#owl mom needs a tag
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hiswrlds · 2 months ago
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I miss you, but I miss myself more 
I miss you like a childhood I lost
in places I can't map
in promises forgotten with time
to choices that weren't mine
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hererafjastori · 2 years ago
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I don‘t know if it‘s fanon or canon, that some of Hunter‘s scars where inflicted by Belos when he was in his cursed form, but I can‘t get this scene out of my head.
There is this specific kind of fanfic that I love, where Hunter gets adopted into the owl house and slowly unlearns all the toxic nonsense Belos taught him. He is allowed to be loud. He doesn‘t have to earn his bed, his meal, medical supplies, the roof over his head, etc. He is allowed to be loud. He is allowed to be childish. He is allowed to take a break. He is allowed to make mistakes. He is allowed to talk back to, and disagree with authority figures. Love and care (especially from a guardian to their child) should be unconditional. Getting physically punished is NEVER an appropriate reaction, he deserved better, and Eda would never do that, no matter what he does. And so on.
But I want to focus on the curse thing. Because in Belos has a cursed form. And the worst physical scars Hunter has, were inflicted upon him by Belos when he was in this state. And Hunter thinks that Belos isn‘t at fault for those things because he wasn‘t in control. That it was his own fault for triggering his uncle in some way or another. That he deserved those injuries because he set Belos off in the first place.
Eda also has a curse she doesn‘t have total control over that makes her more volatile. And we know, that even after turning into the harpy, she still needs those elixirs to stay in control (see ftf). There are infinite ways this can play out, but I can think of these:
1. Eda turns into a harpy and Hunter inacts plans to put himself in harms way to let Luz escape without injury. (physically shielding her; playing distraction;…)
2. Eda gets stressed/scared/starteled/frustrated/… and starts growing feathers. Hunter immediately panics, backpedals, apologises, maybe he has a panic attack.
3. Luz gets injured somehow. Maybe elixirs have run low and they couldn‘t get a hold of Morton in time. Maybe Eda grew claws at an inopportune time. Maybe there was a trial and error phase before she was able to properly judge the Harpy‘s strength.
4. Luz was injured by the owl beast in the days leading up to the season 1 finale, where Eda transforming seems to have been a regular occurence. She could have been attacked. She could have stood too close during a transformation. She could have held a shiny in her hand and get badly scratched whem the beast grabbed it. No matter what happened, she and Hunter start comparing scars inflicted on them by their guardians, and tell wildly different stories.
No matter how they got there I want to see Hunter react to Eda‘s reaction. She is in a similar position as Belos. She could use the same excuses: ”I couldn‘t control myself, why didn‘t you move out of the crossfire, or better yet, never let it get to this point in the first place, this is your fault”. She doesn‘t. If there are injuries, she helps patch them up. She gives them space if they need it. She apologizes. She takes accountability. She does everything in her power to keep then out of harms way. She is open and clear about what sets her off, what can be done to avoid that, what she does to keep the curse at bay, what are signs of an oncoming transformation and what they/ he can do in case she does transform/ lose control. She offers to help him move in with Darius/ the Parks/ Gwendoly/ Dell/ anyone who can protect him, and won‘t sell him out to Belos he would feel comfortable with, if he isn‘t willing to bear the risks of living with her. She doesn‘t demand forgiveness for whatever harm she caused, or for him to trust her in spite of that.
And Hunter is confronted with the fact that Belos could have - no, should have done the same, and has no excuse for doing what he did to him.
___________
tldr: Eda would be the second parental figure of Hunter, that has a curse liable to cause anyone in her vincinity harm, and I want to see Hunter confronted with that and the way she handles such a situation.
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yukkoislost · 8 months ago
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meet octaviery !!! he's my nuzi fankid :3
an accidental baby acquisition (because the tag is fkin hilarious on ao3 i love it)
he's introverted and quiet (because he has a social butterfly dad and not-afraid-to-speak-out mom,, he never had to do the talking do u get me) BUT !! he gets loud only when provoked/mad (it takes a lot for him to get angry though)
might give him an eldritch form since he's half worker half disassembly drone but i'm incapable of drawing that atm so it'll just hv to wait....
my original plan was that he's just a puppet that the absolute solver left behind (probably episode 4-ish), taking on the idea on how the AS seems to enjoy hurting people N is close to,, a fun concept :) the purpose of octaviery was to get closer to uzi + N in order to ultimately die/get killed in the end 😆 (that wld mean a canon divergence au tho. again. i need to stop w the aus)
his solver form is an owl !!
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catboymoments · 2 months ago
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Different anon here. I understand people being upset and angry, but I was in Ukraine when the war started. My family were lucky enough to get out but so many others weren't, we spent so long worrying, working on humanitarian efforts and such, and we still make sure now to donate to other causes such as Gaza.
But although I myself came away with it with open eyes and a strong desire to help, my brother wasn't the same. He's quite a bit younger and was so deeply traumatised from everything we all saw. He had nightmares for months after, and always acted as if the war could crawl into Germany (where we stayed for over a year before we moved to the US to be with family).
He refused to put his backpack away at school and always kept it in arm's reach, he hoarded snacks under his mattress, he all but shut down at school and resisted learning German but at the same time shied away from other Ukrainian students because he couldn't hear the war stories without a panic. And he insisted on waiting by the mailbox, outside, backpack at the ready waiting for news from his old best friend (which we still haven't really gotten; we hope they made it to another country and just haven't wanted to stay in touch).
When we made it to America, we got him some help thanks to charity and put more into teaching him English and he's starting to recover, making friends at his newest school and finally feeling safe. All this Gaza stuff is not helping though. He's fourteen now and his classmates at high school keep sending him things on Instagram or Discord or text messages about the war with no warning or spoiler tags. Many times my parents have taken his phone away, but he has a couple other friends from Ukraine and Germany he needs to stay in contact with so they can't bear to do it for long. He can't block them either because apparently fourteen year olds take it as an affront on the friendship, and often we are late due to having one car between the four of us to attend different places (my parents and I to our jobs, my brother to school) and by far the easiest way to get that cleared is having him message someone in the same class to tell the teacher in advance if we're stuck in traffic.
Some bots have caught wind and have sent some pretty horrific things, to the point where even a simple fundraiser post (often with rightful messages of desperation) can wind him all the way back.
I understand both perspectives, as someone who survived a war zone and as someone who has seen the many different ways it impacts people. It's trauma, plain and simple. And during these times, especially with the election, people need to engage with the world safely. My brother likes your Owl House content and I make sure to send it to him by message so that that's all he sees, but not everyone has something like that.
Of course, it's up to you. Making this blog safer for Gazans with firsthand trauma is probably going to do more long-term good than sparing others secondhand trauma. I'm just asking you to consider all angles here.
Sorry if I have mixed up everything, English is my third language and I asked my mom to proof it (whose English is a lot stronger as she has a talkative job these days, but is still not her mother tounge).
Oh I didn’t. Think of it from this perspective. Thank you for telling me this, I was wrong and I’m sorry.
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bamboozledbird · 4 months ago
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IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 4 / Next
Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, OMC Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes), alcohol as a coping mechanism, season 1 Lydia behavior (her comments on addiction are wrong and insensitive and she's knows it) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear
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Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 
You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Beacon Hills’ bloody underbelly is making it pretty damn hard for him to keep his promise.
Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real, and old family secrets rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?
Maybe, the real question is: How long will they want to?
Chapter Summary: Your life somehow becomes further entangled with Stiles and Scott's strange secret world, and Lydia is concerned in her own aggressive way. 
A/N: this is in fact a scott mccall stan account. i love that boy like he's my own. you can also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight) for the full lore version!
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The drive home was ultimately uneventful. No need for tasers, silver bullets, or wolfsbane goop. You would need to get gas before you left for school in the morning, but you supposed that was a relatively minor inconvenience when the other end of the scale was being torn apart by a fanged monster. 
Your jaw cracked with an aggressive yawn as you slowly stumbled through the garage door, fumbling for the light switch on the wall. You flicked on the light and paused, shivering a little as the cold air from the vent above your head skimmed over your bare arms. After a moment of hesitation, when that little persistent wriggling in your ear wouldn’t go away, you ducked back down the concrete steps to poke around the garbage can. Underneath a few Styrofoam take-out boxes, there were four empty beer bottles. The glass bottles clinked against each other as you nudged them out of the way, unearthing the real object of your paranoia. A drained bottle of 100-proof rye whiskey was cradled between two sacks of trash from the night before. You just stared at the bottles, heart and lungs wound tight, and then you dropped the lid back on top of the can.  
When you reentered the house, you were careful to keep the noise to a minimum. It wasn’t that late, only a little past nine, but you didn’t want to disrupt your dad’s slumber. Usually, he was a night owl—which, of course, was really just a pretty way of saying chronic insomniac, another thing you’d inherited from him—but it’d been a hard liquor night. Your dad always went to bed early on hard liquor nights. You didn’t know if he actually slept or if he stared at the ceiling, watching memories play on spackle until dawn streamed through the cracks in the blinds. Probably the first. You hadn’t ever heard him cry through the thin walls, not even once. You, however, couldn’t ever stop crying, not on the nights you trembled for something potent enough to mask the scent of the coconut oil your mom used to remove her makeup. The echoes of your mother had seeped into the walls, saturated the insulation with the faint sounds of the 70s pop rock vinyls she put on when she was in a good mood. They faded sometimes, but they always came back. You desperately hoped, and you hopelessly feared, that they always would. 
