#like... idk apart from it being kind of silly it's like why would i want my own original stuff to be associated with me writing fics of -

[wutheringheightsfilm]

i just found out the author of the atlas six book is on AO3 under the same name... like from my olden days of being in that fandom to read fanfiction of (i was in high school) i knew that name sounded familiar and lo and behold she publishes real books under that name 😭 omg...

[c-kiddo]

watched latest tom scott video (about a cryonics facility) and was so taken aback by him keeping on really strongly saying humans should be working to “defeat death”.. like girl it is just not happening.

(humans wont defeat death the same way we wont conquer chomolungma or mars or the ocean. we will die because we're alive like every other animal and all the stars ever, and fighting that feels so ignorant and also prevents actual action and discussion of rights as humans after death , imo. and death rights and normalising of death and mourning are actually so important. because otherwise cultures' (western, often the US in specific) fear of death leads to nonsense like people get buried in reinforced caskets and embalmed with chemicals that’ll poison the soil but wont stop you rotting)

[esote-rika]

not a mask, but a reflection | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader Category: idk hurt/comfort?? flangst? something like that, I'm sorry I truly don't know how to categorize this Summary: The BAU ladies insist on a makeover for Spencer, so you decide to indulge them by promising to take him shopping. It doesn't go as either of you expected, but it allows a chance for the two of you to form a deeper bond. Content: reader’s outfit is described, reader is based on Blair Waldorf in background, and personality– so you're rich!! and fashionable!! And snarky, but in a ride or die sunshine x sunshine protector kind of way, early season 2 glasses!Spencer crushing on reader, implied autistic Spencer, brief mention of his bullying, lots of dialogue!!! especially about fashion advice (PSA to wear whatever you want!!) Word count: 2.8k A/N: I'm back on my Blair Waldorf-reader agenda. I'm mainly writing these because of my own crackship, but I tried very hard not to describe any specific appearance stuff for the reader (aside from what ur wearing) so it’s as immersive and universal as possible! Styling in film and TV fascinates me and I wanted to explore Spencer’s character through clothes. ALSO! I incorporate a Blair Waldorf quote into the conversation that goes “Fashion is the most powerful art there is. It’s movement, design, and architecture all in one. It shows the world who we are and who we’d like to be.” pls know I didn't come up with it, the Gossip Girl writers did. It's from S4E13 specifically.

Saturdays are usually meant for curling up on his couch to read his favorite books, or marathon obscure foreign films. Alone, always alone, Spencer Reid has grown used to the feeling; accepted it, enjoyed it, even. He wouldn’t have survived all these years if he didn't appreciate his own company, after all. 

However, today is different. He’s expecting company, which is unusual enough, but he’s expecting you of all people. And it’s for such a silly thing too— a makeover. Something straight out of a cliche high school movie. It had started at work, during a case, a passing comment made by one of the people being interviewed. Something about looking like he’s playing dress up, spoken so softly he’d been willing to pretend to ignore it. 

But you heard it, had snapped at the man in annoyance about respect and propriety. At the jet, you had snapped at him about wearing clothes that fit better, and of course Morgan and JJ had to get involved, and Garcia squealed about a makeover over the phone. He hadn’t expected you to accept; when you did, he considered several ways to get out of it: pretend to have a date (implausible), pretend to get sick, just don’t show up. But then you said you’ll meet him at his apartment and his world seemed to come crashing down.

“I need to see what I'm working with before I dive headfirst into this,” was your reply when he protested. It makes sense, of course, but he's not happy about accepting you into his space. It's curated for him and his comfort, and he dreads the idea of casting your shrewd, critical gaze over his design choices. If he's less of a coward, he would admit that a small part of him desires your approval. Craves it, needs it, so much it makes his skin crawl.

So that’s why his Saturday morning is spent cleaning; straightening books, hiding the case files strewn about. He doesn’t want to give you any ammunition to tease him with. Having to undergo a makeover is embarrassing enough.

It reeks of bleach when he opens the door for you. The wrinkle of your nose has no business being so cute when it's obviously done to express disgust.

“What is that smell?”

“Hello to you too,” he can't keep the sarcasm from his tone as he steps aside. 

You saunter in heels even though this is meant to be a casual get together. They click against his hardwood floors until you reach his rug, the thick fabric dulling out the noise. “Did you bleach your entire place?” 

His expression is sheepish as he closes the door, “I figured I'd clean.”

“You sure you're not hiding a murdered body in here?” you walk straight into the middle of his apartment and look around. He winces as he waits for your verdict.

“I’m not, I just - you’re so -”

“I’m so?”

“Particular.” I don’t want to disappoint you, but he clamps his mouth shut before the words escape. Having you come in for a makeover already isn’t doing anything for his confidence. In fact, it just confirms his suspicions. Something is wrong with him, despite all the attempts at propriety and flattery otherwise. The BAU sees it, you see it, and you’re here to fix it. He swallows the lump in his throat, and with it, his pride and the tiny hint of resentment. 

You are trying to help, he reminds himself. 

Maybe it’s his hopeless optimism, maybe it’s desperation to seem normal for once, but it’s enough to surrender to your knowledgeable hands. 

He lets his eyes take you in, allows himself a moment to linger on the details of your ensemble. The picture of coordination, as usual; shoes and bag the same shade of rich brown, the barrettes in your hair matching the pale blue trimming along the edges of the sundress you’re wearing. This is you dressed down, he knows, but somehow you manage to outdress him. 

“I’m not even going to ask what you mean by that,” your eyes roll, before landing to one of the doors in his apartment, “Where’s your bedroom?”

He sputters, “My - uh, why?”

“I’m assuming that’s where you keep your clothes?” You look at him like he’s dumb, and he turns bright pink. “I told you, I can’t take you shopping before I see what you already own.”

He can’t believe he fully didn’t realize it meant letting you into his bedroom. But then again, his brain has the tendency to turn to mush when he’s speaking with you. “Right,” he nods, scrambling to his bedroom. All of his anxieties about his living room and the overwhelming amount of books seem distant now; you hadn’t even commented on them. Instead, this new one arises, bubbles in his stomach. Showing you his bedroom is so much more intimate. The space he sleeps in, where he’s most vulnerable.

A space no other woman has ever even seen. 

He feels your presence behind him, smells the distinct loveliness of the perfume you like to call your signature scent. Of course you don’t ask for permission. He’s found quickly that you’re used to taking and having what you want, used to the world yielding to you instead of the other way around. 

Your heels make sharp taps against the floor. Combined with your perfume, it’s already obvious that you’re making your mark in his room, his haven. He imagines the fragrance will linger when you leave, and it makes his ears burn with a longing that knocks the wind from his chest. The door remains open, and he’s thankful that he isn’t completely caged in his bedroom with you. 

“Here’s my, uh, where I keep my clothes.” he hastily opens his closet, relief flooding his body as he sees it’s not that messy. Everything is ironed and pressed, although some of his sweaters are haphazardly piled together. He hopes he won’t have to show you the mess that is his sock drawer. 

You step up beside him, bare arm brushing against his. Brows furrowed in concentration as you rifle through his clothes. He steps back to give you more room to work with, although it’s more for his sake than yours. Your proximity is making him a little dizzy. He finds himself slumping on his bed, watching your movements. You’re approaching the task at hand with the same meticulous acuity as you would in a crime scene. Focused. Detail oriented, even when doing something so insignificant.

He’s not sure what to expect. He’s bought his clothes based on what he sees other men wear, relying on his observation skills, and the clothing guidelines given by HR to deduce what is considered appropriate. His father wore dress shirts a lot, back when his family was still intact. Hotch and Morgan wear suits, but those have always felt too formal to use on a daily basis. He opts for cardigans and sweater vests to keep him warm instead, because they’re softer, less restrictive. They remind him of Diana, the things she would wear back when she could still teach. He hopes you don’t make him get rid of them.

