#whattheactualfuck

[itslilithe]

HAHAHAH LOOK AT HIM ON ROBLOX

[y8-54]

What the actual fuck.

[tiramisublues]

jeebus @bloodbrown ಥ‿ಥ i got my first Pino jumpscare today--- wwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

[1-hug-man]

I keep getting right-wing bullshit on my feed for "based on my likes" and I'm not here for it. I'm a bisexual jewish man and I feel like I'm being harassed.

[chupachuus]

😟😟😟😟

THE ANGST?!?! WTF I DIDNT EXPECT THAT

THIS IS ACTUALLY SO FREAKING GUT WRENCHJNG

I SHED A TEAD READING THIS

Too Much to Be Enough

Hello, I had another idea for a fan fiction. In this one, I tried writing with an unnamed character after someone reached out to me suggesting that I shouldn't tag "x reader" even if the character had a short name. They were not this polite in their wording. Kindly let me know if you find this more enjoyable and if you have any advice or feedback.

Pairing:  Franco Colapinto x female character

Plot: everyone thinks she's too much—too loud, too affectionate, too overwhelming—but as long as Franco loves her, she feels enough. When a painful betrayal forces her to question everything, she’s left wondering if even his love can truly be unconditional.

Tag: hurt/no comfort, angst.

Word count: 2077

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

Franco Colapinto had become a rising star in Formula 1—his unexpected debut mid-season with Williams brought attention, intrigue, and the buzz of fans enamored by his unfiltered charm and skill on the track. To the world, he was a formidable talent, sharp in his focus and strategic in his every move. But to her, Franco was simply her Franco—the person she adored with every fiber of her being, the man who lit up her world with his easy laugh and grounded presence. She never tried to share him with the world; her joy was simply in being there. To Franco, she was a grounding force. To her, he was the brightest point of her life.

Their relationship had always been natural, filled with the kind of closeness that felt both unbreakable and safe. She loved to be near him, to catch the quiet smiles he reserved just for her or hold him close, her arms around him like a shield. She had a way of finding him when he was deep in conversation, slipping her arms around him or perching on the arm of a chair, just listening, watching him with eyes that spoke of adoration. She adored him openly and shamelessly, kissing his cheeks, bringing him little snacks between meetings, and laughing at his every story as if it was the first time she'd heard it. It was how she showed love—boldly, sincerely.

In public, her spirited affection sometimes drew raised brows. She was quick to laugh, unrestrained in her warmth, the kind of person who got excited over the little things. When she spoke, her voice had a way of filling the air, especially when she became passionate, her laughter rich and booming. Franco’s teammates would sometimes tease her for it, not unkindly, but she felt Franco’s protective arm settle around her back, his voice lowering to gently bring her back to the moment, a silent reminder that she was safe, that she didn’t need to hold back. She never felt like too much with him; she felt like enough.

When Franco got his F1 call-up, the world saw his potential, his brilliance. He went from a promising driver to a star almost overnight, and with that came the scrutiny, the endless, dissecting gaze of the world. There were new pressures, new challenges—he was praised and criticized in equal measure, and with him, she found herself swept up too. Fans adored him—his directness, his humor, his daring spirit. He was the next big thing, and with that title came every word spoken about him, every inch of him magnified. And suddenly, they wanted to know her, too. Who was Franco Colapinto’s girlfriend?

But their adoration of Franco didn’t extend to her.

She’d never been the kind of girl who worried about attention, but the way the public spoke about her… it was like a slow, smothering weight pressing down on her heart. They saw only a girl who seemed too clingy, too loud, and too unfitting of someone they had put on a pedestal. Her open affection was criticized as immature, her laughter labeled as attention-seeking. They dissected her every move and labeled her a distraction, tearing into her with the kind of brutality she’d never experienced. It felt like strangers were peeling her apart piece by piece, tearing away the person Franco had always loved.

She tried to ignore it at first, comforting herself with the knowledge that Franco didn’t seem to mind, that he even loved her as she was. Franco was all that mattered; his opinion was the one she trusted. He was the only reason she could keep her head up, brushing off the hate as long as she knew she had his love. And when Franco looked at her, his smile never wavered. She held onto that—the belief that he loved her as she was, even when the world made her question it.

But then came Brazil. She’d been watching from the paddock, her heart leaping every time he turned a corner, nerves twisting as he went head-to-head with some of the most seasoned drivers in the world. And then, the crash. It was terrifying, watching him collide and skid, helpless from a distance as her heart stopped, praying he was okay. Her relief was overwhelming when he emerged unharmed, but Franco’s face had been pale, his expression distant as he made his way off the track. She could see the weight of the moment pulling him under, the strain and pressure breaking through his usually calm demeanor. She wanted to reach for him, to pull him close, tell him she was there for him, that she would carry the weight if she could.

But he’d pulled away from her, muttering that he needed a minute to gather himself. Respecting his space, she’d wandered to the restroom, splashing water on her face, telling herself he’d come around, that he just needed time. She returned to his room, pausing outside, not wanting to intrude if he still needed space. And that’s when she heard it.

