#it is something for me to figure out myself

[hahashifts]

Heroes POV:

I was in some deep shit.

Or, well, I would be if I didn't find some way off this damn street before they found me and dragged me back into that horrible house...

My lip was split and I could taste blood, and although I was running I had a serious limp and could feel the bruises blooming on my skin beneath my ripped clothes. My feet were bleeding - I hadn't been able to grab my shoes as I fled to the street.

I knew only one person who lived on this side of town, and it was the last person I should trust.

But, the alternative was -

No. Anything was better than where I'd just been.

I felt a trickle down my temple and jaw as I resisted the urge of leaning on a wall for support. No need to leave a blood trail right to their door.

Or, maybe that's just what they deserved. Assuming they didn't kill me first. At least then it would be a clean death. What more could a hero ask for?

Before I could second guess myself I threw myself into the doorway. I had figured out where they lived when we had our first run in two years ago. Since then I'd thwarted more of their plans than I think they had even expected, as well as cleared up the majority of the crime up north near the river. I had been trying to start bringing peace to this part of the city too, but those men had grabbed me & before I knew it I was half unconscious and being dragged into one of the townhouses. When I'd come to my clothes were ripped and they had beaten me and were clearly about to move on to using other parts of me. I'd managed to run out while they were all taking shots, thinking I was still knocked out.

I wasn't, thank the gods if they even still listened up there on their throne. But I was beaten and drained and my magic was shot - they'd done something to nullify it when I'd walked onto that damned street.

And I could hear them coming.

I tried to beat on the door, but I was bleeding, shivering - it was so cold out tonight - and they would be here in less than a minute and I'd be just another girl who disappeared from the street.

Maybe coming here was crazy.

There's no guarantee he'd even be here -

The door opened and warm light flooded from the doorway. I was swaying in my feet, honestly amazed that he even answered. I could feel the darkness creeping in and I knew it was either going to be my last moment or I'd be putting myself right in the hands of my enemy, but I had no choice. I "didn't know where else to go..." I hadn't meant to say that out loud, but it was the last thing I heard as I saw the ground swimming up to meet me.

But he caught me and held me in his arms, he heard the shouts from up the way following the blood dripping from me, I'm sure.

What a mess...

The hero shows up at the villain’s doorstep one night. They’re shivering, bleeding, scared. There’s also a slightly dazed look in their eyes– they were drugged. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they’re close to passing out, they mumble “…didn’t know where else to go…” then collapse into the villain’s arms.

[moonstruckme]

hi hi hii so exited the thawing out au is here to stay!! i'm a figure skater myself so i'd like to request a lil something if u don't mind? this may or may not be self indulgent 🤧 but what about the reader feeling faint/ passes out on the rink during practice? it was kinda scary and my coach was even worse but i've got my trusty crackers and ur comfort drabbles with me 😙

That does sound so scary omg, glad you were okay angel! <3

Read the Thawing Out series here

cw: modern au, fainting, small injury with blood implied I guess but not mentioned or described at all

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

The rink whirls around you, and Sirius’ hands catch you around your middle the second before your skates hit the ice. You feel at once grounded and blissfully unmoored. 

Just outside the boards, Remus nods in approval. You and Sirius glide into arabesque, finishing what you have so far of your new routine. He beckons you over. 

“It’s looking lovely,” he says once you’re close enough. “How does it feel?” 

“Good,” you say. Sirius nods.

“I think a spiral sequence would go well after that,” he says. His hand rests on your lower back, as it often does these days. You tease him for it, say you’re perfectly capable of standing without his help, but really you wish he’d been doing it all along. It’s a mystery to you now; how you and Sirius managed to keep from touching each other for long. 

Remus hums thoughtfully. “It does seem natural there, doesn’t it?” 

“Either that, or a mirrored spin.” 

“Maybe. What do you think?” 

It takes you a beat too long to realize they’re both looking at you. You’d zoned out a bit. You mentally kick yourself; usually you’re much more focussed during practice. 

“I think either one would…” Your voice sounds odd, at once soft and thrumming in your own ears. “…would be fine.” 

You feel abruptly very warm. A tiny shiver passes over your skin, leaving goosebumps where you’re sure there should be sweat, and Sirius’ hand on your back suddenly feels like it’s pressing too close, keeping your already tight shirt held even tighter to you. It’s suffocating. 

“Either one?” Remus looks at you, brow furrowing. “You don’t have any preference?” 

You manage a hum before your elbow bites into the ice. 

You can’t be unconscious for long, because you have the sensation of falling as you wake. You pull in a startled breath. 

“Shh.” Sirius’ voice is a strange mix of gentle and tight. His hand cups your cheek. “It’s okay. You’re okay. What was that about, hm?” 

You hear skates cutting into the ice, and when you blink your eyes open Remus is dropping onto his knees beside you. He’s taken to wearing his skates during practice so that he can come out onto the ice to demonstrate what he wants from you when words aren’t enough; it’s somewhat unusual for a coach, but you and Sirius are beyond delighted with it. Even now, the sight of Remus on the ice fills you with a burgeoning pride. 

“What happened?” he asks, laying a protective hand on top of your head. 

You realize you’re in Sirius’ lap. His thighs are warm beneath your head and shoulders, the rest of you pressed against the cold floor. After your hot flash of a few moments ago, it feels like a relief. You welcome the bite where your shirt has slipped up your back and your bare skin touches the ice. 

“You saw,” Sirius says. “She just went stiff.” 

That’s not a very flattering image. You sit up, an involuntary sound coming from your throat. 

“Hey, hey.” Two sets of hands on you, holding you steady. “Take it easy,” Sirius says. “Don’t move so much, just—just rest for a second.” 

You let out a breath of assent. Pull your knees up so you can rest your head atop them, skates in a v so they’ll stay put. You feel shaky and all off. 

“Alright, love?” That’s Remus rubbing your back. You recognize him from the slow, long strokes, less firm than Sirius would be. “Does anything hurt?” 

You shake your head. 

“Do you feel sick?” 

You shake your head again. “I’m okay.” 

“You don’t seem okay,” Sirius mutters. You can picture him without looking, the terse set of his mouth, worry that looks like irritation. 

“She just needs a minute, I think,” Remus says patiently. “Let’s go sit down, yeah?” 

If you felt like talking you might point out that you’re already sitting down, but when both boys stand you know they mean the bleachers. You let Sirius pick you up, trying not to feel childish or embarrassing at the way you stick your face in his neck. He rests his cheek on your head like he doesn’t care either way. 

You lie your head on your knees again once he sets you down. Sirius rubs your back, asking you questions that you answer in murmurs of yes or no.

You don’t fully register that Remus has gone, but he comes back a minute later to press a styrofoam cup of cold water into your hand. 

“Can you have some of that for me?” 

You drink rather than answering, feeling the cold in your teeth. 

“I’m going to clean your elbow up, alright?” 

You don’t have a clue what he’s talking about until you look over your shoulder. Remus is taking your elbow into his hand, a first aid kit lying open beside him and your skin split over the jut of your bone. Once you see, you remember feeling the impact on it as you fell. You don’t know how you didn’t notice it aching before. 

Both of your boyfriends are touchier than usual, even Sirius. He rests both hands on your knees, thumbs running over the tops of your kneecaps, while Remus holds your arm in a gentle grip as he tends to your elbow. 

You take a deep breath, letting it rush back out of you. 

“Okay?” Sirius asks worriedly. 

“Yeah.” You give another sigh, not very convincing. “Sorry.” 

Remus smooths a plaster over your elbow, lowering it back to your side. He leans over until he’s in your line of sight. “What are you sorry for, lovely?” 

“I…that I fell.” 

Sirius makes a scoffing noise. “That’s a terrible reason.” 

“Awful,” Remus agrees, lips twitching despite the concerned set of his brow. “We’ve talked about this, haven’t we? Everyone falls sometimes.” 

You let out an amused exhale. “Yeah,” you acquiesce. You look at Sirius. “Did you catch me?” 

He grins. “Don’t I always?” 

You smile, resting your temple on your knee and letting your eyes slip closed. “I feel weird.” 

Sirius tuts, kissing the top of your head. “I can tell, baby. I’m sorry.” 

“Let’s rest here for a little while,” Remus says, his voice low and soothing. “Then we’ll go back to mine, and I’ll make us something for breakfast. Alright?” 

“I can finish practice,” you say, not believing yourself. “Just give me a minute. It’s going away.” 

Sirius gives a chuff of laughter. “Sure, gorgeous,” he says, already undoing the laces of your skates. 

“Mhm. Let’s wait and see.” Remus’ tone is heavy with fondness. 

His hand begins moving over your back again. Sirius slips your skates off, and then rests his head atop yours, his shampoo smell enveloping you. You suppose there are worse ways to miss practice.

[eobe]

Happy Valentine's Day to you all 🥰✨ARC trooper Echo CT-1409 is CT-1402 today and he's coming for you 😽 Get SHOT! 😎💘

Big shout-out to @lonewolflupe's wholesome Valentine's event 💘 Spread love, send messages, melt and drown in sugar, because you're the most loving and supportive community I've never dared to dream of 🥰

A close up, why it’s Echo, the targets and the inevitable ramble below the cut… 🏹

I always get grumpy and blushing when too much pink, glitter, candy and stuff, but deep inside I can't help myself and yield cuteness overload dopamining 🫠✨

ARC trooper Echo is on duty for this day and he won't do a job without the best and most badass gear! ✨😈 He even borrowed himself a winged sky trooper jetpack and Omega’s bow, but only because he can 😎✨ But Maker, he's allowed, he deserves and it's Echo! 💕

Have a closer look. I never did lighting like this before! 🤩 I don't know if it's accurate – I just thought and tried to imagine of how materials would reflect, how much and where and in which angle 🤯✨

I had fun and some frustration figuring his pose! First, he's with the jetpack, what to do with the legs?

