#posting this here because it’s funny and I think people would agree so

[greyplainsttrpg]

I think part of the "problem" here is the extent of the mechanics devoted to the action. Attack is one of the most important actions in those games, thus how you make an attack is really detailed and variable. Alternatively, "Make joke" is an action that technically makes sense in the fiction but was not considered by the writers to be as important. If, however, the game was called "Comedy Goblin's Stand-up Bananza," then the core gameplay loop better facilitate unfunny players to engage with the game's mechanics to result in "funny joke" via gameplay.

In a dungeon crawler game, I find relying solely on player skill often results in just letting whatever player is the most outgoing (and smart and attractive) (it's me) solo the adventure. I think some mechanical checks and balances actually help a game with less vocal players or players less experienced in the genre (as per @imsobadatnicknames2 original post where they talk about Mothership and stealth). The opposite problem happens in D&D a lot where the character with the highest charisma score "needs" to be the one to talk to every NPC. Really fucking annoying.

I don't think there's a perfect solution to this. I agree with the original point that it's largely up to the designer to determine what should or shouldn't be abstracted. I address this problem in my book and came to the conclusion that the fictional state is fundamentally abstracted, but player input can give bonuses or penalties. Thus, a naturally funny player can end up with a funny character via input, and the unfunny player with a funny character can also be funny in the fiction without as much player input (because the mechanics support it).

I'd also like to point out the inverse situation. That we bring out a dart board every time a player makes a ranged attack, and we bring out a striking power bag every time someone makes a melee attack. Not only would this punish players who hadn't practiced those skills (darts and striking), it would severely punish players who are disabled in ways that make these actions much harder or impossible. I think you can see where I'm going here.

People be autistic. People be schizophrenic. People be anxious. People have brain damage, either at birth or as part of injuries and surgeries. Like, taking charisma checks out of the game as viable abstractions feels a LOT like bullying autistic people in particular. Not that autistic people (and others with neurodivergence or disabilities) CAN'T be funny or charming and whatnot--they obviously can and often are. The point is that these skills could be intuited as "idk man just fucking do it" and it's not that simple for many people. Many people can't just do it on command. As an autistic person (who is funny and handsome), forcing someone to do a charisma check IRL (as the GM) gives me some PTSD flashbacks of my parents and "friends" trying to get me to literally roleplay out a "normal conversation." It feels so assholeish. On the other side, I'll just stop playing a game at a table if the GM, in a game where charisma-like aspects exist, FORCES me to roleplay. I'll roleplay when I have something interesting to say. Until then, just let me move on with the game. It's why I like dungeon games as my general go-to genre. There are rules for abstracting these kinds of interactions. I don't have to be on top of the ball at all times, cause it's difficult in ways that it is not for other, or perchance most, people.

I don't want to be dramatic, but my overall point is that abstracted mechanics are an inclusivity feature built into the game, whether they were intended that way or not.

Imagine I appended this to @imsobadatnicknames2 very good post, it's a very good post but since I was going to make a very silly riff on it I didn't want it to be there to detract from it.

Imagine you, as a player, want to play a funny character. Sadly, you're the unfunniest person alive and can't tell a joke to save your life, Derek, so you won't exactly be able to make your friends laugh around the table. So you make your character, Bepis Horndongle, a really funny gnome with maximum ranks in Perform (comedy). Then when the situation demands it you can say "Bepis tells a joke to lighten the mood," and you ask the GM to be able to roll Perform (comedy), and after seeing the result of your roll you can be confident in the fact that the joke Bepis told was really funny.

However there's an issue: someone else in the group has brought in Goblin Steve. Goblin Steve is amazing, everyone loves that guy. And his player is also effortlessly funny. You could say that she's very smart and attractive and good at video games too. But regardless, whenever Goblin Steve says his famous catchphrase "Check it out, guys, I'm Goblin Steve" everyone at the table erupts in laughter. This feels unfair. Goblin Steve shouldn't be funny, he doesn't even have any ranks in Perform (comedy). Bepis is getting completely sidelined by Goblin Steve.

Now, here's a few questions:

Is there an actual issue here? If so, what is the issue?

If there is an issue here, is it one that is worth trying to solve with game design?

The example given heavily implies that this is a game of fantasy dungeon-crawling. With that in mind, is this really an issue? Could Derek maybe chill the fuck out and accept that Bepis will never be as funny as Goblin Steve?

[mangionebabymama]

i Miss when we would get letter updates here and there :-( i wish holli wasn’t torn apart for hers. the one she got was literally the best one and one of the things that humanizes him the most. deadass almost forgot he was gen z lmao. how certain people acted about the letters was strange to me bc it’s ok to post pictures of him as a kid but not okay to celebrate the letters, somehow? but also feeling torn about luigi’s privacy, too, considering that he doesn’t have that anymore, in or out of prison. sending a beam of good wishes to his direction so hard rn

I do too, anon, honestly. The other day, I was thinking about that one letter he shared back in March—the one written in response to the girl whose friend Ivan really admired and liked Luigi a lot. Ivan even mentioned how his girlfriend was jealous that Luigi was taking up “all” of Ivan’s attention, and in response, Luigi wrote back to the girl telling Ivan’s girlfriend to back off because Ivan was his now, even throwing in a playful “sorry!” like 😭😭😭??? Not Ivan’s gf catching strays and Luigi just taking somebody’s man like that LMAOOOO

Like, that was so fucking wholesome. I hate how, because of the unfortunate timing and setting surrounding when Holli’s letter came out (right around his February court appearance) so many people were distraught and overwhelmed. I mean, we had just seen him in shackles and a bulletproof vest, facing the threat of being sent to Rikers, after nearly three months of complete silence. And to be clear, I’m not saying it was Holli’s fault to show her letter around that time, because it absolutely wasn’t. But that letter didn’t deserve the level of scrutiny and judgment it got. It made no sense to rip it apart like that. I agree with you that it’s probably one of the best letters we’ve seen. It reminded us of his sense of humor and that irresistible spark he has.

Because let’s be real: joking about committing the “heinous crime” of eating a hashbrown while being in federal prison, facing literal terrorism charges, and with now navigating the constitutional issues surrounding the search and seizure in PA? That’s honestly fucking hilarious. That’s so him. And I wish that letter had just been appreciated for what it was. Like, literally, I love him and his energy sooo bad 😭 I kind of forget he’s Gen Z too (like me) and that his humor can be so dry and hilarious, and it still is, despite all that he’s been through these last months. But then you think about the way he was “expected” to act in his letter replies, and how Holli got treated for just sharing hers… and it spiraled. And then with how people even started speaking on his behalf, going so far as to say he wasn’t in a “good mental place” and that they were going to contact his legal team—over a letter not even addressed to them???

I still can’t believe that happened.

And yeah, in a way, I still feel torn about his privacy too, like you said. Of course, I’d love to see more funny little moments of him being goofy and comical like he always is, but I don’t want people posting things he says that were meant to stay private. Some letters are clearly only meant for him and the person he’s writing to, and that’s on that. In the end, we all just want to know he’s doing okay—we hope he is, even if sometimes he has to put on a front and say he’s fine some days. But even while in federal custody, he’s still human. He’s still entitled to his privacy, just like anyone else in this world.

I didn’t mean to ramble on about this for so long Jesus Christ but I appreciate you expressing your opinion about this very much

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

A woman not to be taken lightly

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial with the prompt #FFF303 ~ out of the box. Inspired by last night’s 41st episode of “The Apothecary Diaries.” An imagined conversation, a continuity filler. Suirei, Shisui and Maomao in between.

—

Fandom: The Apothecary Diaries

Characters: Suirei, Shisui, mention of Maomao and Jinshi, also Lakan and Shishou

Word count: 787

SUIREI slumped in the corner of the ship, she watched her half sister and the Apothecary Girl huddled together. Suirei was not aware of it, but she looked dangerous. The lantern fire reflected on her blue irises were devilish that were focused solely on the Apothecary Girl.

The ship swayed gently with the moon lighting its way. With Suirei’s left arm dangled to the side while her right was on top of her left knee, she was aware that Maomao paid her small glances, who released an audible sigh that she was keeping for so long. Good thing, the girl was also not prone to seasickness. A small blessing.

So, Maomao, is it all worth it? Is the goddamn resurrection drug worth it following me?

Suirei could only smile inside betraying the lack of expression on her face.

A few minutes later Suirei noticed that Shisui’s head lolled next to Maomao. She didn’t believe it was acting on her sister’s part, god knows, what would happen to them now.

If a high-ranking consort escaped from her post, it would deem as an affront to the emperor. An act of rebellion. But Shisui trained her ladies in waiting well, for all they knew what to do. Besides, they had never been caught. They had people watching their backs.

There was only one miscalculation. The Apothecary Girl was not supposed to be here in the first place. She was on the wrong place at the right time. How curious that her sister found her way to her. Their hands held as their heads were next to each other. They seemed to be very close. To think Maomao used to follow Suiren like a puppy all because she held the key for the immortal drug. It was so easy to lure her. Speak about herbal plants and their medicinal properties and she was scurrying next to you.

A year ago…

“That’s the girl…”

Suirei fiddled with the book she was holding. Shisui stared at her sister then to the person in question. She was dressed up as a servant girl, totally ordinary. Funny thing though that even their own father was not aware of it.

“Well, she’s cute, all right.”

“She’s so smart and, yet, the only thing she talks about is herbal plants and apothecary.”

Shisui laughed at that. Suirei, who was admitted as a court lady, was inconspicuous as Shisui’s present disguise.

“Sounds like you.” Then her face turned serious. “A formidable opponent then. Yes, I heard about her. The Eunuch has marked her as his favourite. She’s doing so many things for him.”

“She followed me one time, cornering me in my own turf, asking me if I have found the correct solution to the immortal drug. One could see how serious she is obtaining it.” She shook her head but it brought a smile to her face.

“Hhmm..” Shisui touched her chin, she had not decided to mingle with Maomao and her friend yet. She was still observing, gauging, committing to their initial plan.

“But we have to be careful. She has powerful backers. For one the Eunuch. Not to mention, the Strategist. Father never likes him at all. The Fox versus the Tanuki.”

“Indeed,” Suirei agreed. “The game has begun. The Eunuch is said to be preparing for the purification.” Her fist clenched at the thought of it. Their father thought that the Eunuch should be out of their way if they wanted to usurp the throne. His closeness to the monarch was a hurdle. Suirei was working in the background while her sister marched her way to the rear palace where the consorts and the concubines stayed.

“Are you sure of this? The physician only experimented with the rats and he.. “

“Don’t jinx it… I changed a few things.”

“Take care of yourself, Sister.” Shisui would protect her older sister with all her might.

Suirei wanted to hold her hand assuring her that it was all right. They had their roles defined for them. If they wanted to avenge their family, her position, no day but today.

~~

Months later, Suirei died. Shisui eased her way to the company of Maomao. The Eunuch was still alive after the attempted assassination all because of the Apothecary Girl.

And now, they met again as the fates ordered them to be. Fully resurrected. Sometimes, one had to think out of the box to reach for the goal. Literally.

Suirei wondered if the Apothecary Girl would finally realise the truth between her and the well-endowed fake servant girl, who was holding her hand at the moment.

The Eunuch and the Strategist were probably losing their minds right now. The corner of her mouth turned up in a lopsided smile.

~tbc~

[god-offical]

Found this gem of a coaster while helping my parents clean their house

[spotaus]

Late Night quick thing (New Age Sillies)

Bad news: That joke post about including Reset + Orchid is definitely not canon. (I legit got sad thinking about Reset being in a universe where Orchid isn't- because their stories are so so intertwined- but Nightmare 100% would NOT risk the whole twins exploding Error's soul thing.)

Good news: This means I COULD include Kane (Reset's older brother who usually dies in timelines where Reset is born) and use it to develope his character a bit more! Also! Perhaps a Blue × Dream kiddo is finally in the stars for me to design?

[jaysbaefie]

bullshit | sjy

synopsis: in which months of mocking jake online comes back to bite you, and he makes sure you regret every single word—on your knees.

genre: idol au

pairing: idol!jake x blogger!reader

warnings: dubcon? bratty!reader, petty!jake, mean!jake, big dick!jake, kidnapping (sort of kind of??), oral (m.rec), cum swallowing, reader grinds down on jake’s shoe, mention of daddy kink (but it’s not used), forced submission, manhandling, titty sucking, marking, begging, degrading. self degradation, rough and unprotected p in v, orgasm denial, overstimulation, light spanking slapping and chocking, creampie, spitting, recording for blackmail purposes. i think that’s it….

wc: 15.1k

a/n: this took a lot more time that i initially thought it would … but it’s here now! this draft has been sitting in my archives for years like literal years. back when i used to write on wattpad for bts i had this plot written for tae but scrapped it because i lacked creativity to make it happen. but here we r ! also side note this is not edited to the best of its abilities so if u c a mistake… im sorry :D hope you enjoy, notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy :)

✎﹏﹏

the dorm door slammed open, the sound of sneakers dragging across the floor echoing behind it. the 7 exhausted boys spilled into the living room, all drained and sweaty from the insane dance practice that had run two hours longer than scheduled. jake collapsed face-first onto the couch, groaning into a throw pillow as he stretches his limbs before he feels a cramp in his leg.

"i think my spine is permanently bent," he mumbled, not moving an inch.

sunghoon flopped onto the floor, using his hoodie as a pillow. "i think i disassociated during 'bite me.'"

"you always disassociate during 'bite me,'" heeseung shot back, tossing a towel at him making sunghoon scowl.

jay, meanwhile, had his phone out, thumb lazily scrolling through twitter as he half-listened to the chaos around him. he was about to put his phone down when a thread caught his eye.

"kpop idols who probably have the smallest dick (a very unserious thread)"

"...oh?" jay blinked, intrigued for all the wrong reasons. a grin formed on his lips as he clicked, the list started off wild.

1. jaehyun nct - idc what y'all say. he screams below average. 2. jeno nct - this is a hater post. cry about it. 3. jake from enhypen - golden retriever energy but gives micro vibes. sorry not sorry.

jay let out a loud, sudden laugh at the description given for jake—catching everyone's attention.

"yo, jake," he wheezed, turning the screen toward him. "look what someone said about you."

jake rolled over lazily, half hazy, "what?"

jay shoved the phone in front of his face. jake read the tweet once, then again. then a third time. his brows furrowed deeper with each pass, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was reading.

"...are you serious right now?"

he sat up, yanking the phone from jay's hand to read it himself. his eyes scanned the username, the post and then the likes. 10k likes for a bullshit post, jake scoffed in disbelief. he scrolled down to read the replies which were full of people either agreeing or arguing like their lives depended on it.

"no because she's right and she should say it louder" one of the comments read, jake furrowed his eyebrows before scowling.

"i love him but... yeah."

"nah he gives big dick energy actually"

"this is so mean LMFAOOO"

jake's mouth opened in shock. "why am i even on this list? what did i do to deserve this? how does someone look at me and go, 'yeah, micro dick.' what the hell?"

jay couldn't stop laughing. "it's so random, too. like. where did they get the data? did they run a poll?"

"this isn't funny!" jake snapped, slapping jay's shoulder with the back of his hand. "i'm being slandered in front of thousands of people. tens of thousands!"

sunoo peeked over jay's shoulder. "ooh. and someone made a follow-up post. wait—found their tumblr. they said he looks like he apologizes after missionary.'" sunoo cackles, "i can totally see that."

jake nearly choked on air, "what?!"

he snatched sunoo's phone this time, heart pounding as he scrolls violently across your twitter page. he followed the breadcrumb trail from twitter to a tumblr blog: @s0ftbrat666.

the header was a blurry photo of a cunty hello kitty, and the bio just said: "unserious about everything but dick size."

"who the hell is this? why do they hate me so bad?"

niki, who had been quietly sipping water from the kitchen, muttered, "maybe they're a fan of yours. like, weirdly obsessed. reverse psychology or something."

"no. this is personal. this feels targeted," jake muttered, already downloading and opening the tumblr app on his phone. "i'm not letting this slide."

he made a new account. he picked the most ironic, absurd username he could think of: @goldenjake420.

because that screams, 'i'm the real jake sim!!'

he messaged you immediately, his hands shaking in rage as he smashes his fingers into the screen.

@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?

"this is so stupid," he muttered, tossing his phone beside him.

jay raised a brow. "you really just dm'd a twitter troll on tumblr?"

"yes. because the truth matters, jay. i do not have a micro dick!" he exclaims, clearly frustrated from his group mates lack of empathy. he looks around the room in hopes of his members reassurance, only to receive looks of disturbance.

"cmon guys, you know i don't have a micro dick.." he trails off when he sees sunoo grimace at his words.

heeseung smirked from the other side of the couch suddenly sitting up right, ignoring his aching body. "you should send a pic to prove it."

jay cackles before agreeing, "yeah, downwards angles always make that shit look like a tower."

"SHUT UP!" jake shouted, face red in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

the room erupted in laughter as jake sat there fuming, arms crossed, waiting for a response. he had no idea the person he messaged was already rolling their eyes and preparing to block him.

and this was only the beginning.

you were no stranger to the occasional deranged and delusional fan losing their mind over a post. it was social media, not a diplomatic summit. if you said someone's fave had bad fashion sense or gave off weak dick energy, it was bound to stir drama—but you thrived in it.

what you didn't expect, though, was to get a dm from an account called @goldenjake420 claiming to be jake himself. not just a fan defending him. not someone crying in your inbox about how you were "too mean."

no. this person had committed to the bit.

@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?

you blinked at the message, snorted, and sat back in your chair.

"okay..." you muttered under your breath. "we've reached new levels of delusion."

you clicked the profile. no posts. followed no one. default layout. pfp of a blurry golden retriever. and the username?

goldenjake420.

