#idk where the rest came from

[myokk]

soft🥹

[barawrah]

paintover a scribble from last year but every time i open the file it gets worse

whydid he look so so awkward.....

[rozugold]

🐣 for c!ranboo

Baby Boo!!

[harvestmoth]

okay last one. au where nothing goes wrong at all ever (a lie) and melia venam gay moment

[boyheros]

???????? full img under the cut please look at it it's so funny please please

[player1064]

Love your drabbles! I cannot stop reading and sharing them. I have another prompt if you are still taking them! It would be interesting to see Gaz defend his Jamie when he is invited as a special guest to that CBS show Jamie is on. Would love to see protective Gary against Kate Abdo with Big Meeks laughing in the background and Titi being torn between helping Kate or (rightfully) knowing when a battle is lost. Maybe a dib at Kate how being a host is easy money compared to being actual pundits & analysts

kinda obsessed w this prompt being sent like a day before Jamie ran his big mouth on live tv and got in trouble for it (though tbh he's ALWAYS running his big mouth and what he said abt kate not being loyal wasn't even up there with worst mistakes imo it's just the one that happened to go viral). but also YES I am obseeeeessed with the UCL Today gang's dynamic the banter.... the thinly veiled dislike between Jamie and Kate.... chefs kiss

Also, this ficlet can be considered part of the wife-gary saga and having said that I'm wondering if I should have that as a tag so the other prompt fills in that universe are easier to find......

---

“Joining us in the studio today is one of the most decorated British footballers of all time, with over a hundred appearances in the Champions’ league and two titles to show for it, it’s Gary Neville. Gary, welcome to the show.”

Gary, who’d been grimacing awkwardly through Kate’s introduction, shakes his head around a bit and then gives her a smile. “Glad to be here, I –”

“—hold on, hold on,” Jamie interrupts, “can we go back to the ‘two titles’ thing for a second?”

“Yes, James, I have two Champions’ league medals,” Gary says, turning to look at Jamie with one unimpressed eyebrow raised. “As many as everyone else in this studio combined, I believe. What’s not clickin’, can you not count that high?”

To Jamie’s left, Micah doubles over with laughter, but Jamie just shakes his head, reaching a hand out to Gary’s chest, pushing him back in his seat. “No, no, Gary, why don’t you tell our audience how many games you played to earn that second medal, eh?”

Before Gary has a chance to defend himself, Kate primly says “about thirty more across his career than you did, Jamie,” which sets the whole table off laughing again while Jamie sits glaring in the middle of it all.

*

Jamie, as the lone Scouser in the cast and the only one not to have won a Premier league (besides Kate, obviously, but she doesn’t count), often feels ganged up on at CBS. And to have Gary on as a guest, even though he’d agreed to the idea (and quite enthusiastically, though don’t tell Gary that), feels like an extra kick in the shin.

Because not only is Gary, Mister Manchester United, getting obvious favouritism from lifelong United supporter Kate, he has the more crucial advantage that nobody in America knows who he is.

This means that Gary on CBS is not ‘below-average defender who only achieved what he did through obsessive hard work and sucking up to Fergie’, no, Gary on CBS is ‘best full-back of his generation, Manchester United and England legend, one of the top 10 most decorated British footballers of all time, and David fucking Beckham’s best mate.’

When you look at it like that, it’s a lot harder to find something to tease him about.

Jamie still manages, of course, he’s spent the past decade making a career out of insulting Gary Neville and he’s damn good at it. Over the course of the show he’s able to get in a few digs about his nose, his hair, his weight, his dress sense. But that’s all appearance stuff, which is easy – one look at Gary and the jokes basically write themselves.

What that says about Jamie, the idiot who went and married him, he’s not sure.

Everyone around the table is joking about Istanbul, which is easy enough to do if you weren’t there, which none of them were, and it’s enough to get Jamie’s blood boiling. He’s getting ready to launch into a rant about how it was one of the greatest games in footballing history when Kate cracks a line about how Jamie’s successes were all dumb luck, and Gary’s face scrunches up in displeasure.

“Oh, I’m – I’m not sure that’s fair, really,” he says quietly, glancing back at Jamie as he does. “Don’t get me wrong, that Liverpool team were nowhere near Champions’ league winner quality, I’m sure James would agree w’me on that –” Jamie, very reluctantly, nods. “—I mean, they finished fifth in the league that season, got knocked out of the FA cup their first game. There’s always a bit of luck to be fair, gettin’ to a Champions’ league final, but credit where it’s due – they were a scrappy little team, and that win was well deserved.”

