#I’m not very good at tagging my posts but I’m doing my level best

[this-must-be-the-tourney]

Testing, Testing…

Is This The Place?

Welcome to This Must Be the Tourney, the latest (and this pollmaker’a debut) entry in the field of increasingly specific Tumblr gimmick brackets.

Our competitors, you ask? None other than the different covers of Talking Heads’ 1983 Classic, “This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)” - Because goddamn, there are a lot of them! Maybe even enough to give someone the crazy idea of making them fight to the death!

Rules are the same single elimination bracket you’re used to, with one minor twist: The Talking Heads’ original 1983 studio and 1986 live versions of the song will not be included in the primary bracket. Instead, they will both be given byes all the way to the semifinals, where the victors of the main bracket will finally get to face off with the versions that started it all!

Participant Conditions are just what you’d expect: If it’s a version of the Talking Heads’ This Must Be The Place, it’s eligible for entry - Although the pollmaker will be doing their level best to make include only one entry per band. Other than that, knock yourselves out - Live performance, studio performance, street performance, shittiest mic you’ve ever heard performance - If they’ve got a place, this must be it.

Entries Are Now: OPEN.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You've had a crush on your best friend for years, but you're slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: please enjoy the first chapter!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“No, no, not the pink, red,” you cup your hand over your ear pod, “exactly what it says on the order sheet.” 

Were anyone to see you, sitting in the dirt, with a brush in hand, all alone, they might think you’re a bit out there. You, talking to the air, dusting off a clump of soil, orchestrating your own voice with the bristles. You dip your head as you focus on what the voice in your ear is saying. 

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” you argue, “I put in the order weeks ago. A red bow. I have the receipt– I mean sure, pink or red doesn’t matter to me but it’s not my birthday.” 

“We’ll see what we can do,” the woman relents. It’s not exactly a triumph but as close to as you can hope. If it’s pink, you’ll just have to take the fall. The damn fondant will be devoured by the night’s end anyhow. 

You hang up with a double tap on the ear pod and your playlist resumes. You go back to trying to uncover the shape caked in layers of muck, turning the brush to chip away the rougher bits with the pointed tip. The work is tedious but it has to be. You can’t risk damaging the relic nestled inside. 

The abrupt chiming of your ringtone once more sounds through the bluetooth earpiece. You huff and hit the pod with the heel of your hand. You greet the call with only your name. 

“Are you still on site?” Your boss, Arturo asks. 

“Yep, still here,” you still your hand and twist your arm, pulling back the end of your glove to see your watch, “just a bit longer. You know I have that thing tonight.” 

“Uh, yes, I recall,” he says dully as you hear paper shuffling, “you got time to chat?” 

“Sure,” you keep the cluster of dirt and the brush in one hand and use your other to push yourself to your feet, “I just gotta catalogue this before I finish the day.” 

“Well, I have good news and bad news,” he begins as you carefully walk between the cordoned off patches. The whole place is a maze of where and where not to step. You go into the tent and put down the half uncovered idol. It’s brittle, made of hide and yew, with a bit of bone. “Lucia is pregnant.” 

“Oh? That’s great,” you furrow your brow, wondering what that has to do with you. 

“Means she can’t travel for a while. She’s adverse to long term commitments at the moment so…” 

“So…” you trail off as you label the mound of dirt and make notes for the next day. 

“So, you want her assignment?” 

“Which one?” You peel off your gloves and shake off the excess filth. 

“Norway. It can be a bit dingy but the landscape is nice.” 

“Norway? For how long?” You close up the ledger and tuck it away on the shelf. You pass between the tables of artifacts as you pull out your phone. 

“Could be a while but I figured you never get to go very far. You’ve been pent up in-state for so long, you could use the vacation.” 

“Oh? Well, I…” you scroll through your phone and see the notifications. Emails confirming delivery, messages asking if everything is sorted. “I’d have to think about it…” 

It’s evasion more than indecision. You know you don’t want to go. You can’t go. Your whole life is here. You have an apartment and friends and… Steve. Your best friend.  

“Make sure you do think about it. It’s a great opportunity. Especially for a junior anthropologist. Lucia won’t be on leave forever.” 

“I know. I’ll think about it.” 

You hang up and pluck the earbud out. Ugh, you’re covered in dirt and dust. You don’t have time to go home and shower. You knew you wouldn’t. You have to be at the venue before everyone else. You can change there and try to wash up in the sink. Whatever, no one’s going to be looking at you anyway. It’s Peggy’s night. Yay. 

You lock the fence and tug one last time to make sure it’s secure. You drag your boots across the thinning grass to your car parked on a stretch of gravel. You drop inside and hit start. You connect to the bluetooth and get some tunes going. You buckle your seat belt as you check the mirrors. You’re probably going to have to speed there. 

You back out as the music blares from the speakers. It’s not loud enough to drown out your thoughts. Why did you agree to this? Peggy doesn’t even like you. Oh, but she likes Steve. She is his girlfriend and you are only his best friend. You’re supportive. You keep your mouth shut and smile. 

Ugh. You squeeze the wheel until your knuckles hurt. You know why you offered to help plan the surprise. You’re pathetic but you’re not delusional. It meant you got more time with him. There hasn’t been much of that since Peggy came along, not just the two of you. 

Classic, isn’t it? In love with your best friend. Friends since college. Friends forever, you vowed naively, thinking that forever would never come. Nothing lasts that long, you can only hope to outlast Peggy. 

And if you don’t, maybe this crush will finally run its course. 

💟

Red and white streamers decorate a long table set with trays. There’s a banner over it that reads ‘Happy Birthday, Peggy’, and a stack of gifts already forming in the corner. Guests drift in with anticipation as you hurry around to check off all the items on your list. 

You fix a small vase of flowers, trying to hide the droopy one in the back, and tug a wrinkle out of a tablecloth. You smile and wave at those who are early as you weave between them. You pull out your phone and lean it on the clipboard angle in the crook of your elbow. They’re on their way, okay. Keep it cool. 

As you come to the kitchen door, you nearly collide with someone else. Sam touches your arm gently as he keeps you from tripping backward. You gasp and hug the clipboard with a wobbly grin. 

“Hey,” you greet breathily, “you’re here.” 

You look down at the guest list and check him off. 

“Ah, figured I’d make an appearance,” he kids, “Rogers would take it pretty rough if his best pal wasn’t here.” 

“Please, don’t start that with Bucky again,” you warn as you point the pen in his direction, “the two of you, in fact, are seated separately.” 

“No fun!” He whines dramatically. 

You scrunch your lips at him and peer around. Yes, none of this has been fun. Caterers, servers, tables, space, food! Yes, you were going to check on the cake. Your sole squeaks as you twist sharply and go to slam your hand into the door. 

“Hey,” Sam blocks your way with his arm, “before you disappear, you’re still wearing your boots.” He points to your feet, “in case you’re wondering about the snail trail.” 

He sweeps his finger up in a gesture alluding to your previous path. You glance over at the dirt littered in your stead then down at your dusty boots. You sigh and hang your head back. 

“Fuck!” You snarl. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll find a broom,” he assures you, “while you take a breath. You need it.” 

“I can’t, Sam, they’re already on their way. I still have to get everyone in their place and… quiet,” you scowl, “ugh, this is gonna be so bad. I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“So… why’d you do it?” He asks as he drags his hand away from the doorframe. You look at him and blink slowly. You shrug. 

“I’m a good friend,” you insist. 

He gives a skeptical hum and nods, “sure are,” he grumbles, “too good, if you ask me.” 

You throw up your hand before turning into the kitchen. You don’t have time to worry about him. Is he jealous that you’re helping Steve so much? Or does he know something else? You don’t let the seed sprout as you nearly cry out at the sight of the cake. 

A pink bow. Jeez. Of course. You check the cake off your list, nearly tearing through the paper. It’s better than nothing, even if Peggy never settles for less than the best. 

There’s no time to complain or send it back. Your phone vibrates again. Five minutes. Your heart is racing. Why? This isn’t even your party. You just want it to be perfect for Steve. You hate to disappoint him. Ever. 

You really shouldn’t care that much but you do. Like so many other things in your life. 

💟

The crowd can't keep quiet. There's a low buzz that ripples through the guests. A wave of anticipation that's spread like a deadly virus. 

You feel a nudge in your side and peek over as Bucky sends Sam a sneer and wriggles in place. Those two never let up. You hiss at them to quit and they look as guilty as a pair of unruly children. 

"He keeps tickling me," Bucky whispers. 

"No, I'm tryna fix his hair, look at this mess," Sam flicks a strand away from Bucky's cheek, "this is a nice event, Buck, not your living room." 

"Both of you," you warn.  

"You're bitching at me when Indiana Jones here brought the dig with her," Bucky mutters. 

You look down. Dammit. You still didn't change out of your boots. You roll your eyes. It's not about you. It's Steve's night. Er, Peggy's.  

You shake out your nerves and shake your head, "you two," you step behind Bucky and insert yourself between the men, "behave." 

"Yes, mom," Sam snickers as Bucky groans and tries to smooth the few shanks that have slipped free of his low ponytail. 

You exhale and give an exasperated look to the door. You really can't handle them on top of everything else. You just want this night to end already. All your hard work and you won't even get to enjoy any of it. 

"Everybody," Natasha hisses as she runs away from the doorway, "they're coming." 

The group quiets, as much as they can, a collective bated breath as you wait and listen. The lull is unbearable as the heat of the bodies around you pricks sweat down your neck and across your scalp. The door begins to open, almost as if in slow motion, and as the guest of honour is revealed, you cry out. 

"SURPRISE!" The eruption of the chorus has your head spinning as Peggy gives a melodramatic swoon, grabbing at Steve's arm as she leans on him heavily. 

She parts only to fan her eyes and squeal. "Oh my god, you guys!"  

She teeters on her heels as people holler happy birthday and her group of girlfriends flutter over to wrap her up in a cacophony of giggles and preening. You smile, a bittersweet twitch in your cheek as you watch her spin back to Steve and pull him into a kiss.  

You're happy for them really, proud to see all your effort come to fruition, but you just feel so hollow. For an instant, you think it should be you right there, gushing in glee over the celebration of another year, with Steve beside you.  

You gulp down the jealousy and wiggle your nose to ward away the tears. That's a stupid thought. If it hasn't happened in more than a decade, it's not going to happen now. 

💟

As the guests disperse into their own conversations, you finally manage to wade through to the happy couple. You approach with a small wave at Steve. He doesn't see you, he's watching Peggy as she chats with Natasha. 

"Hi," you call above the din, "so, you like it?" 

Steve turns to you, confusion stitching his forehead before he registers your questions. He nods and gives a smile, "it's amazing, you did so good!" 

The sparkle in his eyes, the perfect line of his jaw, the way he's looking at you, it makes your heart rend. You tilt your head and dig your toe into the floor bashfully, "thanks. I'm so happy to see it come together." 

"Um, the cake," he brings his index finger up, "I was hoping to bring it out soon." 

"Er, yeah, it's back in the kitchen. About that–" 

"Great," he claps your shoulder and brushes by you, "just gonna put the finishing touches on it." 

"Hm, what do you–" 

He's gone before you can finish your question. You deflate just a little, setting your feet flat as you sway aimlessly. The motion hooks Peggy's attention. You give a sheepish smile as you wring your hands. 

"Oh, uh, just came over to wish you a happy birthday," you chirp, "are you enjoying it?" 

"Ah, I didn't see you here, I thought maybe you were busy…" she gives a pointed look to your boots, "working." 

"Um, yeah, no," you fidget, "always happy to come support you two." 

"Where is Steve?" She gazes past you, shouldering by dismissively, "he was just…." 

Right. You nod and flit away in embarrassment. You can't say you ever got along with Peggy. Where you're accommodating, she's a bit too demanding. Different people, but you don't dislike her. You just don't mesh. Or perhaps it's just that you don't get what Steve sees in her. Especially when you're right there. 

Enough. This isn't about you or your stupid dumb heart. Just smile and go with it. 

The kitchen door swings open, a noise barely discernible above the hue, and the rattling wheels of a cart underline the steady drone. A lull washes over the crowd as they part. You move with the tide and face the sudden divide. 

A hush falls over the room as Steve pushes the cake across the floor. He stops before Peggy as she faces him, another feigned pout of surprise. He grins proudly at her as you stare curiously at the top of the cake. 

"Oh, pink?" She comments on the fondant bow as her eyes flick over to you. She quickly corrects herself an admires the double tiered dessert, "Steve, it's so pretty." 

You know she hates the colour. You recall the one time you wore a pink bow in your hair and she made a similar comment. Cute, she remarked in her roundabout way in her oh so sophisticated accent. 

You manufacture a smile and step closer as Steve beckons to the guest. Tension stills the air, almost paralyzing the crowd. You squint at the heart shaped box perched atop the bow. 

"Is this for me?" Peggy asks if it's not obvious. 

Steve nods, his cheeks tinting pink, as you notice how he wipes his palms on his pants. Peggy delicately takes the box from the pedestal of fondant and your ribs ache from the pounding of your heart. You curl your fingers until your nails dig into your skin as you watch him kneel beside her. 

She doesn't notice as she opens the box on its hinges. Her lips part and she stares at the contents. She looks over at Steve to find him on his knee and she claps her hand over her mouth. Her eyes gleam as she whimpers his name through her fingers. 

The scene hazes behind your tears as you stare wide eyed. Your ears ring as Steve's voice is dulled by your shock. 

"Margaret Elizabeth Carter," Steve's timbre warble just a bit, "will you make me the happiest man on earth?" 

You don't wait for her answer. You already know it. It's the very same you give in every outlandish dream you've ever had of your happy ending. You spin and storm through the crowd, blind with horror and self-pity. 

Surprise! Your whole world is crashing into pieces. 

[f1byjessie]

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part one.

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yourusername a smiley lando is the best lando in my books! to celebrate the end of the 2023 season, here's a handful of my favourite photos from throughout the year!

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mclaren What a happy lad! We can't wait to see that smile again in 2024 😁🧡

↳ yourusername you and me both! 🤝🧡

user she's got the dream job omg

↳ user IKR??? imagine just getting to follow lando around and take pictures of him all day, i'd be dead within the first hour

↳ user he'd smile at me and i'd be asking “what are we” on god 😩😩😩

↳ user is that literally all she does??? she just follows him around and takes pictures??

↳ user there’s probably a technical term for what her position is and i just don’t know it, but bc there’s so much going on around the track at any given moment, sometimes the press and other media workers are focused on something or someone else, so she’s hired on by mclaren to specifically focus on mclaren to make sure that there is content for mclaren or mclaren sponsors to use. she’s not just lando’s photographer, she also takes photos of oscar, the pit teams, and the other staff that work in the garage, but she was hired on when lando started so her portfolio is pretty full of him. hope this helps!

user didn't know i could need so much orange in my life but here we are

user LANDO NORRIS SUPREMACY

oscarpiastri i see who the favourite is 🫤

↳ yourusername you literally SAW me picking photos for your post too

↳ oscarpiastri yeah but you posted his first 🫤

user guys this is the face of the 2024 wdc winner take it in now

user i could write a 50 page thesis on the importance of these photos and what they mean to me and how the serotonin they make me release could replace my depression meds

user lad’s like a mini danny ric with how smiley he is

landonorris best photog right here folks

↳ yourusername you're only saying that bc i always get your good side

↳ landonorris i'll have you know that all sides are my good sides 🤨

↳ yourusername whatev helps you sleep at night luv 😊

In 2019, when you took on the job of being McLaren’s lead photographer, you hadn’t expected it would garner you the amount of attention it has, or that it would slingshot your career to levels of success you never could have anticipated, or that you would get a best friend out of it.

When you first met him back in those early days, you’d thought Lando Norris was an arrogant, pretentious, self-righteous prick who thought he was hot shit because he was a Formula One driver. However, he’d quickly proven you wrong when he’d admitted to you that a lot of the confidence was an act━ carefully constructed to hide his insecurities about his performance both on and off the track.

