#think a influx of people that appreciate

[pipermca]

New AO3 Tag Wrangling Policy and the Transformers Fandom

Edit in the event people come back to the original post: Please do not email AO3 about this issue. See their response about this issue!

(This is a long one, folks, but I think it's important.)

A new tag-wrangling policy on AO3 has the potential to create some massive confusion and chaos in the Transformers fanfic community, with regards to fandom tags. There is a Reddit post about it here with a focus on anime fandoms, but I want to give some concrete examples for the Transformers fandom on why we DO NOT WANT this, and why I think it's a horrible idea.

The Problem

Basically, AO3 is looking to get rid of the "All Media Types" fandom tag across the board, either by dismantling them or just not maintaining them. The Transformers - All Media Types tag has been an all-purpose tag that you could select when your story doesn't fall into any one specific continuity. Additionally, all most (see below) TF continuities on AO3 are considered a subtag of the Transformers - All Media Types tag. For example, if you look at the link above for all works in the All Media Types tag, you will see fics that are also tagged ONLY with Transformers: Animated, because it falls under the All Media Types tag.

One exception: With the upcoming Transformers: One movie coming out imminently, there will likely be a big influx of stories tagged with Transformers: One. In fact, there are several already. However, it hasn't been linked to the larger Transformers - All Media Types tag yet. I wasn't worrying about it though, because I know these things can take time.

With information about this new tagging policy, however, I'm now wondering whether it'll EVER get linked to the All Media Types tag. If that happens, and when more continuities are developed in the coming years (since you know Hasbro loves creating new universes) this has the potential to cause massive confusion when looking for stories to read.

Searching for Stories with the New Tagging System

So let's say the All Media Types fandom tag isn't accurate anymore, because it no longer includes ALL of the continuities (such as TF:One). You will need to include ALL the Transformers continuities when browsing for TF fics.

How many tags is that? Well, here are all of the tags currently listed under the Transformers - All Media Types tag:

Note that this doesn't include Transformers: One since it hasn't been categorized yet.

You will potentially have to have 40 or more different fandom tags in your search, just in case the author tagged their story with something you weren't expecting.

This massively decreases the findability of a story.

Tagging with the New System

The email response from the Tag Wrangling group (see the linked Reddit post above) seems to be a bit flip in the response to the user's concern. "...encourages creators to tag with the media they intend."

While I appreciate what they are attempting to do, this policy change feels like a solution in search of a problem, especially in larger fandoms with multiple continuities, versions, and media types that are all cross-pollinated in both canon and fanon. While I'm focusing on Transformers fandom, imagine a creator in the DC comic universe writing a story that incorporates bits and pieces from a dozen different reboots.

For example, let's say that I am writing a fic about Ratchet. I am using the setting of the original G1 episodes, but I also am using the characterization of him as a bit of an old man grump. That characterization originated in the Animated continuity, but I want to incorporate bits of pieces of his other characterizations as well (old friend of Optimus from TFP, Ratchet ran a faction-free clinic like he did in the War for Cybertron series, he's got a Decepticon boyfriend like in IDW1 - or maybe even Cyberverse, etc.)

With this new tagging structure, I might potentially have to tag the story with ALL of those continuities. So instead of just slapping down the "All Media Types" tag (and maybe one other fandom tag that matches the characters as best I can), I'll have to analyze my story and try to figure out how best to tag for the characters I used.

And what if you're doing a completely AU version of the story? For example, a humanformers story, or merformers? Using the All Media Types tag along with a Alternate Universe - Human or Alternate Universe - Mermaid tag worked perfectly, since you weren't writing the story to fit into one specific continuity. But now, that might not be an option.

What To Do??

The first thing I would suggest is to contact AO3 (using the Feedback and Support page) and let them know (nicely) that you think this is a horrible idea. Give them some examples on how you use the All Media Types tag to find stories to read, or to help you tag a story. People outside of the Transformers fandom don't always appreciate how absolutely tangled the continuities can be with each other, and providing examples might help them see why this would be a really messy change.

Readers: Be aware that when you are looking in the All Media Types tag, it will no longer show newer continuities. And if AO3 starts dismantling that tag like they suggested they are doing, be aware that some stories won't show up in that tag like they used to. You can also create and then bookmark a custom search page that includes all 40+ continuities. REALLY annoying, but it's a workaround.

Writers: Until they start dismantling the All Media Types tag, ALWAYS ALWAYS tag your stories using Transformers - All Media Types... Especially for newer continuities. This will be especially important if you are writing a Transformers: One story. Right now, anyone who is only browsing the All Media Types tag will not see a story tagged only with Transformers: One. Make sure you're aware of how tags work and how they can affect the visibility and findability of your story.

Epilogue

Ugh. That's a lot of words for a long-weekend Saturday. And maybe I'm overreacting a tiny bit. But my work involves information architecture, and this change just absolutely baffles me. It's almost as though they want to make it harder to find stories. Considering that AO3 won a Hugo partially because of its fantastic tagging system, this change seems like AO3 is doing its best to shoot itself in the foot.

When you have a square hole, a round hole, and a rectangular hole… Yeah, you DO want each peg to go in the "right" hole. But if all of the pegs fit in the square hole, who cares? You got the job done.

I love you @ao3org, but please reconsider this change... Especially for IPs that are as old and are as varied as Transformers.

[saintobio]

⊹₊ ⋆🏍₊˚⊹ ON TRACK.

when being the WAG of a rookie MotoGP rider earns you the front-row seats to a thrilling race and... an unsightly amount of groupies.

▞▞ pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

▞▞ genre. fluff, established relationship, biker boy au, motogp rider au

▞▞ tags. biker!sukuna, motogp rider!sukuna, sukuna rides for ducati, WAG!reader, ooc, profanity, mentions of reckless driving, jealousy, insecurities, accidents, mentions of injuries, sukuna gets a little touchy in the end

▞▞ notes. 1.8k wc. do we miss biker!sukuna? i think we all miss biker!sukuna !! bahaha the influx of biker!sukuna fanarts made me write this. and also bcos i watched motogp clips on tiktok. rbs and comments highly appreciated! :D

Have you ever imagined Sukuna as a MotoGP rider? 

Well, his passion for bikes didn’t just stay confined to the open road. He knew he was destined for more than just the city’s freeways and the thrill of 1000cc machines. He was, as a matter of fact, made for the track. 

Yes, the scary, dangerous, exhilarating world of high-speed competition.

When he had first told you about competing in MotoGP, you were thrilled for him. Truly, because you knew that the series had been his lifelong dream. Before, he was just a little boy who collected bikes for toys, and now he had the chance to make his dream a reality. So, who were you to stand in the way of that?

In fact, you were incredibly supportive—always present at his races, always cheering for him from the stands. It didn’t matter if you’d lose your voice the next day. You had to be his biggest supporter. And today was just another one of those days where your duty as his #1 fan called for you to be there and root for him with all your heart. 

Today’s MotoGP race was in full swing, and your heart pounded in rhythm with the thundering bikes tearing down the track. They all passed by in a resounding zoom! where your eyes could barely keep up from their otherworldly speed. From your vantage point in the VIP section, you watched intently as the riders navigated the circuit, your eyes never straying far from one rider in particular—Sukuna, your longtime boyfriend, riding a Ducati Desmosedici GP24.

“I’m so nervous,” you murmured, hands clasped together as your eyes remained glued to your lover. 

Sukuna was a sight to behold on the track, and he always told you that his bike was an extension of himself as he maneuvered with precision and aggression. Honestly, it must be scary to be the one riding such powerful superbikes, especially when the roar of engines alone was a symphony of speed and power that sent chills down your spine. And while you were filled with anxiety watching your boyfriend on the circuit, the red and black Ducati eventually flashed past, neck and neck with the Aprilia rider, and the two bikes locked in a fierce battle for the lead. 

You could imagine the commentators keeping a close eye as they narrated the race on live television.

But you trusted in Sukuna’s talent. His ability to escape from cops with his old R6 back in his college days was proof enough of how ridiculous he could get with his speed. He didn’t get a single ticket because he managed to outrun them all. Though, of course, that wasn’t something you should be mentioning to anyone. He wasn’t actually proud of notoriety and history of reckless driving before, especially when he recalled having endangered your life once before while you rode with him as his backpack. 

And since Sukuna upgraded to being a professional rider now, you had your fair share of an upgrade, too. That manifested in the form of being part of the so-called WAGs—or wives and girlfriends of the racers. Life as a WAG wasn’t drastically different from your previous one, except now your boyfriend was a huge global sensation in the biker community, and you had become somewhat of a fashion icon yourself. That wasn’t even an exaggeration, because every time you were seen with him publicly, people would soon be talking about your off-duty looks and outfits all over social media. 

But going back to the main star of the show, your hands clenched around the railing, knuckles white, as the race progressed. It annoyed you that the Aprilia rider was pushing him to the edge but never quite managing to overtake. Tailing the two were the riders for Honda, Gresini, Pramac, and KTM among the few.

Cupping your hands around your mouth, you cheered for your boyfriend. “Go, baby! Let’s go!”

The giant screen above the track zoomed in on Sukuna, his Arai helmet fitting the aesthetics of his big, red bike. The effortless way he handled his bike sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd. There were lots of cheering, screaming, roaring, and… well, squealing. Your head naturally turned to the group of girls nearby who were the very cause of the high pitched noises, their squeals of delight making the other WAGs around you shake their heads in amusement.

“Oh my God, he’s so hot!” 

“Look at him! He’s perfect!” 

“Sukuna, marry me!” 

“I’ll give you my number later!” 

“God, I wanna hook up with him.” 

“Girl, me too!” 

“You think we should wait outside his hotel later?” 

“Count me in!” 

Groupies. You felt a surge of pride mixed with a twinge of jealousy as you watched their frenzied adoration for your boyfriend. Literally. Your fingers were itching to gouge their eyes out. You wondered if he had ever been tempted to cheat, that when you were busy with your own corporate life outside of being his girlfriend, he might have rewarded himself by sleeping with an influencer or two. Probably models, too. Those tall, gorgeous women who often get partnered with him on ads and photoshoots.  

But the thing was, you couldn’t blame them—yes, your boyfriend was undeniably handsome, and his chiseled features and intense gaze made him a magnet for attention. A true eye-candy if you may add. Not to mention, he had the most attractive tattoos you had seen in a man. Ever. 

But he was yours, and that knowledge filled you with a sense of triumph over the hundreds and thousands of girls that were fantasizing about him.

Then, in the middle of your trance, an accident struck.

It was a blur of red and black as Sukuna’s bike suddenly wobbled after the rear wheel slipped on a patch of oil left behind by another rider. You held your breath in, praying to every saint that he remained safe, as you watched him struggle to regain control while the bike fishtailed dangerously. 

“Oh, gosh. Oh, gosh.” Your brain rattled with anxiety as you gripped onto the railings. “Baby, no. No, be careful! You got this!” 

For a moment, it seemed he might manage to stay upright, but then the inevitable happened. Sukuna went down in a matter of seconds, and his bike skidded out from under him in a shower of sparks.

“Oh, shit!” 

A collective gasp rose from the crowd, and your heart was lurching in your chest as you saw how your lover hit the tarmac. The medics immediately rushed onto the track, while you were still awestricken as you stared at the screen displaying his fall. 

“Please be okay, baby! Please,” you muttered under your breath again and again. 

A fellow WAG eventually placed a hand on your shoulders, rubbing you comfortingly. “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Their gears are made for this.”

She spoke like true champ, and you knew you could put some trust in her words since she was a seasoned WAG. She had probably seen worst accidents that her husband had gone through while on track.

