#or like saying that i want to “try” for a lack of a better word

[welcometololaland]

Carlos Reyes: Biiiig stretch and a lil hip thrust for *reasons of the seductional matters*

this got out of hand! stretch-gate in another universe <3

“I know what you’re doing,” TK says, chewing on the end of a pen, his eyes trained on his laptop like Carlos hasn’t just entered the room. 

Carlos has questions, primarily centred around why TK is, for a lack of a better word, holding a pen while working on a device which does not require a writing utensil. More importantly, he’s wondering why TK is out here at all, sitting on the couch and not in bed.

After all, TK should be in bed. The stars have aligned and given them a rare opportunity to sleep in; to cuddle and maybe have lazy morning sex, which will probably involve Carlos slowly opening TK up or fucking his thighs if they get impatient. TK will arch back into Carlos chest, the pale skin on his neck exposed as Carlos presses messy kisses along it, biting gently on familiar pressure points. Their legs will be tangled together, the comforter shoved aside when it gets annoying and when their rough morning voices and commingled moans get increasingly erratic, Carlos will let go and TK will come all over his fist with a beautiful cry. 

But instead, TK is on his laptop. Doing something that is not having sex with Carlos.

“What am I doing?” Carlos asks, wincing in the direction of the open blinds and flopping onto the couch. Everything feels too bright. He wishes it were possible to turn the sun down a notch. “Stretching?”

TK scoffs, closing the lid of the laptop with a soft click and twisting the pen between his fingers. “That is not just stretching. You practically threw your back out.”

“I— What?”

TK gives him a long look. “You were stretching like a whore, Carlos.”

Carlos narrowly avoids choking on his own tongue. “TK, I literally arched my back.”

“And thrust your hips,” TK says, which is questionable, because Carlos is fairly confident that TK was looking at his laptop at the relevant moment. Plus, that wasn’t a hip thrust. If TK wants a hip thrust, he can have one.

He raises a brow. “Your lumbar spine is connected to your pelvis, TK. If you want a good stretch you have to—”

“Oh,” TK huffs. “And now you’re using the word pelvis. You know, if you wanna have sex so bad you can just say it.”

“Okay,” Carlos replies. “I want to have sex?”

“Well now it sounds like a question.”

“Because I don’t know if you want to have sex.”

TK practically throws the pen away from his person. Apparently, this statement is cause for unfathomable frustration. “Since when have I ever not wanted to have sex with you? I’d rather be doing that than watching you fake stretch.”

“TK,” Carlos says, trying desperately to hold back laughter. The entire situation is so ridiculous that if he wasn’t so hyper aware of the sun on his face, he’d wonder if he was in some chaotic dream. “I just woke up. I’m stiff.”

“Well, you know what else could be stiff?”

“You’re really going to go there?”

TK’s lips twitch in the corners as he hauls himself off the couch, laptop and pen long forgotten. Carlos will have to pick the pen up later, but he’s trying not to think about it. “I’m really going to go there,” he insists, holding out his hand for Carlos in silent invitation.

Carlos takes it, following his husband towards the bedroom and wondering how on earth one simple stretch turned his entire morning around. Suddenly, it feels right back on track. 

Next, he’s going to take up morning yoga.

[cherrycolored-punk]

take care - best friend! e.m. x fem!reader

Softember 🍂 prompt: “When have I ever listened to you?”

author’s note: a companion piece, a prelude if you will, to Still Frames. I’m starting to feel like I’m overcoming the hurdle in my brain and can start on my bigger projects again. For now, take some comfort in Eddie taking care of us 🧡 written with @joejoequinnquinn in my mind, hope you feel better xx

warnings: none, but you already know what I’m going to say. This is an 18+ blog, minors go away!

w/c: 2k

It started with a sore throat, an ache that you hoped was allergies but as the day progressed and your symptoms worsened you knew: it was the flu.

If there’s anything you hate more, it’s being sick but especially now that you live alone. Nothing worse than coughing up a lung, dizzy from the severe congestion throwing off your equilibrium, and trying to make soup.

A stupid can of soup that isn’t even your favorite.

Now, you sit up in bed with scattered tissues surrounding you like a makeshift moat and text your best friend. Bugging him while he was at work.

You: I’m dyinggg

You stare at the screen, willing an instant response but knowing he’s probably elbow deep in some car’s hood. The shop busier at this time of year.

Half-lidded eyes focus on the television screen as you burrow deeper into the comforter and clutch the phone to your chest, another episode of your favorite trash tv playing. You’re fighting sleep, stubborn as always, when the sudden buzz of your phone startles you.

Eddie: what’s new?

Jerk, you scoff. A tiny smile playing on your lips despite your best efforts.

You: you’d really make fun of me while I’m on my death bed?

And despite the distance, you can hear the way he grumbles when he reads your message.

Eddie: 🙄

Eddie: what do you need?

Your fingers swipe over the keys quickly, a devious smile pulling across your face despite how you feel.

You: hit me with your van, stab me in the face…please end my suffering.

He texts you at the same time, knowing your history of dramatics.

Eddie: from the STORE

You: oh :(

You pout, even though he can’t see it.

You: nothing, I don’t want to get you sick.

The three little dots appear on the screen, and you wait for his response until they disappear altogether. Probably had to get back to work, you figure and toss your phone back onto the comforter. Re-burying yourself deep beneath the covers to rest.

—

A sharp knock on the front door wakes you, groggy and unsure of what day it is. For a moment, you don’t move. Confused as to who the fuck is at your door and lacking the energy to care. You just want to sleep.

The knocking continues, and you groan as you push out of bed. Dragging your feet to the front door. Hair in disarray, black Twilight shirt tucked into your oversized sweats and a cardigan hugging your frame. Looking as good as you feel.

Eddie smiles at you as you pull open the heavy wooden frame. The cold breeze greeting you and making you shiver despite the layers of clothes you wear.

“What are you doing here?” The words come out like a squeak, muffled by your congestion.

“I come bearing goods,” he holds up the bags before pushing past you and into your apartment. You’re a little gobsmacked, thoughts trying to catch up with what he said and you turn to follow him. Doing your best not to think about your appearance or how awful you probably look given your current state.

