#BAIT ANON I'M IN FUCKING TEARS THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY

[lesbian-gnf-archive]

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[benedictscanvas]

i came across “i saved you a seat” and immediately fell in love with your writing 🥹🥹

could i request a jamie tartt x fem!reader where they both like each other but they’re both too scared to act on it so they’re kinda snappy to each other? and then angry love confession 🥹🥹🥹

only if you have the time!! love your writing so much <3

thank you my lovely, lovely anon <3 i loved the idea of this so much, but i'm not super happy with it, i think because i often struggle to write enemies to lovers in a oneshot without feeling unrealistic?? i hope you still like it and are happy to suspend some reality with me haha | 2.4k words!! tw language

"Tartt!' you bellowed across the dressing room, enjoying the way most of the team jump at your sudden commotion. The man himself just turned his head to you nonchalantly, and it only fuelled your fire, "Your fucking car is blocking me in."

"Right," he said, prolonging the sound, "And y' telling me because...?"

"Just move it, dickhead," you sighed, still in the doorway, "It's a bloody eyesore and all."

"She is a classic. And classy. Two things you wouldn't know anythin' about."

You snorted at that one, but refused to take the bait, flipping him off as you marched out of there and back the way you came towards the car park. Jamie was sure to make you wait but he would move it eventually. He wasn't a total monster.

Actually, everything would have been easier if he was a total monster, like he used to be. Now he was nice to everyone and smiled all the time and had way better hair - but he still couldn't bring himself to change his attitude towards you. Always at your throat.

You stood waiting for him, head buried in your arms that rested on your car. Eventually, you heard footsteps, but you didn't bother to raise your head.

"Where'd y' expect me to move it? No spaces, love."

"Just out of the way," you groaned into your forearms, "God, Jamie, I need to get home, would y' just do it?"

"No need to get funny 'bout it," he said and you lifted your head to glare at him to find him smirking, "What're you so desperate to be home for anyway?"

"Fuck off, Jamie," you said, staring out at the pitch behind him, "What is your problem?"

"My problem?" he said incredulously, taking a step towards you to force you to look at him, "I asked about what you were up to, Y/N, what the fuck?"

"I just don't need this right now, Jamie."

"Don't need what?"

"You!" you exclaim, pushing yourself away from your car and even closer to him, "Prancing about being a total dick to me and positively lovely to everyone else. I haven't got any fucking patience left for it, I need to get home because I just got a call that my entire kitchen is flooded, if you must know."

He just stared at you. Unflinching. You sighed, defeated, no venom left in your tone.

"Just move the car, Jamie. Please."

“Yeah, fuck, okay,” he said, voice small, “I’ll move it, alright?”

You went back to your previous position, arms on the car, this time with your head in your hands. It really shouldn’t bother you this much, but you decided to blame it on your shitty day rather than Jamie himself or the way you found yourself looking at him sometimes. The way you wished he’d just be nice to you, even for a moment. You weren’t an idiot - you knew that you’d never been nice to him, that he had no reason to change. It was just too terrifying - the idea of trying to be nice and him deciding he hated you anyway. Or that maybe he was never the prick and it had been you all along. All of it was too much.

A soft hand on your shoulder brings you out of your head, and you see Jamie standing sheepishly in front of you. You stared at his hand for a moment, but he’s quick to remove it. When you check, his car is categorically not out of your way - he’s moved it so that it’s blocking the exit instead. You felt the horrible sting of tears welling up and ducked your head to hide them.

“What have I done to you?” you ask miserably and his brow furrows before he realises what you’re talking about.

“No, fuck, no,” he mutters, leaning his head back to sky in frustration, “I’m not- Look, let me drive you home. You’ll need someone else there if your kitchen is flooded.”

So that was why he hadn’t moved his car properly - it was ready to go. He was ready to go, keys still in his hand, despite the fact he hadn’t got his bag or anything. One of the pesky tears fell and you brushed the traitor away with harsh fingertips.

“You’re in no state to drive, yeah? I won’t even talk the whole way, just let me-”

He trails off. You’re tired to the bones. It would probably take more effort at this point to convince him not to come with you, so although you can’t work out his angle, you nod your head and start walking over to his car, only stopping when he bounds ahead of you to open the passenger door for you. You furrow your brow at him, but climb in nonetheless and the two of you are speeding off into the setting sun before you know it.

The quiet bothers you. He said he wouldn’t speak, and he was sticking to it, but you were desperate to fill the awful silence.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask, hating the way your voice sounds with the lump still in your throat, “You hate me.”

