#The lack of critical thinking is concerning

[takemetodragonstone]

occasionally i remember that some people actually think daenerys and rhaenyra are villains in their respective stories and i do actually think we should be gatekeeping this series from people who can’t meaningfully comprehend literature beyond a third grade level

[lightofraye]

The picture Jensen paints of Danneel.

ok so, all i know about her is because of him, and he makes her sound like a pretty awesome person.

she's a free spirit, she's strong and doesn't take shit from anyone.

she's decided, always gets what she wants.

she's smart for business and talented.

she's a good mom and a good wife.

she puts bullies like Jared on their place (and Jensen loves watching her do that)

she's brave and funny.

she's a perfectionist

she can cook!

she's Jensen's home, and Jensen loves her.

all of that, from Jensen's own mouth.

Jensen is no liar in my eyes

i don't know about you, but that's for sure more than enough for me.

they don't need to leak a sex tape for me to believe their love exists.

Hi anon.

I...

A-are you sure you know who you're talking about? That this isn't, oh I dunno, Angelina Jolie or something? Because... Danneel? We're talking about Elta Danneel Graul, right?

This bitch?

HER?!

I...

REALLY?!

Wow. You got some blinders, anon. All you had to do was look and you'd know everything Jensen has said about her was a bald face lie.

she's a free spirit, she's strong and doesn't take shit from anyone.

The free spirit shit was him essentially describing how he's constantly chasing after her for love and attention.

she's decided, always gets what she wants.

You realize that's not necessarily a good thing? That means she tells him and everyone else to fuck off no matter what even if what she wants is ruinous? Right?

she's smart for business and talented.

No she isn't. FBBC has crashed. You should never close one location and then try to find a new one. It should always be transitional, with at one point both locations open as one is closing.

Her jewelry line? Crashed.

Her modeling career? Crashed and crashed again (when she tried to do so for some places in Austin).

She tried to "help" Hilarie promote her book--and bombed. Anything Danneel has done for business has bombed.

I mean, Chaos Machine Productions... have you seen the shit they're in now thanks to their shitty management? That lawsuit is going to ruin them.

she's a good mom and a good wife.

No and no. She had nannies helping her and likely still does. Her children are terrified of her and her husband can't say anything genuinely true about her. Sure, anon.

she puts bullies like Jared on their place (and Jensen loves watching her do that)

Jared has never bullied her, the fuck are you on, anon?

And she's the bully!

she's brave and funny.

And yet left her husband to suffer the trauma of the Rust shooting all by himself. Because, I quote, "she's afraid of flying". Rrriiiiigggghhhhttttt.....

And funny? No. All her remarks have been couched in cruelty. Try again.

she's a perfectionist

Is that why her face is wrecked now? Her hairline too?

she can cook!

Supposedly. Her one recipe is whiskey balls. I guess you do need to be drunk to deal with the misery that is her life.

she's Jensen's home, and Jensen loves her.

Nope. You can try to tell yourself that all you want, anon... but I pay attention to everything.

He does not. She is not.

all of that, from Jensen's own mouth.

Stories told by an actor selling a poorly crafted brand.

But sure.

Keep telling yourself that. 🥱

[moonxpalace]

iris: *roasts Ash* fandumb: iris is a bully!!!! How dare she talk back to our beloved and innocent ash!!!??!!??!! Worst character EVER she sucks!!!!!!!!

ash: *roasts literally anyone, even ur grandma* fandumb: hahahaha we stan a KING 👑👑 Ash should show his savage side more often!! He is sooo badass and cool!!!!!!!

don’t believe me? Here is a recent example:

[yuwuta]

i need u to post more of your opinions bc everything you’ve posted recently has had me nodding my head. like what u said about those tiktoks people make about people’s profiles on dating apps and the surveillance state and how whiteness is the standard in a lot of self insert fanfic/fanart or just fandom in general to the point that people don’t notice how they box brown and black people out of participating. i’ve been thinking a lot about stuff like this recently and it’s kinda consuming me. like i really hate how racism is still so prevalent in fandom. the other day this fanartist i liked (not anime) deactivated bc people asked her to draw nonwhite and not skinny characters and she went on a colorist crash out bc she only wanted to draw her characters with paper white skin which then opened the doors for her followers to be racist. then “her sister” posted her ai generated apology that uses her bad mental health as an excuse while people became even more racist. like it makes me want to tear my hair out

SHJSDKD i’m happy to hear you like my annoyed rambling posts and i feel you, the rage is extremely consuming. not even joking, for both of our sakes, we have to remember to breathe and count the blessings around us bc it really is so easy to be mad at everything all the time always 😭😭 sometimes i believe in the benefit of the doubt, as in someone who isn’t black/brown and/or darkskin might be used to the way the world presents content, particularly content surrounding love and entertainment, and might have inadvertently been taught to mimic that isms so deeply engrained in it, but you can always tell by their response to being correct, and a colorist crash out and ai apology is absolutely crazy work omfg

[barbierpt]

yeah cause i'm sure only reblogging (once again UNVERIFIED) sources this week on a very serious world event that's been going on for decades is going to help anything. maybe go outside and actually do something that's legitimate activism?? instead of sitting at a computer and auto-reblogging a post every minute.

social media is NOT the same as activism people. and neither is rp.

[rapdogmon]

Nah fr I wanna see what delusional moron thinks the fault is on people who’s concerned is anti-genocide and not the campaign completely neglecting the democratic voter base in favor of trying to win a handful of votes from people who will NEVER vote for them.

holy shit kill yourself actually

[dotthings]

.