“I thought I told you not to come over,” you pout, pressing your elbows onto the counter top and watching his back.

He’s still dressed in his oil-stained navy coveralls, hair pulled back in a bun, and faintly smells like car grease. From what you can smell anyways.

Eddie looks over at you, concerned eyes dancing over your face, and a smirk pushing the dimple into his cheek.

“When have I ever listened to you?” You roll your eyes and shrug, because it’s true. He hardly ever did. Not now or the time he got that moth-man tattoo from a questionable shop or when he drank an awful concoction of alcohol right before a gig. He lived to do exactly the opposite of what you said…what anyone said.

He unpacks the grocery bags, a treasure trove of goods that he names as he sets them onto the counter and you watch from your spot on the opposite side of the kitchen.

“I got you theraflu tea, and I don’t want to hear you complain about the taste. You just need to drink it,” he scolds before you can even complain.

Your jaw snaps shut and swallow down your sarcastic rebuttal.

“Also got your favorite soup, four cans,” he holds his fingers up, “orange juice, Vicks, popsicles in case your throat hurts, those saltines you like, and,” he turns back to the other counter, reaching for something on its surface before looking back at you, “I brought Scream for us to watch since I know it’s your favorite.”

Something like affection stirs in your stomach but it bares a different face than the love you usually feel for him. It’s bigger and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

It’s the way he’s smiling, the familiar excited gleam in his eye as he looks at you. It’s the fact that he’s shown up after a twelve-hour shift with all your favorite sick foods in tow.

And he doesn’t seem to notice the way you gawk at him now, eyes round like saucers and unsure what to do when your heart is hammering in your chest. An unfamiliar thud that seems to beat in pace with every syllable of his name.

Your eyes trace over his face like you’re seeing him for the first time. The sharp edge of his jaw, the plump of his lips, the freckles that dot the slope of his nose, and when did Eddie become so beautiful?

It’s because you’re sick, you tell yourself. A virus is wreaking havoc on your immune system and there’s definitely less oxygen getting to your brain so it’s obviously affecting your thinking. There’s no way you like him as more than just a friend.

Right?

He rounds the corner and places firm hands on your shoulders, “Go sit down, get comfortable, and I’ll make you some soup.” He points his chin in the direction of your living room.

His eyebrows disappear into his bangs, waiting for you to argue but you’re stuck on the crush budding in your gut and all you can do is nod.

“She doesn’t want to argue?” He laughs, watching as you plop onto the couch and you know this is where you’re supposed to say something. Anything that resembles your usual banter.

“Brain is barely functioning,” you point to your head and he nods.

“I’ll try to get you doctored up,” and he’s already making quick work of the soup. Moving around your kitchen for everything he needs like he’s done numerous times before. You watch him from your place on the couch, cheeks heating the longer you do. Seconds dragging like minutes and finally you turn away. Doing your best to kill the crush but it’s already begun to sprout and grow.

In need of a distraction, you will yourself off the couch and pop in the dvd. Amused, as always, by the cheesy narration of nineties movie trailers. This is how Eddie finds you, sitting too close to the screen and not on the couch where he’d told you to get comfortable.

“What did I tell you?” He questions with a tut of his tongue as he slides the bowl of soup onto the coffee table alongside the sleeve of saltines he’d grabbed and the steaming cup of theraflu tea he made.

“When have I ever listened to you?” You mock his earlier sentiment and he rolls his eyes, pulling down his coveralls so he doesn’t get oil on your couch.

“Guess you’re not that sick,” he jokes, oblivious to the heat in your cheeks or how the sarcasm lodges in your throat.

Beneath the navy material, he wears a white muscle shirt that stretches across the muscle of his chest. Showcasing the expanse of his alabaster skin lined with tattoos. Flesh you’ve seen before but somehow has a new effect on you.

You avert your eyes to the bowl of steaming soup and crawl towards it, stomach grumbling for the first time all day.

“Thank you, Edward,” you give him a tight grin despite how grateful you actually are, finding that being a brat is the easiest way to hide how you feel.

He gives you a crooked grin, shaking his brown curls free as he gets more comfortable.

“Whatever, Princess,” his voice just as sardonic, taking pleasure in knowing how much you hate when he calls you that.

The two of you fall into silence, focusing attention back onto the small screen. Casey Becker runs from Ghostface, her screams of terror filling your living room. The flashes from the television bouncing off the white walls in the dimly lit space.

The apartment feels cozy, a small vanilla candle lit and your LED lights set to low. A faux-warmth that helps you relax, takes your mind off your cute best friend sitting only a few feet away. Not noticing the way he eyes you curiously as you continue to sit cross-legged in front of the coffee table and sip down soup when there’s an entire couch for you to get comfortable on.

“Why are you sitting on the floor? Do I have cooties all of a sudden?” He questions abruptly and flings the hair tie that was securing his curls in your direction but you lean out of the way just in time, blowing on your soup before slurping it loudly.

“No, but I do. I don’t want to get you sick.”

I don’t want to sit next to you while I’m questioning how I feel for you, you scream internally.

He waves you off with a shake of his head and pats the spot next to him.

“If I get sick, I get sick. Means an extra long weekend,” he grins, beckoning you to the sofa with a wave of his hand that you oblige.

You leave a few inches between, enough room for the Holy Spirit and the big feelings suddenly emerging. The distance not going unnoticed.

“Seriously, you’re being weird,” he laughs, “since when are you not all in my space even when you’re sick,” he pokes you and you feign a laugh. Pushing another spoonful of soup into your mouth, teeth scrapping against the metal of the spoon.

He’s right, you’re intentionally annoying a majority of the time just to get a rise out of him. Invading his space whenever you get a chance and anything but that seems…off.

You scoot closer, stopping when your thigh rubs against his.

“Cracker?” You offer, holding the sleeve of them out to him. He gives you a curious quirk of his brow but doesn’t say anything, chopping your antics up to how bad you must feel.

“Thanks,” he grabs one and chews it loudly as he places his other arm over the back of the couch. The warmth of it felt just above your shoulders. Keeping you distracted as you try to watch the movie.

