#but also also I’ve made this exact post in my head so many times this week about multiple different people so it’s not actually directed

[trash-bin-ary]

Hmmm I feel like I’m a lot better at comforting people online than in person which is a real problem when the best thing I can think of to do to help is being someone to lean against and squeeze.

[christinesficrecs]

I had a request for newer fics, so here you go! Also, some other recent fics were posted here.

They’re all together ooky, the Hale family… (Snap, Snap) by DropsOfAddiction | 12.4K | Explicit

Derek realises that he’s probably squashing Stiles a little bit, right at the same moment that Stiles apparently realises that he’s still holding onto Derek’s face.

They both definitely acknowledge Derek’s nakedness at the same exact time, judging by the alarmed look on Stiles’ face.

“So, you have no clothes on,” Stiles removes his hands and holds them above his head in surrender, cheeks a muddy red.

“In my defence, I was covered in fur less than two minutes ago,” Derek rolls his eyes and he pushes himself up and off him, hands covering his junk for Stiles’ sake.

“You’re still kind of furry now…” Stiles sits up, blinking rapidly, clearly just as weirded out as Derek. “Oh my god, pretend I didn’t say that. I’m not looking or anything.”

Derek smirks, because that… that was a lie and he cocks an eyebrow at him.

as dear as a brother by endversed | 10.3K | Explicit

“You are not allowed to sleep with him,” Scott says.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Stiles scoffs.

Stiles and Scott become best friends at college. Derek is Scott's hot older brother.

Take Me Away From Here by Hedwig221b | 33.5K | Explicit

Derek Hale looked terrifying. With his broad frame and muscles, with his wild black hair and thick beard, with his eyes the color of blood and fangs of a killer. Despite his kindness and his apparent attraction to Stiles, he was still a stranger, a predator, a wolf.

The thing is, Stiles would deal, but others might not. People found Lord Hale horrid, monstrous and unapproachable.

If Stiles stood behind him, no one would touch him.

He’d be safe with the wolf. If not from him, then definitely from everyone else. And that was enough.

Messily Ever After by KaliopeShipsIt | 20.3K

When Stiles and his blue slushie have a literal and quite splashy run-in with an adorable five-year old flower girl and her panicking daddy in the middle of the mall, the last thing he expects is to get a date to a stranger's wedding out of it.

Let alone, a boyfriend and a kid.

His Accidental Touch by Hidden_Orchard | 12.8K | Explicit

It happened accidentally, the first time. All the many and varied times afterwards, Stiles would hold his hands up and admit full responsibility for. But that first time – pure chance.

Derek needs a cuddle. Stiles - generous man that he is - would never deny Derek something he needs.

An Alpha's Misunderstandings by Dexterous_Sinistrous | 48.5K | Mature

And Derek was there, as if it was a simple twist of fate.

There were so many ways Stiles wanted to forgive Derek, but then he came to his senses.

He wouldn’t risk Charlotte’s safety for that hope–never again. ~*~ Stiles and Derek are parted by war and misunderstandings, only to find each other again.

Red, Red, Red by loserchildhotpants | 9.4K | Explicit

“Just… it’s weird, I’ve been - uh. You ever, like, dream of something? Something you’ve never seen before, but then you see it out in the world?”

everywhere, everything (every day) by nerdy-stilinski (Captain_Ameriyeah), S3anchaidh | 14.3K

Derek’s never been the best at making decisions. That’s how he keeps waking up with Stiles in his arms, but never under the right circumstances.

Or: Derek agrees to a pack vacation and instantly regrets it.

Matchmaking in Fandom by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) | 13K

It wasn’t like it was a secret that the showrunners made terrible decisions when it came to their own show, so why he’d had actual faith in them not fucking the movie up, he had no idea. Really, it was his own fault.

He hadn’t even set the bar high for the movie! The bar was so incredibly low, like mid-shin height, and they somehow managed to get it subterranean. That was talent. A bad talent, but still a talent.

if i'm not made for you, then why does my heart tell me that i am? by EvanesDust | 13K

When Derek’s kids write out their Christmas lists, they insist he writes one too. Not long after it's deposited in Santa's mailbox, he's reunited with the man of his dreams.

Stiles.

Derek can't help but fall for him again. It's really too bad Stiles is so obviously taken.

...or the one where Derek’s a grump who makes assumptions about his pregnant omega neighbor.

[angelsassassin]

All Over Again • Spencer Reid x reader (Prologue)

Spencer Reid was a man of science, but that didn’t stop him from thanking God.

Details: fem! reader wife and mother x father and husband Spencer Reid

AN: Hi Tumblr!! This is my first post, and I am so excited. I absolutely love and adore Spencer Reid, and I know many of you do too. A little warning, this isn’t a standalone. It can be read as one, but this is essentially a prologue to a little series I want to do. The series will basically follow reader and Spencer through their lives; from when they first meet, to when they start to build their relationship, to arguments, when Spencer goes to prison (wink wink), and how they deal with that.

Caution: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. This series is meant for 18+ ONLY!

Warnings; smut (I sincerely apologise if it is not the best), breeding kink, Spencer being a dad (AH), fluff (so much fluff).

I really hope you guys enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it. If there are any questions about this series, let me know.

Spencer Reid was a man of science; the thought that people could believe in a higher being and even pray to them had always baffled the man. He had met many people that believed in God or some other version of him, and yet he himself could never bring himself to believe. 

And yet, when he met you almost twenty years ago, he started to believe that maybe there was a higher power, one that led him to you. Every day since he had known you, he found himself thanking God or whoever was listening to him for you. 

That increased tenfold after he came back from prison. It was hard for him, not only because he knew he was innocent and being punished for something he didn’t - and realistically could never do - but also because he was away from you. After he came back, he changed; he was a little more broken than he was before, but it pushed him to become stronger, more confident and more protective of what he had. 

That’s why almost a year after his conviction, he proposed to you. You, of course, accepted, wanted nothing more than to be with him for the rest of your life, and in classic David Rossi fashion, once he heard the news of your engagement, he planned the wedding at his mansion, marrying the two of you not even a month after your engagement. 

A few months down the line, you discovered you were pregnant, and Spencer was over the moon; he had wanted to be a father since way before he even met you, and that need for a family only increased once the two of you established a relationship. 

Now, almost ten years later, you were living in bliss. Your son, Oliver, was the light of your life, and Spencer’s. After Spencer discovered you were pregnant, he took a step back from the BAU, deciding that no matter how much he loved his job, he loved you and your unborn child more, and he wanted to be there for all the moments, which is why he became a full time professor at the FBI academy, only helping his team out when he was absolutely needed, and never travelling along with them for cases. 

You had just gotten home from work, setting down your belongings when the smell of food entered your sinuses. “Spence?” You called out. You heard a quiet ‘in here’ coming from the kitchen, so you made your way over, discovering Spencer making dinner. “Hey, baby.” You smiled as you walked over to him, wrapping your arms around him. 

“Hey, angel. How was work?” He asked as he turned his head, placing a kiss onto your head. 

“Not too bad. Janice wouldn’t shut up about her vacation.” You say with a laugh as you walk over to the kitchen island, taking a seat. Spencer chuckled and shook his head. 

“Typical.” He replied. “Ollie is upstairs doing some homework, by the way.” He added, and you nodded. 

“I swear that boy loves school more than any other child I’ve ever met.” 

“I was the exact same.” Spencer laughs. “To be fair to him, he did inherit my brain.” You nod in agreement. 

“That he did.” You chuckle. “Hopefully, the next one will inherit something from me.” You smile. Spencer looks over at you with a questioning look. 

“Next one?” He asks, forgetting about the food he was cooking. “I didn’t think you wanted another one.” 

You shrug in response. “I mean, Ollie is getting older now, and I don’t know. I guess I just miss a little baby running around the house. Spencer smirks as he walks over to you. 

“So you want another one?” He asks as he brushes a hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. 

“Do you?”

“Yeah, I do.” He whispered. “Now that I really think about it, I do miss seeing you carrying my child.” He smirked, a look in his eyes, and you knew exactly what it was; lust and possessiveness. You let out a chuckle. 

“You know, in order for that to happen, you have to get me pregnant first.” 

“Oh don’t you worry, angel. I’m going to make sure I fill you up every night until I know for certain it sticks.” 

Before you can reply, you hear the stairs creaking, signalling Oliver was coming downstairs. He comes into the kitchen, and upon seeing you, he smiles. “Mom!” He happily chirps, walking over to you and hugging you. 

“Hey honey, how was school?” You ask him, leaning down and kissing his head, which holds the same head of hair as Spencer’s does. 

“It was okay. Eric and I got to sit in the library during maths.” He spoke gently. The school was very accommodating when it came to your son, knowing he was incredibly smart and whatever they were teaching, he already knew. Most of the time, they’d let him sit in the library and read his books if he felt like he wasn’t being challenged enough. Despite the offer for him to be moved up several grades so that he could be challenged, you and Spencer decided it would be best for him to stay with kids his age for now. 

“Is he finally starting to understand the stuff you’re teaching him?” You ask, knowing that Oliver took great pride in teaching his friend all about maths, considering Eric wasn’t the greatest at it. Oliver simply nodded in response, moving to sit next to his mother. Spencer moved back to the dinner, adding the final touches before announcing it was finished. 

After dinner, the three of you were laying on the couch, watching TV, with you cuddled into Spencer’s side while Oliver had his head on your lap. Spencer’s arm was around you, playing with a few strands of your hair. 

It was almost like routine; after dinner, the three of you would always lay on the couch together, watching whatever mindless TV show was on the news. You had spent the majority of dinner talking about each of your days, so a comfortable silence had taken over you, apart from the few laughs that escaped Oliver as he intently watched the show. 

You looked up at Spencer and smiled. He looked down at you and returned the smile, mouthing ‘I love you’ to you. You leaned up, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss. When you pulled away, you replied to him, mouthing the words back to him. Spencer looked down at his watch. 

“Ollie. It’s almost bedtime, buddy.” He announced. Oliver sat up and looked at his parents.

“Okay. Goodnight, I love you both.” He said tiredly. You and Spencer had always made sure that Oliver would grow up in a house where he would never have to feel ashamed or embarrassed to say the words ‘I love you’ to his parents. 

“Love you too, my beautiful boy.” You say as you move closer to him and kiss his head. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth.” Oliver nodded and began walking upstairs, getting ready for bed. Despite only being nine years old, he was very smart and could perform his nightly and morning routine without any help. 

That left you and Spencer alone on the couch, and Spencer was quickly reminded of your earlier conversation. “So… when should we start trying for another baby?” He asked, the desire he felt clearly evident in his words. 

You let out a chuckle, and moved to lay down opposite him, putting your feet onto his lap. “Whenever you want.” 

A smirk formed on Spencer’s lips and he moved your legs off of him gently, moving to lay on top of you, placing his hands on either side of your head to stabilise himself. 

“How about right now?” He asked as his dipped his head into the crook of your neck, kissing and biting at it. 

“On the couch?” 