On Gary’s right, Thierry nods in agreement, which is quite possibly the highest praise Jamie’s ever received from the man, and even Kate gives Jamie an awkward little smile once Gary’s done talking.

Under the desk, Jamie drops a hand to Gary’s knee and gives it an appreciative little squeeze.

*

As soon as the cameras are all off Jamie wastes no time in grabbing Gary by the wrist to pull him onto his lap, where he sort of half-perches half-hovers because he’s nervous about putting all his weight on Jamie’s knees (even though Jamie keeps telling him it’s fine).

Gary makes no complaints at being manhandled, just smiles fondly down at Jamie and pinches his cheek. “Look at you, you vain fuck. What I said were barely complimentary and it’s still got you all over me.”

Jamie ignores this (because they both know it’s true) and surges forward to kiss Gary instead, paying no mind to the others still in the vicinity of the desk while they get their earpieces and microphones unhooked. He hears a groan from Micah, and an exasperated sigh from Titi, but they can both go fuck themselves because Jamie’s horrible bastard of a husband willingly said something nice about Liverpool on live television, and if that’s not cause for celebration then he doesn’t know what is.

When Gary breaks the kiss with a pleased little hmph and gets up to wander over to the snack table, Jamie is left to face his colleagues, all three of them looking at him with faces twisted in an attempt to suppress their laughter.

“Man like Jamie,” Micah says gleefully, clapping his hands together. “I knew you was bringin’ the missus on for a reason, this is like foreplay for the two a’yous, innit?” As soon as he finishes the sentence, he shudders at his own words, then adds “oh, ew, that’s like thinking about your parents, don’t want to know any more.”

“I think you’re onto something there, Meeks,” Kate laughs, “and here I was thinking he’d brought him on to show off his trophy wife.”

Jamie wants to protest that he did not bring Gary onto the show, he’s not the one who made the suggestion and it’s definitely not showing off or foreplay or whatever else his colleagues can come up with, but then Kate’s nudging him in the side with a smirk and saying “Trophy wife, Jamie, get it? Because he has a lot more trophies than –”

Jamie stomps off to go find his stupid annoying and very very successful trophy wife before Kate is able to finish the thought and prompt him to say something he might regret.

[dullahandyke]

and like sidenote if i can make a post with a target audience of zero. i feel like fhsy was to d20 what aa3 was to ace attorney but aa3 pulled it off better for reasons i cannot explain

[saturdaynightghostclub]

hey toady i love ur brainnn can i maybe ask for a lil donnie angst perhaps something to do w him being on the road 🫣 you’re an incredible writer btw :)

Drivin’ on 9

Come back, just fucking come back.

You couldn’t just get a job as a Sears photographer, could you?

They need you, fuck, I need you, just pleasefuckingcomehome.

You’re trying hard to curb the bitterness of your inner monologue. It’s not Donnie’s fault he’s all over the country, and usually it’s alright. You miss him, sure, but you know he loves you, know each night that he’s wishing just as hard as you are that he was back in Chicago with you. Usually. But usually his mother and oldest sister aren’t perched anxiously on your couch, backs pin-straight, trying to pretend it’s okay that you were the only one home when they arrived.

“I’m sorry,” you say, addressing Mrs. MacClain, “really, he should be home any minute. Usually he calls me from the airport to let me know he’s on his way, I can’t imagine what’s keeping him.” You’ve already offered tea, wine, whatever the hell’s in your pantry, but the MacClain women are here on business. That one-track mind must be a genetic thing.

Mrs. MacClain (you really can’t get the hang of calling her Lisa) reaches across the coffee table and squeezes your hand. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” she says, smiling through the strain in her voice, “I’m sorry I’m not better company, I’m a bit preoccupied.” She doesn’t want to say whatever it is she’s come to say until her son arrives. You understand. If it’s anything like what you’re suspecting, it would be tough news to break twice. Carrie swallows hard beside her mother. She hasn’t said a word all night. For all that Donnie’s family loves you, there are certain things they need to deal with among themselves; you imagine that’s why Jack and the girls aren’t present. As for Eliza and Mr. MacClain, you’ve got no idea. Your throat itches with unasked questions and your fingers twitch uselessly in your lap, wanting to do something, anything, to help.

