#idk! i like a lot of things! a Wide Variety!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Apart from Welcome Home, what other medias do you enjoy?? I'm pretty intrigued! :]

uh! a bunch! i'm not sure if i can list them all!

[rotisseries]

NARINES 4EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! what if there were two guys that not only hated each other viscerally on a personal level but also everything they individually stood for and they tried to kill each other and there's no universe where they both make it and they have a hundred differences and a thousand similarities and they both die for drako and this started as a joke but why does narines lowkey go hard

narines will be an absolutely banger #Problematique rarepair when you're famous

[hiimcanadia]

Something I genuinely love about fandom is that it's a space where you can develop real friendships with people of all different ages. Like, I joined the OFMD fandom when I was 18/19ish and I'm 20 now, and some of the friends I've made here are other people in their early 20s. But there's also a lot of people in this fandom who are 30, 40, 50+, and I'm friends with some of those people, too! And even if we're not super close friends, it feels so validating to have someone comment on something I've made or agree with something I said and then realize that they're like twice my age! That's not something that young people get to experience irl very often, but it's a totally normal thing in fandom!

[trans-axolotl]

idk i think a lot of people sort of build up schizo-spec diagnoses in their head as this example of a "clearly biomedical disease that is the scariest possible example of mental illness that is always a crisis no matter what." and i'm not going to sit here and say that schizoaffective is always pleasant to live with, or pretend that it's something that I can manage perfectly-it does cause me distress a lot of the time, and makes some things very difficult. but for me, psychosis is by far not the most difficult symptom i have to deal with, compared to some of the other things that have brought me distress. And yet it's always the symptom that is reacted to with the most fear, confusion, and disgust by other people. I hate it when people generalize psychosis as always and inherently and forever a crisis, and ignore the fact that everyone who experiences psychosis is going to have their own experiences, perspectives on how it impacts them, and that treating psychosis as a super scary, inherently dangerous symptom is incredibly stigmatizing and prevents us from receiving support and care from our communities.

idk. i just really wish people would realize that for some people, psychosis can sometimes be a neutral or even positive experience (i've had some incredibly lovely psychosis experiences), and that by positioning psychosis as a "super scary disease that has no quality of life" and only offering carceral solutions, it perpetuates a pattern where we get continually pushed into harmful treatments. Instead of a situation where our autonomy is respected, where we're offered a wide variety of treatments from meds to therapies to peer support like Hearing Voices Network to material community based support and where we're allowed to define our own experience of psychosis based on how it actually affects us. like, i don't want to deny that psychosis is often distressing for many of us--but I do think we have the responsibility to evaluate where we've learned about psychosis, what societal messages we've internalized about psychosis, what kinds of knowledge about psychosis do we not have access to, and just actually think in depth about how our biases impact how we communicate about psychosis.

[sunsburns]

naked in manhattan

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader / implied art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you’re just hours away from a flight that will change your career forever—one that will take you to london, england, for the 2012 olympics, a milestone you never thought you’d reach. thrilled yet trembling with nerves, you find yourself at the hotel bar, celebrating alone. it does not help when you run into art donaldson and… his wife?

—or: you and tashi rekindle an old flame

word count: 6.9k

contains: SMUT 18+, smut with a lot of plot, semi-public sex (a gym at the middle of the night so idk if that counts), mid-challengers movie (a year after the atlanta scene with tashi and patrick), angst with no comfort, fingering, homewrecking, cheating but also not cheating but also a worse third thing, no use of y/n, old situationship best described in terms of “casual” by chappell roan (iykyk), art is lowkey a shit starter

author’s note: so i finished this a while back and added it to my queue and did not realize i put it for july instead of june so LOL MY BAD. this is kinda like a prequel to “good luck, babe!” but you don't need to read that to get this. alsoooo thank you for all the love and feedback in “good luck, babe!” i’ve read every single message and tried to reply to all of them! you guys are so sweet and inspired me to write more! thank you thank you <3 i hope you enjoy this one!

Manhattan, New York City, 2012

"I hope you're planning on getting laid tonight."

Your drink is cold, the ice cubes clinking against the glass as you swirl the straw absentmindedly. The dim lighting of the hotel bar casts a warm, golden glow over everything, making the polished wood of the bar counter gleam. Around you, the murmur of conversations, bursts of laughter, and the occasional clinking of glasses create a lively yet intimate ambiance. You glance at the TV mounted in the corner, where a muted sports channel displays highlights from a basketball game.

You try not to snort into your drink at the words of Patrick Zweig on the other end of the call. You push your phone closer to your ear, unable to bite back the grin spreading across your face.

"Are you serious?" you ask.

"What?" Patrick's tone is mockingly innocent, full of playful mischief.

"I thought you called to say something a little more... I don't know, sincere? Heartwarming?"

He lets out a loud, boisterous laugh that you can practically feel through the phone. In the background, you hear the faint sounds of a city—honking cars, distant chatter, and the occasional bark of a dog. The noise fades slightly as Patrick likely moves to a quieter spot, and you can almost picture him getting in his car in some other state—you think he's in Arizona.

"The only kind of warming I wanna hear about is cockwarming," he retorts, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.

You make a face, "You're disgusting."

"I mean it," he insists, still laughing. "I'm actually so jealous of you right now. You qualified for the Olympics, for fuck's sake! How's your mom doing? Did she have a heart attack? Did she call you already? I hope she packed you some condoms. There's gonna be such a wide variety. Literally every country in the world."

"Shut the fuck up, Patrick."

Your mother did call, her voice crackling with emotion over the phone just before Patrick rang you. She told you how proud she is of you, how she can't wait to watch you play and tell everyone she knows that her daughter is an Olympic tennis player. A gold medalist, maybe.

Her words echo in your mind, filling you with a warmth that battles the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

You take a sip of your drink, savouring the blend of fruity and bitter flavours, a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts. You try not to spill it on your Ralph Lauren sweater, custom-made, just for the Olympics, with your name stitched on the arm.

Around you, the hotel bar is alive with the buzz of other athletes celebrating with their teams. The fellowship is appreciable as laughter and cheers fill the air. But for some single athletes, like yourself, it's a different story. You feel as if you're in high school all over again, too awkward to make friends, hoping someone braver than you will come by and say hello first.

"You better not be sitting at the bar alone, drinking that orange juice you like."

"A sangria isn't just juice, you dick," you retort, rolling your eyes.

"You're such a loser."

You do feel a little bit like a loser, sitting alone at the bar, but you know you shouldn't. You're hours away from your flight to London where you'll have the chance to play tennis in the Olympics. This is all you've ever wanted since you were a child, all you've been working for—sweat, blood, and tears. You can't even remember a time when you've dreamt of something other than this.

Tennis has always been your escape, your sanctuary. You remember those early days when you played with second-hand rackets and makeshift nets, the local court becoming your second home.

And then there was Patrick, your closest… friend(?) and fiercest rival. His encouragement, his competition, and his company kept you grounded and motivated. When the going got tough, the dream felt too distant, and all of it made you feel far too guilty as if you had stolen someone else's life, Patrick was there to reassure you that you deserved it just as much as the next. Without him, you likely would have walked away from the sport you love.

"I can't believe you made it to the Olympics before me," Patrick's voice pulls you back to the present, a mix of envy and pride lacing his words. You can almost see the playful smirk on his face, a familiar expression that often surfaced during your countless matches together.

"I wish you were here, Pat." Your voice softens, the longing evident. It was hard to track down Patrick Zweig, especially while he was constantly on the move, hopping from state to state, playing as many challengers as he could sign up for, each match a stepping stone toward his dream of winning the US Open. And you think he will. You've played against him enough times to know he's better than you at hitting a ball with a racket.

There were nights when you'd both crash in a shabby motel or back at your place after a gruelling day on the court, strategizing and critiquing each other's play styles (sometimes in more than just tennis). His tenacity was a beacon for you, pushing you to strive harder and to reach further.

His voice softens, becoming more earnest. "Yeah, me too. I'll try to get tickets for one of your games in London. If not, I'll catch up with your mom and watch it with her. Is your dad still in the picture?"

You roll your eyes, a reflex to his familiar teasing. "Oh, my god."

"I'm just asking," he chuckles. "Listen, I'm gonna let you go, 'cause I've got a date tonight. But call me when you land."

"Oh, yeah, okay." You try not to let the disappointment seep into your voice, but it's hard. It's not like you and Patrick were together, at least not publicly, at least not in the sense that you couldn't see other people. But even as you tell yourself that, a knot tightens in your chest.

It feels a bit teenageish, you think, messing around with friends and acting like it means nothing just to avoid making things awkward. Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were leaving something unsaid, something unacknowledged. Patrick was one of the few people in your life who kept you on your toes and made you feel good—truly good.

Now, the idea of him with someone else, going on dates while you chase your dreams, feels like a betrayal you can't quite articulate. But what right do you have to feel that way? You never made things official, never dared to cross that line.

You never bothered to search for love outside of tennis.

"Have fun on your date," you manage to say. It comes out more brittle than you'd hoped. "Talk to you later."

"Bye!" he says, oblivious to the turmoil in your heart. His voice is light and carefree, and why wouldn't it be?

You end the call and set your phone down on the bar with a bit more force than intended, the hollow thud echoing your frustration. The bartender glances your way and you try to flash him an honest smile before ordering another drink. The TV overhead flickers, switching from basketball highlights to a recap of the latest tennis matches. You watch the screen without really seeing it.

The bar is still lively, yet you feel an overwhelming sense of solitude. You can't help but feel like you're stuck in limbo—caught between your dreams and the reality of your personal life.

You take a deep breath and a long sip of the rest of your first drink, the cool liquid doing little to ease the heat of frustration building inside you. You tell yourself you should be happy, grateful even. But right now, all you can think about is Patrick, and how much easier it would be if he were here with you.

But he's not. And maybe he never will be.

Maybe no one will.

