#because im insane and i think about this sport a lot

[hibiscuslynx]

i’m sure they’re feeling normally about the sport (hockey) right now

PA not pictured he’s currently having a moment(TM) offscreen

very long ramblings about hockey and wttt under the cut:

i have an ailment called “i keep thinking about how wttt characters would react to irl events*” which is basically the entire premise of the actual series itself but i still feel insane for being so obsessed with it so anyway here’s my ramblings

*that i am experiencing. in this case: hockey

i absolutely think all the hockey-watching states (which, in my head, are all the midwest states w/ nhl teams, all of the northeast states. except for VT, NH—and maybe RI?—who only watch it every so often, washington, and colorado) gave mass shit for his team (the bruins) getting knocked out of the first round by the FLORIDA PANTHERS (who BARELY got into the playoffs) after their literal record-breaking regular season and the insane fucking team they had. wash, minnesota, chicago/illinois, probably gave him the least shit for it, in that order, but there were def a few remarks about it. the only one who didnt say anything was probably colorado bc he was the defending champion and got knocked out first round by washington LMFAO. but the northeast was RUTHLESS. i’d like to think they gave him sooooo much shit for it he couldnt even show his face around in the statehouse (outside of meetings) until new jersey got knocked out 2nd round. even connie joined in despite repeated attempts by mass to disqualify him from even talking about the playoffs considering connecticut has not had an nhl team since 1997.

i should add new york got knocked out like literally the next day so he couldnt give mass shit for it as much but at least he didnt have a record-breaking team like the bruins !

anyway ❤️ new jersey is not shutting up about the fact the devils beat the rangers until next season’s playoffs start. he is bringing that shit up every time he reasonably can.

okay, now into who i think each hockey-watching state is rooting for/bandwagoning now. the current matchups right now are: in the west, we have the dallas stars versus the vegas golden knights (which i’m calling vgk for short), and in the east, we have the carolina hurricanes against the florida panthers.

i should note that they are all very happy the cup is staying in america (most people hate vgk but the american haters r at least happy they knocked the edmonton (canada) oilers out)

(LONG LIVE SUN BELT HOCKEY AND RAHHHHHHHH USA USA USA 🦅🦅🦅🦅)

massachusetts: - no one because he’s salty and hates everyone (leaning very slightly towards vgk because nevada , the personification, is better than the others)

new york: - same as massachusetts. hoping for the canes’ downfall (the carolina hurricanes knocked out the new york islanders first round too. yes, new york has/had two teams in the playoffs (islanders and rangers). new york has THREE total. rip buffalo ily guys)

new jersey: - very much actively hoping for the canes’ downfall (canes knocked out the devils), so much so he’s leaning very slightly panthers except he would never admit that

pennsylvania: - he’s currently climbing light poles in philly and taunting the government (gov? the actual government of philadelphia? who knows) just to feel something. (the philadelphia flyers are a bit of a dumspter fire and the pittsburgh penguins missed the playoffs for the first time in 16 years) he can also not talk as much shit about his fellow northeasterners and their teams as he’d like because of the shit he got/is getting for the penguins missing the playoffs.

ohio: - the panthers because 1) florida of the midwest and the actual florida have to stick together yknow 2) johnny hockey’s best friend is on the panthers

michigan: - the hurricanes because he’s not rooting for/bandwagoning the same team as ohio

chicago/illinois: - i dont even want to talk about this man/team fuck them

minnesota: - vgk because he’d be damned if he’s rooting for the stars (the minnesota wild got knocked out by the dallas stars)(and the admin of the mn wild twt account started up a little feud w the admin of the stars twt account)

washington: - the stars because. do i have it in me to explain this twitter bit. hmm… no. tl;dr: the vibes

colorado: - vgk because nevada is his buddy !!!!!

connecticut: - the canes to piss off the rest of his northeastern pals (and he is a little fond of them because the hartford whalers relocated to become the carolina hurricanes)

in my heart of hearts i want north carolina to be rooting for his team so bad and actually rhe canes have some LOUUDDD fans so i think he gets to be the first southern state to actually regularly watch his hockey team and know the game. florida, as always, still doesn’t know what the stanley cup is. texas could care less. nevada is a casual fan of his team i think but i think theyre rlly amped up abt vgk being in the playoffs rn.

thats all <3 if u actually read all of this , 1) why 2) thank you i love you. feel free to talk to be abt hockey (and how it relates to wttt, or not!!) anytime :3

[dykrophone]

I am simultaneously one of the physically healthiest and unhealthiest people i know lmfao

[tremendum]

Mr. Miller’s House 

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her, use of the word girl)    

rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.)      

word count: 7.6k  requested: yes  summary: “Joel was a mean, mean man. and you eat it up like a woman starved for months.” warnings: mentions of food/eating, drinking alcohol, age gap (unspecified), Jackson era, Ellie gets a splinter, Joel is honestly rude to Ellie in this and reader is judgy about Joel’s parenting practices lol. but really,  this is just filthy smut (PiV, unprotected), dirty talk, sir kink, use of the word slut a LOT, one use of the word bitch, humiliation/degradation, hints of masochism, choking, exhibitionism, public smut, rough sex, dom!Joel, mean joel, lots of fighting/anger, cumplay, dirty talk, ass spanking, pussy spanking, mentions of blood (reader gets scraped knees), throat/facefucking, rough oral (m!receiving), overstimulation, dacryphilia, multiple orgasms. lmk if i missed any please lmfao

notes: okay jesus fucking christ!!! i wrote this so fasst lol but it was fun and highly requested. hope yall like it.  as always reblogs/asks/comments are always great motivations :’) this is not reread because as i have said before im lazy and INSANE! 

[this is a sequel to Mr Miller.    part three   other Joel fics:     fever       landmines  ]

★  

this was a mistake. you shouldn't have done this....this was a terrible idea. 

fuck. 

the chair is stiff beneath you. there's a hard coolness about it that is welcomed on the skin of your bare legs, the shorts you wear helpful in the heat of summer but futile against the slick of sweat that sheens your skin. the chair is hard, but yet still strong, sturdy.

 you swallow dryly, heart beating fast. it's the same chair you sat at just a few weeks ago, signing the log with Joel leaning over your shoulder, before he-

you look away, around, anywhere in order to avoid the memories, hot and boiling and clawing at your mind and suffocating you until you stop breathing- and then your eyes settle, they glue themselves across the kitchen table. 

they glue themselves to him. 

fuck. 

Joel's already staring at you; his lips are downturned in that permanent grimace he always sports, the muscles of his torso rigid with immobility - perhaps he thinks if he's still enough, the ground will just swallow him whole and he won't have to do this. 

you yearn for that escape as much as he does. 

then, out of the silence; "see, this isn't so bad." 

speak for yourself, Ellie. 

both heads in the room turn to the speaker slowly, the girl watching between the two of you, more than willing to ignore the obvious disdain in the air. she's grinning like a damn devil. 

this girl's going to kill you. 

it is that bad, contrary to Ellie's statement. 

it'd been days of her begging you, with a tug on the hand, a punch to the shoulder, and countless pleads and threats until you finally caved in and accepted her proposal to have her and Joel over for dinner. 

no matter how much you detest her guardian, you just can't resist those big puppy-dog eyes, or that gigantic, youthful smile. 

for the last few months, Ellie has grown to be quite the little farmhand for you; though you like to keep to yourself on your days in the gardens, it was nice to have the girl buzzing around you and the other gardeners, pollinating each person she sees with questions like what really happens in germination and is this ripe? can I pull it? 

it's cute, how excited she is to show Joel all of the crops you've grown with her in the last few months. but what isn't cute, is that it's him that has to be here. of all people, why did Joel have to be the one Ellie chose as her father? 

because.... things weren't okay between you and Joel. 

you're not sure if you were childish for expecting for him to warm up to you after - well, after the time he bent you on this table and fucked you stupid - but you hadn't been prepared for the coldest shoulder you've ever gotten in your measly life for the last few weeks. 

it didn't help that the summer was kicking up and you needed more crops than ever for the commune; your patrolling had dwindled into maybe one or two every week or so, usually with Maria - so you didn't have to face Joel, really, at all. 

but he avoided you like the plague when in town or on your street (though, he did that with everyone) and even at the Tipsy Bison, where your presence would clean him from the room before a drop of condensation could even slide down his glass of whiskey. 

hell, maybe he even put a word in with Maria and Tommy that the last patrol together didn't go as planned; you'd even considered doing it at one point. you're not sure, but it just made you all the more irritated when you'd catch glimpses of their porch in the afternoons, Joel holding a guitar around Ellie's chest, chuckling as she strummed horribly. as if everything was okay. like you didn’t exist. 

the anger and hatred grew awful. 

it festered, grew when Maria mentioned off-handedly to Tommy that some woman, Dahlia, had taken a liking to Joel. you'd nearly shattered the glass you were holding in your fist at that; Joel, with Dahlia? that grumpy piece of shit, taking a liking to someone sweet and kind like her? 

you ought to punch his fucking face. 

you're zoned out when Ellie suddenly comes into your line of sight; reaching over your chest to grab a slice of the fresh bread you'd picked up earlier that day. you blink back into reality as Joel grunts, "E-Ellie, hey." he's shaking his head as he gestures to her arm, "use your manners." 

he sounds almost embarrassed; annoyed. your mind betrays you as it whirls back; when Joel had you pinned down on this very table, commanding you in a different way, his eyes dark with delight as you cried and writhed for him. 

but at his chastising, you send Ellie a sneaky look, rolling your eyes when Joel's looking down. the girl chuckles at that and an untrusting Joel stares daggers between the two of you. Ellie clears her throat with a smirk,  "sorry. can you please pass me the bread?" 

you grin, "why, yes, ma'am." you hand her the basket, "thank you for asking." you add to the girl on your right, your eyes on Joel's. he stares back harshly, hand grabbing for the glass of wine that sits in front of him. 

another few moments of tension before Elie decided to take it upon herself to introduce as much of the food that sits on the table in front of you as she can remember. 

peas, spinach, lentil and cabbage stew, beet salad, goat cheese and roasted carrots, cauliflower mash. fresh bread.

proteins from animals are scarce and are typically served in only the dining hall, so you decided to skip the meat and serve roasted artichoke instead. Joel doesn't look too thrilled about that as Ellie explains. you hide your scoff behind a sip of your dark wine. 

"-and, look, I planted these beets." Ellie points to the bowl on the table which houses arugula and beet salad; you smirk down at the plate as Joel hums as if interested. his eyes flicker to yours from across the table as Ellie delves in on a tangent about how bloody beets look, those dark pupils flickering over your face before flitting back to the young girl. his eyes were swimming with something else, something.... seductive. 

a shiver runs down your spine.

does he ever think about it? 

you do. you think about it every night - how his hands felt, rough, unforgiving; the look on his face, that dark smirk when he'd made you beg for him to ruin you... the frenzy in his eyes when he'd ‘taught you some goddamn manners,’ when he'd taken you apart brutally and quick. Joel was a mean, mean man. and you eat it up like a woman starved for months. 

your name calls you back to Ellie, whose eyes are wide and tracing over a rough, splintered notch in your table, "the hell is this from, is it-" her fingers jolt away at the rugged piece that slides into her skin, "shit!" she yelps, shaking her hand. 

your brows furrow, rising to help her as Joel pulls her hand towards him.  "I have tweezers." you mutter, disappearing into your bathroom to pull out your tweezers, returning to see Ellie smiling in embarrassment and Joel sitting with his arms crossed, amused irritation lacing his face. his beard is growing in more recently - you can hear the noise of the short bristles scratching his hand as he rubs his knuckles over his jawline. 

nodding, pleased that Ellie's discomfort has subsided, you set your tweezers on your right, spearing some salad on your fork as silence cradles you three yet again. 

it’s only tense and silent for a moment. then Ellie speaks, and it’s just tense.

