#hey mags look

[xxplastic-cubexx]

thought you'd enjoy this art by ozanpulat on insta.

OH I DO I DO VERY MUCH ENJOY THIS

[adarku]

resident evil is all about finding ammo in the craziest places and not being able to go through bushes

[meownotgood]

What character did you write about/like the most before you got into CSM?

when I started writing for aki that was the first x reader fanfic I ever wrote.... I think he was also the first character I became super hyperfixated on but.... I was pretty into jjk before I read csm and I really liked gojo and toji, I also liked connor from dbh and seven from mystic messenger, and my favorite character to read fanfic about when I was young was sebastian from black butler hahaha

[dinoswordsb]

Thought of u

THIS IS AWESOME....HI MY SWEETIES

[dykeferatu]

when my friends can't listen to music with me i listen with my ocs

[magnifiico]

"i hope i didn't scare you." his tone is as flat & as listless as usual: but james is referring to that sudden gunshot he'd taken in order to save mags' life. less the action ⸻ although james supposes that most people aren't used to guns being fired ⸻ and more the loud noise. james doesn't stop to consider the fact that mags had been splattered in blood & how that might've been more terrifying.

@jaamesunderland || ohoooo herewego 👀

The growl thundering up his chest, riding along the roof of his mouth, is rather more frustrated than it is scared.

Magnifico (Magnifico? Can he even call himself that here, where the title doesn't matter? The fame is absent? Everything he built out of reach?) barely registers the concern in his apparent savior's words—but certainly not his tone—as he focuses on the curve of his own fingers. There are droplets of that telltale crimson, yes: a new splash of unwanted color on his outfit. But no matter how much it sickens him, his concern remains at full force elsewhere—

“Why isn't it working?” He flexes his hand into a fist, releases, strain quavering up the length of his arm. “What is—” Nothing. Nothing. Not a tingle or a burn of energy in his veins. No sign of the magic he'd spent years studying, laboring to perfect all for the sake of... He needs this for himself, this time. Himself.

Where—

“Y-you...” he mutters, relenting as a freely trembling hand drops to his side. As if Magnifico has only now noticed the stranger who'd so kindly ruined his outfit saved him from... something, his focus sharpens ever so slightly. He blinks, and his brow creases. “What is this place? Who are you?”

[foxmulderautism]

i went through a magazines archive of (monthly) issues this year -- common hobby of mine -- and the same writer was in at least 5 issues and i'm just like....sorry that is weird to me! not the being published by the same mag multiple times part but to be in nearly half of a magazine's year of issues is so??? do you as an editor not want some variety in the people you publish lol

[slimmestslime]

deebi gets a little posing, as a treat

[dxfiedfxte]

We at People's Magazine have chosen you for this years sexiest man alive issue. Congratulations Minato Arisato, you are this year's sexiest man alive!

He had to admit, it was a big surprise to find this out, Minato did know that every year there were two magazines that would pick out this sort of thing, and every time there was, it was always famous actors, or popular musicians, especially those in each genre of the music community. When his career first took off, Minato never really had a huge bucket list of things he wanted to do, he came into this life not really expecting much, only for his expectations to be blown away many times, thankfully, it was mostly in a good way.

The Paranormal Investigator was already surprised enough when his show became one of the most watched shows on television. The only goal he had in mind with this career, was to provide cold hard evidence that the paranormal did exist, to prove to the world that there was life after death, everything else that came with it, all the unexpected fame and fortune, was all just a lucky blessing. Never in a million years, did he think, that he would be named something like the sexiest man alive, although it was very flattering, and sort of an honor despite not really expecting it.

[{ 🦋 }] - "Really? Oh wow, that's pretty flattering. I always used to think it was only actors or rock stars that were selected for this kind of thing. So thank you. Never expected to be picked for something like this, but I appreciate it."

[thinkviolets]

Omg, that's why I would never ever date people in this app. I read fictions, yes, but seeing and looking for someone here in this app? Tangina girl, hindi mo alam kung ano makukuha mo. It's pathetic. Go outside, touch some grass. MEET REAL PEOPLE! Wala kayong mahahanap dito, it's either bot or a predator. Naghahanap kayo ng pagmamahal sa maling lugar, sa totoo lang mas okay pang mag-bumble kasi makikita mo pa mga tao doon.

Please, beware. Don't look for love out here, it's too dangerous for all of you my loves. Stay safe and have fun reading.

True sa bot or predator. This is social media at the end of the day. After all not everything is a 'SUCCESS STORY' when you want to find someone. Di lahat matino ika nga. Not everything has to end up in a romantic relationship naman, you can build friendship here but if 'real love' hinahanap mo always for every interaction nako wag na lang ateco. They should just touch grass and breathe fresh air. Maghunos dili sa delusions.

Idk but maybe it's the rose colored glasses and the appeal of finding that 'kind of love' here that some are forgetting caution.

[blowflyfag]

Working on scanning the magazine that won! Congrats to everyone who voted for PWI!

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Imagine Erik planning some sort of magneto spectacle.. if you will.. and he finds out Charles is sick and he decides not to go through with it and is like "Charles I do hope you will feel better soon I was so hoping to impress you with my villainy" and the brotherhood is to stunned to speak.

if erik was a REAL homie he woulda put the brotherhood of evil mutants on standby for at least a week after charles dies the first time ....... wheres the fun in all his bombastic bullshit if charles aint there to see it........

[taelophone]

Poolboy ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ TWs: Frat Boys™ . Reader never catches a break like once . Reader is the Phi-Si sweetheart . Slight Angst (?) . Porn w Plot . Penetration . ── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ this fic is literally 6k words. bye.

What happens when you take one young woman, cram her into a frat group chat, and send her off on a summer vacation with said frat?

Hoots of joy and teal water splashing from the deep ends of the pool sounded against your eardrum as you flipped through a 2005 Vogue magazine. You had just arrived at your frat brother's summer villa, courtesy of Carson’s rich father.

You were the sweetheart of Phi Kappa Psi, a title you don’t even recall earning before being dragged along by your foot by a bunch of techy dudebros with a strange fixation for beer and computer science. More times than not, you felt like you were babysitting toddlers who treated their lives like toys they could fix.

When things went wrong and the brothers began to fight, you’d hear your name being shouted in deep whiny tones before two or more men would approach you with annoyed expressions. Heads tilted up, shoulders slouched, and their hands stuffed in their hoodie pockets before angrily talking over each other about whatever they were mad about.

What children.

But besides being the driving force for many makeups and peacekeeping, you valued your brothers deeply. Perhaps that was why they dragged you along by your unwilling ankles— because they knew you’d cave eventually…or they could just kidnap you.

Kidding! They’re not. It was a joke until you felt 5 pairs of hands dragging you out of your little apartment room while all clamoring about a chapter retreat and how they needed you to tag along.

So now you’re sitting on a scorching hot chaise recliner with a little glass full of some sort of alcoholic bomb that was probably mixed in a bathtub over seven thousand kilometers away from home.

You watched as each of them splashed around in the pool, their shouts of joy filling the air as they did their best to drown the person nearest to them. Empty beer bottles clanked and collided together in the pool water, the grace of god keeping them from shattering and raining hell on the impish boys.

