#Y'ALL UNDERSTAND THIS ????

[ravenmccookies]

Weird phenomenon I've seen on tumblr

[emeryleewho]

People on here are always like "fuck capitalism, why can't things be weird anymore" and then write up a whole dissertation about how the biggest IPs need to change to be weirder.

Like, you are so close. You are so close to getting the point. "Big" IPs *can only exist because they are normal*. They will *never* be weird. They will *never* do what you want. Go find some smaller IPs. Bring back discovery. Bring back never having heard of a book before you buy it. Bring back watching obscure anime online that none of your friends know about. Bring back trying new things, even if they're bad or cheaply made. That is how you get *weird*.

[khruschevshoe]

There is a conversation to be had about the fact that Taylor Swift's album is being played in its entirety across all of iHeartRadio's 868 stations, pushing out the opportunities other artists might have had to get radioplay. That's the literal definition of a monopoly. No wonder she'll hit the top of the radio play charts with this maneuver, because at least 65 minutes (if not the back side of the album, which would take it to nearly twice that length) across EIGHT HUNDRED AND SIXTY EIGHT STATIONS will be dedicated to her, artificially boosting her radio play and decreasing everyone else's. In this essay I will—

[cozymodeonpoint]

senshi fans: learning how to make nutritious meals for themselves

laios fans: down bad

marcille fans: lesbianism

chilchuck fans: putting that man in situations

[muisley]

been playing rd2 so uhm wild west otasune AU......

[kamaluhkhan]

IN THE CROOKS OF HER BODY, I FIND MY RELIGION.

pairing: vi x firelight!reader word count: 2.8k summary: part two of this fic ,, basically soft sex + body worship with vi and a tiny bit of angst in between ,, vi being kinda vulnerable and needy and also really hot bc of course / 18+

inspired by a sappho quote + "holy" and "pussy is god" by king princess

“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this, stargirl.” 

the two of you haven’t quite made it to bed yet. as soon as you shut the door, you couldn’t resist pressing vi up against it, having already missed the feeling of her body against yours from the short walk to your room.

“if it’s as long as i’ve wanted it,” you breathe between kisses, “then i’d say we’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

vi shudders as your lips travel down her neck, your tongue tracing her tattoo. you feel her pull at the hem of your shirt, but you’re too busy pushing the jacket off her shoulders. 

fuck, her arms made your mouth water — all toned and tattooed. something ignites in your stomach, anxious to discover what else she’s hiding underneath layers of fabric. your frenzied hands struggle to undo her belt, vi smiling sheepishly as she steps in to help. once she’s got her pants off, you pause.

you just have to admire the sight of her: hair an absolute mess, chest heaving, and standing in your room with nothing but a dirty white tank top and light gray boyshorts and — wait, what’s that tattoo? 

vi clears her throat, and you realize that you’ve probably been staring too long. 

“okay, before you say anything —”

before she can finish her sentence, you step back and take off your own shirt. vi drinks up your exposed, tattooed skin and she swallows.

“are those —”

“violets, yeah.” 

it doesn’t matter that you’d never confessed your love for each other, that you’d both spent years not knowing if the other was alive or dead, that the chances of a happily ever after together is painfully small — she’s got stars sparkling across her hips and you’ve got violets blooming between your ribs. 

you’re not a religious person, but there has to be some sacred promise in the way you each dedicated parts of your body to the other, despite it all.

vi pulls you in by the neck, crashes her lips against yours urgently. her hands squeeze into the skin underneath your breasts, so hard that it might bruise. one of your hands travels between her legs, rubbing ever so slightly over her underwear; she moans and when you apply just a bit more pressure, vi gasps against your mouth. you’re determined to keep those pretty lips of her parted and whining for you and you regret all the time wasted not being down on your knees for her, so you drop to the ground to atone for your mistake.

“i want to taste you,” you state, pressing a kiss to her thigh, then looking up at her through your lashes. “is that okay?”

as you wait for her to respond, she watches you from above, biting her lip so hard you’re worried she’ll draw blood.

“you don’t have to,” vi finally says, blinking slowly. 

“i want to. i want to take care of you.”

