#LOVE WINS BABY!

[empressumbreon]

SOOO. TGS FANDOM. HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THE NEW PAGE?

[rainbow-sunshine-unicorn]

No one has fathered the way Anthony Bridgerton is about to Father

[ebbsea]

emperor undying, john gaius

[suntails]

do you deserve to be loved?

[ghost-proofbaby]

when you know, you know. (e.m.)

summary: air hockey has never been so romantic.

warnings: it's alluded to that reader is wearing red lipstick. not edited.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

wc: 1.8k+

a/n: a very late valentine's day gift for you all (and eddie). also, the fact i've never written proper mechanic eddie... what a shame.

“Yes!” 

If any of the nearby children flinched, you didn’t notice. You were too wrapped up in your victory, going as far as to partake in a terribly embarrassing dance on your end of the air hockey table as Eddie shakes his head slowly. 

“You definitely cheated,” he deadpans, a twitch of a smile nearly giving him away as he leans down to pick the puck out of the slot below on his end, “There’s no way you’re about to beat me in under five minutes, again.” 

You smile, lips painted red under the lowlights of the arcade as you lean over the table and taunt him, “Or maybe it’s just a skill issue. I wouldn’t keep beating you if you were actually a professional in air hockey like you’d claimed, Munson.” 

Three dates – tonight makes four – and you still hadn’t quite worked out how you’d managed to capture the attention of the boy before you. When he’d originally asked you out to coffee, you’d swallowed down all your excessive excitement just to answer him. The local mechanic that you’d been making heart eyes at every few months when you’d go in for an oil check, the one who hadn’t allowed the others at the shop to oversell you on a damn thing when you’d get your tires rotated. Who always smiled shyly as he’d bring you back your keys.

You’d figured the coffee date would last an hour if you were lucky. The two of you would spend more than five minutes in the same room together, he’d realize how overbearing you were, and that would be the end of it. Ridiculous crush effectively squashed. 

But it hadn’t. 

It had lasted hours, plural. Coffees finished and second lattes nursed until they’d gone cold, the outcome had been the exact opposite of your expectations. Your conversation had flowed effortlessly, common ground and common interests found with ease, and suddenly, Eddie was more than just some cute mechanic for your friends to tease you over. 

The first date had only ended due to his shift at the shop that afternoon. 

The subsequent sushi dinner date, and then the movie night the next week, had also lasted hours. 

“For someone who works on cars, you should be a lot better with your hands,” you poke gentle fun at him as he makes the first hit against the puck this time, far more careful than you had been when serving. 

“Or maybe I’m just determined to keep letting my pretty date win.” 

“And why would you ever do that?” 

Another hit from your mallet, the sharp tapping of your aggressive push ringing out over the sound of nearby machines. You don’t dare to glance in the direction of the ruckus, but you’re pretty sure someone has just won an exciting amount of tickets based on the squeals of glee. 

“I dunno,” Eddie pauses to shrug after he hits the puck once more, his guard dropping. You’re ruthless as you take the opportunity to shoot the puck straight into ‘goal’ on his side of the table. A straight shot, far too easy for your liking, but you still celebrate the victory with another embarrassing dance, “Maybe it’s because I’m into that ridiculous dance they keep doing whenever they score.” 

You immediately stop your little jumps, eyes widening, a rush of embarrassment heating you up from the inside out as Eddie’s eyes stay glued on you. The table powers down as he makes his way around it, feet bringing him right to you. 

You’d always thought Eddie would find you weird, or odd, or unappealing after that coffee date, but the outcome had been better than you could have possibly conceived.

He was an absolute weirdo as well. 

Fondness overtakes his features just like it had on that coffee date when you’d accidentally snorted at one of his jokes, and your heart flutters eagerly. You can’t believe there had been a time you’d only watch him from behind glass, trying to not get caught as you would blatantly stare at him as he’d work on your car. A time when you’d only see his curls up in loose buns rather than framing his face as they were now, a time when you couldn’t even shake his hand due to it being covered in oil. 

