#just because it’s on the internet doesn’t mean it’s true

[itaipava]

— little hints f1 boys would give that they have a crush on you.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

he is interested in all your passions and hobbies: even if it is something he knows little about, he’ll ask you about your passions or things you like to do to have more to talk about with you and to get to know you even better. he also likes to research on the internet and send you videos that he finds about your favorite topics and, when you least expect it, he will start conversations about it, leaving you surprised but happy to know that he puts a lot of effort into connecting with your world.

˒ ⌕ GEORSE RUSSELL

he always includes you in his plans: whenever he travels, he talks as if you’re going too, without even inviting you directly. when you ask him about it, he usually says, “well, you’re going with me, aren’t you?” and when you can’t go because of work, he gets really frustrated, but he makes sure to keep you updated. he’s also always saying “we should check out that new place together… when are you free?” or “wouldn’t it be fun if you go with me for the next race?” he loves planting the idea of ​​future moments with you, and he loves it when they actually come true.

˒ ⌕ SEBASTIAN VETTEL

he loves teasing you: he always looks for a way to tease you, but always with a touch of flirting, which leaves you wondering if it's really just a joke or if he means something with it. he also hates it when someone else does this and he doesn’t hide his anger, and it’s at this moment that you also don't miss the opportunity to tease him; and the look in his eyes tells you that in fact, he doesn’t tease you just for fun.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

he always offers to help you with whatever you need: no matter what you need, he will do whatever it takes for you and to make your life easier. he will get you a coffee (and a sweet treat) in minutes when you say you want it. he will buy you something you said you needed but couldn't because you were too busy. he will come to your house to fix that broken drawer. he will always be there for you, even when you don't ask him directly, he will be there.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

he always remembers little details about you: sometimes he'll casually mention something small that you've said in the past, like your favorite snack or a specific memory. and sometimes you're delightfully surprised by how accurately he tells you these things because you could swear he'd forgotten or didn't really care, but he's always paying extra attention to you and everything you say is important to him.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

he always compliments you a lot: but they’re not generic compliments that you always hear, he focuses on unique characteristics of yours that he really admires, like “you always have a way of making everything more fun and cool” or “you always seem to know the right things to say”, he’s always complimenting you, and he always means it.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

he always looks for reasons to text you: he likes to send you news about your favorite singers, bands, authors or something he knows you’ll like. it’s things like “you popped into my head when i saw this, and i had to share” or “doesn’t this remind you of that joke you made?” and he always tries to keep the conversation going, no matter what.

˒ ⌕ LIAM LAWSON

he is always your biggest fan: whatever you do, he gives you all the support and help in the world. he is always the first one to show up when you need encouragement, whether it’s to wish you good luck at an event or send you a bouquet of flowers with a little note, or a brief message saying that he believes in you, and that he knows everything will turn out fine. he also loves talking about you to people like “did you see what y/n did? she’s amazing, right?” he is your biggest fan, and he doesn’t hide it from anyone.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

he looks at you a lot: when you two make eye contact, you have to look at something else first because he can’t get enough of you - and he loves it when you get embarrassed about it. he also loves to admire you when you’re distracted and don’t realize he’s looking at you; he loves looking at you and learning your mannerisms. to him, you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, and even though sometimes you catch him staring at you and ask him with a smile what he’s looking at, he doesn’t stop or give you a serious answer, which creates a spark of curiosity in you.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Kiss me - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: Kiss me - Cassie

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: smut (it's a cute one though)

wordcount: +4k (got carried away, ops)

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER THE CUT, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

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“Looking all sweet, but let’s be real, he’s the type to f** Y/n so hard she’s left feeling her cervix as a souvenir of their night.”

His fans had always been in fine form, but after those pics were released from his event? Oh, they were in rare form.

One tweet caught my eye, and I had to bite my lip to keep from cackling out loud. There he was, looking like an angel on earth, his smile all soft and innocent—yet the caption was nothing short of outrageous.

I nearly snorted, and, of course, it got his attention.

“Something funny?” Lewis asked, his gaze shifting over, already curious.

He looked so blissfully unaware of the chaotic energy his fans had just injected into my life. “What’re you reading?”

“Oh, nothing. Just, you know, your fans thirsting” I said, holding my phone up so he could see. His eyebrows lifted slightly as he read, and when he got to the cervix part, that smirk I knew all too well spread across his face.

Great. Here it comes.

“They’re not exactly wrong” he said with that smooth, I’m-definitely-trouble smile. “Didn’t you just say a few days ago that your gyno might get worried one day?”

My eyes practically rolled back. “I cannot believe you’re bringing that up.”

He shrugged, unbothered, stretching his arm across the back of the couch, his fingers grazing my shoulder. “Why? Because it’s true?”

I tried to brush it off, laughing, but I realized his fingers were already on my jaw, gently tilting my face up to his. I gave him a mock-innocent look, like I wasn’t just laughing at his, exceptionally creative fans.

“I’m just saying, they’re funny. Doesn’t mean I actually think it’s accurate.”

“Uh-huh.” He leaned in close, his eyes locked on mine, dark and serious. “You sure about that?”

God, his gaze was enough to make my stomach flip. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of that.

“Well…” I trailed off, clearing my throat as casually as I could manage.

Big mistake. Because in a flash, I saw that competitive spark in his eyes, the one that always meant I was about to lose any game I tried to start with him.

“Oh, is that a challenge?” he asked, voice dropping into that deep, rumbling tone that never failed to get my pulse racing.

“Only if you’re up for it” I shot back, praying he couldn’t tell I was already half a goner from just that look.

He chuckled, low and smooth, and that was all the warning I got before his mouth was on mine, shutting me up mid-sentence. His lips moving with just the right amount of heat that my snarky attitude was gone.

I forgot the stupid tweet, the fans, the whole internet, because now there was only the feeling of his hands on my neck, his chest pressed against mine.

When he finally pulled back, I could barely breathe, and he had the nerve to smirk at me. “Still think they’re exaggerating?” he murmured, his fingers tracing along my jaw.

I wanted to come up with some snappy reply, some sarcastic retort, but I could barely think straight with him this close. All I managed was a slightly shaky, “Maybe a little.”

“Guess I’ll have to remind you thoroughly, then.” He grinned, and before I knew it, he had scooped me up from the couch like I weighed nothing, carrying me down the hall to our bedroom.

One kiss after another, he was laying down a trail of heat I couldn’t even pretend to resist, my hands already tugging at his shirt, which somehow found its way to the floor.

Okay, fine I thought, somewhere in the haze of it all. Maybe the fans do have a point.

I barely had a second to catch my breath before he was on me again. And I mean on me.

I was melting into the bed, feeling the weight of him, the warmth, like every nerve in my body was suddenly awake and waiting. He brushed my hair away from my face, his eyes tracing over me like he was memorizing every detail.

How on earth did I get this lucky?

And, of course, Lewis wasn’t exactly making it easy for any train of thought to be coherent.

He lifted the hem of my shirt slowly, so slowly that I almost wanted to roll my eyes.

Tease. But the moment his lips touched my stomach, any trace of sass in me just evaporated. His kisses were gentle, lazy almost, like he had all the time in the world to just savor me.

“Oh, you’re enjoying yourself,” I managed, the words barely a breath as his mouth moved lower, leaving goosebumps.

He grinned against my skin, and I felt his lips curl into that playful smile that always made my heart flip. “I think you’re enjoying this just as much.”

He was right, of course, but I’d be damned if I admitted it right away. I was still catching up to how he was going to prove the tweet right, but first he was teasing the hell out of me.

He moved up again, his face inches from mine, and my breath hitched when he took his time kissing me like he was reading the most interesting book in the world, page by page.

Each kiss felt like he was imprinting something into my skin, and honestly, it was a little maddening. Here he was, practically worshiping every inch of me with a patience that I could barely handle.

“I thought you liked it rough” I murmured, trying to sound unaffected, which was absolutely pointless given the way my heart was pounding.

“Oh, I do,” he whispered back, his eyes holding mine. “But I love it when I get to take my time with you.”

He was impossibly close now, and his voice went straight to my bones.

I should have had some witty reply ready, some sarcastic little retort that I’d normally throw out just to keep things light. But he wasn’t giving me an inch to think, his fingers tracing a line down my sides, his lips skimming my collarbone, and I was losing more and more the fight to keep myself together.

My head tipped back when his hands made their way to my hips, his grip just firm enough to keep me in place, and his lips found their way to my chest.

You’re taking forever on purpose, aren’t you, Hamilton?

Each kiss, each touch, felt like he was making some kind of unspoken point. He wanted me to know, to feel just how deep this went for him. And God, he knew exactly what he was doing.

By the time his mouth reached my nipple, the last ounce of my composure was long gone. My back arched on instinct, and I was biting back a moan that would have only encouraged him more.

His fingers moved over my curves like he was memorizing the way I fit under his hands, and then he pulled back for a moment, his gaze flicking up to mine, dark and unreadable. “You really think I’m just like switch, don’t you?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that made my breath catch.

All I could manage was a nod that didn’t make sense. My heart was in my throat, and every inch of me was burning under his touch.

He smirked, as if that was all the answer he needed, and then he dipped back down, his mouth reclaiming my skin. “I’ll show you both sides” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss over my heart. “Rough when I want, and sweet when I have the chance. Or both when you let me.”

And I could barely manage to get out a word between breaths. “You’re... infuriating.”

He chuckled against my skin, his breath hot and maddening. “And yet, you’re not telling me to stop.”

His lips found my other nipple, and he took his time, making sure that my head was spinning by the time he came back up, his hand tracing along my waist, each touch making my skin feel like it was on fire.

The world outside this room could have disappeared, and I wouldn’t have noticed. Right now, there was only him— taking his time, making sure I knew I was the only person who’d got to see him like this.

I was far too wrapped up in him, every look and every touch setting me on fire.

And then he slid his hand down my stomach, his palm pressing firmly against my covered pussy, the heat of it sinking through me.

His fingers toyed at the edge of my lace panties, his touch so light it was driving me insane.

“Lew, come on,” I half-groaned, half-laughed, trying to keep some control over the situation—or at least pretending to. His smirk told me he knew exactly how close I was to giving up that control entirely.

“Oh, I’m coming on,” he murmured, his fingers slipping down to cup me through the lace. The heat of his touch was enough to make me arch against him, and I hated that he knew exactly what kind of power he had over me.