"why is there a notch like that in your table?" she finally wheezes, as if she'd been summoned to be silent until she couldn't handle her curiosity anymore. 

you don't have to look up to know that a pair of dark eyes pin you to your chair, daring you to say something about it. 

your throat dries as you swallow your mouthful of salad, coughing a bit. 

a rip in your flannel, the grazing of your soft skin with the blade. a hand pulling hard to dislodge the knife from its home against you; the thick slide of Joel as he drags his length through your destroyed, spent core. 

"um- I-I" perhaps it's your panic, of the knowledge that his eyes are glued to you, but soon your eyes meet his; unwavering. "well. someone likes to threaten people when they can't find patrol logs." 

"Joel!" Ellie hisses, smacking his arm, "you fucking stabbed her table and didn’t do anything about it?” she’s grinning. 

"yeah, Joel," you smirk, swirling with desire as his hawkish gaze pins you to your chair, "you really should use your manners. you've ruined my table." 

"shut the hell up right now." he snaps at you, hand slamming his fork down harshly onto the plate. you and Ellie both jump at the sternness in his voice. 

you listen, for once. 

and honestly, ten minutes ago feels like heaven compared to the tenseness of this silence. 

several minutes go by, the sounds of scraping forks and knives and the meager attempts by you and Ellie to salvage a decent dinner conversation ringing soft in your kitchen. 

at least you and her are trying. 

you ignore the notch from the knife like a wildfire and pretend Joel isn't even with you; Ellie is more than enough life and laughter for you, and your playful disposition matches hers perfectly despite the joy-damper of a man sat across from you. 

he's stewing. arms crossed, chewing on food here and then, mostly listening and sighing, brushing off Ellie's jabs or playful questions or stories. he won't do anything except eat and glare at you. 

the wine bottle is nearly gone and you're not sure if it's his fault or yours. probably both. 

you snap when he just outright ignores Ellie, shaking his head with a sigh and taking another bite. the audacity. 

"-she asked you a question, Miller." you snap, fed up with his dissociative disposition. you don't even intend to say it; even Ellie looks up at your words, surprised. 

his head turns to face you too slow to be safe. his eyes are fucking furious as he mutters, "excuse me?" 

"hey, guys-" Ellie's hands are out in front of her, but you can't take your eyes off him. 

"I'm just saying, you could at least try to pay attention." you spit, crossing your arms defensively, "we made this dinner, we're just trying to have a conversation, the least you could do-" 

"you don't tell me what to do." he states, calm and cool, pointing at you. his nose flares as he breaths heavy, your own breath quickening. arousal rushes to your center and you shift on your seat. 

"-listen, maybe this was a bad idea. I knew you weren't the best of friends, but this is-" Ellie starts again, eyes flickering between you both. "this is too awkward." 

"no, Ellie, I'm sorry-" you start to say, breaking. 

you don't want her to be caught in the cross-fire of your problems with Joel; it's unfair. the further this goes, the more she'll be put in a position of mediator, so you figure it should just end now. 

"Ellie, go home." 

Joel growls the demand, eyes looking to her, his hand falling gently to her shoulder. her eyes widen, as if asking him if he's serious. 

"what?" she asks, "no! you'll-you’ll fucking stab each other or something." 

yeah, you think. you might. 

Joel's shaken off her shoulder but he's resilient, "go on, go see the kids for the movie. I'll come later. we just need to sort something out." he mutters, eyes falling to you at the tail end of his sentence. 

shivers roll down your spine; fuck, fuck - a flood of arousal hits you again, and you swallow, willing the feelings to go the fuck away. 

Ellie's scowling, but still has the decency to thank you for dinner before slamming the door hard on her way out of the threshold. 

Joel's eyes stay locked with yours until her footsteps are gone. 

it’s silent for a moment before he speaks. 

"do not fuckin' disrespect me like that in front of her again." he snaps. 

you narrow your eyes, "you're concerned that I- what, I undermined you in front of your girl?" you hiss incredulously. "come on, that's pathetic." 

"I don't like you." he snaps, shoving his plate away from him in an almost childish act of defiance. it’s shocking, the immaturity of his words so sudden. barely prompted. 

it's clear he intends to continue this little confessional of his, but you have no intention of allowing that. 

you roll your eyes, "big fucking deal. what do you want me to say?" you hiss, "sorry that I was rude, Mr. Miller! let me just cook you fucking dinner and invite you over to make up for it." 

his nostrils flare, "never wanted to do this in the first place." he mutters. 

you nearly rip out your hair in frustration. "obviously you didn't! christ, why do you always act like everything you do is a goddamn chore?" you snap, "Ellie wanted to have a nice night and show you what we've been doing- what she's been doing for this community. and all you can do is sit here and act like a fucking asshole because you don't know how to enjoy anything. it's a miracle she's still around with you, when you treat her like that." 

his jaw clicks in anger, "you have no fuckin' clue what we've been through together." his voice is close to a yell, "you don't know how much that girl means to me." 

"then why won't you show her!?" you yell. 

it quiets the room for a moment and a fleeting feeling of pride is squashed when he speaks again. 

his brows raise, a look of realization creeping onto his face. he nods his head, "I see what this is," he lets out a bitter, mocking laugh. "you want me to tell you how much I love your food? y'trying to prove to me that you're not a bad influence on her, after all?" 

you stare at him, anger clouding your sight; are there tears of frustration rimming your eyes? you hope he doesn't notice. 

"-newsflash, darlin', I don't fucking care about you." he finishes, scowl dark. "you're a nuisance. don' know why Tommy took you in, anyways. you're a foul-mouthed, untrustworthy, pathetic little slut- and jus' because you can't stop thinking about my cock doesn't mean I owe anything to you. no dinner, no fuckin- cordial neighborly attitude, nothing." 

thinking about- what?

oh, fuck him. your face burns; your jaw unhinges. of course he thinks this is about you and him. your eyes spare a quick, fleeting glance to the notch in the table before you glare, "well I don't fucking care about you either, Miller. don't be so fucking conceited." 

he laughs, shaking his head as he downs the remainder of his wine before slamming the glass down, but you're not finished. you can't let him think he's won. 

"you’re delusional. I haven't thought of it once." you spit, aflame at his accusation. you feel flustered, still caught off-guard. if anything, it was him who was obsessed with it - you see the way his eyes can't leave you; the way he adjusted his jeans earlier when you leaned over to pull a bowl from your cabinet. 

"really?" he spits, brows raised. his chest moves with the exertion of your yelling and you resist the urge to hit him or stomp your foot or anything. "yes, really." you defend, face heating up under the scrutiny of his knowing gaze. 

"anyone ever tell you you're an awful liar, sweetheart?" he drawls, raising his brows at you. 

you fume, standing up, pointing to the door, "get the fuck out, Joel." 

his eyes light ablaze with the same anger that rages in your heart as he stands, throwing his napkin on his plate, "gladly. food was great." he spits, storming out of the house with no other words. 

-- 

your scowl doesn't leave your face for the entire rest of the night. what- what the fuck was that? how dare Joel assume so much about you- he doesn't know you, at all. 

your eyes fall to the bottle in your hands.

ellie left her water canteen at your place. you were so angry, so mad earlier, that you hadn’t realized she’d left it until a few minutes ago. 

she doesn't need it, right? she could get it next time she comes round. yeah. she'll get it next time, you don't have to go over. right?

no. 

you have to go over. 

the anger within you festers just as much as the slick that plagues the apex of your thighs in the aftermath of your spat with Joel; it's a vicious cycle where you think about his tone, how condescending it was and then you get mad - but some sick part of you wants it to consume you; wants him to consume you. 

you’re fucking obsessed with him. you hate him. 

you need to hear him yell at you again- if-if anything, to get your ten cents in on the argument, and also maybe to get some good content for your wet dreams tonight. jesus christ. 

god, you're so fucked up. 

christ. 

so once you finish cleaning from the remnants of the meal, your legs are carrying you over to his house with Ellie's canteen in your hand before you can second-guess it. 

what the fuck are you doing? 

you're standing on their porch in mere seconds, your breath heavy with wrath. what if Ellie opens the door? well- you suppose, if she does, you'll give her the canteen and talk to her. probably apologize for acting the way you did. no business with Joel, then. yeah.  that’s... that’s fine. 

fuck. why do you want Joel to answer so terribly? 

you know where the answer lies - a coiling beast of arousal, consuming and muddling your mind, just at the apex of your thighs. 

Joel is a fucking asshole. you need him. now. 

your knuckles slam so hard and unforgiving against their door that there is no possibility of them assuming it's anybody else but you at their porch. their light is flickering and dim above you as you stand, canteen in hand, eyes trained forward in determination.  

the door swings open in an air of irritation. 

your face jerks back as Joel Miller stands, staring at you with the disdain of a thousand lifetimes swirling around his eyes. 

"y'here for more?" he snarks. 

your momentary hesitation melts away when his words drip from his lips. a glare pierces him through the eyes when you shove the canteen into his hands, "I'm here for Ellie. she left this." you spit. 

he lets out a chuckle, humor absent from the ring as he scratches his nose, "right." he mutters. "well she ain't home. went to the movie in town." he clips, setting the canteen on the table just inside the house. "y'need me to pass any more of your words of wisdom on to her?" he asks, voice clipped and prickled with sarcasm. 

you glare. "yeah. just do me a favor, tell her I'm sorry her dad is being a hypocritical, neglecting asshole." you snark, sending a false smile up at him as he leans with his arms crossed at the doorway.

you don't miss how he leans into it, how he's not slamming the door on your face. he wants to argue, too. "-and you can suck a dick, Mr. Miller." you add, intending to whirl away on your heel. 

he scoffs, a deep and condescending noise. "thanks for comin' all the way over to return a little canteen. g'night, darlin', hope you don't make too much'a mess when you cum all over that table again tonight thinkin' of how much I hate you. glad y'got your ten cents in." 

your face burns hot in embarrassment, and at the irony of him using the same phrase you’d thought. 

the door moves quick to shut, but your arm moves quicker. 

your hand wedges is just before it shuts, leaving you far too close to Joel than you'd like - gunpowder, pine, and dark amber whiskey surround your senses. again. 

so you shoot another fist forward, aiming for his left jaw; aiming for it to hurt.

he’s going to fucking hurt.  

it doesn't make contact with the warm skin, though: no, his hand has caught your wrist in an iron-tight grip, wrenching your arm down hard. 

you let out a gasp of surprise as he shoves you off of the door and away from him before you can blink. 

but instead of the door slamming in your face, his rough hands are pushing you hard up against the side of his garage. the door behind him remains ajar as he pushes himself into your space, growling at you as your mouth falls open in shock. 

"did you just try to hit me, girl?" he whispers, voice deadly serious. you swallow, arousal rushing down to your heat; you swear you can feel your heartbeat in your pussy as he stares hard at you, but your eyes trail down to his jeans.

you hide your smirk as you take in the stretch of the rough denim, the outline of his own arousal evident even in the dim light. he’s hard because you were going to hit him. 

your body aches as you remember the stretch of him inside you, splitting you open. your eyes flicker back up to his where he breathes heavily, expecting a response. 

you give him one. 

"yes, but you already knew that." you smirk, cocking your head as you boldly gyrate your hips forward slightly, your clothed cunt clenching in desire as you graze his hard-on. "or are you not hard right now, Mr. Miller?" you purr, your voice laced with seduction. 

his rough hand shoves your hips hard back against the wall, a growl slipping his throat. "y'got a dirty fuckin' mouth on you." his breath hits your cheeks in a warm reminder of the wine you'd both had for dinner. 

