#Celebrity Connected

[crabsnpersimmons]

"Your heart was in the right place. Don't blame your earnestness and efforts for their lack of understanding—the right people will appreciate your heart."

EDIT: i mention this in the tags already, but please don't copy my vent tags in your reblogs. thanks for understanding.

[pygmy--tyrant]

one trc opinion i have that i don't really have an entire explanation for is that i think blue and henry are the only characters with like a normal knowledge of pop culture. like they've seen movies they've heard music. henry definitely more than blue but despite the fact that blue's tastes would be more weird I DO think she knows about more mainstream things. she has heard top 40 radio she has watched a disney channel movie she is capable of making references. everyone else on the other hand? gansey is not aware of anything that came into being this century. adam gives strong 'doesn't listen to music' energy. you ask him what he likes and he's like i don't know. i just don't listen to music. ronan is probably the most perplexing case because we already know he had a weird fucking childhood in which he only read alice in wonderland (and i believe it) and YET in his routine in cdth he has a designated 'movie night'. WHAT movies is he watching! i simply refuse to believe this man is capable of making a Reference. at least not a normal one. he'll just cite whatever irish myth his dad told him about as if everyone else is gonna be like oh you're so right ronan this is JUST like that part in the táin bó cúailnge. am i making any sense tonight ladies. gansey does not know who taylor swift is

[deadpoets]

SIMONE’S 1K CELEBRATION 🤠 + little women or 10 things i hate about you for @delilahsbard

[jakeperalta]

I just think that selling different album variations so that people have to buy multiple editions to be able to (legally) listen to all the tracks is a blatant cash/sales grab. but then to only announce/make one available at a time so that people can't even make an informed decision about what they are buying is just taking the piss

[filurig]

– this whole - the dancing, singing, pole...raising. it is all rather ridiculous... 'midsummer'. i fail to... see the point of this human... invention. for once.

arvo's words were slurred, uneven - as if merely letting them past his lips was a great effort... this was, no doubt, influenced by the drink in his hand, resting on his stomach. folke, who had, in fact, brewed the alcohol that they were drinking, giggled - not exactly sober himself.

– i'm... the only human here, arvo. remember...

– no kraksi, or crakam, in sartrill, raises a huge, leafy pole for long summer days, that much i know.

– okay, haha - the pole thing... the pole thing is entirely human, probably. but... gullmar - tomtar, celebrate 'solvarvir' around the same time... trolls celebrate, uh... oh, curses, i'll butcher it... 'rawr - owa'... rawrr - oh wra? rawr... haha!

arvo opened one of his eyes slowly, fighting against some kind of weight that has, somehow, been set upon them - in order to look at the human beside him, still struggling to pronounce the foreign word correctly. a corner of the basilisk's lips twitched upwards.

– hm. nevermind what i said. there is a certain element of entertainment present, i suppose...

[mosaickiwi]

Leaping In

Goofy mushy thing since it’s been almost a year of writing... them✨ I’m normal! 💥🎉 (sai’s froggydacted fic part 2 teehee)

Gender neutral reader!! <- idk when i stopped saying this but it applies to everything i write fjdsakljfsla

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Careful of their contents, you tore away packing tape on box after box of assorted items, then scribbled a description of the items on each one. It'd taken a while, but you finally got around to moving in with your long term partner. 

In your excitement to take that next step, the thought of actually labeling anything had slipped your mind during the few days off you scrambled to pack with their much needed help. So while [REDACTED] brought more and more boxes into his living room—suspiciously turning you into a prisoner from the way he piled them all around you like walls of a fort—you had to figure out what everything was to make sure nothing was forgotten from your crummy apartment. Before your landlord broke in to play finders keepers.

It was on what must’ve been the fourteenth trip back from the moving truck that he paused to watch you, setting down another few boxes to reinforce the barricade you'd just dismantled. 

“That one's all your Attack on Giants merch,” he said, arms crossed and fingers drumming atop the highest peak of the cardboard castle.

