#like that's the truth and she gets no win from this

[theonottsbxtch]

BABY, BABY | MV1

an: max verstappen you are a four time world champion!!! here's a little fic to celebrate that. i started writing it while watching the race, then had to mourn the loss of the battle then went back to writing it and my back hurts because my posture is shit. anyway enjoy!!

wc: 3.3k

Max Verstappen lived for speed. The roar of the engine, the blur of the track, the thunderous applause of the crowd—this was his kingdom. At twenty-seven, he was already a legend, a three-time Formula One World Champion whose name was etched into the annals of the sport. And this season? It was shaping up to be another triumph. Four wins in the first five races, podium finishes for all of them, and whispers in the paddock that he was untouchable.

He had every reason to be confident. The car was a beast—precision-engineered, relentless in its power. His team was operating like clockwork, every pit stop a perfectly executed ballet. But above all, she was there. His fiancée. She didn’t need to speak to make her presence known; her calm, unwavering gaze from the paddock was like a talisman. He could feel her watching, believing in him, and it drove him forward.

After his most recent victory in Japan, he leaned against the garage wall, sweat still beading on his forehead. She approached him, her smile soft and private, meant just for him. The cameras flashed around them, capturing their moment, but he hardly noticed.

“You’re unstoppable,” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear.

“For you? Always,” he replied, brushing a gloved hand over her cheek before he was whisked away to interviews.

Everything was perfect. The season was his to lose, and he had no intention of letting that happen.

Six races later, the Max Verstappen that stood on the grid in Barcelona was not the same man who had claimed victory in Japan. His car was still strong, and his team still flawless. But the man behind the wheel was... distracted.

The cracks had started to show at the Monaco Grand Prix. A clumsy lock-up during qualifying left him sixth on the grid. In Hungary, he was slow off the line and struggled to match the pace of the leaders, finishing fifth.

The press was quick to pounce.

“What’s happening to Verstappen?” the headlines screamed.

Max shrugged it off, his trademark confidence still on display. “It’s the car,” he said with a wry smile after Hungary. “We’re making adjustments. It’ll come good.”

It was a convenient excuse, one his team begrudgingly accepted because of who he was. But the truth was far more complex—and far more personal.

She wasn’t here.

She hadn’t been at the last couple of races. At first, she’d said she wasn’t feeling well, and Max had brushed it off. But then the phone call came.

“I’m pregnant,” she’d whispered, her voice trembling. “I—I want to tell you in person, but I don’t think I can travel.”

In that moment, his world shifted. Joy, fear, and an overwhelming need to protect her collided in his chest. The image of her radiant on their wedding day-to-be now came with another—her cradling a newborn, their newborn. And with that came a thousand anxieties he’d never anticipated.

At every moment since, his thoughts weren’t on the track but on her. Was she eating enough? Was she getting rest? What if something went wrong, and he wasn’t there?

But no one knew. Not his team, not the press, not even his closest rivals. To them, Max Verstappen was still the king of the circuit. He could never let them see otherwise.

It was lap 32 of the Hungarian Grand Prix, and Max was battling for third with Charles. The two cars screamed through the corners, inches apart, but Max hesitated. He felt it—his grip loosened, his focus wavered. For the first time in his career, he wasn’t sure he could make the move stick.

Charles darted ahead, and Max watched as the gap widened. His engineer’s voice crackled in his ear.

“Max, you’re losing time in Sector 2. What’s going on?”

“Just the car,” he lied, jaw tight. “It’s sluggish through the corners.”

He crossed the finish line in fourth. As he stepped out of the car, he pulled off his helmet, running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. The cameras were on him, the journalists waiting. But all he could think about was her.

He needed to call. To hear her voice. To know she was okay.

The season was far from over, but the battle raging within Max was one he’d never prepared for. And as he watched his championship hopes start to slip through his fingers, he knew one thing for certain: no race, no trophy, no accolade mattered more than the life he was about to build off the track.

The Belgian Grand Prix was a race Max Verstappen wanted to forget. He’d spent the entire weekend battling the car—or so he told anyone who asked. But deep down, he knew the problem wasn’t mechanical. The fault lay within himself, his mind a chaotic swirl of worry and love that refused to quiet, no matter how fast he drove.

When he was finally allowed to go back to the hotel, the first thing he wanted to do was go home. Not the sprawling apartment in Monaco that everyone assumed was his sanctuary, but the smaller, quieter house tucked away in the English countryside. The place where she was.

It was just after midnight when his car pulled into the gravel driveway. The house was dark except for the soft glow of a single lamp in the living room window. She always left it on for him. He slipped inside quietly, leaving his suitcase in the car.

She was asleep, of course. Seven months pregnant and glowing with a beauty that stole his breath even in her most unguarded moments. He found her curled on her side in their bed, one hand resting protectively over her rounded belly. Max dropped his coat on the chair and toed off his shoes before slipping into the bed beside her.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, careful not to wake her, and then rested his head gently against her belly. The warmth of her skin, the faint, rhythmic thrum of her breathing, and the thought of the tiny life growing inside her—it was everything he needed to feel whole again.

“Hi, little one,” he whispered, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “It’s me. I’m finally home.”

As if in response, there was a small kick against his cheek. Max grinned, a tear slipping down his face as he chuckled quietly.

“Already a fighter,” he murmured. “Just like your mum.”

Her hand came to rest in his hair, threading through the blonde strands. He startled slightly, realising she was awake, her sleepy smile illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming through the window.

“You’re back,” she said, her voice thick with drowsiness.

“Always,” he replied, turning his head to kiss her palm. “How are you feeling? How’s our little champion?”

“Both fine,” she reassured him. “We missed you.”

“I missed you more,” he said, shifting up to lie beside her, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. His hand settled over hers on her belly, and they stayed like that for a long moment, the world outside forgotten.

The days that followed were a gift—a rare stretch of time without races, press obligations, or the relentless demands of the championship fight. They spent their mornings in the garden, her feet propped up on his lap while he read aloud from the parenting books she’d stacked on the table. Afternoons were lazy, filled with naps, quiet conversations, and the occasional moment when he leaned down to kiss her belly and whisper to their unborn child.

One evening, as they sat together on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder, she turned to him with a thoughtful look.

“You should tell them,” she said softly.

“Tell who what?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Your team. The press. Everyone.” She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You’ve been carrying this alone for too long. They’ll understand.”

Max sighed, leaning back against the cushions and closing his eyes. “I like it like this,” he said after a moment. “It’s ours. Just ours. I don’t want them to turn this into... headlines or speculation. I want to keep it safe.”

She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “You’re not just keeping it safe, love. You’re keeping it locked away. And it’s hurting you.”

He kissed her forehead, a slow, lingering gesture that spoke more than words could. “It’s not hurting me. It’s the only thing keeping me sane. When I’m out there, and it’s all chaos and noise, this is what I hold onto. You. Our little one. It’s my anchor.”

Her expression softened, and she leaned into him, her hand resting lightly on his chest. “You know I’ll support you, whatever you decide. But you don’t have to carry this alone.”

“I know,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair. “But for now, I want it to stay ours. Just a little longer.”

The break passed too quickly, as it always did, but for Max, it was enough. The air in Austin was electric. Max, back from the summer break and seemingly rejuvenated, had shown flashes of his old brilliance in the first half of the race. But a controversial move during a heated battle for second had earned him a twenty-second penalty. The disappointment was palpable.

In the press conference afterward, he faced a barrage of questions, his jaw tight as he fielded them with his usual composure. But his heart wasn’t in it. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, and the gnawing ache of being apart was beginning to wear on him.