“…but don’t you think she’s a bit much?” The voice was that of his engineer, a man she’d thought liked her, someone she’d shared a few laughs with before. “She’s always there. Always talking, always needing to be… close. Must be a lot to deal with when you’re under this kind of pressure.”

She waited, her breath frozen, trusting that Franco’s response would ease her worry, that he’d brush it off as nonsense, defend her like he always had.

But his voice—the voice she trusted, the voice that had always assured her she was enough—spoke words she could barely stand to hear. Franco responded quieter than she’d ever heard it. “Yeah… I mean, sometimes. It’s a lot, too much, you know?”

She could hardly breathe, the words sinking in slowly, one by one, like sharp blades against her skin. He thought she was too much. A lot. The one person she thought she could be her fullest self with, the person who had always made her feel safe to love so openly, to be unapologetically herself—he was overwhelmed by her too. She was his burden, the weight that followed him. Tears began to blur her vision, but she stayed frozen, rooted in place as she listened to them continue, laughing and talking about her as though she were some trivial inconvenience, as though her love was suffocating him.

She backed away from the door, her heart breaking with every step. The tears came fast and hot, her whole body trembling with the force of them as she stumbled back into the restroom. Locking herself inside, she slid down against the wall, burying her face in her hands, feeling her heart shatter into a million pieces. She had fought so hard to believe in her own worth, to convince herself that she was lovable and that her affection wasn’t too much for him to bear. But he agreed. He agreed with them, with the strangers who hated her, who thought she was too loud, too affectionate, too clingy.

She had tried so hard to believe that Franco saw her the way she saw him—as irreplaceable, as the very air he breathed. But hearing his quiet agreement, the confirmation that the one person she thought she could trust didn’t love her as she was… it left her feeling hollow, like a fragile shell of herself.

---

When Franco found her, he looked at her with that familiar softness, his arms coming around her as he held her close. She clung to him, not because it made her feel better but because she didn’t know how else to act, didn’t know how to pretend it was all okay. He asked her why she was crying, and she forced herself to smile through the tears, saying it was because of his crash, that she’d been worried. He looked at her with relief, gently pulling her closer, and she let him, even though his touch felt like fire against her skin, burning with the memory of his words. For the first time in their relationship, being near him didn’t feel safe.

In the days that followed, she withdrew into herself, letting Franco slip away piece by piece. She stifled her laughter, kept her voice low, spoke only when necessary. She still brought him snacks, still sat beside him as he debriefed with his team, but now she was a shadow, a shell of the girl she once was. She didn’t touch him as freely, didn’t drape herself over his shoulders or pepper his face with kisses. She gave him what the world wanted, the perfect, silent partner, standing just behind him, looking at him only when he looked away.

Fans noticed the change, taking to social media to praise her for finally learning her place. They called her refined, mature, supportive. They praised her “new maturity,” applauded her for “knowing her place.” They liked her better this way, in the background, quiet, subdued. For the first time, she fit the image of the F1 girlfriend they wanted her to be. She was a supporting character, there for Franco when he needed her but silent, never in the spotlight, never drawing attention.

But Franco hated it. He missed her laugh, the way her hands would find his at every turn, the way she’d rest her head on his shoulder while he spoke. He missed the way she’d light up a room with her excitement, her laughter like music that chased away the shadows of his stress. He tried everything to bring her back, brushing his fingers along her cheek, whispering little jokes, pulling her close. But she stayed quiet, her smile polite but hollow, her laughter a pale echo of what it used to be.

She wasn’t his girl anymore. She was someone else, a stranger wearing her face.

---

One night, after a particularly grueling day, Franco found her alone in their hotel room. She was sitting by the window, staring into the dark night, her reflection in the glass a ghost of the girl he had fallen in love with. He crossed the room, kneeling beside her, his hand finding hers.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice breaking with the weight of his worry. “Tell me what’s wrong. Where did you go?”

She looked at him, her eyes full of a pain he couldn’t understand, couldn’t reach. “I’m here, Franco,” she whispered, her voice soft and fragile.

“No, you’re not,” he said, his voice thick. “You’re… you’re gone. The girl I love is gone.”

Her lips trembled, and she pulled her hand from his, wrapping her arms around herself as though trying to hold herself together. She was quiet for a long time before she spoke, her words barely audible. “I heard you… that day in Brazil. I heard you tell your engineer that I was too much. That I was a lot.”

Franco’s heart dropped, a cold shock of realization rushing through him. He remembered the conversation, the way he’d laughed along, never thinking his words would reach her. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I never meant it like that.”

“But you said it,” she replied, her voice breaking. “You agreed with them. You agreed with everyone. You were the only person who made me feel like I wasn’t too much, like I was enough. But if even you… if you think I’m too much…”

Her voice trailed off, her shoulders shaking as she hugged herself tighter. Franco reached for her, his heart shattering as he saw the pain he’d caused, the light he’d extinguished. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I love everything about you. You’re not too much. I need you, all of you.”

He reached for her, but she drew back, her body a closed door, her eyes filled with a sadness that cut deeper than anything. “I love you with everything I have,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I would have given anything to be enough for you.”

