#why do i manage to put on many tags on this

[steddieas-shegoes]

if you fall, i will catch you

for @steddielovemonth day 2 using Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper

rated t | 855 words | no cw | tags: high school, prom, slow dance, flirting, open ending but assumed getting together

🪩🕺💃🪩🕺💃🪩🕺💃🪩💃🕺🪩

Prom is stupid.

Steve didn’t even want to come. He didn’t have a date and nothing is more embarrassing than showing up to prom alone. Even the nerds come as a group, dancing and laughing together.

His mom made an appointment for his suit fitting and he couldn’t really explain to her that there was no need. She still thinks he and Nancy are on track to be married when Nancy graduates high school. He doesn’t know how to tell her that he’ll probably die alone.

Okay, that’s a little dramatic. He’s probably not gonna die alone.

But he may die unhappy, and that’s worse.

Most of the music hasn’t been terrible so far, at least. Only one slow song played and no one seemed interested in dancing to it.

Steve’s a fucking wallflower at his own prom. He never saw this coming.

He figures he could probably escape within the next few songs, no one would even notice his absence. He makes a mental plan to wait until one of the parent chaperones walks back to the other side of the room.

Then he’s off.

He manages to escape to the hall behind the gym, the one that leads to the auditorium and drama class, not the main building of the school. No one should be back here. It’s the perfect escape route.

“Never thought I’d see the day when King Steve is trying to escape prom,” a voice says from the end of the hall. The music from the gym is echoing in here, but the voice is much louder. It’s familiar, too. “Miss Wheeler too busy with Byers to dance?”

It’s Munson. Steve sighs.

“Why are you even here?”

“It’s my senior prom, too! Or should those of us not graduating not be allowed?” Eddie walks closer and Steve sees that he’s actually dressed up. It’s not a designer suit like he’s been forced into, but it’s nice. Eddie looks…nice.

“Wait,” Steve registers what he actually said. “Not graduating?”

“Yep. Apparently quadratic formulas are crucial to my development and I cannot enter society until I understand them.” Eddie kicks his foot across the tile, leaving a scuff mark from shoes that have probably been waxed beyond necessity. “And I guess dissecting a frog and turning in homework may have helped.”

“But aren’t you pretty smart?” Steve thought he was one of those dungeon dweebs like Dustin. Dustin’s the smartest person he knows, without a doubt, kid or not. He thought all the nerds who play that game were like that.

“Sure, I’m smart enough,” Eddie scoffs. “But I don’t play by their rules. I forget to do homework. I argue.”

“But if you know the stuff, they can’t fail you.”

“Ah, but they can. I don’t have the Harrington name to convince them to change a D to a C. It’s all good. Everyone expected it.”

Steve’s brows furrow, forehead creasing as he thinks about how many things people expected of him that won’t happen.

“Just because people expect it doesn’t mean you have to give it to them,” he says.

Eddie’s eyes widen and he seems shocked by Steve’s words. But the shock wears off quickly. Steve wonders if he imagined it.

“Right you are! Very wise words from the king,” Eddie bows dramatically.

Steve laughs.

Eddie glances up, tense until he realizes Steve’s not laughing at him, just at the entertainment. He stands straight and holds out his hand.

“I do believe such wise words should be repaid with a dance,” Eddie puts on a fake British accent, nose pointed to the sky, smirk playing on his lips.

Steve thinks this must be what it’s like to be charmed by someone.

“A dance?” Steve asks. “Here? With me?”

“It would be my honor,” Eddie loses the accent and turns his head back down so he’s looking right at Steve’s eyes. “Miss Lauper wrote this song just for us, after all.”

Steve’s confusion grows until he hears the song coming from the gym. He can only imagine how awkward it must be in the gym while some couples slow dance with chaperones watching their every breath. He reaches out and takes Eddie’s hand.

“The honor is mine, sir Munson,” Steve tries for an accent like Eddie had previously, but it falls flat.

Eddie pulls him close, but hesitates before he puts an arm around his waist. Steve feels breathless all of a sudden, like they’ve rocketed into space and he forgot one of those astronaut suits. He nods, giving permission for Eddie to take the lead.

