#pretend i didn't forget to post this yesterday

[neptunym]

ULTRATOBER // Part 5 - Day 14: Meme

✌️

[he11sprncss]

hello,  beans!   just  a  little  psa  that  i  will  be  on  vacation  from    may  8th  to  may  17th     so  replies  will  be  extra  slow  /  strictly  queued  during  those  days.  but  as  usual  you  can  poke  me  on  discord  if  we're  moots  ♡

[i-like-old-things]

The Shot Heard 'Round the World Johnny Tremain (1957)

[synindoodles]

Another one of my husbands aka Kalf 💕

[starlightvio]

Baldur's gate inktober day 5- proficiency

I know giving a bard stealth proficiency doesn't make much sense but I'm too much of a coward to ever approach battle directly so every character that can have stealth proficiency gets it

[artficlly]

read between the lines [one-shot]

college marvel au frat!jock!bucky x cheerleader!reader tutoring bucky barnes was already distracting enough, but leaving your diary in his room? that is a whole new problem.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, tutoring, first kiss, college au, vague panic from reader, idk it's just kinda fun and cute :), no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: hi this was for a request! so so cute, i wrote this so fast i didn't even think i would have it ready to post so quickly. idk anything about cheerleading or how college works in america, so forgive me. inspired by that willow song! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

I’ve been tutoring Bucky.

Well, James, technically. But he goes by Bucky. Says it’s a childhood nickname and it just stuck, and honestly? That’s kind of adorable. Like, who clings to a nickname that hard? Even the professors call him that, which should be cringe, but somehow it’s not? It just suits him. I literally don’t think I could call him James even if I tried. ‘Bucky’ feels right. It sounds warm. Familiar. Stupidly charming.

Ugh. Anyway.

He’s in one of those frats I usually stay far away from. The kind that smells like cheap beer and Axe body spray. Always yelling, always playing music way too loud, always shirtless for no reason. I swore I’d never waste my time on a guy like that. I really thought he was gonna be a cocky, arrogant douche when I first got assigned to tutor him.

But he’s not. Like… at all?

He’s actually really nice. Like, unfairly nice. That casual kind of nice that makes you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed. He remembers stuff I say. Not the big stuff, the tiny stuff. Like how I chew my pen when I’m stressed, or how I like lemon Gatorade for cheerleading practice. And yesterday he brought me those sour gummy worms I mentioned ONE time. Just handed them over all casual like, ‘Thought you might want a little sugar after practice.’ Who does that?? Like… stop. That’s not fair.

But of course, he’s like that with everyone. That’s the worst part. He’s charming in this totally effortless way. Looks at you like you’re the most interesting person alive and then turns around and does the exact same thing to someone else. How am I supposed to know what’s real?

And GOD. He’s hot. Like, it’s actually rude. He laughs and it does something to me. Like full-on makes my brain stop working. And his ARMS?? Every time he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows I lose one year off my life. For real. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose. (I mean, he’s not, but like… what if he is???) Sometimes I forget what I’m even explaining because he’s just sitting there smiling at me with those eyes and that stupid little smirk and suddenly I’m thinking about kissing him instead of confidence intervals. It’s not okay.

He’s on the football team. Scholarship guy. Big deal. Girls are obsessed with him. I’ve literally heard people talk about him in the locker room like he’s a celebrity. And me? I’m just… I don’t know. I’m me. I cheer and I study and I try not to let my GPA fall apart and I pretend I’m not crushing on someone completely out of my league.

So no. I’m not gonna say anything.

Because maybe I did catch him looking at me the other day when I tied my hair up. Maybe he does stay a little longer when we’re done. Maybe he leans in a little closer than necessary. But maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I want it too bad and I’m just reading into everything. I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to get hurt.

So I’m gonna do what I’m supposed to do. Help him pass stats. Smile when he brings me candy. Laugh at his dumb jokes. Pretend like my heart doesn’t skip a beat every time he says my name.

I’m just going to help him pass stats. That’s all this is. Right? God, I’m so dumb.

—

You were fucked. Well and truly screwed.

You couldn’t even focus during practice. Missed counts, off-beat claps, a completely botched dismount that nearly took you and the poor girl spotting you both out in one go. Natasha pulled you aside with that look—the one that said she was two seconds away from losing it—and muttered something about getting your shit together because the big game was in a week and this wasn’t the time to be spacing out.

But how were you supposed to focus? Your diary was missing.

Your actual, physical, spiral-bound diary filled with every unfiltered thought you’d been too scared to say out loud. The same one where you’d spent the last four pages gushing about Bucky freaking Barnes like some sad, delusional teenage cliché. You didn’t even want to think about what you wrote last night, something about his arms and the way he smiles and how you swore he looked at you differently when you tied your hair up. It was humiliating.

You never should’ve taken it out of your room. You knew it was a bad idea. But Yelena had been on one of her ‘I’m bored and nosy’ benders, and the last time you left anything out, she’d read your old poetry journal and quoted it back to you at breakfast. You weren’t about to risk that again. So, like a total idiot, you shoved your diary in your bag before heading to class, thinking you’d keep it safe with you.

The entire day had been chaos. You barely managed to scarf down lunch between lectures, and by the time your 3 p.m. class let out, you were already sprinting across campus to make it to Bucky’s place for tutoring. Not that you actually got much tutoring done. You never did, not when he looked at you with that stupid, easy grin, or leaned back in his chair like he owned the air around him. One second you were going over statistical formulas, and the next you were talking about childhood pets and favourite movies, laughing like you hadn’t just been drowning in assignments ten minutes earlier. Time always slipped away around him. You ended up bolting to cheer practice.

It wasn’t until hours later, back in your dorm with your bag dumped upside down on the floor, that you realised your diary was missing. Your diary. 

You’d spent a solid hour panicking, then a full thirty minutes rummaging through the lost and found at the campus security office, practically elbow-deep in a box of mismatched gloves and cracked phone cases. The guy behind the desk eventually looked up from his screen, where he was rather obviously playing solitaire, and told you with the energy of someone who very much did not care that maybe it hadn’t been handed in.

You wanted to scream.

Now your most personal, most mortifying thoughts were just out there. Floating around. God only knew where or with who. And sure, maybe whoever found it wouldn’t read it. Maybe they’d be a decent human being and just turn it in without flipping through. But let’s be honest, if you found a diary with someone’s deepest secrets in it, you’d probably peek too.

You were going to be sick. Actually sick. And not because Natasha had you running suicides again like she was training you for the NFL, but because your life might genuinely be over. Because if he found it? What if you left it in his room? What if Bucky read even one word of what you wrote?

You didn’t even want to finish that thought.

No, you literally couldn’t even finish that thought because, as Natasha finally called for the end of the session and the team began their warm-down stretches, swapping tired smiles and gulping down water, you saw him.

Bucky.

Standing at the edge of the field in that stupid grey hoodie, sleeves pushed up, all smug and handsome like he hadn’t just shown up to ruin your entire existence. He had that lazy, charming smile on his face, the one that made people trust him too fast, the one that made you trust him too fast, and in his hand?

Glittery blue cover. Spiral binding. Your diary.

You were going to throw up. No, genuinely, you could feel your stomach lurch. This was it. This was how you died. Not in a blaze of glory or during a botched basket toss, but here, sweaty, humiliated, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the middle of the goddamn football field.

You didn’t even think. You just stormed over before anyone else could notice, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind the bleachers like it was a crime scene. Which it kind of was. A crime against your dignity.

Bucky didn’t protest. He followed easily, letting you pull him along like it was some sort of game. Of course he did. And of course, he was smiling the whole time, like you hadn’t just gone into cardiac arrest ten feet away.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could barely speak. It rattled in your chest like a warning, like it knew this moment was about to go down in your personal hall of shame.

“Where…how…why do you have that?” you hissed, snatching at the diary, but he held it just out of reach, still annoyingly calm.

He raised a brow, like you’d just asked him what two plus two was. “You left it at my place. After tutoring. You were in a rush, remember?”

No. No, no, no, no, no. Of course, it had been his place. Of course.

“I—I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking, I just—” You were spiralling, words tumbling out too fast, too breathless, and your fingers were twitching like you might just snatch the book and sprint across campus. “Did you…Did you read it?”

A beat. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you.

And then, God, he smiled. Not the cocky one, not the football-star grin. This one was softer. Slower. Dangerous.

Your stomach dropped.

“I read enough,” he said.

You froze.

Your ears rang. Your mouth went dry. Your body just stopped.

“Enough?” you echoed, voice cracking halfway through. “Enough of what? Enough to—oh my God.”

You turned away instinctively, hand over your mouth like that could somehow keep your soul from escaping your body. Because what did that mean? What was ‘enough?’ Enough to ruin your life? Enough to laugh about it with his frat brothers? Enough to tell every girl on campus that the cheerleader who couldn’t even stick a full-out had a crush on him?

You didn’t even realise you were pacing until Bucky gently caught your wrist.

“Hey. Relax,” he said, and his voice was way too steady for someone holding the social equivalent of a loaded weapon.

You yanked your arm back like his touch burned. “Relax? Bucky, that was private. It’s literally a diary! It’s not for reading, it's for… spiralling in silence!”

He tilted his head a little, watching you carefully, and if he was offended by your panic, he didn’t show it. “You left it on my bed. Open.”

You groaned and covered your face with both hands. “Please. Just kill me. Right here. Hide the body under the bleachers. I’m serious.”

Bucky chuckled—chuckled, like this was some kind of joke—and stepped closer. You could feel his presence even before you lowered your hands again. 

“Why didn’t you just say something?” he asked, quiet now. “If you felt that way.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “Because I didn’t know if it meant anything! You’re nice to everyone. You flirt like it’s a reflex. You remember everyone’s drink orders, compliment their outfits, hold doors and say all the right things. I thought I was just another person you were… nice to.”

He didn’t answer your panicked rambling right away. Just looked at you for a long moment.

“Yeah, I’m nice to people. Doesn’t mean I feel the same way I feel about you.”

Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.