“On the couch, on the kitchen counters, on the table, in the shower, in our bed….” He began to list, a gasp leaving your mouth. “I’d do it everywhere if you’d let me.” 

You smiled, remembering how insatiable your husband could get sometimes. It was no secret he absolutely adored you and the family and the life you had built for each other. After everything that he had been through, he couldn’t be more thankful that he was now able to live a happy life, one full of love and laughter. He lifted his head up and rested it against your forehead. 

“We could even do it in the garden if you wanted.” You let out a chuckle at his words. 

“I don’t think our neighbours would like that very much.” You reply, causing him to shrug and smile. 

“I don’t care. As long as my girl is happy and loved and thoroughly pleased, I’d do anything for her.” He says softly. 

“Your wife, Spencer. Not your girl.” You corrected him. 

“Of course. My wife.” He says leaning down to kiss you. It was a kiss full of love and passion, something that despite being together for so long, never left. Every time Spencer kissed you, it was like it was the first time he was kissing you all over again. You never complained, loving the fact that he still gave you butterflies. You moaned into the kiss, immediately causing Spencer to use one of his hands to lift up leg around him. 

“God, you’re so beautiful.” He mumbled against your lips, as his hand began to travel between you two, slowly beginning to unbutton your jeans. 

“Spence… what if… what if Ollie comes downstairs?” You breathe out, suddenly starting to feel your arousal and your need for him overcome all your senses. 

“He won’t.” Spencer groaned, finally achieving his goal of unzipping the jeans and slowly moving his hand under your underwear. As soon as his fingers come into contact with your clit, you let out a gasp. “So fucking wet for me already, angel.” He groans again. He begins to move his finger around your clit, stimulating your nerves to get you more wet. As he does so, you begin to feel his cock pressing into your other leg, begging to be released for his trousers. He slips his finger further down, and pushes it into you. 

You let out a moan, making sure to keep your volume down, but also knowing how much Spencer loved hearing how he made you feel. He added a second finger, and you began to feel the pressure building in your lower stomach. You were so close, and he knew it. He knew your body like he knew all the books he’d read throughout the years; he memorised every moan, every scream of his name, every twice or movement you made when he was giving you pleasure. He knew exactly what to do, and he never grew bored of it. 

Just as you were about to announce your impending release, he removed his fingers, bringing them to mouth and sucking them clean. You let out a deep sigh at the loss of contact. 

“Don’t worry, angel. You’ll come soon. I just want you to come on my dick, not on my fingers.” His words made a shiver run down your spine, and he quickly began to take off your jeans and panties, removing his own trousers and boxers afterwards. You looked down, seeing how painfully hard he was. “Like what you see?” 

“Definitely.” You replied with a smirk. Despite the thousands of times you and Spencer had fucked or made love, you were still always left breathless upon seeing his dick; it was big and girthy, and it fit inside you perfectly, almost like it was specifically made for you. 

Spencer moved back on top of you, settling down between your legs. His hand pumped his dick a few times before lining himself up with your entrance. 

“Tell me what you want.” He demanded, teasing your entrance. 

“You. I want you.” 

“No, you know what I mean, angel. Tell me what you want.” He almost spat. 

You tried to think of what he wanted you to say, and then you remembered why you were in this position in the first place. “I want you to fuck a baby into me.” You sighed, and almost as quick as you finished speaking, Spencer dove into you, groaning at the feeling of being inside you. He placed one of his arms next to yours, leaning onto his elbow for support, while the other hooked underneath your leg, bringing it up so he could move deeper inside. 

His thrusts were slow at first, letting you adjust to him. Because of how big he was, every time you had sex, it would take a little while for you to get used to him again. Once Spencer felt your hand move to his shoulders to dig your fingernails into it, he smirked and began to quicken his pace, fucking you faster and harder. 

You couldn’t help the moans that left your mouth, which only fueled Spencer’s desire for you. “Fuck, angel, you feel so good.” He moaned into your neck, kissing it as he fucked you. 

“Spencer…” You moaned, tangling your fingers into his hair and pulling at it. He let out a groan into your neck, biting down. 

“Fuck, if you do that, I won’t last long.” He breathed out as his thrusts became quicker and harder. 

“Oh god, baby, so close.” You moaned out, too overcome with pleasure to be able to form a coherent sentence. 

“Come for me baby, I’m almost there.” He moaned, and that was all you needed before the pressure in your stomach exploded. You threw your head back in pleasure, covering up your mouth to silence your moans, not wanting to wake up or alarm your son. 

Spencer shuddered at the feeling of you clenching around him. “Gonna let me fill you up, huh, angel? Gonna let me put another baby in you?” 

“Yes, yes, please Spencer, put a baby in me. Fuck a baby into me.” You plead. 

Spencer lets out a groan as his thrusts begin to slow down, losing himself in you as he comes, shooting every last drop of his load into you. He brought you closer to him, and you wrapped your arms around him. He stayed inside of you, not wanting to let any of his cum leak out of you. His breathing was starting to come back to normal, just as yours was too. He lifted himself up just enough to look at you. 

“I love you so much, angel.” He whispers before leaning down and kissing you. You smile into the kiss. 

“I love you so much, baby.” You mumble against his lips. He releases your mouth from his, you letting out a groan and he chuckles. 

“Come on, we need to clean you up and then we need to go to bed.” He says, pulling himself out of you, and you shiver at the loss of him. 

After carrying you upstairs to your en-suite bathroom, cleaning you up and letting you pee, he helped you get into your pyjamas and laid you down on the bed, lifting the covers and getting in next to you, pulling you closer to him. 

“I’ll pick up some pregnancy tests tomorrow on my way home from work.” He whispered against your head, his arms wrapped around you. You nod, looking up at him. 

“It might take a little while for us to actually get pregnant, you know.” You say to him, and he shrugs. 

“It doesn’t matter how long it takes. As long as I get to come home every day to you, fucking you until you can’t walk, I’m happy.” He smirks. 

You let out a chuckle. “You do that anyway.” 

“Yeah, but this time, I’ll be able to come home one day to see you with a belly and our little baby inside.” 

Four Months Later 

Spencer came home from work, a breath of relief leaving him and he closed and locked the door, placing his keys and bag down, heading straight to the kitchen, where he placed the takeaway chinese bag down. The house was quiet. He knew Oliver would still be at school, but his wife technically should be at home, but he couldn’t hear anything. 

“Angel? Are you home?” He shouted, hoping his voice would reach all corners of the house. He listened carefully, and heard a small noise coming from upstairs. His face twisted in confusion as he marched upstairs, searching every room before walking into their shared bedroom. “Are you in here?” 

“Bathroom.” His wife replied, and Spencer finally felt himself relax. He opened the door to the bathroom and saw you sitting on the counter. “Hey.” You smile up at him, opening up your arms. 

Spencer smiled as he moved closer to you, positioning himself between your legs and wrapping his arms around you, just as you did the same. 

“Why are you in here, angel?” He asked against her neck. 

“Well, I actually have something to tell you.” You said, unwrapping your arms around him. Spencer moved back a little, confusion once again taking place on his face. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong, baby.” You smile.

“You woke up this morning feeling sick, angel. When I left this morning, you were in here throwing up, and now that I’ve come home, I find you in here again.” He says, worry evident in his words. 

“Well, about that…” You smirk as you reach behind you, picking something up but hiding it in your hands. “After you left, I started to think… so I went out… and now I know why I felt so sick this morning.” You say as you reveal a pregnancy test in your hands with a smile. 

Spencer’s eyes widen as he looks down, seeing the very clear and obvious plus sign on the test. He looks up at you and grins. “You’re pregnant.” 

You nod happily. “We’re having another baby.” 

Spencer instantly wraps his arms around you, picking you up and leading you into the bedroom, placing you gently down on the bed. “My beautiful angel, my wonderful wife, is giving me another baby.” He chuckles as he moves on top of you, kissing you deeply. 

Spencer was definitely a man of science, but that didn’t stop him from thanking God that night while you were asleep next to him later that night. He thanked God for letting him go through everything he had to go through, because he knew he’d go through all of it over and over again, as long as he knew he’d be here. As long as Spencer was able to spend every day married to you, loving you and your children, he’d do it all over again. 

~

Please share some love (I don’t really know how Tumblr works yet), and let me know if you have any requests or questions.

Love, AA

[see-arcane]

A message to all the assorted unscrupulous undead: Beware the Ides of March.

To everyone else: Grab your kukri blades, your bowie knives, your stakes, your bone saws, and whatever else you have on hand to appropriately accessorize with your new copy of The Vampyres.

The book is out! Loose! Running rampant and bloodstained through the terrains of eBook and paperback alike!

My beautiful little baby, toddling into the literary world to deliver havoc unto the dastardly bastards of the revenant realm. I’m so proud. (And so happy to feel the stress headache finally start to crack.)

Now that The Vampyres is out in the open, a brief FAQ under the cut:

Where can I get the eBook?

Check out the Universal Book Link (UBL) here:

It’ll show you all the places you can grab a virtual vampyre by the throat.

Where can I get the paperback?

For folks in ‘murrica, I’d say hit up Bookshop.org to go and grab it from your physical store of choice:

You can also just search The Vampyres C.R. Kane and see the waterfall of options. Not sure of the exact timeline, but it should be more widely available in the coming weeks. At least hereabouts:

Pictured: Places to potentially purchase a paperback.

Can I get it at my library?

If you ask for it, yes! You’ll need the ISBNs when filling out your library’s request form, so:

eBook ISBN: 9798218374594

Paperback ISBN: 9798218374587

What’s the status on that paperback cover business?

Current status is still ???

At least in the sense that I’m not sure what version of the book cover you might get at the moment. Original matte? Temporary glossy? Updated matte that’s here to stay? No idea at the moment. My self-publishing page shows the update’s confirmed, but the online stores are still using the first version as the preview image and I’m not sure when that gets swapped out. At least the books are all print-on-demand, so whatever you order, just know it’s not coming from some thrown-away backup heap. It’s fresh from the book oven press.

Anything else I need to know?

First, reviews are extremely welcome! I am running on negative budget when it comes to waving my little flag to announce that I Made a Scary Vampire Book, so I’m really relying on word-of-mouth if I want it to actually get its head above water. Leaving stars and comments wherever you can, be it in the online stores, the Goodreadses or Smashwordses or whatever else, would be a big help.

(Really though, I can and will dissolve into a puddle of relieved ego if I see so much as one (1) Nice Comment on Tumblr, my cesspool of choice.*)

*This is not hyperbole. I can count on one hand how many PROMOTION © ™ posts I’ve made on Twitter and have fingers left over. This novella is tailored to my fellow fiendish bookworms on here.

Second, to those coming by this stuff for the first time and don’t know what all this hoopla is about, a preview of my novella, The Vampyres, is available on my website. Give it a gander if you want to see under-appreciated classic supernatural bogeymen dropped into their own horror story.

Thirdly, lastly, vitally: thank you.

The Vampyres is a beautiful accident that came together out of an itch to rattle something out just for myself; a break from a bloated piece that had turned into a chore which burned me out and threw away the fun of scribbling. A lightweight read that saved me from being crushed by a cinderblock.