“it’s really fine. that’s not what i’m here for anyways.” she reaches her hand down; ignoring the flutter of disappointment, you let her intertwine her fingers with yours and pull you up, flush against her hips. “it’s my job to take care of you, yeah? it’ll be worth your while. i used to have girls begging to try my magic tongue or fingers. sometimes both, depending on their preference.”

her unbelievably cocky smile sends a jolt of electricity between your legs, and it’s very difficult not to get distracted by her hands squeezing your ass, but you try your best.

“look, uh, vi —” your breath hitches as she starts to nip at your collarbone. “as tempting as that is, i really do want to take care of you, too.”

“you don’t have to.”

“if you’re worried about me, you don’t have to be. i promise i really want to take care of—”

“i said it’s fine,” she snaps. you’re caught off guard by her reaction, and you can tell she is, too, instantly all wide eyed and regretful. vi untangles herself from you to go sit on the bed. “i-i’m sorry,” vi sighs, running a hand through her hair. 

gingerly, you take a seat next to her, careful to give her space if she needs it.

“are you okay? did i say something or —”

“it’s just – i don’t know, stargirl,” she whispers before taking a shaky breath. “when you put it like that….i don’t know. i don’t deserve to be taken care of, especially not by you. all i do is fuck up and hurt the people i care about.”

oh. 

oh. 

you get it now.

the vi you knew years ago was always willing to carry the weight of everything on her shoulders for those she cared about and refused to let anyone else help. you remember how stubborn she’d be to accept anything, even something as small as half an orange you’d offer her when you spied her eyeing your snack. when you spent your earnings one week to buy an extra orange just for her, she flipped out.

it was, honest to gods, one of your worst fights. neither of you spoke to each other for days, until you broke your arm running from an enforcer. vi was the one who found you and lugged you over to vander’s so he could set the bone. you’d later learn that vi had twisted her ankle earlier running from that same enforcer, but she risked further injury just to get you home.

you think about how, though the world has never been kind to her, these past few years at stillwater….well, vi always seems unshakeable, but you notice her new scars and bloodied knuckles and bruises that are probably more than skin deep, and you know that it couldn’t have been easy having to survive there on her own.

“you deserve to feel good, violet.”

you brush your thumb over the lip she keeps gnawing at, wiping away the blood. the way vi looks at you then, powder blue eyes a shade or two darker and slightly glazed over, prompts you to cup her face gently. she grabs your wrist and squeezes it.

“i mean it, okay?” you murmur, pulling your hand away after vi presses a soft kiss to your palm. “let me take care of you, pretty girl. it’ll be worth your while,” you tease, remembering her words from before.

vi hums, something intense flicking behind her eyes.

“okay, stargirl. you’ve convinced me.” she gently grabs your chin, brings your face as close  to hers as possible, so close that you can practically feel the heat of her smile on your lips. “only if you let me take care of you after. deal?”

you swallow thickly, and don’t even need to think for a second when you say —

“deal.” 

and she kisses you to seal it. 

soon enough, you’ve got vi pressed down on the mattress, her shirt off, your hips in between her legs. you’re taking your time — biting at her collarbones, sucking down her sternum. she’s got more tattoos, of course, and her nipples. you wrap your lips around one of them, letting the cool metal of her piercing burn through your tongue. when you pull away with a pop, she whines, and you just have to do the same to the other side. your teeth sink into her abs, your tongue traces over the stars on her hips, until you reach her navel. you trace a finger down the happy trail that disappears underneath the waistband of her panties, which, you can’t help but notice, now have a darker patch in the middle. you finally pull her underwear down her legs, exposing her to you in all her glory.

“hurry up,” vi whimpers when you busy yourself kissing the inside of her thighs, rather than where you know she wants you most.

“you always were impatient,” you chide. “i’ve barely touched you, and it seems like you’re already about to cum.”

you spit on her already glistening pussy before looking back up at her expectantly, eager to make her beg even more. vi’s blushing, a rare but beautiful sight.

she clears her throat, cheeks dusted red. 

“please, we don’t have all the time in the worl—”

vi’s cut off by you running your tongue through her folds. you just love how her thighs instinctively squeeze around your head — your lungs, not quite attuned to your desires, unfortunately require more than what’s between vi’s legs to keep going, so you have to pull them apart. you make up for it, though, and you gather some of her slick to sink two fingers into her heat.

