#anonymous ask

[phannieconfession]

not so much of a confession about dnp themselves but I used to run a semi popular fan twt account from like mid 2023-january of this year (popular within the dnp community, like I had multiple notices and about 1k follows) and most of the people on twitter who have a similar amount of followers or are the main fan accounts are like literal STALKERS. I met up with quite a lot of them as I called them my friends during the tit era and it is v common for addresses of hotels/restaurants/anywhere dnp were seen were shared around in gcs and in irl convos minutes after posting or them being spotted at this airport/bar etc. they’ve also gone to the places they’ve been just to ask the staff what they were like it’s disgusting and not surprising how these ppl are the same people with multiple m&gs to the point (where dan will greet them with ‘hi nice to see u again’ lol.) anyways my point is don’t trust people on the internet who seem obsessed to have morals tho it was very funny when dan said a line about stalking in the show and pointed directly at them, but like dnp pls get a restraining order…

...

[mewtwoandme]

Has Svith experienced the whole "mewtwo baby kicks so psychic powers act up" thing yet?

Yeah...she's noticed lol

[untoldstar]

yanderes who make you the exception.

Grumpy yandere who’s always glaring at other people and everyone too scared to even approach him. Who’s always rolling his eyes and grumbling when you accuse him of being a softy on the inside but his arguments don’t hold up when he gently pets your head when you doze off on his shoulder, or when you lean down to pick up something you dropped under the table and his palm covers the edge to protect your head from bumping into it.

Grumpy yandere who holds you as you cry over another guy, scolding you and saying “I told you so” he acts like this was expected and that you should have known better but his hand flexes and slightly trembles as he tries to contain his anger.

The next day you you see angry red marks covering his knuckles and a strange text from your ex where he apologizes profusely.

You haven’t changed your mind. He is a softie on the inside but he’s still terrifying….

Serial killer yandere who’s out spilling blood in the dead of night. He comes back home with the screams of his victims still ringing in his head, slowly cracking the bedroom door open to not wake you up, it’s actually a scary sight. A tall dark looming figure lingering around the doorframe. It would scare you if you weren’t used to this by now.

You sit up and reach over to turn on the small lamp on your bedside table. You take one look at him and narrow your eyes, shoving the blanket off your body and making your way over to him, you lightly smack him on his shoulder and his entire body slumps, looking like a kicked puppy “You got blood on your shirt again?! I told you to be careful! and what’s this? Oh my- what happened to your hand?!” you scold him and he pouts; moving closer to sneak his arms around your waist and burry his face in your neck “I’m sorry darling..” he murmurs “I’ll be more careful I promise. Please don’t be angry with me..” He plants soft kisses on your neck and you relent, sighing and rolling your eyes “Fine. Go take a shower. I’m gonna stay up for a while longer.”

This ruthless killer who can crush someone skull with his bare hands can’t bare to make you angry.

He might be the most terrifying thing someone could encounter on the streets but at home, all he wants is to have your attention, your touch, everything you have to offer.

Popular yandere who’s always so fucking perfect. Perfect smile, perfect words, perfect manners. He always had to act perfect but around you…he could just be him. You didn’t expect anything of him. When he’s around you he feels like he’s completely undone. All the restraints that kept him in check all this time completely gone.

He loves you. He loves you so much. He likes that he’s a nervous stuttering mess around you. That you call him cute when he’s too drunk to say a coherent sentence. That you look at him with those understanding eyes and gently caress his hand when he confides in you about his pressure, all that his family expects of him. What the public expects of him. If it were anyone else they would have told him “how good he has it” or that “he shouldn’t complain so much because some people have it worse”.

You listen. You treat him like he’s an actual human. He’s addicted to how he feels when he’s with you and if anyone gets in his way he might just burn it all to the ground. The cars, the mansions, the expensive clothes, all the connections he made. Just to stay in your embrace.

He doesn’t care if everyone leaves his side. They never meant anything to him. As long as you stay by his side he’s the happiest man ever.

Ex soldier yandere who’s seen so much pain in his life. Who’s experienced so much loss and so much hurt he can’t even feel anymore. He spends most of his time drinking and being a complete and total ass to anyone who approaches him. It annoys him that people can be all smiles and giggles when there’s nothing to smile about. That’s just how life is.

