#''i haven't used that in two or three months''

[miyasmagnolias]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋆.˚☕︎

miya atsumu x f!reader

you always considered atsumu to be a fairly guarded person — that is, until you hear him crying in the bathroom after a particularly abysmal day.

part three of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college AU featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

The third time Atsumu served the volleyball into the net, his coach called him into the office.

"I'm worried about you," he told the twenty-two year old, pacing behind his large mahogany desk. "You're showing up late, you're not present during practice — you're making mistakes no member of my starting lineup should be making this close to the start of the season. What the hell's going on?"

Atsumu's jaw flexed at the question, his knee bouncing repeatedly from the barely contained anger thrumming through his veins. This chair was too small, his coach's office too stuffy. He was not, under any circumstances, ready to talk about this.

"Dunno." Atsumu sniffed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. What explanation could he give? That he was dumped at the end of last school year? That he was driven out of his friend group, forced to move out, and was now living with a girl who, however kind, probably thought he had some kind of undiagnosed mood disorder?

No, he couldn't admit to any of that. It felt too private, too juvenile to say to a man who, this time last year, believed he had the potential to go pro. Instead, Atsumu kept his eyes trained on the ground and said most palatable lie he could come up with.

"I just haven't been gettin' good sleep lately, is all."

His coach folded his arms across his chest.

"That's all it is, then? Your sleep?" he asked, clearly not buying the excuse, but respectful enough not to push his player's boundaries. Atsumu nodded. "Well in that case, maybe a couple weeks on mental health leave will give you enough time to catch up on your sleep."

"Mental health leave — ?" Atsumu blanched, gripping the armrests of his chair until his knuckles turned white. "Yer bein' serious?"

"Do I look like I'm pulling your leg here?" his coach snapped. "I need you to be present on that court come January, and that ain't gonna happen unless you work out whatever the hell is going on in your head."

Atsumu couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But what about the rest of off-season?"

"You'll stick to your strength training and conditioning plan, same as the rest of the team. But you'll be excused from all practices and scrimmages until November."

He might as well have shot Atsumu in the stomach. Four weeks. No volleyball. Atsumu couldn't even remember the last time he was off the court for that long. Was it middle school?

Upon seeing the anguish on Atsumu's face, his coach said, "Look, Miya. Recovery is a part of off-season, too. There's no shame in that. Take your break, deal with whatever it is you need to deal with, and come back with your head screwed on straight. Understood?"

And that was that.

Atsumu stabbed his straw into the lid of an iced vanilla latte later that afternoon, the university coffee shop buzzing with students, professors, and visiting families. He'd hoped the music blasting through his AirPods was enough to drown out the sounds of them yapping. But it certainly wasn't enough to drown out the sound of his own thoughts.

How dare his coach pluck him out of practice like that — like he was a bad piece of fruit about to rot the entire stand? No one on the university men's volleyball team had put in more hours than he had. Hell, this team needed him more than anyone else on that court. But the second he was no longer useful to them?

Discarded. Dumped. Put on mental health leave.

The label left Atsumu's blood boiling.

"Erm, excuse me?" a voice squeaked out from his right. "Excuse me?"

Atsumu ripped out an AirPod. "What?"

The young student flinched at the scowl on Atsumu's face. She couldn't have been older than eighteen.

Pointing towards the condiment station behind him, she said, "You're blocking the napkins."

"Oh." The young volleyball player's shoulders slumped, heat rising into his cheeks. "My bad."

He stepped aside so she could swipe a few from the dispenser, heart hammering in his ears as he told himself to calm the fuck down. He was never really good at that, tempering his anger. Dealing with it in a way that left him and the people around him unscathed. No matter how hard he tried, it always remained a hair's breadth out of his control.

But before he could open his mouth to apologize, the student asked, "Sorry if this is totally weird of me, but...could I get your autograph?"

He was taken aback by the question. Her eyes shyly darted from his face to the iced coffee in her hands.

"You're Miya Atsumu, right? The setter on the men's volleyball team?"

"I — yea, yea I am," he stammered, face now flushed with embarrassment. "And while I'm, uh, flattered, now's not really a good time — "

"It's just that my friends and I are such big fans," she gushed, glancing over her shoulder at the group of girls giggling together in the corner. Were they...taking pictures of him?

