#hands hurt but too good to not add the alt to share

[noncompliantcyborg]

Image ID: Two versions of an illustration, one with and one without labels for the organism. The illustration includes a king rag worm aka Alitta virens, a gulper eel aka Eurypharynx pelecanoides, kuhli loach aka Pangio kuhlii, checkerboard cichlid aka Dicrossus filamentosus, green leaf worm aka Eulalia viridis, and bumblebee goby aka Brachygobius doriae. The illustrations are done in a really fun bold colorful and textured style.

aquatic animal illustrations for friends

[rickybowensfever]

borrowed hoodie - sicktember 2024

Hello! I was struck with a sinus infection last week. I get chronic sinus infections and oh my god they are the WORST.

Anyway, I got some inspo last night to write this for the "Borrowed Hoodie" prompt for Sicktember 2024! I'm not going to have too many Sicktember fics left bc I got sick :( but I'm hoping to spark some dopamine and get at least another out for you.

I have been thinking about Susannah's role when her boys get sick and since she has cancer, obviously they'd want her far away from any illnesses. But this is fiction so let's just pretend that she can't get sick from them bc she's a Mom and her immune system isn't as bad as I make Conrad's mwahaha lol I always put Laurel in these situations bc she's more nurturing and has a stronger bond w/ Conrad. But, I'd like to add Beck in and show off her maternal side.

This fic is inspired/set after the episode "Summer Heat" and I took out some scenes that happen in that episode.

LMK what you think & happy reading!

Sicktember 2024 Prompts @sicktember

8. Borrowed Hoodie  

Alt. 

4. Flushed Cheeks

AO3 Link

BELLY POV

Belly woke up wearing Conrad’s hoodie and she was on cloud nine. 

She smiled wide, showing all of her pearly whites. Lying in her warm bed, she hugged herself, sniffing the hoodie that smelled of him; salty and sweet like the ocean. She didn’t want the moment to last, but she had to head over to the country club for dance rehearsal for the Ball. 

Last night was The Fourth of July. At the end of the night, she shared a special moment with Conrad as they both watched the fireworks shooting in the night sky over the ocean. It was breezy which made her jump in place as a chill came over her. Conrad stood by her wearing a zip-up hoodie and when he heard her yelp, he didn’t hesitate to offer her his hoodie. He took it off revealing his gray t-shirt. Belly’s stomach fluttered with butterflies as he placed the jacket over her, holding it out for her to put her arms into the sleeves. She couldn’t stop smiling, her teeth began to hurt. 

Belly turned over and grabbed her phone, unlocking it and composing a text to Conrad. 

Good morning :) 

She smiled a big, toothy grin. Nothing could bring her euphoric mood down. 

— 

After showering and changing into a dress, she headed over to the club. Of course, she wasn’t leaving the house without the hoodie. The light blue zip-up hoodie with white strings was now her security blanket. She left it unzipped as it was baggy on her, making her hands disappear and coming down to her thighs. 

Belly walked into the hall where all of the debutante girls mingled waiting for rehearsal to start. Nicole grabbed Belly as soon as she saw her, then looked her up and down. “Is that Conrad’s hoodie?” Nicole asked, furrowing her brows in suspicion. 

Belly’s stomach dropped. She was so giddy this morning and her head was in the clouds that she didn’t even think about seeing Nicole. Belly paused, fumbling a response, “Oh my God! Yesterday was so wild, I must’ve taken his by mistake. I didn’t even notice!” her stomach turned with anxiety, she nervously laughed, lying through her teeth. She shrugged her shoulders and took the hoodie off, placing it down off to the side on a couch by the wall.  

After rehearsal, Belly ran over to her car with the hoodie lying over her arm. She threw it in the backseat and got into the driver’s seat. She pulled out her phone to view her new messages, hoping to have one from Conrad. Her notification bar didn’t reveal any new messages, only a few notifications from her Instagram followers and of friends going live. Her stomach sank as she re-read her last message to Conrad with the “Delivered” text underneath. She rolled her eyes and turned on the car, hitting play on the radio to shuffle a song on her Spotify playlist. She pulled out of the parking lot and drove home, hoping Conrad would be there. 

— 

When she got home, the house was quiet. Susannah walked in from the front of the house and greeted her, “Good morning, my love” she said, smiling wide. 

Belly returned the smile. “Morning! Hey, Susannah? Have you seen Conrad?” she asked, anxiety fluttered in her stomach as she awaited the answer. 

Susannah frowned and her shoulders slumped. “He’s in bed with a nasty headache. Let him sleep” she explained. “I’m painting some portraits if you’d like to join me” the blonde haired woman said with a smirk, glancing toward the back door. 

Belly fake smiled at her. At least she knew Conrad wasn’t ignoring her, but she was hoping to spend the day with him. Belly gripped the hoodie in her hands and declined, “I’m okay” she replied laughing. 

Suddenly, Jeremiah came in from the back door in his usual chipper mood holding a beach towel over his arm and a backpack on his back. “Hey Bells! I’m going to the beach, want to join?” he asked. 

Belly immediately nodded her head, not even thinking twice about it. “Yes! Let me go get changed” she said assessing her outfit that was not suitable for the beach. 

Belly walked through the hallway toward her room but stopped once she got to Conrad’s door. One side of her conscience was telling her to open the door and tend to him but the other had Susannah’s voice playing in her head. Let him sleep. Belly hesitated, assessing her options, hoping for a sign that never came. 

The hall was quiet. She groaned and marched toward her room. 

—- 

CONRAD POV

Conrad woke up that morning with a splitting headache and the chills. No matter how much alcohol they had the day before, he knew this was not a hangover. He groaned, pulling his arm out from under the warm covers and placed his palm on his forehead. His hands were cold, preventing him from getting an accurate read on if he was running a fever or not. 

He pulled the covers out from under him and looked around the room for his zip-up hoodie. He scanned the room twice, and realized it wasn’t on the chair where he usually put it. He sighed, waiting a couple of seconds, pulling his aching body off of the bed and walked out of the room. 

Conrad entered the kitchen in search of some Advil and water. Susannah sat at the dining table typing on her phone, but stopped when she heard footsteps. 

She immediately frowned when she saw her oldest son’s pale complexion and rosy cheeks. “Aw, honey. You don’t look too good” she said, placing her phone on the table and getting up. 

Conrad put his hand out to stop her, creating distance between them. “I’m fineee” he croaked, opening the cabinet and grabbing a bottle of Advil which he unscrewed and poured out two tablets on the counter. 

“It’s just a bad headache, really” he said, composing himself not to worry her, taking a glass of water, chasing it with the medicine. 

“Mom, I’m fine. It’s really just a headache” he yawned, “I’m going to sleep it off” he shrugged, putting the medicine back in the cabinet and shutting it. 

Susannah sighed, knowing from his rosy cheeks that he wasn’t telling the truth. “Alright, if you say so. I’ll be just by the pool, if you need anything” she replied, giving him a thin-lipped smile before he disappeared up to his room. 

—- 

Luckily thanks to modern medicine, he was able to get some sleep. But when he woke hours later to the sun shining in through his blinds, Conrad felt 10x worse and the chills from earlier re-emerged for an encore. It was absolutely unbearable. His body was heavy and achy but fortunately, his headache was gone. 

After lying in bed awake for what felt like twenty minutes, Conrad mustered up the energy to get out of bed, knowing he needed to take more pain relievers. One thing about Connie is he hated feeling like a burden, so of course he always downplayed his symptoms when he was sick. Therefore, walking back into the kitchen, he silently hoped the coast would be clear. 

But his wishes were crushed when he and Susannah walked in at the same time. “Any better?” she said, her voice in a high pitch. 

“A little” Conrad muttered, going back to the cabinet where they last ran into each other. 

“Honey, why don’t you lie on the couch and I’ll take care of you?” she suggested, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. 

Conrad nodded, declining her request. “I’m okay, really,” he answered in a low voice. He really didn’t need anyone to fuss over him. Let alone, he’d feel guilty if he got his mother sick. 

Susannah crossed her arms, putting her foot down. “Con. You’re shivering, I really don’t mind” she said, noticing her son shivering in place, goosebumps forming on his arms. 

Conrad silently walked over to the couch in defeat. His brain was foggy and with his lack of energy, he was simply too tired to keep protesting. Susannah smiled, glad that he wouldn’t fight her on this anymore. 

Conrad curled up with a blanket on the couch and closed his heavy eyes. Suddenly, he was being woken by a gentle nudge. He opened his glassy blue eyes to see his frail mother sitting by the edge of the couch with a forehead thermometer in her hand. She gently leaned over to feel his forehead, despite feeling the heat radiating off of him from where she sat.

Susannah frowned at her son as she felt his boiling hot forehead, “Oof, you’re burning up, babe” she looked down, turning on the thermometer. She placed the thermometer up to his forehead and waited momentarily for it to beep. 

Susannah’s eyebrows raised and her eyes grew big as she read the alarming temperature. “101.4” she recited, in a broken voice, “I don’t know how you got this sick” she declared, slowly getting up from the couch. 

Conrad batted his eyelashes. He didn’t even realize he was that sick. He truly had himself convinced that he did just have a headache and mild symptoms that would soon disappear, not persist. 

As the chills continued, Conrad felt himself striving to get warm. He pulled the light blanket to the side and got up, walking toward a basket where they stored their blankets. 

Susannah immediately nipped that in the bud. “What’re you doing, honey?” she asked, making him freeze in place. 

He turned toward her and replied, “Getting a blanket” he answered slowly. 

“I’ll get that and I found your hoodie in Belly’s room when I was dropping off her laundry” she said looking over at the piles of laundry on the dining room table that she was folding before he came down, the hoodie lying next to them. 

Conrad nodded and slowly walked back to the couch. Susannah put down her supplies; a wet rag, a glass of water, and a dose of pain reliever. She walked over to the basket and grabbed a light blanket. When she closed the wicker basket, she placed the blanket on the arm of the couch. Then, walked to the dining room to grab his zip-up hoodie. 

When she got back to the couch, she handed over the hoodie. Conrad sat up and she helped him get each arm through. He zipped it up and lay his head back on the pillow, pulling the blankets up toward his chin. 

Susannah frowned at him, turning toward the coffee table and grabbed the medicine. Conrad sighed when he realized he had to sit up again. He complied and took the medicine with the glass of water, then lay his head on the pillow again.

He closed his heavy, tired eyes as he simply felt the fatigue settling in. The cold rag hit his steaming hot forehead and he sighed in relief. 

“Get some rest” Susannah whispered, patting the mountain of blankets. Those were the last words he heard before drifting off to sleep. 

BELLY POV

When Belly returned from the beach, she was in better spirits. Thanks to Jere, he always knew how to cheer her up. It was like he could sense her sorrow even if she put on a brave face and a fake smile. 

The two walked into the house laughing but were soon reprimanded for their volume. “Ssh!” Susannah held up her index finger to her closed lips, looking at the two teens with wide eyes. “Connie’s sleeping on the couch. He’s not feeling too hot” she whispered. 

Jeremiah put his hands up in defeat. “Sorry” the two whispered. 

When Belly got back to her room to shower from the beach, her heart stopped. She could’ve swore she left the hoodie on her unmade bed. But now her bed was made and there was a pile of clean clothes folded on top of her comforter. She frantically scanned the room looking for the hoodie. She looked under the bed, under the comforter, and in her closet but it was nowhere to be found. 

“Hmpf!” she expressed in frustration, whoever came into her room while she was out must’ve taken the hoodie. She left her beach towel and belongings on the floor of her bedroom and stormed down the stairs to find the hoodie. 

When she got to the border of the living room and the kitchen, she froze. Out the window, Susannah was lounging by the pool reading a book. Besides Conrad sleeping on the couch, the coast was clear.  She walked closer to the couch, slowly trying to be as quiet as she could be so as not to wake him. Her heart melted as she saw him; snoring softly, his cheeks flushed with a light pink tint. Then, her eyes lit up as she saw the light blue and white string of the hoodie peeking out under the blankets. 

She smiled, her lips turned up in a crescent moon, glad to know the hoodie was back with its rightful owner, even if it did sting a little to know her time with it was up.

[boop-le-snoot]

@buckyownsmylife hey babe! Remember that one time you threw that cool challenge? Here's my entry. Prepare to get absolutely ruined because daddy!Bruce is exactly that sort of man.

main masterlist ☀️ taglist

emotional support nerd

Your best friend's dad, Dr. Bruce Banner, is hotter than you thought he would be. 6k words, NSFW. Kind of Alt!Reader - she refers to herself as 'goth' in one instance. Tony Stark makes an appearance because God forbid I write a fanfic without him in it.

This is filthy pron, ft. age difference (reader is college aged) daddy kink, throat fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, cream pie, possessiveness, belly bulge and ending with a hint at a threesome. I really crammed all I could from Eyre's wheel in here, didn't I. Oh well.

"How much longer, dad?" Lyra's annoyed voice struck a chord within me. I tried to hide my snickering - unsuccessfully might I add - causing my best friend to shoot me a hurt look, equally fed up with me as she was fed up with her forgetful adopted father. "You know what, we'll take the subway."

Lyra's father's voice, both agitated and apologetic, reached my ears in bitten-off phrases as the traffic noises around us grew in volume, NYC rush hour rapidly approaching its peak.

With a sound huff, Lyra removed the phone from her ear, staring me down with the most amount of petulance I've ever seen on her usually reserved, placid face. "It's twenty more minutes. Apparently he's driving Tony's car," she offered in the way of explanation, like it actually did anything to better the cold, wet situation we found ourselves in. "Please, and I can't stress this enough, please don't be weird."

I felt a flood of amusement at Lyra's pleading tone. "Darling, if you wanted a normal friend, you should have looked elsewhere," I gestured to my outfit. I looked like a goth boy's wet dream: chunky platformed boots, fishnets, heavy eyeliner. Of course, all in black.

"You know what I mean," she whined, waving off my pointing hand and fixing me with a hard stare. "The least my dad needs is someone that is terrified of him just because sometimes he turns into a big green monkey. It's not as exciting as internet thinks, anyway," the last part of the sentence was mumbled but I heard it nonetheless as Lyra stared out into the traffic, clever eyes looking for a particular car model.

What Lyra didn't know was that I was not at all considering to be terrified by the man who dosed himself with radiation and developed an advanced version of split personality disorder. I could be intimidated by him, sure, because he was incredibly intelligent, a world class scientist with more PhDs than I had zeroes in my bank account, but even despite his green problem, Dr. Bruce Banner was about as far away from 'scary' as a man could be.

The few scarce pictures of him on the internet showed a short, stocky man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper curls, always dressed in un-ironed, crumpled button-ups with dorky patterns. Looking at him, I mused that there was a high chance he spoke with a stutter and that fact amused me to no end. Jekyll and Hyde, alright.

Lyra was much the same way. Shy and reclusive, with curly brown hair and doe eyes, she spent a good chunk of her first semester in college being avoided by everybody because of her last name; I, on the other hand, avoided everyone out of habit, I'd never been a social butterfly, but the way people subtly made sure to exclude Lyra from all the activities filled me with quiet, seething rage, and I stepped over my general distaste of people and removed my bag from the seat next to me so Lyra could at least study in relative peace.

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all, I'm sure. Weird goth chick adopts a socially awkward, shunned nerd and they become best friends forever. I had to admit that under the shy exterior, Lyra was smart, witty and even funny sometimes. She was willing to entertain my crude jokes without moaning, at least, and I was perfectly okay with listening to her rant about science every now and then.

Rain banged on the slanted roof of the café we were hiding in, the autumn wind howled, making both of us shiver at the prospect of having to go outside, even if it was for a short moment to run to Lyra's dad's car. The day had started out warm and sunny, but much like a badly calculated chemical formula, it all went downhill a split second after we had set out to leave campus.

"There he is," the grouch in Lyra's expression had me once again unsuccessfully attempting to conceal my snorting.

Nonetheless, I followed her out into the rain, struggling to keep up with the brisk running in my platformed shoes, unceremoniously crawling into the car behind her without sparing a glance at the driver in my eagerness to get out of the freezing downpour.

"Hi, dad," Lyra's tired voice spoke up at the same time as I angrily shook out my hair.

"I've just about McFuckin' had it with New York," I was afraid the dye in my hair would bleed out into my clothes, or even worse, the nice, cream-colored car seats.

"Hello, ladies," the voice that greeted us was low, gravelly and apologetic to boot.

My eyes shot up, meeting an expression full of surprise and amusement. I stared at the shockingly handsome face of Dr. Bruce Banner like a deer in the headlights.

The fine mimic wrinkles had stretched into a resemblance of a smile, soft, plush lips revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The five o'clock shadow framed his jaw, giving it a sharp, defined edge, his clever brown eyes slid down my form, faltering on the pentagram on my belt and my fishnet-covered legs, settling on my chunky boots before hastily snapping back up to my face.

"Dad, this is..." Lyra's voice was full of suspicious bewilderment as she attempted to dissipate the sudden awkwardness.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, but you can call me Doc or Bruce," he cleared his throat, turning himself towards the windshield and starting up the car.

"Nice to meet you," I busied myself with putting away any stray hair just to occupy myself with something during the time I needed to recuperate from being just... Looked at by Lyra's dad.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I was so taken aback by his handsomeness and his aura of a gentle but powerful man that the ride to Stark tower, however swift, went on in slightly awkward silence. The streets outside were, thankfully, noisy, and the lack of an attempt to have a conversation could easily be attributed to Bruce's need to focus on the road, but Lyra's increasingly concerned looks did very little to settle the sudden racing of my heart.

"C'mon, I'll give you some sweats so you can let your..." Lyra's vague gesture towards my upper body disappeared behind her side of the door. "Hey, Tony," she suddenly interrupted her sentence, very obviously addressing another person who I managed to miss as Bruce parked in the spacious garage.