“I mean, we’re drivers, yeah?” He’d said. “But we’re also actors. We’ve got these personas that we have to uphold even out here on the paddock, and I’m always worried I’m not playing the part well enough.”

It hadn’t made a lot of sense to you then, you thought he was pulling off the persona of Total Douche remarkably well, but in Shanghai, things changed.

After the Chinese Grand Prix, things were dour. Lando had DNFed━ the first in his Formula One career━ which contrasted greatly with his previous accomplishment of P6 in Bahrain. Carlos Sainz hadn’t been doing very well, either, and it didn’t paint a very pretty picture for McLaren so early in the season. You’d thought he’d throw a hissy fit, tear Daniil Kvyat apart for his role in the crash, or at the very least throw some shade his way, but he hadn’t done any of that. He’d accepted his fate with grace, joked to the media about how boring the race had been because of what had happened, and then gone on to congratulate Carlos for at least finishing.

What was even more shocking, was that despite his disappointment and the frustration he must’ve been feeling, instead of going back to sulk in his lonesomeness or drown out his feelings with booze and loud music at some club, he’d comforted you later that evening.

The morning of the race, as you’d been getting ready in your hotel room, you’d gotten a text from an unsaved number admitting to you that they’d been taking part in a months-long affair with your boyfriend but had been previously unaware that he was already taken and therefore wanted to let you know to clear their conscience. You’d managed to hold yourself together then━ mostly because you’d already done your makeup and, quite frankly, didn’t have the time to sob it all off and then attempt to salvage it━ but as the day drew to a close and the adrenaline of the race and its excitement wore off, and with nothing else to keep you distracted, you were struggling to keep yourself composed.

Lando had somehow noticed in that weirdly perceptive way of his that something was off, and he’d sat with you, asked what was wrong, and listened when you━ through tears━ explained the situation to him.

“He sounds like a total fucking muppet,” he’d commented after you’d said your piece, and he’d done it with such a deadpanned expression that it had startled a genuine laugh out of you. Because yeah, you’re (now ex) boyfriend had been a muppet.

After that━ and after all the rom-com and ice cream binging you’d both done in his hotel room afterward much to the chagrin of Lando’s nutritionist and the displeasure of his PR officer━ you’d rescinded your initial judgment of him. He was significantly less dickish than you’d originally thought, and it let you finally understand what he’d meant when he’d talked about putting on a persona.

The cocky, know-it-all prick that Lando pretended to be half the time was all just an act to hide his overly self-critical nature fueled by his insecurities.

By the end of the season, he’d gained a little confidence of his own and had subsequently toned down the assholery when he no longer needed to “fake it til he makes it,” and you were calling him your friend.

It’s 2023 now, and he’s since been upgraded to best friend status━ a role he takes very seriously, and constantly reminds you of.

“I’m your best friend━” case and point, “━you have to come to Bali with me. Literally, like, what am I gonna do without you there? Do you expect me to just go by myself? What if I get lost? Or what if somehow the mafia, who have unknowingly had a hit out on me for years, track me down there and I’m kidnapped and ransomed off for billions of dollars? What will you do then?”

“You just want me to take pictures of you,” you answer, rolling your eyes only because you know he can’t see you through the phone.

He gasps in mock offense. “I cannot believe you think I value you so little! I want you to take pictures of me and be here to help me make fun of awkward tourist spray tans so I don’t feel like a total asshole for being the only one who laughs.”

You laugh at that. “Well, unfortunately laughing at bad fake tans doesn’t pay the bills.”

“But taking pictures of me does.”

“Yeah, when McLaren is paying.” You turn back to your laptop, a photo put on pause mid-edit splayed across the screen. It’s of Lando, as most of your photos tend to be despite your attempts at keeping things even between the McLaren boys. It’s the last of the images you need to send over for their 2023 sendoff, and when it’s finished you’ll officially be without work for a painstaking two months. “I’m on break too, technically, until they need promotional shit for the new season.”

He huffs, and you can almost imagine the childish pout on his face. “What are you even doing, then?”

You hesitate, not because you don’t want Lando to know about your winter plans, but because you don’t really know how he’ll react, which means it could be anything between genuine happiness for you and congratulations, or abject horror and feigned screams of anguish. He’s always been dramatic like that, but even more so now that he’s comfortable enough with you and himself to have crawled a decent way out of his shell.

Even still, he’s your best friend and it would make you a pretty shitty person if you didn’t tell him.

“Believe it or not,” you start, wringing your hands together, “but Manchester City actually hit me up with an inquiry. Asked if I’d be interested in working with them on a project documenting their training throughout the winter months. I said I would love to.”

He pauses for a good long moment, and you prepare for the screaming, but all he says is━ “Man City? You traitor. I thought Man United was our forever!”

“Be so fucking real right now, Lando Norris,” you answer, laughing as you do so. You’re relieved, at least he hasn’t gone the feigned anguish route, but you also can’t tell if he’s happy for you or hiding his true feelings behind humor like he’s prone to doing. “You know damn well you only watched them for Christiano Ronaldo and he hasn’t played with United since 2009.”

“Technically he played for them in the 2021-2022 season,” he grumbles.

“Yeah,” you deadpan, “and he was dogshit. We both agreed to pretend it never happened.”

He groans, “I can’t believe this. My day is ruined and my disappointment is immeasurable.”

“Oh, get over yourself. It’s only for the winter. I’ll be back in McLaren Papaya by February when they need me snapping shots of you and Oscar next to the new livery,” you promise.

The reality is that it’ll probably be sooner. McLaren has always been good about getting you back at HQ pretty quickly, either to get some snapshots of the beginning of Lando and Oscar’s pre-season return or to just capture some material of the engineers at work to promote their readiness. You understand why they can’t keep you around all year━ no Lando and no Oscar means no you━ and with the sheer amount of content you capture and edit for them throughout the season, they’ve got enough to last them the handful of weeks you aren’t working.

Unfortunately, you aren’t working with a driver’s salary to keep you sustained over the break and rent certainly hasn’t been getting cheaper. In past years, your bank account has been chirping with crickets when you’ve returned to work after the winter, and that was before your landlord had decided to make your life a living hell.

You have an important job, but it’s by far the most important, and sometimes sacrifices have to be made. Working in sports media taught you that early on.

“Who knows?” Lando’s voice snaps you back. “Maybe Jack Grealish with his perfect hair and perfect calves will steal you away and you’ll be in sky blue forevermore.”

You laugh, “Jack Grealish is a happily taken man, and although he does have perfect hair and perfect calves, I’m more of a Haaland girl anyway.”

He guffaws. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re so far gone that you already have a preferred player. Jack Grealish is England’s poster boy! Everyone loves him whether they like City or not!” He heaves a dramatic sigh. “Christ, I can already feel you slipping through my fingers. I give it a week over there at Etihad before you call me up telling me I can find a new best friend because you’ve replaced me with Phil Foden and Julian Alvarez.”

“For someone who supposedly hates Manchester City, you’re certainly well-versed in their roster.”

“Well duh, I need to know my competition,” he says, like it’s obvious.

“Ah, yes,” you snark back sarcastically. “Because you, a Formula One driver, have to be worried about the football players of Manchester City.”

“Apparently I do if you’re calling yourself a Haaland girl now!”

You burst into cackles and he’s following shortly after with chuckles of his own that eventually peter out into a comfortable silence. You are really going to miss him for the few months you aren’t working with him.

The Formula One schedule is so jam-packed across the season that it typically means you’re getting to see him every day for an hour or two at least, if not for the entirety of the time he’s at the track. You follow him and Oscar to their sponsor obligations, their interviews, and everything in between. It’s honestly rare if you’re not getting a moment to goof off and dick around with one another━ and it’s even rarer for you to not actually see one another face to face in passing at the very least.

The off-season is your least favorite time of the year for this very reason, and though it makes you feel a bit full of yourself to think so, you imagine Lando doesn’t enjoy this time of year much either for the same reason.

“I promise I won’t replace you with any of the City boys,” you say after the silence has stretched on a moment longer.

He huffs again, but you can envision the smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose even if you do, I’ll just show up to a match and steal you away again.”

“As if. Have you seen Grealish’s calves?”

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footballfansofficial BREAKING: Manchester City Forward Garrett Ward caught with mysterious woman revealed to be well-known Formula One photographer Y/N L/N! The two were seen sharing a romantic evening on Friday, the 5th of January, ringing in a passionate start to 2024. Garrett Ward has been with Manchester City since 2021 but was out on loan to a lesser-known Championship League team until 2023. He has just recently begun to play for his team again, but an injury early into the season has seen him benched for a majority of his time back. Y/N L/N is a photographer for Formula One racing team McLaren and has been working with them since 2019. Recently, she has been working with Manchester City to help promote a new docuseries following the men’s team’s winter training. Check the link in our bio for the full article!

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user OMG GARRETT WARD??? NOTORIOUS BACHELOR GARRETT WARD???

user who is she? like genuinely how is she relevant 🤔

↳ user no literally cuz like who even gives two shits about formula 1?

user girl works in f1 why can’t she stay there

↳ user i’m sure there are plenty of drivers who’d smash her idk why she needs to try and get footballers too like bffr 😒😒😒

user aint no way this bitch is kissing my man rn

user literally what does he even see in her??? she’s not even cute AND she’s wearing man united colors 💀💀

user Y/N L/N??? I THOUGHT SHE WAS WITH LANDO NORRIS???

↳ user LITERALLY ME TOO?? like she posts him all the time on insta so i just kinda thought they were an item or smth?? trouble in paradise maybe

user she’s fucking ugly wtf

user i wish these footballers who get with regular women would realize there are so many better girls out there that would ACTUALLY treat them well and would support them in their careers. like i bet this girl doesn’t even know anything about football. she works in f1 and that’s where she should stay bc nobody cares about that shit round here. she probably doesn’t even know the first thing about how football works, but i bet she’ll be at matches pretending like she knows what’s happening. garrett ward is gonna flush his career down the troilet for this chick bc she’s gonna convince him his busy schedule ain’t worth it and then city will be down a great forward for good, and it’ll all be her fault

user i mean she’s kinda pretty tbf

↳ user stfu she really isn’t

↳ user she gen looks like any random bitch off the street

user these comments are not it…. 😬

↳ user maybe you f1 fans just don’t know how to handle constructive criticism

↳ user is the constructive criticism in the room with us rn?? cuz all i’m seeing is bullying and hatred directed towards an innocent woman who’s only “crime” was going on a date

user ok so she can take photos?? 🙄🙄 maybe she should get a real job

↳ user she’s probably only with him so she can mooch off of him like a fucking gold digger

user AINT NO WAYYYYYY

user it’ll last a month max 😌 i’m calling it

user ayo lando come get your girl

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette

━━ a/n: here we have it! took me a bit longer than the start of american smile did, but lando's story is officially here! (and it's a whopping 2.9k words to start us off). first and foremost, before we get started, garrett ward is 100% an oc and obviously does not play for manchester city, and this is bc i would feel absolutely horrible portraying a real person in the way that garrett will be later on. gather from that what you will haha! regardless, i hope you enjoy this first part and stick around for the rest!

[facewithoutheart]

Five plus One, fic recs

A post is going around about fics you consider classics in the Snowbaz fandom. I’d like to take it a step further by asking …

What are five fics you consider your inspiration/influences for writing, plus one of your fics which you think best represents what you want to bring to the fandom?

5. Hang the Moon by @captain-aralias

@captain-aralias is, to me, the snowbaz fandom fic writer of our time. Her commitment to detail, to nailing Rainbow’s voice, while infusing every fic with a heart and purpose that will leave you changed. Every fic of hers is chef’s-kiss-perfection but I’m highlighting Hang the Moon specifically as a fic I often think about (Baz, wet tennis clothes, helping Simon fight the merwolves), and a fic that was my introduction to what fanfics could be/do. I think I finished this fic and just stared at the wall for an hour because I was just like, oh. Oh.

4. The Pitch by basic-bathsheba

Local Hero is one of my favorite fanfics but I wanted to highlight this fic because it’s just such a powerful and understated story. It’s love in the details. This Simon is the model for all of my Simon’s, just a complete simp for Baz haha but also a man who is comfortable and confident being the man who loves Baz even if he doesn’t get to claim it publicly.

3. Stay Up With Me by @sharkmartini

Not sure what to say about this that hasn’t been said a million times. It’ll break your heart; it’ll put you back together. The concept is brilliant and the exploration of two Simon’s will definitely put your emotions through a wringer. Time travel/what-if fics will always grab my attention but this one in particular makes the same case Rainbow posed in Carry On: what if the villain isn’t the villain? And takes it a step further, because Simon realizes he could be the villain, too. Absolutely beautiful.

2. Can’t Find My Way Home by @carryonsimoncarryonbaz

This is one of those fics that just has so much heart and sweetness. I love a good second chance AU, and this one has such Hallmark vibes in the best way. I just love the slow burn of it, and the amazing ending. A perfect holiday fic to snuggle up with. Reading this feels like being cozy up by the fire with someone you love. Actually writing this makes me wanna reread this so much; now that I live with actual Fall I wanna feel cozy like this again.

1. Basil Pitch’s Diary by @bookish-bogwitch

I know it’s a bit weird to rec a WIP as an influence, especially one that’s being written as we speak, but working with/beta-ing Em’s works have made me a sharper, smarter writer. I know this fic is a classic in the works and it’s something I think about on a weekly basis. The Baz Em gives us, to me, feels like canon Baz taken to the next level. What if Baz was the villain … but only to himself? Em’s writing really is just economical in the best way; every line hits, every paragraph teaches me something. And then the heart. It’s genuinely so hard to do what she does and I’m so lucky to get to see her work in realtime.

+1 This Will All Go Down In Flames

I think, at the end of my fandom career, I want this to be the snowbaz fic people associate with me (Spadey being a close second hahaha). But I do feel like it’s got a lot of fandom in-jokes, humor, and sweetness, plus the fun high-stakes of them being in the spotlight. I got to celebrate the Austin I love and miss, as well as poke fun at my own hipster upbringing. I put a lot of Me™ in this fic and it always feels so lovely when people like it. Besides, I got to work with the amazing @tea-brigade and their art just takes this fic to the next level. A dream collab.

(Throwing in the caveat that I started reading long before I got an ao3 account so it’s very likely I’ve missed some amazing fics from before 2021; I’m so sorry!)

Tagging everyone listed above and six more peeps to start: @cutestkilla, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @larkral, @ileadacharmedlife, @thewholelemon & @aristocratic-otter

[dancingbirdie]

I Promised You (Chapter 2)

Here it is! The second/final part to this fic request I received. I worked SO hard on this, and I'm super proud of how it turned out. I hope you all enjoy!

I'm thinking about doing a possible epilogue with a dash of smut and domestic bliss but it's just a thought at this point. Let me know if you'd be interested in something like that!

Rating: G

Pairing: Astarion x GN!reader

Word Count: 4.5K

Warnings/Tags: mentions of unconsciousness, cheeky banter, domestic life, FLUFF, angst, post-events of BG3, potentially problematic levels of self-sacrifice by reader.

***

The three of you agreed it would be best to wait until the next morning before you attempted the spell. It irked you, having to wait yet another night, but you recognized the soundness in the logic. A good night’s rest and complete sobriety were more prudent, especially attempting something as audacious as this. 

You knew you wouldn’t be able to rest without the aid of a sleep potion, so you downed a bottle in one swallow before forcing yourself to crawl into bed. Not long after, Astarion joined you in the four-poster you shared, lying on his back and staring vaguely at the canopied silks above you. You turned on your side toward him, trying to gauge his expression. 

“If it doesn’t work —” he began, breaking the silence. 

“It will,” you affirmed in an ironclad tone. 

Astarion nodded absently, his train of thought undeterred. 

“But if it doesn’t… I want you to know that it won’t be the end of the world,” he finished, turning his head to look at you. 