When Eddie pulls him closer, they’re almost flush against each other.

Steve’s heart is racing.

“I didn’t know you were weird,” Eddie admits quietly. It sounds a lot like admiration. He’s swaying them back and forth gently, and Steve finds it’s easy to lose track of everything but the way Eddie’s hands rest on his body. “It’s nice to see you, Steve.”

It’s a lot more than what it sounds like.

As Cyndi Lauper plays, Steve wonders if this is how his prom was always meant to be spent: in Eddie Munson’s arms, falling.

[blubunz]

JUST TONIGHT

— bodyguard! leon s. kennedy x f! model! reader

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: porn with plot, maybe slowburn? slight slowburn, pet names, fingering, masturbation.

A/N: a real sucker for this AU i just want myself a man like this tbh. anyways I write this when I can't sleep even though I clearly have to wake up early tomorrow. (Okay it's afternoon now um WHY IS THIS SO LONG😭 I DID NOT EXPECT IT TO BE LONG)

Throughout your career, you weren't in need for a strong, brooding figure to protect yourself, you weren't fond of having anyone watching over you — it made you feel like you're just a weak girl, a damsel in distress who always needs a knight by her side.

And you are, you need someone to be by your side and protecting you from harm. Sometimes you do reckless things, and not to mention those times where you made stupid decisions that almost cost you your life if not for Lady Luck. But Lady Luck can't stay with you forever, and you don't want to be living on edge so constantly. It makes you look like a madman and, most of all, losing sleep, bad schedule and then it escalated to affecting your career and hard work.

And that's why he's here.

You've heard of him before, not on the news, but through whispers and rumors. Of all the things you've heard from them, you're surprised how Leon isn't on the news as much, maybe he's laying low, or maybe he's working for the government, all private and redacted matters.

So then, how exactly did you manage to hire him?

For one, you're curious enough to search him up. His name isn't hard to find, and you admit he looks good, perfect for modeling. The problem is that he hardly uses social media. If he does, then maybe he goes by some other names, or he doesn't post a lot. You found out about Claire Redfield though, at first, she doesn't leave much impression to you, but the pictures she posted have that same familiar face, albeit Leon is looking like a grumpy uncle who would give bad advice to his nieces in each photo.

Once you've decided that it was enough to go stalking people's profiles, you go and make a call using your fame and broad connections in and out of your industry. You got his number in your contact within two days, and your hands are shaking as you try to call him.

It's not that you're scared of socializing, it's just that you're hesitant of making this decision, of finally have someone to protect your life, of admitting that you seek help and reassurance.

But, the possibilities of death and dark thoughts fill your mind quickly enough, and you convince yourself you need this, for your own sake.

“Hello?”

“Is this... Leon Kennedy?”

It's been a month since Leon's been here. Truth be told, he doesn't care much about how people are falling in love with you, mainly just your looks and charisma. He's heard of you many times, so many times, you keep appearing on magazines, billboards, the news, advertisements and more. God, there was this one prime time of your life where your face was practically everywhere! Not that you're no longer famous, but that was the time where your life was endangered the most by how crazy your fans were — another reason why Leon is here.

Upon interacting with you during your own time, Leon found out you're not like how the media portrays you to be. He isn't a stranger to it, seeing famous people and important figures always having to smile and maintain a certain persona for the sake of the community. Sure, you have that bit of yourself in it, but when he escorts you hone, it's when he sees your fatigue.

Your shoulders slump as you sigh, putting your bag on the coffee table as the TV is playing some shows for white noise, you're scared of the quietness — having thoughts that might hurt yourself. Leon closes the door and locks it safely, carrying your bag up to your room.

He doesn't need to do that, Leon's aware his job is to protect your life, not servicing you like a maid ir servant, but he keeps doing so, helping you with the small things like carrying your belonging, to making meals for you.

“You can't sleep now.” Leon sighs, seeing you lying on the couch, eyes closing. He doesn't want to startle you, so he picks you up and carries you into your bedroom, seating you by the make up table.