"oh my god," you wheezed. this was peak fandom brainrot.

you stared at the message for a minute, thumbs hovering over your keyboard before you decided, you know what? fine. you wanna play jake sim? let's play.

you typed:

@s0ftbrat666: omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry... i didn't know you had a tumblr account i feel so bad now omg i'll take it down right away thank you for being so mature and respectful about it... ugh i feel terrible lol

you hit send. then burst out laughing, eyes watering as you cackle alone in your room.

and five minutes later, you posted a new post on your blog.

—— post by @s0ftbrat666

just got a dm from someone PRETENDING to be jake sim because they were mad i said he has a micro dick LMAOOO. like babes be serious... jake sim is not on tumblr dot com messaging me with a blurry pic of a golden retriever and the username @/goldenjake420. but since he's here reading my posts, hey jake! if u're mad now wait til u see what i post next

anyway updated my list: "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version" jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes and gifs as evidence. enjoy :] ——

you tagged it: #jake sim #enhypen #pls don't take this seriously #except jake if ur reading this then yeah take it seriously

you sat back and refreshed the notes every few seconds. it was already blowing up. likes, reblogs, someone screaming in the tags: "NOT THE FOOTNOTES."

you were thriving, satisfaction filling you as the comments seemed to hype you up.

unbeknownst to you, somewhere in a dorm across the city, jake was screaming into a pillow.

jake was laying on his stomach, face shoved into a couch cushion, aggressively refreshing your tumblr page like a man on a mission. the first message he sent you hadn't gone exactly how he expected. he thought maybe—maybe—you'd feel a little guilty, take the post down, maybe even apologize. instead, he was met with:

"omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry..."

at first, he blinked. then smiled. you were going to apologize and take it down..great!

okay, he thought, that was easier than expected.

but then he saw the post you had published just a few minute later.

—— "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version." jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes. and gifs. enjoy :] ——

"NO I AM NOT," he yelled into the pillow, voice muffled but full of sheer disbelief.

he rolled over and shot upright, shoving his phone in jay's face. "do you SEE this? i was already called micro dick jake, but now i'm a submissive pillow princess? where is she even getting this from?"

jay looked over the post with a calm expression and said, "well... you did say 'ngl' in a tumblr dm. that's kinda submissive."

"jay."

"i'm just saying."

jake's blood pressure was actively rising. he was pacing the living room now, phone clenched in his fist. "this isn't a joke anymore. she's making footnotes. gifs, bro. there's like a whole academic paper on my dick energy. and worst of all, PEOPLE ARE AGREEING."

sunoo peeked around the corner. "maybe just let it go? like... it's tumblr. no one's gonna remember next week."

"it's twitter too! no. no, she wanted to make it personal. it's personal now."

he went back to tumblr, typing furiously in your dm's.

@goldenjake420: okay first of all?? i was acc being really nice u said some really rude stuff and i still tried to talk to u calmly but now ur doubling down with footnotes?? idk y ur so convinced i'm a submissive pillow princess but ur wrong like so wrong scientifically inaccurate levels of wrong

he hit send. then stared at the screen.

nothing. no response. refresh. refresh.

"error: message could not be delivered."

"...what?" jake frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he desperately tried sending his messages again.

he clicked your profile.

"you've been blocked by this user."

the silence that followed was deafening.

"she blocked me," he whispered, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. "she actually blocked me."

jay cackled from across the room. "maybe now you'll stop fighting the tumblr girl who thinks you're a bottom."

"i'm not a bottom!" jake snapped, defensive. "and i'm definitely not a pillow princess!"

jay peers over jake's shoulder, his face pulls into a grimace as he reads jake's messages. "maybe it's a good thing that those didn't deliver... you're proving her point." jake rolls his eyes in response, not wanting to deal with his friend.

he opened twitter, then paused. was he really about to tweet about this?

he closed the app.

instead, he opened his notes app and started typing:

"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick."

this wasn't over.

if he had to write a dissertation, he would. he was reclaiming his name. one footnote at a time.

you were in bed, face smushed into your pillow, scrolling aimlessly when the tag notification came in. you were about to ignore it—probably another reblog of your cursed "submissive missionary micro dick energy" thread—but the caption caught your eye:

@s0ftbrat666 you need to see this LMAOOO he made a THREAD. a whole thread.

confused but curious, you tapped the post.

and there it was.

a full thread. by a tumblr user named @truthaboutjake, which already gave deranged energy, but it got better.

"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick (a thread)."

you nearly dropped your phone, a giggle leaving you as you excitedly click on the thread.

the first slide was formatted like a presentation. bolded title, bullet points, and an unnecessary amount of spacing like someone had spent way too long formatting it.

—— slide 1: addressing the accusations • the tumblr user @s0ftbrat666 has made multiple posts claiming i am submissive • she has also accused me of having a micro dick • both of these are false, offensive, and based on no real evidence ——

no real evidence, he said. like you were in court.

"what in the deranged.." you muttered to yourself, re-reading the text a second time to make sure you were hallucinating.

you snorted, swiping to the next.

—— slide 2: rebuttal • i've been told i give off dominant energy • no one who owns a denim jacket collection that big can be submissive • as for the size... let's just say i've never received complaints ——

you had to pause there, hand over your mouth, wheezing. "denim jackets radiate peg me," you cackle to yourself.

this wasn't a thread written by a deranged fan. no, this was someone personally offended on a soul level. and the way it was written? the tone? the wording?

it was giving him. it was jake.

no one else would be this pressed.

you laughed so hard you had to sit up.

this man had been so insulted by your dumb, unserious thirst post that he created a whole alternate account, wrote a google-doc-tier thread, and was now trying to clear his name in the notes app format. you were obsessed.

you hit reblog.

—— @s0ftbrat666: i have never in my life witnessed a man fight for his dom rights this hard the denim jacket argument almost had me convinced ngl

jake sim if this is actually you: 1. calm down 2. you're literally proving my point 3. post the evidence since you're so confident ——

the comments came flooding in:

"NOT HIM MAKING A PRESENTATION" "'never received complaints' is CRAZY" "he could've just logged off but now he's in too deep" "@truthaboutjake is shaking"

you weren't done though. oh no.

you clicked the original post again and dm'd @truthaboutjake directly.

@s0ftbrat666: wow a thread? you really sat down and made a powerpoint about your dick this is the best thing that's happened to me all week but you still haven't proven anything so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era i'll wait <33

you hit send with a shit-eating grin.

this was your roman empire now. you were going to be thinking about this thread forever.

jake stared at your message like it physically slapped him.

"so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era"

his jaw dropped.

"e-evidence?!" he sputtered aloud, standing up in the middle of the dorm living room like he'd just been accused of murder.

jay, sitting across the room with earbuds in, pulled one out and glanced up. "what now?"

"she wants evidence."

jay blinked. "like...?"

jake gestured wildly at his phone. "like evidence evidence!"

jay raised both brows before grinning "...so what i said about the downward angle, i'm telling you jake that shit makes it look h—"

"NO!" jake practically yelled. "i'm not sending a picture of my dick to some random troll on tumblr!"

he fumed. typed. deleted. typed again. then, finally, sent:

@truthaboutjake: okay. listen. i'm not sending you a dick pic. i don't care how much you want "evidence" that's weird. this whole thing is weird. i'm literally just trying to correct a false narrative about myself

you saw the message and immediately rolled your eyes so hard you almost saw your brain. you were curled up on your couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, typing with vicious speed.

@s0ftbrat666: omg. are you serious right now?? NO ONE asked for actual dick pics. what the hell is wrong with you. you're literally so deep in this delusion you really think you're jake sim like?? be serious for once you are a grown man on tumblr dot com pretending to be an idol and defending your imaginary dick size this is next level behavior. you need to touch grass and maybe talk to a therapist jake sim would never you are EMBARRASSING yourself rn.

you hit send and sighed, rubbing your temples. it was funny at first but the more you interacted with this person the more brain cells you lost, it shocked you that people would go to such lengths to defend their favs.

this was beyond fandom drama now. this was a case study. and the worst part? you were kind of impressed with how committed he was to the bit. concerned of course, but impressed too.

like... he was spiraling. but passionately.

still. you weren't going to let up. because whoever this man was, he needed to be humbled.

you opened a new post draft and typed:

—— @s0ftbrat666: update: he dm'd me again and accused me of demanding dick pics because i said "evidence"

i rest my case. this is not jake sim. this is some 32-year-old man who unironically uses reddit and thinks being called "submissive" is a slur

log off, drink some water, and go outside before you get a nosebleed from rage

#jake sim #not the real one obviously #this is tumblr not onlyfans relax ——

✎﹏﹏

jake tried to move on.

he really did.

after the dick thread. after being labeled a submissive missionary pillow princess. after the fake fan accusations and being accused of roleplaying as himself—he made the conscious choice to stop checking your blog. he muted your username. closed tumblr for a solid 24 hours. he even turned off his notifs.

he was healing. growing. rebuilding his sanity.

until a member sent him a screenshot.

it was sunghoon.

of course it was sunghoon.

sunghoon: yo y tf she got sm time on her hands icl tho she funny asf

attached was a photo of your newest tumblr post.

jake opened it, eyes squinting. then he saw it.

—— @s0ftbrat666: watched enhypen's most recent stage and i just wanna know WHO chose those pants for jake like bffr. i can see his entire situation

the dick print? front and center. and it's not giving what he thinks it's giving

it's giving: he begged the stylist to let him wear those pants so he could prove me wrong and i'm here to tell you... babe... don't ever do that again.

i'm LAUGHING.

#enhypen #jake sim #pls don't wear tight pants if ur not ready for the scrutiny king #it's not looking good ——

jake froze.

his phone was literally vibrating with how hard he was gripping it.

"she's watching performances now?" he whispered to himself, horrified.

jay looked up from across the room, warily. "...oh god. again?"

"she's analyzing my crotch, jay. she made a post about my dick print."

jay blinked. "that's... new."

"and she said it's 'not giving'!" jake practically screamed, spinning his phone around to show him. "not giving what?! not giving big dick energy?!?!"

jay read it silently, lips twitching. "...it does kind of sound like she thinks you're trying to prove her wrong. which, to be fair, you kinda are." he pauses for a second, "but i thought she deemed you as a deranged fan, does she think that you're actually texting her?"

jake shrugs, "who knows what she's thinking, clearly way to much of this is the shit she posts. also i wasn't even thinking about her when i wore those pants!"

"you literally made a thread defending your dick size last week."

"NOT THE POINT."

jake felt like he was going to combust. it was like every time he clawed his way back to peace, you dropped another post from hell and dragged him back into the pit.

and this time?

this time you targeted his outfit. his styling choices. his crotch visibility. he couldn't even enjoy the stage anymore without wondering if you were out there in a hoodie, behind a screen, zooming in on freeze frames of his pants.

"this is psychological warfare," jake muttered.

sunghoon looked up from his phone, his face annoyed. he was tired of hearing about this, "just block her again."

jake clenched his jaw. "she'll post about it. she'll brag."

he scrolled back up, reading the caption again. and again. his fingers hovered over your username.

he didn't message you. not this time.

instead, he posted on his burner account:

—— @truthaboutjake: some people spend their lives spreading negativity online because they have nothing else going for them. if you spend your free time zooming in on people's bodies just to make fun of them, seek help.

also, the pants looked fire. ——

he hit post. and then, two minutes later he opened the group chat.

jayke: whoever styled me last week. never again. we're going back to loose pants. i'm not doing this with tumblr anymore

✎﹏﹏

jake tried to stay composed. he tried.

but every time he opened tumblr, there you were—lurking in his psyche like a demon with wi-fi.

at first it had been a few jabs, sprinkled here and there between your usual posts about other idols. someone's hair, another's dance move, one guy you kept thirsting over for his "evil smirk" and "long fingers." whatever. jake didn't care.

until suddenly—your entire blog became about him.

not in a cute, stan-like way.

no.

it was relentless.

"jake sim update: still looks like a man who apologizes during sex."

"new era, same micro dick energy."

"his pants looked like they were holding in a lie."

"i know he fumbles the aux every time. just look at him."

your followers ate it up. reblog after reblog. tags like "#he's just so bashable" and "#jake sim slander is self-care" filled the notes.

there were polls. there were graphics.

you made a tier list of idols based on who looked like they cried after sex, and jake was placed right at the top with the caption: "he looks like he'd say 'was that okay?' while tucking his soft dick back in his briefs."

jake was spiraling.

the worst part? you didn't even seem like a hater. you didn't hate him.

you just... targeted him like it was your job. your content was crafted with care. effort. borderline affection.

jay leaned over one afternoon while jake doomscrolled through another one of your polls—this one titled "which idol do you think would last the shortest in bed (no offense)", where jake was winning by 68%.

"you know," jay mused, "i think she actually likes you."

jake looked up, eyes wide with horror as he looks at jay disgusted. "what?"

jay shrugged. "she's obsessed. it's giving weirdly specific attention. enemies-to-lovers coded."

"jay. she made a gifset of my crotch."

"exactly."

jake nearly threw his phone across the room.

it wasn't just slander anymore—it was becoming personal. and the most infuriating part?

you were so sure. so smugly sure.

every post was laced with casual cruelty and the sharp confidence of someone who truly believed they knew him. his vibes. his music taste. his dick size. like you'd studied him and filed a damn report.

and the urge to prove you wrong? it was eating at him.

he'd see one of your posts and get this itch. this slow, simmering burn in his gut. like he had something to prove now. like he wanted to walk up to you and say—

"say that shit again. to my face."

he'd fantasized about it more than once.

cornering you at a fansign, maybe. or catching you backstage if he ever figured out who you were. you with that smug little expression, your arms crossed like you knew everything. and him, leaning in, low and sharp, and making damn sure you knew you were wrong about everything—especially that.

he wasn't even mad anymore. not just mad. he was determined.

this wasn't just tumblr slander. this was a challenge.

and jake sim? he didn't lose.

✎﹏﹏

jake laid in bed, phone hovering above his face, lit only by the blue glow of tumblr's godforsaken app. it was well past 2 a.m., and he'd already scrolled through your entire blog—again.

he told himself it was just to see if you'd posted anything new. which, of course, you had,

but really, he was spiraling.

another post. this one read:

—— @softbrat666: something about jake sim just screams whines when it doesn't slide in all the way like he'd pause mid-thrust to ask if you're okay because he came too fast

he'd definitely say 'but you just feel so good...' as an excuse ——

and the worst part?

jake read every single reply. studied them, even. like they held some kind of twisted insight into how you saw him. how you imagined him. you were building this whole persona of him in your mind and then broadcasting it to thousands of followers like it was gospel. and the most messed up part?

you had just enough accuracy to make it sting.

and yet—you remained anonymous.

faceless. untouchable.

he'd tried to find out who you were. he dug through old posts, clicked your tags, searched your url on twitter and insta.

all he found was:     •    you lived in seoul     •    you were 21     •    you drank too much iced americano     •    and you had audacity in excess

that was it. no selfies. no personal posts. no full name. you were just a sassy username and a collection of jake sim hate posts.

meanwhile, he was a public figure with his whole government face on blast while you dragged him through the mud constantly.

he hated how much he thought about what you looked like.

were you soft and bratty, like your tone suggested? did you smirk when you wrote those captions? were you the type to twirl your hair and say, "what? it's not that deep," while ruining a man's reputation?

he imagined you walking around seoul, laughing with your friends, ordering overpriced coffee with that smug, evil-little-gremlin energy.

he imagined running into you.

he'd play it cool at first—polite, casual, maybe even a little flirty.

watch you ramble. watch you squirm. and when he caught you slipping—maybe when you made some offhand comment about k-pop or tumblr—he'd hit you with it:

"so how's that blog going? still think i'm a submissive pillow princess with a micro dick?"

he rolled onto his side, fuming into his pillow. you lived in his head rent-free and you didn't even know what he looked like at night when he was losing sleep over your bullshit posts.

it was unfair.

you got to stay invisible while he was out here analyzing his own stage outfits to figure out what clip you were gonna slander next.

he scrolled back to that gif set you made of his recent performance. paused on the close-up. the zoom-in.

the goddamn caption: "not jake sim trying to start a dickprint redemption arc. spoiler: it's not working."

his eye twitched.

"this girl is the devil," he muttered.

and yet... he couldn't stop checking. he needed to know what you'd say next.

✎﹏﹏

you wake up to absolute chaos.

your phone is buzzing. not one or two notifications—hundreds. group chats. twitter and tumblr dms. unknown numbers. missed calls. it's like your phone caught fire overnight.

you blink against the morning light, groggy and confused, heart picking up speed. something's wrong. you can feel it. you squint at the screen, drag down your notifications, and the first notification you see makes your stomach drop.

"girl you're trending rn... what did you DO???"

then another.

"is that actually your name???"

your pulse is pounding before you even open twitter. your fingers shake as you type your own @ into the search bar, and the second you hit enter, your breath catches.

it's you.

your name. your photo. your phone number. everything.

someone—no, a group of people—had clearly gone full fbi. they'd taken all your casual, dumb little posts over the years and pieced them together like a fucked-up puzzle.

and now your full name was in a viral thread titled: "this the girl behind the jake sim micro dick blog?"

with a photo of you at a party two months ago, smile beaming.

people were quote-tweeting it with comments like: "she built like someone who'd have beef with jake sim for no reason." "oh she definitely owns a stan twitter burner too." "her blog is my roman empire i need her in therapy immediately."

your blood turned to ice. you were exposed.

fully.

not just as a shitposter but as the jake sim hater. your inbox was flooded—death threats, confessions, apologies, people asking if it was really you. tumblr dms screaming:

"TAKE THE POSTS DOWN BEFORE HE SEES THEM."

too late.

you scrambled to log into tumblr. your hands fumbled across the keys. it took three tries to get your password right.

the second you were in, you did the only thing you could do.

you hit deactivate.

the blog was gone. years of posts. thousands of notes. all of your followers, your drafts, your hate-poll templates.

deleted.

and then the panic really set in.

your hands were trembling. your ears were ringing. and all you could think about was @truthaboutjake, your mind racing. it was him, you realized that it was him.