“What?” you whispered, hating how small your voice sounded.

He held your gaze, completely serious now.

“Like I wanna kiss you every time you chew that damn pen cap. Like, I think about you even when I’m supposed to be studying. Like I can’t focus when you’re talking ‘cause all I do is stare at your damn lips.” He paused, and something almost like a laugh broke out of him, soft and self-conscious. “Like I’ve been trying to find a not-creepy way to tell you I like you since the second tutoring started, but you were always so focused and cool and out of my league.”

That last part made your head spin.

“Out of your league?” you repeated, eyes wide.

He smirked, stepping just a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Have you seen yourself? You’re smart, you’re so pretty it’s ridiculous, and you’ve got this whole thing where you act like you don’t know you’re the coolest girl on campus. Of course, I was nervous.”

You blinked at him. “Bucky… are you flirting with me behind the bleachers while holding my diary hostage?”

He grinned. “Maybe. Depends. Is it working?”

You tried to snatch the diary out of his hand, but he was faster, effortlessly holding it just out of reach like it weighed nothing.

“God, I hate you,” you muttered through gritted teeth, bouncing up on your toes in a desperate attempt to grab it. All it earned you was the embarrassing realisation that you were now fully pressed against his chest, warm, broad, and stupidly solid.

“You really don’t, at least not according to this—” he said, low and smug.

“Bucky!” you warned, trying to reach again, but he shifted it higher.

“Give. It. Back,” you hissed, practically climbing him at this point.

“I will,” he said, eyes flicking down to your mouth in a way that made your stomach twist and your breath catch. “But only if you let me kiss you first.”

Your brain short-circuited. Completely and entirely. The words took a second to process. His voice had dropped, softer now, more serious, like he wasn’t just messing with you anymore.

You looked up at him, heart thudding so loudly against your ribs you swore he could hear it. His eyes searched yours, and for once, he didn’t look like the effortlessly confident guy everyone knew. He looked… nervous like he was the one waiting to be rejected.

“…Fine,” you whispered, the word barely making it past your lips, but your smile gave you away. It was impossible to hide, giddy and crooked and ridiculous.

And then he kissed you.

He bent his head and closed the gap like he’d been waiting weeks for it—maybe he had. His mouth was warm and sure against yours, one arm still holding the diary hostage, the other dropping to your waist, pulling you in like he couldn’t help himself. You kissed him back without thinking, without doubting, like maybe this was the answer you’d been afraid to ask for all along.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and blinking at each other like idiots, he handed over the diary with a grin.

“Okay,” you whispered, still a little breathless. “That was… good.”

“Just good?” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “Don’t push it.”

He laughed softly, thumb still brushing your cheek. “So… does this mean I get to keep seeing you after stats is over? Or do I have to fail on purpose to keep you around?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right. You’d probably kill me.”

“More like definitely.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward. He looked at you like he already knew what you were thinking. And for once, you didn’t feel like running from it.

You were so, so screwed.

But maybe… in the best way possible.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Date Night

Summary: When Tim didn't pick you up for a date night he planned, you knew that you would find him back at his office. Intending to make him beg for your forgiveness you take yourself in your slutty outfit to the station to find out what Tim will do to make up for forgetting about you.

Pairing: Tim Rockford x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: established relationship, smut (oral f receiving; unprotected sex), a whole lot of making out, semi public sex, food, surprise at the end

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Full Masterlist // Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You knew he would have a good reason, he always has. 

The passion he has for his job is one of the reason you love him so much. 

That did not mean that it didn’t hurt when 7 pm turned to 8 and to 9 pm without a single text or call. 

You had been looking forward to today. 

Pretending to work from home while you took an everything shower and shaved every inch of your body. You scrubbed and moisturised your skin with the lotion you knew Tim loved the smell of. 

You put the slutty black mesh body on, needing almost ten minutes to have all the straps in place, rolling the silky stockings up your equally silky thighs, connecting them to the suspenders of the flimsy body you were wearing. 

You looked fucking hot, thighs pressing together at the thought of what Tim would do to you once he finally got you home and naked. 

You reached for the deep green velvet dress you loved, running your fingers over the soft fabric that reached just above your knees before you searched for some heels. 

You didn’t wear them often, but you loved the way your ass looked when you wore them, so you would suffer the couple steps to and from the car.

Tim had made reservations for dinner at the restaurant you had your first date at.

This date night was actually his idea and you, silly little you thought that maybe, maybe he’d pop the big question tonight. 

You had been dating for four years, living together for three. 

Marriage was not something you really discussed, but you both wanted to get married eventually. And with the effort he had put into tonight you got enough signals to actually gotten your nails done yesterday after work. 

But now, at 9:05 pm without Tim having picked you up or having reacted to any message or call you placed on his work and mobile phone you were mad. 

Because you knew, as one of his colleagues who actually picked up his phone told you, that he was in the station. In his office. 

You weren’t someone who made a big deal of when he stayed too long at work. You knew he was a workaholic, though it had gotten a lot better since you moved in. 

But tonight you had the fuck me heels on, and fuck you wanted to spend the night with your hunk of a boyfriend. 

So, after another twenty more minutes of waiting and brooding over feelings like a stupid neglected girlfriend, you got up and grabbed your keys. 

You made sure the red lipstick you had put on was still perfect on your lips before you went to your car to pay a visit to Tim. 

There were only a few cars left in the parking lot as you parked your car next to Tim’s. You made sure your boobs looked good before you exited the car and made your way towards the police station. 

You knew the people who worked here, having spend countless barbecues and birthdays with them, so when you opened the door to walked in you made sure to say Hello to everyone. 

��Damn, you look hot,“ one of Tim’s female colleagues whistled and you grinned. 

„I know,“ you said with a wink, „He in?“ You gestured in the direction of Tim’s office. She nodded. 

„Yeah. He’s been in there since lunch. Got some new evidence in,“ she explained. 

„That might explain why he forgot he was taking me out to dinner tonight,“ you said and she made a face. 

„Idiot,“ she rolled her eyes and you shrugged with pursed lips. 

„Any of the other detectives still in?“

„Nah. They went home. Got the end of the floor all to yourselves,“ she winked and you gave her a bashful smile before you made your way towards his office. 

You could see the light on behind one single door at the end of the floor and you opened it without knocking, finding Tim sitting behind his desk, dress shirt halfway unbuttoned, tied loosened, still wearing his shoulder holsters. 

Various emotions flickered over his face as he looked up to find you standing in his door. 

Surprise, clearly.

Hunger, as his eyes wandered over your form.

Love, always. 

And then there it was, his eyes widening as regret set in. 

He looked away from you for a second, his eyes finding the clock on the wall. 

„Oh fuck,“ he shook his head, looking at you, getting up from behind his desk. 

„I totally forgot the time, I’m so fucking sorry,“ he said, walking towards you but you just crossed your arms in front of your chest which pushed your tits up and you didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered towards your cleavage before he came to stand in front of you, hands on your elbows. 

„We got new evidence in and I forgot the time and I’m a shitty fucking boyfriend,“ he said, his big brown eyes big as he looked at you, hands now on your upper arms. 

„You look beautiful baby,“ his fingers slipped over the soft fabric of your dress. 

„I know,“ you said, now pouting and his lips twitched into a small smile as he stepped forward. 

„Let me make it up to you,“ he said with pleading eyes, before he pulled you against his body, your hand coming to rest on his chest as you looked up at him. 

„And how do you plan on doing that Detective?“ You asked and he hummed, his head tilting to the side as if in deep thought while both of his hands slowly slid down your back before grabbing a handful of your ass.

„I can think of a few ways,“ he hummed before he kissed you. You sighed against his lips, your arms wrapping around him, one of your hands running through his soft hair as he deepened the kiss. He walked you back, caging you against his door and you heard the soft click of him locking his door and you smiled against his lips. 

His hands slowly slipped the soft fabric of your dress up, his fingers leaving goosebumps as they moved over your skin, all while his tongue played with yours. 

He groaned when he felt the lace of your stocking. 

„Fuck baby. Can I see you?“ He mumbled, one of his fingers hooking through the straps of the garter belt you were wearing and you hummed thoughtfully. 

„I don’t know Detective, you think you already earned that?“ You looked at him, challenging him. 

Instead of answering you he slowly sank down on his knees, while now both of his hands held up the fabric of your dress. He groaned a low fuck me when he saw what you were wearing, his face leaning in, nuzzling against your lace covered panties as he inhaled deeply. 

„She already wet for me?“ He asked, his breath warm against your skin. Not giving you a chance to answer his tongue slipped over your flimsy panties and you gasped as he hummed. 

One of his hands grabbed one of your legs, hooking it over one of his shoulders and you let your back fall against the door, one of your hand reaching down, fingers gliding through his hair. 

„I’m sorry,“ he whispered before he pushed your panties to the side. 

„I’m sorry I forgot about our date,“ he kissed you just above your clit. 

„Again,“ he murmured before his fingers parted your folds and he moaned when he saw just how wet you already were.  

„You’re so wet for me baby,“ he licked through your folds and you sighed, head falling against the door with a soft thump.

„I’m sorry I’m such a shitty boyfriend,“ he murmured as his tongue played with you, the way his facial hair scratched over your sensitive skin as he ate you out leaving you shuddering. 

One of his arms was wrapped around your thigh, holding you in place as his other hand held you open for him. 

„I’m close,“ you moaned, fingers gripping his hair and he groaned, his tongue fucking you as deeply as he was able to, humming as he tasted you. 

„Already?“ He teased and you pulled his hair, making him moan. 

He chuckled to himself before his tongue focused all its attention on your clit. Flicking it at first before he sucked it between his lips, knowing exactly what to do to make you cum. 

And within seconds you did, flooding his mouth with your slick as you moaned his name quietly. He continued to lick into you until you pushed him away and he slowly let your leg down before he sat back on his heels, looking very smug as he looked up at you. 

„Am I forgiven yet?“ He asked and you rolled your eyes, playfully slapping his hands away as you walked over to his desk. Your eyes softened when you saw the photo the two of you took on your last vacation on his desk as you leaned with both palms down over his desk, wiggling your ass. 