By the same token, the people on here have shouldered me up and out of the creative pit of thinking ‘This is all for nothing.’ For all that I talk of how much I’m powered by spite and the desire to Read a Specific Thing only to realize I Have to Write That Thing First, I’d be a liar if I said the kindness and excitement of the folks who’ve been reading my nonsense for (holy hell) TWO YEARS in the wake of the first big Dracula Daily surge didn’t have a major role in getting this thing done.

I did make The Vampyres for me. But it’s for you guys too. For everyone who saw one of my rambles or little fictions and spoke up to say, I love this! I was thinking this! I wanted this! Finally, finally!

When you crack open the cover for the first time, on a screen or in your hands, I want you to know I’m thinking Thank You at you. I hope you enjoy all the horrors inside.

Postscript:

If you want more info on other stuff I'm tinkering with, check out my website here:

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

I just studied for 5 hours and then I wrote these Nimona headcanons

Bal has an extreme love-hate relationship with puns and dad jokes 

And by love-hate I mean he hates how much he loves them

A good pun will have him rolling on the floor in laughter (especially if it’s a science or math pun)

Whenever a pun or dad joke is told in public Bal tries really hard to hold back his laughter 

But this man is the worst actor in existence so it’s painfully obvious what he’s trying to do 

Nimona and Ambrosius have made it their mission to get him to admit that he actually likes those kinds of jokes

By telling the best jokes they could find 

They actually get him to admit it after three months of them each telling one stupid joke a day 

And after that, they make it their mission to tell him a corny joke a day to put a smile on his face 

In a similar way to the “origin story” of how they found Nimona Bal and Ambrosius never tell people the true story of how they met 

It feels too personal too private only Nimona knows the full story and their close friends know bits and pieces of their friendship before they started dating 

But as I’ve said in many of my posts one of their favorite activities is messing with nosy bitches 

So every time someone asks how they met and to explain their love story 

They really lean into the drama

Before they knew Nimona they would joke that Ambrosius rescued Bal from a vicious monster 

Sometimes Bal will jokingly say he broke into Ambrosius' room to steal something and was stopped in his tracks by his beauty 

Sometimes Bal fought off a pack of wolves from Ambrosius' unconscious body 

Sometimes Ambrosius got lost in the shadier part of the kingdom and discovered Bal before the Queen did 

No one knows the true story and this often sparks debates in fandom spaces and statements like “Bal said this” or “Ambrosius said that” are basically deemed unreliable 

And comments like “Well Nimona agreed that this story was true” and “but they also said they witnessed this happening” are often ignored  

They were both confronted about this during an interview and all Bal said was “We’ve told the truth to someone” and they have just not to unimportant people

I feel like Nimona is the most flexible just by themself 

But they will get rid of bones just to prove a damn point 

And they’ve absolutely gotten rid of joints or made themself double-jointed to freak Bal and Ambrosius out 

Ambrosius is pretty damn flexible too

He’s not human contortionist level but he can put his feet behind his head and do every kind of split 

Bal is stiff as a damn brick 

That man can’t even touch his toes let alone do the splits 

Ambrosius tried to get him to join his and Nimona’s morning stretches but Bal complained the whole time so he gave up 

His exact words were “Fine but when you sound like a maraca when you’re 30 don’t come complaining to me”

[austinslounge]

I honestly tried to like Kaia, I truly did, but I can’t stand this shit anymore. Her desperate attempts to be popular, seem interesting and ”deep” are driving me insane at this point. I know it’s probably not her fault, but her parents’, they made her this cringy attention-seeker after all. I can’t understand what Austin sees in her other than her family’s connections or just a plain PR agreement. She has no personality, she always tries to gain popularity by copying her mother(or people she’s dating). It’s funny how she doesn’t even look that much like Cindy, sure, she’s beautiful, but Presley literally stole Cindy’s face. Her attempts to seem intelligent are also miserable. I’ve never seen any of her book club readings, because for me, most of her book recommendations are just airplane reads, but I’ve seen many people say that even when she’s talking about books, it seems scripted and staged. Like someone just gave her a summary and she retells what happened in the book, that’s it. I mean, what intelligence? She never even bothered to take basic acting classes. Her comments about nepotism speak volumes too. During the pandemic she bragged about having dinner reservations and partying with her friends. Her merch is awful. With all her money and resources, she could have made some really good stuff, but why would she?Her small insane fan base will pay 50$ for an ugly white shirt with a caption either way. She’s desperately clinging to anyone who can give her even the smallest amount of fame, her following people and then unfollowing them if they don’t follow back. The way she was clinging to Austin hardcore in July, dragging him away from his fans, when he wanted to interact with them. Her stupid cake for his birthday. Don’t even get me started on how she makes out with her female friends constantly or throws herself on her male costars or short SNL guys. I don’t know why I feel so annoyed and disgusted by her all the time. I swear, this girl spoils my excitement for Austin and his work every fucking time. Nepotism is not always a bad thing, there are talented nepo babies, but she’s like the epitome of everything I hate about nepotism. I don’t know how she can rub shoulders with people who actually have talent, get invited to all these awards and red carpets. Kaia had plenty of time to prove that she’s worth something, she’s been in the industry since she was a child, but no. Why would she prove anything? Her mother is Cindy Crawford, her father is a millionaire worth 400 million, her boyfriend is Austin Butler. I just wish she will go away finally. No matter how hard I try, I can’t warm up to her. Sadly, looking at the state she is now, you can clearly tell that the girl has issues, but sadly,having no brain,she can’t understand that she’s a tragedy about to happen.

💯

Girl! I wish I could give you an award for this post. You basically hit the nail squarely on the head with the many various reasons why a lot of us in Austin's fandom don't like this girl! I'd be saying the exact same thing if Austin were dating another woman just like this. I'm actually verrry surprised that people haven't called Kaia out on her very obvious clout-chasing by now.

I'll be honest, I never really cared for her even when she was dating Elordi. I don't hate her, she's just meh to me. Always has been. So my thoughts and feelings about her are not about Austin. It's more so about what I've observed about her over the years.

Her dating Austin just makes things even more unbearable though -- especially when you know that he could do so much better. 😩 But hey, it's his life, not mine!

When I realized they were dating however, I really did try to like her too, or at least give her a chance. I saw that Austin was with her, so I was trying to be a "good fan"and see what he may see in her. But last year, I started seeing more and more negative things that I just didn't like about her.

I really don't have much to add to this wonderful post, because you basically touched on the many various reasons why a lot of AB fans don't really care for her. I also think she makes Austin look cheap with her weird behavior and interests. 👀 She really cheapens his brand imo. But that's a topic for another day lol.

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

Cheese of the Stringable Variety

damian wayne x reader

(A/N): I’ve been wanting to write something like this for a while now and it is by far the most niche thing I have ever written. I intended this to be around 1k, looked at the word count before I’d even gotten to the section I wanted to write this for, and then checked again at the end and viola 3k. I am of Arab-American heritage myself and slowly learning Arabic and connecting to my culture, but this type of string cheese has always been a part of my life and my role in my extended family. I also hope that those who don’t share these experiences can still enjoy this fic, if only for the amount of storybuilding that wormed it's way in. (Also worth mentioning that the having separate bedrooms has no cultural relevance whatsoever; I just like the concept.)

Note: reader is implied heavily to be of Middle Eastern heritage, though there are no features described. The region is also unspecified but the Arabic dialect is Levantine because that’s where my family is from. 

warnings: a lot of food mentions; a mild curse word in Arabic; use of a knife for food related things; discussions of extended family 

wc: ~ 3100

~~

On your way out the door in the morning, you took the braided cheese out of the fridge and left it on the counter, a post-it note on top of it. Leave out of the fridge! was scribbled hastily in your handwriting as you rushed to work. In the apartment behind you, you could hear the sink running. After a long night of patrol, Damian was fortunate his meeting started at eleven am and not eight am. 

Every time your phone screen lit up as you headed home in the evening, it taunted you with the time. You didn’t mean to be back so late; it would take hours to string the four braids of cheese you’d picked up from your جد, your grandfather, the day before. At this point in the evening, you’d probably have to get up earlier in the morning and finish it then. At least an early tomorrow would mean “no sleeping in” rather than “running on five hours of sleep” before a family function. You’d done it before. It sucked. 

You pulled your laptop and a couple other items from your bag before heading to take a shower and change into comfortable clothes. A sweatshirt of Damian’s caught your eye after you’d gotten changed, tossed haphazardly over the edge of your bed. You hung your damp towel in the bathroom before heading back into the kitchen. Halfway there, you turned and grabbed the sweatshirt, pulling it over your clothes. 

“مرحبا حبيبي,” you greeted Damian as he shut the front door behind him. Hello, my love. “How'd the meeting go?" 

“مرحبا أملي,” he replied, dropping a quick kiss on your cheek as he passed through the kitchen on his way to the bedroom.

Damian’s Arabic was better than yours. Every time he said something to you that you understood, a satisfied trill shot through your chest. Ameli, he called you this time. My hope. Damian had a handful of various pet names for you that he cycled through, many of them in Arabic. 

“The shelter proposal’s been fully approved,” he informed you, “so I’m expecting the distribution of funds to begin in the next few weeks.”

“Oh that’s great!” Setting up properly funded, city-wide animal care facilities was one of the first things Damian ever brought up to the WE board. “You've been working at that for years.” The microwave beeped and you silenced it quickly, pulling out the container of leftovers you’d been heating up. You opened the second container and covered it with the same paper towel before placing it in the microwave.  The timer was set once more for 90 seconds. Before the food was done heating up, Damian returned to the kitchen, work clothes traded for a compression shirt and shorts. He owned half a dozen of the exact same black compression shirts. They functioned most often as his first underlayer on patrol. 

“Here, Dames.” You held the first container out to him, a vegan pasta dish he made earlier in the week. It was still steaming.  

“Thank you, beloved.” Damian took the container and sat down at the table, eyes scanning something on his laptop. If you had to guess, it was probably the drugs case the entire family had been working on recently. The two of you had hosted Dick the other day, up from Blüdhaven following the same case. He’d stayed in Damian’s room while the two of you crashed in yours. Dick was at the manor now, but he’d promised to stop by before he went back home. Some part of you figured it was at least partially motivated by the fact that you were inevitably going to be taking home leftovers tomorrow. Dick had tried some before and loved it. He probably wanted some. You didn’t blame him; you already planned to be hoarding your favorites for yourself. (And Damian. But mostly for you. Your family wasn’t vegetarian.)

The microwave beeped again. You pulled the second container out before grabbing forks and making your way over to the table. Your dinner was mostly the same as Damian’s, but with chicken added into the dish. The two of you didn’t always store leftovers that way, but sometimes it was easier to create two separate servings if you expected to be eating at different times. Damian scribbled a note down on the pad of paper next to him and closed the laptop. 

“We’re finally raiding the first warehouse tonight,” he offered, accepting the fork you held out to him. The paper and pen were pushed to the side before Damian started eating. 