He hooked an index finger behind the collar of his hoodie and tugged, suddenly claustrophobic.

"We tried congratulating you on your championship win last season, but you disabled your DMs on Instagram," she continued, speaking to him as if they were old friends. "You also haven't posted anything recently. Is everything okay?"

"That's really none of yer business — "

"Is it because you and Akemi broke up?" she asked innocently. The name shot him right between the ribs. "I saw she's been posting photos with her new boyfriend. You two were friends, right?"

Atsumu could feel his throat constricting. "I — "

"It's too bad, honestly," she said, a giggle escaping her lips as she reached out to touch his arm. "You're really cute. Maybe if you give me your autograph, I can give you my number in return — "

Her words died upon seeing the look on Atsumu's face.

Because if there was one thing he could not stand, it was a fan who didn't know her place.

"Like I said," he muttered. Tone flat. Eyes empty. "It's really none of yer damn business."

She immediately retracted her hand from his forearm.

It was drizzling by the time Atsumu shoved open the door to the coffee shop, the aghast looks on his fan club's faces twisting into his chest like a knife drawing blood. He was used to the attention that volleyball had granted him, had reveled in it at one point. Now, it just made him feel small. Violated. Stripped of his own personal space.

Is it because you and Akemi broke up? I saw she's been posting photos with her new boyfriend...

Unwanted memories began to flood his mind. The smell of alcohol on her breath. The guttural bass of the music, thrumming through the house.

You two were friends, right?

Her lipstick on his teeth. His hand beneath her shirt. The sick, sour feeling of bile at the back of Atsumu's throat.

It's too bad, honestly.

Atsumu slammed the front door to the apartment ten minutes later, a thin layer of sweat clinging to his skin. He shucked off his hoodie and threw it onto the couch, chest heaving. As if things couldn't get any worse, he realized he'd left his latte at the coffee shop.

Great, he thought, scrubbing his hair out in frustration. Real fuckin' fantastic.

He flipped on the faucet in the narrow bathroom connecting both of your rooms, splashing cool water on his face in attempt to calm himself down. But his heart felt like it was about to collapse in on itself. He hated how that night still made him feel — hated how Akemi still managed to dictate every single aspect of his godforsaken life. Where he lived. Who he was friends with. Whether or not he could play the sport he loved.

It's not fair, he told himself, over and over and over again. As if doing so would undo the past year of life. It's not fuckin' fair...

He shut the faucet off, squeezed his eyes shut, and tilted his head towards the ceiling. He willed himself not to cry, but the tears were already prickling the corners of his vision.

God. His shoulders shuddered, a sob escaping him.

It was going to be a long night.

After your shift at the university bookstore, you teetered across campus in a clunky pair of rain boots, an umbrella in one hand and a recyclable drink carrier in the other.

You'd stopped by the coffee shop on your way home, purchasing a matcha for yourself and an iced vanilla latte for Atsumu — his favorite, you'd observed over the past couple of weeks. Midterms were right around the corner, and while Atsumu was more likely concerned about the upcoming volleyball season than his exams, you needed all the study fuel you could get.

It was bizarre, living with an athlete who played televised games and boasted over thirty thousand followers on Instagram. You weren't big into college athletics — so to you, Atsumu was nothing more than your prickly roommate with the occasional sweet side. But to the rest of the world, he was Miya Atsumu.

Setter on the men's volleyball team. Top prospect for the professional volleyball draft. And, according to a couple Reddit threads, a total heartthrob. (Haruka's finding, not yours.)

After wiping your boots on the door mat and propping your umbrella up to dry, you let yourself into your tiny apartment and nearly tripped over Atsumu's pair of Asics.

Cursing under your breath, you kicked them off to the side and yanked your own shoes off — all while balancing the stupid drink carrier in one hand.

"Atsumu!" you huffed, storming into the kitchen. "I told you to stop putting your shoes directly in front of the door! I swear, I'm going to break a tooth one day — "

You stopped once you'd heard it.

The soft, steady sound of crying coming from behind the kitchen wall. The sound was completely foreign to you, yet recognizable enough to make your stomach drop.