The minutes tick by achingly, and you remind yourself that you can’t actually be upset with your boyfriend. It’s something you used to have to tell yourself repeatedly in the early days of your relationship: it’s his job, it’s not about you, you’re not angry, you just miss him. It took a lot of reassuring back then, a frankly embarrassing amount, to have you fully convinced that this long-distance thing wasn’t going to break you. Eventually you started to recognize his attention for what it was: love. It took you a while to get there–to accept it, I mean. A man can tell you he loves you until he’s blue in the face, and you can believe him, but how do you know for sure? How do you know, until you really, really know?

For you, the “I know” came at possibly the most inopportune moment it could have. It was the height of that first baseball season after you moved in together, and things were good. You had your work, and he had his; he’d fuck off to Cleveland, or Detroit, or Milwaukee, or whatever city on Earth the Cubs were losing to that week, and when he came home he’d hold you just tightly enough to make it all okay again, rinse and repeat week after week. You knew it was hard; you always assumed it was harder for you than it was for him. This was his life, and sometimes you didn’t fit, but it was alright. He loved you enough to make space for you. You never considered that he would be struggling just as much as you were (something you feel guilty for to this day). So it came as something of a shock when you arrived home from a rare trip to the office to find Donnie slumped over the kitchen table with his head in his hands and a half-drained beer growing warm and flat before him.

“What the fuck are we doing?” He’d asked without raising his head. He’d sounded so miserable. It caught you off-guard, having known him as a man of two temperaments: optimistic and optimistic-but-kind-of-tired. You’d tried to play dumb, asking what he meant, but he had you. “Baby,” he groaned, lifting his head with Herculean effort, “don’t pretend, okay? We both know this sucks, and we’re both acting like it doesn’t,” and then, heartbreakingly soft, “do you need me like I need you?”

Do you need me like I need you?

You did. Obviously. You do.

That was the first time you’d ever seen Donnie cry. Exhausted and heat-weary and worn to the end of his rope, he’d collapsed on the table, planning ostensibly to stay there. That was when you really, really knew. You knew that you were in this for the long-haul, for the good and the bad, and that you would do anything in your power, as long as you lived, to keep him off that goddamn table and in your life. And when you had coaxed him into a sitting position, when you were sure he was going to be okay, you said the thing you needed to say, even though you knew it would break him cleanly in two: “Fuck. You love me.”

“I–yeah,” he stammered, his face flickering indescribably between confusion and hurt, “I love you, I–you know that, don’t you? Oh god, don’t you know that?” He was terrified, you could see it plainly on his face. Had he not done enough, not tried as hard as he should have? Should he have done things differently, should he have been different?

And what on Earth were you supposed to say to that? I knew you wanted me, but I never realized you needed me. I knew you loved me, just not as much as you loved your job. Not as much as I love you. I knew, but I had no idea. So what you said instead was “I guess I didn’t realize…that we were on the same page about this.”

At that, Donnie had pulled you roughly onto his lap, each breath shaking like it might be his last, and held you fast, swallowing sobs to promise you over and over that things were going to change, that he was sorry, that he loved you desperately and frighteningly and truly.

To his credit, things did change. That was both the worst night of your entire relationship and the one that you absolutely couldn’t imagine your life without; what the hell would have happened to the two of you if it hadn’t been for that night? Your resolution was to stop pretending everything was fine and that it didn’t absolutely blow to be apart more often than not. An absolute, no-holds-barred, total bitchfest whenever the situation called for it, plus tagging along on the occasional trip whenever work could spare you. You kick yourself, wishing you could have seen this one coming.

The sound of Donnie’s key in the lock makes you jump. You clamber to your feet to meet him at the door, noting gravely that Lisa and Carrie make no move to join you.

“Hello, my love,” Donnie grins, moving to kiss you before he sees the look on your face. His hands go to your shoulders, slide down your arms, circle your wrists–you wonder if he’s even aware that he seems to be checking you for injuries. He looks you over, eyes landing hard on your own. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t know what else to say but “Your mom and Carrie are here.”

Donnie pulls you into a brief hug, squeezing you once before he passes you to sit in the chair you yourself occupied only seconds before. He looks at you from his seat, a silent plea to stay, but you shake your head. This is family business. You busy yourself for a moment with leftover breakfast plates, letting them crash against each other in the sink to drown out Mrs. MacClain’s hushed voice. Eventually, you drift off to the bedroom and sit on your bed fully clothed, wondering what proper etiquette would suggest you do.

It takes about an hour. The front door opens, then shuts, then Donnie enters your room. His eyes are red-rimmed and hopelessly lost.

“I, um…” he starts, shrugging around a deep, shuddering breath, “I was in Philly.”

“I know,” you say gently, moving to stand before him. He tugs you closer by the waist, eyes sailing over the top of your head before coming to rest on your face.