“Oh yeah?” You asked around a bite of food. “So that stakeout paid off then?” 

“It did. But Dick and Timothy are following other leads tonight so this won’t be the end. But it should be a good start.” 

“Good,” you agreed. “I’ll be glad when the operation’s dismantled. You wake me up if you need me when you get home, okay?” 

Damian nodded. 

You weren’t sure you actually believed he would wake you, but you knew Babs would even if he tried to convince her not to. Sometimes you thought being friends with Oracle was the only way you stayed somewhat sane while dating a bat. She sent you injury reports. Alfred’s injury reports, not the lame ones Damian, his father, and his siblings wrote in an effort to not get yelled at by their friends or S/Os. 

Dinner didn’t take long. You loaded the dishes into the dishwasher as Damian collected his duffel bag for patrol. 

“Love you.” Damian pressed a quick kiss to your lips and another to your temple before ducking out the window. 

“I love you too. See you tomorrow.” 

There wasn’t secret bunker in your apartment. There was a significant amount of both weaponry and uniform equipment and outside direct access to transportation to one. You watched Damian’s bike disappear behind a false wall before turning back inside. It may not be Gotham-saving, but you, too, had stuff to do. 

The microwave clock declared it just after ten pm by the time you’d completed the handful of household chores you wanted done—the ones you expected to have time for until you got home late. You deliberated for a moment before grabbing two braids of cheese and a bowl that your dad had given you for that express purpose. You’d leave the other two out and string them in the morning. Leaving the cheese out all day had done its job. When cold, it would snap too easily when you tried to string it, and take much longer to do. 

The speaker that lived in the kitchen turned on with a swooshing noise and an acknowledgement that it was connected to your phone via bluetooth. It was a little late for anything too upbeat, but you found a good playlist after only a minute or so of looking through them. You tied back any loose hair, washed your hands, and grabbed a small paring knife from a drawer before sitting down at the table. The knife, sharp as it was, cut through the plastic packaging with ease. 

You moved the empty plastic off to the side and unraveled a twist, cutting each end so that you had two thick pieces a little under a foot long. The second braid was left whole for now. Once you got started, it would be harder to find pieces yet to be strung under the stringy parts already finished. So you’d break apart the larger pieces as you finished the ones before. 

Your music kept you company over the next hour and a half. The huge pieces were pulled apart into larger pieces then into medium pieces then into smaller pieces before finally being teased apart into the stringy texture that gave the cheese its colloquial name. It was just before midnight when you graded your efforts adequate. You poked one final time through the two braids worth of cheese and pulled apart any of the pieces you thought were just a little too big before calling it a day. 

The bowl was full, and you covered it in plastic wrap before putting it in the fridge. In the morning, when you did the remaining two, you’d have to start a new bowl. There was no sense in leaving already strung cheese out on the counter. You washed the knife and tossed the plastic wrappers in the trash before sending a goodnight text off to Damian. 

Goodnight, حبيبي, it read. Then, Be safe. There was no response. You didn’t expect there to be; he’d see it when he could, and you’d see him in the morning. 

Your bed was occupied by just you when you woke up which meant one of three things. Either Damian had gotten back too late that he would have woken you up by joining you, he’d gotten injured and knew he’d fail to hide it, or he needed a little bit of solitude. There was no injury report from Barbara when you checked your phone, but the little marker under your text to Damian from last night said that he hadn’t seen it until after three am, which meant it was probably four at the earliest by the time Damian had gotten to bed. You missed the warmth of waking up to him with you even as you appreciated his decision. It was only eight am now. You would have no doubt woken him up with your alarm. He desperately needed sleep, even if only a couple hours more. 

The remaining braids of cheese were in the same spot you left them on the counter last night. You moved them and a second bowl to the table, then grabbed yourself a bagel for breakfast. Your friends from New York disagreed, but you’d tried both and New Jersey bagels were far superior. 

It was half past nine by the time you finished scraping the hummus from your blender into various containers. One larger container would go with you and Damian to your grandfather’s house. The other one was staying in your fridge. Between the two of you, it wouldn’t last very long. You didn’t make hummus very often despite the fact that you both enjoyed it. What you could boast, though, is that you’d converted Damian to your family’s way of making it. Critiquing supermarket-available hummus became a shared habit. 

The completed bowl of string cheese fit perfectly in the fridge on top of the larger container of hummus. Most of the blender parts went in the dishwasher, and you set the cycle to rinse so that the hummus wouldn’t dry and congeal onto the plastic. The blender blade stayed on the side of the sink, already rinsed off. You’d wash it later. First, you had to finish the cheese. You opened your playlist from last night and hit play, bluetooth off this time. If it was loud, it would wake Damian. 

Damian’s bedroom door opened near silently when you were nearly done with the third braid. You took a momentary break to nudge the tea kettle on by pressing the button with your elbow before returning to your seat at the kitchen table. The bathroom door shut then opened again a few minutes later. His footsteps, quiet even in his home, meant that you didn’t notice him heading into the kitchen until he was already there. After months of living together and months before that where you might as well have been, your partner appearing silently beside you didn’t startle you anymore. 

You never got tired of seeing Damian without his guard up. It was an image only you and his family got to see: a Damian squinting in the morning light, hair a mess of waves that dried pressed against a pillow. The sight of him dressed in nightwing pajama pants and an old college t-shirt was yours, now. 

“Morning, my dear,” you greeted him. Small strands of stiff cheese stuck to your fingers. You picked them off and dropped them in the bowl before getting up to give your partner a hug, wrists bent awkwardly so that you wouldn’t touch his shirt with your hands. 

“صباح النور” Damian murmured, his arms heavy around your shoulders. Good morning. “What are you doing?” He asked as you let go. 

“Remember how I had to pick up cheese from my grandfather’s house the other day?” Damian nodded. “I’m stringing that. I wanted to get it done last night but I got home a little late. So I’m finishing it now.” 

You retreated back to your spot at the table, finishing the last of the third braid. Black caraway seeds were scattered around the table and you brushed them into your hand before returning them to the bowl. “The kettle should be done pretty soon. And your mug is on the counter.” 

Damian didn’t say anything until he sat down beside you, cup of tea in hand. 

“You’re stringing the cheese?”

“Yeah, it’s the thing I’ve been assigned to bring to the family events. I’ve been doing the stringing part since I was a kid but since I started living on my own I’d string it at home and bring it with me. And this year I’ve been upgraded to making hummus, too. I made a double batch so there’s a separate container for just us in the fridge.” 

“You went to a family birthday party months ago and didn’t bring it then,” Damian pointed out. 

“Yeah, if my aunts and uncles host the event,” you explained, “their family is technically supposed to string it. I mean, a lot of the time I’ll get there and they’ll ask me to do it anyway, but it’s not officially my job. And I don’t have to pick it up if it’s not my job. This is the first full family event that we’ve lived together for, I think.” You thought for a moment. “Wait, no, there was thanksgiving. But you were at the manor then.” 

Damian watched as you opened the fourth braid. The plastic wrapping joined the one from earlier. 

“I’ve just got this one left.” You cut both ends and pulled one of them apart. “Do you want to help? You’ve just got to wash your hands first.” 

Damian detoured to the sink before sitting in the chair beside yours.

“How does it work?” 

“You just kinda pull it apart and then keep stringing until it gets to be really thin.” You demonstrated quickly, stringing a small section of the larger piece you were holding until it resembled a pile of embroidery floss. 

“Like this, just for the whole thing. But it will snap if you try to brute force pull it instead of string it.” You handed him one of the larger pieces. “Here, you try this one.” 

Damian’s face of concentration sent a burst of warmth through your chest. He was following your instructions to perfection, entirely focused. It took effort not to burst into a full grin. You watched him for a moment before continuing on. Two songs went by on your playlist before Damian said anything. 

“This takes ages.”

You laughed. 

“Yeah, it does. Which is why I spent nearly two hours at it last night and we’re still doing it now. I’ve gotten so much faster at it, though. I can do two braids in less than an hour and a half. It used to take me an hour each. But it’s faster only if it’s warm. If I have to string it right out of the fridge, it’s harder to do.” You smirked. “And it tastes worse.”

Damian quirked a disbelieving eyebrow. 

“I doubt that.”

“It’s true. Ask my family members when you meet them later.” 

“I will not.”

A laugh burst out involuntarily. 

“Yeah, maybe having a debate with my family about food isn’t a great idea. They’d scare you off.”

“No they wouldn’t,” Damian argued, eyes lowered. “I have fought the League and the worst of Gotham—“

“And it’s still okay to be nervous meeting my family. But you know I don’t actually care what they think right?”

“Tt.” Damian stopped stringing to look at you. “They’re your family.” 

“Yeah, and so are you.” Your shoulder nudged his, hands still hovering over the half-finished bowl of cheese. “And I know for a fact that you know me better than most of them.” Damian scoffed a laugh. 

“I know more about you than your estranged cousins? What a great achievement,” he deadpanned. You rolled your eyes at him, returning to the piece you’d neglected. 

“You’re the first significant other in a long time,” you revealed after a moment. “My family is big, in a different way than yours, and they scare people off. So if a cousin brings someone to a holiday celebration, it means we’re serious about the person we’re bringing. All of my cousins-in-law are the people my cousins brought to gatherings like this.” In your peripheral vision, Damian stiffened. You kept stringing, anxiety twisting in your chest. 

“I should have told you that earlier, I’m sorry, I don’t even know if you’re fine with that implica-” 

Damian’s hand reached out to still yours. 

“حياتي,” he said, head dipping down to meet your eyes. “That’s okay with me.” 

“High-ah-tee,” you sounded out, repeating it back to him. “What’s that one?” 

Damian pressed a kiss to your lips. On instinct, your hands moved to cup his chin. Drying strands of the string cheese in between your fingers had you pulling back. 

“العمى,” now I have to wash my hands again. And you should wash your face, Dames.” 

“Be right back,” he said, moving quickly to the bathroom. You watched him go before turning to wash your hands. Damian hadn’t returned by the time you’d finished, so you moved back to the table, resuming working on the strand you’d left behind.

“You didn’t tell me what it means,” you reminded him as he sat back down next to you. “Hayati, that is.” 

“حياتي,” he said slowly, “means ‘my life.’” 

A smile split your face. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Hey,” you began. Damian turned to you, mid stringing his own piece of cheese. “I love you.” 

Your partner’s lips quirked up into a grin. He pressed his forehead to yours for just a moment before turning back to the cheese. “I love you too.” 

“Now,” you mock-admonished, “if we don’t get this done in the next 45 minutes, we will be leaving late.  And my grandfather hates it when the cheese is late.” 

Damian huffed a laugh, following your lead as you returned the majority of your attention to the bowl in front of you. 

“Maybe we’ll beat your father there.” 

You barked out a laugh. 

“Oh, my grandfather would find that hilarious.” 

Damian’s smirk was visible even as you reached for another piece of string cheese. 

“A first impression that will be remembered, then.” 

“If we’re on time with the cheese and hummus? And your stringing skills are already pretty good? I think my grandfather will just never let you go.” 