This is a change of pace for Leon, everything he does has to be careful for you. No longer picking up guns to shoot bio organism weapons or anything of the sort, instead he's now attending to a young model. Two different lives, and Leon finds himself hard to adjust, remembering the times you joke about him acting awkward sometimes when you tried to talk to him normally.

Your name comes out of his lips, sounding sweet and calm. And your eyes open, lazily rubbing off your make up while Leon prepares the bath for you.

“You don't have to do that.” You say once he steps out again, smelling a bit of the bath bomb he put in.

“I know. But, protecting your life is my job, and caring for your bare minimum needs is included.” He explains, and you just nod, not quite sure if they're connected in your mind.

Still, you let him undress you. Your cheeks flush at the way his fingers hook under your top to remove it, oh the slight contact when his hand brushes over your tits or ass. And sometimes you find it crazy how it's you that's the one being attracted to someone, and not Leon, who never advances himself on you, he doesn't even react when seeing your body, you find it weird, but intriguing too when your looks being the most important aspect of your industry, you've gotten used to the attention and the reactions.

In reality, Leon is still human, he admits your body is attractive, he wishes to lay his hands on your body with a more intimate intent, with more sensuality rather than just helping you with undressing or carrying you, his eyes linger on your skin, seeing that your body isn't that perfect as they claim to be, and he imagines himself kissing your flaws, to be the only one seeing your most intimate areas. But he's worked long enough not to let his feelings get involved, he can't bare it not after—

“You can... let me go.” Your voice cut through his thoughts, and Leon lets you go, he didn't even notice he was holding you still, zoning out and staring at the back of your neck.

“Right, sorry.” He clears his voice a little, sitting by your bed to wait for you to finish shower. He brushes a hand through his hair, finding himself longing for some alcohol to drown out this feeling. And that's also a problem. You've said you don't like the smell that lingers when he drinks, making excuses on how it affects your own scent, and people won't find you as attractive. He just stops drinking when he knows he'd have to see you later, not quitting for good, just pausing to prioritize his job — and in within case, his job means you.

Stepping in the shower, you can't help but fantasize about Leon, you can't believe that you fell for him first, and now you're imagining his hand cupping your mound, squeezing you and rubbing your clit. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed with clear displeasure on your face — your fingers aren't enough, you need a hand big like Leon's, to feel those rough pads of skin trailing down your body.

Grumbling in frustration, you go ahead and finish showering.

Leon finishes checking over the securities and ensuring that no one was lurking near your home, he get back to the living room only to see you in your robe, making some tea for yourself.

“Tea?” You ask, passing him the cup before he could say anything.

“Thanks.” He swallows, eyes flickering to your form hidden under the thin silk robe painted by your favorite color, somehow seeing your body like this is much more arousing than when you strip down naked, it teases his desire, and it leaves him chasing that tantalizing image. You catch his lingering gaze, and your eyes twinkle with a hopeful glea. Maybe he likes you too? Even if he's attracted to your looks, you can work your way with making him love you fully. After all, he's the only one who sees you in your most vulnerable moments. He's special, and you let him know of that privilege.

You head off to your room, with him following behind. Leon helps you with closing the curtains and removing your robe, palms firmly rubbing your shoulders. You shiver, letting the garment pool at your feet before seating on your bed in just your lingerie.

Leon tucks you in, and every time he does things like this, he gives you that flutter in your stomach, god, it's always the little things that get to you.

“Goodnight—”

“Leon, wait.” You reach up, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, and he looks at you with an unchanged expression.

“Yes?”

“Um...” You hesitate, will Leon find this weird? No, no, maybe you can make an excuse, saying that you're too paranoid. “Can you... stay in my room? Just tonight?”

Leon nods without hesitation or any questions. He sits by the chair near your makeup table and plans to just read something to pass the time.

“No, not there.” You say, your voice sounding abrupt as you try your best not to appear so needy. But you can't. You're just naturally so. “In my bed, please?”

Leon bites the inside of his cheeks to hold back his smile, you sound so cute with the little "please" as a cherry on top. He complies, sitting at the edge of your bed, a hand on your ankle.