[gnc-tits]

going to ramble rq but i think it is so corny and useless to be like “we’re exposed to more information nowadays than ever before in human history!!!!!! this is why you need to take care of your mental health and monitor your social media use” or whatever and then give no example of how to actually do that. because yes we’re exposed to more info/news every day than our ancestors but. that isnt going to change like the internet is not going away. and if you just tell people “monitor your social media use!!!” its like. sooooooo many people take that as an excuse to put their fingers in their ears and block out anything “negative” instead of learning how to take in that information, process it, and move on with their day while carrying that information in a constructive manner. like. its a good thing that people are more aware of whats happening in the world. its a good thing and regardless it isnt going away so like you need to learn how to deal with it in a way that isnt just blocking out what you dont like or going the other way and doom scrolling to the point of giving yourself panic attacks. like you need to find a good middle ground idk

[luna-azzurra]

List of 40 character flaws

Stubbornness, Unyielding in one's own views, even when wrong.

Impatience, Difficulty waiting for long-term results.

Self-doubt, Constant uncertainty despite evident abilities.

Quick temper, Excessive reactions to provocations.

Selfishness, Prioritizing one's own needs over others'.

Arrogance, Overestimating one's own abilities.

Trust issues, Difficulty trusting others.

Perfectionism, Setting unreachable high standards.

Fear of change, Avoiding changes.

Haunted by the past, Old mistakes or traumas influencing the present.

Jealousy, Envious of others' successes.

Laziness, Hesitant to exert effort.

Vindictiveness, Strong desire for revenge.

Prejudice, Unfair biases against others.

Shyness, Excessive timidity.

Indecisiveness, Difficulty making decisions.

Vulnerability, Overly sensitive to criticism.

Greed, Strong desire for more (money, power, etc.).

Dishonesty, Tendency to distort the truth.

Recklessness, Ignoring the consequences of one's actions.

Cynicism, Negative attitude and distrust.

Cowardice, Lack of courage in critical moments.

Hotheadedness, Quick, often thoughtless reactions.

Contentiousness, Tendency to provoke conflicts.

Forgetfulness, Difficulty remembering important details.

Kleptomania, Compulsion to steal things.

Hypochondria, Excessive concern about one's health.

Pessimism, Expecting the worst in every situation.

Narcissism, Excessive self-love.

Control freak, Inability to let go or trust others.

Tactlessness, Inability to address sensitive topics sensitively.

Hopelessness, Feeling that nothing will get better.

Dogmatism, Rigidity in one's own beliefs.

Unreliability, Inability to keep promises.

Closed-offness, Difficulty expressing emotions.

Impulsiveness, Acting without thinking.

Wounded pride, Overly sensitive to criticism of oneself.

Isolation, Tendency to withdraw from others.

[rizzanon]

00 | AND SHE CRIED OVER NOTHING

m.list | next

You weren’t supposed to be out here tonight. You knew that very well. The injuries that you sustained from your previous few night patrols hadn’t fully healed yet. Leslie warned you not to go out that night.

Yet you still went out.

Why?

Because you finally had a lead on the drug ring you had been tracking down for who knows how long. And if you didn’t act now, they’ll get away. Again. You couldn’t allow that.

You could have asked for some backup, but that wouldn’t suffice.

Not because you didn’t want help—actually no. You didn’t want help. This was your mission. Your lead. But backup would have been nice. Though you knew no one would come.

Dick? He was busy juggling his duties in Blüdhaven. Even if he wanted to help, his plate was always overflowing, and he wouldn’t drop it all just because you asked.

Jason? Yeah, right. You could already hear his sarcastic laugh if you dared to call him. “Why? Can’t handle it yourself for once?” he’d sneer, probably adding some comment about how this was why you didn’t belong in the field, before handling the whole situation himself. You weren’t about to give him more ammunition.

Tim? He was neck-deep in some case he swore was more pressing than anything else. The last time you’d asked him for help, he’d given you that look—the one that screamed—You can’t do this without me?—before ultimately brushing you off. You didn’t want to go through that again.

Damian? He’d probably make some cutting remark about how you lacked the skills to deal with it on your own. And while he might grudgingly show up, it wouldn’t be out of concern—it’d be just to make sure you didn’t screw up his father’s reputation. Or make things worse to clean up.

Cassandra? She had her own priorities, her own missions that rarely overlapped with yours. And truthfully, you didn’t even think she noticed how much you struggled. She always seemed so focused, so capable. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit how lost you felt in comparison.

Duke? He might’ve come if you asked, but it wasn’t fair to rely on him. He already did so much during the day. You didn’t want to drag him down with you.

And Bruce? Your father? Well. He was offworld with the Justice League. Besides, he never showed up unless it was absolutely critical. And let’s be honest—he didn’t think your leads were ever “critical.”

So you didn’t bother calling. You didn’t want the dismissive tones, the passive-aggressive remarks, or the lingering sense of being an afterthought.

This was your lead. Your mission. And if you didn’t do it, no one else would.

The warehouse loomed in front of you, its shadow stretching long across the damp pavement. Your heart pounded as you slipped into the shadows, your injuries screaming in protest with every movement.

You moved silently through the shadows, the dim light from the flickering bulbs overhead casting long, jagged shapes along the warehouse floor. The stench of oil, dust, and something far more pungent hit your nostrils as you crouched behind a stack of crates, eyes scanning the scene.

A small group of men huddled around a table near the back, laughing, their voices low but unmistakably clear. The bags of white powder scattered across the surface of the table made your stomach churn.

They're pushing more than just drugs this time, you thought.

Weapons, too.

A rough-looking man passed a large duffle bag to another, his fingers brushing the edge of the table. You could see the gleam of a few pistols tucked in the bag, alongside the drugs.

This was more dangerous than you thought.

You couldn't risk waiting for backup-you had to end it now.