Second, as I'm an archer myself, I wanted to give him a good archer posture, but he has a scomp too! +50 skill, +50 difficulty, +100 badassity. Good thing he can hook in this bow-ring of the Zygerrian design and I'm aware that there are many little inaccurate things to find, but I'm still a drawing Padawan, not a master 😂🫶

Third, angles. Can‘t tell what it is exactly. Something worm's eye view, little mortals on the ground looking up to sweet doom coming down from the aurora skies 🤩✨🧡❤️🩷💜✨

But I‘m actually a proud little drawing Padawan looking at this artwork at all 😱 Echo, you're worth the hours. Fandom, you even more. Get ECHOed, cuties 🫶 And everyone, who sees this! 💘

My headcanon, why it has to be Echo:

(Domino Squad at the Barracks)

Echo: No! NO, I don’t want to! Hevy: Vod, it HAS to be you! Echo: This just... isn’t fair! Droidbait: What‘s your problem, brother – I can’t do it, I‘d manage to get shot with this myself! Cutup: And besides that you‘re not as half as cute as Echo! Echo: (teeth gritted) hrrr… shutup cutup! Fives: Echo, they’re right AND you’re the only one around who has the number CT-140... Echo: (interrupting) YOU are the one who always echoes that were NOT our numbers, not me! Why don't YOU be named "Echo", huh? Fives: (handing Echo the Cupid bow, doing huge puppy eyes) Vod – yes, we‘re not numbers, but being Cupid CT-1402 is actually a good thing and... not matter any numbers, you're just the best of us all. 💕🏹 Cutup: … And you really can’t hand this Droidbait! All: Shut up, Cutup!

Targets, that volunteered 😎💘:

@eclec-tech – Writing owl twin, always having a spicy caf for me, managing to inspire me into colorful dimensions and owling with meee 🧡✨ @clonethirstingisreal – My warmhearted friend, always encouraging 🥰🫶 @vrycurious – One of my most supportive out of the box thinking moots 🤩🫶 Targets, that kind of volunteered 💞👀:

@returnofthepineapple – Sweet Piña 🍍🥰 'STOKED' hehe! @freesia-writes – Cute! 😻 Side eying too loud in the reblog 👀 @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf – Hot chick calling me bb 😽🌹💋 @523rdrebel – hehehe 😏 'can't wait' @littletroggo – Cute moot doing cute art and also ‘can't wait' 🥰✨ @cw80831 – Most proper tagging support! 🤩✨ Targets, that are locked in my crosshair 🤪💞✨:

@ghostymarni – Sweet vod 💗 Queen of Chaos, holding my beer 🍺💘 @wings-and-beskargam – Chaos twin vod 💙🫶🩵 endlessly patient and giving, lovely soul 💘 Targets, that won't get away 😎💘✨:

@lonewolflupe – Double tag, double target, double shot 🤩🏹💖💘 Get ECHOed thoroughly 😏💞🦾 Thank you for everything – you KNOW what I'm thanking you for and will never stop being thankful 🥰 🫠

@foxwithadarkside – no words needed but anyway 😎🏹✨ Muse, art collab witch, badass, quality talk, thank you 💘😽

General volunteering targets: @bixlasagna @sunshinesdaydream @covert1ntrovert @general-ida-raven @dystopicjumpsuit @chaicilatte @groguandthebadbatch @ladylucksrogue @spaceyjessa @morerandombullshit

[girllblogging777]

╰┈➤ valentine’s day with bf!mattheo

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you knew mattheo riddle didn’t do things halfway. there was no in-between with your boyfriend. if he cared about something, he cared too much. and if he didn’t, he wouldn’t even give it a second thought. you’d seen him throw himself into everything, reckless and intense, and now, for some reason, he’d decided that valentine’s day, this overhyped, ridiculous holiday that you never even celebrated, was worth caring about.

he wouldn’t tell you much when he first brought it up, which wasn’t unusual. mattheo had this way of throwing you into things headfirst, dragging you along with that smirk and sharp eyes, and somehow, you always trusted him anyway. but now, as you walked into the astronomy tower at his instruction, you felt your chest tighten, unsure what he had planned. unsure why he was even doing this. it was mattheo. it wasn’t like him to be sentimental.

except he was already there, standing near the window, and you froze when you saw the effort he’d gone to. the usually cold and empty tower looked… soft, almost. there were candles, so many candles, hovering around the room, casting a golden glow across the space. there was a blanket spread on the floor with a small basket set on top, and even a messy cluster of flowers leaning to one side in a glass jar that might’ve been borrowed from the potions classroom.

“you’re late,” he said, his voice light but teasing, as he turned to face you. his tie was undone, his hair a little disheveled, and he had his hands shoved in his pockets like he was trying to look unaffected, but you caught the flicker of nerves in his expression as his eyes scanned yours.

“what is all this?” you asked, still standing at the doorway, because it didn’t feel real.

he shrugged. “it’s valentine’s day,” he said, as though that explained everything, like he hadn’t spent weeks teasing you for never celebrating it.

“you hate valentine’s day.”

“so do you.”

you folded your arms, squinting at him, trying to figure out what he was up to. “then why—”

“because you’ve never had one,” he said quickly, cutting you off, and his words hit you harder than you expected. “a proper one, i mean. i asked. you told me. no one’s ever done anything for you, and i…” he trailed off, frowning, like he hated how vulnerable he sounded, like it physically pained him to admit. “i thought maybe you deserved it. just this once.”

you opened your mouth to reply, but nothing came out. there was something stuck in your throat, and mattheo shifted on his feet like he was seconds away from regretting the whole thing.

“look, it’s not a big deal,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair and looking away. “i just… i know i’m not good at this stuff, alright? i’m not the flowers-and-candy type. i don’t write poetry or whatever the hell people do, but i figured… i dunno. candles are nice, yeah?”

“candles are nice,” you said softly, your lips twitching upward, and mattheo’s shoulders relaxed a fraction.

“and the flowers?” he asked, nodding toward the ones by the window, a slightly smug grin creeping onto his face. “picked ‘em myself. didn’t even kill half the plants in the process.”

“that’s impressive,” you teased, finally stepping into the room, and you felt him watching you as you moved closer.

“and there’s food,” he added, gesturing to the basket as you sank down onto the blanket. “stole it from the kitchens. house elves didn’t even catch me.”

“you really went all out, huh?” you asked, glancing up at him, and you couldn’t tell if the warmth in your chest was from the candles or the way mattheo looked almost proud of himself.

“yeah, well,” he said, dropping down beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. “it’s your first valentine’s day. figured it should be worth remembering.”

you stared at him for a moment, the teasing remark on the tip of your tongue dying as you caught the way his expression softened just slightly, the way he refused to look directly at you when he said it.

“this is perfect,” you said quietly, and his eyes flicked to yours, something vulnerable flashing there before he covered it with a smirk.

“yeah?” he asked, leaning back on his hands. “good. ‘cause i have no idea what i’m doing.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “you’re doing fine.”

“fine’s not good enough,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his face just inches from yours now. “not for you.”

and before you could reply, before you could tease him or tell him just how much this all meant, he leaned in, his hand coming up to cup your face as his lips pressed against yours. it wasn’t rushed or careless, the way mattheo usually was. it was slow, deliberate, like he was still trying to prove himself, still trying to show you how much you mattered to him without needing words.

you melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair as the kiss deepened, and when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, a small grin tugging at his lips.

“so,” he murmured, his voice low, “better than those stupid chocolate hearts, yeah?”

“much better,” you said, smiling as you kissed him again, the candles flickering around you like they were part of the spell you’d fallen under.

“good. and you haven’t even seen the fireworks yet-“

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : happy valentine’s day everyone !!! sending y’all much love and happiness <333

[desertnightradiostatic]

I grew up with parents who were very emotionally unintelligent. Lots of clinging and oversharing problems and events that were not appropriate for my age from my mom. My dad had a lot of anger and an expectation that people around him could read minds, yet were choosing not to act on his wants, and so they needed to be punished via harm or (temporary) abandonment. So of course I developed a very insecure attatchment style where love is conditional upon how well you perform, you must be constantly emotionally avaiable and can lead to being left behind if you fail enough.

The greatest remedy to unlearning this has been learning how to have space from my lovely partner. It was very hard at first. I thought that he was angry and this was his way of showing it. That there was something I needed to figure out in order to make him want to be around me again. The truth was he is a person who needs his own space sometimes, and he would naturally come around to me when he was ready. There was no expectation of apology or appeasement because being apart is not a punishment.

I started to learn to use that time for myself instead of obsessing over how I am as a partner and if I could be doing better. I started to learn how tired I'd been constantly fawning and being attentive for the sake of being seen as useful. I learned how little I cared for myself or what personal projects I had. I learned that it's very healthy to have your own "you" time, and that it's not excluaive to things like self-pampering. And I learned how unfair I was treated by my parents and how unfairly they treat each other.

