#months ago i saw this tweet that i will Not stop thinking about for the rest of my life probably….

[risoria]

No but seriously it IS so sad and such a futile action to try talking to people online these days bc you can try to make the point ”my whole outlook on life is changing, and re-prioritizing what and who you support and forging new friendships and getting to talk to likeminded people @ protests or via endeavours online is a good thing actually. it’s a good thing to try, it benefits everyone - if your mental health is improving somewhat it helps you to keep doing things and your community and also yourself long term” and they’ll be like ”oh so you want (idol/celebrity) TO DIE IS THAT WHAT youre saying, racist!!!!??” like, respectfully, bitch are you stupid??? try not to deflect from the topic. please practice reading comprehension, and then keep going with compassion and growing personal morals because you really need all three…

[no-144444]

quick tweet, big problem- o.piastri

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summary: you and oscar are together, but the world doesn't need to know you're engaged. lando decides they do.

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! kravitz! reader

(context in case you don't know him: ted kravitz is a skyf1 presenter)

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“Red flag, red flag, come in,” Tom said.

Annoyance surged through him. This race was not going his way at all. He started slowing down, following closely behind Lawson. “Who’s off?”

“Colapinto,” he explained. “It’s a big one, probably a 20 to 30 minute red flag.”

For fucks sake. Oscar had told them it was too dangerous. They didn’t listen. He paid the price. Now Max was up into p2, and Lando was stuck in p5. Oscar couldn’t even do anything to help. He grunted, getting out of the car and following Tom back to the garage. 

He was ushered over to his engineers, but honestly all he wanted was to see you. Being Lando’s race engineer, Oscar had seen you around the paddock in some of his first weeks and befriended you, on top of that, he’d fallen madly in love with you and asked you out 11 months ago. You two had been going out for 11 months now, and, while he could see you between the screens as his engineers and Andrea gave him advice about the race, he kind of tuned them out, too busy staring at you.

“Jesus, loverboy, just go say hi and come back, alright? We need you thinking with your head, not your dick,” Zak scoffed, finally allowing him to see you. 

Quickly, Oscar rounded the corner of the desk and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his head on the top of yours. You didn’t stop talking to Lando, explaining the plan for the rest of the race. 

“But I fucking said to stay out,” Lando whined. 

“No, you told us to box you. We told you to stay out,” you explained, your voice calm. 

Lando just scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” then walked off to go brood somewhere else. 

“Shitty weather, eh?” you mused.

“Awful,” he nodded. 

“Is that sweat or rain?” you asked, feeling how wet he truly was. 

“Both,” he sighed. He knew there were about forty cameras on the two of you. Moments between you two that the public saw were few and far between. You liked it that way. He liked it that way. Privacy was something he essentially gave up when he became a public figure, but that didn’t mean you had to. “How’s Lando doing?”

“He’s just pissed away his chance at World Champion,” you took a deep breath, leaning into him. “And I’ll be the one he screams at during the end of the race. I’ll be the one having to explain it to Zak, and I won’t get home until probably tomorrow. And my dad is staring at us.”

Oscar groaned. “Fucking hate dealing with this shit.” 

You nodded. “Me too. But at least there’s no race for two weeks.” 

“We’re off to Melbourne,” he reminded you. “Have to do the family rounds, since we’re engaged,” he beamed. Over the last break, Oscar had proposed. It was the happiest moment of your lives (closely followed by Oscar’s win in Baku), and now you were on your way to visit his extended family for the first time. Since he’d met most of your family (especially considering Ted Kravitz was your father and Oscar met him before he met you), it was only fair that you make the trip and meet his.

Before that though, you had to get through today. 

“You’d better go chat with your engineers,” you took your hands off his. “Zak is giving me dirty looks.”

He rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t want to.” 

You chuckled. “Go,” you urged him. “If you get higher than p9 I’ll give you a kiss at the end of the race.”

“Good deal,” he pondered. “Or I could just kiss you now,” and with that, he pressed his lips to yours quickly, before running off to his side of the garage. 

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୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Lando was an idiot, but he was Oscar's idiot, so you didn't kill him. You knew it was only a matter of time before someone slipped up, whether it be your dad, you, or Oscar. You didn't suspect it would be Lando, though. You did enjoy watching Oscar shout at him though. That was pretty funny.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[eldulcopatato]

"Keep It Cute, Keep It Quiet"

pairing: george clarkey x fem!reader

warnings: none!

summary: When George's lack of transparency about your relantionship and frustration by online rumors about him and Cinna finally pushes you over the edge, deciding you're done being his secret.

word count: 700

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵˚₊

You and George had been together for seven months.

Private, not secret. That’s what he always said.

He didn’t want to deal with “people being weird,” didn’t want to give the internet too much. You understood. You didn’t love it, but you got it. You were patient. Supportive. Chill.

Until Inside happened.

It started with harmless clips.

Cinna joining the group. George greeting her with that goofy smile. Them vibing, bouncing off each other’s jokes, becoming lowkey inseparable.

You didn’t say anything. You knew George. You trusted him.

But then came the TikToks. The fan edits. The comment sections that became unhinged.

“they’d be so cute together 😭” “george & cinna have serious main character energy ngl” “he never looks at anyone like that i’m sorry 😭😭” “they BETTER be together off cam”

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. They were just shippers. Parasocials. But it kept getting worse.

Because even after the show, George and Cinna started streaming together. Frequently.

Usually with the group—Jason, Millie, and the other contestants. But sometimes? Just them two.

You’d pop into the stream chat, lurking silently, watching them mess around in different games. She’d say something flirty—probably as a joke—and George would laugh.

Too loud. Too fond.

“george and cinna streaming alone again??? they are not hiding it anymore omfg” “if they start matching profile pics i’m throwing myself into the sea”

You asked him about it once.

He just blinked at you. “What, me and Cinna? Babe… she’s just a mate. You know that.”

And yeah, you did. But that didn’t stop it from stinging every time she popped up on your FYP. Every time you saw a new fancam titled “cinna making george blush for 2 minutes straight”.

And the whole time… You were just in the background. A ghost.

Until that night.

You were lying in bed, scrolling, and came across another viral tweet.

“i’d bet money george and cinna are a thing, they’re too comfy around each other”

Something in you snapped.

You opened your camera roll. Found a photo from two nights ago—taken after a long dinner date. You’d been straddling George on the sofa, jacket half off one shoulder, messy hair, his hands all over your waist. You were kissing him. His jaw, slightly tilted up, eyes closed.

It was hot. Obvious. Intimate.

You hesitated. Just for a second.

Then added the caption: “not just comfy x” Posted it straight to your Instagram story. No tags. No explanations.

You locked your phone and tossed it aside.

It took about 45 seconds for your phone to explode.

Twitter? In shambles. TikTok? Full of scream edits and breakdown videos. Instagram? DMs blowing up. People were analyzing your bracelets, zooming in on George’s hands, comparing hoodie strings to old footage.

“WHO IS SHE AND HOW DO I BECOME HER??” “CINNA STANS WE LOST 😭” “she ATE. she WON. no crumbs left.”

You didn’t even hear from George until ten minutes later.

George: ??? George: babe what did you just DO George: you know everyone’s going mad right???

You finally replied.

You: well now they know George: you mad at me? You: you think?

Typing… typing… George: i didn’t mean to make you feel hidden You: you didn’t mean to. but you did. George: come over. please.

You showed up at his flat an hour later.

He was waiting at the door, hoodie on, hair messy, expression wrecked.

“You posted that ‘cause of Cinna?” he asked quietly.

You stared at him. “You think I wanted to watch people ship you with someone else every day while I stayed invisible?”

He stepped closer, hands sliding around your waist.

“I should’ve posted about you months ago.”

You didn’t reply. Just stared.

Then he kissed you. Soft, slow, apologetic.

“Can I post something now?” he whispered against your lips.

You smirked. “You better.”

An hour later, George uploaded a blurry polaroid to his grid.

You, in his lap. Laughing. Kissing his cheek. His arm curled around your waist. Caption: “she’s not just comfy x”

“REAL RECOGNISES REAL” “i forgive him for hiding her bc she is CLEARLY the one” “ngl i respect the reveal game. they held onto that like champs.” “cinna shippers i am so sorry 💀 the girlfriend had RECEIPTS”

[cranberrydietcoke]

𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 - 𝘭𝘶𝘪𝘨𝘪 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦

heavily inspired by this post by @subtlehums

content: 18+, lore accurate luigi, cigarettes, mentions of prescription drugs, guns, L word, established relationship, unprotected p in v, riding, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, kinda emo but fluffy but smutty, he’s so tragically beautiful idk i hope this does him justice

wc: 2.1k

a/n: i am a woman possessed. he is all i think about like its bad. shout out the girlies who found my blog thru tiktok comments lmaooo enjoy

psa: he is innocent until proven guilty! this is a fictional, hypothetical situation in which he did do it.

“𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗶 𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁. 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗱, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗽𝗼𝗲𝘁𝗿𝘆, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗼𝗺, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘀𝗶𝗻. – 𝗯𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱.” - tweeted by @ pepmangione, may 1st, 2024.

you missed hawaii. that tiny apartment for just the two of you seemed impossibly big now, as you imagined the sunlight weaving in through the windows, casting shadows of waves onto the kitchen tile. you missed that kitchen, sharing coffee in the mornings before work, baking together. you missed the way the island held you both, lush and warm and predictable. the late nights, the conferences, the schedule – it’s funny how everything always seems so simple in hindsight. he had a way of making it clear he knew best, and you’d stopped arguing years ago. so, when he said to pack a bag for the mainland, you didn’t question it. you trusted him with a kind of faith that went deeper than any earthly explanation could offer.

the frosty breeze whips by you as you step out onto the fire escape of the hostel, headlights and billboards illuminating the city below. you could hear luigi’s furious typing from the chair inside over the sound of honking horns and screeching tires, occasionally pausing to reread it back to himself and flip through the starched pages of the book he’d been in for days. the eraser of the pencil he annotated with was gnawed to damn near nothing. the flick of your lighter shook him from his focus, snapping his head to watch as you wrapped yourself in your fur coat and brought a cigarette to your lips with deep red manicured nails.

“that’s gonna kill you, y’know that right?”

and he was right. not that it made a difference. six months ago, the thought of smoking a cigarette would’ve seemed absurd. now, it almost felt inevitable, like the distance between who you were and who you are had blurred and widened into a festering chasm.

 and yet, here he was – the one steady thing in your life, lounging in the peeling leather of the black desk chair, eyes meeting yours like nothing else mattered. the air inside was thick, saturated with things unsaid. tomorrow would inevitably come, but that seemed irrelevant compared to the man in front of you. you crouched with bent knees, weight balanced on the balls of your feet as you blew out thick spirals of smoke, teetering on the tip toes of your flats with each gust of wind.