You moved, a blur of motion, cutting through the darkness, your body fluid and quiet. The first guy was an easy target—a simple kick to the back of his knee sent him collapsing forward. You grabbed his collar and shoved him into the crates with a muffled thud, silencing his surprised yelp with your fist. He slumped, unconscious before he could make a sound.

Two more men turned at the noise, and before they could react, you were on them, one swift strike to the throat with your elbow knocking the wind out of the first. He staggered back, choking, and you took the opportunity to jab your fist into his ribs-hard enough to knock the breath out of him but not enough to take him down completely.

The second man lunged for his gun. You didn't give him a chance. Your leg snapped out, sweeping his feet from under him. As he crashed to the floor, you were already on top of him, wrenching the weapon from his hand and twisting it behind his back, forcing him to the ground with a grunt.

Three down.

But there were more.

You heard movement behind you. The fourth man was charging. You spun, ducking just in time to avoid his swinging fist. Your foot came up, landing a solid kick to his stomach. He doubled over, gasping for air, but you weren't done. Before he could recover, you snapped your knee into his face— cracking his nose with a sickening crunch. He crumpled, blood pooling beneath his head as you quickly swiped the gun from his belt.

But more men were flooding into the warehouse now, alerted by the noise of the fight.

You dove into the next move, tossing the gun to the side and using your momentum to launch yourself into a roll, just narrowly avoiding a swing from a fifth man. Your leg shot out, sweeping his feet out from under him. As he crashed to the ground, you were already on him, pinning his arm behind his back.

Your breathing was heavy now, muscles straining from the effort, but you didn't stop.

You couldn't.

Another man tried to rush you from the side. You twisted just in time, grabbing his arm and using his own momentum to throw him into a stack of crates. He hit the ground with a crash, dazed. You didn't waste time, hitting him hard with a knee to the chest.

But then, something shifted. You were surrounded. More men had come from the back, the entrance-everywhere.

You counted at least seven now, all armed, all ready for a fight.

Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears. You fought harder, faster, but exhaustion was creeping in. You could feel the weight of your injuries dragging on you, slowing your reactions, dulling your reflexes.

One man landed a punch to your side.

Pain exploded, sharp and brutal, as your ribs cracked under the force. You staggered, trying to keep your footing, but then another slammed his fist into your jaw, sending you spinning. Your head whipped to the side, and for a moment, everything blurred.

You barely managed to catch yourself before hitting the floor. Focus, you thought, shaking your head to clear the fog. But it was too late.

Gunfire erupted.

The sound echoed through the warehouse, deafening, sharp. You barely had time to react as the first shot rang out, grazing your shoulder. You cursed under your breath, trying to duck behind a crate for cover. But then another shot-this time, it struck you in the side. The pain was unbearable, like a fire burning through your skin. You fell to your knees, the force of the blow knocking the wind out of you.

You tried to rise, but the pain was too much.

Blood pooled around you, your body screaming in protest as you desperately tried to keep your eyes open.

But it wasn't enough.

Another bullet pierced through your side, and you crumpled to the ground, gasping, your body going cold. Your vision dimmed, the world around you fading into darkness.

Damnit, this couldn't be the end. This couldn't be the way you die.

You gritted your teeth, trying to will your broken body into motion, but it was no use. Your muscles betrayed you, trembling under the effort to even inch forward. Blood pooled beneath you, sticky and warm, and every movement sent a sharp, searing pain radiating through your torso.

Your hand, slick with blood, dragged itself forward, reaching for the comms device tucked at your side. Come on.

Just one call. Someone has to be there.

With a shaky grip, you brought the device to your lips, gasping into it. "H-hello? Anyone... anyone copy? Oracle? Batcave?"

The comms buzzed faintly, then fell silent.

Nothing.

Your heart sank, a cold weight settling in your chest. No one was coming. You pressed the button again, harder this time, as if that would somehow force a response. "Please... anyone..."

Still nothing.

Tears blurred your vision as the reality of your situation hit you like a freight train.

You were dying, and you were alone.

The sounds of movement around you grew louder. The men you'd fought earlier were groaning, pulling

themselves up off the ground. You heard their footsteps, slow and deliberate, growing closer with every second.

You swallowed hard, your breaths shallow. No. No, no, no. This can't be happening.

But then, the distant wail of police sirens pierced the silence, growing louder by the second. The footsteps halted. You could hear hurried whispers, curses under their breath. They weren't going to stick around to get caught.

And just like that, they were gone.

You lay there, helpless, listening to their retreating footsteps echo through the warehouse. The mission was a failure.

The drug ring was slipping through your fingers, and you could do nothing but bleed out on the cold concrete floor.

Your vision blurred further as tears fell freely down your cheeks, mixing with the blood beneath you. You felt hollow, a deep ache spreading through you that had nothing to do with the gunshots.

Flashes of your life played out in your mind, each memory sharper and crueler than the last.

You saw yourself as a child, training relentlessly, throwing yourself into every practice, every drill, every mission. You wanted so desperately to prove yourself.

To make your father proud. To make anyone see you. But no matter how hard you worked, how much you pushed yourself, it was never enough.

You saw the countless patrols where you'd fought harder, faster, and smarter, hoping for even a flicker of recognition from your father or your siblings. But they always moved past you, as if you were nothing more than a shadow in their much larger, brighter world.

Your father's dismissive glances, your siblings' subtle comments, their silence—it all piled up, brick by brick, until you were buried beneath it. And now, you were dying under that weight.

Tears kept falling as another thought crept in, sharper than the rest.

You shouldn't have put on the mask.

You weren't cut out for this life. You never had been. Maybe you were too stubborn to admit it before, or maybe you'd known all along but refused to face the truth. You wanted to be like them-to belong. But maybe you were never meant to.

After all, even your own mother didn't want you.

That thought cut deeper than any bullet ever could. If your own mother had abandoned you, why did you ever think Bruce or the others would be any different?

