#Found this in some drafts from June

[theunquietworld]

i’m reading emma thompson’s diaries from the filming of sense and sensibility and there are some really great bits

danny de vito sent good-luck flowers on their first day of shooting

in the published draft of the script, colonel brandon and willoughby fight a duel offscreen after brandon confronts him about impregnating beth, brandon’s ward

“kissing hugh [grant] was very lovely. glad i invented it. can’t rely on austen for a snog, that’s for sure. we shoot the scene on a hump-backed bridge. two swans float into shot as if on cue. everyone coos. ‘get rid of them,’ says ang [lee]. ‘too romantic.’

for a number of outdoor scenes, they would fire a shotgun in the air just before the cameras started rolling to get the local crow population to shut the fuck up for a few minutes

there was a dedicated line item in the budget for hiring flocks of sheep for exterior shots, ang lee was determined to use them as often as he could

“later found ang looking at the estuary with a mournful expression. i went and stood beside him. after a moment he said, waving towards the water, ‘tide goes in, tide goes out, tide goes in, tide goes out — and still no sex.’ ‘do you miss it?’ i enquired, after i’d stopped laughing. he nodded sadly. his family won’t be back for weeks.”

while filming the scenes at the palmers’ house with the screaming baby, it turns out that “we’ve hired the calmest babies in the world to play the hysterical thomas. one did finally start to cry but stopped every time chris yelled ‘action’. later: babies smiled all afternoon. buddhist babies. they didn’t cry once. we, however, were all in tears by 5 p.m.”

“very nice lady served us drinks in hotel and was followed in by a cat. we all crooned at it. alan [rickman] to cat (very low and meaning it): ‘fuck off’. the nice lady didn’t turn a hair. the cat looked slightly embarrassed but stayed.”

during the london ballroom scene hugh laurie kept treading on the train of imelda staunton’s gown, “which pulled it down so far it exposed her boobs. keep it in, i said, but she wouldn’t.”

“sunday, 11 june: drank far too much last night and woke at 5:30 a.m. could’ve gone on drinking all night. quite grateful for a hangover, it provides a bit of peace. walked on to my balcony completely naked last night and took the couple that have moved into the suite next door slightly by surprise. walked back in calmly affecting insouciance and then bit all my pillows, one after the other.”

while resetting a scene involving a carriage, “ang rode off on a bicycle and didn’t return. found him locked in the loo at trafalgar, having broken the key. he’s being rescued at present.”

“noon. finish scene with alan. me: ‘oh! i’ve just ovulated.’ alan (long pause): ‘thank you for that.’”

“hugh g. in a spot of bother up la, apparently. something to do with a blow job. it’s all right for some, i thought.”

[starsinthesky5]

you are in love: l'amour de ma vie || joe burrow x reader

description: a little bridge between the last part of YAIL into part 5 which will be coming soon! little moments from the france trip and some stuff from home 🖤

universe: you are in love (click for parts 1-4 of the series)

a/n: been in my drafts since June of 2024. and here she is :) would love some feedback and if you’d like to see more of this for this series!

taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyb1989 @joeyburrrow @softburrow @burrowbarbie @yelenasbraid @lovelyburrow @majestic87 @grittysbiggestfan @definitelynotdomanique

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📍cannes, france

liked by: joeyb_9, lahjay10_, killatrav, y/bsf_21, taylorswift, and others

tagged: joeyb_9

y/n_y/ln: ocean blue eyes, looking in mine

comments:

joeyb_9: la plus belle fille que j'ai jamais vue

——— y/n_y/ln: tu me rends le plus heureux 😙😙

——— fan14: he said she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid his eyes on. shut the fuck up oh my god

——— fan938: did she just say he makes her the happiest? oh pack it up fellas it's wraps

fan6: i can’t believe we’re back to her casually posting my relationship era. thank you joe burrow for your services 🫡

fan1348: i don’t even know who’s winning in this relationship like they’re both HOT as fuck

y/bsf: 🛥️ the ship has sailed folks

fan_71: the heart on his back? god when is it my turn

fan273: they’re so cute 🥲

fan28288: that caption feels oddly like song lyrics y/n 😟

fan1717: i am so happy for her 🥺 she deserves this after all these years

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📍cannes, france

liked by: y/n_y/ln, lahjay_10, jjetas2, killatrav, y/bsf_21, and others

tagged: y/n_y/ln

joeyb_9: photo dump?

comments:

y/n_y/ln: he’s learninggg 🤞

——— joeyb_9: creds to the best 🧎‍♂️

y/n_y/ln: wear that alo two piece more often. damn 🤤

——— joeyb_9: yes ma’am 🫡

—————— lahjay_10: aye 🤨

fan226: y/n has joe doing photo dumps now? are we in heaven?

fan9191: everytime they pop up on my feed my jaw drops because I still can’t believe it’s true

fan8877: he brought her with him to the events 🥺

fan5874: atta boy joe! winning on and off the field like a true king

fan2727: that last photo of her...hello. HELLO

lahjay_10: i was in baton rouge for 5 seconds and shiesty went hollywood? damn

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📍french riviera

liked by: enews, bengalslover47, y/ncollective, ybsf_21, wasitover_10, and others

tagged: y/n_y/ln, joeyb_9

gridback_news: love is officially in bloom under the french riviera sun! 🌹✨ multi-platinum and grammy award winning artist, y/n and superstar NFL quarterback of the cincinnati bengals, joe burrow were spotted on an intimate stroll through the charming streets of cannes, looking completely smitten with one another. from soft smiles to stolen glances, the chemistry between these two is undeniable. after months of speculation, their outings in france seem to confirm what fans have been buzzing about: romance is in full swing and the fans are here for it! could this be the new power couple we’ve been waiting for? 🖤

#cannesinlove #yxj #couplegoals #romanceinfrance

comments:

bengalslover47: the king of cincy has finally found his queen everyone. may she bring us good luck and make joe the happiest he's ever been. amen

y/ncollective: ARM PLACEMENTS? and she looks so small next to him 💗

y/nfan0: oh joey b you are so loved by us.

fan8: qb1 scoring touchdowns on and off the field. y’all are the ultimate power couple

fan38: can we talk about how joe went from breaking defenses to breaking hearts? he just bagged the woman of the CENTURY

——— fan.18: every man and woman in america just fell to their knees

fan9_: oooooof her new album is going to HIT

——— fan!6: new album? did i miss something

—————— fan9_: grammy's coming up...she always goes out with a bang then 👀 just connecting some dots

rulethejungle5: and they said i was crazy when i said i heard some things around town about these two

xoxogossipgirllover: i need to get the scoop on these two! damn 😍🔥

fan3893_0: INJECT IT INTO MY VIENS MY WORLDS ARE COLLIDING

fan84: anyone notice y/n's best friend liked the post? tea ☕️

fan82828: oh the album is coming everyone. it’s coming soon. WE MADE IT

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📍paris, france

liked by: y/n_y/ln, joeyb_9, usweekly, bengalslover47, y/ncollective, ybsf_21, wasitover_10, and others

tagged: y/n_y/ln, joeyb_9

gridback_news: spotted: y/n and joe burrow turning heads in paris, strolling hand in hand and serving effortlessly chic looks 👀✨ with fashion week just around the corner, fans are buzzing about whether this stylish duo might make an appearance. whatever the occasion, one thing’s for sure—they’re absolutely owning the parisian streets!

an exclusive source has confirmed their relationship, revealing that joe and y/n are very happy together and share a connection built on trust, understanding, and mutual respect. their relationship has been growing behind the scenes for much longer than anyone realized, and their bond is stronger than ever. y/n has fully embraced life in cincinnati, and together they’ve created a solid foundation that balances their busy lives with a love that feels effortless. right now, they’re focused on enjoying each other and making memories—and it’s safe to say, happiness looks good on them. 💕

#parislove #yxj #styleandgrace #fashionweekvibes

comments:

fan9493: FIRST PAP WALK? IN PARISSS? oh we are so back y/n nation. that girl is in LOVE

y/ncollective: they look phenomenal

y/nfan0: manifesting a fashion week appearance

fan02: peep both their likes on this post...

fan-19: wonder if their gonna go to vouge world?

——— gridback_news: 👀👀

fan521_: this photo would do numbers on wattpad a few years ago

fan91: she seems so much happier and comfortable with joe. that’s how you know she’s thriving again. just look at them

fan18_brq: embraced life in cincy? and that’s a big fuck you to her ex! wack him again for me HAHAH

xoxogossipgirllover: i heard that they'll be at YSL's show tomorrow...watch this space

fan0101: wait…how long have they actually been together because-

fan3939: i need football season to come faster. need her in the stands this year!!! she has such great style

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📍paris, france

liked by: joeyb_9, lahjay10_, jjetas2, y/bsf_21, taylorswift, gracieabrams, ysl, sabrinacarpenter, and others

tagged: joeyb_9

y/n_y/ln: thank you for an amazing night @ ysl 🖤

comments:

y/bsf_21: god damn you look amazing

——— y/n_y/n: i love you 💞

joeyb_9: starry skies 🌌

——— y/n_y/ln: ...starry eyes?

—————— joeyb_9: ....darkest nights?

———————————— fan3010: what are they talking about 🤨

lahjay10_: lookin fly mademoiselle

——— y/n_y/ln: feelin fly uno 😴

fan9393: oh they absolutely ate this up. 10/10 no notes

ysl: thank you both for joining us!

joeyb_9: beautiful as always

——— y/n_y/ln: lover 💘

bengals: 👑 🐅

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📍vogue world

liked by: tmz, y/ncollective, rulethejungle, bengalsfan4949, enews, and 1.5 million others

tagged: y/n_y/ln

gridback_news: breaking alert 🚨: y/n spotted looking absolutely stunning at the vogue world fashion show, where rumors are swirling that her boyfriend, joe burrow, is set to make his runway debut alongside friend and fellow nfl star, justin jefferson 🏈✨ sources say y/n is here to cheer joe on as he steps into the world of high fashion for the first time, sharing in what’s sure to be a monumental moment for him. from the field to the runway, this power couple is proving they’re unstoppable 🔥

#vogueworld #joeburrow #yxj #fashionmeetsfootball

comments: have been limited under this post

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📍pfw

liked by: y/n_y/ln, jjetas2, lahjay10_, bengals, y_bsf21, samhubbard, vouge, killatrav, and 5.6 million others

tagged: vouge, y/n_y/ln

joeyb_9: with @ vougemagazine doing some new things :)

comments:

y/n_y/ln: i am so so so proud of you joey ❤️

——— joeyb_9: my biggest cheerleader. ilyttmats

—————— fan383: did he...did he just quote "seven"? OH MY GOD HE QUOTED SEVEN

—————— fan29: im going to be sick this is so 🥲

jjetas2: shiesty in all black

samhubbard: nice 😎

fan302: peak couple behavior is the matching loubitans. we're witnessing the couple of the decade y'all. buckle up

y/n_y/ln: put the back away joseph lee there's people around 😦

——— joeyb_9: why don't you come help me out then ;)

—————— y_bsf21: guys...there's people watching

————————— y/n_y/ln: oopsies 🙊

bengals: alright joe! 🐅

killatrav: 🔥

vouge: a natural star 🌟

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📍fashion week

liked by: joeyb_9, lahjay10_, y/ncollective, rulethejungle, bengalsfan11, y/bsf_21, taylorswift, and others

tagged: joeyb_9

y/n_y/ln: come here dressed in black now

comments:

joeyb_9: bestest week with l'amour de ma vie

——— y/n_y/ln: 🥹

—————— y/ncollective: joe please keep her this happy im not okay :(

——— fan39: LOVE OF HIS LIFE!! HE SAID LOVE OF HIS LIFE

—————— fan30303: WHAT

taylorswift: love it!!!! you both killed it :)

——— y/n_y/ln: 💗

fan3003: love seeing them happy together! they both deserve this

fan1991: has anyone noticed the black theme/aesthetic she has going on? her last few posts have been…dark

——— fan181.y/n_: wait a second. you’re onto something??

fan111: give me that album now rachel. GIVE IT TO ME.

loverofy/n: girl we need new music. like NOW

fan9339-_: already the most iconic couple we've seen in years.

lahjay10_: y'all killin it 🙂‍↕️

——— y/n_y/ln: we miss youuuu

——— joeyb_9: dinner at our place when we get back?

vouge: a beauty ✨

fan2882: how much y’all wanna bet that her caption is song lyrics

y_bsf21: STUNNER? HOT? JOE MOVE OVER

——— y/n_y/ln: im in tears joe's giving me a frowny face because he feels threatened

—————— y_bsf_21: good.

——— joeyb_9: I will NOT be moving over ma'am

enews: setting the streets of paris on fire as well as all our hearts 💕🥰

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joeyb_9 via Instagram Stories

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y/n_y/ln via Instagram Stories

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--The End--

stay tuned for you are in love V

[5starluvr]

Camera on!

pairing: jeongin (idol au) x reader (camgirl au)

genre:smut,angst, slow burn, idol!jeongin, digital intimacy, strangers-to-obsession

summary:

Jeongin’s burnt out, wired, and alone when he stumbles into a camgirl’s live stream late one hot summer night. He doesn’t mean to stay. But hearts.for.y/n speaks softly, moves slowly, and makes him feel seen — maybe for the first time in weeks.

warnings:

Explicit sexual content (camgirl themes, masturbation, dirty talk), idol burnout, parasocial tension, voyeurism, loneliness, stress relief sex, mild angst. 18+ only.

a/n: This has been sitting in my drafts for ages but bear with me because I'm working on a 300 follower special!