“lu,” you strain through quick puffs, tapping a nail to the lit stick, causing ash to fall through the metal bars that held you up and onto the concrete of the new york sidewalk. “please.”  you scoff, lash-lidded gaze lingering over him through the open window, a look that he couldn’t bring himself to argue with. you were the fracture in the foundation of his carefully constructed logic, the one thing he couldn’t solve.

 the first time he saw you at some hazy phi psi social in undergrad, something in him just…stopped. a whirlwind of wild dark hair with an unapologetic laugh that was too loud for the space but too beautiful to be mad at. you spoke with precision, arguing like someone who had points to make, yet there was a strange charm about you, an effortless grace. he had to have you. he assumed that bringing you to maryland for holiday break would be overwhelming, that the sheer volume of his family would cause you to tone yourself down. instead, they welcomed you as one of their own, perhaps because your bold opinions and high standards mirrored theirs. but that was a lifetime ago – before the pandemic, the accident, the surgery. before everything splintered into what it is now.

his puffy, purple-ringed and exhausted eyes follow you as you climb back into the warmth, slamming the window shut and shedding your coat. resting his elbows on his knees, he brought his hands to drag down his face with a deep, weary sigh, letting them fall to his denim-clad thighs with a slap. motioning you over to him with a nod of the head.

brass casings littered the floor, the bed a mess of neon monopoly bills - scattered in the dingy sheets like confetti after some great gatsby party. you’d been holed up in that room for a week now, and his restless energy was palpable. it wasn’t like his stress was something you’d never seen before. in fact, it was normal after all these years. but this. this was a different level. completely enrapturing, not only mental, but physical.

 you slip off your shoes with a soft thud on the floor. your steps are slow, deliberate, as you meander toward him, eyes heavy with sympathy. three sleepless nights had made his face hollow, and he’d refused every pill you’d offered – hydros, oxys, anything to subside the pain. you stand in front of him, positioned between his spread legs. his hands reach to meet your plush hips, each digit pressing firmly into your skin, grounding himself in your presence.

when al pacino said the eyes never lie, he was completely correct. luigi’s were sullen, dark, angry. pleading for help, for recognition. you lift a hand to cradle his cheek, tracing over the stubble that wasn’t there when you left hawaii. wordlessly, you sink to your knees on the warped wood of the hotel floor, looking up into his big brown eyes. your fingers trace a slow path from the curve of his jaw to the firm plane of his chest, before settling your palm on the denim of his thigh, smoothing it up and down his leg. you tilt your head, letting your temple rest gently against his knee.

“i love you, lu,” you spoke in a near whisper against him, gaze fixed on nothing in particular, thoughts somewhere far away. “i just wish shit was different.”

“i know baby, i know,” he answered without hesitation, cooing down at you and bringing a meticulous hand to brush the mess of hair from your face. “we’ll be back home soon, i jus- i have some stuff to take care of, love, you know that.” his voice softened as he looked down at you, coaxing your glassy eyes up to his steady stare. with a subtle touch, he grabbed your chin between his thumb and index fingers, lifting your face to meet his. only inches way, you felt the heat of his breath on your lips, drinking it in.

“i know this isn’t who you fell in love with, n’ i’m sorry. i-i’m a fucking shell,” he rambled, bobbing his head with each word, eyes darting around each feature on your face.

“this world, me, everything, is a fucking lie.” he spat, “just t-touch me so i know that i’m real.”

his eyes were wide and manic, brow furrowing as if every thought, every word, was a battle being played out behind those unblinking, shifty eyes. your mouth hangs open, and every part of you seems to be falling into him, melting in his touch. your eyes are unfocused and glazed over as they follow his, drunk off the very essence of him.

“fuck me so i know that i’m real. i’ve been dying to know if i am.”

heady puffs of breath fell against your face with each word, his eyes drifting down to your glossy pout. he ran his tongue up the curve of your parted lips, a tiny gasp escaping them, your eyes never leaving his. it was perverted almost, urgent and depraved. without thinking, you curl your tongue out, meeting and circling his without your lips even touching, saliva dripping onto the floor below. his hands grasp at the sides of your head, pulling you in closer as his tongue forces its way past yours, lips crashing together in a heated kiss. he stands you both up with a swift movement, each kiss growing deeper, more consuming, as he guides you backward onto the bed.

you can’t help but whimper into his mouth through the soft, wet smack of your lips that fills the room as he lays you on your back, pinned by the wrist in a pool of pink and orange paper money. hot, hungry kisses trailed down your neck and across your chest, his hands firm as he peeled off your white tank top. your fingers roamed over every inch of him – gripping a handful of curls, your palm finding the small of his neck to pull him closer. softly, your hands slid over the hard lines of his shoulder blades, tracing the muscles beneath his skin. for a split second, it felt like undergrad again – fooling around on that tiny twin bed, stealing kisses between whispered laughs and desperately hoping that none of the boys in the chapter house heard you.

“baby, sit back,” you murmur, craning your neck and biting into your lower lip as he licks spirals into the sensitive skin, sending a chill down your spine. with a smirk, he flips over to settle onto the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the cold metal button of his levi’s and squirming out of them. the print of his length pressed through the thin fabric of his boxers as you hook your fingers in the waistband, tugging them to fall around his ankles. you shimmy out of your leggings and black lace panties, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the hardwood.

letting a stringy drop of spit fall from your lips, you work and twist your hands over him, whimpers and pants making his chest fall and rise, head lolling back as you plant tiny kisses on both thighs. turning around with bent knees, hips between his legs and feet flat on the floor, you sink down onto him inch by inch, whining incoherently as it stretches you out.

his hands on your sides, thumbs running down the valley of your spine, molding you like pottery as he guides you up and down. the tips of your fingers balance on the floor as you gently bounce and roll your hips, stuffing yourself over and over again on his cock.

“f-fuck – mine, all fuckin’ mine,” he spoke breathlessly, watching your drooly hole take him in with little plap plap plap’s, the fat of your ass recoiling as his length disappeared into you. his grip tightened on your sides, and you felt his legs getting wobbly under your stabilizing hand. “my girl, my good fucking girl…” he spoke absently, almost to himself, each syllable dripping with lust. appreciation. worship, even.

“god, fuck – please.” you babble, whipping your hair back to steal a glance at him from over your shoulder – all focused and blissed out, slack-jawed as he groped and pawed at the lower contour of your ass, spreading open the sticky mess and watching with wild, amazed eyes at the way you wet him up.

“what, baby? want it inside? yeah?” he panted out with squeaky desperation, lower stomach tensing and turning as you gripped and slid over him. “wanna get pregnant, huh, the way you’re takin’ it – fuck!”

his thrusts got sloppy, breath hitching in his throat and translating to desperate whines as he pumped you full. even if he didn’t come back tomorrow, if you never saw him alive again, he was determined to leave you with a little permanent piece of him. bringing a strong, warm palm to the small of your lower back to slow down your pace and push you off of him, he fell back onto the bed with a sigh, rattling the bed frame with the impact. ribbons of thick, opalescent seed seeped from your hole, all fucked open and raw.

laying together, swimming in those hotel sheets, the cold touch of fingerprints tracing numbers and letters into your thighs. truly believing you both had nothing to lose, even though that was far from the truth because you had each other. the shrill sound of wind against windows was stomach-churning compared to the familiar crash of the ocean, and you’ve accepted that you’ll probably never see that apartment again. even if you did, it wouldn’t be the same. but, you trusted him. believed in him, his capability, his intelligence. holding onto that tiny sliver of hope that told you everything would be okay, he would be careful, come home unseen and unscathed. those worries were reserved for the future version of you, one that could carry the weight of tomorrow in the daylight. all of it – the pain, the planning, the uncertainty – was beside the point now. all that mattered was the shelter of his lingering touch, quieting the rest of the world, only if for a few more hours.

[chrissssssmut]

You heard of parasocial relationships where fans of a celebrity feel like they know the celebrity and am close to them even though they aren't?

Imagine a reverse yandere parasocial relationship where an idol sees social media posts from a guy online who is a fan of her and she becomes obsessed with him and goes full yandere

NOTICED

Yandere Kazuha x Male Reader

AN: Sorry I take so long writing! I've been super busy recently and I hope you all could understand!😭♥️

You didn’t expect your K-pop fan account to go anywhere. It was just a place to dump your edits, fancams, and long-winded rambles about how “Kazuha doesn’t even feel real sometimes,” or how “no human should move that gracefully unless they were sculpted by the gods.”

You were just one of thousands. One more voice in a sea of fanboys.

But… she saw you.

And she never stopped looking.

It started small. A like.

You noticed it one night around 2:12 AM, while lazily scrolling through your old posts, chasing dopamine. Your most recent tweet—“If I ever get reincarnated I hope it’s as Kazuha’s phone charger”—had a new like.

From her official account.

You sat upright so fast your spine popped. The checkmark stared back at you like a blinking cursor on a love letter.

“Okay,” you whispered, screen glowing in the dark. “Okay, that’s not… normal.”

Your heart wouldn’t stop racing. She had millions of followers. Why your post? Why now?

Maybe it was her social media manager? Maybe it was random?

You retweeted it anyway, captioning it with:

“No way Kazuha just liked my tweet???? Is this real life???”

You didn’t know it then, but she was already watching. Already scrolling.

Next Day — Seoul

Kazuha scrolled through your feed, her thumb trembling ever so slightly as she lay on her hotel bed. The blue light carved shadows into her face.

Every post. Every caption. Every breath you typed into the void—meant for her.

“He thinks I’m not real,” she murmured, eyes glinting. “He thinks I’m a goddess.”

A slow, eerie smile tugged at her lips.

“Then I’ll become one.”

Three Days Later

Your account was exploding. Kazuha had liked three more of your posts.

One was your fan edit—her rehearsal shots layered with angel wings and a dreamy filter.

Another was your tweet:

“Kazuha's smile should be registered as a WMD.”

And the third?

“If Kazuha ever looked at me the way she looks at the camera, I’d pass out. Actually pass out.”

You were losing your mind. Your DMs were flooded. Kazuha had liked three more of your posts, and the internet was combusting over it. Your phone buzzed non-stop—mentions, retweets, follows, and angry fanboys and fangirls trying to decode what black magic you used.

Some of the messages were just chaotic:

@swanfeetfanatic:

BRO??? WHAT DID YOU SELL TO THE UNIVERSE FOR THIS?? GIVE ME THE RITUAL CIRCLE???

@kknuckles:

This is rigged. You’re not even her biggest fan. You don’t even tag your fancams right.

But then came the jealous DMs.

unknown:

“Seriously? SHE liked you? You barely know anything about her. You said she looked ‘unreal’ like three times. That’s lazy simping.”

user82837:

“You're just a thirst account. If anyone should get noticed, it's people who actually care about her art.”

zuha4life:

“You think she’s gonna date you now or something? LMAO. Delusional.”

private account (no pfp):

“She follows me too. You’re not special. Stop pretending you matter.”

The bitterness dripped off every word, but you couldn’t lie—it kind of made it sweeter. You knew it was petty, but something about being the one she saw… it stirred something in your chest.

