#photo made on WhatsApp

[moxgrl]

random pics from my folder with over 3000 cyberpunk photos ;-) im trying out new hair styles for vix but might stick with her normal bobs

[typomachi-themoth]

I just fucking now realize that I never uploaded the amazing art pieces that are these ultrakill doodles I made while trying to explain some tech to my best friend.

[esyra]

After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.

Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.

Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.

By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.

When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.

Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.

Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.

Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.

For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.

Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.

That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!

So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.

People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.

Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."

They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.

Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.

[theonottsbxtch]

Can we get part 2 of secret sister by any chance? loved it

Secret Sister Part Two | OP81

a/n: i need you to know that i sat in my bed giggling and kicking my feet when i saw this and i’m currently sat in the airport at 6:35 am giggling writing this 🤍

fc: sophia birlem & pinterest photos

requests: open

ynnorris

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbestfriend, mclaren and 1826 others

hungry for hungary 🦁

*tap to load comments*

yourbestfriend: that caption gave me the ick

ynnorris: you love me

yourbestfriend: i really don’t know why i do

userone: shes going to watch the gp!!!

usertwo: begging for cute oscar photos

userthree: look at her watching quali 🥹

logansargeant: first gp?

ynnorris: yessir

logansargeant: enjoy!

userfour: why is oscar holding her upside down?

oscarpiastri: dragging her away from build a bear

ynnorris: you and i are not friends anymore

landonorris: there is NO way i just found out you’re coming to the gp VIA INSTAGRAM

whatsapp

f1wags

liked by userone, usertwo, userthree and 9,782 more

new spotting in the paddock! lando norris’ newly revealed sister and oscar’s girlfriend👀? lando introduced his sister to the world on her 21st over 8 months ago for safety and privacy reasons. her and her brother’s teammate hit it off quite quickly after that, making his first move in norris’ comment section. the two of them keep their relationship as private as they can but we can’t deny that when they do feed us the crumbs, we love all of it. according to yn, this is her first ever gp. can’t wait to see oscar and her together!

*tap to load more comments*

userone: has anyone checked in on lando?

yourbestfriend: he’s throwing up in the toilet rn

usertwo: it’s nine months of their relationship in a week plz😭

yourbestfriend: he still complains

userthree: ahhh cant wait to see her!

userfour: hopefully i meet her 🙂

userfive: the IT couple

ynnorris

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, yourbestfriend and 8,462 more

so so proud of my boys <3

*tap to load more comments*

oscarpiastri: love you 🤍🧡

userone: someone tell her she’s gotta pick a side

usertwo: mclaren did lando so dirty

userthree: guys she can support both her brother and boyfriend

userfour: dickrider

landonorris: love you lil sis x

userfive: how can you post this knowing mclaren stole a win off your brother and gave it to your boyfriend

*comments have been disabled*

oscarpiastri

liked by ynnorris, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 16,837 others

my first f1 win, couldn’t have done it without a lot of people but my pr manager said i had to keep this short and sweet

*tap to load more comments*

ynnorris: congratulations my love 🤍🧡

landonorris: congrats mate!

userone: you were done so dirty oscar

usertwo: lando deserved that win

userthree: fuck mclaren

maxverstappen1: well deserved!

userfour: lol

*comments have been disabled*

landonorris

liked by ynnorris, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 19,268 more

well deserved win for osc, spa next 🔜

*comments have been disabled*

phone call between lando and yn

l: yn? are you okay it’s 3am?

y: lando i’m scared

l: what’s wrong? are you in your hotel room?

y: i’m in oscar’s but i don’t want to wake him up, i’m in the bathroom

l: what’s wrong?

y: i keep recieving really mean messages and even some death threats, i should have listened to you and not made my account public i’m so sorry for not listening to you lan-

l: yn it’s okay, it’s not your fault, unfortunately this is what comes with this sport.

y: i’m scared

l: listen i want you to wake up oscar and tell him how you’re feeling right now. he’ll be able to comfort you right now, tomorrow morning we’ll speak to our pr and see what they say but try and get some sleep, wipe your tears and wake osc up okay?

y: i’m so sorry

l: you didn’t do anything wrong, i’m sorry you’re feeling the brunt of our stuff.

y: love you lan

l: love you ynn

oscar’s hotel room 3:17am

Picking herself up off the floor, yn glanced at her reflection in the dimly lit mirror. She wiped away the tears that had been streaming down her cheeks, wincing slightly at the redness that had set in. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, and attempted to make her face look presentable. With a final sigh, she opened the bathroom door and stepped into the dark bedroom. Her eyes softened as she took in the sight of Oscar, lying peacefully in bed, his face serene and calm.

Despite the turmoil inside her, she couldn't help but smile at how adorable he looked, lost in his dreams. Pushing her guilt and insecurities aside, she made her way over to his side of the bed. Gently, she reached out and tapped his shoulder. "Osc."

Oscar stirred slightly, his eyes remaining closed. "Yeah?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "You okay?"

Yn hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to begin. "I..." she faltered, then continued, "No, not really." Oscar opened his eyes just a fraction, enough for her to see the concern etched in his sleepy gaze. "I saw what people were saying about me online, and—"

Before she could finish, Oscar reached out and pulled her into the bed beside him. She sat at the edge, struggling to hold back more tears as he gently took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. He let out a soft, disappointed sigh. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."

"It's not your fault," she replied, shaking her head.

"And it's yours?" he countered gently. The way he said it made her realise how misplaced her thoughts had been. "Come here." He pulled her into his arms, and she nestled against him, feeling the warmth and safety of his embrace. Oscar held her tightly, as if trying to shield her from the cruel world outside.

"They were really mean," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"I know," Oscar murmured, his breath warm against her bare shoulder. "Unfortunately, it's something we drivers get used to, but it's always rough for someone new to the world of F1."

She let out a small, breathy laugh. "Talk about being new to the world, quite literally." A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Lando said he’d talk to his team tomorrow."

"We'll talk to the team tomorrow," Oscar corrected softly. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. "Hey, how about you tell me about your new project? You haven't mentioned it yet." His tone was gentle, encouraging, as if trying to distract her from her worries.

Yn looked at him, her heart swelling with love. The tears that had threatened to spill moments ago were now replaced by a shy, bashful smile. "Have I ever told you I love you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar's eyes sparkled with affection. "Once or twice, I'm sure, but definitely not enough."

A warm, contented feeling settled over her. "I love you, Osc."

He smiled, leaning in to kiss her forehead tenderly. "I love you too, more than anything." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and added, "No matter what anyone says, you are amazing, and I'm so proud of you."

ynnorris

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, yourbestfriend and 8,172 others

this past weekend was tough on both mclaren drivers, decisons were made and oscar and lando are both excellent and talented drivers. lando is my brother and oscar is my boyfriend and best friend, there will never be a day where i chose between the two of them when they’re on a podium. i love them both so deeply and i will never pick a favourite.

*comments have been disabled*

oscarpiastri

liked by ynnorris, landonorris, logansargeant and 19,632 others

spa next weekend and summer break with this one

*only some users may comment*

landonorris: good riddance, she’s driving me up the wall

yourbestfriend: why are you always carrying her like that?

oscarpiastri: she can’t be trusted with money

ynnorris: love you 🤍🧡

[r--c]

Pablo Nicolas Cascon, alias: Depressedkiller

Pablo Nicolas Cascon (23) was arrested in the Buenos Aires town of Belén de Escobar within the framework of an investigation initiated by the FBI and continued by the Argentine federal justification, in which he is accused of paying tribute to the authors of the crime through social networks. "Columbine Massacre" and inciting other mass murders.

The investigation began in April 2021 following an effective report by the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), which contained a series of conversations between different Facebook users, one of them with the IP address of his computer in the country. These conversations “contained a clear tendency towards violent acts, with antisocial, radical and extremist thoughts, willing to sacrifice themselves for a cause, purify the world and do justice against society, with xenophobic thoughts,” according to police sources. Due to this situation, the Argentine Federal Police gave intervention to the Specialized Cybercrime Fiscal Unit (UFECI), headed by Horacio Azzolin.

For more than a year, federal troops focused on identifying the IP that operated in our country, establishing the user known on the network as “Depressedkiller.” “As he constantly changed his address, that made it difficult to locate him,” they explained.

Upon determining the real location of the user, the Federal Court of First Instance of Campana, headed by Judge Adrián González Charvay, ordered the search of a home located at the intersection of Corrientes and Colón streets, in the city of Belén de Escobar, where the suspect, named Pablo Nicolás Cascón, was detained. He was with his family…

In his room, the officers found a 9-millimeter pistol with various ammunition; a box with 50 ammunition of the same caliber; a rope with a sliding knot commonly used for hanging and possession, consumption and legitimate user credentials issued by the ANMAC in the name of a family member.

Federal agents also seized a notebook, an external drive and a cell phone. That wasn't all. When searching the young man's telephone device, they found photos of him pointing at the camera with the gun in a threatening position.

In addition, he had printed images of Eric Harris (perpetrator of the Columbine Massacre in 1999.), Dylann Roof (Charleston Church Massacre perpetrator), and also Zero Hour & Zero Day protagonists.

(and also a drawing of d and e)

part of his room & him getting arrested by the PFA.

Who did he kept in contact with?

-DrakunubzDemonincel: theres not really any information about this dude (probably him being part of argentina tho, since he was also plotting a massacre with Pablo) both talked about their xenophobic, extremists and antisocials ideologies through facebook.

