#and maybe overshares

[starrwrrld]

anon asks

do you like milkshakes

what are your fave lestappen fics of all time

where's your username from??

damnn okayy ty for this anon <3

Yes I love me a good milkshakes but im not obsessed with them or anything (cant stand strawberry tho). My dad has been making absolute bangers of milkshakes for as long as I can remember so it was a cold beverage I grew up with a lot. This also means i'm very judgy about my milkshakes so I don't drink them unless i'm sure they're gonna be good.

oh lordy lord. this is gonna be longgg.

@maxcuntstappen's I Loved You Before I Knew I Was Supposed To holds a special special place in my heart. Lav, being the absolute majesty they are, did a phenomenal job with it. It's so tender and soft and sweet i can't get enough of it. I've read it enough times to narrate it scene-by-scene. I wish I could read i again for the first time ( I would gladly slam a cardoor on my hand for it). Something about it makes me wanna hug Lav and cry. (CHECK OUT LAV'S OTHER FICS TOO THEY'RE ALL AMAAZING AND SO WORTH THE READ AND RE-READ)

Right Where You Belong by @amarynas is another absolute fav. This remains the fic to which i cried the most without a doubt. It's so fluffy (lets ignore the absolute heart attacks it gave me for amin here) and RWYB Max is an absolute loser boyerfriend (affectionate) and I wouldn't want it any other way. Also shoutout to Cisca for making Charles so tenderly fierce. It was a treat.

Long Live (The Walls We Crashed Through) is a fic i'm an absolute sucker for (sue me, i'm weak for the bsfs to lovers trope). It's so tender and nice and heartwarming and I wish I could read it again for the first time.

Never in a million years would I have thought I'd read Chef AUs, but here we are Grapefruit Mignonette and Give Me That Fire are both Chef/Restaurant AUs that truly slap. They're both so well written and give you an amazing insight into the industry while keeping you in a chokehold the entire time.

Red, White & Orange-Nassau and Homeward Bound by @f1-giuki are OMLLL. They're both so good it's insane. They give me sm comfort i wanna cry. The found-familyness of it all has me in such a strong chokehold and i don't ever wanna come out of it.

Meet Me In Montreal is a series by my legend @bumblewyn that i absolutely love. It's a pretty quick read (it's all mini fics that averages at 2kish words per work, hence why the series) and a constant reminder about these two's inability to be normal about each other with a side-dish serving of angst.

I'm pretty sure there are so many gems out there i've missed mentioning bc i have the memory-span of an octopus (fun fact if you havent figued it out; octopuses are the animals with the shortest memory span of just 3 seconds) but yeah. RIP to all the other amazing fics out there that i've read and adored but simply can't remember atm, i hate my brain too (and i suck at bookmarking or saving my favs so here we are). (P.S. All these writers have more amazing, amazing fics that i've not mentioned so do check them out if you haven't)

Uhm. It literally has no meaning behind it, love. I love love stars (fav shape fs) and i was struggling to find a username and i happened to be dooding stars at the edge of a sticky note whie brainstorming usernames so i decided on star, my brain generated the word 'world' for me and it became starrwrld bc starworld was already taken. (and maybe, just maybe, it is a small allusion to the song starman and to bowie himself bc i love that man)

[your-unfriendlyghost]

Refs were from this Seinfeld post lol

[serenbriar]

Of all the moments in bg3 that made my heart ache, one moment in particular got me so unexpectedly.

It was after the conversation with Halsin, I was asking Astarion his thoughts on it when I got his classic funny "enjoying the freedom of nature's gifts" line, but then I was hit with the question:

"It's not because... you know... we haven't... in a while?"

I immediately began sobbing. It was like the game just suddenly unearthed all the emotions I had from being in that position myself, wondering whether my former partner was looking elsewhere because I wasn't couldn't provide my body enough, feeling guilty for not doing the things I didn't want to do.

