#at least i'm not the actual 1500s

[skyriderwednesday]

Me as a reader: "Mr Doyle/Ms Sayers/etc, you've used that name eight times already, maybe you should find some different ones."

Me as a writer: "It's totally fine if this man and this child are named Guillaume and Gwilym even though those are the French and Welsh versions of the same name, because they never interact."

[aromantyczno-liryczna]

Buy me a coffee

THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR LIKE TWO HOURS ASKING FOR THINGS IS LITERALLY MY WORST FEAR BUT FUCK IT WE BALL

my mum could really use £30-40 for groceries. We've spent a lot of money fixing stuff this month like replacement pipes and central heating (that really should be our landlord's responsibility..). She only has £150 left but we've still got bills to pay later this month so not much to spend on food and other necessities. Universal credit + her wage doesn't get paid until the end of the month (something is coming next week too but idr) 🥲

Usually we ask family and close friends for borrowing money but no one has been able to lend any aaa

No pressure to donate whatsoever — but if you have some extra money, any support would be greatly appreciated mwah <3

[therealandian]

ITS YOU! YOU HAVE RANDOMLY APPEARED IN ME FEED, HII!

I am fully caught up on Redeath and Search Through The Stars, and im sad because not only is this fic almost over, but another unrelated long-shot fic I’ve been reading for a while is ALSO almost over. Send help I don’t know what im going to do with my life. Find more fics I guess.

aww this is such a sweet message to wake up to. and hey don't cry cos it's over smile cos it happened or whatever the quote is lmao <3

if it's any consolation, after 4 years spent in this au, i'm also at a bit of a loss on what to do now XD (probably i should catch up on rrr, which i'm guessing is the other fic you're talking about lol)

i'm gonna try to do some more original stuff, though, so feel free to stick around for more silly gay people fucking around and finding out XD

[paigemathews]

ooh I would like to contribute to the pairing ask

And I'm going to give you a bunch to choose from because I can't decide and also that way you get to do the ones that you find the most fun without trying to do the ones you don't have ideas for (pick whichever you like and feel no pressure to do them all):

wyatt and the manticore baby (this can be gen or romantic, whichever you prefer)

chris and bianca in the past

piper with her niece/nephew (gen, dealers choice for which child)

patty and paige (gen)

victor and henry sr bonding as mortals in a magical family

elise with one of the charmed ones offspring as honorary aunt

more of the baby morrises all grown up however you would prefer

piper re-meeting bianca in the future (gen)

phoebe and andy (gen), preferably with time travel involved, bc we get told andy cares a lot about all the sisters and vice versa but we don't really get to see that as much with phoebe

a charmed one with their ex bf in an unexpected situation (gen, again dealers choice of who)

time travelling wyatt and chris (gen)

and prue and paige (gen) either in a world where its a different sister that dies or after they've both died and they're looking at the mess and drama of future generations and Judging

I went ahead and added this to the initial post bc I did not originally, but I think that one pairing per an ask will probably be easier bc if I do all of these, it will end up being so long that someone will murder me for ending up on their dash. That said, I am begging you on my knees to resubmit the others because I want to do literally all of them please please please

Pairing: Wyatt Halliwell ? Sebastian Johnston (half-manticore baby)

-----

Trudging through the empty cavern, Wyatt kept glancing over to Sebastian uncertainly. His expression was uncharacteristically steely, normal jovial mood absent. Prior to their run-in with the demon, Wyatt had been the same way, intent on finding his siblings and cousins. He still was focused on finding them, but felt his attention split as they walked between worry for them and replaying the demon's words.

"Poor demon," she cooed, dodging the potion Wyatt threw. Darting into Sebastian's face, she smiled maliciously as she said, "Blonde of hair, fair of face, never will-"

She slammed into the wall as Wyatt snarled wordlessly, trying to get to Sebastian's side as the half-manticore shook off the daze that her spell had left them with. Sebastian opened his mouth, eyes narrowed, but the demon beat them to it.

Throwing her head back to let her hair fall back, she grinned as she threw out both hands. Half a second too late, Wyatt was caught in the blast as she telekinetically threw everything in her past. He lost sight of Sebastian as the demon's workstation flipped and-

Oh, wow, the Underworld really had tall caverns actually. Wheezing for breath for a minute, Wyatt heard the demon start her little rhyme over again absently as he tried to convince his lungs to take in a breath. That was good, because she wouldn't recite her weird... prophecy? spell? whatever over a corpse. Probably. You never could tell with demons.

Also there was no way that Sebastian, who came right behind Chris and Penny as the most likely Warren kid to fight demons by themselves - despite not even being, y'know, a Warren - was killed by one telekinetic blast. Chris did worse, and didn't that thought send a pang of worry about his younger brother through his chest.

Or, actually, that might be that one of the potions on the demon's workspace was apparently acidic in nature, and Wyatt's hand was burning a little now. Fuck.

Bracing himself, Wyatt sucked in a breath and pushed the table back and sat up. The demon was on top of Sebastian, one hand cupping his face as she finished her rhyme, "-of the Charmed One's embrace. Unrequited love is such a pain, little demon, let me spare you of it."

"Get away from hIM," Wyatt roared, throwing hands out, magic distorting his voice in the last minute. At his shout, both Sebastian and the demon's heads snapped over to look at him. Sebastian's eyes went wide, and he bucked his hips enough to startle the demon. Just as the energy blast was about to engulf them, Sebastian shimmered away, unfortunately taking the demon with him. The blast slammed into the wall, destroying the entire shelf of potions lining it.

Wyatt felt more than heard Sebastian reappear, spinning on his heel just as Sebastian came into view. Sending the demon sprawling onto the ground, Sebastian rolled to one side, scrambling onto his feet as the demon rose with a screech.

"Wyatt!" Sebastian pointed at the remains of the demon's knife collection scattered on the ground opposite of them, and Wyatt didn't hesitate. As the demon raised her arms, Wyatt threw out his arm and the demon's destroyed armory went flying at her.

"Well, that seems like karma," Sebastian commented, breathless, as the two watched the demon burst into flames. Seeing as the entire debacle started when the demon sent her own armory at them, Wyatt couldn't help but agree.

Blonde of hair. Fair of face. Something about a Charmed One. Unrequited love. Years of looks between family members and gently teasing comments that Wyatt never quite got.

Sebastian had been one of Wyatt's best friends since he was a baby. Whenever Sebastian spent time with someone, they were almost always guaranteed a fun time that they needed. Beyond just genuine joy, Sebastian would always have his friends' backs. He was Chris and Penny's most consistent backup in a demon fight. He was the person that Melinda would call when she wanted a friend to party with or play video games against. He was the person that would go after Parker when she got a too desperate need to prove herself as a witch. Even if they hadn't been friends themselves, Sebastian's love and care for Wyatt's family would have more then earned Wyatt's love. Despite his heritage, Sebastian was a compassionate person who loved deeply, and he was one of Wyatt's best friends.

But as the pit continued forming in his stomach, Wyatt knew that he didn't love him as more than a friend.

There was no guarantee that the demon had been telling the truth. But Sebastian's expression had been painfully exposed.

Demons were cruel, and it would be so characteristic of a demon to throw that in Sebastian's face right in front of the person he loved.

The thought kept taunting Wyatt, and he knew he needed to resolve it somehow. They were still tracking his siblings and cousins, and whoever managed to subdue multiple Warrens was sure to be dangerous. Being distracted was dangerous, but Wyatt couldn't bring it up to Sebastian and risk hurting him right-

"Dude," Sebastian said, and Wyatt stopped his anxious tirade of thoughts as Sebastian snapped in front of his face.

Blinking, Wyatt looked between the fingers in front of his eyes to Sebastian's face. He was still tired, still worried, but there was a familiar look of bemusement in his eyes as he looked at Wyatt. One hand was on his bicep, a light grip keeping him still, as he dropped his other hand.

"You back with me?" Sebastian asked.

Wyatt nodded mutely.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You spaced out for like. Five whole minutes. None of those demon's potions did anything to you, right?"

Wyatt shook his head. Sebastian opened his mouth to say something else, but Wyatt blurted out, "Blonde of hair, fair of face."

Sebastian's mouth snapped shut, as his gaze became unreadable. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence as Wyatt struggled to find words, Sebastian tilted his head and asked, "And? Is there a problem with that?"

His voice was guarded, but not hostile. Wyatt nearly tripped over his words as he frantically shook his head. "No! Just I don't know if-"

Sebastian's shoulders dropped an inch as his eyes softened. "Wyatt, I'm an adult. I don't need-"

"I'm sorry," Wyatt interrupted, guilt heavy in his stomach. He knew, logically at least, that he wasn't obligated to return feelings, but Wyatt never enjoyed hurting people, and to hurt one of his best friends was excruciating. "If I could, I would."

Wyatt winced at his words, because it wasn't as if Sebastian was unlovable, just that Wyatt didn't-

"No," Sebastian nearly snarled. Wyatt started, and Sebastian nearly looked as startled as Wyatt did. Still, he continued, "I don't need more than friendship, Wyatt. That's enough for me. As long as-"

You're happy, Wyatt mentally finished. Or you find someone. Some kind response that highlighted why Sebastian was great and why Wyatt felt awful.

"-she's happy and safe, I'll be okay."

Wait, what?