The heat hit different at night.

June wasn’t supposed to feel like this — like breathing through cotton, like walking through syrup. It clung to Jeongin’s skin, glued the fabric of his hoodie to the slope of his back. The air outside wasn’t much better, even though it was half-past nine and the sky had already dipped into its navy black.

The streetlights glowed like sickly moons above the cobbled path that led back to his building. Their reflections shimmered in puddles left by some late-afternoon storm, still warm enough to steam.

A mosquito buzzed past his ear.

He flinched, half-heartedly swatting it away, one earbud dislodging. His phone dangled from the cord tucked into his pocket, playing some playlist he’d put on shuffle just to drown things out. Drill-heavy bass and synth distortion. Not even music anymore. Just white noise with a beat.

His body ached.

His thighs felt like taut wires. Ankles swollen. His neck cracked every time he rolled it. He’d taken two painkillers after rehearsal, but they hadn’t done shit. His brain still buzzed with the tempo of today’s dance routine. Four hours in the practice room and he could still feel the mirrored walls watching him, like they expected more.

Comeback season was hell. It always had been. But this one? This one was worse.

Fan expectations, choreo revisions, back-to-back filming and live promotions. Their label didn’t believe in slowing down. And Jeongin? He didn’t believe in stopping. Not even when it felt like his lungs were folding in on themselves.

He just needed to make it home.

His apartment was a few blocks from the dorms. Management knew he needed his own space sometimes, and tonight — after rehearsals, after the screaming match over harmonies, after the latest toxic DM from a “fan” telling him to smile less — tonight, he’d taken it.

When the elevator doors finally opened to his floor, Jeongin didn’t breathe. Not until he shut the door behind him, keys rattling, breath hitching in his throat.

His apartment was small. Clean enough. Dimly lit. Silent.

He dropped his bag on the floor with a dull thunk, kicked off his shoes, and peeled the hoodie off his body like second skin. His undershirt was damp with sweat. He could smell himself — deodorant and heat and the faintest trace of cologne.

He stood in the dark for a moment, listening.

The silence wasn’t peaceful. It felt like pressure behind his eyes. Like a scream he was holding in his jaw. His limbs wouldn’t stop buzzing — not from adrenaline, but from the absence of it.

He needed to come down.

He needed something to pull him out.

His phone buzzed. A few Discord notifications from friends he hadn’t seen in weeks. A message from Chan hyung — a check-in he wasn’t ready to answer yet.

He let the phone fall onto his bed, screen up. The light cast shadows across his room — soft, blue, clinical.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, head hanging low.

Then he layed back.

His hand found the phone again.

And without thinking — truly, without even a plan — he opened the app. Not Instagram. Not Twitter. Not anything anyone would expect.

The icon was simple. A pastel pink heart inside a dark square.

Sugary.

A cam site. One of the sleek, newer ones. He’d only ever browsed once or twice — curiosity, boredom, too much time in hotel rooms between shows. It wasn’t like porn. It was closer. Less pixelated, more real. People talked to each other. Names were said. Faces were visible. You could pretend, for just a second, that it was for you.

The home screen loaded.

Dozens of thumbnails. All live. Some neon-lit, some blurred. Some with girls squatting in latex. Some with couples. A few dudes.

Then — his thumb stopped.

Username: Hearts.for.y/n

LIVE NOW

The thumbnail was a softly lit room, golden fairy lights curling behind a silk curtain. A girl sitting on a plush velvet chair. Dark hair falling over one shoulder. Skin lit like candlelight. Black and purple lingerie — delicate, almost too pretty to be real.

She looked directly into the camera.

Jeongin hesitated.

Her face wasn’t the kind he usually stared at in passing. She didn’t pout or pose. She looked… calm. Soft. But with this confidence — like she knew she was being watched and liked it. Like it wasn’t performance — it was control.

He tapped the screen.

It opened.

And suddenly, her voice filled his room.

The stream buffered for half a second. Just a flicker.

Then her room bloomed into his screen.

Low lighting. Golden fairy lights wrapped along the back of her headboard. The camera was angled slightly from below, centered on her knees — bent loosely, parted just enough to hint, not show.

She sat with her legs folded beneath her in a high-backed chair. Her lingerie looked even more delicate up close. Black lace with sheer purple accents, scalloped just under her breasts, tied at the front with a small satin bow. Her skin caught the light like honey. Smooth. Bare. She wore no jewelry except for a thin chain around her neck that disappeared into the dip between her collarbones.

And her face—fuck.

She wasn’t smiling. Not yet. Just gazing into the lens like it was someone’s eyes. Like she was waiting for a response.

Then she spoke.

“Hey, babies” she murmured.

Jeongin’s breath caught.

Her voice was like velvet over glass. Soft, smooth, but with a quiet tension, like she was holding something back. She licked her lips slowly, eyes flicking between chat messages popping up in the corner.

“Oh, you guys showed up early tonight,” she said with a small smirk. “And needy, as always.”

Someone in the chat sent a rose emoji. Another user dropped a comment: God, I missed you.

Jeongin watched the chat speed up. It was fast, but not so fast that she couldn’t keep up.

And then — without warning — she reached for something off-camera.

A bottle of oil.

She poured a slow stream onto her hands. It glistened as it dripped between her fingers. Then she leaned forward and pressed her palms to her thighs — dragging them upward, spreading the oil in slick circles as she exhaled into the mic.

“I want you to watch every second of this,” she said. “Don’t look away.”

Jeongin’s breath hitched again.

His hand moved instinctively to the waistband of his sweatpants.

He shouldn’t. He knew that. It felt a little too personal. Too close. But his cock was already hardening — straining, twitching, reacting to nothing more than her tone, her touch, the way her fingers moved in slow, teasing loops around her inner thighs.

She hadn’t even taken anything off yet.

This wasn’t some rapid-fire porn loop. She was dragging it out. And fuck — she was good at it.

“I had a long day,” she whispered. “Thought about this all through dinner. Couldn’t stop. Kept picturing how hot it gets in here when I make you beg.”

A small whimper left her mouth as she trailed her oiled hand between her legs — over the lace, not under. Teasing.

Her breath faltered, just slightly. Real.

That sound went straight to Jeongin’s dick.

He shoved his sweatpants down, boxers too, and hissed softly as his cock slapped against his stomach — flushed, leaking, desperate. He grabbed it with one hand and started stroking, slow and tight at the base.

She hadn’t touched herself properly yet — and he was already half gone.

“You’re watching, right?” she asked the camera. “You better be watching.”

He was.

He didn’t blink.

She slid two fingers down the seam of her panties. Pressed. Gasped. Her other hand cupped her breast through the mesh — thumb rubbing slow circles over her nipple until it stiffened visibly through the fabric.

“God, I’m so wet already,” she whispered. “Should I take it off?”

The chat exploded.

She laughed — not a giggle. A low, rich laugh, like she knew exactly what power she held.

Jeongin’s hand sped up slightly, his hips twitching upward. He bit his lip hard.

She rose to her knees, her chest heaving. Then — she pulled the bow loose at her sternum.

The top peeled open like a gift. Her tits fell free — soft, flushed, nipples tight. She didn’t cover them. Just ran her slick hands over the curves, lifting them, pressing them together, fingers pinching her nipples until she moaned into the mic again.

Jeongin was close. Too close. He squeezed tighter, groaning under his breath, hips stuttering up into his fist.

She looked into the camera and said — almost gently:

“Touch yourself for me. Like you mean it. Like you need this more than anything.”

His stomach tightened.

He came.

Hard.

The orgasm ripped through him, his toes curling, body shaking, cum striping across his bare stomach as his mouth fell open in a silent curse.

On screen, she kept going — but slower now. Softer. Her body glistening, hair tousled, her breath shallow and satisfied.

“I’ll stay for a little longer,” she whispered, eyes half-lidded. “Just for you.”

His body was still twitching.

A few seconds passed before his brain caught up to what had just happened. Before the room settled back into stillness, and he realized — in the aftermath of it all — he was still gripping his cock, now soft and wet in his hand, a ribbon of cum cooling on his stomach.

Jeongin exhaled.

Not in relief.

In confusion.

He let go of himself, arm dropping beside him like a dead weight. His breath was still heavy, uneven. The room felt hotter now, though the AC had kicked on somewhere in the background. He could hear it humming faintly, battling against the summer night that pressed like a second skin against the windows.

On-screen, Hearts.for.y/n was still speaking.

But softer now. Slower. She’d pulled her top back up loosely, the bow hanging undone, hair falling over one shoulder. Her voice had shifted into something quieter — not sultry, not performative — more like she was confiding something.

“I always feel warm after,” she said. “Like the room holds onto the heat. You know what I mean?”

Jeongin stared at her face.

Not her chest. Not her thighs. Her eyes.

They weren’t pretending anymore.

He reached for the tissues on the side table, wiping himself down in a practiced motion. Muscle memory. Not proud. Not ashamed either. Just numb. But this wasn’t like the other times. Porn didn’t leave you with a heartbeat like this. Porn didn’t leave a voice crawling inside your chest long after the body cooled.

She leaned forward to end the stream.

“I’ll be live again tomorrow,” she said. “Midnight. Same place.”

Then — she looked right into the lens, and smiled.

Not sexy. Not coy. Genuine.

“Sleep well, baby.”

The stream ended.

His screen returned to the Sugary homepage. A dozen other girls loaded into the slots beneath where her stream had been, but none of them even touched the part of his brain that was still on fire. That voice. That smile.

That strange, stupid illusion that she’d been speaking to him.

Jeongin wiped his hands on his sweatpants and tossed them into the laundry basket. He rolled over, stared up at the ceiling. The fan above him spun lazily, doing nothing.

He knew what this was. Camgirls made you feel seen. That was the trick. Nothing magical. Just attention, well-disguised.

It wasn’t personal.

But he couldn’t shake it. That feeling — the one in his chest that wasn’t just sex. The one that crawled through his ribs and settled like guilt.

He wasn’t lonely, not really. He had friends. Members. Hyungs. A fandom. Millions of people who watched his every move. What he ate. What he wore. How he breathed.

But tonight, in the silence of his apartment, it wasn’t his schedule or his fans or even his exhaustion that haunted him.

It was her.

The screen.

The way she spoke like she meant it.

Jeongin sat up again, eyes catching on the tab still open at the top of his browser.

He hovered over it. Closed it.

Paused.

Opened a new one.

Typed her name into the Sugary search bar: hearts.for.y/n

Her profile loaded. Basic info. Bio: “Soft things for hard nights.”

He didn’t follow her.

But he read the stream schedule.

Tomorrow — 12:00 AM — “Slow Burn.”

He stared at the words for a long time.

Told himself he wouldn’t be there.

Told himself this was a one-time thing.

——

Jeongin lasted until 11:52 PM.

He told himself he wasn’t going to watch. That last night was a fluke. A moment of weakness. He hadn’t gotten off properly in days. He was tired, sweaty, stressed. He’d needed release.

But it wasn’t about getting off. Not really. Not anymore.

It was the way she’d said goodnight. The way her fingers had touched her skin like she liked it. Like she knew what it did to him. Not the performance — but the control.

And tonight, he was already in bed, laptop propped on his thighs, browser open to Sugary’s home screen before the clock hit midnight.

He wasn’t proud of it.

He was wired.

The lights were off. AC running. A single desk lamp cast a warm circle behind him — not for reading. Just in case his face reflected on the screen.

12:00 AM sharp.

Her icon went live.

hearts.for.y/n — LIVE NOW: “Slow Burn.”

He clicked.

This time, she was sitting in front of a mirror.

Her room looked the same — fairy lights, silk curtains, everything soft — but the angle was new. The camera showed her back now, her reflection in the glass. She sat on the edge of a low bed, knees pulled up, her silk robe falling open just enough to tease the curve of her thigh.

“Hey,” she whispered. “You’re back.”

Jeongin stiffened.

It was irrational — she couldn’t see him — but her voice still hit like a pinpoint to the chest.

She turned toward the lens.

“I figured you would be,” she smiled, barely. “You were quiet last night, though. No comments. Just watching.”

His heart dropped.

That couldn’t be about him. She had hundreds of viewers. Thousands sometimes.

Coincidence.

Right?

She uncrossed her legs and reached for her phone.

“I got a few anonymous messages today,” she said, scrolling. “A lot of them were sweet. A few were filthy. And one was… different.”

She tapped a few times. Looked up again.

Jeongin’s hands curled into fists under the sheets.

She started reading:

“I watched you last night. Not just to jerk off. I needed something quieter than my own head. I don’t even think I came for you. I think I came because you made the noise stop.”

Jeongin forgot how to breathe.

That had been his message. Sent anonymously. Half on impulse, half confession. He’d typed it after lying in the dark for twenty minutes, staring at the words “Soft things for hard nights.”

She licked her lips.

Her eyes shimmered, even through the screen.

“I read this one a few times today,” she said softly. “More than a few.”

Jeongin���s throat closed.