That question just stabbed me right in the heart so unexpectedly.

I wanted to tell him that it doesn't matter, that there's no need to give his body if he doesn't want to, that I'd still love him. Of course I would.

Because I wish I'd been told the same.

[nuppu-nuppu]

More Angel Devil

[lazylittledragon]

i keep trying to think of funny/poetic ways to talk about all the things i'm feeling right now but i honestly can't so. i'm really sad about what happened with my partner. i know he was an inconsiderate prick about it and that i didn't do anything wrong and i couldn't have prevented it but i'm just really fucking sad.

[war-forged-storms]

TW HEAVY S/M CONCEPTS///BLOODPLAY

I used to be so squeamish about the idea of there being blood anywhere during sex, but recently I can’t stop thinking about sinking my teeth into someone’s shoulder while they’re pounding into me, feeling feral and overwhelmed by the pleasure, and grounding myself by digging my teeth into their shoulder and tasting the metal. I want to pull back and smile up at them, my teeth stained red, mess around my mouth. I want it to drip down them and onto me and the sheets while they fuck me to completion. I want them to finish in me and then cover their hand in it and our orgasms before wiping it across my face and cussing me out for being a sick fuck

[muffypollz]

ASHEDUE THE KISS REDRAW I LOVE YAOI

[solreefs]

me out loud in class: haha yeah don’t we all get lonely sometimes

me in an essay: I’ve never felt like a real human person in my entire life and I don’t think it’s ever going to get better and do I even want it to anymore?

[wiremotherofficial]

i often feel bad for like running away across the country and estranging myself from my family on purpose, but then i make the mistake of trying to be open about literally anything and am instantly reminded that i objectively cannot survive in that environment

[miracl3-align3r]

Not much of a DC fan at all but I’m going slightly feral over the Superman trailer, simply because I want David Corenswet biblically😔

[sad-leon]

Actually, Y'all can see these as well

Based off @/xinrouska's dtiys on Instagram (i dont know if they're chill being tagged over here)

I am obsessed with their villain Leo (and artstyle in general) and am going slightly feral for it lol

[xskyll]

Todoroki: Baggage? This is a topic I can talk about. My friends always stop me when I try to discuss baggage…but they aren’t here. So…

Prev / Next

First

[hold-him-down]

Belleview Chapter Two (Part D): Day One

Notes: This is the final part of chapter 2. Now, pretend all 4 of those parts were posted in one thing because that is really how it was meant to be but things got away from me :)

Belleview: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (Part A), Chapter 2 (Part B), Chapter 2 (Part C)

TW: Institutionalized slavery, Med Whump, Dubcon Medical Care, References to Human Experimentation

✥ ✥ ✥

Day one, Lincoln thinks, goes by in a sort of semi-organized frenzy that makes up for a lack of rhythm with the undiluted tenacity of every person who has been assigned to this site. It is a flurry of organizing volunteers, scheduling with local hospitals, reviewing the notes of the medical team and pausing, occasionally, to ask how his two patients are faring. River remains isolated, but no one pushes him, and Felix remains alive and that, for what it’s worth, counts as a win.

Beds are built inside of the tiny rooms with impressive efficiency, while volunteers sort through the floods of donations, things from clothing to food to entertainment. At some point, an entire truck full of televisions, courtesy of the mayor, pulls up, and at another, a florist brings a van-full of indoor plants to help make the place feel more ‘homey.’ Three restaurants deliver catered lunch, and seven bring dinner. The residents, by and large, refuse the food, and it is not until the prepackaged meaty substance that has been their daily meal for their entire time at the site is found, heated, and delivered, that most of them eat anything at all.

The phone rings non-stop with offers for food or ‘any other support needed’ over the next week. News vans come and go, with volunteers offering cursory updates on where things stand at Belleview, but never on the residents themselves. Their identities are protected, and no one seems to mind regardless. 