And then there were your friends.

Adrien and Caitlyn.

The only two people who had ever cared about you, who had tried to stop you from breaking yourself for a family that didn't care. You pushed them away—no, you drove them away. They saw through the cracks in your armor, saw the truth you didn't want to face, and you hated them for it.

You remembered the arguments, the cruel words, the way you shut them out of your life, thinking they didn't understand. You'd been so stupid, so blind. And now? You'd give anything to take it all back. To tell them you were sorry.

What would they think when they found out about this? Would they cry? Would they be angry? Or would they feel nothing at all?

They didn't have to care anymore. You made sure of that.

And then your family...

Would they even care? Would your father see your death as another failure? Would your siblings mourn you, or would they move on, like you were just another casualty in the war they'd chosen to fight?

You'd never know.

At least now, maybe you could finally see Alfred once again.

Alfred… the man who was your family’s butler, and someone who was more of a parental figure to you than your actual father.

Everything changed when he died. God, you missed him so much. Everything was so much harder, so much lonelier without him. At least now, you could finally see him again.

As the world around you dimmed, your thoughts grew quieter, like the fading notes of a melancholy song.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, each breath weaker than the last.

The pain ebbed away, replaced by a strange, cold stillness.

And with one final, trembling breath, everything went black.

Everything felt peaceful for a moment.

But then, you heard a sound.

The sound was faint at first—a low, rhythmic ringing cutting through the darkness. It didn’t make sense. Everything had gone quiet, hadn’t it? The fight. The blood. The cold, creeping sensation of death. Yet, the ringing persisted, growing louder, sharper. It was unmistakable now. An alarm clock?

Your mind scrambled for understanding as the sound grew deafening. And then—

Your eyes shot open.

You were staring at the ceiling. Your ceiling. The familiar, faintly cracked white plaster of your bedroom greeted you, sunlight streaming in through the blinds. It didn’t make sense. Wasn’t this supposed to be—? No. You were bleeding out in that warehouse, weren’t you? The pain, the hopelessness—it was too vivid to have been a dream. Wasn’t it?

Your heart pounded as you sat upright, your body reacting before your mind could process. Your hands flew to your torso, desperate to find the bullet wounds that had felled you. But there were none. No blood, no pain. Nothing but smooth skin under your shirt.

But something was wrong. Your hands trailed over your arms, your fingers tracing the faint scars you’d accumulated over the years as Batgirl. Only… there weren’t as many as there should’ve been. You froze. Your heart raced as you stood up, scanning your room with frantic eyes.

Things weren’t where they were supposed to be. Some of the posters you’d taken down years ago were back on the walls, curling at the edges like they hadn’t moved in years. Old trinkets and keepsakes cluttered your desk—the ones you distinctly remembered throwing away. And the books you’d obsessively arranged last year? They were still in the chaotic, haphazard piles from years ago.

Panic bubbled in your chest. You turned sharply, catching movement in the corner of your eye—a reflection. Your reflection. In the mirror of your dressing table, you saw a face you barely recognized.

Your hair was longer, falling past your shoulders, untouched by the haphazard trims you’d been giving yourself since your late teens. Your face was softer, your features less defined. The heavy eye bags you’d earned through sleepless nights as Batgirl were faint, barely noticeable.

You stumbled closer, staring at yourself like you were seeing a ghost. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t who you were anymore. You looked… younger. Much younger.

Desperation clawed at you as you rushed to grab your phone from the bedside table. Your fingers trembled as you tapped the screen, and what you saw nearly sent you reeling.

The date on your phone.

Four years ago.

You weren’t 20 anymore. You were 16. Somehow, impossibly, you were back in the past.

just a retelling of this

taglist (open): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 @dazed-lavender @eclecticfurylady @wizzerreblogs @marsmabe @daddysfangirls-dc @hoeinthehouse @beeweensblog @ilxandra @agent-nobody-knows | ask to be added <3

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[drdemonprince]

have you defined the meaning of “white woman brain” anywhere and if not, can you? /gen

Many Black and brown feminist writers have discussed this phenomenon and I encourage you to seek out a lot of writing about this subject, because there are a variety of perspectives, but to distill it, white woman fragility brain is a phenomenon that is not exclusive to either white people or to women, but is especially common among those who can weaponize white womanhood, and it consists of the following qualities:

A view of oneself as a helpless victim that is constantly in threat of being attacked, especially by strangers (even though statistically, this is not the case).

A refusal to consider oneself as capable of doing harm to others, especially a lack of consideration toward others' body autonomy or consent. (even while being highly concerned about one's own autonomy and consent).

A generally passive or passive-aggressive orientation toward the world: seeing oneself as a romantic or sexual object to be approached, but never wanting to initiate (or feeling that one never can), never feeling comfortable directly communicating displeasure or one's desires, believing that others instead must guess at it. (and then resenting people when they don't, but never expressing it).

A tendency to cry, excessively berate oneself, complain about being made to feel "unsafe," or give up when criticized or challenged, especially when challenged by people of color.

A tendency to associate a person's body type with how much of a threat they are. For example, feeling unsafe around people with penises and expecting a social space to accommodate that fear to cater to you, a fear of people who come from cultures where it's common to speak loudly, a fear of those who are large, assertive, and/or darker-skinned.

Instinctive fawning-type responses to stress, and a pattern of feigning happiness, agreeability, and ease when one is not genuinely feeling it, and expecting all other people (but especially other women) to feign happiness as well, paired with a deep-seated resentment of anyone who violates this illusion and expresses any negativity (being especially punitive toward women of color).