You refreshed again.

Another like.

This time, on your old post from months ago:

“If Kazuha showed up at my door soaked in rain asking to stay the night, I wouldn’t even ask questions. I’d just pray she never leaves.”

You stared at it.

And then the DM came from that private account with no posts.

unknown:

"You wouldn’t pass out. You’d fall to your knees."

Then it vanished.

Same Night — Hotel Room

Kazuha grinned at her burner account. She had watched your reaction through the reflection in her hotel window, playing your stream on mute.

She could see you squint at your screen, confused and flustered. She could practically taste your pulse.

“That’s enough teasing for now,” she whispered, rolling onto her back. “He’s almost ripe.”

Next Day — Fanmeet

You had to fly out. You couldn’t resist anymore. Kazuha was attending a public fanmeet in Seoul and you had to see her.

You didn’t expect to get in. You didn’t expect your fan letter to even be read. But someone—somehow—pushed your name to the top of the list.

You were called up.

And there she was.

Kazuha, smiling up at you from across the small table. Her skin glowed. Her eyes—deep, unreadable—fixed on you like you were the only thing left in the world.

You stammered. “H-Hi…”

“Hi,” she said sweetly, but her tone was low. Slow. Intimate.

Your heart did a backflip.

She tilted her head. “You look… just like I imagined.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

Kazuha leaned in, lips just a whisper from the mic.

“Your voice. Your face. I’ve seen all of it. So many times.”

You stood frozen. The staff gestured for you to move along, but she raised her hand—delicate but firm.

“One more minute,” she told them.

Then her eyes turned back to you.

“I liked your post,” she said quietly. “The one about reincarnating as my phone charger.”

You let out a half-choked laugh. “I-I was joking, of course—”

“I wasn’t.”

Silence. Her stare burned into you.

“Would you let me keep you in my room?” she asked. “Just… on the floor. Warm. Plugged in. Close.”

Your throat dried.

She smiled. “I’m kidding.”

But her eyes weren’t.

Two Days Later — Your Apartment

You couldn’t shake her from your mind. Every notification made your heart stutter. Every shadow in your hallway felt like it was holding its breath.

You told yourself you were being paranoid.

Until the note appeared under your door.

“I know where you live now. I liked it better when I was the fantasy. But I’ll make reality better, don’t worry. — K”

You dropped the note like it burned.

Outside, the wind howled.

You couldn’t sleep. Every sound outside your window had you glancing over your shoulder. You checked the locks again. You checked your phone.

No notifications. No messages.

Then the lights flickered.

You turned—slowly—to see her.

Kazuha.

Standing in your living room.

Barefoot. Hair wet. Dressed in one of your oversized hoodies.

“Hey,” she said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Miss me?”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

She walked toward you, slow and deliberate.

“I told myself I’d wait. That I’d be patient. But you kept posting. You kept calling me a goddess. You kept making me real.”

You backed up, bumping into the wall.

Kazuha raised a hand and gently pressed it against your chest. “So here I am.”

Her smile was soft. Her eyes weren’t.

“I’m yours, right? You made me yours. You manifested me.”

“I—Kazuha, this isn’t—”

“Shh,” she whispered. “Don’t ruin the fantasy. You prayed for this. Every post. Every word.”

She leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“Let me be what you worship.”

The words lingered in the air, thick with heat and danger.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding so violently it echoed in your ears. Kazuha was inches from you now—too close. The hoodie she wore was yours, you could tell from the faint detergent scent and how it draped perfectly over her dancer’s frame. Her bare legs, toned and poised, brushed against yours like it was deliberate.

“Kazuha,” you whispered, as gently as you could. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

She tilted her head, feigning confusion. “Why not? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”

“I—”

“You said it yourself,” she murmured. “Over and over. You wanted me in your room. You said you’d let me stay the night. That I could do anything. Be anything.”

She pressed her forehead to yours, eyes half-lidded, breath warm.

“You told the world you’d worship me. So why hesitate now that your goddess is standing in front of you?”

You didn’t know what scared you more—how calmly she said it, or how much of you wanted to give in.

Your hand moved up, instinctively reaching for your phone, but she caught your wrist with gentle fingers.

“No,” she said, smile still soft. “This isn’t something you share.”

Her grip tightened slightly.

“This moment is ours.”

Hours Later — Same Night

You didn’t sleep.

Kazuha sat curled up on your bed like a cat who had always belonged there, scrolling through your phone as if it was hers now. Occasionally, she'd let out a soft giggle or hum.

“Oh,” she said, waving the screen. “This one’s cute.”

She read aloud:

“I’d let Kazuha slap me with a ballet shoe and I’d thank her. I’m sick in the head.”

She turned to you with wide, amused eyes. “That was you?”

You nodded mutely from the corner of the room, where you sat—legs pulled up to your chest—trying to make sense of the nightmare you were trapped in.

“God, you’re adorable,” she cooed. “You’re so loyal.”

She crawled toward you, slow and deliberate, dropping the phone beside you.

“You made me feel seen. Real. Not just some perfectly sculpted robot for the stage. You talked to me like I was art. Like I was holy.”

Her hand slid against your cheek.

“So I’ll treat you like my most devoted worshipper. Isn’t that what you are?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

She smiled, tapping her forehead to yours again.

“Don’t be scared. You’re mine now. That’s all this is.”

You awoke to the smell of breakfast—burnt toast and eggs, slightly too salty. Kazuha was dancing barefoot in your kitchen, humming a Le Sserafim song under her breath like she was home.

Like she belonged here.

She turned when she saw you, eyes lighting up.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” she chirped. “I made food. It's probably bad, but you’ll eat it anyway, right?”

You stared at her.

“Zuha… you can’t stay here. This isn’t normal. People will notice—”

“Let them,” she said, expression unchanging. “Let them see what real love looks like.”

“But your fans—your company—”

Her face shifted just slightly. A small, almost imperceptible crack in her serene expression.

“I don’t care about them,” she said flatly. “I care about you.”

Silence.

Then, quietly:

“You think they’d still love me if they knew what I was willing to do for you?”

You didn’t move.

She stepped closer.

“If they knew how long I’ve been watching? How many of your locations I’ve tracked from tweets? How many people I blocked from your replies—using sock accounts—so you’d feel like I was the only one who cared?”

“Kazuha—”

“They’d crucify me,” she whispered, smiling. “But you wouldn’t. You’d kneel.”

Later That Day — Twitter

Your account was different now. Your follower count had mysteriously dropped. Your tweet replies were unusually quiet—no more chaotic DMs. No more angry fangirls or jealous snark.

They were gone.

You opened your DMs and saw nothing.

Nothing.

Except one new message.

From @onlyzuha (a private account with zero followers).

“You’re welcome. I cleaned up the noise. I want to hear you clearly.”

“Post something for me. Something true. Tell the world who you belong to.”

And somehow… you knew if you didn’t, she’d find another way to make it clear.

You hovered over the tweet button.

Your hands were shaking.

“I don’t know how this happened… but she’s mine now. And I think I’m hers.”

You hit post.

Seconds later—liked by @Kazuha_official.

Your post went viral.

Not viral like before—no chaotic memes or fan envy. This time, it was quiet.

Sinister.

Everyone could feel something was off.

Your tweet:

“I don’t know how this happened… but she’s mine now. And I think I’m hers.”

Got liked only once—by Kazuha’s verified account.

No replies. No fan jokes. No chaos.

Just silence.

And then, one by one, your tweets started disappearing.

Not the ones Kazuha liked—those remained, carefully pruned. But old ones, ones where you casually mentioned your friends, college, exes, late-night gaming buddies—they all vanished. It was as if someone was scrubbing your digital identity clean.

That Night — Your Apartment

Kazuha was humming in your room again. Sitting cross-legged in your chair, scrolling through your timeline like it was hers.

“Your friend Dan,” she said calmly, “he called you pathetic once in a Discord voice call. I saved the clip.”

You stared at her. “How did you—”

“I joined with a throwaway,” she smiled. “Voice mod and everything. Cute, right?”

You stood frozen, bile creeping up your throat. “You… you were listening?”

“I am listening,” she said softly. “All the time.”

She got up, walked to you, and gently took your face in her hands.

“I know you better than anyone. Better than your mother. Better than God. Because I chose to.”

“Kazuha,” you whispered, barely breathing, “I’m scared.”

Her smile didn’t falter.

“I know, baby. It’s always scary when divinity touches you.”

Next Morning — Trending Tab

#FREE___

Your name.

It started trending without context. Just your name. Bold. Empty. Dozens of fans began asking:

“Why has this guy’s account been completely wiped except the Kazuha tweets?”

“Did he delete himself or did someone else delete him?”

“He was super active and now he’s silent af. Where is he?”

“This is giving Black Mirror.”

You tried to post something. Anything.

But the tweet wouldn’t send. Your drafts vanished as you typed them.

Kazuha walked past behind you, brushing her teeth, wearing your shirt. “Internet issues?”

She spat in the sink, smiling through the mirror.

“I locked you out. Just for a bit. You were shaking too much.”

Sometime later, a secret video is leaked.

A blurry video was posted by a burner account and quickly deleted.

It showed you—clearly distressed—sitting on a balcony. Kazuha beside you, holding your hand, smiling into the camera. Whispering something into your ear. You looked like you were crying.

Fans lost it.

“No idol should be that close to a fan, ever.”

“He doesn’t look okay. He looks like he’s being held hostage.”

“If this is real, we need to help him.”

But the video disappeared in minutes.

The account that posted it? Nuked.

The people who reposted it? Suspended.

Your last tweet remained.

Still liked.

Still pinned.

Still yours.

You sat on the edge of the building, wind tugging at your clothes. Kazuha sat beside you, her hand on your thigh, casual like always.

“I think people are starting to notice,” you murmured.

“They’re irrelevant,” she said. “They don’t understand us.”

She leaned her head on your shoulder, like a girlfriend in a drama.

“I used to think I needed the world. The stage. The lights. But it was all so… hollow.”

“Then I found your words.”

“You made me alive.”

The wind howled. You didn’t speak.

“If the world burns because I chose you,” she whispered, “then let it burn.”

She looked up at you.

“So choose, baby. Me or them.”

Your lips trembled.

“Kazuha…”

“I won’t ask again.”

One Week Later — You were declared missing.

It started with a welfare check.

Neighbors hadn’t seen you in days. Lights on all night. Packages stacked outside your door. No noise, no movement. Your parents tried calling—you didn’t answer. Your friends, the few who hadn’t been pushed away, filed a report.

By the time police reached your apartment… it was empty.

No sign of a struggle. No signs of violence.

Just your phone—cracked, screen facing the wall. And a note:

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve gone somewhere better.”

Your name hit the trending tab again.

#RIP[YourName]

#JusticeFor[YourHandle]

#WhatHappenedToTheSimpKing

Memorial edits popped up. Fan theories ran wild. Some blamed Kazuha—pointing to the tweets, the video, the possessive behavior. But HYBE’s legal team moved fast. Every accusation was buried. Every account mysteriously suspended.