„I think I need some more grovelling,“ you smirked over your shoulder and Tim got back up on his feet. He pressed into you from behind and you could feel how hard he was. His hands were on your hip as he leaned down, finding your lips in a soft kiss. 

„Can’t do that kind of grovelling on my knees though,“ he grinned and you chuckled. 

„Just fuck me, Tim,“ you pushed against him and he huffed a laugh. You turned your head back forward as you heard his belt buckle, followed from a zipper. 

He pushed your dress up, before he reached for your panties, slowly slipping them down your legs until you could step out of them. You didn’t know he put them into the pocket of the shirt he was wearing, intending to keep them. 

You jumped in surprise when he licked through your folds again, humming in satisfaction. 

„Could taste you all day,“ he said, before he slapped your ass, making you jump again.

„You should do that some time,“ you teased and felt his hands squeeze your hips. 

„Oh I will,“ he said, feeling the tip of his cock slowly enter you. 

„Gonna spend all day with you in bed, fucking you in every way possible,“ he groaned, sinking into you fully. 

„Promises, promises,“ you teased looking over your shoulder just when his hand came down on your ass in a sharp slap. 

„Brat,“ he shook his head in amusement. 

„I thought you were grovelling?��� You asked and he bottomed out before snapping his hips back against your ass, his cock filling you completely, air rushing out of your lungs in a low moan as he began to fuck you. 

One of his hands was massaging one of your ass cheeks as he kept a steady pace. 

„Always so warm and wet for me,“ he hummed, hips snapping against yours. Your lips were parted as you panted, low moans escaping you as you tried to keep quiet. 

„Wanna cum in this little pussy,“ he moaned and you began to meet his thrusts. 

„You gonna let me?“ He hummed and you pushed yourself up, feeling his arm wrap around your middle as he pulled you against his chest, fucking up into you as he held you. 

„Only if you gonna clean me up once we’re home,“ you whispered and he groaned as his lips found yours in a sloppy kiss. His hand slipped down your body, under your dress, finding your clit, playing with it. 

„Cum for me,“ he mumbled against your lips, his cock filling you in the perfect angle and it wasn’t long before you came, squeezing his cock while he fucked your through your orgasm, his lips still on yours before he followed you shortly after, painting your walls with his cum. 

You stayed like that for a moment, him holding you against his chest as you kissed. 

„I am really really fucking sorry I forgot about dinner,“ he whispered against your lips and your eyes softened. 

„It’s okay. I know how important your work is for you,“ you murmured, before you kissed him again. 

He slowly pulled out of you, grabbing some tissues from his desk to clean you up before he tucked his cock back into his pants. You jumped on his desk and he smiled as he came to stand between your legs, one of his hands tilting your face up towards him. 

„You will always be more important baby. It’s why I planned his fucking dinner,“ he sighed, clearly still disappointed in himself. 

You wrapped both of your arms around his back and he stepped closer as you rested your head against his. 

„You can still take me out to dinner. The Taco Truck down our street is still open,“ you smiled and felt his shoulder relax. 

And that’s how you ended up completely overdressed at almost 11pm a the Taco Truck down your street. Soft music was paying on the radio as you ate. 

„You know there was a reason I wanted to take you out tonight,“ he said and you hummed, happily biting into your Taco. You were sitting on a bench, leaning against Tim’s chest as he watched you eat. 

„Yeah?“ You asked, feeling him nod.

He waited until you were finished eating before you felt him move behind you. Sitting yourself up you reached for a napkin to clean your fingers when you saw him set something down on the table next to you. 

A small turquoise box. 

You frowned for a moment before you looked at him with wide eyes. 

„I wanted this night to be perfect, and I can’t believe I let my job get in the way of that again,“ he shook his head before he got up only to get down on one knee in front of you, taking your hand while his other reached for the small box, flipping it open to reveal a beautiful diamond ring. 

„But maybe asking you to marry me in front of a Taco Truck instead of a fancy dinner should have been my plan along.“

[littlemssam]

Since not everyone saw my latest Statement on Discord yesterday, I wanted to post it here as well, and I also want to clear a few things up.

For those who do not know what this is about, I made a post that I should not have, or at least I should have phrased it in a way where the meaning is clearer. The Post I made was "Since I was one of those that got tagged in there, I can just say that I will not partake in any Anti Israel Pro Hamas Propaganda, and I will most certainly not forget what Hamas did Oct 7th like a lot of these ppl seem to do." I now see that the way I phrased it made it seem like I feel that the attacks on Palestinian Civilians were/are justified, and that is not what I meant, and I am deeply sorry about that. Edit: To make it clear I am against the Israel Government and Netanyahu, just like I am against Hamas. I am pro ceasefire now.

On June 25th I had to face the consequences in my Discord. A lot of ppl came in and confronted me about it. When the first ppl joined and started the confrontation, I did knee jerked again and banned the first three of them, because one of them insulted me and wrote that the attack on Oct 7 was made up. There were a few follow up bans of ppl, who also insulted me, but I did not ban anyone on purpose because they are Pro Palestine. There were also some Posts deleted that should not have been. It was not done by me personally, but I was also not fast enough and clear minded enough to stop it and I could not undo it, so I apologise for that as well.

I locked the Server down in the End, because it was 3 am for me and I was, and still am, very overwhelmed and exhausted, and the Server will stay down for a while. This is the latest Statement I made, and I know it will not be enough for everyone and I respect that.

"I did not mean to seem to take a stance that seems like I am pro-Israel as if I believe this is all their land (a Zionist). I do not want to condone the violence happening in the country right now or pretend that Palestinian lives don't matter. It was never intended in what I said. I did not mean to phrase things in a way that make me seem to be against the problems palestinians are facing in Gaza. I inserted myself into something I don't know enough about or how to talk about in an educated way, so I should have better not said anything at all. I am sorry that I did. I do feel it is wrong that some people feel like what happened on October 7 is fake and I have already had people say it is. I have banned people who have said so while attacking me. That is wrong. Those people died and it's sad, so too it is sad the people who are dying over the military actions of Israel in attacking the groups who did this causing a loss of Palestinian life without considering who will be hurt. I am not a Zionist. I am just someone who felt sickened by what happened in the attacks last year and didn't like how I see some people pretending that is all a hoax."

[astarionancuntnin]

Bad Blood

summary: it was meant to be a nice, simple plan. get the sorceress to fall in love with him to assure his own safety, nothing more. what he didn't plan was to fall for her as well, and all the complications that came along with it.

or

my own twist on the astarion confession scene with the reader!tav from my previous fic, Undisclosed Desires

rating: M

word count: 3.6k

pairing: astarion x tav (previously femtav!reader, sorceress!tav)

cw: angst, hurt/comfort, self-destructive tendencies from tav, dissociation, mention of past trauma (rape/abusive relationship), toxic coping mechanism, near death experience, talks of manipulation tricks (Astarion's confession speech). full list on ao3

a/n: a follow up to Undisclosed Desires (master list can be found here), now featuring astarion POV! reading the previous fic isnt mandatory but i do highly suggest it to get a feel of their relationship + reader!tav's character and the build up that brought them there (mind you UD is explicit).

chapter song inspo: nightmare by boywithuke (full playlist is on the masterlist)

read on ao3 - next chapter

my masterlist

or keep reading down below ~

Why do I try? I don't know why I wanna fall in love

I wanna die, every time I see you parking up

Forget about the fights, remember the nights we had, it's not enough

I wanna lie, pretend I'm alright, but-

-

I’m… not expecting you to say it back, but I meant what I said yesterday. I don’t know where this’ll go, but I know I want to be with you.

The words resonated in Astarion’s head.

He was pretending to be sleeping back then, but he heard every single thing she uttered. Her confession had struck him harder than he had expected, leaving him at a loss for words. 

He was charming, she was alone; of course, this was the expected outcome — he did everything to make her fall for him, and it had worked, just as it should’ve. It was easy after all, a mere routine for him. She might've been a challenge at first, but she was always meant to fall for him; everyone eventually did. Everything had gone exactly according to plan. Everything except one simple detail.

I think I’m in love with you.

Astarion has had those words in mind ever since her declaration, a few nights ago. Those little words that shouldn’t have meant as much as they did when she spoke them, and yet, left him speechless, in a state of shock he couldn't remember experiencing before. He spent the rest of the night processing them: the words themselves, her tone, the state she was in when she said them—

Ha! There it was: the obvious, rational explanation to all of this: she was simply high off of a post-climax state. She couldn’t truly be in love with someone like him, she’d have to be out of her bloody mind, or have no sense of self-worth whatsoever! But if she was… well, this was just proof that his nice, simple plan had turned against him.

They didn’t talk about what happened — Gods, that would've killed him all over again — but their relationship was stable. He had what he wanted: security from the leader of the group, assurance that she wasn’t going to turn on him, and a meal every night, while she had a stronger rogue among their ranks, company in her bed, and… a certain peace of mind as of lately. 

She was less aggressive towards him — which was an added bonus on his side, granted — and he admired that fire in her that made her a menace on the battlefield, without taking away that softness in her character, even if it bothered him that she didn't save that energy for their own group.

That balance in her personality, this goodness mixed with this fire within that drifted him towards her, that made him love her in return—

Wait… No, that couldn’t be right. He found himself enjoying the banter between the two of them, it’s true. She was just as witty as he was, and their back and forth was the most fun he had during the day. She challenged him, kept him on his toes, ready for anything, and the few times they had sex were great, he couldn’t deny that either.

But love? Ha! That would be foolish of him. He wouldn’t spill his heart out to just anyone, it would need to be someone sincere, kind, that would see him for who he is and not for what he can offer.

Someone… perhaps, just like her.

It didn’t matter that this had started out as a ruse to have her trust and protect him, when it became so much more intimate as she opened herself up to him during those precious moments, he couldn’t deny the feelings that arose in his chest. He was able to know her unlike anyone else amongst their group, just as she knew him.

