this, that you needed them to stop, only added to their exhilaration.

They eventually pinned you down, laughing menacingly as they tried to get you to breathe it in and you lost control, pushing them back with your magic, a wave of energy blasting through the whole room, making desks and chairs fly to the ground, just like the girls had done. You tried to reign yourself in, to stop the emotions from taking over, but you were mumbling spells already. You remember just a blast. You remember waking up in a cell, body strapped to a small hospital bed, being pumped full of something. And the woman. She was your “handler” and on most days, the only person you saw or spoke with. She told you what happened. You’d killed those girls. Part of the building collapsed because of what you had done and the rubble crushed them. You must have protected yourself on instinct. Survived it somehow. They were giving you medication, making sure you heal properly. And then your training could begin. They were HYDRA. And they had a special interest in people like you. They made it clear that they weren’t just your supposed saviours, but also your captors. They weren’t going to just let you leave their facility. Instead, they aimed to train you. You were one of the lucky ones. You learned that after you were rescued from that HYDRA base. They never tortured you physically. Instead, they decided that they could break your mind, already weakened by what you’d done to yourself. They aimed to convert you. Half your training was spells and magic, endurance, strength… The other part… That was indoctrination. And they used everything they knew about you just to do it. When you refused to say the right things, they withheld food, when you refused to train, they withheld water… When that didn’t work, they would use threats. Your mother. They weren’t above hurting her to make you behave. They weren’t above killing her, if you didn’t do what you’re told.

You often held out hope that she was looking for you. That she’d find you and save you. But she didn’t have half as much power as you did. And you couldn’t escape them. What luck would she have? Eventually, your only hope of escape was to save yourself and after a few failed attempts, you formed a plan. You did as you were told, said what they needed to hear and you trained. You trained every waking moment, making sure your body and mind would be strong enough to take on all the magic you invited into yourself. That absorption spell? You used it more often, although, you limited the amount of information this time. It always hurt, the headaches after each use were monstrous. But it was all worth it. You were going to get yourself out of there one day. Even if you had to take down the whole base to do it. But it was the Avengers who took it down and helped you out of there. They reunited you with your mother, your family, and after some time, they also offered you a job. A calling. To help people. Those who weren’t as fortunate as you. Those in need. And you said yes. That’s how you ended up in the Avengers tower. Despite the people, it was a lonely place. Few understood what you had been though, fewer still cared for what it had done to you. But you couldn’t blame them. They all had their own lives, their own problems to deal with, their own personal pain to wallow in. Natasha understood. She knew what being a prisoner was like, what it felt like to be forced to do things just to survive. Steve empathised. His big heart and his puppy dog eyes were unbelievably charming and he won you over easily. Clint brought normalcy to everyone’s lives. But most of the others were hard to relate to. Tony meant well, but he had a big mouth and he loved putting his foot in it. Bruce was always in his lab. Vision was kind, but he was also marked by the characteristics of his origin and hard to make a connection with. Thor… Where do you even start with Thor? But there was also Wanda.

She had joined before you, her story similar to yours, yet so different, marked by loss and heartache. She was a kindred spirit and easily a friend. She was a little older than you, her eyeliner thick, her black nail polish often chipped, her hair in a tight ponytail as she walked around the compound and she always smiled when she saw you. As the months passed, the two of you were inseparable, spending every waking moment together. You were one of the two people who wasn’t scared that she’d read your mind, who trusted her good intentions and good heart completely. The other was Vision. They had a bond, an understanding that you didn’t know how to share in. But you were happy that she had him in her corner, because the other Avengers always looked at her suspiciously, or avoided her and you never knew why. Wanda was a sweetheart. Her favorite way to watch sitcoms was with her cuddled up into your side, your fingers playing with her silky hair, that she always let down, when it was just the two of you in the room. And sure, she was a little emo, but you found that adorable. Her smile would only widen, when you’d use one of your many pet names for her and she would blush, when you complimented her cooking. And you used those all the time, because, the thing is, you were in love with her. You were desperately in love with Wanda Maximoff and you were ready to do just about anything to have her smile at you or shower you with her affection. Something she did practically all the time anyway. If the woman wasn’t also fiercely protective and an extremely powerful witch, you’d say she’s a puppy. But none of the others ever agreed, when you said so. They would cower, when she stepped into the room, avoid her eyes, when they needed to speak to her, they would step out of training rooms, when she walked in. You found it baffling. And somehow the treatment extended to you as well. The closer you got to her, the more they kept their distance.

Gone were the days when they would tease you playfully, when they would give you pointers on your techniques, when they would approach you for small gatherings that didn’t involve the whole team and you never knew why. Until today. You walked in the common room, only to find most of the team already there and you greeted them, before you made your way to the adjacent kitchen, listening to their banter as you made breakfast for yourself and Wanda. It was the dynamic you were used to and you were ready to join them, holding the bowls of food in your hands, when you noticed that the noise suddenly died down, replaced by tense silence. “Wanda.” Natasha greeted with a nod. “Natasha.” The younger woman acknowledged, stepping further into the room and scanning it for something. Not that she ever told them what she needs. She looked pissed. Her aura was dark and almost menacing, her shoulders squared, like she was ready for a fight, making everyone on edge and you couldn’t figure out why. “Hi, sweetheart!” You decide to finally greet her, showing yourself from behind the wall you had been standing, while you observed all this. “Sweetheart?” Tony lifted an eyebrow, an amused smile creeping up his lips. Wanda only threw him a glare, but she accepted your hug happily, taking you into her arms and when you pulled away, she only let you turn into her hold, facing the group, while her hands stayed firmly around you. “Let’s go have breakfast in my room.” She suggested in your ear, ready to practically drag you out of there. “Why not join all of us for breakfast?” Steve raised his voice, gesturing to the big table he was already sitting at. “That’d be nice.” You nodded, before Wanda had any chance to refuse. “Come on, Wands, I already fixed you a bowl.” You told her. “Yes, Wands, we haven’t seen you in ages.” Tony agrees, emphasising the nickname you had used.

Feeling like she didn’t have much of a choice, Wanda agreed, sitting next to you and pulling your chair practically into her side, so she’d have you as close to her as she could, while she ate quietly. But the team felt like they had stumbled onto something. They had felt the shift in mood within her, as soon as she saw you and they weren’t going to let it go so easily. At first they tried their playful banter on her, asking her about her day, about her interests, about her training, just anything to see a reaction, but none actually came. It was only when you spoke that she would light up. She would smile, when she listened to you, when she forgot that it wasn’t just the two of you in the room. But it was the little blush that showed on her cheeks, when you called her “darling” that first sparked an idea within them. “Hey, Y/N, I hear you tried your hand against Cap here.” Bucky stared off, attracting your attention. “Tried being the key word. Hand to hand I don’t stand a chance, but with a little magic…” You trailed off, shrugging. “Who knows…” “Yeah?” His smile widens. “Well, if you’re looking for a challenge, join me for a spar this afternoon.” He invited. “She’s training with me this afternoon.” Wanda practically growled, looking up from her bowl for just a second, to stare down Bucky. Her glare was murderous. “That’s too bad, I was hoping for a little magic.” The man said, obviously bating Wanda. “Then perhaps you should train with me. I have magic.” Wanda snarled, summoning a ball of energy between her fingers for a moment, just to get her point across and luckily, the man was smart enough to back off. “Well, if you’re busy training, perhaps I can finally take dear Y/N to get a proper costume. The two of you can’t keep borrowing my leather jackets and pretend that it’s a real suit.” Natasha interjected. “What do you say dear?” She asked, her voice dropping an octave. “I already have some ideas in mind. You can try them on for me.” She suggested, noting the way Wanda’s knuckles turned white around her spoon. “And I’m sure Tony can make some improvements.” “Oh yeah.” The man chimed in, happy to take his own turn teasing Wanda. “I’ll have to get your measurements of course. To make sure it fits perfectly.” He says casually, but the idea of it makes Wanda’s blood boil. “She’s busy today.” Wanda retorts, before you even get a chance to open your mouth and you find yourself surprised to see her so tense. “Tomorrow perhaps.” Tony shrugs, taking on Wanda’s glare. “I’ll make time for her.” He adds. “She’s mine.” Wanda snaps, raising from her seat and balling her fists. “What was that?” Tony pretends not to hear her, smirking at the pissed off witch. “I said, she’s mine.” Wanda grits out, turning to you, ready to drag you out of the room.

It’s then that she realizes what she had said. That you were right there next to her, looking at her with a mixture of disbelief and hopefulness. The thing is, Wanda was desperately in love with you too. She was also, as the team quickly started to realize, extremely possessive, and she wasn’t going to watch every man and woman in the room flirt with you. The only problem was that she hadn’t told you all that. Scared to ruin your friendship and loose you for good, she opted for hiding her feelings, which only intensified her jealousy. She hadn’t staked her claim on you and it made her scared that someone else might. So every time you weren’t with her, she’d be on edge, lurking in corners, sending people glares whenever they spoke to you, hoping to keep them away until she could finally tell you how she felt. Such behaviour had earned her a reputation in the Tower as grumpy, and since everyone knew how dangerous she could be, they tried to stay away. Now, however, cornered and taken by surprise, she had let it slip. And you were right next to her, so it was impossible that you didn’t hear her earlier words. “Y/N…” She stutters, taken aback. “I didn’t mean… I…” She stumbled over her words. And the audience didn’t help in the slightest. She felt crowded. Tony’s smug smirk seemed to taunt her, Bucky and Steave sharing a knowing giggle between them, Natasha, who somehow looked unphased and simply amused at the whole scene, it was all overwhelming. And then, there was you. Shocked at what you’d heard and looking at her in disbelief. God, she needed to get out of there… Before she had a chance to say much else, before she could think it all through, she stormed out. She didn’t even know how she ended up in the hallway, her legs carrying her on their own, when she heard your voice. “Wanda!” You were calling out her name, jogging slightly to catch up to her. “Wanda, please wait!” You called out again, seemingly not for the first time. “Please, we should talk about this.” You said, watching her stop, so she could wait for you. “I’m so sorry, Y/N…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I had to get out of there.” She tried to say, her voice shaking a little with all the emotions that were raging inside her. “It’s ok. I understand.” You nodded, taking her hand, so you could help her feel more grounded.