"he knows. jake sim fucking knows who i am."

and the worst part?

you had no idea what he'd do with it.

✎﹏﹏

jake found out the same way everyone else did—waking up to a string of texts from jay and sunghoon absolutely losing their shit.

jay: bro. check twitter. sunghoon: she got exposed. jay: HER NAME IS OUT LMAOOO jay: bet she's sweating rn sunghoon: she's kinda cute tho

he blinked hard, still groggy, and tapped open the thread that seemed to be trending.

your face stared back at him.

his heart flipped.

you looked... nothing like what he expected. he'd imagined someone smug. cold. maybe with villain bangs and a cigarette habit.

but no—there you were, face flushed in a group photo, laughing mid-sip of iced americano. you looked normal. it almost hurt to admit, but you were pretty.

you looked real.

and now, you were reachable.

he did what anyone would do: searched your name on instagram. he found your linked facebook.

scrolled. scrolled.

paused.

you had your workplace tagged in an old comment.

"juniper bean café - seoul branch."

he stared at it for a long moment. then, very calmly, he stood up, threw on a hoodie, cap, and mask, and left the dorm.

✎﹏﹏

the café was a little tucked away spot with plants hanging from the ceiling and a chalkboard sign outside that said "kiss me, i'm caffeinated."

jake walked in, glancing around. he spotted you immediately, behind the counter, head down as you punched in an order.

he could tell that you had a rough morning, good. your posture was tense. your hair was pulled back messily. your voice was strained. you looked tired, your eyes that seemed so full of life in your leaked photos had disappeared.

he stepped up to the counter. waited. his eyes trailed down your figure, your frame was draped with a loose fitted sweater and some baggy light wash jeans. you wore a black apron, cinching at your waist—allowing his hungry eyes to capture your curves.

you were trying to look invisible. trying not to stand out. but to him—you were glowing with guilt.

he watched you fumble with a stack of napkins, pretending you didn't feel his eyes burning into you. finally you cleared your throat, still not looking up.

"hi, what can i get you?"

he smiled behind his mask, slow and wicked. he pulled it down just enough to speak—voice dripping low, sharp with mocking sweetness.

"you gonna spit in my drink too?" he asked. "or just keep running your mouth somewhere i can't see?"

you froze.

head snapping up. eyes locking with his. and there it was—that flash of horror, recognition, disbelief. it was him.

you had to admit, he was just as if not more handsome in person. your mouth dried up when you watched his lips curl into a smirk and his eye twitch.

your mouth opened. closed. no sound.

"hi," he said, almost sweetly. "miss me?"

you fumbled a reply—something, anything—but he leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter like he had all the time in the world.

"you disappeared fast. what happened? got leaked and lost all your guts or did you burn through all your micro dick material?"

your coworker looked between you both, utterly confused and in awe that jake was standing in front her. you took a breath. straightened your spine. tried to salvage your dignity.

"this is harassment," you muttered.

"this is karma," jake shot back, his smile dark. he twitched in anger, how dare you call this harassment—what about what you had been doing for the last couple of weeks? "i wanted a latte, by the way. no sugar. unless you're finally ready to be sweet to me."

you nearly dropped the milk jug.

he didn't care. he was so amused. you were the girl who wrote entire essays dragging his dickprint and his imagined bedroom habits? you, flushed and stammering behind a café register?

he wanted to laugh. he wanted to lean in closer. he wanted to ruin you back.

and this? this was just the beginning.

your hands were shaking. milk frother sputtering. heart pounding in your chest like it wanted to escape. and he—jake fucking sim—just stood there.

smiling.

smug.

head tilted slightly like he was thrilled by your discomfort. "you gonna make that latte, or you gonna keep fumbling around and glaring at me?" he drawled, voice low and casual.

you gritted your teeth, turned back to the machine, and fumbled through the motions of making the drink. you could feel his eyes on you the entire time—watching, drinking you in like you were the fucking joke.

you finally slid the drink across the counter, trying not to slam it.

"here. now leave."

he didn't move. just sipped slowly, then licked a bit of foam from his lip like it was the most dramatic thing anyone had ever done in a coffee shop.

and then—he leaned forward. elbow on the counter. voice quiet, words slow and deliberate:

"what time do you get off?"

you blinked, "excuse me?"

"your shift. when does it end?"

"why the fuck would i tell you that?"

his smile widened, all teeth now, sharp and smug. "because there's going to be a black car waiting for you outside." he continues, "when you clock out, you're going to get in. and then you're going to follow instructions."

you stared at him, genuinely floored. "are you insane? what the hell are you talking about?"

he tilted his head, mockingly sympathetic. "i get it. you're scared. probably embarrassed." he grins, "but see, that's the thing about defamation—once it's public, i can take legal action. and you've been very public."

your stomach dropped, "you're bluffing."

he shrugged. "wanna bet your savings account on that?"

you opened your mouth. closed it again. because—fuck. he wasn't bluffing. he didn't have to. you'd posted too much. said too much. and now he had your face, your name, your location.

"you can't just—kidnap me," you said, weaker than intended.

he laughed.

"it's not kidnapping if you get in willingly, sweetheart."

then he slid the latte off the counter, turned, and started to walk toward the door. before he left, he glanced back, over his shoulder.

"9 p.m., right?" he called out. "don't be late. i hate being stood up." he grinned, fuck him.

the bell jingled as he left. the door shut behind him.

and you stood there, in your apron and sneakers and sweaty palms, absolutely rattled. what the fuck did you just get yourself into?

✎﹏﹏

9:03 p.m.

you were pacing behind the café. your shift ended three minutes ago, but you hadn't stepped outside yet. you couldn't. your feet felt like bricks. your stomach twisted with anxiety, hands clenched in the pockets of your jeans.

what the fuck am i doing?

you shouldn't go. you know you shouldn't go. this was literally stranger danger 101, except instead of a stranger it was a kpop idol whose dick size you flamed online for weeks.

your brain was screaming at you. your nerves were a warzone. your inner monologue sounded like one long anxiety spiral:

"you're insane." "this is how people get murdered." "he's rich. he could make you disappear and blame it on anxiety meds." "but also... maybe he just wants to talk?" "or maybe he's gonna sue you in person with his scary legal team and laugh while you cry." "or—worse—what if he takes a picture with you and posts it with some shady ass caption like 'finally found her :)' and now you're really cooked?"

your fists clenched tighter.

this was your own fault. you were the one who made that blog. you were the one who said he looked like a pillow princess. you were the one who photoshopped a pacifier into that one fansite photo and captioned it "baby boy can't handle coochie."

and now?

now he knew your name. your face. your shift schedule.

and there it was, waiting on the curb like a horror movie prop—a sleek black car, windows tinted, headlights glowing like eyes.

you stared at it.

and then, finally, took a deep breath and walked towards it.

the back door opened before you could even touch it. you slid inside, hesitating, clutching your bag to your chest like a shield. you looked around the dimly lit interior. leather seats. no jake.

just a stone-faced driver in a black cap.

"um," you said cautiously. "where are we going?"

no response.

you leaned forward slightly. "hello? i just—can you at least tell me if jake is—"

silence.

he kept driving.

great.

you sat back, heart still racing. the lights of the city blurred past the windows. you couldn't even track the direction—you were too jittery to focus. every turn felt like it took you farther from safety.

and god, the silence was suffocating.

you hated it. you hated him.

jake sim and his smug face and his legal threats and the fact that this whole thing was so humiliating.

how the hell did he turn it around on you? curse those people who leaked you.

you were supposed to have the power. the upper hand. you were the one who had thousands of people laughing at his expense. you were the one whose posts got quoted like bible verses on stan twitter.

and now?

now you were alone, in his car, being driven to god knows where because he told you to.

you should've never fucking posted about his dick. you should've stayed anonymous. kept your mouth shut. deleted the pacifier post when it hit 10k notes.

the car slowed. you peeked out the window. it wasn't some mansion, like you feared. wasn't a dungeon either—at least you think so.

it was a private-looking building—modern, sleek, tucked down a quiet alley with a gated entrance. definitely expensive. definitely secluded.

you were dropped off at the curb. the driver didn't say anything—just nodded toward the front door.

you stepped out slowly, phone gripped tight in your hand, ready to fake an emergency call or scream if necessary.

a man, different from the driver, opened the front door. another silent guy in all black gestured for you to follow.

you hesitated, then followed him down a short hallway, up a narrow flight of stairs, until you reached a door with a single number carved into it: 17.

he knocked once, then opened it.

you stepped in—and stopped.

jake was inside.

he was leaning casually against a wall, dressed in all black—hoodie, chain, jeans, hair tousled, like he hadn't even tried and still looked like a good.

he was scrolling on his phone when you entered, then looked up.

and grinned, "hey." he stops, letting his gaze travel down your trembling form, "glad you could make it, hate blogger."

you wanted to punch him. you wanted to turn around and leave. but most of all—you wanted to know what the hell came next.

and by the look on his face?

he was very ready to show you.

room 17 is quiet. too quiet.

you stand near the door, gripping the strap of your bag like it's your last line of defense. jake hasn't moved from his place against the wall, but his eyes haven't left you for a second. he looks too calm. like this is just some casual meetup and not the most batshit confrontation of your entire life.

"you still haven't told me why i'm here," you say finally, voice tight, trying to sound unbothered even though your throat is dry.

he doesn't answer right away. he just studies you, eyes flicking from your clenched fists to your shifting posture to the tiny, almost-invisible tremble in your knees.

then he lets out a soft little chuckle, the kind that feels mean. smug and quiet and condescending.

"you really don't know?" he asks, stepping away from the wall at last. his strides are slow, deliberate, like he knows you won't run—but that you should.

you take a step back automatically, bumping into the door behind you.

"if this is about suing me," you mutter, chin lifting defensively, "you could've just emailed your legal team. this whole drama king act—" "i'm not suing you." he cuts you off, voice calm but sharp. he walks past you and locks the door with a soft click. your stomach flips.

"then what the hell is this?" he turns back to you, expression unreadable, "this is about correction."

you blink, "what?"

"you posted things that were... inaccurate." he steps closer. you press yourself further into the door. "about me. my body. my performance. my preferences." another step. you swear you stop breathing, "so now i'm giving you a chance to see the truth."

you stare up at him, wide-eyed, "you're joking."

"does it look like i'm joking?" he murmurs.

you're momentarily speechless. your brain is whirring, trying to process what's happening. jake sim—international idol, global heartthrob, the man you've memed within an inch of his digital life—has dragged you to a private room to debunk his dick size?

you should laugh, but you can't.

because he's standing too close. because he's looking at you like prey. because his voice is dipped in amusement but his eyes are furious.

"you're out of your mind," you whisper, eyes wide and your jaw slacked.

he shrugs, "maybe."

his hand lifts, knuckles brushing your chin—just enough to make your breath catch.

"but you made this personal. you dragged it out. you turned it into a running gag." he leans down slightly, until your noses are nearly brushing. "and now you're gonna watch what happens when you say shit you can't back up."

your throat works around a swallow. your persona starts to crack.

still—you can't not be a brat.

"so what, you're gonna just pull your dick out like some frat boy in a scandal?" you snort. "you're so mad over a joke, you're—"

"baby," his voice cuts you off again, soft but dangerous.

"a joke is calling me clingy or annoying. a joke is editing me into a pink onesie." he steps even closer, "but accusing me of being a submissive pillow princess with a dick that couldn't break a hymen?" he tilts his head, mocking, "that's slander."

you flush. deeply, "you saw that post?"

"i've seen every post," he says coolly. "and the reblogs. and the tags. and the memes."

you suddenly feel so small. not because he's taller—though he is—but because you'd spent months building this image of jake sim as a joke. a punchline. a target.

and now he's right here. and he's pissed.

"you're really that bothered?" you ask, but your voice is quieter now, unsure. "bothered?" he repeats, almost scoffing. "sweetheart, i was obsessed." his hand lifts again, brushes your hair away from your face, fingers dragging a little too slow behind your ear.

"you don't understand what it's like to be degraded by someone who's too cowardly to even show their face." he pauses, his eyes dropping to your lips, "but i'll show you."

you swallow hard. "so what?" you ask, trying not to waver. "you want me to apologize? to... take it all back? post a formal retraction about your dick?"

he grins. slow and sharp, "nah."

"i want you to see it," he pauses, lets the words sink in. "and then i want to see the look on your face when you realize you were dead fucking wrong."

your mouth opens. no sound comes out. your heart is pounding so fast you think you might throw up. because there's teasing and there's joking and there's flirting with danger—but this? this is crossing the line, and you don't know if you want him to stop.

you laugh, it comes out breathy and nervous and completely unconvincing. "okay," you say, holding your hands up a little, trying to cut the tension with sarcasm, "haha, very funny. you got me. you've officially scared the shit out of me, and if that was your goal, congratulations."

jake just stands there. watching you. expression unreadable, unreadable and dark. you shift on your feet, trying to find a way out of this, trying to reclaim some sense of control.

"look," you continue, "i'll take everything down, okay? every post. every meme. every stupid out-of-pocket caption." you swallow. "i'll issue an apology. hell, i'll write a thread. a whole google doc. whatever you want."

you inch away from the door, toward the side of the room, trying to put some space between you.

"i crossed a line. i get that now." you laugh again, weaker this time. "like—clearly."

jake still doesn't speak, he starts walking.

slow. silent. like a cat with its prey cornered.

your back hits the wall.

"i'll stop posting about you," you rush out, your heart beating frantically when you feel jake's breath fan against your cheek. "seriously. no more degrading content. no more jokes. you win, okay?" his palm hits the wall beside your head with a sharp thud.

you freeze.

he leans in.

"i don't want a fucking apology," he murmurs, voice thick and low, the sound of it making your legs weaken. you try to hold his gaze, but it's hard when he's this close. when you can smell his cologne—clean and warm, like cedar and skin. when you can see the heat in his eyes, the tension in his jaw.

"i want you to look at me," he says, "and admit you were wrong."

"i just did—" "no." his other hand comes up, fingers ghosting your chin, tilting it up. "not because you're scared. not because you think i'm gonna sue your ass. i want you to say it because you know."

you suck in a breath as his fingers graze your throat. not squeezing. not threatening. but claiming, staking a presence.

"you think i'm some submissive little pushover," he whispers, "who just lays there and takes it. soft. boring. harmless."

your heart pounds in your chest so loud you swear it echoes. "you think you own the narrative. that you get to decide who i am, what i'm like in bed, how big my fucking dick is."

you flinch at the way he says it, so vulgar and harsh it shoots straight to your core.

"but the second i show up—" his thumb brushes your bottom lip. "you're quiet. nervous. twitchy. like you already know you were talking out of your ass."

you suck in a shaky breath and try to bite back the heat that's crawling up your neck. "you're insane," you whisper, but there's no bite behind it.

his body is so close now, you can feel the heat radiating off him. he hasn't even touched you properly and you already feel like your knees are going to give.

"what do you want from me?" you ask, voice barely holding together. he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"i want to fuck the lies out of your mouth." his voice is so low, it vibrates down your spine. "i want you to choke on everything you said about me and realize i was never the one being dominated."

you let out a small, shaky sound—and that's when he finally kisses you.

not soft.

not slow.

possessive. like he's claiming what he's owed.

like he's trying to shove every insult back down your throat, one filthy kiss at a time.

your mind blanks the second his mouth claims yours. his tongue pushes past your lips without hesitation, his hand gripping your jaw to keep you right where he wants you, and you feel it deep—too deep. like he's trying to crawl inside your ribcage and brand himself there.

his kiss isn't gentle. it's punishment. all teeth and tongue, your back shoved harder into the wall as he presses against you. his body completely, deliberately dominating yours.

"still think i'm soft?" he growls against your lips when he pulls back, breath ragged, thumb digging into the underside of your chin to keep you looking at him.

you don't answer. you can't.

your mouth is open, panting, lips wet and swollen from how violently he just kissed you. your knees barely hold.

his gaze drops to your mouth. then lower, and lower.

he smirks.

"you look scared," he says, tilting his head slightly. "thought you liked writing filthy shit about me. what happened to all that confidence?"

you swallow hard, still in absolute disbelief, "you're—you're actually insane."

"and you're actually still turned on." his hand drops to your hip, gripping hard, pulling you flush against him—and fuck. he's hard. painfully hard. pressing right against your lower stomach. and he knows you feel it.

your eyes widen. you try to squirm away but there's nowhere to go, your back hits the wall again and his thigh wedges between your legs.

"not so micro now, is it?" he breathes against your neck. you let out a broken sound—half gasp, half groan—and that's when jake loses it.

he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, other hand sliding beneath your shirt, grazing skin and pulling a shocked noise out of you. he doesn't give you room to breathe.

"say it," he growls. "say you were wrong."

you shake your head. still stubborn. still you.

"no?" he scoffs. "fine." his thigh presses harder between your legs, rocking up once. your clit throbbed pathetically at the feeling, it was just enough friction to make your eyes roll back. you try to keep your composure, but he watches your face change—watches your pride falter.

"don't lie to me, baby." his voice drops lower—hungrier. "you're dripping. over the same guy you dragged for months."

you gasp, trying to turn your face away from him, but he leans in again, his nose brushing your cheek.

"you gonna blog about this too?" he whispers. "tell your little followers how jake sim manhandled you and made you eat your words with his cock halfway down your throat?"

you whimper and it disgusts you how fast your body betrays you. how wet you already are. how much you want him to ruin you just to prove you were wrong.

and he can tell.

he sees the shift in your expression. how your resistance is slowly, deliciously, falling apart.

your wrists are still pinned, your breathing uneven, chest rising and falling fast as jake leans in like he owns the air around you.