And you annoyed him most of all. You approached him one evening while he was drinking in that one dark corner of the bar and something about you made him tick. You had such a bright gleam in your eye and you looked so innocent approaching him out of everyone in that damn bar. As if you actually believed there’d be good in him.

He hated it.

He was meaner than usual that day. He’d usually throw a gruff “leave me alone.” and it’d get the job done but for some reason you pressed all his buttons when you barely even did anything. He figured it didn’t matter as long as it got the job done and it did. You left with your shoulders slumped a pout on your face and he was alone once again.

Except you returned the next day and the day after that and every other day. It unnerved him so much he decided to switch to another bar. So there he was drinking alone in another gloomy bar in a similar dark corner. Everything is exactly how it should be.

Except..it wasn’t. Something felt wrong. A nagging feeling in his chest, something he hasn’t felt before. He looked at the empty chair besides him and your absence gutted him. So he gulped down the last of his drink and made his way back to his old bar where he found you sitting in his usual spot with random man sitting too close besides you, not hiding his intentions at all. And you..you were sad. You were throwing polite smiles at the man but he could tell by your eyes that you were sad.

Did you really have that look on your face because he didn’t show up?

For some reason the thought of him being the one to bring you such sadness made his heart ache. Another thing he hasn’t felt in a long time.

So he pursed his lips and made his way to you, and from his peripherals he noticed how you straightened up and your face lit up as soon as you saw him but he kept his eyes on the man sitting besides you.

He roughly smacks a hand on his shoulder making him jump in his seat “She’s with me. Get your ass out of my chair.” The man narrowed his eyes ready to spit out a reply but ended up pursing his lips and getting up quietly after taking a look at his size. One thing that hasn’t changed about him after going to war is his build. Something that comes in handy in situations like this.

He plops down in his chair with a sigh and gestures to the bartender to get him his usual. You readjust in your seat and flash him a smile “you’re here!” He throws you a glance “Of course I’m here why wouldn’t I be.” you shrug and look down bashfully “I dunno I thought I freaked you out and made you switch to another bar.” He smile softly. You nearly did “No..no. I’m here.” And he’s not leaving you ever again. You nod and start your usual ramblings of your day. He guessed that was the official moment you became his ‘drinking buddy’ as you called your self.

He thought you were annoying at first. You just wouldn’t stop talking. Telling him about your day when he didn’t even ask. But slowly he started looking forward to hearing your voice. It became the only thing that got him through his bleak days. You became the one who got him through all of his darkness. Like a tiny crack of light that slowly get bigger and bigger until it’s all he could see. You wormed your way into his heart.

His short grunts turned into him comfortably talking to you and the soft smile he’d usually hide behind his glass glass turned into grins. He was smiling so damn much round you. Something he hasn’t done in years. And neither of you noticed the side long stares the bartended and some of the regulars exchanged as they witness this change in him. He’s gotten a reputation of being this grumpy man who’s always drunk and glares at anyone who even talks to him until you came along and suddenly he’s gone soft on you.

Only you of course.

His sunshine. His beautiful darling who’ll make it all better.

You made him alive again. You made him feel again. And he’ll be damned if you ever try to leave his side.

me when “I hate everyone except you”:

[hopepunk-humanity]

Idk if this is reasonable to say but in response to the Big Beautiful Bill being signed:

Everyone generally hates ICE

We can still feed each other, despite it all

The version of the bill that passed is not nearly as bad as was originally proposed (like i mean its still plenty bad. but)

It's not over, the nazis may be doing nazi shit now but theres no way in hell we're going to take it lying down

Encouragement post-BB bill

[mikufunfacts]

does miku want to kill ai artists?

miku fun fact #410

there is no such thing as an "ai artist"

miku would prefer the terms "prompt writer" or "target practice"

[hotchsofficialwifey]

I NEED AND I MEAN I NEED YOUR THOUGHTS ON PERVY MIKE 🫣🫣🫣🫣keeping your panties with him when you go to work, snapping pantie shots when you wear a skirt for later use, shoving his hand in your pants (with consent of course) when his hands are cold, I should really see myself out…🧎����‍♀️

anon, you're an angel, ily

pervy!mike who swipes your panties from your underwear drawer when he's at your house and brings them to work to jerk off instead of sleeping on the job (vanessa nearly caught him once).