“fuck. fuck,” vi moans. she tangles her hands in your hair, fingers tightening at the roots when you suck her clit harshly. “fuck, you’re so good to me. fuck.”

you hum against her cunt, and work in a third finger, reaching that spot deep inside her that has her crying out in pleasure. you add in your tongue, and vi locks her ankles behind your head to bring you impossibly closer. this time, you stay there until she reaches you feel her tighten around you. you don’t stop, and fuck her through another orgasm that has her body writhing and your lungs burning.

you just don’t want to leave, the velvet softness and saltiness of her more intoxicating than any drink you’ve ever had. but, vi’s tugging impatiently at your hair and whining —

“oh, god, please come up here.”

— so you kiss her cunt goodbye, just for now, and you journey back up her body. your lips, coated in vi’s own release, stick to her skin as you go. when you’re eye to eye with her once more, you kiss her, allow her to taste herself on your tongue. you pull away to quip: 

“that’s not my name, sweetheart, but i’m flattered.”

vi smiles, her lips shining with your saliva and her cum. it makes you want to dive back in for more, but she beats you to it.

“my goddess,” she mumbles against your lips, moving to bite underneath your jaw, down your neck. her nails scrape against your stomach and she teases the waistband of your pants. “get rid of these — it’s time for me to take care of you.”

and how could you say no to that? 

as you get up to remove the rest of your clothes, vi sits up, watching you with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. 

yeah, she’s impatient, reaching for you as soon as you're done and positioning your thighs on either side of her hips. you hiss when your bare cunt rubs up against her abdomen, and vi’s eyes are now the darkest you’ve ever seen them, pupils blown wide. 

“huh. you like that, gorgeous?” she taunts, kissing between your breasts.

and now she’s got you all whiny and desperate. you love how rough her bandaged hands feel as they grip your hips, guiding your movements, and how hot her mouth is against your skin as her teeth, tongue, and lips explore every inch of your body. she lingers on your tattoo, sucking harsh bruises among delicate flowers. her hands roam from your hips to your inner thighs, spreading you open while pressing you down. you’re completely blissed out as your pussy squelches against her strong, defined muscles. you love how her body reacts to your pleasure as if it’s her own — her abs clench between your legs and her heart beating fast against your chest. 

“that’s it,” vi groans, encouraging you. “how’d i get so lucky, huh? to have such a pretty girl make a mess all over me?”

it’s very hard to formulate a thought, and all you can do is breathe out vi’s name like a prayer. 

she thrusts up one more time and presses her mouth onto yours, swallowing your moans and guiding you harder, faster. 

after your orgasm crashes over you, vi rolls over so that she’s on top of you. she rests her forehead against yours, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. 

“you think you can handle one more?” 

you nod desperately, smiling up at her. vi’s body is firmly against yours, her stomach wet and sticky with you. 

“i thought so,” vi chuckles. she kisses down your cheek, along your jaw, to behind your ear where your star-shaped birthmark greets her. “what’ll it be, stargirl? tongue, fingers, both?”

you shiver. if you had more time, more energy, you’d beg for her it all, but for now you answer:

“just your fingers, please.” you brush your thumb over the tattoo on her cheek, looking into those eyes of hers that you’d like to imagine only soften this way for you. “i want – need – to see your beautiful face while you fuck me.”

and again, vi blushes. she kisses you, hard, before shoving her fingers into your cunt.

her fingers really do feel like magic, like bliss, long and thick, and curving into you perfectly. her thumb rubs tight circles into your clit, her bandaged palm scratching deliciously against your folds. vi’s strong and fast and she’s pretty much fucking her tongue down your throat. 

you feel so wonderfully full and you’re already so sensitive that the elastic in your stomach tightens and tightens and just snaps. you throw your head back, jaw falling slack as overwhelming pleasure rushes through you. you dig your nails into her shoulders to ground yourself, and she hisses into your mouth when you scrape them down her back. 

“fuck, you’re so hot.” vi practically growls, biting your bottom lip. “can’t get over you — like a goddamn vice. be a good girl for me and give me one more, yeah? please.” 

and how can you say no to that — vi on top and deep inside of you, eyes dark and sinful and waiting for your command, eager to have her way with your body because she just can’t get enough? 

you whimper when vi finally removes her fingers from your cunt and sucks them into her mouth.