Instinctively "smoothing over" conflict between other people before it even begins, even when healthy conflict is necessary and not at all your business-- often performed by gossiping behind other people's backs, triangulating information when it is not yours to share, asking people to alter their behavior in order to avoid a reaction from somebody else, presenting your concerns as if they were somebody else's ("what will people think!"), tone-policing the airing of grievances, derailing hard conversations with more light-hearted topics, and excluding people who are known to be candid and assertive.

Here are some articles on elements of the phenomenon and why it is so dangerous:

Now, I single white cis women out a lot when I am describing this phenomenon, because they have the most to gain from exhibiting these qualities, but make no mistake: this is a pattern that many types of people can and do use. I have seen white trans women use white women's tears to silence critique. I have witnessed women of color being passive-aggressively derailed and silenced by a Black manager who was in a position of institutional power over them. Multiple of the women who sexually harassed me in the story linked above were not white. And LORD knows I see plenty of t boys falling back on this shit, as well as cis men from wealthy backgrounds. It's a mindset that has deep colonial roots and we all must be on the look out for it in ourselves and others, and we must be vigilant in uprooting it.

[solxamber]

Desperate Confessions with: Riddle Rosehearts , Leona Kingscholar

Others: Jamil and Sebek

Riddle Rosehearts

It’s almost dark when you finally step out of the library. The entire campus is steeped in the quiet warmth of the setting sun, casting long shadows and filling the air with a golden glow. You spot Riddle just a few paces away, standing by the ivy-laden wall, seemingly waiting for you. His usual composure is absent, replaced by an odd stillness in his posture, a tension that you can feel even from here.

"Riddle?" you ask, concern coloring your voice as you approach him. He turns, and for a moment, he doesn’t seem like himself. His face is flushed, his gaze intense, almost… desperate.

“You’re here,” he says quietly, almost in relief, though the softness of his words belies a turmoil simmering beneath. "I didn’t expect you to come out this late."

You tilt your head, trying to read the unspoken thoughts in his expression, but he doesn’t give you a chance. “I… need to tell you something.” His voice is tight, as though he’s struggling against himself to form the words. His hands are clenched at his sides, and he looks as if he’s trying to steady his breathing. “It’s—it’s been too much lately, and I don’t think I can keep pretending I’m…unaffected by you."

For a moment, he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they hold a vulnerability you’ve rarely seen. "You’ve haunted my thoughts, day and night. Every time I see you, I—I’m left wondering if I’ll be able to speak without… without feeling like my heart will burst. I feel like I’m losing control of myself whenever you’re near.”

His cheeks flush deeper, but he doesn’t look away. "I’m embarrassed by it. This—this lack of control.” His voice breaks, just a bit, and you can hear the self-criticism beneath his words. “I’ve spent my whole life restraining myself, and then you—” He takes a shaky breath. “You come into my life, and suddenly… I can’t.”

Your chest tightens at the rawness of his confession, at the deep-seated need he’s barely holding back. Before you can stop yourself, you close the gap between you, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him close.

Riddle’s breath catches, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyes are wide, a hint of disbelief mingling with hope as he gazes at you, unspoken words trembling on his lips. And in that moment, you realize that there’s no need for more words.

You surge forward, capturing his lips in a fierce, unrestrained kiss. It’s hard, almost desperate, and every ounce of feeling he’s kept bottled up seems to crash over both of you at once. Riddle’s arms wrap around you, and he clings to you as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

He kisses you back with the same intensity, almost a little shyly at first, but it quickly deepens into something far more passionate. His hand slips up to cup the side of your face, and you can feel his fingers tremble ever so slightly as he pulls you closer, kissing you like he’s wanted to for far too long.

When you finally part, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting together as you catch your breath. Riddle’s eyes are shining, his lips swollen from the kiss, his face flushed.

He looks at you with a kind of wonder, like he’s still not entirely certain this is real, and then, almost shyly, he whispers, “I didn’t… I didn’t know it could feel like this.” His voice is soft, reverent, as if he’s savoring each word, the remnants of his vulnerability lingering.

Leona Kingscholar

It sneaks up on Leona, this feeling he doesn't know what to name. At first, he thinks it's just irritation—that persistent gnawing that comes with your endless presence. You’re always around, talking, laughing, pulling him into things he swears he doesn’t care about. He assumes it’s only a matter of time before he finally snaps. But then you’re not there one day, and the world feels off-kilter.

He spends that entire afternoon restless, eyes flickering toward every entrance as if expecting you to walk through it. But you don’t. The gardens are too quiet, his naps too still, and he’s left with a strange emptiness that he can’t shake off.

The next day, you’re there again, and the weight lifts. He scowls when he catches himself relaxing, brushing it off, but it keeps happening. Days pass, and it’s clear—he misses you. This realization grates on him, bothers him in a way nothing else has. How could he, Leona Kingscholar, find himself so wrapped up in someone else?

Then, today, he’s back in his usual spot in the garden, the shade cooling his skin as he lounges, pretending to nap. He can hear your footsteps before he sees you, and he opens one eye as you approach, carrying a basket of food, smiling that soft, familiar smile of yours.

"Thought you’d like something to eat," you say, setting the basket down with that easy grace of yours that makes his chest ache.

And that’s it. That ache in his chest spills over, and he can’t hold it back anymore. It all comes rushing out, like a dam breaking.

"Why?" he says, his voice rougher than he intended. "Why do you keep coming here, even when I’ve given you every reason not to?" He’s sitting up now, leaning toward you, the intensity in his eyes making you blink.

He huffs, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you were a nuisance at first. Always hanging around, always in my space." His voice drops lower, rougher, almost as if he’s frustrated with himself. "But the truth is… I’m the one who’s a mess without you. You leave, and everything just… feels wrong."

There’s a pause, and he looks down, jaw clenched, hands clenched in his lap. "I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I don’t care anymore. All I know is… I want you here. Always." He raises his gaze to yours, the desperation flickering in his eyes a vulnerability that catches even him off guard.