You stared at him dubiously, quirking a brow. 

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “I know you. I know how hard you push yourself. And I know that if this somehow doesn’t work, you’re going to blame yourself for it. If you’re even still here to know if it doesn’t work. Gods,” he grimaced, turning to stare up at the ceiling again. “I still can’t believe the two of you have convinced me of this.”

“I appreciate your assurances, darling, but they’re not needed. I know this is going to work… I can feel it in my bones,” you smiled, reaching for his hand over the covers. Your fingers intertwined easily. He lifted them to plant a kiss on each knuckle. 

“Nevertheless, I wanted it known. I don’t want you crawling on your hands and knees begging for forgiveness if it fails. The very idea that you’re even willing to try this for me is more than enough.”

“I love you,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. Your eyelids began to droop. You could feel the beginnings of the sleep potion taking effect. 

“And I love you, my darling,” Astarion returned, sidling closer and wrapping you in his arms. 

You fell asleep to the sensation of him kissing the crown of your head. 

***

You roused from sleep to the chiming of the first morning bells, your senses on high alert. 

It was morning. It was time. 

You peered over your shoulder to see Astarion still lying beside you, his eyes closed in meditation. You reached a hand behind you to poke him, gently, in the side. 

He scoffed but kept his eyes closed. “Keep those jabby little fingers to yourself, pup.”

“Just seeing how alert you are” you teased. 

“Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours. I’m perfectly aware of my surroundings,” he quipped. 

“Good, good… That means you’ll be expecting this!” you laughed as, all at once, you half-jumped, half-clambered on top of him, pinning him to the bed. 

He hadn’t been expecting it, if his annoyed cries of outrage were anything to go by. 

“Unhand me, you little beast,” he cried as he attempted to pin your arms to your sides. “Have you gone completely mad?” 

You giggled as he wrestled you into compliance, grinning mischievously as you sat atop him. 

Seeing your expression, he huffed and rolled his eyes. 

“Honestly,” he chided. “Can’t you ever just behave?”

“Where would the fun be in that?” you smirked, leaning forward to capture his lips with yours. 

He squawked in surprise at your suddenness before leaning in to kiss you deeper. 

After a few moments of heated embrace, you broke from the kiss, both of your breathing a bit ragged. 

“Gale will be here soon,” you murmured. “We best get dressed.”

“Bah. Don’t mention him when I’ve got you straddling my lap like this,” Astarion grumbled. 

You laughed but wiggled your way off of him anyway. He growled his disapproval. 

“It’s almost time,” you whispered excitedly, darting across the bedroom to fish some clothes out of the dresser. 

Astarion turned to recline on his side, head propped up in one hand, watching you from his vantage point on the bed. Piddling about the room as you were, you failed to notice the look of sincere worry splayed across his features. 

“Yes,” he murmured. “Almost time.” 

***

Gale arrived shortly after the two of you had dressed and descended the stairs to wait in the den. Per usual, all the curtains in the cottage were closed, preventing any sunlight from creeping into the rooms. Or any prying eyes from peering in. Not being blessed with dark vision as you and Astarion were, Gale muttered a string of curses as he stumbled into an overgrown houseplant you had been nursing, nearly invisible in the gloom. Astarion suppressed a laugh while you murmured a series of apologies and began moving hurriedly about the room, lighting candles to help the wizard see a bit better. 

Anticipation skittered across your skin and through your body as you helped Gale prepare for what was to come. You conjured a cot, gathered some medical supplies, and laid out some blankets for when you inevitably passed out. Meanwhile, Gale set to work on warding the room to prevent any collateral damage to the cottage or neighboring houses should the spell go awry. You tried to avoid glancing at Astarion, who was perched in his reading nook, one leg bouncing with nervous energy. You hoped that if you just carried on, business as usual, it would make him less inclined to call the whole thing off. And, too, he despised being coddled in front of an audience, even if it was your old companion Gale. 

Finally, finally, all the preparation was complete. You turned slowly to survey the room. Formerly the den, it now resembled a half-hospital ward, half-wizard’s keep with all the furniture shoved aside to one corner, a cot and medical supplies positioned in another, and a sizable runic circle drawn in chalk in the center of the room. You had everything you needed. Now, it was just time for the spell. 

“Do you feel ready?” Gale asked carefully, observing you taking in the room. 

You turned to him and smiled. 

“Yes. I’m ready,” you answered. Confidence bloomed in your chest as you walked forward to take your place in the very center of the runes. Then you turned to Astarion. 

“How about you, darling? Ready?” you asked, reaching out for his hands. 

You could see the anxiety in his eyes, rounded as they were, but he nodded once and rose with preternatural grace to walk forward and take your hands. You both stood stock-still, facing one another. 

Despite being on solid ground, in the comfort of your house, it suddenly felt like you were on the precipice of something incomprehensible. This home, this room where you had shared so many wonderful memories, was now a liminal space. Whatever was to happen, neither of you would be the same afterward. It was a heady feeling, the awareness that you were about to walk headfirst into cataclysmic change. 

“I love you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Whatever happens. I love you.”

“And I love you,” you returned, smiling broadly. “Whatever happens.”

With a final reassuring squeeze, you slipped your hands from his. Closing your eyes, you rested your palms on your diaphragm and began to take a few deep, concentrating breaths. Centering yourself for what was to come. 

When you opened your eyes again, you felt ready. Calm. Assured. 

“Let’s begin,” you intoned. Both Gale and Astarion nodded wordlessly. 

With your eyes locked on Astarion, you reached into the well of magic within your body, drawing up power slowly, methodically. You began channeling it through your fingers. Almost as though they were doing it on their own accord, your hands lifted to begin performing the spell’s gesticulations, your wrists twisting and fingers curling with perfect precision.

Then, in a low but strong murmur, you began to recite the required incantation in Celestial. It was a lengthy script that you had spent months memorizing and practicing in order to pronounce the words flawlessly. The words poured from your lips in lilting, seamless tones as you continued to shift your hands and maintain your gaze on Astarion standing before you. 

After a few moments, the candles you had lit around the room snuffed out in unnatural synchrony. The runes encircling the two of you began to emit brilliant white light. While they touched you as well, the rays seemed to direct themselves intentionally toward Astarion, bending so that every bit of him was illuminated from head to toe. The light left him unharmed, however, washing over his skin like a gentle caress. The effect left him looking like a veritable angel. You committed the sight to memory, glorious as it was. 

It carried on like that for some time, uninterrupted, but you reckoned you were nearly halfway through the spell when you felt a sudden shifting within you. The sensation of your magic changed. What had once felt like open channels coursing through your body was now beginning to feel more constricted. Like something was compressing your power. 

Sweat began to bead on your forehead, and your bones began to ache as though your entire body were being drained of all its energy. Distantly, you realized that one of your knees was also beginning to buckle. But you couldn’t stop now. You knew from your training with Gale that if you paused, if you faltered in the incantation or hand movements even once, the spell would be ruined. And there would be no second chances. 

Refusing to be deterred, you pushed with all of your might against that fatigue, willing yourself to maintain your focus on the spell. On Astarion. On the look in his beautiful eyes. Was it just your imagination, or were they starting to look a bit different?

Just as you began to feel your second knee buckle, a strong pair of hands braced around your shoulders. Holding you up, providing you support. You couldn’t break to look behind you, but you didn’t have to. You knew it was Gale. Your kind, long-suffering companion. Your closest friend. You trusted him. You knew he wouldn’t let you falter. 

Sustained by his added support, you managed to utter the last remaining lines of the incantation. Your arms were heavy and growing lethargic, but you willed your hands to finish the final movements. You could feel you were on the verge of unconsciousness. Your magic was screaming in your veins to relent, but you bullishly forced your body into compliance. 

You will not fail, you chanted in your mind. You promised Astarion this would work. 

Finally, finally, the last syllable fell from your lips. As the room descended into hushed silence, you felt your magic give one last, desperate surge before abandoning you completely. The shock of it caused you to lose all remaining strength, catching Gale by surprise as you slumped gracelessly to the floor. 

You lay there with eyes wide open, but you could barely take in your surroundings. Everything appeared to be covered in dark, gauzy film. You could hear rustling around you, above you. Then a pair of hands were grasping your face. You couldn’t make out the words they were saying to you. 

In your last few seconds of consciousness, you could have sworn you saw a pair of startling blue eyes peering down at you, concerned. 

Funny, you thought in a delirious stupor, none of your friends had blue eyes. 

***

“Vital signs all look to be in safe ranges. Their magic is completely depleted, but that will resolve itself over a few days of rest.”

Astarion listened to Gale’s explanation, but his eyes never wavered from your face. It was so foreign, seeing you like this, wan-faced and unconscious. Of course, he had seen you injured before, but no wounds had ever rendered you so still and lifeless. It felt utterly unnatural for you to be this motionless, when you were usually such a tumbleweed of frenetic energy. The anxious, nonsensical part of him was itching to shake you awake, will you into consciousness by sheer brute force. 

“Astarion, did you hear me?” Gale’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes.”

“They’re going to be completely fine.”

“Yes.” Astarion replied absently, eyes never leaving your face. 

“Astarion.”

“What?” he hissed, finally lifting his gaze to the wizard. His voice had as much bite to it as a rattlesnake prepared to strike. 

“The spell worked,” Gale smiled. 

“I– I know,” Astarion replied, peering back down at you. “My fangs are gone, I think.” 

He paused, swallowing thickly, before continuing. “I can’t feel them anymore. It just feels like regular canines now.”

“Don’t you want to take a look?” Gale asked cautiously. 

Astarion’s eyes flitted up to meet the wizard’s gaze and then back down to your sleeping form. 

“We don’t have mirrors in the house,” he replied in a timid sort of tone, sidestepping the question. 

“I can conjure one. Here–” Gale paused, then began murmuring a few phrases in a language unknown to Astarion. 

After a moment, an ornate, floor-length standing mirror shimmered into existence in the center of the room. Astarion flinched, staring at it, caught between two diametrically opposed urges to flee from the room and sprint toward the mirror. How was it that both feelings could exist simultaneously in his body, a distant part of him wondered. 

“Go on,” Gale encouraged. “See for yourself.”

Astarion glanced down at you one last time before releasing a shaky breath and moving from the side of your cot to the center of the room. He approached the mirror at an angle, so that he couldn’t yet see his reflection. If he had one. 

He knew he should just charge up to the blasted thing and see for himself whether it was true, that the spell had completely worked. But something about the mirror just felt more real, more meaningful, than the notable absence of fangs in his mouth. And that made it a thousand times more intimidating. Seeing his reflection for the first time in over 200 years? It was something he had only dreamed about for decades and decades. Astarion didn’t know how he would bear it, if he stepped in front of that mirror and saw nothing but the back of the room reflected. 

He knew Gale was watching him surreptitiously as he tried to maintain his composure. He really did not want to break down completely in front of the wizard, no matter how good a friend he had been to you both over the years. 

Finally, clenching his eyes shut and with a grumbled “Fuck it, just look” to himself, Astarion sidestepped to stand fully in front of the mirror. He opened his eyes. 

And then he was watching himself open his eyes. 

His beautiful, cerulean blue eyes.  

The jaw of the face he saw in the mirror dropped, mouth opening in shock. His jaw. His face. It was his mouth he was watching as it opened. 

He could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Slowly, he raised one hand to his hair. The mirror image tracked his movements. He watched himself as he threaded his fingers through his curls. His silver, perfectly coiled locks. He marveled at how they laid so carelessly posh on his head, giving him a tidy yet windswept sort of look. 

His other hand lifted to touch his jaw. His eyes tracked his fingers’ movements in the mirror as they traced the sharp cut of his jawline. When he turned his head, he noticed the puncture marks on his neck were nowhere to be found. Not that he had ever seen them, of course, but he had felt them. Those warped indents left over from Cazador’s brutal transformation process. Many of his unfortunate victims over the years had commented on how barbaric the scars appeared against the otherwise perfect skin of his neck. But looking at himself now, nothing remained on either side of his neck than spotless, alabaster skin. 

His eyes darted wildly about his reflection then, barely able to comprehend everything he was seeing. His unblemished, pale skin. His full lips. His refined patrician nose. His sharp cheekbones. His delicately pointed elven ears. His perfectly defined brows. The thick, dark lashes that surrounded his eyes. Blue eyes. The broadness of his shoulders. His trim waist. His lean yet muscular legs. The way his physique alluded to a subtle but powerful amount of strength. 

He was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. And he could see it for himself now, for the first time in centuries. He could see it all for himself, those things his former lovers had praised him for. The things you complimented him on. The features he caught you ogling time and time again.

And then, he felt something truly remarkable inside his body. A sensation long since forgotten but now returned to him in full force, as though it had never left. His heart was beating in his chest. Pounding, in fact. Almost as though it would blast a hole right through his ribcage. 

It was overwhelming, exhilarating, and stupefying all at the same time. And suddenly, like a swift punch to the gut, the magnitude of it all wrenched the very breath from his lungs. He crashed to his knees, watching his reflection as he slumped before the mirror. 

A strangled cry clawed up and out of his throat as his mind twisted itself in knots, trying to accommodate this reality alongside everything else he had known and experienced before. He felt altogether too much and nothing at all. Tears poured from his open eyes as uncontained sobs wracked his body.  

Amid his emotional outburst, Astarion registered a gentle hand against his upper back. A solid presence against his side. Gale. Dear, sweet Gale. 

Distantly, he realized the wizard’s hand did not feel like a searing heat against him anymore. In fact, he felt no warmer than Astarion felt. Like their body temperatures were near equal. Before, that had only ever happened when his spawn siblings or Cazador had touched him. But now, he was as warm as any other living being.

Living. Being.

Before he could seriously reconsider it, Astarion crushed Gale in an embrace as he continued to weep, the need for companionship and solace a sudden ache within him. The wizard held him with all the comfort and compassion a friend could offer, rubbing his back in soothing circles and murmuring words of assurance. 

Finally, after some time, Astarion peeled himself away from Gale’s embrace. He dried his eyes on the cuff of his shirt and attempted to restore some remaining ounce of his dignity. Gale sat quietly next to him, affording him some companionable silence to gather himself. 

“Ahem,” Astarion coughed, attempting an air of normalcy. “Th-thank you, Gale.”

“Think nothing of it, my friend,” Gale responded with a gentle smile. “Truly, I am so happy for you.”

Astarion nodded, peering about the room, his eyes landing on the mirror once more. 

“It still doesn’t feel real,” he murmured, watching himself speak the words.

“Well, you could always take the test one step further and walk outside,” the wizard suggested. 

“No,” Astarion shook his head, glancing back at you, asleep in the cot. “I want to wait until they wake up. Do it together.”

Gale nodded in understanding. Peaceful silence permeated the room once more. 

“Gale?” Astarion asked after a few moments. 

“Hmm?”

“If you tell anyone I wept on you like a newborn babe, I’ll fucking kill you.”

A hearty guffaw erupted from Gale’s mouth at Astarion’s words. 

***

Consciousness rose up in you slowly, as if emerging from a deep body of water. You felt around the sheets blindly, realizing you were back in your bed. Strange, given the last thing you remembered was slumping to the floor before Gale’s feet. 

Had the whole thing been a dream? Your mind reeled at the thought. 

Then you hesitantly reached down, reached inward, for your magic. The result was immediate and evidence enough: your well of magic was not nearly as expansive as it had been before. What had once felt like a reservoir the size of a lake now felt akin to a pond. Still potent, but a much smaller resource. 

That’s okay, you reasoned to yourself. It will all be worth it, if it worked. 

You refocused your attention to your surroundings, peering around the room for any sign of Astarion. You had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been hours or days later for all you could gather. 

After a few moments, you heard the door creak. Your eyes darted over to the sound of the noise, and you watched as Astarion cautiously entered from the hallway. At the sight of you awake, he paused in the doorway to look at you. 