You stopped halfway through opening said box in your lap, then pried it open anyway. Sure enough, it was full of manga volumes, some figurines still in display packaging, and a few Haruko plushies. One in particular that they'd bought you on that first awkward date at the pier. The poor thing was a little frayed and flat from how often you slept with it held tightly to your chest.

Uncapping the marker in your hand, you wrote ‘AoG’ on a spot where the tape wasn't too damaged. You pushed the box to the side to grab another. But he spoke again. 

“Blankets,” they said about the large, flat box in front of your outstretched hand. “Dishes,” to a small one you stood up to grab from a further pile in your prison.

“Ren,” you huffed and looked up at him accusingly. “Do you already know exactly what's in all of these, then?”

“...F’the most part, yeah.” He smiled and pointedly tapped on the box under his arms. “This one's some of your other plushies. You didn’t leave anything.”

“And you didn't stop me earlier because…?”

They shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Easier t’keep you in one place.”

So he was trying to trap you. 

Without a word you walked over to label the box, the marker squeaking loudly against the tape next to his hand. You grabbed their arm once you finished—since they clearly weren't planning to leave—and gave him a label of ‘my spouse’ on the back of his hand, along with a few hearts around it.

His eyes glittered with more excitement than usual. You might've done a little too much. “Shit, don't tattoo that,” you quickly muttered. From the way he looked to the side with a pout, you could tell he seriously considered the idea. “Wash it off later, okay? I’ll give you something else.”

The hacker immediately smiled brighter as you carefully leaned over the tower of boxes to give him a better gift. 

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

[REDACTED] went back to unloading the truck, begrudgingly making an entrance to the cardboard fort before he left. You started unpacking your clothes first since he’d pointed them all out to you. As you finished arranging them in the closet and drawers of your room, you found a few things out of place at the bottom of those boxes. 

Some of the hats, beanies, and scarves that you'd ‘robbed’ him of. And of course he let you keep whatever you wanted, so eventually a handful ended up in your everyday wardrobe in autumn and winter while others went unused.

But they didn't need to stay with you anymore. You could take them again whenever you wanted now. Along with everything that was his, he was yours. 

You gathered them all into one of the smaller boxes and hurried off to his room. The prison in the living room hadn’t gotten much bigger, and your blue eyed boyfriend was nowhere to be seen as you peeked in to check. Probably trying to take the last few boxes in one trip, you supposed. 

The closet door was ajar in their room when you arrived and you slid it open the rest of the way with your foot. Always clean and neat, not a thing was out of place about his signature black—with hints of gray or dark blue, when they felt like it—clothing.

Save for the soft, knitted green froggy hat that caught your eye on one of the shelves. You set your box next to it and picked it up, toying with the puffed up eyes sewn at the top. 

It found its way into their everyday wardrobe, thanks to your occasional teasing after he went along with your prank. Once in a while he’d wear it, and you never even had to ask. Contrasted with his usual appearance it certainly stood out in a crowd. But it always looked comfortable and cute on him. 

The fabric felt softer than a plushie. You wondered how comfy it really was, seeing how you'd never worn it yourself. But you couldn’t get sidetracked. Reluctantly, you put the silly hat back and got to work.

Only a few items had been put in their rightful places when the prized possession caught your eye again barely a minute later. It looked so sad on the shelf all alone, the little sewn-on smile tugged at your heartstrings. You had to wear it. There was enough unpacking done already. You could stand to use a break, even for a second.

You hurried to grab it, humming to yourself as you lifted it into the air.

“Angel,” the hat’s real owner suddenly called. Their gentle, raspy voice sounded closer than you expected. You looked up to find your ever so silent stalker of a boyfriend watching you from the doorway with an amused gaze. Your eyes went wide and you froze, the froggy hat held high in your grasp as if you were crowning royalty. “Robbin’ me again, love?”

Your face felt warm. “...Um, no,” you lied unconvincingly, too embarrassed to sound calm. “I'm actually returning things.”