You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hands aggressively and slipped under the covers, still in your plaid skirt and black t-shirt. Mascara smeared against your silk pillowcase, blurred your vision as it melted into your waterline. You stared at the wall until the silver swirls in the teal wallpaper started to sway. The teal was so dark it almost looked velvet with the lights off, and you had a heavy-eyed impulse to stroke it, but your hand was too leadened to lift. 
Your lids slipped shut, and in the haze between consciousness and slumber you felt the vague sensation of something solid against the back of your head. You murmured something incomprehensible and pulled your arms closer to your chest, taking in a breath of sharp whisky and a familiar woody cologne. You kept your eyes closed, and the warm weight cupped your skull for a moment. There was a brief kiss pressed against the top of your head and then the warmth was gone. Something large caught in your throat, and you squeezed your eyelids until your forehead wrinkled, forcing yourself to fall into a restless sleep filled with dreams of pancakes swimming in bourbon and howling beasts. 
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Stiles was waiting for you by your locker when you arrived at school the next day. His friend—Scott, you reminded herself—was leaning against the locker next to him. Scott’s eyelids were heavy, and there was a coolness underneath them that stained his tan skin with a swathe of puce. Puce: From the French term ‘couleur puce,’ meaning ‘flea color.’  You dug your incisor into your tongue once you recognized that the intrusive internal narration was in Stiles’s voice. You didn’t even know if he spoke French, but it seemed like the kind of weird detail he’d know. You ran your tongue over your teeth and shoved your fists into your jacket pockets, thumb poking through the hole in the lining from previous twiddling—when the hell did you start thinking about the kinds of things Stiles would and wouldn’t know?  
You pivoted sharply, and your traitorous leather boots ruined your attempted exit when they squeaked against the freshly waxed floor. Stiles’s head popped up from his hushed conversation with Scott, and he waved vigorously when he made eye contact with you, “Hey! C’mere!”
You tipped your gaze towards the tiled ceiling and sighed. It was inevitable, really; you had to get your English binder before homeroom—homeroom, yet another reason to hate Wednesdays. It was one of your few classes with Lydia, and there wasn’t ever any actual teaching to distract you from the disgusting goo-goo eyes she gave her boyfriend. Studying was your only respite.
“Patience,” you nudged Stiles out of the way and spun your combination into the padlock, “work on it. It’s an essential skill.”
Stiles scoffed and leaned his shoulder against the locker next to yours, arms folded over his chest, “Essential. There’s nothing essential about wasting time. It’s actually unvirtuous if you think about it.” 
You swung her locker door open, blocking out Stiles’s frown, and rested your backpack on your knee so that you could unzip it. “Was there a point in there somewhere, or are you stalking me again?”
Stiles ducked around the locker door and placed his hands on Scott’s shoulders, shoving him a little closer to you, “Scott had a question for you.”
Scott’s eyes didn’t look so tired when he reared his head back to stare at Stiles. They had an intense conversation for a moment. There weren’t any words exchanged, but you got the gist: Scott was pissed, and Stiles was relentless. In the end, Scott lost the battle and swallowed thickly, “So, uh, you know a lot about supernatural stuff. That’s cool.” Stiles rolled his eyes and smacked the back of Scott’s head. Scott glared at him before mumbling, “Do you have any more of that wolfsbane…potion?” towards his muddy Converse. 
You directed your annoyance over Scott’s shoulder, more than confident that the real culprit of this request was the idiot avoiding your eye-line. “What? You already burned through your goo sample? Are the streets finally free from the demon beast of Beacon Hills?”
Stiles held up his hands and shook his head, “This is all Scott. See, me, I’m a fan of not being a greedy little bastard, but Scott—” This time Scott smacked Stiles with a resounding thwack. Stiles rubbed his shoulder, mouth agawk with indignation. 
“He…dropped it.” Scott glowered at the side of Stiles’s face, “‘Doing something stupid.” 
You smirked, “Sounds about right.” You shoved your binder into your backpack and brushed your hairs out of your eyes, “I’d give it all away for free, but it’s not up to me. Sorry.” Zipping your backpack shut, you slung one of the straps over your shoulder and shrugged, “You could always buy some more, but I’d strongly advise against such a dumb financial investment.”
Scott rubbed the back of his neck and gave you a smile. It was small but riddled with warmth—like he just couldn’t help it, like sunshine leaked through every one of his pores, and you were filled with the sudden urge to buy the stupid wolfsbane gunk for him. “That’s what I figured,” Scott looked at Stiles pointedly. His voice dropped a few octaves and a growl slipped into the end of his sentence, “But someone thought we should ask anyway.” 
The bell rang, and Scott flinched, smashing one of his ears into his shoulder. He turned around, a little dazed, and Stiles trailed after him after giving her a distracted wave. As you watched them leave, a parasitic impulse wrangled through your throat, prying the hinge of your jaw open as you shouted, “Hey!” The hallway was abuzz with various conversations and clomping feet, but your voice was still a bit too loud for the short distance between you and definitely too urgent for 7:45 in the morning. 
Stiles turned around first, almost tripping over his sneakers, and then he yanked on the scarlet hood of Scott’s jacket until he stopped too. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and licked your bottom lip, suddenly realizing how dry it was. “I, uh,” you sighed and took a few steps forward so that you didn’t have to raise your voice, “I could talk to Maggie. I bet she’d cut you a deal if I asked.” You let out a little laugh and raked your fingers through your hair, accidentally dislodging the satin bow tying your hair out of your face. “I know, actually. I know she’d give you some for free. She’s a terrible business woman.” 
Scott’s smile put the moon to shame, and Stiles looked like he’d been waiting for you to change your mind since the moment you told them no—when the hell did he start thinking about what you would and wouldn’t do? 
“That would be awesome,” Scott ducked down to grab your black ribbon and held it out to you with an open palm, “thank you. I’d owe you big time.”
Stiles looped his arm around Scott’s shoulders and smirked, “We’d. We’d owe you. I’ll stop by the store and bless you with my scintillating conversation sometime.” 
“Don’t worry about it,” you smiled softly at Scott, taking your ribbon from his hand. You attempted to tie your hair back in a neat bow, but it was difficult without a mirror. You assumed it was halfway decent because Stiles didn’t take the opportunity to tease you—you, on the other hand, had no such qualms about mocking him. You smiled at Stiles, far too sweetly to be considered congenial, and sneered, “Seriously. Don’t worry about it.” 
Stiles’s eyes narrowed, face curved around a smirk that screamed trouble, and Scott slapped his hand over Stiles’s mouth before he could say something to make you reconsider, “Thanks again. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to pay you back. Name it, and we’re there.” Stiles winked at you with a glint in his eye that was as vexing as it was bright, and Scott rolled his eyes as he hauled him away by the nylon material of his backpack, “C’mon, dude. My mom’s gonna kill me if I’m late again.”
You watched Stiles’s buzzed head bob amidst the congested crowd of students, all shoving each other in their rush to get to class on time, until you couldn’t hear his surly complaints anymore. You rubbed your hand over your chapped lips, swallowing hollowly, like you could erase every impulsive word that’d spilt from your stupid mouth.
You were still thinking about what you’d gotten yourself into when you walked into Mrs. Farias’s classroom—and that must be why you forgot your copy of Metamorphosis in your locker. You groaned internally and dropped your forehead against your desk, bumping it against the cool laminate finish a few times, before ducking out the door with a hall pass. 
The halls were empty—silent too. You could hear your own footsteps and the tick of the large clock above the main office as you walked around the corner, and then, just as you approached the hallway your locker was in, you heard something else. Voices. Angry voices. One familiar—your face scrunched as the recognition wriggled through your ears to your brain—and one not. You cautiously glanced around the corner and frowned. Jackson, Lydia’s arrogant prick of a boyfriend, was talking to a hulking, leather-clad stranger—or rather infuriating him based on the murderous look in the man’s dark eyes. 
The stranger looked a good five years too old to be in a high school hallway, but the grown-out stubble and over-defined muscles weren’t of immediate concern. You were more focused on the color of his face. His skin was pale, clammy, and quite honestly a little corpse-like thanks to the purply-blue tinge carving out the hollows of his face. You assumed that he was too strung-out to care if anyone noticed their altercation because you could hear him from halfway across the hall. 
“Where’s Scott McCall?” His voice was deep and gravelly, as expected, but there was a desperate undertone you hadn’t anticipated.
You could only see the back of Jackson’s head, but you knew exactly what his face was doing when he puffed out his chest and folded his arms—no one else could make a smirk look quite so punchable. It was a gift, truly. “And why should I tell you?” “Because I asked you politely,” the man leaned forward, bared his canines, and you couldn’t believe that Jackson didn’t even flinch, “and I only do that once.”
“Okay, tough guy,” Jackson sneered, meeting the man’s challenge with another step forward and a shrug that reeked of false-superiority, “how ‘bout I help you find him if you tell me what you’re selling him. What is it? Dianabol? HGH?”
“Steroids,” the man’s voice was dry, and if he didn’t look like he was about to double over and puke all over the floor, you’d say the menacing glimmer in his eyes was a little amused. 
“No, Girl Scout cookies. What the hell do you think I’m talking about?” Jackson tutted, maddeningly haughty, and shook his head, “By the way, whatever it is you’re selling, I’d stop sampling the merchandise.” He let out a low patronizing whistle, and you kind of hoped that the stranger would suckerpunch him in the throat for it. “You look wrecked.”
The man didn’t punch him. Instead, he pushed himself off of the locker he was slumped against and started staggering stiffly down the hall, “I’ll find him myself.”