His eyes met yours. Blue eyes. Dark, cerulean irises. 

Then he gave you a broad smile. No fangs. Perfectly normal, elven teeth. 

Suddenly you found yourself unable to see anything as your vision blurred behind a rush of tears. It worked. 

It really, truly worked.

Your arms outstretched, you beckoned to him, childlike, wanting nothing more than to feel him close to you. Astarion huffed a laugh as he crawled into bed with you, pulling you into a warm embrace. 

Laying your head against his chest, you began to weep anew as you heard his heart beating against your ear for the first time. A reliable, strong thump-thump, thump-thump. It was, without a doubt, the loveliest sound you thought you had ever heard. Astarion said nothing, just held you as you cried tears of pure joy, of relief, into his shirt. 

After some time had passed, you finally detached yourself from his chest, putting enough distance between yourselves that you could truly take in his changed features. You noted the absence of the puncture wounds on his neck. You stared unabashedly at his gorgeous eyes. Tentatively, you reached a hand out to part his lips with a finger. He chuckled as he surmised your intentions before opening his mouth slightly to allow you to see his perfectly normal-looking canine teeth. 

“Have you gone outside yet?” you whispered in a scratchy tone, your voice rusty from lack of use. 

“Not yet. I was waiting for you, darling,” he smiled. 

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Oh, about a day and a half, I’d say,” he replied. “Your snoring has been absolutely egregious, by the way,” he continued, a wicked little smirk gracing his mouth. 

You smacked him lightly on the arm. “How dare you!” you cried with mock outrage. “I cure you of vampirism and this is the thanks I get?”

“You cured my vampirism, not my cheeky personality, darling,” he teased, but then grew more serious. “Speaking of which, how are you feeling?”

You squeezed his arm in assurance. “I feel fine. Still a bit weak, but I should fare better after some food and a little fresh air.”

“And your magic?” he eyed you carefully. 

You paused, biting your lip. 

“Don’t sugarcoat it, darling,” he warned. 

“I think it took a lot from me. Permanently, that is. My well of magic feels much smaller, but it’s still enough to defend myself with, if the need ever arises.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. The look on his face was one of utter guilt. 

“Don’t be. Astarion, look at me,” you beseeched him, clutching his face in your hands. “I would do nothing differently. I’d give it up all over again for this. To see you cured. This is a gift.” 

He let loose a halfhearted laugh. “I think it should be me saying that last bit rather than you, my dear.”

“Are you kidding? Think of all the blood I’m saving myself now that you’re finally cured,” you quipped, winking at him. 

A true, hearty laugh bubbled past his lips. “Leave it to you to say something so crass during such a serious moment.”

“But you love me,” you cooed, leaning in for a kiss. 

“Always, my darling,” he returned, pulling you closer to him as his mouth descended upon yours. 

***

The first morning rays were peaking over the horizon when you cracked open the cottage door to peer outside. Your gaze wandered across the rolling hills beyond the main thoroughfare, catching glimpses of the herdsmen and farmers who were out beginning their days’ work. They were the only other folks up and moving about at this time of day. 

You took in the cloudless sky, painted with beautiful pastel smatterings of oranges, pinks and blues. The air was pleasantly misty as a gentle breeze washed across your face, bringing with it the subtle scent of chimney smoke from neighboring houses. 

It was, by all accounts, an incredibly mundane morning. At least for everyone else besides you and the pale elf lingering behind you on the doorstep. 

“Are you ready?” you asked, looking back at Astarion. 

His gaze was trained on the sunlight beginning to peak over the hills. He nodded absently, allowing you to take his hand in yours as the two of you began strolling down the road. 

His fingers were tense as they interlaced with yours. You could tell his body was priming itself to flee at the first sign of discomfort. It was knee-jerk survivalist behavior. You knew it would subside after today, which is why you remained a silent, comforting anchor of support by his side. 

As you continued to walk, the two of you took in the comforting signs of life around you. The smell of fresh bread baking in someone’s oven. The bleating of a family’s goat. The quiet clucking of hens in their coop. The laundry hung out to dry. You watched as Astarion took it all in, his eyes wide with wonder at being able to see this side of living once again. He hadn’t been able to witness it since the tadpoles in your brains had been destroyed. 

By the time the sun had fully risen above the horizon, you and Astarion had made it out of the little town. You were walking along a well-trod path through the hillside when the morning light swept across your skin. You felt Astarion flinch at the sensation, his fingers squeezing yours in a vice-like grip. You paused your walking, turning to face him instead. 

He was gorgeous, half of his face limned in the gentle warmth of the sun. His eyes filled with such hope and happiness it threatened to rend your heart in two. You watched as he looked at you and then down at his hands, flipping them over, studying them in the light. Noting how they didn’t burn or blister. 

“See? It’s real. You’re cured,” you whispered, smiling up at him. His blue eyes met yours. 

“A whole lifetime of this,” he murmured, returning your grin. “Of you. Of the sun. Of living,” he emphasized, taking your hand and placing it over his heart. It was beating like mad beneath your palm. 

“Here’s to all of it then, darling,” you replied before capturing his lips with yours.

***

TAGLIST: @call-me-nyxx, @tenderlyuniquepatrol, @arioneway, @twistedcutie3, @bloopthebat, @my-bunny-prince, @starlight-ipomoea, @iceice-baeby, @moonmaiden1996, @dark-star-exe, @campfull-of-weirdos, @yokaimoon, @im-just-a-simp-le-whore

[foldingfittedsheets]

An FAQ!

Does your ask tag stand for "Folding Fitted Sheets" or "For Fuck's Sake"?

Both! I had been using the handle Foldingfittedsheets for a long time and someone shortened it to FFS and I immediately realized that it was hilarious. All ways of reading it are valid.

Before asking a bed question:

Here’s my helpful guide, I may have covered your question already. There’s also a “bed talk” tag full of info and advice!

Before asking a sex ed question:

Here’s my other helpful guide!

Can you actually fold a fitted sheet?

No. I thought it was a funny handle that was easy to say and hard to do. A metaphor for life being messy and complicated. A task that you can only ever try your best at although failure in inevitable.

When I moved in with my beloved I packed the linen closet and told them that I didn't know if we'd have enough room. They spent a day refolding everything beautifully and it took up a third of the closet. So some people are just built different.

Have you seen this guide on how to fold them??? It's easy!

I am content at my current levels of adequacy and would prefer to spend my time on other pursuits. Thank you for thinking of me, but I'm good.

Will you put a read more on comics?

No. I have tried to put out comics under read more cuts and they do not get the same traction. It's also unfair to ask me to change how I present my work. No one will ever have to scroll through them as much as me and I promise it's never more than 30 seconds which does not feel unreasonable.

Tumblr has a setting that will automatically shorten long posts, and I have provided a tag "do you love the color of the comic" so that you can take initiative to reduce the space they take up. You can also block the new individual comic tag after you’ve read it to stop seeing repeats.

Comics take months of my time to produce and I reblog them a lot when they first launch because I'm excited to share something that I worked really hard on.

I won't be offended if you unfollow me, but I will if you ask me to cater to your sensibilities on how long my art should be.

Will you reblog my mutual aid post?

I’m sorry, but no. If I don’t know you I don’t have the time to check for scams and Tumblr just really isn’t the best platform to ask for help if you’re in dire straits.

If you send a link to a gofundme I’m gonna block you. It’s not personal but I have no time to sift through what’s legitimate or not and I’ll assume you’re a scammer who did not read this.

Why don’t you have lesbian flags?

I prefer the rainbow and I have very negative connotations with it, which I talk about more here.

Why are all the ace flag creatures sleepy?

An ace friend loved the ace dragon in the first set and said, “It’s sleepy like my sexuality!” I thought that was very cute and when I did gryphons I made them sleepy too. I’ve since gotten a lot of really cute comments on how much people liked the sleepy ace creechurs.

When I went through and revamped the unicorns I noticed the ace unicorn wasn’t sleepy. I made a poll to ask if I should switch it to be consistent with the dragons and gryphons. It was an overwhelming yes so now all the ace creatures are sleepy.

[poetrysmackdown]

hi hiii i wanted to say that your account is so refreshing to see, esp with the passion you have for the arts. as someone who's been meaning to read (and write) more poetry, do you have any recommendations? some classics that everyone and their mothers know? perhaps some underrated pieces that changed you? or even just authors you like, I'm very open to suggestions :]]

Hi! Thank you so much for this kind ask :) So exciting that you’re looking to delve deeper into reading and writing! I had to take a little time to answer this because my thoughts were all over the place lol.

For a review of notable/classic poems/poets, I honestly just recommend looking at lists online or, hell, just binging Wikipedia pages for different countries’ poetry if that’s something you’re into, just to get a sense of the chronology. I read one of those little Oxford Very Short Introductions on American Poetry and thought it was pretty good, but online is quicker if you’re just searching for poets or movements to hone in on. Poetry Foundation also has lots of resources, in addition to all the poems in their database. I guess my one big classic recommendation would have to be Emily Dickinson (<3), but really the best move is just to find a poet you already enjoy and then look around to see who their peers were/are, who they were inspired by, who they’ve maybe translated here and there, etc. and follow it down the line as far as you can.

For some personal recs, here are some collections I’ve really enjoyed over the past two years or so. Bolded favorites, and linking where select poems from the book have been published online. But also, if you want a preview of a couple poems from another of the books to see if they interest you, DM me and I can send them over! You can also feel free to pilfer through my poetry tag for more stuff lol

Autobiography of Death by Kim Hyesoon trans. Don Mee Choi

Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings by Joy Harjo

DMZ Colony by Don Mee Choi

Hardly War by Don Mee Choi

Whereas by Layli Long Soldier

Geography III by Elizabeth Bishop

Dictee by Theresa Hak Kyung Cha

Don’t Let Me Be Lonely: An American Lyric by Claudia Rankine

Mouth: Eats Color—Sagawa Chika Translations, Anti-Translations, & Originals by Sawako Nakayasu

The Selected Poems of Osip Mandelstam trans. W.S. Merwin and Clarence Brown

The Branch Will Not Break by James Wright

This Journey by James Wright

God’s Silence by Franz Wright

Duino Elegies by Rainer Maria Rilke (the translation I read was by Alfred Corn—I thought it was great, but idk if there are better ones out there!)

DMZ Colony, Hardly War, Dictee, Don’t Let Me Be Lonely, and partially Whereas are all book-length poems with some prose poetry and varying levels of weirdness/denseness/multilingualism—if you were to pick one to start with, I’d say do Don’t Let Me Be Lonely or Whereas. Mouth: Eats Color is some experimental translations of Japanese modernist poet Chika Sagawa, with other translations and some of Nakayasu’s original stuff mixed in—it's definitely a bit disorienting but ultimately I remember having such fun with it, as much fun as Nakayasu probably had making it. It’s a book that emphasizes co-creation and a spirit of play, and completely changed my attitude towards translation.

If you’re less interested in that kind of formal fuckery stuff though (I get it), can’t go wrong with the other books! Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings is the one I read most recently, and it’s great—Harjo also featured in Round 1! Franz Wright also featured, and God's Silence is the collection which "Night Walk" comes from. James Wright (father of Franz) is one of my favorite poets of all time, though his poetry isn’t perfect. Even so, I’m honestly surprised he’s not doing numbers on Tumblr—Mary Oliver was a big fan of his, even wrote her "Three Poems for James Wright" after his death.

I mentioned in another post that one of my favorite poets is Paul Celan, so I’ll also recommend him here. I read Memory Rose into Threshold Speech which is a translated collection of his earlier poems, but it’s quite long if you’re just getting to know him as a poet—fortunately, both Poetry Foundation and Poets.org have a ton of his poems in their collections. There’s also an article by Ilya Kaminsky about him titled “Of Strangeness That Wakes Us” (!!!!!) that’s a great place to start, and is honestly kind of my whole mission statement when I’m reading and writing poetry. Looking at the books I’ve recommended above, a lot of them share feelings of separateness or alienation—from others, from oneself, from one’s country, from language—that breed strange, private modes of expression. That tends to be what I’m drawn to personally, and that’s some of what Kaminsky talks about.

Sorry of the length of this—I hope it's useful as a jumping-off point! And if you or anyone ends up exploring any of these poets, let me know what you think! If folks wanna reply with recommendations themselves too that'd be great :)

[djarins-cyare]

✨Questions Tag Game✨

Thanks for tagging me @burntheedges 🩵

Of course I’m going to add GIFs and images. Did anyone really expect me to post something without visual aids??

[photos are my own (apart from the one immediately below, which is from here), and unless otherwise credited, GIFs were made by me during office hours when I was supposed to be working… 🤫]

Do you make your own bed?

Not in terms of making it look all neat and tucked in, no. But that’s because I’m a teensy bit of a germaphobe, and humans naturally sweat at night, which means you must leave your mattress uncovered for a while after you get up to ensure it airs. So, for most of the day (because I forget to straighten it up), my bed just looks like this:

(Just for fun, how many Mandalorians can you spot in the pic?)

Favourite number?

It’s always been 2, and my reasoning used to be that all good things come in pairs. But having discovered my autism in recent years, I’ve come to realise it probably more likely represents the maximum number of people I’m most comfortable interacting with at any one time. So it’s a manageable number. It’s also an even number. And it’s a prime number (in fact it's the only even prime number). It’s a pretty number – it has a nice curved top and a solid, sturdy base. It stops 1 from being lonely, so it’s a kind number.

Is this a weird answer? All of these are really logical reasons to me!

[GIF found here]

What’s your job?

It’s become so specialised that I no longer have a job title, but I started as a legal PA for one of the senior partners at a Legal 500 law firm in London. I flirted with the idea of qualifying as a solicitor but realised there was no way in hell I’d be comfortable standing up in court and speaking in front of lots of people (and I work in the criminal law department so not keen on casually chatting to criminals either). Instead, I decided to become The Person Who Knows Everything.

So now I write briefs to Counsel, proofs of evidence, funding applications; I analyse evidence, conduct legal research, advise the solicitors on their cases; I train paralegals and admin staff; I do a load of data analysis and make pretty spreadsheets for the bosses; and I manage the firm’s IT needs because I can do computer stuff too. I’m basically their go-to girl for anything that seems complicated or time-consuming… and I don’t have to wear a stupid wig in court.

And the best part is, during Covid lockdown, I demonstrated I can do 100% of my job from home, so I was allowed to move 150 miles away, and I now only have to visit my office two days a month! 🙌🏻

Downside: the arduous and random nature of the job means I’m never up to date and always very tired.

If you could go back to school, would you?

My original plan after getting my undergrad degree was to do a Masters and PhD and become an academic, but I put all that on hold for my (now ex) husband so he could finish his PhD and first postdoc. I’m very glad I never went back, though, because I realise that academia is not the place for me… see above comment about not being able to stand up and talk in court to understand why standing up and talking in a lecture hall would be equally nerve-wracking for me. So, no, I’m content with my current level of schooling.

Honestly, university was more about learning how to ‘adult’ properly than obtaining any useful knowledge on the course anyway (she says, routinely using concepts learnt on her fiction writing modules when crafting Mando fics).

Can you parallel park?

Yup. Narrow roads and a lack of parking spaces in the UK kind of make it a non-optional skill here.

That said, I do sometimes see people desperately trying to line themselves up to get into a space and making an absolute farce out of it, so I guess maybe some people here think it’s optional, but I’d rather not have that kind of stress, so I practised until I could do it easily.

[original GIF found here and then cropped]

Do you think aliens are real?

The way this is phrased… do I think they’re real? Like, do I think the grey ones with big black eyes are anally probing residents in certain sections of North America on a regular basis? Hmm, no. Too many episodes of The X-Files. I mean, Fox Mulder: yum, but I really Don’t Want To Believe, thanks.

But, I remain open to the idea that alien life has evolved elsewhere in the known universe. It’s inconceivably huge, after all. There’s nowhere near enough data to prove (or even speculate) either way – just look at the Drake equation, which has been used to both ‘prove’ and ‘disprove’ the possibility – so I’ll reserve any kind of judgment until some real evidence appears.