It was dark when you woke up. Dim yellow lighting. A room with no windows. Your limbs ached from disuse, your body heavy. The bed beneath you was soft. Too soft. Sheets freshly washed. The scent of clean linen mixed with something sweeter—like jasmine and static.

Then you heard her voice.

“There he is.”

Kazuha stepped into the room, barefoot, wearing a flowy white dress that made her look like a dream—or a ghost. She sat beside you, brushing your hair from your face.

“Sleep well?” she whispered.

You tried to sit up. “Where am I?”

“Safe,” she said, like that explained anything. “The world thinks you’re gone. And for once… they’re right.”

You stared at her, mind spinning. “You faked my death?”

Her smile didn’t waver. “I set you free.”

The bunker—because that’s what it was—had everything.

Soft lighting. A stocked fridge. A mattress. Speakers playing Le Sserafim on loop. No internet. No phone. Just books she picked out. Sketchbooks. Headphones. Her.

She was always there. Always.

Feeding you. Bathing with you. Stroking your hair as you lay on her lap like some prized possession she could finally keep.

“You were too soft for the world,” she said one night, straddling you with a featherlight touch. “Too pure. They would’ve ruined you.”

“But I kept you.”

You stared at the ceiling.

“You stole me.”

She giggled, kissing your cheek. “And yet… you haven’t run.”

You didn’t respond.

You didn’t even know where the door was anymore.

Above Ground — Fan Reaction Shifts

A user posted screenshots of your old tweets.

“Guys. Look. She liked every single one that hinted at him wanting to disappear with her. This wasn’t random.”

“What if she saw him coming? What if she planned it?”

They were shut down instantly. IP banned. DMCA strikes. Cease-and-desist.

Kazuha’s fans pivoted.

“He was clearly unstable. Poor girl must’ve been traumatized.”

“She hasn’t smiled once onstage since it happened.”

And it was true.

Kazuha’s performances changed. She danced slower. Sang with empty eyes. But in between sets, a ghost of a smile would return. Not for the cameras. Not for the fans.

Just when she looked at her phone.

Because she still had photos of you.

Videos.

Recordings.

Proof that you were here, beneath the floorboards of the world.

It had been over a month. You couldn’t tell time anymore. Kazuha walked in with two mugs—one for you, one for her.

You didn’t even look up.

“Are you ever going to let me leave?” you asked softly.

She sat beside you, curled her legs underneath her. “No.”

You finally turned to her. “Then why pretend this is love?”

She looked at you, long and deep, like you were scripture.

“Because you loved me when no one else saw me. You wrote about me like I was more than skin. More than choreography. You called me sacred.”

“You gave me that godhood. I’m just returning the favor.”

You laughed bitterly. “You buried me.”

“I immortalized you,” she said, tone still calm. “You're legend now. The fan who loved me so much he vanished.”

She kissed your knuckles.

“And now you’re mine forever.”

Final Scene — A New Fan Surfaces

Far away, in a different country, a new Twitter thread begins.

Someone posts an edit of Kazuha.

Captions it:

“If Kazuha kidnapped me, I’d say thank you.”

The tweet goes viral. Harmless joke. Just another fan craving attention.

But in the shadows… a new account likes it.

@onlyzuha

💬 “Do you really mean that?”

[mxtxfanatic]

Just wanna say for those of y’all who came into this fandom late: just a few years ago, speaking on Jiang Cheng with anything less than glowing praise used to bring so much harassment that “angry grape”-related tags had to be created to circumvent jc stans finding and subsequently dogpiling your posts. I’ve since seen this tagging convention appropriated by his stans to be an “affectionate” petname for his character. If you wrote a wangxian fic in which Jiang Cheng did not appear, your fics would get bombarded with stans flooding your comments with their own headcanons on why Jiang Cheng isn’t around but “this is how he’d react if he was” and “everyone loves him, they’re definitely thinking about him, rn” and “when is he supposed to show up, op???” If you read a wangxian fic and Jiang Cheng did appear, there was a 95% chance that you would have to slog through thousands of words of abuse apologia paired with every character (except maybe Lan Wangji, maybe) claiming that Wei Wuxian deserved to be abused and should just learn to handle it better because abuse is really love. It took me a year of reading purely (only, exclusively) wangxian fics to find a single fic that had both 1) canon Jiang Cheng and 2) did not twist the other characters into fanon iterations to justify canon Jiang Cheng’s abusive behavior. When more canon writers started appearing, their fics got flooded with negativity, claims that the fic wasn’t realistic because “jc isn’t like that,” and demands to change things. They started moderating their comment sections. Eventually, jc stan writers even stopped tagging Jiang Cheng in their fics despite writing him as a major character because people began to avoid reading fics if they knew from the tags that his character appeared.

The “canon jc” tag was created on tumblr because jc stans said that if we didn’t like being attacked for canon opinions we should “create our own tag.” It was not a tag that always existed. Nobody used it until my friends created it. And every few months after that, we’d get a new “flood the tag” campaign by jc stans pissed at the name until it died down… until twitter refugees arrived, bringing with them a new faction of jc stans. That jc appreciate week or whatever they call it that starts on Halloween? Created by jc stans in an attempt to flood out Wei Wuxian appreciation posts on his birthday by making sure that new Jiang Cheng content would dominate all the major tags on that day. I watched the creators brag about that.

One BIG fandom upset happened when a jc stan wrote a horribly mistagged rape and murder wangxian fic and had their friends promote it so that wangxian lovers would read the fic and be traumatized. They gloated about having "successfully baited people," then tried to delete their tweets admitting it when they got them in trouble. I was there for that, too, and I only dodged being triggered because I saved the fic to read for later instead of cracking it open immediately.

Some of y’all may see me around now, but I’ve been watching this fandom for much longer than I’ve been making posts, before even the friends and mutuals I know now even knew I existed (yes I was a lurker lol). I’ve seen the development of all this play out across tumblr, ao3, and twitter (despite my best efforts to avoid the twitter side, that’s how ubiquitous it was). That’s how inescapable it was. I saw so much shit go down that I already had a mile-wide blocklist before I made my first post, and even then, I still got hate commentary on some of my posts the moment I dipped my littlest toe into metas. I had anon off for like a year because I didn’t want to deal with any harassment, and the moment I turned it off, I started getting bait anons (though not as bad as the others I’ve seen, holy shit). When I started this blog, all I did was liveblog and reblog other people’s art and metas. I was so stressed entering this fandom because the shit I had seen off rip was absolutely disgusting. That’s why I have very intentional rules of engagement that I try to hold to for myself. I may never be the first to start the fight, but I damn sure will defend myself and my friends. I also will never run away from admitting my mistakes, but I will also never be bullied into treating someone’s personal fantasies as equal to the actual factual text.

This isn’t to say that fanon enjoyers don’t get harassment. Another big fandom scandal was that a popular fanfic writer obsessed with canon had been harassing other writers through a series of bot accounts into leaving the fandom. What a lot of people don’t bring up in their bid to paint canon enjoyers as particularly prone to “fandom bullying,” however, was that the “canon” they were obsessed with was tied almost exclusively to the canon wangxian’s top/bottom sexual dynamic. I’d read that person’s works before—enjoyed them, even, before the scandal happened. They wrote fanon into their fics in other ways. The fanon/canon divide isn’t the problem; entitlement to unanimous fandom praise and recognition is.

There’s nothing wrong with enjoying canon or fanon, nothing right or wrong or morally superior for either camp. But do me a favor: go into the main jiang cheng character tag right now, and count how often you see a post about Jiang Cheng that portrays him in a negative light. Not one that portrays him as an snarky asshole or a teacher’s pet or a helicopter parent or a crybaby who only wants to be loved, but one which shows him in all of his uncensored glory as a piece of shit antagonist. How often do you see fanart of Jiang Cheng that isn’t “best jiujiu” or “sad didi” or “badass sect leader”? How often do you see metas that don’t include some iteration of “everyone is just so mean about poor little jc who just didn’t have a choice in anything he ever did 😢”? Go to the main novel tag and do the same. Hell, go to the wangxian tag and see what you find while you’re at it. How many of those posts are viral compared to “look at jc with his dogs!” or “look, I made lxc and jc kiss!” Then tell me whether or not you believe that jc stans are being specifically targeted for some unique and undeserved persecution by the fandom at large.

[mariacallous]

A few years ago I attended a manosphere conference in Orlando, Florida. One of the masculinity gurus was up on stage doing his macho man routine. He talked of ‘alpha males’ and ‘patriarchs’ and there was some Jungian waffle about initiation rituals. Then out of nowhere he began talking about ‘the Js’ acting ‘behind the scenes’. He had sprinkled it into the speech like herbs on a pizza.

At the time I found it quite shocking, though looking back it seems entirely unremarkable, not least because such sentiments have become depressingly common in certain parts of the internet. ‘They [Israel] control the Matrix. They control narratives,’ the accused sex trafficker Andrew Tate told his livestream audience in August 2024. Following his arrest that the same month, Tate also retweeted a post by the American white supremacist Nick Fuentes. ‘Just 2 days after Andrew Tate said that “the Matrix” is really just the Jewish mafia – his house was raided and he was arrested again,’ said Fuentes in the tweet promoted by Tate. Moreover earlier that year Tate had urged his followers to question whether ‘they’ lied about the Second World War and whether the Nazis were really the ‘bad guys’.

Others in the manosphere have gone the same way. Dan Bilzerian, the Instagram playboy whose ostentatious lifestyle made him a hero to adolescent males of all ages during the 2010s, has turned into a full blown Holocaust denier. ‘6 million Jews did not die during WW2, they lied to you,’ he wrote on X in January 2025. ‘Stop calling “them” Globalists, Elitists, Frankists, Sabbateanists, Communists, Deep State, Zionists, Oligarchists, Rothschild Bankers JUST SAY JEWS...’, tweeted Myron Gaines, co-host of the popular Fresh&Fit podcast, in August 2024. Others in the masculinity huckster scene talk of being ‘Jewpilled’.

The 2000s manosphere was largely made up of pickup artists. They were misogynists to be sure and displayed a cavalier attitude toward the free will of women. They gave men scripted lines and sent them out to bars and clubs to practice on unsuspecting women. Their clients were told to ‘disregard’ what women said and to ‘push through’ what was characterised as ‘token resistance’. Yet by and large they were not political misogynists - they did not launch into jaundiced three-hour diatribes about a ‘gynocentric social order’. In fact, if women found one of their clients repulsive then it was his fault rather than hers. ‘She’s not a bitch,’ as probably the most famous pickup artist - Mystery (aka Erik von Markovik) - used to tell his students; ‘she’s just a bitch to you.’