Your heart swells, and as his words sink in, a smile breaks across your face. Tears well up in your eyes, unbidden, but you can’t help it. Before you know it, you’re leaning in, cupping his face, and pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s as gentle as it is profound. The warmth of him, the rough texture of his skin against yours, grounds you, and you kiss him deeply, tasting the intensity of his feelings, the rawness he’s bared just for you.

As you pull back, his thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a stray tear. He leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his own lips brushing lightly against the salt of your tears. "Even that," he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble, "even the taste of you like this… I want it all."

And you hold him close, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your palm, realizing that this is where you both belong.

Masterlist

[opalofoctober]

I think my mom is on facebook a little too much :/

[the-cimmerians]

On Thursday, Governor Tim Walz sat down for an interview with author Glennon Doyle, her partner Abby Wambach, and her sister Amanda Doyle during a taping of the We Can Do Hard Things podcast. The conversation touched on key election issues such as abortion and gun violence. However, midway through the podcast, the discussion shifted to queer youth, specifically transgender kids. Rather than shying away from the topic, Walz delivered a passionate, several-minute-long defense of LGBTQ+ rights, including transgender healthcare. He outlined his vision for the administration’s role in protecting these rights.

The question came from Abby Wambach, who turned to the topic after discussing Walz’ founding of a Gay-Straight Alliance at his high school in the mid-90s. Wambach asked, “Well, thank you Governor Walz so much for protecting even in the late ’90s queer kids. And so I have to ask, what will a Harris-Walz administration do to protect our queer kids today?”

Walz discussed positive legislative actions, such as codifying hate crime laws and increasing education, while emphasizing the importance of using his platform to advocate for LGBTQ+ rights. He then addressed the role of judges in safeguarding medical care for queer youth: “I also think what Abby, your point is on this, and I was just mentioning, we need to appoint judges who uphold the right to marriage, uphold the right to be who you are, making sure that’s the case, uphold the right to get the medical care that you need. We should not be naive. Those appointments are really, really important. I think that’s what the vice president is committed to.”

He didn’t stop there. Instead, he directly pivoted to calling out national anti-transgender attack ads which have flooded the airwaves across the United States, often airing besides NFL football games and other major sporting events. The Trump administration has spent upwards of $20 million on such ads, with outside organizations spending $80 million on various races.

“We see it now; the hate has shifted to the trans community. They see that as an opportunity. If you’re watching any sporting events right now, you see that Donald Trump’s closing arguments are to demonize a group of people for being who they are,” Walz said. He continued, “We’re out there trying to make the case that access to healthcare, a clean environment, manufacturing jobs, and keeping your local hospital open are what people are really concerned about. They’re running millions of dollars of ads demonizing folks who are just trying to live their lives.”

He emphasized the importance of representation and the impact of coming out, particularly for parents who may not have been exposed to LGBTQ+ identities and therefore might lack understanding. Walz pointed out, “Look, you’re reaching a lot of folks in hearing this, and for some people it’s not even out of malice and it’s not a pejorative, it’s out of ignorance. They maybe have not been around people. You’ve all seen this, however it takes you to get there, but I know it’s a little frustrating when you see folks have an epiphany when their child comes out to them.”

The strong defense of queer and trans youth came just one day after Kamala Harris participated in a Fox News interview with Brett Baier. Baier, who maintained a hostile tone throughout, pressed Harris on transgender issues with his second question. Rather than adopting the Republican framing, as some Democrats have done recently, Harris emphasized that the law requires medically necessary care for transgender inmates and criticized Trump for spending $20 million on ads focused on an issue far removed from the priorities of most Americans. Her response prompted Baier to quickly shift to another topic.

In back-to-back days, the Harris-Walz ticket has made it clear they will not back down on queer and trans rights, despite the barrage of anti-trans attack ads. This stance is likely reinforced by the repeated failure of similar ads in recent races, including Wisconsin’s Supreme Court election, legislative races in Pennsylvania and Virginia, Georgia’s Herschel Walker vs. Raphael Warnock election, Andy Beshear’s reelection in Kentucky, and the 2023 losses of 70% of Moms for Liberty and Project 1776 school board candidates across the United States. For transgender people, these interviews are likely a welcome relief after some wavering responses from other Democratic candidates in swing states.

[moonlightwritingf1]

The weight of the spotlight | LN4

💥 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N go public with their relationship, but media scrutiny overwhelms her. Criticized for not smiling or posing for photos, she finds comfort in Lando’s unwavering support, knowing they can face it together.

💥 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

💥 word count ━━━━━━━ 1.5k

It had been just over a year since Lando Norris and Y/n officially became a couple. Their relationship was kept under wraps for most of that time, and only a select few knew about their romance. But after months of private dates, quiet weekends, and secret trips, they decided to make their relationship public. The decision came not from a place of pressure but out of a desire to be more open about the happiness they had found in one another.

For Lando, the decision to go public with Y/n had been easy. He was tired of sneaking around and hiding their affection. Y/n had been supportive through the ups and downs of his racing career, and she deserved to be recognized as his equal. As a result, after a casual yet intimate announcement on social media, their relationship was out in the open. It was exhilarating for both of them, but it also came with an unexpected consequence.

From the moment the media caught wind of their relationship, Y/n was thrust into the public eye. The floodgates opened, and photographers, journalists, and fans alike were eager to capture every moment of the couple. It was exciting at first, and Y/n tried to embrace it for Lando’s sake. After all, being with him meant she was part of the F1 world now, a world filled with flashing cameras, curious fans, and constant scrutiny.

But the attention soon became overwhelming.