She was more than he expected her to be, more than just a victim meant to be disposed of. More than anything he had ever felt, for anyone before.

The feeling was… hard to process, to say the least. Completely hated it at first — it was a weakness to be exploited now, and how dare his very own plan had turned against him? Ugh. A bloody mess, he thought. Then he saw how she cared, when no one else did. When he held her close that morning, he didn’t want to let go. She sounded so sincere, felt so warm and soft against him; a safe haven.

No — could not, would not love her. Until he could come forward with his own feelings — if he ever did — he would have to resign himself to accepting any form of affection from her only when she was the least likely to notice — when she would be the one to offer — so he could simply accept out of leniency. She didn’t have to know about all the thoughts plaguing him.

Gods, she frustrated him; just by existing, she made him feel so… safe and happy, and it was just so difficult not to, when she was always taking a stand for him. She was merciless and cruel to those who posed a threat to their group, yet so protective of him as much as she protected herself. 

She was probably the most courageous member of their party, but as of late, this courage had turned into recklessness; casting strong spells that could have wiped an entire village when a simple, smaller one, would’ve done the trick. Every fight made her take more unnecessary risks to secure their victory, and given the shadowlands were dangerous territory, she believed it justified her recent impulsiveness.

It didn’t make any sense coming from her — she used to be more strategic, she was resourceful and able to lead battles using everyone’s abilities; that’s why they had put her in charge of their group, but their latest fights had been too close for comfort, and tension had risen around camp.

It has worked so far, she had claimed, not seeing the issue with her behaviour, and dismissing everyone who came forward to express their concern.

But what if it happened to fail? What then?

Astarion's fellow companions blamed it on the shadow-cursed lands that must’ve been affecting her, surely, as she was growing back to her cold, distant self, but Astarion noticed the change in her behaviour specifically following their visit at Last Light Inn.

She was fine when they first entered the vicinity, but by the time they were leaving, Tav seemed anxious and eager to go back into the woods, away from the security the inn provided, which went against everything they had fought for.

When she was asked about it, she blamed it on a bad gut feeling, dismissing any of their concerns, and when Shadowheart agreed and blamed it on the presence of the Selûnite cleric — who they didn’t even get the chance to discuss with yet — the rest of their party didn’t push for more information. She stayed mostly silent for the rest of the day and even ignored Astarion’s remarks.

Her behaviour was odd, but he couldn’t let himself care too much. Stick to the plan, he repeated to himself.

She let him feed the following nights, but she seemed away during their sessions. She wasn’t exactly the talkative type and he didn’t want to push her to the point where she would decline him her neck for the following nights, but she caught his attention when she walked out of her tent, panting, a few times throughout these last nights. When he had taken a peek, he found her clutching at her chest, struggling to breathe as she was pacing nearby.

Astarion knew better than to ask, but curiosity got the best of him. Tonight, after everyone else had gone to bed and he joined her in her tent, he would confront her about her nightly troubles.

She was dabbing her neck, cleaning the traces of his recent feeding, her eyes lost in the distance, when he spoke up.

“I’ve noticed you seem… away, during our little sessions, as of late.”

“Hm?” She’s snapped back to reality, proving his point, but still avoiding any eye contact. “Oh, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Believe me, I would if it was anyone else but…” he stopped himself from saying anything he might regret, sliding back into his careless self. “You're the leader of this group. Our very lives are between your hands and I would quite like to keep mine.”

She chuckled humorlessly, “I'm telling you, I'm fine.”

“Allow me to doubt that, especially with those nightmares you’ve been having lately.”

Her gaze locked with his, a dread settling within her.

“Is that what they are then?” He asked. “Night terrors?”

Her eyes darted across her tent; he could see the internal fight she was having with herself, deciding to come clean about her condition or not.

She sighed deeply after a few seconds, taking in a moment to find the words and it took her a few tries to finally speak up.

“When we passed by the Last Light Inn, I… recognised someone. He…” Her breath cut short. “We used to be together, for some time.” She paused.

“A few years. It wasn’t a great experience, to say the least. I was young and naive, he was just a bit older and experienced. I felt so special to be the one he had deemed worthy of his attention, and he took advantage of it.”

The next words got stuck in her throat, unable to carry on as her breathing quickened. Her eyes blinked uncontrollably, still staring ahead, lost in a world of her own. It took her a moment to finally come back and continue.

“I hated myself for so long, felt guilty of what had happened to me. It took me years to get over it– I thought I was over it, but the second I saw him again, it all came back at once.”

She paused once more, trying to regulate her breathing. “I spent all those years thinking about how I could make him regret what he did to me, if we ever crossed paths again. And when it finally happened, I froze. It didn’t matter that I am older, stronger, smarter; I. fucking. froze. I was right back where I started, just a—”

Tears were threatening to fall and she pulled her knees close to her chest, turning her head aside, as if she couldn’t bear to let him see her in that state. “I’m sorry– you need to leave.”

He stayed frozen, perhaps just like she had been in her story, as he watched her pull away from her. He wanted to stay and comfort her, tell her that he would be by her side no matter what, that he would help her get her revenge if that’s what she desired, just like she promised to help him out against Cazador, but he simply couldn’t. The words remained caged in his chest as he got up and opened the flap of her tent before bidding his goodbyes.

The next morning, she avoided him like he used to avoid the sun; anytime he was nearby, she would turn to face someone else among their group, as if she couldn’t stand to look at him. Her speech was concise, mathematical; she had lost any sign of the emotions she had experienced the night prior.

When she selected the members of the party for the day, he was surprised to be a part of it. He wasn't scared to be left in camp, after all, she made it clear in the past that his ability to lock pick any and everything made him a valuable asset, but he had his doubts after how she had been acting this morning.

Tav proposed to visit Moonrise Tower to get to the heart of their problem, but the shadow curse had made it tedious to navigate further and Karlach urged the group to revisit the Last Light Inn to get the help of the Selûnite cleric. With the majority of the party agreeing, their leader had no choice but to step over her current feelings for the sake of their mission, but she made it clear that they wouldn’t stay a second longer than needed in there.

To her dismay, that moment would take up most of their day.

After receiving the blessing of the cleric, a winged man — that Isobel referred to as Marcus — arrived from the skies claiming that she needed to leave with him, and when it was made clear that it wasn't an option, a fight ensued with his own army of undead.

They should've been able to handle them, it was their first fight of the day and they were prepared for anything. Or so they thought.

The hits from their enemies were stronger than anticipated and Shadowheart barely managed to keep everyone alive with Marcus who used his necrotic powers to drain them dry at every chance he had; against their best attempt, Isobel was knocked out and captured by the winged man.

Without the moon cleric to protect the inn, all its inhabitants were claimed by the shadow curse; one by one, the group of adventurers watched them die and turn against them, prolonging their already lengthy battle.

They defeated all the harpers within the inn before making their way outside, where another group of possessed fighters were waiting for them. The fight had been going on for what felt like forever; waves of new enemies kept coming in and the party was running short on spells and patience. Worse, even, Shadowheart had used the last of her healing spells, and no remaining healing potion was in sight.

With everyone’s health running dangerously low, the sorceress knew she had to act fast to assure their victory. She was scanning the battlefield to evaluate her options when she froze, her gaze stuck on one of the Harpers that was approaching them. Astarion recognized her behaviour from the night before and he knew he had to step in.

He screamed her name, trying to make her snap out of it, but she remained motionless, unable to react to her environment, as a range of emotions visibly flooded her all at once. Without Karlach by her side to slash the undead that was coming for her, she would’ve been downed right there and then. The fiery tiefling screamed her name again and grabbed her by her shoulder, grounding her back to reality.

“Soldier, hey! You with me?” She was panting from the fight, and her features were painted with worry.

Tav blinked quickly, taking back her surroundings, “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine, sorry.”

“What’s happened to you? You were this close to being a goner. Don’t do that again to us, you hear me, yeah?”

She didn’t answer back, as her eyes fell back on the Harper she recognized seconds ago, and an uncontrollable anger started boiling within her. Although Astarion noticed the fists clenching tighter and tighter at her sides, he wasn’t expecting what came next.

She freed herself from Karlach’s grasp on her shoulder as she bolted straight to the Harper she had in her sights with a tunnel vision. No one was able to stop her before she cast flaming hands on the undead, with a guttural scream that was cut short by the explosion that followed.

Blinded by rage, the sorceress failed to notice the multiple barrels of smoke powder that surrounded their last enemies as she cast her spell, blowing them up and herself in the process.

The rest of the party remained far enough to be spared by the explosion, while Karlach received barely any damage. As the smoke settled down, the figure of their friend appeared, spread on the ground among the corpses of their fallen enemies.

No… No, it can't be—

Despite his distance from her, Astarion was the first one to reach her. He quickly rushed past the cleric and barbarian to land next to the fainted sorceress, bringing her head close to him. He tried to look for her eyes, but they were shut tight with no sign of life.

“Wake up… Wake up! Come on now. Please…” His hold of her became desperate, looking for any sign of consciousness; her body’s warmth was quickly turning to a familiar coldness, and the soft melody of her heartbeat was getting quieter. 

Dread started to settle in and he shot a deadly stare at Shadowheart who was still standing next to Karlach, checking on her smaller wounds. “What are you waiting for? An invitation?! Heal her!”

“I used my last spell on you earlier!” She shouted as she tried to explain. “We need to bring her back to our camp.”

“Would it kill you to try?”

Karlach nodded to Shadowheart, agreeing that their friend was in bigger need of care than her, and Shadowheart approached the fainted party member begrudgingly, knowing fully well she would be of no help, and knelt next to her as she tried to cast a healing spell.

She tried again, and again, but her magic had run out. “I'm sorry, I– I can't.”

“What do you mean, you can't?!” Astarion spat out, his anger overtaking any sense of reason within him. “That's your sole purpose! What good of a cleric are you if you can't even heal her!”

“Hey!” Karlach stepped in before Shadowheart could retort. “Yelling won't get us anywhere, alright? We're all exhausted, and Soldier here needs serious help – let's just all go back to camp? Halsin might be able to take a look at her.”