That smug grin of his? Absolutely infuriating. And totally deserved.

He gave a soft laugh when my body responded, and I could practically feel his smirk against my neck. “That easy, huh?”

“Shut up and keep going” I said, trying to keep some shred of dignity.

He knew what he was doing, his fingers tracing torturously slow circles, not enough to relieve the ache but more than enough to drive me out of my mind.

“Patience, love,” he whispered, lifting his head to give me that classic, cocky look. “I promised you both.”

If I’d had the ability to roll my eyes, I would have. But instead, I reached up, grabbing his face, desperate for the feel of his lips against mine.

He grinned, then kissed me deeply, one hand still pressed firmly against me, his fingers finally slipping under the edge of the lace, grazing over my skin.

Then his fingers brushed my folds, just barely, and I bit down on his lower lip, unable to stop myself.

He let out a low growl in response, which only made me grin, even as my heart pounded like crazy.

“Impatient, are we?” he teased, pulling back just enough to look at me, his eyes flashing with that mischief that was already wrecking me.

I let out a breathless chuckle. “Cut the tease…”

He shook his head, amused, his fingers slipping under the lace fully now, and I felt myself buck against him.

Each slow, teasing stroke on my clit was enough to make me nearly forget my own name.

I was so losing this game.

“Soaked already,” he murmured, his voice a delicious mix of satisfaction and amusement.

I would have made a comeback, I swear, but his fingers were tracing over me in a way that was completely short-circuiting my brain. Every time I thought I’d gotten a grip, he found a new spot, a new way to make me squirm.

“Oh, is that a smile?” he asked, catching my expression and leaning down to press a kiss to my cheek. “Thought you wanted me to hurry up?”

I rolled my eyes absentmindedly, even though I could barely muster the energy. “Hurry up, slow down, whatever. Just don’t stop.”

He laughed softly, and before I could say another word, he moved down, positioning himself between my legs, his mouth hovering so close I could feel his breath. His fingers traced up and down, building a maddening, delicious tension, and every nerve in me was screaming for him to finally close that distance.

“Lew, please” I managed, breathless and desperate.

He gave me one last teasing grin, holding my gaze as he started, his lips and hands working together to arch me off the bed. And with every nerve in my body alight, I realized there was no witty comeback that could save me now.

I was utterly, completely lost in him.

Dizzy with need, every nerve in my body tuned to him, but Lewis? He was taking his sweet time, equal parts infuriating and intoxicating.

He was enjoying every single second, holding me on this edge that had me biting back moans, trying to keep at least a shred of dignity.

Like that was even possible with him right now.

His hand slid down, curling around the edge of my panties to tug them aside. But of course, he just looked at me, a devilish smirk in place.

“So impatient tonight,” he murmured, brushing his fingers lightly over me, like he hadn’t just spent the last however-many minutes driving me insane. “Isn’t this what you asked for?”

If I had any ounce of wit left in me, it was dissolving fast. “I didn’t think you’d take ‘slow’ this slow” I shot back, my voice breathlessness and sass all mixed into one, making his grin grow wider.

“Maybe I just like seeing you worked up” he said, his thumb pressing firmly against my clit.

The jolt it sent through me was enough to make my legs tense, but he just chuckled, watching the effect he had on me like he was studying art. “I need to live up to the hype, don’t I?”

His teasing was making it so hard to keep any semblance of control.

I reached for him, wrapping my hand around the base of him, only to have him still my wrist, that devilish grin back. “Oh no, love. Tonight, you’re just going to feel me. That’s your only job.”

Somehow, his words alone were making my pulse race. “Alright, Mr. Control Freak.” I managed, half-laughing, half-breathless.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, we’re back to the name-calling?”

Before I could respond, he lined his cock, pressing just enough to make me gasp, his hands gripping my thighs as he held me firmly in place.

He was still smiling as he began, his thrusts slow and measured, like he had all the time in the world and zero plans to speed things up.

I was doing everything I could not to lose it completely, but he was making it hard.

Impossible actually.

Every single, agonizingly slow stroke was designed to drive me out of my mind. And he knew it.

He looked down at me, his gaze intense, but there was that barely-there flicker in his eyes. And I saw it. The effort it was taking him to keep his control.

He was fightingit, I could tell, like he was determined to make a point.

“You good?” he asked, voice soft but full of that teasing edge, his thrusts hitting a spot that made my vision blur.

“Yeah” I managed, my voice little more than a breathless mess. “Totally good.”

Not desperate at all. Nope. Not even a little.

But he was still watching me with that knowing grin, his fingers tightening on my thighs as he slowly picked up the pace, his breaths becoming heavier, more labored.

“You’re squirming,” he pointed out, his voice strained with his own restraint. “Think I’ll be able to keep this pace with you moving like that?”

Even in the middle of the haze, I couldn’t help but give him a smirk. “Keep up, then.”

Bold statement—especially given that he was currently holding every ounce of control over me.

And before I could even blink, he lifted my legs, shifting them up onto his shoulders, and suddenly every single thrust hit exactly where it needed to. A slow, perfect shockwave that had me gasping and clinging to the sheets.

“Like that?” His voice was a low growl, his control slipping as his movements gained just a bit more force, each one slow and all-consuming.

I could barely form a coherent thought, let alone answer as his gaze was fixed on mine. Like he was waiting, daring me to say something else, but every word dissolved before it could even reach my lips.

And just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, he finally let go of that tight, controlled pace, his movements still slow but just a little rougher, his hands gripping my waist as he watched every reaction he pulled from me.

“That’s it, love,” he murmured, his voice labored. “Let me see you.”

Every nerve in me was on fire and somewhere in the haze, I was sure I could feel my heart racing out of my chest. He leaned down, his mouth capturing mine, and with every kiss it was like he was branding himself into me.

I couldn’t stop the sounds leaving my lips, my breath coming in sharp gasps, and he finally let out a groan, his control slipping just enough that I could feel him speeding up, his breath hot against my skin.

“Lew—” I breathed, my voice breaking, unable to stop myself from moving in time with him, my body fully surrendered to the way he was moving against me.

His name was the only coherent word left in my vocabulary, and when he finally lowered my legs, letting them rest on either side of him, he pressed his forehead to mine, his breath warm and steady.

“You feel that?” he whispered, his voice full of intensity, his hand coming up to cup my face as he slowed down just in time to let me ride the waves of my release.

And gosh did I rode that orgasm.

I felt every inch of him, the way he was holding himself steady, giving me that same tender, relentless energy.

As my breath started to steady, he brushed his thumb across my cheek, waiting for me to open my eyes.

And when I did, he was watching me with that same teddy bear smile, soft and proud, like he knew exactly what he’d just done, and like he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

I couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh, the warmth of his gaze wrapping around me. “You good?” he asked, and even though his words were casual, there was something in his eyes that told me he wanted to hear it.

“I think we’ve definitely moved past good.” I echoed, giving him a half-smirk, half-laugh.

I could still feel the remnants of my orgasm pulsing through me, my body soft and spent, but there was something about the way Lewis was still hovering over me, breath shallow, eyes still full of heat, that had me pulling him closer.

The intensity of his earlier movements had me completely lost in him, and now that he was slowing down, I felt that familiar pull to take care of him, to return some of the devotion he'd given me.

His forehead rested against mine, his breath warm against my skin as his movements grew slower and more deliberate.

He hadn’t come yet, and I knew it was because he was doing everything in his power to give me space to come down, to keep from being too rough and just savoring this moment.

His body pressed against mine, his hips moving in slow, circular strokes, dragging against me in a way that had me shivering beneath him.

“I’m good Lew, really” I whispered, trying to catch my breath, and he hummed softly in acknowledgment, his lips brushing across mine before he pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice husky with desire but with that hit of concern, as though he was double-checking, even though I could feel how much he was struggling to keep it slow.

“I’m more than good” I said, my voice a little shaky, but my nails running up his back, pulling him even closer to me. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

I could feel him smile, a small, satisfied curve of his lips. His hands cupped my face as he kissed me gently, deepening the kiss as he started to move again, each thrust slow, almost measured, like he was trying to memorize every part of me.

I could feel every inch of him inside me again, the drag of his pelvis against me driving me wilder even being gentler than before.

It was almost like he was whispering his love in every thrust, and I felt every part of me melt under him, my own hands roaming down to find his back, his sides, holding onto him.

Because I could never let go.

I was so fucked up in the love I had for this man. So fucked up in the way he could turn me inside out, leaving me breathless one moment, and then so tender and gentle the next.

He wasn’t rough now. He wasn’t hurried.

“You’re close” I whispered against his lips, my voice low but teasing, loving the way he was fighting not to lose it. His grip on my sides tightened as he groaned softly, his eyes closing as he concentrated on the slow roll of his hips.

“I’m trying to hold on” he murmured back, his voice strained. “Trying not to rush it… but, damn, baby…”

I smiled softly, my hands gently cupping his face as I kissed him again, slow and tender, wanting to give him everything he needed in this moment.

My own body was still buzzing with the aftermath of my orgasm, and I loved how it felt to be so connected to him. He was still taking his time, even though I could hear his breath faltering with every pass of his hips.

“Let go, Lew” I whispered softly, pulling him down to me, pressing my lips against his ear. “I’m right here”

That seemed to do it. I felt the tension in his body snap as he gave in, and the way his movements became almost desperate but still held that deep, slow rhythm.

His moans were louder now, growing more guttural, and I felt him lose himself in me, in the way he was finally letting go, filling me with a warmth that had me gasping for air.

I could hear his breath hitching as he tried to push himself just a little bit further, the way his body trembled with the effort of holding it together. But it didn’t matter anymore.

I pulled him closer, my hands clutching his shoulders as I whispered more sweet nothings, my lips brushing his skin in a way that had him falling.

When he came, it was slow, labored and deep. His whole body shuddering as he let out a low groan, and I was right there with him, kissing him through it, holding him close as he filled me.

His face was next to mine, his breath hot on my skin, and I couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his ragged moans. There was nothing more intimate than hearing him like this, his pleasure all tangled with mine.

As his body finally slowed, he pulled back slightly, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his features filled with that boyish happiness.

He gave me a soft smile, still trying to catch his breath. “You good?” he asked, the same question he always asked, but this time it was a little lighter, a little less intense.

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “Are you?”

