#this is such a dumb post but it’s funny TO ME

[just-some-random-blogger]

YOU ALWAYS GOT ME CURLING MY TOES KICKING MY FEET SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

“Fancy seeing you here,” your captor said in a very familiar, cheeky voice.

🧍‍♀️ ???? This rat really acting like it was a coincidence when he nearly yanked my soul out my skeleton hello???? He's so stupid

I'm tryna be ur wife fool

He leaned down, his lips brushing along the column of your throat.

THAT SHOULD BE ME

His lips connected with yours in a soft, languid kiss. “Consider yourself warned,” he grinned.

WARN ME EVERY DAY FOR THE REST OF MY EXISTENCE

“Just how much I like you,” you whispered, resting your chin on his sternum when he pulled back.

I fuckin knew I would forget the context of this... Gimme a sec... OH NVM I REMEMBER FUCK IM SO DUMB YEAH YOU AND ME BOTH BESTIE HELLO

He chuckled. “Gonna to have to be quiet f’me, love. Don't want go get caught with a Beater, aye?”

Literally me (I hate this gif I am legally obligated to say how much I hate it but equally find it hilllllllarrrious mdkdkdkksk)

You lurked by the Gryffindor locker rooms, waiting for George to emerge, freshly showered in his favorite hoodie and sweats. Your mouth nearly watered at the thought.

IMPURE THOUGHTS ONLY. I LITERALLY WENT I WILL LIKE HIM LIKE A LOLLIPOP FRESHLY SHOWERED JUST TO GET HIM DIRTY PLEASE I WANT HIM SO BAD

“Oi! What—oh, hey y/n.” He smirked down at you, waggling his eyebrows. “Wrong twin, but—”

🧍‍♀️😭✋ he is an icon. he is the moment. HES SO FUNNY. GEORGE IS GONNA BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU THOUGH BUT YOU DID IT FOR THE COMEDY

“Yeah, he was livid. But, he's the last one in there if you want to cheer him up.” Fred winked and slipped back into the hall, leaving you to your mischief.

We ain't leaving till our skins wrinkly as fuckkkkk HAHAHAHHAH

“You little minx.” He grabbed you off the bench and into his still damp chest, kissing you fiercely. “I was just about to come see you,” he said between sloppy kisses, backing you against a row of lockers.

I WILL LITERALLY GIVE HIM HIS OWN QUIDDITCH TEAM. MOLLY WEASLEY AINT GOT NOTHING ON ME

Your stomach dropped, indignation at Woods words colliding with the newfound guilt in your mind. George loved Quidditch. You didn't want to be the reason he wasn't playing well. But also…what if that meant Quidditch was higher priority to him? Where did that leave you?

Honestly me at Oliver: (the crowd goes fucking mild)

How does he think not dating will help? The call of a man who's never felt the touch of a woman

“Fuck, Georgie,” you whined, bucking your hips against his hand.

😭CON😭GRA😭TU😭LA😭TIONS😭 HOW DOES IT FEEL TO LIVE MY LIFE

Irritation prickled up your neck. “I'm not sure I have time to tutor someone.”

A deafening crack sounded from across the pitch and you both startled, turning back towards the match. A bludger was barreling straight towards your section. You screamed as it slammed into the post less than half a meter from Gus' head, ripping through the wood with a resounding boom and scattering splinters across the section.

BROOOOOOOOOOO GEORGE OUT FOR BLOOD HES LEGIT ALMOST KILLED A MAN INSANE BEHAVIOR HELLO?????

Gryffindor was booing the call, chanting “Weasley!” at the top of their lungs. Without George, unless Harry caught the snitch, the match was basically forfeit.

AND THATS ON PERIODT. MY MANNNNNNNNNNNN IS THAT GWORL

“Are you questioning my aim?”

GAGO KA GEORGE GEORRGGEEEE IM SO NOT NORMAL ABOUT YOU HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO BE NORMAL GAGO

He pinched your cheeks together in his still gloved hand, shaking you slightly. “I'll always protect you, brat. And if that makes me a madman, so be it.”