Jamie laughed then, but it wasn’t the same sound that echoed through the corridors at Richmond from the dressing room. It was much harsher than that.

“Y’ mean, you hate me,” he argued, “That’s how we work, ain’t it? You hate me so I get under y’ skin for fun and then y’ hate me more.”

You stared at the side of his face, even though his gaze didn’t falter from the road ahead.

“You…don’t hate me?”

“Trust me, you’re fuckin’ annoying as shit sometimes. And I’ve tried. But no. Can’t seem to.”

Can’t seem to? That was such a weird way to put it. You shook your head as you returned your own eyes to the road.

“You’re such a dickhead to me, Jamie,” you murmured, hands rigid in your lap, “I know you used to be a dickhead to everyone including me, but now you’re nice to everyone except me. It’s shitty.”

“Yeah, cause you’re shitty!” he exclaimed, slapping a hand against the steering wheel in frustration, “I get that I used to be awful, fuckin’ hell, but it’s like y’ remind me everyday. Like I can’t escape it with you.”

“I was willing to give you a chance when you came back…”

“No, y’ fuckin’ weren’t. Nobody was. And it took ages, but I won ‘em all over except you.”

You stayed quiet for a few seconds. You hadn’t been ready to give him a chance at first, he was right, but it had been months since Jamie came back. You wondered if it had always been a chicken and egg situation - both of you rude to the other for no other reason than the other’s rudeness. Than the fear of trying kindness and having it rejected outright.

“I couldn’t be nice to you when you came back,” you eventually speak up, picking at your nails and staring down at them intently, “What if I was nice and you were still a prize prick? It was fucking scary. I don’t like getting hurt.”

He scoffed, and you felt some of your vulnerability coming back to bite you already.

“Y’ don’t like getting hurt? But you had no problem hurting me every fuckin’ day, huh?”

He was practically snarling by the end of your sentence. You felt sick. This is exactly what you’d been afraid of - show a little vulnerability at how you struggled with the new him, and have it thrown back in your face. The walls were rebuilding themselves as you spoke.

“Why the fuck would my shitty little comments hurt you, Jamie? Thought y’ didn’t give a single shit what I think of you.”

“Well, maybe I fuckin’ do!”

“Do what?” you said, volume rising along with his.

He groaned, a strangled sound, as he pulled the car over at the nearest kerb a little too quickly for your liking. You reached out to the door handle to steady yourself, glaring at him when you came to a stop and he turned the engine off.

“I’m not doin’ this now. I said I’d take you home without talkin’ so let’s just do that, yeah?” he said, seething. There was no way that was happening now.

“No. You tell me what you mean so we can finally settle this.”

Another strangled groan, this time accompanied by him bashing his head into the steering wheel and then leaving it there, muttering to himself. You continued to glare at him until he finally turned his head to look at you, temple still against his hands.

“Fine. Fuckin’ fine,” he said angrily, leaning back in his chair and making proper eye contact with you for the first time since you’d entered his car. You could feel your heart thrumming in your chest, in your ears, “You’ve always been so fuckin’ headstrong, and you don’t take shit, and you’re nice to everyone but me-”

“Yeah, because -”

“Just listen for a minute, would ya?” he scowled and you shut up despite yourself, “Look, I don’t need to tell ya that you’re fuckin’ fit. You just are. Always had a thing for you, back in the day, but it was jus’ physical, yeah? Cause you’d shout at me and look all hot doin’ it. Now I’ve been back for like, what, three months? An’ it’s like a full blown fuckin’ crush or something. I hate it. I see you being all kind and shit to someone and then I come along and you say somethin’ all snarky and I just-”

You were hanging on his every word. When he hesitated, you couldn’t help yourself.

“You just what?” you said softly, leaning closer to the center console without even meaning to. He sighs, but that same frustration seems to have dissipated during his speech, and now he can’t look at you again, instead fiddling with a loose thread on his shorts.

“I just go all weak. In me knees, and that. It’s so stupid.”

You know your eyes must be comically wide right now, breath coming out in silly little pants.

“You have a crush on me? You snap at me because…you like me?”

“God, don’t say it like that,” he moans, dramatically banging his head against the steering wheel again to hide his face, and his blush, you can safely assume, “How embarrassing is it to have a crush on a girl who hates my guts?”

“Ugh, are you really going to be so self-deprecating that you’re going make me say it?” you whined, watching when he peeks out from the steering wheel at you with one eye, “Fine. But if this is all some joke and you’re horrible after this I’m getting out of the car.”