“Lucky for him,” Damian said, grabbing the other half of the piece you’d just begun, “I don’t plan on that being a problem.”

[diabolikwriter]

Nga yawne lu oer - Chapter 1

Recom! Miles x Na’vi/Avatar! Fem! Reader – Chapter 1:

Warning: Strong language! Racism, implied smut, kinda character dead, and character revival?

English is not my first language, so if there are any big grammar mistakes, then don’t hesitate to let me know <3

Also it’s been years since the last time I wrote fanfiction so I’ve been a bit nervous about posting this.

Word Count: 1407

Chapter 1: Revived

                                    Miles’ POV

There you were sat looking over some of your samples, and deeply focused. He slowly and carefully walked towards you and when he reached her he leaned down and whispered in her ear.

“Hello Darlin’.”

“Miles.” You said completely ensnared in her samples of some weird plant that she had told him about the night before, though he had listened carefully the aftermath that followed was much more interesting.

“Is that all I get? Not even a thank you for waking you so lovely this morning.” He placed careful kisses on her neck, and she giggled in response.

“As if that weren’t more for your pleasure than mine.”

He turned her chair around and by the laws of nature she followed.

“Are you saying that you didn’t enjoy it? Because I recall you begging me not to stop, I even think you ripped some strands of hair out.” Their noses were touching and he could hear her breath getting shallow and he could see her pupils dilating, and her eyes flickered down to his lips.

“Oh no I enjoyed it, don’t get me wrong. Though I do feel kinda bad for not returning that delightful treatment.”

He licked his lips and responded “Oh don’t worry you have all the time in the world for the rest of the day if you just put away whatever you are doing right now, I have made arrangements for everything so you have nothing else to worry about, little Miles is cared for for the rest of the night.”

“Oh really?” You licked your lips and just as your lips were about to touch his, everything went black.

“Colonel, colonel.”

Miles ears were ringing at the loud sound, but at the same time the sound felt so far away. But the only thing he had on his mind was a name “(y/n)?”

Though when he opened his eyes, he didn’t see his beautiful angel, no he saw a monster, a big blue ugly monster to be exact. His first response was to punch the fucker in the face, and so he did, he fought against all the other monsters, until he was restrained.

“Colonel it’s me!” Said the first ugly monster that he had punched, though the monster for some reason looked oddly familiar.

“Lyle? Is that you?”

And it wasn’t only just Lyle he realized. It was also Z-dog, Mansk and Fike, and so many more, but they were all… blue. Miles found some comfort in them being dressed normal and having their tattoos, and at least they weren’t wearing the skimpy clothing of the savages “They are not savages Miles, they have feelings like you and I. They have families and laws. They are people, not mindless beasts”, he could hear your angelic voice scolding him in his head.

“I’m alright.” Upon Miles saying that and relaxing his body, his squad members freed him. Though looking behind Lyle he caught the glimpse of something in the window. He pushed Lyle to the side and brazed his hand on the window, and upon looking into his own eyes he was shocked. His eyes weren’t bright blue, no they were yellow. His nose was almost flat. His ears pointy and sat way to high on his head. His scar was nonexistent. And his tan skin was not tan anymore, no it was blue. He looked like them, he looked like those savages, “Not savages Miles,” once again he could hear your voice, but he shoved it to the back of his mind. And when he ran his tongue over his teeth, he could feel fangs. He had become what he hated the most. He had become a disgusting monster. He felt the rage and disgust deep in his bones and flowing through his veins.

“Well. Ain’t this a bitch.”

“In case you haven’t figured it out yet, you’re Colonel Miles Quaritch. Only younger, taller, bluer and not nearly as good looking.” Miles was looking at his human self, talking to his bigger blue self. 

“Hey Parker! What the hell am I supposed to say now?” Miles saw the video, and laughed a bit internally at his human self claiming that he of course wouldn’t die. Because yeah right, he wouldn’t be here if it weren’t because the original Miles Quaritch died. Like the rest of the recombinants, he obviously didn’t know how he died, but knowing those savages it hadn’t been pretty. Though he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to you, his reason for fighting so hard, all so that he could give you a safe and comfortable future. He prayed that those savages hadn’t even as much as breathed in your presence. And he prayed that before his demise he had said those three little words that he never could muster up the courage to say, and most of all he hoped that both of you were safe.

A few days later found Miles meeting General Ardmore, and Miles had to remind himself that he was never one for punching people and that his mama had raised him better than that, but damn that woman just rubbed him the wrong way. Well technically everyone at the base did, they all looked at them like one would look at a freakshow, and while Miles could understand in some way, it still annoyed him.

The meeting with the general resulted in her wanting him and his squad of big blue misfits to fly out and look for the traitor Jake Sully, the man who was at fault for everything in his life ending wrong. The team landed in the Pandoran jungle, and Miles felt weird the moment he stepped out of the helicopter, but on the looks of the rest of the time he was not alone. They trekked through the jungle for a bit and had already had the displeasure of seeing some of the monsters living in the jungle. They were all highly alert, every sound made their ears twitch, and their tail were whipping around. “Ouch Fike, control your fucking tail!” Hissed Zdinarsk.

“Oh sorry have I made her highness sad?” Fiked replied mockingly and hit Zdinarsk with his tail once more.

“You little-“

“Hey! Stop acting like young cadets and get the fuck moving. We are in the middle or a hostile environment, so we don’t have time for this kindergarten bullshit” Quaritch quickly got his recombs under control, but he could already feel a vein popping out on his forehead. Suddenly Quaritch caught something out of the corner of his eye, it looked like one of those science shack outposts and in front of it a little away there was lying something metallic covered by roots, and moss and Miles had a feeling he knew what this was and who it belonged to, so it was a surprised when he bend down a removed the roots that his last name was ‘staring’ him right back in the face, and when he looked in the suit, he was met with a skeleton with two arrows protruding from its or rather his chest, he touched the arrows, before standing up and inspecting the inside of the shack thing, and then he turned to Lyle, “Lyle see if you can pull some data of that dashcam.”

The recoms continued patrolling for awhile and Miles couldn’t believe his luck, when he and his squad caught little savages snooping around. And not only savages but halfbreeds with four fingers and a thumb meaning that they were his. And of course, after being given the finger by a male halfbreed, he turned to the human boy with blue stripes painted all over his body. “What’s your name kid?”

“Spider… Socorro.”

No. No it couldn’t be.

Quaritch kneeled so that he could be more eye to eye with the boy.

“Miles?”

Taglist:

@ratchetprime211 @mechformers @iwishiwas-anita​

[humanbug]

Inky Hearts pt. 1

Modern!Ellie is a tattoo artist and you just became her lovely little muse.

a/n: hellooo! okay i am actually kind of obsessed with this. I'm not sure how many parts of this i am planning on making but definitely more than one. as always feedback and comments are more than welcome!! all of the pictures i included do not belong to me and the tattoo was found on Pinterest. the two songs mentioned are C.R.E.A.M by Wu-Tang and Come A Little Closer by Cage the Elephant. enjoy lovelys!!

warning(s): mentions of cigarettes/smoking/weed, i think that's it but please let me know if i should add anything

You drum your fingers on the steering wheel anxiously waiting for the light to turn green. You had no reason at all to be anxious! This was not your first tattoo. You had too many to count off the top of your head. However it was your first time at this shop and new places have always made you anxious, always preferring routine over spontaneity. 

You had seen one of the artists at the shop on instagram and instantly became obsessed with their work. Their page is full of stunning tattoos. Her name was Ellie. Cute. She seemed to mostly do plants and flowers, sticking to a traditional style. Seeing a few videos of her tattooing herself, you couldn’t help but notice just how attractive she was. Doing some light-hearted stalking you managed to find her personal page and she had a disappointing lack of posts. Her profile picture was her standing holding a skateboard behind her head…original. She only had a few pictures, mostly with other people. Deciding against following her, figuring that might be creepy.

‘Fuck it! Her style is perfect for the exact tattoo that I’ve been wanting on my hips. It's just a major plus that she’s super hot.’ You think as you send a message to the tattoo parlors page saying you’re interested in booking an appointment. 

So just like that, a month later you’re sitting at a red light, anxiety pulsing through you. Parking your car in the lot across from the shop you gather your things, giving yourself a once over in your car window, you walk across to the shop. The bell above the door jingles as you open it. The classic smell of green soap wafting through the parlor. C.R.E.A.M is playing low in the background as you make your way to the front desk. A young girl with thick black hair is sitting on a stool at the counter typing away at a laptop. You realize you recognize her from Ellie’s instagram page.

You take a few anxious steps toward her, “Hi! I’m here for a four o’clock appointment with Ellie? Sorry I’m a little early!” 

“Hey! No worries! She’s just finishing up with someone and then she’ll come out and get you. Feel free to have a seat.” She gives you a warm smile, going back to typing away.

Placing your purse and water bottle on the coffee table in the middle of a few sofas and loveseats you flop into one, fiddling with your fingers. You take a look around the shop, admiring the welcoming vibe. Flash art is hung all over the walls, along with pictures of tattoos and piercings that customers have gotten. Art and posters are also placed around sporadically. The artist stations have curtains on either side of them with a walkway in the middle. 

A voice coming from around one of the curtains snags your attention. ‘Oh my god. She’s even hotter in person. This is gonna be a long day.’ Your face flushes as your mind shuffles around. 

She rounds the front desk, chatting with her client while accepting her payment. Her client leaves and she turns to the dark haired girl who welcomed you, she nods her head in your direction and you quickly look down realizing you’ve been staring at them. You fiddle with your fingers as a pair of beat up converse come into your view. Looking up as she asks your name.

“Yeah! That’s me!” You look up giving your best casual smile.

“Sweet. Give me one sec to clean up my station and print out your stencil and I’ll come get you.” She says as she steps back.

“Okie dokie!” 

She chuckles at your response, walking towards her station.

“Okie dokie!? Jesus fucking christ I’m such a dork. Just be cool! You know how to be cool!’ You scold yourself and take some deep breaths.

About twenty minutes pass before she’s walking back with your stencil in hand, nodding her head at you to follow her. Gathering your stuff as quickly as possible you shuffle after her. She walks to her station, pulling the curtain closed behind you guys and sits in the rolling chair, cutting the excess edge off of your stencil. You stand there, shifting on your feet, awaiting direction.

Your eyes wander and you realize her station is a great insight to her personality. She’s got a tool cart covered in stickers and a low table shelf where her rolling chair sits. She’s got several shelves with collectable action figures and pictures. You notice more of her flash art taped to the wall, a Savage Starlight poster catches your eye. 

“Alright so you want these on the front of your thighs and hips right?” She looks up at you and you nod giving a small hum.

“Perfect, so if you just wanna pull your shorts off – or you can just lower them. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

You blush even though you knew you’d have to take your shorts off. Purposefully wearing your cutest high cut underwear, however now you feel embarrassed at doing that. You shuffle out of your shorts and fold them over your bag. Hopping onto the chair with a small huff you lean back into the backrest. 