Jackson grabbed onto his broad shoulder and yanked. The veins in his bicep bulged with the strength of grasp, “We’re not done here.”
Your limbs suddenly remembered how to function. You ducked back behind the brick wall and closed your eyes, waiting for the inevitable sounds of bone colliding into flesh. Your right eye cracked open a sliver when the noise never came. Instead, there was a loud thud and the echo of clanging metal. You peeked around the corner again and froze, eyes wide and throat dry. Jackson was pinned against a locker by his neck. You’d already noticed that the stranger was tall, but you didn’t truly realize just how large he was until now. Jackson was a lot of things, but he wasn’t small. He was captain of the lacrosse team—everyone within a ten-mile radius knew that thanks to his constant reminders—and if anyone on campus was taking steroids, he would’ve been your first guess. But next to this sickly beast of a man, Jackson looked meek and mousey, and you didn’t even get to savor it. After a brief moment, no more than a second, Jackson’s assailant sniffed the air and slowly turned his head in your direction. It wasn’t an accident; he wasn’t surveying his surroundings. His eyes landed on yours, and he didn’t look the least bit surprised. 
The man’s irises were dark, nearly black, and they didn’t stray from your face. You forgot how to breathe, feeling distinctly like a rabbit trapped in a fox den as your heartbeat hammered against your ribs. He spared you after a few seconds of paralyzing eye-contact and turned his petrifying gaze back to Jackson’s neck. You recoiled, slipping back to your spot around the wall, and pressed your back against the bricks until the sound of your heartbeat wasn’t so loud in your ears. 
When you found the courage to look down the hall again, the man was gone, and Jackson was bleeding from the back of his neck. There were four distinct punctures along his cervical spine, trickling crimson droplets onto the stark white collar of his polo. The gouges were small, almost like…nail marks. Baffling. This town was fuckin’ baffling.
You poured over the incident all day, barely conscious enough to take down notes and roll your eyes at Stiles’s badgering and bad jokes. You’d never been more ready for the final bell to ring, not even during sex education with the extraordinarily sweaty Mr. Peterson. 
You twisted your pendant around its onyx chain as you walked out of your last period, winding and unwinding the charm over and over again as you mulled over your thoughts. Scott didn’t seem like he was on drugs. You didn’t exactly know him, but he was the least aggressive person you’d ever met, and he had to be eternally patient if Stiles was his best friend. You spun the medallion again and shouldered your way through the cramped halls to the parking lot, scolding yourself. What Scott McCall did or did not inject into his bloodstream wasn’t any of your business…even if his alleged dealer looked like he was on death’s door and had a habit of throwing teenage boys around when he got mad. 
You’d just convinced yourself that you didn’t care what happened to Stiles’s best friend when a discord of honking stopped you in your tracks. You flitted your gaze around the parking lot, searching for the cause of obnoxiously loud cacophony; your shoulders wilted along with your resolve when you spotted the guilty party. The man from the hallway was sprawled on the asphalt, and Scott and Stiles were scrambling to help him off of the ground. 
Your feet reluctantly trudged towards the peculiar trio, arms tightly folded over your cropped sweater. You would’ve laughed at how wide Stiles’s eye stretched when he finally noticed your presence, but you were a little preoccupied with the fact that he was currently trying to stuff a ghoulish grown man into his front seat. You watched him struggle to hold up approximately 200 pounds of solid muscle with his spindly arms, absentmindedly lamenting that you couldn’t truly appreciate the humor of the situation. “Hey,” you slanted your head and searched Stiles’s face for any sign of an SOS signal, “you good?”
“Ayup,” Stiles nodded emphatically, and Scott shot you a weak thumbs-up from his squat next to his tipped-over bike. 
You looked between the two of them, waiting for the truth to crack through the awkward pretense, and narrowed your eyes, “You sure?” 
“We’re good,” the man barked from inside the jeep, teeth bared. It was a little less intimidating now that he was slumped over and at the mercy of a sixteen-year-old with a dork complex, but you still flinched. You couldn’t help it. It was a small twitch, but Scott still managed to track the minute movement from his low perch. He glared at the man, shockingly firm for such a sweet-faced boy, until the stranger stopped scowling at you. Mr. Sour Face turned his head towards the window and stared intensely at the hazy tree line over the hill. Your fingers relaxed. You hadn’t even realized that you’d dug your nails in your palms until the stinging stopped. 
Scott jumped to his feet and pulled his bike up by the handles, rushing through his weak explanation, “Stiles is just…doing me a favor. Derek needs a ride, and all I’ve got is my bike.”
Letting out a flimsy snort, your brow pinched, “So…he walked here?”
“Uh,” Scott squinted, and Stiles nodded behind him, “yeah?” 
You pursed your lips, ignoring all the students who’d started shouting over the beeping horns, and watched Derek grit his teeth and clench his fists through the dashboard window. You looked back at Stiles and chewed on your lip. Stiles was taller than you, but he was on the scrawnier side of lean and wouldn’t stand a chance against a man of Derek’s size—even if he was barely clinging to the rapidly fraying threads of consciousness. “I could use a ride to work,” you pulled the backseat door open before you could talk yourself out of it. 
Stiles lurched towards you and slammed the door shut, narrowly avoiding your fingers, “Normally, I would seize any opportunity to have you further indebted to me, but—that’s Lydia Martin.” His eyes bulged out of his head, and he leaned against his jeep, slipping down the blue frame as his legs went boneless, “Walking towards me. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”
The prospect of riding in the same car with Mr. Resting Bitchface was being more appealing by the second. Lydia didn’t even look in Stiles’s direction. Her cutting green eyes were fixed on you and you alone. “Are you an idiot?” Lydia snatched your wrist, mauve manicure digging into the delicate skin on the inside of your wrist, and yanked you back to the sidewalk.
“What?” you went brainless for a moment, taking in all the glory of an enraged Lydia Martin. 
Lydia’s cheeks were flushed pink from anger and adrenaline, “Or just suicidal?”
The shock had worn off. Now, you were thoroughly pissed, “What?”
Lydia’s eyebrows, perfectly tapered and freshly threaded, knitted together until she was in danger of developing a unibrow, “Do you have any idea who you were about to get in a car with?”
Your eyes flicked to the side, and it took gargantuan strength not to roll them too. “Stiles?”
“What the hell is a Stiles?” Lydia’s riptide of fury gave way to confusion, but her soft features sharpened abruptly when she returned her attention to your scowl, “I meant Derek Hale. Obviously.”
Your hip cocked to the side as you crossed your arms, “And?”
“And he’s a murder suspect,” Lydia’s lips curled into a vehement sneer. It was so strange to finally see it first-hand. Lydia had such a sweet face, cherub cheeks and doe eyes—a clever smile. She hadn’t quite mastered disdain when you were friends; the ice queen routine wasn’t performance ready until you’d drifted apart. It was an awful face, you decided; it completely erased the last few pieces of the Lydia you knew.
“In an animal attack,” you muttered under your breath. 
Evidently, it had been a long time since someone dared to disagree with the Lydia Martin because she was struck speechless. It didn’t last for long, but it was still satisfying. “He’s dangerous,” Lydia hissed. “He went completely off the deep end after his family died. Seriously, his life is like a textbook precursor to violent behavior; he’s a profiler’s wet dream.”
“Because his family died,” you repeated. The numbness eroded some of the snark in your voice. 
Lydia either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the glaze creeping over your eyes. She continued, barbarous and unashamed, “Because he watched them turn into charcoal, and his sister was just ripped in half. At best, he’s unstable—but his little hobby of trolling for minors is a bit of a red flag, don’t you think?”
“Charcoal,” you spoke—more of an echo really with its resonating hollowness. Your eyes were on Lydia’s face, but your mind was somewhere far away. A lifetime ago, with the ashes of everything you once knew. 
Lydia’s eyes went wide, and her mouth gaped into a perfect little ‘o.’ Her dainty fingers twitched by her sides, and then she smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles in her flouncy mini-skirt. “Most of his family died in a fire,” her voice was much softer this time, a bit of tenderness accidentally rooting through the cracks in her veneer. Lydia looked away and gripped the thin strap of her handbag, “Accidental house fire. It was all over the news like five years ago.”
You stared at Lydia, and for the first time in the last four years, you didn’t miss her. For the first time in such a mind-numbingly long time, your anger strangled your heartache with a wrought-iron grip that felt a whole lot like hate. It was always going to be like this, you realized. You would just have to walk around with all these what-ifs, if-onlys, and what-really-happeneds needling your heart with every thud—always. You had to learn to live with this: knowing that Lydia was never going to apologize and that there would be no closure. Ever. 
“Right.” You laughed, shark-like, with your canines on display. You hoped it would make all your constants sharper. “So he’s gotta be a lunatic now.”
“Y/N…” It was surreal to hear your name out of Lydia’s mouth after so long. You didn’t know if you liked it, and, currently, you didn’t even know if you cared. Lydia chewed off what was left of her nude lipstick and then squared her shoulders, “So we’re just going to pretend that he wasn’t completely strung-out and totally embracing the heroin-chic aesthetic?”
You slanted your head a bit and then let out another serrated laugh. There wasn’t any point in having it out, you decided, because Lydia didn’t care. She got to move on and erase your entire existence—live her perfect, popular girl life without all this suffocating quicksand binding her to the past. Must be nice, you thought venomously, souring your tongue, stinging your eyes. Showers were probably just showers for Lydia. She didn’t singe her skin until the water went cold, imagining what she’d do, what she’d say—how she’d hurt her back. Must be so fucking nice.
