#and by that i mean i associate them/their media with fall

[clovelyster0]

time to appreciate my favorite fall couples 🍂

[mileshehimwhite]

reflecting on the many many discourses of who is and isnt lgbt is interesting because they rely on the concept of a community. but which community? the lgbt community in my hometown is much different to the one where i live now, and my experiences within them differ just the same. and honestly thats important for all of us to consider - regardless of if youre the tranniest fagdyke to ever tranny fagdyke - what am i seeking out by being present within these spaces. am i looking for social support? sex? monetary benefits? safety? am i able to get my needs within my local lgbt community or am i trying to find resources that just arent there? and, most integral imo, what am *I* bringing to the community myself? our communities were not built by people only looking out for themselves and they will never survive if thats the mindset people have nowadays when referencing lgbt communities

[hellobykittys]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 (𝐈𝐌)𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍 ✦ 𝐂𝐋¹⁶

SUMMARY: Charles Leclerc, a Formula 1 star, faces the decline of his reputation after breaking up with art curator Alexandra Saint Mleux. Under pressure from his team, he is forced into a fake relationship with one of the most popular influencers of the moment. NOTES: English is not my first language, so there might be some writing mistakes. I apologize for that, and feel free to point out any improvements. WC: 2.6k WARNING: enemies to lovers, teasing, fake relationship

MASTERLIST | NEXT PART

The meeting room was lit by cold lights reflecting off an impeccably clean glass table. Charles Leclerc sat at the head, his chin resting on his hand, visibly bored. The tension in the air was thick, and he already knew this meeting wasn’t going to end well. Around the table, members of Ferrari’s PR team sat, along with Lorenzo Leclerc, Charles’ older brother and personal manager.

“Let’s get straight to the point,” Lorenzo began, crossing his arms. His voice carried the firmness of someone tired of useless discussions. “Charles, we need to talk about your reputation.”

Charles rolled his eyes, setting his phone down on the table.

“My reputation? You mean the circus the media makes out of everything I do?”

“It’s not a circus if you keep giving them material,” Sofia, Ferrari’s PR head, cut in. A woman with short hair and piercing eyes, Sofia was known for her blunt and impatient approach.

“Seriously?” Charles raised an eyebrow. “Now you want to control my personal life too?”

Lorenzo sighed, rubbing his temples.

“Charles, we’re not here to debate who’s right or wrong. We’re here because your image is directly affecting your career.”

“My career’s fine,” Charles shot back, crossing his arms.

Sofia slammed a folder full of tabloid clippings on the table, making a sharp noise.

“Is it? Because from what we see here, it doesn’t look like it. ‘Charles Leclerc spotted at a party until 5 AM with a mysterious model.’ ‘Ferrari driver involved in a new controversy after a fight at a club.’ This affects the sponsors, Charles. It affects the Ferrari brand.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face.

“Look, I get it. But what do you want me to do? Lock myself in my house?”

“Not exactly,” Sofia replied with a cold smile that made Charles immediately suspicious.

Lorenzo cleared his throat, trying to soften what was coming.

“Charles, we’ve come up with a solution that could help clean up your image quickly while you focus on what really matters: your performance on the track.”

“Great. So, what’s the plan?” he asked, clearly impatient.

Sofia leaned forward, clasping her hands on the table.

“We’re going to put you in a fake relationship.”

The silence that followed was so deep that you could hear the clock ticking on the wall. Charles blinked a few times, sure he’d misunderstood.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“We’re not,” Sofia replied, serious. “The idea is simple. We want to associate your image with a public figure who’s seen as positive, inspiring, and… balanced.”

“You want me to fake being in love with someone to save my reputation? This is ridiculous!”

“It’s not that simple, Charles,” Lorenzo tried to intervene. “We’re not asking you to fall in love. It’s a contract. An agreement. None of this has to be real.”

Charles laughed humorlessly, shaking his head.

“And who’s this poor soul you’ve hired for this?”

Sofia smiled, clearly expecting this question.

“Y/N.”

The name hit the silence like a shot. Charles frowned, trying to remember where he’d heard it. It didn’t take long before the girl’s face popped into his mind. She was impossible to ignore on social media, with her impeccable style, viral videos, and appearances at fashion and entertainment events.

“You’re talking about that… influencer?” he asked, incredulous.

“Not just any influencer. She’s the influencer right now,” Sofia corrected. “Everyone loves her. She’s elegant, charismatic, and has a solid fanbase. Associating with her will change the public’s perception of you.”

“You want me to fake dating a girl I barely know and who probably thinks race cars are just fancy toys?” Charles shot back, irritated.

Lorenzo took a deep breath, visibly trying to stay calm.

“Charles, no one’s saying it’ll be easy. But think of it as a strategy. Y/N isn’t just an influencer. She’s professional, ambitious, and has as much to gain from this as you do.”

“Great. So, she’s doing it for personal gain too,” Charles said sarcastically.

Sofia rolled her eyes.

“This isn’t about what she wants, it’s about what you need.”

Charles sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at the table. The idea seemed absurd. He didn’t want to give up his freedom for some farce that, deep down, made no sense to him.

“You guys must be crazy if you think I’ll agree to this,” Charles declared, suddenly standing up. His voice echoed through the room, but no one seemed surprised by his reaction.

Lorenzo sighed, already expecting this kind of response. He knew his brother too well to think he’d accept something so outside his comfort zone without resistance.

“Charles, sit down,” Lorenzo said, his voice firm and authoritative. “You have every right to be angry, but if you keep acting like a spoiled child, you won’t get anywhere.”

“A spoiled child?” Charles laughed darkly, pointing at his brother. “This coming from you, trying to convince me to join this ridiculous show. It’s my life, Lorenzo! I’m not a puppet for you guys to manipulate.”

Sofia intervened, trying to stay professional, but her patience was clearly wearing thin.

“Charles, understand this: we’re talking about your career. It’s not just about you. It’s about the team, the sponsors, the thousands of jobs that depend on Ferrari’s success. Formula 1 is a business, and in this business, your image is as important as your driving skills.”

“My driving skills should be the only thing that matters!” he shot back, pointing to himself. “I’m a driver. That’s what I do. I’m not a celebrity who needs a fake romance to get attention.”

“Don’t be naive, Charles,” Sofia replied coldly. “In today’s world, public perception is everything. You could be the best driver on the grid, but if your image keeps getting tied to scandals, no one will want to invest in you.”

Lorenzo crossed his arms, looking at his brother seriously.

“You know she’s right. You don’t have to like the idea, but you have to accept that it’s necessary.”

Charles took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but the knot in his throat only tightened. He hated the idea of being seen as someone who couldn’t control his own life, but Lorenzo and Sofia had a point: the external pressure was becoming unbearable.

“Why her?” he asked, his voice a little quieter.

Sofia gave a slight smile, as though she’d been waiting for this question.

“Because Y/N is exactly what you need. She has an impeccable reputation, knows how to handle the media, and most importantly, knows how to play the game.”

“And how are you so sure she’ll agree to this?” Charles asked, crossing his arms.

“We’ve already talked to her,” Lorenzo revealed. “She agreed. Obviously, she has her conditions, but she’s willing to collaborate.”

Charles laughed, incredulous.

“Of course she agreed. She’s probably loving the idea of being associated with me. She’ll gain even more followers and the ‘Wag’ title. That must be her dream.”

“Don’t underestimate Y/N,” Sofia warned. “She’s far from being a superficial girl. If she agreed, it’s because she saw value in the proposal, just like we did.”

Charles fell silent for a moment, processing everything that had been said. He felt a mix of anger, frustration, and, in a way, helplessness. He hated being put against the wall, but he knew refusing wouldn’t solve his problems.

“And how long is this going to last?” he asked, his disgust evident.

“The contract is for a year,” Lorenzo answered. “Long enough to solidify the lie, but short enough not to be unsustainable.”

“And what if it doesn’t work?”

“It will work,” Sofia assured him confidently.

Charles let out a heavy sigh, running his hands through his hair.

“I hate you guys.”

“Feel free to hate us all you want,” Lorenzo replied, standing up. “But do what needs to be done.”

Sofia grabbed the folder and gave one last look at Charles.

“Y/N will be here tomorrow to talk officially. Hope you’re ready.”

With that, everyone began to leave the room, leaving Charles alone. He slumped back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to accept that, like it or not, his life was about to change.

The meeting room was spacious and well-lit, with glass walls offering a panoramic view of the city. Charles Leclerc was already there, on time this time, sitting next to the conference table in a relaxed yet attentive posture. He was casually flipping through a document, but his mind was elsewhere. The decision to accept the deal still felt surreal.

When the door opened, he lifted his eyes and saw Y/N entering with confident steps. She looked calm, self-assured. She wore a fitted blazer and pants that accentuated her confident posture. Her perfume reached him before her voice, subtle yet striking.

“Hope I’m not late,” she said, placing her bag on a chair and giving Charles a brief glance before looking away.

“You’re not,” he replied, giving a slight nod, observing her carefully.

Lorenzo and Sofia entered right after, carrying folders and an air of seriousness.

“Alright, now that everyone’s here, let’s get straight to the point,” Lorenzo began, taking his seat at the head of the table. “You both know how important this partnership is, both for the team and for your respective careers.”

“It’s not like we have much of a choice, right?” Y/N commented, not aggressively, but with a touch of realism.

“Not exactly,” Sofia answered, unfazed. “But we expect you to see the mutual benefit in this.”

Charles leaned his elbows on the table and glanced at Y/N for a moment before speaking.

“And you? What do you think of all this?”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the direct question, but maintained her composure.

“I think it’s… unexpected. But I won’t deny it’s an opportunity. And you?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering.

“I think it could work, as long as we follow a few rules.”

“Rules?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he answered, with a slight smile. “Like, don’t try to kill me in front of the cameras.”

Y/N let out a short laugh, almost genuine.

“I think I can follow that.”

Lorenzo interrupted, trying to keep the focus.

“Great. Let’s start by clarifying expectations. You’ll need to attend events together, create interactions for social media, and above all, look natural.”

“Does that mean we need to get to know each other better?” Y/N asked, looking directly at Charles, this time with less provocation and more curiosity.

“Probably,” he replied, her eyes holding his for a moment longer than necessary.

Sofia cleared her throat.

“For that, we recommend starting with something simple. A dinner, maybe. Nothing formal, just so you get used to being together outside a professional setting.”

Y/N looked away, pretending to think, but there was something uncomfortably intimate about the idea.

“Seems fair,” she finally said, grabbing a pen to sign the contract placed in front of her.

Charles didn’t say anything but let the corner of his mouth curve into a slight smile. He grabbed his own copy of the contract and signed it right after her.

When they finished, Lorenzo looked at both of them.

“Perfect. From now on, you’re officially a couple.”

Lorenzo’s statement hung in the air like an uncomfortable reminder of what had just been signed. Y/N grabbed her bag, ready to leave, but hesitated at the door.

“Charles?” she called, without turning around.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t plan on complicating this, but I hope you do your part.”

Charles adjusted his watch nonchalantly, as if this kind of deal was something he had mastered.

“I always do.” A discreet smile formed on his lips. “But maybe we should establish a few rules to make sure it works.”

“It’s so nice to see you both so… invested!” Sofia interrupted, letting out a light laugh. “But I’ll leave the details to you two. Just don’t kill each other, please.”

Lorenzo stood up shortly after, giving his brother a nearly conspiratorial look before giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. When he said goodbye to Y/N, he smiled warmly, as if to say, “Good luck.”

Once the room was silent, Charles broke it with a casual tone.

“So, about those rules…”

Y/N crossed her arms, clearly determined to make everything crystal clear from the start.

“The first limit is simple: don’t touch or kiss me without prior notice.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, surprised, but entertained by her firmness.

“You do realize that’s basically what couples do, right? Touch, kiss, look close… How are we supposed to convince anyone we’re real if we’re so mechanical?”

“I never said it was forbidden,” she corrected, remaining calm. “I’m just saying, don’t do it without a reason or without letting me know first.”

He chuckled softly, tilting his head slightly.

“Do you really think I’m interested in anything beyond what this contract requires?” He stepped forward, not breaking eye contact. “What happened at the club was just an impulse, not a sign that I’m in love with you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, as if analyzing every word he said.

“Great. Then it shouldn’t be hard to keep your hands and lips off me.”

Charles opened his mouth to retort but stopped when he saw the look in her eyes. It was a clear challenge, with something more hidden behind that confidence.

“Of course,” he replied, finally curving his lips into a nearly provocative smile. “But I’ve got my conditions too.”

Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, unfazed.

“Alright, go ahead.”

“You have to attend my races whenever you can. And when you can’t, show support on social media. It’s the least I expect.”

She let out an incredulous laugh.

“I’m gonna be your fake girlfriend, not your number one fan.”

“As my girlfriend, you should show support. Isn’t that what girlfriends do? Plus, my fans will love it. It’ll be good for our image.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but knew he had a point.

“Fine, but I’ve got commitments too. Don’t expect me to be at every race.”

Charles shrugged, still with that annoyingly confident smile.

“It’s a start.”

Silence fell between them again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was as if both were evaluating the other, trying to figure out what was coming next.

Y/N adjusted her bag again and took two steps toward the door before stopping.

“One more thing, Charles.”

“What?” He raised an eyebrow, curious.

“If you want this to work, stop trying to always have the last word.”

He smiled, a mix of challenge and amusement.

“That’s asking too much.”

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head before finally walking out of the room.

Charles stood there for a moment, staring at the door she had just walked through. There was something about her that made him feel intrigued, and he knew this story was far from simple.

Outside the building, Y/N got into the waiting car and took a deep breath. “This is going to be more complicated than I thought,” she mused as the driver started the engine.

Back inside, Charles picked up his phone and quickly sent a message to Lorenzo.

Charles: “If she thinks she can challenge me, this is going to be fun.”

On the other side, Lorenzo just laughed as he read the message.

[prettyflyforawhitelie]

I love your Husk pieces! He's my favorite =^.^= I wanna hug the shit out of him 😆

If you have time, could you do one where Charlie planned a movie night for "bonding" lol and the reader ends up falling asleep on Husk? Everyone ships them and encourages him to confess to her? So much fluff please! Thanks hon! ^.^

A/N: This is so adorable!! Love this! I hope you enjoy! XD

Pairing: Husk x fem!Reader

“Until I Smile at You” - Husk x Reader

After living at the Hazbin Hotel for a while, Charlie’s “trust exercises” had become less of an annoying nuisance and simply a part of daily life. Actually, they were kind of refreshing and - dare you say - fun! They ranged from trust falls and share circles to your personal favorite - movie night. Movie night happened once a week and every week the person who chose the movie rotated. This week was supposed to be Angel’s turn, but ever since he chose his movie to be the most graphic porn anybody had ever had the displeasure of seeing, he was banned from choosing the movies. Instead of Angel, the group decided to let Alastor choose. He was always a marvel, as his movies ranged from silent films to disgustingly gorey horror movies. Tonight, however, he picked a noir detective film that he enjoyed while he was still alive (not before endlessly complaining about how radio is the superior media form, though).