No. No, it couldn’t be.

You immediately placed your drinks in the refrigerator and padded over to your bedroom, Atsumu's muffled cries slipping beneath the crack under the bathroom door. His sobs were jagged, panicky. Almost as if he were gasping for air. Your heart broke ever so slightly at the sound of them.

You debated turning on your heel and leaving him be. After all, Atsumu didn't seem like the type to want to cry in front of anyone, much less the roommate he'd just met a few months ago.

But another, softer part of you willed yourself to stay, willed yourself to reach out with a tentative fist and rap twice against the closed door.

"Atsumu?" you called to him, your voice quiet. Gentle. "Atsumu, are you okay?"

Your roommate's cries came to a sudden halt. The seconds seemed to drag on for minutes before he responded.

"Do I sound okay?" He sniffled, his voice a mere croak. You tried not to roll your eyes at his sarcasm. "I thought yer shift didn't end 'til seven."

"It's five on Wednesdays," you admitted behind a grimace. "Sorry to interrupt your cry sesh. Do you need me to leave?"

"What? No, ya don't have to leave." From the inside of the bathroom, Atsumu leaned his head against the bathroom cabinets and laughed miserably. "Geez, Y/N. Can't ya let a guy cry in peace?"

You mashed your lips together. "Is that what you want?"

A second passed. Two. Then, hesitantly, Atsumu said, "Can ya grab me some tissues, actually? I ran out of toilet paper."

You joined him in the bathroom two minutes later with a fresh box of tissues and a glass of water, nudging aside wads of toilet paper to make space for you to sit. Atsumu had propped himself up against the bathroom vanity, his t-shirt stained with tears, his eyes bloodshot. You sat cross-legged beside him on your fuzzy pink bathmat and offered him the box.

"How was yer shift?" he asked after blowing his nose. You leaned over to drag the waste basket a little closer.

"Good. I got into a heated debate with a professor about why bookstores don't use the Dewey Decimal system."

Atsumu snorted. "Did ya win?"

"Course I did,” you smiled, picking up the wads of toilet paper one-by-one. "How was practice?"

He locked his fingers together and stretched his arms out towards the ceiling, triceps flexing against his cotton t-shirt.

"I left early."

"Why? I thought you were always the last one to leave."

"I know." He released an exasperated sigh. "My coach...he pulled me out in the middle of practice and put me on 'mental health leave' for a whole month. Basically said I was no use to the team if I couldn't play well."

Your expression fell at the dejection in his words, the way he averted his gaze. As if he was admitting to you that he'd failed.

"Oh, Atsumu," you said, resting a hand on his forearm. "I'm so sorry. Did you have any idea he was going to do that?"

His lips twitched downwards, eyes glossing over with tears.

"I mean, I knew I wasn't playin' my best, but I didn't think I was that useless." Wincing, he added, "I may have also chewed out an annoyin' fan who asked me questions about my ex."

"Damn," you said, blinking back in surprise. "You're that popular?"

At this, Atsumu barked out a laugh. "Ya really don't watch sports, don’t ya?"

"I live under a rock, apparently."

"It's okay." He rested his hand atop of yours and gave your fingers an affirming squeeze. "I kinda like how ya have no idea who I am."

"I know a little bit," you argued. "I know that you shared a womb — and that you leave your smelly gym socks on the floor. I know how you like your coffee and eggs, and I know you use my body wash because you think it smells nice."

Atsumu snapped his hand back in betrayal. "I do not."

"I also know that you lie."

He shifted uncomfortably. "I may have used it once or twice."

You shook your head at his half-baked confession. "So maybe I don't know everything about you. But I know enough." Pressing your lips together, you added, "Maybe you could color in the rest for me?"

"...the rest," he repeated flatly. You nodded.

"Only if you want to. We can also just sit here and brood."

He peered down at you — at your kind, thoughtful expression — and felt a tug at his heart. Where would he even begin?

"Well, my ex-girlfriend is the whole reason I'm livin' with ya in the first place," he sniffled. "We started datin' my sophomore year of college, and she was my first serious relationship."

You nodded quietly, never breaking his gaze. He swallowed the lump in his throat and continued.