You turned your head around, ensuring things were alright at the grill as saw two shirtless brothers named  Logan and James manned the grill with plastic tongs and debated whether or not to pour another bottle of bear on the brisket.

“Yo!” A loud voice said, cutting through the noisy chaos as he adjusted his black and grey baseball cap. “We found a fat fuckin’ stack of Playboy mags in the basement by the bar. Don’t start running or we’ll all know you’re a virgin.”

A wave of tame laughter washed over the young men before the splashing and thrashing went back to normal. You counted the amount in the pool, ticking off each head of black, blonde, or brunette before you realized you were missing at least one brother.

You sat up, immediately shifting your sunglasses to rest on your head and doing another head count. But the question remained; Where’s Luigi?

Luigi was arguably the most level-headed of the frat or at least the one with a prefrontal cortex that hadn’t been completely damaged by alcohol poisoning. But boy, that man could drink.

“Hey guys, I’m gonna go look for Luigi. Please chill, don’t kill each other. And clean the pool, please, that’s fucking disgusting” you sighed, tucking your sunglasses between the stretchy black fabric and your heated skin.

You stood up, fixing your hair a little and making sure your baby hairs didn’t look fuzzy and crazy before waltzing into the large, neoclassical villa in pursuit of the missing man. On your way through the hall, you caught sight of 4 men standing in a circle around a TV with beers in their hands while completely entranced with some hallmark movie that they more than likely rented.

“Hunter!” You called before grimacing at the amount of beer cans that littered the floor.

The group of boys whirled their heads, facing you for half a second before the raven-haired boy mumbled a “yeah?” from his television-fueled trance. You toddled up behind them, peering above their shoulders so you could see what they were watching.

A Paris Proposal. On the Hallmark channel.

You bit back a laugh, watching their eyes lock themselves into the terrible acting like it was a gift from the heavens. They were locked in— watching in complete silence with slightly parted lips.

“Have you seen Luigi?” You asked, your brows pinching together in confusion before you turned to face Hunter.

“Uhhh…He was just playing foosball with Brennan a while ago…He should be down in the basement still,” he mumbled, not even sparing you a second glance as he watched the television with pin-straight posture.

“Thanks,” you said, making your way out of the large living room and sliding down the hall on some random white caster board lying around the smooth, glossy hardwood floors. You wobbled side to side, your ankles doing all of the work before you hopped off the board in front of the basement stairs. 

When you reached the bottom of the basement stairs, you were greeted by only four brothers. Two at the foosball table, and two fighting for dominance over a Ms. Pac-Man arcade machine. But still no sign of Luigi.

“Hey, guys. Have any of you seen Luigi?” You asked, stopping at the side of the Foosball table to watch Anthony and Israel begin to sweat from manning each handle and rod.

“He’s in the back playing pool by himself. He’s being weird, he won’t talk to us. I think he had his AirPods in but we couldn’t see cuz he wouldn’t take that fuck ass Adidas hoodie off,” Anthony mumbled, looking up from the playing field for half a second before Israel shot a speeding goal into the open space between his second goal of players.

“DUDE! What the FUCK, bro!” He groaned, slamming his fist down onto the table.

You stifled a giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground as you folded your hands together and made your way to the back of the basement. Back past the bar, you passed a group of men huddled together reading some sort of magazine.

 The further back you moved, the more the background noise seemed to fade away into a quiet buzz. Soon you made it to the pool room, the walls decorated with various sports memorabilia and jerseys signed by deceased football players.

When you heard the dull marbled noise of phenolic resin knocking against each other, you saw the familiar deep brown curls leaning over the pool table with a smooth pool cue between his thumb, pointer, and middle finger—the hold of a closed bridge.

 He was focused, his hoodie up over his head as his eyes darted across the green fabric in a search for the best way to get all object balls in each hole. You tapped his shoulder, giving him a gentle indication of your presence before he turned his head in your direction.

His eyes were still trained on the pool table, almost like he was in some kind of stupor. He hummed, a low acknowledgment of your presence as he continued to ponder his next move across the table.

“I saw that you weren’t outside. Couldn’t find you so I wanted to make sure you were good,” you said, your hands resting on the reddish mahogany.

He paused, darting his pupils up in thought before he cleared his throat and turned to face you fully.

“Sorry…I was really focused. Yeah, I’m okay,” he nodded, leaning his pool cue against the table and crossing his arms. “The noise was just too much for me.”

You nodded in understanding, the epiphany sinking in as you crossed your arms against your chest as well. To say outside was overstimulating was an understatement— everything in the world seemed to be happening at once in such a short amount of time.

“Yeah, that’s…valid,” you said, a hand coming up to your forehead as you gently caressed the wrinkles that formed as you raised your brows.

“If you want, like…space, I guess? I could go back upstairs or try and get like…the guys out of the basement. Or you could go upstairs, but I’m sure there’s at least someone upstairs,” you offered, propping yourself up on the pool table to give your aching ankles a break.

“Nah it’s fine…you can stay, I was getting bored,” he murmured, picking up his pool cue once more and bringing his attention back to his solo pool match.

You nodded, clearing away from the pool table to drag a stool over to your semi-quiet corner of the basement. He seemed content with just sitting in silence while you watched him play, and It was honestly better this way, as he wasn’t completely alone and he had someone else to talk to.

“Did you know that the color goes all the way through the resin? It’s not just on the surface,” he murmured, holding up the blue ten-billiard ball.

“I didn’t know that actually…that’s pretty cool,” you nodded, a fraction of a second passing before the voices from the game room began to get a little too loud, indicating a festering fight between someone that you’d ultimately have to mediate or stop entirely.

“Okay, I’m so sorry, I have to go. If they break shit we’re all getting banned and I actually like this villa, have fun!” You scrambled, nearly falling off of your stool as you zoomed towards the conflict.

He watched as you toddled away, giggling under his breath at your panicked expression and the way you stumbled a little as you got up from your seat. Adorable— like a clumsy little bunny struggling to find their footing while it ran through a field.

Albeit a sticky, beer-coated field full of bottles and shiny with pool water. But it’s ok, global warming will get us there in 50 years or less.

After a long day of mediating ear-piercing petty fights between the brothers over the stupidest things— like who keeps drinking all the beer or whose turn it is to take out the trash, the sun began to say his goodbyes as he dipped between the trees and the hills to make way for his wife of the night. 

Her big, gaudy, and full being slowly began to rise, bringing her many twinkling sons with her while kissing the day goodnight. Now, the only source of illumination was the thick veils of pale white light shining over the calm black waters of the pool.

Some brothers found themselves unconscious at the poolside, the Natural Light brand beer knocking their lights out as the alcohol kissed the surface of their medullas. Some found themselves passed out on the patio chairs, too tired to even get up and migrate to the warm villa.

Shirts were strewn about, followed by a shoe now and again, and the usual loud yells of freedom and joy seemed to quell into snores that were almost as loud as their triumphs over the skies. When you verified that everyone was okay and nobody had overdone it, you snapped a picture of everyone’s sleeping forms. 

A core piece of your memory that you had managed to capture in the small confines of a digital screen.

You made your way back inside, upstairs and to the left in pursuit of the large room you secured for just existing amongst the sea of men. You gathered your little shower crate of things, your pink and fuzzy Ralph Lauren bathrobe, and your dental care before making your way into the bathroom to have a hot shower.