One thing that nobody could stand about Alastor’s movies was how much he talked during them. I guess it's because he's so used to working in radio that he cannot comprehend that maybe, just maybe, not everybody wants to hear his voice all the time. He would either explain every little detail about the leading actors or talk about a living memory that he associated with the specific scene.  This night, though, Alastor seemed so enamored by the movie that he was completely silent. You were sitting on the couch with Alastor, Angel, and Husk, and found your eyes getting slightly heavier with every passing minute. The combination of the dark room, boring movie, and precious silence was just what you needed to drift into a peaceful slumber. Slowly resting your head and body on the irresistibly soft and warm cat demon beside you, your consciousness fades in and out until your mind is finally met with sleep.

The second Husk felt your head meet his shoulder in a gentle embrace, he froze. He had only ever imagined this happening, and was nowhere near prepared for it to actually happen tonight. Despite his hard and tough facade, Husk craved nothing more than soft affection, and knowing that you trusted him enough to not disturb your slumber flattered him. He remained completely still (so as not to wake you) for more than an hour until the movie finished. Charlie, using the remote to find another movie, said, 

“Thank you guys for spending tonight with me! This was amazing! I think I’m going to put on another movie, if anybody wants to stay down here, but you’re welcome to go upstairs and go to slee-'' she is cut off when she turns around to see you asleep on Husk, practically beaming with joy. “AWWWWW-” she is cut off by Husk’s “Shh!”, partially because he is embarrassed but also because he doesn’t want you to wake up in embarrassment. This caused everybody’s attention to turn to the two of you, not quite as surprised as Charlie.

“I mean, are we shocked? He’s been fawning over Y/N ever since she moved in. Don’t shame the poor guy…” Angel says in a mocking tone.

Everyone’s eyes slightly divert, not wanting to completely show that Husk’s attraction to Y/N is anything short of obvious.

“Shut the fuck up, man” Husk replies. 

“I’m not saying that she’s told me that she likes you back… buuuuut you should definitely just tell her. Trust me.” Charlie says, literally gleaming with excitement. 

Hearing this, Husk’s insides flip, his internal monologue running wild.

‘Did she- does she- could Y/N actually like someone like me? She’s just so… perfect. I don’t deserve her. But - let’s just - don’t get your hopes up, man. This could just be Charlie being Charlie, saying shit to make people leave their comfort zones or something.’

“Alright idiots, let’s not wake her up.” he says, sighing and gently picking you up. 

“I hear a single word about this tomorrow, and I’ll kill ya.” he says, while quietly walking to your room. 

He rolls his eyes while listening to Angel making fun of him and Charlie trying earnestly to defend you guys, saying something along the lines of “But this is how Vaggie and I started to fall in love!”

Opening your door as quietly as possible, he gently places you down on your bed. Covering you with blankets, he turns to leave until he hears your soft voice call to him:

“Was all that stuff they said about you true?”

Shit. You heard? Should he deny it? Pretend he didn’t even hear you?

“What?”

Deny it is.

“The stuff that Charlie and Angel said… about you liking me. Is that true?” you ask.

“I don’t know what kind of dream you were having, but everyone was dead silent during the movie, because, yknow, bonding time or whatever.”

He was avoiding your gaze until now, hoping that you would just accept the lie and go back to sleep. Instead, when he looked at you, he was met with your disbelieving face staring right back at him. 

“Mhm.” you say sarcastically. 

Moments of awkward silence lead to Husk trying to make a quick escape, muttering goodnight and walking to your door. He’s halfway out of the doorway when he hears your voice again.

“It’s a shame, I was hoping that what they were saying was true.” you say teasingly, just loud enough for him to come back into the room.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing” you reply, smugly. 

“Don’t do that.” he says, clearly intrigued but trying to seem annoyed. 

“Do what?” you say, teasingly.

“Satan, just tell me what you said. I don’t like playing games.” he says.

“Oh, but, clearly you do, if you’ve been ‘fawning’ over me since the day I've walked in,  yet.. said nothing.”

He looks - embarrassed. Almost hurt. 

“Fine, yeah, I like you. No need to rub it in and be an asshole about it, I know you don’t like me.”

You look at his diverting eyes and immediately regret your teasing tone.

“Oh, Husk, I wasn’t making fun of you, I was just being stupid. Come here.” you say, patting the spot next to you on the bed. 

He sits next to you, looking confused.

“Here.” you say, while holding his hands in yours. 

“Listen. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I’m sorry if it came across that way. I mean, obviously I like you too. Was it not clear?” you giggle. 

Husk’s eyes widened in shock.

“What- I mea- You like me? Why?” he blurts out.

“Why? Come on, don’t be dumb. You’re the funniest person I know, you’re always willing to listen to me, and you’ve never once turned me away when I needed help. And, you're truly handsome, but that’s just a bonus. You’ve made being trapped in Hell actually enjoyable, which is something that you should be proud of. I wake up everyday excited to see you, to talk to you. I just wish you would've told me that you liked me sooner (and yourself)” you say.

Husk’s eyes are glued on you like you’re the last thing he’ll ever see, like he has to memorize your every feature before he blinks. He has never been more enamored with anybody before. 

In lack of a better response, all he can blurt out is, “Thank you!?”

You giggle, a slight blush creeping up your face. 

“And you are clearly tired. How about you sleep in here tonight? We can cuddle, or talk, or just sit with each other.” you ask.

“That - That sounds great.” he says, truly letting his guard down for the first time in years. As he lays next to you, finally becoming truly comfortable, he swears that he can see a white, fuzzy hand holding a phone by the slightly-ajar door.

“Angel, if that’s you by that door right now, you’re gonna want to run.”

You can hear the spider’s screams of “I GOT IT GUYS! THE FULL VIDEO!! AHAHAHAHA!” as Husk reluctantly leaves the bed.

“Excuse me,” he says, “I’m gonna go take care of this. I’ll be back.”

As he leaves, you start to realize how you got from the couch to the bed in the first place. Smiling to yourself, you savor the fact that, though you were condemned to eternal damnation, these people that you have found could not have created a better heaven for you.

[sysmedsaresexist]

The Big "Is RAMCOA Antisemitic?" Debunk Post

Because I have to stay relevant, here we go

Let's start with a little speech. A bit of positivity.

You know, there is something good to said about this RAMCOA antisemitism discourse. The majority don't seem to be falling for it at all, and many are becoming more educated about the panic, RAMCOA/OEA and its history (the good and the bad) than ever before

RAMCOA/OEA a very real issue that deserves awareness and advocacy, and so far, I've noticed a massive surge in members of the community researching the ISSTD and the OEA sig's work.

It has brought antisemitism into light in a way that hasn't really been talked about on a large scale in system communities, and most don't know ever existed. Many, genuinely, had no idea that the satanic panic was antisemitic in these ways, and it's putting a lot of pieces together and adding a lot of context that'll help us grow and be better people going forward.

It's been really nice seeing such a positive shift to open, educational conversations, with people genuinely wanting to know the truth and unlearn harmful associations.

SAS stands with RAMCOA and OEA survivors.

So let's get into it.

SRA and The Memory Wars, lasting results

SRA started with Michelle Remembers, a book, in 1980. It resulted in thousands of unsubstantiated claims of abuse, daycare hysteria, set CDD research and OEA abuse back decades, affected millions, and to this day conjures images of cloaked figures sacrificing children.

The ISSTD was formed in 1984, amid the panic, with the goal of quickly developing an effective treatment and documenting the disorder as thoroughly as possible. Many mistakes were made. Clinicians aren't immune to societal panics, and lessons were learned the hard way.

I think an important distinction that many have forgotten is that the ISSTD's principal controversy isn't SRA. SRA didn't start or end with the ISSTD.

While the “Satanic Panic” played out in courts and in mass media, the ISSTD entered “The Memory Wars”, and it's this that they're most controversial for. False, implanted, and fostered memories weren't solely related to SRA. It was used to discredit all types of abuse and violence and is still used to this day to silence victims.

By the 1990s, therapists were being sued, licenses were being revoked, and members were fleeing the ISSTD. The False Memory Syndrome Foundation wouldn't be created for another couple of years, but that doesn't mean its founding members weren't already wreaking havoc.

The FMSF would be created in 1992, and their bigger and better attacks on therapists were brutal and persistent. The legal battles would be especially effective at causing therapists to refuse to work with victims of abuse.

Research on ritual abuse, CDDs, and repressed memories came to a grinding halt.

The Satanic Panic eventually fell into relative silence by 1995, but false memories lived on, loud and cruel.

The FMSF would eventually begin to write college textbooks for the next generation of clinicians. It would survive until 2019.

The ISSTD is still trying to regain its membership. It's only recently that they reached 1500, the highest since 1993.

Antisemitism, blood libel, and the satanic panic

If you're confused about how everything is related, I'm going to make it very simple so you grasp the basic idea.

This is not a history lesson.

Blood Libel, or ritual murder, is the idea that Jewish people sacrificed Christian children in religious rituals. Cloaked figures performing rituals and killing children and animals. The same thing you picture when you think of Satanists and rituals.

For those who recognize the connection (racists), this fuels their sentiments and creates a language for them to speak to each other.

It is true, a basic fact, that for many people, Satanists are anyone who doesn't worship the Christian god. Including and especially Jewish people.

SRA and RAMCOA

Depending on who you ask, the connection is either that:

MYTH: the ISSTD originally called their RAMCOA sig (Special Interest Group) the SRA sig. FACT: The RAMCOA sig, one of twelve ISSTD sigs, was created in 2008. There was never any kind of satanic ritual abuse group or association within the ISSTD.

FACT: Ritual abuse, the RA in RAMCOA, still has ties to SRA and brings to mind everything from the panic. ALSO FACT: That's why the ISSTD has renamed it to the OEA sig.

Hopefully we're all on the same page now.

Who's Grey Faction?

Grey Faction is a group of the TST (The Satanic Temple) and is closely related to the FMSF. While the FMSF generally attacked all types of abuse, GF, being related to Satanism, is focused on recovered memories and the (still alive) satanic panic. They believe that all reports of false memories supports satanic panic conspiracy theories. They continue the FMSF's work.

How did we get here?

Well, TST and GF are on reddit. Syscringe is on reddit. And now syscringe is here.

This is what syscringe bot says every time RAMCOA is brought up.

That link goes to Grey Faction.

So is RAMCOA Antisemitic?

Kind of yeah. It was a really good move of the ISSTD to change the name to OEA sig. They talk about the association on their website and stated they wanted to get away from that. No one won the satanic panic. Ritual abuse is real, but its history is tainted.

The discourse around RAMCOA isn't about helping Jewish people. At least, not for the people pushing the false connection that the ISSTD started and continues to maintain the panic to this day.

It's about discrediting the ISSTD and the trauma theory. It's about silencing victims, even Jewish survivors.

It's about ignoring that the ISSTD is making moves in the right direction.

It's about continuing the idea that false memories exist and that trauma memories can't be trusted or taken at face value. It's about downplaying the depravity of abusers and the lengths they'll go to.

I want to finish this post with a letter from a very dear friend. It's not a mod on this blog, simply someone wishing to stay anonymous.

Uplift Jewish Voices

Hello, I’m Noam, an ethnic and religious Jew. I face antisemitism on the daily and deal with having DID. I am not a RAMCOA survivor, but I have a number of friends who are. Today I’m here to talk about the recent discourse going around regarding whether claiming to have RAMCOA experiences is inherently antisemitic. TLDR: no.

Let’s start with understanding why people think this. The term ritual abuse originated from the term satanic ritual abuse and is often associated with the satanic panic. The satanic panic in the 80s and 90s was extreme and yes, did involve a lot of antisemitic conspiracy theories. People would suggest certain symbols or music or groups of people (often vague, or calling it a nationwide conspiracy) were “brainwashing” these “good Christian children” into satanic practices or straying from rigid Christianity. Jews are often stereotyped as Satanic, controlling things, and murdering and cannibalizing children/babies.

Ritual abuse nowadays is often still associated with Satanic cults, but it has a much broader and less accusatory definition in medical/therapeutic spaces. Per Schröder et al. (2018), “ritual abuse occurs when a religious, political, or spiritual authority uses its position of power and the sovereignty to interpret the respective belief system to manipulate and dominate its followers.” Some examples include repeated forced creation of CSEM, religious and other types of cults (yes, including satanic, but also Christian and other religions), and being forced to abuse others (Schröder et al., 2018). Trafficking is also a type of organized abuse. We know these types of abuses happen. But given the history of RA as a term and the harm claims of SRA caused, how does one determine whether something is a conspiracy theory or actual trauma someone experienced?

This page by the European Commission does a good job of talking about identifying conspiracy theories and the harm they do. I won’t recount the whole thing, but here are some basic things they state conspiracy theories have in common: a secret plot, a group of conspirators, unfounded/unreliable evidence, suggesting everything is connected, dividing the world into good people and bad people, and scapegoating certain groups (“Identifying Conspiracy Theories,” 2020).

What makes (many) stories of RAMCOA different from antisemitic conspiracy theories? I’m glad you asked!

• The secret plot in conspiracy theories often involves a large group of people in on some secret changing something about the world or identifying a secret thing that must have happened to lead to unfortunate current events. RAMCOA tends to stem from people or organizations working on a much smaller scale, and the things they are doing mostly affect the person/people experiencing this abuse. Abusers may try to instill in victims a sense that they control a lot about the world and the events that happen within it, but they don’t.

• A big question I like to ask people who spout conspiracy theories is “who is they (the group of conspirators)?” If they is some generic big bad, the government, “elites” (see the AJC’s Translate Hate Glossary section titled “cosmopolitan elite”), or vague and unknown, it’s usually a dogwhistle for Jews. The person themselves may not realize this, but perhaps they never looked further into the evidence behind these accusations and who those being accused are. RAMCOA perpetrators are not vague to their victims. They often have familial ties or other close relationships with them that allow the abusers to gain their victims’ trust (Schröder et al. 2018). The things they do to abuse people and the methods they use are not vague or mysterious actions to achieve an end. There are specific actions and tactics that cults and authority figures use for RAMCOA.

• Whether evidence is unfounded is a harder thing to distinguish, since many survivors of RAMCOA cope using dissociation or have an amount of dissociative amnesia around traumatic events (Shröder 2018). The Europe Commission suggests three main things to check for in regards to evidence about a claim. Who is the author and why are they writing this? Is the source reliable/reputable? Is the tone and style “balanced and fair or sensationalist and one-dimensional?” (“Identifying Conspiracy Theories,” 2020). I also like to think about, especially with regards to abuse survivors, if this is a conspiracy theory, why are they telling me the things they’re telling me? Most RAMCOA survivors I’ve met avoid talking about their trauma and are more focused on figuring out if what they experienced is real and how to heal from it. They are not trying to convince me of something; they are just sharing their story and looking for support.

• RAMCOA victims I’ve talked to, particularly those with DID, also have a more complex view of their abusers or are trying to come to terms with all the bad things someone they admired, trusted, and/or loved did. Conspiracy theorists tend to separate people into conspirators or innocents. There is no middle ground. Healing for a lot of abuse victims involves realizing that good people can do bad things and bad people can do good things; the world is not black and white.

• Scapegoating often involves generalizing and demonizing certain people or groups of people. I find a lack of seeing these “others” as human or wanting anything other than a single, unified goal. It also tends to involve assumptions much more than any personal experience. Anyone with even the slightest connection to a certain ideology is evil. RAMCOA often involves many victims, many of whom understand that other people involved with the organization that hurt them are also victims or have been scared or brainwashed into further perpetuating abuse.