"But we need to get going to find them, because the longer we wait-" Sebastian was still talking as he turned to continue, but Wyatt was still stuck on the "she" part.

Had the demon actually... specified Wyatt? Thinking back, there was no actual guarantee that it had been Wyatt the demon was talking about. Blonde of hair, fair of face, and something about a Charmed One? Yes, that was Wyatt. It was also Melinda and Peyton. And sometimes Penny, but seeing as she was a lesbian and Sebastian knew that, Wyatt thought it safe to assume that Sebastian would have had plenty of time to get over it if it had been Penny.

Oh, boy.

Face burning, Wyatt interrupted, "She?"

Sebastian turned back around, voice fading as he took in whatever expression Wyatt had. They were both silent for a minute before Sebastian's lips quirked up. He couldn't control the grin as he asked, laughter in his voice, "Wyatt, did you think-"

"Blonde of hair, fair of face!" Wyatt protested immediately, feeling just a little stupid.

Sebastian outright began laughing as he finished, "Never will feel the daughter of a Charmed One embrace. Unless you have something to tell me, which I completely support-"

Wyatt pushed past Sebastian as he kept laughing, face burning but heart lighter than it was.

As he continued on his path, Wyatt heard Sebastian fall in step just behind him, still laughing. They still had demons to vanquish and family to save, but at least he wasn't responsible for breaking one of his best friend's heart.

Wait. Did that mean Sebastian liked his sister?

[nacrelysis]

how are you a billionaire and you still don't pay your fucking bills. god.

this is a level of incompetence i've never fucking SEEN before. and I'M the person who ends up carrying the group projects.

[joelscruff]

imperfect for you (joel miller x f!reader)

masterlist | a/n written for @janaispunk's 1500 kisses challenge! i got joel + nose kisses with this lovely moodboard and actually managed to write something!!! believe it or not this started out as a drabble lmao. i hope you like it jana - sorry it's a bit late, and congrats again on your milestone 🤍 summary: you never thought joel miller would accidentally call you baby. warnings: age gap (joel is mid 40s, reader is 23), fluff, very brief instance of blood, tending to a wound, joel is eepy, soft kisses, cuddles word count: 5.5k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics

"When's the last time you slept?"

He doesn't bother to grace you with an answer, hands clenched on the steering wheel as you barrel down the vacant stretch of highway back to Lincoln. He's been ignoring you for the past fifteen minutes now, eyes straight ahead, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. But he looks pale, almost sickly, the whites of his knuckles stark against the sudden greenish hue of his skin. The last thing you need is for him to pass out and for the two of you to crash into a damn ditch.

"I'm just saying," you continue with an exasperated sigh, "I could drive the rest of the way, we're almost there."

No reply. You roll your eyes and cross your arms indignantly in the passenger seat, returning his icy demeanor. He's in one of his moods again, the ones only Tess really knows how to handle, but you'd volunteered to try your hand at a supply run in her stead which means she's not here to mediate. You should've known some issue would arise, stubborn Joel inventing problems in typical Joel fashion.

"You could've tried to last at least one more hour pretending to like me," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. He doesn't say anything.

Almost a year of working with them now, and you still don't understand him. You're not sure you ever will. Tess, she's much easier to understand, much more open to being understood. She'd seen your potential and taken you under her wing, brought you in to help, taught you everything you needed to know about smuggling. And Joel... well, he's a different story.

"You know, Tess thinks I have promise," you continue anyway, expression crumpling into a scowl, "She thinks I can do this. I don't get why you don't."

No answer.

"And don't say it's 'cause I'm a kid, because I'm not. I'm twenty three now, I'm past the point of being called a fucking kid. The shit I've seen in that QZ-" you cut yourself off, shaking your head, "I'm not a kid."

His lack of response is beginning to hurt deeper than you'd really like to admit. You glance over at him again; he's still staring straight ahead, still ignoring your presence. It makes unwanted tears prick in your eyes, nose stinging a little as you peer down at your lap and fold your hands together.

You'd been excited for this supply run, probably against your better judgement. You'd wanted to show him how much you know and understand, how hard you've been working, how you're up to the task. Hoped maybe he'd give you a smile - rare, but not impossible - and tell you that you did good, that he sees potential in you too.

You care what he thinks, almost more than what Tess thinks. And you know why, can sense it deep in the pit of your stomach and in the way your heart stutters when he looks at you, but you're clearly living in a fantasy world if you think he's ever gonna get past whatever this stigma is that he has against your age. She's too young, Tess. She'll get hurt, Tess. She shouldn't be doin' this, Tess. You've heard it all, muffled through closed doors in a dark and damp hallway.

He doesn't want you, and you're not sure how much longer you can go on like this. If he's not willing to change his stance, view you as anything other than an inconvenience...maybe Tess will have to find somebody else to help out.

"I know what I'm doing," you mumble, a tear dribbling down your left cheek, "I just wanna help."

You spare him one more look, fruitlessly hoping that maybe he'll feel bad now that he's made you cry - a childish thought, considering you're trying to make a case for being mature, but you can't help it. You know he's capable of being gentle, of being kind. You've experienced it with him before, quiet moments between the two of you in his apartment while waiting for Tess to return, making small talk, him peering at you with a softness in those brown eyes that have since made frequent appearances in your dreams. Moments where you swear you felt wanted under that gaze, but it must've been in your head, because you certainly don't feel wanted right now.

He doesn't look well, you have to admit. His skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, getting paler by the second, turning an unnatural grey color akin to some of the hair on his head. His eyes are glassy, dark bags settled beneath them that you've noticed getting worse and worse over the past few weeks. You shoot a glance at his hands again and are surprised to see that he's loosened his grip, that his fingers seem to be trembling against the rubber.

"Joel," you say, raising your voice a bit, "Joel, are you okay?"

His lack of response no longer angers you - it worries you. Carefully, you reach over and slowly wrap your hand around his right wrist, eyes trained on his face. At your touch, he finally turns to look at you, almost like he's only just noticed you're even there.

"You say somethin'?" he asks, voice raspy, a bit slurred.

Your grip tightens on his wrist, "I think you should stop the car."

He looks at you curiously, dazedly. It's the expression of a man who's running on two, maybe three hours of sleep in the last few days. You choose your next words carefully, eyes flickering back and forth toward his face and the road that he's suddenly no longer watching.

"Let's slow down a bit," you murmur, thumb stroking gently along his skin - he's warm, warmer than normal - "I'm gonna drive the rest of the way, okay?"

You expect some pushback, an attempt at an argument, but the tiredness is setting in quickly. Without any hesitation he eases his foot off the gas and you hurriedly reach your own leg over into his space to push down on the brake. He doesn't seem to notice the way your bare leg brushes his jeans, the crease in your knee bending over the warmth of his thigh.

"There we go," you say softly, bringing the car to a slow stop. He's still looking at you, eyes unfocused as you carefully lean over a little more to unbuckle his seatbelt. You try to ignore how good he smells, how big he is compared to you, putting all your attention on getting him out of the front seat. You unlock his door and then unbuckle your own belt, hurrying out of the car to his side.

"M'okay," he mumbles as soon as you open his door. You start to help him out, and you think he's becoming a little more aware of the situation now, allowing you to pull him to his feet as you tug open the back door. "What's happenin'?"

"You're just tired," you tell him softly, "It's okay, you can sleep in the back, I'll drive."

"Bill n' Frank's," he says as you lead him the right way, pushing him a little and helping him place his knee down on the seat, "Y'know where it is? You remember?"

"I do," you tell him confidently, your hand coming down to press flat against his back - he's so solid, heat radiating against your palm, "Only twenty minutes away now, I got it. You just sleep."

He doesn't argue; in fact, he makes your job easier by crawling onto the seat and settling down with a low groan, rolling onto his back and breathing deeply. You can't help but let a small smile cross your features, watching as one of his hands comes up to rest atop his belly, the other dangling onto the floor. His eyelashes flutter a little, lips parting, and you're about to shut the door when he speaks again.

"I know you jus' wanna help, baby."

You stand there for a moment just staring at him, confusion racing through your thoughts. Goosebumps rise on your flesh as the last word repeats like a mantra in your head, steady and slow as Joel drifts off. It's only when the door is shut and you're in the front seat that you're able to put some meaning to the words, eyes wide as you stare at the faded lines on the road.

I know what I'm doing, you'd said, I just wanna help.

You leave him in the car when you get to Bill and Frank's, typing in the gate code with a backward glance at his loose form in the backseat. They must see him on one of the security monitors, because as soon as the doors open you spot them sprinting out of the house toward you, a scanner gripped in Bill's hand. Typical.

"He's okay," you tell them as soon as you're out of the car, instantly alleviating their stress, "He's just exhausted, I think he needs to sleep for a little while."

"Understatement of the century," Frank replies with a relieved laugh, eyeing the backseat, "Think we can get him in the house?"

"Just leave him in the car," Bill says with a wave of his hand, already turning to head back towards the house with the scanner hanging out of his pocket, "He'll be fine."

Your gaze meets Frank's and he rolls his eyes, "Come on, baby, let's get him upstairs." Your brows go up at the pet name, the same word that had fallen from Joel's lips only twenty minutes ago, but then Bill is shuffling back over with an annoyed look on his face and you quickly realize he's not talking to you.