“Hm. ‘Think this one suits y’better than me, though.” [REDACTED] stepped closer to pluck the hat from your hands. The soft, knitted fabric slid over your head, then he gently adjusted the ear flaps. “Cute.”

Before he could make another comment, you scrambled to offer a different topic. “Did you finish unloading? You could help me with unpacking in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, give me a minute.” His cool fingers moved to frame your face and lightly squish your heated cheeks. Pale blue eyes sparkled less with mischief, more focused now as they slowly looked you over in silence. He was probably tucking the sight away in his mind to tease you about later. “I'm real happy you moved in,” he said quietly.

Oh. You didn't expect that. “Me too.”

He smiled at your agreement and kissed your forehead, then leaned down. “Really happy,” he repeated between soft pecks to your lips.

Those few innocent kisses soon turned to longer and longer ones that left you wanting. Eventually you had to pull a few inches away with a hand placed to their chest. Tempting as it was to get distracted, there was a lot left to do.

He seemed to read your mind, cheeks tinged pink as he wrapped his hand over yours to keep you close. The doodled label you'd given them earlier was still proudly displayed on their skin. “So… kitchen?”

You nodded. And then got embarrassed all over again when he readjusted the hat that slipped to obscure your vision with fuzzy green fabric in the process.

“Maybe I should leave this here for now,” you said as you yanked it off. The hat plopped awkwardly in the box still full with the rest of his stuff and stared back at you. “I’ll put it away later, I swear. I’m not stealing it.”

Your partner said nothing, thankfully. Only smiled and led you out of the room by your entwined hands. You were careful not to smudge the inked letters on the back of their palm.

[suave1foru]

Divine

[offlineblues]

VRAINS 1st episode anniversary is today‼️🏄‍♂️

[jimothy-hopkins]

Jimmy’s mom has to have the craziest mom lore I just know it

[ohgreat-moretapes]

Hey Tim, how many asks do you get daily?

Usually between 3-10. Y'all are definitely keeping me busy (in the best way) haha. <3

Just a heads up it's gotten to the point where I'm realistically not gonna be able to answer absolutely all of them, even if I posted every day, but I wanna be clear I read every single one and they automatically give me the biggest hit of serotonin.

Your guys' support and interest have made such a massive positive difference in my life... Thank you

-Tim

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(OOC Olea speaking: Also I wanna take this opportunity to say I read every single one of your tags and comments and they make me so unbelievably happy ;;;v;;; <3 there is nothing I love more than getting to see peoples reactions to my art/writing. Everything from an "oh neat" to an "OH MY GOD SJFJFKS" just makes my day. Truly. If you're a regular reblogger and are on the fence about writing something in the tags, this is your sign. It gives me so much motivation and makes me immediately wanna write my next post :D)

[tennessoui]

wine party au!!!!!!!!! god i love those snarky assholes so much! and their three thanksgivings. so perfect. i imagine obi-wan has a wine pairing for each course and anakin has a 5-gallon bucket of sangria from whatever half-drunk bottles of wine he found in the fridge mixed with whatever fruit was on sale.

oh for sure obi-wan takes it all very seriously as if one of the people he invited was going to do a full new york times write-up of his thanksgiving preparations. meanwhile anakin, in his mind, takes the important stuff seriously which is that everyones there and everyones fed and everyone has enough to drink should they want to and as host he has to do the least amount of dishes possible, etc etc

he probably crafts a thanskgiving delicacy cocktail that's just purple and red koolaid mixed together with a shit ton of vodka and with a cranberry garnish. obi-wan has never been so hungover in his life, which suchs cause anakin's thanksgiving comes before obi-wan's, so obi-wan is very hungover and trying to carve a turkey while thinking very meanly about stabbing anakin with this big long knife instead

and also like. just imagine their christmases lmao

[beccawise7]

Enjoy the peaceful beauty of the season. ~beccawise💜🖤

[darsynia]

Momentary (Bucky/f!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | BUCKY BARNES MASTERLIST | lmk for tags!