The penalty stung less than the silence in his hotel room later that night. The upcoming triple-header—Austin, Mexico City, São Paulo—meant there’d be no chance to go home. Three weeks without her, without hearing the steady rhythm of her breathing as she slept beside him or feeling the flutter of their baby’s kicks beneath his hand. He stared at his phone for hours, tempted to call, but stopped himself. She needed rest. He could wait.

The race in São Paulo had just wrapped up. Max won, a result he should’ve been thrilled with, but all he could think about was getting back to England. The charter flight to London felt endless, the hours dragging as he stared out the window, replaying every voicemail she’d left him over the past week. Each one sounded more tired, more distant, and it made his chest tighten with unease.

When he finally arrived home, the house was eerily quiet. He dropped his bags in the hallway, calling out her name. No answer. He checked the bedroom, the nursery—they were empty. Panic began to rise as he pulled out his phone and dialled her number.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft but carried an edge of exhaustion.

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry. “I’m home, and you’re not here.”

“I’m at my mum’s,” she replied.

“Why?” His voice dropped, laced with confusion. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, a beat of silence that stretched too long. And then, she said it.

“I had the baby.”

The words hit him like a jolt. He froze, his breath catching in his throat. “You what?” he whispered, as though saying it louder would make it less real.

“I had the baby,” she repeated, her tone gentle, but firm. “Two weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice a mix of hurt and disbelief.

“You had a job to do, Max,” she said softly. “I didn’t want to distract you.”

“Distract me?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the kitchen. “You’re my family. How could you think I wouldn’t drop everything to be there?”

“I know,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “But I also know you. You’ve been carrying so much this season, and I didn’t want to add to it. You were halfway across the world, love. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

He wanted to argue, to tell her that she was wrong, that he would’ve found a way. But deep down, he understood. She was protecting him in her own way, just as he always tried to protect her.

“Is he... okay?” he asked finally, his voice softening.

“He’s perfect,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Healthy and beautiful. I wanted to surprise you when you got home, but we needed a bit of extra help, so I came here.”

“I’m coming now,” he said immediately. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The drive to her mother’s house felt like an eternity. When he finally pulled into the driveway, he barely remembered turning off the car before he was at the front door. Her mother greeted him with a warm smile and a quiet, “She’s upstairs.”

He took the steps two at a time, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached the bedroom, he paused in the doorway.

She was sitting on the bed, her hair tied back loosely, her face glowing with a tired kind of happiness. And in her arms, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, was their son.

Max stepped inside slowly, his breath catching as he took in the sight. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice almost trembling.

“Hi,” she replied, smiling up at him. “Come meet him.”

He crossed the room, sitting beside her on the bed. She shifted the baby gently, placing him into Max’s waiting arms. For a moment, he could only stare.

Tiny fingers peeked out from the blanket, curling slightly as the baby let out a soft sigh. His nose, his chin—so small, so perfect.

“What’s his name?” Max asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“We agreed on Emilian,” she said, her eyes shining. “Emilian Lucian Verstappen.”

He looked up at her, his throat tight with emotion. “You gave him my name?”

“Of course,” she said, reaching out to touch his cheek. “You’re his dad. And he’s going to know how much you love him, even when you’re halfway across the world.”

Max pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “Both of you. More than anything.”

As Emilian stirred slightly in his arms, Max smiled. He’d missed the moment of his son’s birth, something he’d carry with him always. But here, holding his son for the first time, he knew he was exactly where he needed to be.

For two precious weeks, Max stayed home. It was just him, her, and Emilian. Those days blurred into a haze of quiet moments—feeding, changing, and rocking his son to sleep. He wasn’t just a racing legend at home; he was a father, learning the delicate art of swaddling and singing lullabies off-key at three in the morning.

His fiancée was radiant, even in her moments of exhaustion. Max found himself watching her more than ever, in awe of her strength. At night, they talked in whispers, Emilian nestled between them in a bassinet. For once, the championship felt like a distant dream.

But as the days passed, reality crept back in. The Las Vegas Grand Prix was the next race and the stakes couldn’t be higher. His rival, Lando Norris, was trailing him by just a decent amount of points, but if Max bottled it, it wouldn’t go well for his title. A strong finish could secure Max his fourth championship, but it would be a fight to the very last lap.

The night before his flight to Vegas, Max sat beside her on the couch, Emilian cradled in his arms. He had spent the entire day rehearsing his pitch, trying to strike the perfect balance of persuasion and sensitivity.

“You know,” he began, his tone casual, “Vegas is going to be a big deal. Probably the biggest race of my career.”

She glanced up from her tea, raising an eyebrow. “I thought every race was the biggest of your career.”

“This is different,” he said, grinning. “If I beat Lando by a certain amount of points, I get the title. My fourth title.”

Her smile softened. “I know. And you will. You always find a way.”

He hesitated, bouncing Emilian gently as the baby dozed. “Come with me,” he said suddenly.

Her eyes widened. “Max—”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he cut in quickly, “and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could handle it. But the doctors said you’re fit to fly, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Please,” he said, his voice earnest. “I need you there. Both of you. It’s an important race. The biggest one maybe. And I want to share it with my family.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. He could see the worry in her eyes, the motherly instinct to keep their baby safe and away from the chaos of the paddock. But then he reached for her hand.

“Win or lose, none of it matters without you. You and Emilian are everything to me. And if I do win... I want you there to celebrate. I want the world to see what really matters.”

After a long pause, she sighed, her resolve softening. “Fine. But only if you promise to keep us far away from the press circus until it’s over.”

He grinned, leaning over to kiss her. “Deal.”

The Las Vegas Grand Prix was a spectacle like no other. The bright lights, the roaring crowd, and the tension in the paddock made it a night to remember. Max felt his nerves hum as he stepped into the garage, but knowing she and Emilian were somewhere safe in the hospitality suite calmed him.

The race was brutal. Max fought tooth and nail, battling it out with Charles and Lewis in a chaotic, tire-shredding 50 laps. In the end, he crossed the line in fifth place.

For a moment, he thought it wasn’t enough. But then Christian’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Max Verstappen, you are a four-time world champion!”

Relief and joy flooded through him, and he punched the air, his voice shaking with emotion as he shouted his thanks into the radio. The garage erupted in cheers, but Max’s mind was already on her and Emilian.

As the celebrations began, he climbed out of the car, waving to the crowd before pulling off his helmet. He turned toward the pit lane and froze.

There she was, standing at the edge of the barriers, Emilian in her arms. They were both wearing ear defenders, her smile wide and proud. Emilian’s tiny shirt caught his eye, and his heart melted:

My daddy is a 4-time world champion.

He laughed, running over to them as the cameras swarmed. When he reached her, he didn’t hesitate, pulling her into a deep kiss. The crowd roared, and the cameras clicked furiously, but he didn’t care.

He looked down at his son, who blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. Carefully, Max took him into his arms, holding him close.

“Hey, little man,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “Your daddy did it.”

Emilian gurgled in response, and Max’s grin widened.

For the first time, the world saw Max Verstappen not just as a champion, but as a father. The images of him holding his son, his fiancée beside him, spread like wildfire. The press clamoured for details, but Max ignored them, too lost in the moment to care.

“This is your victory too,” he said to her, his voice quiet. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her smile radiant. “We’re so proud of you.”

As the champagne sprayed and the cheers echoed around them, Max knew this was the pinnacle of his career—not the trophy, not the title, but the family he held in his arms.

the end.

[writerpeach]

I've lost count how many times I've been down bad for Annyeongz's legs

Both of them sitting on your lap, crossing their legs to firmly tighten their thighs together, the perfect shape to caress in the palm of your hands.

They are getting comfy to the point of just nonchalantly kicking off their heels, hearing them go 'kick clack' on the hard floor. Their well manicured feet slightly dangling in the air, toes barely touching the ground, forming the perfect arc with their soles.