“better than i imagined,” she grins and actually winks at you. then, she shoves her fingers down your throat as if she knew how empty you felt, and you greedily lap up whatever mess was left.

then, vi takes away her fingers and places the sweetest, softest kiss on your lips before adjusting to lay down on her side. 

“i…i wasn’t too rough, was i?” she whispers, idly tracing fingers on your damp skin. 

you shake your head, smiling. her body is something divine — littered with familiar and unknown scars, muscles strong from carrying the weight of the world. but there’s also proof of the soft curve of your mouth against her skin, the harsh indents of your nails. there’s a desire deep within you hoping those never fades, like that dull, delicious ache between your legs that she left behind. 

the remnants of everything you’ve tasted of hers tonight linger on your tongue as you promise:

“no. you were….are amazing.”

vi nestles into the curve between your neck and shoulder. her teeth graze your pulsepoint as you run your hand through her hair.

you’re both exhausted and sweaty and sticky, but, by god, if you didn’t just find heaven. 

and though you’re deeply satisfied, you’re hungry, too, so you get up to find what you had taken from the kitchen earlier. vi sits up and watches eagerly as you peel the fruit, the smell of citrus dancing between you. you break it in half, watch her hesitate before accepting and devouring it. you’re in comfortable silence while eating. some juice drips down her chin, and you reach over to brush it away with your thumb. vi lets you push your thumb into her mouth to lick it up and you’re biting your lip before she crashes her mouth against yours once more. your hands are sticky as you cup her cheeks, and her lips are sticky against yours, but you don’t care. you think this is the sweetest orange you’ve ever tasted. 

you look out the window. the sky has gone from black to a deep purple, the stars now starting to fade.

in a few hours, vi is heading topside and you’re staying down here to keep the fort down while ekko’s gone with her to the council. best case scenario, you see each other again, continue whatever has simmered between you over the years and boiled over tonight.

worst case scenario….

it doesn’t matter. 

for now:

vi rests her hand on your ribcage while you notch a leg over her hip. 

“g’night, stargirl.” 

you nudge your nose against hers.

“sweet dreams, vi.”

vi kisses your forehead.

“i’ve got you to thank for those.”

you melt against each other and drift off into the best sleep you’ve both had in a while.

[libraryofgage]

so i wrote this yesterday and now it's become a whole thing

basically: Steve is actually smart but nobody realized it until he just fixes their various STEM related problems

anyway this is Eddie's very first experience with how smart Steve Harrington actually is

also please don't call me out if my physics explanations are wrong. just suspend your disbelief, i'm begging you lmao

also also, if you see any typos, no you didn't

---

"You're going to fail my class, Munson."

"Gee, no need to sugarcoat it," Eddie mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets and avoiding Miss Chester's gaze. His eyes land on one of the posters behind her desk, a cat hanging off a tree branch. Maybe it would like to trade places.

Miss Chester sighs, looking pointedly at the desk closest to hers. She waits until Eddie sits on it, legs hanging over the edge. "I'm serious," she says. "You're going to fail, Eddie. I don't want you to, but there's just some...disconnect happening here."

He appreciates that she's not totally blaming him. Most of Eddie's other teachers would've been berating him for his laziness by now. This, among other things, is why Eddie likes her class even if he can't wrap his head around physics at all. "I don't know, Miss. It just doesn't make sense."

"So I'm noticing." Miss Chester leans back in her chair, her finger tapping against her desk. Eddie immediately recognizes it as the drum beat from a KISS song. "You know you'll probably be held back if you fail, right?"

"Not the first time."

Miss Chester waves off his words, looking deep in thought. "What do you think about tutoring? I think you'll do better in a one-on-one setting. If you understand the concepts better, I can start grading you based on the work you do with the tutor."

"It wouldn't be you?" Eddie asks, frowning slightly. He's not sure he wants some random geek tutoring him. Not that he has anything against geeks, of course, but he's never known one to talk in a way he can understand. They get all...technical and Eddie's eyes glaze over whenever he overhears their conversations.

"No, I don't have the time. But don't worry," Miss Chester says, smiling reassuringly before pulling her roster close and looking down the list. "The student I have in mind probably knows more than me, if I'm being honest. He should be able to answer any question you have."

"What student?"

"His name is Steve."

Of course, Eddie immediately thinks of that Steve. King Steve. Steve "The Hair" Harrington with his blinding smile that's always looked a little strained in Eddie's opinion.