"i'm done hearing you talk," he mutters, dragging his mouth along your jaw. "i think it's time you showed me just how sorry you really are."

he releases your hands and steps back. you don't move. your legs are trembling, your pride hanging on by a thread.

"on your knees," he says simply.

you scoff, arms folding defensively across your chest, "you can't be serious—"

he tilts his head, "i'm not asking again."

there's no loud threat. no yelling. just the terrifying calm of someone who already knows he's won. you hold your ground—barely. but something about the way he looks down at you, already palming the bulge in his jeans, makes your body respond before your mind does.

you sink, slowly. knees hitting the floor like it's a confession. he watches you with quiet satisfaction, like he's waited for this exact moment.

he had been dreaming about the moment he would get you to himself, on your knees—right where he wanted you.

"look at me," he says, and you do—eyes meeting his as he unzips, the sound ridiculously loud in the silence.

he's already thick in his hand when he pulls it out, and your mouth goes dry. you don't want to admit it, but fuck. it's big. way bigger than you ever gave him credit for. your throat tightens at the sheer weight of it, thick and flushed and veined.

his smirk deepens when he sees the way your eyes drop.

"what was that again?" he mocks, giving himself a slow stroke. "micro?"

you glare up at him, heat crawling up your neck. "i was clearly misinformed."

"say it properly."

you hesitate, his free hand tangles in your hair—firm, but not painful. just enough to tilt your face up toward him.

"say. it."

you grit your teeth, "i was wrong."

"about what?"

you groan. "about your dick. okay? you don't have a micro dick."

he raises an eyebrow, "that all?"

"it's big," you mutter, cheeks burning. "you made your point." he laughs—low and satisfied—and guides your face closer, "not yet."

you gasp when you feel his tip touch your cheek, he grins at your expression—feeling satisfied with your shock. he does a few experimental taps, dragging his length over your lips. you hold in a whine when he smears his pre cum over your bottom lip, almost as if he was applying lipgloss on you.

and then he pushes in.

there's no easing into it—he gives you the thick weight of his cock all at once, making you choke. your hands scrambling to grip his thighs as he holds you there, watching with dark, satisfied eyes.

"look at that," he murmurs. "mouth so full of me you can't even talk shit now." you gag again, but his grip stays steady, fingers flexing against the back of your head as he rocks his hips in slow, controlled thrusts. just enough to make you feel how deep he is and prove how wrong you were.

he could feel how warm your mouth was around him, basking in the feeling of not only pleasure but the satisfaction of shutting you up.

"this what you wanted?" he groans. "to see what i've been hiding in those pants you loved to degrade?"

you can't respond. not when he's using your mouth like a cock sleeve, fucking every insult out of you with a punishing rhythm. spit drips from out of your mouth and onto your chin. tears prick at your eyes and yet—somewhere deep in your gut—you like it.

jake's grip on your hair gets stronger, the pain causing your jaw to slack as you continue to take his brutal pace. you could feel the head of his cock  rub against the back of your throat, the force not strong enough to make you gag but enough to cause a stream of tears to run down your face.

your nose touched his pelvis with every thrust, indicating how deep he was going. "fuck. look at you, __. who knew cock being in your mouth is the only way to shut you up."

you whine at his words, looking up at him with pleading eyes—yet you didn't know what exacting you were begging for. you rub your thighs together in hopes for some temporary relief, the scene so lewd that you could feel yourself gush in your panties—holding in the urge to let your hands wander down to touch yourself.

jake looked down at you with hungry eyes, his lip twitching as his grip in your hair grew tighter with each thrust. he let low moans slip from his mouth every time his dick grazed the back of your throat.

"aren't you a dirty little whore.." jake drawls out, his chest heaving with pleasure when he notices how tightly you have your thighs clenched. "getting all worked up for someone you've publicly shat on for having the least sex appeal."

you moaned around him when suddenly he pushed your thighs apart with his foot, wedging his sneaker between your legs—giving you something to ease up the tension in your core.

you mewl when he pushed against your clit, almost urging you to grind down against him while he used your mouth to his hearts content. slowly, but surely—you allowed yourself to ground yourself against him. it sickened you how desperate you had become in just a span of a few minutes.

jake almost cums when he sees you move your hips, desperate for any kind of friction to relieve you from your throbbing clit.

the familiar feeling in his stomach begins to tighten, his grip on you becoming unforgiving as he loses self control and allows himself to push himself into your mouth as much as he could. his tip hits the back of your throat repeatedly now, a mixture of his cum and your spit dribbling out of your mouth.

"f-fuck," he groans. "m'gonna cum.. you're gonna take it? yeah? take it in that bratty mouth, hm?" jake murmurs to what seems himself just before he combusts in your mouth. you swallowed a chocked moan when you feel his warm cum coat your mouth, gagging around him as he twitches.

jake felt as if he was on cloud 9, his head lulling to the side as he keeps your head planted where it is—ensuring that you swallow what he gave you fully.

when he finally pulls back, cock glistening with your spit and his cum, your jaw aches as you swallow the salty yet sweet taste of his release.  your chest heaving like you've just survived something.

"mouth open and tongue out," he demands. you hesitantly open your mouth, your tongue out as you show him that you swallowed everything.

you whine out desperately when he slides his foot away, leaving you aching again. jake tsk's, "desperate slut."

he crouches down to your level, thumb wiping the corner of your mouth.

"still think i'm a pillow princess?" his voice is a little breathless now. dark and smug. "or you finally ready to admit you don't know shit about me?"

your throat still burns. your lips are swollen, coated in spit and shame, and jake's leaning over you like he's just getting started.

"on your feet."

you hesitate, still panting, still dazed from the way he fucked your mouth like it was owed to him. but something in his voice—firm, expectant—makes you move. your knees tremble as you rise.

jake doesn't give you time to adjust. the second you're upright, he steps in close, hands on your waist, guiding you backward until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.

you're pressed back against the mattress, thighs parted under his hands, still catching your breath from how rough he'd just been with your mouth. but instead of backing down, you do what you do best—deflect.

"look—how about this," you say, voice shaking but holding onto some scrap of cocky defiance. "i'll just say the blog was satire. irony. you know, performance art or something. no one has to know i meant any of it."

jake's expression doesn't change.

"or better yet—i'll make a new post trashing someone else. redirect the attention. easy." you flash a grin that's all teeth. "maybe i'll even throw in a little praise for you. balance it out."

he just blinks at you. slowly.

"you think you're negotiating right now?" his voice is calm, but the grip on your thighs tightens.

you blink. "i mean, i'm trying to be reasonable—"

"reasonable?" he laughs, but there's no humor in it. "you publicly dragged me for weeks. humiliated me. and now that you're caught, you want to rewrite the narrative?"

"i'm offering solutions—" "you're offering bullshit," he snaps, and in a second he's climbing over you, his body slotting between your legs like it was made to be there. "and you think you still have leverage? cute."

your breath hitches. your hands push at his chest, but he grabs your wrists and pins them down again, harder this time—your body arching into him involuntarily.

"here's what's really gonna happen," he says, leaning in, nose brushing yours. "you're gonna try to flip this. act like you're still in control. try to turn the tables on me."

your throat tightens.

"but you won't. because the second you try, i'll remind you who made you beg. who had you gagging on the dick you said didn't exist." his voice drops lower, dangerous. "and then i'll ruin you all over again."

you glare up at him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and defiance."you know what? fine." your voice is sharp, shaky. "you wanna play games? i'll play. let's see how fast you fold when i turn this around."

he raises an eyebrow. "is that right?" you reach down between your bodies—slow, deliberate—wrapping your hand around him. he's still hard. unfairly so. hot and heavy in your palm.

"maybe i was wrong about the size," you murmur, stroking him slow, his breath hitching. "but maybe you really are just a pillow princess. maybe you like being praised more than you like fucking."

his jaw ticks.

you press a kiss to his neck, voice a taunt against his skin. "what happens if i ride you instead? if i make you cum all over yourself."

he freezes.

"what if i write about that next?" you sit up dragging your tongue along the edge of his jaw. "'jake sim—big dick, zero stamina.' think the internet'll love that?"

you think you've got him.

until suddenly—he flips you.

you yelp, back hitting the mattress again as he rips your hand away from his cock and shoves your thighs up around his waist. the shift is fast, dominant, practiced.

"you really thought that'd work?" he's laughing now—mean, breathless, hungry. "thought you'd rile me up and get the upper hand? you forget who tracked you down and got you here in this room." his voice is pure venom now, thick with want. "who had you gagging and drooling on your knees while you fucked yourself on my shoes not even 5 minutes ago?"

his hands expertly yank off your jeans, his thumb hooked around the waistband of your baby pink cotton panties—teasing you. you writhe beneath him, but he doesn't budge—he presses into you, cock sliding between your clothed folds just to tease, just to show you what you don't get to control.

"you wanna test stamina?" he growls. "i'll fuck you 'til that smug little attitude disappears. 'til you're begging me to stop. 'til you're crying and calling me daddy."

you gasp—rage, arousal, panic blending in your gut—but you can't deny the throb between your legs. the way your body betrays your pride.

he feels it too.

his free hand runs up your sweater, your breath shaking as you feel him run his fingers up your stomach and make themselves comfortable on your tits. letting your hands go momentarily, he's yanking your sweater off and throwing it across the room.

"didn't know bratty girls like you wore baby pink. ruffles, lace trim—bows?" he grins, his hands playing with the frills of your bra as you twitch beneath him.

"fuck you," you spat out, voice coming out weaker than you wanted it to. jake only smirks, his hand reaching up to pull the straps of your bra down—letting your tits fall out. "oh i will," and with that he's taking one of your nipples hostage in his mouth. his grip on your wrists stays planted, not allowing you to move or struggle against him when he nips at the sensitive skin of your breasts.

he switches from left to right for a few minutes, basking in your whimpers and mewls before he kisses down your stomach. pulling away he's back to being face to face with you, a smug look on his face before he plants a kiss to your jaw. the kiss turns into bites, nipping at your neck and chest as he leaves behind purple splotches.

"maybe you can post the marks i left and then bash me," jake grins against your skin. you roll your eyes in response only for jake to shoot you a look that says: behave.

he moves your underwear to the side, exposing your cunt to his hungry eyes. he runs his thumb through your slit, gathering your slick.

"so wet," he mutters, dragging the head of his cock against your slit. "guess your body knows who's in charge, even if your mouth doesn't." he slams into you—deep, all at once—and you scream.

no teasing now. no easing in. no prepping.

just punishment. just proof. just him, ruining you from the inside out like it's the only way to shut you up.

"gonna make you forget every insult," he grits, hips snapping into yours over and over. "gonna fuck the hate right outta you."

he could feel your velvet walls convulse, sucking him in like a vacuum as he thrusts into you. you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders, back arching, mind blurring. you hate how good it feels. how right.

"gonna ruin you," he whispers, lips at your neck. "and you're gonna thank me for it." his mouth traveling down to your tit to engulf one of your nipples once again.

your body jolts with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping and moans filling the room as you struggle to adjust to his girth.

you're still trembling when jake lifts your chin. his touch is deceptively gentle, but there's nothing soft in his expression. smug. commanding. dangerously patient.

"you still think you were right?" he asks lowly, voice scraping down your spine like velvet over steel. you blink up at him, lips parted, but your throat is dry. no sass now. not with the way your body's still recovering, knees weak, throat raw from every choked sound he pulled from you.

when you don't respond jake stops his movement, his hips go still as he simply stares down at you with a dark look in his eyes.

you were falling apart.

his cock was deep inside you, filling you so completely you couldn't even think straight— but jake wasn't moving. he just held you there, pinned beneath him, wrists trapped against the mattress, his hips grinding slow and mean against yours.

you whimpered, hips twitching up against him helplessly, desperate for more. he smirked down at you, cruel and smug, loving the way your body shook, the way your face twisted in frustration.

"what's wrong?" he murmured mockingly, leaning in so close his lips brushed your ear. "thought you'd be tougher than this."

you rationed with yourself for a moment, were you really going to beg? yes.

you tried to twist your wrists free but his grip only tightened. "please," you gasped out, tears welling in your eyes from how badly you needed to cum. "please, jake, i need it—"

he laughed, low and sharp, and snapped his hips forward once—deep and brutal—making you cry out. but then he stilled again, ignoring your desperate whines.

"you need it?" he repeated, pretending to think. "need my cock? need me to make you cum like the stupid little whore you are?"

your cheeks burned, shame rolling through you, but you nodded frantically.

"say it," he ordered, voice dropping, rough. you squeezed your eyes shut, humiliated, but the words still poured out.

"i need your cock," you sobbed. "please jake, please—i'll do anything, i'll be good, just let me cum—"

he laughed again, so fucking satisfied with himself.

"should've thought about being good before you started running your mouth online," he muttered, dragging his cock slow and deep inside you, making you arch and cry out.

you were shaking now—your whole body burning, every nerve stretched tight and ready to snap.

"you want it that bad?" he asked casually, grinding his hips just enough to make you sob.

"yes," you choked out. "please, jake—please, i need to cum, i can't—"

he grinned wickedly and finally, finally started fucking into you hard—deep, punishing thrusts that made you see stars. your walls clung onto how dick like a suction in attempt to milk him dry.

your moans spilled out loud and wrecked, your whole body bowing off the bed.

"good girl," he murmured darkly, "you're gonna cum when i say. not a second before." you nodded frantically, not trusting yourself to speak without crying. and when he finally, finally leaned down and growled, "cum for me, slut,"

you shattered.

you came so hard you were sobbing, spasming around him, your body giving out completely under his.

jake fucked you through it, laughing under his breath, dragging every last bit of pleasure and humiliation out of you until you were left shaking and gasping for air.

and even then, he wasn't done with you yet. he hadn't cum yet, and at the end of the day that's what you were here for—to be his little cum slut.  you barely had time to breathe—your body still spasming from the orgasm he tore out of you before jake grabbed your hips and pulled you back down onto him, grinding even deeper.

you yelped, broken noises spilling out of your mouth, trying to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.

"no," he snapped, voice sharp and final, one hand locking tight around your waist to keep you from moving. "you don't get to run."

your head lolled back, tears slipping down your cheeks, your body a twitching mess.

"too much," you sobbed, trembling violently.

he laughed—laughed—at your misery.

"too bad," he muttered against your ear. "you're not done." he set a brutal rhythm, fucking into you hard, fast, merciless. your thighs shook, your nails dug into the sheets, your mouth fell open in helpless, gasping cries. you could feel yourself spiraling again—pain and pleasure tangled together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"you think you're in control?" he grunted, slamming into you harder, making you scream. "you think you can say whatever you want about me and not pay for it?"

your whole body jolted with every thrust, the humiliation making your head spin.

"say it," he growled. "say you were wrong."

you whimpered, stubborn even now, biting down hard on your lip. he slowed down, grinding his cock against your sensitive walls in deep, deliberate circles that made you keen helplessly.

"say it," he repeated, cruel and low, "or i'll edge you until you're fucking crying."

your pride crumbled fast.

"i was wrong," you gasped out, voice cracking. he smirked, hips snapping forward again. "about what?"

you squeezed your eyes shut, shame flooding you. "about—about your dick," you choked out. "i lied, you're big—you're fucking huge—"

he chuckled darkly, like he already knew. "good girl," he breathed, voice dripping with mockery. "what else?"

you shook your head frantically, body jerking with overstimulation. he pulled almost all the way out—your cunt squeezing around nothing— before slamming back in so brutally you cried out.

"what else?" he hissed against your throat.

"i—i'm just a stupid bitch who doesn't know what she's talking about," you sobbed, face burning hot.

he laughed again, so fucking satisfied, so cruel.

"that's right," he murmured. "a stupid little whore who can't stop begging for the cock she said was too small."

you whimpered, broken, humiliated beyond repair. and still—your body clung to him, desperate for more. you realized with a sick twist in your gut that you would do anything—say anything—just to have him fuck you harder.

and jake knew it too.

he leaned down close, mouth brushing yours cruelly.

"beg," he whispered. "beg me to ruin you."

you could barely think. your body was burning, trembling, stretched tight around him— your mind a broken mess of shame and need. and still jake kept fucking you deep, rough, relentless.

his hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, your throat, your jaw—manhandling you like you were nothing more than a toy for him to use.

you whimpered when he grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him.

"beg," he ordered again, voice dark, breathless with lust. "beg me to ruin you, slut."

you shook your head at first, a broken little sob tearing from your throat. he growled low, slammed into you even harder—your back arching, a scream ripping from your lips.

"you don't get to say no," he hissed. "you wanted this." tears streamed down your cheeks, your body trembling violently.

"please," you gasped out, the word slipping before you could even think. "please jake..ruin me, use me. fuck me however you want—"

he laughed, so fucking smug, dragging his cock out slow just to make you whine. "good fucking girl," he murmured. "finally learning your place."

you babbled desperate nonsense, sobbing into the sheets, your pride shattered into dust.and jake fucked you through it all—using you like a fleshlight, pounding into you until your legs gave out, until your voice was wrecked and broken.

"this what you wanted, huh?" he sneered, slapping your ass hard enough to leave a sting. "to get fucked dumb? to get put in your place like the stupid little whore you are?"

you nodded frantically, gasping, sobbing, brain completely mush. "can't even speak anymore," he muttered, mocking. "just a cockdrunk mess." your nails clawed helplessly at the sheets, your cunt squeezing him so tight he groaned.

you felt another orgasm building—sharp, unbearable—but you were too gone to even ask permission. you just sobbed and gasped and let him take everything from you.

"yeah, that's right," he growled, voice thick with pleasure. "cum all over my cock, slut. make a fucking mess."

you shattered, your whole body convulsing around him, screaming his name like a prayer, a curse, a broken confession. and jake fucked you through it, dragging every last bit of your pride and resistance out of you, until there was nothing left but a crying, ruined mess on his cock.

you were shaking. your body was limp, wrecked, trembling under the weight of everything he made you feel.

and jake still wasn't satisfied.

he kept moving, grinding his cock deep inside your overstimulated cunt—mocking every broken sob that fell from your lips.