pervy!mike who sneaks up behind you at the kitchen counter and shoves his hands into your pants or up your shirt (with consent, obvi). when you yelp and roll your eyes, he mumbles a half-assed apology into your neck as he gropes you, using the excuse that it's "too damn cold outside".

pervy!mike who would get a full-blown hard-on whenever you ate vanilla ice cream, or ate a banana, or moaned while enjoying your favorite meal. he'd have to quickly excuse himself to the bathroom and get off as quietly as he could

pervy!mike who came in his pants the first time he ate you out, indulging in your quiet whimpers and sweet little moans. he was so embarrassed when you realized, but it quickly turned to relief when you didn't laugh at him, simply kissed him and told him you thought it was hot.

pervy!mike who would watch porn of any actress that looked vaguely like you over and over again until he started having wet dreams of you in those scenarios. he couldn't help but feel bad for it, but god, it felt so good at the same time.

i love pervy mike so much, you literally do not understand.

[nazrigar]

Did you hear the news? They found a new giant T-Rex fossil. It's a massive femur even larger than E.D. Cope's. They named the beast "Goliath."

YUP. It was apparently SO big, it's being compared to certain Sauropods like Camarasaurus. It's SO long, it's almost as tall as a man.

[promptsbytaurie]

thrilled you're back mate!! would you be willing to make another meet cute list? :3

thank you!! and of course, i love making meet cutes, they're always so fun!!

31 (MORE) meet-cute prompts

you're the school captains of two wildly different sports team who have to participate in pep rally together

you have the same name spelled different ways

you're the neighbor who kills every plant and they're the plant parent of the building

they work the same midnight security shift as you at the mall

your parents really want you to be friends

they're the dirt bike champion and you're a rookie

you're a famous singer and they genuinely have no idea who you are

you have a mutual ex

you're a librarian and they're the professor who keeps leaving little notes in the books

they have a username you really really want

you're a model and they're a fan who shows up to all of your shows and keeps distracting you because damn

they're presenting an award you won and you forget your cue because damn

they're your uber driver and you aren't on your phone the whole hour long ride because they're actually really funny and sweet

you have extremely obvious hybrid traits and they're the first person to greet you with a genuine smile on their face

you're the two people who always carry group assignments and you're paired together for a project

they've recently acquired a large sum of money and hired you as their financial advisor

you're cosplaying the same character at a convention and you get into a fight over a famous plot twist

you're cosplaying at a convention and they're dressed up as your character's love interest

you have the same obnoxious upstairs neighbor

they find you in the middle of changing between your vigilante outfit and your civilian getup

they accidentally took your laundry and showed up to your door sheepishly holding a basket

you’re both hackers trying to pull completely different april fools jokes on the same website

you're both running for student body president as sworn enemies until a NEW, nasty candidate enters the race and you put aside your differences to kick their ass

you don't know that your cats look the exact same so you maybe sort of accuse them of stealing your cat. but you offer lunch on you as an apology

they're your colleague and they teach a class that you hated when you took it. they make it their personal mission to get you to love them the class

you live and work at a small seaside town and they're the college student that comes back every summer

you were both accidentally scheduled for the same interview time

they're the cashier watching as you load six boxes of dinosaur chicken nuggets and two cans of cream soda coke onto the conveyor belt

the flight is almost done boarding and the seat next to you is empty. they are the last person to board and they sit next to you

your roommates abandoned you both to go out partying and neither of you wants to deal with them when they're hungover

they're a cute barista and you keep coming back even though the coffees they make taste like shit

[yandereunsolved]

Okay so I maladaptive daydream, right? And I just thought of like, self aware hotd watching me pause their show to pace for a good thirty minutes, unpause again, and then repeat for every single scene I can imagine myself doing something in- it’s like that one TikTok audio

Rhaenys: wtf is this kid doing? Reader: THE VOICES!!

The dragons are like when you hold a treat over your dog to get them to nod or shake their head, except the treat is you

You are so real for that. That is actually me.

I just love this so much.