• Also, while satanic panic was largely about going against Christianity, many religious cults are associated with particular sects or communities within Christianity, and they use certain ideologies within the group to deter people from leaving or reporting abuse. Perpetrators claim some sort of punishment or betrayal will be involved in these actions.

Anyways, I want to put emphasis on healing in RAMCOA survivors, where many of the points and purposes of conspiracy theories are antithetical to such a process. People should be allowed to find support, community, and reliable resources about what they have gone through (if it is physically/mentally safe for them to do so). Please do not insist that these traumas aren’t real on the basis of antisemitism from the satanic panic. The survivors I’ve met who talk about parts of their trauma are working hard to come to terms with it themselves and how to cope, and while they may be angry and upset towards their abusers, they do not try to insist to me how evil a group is and that there is a need to take direct action against them. They are just trying to survive.

Now, ritual abuse as a term and the history of its use is something I think needs more discussion. I would love to see more research about how the term evolved within medical/therapeutic spaces and how much of a connection the current definition and use has to antisemitism. But regardless of what we end up calling these types of abuses, there are real examples of them and people who have empirical evidence that they have been through such experiences.

Furthermore, I have a problem with a lot of the claims of antisemitism in relation to RAMCOA coming from goyim (AKA non-Jews). You are not the authority on antisemitism. You do not get to claim to defend us while not speaking to us about the topic. There is so much antisemitism going around, but I find so few people willing to listen to Jews when we talk about the struggles we face. (The SAS mods are an example of exceptions to this. I appreciate the amount I’ve been able to talk to them and how open and supportive they are. I love y’all.) Encouraging hate and disbelief is not helpful to us. What’s helpful is doing your research and learning about how to recognize and combat antisemitism. Take your energy where it’s needed, thank you.

European Commission. (2020, August 12). Identifying conspiracy theories. European Commission. <https://commission.europa.eu/strategy-and-policy/coronavirus-response/fighting-disinformation/identifying-conspiracy-theories_en>

Gerke, J., Fegert, J., Rassenhofer, M., & Fegert, J. M. (2024). Organized sexualized and ritual violence: Results from two representative German samples. Child Abuse & Neglect, 152, 106792. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.chiabu.2024.106792

[lara4eclipze]

“teach me”

sypnosis; you weren't exactly dumb but we're lazy yet when she started teaching you your grades went up—what did she do to make that happen

cw; age gap! y/n is 19 Lara is 23 , mean , teasing , smut , face sitting , dirty talk ,spoiled and rich y/n, inspired by this

original idea;@ivemiese / thankss

ALSOO happy birthday my love Lara!! , I'm so happy she's turning 19!! , gosh heres a birthday fic for the rajberries!

to say you were failing was an understatement your grades were plunging down the toilet yet you didn't do anything to change it

your parents were rich anyways you'll get the company by 5 more years , there's no point in studying

well your parents cared about your grades , tutor after tutor yet nothing worked , either you were mean to them or they quit out of pity for you

"mom I told you already these tutors are just not helping" you pout to your mom knowing she'll always fall for it

"well I still got you one — my friend Mitra recommended her to me" your mom sighs

you grunt in frustration, running up to your room muttering some profanity under your breath

—ʚɞ

school was as boring as everyday , you hated this place I mean you went to a very expensive university yet you can't seem to find people you would like to interact with

"disgusting" you scoff as an student accidentally bumps into you

after school was as worse, well atleast now you can rot in bed or go in a shopping spree

"darling your tutor came early today , shes in you room" your mother says to you before going out the door

your mom associates herself with other housewives of rich men , you told her countless times she'll just get influenced by those big head women but she never listened

you enter your room after you change into some oversized tee and short shorts

"hi there" the girl waves at you , oh. my. god. she was hot , gorgeous , smart based on how she's supposed to tutor you and god she looked so fine

"hi..y/n's the name" you said sitting next to her , shamefully (or not so) you check her out , her waist was beautiful her finger were long you wonder how it will feel inside of you

"Lara — raj , anyways I'll tutor you math and science for about 4 hours today" she said , she noticed how you didn't respond so she tsks

well that's until she realizes what you were doing...

"hey didn't your mother teach you checking out people is extremely perverted... especially when they're older than you?" she said her voice lowering

"what? I didn't — pfft what?" you try to play it off but judged by the smirk on her face you knew it wouldn't work

—✧˖*°࿐

after the day she quizzed you on the topic to make sure you understood it

"2/10? are you serious?" she questions

"what?" you ask as if it's normal

"you answered me flawlessly earlier" she reasons

"well maybe I need motivation" you snap back

her gears were turning but an idea struck her

"alright then"

obviously the time was done so she had to go, what a great start you thought, Great thing your tutor now was not boring

admittedly she is hot , a hot nerd you thought to yourself

—✧˖*°࿐

you try to find her social media online and see that she was older than you

"23?, not bad" you sigh

she posted loads of pictures, videos she looked well off why is she wasting her time tutoring spoiled rich kids then?

—✧˖*°࿐

the next day you didn't go to school since you were just lazy, plus what were you gonna do there anyways?

sit down and learn where and when Picasso farted?

although excitingly your pretty tutor was still coming today , you decided to go the extra mile and get ready for her wearing some of your skimpiest outfits

"you look great honey" your mom pipes up as she leaves the house

now we wait , you slouch in your room waiting for her , until..

"hey" she enters your room escorted by your maid

"oh hi.." you said back , deciding to pull your top down a bit

her eyes trailed down , you smirk at her reaction, ahh the hard work paid off i guess

"can we do math first" you plead to her giving her your best weapon ,doe eyes

she reluctantly agreed , chuckling at your actions

god she looked amazing with her glasses , her pierced nose, you can't even focus on what she's teaching you

"do you get it?" she asks

"yes" you replied

"okay then let's quiz you..— you know since yesterday I saw how you looked at me , so let's play a game"

"for every score over 5 you get a special prize , if you get anything lower well it sucks to be you cause you won't get anything" the older says , your eyes lit up at the mentions of prize

"alright then" you said

—✧˖*°࿐

"9/10?.. pretty good" she purrs , god her voice was like heroin so addicting but so bad for you

"tell me when you don't feel comfortable okay?" she asks , fuck being confused you needed her in you NOW

"mhm" you hum out , your heart thumping in synch with her movements her hands in your inner thighs her other one flipping up your skirt

soaked , wet , whatever it was you just needed her so bad

she ties up her hair , some strands falling to frame her face , her breathing gets heavy , the view was amazing, shes quite literally face to face with your cunt ,

"fucking slut" she tsks as she pulls away your undergarments a string of your nectar connecting it to your cunt

"'m not" you were but it felt humiliating , in a good way cause as much as you hate to admit it her degrading you with that voice is just perfect

a beat passes by and her tongue , it felt perfect, gosh her tongue passed by your tight entrance every now and then

"fuck please!" you whine , you felt like you were gonna orgasm just by this yet you needed more

"greedy girl" she says in a condescending tone , mocking the way you whined for her

finally she enters your slick entrance , her tongue reaching places you never thought of

your head lolled back as you moan her name like a mantra , your hands entangled in her hair as you push her head

"right nghm there!" you moan as she hits a particularly gummy spot in you

she chuckles , the vibration sending shockwaves through you , your eyes seeing stars your mouth open drooling due to the fact you can't go a second without moaning or even whining for her

"you close? — your greedy cunny is sucking me in" the older says as she redoubled her efforts her nose bumping your clit every now and then

"shit please! let me cum!" yes it was pathetic, but it felt oh so right ,

"hold it in for me princess" she replied

"please"

"do it or you won't get to finish at all" she threatens , her voice lowering

tears start to fall on your face due to the pleasure, sniffling while moaning, that's new

—✧˖*°࿐

"oh darling are you guys done already?" Lara bumps into your mom as she was going out the door

"yes ma'am , glad to see her improve" the red head replied

"I'm so thankful for you , I haven't seen y/n get along with any of her tutor before" the older woman excitedly said

"must be special then" Lara teased

—✧˖*°࿐

"6/10? what happened honey?" The older asks looking at your paper

your frown at her , what are you gonna get now :((

"don't worry lets make a compromise" she stands up locking your door slowly she removes her top

her abs were on display begging you to ride them , her boobs were perfect to be gagged on

next down was her skirt , along with her socks , shit her thighs were beautiful you itched to touch her

as your hands tried to make its way to her waist she slaps it

"ouch" you pout at her

"study next time , stupid girls don't get to have the privilege of getting fucked mkay?" she pouts back , teasing you as you practically were about to cry

"i hate you" you mumble

"we both know you don't" she replied, wearing her clothing

—✧˖*°࿐

"surprisingly miss her grades had been better , see it was D last semester now it's a B" your professor explains to your mother

you couldn't help but grin , I mean is this who she calls lazy?

maybe you were lazy but never ever were you dumb

"okay spill it what do you want for that grade" your mother says whilst in the car

"oh come on do you think of me so lowly mom?" you rhetorically ask

"but since you insist , can you schedule more of my tutoring with Lara?" you said trying to fight off smiling at the thought

"oh—i expected worse" your mother chuckles

"is that a yes?"

"obviously!" your mother replied happily

—✧˖*°࿐

"stupid slut" she whispers as her fingers hit all the right spots her lips on your neck

getting a score of 8 meant that she'll finger you, a win is a win yet it intrigued you what will you get for 10

"head filled with me fuckin her she can't even respond" she harshly said as she pinches your clit , and then going deeper

"please mo-mommy!" you didn't even realized it slipped out of your mouth till it did

"my whore" she spits as she fingers throb in pain , not a minute passed and you were gushing around them , she chuckles as her fingers dripped in your cum

"suck" she said as she forces her fingers in your mouth , she maintained eye contact as you gag around her digits

"perfect" she said afterwards, she carries you to bed making sure you were alright

"I'm okay" you reassure her

—✧˖*°࿐

school wasn't any better today , but good enough you got to recite here and there

going home was another story , everything was loud due to the party your dad hosted for his business partners or what ever they were

"god!" you scoff , as you open the door you were pulled in by Lara who giggles

"heard you had a good day?" she teases

"now your stalking me? , how interesting miss raj " you hum back

"Oh please " she laughs

she settles your bag in the chair near your desk , sitting down

"ready for your quiz" she asks smirking , she knew what she was doing and it's driving you crazy

"yes I studied hard for this one" you replied

"ooh you might just get what you deserve..." she trails off , you spot her grinning as you take the quiz

—✧˖*°࿐

you don't know if it was a miracle or just a dream but you were buried in between Laras thighs right now having the meal you much deserve after a long ass day

her low moans and wet noises make you go crazy

"fuck baby , go faster" she moans

you chuckle going even faster , like an animal who was starved for weeks , her cunt was perfect sweet and savory soft and so inviting it sucked you in practically

maybe hours passed and you were still down there , she was overstimulated but who cares fuck everything

"baby too much-"

"but" you give her the doe eyes and here she goes losing again

"fine" she said breathlessly as she lays back accepting your tongue again , your face dripped with her cum which was too perfect for her to see

—✧˖*°࿐

"Mom! Lara's staying for the night!" you scream

"fine" your mother replied

"eek she said yes! , now which one first" you said laying out a plethora of straps

"are you joking?" she asks

"no , now which one this one's cute pink and white"

[biancadoes1]

I am so hyped for Luke! I love sci-fi thrillers and I have a good feeling this is only the beginning of his new projects. That being said I find it REALLY strange how much attention the fandom gives adjacent social media but then flat out ignores VERY interesting Luke and Nicola activities. Like Luke liking that guiness merch post despite NOT following the account but Nicola was tagged in the comments by her friend Jack; she didn’t even like the post if I’m correct or at least hadn’t at the time Luke liked it 🥹. Then we have Luke reposting Netflix insta of Colin meme but the one RIGHT before Wordle In Two (a direct Nicola reference from her Emmys night) and despite he wasn’t tagged in it either. The October 3rd Mean Girls Polin meme which was something Lukola used to do together on twitter. The BRB at the airport and then Nicola posting being on a plane shortly after when BOTH Nicola and Luke have not posted about traveling while at the airport itself. That one I feel like was HUGE and feels way more than a bit coincidental. The “people really want me to marry Luke” TIME magazine article. Oh and I’m sorry almost FORGOT the part where Nicola was announced for an audiobook about two Costars leads who characters are together in a period drama and then end up falling IN LOVE in real life! Like all of these things when you look at them are pointing in a certain direction of Lukola being together but somehow there’s just more weight put on other things that aren’t from Luke and Nicola? Not to also mention Nicola making an effort to scrub her tags associating her and JD as romantic partners. Yeah I mean we’re all speculating of course but just seems so weird to me that any Lukola positive signs get swept under the rug but the tiniest adjacent post is analyzed with a microscope lol. That being said I love your blog and appreciate you highlighting the actual people involved in the Lukola ship; Luke and Nicola lol.

Literally any thing pertaining to Luke and Nicola either together or separate is just tossed out the window the moment certain people show they're online.

It's mad annoying. It needs to stop.

Also, thank you anon for your kind words. I truly appreciate it 😊

[star-crossed-sluts]

Could you please write a loki x reader. Reader gains weight on accident at first but loki likes it so he gets reader to gain more. Fem reader.

If not it’s okay <3

I love writing about men discovering they like reader chubby <3 This is my first time writing third person limited focused on the male lead, so any feedback would be cherished

Contents: 1.1kwords, love mentions, weight gain and associated body changes/insecurities, giggly sex

Minors DNI

You are responsible for your own media consumption

Loki’s never been… particular, shall we say? 

Sex was nothing to him. A means to an end, no care for any specific physical form for his partner to have, let alone prefer it. Love on the other hand was something he’d never dreamed of having for himself - some abstract concept that didn’t exist, at least not for him. He never thought for a second that love was something he would hold in his arms every dawn and dusk, or that he could taste it in homemade cooking and smell it in the bathroom after you’d showered. 

In that aspect, you’d managed to exceed all the expectations he’d never had.

“Fuck!”

Loki never knew how terrible love could be. How his heart could drop out of his body just from a vulgar word in the other room, or how he could be so worried he could completely forget about using magic to get to you faster. Not until he was running through your apartment (which he was slowly and methodically laying his own claim to, until he was so ingrained in your life you couldn’t get rid of him. Naturally.) Why would anyone subject themselves to something that could hurt so much?

And then he laid eyes on your half-nude form and remembered.

Because you were standing in the middle of your bedroom in your undergarments (“please just call them panties,” you’d always beg) and he had the absolute privilege to stare at you as perversely as he desired. If another man thought of you the way he did, he’d have to reconsider world domination. Put the fear of the gods back into those mortals. 

But when you spun around to face him, you had a sour look puckering your lovely features. “You,” you accused, jabbing a finger at him, “are at fault here!”

“Probably,” he conceded instantly. “What have I done?”

You threw some of your clothes at him. He recognized them. You called them the good jeans. He called them infernal invention that keeps me from your sweet pussy. “They don’t fit anymore!”

He tried not to show his pleasure too much. “Oh?” He immediately knew he’d failed, your glare furthering. 

“Oh,” you mocked, a thick British accent on the word. “This is your fault, y’know? Before you, I ate pretty healthy. Now I’m going out every other night to restaurants that smother everything in butter and wine-”

“You’re upset about going out?”