OP is right, it is a wonderful thing to be able to have total free space from time to time. But I disagree about it being something small, at least from my perspective, it's been huge. I love the idea of calling it "astronaut time", makes it even more fun.

so judging by how astonished people are by it every time we explain it to anybody, it seems like my wife and I might really be onto something here

during the pandemic, we invented something we call "astronaut time."

when it's astronaut time, it's like we are two astronauts wearing the big helmets, moving around the station on totally separate tasks. one of us is outside the space station and one of us is inside the space station. our radios do not work and we have no way of communicating with each other. we might see each other through the lil porthole windows, but we ignore each other because we both have different things to do.

"astronaut time" is how we get total privacy when we live in the same apartment. I will pretend you don't exist. You will pretend I don't exist. we have a nonverbal, zero-contact signal for when astronaut time is over (usually "I'll draw a smiley-face on the whiteboard in the kitchen when I'm done"). No talking, stay out of each other's line of sight, we are actively avoiding each other, unless you are currently experiencing a medical emergency goodbye.

it has been. a godsend. imagine living with your partner and being able to close every single tab in your brain related to social interaction. no fear of being interrupted by a "hey, quick question--" or "sorry to bother you, but do you know where the scissors are?" or "did you want something to eat, too?" Once or twice a month, we look at each other lovingly, hold hands, and say "baby I think I need some astronaut time tonight," and the other person goes "okay cool. bye! have a nice night!" and nobody's feelings are hurt and we both go and have a lovely evening completely by ourselves.

like idk it's a small thing but it's made our lives so much nicer, so if you and your partner/roommate are both people who sometimes need total privacy in order to recharge, maybe try it

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

You Had Me at...

He didn't know why he was even still awake.

No, that was a lie.

He knew exactly why, but he also knew it was stupid and silly and completely outside the realm of possibility. He just hadn't been able to help himself.

He'd stayed up and watched the clock, waited as the minutes ticked by until it was officially Valentine's Day, and held his breath...

And then nothing.

He'd huffed out a laugh, telling himself he was more embarrassed than disappointed because honestly, what had he expected?

Evan to show up at the door to declare his love? To want to get back together?

To want him?

That wasn't Tommy's life. That was fantasy. The stuff of romcoms, not the real world.

Reality was getting into his ratty pajama pants and an ancient, worn-soft LAFD t-shirt (that still had a B and a U and a half-peeled Y on the back) and accepting the fact that he was once again alone for this stupid, fake holiday...that he absolutely loved.

Sighing, he made his way out to the kitchen and dug around in his freezer until he found the pint of cookie dough ice cream that Evan had left there and Tommy had been avoiding for the past three months. What was the point of leaving it? Evan was never coming back. It wasn't like he'd be there to get mad at Tommy for eating it and why let it go to waste?

He stood there, staring at the ice cream.

His therapist would have plenty to say about him struggling to let himself have things, but that was a problem for Tuesday Tommy.

...screw it.

He was eating the ice cream.

Tommy snatched the container out of the freezer and set it down on the counter, ignoring its accusing stare as he grabbed a spoon out of the drawer.

"This is for the best," he muttered. "I'm putting us both out of our misery, okay? We can't wait forever. He's never coming back."

He tapped the spoon against the lid, frowning when a faint knock sounded back.

"What the fu-"

The knock again, louder this time and clearly coming from the front door.

Tommy set the spoon down beside the ice cream, grabbed his phone, and crept down the hallway toward the door. He was still debating calling 911 when he caught sight of a familiar silhouette through the window and his heart stopped.

He'd know those curls anywhere.

Evan startled, hand still raised when Tommy whipped open the door.

"Shit," he said, eyes going wide. "I mean, not sh-not that, I just...I wasn't expecting you to answer so quickly and I'm still kind of working on what I'm going to say..."

"...did you want me to close the door and give you a minute?" Tommy asked after another weighted beat passed between them. He'd stand back in the hallway for as long as it took. As long as Evan needed.

"No!" Evan jolted forward, hand flexing like he was ready to catch it - as if Tommy would willingly close a door between them ever again. "I..."

Tommy waited, drinking in the sight of Evan as he fidgeted on the front porch. He itched to tug the lip free that he was chewing on, but he was equally afraid to touch him.

He didn't think he could bear it if this turned out to be a dream.

"I watched them all," Evan blurted out suddenly. He rubbed at the back of his neck, cheeks going red. "All of the movies I could remember from your shelves. T-the romance ones? And then Maddie recommended some more."

Tommy didn't know what to make of that. "Why-"

"Because everyone said I wasn't allowed to bake anymore," Evan said, as though that was a sentence that would clear things up. "But I had to do something, right? To stop myself from calling you every second that I was awake."

Wait, what?

"And I figured, if I couldn't stop thinking about you, then at least, I could maybe get inside your head and try to understand where we went wrong - where I went wrong," Evan barreled on like he wasn't completely upending Tommy's brain. "I watched them all and in every single one, ever single one, the couple has a fight and b-breaks up because, well, for all kinds of reasons, but it was because they were always missing what was right in front of them."

Evan took a deep, steadying breath, bracing himself on the doorframe. "I said a lot of stuff that night, but I missed saying the most important thing of all. I felt it, felt it so much it felt too big to say, but that was a mistake." He looked up, meeting Tommy's gaze with bright eyes.

"I love you, Tommy. I love you. I'm sorry I did everything backwards and managed to leap ahead all at the same time." Evan shook his head, blinking back tears as Tommy fought to hold back his own.

"I'm sorry I ever made you doubt that what I feel for you is real," he said "The most real and right thing I think I've ever felt in my life and I don't want to lose you. The last few months have been...I felt like I was missing a part of myself. Like my heart has been out there in the world without me and I've hated every minute of it."

"Please," Evan said, searching Tommy's face, hope threaded through every letter. "I know we have a lot we need to talk about, but can we - can we try again?"

Tommy took a shaky breath, still half-convinced he was about to wake up and have all of this ripped away from him.

"Please say something," Evan whispered, his shaky plea finally snapping Tommy into action.

He reached out to cup Evan's cheek, stroking a thumb against his skin as he leaned in. "You had me at 'shit'," Tommy said, a helpless smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

Evan's mouth dropped open as Tommy's words sank in. Relief warred against an extreme pout as he poked at Tommy's chest. "Did you seriously just Jerry Maguire me? I can't even-"

The rest of his protest was cut off when Tommy yanked him inside the house for a searing kiss, kicking the door shut behind them.

"I love you too," Tommy murmured against Evan's lips as he pressed him into the wall. He tried to get the apology he'd been agonizing over for the last three months out between kisses. "I'm sorry I ran. I got scared and stupid and I want this. Want you. Want everything."

Evan groaned, grabbing at him as he gave back as good as he got, kissing every part of Tommy he could reach without letting him move an inch out of his arms.

"Stay," Tommy gasped when they finally broke apart for air. "Please stay and just sleep beside me and we can talk properly in the morning?" He wasn't prepared to let Evan out of his sight any time soon.

"Try and get rid of me," Evan said with a little laugh as he rested his forehead against Tommy's. They kissed once more, softly, knowing they had time now. Letting out a happy sigh, Evan dropped a tiny peck on the end of Tommy's nose before releasing him and moving toward the kitchen.

Tommy went to lock the door, freezing when Evan let out a garbled noise of outrage.

"Is this my ice cream?"

Biting back a grin, Tommy headed toward Evan and his continuing grumbles...

And let his grin actually spread when he rounded the corner to find Evan standing there, holding out a second spoon.

[a-d-nox]

pac/pap: a letter from your future spouse

take what resonates leave what doesn't - nothing is 100% for you because these aren't personalized so please no angry comments or dms about what i am saying not being a good fit for you or that you "don't claim" just keep scrolling if that is the case. be kind, self reflect, and have fun.

last pac/pap: a love life check-up

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pile 1

i wonder what you’re doing right now. are you chasing a dream you’ve started to question? laughing with friends who see only parts of the real you? or are you like me - reflecting on the strange twists life keeps throwing your way, trying to make sense of how it all fits together?

i don’t have all the answers, but i know this: our story is unfolding exactly as it should. the setbacks, the detours, the heartbreak - it’s all shaping us, preparing us for the moment our lives finally align. even in the moments when you doubt that there is light ahead, know that i see it clearly. you’re the hope i keep reaching for, even in the dark.

i often imagine meeting you for the first time. maybe it’s ordinary - a passing glance, a casual conversation. but there will be something unshakable about it. something in the way your smile catches me off guard or the way your voice pulls me in. i’ll know it’s you. and even if i don’t say it right away, you’ll feel it too.

right now, i’m still figuring things out. life’s been throwing me in every direction, and i’m just holding on, trying to steer clear of what i can. the funny thing about fate is how it works even when you don’t see it coming. every choice i’ve made, every chance i’ve taken, has brought me closer to you.

when the time is right, i’ll be ready to step up for you, for us. i’m not the person i was yesterday, and i’m still becoming the person i want to be. there is one thing i know for sure: when we meet, i’ll choose you - again and again, every day, through every celebration and every challenge.

yes - there will be celebrations. i want to laugh with you until we can’t breathe, to celebrate to our wins, big and small, and to hold you close when the night winds down. i want to share your joy, your dreams, and every quiet moment in between. you’re the person i want standing next to me through it all.

until then, i’ll keep working on myself, learning from the lessons life throws my way, and holding space for you in my heart. when fate turns in our favor and our paths finally cross, i’ll be ready to give you my love, my devotion, and my whole damn soul.