"so it wasn't because of that?" you ask, blinking in a false sense of innocence, watching as his eyes swim with an animalistic hunger. you've got him right where you want him. "was it from thinking about me touching myself? or, from remembering the last time we were together in my house?" 

his momentary lapse in recovery allows for you to go in for the final kill, "Mr. Miller,” you coo, “do you think of my pussy when you fuck Dahlia? d'you wish it was me?" you spit, smirking up at him as red splatters his furious features, "you can talk all you want, Mr. Miller, but I know you're just a greedy, desperate man who loves to pretend you have any power over me." you whisper into the shell of his ear, palm roughly grabbing the outline of his cock boldly. 

his next movements take your breath away: the shock of his fists slamming hard against the wall on either side of your head makes you jump, and his hawkish, angry eyes bore into yours. 

"get your fuckin' hands off of me. now." 

his voice is... scary. 

the blood leaves your head as your damp spot of your pants floods with desire, the fear spiking a real excitement in you. you are smart enough to follow his orders; the look in his eyes suggests you do so. 

your hands shakily fly back from his crotch to hang by your sides as you stare up at him - nervous. excited, ready. 

his eyes are narrowed, stern as his brows are furrowed low. the permanent scowl on his lips is intimidating as he holds your gaze with fierce intent. "you're gonna be real fuckin' honest with me, now. okay?" 

you swallow dryly, staring up at his face, how he's boxed you in with arms on either side of your head. you feel cornered, small; prey, hunted by predator. 

you nod smally, startled into silence, unable to speak as the ache between your legs becomes unbearable. your legs clench, searching for relief only to be disappointed at the dull sensation. 

he stares at you for a few moments, unmoving except for the flaring of his nostrils and the rising of his chest as he breathes just as heavy as you. 

"are you wet?" 

your face flushes with heat. christ, Joel is going to kill you. (if you don't kill him first). your legs feel weak, desire driving your heart rate up as you nod meekly, voice cracking out. "y-yes." 

he nods, seemingly pleased with your honesty. 

"how long have you been walkin' round with ruined panties?" his head tilts down slightly, angled down at you as if chastising you. you flush in shame, genuinely taking a moment to remember the exact moment you first noticed your underwear dampen. 

you can't admit to him that you woke up this morning with his name on your lips and a wet patch on the seat of your sleep shorts, can you? (and certainly not that it happens every day.) 

"s-since-" you take a sharp inhale, glaring at him for humiliating you like this - outside, no less. anybody could walk past or look out their window and see Joel and you like this. "dinner." 

his brows raise, the look darkening on his face. you can tell, he loves the beginning - the teasing, the arguing, the embarrassment - just as much as the end. "dinner? s'like, two hours." his frown immodest, tempting. judging. 

you nod, biting back a snide comment about Joel being an excellent time-teller, your face burning in embarrassment as you break eye contact, staring at your feet. 

"d’you like being a slut?" he asks, then. you nearly whimper at his words, the aching in your cunt burning, pulsing and clenching around nothing as you stare at him in desire. fuck Joel Miller. 

"'m not a slut." you say, but the defiant words come out more as a whine than a sharp argument. one hand falls from the wall on your left to grip onto your jaw, holding your cheeks hard as he forces your eyes back up to him. 

his nails dig into the soft flesh of your cheeks as you gasp, your own hands in fists as you resist pulling him into you. 

"that's not what I fuckin' asked, now, is it?" he sneers. you blink up at him, shaking your head after a moment of contemplation. "no, sir." you whisper meekly. you don't miss the tightening of his grip at the honorific as it falls sultry from your lips. he hums. 

"do you want me to touch you?" he asks next. you can't even have the decency to stop your whine as you nod, "yes, please." 

his other hand falls from the wall, eyes just as angry and unforgiving as he undoes the button on your shorts single-handedly. "good. don't you fuckin' look away from my eyes, y'hear me? hands down, eyes up." 

this is twice now that he hasn't let you touch him - your brows furrow, but just as he snaps in front of your face, you let the thought melt away. 

"y-yes, sir." you nod, your palms sweaty, heart thundering as he shoves his hand down the front of your shorts, breaching your underwear easily as fingers slide through the deft curls that lie just above your heat. 

"gotta warm y'up for me this time," he mutters, eyes sharp as he watches yours, ensuring they don't do as much as blink. 

it's delicious, almost too much as two of his thick fingers part the seam of your lips, your wetness spilling and coating his fingers immediately. you burn in shame, thighs starting to close over his hand. 

one ruddy, thick thigh slides to kick your leg to the side, widening your stance as he shoves you harder up against the side of the house. the tip of his finger prods at your aching hole, leaking with desperation for him. 

there are crickets outside, a steady but low staccato of music filling the summer Jackson air as one finger slowly slides into you, curling unforgivingly as you gasp, rising on your toes as he stretches you. "fuck," you whimper, throwing your head back against the wall behind you. 

the thud is dull, but it echoes around the street and it calls your attention to the very public space you're in. 

"hey." Joel snaps, one hand swatting your cheek lightly as your eyes close, "don't look away." 

you blink back at him as he pumps lazily for a few moments, watching your every micro-expression, the way your chest stutters with his motions. the noise of your arousal is humiliating against the pleasant summer breeze. 

you can't help the low moan of his name when he adds a second finger. the stretch is nothing like when it's his cock inside of you, but the strokes, the curl of his fingers start to coax a simmering coil in you that you know will explode soon. 

your eyes are still on his obediently when you nearly whisper it. 

he hears it, though, and smirks, "what was that, darlin’?" 

you groan in irritation but it splinters into a sharp moan when his fingers pick up their pace, fucking into you as you lie slack against the wall, legs trembling. 

"just- fuck me. fuck me now." you wheeze, the desire a burning snake that coils around your chest and squeezes at your heart. 

"no." he decides, eyes glaring, "can't have y'whining like a bitch again, darlin'. gotta open you up on my fingers first." the sting of his words are cushioned by the lust that swirls around his voice, the languid was his thick fingers pump up into you, holding you up against the frame of the house with a dark smirk. 

you nod, hissing in stimulation when one finger slides to start rubbing your neglected clit with just enough pressure to curl your toes; your chest is slick with sweat, fingernails digging painfully into the meat of your palm as you hum, lips sealed tight to avoid yelping out. 

your eyes flicker from his once more, scanning the street just feet away from you, paranoid of the possibility of a neighbor seeing you. 

Joel notices, of course. "what, baby, don' want the neighbors to see?" he hums, eyes cutting into you as your face flushes with heat, "y'seemed to want everybody to hear me fucking you stupid last time, didn't 'ya?" 

you groan, "fuck you, Joel." 

his hand stops its ministrations just as cold ice pours down your spine. oh, shit. 

his hand slides out of your pants, face furious. 

you shake your head, eyes welling with tears; you hadn't meant for it to slip out like that. "n-no, wait, 'm sorry, didn't mean it." you whimper, voice choked with the loss of his hand. 

he just huffs a cold chuckle, wiping his hand over his face, the other one glistening with your juices under the light of the porch. 

your panicked, desperate babble of apologies is stopped with one look from him. 

"get on your goddamn knees now." 

you shiver with excitement, tears drying slightly as you swallow, complying quickly. the cement is rough and cold under your bare knees, your hands held still together on your thighs as you stare up at him in wait. he stands tall before you; the shroud of the flickering porch light emboldening him, making him look like a god - an unforgiving one, at that - as he pulls his thick, pulsing cock from his jeans. 

your mouth waters as he starts to pump it languidly, the tip a red color from arousal, leaking precum. 

he doesn’t have to ask you to open your mouth for him, your own desire to taste him spurring you to stick your tongue out flat in wait for his dick. 

"I'm going to ask you again." he says, tapping your tongue with the weight of his length, the slapping noise flooding your underwear as you ache to feel him again. "do you like being a slut?" 

you swallow, tongue sliding along the bottom of his head as you do, muttering a slight, "yes, sir." 

"'s right. you love being my slut." he nods, your mouth open and ready for him as he thrusts his whole length into your wet, warm mouth; you gag almost immediately, his hips unforgiving as he immediately starts to fuck into your throat. you try your best to breathe through your nose, gagging as his tip pokes the back of your throat - you know there'll be a bruise that will make it painful to eat, drink, speak - you fucking love it. 

he lets out a grunt of arousal, nodding as his hands gather your hair from your face, gripping your cheeks and pushing your head back against the side of the house. 

two thrusts, a few tears from your eyes as you choke, your lungs burning for air. 

he pulls away, you suck in air with a strangled gasp. your saliva links you to his heavy cock, a chain that holds you in his grasp. "tell me you love being my slut." 

you burn at his words and in your brief hesitation, his cock is slapping at your mouth, his impatience bleeding through his actions. 

"I-" your voice is wrecked after only a few seconds of him in your mouth, but you swallow as you gasp for air, "I l-love being your slut." 

he slides himself through your slick lips again, hips a punishing pace as he fills up your mouth, your throat tight and wet. his groan echoes through the street; in the corner of your eye, you swear you see a light turn on in a bedroom window. shivers of desire run through you as you resist the urge to touch yourself. 

you can't breathe; your nose brushes against the course hair at the base of his shaft, the scent of him surrounding you as his hips try to smash you against the side of the house. 

he holds you there, hands rough on your cheeks, slapping your right cheek as it bulges with his length. you choke, gagging as you try your hardest to keep eye contact. his face is harsh, his sneer cold as he stares at you, "'s right, choke on your fuckin' words, darlin'." his hips press forward slightly and you cough around him, it's too much - tears slide down your cheeks as you try not to gag more. 

"you gonna disrespect me again?" he asks, tilting his head as spit trails down your chin, tears meeting the trail of saliva as it drips down onto your chest. 

you can only hum a nuh-uh around his cock, hoping it's enough to satisfy him. you feel yourself throb and fucking burn with need, your knees sore from the cement under you. 

you cough and sputter when he pulls himself away from you, mouth sore, jaw aching and throat wrecked. his eyes flicker over to the house across the street before he grips your shoulder, tugging you in your aroused, dazed state up to your legs. 

"oh, darlin', you're bleedin'." he coos at you, thumb swiping your cheek as you stand up. he's right: your knees are just scratched enough to speckle the skin with dark splotches of blood. you feel a tingling sensation of arousal as he hums, "let's get you inside, hm?" 

you stumble to keep up as he storms through the threshold of the house, the door swinging shut after your shaking frame falls inside. it's dark; there is only one lamp turned on in the other room. 

Joel is almost a shadow as he surrounds you, your hands falling onto his large, stiff shoulders as he pushes you against the door frame. 

your legs give out from desire soon and the two of you tumble to the ground, a mess of grunts and shoves, tearing at clothes as you whimper in desire, his own lustful groans echoing the empty house. as his pants are shucked off and your shorts are thrown across the room, your hips are shoved and flipped over until you're ass-up for him, one of his large hands moving roughly to grab a handful of your plush behind. 

your hands and knees ache, but you wiggle your ass slightly in need, not daring to speak to him. the anger that radiates from the two of you is a grenade; you can feel the tension bubbling behind your desire and so you just move back until you brush against his hard length, the fabric of your panties completely soaked as you grind against him. 

his moan echoes as a hand falls hard to slap against the skin of your ass. you let out a strangled yell, the pain stinging through you as you keen forward. you know there will be a handprint branded into you, you know it'll be sore to sit and you'll have to think of him each time. he'll consume you for days. 

you love it. 

his fingers tease the wet material that's glued to your pussy with desire, tracing over your lips lightly over the fabric. "pretty cunt, just for me." he mutters; you shake with desire when you realize it was more a mutter for him than an intentional phrase for you to hear.

"think you're ready for me, baby?" he grunts, his fingers pulling your underwear to the side, exposing your puffy, glistening cunt to him. 