Loki could practically watch memories of the delicious food you’ve been sharing dance through your vision, inducing a small dreamy sigh. “No,” you decided, “no, I’m not. No, I just-” You huffed, falling against his chest and trusting him to both hold you upright and comfort you - which he did happily. “I’m just frustrated because now I have to actually put effort into working out or find new jeans.”

And, well, Loki was adamantly against more jeans, so he may have gently swayed you to the other option. After all, he wanted you happy, and he didn’t care what your form looked like to make that happen.

Until he got you undressed in a different circumstance. 

Until he was bullying his way into your sweet cunt with your soft form pressed against him. Your breasts bouncing against the hard plane of his chest, thick thighs hooked over his slim hips, heels pressed into the small of his back. You felt like velvet all over - from the soft skin pulled taut over wide hips in his hands to the wet heat wrapped around his cock. He hasn’t been so close to blowing his load so soon since his first time between your thighs. 

“Look so beautiful, my love,” spilled from his lips like a waterfall. He simply couldn’t hold it back, and besides that, he wouldn’t want to. His Queen deserved to know just how stunning she was, every minute of the day. Especially when it made you moan into his ear, hand snapping over your mouth like you could take it back, turning away from him even as your hips met his with every thrust. 

His Queen was so shy. 

Loki took the soft tendon on your neck between his teeth, gently working a mark onto the skin, groaning against you as your walls fluttered around him at the sensation. “Don’t hide from me, love,” he coaxed. Long fingers wrapped around your neck from behind, rubbing gentle circles into your hairline, completely contrary and yet perfectly befitting the way he hammered into you. His other hand traveled your body like he was discovering you all over again, caressing every new dip and pudge of skin like you were the most amazing sculpture. People across the world would marvel at your beauty, whisper that man wasn’t capable of creating such magnificence - that you were instead made by a god. 

“Stop,” you slurred through the pleasure, his rolling hips working your sensitive clit against his dark hair. Your hand on his back clawed the pale skin, leaving your mark on him as it curled into a fist, beating the breadth of his shoulders with no force. You giggled through the moans as his fingers danced over your sides, hissing, “that tickles,” at him as if that would ever implore him to quit. “Stop fondling my rolls!”

“What a cruel world,” he lamented theatrically, the only way he knew how, “when a man can’t even fondle his dearest love!” 

“Be serious when you’re in my guts!”

“I am serious, darling!” A sharp tug pulled you higher up on his lap, cock spearing even deeper into you, pushing out a whine from deep in your chest. “Don’t you feel how well we fit? You’re perfect, my love, and your body’s no exception.”

He let you hide away in his neck, nipping your own small marks onto him as his thrusts turned slower, more sensual. “Even when I’ve gained-”

“Don’t you Midgardians have a saying about that? ‘In sickness and in health?’” 

Your lips stretched against him, betraying the way you tried to sound less eager as your hips rolled against his. “Those are wedding vows, Loki.”

He guided you to his lips, devouring you with a smile. “I’m practicing for the future, then.” 

He delighted in the way you giggled as you came on his cock, holding him close as he fucked you through it. He craved the way you no longer shied away when he groped your waist, pulling you harder against him as he used the way your cunt sucked him in to chase his own end.

He had a standing reservation made before your legs stopped shaking.

[theshiftingwitch]

The 7 deadly sins

Using emotions to manifest your desires

Disclaimer: the following statements are merely for entertainment purposes. You do not have to follow any of the advice mentioned in this post. It may contain toxic tips and tricks.

No matter how long you've been a part of the law of assumption community, you must have , at one point, heard the statement: " Feelings do not manifest." I am by no means writing this today to negate that statement because it is simply true. I'm only here to suggest a different approach.

Throughout history, and thanks to the rise of certain religions and schools of thought, feelings and emotions have been separated into two categories: positive and negative. Negative emotions then became equal to sins, blamed for humanity's downfall and accused of being the root of all evil.

Spirituality, on the other hand, refrains from such a divide. All feelings are valid and all emotions are part of the human experience. No feeling is bad or negative or "sinful" and every emotion deserves to be felt and honored as a part of life.

So, what does that have to do with manifestation?

Let's break it down:

Law of assumption decrees that your thoughts create your reality, meaning than in order to get what you desire, you need to focus on your assumptions. But does that mean you have to repress all of your feelings, turn yourself into an emotionless robot and live your life through a calculating, unfeeling lense?

Absolutely not. As I have previously stated, emotions are an integral part of the human experience, and they demand to be felt if you were to stand a chance of a healthy life. And because there is no such thing as a negative emotion, here is how to integrate the seven deadly sins into your manifestation routine.

Pride: arguably one of the most infamous sins, pride is associated with the fall of the Great. Cautionary tales about humility are always spread around campfires, urging people to never let their pride get the best of them lest they fall and lose everything they have. But that's not what we're doing today, in order to manifest your wildest dreams, your pride must be alive and thriving. Associate it with a strong self-concept, simply refuse to bow down to anyone or anything, and never see yourself as less than anybody else. You are the creator of your reality, the god that commands everything around you. Your power is your own to use however you please and your reality must and will bend to your desires. Why would you let anyone tell you what you can and can't have in your own reality? Why would you put anyone above yourself? This is your world, and everyone else is just living in it. A healthy pride will allow you to understand your true power, and to refuse to settle for less than what you deserve.

Lust: my favorite "sin" when it comes to getting everything you've ever wanted. If your desire is to get the attention, admiration, and worship of everyone you have ever met, if you crave to have men fall at your feet, if you want to be so famous everyone on the planet knows your name, you need to use people's lust against them. Humans are predictable creatures, men especially so, so if your desire is to become an icon and to have an army of fans ready to throw their lives on the line for you, lust is your best friend. We see it in media everyday, with big names utilizing subtle yet powerful techniques to make everyone fall for them. Dress, act, speak, walk, and stand like the Goddess (or god) that you are. Invite that alluring siren energy into your life, speak like you have honey on your tongue and walk into a room like you own the place. Become an icon and watch as everyone around you becomes obsessed with pleasing you. (You do not have to engage in sexual acts if you're not comfortable with that. Even the promise of sex will turn them into clay.)

Greed: always looked down upon, greed is considered the worst human trait of all times. You cannot want too much, you cannot ask for too much, you have to settle for what you have and be grateful. Why? Why can't you want more? Why can't you know that you deserve better and never settle for anything less than exactly what you want and so much more? The world is yours and settling for anything less is pathetic. What you want is yours right now, so why should you be happy with bread crumbs when you can have the entire cake? You can always have more, you can always get bigger and better things. Do not drive yourself crazy, of course, use your discernment but never settle. Resources are infinite, money never ends, and everything you want already exists. If more makes you happy, then go get it!

Wrath: I used to say that if I were one of the seven deadly sins, I would be wrath. Everyone always made it seem that anger was one of the worst human emotions ever and that it never ends well for the angry person. But I'm here to tell you now that that was just an excuse to keep you from standing up to the people who hurt you. Because how come everyone can do whatever they want to do to you but the second you get angry and fight back you're the bad guy? Use your anger to manifest your desires. If your current reality is not up to your standards, if your 3D is not showing you exactly what you want, be angry about it. Use rampaging and ranting and venting and let it all out and demand to be heard because you are the universe. There is no need to suppress your wrath and drown yourself in fake gratitude and humility in order to get what you deserve. If you're angry then feel angry, no one can take your anger away from you except for you and how do you do that? by getting everything you've ever wanted.

Gluttony: I'm guessing that you can already tell what I'm about to say. Gluttony is defined as this insatiable need for overconsumption and over indulgence to the point of waste. You need to be a glutton for your desires. And no, I'm not saying over-consume tips and tricks here on LOA Tumblr, you already have enough knowledge under your belt to manifest everything you desire. I am saying however, that when you're complaining about not having what you want you are a glutton for despair and misery. Turn that around and use this to your advantage. Become a glutton for power. You have the key to the universe in your hands, are you going to throw it away and continue wondering why you don't have everything you want, or are you going to use it and manifest your wildest dreams?

Envy: nobody deserves it more than you.

If you see someone else living the life you want, having everything you've ever desired before, going out with your SP, or even having your dream job, you need to remind yourself that it does not mean you do not deserve any of those things. Jealousy is a perfectly human emotion and wanting what other people have is not an indication of failure. You can have all of those things and more, so use your jealousy to fuel you. Of course, that does not mean go out and try to ruin everybody else's life, it means go inward and focus on what you want so you can have it. You sp is yours, that job is yours, that degree is yours... you deserve everything and more and just because someone else has it right now doesn't mean you're never going to get it.

Sloth: you do not have to lift a finger to get everything you've ever wanted. Yes, you can indeed sit pretty and watch as everything comes to you. All you have to do is control your thoughts, be stubborn about what you deserve, and make your affirmations the dominant thought process in your brain. You do not need to take action, you do not need to get out of your way to get something, you do not need to chase anything. You can just relax, enjoy life, and expect to be handed everything on a silver platter.

This was such a fun post! I hope you enjoyed reading it, and remember, this is only for your enjoyment 😉

You do not need to take any of this advice if it doesn't resonate with you or if it goes against your beliefs, feel free to disregard this whole thing. This is not a manual for manifestation, it is simply something I cooked up in my brain because I was feeling a little toxic.

Happy manifesting ❤️

[anemoiashifts]

stuff that makes my shifting attempts better.

🤍 : note: my “better” may look different from your better ! a lot of these (most of these) aren’t shifting related but help me nonetheless.

i don’t try & shift a lot to not add pressure onto myself. im fortunate enough to be happy with my life & sometimes i don’t want to shift. i like being here & that’s something not everyone can always say.

✦ cleaning — it helps me feel physically “lighter” & helps me focus. this means my physical space & my body. so showering, putting away laundry, wiping down spaces.

✦ weighted blankets — while not shifting related, they’re really nice to have if you struggle to fall asleep. they also help with stress & anxiety :)

✦ bluetooth sleep mask — if you listen to subliminals or methods of some sort of noise, like i do, when attempting to shift its just good to have so wires don’t get in the way. especially helpful if you regularly listen to the gateway tapes.

✦ setting aside time to shift — doing this rather then trying to shift randomly gives me something to look forward to. it also takes pressure off of myself & prevent burn out. i typically try & shift once or twice a month but have gone a few months without trying to shift.

✦ relating shifting to a scent — your brain tends to associate memories / experiences with scents. because of this, everytime i try to shift, i spray a different perfume that ive associated with each of my dr’s. each perfume is only ever used when trying to shift to that specific dr. i use those little sample / travel perfumes.

✦ stopping methods — i don’t personally find shifting methods useful for me. if i wasn’t feeling a method or if something wasn’t working for me, i just stopped doing it. for meditations / visualization guides, yes. i stick to pink, brown or white noise typically.

✦ subliminals — frequencies are useful for me — specifically subliminal frequencies that i made myself. i dont mean the “youtube subliminal” with sped up affirmations over a song but text converted to frequency. i dont usually try & shift with them but rather listen throughout the day.

✦ cutting out certain music / media — there are so so so many things being told to you everyday even if you don’t realize it. please remember to monitor what you consume & how what you’re seeing or hearing makes you feel. i don’t watch a ton of tv but rather youtube & play video games. being attentive to how things make you feel can definitely play a part in how you see yourself & this plays a part in your confidence. when confident, you are more sure of your performance ability. this can definitely play a part in when we’re trying to shift or manifest.

[honestlyboringperson]

The mean gay and the even meaner bisexuals. And Pearl. (Persona 5 AU)

Also I just realized that Scott’s yellow eye is in the wrong socket. Eh, too late.

Southlanders

Team B.E.S.T.

Fairy Fort

Magic Mountain + Cub

More Information Below!

Scott - “Prism” - The Star Arcana - Dionysus/Sigyn

Sarcastic yet intensely devoted and loyal, Scott is known for his business “Chromia”. He sells dyed goods along with one of a kind clothing, along with the actual dyes themselves. He’s relatively well known throughout town due to his social media presence, and helps the Phantom Thieves with a calling card utilizing social media. Pearl and Scott are notable for their distaste of each other, which differs from their closeness a few years back. According to him, Scott only really joined the Phantom Thieves for his own amusement rather than agreeing with their goals.

Dionysus is Scott’s persona. Dionysus is the god of wine, revelry, orchards, and madness. I mean, Scott did join the phantom thieves for his amusement, so his persona is one of festivities. Another aspect of Dionysus is his Orphic version known as “Zagreus”. If you played Hades, you probably have an idea of who he is. He is the son of Hades and Persephone, and is the god of rebirth. The “rebirth” aspect of Zagreus can refer to the amount of times Scott barely escaped death from SEVERAL people.

Anyways, Scott’s Ultimate Persona is Sigyn, the norse goddess of mercy and compassion, and wife of the trickster god Loki. When Loki was caught and punished after he killed Baldr, he was sentenced to be tied under a venomous snake and have it’s venom fall into his eyes, Sigyn shirked his punishment by placing a bowl or basin above him to catch the venom before it falls into his eyes. However, some venom does get in his eyes when Sigyn goes to empty the bowl and Loki’s pained squirming causes earthquakes.

Pearl - “Carmine” - The Moon Arcana - Little Red/Diana

Pearl is a journalist, who often pulls all-nighters and stake-outs to get her scoops. Although chill and laidback during the night, during the day is a ball of feral neuroticism from the lack of sleep. She often finds herself in odd situations to find her scoops, usually seeking out seedy parts or town to report on the criminal activities. This also led her to meet a strange man covered in sunflowers saying she resembles his god in his religion and some oddball bar performer claiming she pushed him out of some godly realm. She is also one of the Pupil’s victims with false memories implanted in her. In this case, she believes Grian is her younger brother. She owns a little dog named “Tilly”.

Her Persona is Little Red, as in Little Red Riding Hood. More specifically, the version she and the huntsman along with her grandmother feed the wolves rocks after the huntsman cuts them out.It then dies either by drowning in a well where the rocks weigh it down or where the weight is just too much for it to handle and it dies. I mainly chose this for the ✨aesthetics✨, with a red cloak and giant terrifying wolf. I suppose it could represent the two sides of Pearl; the chill and laidback Pearl during the night and the feral (albeit kind of sad) and sleep deprived Pearl during the day.

Anyways, her Ultimate Persona is Diana, the Roman goddess of nature, hunters, wildlife, and the moon. She’s often equated with Artemis, but also has an association with Hecate, god of witchcraft due to both of them having crossroads under their dominion. Pearl could theoretically have any of these goddesses, due to their themes aligning with Pearl during Double Life where she goes kind of stir crazy and lonely. Heck, Hecate is even accompanied by a procession of dogs.

Cleo - “Ghoul” - The High Priestess Arcana - Bloody Mary/Durga

A sculptor known for her ornate, detailed, and beautifully haunting sculptures. She was one of the first people that managed to befriend Etho, most likely due to her similarly intimidating aura. She is roommates with Joe Hills, a strange man who often speaks through a puppet on his hand. She had to become more intimidating due to people with less than favourable intentions often flock to prodigy artists. However, if you have her back, she’ll have yours and will always make sure she fulfills a promise or repays a favour.

Her persona in the metaverse is Bloody Mary. She’s most known for her urban legend, where you can summon her via going into a dark room (usually a bathroom) with only a candle and reciting her name three times. Although there are several different origins she may have had, this version is specifically Mary Worth. She was a woman who lived in the woods who was accused of witchcraft. She was burning on the stake when she cursed the village, resulting in the vengeful ghost we know today.