"I don't even know why I dated her in the first place. We fought all the time. I'd slam doors, she'd throw shit. I always accused her of cheatin' on me, but I didn't think she would actually do it.” The words had tumbled out of him before he could stop them. "It happened towards the end of last year, at a fraternity party." His throat bobbed. "It was also with one of my closest friends."

Your breath hitched, and suddenly, it all made sense. The immediate move-in. The weekly groceries from Osamu. The distant look on Atsumu's face — as if he were somewhere else entirely.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. No matter how bad things got, you deserved better.” And, before you could stop yourself, “Your ex-girlfriend is a bitch."

Atsumu winced. "I thought she was the love of my life."

"Well, the love of your life is a bitch," you clarified. "Your friend, too. Who does that? Are they together? Do you need me to egg their cars?"

A shaky laugh tumbled out of him at the deranged image of you, egg carton in-hand, pelting their cars.

"You wouldn't."

"You're right. Eggs are way too expensive for that.”

"The worst part of it is, they looked so fuckin' happy together." Atsumu ran a calloused hand down his face, trying to incinerate the mental image of them in his mind. "I couldn't stand seein' them around the frat house, so I moved. But I couldn’t even bring myself to do all the typical shit people do when they break up with their girlfriends."

"And what do typical people normally do when they break up with their girlfriends?"

"I dunno. Drink. Date around."

"Well, I can only imagine how disappointed you must be, being denied an STD like that."

Atsumu was full-on laughing at this point. "Ya can be really judgmental sometimes, ya know that?"

"Sorry," you said, although your belly warmed at the way the light returned to his eyes. You liked making him laugh like this. "All I meant was that not all people turn to alcohol and rebounds after a breakup."

"Yeah? What have you done in the past?" Upon seeing your perplexed expression, Atsumu said, "Come on. There's no way someone as pretty as you has never had a boyfriend before."

Your face grew hot from the indirect compliment, but you pushed it down as far as you could and tried to answer the question at-hand.

"You're not wrong. I was seeing someone my freshman year of college, but after we split, I...took up dance classes."

Your roommate blinked, trying to process this new information.

"Ya mean to tell me ya could dance this whole time?"

"I'm not great at it, but I hold my own." Sheepishly, you added, "Maybe you don't know everything about me, either.”

"S'pose I don't," Atsumu hummed, reaching for his glass of water and downing it in one go. You watched him tilt his head back, your gaze unintentionally tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his Adam's apple. "Maybe we outta change that."

Silence lapsed over the both of you like a gentle tide — a wordless acknowledgement of the friendship that had developed so naturally between you. You might not have known everything about each other, but judging by the sincerity on Atsumu's face, you knew there would be plenty of time for that.

You stretched out your legs so they were parallel to his. "So what are you going to do on your leave of absence?"

"Dunno," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "Probably go the gym. Cry myself to sleep."

"No," you drawled, nudging his knee with your own. "Why don't we start by watching a movie tonight? Your pick."

"Ya don't have any studying to do?"

"I do," you admitted. "But I'm pretty drained after my shift. That professor really talked my ear off." A soft groan escaped your lips as you stood. "We can order takeout, if you like — oh, and there’s an iced vanilla latte for you in the fridge.”

Atsumu was taken aback. "You brought me one?"

"Two pumps of syrup, just how you like it." Pausing, you added, "I even asked for skim milk. You know, so you don’t blow up the toilet like last time."

“You heard that?!”

“I smelled it! I lit all the candles in the apartment because of it.” You bit back your smile as you said, “You’re lucky I didn’t burn the place down.”

Before Atsumu could pick his jaw up off the floor, you were already out the door, laughter bouncing off the apartment walls like sunbeams off a pane of glass.

He didn't understand how you did that so easily — how you always seemed to know what he needed, how you remembered the things he liked without being told. In just a few short minutes, you had sidestepped the walls he had carefully constructed around himself, gaining full access to his tethered heart.

It was unnerving. Terrifying, even. It made Atsumu feel seen for the first time in months.

You didn’t deserve that. No matter how bad things got, you deserved better.

He hadn’t realized he’d let you get that close.

And that — that was the scariest part of all.