He nods eagerly, sitting back up again. He’s such a puppy, you wonder how you’ve ever been anything but nice to him for a second.

“I used to have an awful thing for you,” you said quickly, closing your eyes when you see his whole face light up, “When you were a prick. You were awful and I still wanted to jump on you any given second. That really was embarrassing. So when you came back, I swore to myself I wouldn’t let myself like you because I knew then I’d end up…liking you. If you get what I mean.”

“You’re saying you snap at me because you like me too?”

“Liked, Jamie,” you corrected, wagging a stern finger, “And please keep in mind that I hadn’t been with anyone for a while and my judgement was poor.”

“Well yeah, if you liked me when I was terrible, like. But I don’t think your judgement would be that bad if y’ happened to like me now?”

It was the first time you’d ever heard his teasing, flirty tone turned on you. It was very difficult not to get flustered and though you tried, you could tell you were failing when you tucked your hair behind your ear.

“There’s a lot of bridges to cross before we get there,” you said, but there’s a smile hovering on your lips, “We need to learn how to be nice to each other without being scared we’ll end up ridiculed.”

He nodded again, dutifully. You get used to agreeing with him.

“How about we start by getting back to my house? This flood thing is real, y’know?”

“Oh shit!” he exclaimed, turning the engine back on suddenly, “Sorry, I’m sorry, I genuinely forgot.”

You laugh a little as he pulls back out onto the road and continues driving, gratified when he chuckles too and its closer to the warmth you usually hear in his laugh. It’s never been because of you before.

"You are classy by the way. And a classic. Some of the insults I've used for ya have made no fuckin' sense. And I'm sorry."

It meant more to hear that than you could possibly tell him now. Maybe some other time, when a few more things were mended, you could tell him that his apology meant everything to you.

"I'm sorry, too. Really sorry, actually. I think we've both...god we've been so unfair to each other."

"We have, yeah."

"I quite like your car really."

He just smiles at that, warmth flowing from it as he looks over at you from his spot in the driver's seat to make sure you've seen it.

Soon, you found the car enveloped in a far more comfortable silence than before for a while, only interrupted when Jamie pulls up to your house after a few directions from you to get the right one. You sit in the car for a few moments, both waiting for the other to speak, until you decided to just go for it.

“If we can fix this stupid kitchen, maybe…” you felt yourself scared to offer, still worried about being turned down or rejected or made fun of, but you pushed the anxiety down into the pit of your stomach and continued, “Maybe you can stay. For a cuppa. We could, y'know, actually talk to each other? See how long this truce lasts?”

“Mhm, okay,” he said, but when you sneak a glance at him, he’s grinning like a madman, “Okay. Guess I could stay for a bit.”

“Just the one cup though, yeah?” you confirm, but you’re grinning too, and you hope he’s noticed.

“One cup. Wouldn’t dream of two.”

(but he stays for four, including one with breakfast the next morning, and somehow, the two of you are pretty damn nice to each other the whole time)

[freeuselandonorris]

i wish you would write a fic featuring lando saying 'thank you' just like in the clip you just posted 😵‍💫

hi anon! excellent prompt. (as a reminder, anon is referring to this video of lando in subspace during neck training).

i watched loads of max and lando's streams from when they lived together while i was in bed with flu last week and i'm so fascinated by how fucking rude lando is at times and how patiently max puts up with it.

lando norris/max fewtrell, explicit. contains light impact play (spanking).

They’d never talked about it. It wasn’t like Lando had ever asked for it, never come right out and said hey Max, do you think you could spank me until your hand’s hurting and my arse cheeks are bright red? But then, he’d never asked Max to fuck him either, and they’d done plenty of that over the last few months.

It wasn’t a regular occurrence, the fucking. 

Other stuff, sure. Max had given and received more handjobs over since he’d moved in with Lando than he’d had hot dinners. They’d watched porn together, Max ignoring the on-screen action in favour of watching the way Lando’s face scrunched up before he came, like he was about to burst into tears. He’d sucked Lando off a few times, clumsy and inexperienced, and sunk his own cock into the wet heat of Lando’s throat a few times too. But Lando was a bit funny about fucking. Squeamish. Afraid of anything that might embarrass him. So it was on his terms, which was fair enough because Max was fairly certain he wasn’t into the idea of having anything stuck up his hole any time soon either, so who was he to judge? 