That had all only been a month ago, but you already couldn’t imagine your life without Eddie Munson in it. 

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he chuckles as he stops in front of you, smirk deepening the dimples you’d only noticed on your second date with him. He’d been too bashful the first date, ducking whenever his grin would grow too wide on you, biting his tongue on half the flirtatious remarks you wished he would have said. “You won, fair and square, so what’s your prize gonna be, valentine?” 

He also waited until the second date to kiss you. That had nearly killed you. 

“It’s not very fair if you let me win,” you whisper, unable to look away from his eyes. They’re a soft brown, a smooth honey, a nice sight for sore eyes. You kind of like the crinkles beside them, too. Kind of wonder what it would be like to wake up beside him, roll over, and kiss them – all before the sun ever rose. 

He reaches out and gingerly grabs your hand, calloused fingertips brushing your knuckles before he entangles your fingers with his. “Psh, who said I let you win? Maybe I just really suck at air hockey.”

“You just-”

You never get to finish your argument. He’s quick to swoop down, capturing your lips in his. The rudest of interruptions, and it still manages to weaken your knees. 

Each kiss only grows sweeter. And more confident, more sure. The first one had been timid, exchanged on your doorstep with boyish hesitation and meek desperation. But now, several kisses experienced since that night, all apprehension has melted. He lets his lips meld to yours, captures your bottom lip just tightly enough to give it a brief tug when he pulls away. Still soft, ever so sweet, and leaving you wanting for more. 

Four dates. All it took was four dates for him to make you a goner. 

“Now, that wasn’t fair,” you breathe out, betrayed by the smile that you wear. Your chest feels shaken up, impending explosion of mushiness and flowers and hearts and every single cliche the love songs on the radio could squeeze out.

“It was your prize.”

“I never said I wanted a kiss for my prize.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he puts a dramatic hand up to his chest, leaning back so dramatically that your hand instinctively reaches out to loop a finger in his jean pocket to keep him upright, “Would you like me to take it back, my fair maiden?” 

Four dates, and he makes it impossible to not imagine a future of this. Of silly banter, of gentle mornings spent kissing away crows feet, of cutting one another off with the most infuriating of methods. You’re starting to believe you’re just a hopeless romantic, and he’d spotted that from a mile away – he knew every single button to press to have you putty in his hands, and he was taking full advantage of it. 

You giggle, an honest to God giggle, as you say, “Hm, I’m not sure. I heard the return policies on those are a bit wonky.” 

If your friends thought you were insufferable when he was some stranger you just had a crush on, they would be vomiting at the sight of this. 

He leans into your space, close enough to smell his faint cologne and mint on his breath, “Are they? Well, lucky for you, I’m friends with the shop owner. Can definitely accept the return without a receipt. It won’t be a problem, ma’am. I swear it.”

He’s weird. He’s goofier than you could have imagined, snarkier than you could have dreamed, and more romantic than you had yet to uncover. He’s kind of perfect, but you wouldn’t dare say that to his face. Not yet, at least. 

You’re glad you had said yes when he’d asked days prior for you to be his Valentine. And you’re glad he hadn’t gone the boring route, showing up with just chocolates and flowers and calling it a day, but had instead dragged you out to this arcade for a night of adventures as he claimed. 

“And how would one go about returning a kiss, kind sir?” 

He answers wordlessly, bringing up a finger to tap on his lips. He goes as far as pouting them dramatically. 

He wants you to kiss him. 

Lucky for him, you want to kiss him, too. 

Your kiss is more chaste. Teasing as you lift up onto your tippy toes and only press your lips to his for a brief second before falling back. You leave him wanting more – it’s written all over his face, along with a blush that races right over the bridge of his nose. 

He’s cute. He’s cute, and he’s weird, and you really fucking like him. 

“Now that that’s over with,” you have to change the topic, move right along before your heart truly bursts from your chest, “I know what I want my prize to be.” 

He takes a moment to recover, pupils almost resembling hearts as he stares down at you. Eventually he pulls himself from your trance, shaking his head as he asks, “And what would that be?”