"I've been told you're finally bringing your friend, Green Pea," a voice I'd heard a thousand times on the TV poked fun at Lyra.

She bent down to retrieve her bag, shooting big eyes at me and mouthing an exaggerated "Sorry!"

Tony Stark looked about a week in debt on sleep, a contrast to the way he usually appeared in public. The exaggerated eyebrow raise made me shuffle awkwardly in my spot; the Led Zep tee caught my eyes as I lingered on it, aware of my own Mötorhead top on display. He noticed it too, causing his face leave the snide territory.

"Wow, I didn't expect kids these days to have any resemblance of taste in music but you've surprised me, Corpse Bride," he gave me a quiet wolf-whistle, watching me through lidded eyes.

I felt my eyebrow crawl upwards at his attitude but Bruce spoke up before I could say anything: "Tony, no," so firmly, I had to raise both of my eyebrows. I felt a smile tug at my lips, the situation strikingly familiar in it's essence. Like father, like daughter...

"No," Lyra's identical expression, fond and annoyed, topped up with an accusing finger pointed in my direction had everyone snorting a giggle at the situation.

"Lyra," I whined, just so I could coax her grin that she was very obviously trying to conceal. "See, I told you, every crazy genius needs their emotional support nerd," I fixed her with a pointed look.

She promptly grabbed me by the arm, leading all of us to the elevator as the two men behind us shared a hearty laugh at my well-timed joke. It was either that or I would have completely embarrassed myself by gaping and drooling over both THE Tony Stark and Lyra's father.

The rush didn't stop there. I was promptly and generously offered not only a spare pair of pants but also a whole room to stay in after an invitation to dinner I simply could not refuse. Dr. Banner firmly coaxed me into staying overnight with his pleading eyes and a hearty seasoning of guilt tripping, softly crooning how he simply could not let a young woman to wander the cold, rainy night in NYC alone.

Tony added something too, in a tone way too surefire and patronising. I guessed he noticed my eyes lingering on Dr. Banner, being a genius and all.

In a short amount of time, I found myself seated at a dinner table next to a happy, giggling Lyra who'd downed a glass of wine and was well into her second. I found it adorable how much of a lightweight she was; not hesitating in the slightest to point out that fact when she made hands for a pitcher of water.

Tony was the first one to snark back something vague about his college days and all the wild parties he used to throw, booing Bruce upon discovery that he, in fact, actually studied in college in favour of partaking in various illicit activities. That had both me and Tony giggling with Lyra promptly joining in, both of us losing it over the running joke or her being either a test tube baby or the result of immaculate conception.

Bruce's face blushed scarlet. He sputtered, a few stray drops of his lemonade landing on the (ironed!) collar of his purple shirt, cough disappearing in the wake of Tony's truly amused cackling. Dr. Banner was well on his way to either choke on his Lo Mein or turn green; thinking quickly, I decided to defuse a situation by sharing a harmless, funny story that happened to me as a freshman.

"I went on a date with this guy who said that music was the most important thing in his life, and I thought, wow, that's so beautiful!" I began my story over Lyra's incessant snickering. "So we had dinner and went back to his place because I'm a whore," the whole table erupted in laughter at my deadpan remark, Tony reaching over to give me a high five.

"And as we got there, he put on one of his demos which was just a bunch of sampled and remixed Guns'n'Roses songs, and I thought wow, that's gotta be one of the worst things I've ever heard," I pointedly looked away as Lyra's cackling grew in volume, having heard the same story several times by now and the outrage I expressed at the situation first hand.

"But instead of that I said, wow, that's so cool! Then we did the thing and his whole bedroom was covered in Axl Rose posters and I'm sure at some point Mr. Rose stared right up my asshole," there were tears streaming down Lyra's face as Tony flopped his upper body onto the table and Bruce convulsed helplessly in a silent fit of giggles. "And then I thought to myself: wow, I would have to pretend to like his music if I dated this guy and I just couldn't do that..." I breathed out, succumbing to the mirth at the dinner table. "It was good but not November Rain good, y'kno?"

Bruce snorted loudly, sliding down his chair with a hand over his face. The table shook with the force of Tony's cackling; I didn't see his expression but the howling, rasping noises sent me into another fit of laughter, right on par with Lyra.

"Is this..." Tony rapidly inhaled the much-needed oxygen. "Is this why you keep wincing whenever I play the 'Roses in the lab?" Tony wheezed and Lyra nodded.

"I just... I can picture it, and I-" she made a vague, encompassing gesture and a face.

"Please, don't," I urged with a snort. "There are better ways to get disappointed."

Dinner went on by smoothly after that, everybody happily making remarks on my dating fail, the topic of Lyra's birth and Tony's college shenanigans dismissed.

I caught Dr. Banner's pointed look as we finished our dessert - he was studying me, eyes searching for something that he very obviously wished was there. From the damp roots of my hair to the soft, cotton top clinging to my chest, I wasn't left unscrutinzed and unexamined. Like one of the many specimens he studied on a daily basis, Bruce lingered on the many characteristics that made me stand out in the grey crowd.

"Would you like to see the labs?" He asked, appearing behind me without a single sound.

The freshly cleaned dishes clattered in my arms. I'd almost dropped them, startled, but Bruce's hand landed on the top of the stack right before the top plate would have slipped off and shattered into pieces on the cold tile of his kitchen.

Blood rushed to my ears. "I'd love to," my brain had briefly returned to reality, the rush of meeting both Stark and Banner succumbing to logic and reason. My and his fields of study briefly overlapped, the question he posed was more than reasonable. In fact, many people would cheat, lie and steal to be in my position.

Bruce smiled, opening a cabinet and taking half of the dishes I was holding to stack them up in their proper place. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing wide, muscular forearms littered with dark, coarse hair.

I was sure my face was flaming. After waving off Lyra's attempts to put shoes on me and leaving her to watch her TV show, a wide, warm palm rested on the back of my waist, gently steering me towards the elevator.

I tried to keep my eyes off Bruce in the large mirror on the walls of the car as it swiftly moved down, scrutinizing my appearance instead. My throat bobbed, the elevator car suddenly too small and too hot.

His eyes left marks on me - invisible ones, the kind that I knew were there just from the scorching heat sizzling on my skin.

There was a certain je ne sais quoi about him. Perhaps, it was in the way he was acting - a polar opposite of what I'd had expected, Dr. Bruce Banner possessed a quiet confidence and his patience appeared to be endless, heartily doused with an appreciation for his closest ones. The way his eyes lit up in response to people smiling around the dinner table was hard to miss.

When Bruce spoke about his research - whatever wasn't classified, anyway - the spark expanded into a mischievous fire. I could hardly understand the nuances in his work, scratch that- I could not understand a single word he was saying, at all. The individual syllables registered as they should, but my traitorous brain could only focus on the way he licked his lips in between quickly inhaled breaths.

"You're not... Following, are you?" The corner of his mouth lifted upwards, clever brown eyes fixed on my face.

God, I hoped I wasn't drooling. But to deny the obvious would have been a stretch. "No, not really," I swallowed, willing my eyes to lift from the large veins on the hand that was pointing at a set of equations. Reasonably good at math any day, they looked like the scribbles of a madman to me at the time.

Dr. Banner sighed, letting silence creep among the whirring machinery in the lab for a brief moment. "I don't scare you?" He removed his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his shirt.

The question reeked of self-doubt and, perhaps, insecurity. "No," I answered simply, not giving him the slightest chance to find doubt in my words. I was barely holding my voice from shaking, afraid he'd misunderstand my reaction to the sudden change in atmosphere.

He was closer to me than I recalled. My hip was almost brushing his, the bulk of his shoulder millimeters from touching against my bare skin, the smell of something herbal, like tea, and sharp chemicals clouding my senses. It was such a contrasting experience.

Bruce turned to me, an expression between hunger and regret forcing me to shiver and look him straight in the eye. A hand landed on my waist, holding me in place with gentle firmness. "I'm a monster, I could hurt you," he whispered, leaning into me like a touch starved kitten. The man screamed contradiction. "We shouldn't."

Vivid images of the Hulk and the rampages years prior flashed through my mind; the rubble, the collateral damage in the form of many lives. I barely remembered it, having been too little to really understand what was going on. One thing, though, I knew for sure: ever since the world became aware of Lyra's existence, there had been no incidents. Sure, the Hulk still appeared when there was a threat, but there were no documented incidents of the green creature running amok, accidentally.

"You won't hurt me," I spoke with conviction. Perhaps, I was bluffing just slightly but I wouldn't lie like that to myself. The variable, the... Twelve or so percent chance of things going... Awry, it made a small, malicious worm inside of me rejoice and fill my limbs with familiar adrenalised yearning. "You're not a monster. Far from it, actually," I used the hand that was not supporting me against the desk to gently cradle the side of his face, letting my fingertips brush over the rough five o'clock shadow on his cheek.

Bruce emitted a sound somewhere between an agitated grown and a pleading whine, sagging with the sound exhale, pressing himself flush with my chest. His face slipped from my palm, the warm tip of his nose running a steady line up my neck, sending goosebumps running wildly down my back as his hot breath tickled the arch of my throat.

"Baby," the nickname punched a stuttered gasp out of me with the intensity contained in just that one word. "I've been hearing all these amazing things about you," his voice dropped, low baritone rumbling straight into my ear. "I won't be able to hold back. I'll want you all to myself," his bicep flexed under my hand.

My knees would have bucked if I wasn't grasping onto Bruce for dear life after those words. I had some sense of personal pride in me, so while my body was an easy, traitorous thing, my mind was more than eager to participate in this game, to ping pong a little bit before... "Yeah? What things?" I breathed.

Teeth briefly closed around my tender skin, nipping for just a second. "You're kind, beautiful," his hand took a steadfast hold on the back of my neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. More skin to mark, more time to whisper. "Intelligent, bright and clever," the more he spoke, the fiercer he became. Bruce's grasp tightened until I was pliant in it, willingly following his silent commands. "A bit of a pain in the ass," a healthy dose of humour was added into the mix as my ass was roughly grabbed, our fronts pressed together at his insistence.

"That sounds about right," I didn't resist the sudden urge to snark, thoughts lazily floating in my head, like clouds on a bright sunny day, fleeting and sparse. None of them caught on. I was focused on feeling the need, on my need to feel.

A sharp smack landed on the plump of my ass, the sound resonating in the eerily quiet lab. The sounds of machinery had dulled at some point, leaving just the two of us panting our lust into each other's space. "I know you can be a good girl. Will you, princess?" His fingertips dug into my flesh, surpassing the soft sweatpants as if they weren't even there.

I could only nod, dumbly, overcome by the sudden rush of blood to my body. The life coarsing through me sang, demanding a release of the pent-up tension.

"What's that?" Bruce removed himself from my neck, catching my unfocused eyes with a crooked smirk on his lips.

"Yes," I swallowed, breathing through my mouth.

"Mmm," he hummed, running both hands over my sides, over the frayed edges of my Mötorhead top. He admired it, briefly, setting his eyes on the band logo that was right over my breasts. Having decided something to himself, Bruce promptly removed it, lifting it over my head with ease and leaving it right on the science lab table.

Taking hold of my hand, he walked over to a hidden set of sliding doors that revealed a rather large, frequently used bed, shutting them just as I walked in, wearing only my bra and borrowed sweats. My back was pressed to the door in mere seconds, hot palms chasing away the chill of the lab as Bruce slotted his lips over mine.

He tasted like something I've never had before. His lips - so plush and supple, took hold of the kiss with practiced gusto, sucking me in without a chance or the desire to escape. I drank from him, sucked on the bottom lip as his tongue explored my mouth, danced with mine.

The room was spinning, the ringing in my ears growing in volume. I was only partly aware of the sensation of sliding down the wall; our knees thudded on the carpeted floor simultaneously, heavy breathing the only noise I could distinguish.

"Breathe, baby, that's it," Bruce coaxed, gently stroking my nape. The soft cotton of his shirt crumpled under my fingers where I held onto him, desperately searching something to ground myself with.

The buckle of his belt clattered and then clinked again as he wrapped the worn leather around my wrists, bringing them together in front of my chest. I exhaled sharply at the intimate gesture, a whine bubbling up from my chest when Bruce used a single fingertip to raise my chin.

My eyes met his; a brown iris tinged with the faintest of green around the outer edge. "This okay, princess?" He sought my face for confirmation, for agreement, for anything.

I nodded, stuttering mid-gesture, remembering our previous interaction. My mouth did not want to cooperate but I forced it to, even if it came out as little more than a pitiful mewl. "Yes, daddy," the word, sweet and sticky like fruit syrup, poured from my lips.

My eyes slid shut as my conscience - or was it common sense? - took hold of the situation. I was on my knees in front of my best friends dad, a virtual stranger, and I'd just-

Bruce's soft chuckle stopped the negative spiral of my thoughts. "That's my girl," he sounded a tad more breathless now, a hairliner in his perfect façade of self-control. As if he'd sensed my indecisiveness, he tugged on the makeshift restraints, pulling me closer, closer and into his lap.

A warm, solid chest with a healthy amount of fluff greeted me. Bruce let my lax, pliant body fall into his arms, catching me effortlessly and bringing my face to his lips. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're my good girl," he peppered soft kisses all over my flaming cheeks, my twitching nose, my fluttering lashes.

"Please," I begged, shame giving way to the flood of arousal that seemingly hit me all at once. I was aware of the dampness collecting in my panties, the stiffness of my limbs from holding back the ravenous desire to paw at Bruce like a wild animal. "Please, daddy..."

"I know, I know, baby girl," he soothed, not stopping his tender assault on my face. "Daddy will make it all better. I know just what you need," Bruce finally pulled away. I heard the sound of him undoing his zipper and then the awkward shuffle of him shucking off his pants.

Somewhere in between of all that, he'd ended up sitting down on the bed, wearing only his boxers, his shirt hanging open. The red crawled down his chest, partially masked by the coarse salt and pepper hair; his lips were cherry red and his hair was sticking out in odd directions. Bruce looked sinful.

My eyes inadvertently landed on the impressive bulge in his boxers; in response to my widened eyes, he reached out for it, stroking the outline of his thick cock through his boxers. "Like what you see, baby?"

"Yeah," My mouth watered.

"Baby wants a fat cock?" He teased, sounding like he knew exactly what he was doing, testing my self-control like that. With a flick of his wrist, it sprang free, slapping against his tummy, coating the fine hairs with drops of clear, musky fluid.

I swallowed, feeling the taste of him from afar and yearning for more where I was parked between his spread legs.

In a gesture almost loving, he tugged on the belt still wrapped around my wrists, bringing my face to his leaking shaft and my hands to the base of it, letting me feel the weight of his balls in them. The cock throbbed, neglected, weighed down by the heaviness of his full balls.

"Go ahead, baby, suck my cock," the encouragement came with a gentle push to my head.

I obediently followed, wrapping my lips around the pink, moist crown of it, a hum beginning in the back of my throat. My God, Bruce tasted heavenly... I whirled and slipped my tongue a around his head, I dipped into the slit to drink the nectar right from the tap, idly coming to awareness of the broken, choked moans coming from the man above me.

Raising my head got me a view of his chin; head thrown back, the lax O of his mouth glistened in the meager light. My eyes slid lower, to the flex of his abs. Bruce fought hard to stay still. The desire consumed me, a sudden rush of power at having Dr. Bruce Banner's cock in my mouth and the man at my mercy; I inhaled, sliding my mouth further and further down his throbbing length.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter before his hands gripped the sides of my face. "Hungry, baby, are you?" His eyes glowed a faint green; I shuddered at the power he held within himself. Held back for me. "Tap my thigh twice," he spoke and I had no choice but to obey. "Okay. Do that if it gets too much, alright?" I nodded. He gave me a wide, beaming smile. "Good girl," he praised, experimentally bucking his hips into my mouth a few times.

In and out. I focused on my breathing, sharp, little inhales: his girth took up all the free space in my mouth, the tip of it barely fit into my throat. The burn, the stretch; I felt every tenth of an inch, every bulging attempt of my body to accommodate Bruce's huge cock. It was delicious, I couldn't help but crave the same stretch in my neglected, sopping wet pussy.

"Fuck, you're taking it so well," Bruce moaned wetly. "Your mouth... S'like heaven... Could fuck it all day, that's my good girl," the rambling increased in it's intensity as the pace of his hips hastened. Drool and tears flowed like a river; my chin was dropping with it, spit connected my face to his pelvis. "Oh," there was a brief pause to his movements; suddenly, he pulled out, fisting the base of his cock, staring me down with a ferocious gleem in his eye.

I must've looked a straight mess; my face like a crime scene, my clothes disheveled, covered in fluids and most of all - I was desperately grinding against my own feet, too focused on the glorious cock in front of me to notice the weakness of my own flesh. "Daddy?" I questioned, wincing at the grating of my own voice.

Without a word, the belt was tugged once more; in a set of movements just slightly north of acrobatic, I found myself laying on my back in the middle of the bed, my sweatpants suffering a haste demise in the corner of the room.

Bruce crawled atop me, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on every inch of my skin he could reach, mouthing something inaudible into every pore of my body. As he drew closer, I discerned bitten-off phrases, stringing my desire into sticky, tangy mess at the apex of my thighs.

"My perfect baby girl," the words reached me; all tongue, he kissed me once more, arching into me as much as I arched into his hot grasp. A brief inspection of my face - he was satisfied with what he saw - and Bruce crawled back, settling in between my spread legs, breathing hot air on the lips of my sex still covered by a sopping wet piece of fabric.

"Oh fuck," I yelped, feeling him smooch it soundly, the hot wetness of his tongue penetrating the meagre lace barrier with ease.

He moved it aside anyway, with a single finger, giving my pussy a broad lick, moaning into my cunt like a man gone mad. It took a few more licks for him to feel sated enough to surface, all the while holding my hips down. I was so sensitive, I felt even the tiniest flicks to my clit, I was sure if I didn't cum then and there, I would explode.