A change in tone became evident during the 2010s when self-proclaimed ‘red pill’ gurus began to emerge. In their eyes she definitely was a bitch. Whereas Mystery had dressed flamboyantly and worn kohl eyeliner to the club as part of his ‘peacocking’ routine, the new brooms of the manosphere saw men in makeup as part of the problem: a sign that society had become irredeemably feminised and degenerate.

The basic premise of the red pill is that women run the world. It is therefore unsurprising that its devotees should be susceptible to other conspiratorial beliefs. I suspect this is partly down to what has been called ‘crank magnetism’: the tendency of delusional beliefs to attract each other and become magnetic. Each is a product of the same sloppy thinking.

But the structure of manosphere misogyny is also similar in some ways to that of antisemitism. Women, like Jews, are depicted as opposites. They are both inferior and superior; weak but powerful; governed by a fluctuating tide of emotion yet simultaneously capable of crushing men under the jackboot of feminism.

One way to resolve such tensions is to view women as doing someone else’s bidding. And so they become marionettes, controlled by dark forces pulling the strings behind the scenes. That those behind the curtain should turn out to be Jews is less surprising when one considers the increasing overlap between the manosphere and the far-right.

[xoladybella]

this is my two cents on the topic, nobody asked for lol. The question everyone is asking- why now?? Many months later? So either Nic is trying to tell everyone, Luke & I are besties with partners or Nic & Luke are a family ( I say family if you follow Fiat & Fran. It the answer is option 1, cool! We are adults. This shouldn’t change how you see Nic and Luke BUT, why now lol. If Nic and Luke were just besties, why now follow Anotina back in June when luke was being bullied everyday. A simple hit of the button”follow” would have stopped majority of the troll behavior to Luke. But nooooo, she didn’t follow in June, July, august, September, October, November, December, or January but chooses February to now follow 👀. If you follow Fiat & Fran, they have explained in great detail, why February is an important month.

let’s be honest, Luke was unhinged- and we love it- last night. He lights up around her. Nic tries to play it cool with buddy vibes but soon, she can’t keep up the charade either. I mean, she is literally touching Luke at the dinner tag at the event. The seats are designed to be close enough to talk to one another but space to eat and mingle. Nic’s chair is right next to and close to Luke. When they are on the red carpet, he is talking to someone and she just waits on him. She could have said, I’ll be back. Sunday was the perfect night to let the world know they are friends. They had every media outlet there. And they didn’t do that at all. They went back to no space, never being separated, sitting next to each other at the after party, Nic doing a bad job trying to act like she didn’t know Luke went to that Mexican restaurant- her response, oh you did! Ma’am you know this, you just saw him last night lol. Luke staying: Nic this and Nic that. Nic keeps talking about that baby like it’s their baby. She did that at the Irish award show. It confused on interviewer. Then when the ET lady said- we need a happy ending, Luke just looks at her and smile, awkward silence and Nic goes- hey hey. WTF was that!!!! Now they have people who didn’t know them or part of the GA watching them.

lastly, sorry for the book lol. Fiat made this comment months ago. Luke fell on the sword for his family. Luke would give his kidney to Nic. He took a lot of abuse this summer. What if Nic is falling on the sword for Luke to protect their family. Nic is doing all this to protect something or someone. It may look crazy to some people but it’s doing what she feels is best. I hate to say it, but I fear- if together, Nic and Luke are going to get papped soon. Nic is trying to control the narrative and pookie is no help on that lol. They do compliment one another. Luke is unhinged in person but great with his SM presence. Nic is great with her lives, but she is unhinged on SM lol. I think Nic is on tumblr so she is seeing when people said- why not just follow Antonia.

Thanks for reading.

Don’t apologize anon, I love this. I like the thought process you’re putting out. I agree with so many things you said. The timing is of the follow is definitely weird. But idc about it honestly. I actually laughed when I first saw it all over X, the tweets were so funny. She isn’t fooling anyone! She realized what her and Luke did (reveal that they’re still unhinged together and completely in love) and is trying to throw a curve ball. Or, as I’ve seen, is to help A? Idk. I’m still trying to gather information and figure out where I land on this.

That middle paragraph is 💯. Luke and Nic couldn’t get enough of each other and it was so obvious. They light up together but I agree, Lukey pookie was even more obvious about it. He loves that woman so much.

He did get so much hate, unfairly and we know there was a lot going on bts. She can try to control it as much as she wants but the cat is out of the bag 🙂‍↔️ I hope they don’t get papped either. I want them to come out on their time, when they’re ready. Umm if she is, hello Nic 🤭👀

[seenoversundown]

Golden Wings

I saw this tweet about hozier leaving love notes around the house for his partner to find and I could not stop thinking about it. Good luck!

Warnings: None, pure fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

I wake as I always do, surrounded by his scent. Woodsy, dark, and a tad floral. I do a big stretch followed by a small whine. I go to reach over to Andrew’s side trying to feel any trace of him.

“Andrew?” I murmur, my voice still heavy with sleep. I continue to paw at his side of the bed until I feel his abandoned pillow. I force my eyes to open and glance around the room, and realize I am most definitely alone. I prop myself up, a little sad I missed him this morning. But then out of the corner of my eye I notice a soft pale blue square against our dark emerald sheets. I lean over and grab it, becoming a little giddy when I realize it’s a note. 

The goddess of the day has risen, how I am unworthy to love such an ethereal being. 

When you are ready, there is breakfast downstairs. 

All my love, ~A.

I read and reread the small note probably a dozen times. His words always have a way of piercing into my heart directly and making a home inside. I hold the soft blue square to my chest and wonder how lucky I had to have been to have found Andrew. 

I slip on a matching cream colored silk set, Andrew’s favorite, and slowly make my way down to the kitchen. I glance around our small home as I walk through the hallways and wonder how we were able to move into here only four months ago but it’s felt like forever. It feels right. As I round the corner, the aroma of breakfast hits me. 

“Love, it smells divine,” I say. I’m greeted with silence in return, just another small pale blue square. 

Light of the day, your breakfast awaits you warming in the oven. I didn’t want to wake you- you looked so peaceful, but I had to run to the studio this morning just for some final touches.

I will be home in a few hours to you, my love, I promise. 

For now, eat your breakfast. Get your strength for the day. Look for more notes. I have plans for you. 

All my love,

~A. 

Again, I can’t help but reread his words, hearing his voice as if he’s reading them directly to me. Once I tuck the note in a safe place I open the oven to look at what awaits me. Andrew wasn’t lying. A fully prepared breakfast sits on a plate in the warm oven. He’s left oven mitts for me on top of the stove, which I grab eagerly. Breakfast smells even better when it’s sitting right in front of me. Veggie bacon, eggs sprinkled with cheese and spinach, toast with butter and maple sugar. 

As I sit down at my plate ready to devour the spread in front of me I spot Andrew’s discarded robe on the seat next to me. I don’t even hesitate as I reach out for it, wrapping myself in his scent and warmth. I feel even more relaxed now, if that was even possible, as I eat my meal.

I finish up my toast basking in the silence of our home. I can’t help but wonder when Andrew will be home, so I go find my phone to send him a text. 

Y/N: Thank you for breakfast, my love. I miss you.

A: You are so welcome, my dove. Look for the notes. I’ll be home before you know it. I miss you more. 

My heart flutters at his words like always as I go to put my cell phone in his robe pocket. Sliding it into the soft pocket, I swear I hear a paper-like crunch. I’m quick to take my phone right back out and stick my hand in to feel for the noise. It doesn’t take long before I pull out a small pale blue square identical to the ones before it. 

I knew you would put this on, my sweet. I have never known such a love as the love you give to me, I am forever in awe of you. 

Till we are bones, my love.

All my love, 

~A.

My heart thumps in my chest. I take the little note and add it to my ever-growing pile. Snagging a cup of tea, I walk around our sunlit living room and tend to our ‘plant children’. The monstera has always been my favorite, even though I tell Andrew they’re all my favorites. They do say you’re not supposed to have a favorite child. I don’t hesitate as I walk up to her, murmuring my good mornings and inspecting her as I grasp my mug of tea, bringing it to my lips. As soon as Andrew called me his, he kept my favorite kind of tea in superfluous supply wherever he lived- just for me. It doesn’t take me long to notice a little blue square nestled in her leaves. Of course he knew. 

Seeing you wearing my ring drives me mad. Watching you in the mornings, with it shining off the light as you talk to our plants is one of my favorite rituals. The way you speak to them with such kindness, such empathy- I cannot wait to raise our children together. A goddess such as yourself will be perfect with them. 

To the blues.

All my love,

~A.

I quickly glance down at my ring once I finish reading his words, immediate feelings of giddiness fill my chest. The perfect moss agate ring sits in a golden crown on my finger. I touch it, remembering the moment Andrew got down on his knee. He is always nervous when it comes to us- but not that day. That day, he was so confident. Bringing me to his hometown, showing me all of the places he used to go as a ‘young lad’ as he’d say. That trip I knew I needed him forever, and I guess he needed me just as much. I watched as he spoke Gaelic with the townsfolk in passing, his voice hitting my ears in such a dreamy way. 

It was when he brought me up to his favorite hill, the one he watched the sunset every day when he lived here, that he asked me to be his. Looking at the setting sun, wrapped in each other's arms, he feigned that he had forgotten something, and got up and started to look around. 

‘Andrew, what’s going on?’ I had said to him. When he turned to me his green eyes were the brightest I’ve ever seen them, I swear. 

‘Love, can you stand for me?,’ he said.

I think subconsciously I knew what was happening, even if I didn’t want to believe it. Tears freely fell from my eyes as he poured his heart and soul out to me, reaching out every so often to wipe a tear or give me a lingering kiss on my forehead. When he finally got down on his knee, I was a sobbing wreck. I can’t remember what he said, just me nodding and practically screaming ‘Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!’. 

Now his ring, his beautiful, intricate golden ring just for me sits on my finger. I sit in his chair, even though it’s usually both of us squished into it every night, and play with my ring. I watch as it hits the sunshine and sends dancing light around the room. It’s then, as I’m looking at the light, I notice another small pale blue note. I practically run to it, ready to read more of Andrew’s words. I take a moment once I have it to enjoy the anticipation before I read it.

Once the Gods realize you have escaped with their golden wings I’ll be in so much trouble. 

But, for now, you are mine. Do they know you’re here, love? Did I have it wrong and you were sent just for me? 

I’ll never be sure, but I’ll be eternally grateful for you. 

All my love,

~A. 

He’s trying to kill me I swear to anyone who is listening. It’s never been an act with Andrew, this has always been him. The love and adoration he gives me is unmatched. I can’t help but feel like I’m the luckiest person with him. I finish the rest of my tea, adding my two new notes to my pile that won’t seem to stop growing. 

I make my way to our shared bathroom and am a little surprised when I see another note. He truly thought of everything. I do my morning routine to try and prolong reading his letter, the anticipation is delicious. Once I do finish taking care of myself I carefully peel his note off of the mirror and finally allow myself to read it.

I cannot wait to see those eyes shine just for me. Thinking about it now I swear my heart skips an entire beat. That can’t be healthy, but you- you are my own personal drug. Stronger than all the others there is you. I need you. 