@miyasmagnolias, 2025

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

I saw a post today that made me sit up and go 👀 so for the kiss prompts if ur into it: SalBuckTommy with maybe 18, 36, or whichever sparks the most joy/inspiration <3

~ @wee-fuckin-woo :]

(...as encouragement, ...to give up control)

This is going to be borderline porn, sorry, I can't not with that idea and those men. I fused the two a little.

Sal is an asshole, but he's not a homewrecker. He's especially not going to wreck the home of Tommy, someone who's meant more to him over the years than he's ever been comfortable putting words to.

So when Buck starts giving him those shy little smiles and ducking his head and flushing all pretty and licking his lips when Sal's around, he backs off. He doesn't want to tell Tommy, but he doesn't want Buck to turn around and break the guy's heart by stepping out on him with someone else.

Tommy, bless his heart, seems to be oblivious to the whole thing. He doesn't treat Sal any different, doesn't back off on the hugs or the shoulder and neck squeezes, doesn't stop grinning at him over every little thing. It's the same it's been between them for years, the same easy affection that's sometimes spilled over into something more on lonely nights.

He's having dinner with them one night, and there's more wine than there should be. Sal brought a bottle (he was raised right, despite what some people might say) and Tommy had cracked one open before he arrived, so they're a couple bottles deep and scraping the remnants of dessert into their mouths when Sal feels a foot brush his calf.

They've all got long legs, Buck especially, and the table isn't especially huge. So he writes it off as someone stretching at first, and then it happens again. Sal looks across the table and sees Buck watching him, and he feels heat and anger flare in his chest.

"You're kidding me, right?" he says, nodding toward Tommy. "Does he mean nothing to you, kid?"

"That's not his foot, Salvatore," Tommy says dryly, and Sal's anger freezes in his throat. "But thanks for defending my honor."

Sal looks between them, sees the look they exchange, and understanding dawns on him.

"Oh," he says, brows raising. "So, what are we thinking here?"

"We're thinking," Buck says, getting out of his chair and coming around to Sal's seat, settling easily on his thighs and pressing his hands to Sal's suddenly heaving chest, "that you haven't been picking up any hints."

"For weeks," Tommy adds, swallowing his last mouthful of wine. "Months, actually."

He gets up and kneels next to the two of them, and Sal's struck as always by how pretty Tommy looks on his knees.

"Go ahead," Tommy encourages. "He's been wanting it for months."

Sal looks up at the kid perched on his lap, brings his hands up to cradle his neck and jaw, and draws him into a kiss. Yeah, sue him, he's thought about kissing Buck a whole lot. He's beautiful, he's sweet, he's sharp, he's brave, he's enough of an idiot that he'll put up with Tommy's bullshit. So maybe he'll put up with some of Sal's.

When he feels Tommy's hand curl around the back of his neck, he turns his head and kisses him, too. Fuck it, if he's going to give in to them, he might as well give up any ounce of self-control he's been clinging to while he's been been flirted with for months by these two.

"C'mon," Buck says, sliding off his lap. "There's a really big, brand new bed in our room."

"I know," Sal snarks. "I moved the fuckin' thing in."

"Yeah, and then you ran off before we could ask you to fuck one of us on it, so let's go," Buck says, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging.

They kiss in every combination they can on their way to the bedroom and even try for one of those three-way kisses, breaking down into buzzed giggles.

"Think we might be too Italian for that," Tommy says, rubbing his nose after he'd smashed it against Sal's.

"You sayin' I got a big nose, Kinard?" Sal teases.

"I'm sayin'," Tommy says, bullying him up against the wall and grinning at him, sly and pretty, "shut the fuck up, Deluca, and show me what you got."

"You know what I got," Sal reminds him, looking over at Buck. "But he doesn't."

"Happy to find out," Buck says, coming at him from the side and kissing his jaw.

It's like being swept up in a riptide and yanked out to sea, having these two all over him, and Sal closes his eyes and gives in.

[lavenderhateswritting]

part three of speedster I need it injected into my blood stream

I haven't been answering my asks because of school, I'm so sorry :(

"You need to get a hobby both of you."