"what's wrong?" he said, voice dripping with fake sweetness. "too much?"

you could only whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. he grabbed your face again, rough, forcing your glassy eyes to meet his.

"you wanted to run your mouth so bad," he sneered. "now you can fucking thank me." your brain barely processed the words, too fogged with shame and pleasure. he slapped your cheek lightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back.

"say it," he barked. "say thank you."

you whimpered, tears spilling down your cheeks.

"th-thank you," you stammered, voice barely a whisper.

he smirked, cruel and satisfied.

"louder," he ordered, snapping his hips forward viciously, making you cry out. "thank you!" you sobbed, your voice hoarse and broken.

he chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down your throat, pressing lightly just enough to make your head spin.

"thank me for ruining you," he muttered, rolling his hips slow and deep, dragging another helpless moan from your lips.

your pride was turned into ash, your mind gone.

"thank you for ruining me," you gasped out, shaking uncontrollably, completely destroyed. he groaned, clearly getting off on how ruined you were—your body slack, twitching, drooling, your cunt spasming weakly around him.

"pathetic," he muttered against your ear. "look at you." you could feel how wet and messy everything was—your thighs sticky, the sheets underneath you soaked.

and still—still—he wasn't finished.

"gonna fill you up," he rasped, voice rough with the effort of holding back. "gonna fuck you so full you'll be leaking for days."

you sobbed, the humiliation sinking deeper into your bones.

"please," you whispered, because you didn't know what else to say anymore. he grunted low in his chest, thrusting faster, chasing his release. he could feel that familiar tinge in his stomach, he was close.

"such a good little cumdump," he growled. "just a hole for me to use." you broke again, another weak orgasm rolling through your abused body.

and jake finally spilled inside you—deep, hot, filling you up exactly like he promised.

he didn't pull out immediately. he stayed pressed deep, making sure you felt every drop. when he finally did pull out, you collapsed completely, a ruined, twitching, crying mess.

and jake just chuckled, so fucking smug. running his fingers down your slit before plugging your fluttering hole, making sure that his cum stays in you for as long as it could.

"maybe next time you'll think twice before running your mouth about me," he said, releasing your wrists before he gets off the bed. he left you there, spread open, dripping, humiliated beyond repair.

and you realized with a sick twist of your gut— you liked it.

you fucking loved every humiliating second of it.

✎﹏﹏

your body aches.

not in the romantic, soft-lit, post-orgasm kind of way.

no. it's raw. it's degrading. it's embarrassing.

your legs are trembling so badly you have to lean on the sink just to stay upright. your thighs sticky, sore. your throat dry and stretched thin from the pathetic, wrecked sounds he pulled out of you.

you yank your clothes back on as fast as your shaking hands allow, muttering curses under your breath. you can't even look at yourself in the mirror. because you know what you'll see: the ruined, wrecked version of yourself jake created.

and you hate him.

you hate how smug he looks when you finally stumble back into the room—hair mussed, shirt untucked, standing like he didn't just break you open with nothing but his cock and his fucking mouth. you hate how he leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a look that says he's already won.

you hate that he was right.

and you really, really hate that you liked it.

you roll your shoulders back, force yourself to stand straight even if your body is begging you to drop.

"that what you wanted?" you rasp out, voice wrecked and scratchy. "you win. congrats. want a trophy or something?"

jake doesn't say a word. he just watches. calm. amused. smug.

and it pisses you off. burns you alive from the inside.

"you got what you wanted. you ruined my pride," you snarl, stepping closer even though your knees are ready to give. "so what now? supposed to kneel and thank you? beg you to keep ruining me?"

he cocks his head slightly, lips twitching.

you hate how unbothered he looks. you hate it so much it makes you reckless.

"you don't actually believe i meant all that, right?" you spit. "you really think i meant it when i said you're big? when i cried about how good you fucked me?"

you scoff, shaking your head with a cold, sharp laugh.

"you're pathetic. you got played because i moaned a little."

and that's when everything shifts.

because jake steps forward—smooth, controlled—grabbing your jaw so hard you gasp, slamming your back against the wall without even looking like he's trying. his face is inches from yours, breath warm, eyes dark and furious.

"still lying?" he murmurs.

your heart pounds wildly. you try to twist away but his grip on your jaw tightens, bruising.

"you begged for my cock," he hisses, thumb dragging across your trembling bottom lip. "you fucking cried for it. and you're gonna stand there and lie to my face?"

you choke on your words, humiliation pouring down your spine in cold waves.

he laughs bitterly, the sound vibrating low in his chest. "guess you really are as dumb as you look."

you flinch.

and jake leans in closer, voice dropping lower, meaner. "you wanna pretend you're still in control?" he taunts, dragging his fingers down your throat slow, almost tender. "you wanna act like you didn't cum so fucking hard you couldn't even say my name?"

you tremble.

but you don't back down—not yet. pride and fear tangled up, keeping you frozen.

he chuckles darkly.

"fine," he says, voice a low threat. "i'll remind you."

his hand snakes between your thighs, shoving your jeans down again, your underwear dragging with it, baring you completely in seconds. you gasp, struggling—but he's too strong, too fast. he grabs you by the hips, throws you onto the bed like you're weightless.

and then he's on you.

he presses your wrists to the mattress with one hand again, his weight pinning you down, his other hand roughly forcing your legs apart.

you barely have time to gasp before he's inside you again—deep, brutal, fucking the defiance out of you one savage thrust at a time.

you cry out, throat raw. he fucks you like he's furious, every slam of his hips meant to punish. "not so fucking smug now, huh?" he pants against your ear.

you whimper, broken sounds spilling out without permission.

"what happened to all that fake confidence, princess?" he mocks, rolling his hips harder, forcing your body to take every inch. "thought you said you could handle it."

you sob, writhing under him, but he doesn't let up. he leans down, dragging his teeth across your jaw, making you shudder helplessly.

"gonna make you beg again," he growls. "gonna make you say it like you fucking mean it."

you try to shake your head—but you're drowning. he's everywhere. he's everything. and no matter how much you try to cling to your pride, it crumbles between your shaking hands.

you're crying now—humiliated tears streaking down your flushed face—as he pounds into you mercilessly.

"please," you choke out, voice cracking.

he chuckles, cruel and satisfied.

"please what, baby?" he taunts, slowing his thrusts to a deep, punishing grind that makes your whole body twitch and seize.

"please," you sob again, shame burning you alive. "please let me cum."

he leans back slightly to look at you—hair a mess, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

"you don't deserve to cum," he says, voice mocking. "whores who lie don't get rewards."

you whimper, hips stuttering against his, desperate, broken.

"but," he adds slowly, almost lazily, "if you beg real nice... maybe i'll consider it."

you sob harder, pride shattered into dust. and then—you beg.

you beg like a good little whore.

"please, jake," you cry, voice wrecked and hoarse. "i need it—i need to cum—please, please—"

he grins, dark and cruel, and finally—finally—lets you fall apart again, your body convulsing, cunt clenching around him helplessly as he fucks you through the brutal, soul-crushing orgasm. and you barely have a second to breathe before he's moving again—pulling out, grabbing your face in both hands, forcing your mouth open.

"open wide," he orders.

you're so wrecked you don't even think to disobey. you just open—lips trembling, eyes wide and glassy.

and jake leans over—spits straight into your mouth, thick and wet and humiliating.

you gag slightly, tears burning your eyes.

"swallow," he commands sharply.

you do.

you obey without even thinking.

and he smirks—grabbing his phone, flipping open the recording he just made of your pathetic begging, letting you hear it on loop while you lie there ruined, body trembling, throat raw.

he tucks his phone into his pocket, grabs your chin again, forcing you to look up at him. "remember this next time you wanna talk shit," he says, voice low and smug.

he kisses you—mocking and possessive—and leaves you there: used, wrecked, humiliated, and so thoroughly owned that you can't even pretend anymore.

jake sim ruined you and there's no taking it back.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[ceilidhtransing]

I've cropped out the username because I have absolutely no desire to start drama or make a personal “callout” or have people go harass someone or anything like that (and if you take this kind of thing as an opportunity to go and be horrible to another Tumblr user then that is terrible and you should stop), but wow, I have never seen such a clanging example of amatonormativity. I don't think OP necessarily meant it this way, I don't think they meant any harm, I don't think they're consciously arophobic or something - it's far more likely that they're simply unfamiliar with aspec issues, and I always prefer to assume good faith - but I want to talk about this post anyway because it provides a really good and explicit example of the way society just sort of... asserts the centrality of romantic attraction and entirely forgets aromantic people exist.

I do want to first say that I actually agree with the initial point this post is making. Romance as a genre is unfairly derided as some kind of “lesser” form of art, and this derision very frequently comes with generous helpings of misogyny. I totally agree that romance is not at all an unintellectual or superficial thing to write about, and it's bad that it gets treated that way and that readers and writers of romance get so often mocked and condemned. Romance is a totally valid genre and enjoying it doesn't make you vain or stupid or superficial.

HOWEVER. As an aromantic person I find the rest of the post just... I don't know, it's just so perfect as a probably unwitting expression of baked-in cultural amatonormativity. It's brilliant. It's so funny to me. I can almost do a line-by-line breakdown of the way it so completely forgets the existence of aromantic people. In fact, let's do that.

It is so fundamental to us. The issue here should be pretty obvious. The assumption that romance is some integral part of The Human Experience and that it's fundamental to All People is pretty much amatonormativity 101. It reinforces the idea that people who don't experience romantic attraction are “lacking”, forever sitting apart from The Human Experience, and possibly in some way not quite fully human, since we don't experience the thing that is apparently so fundamental to humans.

To want to love and be loved. The post seems to be incorrectly equating “romance” with “loving and being loved”, when in fact there are many people who don't experience romantic attraction yet absolutely love and want to be loved. (And of course loveless aros, aplatonic people, various folks who don't “want to love and be loved” also exist, and it's important to emphasise that this desire, just like romantic attraction, is also not necessarily integral to all people.) “Love” is not automatically “romantic love”, but this post seems to imply that romance is the only, or default, form in which love can exist.

If you don't think every great work of literature. philosophy. metaphysics. was ultimately about romance. I don't think you were paying enough attention. OK this is the line that elevated this post from “sigh, more casual amatonormativity to scroll past” to “I just have to respond to this”. Where to even begin with this assertion. This is a level of “assuming romance is central to everything humans ever do and ever create” that I've almost never encountered before. It feels like a manifestation of the tendency for alloromantic people to declare that, because romance is very central for them, it is thus central to Everything. And I'm homing in on “romance” because the post doesn't say “ultimately about love” - which would still be a reach, but less of a reach - it specifically says “ultimately about romance”. As an aromantic person who is an academic at heart and highly educated in the humanities and social sciences, the idea that my ability to understand literature and philosophy and metaphysics is somehow greatly hampered by the fact that I don't experience or relate to romantic attraction is just... what??? This idea is really very funny to me but also genuinely pretty insulting, even though I'm sure it wasn't meant that way. Not only does it feel like the summation of every patronising “oh, you couldn't possibly understand” directed to aromantic adults who are, in fact, entirely capable of understanding, but it also flattens the incredible breadth of human intellectual experience into “being about romance”. I sometimes find myself wishing that alloromantic people would peak outside the bubble of amatonormativity and realise that actually, there is an enormous swathe of human experience and intellect and creativity and expression that has nothing at all to do with romantic attraction and romantic relationships. And no, stating that, I don't know, the Book of Job is not actually about romance has nothing to do with our society's misogynistic denigration of romance as a genre; it has everything to do with the fact that the Book of Job is not actually about romance. (And if you aren't familiar with Job or for some reason don't consider it a “great work of literature”, replace with whatever other example you can think of; there are many.) It's insulting to imply that aro-spec and/or ace-spec people are somehow less able to participate in art and literature and philosophy etc because we might bring a perspective that doesn't include romance or sex at all and we're just not capable of understanding that Actually Romance And/Or Sex Is Central To Everything. It's genuinely absurd to argue that all the pinnacles of human intellectual achievement really, at their core, come back to romance, and it speaks to our very blinkered society's tendency to declare things like “everything is really about sex” or “everything is really about romance” or “everything is really about breakups” or whatever and then look at aro-spec and ace-spec people like we're aliens and go “but like... how do you even live?” Newsflash, there is so much more to life than romance and love and sex. You can live an entire, very fulfilling, very meaningful, very thoughtful life without these things being at all relevant to you. That's not to dismiss those things as minor or unimportant - they are indeed very central to a lot of people's lives, and they're not “dumb” or “shallow” or whatever - but they're not central to everyone's lives, and they're hardly The Only Things In The World.

And if your response is something along the lines of “well OK there's a tiny minority of people who don't engage with romance and/or sex, or relate to it in the same way most people do, but that doesn't mean that romance isn't still at the core of humanity, or that all the most important things don't still have romance at their heart”, imagine telling a woman that “well, you can focus on a career if you want, but what's really fundamental to being a woman is being a wife and mother - in fact, motherhood is the most important thing in the world, it's fundamental to women, it's what all women's literature is about”. Or, hell, telling a person of any gender that “parenthood” is the central pillar of all of humanity and that every great work of art ever produced is ultimately about parenthood and obviously parenthood is fundamental to everyone's being - forgetting that actually some people will never be parents, and implying that their childlessness makes them less able to understand The Human Experience. That might give you some small idea of what it's like to be an aspec person and be repeatedly told that feelings you don't experience and relationships you don't have and attractions you don't relate to and acts you don't engage in are somehow Fundamental To Humanity and are what lie at The Core Of Everything: how excluding that is, how alienating that is, how oppressively stifling that is.

Feeling that love and/or romance and/or sex are very important to your own life is totally valid, but I wish alloromantics and allosexuals could be more capable of opening their minds and imagining and empathising with an existence for which these things aren't central. Our lives aren't lesser, or emptier, or sadder, or shallower for lack of romance or sex. Our experiences are part of The Human Experience. Our perspectives on art and life and relationships and philosophy and humanity and everything else are just as valid. We are just as capable of profundity, of creativity, of insight - because romance and sex aren't “at the core” of any of these things. We are here, and we're tired of being forgotten, ignored, sidelined, dismissed, erased, talked over, talked past. It would be great if society at large actually remembered we exist once in a while, and that our lives are just as beautiful and important as anyone else's.

[mickyschumacher]

[I THINK HE KNOWS!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: a fake and curated date in italy on valentine's day is no one's idea of fun except a publicist’s. but all it does is take a walk around monza to know the difference between what's real and what's fake.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, poor humour, fake dating trope, reader is a graduate uni student, lando being a dream boyfriend, kinda suggestive at the end, mentions of horrible fans and privacy invaded, me knowing nothing about italy let alone lombardy at the end as well.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: lando norris x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.3k

𝐀/𝐍: third fic of my series! i really loved writing this one! fake dating is always such a hit or miss to write about but in this case, it was a lot easier. hope you enjoyed it!♡︎ // as usual, poorly proofread

𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Life’s a funny thing really. Full of mistakes leaving you wondering how you ever got there.  

And as you sat on a bench, looking over at the view of Lake Como in Lombardy, Italy, with ‘hidden’ paparazzi down the street, you began wondering the exact same thing.  

“How long do you think they’ll be here?” You queried, turning your body to face Lando.  

Lando tilted his head, resting his cheek in his hand as he leaned on the top of the bench. His blue eyes briefly raked over you and then where the paparazzi hid. He looked over at his watch. “Give or take twenty minutes. They’ll probably be hungry for actual food soon.”  

You withheld your sigh. How did you get here? Time sure had flown as seven months ago you were just a graduating university student with loan after loan on her shoulders. The very student who still decided to have a sweet treat after handing in her assignment and headed to your favourite cafe. The very student who bumped into Lando Norris and had her bracelet snag on the sleeve of his jacket, landing you in a compromising position as you tried to take it out.  

The very student who woke up the next day with her entire privacy invaded as ‘fans’ hunted you online and seemingly decided not only were you Lando’s girlfriend but the ‘perfect match’. 

That was you.  

Mere hours later, you had Lando’s publicist and underlings knocking at your door with a comprehensive contract and a promise to pay your student loans and pay you. You didn’t think it would last this long. Three months tops... surely. 

So, you signed it. A contract declaring that you were fake dating Lando Norris.  

They said it would help Lando’s image. And help it did. Lando had never looked better to his sponsors. Apparently dating a university graduate makes you look more polished and mature, enough to at least secure a dozen contracts. Most fans seemed to love you. Even the driver’s had taken a liking to you.  

But to you, Lando, and a handful of selectively picked people, this was all fake.  

Every decision was carefully made. The matching jewellery, what he said, what you posted, where you met, the hugs, the arms around the waist, the staring, the kisses... 

And six months later, here you were. On a curated date with the Lando Norris at Lake Como on Valentine’s Day – the third day of your trip. You had both compromised, agreeing to each make a list of things so do in Lombardy, two of which had to be a couple’s activity for the sake of it.  

You had completed most of both of your lists. A visit to Teatro Alla Scala, an opera theatre (your idea, obviously). A guided tour Villa Del Balbianello because Lando needed to see some more real-life scenes of Star Wars (mostly ended up taking photos of you the entire time). An agreed night out from the both of you to Navigli to consume ‘local food.’  

Lando, who desperately wanted to have walk around Lake Como, was sorely disappointed when he spotted the paparazzi hiding around the corner. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, watching your fingers trail the cracks in the wooden bench.  

“It’s okay,” you assured. “It’ll be over soon anyways.” 

Lando knew you were talking about the paparazzi. But he couldn’t help but think about your relationship with him.  