The community, much to Lincoln’s surprise, rallies behind the residents, and he is left to admit, reluctantly, that even here, in this somewhat small community in southern Florida, where so many vocal supporters of the system fought tooth and nail to keep contracted labor intact, there are countless pockets of good. He doesn’t have the time to rearrange his opinion on the town, but he recognizes the necessity to reassess where he stands.

For now, he throws all of his energy toward the task at hand.

Three of the residents, Felix, Gabriel, and Ari, require hospital visits for diagnostics. Lincoln makes a note to check on them before leaving for the night. Seven more have been hooked up to IV fluids and are being monitored while they sleep, but will be treated at the site once the med rooms are set up. Three (River, chiefly among them) refused any care, and seven allowed themselves to be examined without fighting. Notably, the team suspects that many did not understand, or believe, that things have changed, and so the pretenses under which they cooperated were dubious at best.

It’s eight o’clock, and with one full twelve-hour shift under his belt, Lincoln accepts that it’s nearly time to call it a day. The first group of volunteers has begun packing up and leaving for the evening, with the new group filing in and orienting themselves to their tasks. Lincoln sits in the empty office, twenty-one folders strewn haphazardly across the large metal desk. 

He reaches for the newest folder, marked ‘Felix,’ and opens it. He reads through the notes– his notes– and stands, placing the lone file into his bag. He picks up his keys, and he turns off the light to the office, and he starts making his way through the bowels of the building that, just yesterday, housed horrors that he has not yet begun to wrap his head around.

Lincoln passes several volunteers setting up a common area out of what was once a waiting room, which includes putting together sofas, hooking up the donated TVs, stocking shelves full of books, and hanging art. There are half-broken down boxes strewn everywhere. He greets the volunteers with an exhausted smile and half-wave as he passes. Once he reaches the tip of the main corridor, he pauses. It’s quiet now, with an almost eerie quality to it. A couple of the fluorescents are dull, with one outright flickering. It gives the wing a sort of post-apocalyptic ambiance befitting its history. If not for the doors, each cracked open in a bid to encourage the residents to explore their temporary home, it would look exactly the same as it had this morning, save for one of the plants that made its way to a corner.

“How did it go today?” Dr. Anthony Schiller, the assistant director of the site, who will oversee it during the overnight shifts, asks as he pulls up beside him. 

“It could have gone worse,” Lincoln responds. They are silent for seconds, maybe minutes, staring down the long hallway. And then, “I’m worried about them,” Lincoln says softly. At the doctor’s expectant look, he continues, “About where things go from here.”

Schiller nods in agreement, and Lincoln hands him the key to the office with a half-hearted smile that is meant to be encouraging, but might read closer to reluctant. 

“Files are on the desk, notes are in the files,” Lincoln says. He gives a rundown of where they’re at, what they’ve done, who to keep an eye on overnight.

Once Anthony has retreated, Lincoln makes his way through the corridor toward the exit. He listens for any signs of distress as he does. In one room, the light from the TV flashes through the crack in the door. From another, he can hear crying. He pauses, knocking on the door. “Do you need anything?” he asks, and the boy’s– Ethan’s– eyes snap up to meet his.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan whispers. 

“It’s okay,” Lincoln replies. He takes a step into the room, where there is a barely-eaten dinner and an untouched pile of blankets. “I’m sure this is overwhelming,” he says. He picks up the top blanket and unfolds it, then sets it on the untouched bed. “Have you had a chance to eat?” he asks. 

Ethan nods, visibly holding back as much emotion as he can. 

“Okay,” Lincoln replies. He sits at the edge of the bed, and pats the space next to him. “Will you come sit with me for a minute?” he asks then. Ethan, predictably, does as he is asked, and Lincoln hands him the blanket. “I’m going to head out for the night,” Lincoln explains. “Is there anything you want me to grab you for tomorrow?”

