#Sorry about that :<!

[greyhands]

[dreamings-free]

.

[louisgayvodka]

₣₳ł₮Ⱨ ł₦ ₮ⱧɆ ₣Ʉ₮ɄⱤɆ

[recurring-polynya]

I was thinking about how it's cool Rukia and Renji's bankai are pretty complementary in terms of making a good battle couple. Renji has always been a straight-to-bankai sort of guy, which makes sense. In the grand scheme of bankai, his isn't the most powerful or the most destructive, but it doesn't have any detrimental area effects and he can use it for a long time. Rukia's on the other hand, is very powerful, but it's only good for a very short time, and it leaves her vulnerable. Fighting together, she can back up Renji with kidou support or her shikai attacks, and then he can give her cover while she transitions in and out of bankai, if needed. This is a lot more fun, imo, than say, Kyouraku and Ukitake, who are both so hesitant to go to bankai that we never even see Ukitake's. (and maybe this works for them, given that they are side characters and the most senior in Soul Society, that their powers get the super slow burn reveal)

That being said, Renji and Byakuya's partnership works much the same way-- Byakuya's bankai isn't quite as perilous as Rukia's, but he tends to save it (my headcanon is actually that he can't go straight to bankai, he has to sort of build up momentum, so to speak). I'm not gonna lie, the scene early in the TYBW anime where Renji pins As Nodt with Zabimaru and then Byakuya slams him in the face with petals was one of the most satisfying moments of the anime so far.

All this is to say that for the approximately 1,000,000 characters Kubo crammed into Bleach, it's a real shame that he couldn't have developed an interesting side character that we might say "hell yeah!" to see stepping into place as Rukia's lieutenant post-time skip. I mean, not to diss Sentarou, but 98% of his job seems to be clownery and the other 2% is carrying heavy things. Would it have killed Kubo to let him do something during the Blood War? (him and Kiyone both, tbh) I honestly don't think it would have been too much to ask to see his shikai, if he's going to eventually be the battle partner of the series' deuteragonist. I dunno, I also just think it would have been cool for Rukia to have another friend in Soul Society besides her love interest and her brother. There's Hanatarou, I suppose, and on one level, I would love to see him as Rukia's no. 2, but he so thoroughly attached to the Fourth, and also his shikai is too gimmicky for a serious character.

Flaming hot cheetos take I just came up with: Ganju should have had grudgingly join the Gotei after the Soul Society arc and come around on Rukia after learning what Kaien meant to her, and then eventually taking over his brother's job. I mean, Kubo liked him enough to write him into the TYBW, an arc that definitely did not need more characters in it than it already had.

[allalrightagain]

Another day full of meetings with cybersecurity, another day of logging onto tumblr.com to realize that no one knows the term social engineering

[felixcosm]

Once a sheep dog, always a sheep dog.

[grapecaseschoices]

A and N should have been a poly option instead of a love triangle. If a love triangle does not end in a poly I do not want it unless it is a romcom. /lh 😭😭

You're right and you should say it.

Be prepared to throw it away from you anon.

2a, really) Because it will end in a LT and it won't be a romcom. Sorry to disappoint. Sera didn't tell me. But I'm a pisces. I'm intuitive like that.

[riverswater]

🥺💘🌸💞🌼😍💝🌻💗🥰💖 LOUIS 💖🥰💗🌻💝😍🌼💞🌸💘🥺

[winterflurry]

reblog if you'd like so more so more can vote:)

[eldritchazure]

this is part 1 of azure rambling about stralka!! buckle up.

okay SO.

a thirteen year old vulcan child goes to live with a grandfather on a vulcan-run federation outpost because she’s “too much” for her parents to deal with. (everyone calls her a name that’s pleasant enough on its own but doesn’t seem to fit her. but she says nothing, because she doesn’t wish to be more difficult than she already is.) the outpost is on a small, barely m class planet in a solar system. the forest around the base itself interferes with sensors, so the child is forbidden to venture into it. sometimes there are even electrical storms, but the personnel and families of the outpost are safe within the base and they wait out the storms. they are all safe within the base.

until they aren’t.