Maybe you will die alone, your tennis racket as your only companion.

"This seat taken?" A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts.

You turn, startled, "No-" you start, but then the blur of blonde hair comes to focus and you're stumbling over your words, "Art? What- what are you doing here?"

"Oh," he smiles, a shy faint red blush already growing on his pale skin. He sits beside you, almost hesitantly, "Just stopping by the city. I saw you and thought I'd say hi."

"Hi." You return his smile, albeit a bit warily.

It's been years since you last spoke to Art properly, though your paths have crossed a few times. You've seen him in magazines, TV, and brief passings usually at major tournaments—Wimbledon, the Australian Open, the US Open. Each time, there were shy smiles and waves from across the room, lingering eyes, and awkward conversations where mutual friends tried to reintroduce you as if you hadn't once known each other

Art looks different every time you see him. His hair, now a little shorter than you remember, still maintains that boyish shagginess. There's a darker tan on his skin, evidence of his time spent under the sun. Some days he has a brighter smile, other days, it's a smile that never reaches his eyes.

As he sits there, you can't help but think of how golden his hair used to look whenever he wore his old Stanford hat, the one he used to pull low over his eyes during your college days. The memory makes you aware that you're staring, maybe a little too long. But he's looking at you too, his blue eyes trailing from one end of your face to the other, as if trying to memorize it all, capturing a photograph of who you are now.

A warmth spreads through you under his gaze, and when he finally looks away, you turn too, tapping at your empty glass, pretending to seem interested in the way the ice has started to melt.

But your eyes betray you, slowly trailing back to him. You watch the way he sits, the way he calls over the bartender and orders himself a glass of water. You try not to notice the deep timbre his voice has gained over the years, and how it resonates in the noisy bar. He looks at you, then the empty seat on your other side, and finally scans the room anxiously, as if he's searching for someone or something.

"He's not here," you finally say, breaking the silence that has grown too heavy. "If that's what you're wondering."

He nods, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably. "What city is he in now?"

"Vegas, I think."

He makes a face and rests his chin on his hand. "There's no challengers in Vegas this month."

"Then he's just visiting. I don't know." The truth is, you don't want to talk about Patrick right now. Especially not with Art. Not after the way they ended things. You watch Art shrug, and the bartender sets your drink in front of you. You take a grateful sip, savouring the blend of flavours. Art holds his glass carefully, and the two of you sit in strained silence for a moment, the noise of the bar fading into the background.

You can't help but ask, "What are you doing here? In Manhattan?"

"I have an interview tomorrow. For the New York Times," Art says, leaning back slightly. He seems a little surprised as if he expected you to sit there without acknowledging him for the whole night. It makes you wonder what he thinks of you. "They're doing a piece on my career, the highs, the lows... the beginning and stuff."

You study his face, trying to gauge his emotions. You know what it's like to be interviewed, to have a team of people making you look your best for photos and another team crafting answers to help you maintain your reputation. It’s exhausting and thrilling all at once. "Congrats, I'm happy for you."

"Thank you. If anything, I should be congratulating you. Olympics? That's huge..." He continues talking, his lips moving, but you’re barely registering the words. For the first time that night, he seems genuinely enthusiastic, a faint spark in his eyes as he talks about you, about London, gesturing with his hand in excitement.

That's when you notice it. The gold around his finger. It glimmers under the warm lights of the bar, catching your eye like a beacon. You can't stop staring at it even after he's done talking.

"Oh, yeah. It's great." The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. You struggle to find the right response, not wanting to be rude. "You're married?"

His face falls, and he looks down at his hand resting on his lap. "Oh, yeah, yeah. We, uh..." He scratches the back of his head, his eyes darting up to meet yours briefly before looking away. He seems nervous, like he's bracing for your reaction, worried to tell you, as if you weren’t supposed to know at all. "We got married last year. We kept pushing the date for a while because we were... we were busy... and stuff just kept getting in the way."

"We...?"

"Tashi."

"Tashi," you echo, the name tasting foreign and bitter on your tongue. "You're married? You married each other?"

He nods, "Yeah, we've been engaged for a few years now. You haven't heard?"

You feel a lump form in your throat. "No, uh. My coach tries to keep me away from certain news... my mom suggested it. So I don't get uh, distracted."

This is exactly the kind of situation your team has been trying to avoid.

The reality of his words sinks in, and you feel a sharp pang of something—loss, regret, maybe even jealousy. The air around you feels thicker and harder to breathe. Each word he says feels like another brick being laid on your chest, pressing down, making it harder to stay composed.

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense."

You force a smile, but it's a fragile thing, threatening to shatter at any moment. "That's... that's great, Art. I'm happy for you. Really. How was... how was the wedding?" Your mind races with thoughts of broken promises and missed opportunities. You imagine Tashi in her wedding dress; you know she looked beautiful. The image stabs at you, and you wince.

"It was beautiful. Both our families came in, and we kept it traditional, in a church. It was..." He pauses, watching you before adding, "It was a small ceremony. Private. Just family."

His words twist the knife deeper. Tashi's family used to see you as such. "No, yeah, I get it. Wouldn't want any trouble at the wedding. I'm happy for you. I'm happy for the both of you." You turn to the bartender, desperate to keep your voice steady. "Hey, can I get another drink? Something stronger?"

Patrick was right; your stupid orange juice won't get you through the night.

Art watches you with concern, his brow furrowing. "How many of those have you had?"

You laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your ears. "Not enough."

"Does your coach know you're drinking?"

"Does yours know you're talking to me?"

Art leans back, his posture stiffening. He turns to his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass as he takes another sip. The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable. You watch as he processes your words, his expression shifting from defensiveness to something more pained. You instantly feel a pang of guilt, realizing you've struck a nerve.

You've heard all about Tashi's coaching with Art. Whispers in the locker rooms during tournaments, hushed conversations about how she's pushing him until he cracks. You never wanted to believe it, never wanted to think that Tashi, of all people, would be the one to break him down.

"She calls you Ace, you know."

You make a face at the name. A journalist had written an article about you a few years ago when you won your first US Open, nicknaming you Ace since your serves were almost impossible to hit. The nickname stuck, plastered across headlines, magazine covers, and merchandise. People even bet on you becoming the youngest tennis player with the most aces in history before the season ended. You were only off by a dozen.

"Does she?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected.

"You do have a killer serve."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Killer." The word feels bitter on your tongue. "Tashi used to hit those back at me like it was nothing."

Art nods, taking another sip of his drink before pausing to look at you. "Only 'cause she knows you."

"Knew," you correct him.

The silence stretches again, heavier this time. You're about to say something, anything to break it, when Art speaks again, his voice softer, more earnest.

"I miss you."

What. The. Fuck.

"I do," he insists, leaning forward, his eyes searching yours. "I miss hanging out with you. I miss playing with you. Watching your games live and not recorded on my TV."

"Art, c'mon." You feel the dread crawling up your throat, wishing you had left the bar sooner. Every word he says seems to pull you deeper into a past you've been trying to escape. Art has done nothing but throw you off your game all night.

"I miss you outside of tennis, too," he continues, his voice tinged with regret. "I miss our late-night walks, studying in the library. You remember those?"

"Of course I do."

"Tashi misses you, too," he says, and you can tell he's crossing a line, testing your patience. You can feel the corner of your mouth twitch, your eyes unable to meet his. "She tells me every night. She's always keeping up with your stats, watching all of your games, rewatching your old ones. She makes notes for you, how you could improve. She wants to coach you."

"Art, stop it," you finally snap, turning to face him. The night feels ruined, any semblance of peace shattered. Was this all some elaborate scheme against you? After all these years, is this how they repay you? Out of spite? Is that what it is, a way to get back at you because you somehow got it all, and Tashi's taking whatever she can scrape off from Art?

"I don't want her to coach me. And I highly doubt she wants to coach me either."

"I booked the hotel," he says suddenly, his voice softer, more sincere. "She doesn't know you're here. And I really think it will be good for you two to talk." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper, placing it carefully on the bar in front of you. "Here's our room number. I'll be out tonight with some friends, so the room is yours till late. Just, don't kill each other or break anything if you fight."

"I'm not going��"

"She really does miss you," he interrupts, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you might understand, might relent.

You stare at the piece of paper, feeling its presence like a burning brand. Art stands up, hesitating for a moment as if he wants to say more but thinks better of it. "I mean it. Think about it," he murmurs before turning and walking away, his footsteps echoing in the hollow space of your mind.

You watch him go, each step he takes pulling at the threads of your carefully constructed facade. As he nears the entrance, your eyes follow him instinctively, and that's when you see her. Tashi. She's standing there, with her bags looking around with a familiar intensity, her eyes scanning the room until they lock onto yours.

You feel sick.

Meeting Art was a pleasant surprise; he makes your heart race and your cheeks burn. But Tashi makes your heart stop and your brain shut off.

She looks different—older, more mature, hair straight and cut to a mid-length but also a lighter colour—but still heartbreakingly familiar. Her eyes widen slightly as she recognizes you.

She opens her mouth as if to say something when Art stands next to her, pressing a kiss to her temple, but no words come out.

Your heart hammers in your chest.

The weight of her gaze is too much. You're the first to look away. You stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. "Excuse me," you mutter to the bartender, slapping a couple of bucks on the counter. Your voice feels distant, and detached, as if it belongs to someone else.

You push through the crowd, your mind a chaotic whirl of emotions. You need air. You need space.

As you reach the elevator, you can feel Tashi's eyes still on you. But you keep moving, your footsteps quickening with each step. You need to focus on tennis. That's the only thing that's never let you down.

Tashi had once picked tennis over you, and now it was your turn to do the same.

You reach your room and close the door behind you, leaning against it as you finally let out the breath you've been holding. The walls seem to close in on you, and you slide down to the floor.

You need to remember why you're here. For the game. For the dream. And that has to be enough.

Only one problem.