The characters find it endearing. You're trying so hard to mimic them. Simultaneously it is an irritant. They want to interact with you! They could unpause the television, but no one wants to reveal a possible upper hand.

When you pause on the dragons they easily become bored. They grow and mutter at their rider, saying something akin to "I want the human back." "Come back." "I just want pets." They may even grow rowdy if they have to wait too long. Why can't their riders act already? Just take you into their world.

[rippersz]

thank you for blessing us with your Lilia fics 🥹🫠

Here, have another. - Rip x

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𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚

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✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

(Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader) (Song Fic; Fluffy; Character Study; Angsty; Love Confession) (~3.4k words)

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There was a time once in history when Lilia Calderu wanted to be a performer. 

She sang the songs and recited the rituals of her coven, she honed her voice for incantations and for spells, and when the time came for her to grow up, it was rumoured that her talent was so strong, so steady and intense, that even the goddesses could hear it. For a while, it made her popular. The girls loved to listen to soft lullabies before bed, the superior witches enjoyed her singing at their events, even her maestra, at times, asked for a little tune to help get her through the rest of the evening. Most nights, when everyone was already fast asleep, Lilia would lie awake in her bed and try to picture a life of free vocal pleasure. A life where she could be an adored witch and an even better performer, one with the light feet of a dancer and the voice of an angel. A woman so good she could travel the continent, go beyond Sicily, see the fruits of the world, and be loved by all for what she could do.

It was, for what was really such a short period of time, a lovely existence. Then, gradually, unexpectedly, and terribly, her life began to pause and resume out of order, transporting her to versions of herself she had yet to meet. And though she did see those unfamiliar places, the world beyond Sicily, she was never faced with the loving, excited crowd. Most times, it was pitchforks and threats, angry faces of strange men and women, children with teary eyes, and licks of fire cast toward her body. She had never seen such fear in her life, never felt hatred so strong it seemed like a physical presence, and after a short while, Lilia Calderu realised that instead of becoming a beloved singer and performer, she was destined to run and hide for most of her life. 

It came as no surprise that when the gaps got so powerful, so frequent and so bad that sometimes she didn’t remember an entire day, the coven lost their combined interest in her talent. It fizzled out and eventually became a secret kept to herself. A faded myth that some girls chattered about to newcomers. The only person who heard her sing from that point forward was her maestra. The old woman didn’t care for Lilia’s reputation, she only cared for her talent. Both within magic and outside of it. So sometimes after their lessons, unpredictably to keep Lilia on her toes, her maestra would request a song. On one afternoon it would be a ritual tune, on another it would be a chant, and some evenings she asked Lilia to sing something–anything–just so the two of them could enjoy a bit of peace. 

And so Lilia would sing. She would sing, sing her heart out, and she would watch the way her maestra closed her wise eyes and swayed back and forth to the sound of Lilia’s music. Those moments in her life were the ones most cherished. When she closed her eyes, they were just as vivid as the day she experienced them for the first time: the soft waves of the ocean kissing the shoreline and the great rocks of the coast, the setting sun nearly over the horizon, filling the atmosphere with great wisps of pink and purple-tinged stratus clouds, the air smelling of whatever the cooks had prepared for supper. Her maestra in her chair, tipping her head back, enjoying the lilt of Lilia’s voice until she faded into silence and the old woman opened her eyes, straightened her posture, and gave Lilia only two claps before rushing her off inside. She could picture their moments in the garden just as easily, the birds and the wildlife scurrying in the underbrush and the burrows and the trees, the smells of rich forest plants, vines, and flowers, the way the sun reflected off of the gazebo’s carved stone pillars, the familiar comfort of the bench whenever she sat down across from her. It was a unique paradise, a home she understood she would never have again. 

And a community she would never have again. 

Once the coven forgot about her voice, she mainly used it for herself. On slow walks around the grounds, she would hum, during her soaks in the bath, she would whistle, and whenever she had a moment alone in a secluded place, a place of utter tranquillity, of silence and precious independence, she would belt. She would belt and she would croon in every key she could and she would do it until her throat hurt or it got too late or she couldn’t think of anything else to perform. 

That’s why you never interrupted her singing in the shower. 