If they 'force' you to choose who has currently the best legs, would you follow your gut and tell them the truth?

If this was the previous Peach then Yujin would probably win hands down. Now though... I'm not so sure... 🤔🧐

dammit frisky

---

You've never been so happy to have such a dilemma and these options. You have the best of both worlds; the smoothness of Wonyoung's long creamy legs or the deliciousness of Yujin's more powerful, thicker thighs—equally irresistible and silky soft when wrapped around your head, around your waist, never letting you go.

"Daddy likes my legs better, right?" Wonyoung questions, pulling her short dress even higher up, leaving you unable to help yourself, the urge to reach out, running a hand all along her inner thigh.

Yujin meanwhile does the same and scoots in closer, opening the buttons of your shirt and tracing her delicate finger up your bare chest until it reaches under your chin, lifting it upward, forcing eye contact. "Don't get ahead of yourself, princess. Daddy knows mine are the best. He loves having them on his strong shoulders while he drives his big, fat cock into me all night long. Isn't that right?"

Wonyoung, despite the cute little huff, isn't fazed as Yujin responds, narrowing her eyes at the youngest. You can sense the competitiveness building inside both of them, these two sets of manicured fingers roaming all over your chest. You swallow hard, already too distracted as the pair press lips against your neck and tease, just wanting to steal attention their way.

"Daddy loves when my legs are in the air, when I'm all folded up for him, letting him plunge into every deepest fucking part of me, nothing to stop him," Wonyoung adds with a cheeky, innocent look that stirs heat deep in the pit of your stomach. "I know daddy loves breeding me and pumping me full of his hot cum more than he loves anything else."

Yujin breaks off from her deep kiss that's already left a mark on your neck, looking Wonyoung in the eye with an intensity, a heat you've seldom seen on the girl, shaking her head. "Maybe, princess—but daddy loves fucking his thick load deep into my tight little cunt when I wrap my legs so tight around him that he can't possibly pull out. There's nothing he loves more than completely emptying his balls inside me while I'm all hot and sweaty."

"Slut."

"And proud of it. Jealous that daddy loves to creampie me so much? Sorry, it's not my fault that you can't handle such a big cock. I'm sure someday you'll get there," Yujin returns, never breaking eye contact and maintaining a constant smirk of triumph.

Wonyoung scoffs. She definitely won't admit defeat. And Yujin simply grins at the unsuccessful attempts to conceal her clear anger, the frustration. "Daddy, choose now. Me or Yujinnie. Come on, prove her wrong."

Just the thought of choosing either of them is torturous and absolutely impossible.

So you refuse to.

Yujin can't hide the amusement when you pick neither of them, instead silencing Wonyoung with a kiss, quieting whatever protests are rising in her throat. This is the sign for the three of you to form some semblance of a triple kiss, before switching between Wonyoung and Yujin, until you eventually lean back and watch the two of them make out all sloppily, swapping saliva and realizing how easy it is to shut Wonyoung up.

Then with this fleeting glance shared between the three of you, it's Yujin who speaks first, sliding the straps of Wonyoung's dress off and groping her chest, sucking, slobbering on those pretty nipples.

"Now that this is settled, help me get these clothes off this fucking brat. We've got a nice, big comfortable couch to ruin the princess on. Don't we, daddy?"

[damiansgoodgirll]

don’t break my heart 8 i can’t wait 💕💕

I’M SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG…part 9 is already in the making!

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7.

rhea ripley x reader (platonic) / damian priest x reader (platonic) / drew mcintyre x reader

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

‼️this chapter contains topics like fear of abandonment, negative thoughts, loneliness, panic attacks, fear of rejection, paranoid reader, anxiety, angst in general‼️

DON’T BREAK MY HEART - PART 8

it was bad blood weekend and you were a nervous wreck. you didn’t know why but you had a sixth sense, feeling that it was going to be bad. in your mind you saw rhea and damian losing. you saw drew and punk destroying each other and you were terrified because you couldn’t do anything to prevent all of that. it was just your imagination - you told yourself - but as the days passed, your feelings got worse and in less than two hours from the start of the show, you were completely terrified.

adam forbid you to go and help rhea, meaning that she was alone out there. you knew she didn’t need your help to win a match, especially against liv morgan, but you never knew what the judgment day was up to.

you saw how drew trained himself this week, you knew he was ready for the match, but having him, alone, in a cell with punk, was scaring you. he told you multiple times that no matter the outcome, he would make punk see hell, and by now, you knew that drew was serious. he didn’t care about winning or losing, he wanted this to be a revenge on punk, for costing him the world title.

as you were all backstage, you could feel the tension. drew tried to stay calm, especially seeing how agitated you were, but truth was, he wasn’t calm either. he was ready for that match.

the hell in a cell match was going to be the first one, probably the most anticipated match of the night.

“be careful out there okay?” you whispered as he finished getting ready.

“i will, i promise” he tried to reassure you but you didn’t really believe him.

chuckling, you looked up at him “you won’t, i know you…i already see blood and tears so please, don’t be the one i see bleeding in my imagination” you tried to be sarcastic but deep down you know that there was a huge possibility of drew coming back with blood and deep cuts.

“well, then you have a large imagination” he joked “i can’t promise you that but i promise you that i’ll be careful okay?” he smiled down, trying to reassure you as best as he could.

rhea and damian were both getting ready for their matches so they weren’t watching punk and drew completely destroying each other, meaning you were left alone in your little changing room watching the show on the tv screen in front of you.

drew wasn’t careful. you saw blood during the first fifteen minutes of the match. both men were heavily bleeding. you wished they stopped at the tables and chairs but they both went too far. you could hear the crowd cheering but there was an heavy tension backstage, as if this wasn’t supposed to happen.

of course you knew there was going to be blood and a lot of brutality but for a minute you thought that it was too much. thirty minutes into the match and both men had no intention of stopping. more blood, more violence, more gore. you quickly left your changing room and walked around backstage, you had no intention of finishing that match.

you tried, but seeing drew like that was too much for you.

“girl where are you going?” you heard jey’s voice calling you when he saw you wandering around with nowhere to go “come here!” he gently smiled and pulled you into a bigger locker room. him and few people of the crew were watching the match.

“oh god…” you whispered seeing how badly injured was drew. you saw the big jump he took on the metal stairs and how hard he hit his back. you closed your eyes for a moment, trying to get that image out of your head - he broke his back - you thought - it’s over for him. you didn’t care who was going to win, you just wanted the match to be over. luckily a few minutes later, punk finished his moves on drew, making him the winner of the match.

you could see that neither of the men were able to stand properly. punk fell on his knees and drew was still trying to catch his breath inside of the ring. it was an hell of a match but it was too much for you. you just wanted to get to drew and hug him, comfort him.

you excused yourself from jey and the rest of the crew and sprinted out towards the entrance but security stopped you, telling you that drew needed to be medicated first.

your mind was racing. rhea was getting ready for her match. damian was getting ready for his match. drew was being medicated somewhere in the backstage and you were standing there alone with your thoughts as people kept working around you. you felt small, too small.

you didn’t care - you needed to know how drew was doing so you walked towards the medical area and when you saw him getting his wounds cleaned, your stomach turned on you.

drew saw you and he weakly smiled at you, aiming for you to come in.

you didn’t know what to say. he didn’t know what to say. but the sight of blood made you sick so you tried to look anywhere in the room expect him.

“y/n…” his rough voice called you.

“hey…” you walked a little closer till you sat down next to him “you promised me that you would have been careful” you joked, making him slightly chuckle.

“i’m here, alive…that’s a promise” he smiled, looking at you.