“Is this good enough for you, princess?” He smirks, and you feel your cheeks flush. “Or do you want me to hold you close, hm? Protect you from the monsters, yeah?”

“That... That wouldn't be a bother.” You murmur, and Leon takes it to heart, taking off his jacket and crawling up to your side. Leon gets you on his lap, pushing your head against his shoulder.

“Better?” He asks, voice muffled from his lips pressed against your hair, smelling your shampoo.

You nod, hiding your flustered face in Leon's shoulder, that elicits a laugh from him and he brushes your hair. He rubs your back soothingly, feeling your body relaxes under his grip.

Leon traces his hand down to your lower back, kneeding your soft buttocks. You take a sharp inhale, subtly pushing up against his palm.

His eyebrow raises, smirking against your hair before rubbing your thighs, and you spread your legs open for him. Leon doesn't say anything and just watches your reaction. He can feel you breathing down his neck. Your heart picks up its pace in excitement.

“Do you like this?” He keeps the pace slow, rubbing up to the waistband of your panties.

“Mhm...” You nod.

“Want more?”

“Mhm.” You nod again.

He hooks his finger under the band, and pulls the garment down, enough to let his hand slide in, brushing just over the top near your aching clit.

The moment his middle finger presses against your bud, you moan, hips twitching against his palm.

“Have you been dreaming about this?” Leon asks, and you only whimper in response. His finger moves down, collecting your juices and pulling out, tasting your essence on his finger.

“Me too.” Leon admits, and he shoves his hand back to your cunt, pushing a finger through your entrance.

“I've been wanting this too. Even more, wanna feel this tight cunt around my dick instead.” He groans, the way your walls tighten around his finger is enough to make his cock leaking pre-cum. “Fuck— you're so tight already, hm? I bet you cum with just my fingers.”

You mewl, hips rutting against his palm, and Leon pushes another finger in, spreading your pussy open so that you can fit his cock.

“Oh, god, Leonnnnn!” Your eyes roll up as he pumps his fingers in and out of your cunt, juices drooling down his hand. “Mngh, f-fuck—”

“Good girl.” Leon whispers, kissing down your neck whilst your body trembles, shaking high in pleasure. “That's it.”

His thumb rubbing harshly against your clit, making your whines higher and higher, you sound so needy and desperate, an side of you that you don't want anyone to see — anyone but Leon.

Leon grunts, feeling your juices dampening his pants, right against his bulge. His cock throbbing in his pants, just aching to pound that tight pussy of yours. But he puts you first, making you cum and high in ecstasy.

“Mm, gonna cum, baby?” He coos, feeling your cunt clamping down his fingers. “Cum, baby, be a good girl and cum f' me.” He increases the pace and intensity of his thrusts, dreaming of them being his cock instead.

You moan loudly as you squirt against his palm, and your knees buckle, legs shaking and body trembling as you collapse on his body.

“Gooood girl.” Leon kisses your forehead, rubbing your back with a free hand while he sucks off your juices from his fingers. “Now, ready for the main event?”

You feel his cock twitches under you, and you can feel yourself heating up again. You gulp, wrapping your arms around his neck and grinding against his bulge.

“Yeah.”

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

i was only gonna put this in the tags, but it'd be too long, honestly. i love Kate and always loved working with her and this video is another reason added as to why. what she said is all so true and so fucked up - and starting 2007 and onwards (when Foundations was released), she even was a (what i'd call) concretely mid-sized artist who released music that was VERY in-trend at that time (2008-2015's love for indie pop and indie rock; which was also my main breadwinner genre during that time). she had quite substantial support tours and festival slots, as well (at least in the UK and most of Europe) and the fact that she's still obviously struggled and is still struggling is WILD and disheartening (and sadly, harsh reality).

this is obviously a very broad discussion with the many different sizes of artists and tours and depending on how much or little financial budget is made available through a label/tour agency/artist themselves/etc., but like Gina said: "No wonder so many artists cancel tours" and this is very true!

getting a tour off the ground, in my personal work experience of the past 15+ years, has always been tough, but it's getting harder and harder and fucking harder.

