#fucking pay attention to more than just tumblr posts

[idkwhylou]

what the actual fuck ?! I mean we're in 2025 dude like ???? @penvisions don't pay attention to people like this. You did the right thing to post their message, showing that behind those accounts there's people with questionnable and wrong point of views, ideas,... call it what you want.

I'm sad that some people really think this way. Like we're on Tumblr, writing fan fictions and others,... Like we're not doing anything wrong and there's still people that achieve to ruin our fun. I thought that Tumblr was a safe place for writers, readers and many more. Please if you're a racist, homophobic or just mean person, leave. The door is open, so leave and let us be for real. Anyways, guys just be nice and respect people around you. I should no be the one to educate you on that.

By the way if one day you're confronted to someone like that, don't be scared to speak up and expose them. It's the right thing to do. Your silence is a form of acceptance. And it's not okay to this point to think like that, in any way.

Take care of yourself and the others around you ♡. And please when I say be nice to people, I mean everyone. Don't act like those mean people, you're better than that.

Xx Lou

I’m not new to this kind of stuff, but it does hurt still. Very much.

tw for racism and racial slurs under the cut

This was a comment left on the series I was so excited to write and share with y’all. I am excited to write and share. But this comment is not only extremely hateful, it’s also extremely unsettling with how casually they hurled a loaded insult at me.

“Spic” is a very serious thing to call someone. It’s a racial slur that I’ve heard before, had aimed at me before, and it’s not a good feeling.

I preface a lot of fics with detailed tags and warnings. From angst to the reader insert I’d written in more of an OC and formatted like an x reader. I’ve explained a few times while I use English a lot in my daily life, it is not my first language. Pronunciation and some nuances are lost on me but is more noticeable in my academic writing for university.

This is a hobby. This is something I indulge in because it makes me happy and telling stories is the most genuine human thing we do.

To be targeted like this and in the barrage of hateful anons lately really takes the fun out of it. And I hate that that’s my takeaway in an otherwise positive little corner I’ve found here.

I don’t really have anything else to say other than this type of behavior is not okay. It’s demeaning, it’s steeped in ignorance and malice. It makes me feel way too many things and my voice isn’t quite working on the matter beyond this.

I try to keep it positive here, to interact with intention and kindness. With good words and compliments but I feel like something needed to be said about this.

Please block this user and please be kind to one another.

[kansasjustgotgayer]

Op turned off reblogs and replies for this post but I cant not say something. Because it’s literally not about that.

If you’ve paid any attention to what the republican party looks like in 2024 you would know that the people who are changing their mind and backing Kamala are not doing it because she’s a great example of all the things they want for this nation.

They’re backing her because they know that a Trump administration would be catastrophic for every facet of how our country operates. Kamala has campaigned on a couple of strong messages including the idea that this election it is imperative to vote with the idea of “country over party.”

Because people know about project 2025 and they remember January 6th. The GOP has mutated in the last 10 years to look a lot like its ONLY the cult of trump followers but that is not true. It is full of smart people who know better and know that this is a terrible choice for everyone including themselves.

That is what these numbers really represent, not that Harris is a closet republican and a shining star candidate for these staffers. It is her appealing to republicans who feel they have to vote with their party’s nominee even when they know that option is poison.

[rainingincale]

.

[artflameball]

So you might've noticed I've been inactive lately. It's not because of art block, I've actually been drawing a lot recently. It's because of Palestine. Because I genuinely fucking despise how little attention has been on Palestine, how Tumblr has just moved on. The genocide is still ongoing, but it feels like Tumblr has just stopped caring. Palestine isn't a fucking trend. Taking a break is different than completely diverting your eyes to return to fucking shitposting.

So, I'm effectively holding my art ransom. If you send me a receipt showing that you donated as little as a dollar to the PCRF, or to CareForGaza, or that you bought an eSim, or that you have donated to help free Palestine in general, I will post one piece of art/sketch I've done. Hell, I will take art requests if you donate five dollars or more.

You wanna see my art again? Donate to Palestine. Or hell, encourage someone else to donate to Palestine if you can't yourself. Time's running out, and Palestine NEEDS support. Pay up, bitches. Free Palestine.

[secretsofafangirll]

let's talk...

//

Now I know this is not what I usually post but I felt like it was my duty and responsibility to talk about this.

On Dec. 4, United Health Care CEO Brian Thompson was shot and killed in front of a Hilton hotel in Midtown Manhattan in New York. Just 5 days later, the suspect and alleged shooter Luigi Mangione was arrested at a McDonalds in Altoona, PA with everything the police needed for an arrest present (that's a little fishy but we can talk about that another time).

As of now, Mangione is being held in a jail in Brooklyn, NY and is awaiting trial. He has plead not guilty to federal charges of using a firearm to commit murder, stalking, and discharging a firearm with a silencer. He has also been slapped with terrorism charges.

Now, do I think anyone should kill anyone in cold blood? No. Do I 100% support Luigi Mangione and his choice to kill Brian Thompson, a greedy slime ball who killed thousands of more people than Luigi did? Yes. With that being said, Luigi Mangione is innocent until proven guilty and I think we all need to remember that. We cannot be the same people who go on Tik Tok and Tumblr calling him the hot CEO shooter and saying that his act of protest makes him even more attractive and also stand up to the DOJ and say that he is innocent and should be pardoned. Regardless of the reason why he allegedly killed Brian Thompson, he could still be charged federally and is facing the death penalty.

I understand that he is incredibly attractive. I'm not saying he's ugly and that we can't talk about it. I have saved hundreds of edits of him on Tik Tok and his name has been in my Tumblr and Wattpad search bars more than once. But that isn't all he's good for. His attractiveness is not important because we want to look at him and read fan fiction about him. His attractiveness is important because people are paying attention to him. If he was ugly or fat or, I'm going to be completely honest, though I hate to say it, a person of color, the masses would not be reacting this way. No one would be talking about the case or about the suspect like they are. His looks are making people tune in. His looks are getting people to pay attention to the story. But we CANNOT lose the plot.

Luigi's alleged selfless sacrifice is what we need to talk about. He did something nobody, up to this point, in our generation has had the guts to do. Everyday, thousands of innocent people are killed in cold blood and the police and the government don't give a single fuck. We don't help them. If anything, we make their lives harder. If one of us get's shot several times in the city by a man who had a gun with a silencer, it wouldn't be in the news. The man probably wouldn't have even been arrested. He wouldn't be facing federal charges. He'd probably just get a warning and let back onto the streets. But because a rich man who took the money and lives from the poor got what was coming to him and got killed, they needed our help to find the perpetrator and get the violent beast off the streets so that they can send him to the chair. Well, you know what, FUCK THAT!!

The Parkland Shooter killed 17. He was an adult. No death penalty.

The Sandy Hook shooter killed 28. He was an adult. No death penalty.

The El Paso shooter killed 23. He was an adult. No death penalty.

It is not my job to find you a hero to kill. It is not our job to protect the people who take our money and our lives away from us. But it is our job to protect Luigi Mangione and get him out of the courts.

Peaceful protests don't work; that's why they let us do them. Luigi Mangione knew this, and he allegedly did what he felt needed to be done. Now, we have to help him.

We cannot, and I can't emphasize this enough, let him be a trend. Everyone was talking about the Menendez Brothers for weeks when the Netflix show came out and now everyone forgot. I didn't, but a lot of people did and the lack of support now is making their lives harder. Luigi Mangione cannot be the white boy of the month who we forget about in a week. He is a public figure now and we have to help him. I'm begging all of you to do everything you can. Send letters, sign petitions, keep his name in the media, and most importantly...

Remember who the real enemy is.

[lexluvsmegs]

Destress…

[Nanami Kento x fem!reader]

Synopsis ౨ৎ - Nanami, your loving husband, comes home after a long day of work. He seems tense, so what better way to help him destress than a nice massage from his wife? But what happens if that massage leads to more..

Warnings ౨ৎ - smut ⭒ PinV (unprotected) ⭒ dry humping ⭒ riding ⭒ nanami is so hopelessly in love with you ⭒ kinda soft ⭒ very brief breeding kink ⭒ nipple sucking (f receiving)

Note ౨ৎ - Hi everyone! This is my first post on tumblr, hope everyone enjoys ೃ⁀➷

Word count ౨ৎ - 1348

(18+ please if you’re a minor do not interact!)