Still, you couldn’t help yourself. What if Sukuna sustained really terrible injuries? What if he broke a bone or two? What if he experienced a concussion? And if he did, what if he’d no longer remember you when he wakes up? Oh, Jesus. Your overthinking was the true culprit here. Yet there was nothing you could really do but wait for good news and hope that nothing too serious happened. Seconds felt like hours, and you were almost about to faint until you saw Sukuna finally standing up between the medics that surrounded him, waving to signal that he was okay albeit limping a little.

“Thank fuck!” 

“See? I told you he’s fine.”

Relief flooded through you, but unfortunately, such joy ended up being short-lived. Sukuna had lost precious seconds in the fall, seconds that allowed the Aprilia to pull ahead. And by the time he got back on his bike and rejoined the race, the gap was already too wide. 

He crossed the finish line in fifth place, a position that felt like a heart-shattering defeat after having been so close to victory.

As soon as the race was over, you didn’t even think twice when you made your way down to the paddock, pushing through the crowd and the throng of zealous fans just to reach your boyfriend. Your heart was still racing, almost akin to the superbikes that were speeding on the track moments ago, as you desperately looked for the love of your life. Only when you rounded the corner did you finally see him, helmet off and leathers dusty from the fall, talking with his team.

“Lovey!” you called out, face full of worry.

Sukuna was quick to turn at the sound of your voice, his expression softening the very moment his eyes landed on you. With long strides, he removed hi’s gloves and closed the distance between you two, and before you knew it, you were wrapped in his arms, the scent of leather and motor oil enveloping you in a comforting hug.

“Are you okay?” you asked, pulling back just enough to search his face for any signs of injury. “I was losing my mind back there!” 

As if he didn’t just experience a dangerous fall, he had a mischievous smile displayed when he looked at you. “I’m fine, baby. Just a little bruised ego.”

“It’s not a joke,” you whined, arms crossed at his lack of seriousness to the matter. “I was so scared when I saw you go down."

Very sweetly, he cupped your face in his hands and nuzzled his nose against yours. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m still alive, right?”

That’s true, you thought. But also… “You came in fifth,” you said, letting out a quieted sigh. 

But the Ducati rider himself was merely chuckling. Not even an ounce of heartbreak was shown on bis face. “Fifth place isn’t the end of the world, babe. I can live with that.”

You shook your head, not understanding how he could be so calm. Really. “But you were so close. You could have won!” And you’d blame it on your hormones, but you remembered the group of girls who cheered him on and decided to bring it up. “By the way, you had all those girls ready to throw themselves at you earlier. One of them even suggested waiting outside your hotel to hook up with you.” 

“Really? Where are those baddies?” he joked, looking around and trying to spot the girls until you flicked his forehead. “Ow! I was just kidding, babe. You’re the only one riding this dick day and night.” 

“Not funny.”

“But you’re so cute when you’re jealous.” He started attacking your cheeks with squeezes. 

While you, you tried your best to swat his hand away. “I’m not. Stooop—! You’re so annoying!” 

“Okay, okay!” He let out a deep chuckle as he raised his hands in surrender. “Anyway, I don’t care about them. I’ve already won the most important race of all."

You blinked twice in the same second, not comprehending his words. “What do you mean?”

Sukuna’s eyes soon softened into a teasing gaze. “I have my beautiful girl in my arms right now. That’s the only victory that matters to me.”

As much as you tried to contain it, a smile eventually broke across your face. “You’re such a sap!”

“Only for you,” was his elfish response, pulling you closer. 

The celebrations continued around you as the media and the crowd swarmed into the paddock. Sukuna held your waist tightly the entire time, all while acknowledging the people that greeted him and asked him for signatures. While in his arms, you realized that he was right. Winning or losing on the track didn’t matter because he already had you—and that was his true and greatest victory.

As cringe-worthy as that may sound. 

“I do have a request, though.” Your boyfriend focused his attention back on you, giving your bum a playful squeeze in front of everyone before he moved his face closer to your ear. “Make me feel like a winner in bed tonight.”

[folklovrr]

nature feels spencer reid

| spencer reid x fem!reader

| hello! my first post on tumblr. inspired by frank oceans song nature feels. but also like… kind of not. idunno!! minors please dni (18+)

| content warning: religious references, munch!spencer (😁) worship?!, making out, alludes to pinv.

Spencer Reid was an endlessly curious man. It generally didn’t matter what the subject was, he already knew about, and could be classified as an expert in the field.

He like to think of himself as a specialist in all things mathematics, chemistry, engineering, and you. At times like these, that last one became more of a weakness than a strength.

Sitting on the plane home, returning from an exhausting case, hearing the bass line from Derek’s headphones and the muffled sounds of Rossi and Hotch discussing something that could be anywhere from the case to his latest interaction with wife number nth, Spencer Reid couldn’t stop thinking about sleeping with you. You hid in the buzz of the engine, the smell of coffee leaking out of the jet’s small kitchen, taking him to the four walls of your shared apartment, where the smell was omnipresent.

Many people might compare you to a warm summers day, but he found that misrepresentative. You were much more comparable to a snowy christmas evening. It’s the time of year that everyone looks forward to, cookies and cakes and freshly cooked meals, things that were constantly filling your kitchen, love leaking from their extra chocolate chips. All year round, when christmas music plays, people are filled with joy and cheer, and he thinks this phenomenon is not unlike to that of your sounds, and when his memory so unhelpfully brings those to the forefront of his mind, he is filled with that same joy.

The familiar bump of the jets landing cut this train of thought, and as the team filed back to quantico, Spencer had never been more grateful for two things:

1. the fbi’s access to efficient travel - he thinks that if he was forced to sit in the metro waiting, the personification of himeros that was sitting eagerly in his heart ( and other parts of him that he was careful not to pay attention to at this time ) would grab him by the shoulders and force him under the need that he was drowning in.

2. the invention of internet and online communication - the influx of texts from that had ceased to deliver while he was in the sky all flooded in at once, giving him the idea that this missing business was not one sided.

| spence, hope you’re ok :( penny told me that case was tough. cant wait to see you

| I have missed you so much. cant stop thinking about you. text me when you land, love.

| come find me when you get home, doctor ;) i have a surprise for you!

It was in moments like these, when people showed even the slightest romantic fondness for him, that he was taken back to his bumbling college experiences with sex. A word that people danced around, but he researched thoroughly. Not for perverse reasons, as this form of interest in the female anatomy would hit him a bit later in life, but pure curiosity. Why did people enjoy? He could understand what the appeal was for men, but what made the experience enjoyable for the other sex?

These questions still plagued him to this day, even after extensive practical elements were added to his studies, with you being a very supportive test subject. Spencer explored what it was like to feel, and to find meaning through this thing that had become so, even though it sounds silly to say, sexualised in media, and to move past the physical elements (but he still appreciated those, greatly) and to find what philosophers spent eons theorising over, which the two of you seemed to have found so easily. Connection.

In the many nights he had spent tangled in your embrace, Spencer mused thoughts of the origins of humans, and as the quiet hymns of the night sung, he worshipped Apollo for having mercy on the split humans and reconstituting their forms, allowing them to find this physical bond, and their souls other half.

As the elevator at quantico rose to the BAU’s floor, the team had a quiet understanding amongst them that small talk was not necessary, and that conversations of weekend plans were trivial in comparison to the things the victims had been through.

After finishing up the, for lack of better words, ginormous pile of paperwork, Spencer was finally free to follow the light of your twin flame home. As he sits in the metro though, he is brought back to the disdain he holds for the public transportation system, and the distain for every passenger that gets of on a stop before his, slowing his journey. He wishes that access to the fbi’s vehicles was available off the clock, for boyfriends whose need for their girlfriends was eating them alive. How inconsiderate of them.

When the autonomic voice announced the station where you resided, so close yet so far, Spencer jumped out of his seat, himeros once again took control of his body, willing his muscles all the way home.

As the loved in door to your home creaked open, Spencer was guided by the candlelight and warm lamps through to the back garden, where the leaves and flowers of the cherry trees spread through the garden fall gracefully and surround a figure, who is gently swing back and forth on a tree swing. Spencer sees you, and wonders what if this is what Adam thought when he first saw Eve, and if he too felt so compelled to caress the slopes of her neck and pray at her divine altar.

The leaves under Spencer’s converse crunched, and alerted you to his presence. As you turned around, there was barely a split second before Spencer was on you, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck with his arms planted firmly around your waist.

“hi spence”, you whispered quietly into his hair, the glasses on the bridge of his nose digging into the skin of your neck. he began to plant soft kisses there, to exhausted to formulate a response. You nudged his chin with your shoulder, and his lips landed softly on yours, gentle kisses explaining things that words do no justice to.

As the night air became more humid around you, and fireflies surrounded the two of you, Spencer’s warm hands pushed the ankle length hem of your spring dress up your thighs, closer to your core. He kisses a pathway up your calf, up your thigh, towards the need in your centre, and ponders if god had made you for him.

Spencer thinks that he is fairly devoted to a number of things, like his work, or his academia, but the way he eats you out is oh so blasphemous. He circles and flicks and plunges just right, and as the cherry flowers fall in his hair, he looks like a debauched angel, with a sole mission of making you come on his tongue. he is devoted to it, and it’s his mission.

The way that you moan his name and pulse around his fingers turns him on more than things that are seen as generally sexually conductive for the male gender, and as you pull his roots and tighten your thighs around his head, he feels the satisfaction of your pleasure travel all the way to his climax, without being touched. Truly sinful Spencer Reid, truly Sinful.

As his mouth separates from your divinity, he thinks that the string of saliva that connects you is symbolic of every single thing that connects your physical elements to the emotional unison that you share. As the dirt digs into Spencer’s knees, and the thighs around his head loosen with satisfaction, He can’t help but compare you to the delicate cherry blossoms, and he sees your kindness and ineffable gentleness bloom around the garden.

You stand, and pull Spencer to his feet, and as he pushes you against the bark of the cherry tree, ready to connect again, just as Apollo and Adam and Eve and whoever else he had to thank for this intended, he can’t wait to feel your nature, to make love.

a/n thank you for reading!!! i know it’s rough, but yet i persevered and finished it. yay me 😛.

[suiana]

give me the camboy NOW

no

✎ yandere! camboy . . .

✎ yandere! camboy who's secretly your creepy coworker that just wants to love you. you don't know that of course! which is why... you spend all your money on him, or rather, his alter ego.

✎ yandere! camboy who's a famous streamer on the site he does his streams on. so many viewers, yet he only has eyes for one particular viewer. you.

✎ yandere! camboy who instantly knows that it's you. i mean, who else will have such an embarrassing username? like, ilovemanboobs? seriously? but it's whatever. it just means that he has another weakness of yours up his sleeve that he can use to his advantage.

✎ yandere! camboy who will take his time in easing you into loving him. he doesn't worry about you not loving him. after all, you already love one side of him. he's sure that as long as he plays his cards rught, you'll fall for all of him in no time. and he'll make it happen.

"yeah my day was pretty boring. didn't really do much."

the camboy complains, yawning as he unbuttons his shirt. yeah, today really was boring. it was just a boring day at work, nothing interesting and he didn't even get to see you! the light of his life!

oh whatever, at least he knows that you'll join his stream. you're a little simp for his online persona after all.

that's right, he had an online persona and you were down astronomically bad for it. you even spent thousands of dollars on him! and you were practically going broke because of it!

but oh, how it strokes his ego, knowing that you appreciate at least one part of him, even if you were unaware that it was him, your creepy coworker.

"oh, my ideal type?"

he asks, reading the chat as his toned abs and voluptuous man tits were out on display for all to see. really, he only wishes that you could see his body, but if he were to offer in real life you'd never agree.

the famous streamer hums, thinking for a second before answering in a soft tone.

"i like people that spend money on me."

yep, that was a safe bet. he couldn't risk exposing himself after all. and... it'll be sure to get your attention.

ah, there it comes.

your donations.