"I'm so re-ready sir, please, fuck me." you beg, reduced yet again to nothing but a writhing mess for the worst man you know. 

he gives no warning, no teasing - he breaches you swiftly and rough. you scream. 

it cracks, it echoes, it's painful as you yell out, his cock heavy and huge and aching as he slides into you, sheathing you fully within a few seconds. Joel's moan reverberates on your skin as his hands grip so hard at your ass you think his fingers will remain there for days. 

he immediately sets a pace that has you squirming under him, breath choking up in your chest as you slide against the hardwood. the smell of the house is Joel - sandalwood, whiskey, pine. sex. 

your arms are tugged roughly. 

panic rises in you when you think you're about to slam your face against the floor, but as Joel pounds hard into you, he pulls your hands tight to your back, holding you up to you're suspended with just his cock working you open can keep you from falling. 

it's bliss. it's sharp, this angle; he hits into that spongy spot inside you as his cock drags against your pulsing walls, your hands clenching as your breath leaves you. 

one hand sneaks over your front, grasping at your tits as he reaches up into you deeply. then it snakes lower, rocking you forward as he swats at your clit, the sharp smack of his palm causing you to squeeeeeze around him, trapping him in your aching desire. he lets out a grunt, "fuckin'- jesus christ, girl, you're s-so tight."

the noises of your arousal swallowing his dick echo around the room in a sickening chorus. 

"dumb girl, lovin' it when I yell at her," he mutters to himself, chasing your high as he feels it spasming close around him. "gonna be o-obedient and thank me for each orgasm, 'kay?" his accent is thick in the throes of passion, you notice. 

you nod, unable to speak, unable to think as you feel the crest of something incredibly blissful; you let out a wheeze of ecstasy. "y-yes, s-sir," you choke, your voice croaking from the remnants of his dick wrecking you. 

you barely realize you're cumming until you’re screaming, a white-hot, searing arousal streaking your vision. tears are resurfacing on your eyes as he hums, "say it." 

you swallow, shakily squirming as he pounds into you, unforgiving in tone and pace. "than-thank you." 

it only takes a few more minutes and his thick hand squeezing your throat before you cum for a second time, your hands pulling at his hips, trying to escape the overstimulation of his long, dragging thrusts. the floor is slick with your juices, and so is his pubic bone. 

"thank you, s-sir." you slur out, his hand holding you by the throat against his chest, his heartbeat slamming just as fast as yours. 

soon he drops your arms, their shaky muscles barely stopping you as you fall to the floor. his chest follows you until he's smothering you, thrusts becoming weak with his own nearing orgasm. you cry, the overstimulation causing you to shake. "'s too much, too much." 

he hums, "you want me to stop?" 

"no!" you scream it, wail it; no, christ, don't stop. never stop. 

he chuckles; a dark, brooding noise. "an' you wonder why I think you're such a bad influence." he mutters into the shell of your ear as he pushes further, deeper into you; "lettin' an old man fuck you into the floor. lovin' it." 

he chuckles as you let out a whine, eyes screwing shut at the bursts of pleasure coursing through you. your knees ache.

"'s dirty, isn't it? and you love it, pretty girl." 

you let your cheek drop onto the hardwood at his ministrations, spent from your previous orgasms; the pet name makes you flush, arching your hips back. he's so deep, you feel him in your throat. each thrust pushes his tip into your cervix, a dull ache with a swirl of pleasure and ecstasy. you let out a groan, "love it, love it s'much. love it, sir, thank you." you whimper, your brain empty except for Joel Joel JoelJoel-

"good m-manners, sweet girl." he hums, pressing a hot kiss to your spine. goosebumps form in his wake, his words echoing in your brain. sweet girl. 

"you're gonna cum one more time." he orders, the thrusts of his hips grinding you down, melting you, tearing you. you nod, "yes, yes-yes, fuck, gonna-gonna cum again." you whimper, the painful overstimulation of his cock drilling through your spent, swollen folds. 

your third orgasm has you wailing, shaking your head as you convulse in pleasure, his strong grip holding your hips down as he hits your spot repeatedly, the noise of him fucking into you echoing through the foyer. 

there's tears on the floor as you shake, colors exploding behind your eyes as he whispers things you cannot hear into your ear. 

when you come to, he's still ravaging your body. 

you're limp, ecstasy flowing through your very being as his cock spears through you, hands smacking you, gripping you, grunts leaving his mouth as he nears his own orgasm, having pulled three from you. 

"where are your manners?" he whispers into your ear. you let out a broken half-laugh, half-gasp. "fuck- thank you, Joel, thank you." 

he hums in satisfaction and you swear you feel his cock twitch inside you as you utter his first name. 

he's back in your ear in seconds, surrounding you, swallowing you whole. you love it. 

"this is my pussy. mine." he grunts, "never think 'bout any other pussy. jus' this one. always." his voice is laced with desperation as he swats your ass, thrusting into you a few more times as you squirm, sobbing, throat raw. 

yours, you whimper in a chorus, body limp as he uses you; his thrusts are sloppy. he's so close- 

and he cums just as he's pulling out of you; you gasp at the loss but also as his cum shoots hot spurts across the plush curve of your ass, a bit onto your spine - most of it over your ruined pussy, streaking you in white. 

you pulse around nothing, shaking as your legs give out. he groans a deep thing, fingers falling to spread you open, the lewd noise soft and slick.

you jolt and he shushes you with a soft caress of your back. "jus' wanna see it, baby. wanna see how I ruined you." 

you swallow dryly at that, nodding as you tilt your hips, eager to feel his eyes over you, over all of you; eager for him. 

a finger smears his spend over your juices, pressing lightly at your puckered hole, pushing some of his cum back into you. "fuckin' christ, girl." 

you set out a laugh that turns into a cough of pain at the ragged state of your throat. 

he stands and leaves you on the cold floor, covered in sweat. you try not to let your heart deflate when he’s gone. 

but he returns with a rag and hands it to you before shucking his jeans on; you pull your underwear back on with shaky hands once you’ve wiped yourself clean, your body exhausted. 

you sigh. even the thought of making the trek just a few houses down to your own place is daunting as your eyes flutter. something in his eyes glint in understanding when your gazes meet each other, and he seems to get it. 

so if Joel gathers you in his arms with a grunt and a short complaint, you don't think too much about it. 

(you hate him. he hates you.)

and if he holds your head to his chest as he starts the walk back to your house, it’s not a big deal to you. 

when brings you up into your bedroom instead of leaving you at your front door as he finally carries you to your house, you chalk it up to you being nearly asleep. you must be delirious when he tucks you into your mattress and pulls your blankets up. you swear he mutters something about dinner and nice and good job. 

(what a cocky asshole.) 

it's probably a dream, when a hand caresses the sweaty skin of your forehead, brushing hair away gently before footsteps disappear through the doorway. 

. part three .

requests open

. 

[doctorwhoisadhd]

i’ve been seeing ur blaseball posts for a while now and i have to say i have No earthly idea what it is. is it a webcomic? a band?? a sport??? pls give me a crash course on this seemingly cool thing

well shes dead forever unfortunately (riv) BUT blaseball was an absurdist baseball sim that u watched in ur browser, basically like if fantasy football was simultaneously massively multiplayer AND an ARG and also completely fucking insane. it was the best because it ran at all hours of the day and was so so fucking insane and spawned a LOT of memes and fanworks especially art and music! one of the best fan communities for fan music that has maybe ever existed if not The best. ur experience of it was largely filtered thru the team u followed (mine was the hawaiʻi fridays)

here are some blaseball sites for u

blaseball roundups from the youtube, i would recommend starting here itll give u the cliff notes And the vibe. these were done in character, the anchor is a guy who exists in the blaseball universe, also later on they started to be Plot

sibr faq <- this will probably be more helpful but do the roundups first because itll throw u into the lore (and while im at it heres sibr aka the society for internet blaseball research but most of that will. probably be unintelligible. when stuff makes no sense consult the wiki. or ask a fan)

the wiki, where u can read about history and the players and teams and such

BEFORE <- this is where you can still to this day watch old games!!! i love u so much before thank you sibr for allowing me to relive the beautiful game that we are all love (sobbing crying throwing up)

the garages bandcamp <- by far the largest of the fan bands (though there was also the park park rangers and the hades tigers and the los angeli juxebox) there is so much music on here. the majority of it was made in the span of like a year and a half. i got music on there! i recommend starting with away games or blattle of the blands or reunion tour or one of the world tours, they have the widest variety of vibes and will help u learn about most of the teams (im not biased <- guy who has a couple songs in there)

theres also sites like reblase and blaseball-reference and such but those are just catalogues of old data i wouldnt think youd want to trawl thru those as much. theyre probably accessible via sibr anyway

also frankly just ask fans to tell you stories, go in the tag on here and just go in random peoples inboxes. youll pull up some fantastic stuff that way. blaseball was so active and alive and changing and no two people had the exact same experience of it. and god there will always be stories. we will always be telling stories

rest in violence blaseball. i will always love you and i will always miss you and it will never stop

[aftonfamilyvalues]

how women on here are reacting to the boxing situation is the final straw for me with radblr tbh.

like imagine this scenario for a second: people are making false claims about you that you not only can easily disprove with a simple, uninvasive test, but you've ALREADY DONE said test in the past so you'd just need to ask them to publish the results. you can debunk these claims with the same amount of effort required to push a button.

but you don't. you have Literally The Easiest Option In The World to prove you're right and you don't do it.

and yet because women have created their own OC for this guy in their heads who is a female with androgen issues they'd rather defend their self-made blorbo as a way to peacock about how "yes all women" and/or "not racist" they are than do 2 seconds of research and critical thinking to realize "hey maybe this situation that fits literally all the criteria for the dude being a male, including the fact that he's been previously disqualified from competing in the women's league TWICE yet shows up for the Female Olympics anyway, means he's actually just a liar and cheater"

i'm open to having some sympathy for him if his parents (tried to*) raise him as a girl but like. he's a fucking adult. he took a sex test. he knows who he is now. he's making his own decisions. one of these decisions is choosing to hide who he is.

*idc how misogynistic his parents are in believing "no vagina??? but no penis. no penis = female. because female = non-male.", if they knew he had a male-specific dsd that coloured how they raised and treated him, even if they tried to hide it. the act itself of hiding it from him and trying not to raise him that way makes their treatment of him already inherently different from how they'd raise him if he were actually female.

link here

im going to try to go about this in the most respectful way possible.

i cant say i agree with everything youre saying here. theres still a lot of misinformation about this and i cant say a slatz tweet is very satisfying for me given the racist and homophobic things ive seen from her. but, if what you say is true, that this boxer is an intersex male who was assigned female at birth, i think its completely unfair to treat her entirely as a man. the community tends to regard itself as a place for intersex women too, those with this particular dsd were not spared misogyny just because they unknowingly had xy chromosomes. learning they are biologically male with a dsd doesnt mean they have a desire to completely restructure their lives and identity around being men, i think thats kind of insane to expect.

that being said, i think there needs to be a reevaluation of fairness in sports and how intersex people fall into it. what advantages or disadvantages do intersex women carrying a y chromosome have over those that dont? what male charactistics (bone density, for example) still exist in these women? do they pose a danger to other women in their sport? what about other intersex conditions? at what point does it become unfair? unfortunately it could lead to their exclusion, and if that happens will there be another place for them? theres a lot to consider and things will have to change as we learn more. its not really a black and white situation in my opinion.