"Such a pretty pussy, princess," his heavy breathing paused briefly. He nipped my thigh. "So wet, is that all for me?"

"Yes, yes, daddy," I rasped, pushing my cunt into his face, losing all shame and trepidation.

"So tasty," he continued the torture, outlining my lower lips before taking another nosedive right into it, swirling his tongue around every fold, sucking onto my clit.

Bruce ate my pussy until my thighs shook, until my core quivered and I could no longer hold back the choked, ragged screams starting somewhere in the low of my belly and coming out as unholy, all-consuming yowls filled with unadulterated lust.

"Louder for me, baby," he inhaled rapidly, and then, he sucked on my clit.

The world stopped, halted on it's axis, every muscle going rigid in my body and every nerve ending simultaneously coming alive. Faintly, I heard a chant, repeating two syllables over and over, it sounded like my voice - but I had no control over myself. All I could do was weakly grind my hips against Bruce's mouth, faltering when the crashing waves of my orgasm began to recede.

The infuriating overstimulation stopped; blinking hazily, I saw Bruce's eyes glimmer brown and green in front of my face. His nose and his chin was glistening with a thin coat of sticky fluid; disheveled and red, he looked a man on the verge of a revelation.

Something hot and blunt nosed at my cunt, bringing back the moment to me - I realized, with a great deal of impatience - how empty I felt. The decision was minute. "Daddy, fuck me, please, I want your cock," the words came easily.

"That's my girl," his eyes fluttered shut as the first inches squeezed through the snug of my cunt. I was sopping wet and as relaxed as I'd be, but even then, it was a stretch. "Good girl, good baby," the mumbled praise made me whine and my pussy clamp on his cock. "Relax, let daddy fill you up." Breathing through it, I consciously unwound myself around him, letting my palms rest freely on his shoulders. "Let daddy take care of you."

Like melted sugar, his husked words stuck to me inside and out. Short, sharp thrusts; Bruce was patiently burrowing himself inside of me, making his way to reach the deepest parts of me I didn't even know existed. His cock head pressed against something hard and spongy inside of me; stars burst behind my eyes I'd clamped shut on reflex.

I moaned weakly, tugging on his arm, pressing myself closer. It felt so, so good. Like a raw nerve had been exposed and he was stroking it, pushing that little switch with every stroke of his hips.

"I'm not gonna last," he muttered as once again, my cunt squeezed him snugly in place, just as greedy as I was to feel that tiny explosion spark up within me again.

"I want..." I panted. Bruce set in a punishing pace after that, a palm under my ass, squeezing it so hard there would definitely be bruising. I craved it, I needed to see the evidence this was not some elaborate fever dream. "I want... Daddy to fill me up," words came out garbled; it sounded like gibberish to my ears but Bruce - they spurred him on.

"Oh yeah?" That breathless, boyish cockiness was back in his voice again; despite how fucked out he sounded, I prepared myself for something truly out of this world. I just knew.

He sat back on his shins, dragging me by the hips with him, making me shiver and moan and twitch and clamp onto him again as his throbbing cock hit that special spot again. And again. And again.

"Look at me, baby," a hand on my belly and his eyes burning right through me. As they slid down, towards the apex of my thighs where he was still moving within me almost lazily, I saw it.

"Oh fuck," I couldn't utter much more than a two-syllabled profanity. There was a bulge in my belly, just above my pelvis, moving in rhythm with Bruce's hips. And then he pressed on it and I-

Something, someone, somewhere was screaming. The noise was loud and pitched, but even then, I could barely hear it though the neverending waves of bliss that enveloped my whole being. Gold and silver at the edges of my rapidly darkening vision; I was drowning in something that smelled and felt like Bruce. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his heated body, the rapid snapping of his hips-

Oh.

"I'm gonna, fuck," the last word was but a ghost of a human speech. Growling low and filthy, Bruce leaned into my ear, his breath hot and moist. "Mine," his hips stuttered, his cock nestled deep, the sensation bordering on painful, forcefully extracted pleasure. It throbbed with every spurt of his seed; each one felt like a solid punch in the gut to my abused pussy.

"Daddy," I mewled, my body jerking away from him but my mind and my soul yearning for more. His rapidly softening flesh made the idea of being separated unbearable.

"S'good, s'my good girl, m'so proud," he mumbled, looking slightly disoriented as he removed himself from me, immediately pressing me to his side and interwining any free, flailing limbs.

We laid in silence, each of us slowly coming back to Earth after the completely unreal experience we just had. I didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do as the realization set in, the post-orgasmic haze giving way to a sudden rush of clarity.

"I can hear you overthinking," Bruce's voice was fond.

Before I could muster up the courage to snark back, the divided doors opened, one very concerned Tony Stark standing there, armed with a tranquilizer gun in one hand and a pack of cookies in the other. His mouth, previously open to (probably) yell at us, remained as open when his eyes had registered the scene in front of him.

I stared at Bruce. Bruce stared at Tony.

"The noise," he offered in the way of explanation, dangling the pack of cookies, looking, for once - speechless. He recovered quickly, however, even if the remark was a thin ghost of his usual sass: "You pick the nerd over me? I'm hurt," he scoffed in mock irritation, although I was pretty sure I saw some satisfaction in there, too.

Bruce looked at me. I looked at Bruce.

A mischievous grin slowly crept up his face, an identical one beginning to appear on my own face seconds after.

"Hey, two nerds is better than one, right?" My response is what did it; or, rather, it was the evidence of my previous throat-fucking clearly audible in my voice... Tony dropped the cookies and then, the tranq gun.

Bruce Banner taglist: @pilloclock @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @mostly-marvel-musings @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @sapphicnoodle69 @couldntbedamned @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @tripleyeeet @tatestripedsweater @stuckybarton

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Would you write some steamy make out session between fem!reader x a daughter of your choice? Maybe the daughter would sneak out of the castle or sneak reader in the castle into her bedroom. They can go all the way, I'd love a dominant top reader in this, but if you're not comfortable writing about that someone can interrupt them when reader is just about have their hand in the daughter's pants. Thank you in advance!

I picked Bela, cuz I've already got some nsfw with the other two planned. Not gonna lie, this had me, like, screaming in the middle of the night because I'm incredibly easily flustered, and whooooo boy this is what the folks would call "horny". Anyway, I tried, hopefully it's good. If not, please forgive me, I haven't written nsfw in ages (can you believe I used to write this stuff with a straight face?). PS: the reader probably isn't as dominant as you were going for? I just, idk, personally exude bottom energy (even as an ace) and struggle a lil with that sort of thing. If I understand terms correctly (and I do not), the reader might count as a 'service top'. What does that even mean. I'm probably not correct. Just. Just read the thing and see if it's any good, leave me to my awkward flailing.

Under read-more for horny, obvs. Also because this is, like, 1.5k words, which belongs under a read-more. Oh, also not beta read? I could not willingly make someone read this and edit it.

Sweet Talkin' (Alt: the fic that killed j)

“Are you sure we won’t get caught?” You asked, butterflies in your stomach, equal parts nervous and excited. This date had taken weeks of planning. Every last detail was covered, from location to timing to where a certain noble would be, backed up by maidens and begrudging sisters alike. At the end of the day, you really shouldn’t be nervous. But considering just how special this was supposed to be… well, you couldn’t help your anxiety. Evidently your girlfriend feels much the same, as her reassuring smile was hardly as confident as it normally was.

“We’ve gone over this a thousand times, darling, we know it’s going to work out fine,” Bela Dimitrescu replied, before pulling you in for a quick kiss. The two of you stay in each other’s arms for a moment, gently resting your foreheads together. “It will be fine, it has to be. If my mother found out-”

“She won’t,” you interjected, quickly, trying to do for her what she had done for you. “You said it yourself, we’ve double and triple checked. As long as we finish up before dinner, as planned, your sisters will keep her distracted. Admittedly I’m still not sure how you managed to convince them to help.”

“The threat of mutually assured destruction,” Bela replied, as if it was obvious. Something about the way she was always so fast to respond, usually with something clever, made your heart skip a beat. Ooh, and the confidence she radiated? Even better. “Besides, I’ve covered for the two of them a dozen times or more, I think they owe me one. Now, let’s just enjoy this time we have together, alright?” Then she takes both of your hands in her own, giving them a soft squeeze, while looking at you lovingly.

“Is it getting a little warm in here, or is it just me?” You asked, blushing, almost overwhelmed by the heat shared between the two of you. There’s a slight lump in your throat, but you push it down as fast as you can. After all, this was exactly what the two of you had wanted, and you happened to have a little ‘surprise’ in mind. Now seemed like the perfect chance to act. “Maybe we should do something about it, hmm? Don’t want me overheating during our date, now do we?” Well, it wasn’t your smoothest moment, for sure. But you were used to Bela taking the lead in these sorts of situations. This was simply your turn to have some fun, finally show that you didn’t always need to be told what to do (not that you minded, at least not when it was Bela giving you commands).

“Oh? Do elaborate, darling, I’d love to hear what you’re suggesting,” she replied, soft smile betraying her mirth. For a second you see her gaze drift from your eyes to your lips, and you have a feeling you know exactly what she’s thinking about. Seizing the moment, you wrap an arm around her waist, then pull her in for a kiss. Soon enough you two are pressed against each other, eager in your movements, hearts racing in sync. Slowly but surely you move your hand, edging it down her back, then a little further… Bela gasps as you gently grab her ass, not having expected you to be the first to make such a move. A few moments later you have to break for air, chests heaving, but you don’t let go of her entirely.

“Less clothes, for starters. And since your skin isn’t, hmm, quite as warm as mine… I was thinking I could use that to my advantage. If your thighs need a little warming, we could kill two birds with one stone,” you said, practically purring, voice lower than usual. A blush soon rises up Bela’s cheeks as she considers your offer. It doesn’t take her long to smirk, satisfied, one hand going to cup your cheek.

“Right now, there is nothing I would love more,” she murmured. It’s all the encouragement you need to act. Without hesitation you tuck an arm behind her legs, sweeping her up and onto the desk in one smooth motion. It’s a good thing she cleaned up for our date, you think, as you position your body between her thighs. For now you focus your lips on her neck, leaving a trail of kisses along it. Meanwhile your hands find themselves on the fabric of her dress, slowly sliding it upwards, revealing more of her soft skin, ready and waiting for your touch. She lets out a quiet moan as you work, using one hand to hold your head close to her. “You’re rather eager today, dear. Worried we won’t have time for you to get a turn?” Bela asked, in between sharp breaths, teasing as ever.

Instead of replying, you just run your tongue over a particularly sensitive spot on her neck (one you’ve taken advantage of many, many times), unable to stop yourself from smiling when it draws another, louder, moan from her lips. Savoring the feeling, you give her the softest lovebite you can manage. Then you finally get the hem of her dress up to her thighs, allowing you all the access you need, and you pull back to look her in the eyes.

“The only thing I’m worried about is how loud you’re about to be. I wouldn’t want to scar the other maidens,” you said, grinning. Part of you remembers that Daniela and her girlfriend had already handed out plenty of mental scars. The rest of you, however, is content to focus on your girlfriend. So you give her one last quick peck on the lips. Seconds later you’re on your knees, looking up to admire the view. You can’t help but release a low breath at the sight. It takes you a moment to recover, blushing heavily, before you get back to work. Reaching up you take the edge of her underwear in your hands, tugging it away. Bela shifts as you do, trying to make it easier for you, and before long you’ve removed it entirely and tossed the garment over your shoulder. Normally you’d be neater, but when the two of you had all the time in the world… why bother?

Even with one hell of a prize right there, you don’t go straight for her cunt. You place a kiss against her inner thigh, then another one, taking your sweet time. It’s driving Bela crazy, and she’s squirming in place. Picking up the pace just a bit, you add in a couple nibbles, slowly climbing up her thighs, hands ensuring they stayed parted. Right as you move in for more, her fingers tangle in your hair, urging you closer, closer. On one hand you want to tease her, payback for a dozen times she’s done this exact thing to you. On the other hand… your lips can’t help themselves. You’re kissing her clit, loving the way she gasps in response, switching to using your tongue, quick licks one after another. Now her fingers are curling in your hair, pulling ever so slightly.

“Babe,” Bela gasped, struggling to keep herself from bucking too hard, free hand clenching the desk as hard as she could. Eager to please her further, you work faster, tongue rolling over her wet folds, then focusing on her clit, cycling the motions, even as she moves herself against you. You swear you can almost hear her heart racing- but it’s just your own beating in your ears, nearly drowned out by the sound of her pleasure. Every sound urges you onward, rewarding every lick or kiss with a surge of pride. You were the reason she was gasping, calling your name, shaking ever the slightest. Soon, well, soon you’ll be the reason why she was cumming. “Oh fuck,” she said, tensing up for a split second, one last lick sending her over the edge. The way she tugs on your hair hurts, but you know it’s more out of reflex than anything else.

“Mmm,” you hummed, pressing a couple soft kisses to Bela’s inner thighs, letting her come down from her high without having to worry about overstimulation (at least not yet). Then you’re rising back to your feet, glad to stretch out a little. “Ready for round two?” You asked, teasing, though a hundred percent ready if she did agree. To your surprise… she nods, eagerly, sending you a familiar smirk. “Well, I’d better get to work, then.” With that said you move closer, grinning just as wide as your girlfriend, beyond glad that you had plenty of time to do whatever you wanted with each other… because the two of you were going to need every minute.

[that-tall-queer-bassist]

My personal Pros and Cons of my ADHD

Pros

-noticing all the little details and appreciating them in the fullest

-Emotional Dysregulation, because when I get a new plant, or find that one oddly shaped metal marble I lost a while ago, I am so excited it’s pathetic, but I love that feeling of pure joy.

-hyperfixation of the week/day/hour (i know some people describe it differently, let me be pls) . I usually switch between art mediums, and/or a few video games/social media sites. for example, I’ve been on tumblr for 3 hours as i write this, after not touching it for, i think a month?

-nuerodivergent friends. They’re just better.

-the ability to completely drown myself in information to ignore reality. Is it healthy? no. But i simply cannot handle another existiential crissi rn, so i will instead play minecraft while listening to alt rock playlists on youtube because getting spotify sounds like a lot of work.

-my ability to retain absolutely useless information, from either my, or my other nuerodivergent friends hyperfixations/special interests. I can explain to you in terrible formatting if it’s out loud, the evolution, history, training, anatomy and roles of the horse in our world, and how ao3 works, and what makes or breaks a fanfiction.

-Object Impermanence. When i literally hide myself a treat or surprise and forget about it, then get so excited when i do find/discover it again. I hide google questions, and/or song lyrics in my tabs :) its so fun. Also, hiding away stressors. Again, healthy? no, but i don’t feel like having anxiety all day, so whatever.

-Emotional Dysregulation, again. I can switch from sad or angry to happy and excited/content in a few seconds. It’s also great for getting my siblings out of their funk. ex., my sister is mad at me. I make a silly voice repeating what she said or cross my eyes at her. she laughs, then we can talk and have constructive conversation about why she shouldn’t get that upset about me “cutting off her reading time” when we share a room and I want to sleep, and know that she will be very tired tomorrow if she doesn’t also go to sleep. (We have this conversation almost every single night, i’m not even joking)

Cons

-Emotional Dysregulation. When i get upset, I’m Upset. Like, big time, ruining friendships and familial ties if i let it get out of hand, Upset. Yeah.

-Time Blindness. Constantly late, or early, or under or over estimating the amount of time it takes to do a thing, not eating til 4 because you forgot but you also should just wait til dinner, but now its 9 and I still haven’t eaten-

-Executive Dysfunction. I can’t do the things needed to function. Don’t have the mental energy to explain this one, so google it i guess? There’s a whole checklist of things you need to be able to do to function, and i can do like, three on a good day.

-Sleeping Trouble. People with adhd have trouble falling asleep, staying asleep, and waking up. So, sleeping trouble. So I’m constantly tired.

-Internal Clock is SLIGHTLY OFF. Nuerotypicals have that normal sleep schedule. Adhd ers have it shifted forward by, i think, 2, 3 hours. So we go to sleep later, and wake up later, and that’s the only way to get a healthy amount of sleep. My entire family also eats dinner super late, which might be because we’re weird, but I suspect the inner clock thing cuz we all got adhd.

-Object Impermanance. I hid my math homework one time. I failed that class. 

-Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. Never trying, or starting cuz I’m so terrified to get a bad reaction. Constantly masking around certain people to appeal to the few of my Nuerotypical friends. Or, y’know, majority of my extended family. They’re ableist. and homophobic. And transphobic. And racist. and sexist. The list goes on, but, yeah. Never coming out to them! :D

-Masking. It’s exhausting and I can only handle so much of it.

-Not Masking around nuerotypicals. The shoot down after finally revealing my true thoughts, urges, feelings, stims, etc. just sucks. Super disheartening. 

-Squirrel or shiny jokes when they’re made by people without adhd. Yes, I do get distracted by squirrels, and shiny things, and dice. Stop pointing it out, and/or putting me into yet another box of your labeling. 

-saying that I’m lazy, worthless, or a disaster when really it’s not helping. I already have that internal monologue, you adding to it and giving it some truth/extra ammunition is not. helping.

-Emotional Dysregulation. Again, because mood swings. like, I’m trying to be rightfully angry with you. Stop making me laugh with you’re silly faces or pointing out of a weird face someone made in a picture you took. 

-the stigma about the hyperactive subtype. I’m inattentive. I have No Energy. Ever. Sometimes i have restlessness, but there is still no energy. Stop portraying me as bouncing off the walls, especially with caffeine. Caffeine just catches my body speed up to my brain speed, settling me down a bit, at least mentally. 

-people not getting when i say I’m overstimulated, or need some time alone to process or re-energize, and following me, or continuing to do the overstimulating thing. I will literally. lose. my. mind.