yours,

future spouse

pile 2

i’ve been lost before. trapped in my own cycles, chasing goals that felt hollow or moving too fast to notice what i was really missing. there were times i poured my energy into the wrong things, thinking that success or control could fill the void. but life has a way of humbling you, of forcing you to stop, slow down, and face the truth: none of it matters without you.

you’re the one who will make me want to be better - not out of obligation, but because i’ll see in you everything i’ve been searching for. you’re my anchor and the softness in need in my life, the one who shows me that love isn’t about perfection or performance, but about presence. when i look at you, i’ll see everything i didn’t know i needed - warmth, patience, and a kind of beauty that radiates from the inside out.

i know i’ve taken the long road to get to you. sometimes i’ve been stuck, unsure of what to do next, afraid to leave what felt comfortable, even when i knew it wasn’t enough. but you’ll be the one who changes that. with you, there will be no fear, no hesitation - only a deep, undeniable pull that i can’t resist.

you have this power, don’t you? to nurture and create, to transform whatever you touch into something extraordinary. you’re a queen in every sense of the word - abundant, radiant, and endlessly giving. i want you to know this: you don’t always have to give. you don’t always have to hold everything together. with me, you can let go. you'll be able to lean on me. i’ll be the one to carry the weight when you’re tired, to remind you how much you’re worth, even when the world forgets.

i know i’ll mess up sometimes. i’ll stumble, i’ll falter, and i’ll get caught in my own head. but i promise i’ll never stop trying. i’ll never stop choosing you. even in the moments when it feels like we’re standing still, i’ll be there, holding your hand, reminding you that we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.

there’s no moving on from you. no walking away, no running from the love i know we’ll have. you’re the one i’ll keep coming back to, again and again, because you’re home. and when we’re together, i’ll spend the rest of my days showing you just how much you mean to me.

my heart is your's,

future spouse

pile 3

if you’ve felt a restless pull in your heart, know that i feel it too. i’m not the kind of man who sits still for long - i’ve always chased what makes me feel alive, even when i didn’t fully understand what i was after. somewhere along the way, i realized what i’ve been searching for is you.

you’re the spark in the distance, the promise of something more. i can feel your energy even now, calling me to move, to grow, to become the man you deserve. i’m not perfect—sometimes i charge ahead too fast, speak before i think, or get caught up in chasing every wild idea that crosses my mind. but one thing i know for sure: when i meet you, everything will fall into focus.

you’re the kind of person who could make a man rethink everything. your passion, your curiosity, your fire - i want to match it and watch us both burn brighter together. with you, every day will feel like an adventure, every moment full of discovery. i want to know your mind, your dreams, and your wildest ideas. i want to be the one who makes you laugh so hard you forget to breathe and who listens when you need to share the thoughts you’ve never spoken aloud.

but i also want you to know this: i’ll be the one who gives you space when you need it. life isn’t always about the chase; sometimes, it’s about the stillness. when the world gets too loud, when the fire feels like it’s burning too hot, i’ll be there to remind you to rest. i’ll be your calm in the chaos, your quiet in the storm.

i know we’ll make mistakes - together and apart. we’ll say the wrong things, take the wrong steps, and sometimes, we’ll need time to figure it all out. but isn’t that part of the beauty? love isn’t about perfection; it’s about showing up, learning, and growing side by side.

i can’t wait to see where life takes us, to chase the wild unknown with you by my side. you make me want to dream bigger, run faster, and still, somehow, savor every single moment. i’m ready to throw myself into this with you, no hesitation, no regrets.

until we meet, i’ll keep searching, learning, and preparing for the day when i get to call you mine.

yours always,

your future spouse

[heliosunny]

yandere phainon x reader but the peter nguyen meme. we're about to kiss at the altar when someone screams "PHAINON CHEATED ON YOU". they run away but then they come back when we try kissing again and scream "HE SLEPT WITH YOUR SISTER!!" ik this is super random but i just want to know how you think phainon would react in this situation

The priest’s words hung in the air, heavy with anticipation. You stood at the altar, heart pounding, gazing into Phainon’s piercing blue eyes. His grip on your hands was firm, nothing else matters at such moment.

“PRINCE PHAINON CHEATED ON YOU!!”

A shriek cut through the silence. Gasps rippled through the wedding hall.

You barely had time to register the words before the accuser, a wild-eyed stranger, turned and bolted out the doors. Murmurs erupted among the guests.

Phainon’s grip on your hands didn’t falter. Instead, his lips curled into a lazy smile.

“Ignore them” he murmured, his thumb stroking your wrist. “Jealousy makes people desperate.”

The priest, though rattled, cleared his throat. “Shall we continue?”

Phainon smirked. “Please.”

The tension in the hall faded as the ceremony resumed. The priest lifted his hands once more.

“You may now—”

“HE SLEPT WITH YOUR SISTER!!”

The doors slammed open again. The same person, panting, face red.

A stunned silence followed.

Something flickered in Phainon's gaze. A memory.

—Flashback—

They have no idea…

How hard it was to gain your trust.

How long he waited.

Phainon hadn’t been looking for love that day.

He was just passing through, watching people the way he always did—silent, calculating, disinterested. Until he saw you.

You were reaching for a fruit, balancing on the tips of your toes, fingers just barely grazing the branch. The sunlight made your hair glow, sweat beading on your skin from effort.

He had seen beautiful people before. Had taken lovers. Had discarded them.

But something about you made him took a step forward, about to offer help.

Then—

The branch snapped. You yelped as you lost your footing, tumbling down- Right into his arms.

He caught you with ease, strong hands gripping your waist. You gasped, wide-eyed, staring up at him. Phainon felt your warmth, your racing heartbeat. He could smell the faint sweetness of fruit on your skin.

Then, as if sensing danger, you scrambled out of his grasp. Your feet hit the ground, and before he could say a word, you turned.

“Come on!” you yelled, grabbing your sister’s hand.

And just like that, you ran.

Phainon stood there, watching your retreating figure.

He touched his fingers to his chest—his heart was pounding.

---

Phainon hadn’t forgotten you.

Days passed, then weeks, but the memory of your warmth, the startled look in your eyes, the way you ran from him lingered. So he searched. And when he finally learned where you lived—a quiet, unassuming estate on the edge of the city—he didn’t hesitate.

The library was modest but well-kept. Books lined the walls, the scent of parchment and ink filling the air. Phainon sat with perfect ease, sipping tea as your parents—clearly nervous—hosted him with shaky politeness.

“A prince in our humble home..” your father murmured in awe.

Phainon only smiled. “I was looking for someone.”

Your mother straightened. “Oh? Who might that be, Your Highness?”

He set his cup down, glancing at the door expectantly.

“Your child,” he said smoothly. “The one who sneaks into the royal garden to steal fruit.”

A gasp. Your parents exchanged alarmed glances.

“Surely there’s been some mistake—”

“Oh, there’s no mistake,” Phainon cut in, his voice still pleasant. “I caught them myself.”

A shuffle outside the room.

There you are

You stepped into the library, eyes wary. He saw the flicker of recognition, the brief hesitation before you masked it.

“You went through all this trouble,” you said dryly. “Just to scold me over some fruit?”

Phainon tilted his head, watching you. “I wouldn’t call it trouble.”

Your expression darkened slightly. You studied him for a long moment, then—without another word—you turned and walked away.

His smile faltered.

But he didn’t give up.

---

You hadn’t expected to see him again.

After that strange visit to the library, you assumed the prince would lose interest. Noblemen didn’t linger in places like yours—not for long, at least.

But then, one afternoon, you heard your sister shouting.

“Whoa—whoa! Stop—stop!”

Your heart leapt into your throat as you ran outside. Your sister was struggling with the reins of a restless horse, its hooves stomping nervously. She barely managed to keep her balance, her face pale with panic.

You took a step forward, ready to help, but Phainon got there first.

He moved with effortless grace, his strong hands closing around the bridle. The horse stilled instantly, as if sensing the power behind his touch.

“You’re pulling too tight,” Phainon said, his tone calm, guiding her hands with his own. “See? You need to give it room to move.”

Your sister blinked, looking up at him in awe. “Like this?”

“Exactly.”

You watched as he guided her through the motions—how to hold the reins properly, how to keep her posture balanced. He was patient, his voice smooth and encouraging.

Your sister beamed, clearly delighted to be learning from someone like him.

And, despite yourself, you felt your guard loosen—just a little.

He wasn’t mocking her. He wasn’t looking down on her in that smug, noble way. He was helping.

For the first time, you looked at him without suspicion.

---

The kitchen smelled sweet, the warm scent of baked goods filling the air as you carefully placed another tray of cookies onto the counter. You hadn’t made them for anyone in particular—you just felt like it.

Rolling up your sleeves, you reached for one to taste only for a hand to swipe it before you could.

“Not bad.”

You turned to see Phainon stood beside you, casually chewing on the stolen cookie, his blue eyes filled with amusement. He didn’t look the slightest bit sorry.

“What are you doing here?”

He leaned against the counter, “I smelled something good and followed it. Imagine my surprise when I found you here, working so hard.”

You shot him an unimpressed look. “I didn’t make them for you.”

“But I ate them anyway.” His lips curled into a teasing smile. “If you become my spouse, I’ll let you cook as much as you want.”

You scoffed. “Oh, how generous, Your Highness. Now shoo.”

You pushed him lightly, trying to guide him out of the kitchen, but he barely moved.

Instead, he grinned and leaned closer, clearly enjoying your frustration.

“You really want me gone?” he mused.