The gentle droplets ran down your skin, freeing your body from any early morning grime or lingering dead skin. Soft soapy suds cleansed your soul, relaxing the tangled and knotted wires in your mind as you took a quiet moment to process.

With the rough layer of your sleepless morning freshly shed, you stepped out of the shower feeling fresh and new. You brushed your teeth, finished your skincare, and detangled your hair before putting it into two braids so you could manage it in the morning.

Your head finally hit your pillow, the cozy silk cooling the side of your face as you closed your eyes, ready to repeat the morning in just a few hours.

And oh boy, did it repeat.

Before your eyes could even crack open, you heard the low murmurs of multiple men as they discussed if they should wake you up or if they should just order food. As soon as your eyes opened, ripe annoyance bloomed at your temples as you saw six pairs of eyes staring back down at you.

“What the actual fuck,” you sighed, watching as they stared down at you like some sort of foreign object.

“Can you make us pancakes?” Brennan asked, eliciting nods and murmurs of approval from the other young men around him.

“What…pancakes—what the fuck are you…no. No, I cannot make you pancakes. Go door dash or something,” you huffed, sitting up and rubbing your eyes before stretching the drowsiness away.

There was a loud conjoined sound of disapproval, swears, and murmurs of “I told you it wouldn’t fucking work” as they all filed out of your room one by one.

You got up following their absence, throwing on a pink zip-up hoodie, a white tank top, and some pink fuzzy shorts. Once you were ready for the morning, you made your way downstairs to greet the survivors of last night.

Once unconscious, twice dead, and three times the headache as they all recovered on the couch, all occupying the living room while watching some sports channel.

Somewhere between the lines of you starting the sleek, smooth, and electric stove in the kitchen, the pack of animals that sat on the floor of the living room decided to all go on a morning run to get breakfast. Leaving you with the whole villa to yourself for about two or three hours.

You made yourself a stack of 3 fat pancakes with a side of scrambled egg whites with American cheddar and herbs. Wait, where are the plates, maybe they broke them when—

THUD!

What. The. FUCK.

You whirled your head around, your neck jetting out to find the source of the noise while you held onto the wooden handle of the metal spatula.

Silence. Thick and heavy…impenetrable as you stood amongst the quiet kitchen. The longer you stood, the heavier it got.

Until Luigi emerged from upstairs, sporting a tired and pained expression with a hand pressed to the side of his face. It didn’t take long for you to put two and two together— Luigi had fallen out of bed.

“Morning…” he rasped, immediately making his way to the kitchen digging in the massive cooler, and placing a cold can of beer on the side of his face.

You watched in slight concern, scanning his features to check for any visible bruises before returning his greeting with a quiet “good morning” of your own. 

“Where’d they all go?” He asked, scanning over your form as you cut strawberries into hearts to put on your pancakes.

“They went on a run. And then they’re gonna go get breakfast cuz I told them I wasn’t gonna cook for them,” you murmured, popping a sliver of sweet strawberry into your mouth.

“Oh. Damn…” he sighed, looking down at his feet with a slight pout.

“They literally just left like twenty minutes ago, but I can make you something. I’d rather cook for one person than like thirty,” you shrugged, giggling at the cutely shaped berries on your plate.

“Actually…” you murmured, pulling out a second plate and adding one of your three pancakes onto the plate along with some of your scrambled egg whites.

“Your protein intake must be in the negatives…” he chuckled, graciously accepting the white and square porcelain plate from your hands. “No meat, no egg yolk, no protein shake.”

“God forbid a girl makes a meal to her tastes,” you sighed, rolling your eyes before adding honey and light syrup to your pancakes. “Frat boys and their fuckin’ protein talk…”

You snorted, a smirk on your face as you began to eat your pancakes while using your free hand to fill a mug full of the only non-alcoholic substance in the house. Skim milk.

“Sorry, that’s my bad,” he chuckled, removing the near-frosted beer can from the side of his face and flicking open the tab with his teeth. He chugged most of the can in one go before setting it on the counter and crushing it with a flex of his forearm.

“Thank you for the food. You didn’t have to share, that was really nice,” he smiled, pulling open the utensil drawer in the counter, pulling out just a fork before digging into his soft and fluffy strawberry pancakes. 

You nodded, giving him a thankful smile as you finished your breakfast together in silence.

If you had to choose between any of the brothers, you’d choose Luigi without a doubt. Not only was he respectful and actually used his brilliant mind, he seemed to have an almost intimate amount of compassion for you.

Way before the title of sweetheart and the pledges of Phi Kappa Si, Luigi was just some dork who you hung out with in your dorm room. Cooped up with your knees to your chest, you would sit with a couple of friends and just chat back and forth about whatever came to mind.

Life, intimacy, Italy, the green Luigi, different types of Pokémon, and various types of plants. When your time wasn’t always occupied by someone else, or when it wasn’t weird to be alone together, your quiet bond had the potential to sprout into red roses of intimacy.

Over time you had grown closer with shared laughs and stupid inside jokes. Back-and-forth banter grew casually sexual, heavy innuendos slipped from both of your lips with even heavier eye contact with every word.

There were days when you’d find yourself on his flexed thigh, just sitting there and doing nothing but holding a casual conversation. Those were the days of your early freshman and sophomore college journey.

But now you had your foot out the door— freshly graduated with both feet on a rocky path to independence. Luigi no longer was your flirty best friend who carried the weight of your deepest testaments, but just another acquaintance in the frat you monitored.

It was upsetting, of course, but things change and people can grow apart with time. It seemed as though that was just what happened between you and Luigi. 

“Don’t drink that, it’s got spit in it,” Luigi warned, nodding his head upward subtly as you went to take a sip of your skim milk. Your eyes ran over the clear glass, a grimace forming on your face as you pushed it away from you.

“Do we not have water?” You asked, crossing your arms and setting your plate down on the counter next to Luigi’s.

“Nah… just get some from the sink,” he shrugged, scraping the remnants of his breakfast from the plate and shoving it into his mouth like a human garbage disposal.

After all, his name meant big eater. He seemed to live up to the name.

“Embodying your last name I see…” you joked, your eyes flicking back and forth between his plate and his face, his lips slightly glossy with the honey, syrup, and the blood of strawberries on his bottom lip.

“Absolutely… All I heard growing up was,” he began, pausing to let his tongue dart out to clean his plush and pink bottom lip.

 “Mangia, mangia! Sei troppo magro!” He recited, his tone growing a bit smoother following the sudden switch of his tongue. Italian— the romantic language of southern Europe, where the towers lean and the men preen.

Your eyes fought the urge to widen as shock and slight arousal flooded your mind— his boyish giggles following his wave of authentic nostalgia were the sweetest hymns of joy. His voice was already attractive, but nothing was more sexy than a man who knew his native tongue.

“I didn’t know you spoke Italian…” you said, failing to mask the slight breathiness in your tone as you clumsily slotted your dirty dishes into the sink, the honey-maple and strawberry residue falling atop Luigi’s plate with a loud clink that almost made you jump.

“Really? I thought I told you…” he hummed, his brows raising a fraction as he stared down at you. He leaned back, his palms gently gripping the edge of the marbled counter as he kicked a foot back. “I probably didn’t, actually…I don’t speak it often.”