-Andres: the term ''massacre'' was searched in the whatsapp of Pablo's phone, instead of being from argentina andres was in venezuela, confirmed by him in this message

[fabaulti]

I think most of us should take the whole ai scraping situation as a sign that we should maybe stop giving google/facebook/big corps all our data and look into alternatives that actually value your privacy.

i know this is easier said than done because everybody under the sun seems to use these services, but I promise you it’s not impossible. In fact, I made a list of a few alternatives to popular apps and services, alternatives that are privacy first, open source and don’t sell your data.

right off the bat I suggest you stop using gmail. it’s trash and not secure at all. google can read your emails. in fact, google has acces to all the data on your account and while what they do with it is already shady, I don’t even want to know what the whole ai situation is going to bring. a good alternative to a few google services is skiff. they provide a secure, e3ee mail service along with a workspace that can easily import google documents, a calendar and 10 gb free storage. i’ve been using it for a while and it’s great.

a good alternative to google drive is either koofr or filen. I use filen because everything you upload on there is end to end encrypted with zero knowledge. they offer 10 gb of free storage and really affordable lifetime plans.

google docs? i don’t know her. instead, try cryptpad. I don’t have the spoons to list all the great features of this service, you just have to believe me. nothing you write there will be used to train ai and you can share it just as easily. if skiff is too limited for you and you also need stuff like sheets or forms, cryptpad is here for you. the only downside i could think of is that they don’t have a mobile app, but the site works great in a browser too.

since there is no real alternative to youtube I recommend watching your little slime videos through a streaming frontend like freetube or new pipe. besides the fact that they remove ads, they also stop google from tracking what you watch. there is a bit of functionality loss with these services, but if you just want to watch videos privately they’re great.

if you’re looking for an alternative to google photos that is secure and end to end encrypted you might want to look into stingle, although in my experience filen’s photos tab works pretty well too.

oh, also, for the love of god, stop using whatsapp, facebook messenger or instagram for messaging. just stop. signal and telegram are literally here and they’re free. spread the word, educate your friends, ask them if they really want anyone to snoop around their private conversations.

regarding browser, you know the drill. throw google chrome/edge in the trash (they really basically spyware disguised as browsers) and download either librewolf or brave. mozilla can be a great secure option too, with a bit of tinkering.

if you wanna get a vpn (and I recommend you do) be wary that some of them are scammy. do your research, read their terms and conditions, familiarise yourself with their model. if you don’t wanna do that and are willing to trust my word, go with mullvad. they don’t keep any logs. it’s 5 euros a month with no different pricing plans or other bullshit.

lastly, whatever alternative you decide on, what matters most is that you don’t keep all your data in one place. don’t trust a service to take care of your emails, documents, photos and messages. store all these things in different, trustworthy (preferably open source) places. there is absolutely no reason google has to know everything about you.

do your own research as well, don’t just trust the first vpn service your favourite youtube gets sponsored by. don’t trust random tech blogs to tell you what the best cloud storage service is — they get good money for advertising one or the other. compare shit on your own or ask a tech savvy friend to help you. you’ve got this.

[seungkw1]

safe haven — ljh

♡ pairing: neighbor!jihoon x fem!reader ♡ theme: fluff, hurt/comfort ♡ wc: 3.9k ♡ warnings: post-breakup dynamics, cheating (from ex), swearing, mentions of food ♡ a/n: written as part of the Winter with You collab put on by @camandemstudios - make sure to check out the full collab masterlist here!! give all these talented writers some love <3 and big thanks to @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading!!

As if your fiancé leaving you for another woman wasn’t enough to make this the shittiest week of your life, now you’ve managed to lock yourself out of your house during an incoming blizzard. At least your next-door neighbor is home, and he’s kind enough to offer you shelter from the storm. You barely know Jihoon, only having spoken to him a few times - but soon, you discover you have more in common than you initially thought.

Five days ago, you made the innocent mistake of picking up your fiancé’s phone when you thought it was yours. You noticed immediately when you saw the lock screen - it was a photo of you and him from last December, posed in front of a Christmas tree, taken minutes after he proposed. In it, you’re smiling ear to ear, enthusiastically showing off the beautiful engagement ring he bought you. The photo has been his wallpaper ever since. “You look so happy,” he told you a couple months ago. “I can’t bring myself to change it.”

You go to set the phone back down, but a notification catches your eye. You take a closer look, discovering a string of WhatsApp messages, all from somebody named Kelsey. 

Huh, that’s weird, you think to yourself. I didn’t know he even used WhatsApp. 

Normally, you’d think nothing of it - but something feels off. You hesitate for a moment. You know each other’s passcodes for the sake of convenience; you’ve never felt the need to go through his phone, and you feel bad about even thinking about doing it. But, your gut is telling you to investigate.

You input the password and open the message thread. You’re not quite sure what you’re even looking for, but two seconds of scrolling tells you all you need to know. Dumbfounded, you read the particular message three more times before it sinks in: 

Can’t wait for our vacation next week baby, I really need to get away from all of this right now. 

Your stomach lurches as if you’ve just been punched in the gut. He told you he was going on a business trip next week. He told you that months ago. 

Get away from ‘all of this’? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Does he mean… me???

Blood rushes through your ears as you read through the never-ending series of sexts, nudes, notes more romantic than anything he’s ever said to you before, an entire paper trail of all the times and locations of the evident affair - until you feel like you’re going to be sick. 

No, it’s not real. It can’t be. There’s no way…

Paralyzed, you stand there in disbelief, but as several more minutes of scrolling pass, it becomes clear that this is actually happening. Tears start to well in your eyes, but you quickly bottle it up, converting the energy into anger instead. You take the phone and march into his office to confront him - ready to shut him down when he tries to deny it. 

But, he doesn’t even try to deny it. He doesn’t even care.

“Well, it’s about time you found out anyway,” he tells you nonchalantly.

“Our wedding is in three months!! How fucking long were you going to wait to tell me??”

“I was gonna tell you soon, I just needed it to be the right time.”

“The right time??!! When is there a right time to dump your fiancé???”

“Listen, y/n-”

“Don’t tell me to fucking listen!!” you raise your voice at him. “In fact, don’t say anything else. Get the fuck out of my house.”

“You can’t tell me to get out, this is my house too,” he replies, with the sheer audacity to have a tone of annoyance in his voice.

“It’s MY name on the fucking papers. Get. Out.”

And so, he left. Didn’t even give you his set of keys back. Didn’t even say goodbye.

Now, you sit here parked in your driveway, the howling of harsh winter winds whistling over the melancholy tune playing loudly from the car radio. The volume is cranked all the way up, but despite your best efforts to drown out the outside world, the sharp whooshing sounds persist. Looks like the incoming storm is going to be as bad as predicted - if not worse. The blustering begins to jostle the whole vehicle. You stare aimlessly out the front windshield, watching chunks of snow flying erratically through the air as the winds pick up further. With a sigh, you turn the ignition off, the engine and radio going silent. If you're going to sit around moping, might as well do it inside where it's warm. You reach for the garage door remote clipped on the visor above you, but your hand only hits the soft padding. Right, you think to yourself, still gotta get that one replaced too. 

You drag yourself out of your car, hastily throwing your coat on and stumbling through the wind toward your front door. Flipping through your keys, something feels off. You look down, assuming your frozen fingers are just too stiff to pick out the correct one. You stare at the collection for several seconds, but your house key is not there. 

“What the fuck?” you mutter to yourself in confusion. Then, a horrible realization sets in: you never put your new key on the keyring after getting your locks changed. 

You brace yourself against the wind, trudging through the pile of snow accumulating in your front yard. As you reach the window, you lean over the bushes, peering through the partially-shut blinds into your kitchen to see a set of gold keys, sitting upon the center of the countertop. 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Your stupid ex-fiancé isn’t even around anymore and he’s still finding new ways to make your life miserable. If he had just returned your damn keys, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

Tears start welling in your eyes - and this time, you surrender. The droplets begin to freeze on your face almost instantly, but you let yourself cry. After several minutes, you’re feeling slightly better - but you’re getting quite cold. You decide to head back to your car, at least turn the heat on while you try and figure out what to do, no need to stand here and get frostbite-

“Um, excuse me…”

You jump at the sound of the voice coming from behind you, whipping your head around to see a very bundled up man. You can’t see much of his face, but he looks to be in his late-twenties, with dark hair peeking out from under a thick beanie. It takes you a moment, but you realize it’s your next-door neighbor, Jihoon, whom you've met approximately once.

“I just wanted to check if you were okay,” he says loudly, doing his best to speak over the noisy wind. “You’ve been standing out here for a while.”

“Oh,” you reply, also speaking up. You wipe the tears off your cheeks with the back of your gloves. “Um, I’m kind of locked out of my house.”

“Is the lock frozen?”

“No- well actually, I don’t know, it might be, but I don’t have my key,” you explain, gesturing through the window. “It’s in there.”

“How did you manage to do that?” he inquires, not being condescending, but genuinely asking.

“The front door locks behind you when you leave.” 

“Ohhh. Well that’s no good.” He pauses for a moment, looking at you curiously, before continuing.

“Um, well I know you don't know me very well, but if you need a place to wait while you call somebody you are welcome to come in,” he tilts his head toward his house. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, but it’s really dangerous to be out in this storm.”

Normally, you’d be standoffish to a man you barely know inviting you into his house - but, something about him tells you you can trust him. He looks and sounds sincere, and you really don’t have anywhere else to go. Plus, you’re fucking freezing. You nod at him.

“I would really appreciate that,” you shout over the wind. He nods back, gesturing for you to follow along. He walks with you to his front door, the both of you taking large steps to trek through the several inches of snow that has already accumulated. He turns the knob and ushers you inside, following quickly and shutting the door behind him. 

The sounds of the howling wind abruptly stop, the door creating a barricade between you and the heavy winter storm. Your ears ring slightly, but as you adjust to the quietness of indoors you pick up on a familiar tune playing from the other room. 

“Is that En Bateau I hear?” you ask as you unlace your boots. 

He’s in the middle of unwrapping his scarf from around his head, but he perks up at your question. “Yeah! You know Petite Suite?” 

“It’s one of my favorites,” you reply warmly as you take off your coat. You try to avoid letting the jacket’s heavy dusting of snow fall to the floor, without success. 

“Dammit, I got your floor all wet,” you inform him with a sigh. You realize you’re shivering - the house is warm, comfortably so, but standing out in the cold for however long you were out there certainly chilled you to your bones. He takes your coat from your hands, shaking off the rest of the snow before putting it on a hanger for you.

“Don’t even worry about it,” he tells you, grabbing a neatly folded towel from the closet and mopping up the mess. “There’s some blankets on the couch, you should warm yourself up.” 

The prospect of a nice cozy blanket sends you speedwalking into the living room. You spot the stack of blankets, also neatly folded, and grab the thickest one you see - it’s plush and velvety, dark red in color, and gigantic. You wrap the soft fleece around your whole body, plopping cross-legged onto the couch, practically turning yourself into a cocoon. Immediately you start to warm up, your poor frozen extremities finally relieved of the painful cold. As you defrost, your brain begins to work again, processing your surroundings. Though you’ve never been inside, your neighbor’s abode feels very homely - the decor is largely cream-colored, accented with warm earth tones, doused in low lighting sourced from a few lamps placed strategically around the room. Though a plain, warm white, the walls are flourished tastefully with various unique artworks - nothing you recognize, but all very pleasing to the eye. Not that your ex was a slob, but you’ve never known a man to be so neat and tasteful. Refreshing, you think to yourself.

You hear soft footsteps from behind you as Jihoon enters the room. You turn to see him bearing a glass of water, a piping hot mug, and a small metal tin. 

“I don’t know if you like tea,” he starts as he sets the beverages on the coffee table’s coasters. “But I thought you might want something warm to drink.”

“Tea sounds great, thank you so much,” you reply as you wiggle your arms out of the tangle of blanket surrounding you. Reaching for the tin, you pull out a bag of Earl Grey and place it in the mug to steep.

“It’s y/n, right?” he asks as he sits in a nearby armchair.