She stands, slipping on her black gloves. Glancing down at you and asking if you're ready, you nod your head with another hum. 

As she makes work of sanitizing your skin and running the disposable razor over your thighs and hips, you subtly admire her own ink. She has a beautiful fern with a moth overlaying it on her left arm. On her right arm she has a collection of flowers and plants from her wrist disappearing into the sleeve of her white t-shirt. She also has several patchwork pieces filling in the blank skin on her arms, neck, and some tattoos disappearing to her covered hands. Your face flushes and the thought of seeing the pieces that are not currently exposed. 

As Ellie is prepping her canvas she is trying to be as subtle as possible as she looks you over. Feeling embarrassed at her lack of professionalism she scolds herself as she ogles you. Admiring your tattoos, she feels giddy at the thought of adding to all the beautiful pieces covering you. She glances up at you as you seem to be dazed while staring at her arms. Giving a small smirk at your face flushing, she wipes your skin with the wet paper towel once more before grabbing your stencil from her table. She presses them both down with gentle hands, making sure they’re even and not smudged. 

“Okay, hop up and take a look at it in the mirror. If there’s anything, anything at all that you don’t like about the placement or size let me know.” She steps back, rolling her gloves off and reaching for clean ones.

Scooting off the chair you move over to the mirror and admire the beautiful stencil, already obsessing over the temporary blue ink. Shifting your hips and rotating your body to make sure you like it from all angles, you swivel around with a grin.

“I love it! It’s literally perfect. Oh my god it’s so perfect.” You gush.

Her face flushes at your praise and she nods before turning to her workstation to fill the ink caps and get her tattoo gun ready.

You hop back into the chair, giddy with excitement. Fingers fiddling, this time with excited energy. The buzz of the gun causes adrenaline to fizzle through you and you take deep breaths, preparing for the sweet pain. She rolls her chair to you and presses the pedal underneath the chair causing it to lower to her sitting level. 

“Alright, you ready to start?” She dips the needle of the gun into the ink, bringing her attention back to you. 

Taking a deep breath, you look into her green eyes and give your best confident nod, “Ready as I’ll ever be!”

She smiles at you, finding you absolutely adorable and places her left hand firmly on your thigh, gun in her right hand. 

Always being surprised by the pain, for some odd reason. You take a deep breath at the hot sting and try to focus on the music playing in the parlor. Come A Little Closer plays and you drum your fingers to the melody. 

– 

“Alright, outlines are done. You wanna take a break before we start color?” She asks as she sets the gun down, stretching out her arms and neck. Looking incredibly hot doing something so simple.

“Yeah! A break would be good.” You stretch out your legs before moving off the chair with great caution trying to avoid the painful feeling of creasing your skin. 

“Sweet. Lemme just cover you with saran wrap and some medical tape” She rolls over to you covering your outline gently. You slip on your shorts, zipping them up and leaving the button undone. You shuffle in your bag for your smokes, turning around with the pack in hand. 

“You- Uh- You wanna join me for a smoke?” You offer sheepishly. 

She says sure and grabs her water bottle, walking out behind you. You lean against the brick wall, pulling your lighter out of the pack and two smokes. You place one in your mouth, lighting it and lighting the other with the tip. You blush feeling Ellie’s eyes on you the whole time.

Passing it to her you try to make small talk, “It’s a horrible habit…I’m aware. I usually prefer a joint over a cig but ya know.” You say with a small laugh. 

She chuckles with you, “I’m not one to judge. Besides, you can get away with smoking.”

“What do you mean by that?” You exhale and glance up at her in confusion.

“Pretty girls can always get away with smoking. Trust me.” She says with a dramatic exhale of smoke, looking borderline edible at this point. 

‘Fuck how can someone look that hot smoking a cigarette!?’ 

You turn a bright shade of red, “I- I’ve never been told that before…” You say quietly, stubbing your cigarette out on the ashtray placed outside. 

Smirking at your shyness she stubs her and pushes herself off the wall, stubbing her cigarette on the ashtray, “C’mon pretty, let’s get back to work.” She says, holding the door open for you. Your body brushes against hers as you walk through the door. Face aflame.  

You both settle back in her workspace and she starts coloring your piece.

–

Pulling off her gloves and leaning back to stretch, “And you’re done. Let me know what you think.”

You scoot off the chair, skin much more tender, you wince when you crease it, dreading the drive home. You step over to the mirror ogling at the artwork that decorates your skin.

“It’s-” You spin around bouncing on your toes, “It’s amazing! You’re fucking amazing! Oh my fucking god!” You practically scream, feeling pure elation. 

Her freckles become prominent as her face flushes a concerning shade of red. Your praise clearly has an effect on her. She rubs the back of her neck sheepishly, feeling her blush all over her body. 

Clearing her throat, “I- I’m glad you like it. You took it like a champ. That’s a big ass piece, I don’t know if I could've done only one session.” She rambles, wanting to get the attention off of her. 

She stands, hands stuffing into her pockets, “Anyway! Let’s get that covered.” 

She covers both your hips in saniderm and you pull your shorts on, wincing as the fabric rubs against your skin. 

“Hey! Uh- Do you have a personal instagram? I found the shop but um- was hoping to follow your personal one!” You ramble nervously, shuffling with your phone.

Letting out a small laugh she takes your phone from you, opening instagram and typing her handle. She takes her phone out of her back pocket, following you back. You try to hide your smile and grab the rest of your things.

‘Just be cool. Play it cool and casual.’

Making your way to the front desk she leans on it, “So for today it’ll be an even $200.”

“What? What- No, that’s- that’s way too cheap. Here.” You hand her four hundred, knowing that she’s undercharging you. This tattoo is incredible and huge. You also hand her a single hundred for the tip. Having had enough tattoos that you know you always pay in cash and always be prepared to tip generously. 

She shuffles through the cash, shaking her head and trying to hand you back two of the five hundred that you handed her. You raise your hands and shake your head, “No! Ellie! C’mon, don’t undercharge me!” Looking her in the eyes to insist. 

“C’mon pretty girl. Reason with me. Take two back. I won’t accept five.” She says as she stands taller, hands leaning on the counter, tilting her head as she speaks to you.

‘Let me just…casually get on my knees for you. You look so fucking hot right now. Oh my fucking god.’

You let out a dramatic sigh and say quietly, “Fine! Fine…but you’re keeping three!” You concede, not happy at all with her undercharging you.

She smirks, pushing herself off the counter folding the cash and pocketing it, “Good girl. Was that so hard?” She mocks you.

Your body is burning with embarrassment and lust at this point and you are grateful the dark haired girl from before is gone. Feeling mortified at the thought of anyone witnessing her flirtatious teasing. 

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you take a step back gripping your bag.

Clearing your throat you manage to get out, “Well- I Will be seeing you. Thank you, Ellie. This piece is- it’s incredible. I’m obsessed with it!” You gush out like a fangirl.

“Thank you…that means a lot.” She says and stuffs her hands in her pockets, an obvious tell of when she’s nervous. 

–

Parking your car in the parking lot behind your apartment building you pull your phone out from your back pocket, feeling it buzz with a notification. 

ellie_wills03 : hey pretty girl

ellie_wills03 : you get home safe?

You bite your bottom lip as you smile. Thumbs hovering over your keyboard.

love.bug.222 : Hi! Yes, I just got home 🩷

ellie_wills03 : good, have a good night gorgeous 

love.bug.222 : Okie dokie! You too! I’ll talk to you tomorrow :) 

Ellie smiles at her phone, chuckling at how sweet you sound even over text.

You are a blushing mess, admiring your tattoo for the rest of the night.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Timeless - III (Bob Floyd x Reader)

A/N: As promised, part 3 in time for my birthday (scheduled to post at the exact minute I was born bc why not)! It's not my finest work, but I'm relatively happy with it. Also, I done goofed and gave OC a name but tagged it as "x reader" - please feel free to just pretend the character's name isn't there, I just didn't want to write "Y/N" over and over and over again - it's written from the reader's perspective so I'm leaving it as "x reader" (also bc I'm lazy and like the parts to all match so).

pairing: Lt. Robert Floyd x reader

warnings/content: mutual pining, some angst, swearing, mildly steamy makeout sesh, Bob drops a bombshell on miss girl.

word count: 1.6k

one - two - three -

You blinked slowly as you tried to comprehend what Bob had just said. You looked at him in disbelief, letting out an awkward laugh as you felt your blood beginning to boil at his words. As much as you’d missed him, pined for him, and longed for him over the last decade, you were frustrated by the fact that this could have been avoided easily ten years ago if you or Bob had just swallowed your pride and said something to one another. While you knew you were just as much to blame on that part, it was Bob who walked away in the end, and in this moment, you couldn’t help but resent him for leaving you, then proclaiming he missed you for so long without ever so much as attempting to make contact. He at least could have asked his mother to speak to yours and provide him the contact information necessary to talk to you - you didn’t have that luxury, a) because he was often away at sea, and b) because he had left you without as much as a goodbye, leaving you under the impression that he didn’t want to see you. For some reason, hearing Bob’s admission made something inside you snap, you suddenly felt bitter and cold towards him for leaving you in the first place. 

“You missed me? Do I need to remind you that it was YOU who walked away 10 years ago? Christ, Bobby, you didn’t even have the balls to come say goodbye to me before you fucked off,” you spat angrily. 

“Listen, Krissy, let me explain,” Bob began, a pleading look in his eyes as he tried to calm you down.

“First of all, my name is Kristen. No one has called me Krissy in years. Not since you left. Secondly, I’ve been waiting, praying, hoping you’d call me. You don’t get to come back after years and hit me with this romantic “I’ve missed you so much” bullshit when you haven’t even as much as attempted to get ahold of me over the years. Do you know how many nights I spend crying when you left, wondering what the hell I did wrong to not deserve a goodbye from you? I thought I was finally over you too, and then you show back up here and remind me all over again just how fucking much I loved you. How much I still love you, and how no other man is ever going to compare to you,” You exhaled sharply as you finished ranting, shaking your head as hot tears stung your cheeks as they fell. 

“Wait, you love me?” Bob frowned as he shook his head, his blue eyes welling up with tears as he looked at you.

“For fuck sake, Bob, out of all that, this is what part stuck with you? Not the part about me needing an explanation as to why the hell you thought it was ok to just abandon your best friend?” 

Before you could continue ranting, you felt Bob’s lips crash into yours, his hands firmly grabbing your waist to pull you into his body. His grip on you was tight and passionate as his lips continued to kiss at yours, and you couldn’t help but moan softly as his tongue gently traced along your bottom lip, almost begging for entry to your mouth. You pulled away breathlessly and shook your head, looking at Bob with a completely bewildered stare.

“Care to explain that outburst, Lieutenant Floyd?” You raised an eyebrow at him and folded your arms across your chest, your gaze intense enough to make Bob worry he’d burst into flames if you didn’t look away from him. 