At the first few races that Y/n attended to show her support for Lando, she did her best to smile when cameras captured her. She knew that being in the paddock, around the drivers and their teams, meant a certain level of exposure. But no matter how much she tried, something about it felt unnatural. The flashes, the shouts of photographers, the sudden pressure to be “on” all the time—it wasn’t her.

The criticism started subtly at first, with some comments here and there on social media. It wasn’t until after the third race weekend that the noise became deafening.

“You’d think Lando could do better than this,” one tweet read. “She never smiles. Is she even happy?”

Another comment, posted under a paparazzi photo, read: “Y/n looks so miserable. Smile for the camera, hun.”

And then, it started to snowball.

“Why does she refuse to take pictures with fans? Does she think she’s too good for them?”

Y/n’s refusal to pose for photos with fans in the paddock had always been a point of contention. While she understood that Lando’s fans were enthusiastic and kind-hearted, she never felt comfortable being asked for selfies every time she walked through the busy race venue. She wasn’t the one with the fans, and as far as she was concerned, her personal time was just that—personal.

But the backlash grew. Fans began to call her rude. Entitled. Unappreciative of the opportunities her relationship with Lando afforded her. The media had a field day with her lack of smiles. Every time a photographer captured her walking with Lando or simply standing beside him in the paddock, the headlines were almost always the same: “Lando’s Girlfriend: Always Serious, Never Smiling.” Some outlets went so far as to suggest that Y/n was intentionally sabotaging Lando’s public image.

It was a Friday afternoon, and they had just arrived at the Belgian Grand Prix. Y/n had been to a few races by this point, and while she was more used to the frenzy, the incessant flashes of cameras still made her anxious. She was still adjusting to the idea that she was now part of Lando’s world in such a public way. As they walked hand-in-hand through the paddock, Y/n was immediately surrounded by photographers.

“Y/n! Lando! Over here! Smile for the cameras!” one of the photographers yelled.

Y/n tried her best to remain composed. She knew that it wasn’t Lando’s fault, that he had no control over the photographers or the paparazzi. But she couldn’t help but feel exposed. She hadn’t asked for this. She hadn’t asked to be put in the limelight simply by virtue of being with him.

Lando sensed her discomfort, and he immediately squeezed her hand, gently pulling her closer to him. “Don’t let them get to you,” he whispered, his voice a comforting reminder of the love they shared.

But the cameras continued to click relentlessly. Lando, ever the professional, smiled and waved at the photographers, but Y/n remained stoic. She had learned not to smile for the sake of it. To her, it felt like a performance, and she didn’t want to put on an act just to appease the expectations of others.

The weekend only escalated from there. Every time they were photographed, the headlines were the same: “Lando’s Girlfriend Refuses to Smile,” or “Why Won’t Y/n Take Pictures with Fans?”

It reached a boiling point during a press conference. Lando was answering questions from journalists about the upcoming race. As usual, there were a few questions about her, and it was clear that the media wanted to know more about her and her ���attitude” toward the constant attention.

One journalist, seemingly fed up with the idea that Y/n wouldn’t smile, asked pointedly, “Lando, do you think your girlfriend could work on smiling more? It’s hard to like someone who looks so miserable all the time.”

Lando’s response was swift and unwavering. “I don’t think she needs to smile for anyone but herself. Y/n is not here for the cameras. She’s here to support me and enjoy the race. If she’s not smiling, it’s because she doesn’t feel like it, and that’s perfectly fine.” He turned to the journalist, his voice firm but calm. “She’s a person, not a prop for your photo opportunities.”

The room fell silent. The journalists exchanged glances, but they knew better than to challenge Lando when he was in defense mode.

Over the next few days, the criticisms continued. Online forums, news articles, and even some fans in the paddock kept calling Y/n out for her “attitude.” They didn’t understand why she wouldn’t smile. Why she wouldn’t take a picture with every single fan who asked.

But Lando continued to defend her at every turn.

On race weekends, he would take to social media to post a message of support for Y/n. “She doesn’t owe anyone a smile or a photo,” he would tweet. “She’s here to support me, not be a circus act for your entertainment.”

The support from Lando was unwavering, but even he couldn’t stop the online hate. It became more than just a matter of photographers and fans—it was now a battle in the court of public opinion. And Y/n couldn’t help but feel the weight of it all.

One evening, after a particularly brutal round of online criticism, Y/n sat in the hotel room, staring at her phone. Lando was out at dinner with some of the team members, and she found herself scrolling through comment after comment.

“I hate how she treats Lando. She never smiles. She’s so selfish.”

“She looks like she doesn’t even care about him.”

Y/n felt tears welling up in her eyes. Why couldn’t they understand? She loved Lando more than anything in the world. But the constant pressure to perform for the cameras, to always be happy for the sake of others, was draining her.

When Lando returned to the hotel, he immediately noticed her red-rimmed eyes. He sat beside her on the bed, his hand gently resting on her back.

“What’s going on, babe?” he asked softly.

Y/n shook her head, trying to brush off her emotions. “It’s just… It’s just a lot sometimes.”

Lando didn’t need her to explain further. He already knew. He had seen it all—the criticism, the constant online hate, the pressure on her to smile and perform. And he hated it.

“Y/n,” he began, his voice full of conviction, “you don’t owe anyone anything. You don’t owe the photographers, the fans, or the media a single thing. You’re here with me because you want to be, not because you have to be. And if you don’t want to smile, then don’t smile. If you don’t want to take a picture with someone, then don’t.”

Y/n looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of relief and gratitude. “But it feels like everyone expects me to be someone I’m not. I can’t make them understand.”

“I know, babe,” Lando said, kissing the top of her head. “But they don’t get a say in who you are. Only we do.”

And for the first time in a long while, Y/n felt a weight lift off her shoulders. She wasn’t alone in this. Lando had her back, and that was all that mattered.