He grinned, his eyes still a little unfocused. “Yeah… just, give me a minute”

I ran my hand gently along his chest, still reeling from the sensation of him inside me, but not losing the opportunity to tease him lightly. “Gotta give it to you, for an old guy, you really work it well”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, looking down at me, clearly amused. “Oh, is that how we’re doing this now?”

I grinned up at him, my body still buzzing from the aftermath. “I’m just giving credit where credit’s due. You might be getting up there in age, but you’ve still got it.”

He chuckled, finally pulling away, both of us wincing at the feeling of emptiness.

He grabbed some tissues from the nightstand and as he cleaned my thighs up, I couldn’t help but notice the change in how he looked at me, from that goofy, tender smile to a wicked grin.

He hesitated for a moment before stating “Definitely left a souvenir”

I looked down, feeling the sensitive heat between my legs, and shot him a cheeky smile. “You got a little too carried away with your ‘old guy’ moves.”

He raised an eyebrow, giving me a knowing look. “If you’re still that sassy I’m sure I can find other ways to shut you up.”

I laughed, the sound full of affection and humor. “That tweet’s gonna stick with me, isn’t it?”

But despite the banter, I couldn’t help but feel that warmth again in the pit of my stomach, that quiet love I had for him—the way he could be so tender, so gentle, but also rough when I needed it.

As he kept on cleaning me up, I raised an eyebrow, the corners of my lips twitching into a mischievous grin. "Oh, and just so you know," I started, letting my voice drop into a teasing tone, "I liked the tweet. Just to make sure people know I agree."

His eyes widened in mock disbelief. “You did not,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement as he leaned back to look at me more intently, trying to gauge if I was joking.

I couldn’t help but smile even wider, the truth hanging between us like an unspoken dare.

He stared at me for a moment, processing the full impact of what I’d just confessed. And then, with a wicked grin, he leaned down and kissed me hard, his lips claiming mine in a way that told me I’d just earned another round in return.

Well, looks like liking that tweet would be the least of my worries.

When he finally pulled away, both of us breathless, I smirked up at him, savoring the moment.

“You know,” I said with a little chuckle, “You might just get me to start a fan club for you.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin spreading. "Oh yeah? What’s it gonna be called? 'I love Lewis Hamilton'?"

I shook my head with a dramatic sigh. "Nah, that’s already taken, probably. Maybe something like, ‘I’d let Lewis Hamilton leave me raw any day,’” I shrugged nonchalantly, as if it were the most normal thing to say.

His eyes flickered with amusement and his lips curled into a knowing smirk. Without another word, he pulled me toward him, kissing me deeply again, his arms wrapping around me like a vice.

I guess if he’s gonna keep me like this, I might just have to start the fan club for real.

But then again, who’s the real fan here?

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TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf

@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @bebesobrielo

@hiireadstuff @f1-football-fiend

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[sleepdragon]

Just a couple of take aways from these here interwebs that have annoyed me lately.

If you can’t criticise Israel without being antisemetic, maybe your issues aren’t with Israel, and maybe you don’t give af of what’s actually happening in Palestine.

Boycotting Disney, Starbucks, McDonalds etc aren’t gonna stop a war. Y’all are daft.

Posting “I stand with” online is not activism. I can’t believe we still have to remind people of this.

If you need your fav celebrity to denounce something that’s happening politically, around the world etc, y’all are daft. Can we normalise getting celebrities to shut the fuck up about issues they don’t understand?

Hollywood is not on the left. They have never been on the left. If you think they are you have not been paying attention.

If your solution to end a war is to dismantle any nation, you’re an idiot. That’s not a solution and it doesn’t create peace. Crack open a history book ffs.

As always, every country uses propaganda tactics of one kind or another to keep their citizens in check. Let’s not attack anyone for not knowing what their country has been doing.

Don’t tell people to do their own research. Unless they know how to vet sources their research will still be biased and be based on Googles SEO and paid promotions - not on facts.

Just because someone sounds smart doesn’t mean they know what they’re talking about. I mean, can we normalise teaching critical thinking in schools

Lastly, no you probably aren’t neurodivergent no matter what ppl are diagnosing you with. Conversely being neurodivergent is not an excuse for being a dick

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

All I’m going to say I think now that my brain remembered part of what it was thinking is that Taylor and Joe went through a lot together (good and bad) and regardless of how it ended or what led to it they both seem to be determined to keep that private and not throw each other under the bus and in the end they’re just two very, very different people whose outlooks in the long term were just never going to align and never has that been clearer.

[ct-multifandom]

I don’t usually make posts like this, but I’ve been seeing a lot of anti-intellectual junk lately, and I really think we need to put the word “pretentious” up on a shelf until people learn what it actually means.

It doesn’t describe someone who likes artsy-fartsy deep meaning media. People who are pretentious are fake. They’re posers trying to be sophisticated and unique, not like other girls. They pretend to only like stuff they think will make them sound cool when they talk about it. They want to act like they know something you don’t, and they want attention for it.

By definition, if you genuinely enjoy something, you can’t be pretentious. If it resonates with you, and you analyze it, and you don’t care what people think, that’s the polar opposite, actually. If you love obscure experimental prog music, if you watch underground high concept indie films through English teacher eyes, if you spend hours in a modern art museum reading each piece as a vessel for storytelling, if your backpack’s full of poetry books that inspire you, if you play underrated games that were someone’s passion project, if you have an interest in studying the classics or the masters, you are not pretentious.

Of course, some people just don’t like some stuff, and that’s fine, but that’s not what this is about. Don’t let anti-intellectuals shame you for enjoying things just because your interests are inaccessible to them, because they refuse to be brave and put effort into critical thinking. You’re not stuck up for refusing to overlook the craft of artists.

[itspileofgoodthings]

tags continued from prev post.

[giraffeter]

I often see posts about curating your own online experience that make the point, “content creators aren’t your parents.” And, yes, that is absolutely true! And I try not to be like “as a parent,“ but as a parent…

EVEN PARENTS ARE SUPPOSED TO ENCOURAGE RESPONSIBLE READING/VIEWING BEHAVIOR. NOT filter everything ahead of time for their kid.

When my kiddo was 5, his pediatrician was asking him the usual Well Child Visit questions (“What are your favorite foods? What do you do to get your body moving? Do you know what to do if you get lost in a public place?” Etc.) and she asked, “What do you do if you see something on TV that scares or upsets you?”

I piped up like, “Oh, he doesn’t watch TV without one of us in the room,” which was true at the time and is still largely true now. She said, “Yes, but that won’t always be the case, so make sure you’re talking to him about what to do if he sees something that upsets him.”

So we started talking to him about that, and the answer is simple: “Turn it off or leave the room, and talk to someone you trust about what you saw and what you’re feeling.”

The answer is NOT “Ask your parents to make sure you never see anything upsetting again,” because that’s just not possible — and ultimately that would be doing the kid a disservice, since sooner or later he’s going to be out in the world where we can’t control what he watches or reads. That doesn’t mean we don’t try to make sure he’s watching/reading age-appropriate stuff, it just means that’s not the only safeguard he has — and that’s a good thing.

So yes, content creators aren’t your parents and aren’t responsible for making sure you never see anything you don’t like — but also, your own parents should have taught you what to do when that happens. So if they didn’t, take it from me, your internet mom:

Turn it off.

Walk away.

Talk to someone you trust about how you’re feeling.

And leave the person who created the thing that upset you alone.

[geekyfannerd]

I personally find this a shit take. People made chatGPT and people choose to use it.

I'm sorry but people getting butt hurt about other people posting things on the internet that has nothing to do with them and hurts nobody is the oldest most boring reaction ever.

People write fic for free. If someone feels they would like to collaborate with an AI to do so they can do that. You can't stop them. Sorry.

I have used AI to help beta writing and fiction, it was helpful and what I needed in order to feel comfortable posting as a person living with dyslexia learning to write 20 years later than everyone else.

I also experimented with getting it to write a whole fic.

And it was the worst thing I had ever read. ChatGPT and other AI are still very shit. But as someone who has an obsessive neurotype I can't wait until I can get an AI to write me 20 versions of the same pairing and kinks, exactly the way I like it, because I've already read everything on AO3 for that rare-pair. That would be a dream. But we are definitely nowhere near that yet.

Even when I tried to get an AI to write just one chapter after I had already written 8000words as a starting block, I still had to rewrite the entire thing because it was failing to maintain internal logic and was just bad.

It was obviously written by AI because the grammar was perfect but the fic made little sense and was the worst fic I had ever read, including years of reading "this is my first fic"s.

I have been a visual artist since I was a child and every single piece of art I have ever posted here or anywhere else has been downloaded and reposted by others on other sites. When you make your work public on the internet people can and will take it and do as they please, including feeding it into their AI script.

I'm not saying that it's ethical, but getting mad about it is like getting mad at the rain. I hope you find it cathartic.

If what is happening is enraging you, maybe the internet isn't somewhere you can be chill.

Saw my first post with someone admitting they used chatGPT to ‘write a fic’ which they then shared here on tumblr and on Ao3.

To be clear, using AI to churn out a piece of fiction is not writing.

Using a bot (possibly one that was trained using a scrape of Ao3, that is to say, the theft of work from every writer who has posted their work on Ao3) is NOT WRITING.

It is theft. It isn’t creation. It’s a regurgitation of the consumed collective work and effort and heart and time of every writer who has shared their work on Ao3.

‘I’m not a good writer’ is no excuse.

Want to be a writer? Put in the time everyone else does to practice.

Don’t feel confident in your work? Open yourself up to the same vulnerability and risk that the rest of us do.

You don’t get to use a fucking bot to vomit out an approximation of a story and pretend you’ve got skin in the game.

The sad thing? This bot-assembled fic wasn’t bad. It was bland, but it had internal logic, some passing context to character and canon. It wasn’t like those early AI art pieces that had surreal compositions and extra fingers. It wasn’t immediately obvious it was made by a bot.

In this instance the person who posted it admitted they had used a bot. Which, actually, I have some respect for. But it probably isn’t the first and it won’t be the last.

I don’t know that there’s a solution to this, but it is both hurting my heart and enraging me.