Can you drive a manual car?

Yeah, of course. It’s the standard driving test in the UK and allows you to drive both automatic and manual – you actually have to specifically ask to learn only automatic if you decide you can’t handle gears. And, like, it’s all muscle memory, so it’s really not as hard as people think once you’re used to it. I tried to drive an automatic a few years back and found myself involuntarily shadow-shifting the gears!

[original GIF found here and then trimmed for length]

What’s your guilty pleasure?

Mostly, I don’t feel guilty about indulging in pleasures these days. I used to be really affected by social pressures (back before I discovered my autism and still felt like I had to ‘mask’ and fit in), so I used to feel guilty talking about my hyperfixations, but now I couldn’t care less. I shall consume them endlessly and unselfconsciously. It’s very liberating.

Any phobias?

I suppose the answer is sharks, which has no sensible basis for being a phobia because I’ve never had any real encounters to make me fearful (thank fuck!). In fact, I walked through the shark tunnel at SeaWorld just fine as a 7-year-old. Unless that planted some kind of seed of terror, I don’t know. Not sure when it really took hold, but I can’t even look at photos these days. It’s their damn teeth. Someone’s going to have to give me a tooth report on Gladiator II before I can go see it.

The hell if I’m gonna put a photo (or God forbid a GIF) of a shark here, so, umm…

Favourite childhood sport?

Two answers: (1) Football (AKA soccer). I played for a girl’s team when I was about 11, but it was only because the boy I liked was into football. I couldn’t give a shit about it these days, and I don’t think I ever really liked it – I was just ‘masking’, as I did for most of my childhood, but I convinced myself I loved it.

(2) Karate, which I decided all by myself that I fancied doing, then found I was actually quite good at it and excelled at it for a while. But I was 9, and they decided I was so good that I should go and join the adult class (age 14 and up), which I hated, so I quit.

[GIF is one I already had saved from Reddit a while ago, but I can't find the source anymore, so sorry for not crediting the maker]

Do you talk to yourself?

Sometimes, but not often. I live alone, so I occasionally just need to exercise my vocal cords lol. It also depends on what mood I’m in. On an average day, no, I don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but if I’m excited/animated/annoyed in some way, I might say stuff aloud. Basically, if I’m inclined to utter curse words for any reason, I’ll probably use other words aloud too.

[GIF found here]

Tattoos?

I only have one right now, but I plan to increase that number someday. See photo below; I used to have chameleons as pets and got this tattooed near my right hip when I turned thirty to commemorate them. It’s really small.

I would like to get a phrase in Mando’a inked on me somewhere, probably “Kaysh meg miit’gaana, oyacyi”, which means “she* who writes, remains” [*substitute chosen pronoun – Mando’a doesn’t distinguish genders], and is a Mandalorian proverb teaching that you can live forever if you leave behind written words. I have it engraved on my iPad.

Favourite colour?

Very much the blue (with a hint of green) end of the colour spectrum. For something soft, duck egg blue, or for something bold, teal. See the colour of the titles in this post.

I also like the colours of hyperspace and would happily snuggle up with Din in the cockpit.

Do you like puzzles?

Yeah, I guess. I don’t dislike them. But I don’t really do them much. In terms of the crossword/sodoku/brain teaser sort, I might choose to do them in specific settings, like on vacation when I inevitably need to offer my brain something different than whatever book I’m binge-reading.

In terms of the jigsaw type, I have short phases of thinking, “Ooh, that’ll be fun!”, trying to do one, getting bored, and then forcing myself to finish. Last time that happened was Covid lockdown. Took me a year! Though, to be fair, it was one of these bastards…

Okay, I’m done. I realise I’m very late to the party, and a lot of people have already done this one, so sorry if you’ve already participated. No pressure (and no need to illustrate with gifs and images, I just can’t help myself)… 🩵

@604to647 @beefrobeefcal @d4rm4nd4 @feral-ferrule @gracieheartspedro

@joelslegalwhre @littlemisspascal @magpiepills @penvisions @quicksilvermad

@secretelephanttattoo @studioghibelli @syd-djarin @the-mandawhor1an @zaddymandalorian

[cyncerity]

Holy fucking shit the Dad’s Troubles AU story?? That i’ve been teasing since January??? It’s finally done??????

this took so fucking long that i’m debating posting an alternate and an extended unedited version that’s how many times i’ve written and re-written this thing.

anyway without further ado, the posts you’ll need for the context of this story are here and here, and the art teaser is here (if you’ve been keeping up with the Dad’s Troubles AU since 2022 you probably don’t need the context lol, but it has been a while so they’re there for whoever needs a refresher)

@quotethemenevervore (sorry if that’s the wrong account to tag btw) you seemed very excited for this story so i figured i’d tag you lol

tw: soft, safe vore, panic attack ig???

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea.” “I know, but, c’mon…we have to tell him eventually.”

Charlie sat on Schlatt’s living room table, the human leaning his head on his palm to be at a closer level to the borrower he was talking to. This was the same conversation they’d been having on and off for months now: should Ted be let in on the secret that Charlie wasn’t human. Obviously, there was a clear answer for them: eventually. Now, when ‘eventually’ actually was…that was a different problem.

“Do I need to remind you what happened the first and only time you met him in person?” Schlatt asked, to which Charlie just groaned. “You have to bring up the fish thing every time, don’t you? Cause yeah, I remember almost drowning, thank you very much.” “It’s more so the principle that he would throw you out a fuckin window, but you get my point. He clearly doesn’t see you as a person.” As much as Schlatt always hated to think about that, it was something him and Ted could never agree on. Ted was of the opinion that borrowers were basically just bipedal rats, and nothing Schlatt had done to convince him otherwise had worked. “But what if I changed that?” Charlie challenged, standing to pace the space in front of Schlatt. “He knows me, he’s known me for years. We’re friends, fuck, I’d say the three of us are best friends! There’s no way he’d just forget all of that the second he sees what height I am, right?” He finished, looking up at Schlatt with something akin to fear. Like he wanted Schlatt to tell him he was right, that it would all work out. But he couldn’t, because didn’t have an answer to what Ted would do. Schlatt sighed. “Honestly, I don’t kn-“

The doorknob to the apartment shook. It was locked, Schlatt always locked it when it was just him in the apartment. Schlatt and Charlie froze. Was Quackity trying to get in? Cause he wasn’t supposed to be home for a good few more hours, hence the door being locked. They were both absolutely silent, waiting for any confirmation that it was their mutual friend, until they heard a few utterances of cursing from behind the locked door.

“God fucking damnit, where are the keys Schlatt gave me-“

Ted.

~~~

Shit, shit. Schlatt had totally forgotten he gave Ted a space pair of keys for when he was visiting. Fuck, fuck, what the fuck should he do with Charlie?

He heard the key turn in the lock.

All of the borrower tunnels were too far away for the remaining few seconds he had till Ted walked in. There’d be no disguising that he was talking to Charlie. Charlie, who was part of a species that Ted believed couldn’t talk. He wouldn’t be able to explain himself.

He heard a creak as the door started to open.

Did he have a pocket? Shit, no, he had a crew neck and the pockets on his jeans were too tight and small for Charlie to fit in. There was only one other option he could think of. Fuck. Charlie, like him, had been frozen from shock this whole time. That would probably make this easier. He quickly lowered himself down and tried to grab Charlie to shove him in his mouth.

“Schlatt!” He heard Ted shout, and suddenly, without warning, Charlie moved.

Frantically, almost blindly running at him with no warning and accidentally falling past his hand and into his mouth, and everything went to shit.

~~~

Oh no. Speak of the devil. Ted. God dammit, why did he have to show up right when he and Schlatt were talking about him. And why did Schlatt even give him a spare key?

He heard the key turn in the lock.

Ok, fuck, how the fuck was he supposed to get out of this one? He didn’t have time to run, he wasn’t naïve enough to believe that. And contrary to how often he joked about the window and the almost-getting-eaten-by-a-fish thing, it was actually a pretty horrifying experience that he would not like to relive, thank you very much.

He heard a creak as the door started to open.

Shit, what should he do? What could he do?! He was out in the open, nowhere to run and nowhere to hide unless Schlatt had pockets or- wait. Schlatt. Schlatt…himself could be a place to hide. He’d seen Tubbo do it, that had been a long fuckin conversation after walking in on that, but it was safe. Probably a hell of a lot safer than being anywhere near Ted. But was he really willing to end up down his best friends throat?

“Schlatt!” He heard Ted shout and, apparently, he was.

He broke free from his panicked state and immediately sprinted towards Schlatt, planning to climb his shirt to his mouth and just hoping to god Schlatt would get the hint. However, he apparently hadn’t noticed that Schlatt had the same idea as him.

“Schlatt?” Ted asked.

Charlie ran full speed into something jarringly warm and wet. The change in…well, everything environmentally made him yell, as any and all light was suddenly stripped from him.

The door clicked closed, Ted was in the room with them. Thank god they’d been facing away from the door.

Charlie felt himself be thrown backward in the dark space, losing his balance as one of his legs caught in something that started to pull him down.

Oh fuck, that was weird, but it was fine. He wanted this, he decided to do this, he…he was getting eaten. It’s fine. This is fine, it’s Schlatt for fucks sake. And yet, the part of his brain that hadn’t quite registered that the “getting eaten” thing was actually his plan, told him to fight, to try and free his leg from the throat that threatened to drag him deeper into the giant.

“Are you ok, man?” Charlie heard Ted ask from beyond the closed teeth around him. He was getting closer.

The darkest split a bit, and something else entered the mouth with him for a moment. He couldn’t see well enough through his spit covered glasses and small amount of light what they were, but he guessed pretty immediately when they got a grip of his arms and started to shove him down the esophagus. Fingers. Schlatt pinned Charlie’s arms at his sides and shoved more of him down.

The fingers retracted from the mouth when only his legs remained out of the throat. He felt the environment around him change and realized what was happening. His struggling increased tenfold, kicking desperately at the teeth and gums around him to no avail, as the giant swallowed one last time and sent him fully into the throat.

~~~~~

“Schlatt!” Ted yelled, running over to see Schlatt holding his throat, unable to breathe. Ted went to wrap his arms around him to perform the heimlich, but Schlatt was thankfully aware enough to push him away at the last second. Unfortunately, that move made him send himself crashing onto the floor. Ted rushed over again, worry plastered on his face as Schlatt held up a hand, signaling to stop. So, Ted did just that, running off to do god knows what. Schlatt, meanwhile, could feel Charlie get stuck just a short way before he stopped blocking his windpipe. Schlatt pushed at his throat, swallowing frantically, pounding at his chest, anything to get Charlie down faster. He didn’t realize just how much…bigger Charlie was than his son. Charlie was a grown man, and tall by borrower standards, too. Compare that to Tubbo who was short by all standards and Schlatt realized he may have bitten off more than he could chew. Charlie seemed to be helping it go faster somewhat by squirming his way down, though he doubted it was on purpose. Though maybe this was a thought he could have later since at the moment he was very focused on not choking and dying on his best friend.

It was when Schlatt was starting to black out that Ted came back with a glass of water, not even giving Schlatt time to process it before forcefully opening his mouth and pouring it down his throat, giving Schlatt the ability to swallow Charlie down farther and finally unblock him from his windpipe. Schlatt fell to the ground again with a gasp, trying to drag as much air into his lungs as humanely possible. He placed a hand on his chest as he finally, fucking finally, felt Charlie make his way closer towards the stomach. He dissolved into a coughing fit on the floor, Ted slowly lowering himself to sit next to him. Schlatt wasn’t even gonna try to explain anything to Ted yet, though. Not until Charlie ended up where he needed to be and he could stop worrying.

He did his best to keep a poker face while he felt a much heavier weight than usual drop into his stomach. He really hadn’t thought about how much bigger Charlie was than Tubbo, but it was more noticeable now than ever.

Immediately he felt a flurry of movement from his stomach, limbs flailing and Charlie trying to get accustomed to whatever it was like in there. Schlatt squeezed his stomach in so Charlie wouldn’t trigger something audible that he’d have to make an excuse over, but quickly found that the borrower’s whole frame was shaking.

Schlatt only had time to worry for a second before he was snapped out of his shock with a hand clap onto his shoulder, snapping his attention back to what was happening on the outside. “Schlatt, you with me, man?” “..Yeah! Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m fine.” Right, he had an act to put on for Ted. “What the fuck were you choking on?” “Oh nothing, so, what brings you here?” Schlatt asked, trying to redirect the conversation. He didn’t know what excuse he would use for that shit show if he needed one, but he doubted he’d be able to convincingly lie to Ted about it with Charlie right there listening. But it wasn’t like he could say the truth. ‘Sorry about that Ted, I was choking on our third podcast member because he’s scared you’ll hurt him but don’t worry, he’s in my stomach now so he’s safe from, again, exclusively you.’

Yeah, no.

“Well, I came over to surprise you. Didn’t think you’d almost die or something.” Ted said, and Schlatt chuckled a bit in response. “Yeah, well, I didn’t expect anyone to break into my apartment.” Schlatt stood, silently thankful for Ted helping him up as he adjusted to the added weight in his middle. He felt Charlie sway a bit as he stood, though there was significantly less fighting back on Charlie’s end at the movement. Thank fuck. “You down here for any reason other than to scare me half to death?” Schlatt said, pacing over to his fridge under the guise of grabbing food while he silently felt for any signal from Charlie now that his back was turned to Ted. “Yeah, actually.” Ted said, leaning against the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen.

Schlatt hummed to pretend he was paying attention while pressing into his stomach a few quick times. Short short long. Long long long, long short long. ‘U-O-K-?’ He knew Charlie could translate it, he was the one that taught Schlatt Morse code. He was waiting for two taps back; their signal for yes. Hell, he’d even take one tap for no, something. Hopefully, Charlie would get the hint that he was ok.

“…Schlatt?” Ted questioned, again snapping Schlatt out of his worries again. Right. The act. “Sorry, must’ve zoned out, what were you saying?” “I was saying I’m here for a reason. You’re not the only one of my friends in the area, but surprise! I’m staying down here for a few months to do content!” Ted looked to Schlatt expectantly, and Schlatt did his best to be happy for Ted, but he was sure his smile looked forced. He didn’t know if it was his worry for Charlie or just the direction the conversation was headed in, but he had a sinking feeling in his gut that he knew wasn’t Charlie’s fault. He did his best to ignore it. “That’s great, man! Sounds like it’ll be fun.” “That’s the goal.” Ted answered. “Do a couple collab videos, some vlogs, it’ll be sick-” “Mhm.” Schlatt responded while Ted continued talking, tapping out the morse again. And again. And again for good measure. If this wouldn’t get Charlie to do something, anything, then something was wrong. He waited a few seconds before beginning the pattern again with more force, starting to wonder if Charlie had just passed out at that point, until-

Something. An arm or leg or something kicking out where he’d been pressing in, hard, and he recoiled his hand away immediately with a wince of pain. Charlie packed way more of a punch than Tubbo or Tommy did, that’s for damn sure. He wanted to try communication again, though he was smart enough to realize that his physical gestures were not appreciated in the slightest. So he did nothing and waited. He waited a few seconds, maybe even a few minutes, until, finally…he felt two weak taps back.

~~~

Falling headfirst into the pitch black stomach of his best friend was about as pleasant as Charlie expected it would be.

Immediately almost all of his senses were absolutely fucked, the wetness and humidity of the air around him clinging to his skin and fogging his glasses. The spongey walls around him gave way far too easily for him to properly get his balance, and he kept face planting into the bottom of the organ every time he tried to right himself. There was also liquid up to his waist (water, spit, he didn’t know, nor did he care to at the moment) which he kept almost fucking drowning himself in since he couldn’t stay upright long enough or see enough to figure out which way was up, down, forwards, backwards-

The walls suddenly pressed in on him, making Charlie squeak in fear almost inaudibly, pinning him in place thankfully right side up and out of the water, and he realized he was shaking. Why was he shaking? He was fine, he knew that, he knew that, why was he scared? He trusted Schlatt, this wasn’t even the human’s idea, it was his, he chose this.