Mark and Markie were starring you down now like you had grown a second head. They were sitting on the edge of the bed and you could tell this was not the conversation they had been expecting to have.

"Don't look at me like that, all you both do is sit around all day, eat all the food, and argue. You need a hobby."

They both stared at you again and you could see the gears start to turn in their head.

"Don't lump me in with this freak I have plenty of hobbies." He tilted his head up and folded his arms looking huffy. The hair at the front of his mohawk began to fall into his eyes. He hadn't gotten a haircut in the months he had lived in your universe.

"Oh yeah and what are those?" You raised an eyebrow at him and put your hand on your hip. You watched as a smirk slowly started to slide form on his mouth.

"Well, I read comics, watch Tv, and-" he dashed behind you and wrappeed his arms around you " I make you almost every night."

You felt heat rise to your face. His hands began to drift lower on your buddy until he was playing with the hem of you boxers. You gathered up your dignity and sprinted to the corner of the room out of his arms.

"No, you will not do this. Every single time I try to have this conversationg you jump my bones you-you horny fuck."

A pout began to form on his face like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away.

"You really want to play the game of having me wondering around without you I mean you saw what I did to Chicago." Mark finally spoke up from where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed. He had leaned back on his arms and he had a lazy smile on his face.

They had a weird sense of pride for their violence that you had never really been able to stop. Though you have been working on thinking you can just kill people for mild inconveniences.

"You're a killer Mark not a rabid bear. I'm sure you'll find a way to contain your desperate need to eat people." You walked closer to where they were both at. As you got closer Mark wrapped one of his arms around you pulling you closer to him until his head was leaning on your hip.

"Maybe, I could find a way to control myself. If my pretty boy does something nice for me." He dipped his fingers below the waste badn of you pants fingers brushing agains the hair there lightly.

You leaned your head back pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Both you need to be neutered."

Markie walked closer ad began to slide his hand up the expanse of your stomach toward your chest.

"You heard the man. We'll go be functioning members of society if you give us a reward." His fingers danced up your chest until his finger began circling around your nipple. The bud harden under his finger and he felt heat pool into his stomach.

"Does every conversation have to end like this with you two?"

Markie leaned his head forward and whispered into your ear.

"I don't think you'd complain."

You'll allow for them to take you apart today and then tomorrow you'll force their asses to actually act like people.

[the-pessimist-and-his-cat]

Alright. Thoughts on this stupid vroom vroom alpha bl show that will consume my mind for nearly three months! (I haven't read the books, but apparently Charlie gets memory loss?)

Kim.... you are the real winner. I always love it when people speak their minds instead of letting it fester (I hope he stays that way).

Babe... really? Starting with you being grumpy and a sex scene! Classic Babe behavior, but I don't fault him. After all, being a hot dude with an appetite, do be like that sometimes :)

Willy.... he's gonna be an A-hole but seeing Babe and Willy's first interaction being all hostile, it's gonna go one of the two ways: [I] Babe is going to use Willy to rile Charlie up (he wants Charlie to be the one who defeats Willy or he wants angry sex). [II] he wants to know Willy's motive and finds him suspicious or wants to find his weakness, so he acts like a 'Playboy' <but of course, none of these will go well because I'll explain in the end>

North and Sonic..... sorry for those of you who ship these two, but I never understood their dynamic, and they aren't interesting to me, but if the show does expand on their characters by going beyond "forever BFFs who secretly like each other". then you got my interest.

Chris.... now do I like to see actors coming back to the show as another character.... nope. My reasoning? Do it, but at least have the doppelganger/twin sibling/clone to be shocked! If I were Chris (even if I knew who Way was and I was a secret spy), I would totally lose my goddamn mind! Someone who looks like me?! What are the chances! But I do hope he doesn't break Pete's heart.

Pete..... since when you snatched the DILF title from Alan? But I hope you don't give your heart too easily to Chris and maybe check his background throughly??? Because what are the goddamn chances!

Alan.... I have no words other than look out for your boyfriend, and please be respectful when Kim snatches victory from Babe. That boy acted professional, so you should too. (Also, you look good as always and when you and Jeff are gonna have kids i-)

Jeff.... why did they name you that? From the first season till now... whenever I hear your name, I hear that meme, "My name is Jeff," but alas, nothing can be done about it. Now, will this season toy with Jeff's life because the visions take a toll on him? (And maybe the skill-erasing machine will be his salvation? We gonna find out!)