You can't sleep.

Hours later, you find yourself in the hotel gym, the quiet hum of the machines the only sound in the stillness of the night. Your mind is racing, a chaotic swirl of thoughts and emotions you can't control. Desperate for an outlet, you hop on a treadmill and start running, hoping to exhaust yourself into some semblance of peace.

Anything is better than sitting in the hotel lobby, scouring the internet on the public computer for any proof of Art and Tashi's marriage while drinking wine straight from the bottle.

Art was right, it was a small wedding. There were almost no photos of it caught by the paparazzi, only articles upon articles talking about it, magazine covers and everything. God, how could you have missed this? How out of the loop were you?

There was only one photo posted, and it was from Tashi's Facebook and Instagram from less than a year ago; a picture of just her hand holding onto Art's, where you can see her wedding ring. There was no caption. But the photo had millions of likes.

You wonder if Patrick knew. He probably did. He stalks her account religiously and only recently started to tone it down. And then there's you, who had her blocked on everything since your last argument.

The music playing in your ears drowns out the world around you, a heavy beat pulsing as you hum along. Your eyes fixate on the rising numbers on the treadmill screen, sometimes glancing out the window at the city skyline, other times catching your silhouette in the glass reflection.

Sweat makes your clothes cling to you like a second skin, rolling down your spine in rivulets. You're still a little tipsy from your drinks, the taste lingering in your cheeks, but you think you're sober enough that a few more miles will drain it all out.

Art's words are burned into your mind. The wedding you were never invited to, how he suddenly wants to be friends again. You can see where he's coming from; tennis is lonely. You're lonely. You press the button to go faster, your legs burning as you push yourself harder, trying to escape the thoughts that chase you.

You don't hear the door click open, and it takes a few seconds for you to spot the reflection of someone walking behind you in the window's reflection, rolling out a pink yoga mat. But they don't step onto it, they don't move, and even worse, you catch their eye in the reflection.

Fuck.

It's Tashi Duncan.

Your heart lurches in your chest. You quickly look away, panic setting in. You turn your music up higher and make the treadmill run faster, the machine whirring louder in response. Your pulse races, not just from the exertion, but from the presence of the one person you can't bear to face right now.

In the corner of your eye, you see her approach you. When you hear her call out your name between songs, you pretend you can't hear her. You pretend to be captivated by the sight of the city at night, pretend that you're lost in the music as P!nk's voice blares into your ears, cursing out one of her old lovers.

You wonder how long you can keep the act up.

Tashi moves with a determination that you've always admired and feared. She walks around your treadmill, eyes locked onto you with a fierce intensity. Without hesitation, she reaches down and unplugs the machine from the wall, forcing it to power down abruptly.

Not long enough.

"What the fuck?" You huff, yanking out your earbuds. "What's your fucking problem?"

"You're my problem," she says, her voice steady, unyielding as she rolls her eyes.

"I haven't said a word to you."

"And that's my problem. I'm talking to you," Her gaze bores into yours, refusing to be ignored. You can see the resolve in her eyes, the same decisiveness that made her a force to be reckoned with on the court.

"I'm busy," you snap, and your breath comes in ragged gasps, both from the exertion and the emotional storm raging inside you. You feel trapped, cornered by the very person you’ve been trying to avoid.

You bite your tongue, stepping off the treadmill and walking around her when she steps in front of you. You make a straight line for your bag, watching her from the mirrors as she follows you closely.

"Can you listen?" It's more of a demand than an ask, "I just... Art told me what he did. He's a little shit, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. You have other shit to worry about."

You're taking long chugs from your water, staring at her without saying a word. Part of it is because you have nothing to say to her, and another is because you're afraid that if you speak, she'll see through you.

Tashi's eyes roam over you, lingering on your shorts and the way the wires from your earbuds snake from your iPod, under your tank, and peek out from under your sports bra. Her gaze is both appraising and filled with something unresolved between you. When you don't respond, she sighs. "You look great, by the way. On the court. You've changed your approach. You're vicious."

The compliment stings more than it soothes. You still don't say anything, letting the silence stretch between you like a chasm.

"...Or maybe you've always been. I haven't seen you in a long time. So a lot could've changed, I don't know."

You lower your bottle, swallowing the water. It feels cold as it runs down your throat, a stark contrast to the heat of your rising anger. You can't help the way your eyes drop to her hand when you pull your hair down from its ponytail. The sight of the ring on her finger feels like a punch to the gut.

She notices.

"We didn't want you to find out this way."

Your eyes snap up to hers. "And how was I supposed to find out?"

Tashi looks taken aback for a moment, her confident façade faltering. She takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself. "I don't know. Maybe we should've told you. Should've invited you. But I thought... I thought it would be easier for you if you didn't know. I didn't want to hurt you more than I already had."

Your laugh is bitter, devoid of any real amusement. "Easier?

"Look," Tashi begins, her voice tinged with a hint of impatience, "I'm not a fan of the way I ended things. But I think that keeping a grudge for this long is embarrassing. We were teenagers."

"You're right," you concede with a bitter chuckle, "it is embarrassing. But you know what's even more embarrassing?" Your voice rises, fueled by a mixture of frustration and hurt. "Having your husband come to me and tell me how much he misses me. And how you miss me. But you don't have the guts to tell me that yourself, do you? Do you miss me, Tashi?"

"Of course I miss you," she scoffs, her tone defensive. "You were my best friend. My serving partner. We played and won doubles together."

"Is that all I was to you?"

"Was there supposed to be anything more?"

There it is, the moment you've been dreading, the confrontation you've been avoiding. You can feel the familiar ache in your chest, "You know I fucking loved you, Tashi," you admit. "And yeah, whatever, everyone loved you. No one could get enough of Tashi Duncan. But you know damn well I loved you for more than just that."

"Loved?" She steps closer, her eyes searching yours. "You don't love me anymore?"

"No," you tell her. "I don't. I dropped out of your groupie a while ago."

"What do you love, then?" Her voice is almost a whisper, the distance between you closing.

"I love tennis," you confess, your gaze never leaving hers. "I love winning. Turns out I'm great at both. And I love that too. And people love me. That's more than you could ever give me. Or Art."

"Even Patrick?" The mention of his name is a sharp jab; she's trying to get under your skin.

"I don't know, you tell me." You're taunting her. And you love the way she falters for a split second. "You saw him at the Open last year, didn't you?"

The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you. "Listen," she says, her voice dropping lower, "I just came here to tie some loose ends. For Art's sake. He says It'll be good for me."

"Okay," you reply, seizing the opportunity to turn the conversation in your favour. Hook, line and sinker. "Is there anything else you want to get off your chest?"

Hook.

Tashi's eyes narrow slightly, but she takes the bait, her expression shifting to one of determination. "You raise your arm too high when you serve. You're gonna dislocate your shoulder one day."

"I bet you're waiting for the day I do."

"I can make you the best."

"Am I not already?"

Line.

"You're one of the best at most. But not the best. I'd be surprised if you bring back bronze. You're too short-tempered for silver. Let me coach you. I'll make sure you bring back gold."

"I don't need you," you say, the words catching in your throat.

"We both know you do," she whispers, her breath warm against your lips.

And sinker.

In that moment, everything else fades away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. The words hang in the air, a silent challenge. You can feel the heat radiating from her, the closeness almost unbearable.

Without another thought, your lips crash together in a desperate kiss, a release of all the pent-up tension and longing that has simmered between you for far too long.

It's a whirlwind of heat and passion, each touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume everything in its path. Her hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your body pressed against hers with a fierce urgency.

The kiss deepens a symphony of desire and desperation, all the words you couldn't say pouring into it with a fervour that borders on reckless abandon. You can feel yourself start to become absorbed into the bubble that is Tashi Duncan, it sucks you in, and it scares you, makes you feel as if you're sinking into the bottom of the ocean.

She grips the back of your neck, hard enough that her nails dig into the skin. Tashi waits for your gasp, and when you do, she pushes her tongue into your mouth, past your teeth until it collides with your own.

You're moaning, groaning into her mouth with the way she shoves you until your back hits the mirror behind you. You're arching into her at the way she fucking smiles against your lips at your reaction.

It's pathetic. You're pathetic. Almost in the same way Art is. You know it. She knows it. But in your defence, it's been a while since you've been kissed, it's been a while since someone's touched you this way, with heat and flavour. You're a little dizzy from it, cheeks flaring with embarrassment.

Tashi sucks your tongue into her mouth and you buck your hips against the thigh she's pressed between your legs.

There's a sweetness that lingers when she bites your lip, you wonder if she's wearing lipgloss, maybe chapstick. You hope she can't tell you've been drinking, that talking to Art made you spiral, that you've been bluffing since the moment she walked into the gym. Since the night she packed her things and told you she was leaving Stanford, her scholarship has no use since she can't play anymore.

When her hands run down your neck to your waist, gliding over the sweat on your skin, you can feel the cold touch of her wedding ring. It's frigid, making you shiver when Tashi starts to lick up the column of your throat. You almost feel bad about how wet you've become.

"Tashi..." you huff, her hands found their way to the base of your ass, guiding you to rock faster against her, only making you whine. Her grasp is tight, wanting. She pulls at your hips, slowly, dragging your crotch closer to hers and then pushing you back down on her leg. She repeats the motion a few times, rolling her own hips up into you a little more with each motion, and soon your muscles start to work so you can grind down onto her.

Tashi rewards you with a quiet moan—oh, you want her to do that again, you're going to make her do that again, louder and louder—and then, with a touch so light you could cry, she traces one hand over your hipbones and down to your pussy.

You can feel your stomach nearly drop, "You're married, Tashi."

She pulls away just to laugh at you. One finger traces your slit through your shorts, and you hear yourself moan. She raises her brows, a challenging look in her eyes, "Are you jealous?"