You’re the one taking his hand this time. If he gave you the time, you’d like to learn each callous and scar by heart. Trace over them in the middle of night, when it’s just you and him in the darkness beneath your sheets. Memorize the way they feel as he explores every curvature of your body and figure out which of the roughest patches would brush against your most sensitive bits in a way that would make you arch your back right into him. 

The two of you haven’t even discussed if that’s where the night might lead, but you’re sort of hoping the luck in the air doesn’t run out. 

“There’s an awfully pretty ring in the case up at the ticket counter,” you muse, knowing damn well the ring was the ugliest thing either of you had ever seen in your lives, “Think you’ve got the tickets to spare?” 

His hand gives you a squeeze. Something not too tight, something perfectly comfortable. It’s only the fourth date, it’s only the first month – it’s only the beginning. 

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says, more earnestly than you’d expected, as he steals another kiss. 

You let him. You have this aching feeling in your chest that you’ll probably let him steal an endless amount from you for the rest of your life. 

When you know, you know. Or whatever the poets say.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

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[bakudekublogblog]

the funniest part about coming to mha late, was I knew bkdk was extremely controversial and had seen some of the discourse about from the outside, so when I finally decided to watch it I was shocked to discover just how much of the plot revolved around izuku having a huge crush on kacchan

[hanashiz]

Every Pirates' Dream

He's the man who stood up for the dream he once gave up

[erikkarlsson]

Devin Cooley, hometown kid and the first former Jr. Shark to play for the San Jose Sharks, gets his first NHL win at the Shark Tank | 04.06.2024

[mintmatcha]

in the mood to share a couple crumbs of your endeavor thoughts?🥺🤲

... I think he is still married, but the love between them is long dead. the kids are mostly adults, his wife has her own place-

but God, he still gets a thrill sneaking you into his home late at night.

theres an even bigger thrill in being the man with a much too young girlfriend.

youre so much smaller than him... pussy so tight that you always kick and squeal and whine when he pushes in. oh, he can feel your heartbeat around his cock, especially when he throws a hand around the back of your neck to pin you down--

he always cums so deep, pressed so hard against your cervix that it makes you walk funny afterwards

[hooned]

ni-ki — holder of the golden dragon 🐲🪙

[turtleblogatlast]

I am once again reiterating that Leo could and should be a figure skater because what are ice skates if not twin blades? What is dual blade swordsmanship if not a dance-like performance? Using the skates as blades themselves could let Leo make portals be his ice rink no? I rest my case. ⛸️

[tenshi-agerasia]

in-universe alien stage mechanisms and the use of colors in round 7 (a luka & till rant ft. mizi & hyuna)

it's generally agreed that alien stage can be interpreted as a metaphor for the kpop industry, and as someone who did tons of studying (because of my 3d fav) on how performances work in c-ent, i noticed some things on my nth rewatch of blink gone

meta-wise, the colors in the mv are green (to represent till) and purple (to represent luka). this combo works really well for the song, but is there an in-universe explanation to the lighting? yep:

take a look at the scoreboard. even in-universe, green represents till and purple represents luka. taking the idol theme more literally, we can also assume that these are their official colors. i went back to the TOP 3 video and well well well guess what appears during luka's part

the lightsticks, the projected neon signs, the same kind of mask (?), the stadium lights. we can reasonably assume that this purple is luka's official fan color and represents support for him.

and guess what color almost all of the crowd is repping during round 7 through lightsticks and masks?

that's right, overwhelmingly purple. don't forget that the winners of each round of alien stage are decided by live in-house voting, and audience members will always be biased towards who they're a fan of. remember that luka is insanely popular and already won a season, so his fanbase would be larger, more developed, and more devoted.

till was, for a lack of better words, cooked. he was doomed to lose from the start, because how can a few of his fans outvote the majority?