Dean.... did you die? But I swear that in one of the trailers, you and Winner and Kenta were in a van soooo maybe a bullet to the leg or a graze?

Tony.... an A-hole with multiple watch lists to be on, but that hair is still serving and I can't hate that face. I think in the episode 2 preview, he said that he has a spy, so it's either Chris, Willy, or the new mechanic.

Charlie.... the biggest red flag of all the characters... just because that boy is bound to do something stupid and have Babe go on a depression cycle again. Oh, I know what he's gonna do. When he sees Babe with Willy, he's gonna be like "I'll bring back his senses so that Babe wins and we'll be done with Willy", and he goes to the machine, which is STILL experimental and uses it and voila! Memory loss, BUT if the show does do that and then show Charlie being all hot bad boy with side-pieces all over him, then I'll forgive him. He has the potential to be a bad boy, and I WANT to see it. :)

Well, I hope we see Babe's father again.

Manifesting Jeff's pregnancy right this fucking now. Maybe because the visions take a toll on him, he uses the machine, and it backfires and turns him into Omega...... oh my god.... what if there is no omega in this world, and Pete's research has invented a machine that not only turn off Alpha's powers but also turns them into Omega?! A new subtype?!?!? I'm cooking, folks!

7/10 for Ep 1.

Edit: I forgot to mention that I liked it when they introduced Chris in the 1st episode rather than tiptoeing around it.

[theflyingfeeling]

Aleksi avoided Olli’s name today when someone asked something about like ”Is Tom Ford perfume the one Olli hates” he just read it like ”Is Tom Ford perfume the one….yes”

oof well-spotted, anon, it's been a while since we had a good ol' why did Aleksi stop reading that question mid-sentence hyperanalysis 👀

currently taking y'all's guesses on why he did! my best one is that Olli indeed used to hate it, but doesn't anymore... 😌💞

[littlespoonevan]

.

[kirisclangen]

Zelda

She/her, 65 moons, cis molly

[juliamccartney]

it's that time of year again when people ask me what i want for christmas & i'm just there thinking "i don't know who i am!!! wahhhh!!!!!"

[nartml]

i miss my little brother

[queenlucythevaliant]

I read Lolita a couple weeks ago now. Here are my thoughts:

This book is fascinating. I couldn't shut up about it. The drive to keep reading was squarely in between the one that keeps me reading someone like Falkner (this book is being held together with some incredible mystery adhesive that I must identify/drizzle all over myself) and like. the high I got when I read Atlas Shrugged in 9th grade (I don't like it exactly, but it makes my brain light up as though I've just discovered quarks and now must figure out how to articulate my findings.)

Basically, reading this book is an exercise in reading past the narrator and trying to find scraps of the other characters (especially Dolores) in what he bothers to tell us. It's like panning for gold in a bunch of muck. It's a very active, almost athletic reading experience, if that makes sense.

The beauty of Dolores peeking through all Humbert's mud is that of an ordinary little girl brimming with quiet courage and irrepressible dignity. Dolores Hayes manages to hold her ground against Humbert's best efforts to subsume her and I ended the book just viscerally angry on her behalf. The prevailing sense that I had on finishing Lolita was one of deep injustice.

Nabokov is a treat as always (I've read and loved Speak, Memory and some of Letters to Vera, but this was my first foray into his fiction). The prose was appallingly clever and there were a few little storytelling tricks he pulled that had me all but cackling. The craft of this book is next level.

Reading it was exhausting. I do not think I could have gotten through it had it not been the middle of summer.

[smol-blue-bird]

I hate when someone you follow online suddenly goes inactive/deletes their account with no warning, and you have no idea what happened because the Internet is so vast and ephemeral

[fridayyy-13th]

siiiiiigh.