Getting Joel out of the car proves to be a lot more difficult than getting him in. You try a gentle approach at first, brushing his arm and stroking his skin with your thumb again like you'd done earlier. You can feel Frank's eyes on you as you squeeze Joel's bicep, his wrist, his thigh, and you pretend you don't see the look that passes between him and Bill as you step out to let them take a turn.

Bill goes for a much more aggressive approach, shaking Joel's shoulders wildly and practically yanking him out of the car. Understandably, Joel wakes with a gasp and kicks his legs out, hand reaching for his pistol as he frantically tries to escape Bill's grasp. Before he can grab it though, he's suddenly falling forward, knees buckling as he faceplants onto the pavement beside the car.

Well, that certainly wakes him up. His hands press into the gravel and his head shoots up, blood trickling down his nose as he peers up at the three of you, stunned.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Bill," Frank groans.

"That was not my fault."

Ignoring them, you kneel down and gently touch Joel's shoulder, a concerned look on your face as you eye the splattered blood on the ground, "Fuck, are you okay?"

"What in the hell is goin' on?" he groans, turning to look at you, "Did Bill just break my fuckin' nose?"

"Don't be dramatic," Bill barks, spinning on the spot and heading into the house, "Shoulda just left you in the car."

Joel starts scrambling after him, rising up and standing on wobbly legs, hand reaching for his pistol once again. You and Frank grab him before he can do anything, both of you taking an arm and holding him back.

"Joel, you're exhausted," you tell him quickly, utilizing all your strength, "You just need to lay down. Please."

He turns his face to look at you and something flutters in your chest when you catch the way his eyes soften, the anger in his expression fading as he acknowledges your presence. You can vaguely make out Frank watching the two of you in your periphery, but you try your best to ignore it, instead opting to give Joel a reassuring smile.

"Let's just get you cleaned up, okay?"

You're grateful that Frank leaves you alone with Joel to tend to his nose. You've only met him a handful of times, but each time he'd somehow been able to clock the way you interact with Joel, the way you look at him. The last time you'd been here he'd subtly pulled you aside to give you a few words of wisdom.

"You do realize he's extremely unavailable, right?"

"I- I don't know what you're talking about."

He'd smiled, tapped his nose and given you a knowing look, "And I don't just mean because of Tess. That man is emotionally constipated, kiddo. He's an island." He'd laughed then at your confused expression, shaking his head, "Just be careful, s'all I'm saying."

You'd gone to walk away, forget the conversation even happened, when he'd softly called after you:

"And I'm pretty sure Tess would hang your head on her wall."

You think of those words now as you stand in front of Joel in the small bathroom off the landing, lip between your teeth as you eye the cut on his nose. It isn't broken, thank fuck, but you can see some dirt and gravel in there that you need to clean out.

"It's not broken," you tell him softly. He's sitting on the edge of the bath tub, peering up at you with a much more alert expression. The fall definitely woke him up, not to mention the choice words he and Bill had thrown at each other as you and Frank helped him up the stairs. He's still exhausted though, and he needs to rest.

"I know it's not," he grumbles, "Just wanted to give Bill a piece of my mind for once."

You laugh softly as you reach for the damp cloth beside you, bringing it up to carefully pat it against the gash on the bridge of his nose. You can feel his eyes on you, watching and assessing as you do your best to wipe the area clean.

"I can do that myself," he murmurs.

"I just wanna help," you say quietly, and your eyes fall to his in a knowing glance. He doesn't seem to remember though, just nods and lets you carry on.

It's rare for you to be this alone with him. And by that, you mean this far from Tess. You're painfully aware that it would be impossible for her to walk in at any moment, to see the way you're standing over him, touching him. Frank's words from last time echo in your head but you're not quite sure you believe them; would she really be that angry if she knew how you felt about Joel? It's not like he'd return it, right? The man is twenty years your senior and, as Frank said, extremely unavailable. Not to mention Tess and Joel's relationship has been a point of confusion to you for a year now, still unsure exactly what they are to each other - would she really care?

You reach for the antiseptic - one of the many perks of having an injury in a supply house - and carefully dab some onto the cloth. Your hand trembles a bit as you reach up to carefully hold Joel's chin, your thumb getting lost in his greying beard.

"You haven't shaved in a while," you breathe, your eyes meeting his, and you wonder if you've already crossed a line by even noticing.

He doesn't seem to mind though, sighing deeply, "I haven't slept in a while, so let's hurry this up," he eyes the cloth, "Don't gotta warn me, just do it."

His words bring you back to the present, and you slowly ease the cloth down onto his cut. He hisses a bit, a normal reaction, but it only takes a few seconds to clean and then you're already reaching for a bandage, reluctantly letting go of his chin.

"I was worried about you, before. In the car," you tell him softly, unpeeling the adhesive, "Why haven't you been sleeping?"

His eyes fall to the floor, "I just don't sleep good. Never have."

"Is there anything I can do?"

He shrugs, gives you a humorless laugh, "Handful o' pills and a couple sips o' whiskey usually does the trick."

It makes sense, then, why these past few weeks he's seemed worse. It's been longer than usual since your last supply run and the three of you had started running out of vital supplies over a week ago now, not only for buyers but for yourselves. Joel had written whiskey near the top of the latter list, along with hydromorphone which he'd underlined several times.

"You should've told me you weren't feeling well," you murmur, applying the bandage carefully, "I could've driven the whole way."

"Could've, should've," he dismisses you with a grunt, "Doesn't matter now, does it? We got here, that's what counts."

You linger a little longer than you should on the bandage, thumb falling to gently trace the crease of his nose as you assess your work. It might scar, but it feels pointless to voice this - he already has so many, scattered across his face and neck like confetti. It hurts a little, knowing he's been through so much, seeing the evidence written all over him.

"My mom had this superstition," you tell him softly, a smile playing at your lips as you trace one of the scars under his eye, soft and delicate, "Whenever I got hurt, skinned my knee or busted my elbow playing, she'd bandage me up and then kiss it. She said a kiss would seal her love in there, keep me safe and protected. And if it scarred, that meant it worked."

He blinks at you, expression faltering a bit, "That's...that's a nice thought."

You shake your head, "It's silly, and not true. But... but I still do it anyway, even though she's gone. Just in case," you bite your lip, "I mean, who doesn't wanna feel a little more safe? A little more protected?"

Your gazes lock, and neither of you seem to move, caught in the stillness of the moment and the way your thumb is still stroking his face. You know you have limited time, maybe a few seconds before he breaks it, so without much thought at all you lean down and lightly press your lips to the bandage, eyes closed.

He inhales sharply, a sound that triggers butterflies in your tummy as you hold your mouth against his nose, soft and sweet. It's the closest you've ever been to him, even if you're kissing gauze and not skin - you can still feel the warmth radiating from him, sense the way he freezes below you. A squeaking sound pierces the silence, his hand squeezing the edge of the bath tub tightly. It startles you, your eyes blinking open as you pull back to look at him.

His cheeks are tinged pink, eyelids heavy as he peers up at you with slow blinks.

"You're tired," you breathe, unable to stop your hand from flitting to his hair, pushing a little behind his ear, "Let's get you to bed."

The Joel Miller in Bill and Frank's guest room is not the Joel Miller you thought you knew.

This Joel is loose, pliant. He lets you lead him into the bedroom with a hand on his back, lets you carefully turn him on the spot to reach up and undo the buttons on his flannel. Frank had told you on your way up to make sure Joel didn't get blood on the sheets, so you're only following orders, only doing what you were told.

"Sorry," you murmur softly, fingers shaking every so often as they toy with the buttons, sticky with his blood. Joel doesn't seem to notice though, retreating more and more into the sleepy state he'd been in earlier.

Once his flannel is off you assess his t-shirt and jeans, and you're not sure how to feel about the fact that they didn't get dirty in the fall. On the other hand, though, you're not sure you'd have been brave enough to take them off. Instead you help him toward the bed, pull back the sheets and carefully push him ahead.

"There you go," you whisper, helping him under the covers and pulling the blankets back over him. The sun is streaming through the window, casting the golden light of early evening across the bed, and while it's quite beautiful you shut the curtains anyway, knowing he'll sleep better in darkness. When you turn back around, he's already fallen asleep, lips parted, face peaceful. A different man.

You don't linger, even though you want to.

It's around ten o'clock when you decide to check on him again. You'd watched a movie with Bill and Frank, feeling more than a little unwelcome as Bill tossed you a few dirty looks every so often, though Frank repeatedly told you to ignore him. Now they're in bed downstairs while you pad from your own room across the hall to Joel's, turning the knob carefully. The hinges squeak a little as you open it and you wince.

"Who's there?" you hear Joel grumble from the bed. So much for just taking a peek.

"Me, just me." You push the door wider and walk inside, eyebrows going up when Joel turns on the bedside lamp. He seems a little more rested, although you know he still needs a full night's sleep. "I sent a message to Tess through the radio to let her know we're not coming back tonight - well, Frank did. Picked a song called Tomorrow or something like that."

"Hope it was the Johnny Mathis version," he mumbles, and you watch as he brings his hands up to rub across his face. He accidentally dismantles the bandage and you step forward without really thinking, hurrying to his side and reaching down to fix it.

His hand comes up to grab yours and you freeze in place.