The walls slowly began to release their hold on him as his thoughts started to suffocate him more than the stomach could ever.

Why, why the fuck was this so awful for him? He was safe, safe, he knew it was safe, he’d seen this happen a hundred times.

The walls began to press in periodically.

He’d willingly hung out with Schlatt and Quackity both when he knew that they had Tubbo inside. Tubbo was fine then, so he’s fine now. Science. Logic. He was safe. He wasn’t food. He wasn’t food.

short short long

Schlatt cared, cared enough about his safety to let him use his body as a barrier between him and someone who could hurt him. Would hurt him. His body. His giant, dangerous body that had been able to swallow him. His body that could kill him at any moment.

long long long

But he wouldn’t. Schlatt cared. He wasn’t food. He was safe. He was safe. Safe within his human friend. Safe from his human friend. Guarded inside a creature that could kill him from a creature that could kill him.

long short long

But his human friend wouldn’t kill him. But his human friend would, almost did, kill him.

The walls were still closing in on him.

Fuck. No, wrong human, Schlatt wants to protect him. Schlatt is his friend. Ted is his friend, their friend.

The walls are closing in periodically. Again and again.

He’s suffocating.

Ted would, almost did, kill him. He almost drowned, was almost swallowed, if it hadn’t been for Schlatt. He was almost swallowed. He was almost swallowed. He was swallowed. He was swallowed, he had been swallowed-

Something pressed in on the stomach again hard enough to force the wall to make contact with him, and in his hysterics Charlie kicked it as hard as he could manage, hearing a sharp hiss of pain be sucked into the lungs above him. Fuck. No, fuck, what is he doing? This is Schlatt. Schlatt. Schlatt, who’s never been anything but good to him, who’s treated him with nothing but respect despite what he was, who raised a borrower child and did a damn good job of it, too. Why…why was he acting like this? He trusts Schlatt, he’s literally thrown his life into Schlatt’s hands more times than he can count, why…why was this so much more difficult?

Fuck, focus on the task at hand. Deep breaths. 4, 7, 8. Again, 4, 7, 8. Charlie forced himself to think of the things around him. Liquid, heat, the weird spongey walls that had been caving in. There’s a good place to start. With the fog of his hysteria clearing, Charlie tried to remember what the pattern of the walls pressing in was. Short short long…long long long…long short long. Charlie let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “You ok?” Schlatt had been asking. He suddenly felt a little bit dumb for his panicked state earlier.

Struggling to push himself to what he was now sure was the front of the stomach with his legs still weak from fear, he settled himself against the wall to better hear exactly what was going on outside. Finally, he answered Schlatt’s question by tapping back twice, letting the human know he was ok, even if the shaking hadn’t quite let up yet. He laughed to himself again, this time more genuinely, as he heard the immediate sigh of relief from above him.