She looked down again. Her fingers played idly with the tie of her robe.

“You said I made the noise stop,” she whispered. “That’s… kind of beautiful, baby.”

The robe slipped from her shoulder, exposing the smooth slope of skin, the dip of her collarbone.

“I want to do that again tonight,” she continued. “Not just make you come. I want to make you quiet.”

Jeongin’s hand was already under the sheets.

She looked directly into the camera.

“Tell me you’re here,” she whispered.

He didn’t type.

He didn’t have to.

She reached for the tie at her waist, pulled it loose, and let the robe fall.

[infiniteglitterfall]

this is my most autistic half-birthday ever!

I gave myself the day to pursue a special interest and fulfill an offer I'd made last year.

The Jewish Virtual Library has a page listing all the rocket and mortar attacks on Israel since 2001 (which was when they first started). But it's incomplete. Last fall, I noticed it stopped in August, so I wrote to them offering to help update it. They thanked me and gave me some places I could look.

Today, I finally did it. I ended up cross-referencing with the lists on Wikipedia, digging through multiple Twitter accounts and outside news sources and NGOs, and sending them an email with my updates... plus an html file where I'd updated the code on the page so they could just check it and upload it instead of typing in all the data themselves.

I am such a huge nerd.

There's definitely more research to do. But I think I found a strong stopping place that let me actually send what I found and post about it. Which is always the hardest part. As my drafts folder could tell you.

I have more than two thousand drafts on here.

Anyway, I'm going to put my findings under a cut tag. Before you read on, I want you to try to guess.

Because one of the things I've been told most often by people who wanna Argue About Palestine Without Having To Learn Anything About Palestine (Or Israel Or History Or Imperialism Or Fact-Checking Or ?????) is that the reason for October 7, the reason for literally anything in fact, is that "Israel bombs Palestine constantly."

I want to put together a list of Israeli airstrikes next. I would love to reblog this with that information. But first, I want you to guess:

Note that this DOES NOT include terrorist car rammings, mass shootings, mass stabbings, bus bombings, suicide bombings, etc. It therefore excludes almost the entire Second Intifada.

After correcting the most recent four years and sending in my corrections, I made a list of the totals using the most complete collection I could find for each year. (Sometimes it was Jewish Virtual Library, sometimes it was Wikipedia, and sometimes they matched.)

2024: 12,629 (an average of 35 per day)

2023: 12,295 (34 per day)

2022: 1,180 (only 3 per day)

2021: 4,425 (12 per day)

2020: about 203

2019: 798+

2018: 348+, 0.95 per day

2017: Only 47!!! Why, it's almost like living in Canada!! 0.1 per day.

2016: Wow, only 20. See, if you go through the years backwards, it looks like progress is being made.  Very exciting. Until I get to the Second Intifada, probably. 0.05 per day.

2015: 58.

2014: oh right, that war. 4,778. (Wikipedia's 2015 list claims " In August 2014, Operation Protective Edge was ended after 4,594 rockets and mortars launched toward Israel. From the end of the operation came into force an unofficial cease-fire between Israel and Hamas." but there were three more after that, and 181 before it, listed on wikipedia alone. so like. 4,778 actually, for 13 a day.)

2013: 70 total. Wikipedia notes this was the lowest number since 2001.

2012: 2,442, or 6.7 per day.

2011: 680, for 1.9 a day.

2010: 365, for exactly one a day.

2009: 858, or 2.4 per day.

2008: 3,107! that's 8.5 a day.

2007: 2,807: 7.7 a day.

2006: 1,275, or 3.5 a day.

2005: 858. An average of 2.4 per day.

2004: 1,158.

2003: 637.

2002: 472.]

2001: "These attacks commenced in April 2001, although the first rocket to hit an Israeli city was on 5 March 2002, and the first Israeli fatality was 28 June 2004." I count 173 mortar attacks in 2001, however. Which makes the first fatality a critically-injured baby in 2001. And as soon as I make 250+ more edits and have the power to edit Wikipedia articles on "controversial" topics, I'll make it say so.

Grand Total: 51,685.

An average of SIX PER DAY.

FOR 24 YEARS.

I've been saying four.

But there were actually thousands that weren't listed on the Virtual Library site yet. It really cranked up that average.

Now consider this: between 10%-30% misfire and either crash into the sea, or hit Gaza.

A surprising number of Gazan casualties in every "conflict" have been from Hamas & Co's own missiles.

And they know this. And not only do they not care, but they keep using everything from mosques to humanitarian zones as rocket launch sites.

And why shouldn't they? You have to really dig to find information on how many Gazans die that way. Almost everyone just attributes the deaths to Israel. Hamas is never going to get any actual flak for accidentally killing its own civilians. It barely gets any flak for intentionally killing Israeli civilians, for pete's sake.

[mariposita24]

Mari’s Master List:

✨Wishing on You is now out on Webtoon Canvas!!!!✨

(note: a thing about side blogs is I can’t follow, like or send asks from this account, but interaction from Mariposa324 is also me!)

Main Art Blog: Mariposa324

TikTok: Mariposita2414

Ko-fi: Mariposa Art

About the Artist:

Hi! I’m Mari & this is my gt sideblog!

Send asks anytime! I’m down for all the questions & such especially about my OCs

Open to art/writing trades! I will provide art only, I’m not super confident in my writing but I’d super love to trade my art for writing!

Open to OC fan content! I am super cool with people making fan content of my OCs

SO LONG AS:

- they credit me and are not attempting to claim my characters as their own.

- there is NO AI involved!!!! (including but not limited to any and all forms of generative AI and CAI.)

but literally any other form of fanart, cosplay, fanfic, etc. I WILL ADORE and people have my permission to do/make

______________(full list under cut)______________

Here’s a Master List of Art & Stories & Such (including tags I use to organize):

Link to commission sheet here!!!

Link to G/t commission sheet here!!!

all of my stuff can be found under the tag: my art

Fan Art:

June & Asa

Charlie & Felix

My Characters:

tags include: oc: everett & oc: lilly

Main Web Comic:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 (coming soon)

Semi-Canon Short Comics:

Everett’s Reaction to Dolled Up Lilly

Intimidation check failed (Everett & Erica)

Generally just them/About them:

cute messy doodles/w.i.p.

character reference sheets & lore dump

Close to you (before I had their designs down)

based on a dream

TikToks/Animations:

“spooky” animatic

reaction to comments animatic

“mean and scary” animatic

Mer-May AU:

Shark Everett Studies

pov: you’re too friendly with Lilly

Shark Everett & Shrimp Izzy (also friend’s OC)

With Friend’s OCs/OC Collabs & Art Trades:

Izzi & Lilly

(I’ve had these two cutie pies since 2012!)

(their current main story is connected to my main blog and is an ongoing group passion project visual novel)

I reblog all their stuff here as well. They have multiple AUs I like to indulge in that are even more traditionally gt. (I have since purged a lot of their super old art from tumblr 💀)

tags: oc: clyde, oc: mary & crystal project

(they’ve been around so long my tags have not been super consistent. I’ll try to fix that now but may not catch all of it)

Generally just them/About them:

Masquerade Outfits

Valentines Day Doodles

A little bit 🌶️ doodle

Thinking about them

random character sketches (Clyde)

Caught in the rain bg practice

Older Lore Dump

Some older messy sketches

Crystal Project Universe Related Stuff:

Sibling antics (Clyde & his sister)

Current Character Designs & Reference Sheets (2025)

Height chart

Screenshots of our rough draft prologue

Siblings day doodle (Clyde & his sister)

Happy Fall (2023)

OC-tober (2021)

Mer-May AU(s):

giant mer au 2025

revisiting Clyde’s mer design 2025

giant mer au 2024 (2)

giant mer au 2024 (1)

Mary & Olive (not gt)

giant mer au 2021

giant mer au 2021 (full color)

initial mer design doodles 2021

Miscellaneous:

little one shot pokemon AU

Cute friend fanart thing

Superhero AU concept (old art alert, oof)

[alexa-yukiyu]

Hey! Have you ever seen Masha and the bear?

I was just thinking this idea while making breakfast for my family, so how about Masha!reader x Whitebeard pirates or young!Asl. You pick.

Thanks! Have a good day

Treasure Hound (Asl x child!reader)

A/N- and with this I officially have finished my June/July requests ✊🏽. Goal is to finish september’s this week. Also I have in fact never heard of this animation which is crazy after I read how popular it is so I tried to capture Masha as best I could but it probably is not that close but hopefully close enough!

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for Reader in Japanese for the enjoyment of both reader and oc character readers alike!

Dividers by @/firefly-graphics

“Sabo, are you sure she’s related to you?” Ace asked incredulously from his spot on his branch, watching as she rambunctiously ran around the clearing, putting even Luffy to shame as the latter struggled to keep up with the smaller girl

“Of course she is!” Had Sabo not known Ace to be so blunt, he would have likely taken offense at such a question

“Doesn’t look like that,” he muttered, taking a glance at the blond and looking back at the girl as she ran circles around Luffy, causing the latter to grow dizzy and fall back, eyes rolling around in his sockets

“She just needs to burn out all her energy. It’s always like this in the mornings,” he replied, letting out a snicker as Dokucha began shaking the poor boy in an attempt to snap him awake.

"We should let her take a look at the map we found the other day; maybe she can crack it," Sabo piped up

“No way! Sabo, we busted our asses trying to get that map; I‘m not about to trust it to a four-year-old!” Ace sneered, not willing to risk their latest treasure to what he thought to be an unnecessary risk

“She’s a lot, Ace, but she wouldn’t purposely try to destroy something, especially if she knows it’s important to me. Not to mention that, yes, she’s four, but she’s really smart; she’s especially good with plans and drafts like these,” Sabo called as he pulled out the Map

“Come on, Ace, trust me! Plus, I‘m pretty sure giving her the lead will tire her and Luffy, too!” He grinned, knowing that would be the last push the former needed

“Tch, if something happens, it’s on you,” he snarled, finally easing into his suggestion, ignoring the satisfied smirk the blond gave him as he jumped off the branch

“Dokucha come here! I got something for you!” He called, watching as the girl zoomed towards him, leaving the poor Luffy to fend off his spinning brain.

“Do you want to go on a treasure hunt?” he offered as he waved the map around, knowing the hyperactive child would never say no to an adventure or the chance to use her skills.

“Yeah!” She exclaimed as she snatched it from his hand and threw herself on the ground with him, stretching the map before them; Ace and Luffy following shortly after.

“We know the treasure is around here, but we couldn’t figure out these,” Ace told her as he pointed out what appeared to be a random arrangement of letters and numbers.

“Ah! It’s a cipher!” She beamed, stretching her arm out towards his brother without taking her eyes off the map; without any need for words, he handed her a pencil, watching as she began scribbling furiously

“Oh, what is that?!” Luffy questioned as he leaned in. Watching as the girl began to draw what looked to be a table, with each boxed being filled with a letter of the alphabet, adding some letters and numbers to the side and top of the table

“It’s a Grid code! Each letter and number stands for a specific letter! I just have to see where they intercept,” she prattled on as she continued writing away

“You already solved it?!” Ace gaped. The boy stared at the scribbles, shocked. He knew he wasn’t the best at solving puzzles, but he had thought himself to be above the girl in front of him.

“Told you she was smart,” Sabo boasted, a prideful glint in his eyes.

“Alright!” Dokucha exclaimed as she shot up from her spot, not paying any mind to the boys as she sprinted away following the directions she had deciphered from the map

“W-wait Dokucha! You need to wait for us!” Sabo called as he ran after the girl

“Don’t lose sight of her, Sabo!” Ace yelled as he, too, shot after the girl

“Hey! Wait for me!” Luffy cried as he followed after them

“Sabo, what the hell did your parents feed her?” Ace huffed out as he and Sabo threw themselves into the comfort of their sleeping bags. After they followed the girl as she traversed through the forest, crossed through rivers, and climbed mountains, they were exhausted, but it had been worth it after they had managed to find the biggest loot they had in years. To make it even better, it turns out that the plan had worked perfectly as Dokucha had also been tired out, not after running and bouncing around the place for another hour, which had also taken Luffy out.

“Well, our father and mother didn’t really fancy a daughter; they didn’t have any immediate use for her, so they just…locked her in a room, forcing her to study hours on end with no other entertainment but the books around her. So she hasn’t had the chance to run and play around like this.” Sabo sighed as he forced himself up and walked towards her, throwing a blanket over her and Luffy before returning to his spot next to Ace.

“Well, you’re parents are assholes, but we will show them, Sabo! Once we get our ship, we will show them all wrong.” he grinned as he lifted himself slightly to address his brother

“You will be a pirate that everyone will know the name of, and I will show Dokucha how big the world is and write a book about it.” Sabo grinned

“And Luffy will ****************” Ace cackled, remembering the jaw-dropping dream the crazy boy had uttered

“We will take this world by surprise, us four!”

Listen had to had my Oda moment with Luffy’s dream

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@hannahbarberra162

@epochal-oracle

[woso-story]

Time For The Next Chapter

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon x Barcelona

June in Barcelona had always been beautiful — warm breezes swept through the winding Gothic alleys, and the sea shimmered under the lengthening sun. But for Ingrid Engen, this June was not just the close of a season; it was the close of a chapter. A meaningful, life-shaping chapter that she wasn’t entirely ready to end.