[sexlapis]

[◉°] … TOJI AND Y/N BEING A COUPLE FOR 10 MINUTES STRAIGHT (PART 5) … 899k views

꩜ : actor!toji x gn!reader

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 (they are actress!reader)

sfw for the most part, fluff, crack, peeping toms & perverts (toji deals w them <3), cute babies, use of y/n

⤷ the way tojiyn is just real at this point…

a/n: thank you so much for 3000 followers that is literally crazy! thank you all sm for enjoying and supporting my fanfics🩷🩷. as a gift u all get more actor toji. i just missed him <33

_____= your name

masterlists

from the actor![character] series:

actor!toji masterlist

actor!nanami & actress!yn being a couple

actor!levi & gn!reader being a couple

taglist: @okayiamkassandra | @tiredslepz | @hayatslife | @shxyxyxxxx | @snowprincesa1 | @laylasbunbunny | @mimiemie | @ncentic | @rosesored | @imover-18 | @gintokhi | @suzuperstarr | @lostgxrlblog | @jallie10 | @nnsav | @bunnyx-sakura | @bubbabobabubbles | @ladytamayolover | @keiva1000 | @morgyyyyyyy | @studiecoherence | @earth2fae | @ce-namonreads | @ib4ryuguji | @hisjaegerist | @basiloverthyme | @sweet-kiwi | @sayitowshi | @iovemytoru | @thecompletechaosmaster | @sugutoad | @inumakiiz | @uzxotic | @1meshugge1 | @kunikuzushisbeloved

*

꩜ first clip

posted on toji’s (mostly inactive) instagram, a clip of you with a little baby no more than a year old standing on your lap. you make funny, expressive faces as she giggles and mumbles in an adorable, pure manner. the pinnacle of innocence.

“look at that! who’s that, baby?” you ask the baby, referring to the person behind the camera.

you turn her around, making her look up. she points, her face beaming with a toothless smile.

“ahh!” she squeaks.

you giggle.“it’s toji!”

a huff is heard from behind the camera and a big hand comes and strokes the baby’s chubby cheeks. “hi princess.”

the clip ends there, but the reaction from the internet only begins.

-

@ynb11111gestfan

a baby??? wtf did i miss???!:!:!

@justalurkeracx0unt

YOU GUYS ADOPTED?????????

@gojosbl!ndfold

which one of you gave birth

@tojizbigfatbreederballzinmymouf

girldad toji? my biggest dreams have come true💕💕

⤷ @herbigdoeeyesss

YOUR NAME?????

-

it’s safe to say, everyone was confused about who this random baby was. so, you were the one to clear things up by posting a video on your story;

“i’m sorry for the confusion guys. yes, me and toji had a baby. toji had a very long labour and he worked so hard and gave birth to a little baby girl <3”

well, that cleared things up.

꩜ second clip

toji walks out of a elevator and is…carrying you in his arms. bridal style. with your bodyguards following close behind (not that you need bodyguards when toji is with you).

the man holding the camera asks toji, “why are you carrying them?”

instead, you respond with a shrug, “my feet hurt.”

toji doesn’t even react. he just walks down the corridor, carrying you like he does it every day.

꩜ third clip

shortly after you began filming for a minor role in a popular television series, there are rumours floating around of toji allegedly physically assaulting one of the members of staff on set.

of course, everyone has all kinds of theories of what happened, but many people are not surprised because, well…it’s toji. they are not shocked by this type of behaviour coming from him.

but then, all is revealed by TMZ in a short youtube video, being a oh so nosy individuals they are:

“we got leaked information about what happened on that set. apparently, the staff member had been secretly recording y/n in their caravan, even when they were getting dressed! disgusting, i know. it’s said that toji spotted them and ‘took’ matters into his own hands. and by that, i mean throwing hands. toji is now being accused of assault by said staff member. in my eyes,” the reporter throws his hands up, shrugging, “that freak got what was coming!”

after that, people are on toji’s side, praising him for what he did. but enough people believed his actions to be extreme and overly violent.

so he releases an apology for his actions in a video, in which it is very clear that he had just woken up and he was still in bed:

“hey everyone. i know just about everyone’s heard of what happened. i would just like everyone to know that…i don’t care,” he chuckles, “i really don’t give a shit. i would do it again if it had to. that piece of shit deserved what he got. i’m only sorry for not breaking his other arm.”

꩜ fourth clip

you and toji are on the red carpet in paris, being interviewed about an awards show and your time in the country.

“so, have you two seen any of the sights and attractions in paris?”

“uhhhmm, no not so much. we really wanted to but we’ve just been uhh, really, really-” you pause for a moment, a second too long as you look at toji, who is staring at you. even from this angle, toji is seen to be smirking and he winks at you.

you blink rapidly and turn back to the interviewer. “busy. yeah, we’ve been really busy.”

“that’s one way to put it.” toji chimes in.

a tojiyn truther favourite.

꩜ fifth clip

you and toji, wanting to raise money for charity, decided ti participate in the bake-off, a televised baking competition.

“okay!” you start, excited.

the excitement doesn’t last very long.

“what even is this [BLEEP]?”

“toji! don’t swear! they have to bleep that out!”

off you and toji go, baking in such a disorderly and chaotic fashion, even the other participants are looking at you sideways.

multiple bleeps are edited in due to toji’s creative language.

“phew!” you breathe out. “i think we’re making good time-”

“ten minutes left!” the host calls out.

“ten minutes!?” toji shouts.

“what? ten? we haven’t even started the buttercream yet! the cake hasn’t even cooled down! what!”

“move,” toji moves into your space, snatching the whisk and bowl of ingredients from you hands and begins stirring like an absolute mad man, “you cool off that [BLEEP] cake, i’ll make this! [BLEEP].”

you dash toward the window, plain cake in hand, and simply…stick the cake out of the window, hoping it will call down faster.

toji and you are stared at in complete and utter confusion.

after sloppily applying the buttercream to the cake, along with the toppings, you and toji are done just in time.

it is your time to present.

you and toji walk to the front, placing the cake in front of the hosts.

“hm,” the woman said, “presentation is messy.”

you and toji glance at each other.

they take a bite.

“oh,” the male judge hums, “not bad.”

“i think it’s quite tasty!” a judge with a british accent compliments. “well done to the both of you.

you and toji cheer silently and high five.

you both came in third place in that round.

go figure.

꩜ sixth clip

you and the cast members of “jujutsu kaisen” are at comic con for a fan Q&A. the place is packed full of fans!

“i…i have a ques-question for _____. I-” his voice cracks wildly and he clears his throat, causing a few giggles in the crowd.

he continues. “i-what-why-what-what do-how-” he sighs and covers his face with embarrassment.

a wave of laughter goes through the crowd, mocking the poor boy even further.

“it’s okay,” you coo to the fan, “i don’t bite.”

the audience laughs some more.

and the toji interrupts with his own comment of, “they sure do.”

you gasp. your head whips towards toji and the crowd erupts with laughter, whistles and hoots of teasing and encouragement.

the fan, now beet red, covers his face again. “oh my god.”

“great! toji look what you did!” you shout. “you broke him!”

*

a/n: new actor toji take it or leave it

[traumasurvivors]

Honestly, it’s exhausting running a positivity blog. There is so much negativity on my posts. Sometimes aggressive, or people saying “this doesn’t apply to me” or “this doesn’t apply in this situation though”. And it’s tiring. It’s tiring to read through my activity feed. Sometimes I’m trying so hard to be positive and offer supportive words and the negativity hits me a lot harder when I’m in a depressive episode. I genuinely feel exhausted by a lot of the comments people leave.

I’m not saying this for sympathy or even to whine but I kind of want to talk about it because I don’t think most people do this intentionally and maybe there’s a chance that when they realize the negative effects their comments can have might think twice? It’s not just me that finds this draining. I see it everywhere.

Someone posts a video of their popular dog and there are comments “oh my god, I’m going to be so sad when the dog dies” and I’ve seen owners politely asking people not to leave comments like that because it’s upsetting to think about. But they’re endless. I get so heartbroken thinking about the day my dog dies, and I know it’s inevitable but if I had people reminding me on all my posts about my dog, I’d be so upset.

I’ll see someone share a video of a happy moment with their family and the comments are full of people talking about how “it must be nice. My family isn’t like that”. And your feelings are so valid. You deserve to be able to talk about it. I’m just asking that maybe you think about where you’re talking about it.

I make a post that says something like “be gentle with your past self” and there will be dozens of comments and asks I receive that say “no fuck that bitch.” Like you’re so allowed to feel that way, but it’s tiring to get asks about it.

I know there will be people who go on about “it’s a public platform. You sign up for this”. But whether that’s true or not, I still think it’s worth saying because it might open someone’s eyes.

There will also be people who say “if you can’t handle it, stay off the internet”. Me venting about it, or saying that it’s frustrating doesn’t mean I can’t handle it. It just means I’m coping by talking about my feelings. That’s all.

[norrizzandpia]

can we get pt 2 of 34+35 where yn releases nonsense or positions, everyone is more confused because are we talking about the same guy?? in response all yn does is mention his thighs 💀💀

YES MAAM OFC I LOVE THIS STORYLINE

WHO IS OSCAR PIASTRI? (OP81)

Summary: Oscar and Y/n always loved to mess with the fans. Fortunately, the best way to do that is spill their sex life.

Warnings: sexual conversations, language

Note: THE THIGHS 😫😫😫😫😫 SO MANY WORDS NOT ENOUGH TIME 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

ynnn Nonsense out now! 💋

Comments:

osc81fan I- WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

piaosc ARE WE SURE ALL OF US ARE TALKING ABT THE CORRECT MAN?

- mclarenpiaandlan YEAH WTF HOW IS THIS OSCAR

mclarensgirlll SHE DID THIS LAST TIME AND WE NEVER RECOVERED

- landonorris ILL NEVER RECOVER.

oscarpiastri ITS ABOUT MEEEEEEEE 🤭🤭

- danielricciardo we are aware.

- maxverstappen i think youve said that enough

- charlesleclerc YOURE SUPPOSED TO BE LITTLE OSCAR 😰😰😰

- ynnn definitely not LITTLE oscar 😏

- alexalbon STOP.

——

ynnn maybe i lied? Lookin’ at him doesn’t have me thinkin’ nonsense, it has me thinkin…

Comments:

oscarpiastri my girlfriend everyone 😀

- mclarensgirlll hes probably giggling at his phone at this very moment

- landonorris and youd be right!

maxverstappen IM SO SCARED FOR MY LIFE

- danielricciardo WE CANT ESCAPE IT

- alexalbon HE PLAYS THE SONGS EVERYWHERE

- landonorris IT NEVER ENDS.

ln4andop81 anyone else curious abt what shes going to say on that podcast next week where theyre infamous for asking abt sex????