“Lydia, I really don’t think you really want to get into all the things we’re pretending,” your voice was tight, strangled at the ends. You would not cry. You could not cry. Lydia sensed weakness like blood in the water, and you refused to give her the satisfaction. 
“Fine,” Lydia’s curls spilled down her back like strawberry wine as she pivoted in her designer heels, “ride off into the sunset with a 'roid-raging creep. Don’t act surprised when you turn up dead in a crack den.” 
Truthfully, Lydia had a point, but at this moment being contrary seemed far more important than being right. “It’s kind of difficult to act like anything when you’re dead,” you called, eyes zeroed-in on the back of her head as she slid into Jackson’s Porsche with a sensual grace you would never possess. Lydia was too far away to hear your retort, but you felt a little less like punching something after you said it. 
You didn’t notice that Stiles and Scott were gone until the threat of bitter tears stopped burning your sinuses. The last thing you needed was to cry like this upset you, even if the only nearby witness left on the vacant sidewalk was yourself. You scoured the parking lot for even a flash of powder blue, but the jeep was nowhere to be seen. Probably long gone by now—your spat with Lydia must have taken longer than you thought. It was certainly louder than you meant it to be. Little clusters of ambling students were looking at you a little too long to be casual, and the indiscreet whispering once they turned back to their friends forced your legs forward. 
You didn’t know where you were going when you started your car, but far, far away sounded pretty damn good.
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gentrychild · 1 year ago
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O great Owl and thou noble fic-finding rats I come because I have failed to find that which I need.
There is a work, apart of your Anyone universe, where Izuku is writing a Quirk Analysis Paper and he wakes AfO up so he can see a mutation quirk which enlarges AfO's arm. I have combed through all of Anyone and then through your side works that take place in this universe. But I found nothing.
The only thing I can think is that it was a tumblr post or a fanfic one of your blog mates wrote for you. But alas, I am still here.
In exchange I swear that if my firstborn ever starts stealing quirks I will buy all the therapists, and if that fails I will leave him to your fic-finders with no rivers in sight. And they may nibble on him for all of forever.
With reverence and sincerity, -me
I have some bad news and good news for you. The bad news is that his is something I wrote and posted on Tumblr, and you will never find it again even if you scroll through the entire Anyone tag. The good news is that you must be especially lucky as I found it by pure luck in a file I had forgotten.
----------
Izuku, sitting on his bed, books and notebooks opened on all of its surface, clicked his pen. Once, twice, thrice, the sound echoing in the silent apartment without doing anything to bring the answer the teenager desperately needed.
Usually, deadlines weren’t a problem for him. For some obscure reasons, the teachers in his high school were trusting him no matter what he did and forging his mom’s signatures to excuse his many absences had become the routine. However, he needed to finish this paper for tomorrow morning, so Hebisuga could read it and save her grade in Meta Analysis. That way, she would stop worrying so much about this subject, focus back on her Japanese, and write once again her ridiculously good flash cards that she always accepted to share with Yuuto and him.
But right now… Izuku’s brain just wasn’t cooperating.
He got up, his back protesting as he stopped hunching over for the first time in a couple of hours, and he left his bedroom. His notebook in hand, he walked past the bathroom and knocked at the door of the master bedroom, currently invaded by the bane of his existence while his blissfully ignorant mother was away.
The door opened in the second, All for One appearing in front of him, his hair messy and his face showing the trace of the pillow but no sign of sleepiness. The villain was one of those persons who immediately passed from sleep to alertness while Izuku needed three cups of coffee to be semi-conscious.
“What is it?” the villain asked. “Did you-“
“Show me your mutation quirks, please. Preferably the one that can offer some kind of protection.”
“What makes you think that-“                                                                       
Izuku clicked his pen once again and just stared at the quirk-stealing-fiend.
All for One finally obliged, making his arm grow in size, muscles growing until it had gruesomely swollen up, and he even added some spear-like bones. Bewildered, he answered every questions Izuku had about the drawbacks, the weight, how much he could still move his arm, and so on.
Because if analyzing quirks was his passion and could become a job, words in a book didn’t mean anything to Izuku. He needed to ask questions, to make theories, to see them in action.
Once he was done and had all the elements he needed, he thanked All for One and walked back to his room without offering any explanation. But of course, his roommate didn’t need one.
“Did you just use me to finish your homework? At three AM?”
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robingoetia12 · 2 months ago
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I Love You, I’m Sorry
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Despite the fact their communication had improved, Blitzø still had his walls up and Stolas didn’t know how to get his boyfriend to open up. But god damn it, he had to try.
Or where Stolas has no idea of the pain Blitzø is hiding and tries to get him to open up, but aren’t drunk words sober thoughts?
Tags: Stolas and Blitzø have made up, Stolas is a worried boyfriend, Blitzø is traumatised, no smut, angst with fluff, mentions of alcohol problems, Blitzø misses his mum, Cash Buckzo is a prick, mentions of abuse
Chapter 1
After Stolas had finally pulled his head out of his cloaca, he and Blitzø had a long talk and finally sorted the shit out in their relationship. Now things were absolutely amazing between them.
Blitzø spent most nights at Stolas’ palace and he even brought Loona with him so she and Via could spend time together. Everything was perfect… Almost.
Despite the fact their communication had improved, Blitzø still had his walls up and Stolas didn’t know how to get his boyfriend to open up. But god damn it he had to try.
Blitzø was never late back to Stolas’. Ever. Every passing minute of the clock and every coffee refill only caused the prince’s mind to increasingly fester with worry. His thoughts kept flashing to every worst possible scenario of what could’ve happened to Blitzø. As his thoughts travelled to the possibility of Striker kidnapping him, the door swung open.
In stumbled Blitzø, clearly drunk. Stolas sighed in relief and walked towards him then crouched to the imp’s level to meet his yellow eyes that were fixed on the floor. “Darling. Where were you? Are you okay?”
Blitzø, unusually silent, wrapped his arms around Stolas’ waist. Stolas hugged him back but then felt him shaking in his grip and then heard quiet sobs coming out of Blitzø’s mouth, the tears soaking the owl’s feathers. And then the frantic mumbling started.
“I’m sorry…”
Stolas tried to pull Blitzø back so he could look at him properly but Blitzø clung to him tighter, his voice rising and cracking more.
“No momma! Please I’m sorry.”
Stolas froze up. Blitzø had never mentioned his mother or any of his family before. “Darling-”
“Mom please! I love you, I’m sorry.”
Stolas knew he wasn’t listening and was too drunk to focus so he scooped his boyfriend up and tucked him into their bed. He headed out to get him a glass of water to sober him up. What he heard next nearly made him drop the glass.
“Dad please don’t! It hurts!”
Stolas nearly let out a hysterical sob but covered his mouth to stop himself so it came out as a quiet, strained cry. He could see that Blitzø had fallen asleep but then heard one more murmur from him.
“Please, I’ll be better… I just want to see Fizz…”
Stolas got into bed next to him and reached out for Blitzø’s spikes on his back and could still feel the shaking from his body and Stolas noticed how he wrapped his tail around himself. He rubbed his back gently to try and soothe him. “I love you darling…”
He couldn’t sleep after that. He kept tossing and turning, desperately trying to figure out what Blitzø went through and how he could help him but thinking about what it could possibly be made his stomach churn.
How did he not notice?
How did he not realise how affected he clearly was by whatever happened to him?
How could he help him open up?
Blitzø woke up the next morning, head pounding. He fell back onto the bed dramatically. “Ugh… I drank way too much last night, fuck…” He turned his head and saw Stolas clinging to him, still asleep. He smiled softly and stroked his feathers and went to check the time and saw it was 9am.
Shit.
He needed to be in the office in 15 minutes. He gently extracted himself out of Stolas’ arms, being careful not to wake him and jumped off the bed seeing his jacket hung on the back of Stolas’ door and pulled it on. Stolas sat up and blinked like a frog, groggily observing Blitzø rush around. “Darling? Everything okay?”
“Yeah… I need to go like now. We have a client who wants us to kill their target in some bullshit way so I gotta go.” He explained whilst opening the door.
Stolas followed him, red dressing gown on and holding the glass of water. “Do you want something to eat before you leave?”
Blitzø turned around. Despite the fact he and Stolas were a couple he still wasn’t used to being cared for. He was used to people leaving him…
“What? Uh no thanks it’s fine I’ll pick something up on the way.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket as he got to the front door. Stolas gently pulled him back.
“Will you at least drink this before you leave? You came home very intoxicated last night. It’ll do you some good.”
Blitzø rolled his eyes and took the glass. “Fine…” He downed the entire thing and then placed on the nearby table. Stolas was still frazzled from last night. He desperately wanted to hold Blitzø and protect him from anything that might hurt him again.
Stolas quickly spoke up before Blitzø left. “You’re coming home tonight aren’t you?” Blitzø looks up at him, holding his keys. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout last night, can’t have been fun to put up with me shit faced.” Stolas bent down and hugged him, mumbling about how he didn’t have to apologise. Blitzø snorted slightly, hugging him back. “Christ on a stick, someone’s all lovey dovey this morning.”
Stolas pulled away and kissed the imp softly on his lips and pressed his forehead against his. “I love you darling…” Blitzø smiled and opened the door. “Love you too, ya dork.” He left and sped away in his van. Stolas sighed heavily as the van disappeared. His heart was in his chest, he didn’t know how to help Blitzø.
But he would do whatever he could to keep him safe and happy.