The soup warms you as you gulp the rest of it down and munch on some crackers, taking a few begrudging sips of the medicinal tea. A satisfied grin pulling at your lips when you realize you can’t exactly taste it, the congestion coming in handy to block its acrid flavor.

You shuffle around, picking up the remnants of your mess but when Eddie notices the empty bowl, he stands to clear the dish despite your protests.

“I can wash a bowl,” he waves your hands away and takes quick strides to the kitchen, “just relax and watch the movie.”

“News to me,” you tease, pulling the heavy blanket next to you over your lap and getting comfortable just like he’d instructed. Watching as the movie unfolds and Sidney first learns about the killer who may have ties to her mom’s death, all the while he cleans up the mess he’d made while making your food.

Your eyelids feel heavier as the minutes pass, and you’re doing everything in your power to fight it. To be a good host and enjoy his company for a moment longer.

Eddie returns, sliding into the same spot on the couch and grinning to himself when he notices you fighting sleep. Stomach full of soup and theraflu he’d made you consume.

You’re too tired to protest when he pulls you into his arms, rubbing a comforting hand along your back and smoothing out your hair. Even if you could, you wouldn’t fight it. Finding solace on his firm chest, arm wrapped around his torso and doing your best to fight off the sleep. Eyes glazed over as you focus on the screen, Sidney Prescott being chased out of the bathroom and into the arms of her suspect boyfriend. Not exactly paying attention to the film when Eddie’s hand rubs back and forth, all too comforting and a little hypnotizing.

He’s not watching either, enjoying the way your head falls forward as your eyes begin to close only for you to jolt awake. Swearing you’re not tired. Just as stubborn, just as cute, as you always were.

When you finally stop fighting it, he holds you close. Kissing the top of your head and tucking you in, falling asleep despite the ache in his back and the tension in his shoulders from a long day. He wouldn’t have wanted it to end any other way.

—

thank you for reading! xx el

[usoppinggg]

For the drabble prompts: 52. "I can't believe we're friends sometimes." Preferably Usopp with either Nami or Luffy, but go wild if you have a better idea. I love your writing!

Hi, anon! Thanks so much for the prompt and your kind words! <3 You get two drabbles because I felt compelled to write them both. Hope you enjoy!

—

“I can’t believe we’re friends, sometimes.”

“I know, not everyone is as lucky to be blessed with a friend as gorgeous and intelligent as me,” Nami says with a lavish toss of her hair. It’s coupled by a wink that causes a man across the street walk face-first into a pole.

Usopp is not impressed.

“You mean, not everyone is as unlucky to be cursed with a friend as greedy and conniving as y—”

Usopp cuts himself off with a pained yelp, holding his head and glaring at Nami, whose fist is still raised at him.

“Ouch! You horrid hag! You vexatious vixen! You abrasive a—“

“Oh shut up, you big baby,” she snaps. “Look, do you want to make some easy money or not?! We’re broke, so if you want to pay for food and all your stupid weapons then do as I say and stop complaining.”

“Oh, so now my weapons are stupid? If that’s the case, then hand over the Clima-Tact right now!”

Nami possessively clutches at the collapsed baton attached to her thigh. “No way, it’s mine! Besides, I think I’m allowed to call your weapons stupid considering this thing almost got me killed the first time I tried to use it, since someone thought it was a good idea to try and make me play magician instead of defending my life!”

Usopp crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at her. “You love the bouquets and you know it.”

Nami rolls her eyes, but the lack of outright refusal makes Usopp smirk at her with knowing satisfaction. She just sighs heavily, hands on her hips.

“So are you going to help me or are you going to keep whining?”

“… Give me extra allowance this month.”

“Rake in some cash, then we’ll talk.”

Usopp sticks out his hand, pinky extended. “Promise?”

Nami rolls her eyes once more, but the fondness on her face is impossible to miss. She reaches out to link her pinky with Usopp’s. “I promise.”

He grins brightly at her before his smile becomes much more devious. “Alright, let’s scam some busters.”

Nami’s smile is just as devious. “Now you’re speakin’ my language.”

—

Usopp hiccups, unsure of his swaying is because of Sunny’s journey across the sea or the alcohol in his system. He pauses. Of course it’s not because of Sunny. She sails like a dream. He pats the grassy deck below him, apologizing to the beloved ship. He spares a mental apology to Franky, too.

Usopp smiles to himself, tipping his head back and enjoying the cool nighttime air.

His head swims pleasantly after a full night of spontaneous partying. The crew celebrated everything and nothing. They celebrated just because they could.

The party is long finished and Usopp is the only one still awake, one of the few sprawled out across the deck while others managed to drag themselves to bed.

A snore steals his attention and Usopp looks down at Luffy, who’s dozing in his lap, his treasured straw hat held to his stomach.

Usopp smiles and begins playing with his captain’s hair. He runs his fingers through the thick locks, noting that Luffy is long overdue for a trim. If Usopp wasn’t so drunk and wasn’t acting as a pillow, he’d cut it now, taking advantage of this rare moment of stillness.

But he’s very drunk and very comfortable and very much unwilling to disturb his friend, so he stays put, simply enjoying the moment, enjoying the feeling of Luffy’s soft hair between his fingertips.

“I can’t believe we’re friends, sometimes,” Usopp finds himself blurting. Alcohol having loosened his tongue even more than usual.

“When I was little, I was terrified that I’d never make any friends,” he finds himself confessing. “I was scared that I was gonna be alone forever. Even with Kaya and the boys I felt lonely all the time. But then, you came to my village. And you saved everyone. You asked me to come with you, and even though I still don’t understand why, I’m so, so grateful. You made my life worth living, Captain. I can’t believe we’re friends. I can’t believe I was so lucky to meet you.”

Usopp startles as Luffy sleepily reaches up, wiping the tears off of Usopp’s face.

“Stupid Usopp,” he murmurs, voice low but not missing its usual conviction. “Of course, I was always gonna find you. Of course, I’d take you with me. I love being your friend.”

“Even though I mess up all the time?” Usopp cries.

“Yeah. I make you mad all the time, but you’re still my friend, right?”

“Of course.”

“It’s the same for me. For all of us. We’re all happy you’re our friend and that you’re part of the crew.” Luffy yawns, blinking sleepily. He grabs the hat resting on his stomach and places it atop Usopp’s curls. “‘M not gonna let you be lonely again, okay? Now come on, let’s sleep. ‘M tired.”