“you got everyone worried…you got me so fucking worried, drew i thought i lost you” you didn’t mean to sound so weak, you didn’t mean to let everyone in the room know about your relationship but you couldn’t help your emotions.

“hey…i’m okay, i’m here…just some cuts but i’m okay, i promise you” drew reassured you to keep you calm but deep down he knew he failed. he wanted to show you he was capable of doing it but he failed and he was ashamed of himself. he knew that you would have never judged him but that wasn’t what his mind was telling him “hey y/n…do you mind if i rest a little bit? i feel like i just need to close my eyes” he wanted - needed - your comfort but he felt like he didn’t deserve it.

you were taken aback from his demand but you knew that you couldn’t say no to him. after what he just been through, he needed to rest, he needed time for himself “absolutely…let me know if you need anything okay?” he smiled softly kissing your cheek before letting you go.

feeling a little down you hoped to meet either damian or rhea backstage but none of them was anywhere to be found.

damian was next and he was about to enter the ring so you sat backstage and watched the match with a little anxiety as he was going to face finn. after everything he put you through you knew that all you wanted to see was damian destroying finn but the judgment day was going to interfere and he was there all alone. anxiously you watched the match and couldn’t help your happiness the moment he won. even if the judgment day tried to help finn, they all failed miserably and you couldn’t help but laugh.

as time passed you waited for rhea’s match. she trained so hard for this moment and you knew that she was more than ready to fight back. she had this match, she had this moment and no one was going to take it away from her, especially liv. she didn’t have dom’s help and she was there all alone. you knew rhea was going to win. she had to win. it was such an easy match for her, plus seeing dom in that cage made you laugh - he had what was coming for him.

so what did go wrong?

no one expected to see raquel back. she wasn’t in the script, she wasn’t in the plan.

rhea won by disqualification but liv still held the title, she still held the crown and no matter how good rhea was, she knew it would have been hard to get her title back.

you stayed there, watching as liv and raquel along with dom celebrated over rhea’s lost and your heart broke for her even more. she didn’t deserve all of that.

wondering what to do, you let rhea have some time for herself before you could join her in her changing room.

around fifteen minutes passed and you couldn’t wait any longer, you needed to see her, to comfort her and to let her know that she did amazing no matter the outcome. seeing the two most important people of your life losing on the same day made your heart sank.

slowly approaching her changing room, you softly knocked on her door and stepped in when she said so.

but she probably wasn’t expecting to see you because her nose scrunched a little too much for your liking.

“rhea…you were so great out there, you had the match in your hands…” she didn’t even let you finish.

“yeah but i lost. again, once again i don’t have my title, so who cares if i was the best one out there? listen, i need time alone” she was clearly upset and you couldn’t blame her.

“rhea…” you whispered. it pained you seeing her talking so low of herself.

“i don’t wanna talk” she spat back.

“rhea…”

“no! i don’t wanna talk! i don’t wanna talk or see you!” - oh, she was mad but with you?

“rhea what?” you weren’t used of her screaming at you, you weren’t used of fighting with her.

“i lost! i fucking lost against that liv morgan and where were you? i needed you, but you weren’t there?” she waited a few seconds before start screaming at you again “where the fuck were you!” this version of rhea scared you.

“rhea you knew i couldn’t! the management said…”

“i don’t give a shit about what they said! i needed you and you weren’t there! i’m always here for you and for one time where i needed your support, you weren’t there! fuck!” she knew better than to scream at you, knowing she would have triggered some memories of your past but anger was taking the best of her and she didn’t care about you or anyone at the moment.

“rhea i’m sorry…” tears in your eyes.

“i don’t care! now go, i need to stay alone!” she said turning her back on you.

you slowly walked away, letting all of your tears fall down.

you needed to talk with someone, anyone yet drew was probably sleeping and damian wasn’t answering his phone, too busy celebrating his victory.

you were alone - again.

liv was right. finn was right. you would ended up being alone. rhea was going to leave and it was just a matter of time.

you needed to leave the arena as soon as possible.

you felt like the space around you was suffocating you. the air was thick and you struggled breathing. what was going on?

walking fast through the corridors, you took a deep breath when you saw one of the emergency exit and the big orange door right in front of you. quickly pushing the door open, you took a deep breath when you felt the cold air hitting your face, you were free - you thought.

but your chest was still heavy and the tears wouldn’t stop falling.

you took your phone out of your pocket and quickly called damian, hoping he was going to answer this time. “come on damian…please, please…” but you were met again with his voice recording saying to leave a message if needed. where was he?

you needed to go back to the hotel as soon as possible but with no rental of your own was pretty hard. wiping your tears away and calling an uber, you tried to act as everything was normal even if you were slowly dying inside. everything was so wrong and the worst part is that you couldn’t do anything about it.

as if the night wasn’t already ruined, the uber driver was a fan. you didnt mind talking with fans - you could talk about wrestling all day long - but your mind wasn’t in the right place at the moment and all you could focus on was the fact that once again you were alone. you tried to be polite but all you wanted was to get away from that small space and breathe fresh air again. as you got out, you couldn’t help the tears falling down your cheeks. you felt pathetic, crying over nothing. the words liv and finn said to you echoing in your head - how you would ending up being alone - and the things was you started to believe them.

why were you being so paranoid? drew was sleeping, the match took a big tool on him but that didn’t mean he hated you or he didn’t want to see you. damian was celebrating his victory somewhere with his family, friends and probably some models too. but if you were family too, why didn’t he invite you? and rhea was mad. you still couldn’t point out if she was mad because she lost the match and needed someone to blame or if she genuinely was mad at you for not interacting with her during the game. she knew you couldn’t. she knew that if you intervened, both of you would have gotten in big trouble with the management, risking up to month fine without wrestling. did she really wanted that?

your mind was spinning and you tried to reach your bedroom as fast as you could.

in the meantime, damian was at the arena, he didn’t leave, he stayed there the whole time finishing up some interviews and even if he wanted to go out and drink something with his family, he was tore down and all of his body ached - he couldn’t wait to go back to bed.

“…thank you so much damian” jackie thanked him once he finished his interview, leaving him there in his changing room.

taking a deep breath, he took his phone out of his pocket and grew immediately worried when he saw all of your missed calls.

he tried to call back but your phone went immediately on silent mode, as if it was turned off.

weird - he thought - you never turned your phone off.

walking to find rhea, she was nowhere to be found. he knew she was a hothead and he knew that she probably wanted to stay alone.

his only option was drew and he prayed the man was still in the arena. someone from the staff told him that drew was still in the medical bay so he walked over there, asking from time to time if anyone had seen you.

knocking on drew’s door, the scottish man let him in.

“damian…” drew definitely wasn’t expecting him. he was hoping it was you.

“how are you man?” damian genuinely concerned about drew’s condition after the rough match he had in the cage with punk.

drew chuckled a little before letting his real thoughts out “i’m glad to be alive you know? i wasn’t expecting this much violence but it was one hell of a match, i felt better to be honest” he joked “i’ll be okay, thanks…”

“listen man, have you seen y/n? she called me a few times earlier and i couldn’t answer but when i tried to call her back it goes straight to her voicemail…” damian directly asked drew.

drew knew you never turned your phone off so he was taken aback from damian’s words “i saw her once the match was over, she came here and we talked a little bit…then i asked her if…well, i asked her if she could leave, i wanted to sleep a little…”

“and…?”

“and she left. she probably wasn’t expecting my request” drew took a deep breath “i just needed some time alone you know? i haven’t seen her since then, but i checked my phone a few minutes ago and she hasn’t called me. have you tried rhea?”

damian shook his head “rhea is nowhere to be found. she needs time to cool off after her match, i don’t think she saw y/n…i just feel like it’s weird, she has called me five times and now her phone is like dead…” worried look painted his face.

drew stood up immediately from the couch he was sitting and checked damian’s phone as he tried to call you once again.