“Listen, Kristen, I’ve always loved you. I assumed you just…didn’t.” He shrugged his shoulders sheepishly as he blushed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “I wanted to tell you, I really did, but every time I got myself psyched up to do it, I’d chicken out and back off. And then I sort of tried to forget about you - threw myself into my naval career, made sure I was one of the best WSOs in the United States, got into Top Gun, I tried my damnest to forget you, Kristen. I really did.”

Bob let out a sigh as he shook his head, his blonde hair becoming perfectly tousled as it broke free from its uniform combed back look. He frowned at you before opening his mouth, hesitating before he spoke, his voice almost in a whisper as the words came out.

“I couldn’t forget about you no matter how hard I tried. I tried dating and throwing myself into my career, I tried forcing myself to see a future with other women, but no matter how hard I tried to force it, it just made me realize I wanted you more. Then I came home and found out you’d moved to New York from Mama, and I wanted to go there and see you - I’d fully planned on coming over here and asking your folks where you lived so I could go visit, try and convince you to listen to me and give me the chance I know that I don’t deserve, and then, as I was getting my coffee the other day, planning on how the fuck I was going to do this all, you walked in and complete threw me off guard, but I love it. It just reminded me more that…that this is the right thing to do, Kristen. I could leave the entire US Navy behind, just walk away and never look back, but I cannot in good conscience leave South Carolina without telling you how I feel.” 

You sighed softly, shaking your head and frowning as your gaze met the floor, completely at a loss for words. You wanted so badly to stay mad at him for leaving without a word, but hearing that Bob had felt the same way you had for the last ten years, it made you soften towards him once again, another gentle sigh escaping your lips before you spoke, looking up to meet his cobalt blue eyes once again.

“Robert Floyd, are you saying that you love me as much as I love you?” You finally said, letting out a sharp breath that you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding in. 

“I believe that’s exactly what I’m saying, Kristen.” He laughed softly, raising an eyebrow as he gently reached his hand out to touch your cheek, wiping a tear away with his thumb, “I never wanted to hurt you, Krissy. I just, I was a shy and awkward 18 year old who was in love with my best friend, and I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared you’d reject me and I decided I’d rather live with the fact that you just didn’t know how I felt, than risk telling you and you shooting me down faster than I can shoot down an enemy aircraft.”

“For a smart man, you’re kind of a dumbass, you know that, Lieutenant Floyd?” You laughed and shook your head to rid your eyes of any remaining tears that threatened to fall. 

“I know I am,” Bob grinned at you, leaning in to kiss at your cheek, just below your ear. As he pressed his lips to your soft skin, he murmured sweetly into your ear, “But, I’m your favourite dumbass, right?” 

You felt Bob’s lips turn up into a smile against your cheek, his face hovering against your skin for a moment longer as he took in the familiar scent of your perfume, the same one you’d worn since you’d turned 16 years old. His hand found his way around the small of your back as his lips trailed across your cheek playfully. When he pulled away, he gently tucked your hair behind your ear and smiled.

“What happens now? Because, knowing how you feel now, I can’t leave for San Diego without us deciding what to do about it.”

As you were about to answer, you heard your brother calling up the stairs to you both.

“Hey, Ma says to hurry it up with the serving trays, and Dad says to stop fooling around up there like a coupl’a teenagers on prom night,” You could hear your brother’s laughter echoing from the bottom of the attic staircase as he spoke. Your sister’s giggle could be heard in unison with his, and you shook your head as you shot Bob a sympathetic look.

“Nice to see they haven’t changed in the slightest,” Bob laughed softly as he grabbed two of the serving trays and smiled before leaning in to give you a peck on the cheek, “I should probably head back to my Ma’s for dinner before she starts sending out a search party, but maybe after Thanksgiving dinner is over, we can talk?” His voice sounded hopeful as he spoke.

“Absolutely,” You nodded quickly, trying to stop your cheeks from turning bright scarlet red as he kissed you, “On one condition though,” you started.

“What’s that?” 

“You promise to keep kissing me until you make me blush,” You smirked at him as you kissed his cheek, carefully straightening out his hair for him before sending him back downstairs to where your family was surely all discussing the possibilities of what could have taken place between you both in that attic.

[neonponders]

I’m not an OG Harringrove person (I call myself a member of the “second wave” lol I watched ST at the end of 2019 and got into the fandom while Harringrove for Australia was popping off in 2020) but I’ve noticed a reoccurring trend in posts/mentalities.

So many of us question how to be more active in fandom. What can we do differently that will get us more interactions? Really, what can we do to be more appreciated? During my time in this fandom, I’ve gathered good news and bad news:

The good news, is that any negligence we feel, isn’t our fault. We feel like something personal is going on, but really, everyone is just living their lives. So many OG’s are older, married, have kids, and have scary big kid jobs. People’s lack of interaction with us actually has nothing to do with us, and everything to do with them just trying to successfully exist lol

The bad news is that we, for some reason, are convinced that praise is intrusive. That rolling up into someone’s tumblr mailbox is the exact same as unlocking their house and yelling, “HEY. NICE COUCH. GOOD TASTE.”

I’ve been there, and I continue to visit this imposter syndrome place, because I’m a nasty little goblin who needs to be pat on the head as much as anyone else. Now for the deep dive:

Humans are pack creatures with an intrinsic need to create. Easy examples are food, and cliff drawings. It’s not enough to eat a banana right off a tree. We take the risk of putting it to fire and creating a different flavor profile. One of the oldest pieces of human art are some animal outline carvings in the side of some Egyptian cliffs that overlook a stretch of the Nile. Archeologists and anthropologists theorize that these are the first signage we ever made: “Hey heads up, these animals live in this mile-stretch of river. Yes, there’s deer here, but also hippos. Hunt wisely.”

These two traits combine into a neediness that doesn’t know how to be satisfied. Worse, we’re in a broken society that doesn’t celebrate the artist/creative anymore (if it ever really did). And that’s so hypocritical. Artists have kept people alive and happy just as much as the hunter and cook.

We create writing, art, edits, videos, etc and share share share share share....because it’s a stupid little wacky gift of stardust in our brains. This human trait trickles down into us making our silly little fanfics and art projects of rotten characters finding peace, getting plowed after a slow-burn, or just making tea for each other.

The honest truth is that creating isn’t enough. Yes, we do it for ourselves, and we always will. We need to create the same way we need water. The unfair flip side is that we also need our pack to answer us when we ring that bell.

All I can tell you is that life is hard, and more than likely, we see the stuff you’re posting for us. And we’re wildly grateful to you. We’re just trained to think that telling you how special you are, and how grateful we are, will make you disappear.

A star died eons ago and gave us its stardust. It’s unfair that shining is hard but we do see you.

[oshiawaseni]

I recently am now looking through the mha fandom for the first time and discovered your blog. Looking through your posts and analysis you seem like you’re quite knowledgeable about Horikoshi’s writing or him in general and are confident about the potential of bkdk being canon. In fact, quickly looking through the bkdk tags, a lot people on here are quite confident about the relationship, whether viewing it platonic or romantic. Now I kinda expected that, as a bkdk shipper as well, but I became confused when I found alot of people implying that Horikoshi “ships” bkdk or encourages it. For the longest time I’ve only ever consumed the anime and never really knew what’s been going on in the fandom. So I don’t know much about Horikoshi, but I swear I heard way back about him not liking the ship bkdk and deliberately implying the relationship between Izuku and Uruaka. The questions I’m getting at here is, what makes you think that Horikoshi wants bkdk to be canon and is there any hints about it outside of the main anime/manga that supports that? I acknowledge how it’s hinted at that bkdk heavily “need each other” or something like that in the anime/manga, I just always thought it was always going to be platonic and that Izuku and Uruaka will be end game. Maybe it is that and everyone is just joking about Horikoshi, idk I’m confused and lost lol.

Okay what you're asking for is a little strange, because Hori's storytelling really does speak for itself, his heart shows up the most in his writing of bkdk, but here goes…!

In regards to Hori’s feelings about them, hmm I’m going to get there one day soon(tm), but I’ll give you two examples outside the manga that show bkdk are important to him and why Hori is a bkdk like us.

First is when an interviewer was asking about Kirishima saving Katsuki and Hori responded to him with a sentiment that sounded a lot like “actually the takeaway from this scene was bkdk. that it was a bittersweet moment because Izuku couldn’t be the one to take his hand… but the decision was made." He really deflected the topic away from Kirishima and pointed at bkdk "Look at them instead".

Showing importance of that decision to bkdk’s development because THEY are what’s most important to the series, not any of their relationships with the main side characters. (And then we got the parallel to this where Katsuki feels he didn’t have what it took to take Izuku’s hand during the Deku retrieval arc. Regrets, regrets, regrets... everywhere. Now Katsuki is dead and Izuku "still hasn't told him ____")

My second example is something I bring up on twitter a bit, but that's only because it's so validating.

So you know when Katsuki died, every bkdk was crying and/or freaking out, right? Back then the mood was… “How is Izuku going to react to this?” And in a lot of bkdk’s hearts, we imagined Izuku kneeling at Katsuki’s side, embracing him, possibly acting very protectively over his body. People drew fanart of this.

I also had this kind of vision of him... but back then, MANY of us did.

But for the most part, we knew it wouldn’t be practical in the middle of a fight setting and then come January, Horikoshi showed us he felt the exact same way as us about them with his Volume 37 cover “illustration.” It was like a brainworm image of Izuku and Katsuki he couldn't get out of his head unless he drew it for the cover, something he felt bkdk deserved, but he couldn't give it to them in the manga because of the unrealism and impracticality of it happening mid-fight.

What I’m saying is: when Katsuki died, all bkdks dreamed of Izuku holding him close and/or protecting him and Horikoshi turned that collective vision, that many of us felt in our hearts, into a freaking volume cover.

As bkdks, we have this idea in our heads of these characters; what motivates them, what or who are important to them, because this far along the story, these characters are basically writing themselves. And by him and us connecting on this feeling Izuku has with Katsuki, Hori is confirming the way we see Izuku and the importance of his intense love for Katsuki as "the correct version" of Izuku that also exists in HIS mind, and he showed his hand to us of him being the biggest bkdk out of all of us. He quite literally is our King of BkDk.

The reveal of this cover is the moment I knew, without a doubt, that Hori was one of us. And that's not even factoring in that Edgeshot quote. Even that is a whole thing in itself to unpack, which I've done multiple times already.

If Hori's chosen composition and overall mood for this cover weren't already damning enough evidence for his love of bkdk and intent on making them canon, the other thing of note is that the red fingers in their background are HEAVILY inspired by Berserk.

When I saw it, I got flashbacks of the eclipse, and the hand that lifted Griffith out of Guts' reach. It also turns out there was a very similar "lovers" pose between Guts and Casca for that eclipse content. And then there are all of those Spider-Man death embraces with Gwen Stacy.

The inspirations for this volume 37 for the hero comic-loving Horikoshi are quite clear: Izuku is embracing his future lover.

[gentlexmadman]

Been a while since I’ve posted a rant here, and now that I have Many Thoughts about Pixlriffs’ recent Empires episodes, it’s time for another one.