That day at the cafe... the only reason people thought you two were in a relationship wasn’t just because you were barely a centimetre apart trying to remove your bracelet but in all the photos people had captured, Lando was staring at you like it was love at first sight.  

And before he knew it, everything had gone down. The fans, his publicist, the media... it was a shitshow. And then you showed up two days later having signed a contract to be his fake girlfriend.  

Lando hated it. Fuck, he hated it so much. He hated that he dragged you into this. He hated that every moment with you was planned. And he especially hated that he couldn’t like you openly. Not with you thinking it was fake.  

Lando looked down back at his watch. He sighed, leg beginning to shake out of impatience. 

You raised a brow. Naturally, you put a hand on his arm. “Lando... is everything okay?” 

Lando flickered his eyes to your hand and back to your face. He moved his arm from your grasp, grabbing your hand instead. “Come on. We’re leaving,” he stated.  

Your eyes widened as he stood up, bringing you up with him. “W-What? Lan–we’re supposed to leave in thirty minutes,” you murmured quietly, leaving only him to hear your voice.  

“I don’t care,” he started, increasing his walking pace. “Whatever you do... just hold on to me, okay?” 

You furrowed your brows. “Lando, what are-” 

Abruptly Lando paused in his steps. He turned to you, blue eyes staring hard back at you. “Do you trust me?” 

“I–” 

“Do you trust me? Yes, or no?” He repeated softly. 

You gulped nervously, unable to look away from him. “Yes.” 

A look of relief washed over his face as he nodded. “Good. Then hold on. And don’t let go.” 

“Lando, I still don’t get what you–MEAN!” You yelped as Lando began running in no particular direction. You tightened your grasp on his hand while your legs struggled to catch up to him. The problems of having an athlete boyfriend.  

The wind felt serene. The sun was oddly warm despite it being the winter season. It was as though spring was trying to come a little early. All the early architecture you had seen on the way here was beginning to blur into one uniform colour. You weren’t sure where you were going or why but all you knew was that you were going way too fast.  

“Lando! I swear to God, if you get us killed–” 

“You said you trusted me,” Lando yelled back, cautiously looking over his shoulder. He could see the paparazzi struggling to follow the both of you.  

You panted, pushing your legs to keep up. “I do! Breaking into a sprint all of a sudden with no idea in mind, however, begs a slightly different answer.” 

Lando couldn’t help but laugh over the air and God, did you love it. You had heard of people saying that a laugh could sound like music to one’s ears. You never understood it. It was a laugh. A reaction. How could it be musical? But in that moment, you understood. It wasn’t just the laugh. It required the context, the smile, the thought... and only then did it become an orchestrated musical masterpiece.  

Another yelp left your mouth as Lando pulled you to the side, situating yourselves in an empty shaded alleyway. You rested your back as comfortably as you could against the stone while Lando stood in front of you, hand still wrapped around yours.  

You both waited quietly. Turning your head slightly, you could see a small flock of black clothed paparazzi walk by, all ushering and yelling, mystified to how you both had disappeared.  

“Okay,” you swallowed hard, turning back to Lando. “I think they’re...” You seem to have lost your ability to speak as you found Lando staring at you. It had been a common occurrence within the past few months and it never got any easier. “They’re gone,” you confirmed, chest heaving.  

“You should probably start joining me on my workouts,” he mumbled, eyes flickering over you again, absorbing the sight of the thin sheet of sweat across your skin.  

You narrowed your eyes, moving your hand from his grasp to hit him with the side of your bag. A groan fell from his lips. “Ow!” He yelled, making you clasp a hand over his mouth. Your head darted to the side, checking whether anyone heard him.  

“What was that for?” He queried after you removed your hand from his mouth.  

“For being an asshole. And for making me run. Which reminds me... why did you make us run?” You queried with a more than unhappy tone.  

Lando grinned. “We still have one thing on your list to do.” 

You furrowed your brows. “I didn’t add anything else.” 

Lando’s hand rummaged through the pocket of his shorts, taking out a familiar piece of paper – the very one you had written all your activities on. And right at the bottom was an activity you thought you tore off.  

Your eyes widened, hand darting out to grab the piece of paper but Lando was too quick. “Nuh-uh,” he tutted, holding the paper close to him. “I’m getting this framed.” 

You skin burned at his words. You clearly remembered what you wrote.  

Walk the Monza track with Lando (and preferably some gelato). 

“I was supposed to take that off,” you mumbled.  

Lando frowned. “You don’t want to do it? Or did you not want to do it with me?” 

You blinked blankly at Lando. “Are you stupid? Did you read the same thing I did? Obviously with you. I just... we’ll probably get mobbed so it’s a stupid idea.” 

Lando understood what you meant. Visiting in Italy for two days now had proven to be incredibly difficult with a fan asking for a photo every other minute. He was appreciative that you were so understanding but he felt awful. 

“Yeah... I mean it would be crazy if you had a boyfriend who could rent out the entire track for a couple of hours,” Lando yawned, stretching his arms nonchalantly.  

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see your mouth fall open. “Lando... you didn’t.” 

Lando rolled his eyes, grabbing your hand once again. “I did. Now come on. We’re going to be late!”  

━━━━━━━━━━━ 

You blinked blankly once you arrived to the empty Monza track. You had preoccupied yourself in the car ride here, pointing out all the interesting things you were seeing as Lando drove to the track. You were going to fall asleep if you hadn’t arrived there any earlier. But now that you were... you didn’t think your eyes could get any wider.  

“Is that a...” You turned to Lando with twinkling eyes.  

“Just go pick your flavour,” he narrowed his eyes.  

A squeal fell from your lips and before you knew it, you were hugging Lando tightly. You could feel his arms wrap around your waist, happily accepting your hug. “Thank you,” you murmured next to his ear.  

Lando smiled calmly despite his heart beat pounding in his ears. He was sure he could stay like this forever if he could. “You’re welcome. I... It’s so much less than what you deserve, but it’s all I could think to do given the... circumstances.”  

You stared at the pavement of the track heavily, Lando’s words swirling around your head. Right... the circumstances. You cleared your throat, pulling away from him even though you could’ve sworn you felt him tighten his grasp momentarily.  

“Come on. Pick your flavour or I’m just going to get you all chocolate,” you called out, waking over to the gelato cart he had hired. 

Lando sighed, briefly making a disgusted expression. He followed after you with a small smile. Despite the wind, he could still smell you on him.  

You greeted the cart owner, excitedly eyeing all the gelato flavours. There were so many to choose from... how were you ever going to pick? “Can I get...” 

“She’ll get mango, chocolate, raspberry, and lemon in a cup,” Lando finished, hovering behind you.  

You gaped, snapping your head to Lando. “How did you know?” 

“Better question is,” Lando started, resting his mouth right above your shoulder and near your ear, “why wouldn’t I?” 

You shivered at his words, cheeks burning at the small grin playing on his lips. “I’m not sharing any of mine,” you muttered, moving your eyes to the gelato.  

Lando pouted teasingly. “Please,” he sung, tilting his head so you could see him blink his eyes rapidly. 

You gulped, taking a step away before you succumbed to his wishes. “I think I’m going to throw up.” 

Lando gasped. “So rude!” 

You chuckled taking the cup of gelato while thanking the owner. Lando narrowed his eyes at you, ordering his own combination of pistachio, melon, and orange.  

You made a face at his cup as he walked towards you. “There is something so wrong with you.” 

Lando rolled his eyes, nudging you forwards to the entrance of the track. “Just be quiet and walk.” 

━━��━━━━━━━━ 

You and Lando walked comfortably at your own pace around the track, eating your gelato while he explained parts of the track or its history.  

“I’m not gonna lie,” you started, finishing your spoonful of raspberry, “Curva Parabolica makes me feel sick. Every time it came on the TV, I thought I was going to throw up.” 

Lando raised a brow, resting his spoon in his cup. “I thought you didn’t watch them?” 

It was always Lando’s assumption you didn’t watch the races. Even when you came to them, if there was a camera, you’d flash a smile, otherwise there was no other reason to be there. You were at the podiums because you had to be, not because you wanted to be. 

You snorted, looking at him incredulously. “Of course, I watch them. Why wouldn’t I? You’re freaking racing! I’m always so proud of you, no matter where or how you finish. You don’t see me next your mum and dad, cheering you on at the end of the race?” 

Of course he did. You were the first person he would look for at a race. And if you weren’t there, he’d look at the camera in hopes you were watching. And all this time... you had been.  

Lando’s mouth dried. “I just thought...” 

You looked at his face and you could read his mind. “You thought it was fake.” 

He blinked, regret washing over his face. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it,” he apologised.  

You took a spoonful of your mango gelato and eyeing his mournful expression. “It’s okay. If there’s one thing you should know, my proudness and happiness for you isn’t fake. Even if this whole thing is.” 

And there it was again. The bitter reminder that this entire relationship was fake. That perhaps the only real thing in your relationship was how you met.  

But this was real. 

This – the track, the gelato, the conversation – this was real.  

Lando sucked in a sharp breath, moving his eyes to the rest of the track as he ate large soon of his melon gelato. He exhaled slowly, trying to remember where he was once again. “Okay... pop quiz! Who was Variante Ascari named after?” 

You cleared your throat, pulling on a thoughtful expression. “Um Al.. Alberto Ascari? The Italian driver, right?” 

“Thank God someone’s been paying attention,” he joked as you neared the named turn.  

You rolled your eyes. “I should thank Fewtrell for that one. Remember that stream he made us join?” 

“Yeah,” Lando laughed softly, all the memories hitting him at once. It was really sweet of Max actually. It was a time when some ‘fans’ were being particularly awful to you. Saying you were using Lando for fame because you barely knew anything about the sport.  

Max then created a poorly made quiz about Formula 1 and got you and Lando to join. Max and Lando pretended not to know much so you were all in the same boat. And any time the right answer was mention, Lando would occasionally squeeze your leg to give you a clue. The stream was flooded with some of the kindest comments, telling you to ignore everyone else and just focus on your health and your relationship with Lando.  

It was one of the moments where you realised how good of a friend Max was. Lando was lucky to have someone who cared for him that much.  

Lando looked down at his cup and let out a dramatic sigh. 

You didn’t even need to bat an eye towards. “I told you I'm not sharing,” you reminded, quickening your pace.  

It didn’t take long for him to catch up. “Please, please. I can see you have like two spoons of mango and lemon. Come on. Sharing is caring.” 

“No–Lando! Stop following me!”  

All of a sudden, you and Lando were running again. But this time, you weren’t worried about some paparazzi or the destination. It was just you and Lando.  

“No offense, but you are not outrunning me,” Lando called out from behind you, running with what you were pretty sure was a smug grin. 

You huffed, trying to push your legs further but you could feel him hovering. You came to an abrupt halt. “You’re right. I can’t outrun you,” you smiled, turning to him. “But I can out-eat you.” 

Lando’s grin dropped as you combined the two flavours of gelato and plopped them in your mouth. He stood there, dumbfounded while you happily ate the rest.  

You replicated his smug grin from earlier and poked your tongue out. “All finished. Sorry,” you shrugged with no sound of an apology hidden in your voice.  

Lando swallowed hard, eyes fixated on your mouth. A step closer to you, his body was pressed on yours. His hand travelled up your neck, the other hand resting on your waist to pull you closer.  

You inhaled slowly, hairs on your body standing straight. You tried meeting his eyes but all you could see was him focus on your lips. Instinctively, your hand fell to his arm around your waist, fastening yourself to him.  

“I... I think I can still taste it,” he said, voice hoarse and dry. He wasn’t sure if he could even recognise himself. 

“Lando... I–we're not on the clock,” you whispered, unwilling to untangle yourself from his grasp.  

“I don’t care.” 

In the blink of an eye, Lando’s lips were smashed against yours and fuck, his lips were soft and pillowy as usual. Your stomach churned upon feeling Lando pushing you closer to him, if that were possible. His fingers were cold against your skin, creeping under the hem of your shirt to rub tingling circles onto your skin.  

A breathy gasp fell from your lips while goosebumps littered your skin. Lando took advantage of this, groaning against your lips as he darted his tongue to explore your mouth. He could feel himself press into you, rubbing his hard-on against you.  

You think now would be an appropriate time to self-implode. You had all the signs. Burning skin, dizziness, and the lost ability to breathe. 

Lando almost buckled under your touch as your fingers scoured his taut torso, lingering dangerously close to his v-line. 

“Holy fuck,” he gasped, pulling away to rest his forehead on yours. His hands had found themselves holding yours, preventing you from undoing him any further. His chest heaved, rising up and down while he stared at your swollen lips and moved his eyes to meet yours.  

“I want this to be real,” he pleaded, moving your hand to his face. “Please.” 

“Lando,” you started but he didn’t want to hear it.  

He shook his head. “I think I’m falling in love with you. I think I have been since we first met,” he sighed out, collecting himself. “I don’t want to do this when it’s fake. I want to be with you because what I feel is real. Because you drive me crazy and I can’t imagine a future without you.” 

You blinked, feeling his hand trail over yours as you caressed his face. Your heart raced loudly in your ears. How were you supposed to respond to that? “I...” 

“Please say something. Anything,” he begged, blue eyes heavily staring down at you. 

“As long as you promise to walk with me on every track. Oh, and get me gelato.” 

Lando let out the biggest sigh of relief, almost collapsing against your hand. His head dipped down, pressing his lips against you once again, taking you into a long kiss. He sighed, pulling away.  

His arms fell around your waist as he grinned at you. “I promise.” 

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 

[luckykiwiii101]

ONE THING ABOUT BEING THE QUEEN OF DELUSIONS? IT GIVES YOU A LONG WAY TO FALL

p.s. this post isn’t pretty, it wasn’t worth my time, or effort.

Hey Upper East Siders. Gossip girl here. Usually i’m here to help you fix your life, but @loaisacult, this one’s for you. And I can’t name any upper east siders more desperate than, well…you. It’s pitiful I know. But you can cry about it later, if you haven’t ran out of tears already, that is.

I don’t mean to start a fight, but there’s a weak link in every chain, and it just happens to be you.

I know you express your belief in the law of assumption being a cult. The funny thing is, when people don’t like something, they usually walk away, unless it bothers them that much. And the even funnier thing is, you complain about bloggers “preaching” the law of assumption, and getting others to follow. But what are you doing? Preaching your ideologies, in hopes that others will follow you too. Oh what’s that word again…hypocritical was it?

And oh sweetie, no one cares about your irrelevant opinions enough to affirm “@loaisacult doesn’t exist, @loaisacult doesn’t exist…” Talk about a weak argument. I hope law isn’t your major. But you know what is major? Your idiocy.

Calling people on this app suicidal? Pathetic. Although I can’t tell you that isn’t true. Because to some extent, it is. And i’d agree with you if you weren’t so ignorant. But I guess changing self in terms other than just loa isn’t your cup of tea. Bloggers are not meant to be personal therapists for people in the loacommunity. And yes there are and were previously some bloggers who would get suicidal asks from anons and just respond to them to persist. But why are you generalising EVERYONE in the community? Your point is immediately invalid. So because there were some immoral bloggers who would act that way automatically means that the whole entire practise of the law of assumption is a CULT? Hello? Do you hear yourself?

Let’s use your “logic” here. Say gossip girl makes a post telling her followers to worship satan. Therefore the whole entire loa community must ALL be satanists! Now how ridiculous is that…

Yes there are liars, everywhere. Oh i’m sorry, did that come as a surprise to you? You didn’t think the world was rainbows and sunshine did you? Well unless you assume it is. But at the same time, there are honest people too. Yet you like to pick and choose what to focus on. Look me in my virtual eyes and tell me that Lady gaga isn’t one of the most famous people on the planet. Oh wait..you can’t! News flash, she manifested that. And so did many of your other favourites. Yet you choose to focus on liars, because that’s what you want to believe. Of course a close minded, one sided argument is your way to go. Disregard everything else in the process why don’t you.

“It's ironic how some boast about manifesting luxury items like Lamborghinis, which could easily be rented, yet they fail to manifest meaningful change for their followers who are in abusive situations.” - l.o.s.e.r

B-b-but didn’t you say that you used to be a big blogger? So why didn’t you attempt to do the same? (As if! it would only work if they assumed so). But honestly, you don’t sound like someone who is educated on the law, you sound like those desperate anons in bloggers inboxes asking bloggers to manifest for them. Because why is that the point you used? To manifest for followers? Were you…one of those…followers? Talk about holding a grudge. No wonder why you’re so mad. If I had a dime for how many times you got rejected i’d be a millionaire.

“Want to prove to your followers who are spiraling about the American election rather than post persist hehehee how about you manifest for them….. change the election revise life’s an illusion while you’re crying about having your rights taken away lol but you can’t.” - l.o.s.e.r

Run upper east siders, we’ve got an idiot on our hands. Making a point on something completely false. If you really understood the law, you’d know that you can’t manipulate somebody else’s reality, unless they assume you can. But it’s not to my surprise that you didn’t know that, of all people. Last time I checked, it’s YOUR imagination, and nobody else’s. So WHY would YOUR 3D reflect THEIR imagination? And you claim to be a blogger educated on the law…quite a “big” one too. I cant name any “big” bloggers who’ve misinformed the law THAT bad. Talk about liars now…

At this point, it’s PAINFULLY obvious that you were one of those anons begging bloggers to manifest for you. Because you’re SO mad that bloggers don’t do that for people. They can’t really because it depends on your assumption. I’m not even making an invalid point here. It’s just so obvious. “Want to prove to your followers.” “how about you manifest for them” 😭 I’m literally in tears because of how funny this is. I’m sorry that no blogger has proven it to you or manifested “for you”, and you’ve carried that hatred with you and projected it onto the whole loa community. And the only reason you continue to believe that the law of assumption is real (rightfully so) is because you know that there’s way too much proof of it to even attempt to dismiss it without looking like a fool. And maybe a fraction of that belief comes from your hope, because without the law, everything you’d ever hoped for would be out the window.