It was loud every time, louder than the water and the washing, and it would reverberate off of the tiles and the mirror and it would hit your ears through the thin walls, but you never dared ask her to stop. You couldn’t. 

No, not that you couldn’t because Lilia would most definitely stop if you wanted her to but that was just it - that was the last thing you wanted. 

Lilia’s voice was polished marble. It was richer than sweet chocolate, huskier than the tang of whiskey, more gentle than the fur of a kitten. It was steady, it succeeded in its rhythm, its measure, its keys and its choruses and whenever you heard the shower curtain slide open and the water turn on, you knew to prepare yourself for a performance. 

And always, without fail, it was a performance you got.

Sometimes it was a happy one, a joyous loud one where her voice went gravelly as she tried to emulate a rockstar. Sometimes it was an angry one, when she sang with a growl and a bite to her lyrics. Sometimes, most times, it was sad and melancholic, ringing and chirping like an operatic bird, and tinged with so much history and pain that you worried if she was as alright as she claimed to be. Perhaps, you thought, it was a form of therapy. That was her release. To spread the swirl of talent and desperation that built up in her body, eager to be revealed to the clouds, the cosmos, the world. It was her history, coiled up like springs, and every time she disappeared into that unique space of music, it was like they all burst up at once. History springing everywhere, bouncing from the tiles, painting the foggy air of the bathroom as Lilia stood beneath hot water and opened her mouth and released. 

You imagined her there, shaking with the force of her own voice, closing her eyes, curls wet and plastered to the back of her neck, her shoulders, and letting the power take hold - not in a witch’s way but in a mortal’s way. In a way that spoke to centuries of pain, of wonder, of exploration. You couldn’t remember the moment she told you she liked her water scalding hot, but you never had a doubt as ‘steamy’ seemed to be the bathroom’s atmosphere whenever she walked out from a shower. The two of you mutually agreed to disable the second smoke detector in the flat that, for some reason, was on the ceiling in the same hallway and would have no doubt gone off every time Lilia wanted to wash up. 

It was quite endearing to see her slip out followed by a gust of steam, sporting reddened skin and messy damp curls plastered to her head and neck. She looked like a wet puppy. A wet puppy that was very hard to look at, partly because she needed the privacy to get dressed but also because she often walked out in nothing but a towel. A single red bath towel, wrapped around the top of her bust that fell below her knees. The first time you’d walked into the hallway and saw that, you backpedalled into your room so fast you nearly fell and cracked your head open on the floor. It was embarrassing sporting a blush for the rest of the evening, but she didn’t seem to notice - or perhaps didn’t care. 

And why would she? You were two women. You could be normal about things like that. About bodies and nudity and the curves of the female figure and the curves of Lilia’s body specifically.

Yes, absolutely. Normal. You could be normal.

You could be normal about the shower singing. 

You could be normal when Lilia sang of love.

You could be normal when she sang of love in different languages like French and Latin and Sicilian and Greek and something else, something ancient, that you’d never heard before.

You could be normal when her voice dipped into a low husk as she cooed, emulating the style, the niche, of a beautifully dressed jazz singer in a dimly lit jazz bar.

You could be normal when she hummed something light and sweet beneath her breath, dressing her voice up as the garlands of Spring. 

You could be normal when she poured her entire heart into a note. 

You could be normal when she stole your mind away with a whistle.

You could be totally normal about things like that. 

You could be totally normal about it all.

Totally normal. 

Yeah.

Nothing but normalcy. 

───༺༻───

You had a favourite song. 

It was stupid. So stupid. You weren’t sure how you allowed it to happen, but it happened and because of it, you were screwed. Screwed. So stupid…

You had a favourite song. 

She sang it the same way every time, with soft prolonged vowels and crystal clear tones, like windchimes and violins. She sang with heart, with soul, her tongue was fluid in the first verse, her inflection lilting and gentle in the second, and her mouth shook with power as she belted the third. A mezzo-soprano through and through you came to learn after looking it up one day (just another example of your foolishness). 

You had a favourite song. 

It was cold honey in her mouth, made for her voice, crafted for most of her range. For the sweet and soft, the careful and gentle, to the rough and loud, strong and courageous. She could roar and whisper, cry and laugh, be righteous and upset all at once. It was so moving the first time you heard it, the spoon you were washing fell right out of your hands. 