The rumor had already broken across social media weeks ago. A few journalists had put the pieces together, and by the time the club had even begun drafting the official announcement, fans were tweeting, speculating, grieving — and, in some corners, criticizing.

“Ingrid Engen to leave Barcelona at the end of the season.”

Some posted thank-you messages. Others were less kind. Some said she was never good enough to be a starter, just another rotation player. Some whispered she was only there because of her relationship with Mapi Leon. But none of them knew the truth. None of them understood how hard it had been.

Ingrid hadn’t wanted to leave. Every fiber of her being had wanted to stay.

This city, this club, had given her so much. Four years of sweat, growth, laughter. Trophies and tears. She had come to Barcelona with Frido, both of them making the jump from Wolfsburg — two best friends chasing a bigger dream. Here, they had battled for greatness and found it. Here, Ingrid had become a better player.

And here, she had fallen in love.

Mapi Leon had changed everything.

It started quietly — a friendship formed over training banter and shared glances. But somewhere along the way, between away games and long evenings walking through the streets of Barcelona, it had become something undeniable. With Mapi, Ingrid felt seen. Known. Loved — not just for what she did on the pitch, but for who she was when the stadium lights were off.

Their relationship had become the cornerstone of her life in Spain. They’d built a rhythm — cooking dinner together after late trainings, sharing coffees on the terrace in the morning sun, whispering strategy under the covers on the night before Champions League clashes. Mapi was Barcelona through and through, but she’d carved out space for Ingrid. Made her feel like she belonged.

Which made this all the harder.

It wasn’t that Barcelona didn’t want her — she had been offered a new deal. Two more years. The same role: backup to Patri in midfield, maybe some minutes as center-back cover if injuries struck. But Ingrid was 27. In her prime. She didn’t want scraps. She didn’t want to sit and wait to be needed. She was needed — she had shown that last season when injuries forced the rotation. She had stepped up, delivered. But now, with everyone fit and new names like Laia Aleixandri arriving, it was clear.

There would be no room for her.

And still, she hesitated.

She had stood in the boardroom, the new contract on the table, and she had wanted to say yes. Two more years. Two more years of walking into the locker room and seeing Mapi. Two more years of late-night drives through the city after victories. Two more years of being part of this.

But she had looked across the table and asked the same question twice: “Can you guarantee me minutes?”

And twice, the answer had been a gentle no.

So she had done the hardest thing she had ever done.

She had said goodbye.

The night after, she had gone home and found Mapi sitting on the balcony, a bottle of red wine open, two glasses already poured.

Neither of them said much. There were no lectures, no guilt. Just quiet acceptance. Mapi had always known this might come. She had told Ingrid from the beginning, “I’ll never ask you to stay just for me.”

And Ingrid had always promised, “If I go, I’ll come back. Somehow.”

They clinked glasses in the warm twilight, holding each other a little tighter than usual.

The next morning, the announcement dropped.

And the locker room fell silent.

Ingrid had never felt so self-conscious walking into that space. All eyes turned to her. Some were red-rimmed. Others full of understanding. Mapi was right behind her, her fingers grazing the small of her back as they walked in — a quiet act of solidarity.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t have to.

Frido came first.

The hug was immediate — fierce and full of history. Wolfsburg. Rehab sessions. Those long training days in Spain’s summer heat. Frido was more than a friend. She was a sister in arms. Their journey had been parallel, and now, it was parting ways.

“Don’t forget who you are,” Frido whispered into her hair. “You were always enough.”

The others followed. Patri, who had fought for minutes herself once. Alexia, who gave her a knowing nod — she understood better than most the brutality of timing in football. Aitana, who told her to call any time. Even the younger players, some still too green to grasp the full weight of the moment, came over and wrapped her in hugs.

In the end, they formed a circle around her. A warm, tearful circle. Not of sadness, but of gratitude.

They weren’t mad. They got it.

Football was brutal. It didn’t matter how good you were if the timing wasn’t right. It didn’t matter how much you loved the badge if there wasn’t a place for you on the pitch. And they respected her for choosing herself.

But the fans didn’t all see it that way.

The messages were pouring in. Some supportive. Some brutal.

“Why would you leave when you had an offer?”

“You’re a traitor.”

“You were only here because of Mapi anyway.”

Ingrid didn’t respond to any of them. But they hurt. Of course they did.

She wanted to scream, I did everything I could! I wanted to stay! But shouting into the void never helped.

She had chosen to go to Lyon. A fresh start. A team that had watched her, believed in her, wanted her. Not as a backup. As a key piece. A player who could shape the game. Lyon — with its own rich history, its own expectations. She was nervous, but also excited.

It was never about leaving Barcelona. It was about not disappearing within it.

And she wasn’t turning her back on the club. She was stepping forward into herself.

That night, she lay in bed with Mapi, their legs tangled together, both quiet. It was hard. It would keep being hard. But love had never been about easy. It was about choosing each other, again and again, even across cities, even across time zones.

“You know I’d follow you anywhere, right?” Mapi murmured.

Ingrid smiled sadly. “And I’d never ask you to. This is your home, Maria.”

They kissed — gently, like the world was trying to break them and they were saying no with their mouths.

Barcelona would always be part of Ingrid. The city had changed her. The team had lifted her - literally. And Mapi… Mapi had given her a kind of love she never thought she’d have.

She would carry it all with her — every goal, every injury, every whispered I love you after a Champions League win.

And when she walked out in a Lyon jersey for the first time, she wouldn’t be leaving that behind.

She’d be building on it.

Because sometimes, love doesn’t hold you back. It hands you the key and says, go — and I’ll be right here, cheering for you.

Even if it’s from the other side of the pitch.

[just-b-yourself]

What Happened to The Handmaid’s Tale? A Eulogy for Nick Blaine, and My Faith in TV Writing

I wasn’t going to write again.

But then, one quiet afternoon, I remembered Nick Blaine.

And the rage came back.

I’ve written about this show so many times, you’d think I’d have found closure by now.

But here I am. Still grieving. Still bitter. Still trying to figure out how one of my favorite shows of all time managed to destroy its own legacy — not with a bang, but with bad writing, broken characters, and one very disrespectful airplane explosion.

It’s honestly impressive how the writers of Season 6 managed to take a show once praised for its layered character arcs, emotional realism, and slow-burning tension — and reduce it to a mess of incoherent choices, character assassinations, and empty symbolism. It’s like they held a bonfire in the writers’ room and tossed in all the previous seasons’ scripts, just to make sure no one accidentally referenced anything consistent. The show used to be about trauma, survival, resistance. In Season 6, it became about… who knows? Betraying long-standing character arcs? Gaslighting your audience? Maybe the writing team got stuck in Gilead themselves and started drafting episodes from inside a Commander’s basement. Or maybe they tried to escape to Canada but got caught mid-draft. Either way, it’s clear someone was sleep-deprived, emotionally unavailable, and possibly writing on a dare. What happened to subtlety? Continuity? Depth? Oh right — they exploded in that same plane as Nick.

How to Lose a Loyal Audience in 10 Episodes ?

Want to lose your fanbase? Step 1: Ignore years of thoughtful character building. Step 2: Undermine the most emotionally resonant relationships. Step 3: Kill one of the most beloved characters offscreen and call it closure. Step 4: Promote your spin-off like nothing happened. Congrats, you’ve just alienated half your viewers and turned what could’ve been a legacy into a cautionary tale for future writers.

Let’s talk about Nick Blaine. Again.

A character so layered, so quietly devastating, so beautifully restrained, that he somehow managed to express a full novel’s worth of emotion with a single conflicted glance. A man who risked everything in silence. Who rebelled not with fireworks, but with quiet, impossible choices. A man who loved June with a kind of quiet devotion that never asked for recognition — and rarely got it from the writers either, apparently.

Because whatever the hell Season 6 was… it wasn’t written by anyone who had watched the previous five.

This is a man who:

Was always part of the resistance (yes, even when no one else knew it).

Played the long game, while everyone else played checkers with a blindfold.

Loved June with a kind of brutal, sacrificial tenderness — and proved it over and over again.

Carried guilt, grief, and agency in every scene, even when he said nothing.

Was literally canonically confirmed to be part of The Testaments, which takes place years after the events of this show.

Did the writers:

Decide subtle male characters are just "too much effort"?

Confuse "minimalist" with "nonexistent"?

They didn't just underwrite him — they actively un-wrote him. All the nuance, the inner conflict, the impossible choices? Gone. Swept under the narrative rug like inconvenient canon

Because no matter how much you try to fade him out, Nick Blaine’s story matters. His choices mattered. His love mattered. His presence in the rebellion — quiet, strategic, constant — mattered.

He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t flashy.

He was the man in the shadows, protecting what he could, loving who he shouldn’t, and carrying the weight of every compromise he ever made.

And for six seasons, we watched him try. And try. And try again.

And this is the thanks he gets?

I knew they wouldn’t give him a happy ending.

I knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t ride off into the sunset with June, holding Holly’s hand and planting tomatoes in some post-Gilead garden. That was never his path.

But I thought — I hoped — they would at least honor him.

Instead, they reduced him to a name on a report.

A body in an exploded plane.

A casualty of a mission where he gave everything, only to be erased with a single line of dialogue and a flicker of guilt in June’s eyes.

He didn’t even get a scene.

He died offscreen. Like a narrative inconvenience.

Because Nick was never just a love interest.

He was never just “the other guy.”

He was the one who saw June when no one else did.

He carried her in silence when she had nothing left.

He protected her when it cost him everything.

He stayed loyal — not to Gilead, not to any side, but to her.

To love, in a world where love was weaponized, forbidden, devoured.

He lived in the grey, and he died in the dark.

And the writers didn’t even give us a light.

No real goodbye. No reckoning. No moment of honesty between him and June.

No justice for a man who spent six seasons playing chess while everyone else smashed pieces on the floor.

Nick Blaine didn’t need a happy ending.

But he deserved a real one. One that acknowledged who he was. What he did. What he carried. The love he held and never demanded. The quiet war he fought until the very end.

Nick was never loud. Never dramatic. Never the obvious hero.

He was quiet resistance. A man who lived in grey zones, made impossible choices, and never once stopped fighting — even when it cost him everything.

He saved Luke. He saved Moira. He got June out — twice. He handed over intel. He infiltrated Command. He put himself on the line every single season for the people he loved.

He didn’t have big speeches or dramatic gestures. He was quiet resistance. The man in the background.

The one who sacrificed his safety, his freedom, and eventually his life — not for recognition, not for power, but for love.

For June.

For his family.

For the rebellion.

For a world better than the one that had broken him.

He was the most selfless character in the entire series.

He showed up — always.

When June called, he came.

When others hesitated, he acted.

He got people out. He gave everything — and asked for nothing.

And the irony?

He’s canonically alive in The Testaments.

He’s meant to continue. To matter. To exist in the world after all this.

But not here. Not in the show they gave us.

They killed him off like a side character in someone else's story.

No goodbye. No final scene. No dignity.

Just: boom. Plane gone. Problem solved

But the writers clearly didn’t rewatch their own show before writing Season 6.

Because they destroyed Nick’s arc in two or three lazy scenes, like all that nuance was just a narrative inconvenience.

They needed someone expendable. So they made it him.

And June?

She betrayed him. For the “greater good.”

And we’re supposed to buy that?

That she’d let him die so quietly after everything he did for her, for her family, for the entire resistance?

This isn’t the June I knew. Not the woman who carried trauma and fury and compassion in equal measure.

In Season 6, she’s… different. Detached. Not just hardened — hollowed.

I understand what they were trying to do — “the greater good,” sacrifice, etc. — but it felt false. Like she’d lost her humanity, and the show didn’t notice.

Her fire turned to static. Her decisions made no emotional sense.

The writing didn’t just drop the ball — it launched it into orbit and called it a finale.

There were so many ways to honor these characters.

So many chances to bring their arcs to a meaningful close.

But the final season was a mess of plot holes, character inconsistencies, and writing that felt like a stranger finishing someone else’s story.

They didn’t just forget Nick — they forgot everything that made the show worth watching in the first place.

Let’s talk about the unholy trinity of Gilead’s architects: Joseph Lawrence, Serena Joy, and Aunt Lydia — three characters who, despite their haunting résumés of systemic cruelty, have somehow been offered redemption arcs as if trauma had an expiration date. Joseph Lawrence isn’t just a “complicated man” with a tragic wife — he’s the very engineer of the Colonies: the mass grave of Gilead, where infertile women and “undesirables” were sent to suffer and die in radioactive agony. Then there’s Serena Joy — the woman who wrote the book on Gilead’s theocratic oppression. Literally. A mouthpiece of rape culture wrapped in pearls and condescension, Serena held June down — while pregnant — to be raped by her husband and stole a child from her biological mother. And finally, Aunt Lydia — the evangelical war criminal disguised as a devout caregiver. She tased, beat, and psychologically broke handmaids with gleeful fervor. She abducted children from their mothers, broke their spirits in “Red Center” indoctrination camps, and justified every scar with a Bible verse. And the fact that they were offered forgiveness, understanding, and even sympathy — while a character like Nick Blaine, who resisted from within and bled silently for the cause, was thrown away — isn’t just insulting. It’s revisionist fiction disguised as nuance. Their crimes didn’t fade with time. The show just chose to forget.