*ding! ding! ding!*

the influx of donations from a particular user (you) cause his laptop to chime endlessly. if it were anyone but you, he'd be annoyed. but this was you.

so he graciously accepts every donation, reading every message you send him as he slowly traces the hem of his boxer shorts. hm, maybe he should give you a gift? you're such a cute little simp after all...

"yeah, i guess you are my ideal type, userILOVEMANBOOBS~"

he answers with a chuckle, making eye contact with the camera through his mask. god you were so adorable. if only you knew the guy you were going crazy over was the coworker which you absolutely despised in real life.

"yes yes... I'll give you a little show, my dear. you spent so much money on me after all! it's only gentlemanly for me to do so."

he muses, stripping his boxers down as the chat goes wild. but his attention wasn't focused on them. no, not at all. for you were the only one he saw. you were the only one in his eyes.

and he just wishes you loved him back in real life as well.

but oh well. there's always been enough time for the both of you. enough time to teach you how to love him. enough time for you to accept him in his entirety.

there's always been enough time to get you to love him back.

and it will happen. there's nothing you can do to stop it.

[chknbzkt]

FINALLYYY FIRST CELESTIAL IVE BEEN CHOMPING AT THE BIT TO SHOW THIS-

And a mix of various sketches and drafts!!!

Psst down here v

Since the horrific murder of a nobleman has put many people in the kingdom’s walls off the idea of letting dragons in their midst for the time being, Sundrop’s continued employ under the king as a personal jester and informant has many under the impression that the dragon himself may have had something to do with it, and that his influence is corrupting the monarch in question.

Sundrop, however, thinks the people can believe whatever they want.

While his position gives him plenty of wiggle room to lavish himself with as much luxury as he desires, truthfully he’d much rather be outside the kingdom walls than in them. No, his heart lies with the wilds of Hyde’s Crossing’s ancient forests. His hoard isn’t even as extensive as it should be, consisting of a few plushies, puzzles, and children’s toys here and there, it’s oddly… empty?

So as much as he… appreciates the fluidity, he spends most of his time trying to keep his distance from Farqur Kingdom as often as possible. Before he has to return.

When he isn’t on his perch at the king’s beck and call, he’s running into random adventurers and the odd monster hunter left and right as he continues to peruse the wilds and stir up mischief as per usual. Most of them have been called to action as of late due to the influx of shades razing settlements to the ground when they’ve been left unchecked for far too long, rising to the challenge in the hopes of scoring money to keep themselves afloat.

There have been a few stinkers regarding interactions here and there, but making new friends is still endlessly fulfilling and entertaining on the occasion that they’ll let him get close enough to actually mingle with them proper. He’s content to share stories of his findings and across the land, landmarks, places of interest, the best places to sun oneself and the loveliest fishing spots!!! This boy loves to know people and be known!!!

He never sticks around long enough to say goodbye however. Always leaves in Farqur’s general direction in a big hurry at odd beats in the conversation. Odd fellow. And he never actually clocked where his companion was from, so the chances of them meeting again are slim…

He seems very flighty for someone so pleasant…

[punkshort]

i’m the anon who asked about the request! if you decide to do it, i’d absolutely wait forever😂 it’s very angsty tho, so the idea was for outbreak joel who doesn’t get the happy ending. reader who was head over heels in love coping with his death, maybe flashbacks to show the moments of reader seeing him die? idkidk the idea is very vague, sorry if it’s too sad!! if so maybe reader seeing him die was just a terrible nightmare & he’s there waking them up & helping them through a meltdown?

i’ve been craving for some emotional torture for wtv reason😭😭 thank you for even considering requests!🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

Thank you for this request! It's my first one, so I hope you enjoy it. Also, I had to take the out you gave me and make this a nightmare because I am a big ol' softie and I won't apologize for it, but I will apologize for taking so long to write it 😂

I hate when you're right

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After a heated argument with Joel, you finally convince him into leaving Jackson so you could explore a store for new clothes, and what happens could change your life forever.

Warnings: major character (Joel) death - but it is just a nightmare - don't read if you think that will still upset you, angst, language, violence, descriptions of blood/gore/death scene

WC: 2.5K

dividers by the one and only @saradika-graphics

You knew it was childish. You knew it wasn't essential. But you also desperately wanted to feel more comfortable, and was that really such a crime? To want to feel like yourself again? To want to wear clothes that you liked? That fit you properly? Jackson was well stocked with essentials, clothes included, but the clothes the men picked up on patrol were... utilitarian, to say the least. They grabbed the biggest and the warmest clothes so that it afforded more people the opportunity to use them, but you were beginning to grow tired of tucking men's oversized shirts into your pants, the material bunching up at your waist and twisting around as you walked, constantly trying and failing to feel comfortable in your own skin.

You thought Joel would be more open to the idea of heading outside the walls on your day off. You even teased him with the promise of picking up some new underwear, but he didn't fall for it. He fought you tooth and nail the whole evening, his voice lifting over yours angrily to explain how there's been an influx of raiders the past few weeks, that everyone agreed to lay low until they passed through, not wanting to draw attention or pick any unwanted fights. But you persisted. You always did, and you eventually wore him down when you threatened to leave without him.

Why was it such a crime to want to feel comfortable? It was just two people, you could lay low and go unseen, no problem. You've done it countless times before.

You had hoped he would have gotten over it by morning, but you were wrong. He hardly made eye contact with you during breakfast, skirting expertly around you in your kitchen, mumbling under his breath as he sipped his coffee and only shooting you angry looks when your back was turned.

The air was crisp and the woods were peaceful. You thought that would surely turn his mood around. He always appreciated being out with nature, living off the land. As much as he loved living in Jackson, he couldn't deny that part of himself that felt useful, that felt a sense of accomplishment by surviving out in the wild.

"C'mon, are you really gonna act like this all day?" you teased as you held up another shirt against your body before determining it was the right size and then tossed it in a pile with the others.

He was standing at the storefront window with his arms crossed and his jaw clenched. "Don't know what you mean."

You rolled your eyes and looked around the store, spotting a table of underwear with a grin. You lightly skipped over and tossed to the side the pairs that looked far too dusty so you could look at the ones underneath. Clearing your throat, you held up a pair of bright red stain underwear. He turned around and you saw it: it was fast, he hid it well, but you still saw it. That all too familiar excited look in his eye.

"Don't you like them?" you asked with a playful pout. He furrowed his brow at you like he was annoyed, and maybe he was, but you still saw the heat beginning to crawl up his neck.

"They ain't practical."

You gave him a defeated sigh and strolled over to your pile of clothes, your fingertips daintily holding the undergarment out to him. "No? Then what are they?"

His eyes shifted from yours to the red material in your hand and you saw his throat work as he swallowed.

"Useless," he croaked, and you narrowed your eyes at him. You got a little closer, letting the soft fabric glide against the back of his hand when you dropped your arm to your side.

"Oh, yeah?" you said breathily, and you watched his eyelids flutter at your tone. "Then I guess it wouldn't matter if I brought them home and let you rip them off me."

He stepped forward, a growl emitting from his chest, low and deep, when at the exact same time, you both heard shouting outside the store. Swiveling both your heads towards the glass storefront, your blood ran cold when you saw six heavily armed men advancing towards you.

"Shit," he muttered, his arm pulling your shoulder down just in time to avoid the cascade of bullets that rained down upon you. You laid face down on the rough carpet, covering the back of your head with your eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the shooting to stop. Joel tugged on your arm and you opened your eyes in a panic.

"Follow me!" he shouted, army crawling towards the registers, and you dutifully followed behind, your heart racing wildly in your chest.

Once you made it, the counter offering some, but not much, safety, the both of you pulled out your guns and double checked your ammo.

"Alright, when they stop to reload-"

"I know," you said, cutting him off. You've both been in this situation before. You knew what to do.

Holding your rifle upright and against your chest, you breathed deep, trying to steady your hands until the bullets slowed and you heard more shouting. Joel nodded to you and you both sprung up from the floor, pulling your rifles against your bodies in sync and lining up your targets.

Patience is a virtue. The amount of ammunition they wasted on the two of you was laughable when you each caught one of them between the eyes, leaving four against two.

You thought you would be able to get another shot off but Joel tugged your arm and you slinked back to the floor as a shower of bullets rained over you once again.

"You good?" he asked, and you nodded, gasping for air. Your hands began to stabilize when the shock wore off. You were in the zone.

Pressing both your backs against the small counter, you remained calm and waited out your attackers. Glass shards tinkled and scattered behind you. Bullets pinged against the metal shelving, ricocheting into the drywall.

"Assault rifles for two people? Really?" you muttered, more so to yourself, but Joel heard you.

"Told you this was a bad fuckin' idea," he said angrily.

When there was another brief pause, he looked to you again and nodded. At the same time, you rose up and took aim, firing on your attackers once again. Joel made his shot, you didn't. Three down, three to go.

"Fuck," you grumbled, reloading your rifle even though you still had rounds left.

"Focus," he scolded.

The men sounded like they were getting closer. Their voices were louder. Clearer. The shots were deafening. You prayed they weren't inside the store, because you hadn't planned an exit strategy. Without warning, Joel stood up and fired a shot. You heard a man scream and then a loud thud. It sounded like the man was just on the other side of the counter.

"That's not the plan," you seethed at him when he dropped back down next to you.

"Didn't have a choice, he was 'bout to jump us," he sneered.

Two against two.

When the shots slowed down, you held your breath, looking at Joel from the corner of your eye. He held his palm up to you silently, signaling for you to stay where you were. You heard boots crunching slowly against glass and your heart leapt into your throat. They were in the store.

You shot Joel a panicked look but he just shook his head, focusing on their footsteps, calculating how far away they were.

"Come out now and no one gets hurt," a man's deep voice called out. He was close.

Joel clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils. You knew that look. It was the look of a man who was about to do something stupid. But before you could stop him, before you could reach out to him and hold him back, he stood up and took aim.

One shot. That was all you heard when Joel slumped to the floor next to you, clutching his stomach as dark red blood poured from the wound. Your eyes went wide and you saw red. Without thinking, you stood up and shot, taking one of the two men down with a yelp. The remaining raider ducked behind a display, and you dropped your rifle in favor of your handgun. Crouching low to the ground, you inched forward, careful of any broken glass that would give your position away. When you were on the other side of the display, you heard the man's labored breaths. He was scared. He was out of his element. And you had him right where you wanted him.

Silently tucking the gun in the back of your pants, you slid your hunting knife out from your ankle holster. You took a deep breath and lunged forward, driving the knife deep into the man's chest.

He dropped his gun and clutched weakly at your hands, but it was no use. His blood poured from the wound when you yanked your knife out with a grunt, and you watched as his hands slowly slid back down to his sides, his eyes still wide open and staring up at the ceiling.

You smirked, feeling victorious for only a moment before you remembered Joel. Dropping your knife, you rushed back to his side, only to find his face pale and his hands stained dark red.

"Joel!" you cried out, pressing your palms against the wound, hoping to slow the bleeding. His eyes drifted towards you, softening when he saw you were alive and unharmed. That you were going to make it.

Panic consumed you. Your heart was slamming against your ribs as you fumbled with your backpack, trying to find your first aid kit through the tears.

"I love you," he whispered, and you shook your head.

"Don't start with that, you're gonna be fine."

"Baby," he said weakly, and you choked back a sob.

"Hold on," you told him, still searching in your pack.

"Look at me," he said, and your hands stilled for a moment before you dragged your eyes back to him, your lower lip trembling as you took in his deteriorating state.

"I need to-" you began, but stopped to take in a shaky breath. "I need to patch you up and get you to the horses."

"No, you don't," he said softly, and more tears spilled from your eyes.