Usopp smiles, sniffling and wiping away the rest of his tears.

“Okay, Luffy.”

[jheselbraum]

Do you think the GF fandom tends to wobbify Stan a lot more than Ford?

Oh absolutely. And part of it is standard fandom projection, you know? Which is fine, it's whatever. People do it to Ford a lot, too. No biggie. People do it because they see themselves in Stan and that's fine, it just gets in the way of more serious thematic discussion, though back in the day it was a Lot worse people were a lot less chill about the whole thing to the point where if you so much as dared to point out that Stan is a criminal without the qualifiers that he's a criminal because he had no familial support as he was maturing into an adult and was homeless so he kind of had to in order to get by, you'd get fucking demolished.

And like, it's because a lot of people relate to having shitty parents and being told by teachers that they're not smart enough and being homeless or at least really fucking poor. Like, it's just kind of something that happens with fandom, you know? And it's fine, mostly, fandom is a sandbox and a lot of these people are projecting so they can work through real world shit that's happening in their lives (you guys have no idea how many unposted "Ford has some kind of mystery chronic illness that's just absolutely wreaking havoc on his daily life" fics I wrote after I got diagnosed). And it's not like there's zero justification for it, Stan's a very sympathetic character in the show canonically, despite his status as a wanted criminal (presumably internationally), and a bit of a softie at times.

The problem is when the fanon woobification is used in place of actual textual evidence when people try to have serious discussions about the canon material and not your fanfic where Stan is just. Just real sad about his brother, why won't he thank him? He's sad!

This chart from @itsabouttimex2 explains the cycle very succinctly.

Like, I'd argue that Stan isn't even the most woobified character in Gravity Falls by volume (that honor goes to Fiddleford to be honest) but he's the character whose woobification is the most visible and has the most capacity to grind any serious discussion about anything even slightly negative that happened to Stan or, god forbid, was caused by Stan to a halt. Again, this problem has gotten better over the years, despite the fandom's recent "relapse" for lack of a better term, but (and I say this knowing exactly who I was in 2017) sometimes in order to talk about something you like in a fan context, you have to take a step back and remind yourself of who these characters actually are and what the text of a work is actually trying to say. Like, "death of the author" as a way to interpret a work is incredibly popular in fandom at large, not just in Gravity Falls, and it has its merits, but I feel like it's gone from "the meaning of the text is not derived from the author's intention, but the reader's interpretation" to "the meaning of the text is not derived from the text, but the reader"

"Sometimes the curtains are just blue" has already been used to justify completely abandoning the idea of critically analyzing a work (to the point where many reading this will see the word "critical" and assume that I'm talking about literally criticizing something and not analyzing a work to determine its meaning, its purpose, and effectiveness at conveying those two things) and some people will take that a step further and go "Sometimes the curtains are red, because red is better than blue. Sometimes morally."

I didn't expect to go off to yes or no question like that, it just kind of happened. I don't know, I prefer discussions about this show where I don't have to step over a dozen people who think I'm talking about the version of Stanley Pines that lives in their head and always Responds Correctly to whatever personal issue they might have.

[neverpathia]

well, not for lack of trying

here's Barbie-fied long quiet. jk that's the voice of the smitten

and lineart because I always

dude I don't even swing that way but handsome men are the most frequent thing I've been posting on this blog thus far. I need to do something about that.

now, as always, time to ramble about this little guy

well literally any post about happily ever after will give you a pretty clear picture of his mentality. Smitty is a simp. push him too far and he'll go either enabler or yandere on you.

one thing is clear, though.

this guy is fucking delusional.

he falls in love with a princess he barely even knows. (no shit, Sherlock!) he falls in love with, well literally any iteration of the princess, really. (wow. what laudable powers of deductive reasoning. I am awed beyond words.)

well a pretty obvious thing about slay the princess is that it's quite a desperate situation. the long quiet is stressed and needs to cope. so the voices form to help, or at least act like perfectly unhelpful defense mechanisms. and smitten is one of those very perfectly-unhelpful-defense-mechanisms.

the smitten is still inherently superficial. i forgot where, but I once heard someone say that smitten is the part of the long quiet that still intrinsically yearns to reunite with the shifting mound. that could be the case. either way, the smitten is certainly the voice that cares the most about the mound. he's the one that's most aligned with her desires, or at least he believes he is.

however, I feel like it's more general than that. the smitten, above all, is the desire for connection.

but unlike the broken, he doesn't exactly offer 'unconditional' devotion. of course he wants safety. (no shit they all want safety have you seen the stakes of their fucking circumstances lately?) and of course he wants some control over the situation.

but friendly reminder that the smitten is fucking delusional. he want it? he got it.

the smitten is blind devotion, yes, but to a beneficial cause. the princess more often than not proves more trustworthy than the narrator (not to mention she's clearly more physically attractive like damn look at those big doe eyes she's so cute come on what's not to love. unless she's a mass of razor blades or a faceless abomination but we'll get to those later.)

shady man versus pretty princess. when forced to pick a side, it's initially pretty obvious who seems like the better, more heroic choice. she tugs at your heartstrings. she's just adorable, of course you feel attracted to her. and of course you're going to perceive a greater implied benefit from assisting her, especially compared to shady-man's vague threats.

he wants safety. he wants control, not necessarily over the princess or anyone exactly, but especially over this stressful inescapable scenario he's in. he wants to be free. he wants to have a purpose. and the best source of it all still seems to be the princess herself.

because (the smitten is delusional) they're in love and she would never hurt him. because (the smitten is delusional) she only wants to make him happy.

no, the smitten is delusional due to what the idea of true love offers. (keep in mind: it's not like the broken's submission for the sake of safety. he's still trapped and he knows it, but to broken it's more like he's choosing torture over worse torture.)

the smitten seeks both protection and agency. love is the easiest escape. and this is why even when faced with, say, some terrifying hulking monstrous being that's only vaguely feminine, he tries at love. he clings to love. if he refuses to see anything else, then he can be safe and free and happy. if he's delusional then the reality beyond his little delusion doesn't need to exist. sound familiar? no, narrator, get the hell away.