All my love,

~A. 

My eyes scan his letter too many times, taking in the way he writes his t’s and dots his i’s. I take out my phone and pull up my texts to Andrew.

Y/N: I need you as bad as you need me, love. I hope studio time is going well. Come home to me soon. 

A: You are the very air I breathe, my dove. See you soon. 

My heart flutters knowing he’ll be home soon. I decide I’ll stay in his robe and his favorite silk set and surprise him. Confident in that decision, I grab the book I’m currently reading and snuggle back up on our chair while I wait for him. I scroll on my phone for a bit, getting lost in social media for a little too long. Once I finally resign and open my book, a final little blue note falls out onto my lap. I can’t help but laugh, and wonder a little when he even did all of this. I waste no time reading the note. 

In every lifetime, I hope to find you. Our souls are destined to be intertwined throughout the centuries. You are the only one for me. 

I can’t wait to kiss you soon.

All my love,

~A. 

My heart is fully melted. All of his words from this morning play on repeat as I stare at this one note. How can one man be so fucking eloquent? I’m so lost in thought, I don’t hear the front door open or close.

“Dove?” Andrew shouts from the doorway. I’m on my feet in seconds, after all of these notes I missed my man something fierce this morning. He laughs when he sees me, arms outstretched ready for me. “There’s my dove. I hope you liked my notes this morning.” He says to me inbetween interrupting kisses. 

“Loved them? Oh Andrew, you have no idea. You know, I missed waking up to you this morning.” 

“I’m sorry dove, let me make it up to you.” He hoists me up in his arms and quickly kicks off his shoes before walking down the hallway to our bedroom. My laughter echoes in the hall, I’ve never been so in love. 

Masterlist | Taglist

[theredqueenandthebloodwyrm]

I see we’re just reposting things without sources for some reason?? I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it’s because the tweet used the magic word “Zionist” which is taken to be “irredeemably evil and vile person”. For context, the context which that tweet purposely left out (and yeah I’m going to say it’s fucking purposeful) is this article by the NPR. Inside this article the allegedly pro-Palestine posts on social media were fucking videos of the Hamas on October 7th. So, yeah if you’re reposting antisemitic stuff (blatantly antisemitic too), fuck you.

The images that came out of Israel on October 7 were brutal and graphic, and the images coming out of Gaza for months now are constant, also brutal and horrific. All this violence is being shared on social media, and as KQED's Lesley McClurg reports, that's affecting the mental health of Americans with loved ones in Gaza and in Israel. A warning - this story contains descriptions of violence. LESLEY MCCLURG, BYLINE: Some of the footage Shoshana Howard (ph) saw on social media months ago still haunts her. A video appears to show a Hamas fighter pulling an Israeli hostage from the trunk of a jeep. CNN aired a clip of the video. (SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING) UNIDENTIFIED PERSON: Her face is bleeding, and her wrists appear to be cable-tied behind her back. MCCLURG: It looks like blood is seeping through the back of the woman's sweatpants. SHOSHANA HOWARD: And that broke me - and then seeing friends calling it liberation. MCCLURG: Howard, who is Jewish, couldn't believe people she knew were writing comments online that, to her, felt inhumane and anti-Jewish. HOWARD: That's when I started to have night terrors, and I was ending my days going into my closet and just would cry. MCCLURG: She couldn't stop thinking about her cousins living in Israel. As the days passed, it became harder to focus on her life and work in Oakland. HOWARD: Like, I just was so fragile. MCCLURG: And then recently, she felt shamed by a friend who told her her grief doesn't matter when so many Palestinians are suffering.

Is it “making the argument” to point out the hypocrisy of saying the Houthis (a terror organization) are protecting international laws and human rights when there’s documented evidence of Houthis perpetrating slavery, diverting humanitarian aid, and so on? Or you know, is it providing necessary context that readers might want to know?

And the comments below that tweet are awful (with a few exceptions rightfully pointing out accuracy of said community note and how slavery is in fact bad).

Antisemitic Tweet #1: This is what all community notes have become now. Total Zionist propaganda machine.

Antisemitic Tweet #2: There's been an influx of "community notes" that are clearly just people trying to protect the narrative.

Antisemitic Tweet #3: It's like the Israeli Bot accounts that change the community notes to favor Israel.

Already reblogged multiple posts explaining what's wrong with the Houthis with sources attached, so linking those now to save space (rather than adding ten different links).

This? This is what you say on October 7th, 2023?

Shaun: Lot of reaping being condemned by the sowers today. Shaun (cont.): I'm talking about politicians who stridently oppose all options except those which lead to violence and then act shocked violence occurs. Their condemnations of violence are worthless while they ignore their hand in the apartheid causing it.

October 7th was an attack against civilians where hostages were taken, people were murdered, people who advocated for peace were harmed, killed, and so on.

I also noticed a tweet not too far down from that one which said the following:

Lots of people in these comments very mad that Palestinians aren't being victims of occupation in the right and proper way.

No, people are mad about civilians being massacred and taken as hostages by a terrorist organization. The lack of empathy is something.

[f1goat]

the race loser x lando norris + part one

in which you see your ex best friend again after he cut of contact between you two.

not proof read - angsty

sunday - red bull ring

It can’t be. Lando doesn’t believe his eyes. His eyes must have lied to him. It doesn’t take his brain longer then a few seconds to fill up all his thoughts with you. Is there a possibility that you’re here? Here at Red Bull Ring during a race? He shakes his head. He should stop thinking like this. This is the kind of behavior that makes him lose focus which makes him lose points at the end. He tries to discard every thought he is having about you, but he can’t stop himself from looking in the same direction again while hoping to see you. 

He knows his friend Max is here. He also knows that Max is one of the people who’s still in contact with you. Lando always tries to get information about you out of Max, but he never succeeded. Not that he deserves it, but still. 

Before the start of this season Lando spend his whole vacation with you. Of course his friends were there as well sometimes, but you were the one who was always around him. He already knew that he had a crush on you, but that holiday it turned into so much more. At least, for him. It took him one week after his vacation to ruin everything between the two of you. It was the first race weekend. Even now when it’s more then a couple months ago, it still hurts him to think about it. He hates the way he acted that day. He hates himself for causing this. It’s all his fault. 

sunday - bahrain international circuit

“Don’t,” Lando speaks up with a loud voice, “Don’t come in here to tell me it will all be better soon. Because it won’t.” 

He doesn’t notice the way you shake a bit because of the harsh undertone in his voice. He also doesn’t notice the way you can’t stop looking at him. Lando doesn’t look at you, he’s focused on his phone. The race is barely over and he’s already reading multiple tweets about the failure of McLaren. It doesn’t surprise him that there already memes made. Normally he can laugh about them, but when he sees a McLaren photoshopped tractor with himself and his teammate inside he doesn’t laugh. He’s closer to crying then to laughing. 

You don’t know what to say. Lando is getting annoyed by his own thoughts. He wants nothing more then to bathe in your comfort. Would it be a bad thing if he would let you comfort you? He already imagines himself laying with his head on your lap while you try to encourage him about the car. As quick as he can he discards his thoughts about you. 

This kind of behavior makes him a loser he thinks. He can’t even focus half of the time because he keeps thinking about you. Even in the car it’s always like that. Whenever he makes a good move, the first thing he wonders is if you saw him. He’s way too distracted by his own thoughts and they are all about you. 

“Lan.”

He barely hears you at first, but he does look up at you. He notices the way you look at him. The pitiful look almost pains him. This isn’t how he wants you to look at you. 

“Don’t,” Lando says again, “Please don’t pity me.”

“I’m not,” you tell him softly, “I’m here for you.”

He notices the way you try to come closer to him. It costs him all of his energy to move away from you. He can’t be weak. Not now. His mind if made up. He needs to regain his focus. You are a distraction. As long as he’s crushing on you, he can’t focus fully on the races. He needs his focus. 

“Maybe I don’t want you to be,” Lando states.

“What do you mean?” You ask him confused. 

Lando lets out a soft sigh. This is already hurting him. It’s all for the better good. Zak told him about distractions before. You can’t become a race winner if you can’t focus. He has had this conversation with Zak so many times, he never did something with it. But now he feels like it’s the only chance he has left. He needs to focus on racing this season, he can’t focus all of his energy on you. It will be better. Zak told him that you would understand him, it was logical after all. Maybe his crush will even fade away, then it will be easier to be friends again. 

“I need space,” Lando explains. He can’t help but notices the hurtful tone in his own voice. He tries to lose it. It’s his decision, he shouldn’t be sad about it. “And I need to focus on racing,” he goes on, “now I focus too much on us. I’m always busy with us.” 

“What are you saying?” You ask him. Lando notices the sad tone in your voice. He doesn’t dare to look at you. “I can give you more space if you want? We don’t have to hang out every time you’re free.”

“I think I need to get away from you for a bit.” He can barely say the words. It already pains him. He tries to focus on his future as a race winner, but he doubts it will be worth it. Is he really giving up on your friendship? Fuck. His body fills up with regret, but he knows it’s already too late now. He said the words. There’s no going back. 

“Oh.. Uh,” you can’t form the words you’re searching. Lando hears the soft sob coming out of your throat. “Why?” You ask him. 

“I need to focus,” Lando repeats himself. It hurts him to look at you. It’s wrecking him to look at the tears he caused. 

“Are you going to break with all your friends?” You ask. 

Lando shakes his head. 

“Why me?” You continue to ask. 

Lando keeps silent. You let out a sob. When it has been silent for a few minutes you decide to walk away. You won’t get a clear answer. Lando watches you walk away. He knows it his own decision and his own fault, but in his mind he’s running after you. Telling you everything about his feelings, kissing you and keeping you close to himself. But he can’t. He tries to focus on Zak his words. He hopes it will soon feel better like Zak told him, because he can’t see himself focus better if this memory is the last one he has of you. 

sunday - red bull ring

When he races past the same corner, he notices it again. Is it actually possible that you’re here? He tries to think back at what Max told him before the race. Where was Max seated today? Is it in the same place he thinks you are? Could it be possible that Max took you with him? 

After Lando broke off the contact with you - which included blocking you on almost every social media platform, another advise from Zak, he didn’t feel any better. He uses his socials to write messages to you, messages that you will never receive. He writes about missing you. About loving you. About not being able to focus any better now. It’s shit. He uses his fake Instagram account to look at your account. He scrolls back through all the photos of you and sometimes you with him. He can’t stop looking at your highlights, he tries to experience every memory over and over again. 

He can’t. He can’t get his cheerful feeling back. He doesn’t feel the same anymore, he only feels shittier every time. Whenever he looks at the memories, he reminds himself of what he threw away. He should never broke off the contact between you two. It was a mistake. The biggest mistake he ever made. Not because it isn’t even working - his focus is only away further, but because it isn’t worth it. He misses you. Sometimes he wakes up at night gasping for air because he realized again that he’s never getting you back. Other nights he cries himself to sleep while thinking about everything he threw away. 