You hummed, tilting your head to the side slightly as you traced the outer shell of your ear to calm your nerves. 

“Wait, say something else” you asked.

“That’s exactly why I don’t,” he chuckled, his arms crossing over his chest. 

“C’mon, please?” You smiled. “I’ve gotta hear it from you now.”

He sighed sarcastically— a long, drawn-out, and heavy gust of sweet wind from his lungs as he rolled his eyes as far as his sockets would allow with a smirk.

“Only because I love you,” he chuckled. “Farei qualsiasi cosa per te, ama. Sei così carina.”

It was like a pink and gaudy glass pane shattered into a thousand glimmering little pieces— slicing through your mind as you replayed the words again and again in your mind. You had no idea what it was he said, but it sounded so good coming from his mouth.

From his little proclamation of loving you, clear evidence that the spark between the two of you still flickered with the flames of burning fascination, to the quick work his tongue made enunciating his Italian dialect. Everything about this moment was intoxicatingly attractive.

“What does that mean?” You asked, an innocent tilt of your head as he chuckled at you.

“It means you have a really big forehead and your little frog face is cute,” he joked, stretching his arms up a little to alleviate some of the tension stored in his spine.

In that moment you stopped to admire what he was wearing— a navy blue zip-up hoodie and black sweatpants with a white drawstring. When he stretched his hoodie traveled up a bit, revealing his defined V-line and trimmed happy trail.

Good fucking god this man is so hot.

You cleared your throat, pulling down his hoodie before he finished stretching with a chuckle.

“Whore. Cover your midriff, slut,” you joked, giving him a disapproving glare and a tut-tut-tut of your tongue.

“Slutshaming me for stretching is crazy,” he laughed, a gentle furrow of his brows as he bonked your head gently with his large hand. “C’mon, let’s go play pool.”

You chuckled, holding onto his arm gently like it was a natural reaction. Cold nostalgia flooded your brain, the light and freezing liquid invading every crevice of your brain as the memories of long nights spent holed together in a dingy old dorm that had seen its fair share of emotions.

“What is it with you and pool?” You sighed, still following him through the kitchen and down to the game room anyway.

“Pool,” he began, his head leaning forward a bit as if it was helping him enunciate his words. “Is like chess. I like thinking about what I can do before I do it…helps me focus and it’ll help me think critically later in life.”

You nodded, chatting away with Luigi about pool and different types of ways to hold a pool cue as you ran your manicured nails along the walls. The drywall made its parched and scratchy sounds under your nails, the stimulation ceasing as you withdrew your fingers from the wall and greeted the pool table once again.

“I feel the need to tell you now that I don’t know how to play pool,” you blurted, picking up a pool cue in your dominant hand and tapping it on the floor twice for good luck.

“It’s okay, I’ll show you,” he smiled, tossing his cue back and forth between each of his large palms before it settled in his left hand.

He lifted the triangle from the object balls carefully, making sure each one was in place before beckoning you to come closer to the table. You obliged, quickly slinking your way beside Luigi.

“So hold it with your right hand…yeah, like that. Then you put it over your thumb…mhm… and bring your pointer finger up,” he instructed, his hand ghosting over yours to correct any errors in your hold.

“And then lean over and push the cue forward” he nodded.

You leaned forward, your hips awkwardly hitting the table as your pool cue missed the very thing you were aiming at. Oops.

Luigi choked back a loud laugh, turning around to face the wall and taking a deep breath before sighing with a wide grin. When he calmed down, he turned back around and placed his arm over yours, his hand wrapping around your wrist as his chest pressed against your back.

You could feel his body's warmth. If you focused hard enough, you were almost certain you could feel the steady thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat in his chest.

He leaned forward, taking you with him until your upper body was almost parallel to the grassy green fabric of the pool table. Your breath caught in your throat, and an fire crept up your cheeks as you tried not to inhale his scent like a weirdo.

Aftershave, nautical soap, and warm cotton.

“Like this, see?” He asked, driving your dominant hand forward to hit the object ball. “If you don’t lean forward you’re gonna miss your shot. It makes everything so much easier when you’re just starting.”

As Luigi forced your arm forward, helping you hit the cue ball again and again, you swear you could feel his crotch brush against the fat of your ass once or twice. A sign you hoped you weren’t overlooking.

“What’ya doing back there?” You mused— a light and flirtatious tone to your words that he could easily shoot down if he wanted to. But the thing about Luigi and his sneaky self…is he didn’t want to.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he chuckled, his hands snaking their way down to your gentle hip bones as he leaned up off of you. You missed the warmth of his chest on your spine already, longing to bask in his layered scent once again. 

“I think you do, but that’s okay,” you chuckled,  dropping your hold on your pool cue to wrap your hand around Luigi’s instead, lacing your fingers together. “You’ve never been a liar, don’t start now.”

He chuckled, guiding your hips back and forth against the steadily rising tent in his sweatpants. Of course— he was fake-banging you while giggling like it was the funniest thing in the world.

“Luigi, you're acting like a middle schooler… don’t be crude,” you chuckled with a light eye roll.

He laughed in response, shaking his head free of his immature thoughts as he gave a final sigh. He ceased his movement against your behind, his heavy palms rubbing up and down your sides with the feather-light touch of all the saints above.

How he wanted to ravage you whole, they’d have to cover their little cherub eyes with the soft feathers of their wings while their hands covered their mouths to muffle their scandalized gasps. The heavens would tremble with each loud little whine and moan he’d pull from you that echoed up to the skies.

“I’d do you so dirty on this pool table…” he murmured, more or so to himself as his hands came to squeeze your hips possessively.

You hummed, poking your hips back against him as your nails traced random shapes into the green fabric. You heard him sigh, deep and heavy as he suddenly went still.

“Now you’re just being a brat,” he chuckled, pulling at the fabric of your shorts. “This okay? We can stop if you want—“

“Do not,” You began, gripping his wrist with the force of an agitated bull, red and fiery with lust and want. “Stop. Keep going.”

“Yes ma’am,” he smiled, his hand hooking into your shorts and sliding the pretty pink fabric down your knees.

“Pretty…” he murmured to himself, running the pad of his thumb down the soft cotton fabric of your panties.

You shuddered a bit at the scandalous contact, the gentle but firm touch sending sparks of electricity across the planes of your skin. He was so deliberate with every touch to your body…almost like he had years of practice.

Which you knew wasn’t true, as he had only been with roughly two people across his lifespan. As tragic as it was to admit out loud, Luigi was just really really good with anything involving his hands.

He earned a quiet whine from your soft lips, your hands dropping your pool cue clumsily as it clattered on the hardwood floors. Your hands gripped the edge of the pool table, the cherry-tinted dark wood as he continued to fidget with your achy clit through the fabric.

“Luigi…” you sighed, your brows furrowing with frustration and light taps of euphoria. “Stop teasing, you’re being evil.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he purred, an impish smile on his face that you wished you could see. He lowered his sweatpants, just enough for his rigid and raging bulge to become visible from the thin cloth of his boxers.

He chuckled, the sound ruminating deep in his chest as he gently pressed his sheathed bludgeon against you, rocking you back and forth along his length with small sighs and quiet whines. He could feel your pretty panties dampening with his slow and deliberate thrusts, a knowing smirk forming on his cherub cheeks.