-when people shut me down after I share something that is really important to me, or make fun of me for liking something an “abnormal” amount. Flashbacks to overnight camp, when whenever I said anything about horses, they said I had to do five squats, and when i got really excited about discussing the differences in riding styles/types with another person who really liked horses, but rode english, they said that it was obnoxious, when i was just.. excited to finally find someone to talk to and who felt the same way after, basically, years and years of no one getting it or wanting to listen or talking with me about the thing. To this day I don’t discuss horses with anyone, cuz it hurts so much remembering that, and the fear of it happening again is still there. 

-seeing other people be ashamed about their adhd and hesitant to mention until i talk, like, super openly about having it, in like, the first 5 minutes of knowing each other. It just.. hurts.

-I’m super empathetic, not in a way that’s helpful though. Like, wincing, or limping myself because I saw you drop something on your foot, and am imagining it so vividly that it feels like it happened to me. Reading a fic about abuse or depression, and it hitting too hard and hurting me almost physically, and on a personal level because I simply cannot handle it. Feeling someone else’s pain so vividly that i can’t comfort or help them in any way, because I am so preoccupied with  feeling their pain. 

-never being able to finish things without starting something else. All the WIPs in my google docs, istg, i will be driven insane by it. 

(y’know, this was kinda fun. As a rant, but also as a way for me to identify things about myself and my adhd that i like. Like, I know its so much shorter, but I have a hard time with positive self affirmation, so it was kinda nice. I might do it again, but just the pros part cuz the cons are kinda depressing ngl.)

(OH, Y’all should reblog with your own personal pros added on! You can add cons if you’d like to :) I’m just interested in seeing how your experiences/feeling differ from mine :) )

[boys-from-santacarla]

Note; I deeply apologize seeing as this is going to end up being long. Onto the information; My name is Ghost(mainly go by this one), Acid, Killer(more of a nickname), or Gore(more of a nickname). I go by he/they/xe/its, and I'm a dude, MLM and poly so it really doesn't matter much who it is. Born March 31st, being an Aries I'm a very loud and energetic person. I'm also very impulsive and get myself into deep shit, even if I don't realize I'm doin' it. I get overly loud when the topic is about something I enjoy or is into, if I try flirting on purpose it's ass but when I do it without realizing I get called a huge flirt. Big music and art geek, I have sketchbooks upon sketchbooks filled just sitting around in my room. I listen to a lot of rock like Queen, Guns N Roses, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, ACDC, Nickelback, KISS, Slipknot, KoRn, and on and on. Although I listen to every genre of music minus country(although there are few songs I can deal with). Big tattoo/piercing person, if you have one visible I will point it out and geek out about it. Although literally don't ask me to name a few songs unless I've been rambling on about it because I have the shittiest memory. I dye my hair so often it's surprising my hair is still healthy. I have literally bleached my hair, dyed it red and let that fade for a week, then dyed it blue and have been touching up the blue ever since then. If it wasn't due to money problems and the fact it's hard to borrow in my town my hair would probably have my hair a different color every two weeks. I ramble quite a bit and have the shittiest focus and memory, so you may have to pull me to the side and tell me to calm down. Would definitely compliment on the boys looks, specially their outfits. I'm a coffee and monster addict at this point, you'll see one or the other in my hand, and the occasional water bottle because I try to keep myself health. My love language is through touch and insulting people. Ex, "I fucking love you dumbass" or flipping you off playfully as a way of saying "i love you bitch". Smoking doesn't bother me, grew up around it my entire life. I love riding on motorcycles, no matter the weather, is it cold asf, nice idgaf, is it raining, shit lets go. I have a bad(good in some people's eyes) of using petnames/nicknames for everyone. Everyone has a wholesome petname from me and then I'll call them a whore or some shit. I cuss too much for my own good, I literally don't have a filter in my entire body. I will impulsively say shit, sometimes that's a good thing and sometimes it's a bad thing. Due to my anxiety I try to stay away from large crowds, but if I'm in them (aka on the boardwalk) I will have music blaring in my ears and my ears glued into my current sketchbook. Although I currently don't have them, I'm going to add them anyways because I'm going to end up getting them when I have the money to go to a piercer or to get a kit. I want a shit ton of piercings. Such as snake bites(lip piercing), tongue, septum, all of the piercings finished on my ears, and bridge. I've stated once I'm a big tattoo geek, so I want a quite a bit of those. I'm definitely a big "oh let's do it myself" person, and I have tried giving myself a septum piercing. (it would've worked if it wasn't for the fact I did it too low to be able to flip it up to hide it) I love the adrenaline of fights, it doesn't matter if I win or loose, although I do prefer if I win. I literally get the most random urge to fight someone for the hell of it. Probably has something to do with impulsive thoughts and shit, but oh well. I'm a big respect person, I live by the motto "you respect me, I'll respect you". I have blackouts sometimes due to rage and anxiety, so I try to keep myself from having them. I have a bad habit of rambling and saying sorry too much. I tend to repeatedly say sorry whilst rambling as I tend to get overly excited and loud when I ramble. I'm a very talkive person if I know and trust you. If you're around me and you don't get your ear talked off or messed with, you're probably not liked or

you need to leave. It's one easy way you'll be able to tell if I get along with you or not. I kinda have a whatever/punk/alt style, a lot of time I just grab something decent and throw it on. Although you'll always see me wearing a belt and my platform shoes. I'm 5'0, so my obsession with platforms grew because of my need to be tall. I wear a lot of baggy clothing, I'm definitely more of a comfort over style person.

Ok, my dude, I'll definitely pair you with...

Marko and Paul

Oh, man, you three are gonna be some threesome (and not necessarily in the sexual way lol)

Just imagine THE MESS

The boys think you're adorable when you get into the romantic mood and try to flirt but end up saying bad pick-up lines, so they'll laugh, but will twirl their hair as whoerish as possible and follow the game. Or they would get on with their manly act and fight to see who will flirt back better.

Now, the chatting will be so goddamn long! You three will go on 4 hour-long conversations that'll get from a "look at this new t-shirt I got" to "so that's why Ronald Reagan was an alien". The worst part is left to the spectators like David or Dwayne since none of you three will be the sane individual and shut y'all up.

The blondes like your drawing, and ask you to draw them or random stuff and people CONSTANTLY, so you'll have many opportunities to improve your skills and try with different models. When they happen to find some of your sketchbooks, they try to impress you or simply give a small present by drawing you or something you like, or at least make the attempt since some of the "fine pieces" as they call them, they give you are like children's school projects.

And, man, about the hair, are you blessed to have the glam diva Paul by your side to give advice and constructive criticism to your hair. He will help you choose the color and will give it style from time to time if you accept. The process to dye it will be so much fun, and so chaotic; experimenting with the pigments ends up with wounds caused from the bleach and the currently used wardrobe disposed later.

A thing they love about you is that you can stand up for yourself if needed, but they rather you not to, because they know you handle yourself and the others well, maybe too well for your good. Paul tries to take care of you as much as he can so there is no need for you to possibly get hurt. It was enough trying to control Marko so he didn't get involved in some stupid street fight every night at the boardwalk to now have to worry daily about you too. Marko shares the passion for the adrenaline of this and will think it is hot as hell, but he protects you as much as Paul, maybe a bit softer than him about it tho, but if you're in the middle of a fight and it starts to get worse than expected, he dead ass will force you to back off. He'll finish the business himself, sweetheart.

As for your love language, don't worry, these dorks will accept you playful pushes with joy, and they'll give you some of them too. But if you accidentally flip and fall some meters before hitting ground, you know the rule: laugh first, help second.

Oh, and you better get prepared for the bullying. You're the smallest in the group, so that leads to a constant attack as a hobbit. Marko joins the quip, but I mean, he'll get humiliated along. Let's just say Paul gives you two a hard time about it. With all the love of course.

They love to get out with you and the others and go to the boardwalk, but they try to take you out on days it is not that crowded, or in hours where a small amount of souls are having a stroll. But, if you happen to go out on a crowded night, they will keep you focused on having a good time, but just mention your getting uncomfortable and you'll be back at the cave in less than a minute.

Paul and Marko really love your style, they think it looks badass and try to match tough outfits with you from time to time. Giving you cool shirts and leather jackets with some patches on them that they think are awesome. Don't ask why some of the clothes have strange-colored stains on them tho.

They go with you to get you ears or nose pierced from the moment you three decided doing it diy style was a bad idea cuz y'all ended up with a bleeding nose and an ear infection the first time of trying it, and because there's no voice of reason in the threesome, Star and Dwayne had to give you kids a very long lecture of not doing those things by yourself.

[pangtasias-atelier]

A Good Start to the New Year

So this story involving Keaton and Kaden has been in my WIPs for like a month. This was originally planned to be like a series based on FEH seasonal banners, but I absolutely hate the Plegian banner and the Valentine’s units + designs I hate so I lost all care and now this is a small ficlet meant to be of some chub on the smaller scale. But I absolutely loved Kaden’s and Keaton’s new years alts, especially how easily mergeable they were. 

“H-hey! What’re you doing?” Back pressed up against a wall, Keaton stubby tail refuses to budge much like the rest of his body. Unable to wag it, his tail is unnecessary in giving away his excitement from Kaden near assaulting him, his bashfully red face betraying him instead. That and Keaton refusing to fight back much, the wolfskin easily able to take on the overeager kitsune.

“Making sure we match!” Kaden sticks out his tongue as if creating a masterpiece. Holding Keaton against the wall with his body, his New Years kimono remains slightly open as ever, the creamy soft lines of his chest easily visible to Keaton. Grabbing Keaton’s kimono, Kaden opens it up. “There!” He nimbly jumps back despite the few extra pounds on his frame. The extra camera weight is somewhat noticeable with Kaden always sporting a svelte body; however, all it amounts to is a slight paunch. Kaden’s attire is as overly revealing as ever. The upper bits of his slightly faded abs reveal themselves.

Keaton stares down. Not at Kaden’s modification to his outfit, but at Kaden himself. Unable to resist egging on Kaden for extra treats, the extra heft had made itself known to both Kaden and Keaton a week or so ago. Yet, Kaden never made a comment on Keaton’s overeager offering of snacks. Neither did he so much as lift a finger to stop, Kaden eagerly accepting all the snacks Keaton dared him to eat or the snacks he argued he had to taste to see how delicious it was. Their time in Askr the shortest of any other heroes, the two summoned together, the extra heft on Kaden is rather minimal. Though Keaton’s mind envisions a much more plump, wider Kaden, his constant daydreams and dreams giving him all the motivation he needs to offer up another snack to Kaden whenever he can.

“How do you like my magic?” Kaden’s selfsure attitude brings Keaton’s brain back to Askr. Smiling smugly, Kaden’s ears twitch as his eyes roam over Keaton’s body. Keaton originally wearing his outfit modestly, Kaden figured a little “touchup” wouldn’t hurt. Opening up Keaton’s outfit so his chest and abs would greet the world, the showing of Keaton’s softening chest and fading abs was a pleasant treat. A treat he planted himself with all the snacks he offers to Keaton, Keaton devouring all of them with utter joy.

“Hey, I look good,” Keaton’s self suredness matching Kaden’s own, Keaton rests both of his fists on his plush love handles.

“Yeah, your tail already told me that,” Snickering, Kaden yelps as Keaton charges at him.

“Lemme grab your tail and we’ll see whose is wagging!” Keaton’s face is a furious shade of red. His eyebrows are downturned, yet his tail continues to wag.

“I combed my tail!” Kaden hugs his tail to his chest. Used to feeling the soft luxurious locks lining his tail, he feels zero discomfort or itch from it. Instead, he holds his long tail protectively, nimbly taking a few steps back or to the side everytime Keaton swipes at him. Kaden’s eyes focus more on Keaton’s bare skin than his actual attempt to grab him. The slight softness to his frame causes his lips to upturn.

Keaton’s eyes focus on the same aspects of Kaden’s bare skin rather than the direction of his movements. A grin on his face as well, the expended energy adds a slight flushness to his skin, Keaton beginning to gain the onset of a huff by the time Kaden soon tires out as well.

“Give up?” Any intention of sounding menacing is lost upon the heavy breath that rushes past Keaton in hopes of regaining the bit of breath he lost earlier.

“You already did,” Kaden mimics Keaton, his brows furrowed as he stares back at Keaton. Also like Keaton, Kaden’s vibrant energy putters out for a moment in order to muster up the lost energy from the two’s playing.

“I did not,” The more tired of the two, Keaton eventually gives in and rests a hand on the wall, slightly bent to the side while his cheeks puff out every so often.

“I think you did,” Clearing his throat, Kaden hiding his last huff behind the noise, he saunters up to Keaton. “Just admit it,” His tail swishes behind him as he places two fingers on Keaton’s chest. He traces both of them down to Keaton’s faded abs without losing a single second of eye contact. “Your eating is catching up to you,”

Aware of the slight extra heft on his body, Keaton had never truly examined himself quite the same way he did with Kaden’s body, his mind much more interested in Kaden’s bit of pudge. "And yours isn't?" Grinning, Keaton slots both hands underneath Kaden's soft tummy.

The fur on the tip of Kaden's tail stands upright upon Keaton's hands on his stomach. "What if it is?" Kaden gives a small pout.

Keaton remains silent for a brief moment. The blush adorning his face burns brighter as he considers his words. "W-well, it certainly doesn't look bad on you," Keaton shrugs his shoulders as his eyes focus on the air beside Kaden's face.

"Good, cause I think you look great with some extra weight on you," Sneakily grinning, Kaden holds Keaton's face. His right thumb rubs Keaton's squishy cheeks while his left hand scritches as Keaton's ear.

"Damn you," Keaton scowls for a moment before leaning in towards Kaden's affection.

"You can't outsmart me," Stopping, Kaden steps beside Keaton and wraps his arm with his own.

"I can't outeat you either," Keaton grumbles. He looks up to find Kaden's incredulous face staring back at him, Kaden's mouth agape.

"Well, I just have a finer appreciation of food!" Kaden splutters. "And to think I had a nice dinner planned for us,"

"Dinner at midnight?" Keaton makes a visible face despite the audible swishing of his tail making itself known.

"Knew you'd prefer that over a fireworks show," At that sudden moment, Kaden's stomach grumbles.

"You're doing this for yourself too," Grinning, Keaton grabs Kaden's hand. Sniffing the air, his tail begins to wag faster as he gets a trail. Leading the way, Keaton pauses at random intervals to smell. Taking a few turns and walking forward, Keaton grins as the scent leads him back to their shared room. Opening the door, their room is comprised of a king sized bed and a decently sized dining area. A relatively large table is in the corner with two chairs. However, the table is currently overflowing with food, the entirety of its surface covered by dishes.

"Oh. This is a lot," Keaton's tongue sticks out as he grins.

"Had to start the New Year right," Kaden leans into Keaton's quick petting.

Removing his hands from Kaden as quick as he put them on him, Keaton leads Kaden to their table. Pulling the chair back, he waits for Kaden to sit down before pushing the chair back in. Leaning down, Keaton gives Kaden a peck on the cheek. He rushes to his own seat, nearly slamming down on the chair.

"To the New Year!" Kaden cheers while smiling at Keaton.

"To the New Year," Keaton repeats, his own smile mirroring Kaden's.

The two picking up their forks, they giddily dig into their feast, the first of many for the year.

[f33itan]

5, 16, 22, 28, 58, 59 lmaooo is it too many? :3

Oh no, it isn’t many at all!! Glad you requested pastel :] If anything I’m just warning you that this might be long

5: is there anyone who can always make you smile?

Unless I’m in a super SUPER utterly terrible mood, it would be my Mother. Yes I love my Dad to bits as well, but my mom and I have that extra special mother-daughter connection yk? Usually when I’m upset or weary about something my mom can take one good look at me and read me like a book.

Nat: Literally doing NOTHING

Mum: Nati.

Nat: Yes?

Mum: What’s wrong?

Nat: Nothing, why?

-Silence and avoiding eye contact-

Nat: Okay so maybe there might be a teeny tiinnyy thing-

16. have you ever wanted to tell someone something but you didn’t?                  

I can’t even TELL YOU HOW MANY TIMES THIS HAS HAPPENED OMG BAHAHAH but for now I’ll just give a recent time. Okay so me, my cousin and a daughter of one of my dad’s friends (she’s my age dw we good) were in my room chilling on this massive beanbag going from ranting about daddy levi to getting in our feels, and it got to the point that around 3 am my cousin left to the living room to play beat saber ad I was left with the girl. Not too long before this i was in my feels about how ive been rejected on valentine’s day, called ugly by my crush (which hurted, do not attempt) and called clingy for comforting a friend etc and me and the girl plopped on the bean bag in a position that, uh, how do i say this... hmm. . . ILL JUST DRAW AND ADD A PHOTO SO IT MAKES SENSE LMAO

((PLEASE WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS I DREW IT ON MY LAPTOP WITH MY FINGERS AND CLICK PAD THINGY IM SO SORRY IT SUCKS, AND SHES PAN SAME AS ME SO I WAS IN PANICC at the disco also different fonts so you can tell all of the different thoughts apart))

But anyways yeah we were in that position, and my thoughts were...

-Pan panic- -holy shit im in contact with a person like this thats not my family- -should i turn to cuddle her? no she might think its weird- -wtf nat you literally just met her earlier today- -i know but shes super nice and we relate on a lot of thingsss- -NO- -What would feitan say to this?- -Know your limits brain.-

22. description of crush. 

R we talking 2D or 3D because uh... lets just do both!

3D: literally every alt, goth, emo peep on tiktok, they all look so pretty and for what??