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Nanami was a hard worker. Anyone who knew him could tell you. So it was no surprise when one fateful day, your dear husband Nanami stumbled through the threshold to your sweet home still carrying the weight of work on his shoulders.

You could tell it had been a rough day at work as he could only muster a small smile thrown in your direction after you’d ran to the door to greet him. His shoulders were tense as he removed his coat and hung it on the hook next to your own. “Hi nami” you decided to finally break the silence. Locking his steely eyes on to your pyjama clad figure - you weren’t wearing anything too flashy, just a night gown - however, Nanami thought you looked like a goddess sent from above just for him. His pretty girl.

“Hi sweetheart” Nanami replied softly coming to wrap his big hands around your hips, his thumb rubbing small circles in to the plush of your skin. “How was work? ‘Missed you” you whisper back, the close proximity fogging your brain. Yes, Nanami was your husband. Yes, he still made you feel breathless in his presence. How could you not? “The usual. Exhausting.” He obviously wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. Nanami rolled his shoulders slightly and you could hear a few pops as he did so. You start to slowly help him undo his tie and ponder a way to help him destress after his long shift. After all, he works so hard to keep you happy, it’s the least you could do.

“Kento?” You say as you can see the physical discomfort he’s enduring, “can I give you a massage?” It’s barely audible. You don’t know why you’re so nervous. He’s your husband for Gods sakes. But you still feel yourself shift under his gaze. “Please” it’s short and sweet but you can see his love for you shine. You intertwine his hand with your own and lead him to your shared bedroom and ask him to take off his shirt and lay on his front. Nanami follows your instructions blindly and soon finds himself splayed out on your bed with you residing on his lower back with your legs on either side of his muscular build.

You run your hands down his back watching his shoulders immediately relax with your touch. “Where does it hurt?” Your angelic voice rings in his ears as he gives a reply. You soon get to work, pushing your thumbs into all the knots along his back and paying special attention to his shoulders. The groans coming from nanami are heavenly. You’re almost distracted from the task at hand, preferring to focus on the sounds coming from your lover. “Fuck, right there” you almost choke at his language. Arousal is pooling in your panties as you try to get back to the massage but nanami is relentless. Throwing borderline sexual comments out into the air. This causes you to shift your position, trying to get any form of relief, hoping Nanami hasn’t notice your massaging abilities getting less and less. However, you should know better.

Nanami has been well aware since the first grunt he let out. Maybe, just maybe, he did it on purpose. You can’t blame him for wanting to get his pretty wife all worked up. He’s been dying to get home to you, to feel your soft skin against his but he finds himself greedy. He wants to feel more of you. Be as close as possible, inside and out. Nanami can feel you subtly grinding yourself on his lower back, you’re desperate and the stifled whines coming from above are causing his restraint to wear thin. “You enjoying yourself, love?” He calls out. You immediately stop your movement, embarrassed you got caught. “I-“ you start to sputter out an excuse but are cut off by Nanami turning over. You find yourself sat on his lap and gasp, his half hard cock pushing up and giving you the pressure you desired.

“You feel what you do to me sweet girl?” Lust infiltrates his voice as he sits up against the headboard of your shared bed, his cock now fully erect. His words have you in a trance. You mindlessly regain your grinding movement, this time more open with the sounds you make. Nanami grunts and grabs onto your hips attempting to ground himself. You drive him crazy. You both lean in to meet in the middle with a hungry kiss filled with passion, your tongues exploring each others mouths in detail. Only breaking for a gasp of air. It’s oh so messy but that’s how you both like it.“Please Ken..” you whisper into his lips. “My needy girl” he laughs to himself. “What is it you want? Huh? Gotta use your words pretty” he’s teasing. However, you find yourself to be too far gone to care about anything other than kento. “Let me- let me ride you.. please Kento” you all but beg, face stuffed in the crook of his neck as you desperately hump him.

“Good girl” he lets out in a breath as he breaks apart from you to take off his work trousers and boxers leaving him bare. You also scramble to remove your items of clothing to match his nude self. You settle back on his lap, hands resting on his broad shoulders as you slide your wet cunt over his cock, coating him fully. His tip catches your entrance and causes a gasp from both parties as you lock each other in yet another searing kiss. You slowly grab the base of Kentos cock - never quite used to the sheer length or girth of it - and line it up with your entrance. Slowly, you slide down, moaning into the other’s mouth while nanami whispers nothing but praises. “Fuck, taking me so well” he all but growled out. After what seems like ages, you finally reach the bottom of Nanami’s dick and slowly raise yourself as you begin to sway and bounce your hips, creating the perfect amount of pleasure.

Nanami breaks off from your lips and dips his head to the swell of your breasts, catching one nipple between his teeth nibbling and sucking the sensitive bud causing moans and gasps to flow from your mouth. “Ah! Kento, fuck” you can barely think straight as you grab onto Nanami’s hair as leverage giving it a gentle tug causing him to whine into your breasts as he moves from one nipple to the other.

Your legs are burning and your mind is hazy. All you can register is how good it all feels and kento’s chants of ‘good girl’s and ‘I love you’s. Nanami leaves your soft mounds and shoves his face into your neck, leaving wet kisses and marks in his trail. Everything is too much as you feel yourself reaching your high. “K-kento I’m close” you choke out in a sob. His hands grab your hips and slam you down on his length forcing you to take him all. Seeing you on top of him is making him feral. He’s never thought you looked so beautiful as you do now crying on his cock. “Fuck, same baby. I’m so close. ‘Feel so good around me” his dirty words feed your pleasure. “P-please cum in me!”it only takes a few moments for you to be spasming around Nanami’s cock. He soon follows with a loud grunt and his warm cum spurting inside you, painting your walls white.

You sit with him still inside you for some time after. Both coming down from your highs and basking in each others presence. “Let’s get you cleaned up sweetheart, did so well f’me” he finally says as he picks you up and brings you to the bathroom, running you a nice hot bath.

All you can think in these soft moments is how on earth you managed to get so lucky with a man like nanami. “I love you nami” you whisper. “I love you too, my precious girl”

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Hope you all enjoyed!

© lexluvsmegs 2024 ➳ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

PLEASE DO NOT Copy, Translate, Re-Upload, or Steal ANY of my work.

Thank You, Beautiful People!

[olderthannetfic]

How do we feel about the "Um just so you know the person you reblogged this from is an [insert undesirables category here]"? When it's some random meme or otherwise uncontroversial post, and not some elaborate political opinion post with a bunch of dogwhistles in it.

Because I just got it from a fandom acquaintance/friend and it felt really fucking unsettling.

Aside from the mutuals that I know from fandom and interact with, most of the other content I interact with on Tumblr is more about what it says than about who said it for me. I don't ever pay attention to who wrote what or which other Tumblr users they had beef with or whatever, I just read the post itself and decide if I like what it says or not. If someone posts something I REALLY dislike, I block them and move on, more in the hopes of seeing less of that sort of thing than with the intention of somehow eliminating that specific person. I never pay attention to who my mutuals are reblogging from and if I note that one of them reblogged something featuring a poster who's famously unhinged, I just assume they don't know and move on because I know my mutuals are reasonable people generally speaking. I like the anonymity of Tumblr and the focus on the content of the posts and not on specific people. It's why I hang out here and not on one of the platforms that are all about influencers and the like.

So today I was going through the blogs of a couple of people I don't follow to find a specific post and in the process I saw a fairly uncontroversial post I liked, reblogged it, and moved on. Then less than an hour later I was met with a wall of text in my DMs accusing that poster of having questionable political opinions and describing the beef they had with another person where they threatened them etc. etc.

TBH I felt incredibly uncomfortable with the level of scrutiny implied in paying attention to who I reblog random shit from, as well as the level of presumption in coming to my DMs and lecture me about it. I know nothing about the blogger they were talking about, have never interacted with him, and will probably never even have the opportunity or the desire to interact with him. He wasn't even the AUTHOR of the post, it was just on his profile. It makes me want to never post anything ever again.

I just... don't see the point of this sort of behaviour in general? "You shouldn't be giving [bad people] a platform" - look, I genuinely don't think that reblogging a pretty landscape from someone who turns out to be a TERF or whatever is platforming those beliefs in any way. I'm sorry, but I just don't see how my behaviour leads to any material harm to anyone. Even if I follow the person, the moment they start talking about TERF-y shit I'm gonna unfollow and/or block. The probability of me throwing all my well-developed political opinions down the drain and getting radicalized through the slippery slope of reblogging "CATS ARE SO CUTE WHEN THEY SWAT AT THINGS" from someone with a dogshit take about Palestine is literally zero. If it's the content of the post that's wrong, just explain why to me, or point out the dogwhistles or whatever. I'm open to being wrong in my opinions. I'm not open to my online friends acting like the fucking Stasi.