the smitten requires the idea of love, the idea of affection, the idea of what true romantic connection is.

he's locked himself into believing this is the only way for him to get what he wants, even when all else doesn't align with this. he's locked himself into believing love is the only thing that will always matter and remain constant. because he is delusional.

because he needs to be delusional.

oh I love the little lovesick fucker and his fancy little words

now I don't think a lot of thought really went into his design. I just thought "oh he speaks like a Victorian writer and he's kind of a dandy" and went from there. honestly I kind of modelled him off a preexisting OC of mine and changed up the details and colour palette a bit. he kind of looks like a drag queen but if I'm going to be honest that's not a bad thing on him.

he and the broken are probably going to be the most feminine of my voices, and not just because they give themselves to love, which is always seen as a more 'feminine' concept. no, it's more like they're the voices that emotionally cling the most to the princess. just as they once were one, they yearn to be one again. even if it means casting aside what they were meant to be. even if it means giving themselves up for the sake of another. the long quiet is inherently masculine and it's everything the shifting mound is not. so the voices that most oppose the mound are going to be more masc, ceterus paribus. does that make sense?

also he was supposed to be the hottest voice

why is oppy still the hottest voice

[spectrechosts]

Bloodsuckers

Katie stirs under her crinkly, military issue thermal blanket.

"Morning, sleepyhead." Says a lilting voice, drifting in through her open cockpit.

"We get so bored, waiting for you to wake up." Says another.

Katie grumbles and turns over in her seat, trying to ignore her tormentors.

"Aww, don't be like that~" Teases the final voice she's become familiar with over the past week. "C'mon soldier, up and at em!"

She begrudgingly opens her eyes. It's still dark out, save for the three pairs of eyes shining back at her in the way that human eyes don't. It will, according to astrological estimates, be dark out for another seventeen or so years.

Vampires swarm these types of planets like flies on shit, which means vampire hunters must follow; which means Katie is here, stuck, painfully aware of the distinct lack of her quarry's main weakness forcing them to fuck off for half the day. She kicks off the dashboard of her Mechanized Mobile Housing Unit and lets her chair glide backward into the kitchen compartment, where she grabs a ration bar and starts a cup of coffee.

"She's ignoring us."

"How mean!"

"When we were so excited to play with her some more…"

It is a mobile home, and not- despite what it may look like- a military vehicle, for this exact eventuality. She may be out of fuel and ammo, but the bloodsuckers are bound by their curse not to enter uninvited. They can shoot her and ruin their meal, or they can sit out there and whine.

The three that clipped her wings have chosen unanimously to whine, and it is perhaps worse than the bullet.

"Is she making breakfast?"

"She is! She is and she won't share!"

"Even though she knows we're starving."

Her coffeemaker chimes, and she rolls her chair back to the dashboard. "You don't want what I'm eating, girls." She says, as she gnaws on the nutrient dense piece of cardboard that the higher ups, delighted to try out new linguistic cleverness after the success of the mobile-home trick, are calling 'food'.

"We dooon't." One of the vampires agrees. "We want you, pilot."

"Lil' ol' me?" Katie asks, in mock disbelief.

"Just a bite, hunter."

"Just a little taste, for your new friends?"

"Are we friends?" She asks.

"We're good friends!"

"Best friends, pilot."

"It's strange, but I don't think I believe you."

Katie picks up her coffee and makes a show of tilting her head back and drinking in slow, indulgent gulps. She can hear the vampires gasp at the sight of it, eager to tear into her throat.

"She's mean."

"She's so mean to us, when we're so thirsty…"

"When she knows we want her, hot and wet and pulsing."

"See, how are we supposed to be friends when you say things like that?" Katie asks, resting her chin in her hands.

"We can be better than friends."

"Let us in, pilot."

"It'll feel so good, to let us slake our thirst."

"For you, maybe. I have a hunch that once you get your hands on me I won't feel anything ever again."

The vampires gasp, offended.

"No, pilot!"

"No! Just a little taste for each of us, to start. Just to take the edge off."

"Just a little taste, and we'll take you home to be ours forever."

"Take all the time in the world to savor your taste."

"We're very sweet to our girls, when they don't try to fight."

"Sweet as kittens! It's so much easier, not having to hunt."

Katie steals a glance at her dashboard calendar. If rescue was coming, it should have been here yesterday. The dread pooling in her stomach swirls and mixes with curious heat from the vampires' honeyed words.

"Not today, ladies." She says, and she isn't as sure as she'd like that she'll say the same tomorrow.

[castingspellsanddaisies]

How's sexy time with...Jobe Bellingham? + his general personality + how's he emotionally? + how's he as a partner? | Tarot Reading

DISCLAIMER: Take everything with a grain of salt and have fun!

WOW... The brothers really look alike, huh?

This post has 18+ content, so if you don't want to read it, beat it.

How's sexy time with him?

9 of swords + 9 of cups + queen of cups + king of swords + king of wands reversed + 8 of wands reversed + 4 of swords + judgement + the star

Ladies and gentlemen, this man right here... Knows what he's doing.

What's the word? Munch? Yes, that's it. Jobe loooves to go down on his partner like there's no tomorrow. And he likes to make them scream! The wetter, the loudest the better for him.

He's loud too. I feel like he talks a lot during it and he's very vocal. Hot. He likes to call the shots, so very demanding (''now open your legs for me'', ''louder I wanna hear you'' ''who told you to stop, baby?'' these phrases came into my mind, so... Similar to this).

BUT he may have problems climaxing and making his partner c*m with only penetra*on. Oh, I see... That's why he prefers oral s*x. He liked to finish with his partner suc*ing him off most of times. And vice versa.

He's just... Really good with his mouth. Squ*rting too. And he goes round after round after round...

What's his general personality?

mountain + ship + lily + star | back of the deck: bouquet

the wheel of fortune + page of wands reversed + 3 of swords reversed + 10 of pentacles reversed | back of the deck: 2 of pentacles

Jobe's very hard on himself to always be better than he was yesterday. But he feels like his life's not moving as he would like.