"I can do it," he says, giving you a curt look and then releasing your hand to adjust the gauze himself.

Well, you suppose lax and sleepy Joel couldn't stick around forever. You stand awkwardly by the side of the bed, toying with the edge of the blanket as he rubs his eyes and sits up a little, leaning back against the headboard. He looks so much older in this light; you can see the little flecks of grey in his beard and hair that have been starting to get more noticeable lately, the crows feet, the wrinkles.

He's so handsome.

He turns to look at you with a frown, as if he's only just realizing what you said, "We can go back tonight, I'm fine."

"You're not and you know it. Besides, it's already past ten and now I'm tired, I won't be able to drive."

"I can drive."

"Joel," you surprise yourself by sitting down on the edge of the bed, narrowing your brow as you give him a serious look, "You can't drive. You almost fucking killed us both."

"No I-"

"Yes you did," your tone is firm, suddenly angry - are you angry? - "If I hadn't been talking to you, if I hadn't noticed something was wrong, you would've driven us off the damn road."

He goes quiet at that, frown deepening, the lines on his face more prominent in the low lamplight. You sigh, eyes falling to rest on where your hand is settled on the bed, only inches from his. Part of you wants to reach out and touch, feel the warmth of his skin, the rough of his palm - the other part decides to do something even more stupid.

"You called me baby."

It's out of your mouth before you've even really acknowledged it, and once the words have tumbled out you know there's no taking them back. Your gaze snaps back up to his, slightly surprised to see that he doesn't seem very shocked by your admission.

He clears his throat a little, averting his gaze and shuffling a bit under the covers, "Did I?"

"...Yeah."

You think maybe he'll say something else - anything else - but he doesn't. God, it really is like pulling teeth with him; he's so fucking beautiful but so impossible, never being able to expand on something unless prompted, never being able to answer a single question without jerking you around first. How the fuck has Tess managed to deal with it for so long?

The thought of Tess sends a wave of guilt through your body, Frank's words echoing in your head, but you shove it down.

"What made you... I mean why..." your voice is soft, apprehensive and shy in the quiet of the bedroom, "why'd you call me baby?"

A beat of silence. Then-

"Don't ask me that."

The mood has shifted, your sudden anger ebbing and his annoyance fading into something else, something on the brink of being real. He's avoiding your eyes, peering at the window with the curtains drawn and tapping his fingers anxiously against the mattress, so close to your hand. He's nervous; you're making him nervous.

You stay silent, hoping he'll speak again, hoping maybe just this one time he'll tell you what he's thinking.

"I don't know why."

The words are barely a whisper, almost like he's telling you a secret, and he leaves them hanging in the air briefly before amending - "Well," he sighs and finally looks at you, an emotion you can't place crossing his features, "that's not true. But... I didn't mean - fuck, I was passin' out, for Christ's sake, I didn't realize-"

He cuts himself off again, raising his hand up to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose, briefly forgetting the bandage. He winces when he comes in contact with the gauze, "Can I take this off? It's drivin' me fuckin' crazy."

"Let me do it," you say quietly, inching forward on the bed and reaching for his face. He flinches when you go to touch him, and your hand freezes mid-air.

"Sorry," he mutters, shaking his head like he's shaking off a sensation, a chill, "Go ahead."

With careful - and slightly trembling - fingers, you remove the bandage from his nose. It looks much better than before, no fresh blood in sight, and you suppose it's okay for him to keep it uncovered for the night. Without really thinking about it you gently thumb the side of his nose just shy of the cut, the tips of your other fingers brushing against his cheek.

"It's not too bad," you murmur, and before you know it you're suddenly cupping his jaw, feeling the weight of it in your palm. Your gaze falls to his lips, your thoughts going a mile a minute.

You realize you're close enough that you could kiss him, if you really wanted to. If he really wanted to. All it would take is one small movement, one little push from the both of you, one leap of faith...

And then he whispers your name, almost a warning, and it's like his thoughts are mirroring yours - like he can see exactly what you're picturing, wishing for. Your eyes meet his and you feel a flutter in your stomach when you see the way he's looking at you, a quiet hunger hidden in the deep brown.

You decide to test the waters. You lean in and softly press another kiss to his nose, this time without the gauze in the way. Just like you'd thought, his skin is hot under your lips, soft but scarred, and his smell - god, he smells so masculine and safe, invading your senses as your lips trail downwards to press a small kiss to his cupid's bow, then another to the corner of his mouth. It's sharp, prickly from his scruff, but it doesn't bother you in the slightest - in fact, you kind of like the dull pain, the way it grounds you, keeps you in the moment.

"Baby," he whispers, and a soft little whine falls from your lips without meaning to as your lips move to ghost across his mouth, going for another kiss - a real kiss.

He pulls away before you get there, but then his hand comes up to touch your face, big and wide. He holds you like you're precious, small. His baby.

"S'not right," he whispers, though his thumb strokes your cheek soothingly, "S'not okay for me to want you like that."

You close your eyes at his touch, breathing deeply, "But you do."

"Yeah, I do," you hear him murmur, "You know I do."

"For how long?"

He doesn't respond right away, just continues to stroke your cheek, hold what feels like all of you in his warm palm. You tilt your head a bit to the side, eyes fluttering open to look at him again. You catch the way his lips turn up a little at the movement.

"Too damn long," he sighs, "But that don't... that's not..." he brings his other hand up to cup the other side of your face, holding you still as he peers at you in earnest, brow furrowed, "Point is, we shouldn't... you shouldn't be out here alone with me. Tess knows how I-" he cuts himself off again, and you can see now how difficult it is for him to communicate like this, to be open and honest, "I told her it wasn't a good idea."

"Why?"

He laughs lightly, thumbs circling the apples of your cheeks, "'Cause look where we ended up." He swallows, eyes falling to your lips, "Look where you are right now, baby. Look where my damn hands are for cryin' out loud."

"Keep calling me baby," you breathe, a desperation in your voice that betrays your emotions, tears pricking in your eyes as the weight of this conversation comes crashing down around you. He wants you - he's always wanted you. His words to Tess about not wanting to put you in danger, wanting you to stay away, those soft looks you've shared in his apartment, the small talk, all of it - it's because he wants you.

"We can't do this," he murmurs, leaning in to press his forehead to yours, eyes closing, "I can't do this, you're so- you're too-" he groans, fingers digging into your hair, "You're so young, baby."

"I don't care," you whine, butting your head forward to chase his lips, suddenly yearning to be kissed and held and protected by him, be wrapped in his embrace.

But he pulls away, removing his hands from your face and shuffling back a bit on the bed, away from you. Your hand drops but you reach out pathetically for him anyway, moving closer, attempting to pull the covers back. His hands capture yours and he squeezes them firmly, shaking his head.

"You need to go back to your room," he tells you, and his tone has changed from soft to serious, "It's late and I'm... well, you know I'm fuckin' exhausted. And you've had a long day." He looks at you with pleading eyes, like he's silently begging for you not to put him in this situation, "Let's just call it a night, okay?"

"But-" you start, tears shining in your eyes.

"Please," he breathes, "Please don't make this harder than it needs to be."

You do not want to get up from his bed. But you do.

You do not want to leave his room. But you do.

You do not want to lie awake in your own bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how his hands felt on your face, the way his eyes searched yours, the way his skin felt under your lips.

But you do.

You lie there for hours, thumbs twiddling against your belly, tears trickling down your cheeks every so often. All you can hear in your mind over and over again is the word Baby, punctuated by that soft groan he'd made, the way his thumbs had stroked your cheeks, how large and warm and safe he'd seemed in that bed.

All you want to do is be in that bed with him.

So it's no surprise when, as the sun is beginning to rise and that warm golden light starts to stream through your window, you crawl out from under your blankets and cross the hall one more time.

"We shouldn't" he murmurs when you climb into bed with him, when you tuck yourself into his side and bury your face in his shoulder, but his hands are already in your hair, fingers stroking along the back of your head.

Your bodies mold together like they've always been meant to fit that way, your legs tangled with his, arms trapped under big biceps and hairy forearms, breasts flush with his suddenly bare chest.

"I wanna be your baby," you whisper.

The nose you'd kissed brushes slowly up and down the side of your face, and he doesn't hesitate this time. He reaches up to turn your head, presses his lips against yours and lets you melt into him. Lets you trail your hand downward to unbutton his jeans in the silence of the early morning.

"You already are."

[tpwk-formula1]

Holaa could i get a thick crust with red sauce, tomatoes, ham, parmesan cheese, chorizo on my pizza. I would also like to get a diet pepsi and a sun tea. And a dessert please with Lewis Hamilton. Graciass

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria

thin crust brothers best friend red sauce rough sex ham "You're so infuriating. Walking around like you own the place and then come back to my room to get fucked properly" parmesan cheese "Awe... did that hurt? Tuff luck I'm gonna do it again" chorizo "Alright, you spent my money. You know what to do now" diet coke biting sun tea sir kink

Lewis x Rosberg! reader

TW - road head, biting, slight sir kink, unprotected sex

WC 1500+

Y/N POV

"Lewis, please let me pay," I say while trying to tap my phone on the card reader but Lewis has a tight grip on my wrist holding it away from the card reader before softly tapping his phone and paying for my stuff again.

"Stop doing that, it's fucking embarrassing. I have money to get what I need and want," I hiss through clenched teeth when we start leavingthe store.