Ethan shakes his head quickly. “Okay,” Lincoln replies. “Try to get some sleep. If you’d like to turn on the TV, you can. Anything you need, please let the volunteers know, okay? I know this is confusing,” he continues, “but things will get easier.” 

Ethan smiles, his eyes downcast, and Lincoln squeezes his hand. “I’ll see you in the morning?” 

As he continues down the hall, he wonders, idly, how many of these beds will be untouched tonight. How many of these men will go hungry tonight. How many will sleep at all. River's room is quiet and dark, and Lincoln resists the urge to check in on him. He is okay. He refused lunch and dinner, but has a bed, has clothes, and has access to food and water. No progress has been made throughout the day, but, Lincoln hopes, they will try again tomorrow.

He reluctantly continues walking.

He pauses, finally, at Felix’s door. As one of the three critical patients, the volunteers have been on top of him all day, reporting back at least hourly on his status. With the medicine and with the fluids and with the constant care, he’s been stable, which is something.

Lincoln pushes the door open as quietly as he can, and buried under a weighted blanket, curled up on his side, lies Felix. An oxygen mask covers his mouth and nose, and, under the covers, Lincoln knows a slew of monitors cover his body, feeding them data on his condition. After a thorough review of that data, Lincoln turns his attention back to Felix.

Even in the darkness, it is obvious that he has been bathed, he has been given clothes, and his wounds have been tended. He looks… peaceful, Lincoln thinks. He looks comfortable. 

As he takes a step back toward the hall, Felix’s eyes crack open, instantly seeking him out. His fingers lift, just slightly, in something that vaguely resembles a wave, and Lincoln makes his way to his bedside.

He kneels next to him, squeezing his fingers gently. 

“Hey,” he whispers. With his free hand, Lincoln brushes the hair off of Felix’s forehead, then runs his fingers across the bruising on his neck. “I was just on my way out,” he continues, “I wanted to check and make sure you have everything you need?” 

Felix doesn’t respond, but he keeps his eyes on Lincoln. Lincoln smiles and stands, with a soft, “I’ll see you in the morning,” as he moves away from Felix’s bed.

The panicked look, the same from earlier, ghosts across Felix’s features, and he reaches for the mask. It doesn’t take more than a split second for Lincoln’s mind to be made up. At home, his boyfriend will struggle to understand what happened here today. He’ll be chastised for taking his work too seriously, for not setting boundaries, for giving too much of himself to his job.

But, he thinks, as he pulls out his phone to send the text message: I’m going to stay here for the night. I’ll check in in the morning. Will explain tomorrow, he knows it’s right. By the time he drags the small armchair over to Felix’s bed and settles into it, Felix’s body has lost the fight for consciousness. Still, when Lincoln puts his hand on top of Felix’s, and the tension in his shoulders immediately lifts, Lincoln knows that this is where he’s meant to be.

Belleview Taglist:

@pigeonwhumps @peachy-panic @whump-cravings @pirefyrelight @i-eat-worlds

@taterswhump @squishablesunbeam @inpainandsuffering @distinctlywhumpthing @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@handsinmotion @whumps-and-bumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @alexmundaythrufriday @itsawhumpsideblog

@hellodecisionparalysis

[tinkerbitch69]

Is it wrong of me to feel just a liiiiiiitle salty about the fact that the x men are everyone’s favourite superheroes again but everyone’s decided to experience collective amnesia about the public perception of the x men in the 2010s during which I stuck with them as my favourite marvel heroes?

Even through the times marvel editorial actively tried to kill off their popularity plus being the only person I knew who got super hyped for dofp/apocalypse/dark phoenix while everyone else was hyped for the latest avengers film. (Also having to eat a big slice of humble pie when dark phoenix turned out to be total shit) Like I know this is incredibly minor and petty and unimportant but still stings a little you know?

[gwen-hemoxia]

Starfolk

[doodles-in-sand]

wip for an art trade im doin on insta