Some say love, it is a river

That drowns the tender reed

A sharp breath. A trip of your body as your heart ran right to a stop. 

Some say love, it is a razor

That leaves your soul to bleed

You’d heard her sing about romance before, in all possible forms and ways, but you never expected those words from her lips. 

Some say love, it is a hunger

An endless aching need

They were familiar. You already knew them. You’d learned when you were young, when you still had the chance to sing with your mother, with your grandmother, and harmonise when you weren’t too shy. Granted, none of you could harmonise very well, but that wasn’t the point. All that mattered was how you knew it, sang it, together.

I say love, it is a flower

And you, its only seed

Your mouth moved with hers, only silence flowing from your throat, and you closed your eyes as your body melted against the sink. You followed her pause, her break, imagining the instruments there to fill the blank space, and took a deep breath when she continued.

It's the heart, afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance

It felt so nice to listen, to recognise the music and the shifts, and you pressed one hand to your heart so you could feel its beat as you heard. So you knew that it was still going, that you hadn’t died and Lilia wasn’t an angel singing you to Heaven. 

It's the dream, afraid of waking

That never takes the chance

You’d never told Lilia about your music taste. You feared that saying anything would result in an accidental slip and that your soul would spill out before you could do anything to keep it inside. You couldn’t have that, you couldn’t ruin everything you built, so you sat in your songs and you listened to the ones she sang, remembering the lyrics and copying them into Google as soon as you had a moment alone. You connected in silence. You appreciated her compassion by listening at night, before sleep, and betrayed your heart by wishing she was there next to you to sing it rather than in the other room, already drifting away into dreamland. You wanted to cross the bridge, to bring your adoration up to her and put it in her lap and tell her how in awe you were, but you never felt like it was your place. 

It's the one who won't be taken

Who cannot seem to give

Then she opened her mouth and sang out your childhood, the sum of your warm memories, and suddenly you were crying like a baby in your little apartment kitchen, looking around through a curtain of tears at everything you’d made together. 

And the soul, afraid of dying

That never learns to live

Was it going to kill you? Keeping it inside? Telling yourself that being normal about Lilia, resisting the temptations of love, was better than being rejected? That’s never how the stories ended, did they? If no one confessed, then it was a life lived wrong. If things were unsaid, it was an opportunity lost. If you didn’t tell Lilia, then it was another dead end. 

When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long

Oh her belt. Oh she way she sang. Harrowed, lost, speaking of times she was familiar with, loneliness that she knew like the back of her hand, a road she’d been travelling since the day she was born. 

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong

Something she never had, something she could never keep for herself, no love for Lilia Calderu because she was not lucky and she was rarely strong. She lived her life in pieces, luck was not a friend, and she ran from every place where she found solace, and strength was never a lesson learned. 

Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snows

But that didn’t mean time stopped moving or stopped passing. It didn’t mean the world took love away on purpose. She knew this. She understood that life was meant to be lived a certain way, and that for her it was different. But who needed linear time when she had nonlinear time? Who needed order when she experienced the bits out of order, over and over, and found that still, in every space, in every world, she maintained her talent and her passion? 

Lies the seed that with the sun's love

In the spring becomes the rose

Who needed desolation and exhaustion and hopelessness when hope was so strong? So eager to persevere?

Why did Lilia need to believe that she could not be loved if you were there to love her? 

“Darling? What’s wrong?” 

You were dry-heaving, clutching at your chest like it would stop the breaking of your heart, the cracks and the fractures, and you were so loud that you didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Tears made your cheeks warm and your breaths, your sobs, turned you red. The world was numb, only a collection of brief sounds, but Lilia’s voice, as it always did, pulled you back. She was blurry behind tears, but you looked at her anyway, pitiful and sad, and didn’t even bother to hide when she ran forward in her towel and tugged you into her warm arms. 

“Did something happen?” She whispered, patting at your hair, doing all she could to soothe you, and you could only cry harder against her shoulder. 

Smelling her shampoo, feeling the natural warmth of her soft skin, revelling in the grounding sensation of loose drops of water smearing from her hair onto your head and neck, unable to hold yourself back from wrapping your arms around her and holding on like she’d fall to sand otherwise. These were the things that made you break. 