He then dismisses Steve Harrington as a possibility and reviews the other kids named Steve at Hawkins High. There's Steve Paulson, Steve Meyers, and Steve Barns. Maybe it's Barns? He's the only one that Eddie could imagine being somewhat good at physics.

"Are you open to tutoring?" Miss Chester asks. "For one session, at least?"

"Yeah, sure, one session. Won't help, though."

Miss Chester smiles like she knows something Eddie doesn't. Which, to be fair, she does. She knows a lot more than Eddie in terms of physics, at least. "I'll set it up. Just come by tomorrow after school."

--------

On his first day at Hawkins High, Steve realized two things.

One, his parents weren't kidding when they'd said public school would be vastly different from the private group tutoring he'd received up to that point.

Two, if he wanted to have a good high school experience, he needed to be cool. And being cool, it seemed, meant not being smart. He didn't need to be dumb, but he couldn't breeze through his classes, either.

He's done a good job of it so far. He's bored beyond reason in most of his classes, sure, but he's also popular. Nobody bothers him or tries to copy off of him, and it's great. He can even swallow down the weird surge of frustration and annoyance and guilt whenever his classmates assume he's too dumb to be a good project partner, or when his parents ask why he isn't enrolled in AP classes, or when his teachers give him confused looks after he aces tests for a unit he seemingly didn't pay attention to.

Anyway, he almost rejected Miss Chester's request to tutor a student from a different class period. He was just about to say he didn't have the time when she leveled him with a look so profoundly hopeful that he just couldn't. So, Steve said yes and now he's hesitating outside the physics classroom.

What if the student inside uses this against him? Steve thinks he could play it off, maybe convince his friends that the kid is lying, but he's not sure. Nothing dire would happen, but Steve would have to reorient himself to a new place on the social ladder, and that sounds exhausting.

"Just get it over with," he mumbles. Then, before he can chicken out and just leave the other student hanging, he opens the door and steps into the classroom.

Miss Chester isn't there. Steve knew she wouldn't be. She'd said something about a department meeting that would take her time but leave them with the classroom to themselves.

The only other person in the room is Eddie Munson, bent over a notebook and furiously scribbling on the page. He looks up when the door opens and freezes at the sight of Steve. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Eddie breaks the silence by asking, "What, get lost on your way to the locker room, Harrington?"

Steve blinks, frowns slightly, and takes a deep breath. Okay. Fine. Eddie Munson it is. "Nope. Miss Chester asked me to tutor you," he says, because that's the only reason another student would be in this room after school has let out.

Eddie laughs. He nearly falls out of his chair with how hard he laughs. He's wheezing and clutching the edges of the desk by the time Steve moves another desk to face him and sits down across from him. "Are you done, Munson?" he asks.

"Holy shit, you're serious," Eddie says, his voice slightly strained and his face red from laughing. "No fucking way Steve Harrington is here to tutor me in physics. You probably don't even know what two plus two is!"

"It's four. Do you know what 12 times 40 is?" Steve asks, watching as Eddie blinks.

"I'm not a fucking calculator, man."

"No, you're not. It's 480, by the way."

"You could've just memorized that."

Steve sighs and reaches into his bag, digging around some before pulling a calculator out. He places it on Eddie's desk and says, "Ask me something."

Eddie looks at him like he's grown a second head but still pulls the calculator closer. "1,239 plus 378."

"1,617."

He watches Eddie use the calculator, feeling smug when his face twists into confused disbelief. He then puts the calculator down and frowns at Steve. "So you can add, big whoop. Doesn't mean you can teach me shit about physics."

"Won't know until we try," Steve says, resting his elbow on the desk and propping his chin in his palm. "So, what don't you get?"

"...All of it. Just assume I don't know shit."

"You don't know Newton's laws?"

Eddie snorts, looking back down at his notebook. "There's that motion one and the reaction one," he says.

"Right. Newton's first law and his third. What about the second?"

"It's just...some equation or some shit."

Okay, Steve is starting to get an idea of where things stand. He thinks for a moment before asking, "What kind of stuff do you like?"

"What?"

"What do you like?"

Eddie looks so shocked by the question that he doesn't really think before answering, "Heavy metal. And, uh, D&D, too."