He struggles a lot to have confidence in himself and in his goals, what he does. But here's the thing: Jobe is good at hiding his insecurities from everybody. He's very good at pretending everything is fine. He adapts easy to any situation. He acts like the people around him act.

I see that he has some insecurties concerning ''making his family proud''. Do I have to say it out loud? It's about him having big shoes (Jude's) to fill.

How's he emotionally?

king of wands + the moon reversed + king of pentacles + justice reversed | back of the deck: 5 of cups

Jobe's kind of pessimistic.

he likes to go to the core of every trouble he faces. He's not afraid to dig in and find ugly things about himself and other people. He prefers to know the ugly truth than live with pretty lies.

He's very critical with himself. He must be careful to not be unkind and unfair sometimes to people.

How's he as a partner in romantic relationships?

garden + cross + letter + crossroads | back of the deck: lily

10 of cups reversed + the star reversed + 4 of cups + 8 of pentacles | back of the deck: 5 of swords

He's the thing: Jobe's very reticent about dating, and that's because he feels like there's no one good enough for him. But calm down! What I mean is that Jobe can see how the ''dating scenario'' is nowadays and he doesn't like what he sees (people cheat all the time, they lack commitment, lack of accountability, lack of maturity...).

He's easy to disatisfy when he tries a relationship with someone. And he lacks mtivation to try something serious. It's like he lost faith in good relationships happening for him. And he's very direct about it with people. He doesn't shy away from saying how relationships are not for him - at least not right now. He loses interest quickly.

That's it, folks. I hope you enjoyed the reading! Take care <3

[kkyaka]

Another year, another period of time where I question my sexuality

[trans-leek-cookie]

listen I'm not gonna be a Curly apologist he did Fucked Up as captain but I genuinely recommend ppl watch a playthru that goes thru the game in chronological order. It kinda helps clear up the events and gaps between them, bc even tho u See the times, you still experience it out of order.

The stuff Anya says definitely sets off alarm bells but it doesn't seem like he Fully Understands what she means, and I'm going to be 100% honest I think she was trying to repress it herself. This isn't to say that she is AT ALL "at fault" for what happened after and she should've gotten help even if she wasn't ready to fully discuss the issue but I genuinely think she herself was still coming to terms with things, so she didn't necessarily process the full impact before talking to Curly, and a lot of what happens occurs after they're laid off- like this delves into personal interpretation but I genuinely think Anya only registered Jimmy as a serious danger after his outburst towards Curly. Ofc my interpretation is limited bc of the limited pov in game and not having gone through what she has, but it personally reads more akin to coercion over time than a singular Obviously Violent incident (like. Not to say that Sexual Assault isnt violent in nature, just that coercion often specifically works to obfuscate the fact it is a form of violence.) The layoff is a Massive catalyst for her bc of Jimmy, in that she now has a very clear understanding of his capacity for aggression.

To extrapolate a little from the "Dead Pixel" conversation, she starts by saying she Likes The Screen (even though it's fake). While Curly has his quotes about the pixel "not ruining the illusion" which. Y'know is Symbolic Of His Flaws. She doesn't say the pixel ruins it, just that she can't get it out of her mind.

If we take the pixel to represent her Or jimmy, either way the way she talks about it kind of downplays things, like it's a Minor Thing that's Slightly Upsetting, but she's still okay with the big picture. Idk I could be 100% wrong but that is my take

Besides that, Anya tells curly she's pregnant 2 days before the crash, and it isn't until she outright states it that he starts Putting The Pieces Together. I want to note, he says "I'd do anything" and "this doesn't have to go on our performance evals" 1. Before he knows shes pregnant 2. Under the assumption she might attempt suicide, and I doubt he even thought about her using the gun on anyone else before she brings that up. He says literally before the line where she tells him she's pregnant that "being laid off isnt a reason to hurt [herself]". Like I've seen ppl talk about the performance evaluation thing like it's about her and jimmy, but I think he's referring to (his belief) that she might attempt suicide or similar which might genuinely be a consistent thing he's seen her struggle with, given she's able to go through with it. Also just to note: assuming their society is like ours (hellish) reassuring her he won't blab Abt her mental health is like. Genuine reassurance- lots of mentally ill ppl will Not Open Up bc it could have long term consequences (like. For example. On employment) ANYWAYS I hope it doesn't come off like "Curly never failed Anya" but rather "Curly approached this specific situation without the context of why Anya is panicking and (possibly validly) assuming she's dealing with a very different issue"

Also let me say again the time frame is 2 days. We don't Really see what happens, but we know Anya tells Jimmy without Curly knowing. I genuinely believe he maybe didn't do a Great Job in those two days (the fact he says Anya should've talked to Him before telling Jimmy is uhhh. Mm. 1. Your job to create an environment where she comes to you my man 2. Weird to tell her what she should do with HER OWN PERSONAL INFORMATION) but like.

I get a lot of ppl want immediate consequences but consider that they can't really get rid of Jimmy (co pilot. Which is. Y'know it's Own Problems) but also like. Curly knows Jimmy, and we know that Jimmy tends to lash out. Curly should probably Not Confront Jimmy Unless He Knows Exactly How To Keep Him From Hurting Anya. Like I'm not an expert but this is something genuinely important- when confronting an abuser you NEED to take into account the impact it can have on their victim, and sometimes for the victims safety you need to wait until you have a Solid Plan. It sucks but it's important.

And theres discussion to be had about Curly kinda going along with Jimmy saying "well what if we all died" and like. I do believe he Didn't Realize What Jimmy Said. Like he was just processing/trying to keep the situation under control (and failing because he underestimated how willing Jimmy was to hurt everyone including himself).

Like he's definitely an enabler but I would say his problems are mostly before he understands the gravity of the situation, in that he's friends with Jimmy and assumes the best of a man with abusive tendencies, and fails to create an environment that can keep Anya and the others safe. Like, he definitely doesn't handle in game events perfectly (psych evaluation for one- he does do it instead of Anya which is actually helpful, but he still treats it like. Weirdly.)

Idk I have a lot of thoughts about this game and I don't necessarily want to defend Curly but more like. Anya's situation is very delicate (and light on details) so sometimes the way ppl talk Abt it feels like they aren't actually focused on what she wants and what it means to prioritize her safety y'know?