“You wear a lot of light browns,” your voice lifts him out of his anxious stupor, “You have to give that up.” 

He frowns in confusion, “What’s wrong with wearing light brown?”

“You’re too pale, they make you look even more sickly. But if you must wear brown, lean into this shade instead,” you hold up a dark brown blazer that he actually really likes. He smiles, happy that it got your seal of approval. You turn to him, eyes narrowed, “And your dress shirts are too big, look at where the shoulder seam falls.” 

He blinks in surprise as your hand comes to touch an inch past the edge of his shoulder, pinching the fabric, “It should be up here. You’re too slim for an oversized look, it just swamps your frame. If you’re going to be wearing them, they have to fit you better.” 

He nods, feeling a little out of his depth, “How do you know all of this?”

“Years of consuming Cosmopolitan and Vogue.” You turn back to the closet, he frowns slightly. The words mean nothing to him, and he flinches when he hears you sigh.

“Fashion magazines?” you prompt, glancing back over your shoulder.

“Ah,” He nods, lips pursed, “I can't say those are on my reading lists.”

“Obviously not, otherwise you'd know not to wear,” You gesture at his entire ensemble, nose wrinkling once again, “This.”

It doesn’t really occur to him what the problem is as he looks down at his checked button down. “It’s a nice shirt.” he says, although he can see your point now; it’s too big. 

“Reid, you look like you’re about to start proselytizing about our lord and saviour Jesus Christ.” you say, stepping away from his wardrobe and stopping in front of him. 

Your teasing makes his cheeks burn. Or maybe it’s your sudden closeness, your hands at his buttons, “Um, what–” he’s stiff, memories rushing of being held down, clothes forcibly ripped—

“Relax,” you step back after undoing the top button. The annoyed scoff surprisingly gives him some comfort, reminds him it’s you, he’s here with you, “There, that’s better. Don’t button it up all the way.”

“Why not?”

“I told you, it makes you look like you’re cosplaying a minister.” He shifts under your gaze, feeling exposed, even though he’s fully dressed. But that’s exactly what you’re judging, after all, his clothes. There’s nowhere to hide. “Why are you so tense, Reid? It’s not going to make you look like a fool, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Why? Where does he even begin? The fact that he’s never had a woman in his room before, and it’s making him feel like he’s about to implode? His memories of being stripped naked for all the school to see, humiliated, fueling the irrational fear of letting go of his clothes, the things he’s comfortable wearing. And for what? In order to be fashionable? To seem normal, to be fixed? 

He settles for a half truth, the words mumbled and embarrassed, “I like my clothes.”

To his surprise, your eyes soften, “Okay. And?”

“I like how I dress.”

“You don’t want to change your style?”

He looks down and shakes his head, feeling a little silly. How can he explain it to someone like you, who probably would have been one of his tormentors when he was back in school? It’s sick, this desire to be close to you, to be accepted by you as though being in your orbit would lessen his eccentricity. He thought he’d left it behind in high school, had grown out of it, but it’s there, recognizable and refusing to let him rest. 

“You know you didn’t have to say yes to this,” the bed dips as you sit beside him, “It was a silly thing the girls and I thought would be fun, but if it’s making you uncomfortable, I’ll stop and we could just, I dunno, go for ice cream instead.”

“No, I - I do, I just… don’t want to change completely.” It's almost pathetic how something as simple as clothes is making him spiral, “I like how I dress, even if you guys make fun of it. It’s comfortable. I get really cold hands, and the sweaters help, and - and the satchel is convenient even if you say it clashes with my outfits or whatever.”

Your hand rests on his forearm, and his rambling halts immediately.

“Then I won’t stop you from wearing grandpa-chic,” the lightness in your voice makes him smile, “This is why I wanted to see what you had. I wasn’t about to start from scratch, and there’s obviously a reason you gravitated towards these pieces. I wouldn’t force you into something you hate, that sort of defeats my fashion philosophy.”

“Your fashion philosophy?” He's smiling now as he listens to you.

“I believe that the whole point of fashion and clothing is to help reflect what you are on the inside, not mask it.” You reply, hand finding his own. He allows it, finding something warm and soothing in the touch of your hand, silencing the usual urge to pull away in fear of germs. “And, anyway, I think your clothes make you look really intellectual, so if you like them, you have the pieces in your closet already, it’s just a matter of styling them better.” 

You squeeze his hand, but he could have sworn you did it to his actual heart. 

He watches as you return to his closet again, rummaging through the clothes. You hold up a white button down and a navy blue cardigan, head tilted to the side, teeth worrying the plushness of your lower lip, “Like this; this is a nice combination, and it’ll work better with your complexion. Try it on.” they’re tossed over to him, landing on his lap.

You’re turning away from him, still going through his clothes—allowing him privacy. He appreciates that. He scrambles out of his current clothes, his skin prickling as he thinks about the fact that he’s in a room with a woman alone, getting undressed. No. You’re a friend and a coworker doing him a favor, he should get his head out of the gutter. Hurriedly, he puts the suggested ensemble on.

“Uh, it’s — you can turn around.”

He holds his breath as your eyes rove over his figure, still with the same sharpness he’s used to, but blunted by the small smile playing across your lips. “Yeah, that’s better. Navy’s a great color for you.” you have a stack of his shirts in your hand, all of them patterned and printed, “I’m sorry, but these… have to go. Or at least don’t wear them to work. The prints are ugly, no offense.”

He chuckles, taking the shirts from you, “Not wearing ugly prints to work anymore, got it.”

“Yeah, keep the funky patterns on your ties.” you reach up, brushing lint and dust off the cardigan, “Your shirts should remain plain, solid colors; you have a lot of nice sweater vests and cardigans, it’ll be easier to match them together if your shirts are in more basic colors.” 

Committing your words to memory is easy enough. Rules. He likes rules, but they need to make sense to him, otherwise their arbitrariness will simply frustrate him. “Why?”

“Why what?”

So far, you’re being so receptive to his questions, it might actually make him cry. It’s a new feeling, being the one who’s floundering. Not being the smartest, most knowledgeable person. How exciting, he decides, getting to learn in an area he’s never been able to fully understand on his own. He clarifies, “Why can’t I match the cardigans and sweaters to, uh, colorful shirts?” 

It’s a while before you answer, moving around to wind a tie across his neck. Your words are thoughtful when you speak, “It’s a visual balance. Too many colors and patterns can look heavy and distracting— which is okay, you know, but time and place is always something to consider when you’re dressing up. And you’re going to work, so it’s better to err on the side of caution and wear things that are more… sleek.” Your hands are deft as they tighten the tie, tucking it into the cardigan. “So now that I know what sorts of clothes you like to wear, it’s a matter of finding the right color combinations and cuts that fit your body. Here, see for yourself.”

You push him forward until he’s in front of his mirror, and indeed he does look… better. Still himself, still familiar, but the contrast of the navy cardigan against his pale skin somehow brings out more warmth from his cheeks and makes his hair seem less dull. Visual balance, you said. “Like art,” he murmurs.

“Exactly,” your smile is proud, peeking from behind his shoulder, “Fashion is the most powerful art there is. It’s movement, design, and architecture all in one. It shows the world who we are and who we’d like to be… and this is showing the world that you’re one attractive nerd.”

He laughs at that. There’s a lightness in his chest as he realizes he doesn’t have to change everything. “I think I get it.” he replies, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“Of course you do, you’re a genius.” A slap on the back, one filled with warm intimacy, “Now, I did promise the team a makeover, so now that I know what sort of stuff you need, we can finally go shopping… and we need to do something with your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” he asks, but he’s smiling and so are you.

THERE WILL BE A PART TWO! Also, tagging everyone who expressed interest in Waldorf!Reader @mggslover @libraprincessfairy @lillaberry @lokisswiftie

[maddy-k-reads-all-day]

Amanda Headcanons

Cuz everyone else is doing it, and it seems fun.