[moonshynecybin]

what would you consider essential marc and rosquez watching? i don’t mean races but the stuff happening around it, there seems to be so much and idk where to start 😭

BIG ass question. i think it depends what you want outta this and how you best interact with content slash consume information. for me (not to brag but. winner of multiple historical essay writing competitions in high school. for context on the kind of freak i am bringing to the table here.) the research is kind of the fun part ! like i just started googling shit! i would go to inactive blogs and just search 'marquez' on them to see what would happen ! a lot of the times that works ! but it also takes a lotttt of time lol so i'll chuck some good resources your way, why not...

okay im not sure how basic we're talkin here but um. background. so the documentaries are, i think. the best place to start. theyre entertaining and offer a good amalgamation of clips to provide context for the actual racing. and like i know you de-emphasized racing (which is fine lol who cares) but it really is like the most important thing in the world to these fools and its a pretty visual sport so i think its at least helpful. like yes sepang IS about the press conference, but its also about the conversation they have ON the race track using their motorcycles. which is also somewhat a conversation that they HAVE been having all year long...

i'd start with hitting the apex (2013), its a GREAT introduction to the "characters" that does a lot of legwork to contextualize everything. lays the scene for where vale is at coming into his relationship with marc (both personally, wrt to marco simoncelli, and career-wise concerning his flop at ducati), and also how insane marc's whole deal is in general. the second half is. materially a study on what him entering the premiere class did to the sport as a whole. the introductory chapter in many respects

marc marquez: all in. MY introduction and blissfully free online. marc comma in his own words, with all the implications of that. a self-produced documentary where he is giving feedback about the edit of said documentary straight to camera and no less vulnerable because of it which is very marc imo. revealing both intentionally AND unintentionally about his whole deal with injury, vale, and his image.

motogp unlimited. im gonna be real kind of boring. like i would still watch it ! but do it kind of later, once you know the major players so youre automatically more invested. it doesnt really give you more than marc says himself in all in tbh, and i get the sense him and vale were NAWWWT interested in doing more than the bare minimum for it.

marc's rookie doc. free and subtitled on the youtubes. the first half of this is deadass just him wanting to fuck vale so bad while every comment from vale has me saying GIRL. out loud because the foreshadowing would be genuinely shocking if this was fiction. anyways the laguna seca of it all....

next i would hit up PODCASTS ! i think it makes sense after the documentaries, because these are all podcasts that arent strictly about rosquez (even if they are in many ways the main characters lmao) and personally it helps to put faces to lesser known names that might pop up before i listen to a purely audio product and get lost in the soup of sounds. the paddock pass podcast has two retrospective episodes about the 2015 season that are really good at context, oxley bom pod has a fun recent episode on valentino that i love, again just poke around a lil

videos. these guys have never filmed a lot of content together tragically. what i wouldnt give for someone to make them do an escape room. anyways ranch visit HERE (post explaining the ranch visit here). sepang presscon (sowwy) here. vale unhinged podcast interview the month after marc's documentary came out here. vale retirement interview where he gets asked about marc here. vale talking about asking marc to the ranch here. vale postrace at argentina 2018 here. UCCIO postrace at argentina 2018 here. theres a lot moreeeee just go on my blog archive and filter for rosquez and vids its easier lol

journalism. hello. okay so you should genuinely spend some time reading through mat oxley's stuff he can write (theres a paywall but you can run that shit through wayback machine). he also loves an insane comparison which i do enjoy.... again this is one that can be solved by googling his name and tacking on 'marquez' or 'rossi' or a specific time period or race it will probably reap some dividends. in terms of specific ass articles this one is kind of load bearing in terms of sepang and some of the interpersonal competitive tensions at play. that being said there are manyyyyyy crazy interviews and snippents of articles from other journos floating around motogp tumblr (like literally too many to link) adn its fun to dig around to find them, but mat oxley gets a shoutout because i was reading this article TODAY !

other content. honestly one of the best resources I'VE found for plotting out the arc of their relationship is @kingofthering's everyrosquezpodium series. you can REALLY see it play out lol. also her tagging system rules she very neatly lays out years and races... so if something jumps out at you, CLICK ITTTT ! also all of @ricciardoes fave presscon moments series. insane.

all this to say a small little rpf fandom like this rewards some digging! i would just recommend following narrative threads that interest you ! its also a small fanbase that is pretty research oriented, so if youre ever confused about somethin, just shoot an ask or run a search on someone's blog (@kwisatzworld has endless vale resources and @batsplat is one of the most thorough researchers ive ever seen, for example) like for real theres so much... i also have a primer that i made forever ago that has some links on it so you can peruse that if you so wish. but frankly a lot of it is just using those research muscles and being sufficiently deranged enough to be screenshotting reddit threads at one am so you can post them to tumblr because they mentioned marc and vale in the same sentence and that lit up some of the neurons in your brain

(and i know you said outside of races but i think theyre good benchmarks as turning points soooo you should do some diggin on laguna seca 2013, jerez 2015, argentina 2015, ASSEN 2015, sepang 2015 obvi, argentina 2018, and misano 2019. those are the big tentpoles of insane rosquez relationship drama imo. i mean theres many more but. im limiting myself.)

[samkerrworshipper]

the call up

leah williamson x reader

please keep sending requests in i need some fuel!

angst, panic attacks, pain, mentions of abuse of power, mentions of abuse, a short 4000 words im posting this at 2am so sorry for any typos or little things i might have missed x

my heart breaks for the espwnt as they navigate their current situation and i’ve been thinking a lot about it so here’s this little fic ❤️

blurb: you got the news notification, not a text, not a call, a fucking new notification that had broken your heart into a million different pieces

———————————————————————

I was consciously ignoring the sound of furious knocking against the bathroom door, but not on purpose. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, I’d felt that way ever since I’d gotten the news notification and then the follow up text from Alexia asking if I was okay. No I wasn’t okay, but I’d told her I was fine anyway. It was a blur to me what had happened after that, I’d thrown my phone at a wall, knowing that my phone was probably 30 seconds off of lighting up furiously with more notifications. How could they do this to us? How could they do it to me? After that I’d stumbled my way into my ensuite, finding it hard to see properly with the tears that were crowding my eyes. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think beyond the thought of how this was actually happening.

I’d staggered my way into the shower, cranking the water to its highest point and sitting myself down on the floor. I was bawling my eyes out but I couldn’t really feel it, all I felt was numbness, overwhelmingly numb. The shower water was boiling hot but the searing liquid felt perfect against my skin, it did wonders to comfort the iciness inside of me. It also drowned out the neverending sound of me sobbing furiously into my own skin. I was still wearing my clothes, still dressed in the same t-shirt and shorts that I’d been wearing when I’d gotten the notification. I was scratching furiously at my legs, seeking out the relief that the mixture of pain and burning gave me.

How was this the world that we were living in? How was it that in the current world that we lived in I didn’t even have a basic human right? I was a sobbing, trembling mess just thinking about it all.

How was I supposed to go there and pretend that everything was fine, that I didn’t want to claw my throat out just at the thought of being in the presence of some of those people. It was insanity, pure insanity. I was a fucking world champion, one of the best players in the world and yet here I was, back to square one. What was the point in us even signing a treaty if they were just going to flat out ignore it anyways. It made me sick to my stomach, in what world was this okay, in what world was this how we lived?

Leah would probably hate me, hate me for being ungrateful for the opportunity, hate me for not taking a chance to play when she couldn’t. I was being fucking childish, it shouldn’t have been that big of a deal, shouldn’t have been that upsetting. I was being given the opportunity to play the sport I loved for my country, so why did everything about it feel so wrong? Why couldn’t I find a part of my heart that was happy that I’d been called up, happy about the prospect of playing for my country. I should have been happy, should have been excited, should have been bewildered that they were asking for me to come back even after I’d told the press about all the abuse, it was a miracle really. My heart went out to Mapi, my best friend who I knew would be absolutely devastated that she’d been called up, she’d rejected a call-up to the world cup because of her views and now that was invalidated, everything she’d stood for was going out the window, much like the rest of us.

It was the knocking that brought me out of my spiral, it was non-stop, loud and furious.

“Y/n, I’m coming in sweetheart.”

It was Leah’s voice, both so gentle and stern at the same time. I didn’t take my head out of my knees as I heard the door to our ensuite open, I must have forgotten to lock it in the flurry of emotions that had gotten me to the shower floor. I heard Leah step cautiously into the room, probably taking in her surroundings and the state I was in. Then I heard the door to the shower opening and I couldn’t help but pull my head out of the spot in between my legs to look at her. She looked flustered, her hair and clothes dishevelled and nothing like what they’d looked like when she’d left this morning to take our dogs on a walk and meet up with Keira for coffee.

“Oh darling.”

I knew I probably looked like a mess, mascara smudged all over my red eyes. She reached out to comfort me but immediately recoiled when her skin made contact with the water, letting out a string of profanities towards the water,

“Fuck, you’re burning yourself,” She said, her eyes flashing with fear as she reached towards the temperature dial, immediately turning it down to a more luke warm temperature.

“No, I need to feel clean,” I reached up to turn the water controls back to my previous temperature btu Leah’s hand stopped me, her hands gently gathering my own in hers.

“You are clean y/n,” Her voice was a mere whisper, her voice hoarse as she hurriedly slipped off her shirt and shorts before climbing into the shower with me, just left in her sports bra and boxer shorts.

“Dirty,” I choked out, flinching away from her as she snaked an arm around my body.

“You are not dirty y/n/n,” her voice was stern, she was speaking to me with the intention to get past my internalised barriers that were trying to block her out, trying to block out her attempts to convince me that my self deprecating thoughts were wrong.

As soon as she noticed my hands falling down to my legs to continue scratching at them to get some release she put a stop to it, her own hands intertwining with mine and bringing them to her chest.

“I know there are a lot of twisted thoughts going through your head right now sweetheart, I know that this whole situation is so fucked up, beyond it being okay but I’m here for you.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe, like every breath that I was taking in was lacking in oxygen and everything I needed to be able to fucking breathe.

“How can they do this? How can they make us do this?”

Leah just shook her head at me, because we both knew she didn’t have an answer, that as much as I leaned on her to give me an answer for everything she just couldn’t in this situation.

“I don’t know.”

Her words were rocky, splotchy, it reflected everything that I was feeling in that moment.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m being ungrateful, I mean you can’t even play and I’m sitting her complaining about the fact I’m being given the opportunity to play,”

“You aren’t being given an opportunity, you are being forced to play. You are allowed to be annoyed about that, it’s not being ungrateful. We live in a world where as women we are supposed to be grateful about every single fucking opportunity we are given but this isn’t a opportunity my love, it’s fucking abuse, especially after what those men did to you.”

I shivered at Leah’s words, just thinking about everything that I’d given to that team just to be fucking abused and assaulted, it had taken so much therapy for me to acknowledge that it had been abuse, that it hadn’t been deserved, that I deserved better.

“I can’t go back, I can’t do it,” Leah nodded at me, pressing her lips to my forehead under the spray of the shower and nodding against my skin.

“That’s okay, we’ll sort it out, I’ll call Ale and we’ll figure it out. If you don’t want to go you don’t have to, we can't risk your mental health for fucking soccer.”

“They’ll take my licence, they’ll fine me, I’ll never be allowed back, they’ll find a way to invalidate my passport and I’ll never get to see my family again,”

“That’s a bridge we can cross, we’ll figure it out, what matters most is that you are okay.”

I didn’t feel okay, I felt like I was tearing at the seams, like seeing that news notification pop up on my screen as I’d been catching up on the most recent episode of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills was probably the worst moment of my life.

“You do feel safe, y/n?”

I shook my head, burying deep into Leah’s neck, trying to get as far away from the world as I could.

“I love you y/n, I will never stop loving you, no matter what happens, you are stuck with me, so even if thats hard to believe I need you to know that, I need you to think about that. Let’s get you out of the shower, yeah?”

She was right, I didn’t believe her. I kept my cheek pressed into her neck as she lifted me up off of the floor and out of the shower, stripping off my layers and wrapping me in a towel, I refused to face her though, refused to look into those eyes.

“Can I carry you?” Her voice was so hesitant and before I could gather my thoughts, the ones that told me to push Leah away I found myself nodding.

She engulfed me in her arms so quickly it was as if she knew I was on the cusp of changing my mind, I still hadn’t stopped crying, my sobs had just quietened down into numb, soundless tears that somehow burned my cheeks as they dripped down my skin. My chest pressed against her own as she lifted me up and walked us into our room, our bedroom. I squeezed my eyes, trying my hardest to ignore how perfect it felt in that moment to be pressed against her, to be in her arms, how perfect it felt to be held by her.