"Yes, I do. I gotta-"

"I ain't gonna make it, sweetheart," he slurred, and you could see by the amount of blood he was losing that he was right. But still, you pressed your palms against the gunshot wound, your fingers slipping through his thick and sticky blood.

"Don't say that. I can't do this without you," you whimpered, and closed your eyes for a brief moment. You felt his fingertips weakly grip your chin and you forced your eyes back open.

"Yes, you can," he said as firmly as he could. He was so pale and weak and it was making your stomach turn.

You shook your head, about to argue with him, but he stopped you.

"You keep goin', you hear me?" he said, and still, you shook your head from side to side, small sobs slipping past your lips. "Don't let this world win. You... go on and keep fightin'. Please. Be happy, baby. For me."

"No!" you cried out, spittle dripping from your lips now, mixing with your tears. "I won't! I-I can't!"

"You can," he repeated, and gave you a weak smile. "I'm ready, baby. It'll be okay."

You squeezed your eyes shut tight, the tears leaking out, hot and angry on your cheeks as you sobbed over him, clutching his hand in yours so tightly, like if you squeezed hard enough, you could give him your lifeforce. Give him your breath. But moments later, his grip weakened and when you opened your eyes, his head slumped to the side and his lifeless eyes stared off into the distance.

"Joel!" you screamed, sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat with tears still streaming down your face. You looked to your side, where he normally slept, but he wasn't there. Panic squeezed your throat, your chest fucking hurt, but you flung the blankets off you and ran towards the door. Still not hearing any sounds, you raced down the stairs, almost tripping in the process but you had a grip on the railing to keep you steady.

When your eyes finally landed on his familiar form stretched out on the couch, his back to you, you allowed yourself to breathe a sigh of relief.

Reality came back to you now. You had your fight about leaving Jackson, but he won and you slept apart. You never left. He never got shot. It was all just a horrible dream.

You stumbled over to the couch, your tears unstoppable, the nightmare too vivid, too real. Your trembling hands clutched his shoulder as you fell to your knees on the floor, shaking him awake.

"What?" he grumbled, clearly still pissed off about your fight.

"I'm sorry!" you sobbed loudly, and when he realized something was wrong, he whipped around to face you.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

"I-I had-" you began, then you hiccupped, cutting yourself off. His face was etched with concern as he forced himself up and cupped your face.

"C'mon, talk to me," he urged, the fear in his eyes reflecting back to you as you looked at him, still not sure what was real and what wasn't.

"I had a nightmare," you finally managed to get out. "About our fight. That we... we went out like I wanted and-and-" you collapsed into another fit of sobs, your shoulders shaking violently.

"Hey, it's alright," he soothed, pulling you up and into his lap and rubbing your back. You pressed your tear stained face into his neck, inhaling deeply, grounding yourself. He was alive. He was here. Everything was fine.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, your throat still tight but your tears were slowing down. "I'm sorry we fought. I don't wanna go out anymore. I don't need new clothes, it was stupid, I'm sorry."

"Shh, it's okay," he said, pulling you tightly against his chest, "I'm sorry we fought, too. I just wanna keep us safe."

"I know, you're right," you said, pulling back a bit and wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "Will you come back to bed?"

"Yeah," he replied with half a smirk. "'Course I'll come back to bed, baby. Don't cry, it's alright."

You let him lead you up the stairs and to your bedroom, your side of the bed still damp with sweat but it didn't bother you. Joel was safe and sound and in your arms and you didn't care if you had to wear a potato sack for the rest of your life, as long as you had Joel, nothing else mattered.

follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[wip]

would it be possible to allow both a primary blog and its secondary blogs to have the same blocked users list/share a blocked list? like if i create a secondary blog for a specific thing, i naturally wouldnt/dont want people ive already blocked to interact with that blog either, but re-blocking every single user, when some people have hundreds or thousands of people that they have blocked (like me) is nigh impossible/kind of a cruel thing to ask when the same person would clearly have the same people blocked on that blog too.

like could the blocked users list be assigned to all blogs under the email, rather than to individual blogs regardless of secondary status? like removing an invisible wall and just letting the secondary blog[s] use the main blog's blocked list instead of its own separate one.

or would implementing this somehow hit rate limits or something? (which is i think why twitter's old 'import blocklist' feature shut down years ago and why i wouldnt ask for that feature on here, as cool as it would be.) in which case would it be possible for new blocks going *Forward* to be shared across same-email blogs instead since the secondary blogs wouldnt have to be hit with the weight of a sudden influx of past block requests and it would be able to happen gradually as the person blocks new users from hereon one by one in real time? (sorry that this is wordy!)

Answer: Hi there, @ryuseitaiz!

Thanks for your question. This is a tricky one!

This is a not-uncommon question that we receive at @wip. One of Tumblr’s oldest core principles is that we try not to reveal who owns what blogs—or the relationships between primary and secondary blogs.

So, blocking someone from all your blogs could easily reveal that the same person owns different blogs in some scenarios that can be easy to game. For the longest time, we haven’t wanted to change this principle—but we are rethinking it in some areas, like Communities. We may rethink it everywhere, based on feedback like this, but can’t say any more than that right now. If anything changes, you’ll find out here or at @changes.

But thank you—we appreciate your thoughts and consideration.

[botanyshitposts]

so maybe i want to grow lichen in a lab uwu idk man i feel like dedicating myself to years of searching for the forbidden knowledge,,,, im not even into lichen(yet; i am known for getting into things) but the thought of knowing something so completely and fully,,,

unfortunately the biggest obstacle to churning out an army of lichen researchers to move cartoon green fluid between beakers until The Mysteries are unraveled is what it always is: all the money goes to things that make money or at the very least are more widely appreciated by the public, and lichens do not make money and aren’t really widely known, unfortunately.

personally I’m counting on the human gut microbiome community to suddenly need to study other superorganisms to unlock the deeper secrets of human mood or weight loss or something. I don’t think it’ll be effective in actually learning anything applicable to humans but I think it’s the best bet we got for a heavy influx of cash. we need people moving fluid between beakers creating little puffs of smoke 24/7 on this by god

[colorfullyminded]

TLDR

Okay I cannot believe I'm about to go off like this, but this has been bothering me for awhile, and it's only making me more spiteful. I have been enjoying the influx of Billford art lately. Amazing, great wonderful. What I have Not been enjoying, is the absolute vitriol the Billdip fans have been getting since the influx of TBOB. I was a billdip shipper for awhile. Hell I was a billdip shipper when I was a Parapines shipper-- I liked shipping Dipper with boys. I was also like 14 or 15 at the time. Obviously, if you follow me now, you'll probably notice what my main ship for Dipper is. I grew out of Billdip, and moved on to Pinescone. I have been shipping Pinescone for 10 years. However, not once did I go around saying "Lol, glad I matured and became a better person and shipped something healthier", nor did I post in the billdip tag, condeming people for a fictional ship! And saying mine was better because it was less problematic.

"I'm really glad people stopped shipping Bill and Dipper together. Bill is a 1000 year old triangle demon, and Dipper is 13--" Stop. Repeat what you just said.

"Bill is 1000 year old triangle--"

Repeat that last word to me. "....triangle?" TRIANGLE! I'm sorry what?! This ship is already completely wild enough. You're getting mad at this fictional age gap-- AND BILL IS A FUCKING SHAPE! A FUCKING SHAPE! This ship was weird from the moment GO! And Billford isn't any better. IT'S STILL A SHIP WITH A FUCKING SHAPE! And you're going to sit on your high horse and look down on the Billdip community. On top of it-- they have an age gap too! Bill is still thousands of years old or whatever-- however long it's been, who knows? And Ford was in his 20s or so when he met Bill. That's still a huge, ridiculous age gap-- that Bill could easily use and manipulate; which he did....and then also caught feelings and became a sad ex, but that's beside the point~ Both of these ships are still insane. And again, the bigger thing I think people are just ignoring about these ships--is that Bill is a TRIANGLE! THREE LINES CONNECTED TOGETHER! And this is the hill you're going to die on? ...Cause apparently it's mine. First of all-- as many people pointed out-- Ford Pines did not exist until the second half of the final season. People couldn't ship Fordbill because there wasn't any Ford to introduce.

"Well, even before Ford, I never shipped Billdip! I always disliked it." ...Okay, that's totally fine. Not everyone needs to like or agree on the same ship. Lord knows there's probably people who don't really care for Pinescone either. There's a lot of popular ships that I can't stand. But I'm don't go into a ship tag I don't like, screaming to a void for self validation. I don't go around mocking other people for ships that they had in 2014-- or even still today! It doesn't matter! I did that when I was a kid-- and then realized that was rude, and it was better to just ignore the ships I didn't like and enjoy the ones that made me happy. And grow a community of kind, like minded friends. And listen, I am all for safe spaces and being able to block things that make you uncomfortable. I am not saying people who find the BillDip ship uncomfortable to be idiots or babies or overly sensitive-- or anything like that. I think if something makes you uncomfortable, that is okay and I think it's perfectly fine to blacklist a tag that you don't want to see. I also think it's imperative that people tag things as accurately as they can so people looking at your work can know if one of your pieces has a thing that they don't like-- and therefore can avoid. What I don't appreciate is the fanhate for this ship that is sprouting up like weeds. You can not like something, you can be disgusted by it (I have my Gravity Falls ships I can not stand, nor do I feel comfortable with), but attacking real people for a FICTIONAL SHIP-- two characters who are drawings on a piece of paper and can not be affected mentally, physically or emotionally by fanwork; who still retain the same shape after everything we put them through-- to the point that you send death threats, or threaten to Doxx, or just harass relentlessly, I have always found that more childish and disgusting. You are causing real world pain to people. Me fucking up Dipper Pines is not going to do anything to him-- because he doesn't actually exist. He's a cartoon character. I could squash him and stretch him in Wonka's taffy machine--- I could throw him mock speed at a wall and watch him explode on impact-- but he still exists. He's not dead; I can pick him up and dust him off, and If I wanted-- I could decide that eh, 'Not a scratch on him'. And I'd be right. Because he is a cartoon character, and I am just a fangirl. I can not change anything about him-- I have no ability to make anything I headcanon canon. And even if I was the original artist-- it doesn't change the fact that Dipper would still be nothing more than a creation. A construct of shapes; he can not be hurt or traumatized in a way that leads to real life consequences-- because he is not real. I am not a cartoon character. My friends are not cartoon characters. Artist and Writers who stay in their lane...are not cartoon characters. If you hurt us...it will linger. It will leave a scar. If you can not tell the difference between Fiction and Reality, then I think maybe media might be too much to handle-- and I think you need to really reevaluate yourself.

And just to vent some other things that i keep seeing that are frustrating: You can't claim the twins are only 13-- and then on August 31st go "Happy 20-something Birthday Mabel and Dipper!" And then proceed to drop a picture of them as adults. Well which is it? Do they age or not? Because Gravity Falls showed them canonically aging. If you think the twins age-- then you can't suddenly turn around and go, 'no you can't ship them-- Dipper is a child!' but you drew him as an adult. So sorry, it looks like you can't draw the twins grown up anymore. You claimed they're 13, so better draw them 13 forever--. Aged up stories and works exist for a reason, especially for a fan who grew up on the series. The characters might have grown up alongside them. It's not unlikely for a person to ship Billdip when Dipper is much older.

And on that note, for people who are like 'well older billdip is fine-- it's just people shipping him during the show that deserve to die.' Okay... and like I said, this rant is coming from a recent influx of Billford shippers spitting on Billdip shippers. You know? The TOXIC Old Man Yaoi!