one day, the vulcan child chances a glance up at the sky and sees strange space ships appear out of nowhere, as if by magic, although the child is too mature to believe in such things by now. and then the world dissolves into chaos.

people are running and yelling at each other. it’s so loud the child can barely hear anything at all, but she catches words like “romulans” and “attack” and “evacuation”. shamefully, the child finds that she is afraid. the child is rather short, and she keeps having to dodge running feet that aren’t looking where they’re going. so, she decides the most logical thing to do is find somewhere less crowded to sit and wait for her grandfather to find her. and that’s what she does. she waits for hours and hours. then she hears phaser fire, and then silence. she ventures out, thinking to herself that whatever battle that occurred must have ended by now. then she hears unfamiliar voices speaking an unfamiliar language. she peaks around a corner and see strangers who look like her, but not. their foreheads are wrong. their eyes are cold with cruelty, not control. there floor around them is smeared in places with a sickening green. the vulcan child does not know much yet, but she’s intelligent enough to grasp that these people are not the good guys, with their dark, strange uniforms and dark, strange weapons. and once again, the child finds herself afraid. she decides the most logical course of action is to run. she finds the little-used backdoor she had often used to sneak out and look at the stars when logic was difficult, and she ran out into the previously forbidden forest.

eventually, she finds others who managed to escape the battle. in the end, there are thirteen total. when they introduce themselves, the child hesitates. oddly, she finds she does not wish to introduce themself with the name her parents gave her. it feels like a lie. vulcans do not lie. the child introduces herself himself as stralka, rolling the name around in his mouth. it does not feel like a lie.

three are adults, or at least people who seem like adults to stralka. v’elak and t’prill are starfleet cadets. v’elak is a fourth-year and this was their first assignment. they are twenty-two and therefore the oldest. t’prill is a second-year cadet and she was at the outpost to observe first-hand how the neutral zone was monitored. she is twenty. sejik is sixteen and he lived on the outpost with his parents, who were starfleet officers. that was the story for all of the others, as well. but they were all younger than stralka. v’elak and t’prill, as the oldest and therefore wisest of the group, decided it was most logical to stay where they were and hide out until the federation sent a rescue team. because thete would be a rescue team. sejik agreed, and the younger children all went along with what the “adults” said.

they stayed on the outpost for about a year.

t’prill died first, taking a disrupter blast for eleven-year-old t’miva who had to be dragged away to whatever passed for safety because her eyes could not leave the spot where the older girl had stood a moment before. after that incident, the romulans were alerted to their presence and began to hunt them out, driving them deeper into the forest. it wasn’t enough.

v’elak went next. that battle (could it even be called a battle? it was more like a slaughter.) was one of the worst. stralka watched in horror as he ducked behind a tree to avoid a disrupter blast as one of the beasts in a dark uniform (because that’s what they were to the children now, beasts) shot little five-year-old t’svai point blank between the eyes.

after that they just dropped like terran flies. sejik fought bravely to keep them all safe, but in the end he was only sixteen and was not, in fact, an adult. sejik went, then nesser.

by the end of that first year, thirteen became nine.

[prettytm]

@lt-ghxst

EYEWITNESS (2016) 1.01 “Buffalo ‘07“

[readwritealldayallnight]

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who from the moment he laid eyes on you, has only ever referred to you as his wife

You, this sweet little thing, running through the halls on base one day when you turn a corner and nearly run headfirst into the Lieutenant, who’s walking alongside Soap

“Oh! Sorry about that, sir.” You told him, never slowing down in your hurried pace as you snuck around his large frame and continued down towards whatever you were evidently late for

The only reason his gaze had followed your retreating form, was that unlike everyone else, you had met in his eyes when you spoke, even smiled warmly up at him

That one smile and he was done for

“Who was tha’?” The sergeant had questioned, seeing Ghost’s attention still fixated on you.

“Think that was my wife.”

“Yer what?!”