The small touch between you, just the feeling of your hand in hers felt electrifying and she easily took the other one as well, pulling you close, until she could have you in her arms, securing you in a tight embrace and making you look up at her. “You don’t understand.” She said, hands shaking. “I’m so in love with you. I have been for months now. And I was so scared to tell you, so scared of loosing you, that I just…” She paused, struggling to find the right words. “And the way they were talking to you, the way they all looked at you… I can’t stand the thought of anyone else having you. I want you to be mine. I want you all to myself. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up with you in my arms, I want to spend every day showing you that I love you. I want… You!” She confessed, her arms tightening around you, as if you’d escape her grasp somehow. “Oh, Wanda…” You whispered, a gentle smile farming on your lips as you watched her eyes sparkle. “I’ve been in love with you too. And I didn’t know how to tell you…” You said, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. The moment felt heavy, thick with emotions as you both stood frozen in time, eyes glued to the other, when suddenly a voice, startled you both. “Maximoff, kiss the girl already!” Tony said smugly, followed by cheers from the people around him. Were they watching you on the hallway cameras this whole time? Not that you had time to think about that, when Wanda was leaning closer, her eyes flashing red, before she shortened the distance between you both, until she was only a breath away. Her features were so different now, she was smiling as she held you, biting her lips, eyes full of adoration and longing.

When she finally placed her lips on yours, a gentle caress at first, it felt like you were in heaven. You had wished for this moment for so long, imagined it every night, before you fell asleep, dreamt of it and longed for it and it was finally happening and you just couldn’t get enough. When she felt your eager lips on hers, Wanda didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, tongue darting out, asking for permission to taste you further and mingling with yours, once you allowed her access. It was only when she pushed you against the nearest wall, trapping your body with hers, that you finally paused. “We’re giving everyone a show.” You reminded her, head pointing to the camera in the corner. “Never.” Wanda smirked, her magic flashing once more, to show you that she had disabled the feed, before you even kissed. “Only I’m allowed to see you like this. I would never share you with anyone else.” She said with a note of possessiveness that you were growing to love, the more you saw it. She kissed you again. And then again, greedy hands squeezing your hips. She could never get enough of you. She felt drunk on you and only reluctantly pulled away when you both needed to breathe. “We should get back.” You said reluctantly. “Let’s go to my room instead. We’ll take it slow. We don’t have to do anything. I just want you all to myself.” She suggested. “I don’t want to share you.” “Wait… Is that why everyone thinks you’re so grumpy?” You suddenly realized, remembering countless times, when Wanda has wanted your undivided attention, skipping events and avoiding people. She didn’t say anything, but at this point you didn’t need her to. “We should show them how wrong they are. You’re amazing and warm and loving and sweet and I want everyone to know that.” You told her honestly. “But we’ll go to my room after?” She held you firmly, refusing to let you go just yet. “Yes, we’ll go to your room after.” You nodded happily. “I’ll even let you pick what we’re watching.” You added teasingly. Wanda smiled, pulling away just enough to let you straighten yourself and she held your hand, letting you guide her back to the common room, watching your hips sway seductively. It was sweet, she thought, that you believed she’d be wasting her time with sitcoms, when she could finally have you the way she’s wanted you for so long… _______________________________________________________ Hi, dear anon. I hope that you are happy with the story you got for your request! <3

[froggibus]

Beach Day - Overwatch Women

Includes: D.VA, Mercy, Widowmaker, Mei, Kiriko, Brigitte & Junker Queen

Genre: fluff, some crack

Summary: spend a day at the beach w your favorite overwatch lady

CW: lots of sunscreen, mention of skin cancer (Mercy), some suggestive parts but nothing nsfw, drinking & alcohol, mentions of sharks, Kiriko is a brat (affectionate), rare Mitzi appearance

This is part of my Summer Suntacular event, come check it out!

D.Va:

beach gremlin

she has a giant collection of bathing suits & sunglasses that she never wears from doing brand deals

brings a portable speaker so she can blast her favorite summer tunes (much to the dismay of nearby groups)

you best believe she’s asking you to play mermaids

it is near impossible to get her out of the water or to reapply sunscreen

however PLEASE force her to apply sunscreen or else she’s going to turn into a lobster 

wants to have a contest for EVERYTHING

diving, swimming, sandcastles—everything is a challenge

the kids on the beach love her though & ask for a million pictures

she has a dork ass 2D pool floatie of Tokki that she refuses to swim without

you’ll have to bribe her with ice cream to get her out when it’s time to go

it WILL be a three scoop monstrosity of the weirdest flavour combos—like bubblebum, mint chocolate chip & orange 

she’ll want to have a beach themed movie marathon after but fall asleep twenty minutes into the first movie 

Mercy:

she is the beach volleyball PRO

always says she won’t get sucked into playing but ends up in some tournament (and WINS)

total stickler for sun protection—everyone is reapplying their sunscreen every 90 minutes

“I already put some on, I don’t need it”

“Skin cancer does not care.”

you could swear you’ve heard Baptiste say the same thing…

she’ll apply it for you in all the places you can’t reach though & expects you to do the same 

she has a super cute bikini BUT it’s hidden under board shorts and a rashguard (that she totally pulls off)

packs tons of yummy homemade snacks, sandwiches and enough water bottles for a small family

makes friends with the lifeguards on duty and offers them her water

mostly spends time reading on the towel but if you ask her, she’ll come into the water with you to cool off

longingly sighs and looks at those lounge beach floaties like it’s her long lost lover (please bring one for her next time)

she hates sand getting in her house so you’ll have to shower off as soon as you get back (but don’t worry, she’ll shower with you to make sure you’re extra clean)

Widowmaker:

she’ll only go if it’s a private beach, or somewhere more lowkey

she has a total soft spot for tropical cocktails served in plastic cups with swirly straws

somehow her cup is always full even when you swear it was empty a second ago

she mostly wants to lay on the sand and sunbathe, maybe listen to some music

she’s not brash enough to bring a speaker so she just listens to it with her headphones

only goes in the water to cool off, or if you ask her to

get her a pool floatie with a cupholder and you could keep her in the water all day

she’s the one on the lounge float that Mercy wanted

somehow her hair and makeup look perfect even when she’s been swimming

talks constantly about Ĉote D’Azur and the gorgeous beaches there

if you splash her at all (not recommended) she WILL retaliate to her fullest extent 

she’d never admit it but she secretly has fun playing in the water with you

promises to take you to the French Riviera next time you have a beach day

Mei:

nobody deserves a beach day more than her

she’s dragging you down there as soon as the sun rises and not leaving until way past sunset

has a HUGE pouch of different kinds of reef and eco friendly sunscreens that she forces you to apply

brings a book to read while she lounges in the sand and offers to share it with you if you’re bored

has a cute flamingo floatie with a cupholder so she can just drift along the coastline

brings you one of her spare floaties and ties the two of them together so you can float with her

she swears she left Snowball at home but as soon as her soda runs out he shows up with another one

he actually makes a pretty good waiter

even long after the sun goes down, she wants to float with you and relax

“It’s been so long since I’ve been to the beach…thank you.”

Kiriko:

no matter how many times you ask her or she promises not to

she WILL pretend to be a shark and almost get the beach closed and you guys kicked off

loves playing in the sand with the kids and helps them build a HUGE sandcastle

gives one (1) kid a piggyback ride through the water and has to spend the next hour giving piggyback rides

she has a cute donut floatie that looks like a bite is missing that she sprawls across

forces you to wear a hat in the sun, which ends up being an extra one of hers

so you’re walking around all day with a fox eared baseball cap on

oh and she’s also pounding back mudslides the whole day, so good luck with that

this mf is so lazy that when she wants another drink she just teleports there and scares everybody around to death

“you’re gonna give someone a heart attack doing that”

“good thing I’m a medic then”

you’re all doomed

Brigitte:

INSISTS on bringing Mitzi 

“babe he’s a cat. they don’t like water.”

“yeah but he can just hang out!”

you somehow win the argument by pointing out he doesn’t have swim goggles (however he does have a swimsuit for some reason…)

builds a structurally sound sandcastle that’s over four feet tall with a moat and working sand traps

everyone who walks by is completely awed by her sand guillotine 

accidentally squashes some poor kids sand castle and is DEVASTATED over it

spends an hour with them trying to help them rebuild and buys them ice cream to make up for it

lets you wrap your arms around her neck so she can tow you around through the water

probably makes corny engine noises too

brings sunscreen and a hat but forgets about both of them and burns 

takes you to the shops along the coast and buys you the cutest souvenirs

and of course something for Mitzi

insists on buying the two of you dinner after at some nice restaurant with AC and good seafood

Junkerqueen:

are there even beaches in junkertown/junk city?

crazy good at beach volleyball

hanging out at the beach is not really her thing though—she’d much rather wakeboard or rent a jetski (with your credit card lmfao)

however if that’s not your thing, then she’ll suck it up to spend some time with you

probably swims in her jorts

spends her time swimming laps underwater and trying to scare you by brushing up against your legs

challenges every couple that comes near you guys to a game of chicken

you guys win every single time 

breaks at least 2 sandcastles and doesn’t even notice

brings you food and drinks periodically without you needing to ask

refuses to use sunscreen but somehow doesn’t even burn??

steals borrows someones floatie so she can tow you around on it through the water

“Faster, faster”

“Oh, you’re in for it now”

flips over the floatie with you still on it when she gets bored

but she buys you ice cream to make up for it

Summer Suntacular | Masterlist | Overwatch Masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[itneverendshere]

alrighty imagine rafe feeling jealous for the first time in his life and absolutely not knowing how to navigate through it, so he just takes it out on you 🤗 he's down bad so it's funny

just a lil something for y'all:

rafe cameron does not get jealous.

why would he? he has the world at his feet—wealth, status, popularity, and seemingly limitless opportunities. got everything he wants and needs in his perfect kook-life, right? there’s absolutely nothing that could make him envious of others. he’s been moving through life with a sense of entitlement, accustomed to getting what he wants when he wants it.

that earth-shattering confidence translates into his sexual life. if there was such a thing as mastering the subtle art of not giving a fuck, god, he’d get a nobel prize for that shit. 

rafe likes to indulge in the pleasures of his fantastic mortal life without the burden of attachment of commitment, just thinking about tying himself up to someone else makes him want to drive his jeep into the nearest wall. 

that’s not the life he wants. that kind of bullshit gets people depressed or killed; he’s seen enough of that kind of misery in his lifetime. 

he knows he’s got a reputation by now. it precedes him, and he revels in it. and people say he’s a bad guy? please, he’s doing the entire female community a favor. there’s no point in restricting his independence for one person. 

no feelings involved, no clinging, and no, he’s not fucking cuddling someone after he just blew his load into their back. The women he involves himself with know what they’re getting themselves into when they open their pretty legs for him.

 it’s great. 

no stupid headaches, no fights, no “why didn’t you text me back?”, complete radio silence unless they want something from him or vice versa. sure, there have been a few girls who needed a collective reminder of his rules, which he does by always cutting them off.

no one’s ever made him want to throw his philosophy out the window. can you imagine that happening? rafe cameron…feeling…something other than complete horniness for someone else? enough to make him want to commit capital murder when someone else thinks they’re entitled to touch what’s his?

no, of course not.

that’d be insane. completely impossible. rafe cameron would never get his perfect hands dirty with filth. not in this universe or lifetime. 

or so he thought. 