"I paid because I'm the reason you needed more panties, I'm sure I'll rip up those within the next few weeks," Lewis says casually as if he wasn't talking about being so rough he has destroyed at least 50 pairs of panties simply from the way he would rip them off of my body.

"You should work on that, I'm sure they have classes in patience," I say while flashing him a bratty smirk. We both know damn well I wouldn't want him to change and would rather have to buy new underwear daily than Lewis being gentle.

Lewis just pinches my side for the bratty comment making me squeal in shock.

When we get back into the car Lewis starts driving us back to his apartment taking the long back road back.

"Alright, you spent my money. You know what to do now," Lewis says with a smirk across his face while relaxing back slightly.

"Lewis! Don't be a dick," I say while softly hitting his chest but still looking around to make sure the road was empty before I'm unbuttoning his pants and pulling his cock out through his boxers, and lean down to pull his tip into my mouth and giving it a long suck.

"Fuck, I didn't think you'd actually do it," Lewis says making me look up at him. I notice the smirk across but get lost in his lust-filled eyes that are staring down at me making sure to flicker his eyes up to the road occasionally.

I start taking more of Lewis into my mouth where I start bobbing my head making sure to jerk off the part of Lewis's cock that doesn't fit into my mouth.

I knew Lewis wouldn't cum by the time we made it to his penthouse but I didn't care as I kept Lewis's cock warm the entire drive.

When we pull up to the garage I slip Lewis from my mouth and Lewis quickly slipped his cock back into his pants before getting out of the car and opening the door for me.

Once we got everything upstairs into Lewis's apartment I put away the stuff I would be keeping here and left the rest of the stuff that would be going back to my own apartment by the front door so I didn't forget anything.

"Come here," Lewis calls out roughly from his room. I make quick work of making it into Lewis's room where I find Lewis comfortably lying on top of the bed in just a tight pair of white briefs.

"Strip for me," Lewis calls out once I enter the room making my cheeks grow red but still I did as he said.

I slowly pulled my shirt up making sure to tease the sides of my tits when lifting my shirt up just to add to the show. Once my shirt was discarded I slowly turn facing away from Lewis so I can pull my shorts down and shake my ass for Lewis making him groan. When I turned back around I was already unclipping my bra and letting it fall to the ground. When I slowly pulled my panties down my pale legs I threw them right at Lewis when I finally had them off.

"Get on the bed," Lewis roughly states making me walk to the edge of the bed where I started crawling up the bed and onto Lewis's lap.

"I hope you know, you're so infuriating. Walking around like you own the place and then come back to my room to get fucked properly," Lewis says when I finally climbed into his lap where he had been waiting for me while I was putting my stuff away.

"This is why I said you needed class in patience," I reply back with a smirk before pulling Lewis up for a kiss. Lewis just lands a few slaps on my ass clearly not loving my little comment.

"You've been extra bratty today," Lewis said with an edge in his voice.

"You love me though," I reply back before leaning down and placing my lips on his.

"I do, I have always loved you," Lewis replies back letting a smile stretch across his face making me smile back at him.

Lewis and I had known each other as long as he had known my brother and when I was a young 18 year old watching him make his Formula 1 debut and being just as excited for him as I was for my brothers a year before. We started dating when he made his way to Mercedes. There was a few rough years but as time has progressed I have been blessed to be Lewis's partner in crime. Lewis and Nico's relationship is still a bit rocky but as the years have passed and their maturity has grown they have been able to set aside their differences for my sake.

I lean back down and take Lewis's mouth into mine allowing for our tongues to tangle in a fight for dominance that Lewis very quickly won before he flipped up over so he was on top of me.

Once Lewis was comfortable on top he started kissing all around my jaw and even taking soft nips at it making sure I felt his teeth grazing my skin but not biting hard enough to make me whine.

Once Lewis makes it down to my neck his nips at my skin turn into full biting making me gasp when I feel Lewis's teeth sink into my collarbone. I knew some of these would leave marks but I loved every moment of it.

"Sir, please, I need you in me," I beg Lewis needing him to fuck me. Lewis just laughs lightly in a mocking tone making me whine knowing he was gonna keep teasing.

I feel Lewis make his way to my right tit where he pulled my nipple into my mouth and gives it a soft suck before he's sinking his teeth down into my nipple making me whine and jerk my body.

"Ow!" I say while slightly pushing Lewis's head away.

"Awe... did that hurt? Tuff luck I'm gonna do it again," Lewis said while leaning down and taking a hard bite out of my left nipple making me whine and push Lewis's head away again.

"I love how sensitive they get," Lewis said with a smirk making me whine and grind my nips up into his cock needing more stimulation.

Lewis finally pulls his briefs down releaving his hard cock before he's instantly sinking his cock into my pussy giving me no time to adjust to his size before he is bruttally fucking into my tight walls.

"Sir!" I moan out when he starts hitting my G-spot in a hard and repetitive pace.

"Fuck, so tight," Lewis groans when he falls into a steady pace making me moan consistently.

"Fuck, so good," I moan when he brings one of his hands down to my clit and teasing it under his fingertips.

Lewis leans back down and starts taking little nips out of my skin making me gasp and moan quickly becoming overwhelmed with all the pleasure Lewis was causing on my body.

"Are you already about to come for me," Lewis mumbles against my skin.

"Yes sir!" I shout when I feel Lewis bucking his hips into my pussy even hard making me start cumming almost instantly.

"Fuck!" I whine out when Lewis keeps fucking me through my shaking orgasm which he knew would lead me into a quick second orgasm if he kept up the pace.

"I'm gonna fill this tight pussy up," Lewis groans with a smirk across his face before he applies a bit more pressure on my clit sending me into a second orgasm that was much stronger than the first orgasm he gave me. I was so lost in the pleasure I didn't notice Lewis bucking into my hips before pushing in roughly and start cumming filling my pussy up completely with his cum.

"Fuck, I love when this pussy is full of my cum," Lewis groans before pulling out and getting a towel to clean me up slightly.

"Did so good," Lewis mumbles into my neck once he pulls me in for a cuddle.

"Felt so good," I mumble back pulling Lewis impossibly closer.

"I love you," I whispered when the room had fallen silent for a few minutes.

"I love you too," Lewis replies back making me smile.

"You're staying here tonight," Lewis tells me softly making me laugh lightly.

"Okay," is all I tell him before I lean up and place a soft kiss on his lips.

The rest of the night was spent relaxing with each other while we binge-watched Brooklyn 99.

[obsidiannebula]

How to Spot AI-Generated Reference Texts

This morning I celebrated a lovely Christmas with my family. My 3 year old was ecstatic, I made my brother tear up, it was a good time. But I received something that at first, seemed like the kind of thing I would very much like to own... until I started actually looking through it. I quickly realized that this book is unmistakably AI-generated slop and should not be used or trusted as an actual reference guide. Having not been written by an actual expert in the field or even compiled by an actual researcher citing sources and synthesizing information, these books are at best three hundred pages of reading the first couple of sentences of a search result for each topic, and at worst full of dangerous misinformation that can get people killed, as with the rise of AI-generated mushroom foraging books. These are in no way reliable reference guides for anything, but especially for anything with potential health risks like ingesting plants and their compounds.

So today I'm going to try and get some good use out of this book I now own by using it to demonstrate how to spot AI-generated scam books.

The first red flags jump out at us right from the cover. This is "The Home Apothecary Full Collection: Your In-Depth Holistic Guide with Natural Herbal Remedies for Long-Lasting Wellness and Optimal Health." Yeesh, what a mouthful. A soulless, artless mouthful, I must add. But hey, maybe this author is a very clinical or verbose type. Except a quick search for the author's name, Megan Morren, quickly makes it clear that this is not a real person. There is one bare-bones Facebook profile for a Megan Morren, and no social media beyond that. No LinkedIn or Pinterest or mentions in an article, nothing. Every other result shows her books: this one, and two others nearly identical to it, with slightly different names but the same "1500+ Remedies/Extra Content" claim in the same corner, utilizing the same fonts and each with a very similar AI-generated background.

That's right, we've got a pretty bog-standard AI-generated image for the cover of this book, showcasing a variety of vaguely herbal plants and jars as well as several nonsensical non-objects.

Okay, so the cover was definitely made by AI, but maybe this author is writing under a pseudonym and visually just not very creative. Let's open it up and took a look at...

Oooookay so that's how we're getting the "40 books in one" claim touted on the cover. What most people would call a chapter is here billed as an entire book, with each subtopic considered its own chapter. There's not more than two or three "chapters" per "book" and most of the chapters are only one or two pages long, which is some James Patterson-ass shit. At least if Patterson had written this book there'd be a little character to the narration and an attempt at wit, but as we'll soon see, the actual writing is... wanting, to say the least.

Obviously the first observation here is that formatting is for the BIRDS. No paragraph breaks or indents, and the paragraphs are all of roughly similar length. Furthermore, the writing reads like a copy/pasted Wikipedia page. Scratch that, I went ahead and typed "history of herbal healing" into a search engine and found the actual Wikipedia page for "History of herbalism," which actually does provide more detail on the topic as well as FIFTY-FOUR ACTUAL SOURCES and some recommended further reading, making it vastly superior to this slop. Because there's not a single source cited in this entire book, nor is there an author bio here or online that remotely suggests that the author might have some experience and expertise from which they are drawing to write or even fact-check this book.