Amanda/Rebecca

Amanda has morbid interests

She loves reading and drawing

She likes tragedy stories

Would love Puella Magi Madoka Magica

Would love The Girl From the Other Side

The more the games go on the more she starts acting like the kind person Rebecca used to be.

Doesn't like pink

Is a tomboy

Likes goth stuff (based on that one outfit Rebecca has)

Probably had a lot of friends

Was the outgoing one in the friend group

Probably liked hikes and nature and stuff (I mean the show is based on her going on adventures)

Had some sort of trauma prior to meeting Sam (Sam hinted at this in one of the secret tapes)

Loves cats

Fascinated by death

We'd probably be besties, ngl, if that's not cringe to say, lol.

Afraid of the dark.

I could see her enjoying dancing in her spare time.

Doesn't know how to do her hair

Didn't know how to do chores at first and learned over time

Hates being interuppted

Has a bit of an anger issue

Struggles to trust people

Super smart - did well in school

Would remind the teacher about homework (idk why i just feel like she would).

Loves animals

I don't think she's pessimistic she just choses to be realisitc

Her pockets are infinitely deep

Has trouble sleeping due to nightmares.

She likes ALL the colors. But I can see red and black being her favs

Expresses a lot with her body

The queen of sarcasm.

Will put her own needs and feelings aside for others

Loves to cook

Always itching to try something new

Skydiving was somewhere on her bucket list

Has a bucket list of all the things she wanted to do and places she wanted to go.

Sneaks off to have alone time without Wooly or Riley

Isn't a big fan of having everything she says and does watched by thousands of people.

Reads a lot of books when we aren't watching the tapes.

Would probably scream randomly just to scare the crap out of Wooly

Teases those she cares about

Would stand up to bullies on the playground.

Probably held funerals for dead animals she found in the backyard

Would just wander off into the woods sometimes and not return until dinner.

Wooly

Will avoid thinking about sad stuff at any cost

Autistic

Sings in the shower

Stores stuff in his wool.

Insomniac

Likes pink

Is probably a follower rather than a leader

Insecure about his appearance/being a sheep

Has a lot better control over his emotions

Bottles everything up ^(the real reason lol)

Bounces a bit when excited

Tries to be the mature one (despite having moments that clearly show he isn't).

Likes having the cameras attention.

Vegetarian (it just makes sense to me)

Doesn't like loud noise

Disassociates often

Would rather watch the same show/movie over and over and over again then start something new (and it drives Amanda insane).

Didn't have many friends

Before their friendship fell apart Wooly was super clingy to Amanda like practically her shadow.

Gets embarrassed when Amanda or Riley catch him being silly/himself

Probably had anxiety and panic attacks

Doesn't like sad stories.

Would probably hide in a dark, quiet space if overstimulated.

Sleeps with a stuffed animal. For some reason tho I could also picture him having so many stuffed animals on the bed that he can barely fit on the bed and they all end up on the floor and he'd probably be the type to apologize to them if that makes any sense.

For some reason, he doesn't know how to apologize.

Would probably make friendship bracelets

Likes some traditionally "girly" activities

Forgets/loses things all the time

Wooly used to "baa" as a stim sometimes but stopped doing it after the whole farm incident out of fear it would happen again.

He stims a lot

Socially awkward

Likes some nice warm milk before bed

Has a fear of heights

Never brushes his wool

Enjoys getting it blow-dried tho.

I prolly have more I haven't thought of. Might make a part 2 or reblog with more if I feel like it.

[starlightshadowsworld]

I have this random ass idea of Katai in between his usual job being a streamer and playing primarily cosy games.

Because life is already too stressful and he (and his ability) work best when he feels safe and comfortable.

And Verlaine, who's not doing so great and spending most of his time in a basement, watching Katai's streams. He's got nothing but time and something about this feels comforting.

In a way he's not felt in a long time.

So he'll just lounge about after teaching kids how to kill and watch Katai play something like Unpacking.

Katai's like hey guys grab your favourite blanket and beverage of choice. My best friend got me some of this fancy tea, and boy it is great 5 stars from me.

And Mr Ex King of Assassins over here is just bundled up in a blanket and making some tea he loves (and may have been Arthur's favourite, and that's why he likes it so much.)

And just happily watches.

Verlaine has given donations here and there, with a little message thanking Katai for his videos. Sometimes saying vaguely that he's going through a tough time, but this definitely helped.

Katai always smiles when he sees it, and says that he's glad. "You know I used to be apart of a group that were dedicated to helping others. It's nice to know I can still do that in some way."

Maybe at some point they figure it out, perhaps during an alliance and Katai is just anxious because oh kind and snarky Hatlaine is a Port Mafia executive.

Meanwhile Verlaine is suprised but low key fangirling because holyshit it's DapperFuton. He happily talks to Katai who calms soon and they talk.

"Hey, erm Verlaine was it? I tried that tea you recommended."

"You... You did?"

"Yeah, and I gotta say it's really good. I erm, bought some with me if you'd like to maybe have some with me? Only if you want!"

"I would love too."

Idk just two silly little basement dwellers (literally in Verlaine's case) becoming unlikely friends.

[copper-16]

been thinking about your platonic andrea + lola fic especially since andrea missed the last penalty that took atletico out of the CL. would you ever write a fic about that?

idk andrea feeling really guilty and pulling away from the team and lola reminding her that she’s more than just her bad moments on the pitch?

:)

The way this ask made me GASP...I posted this fic OVER a year ago and someone still remembers it? I cannot explain my excitement, especially because it's such a little niche/rarepair fic. It makes my YEAR when people still remember those silly little fics I made. If rarepair or platonic stuff was more popular I would probably have a million fics to write, honestly.

I wasn't ever planning to write about them again - but I pumped something out solely because I was so excited by you mentioning it 😭 It's not a full fic necessarily which is why I'm just posting it on here.

I Try, I Try

Andrea misses the penalty, crushing Atlético Madrid's dream of playing in the Champions League. Crushing Lola's dream of playing in the Champions League. The defender struggles to cope before she receives an important reminder.

If there was one thing that would have motivated Lola to save every single one of those penalties, it would be the sight of Andrea on the pitch after missing her own. It was burned into her brain it felt like, the image of the younger girl right next to the celebrating Rosenborg team, her head in her hands. 

Lola was absolutely disappointed after the loss. But she had been lucky to have a long career, to have won a Champions League trophy, to have experienced so many losses and victories. But the defender was still young, and it was a different kind of pressure and expectation to be the one to take the final penalty in a shootout. Especially one where the result determined if they had a shot at playing on the international stage. 

And Andrea hadn’t even flinched when she had been selected, insisting that she was ready. She was putting on a brave face, Lola could tell. 

But it was that kind of strength and the right attitude that made good players great ones. The keeper was proud of her for being a team player and fighting till the end, even if it wasn’t their day. Even if she wanted to cry, the blonde made her way around to her other teammates, patting them on the back and holding back her clear upset. 

Lola simply wished it didn’t have to end this way. The younger girl had been nearly catatonic in the changing room, on the bus ride, on the plane. 

It had been Carmen who had taken Andrea home, given that the two of them lived in the same apartment building. Lola had pulled the older defender aside, asking her quietly to keep an eye on their younger teammate. 

When the keeper asked Andrea if she wanted to come over to her and Christina’s apartment, she only received a muted head shake in response. The younger girl could barely even look her in the eyes as she brushed the keeper off, though not unkindly. 

It had taken less than two hours for Carmen to call Lola to come over, her voice filled with worry. 

The older woman rode a strange line sometimes, wanting to respect Andrea’s boundaries while also understanding that sometimes people didn’t always exactly say what they wanted. She did feel a certain responsibility to protect the defender from the harsh realities of the world, but she couldn’t solve everything. 

Personally, she hated the fact, even if she knew that she held no control over it. 