Yeah, he was sure he was safe.

~~~

Charlie was ok. Holy fuck, Schlatt could have cried with relief. He didn’t hurt his best friend, that was a weight off his shoulders. “I did want to talk with you about something though, just to get your opinion on it.” “Sure, what’s up man?” Schlatt said, attention fully on Ted for the first time in this whole conversation. “It’s about Charlie.”

Schlatt froze, and he could feel Charlie tense up. “Uh…what about him?” “I just, i don’t know…it’s hard to explain.” Ted frustratedly motioned with his hands and tried to explain more before sighing. “Did i do something wrong?” Ted said, a genuine look of confusion and hurt in his eyes. “Everytime we talk, it’s fine. We’re friends, and we have been for a while, and I know he’s on the same page as me. But any time I ask him anything vaguely personal, even if it’s just shit like his hair color or mcdonald’s order or fucking anything, it’s like we’re back to being strangers. Like I don’t have the right as his friend to know shit like that. The only thing I know about him is his first name and honestly? It wouldn’t even bother me if he wasn’t so close with you.” Schlatt hadn’t expected that, and from what he could tell of Charlie relaxing and pressing closer into the front wall of his stomach to hear more, he hadn’t expected it either. “Ted, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just…well, for one, Charlie has known me for a lot longer than he’s known you. Of course he’s more comfortable with me. But it’s not that he doesn’t trust you or anything. I promise he considers you one of his best friends. Even when it’s just us talking, he’s never said anything about you that would imply anything else.” “It’s not that I don’t believe that, but I just…sorry, maybe I’m being selfish here. If he doesn’t want to meet me it’s not my business to pry, it’s just something I’ve been thinking about a lot recently.” Ted finished, staring down at his hands. Schlatt…wasn’t sure where to go from there. He felt horrible for keeping such a massive secret from one of his oldest friends, especially about something that’d clearly been causing so much inner turmoil, but he couldn’t betray Charlie like that.

“Schlatt, can you hear me?” Charlie suddenly interjected. Schlatt discreetly tapped his stomach twice for confirmation and Charlie continued. “Ok, then i’m gonna need you to repeat after me, got it?” Schlatt tried not to let the confusion he felt read on his face for Ted to see, but he tapped twice again anyway. He sat in silence for a few seconds before Charlie took a deep breath and started talking.

“But, y’know, Charlie and I were talking about doing something with the podcast soon. We were gonna bring it up to you later, but since you’re in town we could move it up.” Schlatt repeated, and Ted looked up, puzzled. “What were you thinking?” Charlie paused again breathing deeply, though Schlatt could feel his tail swaying in anxiety. However, when he finally spoke up, his voice read nothing but confidence. “We were thinking we could do a few in person recordings.”

Schlatt froze. Had Charlie said what he thought he said? No way in hell was he serious. “Repeat it, Schlatt. I’ve thought it through, i mean it.” Holy shit he was serious. And so, he repeated. God, he wished that Charlie had been able to see the look of utter shock on Ted’s face. “You’re joking.” He said, and Schlatt shook his head while waiting for the next prompt. “Charlie wants to meet you, he’s just…afraid he won’t live up to your expectations.” Schlatt repeated, and Ted scoffed. “Please, that’s the least he should be concerned about. At this point the guy could be a serial killer and I’d still be thrilled to meet him.” Schlatt could tell when the truth hit him fully, because Ted’s expression brightened tenfold. He looked like he’d just won the lottery. “I just, I can’t believe it! Holy shit, I’m gonna meet the Charlie Slimecicle!” “Yeah, me either.” Charlie sighed and Schlatt repeated, though he said it for both of them.

After some more casual conversation about Ted’s plans and ideas for the newly decided live podcast recording, Ted finally said goodbye, promising to let Charlie know how excited he was. Schlatt let out a breath of relief he didn’t even know he was holding when Ted shut the door behind him. He locked it immediately and turned to lean back against the door. “Holy shit that was stressful.” “You’re telling me.”

Schlatt facepalmed as the weight of what he’d just signed on to doing hit him, sliding his way down the door into a sitting position. Charlie felt his stomach drop at the action as well. “Sooo…” Charlie started, lightly kicking at the wall in front of him. “This is weird.” “Very.”

Silence.

“Are you ok?” “Huh?” “Are you ok.” Schlatt repeated. “…yes.” Charlie answered,not exactly confidently, but surely. “I am now, at least. I just…panicked. It’s fucking weird in here and I just- it just took me a bit to handle it, I think. To get over myself cause I know it’s safe and I trust you. It’s just that the idea of getting eaten has been drilled into my head as ‘horrifying and deadly’ for so long that I just lost it for a bit. Fun part of being raised by a traditional colony, am I right? Sorry for kicking you, by the way.” “Don’t worry about that, man.” Schlatt responded, lightly pressing in on his stomach as if asking Charlie if he was ok with contact now. When he didn’t get a negative response from Charlie, he pressed a bit harder and began rubbing where he felt his friend. “I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling like right now. I mean, getting swallowed whole? By a creature over ten times bigger than you? That sounds downright fuckin terrifying. That’s some hollywood horror movie bullshit. I don’t even want to imagine what me choking on you felt like from your point of view. I have the easy job, you got eaten alive, you have every right to have panicked. But…I am glad you trust me that much.” “Thanks, cause I do. And for the record; i’m feeling wet. Very wet and sticky and I can just tell that my fucking glasses are fogged up even though it’s dark enough that i shouldn’t care, but i do.” Charlie complained, making Schlatt laugh.

More awkward silence.

“Why the fuck did you do that??” Schlatt asked suddenly, and Charlie groaned, pushing his glasses into his face with the heels of his palms. Despite the lack of clarification, he knew exactly what Schlatt was asking about. “I don’t know, dude, I panicked! I just…” Charlie sighed, dropping his hands. “He deserves to know. And no better time than the present, I guess. Besides, I have actually been thinking about it. Maybe if he takes it well, we can make it public and some fans will be able to see that we borrowers aren’t what they think we are.” “And if he doesn’t?” “I…I don’t know.” Charlie admitted. “I want to think that he’ll try to change how he thinks of me for the sake of our friendship, but I truly just don’t know.”

“Well, I’m behind you, whatever happens.” Schlatt said. Charlie smiled. “I know.” he answered, confident and happy in knowing that he truly did believe that.

[steddieficfind]

I was wondering if Andrew and Natalee have any fic rec lists? tysm

While I wanted to stick to strictly fic finding on this blog, it seems like people are interested in what we're reading! So we're gonna do a little mini rec list and maybe some more in the future! You can also check out the #rec event tag for more!

Andrew

You Don't Know This Guy by Anonymous - I'm a sucker for future fics with Tommy Hagan and Steve Harrington meeting again. I also love outside POV fics. This one is under appreciated for SURE.

Tell Yourself You Still Live Here by shanparkervarietyhour - angsty future fic where Steddie finally gets together in the 90s.

Apple Tarts and Tattoo Hearts by trekkiepirate - Another really creative and under appreciated outsider POV!

in lieu of flowers by dannytorrance - ow. I love it so much but OW!!! fics delving into Steve's family always get me man.

i thought good guys get to be happy by DrewWrites - okay this one is mine. This is a shameless plug, but it's probably one of the best things I've written.

natalee

i’ve been working on a big reclist that i hope to post on my personal account soon so i’ll let y’all know when that happens :) for now here’s a few of my favorites!

Pity the Freak by emmy_award — this is my all-time favorite steddie fic and i don’t see anything topping it anytime soon so it probably will be forever. i’m always so surprised i never see anyone else talking about it! i came out of this one Changed. i maxed out the text field with my comment which i didn’t think was realistically even possible. this is a must-read and if me saying this convinces even just one person to read this fic then i’ve won

kissing the beehive by slowmoon — one of my best friends, tiff, wrote this in the summer and fall of 2022. they’re one of the most talented writers i know — it was a huge privilege to work on this with them and i had a really fun time editing it. if you like vampire!eddie this one is right up your alley :-)

keep with me forward by shortcrust — this has been a favorite for a long time — it’s simple and sweet and incredibly well-written. a few of the lines were so moving that i still think about them regularly. beautiful!

Calamity’s Child by glorious_spoon — something i value probably more than anything else in a fic is good jokes and this one’s chock full of ‘em. this is like tears in your eyes level funny. i think about “okay, nancy reagan” basically every single day. i too am a massive fan of outsider POVs and this one captures dustin’s voice perfectly

Three Days on the Red Planet by CaptainHoney — as a lover of the sci-fi genre i’ll read any sci-fi au you throw at me. in this case i am throwing this one at y’all. the concept and the setting for this fic are super interesting and well-executed and i could have read hundreds of thousands of words of this. delicious

He Knows Only Two Stories by teddywesworl — you know those fics where eddie is just like…slightly off? like there’s something weird about him. (think Looks like we’re in for nasty weather by prufrocks or Heal Your Shrinking Soul by how_about_no, or maybe even The Train Fic by novemberthorne) this is one of those and it’s soooo good. i only recently realized i’m very much drawn to There’s Something Wrong With Eddie as a genre but this is the best of ‘em, i’d say. and obviously you can never go wrong with farmer!steve. i’ve never read a fic i didn’t love from this author and this one is no exception!

let us know if you’d like to see more of this sort of thing from us in the future, and happy reading!

[wingsdippedingold]

Ch 1: "Please String your Bow"

New Series: Read ACOTAR with me!

Hello! I’ve decided to start a new series of me going back and rereading the ACOTAR series, as it's been years since I last actively did so, and posting it here on tumblr!

I plan to do my best to observe the story as though I’m reading it for the first time and don’t have prior knowledge, trying to build my opinions back up from a blank slate. Some of my annotations will try to reflect that, asking questions that I or you may already know the answer to. However, I’m including many of my old comments as well.

I may start a tag list if people are interested, but with that: Chapter 1!

wc : 859 - Index

This is the line that pulled me into the chapter.

So she's shooting a recurve, which in this case, is basically the standard medieval bow you'd imagine. Unstringing is done to keep the wooden limbs from straining and getting bent out of shape from the tension.

Alright, so this is our first bit of human lore regarding faeries beyond just the "they're dangerous". Humans believe that faeries eat people.

Okay, okay, very Cinderella-esque. Now, is the expression she's thinking of sad, disappointed, or angry- at this point it seems more pitiable.

I am familiar with this pose.

Seemingly, both her family and her town rely on Feyre. I know it's to emphasize her role as the only one working, but it's weird imagining an entire town asking a single 17 year old girl to provide for them. They're asking her to be the main character at this point. The world is cruel to Feyre.

The artist in her 😭

I think its interesting that she includes bother her father and her current cottage (quote below) in this dream.

On another note, I know some people interpret the last bit to be "oh she hates her sisters and wants them gone", but I think she knows they'd be unsatisfied with the simple life that she would be, wanting to go back to their prior life of luxury. (But, she basically becomes her sisters in this dream later in the series anyway)

Feyre and painting on fucking walls

Pretty words

Feyre, baby… you gotta string your bow again…

I think I know why y'all are starving.

Our first outright characterization of Nesta from Feyre:

I mean a regular arrow would still do more damager than a bee sting. Regardless, her weapons are important for later.

👍

This confused me. Because, either way, unless you kill the wolf, you starve, unless the wolf flat out leaves, but considering it's going for the deer, it won't. If he eats the doe or scares it, you have to kill him. SJM didn't give Feyre the mindset of a poor woman in dire need of food. Is eating the wolf not even an option?

I would imagine hunting the bigger game, even if less tasty and more dry, during a time of animal scarcity when she regularly comes back empty handed, would be a starving woman's first choice. Your shot would have to be a good one regardless of whichever you choose, and if its because of disease, eating any wild animal carries risks.

Maybe I'm just being stupid, but like... if they really were that poor and in need of food, how is the wolf not even an option?

8 years of experience, assuming she had consistent practice between hunts

Wrong, this happens even after death. How much research did SJM do before making an entire chapter around hunting and a character who's been doing it for 8 years?

Personally, I would try putting the poor thing out of its misery if I was unsure about pain, instead of sitting and waiting. Feyre has a hunting knife which she uses to skin the wolf later. Even with her appropriate level of caution, this animal couldn't jump up and kill you. I don't know, reading this made Feyre feel like a relatively amateur hunter, rather than the experienced one she's meant to be.

I imagine she waited for it to die in case it had faerie magic or something, but she decides that it's not one after its death, which doesn't make sense to me, because I imagine she had never seen a faerie die (or shapeshift)? How would its death have any different markers- beyond the ones Feyre couldn't previously identify- than a normal wolf?

Well no. It didn't. Earlier she said animal wouldn't live with the ash arrow in it's side, but it was her normal arrow in the eye that proved lethal (see below)

Mr. Wolf was still standing after the ash arrow, he only collapsed after the normal one in the eye.

Realistically, the better option would be to dress both animals, get rid of organs (especially the wolf's), guts, heads, genitals, and any other dead weight; this'll reduce the load by at least a third, if not a half, considering that she's only hunting for sustenance and not keeping any parts for trophies. Drag the wolf and carry the deer.

The wolf's size could be an issue- but she considers a small deer to be a struggle, so I'm not sure what's up with that. I imagine she isn't an experienced hunter and/or doesn't field dress, despite her 8 years, considering that she usually comes back empty-handed.

Alright, so dressing both animals would take upwards of an hour for someone with the amount of experience I would assume Feyre has. Regardless, for a wolf of that size and weight, with half of it against the ground, it'll take way longer than minutes to skin. You're gonna spend a while there, even if you don't dress the animal.

Back on track with Feyre being the cool protagonist that she's set up as.

Thank you for reading these! Overall, this was more nitpicky than any serious notetaking as its just the opening chapter- there's a lot more substance in the coming ones!

[thisfanisgonesorry]

handcuffed - jim hopper

you REALLY dont wanna get arrested right now.

cw/tags: DUBCON. DUBCON FOR DAYS. uhh, very bdsm-y, obvious power dynamics, degradation kink, handcuffs, obviously. timeline debatable, age difference but thats what makes it hot!, he spits in y/ns mouth. cums in her panties if thats a kink? what would i call that? y/n is canonically a bit of a slut but thats okay! mutual pining if u squint.. maybe enough lore for multiple parts. hopper is lowkey a prick whoop whoop.

havent posted in a while but i wrote this (shitty) gem from a few weeks ago.

<3

Surely, this would be a good day. Surely.

Well, that is what I was thinking before I was sprinting down the road, trying my best to avoid the cops. Needless to say, now I’m restrained by an all-too-familiar chief of police and he’s hauling ass to his cop car, which would now be 50 or so feet from where I’m currently standing.

I’m trying to break free so I can sprint in another direction and pray to god it works. Maybe into the woods, break line of sight. We’re by the backroads, so there’s not a lot of people, though maybe losing face in a crowd would be what I need.

I seemed to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time. I was near Billy’s shithole of a house, just when the cops showed up, and of course, they had to assume I was to blame. Now, at a worse place at a worse time, I’m harshly pressed into the hood of Jim’s car, and he’s struggling to keep my arms in place to put them into a pair of handcuffs. His body is tightly holding me into place, but god damn, I am not getting arrested right now.

“Let me go, Hopper!” I shout, trying to pull my arms out of his grip so I can use them to push him off. I try to move any of my limbs in any direction as an attempt to get him off me.

“Stop struggling.” He says, as he meets my face, feeling the stubble of his moustache brush my ear. I freeze for a moment; before continuing anyway.

“I wasn’t even at that stupid Hargrove’s house! You already arrested all of the assholes there, why are you harassing me!”

He lets out a few grunt, and then I hear a click and feel cold metal around my wrists, so I struggle more as he tries to stand us both up, still pressed against him as he tries to not let me escape him.

“Get the fuck off me, Jim.”

“Watch it.” He breathes out, “You’re about to get us both into somethin’ you don’t wanna get into.”

“I don’t wanna get arrested by some pig! Not over some shit I didn’t do!”

He finally brought some distance between us as he turned me around, looking at me face to face, though still trying to keep me in place with a hand firmly on my shoulder. I was trying to analyse the situation, there was one, semi-large, semi-hard, glaring problem.

Maybe all that struggling was not the wisest idea I could’ve had.

“Are you hard right now?” I said, with a bitter taste on my tongue, deciding to get rid of that taste by spitting right in his face.

“I told you to stop struggling.” He said through gritted teeth as he wiped the saliva with the back of his hand. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” He gestured towards the backseat.

“What? This, or you?”

“Get in the fucking car, Y/n.”

“I didn’t do anything. I’m telling the truth this time, promise!” He began to shove me, before I tried to intervene once again, desperation levels rising to a shameful amount. “Hey! Hey! Maybe we can work something out!”

“I’m taking you in and if you don’t stop talking, I’ll find some way to shut you up.” He seemed unphased despite the half-mast tent in his pants. He glared at me, speaking sternly. “And don’t fucking spit at me again.”

“I’m not friends with Billy, I’m sober as a judge here, Hop!” I furrowed my eyebrows, “Plus, it’s not like you can walk into the station with a boner, can you? Or are you willing to bet it’ll go away by then?”

“You’re right. I can’t. I know what you’re implying, I also can’t..” He hesitated for a moment. “..Act on it with someone under my custody.”

He could sense the sardonic attitude behind my voice. “Why not?”

“Don’t play that game with me.” He said, pushing me again towards the backseat, though I crashed into the side-mirror of his car, letting out a moan of pain which made him, and his buddy, a bit more rash.

“Help me, help you?” I said with a fake grin, trying to push his buttons, either as a tease or a genuine way to get into his pants. “C’mon, what d’ya got to lose?”

“My job.”

“I won’t tell no one. C’mon, I’ll help you out and you can think about letting innocent ol’ me go, how’s that?”

Is it bad that through the numerous times Chief Hopper has thrown me in jail, I’ve always thought, ‘might as well go out with a bang, right?’, he’d been on my ass for years, either for underage drinking or hanging around pot, he’d find some way to get me in handcuffs. I was old enough to do both of those now, and for once, I was completely innocent.

“If you’re so innocent, why’d you run?”

“Look, I was just at the wrong place, wrong time. I saw sirens comin’ at me, what d’ya think I’m gonna do?” I could feel the tension; sexual or not, it was thick in the air. He was clearly sexually frustrated, and look at him, of course he would be. Sure, he was hot, but it’s not like the chief of police gets many weekends.

“I’ve heard you use that excuse before.”

“I’m telling the truth here! What have I got to lose? You’re hard and I’d fuck you to get out this time. I’m not sitting in a drunk tank with Billy!”

“Why’d you run?”

“Fine! I got pot on me! But it’s not from Billy!”

“Where?” He said sternly, trying to pull it off me. I didn’t want to admit it was in my bra, so I tried to avoid eye contact. “Where.” He repeated, louder.

“It’s in my bra..” I said, still avoiding eye contact. He looked at the buttons to my white and green shirt, deciding if he should or not. I rolled my eyes at him, almost to urge him to just hurry up and get on with it.

He quickly began unbuttoning the shirt, it was probably not his best choice, but once it was unbuttoned, he tugged it out of my jeans and tried to push it as best he could off my torso. He took in the view for a moment, but only a moment.

“Where?”

“Left side.” He raised his large hands to put his hand on my right; “MY left.”

Granted, I hadn’t exactly prepared for this moment, so my bra was an off-skin tone, and wasn’t exactly ‘sexy’. He put his hand in the cup of my bra, feeling it for a moment, his fingers grazing my nipple, before he pulled his hand away, with a small baggie of mix in his hands.

“Look, I wasn’t actually doing anything wrong, okay?.. I’ll do anything, I just.. Please don’t bust me for this.”

He looked at the bag, and he exhaled sharply, you could see the cogs turning in his brain, like clockwork, deciding. Weighing his options, even.

“Anything?” He spoke almost silently.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” He said, “I’m serious.”

I hesitated for a moment, before simply nodding, and he let out a shaky sigh before grabbing my face, he was still rightfully so, very angry at me, so he firmly pried my mouth open.

“Swallow it.” He spoke sternly before spitting in my mouth.

I swallowed it immediately, “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

It took me by surprise how quick the tables had turnt, and his breath shook, and he quickly opened the backseat door, pushing me towards it, though I still stood upright. He had full control, so it seems he wasn’t just going to bend me over and fuck me. At least, not right away.

He pressed his mouth on mine, one hand holding me in place by the waist and the other holding onto the roof of the car. Slowly, he moved his hands down, playing with my belt until he could tug down my jeans so they rested around my knees.

“Hop, c’mon.” I breathed, pulling away though his mouth chased mine slightly. He peaked down, eyeing white panties with a small bow on the elastic.

He pulled away fully, then fiddled with the belt of his own pants, before unbuttoning them and leaving it open like that. I tried to open my legs for him though I was restricted, he pressed our clothed crotches together, a sigh escaping him as he did.

“Can you.. unbutton your shirt?” I asked, a little more timid than I would’ve liked. He gave a short nod, before unbuttoning his shirt so I had a decent view. He was fit, though obviously rockin’ a bit of a dad bod. A good amount of hair and honestly, I could be mad about the last screw I might have for a while, yet I’m not.

“You’re pathetic.”

“Please.” I responded softly, leaning towards him though he simply pulled away. He seemed proud of himself, devolving me into almost begging for it, yet also unsatisfied. “Sir? Please?”

“You’re so smart, such a fast learner.” He said, though it somehow sounded like he was degrading me, and yet, it was driving me crazy.

“I.. I want to touch you.”

“I’m not falling for that.”

“C’mon, Hop. Don’t tease me.” I pleaded with him, and it must’ve worked.

Almost like a switch went off; it was quick, but not harsh, he turned me around and bent me over the back seat.

“Beg for it.”

“I’m not begging for it.”

He took a fist of my hair and pushed my face into the seat, speaking sternly. “Don’t act like you’re not a slut. I’ve heard the stories. Beg.”

“Shit, please.” He pushed my face further; “Please, sir, please!”

“For such a fast learner, you’d think you’d know how to keep out of trouble.” He said, alongside rustling of fabric, I assume pulling your pants down with only one hand isn’t easy. “Last time. Were you at Hargroves or not?”

This was probably the most evil form of interrogation.

“No! I swear it, I hate his guts; him, and his shitty weed. What do I gain from lying to you right now!”

“You do whatever you can to get your kicks out of me. I know you get around. The amount of drunk-tank ramblings about the vixen behaviour you get up to, who knows, this is just another way to fuck with me.”

“Tough talk coming from you.”

“Quit acting like a brat.” He snarled, “You want this, you need this.”

“I don’t.” I lied, and he could tell.

“So if I just pulled up my pants and undid those handcuffs, you wouldn’t kneel and beg about how you need me? I see how you look at me.”

Shit. He played into exactly what I meant and he’s still got me caught.

“No, I mean, yes, I dunno!” I cried with urgency.

“Say you don’t want me to fuck you.”

“I want you to fuck me, Jim, please.”

“Exactly. Look how wet you are.”

He pulled down my panties, soaked beyond any chance of denial, or even dignity I could possibly have left. He shakily breathed, lining himself up to my entrance to only grind against the slickness, teasing.