“You better pray the guys don’t come back soon…” he laughed, freeing his girthy dick from his boxers, the shiny pearls of precum dribbling down the grapefruit-pink tip onto the floor.

He hooked his fingers in your panties, pulling them down with angelic affection before he bumped his fat tip against your glistening cunt. Sticky, sloppy, short-lived noises reverberated through the game room, bouncing off the walls and striking your eardrums with sin.

“Sorry,” he murmured, an apology that confused you slightly as he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Just like rain, designed to warn you of lightning that would leave you cowering and trembling with its loud cracks of thunder, you failed to heed the warning he gave you.

He pushed in, eliciting a sharp inhale filtered by his teeth. He was huge and thick like the fat beer bottles that lay stagnant on the floor in various locations in the house.

You yelped a little, the mix of precum and slick doing little to nothing to aid the stretch as he speared you apart and filled you up. It took everything in you not to kick your legs as he slowly slotted himself between you.

“Aww, it’s okay…I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he cooed, gently holding your hand as you squeezed around him— both your hand and your cunt.

You moaned out, broken and dissonant as you pressed your free hand to your mouth like your life depended on it. Even though you were pretty sure everyone was out of the house, you didn’t want to wake up any potential late sleepers who could very much still be two floors up.

“Ah, no,” Luigi said, withdrawing your hand from over your mouth. “Don’t do that, get loud…let the world know who’s sweetheart you really are…”

He began moving, his hips moving against yours slowly. He could feel you soaking your inner thighs and his dick, the slick and slippery sounds growing louder as he began to piston in and out of you with increasing speed.

You could feel him abusing that spongy spot deep in your core, dragging across the inside of you and sending sparks of electricity through your veins. Each breathy moan and whine he pulled from you only served as motivation to keep him going, postponing his hips against yours like a fervent bull.

By now you should be embarrassed; the table beneath you had begun to subtly rock with the force of his thrusts, your arms were trembling, and your face was pressed into the green fabric of the playing field as pathetically loud moans spilled from you. 

“Tight—! God, you’re squeezing me I can barely fucking move..” he grunted, putting in extra work to refrain from squeezing your hand hard enough to fracture your bones. He huffed above you, deep moans of his own escaping from the back of his throat.

There was a whiny and high tone in his words like an angel crying above you as he sucked in deep breaths of air that only satiated him until the next. The frequency of your moans grew as the knot in the pit of your stomach began to tighten, warning you of your looming orgasm.

“Close…!” You whimpered. If it wasn’t for Luigi’s strength, or maybe the added support of the pool table, you were positive your legs would have buckled and given out a long time ago.

“I know,” he purred, his free hand coming up to your neck and gently squeezing around its sides.

It wasn’t long until your limbs seemed to lock up— ice froze your limbs in place as your lower legs kicked in place. With a loud moan, your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you painted the man behind you with a pretty shade of white.

Oh my god, he isn’t slowing down.

Your eyes shot open as quickly as they could when you felt his chest lean against your back again, his low grunting in your ear as he continued to fuck into you. He kissed your temple, muttering soft “I’m sorry, baby’s” into your right ear as your moans began to grow hoarse and whiny.

“I’m so sorry…you feel too fuckin’ good, you can give me another, right?” He coaxed, turning your face toward his with a firm hand on your jaw. 

You were panting, all in your fucked-out glory as your eyes welled with salty tears; a testament to your overstimulated arousal. He had never seen something so beautiful in his life.

From what you could see through your fogged and warbled vision, his nose was an affectionate rose. Rouge and rampant with his rough thrusts, the stimulation was driving you more insane than you swore you were.

You reached back, weakly pushing at his toned pelvis in a last-ditch effort to save yourself some dignity.

“Move your hand,” he instructed, his eyes staring sternly into yours as he slowed his near cervix-bruising pace.

“Too much…too much, can’t—…Can’t take it” you babbled, not even sure if that was what came out of your mouth. Your brain was much too foggy to process words, much less say them.

“You’re going to take it though,” he cooed, letting go of your jaw and standing up straight, instantly revoking his body heat from your back.

He grabbed your wrists with his large hand, keeping them still above the curve of your behind. Seeing his large hand restraining your smaller ones unearthed a strange fuzz in his mind that sent his dick twitching madly, triggering a strained string of profanities to fly from his lips.

His muscles and bones tensed up, the veins in his hands and arms flexing slightly as he stilled. Being aroused hadn’t rendered him stupid, though, and with a grunt of your name, he pulled out of you and spilled hot and sticky ropes of cum all over your behind.

You yelped, immediately whining as he fucked you into a twitchy and sensitive second orgasm, a shaky breath pulling from your lips as you went limp on the pool table.

“You sound pretty, too.”

[dixonrising]

We're Together

pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

summary: After someone else try's to get with you Daryl makes it known your his.

"Im goin' on a run with Glenn" Daryl said as he entered your cell, "Be back before dark."

You nodded turning to him," Be safe," you smiled at the man before you. You stepped closer placing a kiss to his cheek before he turned to leave.

You and Daryl never defined what you were but, there is a mutual understanding that you were more than friends.

-

"Hey, Ronnie!" You said as you took the seat next to him.

"I’m glad you're on watch," He smiled. Your face looked questioning as you spoke again, "Why is that?"

"I have been meaning to ask you something," He spoke nervously as he turned to face you even more.

"I noticed it's just you in your cell, I was wondering if maybe, you wanted to maybe," he paused taking your hand in his," maybe, try us? like together?" He questioned.

You nearly laughed," Ronnie, that's sweet but, I’m not interested," You spoke softly, moving your hand from his, "Daryl, is well," You paused unsure of how to continue, "I'm not sure what Daryl would call us." You laughed.

"Dixon?" He questioned,” Doesn’t seem like the type to settle down.”  

“Like I said I am not sure what we are?” You said, genuinely feeling as though you and Daryl might never become anything.

“Well you know where to find me, if that cell of yours is still empty’” He said laughing.

“You got it, Ronnie.” You smiled knowing that would never be happening any time soon.

Little did you know though Daryl had heard that whole interaction between the pair of you.

-

"How, was your shift?" Maggie asked as you entered the prison.

"Terrible," You nearly laughed," Ronnie, asked me out.” She joined in the laughter barely believing what you had said.

"Well, we're on duty together tomorrow," She smiled.

You were more than happy with that. "Alright, Mags, I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow, I'm beat." You smiled at the girl before heading to your cell.

You were confused to see bags, outside of the door and a mattress being pulled into the cell. You headed to the door hearing a rather loud groan.

"Daryl?" You questioned stepping into the cell," What are you doing?"

"Nothin'" He said, lifting his mattress onto the top bunk. He moved past you bringing his bags into the room.

"So this is a thing now?" You questioned sitting on the bed.

"You don't want me in here?" He asked sitting next to you.

"I am more than fine with you being in here." You smiled, "But, why the sudden want?"

"I over heard that douche, Ronnie, hittin' on ya," He said looking down twiddling with his fingers.

You smiled, "Jealous?" You questioned.

"No." Daryl responded now looking at you.

"You crazy, you know that right?" You asked.

He smiled shaking his head.

"Just don't bring anything you catch in here," You smiled laying back on the bed," And I guess you can stay."