She makes it to Andrea and Carmen’s apartment building in record time, meeting her former partner by the door to the younger girlfriend’s apartment.

“I could hear her crying in her room when I was making her some food and I…I don’t know. She hates being alone, it feels more like she’s trying to punish herself than process,” Carmen said with exasperation, but underneath her tone is thinly veiled worry. 

“You probably aren’t far off,” Lola acquiesced, turning her head briefly to look at the door. “I’ve got her, you can go back up to your place. Don’t forget to ice your knee,” the keeper said with as much captainly authority as she could muster. Carmen rolled her eyes good-naturedly, saluting her teammate somewhat mockingly before she turned to head back up to her own place. 

Lola lets herself into Andrea’s apartment, and despite the fact that the defender’s door is closed, she can hear the muted sounds of crying that ring through the space. She doesn’t even hesitate, striding over to the younger girl’s room before she opens the door gently, poking her head in. 

The soft crying noises shut off abruptly, the entire room entering into a precarious stillness. Lola felt her heart sink at the evidence of the girl’s sadness, even if she knew it was there. 

The older woman doesn’t even bother with asking for an invitation, she simply moves into the room, climbing into Andrea’s bed with her. 

This bed held a million memories, at least for the keeper. Late-night conversations and confessions, the loudest of laughs, a safe space for tears. The mattress greets her warmly, sinking under her as she moves her body closer to Andrea’s, placing her hand gently on the defender’s back. 

“Lola, go away,” Andrea insists, attempting to sound more firm than she felt. Her words come out sounding more like they are from a tearful child, not that Lola cares. 

“It is okay to be upset Andrea, it is okay to cry,” Lola tries, but the blonde still shifts away from her, and the sound of a stuttering breath punctuates the silence around them. 

There is a pause before the younger girl speaks again, her words dripping with rage. 

Not for the team, but rather for herself. 

“It is my fault that we lost. I shouldn’t be crying over something that I had control over.” 

Lola sits up slightly after hearing her words, placing her head in her hand, her elbow pressing into the mattress. When she speaks, her voice is firm, with little room for argument. 

“No, it is not.” 

The sheer force of her words is enough to make Andrea pause and relent in turning over slightly to peer at the dark-haired woman. 

She expects Lola to be looking at her with anger, with frustration. 

First, she lost them an important game, all because she couldn’t shoot a ball into the net properly. Like it wasn’t her only job to do exactly that. 

And now, she was acting like a child, hiding in her bed when all she wanted was a hug and a reminder that she wasn’t the worst footballer in the world. 

She was older now, and she needed to grow up and be realistic. There wasn’t time for all of her big, unnecessary emotions. 

But Lola isn’t looking at her with anger or frustration. She looks more apprehensive and concerned than anything else, and Andrea turns over more fully to face her. 

“I’m so sorry Lola,” she whispers, crushed by the thought that she was the one who ended not only her dreams, the dreams of the team, but Lola’s dream. 

The keeper shakes her head instantly, her expression filling with sympathy. 

“Andrea, it is not your fault. There were 120 minutes, and four other penalties besides your own. This doesn’t rest on all you, I promise,” Lola points out, but Andrea cuts her off with a humorless laugh. 

“Yes, but if I had just made my penalty, my one job, we wouldn’t be here,” she counters, averting her eyes from the older woman. 

“And if I had saved more of the penalties, or the goals, we wouldn’t be here either,” Lola comments, but it doesn’t seem to do anything other than upset the defender more. 

“That is different, and you know it. Nobody expects a keeper to save a penalty, but it is the job of the players to score,” Andrea’s voice is forceful, as though she’s trying to convince herself of the words. 

“By the time we made it to penalties, we had already failed our job. All of us, the whole team, not just you. Just because you are the one who went last, doesn’t mean that our failures for the whole game lay completely on your shoulders,” Lola argues, and when the blonde doesn’t say anything in response, she continues. 

“This is not your fault. We all miss penalties or make mistakes on the job. I can’t even begin to count how many mistakes I have made in my career Andrea, truly. As much as I hate it, it’s a part of the game. And it doesn’t matter how many times it happens, or how old you are, you are allowed to be upset over it. It doesn’t make you immature or weak to cry or feel upset,” the keeper emphasizes, and when she sees the younger girl’s lip begin to wobble, she knows that she’s hit the root of the problem. 

“I’m twenty years old, I shouldn’t be acting this way over a penalty,” she sputters, and Lola settles herself back on the mattress, pulling the younger girl into her. 

“I don’t care how old or mature you are, you are allowed to be upset about things. I am twenty-nine years old and–” Lola starts, though the defender is quick to interject despite her sadness. 

“Aren’t you thirty-on–” Andrea is cut off with a hand that quickly covers her mouth, smothering the rest of her sentence. 

“Shush, I am in my twenties and I haven't finished speaking. As I was saying, I am older than you and I still cry about things all the time, when I feel the need to. It is natural and it is normal, just like it is to talk to other people around you. There is no rule book that says you must go through this alone because you feel that you are the one at fault for the situation. All you are doing is punishing yourself when I promise, you don’t have to,” Lola reassures, Andrea now tucked into her side, her head laying on Lola’s chest. 

There is a pause as silent tears slip down the blonde’s cheeks, as the words of the older woman wash over her. 

“I am so sorry Lola,” she emphasizes, and it’s the repetition of the word that causes the keeper to look down in confusion. 

“Why are you saying sorry to me?” She asks, a little lost on why Andrea needed to apologize to her specifically. 

“You are further along in your career, these chances aren’t always easy to come by, and I screwed it up. I blew your chance this year, and who knows if we’ll have this opportunity again,” Andrea’s voice is small, emotion caught in her throat. 

“I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t…” 

The blonde’s words trail off, but the unspoken part of her sentence is heard loud and clear. 

Please don’t hate me. 

“I could never, I promise you that. You are my teammate, but more importantly, you are my friend. I am proud of you each time you step out onto the pitch, and I consider myself so lucky to be your teammate. We win together, and we lose together. I love you far too much to ever let something like football come between us, even if it is an important match. It’s just a game, and you are…tan especial para mí,” Lola vows, feeling the younger girl curl further into her side, a sigh of relief leaving her exhausted body. 

And it was true. The defender meant so much more to her than anything that football might bring or take away, and she would much rather prioritize that than over something she knew could slip out from under her at any moment. 

“Te amo pequeña,” the older woman murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of Andrea’s head. 

The younger girl snuggles into her further, tear tracks down her face finally beginning to dry as she settles into the taller woman. 

“Thank you Mama Lola. Te amo,” she whispers as she drifts off, disappointment now accompanied by the knowledge that she would overcome this. 

And by the fact that she didn’t have to do it alone.

[yourdadsbasement]

i stg the only thing that calms my anxiety these days is either working on my fanfiction or reading other people's fanfictions (and doing the commentary haha), i was seriously not prepared for how bad it would be even after i finished chemo. it'll probably be better once i return to work and am not stuck in the house all the time but right now i am S U F F E R I N G. my doc did also up the dose of my meds so hoping that will help too. It's so unpredictable--yesterday i got up and was bopping around the house in a good mood, getting lots of work done on Dirtbags and feeling pretty normal, and today i have been so wound up from the moment i got out of bed that i barely know what to do with myself.

it probably doesn't super duper help that writing about Chris' addiction in Dirtbags is bringing back a lot of bad memories, some pretty fresh, of friends and significant others i've had who were addicts and remembering how hard it is both to be and to love someone who is an addict.

idk i've just been feeling like...i just want to have a normal, boring life instead of the kind that makes people go "oh my god i can't imagine going through that."

anyway thanks again for your patience with my rambly ranty posts. idk why but writing out my feelings on here makes me feel better. there have seriously been times during my treatment when i was in my apartment with snow coming down for hours when i felt like the only human being left on earth, and it was great to come on here and talk about a silly, goofy show with other human beings who were out there somewhere.