Let’s not even talk about the show promo.

Because wow — the disrespect.

The gaslighting.

The interviews where they teased fans like we were children.

The smugness. The vague answers. The flat-out contradictions.

You could feel the disdain.

It was clear they didn’t know what story they were telling anymore.

Or worse — they didn’t care

I’ve written so many posts about this. I’ve tried to make peace with it.

But every time I revisit the show, every time I think about what it could have been, I feel that sting again. That betrayal.

Because this wasn’t just about a character dying.

It was about a show giving up on itself.

Nick Blaine deserved better.

June deserved to be written with care.

We, the viewers who stayed loyal through the darkest moments, deserved better.

We didn’t love The Handmaid’s Tale just for the plot.

We loved it because of the people. The characters. The layered, flawed, beautiful writing that made us feel something real.

And no character represented that better than Nick.

He’s not a villain.

He’s not a traitor.

He's not a nazi.

He’s a man who lived in darkness so others could find the light.

A man who died alone, unloved, uncelebrated.

So here I am, again.

Writing another eulogy.

Not just for Nick — but for a story that forgot how to tell itself.

And I wish I could say I’m done now. That I’ve moved on.

But the truth is… when a show breaks your heart like this, the ache lingers.

RIP Nick Blaine.

And RIP to the version of The Handmaid’s Tale that once meant the world to me

So this is my final post.

My final grief.

Nick Blaine deserved better.

Not just a longer scene. Not just a different ending.

He deserved to be seen, understood, remembered — for the choices he made, the burdens he carried, the love he gave without ever asking for it in return.

But I remember him.

We remember him.

And we will carry that with us — in the silence, in the spaces the show forgot to fill, in the stories that were never told.

Goodbye, Nick.

You mattered.

[luciemggio]

It’s a Love Story, Baby Just Say Yes

Pairing: 40’Bucky Barnes x f’reader

Setting: Brooklyn, New York, 1940, the story takes place before Bucky enlisted, then after he came back thanks to Steve from the Hydra base and also before he joined the Howling Commando and fell of the train.

Warnings: none

Summary: You fall for Bucky Barnes in the 1940s. Your parents forbid it, but you fight for your love. In the end, they give their blessing, and you marry Bucky on the beach — simple, free, and forever.

Author’s note: tell me if you want a part 2, where she is also captured by Hydra and in which they are reunited in modern world….I might do it !!

Here’s part 2 !!!!

The summer of 1942 in Brooklyn was honey-warm and full of promises that dared to bloom beneath the threat of war. The jazz clubs still played deep into the night, girls wore red lipstick like armor, and the boys—some barely men—talked of Europe and honor and the draft as if it were inevitable.

You weren’t supposed to fall in love with James Buchanan Barnes.

Not when your father was a high-ranking colonel in the U.S. Army, and certainly not when he was already eyeing you for a politically sound engagement with the son of another officer. One who wore polished shoes and spoke like ambition was something he breathed.

But then there was Bucky.

And Bucky looked at you like he’d been waiting for you his whole life.

It started on a June afternoon. You’d slipped away from the Navy Yard social to get some air. You hated those parties — the way everyone watched everyone, the way smiles were masks, and your father’s voice would always find you in the crowd, sharp and commanding:

“Don’t embarrass the family, sweetheart.”

You wandered too far and ended up in a nearby alley where the noise dulled to nothing and the only sound was the quiet click of your heels on the pavement. That’s when you saw him. A boy with a tilted cap, rolled-up sleeves, and a grin that could melt iron.

He was leaned against a brick wall, lighting a cigarette, and he caught your eye with a devilish sort of curiosity.

“Lost, sweetheart?” he asked, voice smooth as scotch.

“I could ask you the same,” you shot back, chin high.

His laugh was soft and easy. “Name’s Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”

“(Y/N) (L/N),” you replied, hesitating only a second before offering your hand.

He didn’t kiss it, but he looked at it like it was something sacred. The first moment you knew you were in trouble.

After that, you found reasons to escape the polished halls of privilege. You met him on rooftops and fire escapes, at soda shops and quiet bookstores. He told you about the guys he ran around with — Steve, mostly, a skinny kid with a heart too big for his chest — and you told him about the cage you lived in, all gilded and suffocating.

“I feel like a doll in a glass case,” you murmured once.

He didn’t laugh. He just looked at you with something tender and fierce all at once. “Then we’ll smash the glass.”

And oh, how he made you feel alive.

But secrets don’t stay secrets in Brooklyn for long.

It was your mother who found the note you wrote, slipped under your pillow: “Meet me under the bridge at 7. I’ll bring the strawberry milkshakes.”

The explosion that followed was quiet but cruel. Your father called Bucky a street rat, unfit, reckless. There were threats. You were grounded. You weren’t allowed to leave without a chaperone. Your letters were burned. Your windows locked.

And still, you found ways.

Bucky climbed up the drainpipe once just to see you. You laughed, cried, and kissed him through the screen.

“I’ll wait for you,” he whispered against your lips. “Even if you don’t come back.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s not a goodbye,” he said, brushing a tear from your cheek. “It’s a promise.”

But time has a cruel way of unraveling even the strongest threads.

War came faster than anyone thought. Pearl Harbor changed everything.

Bucky enlisted.

You found out in a letter. Not even from him — from Steve, written in clumsy type with careful phrasing. “He didn’t want you to worry,” it said. “He said if he saw your face, he might not be able to leave.”

You cried until your chest ached. And then you dried your tears and did what your mother always told you: “Smile and look lovely.”

But inside, you were a ghost.

Letters came for a time. Crumpled, stained with dust, and full of little nothings:

“They’ve got us in Italy now. The food’s terrible, but I met a guy who sells black market chocolate.”

“I saw a flower that looked like the one you put in your hair that night under the bridge.”

“I dreamt about you again. You were wearing that yellow dress and laughing like you weren’t afraid of anything.”

But then the letters stopped.

And your heart — what little was left — broke.

Two years passed.

The world changed.

Men didn’t come home. Or when they did, they weren’t the same.

You wore black longer than you needed to. You told yourself Bucky was gone. That he’d died like the others — brave and far too young. You said yes to a man you didn’t love, just to escape the weight of your father’s expectations.

The wedding with Charles Whitmore was scheduled for September.

But on a warm August night, you heard your name like a prayer.

You were walking home alone from the church — you’d forgotten your gloves. The street was quiet, the kind of quiet that makes the hairs on your arms rise.

And then:

“(Y/N)?”

You turned.

And there he was.

Tired. Leaner. Covered in the kind of weariness you couldn’t scrub away. But alive.

“Bucky…” you whispered, your breath catching.

He smiled, and it was the same crooked, dazzling thing you remembered. “You look just like I remembered. Better, even.”

You ran to him. It wasn’t graceful — it was desperate. Your arms flew around his neck and his around your waist, and the world spun sideways.

“I thought you were—”

“I almost was,” he murmured into your hair. “But I couldn’t die. Not without seeing you again.”

You kissed him like a starving thing.

And somewhere in the distance, a song played from a passing car:

“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone…”

You lay on a rooftop before going back to your house, curled up beside him under a thin army blanket. He told you everything. About the Howling Commandos. About Steve, who was gone. About the icy mountains and the pain and the darkness and the nightmares.

And you told him everything too.

Even about the ring.

He held your hand in the dark, tracing the empty skin of your finger. “You don’t have to marry him,” he said.

“My father—”

“I don’t care about your father.”

“I do,” you admitted. “But not enough to lose you again.”

He sat up then, heart in his eyes. “Then come with me. Run away. Right now.”

You blinked. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t have a castle, or money, or even a place to sleep tonight. But I love you. And I’m tired of pretending that’s not enough.”

Tears filled your eyes, blurring the stars. “So what now?”

He pulled something from his jacket pocket — a piece of twine, fashioned into a clumsy ring.

“I talked to your father,” he said suddenly, voice trembling. “Before I came here. I told him I loved you. That I’d marry you with nothing but the shoes on my feet.”

Your heart stuttered.

“What… what did he say?”

“He said no,” Bucky laughed quietly. “But I’m not asking anymore.”

He held out the twine ring.

“Marry me, (Y/N). Marry me and we’ll build a life they never saw coming.”

You laughed through your tears. “It’s a love story, Bucky Barnes…”

He grinned, eyes glittering.

“…and I said yes.”

The next morning

The sun had barely risen when your mother burst into your room. Your windows were open, the curtains fluttering in the soft breeze, and Bucky’s army jacket — creased, warm, and unmistakably masculine — was slung over the back of your vanity chair.

“(Y/N),” she gasped, horrified. “What in God’s name is this?”

You sat up in bed, dazed from sleep, blinking against the light. Then you saw her clutching the jacket in both hands like it was something filthy.

Your heart dropped. “Mama—”

“Don’t you ‘Mama’ me. Don’t lie. Don’t dare lie.” Her voice cracked. “He was here. Last night.”

There was no use denying it. The truth was already in the air, thick and humming.

“Yes,” you said softly. “He was.”

Your mother staggered back a step, hand on her chest. “You… you’ve been sneaking him in? Under our roof? You’ve—my God. Are you pregnant?”

“No!” You stood, clutching the blanket to your chest. “Mama, please listen—”

At that moment, your father entered, already halfway into his uniform, newspaper in hand, brows furrowed. “What’s all this noise—?”

“She’s been hiding him!” your mother snapped. “James Barnes! The soldier boy from the slums! In our home!”

Your father’s jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle twitch. “Is that true?”

You didn’t answer fast enough.

“I asked you a question,” he barked.

“Yes. He came back from the war. I—I didn’t know how to tell you.” Your voice trembled. “He’s alive, and I love him.”

“Love?” your father spat. “You think you love him.”

“I do love him.”

“He’s not your equal,” your mother said, voice cold now. “He has no education. No position. You were promised to Charles Whitmore—”

“I don’t love Charles!”

“Love is not the point!” your father shouted. “Marriage isn’t about love, it’s about survival. It’s about building a future. It’s about—”

“What future?” you snapped, stepping forward. “One where I host dinner parties and wear pearls and pretend not to notice when my husband cheats on me with his secretary?”

Your mother gasped.

“You’ll lower yourself,” your father said, quieter now. “You’ll destroy your reputation, and ours. Is that what you want?”

“I want to be happy,” you said, crying now. “For once. I want to wake up and choose the person next to me.”

“He’s a soldier. He won’t stay. They never do.”

“He came back for me!” you shouted. “When he could have run, when he could have disappeared — he came back.”

“Where is he now?” your father asked bitterly.

“Downstairs,” you said defiantly. “He was washing the breakfast dishes.”

Your father stormed down the stairs, boots thudding. You and your mother followed.

Bucky stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, hair damp, the soft morning light spilling across his face. He turned when he heard the steps — and stopped cold when he saw your father.

“Colonel,” Bucky said stiffly, drying his hands on a towel.

“You’ve got some nerve walking into my home.”

“I didn’t sneak in,” Bucky said, voice calm. “She let me in. We’ve been writing to each other for two years.”

“You were supposed to be dead.”

Bucky flinched — just slightly.

“I got lucky,” he said.

My father stepped closer, voice like a blade. “You want my daughter? You think playing the war hero makes you worthy of her?”

“No, sir,” Bucky said evenly. “I don’t think I’m worthy. But I love her anyway.”

Your mother scoffed. “This is absurd.”

“No, Mama,” you said. “It’s the only thing in my life that’s ever made sense.”

Your father turned to you. “If you leave with him, you’re disowned. You’ll have nothing.”

“I’d rather have nothing with him than everything without him,” you said.

A long silence followed.

Bucky stepped forward, voice low and shaking but firm. “Sir, I don’t come from much. I never have. I know how this looks to you. But I want to give her a good life. I want to earn your respect. If that means working my hands to the bone, I’ll do it. If it means asking for your blessing every day for the next ten years, I’ll do that too.”

Your father stared at him, unmoving.

“I fought for this country. I watched my friends die for it. I made it home, and I’m not leaving without her.”

Your father’s jaw worked, grinding against everything he’d been taught, every rule that had defined his life.

“She loves you,” he said finally. “I can see that. You’ve got guts, Barnes. I’ll give you that.”

He walked slowly toward Bucky.

“If you hurt her, I’ll put you back in the ground myself.”

Bucky nodded once, solemn. “Yes, sir.”

Then, to everyone’s astonishment, your father held out his hand.

“Welcome to the family.”

Coney Island – Early Spring, 1945

The beach was quiet that morning — the sea calm, the boardwalk nearly deserted. It was off-season, just after the war, before the tourists returned. The world was still catching its breath.

So were you.

The ceremony was set on the pale dunes, beneath an arch made of driftwood and wildflowers you’d picked yourself: baby’s breath, cornflowers, white roses tied with navy blue ribbon. No gold, no velvet, no chandeliers. Just sunlight, sand, and the scent of salt in the air.

The ocean lapped gently at the shore behind the altar. Gulls wheeled above. It was everything you’d hoped for — simple, honest, free.

You stood behind a weathered linen screen while your mother helped you fasten the last pearl button on your dress. Her eyes were wet, her hands a little shaky.

“You’re so much like your grandmother,” she whispered. “Stubborn. Wild. Beautiful.”