Maybe I'm just too old for these newfangled social politics but it just feels like either pointless catty high school drama or an attempt at social control that I can't help but interpret in a hostile manner. Even if it's followed by - as it was in my case - something along the lines of "obviously I'm not accusing YOU of anything!! I'm sorry it came off that way!!" when I pushed back against it. It feels like 1950s conservative housewives making sure you're not even greeting any of the town Undesirables at the grocery store, because you wouldn't want to be Morally Tainted by saying Hello to a divorcee!

It's kind of similar to the whole issue about people still writing HP fic. Am I interested in HP fic? TBH not at all - the author had soured it for me with her behaviour even before it was obvious how much she hated trans people. Do I think the people doing it are somehow harming anyone or putting money in JKR's pocket? I honestly can't see how, and so far none of the people adamantly against it have managed to explain it to me in a satisfying way, so I'm just gonna let it slide off me as another random internet hobby I don't get or care about.

--

My reaction is "Do you understand how Tumblr works? Do you?"

We have enough trouble with people reblogging barely-hidden anti-kink or homophobic shit. Who has time for cootie-based problems?

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 1

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family's restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn't see coming--one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn't sure they'll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Author's Note: I forgot how much I absolutely loathe writing summaries LOL but anyways! First chapter is here, let me know if y'all vibe with it. I had fun writing it and if you wanna see more, let me know! (And now I have to figure out if I remember linking everything on my blog since I haven't posted my writing on Tumblr in forever. . .)

Chapter 1

“Oh, no. No, no, no. Don’t do this to me, please.”

Isla Carrera’s pleading is in vain as the engine of her car sputters out of life, and there’s just enough juice left for her to pull over onto the side of the dirt road so she’s not stranded in the middle. Her grip on the steering wheel remains tight as she sits in silence, staring out onto the dark road only lit up by the two beams of her headlights. The small silver lining, if there is one, is that she knows exactly where she is, just a little ways away from a row of houses on Figure Eight. But right now, she’s surrounded by trees on a road that has no street lamps, the sky a blanket of black above her. 

Her groan cuts through the silence, eyes squeezing shut as she rests her forehead against the steering wheel. She should have just slept over at John B’s house like her sister, Kie, decided to. But Isla’s covering another waitress at the restaurant early tomorrow, and she didn’t want to run late again or else her parents would rip her a new one. Kie’s shift wasn’t until later in the afternoon, so her sister was in no rush to get home. Now here Isla is, with a car that won’t turn over, still a fifteen minute drive away from her house.

“Fucking great,” she mutters, making sure her hazards are on and her phone is in her pocket before getting out of the car. 

Though she knows nothing about cars, Isla pops open the hood and uses the flashlight on her phone. If she’s being honest, it all looks like a bunch of mechanical junk she has no idea how to work her way around. She’s not sure why she even bothers, so instead of wasting time, she unlocks her phone to find the number for a towing service.

A rumble of a car engine catches her attention, the kind that makes an annoying popping sound, and by the time she looks up and around the open top of her hood, she sees two guys hopping out of an old Ford truck. She vaguely recognizes them. Just by the look of them, they seem to be a couple of years older than her—and clearly from The Cut. Not that it matters, since her best friends are from the other side of the island, but not all of the people from The Cut are fond of those from Figure Eight, and vice versa. Isla and her sister, though they belong on the more privileged side of the island, prefer the freedom of The Cut. 

None of that exactly matters right now, though.

Music cranks out of the car, but Isla can’t pay it any mind as unease creeps into her stomach when both sets of eyes land on her. 

She’s a girl alone in the middle of a road at night, so Isla is immediately on high alert as the guys make their way towards her, slow but confident in a way that makes her feel like a prey. I don’t like this. 

Alarm bells are ringing in her head as one of the guys in cargo shorts and a tank top shoots her a slimy grin. “Car trouble, sweetheart?”

Isla’s muscles tense. Yeah, nope. Not good. “Uh, no, all good,” she says, forcing some of that confidence into her voice that Kie is an expert at wielding. 

The other one with darker hair hidden under a baseball cap asks, “You sure we can’t help?” His grin is anything but charming. “We’d be more than happy to help.”

They don’t stop their approach, and Isla’s mind begins running through different scenarios, her pulse beginning to quicken in panic she’s trying to keep at bay. There’s no one around to help, and she can’t depend on another car passing by and stopping to help—if they even would. She doesn’t want to lock herself in her car while she calls her dad or friends for help; the idea of sitting trapped makes her heart squeeze with dread.

“You can stop right there.” She doesn’t want to give into the fear that’s slithering through her veins, but she can’t stop the words from escaping her mouth, the crunch of the dirt beneath their shoes too daunting to ignore. 

Her hand inches towards her back pocket where she had stashed her keys, fingers closing around the small can of pepper spray she’s got hooked in there. Isla has never had the unfortunate opportunity to use it before, but the vibes she’s getting right now—first time for everything. 

“What’s the matter?” the first guy asks with a taunting tilt of his head, neither of them stopping their pace. “We’re only here to help.”

Yeah, fucking right. “Stop.” Her heart is pounding in her ears, taking a few steps back.

Creepy guy number two exchanges a look with number one. “See that, Dyl? Little Miss Kook looks a little scared.”

Oh, screw this. Isla refuses to stick around and find out what’s going to happen, and she doesn’t at all feel guilty when she juts her hand forward and presses down on the top of the small can. Her aim is a little off, so she only manages to spray the first guy—Dyl. The sound of his shriek of pain cuts through the air, and he stumbles back and spits out curses as he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

The second guy freezes in surprise, looking between Isla and his friend, but she doesn’t stick around to see what he’s going to do next. Instead, Isla turns and makes a run for it, making sure to press the button on her FOB to lock her car as she bolts down the dirt road. She can hear the guys yelling over the sound of the breeze rushing past her ears, fear fueling more power to her legs as she nears a neighborhood street at the end of the dirt road. Isla isn’t sure if they’re following her, or if they’re even going to, but she doesn’t pause to find out. 

She runs and runs, her lungs beginning to burn, as she rounds a stone wall with greenery growing through the cracks that closes in a property—only for her vision to go black for a split second when she collides against something.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Scratch that—make that someone, because instead of falling back on her ass, a strong pair of arms wrap around her waist to keep her from tumbling down. The grip is tight and secure, and a delicious aroma of what seems to be earthy wood tickles her nose. “What the hell are you—Isla?”

The sound of her name being spoken in that all too familiar voice clears Isla’s head, and she pulls back enough to look up into the startling blue eyes of Rafe Cameron. Her pounding heart seems to slow down a fraction, and she’s not sure what to make of the mild relief that calms down her frazzled nerves because this is Rafe Cameron. Sure, he might not be as bad as those two freaks, and he’s one of her close friends’ brothers, but he’s still the same guy that has gotten into more than a few fights with her best friends. That being said, she shouldn’t find as much comfort as she does being in front of him. 

Her breathing is heavy, pulse throbbing uncontrollably. She only barely registers her hands gripping his forearms, like it’s grounding her as she takes in Rafe’s expression. His eyebrows are furrowed together as he looks down at her, his height towering over her five-foot five frame, and there’s more confusion than worry in his features, unsurprisingly. Her heavy breathy makes her privy to the scent of nicotine, glancing down to see a half used cigarette now laying forgotten on the ground. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Rafe repeats. Isla hears the familiar thread of annoyance in his voice, but she can’t bring herself to give a damn. 

She lets go of him like he’s electrocuted her, taking a step back and forcing him to let go of her, too. It takes everything in her not to acknowledge the way her skin burns where his had touched hers. “Going for a run, what does it look like?” she snaps back, though her voice trembles on her breath. 

Rafe’s expression deadpans, though he arches an eyebrow under the dirty blonde bangs that frame his forehead. “Looks like you’re scared,” he states. 

“I—” Isla gets cut off by the familiar sound of a car engine rumbling, the popping kind, and the breath locks in her throat as she glances over her shoulder. “Fuck,” she breathlessly mutters, catching sight of the headlights creeping up from around the corner on the road. She’s not sure if those guys are looking for her—though, she wouldn’t be surprised given that she pepper sprayed one of them, and her pulse quickens again in panic with the need to hide away.