“you have a real problem, you know that?”

if looks could kill he’d be seven feet under. you’re shooting daggers at him through your pretty eyes, hands settling on your hips. if he wasn’t raging with misplaced anger issues, he’d tell you how fucking beautiful you look tonight.

“me?” rafe grits out as he sticks his fingers into his chest, “you want to talk about problems, sweetheart?” his words drip with venom, a thinly veiled attempt to deflect the intensity of his own emotions.

you don’t back down, though, gaze steady and unwavering as you meet his challenge, “i’m not the one who just punched the living shit out of someone else!”

rafe's lip curl into a mocking smirk. "whose fault is that?” he quips, the barb aimed squarely at your intellect.

a violent urge to strangle him takes hold of you, anger nipping at your skin, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

he doesn’t know why he did it. all he remembers was that in that moment, while watching you entertain someone else, he wanted to snap someone’s neck in half. and he’d be damned if he didn't get what he wanted. 

rafe’s head tilts, oh so slowly, to the side, pretty blue eyes burning your skin, “i’m not the one letting some sleazy bastard get their hands under my slutty dress.”

that didn’t come out right. 

it made much more sense in his head. he doesn’t want to admit it, doesn’t want to acknowledge the gnawing jealousy that threatens to consume him whole.

“slutty dress?! this is vintage versace you possessive lunatic!”

“so fucking what?” he saunters closer, seemingly calm, except that’s the one thing that he never is, “did they run out of fabric in Italy?”

you watch him, a little mesmerized by the way the moonlight accentuates his features, heart pounding. he stops in front of you.

you must’ve taken a good hit to the head if you believe rafe cameron feels anything for you besides some sort of allure to your cunt. you know better than that. you open your mouth to speak, but rafe’s quick to lift one of his hands, tapping your lip with his finger.

“this is supposed to be like— a casual thing, right?” he exhales a breath, voice barely louder than a murmur.

you tip your chin up, “what are you getting at?’”

 “no strings. so, i really shouldn't be this fucking pissed about seeing you post a picture with that asshat face, smiling, his arm around you. that stupid fucking caption.”

straightening your posture, you don’t let his sugar-coated confession get to you, remaining silent for the time being. what’s his deal? is the devil spawn...confessing?

“speaking of photos…i just looked at a really cute one of you before, can you guess which one?”

and watch that picture be the one where you're on all fours in his truck's backseat lmao😃👀

[angelicyoongie]

lovesick • yandere profiles

➝  a/n: thank you so much to anon for this commission!! ❤️ this is my first time writing a yandere profile, so it was a fun challenge and nice little side-project to work on. i hope this will give you all a little more insight into the lovesick boys! ➝  word count: 2.6k ➝ content warning: yandere behavior, stalker behavior, mentions of kidnapping, self-harm, murder, etc.

🥀 NAMJOON ➝ yandere type: overprotective, mildly possessive

Namjoon is overprotective to a fault. But how can he not be, when the illness that ripped his family apart left his mother nothing but a memory and his father a shell of what he once was? Losing a soulmate is pure torture and Namjoon refuses to repeat the same history as his parents. You're too precious, his darling, and there's nothing Namjoon won't do to ensure that you stay healthy and happy. Sure, maybe his methods come off as a little more invasive than caring when he books health check-ups in your name without your knowledge, but he doesn't mind your anger as long as it means that you're all right. 

Namjoon is for the most part calm and collected, but even he has his limits. He can't stand it when his advice or orders aren't followed; when you blatantly disregard your health or put yourself in dangerous situations despite his warnings. Those are the only times he truly ever gets angry – well, aside from when his claim on you is challenged, of course. Namjoon's possessive streak rears its head whenever someone tries to pretend like they know you better than he does, after all, you're his soulmate – his to care for and his to protect. He isn't above hurting someone if it means it'll keep you safe. Murder would be the absolute last resort for him but if it had to be done, then so be it. He'll do anything for you.

There's nothing that makes him happier than when you let him care for you without a fuss, allowing him to pamper you to his heart's desire. Namjoon craves to have you close, to feel your warmth in his arms and your steady breaths against his chest. He won't allow anything to jeopardize that – not even the six other people he shares the bond with. 

You're the most perfect soulmate he could ever wish for and the rest of the world can burn as long as it means you'll be safe, healthy, and happy (with him). 

🥀 SEOKJIN ➝ yandere type: obsessive

Seokjin has always been cynical about his soulmark. How was he supposed to find someone through their shared pain when there are so many people in this world? It seemed impossible and unfair, and Seokjin figured that the chances of ever finding you were slim to none. Even so, there was always a little part of him that hoped that the universe would lead him to his soulmate – you – at the right time. And it did. Seokjin swears he was reborn the first time he laid eyes on you, the pain insignificant in comparison to the joy of finally finding his soulmate. 

He has always been level-headed, thinking his actions through before acting on them, but Seokjin found that when he was faced with you, all of that flew out the window. He just couldn't leave you alone, not when he had finally found you. Seokjin likes to take pictures, to capture your every moment so that it can be remembered forever. Every smile, frown, and pout you make is a gift to this world, and Seokjin loves that the pictures all show off the genuine you, unfiltered and real. After all, you can't put on a fake smile if you don't even know that you're being followed. 

Seokjin has lost track of how many hours he's spent fantasizing about your bond and the life you're going to lead together. His obsessive thoughts are only quelled when he gets to see you, to follow you around; pretending he's taking part in your life as he watches it unfold from the shadows. And now that he finally has you, Seokjin is free to let all of his fantasies play out, to be the perfect soulmate that you deserve. He isn't one to raise his voice or get angry, but Seokjin finds his frustration building when you don't respond to his advances the way you were supposed to – the way he imagined you would. Even so, he doesn't dwell on it for long. His fantasies can always be changed, reimagined, to make sure they capture the real you – just like his photos. 

Seokjin loves spending time with you, indulging in your hobbies, and watching you do things that make you happy. Of course, he hopes that one day the only thing you'll need to make your heart sing is him, but he doesn't mind the wait. You have the rest of your lives to figure that out. You were the impossible was made possible, and Seokjin has no intention of ever letting his angel go. 

🥀 JUNGKOOK ➝ yandere type: mild clingy, mild obsessive

Jungkook always hoped that his soulmate would end up being someone like you. Coming from a broken family that pushed him aside the moment he showed signs of weakness, Jungkook only ever wished for his soulmate to accept him – to love him – like he was. His stutter and shyness didn't define him and yet, there were so many who couldn't look past it. You, however, felt like you were heaven-sent with how you only saw him and not his flaws.

He wanted so desperately to approach you when he realized that you were his soulmate but the insecurities his family had instilled in him held him back. So, he instead watched you from the back of the room, memorizing the way your hair moved and how you would tap your pen against your beautiful lips when you were deep in thought. The classes he didn't share with you were torture, but in turn, it made the moments he caught a glimpse of you around campus even sweeter. 

Truly, the only thing Jungkook wants is to be loved by you. His heart feels like it's bursting with happiness whenever you look at him, your touch electrifying his skin in a way he never thought possible. He used to be dependent on his hyungs for affection but it's nothing compared to the way you make him feel, the way you make his soul glow just by being near. His past has left him starved for your attention and Jungkook finds that his emotions get a little too overwhelming whenever you're not around. He relies on you for stability and love, something that only fuels his mildly obsessive tendencies. 

Jungkook would rather hurt himself before ever hurting you. He might not be willing to go to the lengths that his hyungs are to protect you, but that doesn't mean he can't keep you safe. Jungkook would do anything for you, even if it means sacrificing himself. You're everything to him. 

🥀 HOSEOK ➝ yandere type: impulsive

Hoseok believes that the best-laid plans are those that happen on a whim. The choices he's thought the least about are those that have given him the most; he started his business based on a bet, joined a fundraiser because he had nothing better to do that day and somehow all of it led him straight to you – his other half. Hoseok may not believe in fate but he does trust his gut, and he especially listens to it when he's around you.

Compared to your other soulmates, Hoseok comes off as cold and stoic, his true emotions hidden behind a mask. Hoseok was known to be loud and expressive when he was young but the more he got teased for his outbursts and over-the-top reactions, the more he started hiding them away. Now, it takes a lot of coaxing before Hoseok feels comfortable enough to let his mask slip, a burst of genuine laughter from him so rare it stuns you every time you hear it. 

Hoseok's impulsive nature has worked well for him over the years, but it also means that he often acts without thinking much of the after – like how he would ever be able to explain your drugged drink to a room full of people who weren't equally as sick as him. His quick mood changes make him unpredictable and he's quick to anger when something doesn't go his way. Hoseok isn't above giving out punishment, not if it means you'll learn to never disobey him again. He'll never intentionally hurt you but he's more than capable of giving you a good scare.

Although you may be safe from his wrath, other people aren't so lucky. Hoseok will certainly resort to murder if someone ever dares to lay a finger on you and he'll take great joy in removing them from your sight. 

What Hoseok loves the most is seeing your reaction as he gives you new treats he's created especially for you. There's nothing as satisfying as watching your eyes light up and your smile bloom as you bite into them, praising him for his hard work. Even if Hoseok's feelings and actions are a little convoluted, he does mean well. You're his sunshine, the one person that manages to break through the dark clouds in his mind and he'll do whatever it takes to keep you by his side. 

🥀 JIMIN ➝ yandere type: self-indulgent, obsessive

Jimin spends most of the quiet hours at work fantasizing about you. It started innocent – Jimin was just so thrilled that he had found you that he couldn't help but imagine all of the ways he could reveal himself to you – but as time passed and nothing happened, those thoughts turned a little… dirtier. Jimin thought of all the ways he could show you just how long he's been waiting for you, yearning for you. He knows he can make you feel good, that he can make all of your dirtiest dreams come true, and if by satisfying your desires he also satisfies his own, well, that's just an added bonus. 