You turned to face her. “You’re not angry anymore?”

She smiled — really smiled. “No. I was afraid. But I see now… he makes you brave.”

You stepped forward and hugged her, letting yourself cry. You didn’t care if the mascara smudged.

Bucky stood at the front, barefoot in the sand, wearing a gray waistcoat with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled just enough to show the curve of his forearms. Steve stood beside him, tall and proud in a dark blue suit — a quiet best man, his smile soft with emotion.

Bucky’s hair was neatly combed, though the breeze kept ruffling it in that charming, boyish way. When he caught sight of you — finally — stepping out from behind the screen and onto the sand with your father at your side, he stopped breathing.

So did everyone else.

You walked slowly, the hem of your dress skimming the surf, veil fluttering behind you. The sunlight caught the delicate beads sewn into the bodice — ones you’d sewn yourself in the evenings after dinner — and made them sparkle like stars.

As you passed the rows of chairs, filled with only the people who mattered — your mother, teary but proud; your father, holding his wife’s hand tightly; Steve, beaming like he could burst — you felt weightless.

You reached Bucky, and he took your hand like it was instinct.

“Hi, doll,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly.

“You waited,” you whispered back.

“I always would.”

The officiant — a gentle-voiced priest who had baptized you as a baby — cleared his throat. His cassock flapped softly in the sea breeze.

“We are gathered here, not in a cathedral of grandeur, but in the cathedral of God’s greatest creation — nature. Before wind, water, and witness, we celebrate a vow, a promise of forever between two souls who refused to be parted.”

You and Bucky turned to face each other, hands linked, thumbs brushing together.

“James,” the priest said. “Do you take (Y/N) to be your wife — to love, protect, and cherish — in war and in peace, in sorrow and in joy, from now until your last breath?”

Bucky nodded, eyes locked on yours.

“I do. I swear it.”

The priest turned to you. “And (Y/N), do you take James to be your husband — to walk beside him, through every storm and sunrise, through doubt and through devotion, for as long as your soul may sing his name?”

Your voice shook.

“I do. With everything I am.”

[g5mlp]

The G5 series bible for My Little Pony: Make Your Mark, which Gillian Berrow created in 2021, has been shared online. The document contains detailed backstories and several ideas for the show that were previously not known. It was drafted on June 14, 2021, so some plans may have changed since then.

This post only contains some of the most interesting new details. The full 36-page document can be found here.

What Happened to Equestria

(according the the show bible)

From the comics we knew that Opaline attacked Equestria, but was stopped by Mane 6. To make sure that all the magic never again fell into the evil, Twilight gathered all magic and placed it into Unity Crystals. (This part of the story was previously revealed in the comics.)

From the series bible, we got new information about what happened to the crystals and the origins of Maretime Bay, Bridlewood and Zephyr Heights. The Mane 6 and Starlight become protectors of the unity crystals, and they had a Unity Festival every year to celebrate friendship and recharge the magic.

But as generations passed, ponies forgot the meaning of the Unity Festival and eventually magic fades away.

Opaline's Backstory and Skyros

Opaline was older then Celestia and Luna, but was livid when the alicorn leader, The Reine Alicorn, choose the young sisters to be the next rulers of Equestria.

Season 2, 3 plans and bat ponies or flutter ponies

The plan for season 2, 3 which would expand the G5 universe. The aurora ponies and sea ponies have been seen in the show and the idea of bat ponies and flutterponies were being considered.

There are several other interesting details in the series bibles, like the pegasi controlling weather magic after the magic got stronger, or how Dapple is initially named Bongo in this document, and the information about "new harmony trees", which became called "Together Trees" in Make Your Mark.

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 33 The Epilogue | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Some things never seem to change for Bradley. But maybe he worked at keeping them the same. Baseball, Everett and you.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

Seventeen and a half years later...

"Happy birthday, Coach," you whispered, slowly coaxing Bradley awake. He could feel your warm breath on his cheek and the weight of your hand resting on his chest. 

"Mmm, Kitten," he rasped, placing his bigger hand on top of yours as he cracked his eyes open. And there you were, fresh from sleep yourself, and so beautiful with the early morning sunlight catching on the angles of your face. "It's Sunday. Why won't you let me sleep in?"

"Because it's your birthday. And we get to see Ev."

Bradley stretched and rolled over so you were pinned deliciously underneath him. "We won't get to see Ev until later this afternoon. He's going to have a very busy day."

"I'm not so sure about that," you said with a smirk as you dragged your fingers through his hair. Bradley knew he was going gray, but you claimed you liked it, including the few stray strands that found their way into his mustache. 

"You sound like you've got something up your sleeve. Wait, Molly's not coming over to break the stove again, is she?"

You started laughing as you wrapped your legs around his. "Not that I know of. But anything's possible with her."

"Poor Bob," he said, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "And the kids, too. She's an absolute menace." 

Bradley pulled up your shirt and kissed his way along your breasts. If he was lucky, he'd get round one of birthday sex now and round two tonight after the game.

"Wait," he whined as you tugged your shirt back down. "What are you doing? It's my birthday."

"Yes," you agreed, kissing him once and then slipping right out of bed. "And I've been told I need to keep you on a very strict schedule. So come on. Get up."

"A strict schedule?" he mumbled. "Baby, I'm retired. My schedule revolves around making you breakfast, packing your lunch, coaching tee ball, and watching every single Phillies game."

"Well, I'll be making your breakfast today. And you can eat nachos or a hot dog for lunch even though you should be watching your sodium intake. And we will definitely catch the Phillies game," you said, reaching out to take his hand. 

With one more groan, he let you lead him downstairs where you told him to sit at the kitchen counter. He passed his display case on the way and paused to look at his first Coach of the Year trophy and the baseball covered in little faded hearts that he used to propose to you. He smiled at the collection of other baseballs, including the one from the first time his son pitched a no hitter. 

"Seriously, Bradley. We have a schedule to keep."

A few minutes later he had his World's Greatest Dad mug full of coffee in front of him. You kept checking the time as you pulled eggs and vegetables out of the refrigerator. Once 8:00 hit, you grabbed his phone from where it sat on the counter and entered his passcode as he sipped his coffee.

"Read this," you said, voice full of excitement. 

"What is it?" he asked as you thrust the phone into his hands. It looked like he was going to have absolutely no say over what went on today, so he was just going to go with the flow.

"An article. In the Philadelphia Inquirer. It just got released two minutes ago."

"Okay," he muttered, setting down his coffee and as he started to read.

WILL SEASON FOUR BE AS LUCKY AS ONE, TWO, AND THREE?

by Harrison Boyd

June 27, 2039

From his draft day nearly four years ago to now, Everett Bradshaw has been turning heads. We had collectively wondered as baseball fans from the City of Brotherly Love if we would ever have a truly elite pitcher again after Ronson's career ending injury. But as soon as the franchise acquired Bradshaw, we were allowed to stop wondering. We have reached elite status once again. And Bradshaw shows no signs of stopping. 

When I asked the freshly twenty five year old ace about the secret to his success, the first thing out of his mouth was, "My dad."

Bradley rubbed his eyes with his fingers and took a deep breath against the swell of emotions rising in his chest. "Kitten, what is this?"

You just shrugged as you cut up a green pepper for an omelette. "A feature article on Ev. Keep reading."

Bradley took a deep breath and picked up where he left off.

So I asked him, "Was your dad the one at your games who was cheering the loudest? The one who kept you motivated since you were a kid?"

"Not exactly," Bradshaw replied with a smile. "He was my very first coach. He actually still coaches tee ball in San Diego. He wins Coach of the Year so frequently, I think we've all lost count of how many of those little trophies he has at home. But anyway, I met my dad on the very first day I ever played ball. The very first time I swung a bat with instruction was from him. And he's the one who taught me how to pitch. His slider is still really hard to hit."

"You met your dad through tee ball? Through baseball? That's fascinating."

"Yes. I begged my mom to let me play. I was already obsessed with the Phillies by the time I was six. My mom took me to see them clobber the Padres at Petco Park, and I just thought they were the coolest team. So when she let me play tee ball, and I met my coach and learned he also loved the Phillies, I just wanted to spend as much time with him as I could. Turns out, they also wanted to spend time with each other. They got married a few months later. And then my dad adopted me."

While his birth name wasn't Bradshaw, Everett said he never had a close relationship with his biological father. "Really, he's not even worth mentioning. The only one I've ever considered to be my dad is Bradley. I can barely remember a time before he was taking me to the park to hit balls and teaching me how to keep stats. We did my homework together and collected baseball cards. He helped me apply to colleges. The video of him losing his mind when the Phillies drafted me went viral. My mom and my aunt and uncle are awesome, too. But my dad has always understood me in a way probably nobody else ever will."

During his four years at Vanderbilt, Everett earned a reputation as a fun loving, team oriented pitcher. But his stats were enough to catch the eye of every major league team. He pitched a no hitter against Stanford when he was nineteen, and he hit his first grand slam when he was twenty. And he's only cleaned up his form since then. For anyone not keeping track at home, Bradshaw already owns an incredible record in the MLB: he is the only player to pitch a no hitter as well as hit at least one grand slam for every year they played in the pros. His batting averages are practically unheard of for a pitcher. 

It's no wonder he was heavily scouted. And he assures us that his dad was there with him every step of the way. "I didn't know anything about contracts. I just wanted to pitch. But I spent a lot of time talking things through with my dad before I made any decisions. And now everyone is making a huge fuss about my new 440 million dollar ten year extension with the Phils, but to be honest, I still just want to pitch as many games as I can."

The 'huge fuss' is being made, because Bradshaw is now the highest paid pitcher in league history. The Phillies went all in on him, however Bradshaw did adjust his deal to assure that the team would be able to keep top catcher Sanchez as well. "If Miguel Sanchez isn't catching for me and the other guys in the rotation, then that's a big problem. The team needed to retain him as well. And to be honest, Harrison, nobody needs 440 million dollars."

Bradley set his phone down, rubbed his eyes, and said, "I still can't believe our son is the highest paid pitcher ever."

"I can," you replied, adding cheese to the omelette. "He's incredible. Keep reading."

When I asked him what he plans to do with 44 million dollars per year, he kind of shied away from the answer at first. "Well my girlfriend runs a nonprofit organization back in San Diego. She helps fund underprivileged children and schools. So a lot of my income goes back to kids in the city where I grew up and beyond. But I've also been working on a bit of a project myself."

When I asked him for more details, he folded his hands on the table in front of him and took a few beats to answer. "We talked a lot about my dad and what he means to me personally, and how he has impacted my career. But I also think it's important to remember that I'm just one guy. I'm just one kid who went through tee ball and little league. There are thousands of kids across the country who benefit from those types of athletic programs every year. And some of them, just like me, really need the positive influence that the coaches bring. So my dad doesn't even know about this yet, but I'm starting the Bradley Bradshaw Foundation, which will help fund a handful of youth tee ball programs every year. This is something I've been thinking about for a long time. The coaches bring the love and dedication; they shouldn't have to worry about equipment costs and field rental fees."

Bradley dropped his phone onto the counter and tried to wipe his eyes as he sobbed. "I can't even finish reading it."

You slid his birthday breakfast onto a plate and set it in front of him. Then you wrapped your arms around his neck and let him cry against your shoulder. 

"Why is he doing this?" Bradley asked you. "He knows how fucking emotional I get, Kitten."

You kissed the top of his head and whispered, "Yes, you're always very soft for us. But you're also soft and sweet for all the kids you've coached. Keep reading."

So he pushed his breakfast aside and picked up his phone once again. And once he blinked away most of his tears he read the last part.

When pressed about how he thinks his stats will pan out by the end of his fourth season, Everett 'Grand Slam' Bradshaw laughed and shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just trying for consistency. I'm trying to be a good teammate. I'm trying to make the best of every game I get to start. I'm trying to spend as much time with my family as I can. But if you really have a specific question about my stats, you should call my dad. He probably knows better than I do."

Bradley stood up from the kitchen counter and walked away from you. "I need a minute," he said, raking his hands through his hair. The love Bradley felt for his son was just simply part of him. He never took the time to try to pinpoint it exactly, because it was just built into him at this point. But he supposed it really was quite simple to reach back in his mind and pull out the moments when he started to fall in love with you and Everett. And it really was just because of the Tiny Eagles tee ball team. 

If he hadn't agreed to help Bob coach that first season, his life would be fundamentally incorrect right now. He didn't even like thinking about it. But it was because of his love for Everett, and you, and baseball that he stuck with coaching. He'd spent time with countless six and seven year olds over the last eighteen years. He'd missed some practices and games for deployments here and there, sure. But giving a little bit of his time and attention to a roster of kids each spring ended up changing his life. Because while his family owned his heart, Bradley found he had quite a lot of patience and love to share with more kids. 

"Bradley?" you asked softly, standing next to his untouched breakfast. "We can go see Ev when you're ready."

"I'm ready."

Bradley took a quick shower and put on his favorite jeans and his Phillies jersey with Bradshaw and the number 1 on the back. You were dressed similarly in your own Everett Bradshaw jersey; it had taken until your son was playing for the team for you to have what Bradley considered an adequate amount of Phillies clothing in your drawers. Once Bradley added his backwards hat, he was ready to go.