You're still shipping something that is problematic. You are still shipping something twisted and wrong. And I am not judging you. I am here for this divorced arc. I am thriving. But you can't just pick and choose what is and isn't okay. And let me first off explain; if there is something that personally triggers you about a toxic ship, and you want to avoid that-- again, perfectly understandable. Perfectly reasonable. You are the makers of your content space. And I am not judging anyone for that. I want people to be safe. I want people to have a good time in fandom spaces. I want people to not have to deal with the things that upset them or frighten them, or disgust them. But you can not say one is fine, and one is not. They're both bad! They're both toxic. In real life, these ships would both be charged with serious crimes! And yes, there are some crimes that are worse than others, and if you asked me what I thought was more problematic-- I'd say Billdip-- but both of these ships are extreme, and severe in their problematic content. You are still consuming problematic content. If it's a personal thing, that's fine; avoid it. But don't sit there throwing stones from your glass house.

[neiptune]

always for the first time

c/w: 1.2k wc, reader is deep in her head, gojo is stupidly in love & wants nothing more than to be the best boyfriend on planet earth, sickeningly sweet, disgustingly self indulgent, inspired by andré breton's poem, wrote this in like 10 minutes, reader discretion advised: you'll drown in fluff

Life has been brutal in teaching Satoru the consequences of not picking up on things in time and with that now comes the anxiety of missing out on hints, small details, imperceptible signals.

He is a good learner, although he wasn’t ready for what you had in store for him. He can be too much, always has been too much, people have told him. Too strong, too loud, too obnoxious, too dumb. He didn’t know how to juggle his worst traits and keep them under control around you, has never wanted not to scare someone away so bad.

Satoru is also, and most importantly, a keen observer.

He has to be, not only to watch his back every now and again but also to pick up on more subtle things that could escape a less trained eye. You are one of those things.

He has studied you, mapped out every twitch of your lips or crease between eyebrows, he has memorized the heaviness of your sighs and which limits it’s best not to push. He knows you need your space and that some people don’t appreciate how overwhelming his interest in them can be. Because what if his insistence ends up crushing them? What if he cares so much you eventually drift away?

So Satoru knows when to keep quiet, when to leave you be or wrap his arms around your waist to bury a gentle kiss in your hair. You have taught him that he doesn’t have to prove his presence all the time, a broken record of I’m here, don’t you know that I’m here for you?

You know. His presence is embedded in every aspect of your life, in every soft thought crossing your mind. He’s there when he lies on top of you in bed, infinity turned off for good measure, cheek pressed to your stomach and arms wrapped around your frame in a petulant attempt to convince you to stay five more minutes. He’s there when he gets back early from a mission and you come home to the tall, familiar figure making a mess of your kitchen. I had half an hour to spare and I thought you’d like soup.

Satoru sees the flow of individual atoms that make you, you. Which means that he knows when you’re in pain, feels your sadness creeping up into his very bones, only experiences true fear the first time you bury your face into his chest and your body shakes in his arms, consumed by the terror of not seeing him again. Satoru is not scared because he thinks the thought of something happening to him is even remotely rational, it’s the thought of leaving you without him for a second too long that petrifies him.

He’s there when he looks at you and sees everything there’s to see, the good and so much of the bad. Satoru has eyes that grant him extraordinary perception and cause a constant, exhausting influx of information. But he can now see you as well as he sees cursed energy: the flux of excitement, sadness, rage or embarrassment. He sees how big your heart is and yet deems it not nearly large enough to contain the love you have for him and for others, threatening to bubble over at all times.

He sees your shame and insecurities and how desperately you attempt to keep those from him. Sometimes he forces himself to respect it, other times it’s hard not to at least attempt to work his charm.

You could get mad but he can’t risk skipping the chance of reminding you once more that he’s there. Just in case. He’s there.

“What’s up?” he asks nonchalantly, nose still buried in that book you couldn’t stop talking about for an entire week.

“Nothing’s up. If something was up, you’d know first” your grin is charming although a little forced and when you go back to the cooking show you’re watching on television, Satoru lets a few seconds pass.

“I think something’s up”

You sigh. He’s not even looking at you but you feel the wary concern vibrating in his voice.

“I’m okay” your own pitch gets softer, a gentle reminder that there’s nothing to really worry about. It’s just that your mind can get very loud at times, but that’s not to become another one of his battles. He has enough of those already.

But that’s when he puts the novel down, a bunch of dried lavender twigs used as a makeshift bookmark.

“I can see that” he knows the punchline will always make you roll your eyes with fondness, especially if he has his blindfold on “your limbs are still attached, your hair looks pretty, skin is fairly hydrated” you huff out a laugh as he crawls over you only to slump his long, inconveniently heavy body on top of yours.

“But something’s wrong” he whispers it into your skin, hopes that it’s easier to get you to open up if you can’t see him and think he can see less of you. His lips are pressed to your neck and snowy hair tickles your chin, so you attempt to comb some of it back with a light scoff.

“You currently obstructing my airways?”

He lightly pinches your side and you squirm underneath his weight with an airy giggle.

“Stop doing that”

“Doing what?” you flick his forehead but he doesn’t even flinch.

“Deflecting. Something’s wrong, I can feel it”

Satoru wishes he didn’t sound every bit as pathetic as he did. But he’s made peace with the fact that this is what love does to him a long time ago. He’s in love, and pathetic, and simply prays it’s one of the times he’s lucky enough you’ll give him the green light to make a breach in the walls.

“You can feel it?” you muse “what are you, obsessed with me or somethin’?”

“I am” he lightly nips at your jaw and draws a gasp “what a stupid question”

As obsessed as an invincible man can be, one that spends each day hoping he’ll be allowed to gain yet another victory over the ache throbbing in your ribcage. What good is being the strongest if he’s barely allowed to shield you from yourself?  

“I’m just tired” you articulate the words slowly, attentively, and your heart swells in your chest when he instantly stills his movements “it’s a tiring day. I’ll be fine”

And Gojo hums against the warmth of your skin, tightens his arms around you. Of course you’ll be fine, he’ll be there to make sure you will be. Not that you need him to fight your battles, you never needed him in the first place.

“Thank you” for making this one of the moments I’m allowed to climb over those walls, even if just to take a small peek.

“You’re so silly” you smile and don’t even understand how the hell someone could get so lucky.

“S’why you love me”

“Wrong, I love you because of your pretty face and remarkable abs”

“I’m more than a nice piece of ass, y’know?”

Another silent laugh fills the air, now lighter, and you can already feel his smile as you gently pull his blindfold down. Satoru lets you, lifts his face to make your job a little easier and when his eyes slowly flutter open there’s nothing but sincere adoration swirling in them. There’s trust, and love, and you can’t help but force them shut again as you gently press your lips to both his eyeslids.

To tell him that you love him with just as much fierceness, with every fragment of your flawed, human body.

To thank him for seeing you with such earth shattering clarity, always for the first time.

[asmilingyellowface]

following the recent influx of followers and reblogs on the corn shucking picture (which i posted on my other tmbg account) i will once again share this playlist which i think many people will appreciate

this is over 400 videos of the johns performing, being interviewed, or just plain old music videos (which should all be at the top) for anyone and all to enjoy and source from ect. obviously not every video is here, but a lot are!

[homeofatlas]

Wasted Days

Summary: Being in the public eye isn’t easy. Especially when you’re in love with your best friend. 

Authors note: Y'all.......I'm sorry this has been sitting half finished forever and i just needed to get it done and out there. Not edited. Also yes this is lowkey based on that line from call me by your name. but not really but inspired from it.

Word Count: 3.2k

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Being somewhat famous isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. You loved the fans' sweet messages, the way they encouraged you and supported you when you had bad games, and how much dedication went into the edits and the fanpages. You’d even be lying if you said you hadn’t looked up your own name on tumblr to see if their was any fanfic of you. It flattered you, all these people you didn’t know idolising you and watching your interviews. What you didn’t appreciate was how they began to read into your relationship with your best friend. Could you call it reading into when they were just calling it like they saw it? It’s hardly their fault whenever you and elisa posted pictures of your excursions or you had interviews together you were staring at her like she’s hung the moon and the stars. It seemed quite rude of them to have to point that out though, in your opinion. 

The recent influx of comments asking whether or not you two were dating made your heart beat faster in your chest. Surely there must be something there that other people can see and you aren’t just making it all up in your head, right? If not then it’s blatantly obvious for the entire internet to see how in love you are with your best friend, Elisa. You honestly can’t help the way you allegedly look at her. You’ve tried to rein it in, you’ve tried to like other people, you’ve tried to not tell anyone and make it go away. But apparently no matter where you go as soon as anyone sees you interact with her it’s like you’ve got I’m in love with her tattooed on your forehead. 

During your professional football career you’d been at Montpellier with Elisa for a year before she’d left to join PSG. Giving you just enough time to learn everything about the girl and fall in love with her, convince yourself she might feel the same way, and then be heartbroken about her transfer. You’d kept in contact and tried to see her as regularly as possible but with training and games and travelling it’d been difficult until one day when you got the call from your agent telling you PSG wanted to sign you. Immediately you’d said yes in every way but in formal writing. 

Upon your first connection with the PSG team they’d noticed something was different about you. The way your hug reuniting with Elisa lasted longer than it potentially should have. The way she was more distracted with you around. The way she stuck to you like glue and smiled more than she had before. You’d gotten into the habit of constantly being around each other again. When you two played together there was no stopping you. You could read what the other was thinking before they did it. It was like watching one person be split into two bodies. Unfortunately none of these things made your crush on her go away or dull even a little. That old saying “Absence makes the heart grow fonder”? They had a point. 

In your time away from Elisa you’d forgotten the way her eyes crinkle when she smiled and the sound of her voice without the glitchiness of the phone. Constantly being around her again made everything better and worse at the same time. You were so screwed it wasn’t even funny. Which is why it took less than three weeks for the girls to corner you and ask about your relationship with Elisa. They’d assumed something had happened in the past or you were currently together. Either way that had been your first inkling you weren’t hiding your feelings as well as you tried to. Realistically there was only so much you could do before you started to avoid the girl or be constantly dead faced. You couldn’t help smiling at her the way you did or being the one she ran to when she scored a goal. If you’re being honest, it’s her fault for being so loveable. What were you supposed to do?

Pulling into the PSG parking lot you ready yourself for the teasing you know you’ll face. Elisa posted a photo last night which showcased you two looking awfully close together while on a night out with the team. You’d already skimmed the comments and they were the same on every post which had the two of you together. 

“Are Elisa and Y/N together?”

“They are such a cute couple!”

“My OTP”

Yeah, you thought bitterly, mine too. Scanning the parking lot to see which of the girls were already getting ready your eyes landed on Elisas car. Knowing she’s already there puts a pep in your step. Walking towards the change rooms weaving into corridors and making turns you come up on the hallway before the change room. You can hear voices inside speaking with one of the voices distinctly agitated. As you move to enter you hear your name. It’s Jackie and Elisa speaking about you. Deciding to wait for a moment, you want to hear what they’re talking about. You hear Elisas voice cut through the tense silence. 

“Drop it Jackie, we’re just friends. I don’t have feelings for her and I never have. Plus if anything was going to happen don’t you think it would have by now? We’ve been friends for years.” 

You can practically see the face Elisas disbelieving face as someone once again questions the nature of your relationship. Are you really so bad she can’t even see how someone else could see the two of you together? Your stomach turns at the thought. It never gets easier to see her with other people, or hear her refer to your love as being strictly platonic. It never feels strictly platonic whenever you shiver and she immediately throws an arm around you pulling you into her side. Or when she grabs you to tell you something when she could have called your name to grab your attention. Or when she cracks a joke and she looks at you first to see if you’re smiling. Those moments rarely feel entirely platonic. 

The words straight from her mouth saying she hasn’t got feelings for you makes you want to turn around and call in sick for training but you have to get over this at some point. You have to learn your place in Elisas life, her longtime friend, perhaps even her best friend. Not her lover. The realisation never hurts less despite the dozens of times you’ve come to it.