Zak told him it would be hard at first. But now after a few months Lando can safely say it’s still hard. He can’t find out one small benefit from his actions. The car is getting better, but only because the updates are finally working. And now when the car is finally good enough, Lando himself isn’t. He thinks about how it would have worked out if he didn’t cut you off. Then there would have been the same updates and he would feel good. Yeah, a bit distracted because of his feelings for you, but still happy. 

+++

“Why did you bring me here Max?” 

Max looks up at you as if it’s a dumb question, but you can’t figure out what you’re doing in Austria right now. 

“I had a spare ticket,” Max shrugs. 

You know he’s lying. 

“So you decided to bring the person your friend, who gave you to tickets, doesn’t want to see anymore? That seems like a stupid plan,” you say a bit annoyed. 

“Just wait y/n,” Max tells you, “It’s about time you see how this focussing on racing is treating him. And then the two of you are going to talk.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” you say softly, “he wants nothing to do with me.” 

“We both know that isn’t true,” Max states, “We just don’t know what happened yet. I’m sure there’s some sort of explanation for this.” 

“It has been months, I don’t think he regrets it.” 

You’re a bit distracted from the race for a couple minutes while talking with Max. When you’re about to search for Lando his McLaren again, you hear a loud banging noise. Did something happen? You look around at the track. At first you don’t see it. Until you look right under your nose. Fuck how did you miss that? When you we’re busy searching for Lando and talking with Max, the papaya McLaren car crashed right under your nose. 

Is Lando already out of the car? 

You try to find an answer to your burning question, but it seems like Lando is still in the car. That can’t be good right? You feel yourself getting more panicked. 

“What happened?” You ask Max, “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know,” Max whispers. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I knew this would happen.” 

“What do you mean?” You ask. 

“Because his focus is even worse, fuck. I took you here to show you that his action didn’t make any difference. I wanted to show you that Lando was in a worser shape without you, but I didn’t expected him to crash right in front of us,” Max explains. 

You don’t look at Max. You can’t look away from Lando. There are multiple people around his car. They are trying to get Lando out of his car. At least that’s how it seems. You feel like you can finally breath properly again when you see Lando getting out of his car. You let out a relieved sigh when you see him walking without support from the stewards. 

“Can we go see him?” You ask Max.

Max is also letting out relieved sounds now he knows his friend is walking on his own. 

“Yeah, I think he needs to get checked out first by the medical team. But we can already go to McLaren so we can see him right after,” Max tells you. 

+++

“What was that Lando?” Zak is standing right in front of him. The medical staff is still busy with checking him. Lando lets out a sigh. 

“I crashed,” he dryly comments.

Zak mutters something, but Lando can’t hear. It’s probably some sort of curse word. “Why did you crash? It seemed like you just let go of the car in that turn.”

“I was distracted,” Lando states. He doesn’t tell Zak what caused him to lose focus. When Lando took that turn again, he couldn’t help himself and tried to find you again. Then he actually saw you. Of course, he saw you just enough to knew it was you, but still. Before he knew it he lost control over his car and ended up crashing. 

“By what?” Zak asks annoyed. 

“By how I need to fix things with y/n because cutting contact didn’t do the trick,” Lando says softly. “I want her back here. And I’m never listening to your idiotic advise again.” 

After he said those words the door is opening again. Lando lets out a relieved sigh, he isn’t sure how mad Zak will be at him so he can use a small distraction. A nurse is appearing in front of them, “It seems like you were lucky today. There’s nothing major going on, but you do need some rest.”

“Can he race next week?” Zak is quick to ask. 

“If he gets enough rest this week,” the nurse answers quickly, “I suggest a couple nights of going to bed early and making sure you sleep eight hours a night.” 

Lando almost snorts. He won’t do that. He can’t. Every time he tries to fall asleep, he ends up thinking about you for hours. 

“There are some of your friends here as well, can I let them in?” The nurse continues. 

“Yes,” Lando quickly responds. 

“In the mean time you can come with me,” the nurse tells Zak, “We can share some ideas for fast recovery.” She walks out with Zak, but does tell Lando that his friends will be here in a couple seconds. 

Lando wonders which friends are coming. He knows Max is here, so he thinks he will be one of them. Maybe the race is already finished and his other friend from the grid - Max Verstappen - will also visit him? Lando doesn’t know who else should be here for him. His mind goes over to you again, but he’s sure you’re not one of the friends that’s waiting to visit him. 

It doesn’t take long for Max to enter the room. Lando isn’t surprised to see him. 

“Are you okay mate?” Max is quick to ask. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Lando assures him, “nothing too bad.” 

“What happened?” Max asks further.

“You’re going to think that I’m insane,” Lando says, “but I was so sure about seeing y/n. I got distracted. I thought I saw her and then I lost control over the car. I probably made it up, but I couldn’t focus during the race at all. Like every other race. I told Zak I’m going to find a way to fix things between me and her. But I think she hates me. Can you help me?”

“Mate you’re rambling,” Max says with a small smile, “Why did you tell Zak that you’re going to fix things?” 

“Because he was the one that kept telling me to cut ties with her!” Lando exclaims annoyed, “He told me I needed to do that so I could focus properly. At first I didn’t listen, but then I was so mad after the first race this season that the words flew out.” 

“I might have brought someone with me today,” Max says after a while of thinking, “but you need to promise me to stay calm. The nurse is going to kill me if you’re going to panic yourself into a heart attack.” 

Lando can’t stop himself and thinks about you. Is it possible that Max is talking about you as well? It can’t be. 

“I promise,” he quickly says. 

Max walks away, only to return a small minute later with you next to him. 

Lando doesn’t know what to do. Are you actually standing in front of him? He stands up from the chair he was sitting in earlier. He walks closer to you. In the corner of his eye, he notices Max walking out of the small room. He can’t stop looking at you. The first thing he notices it the tired look you have, you even seem worried. Then he notices the shirt you’re wearing. A simple Quadrant one. Normally you always wore his own merch while attending races, but he’s still glad you’re wearing at least something that’s close to him. 

You don’t know what to do as well. Lando is standing closely in front of you. You notice the way his eyes are looking at every part of you. You realize that you’re probably doing the same. 

“I’m so sorry,” Lando says after a while. 

“I heard about Zak,” you respond, “Is it really true that he made you cut ties with me?” 

Lando nods. “I shouldn’t have listened to him. I’m so sorry Y/N.” 

“Let’s talk about it later,” you say. 

“Can I hug you?” Lando asks you with a few doubts. You nod quickly. Lando moves even closer towards you and drapes his arms around your body. You feel yourself warming up.

“I’ve missed you so much,” you tell Lando with a soft voice. 

“I’ve missed you too.”

Lando thighs his grip on you. Hugging you even closer then before. He can’t stop thinking about how lucky he is to have you in his arms like this again. He knows things aren’t fixed yet, but he’s hopeful to make things right with you. Everything. Even telling you all about his feelings. 

i think there will be a part two of this! let me know if you guys want that as well :)

part two

[ingravinoveritas]

feliciafancybottom replied to your post "angelsadvocate96 replied to your post "I am…"

I saw one earlier about Michael setting such a fine example for straight boys who go through a 'phase' of crushing on men. Yeahhh. Michael "No closet can hold me" Sheen… Michael "Happy Bi" Sheen… Michael "I set David on fire fairly regularly" Sheen… Michael Sheen who did one sex scene with Stephen Fry 27 years ago and hasn't stopped talking about riding him like a bucking bronco ever since. Is that the right Michael Sheen? If so, I think someone needs to tell him that he's the Sheriff of Straighttown now because I don't think he got the memo.

@feliciafancybottom Oh my God. "A phase"...yeah. That's always the other one, isn't it. Never mind that he had a crush on John Taylor when he was a teenager, and then a crush on Jude Law during Wilde when he was almost 30, and now an overwhelmingly obvious crush on David in his 50s. Nope, definitely just a phase.

I just...I genuinely do not understand how anyone thinks that the man who made that "closet" tweet, who christened himself "THE southern pansy" during Pride Month a few years ago, who said he considers one of his characters (Roland Blum) to be pansexual, and who has been telling us exactly who he is in every way possible for multiple years now...is completely straight. And to then have the gall to dismiss Michael's sexuality by further referring to it as a "phase" is the peak of bi erasure.

On one positive note, I will say that "Sheriff of Straighttown" made me snort, and I'm now picturing Michael and David roleplaying that with Michael as the "straight" Sheriff and David as the seductive "saloon girl" who leads him astray, so thank you for that. Haha. Good times...

[iichaeyj]

TOMORROW'S ESCAPE

prologue

the wind was gently blowing your hair behind you as you walked to the concert venue. the warm spring breeze only added to your happiness. you could hardly believe you were finally going to see your favorite idol in concert after spending months saving up for tickets.

after an accident had left you hospitalized for nearly two years, you found it difficult to get back into your life. you couldn't finish college or find a stable job due to the incident, but it all seemed worth it as you saw the concert venue in the far distance. you sighed in relief, finding happiness in the fact that you would soon be seeing your favorite idol.

however, the sudden sound of a notification distracted you. pulling out your phone, you see a new tweet from dispatch, causing you to click it out of curiosity while waiting to cross the street.

the news you see causes your heart to drop.

you read the simple tweet over and over again, struggling to comprehend if it was a joke or not. your heart starts beating rapidly and you fall to your knees, clutching onto your phone as you feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

your breathing gets harsher as you close your eyes, struggling to gain composure. you can hear cars stopping to check on you and people running towards you, all worried about the young adult kneeling on the ground.

"hey, are you okay?"

"somebody call an ambulance!"

"miss, do you need some assistance?"

voices called out to you, but your thoughts were far louder than anything else. and no matter how many people tried to reach out to you, their faces were blurry from your tears that never seemed to end.

it didn't make sense to you. how was it possible that sunghoon died? he had posted just an hour earlier and he should've been preparing for the concert. surely he had a security team with him, or at the very least his manager. all these thoughts flood your mind as you feel your heart beating faster than it ever has before.

'i could save him' you think to yourself as you fall into unconsciousness. you might not be the smartest or strongest person in the world, but you wholeheartedly believed you could do it. when it came to sunghoon, you were just about ready to do anything for him. after he saved your life, the least you could do was return the favor.

the sound that you wake up to is the sound of somebody tapping.

"hey, y/n! no sleeping in class!" a familiar voice shouts at you from your left.

you stir awake, blinking your eyes as you try and focus on the person next to you. you sit up slowly, looking around slowly.

"'class'?" you mumble out quietly, looking around as your eyes adjust to the light. despite the tears you must've shed, your eyes felt strangely fine, albeit tired.