No matter what.
A/N: Proof read by my sister @charliewalkersgf (she doesn’t even like Helluva Boss so she’s been forced into it lmao 🤣) and thanks for the people who replied to a post I made about the dialogue!! You all were very helpful and creative!!! Hope you enjoyed the fic!!! More chapters to come!!
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try-set-me-on-fire · 8 months ago
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Tagged by @bigfootsmom @iinryer for tidbit Tuesday! It’s late so I’m counting this double for wip Wednesday too, so here’s a kind of long bit! The opening of my big bang fic! OoOooOooh!
Eddie never knew anyone with the knack, growing up. Stacy Winters in the front office had it, according to playground rumor; she and her husband, who was a ranch hand or a cop or a power line worker. Eddie's mom shushed him when he asked about it and told him not to listen to gossip, and anyway he saw them dancing after school once and they seemed just like anybody. He twirled her around and around and she laughed loud enough for Eddie to hear her way down the hall where he was sitting in the nurse's office with an ice pack over a bee sting, watching through the open door. His abuelo and abuela danced like that, and sometimes his mom and dad, too.
It’s a rare phenomenon, a teacher droned on in sophomore biology on a day too nice outside to pay much attention to anything. Congeneric minds — or any of the dozens of colloquial names for them — are uncommon enough on their own, and the odds get even longer for them to find someone who also has the knack that they actually click with. Abuela called them lost pieces, like when Sophia had bumped into the dining room table and sent the jigsaw puzzle flying, sending parts under the fridge never to be found again, leaving their matching edges forever lonely. Together, congeneric minds are capable of great feats, the teacher went on. They share instincts, feelings, sometimes even movements, one mind sending a signal and another body responding. Little is known about the science of it, though not for lack of trying. There’d been a bunch of papers about experiments to force the pairing to happen in people, and then decades later a bunch more papers about how that doesn’t really work, and is entirely unethical anyway. Adrenaline seems to figure into things, some evolutionary quirk to give people in dangerous situations the best chance at surviving.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, people with congeneric potential tend to flock to high stakes environments. Eddie finally met a few pairs in the army, folks so in tune that one of them would be in the air before the other said jump. He’d found it a little uncanny. Johnson and Tucker, eating in the canteen, movements so synchronized it looked like they shared one body that by some bureaucratic error had been spread across two people.
He saw Tucker die, a few months into that first tour. Watched Johnson scream and choke and claw at his chest like the bullets had torn through him. Thought, guiltily, that he was glad no one knew him quite that well, shared his life quite that entirely.
And then, in Los Angeles, 2018, Eddie had met Buck. Then, huddled over a man with a bomb in his leg, Eddie had needed gauze and Buck’s hand had moved. Then, in the parking lot bathed in the light of an ambulance on fire, Buck had inhaled and Eddie's lungs expanded. And, well, that was that.
Tagging (for wip Wednesday) @chronicowboy @homerforsure @shortsighted-owl @shitouttabuck @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @butchdiaz and @bigfootsmom @iinryer ha ha boomerang
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elvensorceress · 10 months ago
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wip wednesday
tagged by @hoodie-buck @exhuastedpigeon @eddiebabygirldiaz @wikiangela @disasterbuckdiaz @diazsdimples @tizniz @heartshapedvows @theotherbuckley be sure to read their lovely snippets! 💕 tagging @spotsandsocks @shortsighted-owl @hippolotamus @messyhairdiaz @rogerzsteven @monsterrae1 @loveyouanyway @bekkachaos @daffi-990 @wh0re-behavi0r @eddiediazisascorpio @evanbegins @confetti-cupcake if you want to share anything 💕 More Unless because I WILL finish this monster. I WILL.
Eddie leans down, but only a little because his son is already ridiculously tall, and kisses Chris’ forehead. “You know you’re my favorite, right?” 
Chris rolls his eyes but grins. “Buck can be your favorite, too. I know he is.”
“It’s different. You both are. But you are always first. He thinks so, too. You’re our son. We love you more than anything.”
The smile fades a little and then disappears as quickly as it appeared. “He’s going to stay with us, right? He’s not going to leave?” 
Why is it always Chris who can so effectively drive a knife through Eddie’s chest with the way he’s suffered and lost and been in pain? Chris never should have had to experience so much pain. “Yes, Chris. He’s going to stay with us.” 
Chris gives him that pointed, very Shannon look that twists the knife so well. He sounds fragile and so much closer to being the heartbroken six year old who missed his mom than he is to being the teenage survivor that he is. “Promise?” 
He can’t promise that. Eddie can’t even say he believes it himself all the way. Why wouldn’t he fuck up and lose the best thing that’s ever happened to them? Why wouldn’t Buck get tired or fed up and leave Eddie? 
Eddie’s not enough for him. 
“I promise Buck is never going to leave you, okay?” Eddie tells him and it has to be enough. “You’ll always have him. He’s not going to stop being your dad for any reason.” 
Chris just looks at him with unending sorrow and eyes full of tears. “What about you? You need Buck, too. I know you do. He’s also your favorite and your ‘more than anything’ and he’s both of ours and I don’t want him to leave you either. I know how sad you were, Dad. I know you were. You’re not the same without him. You need him. We both need him. I don’t want you to be sad like that ever. I don’t want to— I don’t want to lose Buck like we lost Mom. He’s my dad and you love him and I don’t want to do that again. We can’t do that again.”
Jesus Christ. Can he have a chance to not be stabbed through the heart, thanks? 
“Chris—” What the fuck does Eddie even say? “Buck will always be my friend. Even if we don’t— even if—” 
He can’t breathe. He can’t. There’s no air. 
He has to swallow and get it together. It’s fine. He’s fine. The mere thought of having to break up is not going to make him panic. The thought of Chris losing another parent cannot make him panic either. 
It’s just— it’s not great. The whole idea of losing Buck is awful and he hates it and doesn’t want to even think such a thing let alone talk about it. 
But he has to say something. He has to reassure Chris. He blinks back his own tears and he can do this. They’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay. It has to. “If dating him doesn’t work out, Buck and I will still be friends.” 
They will be. Their relationship is so much more than dating and kissing and being in love. It’s strong enough to survive anything. It would be awful and Eddie honestly doesn’t know if he’d ever stop being in love with him even if they had to face the horrible reality of a divorce. How could his heart ever stop wanting Buck? But they would find a way to be friends. 
They might not be able to have a marriage, but they have to be in each other’s lives. That is nonnegotiable. They’d figure it out. 
“And he’d still be your dad,” Eddie adds. “None of that would change.”
Chris sniffs and still frowns. But he tries to at least look like he buys it. “He wouldn’t live here with us though.”
“No, probably not. But in a few years, you won’t want to live here either. You’ll want to go to college or get some fancy job or maybe you’ll travel, but you’ll have your own life to live wherever you want and do whatever you want. You won’t be here either.” 
It was supposed to be comforting, but it only makes Chris’ tears overflow. He goes back to hugging Eddie as tightly as possible and trying to stifle the way he cries.
Eddie simply hugs him in return and wishes he could banish away all his pain and anguish. But he doesn’t know how they would make it through losing Buck either. They would. They would have to. They have each other. 
But Buck is missing pieces and filled in needs and worlds of love and support for both of them. Eddie doesn’t know how they’d keep going if all of that is ripped away. They would, but. How? 
One step forward, one more breath. That’s all you can ever do. That’s what Bobby and Athena told him before. That’s all anyone can do. 
Eddie closes his eyes tightly and has to shut it off and he just needs to comfort his son. He can do that. He just needs to protect and love his son. 
After a tiny second of quiet, there’s movement at the doorway to the kitchen. And then Buck is wrapping around them both. Until they’re holding Chris between them while also gripping each other. 
They’ve all been through so much loss, so much trauma, why wouldn’t the scariest, most horrible nightmare imaginable be the thought of losing each other and their little family? 
Buck kisses them both, Chris on the side of his head and Eddie on his cheek, and he whispers promises of infallible, irrevocable love. Because he’s nothing if not his unfailing heart. 
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Get to know me
Had to make a new one since the one I was tagged in won't let me reblog
thanks to @hecate-spawn always tagging me in these
🎨 favourite colour: cyan or this one shade of pink that's between hot pink and the color of Danganronpa blood
📖 currently reading: Tarot cards for beginners
🎶 last song: Judas by Lady Gaga (I have a very specific video idea/fake senario with that song about my oc Amare and I needed to think about it)
🎬 last movie: Whole movie wise, Secret of moonacre, partly, I walked in on my mom watching the end of Antman and the Wasp Quantummainia and joined her
📺 last series: Owl House
🍴sweet, spicy, savory: sweet
🤤 craving: pizza rolls and cookies from crumbl cookie
☕ tea or coffee: don't really like coffee or normal tea but I do like Lipton green tea and the peach tea
🤓 currently working on: like 5 videos
Tagging: @sleepdeprivedpikachu @cipher-of-the-round-table- @endless---possibility @xionandpluto14 @xiiiwayfinders and anyone else because I have no brain
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myriadlabrynth · 2 months ago
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Misc Kiridai Random Ramblings/Headcanons
These were catching dust in my files. I wrote most of these years ago but never got around to posting them. I still agree with them for the most part.
Hanamiya
Likes visiting second-hand bookshops since he tends to find more obscure novels.
May dabble in learning foreign languages in order to read certain works in its original language, in order to get the full, nuanced context he may not get from a translated copy.
Early bird.
A light sleeper.
Enjoys logic puzzles or games from time to time, things that get his mind working.