He laughed laying back next to you, "If you don't want me in 'ere, I can go," He laughed as you snuggled into his side. His arm moving behind your head.

“oh no, your staying,” You laughed into his chest.

-

Thank you all so much for reading!! Request are open! Please share and comment I love to hear your thoughts!!

[revelboo]

Maybe a one-shot on how some of the MTMTE bots would react to their human suddenly teleporting back home? My bones crave angst.

Oh. My one weakness… angst… How painful do I want to make this…

This is an alternate take scenario, not part of any of the stories

MTMTE What If Angst Scenarios: Just Gone

Megatron

• Rumbling out a laugh, he affectionately taps a servo under your chin and smiles when you lay a soft hand on him. “You’re quiet today,” he says, the contact with you soothing him. “Everything alright?” And you wrinkle your little nose at him. Know you think he’s worrying over nothing, but he can’t help it. You and the spark he’d created with you are everything to him. A second chance. A family he’d never dreamed possible. A gift that he’s not sure he can ever be truly worthy of after all he’s done.

• “Just a little off today.” There’s a faint feeling of disorientation, but it’s nothing major. Servos ghosting over your cheek, he’s frowning and you know he’s going to hover and worry unless you distract him. “Can I have some water?” Optics brightening slightly, he turns away and watching him, you still can’t believe he’s yours. That you’re here. Sometimes it all seems like a vivid dream. Heart aching as you watch him, that disorientation sharpens. Hooks into your middle to steal your breath and you recognize the pain. Remember it. Don’t even have time to cry out.

• Staggering, his hand catches the counter as sharp pain flares through the bond, almost crippling him as the tiny container of water slips from his servos. Turning, he stares at his berth. At where you should be and aren’t. Can’t sense you at all. You or his sparkling. Just gone. Legs giving out from under him as his knees hit the floor. Servos shaking uncontrollably as he roars out in pain.

Scavengers

• “Hey, move it you two, we don’t have time for-” Trailing off as Spinister just looks up at him, your blanket clutched in his servos, and Krok’s spark constricts. Knowing something is wrong, seeing it in the pain in Spinister’s optics as the big mech curls forward, rotor blades flaring as he hangs onto your favorite blanket. “Where’s Tiny? Spinister, what happened.”

• “Gone,” he manages, keeps turning the blanket over, twisting it like you should still be tangled in it and he’s just missing you somehow. You’d been in his hands, talking to him and your expression had gone strange. All you’d said was that you suddenly didn’t feel well. He’d had you. Safe. He’d been holding you and you’d just disappeared out of his servos. “Gone.” Looking helplessly up at Krok, because he always knows what to do. He can fix this. He has to fix this. Holding out your blanket in his shaking servos. Pleading for help.

Swerve

• Laughing, you push an empty glass across the bar top to him before jogging for the next one. Head turning when Nautica takes a seat, Swerve hears a clatter, a stool hitting the floor and he looks at Trailbreaker. The big mech pointing. And there’s nothing there. Overenergized already? “What is it, boy? Timmy down a well? Use your words,” he jokes, smile faltering when you don’t laugh. You always laugh. Trailbreaker is backing away from the bar gaping. Spark constricting when he can’t find you. You were right there. “Hey, that’s not funny.” Reaching to move glasses to see if you’re hiding behind one. You can’t have gotten down without help. ‘They just disappeared,’ Trailbreaker whispers. No. He’s had too much. He’s wrong. You’re not gone without a trace. You can’t be. He never got to tell you that he loved you. The moment had never felt right. You’re not gone.

Rodimus

• Entering his quarters, he sets down an energon cube and one of Ratchet’s nutrient bars for you. “You wouldn’t believe what Mags said to me,” he mutters, turning. And you’re not on his berth where he’d left you. Freezing, he shifts your blankets to check that you’re not buried under your nest of them. And immediately drops to his knees to look under the berth. Servos warming as his ability begins to flare. Terrified you’d fallen, but there’s no trace of you. It’s like you disappeared. Opening his door, he steps out into the hall and sees Chromedome looking lost. ‘I think the humans are all gone,’ the other bot says reaching for Rewind as the smaller bot grabs onto him. He’s wrong. He must be. His armor plating is popping, heating up. They’re wrong.

Tarn

• Servos sliding idly along your spine as you laze on top of him, he softly sings for you. Relaxed and focused on the steady beat of your heart. Tucking his chin to see you watching him. Humming along even though you don’t know the words, your voice twining with his to make warmth spread through him. And you sit up suddenly with a shaky gasp. Hooking a servo around you as you look up at him, brow creasing. “What is it?” You look afraid suddenly, doubling over and he cups his palm around you. And you’re just gone like you’d never been. And his servos tremble as he stares at where you’d been. Where you should be.

Cyclonus and Tailgate

• Another panic attack? Feeling the fear and pain spark through his bond, Cylconus growls and staggers. Nearly crippled with it. Crossing the room as Tailgate bounces off a wall, backpedaling and yelling incoherently, he catches the smaller bot and drops to his knees. Trying to calm him before he hurts himself. Or you. Where are you? Usually you two are about inseparable. Feels Tailgate clutch at him, and there’s a ragged, aching wrongness that’s tearing at him. All jagged edges through his bonds with you and Tailgate. And Tailgate’s hysteria takes on a new meaning.

• Venting raggedly, he’s howling trying to get Cyclonus to understand and can’t calm down enough to tell him. So he’s screaming, panicking. One minute everything was fine, stretched out beside you as your mouth brushed his neck, lazily tangling in you. Snaring you with his spark to check on the fragile twin sparks you’re carrying and then you’d just been torn away. Lost you and the sparks. Just gone. And he can’t calm down, grieving and terrified and confused. Screaming.

And kitten twins for poor Cyclonus is a thing now

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 17: The One About All the Hot Air

Oh, hey, hey, hey – what is that over there?

No, not that –

That!

Ah, fuck.

Is that what I think it is?

Yeah, yeah, it looks like some sort of hot air balloon.

Ugh, it’s that fucking wannabe Wizard! Get that manipulative shit-fuck outta here!

Seriously, don’t let it set foot on land. It’s not welcome on this side of Oz.

Someone release the flying monkeys! Like, now. Knock it out of the sky.

Wait, I thought the Wizard liked green. This weirdo has a red balloon.

Bitch, I didn’t say it was the Wizard; I said it was a wannabe Wizard.

Oh, no wonder it’s steering that balloon like a fucking clown.

Hell, I don’t even think we need the monkeys. That idiot is going to crash and burn itself straight into the glass walls of the Emerald Palace.

Well, you know what they say when you start throwing stones in a glass house…

It is slightly amusing (and a tad concerning) to me that children are always led to believe that the villain of “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” is that bitch of a Witch of the West when the worst character traits are actually portrayed by the Wizard himself. And, by “worst character traits,” I mean that he was a master manipulator who conned an entire city into believing he held some form of great power.

Did you know that in the original story the Emerald City wasn’t really that green? Sure, it was made from green glass and emeralds, but the Wizard required everyone to wear green-colored glasses so that everything appeared greener than it actually was. Weird, that. And, even more weird, people bought it! “Here, put these glasses on and you’ll see everything exactly the way I want you to see it.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m fully aware “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” is a work of fiction, but the idea that people can be easily manipulated – especially by someone with “power” – is not fiction.