“That’s me,” you reply. “And you’re Jihoon, yes?”

He nods to confirm. “I know we met once a while ago,” he adds, “but I wasn’t sure if you remembered.”

"Of course I remember, I accidentally stole your packages,” you say with a laugh. “I felt bad about that for months.”

“No harm done, it was an honest mistake,” he replies with a calm smile. 

The tea is nowhere near ready, but you take a sip anyway. The hot liquid sends a wave of warmth through your whole body, making you instantly feel much better. Now that you’re not freezing and in tears, you can finally think straight, and you remember why you’re here in the first place.

“I should call the locksmith, god knows how long it’s gonna take them to get here in this storm,” you state as you look around for your phone, but it’s nowhere to be seen. 

“Oh, I think my phone is still in my bag.”

You start to get up, but Jihoon is faster.

“Here, I’ll grab it for you.”

He disappears from the room in an instant, returning a few moments later with your bag in hand. Thanking him politely, you rummage around for your phone until you find it. You open Google and type locksmith into the search, calling the first one you see with good reviews. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, due to the storm we aren’t able to send anyone out until tomorrow.”

You try another one, but it’s the same story. A third one, no luck either. Nobody is able to come out until tomorrow morning. Dejected, you go ahead and schedule an appointment for 7am the next day. You do your best to remain calm, but you��re too exhausted to hold in your tears.

“I don’t know what to do,” you say to Jihoon, burying your face with your hands.

“Hey,” he replies softly. “It’s gonna be okay. You can stay here as long as you need.” 

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you sigh.

“You’re not,” he assures you. “I promise. You’re welcome to take the guest room.”

“Are you sure?” you say with a sniffle, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“Of course,” he nods. 

“Thank you so much,” you tell him sincerely. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem at all,” he says with a soft smile. “Also, are you hungry? I have some leftover stew I was going to heat up, if you’d like some.”

You didn’t even realize that you were hungry, but the mention of food makes your stomach rumble. 

“That sounds amazing,” you reply. 

Jihoon spends a few minutes in the kitchen, returning with two steaming bowls of a hearty-looking beef stew. 

“This is delicious,” you remark as you scoop another chunk of potato into your mouth. “I’m gonna need your recipe.”

“Oh, thank you,” Jihoon replies humbly. “I’m glad you like it.”

Several moments of silence pass between you two as you enjoy the meal, the music of Debussy’s piano filling the room in lieu of conversation. But instead of it being awkward, you feel peaceful, replenished from the food and the warmth of Jihoon’s home.

“Is there anything you want to watch?” he eventually turns to ask you. “I like having something on while I eat, but if not it’s okay.”

“Sounds good to me,” you reply. “What are you watching right now?”

“Oh, um, I like… anime,” he says sheepishly, turning slightly pink with embarrassment. “But we definitely don’t have to watch that. What do you like?”

“Have you seen The Great British Bake Off?” you respond. “It’s on Netflix.”

“Never heard of it,” he admits, but he already has the tv remote in hand, opening the app.

“I haven’t seen the new season yet, if you want to start there.”

“Will I understand it if I haven’t seen the other seasons?” he inquires, causing you to giggle.

“It’s a reality show, each season is different,” you fill him in, proceeding to explain the premise. He listens earnestly, but his facial expression tells you he is skeptical. 

“It’s really good, I promise!” you assure him.

“I don’t really get it,” he admits with a confused look on his face. “But if you say it’s good, I’ll take your word for it.”

He puts on the first episode, letting you explain the different challenges to him. About halfway through the episode, he turns to you.

“So… what exactly do they win?”

“A cake stand,” you answer. The look of bewilderment on his face makes you laugh again.

“So they don’t even get any money from it??”

“Nope,” you reply, cozying up under the blanket again. “That’s why it’s so wholesome.”

“Ah, okay,” he says, still unsure about the whole thing. But by the end of the first episode, he’s hooked.

“How do they do that??” he remarks at each contestant’s fanciful cake in the final challenge, his eyes glued to the tv. As soon as the credits start to roll, he clicks the Next Episode button.

“See? I told you it was good,” you say with a sleepy smile. The combination of the satisfying dinner, the warmth of the blanket, and the relaxing nature of the show is quickly making your eyelids turn heavy. You lean your head against the back of the couch, determined not to doze off - but within a few minutes, you are fast asleep.

The soft light of early dawn glows through your closed eyelids as you begin to awaken. You’re so warm and comfortable that you don’t even bother opening your eyes - instead you just lay there, relaxing under the blankets. As your brain slowly wakes, last night’s events start to register in your mind - you grimace as you recall the bitter cold of being stuck outside your own house, having a breakdown, feeling utterly helpless until-

Your eyes pop open. Sleepily adjusting to the morning light filtering in through the windows, you see that you’re still in Jihoon’s house, on the couch. You turn your face to see a pillow underneath your head that wasn’t there previously, and an extra knit blanket draped over the red fleece one that was already wrapped around you. Jihoon is nowhere in sight, presumably still asleep. You wonder what time it is - when suddenly you remember the locksmith appointment you made for 7am. Panicked, you bolt upright, searching for your phone amidst the blankets, until you spot it laying upon the coffee table, plugged into a charger that isn’t yours. You snatch it up, your heart sinking when you see the time: 7:34am.

“SHIT,” you grumble to yourself. You hurriedly unravel yourself from the tangle of blankets - it’s still warm in his house, but a chill hits you in the absence of the cozy covers. Sitting fully upright, you feel your feet bump something as they touch the carpet. Looking down, you spot a pair of slippers - light beige in color, women’s, brand new with the tags still on. For a moment you feel a bit weird about putting them on (Why does he have these, anyway?), but you’re cold, and at this point you don’t care. You slip them on, the comfort of the fluffy interior immediately making you  glad you did. They feel high quality - luxurious even, and now you feel nice and toasty. Rising from the couch, you grab the top blanket and wrap it around you. The inviting scent of coffee suddenly hits you - you follow it into the kitchen, where Jihoon stands before a brewing coffee pot. Noticing you have entered the room, he turns to greet you.

“Good morning,” he says warmly. He wears a pair of plaid pajama pants, seemingly with a matching top underneath a dark fleece quarter-zip. You note that he also has slippers on, not too dissimilar from the ones currently on your feet. As the coffee finishes brewing, he grabs two mugs, gesturing to you with one. 

“Would you like some coffee?”

“I’d love some,” you answer. He takes the pot and pours the piping hot beverage into your mug.

“Cream and sugar?” 

“Yes, please.”

He fixes your drink and hands you the steaming mug. You take a small, careful sip, your insides instantly warmed by the smooth brew.

“Delicious, thank you,” you tell him, taking another generous sip.

“Of course,” he nods.

“Guess I missed the locksmith,” you say with a sigh. “I should’ve thought to set an alarm before I passed out.”

He turns, reaching for something on the counter. Turning back, he extends his hand to you, your keys laying in his palm.

“Already taken care of,” he says with a smile.

“How did you…” Your words trail off as you take the keys, your fingertips lightly grazing his warm skin. 

“I met the locksmith and explained the situation,” he explains. “He picked the lock in like, one minute.” He gives you an apologetic look as he continues. “I’m sorry I went into your house without asking you first, I felt bad, but I didn’t want to have to wake you and drag you out into the cold.”

“Don’t apologize,” you reply, shaking your head quickly. “I really really appreciate it.”

“I’m glad I could help,” he tells you with a soft smile.

“Thank you for the pillow too,” you add. “And the slippers, glad you had these laying around,” you say with a grin. His smile fades slightly, glancing away for a moment. 

“They were supposed to be a gift,” he says as he looks at you again. “But I didn’t need them anymore. You can keep them.” He smiles, but despite trying to hide it, his tone is tinged with sadness.

“Oh,” you say softly. “You sure?”

He hesitates slightly, unsure whether to tell you.

“They were for my girlfriend, but she left me a couple weeks ago,” he admits. He looks down at his coffee, stirring it aimlessly with the spoon. A pang of sympathy hits you. 

“I’m sorry,” you say gently. “I unfortunately can relate. My fiancé left me five days ago, for another woman.”

He perks his head up slightly in surprise. “Oh wow, what an awful week this must be. I’m sorry, too.”

“Yeah, quite honestly, it fucking sucks,” you say, staring off into space a bit. 

“I was about to propose,” he adds, unsure exactly why he’s telling you this. But you both are feeling a newfound, unspoken kinship in your aligned misfortunes. “But one day she just told me she didn’t love me anymore.”

“Jesus, that’s terrible, I’m so sorry,” you empathize. “I found out my fiancé was cheating on me and confronted him. He didn’t even give a shit so I kicked him out, haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

“Wow,” Jihoon says with wide eyes. He lets out a sigh. “I had already bought a ring, too. She didn’t know, but I had the whole proposal planned out.” He shrugs, shaking his head. “I guess it’s for the better that she left before I even bothered.”

“Yeah, doesn’t make it any less painful though.”

“Definitely not. And I wasn’t even able to return the ring.” He laughs, letting out an incredulous huff. 

“Oh my god,” you react in bewilderment. 

“It’s alright,” he says calmly. “Maybe I’ll be able to use it someday.”

His eyes linger on you slightly too long as the words roll off his tongue. The moment is brief, fleeting - but it’s enough for you to notice. 

“Would you like any more coffee?” he asks before you can fully process anything, nudging the pot in your direction.

“I’m alright, thank you,” you reply, finishing the last bit in your mug. 

“Here, I’ll take it.” 

“I better get going, now that I can actually get into my house,” you announce with a smile. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“You weren’t a bother at all,” he assures you. “But I’m sure you’re dying to go home.”

Jihoon walks to his entryway. He gathers your things for you, taking your coat from the closet and helping you into it.

“I truly can’t thank you enough,” you tell him sincerely. “You really saved my ass.”

He smiles at you. “You’re very welcome. It was nice to finally properly meet you, y/n.”

He hands you something as he opens the door for you. You take it - it’s a blue sticky note, with his name and phone number written neatly on it.

“You can always call me if you need anything at all.”

“Thank you,” you smile warmly, folding the note and tucking it safely into your pocket. “I will.”

[polariod240]

I love how we're all kinda into the same types of media, Nagai stuff aside. So I made a meme about it with whatsapp photo editor, because why not. 😔🤝

[ctimenefic]

the living and the dead

A little entry for @motorsport-halloween fest that's the closest I've got to actual horror.

It's too short to summarise without giving the whole game away, but, uh, warning for character deaths? Plural? And ritualised violence, and blood, and dismemberment, I guess.

It hadn’t made any sense, how right Albon seemed. They always come back wrong. 

He misses Logan’s call because of a sponsor event; six hours later, when he’s staring blankly at the blood oozing down from the ragged hole in his kitchen wall, Albon’s call comes through loud and clear.