I WANT HIM

A grin split George's handsome face, making your heart flutter.

I wish he was real ): (he's real to me)

“Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!”

BEAUTIFUL STUNNING GORGEOUS LOVELY UGHHHHHH 100000000000/10

Hii there!! Can you write something about George Weasley where he and the reader have been really good friends for a while but start secretly dating because of some stupid rule like quidditch players can’t date during the season or something like that? And they get caught by their friends being intimate after a game?

Ps: love your writing style so much, your fics are so easy to get into and beautifully written💕

thank you for the request! hope your enjoy 🫶

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| George Weasley x fem!reader

cw: light smut (heavy petting/making out), sneaking around/secret relationship, jealous!george, assault via bludger, oliver wood is a cock block.

MDNI 18+

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You were walking down the hall with Luna, chatting about the results your divination exam, when a hand shot out and yanked you into a dark, empty classroom.

“Fancy seeing you here,” your captor said in a very familiar, cheeky voice.

“You can't just kidnap me, Weasley.” You cross your arms over your chest, jutting out a hip.

“Kidnapping is a bit dramatic.” George’s hands slide around your waist. “Can't a bloke want to spend a few moments with his girl?” He leaned down, his lips brushing along the column of your throat.

You craned your head back for him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Perhaps. But still, some warning would be nice.”

His lips connected with yours in a soft, languid kiss. “Consider yourself warned,” he grinned.

You breathed a content sigh, taking your fingers through his ginger hair while he peppered featherlight kisses along your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids. The last few weeks had been so challenging thanks to Woods new rule about dating during Quidditch season.

You and George had been circling one another since fourth year, waiting for the right moment to dip your toes into something more than friendship. And of course, when the stars finally aligned, Wood had to throw a wrench in your new relationship. So now, instead of basking in your honeymoon phase, you were forced to sneak around, hiding your relationship from everyone.

But Fred, obviously. George couldn't lie to his twin even if he wanted to.

“You're in your head, darling,” George murmured, pulling back to look at your face in the dim light.

“Am not,” you argued, dragging your hands down his chest and sliding them under his robes. The sweater beneath was soft and thick, warm from his body heat.

“What are you thinking about?” He kissed your temple, across your cheekbone, beneath your ear…

You hummed, leaning into him, soaking up his heat, his unhurried affection.

“Love?” He prodded, nipping at your ear.

“Just how much I like you,” you whispered, resting your chin on his sternum when he pulled back.

A smile spread across his freckled face. “My sweet girl,” he cooed. “I like you too.”

You pressed your lips to his, brushing your tongue along his lower lip, and his hands tightened on your waist. He parted his lips for you to delve deeper, matching every stroke of your tongue with his until you were panting, clawing at his sweater to get closer.

He backed you against a desk, his hand sliding under your skirt to squeeze your ass, notching your hips against his. A gasp squeaked for your throat when he ground himself against you, already growing sensitive.

He chuckled. “Gonna to have to be quiet f’me, love. Don't want go get caught with a Beater, aye?”

You nodded, clamping your lips shut.

The Quidditch season was only three months. How hard could it be?

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Quidditch practice ran late for the third night in a row, and you were desperate for some attention from your boyfriend.

You lurked by the Gryffindor locker rooms, waiting for George to emerge, freshly showered in his favorite hoodie and sweats. Your mouth nearly watered at the thought.

But player after player trailed out of the locker room, and no George. You were getting impatient, shifting form foot to foot when you spotted Fred walking with Ron, chatting animatedly about the match this weekend.

You grabbed Fred’s wrist and yanked him to the corridor you were hiding.

“Oi! What—oh, hey y/n.” He smirked down at you, waggling his eyebrows. “Wrong twin, but—”

“Ew, Fred! No! Where's George?”

Fred snickered. “Still in the shower. Pitch was muddy and he got a face full from Thomas.”

You grimaced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, he was livid. But, he's the last one in there if you want to cheer him up.” Fred winked and slipped back into the hall, leaving you to your mischief.