That’s what today’s piece of “hot air” is about – fandom manipulation and the power of suggestion. And who better to manipulate an entire fandom than the media? It’s unfortunate that I have to give the media power in this story – and even more unfortunate that I have to give it to rag-mags and social media – but the reality is information is power, regardless of whether it’s misinformation. In fact, MIT Sloan did a study in 2018 demonstrating how false information spreads through social media, namely, Twitter, six times faster than true information. Disturbing, right? I don’t even want to know what the going rate for misinformation is in 2025.

And, of course, since I opened today’s story with a visit to the Land of Oz, we may as well take a day trip over to Australia. Remember how I told you Australia deserved an entry of its own? Well, this is it. No, not really. I did say this was a day trip, not a sleep-over, so it’s not going to be chucked full of shiny bracelets or ways to “keep a good girl down.” It’s just our starting point today.

In my first entry, I briefly described what brought me into this fandom. It was something Luke said – and not really what he said, but how he said it – that left me intrigued. He was being interviewed on the Bowral red carpet by “Gretchen from the Philippines.” Yes, that’s literally how she introduced herself! Could I instead refer to the nice lady by her real name (Gretchen Fullido)? Sure, but “Gretchen from the Philippines” is far more fun. Plus, it sounds kind of whimsical. Any ways, Gretchen (from the Philippines) asked Luke if, “in real life,” he’d support friends-to-lovers. Luke’s response was, well, a bit jumbled, which was what sparked my curiosity because his previous answers that day were, for the most part, articulate: “I would – I would support friends – I feel like it’s not something that – that I have in my li – that I resonate with – that I’ve experienced. But, you know, if my – if my friends wanted to explore a relationship with one their friends, go for it. I’ll support it.”

Something in the way Luke answered that question was like suddenly being able to see the forest for the trees. At that moment, I was convinced Luke had always been in love with Nicola, and everything else that went on during that particular red-carpet event (and thereafter) simply christened the USS Lukola. However, that comment by Luke – and a subsequent one he made in New York – would result in the addition of a lot of trees to our enchanted forest.

Now – I apologize – we need to borrow a hot air balloon, preferably one that can travel through time, and jump forward to November 5, London-time. I promise, we will return to Oz momentarily.

Oh, fuck.

What now?

That ridiculous faux Wizard is right behind us. I thought I told you to send in the monkeys!

Dammit, you said we didn’t need them! I left those fuckers back in Oz.

Well, umm, I think we might need them now.

Why??

Uhh, do you see those four-legged beasts on the ground chasing our balloon?

Oh, you mean those coyote-like creatures?

Yeah, but we’re not in the Americas – and those ain’t coyotes…

Ah, here we are: November 5, Claridge’s, London. This was the evening Nicola attended the Harper’s Bazaar Women of the Year awards. We’re only stopping in real quick to steal a piece of the speech Nicola gave that evening. Okay, got it! Let’s get the fuck out of here!

The part of the speech I wanted to share was this: “I did a six-month press tour for Bridgerton, the show which I love, and I’m so proud of. The amount of inappropriate questions I got asked about my appearance, about my relationship…”

Hold up. Relationship? What relationship?

Did she say “relationship” or “relationships?”

Does it fucking matter?

Well, I guess not. But what does it mean?

I could tell you what I think it means… Wait a hot-air-balloon-minute – where the fuck have you taken us? I told you we needed to go back to April 21, Aussie-time. This looks like Soho in January.

Shit, sorry. Let me fix that. Here we go…

>>> 

Umm, hey, where’s that weird little red Wizard? I swear it was just behind us…

Eh, probably got stuck in Soho, hahaha. Guess it missed its exit.

Do you think that’s a good idea?

Yeah, sure. It’ll be fine…

We’ve returned to April 21, Bowral, Australia. Now, at this point in the timeline, World Tour interviews were already well underway. In fact, the first two parts of EmEdits on YouTube are entirely pre-Australia interviews, making up roughly 6 ½ hours of screen time. I’m not the least bit surprised that “Gretchen from the Philippines” asked Luke what his thoughts were on “real life” friends-to-lovers. The chemistry between Luke and Nicola was hard to ignore.

The Australian red carpet also introduced the hand holding, which – if we took another magical mystery tour over to May 9, Italy – Nicola and Luke agreed was a sign of “love.” I suppose I could buy the excuse that one or both had so much anxiety they needed the other’s hand to remain calm on the red carpet. But, nah, I wouldn’t buy that at all – for one very specific reason. When Luke and Nicola were seen leaving (I believe) the Milton Park Country House on April 23, Luke instinctively reached for Nicola’s hand as they were descending the steps. Why? This reflex by Cool Hand Luke was as natural as a pregnant woman touching her stomach. I ask again – why?

There’s only one answer.

It’s the answer that fits with the Claddagh ring. It’s the answer that fits with the side jaunt to Galway. It’s the answer that fits with their natural chemistry, the hand holding, the canned “shared experience” and “unique relationship” responses, the playful sexual innuendos. It’s the answer that fits with Luke’s “the best foundation for love is friendship” bracelet. It’s the answer that fits with Nicola’s remark about “[t]he amount of inappropriate questions I got asked…about my relationship…” It’s the only fucking answer that makes sense.

But, the real kicker is, why don’t people believe that is the answer?

Why is it so hard to believe that Luke and Nicola could be in a real-life relationship?

That’s easy – because the Man Behind the Curtain told us so.

Who is the Man Behind the Curtain? Well, that’s also easy. It’s collectively the rag-mags and the social media creators on the prowl for a following. It’s the spread of misinformation at its worst and it’s so incredibly easy to do with, say, a pair of green-colored glasses.

Like I said, “…put these glasses on and you’ll see everything exactly the way I want you to see it.”

There was one major plot twist that came out of the World Tour, and you already know what that is. The seed was planted with a New Year’s Eve kiss, fertilized with blurry pictures, a compulsory hallway hug, and copycat photos, and encouraged to grow with a bit of junk news and a lot of social media innuendo. Now, I’m not saying the video and photographic evidence that was presented was fabricated; I’m simply suggesting the narrative that came out that evidence was skewed. The media, namely, social media creators, pushed us to plant Lutonia trees while Luke’s actions (i.e., not acknowledging the existence of Lutonia) told us to “pay no attention to the Man Behind the Curtain.”

Uh, so, what you’re saying is we shouldn’t have left that wannabe Wizard in Soho?

Ah, shit! I forgot about that fucker!

The unfortunate thing about the Lutonia narrative was that it was bolstered by insinuation that Luke would never be interested in Nicola. Now, whether these remarks were deliberately planted, or they were simply seedpods carried away by a storm, they were not overlooked by Lukolas – or Nicola. In fact, Nicola herself brushed upon it in her Harper’s Bazaar speech: “The amount of inappropriate questions I got asked about my appearance…” Yes, I’m referring to the suggestion that Luke preferred “brunettes” over “blondes.” Somehow this narrative was conveniently supported by the existence of – lo and behold! – the brunette “friend of a friend” Antonia, who happened to be slender. Again, whether it was intentional or not, the push by, initially, social media creators (and later gossip rags) to link Luke to Antonia inadvertently called the blonde in our story – Nicola – fat. I refuse to dance around that word because it is exactly what this disgusting narrative implied when it chose to compare Antonia to Nicola. Regardless of whether these gossipmongers “corrected” themselves by replacing “thin” with “brunette” and “fat” with “blonde,” the implication was that Luke would never be interested in Nicola because she had thick blonde hair. This was incredibly upsetting and confusing to many Lukolas because it was contrary to Luke’s behavior towards Nicola throughout the World Tour (and in Bridgerton behind-the-scenes clips).