He could feel his own tears burning, the agony of realizing that his careless words had stripped away the light from the woman he adored. “You are enough,” he said desperately, his voice thick. “You’re everything to me. I love you just as you are.”

But she only shook her head, her hand lifting to his cheek, her fingers brushing his skin one last time. “I don’t believe that anymore.”

[transwillow]

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

SO UHM. THE MINECRAFT MOVIE FULL TRAILER HAS JUST RELEASED

WHAT THE FUCK WARNER BROTHERS

[allweknowisnow]

Making jokes about how your friendgroup is gonna turn into a polycule is all fun and games until three of you end up falling for the same person at once and now all of a sudden it's not funny anymore.

[morgansplace]

"I love you too, dad." What about this is foolish? Funny? Silly? I thought this was April's fools not April's whattheactualfuck

[lowbrowcomicinterludes]

K

Repost from @darkroomlament on IG

I got the honor last week of photographing the amazing @imsebastianstan and honestly… he was so kind, and funny, and absolutely willing to just be a great sport for our shots. Thank you to @vidiots for the opportunity and for hosting FRESH, and they have posted even more photos from the event on their page - please go leave them some love.

[gd-dollopole]

I love Merlin’s ending, and for one reason only:

it opened the gate to so many modern AUs fics.

The directors unconsciously gave us infinite material to work on:

reincarnation tropes;

Arthur’s rebirth and return to save bloody Albion. This too opens the path to so many theories on what it is he has to save, how and when (better if all the characters are reborn and Merlin is just there, waiting, UUGGHHH, I ate those fics up each.time.);

this alone opens so many possibilities, including each different way on how Arthur and the others are born again;

modern AUs with reincarnation and royalty;

back in time travel fics, with Merlin going absolutely mad over the lack of modern things and clean water;

fix it fics, FIX IT FICS!!!

Basically, I believe all the good fanfictions are in the Merlin fandom, and I read a fuckton of fics in my life, so I know what I’m talking about.

Bonus points if they’re all Merthur, with some good old hurt/comfort and the tooth-rotting fluff, because these two are so in love it makes you sick.

And of course, the ending also gave us good smut material, and this doesn’t need explaining, I think you get it.

(on this note, I’m making this post, because today I just finished reading “Destiny That Darkly Hides Us”, by ‘Nympha_Alba’, AND IT’S A WORK OF ART?! IT’S BASICALLY A NOVEL?! I FINISHED READING IT AND I HAD AN HOLE IN MY CHEST, whattheactualfuck)

[y8-54]

OHHH THE BITCH IS BACK YALL MY GOD! REPORT THEM BEFORE THEY CONTINUE THSIR SHIT AGAIN

[buckingham-ashtray]

EXCUSE ME?!?!???

That's just the way life goes I like to slam doors close Trust me, I know it’s always about me I love you, I'm sorry.

You said "forever" and I almost bought it I miss fighting in your old apartment Breaking dishes when you're disappointed I still love you, I promise.

bro this fits SO WELL whattheactualfuck I JUST REALIZED????

okay but I feel like on some level imyims fits sherlock more (I know you said that we're not talking but I miss you I'm sorry😭) and ilyims is actually perfect for john (the bridge HELLO)

an entire edit is alr done in my head should I actually do it

[howtoloseapartnerin7songs]

After However Many Years, I Decided To See How That Canadian “Artist” Vatre Was Doing.

And Well, Jesus Fucking Christ…

It’s been a while since there’s been a Vatre update. 

But in light of the recent conflict going on in Ukraine, I thought I’d bring this to light. 

Were it anyone else, I’d assume that Kremlin propaganda warped their perception of what’s going on. If you’ve been paying attention to what’s going on within Russian borders, you’d know what I’m talking about. 

But with Vatre, she’s faking being all those ethnicities by using Google Translate. She seems to think that by using said website, that makes her that ethnicity. 

Which is why I’m bringing to attention her quote, unquote, message. 

She’s only saying she stands with Putin and his murderous rampage to get a rise out of people. Notice how she purposefully misspells worship as “War”ship.  

[barbwillbrb]

Because I just realized the twins are in their 50's I'm just picturing Isadora accidentally making them feel old as she's only 27 soon turning 28 by time the epilogue party happens. They'd basically be hanging out with a chaotic crow who would worry poor Rackal

I just got done reading some of Isadora’s lore and oh my she puts the wild in wild magic. Girl even has Clairice be like “Respect. Mildly concerned over your mental wellbeing but still, mad respect.”

Rackal would be very much:

On a more serious note; how are they somehow the least traumatized of all their friends/companions. This was not on their bingo card.

Between Ma’na family and Isadora literally on the run from hers they’re just

Clairice. Okaaaaaaaaaaaaay shit so we’re all a little fucked up/this is what we’re working with

Rackal: WHATTHEACTUALFUCK

[romanticruckus]

WHATTHEACTUALFUCK

[theskit]

I went to see Asteroid City with my dad on Friday. It was SO weird.

Like watching an acid trip.

It seemed to be simultaneously parodying the 1950s as a whole, 1950s Era plays/theater specifically, and The Twilight Zone??

I swear I spent 90% of that movie making eye contact with my dad and going WhatTheActualFUCK is happening??