On top of that, there is truly no authorial voice whatsoever. Even if you wanted to be very academic about it and avoid using first-person in your reference book, there should at least be some synthesizing of sources and information, expanding on the ideas presented and combining them to draw new conclusions or illustrate points. But everything here is incredibly surface-level, like someone copied the first sentence or three from the first Google result and stuck it there and then moved on to the next bullet point in the outline.

Seriously, this whole book is just page after page of walls of text. It's a nightmare to try to read if you have any sort of reading-impairing disorder like dyslexia or ADHD, and it's also just kind of ugly. And in a book supposedly about herbalism, there is not a single image or diagram. That's wild to me. There is nothing in here to aid with plant identification or demonstrate the tincturing or decocting processes or anything. I've never read an herbalism book without a single picture or diagram. Granted, I've only read a handful, but still, it seems very strange to me. And god did these endless blocks of text need SOMETHING to break them up.

Also these introductory paragraphs just scream "obligatory" to me. They're all a single paragraph of approximately the same length, providing a perfunctory and colorless overview of the subject matter. I mean, seriously? We're starting off "uplifting herbs for depression" with "Depression affects millions globally. It is characterized by x and y. While it is conventional treated with medication and therapy, there are also some herbs that can improve mood." It's so bland and robotic and uninformative. I think most fifth graders could write a better introductory paragraph, as long as we didn't penalize them for spelling or grammar.

I'd really like to get back to spending the holiday with family, so I'm going to leave it at that. It's just so frustrating to see books like this pushing legitimate texts written by real people with real expertise or at least personality out of bookshelves and searches, propagating useless or even dangerous information in place of sharing real knowledge and traditions. I had to rant a little bit and get it off my chest.I wish everyone a safe and happy holiday season, and all the best for 2025. Everyone, that is, except "Megan Morren." Whoever you really are, I hope you step on Legos every day for the rest of your life. It's the least you deserve for publishing trash like this.

[dresshistorynerd]

This is kind of random, but would it have been a struggle for a big busted women to wear fashionable silhouettes in the medieval era? I’ve heard some costume historians discuss that there were forms of bust support, but most of what I’ve seen pre-1500s seems like it would have been a nightmare for any ancestor with a similar bodytype to wear. Am I just from a line of women doomed to horrible back pain? (On the flip side of the situation, I’ve found corsets and stays to be rather comfortable, so that’s not a problem)

As a fellow big boob haver, I have good news for you! There were pretty good Medieval bust supporting garments and I have tested one of them.

With sturdy fabric, tailoring and lacing you can create pretty good bust support. Lacing was popularized first in 12th century in form of bliaut, and in 14th century tailoring became standard for everyday garments. I don't know how well bliaut supported the bust, but since it doesn't fit super snugly, I assume it doesn't distribute the weight of the boobs as well as tailored supporting garments and therefore isn't as supportive. I'm also not actually sure if there was proper bust supporting garments before that, I haven't looked into it. I know Romans bound their breasts with cloth wrapped around the chest, so maybe that technique continued (at least for those who especially needed it) till lacing and tailoring became a thing. For more about how supporting garments developed in Europe through history, I have a post about development of lacing, which coincides pretty well with that history from 12th century forward.

Personally I have experience with Medieval Bathhouse dress, which was used in the Germanic Central-European area roughly in 14th to 16th century. It's called the Bathhouse dress because most depictions of it are from bathhouse settings, but there's depiction also in bed chambers and other contexts, so I think it's pretty safe to assume it was used more generally as an undergarment. It often had separate cups for the boobs (see the only extant garment left of it, the so called "Lengberg Castle Bra"), but not always. Unlike most other undergarments at the time, it was sort of a shift (the lowest layer) and a supporting garment combined into one.

I sewed my own recreation of it (with some alterations because I made it for my everyday use, not as a historical recreation) and did a post about my results, where I go deeper into the history of the garment too. I didn't construct it very well and I did an error in the design of the back, which cause the strain of the shoulder straps to focus too much on very specific spots in the back panel, which eventually made the fabric there break too many times. (There were some other smaller design flaws too, like the waistline is lower than my natural waist so it rose and wrinkled annoyingly.) I did use it daily (except when I washed it) for a fairly long time though and it was super comfortable and helped a lot with back pain (and shoulder pain caused by use of modern bras). I hate that I've had to go back to modern bras because I haven't had the time to remake it yet. (I'll probably make a follow up post once I get around to it, where I go through the issues of the first version and how I addressed them in the next attempt.) Well fitted and shaped bodice which is then laced does surprisingly much even without any additional reinforcements.

I haven't made a Medieval kirtle (though I will some day), but it was the more widely used Medieval supporting garment, which eventually replaced Bathhouse dress in the area where that was used. Kirtle is worn over a shift, but it broadly works similarly. Kirtles could be front, side or back laced depending on the time period and how the Kirtle was constructed. Multiple layers of kirtles could be used and looser overgarments (like houppelande) were often used on top of it. Kirtle was used by everyone, including men, but for those who didn't need bust support, it's purpose was mainly to create the fashionable silhouette. Here's three depictions of kirtles from 15th century. First unlaced, but has lacing on the front, second close up of the side lacing and third shows nicely how both front and side/backlacing shaped the bust.

Morgan Donner is a costumer, who focuses a lot on Medieval costuming and has a big bust, so while I haven't personally tested the supportiveness of kirtle, she certainly has. The kirtle bodice part needs to be patterned to accommodate the breasts by giving it round shapes and the kirtle needs to be a little too small so there's room to lace it to fit well. Lining also helps to reinforce the fabric and make it more firm and supportive. Here's Morgan's pattern from the tutorial in her website and how the kirtle eventually fits for her. (Also look at the handsome boy in his handsome matching outfit.)

She also has a video relating to the same kirtle project, where she explains her method to pattern a kirtle specifically so it's supportive for big bust.

In 16th century more stiffness was added to kirtles, first with very stiff lining and then with boning, but that doesn't necessarily add to the bust support, rather it just allows the kirtle to shape the bust and the body in general more and better support a heavy skirt. Firm fabric secured snugly with lacing is already very good at distributing the weight of the boobs to the whole torso.

In conclusion, at least since 14th century people with our body type were not doomed to eternal back pain and even before that some ways to help with it were probably used.

[howtofightwrite]

Are horned helmets actually a thing? How would a fantasy race that has horns... compesate for them?

Only in the sense that people do make them for various reasons. There are ceremonial and ornamental horned helmets dating back into the bronze age. There's a famous example that was gifted to Henry the VIII in the 1500s.

As I said, some were made for religious ceremonies. Usually for priests of horned deities (there's a bunch of these.) In these cases it could be made from either metal or actual animal horns. I'm not familiar with much beyond that in these cases because archaeology and anthropology are a little outside my area of expertise. I'm not aware of any religions that still use horned helmets, but it really wouldn't surprise me if it pops up from time to time. I'd also categorize head gear with attached antlers in the same range here. It wouldn't surprise me if it exists, or existed, but, I'm not aware of any examples.

We have depictions of horned helmets from knights at tourney in the 14th century. (And at least one surviving example.) This is probably legitimate. At least, in so far as that the knights may have worn horned helmets to show off. Though, this head gear wasn't something that a knight would wear onto the battlefield.

The modern image of the horned helmet (and the association with Vikings) has a lot more to do with Wagner's The Ring Cycle, and particularly stage performances of that opera. (It's not technically original to that, but the horned Viking was a 19th century German invention.) This also the source for a lot of novelty hats and helmets that you can readily obtain today.

The problem with horned helmets on the battlefield is that it gives your opponent something to grab in a tight melee. And letting someone get control of your head in a fight is a very bad thing. This is made worse with a helmet, where the foe could easily unseat the headgear, potentially blinding the wearer long enough to kill them.

There are historical examples of horned helmets intended for use on the battlefield. The Japanese are probably the easiest example to reference. However, in these cases, the horned helmets were worn, specifically, by officers, and communicated their authority to their soldiers, so they could more effectively issue orders. Somewhat obviously, that's not someone you're going to see in the meat grinder of the front lines. (Also, in most cases, these horns were oriented vertically, and were probably too small to grip. The surviving knight's helm, mentioned above, also featured vertically mounted horns.)

Similarly, if you had examples of horned cavalry helms (particularly vertically mounted horns) used by late medieval or even early modern cavalry, that wouldn't surprise me. Especially if that was part of their parade dress. While it's not horns, the winged hussars come to mind as another example of absurd ornamentation on cavalry, and they continued operating until the late 18th century.

Now, as for a fantasy race, I could see grabbing their horns being a very, very, bad idea. This is somewhat informed by the fact that the first example that comes to mind is the minotaur, where grabbing their horns is probably a pretty good way to ensure you're going to get a horn run through your chest. Ultimately though, it becomes a bit like grabbing someone's hair. You've just committed a limb to limiting their head's range of motion, while leaving both of their arms unfettered. On the battlefield, that sounds like a great way to get stabbed in the armpit and die.

So, they are real in the sense that they existed (and still exist), but their actual use in warfare was extremely limited due to practical considerations. That said, people have thought they looked cool for thousands of years, and they're around. Though the Viking helmet is a complete fabrication by 19th century Germans trying to make the Vikings look cooler.