"are you daydreaming? you need to focus up if you want to get good grades," the man says, shaking his head in disappointment.

as you look clearly at the man, looking up at him from your seat with wide eyes, you notice his bald head and short stature. you could never forget the way his head glistened whenever it became hotter than 60 degrees fahrenheit. this was your 12th grade calculus teacher, somebody you hadn't seen in 6 years. and when you turn your head to see dell, your face pales at the sight.

dell was sitting there wearing a t-shirt she had claimed to lose about 6 years ago right after high school.

"hey, are you alright? why are you looking at me like that?" dell questions you, raising an eyebrow as you look at her with wide eyes.

as you look around the classroom, you try and find an explanation for everything. this could've been a dream or it could've been an unfunny prank somebody had pulled on you.

however, when you look down at yourself, you find something that couldn't have been possible.

you were wearing the exact same friendship bracelet dell had made for you back in middle school, something that was, or at least should've been, destroyed in your accident. nobody knew about the bracelet besides you and dell, and dell would never play such a horrible prank on you.

there was only one explanation—you had gone back in time.

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[poisonmockingbird]

I need you all to know I saw this tweet like four days ago and literally have NOT been able to stop thinking about it/cackling about it. Lollapalooza Felix was SOMETHING ELSE, WHEW

(Sometimes I’m like really sad that I literally just discovered them last month so I missed experiencing this live but also now I have so much content to catch up on as I look forward to tour this summer aaaa!!!!)

[mdconfession-blog]

Ok, I know this is gonna be a stupid rant and it's completely fine if this doesnt get posted, but can people who hate Jessa just learn to not talk about it? Or at least censor the shipname so it doesnt pop up everywhere? Ever since Jessa got popular, I've seen such an obnoxious amount of people complaining about it. Primarily on Twitter. And it's just... Why waste time indulging in your hatred for something when you could just be doing something actually enjoyable for yourself?

A few days ago I saw a tweet that was talking about how "most Jessa shippers mischaracterize both J and Tessa" and it's like... How can you mischaracterize characters who barely have a personality to begin with? Yes, they have basic character traits to follow but other than that, they're basically blank slates. I don't think it's IMPOSSIBLE to mischaracterize them, but it just really depends on how and why you may be characterizing them one way. And I would love for someone to explain how Jessa shippers do that? Jessa is one of the only few pairings that make sense in canon, romantically or platonically. J and Tessa were a duo in episode 5 for a reason, they were obviously closer than the others.

Just because in fanart J may act uncharacteristically sappy doesn't mean it's mischaracterization, we don't actually know how either J or Tessa act when flustered or in love. It's not fair to accuse people of mischaracterizing J and Tessa just because people like to draw them sappy, in real life people do things you wouldn't expect them to do because they're in love with someone. Yes, it's true! When you're in love, you tend to say things you wouldn't let anyone else hear!

Plus, a lot of Jessa works are intended to expand on Tessa's character. Tessa is even more of a blank slate than J and it's FUN to try fleshing her out, and what do you know? Fleshing out Tessa does end up fleshing out J as well because they're a canonical duo! We don't know what Tessa would be like in modern day and we only get a glimpse of how she is in episode 5, there are so many layers to her we are missing and a lot of Jessa fanwork dives into that.

Also, be real for 2 seconds. Every ship that is not canon is mischaracterization. You HAVE to mischaracterize your favorites to some degree to make a ship you like work, regardless if it's a toxic or sweet pairing. The same people saying Jessa is a bad ship are people who ship J and Uzi or even Cyn and J. I like all 3 of these pairings by the way, so I'm not calling any of them bad. But I just think it's moronic and hypocritical to dunk on Jessa shippers and then do the same exact shit?

We are also most likely never gonna get anything from Liam himself about either of these characters, whether it's individually or as a pair, I think it's FINE to want to expand upon them? A lot of people in this fandom have a weird complex when it comes to ships and you guys really need to take it down a notch, some of you are TOO sensitive for your own good and probably need to step away from the internet. It says a lot when just a few months ago, Jessa was being called a problematic pairing because of it being interspecies even though robot x human has been a thing for longer than some Murder Drones fans have been alive. Also just in case this hasn't been resolved yet, there's no power imbalance because Tessa treats the drones with the same respect as an actual person... BECAUSE SHE SEES THEM AS PEOPLE.

Dislike and hate whatever you want, but please stop treating people like they're weird for just liking something. It's disheartening to see the amount of people in this fandom who shut others out because of something as stupid as a ship. As long as the pairing isn't genuinely harmful, I don't see why it has to be a problem. There's always going to be bad eggs but I just don't understand why this has to cause a rift between the fandom. I understand being uncomfortable with a ship, even if it's not problematic, and that's completely fair. You have every right to dislike something or be uncomfortable with it, but that doesn't give you a pass to be rude to others over it.

Learn to block and move on, not everything needs your input. If you really need to talk about something that's bothering you, just rant in your friend's DMs!

⠀

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

New Rule: Dear Chappell Roan... | Real Time with Bill Maher

And finally, New Rule: To mark the October 7th anniversary, we must launch a campaign to educate young Americans about the Middle East. And the way I'd like to begin that process is by addressing an open letter to Chappell Roan.

Now, to those viewers who aren't watching this while also looking at their phones, let me explain. Chappell Roan is not the name of one of Tru.mp's golf courses, she's actually a great new recording artist who, like a Hezbollah pager, is really blowing up. In just a few months, she went from a struggling artist to getting three billion plays on Spotify. Netting her almost 11 cents.

But here's what caught my eye. She seems like a Gen Zer who can be reached, because I saw her on TMZ say: "it's like, obviously, fuck the policies of the right. But also, fuck some of the policies on the left." That sounds like something I would say!

She also said, "I think it's important that people use critical thinking. I think it's important for me to… question myself… question my algorithm, question: is some person that tweeted something about someone else even true?" Preach, queer ally, preach.

But then we get to Israel, and Chappell, this is where we must put to the test your pledge to use critical thinking and to question whether what you're reading on social media is true. Because it isn't. There's a whole history of the Middle East that you and your fans aren't hearing about. So, why don't you let me be your spirit guide through this?

But before I do, let me tell you a little about myself, since you may have no idea who I am, considering that when this show went on the air you were barely old enough to be told you were in the wrong body. So, my name is Bill Maher, I'm 35. I've been to all of Diddy's freak-off parties, and I work at the same place as Euphoria. In fact, she's right down the hall. My TikTok handle is "B-Nasty" and I go live every Friday night with the anime filter on, and I once won a smoke-off against Willie Nelson, Woody Harelson and Snoop. Okay, that one's true.

But, no, look the truth be told, I'm a baby boomer, I remember phone-booths and cars with ashtrays and vaginal sex. And I didn't learn about the Middle East from TikTok, which is a Chinese company whose totalitarian government would just love to have America's youth hating America. That's some of that algorithm stuff you say you want to look into.

Now, first off, the fact that you don't know much history isn't your fault. You live in the United States where the schools stop doing that whole "teaching facts" thing a while ago. But getting all your history from TikTok is like getting all your calories from Hostess.

I know you're moved by what you see on there, we all are. The dead Palestinian bodies. But it's odd that your generation didn't seem nearly as moved by the Jewish bodies on October 7th. You killed at Coachella this year, but when Hamas kills at a music festival it's a whole other thing. Doesn't the sight of so many young women raped at a music festival make it a little personal? My guess is that Gen Z hearts are hardened by the propaganda you see on TikTok, which likes to call the Jews "colonizers." But colonizers are intruders who have no history in an area, like when Spain conquered the Mayans. Or when your mom took over Facebook.

When the Dutch took over South Africa, they had no history to the land, they just wanted it. But Israel is the Jews homeland. And Jews have always lived there, I cap you not. You can look it up. It's in this book called The Bible, which is horribly wrong about sex ed, slavery, science and cooking, but the archaeology checks out. It says the Jews built a temple with a really big wall seven centuries before Muhammad or Islam ever existed, and sure as shit, you can still go there and touch it. Calling Jews colonizers in Israel is like calling Native Americans colonizers here. It's ridiculous.

Chappell, did you know that for 2,000 years, Palestine was like an Uber driver with a three star rating? Nobody wanted it. And there was never any Arab country called "Palestine." It was an orphan province, and if you ask people what they thought about it back then, they'd say it gave them the ick.

But after World War II, and after the Jews were very nearly wiped out by an actual attempted genocide, they decided it was time for their historic homeland to be an actual country so that for once they could defend themselves.

And the UN - we like them, right? Yeah, they agreed, and voted a country for each of the indigenous peoples. One side agreed to that. But the Arabs had a slightly different proposal. They said, "how about we keep it all and wipe you out?"

Chappell, if you think it was repressive growing up queer in the midwest, try the Mid East. You're a female drag queen and you sing, "I fucked you in the bathroom when we went to dinner, your parents at the table." Yeah, that wouldn't fly in Gaza. Although you would, straight off a roof. The same goes for, "knee deep in the passenger seat and you're eating me out." Yeah, my guess is the morality police would figure out that one's not about the drive-thru and kill your featherboa wearing ass. You know when you sing that LA is where "boys and girls can all be queens every single day"? You're welcome, but offer not good in the West Bank.

Chappell, you're not wrong that oppression is bad or that Palestinian and many other Muslim populations are oppressed and deserve to be freed. You just have it completely ass-backwards as to who is doing the oppressing. Hamas is a terrorist mafia that took over Gaza. The Revolutionary Guard is a terrorist mafia that took over Iran. ISIS is a terrorist mafia that took over Iraq. The Taliban is a terrorist mafia that took over Afghanistan. These are the oppressors and when you make it all about Israel, you take the pressure off of them. You enable them.

The Iranian regime has killed 600 protesters after a 22-year-old woman died in police custody following her arrest for the crime of wearing her head covering incorrectly. Just to be clear, that's your team. Iran is who sponsors Hamas and Hezbollah. Are you sure this is who you want to throw down with?

Meryl Streep spoke at the UN recently and said this about the Taliban, who are only slightly more conservative than your heroes in Hamas. She said, "today in Kabul a female cat has more freedoms than a woman. A cat may go sit on her front stoop and feel the sun on her face. She may chase a squirrel into the park. A squirrel has more rights than a girl in Afghanistan today… A bird may sing in Kabul, but a girl may not." You're a singer and you're advocating for a place and a culture you would never want to live under.

Gender may not be binary, but right and wrong kind of is.

==

https://www.nationsreportcard.gov/ushistory/results/achievement/

Baseline: NAEP Proficient

And this is just US History. Now consider proficiency in World History.

Having watched the full video, I've come to the conclusion that Chappell Roan is a window-licking weapons-grade ignorant moron. What's more concerning is that her fans will uncritically parrot her ignorant, ahistorical politics just because they like her music.

https://www.ancient-origins.net/history/black-sheep-empire-actors-actresses-ancient-rome-0010292

The ancient Greeks loved the theater and ancient Greek actors enjoyed a position of eminence and respect. In contrast, although entertainment and drama were similarly adored in Ancient Rome, theater performers were often demeaned by the upper-class society and also perceived as morally unclean.

We need to go back to this.