While Jimin may love to please you, he's also quite selfish. He doesn't hold back when there's something he wants and he doesn't mind pulling a few strings to get his way. Jimin needs you to pamper him; to tell him how much you like him and how much he means to you. It's the only thing that quells that needy voice in his head, the one that constantly thinks of you and only you.  So really, it doesn't take that much to make him happy. He preens under your attention, especially when you ignore the others to solely focus on him. Jimin loves to be touched and kissed, but nothing beats being intimate with you. It makes Jimin feel special, to be able to experience you like that, vulnerable and needy for only him. 

Due to the nature of his job, Jimin keeps a cool head most of the time. The one thing that will set him off, however, is you lying to him. Jimin can smell lies from a mile away, is trained to spot them, and yet you like you think that you can deceive him. Perhaps if it didn't upset him so, he would find the idea of it funny. Even if you may test his patience and temper sometimes, there's still nothing Jimin wouldn't do to keep you safe. He knows how to use his resources well, how to make it seem like someone never even existed. He's willing to do anything for you, his soulmate. 

🥀 TAEHYUNG ➝ yandere type: impulsive, delusional

Taehyung was raised on the belief that the universe would lead him to his soulmate. His family romanticized the soul-system, never doubting that fate would steer them in the direction they needed to go. Taehyung was the same, and those beliefs were only cemented in his mind when he finally met you. He only caught a glimpse of you that day in the coffee shop but it was enough to convince Taehyung that some part of your soul had recognized him too – and you were waiting for him to make a move. 

Using his programming skills, Taehyung easily hacked your phone. He wanted a way to feel close to you, to make sure he always knew where you went in case something happened. It didn't take long before it wasn't enough – before Taehyung had to start following you home after your classes, just to get a peek at your pretty face. The texts you sent your friends about feeling watched on the way home only fueled Taehyung's desire to do it more – it was definitely a code meant for him, a message that you knew he was there. 

The few times you do something that upsets Taehyung or he grows too impatient from holding himself back, his impulsive nature jumps out. There's really no telling what he'll do – Taehyung doesn't give his actions much forethought before carrying them out. One day he may send you bloody roses because you ignored him, the other he may plot to kidnap you because he's grown tired of waiting. Taehyung is a wild card and there's no limit to how far he's willing to go to keep you with him.  Taehyung's reality may not be the same as yours – he believes that you have liked him for much longer than you actually have – but it still makes his heart beat like crazy whenever you express your love for him. Being able to hold you in his arms is the most amazing feeling Taehyung has ever felt. You're his soulmate, his destiny, and nothing will ever drive you apart. Taehyung will make sure of that. 

🥀 YOONGI ➝ yandere type: obsessive, very mild overprotective

Yoongi might have believed that music was his first love, but it all pales in comparison to how he feels about you. He was used to spending most of his time dreaming up narratives and poetry that would flow well with his beats, working tirelessly to create the perfect track again and again. There were days Yoongi didn't even see the outside of his studio, but that all changed when he finally found you. He went from barely being home to leaving work on the dot, hurrying to his apartment in hopes that he might get a new update on you from Taehyung. 

Having a gentle disposition and good self-control, Yoongi is surprised to find how flustered he gets around you, his body suddenly reacting in ways it never has before. He finds that his thoughts keep straying to you constantly, dreaming of the dates he wants to take you on and how your relationship will evolve. All of the sad ballads he's supposed to write turn into bright pop songs whenever he thinks of your smile. He loves seeing you happy, watching your thrilled reaction as he lets you listen to his songs first, love confessions being whispered into your ears repeatedly. 

Yoongi knows that he sometimes gets a little overprotective of you. He never wants to hurt you, but if a small punishment can steer you over on the right path, then Yoongi is willing to look the other way. He cares about you more than anything else and so, he's really just acting in your best interest by making sure nothing bad will happen to you. Yoongi wouldn't hesitate to land a punch if he caught someone looking at you twice, but murder is out of the question for him. Luckily that's not something he needs to worry about, not when you have other soulmates who are more than willing to do that work for him. 

You're the best thing that has ever happened to him. Nothing beats seeing your smile, hearing your laugh, or watching your eyes light up as you let yourself be pulled into his arms. You're Yoongi's soulmate – his love – the only person who can turn his rainy days into endless summer. 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

MIT libraries are thriving without Elsevier

I'm coming to BURNING MAN! On TUESDAY (Aug 27) at 1PM, I'm giving a talk called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE!" at PALENQUE NORTE (7&E). On WEDNESDAY (Aug 28) at NOON, I'm doing a "Talking Caterpillar" Q&A at LIMINAL LABS (830&C).

Once you learn about the "collective action problem," you start seeing it everywhere. Democrats – including elected officials – all wanted Biden to step down, but none of them wanted to be the first one to take a firm stand, so for months, his campaign limped on: a collective action problem.

Patent trolls use bullshit patents to shake down small businesses, demanding "license fees" that are high, but much lower than the cost of challenging the patent and getting it revoked. Collectively, it would be much cheaper for all the victims to band together and hire a fancy law firm to invalidate the patent, but individually, it makes sense for them all to pay. A collective action problem:

https://locusmag.com/2013/11/cory-doctorow-collective-action/

Musicians get royally screwed by Spotify. Collectively, it would make sense for all of them to boycott the platform, which would bring it to its knees and either make it pay more or put it out of business. Individually, any musician who pulls out of Spotify disappears from the horizon of most music fans, so they all hang in – a collective action problem:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/21/off-the-menu/#universally-loathed

Same goes for the businesses that get fucked out of 30% of their app revenues by Apple and Google's mobile business. Without all those apps, Apple and Google wouldn't have a business, but any single app that pulls out commits commercial suicide, so they all hang in there, paying a 30% vig:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/15/private-law/#thirty-percent-vig

That's also the case with Amazon sellers, who get rooked for 45-51 cents out of every dollar in platform junk fees, and whose prize for succeeding despite this is to have their product cloned by Amazon, which underprices them because it doesn't have to pay a 51% rake on every sale. Without third-party sellers there'd be no Amazon, but it's impossible to get millions of sellers to all pull out at once, so the Bezos crime family scoops up half of the ecommerce economy in bullshit fees:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

This is why one definition of "corruption" is a system with "concentrated gains and diffuse losses." The company that dumps toxic waste in your water supply reaps all the profits of externalizing its waste disposal costs. The people it poisons each bear a fraction of the cost of being poisoned. The environmental criminal has a fat warchest of ill-gotten gains to use to bribe officials and pay fancy lawyers to defend it in court. Its victims are each struggling with the health effects of the crimes, and even without that, they can't possibly match the polluter's resources. Eventually, the polluter spends enough money to convince the Supreme Court to overturn "Chevron deference" and makes it effectively impossible to win the right to clean water and air (or a planet that's not on fire):

https://www.cfr.org/expert-brief/us-supreme-courts-chevron-deference-ruling-will-disrupt-climate-policy

Any time you encounter a shitty, outrageous racket that's stable over long timescales, chances are you're looking at a collective action problem. Certainly, that's the underlying pathology that preserves the scholarly publishing scam, which is one of the most grotesque, wasteful, disgusting frauds in our modern world (and that's saying something, because the field is crowded with many contenders).

Here's how the scholarly publishing scam works: academics do original scholarly research, funded by a mix of private grants, public funding, funding from their universities and other institutions, and private funds. These academics write up their funding and send it to a scholarly journal, usually one that's owned by a small number of firms that formed a scholarly publishing cartel by buying all the smaller publishers in a string of anticompetitive acquisitions. Then, other scholars review the submission, for free. More unpaid scholars do the work of editing the paper. The paper's author is sent a non-negotiable contract that requires them to permanently assign their copyright to the journal, again, for free. Finally, the paper is published, and the institution that paid the researcher to do the original research has to pay again – sometimes tens of thousands of dollars per year! – for the journal in which it appears.

The academic publishing cartel insists that the millions it extracts from academic institutions and the billions it reaps in profit are all in service to serving as neutral, rigorous gatekeepers who ensure that only the best scholarship makes it into print. This is flatly untrue. The "editorial process" the academic publishers take credit for is virtually nonexistent: almost everything they publish is virtually unchanged from the final submission format. They're not even typesetting the paper:

https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s00799-018-0234-1

The vetting process for peer-review is a joke. Literally: an Australian academic managed to get his dog appointed to the editorial boards of seven journals:

https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/olivia-doll-predatory-journals

Far from guarding scientific publishing from scams and nonsense, the major journal publishers have stood up entire divisions devoted to pay-to-publish junk science. Elsevier – the largest scholarly publisher – operated a business unit that offered to publish fake journals full of unreveiwed "advertorial" papers written by pharma companies, packaged to look like a real journal:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090504075453/http://blog.bioethics.net/2009/05/merck-makes-phony-peerreview-journal/

Naturally, academics and their institutions hate this system. Not only is it purely parasitic on their labor, it also serves as a massive brake on scholarly progress, by excluding independent researchers, academics at small institutions, and scholars living in the global south from accessing the work of their peers. The publishers enforce this exclusion without mercy or proportion. Take Diego Gomez, a Colombian Masters candidate who faced eight years in prison for accessing a single paywalled academic paper:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2014/07/colombian-student-faces-prison-charges-sharing-academic-article-online

And of course, there's Aaron Swartz, the young activist and Harvard-affiliated computer scientist who was hounded to death after he accessed – but did not publish – papers from MIT's JSTOR library. Aaron had permission to access these papers, but JSTOR, MIT, and the prosecutors Stephen Heymann and Carmen Ortiz argued that because he used a small computer program to access the papers (rather than clicking on each link by hand) he had committed 13 felonies. They threatened him with more than 30 years in prison, and drew out the proceedings until Aaron was out of funds. Aaron hanged himself in 2013:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aaron_Swartz

Academics know all this terrible stuff is going on, but they are trapped in a collective action problem. For an academic to advance in their field, they have to publish, and they have to get their work cited. Academics all try to publish in the big prestige journals – which also come with the highest price-tag for their institutions – because those are the journals other academics read, which means that getting published is top journal increases the likelihood that another academic will find and cite your work.

If academics could all agree to prioritize other journals for reading, then they could also prioritize other journals for submissions. If they could all prioritize other journals for submissions, they could all prioritize other journals for reading. Instead, they all hold one another hostage, through a wicked collective action problem that holds back science, starves their institutions of funding, and puts their colleagues at risk of imprisonment.

Despite this structural barrier, academics have fought tirelessly to escape the event horizon of scholarly publishing's monopoly black hole. They avidly supported "open access" publishers (most notably PLoS), and while these publishers carved out pockets for free-to-access, high quality work, the scholarly publishing cartel struck back with package deals that bundled their predatory "open access" journals in with their traditional journals. Academics had to pay twice for these journals: first, their institutions paid for the package that included them, then the scholars had to pay open access submission fees meant to cover the costs of editing, formatting, etc – all that stuff that basically doesn't exist.