[its-all-papaya]

for the ask game :

👗 put away clean laundry (a trope you’d like to see me write)

what about accidental marriage landoscar or a trapped in an elevator fic ?

okay i got two of these (thank you deeply, i've been fishing everything out of The Pile for the last few days and it sucks) so i put away HALF of the laundry and i'll do the other half after this and answer the other ask after that.

↠ please make me do my chores

trapped in an elevator landoscar is fascinating to me because i feel like depending on when it is, the vibes would vary so incredibly wildly. my first thought was like after a mid qualifying or a bad race, trying to get back to their rooms and lando is just a Bitch because he's moody and wants to be face-down in bed and this so incredibly inconvenient and he just. can't be here. oscar's being mild and trying to joke to make lando feel a bit better, and lando's trying to be kind bc that's his boy fr, but eventually he's like "this is a fucking joke, are we ever going to get out?" not sure where it would go from there, but feels like eventually they'd either Talk About It or Oscar would go anybody, nowhere mode and be like "if you sit in my lap and i rub ur back for a bit and you can put ur nose in my neck, would that help you chill out until we're free?" i'm partial to that one but i can't just write the same landoscar narrative over and over you know? maybe i can. who's to say.

the other option kicking around in my silly brain is Drunk getting-together Landoscar in an elevator bc i think we are all aware of lando's favorite post-drinking activity of finding a man to hang onto. so oscar trying to get him home to his apartment or hotel room but then they get trapped. and lando is like plastered to oscar's side already (probably oscar's been holding his hand since they left the club or whatever so lando would stop looking so sad) so when the elevator stops he's amenable for a bit. leaning into oscar's side with all his body weight so oscar HAS to put his arm around lando to keep him from collapsing. and when it's been long enough, eventually, they're sat together on the floor, lando's head on oscar's shoulder, "osc, can you play with my hair? i like when people touch my hair" and oscar is like "is that true?" bc lando is like. kind of neurotic about it sometimes. and lando is like "yes, of course! not at work, you muppet, that would be crazy" (even though oscar's totally touched lando's hair like a dozen times at work and lando's only ever grinned at him about it) "only when it's the right time. like when i'm sucking someone off and they pull my hair, that's the right time for sure." and oscar is like... oh! okay! cool, that's such a fun fact about you! and who knows where lando's drunk ramblings would take them from there!! (fuck me this feels so strongly like another fucking wip i need to lay off the microsoft word 'new document' button so baddddly)

accidental marriage landoscar.... (almost forgot the second half of this bc got distracted thinking about drunk lando telling oscar he looooooves it when men call him pretty). okay... idk how this would even happen and i need to sell things to myself to make the fic work, like it's got to be at least distantly very abstractly believable to me... but you know they'd be a disaster. it's not speaking to me the way trapped in an elevator is, but i love domestic shit so i could probably make this work if i thought about it longer than like 35 seconds... i'd probably make it kind of fake dating-y in theory like forced proximity...rings...that lando tottttttalllly doesn't get sooooo attached to why would you even ASK him that?? anyway.

[even-disco-baby]

how does it feel to know your writing stopped someone from taking their own life?.

have been sitting on this one for a while bc I don't really know how to answer it. And also bc I don't want to like... idk, come across like I'm tooting my own horn or smth. But I'll say as someone who has been institutionalized before for suicidal thoughts, it affects me a lot. Part of why I started this blog was because of the way disco elysium portrays suicidality and the way it intersects with politics. As someone a lot more eloquently than me once put it, de is a game where you wake up in Harry's chalk body outline and then try to solve the mystery of his social murder. Playing it felt similar to a lot of the conversations I had back when I was dealing with suicidal thoughts, friends who had been through the same thing and were willing to give me that space to talk about it without judgment and respond with the same honesty. More than anything, that's what saved me back then. Like loving myself through loving others who kindly held up a mirror to me. Something like that.

I have one friend in particular to thank for those long talks, and also... for the many many hours we spent writing little fanfictions between those talks haha. We would write for each other and pick apart each others' stories and also talk about what thoughts/feelings/events inspired what we wrote. It probably sounds silly, but it was an avenue for connection on a level I hadn't ever really connected with anyone on before. We're still friends and I consider them one of the best I've ever had.

So I'm reminded of that time and those connections I've made with people through making/talking about art as an avenue for exploring the context of our lives. I sometimes get embarrassed about how much of me is in these little excerpts but I think I won't anymore. Not to make this all about myself but I'm glad if I was able to pay forward the kindness and honesty I was shown even a little bit and connect with other people on that level even for just the minute or two it takes to read a tumblr post. Not to keep quoting that one shivers line over and over again but I really do think we are what keeps each other on this earth. So thanks for being here with me.

[lillyspeakz]

I'm scared to ask but argbur halloween walk? [Fluff]

-Sam/Simpbur [idk which to use lmao they both work for this occasion]

i love this a lot….

-

It was cold out like usual, the seasons changing as the leaves fell off their respected trees and changed into all sorts of yellows, oranges and reds. Pumpkins lined the staircases of apartments and houses, funky faces carved out of them as a candle flickered inside them. There were still some stragglers outside, all results from trick or treating and trying to make their last rounds before it got to late and they all had to go home.

You had always loved Halloween, the weather always being perfect to you, the movies that came out, the sweaters and sweatpants, and don’t forget about the candy! But the walks were your favorite.

Feeling the wind blow against your face, making your nose turn red as you snuggled into your oversized sweatshirt you stole from Wilbur, as well as his beanie. He always said how they looked better on you, already having too many. You also managed to drag Wilbur out as well, even if he was already cold and complained all the time of the added air pressing against his skin. You made up for it with tea and cuddles once you were home, which he appreciated very deeply.

As you walked in the middle of the road, streets blocked off from the trick or treating that you had just participated in, complimenting all the costumes and outfits you both saw, Wilbur’s hand in yours as you held into his arm as well, getting impossibly closer. Kids ran around you two, giggling and showing each other how much candy was in their bags, already talking about trading with one another before even seeing what the other had. It made you giggle a little, missing when all you had to worry about was getting as much candy as possible and making sure your costume was the best in the neighborhood.

Wilbur looked down at you with a small smile, judging you slightly as you looked back at him. “What are you thinking about?” The man asked in a delicate tone, soft and quiet, not to disturb the atmosphere around the two as crickets and wind blowing past was the only sounds you could hear.

Shaking your head, you leaned it against his arm as you trudged along. “Just- I miss Halloween as a kid. dressing up as silly characters and racing my friends to different houses and seeing who could get more candy. I always pulled the classic ‘oh my friends sick and wanted to go trick or treating…. Would you be so kind?’ As I held out the bag-“

“You were one of those kids?!” Wilbur gasped jokingly as you shoved your shoulder into him, his laugh breaking the silence as you glared at him with a smile.

“Hey! You would’ve been a lucky guy to be friends with me as a kid, I shared some of my candy with people….” You said as you smirked at the man next to you, his eyebrow raising in question as he hummed in question. “I did! Maybe not a lot, but a good amount!”

“I believe you, considering we shared a whole bag of candy last week while watching a movie.” Wilbur wrapped his arm around your shoulders as he pulled your closer, kissing your head as he did. His lips were freezing but they have been for a good while, still not knowing why. You didn’t push it but, you could tell something was happening.

“You enjoyed it just as much as I did, darling.” You nuzzled into his chest, walking a bit more before making it to the park, Wilbur leaning against the equipment as you hid your face in his chest.

His hand came up to the back of your head as he played with your hair, numb fingers running through the warm silk layers, lips leaving small sweet kisses on your crown as he hummed in agreement.