“dead line…” damian whispered.

where were you?

back at the hotel, you quickly paced around the room, trying to focus on something, anything that could have helped you relax and yet nothing was working.

your hands began shaking and while you reached for your phone, you saw that it died while you were walking to the hotel. looking for a charger, you threw your suitcase upside down and when you found it, you plugged it into the wall and rapidly waiting for your phone to turn on.

“come on…” you whispered. you didn’t know what you were actually waiting for. damian wasn’t going to answer anyway and drew said he needed time for himself, leaving you with no options at all.

as your phone turned on, you saw the missed calls from both damian and drew and a shaky breath left your lips.

you didn’t even have time to call one of the boys back that an incoming call from drew appeared on your home screen.

taking a deep breath you answered his call.

“y/n?” drew asked the moment you answered.

“drew…” your voice shaking. what were you crying for? he answered and yet you couldn’t find peace.

“y/n, what’s going on? baby, why are you crying?” drew’s heart broke when he heard your soft sobs from the phone.

“i…i don’t know, i don’t know what’s going on…drew i, i can’t breathe…i don’t know what to do…” clearly panicking again, drew needed to know exactly where you were.

“y/n where are you? i’m coming to get you” he was worried and his heart was racing.

“what? no, no drew you need to rest, i…you stay there and-…”

“cut the bullshit y/n, where are you?” he hated being so severe with you but he needed to know what was going on and if you were in any type of danger.

“at the hotel…my room” was all that you were able to say before drew spoke again.

“we are coming to get you…” he said before cutting the call off.

was he really coming for you? were you really so pathetic that you needed him? did you wake him up just because you were acting stupid again?

your mind couldn’t stop those horrible thoughts and all you wanted to do was disappear, pretend like you never existed - maybe everyone life would be better without you.

what if rhea had a better teammate? what if that teammate would have broken the rules for her? what if you are the reason the judgment day broke up? were they really so tired of you? what if drew had a girlfriend who was normal and not acting crazy like you did?

you tried to breath as drew taught you but you couldn’t. and the idea of drew seeing you like this again was killing you. you made so much progress and now you felt like you fucked everything up.

you were sat on the floor, your back on the edge of the bed as you tried to calm yourself down when you heard the hotel room door opening.

a very bruised drew sat on the floor with you, right in front of you while damian stood behind, clearly worried about you.

“y/n…baby, what’s wrong?” drew’s voice was soft. the moment he met your eyes, he knew something wrong had happened.

“i’m sorry…i’m so sorry i shouldn’t have called, damian you don’t have to be here…you should be out celebrating your victory and-…”

but damian wasn’t agreeing with you “the hell? hermosa, what’s going on? i’m sorry i didn’t answer before but i’m here now, we are both here…”

“yes that’s the problem! you shouldn’t be dealing with me! you have a life and worse problems than to stay here with me!” you couldn’t stop the tears from falling “i told you drew, my head is a fucking mess, i don’t deserve you, i don’t deserve any of you…all i do is complain and fucking up, i’m just a burden to everyone and”

“what the heck are you talking about darling…look at me” his big calloused hands gently lifted your face “look at me love” while his thumb was wiping your tears away “i don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, i wish i knew but i don’t…” he spoke softly to you “you’re not a burden, listen to me, you’re not a burden. don’t listen to what those voices in your head are saying, listen to me…you’re everything to me, i love you so much and it’s okay to cry, to feel lost, but i’m here, your family is here and we aren’t leaving you…” he really hoped that you could listen to him.

opening his arms for you, he gently let you lay your head on his shoulder. his hands stroking your back as if he wanted to calm you down, knowing how much you craved for physical touch.

drew and damian knew that you needed help and they were both right there for you. they knew you were strong and yet so fragile. they knew the toxic environment you came from, they knew that you feared of being left behind, alone. they knew that somehow, no matter how much love they showed to you, you still felt alone. and they knew that you get easily overwhelmed by the smallest things. people screaming, making too much noise or breaking things - that would wake terrible memories.

“yet she did…” you whispered, closing your eyes because the idea of your mind playing flashbacks of what happened with rhea earlier was enough to send you on the edge.

“who?” damian asked.

“rhea…she left, and it’s all on me” tears couldn’t stop falling from your eyes.

damian and drew exchanged a worried look. you two were practically inseparable.

what did rhea do?

[730architect]

picture your face - L4B (1.1)

first real tumblr post um hi?? anyways i posted this fic on ao3 last month and it did pretty well so i decided to post it on here as well! so hi if you know me from there or from twt :)

part 2

── •✧• ──

wc: 2.4k

tags: liv4brutality, masturbation, hatred, conflicted feelings, liv lowkey hates dominik (yay), callbacks to l4b (2022), liv is still hopelessly in love with rhea but we knew this, light heterosexual couple jumpscares sorry....

── •✧• ──

I had to go into the other room, she sent me something and I can’t think about anything else…

Liv walked confidently to the back after successfully winning a dark match on tonight’s SmackDown, a match she had won with ease. Ease, which really meant continuous interference from her boyfriend, Dominik Mysterio. She cradled her precious championship in her arms as she pointed and laughed in the faces of the fans booing her on her way out. She was on top of the world and there was no woman on the entire roster, on the entire planet for that matter, who could knock her off of her pedestal.

Each victory was sweeter than the last, further cementing her as the greatest women’s world champion of all time, as she so eloquently called herself. She and Dominik were all smiles as they walked through the curtain arm in arm celebrating the champion’s win. However Liv’s smile faded quickly the second they made it back to gorilla, dropping her hand from his.

“You okay, mi güerita?” Dominik asks, immediately noticing her instant lack of affection which had caught him off guard.

“Fine, just a little tired.” Liv replies with a strained smile, attempting to save face. Dominik returned her smile with a bright one of his own, oblivious to her strange behavior.

The truth was, dating Dominik wasn’t all she had imagined it would be. Sure, in the beginning it was sort of fun. But that was due to the fact that Liv had finally gotten the ultimate revenge on the woman who had ruined her life while the whole world watched. She did exactly what she vowed she would do: take everything from Rhea Ripley until she was left with nothing but her shitty shoulder and her own misery.

Unfortunately for Liv, it was obvious that Dominik liked her far more than she liked him; which she took full responsibility for. Her conversations with Finn always seemed to be over the same matter: her true intentions with Dominik. She was not at all prepared for how needy and affectionate Dom would be, both in private and in public. He constantly needed her attention for even the littlest things.

“Hey Liv, should I wear my white or purple boots for my match later?”

“Liv, do you think I look jacked in this picture?”

His constant neediness was enough to drive any woman insane, Liv was amazed that Rhea was able to stay with him for so long. She couldn’t help but discreetly roll her eyes whenever he called her name before putting on a sickeningly sweet smile paired with a skip in her step as she made her way to him. Why did she feel this way?

She and Dominik are back in their shared hotel room after the show. She finds herself trapped in his arms yet again in bed as he mindlessly scrolls through the TV channels. Liv gets up from the bed, tossing Dominik’s tattooed arm off of her and ignoring his audible confusion, mumbling something along the lines of, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Picture your face, I wanna touch you but you’re too far away…

Liv locks herself in the bathroom and surveys her surroundings, mind still racing. Her eyes land on the large bathtub and decides a bath would help clear her head. She empties the pockets of her shorts and runs the bath water to her desired temperature while she pours soap into the tub, allowing it to form bubbles as she undresses. She tosses her clothes into a pile in the corner of the bathroom and ties her blonde hair up into a lazy bun at the top of her head, then climbing into the warm and welcoming water as bubbles swirled around her. Liv allows herself to sink down, down, down into the tub until only her head breaks the surface of the foamy water.