- oscpastry i bet you oscar will forever be changed for us

- mclarensgirlll he already is 🥲

——

TWITTER

ln4andop81 IN HONOR OF 24 HOURS BEFORE Y/NS PODCAST EPISODE, DROP THE MOST SHOCKING LYRICS FROM NONSENSE DOWN BELOW

- oscpastry “you said you like my eyes and you like the make em roll” SOOOO BASICALLY WHEN WERE THOSE WORDS FALLING FROM OUR BABY’S LIPS????

- mclarenpiaandlan REAL BECAUSE HOW DOES HE EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT IS 😭😭

- mclarensgirlll I THINK THE LYRIC “opposite of soft” LET US KNOW HE IS WAYYYY MORE EXPERIENCED THAN WE THOUGHT

- piaosc DOM OSCAR????? FUCKING HOW. IN. WHAT. WORLD.

- ynnn this world! 💋

- piaosc IS THIS SOME SORT OF GAME???

- mclarenpiaandlan THE PATTERN IS PATTERNING

- mclarensgirlll ITS SO ICONIC MY BRAIN CANT HANDLE IT

——

TWITTER

ln4andop81 hows everyone doing after that podcast….

- mclarensgirlll “WHO IS OSCAR PIASTRI?” trending on twitter makes me feel less alone after listening to Y/n’s tell all

- mclarenpiaandlan host: “whats your favorite body part of oscar’s?” Y/n: “his thighs” BY THEN I ALREADY KNEW WHAT WAS COMING BUT THE HOST HAD TO KEEP GOING host: *giggling* “why?” Y/n: “10 out of 10 for riding” I THINK MY BRAIN WENT DEAD FOR A SEC

- piaosc GIRLY KEPT GOING TOO host: “did you ask or, like, how did that come about?” Y/n: “well, he was just kind of sitting there, manspread ya know, and he caught on the minute he saw the way i was looking at him. Ive never see him so excited before.” *laughing* “i think he enjoys it more than me!”

- ln4andop81 no words. Host: “so he knows you like his thighs?” Y/n: “Oh my god, yeah! I hate him for it but he purposefully wears his shortest pair of shorts around the house so when he sits, that’s all I see. I’m telling you, Oscar knows how much I love his body and he knows EXACTLY how to use it.” Host: “what do you mean?” Y/n: “just that the shirtless photo i posted of him is one of many and the rest of them could not be up on the internet for longer than 5 seconds before being taken down because they’re borderline all pornographic” OSCAR???? BABY BOY??? WHO ARE YOU.

- mclarensgirlll BRO AND THEN host: “your new song, Nonsense, mentions things being more rough than soft. Is that really true with him?” Y/n: “Are you kidding?! The fans who think he’s super innocent and pure are in for some serious whiplash when i say that he is anything but that. He’s not Oscar when we’re in bed. He’s some alter ego who has no problem fucking against a random wall.” UHHHHHHHHHHH RUE WHEN WAS THIS????

- oscarpiastri now THAT is one thing i wont be answering 😊

- ynnn knowing myself ill probably reveal it in some song in the future 🤦🏼‍♀️

- mclaren maybe try and hold off on that one plz bestie 😙

- landonorris ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^🙏🏻

- danielricciardo ^^

- alexalbon ^^^

- maxverstappen ^

- charlesleclerc ^^^^

[jiskblr]

Tumblr Rules for Redditors

Hello, fellow redditors! Many people are trying to tell you rules about how to Tumblr properly. Many of them are wrong, or assholes, or both. I am also an asshole but I’m going to not be one for a minute to give you some advice:

“Reblog this or you’re a bad person” and any variation on that is a violation of intergalactic law. Don’t do it. Also, refuse to comply if someone else does it.

Generally, people can see what you reblog, but cannot see what you ‘like’. A like may seem like an upvote, but it is much less significant than one, since it doesn’t affect visibility in the slightest. A like will be visible both to the OP of the thread, and to the person whose reblog you put the like on. Like promiscuously! It feels good to get likes and there’s no downside. (Unless you are a space alien AKA influencer.) There’s a setting for like visibility, but it’s still somewhat hard to find even if it’s turned on.

Tumblr nominally has the ability to browse global tags (e.g. seeing the entire site’s posts and reblogs tagged #superwholock or #reddit exodus) and to search the site for things. No one uses them and they don’t really work.

You are probably less surprised by this than denizens of literally any other website on the internet, but there’s mostly no algorithm here. Chronological order only. This now defaults to being on, but you can and should turn it off. (If you’re using the search or global tags, they might have an algorithm, but if they do, it doesn’t work. We don’t know because we don’t use them, because they mostly don’t work either.)

Anyone can have absolutely any conversation in the notes of your post that they like. This is how the website works. You are allowed to complain about it, but don’t expect anyone to humor you. I think it’s possible to make posts unrebloggable and disable replies, but this is essentially refusing to use Tumblr. If you want to do that... go ahead, I guess?

Many people have ‘DNI’ lists in their blog descriptions. This means ‘do not interact’ and indicates that they don’t want you to message them, reblog from them, reblog any posts they are OP of, or even, sometimes, ‘like’ their posts. It is good manners to respect these, if you know they exist, but in normal use you probably won’t look at blog descriptions very often so it is entirely okay to violate them by accident. (When the lists get very long, it becomes impractical to check whether you violate them. Generally, just skip it. You probably don’t want to interact with those people anyway.)

Notes on posts you start will go to you no matter how many intervening hops there are on the reblog chain. If you get a post with an enormous amount of notes, this can get overwhelming. Whatever the current incarnation of Xkit (basically RES for Tumblr except we’ve switched names and maintainers seven times) is, will have a setting to deal with this. If that’s insufficient, the suggested course of action is to reblog your OP to your own blog so that you have a copy for posterity’s sake, and then delete the OP. This silences the notes.

If you and another user both follow each other, you are ‘mutuals’. This makes it much easier to have conversations with each other, which is ordinarily sort of hard since everything is purely chronological. Frequently your mutuals are your friends; if not yet true, they may become your friends.

When you reblog things, you can write words both in the word part and in the tags, Modern tumblr norms are to write long rambling tags in full sentences rather than put words in the main body. Unlike some other norms, violating this one and putting your response in the body of the reblog is not particularly rude. The worst it does is make a reblog chain long. Probably don’t reblog things and just say “This.”, though.

Tags can be subjected to peer review, by which we mean someone copy-pastes your tags and/or screenshots them and adds them to the main body of their reblog. Generally this is a compliment. The alternative is to say “#prev tags”, and this makes everyone hate you because it’s hard to find which tags were ‘prev’. Please just peer review properly if they’re good.

If you want to search your blog, consider Siikr. Don’t overuse it, it’s one guy’s project.

Be verbose! This ain’t Twitter, no character limit. (Not even the really large character limit of a reddit comment.) Write a 3000-word story in a single reblog if you want, that sounds awesome. Use ‘read more’ if you do, though. Posts can be very long, one of our oldest memes is about this.

Infinite scroll is the default, but you can turn it off. Actually, check all the settings, many of them will improve your experience.

On queues: Go nuts. Some people put everything in the queue, some people almost nothing. Some queue specific aestheticposting (personally I do #too smol) and post other things normally. Most people who queue a lot add a queue-specific tag like #the mighty queue or #this queue shall pass, or at least I notice them more than poasters with untagged queues.

You know how Reddit lets you buy Gold and people go 'thanks for the gold kind stranger'? On tumblr we spend money on Tumblr Blaze, and it is considered the PvP section of Tumblr. Though sometimes people actually use it to spread posts they like, such as people attempting to evangelize Christianity (no, really, that happened a lot) or the, I hope, actually-kind stranger who blazed this OP. You can turn off PvP with one of the many settings.

Everybody be excellent to each other!

[canichangemyblogname]

What in the cognitive-fucking-dissonance??? THEE woman who started the edgy “gay panic killing of a fictional gay man” joke movement is SHOCKED that she attracts and is attracted to homophobes?

You literally joked that if you were Tommy’s boyfriend (Buck), you’d shoot and kill the man for flirting with you. That is a hate crime. That is literally THEE definition of “gay panic.” You’re not the fantastical “wizard spells” blog; you’re the I use “it’s just a joke, bro”-as-a-shield blog.

Y’all literally have anons “keep tabs” on 911 fans who support ABC’s recent decision to add more queer representation into the show, sending y’all asks about what those fans are saying about the show and their favorite characters. And you’re SHOCKED to attract the same obsessive behavior? You’re SHOCKED that you attract toxicity? You’re SHOCKED that you attract other blogs that joke about homophobic violence?

Wizard spells, right? Oh, shit. Actually, it’s a joke about gay panic killing. But it’s still just a joke, right?

Wizard spells, right?

Actually— capital punishment. For the crime of *checks notes* going on a date with a man and cutting the date short. Didn’t know that death must be the legal consequence for not continuing a bad date.

Still just a joke, right?

Oh, look— I finally found the “Wizard spells,” among *checks notes* fantasizing about black and brown people murdering a white man, more guns, and… torture. Weird fantasies, man.

But still just a joke, right?

Wizard spells, right?

Well, I found “curses” and “voodoo” on this next list. Right alongside joking about death by firearm (again), death by execution/capital punishment (again), and—would you look at that—joking about death by AIDS. Joking about a gay character… dying of AIDS. Original.

How is THIS ^^^ is a step too far for y’all when it’s literally the EXACT same joke? This blog’s violent fantasies and this blog calling Tommy a predator is a step too far, but when you did the same, it wasn’t? Where do you think “edgy” jokes lead? Why do you think so many other blogs on here kept telling you that an “edgy joke” isn’t ever actually an “edgy joke”?

This is the culture you have created. You attract these personalities because you encourage their beliefs and behavior. But rather than own up to that and look critically at how your supposed “jokes” have created a toxic and hostile and truly obsessive and frightening culture, you’d rather ONCE AGAIN all call this a “ship war.”

There is no ship war. Shut up about the ship war.

There *are* fans who are posting genuinely homophobic and frightening things because they cannot stand that 911 has added another queer couple to the show, and then there are fans who support 911 ABC’s move to expand representation. There *are* fans obsessed with fan fiction fantasies, and then there are fans who simply support canon, on-screen queer representation.