You took his hand and led him out to the new Bronco, and Bradley handed you the keys. He still felt like he was on the verge of tears again. "I need you to drive."

"Okay, Coach."

When you turned onto the Private Parking Only ramp at Petco Park, Bradley chuckled. "I still can't believe Ev is playing the Padres in San Diego on my birthday."

"You screamed like a small child when the schedule came out," you reminded him as you parked near the players entrance where the three of you had entered on your ballpark tour eighteen years ago. 

"Yeah, I know, but we hardly ever get to see Ev during the season unless we fly to Philly." He was already climbing out before you turned the engine off, and then he took your hand as you laughed. "Shit, Kitten... it's 10:00. The game doesn't start until 1:00. Are the gates even open?"

"We can get in," you assured him, and you pulled a lanyard out of your pocket with VIP printed all over it. 

"How did we get that?" he asked, leaning down to kiss you as you approached the gate together. "Ev usually just sends us box tickets."

But before you had a chance to answer, the security guard looked at the VIP pass and asked, "Which player are you here to see?"

"Everett Bradshaw?" you replied. "He plays for the Phillies."

The guard's face lit up and he said, "He just autographed a ball for my kids about ten minutes ago! Nicest guy."

"He's our son," Bradley said with pride in his voice, and you squeezed his hand a little tighter. 

"Come on in," the guard said with a bright smile, unlocking the gate and sliding it open. "You can wait in the VIP lounge right up this ramp to the right. Scan the pass to unlock the door. I'll call down to the locker rooms and let him know you're here."

"Thanks," Bradley replied, and you led the way up the ramp. "Baby, I'm still a little confused about why we're here so early."

"You'll see in a minute," you replied, scanning the badge. Bradley pulled the door open when it unlocked, and he followed you into the lounge full of plush seats, TV screens, and refreshments. And at the far end, perched on the edge of one of the long tables, was Everett. He was smiling as he tucked his phone in his jeans pocket, and Bradley thought he looked impossibly taller and stronger than he had two months ago when they visited him in Philadelphia.

Bradley's eyes filled with tears as he started closing the distance to his son. "Happy birthday, Dad," Everett said with a laugh in his deep voice, but Bradley was already wrapping him up in a tight hug. He just wanted to hold all six foot two inches and two hundred and twenty pounds of his son, and Everett let him. 

Bradley had to fight the onslaught of tears as the familiar feel of Ev hugging him back filled his senses, and the words from the article he read earlier flooded his mind. When he finally released him, he patted him on the shoulder. "You look good, Kiddo. Did you eat enough for breakfast? Are you still starting today?"

Ev smiled at him and nodded, "Yeah, I'm feeling good, Dad. I could probably use some of your pancakes though."

"Well why didn't you say something? I could have brought some with us. Kitten, why didn't you say something?" he asked you as you walked over to join them.

As Everett gave you an enormous hug as well, he said, "I'm thinking about sleeping over at the house with you guys tonight, since I'm not starting tomorrow. You can make me about a dozen pancakes tomorrow morning. Hi, mom."

You kissed his cheek and adjusted his backward Phillies cap. "I like your hair this way. You look so handsome, Ev.

"Of course he does," Bradley agreed. "He looks like you." And then he was rewarded with the twin smiles that you and Everett bestowed on him at the same time. "Listen, if you're coming back to the house later, I need to stop and get groceries. You ate everything in the refrigerator and drank all my beer last time."

Everett just smiled at him. "Damn, I really do miss your pancakes."

"Ev, that's an adult word," you scolded.

"Mom. I am an adult," he scolded back playfully. But he was grinning when he turned toward Bradley. "Did mom make you read the article this morning? From the Inquirer?" 

"Yeah," he whispered, nodding his head. "You didn't need to do that for me, Kiddo. But thank you."

His throat was tight with unshed tears as Everett gave him another hug. "I didn't do it just for you. I did it for the other coaches and kids, too. You were just my main inspiration. You always are, dad."

"Please, Ev," he said, sucking in a deep breath as he rubbed his son's back before releasing him. "I might never stop crying."

And he was once again met with Everett's smile and yours. "You're a softie, Coach," you told him, cupping his chin in your hand and kissing him.

"Always for the two of you." Bradley kissed your fingers and then laced them with his as he looked around the room. "How much longer can you hang out with us, Ev? You need to warm up soon?"

"Pretty soon," he replied. "I'll walk you up to the box to meet Aunt Molly and Uncle Bob and the cousins, but we need to stop and take care of something first."

"Take care of what?" Bradley asked, but Ev was already heading for the door past the tables and unlocking it with his own badge. Hand in hand, the two of you followed your son down a long hallway that ended near the locker rooms at a door that said PRESS AND PLAYERS ONLY. "Are we even allowed back here?"

"Well," Everett said, stopping in front of the door, "if you remember the tour we took when I was six years old, this is where we met some of the players."

"Of course I remember," Bradley said, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "That was one of the best days of my life. I told your mom I loved her that day."

"He did," you confirmed for Everett.

"You two have always been sickening," Everett replied with a smile. "But yes, we're allowed in here. Actually dad, you're the man of the hour."

"Man of the hour?" he asked. "Kiddo, you're the star pitcher. It's just my fifty-fifth birthday." 

But as soon as Everett pushed the door open and Bradley stepped inside, about twenty reporters and photographers started buzzing with excitement. 

"Ev, I'm still confused," Bradley said as his son rested a hand on his shoulder. He watched you smile and head to an empty seat at the back of the room. "What's going on?"

Ev rubbed his shoulder before giving him another hug and releasing him. "Every interviewer asks me how I became successful. And my answer is always the same. It's because of you, Dad."

"Ev," Bradley choked out, his throat tight with tears once again.

"So you're in high demand, Coach. I told a few media outlets we would give an interview together. Nothing too crazy. As long as you want to."

Bradley glanced around the room, and as soon as he found you with a bright smile on your face, he said, "Okay."

So he sat down where the players sit, and Everett took the seat next to him. They had on matching jerseys and backward caps, and it didn't matter that he adopted Everett, this had always been his son. They were cut from the same cloth. They understood each other. They were a family. 

Everett cleared his throat and announced, "Hey, everyone. This is my dad and my very first coach, retired naval Captain Bradley Bradshaw. He taught me literally everything I know about baseball. Everything I know about anything, really. He showed me how to pitch sliders and curveballs at Myers Park here in San Diego. He made sure I could lose a game with the same attitude as when I won a game. He and I met the first day I ever played tee ball and the very first day he ever coached. And he's been coaching the Tiny Eagles ever since. So I guess if you want to know more about me, then he's the man to talk to."

Bradley was still wiping tears from his eyes when the first interviewer raised her hand, smiled at him, and asked, "Can you tell us how proud you are of Everett?"

He turned to look at his son and smiled. "How much time do I have?"

------------------------------

Well, that's it! The tale of Coach Bradley! I can't thank you enough to everyone who has been lovely to me as I worked on and posted this fic. I can't get enough of these three. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32 (and thanks for the banner, Mak!)

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

Still want more? Read Draft Day!

@swthxrry

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[cheesycatz]

THE ENTIRETY OF THE WORMTON FIC IS DRAFTED! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! Sooooo, what does that mean? I'm currently revising every chapter, leaving notes for things I want to change, move, or add, and deleting what I'm no longer happy with. I'm hoping to finish by the end of the month. After that, I have to, y'know, actually write the thing. I plan to release chapter 1 and the prologue together. I have no idea how long each chapter will take, but considering the length of each chapter and how long these updates take me, a month between chapters is likely realistic. We'll just have to wait and see.

In fact, June 5th could be a reasonable release date for the first chapter! I’m sure you don’t have any other plans that day… /j I guess

As far as actual content goes, I was having fun with the last two chapters. Most of the fic is from Spamton’s and Blue’s perspectives, but I thought it would be sweet to have one chapter from each of the addisons for the finale, each telling him that they love him in different ways, and for Spamton to take the last chapter and finally say “I love you” back. The word “love” and the weight associated with it is brought up many times throughout the story, and I’d thought it would be a good way to end it. Spamton’s life and mental health isn’t perfect by the last chapter, but the realization that he is unconditionally loved promises a bright future for him. YIPPEE found-family!!! There’s still some angst, but it’s mostly fluff now.

Because of Spamton's love of nature in this fic, I thought it would be nice if he learned to care for his own plant. As one does, I looked up flower language to find a suitable plant for him, focusing specifically on resilience, as I'd argue that's Spamton's most defining strength (this guy has been homeless for 20 years, somehow horrifically transformed into a puppet, lost everything he had, everyone hates or doesn't remember him, and was promised by the universe that he would never amount to anything but a broken toy to be discarded, and still gets out of bed everyday to pursue his goal. This man is DETERMINED). Anyways, I saw dandelions on the list as a sign of resilience, renewal, and new life, and it's the perfect flower for him. A flower that can spread at such a fast rate it's seen as a useless weed more than anything else. Yet, year after year, they persist. A field completely filled with dandelions is still a flower field, and just as beautiful if you'd give it the chance. Why the hell would someone be selling dandelions in a flower shop? Uh…they don't grow naturally in Cyber World, so maybe they'd be sold there, and the store owner didn't want to throw them away after moving to Castle Town or something… JUST LET ME HAVE THIS

Revisions are fun! Most of the changes involve Spamton's character, as I've gotten a better grasp on him over the years. Despite his drastically different biology and backstory, Wormton is meant to be as close to homeless-era Spamton as possible personality wise, and I hope I can do him justice. Overall, I've revised him to be a lot more mysterious and antagonistic. He hates addisons, and only stuck with Blue because they were easy to use. He's never been treated like a person before, and it takes him a while to come to terms with the fact that the addisons like him and he likes them back. He tries to express it too late, and it's no wonder they ran the moment they discovered the Worm In The Apple™.

One thing I’ve pondered for a while is whether Spamton will remain the only BIGSHOT malworm in existence. I’ve left it ambiguous in the fic, but I’d love for him to raise some hatchlings. His life with the addisons is infinitely better than his old life, but they’re not malworms. They can’t speak his native language, can’t hunt and eat prey together, can’t accommodate for a malworm’s near constant need for the presence of others. I think it would be the happiest ending, but that could be an entire fic on its own, especially since Queen was barely convinced to let even one malworm stay alive. I'd like to at least get something out before the heat death of the universe, so you'll just have to picture Wormton with a dozen identical clones of himself crawling after him.

I WANNA RELEASE SOMETHING SO BAAAAAAD

You know who’s excited for the fic to release? Me! I wanna read comments! I want to inspire people! I want you to cry over a bunch of advertisements and a piece of 90’s spyware! I want the thing I’ve spent 2.5 years on to finally see the light of day! I want the Spamton-shaped worms eating my brain to shut up!

[sitp-recs]

Hi Liv, I loved the hidden gem list that you did in the past. I discovered so many new authors thanks to you. I love going back to my all time favourite authors but I also love discovering new ones. Would you or any of your followers have any hidden gems recs ? Could be long or short fics. Thank youuuu

I’m so happy to hear that! The hidden gems series is very dear to my heart and probably my favorite project. I started a s2 back in 2022 and have a few lists saved in my drafts, maybe I will revisit them in the new year… we’ll see! I found some additional rec posts that might interest you here, here and here. I haven’t read much this year, but if you’re looking for new-ish works I’d highly recommend the fics below, and also my reclist for the h/c fest. I’m sure my followers have more recs. Enjoy! 💜

Train Song by @fw00shy (T, 1.2k)

"Imagine: An extended summer vacation," Ginny said when she first pitched the trip to the group. "Fine," Hermione said after only a moment's hesitation, to which everyone cheered, because everyone knew she was the only one who could figure out how to make the Hogwarts Express fly.

All I Think About by @skeptiquewrites (T, 4.5k)

Sometimes all it takes is one perfect late summer night in June.

mind the gap by @cavendishbutterfly (E, 5k) - MCD

The first time Draco died was by far the worst. Once Potter started living with him, it got better.

everything you should say by icarusinflight (E, 7.5k)

They're not friends. But when Draco offers help, Harry takes it.

Tarry, Tarry, Wait For Me by @toomuchplor (E, 8.5k)

"I can't ask it of you," Draco says, quick and awkward, "I just thought you should know, I thought you needed to know, but none of this is your fault."

Seasons by @greattemptation (E, 9k)

Seconds pass, and it’s like he can see Draco worrying the sliver of glass in his heart, looking for a way to press it out, to expose the wound to the sun. It’s life; Harry can be patient.

Necro-romance by @thehoneybeet (E, 9k)

The first time Draco kills Potter, it's by accident.

like a scratch on the roof of your mouth by @eleadore (E, 9k)

Two weeks into the new year, Draco Malfoy saves Ron's life in a spectacular fashion.

coyote ugly by @garagepaperback (E, 10k)

One night, every month, Harry is a coyote. Malfoy has a silver tooth. Sometimes, he cuts Harry’s hair.

draco malfoy's substitute murder service by @oknowkiss (E, 10k)

When Harry joins the Curse Breakers shortly after his twenty-fifth birthday, he’s surprised to find himself assigned to the Department of Creatures, Cryptids, and Associated Calamities.