Steve knows heavy metal is music, and he could work with that but the D&D Eddie mentioned might be better. "What does it involve? The D&D?"

"It's a fantasy role playing game. Like, using your imagination to go on adventures with friends and stuff. Needs dice to work."

Oh. Perfect. "Do you have dice with you?" Steve asks. After another brief pause, Eddie nods and pulls one out of his pocket. He passes it over and watches as Steve turns it between his fingers. "Oh, an icosahedron. Cool."

"A what?"

"Icosahedron," Steve says, looking at Eddie. "It just means a twenty-sided polyhedron."

Eddie still looks confused, and Steve is about to explain it again when Eddie says, "Just call it a D20, dude."

"Oh. Sure. Anyway, let's use this," Steve says, rolling it between his fingers before letting it clatter to the desk. It bounces a few times before settling, a 17 facing up. "Do you know what made it stop moving?"

"The desk. I'm not an idiot, Harrington."

"I didn't say you were, Munson," Steve replies, leaning back slightly. "Just...yes, the desk stopped it. This is Newton's first law. If the desk wasn't there, it would have kept falling until it hit the floor. It stopped bouncing because it lost power each time it hit the desk. An object, the D20, will stay in motion, falling, unless acted upon by another force, the desk."

"That...kinda made sense," Eddie says, blinking a few times.

"Great!" Steve says, unable to help the bright smile at knowing Eddie understood him. "Okay, for the second law, the equation is mass times acceleration equals force. Basically, the movement of an object depends on how much it weighs and how much force you apply."

"Aaaand ya lost me," Eddie says.

"Okay, uh, you fight things in that game, right?"

"Yeah, kind of the whole point."

"Right, yeah, and the stuff you fight comes in different sizes, right?"

"Well, an orc isn't gonna be as big as a dragon, is it?"

Steve isn't really sure what an orc is, but he nods anyway. "Right. So if you want to move a dragon, you need to land a stronger hit than you would need for an orc."

"Duh. You're not gonna fell a dragon with a basic cantrip."

"Not sure what that is, but yeah. For this example, moving, or defeating, an object, or a dragon that weighs more than an orc, relies on how much force you apply, which is the strength you use."

"Oh. So, because an orc weighs less, I don't need as much force to defeat it," Eddie says, grinning as he fidgets with his pencil. "This doesn't really sound like math, though."

Steve shrugs. "We'll get to the math part later. Right now is basics. You need to understand those to do more complicated stuff. So, the third law, this is the action-reaction law. Music might be better for it. What happens when you strum a guitar?"

"It...makes a sound. Because it's an instrument."

"Well, yeah, but do you understand how the sound is being made."

"By...strumming it?"

"Yeah, that's part of it. Sounds are vibrations in the air that we can understand. If you touch your throat while talking, you'll feel your voice box, your larynx, vibrate to make the sound of you talking."

He waits as Eddie does exactly that. While holding his fingers to his throat, Eddie says, "Didn't know it was called a larynx. Oh, fuck, yeah, there are vibrations."

Steve nods, waiting patiently as Eddie hums for a few minutes before looking back at him. "So, vibrations. Instruments make sound because playing them causes vibrations. When you strum a guitar, the strings rapidly move back and forth, and that movement is translated into notes."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but yeah, I'm following you."

"So, the action of strumming a guitar creates the reaction of the strings vibrating. That action of the strings vibrating creates the reaction of air rippling, and those ripples create the reaction of audible noise. Did that make sense?"

"Yeah. It did," Eddie says, his voice soft as he stares at Steve like he's really seeing him for the first time.

Steve shifts uncomfortably, unused to this aspect of himself being known so well by someone at school. He's almost tempted to end things now and apologize to Miss Chester for walking out halfway through a tutoring session. Steve is practicing the apology in his head when Eddie says, "Hey, by the way, sorry for earlier."

"What?" Steve asks, trying to blink away his confusion and failing.

"You know, earlier, when I laughed at you? Pretty shitty of me to do. So, yeah, I'm sorry."

"Oh." Steve stares at Eddie for a few seconds before his shoulders relax. "It's fine. I'm not exactly known for being smart."

"Why not?"

"It's just...easier to let people think I'm dumb. Most of our classmates look at me and think I'm just, you know, a typical jock. They don't expect more from me than that, and I don't expect them to look any deeper."