This is so VERY obviously not a ship war. This isn’t “BoBs” vs “Bummys.” This is people who are unable to come to terms with the fact they’ve sold themselves a lie: shipping doesn’t do a damn bit of difference for representation and your obsession isn’t coming true— making it genuinely unsafe to be queer in online 911 spaces.

There is no ship war. “Engaging critically with the internet” means recognizing a pattern of behavior. There is no ship war, but there is a subset of the fandom who refuses to take accountability for what they have encouraged. *You* are the only ones excusing homophobia as “rage bait” and “edgy jokes,” and that’s ultimately the issue. The character is kinda irrelevant when the issue is how you and your followers have so frequently relied on real-world homophobic stereotypes to justify your hate and OOC characterization of a queer character.

911 fans who support the addition of another queer couple and who support Buck’s bi arc have been receiving harassment for months, with other blogs calling them predators, groomers, pedophiles, the n-word, the f-slur, several slurs for women and lesbians, being told to kill themselves, among other things. And you’ve been called—what?—homophobic, racist, sexist?

I know that buddie-stans have also been called out for calling black women “sassy,” for using the mammy trope in your writing, for hypersexualizing Eddie, for harassing the actresses who played previous LIs with misogynistic hate, for writing character-bashing that relies on misogyny, and for NEVER calling this out. Now we can add “vile homophobia” and “frightening violence” to the list.

It’s everyone else’s fault but your own, and yet y’all are the only ones attracting these blogs.

[cimmanonrowl]

In the right time, maybe.

Chapter One | Chapter Navigation

Pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner x bfd!reader

Contents: age gap, older guy x young woman relationship, forbidden love, flashback, sassy!reader, even sassier!aaron.

7 years ago.

“The calls started coming in…” It was the first thing you heard your mother say since you joined her and your father for breakfast. 

You forced yourself to continue eating. But the eggs taste like nothing, the toast dry in your mouth like gravel. For the last 15 minutes you spent sitting across them, the tension pressed down heavily on your chest. Now that she spoke, you couldn’t help but glance at your father, searching his face for any hint of emotion. But his expression was unreadable as always— calm and composed as he listened to your mother’s sweet voice.

There was a faint smile on her face as she set her knife and fork down on her plate. “Cynthia called first thing this morning, and not out of concern, I’m sure. She wanted to know if the rumors she’d heard were true…” she trailed off, the sweetness dripping from her mouth contrasted with the coldness of her eyes. “That my daughter had been arrested. At a frat party.”

The clinking of silverware against china was the only sound left in the dining room. Through the tall windows, the morning sun filtered, flooding the room with a faint, golden glow. Everything was set perfectly as you always remembered— freshly brewed coffee in delicate cups, pastries neatly stacked on a silver platter, and fruit arranged in pristine order on elegant porcelain plates. 

And you sat there, eyes downcast, pushing your scrambled eggs around on your plate, unable to bring yourself to take another bite. 

“She was very polite about it, of course,” Mother dear continued, her voice as smooth as Italian silk, “But I could hear it in her tone— the faux concern, the curiosity for the gossip. My friends will be buzzing about this for weeks. Oh, did you hear what happened to her daughter? Arrested for assaulting a Teacher’s Aide, that poor woman.” She mimicked them with a faint, elegant smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

You urged yourself to stay quiet. What could you even say to make this better?

“How delightful it will be for them to have such fresh material to gossip about. By the time I arrive today, I’m sure the whole country club already knows what happened. Can you imagine the whispers?” She raised one of her delicate eyebrows, her lips pursed.

Your father sipped his coffee slowly, the lines of his face set in that stoic, unreadable expression he’s mastered over the years. Your cheeks burned with shame. You cleared your throat as the words refused to come out, your eyes fixed on the table as the embarrassment and regret clawed at you.

“I didn’t…” you finally found your voice, though it was weak, trembling. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, Mom. It was just—”

“A prank?” your mother cut you off, humming sarcastically. “That’s what you told us earlier at the police station, remember? A prank. Do you think that makes it better? Do you think the chancellor or our family friends care that it was just a prank?”

You swallowed hard, unable to meet her gaze.

“No.”

“Of course not, you stupid girl. Because it doesn’t matter why you did it. All that matters is the outcome. The damage is done.”

The events of last night loomed in the air— your arrest at the frat party, the flashing lights, the crowd of onlookers recording everything. You can still feel the cold metal of the handcuffs and how it harshly bit on your skin, the sting of the police officers’ loud voices, and worst of all, the cameras. Those fucking cameras. Although you haven’t got the courage to check your phone yet, you know those videos are out there now, circulating the internet with your name being dragged around by everyone in the Law Department who knew who you were.

“The scandal you’ve caused…” Your stomach turned, the humiliation hitting you all over again as your mother ranted relentlessly. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to wake up to ten missed calls from women at the country club, all of them pretending to be concerned, but really just salivating at the chance to gossip about how my daughter was arrested at some filthy frat party? What in the world were you doing in that dirty place, anyway? I was certain I raised you with a better taste than that.”

Your mother placed her napkin on the table with almost graceful precision, but you could tell she was holding herself back from losing her composure, holding herself back from the storm of anger that was simmering just beneath the surface.

“I just thought- I thought it was a chance to… meet people and socialize. It’s my first semester and you always tell me the importance of building connec–”

“With people of value. I didn’t mean in a rathole, did I?”

You pursed your lips. “Most of them are family acquaintances, Mom.”

“It didn’t occur to you that must be the reason why they’re only acquaintances?” Your mother’s tone remained deceptively soft, almost pleasant, as she continued. “That you don’t meet those people in charity nights or country clubs because they hang out in dirty, frat houses?”

“But Dad is part of a frat in Law School, Mom. It’s one of the ways to build connections inside the academe. Some professors are even part of those frats. It has perks—”

“And did your father also tell you to crack open someone’s skull in the middle of the party?”

“N-no…”

“That’s what I thought,” she smiled sweetly.

Your throat tightened, the shame creeping up inside you, wrapping itself around your chest until it was hard to breathe. No matter how you don’t agree with her words, even when you want so badly to defend yourself, at the end of the day, you know you’re still wrong.

“I’m sorry, Mom. It was just a lapse of judgement.”

“Is that what you call it?” she sounded amused as she echoed the words you used. “Because to me, it seems like you didn’t even use your brain. How would it be a lapse of judgment?”

You didn’t answer— you couldn’t. You’re fully aware that no amount of explanation would even justify what happened.

It was intended as a stupid joke, a harmless prank—something to rile up the frat boys and mess with the Teacher’s Aide who always gave you a hard time. He was a prick. Always acting pretentious and condescending in class, always shaming you during recitation. So you and a couple of your friends thought it’d be funny to mess with him. You had gotten the idea to stage a scene at the party— just a small “accident” involving him that would get everyone to whisper about him for weeks. 

You didn’t think it through.

No one did.

The prank backfired spectacularly. It was supposed to be harmless— just a spill of paint and a couple of embarrassing photos to post on the University board— but ended up with the man slipping and hitting his head hard on the corner of a table. The frat house had erupted into chaos after that, drunk people shouting, running around, and the guy lying there unconscious with a concerning amount of blood pooling on the floor.

That’s when someone must’ve called the cops.

Your father cleared his throat. “We’ve done our best to protect you from consequences in the past, sweetheart,” he began, his voice low but steady, the kind of tone that demanded your full attention. “But this— this isn’t something we can simply sweep under the rug.”

“You’ve embarrassed us, is what he’s saying,” your mother scoffed lightly, rolling her eyes at your father. “The truth is, you’ve embarrassed not only yourself but our family. Tell me, how are we supposed to face everyone? The people in your father’s work? My friends in the country club?”

You fell silent with her question. You’ve heard it all before— how important the family’s image is, how every action you take isn’t just your own, but a reflection of them. It was a lesson you’ve been taught since you were a child, but now, sitting here in the aftermath of your arrest, it felt heavier than ever.

“And the pictures,” your mother continued, her voice cutting through your thoughts again. “The videos. Did you think about that? How those images are going to be plastered all over social media for everyone to see? Your cheap dress? Your behavior? Do you even care how many of our friends’ children see them? I can only imagine the things they’ll say behind your back.”

Your father set his coffee down. His face was calm, but the disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable, and it made you want to shrink into yourself. 

“I want you to realize how serious this is, sweetheart,” he said after a deep sigh, his voice never rising, but somehow becoming even more terrifying in its restraint. “It’s not just the scandal you’ve brought on this family, though that in itself is bad enough. It’s the fact that the university’s TA, the man you assaulted—and don’t tell me it wasn’t serious because we’ve heard the details— he’s considering filing a lawsuit against you.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. The word ‘lawsuit’ sent a chill down your spine. You knew things were bad, but you hadn’t fully processed that it could come to this. The prank had gone wrong—horribly so—but you hadn’t truly considered that it could escalate into something this big. The thought of legal action, of your parents being dragged into court over something you did…

Your mother inhaled slowly. Although she doesn’t raise her voice, each word cuts deeper than if she had screamed. “We’ll be dragged through the mud. And what then? What happens to our reputation? To your future?”

You ignored the fact that, based on her words, your reputation is much more important than your future. Or whatever you feel at the moment.

You could barely breathe as the conversation went on. You gripped the edge of your chair, trying to steady yourself, but it felt like the ground beneath you was crumbling away. 

“I didn’t mean it. I’m really- I’m so sorry…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, shaking.

“That doesn’t matter,” your father said. “Intent doesn’t minimize consequences. And now, we’re facing a very real possibility that you could be expelled, sued, and publicly humiliated all at once.”

The walls felt as if they were closing in around you.

Your mother’s eyes narrowed as she continued. “And then there’s the matter of money. Do you have any idea how much it will cost us to make this go away? To keep your record clean, to keep you in Law School after almost killing someone?” She leaned forward slightly, her voice low and cutting. “Do you even realize how selfish and stupid you’ve been?”

You swallowed hard. Expulsion. A permanent mark on your academic record. Your future— everything you’ve worked for— now hangs in the balance because of one reckless night.

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to cry in front of them. You feel small and ashamed, under the weight of everything that’s about to come crashing down on you. But then, you have no one else to blame but yourself.

Your father heaved another deep sigh. “We’ll need to contact our lawyer,” he said calmly, his mind already moving to control the damage. “We’ll have to negotiate with the university board and the TA. I already set a meeting with the chancellor. He’s an old friend, let’s just hope he will help us.”