“Wait—are you running from someone?” Rafe questions, and Isla looks back at him to see his gaze pointed over her head, right where the noise of the car is coming from. A car that sounds to be approaching too close.

“You’re asking too many questions,” Isla returns hastily, stepping to go around him. “I need to go—”

Rafe lets out an exasperated huff, and if she had all her wits about her, she’d snap at him. But instead, surprise slams through her when Rafe’s hand wraps around her bicep, his grip firm but not tight as he mutters, “Come here.”

Before Isla knows it, she’s being dragged through the gate of the Cameron estate, disappearing onto the property right when the car turns the corner. Her heart launches to her throat when Rafe suddenly turns her, and she’s being pressed against the stone wall, soft leaves pressing to her back in contrast to the hard surface.

Isla’s eyes widen when Rafe’s body presses against her, the air rushing out of her lungs as her gaze snaps up to meet his. “What are you doing?” she asks, her words a mere breath.

He seems surprised by his own actions, lips pursed and that muscle in his clean shaven jaw pulsing almost as quickly as her own heart. Can he hear the thundering, feel it? “Just—stay quiet,” Rafe grits.

Part of Isla wants to push him off—the part that sounds a lot like her friends. But fear wins out, keeping her in place, as she hears the car creep along in front of the gate of the Cameron property. 

Rafe’s eyes silently tell her to remain quiet and something tightens her stomach—something other than fear—and it startles her enough to flick her gaze to the left, towards the vine wrapped gate. She can see the headlights slowly passing by, and she prays that these guys aren’t stupid enough to trespass private property.

Then again, they were ready to do God-knows-what to her, so who the hell knows?

The thought alone sends her heartbeat accelerating all over again, panic settling in her bones hard enough to rattle them. Isla’s hands fist at her sides, eyes squeezing shut as she leans her head back against the wall. How the hell had her night taken such a freaky turn? And how is it that Rafe Cameron, of all people, is the one to help her out?

Suddenly, the mid-May night doesn’t feel as warm as Rafe’s body; he isn’t close enough where his body is completely pressing into hers, but she can feel the soft material of his shirt fluttering against the bare skin of her stomach, thanks to her crop top. Isla can feel the heat of his skin seeping into hers, which makes her heart thunder with something other than panic, and she’s not entirely sure what the hell to do with that.

“Relax—they’re gone.”

His voice is low and gruff, a tone that makes goosebumps pebble her skin even in this warm weather. Isla opens her eyes with a sharp exhale and her brown eyes immediately find Rafe’s blue, her throat tightening under his scrutinizing gaze. True, she can’t hear the engine anymore, the headlights are also gone, and Isla tries to even out her breathing while nodding slowly. 

Rafe’s eyes rake over her and shouldn’t she feel unsettled about that? About how close he’s standing to her? But it seems like all of her unease has been used up from evading those weirdos, so Rafe Cameron being her rescuer doesn’t annoy her as much as it normally would. 

“So what was that about?” he questions, raising an eyebrow.

Isla’s throat works, dragging her gaze back up at him. The lamps spaced out along the wall light his face, casting shadows along his sharp cheekbones. He’s so handsome—the thought crosses through her mind quickly, and though she would never admit it to her friends, she can’t help but find the truth in it—as insane as it might be.

“Nothing to concern yourself with,” Isla finds herself saying, lifting her chin in a small act of defiance.

The corner of Rafe’s mouth twitches into a ghost of a smirk, and through the light reflecting in his eyes, she can see them dancing in amusement. “Given that I just saved your ass, an explanation would be nice.”

Isla scowls, all thoughts of his stupidly good looks vanishing. “I didn’t ask you to do that. I had it under control.”

It’s a lie spoken through her teeth, and Rafe can see that. “Yeah, looked real under control when you were running for your life,” he replies dryly, eyebrows rising. But then his expression flattens out, eyebrows furrowing together once again as he says, “Seriously, Isla. What gives? What the hell was that about?”

“Just—some fucking weirdos, I don’t know,” she huffs, frustration from this entire ordeal bubbling to the surface as she rubs her hands up her face and runs her fingers through her hair. “I—Can you back up?” she asks hastily, forcing a glare. Rafe, surprisingly, simply presses his lips together and raises his hands in defense while taking a couple of steps away from her. Isla is no longer embraced by his warmth, by his scent, and there’s an unexpected tug in her chest that she ignores. “My car broke down on that dirt path behind the road. I was trying to figure it out when these guys pulled up and, I don’t know, shit got weird so I made a break for it.”

Rafe frowns as he listens to her, and Isla shakes her head, rubbing the back of her neck. “I need to get back to my car,” she says.

“Seriously?” Rafe asks, scoffing. “You’re gonna go back when some freaks are looking for you?”

Isla glares at him, not at all appreciating him talking to her like she’s stupid. “My wallet’s still in my car. I need to grab it if they haven’t fucking broken into my car already.”

She moves past him to head to the gate, surprised to hear his footsteps as he easily catches up to her. “What, you’re gonna walk back?” When Isla glances at Rafe, he’s looking at her like she’s insane. No sign of the contempt he normally saves for her and her friends, which is slightly unnerving. “After you were just running from some freaks? You do realize how much of a bad idea that is, right?”

She shrugs even as the unease from before returns at the idea of running into those guys again. “I need to get my wallet,” is her meek response.

Rafe lets out a breath, running his fingers through his hair and Isla briefly frowns at herself at the way her gaze seems to run to the flex of his bicep. And the way her stomach fucking flutters because this is Rafe Cameron. The only fluttering her stomach should be doing where he’s concerned is one tinged with nausea.

Rafe then fixes her with a stern look. “Come on,” he says firmly before walking down the driveway of his house.

Isla blinks out of whatever stupor she was in and glares at his back—and at the demand he left her with. She scoffs, hands splaying in annoyance until she realizes he’s headed straight for his motorcycle. Her shoulders drop, rooted on the spot as she says flatly, “You’re joking.”

Rafe is already pulling out a helmet—scratch that, two helmets—and looking at her, once again, like she’s an idiot while she glares at him. At least there’s that bit of normalcy. “This—” He holds up both helmets in each hand. “Is better than you walking back to your car by yourself. Let’s go.”

Isla’s disbelief only intensifies. She doesn’t walk over to him, doesn’t take the proffered helmet. Instead, she exhales sharply and crosses her arms over her chest, asking, “Why are you helping me?”

Rafe has the gall to look annoyed by her question, arms resting at his sides. His gaze locks with Isla’s, but she doesn’t shy away from it as he eventually drops his head back with a groan before looking back at her once more. “Listen, contrary to your and your friends’ popular belief, I’m not a complete dick.” Isla can’t help but scoff and roll her eyes, cutting her gaze away from him in doubt. He cannot be serious. “I wouldn’t want either of my sisters to be fucking chased by some losers, so just think of this as my good deed of the month, alright? Now will you please take the damn helmet and get on the bike?”

Frankly, Isla feels like she’s just stepped into an alternate reality because, seriously, when was the last time Rafe Cameron ever did anything nice for her—if ever?

But as much as Isla’s pride is begging for her to tell him thanks but no thanks and turn and walk back to her car, fear still resides in the pit of her belly, waiting to strike. She hates to admit it, but Rafe is right. It’d be dumb of her to walk back alone at night after what just happened. Maybe she could call her sister or one of her friends, but that would just add unnecessary time to all this, and Isla just really wants to get home. So, fine; maybe she can accept Rafe’s offer to drive her to her car, and then from there maybe she can call an Uber home and call a tow truck from the safety of her bedroom.

Rafe holds out one of the black helmets in impatience, and Isla purses her lips as she pushes herself to walk over. She does her best not to admire the sight of him next to his bike, something she never would have done before tonight. Maybe this whole freaky situation has loosened some screws in her brain.

Isla all but snatches the helmet out of his hand, though a part of her feels as though it’s just for appearances’ sake to keep up her usual attitude around Rafe, and tucks her dark hair behind her ears before pulling the helmet on, the visor still up. She tries her best not to think of the weight of his gaze on her as she fiddles with the straps on her chin to secure the helmet, but she’s unable to get it right, fingers trembling despite herself.