But God, the feeling of it. Tight and hot and sucking, like Lando’s body was trying to drag him further inside. It made Max want to spin it out, make it last longer – he was in no hurry to come, not when it felt so good to hold Lando loosely by the hips and watch the muscles shifting in his back as he squirmed, pulling him back against his hips in slow, shallow thrusts. He could’ve done it all day.

Except Lando was fucking the world’s biggest spoiled brat, and couldn’t just let Max do it his way. Even though Max would treat him right, make it good, make it last. Had to try and play backseat driver, even when he was on his hands and knees. 

“Fucking hurry up,” he whined, trying to shove his hips back, impale himself faster and harder. “Why are you being so slow?” 

Because I might not get to feel this again any time soon, Max thought but didn’t say, and ground his teeth. 

“Shut up,” he said instead, although he did speed up the pace of his thrusts, just a bit. “Not everything’s a fucking race.”

Lando laughed, breathless and shuddery, in a way that went right through his body and into Max’s dick. “That’s your problem, mate, you think that’s true.”

Which was a low fucking blow by anyone’s standards, given the circumstances, never mind whether he was balls deep in Lando or not. Max knew when he was being baited. Instead of rising to it and fucking Lando harder, faster, like he wanted, he stilled his hips entirely. 

“Bob,” he said, and raised his right hand, lining it up. “You need to learn some fucking manners.”

He brought his hand down onto the meat of Lando’s right cheek with a resounding crack, and Lando shrieked and jolted and clenched around Max’s dick so hard he thought he might come on the spot.

The skin reddened into a handprint immediately, a blurry outline. Max’s palm stung. He held his breath, waiting for Lando to throw a proper fit, call Max fit to burn, banish him to a sad wank in the bathroom to finish himself off. 

“Fuck,” Lando hissed, and craned his head over his shoulder to stare at Max. His eyes were wide, cheeks blotchy like he got when he’d been crying. “Oh, shit. Do that again.”

Max blinked. A peculiar feeling rushed through his veins, hot and cold all at once. His cock twitched in Lando’s hole, a muted little jerk. 

“I will if you say please,” he said. He rolled his hips, a slow drag, tipping his head back at the feeling of Lando’s tight body around him. His palm was still tingling. Fuck. 

Lando laughed, a low gargle. “You prick.” He dropped to his elbows, so his arse was sticking up more, taut and lightly tanned. He knew how to make himself as appealing as possible, you had to hand it to him. Even his tanlines were hot, the bastard. 

“Told you,” Max panted out, and passed his hand over the red print, squeezing. The skin he’d hit was hotter. Max looked at his cock disappearing in and out of Lando’s arse, shining with lube. “Manners.”

Lando made a frustrated sound and smacked the flat of his palm against the bed. “Please,” he said, like the word was being dragged out of him against his will. 

Max blinked at the ceiling, feeling the smile stretch across his face. “There you go,” he said, delirious. “Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

He brought his hand down again, and Lando bit out a groan, body jerking at the impact. 

“Fuck,” he repeated. He sounded unsure of himself, like he couldn’t decide if he liked it or not. “Again.”

“Manners,” Max reminded him, and Lando whined, high-pitched and frustrated. Fuck, this was brilliant. Max rocked into him shallowly, smacked him again when Lando finally said please.

Lando shuddered and moaned every time Max’s cock slid into him up to the hilt, like he couldn’t get enough of it. The sounds he made were soft and langurous compared to the sharp cries every time Max spanked him again. 

“God,” he spat after one particularly hard blow, dropping to his forearms and shaking his head like a dog, like Max had hit him across the face and made his ears ring rather than across the arse. “Thank you.”

The way he said it, it was like he really meant it. The words sliding out of him on an exhale, a breathy little half-sob, like he was giving into something he’d been fighting against for a long time. 

“That’s it,” Max said. Usually he’d have been embarrassed of the way his voice came out, a tight groan that made it clear just how turned on he was, but right now he couldn’t give a fuck. “That’s it, say that again.”

“Thank you,” Lando said obediently, almost before Max’s hand had even made contact with his skin. He sounded like he was enjoying saying it, like the shape of the words in his mouth gave him some extra pleasure. Max couldn’t see his face, but he could tell from the tone of Lando’s voice that he was smiling, a loose wet expression like he got when he’d been drinking.

His arse was so red. The handprints were blurring into each other, one pink mass with the vague outlines of Max’s fingers still visible in places. Max took him by the hips and lifted until Lando’s knees were barely brushing the bed, making him yelp. 