Durga is the Hindu goddess of protection, strength, motherhood, destruction, and wars. She has the ability to unleash divine wrath on those who oppress and is often depicted riding a lion or tiger wielding multiple weapons and fighting demons. Cleo is both someone able to intimidate those into avoiding her and protecting her allies, represented by the combination of the aspects Durga represents. Also the motherhood aspect is calling back to when she was part of the c(l)ockers as the “mom”.

Gem - “Satyr” - The Strength Arcana - Atalanta/Freyja

Gem, although she may not look or act like it, is a former mercenary. She is retired, but not after making herself known through her feats of strength and her near inhuman fighting abilities. As of today however, she spends her days working as a lyricist and LARPing with her friends, as well as regularly bugging Etho. She can crush apples with her bare hands and is both well liked and feared by the rest of the phantom thieves.

Her initial persona is Atalanta, a famed hunter from Greek mythology. She was raised by bears and is the slayer of the Calydoanian Boar after Artemis wasn’t honoured with a sacrifice. She was also possibly a member of the Argonauts, where she fought along side them at the battle of Clolchis. She was a rare example of a female Greek hero in the frat house of the rest of the Greek heroes.

Her Ultimate Persona is Freyja, the Norse god of love, beauty, fertility, war, and gold. She and Odin equally spilt the soldiers who died in war into two halls, one belonging to Freyja. She wears a necklace called “Brísingamen”, obtained through trickery but was broken when she got so wrathful, the hall shook. Thor utilized said necklace to disguise as her to steal back his hammer Mjolnir.

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

I know that some people in the Wings of Fire fandom complain about how Tui based the IceWings on tiger moms (a stereotype commonly applied to East Asian mothers) and I know that that and the model minority stereotype for Asian-Americans that is common in American media is terribly containing and reduces an entire community to this monolith of mean parents and unhappy, but high-performing children, but I personally like how IceWings are based on my group, even as much as the stereotypes hurt me. You may write this off as dumb, but it's possible to feel proud of something similar to your culture being depicted while disliking how your culture is seen in the media.

When I read about the IceWing experience in canon and fanon, I feel seen. It's probably due to the fact that I've only found one or two books starring East Asian protagonists that I personally feel show the experience I've grown up in and am used to, and even overall AAPI month tends to get overlooked on the social media I use (tumblr). Now I'm just wofbrained enough to project on fictional dragons because they've been based on a stereotype that gets applied to my community. You'd think that I need to touch grass and search for more books, but I'm happy that IceWings and I have something in common.

Nowhere else do you see the portrayal of feeling both locked and contained in the identity that everyone else has imposed upon you, and so has your community, and so has your parents, and so have you imposed on yourself, but also proud of it when the concrete results come in, all the As, all the comments that you're high-performing. There's the portrayal of feeling that some aspects of that identity are something to be proud of, but there are also the darker parts that you know are bad: the bigotry (where parents say the racist things out loud, straight to your face), the constant competition, the empty feeling from complying with your parents wishes and the fact that you've been doing it for so long that you don't even know your own. There's the feeling of always being inadequate in comparison to your peers. There's the feeling of occasionally wondering what it would be like to not be part of your group, and just be happy with Bs and be able to have a social life and actually hang out with friends outside of school.

While people say that Tui made the IceWings stereotypical as hell, I like what she did with her IceWing protagonists and other characters. We see Winter, who lost his family, but can do what he wants as a scavenger researcher, which is something that feels like a realistic possibility in my community- pursuing your dreams, but losing familial support. But, he can follow his dreams. We see Crystal, who ran away to be with Gharial, a MudWing, and it's reminds me of how falling in love with someone that you community says you shouldn't have but being happy with them is possible. There's Lynx, who reminds me of the classmates that I should have competed against, but became friends with instead. There are all the Caribous, who show the more fun parts of IceWing culture outside the palace, where IceWing dragonets sing and read and listen to stories and eat together, which shows that the IceWings aren't a monolith. There's Glacier, who genuinely loved her daughters, even though she was likely distant from them as a queen, which shows how beneath the strictness, the love is there, even if it's not apparent at first. There's Snowfall, who's from the younger generation and wants to change things for the IceWings. While Tui initially wrote the IceWings based on stereotypes associated with East Asian-Americans, her IceWing characters show how they're much more than that. To me, that reminds me in a way that we student, second-gen children of East Asian immigrants are more vibrant and faceted than how media paints us (emotionless, uncreative, studious, deferent to authority, etc etc).

Now, I'm going to say that not everything that IceWings do is what Asian-Americans do. I haven't heard of anyone making their son kill the other one to regain their status. Given how people like to reblog these confessions and openly address the anons with their disagreements and this ask will probably get a bunch of accusations directed at it that weren't part of my original intention, I would like to reiterate that this ask is my personal opinion as one Asian-American out of the 19.9 million+ of them here. If you personally disagree, please direct me to all the way better forms of representation that I know are out there but can't find so I can stop projecting on fictional dragons. Someone wrote on tumblr how what's empowering to one person comes off as demeaning to the next when it comes to representation. Thank you for receiving my confession that wouldn't do well at all off anon. That is why this blog is here.

.

[heliads]

You Agreed to This

Pierre Gasly has a reputation for flirting with anything that breathes. You have a reputation for being scarily focused on racing. When Charles, Lando, and Esteban get it into their heads to dare Pierre to get you to fall in love with him, the results can only be tragic.

a/n: i was frustrated when i couldn't find fics with this vague plotline like two months ago and then i remembered that i can simply make them myself. anyway this is my longest fic to date (6k+ words), enjoy!

masterlist

The whole affair started in the recesses of the Alpine motorhome, too far from prying eyes and chances to stop before it got bad. Miami is boiling hot as per usual, it gets to Pierre just like it always does. He’s trying to fend off the heat by hiding somewhere deep within his team’s complex, team jacket stripped off somewhere on a nearby sofa and fans cranked on high. 

It was just Pierre at the beginning, but drivers tend to flock together in times of heat related stress, and now there are four of them sprawled across floors and furniture in an attempt to alleviate their suffering. Charles found Pierre first, just like he usually does, then Lando followed after media duties were over, and Esteban was last, claiming that if this many rival drivers were there he had a right to die in his own motorhome too, god damn it.

Pierre has mixed thoughts on that. He has mixed thoughts on quite a lot, actually– the blistering temperatures are getting to him, swirling memories into fact into fiction. He’ll get his head in order when it comes time to race, but that won’t happen until tomorrow, once qualis are in order and they’ve all been shunted around for the grid lineup.

Across the room, Lando groans from the shadows of a functionally decorated armchair. “This is miserable.”

Pierre gives him a look. “Your complaining is miserable.” 

Undeterred, Lando keeps up his protests. “We should do something fun. Pierre, don’t you know like a thousand people here? Invite someone over.”

Pierre snorts. “I don’t know all of Miami, Lando. Go to sleep or something.”

Esteban chuckles. “Could have fooled me. Didn’t you tag, like, a hundred people in your latest Instagram story?”

Pierre turns his head to glare at his teammate. They’re still supposed to be friends as of three or so months of being racing partners, but apparently that association doesn’t go so far as requiring Esteban to defend him. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

Charles shakes his head, grinning. “It’s the truth, let him speak. You have connections.”

Lando flings a dramatic arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight pouring in through the windows. They’ve all been shut with the blinds pulled down, of course, but some warmth has a way of coming in regardless of what anyone wants. “Pierre’s just sociable like that. He could win over anybody. Or flirt with anybody.”

Pierre rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Norris.”

Charles arches a brow. “What would he be jealous of, your losing streak? I saw you strike out trying to talk up Margot Robbie last time we were in Monaco, don’t lie to me.”

“That was different,” Pierre protests, “she’se literally married, what did you expect?”

Charles coughs pointedly. “Yet you flirted with her anyway. Anyways, don’t argue. You can’t flirt with everybody. Not successfully, at least.”

Pierre leans forward cautiously. “What does that mean?”

Charles laughs. “There’s one person you could never charm in a thousand years.”

Pierre sighs, answers Charles’ unspoken question in time with his friend. “Y/N L/N?”

“Y/N L/N,” Charles confirms, and the other three drivers break into identical grins.

Pierre can accept defeat on that front. Y/N L/N is the only female driver on the grid at the moment, and anyone can tell why she made it despite the odds mere moments after meeting her. She’s crazy intense, more dedicated to racing than even Max or Lewis. Pierre wouldn’t be surprised if she could win a driver’s championship in the next year or two. Talk to her once and you’ll be stunned that she hasn’t done it yet.

Every time Pierre, or any other driver or spectator for that matter, has tried to chat her up, they always end up shut down faster than you can spin out on a slick track with the wrong tires. She doesn’t have time for any of them. The girl lives and breathes and dies for racing, she’s not going to let something like a boy get in her way.

This only makes Pierre more tempted to keep up with her, of course, but he learned a long time ago that was a lost cause. The only reason Y/N would ever look twice at him is if he was a place ahead of her during a race, and given her knack for overtakes, that doesn’t happen all that often.

Lando sits forward, and Pierre decides that he doesn’t like the gleam in the younger boy’s eyes. “Say, I’ve got a great idea to stave off boredom. Pierre, go date Y/N.”

Pierre almost chokes. “Are you insane? Just like that, go date her? How would that help you in any way?”

Lando spreads his hands. “If it would be so easy for you to flirt with anybody, how about you prove it? Surely Y/N isn’t so far out of your league. You’re both in the same line of work, at least you’ve got that going for you.”

Pierre opens his mouth to fight this. He may have a bit of a cocky streak, sure, but he’s a driver, who amongst them doesn’t? Just as he starts to get himself out of this, though, Esteban speaks up instead.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pierre couldn’t even come close. None of us can.” Esteban says it like a fact, and that’s all it takes for Pierre to change his tune.

“You know what?” He says, feeling his adrenaline start to kick in, “Sure I can.”

Charles’ eyes widen. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m always serious about girls,” Pierre says, causing a ripple of groans to cascade around the room, “This time I am, at least. I’ll win her over, no problem.”

Lando sits up. “If you’re really doing this, we’ve got to set some rules.”

“Such as?” Pierre dares him to continue.

Charles taps a thoughtful hand on his leg. “It has to be more than a one time thing. Just a single conversation could be a fluke or her feeling bad for you.”

Outraged, Pierre starts to fight that, but Lando picks up the thread of the conversation before he can cut it short. “That makes sense. We have to be sure that she’s actually in love with you. Like, get her to kiss you or something? And pics or it didn’t happen. We need proof.”

Pierre snickers, trying not to feel like control is slipping out of his hands with each passing second. “Anything else? Want me to name our firstborn child after you?”

That makes Esteban crack up. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? We’ll settle for being named godfather. All three of us collectively.”

Pierre shakes his head incredulously. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Charles slaps him on the back. “You have to believe in yourself, Pierre. If you don’t, she’ll never fall for it.”

And so Pierre Gasly gets himself stuck in the con of a lifetime. Is it going to work? The odds are abysmal. Will he make it, though? Well, Pierre never likes to back down from a challenge. He’s not going to let this one get away from him so easily.

The sun is bright and the morning is tense in the paddock. You arrived early, earlier than most of the drivers, all so you could get a taste of what the track was like without anyone breathing down your neck. Some would call you a little too eager, others would say you’re plain stressed out and nothing more to it.

You’d give yourself a little more credit than that, though. You know exactly who you are and what you have to prove. The more time you give yourself to plan and acclimate, the less time there is for mistakes.

That isn’t to say that you ignore all the comments on your pre-race habits. You are well aware of your reputation, even proud of it. You wear it as a second skin, a racing suit, a livery specially designed to flaunt your own achievement. The whispers of those out and about in the world of motorsport follow you wherever you go, dogging your footsteps until you half expect to leave streams of words behind you instead of burned rubber.

That’s Y/N L/N. The one who only cares about the track? The one who lives and dies for racing? That’s the one. That’s the one.

There’s not much else to it. So what if you tend to be a little more intense than most? Being serious is the only method of survival available to you. You can be sweet and fun, play yourself off as the ditzy girl who only got in so her team could capitalize on brand deals, or you can be a woman without a feminine bone in her body, so far from girlish she chokes whenever she sees the color pink. Both are awful alternatives, so you choose the only one you can:  ignore every box they try to push you in until everyone else gives up. Let them whisper. At least they aren’t trying to change you anymore.

That’s how you’ve navigated the paddock up until now, the entirety of racing life as you know it. It’s worked out in your favor, or so you’d say, at least. You push yourself on and off track. You answer the unfair questions they throw at you. You solve the mysteries of why someone is taking an involvement in your affairs and come out on top of any possible rumors.

There are mysteries, though, and then there’s the latest one, which is why on Earth Pierre Gasly has taken to following you around the paddock. They all did, at the start; the drivers, the fans, the interviewers, even the team bosses, all staring at you like you were in a circus exhibition. A girl in motorsport? Couldn’t be. Yet it is. 

That’s mostly drifted off, though, the attention gone once they realized you weren’t interested in belonging to any of them. Most of them did it unintentionally, of course, and the few who got too close on purpose quickly learned they would get nothing from you. Pierre learned that himself, or so you thought. That doesn’t stop his attention from surging up again all of a sudden.

It’s been a solid few weeks of this behavior, and you’re still no closer to understanding it than you were at the start. If you were to put an initial date on this whole affair, you’d maybe say everything began back in Miami. All of a sudden, Pierre, who up until now had accepted that you weren’t interested in him even if he didn’t like that all too much, had decided to renew his affections once more. 

Where you had been content to walk briskly through the paddock by yourself, Pierre is suddenly a few feet behind you, always ready to offer a bottle of water when you need it or issue a joking comment when you seem in need of a laugh. He’s playing his cards carefully, always disappearing the moment you start to take his presence for granted, but why, you cannot tell. Everyone here has a motive. Surely Pierre Gasly has one as well.

You weren’t willing to trust him at first, ignoring him throughout the Miami race and all sessions at Imola. The only angle worth your while is your own, and maybe your constructor’s, too. Still, he stayed. That has to count for something.

And, when the end of a race finds you absolutely desolate after an engine failure, that starts to count a little more than it would have before. This race is early enough in the year that the DNF doesn’t have to sting too much, but all you can think about is how you just gave Max, Charles, and the rest of the title competitors the leg up they need to beat you out.

It’s not a good feeling, to say the least. You find some empty corner of the paddock where you can be alone and let your emptiness consume you. That was your plan, at least, but you’ve only been able to wallow in your own misery for about ten minutes or so before someone else joins you. The only other driver to fail to complete the necessary laps:  Pierre.

Pierre may not have had engine problems like you, but that doesn’t make him any luckier. George Russell spun wide on a turn and took out Pierre before righting himself again. George got off relatively easy for a crash, only needed to swap out some tires and his front wing, but Pierre took the brunt of it and ended up in the barriers. You heard him swearing, frustrated, on the radio after the race; the commentators loved that one, even if he didn’t.

That leaves both of you in the same undesirable position. Pierre arches a brow as he takes in the sight of you:  legs pulled up to your chest where you sit slumped against the wall, expression hopeless and all ambition gone for the moment.