i've seen some people theorize that the result was rigged, and i completely disagree: you cannot fake support on this large of a scale. "oh, but the color of the lightsticks are controlled by the organizers" then explain the masks, a clear fandom symbol

also, from my experience in survival shows, vote counts in the final round are usually hidden until the results are announced, which explains the wobbliness of the scoreboard bars like they're inflatable tube men in front of a car or mattress dealership.

an alternative explanation to the lightsticks is that it represents the current vote, but i'm not inclined to believe this theory because, again, the masks. like real-life idol performances, i think that this is just a show of support from the audience.

back to the meta: mizi's appearance in the crowd is a reinvigoration of determination in till, and in terms of color, she is a break of bright green among the sea of purple. she not only stands out because she's someone he loves, she is visually a breath of fresh air for him.

do you think, in those last moments, he was not only happy to see her alive in front of him but to also see her wearing his color?

in this part where they're reaching out to each other, the pink-purple light that seems to be shining from mizi is representative of how she's a beacon of hope for till. in-universe, however, till is just moving towards the audience, the close proximity of the lightsticks illuminating his face with color.

mizi and till are surrounded by this vibrant purple, a symbol for luka. even with mizi's more pink-ish radiance, they are literally in his territory, at the mercy of the system that he has been through and learned to play along with.

the same can't be said about luka when he sees hyuna again:

the warmth of his fan color disappears, replaced by a colder indigo. the audience, his fans, the aliens that he knows how to use to keep himself alive mean nothing to him right now. it's this cold feeling of shock that makes him so unsure of how to react.

in this moment, he is no longer luka the performer, luka the idol, luka the twice winner of alien stage—he's just luka. he's vulnerable to emotion, an unfamiliar thing, and he's so painfully human.

luka: (sees hyuna) holy shit it's you... mizi: till is literally dying behind you luka: this ain't about him

another detail: these shots were never shown in the mv so i'm assuming they're taken by in-universe cameras (see the red flashes in the audience), especially because of the angle (downwards pointing perspective)

[biodead-on-the-biobed]

I see people talking about “oh Phillipa and Prudence are racing to produce an heir, and so far Penelope is winning” and “what if Prudence and Phillipa both have daughters and Penelope is the one to have a son” and I raise you:

Penelope has twins.

Because THINK abt it. Bridgerton has messed with birth order/child names before (see Daphne and August) so it’s possible for this case (ie: making Agatha and Thomas twins instead)

But just. Imagine the chaos. Imagine Penelope’s family brushing aside the idea that Pen is even pregnant, or telling her “you’re so sick because you’re having a girl” or some other nonsense. Imagine her sisters still haven’t had their children. Imagine Penelope gives birth and of course half the Bridgertons are there in support and Penelope’s own family arrive late after the birth. And Portia gets told that Yes, you do have a granddaughter.

And a grandson.

And then you cut to Colin and Pen holding their girl and boy respectively (I refuse to believe Agatha wont have Colin wrapped around her little finger within 5 minutes of her being born, and you know sweet boy Thomas has Pens entire heart) and Portia, Prudence, and Phillipa have to come to terms with the fact that not only did Penelope beat them in the race to have a child, she had TWO

[dying-inside-but-its-classy]

Guys, please can someone get me websites I can watch f1 on without paying, I'm suffering from not watching the races.

PLEASE

I BEG 🙏🏻🙏🏻

[llondonfog]

OK so Baul and Lilias friendship lives in my mind rent free, so I think that a few days after silver gets sick for the first time and mama and papa zigvolt manage to teach lilia the proper way to care for a sick infant after he comes over to their house tembling with poorly restrained panic, Baul goes over with v little persuasion from his daughter to check up on them.

What he sees is a happy and healthy Silver just quietly smiling up at him from Lilias arms while Lilia is passed out in his rocking chair fevered and red from catching baby's first cold.

Baul immediately assigns himself caretaker duties, doesn't even bother trying to move Silver from Lilias arms and instead just picks them both up to deposit them both in Lilias bed for a proper nap before checking the fridge for tomato soup ingredients.