I’d like to think that Hanamiya and Hara tag-team with their respective committee positions, considering their “line of work” with the roughplay, I would think holding down both the disciplinary and health committee would be useful, at least internally at Kiridai anyway.
Furuhashi
Huge fan of organic scented candles, (he can tell which ones use artificial scents); He frequently lights one up during the evening. He only likes ‘natural’ scents, none of those pungent dessert scented ones, though he doesn’t mind the ones that smell like toasted bread.
Early bird.
Prefers more  “monotonous” or repetitive work. The kind of tasks where he can work in silence and sort of zone out. He can just work in peace, organizing a myriad of books in the library or watering each of his flowers. The lack of inconsistencies or thought required is therapeutic for him. 
Enjoys going on early morning strolls through the park. Usually alone but at times, with his younger sister. The woodsy ambience is refreshing, especially when there’s the smell of rain from the previous day. The two of them are often drawn in by unwalked trails. He holds his sister’s hand whenever they reach unlevel ground that they have to climb up or down.
Occasionally falls asleep to videos of soothing sounds like thunderstorms or gentle water; doesn’t always need it, but if he’s feeling restless one night, it’s there.
He’s the type where something usually has to affect him for him to care about it, he��s not really one to put himself in other people’s shoes.
Hara
Dislikes mint chocolate ice cream, though he never tried it, just sounds disgusting(the type who think it’s like eating toothpaste(spoiler alert: its not))
A night owl.
Guilty pleasure is soap-cutting videos. He once tried to cut some soap himself, but long story short, it's a good thing he is part of the health committee.
One reason he enjoys music games at the arcade is because he loves the moment where he zones out/goes on auto-pilot but his fingers unconsciously play perfectly anyway(if you’ve played rhythm games, you know what I’m talking about)
My headcanon for Hara’s eyes changes a lot, but at the moment, I think Hara just has regular/average eyes. Originally grew his hair out for the sake of avoiding eye contact. He gets amused seeing people speculate just what exactly is underneath his bangs, when in reality, it’s nothing special.
A repeat from my intelligence analysis, but I do believe Hara’s grades don’t reflect his intelligence, and that he's way smarter than he let's on.
Yamazaki
Sort of a Mom-friend, to an extent***. He’s a friend who worries too much and a tad of a stick in the mud, it’s why he isn’t good at scheming.
Night owl.
Loves trying out international cuisine. Won’t tell anyone, but he enjoys a mukbang here or there(which piques his interests in non-Japanese food)
His tolerance for spiciness is out of this world.
Huge dog person. Tries to resist waving at every dog he passes when he is hanging out with the rest of Kiridai, though he occasionally caves in, earning a snicker from Hara(who doesn’t mind greeting the dogs)
Being the youngest sibling means that he takes great pride whenever he is older than someone. As shown when he called Kuroko a brat, even though Kuroko is only a year younger.
I get "I may be an idiot, but I'm not stupid" vibes from him.
***In Kurofes, Fujimaki actually says “... mother-like/like a mother” when describing the way Yama scolds his friends and is like the "straight-man" of the group, so is it even a headcanon lol,
Seto
He sleeps because he can/wants to sleep, he doesn’t stay awake if he doesn’t need to be. The ending shot in season 3 which showed Kiridai at the park, shows Seto yawning, probably because it was a casual outing, aka something not that important. We’ve seen Seto where he is perfectly awake, if it's something he deems necessary. 
Not really an early bird or night owl.
His body knows when he HAS to get up, so the way someone tries to wake him up doesn’t matter. He doesn’t budge when Yamazaki kicks him because he knows he’s not a starter. On the flipside, he wakes up immediately when Hanamiya just calls out to him, because he is being added into the game, so he has to get up.
Sleep pranks don’t work on him, like drawing on his face. He’ll wake up before it happens. (Hara is on the team so of course he has to be aware)
Similar to Furuhashi, in his frequent walks, he likes treading through unknown territory.
He prefers basic espresso coffee, but doesn’t mind if there’s a dash of chocolate or even peppermint if he’s feeling adventurous(overly sweet drinks that are like 75% cream/chocolate/whatever are a complete no no though)
Not a headcanon but I still can’t believe it's canon that Seto plays online games.
I was reading the stats again and its still kind of funny that kiridai has a better teamwork stat than even shutoku and yosen (which makes sense but I will never get over kiridai's team synergy)
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hannahhook7744 · 1 month ago
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Marcelo Rivera Madrigal Headcanons;
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His full name is Marcelo Héctor Bruno Rivera Madrigal. 
He is the son of Mirabel Rojas Madrigal and Miguel Rivera.
He is eleven years old. 
He, like his great uncle Bruno, is the only boy out of a set of triplets. His sisters from the set are named ‘Mariana Isabela Luisa Rivera Madrigal’ and ‘Marisol Carmela Victoria Rivera Madrigal’. 
They also have two younger sisters named ‘Vera Coco Rivera Madrigal’ and ‘Renata Imelda Rivera Madrigal’, who are six and five years old respectively. 
He is often compared to his great, great, great grandfather, Héctor Rivera, and his great uncle, Bruno, both personality wise and appearance wise as well as his abuelo, Agustin. But his Abuela Julieta and his mamá say he looks a lot like his papá, too. 
He's paler than his siblings and parents with a more pinkish-red skin tone. He also has short (curly at the bottom) black hair and loose bangs, much like his parental great-great-great grandfather, Héctor’s. 
He used to have brown eyes like his parents but they changed to a light, glowing, greyish/blueish-greenish after he got his gift. 
He has two moles—one on each cheek, just below his ear and shifted slightly over.
Marcelo has many nicknames ranging from Marcelo, ‘Celo, Marc, Marci, glowbug, owl, glowstick, mi pequeño cocinero, pequeño chef, mi pequeño láser, and mi pequeño Aye-aye. 
The eleven year old has the gift of laser and night vision—which is what causes his eyes to glow. 
Marcelo is a student at the Encanto’s only public school but plans to go to Auradon Prep when he's older, if his parents allow it. 
He's friends with Pin Collodi-Rossi-Liddell,  Dragonet, Bart Hood, Barry Hood, and Eleanor Bluefairy-Carmelo of Llyr. 
Marcelo is closer to his mom than he is his dad but loves them both dearly. He's also rather close to his Abuela Julieta, his Tío Abuelo Bruno, and his Bisabuela Valentina.
Miguel often comments that the boy would  get along great with Héctor if they were to ever meet. 
Marcelo’s hobbies include drawing, Fútbol, baking, cooking, designing cakes/sweets, helping his mom design the clothes she makes, playing music, playing cards/video games/board games, listening to music, bird watching, laser tag, babysitting, acting, and learning about things. 
His favorite book is ‘The Tales of Flynnigan Ryder’. 
His favorite animal is any type of dogs. 
He was diagnosed with cancer when he was five but is now considered cancer free. 
His favorite colors are green, grey, black, and blue.
Marcelo has been described as the following: Painfully shy and quiet, loving, caring, self sacrificing, gentle, playful, fragile but more resilient than people expect him to be, oblivious, bad at keeping secrets because he's honest and it makes him even more anxious to do so, curious, polite, patient, slow to anger, fair, anxious, trusting, clingy, and creative.
He's a mama’s boy. 
Marcelo is very awkward and oftentimes phrases things wrong. Much to his embarrassment.
If he were to become a professional chef/baker, he would name his place of business ‘Madrigal's Miracle Baked Goodies’.
Marcelo has a crazy strong sweet tooth and absolutely adores making them, especially for those he cares about.
He is very good with kids, like his mom, and he's an amazing babysitter when he's older.
To Mirabel's dismay, Juancho and Julieta got him hooked on coffee. Which is something else he's incredibly good at making because he needs to be considering how much of a night owl he is. 
His gift acts up when he's exhausted, ill, and scared. 
He helps whoever's cooking in the kitchen whenever he can and he absolutely adores making food for whoever visits Casita. 
He's interested in romance later on but right now, he doesn't really see the appeal other than the fact it makes people happy.
Marcelo has a long Auratube playlist filled with different types of music he likes due to how much music means to his family.
He is very sentimental and tries to keep most of the things his mother makes him because he adores them so much. 
Like the winged stuffed dog his mother made him that he named ‘Tae’, after his dad's old dog. 
Helps Bruno write his plays and loves acting in them, and in Camilo's shows. He joins the drama club and cooking club when/if he starts attending Auradon Prep. 
He's made everyone in the family something at least once, whether it be shoes or food or a drawing. 
His door shows him standing in front of the moon: staring with wide, open, glowing eyes and lasers surrounding him. His door frame is a greenish-grey color.
The walls in his room are  ‘glow in the dark’ (like in a laser tag arena) and the floor looks like a celebration fluorescent black light carpet that you can find in an arcade. His bed is skull shaped with patchwork sheets, blankets, and pillowcases that Mirabel made him. There's a few bookcases filled with books, a little corner with art supplies, and when he gets older his toy kitchen is swapped out for a real one with sewing supplies. 
The ceiling kind of looks like chocolate chip cookies and that's exactly what his room smells like. 
The walls are decorated with things people have made and given him, as well as a few of the things he's made himself that he's really proud of. 
He also has a little DVD player and a box of DVDs in there. 
There's a trap door that leads to his sisters’ room, due to how close they are. Amelia and Sofia and Javier and Juan all have something similar but the eldest Madrigal Triplets and other twins and triplets in the family notably do not since they aren't as close to one another. 