“Yes” you deadpanned.

With an exaggerated sigh, he relented, stepping back. “Fine, fine. But only because you asked so sweetly.”

You rolled your eyes and turned away.

Then you noticed—crumbs clinging to the fabric of his coat.

Without thinking, you reached out and brushed them off, fingers grazing his chest lightly.

When you looked up, Phainon was watching you. Realizing what you’d done, you quickly pulled back.

“Go” you muttered.

For once, he obeyed.

----

It hadn’t been easy.

There were fights. Doubts. Moments when you swore you’d never accept him.

Phainon had tested your patience, pushed boundaries, and yet—he had always been there. He never wavered. When you were uncertain, he was steadfast. When you fell, he picked you up. When the world conspired against you, he cut through it with ruthless efficiency.

Somewhere along the way, you stopped resisting.

And when he knelt before you, offering not just his hand but his loyalty, his devotion, his everything, you finally said yes.

—Reality—

“HE SLEPT WITH YOUR SISTER!!”

The words rang through the wedding hall once more.

But before anyone could react, Phainon moved.

His fingers closed around the first thing he could grab—a golden goblet.

With terrifying precision, he hurled it. The metal clashed against the doors, slamming them shut just as the accuser tried to flee.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Then, in one fluid motion, Phainon seized a sword from a nearby knight. The blade gleamed under the chapel’s light as he strode forward, eyes cold.

The accuser trembled, trapped.

Phainon’s voice was calm, but it carried a sharp, dangerous edge.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?”

He took another step.

“You dirtied my name on my wedding day.”

The person fell to their knees, shaking. “P-please, I was just—”

“You were just what?” Phainon tilted his head, almost amused. “A fool? A pawn? Or merely suicidal?”

The room held its breath.

The accuser sobbed, words crumbling into incoherent pleas.

Then—

You laughed.

The crowd looked at you in shock. Then, as if your amusement was contagious, the guests joined in—chuckling at first, then outright laughing.

The accuser looked around in confusion, face pale.

Phainon exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if the outburst had been nothing but an inconvenience.

“You heard them,” he said, turning away, sword still in hand. “Give them their punishment.”

The guards wasted no time dragging the culprit out.

The doors shut once more. The disturbance had passed.

Phainon turned back to you, his expression smoothing into something warm, almost fond.

“As I was saying,” the priest stammered, composing himself. “You may now—”

Phainon didn’t wait.

His lips were on yours before the words were even finished.

[aihoshiino]

the homies on Tumblr dot com may not know this Claire lore but I have a dogshit respiratory system that (among other things) gives me lots of random nosebleeds at the most random ass times

anyway what this post reminded me of was. The time I was in the shower and pulled the curtain back to get out only to spot myself in the mirror across from me and see that MY FACE, NECK, HANDS AND CHEST WERE COMPLETELY COVERED IN BLOOD

best I could figure it was the humidity had done Something to my sinuses and I'd gotten a nosebleed without realising but holy shit.

mysterious leg bruise this mysterious leg bruise that. what about mysterious blood smear? what about seeing a splotch of blood on your hand with no visible wound or source of pain and thinking "hmm. well that could mean nothing."

[goldfades]

★ DAY JUST FOR US ─── JOE BURROW⁹ [012] SWEET ON YOU

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine

FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | valentines day with joe! (sweet on you edition)

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | nothing but tooth rotting fluff!

The house was quiet—eerily so, almost unfamiliar in its stillness. No tiny footsteps padding across the hardwood, no early morning giggles, no faint sounds of cartoons filtering in from the living room. Just the low hum of the heater and the soft rustling of sheets as you turned over in bed, stretching into the empty space beside you.

Joe was already awake. You could hear him somewhere in the house, the faint clatter of dishes and the subtle creak of cabinet doors opening and closing.

And then, as if right on cue, the scent hit you.

Coffee. Fresh, strong, just how you liked it. And something sweeter—vanilla, cinnamon, maybe a hint of chocolate.

You smiled to yourself, sinking deeper into the pillows before reluctantly sitting up. The soft, golden morning light streamed through the curtains, casting warm patterns over the bed, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you had woken up naturally—not to the sound of a baby monitor crackling to life or a toddler calling for you.

You missed Hayes, of course. But God, this was nice.

Pushing the covers off, you padded out of the bedroom, following the scent that was practically pulling you in like a cartoon character floating toward a fresh pie on a windowsill.

And there he was.

Joe stood in the kitchen, completely in his element, wearing sweats and a hoodie, barefoot, hair still mussed from sleep. His brow furrowed in concentration as he flipped a pancake, and next to him on the counter was a tray—two mugs of coffee, fresh fruit, a little vase with a single rose, a ridiculously romantic setup for someone who always insisted he wasn’t ‘good at this stuff.’

You leaned against the doorway, watching him for a moment.

"You look suspiciously domestic right now," you teased, crossing your arms.

Joe turned, caught off guard for a split second before his face split into a grin. "Well, good morning to you too," he said, flipping the pancake one last time before sliding it onto the plate. "Figured I’d let you sleep in. Big romantic gesture and all."

You walked over, wrapping your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. "You didn’t have to do all this."

Joe huffed out a laugh. "I kind of did. My son has been hogging you for two years straight—I needed at least one day where I get you all to myself."

You smiled against his hoodie. "Fair point."

Joe turned in your arms, looping his own around your waist, his hands warm against the small of your back. He kissed your forehead, then your temple, then finally your lips—soft, slow, unhurried.

"Happy Valentine’s Day," he murmured.

"Happy Valentine’s Day," you whispered back, fingers curling into his sweatshirt.

And for a moment, it felt like you were in your own little world, wrapped in warmth, in love, in everything that made you two, you.

Joe pulled back slightly, eyeing the tray behind him. "I was gonna bring that to you in bed, you know."

You glanced at the tray, the effort he had put into it, and then back up at him. "How about I take my coffee, and we eat at the table like normal people?"

Joe smirked. "Deal. But only if you promise me one thing."

You raised an eyebrow. "What’s that?"

He leaned in, voice dropping slightly. "That you’re not too full for dessert later."

Your stomach flipped, and your cheeks warmed at the implication, but you rolled your eyes, pushing his chest playfully. "You’re ridiculous."

Joe just grinned. "And you love me for it."

And he was right. You really, really did.

--

The morning felt like something out of a dream—slow, sweet, wrapped in warmth and easy laughter. Just the two of you. No tiny hands tugging at your clothes, no early-morning cartoons playing in the background, no chaotic mess of toys scattered across the floor.

Just you and Joe, husband and wife, sitting at the kitchen table, your legs tangled beneath it as you shared a stack of pancakes, sipped on coffee, and indulged in something you hadn’t felt in a while—time.

“I forgot what hot coffee tastes like,” you sighed dramatically, cradling the mug in your hands.

Joe snorted. “See? This is why I planned today. You deserve a break.”

You tilted your head at him, eyes soft. “So do you.”

He shrugged, slicing his fork through a pancake. “I don’t mind the chaos as much as you think. I mean, yeah, Hayes is a maniac sometimes, but I kinda love it.”

You grinned. “Says the man who handed me a half-asleep baby last week and whispered, ‘Please, for the love of God, take him. I need to lay down before I pass out on the floor.’”

Joe laughed, setting his fork down. “Okay, fair, but in my defense, that was after he made me run around the house with him for like an hour straight. And then he made me read ‘Goodnight Moon’ four times in a row before he even thought about sleeping.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “He’s obsessed with you. Full-on daddy’s boy.”

Joe smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, well, today is about me being obsessed with you.”

His words sent a little shiver down your spine.

It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, with that low, confident drawl that made you feel like the only woman in the world.

You swallowed, setting your coffee down. “So, what exactly do you have planned for today?”

Joe stretched, crossing his arms behind his head. “Well, since my mom has Hayes until tomorrow, I figured we’d do whatever you want. No distractions, no responsibilities, no ‘Mommy, Daddy, look at me!’ Just us.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Anything I want?”

Joe’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Anything.”

Your lips curled into a slow smile. “In that case, I say we start with a bath. A long, hot, uninterrupted bath.”

Joe’s smirk widened. “Sounds like a solid plan. But only if I’m invited.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up from the table. “Come on, Casanova.”

Joe was already on his feet, grabbing your waist and pulling you close. His hands slid down to your hips, his lips grazing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to today,” he murmured.

And neither did you—not until now.

Because after everything—the sleepless nights, the never-ending chaos, the constant whirlwind of parenting—it was easy to forget this part of your relationship.

But Joe had never forgotten.

And today, he was making sure you didn’t either.

The afternoon passed in a blur of easy conversation, warm touches, and stolen kisses between store aisles. Shopping together wasn’t something you got to do often—not without a tiny pair of hands reaching for everything in sight or a little voice repeatedly asking, “Can we go home now?”

But today, it was just the two of you.

Joe held your hand as you wandered through a boutique downtown, his fingers lazily playing with yours, rubbing circles against your palm. You weren’t even shopping for anything specific, just enjoying the act of browsing, of laughing over ridiculous designer price tags and testing expensive perfumes on your wrists.

At one point, he caught you eyeing a dainty gold bracelet in one of the glass cases, and without hesitation, he flagged down the salesperson. You tried to stop him, playfully swatting at his arm, but he just grinned and said, “Let me spoil my wife.”

And how could you argue with that?

After shopping, you made your way to one of your favorite restaurants, tucked away in the city. It was dimly lit, intimate, the kind of place that made you feel like the rest of the world faded away the second you stepped inside.