This isn’t really a theory as much as it is me pointing out some interesting connections and exciting details, though I do theorize a little bit.

(Spoilers for episodes 34 and 35 of Pixlriffs’ Empires S2!)

Okay first of all, it’s super interesting to me that Pix was the one to find the Crown and put it on, proclaiming himself to be the king, even saying that it “fit quite nicely” when this was his Tweet teasing Season 2:

“Not all heads are suited for a crown.”

Which also feels very in-line with S1 Pix exiling himself for much the same reason; not feeling as if he was deserving of the crown and like all he did was bring upon ruin to his subjects. He deemed his head unsuited and unfit for a crown. (This is a popular theory for why he left S1 early, lore-wise.)

So Pix then wearing the Crown in S2 felt strange when his whole premise was that he isn’t a ruler this season. ...But then, in E35, the Crown itself kills Pix. He says that it “had other ideas for who was destined to wear it.” ...Interesting.

No, I have no idea why he’s now a ghost, but I’m very interested to see where he goes with it. Now that he can see the ghost cat (he made it canon!), it’s possible he’ll be able to see ghosts of other people as well... perhaps even some people from the past we might already know. It seems we might finally be approaching Pix’s S1 tie-ins, which he’s already teased once before with David (the copper aging machine). “How did the Copper King’s ancient machine end up in my hands? Trust in the lore man.” (Probably not the exact quote, but it’s close enough.)

And what does he say in this newest episode?  "Maybe the archaeologist of the ancient capital and the curator of the museum was a piece of the past himself all along."

He may very well be the literal ghost of the Copper King. After all, we already know from Sausage’s lore that the S2 characters are reincarnations of the S1 characters. They’re all the same. And sooner or later, all of them will begin to remember.

(Perhaps the Crown kills everyone who wears it and not just Pix because he’s “unfit for a crown” but who knows. Maybe everyone who wears the Crown will become ghosts; maybe the Crown kills all the past rulers. Maybe it just simply kills everyone; maybe it’s been cursed. Maybe it just kills Pix because of his early removal from the throne in S1. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.)

[dweamofsweep]

Final few drawings from this sketchbook now that I’m recycling it! Kind of sad because this particular notebook was one I used as a little kid, it has some suuuper old and embarrassingly bad (but funny) drawings in it.

Also just going to put this here; I know something kind of blew up here over the weekend in this corner of Tumblr. Dr. Tezuka has been dead for several decades now, so we will never know exactly what “ending” he thought about for Tenma and Astro further than how they got separated and never really permanently reunited throughout his numerous re-writes and loose canon tendencies. That’s up to us to parse and make meaning of and potentially imagine beyond for ourselves as audience members of the series, which many fans have done over the years (And even any other official work done after Tezuka’s passing, like AB2003 and ATB, Pluto etc are basically the same thing). I believe we are allowed to disagree with the evaluations of media that others come up with, whether just in our heads or posted publicly! However, it is not our job to budge every last person’s opinion on the internet. We may “see” each other on a somewhat regular basis because, let’s face it, this fandom is pretty small, but at the end of the day none of us know everything that informs the meaning being made by the others — and we are not obligated to disclose such personal information for any reason, in real life or online. To give you an example and offer up something about myself, Astro as a character resonates with me in large part because he stands on the border between one group and another; although he is certainly a robot, he lives his life as a human would most of the time, creating a split between himself and other robots while still not being accepted fully into human society. It gives him a unique opportunity to bridge the two together, but as a result he can never be entirely one or the other. The reason why I find that fascinating is because I am a second-gen immigrant Asian-American, and it forms some parallels with the way I feel in my own life, having been raised more American than Asian. Also, my parents are culturally Chinese-Indonesian, but ethnically appear Chinese (as do I). I will never be fully accepted into native Chinese, Indonesian, or Chinese-Indonesian communities because I act too much like an “American” despite my appearance. I will also never be fully accepted into the American community I live in because I still cling onto some of my heritage, and of course also because of my appearance. But maybe due to my experience in both worlds, the chances have increased that I could foster greater empathy, interest, or understanding between them, and Astro gives me hope for that.

However— I wouldn’t expect anyone here to know that (or even remember after reading it — it’s fine, you can purge the info from your brain LOL) even if it does affect my readings of certain scenarios and stories. If someone were to post something that doesn’t acknowledge or reflect the perspective I have, I can feel any type of way about it, but I have to remind myself I don’t know where they’re coming from and to try not to take it too personally, since they don’t know where I’m coming from either. Maybe someone has had the exact opposite experience from me, maybe they just haven’t been in any comparable situation to begin with, they could also be a lot younger or older, or from another part of the world — on the internet you really just don’t know, and a person doesn’t really have to tell you if they don’t want to. Personally, once I’ve said my piece, I’ve said it. If someone disagrees with me over the same point repeatedly, and I considered their viewpoint but decided to retain mine, I don’t continue to engage them, because I know it gets unproductive sooner or later (neither side changes their mind or learns anything new, if anything we both just become more stubborn about our own arguments because we have to keep making the same one over and over). I do think about Tezuka’s and other artists’ work very seriously, as an artist myself and an aspiring professional, and I believe that’s a valid angle to come from. Yet I often just draw things on a whim despite the aforementioned, and as embarrassing as it is to admit, most of my drawings have very little meaning. I just post on here hoping it might make someone else a bit happier to see it; I suspect that many others in the community do the same. (Obviously if I misrepresent something severely in my own work, which I hope I will not but you never know, I want someone to tell me about it, but I didn’t think this was the case in the particular situation happening now.)

and… I will freely admit to sharing outlandish internet takes both as a kid and as an adult, then changing my mind and looking back on it, as well as my behavior in general, later with regret 😭 it will happen again, I’m sure… perhaps this is one and I should have kept my mouth shut, but I hope this at least gave some of my perspective. If you want to probe any further into my thoughts or ask for clarification you can!

[mattsdae]

You seem to be interested in South Park Studios pranks, so:

They like to have fun with their money too. In the office, Parker will give someone $5,000 to eat pickled pork lips bought on the Internet or put them in a cash-grab machine for thirty-one minutes or make them eat six McDonald’s McRib sandwiches and four Starbucks lattes in one sitting (the kid puked up some of it, and he made him drink the puke). One year, he refereed a two-month-long weight-losing competition in the office. The pool was $3,700. The winner lost forty-eight pounds in nine weeks. “Right before we gave him the money, I was like, ‘Wait, let’s get a box,'” says Parker excitedly. “I told him he won and he could have the money or the box. He took the box, which actually had $8,000 in it. It was seriously one of the most exciting moments ever.” He shakes his head. “He took the fucking box.”

“I’m the go-to fart-on girl,” says Jennifer Howell, a friend who works for their production company, Important Films. “Matt and Trey like to pin me down and fart on me, or fart on my food when I walk out of the room. One time, flying first-class to Toronto, Trey stood up on his seat and farted in my face. At the airport gate, they like to play ‘angry boyfriend,’ screaming at me and pretending to hit me in the face.” She laughs, perhaps a better sport than she should be. “There’s nothing I can say to embarrass them in return, other than say they have small penises or my friends say they were really shitty in bed. Plus, they’ve warned me that any revenge I exact will come back a hundredfold.”

“I’ve been witness to many gross things Matt and Trey have done to other people with their private areas, front and back,” says Goodman later. “A while ago in Cabo San Lucas, one of the guys passed out in our hotel room and Matt stuck his full penis and balls on his face while I took pictures.” Parker is by all accounts the worse offender. “A few years ago, Trey had a habit of sneaking up on a bunch of us while we were sitting around watching football,” says Goodman. “He’d stand behind us, quietly turn around, pull his pants down, spread his legs apart and go, ‘Hey, guys.’ “

They also like to mess with the show's post production department, like one time they put penetration shots of gay porn in between takes just so the guys had to watch it while taking it out

Matt also chased their animation director Eric Stough threatening to kill him after the guy farted on his lunch and made Eric lock himself in his car in fear, and then Matt and Trey pissed all over his car

honestly, i’m gonna act like i never read any of this bc i can’t wrap my head around how much i hate them as people, even if i find them attractive. they are genuinely insufferable people and i am well aware of that, i just choose not to think about it.

(i got the source https://www.rollingstone.com/tv-movies/tv-movie-news/south-park-still-sick-still-wrong-231538/ )

[umilily]

Since I can't draw for shit, I sadly can't make one of those yearly lookbacks, but there's something else I'd like to put out there as a sort of year-in-review (and to celebrate a little):

Once more – true to my brand – I managed to time things so spectacularly that I’m proud (?) to say that today is actually my one-year anniversary of posting fic. To be fair, I doubt that this will become an international holiday like any other minor ones going on atm, but nevertheless I just wanted to take a moment to write down some thoughts on that (because ah, yes, of course, more rambling from me), even if it’s just for myself to look back on both an occasionally very unusual, weird year.

No pressure to read or digest any of this, I think the only thing I really want to say to anyone who’s bothered reading this far (both this post and the things posted over the last year) is a huge thanks. If you had told me last December that a decision made while under the heavy influence of Ibuprofen and caffeine to combat one of the nastiest colds I ever had, would snowball into a year filled with kind words from strangers and new friends, I would have probably written you off as a fever dream. Oddly enough, it wasn’t, so somehow now I’m here writing this post that already feels too pompous, but that I can’t help wanting to type out regardless.

My own corner of the vast internet unexpectedly became a lot more populated than I’ve ever known it to be. Which feels hilariously ironic when I think about that at the same time, living abroad essentially nuked my social life with friends and family many hours away. But even if I still am very much reclusive – a rare encounter I suppose – and have only talked to very few people who hang around here, I’m still so very grateful for all the kind words from everyone found for me and my writing. Thank you all for keeping me company through me essentially just going “fuck it we ball” continuously.

The last year had some stretches that have been exhausting and rough and I think sticking with something self-indulgent and light-hearted kept me from going nuts at times. I’m not the type to make new years resolutions and when last year I told people that mine was “Doing things poorly”, it likely was the most confusing one they heard so far. For me personally, it was the best one out there, so I will be renewing that and (as proudly as possible) continue to do things poorly in 2024 as well. If people stick around for a laugh or two, I will take it as the highest praise and compliment.

On a more personal front, there is a good chance that I will start working full-time within the next year, so I also just wanted to take this chance for a little heads-up. If I end up disappearing for longer than what you’re used to from me being chronically online, it’s probably because I managed to fool people into hiring me and sadly not because I finally made the smart decision to become a hermit in the woods or retire to the seaside. (Or well, I might end up reacting the exact opposite. Because when have I ever made responsible, adult decisions regarding how to spend my free time? Who needs sleep when you can contemplate the enigmatic, inner machinations of your blorbo’s mind on the topic of coffee or Ikea furniture?) I will do my very best to be as consistent as possible, because even if I do get busy, writing has been something that brought me much more joy than I could have anticipated, and I would like to keep that going.

With that, I think I’m finally done and all that’s left for me to do is saying thanks again and wishing you all a relaxing holiday season and a good start into the new year! <3