You nodded numbly, the shame and guilt overwhelming you. The image of your mother at the country club, having to endure the whispers and judgemental looks, the thought of your father having to navigate meetings with lawyers and school administrators to clean up the mess you’ve made was so shameful to think about.

Your mother rose from her seat with a graceful composure. “Your father and I will fix this,” she said one last time, her voice clipped and emotionless. “But this will be the last time, I warn you. You’ve embarrassed us enough.”

Without another glance in your direction, she left the room, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Your father followed, quieter but no less distant, leaving you alone at the table.

“We’ll talk more about this later,” was all he said.

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel your house helpers’ gaze focused on you, watching you from the corner in which they all stand. You felt sick, not only because of the hangover but because it felt like the entire world had shifted beneath you, and you were left to deal with the wreckage.

“Miss? Are you awake?”

The knock on your door pulled you from sleep. You stirred in bed, your eyes heavy. There was a dull ache pounding in your head from all the crying you’d done. And with heavy feeling, you rolled over, blinking against the fading evening light that seeped through the curtains, trying to make sense of the knock.

It came again, a little louder this time. You pushed yourself up on your elbows just as the door creaked open, revealing the familiar figure of your family’s longtime maid. She was standing by the front door, her expression polite, her eyes reflecting a hint of sympathy she was trying to hide.

“Miss,” she repeated softly, “your parents have requested you come down for dinner.”

You rubbed your eyes and sat up fully. “Dinner?” your voice was scratchy as you mumbled.

“Yes, miss,” she replied, stepping slightly into the room. “Your parents have a guest tonight. It’s… important that you join them.”

Something in her tone caught your attention. A guest. You wonder who could it be. Though it was most likely just your family lawyer joining you for dinner. Your father did say you would talk about the situation later.

So you gave her a polite nod and swung your legs over the side of the bed. “Alright,” you said quietly, already feeling the knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. The last thing you want to do is face them again— especially over dinner— but you know there’s no avoiding it.

The maid disappeared quietly down the hall as you stood, your legs still shaky beneath you. You glance at yourself in the full-body mirror, grimacing at your reflection. Your hair was a mess, your eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying. You tried to fix yourself up as best as you could, smoothing down your hair and splashing some cold water on your face to wake yourself up. But no matter how much you try to pull yourself together, the heaviness still loomed over your shoulders.

You made your way down the staircase, the smell of dinner wafting through the house. The soft murmur of voices reached your ears as you near the dining room— your parents, speaking in hushed tones. You couldn’t make out the words, but you picked up the urgency of their conversation that made you pause just outside the doorway.

You closed your eyes for a moment, preparing yourself, before stepping into the room.

The first thing you noticed was that your parents aren’t alone. Seated at the table with them, in the same spot he always sat at during family dinners so long ago… was Aaron. His presence was like a jolt of electricity, sending your heart skipping in your chest for a split second before it settled into an uneasy rhythm.

It has been so long since you last saw him— years, really. He’d been a constant figure in your life growing up, your father’s best friend since college. He’d been older than you by quite a bit, of course, but back then, you’d always been slightly captivated by him— his quiet intelligence, his boisterous laughter, the way he seemed to understand the world in ways you couldn’t yet grasp. It was endearing. He always had this presence about him, something solid and unshakeable, like he was the person you wanted around when things fell apart.

But now, sitting there at the dining table, he looked different— older, yes, but in a way that’s more refined. His hair was shorter than you remember, clean cut, dark brown with threads of silver creeping in at his temples, and his jawline was sharper, with the beginnings of stubble framing his mouth. He was wearing a tailored suit, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders, the crisp white collar open at his throat, his tie undone as if he’d just come from a long day at work. 

Then there’s the intensity to his eyes. His expression was serious, his lips pressed into a thoughtful line as he listened to your parents talk.

As you step further into the room, Aaron’s gaze lifted, and for a moment, his eyes locked with yours. Your breath got caught right in your throat. 

“Aaron,” your father said formally, cutting into the silence as he noticed you standing there. “You remember my daughter.”

Aaron’s lips twitched into a slight smile, but it was fleeting. “Of course,” he said, his voice deep and even. “It’s been a while.”

You swallowed hard, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. You force yourself to walk further into the room, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. “Hi, Aaron,” just a short greeting, your voice shaky– that’s all you had managed.

Your mother glanced at you. “Come sit down,” she said, gesturing to the empty seat across from Aaron. “We were just discussing the situation.”

Your stomach churned in shame. The situation. You know exactly what they’re talking about. And how embarrassing it was.

You took your seat, your hands trembling slightly as you settled into the chair. You focused yourself on a maid filling your glass with water, thanking her promptly and watching her walk away.

“Your father and I,” your mother started, effectively catching your attention, “were just going over the legal implications of what happened at the university.”

You glanced at your father, unsure of what to say. You know how grave the situation was, but seeing Aaron here, sitting with your parents as they calmly discuss your future as if it were some business negotiation, makes you want to crawl out of your skin and disappear forever.

“And Aaron’s here because?” You frowned, your voice sounded sarcastic without intending to. “We already have a family lawyer. Do we really need to drag him into this?”

Your father’s gaze sharpened just a bit. “Aaron has been a trusted friend of the family for years. Given the severity of your circumstances, we thought his experience would be invaluable.”

“Experience?” You let out a small, incredulous laugh, folding your arms across your chest. “He’s an FBI agent, Dad, not my defense attorney. This isn’t a federal case. It’s just a stupid prank gone wrong. I don’t see why we need to make this a whole ‘bring in the cavalry’ thing.” You glanced back at Aaron. “And I’m sure he’s got more important things to do than babysit me.”

Aaron leaned back slightly in his chair, his voice calm but firm when he spoke. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think this was serious.” His hazel eyes locked onto yours, and there was a weight to his words that made your earlier sarcasm feel childish and misplaced. “There’s a chance the university will pursue disciplinary action against you. But there’s also the matter of the TA. His injuries are documented, and he has every right to file charges.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your tongue. The potential lawsuit. The school hearing. Your entire future balancing on the edge of a knife. Deep down, you know he’s right, but the idea of Aaron being here, so entrenched in this mess, felt too personal— too invasive. Why on Earth would you want him here?

You’re used to your parents managing everything, controlling every detail of your life, but Aaron? It was different.

Your father cleared his throat. “He’s just offering legal advice and some advice on how we can keep this from spiraling any further.”

“I appreciate the help,” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your voice laced with a slight edge of stubbornness, “but I don’t need to be micromanaged by a fed. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with this.”

Your mother raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “And what exactly do you plan to do? Handle it on your own? When all you did all day is lock yourself in your room and cry? Is that your idea of handling problems?”

You bit back the urge to say, ‘Yes, so what?’

The tension in the room thickened as your mother’s words silenced you. You felt the familiar heat of frustration creeping up your neck. It’s the same old story— no matter what, they always think you need to be rescued, that you’re not capable of handling your own life. That all you could do was cry, although that was exactly what you did.

Aaron, however, remained calm, his gaze never wavering from yours. “No one’s saying you’re not capable,” he said, his voice low and measured. “But this is a situation that’s already out of your control. There are legal repercussions, reputational damage, and the possibility of expulsion. Ignoring it or downplaying it won’t make it go away.”

His tone was steady, not condescending, but the message was clear: Whether you like it or not, this is bigger than you. So listen to me, little girl.

You bit the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to snap back at him. But instead, you exhaled slowly, trying to tamp down the frustration bubbling up inside you. “Fine,” you voice was tight as you spoke. “But I still don’t understand why Aaron needs to be involved. We can handle this with our own lawyer.”

Your mother interjected with an eye roll. “Aaron is a friend, and I don’t think you’re in much position to say who can help us and who can’t.” She paused and stared at you with that poised, assessing gaze she always has. “I suggest you listen to him.”

“And if I don’t?”

You almost flinched when you heard the sharp sound of your father’s sigh. “I’m too tired to deal with this attitude. Don’t push my button. I will send you to your Grandma if you don’t shut your damn mouth.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. You glanced at Aaron again, feeling a flicker of something you can’t quite place. He was watching you carefully. And for a brief moment, you felt like you were back to being that younger version of yourself, looking up to him, admiring him, thinking he had all the answers, thinking he could fix everything.

But now, everything feels different. When you’re the problem he’s been called in to fix.

“Alright,” you finally said, the fight going out of you as the reality of the situation set in. “Whatever.”

Aaron nodded slightly, his expression softening just a touch, and didn’t say anything else.

Later that evening, you have been called to your father’s office. The dim light casted long shadows over the dark wood paneling and the rows of bookshelves lining the walls. You’ve always thought of this room as intimidating, with all the thick books and deep leather armchairs, and the old oak desk, but tonight you feel even more antsy.

You were perched on the edge of the sofa, your legs stretched out in front of you, painting your toenails with a level of focus that belies how much your mind was actually racing. You needed something to do with your hands, something to distract yourself from the fact that you were alone in the room with Aaron. 

The smell of polish hangs faintly in the air. You felt the hem of your nightdress ride up your thighs as you leaned forward slightly to get a better angle on your toes.

And from your seat, you can hear the faint sound of the videos Aaron was busy watching.

He sat across from you in one of the large armchairs, his back straight, his attention narrowed down on the laptop balanced on his knees. He was watching video clips and scrolling through photos from the night of the frat party. You’ve caught glimpses of the screen ealier, the images of yourself in that tight, short dress flashing by, a reminder of just how badly things have spiraled out of control.

You could feel his presence like a heat in the room, a steady pressure that makes it hard to breathe. Every now and then, his gaze shifted from the screen to you, but it was subtle, almost unnoticeable if you weren’t so hyper-aware of him. You don’t have to look up to know when his eyes are on you; you can feel it in the way your skin tingled, the way your heart skipped a beat.

He cleared his throat eventually, the sound breaking the heavy silence. “These videos,” he started, his voice low and gruff, “are all over social media. It’s worse than I thought.”

You paused mid-stroke, the small brush hovering over your toe, your pulse quickening at the seriousness in his tone. You glanced up at him, trying to gauge his expression. He addressed you in a formal manner. But still, there was a flicker of something in his eyes that you couldn’t name— something that made your stomach flutter in a way you’d rather ignore.

“Yeah, well,” you mumbled, turning your attention back to your nails, “I guess that’s what happens when everyone has a phone in their hand these days.”