She tries to dilute her stress but Rhea continues to ravage her thoughts relentlessly, refusing to provide her with even a second of relief. Liv finds her mind drifting back to 2022, when she and Rhea were tag team partners and the best of friends. How Rhea treated her like the only girl in the world, how she picked her up with ease in ways that Dominik could only dream of. Liv feels a pang in her heart as she relives each sweet memory she and Rhea shared together on their quest for tag team gold. Her wet fingers rise and ghost over her lips where she swears she can still taste the sweetness of Rhea’s cheek that she would kiss after every win or loss. No matter what, they had each other. Until they didn’t.

And maybe Liv was naive for thinking that they would last forever, but how could she not when Rhea treated her like the only girl she would ever have eyes for for as long as she lived? Sometimes she thinks about what their lives would be like if Rhea had never turned her back on her. Would they still be tag team partners or would they have split on good terms? Would they be champions together like they once dreamed? The constant state of wonder she repeatedly finds herself in leaves her head pounding. They once looked at each other with such tenderness but now every glance is filled with pure malice.

Know I shouldn't need it but I want affection, know I shouldn't want it but I need attention

She hears a familiar snore come from the other room and immediately recognizes it as Dominik, which only seems to piss her off even more. Liv’s mind shifts once again, thinking about how her stomach would jolt whenever her eyes met Rhea’s as she stared her down, blue eyes morphing into angry slits every time Rhea saw her. Liv would try and put on a hardened expression of her own but to no avail. She just couldn’t ignore the heat that pooled in the pit of her stomach every time Rhea was near. Her breath on the back of Liv’s neck every time she pinned her down to the mat, seething over how much she fucking hated her. And by god did it turn her on.

Her nimble fingers begin to trail down her still-immersed body, fantasizing about how roughly Rhea would grab her, practically throwing her around like a rag doll if she really wanted to. How her sharp canines would flash through her snarl every time she had Liv backed into a corner. She found herself dismissing the wet spots in her underwear after every interaction with her or even after just stumbling across a post of hers on social media.

Liv grabs her phone from the side of the tub and opens Instagram, switching between accounts. Her wet fingers slowly find the search bar and tap on the last and only searched profile: Rhea’s. Liv couldn’t risk making a wrong move and tapping something she wasn’t meant to on accident, which would end up being the most embarrassing thing that could ever happen to her. She looks through Rhea’s profile for a couple seconds, nearly missing her latest post.

It was a mirror picture taken at the gym, nothing Rhea hasn’t posted about a million times before. But this one nearly had Liv’s world crumbling around her. It wasn’t the photo that mattered, despite how good she looked in it. Muscles bulging and glistening with a light sheen of sweat after what Liv assumed to be an intense arm-day workout. Black tattoo ink decorated her skin, wrapping themselves around her arms and fingers as she held her phone in one hand and flexed the other. But it was the caption that truly caught Liv’s attention.

“rhearipley_wwe watch me 👁️‍🗨️”

Liv sat up straight in the bathtub, nearly spilling water onto the bathroom floor with the speed she moved at. She waits for the anger to hit her but it never does. Instead it’s that same familiar throb in her core which she’s sure is coated in slick and not because of the water she’s sitting in. She stops for a moment to listen to her surroundings, relieved when she still hears Dom’s obnoxious snores through the locked door. She sinks back down into the tub, still staring at the photo, eyes drooping slightly with lust. Her fingers trace incoherent shapes onto the soft skin of her thighs as she separates them, exposing her cunt to her digits. She glides her index finger over her opening, almost slipping it inside due to how wet she is. Rhea may be obsessed but Liv was nothing short of infatuated by her.

Now I'm picturing you and you're touching yourself…

Her fingers slowly begin to circle her clit, spreading her slick over the puffy pearl. Liv sighs softly to herself, eyes fluttering shut for a split second before opening again to marvel at the photo. The caption itself almost seems like a teasing invitation in its own right, enticing Liv to slip a finger inside of herself, quickly replacing one with two and imagining it was Rhea’s inked ones instead. Water sloshed around due to her movements as her back arched slightly off the back of the tub she leaned on. “Shit… Rhea…” she whispers to herself through parted lips, Rhea’s name slipping past them like a prayer. Like she’s repenting, begging some sort of divine power for forgiveness for what she’s done as she does it.

Liv never slows the relentless piston of her fingers, going in and out of her weeping hole. The heel of her palm hits her clit with every thrust at the perfect angle, making her brain short circuit with every motion.

A memory from years ago plays in her mind like a technicolor movie. Liv had made her way to the locker room, calling out Rhea’s name as she glanced left and right for her then partner until she saw her standing at the end of the locker room, back facing her.

“Hey Rhea, I was wondering if you wanted to grab some food before we head back to the hotel or something.” Liv chirped as she walked up to her partner, blissfully unaware that she was stripping herself of her ring gear. Rhea turns around to face Liv, her hands reaching behind her back to unclasp her bralette that made up the top half of her gear.

“Sounds good to me, love. What are you in the mood for?” Rhea asks with a toothy smile, thick accent slicing through the air.

She turns around once again and lets out a relieved sigh when she finally unfastens her top, allowing it to fall off of her and completely expose the top half of her body. Liv’s mouth drops open before she quickly regains her composure, trying her hardest not to gawk at her tag partner’s physique, now having half of it fully exposed to her.

Rhea had less tattoos back then, her body a little leaner as she's put on more muscle since. But regardless of how she looked, Liv always found herself pressing her thighs together whenever she saw her, searching desperately for even the smallest bit of friction to provide herself with some semblance of relief before she could tend to it herself. Rhea turns to the side as she throws on a t-shirt, allowing Liv to catch a glimpse of her plush tits and the piercings that adorned them; along with the massive gargoyle tattoo that sat right underneath. She didn’t feel worthy of seeing her like this, all exposed and vulnerable. She didn’t feel worthy of seeing her at all.

The fingers wrapped around her phone still displaying Rhea’s photo had begun to tremble due to the sensation, liking the photo accidentally in the process. Liv however paid no mind, how could she with how her heart hammered in her chest, blood pounding in her ears, drowning out the sounds of her breathy moans and pathetic whimpers as she imagined Rhea’s expression seeing her like this behind her rolled back eyes. Liv eventually drops her phone back down and paws at her breasts, rolling her nipples between her index finger and thumb as she continues the assault on her pussy with her other hand.

She feels pressure increase just below her pelvis, making the entire lower half of her body feel like it’s about to implode. She slows the speed of her fingers ever so slightly to be able to grind her hips down onto them, allowing them to hit even deeper inside of her which makes her head spin. She feels the pressure increase more and more until she pinches at her nipple right as her fingers curl up slightly inside her, hitting that spot that makes her see stars every time. Liv throws her head back and detonates like a bomb around her digits, Rhea’s face the only thing she could see behind her tightly closed eyelids.

“Rhea… oh my sweet girl, oh my god…” she wept to herself, only then realizing that a few tears had rolled down her face. She slowly pulls her fingers out of her cunt, whining at the sensitivity and emptiness she felt. Liv laps her fingers clean, moaning around them as she envisions they’re Rhea’s she’s sucking off rather than her own.

She lays back and takes some much needed deep breaths with her eyes closed, feeling her heart rate return to a normal speed. She opens her eyes to the sound of her phone going off, notifying her that she’s received a text message. Liv picks her phone up to check who it is only to almost drop it into the water when she does.

It’s an unsaved number she hasn’t texted in years, but the lack of caller ID doesn’t serve any purpose considering it’s the only phone number besides hers that she knows by heart. With shaking fingers, she taps on the notification, opening the messages app. The text contains a single screenshot of someone’s instagram notifications. She taps on it and reads “yaonlylivvonce and 82,385 others liked your photo”.