“Say ‘thank you for fucking me’,” Max said, because he never knew when to stop and be grateful for a good thing. 

Lando spluttered, laughing in a way that was clearly an attempt to be derisive, but it tipped into a moan when Max thrust into him, so deep his pubic bone ached where it ground against Lando’s coccyx. 

He swore under his breath, and Lando shuddered an inhale. 

“Thank you for fucking me,” he said, the words falling out of his mouth in a slurred tumble. “Thank you for – fuck –” Max spanked him again, one quick sharp slap. “Thank you, thank you.” 

He kept repeating it like that, fast and frenetic, like he was keeping time with the movement of Max’s hips fucking into him. He was propping himself on one arm, the muscles in his shoulder and the back of his arm flexing as he jerked himself off. He looked like every one of Max’s wet dreams since the age of about fourteen.

He thanked Max as he came, voice rising to a high and reedy whine as he came into the tight clutch of his fist. Max fucked him through it, reflecting on the downside of doing it doggy style: he couldn’t see Lando’s face, the blank bliss of it, the whites of his eyes. Shame. 

Still, it wasn’t like there wasn’t enough to get him off in the heave of Lando’s chest, the twitch of his hole around Max’s dick, the warm red patches still glowing against the paler skin of his arse. Lando had barely even started with the whimpering oversensitive noises before Max was grabbing him by the hips to hold him in place, trying and failing to keep his eyes open as he came. 

He gave himself up to a count of five in his mind before gritting his teeth and pulling out, still half-hard and sensitive to the touch. No sense waiting; Lando would only get more and more angsty, hated the feeling of being wet and stretched out after he’d come. 

Picking up his discarded boxers, Max watched Lando collapse onto his stomach. He reached for his t-shirt, feeling the chill in the air against his sweaty chest, but Lando shot a hand out and snatched it out of his grasp, reaching down between his legs to wipe himself off.

“Wow,” Max said. That shirt had cost him sixty quid, for fuck’s sake. “Can you not? I’ll go and get you a flannel or something, Christ.”

Lando just grunted, wiped his sticky hand before he let Max’s t-shirt drop to the floor. Max lifted his hands in despair. 

“Get me a can of Rubicon, would you?” Lando said, rolling onto his back and squinting up at Max. “I’m gasping.”

Max sighed heavily, putting it on a bit for show, but actually he was fucking thirsty himself, now he thought about it. He padded off to the kitchen, leaving Lando fumbling his phone out from under the pillows, grabbed two freezing cans out of the fridge and a roll of kitchen towel in the hope of salvaging the rest of his clothes from Lando’s idea of a clean-up attempt.

“Here y’go,” he said to Lando, back in the bedroom, snapping one of the cans open and holding it out. 

Lando took it from him and guzzled noisily, eyes still fixed on his phone. 

“‘Thanks, Max, appreciate it’,” Max parrotted, flopping onto the bed next to him. Lando looked up at him with narrowed eyes, pushed the cold corner of his can into the soft flesh of Max’s belly, making him flinch.

Well, alright, Max thought as he grabbed for Lando’s wrist, trying to wrench him away without getting covered in sticky fruit juice. Looks like he’s going to need a lot more training. 

[delirious-donna]

Hi there, I’ve been wondering how you think an argument with the lazy genius would go? As smart as he is, I don’t think he’s very emotionally intelligent, so how do you think it would come into play while fighting and making up?

Hi anon! ^^ Hope you're well? Hmm an argument with the lazy genius aka Shikamaru, huh? So I'm not sure that I agree that he isn't emotionally intelligent. I think he understands where you are coming from but simply doesn't get why it bothers you so much if that makes sense.

Let's see how an argument and making up works out...

"Why are you acting like I'm not here?"

The almost sneered words do nothing but poke at your raging emotions. A part of you knew this was completely foolish but it didn't calm the storm in your heart.

You seethe, silent and deadly. A simmering volcano that is close to erupting. Foot tapping incessantly, arms crossed tightly over your heaving chest.

"Let me guess, you're jealous?" he drawls, taking a final drag on his cigarette before he puts it out in the ashtray. He dares to come closer, to seat him right next to your practically vibrating frame.

Why was he baiting you like this? Couldn't he see that you were genuinely upset by what had transpired? Hiding the hurt behind a mask of anger.

Lost in your spiralling thoughts, you didn't notice his shadows cascading over you. The inky vines twist around your arms, and up your neck. With a single flick, he has you turning to face him head on and a gasp falls from your lips.