“Mind if I join you?” He asks, “I’m trying to hide from Sky Sports.”

You gesture vaguely at the open floor next to you. “Feel free. I'm not too thrilled about hearing from them, either.”

Pierre collapses in an untidy heap of limbs by your side, pulling at the collar of his race suit so he can unzip it down to his waist, leaving only the long sleeved shirt clinging to his skin. “At least engine failure is something you can’t control. Everyone’s been all over me trying to get me to admit that I should have seen George coming.”

You wrinkle your brow. “That wasn’t your fault. He braked late, it was obvious.”

Pierre glances over at you, clearly fighting a laugh. “Obvious, huh?”

You look away, wondering why you feel embarrassed all of a sudden. You don’t lie when it comes to racing, why bother? Thanks to the vast supplies of driver cameras and radio clips, there’s no point in glossing over what everyone knows to be true. Still, Pierre has a way of making that feel like something you should think twice about, like maybe not all of your attitudes towards drivers and their habits are things you should speak freely on. Maybe some things can be kept just to yourself. Maybe some drivers are beginning to verge beyond mere functionality as competitors.

“Everyone saw it,” you justify, “bad timing, that’s all. Not something you could control no matter how much space you gave him.”

Pierre nods solemnly. “The engine wasn’t your fault either, by the way. There was nothing you could have done to make it work again. You can’t limp through a problem like that.”

You tilt your head back, staring up at the ceiling above you. “I tried, though.”

“I know,” Pierre says. They’re only two words, but for some reason they make you feel better than any of the minutes spent listening to your engineers’ speeches on how they would fix that issue by the next race.

Judging by the slight smile on Pierre’s face, he must know that too. When the seconds stretch into minutes and you never tell Pierre to go, that smile only deepens. The conversation leaves the race eventually, and you end up talking about silly things like movies you’d like to see or places you want to go but never have. You don’t know that you’ve ever spoken to another driver like this before. You don’t know that you could with anyone else.

You have to leave that corner eventually, called away by a team principal with apologies in order. Pierre departs around the same time, claiming that he can’t run from the interviewers forever. You steal one last glance at him over your shoulder as you go, and can’t help but notice the grin on his face. It’s broader than before, proud of something; what, you can’t tell. Despite the fact that both of you have failed out of the race, you still get the feeling that Pierre has won at something more than you today. 

Charles releases an Instagram post later that day of him, Pierre, and a few other drivers out at a club. You see it, and spend too much time wondering how long you have to wait after a photo is posted to like it so it’s not weird. What you don’t see is the conversation that happened later, how Pierre triumphantly told the rest that he was closer than they’d ever believe. You don’t see it, and the next time you see him, you stop to talk with a ready smile.

So it goes the next race, and the next one, and the next. Pierre is there. So are you. You end up finding him eventually; as time goes on, it’s not just Pierre seeking you out but the other way around, too. It’s even, both of you wanting each other just as often as the other. Eventually, you have to admit defeat to the voice in the back of your head telling you that you might have misread Pierre after all. Maybe he’s not just a horrific flirt. Maybe he can be a friend.

And, leaning over the railing of Pierre’s room in the Alpine motorhome so you can feel the gentle wind on your face while you stare out at the paddock, you think you would be alright if there was something more, too. You swore to yourself you’d never even think about another driver in that way, too scared of all your efforts to distinguish yourself from everyone’s expectations for female drivers being for naught, but it might be okay if it was Pierre. Pierre is different, nothing like the rest. It would be alright if it was him.

Pierre stands by your side, back straight and posture perfect as he surveys the mess of people milling about some floors below. “Nervous for the race?”

You tilt your head to the side, considering the question. “As much as anyone, I guess. I like this track, though. Should be good.”

Pierre nods, smiling at that. “And what about me? Am I going to be good, too?”

You roll your eyes. “You don’t need me to tell you that.” 

He doesn’t; this is one of Pierre’s best tracks. He should be up for a podium or at least high in the points if everything goes according to plan.

He just grins. “Indulge me.”

You give him a pointed stare, then head back into the room. “You’re an ass.”

Pierre follows. “You love me, though.”

A pause. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He asks, unable to disguise a slight shine of surprise from entering his eyes, like despite all the luck he’d had recently, Pierre still didn’t think he would get this far.

You lift your shoulder in a half-shrug, unwilling to commit to anything further. You feel as if you’re standing on a lake frozen over, aware that any wrong move could shatter the ice beneath your feet.

Pierre moves towards the door, and for one horrified moment you think he’s actually going to leave right then and there before you realize he’s closing it instead. He turns back once he’s sure no passersby can see you, and then he’s kissing you and you can’t worry about anything else. Not even the race. Not even the threat that this might send you spiraling until you’re so lost on him that you won’t be able to think straight for the rest of your life.

He leans back at last, smiling at you with the same smile you think you saw on a podium on Monza when he first won a race in F1. “We could have done that earlier,” he whispers, not daring to disturb the quiet victory of the room.

“We could have,” you answer him. Every driver hates losing time. This is no exception.

Your head is light with the most wonderful feeling, and then over Pierre’s shoulder you see something strange. He left the door open. Cracked halfway, even though this door is notorious for never staying open right. He would have had to try to keep it like this. He would have wanted it to be that way for a reason.

Pierre’s phone vibrates and he grimaces, murmuring something about having to talk to one of his engineers before slipping out of the room. He kisses you one last time before he leaves, a quiet touch pressed to your cheek. He takes great care to ensure that you do not see the message blinking up from his screen, and when he goes, you notice that he does not have to turn the knob, only pull open an already ajar door.

Something is wrong. The longer you stand there, alone in Pierre’s room, the more you start to think, and what you think about is not good at all. The timing of the text message. The look on his face when he left. Nothing is adding up.

Voices drift to you down the hall as you stand there wondering, Pierre’s among them. You walk slowly forward, unable to fight a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach like something is about to go very, very poorly. You usually trust your instincts. As it turns out, they won’t be wrong now.

Pierre is standing in a meeting room down the hall, talking in hushed voices to a few other drivers. As you draw closer, you recognize them. Charles, closest; Lando, eyes wide; Esteban, even, staring in disbelief. All three are telling Pierre replications of the same sentiment, which is that they cannot believe he actually managed to do it.

Get you to fall in love with him, they mean. Fulfill the dare, they explain. Like they all agreed a few months ago. Back in Miami, the three of them dared Pierre to get you to fall for him, and like the overconfident, thrill seeking diehard flirt that he is, Pierre agreed.

Worse:  he did it successfully. You know, you had been wondering if this was too good to be true. Looks like it was. All that time you were letting Pierre into your heart, and he was manipulating you into falling in love. How pathetic. How incredibly soul-destroying.

The four drivers look up when you shut the door to the meeting room behind you. Pierre is the first one to notice it’s you, and you don’t ever think you’ll forget the look on his face when he realizes that you know the truth. His entire expression contorts with horror and his hands rise by his sides, trying to force your heart to stay unbroken. Pity it’s too late for that.

“Y/N–” he begins, a little too loud, a little too desperate, “wait– it’s not what it sounds like–”

“Actually,” you say coolly, “I believe that it is. You three dared Pierre to get me to fall in love with him? That’s exactly what it is, right?”

It’s not a question. Charles, Lando, and Esteban have realized you’re here, too, and they wear similar shades of Pierre’s alarm. Charles opens his mouth to say something, perhaps to explain himself, but you cut him off.

“Don’t even try. I know what you did, I don’t want to hear your terrible reasoning for why you thought this was okay. I’m going to go back to my motorhome and we are never going to speak of this again. Don’t talk to me in the paddock. Don’t talk to me at all unless we’re in a media event and you have to. I never want to speak to any of you.”

Lando interrupts, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Y/N, don’t you think that’s a little extreme? It was just a prank, that’s all. Just a laugh.”

Pierre looks like he’s fighting back deep irritation at that. You just arch one brow. “Just a prank to humiliate me? You disgust me. All of you.”

You let that silence their arguments and leave the room. You think Pierre might have tried to follow you out, but Charles blocks him. You hear the Monegasque’s voice spilling out into the hall as you leave, telling Pierre not to try it. She obviously doesn’t want to see any of us anymore, mate. Best to leave it be.

You wish it was that easy for you. It takes everything in you to make it to your private room in your team’s motorhome and lock the door behind you before the tears finally come flooding out. You’d like nothing more than to fly home and spend the next several days and nights comatose in your bed, but, as if things weren’t bad as is, there’s still a race tomorrow, so you won’t be able to go anywhere for at least twenty-four hours.

The lights go out, the chequered flag waves some time later. You’re not entirely aware of what happened in that race, nor of how you were able to drag yourself out of your room and back to the starting grid, but you blink once and you’re on the podium, so evidently everything worked out. You watch the clips later, the commentators are all in shock. They haven’t seen you race so aggressively in years. It bordered on cruelty.

Pierre, by contrast, had his worst race in months. It seemed like he was hardly in charge at all, more like the car was controlling him. He wasn’t even in the points. No one can understand it. You refuse to think about it any longer.

Another race weekend comes and goes. The interviewers are confused– wasn’t it just last week that you seemed so much happier than you are now? You’re surly in press conferences, answering questions in a clipped and emotionless tone. They’d say you were totally checked out were it not for the fact that you’re still getting good results.

They don’t know everything, of course, but some of the more eagle-eyed reporters are starting to put the pieces together. What’s up with you and Pierre Gasly? Someone asks one day, Weren’t you two good friends recently?

We’re drivers, you reply, Aren’t we all used to pretending things are better than they are?

When you see Pierre after that press conference, he looks dizzy, totally unsteady on his own feet. You don’t meet his eyes. You’re not sure that it’s guilt, but it feels something like that anyway. Everything is wrong.

Pierre is asked about it later, of course, and he’s a little more candid than you were. He never names names, just says that things happen sometimes, things he wishes he could take back. Pierre has to take a moment to get himself together after that to answer the next question, a fantastic display of emotion. How charming of him to wear his heart on his sleeve when he’s just ripped yours out of your chest.

The pattern repeats the next few weeks. Pierre, Charles, Lando, and Esteban try to talk to you on multiple occasions, but you brush them off with nothing more than a well-placed glare and some good avoidance tactics. Even then, you should have known that your cold shoulder couldn’t last forever.

Of course it would be Charles who gets you at last– if there’s anyone on this entire damned grid who could get why you are the way you are, it would be him. Il Predestinato knows what it’s like to have the entire world expecting something of you, and he doesn’t lie easy because of it. Charles finds you late as the sun is setting and won’t let you avoid him forever, even though you try.

At last, you give up and stop making him chase you around the paddock. You’re sitting at a table outside your motorhome, shaded by a sunbleached umbrella and sipping at a bottle of ice water long since turned lukewarm.

“He regrets it, you know,” Charles says by way of introduction.

You refuse to raise your eyes from your intense study of the bottle’s printed plastic label. “He’s going to have to do a lot better than sending his best friend to talk for him, then.”

Charles scoffs. “Oh, come on. You know you haven’t let him get close enough for that.”

Your water bottle receives a very irate glare. “Wonder why that would be.”

Charles sighs. “We were wrong, we all know that. It was a stupid thing to suggest and even more stupid to keep it up that long.”

You look at him at last, anger gone and replaced by mere disappointment. From the way Charles shifts in his seat opposite you, you think that might be an even worse threat for him to face. “Then why did you keep it going? If you knew it was so wrong? Pierre was committed to your prank for weeks. Why didn’t any of you call it quits?”

“He didn’t want to,” Charles admits, “not because of the dare, because he liked being around you. Did you know he was mad at us the day you caught us? He didn’t want us anywhere near that room. Told me privately it’s because he wanted the first kiss for himself, not for anything related to the dare.”

That makes you go silent. The fan whirs overhead, pushing your thoughts around in slow circles somewhere above you. “That makes no sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Charles grumbles, “Happened, though. Regardless of what he thought at the start, Pierre doesn’t want to hurt you. Not anymore.”

You turn towards him. “Is that supposed to make how he felt at the start okay somehow?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, but it makes the ending better, I think.”

He’s right. You lean back against your seat, contemplative. Charles takes this as his cue to leave. He pauses once before he’s out of range, then calls something else back to you. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I told you that, by the way.”

You can’t fight a laugh. “I won’t tell a soul you’re on my side.”

He smiles at that. You’ve missed him, you realize, him and the rest. You thought distance would save you from feeling quite so badly about all of this, but it just cut you off from your best support. Charles disappears into the crowd, a bright flare of red in a multitude of shifting shades, and for the first time since that treacherous discovery, you start to wonder what it would feel like to forgive.

Pierre is in an awful state. So Esteban has told him about a thousand and one times, at least, each utterance delivered with the same derisive snort. Pierre knows he’s supposed to bounce back from this, pretend it was all just a prank, but he’s known better for months now. It might have been a prank the first day, even the first week, but not after that.

Here is the problem:  Pierre, in all his cocky eagerness to show his friends up, failed to consider that Y/N might be able to charm him as well. He might have gone a little overboard in his attempts to make her fall in love with him, perhaps even to the point where he fell in love instead. He isn’t sure when he first realized he had feelings for her, but Pierre is more than certain it was before Y/N discovered she felt the same way.

What a ruin to his reputation. Pierre hadn’t minded, though, not when they were still on speaking terms. He liked the way they could talk for hours, how Y/N’s guard slipped when she started to trust him. She had a way of smiling when she was sure no one was about to stab her in the back. Pierre misses that. He’s sure he’ll never see it again.

Unable to stand Esteban’s dismissive attitude anymore, Pierre picks himself up from where he’d been wallowing in misery on the floor of the Alpine motorhome. He doesn’t know where he’s going yet, only that it needs to be somewhere without a single soul in sight. Still, when he passes aimlessly through the halls and almost runs into another driver, he supposes he should take it as a testament to his distracted mind that he doesn’t realize it’s Y/N until they’re already standing still and staring at each other.

Too late, Pierre remembers she hates him. His eyes drop to the floor and he mumbles an apology, ready to keep moving. She told him not to speak to her anymore; Pierre can hardly fault her for that, and he won’t use his presence as a weapon if that’s the one that will cut her the deepest.

He is surprised, then, when Y/N reaches out to stop him before he can get too much farther. Pierre looks at her hand locked around his, then back up at her.

“Wait,” she says, “I want to talk to you.”

“I thought that wasn’t happening anymore,” Pierre says. It occurs to him that it probably sounds cold, but she speaks before he can try to explain what he meant.

“Things have changed,” she says.

That’s enough to convince him to stay, if not for the feeling of her fingers still on his than anything else. He doesn’t miss the way her gaze keeps flitting from him to the occasional Alpine aide walking down the halls, and to save her, Pierre jerks his head towards a door down the hall.

“There’s an empty room to the left, we can talk there.”

A brief flash of relief crosses her face, and Y/N lets Pierre lead her over to the room. He leaves the door open to give her an easy escape, but she closes it after her anyway. No onlookers. Maybe that’s for the best.

Y/N sits down in one of the chairs, legs crossed, arms folded. She may be here with him after so long, but that doesn’t stop her from throwing up all her walls, even the physical ones. It hurts to remember how easy it had been to be with her that last day. Pierre plays those moments on repeat in his head– the balcony, the breeze, the words, the kiss. He can never stop the later scene from following, how her demeanor had changed when she realized the truth. He didn’t think he could hurt one person that badly. He was wrong.