You try to scoff, but the cold glass of the mirror behind you squeaks when you shift. Even just this feather-light pressure through two layers of fabric, and every nerve ending in your body sets alight at once.

"What would Art say?" You try to say, your hair falling over your face as you try to collect some kind of morality. If you were caught, you can already imagine the headlines and the stories people would write about you. "What would he do if he found us right now?"

"I don't know," Tashi hums, leaning closer. She pretends to think as if the answer isn't obvious, teasing you a little when she gets close enough to kiss you but doesn't. "He'd probably ask to join."

You can't stop the way that thought alone makes you melt. You remember the jokes Patrick used to make back when you were in college, of you and Tashi being his wet dreams. You can almost imagine, how he would moan at everything, want everything, his whiney moans too similar to the ones he makes when he's on the court.

Tashi rubs gently at your pussy a few more times like she's exploring you, and then suddenly she taps right where your clit is. You cry out, and she sighs against your mouth. "You're so wet. You like it when I touch you?"

"Yeah, please... touch me." You nod. And in your head, you're telling yourself you only like it because you haven't been with anyone since Patrick left for his tour.

Tashi kisses you again, and it's a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath her shirt she starts to fumble with your waistband, and you're both angry and resentful and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet.

Her fingers are clumsily slipping into your underwear and then she's there, her fingers are brushing right against your clit—you're so wet that her fingers brush right through your folds, gliding like silk, and by the time she reaches your hole, two fingers easily sink in right to the knuckle.

Tashi leaves you gasping and she teases you for it. "So sensitive," she taunts against your lips, pressing her thumb against your clit so she can see you squirm, pumping her fingers at an urgent pace to hear you moan. "So needy."

With each movement, she scissors her fingers a little, spreading you wider every time, and she starts to mouth at your neck with hot, wet kisses. "Do you like that, yeah? Am I making you feel good? I am, aren't I? I'm exactly what you need. C'mon say you want me. Tell me you need me, Ace."

"Maybe—" You're breathless, and the nickname has you tugging at her hair again, "Shit, I saw the way you made Art. He... oh god... he wouldn't be half the athlete without you. I also... I also wouldn't want to ruin my shoulder... while—while serving."

"I'm not talking about tennis."

For a moment, you worry that you've fallen for a trap, that you've said too much. You're vulnerable, a little drunk on lust and wine, and Tashi isn't stupid to not catch your sapphic crush on her since the two of you became friends, an old high school love that's never really disappeared, from slumber party kisses and how you've gawked at her, at her husband and even her ex-boyfriend.

"C'mon, Tash, you're always talking about tennis."

"Not this time."

You barely catch onto what she says. Your body feels like it's going through the most intense orgasm of your life, especially now that she's given up on pumping her fingers in favour of curling them in rapid beats against your g-spot, but you know that you're not even coming yet: you're close, though, judging by the way the room is spinning around you, and the pressure building in the pit of your stomach—"I think I'm close... oh, I don't—fuck—keep touching me like that."

She bites your neck until you say her name. You pull her hair until she moans. Her touch is blistering against your skin. She says your name in a breathy drawl like she's pleading with you, humouring you, wanting to take everything from you.

"Keep going, please, please don't stop," you all but shout, and Tashi continues the massaging movement right up on your g-spot: the positioning of her hand means the heel of her palm is dragging over your clit, and your hips are frantically grinding up into her hand—you're gonna come, the world feels like it's crashing down around you.

Every muscle in your body tenses up and through it all you hear Tashi whispering, come on, that's it, I've got you, come on, come on, and then you're coming—

Distantly, you can feel her fingers continue their movements inside of you, unrelenting—and the other hand keeps a firm grip on your hips, grounding you onto her lap—but other than that, all you know is the pleasure slamming into each nerve in your body, one by one and then all at once. A hot sting against your skin that reminds you of the sun whenever you're on the tennis court, deep into the game you've turned into the love of your life.

It can't have possibly been this long since the last time you've gotten laid, right?

Then, suddenly, you're back in reality. Tashi is heaving for breath against your shoulder and her fingers are back to a slow, steady pumping, in and out of your swollen pussy. "You're so pretty, you know that? No tennis talk."

You lean your head back against the mirror, a slow grin forming on your lips, "You don't think I'm pretty when I play."

"I think you're hot when you play."

You peek a glance at Tashi, meeting her eyes as she watches you, watching the way you catch your breath, skin shining against the fluorescent lights of the gym, similar to how you shine on the court. Yeah, you're a sight for sore fucking eyes.

Tashi takes slow, taunting steps back and away from you, and then she brings her fingers to her mouth and sucks, moaning around the digits, and through hazy eyes, you can see the most fucked-out look on her face just at the taste of your cum.

She licks her fingers clean—you feel your pussy clench down again at the sight—before opening her eyes, fixing you with an intense stare, and panting, "I'll be in my room," she rolls up her pink mat (which she never used) and picks up her bag, "I'm sure you know the number. I'm hoping you can return the favour and touch me or something. You know, before you leave in the morning."

tags 🏷️: @begoniaespresso / @sceletaflores / @too-deviant / @wolflover384 / @sevikasblackgf / @supercutszns / @diorrfairy / @24kmar / @apolloscastellan

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[rassicas]

Splatoon 3 artbook is coming! and they gave us hi res sample pages! so i translated them!

I’ve already preordered the book, and since I live in Japan I should be getting it very soon after release. mark my words I’m gonna go crazee translating it i need that Lore

In the meantime, some translations of the sample pages! take a look under the cut:

Page 44, IKIMONO (Living things)

yellow text: Among the living things in the Inkling world, a wide variety of species exist. There are creatures that can take on a humanoid form as well, called "Inklings" and "Octolings", the former being squids, and the latter being octopuses. white text in gray box: The old and the new mix to make the Splatland's youth culture The young people who grew up in Splatsville take pride in being born and raised in the Splatlands, and there is an extremely strong sense of solidarity in the community. They deeply cherish their old local culture, which is unsophisticated and simple, yet strong. At the same time, they like to make fun of urban areas such as Inkopolis for acting like they're "all that". On the other hand, many of them secretly yearn for that sophisticated, high-collar, Inkopolis culture. The current culture of chaos created by the youth with such a flip-flopping mentality is becoming increasingly global.

I’m going to translate these roughly. character select screen outfit, left: lines pointing to reflective goggles, a mask that blocks dust, and the cape. the cape is made from kelp, and is meant to block out sunlight. hero suit outfit, right: the “ultra light earpiece” is so light, it doesn’t even feel like you’re wearing it. The ink display is a digital screen. Boots are meant for rough terrain. Interestingly, agent 3 is holding a weapon called a “Hero Extinguisher.”

the gear on the left is called “hunting equipment”. The earpiece is based on an udon noodle. It’s small, but it has a deep sound (with bass i assume instead of sounding tinny?) Around the neck are cooling pads. The shirt is made from a seaweed fabric. apparently its wrapped around their upper body and kind of hurts to wear. you can see their underwear, but its the kind of underwear that’s supposed to be seen for Fashion. idk what its called but you guys know what im talking about. The ink tank is homemade. in the pouch of the backpack are snacks. to the right are very early concepts.

Page 62, Deep Cut concepts

It’s a lot of handwritten notes with a lot of pointing out what the drawing is, so I’m going to translate roughly.

bottom left is pointing out various things about frye’s head anatomy. small chin, forehead sticks out, thick neck, head curves like this and this etc. middle frye with the bit of green and red makeup is described as having a clown-like feel to it. tiny furthest right drawing is commenting on a specific nose shape concept as “bird-like.�� she almost had the same nose as my main OCs what the

red arrows on the right: long arms, long thighs, squared shoulders are pretty. hand in the middle with black text: something like ‘if she has hands with ornamentation like this it makes her hands seem long’ bottom left: the little doodle of the face reads that her ‘mouth is kind of like this.’ the other text talks about how her eyebrows move asymmetrically, as having that kind of variety in the movement is key.

left: she’s saying something about sharks? apparently she was going to be associated with sharks with shiver being associated with eels instead. right: various sound effects. “looking around absentmindedly” “rocking back and forth” “dozing off.” on the bottom it shows her suddenly stiffening to attention.

left: in her left hand, it’s a sensu (japanese folding fan). in her right, its a harisen (the kind of folding fan used to smack people in slapstick routines) gonna be real here the text on the right is too cursivey i cant read it

shiver mask designs. neat stuff.

early design concept.

Page 198, Scorch Gorge

not a lot of text on this page, mostly images, have a look yourself. top right passage: A majestic canyon where the history of the Inkling world can be seen in the strata and rock formations. Many enjoy rock climbing here. There's a spawn point that was once used for ink battles that no-one has bothered to remove.

[gothgleek]

Oldergf!Rhaenyra Targaryen ~ NSFW Alphabet

You are CEO Rhaenyra Targaryen’s controversially younger girlfriend who is eager to learn everything she knows…

TW: sexual acts including mentions of hardcore BDSM.

Minors DNI

Divider by @saradika-graphics

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

If she doms, she’s drawing a bath and taking care of you. If she subs, she’s super bratty and demanding about how you care for her afterwards. Then she will kiss you on the forehead and thank you. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Rhaenerya is pretty pleased to have tits after wishing for bigger ones but she is most pleased about her ass. She works out a lot and it’s her favorite outcome of exercise. 

On you, she really likes your arms and fingers. She will always praise you for your talented fingers and bite your arms when she cums. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Rhaenyra has a sensitive clit so you can fuck her for hours without letting her cum once. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

She’s into blood play and monster dildos. but her biggest secret is that she has been late picking up her kids once or twice because of a hookup. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Extremely experienced. After college, she would go to sex clubs and during her time abroad, she had a lover at every port. And she is more than happy to teach you what she’s learned. 