2D: A man way older than me.. Hair up to about his lower neck.. On the short side.. Beautiful shiny purple eyes... Hair that I thought was black but when sampling the color from official art from hxh creators and shit found out its a really dark green.. Murderous, Sadist, and most likely Masochist tendencies.. Hot well toned body.. Chinese.. *Insert Ayesha Erotica’s Emo Boy song*

28. i’ll love you if…

you buy me dark chocolate

If you are able to deal with my constant switch of “I wanna be clingy, cuddly, affectionate and sweet” to “Lets scream lyrics to a song, eat random food and not come in contact with each other unless its play fighting” and a bonus, “Leave me the fuck alone and let me play my video games by myself”

If you tolerate my attitude, and the fact that all I can really cook without getting scared for the most part is scrambles eggs, toast and bagels, re heating a meal (does that even count), and brownies.

Accepting me for who I am, and not just the silly playful cover I share with most people, you can be a shoulder to cry on for me as in almost all situations I’m the shoulder for others, being able to comfort each other and talk about weird and embarrassing things we’ve done in the passed and not get a nasty looked or shamed for it, keeping me from buying really pointless things, dealing with the fact that Im a massive chicken when it comes to roller coasters, yet put me on literally ANY OTHER DANGEROUS THING and I’ll be as happy as a child in a candy store. Swimming with sharks? Fuck yeah! Ziplining over alligators? YES! (Ive done that actually when I was 7 or 8) Go swimming through dark and light ruins of underground passage ways in Cancun? YESSIR!! (Which Ive done as well) Roller coasters? Get the hell away from me.

And simply deal with me, myself. and I

58. description of my best friend

I have multiple so I picked one teehee

Tall, skinny as a stick, for whatever reason can carry me with simply two arms extended out, light brown hair that she always wears in a ponytail (but wore it down for me on my birthday), started out introverted but with me hugging her at school everyday became a big time ambivert, usually the one who keeps me from 1. lashing out at classmates and 2. getting into trouble most of the time, can joke around a lot but speaks rather quietly so sometimes she has to repeat herself for my deaf ass lmao, if there’s inclement weather at school, during our break in class either she or I make a bee line for each other’s desk and start cackling immediately afterwards, random times in class one of us will throw a cringy smirk at the other and it becomes this stupid war of who get the last smirk in, whenever were walking around campus one of us will be holding onto the other’s sleeve loosely, (most of the time its me, but she’s done it too), We have had this thing for years now that when she has her hands on her hips I tried to stick my head through that opening, and for years on end I couldn’t do it, and when I did it was the best day ever

59. why i joined tumblr

Simple reason really, Feitan. Whenever I looked up “feitan fluff” before I went to bed to end the day nicely, it would always bring me to some tumblr page, so I decided to make an account and, well, here we are. ⛹️‍♀️

[xoxo-ren-xoxo]

smptwt as of 04/07/2020

Right. You asked for it, so you shall recieve. Below the cut is probably one of the most thought-out, in-depth, hopefully unbiased (but probably not) and above all helpful accounts of what the fuck is happening in the smplive and lunch club fandoms right now. I will be covering everything I can- but in the case that I’ve forgotten something, please let me know so I can have a crack at making an update.

Before the cut, I’d just like to link my first three posts about this same topic, covering my thoughts and the events of the last couple of months of drama. It feels so strange that I’ve made so many of these, but as long as they help people, I’ll keep making them.

Part 1: https://crunchy-corvid.tumblr.com/post/619547090403622912/the-cscoopsmptwt-drama

Part 2: https://crunchy-corvid.tumblr.com/post/619746266158661633/more-on-smptwt-long-post

Part 3: https://crunchy-corvid.tumblr.com/post/619886809143476225/smptwt-part-3-030620

I’d like to preface this with a huge thank you to everyone who helped me collect and compile information for this post- and those who helped censor twitter handles and edit screenshots. Without you, this post would have never been made. 

Thank you to everyone on the Cancelled Heaven discord server:  https://discord.gg/emrh2u

Now, onto the thing.

So we’ll start at the beginning with the easiest ‘drama’ (I hate calling it that) to cover. Charlie (slimecicle) tweeted on his second account and it caused a little upset. It’s not much but it feeds into a greater conversation that I think is relevant here: 

We’ll start with Charlie’s original point, then move on to the reply. Obviously, this post was poorly timed, because everyone thought it was about the Cooper (cscoop) drama, when in reality it was just a general comment. I saw a lot of replies along the lines of ‘it’s okay you can @ cscoop’ and similar things. If you’ve read my previous posts you’ll know how I feel about the Cooper situation, but regardless, there are a few reasons why this is a Bad Take/poor interpretation of what Charlie said.

Charlie and Cooper are friends. They haven’t fallen out as far as we know. Charlie is left-wing, and definately doesn’t seem like the kind of person to be friends with someone who is racist/transphobic/sexist etc. So why would he be talking about Cooper in this post? 

Also, Charlie is clearly talking about people who still say slurs, not people who have said slurs in the past. This is how I read it, a jab at streamers and gamers who use ‘dark humour’ to justifty their actions. A lot of people seemed to relate this to Cooper, despite him never trying to justify his use of slurs. The people who did try to justify his actions this way were fans, not the man himself. So again, this post doesn’t relate to Cooper.

On to the reply, which sparks a different conversation all together. While I see where the commenter is coming from, and agree with them to an extent, Charlie is allowed to have his own opinion on the matter. And he is right. Using insulting language against heterosexual people does create a larger divide and doesn’t get anyone on our ‘side’. It just makes us look immature and causes a lot of straight cis people to assume that we hate them. 

On the other hand, I do think that saying things like ‘disgusting hets’ can be a funny joke if you are saying it to your friends who don’t have any issue with it. You probably shouldn’t get into the habit of saying things like that though, just in case you actually hurt someone with your words. Both sides of the argument have pros and cons, so anyone angry at Charlie for his opinion really have no reason to be.

Charlie’s reponse to this comment was reasonable, responsible, and mature, and he is clearly showing that he understands the concerns of his audience. This is all I’ll say about Charlie in this post. Honestly, he’s generally unproblematic and ‘safe’ to keep watching, if you enjoy a very drama-free environment. Have fun!

Now I’ll move on to Ted. He’s made some great points recently about cancel culture which I strongly agree with. Here’s his first tweets:

I don’t have much to add here, this is perfectly valid in my opinion- though I feel like sometimes you can tell a lot about a person by the people they follow. For example, if someone follows Trump, Ben Shapiro, and a bunch of right-wing youtubers, they probably agree with a lot of the things they say. But I think the point Ted is trying to make is that he shouldn’t be harassed about drama his friends fall into. If he isn’t involved, leave him out of it. 

Next we’ll take a look at his tweets on stans, probably sparked by the drama with Carson, which I will be talking about later. 

Again, I have no issue with what Ted is saying here. His idea is a good one, and a fun way to distinguish casual fans from people who create art, content, and (appropriate) fanfiction for the ‘flandom’! 

Basically, how I see it, is that a ‘fan’ is a casual viewer who doesn’t really get involved in the flandom, maybe posting about smplive and/or lunch club occasionally, but not being too involved. A ‘flan’ is someone who interracts a lot, creates art and fiction that respects boundaries, and posts more about the boys than a casual fan does. A ‘stan’ is a stalker-fan, creepy and obsessive, too invested, maybe creates art and fiction that crosses boundaries, and obsessively posts about the boys.

I think this new terminology is really cool and Ted is smart for coming up with it (also, probably hungry when coming up with it too). I think that the term ‘stan’ should be thrown out and used to describe the ‘bad’ side of fandoms. There is a risk that people will hide behind the term ‘flan’ to disguise the fact that they are a stan, but this is still a good step foward. 

But you’re not here to listen to me ramble about Ted or Charlie. You’re here for Carson. So let’s get on with it.

Carson made a series of tweets talking about stans, much like Ted did later. He seemed tired of stans harassing him about his friends, a sentiment shared by Ted (who faced very minimal backlash over his tweets). Here’s what he said:

Which is something I fully agree with. For big content creators like Carson and his friends, stan culture is absolutely insane. Recently they’ve been trying to ‘catch out’ many people who are part of smplive and/or lunch club, most obviously with Cooper and Schlatt but I’ve seen the others getting ‘called out’ too. Carson’s anti-stan stance is well-known in the flandom (yes I am using that word get used to it) so these tweets didn’t surprise me. 

For some reason stans seem to think that if one creator is okay with their behaviour, every other creator is too. This is not the case. Carson was within his full right to say these things about stans.

Obviously the replies got out of hand. People became horribly angry very quickly, and clearly Carson had already had enough because pretty soon he started blocking stan accounts- which only made them more mad.

Of course, there were supporters and anti-stan comments out there too, such as this fun exchange:

But a whole lot of people got angry. Carson was trending for a while, too, after he started blocking stans. Unfortunately some people did get wrongfully blocked, which sucks, sure, but use of an alt account or logging off of twitter can solve that problem (this can also be said for stan accounts. Carson didn’t stop any of them from viewing his content, just blocked them so that he didn’t have to see their tweets).

Carson did this for his own mental health. After a long conversation with older people who have been in fandoms for decades, I can tell you that being at the top is always hell. New threads created about you every day, friends you can’t trust, and people giving you shit for things other people said. I can’t imagine how someone as popular as Carson has dealt with this for so long.

People who were blocked started to claim that they were having panic attacks, that they hyperfixate so they can’t help being obsessive, and that Carson doesn’t care about mental health for these reasons. They said some pretty toxic and manipulative things and a lot of people clearly didn’t know what they were talking about:

First of all, these comments on the Katerino and Fitz situation are honestly disgusting. These people are only proving Carson’s point that stans will be super supportive one second and turn around to hate you the next. To bring up something like this, something completely unrelated and highly personal- knowing Carson will see- is disgraceful. To speculate about a relationship that Carson has explicitly stated he doesn’t want people to speculate about just to try and make a point? Horrible.

A lot of stans seem to have this ‘we made you famous so we dictate how you feel’ mentality, which I hate. Exactly as the reply says, they sound like toxic parents with these words. To think you deserve ‘respect’ from someone after accusing their friends of horrible things and harassing them to the point that they block you is so manipulative and quite frankly cruel.

Again, Carson has the right to block anyone he wants. Creators are not your friends, they are entertainment. If you are making them upset and harassing them, you shouldn’t get mad when they block you. 

Listen. It can be tough, finding out that someone you look up to has blocked you. Yes, I’m sure people had a not-so-nice time with their mental health when it happened to them. But in most cases, they were blocked for a reason. Some people were even literally asking to get blocked and then got mad when they did. But again, no one has been barred from viewing Carson’s content. He simply blocked people who he didn’t want to see in his comments section.

You have freedom of speech, but you don’t have freedom from consequence. If you say something that hurts someone else, you’re not always going to be free from their judgement. 

Carson has been very open about his own struggles with depression and imposter syndrome recently, and people are viewing his actions as... hypocritical? This is flawed logic. Carson blocked stans because they were bad for his mental health, the fact that some claim to have had ‘panic attacks’ as a result is not on him. He has the autonomy to block who he wants to block. 

Wilbur Soot made some comments about the situation, which can be found in this video from 7 minutes 30 seconds in, and goes until 10 minutes and 11 seconds in:

https://www.twitch.tv/videos/667971714

What Wilbur says here is completely understandable. He doesn’t have a problem with stans, but doesn’t speak for anyone but himself. Just because one person is okay with something doesn’t mean someone else is, too. 

Also, a lot of people think that it’s okay to hate on someone like Carson or Schlatt, then turn around and stan Wilbur, which is kind of fucked up, because they’re friends in real life. How would you feel if someone was super nice to you, then turned around and harassed your friends?

A lot of people claimed to have ‘hyperfixations’ on Carson or lunch club, which they used as an excuse to be obsessive and creepy. This is bullshit, but someone else explained it a lot better than I could:

And I absolutely agree with this. You cannot use neurodivergence to explain away your creepiness. That’s just offensive to people who do hyperfixate, and leads to even more problems and misunderstandings.

Carson did a stream much later where he talked about all of these things, and boy did that go well (not). Here is a clip of him talking about hyperfixations:

https://m.twitch.tv/clip/SuaveBlushingDotterelBCWarrior

Now, here’s where my support for Carson falters. He should have done more research on what hyperfixations really are before he said things about them. He hurt some people with what he said, and just saying he’s uneducated on the topic isn’t really an excuse.

HOWEVER. Carson was given very little time to research (about 24 hours between his original tweets and his stream) and, more importantly, it is very obvious that the use of the term ‘hyperfixation’ has been warped and manipulated by stans who are misusing the term to excuse their behaviour. Carson probably saw stans using it and assumed it was something synonomous with ‘obsessions’.

What he said was poorly worded, but the point he was making is the same as the (much more researched and informative) tweet above. Anyone getting mad that he is somehow ‘invalidating mental health or autism’ with his comments clearly don’t understand the point he was trying to make in the first place.

And here’s a clip of Connor talking about it, too, as well as defending Carson’s right to block people as he wishes:

https://www.twitch.tv/connoreatspants/clip/YummySlickPlumageSpicyBoy

https://www.twitch.tv/connoreatspants/clip/JazzySpotlessMelonMoreCowbell

What he said here is completely valid, a little poorly worded in the same way as Carson’s statement, but overall something I stand behind.

Some people are claiming that Carson is being manipulative or ‘gaslighting’ fans and stans:

Carson is not against fans who create cool stuff for him and his friends. He is against the people who harass him, accuse his friends of horrible things, and try to look for every little thing they’ve said and done wrong. This is what he said, and people got mad at him for it, and so he blocked them. That is it. There is no gaslighting. There is no manipulation. I’ve seen much more manipulative things coming from the stans’ side of things.

Now we move on to Noah’s reply to Carson’s tweet. Which, yes, caused a whole new can of worms to be opened.

Now, for those like me who have trouble figuring out Noah’s way of speaking, let me translate: ‘stans are insecure people who start to feel entitled because they’ve started to view a streamer they like as a friend/someone who shares their pain.’ 

For those of you who don’t know, this is what ‘don’t negotiate with terrorists’ means:

However, almost predictably, stans saw the word ‘terrorist’ and lost their goddamn minds. That, coupled with the complicated phrasing of Noah’s words, caused a lot of stans to freak out.

This conversation is full of Bad Takes, but my main issue is that they are trying to diagnose Noah with an actual mental illness. That is not only offensive to people who have that illness (especially calling him ‘insane’ in the same sentence, as well as implying that having said illness makes you a bad person) but is also highly hypocritical since so many stans claimed to all be neurodivergent themselves. 

Also, 90% of his fans aren’t stans. They’re mostly fans or flans. You are a loud minority. You aren’t as powerful as you think you are. Noah even started to retweet hate comments, that’s how few shits he gave. He also shows that he is concerned about people making things up about him, which is understandable.

Plus he outright said that stans are not fans of him, which in most cases, they’re not. Noah’s content isn’t as widely watched as some of his friends’ stuff, and a lot of stans don’t watch his streams.

But anyway, here’s one good take I saw floating around:

After this, before his stream, Carson deleted his original tweets and spent some time with his family, which was a sensible and mature thing to do at this point. 

During Carson’s stream, someone notified him that his ‘fans’ had started to doxx stans. Here is his reaction:

https://m.twitch.tv/callmecarsonlive/clip/SpicySassyGerbilArgieB8

A lot of people got mad that he didn’t do more to stop the doxxings, but I want to raise the question: what was he supposed to do? He can’t control his ‘fans’ (another breed of stans who don’t call themselves stans were doing the doxxings, to be honest) and he said not to do it. He was streaming, he didn’t know how serious it was or even if it was true, at that moment, what was he supposed to do?

It did get serious. People I know were doxxed. Anyone posting anything (positive or negative) about lunch club, smplive, and Carson were in danger. It was not fake like some people claimed. The twt handles in this post are blurred out because of the doxxing threats. I am making this post at my own risk, but I do feel that tumblr is safer than twitter at the moment.

This being said, it is in no way Carson’s fault how out of hand this has become. He has been against doxxing in the past and his sentiments haven’t changed. He has said more about the doxxings in replies to tweets such as this one:

Also, here’s what the mods on Carson’s discord server had to say about the situation. They’ve clearly talked about this with Carson, and are strongly against anyone who is doxxing these people (especially since a lot of the people being doxxed are minors).

A similar sentiment was shared on Ted’s discord server:

Here is what ItsAsaii had to say:

So that’s basically where everything stands right now. If you want an even fuller update on everything, check out Carson’s stream ‘afternoon fellas and fellettes’ where he talks about everything.

Here’s the last tweets I have from Carson regarding the whole situation:

And I agree fully with what he has said. And again, Carson doesn’t owe stans anything. Just like what was said here, he had subs and fans before he had stans, they did not ‘make’ him, and they cannot control him.

This is all I have to say, for now. If I have missed anything or you’d like me to cover anything else, please let me know. If I have hugely missed the mark and said something super wrong/offensive, let me know. If you’d like me to talk about a streamer or youtuber not related to lunch club, throw me a DM or an ask and I’ll try to compile some things, even if I don’t watch their content or know who they are.

If you’d like up-to-date information about drama in smptwt, streamers, and youtubers, join the Cancelled Heaven discord server- which I linked at the start of the post. 

I thank you all for reading, and suggest that you reblog this so that as many people as possible can see it. If you want to risk it, go ahead and link this post in a tweet or something, but please do be careful. 

For some ‘extra reading’ (watching) I highly recommend Contrapoints’ video on cancel culture: https://youtu.be/OjMPJVmXxV8

And Philosophy Tube’s video on artists and fandoms, there’s some really insightful things about parasocial relationships: https://youtu.be/3IG0Y63LkDM

Lots of love, and have a great day <3

[set-phasers-to-whump]

all we can do

Prompt: carry/support (alt no.15)

Whumpee: Kurt Wallander

Fandom: Young Wallander

welcome back to my second fic for a fandom that barely exists! i finished the show today and i felt like we got so robbed of an ending that like. properly Dealt with the fallout of the explosion so i did this. unfortunately it’s not very good but oh well. what can you do. this is set in the night after the explosion and it could be canon compliant? the show isn’t super clear on the timing of everything so idk. whatever lol. hope you enjoy this if you read it for some reason!