Academics started putting "preprints" of their work on the web, and for a while, it looked like the big preprint archive sites could mount a credible challenge to the scholarly publishing cartel. So the cartel members bought the preprint sites, as when Elsevier bought out SSRN:

https://www.techdirt.com/2016/05/17/disappointing-elsevier-buys-open-access-academic-pre-publisher-ssrn/

Academics were elated in 2011, when Alexandra Elbakyan founded Sci-Hub, a shadow library that aims to make the entire corpus of scholarly work available without barrier, fear or favor:

https://sci-hub.ru/alexandra

Sci-Hub neutralized much of the collective action trap: once an article was available on Sci-Hub, it became much easier for other scholars to locate and cite, which reduced the case for paying for, or publishing in, the cartel's journals:

https://arxiv.org/pdf/2006.14979

The scholarly publishing cartel fought back viciously, suing Elbakyan and Sci-Hub for tens of millions of dollars. Elsevier targeted prepress sites like academia.edu with copyright threats, ordering them to remove scholarly papers that linked to Sci-Hub:

https://svpow.com/2013/12/06/elsevier-is-taking-down-papers-from-academia-edu/

This was extremely (if darkly) funny, because Elsevier's own publications are full of citations to Sci-Hub:

https://eve.gd/2019/08/03/elsevier-threatens-others-for-linking-to-sci-hub-but-does-it-itself/

Meanwhile, scholars kept the pressure up. Tens of thousands of scholars pledged to stop submitting their work to Elsevier:

http://thecostofknowledge.com/

Academics at the very tops of their fields publicly resigned from the editorial board of leading Elsevier journals, and published editorials calling the Elsevier model unethical:

https://www.theguardian.com/science/blog/2012/may/16/system-profit-access-research

And the New Scientist called the racket "indefensible," decrying the it as an industry that made restricting access to knowledge "more profitable than oil":

https://www.newscientist.com/article/mg24032052-900-time-to-break-academic-publishings-stranglehold-on-research/

But the real progress came when academics convinced their institutions, rather than one another, to do something about these predator publishers. First came funders, private and public, who announced that they would only fund open access work:

https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-018-06178-7

Winning over major funders cleared the way for open access advocates worked both the supply-side and the buy-side. In 2019, the entire University of California system announced it would be cutting all of its Elsevier subscriptions:

https://www.science.org/content/article/university-california-boycotts-publishing-giant-elsevier-over-journal-costs-and-open

Emboldened by the UC system's principled action, MIT followed suit in 2020, announcing that it would no longer send $2m every year to Elsevier:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/12/digital-feudalism/#nerdfight

It's been four years since MIT's decision to boycott Elsevier, and things are going great. The open access consortium SPARC just published a stocktaking of MIT libraries without Elsevier:

https://sparcopen.org/our-work/big-deal-knowledge-base/unbundling-profiles/mit-libraries/

How are MIT's academics getting by without Elsevier in the stacks? Just fine. If someone at MIT needs access to an Elsevier paper, they can usually access it by asking the researchers to email it to them, or by downloading it from the researcher's site or a prepress archive. When that fails, there's interlibrary loan, whereby other libraries will send articles to MIT's libraries within a day or two. For more pressing needs, the library buys access to individual papers through an on-demand service.

This is how things were predicted to go. The libraries used their own circulation data and the webservice Unsub to figure out what they were likely to lose by dropping Elsevier – it wasn't much!

https://unsub.org/

The MIT story shows how to break a collective action problem – through collective action! Individual scholarly boycotts did little to hurt Elsevier. Large-scale organized boycotts raised awareness, but Elsevier trundled on. Sci-Hub scared the shit out of Elsevier and raised awareness even further, but Elsevier had untold millions to spend on a campaign of legal terror against Sci-Hub and Elbakyan. But all of that, combined with high-profile defections, made it impossible for the big institutions to ignore the issue, and the funders joined the fight. Once the funders were on-side, the academic institutions could be dragged into the fight, too.

Now, Elsevier – and the cartel – is in serious danger. Automated tools – like the Authors Alliance termination of transfer tool – lets academics get the copyright to their papers back from the big journals so they can make them open access:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/26/take-it-back/

Unimaginably vast indices of all scholarly publishing serve as important adjuncts to direct access shadow libraries like Sci-Hub:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/28/clintons-ghost/#cornucopia-concordance

Collective action problems are never easy to solve, but they're impossible to address through atomized, individual action. It's only when we act as a collective that we can defeat the corruption – the concentrated gains and diffuse losses – that allow greedy, unscrupulous corporations to steal from us, wreck our lives and even imprison us.

Community voting for SXSW is live! If you wanna hear RIDA QADRI and me talk about how GIG WORKERS can DISENSHITTIFY their jobs with INTEROPERABILITY, VOTE FOR THIS ONE!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/16/the-public-sphere/#not-the-elsevier

[legy]

hi! i'm caelum. you might know me from @goldentruths-pod or from posting online. im in a financial quicksand pit and i really, really, really need help.

i'm disabled and receive approx ~$950 a month from social security. this has gone from "rough but survivable" when i first started receiving SSI to "i am literally not making ends meet" in 2024. right now my current status is that i am covering my basic needs but any kind of extra purchases are impossible. and the extra purchases i need to make keep piling up because i just can't afford them. some things i need include, in vague level of priority:

dolphin, my cat, is years overdue for a vet visit. this is going to be $300 minimum, possibly more because she has an adversarial relationship with the vet. she needs dental work done which they had quoted me as being $1500 but ive been putting it off for so long that i would not be surprised if that's more expensive too

i have learned today that my gold crown needs to be replaced. really unhappy about this one. it was a miserable experience the first time (everything that went wrong did go wrong, i'll spare you the details) but what is relevant here is that my insurance does not cover this and it was $900 last time. insurance also does not cover extracting the tooth either so that's cool. i have some time before this one is due (my next consult is in july)

my phone is approaching "unusably broken". i've had it for close to 4 years now. the call speaker no longer works (i can only use the phone on speaker mode) and it struggles to run apps or a web browser which makes things like GPS pretty dire. this would be like ~$100-$150 probably, i havent done serious phone shopping yet

my driver's license is expired and i need to get a new one. this was $110 last time. note i havent driven a car in years due to the disability but it's really valuable to have a universally recognized form of photo ID and ive already been hassled over it being expired

god this one is so embarrassing to get into but i had to flee my previous apartment last year due to it escalating into a DV situation. the other tenants did not pay the heating bill, which was in my name (and my dumb ass didnt close the account because it was the middle of february and i didnt want to freeze them to death) so i have a $250 utility bill in collections. i might be able to dispute or debt forgiveness this one but tbh ive been so fucking drained given everything else going on and also my phone barely works so i havent pursued it. especially since i can't afford to pay it if i cant challenge it

i would really like to have a passport again. my previous one was destroyed by my landlord in 2018 but even if it wasnt it'd also be expired now. not sure how much this one costs. likely $200?

my food stamps were slashed in half (covid emergency ending lol) and do not cover my food costs for the month so im paying like $150 a month on food that i didnt have to previously. i can maybe fix this one but im slowly losing my mind from malnutrition from trying to not go into debt and also eat. so i havent had it in me to go 1v1 welfare bureaucracy and possibly make everything even worse

my shoes are probably two months out from fully decomposing. they were $100 three years ago and id like to get something comparable given they lasted me this long

the rest of my clothes are also very literally becoming threadbare, falling apart, or are too big and keep slipping off. i legitimately feel embarrassed to go in public these days because i dress so shitty all the time

insurance doesnt cover my HRT anymore so that's $30 a month i didnt used to have to pay

im sorry this turned into such a ramble. i'm in such a bad way right now, i have been for quite a while and the dental work news is really just the final straw. i can't really have a fundraising goal because due to the SSI asset limit i can never own more than $2000. & i'm aware both that this is the poor people sending each other the same 20 dollars website and that there are people urgently trying to raise money to escape an active genocide. but i held off from making this post as long as possible & idk what else i can do

anyway if theres anything you can contribute to help me i would appreciate it more than anything. at the very least i need to do something about my tooth.

http://paypal.me/hivehum

[niallerspayno]

About Last Night - Part 2

Masterlist

With your pregnancy and feelings for Louis now out in the open, you both navigate the challenges of your new relationship and the new life growing inside of you.

Tags: Louis x reader, just a lot of fluff really

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

…

Louis gives your hand a gentle squeeze before opening the door to the hotel suite. The buzz of conversation inside fades as you both step in, all eyes turning to you. Harry is sprawled across the couch, Liam perched on the armrest, Zayn leaning casually against the wall, and Niall sitting at the table, fidgeting slightly.

The weight of their collective attention is almost suffocating, but Louis doesn’t falter, guiding you further into the room.

“Alright, lads,” Louis begins, his voice steady. “We’ve got something to tell you.”

Harry is the first to speak, sitting up straighter. “What Louis said earlier… is it true?”

You swallow hard, glancing at Louis. He nods encouragingly, so you step forward. “Yes,” you say, your voice steady despite the knot in your stomach. “I’m pregnant. And the baby is Louis’s.”

A stunned silence fills the room, broken only by Zayn’s low whistle. “Well, that’s a bloody plot twist,” he says, though there’s no malice in his tone.

“How long have you known?” Liam asks, his brow creased with concern.

“A little over a week,” you admit. “I wasn’t sure how to tell anyone. Niall’s been the only one who knew—he’s been helping me through it.”

The boys’ gazes shift to Niall, who raises his hands defensively. “I was just trying to be there for her, alright?”

Harry’s mouth twitches into a grin as he leans back. “You know,” he says, looking between you and Louis, “I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. You two have been dancing around each other for years.”

You blink, heat rushing to your face. “What?”

“Come on, Y/N,” Harry continues, his grin widening. “We’ve all seen it. You and Louis have had this ‘will-they-won’t-they’ thing going on forever.”

Zayn smirks. “He’s not wrong. It was only a matter of time.”

Louis huffs, crossing his arms, though there’s a faint blush on his cheeks. “Alright, that’s enough,” he mutters, but the corner of his mouth quirks up.

Liam’s expression softens, his initial shock melting into a warm smile. “Well, regardless of how it happened, congratulations. This is huge.”

“Yeah,” Niall chimes in, his voice firm. “And you’ve got us. Whatever you need, we’ll be there.”

You glance at Louis, feeling the courage to say what’s next because of his steady presence. “There’s something else,” you add. “Louis and I… we’re together now. Officially.”