“I got it,” Rafe says, and Isla freezes when he gently bats her hands away and steps up to her, using his finger to push at the bottom of the helmet so she can tilt her head back enough for him to see the straps. The heat of his body greets her once more and she’s silent as she feels him secure the straps, breath hitching quietly when the backs of his fingers brush against her skin. 

He’s done within seconds, but it sure as shit feels longer as she remains standing there, watching him pull on his own helmet. Isla watches silently as Rafe gets on the bike, wondering how she got here, and he says, “Hop on.”

Isla has ridden on the back of JJ’s bike plenty of times, so she gets on with no trouble, though she does have to grip Rafe’s shoulders in order to do so. They’re broad and firm under her hands, and she mentally chastises herself for even thinking about his stupid shoulders. When she’s settled behind him, her legs framing his, Isla’s heartbeat picks up at the sudden proximity, her front against his back. 

She’s sure she’s barely breathing when her skin warms because there’s barely any space that exists between them, and when Rafe tells her, “Hold on or risk flying off,” she can’t decide if she wants to smack him upside the head or beg for the ground to swallow her whole.

Sliding the visor down, Isla inhales deeply and quietly before winding her arms around Rafe’s waist, teeth gritting together because if her friends saw her now, they definitely would believe she’s lost her mind. The fact of the matter is, right now all she can seem to focus on is the solidness of his stomach against her arms and how fucking good he smells, which is confusing and overwhelming and everything in between.

The motorcycle’s engine roars to life, and seconds later Rafe is kicking off the kick-stand and they’re riding down the driveway and onto the road. She had told him her car stopped on the dirt path behind the actual road, separated by trees, and that’s all Rafe seemingly needs to know as he takes them in the right direction. The breeze as they go feels good against her, cooling her heated skin down and she would never admit it, but riding on the back of Rafe Cameron’s bike has a somewhat calming effect on her.

The tension that had tightened her muscles since her encounter with those other guys melts away, and the rapid thumping of her heart has nothing to do with anxiety and everything to do with the thrill of this moment. Maybe it’s ill advised, but it seems to be exactly what she needs as the night air mixes with Rafe’s cologne—or maybe he just smells like that in general?

God, she’s getting too weird about this.

Soon enough, her car comes into view and Isla is relieved when there seems to be no sign of those guys. Rafe stops the bike right next to her car, and another sigh of relief escapes her when she sees that her car doesn’t look damaged. Swinging her leg over, she uses Rafe’s shoulders as leverage to get off the bike, trying not to think too much about the loss of his body heat as she reaches for the helmet straps. 

They’re easier to undo than they were to strap, and she lifts the helmet off, one hand already flattening her dark hair as Rafe holds his hand out for the helmet. As she unlocks the car, Rafe asks, “How’d you manage to outrun them?”

Isla leans into the driver’s seat, reaching for her tote bag in the passenger seat. She digs through it for a moment, taking stock of her wallet, lip gloss, lip balm, and the few other things still safely inside. “I pepper-sprayed one of them,” she answers as she pulls out and straightens. 

When she turns to look at Rafe, whose helmet’s visor is up, she sees the smirk that curls at his mouth. How does a sight that made her want to knee him in the stomach before make her feel kind of weak kneed right now? Did those guys really freak her out so much that now down is up and left is right? “Nice,” he murmurs, nodding in approval. Jutting his chin towards her car, he asks, “You gonna call a truck?”

Isla shakes her head. “When I get home,” she says, pulling out her phone. 

Rafe nods as he holds the helmet out once more. “Alright, let’s go.”

Isla pauses, gaze flicking up from her phone screen where the Uber app is open to look at him. Arching an eyebrow, she asks, “Uh, go where?”

He mirrors the arched eyebrow look. “I’ll take you home,” he says as if it’s obvious when it very much isn’t.

“No thanks. I can Uber,” she answers, already putting her home address in.

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head as he remains sitting on his bike. “You’re just full of bad ideas tonight, aren’t you?” he says. Isla’s eyes narrow, irritation sparking through her as he splays his arms out to gesture to the road they’re on. “You’re really gonna wait out here on a dirt road, with no street lamps, in the dark for an Uber when I’m offering you a ride home right now?” Before she can respond, he carries on, “On the same stretch of road, mind you, that you just got harassed on?”

The irritation intensifies, and Isla’s expression twists into a glare as she snaps, “What’s it to you, huh? You already did your good deed of the month. We’re not friends, Rafe. I don’t need your help.”

Even with the helmet on, she can tell he’s clenching his jaw, eyes hard as he sets them on her. The look makes her chest burn in a way that’s not all unwelcome, and that alone should be a sign that she’s losing it. “We may not be friends, but you’re my sister’s friend, alright? Sarah would kill me if she found out I left you out here by yourself. So stop being so fucking stubborn and get on the damn bike, Isla. I’m taking you home.”

She presses her tongue to her cheek, shoulders bunched in frustration while Rafe glares at her, his own impatience radiating off of him in waves. Sarah has told Isla how stubborn her brother can be, and while Isla doesn’t know Rafe well, she knows him and has dealt with him enough to know he isn’t budging on this. So, with a huff, she snatches the helmet once more, ignoring the protests in her head that sound suspiciously a lot like her friends as she pulls the helmet on. 

She manages to get the straps this time and gets back on the bike, her bag securely hanging off her shoulder as Rafe starts the bike again and Isla swallows silently as she wraps her arms around his waist once more. Every part of her is warm where it touches him, and as he drives, she tilts her head back, practically begging for anyone listening to get her to calm the hell down.

Seriously—how the hell did Rafe Cameron become her would-be hero of tonight?

Luckily, her house is a ten minute drive from the Cameron house and Isla allows him to pull up to the front of the house, since Kie isn’t home and has no chance of peeking out her bedroom window and seeing Isla getting off Rafe’s bike. He parks the bike and Isla lets go of him almost immediately, hopping off the bike and undoing the straps of the helmet under her chin.

Rafe is already looking at her by the time she gets the helmet off, his blue eyes visible since the visor is lifted. With a close mouthed, saccharine smile, Isla all but shoves the helmet into his hands. “Thanks for the ride. Let’s never do this again.”

He scoffs as he shakes his head, but the smirk on his face is apparent. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Isla rolls her eyes and, without another word, turns towards her house. She’s on the front porch and fishing keys out when she glances to the right and sees Rafe still parked there, seemingly watching her. Her stomach does a stupid, weird flip as she unlocks the door and shoos him. “Go away,” she hisses, even though Kiara isn’t home and her parents wouldn’t care that Rafe dropped her off—hell, her mom would be thrilled, honestly.

Even from this distance, she can just picture Rafe’s arrogant smirk as he lifts a hand in a two fingered salute before revving the engine of his bike, and Isla clenches her jaw as he speeds off, the roar echoing down the block. Exhaling sharply, Isla shakes her head and walks into her house, shutting the door behind her just as she hears footsteps approaching her.

“Where have you been?” her mom asks, not demanding but more concerned.

Isla smiles sheepishly as she faces her mother. “Yeah, about that. . .”

[velvetvexations]

I’m. So baffled by that one dude saying that trans men being able to pretend to be women is a privilege, because in his tags he says that it’s a thing specific to transmascs. Does he mean pretending to be cis as a means of safety is a transmasc specific thing?? Because uh, I’m… pretty sure that’s something that can be done regardless of a trans person’s gender? There are transfems and nonbinary people who can also pretend to be cis [whatever their agab was], too?

Its also not a privilege. Having to hide what you are out of fear isn’t a fucking privilege lmao

strangely people understand that when it's about trans women

just saw a post on my dash saying "'infighting' is a dogwhistle which frames transfems as aggressors". i really hope the tide is turning like you said, bc this shit is getting exhausting and im still seeing it from random people i follow who otherwise gave no indication that they drank the koolaid.

they make me out to be the aggressor all the time!

Nazi imagery anon here

These are the pics I was referring to.

As you can see it’s posted on the verified border security account and you can see two different nazi symbols on him :(

yeah it looks like standards for what they allow soldiers to adorn themselves with are low and the person taking and posting the pics aren't paying good enough attention because that guy also straight up has a naked anime bitch on his knife sheath

as I said this is an individual thing and they need to start knocking their heads together like the Three Stooges and sending them into trenches first

You know who saying that th**fab is actually a storied term that trans fems have been using to identify transmisogonists is fucking insane like girl that's such obvious lie give us nothing

they aren't even trying

It’s crazy how almost every other day on this site I see a new post with like 50k notes talking about how absolutely NOBODY deserves to be harassed, sent death threats or be put on blast yet once again I’m seeing people trying to justify the harassment of another transmasc teenager. Honestly people should just start openly admitting Tumblr is becoming increasingly hostile towards trans masculine individuals, I don’t see clownery on this level on any other platform-

Tumblr...is really bad.

