#Cause I don't know what i'm doing

[lv-tangle-universe-blog]

Lp... You're licking your arm... I don't care if you taste like some blueberry sour patch kid...stop

( After her daily chat with King Candy, she drives off to diet coca cola mountain, it's been a few years after she spawned in, and she's getting accustomed to the place and her new looks, as weirdly convenient as they are, she finds her most favorite part of the day is visiting Vanellope, that little girl is so brilliant. Glitch and all, she tried to make a cart that was peddled power. It was very unfortunate that taffeta had to find out, come by, it ruined the fun, she giggled she came up on to the mountain in her low rider, she was planning to make up yesterday with sledding, pulling out some waivers from on top of lowrider, to show her, last place walked to the false wall, putting her ear to it, making sure at her new friend is not crying, she can hear the echoes of silent sobs, which made the death glitch smile, knowing this is the perfect opportunity walking in,

Vanellope was sitting on her sponge cake bed, crying into a candy wrapper. Those bullies stopped her from getting her dreams again, but she wasn't gonna give up. Last place knew that "woah, hay?... What happened?" she strained concern as she walked over to Vanellope slowly putting an arm around her shoulder..."taffda came by the junkyard and... *sniff* and..." The poor little girl looks like she's gonna devolve. Into tears again, last place slowly put her arms around the little girl in parental instinct, "ssshhh, shhh, sh, she's just a big bully, you know that"..."Why can you race, and I can't...it's not fair"..."Vanellope...*sigh*... We went over this, I have to or"..."or king candy will arrest you. I know, I know, just why can't you give me the coin, So I can race in your stead"... last place sighs again, "That's not how it works, sugar spot," she stuck her hand in her pocket and pulled out a coin that floats in her hand as she open palms tries to hand her it, "go on, try to take it if you can get it out of my hand I'll even let you race with lowrider" the little glitch knew how much lowrider meant to its older sister, if you get to touch the steering wheel, let alone start up The engine is a privilege. So Vanellope grabbed the coin and tried to pull it out of the open palm of the dark glitch in front of her, realizing that despite it floating off of her hand, it was very stuck in place, she kept pulling and pulling desperate to get the coin kind of her hand before turning red face and giving up,"is this some kind of joke, some form of prank,"..." Sorry, sugar spot, I wish it was." Last place waved her hand with the coin in it. trying to chuck it or throw it anywhere, but it doesn't come off, "this thing only seems to come off when I want to race, or i'm putting it in my pocket" "wow, that's just mean lp, you know it wouldn't come off, and yet you tease me with the promise of driving lowrider" she pouted "yeah, I know, but I wouldn't give you such determination, if I didn't"... The death glitch laughed at its younger sibling,"Don't be too hard on yourself, besides, I brought some wafers so we can take them up. Ice cream summit to go sledding"... Vanellope still looked very upset about the teasing and something else..."Look, kid, i'm restricted by limitations to, i know it doesn't seem like many limitations, but I could never cross the finish line in first to be a good racer, i'm not even allowed to be on the roster, but i just doubled my focus on something else,"..."Like being the best glitch disappearing act"..."Exactly - wait, what did you call me?"..."disappearing, act like you make things and yourself disappear at times"... Last place gives a weird look before continuing "maybe we can find something else in your code that tells you what you're good at, and so we don't have to, well, put everyone in danger"... She pauses, waiting for a response... but doesn't get one, "kid, what am I gonna do with you?"... Last places with a chuckle "maybe go sledding on those ice cream summits," the little glitch responds, "exactly, now, come on I left lowrider, running, and I don't wanna anybody taking her while i'm talking to you"... She walks out with the little glitch. Following right behind her, she smiles, hoping this will take her mind off of racing for the day and keep her out of the roster race)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Archery Nemesis.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[teaboot]

tranny freak :)

[knifearo]

ultimately when it comes to shipping and fandom space treatment of aspec characters i just don't accept "aro/ace people can still date/have sex" as an answer from nonaspecs. like yeah. mhm. okay. now i think we both know that you're not saying that out of real interest in the diversity of aspec experiences. so you can turn in your seventeen-page essay on why and how you plan to examine this character's aspec identity within the context of a romantic or sexual relationship complete with evidence from canon and peer reviews from multiple aspec people within the next week or i'm putting you in the pit from the edgar allen poe story

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

As if I wasn't already exhausted enough this morning...

It's been brought to my attention that people are taking my fanfics, editing them, and sharing them around. I don't have the words to describe how not okay this is. If you don't like something about my fanfic, then I'm sorry to hear that, but there are a lot of other fics out there you can read instead.

I put time and effort and care into my writing, as does every writer. To take my work without permission and change it feels like someone just punched me in the gut. Frankly it makes me not want to share my work at all and to take down all the writing I do have up, because why should I share anything with people if all they're going to do is decide it's not good enough and they're going to do what they want with it and make it "better"?

And before anyone comes at me, this is not what a transformative work does. This is not the same as fanfiction. I'm fucking exhausted from working two eleven hour shifts over the weekend so my brain is not working so someone smarter and more articulate than I am can explain why. I'm tired.

This genuinely makes me want to take down all my works and not share anything new. It's very simple, kiddos: Don't like it? Don't read it. You will miss out on some fanfics that way, just like you'll miss out on some films, or books, or TV shows. I've missed out on really good fic, novels, films, etc, for the same reason. We all do. It's a part of life. Stuff will sometimes have things in it that you don't like. Skim those parts, fast-forward those scenes, grin and bear it, or just go and read/watch something else.