“I did enjoy it. Especially when you’d jump into my arms after getting scared at the littlest turn-“

“It was scary! That movie was unpredictable and I hated it…” you poured up at him as he chuckled at you, a wide smile on his face as he brought one of his hands to cup your cheek, caressing the crease your eyes made and then rubbing your bottom lip, sighing out.

“Well I’m glad I could protect you my love, from all the… scary things that happened.” Wilbur teased as he leaned down to your height, another laugh coming out as you poured more and slapped his chest gently.

“Stop making fun of me. You know I don’t like scary stuff.” You said as you continued to lean into him, a small smile taking over your expression as his own smile widened even more.

“You love it.”

“You know me too well.” You whispered to him as your lips collided with his in a slow bit messy kiss, both of your lips freezing from the wind. Yet the touch from both of them being on one another helped the blood circulation continue, making your lips swollen and red. The kiss continued as Wil’s hands cupped your face, pulling you impossibly closer as you wrapped your arms around his waist, rubbing his torso and chest as you did.

As the late night started to make itself known, a gush of colder wind came over the two of you, making you shiver and pull away, gravitating towards Wilbur’s big coat to try and fit yourself into. You still found him surprisingly warm after all of it, which you were grateful for, taking advantage of it.

“Can we go home now?” You asked, words muffled as your face was buried in the man’s chest, arms wrapped around your shoulders as your own were around his waist.

He chuckled slightly as he rubbed your shoulders, humming in agreement as he begrudgingly pulled away from you, cupping your face once more and pecking your frozen nose. “Let’s go, won’t take long.” Wil whispered to you as he held out his hand for you to take. You quickly took the joint as you stayed as close to him as you could, not being immune to this weather like he was.

As you walked back you both took in the decorations that would soon be taken down, and the Halloween music that people left one after trick or treating. Some people were still outside, enjoying the last remnants of Halloween night as they could, making you smile at the bittersweet moment.

“I wish Halloween was everyday….”

“Are you trying to make us crazy?”

“….maybe.”

[cobra-creampuff]

Hi Jack! Some totally random questions to take your mind off things -

1. Ian and Mickey have saved up enough to take a short vacation. Where are they going?

2. What weird/fun/silly ways do they decorate their West Side apartment?

3. Who controls the radio when they drive around for work?

4. What kind of takeout do they get so regularly that the restaurant knows them by name?

5. Are they still wearing the camo outfits for work? And how many times has Ian gotten distracted by Mickey wearing camo?

1. They bicker about going to various tourist spots around the country for weeks, interspersed with both of them at some point doing the pengu pout and saying Well Now I Just Want A Staycation - until finally Ian asks Mickey to take him to Mexico and show him around. Mickey reminds him he wasn't exactly having a fucking gap year abroad or some shit, and that if Mickey really does "show him around" where Mickey went a lot of those places are going to be dangerous and not strictly legal, and Ian says something unbearably sappy about how that makes it Perfect For Them, so much more than any Normal vacation.

2. I don't know basically anything about the west side place, and I really haven't decided what kind of living situation they end up in as Grown Up grown ups in the secret version with nothing I don't like in it that exists in my head yet. However, I think Mickey is a closet dork, and once he can afford it - both fiscally and emotionally - he starts collecting and displaying nerd shit. Specifically I'm thinking he's into X-Men and also pro wrestling, the latter of which is not exactly dorky in the same way BUT we're counting it here because he observes his affinity for it with the same type of nerd shit. He's got mini-figures (NOT lego, I'm talking like D&D model style minifigs) - wait hold up I was looking at the WWE site for ideas on what Mickey would have and discovered the action figures are Mattel branded. So yeah uh. Mickey gets X-Men and WWE Mattel branded action figures, and then gets force-Barbiepilled by The Algorithm qohugakaogks. ANYWAY. Re: decor, there are LED-lit glass shelves in the living spaces with Mickey's action figures on. Ian got him a "matching" set of Van Damme and Seagal for an anniversary, and they have a place of honor above the TV. Every now and then they will ~mysteriously~ end up posed as if they are fucking; both Ian and Mickey always blame this on the other.

ETA: At some point they're looking after one/some of the various children, and the action figures and Barbies get played with (while Mickey pretends very, very badly to be okay with it until he sends himself out of the room so he doesn't yell). Ian is also not paying attention; kid is being quiet but not too quiet, that's all he cares about. Then, after the kid is gone and things are picked up, they realize the Seagal action figure has been put into a Barbie wedding dress (dON'T ask Mickey why he has that!!). Mickey is quite disgruntled by this, and Ian laughs so hard - at the combo of the actual doll situation and the look on Mickey's face about it - that he almost makes himself sick.

3. I REALLY know nothing about their work, but uhhhh. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his pie hole.

4. There's this south side taqueria, maybe a hole in the wall or maybe a food truck. Even if/when they do move away to a better area, nothing beats it. Hell, even if they moved out of town entirely, they'd travel for it. I think I want there to be some kind of loyalty there that isn't just for the quality of the food (which is impeccable regardless). Maybe the owner would give one or both of them free food back in the day, or maybe had an opportunity to snitch on them but didn't, or idk their wedding is completely different To Me but there could still be some mishaps and such so maybe this place was the only one that agreed to cater day-of, or Terry like "blacklisted" Mickey from a bunch of locally owned places under Threat Of Terry and this place was one of few that would still serve him, or whatever. Like, the food itself is phenomenal and they'd have already been eating there previous, but then there was some personal element too that made it Their taqueria. They know everyone there by name too.

5. Mickey has never worn a single stitch of camo ever in his life :)

[theheartnexttophan]

Here’s what I wrote down for the Philm Club liveshow this week! I’m so happy I could actually participate this time, as I was busy last week. This was suchhh a good liveshow omg, so many iconic moments!! For some reason I forgot to take any notes until like the second half, so enjoy my notes from then til the end!

Bake off! I looked it up and this was the season that Nadiya won, Dan is sooo right about rooting for her, and yeah her speech made me cry too

Tabinof face bit was so cute! Them helping each other line it up right!, they’re clearly so proud of Tabinof and it’s really sweet

Bitten in the Florida!!

Get over it: this iconic moment!! Dan’s immediately so defensive, Was there a reason for that or was he just very adamant about Phil getting the drinks he wanted

Dans shoe on akinator 😂 I love the phandom

Them talking about tour, clearly so excited

Dan reading Phil you look lovely from the chat and making an over exaggerated face was giving tHeYrE tOuChInG

Phil making fun of dans hand gestures was ADORABLE I was literally cackling the whole time I love them so much, he’s so good at keeping people engaged while fan goes on a rant, and this whole this was just so Them

Dan keeps talking about male actors 👀👀 (“I’d be his victim,” etc)

Chat saying “with my…” and dnp filling in random things, they’re so silly

Random xd 11 year old insults, THEYRE SO CUTE

Them talking about all the current music/movies/shows that would be so fun to hear now

They got their own chair colours awww cuties, I wonder if they designed the quiz to get own chairs

Phil snuck a Phil and Dan into the chair quiz, Dan didn’t notice, CUTEEEE

Part of the black chair’s (which Dan got) desc was: you’re probably hiding a huge secret but can’t tell anyone as you are a chair, Dannn 😭😭🫂

THEYRE SO EXCUTED ABOUT THE BOOK THEYRE PRECIOUS, the GIANT grins 😁😁

A deep sinister pig 😂 I love Phil

Them loving the audience singing the preshow playlist, they love their viewers so much, the energy of the room, this really hits because like for the TIT shows I went to it really was so special to be in there before the show singing and being excited with everyone 🥰 like the energy was sooo good

Talking about Tabinof being number one in Uk, Dan said “it’s one of those things…suddenly parents care,” is he speaking from his own experience? 😢

Dan connecting to Phil’s mobile data on the road, why is that cute, idk it’s so domestic

Dan attempting to hug the audience 🥹

They’re so right about looking out the window on road trips, it’s so peaceful

“We’ll both marry you” can’t even get married to an audience member apart, can they?