I think the reason why this whole headcanons discourse bothers me so much is that is really is just fuelled by petty spite. Like all these characters are cisgender in canon. We make headcanons because it’s FUN to expand on characters in ways that reflect our different life experiences in whatever form that may take. Intentionally going after transmascs, especially young transmascs, for doing this with characters like they like and accusing them of all these different things genuinely does just feel like bigotry. Who cares if a head canon may not make the most amount of sense? It’s a cisgender fictional character we’re playing around with! Why does it have to be some grand act of activism to say blorbo number 3 is transmasc? We have much bigger fish to fry here.

exactly it's such dedication to not letting anyone else have anything

So sick of people acting like trans men are the same as cis men under the patriarchy and moreso im really sick of the "you're privileged to not be surrounded by men". Like, for lack of better phrasing, saying that about a group of people that is generally perceived as "failure women" pre transition (and sometimes during and post) is a little tone deaf. All about acknowledging how women and people perceived as women are harmed by misogyny until the ones perceived are men. Gender essentialism is ugly and tasteless and nonsensical. Please feel free to delete this im just rambling without a point

rambling is okay anon <3

„wow ur so privileged to not fear men”

i fear the fucking everyone asshole, i just realized that isnt everyone elses fault so i should still treat them with respect !!!!!

that woman called me a "self-hating doll" and I hate the second part a lot more than the first

[demiromanticmickey]

On today's "I am SO not normal about Dead Friend Forever": Discussing Catholicism and Colonization in this gay Thai slasher series

Some background on me: I am from a Latine Catholic family. Raised as a non-practicing Catholic (we didn't go to church or pray). Then my parents enrolled me in a Catholic school that I attended from 5th grade to the end of 7th grade. Today, I am not Catholic and have never really considered myself as such.

Ok, so in the flashback episodes of DFF, I have been noticing a lot of things. My findings under the cut.

Let's start with this crucifix and photo of the Virgin Mary and a baby Jesus.

Screenshot from ep. 5.

The camera lingers here a bit so we're obviously meant to pay attention to the phrase. I put the screenshot through Google translate's image translator and the translation it gave me was, "Think good, do good, be a good person." I didn't think much of it when I first watched the episode other than it was supposed to establish that the boys attend a Christian or Catholic school.

But then there was this image posted on Be On Cloud's Instagram (also from ep. 5): X

Zooming in, we can see there's another picture of Mary in the background. Watching the classroom scenes, it's easy to miss because the series itself is more washed out than the official photos posted. But this emphasis on Mary led me to believe the school is a Catholic one. So out of curiosity, I looked up the schools the writers and directors attended because I felt I was onto something here. And boy, was I!

Source: MDL

Ma-Deaw, if you didn't know, is one of the directors of Dead Friend Forever (he also directed Manner of Death and Inhuman Kiss , and lots of other things).

One Google search later (X) and I learned "Montfort College" is a Catholic school. It started out as a primary school that later added a secondary school as well.

Now let's take a closer look at some of the details of this school:

First, the school's motto "Labor Conquers All Things". This reminded me of the phone conversation Tee had with his uncle:

On my first watch, this sounded familiar to me but I couldn't really place why. It wasn't until I saw this other Tumblr post (X) that pointed out it's similar to a bible quote from the New Testament. The quote varies a bit depending on which version of the bible you're using but it's along the lines of, "He who does not work, neither shall he eat".

This is meant to discourage "laziness". Nevermind the fact that people deserve to eat simply because we get hungry and need food to survive. The idea that we only "deserve" things based on productivity is an extremely colonial one. — Reminder also that Tee is being forced into this "work" in the first place. He's just a high school kid. I don't need to like his character to understand how fucked up his situation is.

Then there's the patron of the school. St. Louis de Montfort was a French Catholic priest most known for his study in Mariology. What is Mariology (X)? The study of Mary, the mother of Jesus. I didn't know that was a thing but it's unsurprising considering how prominent images of Mary were in my own religious upbringing. And she's what started me down this rabbit hole in the first place. Mary is a big deal to the Catholics. I'm going to be paying even more attention now if more Mary imagery pops up.

The Garden of Eden and Original Sin

Now I want to draw attention to these images:

Screenshots from ep. 7

Here we have Non and Phee biting into an apple as they leisure around this lush green field. We know they've visited this location more than once because they're wearing different outfits in the screenshots. And I think it's important to note that it's Phee holding the apple and offering it to Non.

The use of the word "bait" in the bts of ep. 7 is quite interesting too. (X)

The Garden of Eden was the paradise in which Adam and Eve resided. In this garden, there were many trees to eat from. The one tree Adam and Eve were forbidden by God to eat from was the Tree of Knowledge. A serpent (Satan), first tempted Eve into taking from the tree to eat it's fruit. And then Eve gave the fruit to Adam. That is Original Sin. And because Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge, all humans thereafter are born sinful and bad, and can only find salvation through God.

Of course in the scene between Phee and Non, the sin the apple represents is being gay. And it's after this, and after the bracelet scene, that Non becomes involved with Por's film and his tragedy begins.

Zoomed in screenshot from ep. 5

And I wonder if the bracelet scene is the last time Phee and Non visit this forest location. It would parallel how Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden once they sinned.

Final Thoughts

You give me a story that criticizes Western religion and how it's used as a tool for oppression and colonization, and I'm gonna eat that shit up. I am gonna eat it up. Every. Single. Time.

I really wasn't expecting anything like this from Dead Friend Forever. This level in attention to detail is unmatched. I don't think I've watched a more well planned out show. And no matter where DFF goes from here, these seven episodes will always hold a special place in my heart. 💗

[faecaribou]

Stardew Valley Tumblr Simulator

📚 solarian_bookworm

Hey guys! Any tips on how to get this little boy I'm tutoring to actually pay attention to my lessons? He's not very good at reading, but I'm even letting him pick out which books and he still can't focus! We don't have good education where I'm from (Pelican Town) so any chance he has at learning is from me. How do I help him?

🎷 zuzu-zoomer Follow

Feed him a stew that makes him go blind

🧭 stardewexplorer Follow

feed him the stew that makes you blind for one day

🎡 fuck-gotoro Follow

stew that blinds him for one day

⚅ desert-clubber Follow

Perhaps feed him a stew that makes him go blind for one day?

🪩 insomniac-boy Follow

1 day blinding stew

✨ sparkle-on Follow

wait guys isnt pelican town the place where once a year when the governor visits everyone puts an ingredient into a big pot and they make a stew and everyone eats from it??? dont give this poor girl this advice 😭😭😭😭😭

🎷 zuzu-zoomer Follow

lmao thats hilarious. do it

📚 solarian_bookworm

...I think I'll just ask his mom for advice. Thanks though...

250 notes

🧵 parrot-enthusiast

halfway through the brand new dress! embroidering it is taking forever ugh

3 notes

🗺️ superhaterlock Follow

Solarian Chronicles sucks

📔 sc-fanatic Follow

if you say one more word on this subject im going to kill you

🗺️ superhaterlock Follow

I just don't get why defending and healing gives you a better score than attacking

📔 sc-fanatic Follow

oh you mean the rpg game based on the books. continue

💿 seb-codes

:( i like the game

30 notes

🎸 pop_punkist

Come see my band perform live tonight at Zuzu City!

🚙 jojacolaaddict Follow

Hi yes I'd like to file a complaint. i went to your concert and I saw that damn eldritch monster that I swear I saw last week. What the fuck is that and what meme did I miss

🎸 pop_punkist

uh. are you talking about the farmer? they're actually the one who helped me start my bad they're sick as fuck. do you mind

🚙 jojacolaaddict Follow

what the fuck is the farmer

15 notes

💣 back-in-town Follow

AITA for yelling at my wife?

I just came home from active deployment against the Gotoro army. i lost a lot of friends in the war. I was having a bad day and my wife tried to make my popcorn to cheer it up because it used to be my favorite but it reminded me of the bombs. I yelled at her that she should know better but the local farmer was at our house and told me not to take out my pain on my wife. Am I the asshole?