“Oscar,” he says. His hesitance sounds pathetic. “Don’t do it.”

“Fuck you,” Oscar replies, and hangs up. When he flexes his hand, the serum-shiny clots on his knuckles break open. 

It takes him a while to realise the ringing isn’t in his ears again. 

“Really,” Albon says, more certain now, insistent. “It’s not worth it. Don’t do it.”

“You’re there, aren’t you?” Oscar asks. Even to himself he sounds flat. Finished. “Grove. You fucking watched.” He hears Alex swallow round his tombstone teeth. 

“I- He was okay. He understood. Oscar, seriously, don’t do it. He won’t thank you for it.”

“Fuck you. Don’t bury him deep,” he warns, and ends the call. 

He’d liked Albon, is the thing. When he’d first been in the F1 paddock, as a reserve, he’d expected something a bit more gruesome. Something wrong. But Alex had smiled, and cracked bad jokes, and touched his mechanics and other drivers without making them shudder. Even close up, he looked normal. His t-shirts sat high and tight on his neck, sure, but that was hardly uncanny. He sweated. He breathed. He hadn’t looked like Ocon, red-eyed, waxy and sallow and so obviously desperate to rip out Pierre’s throat that Renault had wired his jaw shut. 

It hadn’t made any sense, how right Albon seemed. They always come back wrong. 

At Monza ‘22, Oscar had assumed the subterfuge had been stretched too thin. He didn’t want to dwell on it, but he’d had a vague idea of something out of The Exorcist, Alex crawling across ceilings, spewing bile. After all, a dead man couldn’t have appendicitis. 

Except, it turned out, he could. 

He’s dwelling on it now. 

Oscar had missed Logan’s call, so he’d found out through notifications. First:

George Russell has removed Logan from the GPDA Drivers Chat

Then

BREAKING: Logan Sargeant CULLED as Vowles rededicates Williams

And

WATCH THE VIDEO: Grove ceremony called a “bloody mess” by F1 legend 

Another one slides onto his screen now, right under another call from Albon he declines.

George Russell: Do you want to know how?

He hits the autoreply that WhatsApp prompts: Yes

There was no doubting that Albon had been culled. Oscar had seen the pictures, nineteen and in awe of what Red Bull would do for victory. (It had only been photos, no video. The rumour was they’d had to drug him, that he’d stumbled to the altar and still fought there, and it’d be a bad look to have their sacrifice calling for his mum.) 

They’d cut his throat to the white of the bone. The blood had flowed down across the bodywork of the cars – both of them, Alex’s and Max’s – before it hit the earth. Oscar had wondered if it made the sponsors happy, the evidence of Christian’s commitment splattered bright red over their names. So much blood, it couldn’t be denied, couldn’t be fake. And anyway, there was the last picture, of Albon pale and split and unmistakably dead, curled over the halo, the candlelit shallow grave just visible in the background. 

And yet. Come 2022, he smiled. He joked. He touched. 

Somehow, George Russell had dragged Albon’s filthy corpse into Grove and brought him back whole. 

So it can be done. 

George is still in Monaco. Oscar rings round, has a private jet refuelling on the tarmac in Nice, a helicopter ready for him in twenty minutes. George had said it wouldn’t take long to teach him. 

They meet on a beach by the helipad. There’s not much moon left – and it makes it worse, that Vowles couldn’t wait a week for the new moon and an auspicious time before sharpening his knife – but what little light there is makes George stark against the pale sand. His shadow stretches back almost to the cliffs. 

“Terrible business,” he says in greeting. “I’d thought they’d go for retirement.”

Oscar swallows round the rock of guilt in his throat. He’d thought it too, since almost the start of the season – that Williams would let Logan go, and Oscar would have to bully him into wielding the knife, carving through his wrists. Not ending up like Latifi, too stubborn to see he’d run out of track, culled by default, an afterthought disposed of somewhere in the winter break.

He’d have cut off Logan’s hands himself to keep him. Pressed kisses to the stumps. Hell, Fernando still drives like a champion with his prosthetics, and yes, maybe he casts two shadows now, but that’s better than culling. 

“I’d’ve thought James could cut more cleanly,” George adds, a disapproving note in his voice. “Ruthlessness needs a steady hand.”

“Can we not?” Oscar interrupts. “Just- what do I need to do to get him- what do I need to do?” 

“Well, you’ll need the body first. Can’t do anything while he’s still inside her. Try to get as much of the dirt off as possible. You’ll want to check his mouth.” George pauses, and Oscar shoves his hands deep into his pockets to avoid picturing mud on Logan’s white teeth, his blue lips, his limp, cold tongue. 

“She’s clingy,” George adds. It makes Oscar feel uneasy, hearing him so dismissive, flippant, about a power so beyond knowing. “We called her Gaia, at Williams.” A little smile plays at the corner of his mouth, like it’s a secret. Like Oscar cares about names right now. 

It’s mostly common knowledge, anyway. Red Bull call her Mother, because they don’t much go in for subtlety. McLaren use Terra, which Oscar thinks fits better. Terror. That’s what she is. 

She’s had many names. Only one state, though. Hungry. 

The earth is hungry. They pump out her blood, rip her flesh, burn her in their cars and she wants recompense. 

“That’s the easy bit. After that, you have to consider the price.”

Oscar squares his shoulders. The lights of Monaco are all behind him, only the black of the ocean ahead. The entire city could wink out of existence, and he wouldn’t know. 

For all he cares, it already has. They filmed Logan’s cull, they put it on the internet, but Oscar’s just as dead without him. 

“What is it?”

George’s smile has too many teeth. “What do you think?”

He thinks of the earth’s anger, how the McLaren might fade away underneath him, like the Mercedes does to George. How it might snatch his home race, his poles, give Lando an advantage he doesn’t deserve. He could live with that. 

He thinks of the way George talks about a WDC sometimes, like it’s a decade or more out of reach. Like twenty years in the sport won’t wear the flesh from his bones, and take his hands at the end of it all the same. He could live with that. 

He thinks of Latifi, face down in the dirt. There hadn’t been a video then either. Toto had been busy, skiing – someone else had stepped in, carved him up. The photos hadn’t captured their face, but the long arm had worn a sponsor’s watch. 

He could live with that.

“Anything. I’ll pay anything.”

George chuckles. It sounds wrong.

“Are you sure?”

He turns to argue, shout, punch it out of George if he has to. George doesn’t move his body at all. But his head turns. His eyes are too large. Too dark.

Before Oscar can speak, a large wave breaks too close, a crack of saltwater against rock and sand. Sea foam races up the beach, drenches Oscar’s thongs.

A perfect ring around George’s feet remains bone dry. But where the sand is wet, things squirm under the surface. Hundreds of lugworms raise wiggling paths away, away, away from the shape of him, the cast of his shadow. 

Alex smiles-

but not at George. 

He cracks jokes- 

but not with George. 

He touches-

but not-

He came back right. But he hadn’t walked out of Grove alone. 

George unhinges his jaw. A thousand voices speak.

Deep in his pocket, Oscar’s phone starts ringing. 

“Are you sure?”

---

Logan Sargeant rots in a shallow grave and a dead man wins a championship. 

---

“Hey. It’s me. Obviously. Uh. So. It’s not gonna be an easy retirement like we thought. They- they think she’s too hungry. After the crash. The factory shook and- well. It’s my job. But, um, if you can get here. Before- I’d like that. I miss you. I will miss you. I’ll keep my cell on, so- yeah.”

[aoioozora]

Simon.

Part 12

Chapters Masterlist

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au Note: Finally a new update! Thanks for your patience. Please excuse any mistakes or if this is weird lmao. Enjoy :))

The following week saw a flood of photos from the camping trip in ____’s phone. 

Johnny had created a WhatsApp group and added everyone, having them send all the photos and videos they took. Johnny and Gaz had taken the most photos, followed by ____, Lindsey, and finally, Simon, who had none to share. 

Upon obtaining her number, Gaz privately messaged _____. 

Kyle: Hey, Kyle here 

____: Hey! what's up?

Kyle: I got something you might like 

____: what's that? 

Kyle then proceeded to send her a photo of her and Simon huddled together on the porch of the cabin, fast asleep, basked in the gentle blue light of dawn, a photo that wasn’t shared in the group. She texted back at the speed of light,

____: You took a picture of us??!! 

Kyle: I knew you'd like it 😂

____: I don't know how to feel about this 

Kyle: Be happy, it’s a nice memento of the camping 😏

Kyle: You got a cute picture with your lad that you can show those blokes who try to chat you up 😏

____: “your lad” 😭😭

Kyle: Damn right he is your lad

Kyle: I know you like him

____: is it that obvious??

Kyle: you’re about as obvious as a deer in the headlights

Kyle: listen here

Kyle: you should make a move on him

____: what??

Kyle: He likes you back 

Kyle: so make a move 

Kyle: before he gets taken away, or you for that matter 

Although she could tell that Simon was interested in her, actually having it said to her outright was butterfly and blush-inducing. She quickly typed away, 

____: right gotchu 

____: do I have competition though

Kyle: not any that I know of

____: okay great

____: I guess I’ll try

Kyle: good luck 😉 

Just as she wrapped up her conversation with Kyle, her phone began to ring.

“Hey, Alejandro!” she said cheerily, “What’s up?”

“Hey, you wanna come over for dinner? I made some enchiladas. I know you like them.” 

She straightened up in her seat on the couch. “Enchiladas? I’ll be right there!” 

Before Alejandro even said anything else, she hung up and eagerly got to his front door and rang the doorbell. He opened a few moments later, chuckling. 

“Look at you, so excited,” he teased, moving away to let her in. 

“I won’t say no to Mexican food,” she winked at him and he rolled his eyes, smiling. 

He sat her down at the dining table and set down the piping hot dish that came fresh out of the oven. “Be careful, it’s hot,” he reminded her as he served the enchiladas onto her plate, giving her a flirtatious wink. 

Poor Alejandro. She was so focused on the enchiladas that she completely missed the wink. Her mouth watered at the sight and after waiting for it to cool down, she dug in and sang its praises while Alejandro amusedly poured out some beer for himself. 

“So, how did the little camping trip go?” he asked. 

“Yeah, it was fun!” she exclaimed and then began telling him about what was done during the 24 hours that she spent in the wilderness. She told him about the lake, the cabin, the tent, the waterfall, and the sunrise viewing, and showed him some of the photos.

“You guys didn't sleep in the cabin?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. 

“Well, camping isn't camping unless it's in a tent,” she said with a shrug as she stuffed a piece of the enchilada in her mouth. 

“And what about your boyfriend? Did you get to do anything fun with him?” Alejandro stared at her keenly, watching for a reaction. 

She chuckled uncomfortably and shook her head. “Nothing of that sort. I just got to watch him swim and cut some wood.” 