Once, Rhaenyra invited some of her old lovers to bed (this could be Laena, Harwin, Alicent, Erryck, Arryck, or Mysaria depending on your preference) and it left the both of you sore for days… 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

She likes doggy style because she thinks it gives her the most control over your body. When you’re on top, she likes when she can see your eyes. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

She can be serious but she also laughs when she gets hurt (spankings, face slaps, etc.) so has to remind herself to be serious a lot so she subs. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Rhae has a big ol’ bush and refuses to shave anywhere else (unless she’s getting her eyebrows done.) 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Rhaenyra is a big romantic so she’ll organize something romantic like a trail of rose petals to her home theater with the bar stocked with your favorite snacks or a take you on a ride in her private plane. Then she’ll be super gentle, kissing down your body and praising every part of you from your soul to the color of your eyes. 

This is only for special occasions though, Rhaenyra was given a lot of responsibility when she was young so she views sex as a time to have fun. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Idk if this counts as masturbation but Rhaenyra gifted you a remote so you can control her vibrator when she’s out of town. She’ll film it and send it to you when you’re in a meeting. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Rhaenyra will try anything at least twice so she’s eager to teach you anything your little heart desires. Exhibition, breeding, and bdsm are her favorites though. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Rhaenyra is a card carrying member of the mile high club so she will take you for a ride (ha) in her private jet just so the two of you can fuck. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Her libido sky rocketed after having kids so the answer is a wide variety of things. Licking the spoon while baking? Hot. Arguing on the phone? Hot. Pulling her close to you so she doesn’t run into a lamppost? Hot. Telling her point blank that you’re horny? HOT. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

She won’t do beach sex or medical play. She’s done both and hated it both times. Also she’s not a fan of fucking at hospitals or in her parents’ rooms.  

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

She’s a switch so it depends on what you’re doing that will get her into the mood. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

She likes it fast and rough. If you ask for slow and sensual, she’ll grant it for special occasions but she rarely cums during those moments since her focus is all on you. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Definitely is down for a quickie at all times, especially when it’s the end of a quarter she’s stressed and could use your pretty mouth. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As stated earlier, she’s done pretty much everything under the sun but if there’s something she hasn’t done before, she will try it. As for risk, well, she’ll ride your face while she’s on the phone with an ex lover and pull you into the restroom or empty hallway during a company gala. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Rhaenyra has energy but after she cums, she’s down for a while. She will however, use toys on you while she rests. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

She has a whole treasure chest of toys and often gets freebies because of how much she buys new toys. Her favorites are the ones she can use on you remotely and her monster dildo collection. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Rhaenyra enjoys teasing you while she’s supposed to be working on something important. 

“Not now sweetie, mommy’s on a call.” She says as she increases the vibrations against your clit. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Outside of foreplay, Rhae is actually quiet, preferring to get lost in the sensations of your body against hers. However, she will make a conscious effort to moan or praise you so you don’t think she’s not enjoying herself. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Rhaenyra has worn shibari rope under her clothes during dates. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

She’s got stretch marks on her stomach, thighs, and breasts. She’s thought about lasering them off but you’ve told her you enjoy kissing them so she never will. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Extremely high and she’s unashamed about it. However this means she hates getting edged for long periods of time. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After a nice fast and rough session, she falls asleep immediately. After a slow and romantic time however, she has boundless energy so if you’re tired at that point, she’ll give you a remote so you can play with her. 

[lookismfanfics]

(Y/N) uses her and Gun’s engagement party as a last ditch effort to hook up with Goo

𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨���... 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠

Goo x Reader x Gun

Notes: I did an accidentally changed the request a little. Writing things. Sigh. It’s pitifully short. I kind of hate it.

Warnings: Implied smut? Angst? Fluff ? (Idk lol) UNEDITED.

It was so hot in the penthouse.

Every corner you turned you bumped shoulders with yet another guest. Hands crawled to grip the small of your back; unwelcome hugs came from left and right. More champagne was shoved into your hand. Fingers caressed the hair you had worked on all day. Gun had a wide variety of friends… surprisingly enough.

You’re stumbled towards one of the plush seats, overwhelmed by the attention. That plastic smile on your face could only last so long. Your body practically melded with the chair cushioning. You closed your eyes.

There was still lots of noise. Voices buzzed in your ear like a hornet’s nest. Glass clinked and clattered. The harmony of a European song faintly echoed throughout the room. Footsteps. There were lots of footsteps.

Cologne.

You recognized some cologne. Opening your bleary eyes, you lifted your head. And there he was.

Not your fiancé, though. Gun would be caught dead with a bleach like that. The cologne was too glamorous for him, too. Too much lemon in the scent. Gun wasn’t that handsome, either.

“I thought you weren’t coming…��� you mumbled, staring up at him with round eyes.

“Aw~ you’re not disappointed? Are you?”

You snorted, sitting more upright in your chair and facing Goo fully. The blush you had caked on your cheeks that night didn’t compare to the natural heat you felt burning your face. Your lips curved into a smile.

“No. Does Gun know you’re here-“

Goo rounded the chair and knelt beside you. Those long, slender fingers of his wrapped around your wrist and beckoned it forward. His eyes narrowed and his brows knit together. He made a face you had seen plenty of times- he was scrutinizing.

His lips puckered. “Who chose your engagement ring?”

“My fiancé?” You retorted. You watched the muscle in his jaw twitch, his dark eyes flickering up to meet yours. His fingers traced over your new and shiny ring, brushing over the diamonds and rubbing on the band.

Goo let out a heavy, somewhat obnoxious sigh, “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it, bitch. You’re not the one wearing it,” you countered.

Goo clenched his jaw. The knit in his brow released a little, but he began pouting again. You reached out your right hand and brushed back some of his stray strands of hair. You cusped his ear.

There was still talking in the background. The room still felt hot and crowded. The guest’s laughter was turning from polite to rowdy with the more drinks they had. Despite the large group of people in that big room, you and Goo were practically alone.

Goo broke his eye contact with you. Suddenly the windowsill was super interesting, apparently, because he stared at it long and hard. You saw that pout on his lips melt away; he was just frowning now. His gaze was blank. The usual spark of energy in his movements had extinguished.

“Goo…” you began hesitantly. He leaned into your hand, which had slowly shifted from the side of his head down to his cheek. “Gun told you not to come. Didn’t he?”

“Only because he’s a jealous bastard,” Goo replied. His eyes met yours again, and a smirk twitched on his lips.

You could stare at that mouth of his for ages. His lips always looked so supple and pretty. There was no better way to describe it. His perfect teeth and perfect smile would be the death of you.

“(Y/N), where is your… fiancé? Mm?”

“I don't know. I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t think any of my friends showed up to this engagement party- so I don’t know anyone that’s here either.”

Goo’s hand had let go of your wrist. It rested comfortably on your lap, gently gripping your thigh. Now, you glanced around the room nervously. You tried pushing his hand away, suddenly hyper-aware of how many people could be watching.

Goo wasn’t dumb. He knew what you were doing. He grabbed your hand again, feeling for the engagement ring. There was that bitter look on his face, again. He didn’t know why you said yes. Neither did you.

“Is the guest bedroom off limits to the other guests?” Goo asked in a honeyed voice.

You narrowed your eyes at him. The ring in your finger was slipping off ever so slightly. A look of scorn overtook your face.

“You better know what you’re doing, Kim Jongoo.”

“Believe me, (Y/N)! This’ll make us both feel much better.”

You pushed through the group of guests that crowded all around you. Hands no longer clawed at your dress and hair now that you were walking with a purpose. You felt warmth welling in the pit of your stomach, maybe even a little lower.

You opened the door for Goo to slip in, and promptly locked it behind yourself.

Alone, you turned to face Goo. His hands were shoved in his pockets, a smirk tainted his lips, and he leaned back comfortably. You walked up and yanked him by the tie, pulling him over to the bedside. “You better listen to me, Kim. If I tell you to stop you have to.”

“Your dialogue cringier than the Fifty Shades of Gray script, (N/N)~”

Goo’s zipper buzzed as you pulled it down. His hands abandoned his pockets and occupied the inside of your dress.

Things got very hot in the penthouse after that.

Your head laid on his chest. The hair you had spent hours on was now sweaty and ruined. You slid your leg under one of Goo’s, so that you were squeezing it with both of your thighs. Your skin was still damp. It was a little sticky when the two of you touched. Goo’s hand snaked around your shoulders and entangled in your hair.

“Where did put my ring?” You whispered into his chest.

Goo let out a groan of annoyance. “It’s so ugly…!”

“Goo. I’m serious.”

“Ugh. It’s on the table.”

You let out a sigh of relief. For a few moments there was silence. You could faintly hear the noises of the crowd dying down. No one seemed to notice the missing hostess. You lamented that that was probably the new norm. Goo squeezed you a little tighter to him. He rubbed his thumb against the grooves of your arm. His touch was delicate and careful, which was a bit uncharacteristic. He has been abnormally serious this evening. There usually wasn’t a serious bone in his body.

He planted a kiss against the crown of your head. What followed was an obnoxious sigh.

“That thing is so ugly and boring. I would’ve gotten you a ring with a lot more bling,” Goo mused.

“Wouldn’t that look kind of gaudy?” You asked. You brushed your lips against his skin, feathering a kiss against his collarbone.

Goo let out an offended scoff.

Outside the music had begun to fade. You imagined some of the somber guests were filing away and going home. The frequent clattering of glasses had died down now. You peered up at Goo. You had to refrain from chuckling; he looked funny from your angle.

“You should probably go,” you whispered. “Gun will start looking for me pretty soon.”

Goo grunted. He looked down at you and squinted. “Can’t I just enjoy the moment a little longer?”

“No~ you need to go. I’ll help you find your clothes…”

The door clicked, creaked, and swung open. Your fiancé was scowling.