🎡 fuck-gotoro Follow

NTA thank you for your service. if she did any kind of research on how to help people with PTSD from the war she would know to not be making loud banging noises like that

🏴‍☠️ piratewreck Follow

What? YTA why would his wife know. she was trying to make his favorite food. she should divorce him

28 notes

I started this tumblr stimulator post and then forgot about it and gave up 😭

[qprstobin]

Stobin Different First Meeting AU where they go to prom together. This was meant to be an au post and turned into a mini fic oops (written completely within a tumblr post so sorry for the poor quality)

(edit: realized I should link the fic I was inspired by for those who don't follow me and so didn't see me reblog it earlier)

Steve doesn't necessarily want to go to prom, right? Like yeah, he'd been imagining it for a while, but now that he was very, very single it just didn't have the same shine that it used to. And he really wasn't ready to start dating yet. However, he didn't want to just, not go to prom, and also knew it would seem really weird (and pretty fucking sad) if he didn't go.

Which leaves him in a conundrum.

He thought for a while that maybe he would go with one of the junior cheerleaders. While he didn't have any close friends anymore, he was still friendly with plenty of people. There were girls that wouldn't be going to prom unless they had a senior boyfriend - some he had even gone on dates with in the past who wouldn't think a single prom date meant that he wanted a new girlfriend.

However, he is pretty sure most of those girls would have... other expectations for the night. And honestly? He isn't quite sure that he was ready to get back on that horse either.

... Not that he thought women were horses.

He's pretty sure men are normally the ones called horses in riding metaphors.

Anyway.

That left him stuck. He couldn't just not go to prom, but also didn't want to wind up trapped on an actual date with someone. So who could he ask?

His solution ended up coming from an odd place.

Robin Buckley was... quite honestly, kind of a weirdo.

She was cute, in an alternative sort of way. She never took any of his shit (he wasn't completely sure she even liked him) but also reluctantly laughed at the snarky shit he said under his breath during their Film History class. And not in the fake giggly way girls did when they were flirting, but didn't actually care about what he was saying, just the way he said it. She actually seemed to think he was funny. Even if that revelation seemed to piss her off.

The only reason he was even in Film History that semester - and therefore, knew who she was - was for the easy A. He got to watch movies in class, and watch movies for homework. He was willing to plow through a couple of shitty essays in exchange for a class that he didn't feel like a complete idiot in.

(Well, he was pretty sure Robin thought he was an idiot about movies, but just because he had trouble remembering the names and shit of characters, didn't mean he couldn't analyze the themes, fuck you very much, Buckley.)

They had gotten assigned a project together early on, and it hadn't been completely terrible. She had quickly taken over doing most of the writing portions, but hadn't thought all of his ideas were terrible. By the end of the project he thought they were even sort of having fun together.

He'd always been one to try his luck, take a little more than he was given. So, after that assignment was over, he started sitting next to her in class, not wanting that easy, if sharp, camaraderie to end. Robin rolled her eyes at him and asked him what he thought he was doing the first time he did it, but she never sent him away.

They ended up chatting more and more during down times, passing notes to each other and sharing sly comments under their breaths during the movies. Steve often had trouble paying attention at school, his mind easily wandering away, and it was almost as bad during most movies, but Robin helped keep him on track.

The class turned into one that was done for the easy grade, a last ditch effort to improve his already hopeless GPA, and became one he actually enjoyed.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of going to prom with Robin. It made the night seem a little less unbearable.

He thought about making a big deal out of asking her, because he knows that's what girls (and even Nancy) had enjoyed for past dances. He quickly scrapped that idea, however, because not only did he not want to put pressure on her like that, but also she seemed to hate public spectacles like that.

Or at least when aimed at her, they both enjoyed watching drama unfold in the halls a bit too much to say she hated it completely.

So Steve waits until the end of the day, their film class being their last, to pull her into an empty classroom. She follows him without question in a show of trust he didn't realize she had in him. The notion warms him, and for some reason makes it more difficult to get the question out.

"Why do I feel like you're about to try to sell me drugs or something?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He squints at her in offense.

"Why is that your first assumption?!"

"I don't know! Why else are you pulling me out of the hallway all secretive like, making sure no one followed us, into an abandoned classroom," she asks, throwing her arms into the air.

"The classroom isn't abandoned, it's the end of the day! Also, who does drug deals on campus, that's just stupid?" He asks rhetorically, before waving one hand through the air, as if trying to erase the current thread of conversation. "That doesn't matter, you're distracting me."

"Well then, get on with it! Some of us have practice we need to get to."

"It's like talking to the kids," he mutters to himself, "Whatever. I wanted to ask - will you go to prom with me?"

That stops Robin up short. There's panic in her eyes now, though Steve isn't sure what exactly put it there. Was his reputation that bad that even band geeks are terrified of getting asked out by him?

"You want to go on a date? With me?" she asks slowly, disbelief coloring her voice, though it doesn't hide her unease.

"No, I want to go to prom with you," he scoffs, "Not go on a date with you."

"That is a date, dingus! The person you go to prom with is literally called your date!"

"Okay, sure, maybe, but I don't actually want to date you," he said, rolling his eyes at her.

Like, okay, he understood his reputation for being... what did she call him last week? A 'huge effing rake'? But that didn't mean that he was trying to date any girl that looked in his direction. A lot of girls looked in his direction. That was too many women, even for him.

Robin relaxes a little at that.

"Then why are you asking me to prom instead of someone you actually want to date?"

"Because!" he says, resisting the urge to flail his hands back at her. "I don't want to date anyone right now. Most people I ask are going to expect all these things from me - they're going to want dinner, and at the very least a kiss at the end of the night if not more, or another date the very next day. Because Steve Harrington is supposed to want those things!" He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair to calm himself. "But right now? I really don't."

"Well then, what does Steve the Hair Harrington actually want?" She had relaxed fully at this point, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"I want to go to prom with someone I consider a friend, someone who makes me laugh," he says after a moment of silence. "I want to dance badly to really corny pop music and drink just enough spiked punch that I don't remember how much I hate wearing any sort of tie. Then I want to go get milkshakes or go see a really trashy midnight horror flick, just because I'm having so much fun I don't want the night to end."

That small smile has grown into a reluctant grin on Robin's face. It makes her eyes shine and her freckles pop. Steve thought that if he was in a better place, if they had met at a different time, he could have fallen in love with her.

But they had met now instead, in some shitty public school elective course, and she was the closest thing he had to a friend that wasn't a snotty middle schooler.

"That sounds... like a lot of fun, actually," she says, mischief sparking on her face. "Who would've known the hidden depths hidden behind all that hair."

"Hey!" he protests half-heartedly, unable to keep a grin of his own off his face. "So what do you say? Wanna go to prom with me?"

"I guess," she sighs, acting like it was such a trial to go to prom with him. Him! But her next words make up for it. "Since we're friends, and all. However, I still expect you to buy me dinner, though you can keep the kiss goodnight to yourself."

Steve can't help the giddy laugh from spilling out of him. For the first time in weeks, he is actually looking forward to prom.

[otrtbs]

Okay Y'all

It has come to my attention that someone is selling copies of Art Heist, Baby! on Etsy this evening. If you've been here for a little while then you'll remember something similar happening to me on Amazon. This seller on Etsy is also selling copies of several other fanfics. Once again, this is not me, I do not condone this, I didn't give my consent for this, and I am frustrated beyond belief.

I am taking measures to contact the seller and to get the Etsy listing taken down. (feeling super disheartened abt the people who have this fic in their basket rn icl. DO NOT pay (esp this ungodly amount) for fanfics you can read for free online. and don't profit off of fanfiction.)

I do feel like every time something like this happens, I run to tumblr, make a post, and make something like this everyone else's problem. And I want to apologize for that and say that this is in no way y'alls issue (unless you are the one selling fanfiction and/or buying it). It is my fanfic, my issue, and I am handling it (though, I always appreciate each and every single one of you going out of your way to help more than you could possibly know). However, I am making this post to let everyone know that

I am no longer allowing people to make physical copies of my fanfiction.

People have used my acceptance of hand binding my fic for personal use and abused it to sell my fic and mass-produce it. Not cool. So I would like to say I am no longer allowing physical copies of my fics to be made. I don't know if that will fix or change anything and I am extremely doubtful that the people who are the issue will even listen to or care about what I wish since they've already disregarded that but I really don't know what else to do at the moment. I am hoping this issue will get resolved shortly! As always, Art Heist, Baby! is available to read online for free on ao3! (how cool is that?) Thanks for reading and hearing me out. Sorry again about another post like this but it's always fucking something with this fandom and I just don't ever know what else to do.