You give it a couple more minutes letting the conversation truly die out before walking in as though you hadn’t heard a thing. As you walk in you notice the way Jackie glances between you two. You’re sure your melancholy is written on your face, everything always is. You avert your gaze before she can decipher why. Thankfully she’s quiet while you change silently you really can't handle any teasing right now. Small bits of you break off every time you have to tell someone you and Elisa are just friends. Going up to the pitch and beginning to warm up Elisas words are still ringing in your head. Day 1067 (roughly) wasted thinking of a girl who doesn’t want you back. Story of my life, you think to yourself. 

—-------

A team dinner is the last place you want to be tonight. It’s good for bonding but you’re attached to Elisas side the whole time anyways. You aren’t sure you can get anymore bonded to her. You wonder how much of it is you sticking close to her and how much of it is her keeping you close. You wonder how far you’d get before she pulled you back into her orbit. Not very far, you reckon. 

Sakina slides into the seat opposite of you. You’d say her grin is wolfish but her features are too soft for the term. 

“So you two looked pretty comfy on instagram the last couple of posts. Anything you’d like to share with the team?”

Your eyes flicker to Elisa beside you only to find her making eye contact with Jackie a couple people down. Whatever telepathic conversation they’re having right now makes your chest burn. You’re supposed to be the only one who knows her that well. Your mouth is filled with a bitter taste and something clenches and flexes in your chest. You look down trying to contain yourself before replying to Sakinas comment. 

“We hang out a lot, sue us.”

You can feel Elisa nod more than you see it. 

“Plus Y/ns a good photo taker I’ve got to put her skills to use when I have them!” She says jokingly. She leans forward in her chair propping one elbow up on the table the other coming up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. You glance to the side meeting her eyes and smile. Yes keep your focus on me, the beast in your chest sighs and relaxes. 

“Yeah but she’s been here for a while now. You’d think you guys would be sick of each other. I mean you’ve been friends for so long. What else do you even have to talk about?” 

You have a feeling it's time for Sakina to start drinking water. Luckily Elisa saves you from having to answer again. 

“Anything, everything, whatever we feel like mostly. Sometimes we talk about nothing at all and it’s the best conversation I'll have all day.”

See? It’s stuff like that which makes you wanna scream and shout and call bullshit on being platonic. 

It's like watching everything you've ever worked for go down the drain as Sakinas eyes light up. Something in her brain seems to scream BINGO!

“So have you guys ever….you know?” She looks between you two, clearly hinting at something. “Clearly you’re great together and have been in the same places at the same times coincidentally.”

Yeah coincidentally, you think. 

Elisa leans back in her chair seemingly nonchalantly, “I mean I liked her when we were younger but it was never the right time.” She shrugs as if she hasn’t just blown up the ground you’re standing on. 

“I mean we were young and starting out in our careers, we didn’t know where we’d go. There was no point in saying anything at that point.” You try to recover. Jumping in so it seems like you’re also unbothered and knew this information. You might pass out. It feels like the lights got brighter than they were a minute ago. 

Sakina puts down her drink and seems to take a pause before replying. She goes unnaturally still for a moment before she relaxes and looks between you two with a confidence you see projected towards crowds but rarely in spaces with her friends. You’re starting to think she’a lot more sober than she’s let on and this a massive ploy or some sick fucking prank you’re the victim of. 

“So why aren’t you now?”

Oh, Fuck. 

Damage control. 

Act like this is the first time you’ve thought of this. 

You see Elisas eyes darken and an intense look in her eye directed at Sakina which the girl seems to pointedly ignore instead putting on a vague attitude of indifference which seems to suggest she’s just come to an observation, not blown up your carefully constructed weird homoerotic friendship. 

“We could never jeopardise our friendship.” Elisa answers lamely. 

You feel nauseous. Someone might need to call an ambulance because you aren’t sure if your heart has beat at all in the past five minutes. You’ve got to get out of here, you need to be alone. Just as that crosses your mind, a warm palm goes to rubbing circles on your lower back. You know she’s trying to soothe you but right now she’s a match stick and you're an old crumpled newspaper. Glancing back you give Elisa a tight smile before excusing yourself to go to the bathroom, instead you walk out the front door and go home. 

—----------------

You aren’t expecting to hear from her. She’s made it abundantly clear in the last 12 hours she values your relationship but strictly as friends and used to like you but doesn’t anymore? You sigh, needing a minute to shut your brain off. 

So when there’s a knock at the door you’re confused about who's at your door on a thursday night at almost 11 pm, you know it’s the one person who would’ve noticed you slip away. 

She’s the last person you want to see and the first one you want to go to about all of this. Being in love with your best friend is too frustrating, you think as you unlock the door. 

“You left.” She’s pouting in your hallway. 

“I’ve filled my quota of hearing why I’m not relationship material to you today. Thanks, come back tomorrow.” Crap. You’re tired and you just want to go to bed, it slipped out. 

“So this is about dinner?”

You’ve had enough. 

At 11:08 pm on day 1067 (roughly) of being in love with Elisa you’ve decided you’ve had enough. 

“It’s about us. I’ve loved you for a quarter of forever and I've spent all day listening to the ways you don’t like me in front of our teammates so excuse me if i had enough and came home.” 

“Can I come in? This feels like an inside conversation, not a hallway conversation.”

You hate how she’s right and how she places her jacket on the hook that’s unofficially hers. When you turn and she’s made your home hers. She does that a lot, gets into your stuff and makes it her own. Your heart was the first thing she ever did too. 

The moment you make eye contact with her again, it comes spilling out. 

“I’ve loved you since forever. Honestly I can't pinpoint a specific moment in time where I knew I was in love. But when I listen to music there’s montages of your smile running through my head and your spirit feels like everything good in the world. Violins and guitars remind me of you. You’re music. You’re art. I love you, I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I didn’t.” Everythings comes out of Elisa at rapid fire. You’re left blinking at her tiredly. 

Word’s have done enough today. You’re too tired to talk. You walk over to her and tangle her hands with yours. Her fingers run along the sides of yours and you’ve never felt simultaneously at home and like you're on a rollercoaster. You love that feeling best when you’re with Elisa, she makes everything down to going on a walk feel like an adventure but also like you’re coming home and taking off your shoes and falling into bed when you’re tired. Safe, you realise, she makes you feel safe. No one ever felt this much like home before. In fact, you think if there is a home where all the atoms in the universe started your’s would be next to hers. 

She pulls you closer to her body and before you can register it you feel a soft kiss, tentative kiss on your lips. It feels so right. You’ve always felt like your bodies were made to fit together and now you have confirmation. 

“Sorry, I had to do that, I couldn't wait any longer.” 

You hum at the sentiment. 

She pulls away before bumping your foreheads together and letting it rest there. You love how Elisa knows you. Kissing is great but you know there’s more way to be intimate in a moment without you being attached to each other. Sitting here in this silence with her is filling your lungs with life again. You hadn’t noticed how little air you’d been breathing before, now every breath is a big heave and you’re trying to fill all your senses with her. You can see her, you can hear her breaths, you can feel her warmth against you, you can smell her, you can taste the chapstick she keeps in her car. This is where you’re supposed to be, you’ve never been more sure of anything. 

Her hand comes up to cup the side of your face. Speaking quietly she utters,

“We wasted so many days.” 

She sounds like she's laughing at the irony of it all. You know her well enough to detect the hint of bitterness in her voice. You think back to all the days you spent throwing her longing looks, waiting until she looked away or turned to look back at her. Everytime she smiled or laughed or frowned and they all went into a file to document exactly what she looked like. When you were younger and she would run up to hug you after a goal or the late night phone calls or the times where the moment hung just long enough for you to consider saying something. A light on the dark sea looking for a boat to say I see you, come home to me, I'll keep you safe. You wouldn’t trade any of those moments for the world. 

“No, my love,” you whisper back bringing your own hand up to clutch hers, “I haven’t wasted a single day loving you. You make me feel like I’m somebody when I'm next to you. I don’t care about how many goals or assists I have, none of that matters. I don’t need to be somebody to anyone, I want to be someone to you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

You love her so much it’s utterly overwhelming, you can feel your throat beginning to close up. Sometimes it’s hard for you to tell her you love her because she means so much to you. Words could never portray how essential she is to your being. All you can do is hold her and try to give her the same sense of safety and wonder she gives you. Your hands tightly grip hers. You can feel her lips ghosting over the skin of your face. Her warm and heavy presence reminds you that this moment isn’t a dream. 

You feel her press small kisses from your temple to your hairline, her hand moving to cradle the back of your head. Eventually she trails her kisses along your nose before hovering over your mouth where you meet her to connect your lips again. This kiss isn’t as soft as the last. This is the kiss which tells you she’s waited long enough to have you, she isn’t going to waste another moment. Your arms creep up to wind around her neck pulling her closer to you. A deep inhale from your nose tells her you don’t want to let go just as much as her. With a small bite to your lower lip, you knew you’d been right in assuming your chemistry would translate to the physical side of the potential relationship. 

Pulling away with great effort you ask her to stay over tonight. 

She replies by kissing you harder than before. 

Perfect, you think, you’re not going to waste one more day.

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 5

Hello, hello, hello! And we have completed the set this week! All for stories getting new and beautiful chapters. Though, with WIP Wednesdays spilling into Thursdays, I might change up my posting schedule a bit to accommodate the influx of asks.

But we'll see.

Here we see Steve dealing with a wild Karen or Linda as they were called in the 80s (at least out where I lived). Yep! We've always had a name for busybodies. It's just changed with the times.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4

~

Steve had to throw out the rest of his food, it having gone cold while he was on the phone with Dustin and his mom.

He sighed in annoyance, but it couldn’t be helped. He could hear his mother now, just screaming about all the wasted food and all the starving children in Africa who would have appreciated that meal he just wasted.

Thankfully she was in whatever fresh hell Dad had dragged her off to after he threw him out.

He decided the best thing to do after all that was to go to the gym and run on a treadmill for awhile and just turn off all those dark thoughts swirling in his brain. So he got dressed in cropped swim team t-shirt and a pair of old basketball shorts. He pulled out his favorite sneakers and grabbed his room key.

He got some string and tied it to his wrist so he wouldn’t lose it while he was exercising and not be able to get back into his room. He wasn’t even sure the hotel knew who it was that was actually staying in the room with everything under Eddie’s name.

He made his way to the gym, but as he went through the hotel he noticed people staring at him and not in the fun way.

The women would sneer and the men would look down their noses at him. He tugged on the crop top, a little insecure now. By the time he got the gym he as ready to turn tail and run back to his hotel room.

But he stopped at the glass door to their very state of the art gym. The people inside were all dressed similarly to what he was wearing. He looked back into the hallway and thought about all the other patrons that looked down at him.

Steve squared his shoulders. He was used to this kind of bullshit. He had got from his parents, their friends, and hell even his own friends over the years every time he tried coloring outside of the lines.

Well fuck them. He had every right to be here, same as them. He yanked open the door and got situated on the treadmill nearest to the door, set it to a low speed and began to walk.

Once he got into the rhythm he switched up to a slow jog, then a full on run. He slowed it back down and counted out his heart rate.

“I think you have the wrong time, honey,” this sickeningly sweet voice said from behind him. “The help are only allowed use of the facilities after the guests have gone to bed.”

Steve paused the treadmill and turned around to face her. She was blond woman covered head to toe in pink! Pink tracksuit, pink tennis shoes, pink headband, even pink sunglasses. Though why she needed those, he didn’t know. It wasn’t that bright in here.

“You think I’m staff?” he asked incredulously. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

She looked up and down his body and sniffed in disdain. “The high school phys. ed attire for a start, darling. Then there’s the...” she waved at his body. His very tanned, muscular, lean body. “All of you.”