He pretended to be confused and disappointed. “Really? That's all? Since you two are a thing, you'd normally expect more, right?” he took a long sip of the beer, “Did you guys even sleep in the same room in the tent?” 

“Uh, no? He wanted to share a room with the guys.” 

“That's a bit odd, don't you think?” he took another thoughtful sip, finding her nonchalance rather suspicious, “I'm sure Simon already hangs out with his friends a lot. And since you're the girlfriend, don't you think you're entitled to have your time with him, or hell, even share a room while you guys are camping?”

The woman gulped, realising the mental gymnastics it needed to take to keep up a lie. Alejandro was sharp. 

“Uh, yeah… You're right. I didn't think of that.” she mumbled thoughtfully. 

“Didn’t think of that.” Another giveaway that she was lying to him. He took a bite of his share of enchiladas, chewing slowly. “You didn't think of it? I thought wanting your boyfriend near you as much as possible was,” he paused, “What's the word… Natural?”

She was in a pickle. Having never been in a healthy romantic relationship, she didn't ever feel that way. She pursed her lips and looked away.

Alejandro stared at her again. “Be honest, are you really dating Simon?” 

She sighed heavily. “Alright, I'm not,” she confessed. 

The man was surprised and unsurprised. He smirked, resting an elbow on the table as he leaned forward. “You're not? You lied to me then. How could you,” he playfully accused. 

She blushed with embarrassment. “Well, you see, I kept getting hit on by random men, and even got harassed once, so Simon offered to pretend to be my boyfriend to keep them away.”

Alejandro nodded slowly, understanding the underlying message even though she probably didn’t intend it. But he would not be deterred, especially not by poorly managed pretense. “I mean, you're beautiful, so no wonder they'd make a move. Although it's terrible that they thought harassing you would make you change your mind.” he shook his head. 

“Yeah, totally.” She nodded.

There was a brief silence as both of them ate. He looked up from his plate to ask, “So, if you’re really single, how about going out with me on a date?” 

She was surprised by the direct offer. “With you…?”

He noticed her hesitation and decided to manoeuvre this carefully. He was normally confident and assertive, but not wanting to scare her off, he quickly added, “It doesn’t even have to be a date. It can just be the two of us hanging out and getting to know each other. Nothing too serious. What do you think?” 

“When?” 

He smiled. “This Sunday, if you’re free.”

She thoughtfully gnawed on the prongs of the fork as she chewed her food. It was the same day Simon's family reunion was. He watched her shift in her seat. Another moment’s silence until she said, 

“I’ll let you know.”

Alejandro’s surprise proposal for a hangout/date left her dazed even the next day. Since her novel writing was completed for the day, she spent her evening considering what she should do. 

Should she give Alejandro a chance and go out with him? If she honestly had to pit him with Simon, Alejandro would win. He was handsome and had a steady income from his work and from being a model; he was friendly, outgoing, and charismatic. 

Simon had his good points too, though he was the opposite of Alejandro. Simon was sweet and quiet, considerate and gentle. However, his bloodstained past came to her mind, and she feared that danger would follow her if she continued to consider Simon. 

But she liked Simon regardless of it. She didn’t know Alejandro as well as she knew Simon; Alejandro never bared his soul to her like Simon did. If anything, they were just acquaintances turning into friends, but she and Simon already had an established friendship.

Besides, no matter how cordial Alejandro was, something about him didn’t sit right with her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her phone ringing. Upon seeing that it was none other than Simon calling, her finger flew to the green button.

“Hey!” she squeaked.

“Hey, how are you?” he croaked hoarsely.

Not expecting him to sound like a choked frog, her eyes widened slightly. “More like how are you? You don’t sound good.”

“Just a little fever, no big deal,” he replied nonchalantly before clearing his throat. 

“A fever!” she exclaimed, sitting up straight on her bed.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’m fine,” he assured, sniffling and letting out a breathless sigh.

She paused, blinking twice. “What’d you call me for, by the way?”

He paused next. “No reason. Just wanted to hear your- I mean, hear from you. See how you were doing.”

“I’m alright, but I’m starting to worry about you.”

“C’mon darling, I’m fine, really.” 

But she was not convinced. She got off the bed and stood up, saying resolutely, “I’ll come over right now.”

His burning eyes flew open on the other side. “No you’re not. You’ll catch my fever.”

“Don’t worry about that. Is there anyone with you right now?”

“No, but I can take care of myself. You really don’t have to come. I’m not a kid that needs taking care of.”

She frowned at that. “I know, but I want to take care of you. So let me!”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, until his sigh broke it. “Can you bring some fever medicine?”

She smiled widely. “Okay.”

Simon’s arm weakly flopped back down on his chest after the call had ended. “She’s coming.” he thought, forcing himself up with a grunt. He began to slowly gather up the used tissues on his night stand and threw them away in the bin. 

He washed his hands and then brought a disinfectant spray and a cloth, wiping down all the surfaces in his room she might touch when she came. He stopped his cleaning when he felt another shiver rattle his body. Hurrying to his room, he grabbed a blanket and wrapped himself in it and then sat in the living room, waiting for ____ to come. 

She came speedily and no sooner was he about to doze off, the doorbell woke him up. Rising, he ran a hand through his tousled locks and then opened the door. She was right before him, a grocery tote bag slung on her shoulder. 

“Hey,” he croaked again as he opened the door wider to let her inside, “You’re here quicker that I thought.”

“Can’t let my friend go dying now, can I?” she smiled as she entered, silently pitying how pathetic a fever made him look. His cheeks and nose were flushed, his eyes were squinted and heavy-looking, and a thin layer of sweat sat like dew on his brow.

His cheeks rose to his eyes in a chuckle as he wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. “Dying? People don’t die of fevers, darling, especially not big, strong men like me,” he boasted, even though he felt like he was going to die.

She scoffed, seeing that a fever hadn’t dulled his spirits in the least. “Johnny doesn’t know you’re sick?” she asked as he motioned her to the couch to sit down. 

He sat down away from her and shook his head. “He’ll come over and fuss over me,” he chuckled, “I wanted to be alone.”

“Oh,” her smile and her shoulders dropped, “is that why you didn’t want me to come?” 

He quickly shook his head. “No, no. I’m glad you’re here. I just didn’t want you to get sick because of me.”

“Don’t worry, I have a strong immune system,” she bragged, cradling her tote bag in her arms. “Speaking of, I brought you some lemons. They’re good for fevers.”

He smirked. “Don’t tell me you brought the whole grocery store in your bag,” he teased. 

She grinned. “I did, just for you,” she answered, nose in the air. She kept the tote aside and stood up, now moving towards him. She took his wrist and tugged him. “Come on, you should get back in bed.”

He smirked again, planting himself firmly in his seat. “I don’t want to,” he said, voice playful.

She frowned at him and continued to tug his arm. “Come onnn.” 

But he continued to obstinately sit where he was, allowing his smirks to turn into amused chuckles at her attempts to get him to move. She continued regardless, grunting and grumbling, but secretly happy that he was still cheerful despite his sickness. She turned around, back facing him and continued to pull his arm like he was a truck being pulled by a rope. 

He was tempted to wrap his arm around her stomach and pull her to his lap, but he resisted. “Okay, okay, I’m up,” he relented, finally getting out of his seat and towering to his full height. 

“About time you did.” She rolled her eyes, smiling. 

Simon directed her to his room and as soon as they were inside, he made a beeline to the bed and sat down, slouching against the wall. 

“I’ll make you some tea,” she said, making her way to the door.

“I should be doing that.”

“Shut up. You’re literally sick.” she smirked.

As soon as she left, Simon let out a sigh. He looked at the floor-length mirror across from his bed, and he could see how dishevelled he looked. He ran his hand through his hair again, as if it would magically transform him from a beast to a prince. 

He felt another shiver and the goosebumps form on his arms, making him crawl under his duvet. She soon came in with his mismatched coffee mugs of steaming tea, and the room smelled like lemons and honey, the same scent that filled the living room when she came over for the first time. 

“I really like your glass teapot,” she said, placing the tray down on his nightstand, finding him bundled up under the duvet. 

“Is that code for ‘I broke your teapot’?” he teased, now sitting up and receiving the mug from  her.

“Are you normally this cheeky when you’re sick?” she asked with a giggle as she looked around for a chair to sit on.

“Only with you, darling,” he answered, motioning to a wooden stool in the corner of the room. 

She was glad she had to face away from him as he said that, for the words gave her a flutter. “Only with me.” She felt terrible for even comparing him to Alejandro. Simon’s lighthearted teasing and banter didn’t compare to Alejandro’s. 

She grabbed the stool and brought it next to the bed and sat down. While he was busy taking a tentative sip of his steaming hot tea, she took a moment to observe his room.

The confines of the four walls were basked in the gentle light of his gold LED light strips that skirted the edges of the ceiling. The same walls were painted a relaxing navy-blue, one of which was adorned with posters of familiar video games and shelves filled with figurines of those video game characters, huddled together like people at a busy intersection.

“A gamer." she observed. His desk sat opposite to the bed, and a sleek setup sat on top of it with its creamy white desktop monitor, RGB CPU, and keyboard. A pair of cat-ear headphones rested against the keyboard, indicating recent use. Photos were stuck to the wall with clear tape just above the desk, and the photo booth pictures she took with him shared the space with his friends and family. None of the photos were stuck on the wall straight, but like a pack of cards fallen on the floor.

Another shelf sat right next to the photos. It had a few books stacked on top of each other, but only one stood facing her directly, straight and tall. Firefly Trails, her novel. Even from away, she could see that the copy was dog-eared and the base of its spine slightly worn from how much it was read. And as a reader herself, she knew that a worn book was a loved book. A flutter tickled her stomach. She wondered how many times he’d gone through the pages, and if he was one to underline and annotate.

His bedroom had more personality than the rest of his apartment, which was expected. His living room was prim, proper, and neat, but his bedroom was a meticulously organized chaos.

Simon saw that she was observing his personal space and didn’t interrupt her. He longed to ask her what she thought of his room, but didn’t want to come off as too conscious of it. He liked his room for sure, but wasn’t sure if she liked it.

He kept staring at her as she observed, and only quickly looked away when she turned his way. 

“When did you catch a fever?” she asked.

No comments on the room. He was positively disappointed.

“Just today,” He answered as he sat back, “Couldn’t fix a lot of cars at the garage. I felt a bit chilly. Asked the lads if it was and they said no.”

“I wonder if it was from the camping.”

“I think so,” he mumbled, “I was alright before that. Anyway, by the time I came back, I was shivering and I suspected a fever, so I checked me temperature and I got thirty-eight degrees.”

“Oh, that’s high,” she said pityingly, taking a sip of her tea. She reached out and pressed her hand against his forehead, an action that made his eyes widen slightly. “Yeah, it’s high,” she confirmed, feeling the burn linger in her hand as she pulled it away.