She’s still silent, so Pierre assumes it’s on him to start talking. “I’m sorry,” he begins, “I know that’s not enough, but it’s true. I was stupid. I should have told you before–”

Regret clogs up his throat and he can’t choke out a single syllable more. Y/N looks suspicious. “Before the kiss?”

“Before anything,” Pierre clarifies, “when we were talking at the beginning. I never should have let it get so far. Doesn’t mean I minded when it did,” he remarks half to himself, “but I should have done it on my own terms.”

When he dares look up at Y/N again, he swears she seems slightly more open, but that could just be his wishful thinking. “Do you mean what you said in the interview?” She asks suddenly, “Do you wish you could take it back?”

“Yes,” Pierre says in a rush, “I want a do over. I want to do it right. I would have done all of it without ever talking to Lando or Esteban or Charles first. I would have done it for me.” His voice is quiet. “I would have loved you without making it a lie.”

Y/N’s eyes are wide, but she isn’t afraid or angry. “Second chances come around more often than you’d think,” she whispers.

“Even for me?” Pierre asks.

She nods once. “Even for you.”

They’re both on the podium that day. His race engineers can’t explain why Pierre’s luck has suddenly had this tremendous turnaround. He can. She can, too. Sometimes your heart likes getting in the way if it knows you’re doing something wrong. It’s a good thing, then, that he’s finally doing something right.

She’s waiting for him once the interviews are over. They’re both exhausted, half drunk on the champagne in the air and wholly pleased with themselves. The sun goes down, and Pierre is happy. It is just as easy as that.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: How are these getting longer lol

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

If you thought the darkness was torturous, the light proves to be worse. You look at your surroundings. It’s eerie. A room curated for one. For you.

The white fluffy stool in front of a matching vanity. A picture of a woman in white sitting in a meadow, flowers all around and a stream flowing through the lush field. A vanity painted with flowers, the night tables matching; the bedspread under you similar woven with pansies. The trim at the top of the wall is pink petals on white and a soft rug under the foot of the bed.

It’s all very cute but deranged. You’d love to have all this and more but you’d rather your apartment. If the price is those three men then you’d rather a gutter. Most importantly, you want your dog.

You can’t even make your demands. The walls can’t give you what you want. You doubt your captors will either but you can try. You can wear them down. You can be nice sure, you prefer that, but it doesn’t mean you can’t be your own brand of evil.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. The noise needles in your ears and you hear the mechanism click. You raise your head to watch the door open and the one with the beard enters. Alan, Arnold? Ugh, you don’t care.

He doesn’t break the threshold. He crosses his arms and stares at you. A ripple in his forehead underlines his thoughts.

“I’m going to bring you out but you have to be good,” he says.

You close your eyes and drop your head. You fill your chest and let out a blasting wail. He grunts and stomps to the bed. He grabs your shoulders, shaking you until you nearly swallow your tongue. You bite the tip as he sits you up and you’re forced to face him.

“No, no more of that. Or you don’t get your first present.”

“I don’t want any of your presents,” you sneer.

“This one, I think you do,” he intones, “I’m asking you to give me a chance. Let me show you that this isn’t just for us. This is about you, honey.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you hiss, “why can’t you just let me go?”

He shakes his head, “it’s too late for that.”

“I won’t behave. I swear, I’m going to scream–” you inhale and he quickly covers your mouth, his other hand coming around the back of your skull. 

He hushes you as his blue eyes darken, “honey, I’m being nice right now, so you need to go along with this. If you don’t…” he pauses and looks over his shoulder, “I don’t know what they’ll do.”

You furrow your brow. Getting out of this room is one step closer to escape. You can be good. For now.

You let the tension leave your body and soften your expression. He senses it and slowly slides his hand away from your mouth. You flick your lashes, putting on your best pout.

“Okay, Alan, I’ll be good,” you avow.

His brow tweaks and his cheek ticks. His nostrils flare as his chest rise and falls, “it’s Andy.”

“Right, I’m sorry, I’m really freaked out,” you show your teeth sheepishly, “that other guy… he hurt me.”

“Which one?” He asks.

“Er… stache guy.”

“I’ll talk to him,” he huffs, “can I untie you?”

“Yeah.”

“No, honey, I’m asking,” he looks you straight in the face, “you’re not going to try anything, right?”

“I can be good,” you squirm, “my wrists hurt.”

“Alright.”

He lays you back and rolls you over. He pulls the tape away from your arms, then your ankles. You think of the trick from the van. You know his weak spot but it’s too soon for that. Timing, it all comes down to the right opportunity.

“Let’s go,” he takes your hand and helps you up.

You get to your feet and let him lead you out. His large hand clings to yours as he pulls you after him like a child. As you go into the hall, you examine every inch of the place. He takes you into the front room, a low din that in any other circumstance would be cozy.

It looks like any other living room. A sectional and an armchair, an artificial fireplace set into the wall, a mantel trimmed in tinsel, a rich carpet spread over the dark hardwood, and shelves of books along with a television mounted to the wall. The tree in the corner stands bare over a red velvet skirt.

“We can decorate the tree tonight and see if Santa leaves anything for tomorrow.”

You hold back a scoff, “um, I know Santa isn’t real.”

He chuckles, “it’s a joke.”

“Is this the surprise?” You deflate. Sounds like work to you. Of course, your apartment is too small for a proper tree but you’re less than excited for a pastime you always longed for.

“No, not the only one,” he lets you go as you tug on your hand. “Honey, we did this all for you.”

You turn on him, “I didn’t ask you too.”

“Hey, hey, why are you acting like this? You’re such a sweet girl.”

You swallow tightly and hear beeping again. Then a clamour that includes a scramble, some scraping and the thump of a door against something else. You try to see past Andy as you feel cold air rush in from outside. You want to race past him but he’d be on you in a moment.

You hear a familiar growl before another voice wafts in from the entryway.

“Ah, he bit me. Again!” One man says.

“You think I’m having fun at the ass end?” The other retorts.

“Woah, oh, shit–”

There’s a duller thump and you hear claws and paws on the floor. Your heart leaps and you look around Alan– Andy as you hear the heavy breaths bounding towards you. 

“Ernie!” You squeal as the Saint Bernard lumbers in, furtively searching before he spots you. “Ernie, my boy. Oh, baby boy.”

He nearly knocks over Andy as he barrels into your arms. You hug him around the neck and inhale the scent of his fur. His collar tinkles and let his warmth ease your fear. You were so worried about him, more than even yourself.

“You said it was a puppy,” the bare-faced man snarls as he shakes his hand.

“I didn’t know…” Andy says.

“He is a puppy,” you insist.

“Who let the pussycat out?” The mustachioed creep asks.

Your eyes shoot darts in his direction and his hand shields his pants, almost instinctively. Ernie drags his large rough tongue up your cheek. He was scared too but now you have each other.

“Surprise,” Andy says, “so now, honey, you’re going to be good, right?”

You look at him and chew your lip. His eyes fall to Ernie and you put your arm in front of the dog. He doesn’t need to put his threat into words.

“Shit, I’m bleeding. That thing got shots?” Scarf asks.

“What about the girl? She got me good,” Mustache snickers.

“No, but maybe I should get checked now,” you snip.

“Woa-ho!” Mr. Caterpillar exclaims, “she’s got a mouth.”

“Honey,” Andy warns, “we’re being good, right?”

You huff and nod.

“So, apologise.”

“What?” You burst out, “he–” You stop and look between all three men. You have Ernie but you’re more worried about him getting hurt than knowing he’d hurt them in an instant. Even then, he has his head low, a steady rumble brewing in him.

“That thing needs to calm down,” the naked faced one whines, still cradling his hand.

“He’s confused,” you defend your son, “okay? And I’m sorry, er, dude, I’m sure you don’t have any communicable diseases.”

“The fuck? Disease– Alright,” the man steps forward, “that’s it. First she bites me, then she kicks me in the dick and now–”

“Lloyd,” Andy puts his hand up, “no. We’re all just getting used to each other. You’re not exactly easy to be around yourself.”

“Fuck that, I’m funny,” the fuzzy lipped man, Lloyd, argues.

“Everyone just quit,” Andy demands, “alright? Did you get the food?”

“Food?” The bare-faced man shrugs out of his jacket, “what food?”

“For the dog? I told you–” Andy begins.

“Ah, shit, knew we forgot something,” Lloyd chuckles, “he’ll be fine. He can eat chicken, can’t he?”

“He has a sensitive tummy,” you say.

“Jesus,” the third man grumbles as he hangs his scarf over his coat. “I’m not going back. It’s late.”

“Can he have rice? Carrots?” Andy suggests.

“I guess, I don’t know if he’ll eat 'em,” you look at Ernie as his deep brown eyes meet yours. You pet his head to keep him calm. He doesn’t like these men any more than you do.

“Fine,” Andy huffs, “go get the decorations,” he orders the others.

“Why don’t you get the decorations?” Lloyd sneers.

“She needs to change,” Andy explains.

“Like we can’t help her,” the other man challenges.

“I don’t often agree with him, but he’s right. We’ll get her changed.”

You grimace as your eyes ping pong at the back and forth of their conversation. This isn’t good. You don’t enjoy being talked about like you’re not there.

“How about I get myself changed?” You offer.

The men turn to you. None of them seem impressed. A sudden peel of thunder fills the room and you look at Ernie. His bark echoes in your ears.

“Shut that thing up,” Lloyd snaps.

“He’s quiet,” you say, “he was just saying the same about you.”

“Really?” He goes to take another step forward and the other man stops him, “Ransom, let me go.”

“I’ll take her, you two go get the decorations,” he says.

Andy frames his hips and sighs, “fine. We all know the plan. Let’s stick to it.”

You want to raise your hand and clarify that you do not, in fact, know the plan but you suspect you’re not a part of the collective. You keep your hand on Ernie and gulp. He nuzzles your hip.

You bend and pet behind his ear, “it’s okay.” It’s not. You move to face him, “sit,” you raise your voice, “stay. I’ll be right back.”

As you stand, the dog obeys. He’s a gentle giant, at least with you. You pat his head and turn away. The men watch you.

“That thing listens?” The one they called Ransom asks.

“He can.”

“Come on,” he beckons you with two fingers, a smirk ghosting on his lips.

“This is bullshit,” Lloyd mutters as Andy approaches him.

“We can keep talking all night,” Andy pats his shoulder, “or get things moving.”

“Whatever,” the man smooths his mustache.

You reluctantly move towards the third man, the one with no personality grown out on his lip or jaw. A baby face if you ever saw one. The way he leers makes you uncomfortable. He smells like Armani.

“Not smiling now, are you?” He says under his breath as he ushers you down the hall.

He points you into that same bedroom. You stop just inside and he shoulders past you with a grumble. You watch him go to the wardrobe and open it. You look between him and the door. You could make it.

You wait a few seconds as he pushes hangers over the bar. You take a step. He doesn’t notice. Another and he’s bitching about colours. You didn’t think men were that picky. You get right in the frame of the door and back out. He looks around the open wardrobe.

“Bye,” you wave and pull the door shut.

You know he’s probably swearing at you but you can’t hear him. You hold onto the handle and hit the little lock icon in the corner of the keypad. The deadbolt rolls into place.

This is it. You edge out to the living room. You don’t see anybody. Ernie sits where you left him, sniffing the air. He sees you and perks up. You wave him over and he lifts his rump, taking careful steps across the room.

You grab his collar and take him with you to the front door. You twist the handle, it doesn’t budge. You flip the lock over it, still nothing. You don’t know what to do. What the hell?

You search around you. The windows are barred, you can’t get out that way. There’s a small box right beside the door. You flip it open to reveal another keypad. Fuck.

“And where are we going, pussy cat?” The question nips your ears as a plastic ornament pings off the wall beside you. You spin and face the mustachioed menace. 

“You know, I just need some fresh air.”

Ernie growls and puts himself between you and the man, keeping the distance with his body. He prowls around, snout low as he paces back and forth. Lloyd steps closer and the dog mirrors him.

“Call that thing off,” he demands.

“Why would I do that?” You challenge.

“Well I’m sure you wouldn’t like it if I made him stop,” he opens and closes his fist.

“You wouldn’t hurt a puppy–”

“I’ll do what needs to be done,” he tilts his head.

“Ernie,” you call the dog, “quiet. Sit.”

The dog lets out a wispy boof but listens. He flops his butt down and glares at the man. You put your hands up and step forward.

“You’re mean. How can you threaten an innocent dog?”

“He drooled on my Jimmy Choo’s,” he says, “come on,” he grabs you by the back of the neck, “let’s go get the dumbass out.”

Ernie barks as you whimper. You flutter your hand at him as Lloyd’s fingertips pinch into your tendons, “Ern, it’s okay, I’m okay. Stay.”

He must hear the panic. He remains, restlessly shifting his front paws. You march beside the man back to the hallway. You reach to touch his arm and he only squeezes harder.

“Shouldn’t blame you for trying,” he says, “but I will.”

[mariacallous]

Americans need to log off. Unplug. Shoot the TV. It seems impossible. Less than five days from Election Day in the US, most people can’t help but check the news—or TikTok or X—at least once a day. Swipe, refresh, repeat. By Tuesday, the connectedness will be constant. Mentally, political stress takes a huge toll. Given that anxiety can be exacerbated by uncertainty, the 2024 election feels worse than it has ever before. There’s a reason for that.

I don’t just mean the general sky-is-falling stuff—the militias on Facebook organizing ballot-box stakeouts, the conspiracy theory spreaders, the cybercriminals potentially waiting in the wings. Some version of those nerve-janglers has been around for years. Now, though, there’s a new factor upping users’ blood pressure as they doomscroll: AI misinformation.

Clearly US voters worry about how misinformation might impact who wins the election, but Sander van der Linden, author of Foolproof: Why Misinformation Infects Our Minds and How to Build Immunity, notes that the anxiety around AI might be more existential. “If you look at the problem from a more indirect perspective, such as sowing doubt and chaos, confusion, undermining democratic discourse, lowering trust in the electoral process, and confusing swing voters,” he says. “I think we’re looking at a bigger risk”—one that fuels polarization and erodes the quality of debate.

According to an American Psychological Association survey released last week, 77 percent of US adults feel some level of stress over the future of the country. It gets worse. Sixty-nine percent of adults surveyed said the race between Vice President Kamala Harris and Donald Trump was a cause of “significant stress”—a figure that’s up from 52 percent in 2016, when Trump beat Hillary Clinton. Nearly three-quarters of respondents thought the election could spur violence; more than half worried it could be “the end of democracy in the US.”

Christ.

On top of all of this sits the threat of AI-generated falsehoods. For more than a year researchers have warned of election misinformation from artificial intelligence. Beyond the polls, such misinformation has played a role in the Israel-Hamas war and the war in Ukraine. 404 Media called the aftermath of Hurricane Helene “the ‘fuck it’ era of AI-generated slop.” (Actually) fake news lurks around every corner. Earlier this year, the World Economic Forum released a report claiming AI misinformation is one of the biggest short-term threats the world faces. Bad election information and fake images can also bring in serious money for X users, according to a BBC report this week.