When the Flood Comes by @academicdisasterfic (E, 10k)

Nine years on from the war, Auror Potter is upholding the Ministry of Magic's rule of law. Senior legal counsel Draco Malfoy is challenging it.

Wobble Week 2023 by @moonflower-rose (E, 12k)

Potter can't keep his hands off himself. Draco can't look away.

With Hands Full of Dusk by @corvuscrowned (E, 15k)

Harry thought he'd found what he was searching for after the war. But as the quiet life he's earned begins to unravel at the seams, he finds himself searching instead for an elusive, mythical creature found only in lore and legend - with none other than Draco Malfoy as his companion.

Rich Friend by @sorrybutblog (E, 18k)

As far as Harry can tell, Draco Malfoy is still rich as hell. He’s just not a wizard anymore. Featuring: Draco Malfoy trying to make it as a Muggle pop star, Harry Potter as our confused and horny hero, bad driving, good music, and the mysterious magic of falling for someone.

Waking Up Slow by @sweet-s0rr0w, @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 22k)

'Twas the night before Christmas, although it’s July / Draco’s a shopkeeper, no-one knows why / There’s hiking and witch caves, freak snowfalls and more / Bad Christmas jumpers, nosy neighbours galore / Narcissa’s here too, but… something’s amiss / And what’s in those chocolates that’s making them kiss?

Sun Thief by BlackRose532, @floydig (E, 28k)

Or: Harry beats up a pimp and isn’t sorry about it, Draco deals black market potions, and they’re shagging. Again.

Truth to Materials by lately, @toomuchplor (E, 54k)

In which Harry learns to appreciate art and other pleasures of the flesh.

[wingzie]

Home - Mi Casa

On 20th December, my flat flooded. This was due to a fault in the flat above, which caused water from their boiler to vastly flow into my flat. This happened for about six hours until someone came to fix the problem. The only way I can describe it is like watching a waterfall of warm water cascade across my entire flat. It will probably come to no surprise that, after the event was over, my flat was deemed unlivable due to the water damage. I have since also had to throw out most of my furniture and belongings. After having a somewhat stressful Christmas at my Mother’s, I came back knowing that I was effectively homeless and I have been living at a hotel for over a month now. My current stay is until the end of March, but I have been warned that the work in my flat might take up to June to complete. Which is somewhat poetic, if it will take that long. All of this has got me thinking about one thing though: What classes as a home? I have mentioned before how, due to my parents work, my childhood involved moving location every couple of years. I thought this was “the norm” and just went along with it. Even when my parents divorced. When my Mother wanted to move closer to her own family, she asked if I wanted to move to somewhere near her. Or stay closer to work. I chose the later option and found a lovely place to rent near work. Where I had just been promoted at the time. Things were going well and I wanted to use this opprtunity to start my own life.

Lockdown happened shortly afterwards, so I missed a big chunk of getting to know the area and the local people. However, I made up for it later on with community work and have since made some amazing friends. These include army and non army and this is where I consider myself very lucky. Though I am still having nightmares and my mental health isn’t the greatest right now, the kindness of people around me since the flood has been incredible. 

I have several colleagues who fight over who will do my washing or bring me meals. Some friends have invited me to their houses. The belongings which survived are scattered around different houses in storage. People often check in on me. And I try to do what I can in return to thank them. It’s a big part of what makes a community a community. And thus what makes the community a secure part of a home. It keeps things going even if one falls down or needs support.

In terms of BTS, we have seen Yoongi be afraid of moving in the past. Jungkook mentioned the members being back together in BV4. How the members congregated together during ITS or at hotels whilst on tour. No matter where they go or no matter how long apart, they make it work or lift each other up. The same goes for their group chat too or hearing each other's voices on the phone. As long as they are together, they are able to keep going as a team. And in part of that, I am also very grateful that Jimin and Jungkook have each other right now. 

Not being in your physical home throws you completely off balance, but knowing you have that connection with others and the love around it goes a long way. And that is what makes a home. Note: I know this is very different than what I normally post, but I have had this in my drafts for a while and decided I might aswel share it. Talking about how traumatic the last month has been is somewhat helpful to and I would like to thank everyone who has reached out, offered helped or been so understanding about my lack of post schedule. Much Love, Becca xx

[which-item-poll-archive]

Archiving Which-Item-Poll

Submissions are now open. Please see more details here

Trigger tag list - at the moment outlines NSFW tags but will cover other tags soonish

Tag directory - A key to the tags I use as well as ways to browse by category or the month the poll was originally posted.

Please follow @pick-an-item-poll as they're continuing to post polls where you choose an item

If you want to follow the original blog's new poll blog, it's @hear-me-out-poll

What is this blog?

Basically I'm trying to (manually) reblog everything from their blog to this blog to create a more permanent archive once which-item-poll deactivates the original blog. I'm doing this because tumblr's search functions are notoriously useless for finding specific posts and many posts get entirely lost without a blog's archive page. Additionally, this preserves the tags that contain the information about the items, most notably the websites where they can/could be found.

Once the archive is complete and posted, we'll see where this goes from there.

@which-item-poll if you want me to delete a specific post or a couple that I re-blogged from you please ask me and I will. (Even after you've deleted the blog, since I know your main)

About the Archivist

You can call me Arc (not my name, but it works for now), I'm non-binary and my pronouns are she/they! I'm not the original owner of which-item-poll. I'm typically slow to respond to messages, but will take any suggestions into consideration even if I haven't responded to you yet.

Archive progress

Currently in the queue:

Nothing!

January 2025

Completed Months:

*January, *February, *March, *April, *May, June, *July, *August, *September,*October, *November and *December 2024

*January 2025

(* these months still need their category tags reviewed and possibly edited)

Needs to be queued/drafted:

Anything posted by OP before they deactivate.

Updates

Everything from the original blog as of 18 January 2025 EST has been posted! Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoyed the throwbacks.

I still need to adjust the category tags I added to posts for browsing to make sure that they're all accurate, but other than that the archiving is essentially complete.

So now that the archiving stage is completed, I'm going to potentially create a new version of the pinned/introduction post later on. The focus will be on correcting those tags and finalising the tag directory rather than a new intro post.

Submissions for new polls are now open. If thats the kind of thing you're interested in, see more details here.

Previous updates under the cut

Update: My autotagger wasn't working, which I found out about 1200 posts into this. Currently working on restoring tags to the posts already reblogged. I've managed to fix my autotagger but I had to clear the queue and drafts. (I didn't want to do it... but must to preserve my sanity.... and more importantly my wrist) Once I've got the tags back on the January posts (manually) I'll be able to fill the queue and drafts back up with the original tags intact.

Update: Everything that was posted had the tags added back on. Resuming queuing posts (and I've confirmed that the autotagger is copying the tags). Starting the queue again since there's enough in there to run while I sleep.

Update: I have been misspelling February in all of my tags. I will fix this and continue to fix this as they get posted from the queue.

Update: All the miss-spelt tags have been corrected

Update: I made the pinned post nicer to read! I also added some information.

Update 15/12/24 EST: If I run the queue at 50 posts a day, it will take 45 days to post everything from the original blog to this blog.

19/12/24 7pm EST - Taking a very short break from working on the archive as I have my final assignment due for a university course due tonight. (in about 10 hours in my local time). I should be back to doing stuff with it tomorrow. :)

Update 21/12/24: I'm back to it and working on adding tags to posts before making a directory again. For now, All current archival posts and ones that are in the queue now have the tag #which-item-poll-archive

Update: I have lost my draft about new submissions somewhere :(

Since it was a majority yes vote on the survey about new polls, I'm currently considering how I'd go about doing that.

NSFW items are on their way to the top of the queue. Here's a post about the tags to block if you don't wanna see them! :)

The tag directory is completed! It can be found at the top of this post! There's also a new survey about it. Is it too long?

I'm also going to try and post some things manually to get that time down, but can't guarantee that I can do this a lot due to things happening IRL.

Needs to be queued/drafted:

Any posts remaining in which-item-poll's queue or any other post made between time of update (4:47am on the 15th of December EST) and when OP decides to deactivate the blog.

Pretty close to queuing everything now. Going to include some of the repeat posts from the month of December that were meant to let people know the blog was deactivating ect. But I'm not going to include every single reblog of them. Just for the sake of slightly smoother browsing whilst still backing up the posts.

I found my draft about opening submissions :) Now I just need to edit it so it's coherent.

I've finished queuing and drafting existing posts and are now waiting to archive any future posts between now and when the blog is deactivated.

Everything is now in the queue!

17/01/25 EST - Days left until completed archive: 3 days at 50 posts a day.

The tag directory is completed! It can be found at the top of this post! Since it was a majority vote to not change it, I'm going to leave it as is for now. I'll run another survey on if it's too long once I've pretty much completed it.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Some History of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

Brandon and I have played a lot of TTRPGs, from nearly every edition of Dungeons & Dragons to half-finished playtests of things you’ve never heard of. Our history with TTRPGs is a love story, but one pockmarked with frustration. We found ourselves enjoying D&D 3.5’s vast character creation options, but wishing it focused more on  grounded characters and historically informed combat; being drawn in by Call of Cthulhu’s horror and existential dread, but disappointed in its investigation mechanics for actually getting the investigators to those moments of horrifying revelation; being intrigued by Monster of the Week’s juxtaposition of both normal and supernatural PCs (for horror and/or comedy), but finding its lack of character options and reliance on genre tropes a hindrance; being unable to find anything that would be good for a S.T.A.L.K.E.R. inspired TTRPG campaign. We eventually found the OSR movement and AD&D1e and 2e to be far closer to what we wanted on the medieval fantasy front, but we still had nothing on the modern horror or urban fantasy front, and Shadowrun is… Shadowrun.

So, with around 20 years of TTRPG experience between us, we set out to make the game we wanted a reality.

The story of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy’s creation really starts in late 2021, when Brandon asked me to help playtest a very early rough draft of an investigative horror game he thought up. Living isolated, impoverished, and unable to find work in England at the time, I readily agreed. Noticing that the game didn’t have a combat system and desperate to set my mind to something constructive in between tedious job applications, I offered to write a combat system for it. I soon had to use the last of my money to move back home to Louisiana where I eventually did find work despite a variety of health issues, and continued to work on Eureka as a system for our personal use.

As 2023 drew near, it became clear that my current job wasn’t going to be a permanent career, and I needed a fall back plan. Work towards making Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy a professional release began in earnest, with Brandon and I founding A.N.I.M. a few months later. It was initially set to go to Kickstarter in April of 2023, then May, then June, but each time we realized it just wasn’t ready. No one had ever heard of us, and we wanted to break into an industry and customer base increasingly financially hostile to any TTRPG that wasn’t D&D5e compatible. We needed to build an audience, and build a greater appreciation for independent and small-budget TTRPGs within the community at large.

Thanks to some assistance from one of the team members from Tuesday Knight Games (makers of Motherhship), the first beta copies went public in September of 2023 to a splash of instant (relative) success, and the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club was founded on Discord two months later, a community dedicated to buying, playing, and analyzing less well-known TTRPGs - which includes almost everything except Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition.

Ash became friends with us through the book club, and after offering an increasing amount of assistance, joined the team proper in January of 2024, adding much needed copy-editing skills as well as another 15 years cumulative TTRPG experience.

The Kickstarter campaign for Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy launched on April 10th, 2024, was fully funded within 3 hours, and by the end of the campaign had reached a total of $15,455, 486% of the goal. That is where we are at now, working every day to put the finishing touches on the game and complete the stretch goals to the best of our ability before our tentative deadline of January 2025.

This is a far more ambitious project than a super-small team like ours should have attempted for our debut game, but with a mix of talent, luck, skill, and a whole lot of help, we have somehow managed to pull it off. We think the resulting game is a deep, robust, professional-quality TTRPG that provides a one-stop shop and extensive toolbox for any investigative or mystery game you’d like to run. A dark and moody noir, a classical British whodunnit, the lighthearted sleuthing hijinks of Scooby-Doo, Eureka does it all.  (You can also get the latest PDF for FREE for a limited time by joining the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club!)

Elegantly designed and thoroughly playtested, Eureka represents the culmination of three years of near-daily work from our team, as well as a lot of our own money. If you’re just now reading this and learning about Eureka for the first time, you missed the crowdfunding window unfortunately, but our Kickstarter page is still the best place to learn more about what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually is, as that is where we have all the fancy art assets, the animated trailer, links to video reviews by podcasts and youtubers, and where we post regular updates on the status of our progress finishing the game and getting it ready for final release.

Beta Copies through the Patreon

If you want more than just status updates, going forward you can download regularly updated playable beta versions of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy and it’s adventure modules by subscribing to our Patreon at the $5 tier or higher. Subscribing to our patreon also grants you access to our patreon discord server where you can talk to us directly and offer valuable feedback on our progress and projects.

The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club

If you would like to meet the A.N.I.M. team and even have a chance to play Eureka with us, you can join the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club discord server. It’s also just a great place to talk and discuss TTRPGs, so there is no schedule obligation, but the main purpose of it is to nominate, vote on, then read, discuss, and play different indie TTRPGs. We put playgroups together based on scheduling compatibility, so it’s all extremely flexible. This is a free discord server, separate from our patreon exclusive one. https://discord.gg/7jdP8FBPes

Other Stuff

We also have a ko-fi and merchandise if you just wanna give us more money for any reason.