a new meme emerges. it follows you everywhere. it follows you all. you try in vain to catch up with it, to make timely content, but it’s too late. it’s always too late. the meme is already dead.
people post things from other fandoms in the tag. you stare. “what’s a ‘jeremy heere,’” you whisper to yourself before continuing to scroll.
another novel-length fanfic appears. the ship in it isn’t necessarily your favorite, but you give it a try anyway. you stare at the flowing cadence of words and the eloquent language, the beauty of the writing. “hey,” you think to yourself, “i thought i didn’t ship this?” you do now. nothing can be done. the fic was too good, too powerful.
the last time someone mentioned disliking the understudies was May 3, 1655. no one’s heard from them since. the offending post is gone. to you, it never existed in the first place.
clenching your teeth, you watch as people on instagram repost your memes without giving you credit. they get twice as many likes as you. “good for you” plays in the back of your mind.
you look up at night, your hands together in prayer. “please, beyoncé,” you murmur. “please go to see the show. please. it would mean so much to ben.” you wipe a single tear from your eye.