You’re fucking kidding.

The photo in question is the post of Rhea that Liv had just spent the last half hour jerking it to. She’s stuck, frozen in shock as the now lukewarm water stills around her. She’s snapped out of her trance with another text notification, this time it’s a short sentence.

“I guess you really were watching me”

Shit.

[firinnie]

Let's ask Penelope today, should we?

So I think these characters might not appear in Epic because they take too much time/are easily replaced by Odysseus but in Odyssey most of his servants went over to the suitors and we are sure about 3 of them who were loyal to true King until the end.

One of them was Eumaeus, the swineherd, and OH BOY he is a really interesting character, has an interesting backstory and is the best buddy you could ever have. Homer even hides in the text how cool he is, plus he has a heart of gold. Odysseus comes to his hut, transformed into an old beggar by Athena, and not only does he offer him his bed (and sleeps outside with the pigs) or gives him the best cuts of meat at a feast but Eumaeus is literally a fatherly role model for Telemachus, has a close relationship with boy, hugs him when he greets him, etc.

I wanted to tell you all this so that we know what kind of person we are talking about here. Here begins an interesting thing, because the truthful Eumaeus tells Ody-beggar that

"But from Queen Penelope I never get a thing,

never a winning word, no friendly gesture,

not since this, this plague has hit the house

these high and mighty suitors."

So simply "Since the suitors appeared, Penelope has stopped respecting me/us."

I put "/us" there because his way of speaking is very symbolic and I can believe that it may refer to the rest of the loyal servants too.

I was very surprised when I read this because not only is he so good to Telemachus but he defended Pen from suitors. In addition, he was Odysseus' childhood friend, his mother raised Eumaeus side by side with his sister. He was just the most trusted person left but Queen has some problem with him. Or does she not? I think too much about unimportant things but here I believe 3 way to see it are:

1. Penelope is not as close to Eumaeus as Odysseus was so she thinks that he wants to take the place of a father in her son's heart because of their really close relationship.

For Epic Pen I'm sure this is big nope but for canon? Maybe 50:50. This lose a bit of sense of her intelligence and we know her as a wise one.

2. Penelope wants to discredit those who are still loyal by treating them coldly so that the suitors won't pay more attention to them.

That makes sense, but when you look at the fact that the suitors weren't afraid of loyal servants, they believed the king was dead... She had to fend for herself but at the same time she couldn't reject them, Odysseus' father was too old and his son too young to do that either. This sounds like our Pen, putting her emotions aside for the good of others.

3. Panelope pushes away people close to Odysseus because of the pain she feels about his departure.

In my opinion, that makes the most sense and is perfect pair for 2. She became "cold" not intentionally but out of emotion and because she had to announce her husband's death to buy him more time and get rid of over 100 men.

I definitely think too much about one sentence but hey Eumaeus is cool and Penelope is deep. If we can talk about them a bit then why not.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dan Rather at Steady:

The morning after the election, I was talking with a friend who said something that made me pause: “The American people aren’t buying what the Dems are selling.” At the time I acknowledged the notion but filed it away for closer inspection, once the shock wore off.  Vice President Kamala Harris and the Democratic Party were selling hope and freedom, upholding the rule of law, saving democracy. What’s not to buy? With the benefit of lots of discussion, reading, watching, and thinking over the past 17 days, it became apparent that that analysis is incomplete.  It isn’t that the American people didn’t buy what Harris was selling; they didn’t know what she was selling. The increasingly powerful right-wing media championed her opponent’s message while distorting hers. And millions of Americans bought it. 

As The New Republic editor Michael Tomasky wrote, “It wasn’t the economy. It wasn’t inflation, or anything else. It was how people perceive those things, which points to one overpowering answer.” The right-wing media now controls the agenda.   For those of us who grew up on a steady diet of truth-telling, it’s gut-wrenching to see this mega misinformation machine grow into a multi-headed monster.   Perhaps it shouldn’t come as a shock. Gallup says trust in the media is at an all-time low. The most trusted news source according to YouGov is … The Weather Channel. Couple that with exit polls showing people who consume a lot of news from traditional sources voted overwhelmingly for Harris. 

If you only read The New York Times or watch CNN or so-called legacy networks such as CBS News, you might be surprised to learn there is a vast right-wing media ecosystem that goes well beyond Fox News. Founded in 1996, Fox is the granddaddy of the far-right media but has since been joined by Newsmax and One America News Network. This media universe also includes Sinclair Broadcasting, which owns hundreds of radio and TV stations — reaching 40% of the viewing public — and newspapers, including the recently purchased Baltimore Sun; iHeartMedia, which dominates right-wing talk radio and podcasting; Trinity and Bott Radio, two massive Christian broadcasting networks; social media platforms like Trump’s own Truth Social and X, owned by Trump bestie Elon Musk; and a multitude of hugely popular far-right podcasts.  Collectively, these various and varied media outlets have been feeding growing audiences a constant diet of disinformation for years. They have been fighting and winning an information war Democrats didn’t seem to know existed. The 2024 election may have been the inflection point when the right-wing media’s influence finally eclipsed the mainstream media. That is a major reason a convicted felon won with just under 50% of the popular vote.

The landscape is changing at light speed. Today, traditional media is not where most people get their news. Not so long ago you had to pick up a morning newspaper or turn on a television at a specific time to get news. Now “news” is available 24-7, from hundreds of sources, in tiny bite-sized portions, often without the benefit of context or even fact-checking. Right-wing outlets peddling half truths have learned how to navigate and thus dominate this new landscape. It is important to note that this battle is being waged between right-leaning media and mainstream media. The combatants are not two ideologues. One group is pushing a hard-right agenda, and the other is striving to report and expose the truth. The social media landscape mirrors this reality. On the right, you have Truth Social and X. On the left, not much. In reaction to the misinformation rampant on its sites during the 2020 election, Meta-owned platforms like Facebook and Instagram removed most political content.

An excellent read from longtime CBS News journalist Dan Rather on how right-wing media propaganda being fed to millions of Americans without any real fact-checking of lies is what led to Donald Trump become a Presidential candidate in the first place, let alone win twice.

[spywhitney]

It's just came to my attention the two characters that encouraged Carmen to sell the restaurant in season 1 are the same two characters that told Syd to sign the bear "partnership" agreement in season 3.

[starry-bi-sky]

do yall ever think about bruce/batman!clone danny standing in front of his bathroom mirror after finding out he was a clone and silently tracing his face. The slope of his jaw and point of his chin. The high angle of his cheekbones and the shape of his eyes, the curve of his brow bones and the shape of his nose. The volume of his hair and the way it curls and gets fluffy when it gets too long.

His hair is black the same way a crow's wing is black. His dad's hair is black the same way a black bear's fur is black. His dad's eyes are blue like the ocean is blue. Danny's eyes are blue the same way a glacier is blue.

His dad has a square jaw and straight flat hair, and he tans and gets a face full of freckles when he's out in the sun for too long. Danny burns like a lobster and his face remains untouched. Danny has a sharp jaw and tall cheekbones, and Sam says when he's not smiling there's almost something regal about him. You would never call Jack Fenton "regal" when he's not smiling.

Sam says when he's not smiling he looks scary the same way a stone statue is. Jack Fenton when he's not smiling looks scary the same way that german shepherd staring at you across the street is.

Do you ever think he grew up wondering if he was adopted. Because of course, he has black hair and blue eyes like his dad. But having the same color doesn't make you someone's child.

Or, worse, things he's heard from the other kids and the other parents and even some of his teachers growing up; that he was the product of an affair. And that his dad was just too stupid to notice. And Danny would defend his parents until the day he died, because Jack Fenton wasn't an idiot and Maddie Fenton wasn't a cheater.