“No, I mean. I mean I was in Philly when he,” deep breath, “my dad had a heart attack.”

Alright, you need to play this one right. You nod slowly, gently. “And?”

“He’s gonna be okay,” Donnie murmurs vacantly, like that’s not even the important part, “but I was in Philly when it happened.”

You think you see what’s going on. “You being in Philadelphia has nothing to do with your dad’s heart attack,” you say, “these things are completely random, I mean–no, they’re not, but they almost are.” You’re rambling now. You’ve never been very good at comforting people when they’re upset. “What I mean is that there’s nothing you could have done differently that would have changed anything.”

“Okay, but that’s not true, is it?” Donnie asks. His words are the start of an argument, but his tone is one of complete despair. He runs a hand up and down your back in apology. “I’m sorry. If I were home, I could have been here when he–when he went in. I could have been there when he woke up. And what if he never woke up? He could have–,” he chokes, leaving the rest of his words unsaid. He could have died, and I would have been in Philadelphia.

There’s nothing you can say right now that will calm him down, so instead you wrap your arms around his neck and press your body against his, letting him hold you as tightly as he needs to. “I’ll drive,” you say, pulling carefully away, “it’ll be good for him to see you.”

You don’t need to elaborate, Donnie knows what you mean. Knows what you’re doing for him. He nods. Then he kisses you. When he pulls back, your skin is cold where his tears have touched it.

Maybe you’ll have to talk him out of quitting his job tomorrow. Maybe you’ll have to make a casserole and bring it to his mother. Maybe all you’ll be able to do is love him. In any case, there’s one thing you know: there will be no compromise. He’ll keep the job, he’ll keep his girl, and he’ll keep his family–there’s no other way for him to be.

[reanimatedgh0ul]

listen ik lance would NOT be the type of guy™ to watch a disney movie but ik for a fact that if someone showed him treasure planet (2002) he would relate to jim hawkins sm that he would basically turn into this lol

[anon-unofficial]

hey so. um. i was told that lmk didn't have any pain. and. haha. haha. haHa...what the f

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt Sif Odile duo looping au again and I wanna be able to plot everything out more coherently but act 5 eternally looms overhead and boy I do not wanna look up

[20001541]

with the ninth popularity poll results coming up soon I'm curious as to what place afo will get this time. I'm under no delusion that he'll get a super high place, but I wonder if he'll go up by one or two places considering everything that happened with him (I think the voting ended after chapter 409 I believe)

the previous popularity poll rankings for afo:

second popularity poll: 49th place (8 votes) -announced in chapter 52

fifth popularity poll: 40th place (60 votes)- announced in chapter 235

sixth popularity poll: 49th place (43 votes) - announced in chapter 279

eighth popularity poll: 39th place (109 votes) - announced in chapter 359

220 votes in total

[playertwotails]

So was finally able to watch Sonic prime today and I have so many words after the first watch.

Gonna put it all under the cut so spoilers for Sonic Prime below.

So I love Nine so much. He is gonna be probably one of the best characters in this show, in my opinion.

Just he's been through so much with no one caring about him at all. I like that he's just a very selfish character but in an understandable way. Why would he stay and help these people he's never met, no one ever bothered to ever help him so why would/should he help them. So yeah of course he's not gonna care to help the resistance they never did anything for him.

He only cares about Sonic who is the first person in his entire life to ever be kind to him. Nine has an immediate attachment to Sonic, despite him saying otherwise that they aren't friends, but actions speak louder than words there buddy-o. Like you literally wanted to start a new world with just the two of you my guy.

I see people thinking that Nine thinks Sonic abandoned him there at the end, and I think he does a little bit but not 100%. In that he's not gonna just betray Sonic since Sonic didn't save him. Nine is smart he knows Sonic keeps randomly traversing the Shatterverse thing area and has the same energy signal. Once Sonic is able to explain "oh I was going towards you but then got booted into the in-between" Nine will probable be like "oh that tracks based on my calculations" (in my mind I want it to go like this at least, plus I hate plots with the "oh you left me so I will betray you" when literally it was out of the other persons control to leave them, idk I just really am not a fan of that kind of plot line).

Also Nine still made sure that he gave the Eggman quintuplets a reason not to kill Sonic. I think once Nine realizes they can't find Sonic in that reality he'll put two and two together of what happened.

Also also can we talk about how Nine was literally smarter than all 5 Eggmans put together. He hacked their computers, overrode Rusty Rose, and figured out how to traverse the Shatterverse in a few weeks with the shard that the human forms of Eggsecute couldn't figure out when they literally had it for seemingly years. Nine just Legally Blond "what like it's hard" the Eggmans so bad.