The room falls quiet again, and then Harry lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Of course you are,” he says, grinning. “Took you long enough.”

“I knew it!” Zayn adds, pointing at Louis. “You’ve been mooning over her for years, mate.”

Louis smirks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Yeah, well, better late than never, right?” he says, his tone light but the meaning behind it heavy with sincerity.

“That’s sweet and all,” Niall interjects, though his grin is teasing, “but you know management’s going to be pissed.”

“Probably,” Louis says with a shrug, entirely unfazed. “But they’ll get over it.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, right. A secret relationship? Sure. A baby on the way? They’ll love that.”

“Let them be pissed,” you say, surprising even yourself with your confidence. “This is our life, not theirs.”

Liam nods approvingly. “Good for you. Stand your ground.”

“And we’ll back you up,” Zayn says with a smirk. “Even if it makes for some interesting headlines.”

The room fills with a mix of laughter and reassurances, the tension easing into something more celebratory. Louis glances down at you, his blue eyes filled with quiet pride and affection.

As the boys crack jokes about baby names and ridiculous parenting scenarios, you feel a wave of gratitude for this chaotic, supportive family. Whatever comes next, you know you’ll have them—and Louis—by your side.

…

The conference room feels impossibly cold, despite the sunlight streaming through the large windows. Louis walks beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back as you both step inside. Seated at the long table are the familiar faces of the management team, their expressions ranging from neutral to wary.

Louis doesn’t falter, his confidence unshakable as he pulls out a chair for you before taking the one beside you. The silence stretches for a moment, thick with anticipation, until one of the senior managers clears his throat.

“So,” he begins, folding his hands on the table. “We’ve been informed there’s something the two of you need to tell us.”

You glance at Louis, your heart racing. He offers you a reassuring nod before leaning forward, his tone calm but firm.

“Right. Let’s not beat around the bush,” Louis says, his voice steady. “Y/N is pregnant. It’s mine. And we’re together now.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, no one says anything. Then, one of the younger managers mutters under his breath, “Bloody hell.”

Another manager, older and clearly more experienced, narrows her eyes slightly. “And how exactly do you expect this to play out?” she asks. “You’re both under contract. A pregnancy—and a relationship���was not part of the image we’ve carefully curated.”

Louis’s jaw tightens, but he remains composed. “We’re not hiding this,” he states. “It’s happening, whether it fits the ‘image’ or not.”

“Louis—”

“No,” he cuts in, his voice sharp but controlled. “I’ve spent years playing along with what’s expected. But this isn’t just about me anymore. This is about my family—about our family,” he corrects, glancing at you.

Your chest tightens at his words, but you lift your chin, drawing strength from his presence. “We’re not asking for permission,” you add, your voice steadier than you expected. “We’re just letting you know.”

The room falls silent again, the managers exchanging glances. Finally, the senior manager speaks, his tone measured. “You have to understand the complications this brings. The press will have a field day. The fans—”

“The fans will adjust,” Louis interrupts. “They always do. We’ll handle the press, too. This isn’t a scandal—it’s life. And we’re not ashamed of it.”

The older woman sighs, leaning back in her chair. “And the tour? The schedule?”

“We’ll figure it out,” you say firmly. “I’ll do what I can for as long as I can, and when I need to step back, I will. But this isn’t up for negotiation.”

Louis nods in agreement, his hand finding yours under the table. “This is happening. So, you can either support us, or not. But either way, we’re moving forward.”

The room is quiet as the managers exchange looks again. Finally, the senior manager nods slowly. “Fine,” he says, though his tone is reluctant. “But we’ll need to control the narrative. A statement will have to be released, and we’ll need to prepare for the media backlash.”

“Control the narrative all you want,” Louis says, his tone icy. “But make it clear that we’re happy, and that we’re doing this together. I won’t have anyone twisting this into something it’s not.”

There’s a beat of hesitation before the manager finally nods. “Alright. We’ll draft something for your approval.”

“Good,” Louis says, standing and offering you his hand. “Then we’re done here.”

You take his hand, standing alongside him. The two of you walk out of the room together, leaving the weight of the meeting behind.

As the door closes behind you, Louis looks down at you, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You handled that better than I thought you would.”

He smirks, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Told you, love. I’m all in.”

And with that, the two of you walk away, ready to face whatever comes next—together.

…

The hotel suite is unusually quiet, a rare moment of calm amidst the chaos of tour life. You’re curled up on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through endless notifications. Louis is stretched out beside you, one arm slung over the back of the couch. The rest of the boys are scattered around—Niall rifling through a snack bag, Liam flipping through channels on the TV, Harry lounging upside down in a chair, and Zayn perched by the window, scrolling on his own phone.

The official statement from management had gone live this morning, and within minutes, social media had exploded. You and Louis had followed up with your own posts: a sweet photo of the two of you, Louis’s hand resting protectively on your stomach, captioned with simple words: We’re so excited to share this next chapter with you all.

Now, hours later, the reality of it all is sinking in as you scroll through the comments. You’d braced yourself for backlash, but to your surprise, the overwhelming majority of fans had been nothing but supportive.

“This one says, ‘I’ve been a Louis girl since 2010, and I’ve never been prouder. Congrats to you both!’” you read aloud, your voice trembling slightly.

“Read this one!” Harry calls out from his chair, his voice muffled by his upside-down position. “It says, ‘We always knew Louis would be the first dad in the band. The rest of you need to catch up!’”

Zayn chuckles, shaking his head. “First dad, huh? Bit presumptuous. Maybe I’m already ahead of him, just keeping it private.”

“Sure, mate,” Niall teases, tossing a crisp at him.

You laugh at their banter, but the lump in your throat only grows. Another comment catches your eye: You can just tell how much Louis loves her. They’re going to be the best parents.

That’s when it happens. The tears start to fall, completely unbidden. You try to blink them away, but the floodgates have opened, and you’re suddenly a blubbering mess.

“Oh no,” Liam says, glancing over from the TV. “We’ve got tears.”

Harry flips upright, his eyebrows shooting up. “Is it the hormones? It’s the hormones, isn’t it?”

“It’s definitely the hormones,” Niall agrees, trying to stifle a laugh.

“Oi, knock it off,” Louis says, his tone light but protective. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. “Let her cry if she needs to.”

“I’m not even sad,” you manage to say through your sniffles. “It’s just—everyone’s being so nice. I thought they’d hate me.”

Louis tilts your chin up gently, his blue eyes warm and steady. “They could never hate you, love,” he says softly. “They can see what I see—how incredible you are. And they’re right. We’re going to be great parents.”

That only makes you cry harder, burying your face in his chest as the rest of the boys exchange amused looks.

“Alright, alright,” Zayn says, standing and stretching. “I’m getting out of here before I start tearing up, too.”

“Coward,” Harry teases, though his smirk softens as he looks at you. “Seriously, Y/N, we’re all happy for you. The fans are just catching up to what we’ve known for years—you two are perfect for each other.”

Niall grins, raising his water bottle in a toast. “To Louis, Y/N, and Baby Bathroom Stall.”

That finally makes you laugh through your tears, swatting at Niall with a pillow. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he says, his grin widening.

Louis chuckles, brushing a kiss to the top of your head. “Let them have their fun,” he murmurs. “We’ve got plenty to celebrate.”

And as you look around the room—at your chaotic, loving bandmates and the man who’s been your rock through it all—you realize he’s right.

…

The muffled roar of the crowd echoes through the arena as you grip the edge of the bathroom sink, trying to steady yourself. At 12 weeks pregnant the nausea has been relentless, and tonight is no different. Your stomach lurches again, and you barely make it to the toilet before you’re throwing up the remnants of the bland toast you’d forced down earlier.

“Y/N?” Louis’s voice cuts through the pounding in your head, followed by a soft knock on the door. “You alright, love?”

You groan, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’m fine,” you call back weakly, though the bile rising in your throat says otherwise.

The door creaks open, and Louis steps in, closing it behind him. His brows are furrowed, worry etched into every line of his face. “You don’t look fine,” he says gently, crouching down beside you. “You’re pale as hell, and you’ve been in here for ages.”

“I’m just—” you begin, but your stomach flips again, cutting you off.

“Alright, that’s it,” Louis says firmly, standing and helping you to your feet. “You’re not going out there tonight. I’ll call management, explain you’re sick—”

“Louis, no,” you protest, clutching his arm for balance. “I can’t just skip a show. The fans will notice. The band will notice.”

“They’ll notice a lot more if you pass out mid-song,” he retorts. “Come on, Y/N. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

Before you can argue further, the door opens again, and Niall peeks his head in, followed by Harry, Liam and Zayn.

“Mate, we’re on in five,” Liam says, then stops short when he sees you. “Whoa, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” you mutter dryly, leaning against Louis for support.

“She’s been throwing up again,” Louis explains, his tone clipped with concern. “I’m telling her to sit this one out.”

“Honestly, Y/N,” Harry says, crossing his arms. “I get that you’re tough, but maybe Louis is right. You’ve been running on fumes for weeks.”

“And it’s not just about you anymore,” Niall adds, his gaze dropping pointedly to your stomach. “You’ve got someone else to think about now.”

You glance at Louis, who’s looking at you with the same protective intensity he always does. The other boys are watching you, too, their worry palpable.

“I can do it,” you insist, though your voice wavers. “I just need a minute to pull myself together.”

“Y/N—” Louis begins, but you shake your head.

“No,” you say more firmly. “I’ll take it easy, I promise. But I’m not sitting this out. We’ve got fans waiting out there who’ve been excited about this for months. I won’t let them down.”

The boys exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Louis sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Alright,” he relents, though his tone is anything but happy. “But if you start feeling worse—even a little—I’m pulling you offstage, no arguments.”

“Deal,” you say, squeezing his hand in gratitude.

“Let’s at least get you some water,” Harry says, holding the door open as Louis guides you out.

As you make your way toward the stage, Louis keeps a steady arm around your waist, his worry evident in the way he doesn’t let go.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?” he murmurs.

You manage a small smile, leaning into him. “Takes one to know one.”

He huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t argue, his hand brushing protectively against your back as the opening chords of the first song echo through the arena.

…

The next day you go for your 12 week scan. The waiting room is quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of papers or soft murmurs from other couples. You sit with Louis, his hand tightly gripping yours as the nurse calls your name.

“This is it,” he whispers, offering you a small, nervous smile as you both stand.

“It’s just a scan, Louis,” you say, trying to sound calm despite your racing heart. “Not the baby being born.”

“Still,” he says, shrugging as he walks beside you. “It feels like a big deal.”

You don’t argue because he’s right—it does.