You scampered down the corridor and into the locker room, following the trail of steam until you found the only drawn curtain. George was humming to himself, tapping his feet on the tile floor.

You clapped a hand over your mouth to avoid laughing and ruining the surprise, and perched on the bench across from the curtain to wait.

A few moments later, the water cut off and his hand poked through the curtain, grabbing the red towel off the hook.

The curtain ripped open, and George yelped in surprise, nearly dropping the towel slung low around his hips.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You grinned.

“You little minx.” He grabbed you off the bench and into his still damp chest, kissing you fiercely. “I was just about to come see you,” he said between sloppy kisses, backing you against a row of lockers.

“Were you?” You giggled as his lips moved down your neck, sending tingles skittering across your skin. You dragged your nails cross his bare back, admiring the way his muscles jumped at your touch.

“Couldn't stand another night without you,” he admitted. He started undoing the buttons of your blouse, clearly feeling as desperate as you did based on the tent in his towel.

“Eager, are we?” You teased, hiking your leg over his hip as his hand slid into your skirt.

His middle finger swiped through your slit, teasing your clit with small circles. Pleasure pulsed through you, making your eyes roll back. “Someone is. Already soaked for me, love,” he groaned, capturing your lips in another bruising kiss as he toyed with you.

“Fuck, Georgie,” you whined, bucking your hips against his hand.

“Merlin, I missed you.”

“Weasley, you still in here?” Wood called his voice echoing around room.

“Bloody fucking—stall, now.” George slipped his fingers from you and into his mouth, ushering you into the shower stall he just vacated. The air was still humid and scented by his vanilla body wash. No, your vanilla body wash, you realized, spotting the bottle you'd been missing still sitting on the shelf.

“Still hangin’ around, Wood?” You heard George say.

“I wanted to talk to ya’ about somethin’,” Oliver said, and you saw his boots enter the shower room from under the curtain.

“Can I put trousers on first?”

Oliver snorted. “Sure, mate.”

You heard George shuffling around, pulling on his clothes.

“Fucking trousers don't hide shit,” he grumbled to himself and you had a stifle another laugh. “Alright, Wood. What's on your mind?”

“You've been distracted, Weasley. Missing bludgers, ignoring plays, it's not like you to not take Quidditch seriously,” Oliver said, and you frowned.

George sighed. “It's, ah, there's an assignment in Herbology that's gone tits up. Damn plant won't grow,” George said.

“Uh huh,” Wood answered, clearly not buying it. “Well, maybe it's time your sort out your priorities, mate. Not sure a plant is worth throwing the season, if ya’ know what I mean. We need our best Beater, yeah?”

Your stomach dropped, indignation at Woods words colliding with the newfound guilt in your mind. George loved Quidditch. You didn't want to be the reason he wasn't playing well. But also…what if that meant Quidditch was higher priority to him? Where did that leave you?

“Understood, Captain.” George's voice was cold, a stark contrast to his usual chipper demeanor, and it raised goosebumps along your arms.

Oliver clapped him on the shoulder and left the locker room, evidently oblivious to the shift in George. The door clicked shut behind him, echoing around the empty room.

George tugged the shower curtain open, startling you from your spiralling thoughts. He immediately clocked the distress on your face, the corners of his mouth turning downward. “Oh, lovey—”

“I didn't know I was impacting the team,” you mumbled, looking down at your shoes.

George tilted your chin up, his other arm wrapping around your waist. “Baby, the teams fine. Wood just has a stick up his ass. I played great today, and always do when you're in the stands watching me.”

It was true. Some of his best games had been in the last month you'd been together.

“And besides, I don't need to sort out my priorities.” He bumped his nose against yours. “You always come first, y/n.”

Your heart soared, heat creeping up your neck. “Before Quidditch?” You asked, curling your hands into his hoodie.

“Before everything.” He kissed you softly, with no real pressure, just feeling you against him, and all your anxiety fell away. “C’mon, Freddie's going to a Hufflepuff party tonight, so we've got my dorm to ourselves.”