[clochanamarc]

tiny update on things below the cut, tw for mental health, panic attacks, stress

so i've been having panic attacks pretty regularly this past month. largely to do with the fact that i'm about to find out if i have nine weeks to send away a 6000 word PhD application proposal, teach online for a month, get what i need, spend time with my family, pack my bags, and finish off two courses. and like. i try to keep positive but lbr, trying to smile when things are so loud and hectic is a very exhausting thing and i'm not falling back into that shitty habit. so i'm gonna accept that i'll be immensely stressed for the next two months, and i'm gonna ask for ye to understand that i'm not ignoring anyone!! i know i owe dms and replies and starters and memes! i also know, however, that this insane mountain of shit in my real life is taking priority until i have a handle on it.

tomorrow will bring more answers, though. i have a meeting with my new boss, and i hope that she'll tell me more details so i can prepare myself better. i also finish up with my current contract tomorrow, but i have another four days next week in another place. i'm gonna try to sort things out, but i gotta tell you, i'm stressed and scared and panicked a lot lately, and tumblr is the one place i have to escape from that, so just. idk. bear with me. i promise i'm trying my best. i love you all x

[shithowdy]

this is your periodic reminder that for all the artifacts and errors and "tells" one could possibly list, the only reliable way to actually determine if an image is ai generated is to investigate the source. it is becoming increasingly common for "fake classical paintings" to circulate around curative aesthetic blogs, and everyone should be using this as an opportunity to not only exercise their investigative skills but also appreciate art more in general. you're all checking out the artists you reblog, right? 🫣

so what are some signs to look for? let's use this very good example.

what a lovely late-impressionist piece blended with evocative leyendecker-esque themes! why haven't you ever heard of this artist before? surely tumblr would be all over an artist like this. who is justin brown?

your two options from here are to do a search for the name, or a reverse image search. i prefer reverse image searching, particularly when it comes to a common name like "justin brown". so what does that net?

Immediately, without looking at any text, something is wrong: it barely exists. an actual historical piece would turn up numerous results from websites individually discussing the piece, but no such discussions are taking place. Looking at the text, though, does show the source-- and at least in this case, the creator was honest about their medium.

But let's also look at the "exact matches", in case a source doesn't make itself apparent in the initial sidebar results like this.

This section will often tell you post dates of images, and here it can be seen that the very first iteration of the image was posted 15 days ago. It did not exist online prior to that.

Seeing how long an unsourced image has been floating around is a skill applicable to more than just generative images! See a cool image of an artifact or other intriguing item with a vivid caption? Reverse search it! If all the results are paired with that caption and only go back a few months, you might just have viral facebook spam.

Sometimes generative creators are dishonest about their medium and do not tag it like in the example, so that's when establishing "jpeg provenance" becomes important. While it can be a little trickier to determine if someone is using generative images and not admitting to it if they aren't trying to pass it off as a classic, something to consider is the age of their account and the frequency with which they post. Here are some account red flags:

-Did they only start posting art after 2022, or if they did before, did their style/skill level WILDLY change? Not gradual improvement-- I'm talking amateur graphite portraits straight into complex digital renders. Everyone starts somewhere, newness is not a red flag alone; it's newness combined with existing in a vacuum away from any community.

-Do they post fully-finished paintings several times a week? -Do many of these paintings seem iterative of a similar theme or subject matter ("three well-dressed young men face each other under shade and dappled sunlight")?

-Does their style change in inconsistent ways? An artist that can swap between painting like Drew Struzan and Hokusai should be pretty well known, right? Why is no one hyping this guy?!

-Do they have social media besides the source instagram? If so, what are they posting about? Are there any WIPs? Doodles? Interactions with other artists? Gallery dates? 3am self-doubt posts? Or is it all self-promo? Crypto? Seemingly nothing art-related at all for someone pushing out 3 weekly paintings?

Basically, if it's important to you to omit this stuff when you curate, please don't just smash reblog if the source doesn't seem to be the OP themselves. Seeking out sources was important even before this became an issue, now it is more than ever.

peace n love

[mothbaaalls]

oh god i would need 60k gems to be guaranteed to get white day kanade. im stuck at 20k rn (67 pulls). i may be cooked

[roseandbee]

Apparently when my doctor puts in labs to be completed within the next year in the system it means within two weeks of when the year is up or insurance won't pay for it. They need to work on their wording of shit. Among other things 😑