Summary: Your paths cross, intertwine, and separate again

WC/Warnings: 1,400 | Explicit Sex

Written for Essie's 300 Follower 'Summer Lovin' Celebration! Thanks for hosting, @bigtreefest, dear, I hope you like it! Prompts used were overstimulation, a hotel, and public sex

Excerpt:

“Please,” you breathe. His actions have slowed, turning from tempestuous to tender, a honeyed slowness designed to prolong your agony. His low, sexy chuckle is a live wire connected directly to his electric fingers as they dip and swirl. 

“I want to hear you, doll,” he rumbles, lips grazing your ear in purposeful provocation. “Louder than the sunset, for me.”

You’re both still clothed, but the arch of your back and cant of his hips make clear what’s happening, visible to anyone with the fortitude to look away from the sun-painted sky. It’s exhilarating.

MOMENTARY

Your panties are puddled at your feet, and your mind is equally liquid. With your head thrown back against the balcony wall, you can only see the sunset over the water through slitted eyes, but its beauty is rivaled by the pleasure melting through your body. Yesterday you didn’t even know this man existed, but now his clever hand is moving under your white silk dress doing things that threaten your current and future stability.

He thrusts two thick fingers inside you, his thumb dancing light touches on your clit. It’s the perfect representation of his odd duality. This secretive stranger is intimately touching you in a semi-public place. He claims to be a businessman, yet he prowls around a luxury hotel with ruthless malice, clearly stalking more elusive prey than you’ve proven to be. The filthy threat you’d overheard him make to another guest had been vicious and incisive.

He is the opposite of everything you left behind at home.

“Please,” you breathe. His actions have slowed, turning from tempestuous to tender, a honeyed slowness designed to prolong your agony. His low, sexy chuckle is a live wire connected directly to his electric fingers as they dip and swirl. 

“I want to hear you, doll,” he rumbles, lips grazing your ear in purposeful provocation. “Louder than the sunset, for me.”

You’re both still clothed, but the arch of your back and cant of his hips make clear what’s happening, visible to anyone with the fortitude to look away from the sun-painted sky. It’s exhilarating.

“Make me, then,” you say, drawing on adrenaline for confidence.

Your lover’s expression sharpens, eyes glittering with anticipation. He pushes off the wall with his free hand, expertly opening his belt and shoving his clothes aside, all while maintaining the delicate devastation of his fingertips. Suddenly he stops, and you clutch at the wall behind you to maintain your balance as you watch him pull out a condom and apply it, his full attention on his task. Then he fixes his gaze on you and you practically stop breathing, your entire being focused on the slow movement of his hand as he slides it from your knee along your thigh, inch by glorious inch.

The urge to moan, to plead is intense, but you valiantly hold back.

He seems pleased by this, which is almost as sexy as this deliberate dismantling of your dignity.

When he finally touches you again, it's brief, but enough to make you dizzy, a supernova of erotic culmination for the few seconds before he lifts you up and lances into you. The resolution to hold back is obliterated by the aching cry that tears through your throat. Any other time you’d have crammed a fist in your mouth, mortified by the very idea of making your happiness audible. With every sensuous movement this man has destroyed all of that, and you’re a willing wreck.

He’d told you to keep touching to the minimum, so you limit yourself to clinging to his open collar, barely able to think against the purity of this pleasure. Eyes tightly shut, you keen through each powerful, rocking glide. You’re so distracted by the sensory overload that you don’t notice he’s only holding you up with one arm until he caresses your sleeve down your shoulder and fixes a hot, sucking kiss on your skin.

The unexpected, personal contact sends you fluttering around him, and you feel rather than see the way he’s affected by that--his free hand slams against the wall as his hips stutter the two of you impossibly closer. It’s as if the whole wall is moving with his desperate cadence, as caught up as you are in the mind-numbing pleasure.

“Your name,” you suddenly beg, clawing for coherence under the onslaught of your pending climax. You open your eyes and bite your lip, wishing you’d asked for a kiss instead. Knowing his name is far too much to ask from a man like this.