Joe let you order whatever you wanted, insisting you get the expensive cocktail you usually turned down and ordering extra appetizers just because.

“This is so much food,” you laughed, eyeing the plates covering the table.

Joe shrugged, cutting into his steak. “Yeah, well, if I’m gonna get my wife alone for the first time in forever, I’m gonna make the most of it.”

You sipped your drink, warmth spreading through your chest—not just from the alcohol, but from him, from the way he always made you feel like you were the most important thing in the world.

By the time you made it home, the sun had long set, and you were curled up on the couch together, presents sitting in front of you on the coffee table.

Joe leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. “Alright, who’s first?”

You grinned, grabbing the wrapped box in front of you and placing it in his lap. “You.”

His brows lifted, clearly intrigued. He didn’t hesitate to tear off the wrapping, lifting the lid of the box, and as soon as he did, his eyes went wide.

“No way,” he murmured, pulling out the ultra-rare Mike Vrabel jersey, the signature scrawled perfectly across the front. His fingers brushed over the fabric, as if making sure it was real.

You laughed at his stunned expression. “Took a while to find that.”

Joe just shook his head, a disbelieving smile spreading across his face. “This is insane. Do you know how rare this is?”

You smirked. “Oh, I know.”

He set the jersey aside carefully before reaching for the next box, pulling out the Rolex inside. His mouth parted slightly as he turned it over in his hands, the weight of it settling against his palm.

“Baby,” he breathed, looking up at you.

You shrugged. “You needed a new one.”

He laughed, slipping it onto his wrist, twisting it just right to catch the light. “This is—god, this is incredible.”

You leaned closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You like it?”

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I love it.”

You beamed, but before you could say anything else, he grabbed a small envelope from the table and handed it to you.

You raised an eyebrow. “An envelope?”

Joe smirked. “Just open it.”

You did, carefully sliding out the paper inside, eyes scanning over the words. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized what it was—an all-expenses-paid spa weekend, booked just for you.

“Joe…” you whispered, looking up at him.

His smirk softened into something more tender. “Figured you could use a real break. No baby, no responsibilities—just you getting spoiled for a whole weekend.”

Your throat tightened, overwhelmed with gratitude. “You even planned for your mom to take Hayes?”

He nodded. “She and my dad want more time with him anyway. They’re excited.”

You shook your head in awe. “You’re really the best, you know that?”

Joe smiled, reaching for you, pulling you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, strong and steady, holding you close.

“You deserve it,” he murmured against your temple.

You closed your eyes, sinking into him, feeling the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart against yours.

And in that moment, wrapped up in his arms, you knew—this was exactly where you were meant to be.

--

Sunday evening rolled in slow and sweet, the lingering relaxation of your spa weekend still wrapped around you like a warm hug. Your muscles had never felt looser, your mind never clearer, and you had Joe to thank for that. He was grinning like an idiot as you strolled into the house, barefoot and in one of the plush robes he had insisted you bring back because, according to him, "You deserve to be comfy at all times."

You had barely dropped your overnight bag in the bedroom before you felt Joe’s arms snake around your waist from behind, his chin resting against your shoulder.

"Feel good?" he murmured, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to the side of your neck.

You hummed, leaning back into his embrace, your fingers trailing over his arms, feeling the solid warmth of him. "Like a brand-new woman."

"Good," he said, his voice thick with something unreadable, and you could feel his smile against your skin. "Because I have one more surprise for you."

You turned in his arms, immediately skeptical. "Joe..."

His lips twitched, and he took your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. "I already planned it, and before you say anything—I cleared it with my parents. Hayes is gonna be more than fine. Actually, I think they might be more excited than we are."

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out what he was playing at. "What are you talking about?"

Joe pulled back just enough to grab his phone from the nightstand, tapping a few times before turning the screen to face you.

Your stomach flipped.

Staring back at you was a confirmation email for a week-long trip to Bora Bora—an overwater villa, pristine turquoise waters stretching for miles, the kind of place you had dreamed about visiting for years but never thought you’d actually get to see.

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Joe’s smirk widened. "So, what do you think?"

"Are you serious?" you finally managed to breathe out, your heart racing.

"Dead serious," he said, his hands finding your waist again, his fingers pressing into your hips. "I booked it months ago, just wanted to wait for the right time to tell you."

Your mind was spinning. Bora Bora. The dream destination. The place you had casually mentioned a hundred times, always in a wistful, "Maybe someday" way.

"But—Joe, a whole week?" Your voice was laced with both excitement and hesitancy. "What about Hayes? We've never left him for that long."

Joe nodded, as if he had expected that concern. "I know. But he's old enough now, and my parents are already planning a full itinerary of things to do with him. He’s gonna be spoiled rotten. And we haven’t had a real vacation since before he was born, baby."

You swallowed, processing it, weighing it against the part of you that always felt guilty for leaving Hayes. But Joe was right. The closest thing to a vacation you’d had in the last couple of years was a weekend here and there, always with Hayes in tow.

The thought of spending an entire week alone with Joe, uninterrupted, no responsibilities, no late-night wake-ups, no cartoons playing in the background of every conversation—it was tempting.

No, it was needed.

Joe must’ve caught the shift in your expression because his smirk softened into something more knowing, his hands squeezing your waist. "You deserve this, and so do I. Just you and me, away from everything for a little while."

Your lips curled into a slow smile. "Bora Bora, huh?"

Joe leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. "Nothing but us, white sand, crystal-clear water, and a private villa for a whole week," he murmured, his voice warm and full of promise. "Think you can handle that?"

You pretended to think for a second before finally giving in, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I think I can manage."

Joe grinned, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to your lips, one that left no room for doubt.

Bora Bora.

Just the two of you.

It was really happening.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #43

Stitches

Imagine dis…

I was just cleaning my room when I came across an old stuffed toy of mine. It is full of stitches like an amateur trying surgery for the first time and flopping it. I just remembered sewing my stuffed toy together as a kid. Like I was playing on them too harshly or one of my younger siblings got a hold of it and roughed it all up. So when I noticed my mom had no time to help me stitch my toy, I did it myself and the results varied…

…

John Constantine, aka the Laughing Magician, wasn’t an idiot. A drunk? Absolutely. A smoker? You bet. Had the worst bloody taste in romantic or sexual partners? Well, that’s a given. But an idiot? Not a chance. He knew, better than most, that the world he lived in was held together by nothing more than spit, lies, and a hell of a lot of bloody stubbornness.

But lately, something felt off…

Every time some wanker in a bright-colored cape and spandex punched, both literally and figuratively, through time or ripped an open hole to another dimension, it began as if reality was fixing itself.

He still remembered the bloody heart attack he nearly had the first time he read those sodding reports on time travel and dimension hopping. The second his eyes skimmed over the first few lines, he buggered off without so much as a goodbye, diving headfirst into the mess to sniff out whatever godawful consequences those spandex-clad pillocks had left in their wake. So imagine his surprise when, after dragging his sorry arse across the whole damn world, he found… nothing.

Not a damn thing.

No lingering paradoxes, no dangerous tears leaking out eldritch nightmares. It wasn’t natural. And anything unnatural coming from the bastard that split his soul like some two-bit, overachieving Voldemort, made his skin crawl.

So, like any poor sod with a knack for bad decisions and a bloody inconvenient conscience, he followed the ripples.

And that’s how he ended up standing in the inky void between worlds, a cig hanging off his lips, watching some scrawny teenager go to the fabric of reality that was torn apart by yet another one of those bloody spandex-wearing tossers, with a needle, like the universe had personally pissed in his pint.

The kid sat cross-legged in the void, stabbing his bloody needle through the fabric of space-time, and from the looks of it he was fueled by nothing but caffeine and a serious dose of spite. The thread he was using was bright blue, flickering with silver and white specks. Like tiny stars in each thread. Each stitch yanked the frayed edges of existence together, a bit rougher than necessary, like he was pissed off at the whole damn universe.

Constantine blew out a long stream of smoke, taking in the mess around him with a grimace. A sorry bloody sight, that’s for sure.

The kid had already clocked the audience, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash. He didn’t even bother with a glance, clearly unimpressed.

The kid introduced himself as Danny, then stretched out another few feet of thread and got back to stitching, like he hadn’t a care in the world.

The kid, Danny, if Constantine heard right, grunted, clearly unimpressed. He didn’t stop working, shoulders hunched in exhaustion like he’d been doing this for far too long. The whole cosmic janitor routine: they rip holes, he stitches 'em up. Same old, same old.

Bloody typical.

Constantine crouched down, eyeing the erratic stitching with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. This wasn’t normal, not by a long shot.

Danny let out a sharp, humorless laugh, clearly fed up. He jabbed the needle into a particularly stubborn tear with all the force of someone who'd had enough. The sarcasm practically dripped from him. Seems he was well and truly done with his unglamorous role in this cosmic mess.

Constantine felt a prickle of unease, the kind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He didn’t need to ask, but he did anyway.

What happens if you stop?

Danny’s response was all sarcasm and sass, if there was any doubt left, it was gone now. He didn’t even need to elaborate. The answer was bloody obvious if the kid, Danny, ever stopped stitching.

Danny snorted, flashing Constantine a wicked grin, all teeth and mischief. The kind of smile that made his gut twist.

Ah. Bugger.