She gently placed me down on our bed and I tried my hardest not to whimper at the loss of contact, she dashed off into our wardrobe, stumbling around in there for a few seconds before returning with a fresh matching bra and boxer set on herself and a sports bra and pair of boxer shorts for me. I didn’t even flinch as she pulled the items of clothing over my body, just went limp in her arms. Once she was done dressing me she climbed onto the bed beside me.

“Can I hold you?”

I nodded at her with tears in my eyes and she’d immediately wrapped both of her arms around me. She rested herself against the head of the bed and brought me into her lap so my back was pressed against her chest, it was the skin to skin contact that made me start to sob unapologetically and furiously. Leah was quick to tighten her grip on me and start to rock me back and forth in her arms.

“I’m so sorry this is happening to you sweetheart, I’ll do anything I can to fix it.”

Leah was a problem solver, furiously dedicated to helping out anyone that she could. In this instance though I couldn’t find anything that she could actually help with, what was there for her to do? No one could do anything, any effort, any attempt to try and make a change, for Jenni, for us all, was over.

“How am I supposed to go there and act all happy and grateful when all I want to do is tell them all fuck you, fuck you for doing this to me, fuck you for condoning the abuse for years, fuck you for covering it all up.”

My words came out in hiccups between the sobs, Leah waited for a few minutes before answering me, it got to the point where I was worried she wasn’t going to answer me at all.

“If you don’t want to stay and play you won’t have to, it’s against your rights and the FIFA code says so, fuck there bullshit law that says you have to go. We’ll talk with our lawyers, talk with Ale and Mapi and we’ll find a solution. If they make you play then you can sit on the field, you can fake an injury, get yourself red carded. We’ll find a solution, we’ll work it out.”

Everything Leah said made sense but it also didn’t, how was I supposed to go there, how was I supposed to walk in a building and try and reason with people I was terrified of, people that I now needed anti anxiety medication for, people that had given me years of trauma and PTSD.

It was then that we were both shaken by a furious banging from our front door, my mind went to the worst place possible. What if it was reporters, or people from fifa, or people from the Spanish federation? What if they’d come to take me, what if they were already here to take my licence or take me to jail?”

Leah sensed my distress and slid herself out from behind me.

“I’ll go take a look, stay here, it’ll be fine.”

Even her voice was unsure, like she didn’t even know if it was actually okay. She darted out of our room, I heard her thudding down the stairs and then making it to our front door. I heard her open it, which indicated to me it had to be someone we knew because if it was someone she didn’t want to see she would have looked through the peephole and left them. I heard the hushed voices of two people, maybe? Then the furiously fast footsteps of an amount of people I couldn’t make out. Within a few second though all was revealed to me as Alexia, Mapi, Lucy and Keira bursted into my room, Leah chasing after them. One look at them all had me sobbing again. Alexia and Mapi were quick to jump onto the bed beside me, I noticed the the tear tracks that were painting Mapi’s face as well and the red rims around her eyes. Mapi was my best friend in the entire world, we’d played with each other since we were kids. Alexia was like my older sister, she’d taken me under my wing as soon as I’d joined Barca as a rookie and she’d treated me like her own ever since. The two women meant more to me than anybody else, bar Leah and I knew that they both knew how much this would be tearing me up.

“How can they do this to us? After everything they’ve done?”

“Lo se mi amor, lo siento mucho.” (I know my love, I’m so sorry)

Ale’s voice didn’t do much to comfort me, if anything her familiar words that were spoken in our mother tongue just made it all pour out of me more.

The two english women in the room were lead out by Leah, the three of them sensing that this was a moment that us Spaniards needed to have on our own.

“No puedo hacerlo Ale lo siento pero no puedo hacerlo.” (I can’t do it Ale, I’m so sorry but I can’t do it.)

“It’s okay Mi amor, I understand. We are going to sort it out for you and Mapi, we’ll figure it out, you don’t have to be there if you don’t want to, they can’t force you.”

“Can’t they?”

It was the first time Mapi had gotten a word into the conversation and Alexia’s eyes immediately met hers in a glare, she was trying to stop me from working myself up even further and Mapi’s words weren’t helping.

“No they can’t María, we’ll work it out, I’ll sort it out for my girls, I’ll keep you protected, te prometo que.” (I promise you)

“You can’t make that promise, you didn’t protect us last time.”

The tension between the two was thickening and it was making me feel even smaller.

“I can try my hardest, last time it was different and you know it, this time we have an audience, we have people that we can trust to help us, we don’t have to be scared anymore, I am going to protect you, lo juro.”

I pressed myself further into Ale’s arms, finding solace and comfort in the older woman's arms.

“I’m scared, Ale.”

I felt Ale’s head nod against my own from its position balancing on top of mine, her head burrowing into my semi wet hair that Leah had partly dried with a towel.

“I know pequeño, you have every right to be scared, but I’ll keep you safe and if you want to go home after we negotiate with them then you can, no one is going to make you play.”

I nodded into Ale’s body, searching for Mapi’s hand and when I found it tangling it in my own, finding warmth and steadiness in her hand.

I could feel my body relaxing into Ale’s, the emotions of the last hour starting to hit me and affect my energy level.

“Go to sleep, cariño, rest, you need it.”

I’d nodded sleepily into Alexia’s body and let myself relax fully against her, letting all of the stress, fear and anxieties leave my body as the feeling of sleep started to overcome my senses.

When I woke up it was no longer light outside. I shot up in bed, realising I was alone and immediately clutching at my chest as I felt the anxiety overcome my body, I’d been deserted, because of my stupid fears about being called up, I deserved it, I was so weak, so stupid, so fucking unworthy of love and attention. It all came crashing down on me, like a massive wave, all of the feelings crashing down on top of me in an overwhelming cascade. I was gasping for air, frantically clawing the sheets of the bed off of my body, suddenly feeling overwhelmed, overheated and sweaty. I’d left a cold sweat patch on our bed sheets but it didn’t really bother me, I was so hot and it was so hard to breathe and I just couldn’t think.

The next thing I knew Leah was walking into our room with a cup of tea that she’d almost immediately dropped when her eyes had met mine, forgetting the cup and liquid and jumping directly onto the bed, her mind immediately reeling.

“Y/n/n, you're having a panic attack, I need you to breathe for me, how we’ve practised, you’re going to be okay, take some deep breaths for me.”

I’d gulped and nodded at Leah, we had practised it quite a bit, it didn’t make it any easier when this happened but it did reassure me that I knew how to do it.

Her hand had almost immediately found its way to my hunched over back, rubbing circles into the muscles along my back as I struggled to take in any oxygen.

“You’ve got it my love, deep breaths, in and out, it’s going to be okay, I’m right here.”

Leah’s voice was so soft, so comforting, like it was made of cotton and teddy bear fur.

“I thought I was alone and I-I thought you’d left me.”

My voice was so unsteady, so unlike me.

“I’m never leaving you honey, not if I can help it, I’m here for you, always by your side.”

She solidified her statement by pressing a gentle kiss to the side of my temple, I relaxed my scrunched up face against her mouth, trying to enjoy the feeling of it as much as possible.

“Good girl, keep taking those deep breaths for me, you're doing so well mi amor.”

Leah knew very little Spanish, I’d tried my hardest to teach her some, especially when she’d stayed with me in Barca but it just never stuck, she didn’t practise enough for it to stick, not that I minded, my mum was english so I’d spoken both since I was a child, my English was just as good as my Spanish so it wasn’t hard for me to converse with my partner.

Leah’s voice kept rubbing against my back, helping to guide me back down to earth from the panic induced cloud that I’d sent myself to. When I did finally come back down I started to take in my surroundings, the damp sheet below me, Leah’s breath against my neck, our dog and cat sitting on the edge of our bed, cuddled up together asleep.

“Hey angel, you back with me?”

Her voice was so gentle, so patient. Leah’s hand found its way to my face, brushing the loose brunette strands from my face and pushing them behind my ear. I felt shameful, I couldn’t handle looking into those eyes, those eyes that held a world's worth of care in them, the eyes that I knew could break me down into tears on their own accord.

“M’ sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

Her reassurance was what I needed, I craved that reassurance, craved her approval.

“I just want this all to go away, I just want to be able to me be, just live how I want to.”

Leah pushed herself back against our pillows and pulled me with her, wrapping her arms around me and bringing me to her chest, her lips fell to my forehead out of habit, it was one of her favourite things to do, I loved the connection.

“You can be you, you are allowed to be upset about this, there is nothing wrong about being angry about what is happening to you.”

I let my head find a nook in Leah’s body and relax into it properly, finding so much peace in her.

“I just want this to all be over, better yet, never have happened.”

“Fair enough, you’ve dealt with enough bullshit to last you the rest of your life, you are allowed to be angry about that, anything you feel is valid, your life has been turned upside down by a bunch of old white men who don’t care about anybody besides themselves and it sucks, it sucks that most of the men in power across our world are the same and that we can’t really do anything to change that. I’m here for you though, so is Ale and Mapi and everyone else that cares about you. It sucks, but that's what we have and maybe it’s enough, maybe it’s all we really need.”

I nodded along with Leah’s words, she was so wise, so smart considering her age. It was one of the things I admired her so much for, how she knew so much but was also prepared to educate herself on something that she wasn’t sure about. She was always wanting to be better, to learn more, it was jarring for me when I’d met her, having come from a very traditional family and set of views.

“Go back to sleep my love, we’ll work this all out in the morning, I promise.”

“Pinky swear?”

She’d rolled her eyes at me but nodded regardlessly, knowing that if she didn’t my anxieties would creep up and I’d probably send myself into another fit.

“I pinky swear.”

[prettyboykatsuki]

can i ask what is deeply wrong about megumi that makes him an example of normal guy with something super wrong with him

its making me laugh so badly that you ask about megumi and not isagi. like fdkjsdkl. isagi the sports guy somehow makes sense its just making me giggle a bit

but its mostly a vibe thing about megumi. like. megumi tends to act really apathetic and detached but he actually just tends to repress himself. i think he suffers a lot of genuine fear about the cost of something mattering too much and his way of dealing with that tends to be self-sacrificial or outright insane. to me he's kind of always hanging on by a thread. he also is a zenin so there's something wrong with him in his blood im afraid

megumi is a good boyfriend and one of my favorite characters. and there's nothing like outwardly wrong with him but he just gets. so intense with you sometimes. and it's rare but when you catch it, i think you get so struck by the feeling of it you feel a little nauseous by the end. its too subtle to be yandere really but you get the feeling something very horrible would occur if you were in any real mortal peril because someones carelessness. you know

[sleepyheadgallavich]

weekly tag wednesday thursday lol

tagged by the lovely @mybrainismelted @deedala and @vintagelacerosette

How did you get into the fandom? 

funnily enough technically because of my previous hyperfixation with the One Chicago tv series, specifically Chicago Fire actor Taylor Kinney lol. The show was going on a mid season break and I was like well I dont want to blow through what I need to catch up on but I want to wach said actor and I saw he was in 2 eps of s2 of shameless so I watched, laughed my ass off and decided to start it from the beginning immediately. Then became infatuated with gallavich surprise surprise.

How long have you been here?

on this blog, only a couple months, i had a lot of time off of tumblr but originally I joined around 2011 ish i think

What’s the first fandom channel you found? (Youtube, Reddit, Tumblr, Insta, Twitter, FB, other?)

I mean i had been seeing shit pop up in the algorithm on tiktok long before I got hooked, but like probably gallavich scenes on YT

what’s your favourite now? 

tumblr and discord for sure

Which mutual have you known the longest in the fandom?

oooh thats a tie actually! I started interacting with both of them at the same time lol @iansw0rld and @mickittotheman

Which tumblerino’s did you have your first fandom crush(es) on and want to get to know?