“Jim, please, I’ll be good, please. I’ll stop getting into trouble, just—”

Almost like a heaven-sent miracle, he began slowly pushing himself deeper, one hand the chain of the handcuffs, and the other still tightly in my hair.

“Oh, shit.” He groaned, bottoming out in a smooth movement.

He began at a slow pace, just to feel the way he felt as he moved. It wasn’t fast enough to build any pleasure.

“Faster, my god.” The pace was agonisingly slow.

“I bet you like it rough, huh?” His grip on my hair tightened, almost stinging.

“Shut up—”

“The rumours are right, aren’t they?” He grunted.

“No, ‘m a good girl.” I panted, “I’ll be your good girl.”

“Are you? How long have you wanted to fuck me?”

“If I tell you, will you fuck me like you mean it?” I pleaded, “C’mon, fuck me real hard, please — I’m good for it.”

He rolled his eyes and began thrusting, the sound of wet slapping sound quietly echoing through the woods.

“You really are just a slut, look at you.” He laughed, letting go of my hair and reaching around and grabbing my throat, pulling me upright. “Answer my question.”

“So long, Jim, I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long.”

“Yeah? Is that why you’re such a little bitch? Why you’re on my nerves all. the. fucking. time?”

“Yeah, ‘m sorry, please.”

“Stop getting into so much fucking trouble.” He cursed, finally letting go of the loose chokehold and grabbing both hips to fuck into me harder, though completely stopping instead.. “All this so I’ll fuck you? Huh?”

“Yes! I’m better than the other dumb whores you fuck, god, shit.”

“Yeah? You want me all to yourself? Say it.”

“I want you, now fucking move!”

He began thrusting again, I went limp and slumped over, he was groaning and only now beginning to lose his composure. I was drooling over the carseat, my eyes were rolling back into my skull, all over some stupid cop with an amazing dick.

“Y’re so nice aren’t you, you’re so good, you’re gonna let me cum right? ‘m your good girl, please, touch my clit, ‘m so close, please, you’ll let me—”

“Look at you, so needy.” He panted, reaching down to toy with my clit. “God, I’m so close, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Please!” I began chanting as I unwound on him, “Oh, fuck, I’m—”

I clenched around him and felt the rush of the orgasm hit me like a wave, he shuddered and kept fucking into me until my orgasm rode out.

“Feels so good, y’so good..” I mumbled tiredly, feeling him pull his still-hard cock out. “What? What are you doing?”

“I’m not cumming inside you.” He said, stroking his cock to completion.

“Please. Want your cum, please.” I mumbled into the carseat.

“Fine, I’m gonna..” He groaned in annoyance though it could also pass as pleasure.

“Thank you, sir.”

He kept jerking himself off, “Ugh, Y/n, fuck, I’m—” He grunted as he came on the panties still bunched around my knees.

“Can you.. help me.. get dressed?” I mumbled. He sighed, pulling up my panties and jeans before rolling me over to do up the button and zip. “I can feel your cum, s’warm.”

“Yeah. It is.” He sighed, buttoning up the tshirt and scooting me into the car fully.

He got into the driver’s seat and began turning on the car, talking into his walkie talkie about something or other. “Are you goin’ to take me home?”

“No, Y/n. I have to take you to the station for the pot.”

I groaned tiredly. “Oh, fuck off, Hopper.”

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

I love reading your realizations about TTPD! I think that just bc of the dense and emotionally challenging content matter in TTPD it can be harder for people to just drop in and out of casual convo about it (which is why discussions seems to be more lively around more surface level interpretations/muse talk/current events in swiftdom). Not that people don’t want to talk about the deep stuff, but it is harder for the whole dash to be cooking the same sauce at the same time bc some days I might just be too sleepy to delve into the psychoanalysis of exorsizing traumatic demons 😅. I find it helpful when people reblog their own related posts when a new interesting one pops up (and that’s also the best part of tumblr; the zombie like resurgence of older discussion material).

I do also think, fwiw, that there is a lot of hesitancy to discuss certain topics among fans who were on here when Taylor was. It’s not good or bad, and there’s certainly nothing wrong with airing on the side of respect. I feel like sometimes the culture on here tends to rely on euphamisms or censoring ourselves bc we’re worried that others might think we’re crossing a boundary. (Especially if we are trying to take our cues from people who have been here a long time - which could be a good thing!) And the tumblr culture of passive aggression and vague posting can end up being a strong persuasion against posting something that might be more “risky”.

I’m always trying to figure out where my boundaries are wrt what I will get into on my blog, and I often feel like my instincts are not quite in line with the majority of swifties I really really respect. So I keep my thoughts to myself… but maybe it’s okay to push a little further into more interesting subjects and there’s ways to do that and still be respectful. maybe Taylor herself changed the “rules” when she made it clear that she is not on tumblr (at least using her real name) anymore. I think that action sort of reestablished this space as a fan-only space and not a mutual relationship, which might change the approach to discussion, and maybe it’s okay for different blogs to have different personal boundaries. I would probably post differently if Taylor followed me, but she doesn’t, and idk if I would want her to 🤷🏼‍♀️ .

I think it’s okay to talk about art in a deep way and include public knowledge of the artist, and to connect it to my own life and even it’s okay to be wrong (not ok to spread lies maliciously though). Taylor releases art, not an autobiographical testimony (even if TTPD purposefully invokes and validates that!)… I honestly think it sometimes does a disservice to her artistry when we self-sensor our commentary. Art should be talked about!!! Idk I think I’ll always be navigating that dilemma as long as Im active on my swiftie blog (and, I think she will always continue to wrestle with her end of that bargain in her art for as long as she chooses to be in the public eye). And! I adore the space you’ve carved out here and the perspectives and opinions you share about Taylor’s ouevre!

Anon thanks for your very thoughtful insight!

I do get that TTPD is dense and I feel like I should get better at tagging so that people can skip it on their dash if they're not interested or something because my thoughts are often equally dense lmao.

That's actually a really interesting observation that perhaps some of the self-regulation comes from the fact that this actually used to be a platform Taylor engaged with and I hadn't considered that. I guess that may be one of the byproducts about being a latecomer to the online fandom (though not to tumblr or to Taylor's music-- e.g. I knew Taylor was on Tumblr but I was invested in other fandoms at the time so never really engaged in Swiftie tumblr until the pandemic because I can only handle one fixation at a time apparently lol) in that I don't don't know how much that has influenced fandom behaviour.

I count myself extremely fortunate for finding a small community here that has welcomed me so generously, so I largely don't see or experience negativity and have a mercifully curated fandom experience. But even at that, I feel the unease about the potential threat of, well, unpleasantness, and it's a weird sort of limbo to find yourself in when at the end of the day, you're just a person with a blog typing from the safety of your own little hovel like anyone else here.

And it's also such a fine line to straddle because on the one hand, you want to be respectful and not invasive, but on the other hand, the art is SO rich and SO revealing, and Taylor herself has spoken about how gratifying it is for her to be known, even the parts that would be considered unsavoury or unpleasant or prying, which I find incredibly brave. Obviously that doesn't mean people should be stalking her or making insinuations or presumptions or whatever, but I also absolutely agree with you that I think sometimes the policing (and I'm not talking about anyone in the community here, I'm talking about the internet in general) almost does a disservice to that wish of hers to be seen. I don't know if that makes any sense.

For instance, you all know how much I love TTPD with all my heart and think it's the quintessential thirtysomething album, because its themes and experiences are so, so, so common, if not in detail than certainly in emotion. The same can be said for her other albums. I have friends who have gone through the oven-microwave/wedding-no wedding/etc. experience and I wish they were Swifties because I feel like they'd be blasting this on a loop lol.

I can think of so many other examples, but the other day I was in the car with a friend and she started talking about something difficult she'd gone through last year in a way she's only beginning to really process now, and I had to resist the urge to say "there's a Taylor Swift song about that," but it was true-- what she was saying was just like, exactly what the song was about, with pretty remarkable parallels (and even wording). And all jokes aside about there being a song for everything, I was thankful that by being familiar with Taylor's work, I actually felt like I had an even better understanding and way to be supportive of my friend in her sharing this. And what I mean by this all is, what a gift it is that there is this art that delves into these very human experiences: not just the difficult, the sorrowful, the painful, but also the joyful and life-affirming. I'd have to imagine that's part of why Taylor feels it's so important to share her work: not just so that she's known, but that others can feel seen in return. Nobody is alone out there when you know that someone else has been there or can understand you. And why the good feels so good after going through the bad.

(Actually now that I think of it, I was at another friend's house the other day and we also had a completely different conversation that was exactly in line with "Robin" which is another example of the breadth of Taylor's songwriting and reflections on life.)

So while I absolutely understand being sick of rehashing the same old things all the time, to me the reason why I'm constantly thinking of this music is BECAUSE it's so relatable. Having conversations with friends here sheds light on new things or forms new connections. Thinking about my own experiences or those of my loved ones connects even deeper. I don't want to make presumptions, but I would venture to guess Taylor would find that really wonderful too, as someone who spends her life distilling her own lived experience into something weirdly universal.

There's obviously a line fans shouldn't cross when talking about these things, but I guess it's trying to figure out that line. And personally I'm just always trying to be conscious of if I'm being annoying by talking about these things over and over again, even though I'm not coming from a place of like, obsession (much lol), but more like, new understanding or appreciation on each listen. I've said before that Taylor's music scratches the same kind of itch that prestige TV dramas do, in that they're not only entertaining on a surface level (to listen to), but the storytelling is so interconnected, and having knowledge of not only her discography but the experiences that informed it I think makes it even more poignant. So you can enjoy the music for what it is (which I absolutely do -- I'm not saying I do a critical analysis on each listen! Some days I just want to yell I LOVE YOU AIN'T THAT THE WORST THING YOU'VE EVER HEARD), but it's also not wrong to be impressed by and inspired by the layers underneath.

I suppose I'm lucky in that my platform is tiny and inconsequential so I have certain freedoms I know many blogs don't, and I probably don't need to tread as lightly as I feel like I do right now. Maybe I'll get braver in the new year if the mood strikes lol.

Thanks so much for the food for thought anon!

[ajockeynamedpod]

everything went wrong this year other than reconnecting with my dad

my health got worse and I lost two of my four best friends, the ones I knew longest who I could actually see in person

and I got anon hate messages because someone decided to reblog their salty criticism of something I said about r*kiel that I didn’t even put in the tag because people gotta publically correct someone instead of actually like… making a separate fucking post that doesn’t invite people to be brainless to someone who’s just saying some damn words. and then got a “sorry it came across that way oops” in return. you know who you are and you never deleted the post. it also make me hate the character you went off about so good job on that. say all you want about my maturity level, but im not sending anon hate about m*xxr*ki

I was really hoping my ocs would take off a little too, since I’ve seen people in jjba fandom put a lot of work into their ocs and show everyone and they get like… fan mail and requests for more of them????? but they do art more often than I do and their art looks nicer too so that’s probably part of that. if I could color without my hands hurting… :/ me pouring my heart and soul into what I COULD do wasn’t enough for anyone, let alone myself. Charlie is the only one who believes in my ocs and seems to love them.

i dunno. I keep hoping for things like that but they’ll never happen because it’s me. im not not a great person :/ everyone else is so friendly and im scared to talk to people now. I didn’t use to be. but ive gotten so close to people in the past who told me i was fine and understandable, until i wasnt. im not too much, until i am. I’m not asking for unreasonable things, until i do.

and it makes me worse for the next person, because im STILL mentally unpacking things from someone who did that to me in 2017, now I have to unpack 2024 too when everyone else did it again. as an emotionally stunted 35 year old who routinely gets told I should know better. when that’s… literally the problem.

therapy is slow going on that front. I may never learn how to handle this. hence being scared to talk to people.

2025 is going to be no different if I can’t get my physical health to improve at the very least. im trying. I’ve been going to the gym and doing water weights/cardio since it doesn’t impact my joints.

I want 2025 to be better, I really do. But I know what it’s going to be and I know what’s going to happen. And when that happens, you can look back on this post where I knew damn well.

I don’t even have anyone to spend New Year’s Eve with tonight. that tells you all you need to know.

sorry for being a fucking parasite this year. sorry for hoping too hard and imagining a little too big.

[merlintheactor]

Yeah okay so I scrolled through the alexithmyia tag and I don’t think it has this in any recent posts. I tend to be very dynamic while explaining stuff, so I’ll try and add that to the list

So, my aspiring students, what is this thing that you’ve probably never heard of, and why am I telling you about it?

Well, first let’s explain what it is. In the broadest possible sense, alexithmyia is basically a null condition. (Such as asexual, agender, aromantic) What I mean is it’s something describing the lack of something, which in this case is emotion. Alexithmyia is the inability to describe emotions or in some cases, not even feel them properly.

Have you ever experienced things like burning rage, or butterflies in your stomach, or the coiled rope of guilt deep in your stomach, or panic in your throat?

Alexithmeics (?) don’t have that. Or some do, it’s complicated. We’ll get to it.

I’m not a professional, this is all just my (and others) lived experience but I’ve seen the condition broken down into two categories, cognitive & affective. I saw this first on the reddit community for alexithmyia but I like it so I’m yoinking it.

Mu main source for this is an article by Zoe Blade (http://notebook.zoeblade.com/Alexithymia.html). It has sources, and is generally a better breakdown than what I’m going to do. Please check it out, it’s very good.

I’m writing my own thing on tumblr because most people won’t find it on reddit, don’t use it, or just won’t click a link on a random post. Itll probably sound very similar.

Cognitive alexithmyia is basically the original definition , where people with it have a great deal of difficulty describing their emotions. Sometimes it takes time to study the emotion, or sometimes you find out what the emotion was days later. This one isn’t really my lived in experience, but I have felt it occasionally.

Affective alexithmyia is the second definition, which I am a part of (yay!). It’s the inability to feel emotions on a visceral level. The way I’ve described it before is that metaphors about emotions don’t apply to me. I have never felt burning rage, I have never felt my stomach have butterflies, only once have I felt proper guilt.

This is mainly gonna focus on the second, because it’s the one I have.

Affective alexithmyia is complicated, as is anything that describes a null. I’m going to break it down into questions. So, in my best attempt to break it down, let’s begin.

How do you experience things like emotions, then? Are you unfeeling?

Yes and no. Affective alexithmyia means you can’t really feel things on a conscious level. As said before,the whole metaphor things about emotions don’t hit me. They’re just words. I usually have to infer how I feel from my body; if I listening to music, which I do enjoy, I can feel like bopping to the music, tapping my foot to the beat, stuff like that. From that, I can infer I’m enjoying it. If I’m very snappish and rude and it’s around six pm, I can usually tell it’s because I’m either overwhelmed from work, or I haven’t ate. If I read a hateful message, or a sad one, I can simply ignore it. I don’t feel angry. I can look forward to deleting the message, but I don’t get any emotion from it itself.

This is all to say that I’m not unfeeling, usually. I can express emotions, but they don’t come out the same way as everyone else, nor am I usually aware of them. Sometimes, I can just not feel emotions. I went to my mother’s funeral, and didn’t shed a single tear, not really feel the loss. This is to say it really depends. Sometimes my emotions don’t manifest, sometimes they do. The overarching point is that alexithmiacs with the affective side of things experience things almost fundamentally different to most people.

I am basically incapable of holding a grudge. What little emotion I do feel fades quickly, like a summer storm. I can’t be angry at someone for more than like an hour, most.

Why does this matter? How does it affect things?

Well, having the condition of alexithymia can cause a hell of a lot of social problems, especially as it’s usually paired with things like autism. People don’t generally like unemotive people. They’re hard to read and understand which can lead to a harder social life, harder times relating to people, hell even parenting. I haven’t conducted any research, obviously, but there’s a chance not having a broad social life might not really matter to people with alexithmyia. It doesn’t to me, anyway.

It can also lead to internal problems, physical or emotional. Because your signals aren’t properly getting to your brain, you can have issues with feeling hunger or thirst, bowels or bladder. You’ll probably still feel the signals, but only when your body is screaming at you. I wouldn’t say this is a uniquely alexithmyia related issue as, like I said, it’s comorbid with a lot of neurodivergent conditions. This could be due to ADHD, or autism, etc. it also leads to motivational problems, at least for me. I can’t feel invested in things easily. I’m always aware that I’m reading a book, playing a game, and when it comes to being creative, it’s hard to put my pen to paper.

On an emotional level, like I said, it can cause social problems. I personally don’t experience things like most people. It can make me seem cold and unfeeling. It can also lead to a lot of questioning and mental problems, because I mean. You’re fundamentally different to your peers. That will screw you up. It’s why alexithmyia needs more study and needs to be better known.

Things like raising kids and having partners is also pretty hard, from what I’ve seen. How does one understand a kid’s emotions when you don’t experience any? Some links for parenting are here, here and here. Partner links are here, here and here.

It also matters because I, god mage of everything, decided it does. Can’t refute that, now can you!

How does one get alexithmyia? When does it affect you?

My understanding is it’s broadly a genetic thing. I have it, my dad has it. It can also apparently be caused by trauma, repressing of emotions.

Does it manifest in kids? No idea. I was a fairly bubbly kid, apparently, but that changed as I started to approach teenage hood. I assume it has something to do with signals being too weak to reach the body, similar to depression with serotonin and adhd, but I have no clue. I haven’t done detailed research.

How does this affect creativity? Are you all maths people?

No. Much like anyone else, we have a variety of jobs and desires. There are actors with alexithmyia, writers, scientists etc. no one is bound to one job because of their conditions. I am bad at maths, I like writing and acting. I know another who doesn’t really read or watch things too often but loves maths and wants to do farming.

People are unique, no matter what.

Who’s got alexithmyia in media?

Far as I’m aware? No one. No characters have my condition. I assume it’s due to a few factors.

One, this is very unknown. You can’t write something you’ve never heard about, at least not intentionally.

Two, it’s extremely difficult to write someone with an inability to feel emotions. Characters are often emotionally different. Can you imagine FitzChivalry without his rage and emotion, or Kaladin without his deep sense of honour, drive for change and depression?

I hope to one day write a story with an alexithmyic character, but it’s a long way off.

Conclusion

Alright, finished! If you have questions, send me an ask or something. I’ll try and answer.

Please note a lot of these links, all of them except for Zoe’s, are anecdotal. There are a few science links within the subreddit itself, and Zoe has a lot of sources for her stuff. I’m not going to do a research kind of post until I have a firm grasp of said research. This is merely my experience, and people who exist on reddit because that’s the only place I’ve found an alexithmyia community.

I’m also interested in hearing from creatives about this stuff, and how it affects your work. God knows it affects mine.

[leopardom]

✨ sappy post incoming ✨

(and a little trigger warrning for the vague mention of suicide)

i’m not gonna do any gig reports for now because last week still feels like a fever dream and i can’t really put my thoughts in an order that makes sense. but i just wanted to stop by to say how much i love the vibes and creativity of this fandom and how happy everyone was when it came to meeting and trading/giving out their creations while queueing for the gigs or even when they were over

in Munich, Milan and Padova i got to meet so many people from here. with some of them i chatted more and with some others less. but in any case it absolutely warmed my heart to finally see all those people i see on tumblr but like, in real life! i got to trade my stickers for bracelets/stickers/art/fan stuff, got to see everyone have a good laugh because of my stuff and also got to complement people for their crafts. and i'm telling you i really meant every single word because as i already mentioned, i love the creativity of this fandom 💕

last weekend i began my trip with pretty much nothing on me and now i'm back home with a bag full of bracelets, a folder full of art and a heart so full i wanna cry. i mean look at that:

1) idek where to begin with the tags of the artists, i’m still confusion but i’ll try to come back to this post again later with a clearer mind

2) “big juicy” bracelet you will always be famous @greensolsikke <3

this last week was a tiring experience with many ups and downs but at the same time it was probably the best week of my life so far

i'm getting especially emotional about it all because this whole frenzy concided with my birthday (on the 29th of March). this may sound cringe or what, but on the actual day of my birthday and when everything was over, i was sitting alone on my hotel bed in Milan and was thinking how this last year of my life started in the worst way possible and how it was only escallating towards the worst every single day. during my 26 i reached a new level of low, a bottom lower than the one i had reached when i was 20-21 (and that was a bad bad time). and yes, there were a few times when i was close to ending it all because it was too much. my 26 was pretty much like hell

but now i'm glad i didn't give up and pushed through all the struggles. because if i hadn't, i wouldn't be able to experience last week. i wouldn't be able to see some of my dearest friends again, to meet all the amazing people from here and from twitter, to see one of my favourite bands perform for three nights in-a-row and to listen to all my fave songs of theirs live and even cry my eyes out to some of them (Barve Oceana in Munich, Padam in Milan and Metulji in Padova really were an Experience). can safely say that my 26 ended with a bang and it was a very good one 😌

i'm feeling sad that this is over but at the same time i'm so warm inside and so happy that it happened. and i would do it all over again, especially if it meant meeting you all again or meeting even more of you from in here. i have never felt so welcome by people who technically only knew me as a tumblr user and i never thought this would happen, considering how awkward i am when it comes to interacting with people online and in real life

anyway i think i've talked too much and i'm slowly loosing my train of thought because the thoughts and emotions are so many right now. i just wanna thank each and every single one of you for making the past week so special and one of the best weeks of my life. i'm beyond gratefull 💖

sincerely, the curly head with the meme stickers 🫶