"Does anyone else know, though?"

"My parents and the teachers. And you."

"Well, don't worry, big boy. Your secret's safe with me."

"Big boy?"

"Don't like it? Would you prefer Stevie?" Eddie asks, grinning as he leans in and exaggeratedly waggles his eyebrows at Steve.

Steve can't help snorting at the sight. "Whatever. Just call me what you want, Eddie," he says.

He tries to ignore the weird swooping in his stomach when Eddie's smile gets wider and he says, "You better not regret it, Stevie."

[paperclipcore]

Seeing people debate whether Curly is a "good" or "bad" person is just so interesting to see as someone who strongly dislikes the concept of the "good/bad" person binary. That man is a perfectly imperfect human being, none of his mistakes make him wholly "bad" and none of the steps he takes to try and improve the situation make him wholly "good", nor do they absolve him of his wrongs. I thought we knew this.

[cosmicredcadet]

All this aroace character shipcourse has proven to me that a majority of people that interact in fandom cannot actually interact with characters and media outside of shipping and genuinely I believe you need to learn how to interact with media outside of shipping.

[lady-of-the-spirit]

"JC should have defended WWX and the Wen remnants-" babe he has no political capital right now. He's rebuilding his sect from the ground up after a war. He's been locked out of the Venerated Triad. He's the youngest sect leader. How could he have defended them and not doomed himself and his sect all over again.

[becasbelt]

harrow the ninth is so funny because of how absurd it is. like. harrow is being hunted for sport and no one cares so she physically alters herself to stay awake for 126 hours. god keeps offering her biscuits and she never eats them. mercymorn makes harrow's age younger and younger every time they talk. every single interaction between harrow and ianthe. like every fucking scene with ianthe (it won't taste like anything so add some salt and it will taste like salt). gideon roasting harrow and the rest of the cast through the entire book. how is this fucking book real.

[asbestos-11]

long time no art, have some furina and clorinde art

[definitionofacritter]

The way that Dariax is the only one to end up alone at the end of this.

Opal has Fy'ra; they have their deities. Morrighan has Cyrus's soul for a moment and a Matron for a lifetime. Dorian has the Bells Hells once more. But Dariax... for a while, at least, Dariax will have no one.

And it's in the way that Dariax won't realize at first that he's been abandoned.

Maybe he'll think he lost track of time. He'll go traipsing through town, asking about a handsome blue bard, trying to figure out what inn they must've agreed to meet back at for the night. Because they must have, right?

The night grows dark, and still no sign. He'll get sick with worry. He knows he's thick, but surely he would've noticed if something happened, right? He would've known if Dorian was in danger?

And then... I don't know what's worse from there.

What story does he tell himself, in the end?

That Dorian blames him for not being able to save his brother? No, no, Dorian was taken—because he would never have abandoned him, not when they were all the two of them had left?

Dariax has always known he was a lot to handle. He's been told how exhausting he can be. He knows he has never been worth sticking around for.

But he thought—

—he thought that maybe he'd done it right this time. That maybe someone would stay.

Eventually, Dariax stops looking. He greets isolation like an old friend.

He plays his new lute to fill the lonely silence, and it does not help.

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[bussyplease]

Y'ALL I WATCHED THE WHOLE OLYMPIC OPENING CEREMONY AND OMFG IT WAS LIIIIT

There was every boat in existence. The best of french classical music with Ravel, Debussy, Saint-Saëns, Satie, and more. Céline Dion who hadn't sung in public in 4 whole years. Drag queens. All sorts of dancers. A video of a throuple. The contrast between Aya Nakamura and the military choir. They mixed up the names of Turkey and Tunisia on the screen announcements. The olympic flame on a hot air balloon. Statues emerging on the Seine. People doing biking tricks, skateboard and breakdance dressed as mimes, while floating on the water. The president almost didn't talk. Diversity and inclusion were central values of the show. The weather sucked, everything was SO WET. There was not one, not two, but three wet pianos involved.

But the real shit? The real PEAK of the whole show?? The image of the century??

PHILIPPE KATERINE COSPLAYING AS A NAKED SMURF IN A PLATE OF FRUIT, SINGING ABOUT HIS NAKED ASS, SAYING FUCK GUNS AND FUCK THE RICH, MOTHERFUCKERS

THAT'S MY FRANCE