“I love you,” your voice was barely there, not even a whisper, as you spoke against her skin. “I love you.” 

“What? What are you saying, honey? Speak up, baby, let me help you.” She sounded so worried, so pained, so shocked but determined to help, and you shook your head to rid yourself of fog. 

“I love you.” It was a croak. “I love you.” A louder croak. Until you were repeating it into her shoulder, falling apart against her body, clutching her like a dead man to life. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you Lilia. I love you Lilia. I’m so sorry, I love you.” I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. It was all you knew. It was all you felt. 

“I’m in love with you.” A huff of breath, a final stutter, as you swallowed harshly and sniffled and cleared your throat. Your eyes burned something fierce, still red and puffy and wet, but you kept them open and stared at the side of her neck when you said it again. “I am in love with you.” It was a shameful whisper, an out of place declaration, but you were overwhelmed and she was there to hold you and you felt like nothing else mattered in that little moment. Only your love for her. Only Lilia. 

She was quiet. Her hands still moved, running along your back over your shirt, patting down your hair, resting her chin on your shoulder. She was quiet. 

“Was it the song?” She whispered, and you nodded. “Was I too loud?” 

“No,” you said too quickly, loosening your grip, preparing to move away, but Lilia didn’t budge. Not a single muscle moved. And so you held on again, surprised, and admitted softly, “You were perfect.” 

She was still quiet. For a little while, that’s how it was. Your heart began its slow recovery, piecing itself together, readying the battle stations for the moment she properly rejected you, and you shook lightly in her arms while you tried regulating your emotions. And Lilia was still and quiet. Petting you, holding you, not worried at all about her towel or how much water was getting on the floor. You were going to mention it, going to try and move on from the moment so you could return to the way things were as if you hadn’t just poured your soul out to her like you always told yourself you wouldn’t, but then something happened. 

Her throat moved against your ear, a light buzz, then a louder one. 

“Lies the seed,” she sang softly, “that with the sun's love… in the spring… becomes the rose,” she trailed off, slowly, into a gentle hum, and your heart trembled, barely holding on, and you almost choked on your breaths when Lilia finally moved. 

Her hands were gentle, detaching you from her, slowly pulling back so soft damp palms could move up to cup your cheeks. There was only one place to look, into those deep amber eyes, and you felt your expression crumble when you saw the quiver of her lips, the tears, the furrow of her dark brows, the way her curls stuck to the sides of her face. No makeup, no armour, no magic, bare for the world to see, open and vulnerable in a way never experienced, felt, witnessed before. You looked at her, stunned, and saw the fear and the hesitation in her gaze. She was so scared, so worried about the consequences, about what would happen if love once again only favoured the lucky and the strong. But the desperation lurked - the same need you saw in yourself. The knowledge that to keep it inside was to kill. 

And why succumb to death when you could love instead? 

“You are my sun,” Lilia breathed, raspy and gentle, her chest heaving with breath. Her cheek twitched like she wanted to smile, but you were frozen, and you could only look at her like a lost child. “And I love you.” 

And she loved you. 

And she loved you. 

And she loved you. 

Lucky and strong.

Your rose. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The Rose by Bette Midler you will always be famous... - Rip x

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

[phannieconfession]

I don’t understand why Dan and Phil aren’t more open and casual about being a couple. Not in a overly detailed way, but just in small, affectionate gestures. A little kiss on the cheek sometimes, or hugging, just generally more lovey-dovey PDA. They’ve acknowledged their relationship, but it’s not a ‘hard launch,’ and I don’t get why, especially now when it feels like it’d be safe to do so. Does anyone else feel this way?

...

[mewtwoandme]

How did Amber reacted to the pregnancy news ?

Kids say funny things sometimes XD

[untoldstar]

I miss Warner so much how would he behave (if at all) if he found out the reader is poor & can't afford quality food?

male rich! yandere x poor fem!reader

warnings: stalking, yandere themes, obsessive behavior, control (basically of the readers life)

If you thought he was persistent before you won't believe the lengths he would go to if he found out you were poor. Aside from the luxuries he gifts you he also worms his way into every aspect of your life, completely turning your life around.