You kissed him again, smiling. “Sounds perfect.”

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Brooms whizzed over your house’s section, whipping your scarf around your head.

“Go George!” You cheered, when he drifted nearby, twirling the bat in his gloved hand.

He flashed you a wink before banking left, whacking the snot out of bludger that was hurdling straight for Ron. It rocketed across the pitch and directly into the other houses Seeker, giving Harry the advantage.

“Woohoo!” You cheered with the rest of the student body. “Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!”

“Good game, aye?” A guy sidled up next you, leaning against the railing. You sort of recognized him from your Potions class, but couldn't be sure.

“Great game,” you replied, turning your attention back to the match and your boyfriend.

“Are you fan? Of Quidditch, I mean?”

“Mhmm—go Ron!” You cheered, tuning him out.

“I'm Gus, by the way. We're in the same Potions class?”

“Hi, Gus.” You give him a tight smile, hoping he takes the hint.

“Y’know, maybe we could study together sometime. Merlin knows Potions isn't my strong suit, but you seem pretty smart—”

“Get after it, Harry!” You roared as the Seeker flew overhead, the snitch just a few feet out in front of him.

“What do you think, y/n?” Gus prodded.

Irritation prickled up your neck. “I'm not sure I have time to tutor someone.”

Gus’ smile faltered. “Well, what about the next match, then? Maybe we could sit together.” He scooted closer you, infringing on your already limited space.

You squirmed closer to your friend on the other side of you, who was too wrapped up in the match to notice your discomfort. “No thanks, Gus.”

“Oh, c’mon. I promise I'm a nice guy.” He dropped his hand on your knees, and you wrenched yourself away.

“Don't fucking touch me—”

A deafening crack sounded from across the pitch and you both startled, turning back towards the match. A bludger was barreling straight towards your section. You screamed as it slammed into the post less than half a meter from Gus' head, ripping through the wood with a resounding boom and scattering splinters across the section.

You jumped back, falling into your friends laps, and Gus shrieked like a banshee, his face blanching white at how close it had come to taking his head clean off his shoulders.

An ear-splitting whistle interrupted the resulting chaos.

“Weasley, out!” Madame Hootch hollered.

You straightened in alarm, finding George hovering at the center of the pitch, his bat gripped tightly in his hand. His eyes were locked on Gus, dark and smug, a smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth.

“George, land!” Wood bellowed, and George finally floated back to earth. You could hear Oliver shouting, but couldn't see George from your seat.

You fought your way out of the stands, trying to push your way towards the locker room.

Gryffindor was booing the call, chanting “Weasley!” at the top of their lungs. Without George, unless Harry caught the snitch, the match was basically forfeit.

Your mind raced from the adrenaline. Did George do it on purpose? And if he did, why would he jeopardize the match like that?

You found him in the locker room, undoing the ties on his robe. He was still in his uniform, sweaty and smeared with dirt, his hair flat from the helmet.

“George,” you said, and he looked up.

“Love, what are you doing down here?” He frowned, reaching for you, but you held your ground, crossing your arms over your chest. His frown deepened.

“Did you do that on purpose?” You demanded.

“Of course I did,” he responded, not a trace of hesitation in his voice.

“Why? They won't win without you!”

“I don't care about the bloody match, y/n.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

George walked over to you, cradling your face in his gloved hands. “That guy was bothering you, yeah?”

You almost denied it, but found yourself nodding, unable to lie to him.

“And you thought I was going to sit back and let someone make you uncomfortable? My girl? Fuck no.”

You giggled, his protectiveness spurring a wave of affection and dissolving your anger. “I think nearly killing him was a bit much,” you snickered.

“Are you questioning my aim?”

“Just your sanity.”

He pinched your cheeks together in his still gloved hand, shaking you slightly. “I'll always protect you, brat. And if that makes me a madman, so be it.”

You swatted his hands away before wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him down for kiss. He tasted of salt and peppermints, his skin smelling of turf and fresh air, with a hint of that masculine musk that made your head go a little fuzzy.