As they sat together in the quiet of the hotel room, Y/n knew that it wouldn’t always be easy. The scrutiny would never truly stop, but as long as Lando was by her side, she would face it with strength.

Together, they were a team. And that was all that mattered.

[allthingssteddie]

Steve Harrington sat in the lawyer's office, his eyes fixed on the divorce papers in front of him. He couldn't believe it had come to this. He had tried everything to save his marriage counseling, romantic getaways, and countless late night conversations. But in the end, it wasn't enough.

His wife, her voice trembling, had admitted to being in love with someone else. The words had cut deep, leaving Steve feeling hollow and defeated.

As they left the lawyer's office, Steve's wife turned to him, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and guilt. "I hope you have a good life, Steve," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Steve nodded, unable to speak. He watched as she walked away, feeling a chapter of his life close behind her.

Steve trudged into his mom's small apartment, feeling defeated. The divorce had left him with nothing no house, no assets, and barely any dignity. His wife, Shelly, had been the breadwinner, and Steve's lack of financial contribution had been a major point of tension in their marriage.

To make matters worse, Steve had lost his job at his dad's firm a year ago. His dad had claimed he was slacking off, but Steve knew that wasn't true. He had been a hard worker, but his dad had always been tough on him.

Now, with no job and no wife, Steve was forced to move back in with his mom. He felt like a failure, and the cramped apartment only seemed to underscore his reduced circumstances.

As he dropped his bags onto the floor, his mom enveloped him in a warm hug. "Don't worry, sweetie," she said. "You'll get back on your feet. And besides, I never liked Shelly anyway."

Steve raised an eyebrow, surprised his mom always seemed to like her. "You didn't?" he asked confused.

His mom shook her head. "No, I didn't. She was always so... critical. I'm glad you're rid of her."

One evening, as Steve was rummaging through the fridge for leftovers, his mom sat down at the kitchen table, a faraway look in her eyes. "You know, Steve, I was just thinking about when you were a kid," she said, a nostalgic smile spreading across her face.

Steve closed the fridge door, intrigued. "What about it?"

His mom's eyes sparkled. "Remember Eddie?"

Steve's brow furrowed. Eddie? The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

And then, like a floodgate opening, memories came rushing back. Eddie, his imaginary friend from childhood. The one who had been his constant companion, his confidant, his partner in adventure.

Steve's eyes widened as he stared at his mom. "Eddie?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

His mom nodded. "Yes, Eddie! You used to talk about him all the time. You'd play with him, have conversations with him... you were so convinced he was real."

Steve's mind reeled as he tried to process the memories that were suddenly surfacing. He had forgotten all about Eddie, but now it seemed like just yesterday that they were inseparable.

Steve's memories , transporting him to a tumultuous time in his childhood. His parents' fights before the divorce were constant, with plates shattering and chairs crashing to the floor. But amidst the chaos, Eddie had been his rock.

Eddie would sit with him, holding his hand, and whisper reassuring words. "It's okay," he'd say, as he put on Steve's favorite record. The music would drown out the noise, creating a sense of calm in the midst of chaos.

Eddie had been more than just an imaginary friend he'd been Steve's confidant, his partner in adventure, and his best friend. They'd done everything together, from exploring the neighborhood to playing make believe.

Steve had even taken Eddie to school, where his teacher would often ask him who he was talking to. Steve's response was always the same: "Eddie." His parents would receive concerns from the teacher during parent teacher conferences, and they'd sit Steve down, urging him to quit pretending Eddie was real. His dad would go one step further and ground him anytime he mentioned his name.

But Steve knew the truth Eddie was real, at least to him. He remembered the way Eddie's eyes sparkled when he laughed, the way his voice sounded when he sang along to their favorite songs. His stories of he would read to him.

As Steve reminisced, a bittersweet smile spread across his face. He couldn’t believe he forgotten about Eddie

Later Steve winced as he applied ice to his throbbing eye, the result of intervening in a fight between a belligerent man and a frightened woman. He settled onto the couch, flipping through TV channels to distract himself from the pain.

As he scrolled, he heard a voice behind him.

"Ouch, that looks like it hurts."

Steve's head jerked around, and he let out a startled yelp. "Who the hell are you? How did you get in?"

The man standing before him looked eerily familiar, but Steve couldn't quite place him. The stranger's eyes, however, seemed to hold a deep sadness, and his voice was tinged with hurt.

"You don't remember me, Stevie?" he asked, his tone laced with a mix of disappointment and longing.

Steve's mind racing, he examine the stranger's face, and suddenly, memories came flooding back.

"Eddie?" Steve whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and wonder.

"In the flesh," Eddie said with a cheeky grin, plopping himself down on the couch beside Steve. He snatched the TV controller from Steve's hand, his eyes scanning the channels before landing on some cartoon with wizards.

"Ah, that’s more like it," Eddie said, settling in as if he owned the place. "You know, Stevie, I see you're still getting into fights. Some things never change, huh?"

Side note so basically Eddie shows up in a difficult time of Steve’s life and tries to help him through it, even helping him become friends again with Robin and others. And try’s to help him with his confidence and Steve is crushing on Eddie like he he thinks he’s attractive. When Eddie goes to a bar with him a women is flirting with him and Eddie’s upset but covers it trying to get Steve to talk but Steve’s not even interested because he has feelings for Eddie but does it when Eddie tells him to. He goes home and Eddie’s not there and he’s worried he’s upset but the next night Eddie asks how was it . And Steve’s like he didn’t even go home with her. And they kind of admit their feelings to each other. I’m thinking in the end though Eddie at this book store and Steve goes up to him and is like Eddie I thought you were waiting at home and Eddie’s confused like Steve I thought I would never see you again and Steve’s like what and he’s like yeah I haven’t seen you in awhile. And turns out they both are each other imaginary friends.