The sonographer greets you warmly and leads you into the small, dimly lit room. The equipment hums softly, and you feel a knot of anticipation tighten in your chest as you lie back on the bed. Louis stands by your side, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your knuckles.

“Okay, let’s take a look,” the sonographer says, spreading the cool gel across your stomach.

You shiver slightly at the chill, but any discomfort vanishes the moment the image appears on the screen.

“There’s your baby,” she says, her voice kind and reassuring as she points to the little blob on the monitor.

Louis sucks in a sharp breath, his grip on your hand tightening. “That’s… that’s them?”

Your eyes sting with tears as you nod, unable to tear your gaze away from the screen. “That’s them.”

“And there’s the heartbeat,” the sonographer adds, pressing a few buttons. A rhythmic thumping fills the room, strong and steady.

Louis lets out a shaky laugh, his free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Bloody hell… That’s amazing.”

You glance at him, and the sight of his awestruck expression makes your heart swell. “It is,” you whisper, squeezing his hand.

The sonographer continues pointing out tiny details—the baby’s head, their little arms and legs—but you barely hear her. All you can focus on is the sound of that heartbeat and the warmth of Louis’s hand in yours.

When the scan is over, and she prints out the pictures, Louis insists on holding them. “These are mine,” he says with a grin, carefully tucking them into his jacket pocket.

“Yours?” you tease as you clean the gel off your stomach. “I’m the one carrying the baby.”

“Fine,” he concedes, smirking. “They’re ours. But I’m keeping these copies.”

You roll your eyes but smile, your heart feeling lighter than it has in weeks.

As you leave the clinic, Louis pulls you into a hug, right there on the sidewalk. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“For what?” you ask, resting your cheek against his chest.

“For this. For them. For everything,” he says, pulling back to look at you. “I’m so in love with you, Y/N. And I’m gonna do everything I can to be the best dad—and partner—I can be.”

Tears spill down your cheeks, but you’re smiling as you nod. “I know you will. And I love you too.”

He kisses you softly, tenderly, before taking your hand and leading you down the street. “Now,” he says, glancing at you with a mischievous grin, “where do we go to frame these photos?”

…

The soft light of morning filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the hotel room. You’re tucked into Louis’s side, your head resting on his chest as his fingers draw lazy, soothing circles along your back. His touch is gentle, his other hand occasionally brushing over your arm or waist.

The room is quiet save for the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat under your ear. It’s a rare moment of peace, one neither of you takes for granted.

“You comfortable?” Louis murmurs, his voice low and raspy with sleep.

“Mhm,” you hum, snuggling closer. “I could stay like this all day.”

He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “So could I. Think anyone would notice if we skipped soundcheck?”

“They’d definitely notice,” you reply, smiling against his chest. “Harry wouldn’t let us live it down.”

“Good point,” he concedes, his fingers trailing lower, brushing over your stomach.

The motion is so natural, so absentminded, that it takes him a moment to pause. His hand lingers there, his brows furrowing slightly as he presses his palm gently against your stomach.

“Wait…” he says, his voice soft but filled with wonder.

You tilt your head up to look at him. “What?”

Louis shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow as his hand remains on your stomach. “Your bump,” he says, his lips curving into a slow, astonished smile. “It’s there. I can feel it.”

Your heart skips a beat as his words sink in. Glancing down, you place your hand over his and press lightly. Sure enough, the small curve of your belly is unmistakable now.

“It is,” you whisper, a mix of awe and emotion bubbling up inside you.

Louis’s eyes are bright as he looks back at you, his smile widening. “That’s our baby in there,” he says, his voice filled with pure joy. “They’re really starting to grow.”

You laugh softly, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Well, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but… seeing it, feeling it—it’s real,” he says, his hand moving gently over the bump. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you shake your head. “I’m just lying here.”

“Lying here and growing a whole human,” he counters, leaning down to press a kiss to your stomach. “Our human.”

The tenderness of the moment overwhelms you, and a tear slips down your cheek. “You’re gonna make me cry again,” you say with a laugh, brushing at your face.

He looks up at you with a playful grin. “Pregnancy hormones, right? Can’t blame me for those.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop smiling as he continues rubbing your bump, his expression soft and adoring.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet it’s almost as if he’s talking to the baby instead of you. “But for now… I’ll just keep them safe in there.”

“And me too?” you ask teasingly.

“I’ll always keep you safe,” he promises, leaning up to kiss you gently. “Always.”

…

The arena hums with activity as the band prepares for soundcheck. Techs are buzzing around, running cables and adjusting levels, and the noise only serves to amplify the frustration you feel deep in your chest. You stand off to the side, arms crossed tightly, already in a foul mood.

“Y/N, you ready?” Louis calls from the center of the stage, his mic in hand, flashing that grin you know too well.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” you snap, your tone sharper than usual.

He blinks in surprise, his smile faltering for just a second. “Alright, someone’s feisty today.”

“Don’t start with me,” you warn, walking over to the stage with quick, purposeful steps. The nagging ache in your lower back only makes it worse, and it feels like every little thing is grating on you.

“Whoa, easy,” Niall says as you pass him, holding up his hands like you’re about to explode. “She’s got that scary look again.”

You glare at him, but don’t say anything, instead grabbing your microphone stand and adjusting it a little too forcefully.

“Everything alright?” Liam asks, his voice cautious and gentle.

“Fine,” you mutter, trying to focus on the mic cord and not the irritation brewing inside.

Louis raises an eyebrow, his expression cautious as he walks closer. “You sure you’re okay, love? You’ve been in a mood all day.”

“I’m fine,” you bite out, irritation climbing as you continue to fiddle with the mic. “Stop asking.”

Zayn, who has been quietly watching, steps forward and raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, you’ve been on edge all morning. What’s up?”

“I’m fine,” you snap again, the frustration in your voice ringing louder now.

Louis takes a step back, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off.”

The tension in the room is palpable now, and the rest of the band exchanges uneasy glances. Harry, ever the peacemaker, tries to lighten the mood with a joke.

“Maybe we should all take a break before someone gets murdered,” he says with a smile, trying to ease the thick air.

“Not funny,” you mutter, shooting him a sharp look.

“Definitely hormones,” Niall comments, but his words are just loud enough for you to hear.

“That’s it!” you snap, spinning on your heel to face him. “If one more person blames my mood on hormones, I swear to God—”

“Alright!” Louis cuts in, stepping between you and Niall with his hands raised. “Let’s all just breathe, yeah? How about we grab some water and reset before we start?”

You huff, the sharp edge to your voice still there, but you don’t argue. You step off the stage, Louis trailing behind, the cool air outside the spotlight helping to calm the rising frustration. He gently touches your arm to stop you once you’re out of earshot of the others.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice low with concern. “What’s really going on? And don’t say you’re fine, because we both know that’s not true.”

You exhale sharply, some of the anger slipping away and leaving exhaustion in its place. “I just… everything’s too much today. My back hurts, I’m tired, I’m nauseous, and it feels like everyone’s treating me like I’m some fragile thing that can break at any second.”

Louis’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand brushing your arm. “You’re not fragile, Y/N. But I get it. It’s a lot, love. And you’re allowed to feel overwhelmed.”

You feel the lump in your throat, the sting of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. “I miss… I miss having fun. I miss being the person who could mess around with you guys and not be treated like I’m breakable. Like I can’t do anything without someone being worried I’m about to drop dead.”

Louis’s face softens even more, and he steps forward to wrap his arms around you. “You’re not breakable, love. I know things have changed, but that doesn’t mean you’re not still the same Y/N we’ve all known. You’re strong. And we’ll all get through this together.”

You lean into him, your arms finding their way around his waist as you bury your face in his chest. The warmth of his embrace is comforting, even as you feel the weight of everything pressing down on you.

“Yeah?” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

“Yeah,” Louis says firmly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And if you need to take a step back tonight, that’s okay. We’ve got this.”

You nod, the frustration slowly fading away in the calm of his support. “Thanks, Louis.”

“Anytime,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your hair. “Let’s go back in there. You’ve got this.”

You pull away slightly, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “Fine. But if Niall says the word ‘hormones’ again, I swear I’ll deck him.”

Louis chuckles, his hand taking yours as you both walk back to the stage, Zayn falling into step behind you. “Fair enough.”

…

Backstage is quieter than usual, the hum of the arena outside almost a distant memory as you sit in front of the mirror, adjusting your outfit for the night. You’ve been feeling off lately—everything is changing, and while you’re excited for the baby, the changes in your body are starting to weigh on you.

At 16 weeks your belly is no longer a secret, a small bump that seems to grow by the day. It’s still subtle, not huge by any means, but it’s there. It’s just one part of it. The rest of your body has shifted too. Your hips feel wider, your chest feels fuller, and your clothes don’t fit quite the same.

You suck in a breath, staring at your reflection, trying to convince yourself that it’s okay. But the insecurity sits heavy in your chest, that feeling that you don’t look like you anymore, and you don’t know how to feel about it.

“Y/N?” You hear a knock at the door before it opens slightly, revealing Niall. He’s got a worried look on his face, probably sensing that something’s off.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping in without waiting for an invitation. “You alright?”

You manage a tight smile, but the insecurity is too much to hide. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… getting ready for tonight.” You adjust your shirt again, glancing at your reflection.

“Mm-hmm,” Niall says, his tone skeptical. He takes a few steps closer and then pauses, clearly noticing something is up. “You sure? You’ve been quiet all day.”

“I just…” You trail off, biting your lip. “I don’t know. Everything’s changing. My body’s changing, and it’s… weird.”

Niall’s face softens, and he steps up behind you, looking over your shoulder into the mirror. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. You know that, right?”

You shake your head, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I don’t feel beautiful. I feel like I don’t recognize myself anymore.”

He looks at you, his hand lightly resting on your shoulder. “You’re growing a little human, love. Your body’s doing something incredible. I know it’s not easy, but trust me, it’s all worth it.”

“I know,” you sigh, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “But I’m still just… I don’t know how to feel about it. I don’t feel like me anymore.”

Niall gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll always be you, Y/N. I promise. Nothing can change that.”

Before you can respond, you hear the familiar sound of footsteps approaching. The door creaks open wider, and Louis steps in, looking directly at you. He’s grinning, but it falters when he sees your expression. His eyes immediately soften, and he walks over, his hand going to your back as he leans in to press a kiss to your temple.

“Everything alright?” he asks, his voice gentle, knowing you’ve been on edge all day.

You nod but don’t speak right away. Your gaze shifts to the mirror again, self-conscious. Louis notices, stepping closer and tilting your chin gently to face him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. His eyes search yours, and you can see the sincerity in them, but you can’t shake the doubt creeping in.