Marcelo is the closest to Luisa and Ryder out of his mamá’s generation, outside of his parents of course. 
Marcelo is definitely the type of person to keep a ‘keepsake’ box and to make a ‘pick me up’ book. 
His favorite candy is villain stripes but he also likes gummi snakes. 
Julieta chooses to hand down her book of recipes to him because she knows he'd appreciate and cherish it the most out of the rest of the family.
His favorite Auradon show is ‘The Great Auradon Bake Off’. 
His favorite place on the Internet is Auratube.
He desperately wants to try Isle Food because he's making it his mission to try food from every place in Auradon.
His favorite class is English and Art.
His favorite Auradon Event/Holiday is Ancestry Day. 
Carriage Crush is his favorite video game. 
Marcelo, like his abuela, is very mindful of people's dietary restrictions and tries to keep an updated list so no one he loves gets left out. 
He loves his Abuela Julieta’s Lulo juice and Firecracker Festival Beef and Pork links, and they're some of his favorite things to eat. 
The eleven year old would never tell his Abuela this, but he absolutely hates her Yummy Cheesy Yam Soup with a burning passion and always sneaks it to his sisters or cousins’ plates when no one is looking when she makes it. 
His favorite song is one his mamá made called “The Family Madrigal’ and he was absolutely horrified when he realized no one else knew it when at an Auradon event when he was five. He was so mortified he hid behind his mother's skirt the rest of the night.
Marcelo has a teal satchel that his mom gave him that has little glowing eyes shooting lasers embroidered onto it. Attached to one of its pockets is a winged dog in a chef hat keychain that Mariana made him. 
Follows Jordan on Auratube and looks up to Carlos de Vil a bit because they have similar personalities (at least in his mind, from what little he saw/was told about the boy during the first few months he was in Auradon). 
Gets dragged into his siblings and cousins’ shenanigans a lot, but don't be fooled: he will cause shenanigans to occur if he's able. Like trying to summon his relatives from the great beyond (Cornel was not impressed by the sudden increase in ghosts). 
Has a bit of a staring problem. 
Used to have perfect vision, but due to his gift has to wear special glasses—both to  help with the laser vision, but also so he can actually see during the day. He was not happy about it.
Marcelo is afraid of the dark, hospitals, and needles. 
He also had an animal companion named ‘Mono’ from a litter of four golden retriever puppies Luisa found. She has the rest. Which is why she's his favorite aunt ever (Isabela and Soccorro claim she cheated and that Ryder and Antonio helped her do so). 
The go-to-babysitter for him was Luisa when he was little and he couldn't be with his parents, you could just set with him Luisa and he'd be content for hours.
Marcelo was also pretty awestruck when he met Eugene Fitzherbert/Horace/Flynn Rider at an Auradon event. It was like he was meeting Santa Claus. 
Speaking of which, he and his sisters have seen the real Santa Claus after having successfully stayed up long enough for him to show up. Santa/North has no clue they saw him. 
Fell down the stairs one time during the day after getting his gift because of how difficult it can be to see with night vision during that time. 
Marcelo has his Mamá, Abuelo, Tía Luisa, and Abuela's temper—meaning he's very slow to anger but terrifying if you ever actually manage to make him angry since it's a very rare thing to happen and usually justified. 
His second favorite animals are owls. 
He has a few scars on his hands and knees from being clumsy, mostly after he first got his gift. 
Though Marcelo is still very clumsy without it. 
Marcelo also adores being a big brother and cousin, and takes that responsibility very seriously. 
Doesn't like being mean or upsetting people because it makes him feel bad. Is seen as a bit of a pushover because of this. 
People have tried to take advantage of his kindness/unwillingness to upset people on more than one occasion but it rarely ends well for them. Somehow, people always forget Dolores is listening and that his family is large and always has a way of finding out. 
Is one of the few kids in this generation Bruno has willingly had a vision about. Every other one has either been an involuntary vision (mainly about their birth and on a few memorable occasions, even a couple of the gift ceremonies) or an accidental vision (like the one regarding his own kids). 
If Héctor had a favorite great great great grandchild, it would be Marcelo. But of course, Héctor doesn't have favorites (outside or Miguel). 
Doesn't like having his photo taken but will smile and bear it for the people he loves.
Marcelo has an oversized green (flight?) jacket that Dolores' son, Oscar, brought him back from Auradon that he almost refuses to take off because he loves it so much. It was made by Evie. 
He and Oscar are close despite the age gap.
When Marcelo is in a bad emotional place his room goes dark and he can't get out by himself.
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worldsbiggestnerd101 · 11 months ago
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intro post!!
hi there! my name’s emmy, welcome to my blog! i’ve been here for a good while now but since i’ve started to gain more attention, i figured it was time to make an intro post!
basic info:
name(s): em/emmy/emeline, angie/angel (no preference)
age: minor (NO NSFW BULLSHIT PLEASE)
birthday: january 4 :D
orientation/sexuality: bisexual (femme/wlw leaning)
gender: cis girl
pronouns: she/her (they/them is ok but not preferred)
nationality: born and raised in the US of A (new york babyyyyyyy), but my parents are guyanese, so i’d say guyanese american
race: mixed, my mom has light skin (she gets mistaken as hispanic a lot) and my dad has medium brown skin so i’m somewhere in the middle (i too get mistaken for hispanic a lot)
other info: i’m neurodivergent, possibly autism or adhd (or both) but i was a “gifted” kid if that counts for anything, oh and i have anxiety
fandoms:
this a multifandom blog, so while i do have my phases/eras/hyperfixations, i will be posting about multiple fandoms at once, even if one’s taking up more posts than the others combined.
here are some of my mains!
roblox piggy
murder drones
hazbin hotel + helluva boss
gravity falls
ride the cyclone
welcome home
it’s easiest to tell what my current main hyperfixation is by just looking at my pfp/blog theme, as i’ll usually set it to something related to my current biggest hyperfix. i’ll update this list as needed, but i’m also active in the percy jackson, american girl, and stranger things fandoms. i’m also into a lot of cartoons, like she-ra and the princesses of power, steven universe, the owl house, carmen sandiego, mlp gen 4, etc. so feel free to ask about those! i’m also a major theater kid, some of my favorite shows are hamilton, dear evan hansen, wicked, mean girls, beetlejuice, and six, so you can ask about any of those too! (i’ve only seen wicked and hamilton 😭)
links
ok so all my links to other posts or blogs or accounts or anything really are here!!
youtube: here!!
hazbin hotel high school au masterpost: here!!
discord server bullshittery masterpost: here >:3
tags
#em rambles - original post tag
#asks - any and all asks i get!!
#mutuals - any asks from/posts about my mutuals will be tagged with this, and it's like a guarantee that you'll get your own name tag too!!
#anon - if you send me an anon ask, just look here to find it :D
#emmy’s edits - all my original edits!! they’re up on my youtube too but you can find them here under that tag
#hazbin high school au - my own au!! i made this by myself with a few ideas from friends but this is like my own creation that i'm working on!!
EDIT: AS OF 07/06/2024, ANYTHING RELATING TO HELLUVA BOSS S2E9 APOLOGY TOUR WILL NOT BE TAGGED AS SPOILERS. IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE EPISODE I ADVISE AGAINST SCROLLING.
edit: as of 07/16/2024 i have a girlfriend!! her name is hannie, aka the wonderful amazing absolutely adorable @furryrainbowscreature i love her so much <333
dni:
homophobes, transphobes
supporters of israel
queer exclusionists (anti "conflicting" labels, terfs, etc)
racists
blogs with heavy amounts of nsfw content (i’m a teenager so. please.)
sexists/misogynists
pedos/“maps”
so yeah i think that’s about it!! thanks for reading y'all <3
also: FREE PALESTINE 🇵🇸
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wikiangela · 10 months ago
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tease tidbit tuesday
tagged by @disasterbuckdiaz @tizniz @daffi-990 💖
another snippet of the cheating fic, this time a scene I'm not even sure I wanna keep bc I liked it in my head but now idk if it's necessary lol (maybe sharing it will help me decide haha) so here's buck panicking and going to a hungover hen to vent lol
prev snippet
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“Sorry to bother you with it, I just- I needed to talk to someone, I guess.” he says quietly, sitting at the table in the kitchen, while Hen puts on the coffee maker while also contemplating whether it’s too early for alcohol.
“I thought something about you and Eddie has been different lately, and last night-” she says as she pulls out two mugs, and stops halfway to putting them on the counter. She looks back at Buck, horrified. “Last night? When you two disappeared together, and then acted even weirder, and- oh, shit, if I wasn't as drunk as I was, I would’ve put it together then.” she shakes her head, winces, then the mugs finally hit the counter with a soft thud. 
“I know how horrible-” Buck starts, but Hen raises her finger in that mom way, that immediately makes Buck shut up. She just woke up and she’s hungover, she needs a moment, of course. And Buck is barging in to complain about his mess that he made. Fuck, he really is the worst.
It’s silent for a few minutes, the only sound is the quiet whirring of the coffee maker as Hen makes two coffees. Then she puts one in front of Buck, and takes a seat opposite him with her own mug. She takes a few sips, takes another moment, and only then, with a deep breath, looks Buck in the eyes and it feels so scrutinizing, Buck squirms under her gaze, hides his face behind his coffee mug as he takes a sip as well. It’s too bitter for his taste, the way Eddie usually drinks it, and still too hot, it burns as it goes down, an uncomfortable kind of heat settling in his stomach.