Constantine didn’t need a bloody prophecy to know what that meant. If the kid stopped, the world wouldn’t just fall apart it would unravel, slow and steady, like a seamstress unpicking stitches, one by one, until nothing was left. And worse? There’d be no afterlife waiting to catch the poor sods caught in the collapse. No heaven, no hell, no second chances. Just the abyss, swallowing everything whole. No way in. No way out.

Now Constantine was scrambling, doing everything in his power to keep the kid from buggering off while there were still holes left to patch. And, just as importantly, making sure those spandex-clad pillocks finally got the memo, no more bloody time travel or dimension-hopping shenanigans.

The kid must’ve clocked what he was up to because, without a word, he handed Constantine a green-glowing bat with “Creepstick” printed on the side. He didn’t think much of it at first up until, after one particularly miserable day, he swung the thing in frustration and accidentally clocked Superman, who had just been reaching out to ask if he was alright.

For a second, Constantine felt guilty. Then he remembered that the Kryptonian had probably punched more holes in reality than anyone else. That guilt? Gone. Replaced by pure, unfiltered glee.

With renewed purpose, he set his sights on the next offender, the red spandex speedster responsible for most of the timeline’s headaches. The rest of the heroes caught on quickly that he was on some kind of unholy warpath. So when he casually knocked the Man of Steel on his arse with a single swing and grinned like a serial killer who’d just found his next victim, they did the smart thing they got the hell out of his way.

Some of the ones with super-hearing overheard his next target: one of the Flashes.

Constantine knew damn well he wasn’t getting into any afterlife, but for fuck’s sake, if they didn’t stop tearing holes in the bloody universe, none of them would have a place to go. No heaven, no hell just the abyss waiting to swallow them whole. And he wasn’t about to let that happen on his watch.

…

 PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: I tried using Constantine POV throughout the entire prompt and as you can see that I over did at the Brit slang.

PPPS: Though, how did I do?….

[beuxwhoyouare]

Dressing Room Score

All the couples wanted the day off for Valentine’s Day but I took those shifts so quickly because hello it’s free money! I took the apparel section because it’s the easiest place to get a peak at the dressing rooms. I’m not a perv I swear, but I can’t help myself. I always kept one vital of bodysuit serum on me. All the eye candy going into the dressing rooms was like a buffet of options. Men, women, pets! Shit I don’t discriminate I love trying on another persons experience to see how they live.

We were getting a weird crowd today since all the couples were out and about. The store was filled with miscellaneous randos so I went through most of my day thinking I struck out. As I locked in refolding some destroyed sections of t-shirts, a customer came up to me asking for help locating more of a certain item I absent mindedly answered looking at what was in his hand before looking up. My words stopping in their tracks as I saw his face.

He was so adorable and dorky looking in his face but the outfit he already had on told a different story. Leaving little to the imagination, it inferred he was going on a date or going out but I didn’t want to inquire too much. I like my mouth mindlessly answer his inquiries as I kept looking back to ogle at his outfit.

Eventually he asked to use the dressing rooms and I knew this was basically my chance. We walked slowly to the rooms and as he walked into the tiny space I quickly pulled the syringe out, stabbing him in the neck behind his back. The mirrors lining the room couldve saved him but he was oblivious of his surroundings.

He began turning into a suit hollowing out into a mound that looked like skin colored liquid latex. I quickly pushed him into the dressing room with me to avoid spectators. As I latched the door, I turned around to see the process completed. I knew I was operating on limited time and quickly pulled his skin on. I love putting on a new body that’s stacked with muscles that I’m not. It’s like you feel bloated, but in a good way because it goes straight to your muscles and any other places you differ in size…if you get what I mean. He was clearly a grower because I didn’t feel anything crazy there though.

I looked through his wallet to figure out a name and basic details. Okay, Reese is the name 5’9” is the height okay there’s the address. Wait the best part! I whipped back upright standing and smiling towards my new phone.

I decided to save the rest of the excitement for privacy gathered my new belongings and headed to the address on my ID. I fumbled through several keys before eventually finding the right one as I pushed my way into a very nice but neutral looking apartment. It definitely gave upper class gay which is what I always pretended to be so this would be easy to embody.

I quickly began stripping as I hastily searched for the closest full body mirror. I wanted to see the goods from every single angle. I ripped the belt holding up my very fitted pants, dropping them down to my ankles and I just gasped at what I could see.

Reese was had the type of body I was always afraid to have. He’s so conventionally attractive that while I wore him I felt like I couldn’t control myself. I needed to push it to the limit and see what I can do.

I headed down to the gym matching the sign in tag on Reese’s keys and just pretended to be there for a good workout. I mean I did go for a workout just not that kind.

I had a hard time breaking a sweat, which only intrigued me more but I headed to the locker room to take pics. I was just so obsessed with his juicy chest. Thankfully this was the better strategy because I kept getting passing glances until someone finally took initiative and approached me.

The man was such a daddy, something I could’ve only hoped to previously attract before. He nearly demanded I come with him after he got dressed and who would be to not oblige? I got in his big truck and we made our way to his home. I don’t know how I deluded myself into thinking I’d be the dominant one in this situation but the second the house door closed behind me. The burly daddy manhandled me and pushed me onto his bed. Gentle and slow was only a dream I could’ve hoped for because that man whipped his beer can out immediately and shoved his way in.

Don’t get me wrong he was BIG but that was the moment I learned what Reese did well. He was a power bottom. There was no moment of pain, me and my new hole took it like a champ. The in and out of his aggressive pace was matched by my new muscle memory eagerness to accept it.

He attacked my muscular backside as I finally began to break a sweat. Loud moans escaped my mouth. I couldn’t control it like an animalistic cry. As I thought I was reaching my limit I came on myself as he kept going. That would become a recurring theme.

Every day I’d show up to the gym and act like the slutty himbo I wanted to be. Ending up at a different home, condo, apartment every night putting my new orifices to work.

[bearforcecaptions]

It started innocently enough. A text buzzed on my phone at 7:00 AM sharp as I blearily smacked the alarm off my nightstand. I squinted at the screen, still half-asleep.

“You’ve been chosen. Reply YES to begin.”

Chosen? I assumed it was spam and set the phone down. I was 37, single, short, and covered in an unflattering layer of thick body hair. Years of poor diets and no exercise had left me chubby and soft. I looked like a man who had given up. What did “chosen” mean for someone like me?

Then the phone buzzed again. This time, the message seemed bolder, the text sharper against the screen:

“Reply YES to become who you were always meant to be.”

I stared at the words. A strange hum began in the back of my mind, faint but insistent, like an itch I couldn’t scratch. I hovered over the screen. I didn’t want to reply. I shouldn’t reply. But my hand moved as though it had a will of its own. I tapped out “YES” and hit send.

The phone vibrated immediately:

“Good choice. Time to begin. Lose the shirt.”

Lose the shirt? I frowned, unsure if I should laugh or scream. But then it happened—a prickling warmth that started at the base of my neck and spread across my shoulders, down my chest. I scratched at my skin, suddenly burning. The itching grew sharper, deeper, until it was unbearable.

I ripped off my shirt, my breath coming in quick gasps. My chest felt… lighter. I glanced at the mirror, my heart plummeting. My chest hair… it was receding, dissolving into my skin. I stepped closer. It wasn’t just my hair. My chest itself looked different. My pale, flabby pecs seemed firmer, the skin smoother, tanner. The skin stretched, my reflection shimmering slightly, like heat rippling in summer air.

“No,” I whispered, backing away. My voice sounded strange—lower, richer, but tremulous. My reflection flickered again. I swore I looked taller… straighter… but that couldn’t be right. My shadow on the wall stretched longer than I remembered, its proportions wrong. I blinked hard, but the distortion lingered.

The phone buzzed again. My hands trembled as I picked it up.

“Looking better. Go for a run. You need to move.”

A run? I couldn’t run. My knees wouldn’t take it. But even as I thought the words, the itch returned—this time in my legs, deep and unrelenting, like something inside me was breaking free. I looked down, horrified as my calves visibly tensed, the muscles rippling beneath my skin. My sneakers were by the door—were they always so spotless? So perfectly white?

The thought dissolved as my body moved of its own accord. I slipped them on, my fingers fumbling clumsily at the laces… but then they cinched tight, snug and perfect, as though molded to me.

The door opened as I stumbled outside. My feet struck the pavement. At first, my gait was uneven, unfamiliar… but the further I went, the easier it became. My steps lengthened. My legs stretched, bones and muscles expanding as I moved. I ran faster than I ever thought possible, faster than I ever could. The wind whistled past my ears. My thighs burned with an electric heat, and I felt them tightening, growing, swelling with strength I didn’t understand.

The world blurred around me, trees and cars streaking like paint on canvas. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a parked car window—a tall, lean figure, chest heaving but strong, running effortlessly. My breath hitched. I almost tripped. That wasn’t me… was it? My short, squat legs had vanished, replaced by long, muscular limbs that moved with impossible grace. My face…

I forced myself to look away and ran harder.

When I finally stopped, I was outside a gym I didn’t recognize. It loomed in front of me, clean and sleek, its sliding glass doors glowing faintly under the morning sun. My phone buzzed again.

“Go in. Your session awaits.”

I wiped sweat from my forehead and turned to leave… but my feet wouldn’t move. The itch was back—in my arms, in my shoulders. My body ached to lift, to strain. I turned back to the gym. The doors slid open soundlessly as I approached, beckoning me inside.

The air hit me like a wave: clean, sharp, laced with the scent of iron and sweat. I should’ve been disgusted, but it felt grounding… familiar. I stepped inside. A receptionist—a guy I’d never seen before—nodded at me like I belonged there.