This was the first year the APA asked about AI and election anxiety and one of the things the organization found was that seven in 10 people experienced stress over the fact that fake information can seem so believable. One-third of social media users said they don’t know what to believe on those platforms. “It extends beyond just information and social media,” says Vaile Wright, APA’s senior director of health care innovation. “A majority of Americans said they don't trust the US government. So there's sort of this whole lack of trust in what used to be very trusted institutions—the media, government—and that, I'm sure, is not helping with people's stress as it relates to this election this year.”

When the US election season ramped up there were AI-generated robocalls (the Federal Communications Commission outlawed them) and now election officials are preparing staff to deal with any number of deepfakes they may encounter. X’s AI model Grok is reportedly boosting conspiracy theories. (It’s also, according to Musk, working on its MRI-reading skills.)

After months of fretting about AI taking jobs, now everyone has to worry about it taking faith in the democratic process?

For nearly two decades, one social media platform or another has ended up dominating a US election. Back in 2008, it was a still-young Twitter. During most of the twenty-teens, it was Facebook (and a bit of Instagram) and Twitter. More recently, TikTok has become a news-spreading tool. In each election cycle, people have swiped to keep up—and also confronted new levels of toxicity. Former Trump advisor Steve Bannon, who got out of prison this week, once told reporter Michael Lewis Democrats didn’t matter, “the real opposition is the media. And the way to deal with them is to flood the zone with shit.” That shit went online.

Now, that shit doesn’t even have to come from political operatives. Machines can make it. When people scroll around on their smartphones for a flicker of hope about whether or not their candidate will win, whatever discouragement or reassurance they find may not even be real.

The APA’s survey found that 82 percent of US adults were worried people may base their values on inaccurate information, and more than one-fifth said they’d believed something they read online or on social media when it wasn’t true. Another poll conducted in early September found that only about a quarter of voters feel confident that they can tell the difference between real AI-generated visuals, like the fake images Trump shared claiming Taylor Swift fans are supporting him. “That’s not a good sign,” van der Linden says.

If your fears about the election seem even worse than they did in 2020, this may be why. Misinformation takes a mental toll. “Political anxiety” exists, and research indicates it can impact those who aren’t anxious otherwise. Couple that with a media landscape where newspapers are coming under fire for not endorsing a political candidate and the picture of a nervous electorate becomes very clear. Trust no one; just wait to see what happens—then decide if you believe it.

[spookysteddie]

Call It What You Want

Modern!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Influencer!reader

18+ Minors DNI

part two

cw: unsupportive parents, hint at mentally abusive mother, negative media attention, talk of sex tape, food mentions (they go on a dinner date), reader is in therapy. (Let me know if I missed anything)

wc: 2.8k

a/n: I've decided to make this a series that is loosely based off of reputation by Taylor swift. It literally all came to me in a dream last night lmao. If anyone has requests for these two and wants me to create lore pleeeeaaaseee request it. This is so fun for me!

...

Do not disturb was the best thing that could’ve ever been added to phones. Specifically because, without it, you would’ve gotten less sleep than you did (thanks to Eddie). 

Your phone is filled with messages, emails from the press asking for comments and messages from your parents. You’re barely awake before checking the tabloids and, as expected, you and Eddie are the top headlines. Everyone has something to say about your escapades last night, videos of you at the concert, photos of you getting out of the car with him and videos from the club. 

Social media influencer and rockstar Eddie Muson seen out together since miss Asher confessed her love for him

Good girl y/n Asher and Bad Boy Eddie Muson spotted together 

Is y/n Asher going down a dark path?

Social Media influencer shedding her good girl image as she parties with Corroded Coffin

You knew there would be some drama associated with you partying with the band. You knew there would be fans who would be disappointed in you. You also knew there was a high possibility someone would have photos of you around little white lines, leading to some assumptions about you. 

You didn’t care. 

You check your parents texts next and your stomach drops.

Momma: What are you doing out with that man?! Do you know his reputation? 

Papa: The last thing you need is your reputation being ruined! You will ruin your future if you continue with him.

The phone is taken out of your hand before you can respond to them, Eddie locking it and placing it behind you before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. He nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving light kisses on your bare skin. 

“You shouldn’t read what those pricks have to say.” He continues to leave kisses along your skin, “most of them talk out of their asses and don’t understand.” 

He’s right, of course you know that. You’ve had the most misogynistic shit written about you that you knew they would never write about the man behind you. You could smile weird and all of a sudden you’re the biggest cunt ever. You can never win. 

You sigh, settling into his hold. It’s not that you care about your reputation, shit like that changes faster than the weather and it’s not worth it to stress about it. But also, this is your job and the last thing you need is to lose sponsorships because you’re fucking Eddie. 

“I know. It’s just annoying cause no one is writing mean shit about you. It’s always about me and my life.” 

He hums, “nothing like good old fashion misogyny.” He says it with a shit load of sarcasm, knowing misogyny is not a good thing at all. But it makes you giggle all the same. 

“Wait!” You sit up, almost smacking him in the face with your head, “the poll! I wanna see it.” 

He grins as he hands you your phone. You ignore your parents, deciding you’ll deal with them later, and open up instagram. You win by a landslide, 86% of your followers voted you as prettier. 

Eddie laughs behind you. You turn to look at him, a huge grin on your face, “you owe me a date, Munson.” 

His eyes fall to your lips, making you lean in a little closer, “hows tomorrow sound?”

“Perfect,” you whisper as you close the gap and kiss him. 

… 

You can’t avoid your parents by the time you get home. They’ve been calling you for hours (hours you spent tangled up with Eddie in his bed). You know for a fact that it’ll be worse if you continue to ignore them. 

They answer within the first ring, “About time you called us back. We’ve been calling you for hours!” 

“Yes, momma, I know. I was busy with Case and Anna.” 

You hear her exasperated sigh from your mother, “yeah? For what? Cleaning up the mess you made last night?”

You’re trying to keep your composure, not wanting to yell at your mother, no matter how many times she made you feel horrible about any little decision you made. She was still your mother. 

“Case and Anna knew about all of that. Ran it by them first like I’m supposed to do.” 

Your mothers attitude only grows, “so what they just approved of you running around with someone known to do drugs? Are you doing drugs? So help me God, y/n, if I find out your doing drugs, I will fly out th-” 

“Mom, I am not doing drugs. I went to his show, somewhere I’ve been before by the way, and then we went to a club. Which is something I do on the weekends anyway. I don’t see the big deal.” 

You hear her huff, “don’t you dare give me attitude, little girl.” You hate when she calls you that. It’s been her little tool your entire life. She's done it to make you feel small, to make you feel insignificant and, try as you might, it gets to you. 

“You better not be seen with him again, got it?” 

You can feel the anger getting to you, “mom, I am 25 years old. I don’t need you to tell me who I can and cannot date. He was very respectful actually. Didn’t pressure me to do anything. Now, I have some things to film before tonight.” You hang up before she can say anything else, throwing your phone onto your vanity and running your hands down your face.  

Hana clears her throat from where she’s leaning against the door frame. You know she heard that entire conversation. You’d told her when you got home everything, including your parents non-stop calling.

She hands you a coffee, made just how you like, “how was that?” 

You take a slow sip, savoring the sweetness, “same old mom. Thinks I’m ruining my life and my reputation.” 

“Well, do you think you’re ruining your life and reputation?” 

This is one thing you love about Hana is she doesn’t baby you. Ever. She always allows you room to feel your feelings before she gives you her opinion. But she also makes sure you are able to give a name to what you’re feeling. And right now, you’re feeling frustrated. 

“No. Hana, he was amazing. He was respectful and he always asked what I wanted. And god the sex was fantastic,” you sigh wistfully. “And we’re going out on a date tomorrow. Just him and I. And I was really excited but of course my mother likes to ruin everything.” 

Hana sits on the chair next to the vanity, taking your hand, “Listen to me, if you have a good feelin’ about it, I say go for it. I didn’t get any strange feelings or vibes last night, the opposite really. Also, fuck a reputation. Taylor Swift’s was six feet in the ground and look at her now. Do what makes you happy.” 

You can feel the tightness in your chest, backs of your eyes burning. All you can do is pull her into a bone crushing hug.

… 

You’re pretty much over your mothers comments by the next night. Of course your therapist heard all the details and said, basically, exactly what Hana did. She also told me that I am an adult and I am more than able to make my own choices when it comes to things like drugs and alcohol.

She’s right of course. 

And so, because of this realization that isn’t a realization, you keep the date with Eddie. In fact you’re more than excited to go. To see him again. You filmed all your content, posting the other nights ‘spend the day with me’ video you made.

You’ve even gained a shit ton of followers as well, most of them fans of the bands. Now, don’t get it twisted, the uptick in followers also means an uptick in hate comments and unfollows. You don’t care. Those people are entitled to follow whoever they want and the mean people clearly just have a lot going on in life. It comes with the territory. 

Eddie, however, has texted you non stop and follows every single social media account you have. Even commenting on the videos and photos you posted. That got the press talking more and birthed a shit ton more butterflies into your belly. 

Eddie didn’t give you much information on what this date would be. All he told you was to dress nice and bring a jacket because it’s ‘getting chilly and you can’t catch a cold.’ You tried explaining that’s not how colds work but he wasn’t having it. And so, you pick out one of your favorite dresses, short and black that makes your tits look killer, with stockings that snap onto a garter hidden under your dress. Of course you added a long trench coat just to keep you warm. 

Eddie picks you up at 7pm on the dot, not a second later. Again, the bar is in hell because the fact that he is on time makes you want to kick your feet like a little girl. He looks delicious, dressed in his black jeans and a black button up. He grins when you open the door, the chilly night air tickling your legs.

“Give me a spin, Miss Asher,” he smiles. 

He takes your hand, spinning you around a few times. Once semi quickly and once very slowly, drinking you in like he’s been in the desert for years. It’s kindling to the fire inside your heart, warming you from the inside out. 

“God, you’re so beautiful.” He kisses your cheek, never letting go of your hand. 

You can feel your entire body heat, a shudder wracking through you. “You’re beautiful too. So, so, pretty.” 

You watch a blush tinge his cheeks, “no one has ever called me pretty to my face… and meant it.” 

He opens the door to his car as he speaks, making sure you don’t hit your head getting in before running around to the other side and settling in the driver's seat.

“Well, for the record, I do mean it. I mean, who in the hell looks that gorgeous first thing in the morning?” You giggle as you say it, fiddling with the hem of your dress. 

He takes your hand, squeezing it twice, “you.” 

That makes you smile the entire way to the restaurant. 

… 

This is the most beautiful date you’ve ever been on. 

Eddie had it all planned out perfectly. There was no press standing outside, waiting to take candid shots. He rented out the entire restaurant so that there would be no interruptions, just you and him and the small waitstaff. Flowers litter the floor, a small walkway leading to the table, a bottle of your favorite wine sitting in ice. 

You smile, looking up at him with hearts in your eyes. He can feel his heart racing, scared you aren’t going to like it or it’s too much or he’s scared you away. It feels like it’s forever before you answer him. “This is beautiful, Eddie. You didn’t… you didn’t have to do all this. But it’s so appreciated.” 

He gives you a swift kiss, his heart feeling like it’s going to burst, “you deserve it. You deserve to feel appreciated and cared for.” 

“Well, that is exactly how I feel right now.”  

Eddie pulls out your chair, letting you sit before he takes his own. The candles on the table flicker, casting Eddie in the most beautiful glow ever. He’s radiant, beautiful, and you don’t know how anyone could hate him. You felt like you could see his soul when he looks at you, kind, sweet, angelic. 

The waiter interrupts your thoughts, introducing himself and pouring the wine. And once all the food is ordered, it’s just you and Eddie. Suddenly, you’re nervous. 

“Did you have a good day yesterday?” You cringe slightly at the generic question. You’d talked to him all day yesterday between filming and his studio time. Releasing a new album takes a lot of time, more time than more people would think. 

“It was good. I feel like we finally have the sound we’re going for nailed down. S’gonna be similar to what we always do, of course. But I felt like, based off the songs we wrote, we needed a more,” he sipped his wine, thinking about how to describe the sound. “... sensual sound. Sexy if you will.” 

You giggle a little, “so you basically wrote about your groupies.” You’re joking, of course, not really caring about the people who came before you. Kind of. 

He raises his brows, shaking his head, “no. I actually spent most of yesterday rewriting the songs I wrote. Not all of them, but a good few.” 

“Oh! So did you record at all yesterday?” Again, it’s a generic question, but you’re genuinely interested in the process and how his mind works. 

He nods, “we did! It’s fucking thrilling to get what’s in my brain into actual art. I can’t believe I get to do this for a job.” 

Eddie's eyes practically sparkle as he talks about how exciting his job is. You love to see it, honestly. It’s the same look he gets when he’s on stage, fans screaming and singing the songs he wrote back to him. You can imagine that’ll get someone real high. 

He interrupts your thoughts, “can I ask you a question?”

You freeze, stomach falling to your ass. It’s never good when someone starts off like that. You grab your wine trying to hide your shaking hands, “yes of course!” 

“To me, it feels like there is something missing in a few of the songs. I’m pretty sure it’s y-your voice,” his stutter makes you feel a little better inside. He’s nervous. “So I was wondering if you’d wanna record some things with me?”

“Eddie, I can’t sing.” 

He smirks because you didn’t say no. “You don’t have to. I just need your voice. For the record, when I say record some things with me I don’t mean like sex videos… unless you’re into that.” You both laugh at how ridiculous he is, but a small pulse between your thighs tells you that you might be into making a little movie for just you and him. 

“While sex videos could be fun, that shit is so scary. Anyone can hack into whatever we use and boom… careers over. As for my voice, absolutely. I’m honored actually.” And you are. To have your voice be on something forever is so fucking cool. Of course, the internet is forever, but to you, it’s different when it’s music. 

“One more question…” 

You nod, motioning for him to continue. 

“Can I use your moans in a song?” 

You nearly choke on your wine, eyes going wide. “My-my moans? Like from when we have sex?” 

“Mhm. They are so fucking beautiful, baby. As much as I want to keep every part of you for myself, your moans would fit perfectly in this one song I have.” 

You have to be 50 shades of fucked up because you’re actually fucking touched that he thinks that part of you is pretty enough to put in his music. No one has to know if they’re real or not. And you don’t even have to answer the questions if anyone asks if it’s you. 

You laugh, shaking your head, “you, Eddie Munson, are crazy. I’m here for it but do you think your fans will like it? I don’t want you to do this just because we fucked the other night. I like you and you don’t have to put my anything in songs to get me to stick around. I don’t just like you because you make music.” 

He looks a little stunned, almost like he doesn’t believe you. “I… you don’t have to lie, baby. I mean, fuck, I’m not trying to call you a liar. I just am not used to people liking me as me. Usually they just want me because then it’s like a bragging thing. Not that, that’s what you are here for. Fuck, I am really fucking this up.” He rubs the back of his neck, his other hand clenched. 

You grab that hand, forcing yours into it and rubbing your thumb on his wrist, “I understand what you mean, Eddie. I’m not offended. But I mean what I said. I’m not here to further my career. I’m here because I’ve had a sickening crush on you for years. My poor friends have had to listen to me go on and on about it.” You laugh, feeling your face heat as you confess all this to him. 

“Really?” He looks like a boy, big, brown puppy eyes staring up at you. 

You nod, “really. Hana was ready to throw me a party because I finally got a date with you.”  

He laughs, the sound loud and from his belly. 

You decide right then that you will do whatever it takes to keep him forever.