Normally I would make this post unrebloggable but I worry other writers in this fandom might experience the same thing and not realize it. So people are welcome to reblog this. Anyone who's an ass on it will be blocked, no second chances.

Just. Don't do this guys. Holy shit don't do this. What the actual fuck.

[ooliecat]

[black-and-yellow]

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

Real conversation I had recently. Its HIS DAY!!!

[futurelabs]

leaving this here, it's a good shot

[waverlyyhaught]

Favorite Marta and Fina Moments - Part 108 Sueños de Libertad, Ep. 205

[navree]

Incorrect, the fact that Biden has dropped out and a candidate with history of supporting medicare for all and being more receptive to a ceasefire in the I/P conflict has made me go from "I cannot morally support the Democratic nominee" to "I am voting for the Democratic nominee despite the fact she isn't perfect in every respect." I'm really happy this played out. The Dems for the most part abandoned the old Obama platform and it feels like its possible an actual progressive agenda could come to pass in my lifetime.

Kamala 2024!

If you weren't going to vote Democratic in this election before Biden dropped out you're a dorkass loser who does not care about any of the issues you're yammering about here and also a fundamentally bad person, and I hope you get run over by a bus.

But you got one thing right in all of this gibberish, Kamala 2024.

[ghost-proofbaby]

It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.

Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3

the smell of you

warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall. 

“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?�� 

Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold. 

You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him. 

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.” 

When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion. 

He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire. 

“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”

“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?” 

“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?” 

You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room. 

Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use. 

The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?” 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.” 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.” 

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him. 

When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm. 

“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.” 

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch. 

“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently. 

He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back. 

One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home. 

“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”

“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-” 

“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”

“Good.” 

He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair. 

“Eddie!”

If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient. 

And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him. 

Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you. 

“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.” 

“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?” 

Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”

“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?” 

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum. 

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always. 

And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.” 

“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-” 

You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him. 

He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.” 

“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”

Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside. 

He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.

You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly. 

You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days. 

Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso. 

“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle. 

He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.” 

“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off. 

You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep. 

I love you.

I adore you. 

I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. 

And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you. 

The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?” 

To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”

[torchstelechos]

I love that In Stars and Time gives the nonconsensual kiss a proper horrified reaction, by the way. Most media where a character can kiss someone out of no where either make it a funny thing or the "romantic" thing, but here Siffrin kisses without permission out of no where and Isabeau reacts correctly! He pushed them away! Because thats surprising, and fucked up to do to someone with no lead up and no permission! Isabeau had no context, and at the time when the kiss happened, was under the impression that Siffrin didn't like touch which can have a variety of horrible reasons for it. Not only that but... We don't know what face Siffrin was pulling and I don't think it was a nice one. Which, again, means that we don't have all the context either! This is a horrible event that has horrible consequences and I love that it does. Because it's something that is horrible and objectively one of the worst things Siffrin did to one of the others in the loops, so I'm just!!! So excited it had bad consequences!!!

[genericpuff]

There's a user going around currently reblogging/commenting on antiLO content with the intent of "digging up dirt" on people who simply read and enjoy the comic. Basically demanding the OP's of such posts to inform them of any 'stans' so they can add them to a 'list' that they absolutely do not have any good intentions to do with, along with making some very unsavory and completely unwarranted comments about the fans in general (and I don't mean the usual "lmao LO fans are weird/dumb/etc." stuff, I mean genuinely cruel wishes to have the fans of the comic doxxed/harmed/etc.) I have blocked this user for obvious reasons, and if you get a similar reblog or DM like I did from this person, I hope you'll do the same.

Please do not play into this. As much as I and many others talk shit about this dumpster fire of a comic and its questionable if not outright controversial writing and messaging, none of us have any right to go after any of the fans or stans directly. At best that would just be proving to the fans who already hate this part of the fandom that we're boogeymen out to get people, at worst it would be a betrayal to our own integrity as human beings who should be capable of discussing media without turning it into a harassment campaign. Making shitposts about the media and the fandom is fine, discussing the media itself and the creator who made it within our own little spaces of the Internet is ultimately harmless so long as it's managed within reason, but deliberately going out of your way to dig up personal information on innocent people within the fandom for the purpose of ruining their life is not okay and if you ever get to that point where you're trying to rationalize going after people directly, you need to log off.

[knifearo]

i hate the concept of platonic and romantic as a binary i hate the concept of platonic and romantic as a sliding scale of "less" to "more" i hate the concept of platonic and romantic as the only two options i hate the concept of platonic and romantic as significantly different things i hate the concept of platonic and romantic as all encompassing i hate the concept of platonic and romantic as the two halves of a shallow concept of love that doesn't actually encompass anything at all i think we need to overhaul every popular conception about "types" of love so we can talk about things that are real and true for once

[starryluminary]

♪ In My Head ♪

Anna Nalick

╾━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╼

◃◃ II ▹▹

Here on out I'll try to provide a bit of context so we can follow along a bit better: Noah and Cody aren't really a "thing" yet. They kissed once in the Yukon by accident (as they tend to do) and neither has stopped thinking about it since. No one seems to notice, but Alejandro Cannot Be Fooled