In short, you make points about “why don’t you manifest for your followers 🥺” Well, I don’t know if you knew this but…there’s this concept called free will. And just because someone chooses to not do something, doesn’t mean they can’t. Is common sense just not part of the package for you? It seems the point flies right over your head faster than you can catch it, and the only thing that doesn’t land, are your “points”.

But if you still don’t understand me, let’s use a little bit of your so -called logic here.

‘Loa is real manifesting is real shifting is real but most people in this community lie and are culty 99.999% of the stories here are lies the people doing that shit don’t even post abt it probably think they’re in some dream most of the success here are creative writing and living in the end.” - l.o.s.e.r

From YOUR logic, couldn’t I just ask you to manifest that the liars don’t exist and that you no longer view the law of assumption as a cult? So why haven’t you…? You’ll ask anyone questions but yourself. And if they think it was a dream…then how did they send their success stories to bloggers? Did I miss an update because last time I checked, you can’t do that in a dream. See, your points are fuelled by complete hatred, not logic. You truly don’t believe what you’re telling yourself and others. Embarrassing.

And don’t get me started on how statistically IMPOSSIBLE that is. Do I even have to explain why? I promise you, thousands of people are NOT lying for the pure fun of it. That’s just not how the human mind works. Wouldn’t they rather shit on loa just like you rather than posting success stories hoping it’ll happen?I didn’t know talking out of the wrong hole was in fashion these days. But then again, not everyone has style. And if there’s one thing money can’t buy, it’s class. Was that a moth? Must’ve flewn right out of your wallet.

Now don’t get me wrong, i’m not bothered to read your whole blog and all the nonsense you cry about and debunk every little thing you say. Because trust me, common sense does the job for me.

Have fun continuing to “preach” your delusional idea of the law being a cult to yourself and your little followers. Like sheep. One after the other.

Don’t even think about trying to respond to me, as if anything you say makes sense.

P.S. I’ll delete this post later, I don’t like having drama on my blog. This is my first and last time addressing you. I just don’t want people in this community, including my lovely upper east siders to listen to idiots like you telling them that all the success stories they’ve read are fake, when that is so obviously not true. Only someone who hasn’t consciously the experienced the law for themselves would doubt others so badly, and you used to be a “big” blogger you say…The fucking audacity. But then again, it’s hard to believe in something you haven’t experienced for yourself (is it?), but at-least don’t get caught in a lie. Disrespectfully, shut your mouth and don’t open it again.

- gossip girl

[waaaffle]

I have seen people genuinely disappointed that Apothecary Diaries is not yuri, and it's so funny because there is not a single point (canonically) in the series that suggests that she has so much as romantic crush on any woman??? 😭 Some even treat it as criticism, which is kinda weird since the story would not be remotely the same if not for Maomao and Jinshi's overall dynamic and connection (not just the romantic aspect of their relationship) which is, in part, influenced by their positions in society as a commoner woman and a high-ranking man.

I kinda feel like people want to change things about Maomao's character to fit a mold that she just doesn't fit. Someone pointed out that one of the reasons why Jinshi seems to be the only character in the series that people constantly hold to modern standards is because he gets in the way of her fitting that mold. The excuses I see just to make her being in a relationship with him seem "forced" are hilarious; y'all need to be comfortable disliking things simply because you don't like it. Some of the same people who get mad at people for enjoying the romance aspect of the series when it's not harming anyone. I agree that the series is so much more than just romance, but that doesn't mean that it being someone's favorite aspect is wrong. Part of me thinks that some people feel as if she isn't "unique" enough if she falls for him, when a) that doesn't ruin her character and b) she has so many qualities that make her interesting regardless.

For example, I saw a post (not on here) that said it was terrible to see a girl so "obviously" autistic and ace-coded to be "groomed" into a romantic relationship. It really gets to a point. 😅

And her only falling for one (very persistent and attentive) person makes so much sense because it is hard for her to even open up her walls enough to openly regard someone as a friend (like in the most recent episode). What makes you think she will go around easily falling for all these people.

People are going to have to come to terms with the fact that, although romance isn't the main genre, there is without a doubt romantic development between the two, especially starting with LN 5 content.

(This is about the general online English-speaking side of the fandom — especially twitter and tiktok. This is not about people who enjoy other ships, just my thoughts about people who I have seen complain and act like it drags the series down.)

[landograndprix]

╰┈➤ ❝ desire • l.n c.l ❞ x

part nine - part eleven

➪ Charles hasn't paid much attention to you after your daughter was born but a certain Brit does.

➪ and while there's a lot of things you still need to work on, this is a great start to the new, beter chapters of your life

➪ established relationship mom!reader x dad!Charles x lando

➪ I think we needed a lil' cute to calm our tits 🥰 also, absolutely gobsmacked by the love this fic is getting and how involved you all are with it, you guys are seriously the best and I love y'all so much 😘

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y/nusername posted to their story

milliexoxo replied to your story

milliexoxo

someone's getting laid tonight

guessing you're not coming home tonight 🤪

y/nusername

go back to your coloring book

milliexoxo

wow, okay..I see how it is

no but seriously, are you coming back tonight or are you staying with lando so I can double lock the house lmao

y/nusername

staying in monaco, will be back tomorrow

milliexoxo

nice, I'll see you tomorrow then

have fun and don't do things I wouldn't do 😘

y/nusername

okay mom 😘

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y/nusername

📍 London, United Kingdom

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell and 539,678 others

y/nusername fifty shades of earl grey. 🇬🇧

tagged: landonorris, milliexoxo

view all 2,001 comments

norry4 cute, lando took them to England 😭

milliexoxo talk british to me

milliexoxo not pictured, y/n losing her mind over a bookshop

↳ y/nusername that wasn't a shop, that was heaven.

milliexoxo okay..nerd

landoscar i agree with y/n, every book shop is heaven

yukisan girl stop bullying your mom, we've warned you before 😭

milliexoxo I'm a rebel, I don't listen to no one

y/nusername big imagination for such a little girl

norrizz god I just know zoë is getting spoiled by stepdad lando 😭

carlandooo Charles crying in a corner rn

↳ charliecharlie I mean that's his own fault lmfao

carlandooo true 💀

bradleyfewtrell please tell me you met max 😂

↳ landomax I just know millie will bully max relentlessly 😂

bradleyfewtrell and I just know y/n would get along with max and pietra so well!

norrizzlandoo lando and zoë 😭😭

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milliexoxo

like by y/nusername, logansargeant and 2,671 others

milliexoxo your typical tourist on tour.

tagged: landonorris, y/nusername, maxfewtrell

maxwellmax lmfao yes max 💀

landonorris ❤️ I nodnol?

↳ milliexoxo oh my god you're so funny lando!!!!!!!

norry4 took me a second 😂

landonorizzzz he's taking his annoying stepdad duties seriously 😭

landoscar I feel sorry for the people who don't follow millie and miss out on all this

charlieslec did she just casually expose lando and y/n??

↳ norry4 are you new here? 😂

maxfewtrell but why?

↳ milliexoxo because I can 🥰

yukisan are we all just going to ignore the fact that Logan Sargeant is hiding in the likes? Yes? Cool 😭

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y/nusername

📍 Miami, FL

liked by riabish, landonorris and 609,578 others

y/nusername week 6. 🇺🇸

tagged: landonorris

view all 1,922 comments

landonorizzzz aw lando finally made it to the feed normally instead of the soft launch bullshit 😇

charlesgirlies zoë 🥺😭

milliexoxo look at my girlfriend living her best life, floating around ❤️

norry4 are we official? Hellooo can I finally fully unleash thr landoy/n shipper in me?! 🥺

yourmumsuser my little zoë 🤩🤩

chilisainz zoe being the unbothered queen that she is

landonorris my girls ❤️

↳ landoscar SHUT UP SHUT THE FUCK UP SHUT UUUUUUUP 😭

yesrislando brb going to take a bath with my toaster

maxmaxmax man's really pulled a max and stole another driver's girl and child 💀

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Desire taglist; @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @writingworlds @chezmardybum @lewisvinga @xjval @fanficweasley @rockyhayzkid @aundercover @thecubanator2 @minchedchilli @crimeshowjunkie @alisoncasey21 @eeviepepi08 @shamelesspotatos @sleepybrokenmelle @leireggsworld @janeholt3 @iamahalicinationn @dessxoxsworld @kapsylia @22yuki @dark-night-sky-99 @sheslikeacurse @nerdreader

Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @softboystarkey @honethatty12 @cixrosie @parkersmjs @ireadthensuetheauthors @celestialams @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @80sloverry @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife @harrysdimple05 @minkyungseokie @pretty-little-bunny382728 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @severewobblerlightdragon @cherry-piee @namgification @mycenterfold @devineendevers

Lando taglist: @beatricemiruna @simp-for-fictional-people @landossainz @christianpulisic10 @bored-brunette2 @i83andrew

[mizgnomer]

Time Crash - Behind the Scenes - Part Nine

Excerpts from Benjamin Cook’s interview with Peter Davison and David Tennant in DWM #389:

DWM: Famously, Peter, you were advised by Patrick Troughton to do three years in this role and then leave, which is what you did. David, you're coming up to three years. Is that the optimum tenure for a Doctor, do you think?

DT: That's a very leading question! [Laughs] When I think back to The Christmas Invasion, it does feel like a lifetime ago - not in a bad way, but so much has happened, and so much has moved on and changed. It's been an action-packed three years so far.

PD: I might as well have done another year, except in those days we were very pushed on budgets and time, so you were faced with stories that were a little substandard. That was part of the frustration. It's a different world now. You can go off and do other things without feeling that Doctor Who is going to stick with you. That's the biggest fear. It's not exactly typecasting, it's people just not employing you because you were the Doctor

DT: I would agree with that reading of events, but I suppose time will tell. I'll probably need to look back objectively in days to come

PD: I don't think it will be a problem for you, David. It wasn't so much a problem for me, because I was, like you, kind of known before I did Doctor Who. As long as you're enjoying yourself, there's no reason to worry about when or when not to leave.

DT: I'm still having a great time. In some ways, playing the Doctor will always feel like a novelty.

PD: One gets used to it.

DT: One does, I suppose. But I don't mean one gets blasé. Last year, I still felt a bit like the new boy, but now I'm positively an old hand, aren't I? [Chuckles] I'm not really a new boy now. It's funny how three years can change your perspective. It's an overused phrase in terms of film crews and stuff, but there's such a sense of family now, and so many people have been here for as long as I have, if not longer. Even people who are new just fall into the sort of bosom of it, which I'm really pleased about. It makes it a great thing to return to. It's nice when guests come in - like you, Peter, coming back to do this - and seem to get a sense of that, and kind of become part of that as well. It's a very happy place to be.

- - - - - -

Link to [ part one ] of the Time Crash Behind-the-scenes posts, or click the #whoBtsCrash tag, or the full episode list [ here ]

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Against transparency

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me at NEW ZEALAND'S UNITY BOOKS in AUCKLAND on May 2, and in WELLINGTON on May 3. More tour dates (Pittsburgh, PDX, London, Manchester) here.

Walk down any street in California for more than a couple minutes and you will come upon a sign warning you that a product or just an area "contains chemicals known to the state of California to cause cancer."

These warnings are posted to comply with Prop 65, a 1986 law that requires firms to notify you if they're exposing you to cancer risk. The hope was that a legal requirement to warn people about potential carcinogens would lead to a reduction in the use of carcinogens in commonly used products. But the joke's on us: since nearly everything has chemicals that trigger Prop 65 warnings, the warnings become a kind of background hiss. I've lived in California five times now, and I've never once seen a shred of evidence that a Prop 65 warning deters anyone from buying, consuming, using, or approaching anything. I mean, Disneyland is plastered in these warnings.

The idea behind Prop 65 was to "inform consumers" so they could "vote with their wallets." But "is this carcinogenic?" isn't a simple question. Many chemicals are carcinogenic if they come into contact with bare skin, or mucus membranes, but not if they are – for example – underfoot, in contact with the soles of your shoes. Other chemicals are dangerous when they're fresh and offgassing, but become safe once all the volatiles and aromatics have boiled off of them.

Prop 65 is often presented as a story of overregulation, but I think it's a matter of underregulation. Rather than simply telling you that there's a potential carcinogen nearby and leaving you to figure out whether you've exceeded your risk threshold, a useful regulatory framework would require firms to use their products in ways that minimize cancer risk. For example, if a product ships with a chemical that is potentially carcinogenic for a couple weeks after it is manufactured, then the law could require the manufacturer to air out the product for 14 days before shipping it to the wholesaler.

"Caveat emptor" has its place – say, at a yard-sale, or when buying lemonade from a kid raising money for a school trip – but routine shopping shouldn't be a life-or-death matter than you can only survive if you are willing and able to review extensive, peer-reviewed, paywalled toxicology literature. When a product poses a serious threat to our health, it should either be prohibited, or have its use proscribed, so that a reasonable, prudent person doing normal things doesn't have to worry that they've missed a potentially lethal gotcha.

In other words, transparency is nice, but it's not enough.

Think of the "privacy policies" you're asked to click through a thousand times a day. No one reads these. No one has ever read these. For the first six months that Twitter was in business, its privacy policy was full of mentions to Flickr, because that's where they ganked the policy from, and they missed a bunch of search/replace operations. That's funny – but far funnier is that no one at Twitter read the privacy policy, because if they had, they would have noticed this.

You know what would be better than a privacy policy? A privacy law. The last time Congress passed a consumer privacy law was in 1988, when they banned video store clerks from disclosing which VHS cassettes you took home. The fact is that virtually any privacy violation, no matter how ghastly or harmful to you, is legal, provided that you are "notified" through a privacy policy.

Which is why privacy policies are actually privacy invasion policies. No one reads these things because we all know we disagree with every word in them, including "and" and "the." They all boil down to, "By being stupid enough to use this service, you agree that I'm allowed to come to your house, punch your grandmother, wear your underwear, make long distance calls, and eat all the food in your fridge."

And like Prop 65 warnings, these privacy policies are everywhere, and – like Prop 65 warnings – they have proven useless. Companies don't craft better privacy policies because so long as everyone has a terrible bullshit privacy policy, there's no reason to.

My blog, pluralistic.net has two privacy policies. One sits across the top of every page:

Privacy policy: we don't collect or retain any data at all ever period.

The other one appears in the sidebar:

By reading this website, you agree, on behalf of your employer, to release me from all obligations and waivers arising from any and all NON-NEGOTIATED agreements, licenses, terms-of-service, shrinkwrap, clickwrap, browsewrap, confidentiality, non-disclosure, non-compete and acceptable use policies ("BOGUS AGREEMENTS") that I have entered into with your employer, its partners, licensors, agents and assigns, in perpetuity, without prejudice to my ongoing rights and privileges. You further represent that you have the authority to release me from any BOGUS AGREEMENTS on behalf of your employer.

The second one is a joke, obviously (it sits above a sidebar element that proclaims "Optimized for Netscape Navigator."). But what's most funny is that when I used to run it at the bottom of all my emails, I totally freaked out a bunch of reps from Big Tech companies on a standards committee that was trying to standardizes abusive, controlling browser technology and cram it down two billion peoples' throats. These guys kvetched endlessly that it was unfair for me to simply declare that they'd agreed that they would do a bunch of stuff for me on behalf of their bosses.

My first response was, of course, "Lighten up, Francis." But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that these guys actually believed that showering someone in endless volleys of fine print actually created legal contracts and consent, and that I might someday sue their employers because I had cleverly released myself from their BOGUS AGREEMENTS.

Of course, that would be very stupid. I can't just wave a piece of paper in your face, shout "YOU AGREED" and steal your bike. But substitute "bike" for "private data" and that's exactly the system we have with privacy policies. Rather than providing notice of odious and unconscionable behavior and hoping that "market forces" sort it out, we should just update privacy law so that doing certain things with your private data is illegal, without your ongoing, continuous, revocable consent.

Obviously, this would come as a severe shock to the tech economy, which is totally structured around commercial surveillance. But the fact that an extremely harmful practice is also extremely widespread is not a reason to keep on doing it – it's a reason to stop. There was a time when we let companies sell radium suppositories, and then, one day, we just banned companies from telling you to put nuclear waste up your asshole:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/19/just-stop-putting-that-up-your-ass/#harm-reduction

We didn't fall back on the "freedom to contract" or "bodily autonomy." Sure, what you do with your body is your own business, but that doesn't imply that quacks should have free rein to trick you into using their murderous products.

And just as there are legitimate, therapeutic uses of radioisotopes (I'm having a PT scan on Monday!), there are legitimate reasons to share your private data. We don't need to resort to outright bans – we can just regulate things. For example, in 2022 Stanford Law's Mark Lemley proposed an absolutely ingenious answer to abusive Terms of Service:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/10/be-reasonable/#i-would-prefer-not-to

Lemley proposes constructing a set of "default rules" for routine agreements, made up of the "explicit and implicit" rules of contracts, including common law, the Uniform Commercial Code, and the Restatement of Contracts. Any time you're presented with a license agreement, you can turn it down in favor of the "default rules" that everyone knows and understands. Anyone who accepts a EULA instead must truly be consenting to a special set of rules. If you want your EULA to get chosen over the default rules, you need to make it short, clear and reasonable.

If we're gonna replace "caveat emptor" with rules that let you go about your business without reading 10,000,000 words of bullshit legalese every time you leave your house (or pick up your phone), we need smart policymakers to create those rules.

Since 2010, America has had an agency that was charged with creating and policing those rules, so you could do normal stuff without worrying that you were accidentally signing your life away. That agency is called the the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau, and though it did good work for its first decade of existence, it wasn't until the Biden era, when Rohit Chopra took over the agency, that it came into its own.