His eyes narrowed, looking back at his lover, and he nodded to his friend. Without wasting any more time, Karlach picked her lifeless body from the ground, leading the march to their campsite without muttering another word.

Back at camp, the party rushed to bring the burned sorceress to Halsin’s tent. At the brief sight of her lifeless body, everyone else rushed to see the state she was in.

“By Sylvanus, what happened back there?”

“Does it matter, druid? She clearly needs help!” Astarion shouted.

“She was in the middle of an explosion, it was pretty bad.” Karlach stepped in, providing an answer for the archdruid. ”Can you fix her up?”

“I’ll do what I can, my friend, but I’ll need some time– “ He turned to Astarion who was hovering. “And space. Do not worry, I will come to you once I am done.”

With those last words, Karlach laid their fallen friend down in Halsin’s tent and guided Astarion out with a pat on the shoulder and a soft “Come on, Fangs''. He followed her, giving one last look at the woman he grew to love, a mix of anger and worry painted over his face.

Astarion remained at his tent, trying to take his mind off of her by sewing up his torn clothes, but his mind kept going back to the moments before the explosion. He had pieced together what had happened, but he couldn't understand why she had put herself at risk like so. She was the smartest among them – he even enjoyed taunting Gale about it – and she was logical in combat. Why would she go as far as to risk her life over this? He kept pacing around in circles for the rest of the evening, expecting the worst as time went by.

As night time approached, the flap’s of Halsin's tent opened to reveal an exhausted healer. Astarion hurried to him, his worry circulating to the druid with unspoken words.

“I stabilised her.” He tried to reassure the pale elf. “She will be alright, but she needs to rest. Her wounds were… a lot to bear. If she didn't have her strong resolve, she might’ve not made it.”

His eyes darted to the opening of the tent, mindlessly walking in, not ready for what was before him: the sorceress half naked, her clothes having been replaced almost completely by bandages. The few bits of her skin left bare showed old scars and new bruises covering them. She lifted her eyes to meet his, only to turn away at the vision of his visible worry.

“It's bad, isn't it?” she sighed heavily. “He said I shouldn't use my powers for a few days. Said it could ‘compromise the healing process’.” She mocked the archdruid’s voice. When Astarion didn’t say anything in return, her eyes darted back to him to notice his expression hadn’t changed in the slightest. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“And you shouldn’t have blown yourself up, dear.”

She scoffed, “It’s not like I did it intentionally.”

“Not unless your intention was to end your life,” he snapped.

“Gods, what’s wrong with you?”

“Me?! What's wrong with me is that I happen to care for a brat who's prone to self destructive behaviour!”

“Excuse me?!” She raised herself up on her elbows.

“That stunt you pulled back there? You almost died!”

“We all could've died! I made the right choice to save our skins and nobody is grateful for it.” She groaned in pain, her body reminding her of her recent wounds.

“What choice?! Blowing yourself up? You blindly rushed in and put your life at risk. Gods, do you even realise the danger you put yourself in?”

“It was a calculated risk,” she hissed, her voice lowering. “And… I needed to do it.”

“What, kill yourself? Are we really that bad of a crowd, darling?”

“Ugh, I don’t even know why I’m trying to justify myself to you – It worked out, didn’t it? Why are you making such a big deal out of it now?”

“Because I care about you!”

"Oh right, it would be such a shame if something happened to your precious meal."

"You are more than that to me!”

She froze, the anger vanishing from her face, “...What do you mean?”

Shit.

“When you… when I held you in my arms, back there I – I thought you were gone.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t think I would care, Hells, I didn’t plan to, I–”

She quickly blinked in confusion, “Plan?” and he realised just then what he had let out; he needed to come clean.

“I know how it’s going to sound but, please, just hear me out. I… I had a plan. A nice, simple plan - seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me. It was easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you… Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.”

She stayed silent, taking in everything he confessed, her gaze going back and forth as she was considering his words, and Astarion was starting to fear this was a mistake; this was meant to show her he cared just as much as she did. He couldn’t afford to lose her, not now that he laid out his feelings, not after almost losing her. He reached out for her hand, trying to bring her back to him.

“I swear this plan is long gone by now.”

She scoffed, finally finding her voice again. “So all this time…” Her chest rose as her breathing accelerated and she pulled her hand away from him in disbelief. “Everything you said, what we did–… Gods, were you even attracted to me?”

“Of course I was!” He exclaimed. “Look at you, for goodness sake – you’re a vision. And you’re so much more than that.”

“Right. Then all of this,” she points at the two of them, “The flirting, the teasing, the soft words, you caring about me… It was an act, all along?”

“Yes— No! I mean– only at first, but then what we had – after that first night – it was real, I swear.”

She looked away as her eyes teared up, removing her hand from his grasp. “Why are you telling me this, Astarion?”

“I… I’m not sure… But you deserved to know.”

She scoffed, “I cannot believe I let myself fall for you. I’m such a fool.”

“Please–” He reached out for her hand again and she backed off abruptly.

“Don't touch me.”

The familiar words made his undead heart clench in pain and he backed off slowly. Despite her visible tears, Astarion knew she was boiling with rage.

“Please… say something.”

The tears streamed down her face as she blinked, her gaze stuck on the ground before them.

“You better have had your fill yesterday, because that was the last time I let you feed on me.” Her eyes met his, in a fury that he had never seen before, and she spoke with a shaky but dark voice. “I don't want you anywhere near me anymore.”

He nodded, “I understand–”

“I don't think you do,” she cut him off, her raging eyes piercing through him.

He looked at her, incredulous, until she confirmed his worst fear.

“I want you gone from this camp by tomorrow morning.”

-

But every time I see those eyes

I wonder if you know you're keeping me up late at night

I don't know where to go

I pretend, I don't care, I tell myself you're right here

It's nothing but a nightmare, nightmare

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce

[lizardkingeliot]

The thing is tho... okay.

Here's the thing.

AMC’s Interview with the Vampire has so effectively driven home the point that Lestat loves Louis without condition and will continue loving him to the same degree forever regardless of the passage of time and regardless of what Louis has done that sometimes it's easy to forget that, like... Louis doesn't actually know that. Sometimes I'm really just like what do you MEAN Louis de Pointe du Lac doesn't know he's Lestat de Lioncourt's heartbeat now and forever Louis de Pointe du Lac do you even watch the SHOW.

Anyway. I don't know what I'm trying to say here but I think it's something about the romantic angst of it all. The way Lestat is going to be forced to betray Claudia and Louis in Paris during the trial leaving Louis with the belief that Lestat doesn't want him. He will view this as a rejection and this is the reason why he is going to spend the next 77 years of his life with Armand. This is why he couldn't just reach out to Lestat post-Paris and try to work things out. I’m not saying anything new here, I know. Most of us have worked this out already. It took me a while to get there yesterday when I was digesting the episode because, like I said, Lestat’s love is so obvious it’s easy to forget Louis really doesn’t know. But listen….

Louis is deeply unwell in 1973 San Francisco. When Lestat asks him why he’s ill all I can think right now is… well. Because he doesn’t have you. Even before he walked into the sun he was ill because he doesn’t have you. Ill in New Orleans after the deed was done. Ill in Paris and sustaining himself with memories so vivid it was like Lestat was there in the room. Ill in San Francisco when Armand could have ended it all by relaying Lestat's words to Louis, and didn't. Ill in Dubai searching the well of memory trying to find his way back to something like sanity again...

But listen. Sam Reid said Lestat very much thinks Louis is dead after 1973. This tracks. It fits very neatly with the ~theme. With what this season is trying to do wrt the romantic angst of it all. Maybe Lestat is still locked up in a dungeon or underground somewhere sleeping, maybe he isn't. Maybe he's rotting away in New Orleans, wrecked with grief, thinking about walking out and greeting the sun every morning when it rises and he's reminded Louis is gone. I guess we'll find out soon enough…

But listen. There's not some great conclusion I'm trying to arrive at with this post. I'm just spinning my wheels thinking about how delicious the tropes on this show truly are. To separate a love like that, to have Louis believe Lestat doesn't want him and have Lestat believe that Louis is dead. Well, friends... that sounds like a recipe for a grand reunion to me. And maybe what I'm trying to do with this post is toss another coin in the wishing well of a potential season 3. Because you can't have a love story like this that is destined to end in a reunion only to come back the next season to pretend it doesn't matter. I don't know. Maybe you can. But I really hope they don't. I really hope when they come back together at the end of this nightmare, when Lestat is finally permitted to have a voice of his own, that voice will be echoing through the halls of their home, because he'll be telling his story to Louis.

[anothermansjeans]

youtuber!reader forgetting to edit out the five minutes of her just rambling about everything she likes about spencer🙏

hehehe this is part 2 of the q&a blurb!!

cw: spencer's a little shit (affectionate), the comments roast reader, reader just loves spencer sm, soooo fluff

wc: 737

youtuber!reader masterlist

++

You did it again– you accidentally forgot to edit a video and posted it. This time, you blame Spencer completely. After filming, you were planning on editing it immediately because you had a strict posting schedule and you were behind on some videos. However, Spencer thought it was a good idea to pull you in his arms and practically wrap you in a cocoon of his warmth. You woke up the next morning completely forgetting about the unedited version and queuing it up to be uploaded.

You were terrified to watch the video, seeing as the comments were blowing up almost as much as they were when you exposed Spencer, but you simply couldn't remember what you said that would make people go feral. You wanted to wait to look, mostly because you were alone and didn't know if you could handle the embarrassment by yourself, but also because you wanted to be comforted by something you were still deeming his fault.

When he got home, he put his satchel down and took off his shoes, noticing you on the couch with your laptop opened to the video.

“Are you editing?”

You looked over your shoulder and gave him a shy smile. “No… I didn't edit a video again…”

Furrowing his eyebrows he walked towards the couch and sat down next to you. “Which one?”

“The Q&A from yesterday.”