He kissed you back, catching your lower lip between his teeth and sucking gently. You moaned against him, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth and taste you.

“I'm done hiding,” he murmured when you both came up for air. “And Wood can bugger off.”

The mixing shouting of the crowd filled the quiet air around you. “Ravenclaw scores another twenty points!” Lee declared, his voice notably unenthused.

George shook his head with a smug chuckle, leaning his forehead against yours. “See? They need me.”

“Weasley!” Oliver shouted, startling you both. George looked up, tightening his grip around you. Oliver didn't even bother to act surprised. “You're back in,” he sighed.

A grin split George's handsome face, making your heart flutter.

“Good man,” he replied, dropping a peck onto your lips before doing his helmet and running back out onto the pitch to the roar of the crowd.

“Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!”

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Thank you so much for reading!

If you enjoyed, you can check out my published work here.

Much love,

Allie

[miwiheroes]

Dropping Byler Evidence Every Day Until Season 5

Day 2 - Queercoding Jokes from the writers

I could have done three separate posts on these but you guys deserve a treat! So here are three subtle jokes that the writers make about Mike being gay to queercode him. Jokes are made about men being gay a lot in tv shows, especially ones in the 2010s, however, the ‘subtlety’ of these ones just show that they were made for queer people to pick up on. Or they are subtle clues that after S5, we are meant to look back on and laugh.

1. “El? Sorry, not interested.”

Could have easily said: Sorry, wrong number.

Could have easily said: Damn it.

Stuff like this makes me feel insane but seriously i think its really funny from my perspective (even if it wasn't intentional but like, the writers aren't THIS dumb to put in something like this without knowing how it sounds, right?)

2. "I have an idea. Boys only."

This one just a lil silly and when ppl first started to take this as a queer coded line I was literally like cmon it's probably not that deep. But then again, double meanings do exist and saying stuff like this that can be easily explained away is often used to subtly nod towards something rather than just outright joking about it. This would be to make it so the plot point is still a surprise, but would make sense on a rewatch.

Also, I only really saw this as queer coding when I remembered that Will saying 'A day free of girls' is obviously queer coding as well, and that too is a little double meaning nod towards his sexuality. So why can't it be for Mike- *gunshots*

3. "Straight... straight..." "Right on the money, as I said." "It just doesn't make sense."

Bear in mind this is literally after the van scene where Jonathan sees Mike staring at Will in the rearview mirror from a third-party perspective (meaning from Will's pov he has no clue Mike has any feelings towards him).

I view this line, and really really 'random' ass way of writing what they're trying to figure out, as a joke about the fact that the audience (who are also a third-party perspective to the van scene) have no idea what the hell Mike is thinking. We still have no idea if he knows the painting is really from Will, but we know that Will is talking about himself. And from the way Mike looks at Will, the audience and Jonathan are conflicted because this whole time Mike's been with El ('straight... straight'), and Mike claims to have feelings towards her ('right on the money as i said').

But now it 'doesn't make sense'.

This was a silly one ngl but tomorrow's might be more serious i promise

[leahdrawsstuff]

It’s always so funny when someone is like “omg why did that person block me I’ve never interacted with them” well what u did was be annoying probably. I see one dumb post or comment and I will immediately block that person to ensure that I won’t have to run into more of that specific person’s bad takes elsewhere someday

[sscrambledmeggss]

my literature class is incredibly tiny (there’s only seven people. the professor spent like all of winter break thinking it would be canceled), so what i’m trying to insinuate is: i hope we don’t turn into a tiny pretentious cult and push one of our friends off a cliff during a accidentally snowy day

[jellyjamheadobb]

[hamletthedane]

I'm too much of a sucker for the tragedy of Wicked's ending to take any of this seriously, but the funniest possible fix-it concept is that Glinda just. Does not know. How the fuck. To send this 12yo back to Kansas. Like why the hell would she know how to do that?? Who thought it was a good idea to leave her in charge of this???