@mickittotheman again lmfao theyre such a cutie little bean i love them so much bitesyoubitesyoubitesyou

First Gallavich fan fic you read (or that blew you away that you remember)

screaming at the top of my lungs The Menagerie by @crossmydna

it wasnt the first story i read, but it was the first one that sank its teeth into me and made me absolutely insane. It made me love slow burn, so beautifully balanced, perfectly detailed. Amazing read I can NOT recommend it enough.

First Fan art that blew your mind? 

all fanart blows me away yall are so tallented its fucking insane. but the one that made my brain go brrrrrrrrrrrr was THIS one by Mechy aka @mickittotheman. but also I love @steorie, @doshiart @heymrspatel and @deedala your art always makes me go insane i love you all thank you for blessing my eyeballs

Fanfic trope that you were sure wasn’t for you but now you low key (or high key) love?

slow burn and college/sports AU's also sex worker of varying degree but specifically Headphones Encouraged by @whatthebodygraspsnot

What surprised you most about this fandom?

how fucking nice, and accepting everyone is! entering into a fandom, especially when there is no new canon content was scary but every single person i have come across has been incredibly lovely, and a few of them hold a very dear place in my heart for helping me through my self journey (@transsexual-dandelions looking at you i love you forever)

Moment in the show (or YT vids if you’re one of those) that you fell in hyperfixation with Gallavich?

oh literally instantly mickeys intro and interactions hooked me into their world immediately

Ian or Mickey?

okay first of all how dare you. this is impossible. i refuse

Which Gallagher or Milkovich are you? 

im mickey 100% lmfao love that for me

not tagging more people as im late to this anyway but if you see this and want to then i tagged you okay love you all byeeeeeeeeee

[penaltyboxboxbox]

ab the ferrari suits, there are a few things I'd change like the little square around the shell logo and the saturation of hp (what could they have done realistically lbr that's a title sponsor) but I??? Like it?? I think the dedication to the engineers is cute?? And the kits honestly ate idc same w the trophy

I really like the traditional trophies but sometimes trying smth different it works out and sometimes it doesn't (zandvoort sorry some of the messages were nice but overalllll ehhhhh)

at the end it's just personal preference but I do think it's getting disproportionate hatery

imo they could come out in actual trash, but if the car is fast I'll take it

literally i get people hate logos but they need to move on from it because at the end of the day sponsor logo readability and adherence to brand standard will always come first...like they are Not Allowed to display sponsor logos in "incorrect" ways its just part of what they agree to when they bring on a sponsor and that means bright blue hp and shell being displayed on a solid color bg. i actually think they managed very well with shell by putting it in the yellow square, it fits in very modularly and reads well into the overall concept w using yellow as the dominant color there...like they couldve just slapped it on a white square like some other teams are stuck doing for their sponsor logos cmon..theyre overall really lucky to have so many sponsors who DO allow them to display their logos in a color like yellow that is most certainly not in their brand guidelines. personally i think that alone speaks to how well these sponsors view ferrari as a brand and a partner, its like kind of insane to imagine a huge company ALLOWING the recoloring of their logo like that, easily they couldve been required to keep every sleeve logo white or something..

I think we are way too harsh on ferrari when they are LITERALLY the only team that even tries to do anything interesting with race suits and has pretty consistently given us a bunch of different designs. and not even just recolors!! new designs! its great and i wish more teams would take the risk, it makes it a lot of fun. I think the hate on the carbon fiber look is lame, its a pattern thats so quintessentially racecar, i think the sleeve on the jerseys looks great and very fashionable. and I think the race suits are FUN i think they feel kind of old school and are very striking, they almost remind me of like a subtle jockey silk. i already love the vintage racing stripes feel of the regular suits this year, and i think the yellow striping + the pattern looks great and is really bold and refreshing. so much fucking better than a boring ass black race suit. try thinking about sports gear as something meant to be eye catching, iconic, memorable, collectible, and not just like. idk...sexy for an aesthetic post...idk

dont get me started on trophies, i really do view the trophies, especially ones by contemporary artists, as just that. contemporary art. and while im all good w people having their opinions and having discussions on that art, i hate how often it turns into just like. the tired old takes of Modern Art Bad, Classical Art Good. i actually really loved the zandvoort trophies lookswise, the sentiments written were a little eh, but i thought it was a great way to refresh the trophies, a very cool technique used, and a great way to get people talking! I love the monza trophies, as I said, i think theyre really beautiful n compelling sculptures...

i just think generally a lot of people do in fact have narrower vision if what they believe is "good art" than even they think they do, and i think a majority of people completely misunderstand sports design and just don't like seeing things that are different/not sexy 🤷‍♂️

[thearchercore]

the f1 fanbase on twitter is soooo much for me. if its not about how max is only winning cause he has the fastest car its about how charles <<< carlos (both talented but its so obvious charles is more consistent. i wont lie that carlos has been doing good this season). going back to max both new and old fans dont understand yes, you need a fast car to win but its not just the car but also the driver. like imagine driving an alpine and thinking you have a chance at winning a WDC. when lewis had a fast car he dominated but now when he doesn't have the dominating car people flip their switch and say oh its all in the driver not the car. people especially forget that max and lewis were neck and neck even after all the dnfs and lewis obviously had the faster car in 2021. saying f1 is boring because the same person wins obviously don't watch the races. who cares about the +20sec?? it just shows how flawless max is with a good car when his teammate has the same car (adding to this people need to stop the checo hate, man is doing amazing)

Im just so frustrated with the whole charles and whole rb domination thing. stop putting charles and carlos against each other, stop putting down rb team's talents and saying its just the car. they especially have good chemistry and strategies which i think played a lot more than just the car in the 2023 season. like imagine calling someone washed and proceeding to pray on a dnf and proceed to be happy with a race that resulted in the same thing but different winner.

i just want a Lesteppan podium is that hard to ask for. im so sorry for my long rant i just had to get it off LOL. forgive me for all my grammatical errors

one thing about f1 twitter - it's the best place to get news asap. it's objectively the best platform re: wheel knowledge HOWEVER, it does have individuals who are incredibly biased and are not afraid to fight over absolute nonsense just today we got:

carlos stans calling a ferrari update account "charles biased" because they posted a child saying his favourite f1 driver is charles and not carlos

the stans then managed to talk badly about the child who said he's a charles fan???

and then to top it off the sainz gang backed up the sky sports presenter who claimed charles is "depressed and emotional this week" because the presenter has a long career in motorsport so he HAS to know what he's talking about.

these discourses are just absolutely insane, and the ferrari renewal situation made it worse so if you don't feel like it, just don't go there lmao. but it does give you valuable info.

also the hate max gets is also insane, i'm proud of his domination but their absolute disgust in his every achievement is just questionable.

i recommend filtering your media consumption by just doing tumblr if it upsets you because here you can be more careful in who you follow.

[candiedspit]

hi ! we haven’t talked in forever, but i’ve always seen you as an amazing genius/role model/very intelligent woman who has so much figured out and i think about you lots. im turning 20 soon and don’t know how to deal with it. it feels like it’s so much older and so different than 19 :( i loved being 19, innocent and still a kid. i don’t wanna be 20. how did you deal with it?

hello!! i wonder who you are...thank you so much. so, i don't have much advice because as i'm about to turn 25, i feel the same. but i wrote a letter to my brother's girlfriend when she was about to turn 20 and maybe some of that will resonate with you. i wrote:

I recall twenty as the burn victim summons the scent of gasoline as she lays in the white, stale hospital bed; caught in her cot. There she was, naked in the driveway—half drunk on monk chants, lit by the green blinking fireflies of desire which seemed to feed on her running blood, all those hands—as the brutish sun began to descend like a bomb on the horizon. All of a sudden, an ambush of light. How the heat numbed her down to only her elements; rendered her translucent.

I turned twenty in the bathroom of a poetry club downtown—slashes of graffiti on the walls, and a dirty toilet. I was still a virgin, then. I knew as much about the world as an infant is capable of registering noise. But twenty was a glittering mirage in my eye. I had plans. I was going to rule the world, inch by disgusting inch.

But as February—that pink month in which I still found Valentine’s Cards on the street discarded like banana peels even days after the holiday—came to a shut, I began to expand.

I walked on rooftops; drank when I could. I sat in class engrossed by what I perceived to be a shifting painting of snakes.

I panted in the streets. I had many visions. I went to my aunt’s house—afraid of what I might do, afraid of the animal I was sharing a cage with—and stole my uncle’s pills from the plastic container on the counter, not caring what they were or what they could do to me. I was hospitalized the next morning, convinced the nurse had x-ray vision. I lost my mind. I was not afraid.

I did my time on the psycho wing—meddled with the characters—a girl sporting a large bruise beneath her eyes—sent out enchanted emails—watched Molly at the piano—ate spaghetti with spoons made out of paper—a nurse at the end of my bed as I slept— the quiet room—I took the pills.

A lifetime can be spent chasing. And even then, you are never promised the catch.

After funeral, I spent the summer wading in and out of insanity—carrying my black trenchcoat of grief—daring the world to fuck with me—swimming in the muddied waters of Galveston, drunk on gin and breath and salt—thrashing in front of the mirror—having epiphanies as one has meals—cutting my hair again and again—I could never lose myself—I always followed—being wheeled around in the theme park—a thousand red lights—watching the ceiling breathe—words chasing their tails in my head—a halo of bleach.

And then, the crazy fluorescence stuck. For eight weeks, I moved through the world like a knife on fire. A cowboy coated in oil slick and magic.

Daniel Johnston died; I kept moving. Almost yanking the blunt out of a kid’s mouth simply because I could. Magical walks at night; the moon like a blooming anus above my exploding head. Going up and down the stairs between classes; blonde pig on amphetamine; Jesus in the Dunkin’ Donuts; whispers of legacy.

All this to say — there is a way to live.

Some people live through imagination; in fantasies, protected by spirits and smoke and powders. Others get through the days naked. How you decide to cross the ocean is up to you. But, some advice.

Life is a Holocaust as much as it is a fairground. Have fun while you can. Let the light melt into your skin and your hair. Ride the carousel. Ride it twice. Hold the music, stench, magic, and knowledge, between your teeth like a bullet. Take note of everything you see. All of it matters. The man holding a cake in the line at the grocery store. The newspapers on the cart. Neon lights! How the skies dissolve each night and bleed out each morning. Cry if you have to. Do what makes you uncomfortable. Hold nothing against anyone. Brace. Being a teenager is nice but it is not real. This is the hard part. Life will come like a black stallion free from the gate and how you decide to wrangle it will become apparent very fast. Be scared. Be grateful. Be immune. You are going to make it. Brace.