Her touch lingered on his forehead and he sighed at the absence of it. He practically wanted to pull her in bed but couldn’t; she was so near yet so far. 

“And your family reunion is this weekend too,” she then asked, “will you be able to go?”

Simon’s gaze turned distant as he paused to take a sip of tea from his mug. He really didn’t want to go. Not only would he have to uphold a lie, but also be around his father for a few hours. He welcomed the fever, wanted it to extend past the appointed date even, but he already promised his mum that he’d be there, and with his “girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” he answered, “My fever should be alright by then.”

“Speaking of, Alejandro asked me out yesterday,” she said.

Simon’s eyes darted to her face. The jealousy bubbled up in his stomach. He had made a move, huh? “Did he?” He asked coolly.

“Yeah, and on the same day of the reunion too. He said it would be nothing serious, just a fun hangout.”

Simon had to keep himself from letting out an annoyed growl. “What did you tell him then?”

“I said I’d let him know.”

He drew in a breath. “I’ll let him know.” It wasn’t a straight “yes” or a “no”. That meant that she was considering Alejandro. His hand squeezed the warm mug in his hand. 

“You should go out with him,” Simon answered half-heartedly, looking away, “I don’t mind if you bailed on the reunion.”

She felt a spear go right through her chest and a small frown tugged her lips. Was she hearing him right?

“I… honestly didn’t even want to go,” he added, “I don’t even want to be around my dad.”

“But you promised your mum,” she reminded, leaning forward, “And I promised to come with you too.”

Simon sighed. He’d never show his face at home if his father was around and it was tempting once again to not go. But he’d miss seeing the rest of the family who rarely came down, even for the holidays; cousins, nieces and nephews, uncles and aunts.

“Yeah, I’ll…” he said in a breathless sigh, staring at the mug in his hand helplessly. He rubbed a hand down his face. “I’ll figure something out.”

She saw that he didn’t even raise his head to look at her. Did he really not want her to go with him? Did he not want her at all?

It was far too awkward and suffocating in the room for her to sit any longer. She rose from her seat with her mug of tea. “I’ll make you something,” she said.

“Wait, you don’t have to-” 

But she was already out the bedroom door as he said those words. He cursed under his breath. Keeping aside his mug of tea, he laid back on the bed, crossing his wrists over his eyes. 

Was this the right call, telling her to go out with Alejandro? Simon felt like Alejandro was a way better choice. Maybe she’d be happier with him. Simon had a history of violent acts, near trysts with Death even, and who knew if his sins were crawling around, trying to look for him?

It didn’t help that going back home meant that he’d be in the domain of that gang he was once a part of. Who knew if he’d meet his old “friends” again. He’d exposed the gang’s secrets to the police when they interrogated him, and who knew if the existing members were waiting for a chance to pounce on him for this. 

He groaned softly as he pulled the blanket over his head. His fever felt like death over these heavy, burdensome thoughts, and he didn’t want to think of it.

Neither did she, but it was all she could think of as she looked around in his cabinets for instant oats. 

You should go out with him.

You should go out with him.

You should go out with him.

She was on the verge of tears. At this point, she would’ve thought she had something with Simon, but he just had to say that. And she had just felt encouraged by Gaz to make a move too. She stood there in front of the stove under an open overhead cabinet, sighing. 

It wasn’t a misunderstanding. He knew what he was saying. He meant it. 

She found the instant oats and began to cook it over the stove with the enthusiasm of a dead rabbit. 

Maybe Simon was right. She should go out with Alejandro. Every practical and logical reasoning demanded for Alejandro, but her emotions vouched for Simon. She had an actual relationship with him, a friendship. Sure, Alejandro would be a better choice, but who was he in front of Simon?

The oats bubbled noisily on the stove, threatening to be burned. She quickly snapped out of her thoughts and turned off the stove, sighing heavily. Digging in a spoon, she found that it was very close to burning the bottom of the vessel. She shook her head.

After checking if there was enough salt, she served the porridge in a bowl and topped it with some cut fruit and some roasted sunflower seeds that she brought along. She placed it on a tray and took a deep breath as she made her way to his bedroom.

“Simon?” she called softly as she peeked inside. 

No answer. His body was still under the blanket, save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

She let out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding, both of disappointment and relief. Returning back to the kitchen, she placed a lid on the bowl and kept it aside. Taking her now lukewarm tea, she returned to the room and tip-toed closer to the sleeping Simon.

His brows were slightly furrowed as he was cocooned under the blanket. Gently pulling it away from his face, she lightly pressed her hand against his forehead. His temperature burned against her hand, but her hand lingered. He didn’t stir.

How sweet he looked sleeping there. Her hand moved from his forehead to weave through his sweat-damp hair, looking admiringly at him, at his thin, pink lips, at his slightly hooked, bent nose, at the scar on his cheek.

The scar. It was a stark reminder of his past, both to him and to her. She hesitated, but found her finger moving to lightly trace the indent on his cheek.

Alejandro’s face was perfect and spotless compared to Simon’s; not a scar, not a blemish. Alejandro was beautiful, more so than Simon. Anyone who had eyes would choose the former over the latter.

But she bent down and pressed the lightest of kisses on his scarred cheek. It was risky business to do it, both for the present and the future, but she didn’t care. She knew what she wanted; hated herself for even putting the two against each other, even in her mind. 

In her heart, there was only one man in this world she would choose. Just one.

Simon.

End of Part 12.

Part 13

--

Comment below if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

@cmbghost @gluttonybiscuits @paintlavillered @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @keiraslayz

@iimichie

@mxtokko

@chocolate-noodles @akurab

@xoxobooksstuff @suhmie @whenyouwannafindlove

@dontyouworrydaddy @0chemicalwaste0 @prozacprinc3ss

@genjisstuff @laceykodiak @whenyouwannafindlove

@raydenrrobertson @creepingeva @dontyouworrydaddy

@weebgirl21

[hanasnx]

Waaaaitttt I saw the Hayden suggestions and I’ve unashamedly thought about the very top one many many times cause I’m embarrassingly craving that y/n moment and I’ve gone to a decent amount of cons and met a fair amount of celebs I’ve debated about using one of the pheromone perfumes to meet Hayden. But like yess he sees you during the photo op and he’s instantly drawn to you. He doesn’t pay much attention to that thought cause he’s got a long line to get through and photo ops are fast paced but then when you go up to get your autograph that’s when he can sneakily make a move. When you get an autograph the handlers write your name for the celeb on a sticky note and usually the celeb doesn’t take it off so like I’m thinking he quickly scribbles his number on it and you’re so star struck you don’t notice it until you’re away from his table..but that’s how you end up in his hotel room that night with your legs up over your head.

-Bimbo Baggins

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: i gatekept this message it was so good

HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN tries to stay in his lane. Over the years he's gotten exceptionally good at minding his business, minding his manners, and staying out of trouble. Mixing business with pleasure is a very steep cliff, one he rarely dares to approach. However, you had caught his eye in a way that hadn't occurred in a very long time. To give everyone fair treatment during these photo ops, his attention is solely on them during, and he did not mind at all holding your gaze when you shook his hand politely. Habitually, when you'd leaned over in front of him to give one of the attendants something he didn't care to look at, he snuck a generous glance at your ass. As soon as you stepped back to stand next to him for the picture, he accommodated you, moving aside so you could tuck under his arm, and scolded himself for giving in to the temptation.

"Can we do a sort of Anidala-wedding scene pose?" you had asked with such hope, gazing up at him with stars in your eyes. He took too long to answer.

"Of course." He nodded as soon as he got a hold of himself. "Can you show me what you mean?"

Gently, you directed him, handling his broad shoulders to turn him towards you so you could look deeply into his eyes for the picture. For one second, he could swear his heart skipped a beat. Next thing he knew, the picture flashed and you were saying your thank yous and goodbyes. A seed of disappointment grew in his chest, but he moved on.

Only to find himself eager sitting in his seat at the sight of you in the autograph line. A grin spreads on his features as you approach his booth.

"Hi again." you exhale, beaming.

"Good to see you." Hayden replies, pointing out the obvious humor of coming across you twice in a row. He's thankful, scribbling his signature onto the picture frame you'd bought earlier right after your photo op with him. A split second decision is made and it gives him no time to second-guess it when he's adding his number to the sticky note. It's his WhatsApp, just to stay safe, but you don't get time to even look at it, your attention solely on him when you thank him again. He nods at you, and watches you walk away. Once more, his eyes flash to your behind and how it sways in your little cosplay outfit.

It's not always about instant attraction for him, he has to get to know the person to know if he truly likes them, but there's something about you that draws him in. He wants to get to know you, even if he might be compromising his privacy. The ball is in your court, all he has to do is wait for you to notice the gift he left on your sticky note.

"What's that?" your friend asks, pointing to your picture frame in your hand. You grin widely at them.

"Hayden Christensen signed my picture with him— Look!" you exclaim, raising the item into view only to see what your friend was actually referring to. Your expression drops at the sight of ten numbers in a recognizable pattern. A phone number. You face away from your friend in an instant, keeping it to yourself and shielding it with your body. "No way. No fucking way—"

"Is that a phone number? Lemme see—!"

You pinch your shoulder, jerking it away from their touch as you ogle at the sticky note. "There's no way..." It's a dream, it's a fantasy, you're going to wake up any second and then have to get ready to go to con to meet Hayden Christensen for the first time.

"Relax! It's probably the staff member that wrote your name on the sticky note!" your friend reasons, poking their head around your neck and through your hair to sneak a peek. "'Sides, he's like a thousand years old."

"Be quiet for a second, lemme think." you say as you stride away and out of the exit area, scanning your surroundings for a place to chill out and sit.

"If you're that bothered, we should test it! C'mon."

"Okay, okay. Let me find service I have to download an app."

You don't even know how it happened, all of it was a blur. One moment you were texting to verify the number was who you thought it was and ignored your gut feeling when you were texted back two simple words: "Call me."

With all the power within you, you tried to remain as calm as possible while on the phone with him. Constantly, you reminded yourself that "He's just some guy." So you could fathom having a real conversation with him. It turned into him inviting you out, somewhere respectful and secluded to talk after his panel, snowballed into visiting his hotel bar, and then up to his room to sit on his balcony.

"You mind if a smoke?" he'd asked. You shook your head. And it was the first time you'd tried a cigarette. The end still wet from his lips around it, and he cupped his big hands around the mouth of it so he could light it for you.

It must've been the alcohol, or the long day, but when you'd kissed him you were sure you were possessed. His lips were soft like silk, warm and plump, and he slid his hand behind your neck to make sure you couldn't run away. Tongues coated in nicotine curled against one another, experimenting as if afraid to turn the other one away.