I decided months ago that Luke was incredibly transparent. And, by that, I mean he’s terrible at keeping secrets. Luke himself admitted his “tell” to this was pulling at his ear – now go watch the World Tour with that information in mind. It’ll give you something to do, at the very least. Luke’s sincerity is also why the blonde versus brunette nonsense just doesn’t take flight for me. Any ways, as I hinted at earlier, Luke’s comments on the Bowral red carpet and his later comments in New York City about friends-to-lovers would – again, unfortunately – give the Man Behind the Curtain ammunition to debunk any real-life relationship between Luke and Nicola. Luke was quickly labeled as being “…dismissive of something ever happening between him and Nicola…” Those are literally the words The Tab used in an article dated May 22 to explain Luke and Nicola’s differing commentary about real-life friends-to-lovers. In fact, the article is titled, “Luke Newton has revealed the reason he’d never date Bridgerton co-star Nicola Coughlan.” Oddly – but not really given the source – Luke never actually said he would never date Nicola. But that fact didn’t stop it from becoming a theme of the World Tour – Luke didn’t believe in friends-to-lovers therefore he would never date Nicola – even though, by the end of the tour, Luke’s stance on this had seemingly changed. That’s not to say the rag-mags misquoted Luke – they didn’t – but the narrative they coiled around his words attempted to shut down the idea that Luke and Nicola would ever date in real life because Luke wasn’t interested. But what Luke was saying was that he believed in love-at-first sight. “I actually don’t think friends-to-lovers is something that happens in my life. If I meet someone, I know immediately.” Now, take that statement with the fact that Luke has repeatedly stated he remembers everything about the moment he met Nicola.

The above examples of gossip and innuendo are simply par for the course. The media manipulates facts all the time – whether it be through social media chatter or rag-mags putting their own spin on ordinary commentary – but this type of manipulation is not what puts the fandom in danger of itself. In fact, most of the gossip and innuendo that took root during the World Tour would have dissipated almost immediately after it ended – if it hadn’t been for Papsmear.

Yeah. That was disastrous.

Come to think of it, it was awfully convenient, too, don’t you think?

Absolutely. And you know what else was convenient? That little wannabe Wizard was –

Oh, yeah, I heard that, too! That clown has been trying to hand out green-colored glasses ever since!

Yep. Tried to give me a pair and I told it to go fuck itself and its little glass cat, too. I mean, they weren’t even name brand glasses. Fake ass, bitch.

All jesting aside, if you haven’t noticed already, I do, on occasion, use my writing to call out the fandom, usually as a whole. I mean, we are in this together, right? Actually, no; we ceased being Collectively Delulu after a few unsavory characters were bitten by the Hunter’s Moon and followed Nicola through the streets of New York and London. There was a major – and rather unexpected – shift in the fandom when the rabid Jakolas appeared from the dark corners of our enchanted forest. And I’m sure you’ve realized at this point in my story that I have one particular – oh, shit, I just realized I don’t even know to which fandom our wannabe Wizard belongs. Ruh-roh. Regardless, that motherfucker is in my peep sight because it is a perfect example of how fandom manipulation has reached a new level of toxicity.

Typically, I don’t care what part of the fandom you’re on. My general attitude is, to each their own. If you’re a Jakola and you find yourself spending an average of 15 minutes each week reading my Lukola blog, I applaud you for peeking outside of the den hole. Best not let Alpha find out, though. It’s all in good fun, right? I often find myself getting a good laugh from Jakola stories, especially when they theorize on the Woman Behind the Curtain. Question, though – did you find her? In all seriousness, if I didn’t consider Jakola and Lutonia perspectives, I would be borderline Conscientiously Stupid, now, wouldn’t I? After all, the desire for knowledge is what ultimately gave our Scarecrow his brain.

However, what I don’t find “in good fun” is when social media creators prey on more than one side of the fandom under phony pretense, namely, that they “just want Nicola to be happy.” Oh, these Cowardly Lions may argue that they’re simply being “neutral” – and, yes, I’m sure some instances of this do exist – however, neutrality does not embrace openly ridiculing one fandom over another, especially on a platform that is touted by its owners as being a “safe space” for everyone. The problem with these so-called “neutral creators” is that they’re only here for social media engagement – the clicks and the giggles – and they defect to the other side when the going gets tough. If you, too, take issue with this kind of creator, be soothed in knowing that when you play two sides, you find yourself with two-times the number of enemies.

What makes these so-called “neutral creators” – actually, let’s just call them the “Defectors” – so poisonous to the fandom is that they are made from the grease drippings found at the bottom of the barrel of the Conscientiously Stupid. The Conscientiously Stupid are one thing – they are the ones using their platforms to spread misinformation because they choose to ignore exculpatory evidence (i.e., they’re headstrong in their beliefs) – but the Defectors are typically the ones creating the misinformation and feeding it to the Conscientiously Stupid and then hanging them out to dry when the information proves to be false. The Conscientiously Stupid who refuse to “lose the battle” then resort to bullying (more so than usual) the Sincerely Ignorant of an opposing fandom. And in defense of their Sincerely Ignorant comrades (or simply because they’re sick and tired of the Conscientiously Stupid preventing anyone from having nice things), the Fact Finders – unceremoniously, I might add – have taken their own place on the battlefield (oh, yes, they are absolutely your tactical commanders). Now, the entire fandom is at war with each other – all because some wannabe Wizard – a Defector – convinced people to look through a pair of shiny, green-colored glasses. More than once.

Is it appropriate – or perhaps a bit catty – to put “ceasefire” here?

Ah, yes, well, uh, we have found ourselves a bit far from Oz at this point, haven’t we?

I suppose – but we are trying to help Dorothy find her way back home, and at least we now have an idea as to how she got lost.

Maybe one day we will get her back to Kansas.

Yeah, maybe.

Oh, silly me! I forgot to sneak in a sly reference to Dorothy’s third companion – the Tin Man! He’s perfect for the end of our story. You know, in the book, the Wizard was just an ordinary man who stumbled into his Ozian existence on a magnificent hot air balloon and took advantage of the power that Emerald citizens bestowed upon him. Yeah, yeah, yeah, the Wizard preyed on the naïve using deception and the power of suggestion and invoked fear in anyone who dared to question his authority –

Uh, where are you going with this?

Give me a minute!

Like I said – shit, where was I? – Oh, yes, the Wizard was just an ordinary man, and ordinary people are flawed. We all make mistakes. This is where our Tin Man comes in as he represents love and empathy. Yes, empathy; the ability to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, to understand and forgive, to take into consideration someone’s redeeming qualities –

You know that Wizard defected in his hot air balloon before taking Dorothy home, right?

Wait, what?

Okay, okay. It was Toto’s fault but the Wizard sure as shit didn’t come back for her!

Hmm, you’d almost think Toto knew the Wizard’s true colors all along…

“Au revoir, Wiz.”