“Within our lifetime there’s gonna be some kind of apocalypse” artificial intelligence, society crumble in 50 years, 😬 feeling very relevant, oh dear (also wad foreshadowing)

Phil said he was gonna cook dinner? Was he actually orrr just order something, did they used to cook more than they do now?

My mom says Phil looks like he has a headache

“You need to accept me for who I am” (dan after Phil mocked his hands and what he said) 😭😭

Them calling tour the “time of our lives” 🥹🥹

They really were doing so much during this time wow, they talked about doing soooo many projects and videos and tour stuff and live tv, no wonder they were tired! Take a break bbies!!

Anyway that’s all I wrote down! Sorry for yapping so much haha 😂! This was so funnn!

[sillypiratelife]

Not a meta but Sanji is the most similar to the straw hat women.

Idk why??? Kinda???

I'm barely in the Naval Fortress arc of the anime and most things I know about the crew's past are from spoilers, so I won't claim to have a perfect opinion on this matter. It's just that whenever I look at the crew, their backstories, the way they act, the way they see the world... Sanji stands apart with the girls.

Luffy, Zoro, Ussop, Chopper... They were never forced to join an evil pirate crew or organization when they were still children or teenagers. Not in the way Nami had to join Arlong or Vivi had to join the Baroques; not in the way Robin had to join all those organizations since she was barely 8 years old just to survive. There's something about those experiences and Sanji's past with Germa. I don't like you, I'm not like any of you, I actually hate you for hurting so many people, but I have to pretend, I have to try to be what you wanted, I have to do it to stay alive, a bit longer, just a bit longer.

I'm also talking about the political burden they all carried. Nami, Robin and Sanji had no one by their side to guide them. They were either fugitives or pieces of the geopolitical game. How scary it was for them, to know how little they were, how unfair their lives were...? To know they could never look back, there was no kindness waiting for them if they didn't take it for themselves.

You have the same narrative frame for the mother figures in their lives: the ideal woman who guides on who and how they want to be. Bell-Mere, Olvia and Sora sacrificed themselves for them, to offer them a future. There's the toughness and there's the kindness and there's the opposition to figures of power they disagree with. They'd not bend or break. Nami, Robin and Sanji inherited their will.

When Sanji scolds Luffy, Zoro and Ussop for their dumb ways, he does it similarly to Nami. They fill the same role in that sense. And yeah, they can be obsessed with money and women, but when push comes to shove they trust and admire their crew more than anyone else.

What about the self-sacrificing arcs? When Nami, Robin and Sanji knew their crew was threatened by their own affiliations with a shady organization, none of them doubted to turn their backs and go deal with it themselves. They "betrayed" the crew in the process, too scared to see their friends hurt or be the cause of their suffering. They'd fight for any of their nakamas, but somehow don't see how that applies to themselves. That was the big fight between Vivi and Luffy, after all. Why would they sacrifice themselves while denying their crew the chance to risk their lives for their nakamas? Why are they taking those decisions for everyone else? Why do they have to suffer alone?

Why do they think that the straw hats would ever stand aside and let that happen? It is an insult to what they believe in, to who they are. They don't abandon their friends, never. They are not those kind of pirates.

He can be strong like Zoro and Luffy, adventurous and a silly like them, always on the attack, excited to prove his worth and skills. After all, he's part of the monster trio. There's Ussop, too. There's the whole concept of "being a monster" that the devil fruit users, Zoro and Sanji share.

But if you ask me, there are so many experiences of Sanji's life that only the straw hat women can understand. It's no coincidence that womanhood and the desire (and obsession) with women is a main theme of Sanji as a character. What does it mean to be a woman, what does he desire from them, what does he admire, where does all that love come from. Even when the sexual aspects are used as a recurrent joke, One Piece says a lot through comedy.

[ao3-oner]

Update/Announcement on the We Keep Falling Apart Series + My Intended Worlds Sequel to Mad Scientist Incorrigible

Hi everyone! Thanks for stopping by.

As you may have heard, I have decided that I will no longer be writing a sequel for Mad Scientist Incorrigible during Worlds this year despite planning to do so for the past few months. I want to assure you that this decision did not come without series deliberation and perhaps an undue amount of anguish. With that said, if you're interested, I'll explain at least a handful of the reasons that I have decided not to write this fic:

I don't want the fic to feel contrived

For context, when I first started drafting this Worlds fic way back in May, I felt confident that JDG would make Worlds and I would be able to continue the series in the way that I wanted to. It wasn't until the LPL summer split started that I realized I shouldn't have taken as much for granted, and I started drafting my back-up fic just in case. No matter how you try to spin it, a sequel to MSI set in a universe where JDG doesn't make Worlds is a work-around, an exercize in "things didn't turn out how I wanted, but let's try to patch things up anyway". I feel like, with the narrative I set up, in this universe, I cannot properly address and resolve the conflicts that I set into motion in MSI while still paying proper respect to all the characters. This was the thing I was most worried about when drafting my back-up Worlds fic: that narrative elements would come across as forced or contrived and the characters would not seem genuine.

2. I am still mourning the loss of what the fic could have been

As implied, it was always the case that the fic I really *wanted* to write was the version in which JDG makes Worlds. If I were to write an alternate version of that fic, it would lack some of the moments that I've been brainrotting about for months, the scenes that I've been wanting to bring to you. It would just feel bad to be constantly reminded of what we're all missing out on, of what could have been. That was just one reason why it was absolutely soul-crushing for me to watch JDG get one game away from making it only to face defeat: that match was absolutely brutal, too, consisting of Ruler being head-and-shoulders above everyone else on both teams, but still losing only because his teammates (not Kanavi - we love you Kanavi and seeing him take on supporting champs rather than carries to help Ruler was inspirational) were playing insultingly poorly and he could only carry them so far. I wish I was exaggerating. I'm not. Ruler deserved to make Worlds - he deserved this fic. However, with things playing out how they did, I'm afraid I can't give it to him.

(Side note: one consideration I had was "If you like the fic idea where Ruler makes Worlds so much, then just write it anyway." I've considered this, but ultimately decided against it because it feels dishonest to what I've set up the WKFA series to be - fics that are grounded in what actually happened, also because of the next reason:)

3. Irl Ruler and Lehends have actually gotten their shit together???

This is the one reason on this list that is actually somewhat positive lmao - but yeah, if you haven't been following, ever since MSI, Ruler and Lehends have actually been pretty vocal about talking to each other. They both really wanted to meet at Worlds, Lehends said that he'd be interested in potentially playing with Ruler again in the future, and overall, they've just been very sweet. With all that going on, launching into an angsty narrative that starts out primarily vihends seems kind of silly to me. I'd feel overdramatic for writing something like that, and Idk, I've probably always been overdramatic, but I feel like it's much more apparent now. So, good for them! I hope they play together again soon <3

4. The fic would take a LOT of my time when I have other fics that I'm more excited to work on

It should come as a surprise to no one that writing longer multi-chapter fics is a significant time investment, and unfortunately, as I am a working person who also has other commitments and hobbies, I do not have an infinite amount of time to spend on writing LoLRPF. With that said, if I were to commit to writing a Worlds fic, that would consume nearly all of my LoLRPF time for the next two months. In that same amount of time, I could write a number of other fun fics, including more RuLehends - angsty, smutty, and/or otherwise - that I would actually enjoy writing. I was happy to delay all my other fics for the change to construct my grand narrative with JDG at Worlds, but now that we're stuck dealing with the knockoff, I feel like my time would be better and more pleasantly spent working on other projects.

5. I don't want to write the fic!

For all the reasons listed above and any number of less articulate ones, I have come to the conclusion as the writer that I do not feel like continuing this series. That, in and of itself, is justification enough not to, with no other explanation necessary.