Side note, can we just talk about how in almost every single world Sonic's first response is "I need to find Tails!!" He needs Tails to figure out what going on and how to fix it but also that's his best friend and little brother, new situation find the person he trusts the most first. Him saving Mangey Tails when he first got to the jungle world was just so adorable he was so worried about him.

There's so much with this show I wanna talk about but I'm real tired.

Let me know what ya'll think of of Sonic Prime and/or Nine.

[coridallasmultipass]

It took me, ugh, MONTHS (2), to get to cleaning the two shrimp tanks I have... I had IRL issues going on that would have made it extremely difficult to do a water change especially while injured, and I just had to keep putting it off. It's just shrimp, so it wasn't like, the worst situation, especially since I have established plants and the tanks are a couple years old. There was just a lot of algae build-up on the glass, and, well... Let me just say it was not contributing to my mental health and well-being while the tanks were in that state.

I tested the water before I started cleaning and the parameters were fine (like, I could have left the tanks even longer if I would be okay with selling my soul to the Algae Collective), and the plants and shrimp look fine, too (I mean, I've obviously been keeping an eye on the tanks bc I sit right next to them). Actually, I'd wager to say that the plants are looking really great (the lilies haven't died off [yet? This is the longest period of time I've seen them stay... foliage... fol... foliated? Idk.] and the cryptocoryne in the 10gal is fucking huge and needs to be rearranged, just not right now). That fucking algae was a motherfucker to get off the 10gal (it's a plastic tank and I think that makes the algae grip harder than the glass 5gal).

[Also, fyi, depending on the tank's needs and stability, recommended water changes are a small one every week or every other week. My parameters don't seem to do anything dramatic, so I usually aim for a 20-30% water change every third week (just depends on how much vacuuming needs to be done and how cooperative the shrimp are with moving aside). So 2 months is still a lot. I still did the normal 30% ish amount, since doing more will risk the shrimp's well-being if there's a sudden change in everything, and my water parameters indicated a change was unnecessary - but I don't test for more than the minimum freshwater tests, so there could be a buildup of some mineral I'm not testing for, which is why the change IS actually necessary regardless of what my test kit says - because these tanks were evaporating a lot in summer, it condenses the minerals added with each water addition, even tho I usually top up with R.O. water.]

My back is fucking killing me lol. It has been killing me since spring when it 'went out' for the first time, and I'm not getting any relief, it sucks. But this had to be done.

The 5gal is looking pretty cloudy still, since the filter was super gunked up and I accidentally spilled gunk back in, so I may need to retest the 5gal parameters tomorrow just to make sure I don't have to do another water change, but it'll probably be fine, right? Shrimp love mulm and detritus. I did give both tanks a big ole algae tab for their trouble, tho. (I need a fuckening dish for the big tank. I really wanna clean off that white quartz rock again, but being white means it's an algae magnet, and it's just gonna go green again after a month or two.)

Anyway, shrimp tax:

I lov thees widdle oange bebies.

Wish I could take better pictures rn, but I am. Like. Dying. My recommendation: never live in an A-frame style room if you have the option. The wall above my tanks is slanted, and NOT fun for my back to bend underneath the wall for maintenance. (My only flat wall in the room is for my TV/PC.) Also, treat your back nicely, in general. I unfortunately have not had the option to treat my back nicely since spring (fall now), because 'when it rains it pours,' and heavy shit that needs to be moved will not move itself. Once I get a few more things in my room in order, I will hopefully be done with the IRL chaos, bc I have Halloween socks to knit, and I'm not putting that off for another year. (I'm still mad that I couldn't make the ones I planned last year. And I found more Halloween yarn I forgot I bought, so I'm gonna try to make multiple socks.) And I just really need to fucking chill and knit and stop having panic attacks and meltdowns.

[dutybcrne]

Me, chilling vibing: :)

My brain: So, what if Diluc also had time spent in the Abyss while in his jaunt in Snezhnaya bc he'd fallen to it in trying to escape pursuit by the Fatui/a Harbinger, and thus his particular pursuit of the Abyss Order happened to result of the things he'd seen there and the creatures that tried to prey on his grief/negative emotions, thus wanting to protect the people of Mondstadt from such things. Part of the reason he was able to survive using the Delusion constantly happened to be unwittingly being tainted by it. Though not without price-

[autopsytableromance]

I know it’s bad bc he got a haircut and still want his stupidass :/