“So.” Hen says, and Buck suddenly regrets coming here. He shouldn’t have bothered her, he shouldn’t have burdened her with his problems. “What the fuck?”
___
no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @housewifebuck @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @sunshinediaz @giddyupbuck @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @hoodie-buck @nmcggg @jesuisici33 @exhuastedpigeon @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @honestlydarkprincess @theotherbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @diazsdimples @dangerpronebuddie
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person4924 · 5 months ago
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hi !! i’m sam !! and uhhh that’s all u need to know but there’s more under the cut !!
(also im trying to make this aesthetic and cute but idrk how so if u have any tips pls pls pls !!)
yes i’m sad (secretly a dinosaur)
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basic info
i’m sapphic of some sort and ace!!
i go pretty much by any pronouns atp but she and they are usually the best!! proud genderfuck ✊
i’m a minor. so please don’t be fucking weird.
i’m american (even worse, the midwest 😨) unfortunately but literally as soon as i fucking can im booting it and moving to norway
i’m like 90 percent diagnosed with autism, and i’m pretty sure i have ADHD and beautiful princess disorder. so u all should basically fall on your knees and kiss me now
i play soccer (defense usually but i like offense more) and lacrosse (i just started so idek) currently but i also usually play volleyball but i missed the season sooo
im a huge psych and cinema and music and literature nerd so !! basically im gonna be broke by 30
i have a sideblog that is currently a confessions blog but it might change cus no one actually does it!! but if u would like to do a (general) confession then it is @just-a-little-lad4924
i have another sideblog that is for analysis’ !! i mostly do characters and songs but i’ll do pretty much anything (send me a request please please please please please) it’s @person-speaks
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just general facts about me !
my personality type is INFP-T
i have 3 cats!! one at my dads, her name is graci (after gracie abrams ofc) and she’s about a year and a half, and 2 at my moms: regulus (guess who named him!! 😱) and libby and their siblings and are currently abt 3 months !! i could yap abt them forever i love them sm
my favorite color is dark green, fav season is fall, fav holiday is christmas or halloween, fav animal is cats or sharks or moths or jellyfish
i appreciate tone tags and try to use them as much as possible
im always bored so asks and everything are super duper cool !
i love love love making ananlysis' of basically anythng sooo if theres like a song or ship or something i could totallly write an essay abt it or smth !
uhhh idrk what else !!
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fandoms AKA past hyperfixations that i’m still attached to but im not necessarily still in the fandom: harry potter (fuck jkr !!), MCU, KOTLC, marauders, boy meets world, it, osemanverse, paper girls, teen wolf, owl house, shameless, glee, stranger things, andi mack, tlou, riordanverse, brooklyn nine nine, new girl, hamilton, grishaverse, community, dawsons creek, bojack horseman, criminal minds, ted lasso, scooby doo, everything sucks!, the sun bearer trials, atypical, octonauts, dead boy detectives, will and grace, how i met your mother, the maze runner, descendants, arcane, parks and rec
uhhh can u tell i don’t have many friends.
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fav movies (not counting fandoms): tick tick boom, my girl, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, little rascals, empire records, bottoms, nimona, little women, 500 days of summer, benny & joon, beautiful boy, call me by your name, lady bird, stand by me, RWRB, addams family values, the breakfast club, spiderman ITSV/ATSV, the outsiders, luca, the perks of being a wallflower, dead poets society, big daddy, the edge of seventeen
once again. i have very little friends. and very many issues.
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fav music people (not always up to date i like new artists every day): gracie abrams, taylor swift, noah kahan, mitski, boygenuis, julien baker, phoebe bridgers, lucy dacus, hozier, the head and the heart, conan gray, RKS, queen, harry styles, the fray, olivia rodrigo, coldplay, billie eilish, maya hawke, bo burnham, chappell roan, the smiths, the revivalists, addriane lenker, lorde, fiona apple, alex g, ani defranco, radiohead, montell fish, lizzy mcalpine, maggie rogers, girl in red
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just general interests: poetry, art, writing, sitcoms, stand up comedy, greek mythology, the sky (like the stars, moon, sun, etc. astronomy metaphors are my everything), moths, jelly fish, ocean animals in general (first special interest 💪💪), pretty much just animals in general, 90's movies, cinematography, annotating, musicals, actors, spider man, psychology, analysis (of anything really), true crime/criminology
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comedians i like (i currenyly only have 2 but im planning on collecting more so!! also recs please??): bo burnham, hannah gadsby
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fav books (also not including fandoms): the perks of being a wallflower, the outsiders, i fell in love with hope, ill give you the sun, and more but i dont remember the names atm !
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my fav ships (buckle in! i apologize.): wolfstar, jegulus, jily sometimes, pandalily, dorlene, rosekiller, drarry, jeric (bmw), reddie, charlie/nick, tara/darcy, tao/elle, lister/jimmy, pip/rooney, kajemac, sterek, isaac/stiles, malia/stiles, lumity, gallavich, ronance, solangelo, valdangelo, kinda percico, dianetti, wesper, kanej, trobed, joey/pacey, ralvez, spencer/ethan, kindaaa moreid, painland, newtmas, jaylos, harry/carlos (idk the ship name), robin/barney, caitvi (i like to call them violyn tho !), jayvik
i might have missed a few but these are My Guys. /gn
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links!
spotify!! - my character playlists are my pride and joy and reason for living, i could write essays about how each song could specifically fit the character and situation. anyways!!
discord
airbuds - idk if anyone uses this but if u do add me!!
ao3 - i have 1 fic that is my fav thing ever (a camp halfblood group chat) and the other two... are there
pinterest
tiktok - this is my alt that i blocked all my friends on and i have like my fandom shit but i don’t post that much and im barely on tt to begin with but yeah !!
pronouns page
spotify stats - idk if anyone uses this but also yeah !!
TV time - which is basically letterboxd but more fun, also more up to date on what i’m actually watching and stuff (hopefully)
i have a super duper cool discord server that u should totally join too… link
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i have a tagging system
sam shut the fuck up - og posts
asks!!! - asks
crazy? i was crazy once - big lists and essay things
sam sings :O - lyric/music posts
it’s so hard to be a lizard… - any jokes i make because im literally bo burnham
art i need in my veins - self explanatory mostly for myself but everyone else should also see this
what the fuck did you just say to me - fic quotes or lyrics or something. mostly for myself so i don’t have to keep them in my camera roll
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and i think thats it!! if anyone has any ideas of things to add then yeah !! or how to make it look prettier cusss uhhhh yeah.
oh yeah and this is an official @i-luv-multiple-ppl fan account so !!
and creds to @cafekitsune for the dividers!!
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hippolotamus · 9 months ago
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WIP Wednesday 💚
Tagged by the lovely and talented @spotsandsocks @lemonzestywrites @wikiangela @hoodie-buck @fortheloveofbuddie @bidisasterbuckdiaz @rmd-writes @the-likesofus @daffi-990 @diazsdimples @tizniz @loveyouanyway @underwater-ninja-13 @thekristen999 for some combination of Tuesday/Wednesday. Thank you loves!
Squeaking in just after midnight in my time zone with something new. Because, as the saying goes, there's nothing a new WIP can't fix. The best I can say about it right now is a bit of a character study, maybe 5+1 situation about Lucy Donato. Because I'm unapologetically in love with her. I want to post everything I've written so far but I'll spare your dash.
“Lucy! Come on down. You’re going to miss the bus!”  “Be right there!” Lucy yells back.  She’s not going to be late. Because it’s the first day of second grade and there’s absolutely no way that weasel, Julian, is going to beat her to the bus stop. Even if he is a grade ahead of her, she’s faster and she knows it. She can feel it down in her bones.  She finishes clipping the straps of her denim overall shorts before sitting down to put on her yellow socks and brand new shoes. Her mom and dad had let her pick them out all on her own this year. Bright white sneakers emblazoned with Buttercup, Blossom and Bubbles from her favorite cartoon. Today is the first time Lucy’s allowed to wear them due to her mom being convinced she would get them filthy otherwise. After her laces are tied, she hurriedly stands then takes the steps two at a time until she’s close enough to jump the rest of the way.  Her mom sighs from behind the freezer door where she’s grabbing an ice pack for Lucy’s lunchbox. “How many times have I told you-”  An exasperated look comes over her mom’s face when she notices Lucy standing there. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them again. “I thought you were going to wear that nice green dress Aunt Cynthia bought for you? We had everything all picked out last night. What happened?” Lucy shrugs. “I can’t wear sneakers with that and I have to wear them so I can be faster than Julian.” “Unbelievable,” her mom mutters under her breath. “It’s your first day and you need to put on something nice. Go hurry and get changed so I don’t have to drive you in.” “But-” Lucy begins to protest, but is quickly dismissed. “Change clothes. Now.” “Fine!” Lucy stomps back up to her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She kicks off her shoes and throws the rest of her clothes in a heap on the floor. Her body feels too gangly and uncoordinated as she slips the sleeveless, knee-length dress over her head. She adds the stupid, matching green gingham headband, letting it push back her hair that’s more white than blonde from all her time spent in the sun.  Lastly, she angrily stuffs her feet into the uncomfortable tan sandals, securing the strap over her ankles. The bottoms are hard and flat with no spring to them. How is she meant to get to the stop first in these awful things?
it's late but no pressure tagging some beloveds @bidisasterbuckdiaz @saybiwithme @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @stereopticons @jesuisici33 @honestlydarkprincess @maygrantgf @lucydonato @theotherbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @buddierights @elvensorceress @gayedmundodiaz @giddyupbuck 😘
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