You actively watched his face shift from concern to amusement. “Have you watched it?”

Immediately shaking your head, you gave him a confused look. “No.”

“You should.”

At his ominous words, you pressed play. It started off like the last one– fixing your hair in the viewfinder, adjusting the lighting, and preparing for the video. The video continued showing small hiccups along the way when mispronouncing usernames and laughing at something Spencer said, but you finally realized why Spencer was so amused when you told him this was the unedited video.

“@ prettyboystan asked ‘what’s your favorite thing about Spencer?’” You put your finger on your chin pretending to think. A scoff was heard in the background from Spencer. “Oh hush, you know I love you. Hmm, I love how he always has something new to tell me. It’s never a dull day in our relationship.”

You thought you were done, but then another thought popped into your head, “Oh! I also love when he reads to me. I know it sounds juvenile, but his voice is soothing and calms me down. Oh my God, he’s also so talented on the piano. There’s almost nothing he couldn't do.”

Looking down at your phone, you were preparing to move on, but you looked up at Spencer one last time, finding words at the tip of your tongue. “You know, I also love the way you find an appreciation for the new things I introduce you to, and the way you take in new things with ease. You're so open minded and I love it. You're also extremely humble for how accomplished you are,” Your face was lighting up as you looked off camera towards a blushing Spencer, “I love that you're caring, kind, and helpful to everyone around you. I also love that you let me love you. It makes me so happy being able to give you the love you deserve…”

Beside you, a soft chuckle could be heard, and you paused the video to scold Spencer. “You think this is so funny.”

“Because it is!”

“Ugh!” You groaned as you went back to your laptop and scrolled down to the comments… they were definitely roasting you more than normal. “They’re calling me a simp!”

“What’s a simp?”

Looking at him softly, you grabbed his hand, “this might be a long conversation…”

++

BONUS: some comments

@ user: SIMP SIMP SIMP SIMP !! SIMPERELLA OVER HERE

@ user1: oh babe, you're so down bad

@ user2: please give us more… video essay on what you love about spencer???

@ user3: and you call him the yapper?

@ user4: wait everyone's roasting you (rightfully so) but this is so cute????

@ user5: she stops talking about him at 10:34

@ user6: i wish i had someone to yap to about how much i love them

@ user7: GETTING READY TO PLACE FREEZE TAG ON THE HIGHWAY AFTER THIS ONE BABE !! how dare you be so sweet

@ user8: can spencer teach a college course for men who need to be better because you would NEVER compliment a man sm

++

youtuber!reader taglist: @im-a-ghost666 @lyd14k4y @happiestcat @hauntedtv13 @obi-wansgirl @charismatic-writer @navs-bhat @itsleilabxtch @strabarrybat @hiireadstuff @cherrybb-ily @wietske27 @mynameiskelly

let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

[sir-jay-bell]

7 holy nights of jeremy day 5 - lore

(let's just pretend i didn't forget to post this yesterday ehehe)

i LOVE the headcanon that e1! joel is made of terracotta, and that he sculpts all his clones from terracotta!

so here is my contribution for that!

[duhragonball]

Spider-Man Sucks: A Midlife Crisis

Yesterday, I finished reading Amazing Spider-Man #300, the final stop on my read-through of classic Spider-Man comics. It has not gone well, because Spider-Man kind of jumped the shark around 1971.

I've been trying to write this post for a while in order to clear my head and put this experience behind me, but it's hard to sum up the whole thing. I guess the main questions I need to answer here are:

Do I even like Spider-Man as a character?

What went wrong, exactly?

What lessons from this can I apply to my own writing?

Join me as I try to suss this out.

I guess I should start with the easiest question. No, I still like Spider-Man. That dude kicks ass.

The beginnings of Spider-Man are genuinely classic stuff. Amazing Fantasy #15, Amazing Spider-Man #1-99, the two-issue Spectacular Spider-Man magazine, and Amazing Spider-Man Annual #1-5 are all great. You could stop at #99 and just pretend that was the series finale and you'd be fine.

Although, you'd be missing some good stuff that came out later on. The Hulk fight in Montreal from Amazing #119-120. The death of Gwen Stacy in #122-123 is also a historic moment, so it's probably worth checking out, although I think the main reason it's so historic is because so little else actually happens to Spider-Man in the 70's.

A highlight of the 1980s was Spider-Man's ill-fated romance with the Black Cat, mostly documented in Spectacular Spider-Man #75-100. She's all wrong for him, but they have a lot of fun before he finally figures that out.

The Sin Eater arc by Peter David was really strong stuff. PAD was doing this "All-New, All-Daring" thing in Spectacular, but the Sin-Eater storyline (#107-110) was where it actually lived up to the premise.

Marvel Graphic Novel #22, featuring the story "Hooky" by Susan Putney and Ben Wrightson, currently stands as my all-time favorite Spidey story. Perhaps it's not a coincidence that this is a fantasy tale which sees Spider-Man drawn into a magical dimension far removed from his usual life in New York.

Spider-Man versus. Wolverine was really good. This was the notorious 1987 one-shot that screwed up the reveal of the Hobgoblin's secret identity, but if you don't know anything about that, and you just want to enjoy a Spider-Man and Wolverine story, this is good stuff by James Owsley, later known as Christopher Priest. While I'm giving Priest his due, I should add that I dug the sequels he wrote in Web of Spider-Man #29 and 30, where he tried to make retroactive sense of the Hobgoblin mess. And Spectacular Spider-Man Annual #7 was really fun.

The "Kraven's Last Hunt" arc by J.M. DeMatteis was excellent. This arc followed the Hobgoblin saga, so it was a refreshing change of style, tone, and pace.

When I got into comics in the 90's, I really enjoyed Kurt Busiek and Pat Oliffe's Untold Tales of Spider-Man, which inserted new stories in between the high-school era of the Lee/Ditko run. Several years later, I kept up with J. Michael Straczynski's run on Amazing, although the way it ended kind of ruined whatever enjoyment I got out of the rest of the run. I pretty much gave up on Spider-Man after that.

There's others I'm forgetting to mention, but I guess what I'm trying to say here is that the Spider-Man character can be done well, but most of his comics do not succeed with this. I think it's fair to say that Marvel Comics has mostly been coasting on the initial success of the 1960's era. Occasionally a good creative team manages to replicate that level of quality, or they innovate something just as good or better, but most of the time the Spidey-books just sort of stagnate.

So I guess that leads to the next question: What went wrong? Well, commercially, I guess nothing went wrong. Marvel was a successful publisher, going from strength to strength from 1961 to 1993. Even when times were bad, Marvel could count on the Spider-Man books to be big sellers, but that didn't make them good to read.

The main reason I ended my read-through at ASM #300 was to steer well-clear of the morass of the Clone Saga that ran from 1994-1996. The idea with that arc was to try to boost sales with some new event, and also reboot the character, whose stories had become much darker and more tragic by 1993. At one time, the thought was to bring back Spider-Man's dead clone from 1975, who would then turn out to be the real Spider-Man. The Peter Parker we had seen from 1975 to 1994 would then retire with his wife and the resurrected clone would pick up where he left off, essentially continuing the Spider-Man story with no memory of anything that happened after Amazing Spider-Man #150.

The problem was that it was a stupid, stupid idea. Even if Ben Reilly didn't remember the past 250 issues of the comics, the other characters did, and so did the readers. And the same writers who made the comics darker and more tragic in 1993 were still working on the comics in 1994, so what would change? More importantly, even if the Clone Saga had been a good idea, it was still hamstrung by editorial shakeups and indecision. It was originally supposed to last six months, but wound up dragging on for two years as no one at Marvel could figure out how to end the stupid thing.

So I thought: I'll play it smart and just end my read-through with ASM #300, well before that nasty business begins. Well the thing is, the Clone Saga was just a symptom of a larger problem with the Spider-Man comics.

The Hobgoblin debacle is a good example. In the 1980's Marvel wanted to improve flagging sales on Spider-Man, so Roger Stern created a new villain called the Hobgoblin. His gimmick was that he... found all of the Green Goblin's equipment and ripped off his act. But wait! The other hook was that the Hobgoblin's identity was a mystery! Not even the readers would know who he really was. This became the focal point of the Spider-Man comics through most of the 1980's, except Stern left the book a short time after creating the Hobgoblin, and later writers and editors fumbled the reveal. I'd argue that the whole thing was FUBAR from the beginning, because the Hobgoblin was fundamentally a cheap imitation of the Green Goblin, and this was the third time Marvel had tried this sort of thing. All he had going for him was the secret identity reveal, and even if that had gone perfectly, where do you go from there?

My point is that it's the same problem Marvel would have with the Clone Saga several years later. They want to do a stunt to boost sales, but botch the execution. The story takes too long to tell, and when it finally does end, they blow the payoff.

This problem existed in the 1970's as well, although it was less about big sales-driving stunts and more of a lack of ambition. The Death of Gwen Stacy was a shocking moment, but how did Marvel follow up on that? By constantly revisiting the Death of Gwen Stacy. Shortly afterward, Harry Osborn cracked up and became the second Green Goblin. Then he got professional help, and his psychiatrist went nuts and became the third Green Goblin.

From 1973 to 1996, the sentiment at Marvel was that they didn't dare reverse the classic death of the original Green Goblin, but they also wanted to keep doing Goblin stories anyway, so they kept introducing new Goblins, both Green and Hob, to fill the void. And then they finally resurrected Norman Osborne anyway.

At no point did anyone stand up and say "Hey, maybe we're looking at this the wrong way. Instead of constantly revisiting the same idea, we should come up with a whole new thing." This is why Spider-Man's rogues' gallery kind of peters out after 1970. You've got anti-heroes like the Punisher and Venom, or bad copies of established villains like Hydro-Man, Hobgoblin II, and Lady Octopus. Not the Spider-Verse Doc Ock, I mean the 90's Lady Octopus that no one remembers.

But chasing the same old villain around would be fine if the hero himself wasn't so stagnant. There's this really great critique of Spider-Man from an Alan Moore essay written in 1983.