“Ohh- hey Gun~”

End

I’m back! (Momentarily lol)

Writers block sucks and as you can see- I still have it! :)

[dazeybell]

My own penguin & riddler design things

With Oswald I wanted to lean into his penguin motif more with his clothing i specifically based him off of a Humboldt penguin ^^ if I’m going to draw him again I’ll probably base it off a little penguin next. Sense I wanted him him to have a wide variety of different penguin themed outfits I don’t have really any notes on him because I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted with his design and I achieve it which I’m quite happy about my only note is I think I’ve may have made him look a bit to skinny :( witch bothers me I swear it’s only the chibi style doing him dirty

I’m more mixed on Edwards design I didn’t really have any specific idea going into it. I think he’s cute and I like the design but I think it’s a bit boring idk maybe not It has a lot of little details I like like his Heterochromia because I couldn’t pick between eye colors & his little Question mark Pin maybe I’ll play with the shades of green a bit ? not sure idk I’ll see. fun fact his lapel is a velvet texture ALSO  ignore how repulsive his cane is 😔

+ penguins red eyed alt I like it but everyone I asked said they prefer the blue eye so it’s what I Went with.

[helslastangel]

My experience having 5H in Scorpio

Disclaimer: These are based on personal observations and experiences and may not resonate for everyone with these placements. If it doesn't apply, let it fly 🪽

I have many "normal" interests (makeup, fashion, hair, shopping, music, TV, etc) and I tell new people about those, but my true interests and hobbies always skewed towards dark or slightly morbid matter, so I keep them hidden. The sheer number of times I have to swallow back a Salad Fingers reference or refrain from giving my opinion on Fran Bow's mental condition in normal conversation... istg...Anyhow, due to my upbringing, I was sheltered from knowing exactly how odd I was until I left home at 18. That's when I got to catch up on some of the shows and cartoons that other people grew up on (for many reasons I don't feel like getting into right now, but "home school" and "radical religious parents" should give you a basic idea).

Thankfully I had a few friends who experienced similar childhoods, some of whom I even grew up with so I could talk about my weird stuff and they could tell me about theirs. For example, I've always been a little fascinated by blood. That whole thing with Angelina and her blood vial necklace did not gross me out at all - I found it cute and I'll die on that hill. Things like blood oaths and so on in history just capture my attention for some reason. Honestly, if the substance itself weren't a bio-hazard, I'd make art with it.

I remember talking with a friend about how I couldn't fully get into Avatar, but out of the little I HAD watched, I developed a very SPECIFIC hyper fixation with blood-bending and deep-dived the topic for WEEKS.I did not give a shit about any of the other bending abilities. Not even normal water-bending. 🫠 Just blood-bending. Idk if it's the power and control factor, or if if I'm just due for a wellness check. Who am I kidding-I have Capricorn & Scorpio stelliums. OFC IT'S ABOUT POWER.

History is another example. My favorite subject. Left unattended, I will look up every deformity that came about by royal family inbreeding or watch a fellow history nerd compile a tier list of the most brutal execution methods of all time. Once, for my birthday, my dad bought me a book called "A Left-Handed History Of The World." That was one of the few times I've felt truly seen by either of my parents. That tome was RIGHT up my alley. I'm a lefty myself and it was nice to read about so many famous and infamous people who were left-handed too. Like Jimi Hendrix - one of my favorite musicians.

I also know a wide variety of herbs, oils and flowers to use to cure or relieve many ailments by heart, and enjoy teaching people how to use those, along with basic reflexology to relieve minor symptoms during the day, so ah, there is that. Not sure how I got into herbology and such, but I do remember being horrified when one of my best friends used to regularly eat leaves off the trees on our street. We were like 7. I kept telling him he would die if he did that and he'd eat more lol. Ofc, nothing happened to him and he was never sick that I remember. So ever since then I was fascinated by the idea of using leaves to feel better.

(Yes, I smoke weed now - are you surprised? lol)

I also enjoy doing synastry readings for friends, family, coworkers, etc., when they're feeling lost or confused about a crush/friend/partner. It's always nice to see their faces light up with understanding when I explain a certain dynamic or give them advice on how to clear up recurring miscommunications. Most of what I enjoy is kinda witchy, but it's not all horrifying, lmao. Like children. Can't mention 5H Scorpio without kids coming up, lol. I was obsessed with the idea of children when I was a lot younger. I had names picked out for them, I would imagine their personalities and somehow they were always stubborn and unruly (I think subconsciously, I enjoy a challenge). In my daily life, anyone or anything in my care automatically became my child in a way. I actually wanted 6 kids at one point. Or some large even number. Babysitting was never a chore for me because I genuinely find children sweet and entertaining.

Even the supposedly misbehaved ones. They need love too. ❤️

Speaking of obsessions, I am a highly possessive person, but because I also have Venus in Scorpio + Mars in Cancer, I'm prone to have VERY strong reactions to rejection, betrayal and the like. For me, though, these are usually implosions. Being a Virgo sun, Capricorn moon, I generally refuse to let my inner turmoil get out into the public eye unless I feel like showing it.

So at any given time, I can be SEETHING inside, but look cold and unbothered.

Having 5H Scorpio is also often associated with being extremely creative, and....IT'S TRUE OMG. I love interior design and decorating, and lots of aesthetically pleasing crafts like crochet, origami, embroidery, etc. Sometimes I waste a phenomenal amount of time at work to make a spreadsheet pretty or play with the fonts in a document. I can't help it, I need to make things look beautiful and stand out.

I am easily consumed by whatever I'm into, and I guess that would be a bad thing if there were people relying on me to be emotionally present on a regular basis, but since it's just me, I get to be lost in my passions most of the time like Frankie (from the TV show Grace and Frankie, lol

𓆩♡𓆪

MASTERLIST

[cupcakeshakesnake]

are you serious about believing that cats shouldn't be let outside?

why? like don't get me with that "oh they'll kill animals" well yeah, maybe they will. it's their natural instincts, and allowing them outside promotes a range of natural behaviours. so isn't it cruel to prevent that? and if you believe they shouldn't be allowed to go outside, isn't it cruel to choose to keep them inside instead of just *not having a cat?*

also for that arguement the rspb says " there is no scientific proof that predation by cats in gardens is having any impact on bird populations UK wide." while you may not be from the UK, the UK isn't a place where domestic cats are native either!

I wonder if you are American as so many Americans seem to have this weird opinion - is it very common to believe solely in indoor cats where you live? /gen q. it's very common to have cats that go outdoors here in the UK, and the concept of outdoor cats doesn't exist - if someone mentioned an outdoor cat I'd think of a cat that never went inside, like idk a barn cat. a website I found said 90% of cats in the uk can go outdoors but based on what I'm seeing on your feed and Tumblr it's very different for you?

Yes, I'm serious.

I suppose it's also a natural instinct of coyotes (US), foxes (UK) and hawks to kill cats, so isn't it cruel to prevent that? Cats may have natural instincts but they are not part of nature. They're not part of your local ecosystem, you brought it there. Do you only care about your cat fulfilling its 'natural instincts' and nothing else?

Let's say you have, oh I dunno, the Xenomorph from Alien. Let's say you love it a lot. Are you gonna set it free on the neighborhood because its natural instinct is to kill?

If you believe children shouldn't stick their fingers in the wall socket even if they want to, shouldn't you just not have children?

And yes there is plenty of scientific proof. Cats are not native ANYWHERE. If your cat just stays in a fenced garden or maybe a catio, it's fine, but studies found that cats' kill counts are so high because even 'freeroaming' cats roam less than their wild counterparts (i.e. jungle cats) and thus kill in a more concentrated area. They also kill for fun and not just to eat. Cats have contributed to the extinction of 63 species of birds, mammals, and reptiles in the wild, I'm directly quoting an article here.

Very weird of you to push the American button just because I disagree with you, I am in fact South Korean, and oh believe me outdoor cats are barely a thing here. Cats here are either firmly indoors or stray, save for very rare cases. Most cat owners (and people in general) live in the city and if they let their cats out, a variety of things could happen - such as their cats eating trash and getting sick, being hit by a car, or being killed (or worse, captured and tortured) by ill-meaning people (which has very well happened before).

+ Edit) Let's talk cruelty. What is more cruel, a cat being bored out of its skin, or the cat being flattened by a car, or countless small animals being torn apart and left to die? All of which is preventable with a few extra steps from the cat owner.

In my opinion, having cats (or any other pet) is a lot like raising children. Of course their needs should be paid attention to, but they themselves don't always know the best way to go about fulfilling those needs and it's your responsibility to keep them safe and happy at the same time. You can't let them do whatever they like all the time. AND, you are responsible for what your pets/children do.

[ratlordsarah]

whispers got any fun headcanons on any wordgirl characters… or maybe if you’re really crazy a whole wordgirl oc?… or even a au… fades into the shadows of anonymity

THE WAY I CACKLED AND SCREAMED AHAGAH

I will not miss this opportunity 🫡

Headcannons/theories:

for two brains (there is a lot)

The way Steven’s brain is fused with squeaky’s caused part of his skull to crack off and while part actually popped off during the transformation, it also caused a fracture or two in his skull, so whenever the mouse brain pulsates, it is basically a mix of feeling like your head is going to explode, and the brain slightly pushing his skull, causing the fracture to never properly heal, because it gets slightly opened up again as it pulsates

another thing I’d like to point out is I feel like two brains would occasionally black out and also have a seizure every once in a while due to the electricity during the transformation. This also goes with the fact that he also could get frequent nosebleeds too, if he injured his brain in a certain way.