And from Dorothy's POV, this is such a funny concept: imagine for a minute that you (a child) wake up in a Fairy-Land, become best friends with a (possibly mentally unstable?) talking scarecrow, and are told by the god-kind that you must go murder his political rival before he'll send go home. Fine. This might as well happen.

And when you return from said murder - which is somehow successful - it turns out the god-king is a fraud and cannot help you. Whoops. Well, how about the OTHER seemingly most powerful person in the country? Ah, no....it turn out she had pretty limited powers in the magic department. And they're mostly bubble-related.

So she takes you (by bubble) to a tiny seaside town on the edge of the map to seek the help of her most powerful friends….the woman you just murdered and your scarecrow best friend who was an accomplice to that murder. And apparently, they’ve all three been dating since undergrad.

I mean, what do you even do with that.

[liquidstar]

genuinely this is the funniest joke in the series so far to me

[cloudysarts]

this is what the book of bill was about right

(og image under the cut)

[telanadasvhenan]

This was funnier in my head

[pinbones]

I've seen a few posts about women and pants now and many of them are very good, and not to nitpick those posts or downplay religious sexism or anything, but I have to emphasise:

Somebody who DOESN'T live in a controlling religious country/cult/family is also affected by sexism. We all know that, right? Secular parts of the first world also have opinions about how women dress, including when it comes to trousers, especially in childhood and in institutions like schools and the workplace

Me and many people my age (20s) remember being forced into skirts, punished and shamed by parents & teachers & peers & possibly then bosses about what we wear not being feminine enough, and it wasn't by deeply religious sects. Many updates to dress codes are very new and sexist views are still in place in many institutions. Normalised societal misogyny wants women (and people they want to treat as women) to dress femininely, down to what KIND of pants they're allowed to wear (compare a pink top and jeggings to mens jeans and tell me these two women are treated the same. Hating women in pantsuits is still a sexist office joke today, and even those outfits are feminine compared to male suits, which raise eyebrows when worn by women). The women I know who wear trousers regularly are literally otherwise feminine, and all wear dresses to events.

I know trousers have become much more normalised over the past few decades in secular society (yay!! the result of many many years of effort and lawbreaking) but let's not be absolute when we talk about the pants concept lol. Especially within a larger conversation about female/transmasc/intersex/transfem masculinity and social perceptions, especially in an age of rising fascism

[doctorwhommm]

torchwood youtube (GAY BOSS?!?)

[courtmartialme]

woag .. otp

[coatl-cuddles]

Its MY blog and /// I /// GET TO POST CRINGE IF I WANT TO!!

[jellyjamheadobb]

[robogart]

I've just had a bad memory my whole life lmao it's fine! Definitely Not A Symptom Of An Underlying Mental Illness And Childhood Coping Mechanisms 😎👍✨

[asharaks]

something else that grates on me about taash's writing is the.....casual cruelty they talk to everyone else with. they mock bellara's gods and religion as sordid and petty; they accuse neve of performativity, of shallowness; they treat rook like an idiot, unavoidably; they are sharply disrespectful of emmrich, and only apologise when pushed (and this is the only time the game even has them apologise! notably, to the white man-) to by rook. I wouldn't hate this abrasiveness as a character choice, if we were given the option to push back against it, if it was shown to be a flaw - youthful bravado, defensiveness, preemtive responses to what they assume people will say to them.

instead, they're coddled, treated as innocent of harm: neve mothers them through their feelings, rook holds their hand as they lash out, we have to therapy-speak them through their feelings about death magic, and most notably to me, bellara's gentle request for them to be respectful in the way they talk about her gods, fallen or not, is rejected, and rook has the "funny"" option to get on board with the degradation. it's just another facet of weekes' writing, where shitting on the indigenous religion is made retroactively acceptable because they're evil and always have been, where being blunt is the same as being rude and pushing back against it makes you just another regressive parent figure trying to tell them who to be, where the context makes any and all interpersonal cruelty acceptable but only if it comes from the Right person.