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who makes it a point to let everyone know that you are in fact his wife

Well, everyone apart from you apparently

He would certainly never abuse his position as a Lieutenant, but some new recruit had the audacity to whistle at you as you walked by? Well 100 laps around the base don’t exactly run themselves

Another soldier saved you a seat next to him in a briefing? He can enjoy scrubbing toilet seats for the next week in that case

Someone actually had the bollocks to ask you for your phone number? Perfect, he needed a volunteer for demonstrating hand to hand combat to the recruits, medics on standby of course

By the time he properly introduces himself to you for the first time, it’s understood by everyone else around that you are, for all intents and purposes, Mrs Riley

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who listens to you tell him your name in a voice that resembles music to his ears, hardly bothering to remember your last name, seeing as it’ll be changing soon enough anyway

“You can call me anythin’ you want, love.” His deep, gravelly voice had sent shivers down your spine, cheeky smirk widening beneath his mask. “So long as you call me, that is.”

By the end of your first date, (you were sitting alone in the dining hall and he wordlessly joined you what do you mean this isn’t a date) he’s wondering if you’ll insist on a ceremony or if he can sweep you away to the nearest courthouse and make this official, slipping a ring onto you finger and his cock into you

You had laughed when he put his number into your phone and named himself ‘Husband’, certain that the man was only messing with you, some kind of hazing that you apparently weren’t aware Lieutenants played on the new communications hire, but it was only fair seeing as he’d saved your contact under ‘Wife’

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who is over the moon every time you play along, even if he knows you believe you’re only playing

“Ach, thanks Lt. Just what I needed.” Soap said, seeing Ghost’s approaching form enter the common room, holding a steaming cup of tea in each hand

“S’for my wife. Get your own.” The older man gruffly replied, sliding the mug onto the side table next to where you’re curled up on the couch, reading a book

“Aw, thank you honey.” You giggled, smiling up as him with an expression he thinks would taste even sweeter than honey if he were to run his tongue across your upturned lips

“Happy wife, happy life, sergeant.” Ghost shrugged, ignoring the other man’s pout, landing next to you and reaching an arm behind you across the back of the couch

“God, maybe I really should keep you.” You’d laughed, reaching a leg out to dig your socked toes into his muscled thigh, teasing him

Grasping your foot into his large, strong hands, he began massaging it, uncaring that you were only two of the many people in the common room, not when you looked at him like that, smiling together as though you truly were nothing more than a married couple

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, who surprised you one day, insisting he needed your help with something crucial off base, and drove you to a local shopping outlet to look at none other than dresses

“Is there some sort of party happening?” You’d questioned, confused out of your mind

“Suppose you could consider it a party.” He’d answered, leading you through the many racks of dresses, you noticed were all, very conveniently, white

“Now while you’re lookin’ through dress sizes,” he’d added, taking your left hand in both of his. “You know your ring size? Got my own shoppin’ to do ‘round here.”

Series masterlist

[belle--ofthebrawl]

🌻!

For the longest time, I've been reading decades old paperbacks from 2006 to the late 80's and early 90's. I got them for free at a variety of garage sales and from a swap table back in March for national reading month. I really enjoyed a majority of them.

This past week I finished two that were published within the last four years or so and the whiplash I got seeing the introduction line for a character being "she dresses masculine but uses she/her pronouns" was. Odd. I can't tell if the line is genuinely clunky in context or if I'm too used to reading those old books.

The book in question was Ace of Shades. I almost didn't read past the first page because the author did that thing where the FMC is described as "petite" and "doll-like" "oh my gawd if she's not careful she's going to fall into my pores and die". that's enough to get me wrinkling my nose. I won't give away spoilers but there was one other thing that made me roll my eyes and viciously remind me why I don't read YA by authors I don't trust. But really, it's a pretty typical twist if you're familiar enough with the genre.

[shotmrmiller]

simon who can afford a better flat than the budget friendly flat he lives in but won't move. johnny doesn't understand. he wants to blame it on simon being the enigmatic, intentionally perplexing man he tends to be but he has a flat.

he doesn't have to. he's got no significant other, no kids (that he knows of, god only knows if simon's got a bairn somewhere. it makes him heated thinking about it. he's it's uncle, damn it.) why does he rent here when living in base is free?

the question answers itself when he's over one evening, empty beer bottles on the table, amber glass reflecting the warm glow of the lone lamp overhead. the television is on, volume turned down, blending with the other sounds of the night— the distant barking of dogs, the quiet hum of simon's fridge, the occasional car passing by outside.