After a long shift, you'd find a hot meal waiting for you in the kitchen, at the end of the week your apartment is sparkling and your fridge is stocked with groceries for you, and of course, he can't help spoiling you even more with designer bags, clothes, you name it! After all, you only deserve the best. His beautiful darling.

Now, If it were up to him he'd have you living with him but seeing as you are far too stubborn he takes care of your rent, maintenance, and cleaning.

Of course, if you get too tired of living there, a fully furnished mansion waiting for you. As much as he wants you living with him he would still much rather you live somewhere he personally set up for you where he can watch you even more closely than in your apartment.

You will never forget the time you were walking out of your workplace and you saw a car waiting for you in the parking lot, a red ribbon decorating it. Just then your phone dings with a text message.

"Do you like it? I thought something like this would suit you. If you want another model just say the word, love."

You huff then roll your eyes when you hear your coworkers squealing and fawning over the gift behind you near the entrance.

He watches you as you constantly reject his advances and refuse his help (when you can anyway) and he can't help the frustration that slowly bubbles up in him over time. Can't you see? All he wants is to give you the life you deserve. Why won't you accept him?!

It's alright. He'll give you the entire world if that's what it takes. Either way, you're his.

[hopepunk-humanity]

Too whoever sees this for the love of god your sanity and energy is so much more important than being 100% informed about ever terrible things right now. Even being 50% informed. I was a teen the first time Tr*mp was presidents and I thought being uninformed would make me just as bad as him. Instead I ended up attempting suicide over 15 times. I’m in my twenties and tried the same approach and only just got home from the hospital over almost dying causing an ulcer on my groin to burst open and get infected. For the love of god you don’t need to know to everything. Your not lazy or selfish. Actually if you want to make any changes in the world you need to be alive to do so. Sorry if this ends up unreadable.

^^^

Being informed is useful, but not if it's at the cost of your health. There are many ways to resist. Being the informed one, and synthesizing that information into an actionable plan is one of them. But if you're not suited for it, don't try and force it. You can be the one carrying out the plan, whether that's protesting, volunteering, donating, etc etc.

If you do want to be a little informed without being glued to the doomscroll, here are things that have personally helped me (ymmv):

Do not get your news from social media. News from social media is going to play havoc on your emotions, either because it's coming from people actually experiencing the event, or making a grab at engagement. Because you can post anything immediately without being accountable to editors or fact-checkers like real journalists are, the scope will be too limited to be informative, and a lot of it will be just plain wrong. On top of that it encourage doom-scrolling. No news from social media.

Do not watch prime-time news. Don't turn on CNN or MSNBC or anything like that at 8, 9pm. I've found this tends to be peak "sensationalist" hours, when the host just lightly touches on a topic and then goes on about how bad it is. Very little actionable information, lots of stress.

When possible, read the news, don't watch. Written news tends to contain far more information (which you can take and turn into action) rather than appeals to emotion. Also, and maybe this is just me, but the written word helps block some of the stress compared to watching and hearing a real human talk about it.

Dedicate one, single block of the day (or even week) to reading the news. Don't engage with any news outside of that block. Scroll past the headlines, don't visit any news sites or watch any news channels. Isolating that information means you are mentally ready to engage with it when you do, and prevents you from constantly refreshing feeds to get the latest update. I promise, being informed daily/weekly instead of hourly makes no difference in how effectively you can use that information.

Try to stick with the morning news. I've found that because of the time block it's in, the morning news tends to keep it short and simple. Information over sensation. For me personally, reading it in the morning alongside the other things I do to start the day keeps me from lingering on it and stressing.

[mikufunfacts]

is Miku capable of murder

miku fun fact #124

miku can do anything she sets her mind to 🫶🫶🫶

[lorynna]

What is your opinion on the increasing amount of child grooming and extortion in online feminist spaces, specifically radfem spaces?

I haven't seen proof of any of this happening. While I believe there can be rotten apples in any basket, a broad, generalizing statement like "children are actively being groomed in radfem spaces" is something I completely reject, especially because radical feminist values drastically go against that + falsely labeling yourself a radfem and claiming to align with our values wouldn't in any way help a groomer's goal of getting closer to kids.