Also, a hot take of mine is that 2 brains is basically just Steven, but being mostly forced/controlled by squeaky, and of course, his dna is modified too.

another hot take is that it’s only his scalp hair that turned white (maybe a salt and pepper mix everywhere else?idk) because his eyebrows are still brown, and in ballad of Steve mcclean, he is shown to have brown facial hair too, so maybe it was only what touched the helmet in the experiment to turn white, and the rest of the den was sort of scattered everywhere

As a more silly hc of mine, I like to think that squeaky likes to play silly games where he attempts to freak Steven out every once in a while, by causing auditory and visual hallucinations, but Steven later just gets used to it

Also, due to the change in eyes, he’s probably a little color blind, so I like to think that he sees colors the way the color settings were inside the hospital in the house md pilot episode, or maybe just having him see more in a slight grey scale? Idk

The way I like to think squeaky takes control is via brain stem, so it’s basically where the mouse brain still has the brain stem and spinal cord attached to it, and it’s braided and tangled with Steven’s spinal cord, so if Steven and squeaky are fighting for control, it looks like two brains is fighting an invisible person in an arm wrestle or something.

Another hot take is that two brains is still able to remember everything as both Steven and two brains, so have fun with that one as you wish 💀

also, the mouse brain is obviously anatomically incorrect, in both looks and scale, so my theory on how this was achieved was during the transformation, the mouse brain almost blew up due to the electricity, so the brain is basically very inflamed and bloated. As far as the brain wrinkles go, I like to think that squeaky was originally genetically modified before Steven buying him, causing the mouse to basically have the same brain as a human, and squeaky was actively seeking revenge

as far. As cheese goes, I like to think squeaky is really the only one enjoying the cheese, while Steven is purely sick of it, like where after the first month of being two brains, he was just done with cheese, but he’s basically addicted to it due to squeaky. Also, I like to think that two brains can hardly eat anything that’s not cheese, and if he eats something that’s not cheese, he’d have to put so much cheese on that food to the point where you can���t even taste the stuff that isn’t cheese. besides orange juice, because squeaky likes that stuff. In other words, I also think that if he were to put something that’s not pure cheese in his mouth with the intention of eating it, he’d immediately throw up because squeaky doesn’t like rebellion (squeaky read about famous dictators once pre-transformation and decided that’s what he wanted to be)

also, because of only eating cheese, this is why he tries to have as wide of a variety as possible, to at least try and keep it a little interesting.

with that being said, I feel like if the mouse brain were removed, he’d probably puke at the sight of cheese, from how much he had to eat, and due to squeaky, even normal food would probably not be that appetizing either.

Also, in the show, he is built like a noodle, despite how much cheese he eats, so my theory is that he stays like this because the transformation made his metabolism go into overdrive, and usually, fast metabolism causes excess body heat, so if two brains were to take his lab coat off, you can literally use him as a radiator, because he’s gotta get that energy burnt off somehow lmao.

also, mice can’t sweat, so unless unter extreme circumstances, he’s basically just chilling radiating heat like it’s nothing because this genetic trait somewhat transferred during the transformation

Also, throughout the show, he is seen multiple times to worry a lot about how people think about him, (prime example is the episode ballad of Steve mcclean, but also you can see little dribbles of this trait in invasion of the bunny lovers, fill in, wordgirl & bobble boy, and rat trap) and honestly I think this is caused because of the obvious genetic changes that happened, so he obviously gets a lot of stares and weird looks in public, due to his appearance, so imo, he gets that from his appearance.

Due to the cheese consumption this guy does, I feel like he’d definitely have some problems in his digestive tract, as well as a vitamin deficiency for obvious reasons 💀

Also, I like to think that during the transformation, he was a week away from turning 30 (what a great way to start off your thirties XD)

Also, as far as Charlie and meatloaf, I have another hot take that they don’t live in the warehouse, and only two brains lives there. Someone could protest on that because in the new year episode, they are seen to sleep in the warehouse, but I like to think this as more of a thing that they only do every once in a while when two brains is planning a crime that requires them to be there really early. So essentially, they basically work based off of when dr two brains calls them over for the scheme. as Steven

As Steven, I like to think that he had two tuxedo cats. A long haired tux cat named Dennis, and a shorter haired girl tux cat nicknamed mags in public, but is truly named plunger

he was certainly a cat person pre-transformation. Look at him. (You cannot change my mind)

I also like to think that he has a huge cage set up for the lab rats and mice that he had to work with, as he felt really bad for having to use them, so he tried his best to compensate by spending a butt ton on of money on spoiling the rats, and getting a big place for them to stay. (I also am convinced he would name them after the first thing he sees them do, but doomed to the worst way possible, so he named a lab rat piss finger, or Ricky pee pee, and he has a whole long story on how he decided to name the lab rats those names

i like to feel like he was in a science trio with tubing and doohickey, and they were probably great friends

honestly idk how much I agree with the hc I made, but I’d like to feel like doohickey and Steven are probably cousins (blood related or not)

I’ve even pondered ideas like how I feel like Steven is a mix of Irish, Romanian, and maybe a little bit Italian (mother is Irish, and dad is an Italian Romanian mix)

also, I feel like Steven was actually friends with lrw when she was Beatrice, and they’d have some long conversations while he is having his science research copied and stuff

also, I like to think that he and Huggy were good friends,too, and would discuss ways to help wordgirl fight crimes sometimes

I feel like Steven and amazo guy were really good friends and the two would have karaoke night at least once a week, and they’d prolly also chill a lot cracking beers and playing with Steven’s cats and stuff like that.

I feel like he has a phd in engineering, some form of degrees in both biology and chemistry, and a minor in culinary arts

this man can make the best food in the world, but the way he makes it will make Gordon Ramsay cry

has an o

Charlie

The reason Charlie doesn’t talk is either due to nonverbal autism, or a certain condition that causes him to not be able to talk.

either way, Charlie is so silly and honestly I feel like two brains has a soft spot for him(same bro, same)

I like to feel like he is more of a silent observer, like heavy from tf2

amazo guy

Honestly, I like the hc that people think his name should be Adam so much to the point where sometimes I forget it’s not cannon💀

so yeah, his name is Adam

i like to think he also came from lexicon, but on his own accord when he was 21.

he has the same language powers as wordgirl, but just doesn’t make them his main focus.

hes obsessed with pizza and pizza rolls. He would literally rather have a pizza party by the city than 1million dollars.

he was actually fighting alongside wordgirl, and teaching her how to deal with villains until about a month before Steven turning into two brains

he ended up leaving to go and help another city , because she thought wordgirl was ready to fight the villains herself.

i like to think that he was an extreme back street boys and David Bowie fan, and whenever there was a ceremony for him, star man would certainly be playing

he secretly loves the song baby one more time by Britney Spears, but will tell no one

he is more of a dog person, and words cannot describe how badly he wants a golden retriever or German shepherd

wordgirl

She made it to earth with huggy when she was about 9 months old

the reason why lexiconians are so good with reading is that lexiconians use their powers to travel to neighboring planets and galaxies to help others in need, and they achieve this by being able to hyper-adapt to any different language, like to where the average lexiconian can learn Russian fluently in just a week

hot take but lexionite it’s doesn’t come from lexicon, but an enemy planet trying to make a weakness (I say this because it doesn’t make sense to have something from her home planet be her weakness, so it’s basically a hc of mine to not go bonkers over that lmao)

wordgirl is fluent in many other languages, like French, polish, Spanish, and mandarin

Due to her high iq, she still has the energy of a kid her age, although the mental age of a 30 year old, which is why she is so good at talking with other adults

Near perfect memory (why she can remember how she got to earth

early 10 year old at the time the show starts, and either young 12 year old, or almost 12 towards the end of the show

[applesauce42069]

Genuinely talk about cultural christianity, while I 100% acknowledge that I'm one there are still different forms of it like for example I was raised as a catholic in Latin America so lots of our traditions are very different from other cristians because they were mixed with the native population traditions and I do like those traditions because they are part of our cultural identity. I acknowledge the colonial source of them and I now all the christian denominations are build in antisemitism but those traditions are rooted so deep into me I don't think I will ever not be a cultural catholic.

Hello. My girlfriend was raised Catholic in Brazil, and her family is Catholic. I've learned how much Catholicism has influenced Brazilian culture and learned a lot about the traditions and I think it's so cool!

There is absolutely nothing wrong with being culturally Christian. It is completely neutral. and Christianity has definitely had a massive impact on a wide variety of beautiful and interesting cultures.

Christianity is built on supersessionism and that sucks! At the same time, that doesn't mean that every Christian is bad or that Christianity needs to be destroyed. What would be nice if:

more people recognized that Cultural Christianity is a thing

many people deny this, especially in North America, because Christianity and its traditions are SO "neutral" to people. then, when we try to describe our experiences in the society we live in, to describe our oppression, they shut us down because in their mind: if they don't go to church, they have nothing to do with christianity. but the reality is that religion is so deeply ingrained in our cultures.

2. more christians recognized that supersessionism is a problem and learned to recognize Jews as worth of respect, not for any reason but that we're human and we deserve to be respected and considered in our own right

it would also be nice if more christians recognized that some of their texts are literally just appropriated. but i feel like that creates a deeper theological problem, idk.

my point is: cultural christianity isn't bad. it just is. but people have to decide how they are going to approach this dimension of privilege that most don't even recognize yet.

[strwberri-milk]

tattoo artist kaeya having a thing for u, his regular client rosaria's cute little roommate, who is the exact opposite of her. he feels bad for fantasied a lot to the thoughts of u but he can't help himself bc he likes u so much

God I love tattoo kaeya so much actually I'm grrrr im also. i love jerking off idk how to explain it so there is smut in addition to kaeya being. god he likes you so much also reader is g/n

When Rosaria introduced him to a new client he didn't think much of it. He's tattooed a good amount of her friends and being someone who didn't shy away from any challenge meant he got a wide variety of customers wanting his ink on their skin.

As soon as you came through those doors he found himself much more distracted than usual, asking you a lot more casual questions as his intake session felt more like a friend, rather than a consult.

You didn't seem to mind, laughing and smiling as he talks to you and he's a little obsessed with it. He finds himself subconsciously flexing for you, trying to show off his sleeve or peeks of his back or chest pieces somehow. He doesn't miss the way your eyes wander just the slightest bit, thinking you've taken the bait until you make a very normal comment about how his tattoo looks so pretty and that he must have dedicated a lot of time to it.