“Late today, huh?” he said with a grin.

I swallowed thickly, my throat dry. I didn’t know him, but his words didn’t feel wrong. My feet carried me to a locker in the back, where I found a bag waiting for me—a sleek black bag with my name stitched into the side. My name.

I unzipped it, pulling out a tank top and shorts, pristine and athletic. My trembling hands stripped my sweat-soaked clothes, my eyes darting to the mirror on the wall. My chest was different. Pecs pushed outward, hard and defined. My arms… smooth, tanned, veins threading their way up my forearms. I looked taller. My legs—thick, powerful, carved with striations I didn’t recognize.

The phone buzzed.

“Lift. Heavy. You know what to do.”

I didn’t question it. My body carried me to the racks, loading plates effortlessly. The barbell felt good in my grip—like it belonged there. Each lift was easy at first, then harder… but the burn was exhilarating. My body drank it in, my muscles swelling. I caught my reflection—a tall, confident man with a smirk I didn’t recognize. Was that… me?

When I left the gym, I didn’t feel scared anymore. The streets looked brighter, cleaner, as if the world had sharpened. My body hummed. I walked with a swagger I couldn’t stop.

At home—if it could still be called that—the apartment was unrecognizable. The grimy carpet and peeling wallpaper were gone, replaced by smooth hardwood floors and modern, minimalist walls in muted tones. The cluttered mess that once filled the space had vanished, replaced by sleek black and chrome furniture that screamed wealth and precision. A massive bed—king-sized with a perfectly ironed, deep green duvet—dominated the room, flanked by matching nightstands with tasteful lamps. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows I knew weren’t there before, giving the space an airy, expensive glow.

My heart pounded as I moved through the room, my footsteps softened by a plush rug that stretched across the floor. Gym equipment—a polished set of dumbbells and a weight bench—was arranged neatly in the corner, as if waiting for me. On the opposite side of the room, a gleaming shelf displayed protein powders, shaker bottles, and a row of vitamins like trophies. I froze, staring at the items, my mind foggy. None of this was mine… yet it felt like it always had been. A strange sense of ownership crept over me, erasing the last dregs of unease.

I ran a hand over the sleek surface of the dresser, where neatly folded gym clothes sat waiting—tanks, fitted shirts, athletic shorts. A faint scent lingered in the air—clean, musky, mine. I swallowed hard, my pulse slowing as the tension in my chest faded. It was all perfect. Better than I could have ever imagined.

I took a hesitant step toward the massive bed, its deep green duvet somehow inviting. My body ached from the workout, but it was a satisfying ache—a good kind of pain. Without even thinking, I sat down on the edge, the mattress firm but comfortable beneath me. A strange sense of ease washed over me as I sank back onto the pillows, legs stretching out across the bed as though I belonged there.

The sunlight streamed through the tall windows, warming my skin. I stared at the ceiling for a long moment, my chest rising and falling steadily. For the first time all day, I felt still—but not out of place. The tension I had been carrying, the lingering confusion, all of it seemed distant now, like something that didn’t matter anymore.

My phone buzzed on the pristine nightstand, breaking the quiet. I turned my head lazily, almost relieved to hear it, as though it grounded me in this new reality. I reached over, my fingers curling around it easily, the screen glowing faintly:

“Upload your selfie and forget you were ever anyone else.”

I sat back lazily on the bed, leaning onto one elbow as I stretched out, legs sprawled wide in front of me. My thighs—thick, strong, and defined—were framed perfectly by the tight black briefs I hadn’t even realized I was wearing, the fabric clinging to my body in all the right ways. My chest, still flushed from the workout, rose and fell steadily, every breath making the defined curves of my pecs stand out. The sunlight streaming through the window highlighted the smooth tan of my skin, making the faint lines of veins on my forearms and biceps look almost deliberate, like they belonged on a statue.

The corner of my mouth curled into a lazy smirk as I turned on the camera, the phone already in my hand, its weight feeling natural. The screen flashed to life, and the reflection staring back at me was perfect—a sharp jawline angled just right by the sunlight streaming through the windows, dark hair tousled messily yet somehow flawlessly, and eyes gleaming with a cocky, knowing confidence. My chest, still flushed from the earlier workout, looked broad and solid, the light casting faint shadows across the defined curves of my pecs.

I adjusted slightly, leaning back further into the pillows as I sprawled out, my thick, powerful thighs taking up the frame. The snug black briefs I wore clung perfectly to me, the fabric highlighting every inch of muscle—quads that looked carved from stone and calves flexed lazily. My legs spread wider as though by instinct, one foot, still clad in a clean white sock, resting casually in the foreground. The sunlight danced across the tanned, smooth skin of my forearms, catching on the faint veins threading up toward my biceps, which flexed subtly as I held the phone aloft.

I tilted the camera, ensuring the angle captured everything—my smirk, my body stretched across the bed, the sheer effortlessness of it all. It was perfect. I didn’t even need to think about it. The words slipped out, low and satisfied:

“Perfect.”

I snapped the photo, letting the moment linger for a second longer, and then uploaded it to Instagram without hesitation.

--

I toss my phone onto the bed and stretch, kicking my legs out and flexing absently. The day’s barely started, but the gym’s already done its work—my quads are still burning in the best way.

The group chat pings, and I glance at it, smirking. Plans for tonight? Always. I grab a water bottle off the nightstand, take a long swig, and flex my bicep without even thinking about it.

The sunlight feels good. I lean back, scratching idly at my chest. The world’s as it should be. Everything feels right.

[imstillalexcomic]

Drawing from a couple weeks ago that I thought was cute! This was me trying to figure out something to wear for the Trans Prom thing. Eventually I got the courage to draw myself in a dress (while looking happy, looking happy was the tough part), but wanted to share this too!

I don't have suspenders, maybe someday I'll get suspenders and make this outfit happen.

[larkandkatydid]

There are many ways to be a big weirdo and I think that some are more conducive than others to a happy life and/or to a life where your weirdness can have a positive effect on the world.

So, for example, let's say one is naturally introverted and also naturally imaginative, bright, prone to coming up with ideas about how we could just fix everything if only we tried this one thing. This is describing many tumblrinas and many Aquariuses. And if one spends too much time alone, pondering great, world-changing ideas, then that weirdness starts to fester into something unhelpful. One becomes something between the Unabomer and a person with annoying bad ideas.

A commune, like a college dorm or a nursing home can be so helpful for the introverted because it takes no extra work at all to find people to socialize with. These days, I have to challenge myself to get up, leave the house and go to the volunteer session or protest or concernt or group activity that I know is good for me. It was way easier when all those things were happening in my kitchen.

And most improtantly, I think a person with a lot of utopian ideas for how the world could work benefits from a chance to try those ideas out! And especially benefits from having a social circle that is pre-selected to be into trying out your utopian plan. Should we replace the toilet with a bucket of sawdust and the shower with a grey-water system leading a duck pond? YES! Should we move to having only 1 cup and 1 plate per person in order to master our dishes problem? YES! Should we raise tilapia in the bathtub and quail in the backyard YES and YES!

And one learns from failure that maybe these ideas were actually pretty bad or, most importantly, one learns and gets better at the skills required to make those ideas work. I know several people whose passion for greywater systems first dramatically fucked up their plumbing but who then, after asking for help and even taking a bunch of community college classes on plumbing, became incredibly skilled plumbers capable of creating working grey water systems and also capable of fixing their neighbor's fucked up shower drain. I personally have found that my commune-acquired ability to milk a cow has often helped me build relationships with people who figured that if I know my way around a cow, I can't possible be that much of a big city weirdo. There's an old member of the Black Panthers who has made it his life's mission to spread bathtub tilapia as a small agricultural practice. I know a dude who convinced his local city council to fund a giant mushroom farm on the city compost facility.

This is just a complicated version of touch grass, but I believe in my heart that being weird alone in your own head makes you Jack Torrance and being weird with others makes you the world's own Manic Pixie Dream Girl...and that that one is better.

[ubiquitousdoctorstrangelove]

Because this post was minimized I almost reblogged it with a really shitty take until I scrolled up and realized what was actually going on, and I am so fucking happy that it goes into this much detail. Coming from an art and print background, I have to weigh the costs and effort of almost everything I do against the return- Which is really unfortunate, but I wouldn't be able to support myself otherwise. I've tried for YEARS to figure out a niche for myself, and I end up finding that wherever I turn, people are undervaluing me, undervaluing artists, undervaluing the arts as a whole, and making it next to impossible for us to survive. But- When I hear the word Zine, it had been SO long since I had seen the tiny little indie zines shown here that they didn't even register to me as an option for what the post could be talking about, and I have always mourned their disappearance in my lifetime. So I'm glad to know that there are people out there keeping them alive. I'm hoping to start an E-Zine this year, (been planning since last year) but I'm not sure how feasible it will be yet. The more I think about it the more I think "Bigger is better - But then you'll sink all your time into it" so this post is going to be something I think long and hard about, to start to incorporate this stuff into my plan.

the whole point of a zine is that it's cheap to produce, amateur and homemade. if you're being asked to apply to participate in a print project, it is not a zine. if the final product is being printed and bound professionally, it is not a zine. if you are being asked to enter into any kind of licensing agreement more complex than "my work can be reproduced as part of this publication" it is not a zine. nine times put of ten if the final product costs more than $5 you have left zine country. im so serious about this.