Kurt is numb. His ears haven’t stopped ringing since the explosion. He’s still covered in dust and small pieces of debris. He sees the people around him cry, but finds himself incapable. He doesn’t feel anything. He’s running on autopilot.

His autopilot leads him to a bar, where he sinks down onto a stool and drinks and doesn’t even register the people around him staring and whispering. 

He drinks and drinks and he doesn’t know why. Maybe he wants the alcohol to keep him numb. Maybe he’s hoping it’ll tear down enough of his internal defenses that the pain of reality will come screaming back. 

Whatever his intentions might have been, he winds up drunk out of his mind with a bartender threatening to throw him out. He doesn’t want to leave. There are people here. If he leaves, he will be alone with himself, and he thinks that that is a remarkably bad idea at the moment.

But the bartender keeps insisting that he leave. That he’s had enough to drink. Finally, he asks if there’s someone he can call, and Kurt thinks, of course, of Reza.

His friend picks up on the first ring, asking him something like, are you all right? 

“No, I’m smashed,” Kurt says. He thinks that’s kind of funny, for reasons he can’t explain. He laughs. “I’m so fucking drunk, Rez.”

He hears Reza say something, muffled. Then he hears Jasmine’s voice reply. “Hi, Jasmine,” he calls, and the bartender snaps at him to be quieter.

“Hey, Kurt,” Jasmine says, sounding subdued. 

“Did you hear Hemberg got blown up?” he asks, because he knows she has. 

“I did,” she says, and then Reza is back speaking to him. “I’m comin’ to get you, alright?”

He nods, and then says, “yeah,” when his alcohol-soaked brain reminds him that he can’t be seen over the phone. He hangs up, and then just sits there. 

He stares at the ground, watching Gustav Munck’s car explode, hearing his own voice yell to Hemberg, over and over again, until a hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his memories.

Reza is standing there, and there’s this terrible look on his face and for a second Kurt tries to think of why, and then remembers. “It’s so sad, isn’t it,” he says. “One second, you’re there, and then...boom. Just like that, Rez. Boom.” The car explodes again. He tastes smoke. 

Reza flinches a little at Kurt’s words. “You’re drunk, Kurt,” he says. “Come with me.”

“I am drunk,” Kurt replies. “I’m drunk and I can’t feel anything, Rez. Nothing.”

“I know. Let’s get you up, yeah?”

And then Reza’s arm is under his own, and he’s being lifted to his feet. The sudden change in position makes him dizzy, and he nearly collapses, saved only by Reza’s arm around him. 

The walk out of the bar is extremely difficult. Kurt barely does any work at all, fully supported by Reza, who is half-dragging him along. All the while, Kurt is talking about Hemberg, Munck, the explosion, in a neverending circle, and all the while, the car explodes in front of him, and smoke fills his field of vision.

The car ride is silent. Kurt is staring out the window without seeing anything but flames. Reza is avoiding looking over at his best friend, hating what he knows he’ll see. Kurt’s in shock, he’d recognized that the second he’d called. Kurt can’t feel anything, and he’s too drunk to understand the words he’s saying, which are belaying how he feels under the layers of alcohol and shock. 

Reza pulls to a stop at his house and opens the passenger door, but Kurt remains in his seat. Reza can’t tell if he looks worse than he did in the bar, or if it’s just the light from the car illuminating how badly he’s looked all this time: caked in residue from the explosion, because he’d refused to go to the hospital. Pale as hell, because his boss is dead, because he hasn’t caught the man responsible. Half-asleep, because he’d decided to go get drunk instead of do something as reasonable as reach out. 

He pulls Kurt gently out of the car, hearing the other man make a faint, unconscious noise of pain, the first indication that he’s in any kind of pain at all. Reza looks him over worriedly, checking for any injury that Kurt had somehow not realized he’d gotten.

Sure enough, there’s a splotch of red slowly seeping through his shirt. “You’re bleeding, man, you know that?” Reza asks, sure that the answer will be no.

“I dunno,” says Kurt. “Don’t feel anything.”

“Can you walk?”

“I dunno,” is Kurt’s answer, again. 

“If you’re not walking, I swear I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you inside,” Reza says, intending to say it as a threat.

It’s clearly not received that way. “Okay,” Kurt says, and he makes no move to stand.

Reza sighs briefly before reaching down and picking Kurt up, trying to be mindful of whatever injury he has. He carries Kurt up to the front door, and wonders, vaguely, if he’s always been this light.

He opens the door with the hand not holding onto Kurt, then shuffles inside and into the living room, setting Kurt down on the couch carefully. 

Jasmine comes out of their room then, gasping aloud when she sees the man on her couch. “Kurt,” she says, softly, and goes to sit down next to him, putting a hand on his smudged cheek. 

“He’s been like this since...since the explosion?” she asks, turning to Reza. 

“Wouldn’t let anyone touch him,” Reza confirms. “He’s in shock, I think. Says he can’t feel anything.”

“He’s bleeding.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Kurt interrupts. “Hi, Jasmine. Good to see you.”

She gives him a sad smile. “Hi, Kurt.”

Reza comes and sits down on his other side, reaching out to remove Kurt’s jacket, and then his shirt.

“What’re you doing?” Kurt questions.

“Figuring out why you’re bleeding,” is Reza’s reply, and Kurt lapses into silence.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he repeats, after a moment of Reza poking around a thankfully-not-too-deep shrapnel wound. “It doesn’t hurt, Reza, why doesn’t it hurt?”

Reza stops what he’s doing and looks into Kurt’s face, seeing emotion there for the first time. His eyes are wet with as-yet-unshed tears, and although his statements are to the contrary, he looks so incredibly pained. 

“It doesn’t hurt because you’re in shock,” Reza explains gently, as Jasmine takes over tending to his wound. Kurt looks at the floor. The car has stopped exploding, but still, all he can smell is smoke. 

“Can you make it stop?” he asks, not really sure what it is he’s referring to. 

“You’ll come out of it on your own,” Reza says, wishing he could say something more comforting. “Dunno if you’ll feel better when you do.”

Jasmine finishes bandaging his wound, and for a moment the three of them just sit there, Reza’s hand on Kurt’s back, Jasmine’s hand in his hair. 

“Would you mind if we cleaned you up?” Jasmine asks, pulling a piece of something out of Kurt’s hair. 

Kurt shrugs. He doesn’t care. He pokes at the newly-bandaged gash in his stomach, wishing that he could feel it. Reza’s hand pulls him away from that particular task, and he feels Jasmine stand up on his other side. 

She returns after a second, and then there’s a warm washcloth rubbing gently against his face and another one dragging across his torso. Slowly, they begin to take away the smell of smoke that’s been following him all day, and by the time they’ve finished, he feels different.

Less drunk, for one. Cleaner, for another. But the most notable change is the sudden stab of pain in his stomach. 

“I can feel it now,” he says, feeling his voice shake. “Oh god, I feel it,” he says, and then it’s not his voice shaking but his body, and he’s crying and whimpering and in a matter of seconds his world has gone from cold and numb to brutally hot and painful, and then he’s crying so hard that he stops making any noise at all, and all the while he feels hands on him, gentle and warm, rubbing his shoulders and touching his face. 

At some point, the pain reaches a crescendo, and Kurt almost pitches over from the force of the emotions that are pouring out of him unhindered. Before he can, though, an arm extends across his chest and another one grips his shoulders, both of them supporting him, keeping him upright.  

Reza and Jasmine hold onto Kurt as he breaks completely, and they keep holding on when he finally cries himself to sleep. They share a look over his head. 

“Poor guy,” is Reza’s only observation regarding Kurt. “What a way to go…” he adds, shaking his head. He can’t believe any of this. That Hemberg is really dead. That Kurt watched him die. That his killer is most likely never going to be brought to justice. 

“I can’t imagine,” Jasmine says. “And Kurt being there…” she trails off, reaching out to grab Reza’s hand. “How do we all get through this?”

“I don’t know,” Reza confesses. “We just have to be there, I think. Like you two were for me. It’s all we can do, really.”

Between them, Kurt makes a soft noise in his sleep, wrinkling up his face. Jasmine returns a gentle hand to his hair, in an effort to calm him down without waking him. Reza places a hand on his chest, feeling Kurt’s heart beat just slightly too fast.

“I’m so sorry, man,” he says quietly, and feels Jasmine lean over to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

i’m very sorry if my depictions of shock were not accurate i did not feel like being accurate lol. anyway this ending sucks butt and tbh the whole story kinda does too...but whatever hope you enjoyed anyway? not that anyone is gonna read this lmao. 

[unholyplumpprincess]

Hey hey, here for an Apex match up (my Apex blog is @iamtheprezzieforfusey) 21, he/they, afab trans masc/enby. Polyam, pansexual (but leans more towards men).

A bit shorter than average, kinda chub. Punk/alt aesthetic. But can also just be a small softboy. Hobbies and activities be: playing video games, exploring forests, vibing to music. Love language: physical touch, praise, playful insults/jokes. Date ideas: literally just vibing at home, going to explore somewhere, just being together, idk.

NSFT: peen plz. Dick, cock, and most other terms are good. Pet names like pup, puppy, or kit. Derogatory names like kid, bitch, whore, etc. Kinks: restraints, praise, derogation, CNC.. We'll leave it at that. There are many. 😅

Adding ur second here!: So, p anxious, but can be v confident and cocky when around people I'm comfortable with. Sarcastic, playful, grumpy. Either super hyper, super sleepy, or  just plain out of it.

Also living for y’all plugging ur apex blogs in bc I know so many peeps are always looking for other Apex blogs to follow. HELL YEAH. PLUG EM IN BABES.

As for who to match you with? Hmhmhm.

I match you with!!!!!!!

Bloodhound!

Warnings: R18+/NSFT under the cut, Bloodhound’s infamous sex toy arsenal makes a come back, mentions of cnc and degrading

_______________

At first, Bloodhound doesn’t think much of you. Simply another person to watch. You probably aren’t a competitor, you’re probably one of the camera people who work behind the scenes, someone not in the forefront. But there’s something about you that interests them- probably due to your personality. You’re skittish around the legends, but the ones that have befriended you, you’re like a switch and your real personality peeking through is one that attracts them.

Getting to know you is hard. Bloodhound is a bit of an introvert, but you do run the cameras and you have questions for the legends, which means meeting you is inevitable. You let slip your interest in forest walks and how you haven’t been on a good hike in a long while, and without thinking they invite you to walk with them the next time. Which is how you two end up forming a bond.

Bloodhound may be quiet, but their underhanded sarcasm and cocky attitude is one they are known for. Albeit, most magazines just call them ‘humble’ and ‘mystical’, but all the other legends see clearly what Hound means when they say things like, “A bad beginning draws a bad end.”

You do not escape their sarcasm either. Nor their confident attitude where they walk and talk like a god. But they learn rather quick your weakness to pet names. They call you ‘Little one’, ‘Kit’, ‘Lítill refur’, ‘Prey’, etc. That’s just romantic pet names as well.

They are also big on quality time, but with your need for physical touch, they are happy to oblige as well. They most often like your head in their lap while they read and can use their free hand to pet your hair and cheek between pages.

As for the bedroom?

~Rest under the cut~

Those pet names from earlier? Add onto them. They become low and sultry in their mouth when they want you, maybe hinging on a growl. They don’t call you a Whore in English, the word feeling too stiff on their tongue. Instead they call you ‘Litill hóra mín’ and murmur filthy things in your ear. They have no issues degrading you, especially if you decide to act like a brat.

Hound is a god. You will treat them as such. You say ‘Thank you’ when they hurt you. You say ‘My god’ and ‘Your Highness’ and moan for them freely. Hound will put you in your place, they aren’t one for rolling belly up unless with a Big amount of helping. So they prefer to take the lead.

Your rougher kinks? Not an issue. Bloodhound has plenty of their own. Your CNC kink is shared, but they like to twist in their own predator/prey thing as well and hunt you down with a knife in hand and hold you down, tie you up and snarl in your ear to not move unless you wish to bleed.

Ropes and numerous toys will be used on you, they’ll edge you or overstimulate you, whatever finally gets you to heel. You’ll be trained to take bigger and bigger strap ons until they can fit a big knotted one in you and croon what a good pup you are for taking it all.

But similarly, you may find yourself with a strap on on, or merely Hound making a mess of you by grinding on your cock and using you to get themself off while you plead and beg for them to spare mercy.

Though a gentle lover outside of the bedroom, Hound has no issues reminding you of your place inside of it.

[dailytomlinson]

He made a couple of false starts, but after four long years, Louis Tomlinson’s debut album Walls is finally here! The much-anticipated album immediately shot to #1 on the iTunes charts in over 50 countries. And while it signals the true end of an era (Tomlinson’s the last member of One Direction to release a solo project), it’s mostly the beginning of a new one. As reflected in the visuals for the title track; where one door closes, another opens. And it’s one that was well worth the wait, as Walls promises an exciting new era of guitar-driven confessional pop.

Guitar-driven, because it’s clear that Tomlinson was sonically inspired by the 90s and 00s indie-rock that he grew up on. Confessional, because each song presents us with yet another look into the emotional complexity of Tomlinson’s experiences with heartbreak, pain, and letting go.

A clear example of the former is the opening track “Kill My Mind.” It is a rousing up-tempo song with a soaring anthemic chorus that’s just begging to be performed live. Tomlinson referred to the track as a true “statement of intent,” although it’s defiantly rockier than the rest of his album. Perhaps it’s already setting the stage for album number two.

There is “Habit,” of which the melody is weirdly reminiscent of 4 Non Blondes’ “What’s Up?” Lyrically along the same vein as “Kill My Mind,” it regales an addictive and slightly toxic relationship. Whether that’s aimed at an actual relationship, or meant as a metaphor for the music industry at large – who’s to say?

“We Made It” is another track that pulls Britpop right back into the ’20s. Significantly more laid back, the song’s mid-tempo production has somewhat of a Post Malone vibe to it. The song may not be the stand-out single of the album, it does encapsulate Tomlinson’s road to this moment. He’s made it, regardless of the adversity he’s faced along the way. Both as an underrated former member of One Direction – despite earning himself the most writing credits – and due to the personal tragedies, he faced over the past few years.

He doesn’t shy away from addressing any of these obstacles in his career. Title track “Walls” seems to be all about overcoming adversity – be it personal or professional setbacks. The string section adds a sophisticated touch to the rich instrumentals of the song, really honing in on that indie-rock sound Tomlinson is so fond of.

The heart-wrenching ballad “Two Of Us” stays true to the confessional style of the album. Tomlinson wrote the song about his mother, who passed away in 2016. It’s perhaps the most personal and vulnerable that Tomlinson has allowed himself to be on this record, and it shows in the lyrics: “The day that they took you, I wish it was me instead.” However, Tomlinson manages to yet again transform the acknowledgment of pain into an inspiring promise of honoring life. It’s extremely rare that a songwriter is able to capture both darkness and light within the same song. To do so in such a convincing way, about a topic that’s so deeply personal yet universal shows the strength of Tomlinson’s lyricism and his emotive delivery.

Interestingly enough, despite Tomlinson’s love for rock, he seems to prefer the mid-tempo tracks. “Don’t Let It Break Your Heart” includes a beautiful opening guitar solo, before adding a bit of kick drum to build a proper anthemic pop song. It’s rich in sound, and its message is uplifting and reassuring. Similar to his first solo track “Just Hold On,” its lyrics aim to inspire listeners to keep going in spite of the heartbreak. What’s refreshing, is that it doesn’t specify the cause of the heartbreak, nor does it marginalize the emotional impact. Rather, the lyrics remind you that you’re not broken beyond repair, no matter what it is that’s hurting you in the moment.

“Always You” is the only true pop, up-tempo track on Walls. Listen to it once, and the playful guitar and staccato beat make for an irresistible hook that’ll draw you right in. It’s almost odd how a song this perfect for pop radio is hidden away more than halfway through the tracklist. The lyrics are innovative, as Tomlinson travels all across the world, only to conclude he’s never getting over his ex.

Elsewhere on the album, Tomlinson addresses the loss of innocence and youth. Being in your twenties is somewhat of a confusing time, as you come to realize that being a grown-up is not all it’s made out to be. “Fearless” opens with the sound of children, then sees Tomlinson lament the innate recklessness you lose as you get older. It’s perhaps one of the only tracks that verge on disillusionment and wistful longing for those days you felt young and invincible.

“Too Young” is the other side to the same coin, highlighting the negative consequences of youthful naivete instead. This time, he connects heartbreak to regret. Accompanied by nothing but an acoustic guitar, Tomlinson reflects on a past relationship. It requires real emotional maturity and bravery to see your own flaws and mistakes and to take ownership of them. Even if it means saying “I’m sorry, I was too young to get it back then, but I get it now.” The only downside is that Tomlinson seemingly randomly adopts an American accent in the pre-chorus, which feels slightly out of place.

Tomlinson said of the record that it’s about him; “it’s me, I’m the storyline.” That definitely seems to be the case, what with each of his songs highlighting various aspects of the life he’s lived so far and the difficulties he’s had to go through. Nevertheless, there are definitely moments throughout the album that feel somewhat reminiscent of the old One Direction sound – and this is where it gets tricky. Of course, One Direction was also a part of his life, and Tomlinson was an integral part of developing the musical DNA of his former band. As such, it’s perhaps inevitable that there would be some sonic overlap between the past and his present.