the conversation had died down already, not like they don't spend almost every waking breath with each other at work and they'd been sitting in a comfortable silence when there was a sudden, sharp knock at simon's door.

it startles johnny, reaction instinctive as he reaches for his hip, hand curling around the grip of his holstered gun but simon seems relaxed. he pins him with a look and mutters, "s'alrigh'."

what does he mean it's alright? it's 'witchin' hour'' as his mam calls it, who could possible be at his door? he cranes his neck to look and—

it's you, standing up here with a flour-dusted apron, small hands holding a warm pastry, the steam twisting and curling off of it. you're exude homely charm, soft face glowing from the corridor's light (or maybe it's at the sight of seeing simon, who knows?) he can smell it in the air, sweet, inviting.

what johnny finds interesting enough to send a quick text to kyle is how simon is looking at you. as if you're handing him more than just a custard tart, but also a little piece of heaven, a fragment of a dream he hopes to have one day.

"'m sorry, simon. i wasn't aware you had any company. i just really needed to stress bake or i would've gone off the deep end and end up in prison."

violent little bonnie. he can see the appeal.

simon cups his hands over yours (he definitely did it as an excuse to touch you) as he takes the treat. if you make food to unwind and give it to your neighbors, johnny oughta move in next door too. he'll never turn down free food.

"don't worry about it." johnny's eyebrows shoot to his hairline at the softness in his tone, bottle halfway to his lips.

clearly more than a passing fancy.

"i'll just uhm, if you're friend wants some too—" but simon gently interrupts you before he can ask for some of that sweet comfort too.

"he's not hungry."

cruel, cruel bastard. he'll remember this day, jot it down in his calendar. when he gets a girl of his own, he'll be sure to do the same.

johnny wonders if you've got a crick in your neck from looking up at simon as you speak hushed words, meant only for him. can he get at least a nibble of that tart?

you shoot johnny a shy ㅤsmile before turning around and simon closes the door, turning back to the warming beers, golden tart in hand.

even the plate it's on is cute.

"ah can see the hearts in yer eyes, lt."

johnny can practically hear the air parting as simon's fist cuts through it, aimed at his head. he avoids it with practiced ease. "ooh, touchy. ah'll leave ye be if i get a bite o' tha'."

he doesn't gets not even a crumb because simon is selfish.

(simon moved here purposefully because he knows you live here and can't be at peace without knowing where you are at all times. there's a tag inside your favorite pair of shoes you left out in the hall once to dry after a hard downpour. the bakery you work at is down the street, if he looks out the south facing window, he can see you going in and leaving work. he likes to let himself in your home and smell your cushions. took one of your shirts too but at least made sure it wasn't one of your faves. he has to wash it every other day)

[allalrightagain]

This week has been nonstop chaos coming from every angle. It’s not quite over yet, but I’m now stuck in the patiently waiting stage. So I’m writing Pocket Dad in my email drafts to look busy.

"Hello? Excuse me? Mr. erm-- Mr. Rat Man?"

If Peter were in possession of a normal human face and palms, he would have placed the former in the latter by now.

[writersdrug]

Bartender Simon when a customer yells at reader for a mistake?

I love the way you guys think LOVE keep em comin!!

It starts when he's restocking his bar, carrying crates with fruit, bitters, coasters, and straws. He comes down from the pantry upstairs to a decently relaxed lunch crowd, when he hears the second half of the customer's tantrum.

"You expect me to eat this?! It's bloody raw!"

"I'm so sorry, I can take it back aga-"

"You already did that - went to the kitchen and stuck it under the warmer for a few seconds and thought I wouldn't notice, huh?"

"No sir, I gave it to the che-"

"I don't want to hear fucking excuses, just go fix my damn burger. I'm paying for this shit, aren't I? And you're working for my tip. So fucking work, cunt."

Humiliation isn't enough to describe what you feel - there isn't a strong enough word for it. Claiming you're a liar, saying you grovel for tips, yelling at you in front of your other tables, calling you a cunt - it makes your eyes sting with oncoming tears, staring at him and using every muscle in your jaw to keep from spitting insults back at him. You want to throw the food in his face, but instead, you grab his plate and storm off to the kitchen before he can see you cry.