[en-bitch]

About me

+18 blog put your age in your bio/pinned if you are going to follow

Ellie / En-Bitch

Non-binary transfemme girl type thing / Bisexual

(Non Binary in a way where I'm kinda of a girl but not a girl but use she/her and you can call me a girl)

They/Them or She/Her

Switch but like 90/10 sub/domme, if I know you there's more of a chance I'll domme you but it's not gonna happen all that often

You can call me:

Ellie, Bunny, Puppy, En-Bitch

Once you get to know me and we vibe, slut or anything you'd like

Gorgeous queer people, yours? 🥺👉👈

Gender neutral and feminine titles, yes

Masculine titles, absolutely not (this includes master and dude, you may well call everyone dude regardless of gender I don't care, when I vomit because I was called dude it will be on you)

Ownership

Property of @screams-at-dark | @bronze-moth | @seductively-destructive-remixed | @junebugautumn | @redfoxv | @somepunknamedshae | @covenofwhores

"I am a slut. I love being a slut. Being talked down to reminds me what a good slut I am. I want to be the best slut possible"

Tags

#Ellie's pics (pics of yours truly)

#ellie's smut (smut I wrote)

#ellie rambles (short posts, almost all of them are horny)

#ellie answers (when I answer questions)

#Ellie's memes (I make memes sometimes, they are also h0rny but apparently Tumblr doesn't like that word in tags)

#ellie barks (on the very rare occasion I do voice notes)

#Cutuals (Mutuals who are super cool)

Kinks

Petplay (I'm a good bunny / puppy)

Voicekink (if you have a nice voice you will be able to get me to do pretty much anything)

Spanking

Bondage

Roboplay (blame Tumblr)

Being ordered around

Bratting (sometimes, usually I'm a good pet)

Punishment

Degradation

Mild humiliation

Roleplay

Tentacles

Monster fucking

CNC

Edging/Denial

Overstimulation

If it's not on here but isn't on the Limits list I'm probably ok with it but please ask beforehand

Limits

Detrans

Orientation Play

Misogyny Kink

Ageplay

Scat/Vomit

Foot stuff (less of a limit and more just don't really care for it personally)

DNI

This blog is +18, please stay away if you are not

Please also stay away if you are a TERF, Transphobe, Bigot, or an awful individual

Asks/DMs

You are more than welcome to ask me stuff/ DM me just be respectful, pay attention to the limits below and bear in mind I'm not always the fastest to respond to things

You are allowed to get horny in my DMs, although maybe start with a 'hi' at least

Ask lists

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

Oh. My. God.

Okay so, we all know Gracie Abrams is a very talented artist and she’s blowing up recently, as she should! But because of the mass coming out theory, I tend to pay attention to her lyrics more than I probably would otherwise, just like I do with Taylor Swift for obvious reasons (cough cough in gaylor…).

Close To You started playing earlier today, and I’m so intrigued!

To start off with the lyric “Under pink light in June”… June is pride month. Of course I reacted when I heard this lyric! And also… “pink light” immediately makes me think of the pink and orange lights Taylor uses to flag the lesbian colours throughout the Eras Tour! I’ve tried looking for pics with pink light from June 2024 and June 2023, but I haven’t found anything exciting so far! Anyone reading this, feel free to help me figure out what this lyric really means!

I do think it’s significant! Why? Because if you listen closely, you can hear something I can best describe as a glitch exactly when that lyric plays 👀

“We were supposed to be just friends”, anyone?

(That line is literally a summation of “Close To You” to me- like, the whole song just gives the vibes of having a massive crush on a girl best friend. Ya know?)

I recommend listening to this! The glitch is at 00:27!

You still here? Good! I have even better stuff to say! Have some patience while I get to the best part 👀

Of course, we have the “Now your mouth is moving cinematic timing”. And we have this:

Has anybody else noticed that Gracie’s mouth has become clearer lately?

(Tumblr wouldn’t let me put another video here for some reason, so here you can find it in a separate post I made! Look at that, and then look at the video above. See the clear difference? 👀) For me it seems like Gracie is trying to say “Pay attention to what I’m saying and singing. Listen carefully and closely. We’re getting closer and closer to the big reveal. Have patience. We’re almost there.”

And here comes the best part!

We all know The Manuscript. The last song on the last album Taylor Swift has released, The Tortured Poets Department. Fucking heartbreaking to listen to when you know the meaning behind it. If you ask me, The Manuscript is basically Taylor saying goodbye to her fans and announcing that this is the end. “Now and then I re-read the manuscript, but the story isn’t mine anymore”…

I mean, c’mon, it’s the last lyric too! Of the last song… of the last album she’s released! This is a goodbye if I’ve ever seen one.

But that’s not what interests me the most about this song! Not right now, at least. Because here’s the thing. If you listen closely between the first and second verse of the song, you can hear the sound of a pen against paper… writing something.

1:11

I’ve read theories about that symbolising Taylor signing the contract that made her lose ownership of her songs. I’m sure you know what contract I���m talking about. I, however, don’t think that’s what it means, and I don’t think that’s what the song is about. I think the sound of the writing is simply Taylor writing The Manuscript. But there’s more to it than that!

If you scroll back up to listen to the Close To You instrumental I so helpfully provided you with, and start playing it at 2:46-3:09, you might notice something… yup, that’s right.

Doesn’t it sound just like a pen writing down something on paper? 👀 Oh, I’m SO sure!

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

👁️👁️🔂👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️

cringe at myself.....,.....

im aa FOOOOOLLLLLLLL 🫥

Sometimes i think, im a real artist or something..

But whats even real about me? everything i do only exists online

majority of it being on TUNBLR of all places.

fragile fucking tumblr.

my entire life is my imagination and fantasies my entire life is a thoughtform. how can i be a real artist if im barely even a real person in "reality".

not even banishedgirl but intangible girl.

The other day, when i posted about how i want to use the inter net less but im too lonely to stop, i feel it came back to bite me today, in a way i didnt want at all, for the short time my blog was gone, and this brought to my attention, how truly deeply foolish i am

i could disappear so fast like nothing because its all just 👉🧠💭 up here

Even tho my blog is back now. i cant get that feeling off of me. Like yeah there no reason my blog would actually be deleted, unless you know like, tumblr just got discontinued as a website. Which is not an unlikely scenario. i often wonder how long they'll keep paying for these servers. We saw what happened with myspace...

if tumblr was gone, id really be GONE gone

like. i dont exist.

sick to my stomach all day. even if i export my blog and put it on a hard drive ... does it even matter? it literally is not even "matter" it is pixels it is thin air.

How do i be a real girl in the real world

in utena , the "real world" is actually all an illusion. and i believe that to be true for our world too. In a way ive always believed my fantasies and spirits are more real than my body

But i still do want to exist here. i almost have to live in denial about this to stay sane. But i want to exist forever. i want a normal life and friends. i want normal things.. its disgusting.. i feel sick!!!!! im so happy but im so miserable. i love myself but im so insecure. i dont understand anything. i resent fakeness but im fake too. im all just words and space and airy air air

How do i change my life how do i stop yearning to Prove that i exist..... Why do i want to prove it so bad

WHY DID I HAVE TO BE CONFRONTED W THIS TODAY WHAT AM I BEING CALLED TO DO

Like dude i am already going thru it lately. i didnt need any more crisisfuel.

IDK i have to believe its some kind of catalyst to save myself , lest i succumb to the void

it has to show me something i needed to see.

Stuff like this makes me want to disappear in a way that i have total agency over. (Not like in a killing my self way but just in a going away way.) Thats not practical though is it i know thats my evil side talking.

trapped in a sticky web trapped in this glue trap thats what gets me all defiant.

the book im reading rn is from the 70s. i wish i was writing books not posts... i wish i was meeting people in real life the way the author describes in the book. I know the vainly imagined past doesnt hold all the answers either. Good chance i wouldve been institutionalized for woman hysteria or st. But i dont like whats happening here i dont feel natural at all. And its not just me who feels it, clearly.

if only i could be the one who finds comfort in impermenance.

do i accept what im dissatisfied with, do i try to change, or both, or neither?

i am sad

i am existentially disturbed

and i am fucking arrogant 🥴

for wanting to be real.

FUCK!!!!! ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