"The worst thing was that everything had ground to a halt. The books had stopped developing. If you take a look at a current Spider-Man comic, you’ll find that he’s maybe twenty years old, he worries a lot about what’s right and what’s wrong, and he has a lot of trouble with his girlfriends. "Do you know what Spider-Man was doing fifteen years ago? Well, he was about nineteen years old, he worried a lot about what was right and what was wrong and he had a lot of trouble with his girlfriends."

When I first read this, I assumed Moore was frustrated with the concept of "Marvel time", which has the characters age very slowly to stay eternally young over the decades. And maybe he did have a gripe with this, and he actually wanted to see a 35-year-old Spider-Man running around in 1983. But now that I've read the comics he was talking about, I see exactly what he means. It took a really long time for Peter Parker to finish college, and yet nothing really changed when he got his degree. He immediately moved on to graduate school, and it was basically the same formula as before, except now he's got a job as a teaching assistant on top of everything else.

Then he quits the TA work so he can focus on his slipping grades, and then he spends... I don't know, like a year worrying about his final exams. He finally takes the damn tests, and then we have to wait several issues to find out if he passed, and then... he decides to quit grad school in Amazing Spider-Man #245.

This could have been a big moment for the character, since he's been in the education system this whole time, and now he's stepping out into the real world to focus on freelance photography. Except... he doesn't.

After #245, Peter find out that there's an editorial shakeup at the Bugle. J. Jonah Jameson steps down as the editor-in-chief, and his city editor, "Robbie" Robertson, takes over. Robbie isn't interested in anti-Spider-Man propaganda, so he doesn't want to buy pictures of Spider-Man like Jonah did before. So the market is all dried up for the one thing Peter Parker could deliver. But that's okay, right? It's a challenge for Peter to overcome! Now that he's out of school, he can spend more time learning to be a good photographer, and find other things to take pictures of...

Except that never happens. From #245 to 300, Peter keeps taking pictures of himself as Spidey anyway, only for the Bugle staff to keep reminding him that they don't want any. There's one issue where reporter Joy Mercado basically tells him off in public, saying she thinks he lacks the maturity to have a career in journalism. All he really does is take pictures of Spider-Man, and he's frequently admitted that he has an inside track on that, because he made up this cover story about Spider-Man tipping him off for a cut of Peter's profits.

The whole thing is kind of uncomfortable to read. It would be more satisfying if Peter actually took these rebukes as an incentive to adapt and overcome, but he keeps repeating the same mistakes and hoping for a different outcome. By #300 he starts thinking about returning to grad school, which is just... Gah!

People talk about things in stories being "unearned", and I think that term gets overused a lot, but it applies here. Peter quitting grad school was unearned, and his return to grad school is unearned, because the writers never really built a case for either decision. He quit grad school for financial reasons, but he never actually fixed his financial situation. Now he wants to go back even though he never resolved any of the problems that led him to quit in the first place!

There's a lot of examples of this sort of thing in the Spider-Man canon, but the one that sticks in my craw is the saga of the gold notebook. Basically, during Secret Wars II, the Beyonder transmutes an entire building into solid gold. Spider-Man tries to rescue survivors from the building when it collapses under its own weight, but the U.S. government is mostly concerned with disposing of the gold as secretly as possible, before it upsets the world economy.

But Spider-Man feels bitter about the whole thing, so he decides to keep a souvenir in the form of a spiral notepad he found in one of the wastebaskets. He figures it's small enough that it won't do any harm, and it's worth enough money to solve most of his financial problems. But he feels conflicted about actually doing this. This is typical for the character, who's hotheaded enough to take the gold, but too ethical to use it. This could be a decent story, where he's forced to decide what to do.

Except... he really doesn't decide. He just keeps the gold notebook in his apartment for the next ten months' worth of comics. Each issue, he reminds the audience that he still has it, and he's still agonizing over what to do with it, but it never goes anywhere. Finally, he decides to sell it to a fence for $3000 (not even 10% of its worth) and uses it all to anonymously pay the hospital bills of Aunt May's boyfriend. This is a satisfactory resolution, as Peter is finally rid of the notebook, but he didn't just toss it into the river or something. He used it for good, without any reward for himself, which is what you'd expect.

And if he had spent all of those comics actually reaching that conclusion, it would be a fine subplot, except he didn't. The story began in Web of Spider-Man #6 and ended in #15, and those were the only two issues that actually tell the story of what he did with the gold. Everything in between is just Peter reminding the audience that he still needs to figure out what to do with it.

Everything in the Spider-Man comics from 1971 to 1988 is like that damn notebook. Peter's scholastic career, Flash Thompson's relationship with Sha Shan, the fate of Aunt May's boarding house for senior citizens, the Hobgoblin's secret identity, it's all stuff the editors and writers will "figure out later" and then they drop it in the most anticlimactic way possible.

All right, so if that's the problem, how do I avoid it with my own work? Well, the simplest solution seems to be to avoid getting so successful that your work gets micromanaged by a bunch of editors. So consider that bullet dodged. Phew.

No seriously, I really want to figure this out.

While researching the Hobgoblin debacle, I learned about the Jim Shooter era at Marvel Comics. Shooter remains a polarizing figure in comics history to this day. He pissed off a lot of talent at Marvel, but he made it his mission to break the company out of the creative doldrums of the 70's. I can attest that the doldrums definitely existed, and Shooter may have improved things for other Marvel properties like the Avengers, Fantastic Four, and Daredevil, but it sure seemed like Spider-Man never saw any tangible benefits. Shooter did pay a fan for the stealth costume idea that eventually became Spider-Man's alien symbiote, which eventually led to Venom, but during Shooter's tenure, the Spider-Man books were in the same creative slump they were in during the 70's. I think part of this problem lies in Shooter's definition of quality.

There's this legendary memo that Shooter sent out to the Marvel staff, directing them to make "good" comics, as opposed to bad ones. It's probably tongue-in-cheek, but the main point was that he wasn't going to allow Marvel to rest on its laurels and print any old crap just to meet deadlines. The problem is that I don't really see much from Shooter about what makes a comic "good". The best I can come up with is this quote from Shooter in 1982:

"The characters must be introduced. "Their situation must be established. "The conflict must be introduced. "Suspense must be built. "A climax must be reached. "A resolution must be achieved."

But this is pretty fundamental stuff. The advice is sound, but it's like saying a good car has four wheels. Even the dumbest Spider-Man comics I've read lately has managed to check off all of those boxes. This includes Web of Spider-Man #34, which is one of the dirt worst comics I've ever seen.

This is a fill-in issue by Jim Shooter himself. Actually, I'm not sure "fill-in" really applies here, since Web of Spider-Man never seemed to have a regular creative team. The story has two concurrent plotlines.

In the A-plot, Spidey happens upon a bunch of kids playing football and decides to join the game when one of them hurts his knee and his team looks like they'll have to forfeit. That's why Spidey's arm is webbed behind his back. The kids allow him to sub in for the injured kid, but he has to follow all these rules to compensate for his spider-powers.

In the B-plot, the Watcher has been improbably subdued by a space crook who has improbably stolen a secret weapon from Galatus' homeworld. The Watcher agrees to surrender his own advanced technology, but only if the space crook is willing to wager it against the Watcher's freedom, depending on the outcome of the football game in the A-Plot.

All of Jim Shooter's six criteria are satisfied here. The characters, situation, and conflict are all sufficiently established in the story. If this is your very first comic, you won't be confused about who the Watcher is or what Spider-Man is all about. The suspense is there, because even though Spidey can outplay the other team, he can't do it all on his own, and the kids on his own team are much younger and not as good. And the Watcher's fate is riding on the game, so the stakes are higher than he realizes. A climax is achieved when another kid gets hurt, and the first hurt kid heroically returns to the game so they can try for the final touchdown they need to win. And the resolution is there. Spidey's team wins and the Watcher turns the tables on the space crook. He spares the guy's life, but turns him into the Joker in a deck of playing cards for all eternity.

So I'll give Shooter this: He's no hypocrite, except this story still blows goats anyway! Here's why:

Spider-Man is famously a big old nerd. As Flash Thomspon repeatedly observed, he was too busy with his test tubes and science books to play sports. While Spider-Man has the talent and grit to lead a football team to victory, he should have no idea how the game is played, and he certainly shouldn't be talking like a coach with decades of experience.

It's pretty dumb that the Watcher would be caught unawares in his own home like this. He's so perceptive that he knew this stupid football game was happening, but his cosmic awareness failed to see this alien on his doorstep? Yes, Shooter accounts for this in the script, but that doesn't make it any less ridiculous.

This is really just two unrelated stories that have been welded together. The Watcher could have wagered on anything, but happened upon this football game. And Spider-Man sticking up for these kids would be incredibly dull without the Watcher gambling the fate of the world on it. Shooter combined the two scenarios in a vain effort to make them more interesting, but there's very little to connect them together. On their own, neither story would pass Shooter's criteria for a "good" comic. Mashing them together like this feels like a cheat.

This is a Spider-Man comic, but nothing in this story feels like it needed to be about Spider-Man at all. This could have just as easily been Captain America or Daredevil joining a kids' football game. I wouldn't be shocked to learn that it was written for another hero, and it was retooled for Spider-Man later.

As part of the wider Spider-Man lore, this issue sucks because it doesn't have any lasting impact on the hero. Spider-Man is fundamentally unchanged by this episode. The kids may have learned a thing or two, and the Watcher may be grateful, but this will never come up again in future issues. I'm fine with one-and-done, self-contained stories, but the Spider-Man comics are a serial, and there's an expectation that events in one issue will have consequences for the subsequent issues.

So it seems to me that Jim Shooter was setting a very low bar for his staff to clear. Maybe the problems at Marvel were worse than I realized. He may have been satisfied with the poor quality of the Spider-Man books at the time, since they were still good enough to print, and he had bigger fires to put out.

But I'm still unsatisfied, so I think it's worth establishing my own standard for what a "good comic" ought to have.