But doubt comes in with fickle tongue. his parents swear up and down that he is their child when he asks about either. That Danny just had his grandparents' features, but he was their son and they loved him.

But Danny doesn't look like either of his parents. His mom's eyes are blue like an aquamarine and Jazz's too. And they burn like lobsters in the sun too, but Jazz gets freckles on her face and so does Maddie. And as Danny grows up he doesn't bulk up or get stocky like his dad did, and when he hits puberty he doesn't shoot up like a tree like Jack Fenton did.

He stays small, and they say he's a late bloomer (and he is), or that he just has his mom's height. But he's fast and has good stamina, and some days it feels like he's built entirely different from his family. That the things they went through growing up just didn't apply to him. Jack and Maddie Fenton both had acne and breakouts when they hit puberty, and Jazz inherits it and he's seen the amount of skincare products she keeps on her side of the bathroom.

And then he hits puberty and breaks out maybe once or twice, but his skin stays clear for the most part and the problems and changes his dad went through just don't happen to him.

And the truth is worse than all of the lies.

How horrifying.

[sage-nebula]

Okay, like . . . it was one thing when they did their little retcon of Edgeworth's evidence forging in 1-5 because he was such a popular character and I guess they felt that having him be someone who could've once forged evidence to get wins would diminish that (even though he was already popular, and also we all remember that sus as hell "updated autopsy report" in 1-2, like get real), but are they REALLY trying to say that Manfred didn't forge evidence either, that his penalty wasn't deserved, that it was actually Excelsius Winner who was the forger all along? Really? Why? What is the purpose of this? Do they think Edgeworth and Franziska couldn't be upstanding if their teacher was a slimebucket? Because a.) neither of them were at first (updated autopsy report, illegal detention center photos), and b.) that's just not how that works regardless.

Man. This game series, man. I just don't always jive with the choices it makes.

[dangoulains-devotion]

yuffie has many interesting elements to her but people refuse to move past "i find energetic kids annoying" and it makes me sad

[relicsongmel]

You know, I've held for a long time the belief that canon!Denise eventually surpasses Sylvia and is just a notch above her in terms of battle prowess despite being younger. But the more I think about it the more I realize Paldea!Denise blows Sylvia out of the WATER with how strong she is to the point it's not even a contest

[tovaicas]

I think one of the reasons the way Ysayle was handled bothers me so much is bc a) so much of it relies on nobody in her life (new and old) ever telling her anything when they would know otherwise and b) the way the narrative wants to treat her as if she’s an awful person it’s ok to laugh at while also not wanting to admit that everything she said was right and that the thing she was wrong abt is pretty minor in comparison

[livvyofthelake]

just saw a tiktok. listen if you’re gonna compare your characters to laurie jo and amy little women you need to really put on your thinking caps with it you cannot just be saying shit this isn’t a game….

[night-dark-woods]

ID. screenshots of destiny dialogue.

Mara: Any further questions, my Wrath?

Petra: Just one. What did you love about her?

Mara: I could list reasons until Sol burned out, but they would be... lacking in complete truth. We do not love rationally. We just love.

Last image is a simple drawing of a figure laying facedown in a puddle of tears. End ID.

[skrunksthatwunk]

playing dmc1 with my earbuds in (but on low volume bc they're being weird) while my roommate and her shitty bf argue. i feel like i'm recreating the very specific experience of some child of divorce out there

[inkskinned]

the thing about some men is that they want you to remember, at all times, that you are underneath them. that with one word or look or "joke", you will stay beneath them. that even "exceptions" to the rule are not true exceptions - the commonly cited statistic that one in eight men believe they could win against serena williams.

women's gymnastics is often not seen as real gymnastics. whatever the fuck non-euclidian horrors rhythmic gymnasts are capable of, it's often tamped down as being not a sport. some of the most dominant athletes in the world are women. nobody watches women's soccer. despite years of dancing and being built like a fucking brick, men always assume they're faster and stronger than i am. you wouldn't like what happens when they are incorrect. once while drunk at a guy's house i won a held-plank challenge by a solid minute. the party was over after that - he became exceedingly violent.

what i mean is that you can be perfect, and they still think you're ... lacking, somehow. i hope you understand i'm trying to express a neutral statement when i say: taylor swift was the possibly the most patriarchy-palatable, straight-down-the-line woman we could churn out. she is white, conventionally attractive, usually pretty mild in personality. say what you will about her (and you should, she's a billionaire, she can handle it), but a few things seem to be true about her: 1. she can write a damn catchy song, and 2. the eras tour truly was a massive commercial success and was also genuinely an impressive feat of human athleticism and performance.

i don't know if she deserves the title of "woman of the year," i'm not debating that in this post. what i am saying is that she was named Woman of The Year, and then an untalented man got onstage at the golden globes and made fun of her for attending her boyfriend's football games. what i am saying is that this woman altered local economies - and her dating life is still being made into a "harmless" punchline. the camera panned, greedy, over to her downing a full glass of champagne. congratulations taylor! you are woman of the year! but you are a woman. even her.

fuck, man. write better material.

a guy gets onstage at a college graduation and despite the fact like half the crowd is made up of women, he spends a significant proportion of it warning these people - who spent possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars on their education - that they were lied to. that the "real" meaning of femininity is motherhood. that they shouldn't rest on the laurels of that education-they-paid-for but instead throw it away to kneel at a man's heel. imagine that. sweating in your godawful polyester gown (that you also had to pay for!), fresh out of 4 years of pushing yourself ever-harder: and some guy you've never met - who knows nothing about you - he reminds you this "win" is a pyrrhic one at best. you really shouldn't consider yourself that extraordinary. you're still a woman, even after years of study.

god forbid you are not a pretty woman, but if you are pretty, you must be dumb. god forbid you are not ablebodied or white or cis or straight or good at swallowing. you must be beneath a man, or else they are not a man. the equation for masculinity seems to just be: that which is not a woman or womanly (god forbid). anything "feminine" is thereby anathema. to engage in "feminine" things such as therapy, getting a hug from a friend, or crying - it is giving up ones manhood. therefore women need to be put in their place to ensure that masculinity is protected.

this is something i have struggled to explain to terfs - they are not doing the work of feminism, but rather the patriarchy. by asserting that women and men must be (on some secret level) oppositional and in conflict, they also assume that being a woman is akin to being another species. but bigotry does not stem from observational truths or clarity - that is what makes it bigotry. there was nothing in my childhood that made me fundamentally different from my brother. we are treated differently nonetheless. to assert there is some biological drive that enforces my gender role is to assert that women have a gendered role. men do not see women as equal to them not because of biological reality - but instead because the core tenant of the patriarchy is that women aren't full, realized people.

we are told from a very young age to excuse misbehavior as a single man's choice - not all men. it is not all men, just that one guy. all women are gold-digging bitches who belong in the kitchen - but if a man is mean, bigoted, or violent to you, it's just that particular guy, and that means nothing about men-as-a-whole. it is only one guy who got mad when you gently rejected him. it is only one guy who warns her this trophy is heavy, are you sure you can hold it? it is only one guy who smashes her face into the cake. it is only one guy talking into a mic about hating our bodily autonomy.

i have just found that they often wait until the moment we actually seem to be upstaging them. you sit in a meeting where you're presenting your own findings and he says get me a coffee? or you run to the end of the marathon and are about to finish first and he pushes your kids out in front of you. you win the chess game and they make some comment akin to well, you're ugly away. we can be the billionaire and get the dream life and finally fucking do it and yet! still! they have this strange, visceral urge to say well actually, if you think you're so great -

it's not one just one guy. it's one in eight.