On the other hand, this record is his chance to establish his own musical identity. “Perfect Now” seems to be the epitome of this split personality. It’s a mostly acoustic track, with some strings added into the mix as the song builds into its final chorus. The lyrics echo both “What Makes You Beautiful” and “Little Things,” two of One Direction’s biggest (and oldest) hits. It’s an admittedly incredibly catchy song that centers around the heartbreak of seeing someone you love unhappy. Still, it’s a shame he felt the need to cater to a sound that’s not solely his. If he truly wants to take his music in a more indie-rock lane, he should fully commit to it – surely fans (old and new) would follow.

Thankfully, the album is filled with songs that truly highlight Tomlinson’s abilities as a singer/songwriter. Two songs that stand out from the others when it comes to vocal range, delivery, and lyrical ingenuity, are “Defenceless” and “Only The Brave.”

“Defenceless” is the true embodiment of what it means to find strength in vulnerability. The song builds steadily, starting out with just a guitar before heavy drums kick in during the chorus. The lyrics, on the other hand, portray the insecurity you feel when you’re letting all your guards down. The bridge in particular highlights the fragile heartbreak that follows when trying your best isn’t enough anymore: “I hope I’m not asking too much, just wanna be loved by you. I’m too tired to be tough, just wanna be loved by you.” Tomlinson’s falsetto only serves to further emphasize the sense of defeat and raw emotion on display in this track.

The album closer “Only The Brave” sees him bring back the falsetto that’s absent from the album elsewhere. Contrary to the more confessional and conversational tone of the previous songs, this short track relies on metaphors throughout: “It’s a church of burnt romances, and I’m too far gone to pray, it’s a solo song, and it’s only for the brave.” As such, it’s a bold choice to end the album on such a different note. However, it works beautifully – an ode to what’s to come, perhaps.

Walls provides an exciting and much deserved first glance at who Louis Tomlinson truly is – both as an artist and as a human being. Listen from start to finish, and you’ll immediately enjoy the guitar-driven, intricate alt-pop that’s characteristic of this record. But if given the chance, it’ll be the emotive, authentic lyricism that truly reels you in for good.

It’s rare to see artists actually offer a multi-faceted, introspective look at their inner emotions. To have a male singer share his heart with such conviction – openly, brazenly, almost recklessly – is even more exceptional. On the other hand, perhaps it shouldn’t come as a surprise at all. Because if this album tells you anything about Tomlinson’s personality, it’s that he’s fearless, resilient, and he always gets back up. He doesn’t hide his scars – he wears them with pride, inspiring you to make peace with your own and do the same.

Let Walls break down your walls, I promise you won’t regret it.

[bangtanfancamp]

of Dusk and Summer

✨ Teaser 2✨

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

∴one shot

∴masterlist

∴playlist/soundtrack

∴pairing: Park Jimin x artist reader

∴teaser length: 1.2k

∴word count: approx 30k +

∴rating: mature

∴genre: coming of age, high school au, bf2l (best friends to lovers), romance, angst, fluff

∴warnings: mentions of abusive behavior and dysfunctional family dynamics, loss, light smut- sort of? (Intense makeout- still SFW)

∴summary: Graduation and academic excellence is all Jimin has had his eyes fixed on for as long as he can remember. Today, it finally happens. Today, he finally walks the stage and graduates. Today, his goals finally become reality. Or at least, that’s what he thought-until the best friend he thought he knew inside and out shows up in his window while he’s getting ready, and his life is never quite the same.

Alt: Park Jimin and his best friend have one incredible night that changes what they are to each other forever.

𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝟷 ∴ 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝟸

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Ten minutes later, and against his better judgment, Jimin is lowering himself down the godforsaken trellis behind you and into his front yard with a backpack slung over his shoulder. His perfectly pressed and creased dress clothes have been replaced with his favorite blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a too wide collar that he snatched from his closet in haste. He grumbles as his timberland boots catch on the lattice and send a chunky piece of wood careening off the edge of the trellis. Another thing to add to today’s list of sins, he supposes. His mother really is going to throttle him when she gets her hands on him. He can’t help but sigh at the thought. At least if he dies, he dies in his favorite outfit.

As he slides into the passenger seat, he wonders if he should text her. He heard the commotion of his parents leaving ages ago, his mother adamant about finding good parking as she stuffed her precious yapping Pekingese in her too big purse and slammed the back door shut. The idea of them sitting there waiting for a son who never shows up makes his heart feel a little sick. So he sends something non-committal to his father, the calmer of the two- an emergency came up with a friend. I’m safe but i can’t make graduation. I’m sorry- mutes it, and shoves it in his pocket.

As you turn the engine over and begin to pull away, Jimin looks back over his shoulder and catches a glimpse of his cat’s warm terra cotta fur sitting in his windowsill. If it’s even possible, her sweet face looks confused to watch him go. Like she knows something is wrong about today. Jimin knows he’s projecting, but still, he swears he can almost hear her solemn meow as you turn the corner and he loses sight of both her and the way this day was supposed to go.

─────────────────────

An hour in, neither of you has said a word.

Not really. It feels strange. At some point, you’d begun playing a soft acoustic playlist in the background just to fill the air with something other than this sterile silence. Yet it remained suffocatingly still between you otherwise. Neither of you were even humming along or tapping your fingers- nothing.

The engine’s steady rumble and shaky, finger picked guitar strings remain the only sounds in the cabin as Jimin’s gaze stays pointedly focused out the passenger window. His fingertips make an absent minded profession of picking at the unraveling threads of his ripped jeans, and you try to pretend this doesnt hurt. The silence between you feels weighty, heavy- wrong. Full of all the questions he won’t ask and the answers you won’t offer.

You wish it wasn’t like this.

You wish you hadn’t had to come find him today. That things were different. That everything was different. You’re grateful that he’s here- truly, you are. It’s just that you wish you had been strong enough to do it alone. That you could’ve been braver.

That you weren’t such a coward.

That’s the one that stings the most. No matter how hard you try to push your troubled thoughts away, that’s the one that always ricochets back the fastest. You hate it. You should’ve figured out how to face this alone- but you’d been scared, and it made you selfish. You can’t help but feel guilty about the rite of passage you’d stolen from him today. You hope one day he’ll understand.

You hope one day he can forgive you.

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An hour and a half later, you find yourself on a patch of winding, interconnecting backroads so old they’re still just gravel. Tree boughs sweep low overhead in this forgotten area so far outside the city. You and Jimin had picked up some fast food at the last place you’d seen for miles not too long ago, but your bag remains folded over on the bench seat between you. You’ll eat when you get there, you think. And if your memory serves you right, it shouldn’t be too long now.

Jimin, to his credit, still hasn’t asked where you’re going as he munches unenthusiastically on his cardboard French fry. You miss the melodic sound of his voice. Especially now. It would’ve been a nice companion these last few hours. But you understand. You know him. Honestly, at this point, you’ve realized his silence is actually a gift. Jimin holds his tongue for no one, so the fact that he’s stayed beside you with little to no resistance this entire drive says a lot about how seriously he’s taking this, how important to him you are, and you’re grateful.

You know he’s upset and confused right now, and Jimin doesn’t handle feeling lost very well. It’s why he always pushed so hard in school all these years. He never could stand not knowing the why behind things. And he never handled irrationality well. So you’re sure spontaneously dragging him out of his bedroom on the biggest day of his high school career has set off more than a few alarm bells for him- yet he remains silent for your sake.

Jimin was usually a force to reckoned with in his own domain- every teacher at school knew it too. They all dreaded his inevitable irreverence and pushback when they required anything of him that he might deem unreasonable or poorly thought out. They knew good and well what a spitfire he was. He was passionate and loud about needing to understand, to be ahead of the game. It’s why he was such a brilliant student.

It’s why he should’ve been valedictorian.

That nauseous twinge is back in your gut, but you push it down as you turn down a particularly neglected road and something else swirls in your chest. Ivy and brambled blackberry plants have twined themselves around the rusted iron gate at the end of the lane in front you. The trees dip low and wild as you hop wordlessly out of the truck to undo the padlock chaining the ancient gate to the sunken wooden fence line.

The air here is so much lighter, so much cleaner than in the city, and a wave of nostalgia grips you so tightly you fear you may collapse. Eyes fluttering shutas your shoulders dip, you let the old memories overtake you as you still in the high grass by the gate.

You can’t remember the last time you were here, and the thought makes tears that you refuse to shed prick the corners of your eyes. Things should never have gotten this bad, you think- but here you are. Breathing deeply, you turn the numbers on the lock through sheer muscle memory and trudge bare legged through the high summer hay to push the gate wide open, your graduation robes abandoned hours ago.

Hopping back into the truck, you direct it through the gate like slipping through a portal into another world- a gentler world. A sweeter time in a simple place that was always kind to you, even when the rest of the world was harsh. You hope it will be gracious enough to accept you again now as you slip out yonce again to push the gate shut before driving you and Jimin a mile deep out into the center of the beautiful, wild, undisturbed hay field.

Shifting into park, you take a deep, trembling breath and turn off the engine.

“We’re here.” You whisper in the stillness.

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✨full fic coming soon! ✨

Are you guys getting curious yet? 👀 I certainly hope so . Also! Thank you to @itshardcandy for your sweet comment on the first teaser!!!! it was so encouraging to see. Thank you for sharing a little kindness ☺️💕💖✨

[rieraclaelin]

Okay, so because I couldn't decide, you get all the ones you tagged except the last one, because there are only 10 AUs and you tagged 11 ships xD But here goes: 1 Sterek, 2 Steter, 3 Stetopher, 4 Stackson, 5 Drarry, 6 Harringrove, 7 Stucky, 8 Stony, 9 Winterhawk, and 10 Winteriron =D Have fun! xD ♥♥♥

Oh gosh, hi, hello, thanks for this! This will be fun :P Also, this is going to be long, so, I have a feeling I’ll have to add in a read more, which, oops?

1. Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop? (Sterek)

Derek is the barista, and he doesn’t know why Laura always puts him up front to deal with customers. He doesn’t like people, it’s hard for him to talk to them and he knows his smiles look as fake as they feel. But. He promised he’d help Laura out, so, here he is.

They have plenty of regulars, for sure, but it’s Stiles who always catches his attention whenever he comes in to study for finals, or do homework, or for some odd reason just to talk to Derek. And it’s Stiles who Derek gives his first genuine smile to, and later his phone number.

2. Highschool/College AU: Who is the straight-A student, and who’s the backrow slacker? (Steter)

We’ll make this a college AU, but with the age difference, this might be tough. But. Possibly Peter is going back to college later in life, wants to broaden his horizons. It never hurts to be a little smarter, because knowledge is power, and Peter definitely loves having the power. He puts his all in it, out of pride, and also because he gets a thrill with showing these snotty students that are younger than him that he’s smarter than them. He’s an asshole, he knows.

How he ended up getting stuck tutoring Stiles, the brat in the back row who’d rather get the professor going on other topics than what they are learning, he’ll never know. But he thinks it might have been the best thing that has ever happened to him by the end of the semester.

3. Rivals to loves AU: Who takes their rivalry seriously, and who is half in it just to push the other’s buttons? (Stetopher)

Hmmm, I think maybe at first it’s Chris who takes their rivalry seriously. Competing Horse Racing families and all that, it seems like for as long as he can remember the Argents and the Hales never played well together. Peter is the worst out of all the Hales because he clearly doesn’t take it as seriously. It’s obvious that he says stuff or shows up in places where Chris will be at just because he knows it will rile him up. And then that always seems to start a fight, which almost always puts a stupid sparkle in Peter’s eyes, and it makes Chris want to punch him in his stupidly pretty face.

Stiles is the outsider and the one who manages to pull them together, since they both like Stiles, but neither is willing to share unless they are all together. Peter still likes to rile up Chris, and Stiles, the gorgeous little shit that he is, joins right in, but that’s okay. Chris knows how to handle them both now in a way that makes them all happy.

4. Enemies to lovers AU: Which one switches sides? (Stackson)

For as long as Jackson can remember he’s been envious of Stiles. He had everything Jackson has ever wanted. A family he’s close with, a family who loves him, friends always by his side. Sure, Stiles doesn’t have the money that Jackson has, but despite what he might say to those around him, money can’t actually buy him happiness. So he takes his envy out on Stiles with anger, and Stiles dishes everything right back to Jackson. It makes him itch for more because no matter how much they snarl at each other, it never seems to satisfy that fluttery feeling inside his chest whenever he’s around Stiles.

It’s only after one of their arguments outside of a grocery store -- where Stiles stormed off towards his Jeep when a driver who wasn’t paying attention slams into Stiles -- that Jackson realizes that maybe that something in his chest is more of the pining feeling. He sits in the hospital room with Stiles every day until he’s released, and his words become a little nicer, his eyes a little softer. The first time Stiles grabs his hand and holds it, well, Jackson feels the walls crumble to dust.

5. Soulmate AU: Who is eager to meet their soulmate? Who absolutely does not want to meet their soulmate? (Drarry)

Draco looks forward to meeting his soulmate. He knows whoever it is will have to be smart, and witty, like him, to keep him on his toes. Surely fate wouldn’t send him someone boring and dull. He gets enough of that with the snooty families his parents invite to parties. He wants someone who will give him adventure, and excitement. So, yes, he’s very eager to meet his soulmate.

Harry, on the other hand, not so much. His whole life has been decided for him by other people, and when he learns that he is a wizard, he learns that part of that includes having a soulmate. He doesn’t need fate telling him who he can and cannot fall in love with, thank you very much. He decides to do everything he can to ignore the fact that he has a soulmate. But an irritating blond git by the name of Malfoy seems to have other plans.

6. Single parent AU: Which one is the single parent? (Alt. if they’re both single parents: Which one is open to starting a new relationship from the start? Which one is never planning on finding love again… Until they meet the other and are instantly smitten?) (Harringrove)

Steve is the newly single parent living in an apartment building with his two-month-old daughter, Josie, and he has no idea what he’s doing, oh god, why is he in charge of this tiny little human, how he is supposed to be a single parent, and he has no idea why she’s crying, she’s been fed, she’s been changed, he’s burped her, he’s sang to her, he’s rocked her, he’s so sleep-deprived, and there’s no way he can do this, and...

Billy is the one who can’t handle the crying anymore, comes knocking on Steve’s door. He takes one look at this frazzled man with his hair sticking up everywhere and his eyes red like he’s about to start crying as loudly as the baby. He’s obviously about to have his own meltdown, so Billy decides right there and then that he’s going to help out as much as possible.

They are living together by the time Josie turns one.

7. Doctor AU: Which one is the longsuffering doctor? Which one is the patient? (Stucky)

Bucky is a doctor in the emergency room. He loves his life, usually. It’s busy, keeps him on his toes, and there’s rarely a dull moment. Sometimes it’s a little too busy, but, that’s part of being a doctor in an emergency room.

It’s rare that he has many repeat patients. Or, at least, not often enough that he remembers them. But Steve... Steve is something else. If he’s not in treating his asthma, he’s in because he decided to play hero again and met someone with a nastier punch who wasn’t afraid to pick on someone half their size.

Steve’s cute, and Bucky would really like to be able to sit down and talk to him over coffee sometime without having to stitch him up first.

8. Bodyguard AU: Who is the bodyguard? Who are they protecting? Which one is secretly pining for the other? (Stony)

Steve is hired to be Tony’s bodyguard after Tony was kidnapped and held for ransom for his family’s fortune. He managed to escape all on his own (and somehow blew up the warehouse he was being held in, oops), but despite the fact that he could, and did, look after himself, his mother insisted on a bodyguard.

Steve is, well. He takes his job very seriously. A little too seriously for Tony’s liking. But he is nice, whenever he can get him talking, and he treats his robots as if they are actual human beings. It’s not until he catches Steve reading, of all things, to DUM-E one day that he realizes he’s falling in love with Steve. What even is his life?

9. Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this? (Winterhawk)

Clint ran away from his dad and brother when he was fifteen and stowed away on a ship. He didn’t know at the time that the owner of the ship was the famous Pirate Romanoff, and by the time he found out they were already well out to sea. He thought for sure he was going to be killed, but instead, Romanoff took Clint in, taught him how to live a pirate’s life. Ten years later and he has his own crew and his own ship.

A Hydra ship attacks him one night, but he and his crew manage to take them down. It’s while Clint is looting their ship for goods that he discovers the young nobleman chained in their cargo hold. He’s clearly a prisoner, and the way his arm is laying makes Clint think that it’s been broken in more than one place. The chances of him not losing that arm are very slim, but Clint decides to take him on his ship and take him to shore for help. He later learns his name is Bucky, and he makes his displeasure quite known the whole way to port, where Clint learns that Bucky, unfortunately, loses part of his arm. He stays around town for a while to help out, but eventually, needs must, and Clint and his crew prepare to depart.

It ends up as a pleasant shock to Clint, and Bucky, when he decides to come back aboard after he’s been released.

10. Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older? (Winteriron)

Tony and Bucky have been best friends since they were ten. Steve moved away, and yeah, Steve will always be Bucky’s first best friend, but, still. Steve left, and talking on the phone and seeing each other a weekend here and there just wasn’t the same. Bucky met Tony, and they hit it off quickly, and they have been best friends ever since. Steve even likes him, which is a bonus, since all three of them can hang out together whenever Steve can come to visit.

It isn’t until they move in together to save money during college that Bucky realizes that he’s in love with Tony and has been for most of his life. He tries to hide it once he realizes, but, Steve always did say that he had a terrible poker face. He’s not sure if Tony just doesn’t know, or if he’s being kind and not saying anything, but he’s thankful that Tony has never brought it up. He doesn’t want to ruin what they have, and he’s sure that jumping into any sort of relationship would do just that.

It takes Tony another year and a half before he realizes that Bucky has feelings for him, and once he does, it’s like the floodgates open and he couldn’t stop his own feelings from coming even if he wanted to. Which he absolutely does not want to stop them, thank you very much.

Wow, yeah, that came out long! Sorry! This is probably the most “writing” I have done in a long, long time :P

Ask me some more OTP Questions!