When he first heard from his daughter that Lilia— Lilia Vanrouge, the once General of the Right, feared commander of the fae armies and scourge of humankind— had adopted a human child and had been caring for it for several months now, Baul had roared with laughter so hard that he split a scale wide open on his cheek.

It was certainly a poor excuse for a joke, the very kind of rumor that the castle fae still bitter over Lilia's persistent existence four hundred years later might spread. The very idea that Lilia, Lilia Vanrouge, would debase himself to care for a human child not of his blood, to stoop so low as to toil over its screeching and wailing demands when he had bathed in the screams of its own kind with a mad vengeance after the tragedy of Lady Meleanor . . . not even four hundred years of honeyed peace was enough to sweeten that wound.

Time, it seemed, had forgotten what was so cruelly emblazoned in the very depths of Baul's mind, in Lilia's own memories, and the nightmares of all those surviving fae who stalked the forests during those blood-soaked nights. Those born in kinder years had never known the horror of human avarice, and even his own daughter had taken up residence with one of their kind despite her father's immense displeasure, simpering, soft-hearted fool that her husband was.

At least, to Baul's proud credit, their lineage rippled strong and true through his grandchildren— and with his daughter due any day under the weight of a third, he's only too certain for another healthy, bouncing, scaled Zigvolt.

So when she had simply stared back at him with crossed arms and an arched brow while he had laughed and laughed and laughed, a sinking kind of horror began to creep into his heart— surely . . . she wasn't serious?

Months— hardly the blink of an eye for faekind, but everything to humans. Months, Lilia had kept a child for several months, and not once had tried to rid himself of it? Not once tried to deposit it upon the stoop of a human village and wipe his hands clean of the responsibility of child-rearing? He had been taking advice from Baul's daughter and her wisp of a husband on how to pacify and coddle it? He had barged into their home, fretful beyond measure with a colicky babe clutched in his arms, and all but demanded them to cure the child?

("Or what?" Baul found himself asking, utterly bewildered and needing to find some kernel of normalcy in the fact that surely Lilia had menaced his daughter's husband some into obeying his whims.

"Or nothing, Father," she said, the taunting ghost of a knowing smile playing about her lips. "In all the years that I've known him, I've never seen him quite so distraught. He stayed by the crib all night, frozen— we had to tell him it was alright to breathe and to hold Silver's hand if he wanted, it was as if he was afraid to hurt him.")

Silver? Lilia, afraid? Holding the hand of some human child?

It simply couldn't be true.

It couldn't be, this had to be some elaborate, poorly executed prank.

He clung to that belief even as his daughter shoved a bundle of medicine, food, and knitted blankets into his arms with the stern instruction to deliver them to Lilia's home (Home! He had never heard the forest cottage to be described in such terms! The place was a hovel, a storage shed for Lilia to dump his treasures before venturing off to the next location, how could it be considered a home?).

He clung to it even as he emerged from the woods to the path that led up to the cottage's door, casting unnerved glances to the strange and new abundance of woodland creatures skulking about the thatched roof and scampering along the thick tree trunk supporting the cottage like a lean-to, soft little animals that would have darted away in fright from Lilia's presence before Baul's own.

He clung to it until he could no more, when he threw open the cottage door with an odd tightness in his chest to see his oldest friend collapsed on a worn and lumpy armchair with a honest-to-goodness human baby snuggled safely within his arms and sucking happily on a stray piece of ruby-stained hair. Beyond them, a soothing glow flickered in the fireplace where a kettle of milk quietly steamed, and the scattered presence of cloth toys littered the living room floor along with (Baul shuddered) well-thumbed pamphlets, their covers illustrated with the cheerful faces of frolicking human children.

What had this child done to Lilia Vanrouge?

[echo-stimmingrose]

Little kids are so funny to me sometimes cause like

My youngest sister: *laying on top of me,blanket wrapped around her, struggling to keep her eyes open*

My second youngest sister: *tucked into my side, holding my arm hostage as a cuddle pet, snoring every now and then*

Me: You guys sleepy?

Both of them, very insistently: No!