I hope that clears up some of the questions/comments/thoughts you may have, but if you want to hear more, then please don't hesitate to DM me or shoot message to my inbox. I am also happy to share some of my thoughts about what the Worlds fic could have been, and I might even be convinced to share some snippets of scenes that I pre-wrote during my brainrot over the past few months.

With that established, I am officially marking 8 Seconds to Base as the last entry in the "We Keep Falling Apart" series and marking the series as completed.

I understand how disappointing it is to get excited for a fic or series only for it to get discontinued, so I apologize. Life happens. Unfortunately, my hype for this year's Worlds is almost entirely dead now. I'll take care of myself, though, and hope that you all do the same.

Thanks for reading, and have a great day <4

[marsmarbles]

My head canon about the Speakers is probably gonna be very rambly and probably confusing but, my head canon is they're like, a chaotic neutral. Intervening for their own entertainment.

I'd imagine maybe they're like the Watcher's a bit but find the negative emotions to be repetitive, they prefer a variety of emotions.

Why just strive to enjoy pain and suffering if you can also enjoy excitement, joy, playfulness, etc.

Its not necessarily the flavor of the emotions they care about, its the emotions and entertainment they care about. They want to throw chaos into the mix to spice things up.

They also don't get along with Listeners because while yes the Listeners also don't like the Watchers, the Listeners want to free the players. That's boring to the Speakers.

They like players like Scott because he's interesting. Scott cares about connections and there's a lot of drama that can come from it. Plus, Scott can also be pretty Speaker like when he needs to for his own benefit.

I also imagine if Martyn, Scott and Grian learn of each other's alignments whether they actually follow the group they're apart of or not. It would potentially be a rift. I imagine them like pawns to the Watchers, Listeners and Speakers, a player like vessel if you will. They play their cards with their chosen player and the others react with theirs. The Watchers having Grian as theirs is silly because they have the most control over the games but Grian does not listen to them. Whereas I picture the Listeners while having the same amount of power but limited control due to trying to be subtle, they have a more loyal pawn in Martyn.

Scott and the Speakers being in the middle of power and loyalty.

Alternatively, its actually kind of silly to me that Grian can come across as Speaker like, Martyn like a Watcher and Scott like a Listener. So perhaps the pawns the Watchers, Listeners and Speakers have are like keeping pawns away from the others. Idk if that makes sense. Basically like, the Speakers don't want the Listeners to get a powerful pawn like Scott so they took him for themselves type of thing.

I love this headcanon! The Speakers have a refined pallet lol. All I can imagine now is a baking show where the Watchers are presenting their weird emotion dish to the Speakers and just them saying “it’s a bit plain, don’t you think?” And the Watchers say with their head down “*sigh* yes, chef”

[shingekinomyfeelings]

what you really are // installment 3

Reiner finds that his first sexual encounter with a girl he truly cares for brings up a lot of memories and conflicted emotions. Sure, he's an idiot, but she kind of is, too.

warnings: still none quite yet; explicit sex in later installments. does the implication of Reiner's mental state beginning to break apart count as a trigger? idk. Minors dni why aren't you out catching tadpoles or something?

notes: She is a little bit silly, but just a little. Bertholdt appears in this one and he's just as a joyful and carefree as Reiner. everything's gonna turn out fine for them I bet

I'm reposting this because I added a sentence to make Reiner a little more embarrassing I'm sorry

She’s happy that I’m just a regular person like the rest of them, huh?

Hands in his pockets, Reiner walks the old dirt path between the training grounds and the showers at an easy pace, his eyes shifting to her back now and then. She’s a short ways ahead, talking with the other cadets about something. She barely seems winded from the day’s exercises, but she’s taken off her jacket and from here he can really appreciate the way the muscles in her arms have become more defined in recent months. The thought crosses his mind that her thighs and stomach must look supple and toned, too...

That annoying heat prickles at his cheeks again and he stuffs his hands deeper into his pockets and lowers his head a little, like he’s hiding his thoughts from the world.

How many regular 18 year-old males falter like this when their girlfriend says she wants to have sex for the first time? he asks himself dryly.

She hasn’t said so explicity, of course, she’s just a little too shy for that; but she has told him, in a soft and adorably halting voice, that if he wants to go a little further with her, he can ask, and, well, she won’t say no...

He has to take a deep, deep breath when he thinks about that conversation. She’d sprung that one on him several nights ago when she was reclining serenely in his arms while they watched the reflections rippling on the lake, and... well, something else also immediately sprang up, and he’d spluttered some idiotic response that even he found puzzling.

"That sounds... like... a smart way to do things. I'll be sure to remember it!"

She’d been silent for half a minute and then said, “Huh. Okay,” and the conversation just hadn’t really picked up again since.

Really dropped the ball on being roguishly charming there, Reiner. He sulked a little as the memory replayed itself every three minutes, or every time he set eyes on her, sometimes imagining the bemused expression that might have been on her face.

That was the plan, right? Wait until just the right moment, give her a soft little smirk, maybe run your thumb across her cheek real gently, and say something irressistable like... Well, he hadn’t actually come up with that part yet, but he was sure it would come to him when the time was right and be so provocative and winning that she’d melt into his arms and let him take her on the spot. Who’d have thought she’d beat him to the punch with something so endearingly awkward and unconsciously demure? It was borderline criminal.

And why didn’t he look her softly in the eyes and tell her he’d be honored? Heck, the moment was so simple and sweet and honest, it actually made a bit more sense than his plan to find the ideal instant in which to throw the whole ‘gentlemanly lecher’ routine at her. Would she even have liked that?

He rubs his palm across his face, glad that she’s currently too distracted to notice him silently berating himself.

How the hell is it that she makes me feel so completely confident about some things and so damn confused about so many more?

He pulls himself together long enough to flash her a gawkish smile when she looks over at him and gives a tiny smile and wave before she ducks into the girls’ showers.

Hell, maybe other, regular guys are this awkward. He sighs as he walks into the boys’ showers to clean up. It’s not like I know much about being a regular guy...

“Reiner... You’re not a soldier, remember? You’re a warrior.”

Bertholdt’s voice was resolute and a little pained, barely above a whisper. They had been standing together on the deck outside the mess hall that overlooked the common grounds. Reiner was watching her down there, fending Sasha away from a bit of fruit she’d saved from breakfast. Sasha was hounding her to trade it for some unspecified future favor, but it didn’t seem to work, because even from a distance he could hear her voice turning into a whine. He didn’t even realize he’d been smiling until Bert’s interjection shook his attention away. He blinked at the taller boy for a moment as if confused, then looked somber.

“I know that. You don’t have to tell me all the time.”

Bert didn’t quite believe him that he doesn’t need to be told from time to time, but he knew better than to get into that right then. He watched the other cadets, too, allowing himself just a bit of a smile when Connie seemed to join Sasha unsuccessfully in her negotation attempts. Then Reiner had broken the silence with a a very thin, dispirited tone that Bertholdt almost didn’t recognize.

“And they’re not devils, are they? They’re regular people...” How long ago had she said those words to him? A week? Two? He’d lost track...

Bertholdt had looked at his friend with slight startlement. Of course it was no secret to him or Annie that Reiner had known that since they first came here and saw the undeniably human suffering and enduring will to live that inhabited this island, but hearing Reiner admit as much out loud for the first time was both unexpected and worrying. He paused for a long time before he answered, his own voice bleak and conveying an understanding he wished none of them had ever come to share.

“Yeah. They’re regular people. None of them deserve this. She doesn’t deserve this. But we don’t have a choice. We’re gonna have to finish what we started at some point...”

Reiner’s sun-gold eyes had dimmed a little, like he’d hoped for a different answer. He looked down at the others, at her chewing thoughtfully on an apple as she watched Sasha and Connie now bickering between themselves. She – all of them, really, but she especially – looked so warm, and so alive.

And since that moment, the racing, whirling deluge of contradicting thoughts in Reiner’s mind had become quite deafening.