Taller than you, you had to crane your neck, but he held you so carefully. Gentler still even when he draw you away while your lips were still pouted and pliantly awaiting his return. "I'm sorry, I apologize. I don't know what came over me." he exhaled, releasing you. But you didn't listen, clutching onto collar of his jacket to draw him right back in.

"Oh, right there. Right there!" you plea, clawing at the hotel pillows above your head as Hayden rolls his hips into you. Big hands tuck into the crooks of your knees, folding your legs over you to hit that spongy spot inside you. Cunt up to the sky, he's slamming into you like he's done it before, a sheen of sweat to his forehead. "That's so fucking good, Hayden," you draw out the words in a sultry whine, and for one second you can't believe that you get to say those words right now. Quickly drawn back in to the moment as soon as he bottoms out for the umpteenth time, screwing your fanatic brains out.

"You feelin' good? Yeah?" he exhales, and his tongue forms over his upper lip as he splays a hand under your ass. It feels so big on you as it lifts your hips up into his thrusts. "Keep those legs up for me." You do as you're told, replacing his touch on your thighs to make sure, and you overlay one of his hands. A strangely intimate and endearing detail he takes to heart, watching your little fingers grab at his in the crook of your knee while he's yanking your cunt up by your asscheek.

"Please don't stop, please!" You want to stay here all night, all next day, forever. You want to live in this little bubble.

In a way, he helps you to achieve that by giving you his real number when it's time to leave his hotel room, and makes you promise to take his call whenever he's in the area again.

[channeledhistory]

The highly controversial indiscriminate child sexual abuse regulation (so-called chat control) could still be endorsed by EU governments after all, as France could give up its previous veto. This is reported by Euractiv and confirmed by internal documents. France considers the new “upload moderation” proposal in principle as a viable option. According to the latest draft regulation dated 28 May (Council document 9093/24), which is presented as “upload moderation”, users of apps and services with chat functions are to be asked whether they accept the indiscriminate and error-prone scanning and possibly reporting of their privately shared images, photos and videos. Previously unknown images and videos are also to be scrutinised using “artificial intelligence” technology. If a user refuses the scanning, they would be blocked from sending or receiving images, photos, videos and links (Article 10). End-to-end encrypted services such as Whatsapp or Signal would have to implement the automated searches “prior to transmission” of a message (so-called client-side scanning, Article 10a). The initially proposed scanning of text messages for indications of grooming, which is hardly being used to date, is to be scrapped, as is the scanning of voice communication, which has never been done before. Probably as a concession to France, the chats of employees of security authorities and the military are also to be exempted from chat control.

During the last discussion on 24 May, the Council Legal Service made it clear that indiscriminate chat control scanning of non-suspects is still envisioned and remains a violation of fundamental rights. Nevertheless, most EU governments are determined to go ahead. EU governments plan to continue their discussions on June 4th. “The Belgian proposal means that the essence of the EU Commission’s extreme and unprecedented initial chat control proposal would be implemented unchanged,” warns MEP and most prominent opponent of chat control Patrick Breyer (Pirate Party). “Using messenger services purely for texting is not an option in the 21st century. And removing excesses that aren’t being used in practice anyway is a sham. Millions of private chats and private photos of innocent citizens are to be searched using unreliable technology and then leaked without the affected chat users being even remotely connected to child sexual abuse – this would destroy our digital privacy of correspondence. Our nude photos and family photos would end up with strangers in whose hands they do not belong and with whom they are not safe. Despite lip service being paid to encryption, client-side scanning would undermine previously secure end-to-end encryption in order to turn our smartphones into spies – this would destroy secure encryption. [...]

[arctic-hands]

[Image Description: the above and following photos are of a very small printed out zine in black and white. The cover has the word "Missing" in big letters with a black background, and the words "current as of Dec 2, twenty twenty-four". At the bottom it says "a WhatsApp story". In the center are three photos in black and white, the top one showing a man and a woman, a second showing the same man and many children gathered around a table, and the bottom photo showing the family posing in the middle of a city street.]

[The first page of the zine, saying in handwritten lettering "She messaged me goodbye last Sunday." In the middle of the page is a screenshot from WhatsApp, showing the sender saying "I'm sorry, my friend, but if we don't communicate anymore, be sure that I will be killed, burned, hit by a missile that tore me apart, or die of hunger and cold." The next message, by the receiver, starts out "I'm so sorry this is" but cuts off. The second page shows a simplistically drawn "Breaking News" sign in white on black. The text says "Two days before, we were cheering the I.C.C. arrest warrants."

[Third page says the words "We, a world apart from each other, began to see an end to her nightmare." The picture is of a simple circle representing a globe, with a point labeled Me on the very left edge, and a point labeled Her very close to the right edge. The fourth page has a repeat of the Breaking News sign, this time black on white. The text says "Three days after, a ceasefire between Lebanon and Israel went into effect."]

[Fifth page shows drawings of crowded tents in various states of sheltering as it rains, forming water in front of the tents. The text says "But she's not in Lebanon." Sixth page has inverted white-on-black, with the text starting in a rain cloud and stopping in the middle of the rain. It says "I don't know where she is now. Laid out in the rain, maybe."]

[Seventh page has no picture, just the words "My therapist told me to have hope..." The eighth page shows a pen-scratched dark tunnel with a small circle of light towards the end. The text says "...but Hayam ran out of it. She told me if she survived the night, she would have a nervous breakdown."]

[Ninth image says "What could I do a world away?" The circle globe is filled in completely dark. Tenth page says "I couldn't even say anything meaningful back to her." The image is of another WhatsApp screenshot. The sender texts three messages: "Kids not stoped craying [sic]", "I am fineshed [sic]", and "I hope if I just die". The receiver says in response "I don't know what to say. But you've got to keep going a little bit longer".]

[Eleventh page is without image, saying "Did I have the right to say that?" Twelfth page shows two flags, one the year twenty twenty-four merging into twenty twenty-five, and the other a crudely drawn American flag. The text says "As of now, I don't know what her life is like for myself. As bad as it is, and as bad as it may get, I don't have her frame of reference."]

[Thirteenth page shows a notebook with a grid in it, made up squiggle words, and at the very end it says "Fuck everything". The text says "I haven't written in my diary since the election. So I'll write it down here. But even as I am a victim of what's to come, I'm still complicit in the now." The next page is blank, saying "What could I do but apologize?"]

[The back of the zine, showing a simple drawing of a boarded up door on a brick rowhouse with one boarded up window and one shattered window. On the door board it is written "If I must die, you must live to tell my story". Besides this is an arrow saying "Refaat Alareer, killed in Gaza twenty twenty-three", and another arrow that says "Actual graff in Baltimore". At the top it is written "Donate to help Hayam's family." And at the bottom is a typed-out link to a GoFundMe. End I.D]

Fundraiser verified by @nabulsi here, Hayam's story detailed here and here

@leieryx is doing art comissions in exchange for donations to the GFM here

I'll let you all know whenever I hear back from someone. In the mean time, please continue to help Hayam and her family.

(zine formatted and printed using the Electric Zine Maker program)

[jillvalentine]

re: my relationship with my abuser, currently @/gwendaria (part one?)

[edit: new usernames + accounts since this post has been made: scarymovies, walkingdeads, samcarpenters, the-mummy]

My abusive ex has unfortunately been going full-on with the latest DARVO / smear campaign, and this time it seems to have reached a few people. These callouts are made-up, and they've been popping up continuously in different forms since early 2021 in an attempt to silence or smear me, regardless of their inconsistencies. One second I'm an emotionally abusive gaslighter who they've finally been freed from. The next, I'm someone they don't even know about. The next... I'm a renown stalker. The next... I'm a random girl who got romantically obsessed with them and turned into a terf when I got rejected. The neeeext... I'm a terf stalker racist? Okay! I don't even know anymore. There's definitely more.

I mostly want to focus on the facts. The facts are that I've shared about my experiences enough that I shouldn't have to entertain stupid shit anymore. There will always be the next narrative, more scandalous than the last. Going forward, I just want to make the evidence more accessible so that anyone can find it.

I still have all of our texts, discord logs, whatsapp logs, voicemails, facebook messages, hundreds of screenshots from me and from others (onlookers & other people who have been harmed), and I've become friends with people who have also been friends with or intimate with this person and came out from the other side (some are public and others aren't, because, hey! Look what happened to me after I came out. I have been stalked almost on the hourly for about 4 years now, and I know it won't stop, because I know exactly who my abuser is.)

About 3 years have passed now, so a lot of the 'big' conversations or screenshots I shared earlier on when I spoke out about what had happened to me have been buried in time. (but they are, still there.)

Screenshots where they ragged on and on about my friends, about me being naïve and that I'd know better when I was "a real adult" like them, telling me to drop dead, telling me about slitting their wrists, telling me that someone was messaging them about 'cumming on my face' after I posted (1) selfie. Blocking me everywhere for a bit over that selfie. Unblocking me. Yelling at me. Blocking and unblocking me again because I said something about how they were being awful to me. Rinse and repeat with the next insane shit.

This was during covid lockdown, and it was 24/7. I couldn't fucking breathe. I got questioned about going to the supermarket with my mom. I got mindfucked for not explicitly saying I was back home when I said I was getting the mail, under the guise of caring so much about me, of course.

One time, I sent a snap of these leggings I liked online. Because the photo sent as a file instead of a normal-full-screen-just-taken snap, it became a whole argument of "Did you share this with anyone else?" and I would be like... what would be wrong if I did? Why is it wrong for me to send a photo of some leggings I think look good to a friend to get her opinion? A lot of conflict happened this way. They were incredibly controlling and suffocating, all under the claims of past trauma, undiagnosed mental illness, and most of all - flowery apologies or proclamations.

I used to think I was able to push through anything that happened because they would apologize to me, and it made it okay again. I genuinely thought they just needed someone to give them a chance to heal and get better, or get back to how they used to be early on in the relationship. I wanted to be that someone, I wanted to be strong enough to take all of it and be okay at the end. It gradually got worse, and I found myself trapped in the relationship. Anytime I was close to getting away, I would get drawn back with push-and-pull manipulation tactics. If I had pulled away to recover from their mistreatment, I was then the one apologizing for having had to pull away, and how bad that pulling away had affected them. How awful I was and how much I regretted being affected by anything. I would blame anything else (it wasn't you, it was my own anxiety) to make things calm down.

I didn't see any of this coming from the start. It was a gradual process. Near the end, I was googling things about how to fix toxic relationships (it didn't work because the relationship wasn't a two-way street, it was abusive), trying to think for 5 different people to avoid outbursts, trying to explain away how someone might gaslight and manipulate others without it being fully conscious and intended. I found out it was 100% intentional when I got out. They were telling others that I was doing to them what they were doing to me, along with a bunch of other bullshit to pre-emptively plant seeds.