Steve put his hands on his hips and raised an annoyed eyebrow. “Look, honey,” his emphasis on the last word, throwing it back at her, “you’re probably not from here. But my parents are very rich and you are just some biddy who thinks bullying people is acceptable. Which it really isn’t, no matter what your tax bracket is.” He looked her up and down. “Which judging from the fact your track suit is from two seasons ago? Theirs is bigger than yours.”

The woman sputtered and fumed but Steve just hopped of the treadmill and got a water bottle from the courtesy fridge, downing quickly. He threw it in the trash and without a word or even so much as a backward glance, he strolled out of the gym with his head held high.

God, that felt good.

Of course the only reason he knew it was two years out of date was because his mom bought one then, wore it once, and then threw it in the back of her closet never to be seen again. Which, he thought with a huff, was probably what she wanted to do with him, if he was honest.

He got up to his hotel room and untied the key from his wrist to unlock his door. He stepped into the cool sanctuary of the black marble and brass fittings. It wasn’t a style he would pick out for himself, but there was something about the black and brass that reminded him of Eddie in a way. Dark and bright at the same time.

Steve spotted the package right off the bat this time. He walked over to the black gift bag and took over to the sofa. He opened it to find a box of chocolate raspberry truffles, a small jewelry box, and a nice black wallet.

He opened the chocolates first and took a bite. The tart of the raspberry hit his tongue first and then richness of dark chocolate. Fuck they were good. Steve forced himself to just eat the one. Otherwise the whole box would be gone in an instant.

He pulled out the wallet next. It had cash as well as shiny black credit card in his name. Well, he supposed since Eddie was loading cash on it, it was more like a debit card, but still it was black. Not even his parents had a black card. He could spend whatever he wanted and Eddie would pay for it.

Not that he would. God no. But Christ, he could, he absolutely could. He ran his fingers over the shiny surface in awe. Then he counted the money and he closed his eyes. There was about a thousand dollars in there. Five crisp one hundreds, ten crisp twenties, twenty tens, and twenty fives. The wallet could barely close it was so stuffed.

Steve could not spend the money and Eddie would never know. He could barely use the card, but Eddie would know that and be concerned why he wasn’t getting everything he needed and send more money. Plus, Steve had a pretty good idea what the smaller bills were for anyway. Tipping. The wait staff, housekeeping. Things that were polite to do when other people were doing everything for you.

It also meant that if he wanted to he could go out a buy booze if he ever just wanted a beer. Because it was within the bounds of Eddie’s rule. Don’t use the card to buy booze, no mention of his cash, so...

Steve set the wallet aside and made sure to remember to call down to the front desk for the combination to the room safe. He knew there was one. Especially in a place like this. He pulled out the little white jewelry box and opened it. Inside set in gold was a little bird pendant on a gold chain. Steve held it up to the light and marveled at it as it spun, glinting in the light.

He put the necklace on and continued to marvel at it on his neck. It was beautiful. He set the rest of it aside and bounced up. He flopped on the bed and picked up the phone, dialing Eddie’s number.

“Hello?” an unfamiliar voice answered.

“Oh!” Steve cried. He never expected someone else to answer the phone. “It’s Steve, I’m calling for Eddie.”

“Oh, shit!” the voice said. “I thought it was my phone that was ringing. Sorry, man. I’ll get him for you.”

A moment later Eddie was on the line. “Little Canary, if you only call me when I send you pretty gifts, I’m going to have to up my game and send them more often.”

“Oh!” Steve cried again. “Sorry about that. Everything has been happening all at once. I was going to call you when I got back from the gym, but I saw your gift first.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Eddie soothed. “I was only mostly teasing.”

Steve laughed and shook his head. “But everything was amazing by the way. Those chocolates were to die for and I really loved the necklace.”

“No mention of the wallet I see,” Eddie said with a chuckle. “I can stop sending you money if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, no,” Steve said in a rush, “I am a little uncomfortable with it, but more because I don’t have a safe place to keep it right now then because you gave it to me. I appreciate the money to be able to start tipping the staff.”

“That’s a relief,” Eddie said. “I was worried I might be overstepping with the cash. I’m glad it all shook out okay. So tell me about the gym. You’ll never catch me in one and I’m curious.”

Steve told him all about the trip down and the bitch on top of how great the gym was.

“That bitch,” Eddie agreed when he was done. “She was jealous on how good you look, baby.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Steve agreed. “The way she turned purple when I told her her outfit was out of fashion was just the icing on the cake.”

Eddie hummed and went on to talk about how the last two days were back to back concerts and how tired he was.

“You’re taking care of yourself, too?” Steve asked. “You want to take care of me, but who’s taking care of you?”

Eddie’s smile could be felt through the line when he said, “My band. There’s Gareth, who answered the phone. He’s our drummer, then there’s Jeff, he’s rhythm guitar and lead vocals–”

“What’s rhythm guitar?” Steve asked. “Is it a different instrument?”

“No,” Eddie explained, “but I can see why you might think that.” Then he went on to explain what it meant and why Eddie was lead guitar and backup vocals. “I can sing fine, but Jeff? He’s got a real talent for it. Gives us a unique edge. And then the last and certainly not the least is Brian who’s on bass.”

“First base?” Steve teased.

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

Steve snickered. “Who’s on first? That old timey comedy sketch about baseball?”

He could hear Eddie snap his fingers. “That’s right. Wrong kind of bass though. And it is a separate instrument, but not to be confused with a upright bass. Which are those weird, big violin looking thingies.” He went on to describe the differences between a bass and a guitar.

“Oh it’s like a violin and a viola,” Steve said, “they may look similar but they aren’t the same.”

Then it was Eddie’s turn to be confused, so Steve explained.

“See, little Canary,” Eddie said after he was done. “You’re plenty smart. And sadly I have to go. But I want you to call me more often, okay?”

“Aye, aye!” Steve said with a jaunty salute.

“You menace,” Eddie huffed fondly. “Bye, Stevie.”

“Bye, Eddie.”

After they hung up Steve picked up the pendant and looked at it again. A little canary. Well then.

He got up and decided that it was time for lunch and maybe pay his cousin a little visit. He needed news. News only Monty could provide.

~

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Tag List: CLOSED

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3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

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10- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @blondie1006 @sadisticaltarts

[togglesbloggle]

In Defense of Bad Things

'Bad' here meaning mostly 'amateur'; stuff made enthusiastically by people at an unprofessional level. Art with visible gaps between what the artist imagined and what they achieved, products of flawed craftsmanship. I suppose everybody can appreciate them to some extent, it's a rare parent that doesn't put up their kid's drawings on the fridge in one way or another. But it turns out to be a fully general skill you can cultivate, and the more I do, the more I'm glad I did.

Partly, it's the teacher thing; finding delight in amateur work is one of the ways to find delight in the process of learning. Cultivating a love of striving-qua-striving can help make you a force for good in the world, as people start to feel safe trying to do things when you're around, even when their efforts are wobbly. You get to participate a little more in the process of atoms spinning themselves into ideas, even when there aren't any illusions about whether you're helping cultivate some revolutionary genius in the field.

And partly it's a fabulous way to build community. By necessity, our professional-level skills tend to be at the service of other people, performed for economic benefit; that's kind of how you get professionally good at something in the first place. When we're acting for our own sake, and among friends, most of what we do with one another is amateurish. I only cook middling-okay, I can't hold a tune that well, I'll never be a speed runner for anything. If you can only enjoy singing from the hundred best singers in the whole world, manufactured and polished by major studios, then you and your friends will sit shoulder-to-shoulder and passively listen to music. But it's so much richer an experience to sit face-to-face, actually singing together, even badly; you expose yourself to so many new ways to appreciate and respect one another, building relationships on what you've accomplished and not just by witty criticism or liking the same things.

And partly it's because some of the most powerful and innovative artistic experiences are in high-churn environments with low expectations and low barriers to entry, if only because those catch the passionate and driven young people that have been otherwise overlooked by our systems. The golden age of webcomics meant that a ton of the actual art involved was pretty lousy, but it also produced work that people still talk about today. D&D began as a profoundly unpolished collection of handmade rulebooks sold at cons in a plastic baggie. By the time these products of enthusiastic amateurs filter themselves through various levels of popularity and absorb mainstream cash influx, they're often risk-averse and missing a lot of the bold spark that inspired their fans in the first place; others will simply never drift towards the mainstream at all. I'm not saying you should be the person who goes out to dig through the slush piles of the internet looking for overlooked art, unless you want to be-- but sometimes a work of actual staggering genius also happens to be a Supernatural fanfic by a first-time author who's a little hazy on commas, and if that's a dealbreaker, you're going to miss out on some profoundly valuable experiences.

And hiding behind all of these things is, like...

Our appreciation of beauty has an odd structure, right? When things are done very skillfully, by brilliant artists with years of training, we can usually appreciate those accomplishments. And when we're looking at nature without human influence, and especially when we think very deeply about natural processes and understand them in context, we often rediscover that sense of beauty. There's just this bizarre hole in the middle where we declare things 'ugly'; as if a little skill is worse than none at all.

I really don't trust that gap. It feels like a trick my brain is playing on me, you know? It has me suspicious that a lot of what I consider 'ugly' or 'bad' is not a very direct experience of the world at all, or an informed judgment. That it is, rather, a declaration of (self-, social-) identity; a desire to be seen as a person of good taste, or as somebody who does things well, or just more primitively as one of the monkeys who is in the good-stuff-tribe and not one of the monkeys who is in the bad-stuff-tribe.

[forthelostones]

let's celebrate you ─── ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧ 🪩 ˚ afab!reader x sub!ellie ⋆ 🪩 ୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡

" its time i turn these lights low "

synopsis: your birthday was a special one with a different kind of treat.

warnings. 18+ (mdni); sub!ellie, loser!ellie, fingering & cunnilingus (e! receiving), dina ft, drinking, & grinding.

an: hi everyone, thanks for all the love on my other works! if u have any requests let me know! edited this on the fly >.< ; enjoy!

(no y/n)

wc: 2.2k

♪ playlist: misty ( lesly gore ), but not kiss ( faye webster ), what kinda of love ( childish gambino ), smile more ( syd ) ♪

your birthday was coming up and Dina had promised to make it a special one. you really didn’t mind having just a small dinner, and maybe a cake, but she insisted on something more. she didn’t tell you any of the details, just that you should look your best and not worry. you tended to be on the more anxious side so this was difficult. you appreciated the efforts but felt reluctant to not think of every single detail. 

after getting dressed you went to Dina’s where music was already vibrating the floorboards of the front porch. upon entering you saw everyone circling the entryway and smiling as they cheered “happy birthday!” you awkwardly cuddled your arm as you silently thanked them. immediately, Dina comes to hug you tightly, you inhale the familiarity and watch everyone disperse except for one person. 

“ellie. hey.” you mutter as Dina releases you from her arms. 

“happy birthday, um…” she rubs the back of her neck softly. 

she was wearing all black, head to toe, with the exception of a silly rainbow party hat that Dina probably put on her. when she noticed she still had it on she ripped it off quickly and fiddled with it in her hands. 

“right, um, you look nice.” she smiles warmly. 

“thanks els, why don’t we go and get you something to drink?” 

ellie and you were in the same advanced planetary astronomy course. you spent a lot of time together studying for exams and even lab partners, but outside of that you really didn’t hang out with her. you wished you did though. during some late nights she’d reveal small parts of her life and you just wanted to put your assignments away and indulge in her. 