Edit bc I just now figured out kinda how I want to word it: curly is an enabler and making things worse bc he doesn't put a stop to Jimmy's BS, but in the specific scenario we see in game I think he's trying to use his Skillset of like, people pleasing not for Jimmy's sake but for the crews (like "if I nod my head and say I sympathize he won't lash out and hurt them") which like. There are situations which that is unfortunately the safest option (on an individual level yes, but sometimes it's also necessary to prevent abusers lashing out in response toward ppl who are more vulnerable) but it was the Wrong Choice.

It's like. I think Curly was trying and had good intentions, and understood that he needed to protect the crew, but he didn't have the toolset/experience to realize he can't Just go along with things and that he needs to be able to set hard limits, even for ppl he likes and trusts. Like he failed but the failure was "for want of a nail", where it began way before what we see (for want of an understanding of power dynamics I guess.) Again, don't think this makes curly more forgivable or whatever, I just think he's a good example of trying to make the right choices when you never realized you'd have to make these kinds of decisions and therefore are unprepared and/or unaware

Second edit: personally I don't think you can really incapacitate jimmy without there being serious risk (again he's the copilot) but curly should've given Anya the gun when she told him Abt the pregnancy

[ratatatastic]

scare the hoes more and keep yapping about ekky (& others) getting used to maffhew, it delights me. and say even more about how sasha handles this feral and sweet omega that gets dropped into his orbit. smth smth “feels like i’ve known him 10 years” or whatever vows sasha recited to the press, cameras, and god

apparently we are taking more tumblr user ratatatastic abo yap thoughts for 500 may god hear our screams up wherever he is. big man in the sky you fuckin owe me one.

i think theres so much in particular to say in concerns of 1619 and how quickly they gelled irl but even more so in an abo au

ive always enjoyed when people assign matthew stronger scents that take getting used to if you don't like it already and i know ive read a fic where his scent notes did skew towards stronger cinnamon foods/drinks

anyways on that note it wouldnt surprise me that sasha takes so easy to this spicy little omega.

Like of course he does, he smells like the pastries he used to eat back at home, the pastries he eats now because he's found an established Finnish bakery down here that makes them homemade every morning, the bakery he likes to frequent with the other Finns when he can.

Is it ever a wonder that the cute omega that sent him such a terribly sweet text when the trade news broke out (you know, after the initial excitement worn off because Sasha does chuckle at memory of the brash "Fucking, right!" that pinged on his phone the very first time from an unknown number) smells like... home... No matter all the rumours that have swirled around Matthew, the rumours Sasha has personally experienced himself playing against him...he smells nostalgic. Like Sasha could be at home right now—you know, home home—lounging outside his cottage with tea and pastries on the little table that he's set out. The warm cinnamon that wafts from the typically sterile room they've assigned for pressers smells divine, for lack of a better word. It smells indulgent. Because Sasha can't have those homely pastries all the time, what, with his training regiment.

It's why he doesn't quite believe it that Matthew's the one that's the centre of it all. He's absolutely convinced he's hallucinating because the season is about to start and he's had to cut back on all his favourite sweets as much as it pains him to but for the betterment of the team? He'd do anything. And yet despite the way he rubs at his nose to at least try to clear it, he smells that cinnamon. That cinnamon that's definitely coming from new omega they traded over who's laughing so obnoxiously at the lectern they have set up that if his scent didn't catch your attention, his loud mannerisms certainly did. His voice is practically bouncing off the walls in big loud echoes that should hurt Sasha’s ears. Emphasis on should. As it is he finds his heart melting more than it should instead.

It's been quite a long time since someone's scent has moved him this much. All the people that have, have been in his life for so long he's forgotten what it's like to feel instant scent compatibility. His nostrils are flaring and he's trying his best not to open his mouth to huff in big gulps of it because it's rather impolite to be so obviously scenting the new guy. It could be misconstrued as Sasha taking offence to the new presence in the room.

Some part of his brain is still trying to catch up to the idea that Matthew even smells at all because the first time he met him (down here for some joint offseason ice-time) he didn't particularly smell like much, if at all really. Whether it's because he put on blockers to not intrude on pack territory until he smelled more like them, or he was still on suppressants even in the summer, Sasha wasn't sure and he definitely wasn't going to ask about it.

Known him for 10 years? He feels like he's known him his whole life. But 10's a safe number, 10's a number that won't scare off this new omega, right? 10's a number that conveys "As Captain I want this to work out, I'm opening up my pack for you, I won't shun you, you're welcome here," and not "If I stick my nose in your neck right now to scent you, they're gonna have to forcibly evict me from the new home I've found in you, and it's not gonna be a pretty outcome."

It's also why he's a little nervous when Media Day is over because despite how much it dragged along in years past it practically blitzed by and now Sasha has to—

You know, properly scent the new addition. Give them the purring acceptance of their Pack leader's scent to carry with them. And it's nothing big, it's just some chaste wrist rubbing... something subtle and not too overwhelming for everyone: the pack, and the newcomer alike. It's not like Sasha is going to mouth at Matthew's neck glands. He doesn't think he can even handle that right now but that's a problem for future Sasha—for when Matthew is really part of the pack and not like a goldfish in a plastic bag being dunked into an aquarium to get used to the water temperature. He just has to rub his wrist against his, it's like basic Alpha etiquette. It'll be fine, mostly. He hopes.

And it's as anticlimactic as he thought it'd be: gentle reintroductions and reignited chatter of excitement about the new season that's about to start... maybe just with the new lingering scent of sweet and spice in the background as if someone lit up a candle without Sasha even noticing it. It's a struggle to keep his eyes from closing from how heavy they feel, from how relaxed he feels in the presence of this new omega he knows has pissed him off on several occasions as composed as he was about it.

Matthew presents his wrist in a flourish successfully managing to divert his attention back to what they're supposed to be doing all alone like this in the dressing room like this, "I'm sure you've been dying to do this huh, Cap?"

Sweat starts to break out at the back of his neck. He knows? Sasha doesn't think he's been sending off any signals that could've hinted otherwise but Sasha admits that he's well out of practise, he hasn't had to reign in his scent this much in such a long time, and maybe Matthew picked up his weird fixation—

Matthew waggles his eyebrows for extra effect an offbeat later when the joke doesn't seem to land the way he wanted it to.