Gwen frequently tries to use the worst buzz words to create stories and alienate people from one another. She doesn't care about any social issues. What she likes or dislikes is entirely based on what she needs to get out of a situation. If someone she's fixating on positively likes xyz thing, she likes it too. If someone she's fixating on negatively likes or dislikes something, she'll do the opposite. She constantly invented stories and tried to frame people I'd known for years, or anyone who dared to interact with my posts anywhere. She literally impersonated people and had accounts hacked. All she does is obsess over people. She constantly monitored me and created conflict over anything, real or made up. She especially liked to create conflict when it was late, or when I was otherwise not-fully-there, like when I was drugged following a surgery. I was so out-of-it that at that point I didn't want to fight for myself or others anymore.

Near the end of the relationship, I had a private account that I would hide on because social media, and really anything social, had become a minefield. Multiple people had witnessed the change from before the relationship, the start of it, up to the end. I deactivated my main twitter for a period of time (although I was careful enough to reactivate it once every 30 days so it wouldn't be permanently lost) and had to ignore people, stop myself from posting or liking things, and plead with people not to mention anything about me because I would have to answer for it. Multiple people remember me asking them to delete certain posts, or just be careful not to give out that I was doing anything with them. I was abnormal and an immature adult for wanting to spend a bit of time with or buy a gift for my friend on their birthday. We had an age gap, and at first, it was all "you're probably more mature than me :)" - until it turned to Real Adults Don't Spend Time With Friends, lol. Real adults are 100% focused on their partner. Real adults aren't on social media, and other thinly-veiled degradation + mindfuckery. Funny how my age became a bad thing, but they were the experienced 29-year-old who knowingly pursued the inexperienced 23-year-old.

Near the end of the relationship, I was starting to hide away to spend more time with people who treated me well, and it helped me get out. I saw that the way I felt every day wasn't normal. It reminded me of what good relationships are like and what they feel like. My friends tried their best to be supportive, but it was very difficult because my partner was trying very hard to isolate me from them through threats, aggression and manipulation. I'm incredibly lucky that they stayed by my side and told me that what was happening wasn't normal.

Getting out was hard. Staying out was hard. Even after everything that happened, following the split, I told my friends I didn't know what I would do if they tried to get me back again. SO fucking glad that's over.

[ai-yo]

The amount of foolishness I have seen on social media relating to Jamie Lloyd's Romeo and Juliet and then Rapunzel is so annoying/funny weird that people making fun of older people believing everything they see on Facebook and WhatsApp group chats need to shut up.

They believe everything they see on tiktok and twitter getting their info from people who don't read and/or spread misinformation intentionally.

White People getting upset over the casting of Avantika Vandanapu as Rapunzel in the Tangled live action. But wait a Tangled live action was never announced. Meaning white people and others were getting mad that a Avantika Vandanapu fanpage I think made a fancast video and photo edits of her as Rapunzel

Now with Romeo and Juliet so many people think that it's a movie, and a remake and are talking about Hollywood. When it's actually a stage play happening in London West End and is set to go to Broadway too I think.

Even the ones that do know it's a play are still doing the most, they don't care about theatre because they are unaware that colourblind casting and even genderbent casting in Shakespeare plays happens all the time look at the posters for upcoming productions at the globe theatre

Twelfth Night in central park starring Anne Hathaway and Audra McDonald

The only reason they are paying attention is because of the stunt casting of Tom Holland and the only media they consume is superhero movies. People from different countries saying they won't watch, you don't live in England and you're not rich you ain't flying here to watch a play. You do not even watch plays.

So much racist stupidity over the past few days I had to rant

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

CYOA C46 Longer Snippet

It might be a while before I can get chapter 46 updated because I'm not feeling particularly well or energised lately, but I did get one scene fully edited to a standard that I'm happy with so the least I can do is share that with you guys while you wait. I've shared a section of this already but changes have been made.

Anyway, check under the cut if you fancy it!

Private WhatsApp Chat Resumed: Saturday 5th March, 2022, 07:53 Members: James Potter, Remus Lupin

================================

James Potter: is there a tribunal you can report employers to when they go out of their way to set employees up with random celebrities who for all we know could be high-ranking members of all sorts of illuminati-run sacrificial sex cults?

Remus Lupin: What on earth are you talking about?

James Potter: andrew garfield hasn't even WON an oscar remus he lost out to casey affleck CASEY AFFLECK how bad does a man have to be to be the most problematic brother in a family that includes ben affleck, remus?!!!

Remus Lupin: Right.

James Potter: he lost out to a man who has been ACCUSED OF SEXUAL HARASSMENT, REMUS if that's not proof that he's a talentless hack I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS

Remus Lupin: In defence of Andrew Garfield, I don't think that's a fair assessment of the situation.

James Potter: and what about the cults the illuminati cults what of the cults, remus? don't try to claim they don't exist i've spent time in la in tinseltown el pueblo i've seen that city's seedy underbelly in the flesh

Remus Lupin: I say this with love; if you ever happened to find yourself in the seedy underbelly of any city, you'd shit your pants.

James Potter: i would not shit my pants i'd be uncomfortable but i'm not incontinent and aren't you supposed to be on my side?

Remus Lupin: I am on your side, but you have a tell when you deflect your anger to the wrong target, and it's pretty much what you're doing now. You know that your mother wouldn't hurt you on purpose, and Andrew Garfield, poor as his timing was, certainly didn't do anything wrong. Neither of them are the actual problem. If you want to talk about the actual problem, I'm all ears, but I can't help you with things that don't need fixing.

James Potter: i should have had him assassinated when i had the chance

Remus Lupin: You never had the chance.

James Potter: i could have had the chance my parents have money

Remus Lupin: They have money, not mafia money.

James Potter: they might do you don't know my mum can be pretty shifty

Remus Lupin: Mate.

James Potter: no i know did you see your girlfriend's instagram post?

Remus Lupin: I didn't know you were following her?

James Potter: i don't, but i've been checking her posts in case lily showed up in any of them and please don't lecture me about how sad that is i'm aware

Remus Lupin: I have no intention of lecturing you. I saw her post, yeah.

James Potter: so you'll know

Remus Lupin: Know what?

James Potter: that she's not upset

Remus Lupin: Lily?

James Potter: yeah

Remus Lupin: You can't really believe that.

James Potter: yeah i do believe it in fact i don't think she ever was upset

Remus Lupin: I don't know how I'm supposed to respond to what you're saying, except to say that I simply don't think that's true.

James Potter: no no it is true she's not upset at all, she doesn't care about how i'm doing or how it would make me feel to see those photos if she did she wouldn't have let beatrice post them, would she? well?

Remus Lupin: I don't know, I don't think she's curating Beatrice's posts.

James Potter: she doesn't care that i'm stuck here dying for love of her, does she? because she's in fucking paris with her champagne or her baguettes or whatever else they eat over there escargot cheeses and shit she's laughing and posing for photos with a famous actor's arm around her waist as if everything is dead brilliant all of a sudden sorry remus but that's not what upset people DO

Remus Lupin: That's what a lot of upset people do. To save face.

James Potter: but SHE doesn't do that! not with me, never with me, we've always said we'd be honest

Remus Lupin: Maybe that's true, but she doesn't really have you at the moment.

James Potter: i'm right here! i'm not the one who cut her off and i'm not the one who thought we needed a break from each other that was HER, that was all her idea, i've been waiting for her like a dickhead for four days and she hasn't said a word but hey! she's over it! partying with celebrities! now that she's met andrew fucking garfield she's all cheered up and enjoying herself so good for her i guess was he all it took for her to stop giving a shit about me? she doesn't even KNOW him he is LITERALLY just some guy!

Remus Lupin: That's exactly what he is, just some guy who she will never see again after last night, and his meeting her doesn't suddenly mean that she no longer cares about you, or that she isn't upset about your fallout. I have it on good authority from Beatrice and from Lily herself that this isn't the case. In the grand scheme of things, Andrew Garfield doesn't matter.

James Potter: you'll eat your words when it comes out that they fell in love last night i saw his hand on her hip

Remus Lupin: His hand was on her hip because they were posing for a photo.

James Potter: yeah and they're probably sneaking off to some romantic parisian hotspot right now having sex on the eiffel tower

Remus Lupin: What, in front of the tourists?

James Potter: don't laugh at me

Remus Lupin: I'm not laughing. She's not with Andrew Garfield. She's been with Beatrice all day.

James Potter: then he had a prior engagement and they've exchanged numbers and they've been texting at every available second same difference

Remus Lupin: That isn't going to happen.

James Potter: it already happened why wouldn't it happen? why wouldn't he want her? the casey affleck thing aside, i'm sure he's not totally useless

Remus Lupin: It hasn't happened because the hold she has over you is not universal, much as you might believe otherwise. And because Beatrice told me what happened. They chatted sporadically throughout the evening, took a few photos and that was it.

James Potter: maybe beatrice is lying to you because lily doesn't want me to know the truth

Remus Lupin: Why wouldn't she want you to know the truth?

James Potter: because she's figured out how i feel about her and she's trying to let me down easy

Remus Lupin: Given what happened with Skylar, I doubt that she has.

James Potter: please don't mention skylar i regret everything about skylar and you might doubt, but lily's smart enough to get to the bottom of it

Remus Lupin: I think, in this case, that you might be hampered by your understanding of your side of the story. Which Lily has not been let in on. Just try to remember that you don't know hers either. Nor will you, until you talk to her.

James Potter: she doesn't want me to talk to her

Remus Lupin: She probably thinks that you don't want to talk to her.

James Potter: she's the one who asked for a break

Remus Lupin: After you started an argument. Which I don't blame you for, in case you ask me for the twentieth time. But she's had a few days to process it all now, and Beatrice says she's calmed down. Talk to her, and if she doesn't respond you will be no worse off than you are now.

James Potter: if she doesn't respond i'll be much worse off if she doesn't respond it's the end of everything

Remus Lupin: Even if it is, at least you'll know.

James Potter: even you wouldn't be this pragmatic if you were walking in my shoes right now

Remus Lupin: You're right, I have no defence for myself. The only thing I can do is advise you in the way I think best.

James Potter: heavy is the foot that wears the air jordan, i suppose

Remus Lupin: That's odd. Sirius said that you were more of a Crocs man nowadays.

James Potter: i have never bought crocs

Remus Lupin: He said you bought two pairs of Crocs

James Potter: fine, i'm going to drown him in the bath

*

He isn't doing well.

Sure, James has devilry enough inside him to chuck a vengeful mug of cold water over Sirius while he's lounging in the bath, and laugh loudly at the subsequent, Jaws-like thrashing (he never bought those Crocs! Merely considered it!) but in general…

Yeah. He isn't doing well.