Consequences. It's all well and good to say Peter Parker is behind on his rent, or his grades are slipping, but if he never actually does anything about it, and doesn't get evicted or kicked out of school, then it's meaningless. If you give characters an obstacle, there needs to be a way for them to overcome it.

Spectacle. There's about a billion cool things you can do with Spider-Man, and yet one issue features him playing football with children, which is boring and dumb. The late 80's Spider-Man comics at least did a lot of stuff where Mary Jane wears sexy and/or fashionable outfits during the story, which is a small touch, but it's a lot better than that stupid wooden Indian that used to be in Peter's apartment through the 70's and 80's.

Satisfaction. This is something that gets overlooked a lot in comic books. Generally, readers like the main character and would like to see him win most of the time. I know it's deep and "complex" to have the character lose, but if you go to that well too often, readers will start looking for someone else to root for. I'm thinking of several comics where it seemed like the writers would have rather been writing Daredevil instead of Spider-Man.

Payoff. If you tell your audience there's a mystery or a secret to be revealed later, then you better make damn sure to do it right and make it worth their time. It is astonishing to me that so many people over so many years were involved in the Hobgoblin saga and none of them seemed to communicate with each other. They should have put his true identity on a big sign in the office with arrows pointing at it and a date on the calendar for when they planned to reveal it.

Character arcs. Don't just have your character be immature in one issue and then suddenly become mature thirty issues later. It's supposed to be "A, B, C, D, E..." not "A, A, A, A ,A , A, A, Z". It's not enough to develop the characters. Your readers need to be able to see that development unfold over time. Otherwise they might as well skip around and read one issue a year to see if you did anything.

Follow-Through. There was a running subplot in PAD's Spectacular Spider-Man where this kid had an abusive dad, and then one day he got super powers when he touched a machine his dad was working on, and the kid accidentally incinerated his dad and then ran away. This sounds like it's going somewhere, right? Well, it culminated in an issue where Spider-Man and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are trying to bring him in, and before Spider-Man and convince him to surrender, one trigger-happy agent guns the kid down on the last page. The end. It's presented like it's supposed to be shocking and tragic but it's just hacky shit. PAD couldn't be bothered to end the story so he just cut it short and played it off like it was fake-deep. Or maybe he planned it that way all along, but it's still dumb as hell because the audience was invested in the kid's story and now it leads nowhere.

Solid villains that function as opposites of the hero. The Steve Ditko villains worked because they each got super powers but chose to use them for selfish, irresponsible ends. Their existence is a direct "Fuck you" to Spider-Man's credo. That's why Dr. Octopus and the Green Goblin still work after all these decades, while characters like the Gibbon and Rocket Racer don't. You can't just slap an animal costume on a guy or give him a souped-up weapon. The bad guy needs to directly oppose the idea that power should be used responsibly. This is why no one watched the Morbius movie.

Progress. I think we all know that Batman is never going to clean up Gotham City, but there needs to be some sense that his methods actually work. If I read Heroguy #312 and he hasn't accomplished anything since Heroguy #206, then the message is that Heroguy kind of sucks at his job, and there's no point reading Heroguy #313.

I will give Spider-Man some credit in the post-Hobgoblin era. Starting with #290, he proposed to Mary Jane, got married, and he redesigned his web-shooters. They moved into a new apartment, and he's at least thinking harder about his career. So there's at least signs that the creators in 1988 are working at fixing some of the issues I had from 1971-1987. I know it won't last, because the Clone Saga will wreck it all in 1994, but at least the effort is there.

And maybe that is the lesson I need to take from Spider-Man comics. My own writing is going to have flaws, but that doesn't mean I have to give up. I just have to dust myself off and keep trying to get it right. Spider-Man might blow it most of the time, but he's still managed to have just enough good-to-great stories to keep audiences coming back for more. Maybe persistence is the key.

[fruchtfliege]

🐺🤍💋🫡🧪 ALL!!! I NEED THEM ALL!!!

...ask from this post...

🐺 - stuck as a wolf!theo

“And if ever it becomes too much in there, then we'll just leave. Leaving is always an option,” Mason adds with a kind smile. “And you won't be alone for the pack meeting. We're all coming. And we'll all have your back! Mostly. We'll mostly all have your back!”

Liam straightens himself a bit, nodding at the logical and calming words.

“Honestly, I'd be more worried about your boyfriend potentially biting Stiles' head off if he says something mean to you.”

Liam sends him a smile.

“Thanks, I needed that,” Liam says and, with one final exhale, he finally looks confident enough to face the day.

Mason frowns at him. That wasn't… the last one wasn't supposed to be a comforting statement. He was serious!

🤍 - first chimera!liam

Theo can't help it. He looks back and freezes when he spots Liam already staring at him. It had been difficult to really see him yesterday between the chaos and the obscurity of the night but, now, it's undeniable. Liam is hot. Like hot hot. And he has a smile that makes him look like he's got nothing between his ears. Theo didn't know that could be a positive attribute but it's now at the very top of his list of “must have”s.

💋 - petopher mean girls!au

“If ever you think I'm slipping, like… if I forget the plan and I'm letting Peter have his way again… I'd like for you to tell me,” Chris admits with more vulnerability than he'd like. He's not used to asking for help. It feels wrong in his mouth.

Melissa nods, understanding the seriousness of his request. “You're slipping.”

“Yeah, just say it like that, it doesn't need to be a big-”

“No, I mean it. You're slipping.”

“What!?” Chris can't help but scream. “But we barely started and I'm… I’m fine!”

She keeps her spoon in her mouth for a few more seconds just to slap his arm. Then, she takes back her spoon.

“I know you didn't put up a fight at Halloween,” she scolds him.

“I did!”

Melissa gives him her mom look. It's terrifying. It's a “I know you better than you know yourself, you can't fool me” look. The worst part is that she's right.

🫡 - the caretaker

“And don't ever talk like that about my best friend or I swear it won't end well for you,” Theo warns Liam, still haunted by his words, the self-loathing not sitting right by him even an hour later. 

Liam is shocked and he makes a pleased little gasp, a grin on his lips for the first time tonight. He tilts his head to the side. “I'm your best friend?”

“Not much competition these days…” Theo tries to mock but it's too vulnerable for it to have any punch. “I know I'm not yours, that's fine.” 

“Well, I can have two best friends!” Liam says, very excited about this new genius idea of his. 

“No, I- Liam, the fucking point of a best friend is that it's the best of all your friends. The point is to have one.” 

“I have two best friends,” Liam repeats to himself like he enjoys how it makes him feel. Happy, Theo guesses by his goofy expression and the content chemosignals.

Theo sighs, pretending to be annoyed, but it's the first time he can sense any type of positive emotion from Liam tonight so he takes it as a victory. In the darkest corner of his heart, he's secretly pleased by the idea of being Liam's second best friend. Even if it's definitely not a thing!

🧪 - re-animator au

“Well, as you said, officer, we weren’t close.”

The officer raises an eyebrow at Theo's smug attitude. “No, but I know at least one of you was close to Ms Romero,” the cop says, shifting his gaze to Liam who starts sweating out of fear. Lying isn't his best skill.

Just as he opens his mouth to try and spin a story that doesn't involve necromancy, Liam spots a hand – as in only a hand – running loose on their living room floor. Liam screams, instinctively moving closer to Theo who, judging by his shocked but amused face, has also seen the experiment running free. The hand sprints everywhere on its little fingers but thankfully makes its way behind the couch before the two cops can see it.

“Oh… A spider! He’s very afraid of-” Theo says smoothly before he gets a rough elbow jammed into his ribs.

“What did you do!?” Liam whisper-screams at Theo.

“Nothing!” Theo says, his eyes never leaving the two cops in their apartment. “It’s not like I control the spider population in the house, Liam!”

Liam gives him a mean glare like he knows damn well Theo is responsible for this. As if they didn't have enough problems with the cops asking questions! Before he can think of a way to subtly say all of this without alerting the two police officers taking notes of their every move and word, Liam sees the hand creeping out of the couch, its fingers making the faintest tap tap tap on its way to the kitchen.

“Well, can you go and control this one!?” Liam snarls through gritted teeth.

[stampsthemeow]

I am sick rn so you guys will pretend like I didn't forget to post yesterday

💥💥💥💥

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Hello my pretties *witch cackle* *voice cracks mid-cackle* *we pretend it didn't happen* it's your mascot, prince of the gays. I'm just going to take a break from tumblr and discord for a day and try to deal with my legs and my messy lil maggot brain.

My definition of "rest your legs because they're fucking bruised and you have a haematoma" was "cram them into heeled boots and go to a music production workshop and then walk around a mall for a subway" yesterday. As you can imagine that has not worked out well for me. BUT fuck it we ball it just aches a lil.

ALSO LOOK AT THIS THE BRAINROT IS INESCAPABLE. THERE WERE A YELLOW POT WITH PLANTS. CROWLEY. A BOOK WITH AN ILLUSTRATION. CROWLEY. AND OFC I FOUND NORSE MYTHOLOGY CHILLING IN THE BOOKSHOP.

There is no escape and I love that. Ofc I'm not exactly helping matters, I literally took the Good Omens book to the hospital (haematoma babygirls) and slept with it there (the homoerotic tension between me and my copy of the book is real).

Yesterday I had an anxiety attack at the Staged stream (thank you so much @thescholarlystrumpet for helping me, I'm sorry to everyone on the stream for having to stop after S2) which is why I think I'd better take a break for a day and, well, think about what I wanna do vis à vis college and also speaking up about the whole issues surrounding it and our shit education system.

Aaaaaand so here I am making this post. Roxie and the plants (Aziraphale, Adam and Crowley) send their love to you all.

I'll leave you with a cursed thought so that you do not forget me while I'm gone ✨️...

The Bentley × Lightning McQueen fanfiction (E rated enemies to lovers)

*grins* See you on Monday, my crazy fandom. Someone please check in on the server, the maggots are rather prone to incest and cannibalism when left unattended. I love you all.

Have an amazing day. Look at you, you're gorgeous.

~Asmi