The man scoffs, looking at his watch. "Fuckin' great..."

Simon's still standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding his crates and staring daggers at the man. He knows what it's like, being berated by customers. He says "that's customer service for ya" and moves on. But for this wanker to berate you - he sees red. He sees his next target.

He swiftly crosses the restaurant floor, boots thudding against the old wood as he drops his crate behind the bar. Soap's already yelling about the asshole when he pushes his way into the kitchen.

"Order it fuckin' rare and ye get fuckin' rare, bloody clipe- talkin' mince, bawface bastard-" he slams the burger back onto the grill with a tense arm, continuing to grumble as it sizzles. "Cookin' ye a nice strip o' shoe leather-"

You're sitting on an overturned crate, sobbing into your hands, pen and notepad on the ground beside you. Price is on one knee, one arm around your shoulder and the other on your leg - you'd never officially met the owner of the pub, but now was as good a time as any, you suppose.

"Wot happened?" Is all that Ghost could say without going off on a rampage. He's saving that for later.

"He fucking embarrassed me, that's what happened!!" You snap, looking up at Simon. Your eyes are red and puffy after only crying for a minute or two, cheeks wet from your tears. You hug your arms around your middle and choke on a sob. "Told me his fucking burger wasn't cooked, so I sent it back- then he tries to say I never even gave it to Soap?! Calls m-me a cunt in front of my tables?! Make me fucking work for his money - I don't want his goddamn money!!"

Price shushes you, worrying your anger might be leaking through the kitchen door - he doesn't want the same customer to hear you bad-mouthing him, although it's rightfully deserved. He rubs your back gently as you drop your head into your hands again, shoulders shaking as you cry.

Simon's seething - he's already moving before his brain can catch up, still stuck on the picture of your teary face. He marches behind the line and reaches across Soap, picking the burger right off the grill.

Soap makes a shocked sound. "Ye gone mad, LT?!"

"Table six?" Ghost asks, holding the sizzling burger patty in his hand, grease dripping onto his forearm.

You stare between his face and the patty - your crying stopped, your face now replaced with a stupefied expression. "Uh- yeah."

And like that, he's off; he shoves himself back out onto the floor and makes his way towards the customer who yelled at you. The burger burns his hand, but he doesn't even notice the pain. He drops it onto the table in front of the man, who yelps in disgust. "What the fuck-"

"Better?" Ghost says, hands clenching into fists at his sides as he looked down at the man, now stuttering and blubbering in shock. Specks of grease are freckling his white dress shirt.

"Are you- is this a fucking joke?"

"It's your fuckin' burger."

"I can't believe this-"

"Then get the fuck out my pub." Ghost growls; he grabs the man by his arm, ripping his blazer off the back of his chair, and drags him to the front door. The other customers look with wide eyes as he busts the door open with his shoulder and throws the man onto the sidewalk. He wheezes as he hits the ground, and Ghost throws his blazer at him next.

"If I ever see your face in 'ere after this, 'm throwin' you out again and keepin' your bullocks as a fuckin' souvenir."

The man stares at him, flabbergasted, as Ghost walks back inside. People are focused on their meals now, heads down and pretending they didn't see Simon body a man to the ground - the guy deserved it, after all.

Simon huffs, picking up the burger from the now-empty table. His hand stings a bit, but he has years of callouses built up to keep any real burns from settling in. He gently kicks the chair back into place and starts heading back to the kitchen, when he sees you.

You're staring at him with wide, wet eyes, standing in the entryway to the kitchen and mouth slightly ajar in awe. You've fully stopped crying, but there are still tears on your face from before. Eyeliner and mascara are smudged a bit, but it only makes Simon's fondness for you blossom.

He gently nudges your shoulder with his elbow as he pushes past you. "Take a fifteen. I'll watch your tables."

You stare after him as he throws the burger into the trash, grabbing a fresh towel and wrapping his hand. Wide back facing you as he looks at Soap, who stares at him with a frustrated sigh.

You're horny now. Horny for Simon - and you're definitely relaying this entire shebang to your friends tonight.