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #2- Yet Another Robot Falls Out of the Sky

Issue #2 opens with a phone call between Brainstorm and Rodimus, and it’s going well, all things considered. They only get sidetracked twice in their 30 second conversation, which is honestly pretty good for them.

Brainstorm and Perceptor have managed to suss out what exactly happened to make the quantum generators explode as fantastically as they did. Brainstorm’s calling now as opposed to after all the testing Perceptor wants to do, because he’s impatient and is so self-assured that he’s already got the answer, it might actually kill him to wait.

Yep, Brainstorm’s that guy who walks around talking on speakerphone in the middle of work. Is he doing it to keep Perceptor in the loop while he’s busy working on the generators? If he is, he’ll never admit it, because he’s too tsundere to admit he wants to be noticed by his science senpai.

Brainstorm, much like a majority of the Lost Light crew, has a complicated relationship with relationships.

Rodimus tells Brainstorm to get his butt out in the field, so they can find the rest of the ‘bots who got thrown through the stratosphere after the quantum jump, then takes another call from Chromedome, who’s over with Rewind and Hound pulling Cyclonus out of a lake. Chromedome and Rewind have run into the guy who committed an act of terror on their former place of employment twice in the last few hours. We’ll see just how the hell he wound up there a bit later on. What’s important in the here and now is the fact that we’ve gotten our first glimpse at Rewind’s magic color-changing pants.

Issue #1

Issue #2

What a strange and terrible power this tiny robot holds.

Up in the sky, a small yellow ship vops into existence from a portal that looks very similar to the one the Lost Light went through during their quantum oopsie. Inside, we find a guy who apparently fell asleep while holding a lit weld torch and a gun. He’s got no idea what’s going on, or who he is, or that he’s in grave danger.

Honestly, not the WORST name I’ve ever heard out of Transformers.

No, actually, that’s not his name, but rather some repressed trauma trying to work its way back up to the surface. His real name is Skids, and he’s just kind of making it up as he goes at this point, as he sets the ship to crash into the planet below and jumps out.

Now that’s just gratuitous.

This is about par for the course when it comes to Skids- he’s just so very extra, all the time.

The ship crashes behind him, and it would appear that vague sense of paranoia was completely justified, as the burning remains reconstitute themselves into multiple giant robots with swords.

So we’re gonna have to deal with that.

Back over on the Lost Light, Rung’s getting patched up by Ratchet, and we get our first taste of his perpetual forgettability. Of course, Rung knows who Ratchet is, because everyone does, and butters him up for no real reason other than he can, I suppose. Or rather, because Roberts was feeling a bit cruel.

Twist the knife a little more, why don’t you?

Of course, Rung’s assumptions are quickly dashed against the rocks, as Ratchet proceeds to loosen up his sticky fingers by smashing his hand with a mallet right beside him.

As Ratchet reattaches Rung’s arm, they get to talking about their new friend, Tailgate, who’s still passed out. Swerve’s watching over him, because he’s just a nice guy like that.

That’s the smallest Tailgate’s feet will ever be.

Drift calls the medical bay to let him know that they’ll be bringing in the guys who fell out of the ship, so Ratchet should put on a smile so they’ll feel better. This, of course, doesn’t sit well with Ratchet, who starts griping about Drift’s newfound hippy-dippy state of mind, a result of him having almost died back during the Chaos storyline. Swerve, never one to miss out on a good trash-talk session, starts feeding the fire, until Ratchet gets distracted and burns Rung by mistake.

Then Whirl wakes up and starts strangling people.

Whirl wasn’t meant to be on board this ship, and he probably hasn’t seen Rung since he got booted from the Wreckers, so waking up from a fight still raring to go and finding the guy who tried to make him connect with his Feelings™ hovering over him was bound to start some nonsense.

Ratchet tries to talk him down again, with Swerve “assisting”, but nothing seems to be getting through to Whirl until Rung threatens him with prison time. Whirl doesn’t like prison, to put it lightly, so he snaps out of his stupor, drops Rung, and leaves the medibay. No one is particularly sad to see him go.

All this commotion must have woken up Tailgate, who’s introduced to the others. He asks if he’s on board the Ark- you know, the one from roughly six million years ago- and suddenly all the weirdly ancient internal parts Ratchet found inside him start making a lot more sense. Swerve bribes Ratchet with food to get to be the one to break the news to Tailgate.

It goes about as well as one could expect.

Back over with Skids, we see that not everyone survived the fall through the stratosphere, as the burning bodies of Hyperion and Polaris sit in the foreground as Skids prepares to face off with the giant yellow robots.

Corpse desecration! Fun for the whole family!

Polaris slams into one of the yellow robots. Thinking quickly, Skids makes a makeshift bomb out of Polaris and a gun, blasting his fuel tank and making a very big explosion.

There’s still another robot to deal with, but it looked pretty cool.

Back on the Lost Light, Cyclonus seems to have recovered from his dip in the lake, and he’s finally getting his meeting with Rodimus.

They’re so awkward. I thought you two were supposed to cool.

Also, major dumbass points to Cyclonus for tying himself to the roof of the ship like camping gear on the top of a family sedan, and making it through a goddamned quantum jump.

Here we get a glimpse at the thought process behind Rodimus even bothering to be in the same room as this guy: Cyclonus turning on Galvatron back in Chaos probably gave him and Optimus an extra few seconds to save the entirety of reality from the Dead Universe. That’s a pretty big solid, and he recognizes that. However, there’s still the whole Kimia thing, which was pretty un-chill of Cyclonus to have been a part of.

It probably doesn’t help that the Venn diagram for “Lost Light crew-members” and “dudes who were on Kimia when shit went down” is practically a circle.

Yeah, Cyclonus kind of isn’t allowed to have friends until issue #21.

Cyclonus isn’t going to apologize for what happened on Kimia, because- and this is honestly a pretty fair point- virtually everyone on this friggin’ ship is a war criminal and ought to know the score by now. War is hell, y’all. He doesn’t want a fight, he just wants to cruise around on this space-yacht and chill out for a little while.

Like, perhaps love?

Nah, that’s crazy-talk. He’s too stoic and emotionally-dead inside for all that.

Rodimus hears him out, and agrees to let him stay on the ship, on the condition that he’s going to have to deal with Rodimus being the guy who’s going to judge his every move, like an easily-disappointed father. Rodimus will be Cyclonus’ Optimus.

Ultra Magnus comes in to add that if Cyclonus screws up, he’ll be breaking out the heavy hammer of justice to pound him flat.

Also, he brought Whirl. It’s time for Cyclonus and him to kiss and make up.

What a beautiful start to this friendship.

Back outside, Swerve’s accompanying Tailgate on a cool-down walk, so he doesn’t pass out due to stress twice in a 24-hour period. He’s probably uncomfortable when people start crying, which is a staple of the Tailgate-brand freakout.

I looked into this, and unless I missed something, the “overheating optical filaments due to emotional stress fizzing up and away from the eye” thing is the only real instance of Transformers being able to cry. Roberts really made the robots have a physiological response equivalent to crying so he could hurt them more thoroughly.

As they walk, Swerve starts asking questions, because he’s incapable of shutting up- literally, he has logorrhea. He asks to see Tailgate’s alt-mode, what he did for a living before he fell in the hole, what the ruined decal on his arm used to say, and it turns out that Tailgate’s a pretty interesting little dude. He was on a bomb disposal squad with the Primal Vanguard.

The two of them catch sight of Rewind and Chromedome on a cliff, and Swerve makes introductions, comparing the pair to Rack’n’Ruin in terms of closeness, Rack’n’Ruin being two robots who share a lower body. 

You know, when it’s put like that it sounds a bit dirty, doesn’t it?

Skids falls into the scene, and demands that someone take the Inhibitor Claw off of his back. Chromedome obliges, because he’s the only one tall enough to reach Skids’ upper body. Once the thing’s off, Skids’ can activate his onboard weaponry, which he does with aplomb.

Chromedome, you fool! You’ve made him too cool!

As Skids kicks the ass of this mystery ‘bot, more of his memories come back, until all he’s missing is the short-term stuff. Once he’s done, everyone tells him how awesome he is, Swerve having maybe fallen in love just a bit, as he asks just what Skids’ whole deal is.

Skids is a theoretician, which means he forms/develops/studies the theoretical framework of a subject. I can’t imagine that pays too well, maybe that’s why he’s moonlighting as a hired gun or whatever.

Chromedome seems to know Skids, and invites him back to the Lost Light so they can try and figure out what exactly is going on with his brain, and also that gun that he’s been holding in his hand this entire time, but never noticed or used.

Yeah, that one.

Tailgate’s wandered off to get a closer look at the robot Skids annihilated, getting its last words: nineteen eighty-four. Guess he really likes Orson Welles as an author.

The Lost Light takes off, and as everyone congregates on the bridge, Rodimus wonders just what the hell he’s going to say to them all. Between Ultra Magnus’ bleak starkness and Drift’s blindingly sunshiney outlook, he figures that he’ll just wing it.

Down below, Swerve’s managed to convince Tailgate to try transforming, by way of talking his ear off, then walks away the moment he begins the conversion- he’s a little stiff, so it’s going to take a minute. Swerve starts chatting Skids up and poking him in the ass, because that’s what you do when you want to be friends with someone. And Swerve really, really wants to be friends with Skids.

Skids doesn’t really cotton to this whole questing thing the Lost Light’s trying to do, and asks for a little more clarification on just what exactly they’re trying to accomplish. He’s not super impressed with the information once he has it.

Rodimus, having collected himself enough to face the crew, announces the deaths of Ore, Polaris, and Hyperion, and that while their collective passing is very sad, they’ve got to press on with their journey. Their next scheduled stop is Crystal City, once they figure out where the hell that quantum explosion dumped them.

Whirl brings up the fact that every good adventure team has a sweet name. Swerve tries to pull a Chaos Theory Optimus and take back the suffix -cons by calling themselves the Crusadercons, but nobody seems too keen on that idea. Don’t worry, Swerve, you’ll get there one day.

While the boys try to name themselves, Rodimus is given the phone. Red Alert’s on the line, and he’s freaking out, because there’s a murderous monster on board the ship.

You can tell the art style hasn’t settled yet, because they’re still photoshopping the insignias on after the fact.

A sparkeater is a major problem, but it’ll have to wait until next month to be dealt with, because that’s our cliffhanger ending for this issue.

[hlupdate]

He made a couple of false starts, but after four long years, Louis Tomlinson’s debut album Walls is finally here! The much-anticipated album immediately shot to #1 on the iTunes charts in over 50 countries. And while it signals the true end of an era (Tomlinson’s the last member of One Direction to release a solo project), it’s mostly the beginning of a new one. As reflected in the visuals for the title track; where one door closes, another opens. And it’s one that was well worth the wait, as Walls promises an exciting new era of guitar-driven confessional pop.

Guitar-driven, because it’s clear that Tomlinson was sonically inspired by the 90s and 00s indie-rock that he grew up on. Confessional, because each song presents us with yet another look into the emotional complexity of Tomlinson’s experiences with heartbreak, pain, and letting go.

A clear example of the former is the opening track “Kill My Mind.” It is a rousing up-tempo song with a soaring anthemic chorus that’s just begging to be performed live. Tomlinson referred to the track as a true “statement of intent,” although it’s defiantly rockier than the rest of his album. Perhaps it’s already setting the stage for album number two.

There is “Habit,” of which the melody is weirdly reminiscent of 4 Non Blondes’ “What’s Up?” Lyrically along the same vein as “Kill My Mind,” it regales an addictive and slightly toxic relationship. Whether that’s aimed at an actual relationship, or meant as a metaphor for the music industry at large – who’s to say?

“We Made It” is another track that pulls Britpop right back into the ’20s. Significantly more laid back, the song’s mid-tempo production has somewhat of a Post Malone vibe to it. The song may not be the stand-out single of the album, it does encapsulate Tomlinson’s road to this moment. He’s made it, regardless of the adversity he’s faced along the way. Both as an underrated former member of One Direction – despite earning himself the most writing credits – and due to the personal tragedies, he faced over the past few years.

He doesn’t shy away from addressing any of these obstacles in his career. Title track “Walls” seems to be all about overcoming adversity – be it personal or professional setbacks. The string section adds a sophisticated touch to the rich instrumentals of the song, really honing in on that indie-rock sound Tomlinson is so fond of.

The heart-wrenching ballad “Two Of Us” stays true to the confessional style of the album. Tomlinson wrote the song about his mother, who passed away in 2016. It’s perhaps the most personal and vulnerable that Tomlinson has allowed himself to be on this record, and it shows in the lyrics: “The day that they took you, I wish it was me instead.” However, Tomlinson manages to yet again transform the acknowledgment of pain into an inspiring promise of honoring life. It’s extremely rare that a songwriter is able to capture both darkness and light within the same song. To do so in such a convincing way, about a topic that’s so deeply personal yet universal shows the strength of Tomlinson’s lyricism and his emotive delivery.

Interestingly enough, despite Tomlinson’s love for rock, he seems to prefer the mid-tempo tracks. “Don’t Let It Break Your Heart” includes a beautiful opening guitar solo, before adding a bit of kick drum to build a proper anthemic pop song. It’s rich in sound, and its message is uplifting and reassuring. Similar to his first solo track “Just Hold On,” its lyrics aim to inspire listeners to keep going in spite of the heartbreak. What’s refreshing, is that it doesn’t specify the cause of the heartbreak, nor does it marginalize the emotional impact. Rather, the lyrics remind you that you’re not broken beyond repair, no matter what it is that’s hurting you in the moment.

“Always You” is the only true pop, up-tempo track on Walls. Listen to it once, and the playful guitar and staccato beat make for an irresistible hook that’ll draw you right in. It’s almost odd how a song this perfect for pop radio is hidden away more than halfway through the tracklist. The lyrics are innovative, as Tomlinson travels all across the world, only to conclude he’s never getting over his ex.

Elsewhere on the album, Tomlinson addresses the loss of innocence and youth. Being in your twenties is somewhat of a confusing time, as you come to realize that being a grown-up is not all it’s made out to be. “Fearless” opens with the sound of children, then sees Tomlinson lament the innate recklessness you lose as you get older. It’s perhaps one of the only tracks that verge on disillusionment and wistful longing for those days you felt young and invincible.

“Too Young” is the other side to the same coin, highlighting the negative consequences of youthful naivete instead. This time, he connects heartbreak to regret. Accompanied by nothing but an acoustic guitar, Tomlinson reflects on a past relationship. It requires real emotional maturity and bravery to see your own flaws and mistakes and to take ownership of them. Even if it means saying “I’m sorry, I was too young to get it back then, but I get it now.” The only downside is that Tomlinson seemingly randomly adopts an American accent in the pre-chorus, which feels slightly out of place.

Tomlinson said of the record that it’s about him; “it’s me, I’m the storyline.” That definitely seems to be the case, what with each of his songs highlighting various aspects of the life he’s lived so far and the difficulties he’s had to go through. Nevertheless, there are definitely moments throughout the album that feel somewhat reminiscent of the old One Direction sound – and this is where it gets tricky. Of course, One Direction was also a part of his life, and Tomlinson was an integral part of developing the musical DNA of his former band. As such, it’s perhaps inevitable that there would be some sonic overlap between the past and his present.

On the other hand, this record is his chance to establish his own musical identity. “Perfect Now” seems to be the epitome of this split personality. It’s a mostly acoustic track, with some strings added into the mix as the song builds into its final chorus. The lyrics echo both “What Makes You Beautiful” and “Little Things,” two of One Direction’s biggest (and oldest) hits. It’s an admittedly incredibly catchy song that centers around the heartbreak of seeing someone you love unhappy. Still, it’s a shame he felt the need to cater to a sound that’s not solely his. If he truly wants to take his music in a more indie-rock lane, he should fully commit to it – surely fans (old and new) would follow.

Thankfully, the album is filled with songs that truly highlight Tomlinson’s abilities as a singer/songwriter. Two songs that stand out from the others when it comes to vocal range, delivery, and lyrical ingenuity, are “Defenceless” and “Only The Brave.”

“Defenceless” is the true embodiment of what it means to find strength in vulnerability. The song builds steadily, starting out with just a guitar before heavy drums kick in during the chorus. The lyrics, on the other hand, portray the insecurity you feel when you’re letting all your guards down. The bridge in particular highlights the fragile heartbreak that follows when trying your best isn’t enough anymore: “I hope I’m not asking too much, just wanna be loved by you. I’m too tired to be tough, just wanna be loved by you.” Tomlinson’s falsetto only serves to further emphasize the sense of defeat and raw emotion on display in this track.

The album closer “Only The Brave” sees him bring back the falsetto that’s absent from the album elsewhere. Contrary to the more confessional and conversational tone of the previous songs, this short track relies on metaphors throughout: “It’s a church of burnt romances, and I’m too far gone to pray, it’s a solo song, and it’s only for the brave.” As such, it’s a bold choice to end the album on such a different note. However, it works beautifully – an ode to what’s to come, perhaps.

Walls provides an exciting and much deserved first glance at who Louis Tomlinson truly is – both as an artist and as a human being. Listen from start to finish, and you’ll immediately enjoy the guitar-driven, intricate alt-pop that’s characteristic of this record. But if given the chance, it’ll be the emotive, authentic lyricism that truly reels you in for good.

It’s rare to see artists actually offer a multi-faceted, introspective look at their inner emotions. To have a male singer share his heart with such conviction – openly, brazenly, almost recklessly – is even more exceptional. On the other hand, perhaps it shouldn’t come as a surprise at all. Because if this album tells you anything about Tomlinson’s personality, it’s that he’s fearless, resilient, and he always gets back up. He doesn’t hide his scars – he wears them with pride, inspiring you to make peace with your own and do the same.

Let Walls break down your walls, I promise you won’t regret it.