Aaron didn’t respond immediately. You heard the faint clicking as he scrolled through more images, the silence stretching on between you. The weight of his scrutiny, even if it was just on a screen, made you squirm slightly in your seat. 

You shifted your position, the movement causing your nightdress to ride up even more, the silky fabric sliding higher up your thighs.

You caught a brief flicker of movement from the corner of your eye— his gaze dropping to your legs, lingering for just a second longer than necessary before he quickly looked back at the screen. It was so quick, so subtle, that you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. But your heart did that traitorous little skip again, and you had to force yourself to focus on what you were doing, so you don’t dwell on it.

“This isn’t going to go away on its own,” Aaron said again after a beat of silence, as if he was choosing his words with great care. “The videos, the pictures—they’re everywhere. The university is likely to use them as evidence if they pursue disciplinary action.”

You placed the nail polish brush back in the bottle, twisting it shut with a sharp click. “So what?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you. “We already knew it was bad.”

“It’s worse,” he pressed, his eyes lifting to meet yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch. “And I’m not just talking about the university. This could get very public, very fast. You need to understand what that means.”

You bristled at his words, feeling a flare of defensiveness rise up. “I get it, okay? I know I screwed up. I’m not stupid. But we don’t need to keep going over it.” You shifted again, fanning your hand over the wet nail polish, the nightdress inching up higher as you moved, exposing more of your skin.

This time, you didn’t miss the way Aaron’s eyes darted to the fabric as it rode up, his gaze lingering before he caught himself and quickly looked away, his jaw tightening slightly. There was something in his expression now, something that was not just concern or frustration.

You felt a strange mix of emotions— embarrassment, maybe, or something closer to satisfaction— at catching him off guard, at seeing that brief lapse in his composure. He’d always been so steady, so in control, and there was a part of you that was curious, maybe even a little thrilled, to see that control waver even only for a second.

“Are you going to keep staring at those videos all night? Or are we actually going to talk about something useful?”

Aaron’s eyes snapped back to yours, his expression hardening even more. “This is useful,” he replied evenly, though his voice is a bit more clipped now. “The more we understand about what’s out there, the better we can prepare for what’s coming.”

You leaned back slightly, stretching your legs out and letting the nightdress fall naturally over your thighs. “I think we both know what’s coming,” your tone edged with resignation. “I’m going to be dragged through the mud, and my parents are going to do everything they can to make it disappear. That’s how this always goes.”

Aaron’s gaze darkened, and he set the laptop aside, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. “Is that what you think this is?” he said quietly, but firmly. “You’re not a kid anymore, and this isn’t just about your parents cleaning up a mess. This is about your future. If this ends up in a court, your future will be at stake.”

There was something strange with the way he said it. You’re not a kid anymore. And you dropped your eyes, suddenly feeling very exposed— not just because of the nightdress, but because of everything you’ve been trying so hard to brush off.

“Why do you care so much, anyway? This is none of your business.”

For a moment, he was silent, and you wondered whether that was too much and you crossed a line. But then, he suddenly said, “Forget it. You’re pretty much the same kid I knew. I thought you’d be able to handle this with maturity, but obviously I’m wrong.”

Obviously.

You felt a surge of anger with that. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re still the same spoiled and whiny child from before.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief and offense. You’re not sure you followed everything he said after that. Because in the back of your mind, all you wondered about is what goes on in his brain when he looks at you with those dark, piercing eyes.

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[drdemonprince]

At one point he was down in between my legs, fingering me, and he made a throwaway comment about probably being Autistic. 

I leaned back, trying to relish what pleasure I was getting. “Well, we can talk about that subject, if you like,” I said vaguely, not really wanting to bring my professional life into things. 

He kept working away at my body, kissing between my lips and thighs. “Oh I know who you are,” he said suddenly. “Your book changed my life. In a way, I guess this is me thanking you.” 

I made him exit my body and we went to the kitchen to hash it out. It turned out he was a big fan of many things I’d written. 

“I’ve seen you around the neighborhood many times,” he confessed. “But you posted online that you don’t like when people come up to you, and so I always decided to leave you alone.” 

He said, “Your book is the reason I got divorced, actually. My ex-husband was a therapist, and when I showed him your book and said I thought I might be Autistic, he didn’t believe me. We have been separated for a year.” 

He asked, “Did I just make this weird, telling you when I did that I was a fan?” I told him that if he’d said it sooner, I would have never fucked him at all. 

People never realize that when they approach me, what they are doing is dragging me into work. It doesn’t matter whether I was at breakfast, or an orgy. I was just some guy standing there, enjoying his beer, but now they have made me the known scholar and author. And sure, my job might be meaningful, but that doesn’t mean I like to work. 

I tell my friend that I no longer want to be a public figure, and that I am planning how to make it all end. She tells me, “You’ve got to do what is the best for you, even if it’s something that the rest of us wants and can’t imagine giving up.” 

I ask myself, did I want this? It would be more flattering to say I didn’t, and play the role of the hermetic author whose work developed its own life purely because it was so good. But that isn’t true. 

From the moment I got a Myspace account in high school, I was publishing essays about my political views. I serialized multiple novels on Tumblr, guerilla marketing them with giveaways and custom-made images until they hit the Kindle sales charts. I have made memes, tried starting viral trends, coined phrases, and given hundreds of hours’ worth of media interviews. I write prescriptive nonfiction, for Christ’s sake. Of course people seek guidance from me. I offer it up! 

I have been strategic about how I dress, and my video backdrops, and retaken clips of myself speaking over and over again until they sounded right. I’ve hosted debates with my most vicious critics while I’m in the shower, started public beef with creators who had larger accounts than I did, and rushed to my keyboard when upsetting news broke, because I alone was possessed of the most correct take on it.

I wanted this. I didn’t know what this was, this internet fame I was chasing, but I did all I could to make it mine. I thought that by writing so much, I would one day be able to escape myself, maybe really feel connected to other people. Instead it has meant never being able to stop thinking about myself: how I am seen, what I am working on, how it all fits together, what comes next. It has also meant being spoken about, theorized about, and criticized, and developing a firm exoskeleton of disdain between myself and the world. 

I believe now that that it is immoral for any person to be listened to by ninety thousand other people. Holding authority and status like that runs counter to my anarchic ideals. I am not more important or correct than anyone. I should not be trusted to tell people which commodities to buy, which companies not to support, what to read, what to think, what words to use, or how to conduct their lives. 

All the other animals know there is no one way that a creature “should” live. There is only the way that it does. The world has no consciousness, no beliefs. It cannot pass judgment. We only feel so watched and evaluated because we have covered the planet with so many millions of our eyes. But we can stop performing dignified human goodness at any moment. 

I think that celebrity is an evil, corrupting force that pits the human instinct for bonding against itself. Instead of appreciating the singing of our friends around the fire, we stream Chappell Roan until stalkers break into her house. Rather than playing card games together, we stan Twitch streamers, filling up their chats with highlighted messages until they acknowledge us. We long to be famous novelists because then we would have the social permission to write, and we don’t have the money or time to enjoy the activity on its own. 

I wrote about Chappell Roan, stalker stans, and how turning art into content creation ruins the work, and the creator's life. It's free to read in full (or have narrated to you by the app!) on Substack.

[cowgirlcasanova]

I made the mistake of clicking on a link to a reddit thread about abigail marston.

the way the men on there talk about her makes me physically feel sick. the names they call her, the way they describe her and john’s relationship, the way they constantly bring up her past in a negative way.

They seem to lack any and all artistic thinking skills. to me, one of the main points of media and art is how you’re supposed to analyze and discover the things they aren’t outright said. You have to dig a little deeper, you have to actually think. The people on that godforsaken website seem to just not have/be able to do that!

abigail was a prostitute. yes, we all know this men of reddit and it’s okay! please shut up about it!!!!

she was also an orphan, even worse for the time, an orphaned girl. she had little to no opportunities in the world she was born into. EVEN JOHN KNOWS THIS. “she’s a woman in a man’s world” and they act personally offended on johns behalf. john was an orphan too, i can promise you he understands how hard it is to survive and he doesn’t look down on her! Not that it even begins to matter if john or anyone else “understands” her reasoning for her choice of survival. It doesn’t. it simply matters that abigail was incredibly strong throughout that time of her life and rest. she survived and did whatever she could to and that is to be appreciated.

These men seem to have this one single idea that “abigail was prostitute so john thought baby not his cause so many men 🤓” SHUT. UP. no actually that was so much more actually john not ready to be a father and being afraid of himself!!!! honestly speaking, the entirety of that situation has very little to do with abigail herself. but no they’ll never understand that because it was written out in black and white and you may have to think a little to get to that conclusion. not to mention, they could never accept it because then john marston wouldn’t be as “alpha” BE QUIET IM BEGGING YOU.

the way they discuss abigail and uncle made my skin crawl. there is nothing else said about that relationship, there is no one specific cannon explanation as to how or why they knew each other. but the men i saw discussing it said such disgusting and vulgar things about how uncle “reallyyy knew abigail”. truly horrifying. There’s so many different ways they could’ve crossed paths. she was a prostitute but that’s not all she was. she was still a woman, a person. i can assure you she had other hobbies and activities that she did, that she enjoyed doing.

not to mention how it seems to be such an odd and disgusting fantasy for them that “everyone in the gang had abigail” i hate to break it to you but no they didn’t! Now this is up for debate for a lot of people and i actually want to make an entire post just dedicated to this. When looking at both instances where that was said, it was purposely said to hurt john and throw him off. not to mention, abigail was never around when it was said. There wasn’t an instance of anyone saying it in camp or even throwing an insult to john about it in rdr2. hmmm i wonder why that is????? Bill said it to make him stumble and dutch said it because he knows john and he knows how to hit him where it hurts. But, i don’t think any of it is true. of course no internet bro is going to actually think into enough to even be curious so!

abigail marston is someone to be admired. someone who persevered as much as any man in that gang but she doesn’t get the same appreciation. she probably had to work just as hard if not harder than some of the men just to stay alive in her youth. Abigail marston is not a nag, she’s not annoying, she’s not “mean” to john. take a step back and look at what she’s responding to and give her the same grace you give arthur and john. “oh well arthur just had a hard time showing emotions because of the way he was raised” “oh john couldn’t deal with everything so he ran away for a little bit it’s okay.” let abigail have that same grace.

so sorry this was not meant to be this long. clearly it has been nagging at me. if you read this love you and love abigail marston!