[thenumber-e]

Wifeyyyyy! Tell me about Craig's sports Hobbies? Or Hobbies in general:3

ok feeling shitty rn so this’ll (hopefully) get my mind off of stuff

anyways oh boy there are SO many of these that i have this is gonna get long i think

starting off with sports, i feel like he’d be an active guy. not like gym bro buff craig kinda stuff you see, he’s definitely a lanky beanpole. but i feel like he does a few sports so has a bit of muscle

first off, basketball. i’m a truther for this one, i don’t see it a lot tho. like, i hc him as being pretty tall, and i don’t have much like canon advice to back this up but that and the fact that there’s a basketball in his garage in tsot- but i think it jus fits him tbh. and also because it’s funny, he’s a total fucking loser nerd, but since yk i’ve gotta stick to canon sometimes, he’s technically popular and attractive, he definitely has like a jock alter-ego or smth stupid like that LMAO

he definitely seems like a hockey guy. like- the enforcer is so him. he’d totally wanna beat people up just cus he can. also i think he’d be a really good skater- i think he’s a pretty well balanced person physically. also, i see kyle as doing hockey, and they’re definitely close. i just see them being friends making sense, so now theyll have a sport together. also- because im insane, ike does hockey too and kyle and craig help him practice

i believe i’ve seen this once, but yk. i always see boxer tweek and don’t get me wrong i love that, but i feel like craig would continue doing martial arts afterwards too. like he’s canonically a violent and angry guy, but he’s kinda mellowed out, and i feel like that’s him just holding it back or smth cus he gets in trouble alllll the time. tweek also probably scolds him for it. but i feel like it would be a good way for him to get out any extra emotions, because he is NOT good at expressing those. also, back onto lanky criag, he’s got long limbs, and i feel like that’s good for someone to do martial arts (trust me im projecting) also, that’s also why he has good balance i feel.

alright, done with sports, just normal hobbies.

starting off, he’s 100% a music guy. i see stuff about him preferring podcasts over music, but i see him as a total music guy. in @panicatthecourtx more recent posts, she kinda went over that stuff, but because yk, im the craig ceo i’ll go over it too. i call it dad rock cus thats what my dad listens to, but he definitely listens to nirvana, ac/dc, weezer, that kinda stuff. he’s just a nerd. but i feel like he’d also have music as a way to vent in some sort of way? idk if it makes sense this is just how my brain works, but when he’s stressed, overstimulated, or just down in the dumps he zones out and just listens to music. he’s also just a nerd

space, duh. he could go on and on about that shit for hours. he can make every constellation, am every galaxy, all the nebulas, and basically anything. especially black holes. they fascinate him, he finds them so interesting and yk. is a nerd about em. ik it doesn’t really tie in with space stuff but i’ll put it here, he definitely loves conspiracy theories, especially ones about aliens and stuff. he thinks of his own all the time. especially about other space related things. also, back to conspiracy, death absolutely fascinates him. he just want to know what happens after that.

this is a basic one, but sleeping. he’s the heaviest sleeper ever, literally sleeps 24 fuckin 7

he’ll never admit it, but he kinda likes school. not because he likes sitting around all day or listening to teachers drone on and on, it’s because usually he can talk about things. in classes he enjoys, it’s his favorite thing ever. i also see him as that one kid who literally never studies or pays attention and yet has all A’s in every class.

he’s 100% a reader. he can zone out and not lay attention to anything. he gets lost in books all the time and it’s so nerdy but he loves it. it’s almost like an escape from reality which he likes. he’d never admit it, but he frets stressed pretty easily so he enjoys the way to just be alone in his own world. this also ties in with the music hc- he probably listens to music while reading. he also just zones out a lot in general

this also kinda feeds into music headcanons but he skateboards. he just gives me 90s grunge/kurt cobain vibes and youll never change my mind on this. he thinks he’s so fuckin cool but he’s just some random ass lame kid but he gets away with it cus he’s mildly popular or whatever. but he definitely has a little mini skateboard for stripe

why do these headcanons keep feeding off of each other? i dont know but yk its ok. craig fucking loves mini things. it’s definitely iconic, cus my craig is really tall and has big ass hands. but small things remind him of tweek (my tweek is like 5’8 so compared to him yeah kinda short) but he’s just gay and loves anything and everything that reminds him of tweek

i’ve also realized i don’t need a really detailed description for everything so yeah uhh (don’t mind this it’s my train of thought)

he collects shit he has the most random stuff in his room. random lego pieces he found that he thought were cool, a shit tom of rocks, different leaves, little trinkets, anything space related, stickers, just stupid stuff. those are just the basics, but he has soooo much stuff

he loves making detailed lists and ordering them and stuff

going on hikes he loves hiking he just loves the outdoors tho

stargazing is a must. he loves it and has specific times and places for them

from like a singular scene in like on episode, he plays the fuckin violin cus he’s cool like that yk. because friends, he and wendy practice together- a friend headcanons that she plays the flute, so yk it works.

hanging out with friends is a must. especially clyde they have the bromance ever they’re so lovey dovey best friends

it’s like 2am and i’m getting lazy so here ya go this isn’t even half but alas it’s ok so have fun with my stupid ass spews ty for ur time

[quillkiller]

bartylus!! Thoughts?

they make me sick in the head.. sick i tell you.. but i’ve compiled a little collection of posts for you about them <3 + there’s a lot of stuff under my /bartylus tag!!

this is a fic im currently writing but honestly im writing it so slowly that im starting to doubt it’ll ever be posted. it’s loosely based on the orpheus and eurydice myth but darker. long story short barty brings him back after the cave and it changes nothing in the narrative. miserable <3

this is a poem by richard siken that drives me crazy and is also a huge inspiration for my bartylus opheus/eurydice au……. like: ”Okay, so I’m the dragon. Big deal. You still get to be the hero.” and ”You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back.” and ”The entire history of human desire takes about seventy minutes to tell. Unfortunately we don’t have that kind of time.” - but honestly. the entire poem makes me feel sick to my stomach about bartylus

bartylus moodboard i made a very long time ago….. when i was first getting into them….. i should really make another (better) one…..

and!!!! i read this bartylus microfic by @carniferous a while back which made me fucking choke. i hadn’t thought about bartylus in a while because i’ve been absolutely insane over over ships (bellucius, lurthur, maryjames, tl, etc…). like i genuinely had to lay down after reading it and i frequently go back to it still to reread it. ”you were hardly the first to ask,” ”i didn’t ask,” like are you JOKINGGTTTTGGG. i think about it sometimes randomly at work and my head starts spinning. genuinely insane. please follow dil and read their fics and microfics. insane insane insane

bartylus makes me insane. i used to be sort of anti bartylus as a ship ???? like it just didn’t make sense to me at all for a while and then something just. clicked. probably thanks to @stillagoodwitch…… my favorite version of them is canon bartylus i think. everythings miserable and awful, but they’re also just teenage boys at magical boarding school. like yeah, sirius said he hated regulus during winter break, but barty’s waiting for him at kings cross with a black eye from his father but he’s also sporting a huge grin when he sees reg. like.. they also had fun and that drives me fucking insane. they stay up late in the common room making each other laugh and everything else (everything that’s about to come) is just background noise. like…. they’re just boys.. despite everything….

[moonshynecybin]

Hi! I have been thinking about Marc and the ways he expresses his anger... giving the cold shoulder... the silent treatment if you will (he will speak ABOUT vale but not TO vale let alone WITH vale)... need your input please....

hmm good question.... this got. STUPID long sorry

uhhh marc is, in general, good at keeping his (negative) emotions in check. like i think marc loooooves to think of himself on track as a mature, controlled, and rational dude. above distraction. a killer. a cyborg. idk his dad has talked about how he doesnt really complain much about injury and there's also allll these stories about what a mature kid he was... so i think that when he was young - ESPECIALLY in a racing sense because he was so much younger than most of the people he was competing against - he internalized that in order to do all the stuff he wants to do racing-wise, he reallyyyy has to keep a level head and not well. act his age! and i think that extends to a lot of how he manages his emotions today (at least in a public setting). even in places where im pretty sure hes PISSED (sepang. phillip island 2013.) he just kind of. visibly contains himself. not a confrontational dude in the outright sense he'll clench his jaw and try to work through it.

which is part of what makes his valentino-oriented crazy so interesting. bc people were noticing that marc in 2015 was kind of. being weird. as his and valentino's relationship deteriorated. like they were both outwardly very much like we can keep it on track :) until the big fallout towards the end of the year but uhhhh. well marc has said that vale started pulling back in september of 2014 like he was noticing SOMETHING, and they clashed on track A LOT in 2015, and i think marc sensed vale cooling on him and freaked a lil. hashtag neurotic 22 year old moments. he is my favorite crazy ex girlfriend. like usually he IS good at separating that stuff out and managing his emotions in the racing sense but in assen that year when vale overtook him off track after they made contact he raised a BIG stink with race direction and actually had some uh. not especially chill quotes about it. (it should be noted marc was also flopping for the first time in his motogp career. like in his brain he stopped winning AND vale stopped talking to him he was goin through it) adn all the reporters noticed too they were like. why werent you sucking and fucking in parc ferme. like vale's left turn wrt to spaniard sabotage comes outta nowhere but people WERE noticing that things were changing. i bet marc noticed too. BUT they are not the type of people to talk about these things so they keep it to vague flirting in presscons and escalating on-track tension slash proxy wars waged in race-direction contexts... liek truly you are 22 you are not going to keep your championship title and your hot sports idol bestie is no longer flirting with you on twitter and you COULD just talk to him about that but you'd rather DIE so youre going to ask honda to back you up to race direction about your last race where you DEFINITELY lost bc winning is the ONLY thing thatll make you feel better. even though thatll help convince your hot sports idol that you are engaging in a benedict arnold level betrayal scheme against him. an insane time to be marc marquez. 2015 really kind of is a study on how both of them handle losing: NOT WELL.

and then the thing about sepang is that then the lid is blown clean off and marc spends the ENTIRE race being annoying on purposeeeee. hes so fucking pissed and hurt at valentino that he decides to get under his skin for REALSIES instead of focusing on his race. like idk he probably would have fought hard for the win without the drama that how he works but uh. i think he was being annoying specifically to bite at vale's edges. and part of that is bc marc is naturally and effortlessly annoying. but i think part of it was SPITE. like his team advised him not to speak on anything from that presscon and he didnt, but he can still fuck him over on track. get under his skin. like he cant tell vale to his FACE that he's angry and confused and hurt. but he CAN let him know on that fucking racing line. where he cant be ignored. idk like i cant see marc letting anyone else get under his skin like that.

AND another big ass exception to the marc marquez anger management philosophy is from misano 2019 where vale messes with his qualifying lap. a lovely anon sent me some videos of marc talking to the press and jesus christ i dont think ive ever seen him angrier oh my god. AND the anon also linked the race from that weekend where he won and he celebrated harder than ive seen him celebrate some TITLE wins like he went. notably nuts. the commentators were all like uhhhh. he mustve REALLY wanted to get one over on vale adjfhlkdh... idk if any of this answered your question but his relationship to his emotions fascinates me hes so weirddddd. and its interesting to me that he can shrug off jorge ruining his last race at honda and be friendly but also be like. kind of aloofly pissed at bezz. because of valentino! he can repress the rest of it, but valentino shines through the cracks.

[altschmerzes]

I looked up the series you talked about and you're telling me that all in the g*me is that book series I keep hearing about, and despite having cool names like "the f*xhole court" and "raven k*ng" it doesn't even have the decency to be a fantasy??? It's a SPORTS series?!?! Unforgiveable

But in all seriousness I've heard about these books a lot and now that I know they're Bad in every way any sliver of interest i might have had is gone.

i’ll defend it being a sports series being as i extremely enjoy both sports and sports fiction and think sports fiction has a lot of untapped potential for character exploration and dynamics etc etc except that this shite is so nominally sports fiction it’s laughably insulting to the concept

spirit however bad i made it sound, it’s so much worse, and if i can save even ONE person from getting pulled into that bullshit it will all be worth it. people recommended it to me for years bc my original novel is sports fiction and it’s such an insulting comparison like I HOPE my writing is nothing like this lmao!!

i can just SEE now this fandom which is um. scary. in its devotion to this series and author being the best thing since sliced bread. throwing absolute tantrums about how i just can’t handle MESSY CHARACTERS and COMPLICATED QUEER STORIES but it’s like the problem isn’t that the characters and story are messy and complicated the problem is that they’re really poorly written - like to an embarrassing extent poorly written - and every page of those books drips with hatred of women, weirdness of various kinds about people of colour, simultaneous fascination and revulsion with gayness, and trauma fetishization that goes far beyond extreme. like it’s fine that the love interest is ~toxic or whatever he just sucks to read about. my wife and i are working on a blog sorta. going through it chapter by chapter because there’s too much in there that’s both insane and violently terrible to some entire category of people to summarize it overall.

I just can’t believe anyone could enjoy this stuff. like i like some garbage don’t get me wrong. i don’t have High Standards or whatever. but this is like… the bigotry in these books is nauseating and the writing is so bad it makes me embarrassed to read it. every time i’m reminded it’s got this huge fandom I’m baffled. and then i remember the waifish white boys who are like a pinterest board with bloody knuckles and cigarette smoke come to life and im like oh right lmao.