Oh, thank Christ, he's just teasing him. It's a joke. He doesn't actually mean it in the way Sasha thought he meant.

"Yes. Yes, I have," Sasha chuckles in relief, shaking his head at Matthew's attempt to lighten the mood.

"10 years, or so I've heard, bud."

"You heard? Uh, listened to the..." he trails off.

"Kinda hard not to when the setup made it sound like you were in the middle of the Earth, my guy. I don't think my ears are ever gonna recover from that."

"It's the first day for everyone," Sasha lightly chastises, not particularly aggrieved at all but wanting to keep up the banter to stall for time, so he can prepare himself. Quite honestly he feels like travelled back in time to the young anxious Alpha he was breaking out into the league for the first time.

"Be gentle, I bruise easily."

"Right, gentle. I'll treat you better than my clothes on the delicate cycle."

"Is that supposed to be a line?" Matthew says in glee, his voice pitching into incredulity.

"Line like fishing?"

"Oh, come on! You know what I'm talking about! You've been in this country long enough to pick up on that!"

"Yes, yes, that."

Matthew shoves at his shoulder playfully. "Just go on and do the thing already."

"Doing the thing."

Matthew snorts but his wrist is limp in Sasha’s hold. And as much as it was a dumb joke he does feel delicate between his fingers like that. So delicate that when he rubs his own wrist against his—to transfer over their pack scent—he feels like he's going to break it if he holds onto it for too long. It's why he drops it as quick as he took it, hands scrambling to his sides in an effort to remain polite but also to get a handle on himself so his pheromones don't go haywire with the new stimulus. It's a bit of a losing battle because he knows his scent just. But he can play it off as the excitement of an Alpha being able to claim another member to his pack, it's a possessive kind of thing.

"Well, see you around! Call it a hunch but I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of each other." And the joke wasn't funny the first time, truly the equivalent of leaning on the office fax machine and going "You come here often?" to your coworkers who just want to get their work done—and just as sleazy too with the greasy grin Matthew has permanently stuck to his face but Sasha still laughs like he did the first time he heard it.

And it's only now that Matthew is gone that Sasha realises the room smells strongly of cinnamon, so potent that anyone with a working nose would be able to tell that. Like Matthew was doing his best to ease Sasha’s obvious nerves when Sasha should've been the one to calm the omega who's been uprooted from their own pack and thrown into a completely new environment, himself.

"Jesus, it reeks in here. Smells like cinnamon," Aaron wrinkles his nose, wandering back in after his own media duties were done, finding Sasha all alone in the locker rooms.

"It does?" Like he can't tell the room smells like the equivalent of someone knocking over a Yankee Candle into an open fire.

"Yeah, like an awful lot." Aaron scrunching up his nose, trying to fight off an incoming sneeze. "It's strong," he says without thinking, swallows before his eyes shift over to Sasha and then to the floor, "Not bad just... strong..." The I can get used to it is left unspoken between them.

"I like it," Sasha admits because if Aaron is confessing to things without thinking then he might as well too. They've known each other long enough.

"I can tell." Aaron snorts, "You reek too."

Sasha lets out a questioning little noise, tilts his head to the side as he silently urges Aaron to continue.

"You have no idea what cinnamon and cardamom smell like together, do you? I feel like I walked into a bakery when I should be at the gym right now."

"Is that bad?"

"For you? No, of course not," Aaron's eyes soften, and while his scent wasn't anywhere close to abrasive, it does lighten up just a tad bit in the presence of his pack Alpha. "For me? I'd rather dunk my head in a bucket of coffee beans." A bit of an exaggeration on Aaron's part but the wry grin he has on really adds to the fact he's just joking—just a little, maybe there's some truth hidden in there. He knows how Aaron is, the way he tries to downplay anytime he bristles about something. Peace and vibes, and all that.

So Sasha can joke as well, "Forsy's stall is over there," and motions his head towards it across the room.

"Oh, hilarious."

"If I was funny I would say jock."

"You know, what? I think I will hit the gym today, thanks for reminding me."

"Mmm, anytime." And when Aaron's half out the door he adds, "Ask the staff where they put the jerseys we used today!"

"I'm going! To the gym!" he echoes back, not bothering to turn around as he shuffles down the hall in a hurry, and decidedly not going in the direction of the gym. It's not surprising when he hears chatter pick up and shoes scuffing briskly into the direction of the laundry rooms.

[longagoitwastuesday]

I actually like the last chapter. I think the ideas are very good. I have my qualms on how some things were managed, as I always do, but I think shonen authors get tangled in the expectations of a shonen to the point it jeopardises their writing, often even when they're not lacking in skills

[lususnatura]

blamore when he's in love with someone is like the epitome of ' how deep is your love. ' and honestly, in addition to that song being a banger (the bee gee's has made a lot of those in my opinion though NGL LOL), i say this because it really is that lover who silently wants their partner to give them ALL of their love and who is that ride or die whom won't let anyone break them down + will always have a 'it's both of us versus the world' mindset.

because whenever it comes to love... it is all or nothing with blamore. which means he will be completely devoted to whoever this partner at the time may be, and will kind of have an unspoken expectation that they'll also be devoted to him, but in a very sweet way like twin-flames or something. Because, and don't tell it i said this (nahhh, i'm just kidding around with y'all LOL i know he isn't real ofc but you know the vibes), the plant-hybrid is sort of a romantic deep down

[muirneach]

46 minute psychoanalytic russian interview with andrey? i’m so sat.

[chemicalbrew]

achievement get (for the billionth time): take one look at an assignment and get severely overwhelmed AND discouraged for the rest of the day and do nothing

[hearts-hunger]

i'm extremely good at hiding when the conversation of my coworkers triggers me but i don't know if that's a good thing

[goodmorningbadday]

i miss him. wtf else am i supposed to say. why couldn’t he have been mean and boring so i wouldn’t be stuck here thinking about the 4 midtown shows for the rest of my life. also if you glanced it would look like we took all three of these pictures in one night which makes me laugh the thought of us just having a photoshoot and relocating for every pic