He did, but he wants to start devoting that energy to you even though he barely knows you.

He works hard to try and design the perfect tattoo for you. To him, your body is so perfect he's so honored to paint it. He wants to bring out more of its beauty, obsessed with how shy and innocent you seemed standing next to Rosaria.

You were barely able to talk to him alone, needing her to stand with you as he talked to you. You seemed to be able to hold your own but the second she turned to do something on her phone you got even quieter, holding back until she came back.

He wants to have you all to himself, hoping that the next time he sees you Rosaria will be too busy to come with you. Maybe he'll ask you out, invite you for coffee or dinner on his dime and spoil you the way you should be.

Kaeya's mind wanders as he sketches, the lamplight bathing the lines of his pen as they twist and turn into something much lewder than he realised. The second he sees the figure on his book he slams it shut, not new to lewd tattoos but it draws attention to his cock straining at his sweats. He hadn't even noticed it until now, leaning back in his chair as he pulls the waist of his pants down to reveal his throbbing need.

He's glad he's in the privacy of his own home, biting his lip as he tries to ignore how badly he wants you. He shouldn't be doing this to you, not someone who was so sweet and kind. He should try to take you out first, put himself out there in front of you and see if you'll accept him.

Instead, he's sitting at his desk biting back barely concealed moans as his hand runs up and down his shaft. He can remember the way your warmth felt against him - you tripped when he took you over to view his portfolio - and the weight of your body as he steadied you.

God, he's so fucking desperate for you, not even needing to use his spit to lube up his cock. The head of his dick was practically spurting already, milky white leaking constantly out of his slit as his thumb teases it. Each swipe over it makes his hand jerk, imagining that it was your tongue stuttering from the feeling of him eating you out as you try to fit his girth down your throat.

"Fuck," he sighs, eyes closing as his hips begin to thrust into his hand.

"You're doing so good."

Despite you not being there, his overactive imagination was doing more than enough, grip tightening at the thought of you sinking down until you manage to meet his hips. He's got you on top of him, the way his balls rest against your ass making him gasp against your throat. His hands slip under your thighs and ass, bouncing you up and down at the speed he needs you.

"Kaeya!" you moan breathlessly into his ear, begging him to slow down while your body tries to keep up with his ruthless pace.

It feels even better to have you pinned underneath him, hands clasped with your own as you whimper. He's fucking into you so hard that your hips are brought up with each upstroke. The way your legs wrap around his waist make it almost impossible for him to pull out, your hole clenching over him tighter and tighter as you cum for him for the nth time.

His mind barely registers that it's the plush of his pillow he's roughly grinding into, the softness on his balls and sensitive tip making him whimper almost pathetically. He's worked himself up over and over, ignoring the mess of cum he's made on his sheets.

He hopes you'll say yes when he asks you out. His pillow won't survive too many other sessions like this.

[chaos0pikachu]

Man, I hope the emoji guy in the posters of the sitcom Bible is gonna play in IS Jes, because I think Bible is gonna be a cringe fail nerd who tries to be cool: one poster has him a pilot* costume, the other him in glasses with a handheld game console looking excited... with his zipper undone, and I need them to play another cringefail couple, 4 Minutes can NOT be the end of them together.

* As someone who works in an airport and so encounters pilots frequently, they are pretty ordinary and kinda boring. Cabin CREWS on the other hand... I never encountered a flight attendant I didn't wanna kiss, tbh

I've heard - but this isn't confirmed just like something I read on twitter so huge grain of salt - that BOC hadn't officially cast anyone for that sitcom role so the guy was just a stand-in.

I COULD speculate that the guy is/was Jes b/c this was - I think? - before he was officially announced as part of BOC/cast in 4Mins.

But don't quote me on that I'd have to check the dates lol

Idk if I'll watch b/c honestly comedy isn't my thing but I do love that BOC continues to try a wide variety of series, so I love the idea of a sitcom/comedy show for the studio (especially with their new actresses KT is so crush worthy man have y'all seen her kickboxing videos? whew) plus it'll be cool to see Bible further stretch his acting muscles. Comedy will be totally new for him which makes me really excited for him as an actor.

I would love to see Jes and Bible work together again, I know they were asked about it in an interview if they could do another series together what they'd like to do:

In the same interview they elaborate; Bible said he think Jes would play a great villainous char so he'd want to see that, while Jes said something with race cars b/c Bible loves F1.

Idk if Jes is ~officially~ apart of BOC on his Insta he does have BOC listed as his work contact so there's that. But I know he's still working with One31.

Personally I like the idea of the BOC actors doing both but I also dislike studio systems along with this idea that BL series are "lesser than" lakorns (this attitude is prevalent in western fandom too stop it please).

Either way I'd love to see them in a new series together, they're both strong actors and acting against Jes made Bible better.

My dream series from BOC would be a fantasy series, since they're the only Thai studio I could see investing money in such a project - Idol Factory came close with The Sign and I adore The Sign but it was half fantasy still great tho!

That or an assassins show cause I can already tell The Heart Killers is more squeecore/romcom than true blue assassins/hired killers and I have no interest in that.

Also for folks who may have missed it/need a reminder here's the announcement about said sitcom:

sidenote as someone who travels a lot for work that tidbit about pilots/flight crew is AMAZING thank you for that

[waddleonmywaywardducks]

Broke witch tips

So, if you've been practicing for a while, you may already know how expensive it is to be a witch. With spirituality on the rise, america has obviously found a way to make connecting with yourself and the world around you expensive, with metaphysical shops overpricing herbs, crystals, and even candles for deities, it's really becoming harder and harder to find things that won't break your bank but also provide for your craft as well. So I've decided to make a post about how to avoid spending all this money on watered down capitalistic spirituality. Let's began

Connecting with your surroundings...

Whether you live in a bustling city, a quiet beach side town, or maybe you might be surrounded with country hicks (aka, southern Texas lol), there will always be a way to connect with your world. I understand that it might be harder to connect with your surroundings if you live in city filled with concrete instead of lushious green fields. So here are some ways I've connected with my surroundings while living in the city.

- find near by forests, whether it's a national park or just a regular forest, this will allow you to not only connect with your local plants and nature spirits. Finding a forest near you will also allow you to gather resources for your craft as well (more on this later).

- connect with your community, this could be your neighborhood, gsa clubs, really any school clubs, going to community events. Just find any way to connect with the people in your area. The community Ive made in my small town allows me grow stronger with my surroundings. We go on walks, to shops, thrift stores. I recommend this because getting out in the world and walking next to people you can relate to will make you feel more at home.

- go on walks/drive around. This might be far fetched but I connect more with my surroundings when I'm looking around for places to go. I get to see how my surroundings react to the world around me and I start to become more familiar with the wildlife and plant life of my town.

I honestly didn't live in the city for long. Once I moved out of my mother's house I immediately went back to rural towns. I've just always felt more at home here. So I'm sorry if this doesn't really help

Why I avoid metaphysical shops...

I love a good witchcraft store don't get me wrong, but a lot of the stores in my area are just wayyyyy to new age wiccan and are riddled with appropriation, so I just tend to avoid it. And alot of the time the people who work there aren't even practicing practitioners, which is ok, people need money, but it's just weird for me to see idk idk maybe I'm weird. Here are some ways I avoided spending tons of money and metaphysical stores.

- walmart, walmart doesn't actually sell any witchcraft stuff, but it can be used for witchcraft, such as herbs, Walmart has so many kitchen herbs for like super cheap, I literally get all my herbs from Walmart. I also get my candles and incense from Walmart too. They sell a wide variety of candles I love it so much

- family dollar, like walmart, they sell herbs for super cheap (its not a large variety like Walmart) BUT!!! they have a wider variety of actual good incense, I mean yeah it's supposed to be used to cover up the smell of weed (blunt effect incense), but they smell so nice and have alot of smells (lavander, dragons blood, frankincense), they also sell huge candles of all different colors, which can be used for all sorts of things. They offer room decor for cheap as well, and their room decor is really cute too. I useally use it to decorate my altars. I love family dollar

- POPSHELF!! i don't know if popshelf is just a Texas thing but they are so so so cheap. They sell beautifully made candles for super cheap, they sell really cute room decor that follow the seasons. Right now, since it's summer, everything is ocean themed and I love it so much, so much inspiration for Aphrodites altar lol although i do not recommend buying their incense, its really bad quality.

But if you don't have access to any of those....find your local forest and research invasive herbs, then create relationships and correspondences for them. I RECOMMEND DOING THIS SOOO MUCH!!! The more you become knowledgeable on your environment the more you will connect. I started creating my own correspondences with herbs that are local to me around three years ago, and since then I don't think I normally go out to buy herbs unless I absolutely have to. I use everything I find in the forest, whether it's sticks I make into a pentagram, or some ferns wrapped around a stick to make a broom, I will always try to find a way to go out and forage before I spend money on things I will evidently need again.

Creating your own relationships and correspondence with herbs in your area

Literally practitioners have been crating their own correspondences for herbs for centuries, it's how we got the correspondences we have now. But why stop this?? I recommend buying books on medicinal herbs. I have only ever bought one book on magical herbs and I don't even use it as much as I do my medicinal herbal book. Like if we take the magical properties of herbs and look at the medicinal properties of herbs they are basically the same thing (little tip for closeted witches, just say you are interested in herbal remedies), like the medicinal properties of lavander are relaxer, used to go to sleep faster and then the magical properties of lavander are dream work, anti anxiety. They are literally the same thing. Just buy the book you'll thank me later. The more you research local herbs in your area the more you will develop a relationship with them.

Some Tumblr posts I recommend looking at

Broke witch tips

Witchy stuff to add to your room

In the end....

Don't let people tell you "you need expensive items for witchcraft because it'll make you stronger" because that's not true, I hate that ideology. Use what ever is available to you, get crafty, explore, connect. Ok bye.