“i don’t see how you can listen to music while doing this.” you mention.

this was a 300-level course and it wasn’t particularly easy, the readings were intense, with a lot of scientific jargon you still had to learn. 

she pulls away headphones away and rolls her eyes. “i mean, it’s just a little something, my working playlist. mostly instrumental.” 

that night she shared the playlist after your study session and you scrolled through her Spotify to see what other artists she listened to. just a small glimpse of her was all you really wanted.  

you both mosey through a crowd of people to get to the kitchen area. everyone saying happy birthday, asking how are you, and pointing you in the direction of your gifts. meanwhile, Ellie just followed shortly behind and was very silent, giving everyone a courtesy smirk. once you reach the kitchen counter covered in various bottles, you make both you and Ellie a suspicious concoction. 

“i don't know if I trust you as a mixologist.” she smiles shyly. 

“what you never had tequila, rum, and a little ginger ale?” 

you both laugh as your faces turn sour at the overly sharp mix. 

the night continues on with Ellie by your side and you both loosen up from the continuous influx of random drinks. you talk about more than class and your horrible professors, she tells you a bit about her music taste, hobbies, and her very visible tattoos. 

“i don’t think I have the pain tolerance to even sit and get something this big.” you say absentmindedly dragging the tip of your index finger along her forearm. you were slumped in the corner of the couch and she sat slouched on the arm of the sofa, just above you. 

“uh, uh I mean, I— I took some medicine before and uh,” she looks down to you and once your eyes connect she looks away. “they have this cream, like numbing cream, but I didn’t need that, I just I have a high pain tolerance, I dont know, yea.” 

“hmm, strong els.” your finger continues up her arm. 

Ellie trembles quietly at the static shock traveling through her body. you look up to her as her eyes follow your finger tracing along her skin, she inhales deeply and lets out a shaky breath. you feel a pounding start behind your temples and you lay your head on her thigh. 

“my head, ugh.” 

ellie freezes at the simplest touch of you, unsure of where to put her hand she just gently lies it on your back. 

“maybe we had too much of your little potion.” she jokes. 

it hurts to laugh but you manage to get one out. 

“ah, I think I’m gonna stay here,” you say.

“oh, yea, probably me too, I don’t think I could drive home.” 

you look up to her and her face is painted pink at just the smallest connection with you. “come with me.” 

you and Ellie are now in the spare bedroom just across the hall from Dina’s. you flop on the bed and pat beside you to signal Ellie to sit down. 

“should I get Dina? are you okay?” She asks. 

“im fine. um, I really liked my gift by the way.”

of course, she bought you a copy of her favorite comic, savage starlight, and left a sweet note inside the gift bag.

“oh, you saw it? when? we’ve been together all night.” she panicked. 

“when I said I was going to the bathroom.” 

you both share a soft laugh.

“i hope you like it.” 

“im sure I will. thanks, els.” 

her eyes are pooling brightly into yours, stealing a quick glance of your lips. you reach your hand and place it behind her neck, pulling her towards you, and sharing a kiss. 

“yo-you are so welcome.” 

she leans in this time nervously, awaiting another kiss. you guide her hands from the mattress to around your waist, draping your wrists around her neck, tucking her closer into you. you pull away and kiss her cheek, she giggles your lips tickle, and her smile fades and turns into a soft groan as she realizes your lips are trailing towards her neck. her grip becomes firmer around your hips and she unconsciously moves your hips towards her, back and forth. the kisses are cloud-like until you hear your name leave her lips. that’s when you slither your tongue up her neck, sucking and leaving small bite marks on the length of her throat. 

once you come back to her lips, she doesn’t hold back and goes in with her tongue. in between each kiss she tugs at you harder, gets more excited each pass while grunting passionately. your hand grips her leg firmly and drapes it over your lap, where she doesn’t hesitate to start bucking her hips against you. she bites your bottom lip to catch her breath and rubs her nose against yours before going into leaving hickeys on your neck. she’s so desperate that you feel how wet your neck has become from her urgency. you bring your hands down from her lower back to cup her ass as she’s taking in your sweet scent. 

“i need you.” she whispers. 

she doesn’t hesitate to pull her top off and before she can remove her bra you stop her. she smiles at you as you remind her to pace herself. you press your lips against her warm skin trailing to her chest, being careful to not satisfy her so fast. once she’s calmed down you remove her bra and just allow yourself to stare at her perky nipples. she’s now grinding against you slowly in a rhythm. you take your lips and brush them lightly against both of her nipples. you saw her chest rise and fall deeply, overcome with desire. 

you take her lingering hands and press them behind her back, restraining her movements. with your free hand, you place the center of your cold palm against her erect nipple. a gasp catches in her throat at the smallest contact as she tosses her head back. you press up against her body as she fights against your restraint. she leans down to kiss you, but you don’t allow her to. out of frustration, she bites her lips watching your hand move up and down. 

her nipples became puffy from your torture and you finally gave her the satisfaction of wrapping your lips around them. she tried to stifle her moans, shying away, turning her face away from yours, simply embarrassed. once you wet her nipples you sucked them allowing your tongue to brush up against her sensitive buds. 

you turned her over from your lap to where both your pelvis’ were level. she tried to feel you as she spread her legs wider but couldn’t because of her jeans. her face scrunched up as she watched you grind up against her just before you trailed kisses down her belly to her waistline. you stopped before her hipbones that were beckoning you to kiss them, which she shuttered at. as you pulled her pants off, she covered her face with her inked forearm. 

“els.” 

“uhmm yea?” 

“i need you to watch me.” 

“o-ohkay.” 

she removes her arm reluctantly and watches as you press your lips into her inner thigh, still holding eye contact. her hand comes to caress your cheek in an attempt to rush you, but you pay her no mind. you bring your mouth to just rest against her clothed clit and she shutters. 

“ah.” escapes her lips. 

her hips start to rise against your lips pressed into her core. her left hand comes to the top of your head as she grinds harder, she whimpers at the lack of satisfaction. 

“please. fuck.” 

 that's when she ignores you and arches her back farther, slipping her hands into her boxes and begins to massage her clit. her free hand grips the sheets and the sounds of her wetness fill your ears like sweet music. 

“ellie?” you ask, taken aback. 

“yes, y-ees?” 

she doesn’t stop until you physically remove her fingers, you grip her wrist and bring her fingers to her lips. she sucks the taste of herself clean off and you finally slip your hand past her waistband. her hands come up to your biceps, digging into your skin while you toil her wet clit. 

“harder.” she demands, but you pull your hand away, causing her body to jerk violently.

she takes your wrist and guides your fingers up and down her clit. she huffs, with her eyes closed, soaking in the pleasure. At one point she just starts grinding on all four of your fingers. legs spread open, lifting her hips up rhythmically, panting and sweating as she humped your hand. 

just before she came you pulled down her boxers and drank in her red, soaked pussy. the cold air made her twitch under you as you brought your lips to her folds. you were swimming in her warmth as you pecked her opening gently. she moaned at the view of you making out with her pussy, eyes closed, tongue slipping in occasionally, and sipping her up. you did everything in your power to avoid her throbbing clit as you tongued her soaked hole. 

once you finally wrapped your lips around her clit closed her eyes, basking in the relief she felt. as you inhale her legs come closing in on your face, shaking. 

“ellie,” you look up. “relax, im going to let you cum.” 

as she releases the tension from her body your two fingers enter her. she tosses her head to the side at the pressure inside of her, her breathing becoming unstable again. you find her clit in your mouth again and now she’s panting obscenities under her breath. 

“fuck, fuck, ahh, so good. please.” 

mindlessly she just kept moaning like this, throwing your name in the mix too. 

“another,” she said breathlessly. “three, I need another finger, ple-please.” 

she watched you, face wet, eyes drunk from her body, as you slipped in your ring finger, stretching her further. you couldn’t help but stare at her pussy wrapped so tightly but perfectly around your fingers. instead of sliding in and out, you just curled your fingers towards her g-spot, causing tears to pool in the corners of her eyes. 

your tongue flicks her clit harder as you pick up stamina inside of her, she was paralyzed with pleasure, stiffened by her orgasm. once she came over the edge, you kept going, harder, faster, quicker, and her body attempted to fold but you did not falter. with all her strength she uses her hands to lift your head, but her body is weakened. 

you pull your fingers out, causing a pop and she lays, eyes wide looking at the mess you made. she just lies breathless and as you crawl up to kiss her, you pat her dampened cunt causing her to yelp before her lips met yours. 

[nicohischierz]

who's afraid of little old me?: nico x player!reader

tagging: @ivy-34, @francesfarhadi, @hzstry8, @cixrosie, @itsnotgray, @estapa94, @trevs-swiftie, @heartz4hischif you want to join the taglist let me know!!

you stalked the comments under your post, whilst you knew you shouldn't have paid any attention to what was being said, you couldn't help yourself as curiosity got the best of you.

negativity is something everyone would tell you not to pay attention to but it was hard to do so when it was everywhere. it was as if the fans were ready to attack you at any point.

they didn't understand the hard work you put in to make it to the NHL. the blood, sweat and tears that went into ensuring your place in a professional hockey league.

the comments made by fans who didn't appreciate your hiatus were something you expected but after years of enduring such unnecessary hate, their comments only fuelled your want to play better in the season to come.

after giving birth to your daughter, you readied yourself for world championship games and surprised everyone when your name appeared on the list.

your interview was like a record scratch at a party. the interviewers asked about the influx of negativity towards you and you replied "who's afraid of little old me?"

they laughed it off as a joke but in your mind, you knew they should be.

the news of yours and nico's relationship spread like wildfire amongst the hockey community. adding the birth of your child made people question whether you were on the team for your skill or convenience.

whilst both of you were happy to be open about your relationship, you couldn't help but wonder why your name was the only one being tarnished.

"schatz, i will tell all of them to stop what they are saying. they wouldn't be true fans if they think it is okay to bring one of us down," nico promised one night.

you turned to him and smiled, placing a kiss on his lips. "you don't have to worry. it's not anything new,"

not only was your relationship the talk of the summer, but once the season had started paul bisonette made it his life's mission to make snide remarks about you relationship.

the jokes piled up as you played game after game, until one day you couldn't take it anymore. you sat in your apartment, tears streaming down your face as another joke made its way around the internet.

the devils were playing the rangers and body's were being thrown throughout the whole game. whilst you were a person who wasn't afraid to lay a hit, you steered away from fights.

but as a player from the opposing team chirped in your ear every moment he could, you dropped the gloves landing punch after punch until the referees pulled you apart.

in your post-game interview, a reporter asked what prompted you to start the fight and you answered. "I was tame, I was gentle 'til the circus life made me mean. it was about time I reminded everyone why I'm here,"

yourusername

yourusername: who's afraid of little old me?

no matter what you did, it seemed that the media was out to get you. now people were questioning your abilities as a mother as you continued on with your career.

"nico you tell me everything is not about me, but what if it is? every article about the devils has mentioned me in some and you can stand here and tell me that they didn't do it to hurt me," you screamed.

you came back to the season, feistier than before. showing everyone just how disturbed they made you. starting fights whenever and raking up your penalty minutes.

the older guys in the league (sidney crosby, matt martin and brad marchand) had all expressed their concern for the way you were acting and staged an intervention.

during the all-star break, they cornered you in your home and interrogated you about your behaviour. "we know what it's like to have all this media attention so you don't have to fight this on your own," matt prompted

you shrugged his hands off your shoulder and stood up. "all of you can talk about your difficulties but you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. i'm always drunk on my own tears, isn't that what they all say?" you retorted, referring to your post-game interview where your frustrated tears were addressed by everyone.

as the season came to an end, the devils had clinched a playoff spot and you had been scratched the past five games. your behaviour had changed since your talk with sid, matt martin and brad but the three knew the media's words made a lasting impact on you.

so as the devils faced off against the penguins for the first round and reporters asked if you would play the way you have all season you replied, "I am the way I am because of the media. you all act afraid of me when this the a product of the belittling I received upon coming back,"