-Starke

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[passportclown]

So, I want to write a Comedy TFP fic from the perspective of Vehicons/Eradicons/Drones. It would be maybe 1500 words per chapter, talking about the specific struggles working under a specific Decepticon.

But I can't figure out who the worst to work under would be. And I want the chapters to go from least bad - to bad. I could probably figure out the in-betweens, but I want to know the best and worst to work under specifically.

Best would obviously be the one with the least votes. And Worst with the most votes. Hopefully there'd be enough votes to make an actual list, but I can work with anything. I just need some help.

Because of this, I've come to ask for the wisdom of the people of tumblr.

I'm not including smaller Decepticons like Skyquake, Makeshift, and stuff. Because I feel like there isn't enough information about them for me to write anything actually funny?

Thank you. 🙏

EDIT: Saw a question in the reblogs. You'd die under all of them, so I'm saying worst boss as in the most miserable to work under. Like who would the Vehicons actively DREAD being assigned to, because they'll die under any boss, but who are they actively like: oh no it's them.

[gon-and-killuas-mother]

i watched a documentary about the Titanic (one of those "real time" animations on YouTube) and was once again struck by the musicians playing till almost the very end. except this time i learned that their final song was "Nearer My God To Thee", which actually made me start crying

i'd always considered it an act of kindness to the rest of the passengers, but now i'm certain it was at least partially for themselves. they were musicians dedicated to their instruments and knew the likelihood of survival was slim. so rather than fight the remaining 1500 people for the last 100 or so seats on the lifeboats, and leaving behind the instruments that were rarely far from their hands, they played.

i'm a choir kid, and my brother was an orchestra kid. music is how both of us cope with hard times. when i'm afraid or hurting or grieving, i sing. when the world feels like it's shattering around me, i sing, i sing, and i sing until my throat closes and my voice crumples.

(in more amusing light, just ask anyone i play online games with, anytime i get spooked or chased by a baddie, i do literally start singing like i was in the middle of an opera)

sure, maybe the musicians on the Titanic wanted to play a lullaby to the passengers in hopes of easing their last moments, but i'm now convinced they mostly did it for themselves. not selfishly, music is never selfish, it's always an act of sharing.

if i were a professional orchestral musician, my life would revolve around the instrument i play. i might know the instrument better than any human partner. and if i knew that this would be my last chance to play a beautiful song before being swallowed by the Atlantic, i'd play it over and over and over until gravity and ice cold water forces me to let go.

not to comfort the passengers anymore, they're beyond comfort now. i'd play simply so that the last thing i hear before the water takes me is the sound of my cello, or violin, or viola, or double bass softly crooning the saddest, gentlest hymn to the night. i'd want to feel the vibrations under my fingers no matter how frozen they are, because i won't be able to do it ever again.

what the fuck i'm crying again. i always had an appreciation for the musicians, but it didn't actually strike me so hard until i related to them on a personal level. i don't think they were trying to be heroes, they were just taking comfort in their own craft.

[fuwaprince]

👉👈 Hi friends! I have a long, serious post made just for you(!) that isn't full of spoilers, smut or mooning lawn gnomes. Please read if you can, this is a 💥 mutual aid request 💥

It has been a horribly painful and long while as most people following/keeping up with me know. and in a few days I'm going to be down $1500, which is basically all my fucking $

I can't afford Christmas for anybody, which sucks and I'm very sorry. I can't even take care of myself and haven't been, which also sucks and I'm very sorry

Landlords spontaneously raised rent on me more than halfway through this month as punishment for not getting to my house chores and not communicating, to be totally honest with you. I feel ashamed and awful about it but I didn't want to clean the place while multiple ppl living here had tested positive for COVID and kept walking around unmasked... I am not fully vaxxed because I've been too depressed to get any kind of necessary medical care done and I didn't want to catch COVID in the middle of my finals week for the semester. I woke up to being angrily and rudely bitched at first thing after the last of my finals (I passed at least). It wasn't a humanizing text. Fuck the mistreatment though. Rent is now almost doubled and it won't be lowered

There was no room for negotiation and I truly believe they've resorted to pricing me out of living here because the group of renters psychologically tormenting me wasn't effective (actually- putting a picture of my rapist on the fridge rly was super effective in getting me to isolate myself in my room all day and so was outing me as trans to the transphobic ass neighbors.... But I didn't and still don't have any place better to move out to, like the way they were hoping I would. Yes, I have looked and BEGGED btw)

I want out of here NOW, but I can't leave. I tried and had to come back because it was the best option. I can't afford to stay in a motel/hotel/BnB just to get away from them for a day or two during Christmas. I don't have any friends who I can spend the holiday with either. During the semester, I resorted to convincing classmates with keys to locked buildings to let me crash in them while they worked at night and I would leave before anybody showed up. Now that school is out, I can't do that. I don't have any family I can reach out to for support or friends who I can depend on for immediate help. I have been crying day in and day out for weeks. I have records of it posted throughout my blog. Literally crying for days on end. I'm being so fucking transparent

All that lump of text is to explain to whoever is out there, who might be listening and willing and able, to please consider helping me, if and ONLY IF able. I know times are tough and if you'd rather use your $ for other reasons or just don't have any to spare, don't sweat it and take care! 🫂

I've thought about what I could do for a long time and have helped myself how I can. It isn't enough. I've applied for so much assistance. Been approved and been sabotaged by my inhumane mom (who does not love me) via stealing my legal documents and letters and hiding them for months. My mind jumps to grim places but I'm clinging for dear life to whatever hope I have left that says things will get better. I wish I knew somebody with a business that I could work for. Part of me feels so fucking terrible for asking for help because I feel like a waste of all your resources. I feel like I shouldn't ask, like I really do not fucking deserve help, but there are friends online who care, who I know mentioned being interested in helping in whatever ways they can

So to the people who care to seriously me, I'm ready to accept it: please send me nice words to get through this and feel less alone. It feels pathetic to ask but I would love a nice letter. A nice card even. Kind words of any kind would go a long way. It means more to me than food. I have felt so broken and every day feels like a test to figure out how badly I actually want to live

I'm also leaving my cash app and paypal here in case anybody would like to do more than what I'm comfortable asking but probably very likely will inevitably need very very soon. I will be left with fucking nothing and I will have no idea what to do once rent is paid

Thank you to those of you who have sent love, offered to listen and heard me out. I really wish it wasn't so hard to survive. I'm trying to feel better knowing there are people out there who are also without help and hoping the best, but it doesn't make me feel any better or comforted tbh. I just wish the help was there for us. I wish there was a place to go for spare love, care, compassion, empathy, kindness, humanity, generosity... I need that more than I need $. Call me stupid but that's what I live for. I don't live for paying to survive in terrible conditions. I live for love and to smile with friends

I hope to write back to the friends who have already been so kind as to message me soon btw. I'm sorry for not replying sooner. Your overwhelming support is sincerely sweet and sometimes I cry because I can't believe people are so nice (to me???). It'll give me something to do that doesn't make me feel like dying! :') so thank you thank you thank you *fist bump*

Hope you're all doing as well as you can and that somehow things get better. Hope anybody else struggling like me doesn't make the mistake of isolating like a sick and dying animal. You deserve love. You deserve support. Don't be like me. Have the courage to reach out to the people who care about you for help as early on into your emergency as possible. Don't let your situation snowball because you spend so long trying to figure out if you're worth it!!! This Random Tumblr user is here to tell you that YOU ARE. Sending my infinite everlasting unconditional love. Be nice to yourselves. Be nice to each other. Fuck the hateful assholes who wish I would just kill myself already. Tell your friends you love them. Happy Holidays!!!

And here's a single picture of a mooning lawn gnome at the very end, as a treat! I told you this post wasn't full of it.... It just ended with it 👉👉

[ziekaramaik]

Can You Read My Mind?

(Spoilers for Agatha All Along)

(Word count: about 1500)

William was missing all night. Then all day. And then all night again.

At first he declined my calls. Then the phone just kept ringing. My texts were left unread.

I was totally prepared for something bad to happen to him while we were in a parking garage to meet a stranger from the internet. Except that turned out to be nothing. The guy was a paranoid nut, but harmless. It was after William dropped me off at home and drove away safely that he went missing. I didn't know what to think.

After a full day of worrying, he finally called me back early next morning.

"Are you okay?!" I asked.

"I'm fine," he said, sounding completely exhausted. "Well -- Yeah, I'm -- I'm fine."

"Where have you been? I've been trying to call."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's been a crazy day. And night." He mumbled to himself, "Did all of that happen in just one night? Oh man, what day is it?"

"You've been missing for over twenty-four hours," I explained. "Your parents are probably ten seconds away from calling the police."

"Yes, I'm sorry for scaring them. I'm driving home right now. And… Look, Eddie. Can you do me like a really, really, really huge favor? …Can you please tell my mom and dad that I was with you the whole time?"

"Actually, no. Because they already called me, and I told them I had no idea where you were."

"Oh… Right…"

There was a pause.

"Are we just skipping the part of the conversation where you tell me what happened?" I asked. "You didn't meet that Ralph guy again, did you?"

"No, it wasn't Ralph."