Under Chopra, the CFPB became a powerhouse, going after one scam after another, racking up a series of impressive wins:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/10/getting-things-done/#deliverism

The CFPB didn't just react, either. They staffed up with smart technologists and created innovative, smart, effective initiatives to keep you from getting ripped off:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/01/bankshot/#personal-financial-data-rights

Under Chopra, the CFPB was in the news all the time, as they scored victory after victory. These days, the CFPB is in the news again, but for much uglier reasons. For billionaire scammers like Elon Musk, CFPB is the most hated of all the federal agencies. Musk's Doge has been trying to "delete the CFPB" since they arrived on the scene, but their hatred has made them so frenzied that they keep screwing up and losing in court. They just lost again:

https://prospect.org/justice/2025-04-18-federal-judge-halts-cfpb-purge-again/

Trumpland is full of the people on the other side of those EULAs, the people who think that if they can trick you out of your money, "that makes me smart":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/04/its-not-a-lie/#its-a-premature-truth

If Musk can trick you into buying a Tesla after lying about full self driving, that doesn't make him a scammer, "that makes him smart." If Trump can stiff his contractors, that doesn't make him a crook, "that makes him smart."

It's not a coincidence that these guys went after the CFPB. It's no mystery why they've gone after every watchdog that keeps you from getting scammed, poisoned or maimed, from the FDA to the EPA to the NLRB. They are the kind of people who say, "So long as it was in the fine print, and so long I could foist that fine-print on you, that's a fair deal." For them, caveat emptor is a Latin phrase that means, "Surprise, you're dead."

It's bad enough when companies do this to us, be they Big Tech, health insurers or airlines. But when the government takes these grifters' side over yours – when grifters take over the government – hold onto your wallets:

https://www.citationneeded.news/trump-crypto-empire/

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/19/gotcha/#known-to-the-state-of-california-to-cause-cancer

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[starfilmz]

THOROUGHFARE | UNSURE FEELINGS, DRUNKEN CALLS

⤷ A JJ MAYBANK SOCMED AU .ᐟ

──── you never expected that swapping socials with your call of duty duo would change your life — whether for better or worse, you're still not sure. friendships are made and something much more begins. ON HIATUS

thoroughfare masterlist ──── 05 | 06 | 07

a/n: chap 6 has been a bitch to post bc tumblr couldn’t handle it but VIOLA it has arrived. this chap became a mix of smau and written fic so we doin something here 🤔 ofc it’ll still be social media based do not fret, but i feel like these written ones are needed for this. not betaread obvs so mistakes are everywhere!! lmk your thoughts, expectations, or how u see this fic ending cuz it is soon 😝

john b stood up as soon as he heard the whirring sound of his best friend’s motorcycle. it came to a stop when he stepped out on the château’s porch, leaning against one of the posts with his arms crossed. jj looked disheveled and as much as he wanted to say “as per usual”, the boy walked towards the house as if he ran into several bushes on the way.

he had a frown on his face as he faced john b. “i don’t know what do,” he finally spoke, his expression morphing that tells john b he didn’t want to admit to that. “long distance relationships are weird and, i’ve experienced worst that weird, man, you and i both know that and i—“

“alright, calm down,” john b grabbed the boy’s shoulder before he could go on another self-destructive tangent. “let’s talk about this, okay? pope said he’s on his way with beers.”

jj sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair. “it feels unfair for her that i’m making a big deal about this. it’s the whole rafe thing again! honestly, i genuinely think i overreacted.” he sat on the closest couch on the porch with furrowed eyebrows.

john b followed him, an amused expression on his face. jj noticed this, raising his eyebrows at the boy. “what’s so funny?”

he shook his head, his curls falling slightly to his side as he looked at jj. “when’s the last time you acted this way towards a girl?”

“oh, don’t start, jb.”

“i’m sorry, okay? look, you don’t need to be thinking this hard, man, alright?” the boy chuckled, patting his friend firmly on the back. “yn’s a good person, i can tell, and…” john b looked around as if anyone else but the two of them were around. he leaned closer towards jj, who didn’t think twice to do the same.

“from what i’ve read from sar’s phone, yn’s just crazy for you.”

this changed jj’s solemn expression into a mixture of lovesick, curiosity, and excitement. “i mean, that’s natural, right? she agreed to be my girlfriend so it’s natural for her to like me.” his words sounded defensive which made john b’s eyebrows rose.

“what i’m trying to say, jj, you don’t have to freak out just because you don’t know who’s around her. long distance is weird, i agree, but are you going to be like this every time she hangs out with people you don’t know?”

jj lowered his eyes, a tiny wave of shame washing over him. “no.”

“right, and i’m not trying to say don’t be jealous— you can’t help it, you like the girl,” john b held one of the blonde’s shoulder. “and if i were to give you an advice, man to man, thinking in your shoes, if you find long distance so much, why don’t you do something about it?”

jj looked up at john b, confusion etched all over his face. “what are you—“ and as if something clicked in his mind, john b nodded, confirming his thoughts. “isn’t it too soon?”

“what’s too soon?” both boys visibly flinched as pope made his presence known, beer bottles in hand. “i had to swipe this from my dad’s stack so you guys better fill me in.”

you couldn’t help the smile at john b’s story, giving it a heart as scrolled off the app. you would send a response, something about not leaving him in the streets because you guys still have a game session planned tomorrow, but you decided not to.

they were probably still at the boneyard, a place where they usually throw their parties as you’ve learned previously from jj, and they’ve shared enough stories about those to let you know those parties don’t end easily.

you sighed, sliding further into your bed as you hugged your pillow. was it silly to feel the way you do now?

you aren’t ready to fly out to see the boy you’ve been dying to see, but you want to, and you tell yourself you’re okay seeing them have fun, but as you stare deeper into your bedroom wall, you’re beginning to doubt that.

you took a deep breath, closing your eyes in an attempt to sleep and brush off your thoughts, but as soon as you do, your phone rang beside you. you moved the pillow and raised your phone, seeing jj’s profile picture and username across your screen.

jj was calling you.

you sat up, answering the phone, and placed it on your ear. loud music greeted your first, along with voices you’re not familiar with.

“—you can’t just leave her like that, jayj!” a girl harshly whispered against the speaker and it made you think she was either kiara, cleo, or sarah.

“hello?” you finally spoke, and when you did, everyone on the other side seemed to quiet down. you heard some kind of harsh slap, along with a small ‘ow!’. you didn’t recognize the rest of the voice before, but you were definitely aware someone had slapped jj.

“jj? you there?” you called once more, tone lighter in amusement. “i’m gonna hang up on you if you don’t talk.”

that seemed to catch the boy’s attention as he began sputtering away. “no, no, don’t, hello! look, i’m sorry, i’m being peer pressed right now—“

“don’t say that!” a deeper voice interrupted him.

“—and i just wanted to hear your voice…” from the way jj was talking, you could tell he was drunk, though you did believe that slap before sobered him up a bit. “i missed you, yn.”

“it’s only been a day a whole, jj,” you chuckled, leaning against your pillows. despite your answer, you couldn’t help but feel the same way. “but i missed you too, jay.”

“i’ve been building up the courage to call you all night and, i don’t know, i just wanted to hear from you before my lights go out,” jj laughed at his own words, a drunken expression all over his face you imagined.

“build up the courage? i’m your girlfriend, jay, you could call me whenever you want.” you answered, a small smile on your face.

there was a beat of silence from him and you thought it was a sign that he’s close to getting conked out, but his next words proved otherwise.

“can you say that again?” he whispered, almost like he’s hiding, which was most likely from his eavesdropping friends. “about the girlfriend thing, please?”

you hummed a playful tone, the instinct to tease jj was strong and it almost won if it weren’t the way your cheeks heated up at his voice, the way he sounded so soft and near the phone as if he was saying it directly in your ear.

“i’m your girlfriend, jj maybank. you happy?” you had to roll your eyes despite no one being with you hearing your sappy voice and attitude, anything to keep the butterflies in your stomach at bay.

“so happy, you don’t even know, baby,” the nickname came to you as a shock, but it didn’t felt wring hearing it from jj. if anything, you wanted to make him say it again. “i’m just so— oh my god, so happy. i’m your boyfriend, you’re my girlfriend— oh, bliss!”

you couldn’t help the laugh that bursted from you as jj’s voice doubled in volume. “i have a girlfriend! and she really likes me!” jj’s speaker managed to get the sound of what sounded like a crowd cheering at his embarrassing announcement, making you chuckle even further.

“alright, hands off the phone, okay— john b, take him, please? before he announces more details about yn?” another voice took over the call, and by the way the boy, who you now know is john b, responded with a ‘yes, ma’am’, you assumed it was sarah who came to the rescue.

“hey, sarah,” you greeted her. “having fun?”

“oh, we are, but no so much for jj tomorrow.”

“i can imagine, you’d think he’ll be able to live with that?” you joked.

“babe, he has no choice,” sarah responded with a laugh. “but for now, john b’s taking him back to the château to properly conk out.”

“that’s good to hear.”

“so,” she started and you already picked up the teasing tone in her voice.

“so?” you chuckled, amused at her.

“still unsure of visiting your hopeless boyfriend? was his very public and loud declaration of love for you enough?”

you hugged the nearest pillow, a warm smile spreading across your face. you felt a lot more at ease and mind solely focused on jj. “it’s enough.”

thoroughfare taglist: @yumwhy @beeskisses @callieyanderechan @udpoota @vivian-555 @popesbby @whatisoutside @roryology @readinghoes @mytimeiswaiting @marleymarleymarleymarley @urmotherlvr @fruitcakerafe @bobobellabo @max23b @mirellef2001 @bearbear21 @cassiewritessalot @baocean @ayy1234567 @lmaowhatt @scaroooos @mbella607 @dylsdaily @1mcrazybutcute

big apologies to the peeps that wanted to be tagged but aren’t here cuz i might’ve missed yall bc and for the people that are written on here but weren’t notified pls refer to this post :)

[fangirltothefullest]

You know.... tumblr is the only place I've ever felt like people can match my brand of neurodivergence. And I'm not talking about the weird conversations or funny posts either. I just mean in general conversation and interaction.

I've been in a small room with 12 other strangers for this soft skills class I have to take for this program that's helping me get a government job as someone with adhd and I just..... feel like such an alien when I'm in the room with them? They're all different ages and some are even around my age but it's like I'm pretending to be a person for them just as I would be doing around neurotypical people.

I am constantly masking in front of these people that are supposes to be like me.

More than one have adhd like I do but they're so different than me? There's so much unnecessary laughter that feels so forced and fake? All anyone wants to talk about are sports and parties and alcohol and drugs. Its exactly likw it was in every other social situation ive ever been in. "Who last partied and got black out drunk"- "my party days are over but i can still knock back a 12 pack of whatever and function just fine"‐ "last weekend i partied i got too high to remember my name-"

Or who rooted for which sportsball team and why the spoinklers are better than the spronklers. The sprunklies had a great pass but they called it too much for the spranklies and it was all rigged. I would stop watching it but I like mr pitcher-catcher-thrower-frontguy and if he can make it this year he'll win them for the whateverchampioncup for sure.

I feel like an alien studying an entirely different species.

Like is this how people always interact? Is it all fake nonsense or is it code? It feels like it's all in code and I just have no fucking idea what that code is.

Cause like I can tell none of them actually care! I KNOW we are here for a soft skills class but like.... this isn't soft skills this is high school locker room. This is people desperately trying to fit in. Soft skills are keeping things civil and connecting with fellow humans.

This didn't feel like forming connections, it felt like pretending. It felt like showing off. It felt like people vying for their chance to be in the spotlight. It felt like America's next top banana.

We were told not to talk about religion, politics, sports and personal lives at work because all it does is start drama at the workplace. What did they proceed to do? Talk about every single subject on the no-go list the moment we'd agreed not to. Did they think "no" was code for "do this immediately"?

Like is it me? Am I really so confusingly alien that even the people that are supposed to be like me, that also have adhd, are just so different?

And I come here on tumblr and yall get me.

I post about making a PowerPoint about the most fuckable pasta shape and yall are like drop the PowerPoint.

[croworro]

Making out with Charlie in the kitchen of a friends house at a costume party with music in the background….

Charlie Slimecicle x Reader drabble: Costume Party

OH MY GOODDDD. No because the way I was just thinking about this because I saw the photo of Charlie as beast boy again!!!

I only briefly proofread this before posting so oops

Warning: making out at parties, alcohol, suggestive content

Ted had been asking you to go to this party for weeks

“You need to get out more!” He said dramatically during one of your FaceTimes

You guffawed at him, but eventually gave in once he virtually pinky promised to keep you company all night and drive you to the party

He had the biggest shit eating grin when you finally agreed

“Don’t make me regret this!” You scolded him and he held his hands up in surrender

You honestly didn’t put much thought into your costume, you had a raven costume from a Halloween in previous years that had been a hit hanging in your closet

It was the perfect mix of hot, recognizable and low effort

You paired it with dark makeup and some knee high black books, and damn diva you ate

True to his word, Ted picked you up and drove you both to the party

When you finally made it to the party it was overwhelming

The house was huge

Every inch of it was covered in Halloween decorations that honestly all together probably costed more than your rent

The house just screamed YouTuber money

As soon as you entered the house Ted disappeared, “I’ll find you later!! Byeeee!! Have fun!! Mingle!” He yelled over his shoulder as he disappeared into the crowd of people

You spent about half an hour dodging over enthusiastic partygoers, sipping on some sort of alcoholic seltzer, and attempting to make small talk over the music

You managed to make a bit of small talk with others but it was impossible to hear with the bass of the music that shook the entire house

You were starting to wonder why you let Ted drag you to this

Sure you recognized most of the people here but you weren’t particularly close to any of them

You found refuge in the empty kitchen, the only spot in the house that the bass didn’t seem to reach

You sipped on your drink and leaned against the counter

The idea of just calling an uber was becoming more and more appealing by the minute

As soon as you pulled out your phone, the kitchen door swung open

In walked Charlie, calling over his shoulder to someone in the other room as he entered the kitchen

His eyes immediately landed on you and his expression shifted to pure delight

He was dressed as beast boy, his green face paint was slightly smudged and his hair was extra messy from the green hairspray

He strode across the kitchen and stood right in front of you

“Oh my god hey! What are you doing here?” He said with a large grin, his voice a familiar mix of teasing and surprise

He didnt even notice your costume at first and was just solely zoned in on you

Because damn you looked hot

Then he realized

“OH MY GOD! You’re raven!”

He took a step back to really take in your costume

“You had to know I was gonna be beast boy!” He exclaimed and accusingly pointed a finger your way

“ totally, I hacked into your brain and planned this months ago” you replied dryly

He just laughed, the sound just so warm and effortless

“I mean I don’t blame you, I would wanna match with me too” he teased while leaning against the counter next to you

The two of you easily slip back into your familiar banter

Ted had introduced you two a while back and you had hit it off right away

Charlie was handsome, funny, and charming but at the time you had been introduced he had been in a relationship

Now that he was single, you dynamic changed

And it was especially different tonight

Might have been the costumes, maybe it was the energy of the party, or maybe it was just him

So many accidental subtle touches

Brief moments where your hands touch that makes your stomach flip

“You really pull off the whole raven vibe” he complimented during a lull of silence in the conversation

his tone was playful but his gaze lingered a moment too long causing your face to flush

A couple of people wander into the kitchen and compliment you on how great you guys look together

before you can protest Charlie pulls you closer to him by your waist and thanks them

Someone snaps a cute photo of the two of you in your pose

Once the others in the kitchen leave the atmosphere in the kitchen shifts

Charlie’s hand is still rested on your waist

He leans in a little closer to you, his voice soft

“You know, I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight. But I’m glad you came.”

Instead of responding, you leaned in

It was a short hesitant kiss, you pulled away quickly

But before you can say anything, Charlie responds quickly

He pulls you closer with both hands on your waist kisses you, this time deepening the kiss

You pressed yourself closer to him

His hand on your waist tightened slightly and the other ghosted up to your cheek, his thumb resting gently on your skin

The kiss is a bit clumsy but overwhelming earnest, like he can’t believe this is happening

And honestly neither of you can believe that this is actually happening

Charlie turns you so your back is to the counter

The counter digs into your back as Charlie moves forward, leaving no space between your bodies

His fingers slide from your cheek to your hair, tangling in it lightly as he tilts his head for a better angle

His breath hitches slightly when your hands find their way to the back of his neck, pulling him even closer

The kiss becomes more feverish

This is the moment you both have been waiting for

His lips move against yours as if he can’t decide whether to speed up or slow down

Eventually you both break apart for air, your foreheads resting against each other as you try to catch your breath

Your hands stay firmly placed on one another

“Wow” his voice dazed and low “that was -uh- wow”

You both laugh softly

Charlie’s eyes never leave yours, he’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the world

Just as Charlie leaned in for another kiss, the sound of the kitchen door creaking open startled both of you.

You pulled back slightly "I knew it!" Ted's voice cut through the moment

"Charlie, you look like you were just attacked at a goth makeup counter”

Ted then turns and looks at you “ and you look like you’re auditioning for shrek 5”

You instinctively reach up to touch your face, realizing your fingers came away faintly green.

Your face burns with embarrassment

Charlie just shrugs and replies “what can I say Ted we just got really into character”

Ted just cringes and says something along the lines of “gross” underneath his breath before retreating from the kitchen

As soon as Ted leaves you both melt into laughter

“Well that was mortifying” you comment as you use a napkin to try and wipe the green face paint off your cheek

“Could have been worse.” Charlie said while chuckling, gently taking the napkin from your hand and wiping your cheek himself

He finishes wiping your face (not that it helped much)

“So where did we leave off?” He says lowly as he leans in closely to your ear

You shiver as you feel his breath against your ear

“How about we go somewhere where we won’t have to worry about getting caught again?” You suggest

Safe to say charlies never bought and uber quicker

I’m actually obsessed with Charlie as beast boy was so fucking cute, I wanna makeout with his stupid green face 😭