“I don’t feel beautiful,” you whisper, looking down at your stomach, feeling the weight of your insecurities.

Louis’s hands move to gently rest on your waist, his thumb grazing the edge of your bump. “You’re carrying our baby, love. Nothing is more beautiful than that. And every single part of you, every change, is part of that. You’ve got this glow about you that makes my heart stop every time I look at you.”

You let out a shaky breath, a tear finally escaping down your cheek. “But I don’t feel like myself anymore. I miss when I could just… fit into my clothes and not feel like this.”

Niall’s hand gently squeezes your arm, his voice warm and supportive. “You don’t have to be the same as you were before. You’re still you, just with a little more badass energy now. And besides, the only thing that’s really changing is you’re going to be an amazing mum.”

Louis steps in front of you, cupping your face in his hands, making you look up at him. “Niall’s right. And I’m here, every step of the way. We’ll get through this together. I’ve got you.”

You feel the weight of his words settle in, and for the first time all day, you start to feel the tightness in your chest loosen. You sniffle, wiping your eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Louis says, his voice soft but confident. “And look, if you want to take it slow tonight, that’s okay too. You don’t have to perform if you’re not up for it.”

You shake your head. “I’m fine. I want to do this. I just… I needed to hear that.”

Niall smiles, stepping back and giving you a gentle nudge. “Good. Now, let’s get you out there. You’ve got this, Y/N.”

Louis gives your hand a reassuring squeeze as you stand up, and for the first time today, you feel a little lighter, a little less unsure of yourself.

You glance at him, offering a small smile. “Thanks.”

He winks at you, his grin mischievous as ever. “Anytime, love.”

And for once, you believe him.

…

The small, quiet room feels warm as you sit together, waiting for the doctor to come in. Louis is next to you, his fingers intertwined with yours, and you can feel the excitement radiating off him. You’ve both been counting down the days to this appointment, eager to hear everything’s progressing well.

“You nervous?” Louis asks, his voice low as he leans his shoulder against yours.

You shake your head, though there’s a flutter in your stomach that you can’t quite shake. “A little, but I know everything’s fine. I just… I want to hear it from the doctor.”

He smiles at you, squeezing your hand gently. “It’s gonna be perfect, Y/N. Our little one’s gonna be healthy and strong.”

You nod, your gaze fixed on your hands for a moment, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Even though the pregnancy has come with its fair share of worries, moments like these—where it’s just the two of you—remind you how much Louis truly supports you.

The door opens, and the doctor enters, a warm smile on her face. “Hey there! How are we feeling today?”

“Excited,” you say, your voice a little breathless as you glance at Louis. “And nervous.”

The doctor nods, adjusting the ultrasound machine before setting up. “Understandable, but we’re going to take great care of you today. Let’s take a look at your baby.”

Louis gives your hand another squeeze, his excitement palpable as he watches the screen flicker to life. You both go quiet as the doctor starts the ultrasound, the cool gel on your belly making you flinch at first. The image on the screen slowly comes into focus, and you see the tiny, perfect outline of your baby.

“There we go,” the doctor says. “Everything looks really good—baby’s healthy, and you’re doing great, Y/N. The measurements are all right on track.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch the screen, overwhelmed with emotion. “That’s really our baby?” you whisper, your heart racing.

Louis presses a kiss to your forehead, his voice soft. “Yeah, it’s real.”

The doctor smiles at you both. “It is. And you should be feeling the baby start kicking soon, if you haven’t already.”

You glance at Louis, your eyes wide. “Kicking?”

“Yep!” The doctor nods, pointing to the image on the screen. “Everything’s perfectly in place. As the baby continues to grow, you’ll likely feel those first little movements soon. It’s a thrilling feeling.”

You turn to Louis, unable to hide the smile spreading across your face. “I can’t wait to feel it.”

Louis’s expression mirrors yours—genuine awe and joy. “Neither can I,” he says, his voice full of wonder.

After a few more moments of the doctor checking on everything, you finally hear the news you’ve both been waiting for.

“Do you want to know the baby’s sex?”

You glance at Louis, his smile widening in anticipation. “Yes,” you say, your voice soft but filled with excitement.

The doctor glances at the screen, then looks back at you both. “It’s a boy.”

A breath catches in your throat as your heart skips a beat. “A boy,” you repeat, feeling a mixture of joy and wonder flood through you. You look at Louis, who’s staring at the screen, his eyes shining with emotion.

“A little boy,” Louis echoes, his voice almost a whisper. He turns to you, a smile so wide on his face it almost doesn’t seem real. “We’re having a son.”

You nod, tears starting to well up in your eyes as the weight of it all hits you—this tiny, perfect little human growing inside you. The realization that soon you’ll be holding him in your arms makes everything feel so much more real.

Louis leans down, kissing your forehead again. “I’m so proud of you,” he says softly.

You smile, feeling so much love in your chest that it almost overflows. “I’m proud of us.”

The doctor finishes up, giving you both the green light to go, but you can’t stop smiling as you stand. Louis takes your hand, guiding you out of the room. As you walk down the hall together, he stops and turns you toward him, lifting your chin to look into your eyes.

“We’re gonna be amazing parents, Y/N,” he says, his voice steady but full of excitement.

You nod, your hand resting gently on your still-growing belly. “Yeah. We will be.”

…

The ride back to the hotel feels like it’s in slow motion. Louis is holding your hand tightly in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing, steady rhythm. Every now and then, you glance at him, his smile still wide, and you can’t help but grin back.

“You’re still smiling,” you tease softly.

“I can’t stop,” he replies, his voice full of joy. “We’re having a boy, Y/N. A little mini version of me.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “We’ll see about that. He’ll have his own personality, I’m sure.”

Louis’s grin widens. “I’ll have to teach him the important stuff, though. Like how to make a proper cup of tea.”

“Sure, sure,” you tease. “I’m sure he’ll be asking you for lessons on how to drive everyone crazy like you do.”

Louis looks over at you with a smirk. “I think he’s going to be perfect.”

You feel your heart swell with love as you lean your head on his shoulder. For a moment, everything feels so right. You’re both excited, nervous, and ready for this next chapter together.

The car pulls into the hotel, and you both step out, Louis offering you a hand as you make your way inside. You both feel like you’re walking on air—there’s no way you can keep this news to yourselves any longer.

When you enter the hotel suite, the boys are already there, sprawled out on the couches, laughing and talking. They glance up when you walk in, and you can see the curiosity in their eyes. Everyone’s been waiting for the two of you to return from the appointment, and there’s an energy in the room that’s both expectant and excited.

Louis clears his throat, looking around at the guys with a grin. “We’ve got news.”

The band instantly quiets down, leaning forward, eager for whatever news you’re about to share.

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Niall crosses his arms, a smile tugging at his lips. “Everything okay?”

You glance at Louis, and he gives you a nod, his hand still firmly clasped around yours. You both take a breath, preparing for the big reveal.

“We found out today that we’re having a baby boy,” you say, your voice filled with joy.

The room falls into stunned silence for a moment, then all at once, the guys explode into cheers and congratulations.

“No way!” Harry grins, standing up to give you both a hug. “A boy? That’s amazing!”

Niall is already on his feet, pulling you into a tight hug. “You two are gonna be incredible parents.”

Liam, who’d been sitting back and observing, stands up with a grin. “A little one on the way! That’s amazing, mate.”

Zayn, ever the cool one, gives a wide grin and nods. “A son, huh? Looks like we’re going to have a little troublemaker on our hands.”

Louis chuckles, his arms still around you as he laughs along with everyone else. “I’m sure he’ll be an angel—when he’s with his mum.”

You roll your eyes but feel your heart flutter as you glance up at Louis. “Oh, I’m sure. The ‘perfect’ little angel.”

The guys continue to congratulate you, their voices full of excitement and joy, but amidst the chatter, you catch Louis’s eye. He’s looking at you with the most adoring expression, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” you whisper, your voice just for him.

He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers back. “We’re more than okay. We’re going to be great.”

The moment feels perfect—this tiny, beautiful secret between the two of you, shared with the band who’s become family. The excitement is infectious, and you can feel the weight of it settling in, making everything feel so real.

The journey ahead may be challenging, but with Louis by your side and the support of the band, you know it’s going to be a beautiful adventure.

…

Part 3

[gentil-minou]

can't we do smth for palestine like we did for ukraine like miraculers for palestine? i just think it'd help.

Monetary aid is useless in Gaza right now because Israel has the entire area under siege. We could raise a million dollars for them, and in fact many have, but it will rot in trucks trapped at the border because Israel refuses to let them in. They don't even have fuel or medical supplies or electricity or water or anything, not because there isn't anyone donating but because Israel refuses to let it in.

Their goal is to slowly starve and kill them all, or push them out of their homeland forever and steal more land for themselves

BUT YOU CAN HELP

WE NEED A CEASEFIRE

The majority of countries and citizens all throughout the world agree that we need an immediate and permanent ceasefire. (Not a humanitarian pause the US keeps trying to push like letting them have 5 days to breathe before Israel slaughters them all).

The majority agrees but a handful of countries, primarily the USA, Canada, and the UK have refused. And because the UN is a joke because the US gets whatever it wants even when it's the only one who wants it, a ceasefire is impossible.

So what can you do?

Easy

Contact your representatives and government

Flood their lines. Call them everyday. Fax them. Email them. Send them written letters. Join a protest. Disrupt the system

Make it clear you will not vote for them if they do not listen to you. Make it clear you want a ceasefire

Here are a few sites to get you started (these are US based but there are plenty of resources for other countries around)

This is just the link I have on hand there are COUNTLESS ones there are ones that will make the call for you, like this one that I used

Physical mail is better. Faxzero is a website that let's you send faxes for free. There are even pdfs and premade letters

Let's say you're not from one of these evil countries, what can you do?

There are protests around the world. Find them and join. Show the world Gaza is bleeding and Palestinians are screaming and that their screams are being heard. Show the world that you refuse to plug your ears and lie silent. Be their voice.

Educate yourself

Read books by Palestinians watch movies and documentaries. Follow their journalists, give them a voice especially now when the rich and powerful are trying so desperately to smother them.

Israel and the western powers want you to be ignorant.

DONT LET THEM

And whatever you do: don't stay silent. Don't treat this like a trend. Do not stop fighting

Even after a ceasefire, we need to keep going. There needs to be a complete dismantling of the Israel terrorist state. We have to keep fighting so Palestinians can live in Palestine the way they have for centuries. We need to show the corrupt governments in this world that we are not going to live under their tyranny

So be LOUD