Your lover lifts his head. His blue eyes are dilated with desire, sending a heat flush across your body that pools at the place the two of you are joined. He opens his mouth, and somehow you know he wants to lie, which feels like a sin in a moment like this.

If he can break the rules, then so can you.

Before you lose your nerve, you move to caress his cheek with one hand as you nuzzle your nose against his neck, grazing your lips across the sensitive skin of his earlobe in a conscious mirroring of his own earlier action. “Please?” you whisper. His hips still.

“Jam--” he starts, then grunts when your surprise causes you to tighten around him intimately. “Bucky,” he admits, and you repeat the name in stunned triumph, more a breathy prayer than anything else. It’s a turning point, a sentence enhancer, and the the two of you follow it with fierce, frantic fucking in search of absolution.

You can hear yourself moan-gasping as you both come, the exquisite high tumbling and rising until you’re left breathlessly repeating words of gratitude interspersed with his name, your throat raw. For some reason, this causes him to slow his final thrusts, as if reluctant for the moment to pass. It’s almost shatteringly erotic, and you wonder if it’s a glimpse of the true him, or a sign that he’s donning another disguise--the picture of a wealthy, considerate lover. Certainly his groan sounds just as joy-ravaged as you feel, by the time he slides you down onto your unsteady feet.

The possessive sting on your shoulder pulsates in opposition to your body’s resonance, and you have to focus all of your attention on staying upright. Taking a few long, careful breaths, you open your eyes to see that Bucky is already perfectly put back together, his skilled fingers refastening the wrist buttons of his dress shirt from where he’d rolled it back up to touch you.

Without speaking, he respectfully tips his head in your direction and walks inside, crossing the dimly-lit suite without pausing at the bathroom to wash his hands.

It’s the realization that he could just wordlessly leave after such a defining moment that has you finally collapsing into a chair.

It’s fully dark by the time you get up to go inside.

You’d fled halfway across the world to India with the fortune your ex had tried to wrest from you, finally giving yourself the honeymoon you’d always dreamed you’d share with him. It’s hard not to feel like you’ve just fulfilled one of his ugliest insults during that sudden breakup, but at least you hadn’t been in a relationship when you’d had sex with a stranger. 

At least you won’t head to bed still sweet with the buzz of someone else’s nectar.

There’s something mournful about showering after such an experience, washing away the fleeting remnants of a connection never meant to last. You’re torn between a light touch of soap to skin and scrubbing until you’ve excised both ex and rebound, but settle on something in between. Neither will release with ease, you realize. How strange that you’ve heard both men speak in anger in the past month, but in that time only one, the wrong one, used an endearment towards you. 

“Go to sleep,” you murmur to yourself. The sound is sultry thanks to all the noises you’d made. A mix of mortification and memories sends you scurrying to the softest sheets and most heavenly mattress you’ve ever slept on.

You dream of wandering the hotel, checking doors one by one and finding a different version of Bucky in each--dashing and debonair in a vintage military uniform, cocky and confident in a leather jacket, sleek and sophisticated in a bespoke suit. For some reason, you step back from that particular door despite its familiarity, and decide to try one more. The Bucky you find there is long-haired and wild, dressed for war, but not a war any government would recognize. His black tactical jacket is missing a sleeve, showing off the metal of a mechanical arm that stretches from  shoulder to fingertip.

He turns his head and catches sight of you in the doorway, and that’s when your dream-self sees the mask covering his mouth and nose, the dark facepaint shadowing his eye sockets. This strange yet exciting version of Bucky strides toward you, metal hand reaching--

--and you wake up.

In my mind, I picture him with the used condom folded into a handkerchief in his pocket, but I could not elegantly place that in the story lol. Hotel in the pictures is the Leela Kovalam, a five star hotel in India (loook! it's soooooo pretty!!!)

[lynzishell]

[jakeperalta]

unpopular opinion I guess but I think maybe not every surprise song choice or mashup is about joe or a hint at tortured poets....