"Then where--"

"Eddie, I do not even know where to begin. I promise I'm okay, but I'm tired. And I really shouldn't be on the phone while driving in the first place. All I wanna do right now is get home, shower, and maybe take a nap. Can we please talk about it later?"

I didn't want to, but I said, "Okay. Later." Then I said, "I love you."

"Me too. Bye." And he hung up.

Only we didn't talk later.

William was grounded. He couldn't use his phone and I couldn't visit him. Or at least, that's the excuse he gave me when I saw him at school. I couldn't shake off the feeling he was lying.

He wouldn't talk to me at school either. Any time I tried, he made some excuse and took off. "Later. Promise." He stopped coming to the GSA too. Not because of his parents, he said he was too busy for it.

Once I caught him on a computer in the school library. Looking over his shoulder, I saw that he was searching news websites. But it wasn't about the Westview incident this time. He was looking up articles from all over the country about people who drowned, or nearly drowned.

When I asked him about it, all he would say was, "I'm trying to find someone." He was frustrated. "They're all dead ends. It probably didn't make the news."

I tried to get him to talk more, but it was about time for next period. He had to go. Again.

Whenever I saw him in the hallways, he gradually looked worse. He had stopped putting effort into his hair and make-up. His black nail polish was old and chipped. Instead of eyeliner he had dark bags under his eyes. I could tell he hadn't been sleeping well.

This went on for a week.

"You're avoiding me," I said. It wasn't a question.

I cornered him at his locker. He looked back at me and said, "I'm not avoiding you, Eddie," in a calm tone that completely contradicted his deer-in-the-headlights expression.

"You really sort of are."

He sighed. Struggled to say something. "I -- I'm sorry. I've just been really distracted lately. I'll explain everything later. I promise."

"You've been promising that all week. Frankly, it's not good enough anymore."

That's when the school bell rang. Everyone around us headed for class.

William looked at me guiltily and said, "I'm really sorry."

He tried to walk away, but I grabbed his sleeve. "Eddie, we're gonna be late for cla--"

"Then we'll be late!" I snapped. "This is important."

He stopped protesting after that. I let go, and even as the hallway nearly emptied, he didn't run off.

"William, be honest with me," I pleaded. "Is this because I told you I love you?"

"What?"

"Because I can't help but notice this radio silence started right after that. I came along with you to meet Crazy Ralph. But then as soon as you don't need me any more, you suddenly want more space." I meant to sound angry. I hated how pathetic and desperate I sounded instead. But I kept going with, "Don't say you love me back just 'cause you don't want to hurt my feelings. If I scared you off, just say so."

Is it wrong that I felt a little bit relieved when I saw how heartbroken William looked?

"No. No, Eddie. It's not like that. I promise." He held both my hands. "I love you too. Seriously, if I could, I would be with you all the time. It's just that I really am busy now."

"Where did you go missing that day?" I asked point-blank.

He looked guilty again. Hesitated. Then he answered point-blank, "I can't tell you."

"What have you been so busy with all week long?"

"I can't explain that either."

The hallway was empty by now, except for us.

"I'm sorry, but that's not good enough," I said. "You go missing for almost two days, scaring the hell out of me and your parents. You're meeting strangers from the internet. You look like you haven't slept through the night in ages. Something is obviously wrong, William. Tell me."

He rubbed his face, exhausted. "Listen. A lot of different things happened. There's a lot that's still going on right now, and every part of it is really difficult to talk about. I know I'm not being fair, but can I please keep this to myself for a while longer?"

"If we love each other, we shouldn't keep secrets. I don't keep any secrets from you."

I shouldn't have said that, I thought guiltily. It's a lie. I'm keeping a huge secret from him.

William furrowed his eyebrows. "That's a lie?!"

I froze. Clearly, my poker face wasn't nearly as good as I thought.

"I'm -- I'm not lying," I said lamely.

He was both angry and confused. "How are you keeping a secret from me? I've never heard any--"

"We're not talking about me," I said defensively. "I get that you're going through an identity crisis. I get that it's complicated, and you think researching all this conspiracy stuff will help. I've been extremely supportive and patient with you -- And a lot of boyfriends wouldn't have."

"Do you think I enjoy keeping this all bottled up?! I don't! It's giving me nightmares, Eddie. I keep seeing their faces and thinking it's my fault--" He caught himself and stopped abruptly. "I want to tell you. I just can't."

"Why? What could possibly be so bad that you can't tell me? Did you kill someone?!"

I said it sarcastically, but William froze.

A second later he pressed his eyes shut and put his hands on his head. "I can't have this conversation right now…"

"Willia--"

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The lights flickered a bit as he yelled that, but I didn't pay attention.

Once the lights returned to normal, I turned on the spot and walked away from him.

"Eddie? Where are you…?"

I didn't answer him. I just walked away.

I didn't know where I was walking to. I was thinking… Actually, I don't remember what I was thinking in that moment… I wasn't thinking much of anything. Except leaving him alone.

"Oh my god," William said. "No, no, no! Snap out of it!"

He ran behind me and grabbed my hand. The moment he touched me, I stopped and blinked. I hadn't even realized how badly I was spacing out, but suddenly I was alert again.

William ran around to face me and grabbed my head in his hands. "I'm sorry, Eddie," he said quickly. "I'm so, so, so, so, so, so, sorry. I didn't mean to do that, I swear." His eyes were watering.

It seemed like a pretty extreme reaction for shouting at me. "I-It's okay," I mumbled.

I grabbed his hands and gently pulled them away from my head. "Are you ready to talk now?" I asked.

He stared at me, still on the verge of tears. His mouth trembled. But after a second, he nodded.

"Yes… You're right, I can't keep this bottled up… Just, can we please not get into it right this second, in the middle of school? Come over to my place this afternoon. I'll tell you everything then."

"All right. When I come over, are you actually gonna be there this time?"

He looked guilty at that, and nodded again. "Yes."

"Okay."

"I'll explain everything today, Eddie. All of it. I promise. For real this time."

[momo-de-avis]

Ana I don't get something. In some government sources (not Portuguese tho, so maybe that's why) it says there's only 600 Jewish people in Portugal?? That has to be fake right? Because another sources states there are at least 30,000 Sephardic Jews in Portugal.

It's definitely closer to 600.

I know it was 600 around 2015, but the number has since risen to 1500 in recent years, according to the bbc.

The link above is in portuguese but it does state what I believe is the source of confusion.

There are 1500 practicing jews in portugal. Since around I believe 2015, there has been a law, same as Spain, that in order to seek forgiveness for the repression and persecution suffered, anyone who can prove sephardic portuguese ancestry can get portuguese citizenship.

So far around 30.000 people have applied for that. That's where I think the number comes from.

I'm typing this on my phone and was just about to get in the shower but there's actually very good and obvious reasons (or, they will become obvious) to why the jewish population of portugal is so small. If you want to understand more just let me know

[beatrice-otter]

There is FINALLY a women's hockey league that pays its players a living wage. There's been women's hockey before; the National Women's Hockey League was founded in 2015, later becoming the Premier Hockey Foundation. They got bought out in 2023 and rebranded as the Professional Women's Hockey League. Unlike its predecessor leagues, PWHL players should not need to work second jobs to have an income to live on in addition to playing hockey; the PWHL has minimum salaries. All players must make a base pay of at LEAST $35k, which is crap but at least it's crap you could theoretically live on. But most of the players are going to earn more than that, because there is also a team average minimum. The salaries for the whole team combined have to average out to at least $55k, and the top six have to each make at least $80k. But these are base pay rates; they also get a housing stipend ($1500/month) on top of that and a "daily meal allowance" when traveling, and all of these rates are contractually obligated to increase each year (3%). It's still peanuts compared to men's hockey, of course, but it's something you could make a living at, at least. And when you add in the housing stipend, a full-time player is actually making a minimum of $53k/year.*

Anyway! The first PWHL game took place on January 1, 2024, and you can watch the games on the PWHL Youtube page. I hope they do well, because female athletes should be treated (and PAID) better and while "a living wage" might seem a low bar it is still one that women's leagues too often fail to clear. So far, they seem to be doing okay; the January 5th game (Minnesota vs. Montreal) SMASHED the previous record attendance at a women's hockey game. 13k people attended; the previous record worldwide was a game with 8k attendees in Sweden. The North American record was 6k, so this is double that.

The thing that interests me is that they are CLEARLY not branding the teams, they are branding and repping THE LEAGUE. None of the teams have a name other than the city they're from; none of them have a logo of their own, just the PWHL logo; the uniforms are pretty identical, just different colors. (each city name printed diagonally down the front.) I read an article that the teams are expected to each rebrand themselves next year, but I'm still surprised that they're not trying to build up any kind of team loyalty from the start, just league loyalty.

The closest I get to being a hockey fan is occasionally reading hockey RPF (there are a TON of great writers in that fandom, if you've never checked it out before). But I support women's sports, and with games being on Youtube it will be pretty easy to just stream it on my TV (muted) while I go about my evening. I know it doesn't ad up to much in ad revenue, but it's something that costs me nothing. (And it's not like I'd be going to a game in person even if I lived in one of the six cities that has a team.)

*If you're wondering "why do they pay base salary + housing allowance instead of just saying what the whole salary is up front" I'm guessing there are tax incentives to do it that way. It might be either tax deductible for the team or untaxed for the player, or both.