He hums, appraising your expression and the dip of his brow makes you want to look away. Fingers, strong and rough caress your jaw until he is holding your face in his hands.

"Ino is just a friend, pure and simple. You know this. Why does it bother you when I spend time with her? I want you to tell me." His deep brown eyes appear cool as you gaze into them. A knot in your throat forming as the words feel like they are trying to choke you.

The words rush out, garbled and fast. It's like tearing off a bandaid, you need to say it and make him understand.

"She is so fucking pretty Shika! I don't get it. Why me? Why the fuck would you choose me when there are girls like Ino out there who are more deserving of your attention? She would look like the sexiest arm candy for you, not me, look at me! I'm -"

Your tirade comes to an abrupt halt as Shika's lips press forcefully atop your own. It takes you by surprise, the suddenness and intensity of his action, and it's not like him at all. The shadows are still in place around your arms, pulling them above your head as he sinks you into the couch until he is braced over you.

"You. Are. The. Most. Troublesome. Woman."

Each word is punctuated by a kiss, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. Shika seems to know, pinning you in place as he rears back to caress his gaze over your pliant form.

"You are funny. You are smart. You are everything I ever longed for in a partner. You put up with my bullshit. You show me love in ways I never thought to be possible. And importantly, you are sexy. Look at you? I never fucking stop looking at you.”

Tears form in your eyes, averting gaze but it is met with a firm tsk as he snaps his fingers to refocus your attention.

“Ino is a pain in my ass,” he quips, “and so are you, but you make me want to come back for more and I’ve never felt that before.”

His voice turns as soft as velvet, hugging your heart until you think it might explode. You hadn’t expected Shikamaru to be this capable of understanding your emotions, and certainly not of saying exactly what you needed to hear.

“Let me show you how much I’d rather be with you, yeah?”

They don’t call him a genius for nothing, and he is all yours…

[system-of-a-feather]

anyways tulpas are valid and if you actually fucking educated yourself you'd realize it's not even close to being cultural appropriation

so sit down and shut the fuck up plural cop <3

I mean, no. If you actually you know, learned what the fuck Buddhism was about even for 3 seconds, you would rapidly realize how disgustingly appropriative and opposite to the original principle it is.

I'm not a "proper" or "full" Buddhist, but a lot of my parents beliefs and superstitions came from it, and my own personal spiritual believes regularly borrow principles (which is different from entirely making a joke out of a whole closed practice for dedicated Buddhists and then using it being a 'cool buddhist principle' as a reason to put yourself above others) and tulpas are honestly 1000% worse than endogenics in my book. Endogenics I actually have no large issue with other than the fact that I don't have any interest in plurality as a conversation. The whole endo discussion just does not interest me because I don't identify as plural or really care for the plural community and think syscourse is really stupid and pointless, so eh.

With that being said, as someone who is half Chinese and has some - probably a lot more Buddhist ties than you do anon - it is extremely appropriative and disgusting. A lot of the core Buddhist concepts is about freeing yourself from the concept of "me" and "I" as well as "you and them" because a lot of the concept stands to claim that everyone is interconnected as just a part of the cosmic force of the world. A large part of coming to peace in that ideology is a relinquishing of the human need and instinct to fixate on "me VS them VS the world" and just become whole and one with one another and the world around us.

There is a lot more I could say on this topic because I had this whole realization when I did a deep dive into Buddhism that was really enlightening, but I also had to like, mentally section that off because I was getting *too grounded* for my mental well being and honestly, I'm not gonna risk my mental health to educate an idiotic anon who wants to excuse being a racist cultural appropriator.

I will though say, I find it really funny that people would further increase their separation of self and concept of "I VS something else" while using a spirituality practice that is the opposite of it as a "justification" for how they are "real". It's not like its being used as a scape goat for white people to feel superior and more mystic like, ya know, they always do.

Perhaps DON'T impose your "Asian Mysticism" stereotypes and perception of Asian cultures, practices, and beliefs to justify why you have a Pinky Pie living in your brain?

Anyways, I'm not gonna sit here any longer and talk to a white person about how they don't have the right to decide what is and isn't racist / culturally appropriative. Sit your ass down and cry your white tears about it.

Oh, and if this was bait for me to assume you are white when you aren't, I don't give a shit. You are spewing white ass rhetoric and trying to talk over people who are claiming things are problematic and appropriative, so even if you aren't white, I'm just gonna go ahead and call you an honorary-white bootlicker.

-Riku (Host)