listen, i'm Live Nation's biggest hater for a reason. already loathed their 'work practices' since 2010 (with which i am very familiar with, obviously). won't go into detail here, but it's not gotten better in the slightest. LN claims to not be a monopoly, but just as with their daughter company Ticketmaster, they've been encroaching on the live tour industry for decades with no sign of stopping. and yeah, that company is one of the final bosses in a bigger picture; but there's also shit like the aforementioned ticketmaster and associated smaller companies using their status and influence to scoop up venue after venue and tour agency after tour agency ("no compliance? no shows/artists for you and we have the biggest ones! go ahead and starve then!") for exclusive ticketing/artist contracts, which always include a new magical fee on top of another one. it has become outrageous! and can you guess how much of that is funnelled to the artist? correct. NONE of it.

i had artists insist on a certain low-as-possible ticket price (which is fair and noble) and with ticketing fees, it was suddenly double! and especially if you're not a big enough artist or agency, it's impossible to refuse. i've torn out so much hair over this, is2g..

not to mention the shift from tour agencies hiring local promoters to do the shows to the agencies skipping that step entirely to do the shows themselves and ~streamline the process (see also: save money), leaving local promoters all over the world in the dust. and can you imagine what happens when a not-local agency (meaning: a Finland-based agency booking a show in Argentina or a US-based agency booking something in Czech Republic) tries to promote shows to areas and with venues they are not at all familiar with and they also sure as hell don't budget in location-specific + demography-specific promo for the concert? -- exactly. low as hell ticket sales! - which either the marketing/PR firm or the artist themselves will take the blame for. similar to management, labels and/or tour agencies demanding the artist "go with the times" and do "more legwork" to "promote themselves" (through social media, of course) and refusing to give big enough budgets for tour promo and then tour promoters having to choose between two half-empty cups of Nothing. or when, say, an act like Kate Nash is already well-known in the UK and scheduled to tour the entirety of Europe, but since management wants the good promo & press for a "sold out tour in the UK!", most of the budget goes towards the UK and almost nothing's left for the rest of Europe and you don't even break even on those shows and the tour agency is all pikachu-face in your e-mails.

i can't possibly count the times where i had to ask bands and/or mgmt the gruelling question if they'd possibly rather cancel dates or entire tours - or when I even had to recommend it honestly - or the times i was asked that question and had to discuss it with my artists. can you imagine what that does to the mind of an artist?? a cancelled tour because of low sales or a tour that runs into red numbers is like a stain on your resumé and future partners will potentially not even invest in another tour with you; give you a harder deal or ask the artist for a financial security clause. and like i said, this is still all in the realm of artists in Kate's size range. for smaller artists, it's ten times harder.

so i will leave this saying -- if available, please buy tickets through independent (but obviously legitimate! please never use scam sites like viagogo!) local ticket shops; if you can't go in person, they usually have web shops, too. and for the love of 1D, please buy merch at shows!! (or if you can't go in person, buy it in their official merch stores, if you don't buy secondhand). Merch remains the only source of income that goes to the artist as direct as still possible nowadays! (depending on the artist size, the artist or tour promoter/agency has to pay a merch fee or even sells through a hired merch service, but oftentimes even those few people are part of the travelling tour fam who manage the distribution at venues) -- from personal experience, the merch sales were so, so many times what saved the tour from not meeting break even or was the only true profit made. merch sale numbers get completely counted into the end count of potential financial success of a tour.

but i know the people to really address about this aren't the fans. it's the money-greedy people in their capitalist conglomerates who have the real power here; who sit on their millions and reap their annual dividends and couldn't give less of a fuck about the artists, art or music, than how much money they're/it's making them.

Kate Nash on the financial reality of being a touring artist.

x

[worpiworpi]

twelve dancing princesses dancing in your fy page

[moeblob]

Rice. From my plot that's literally just a game of chess. (he's a rook)

[vampmilf]

hold on im still too mad at this one fucking guest to take a nap i need to be a hater for a minute

[muchanmocha]

When I was looking through the artbook for the first time I genuinely teared up 3 different times. And one of them was Shine's profile for Mizi.

Your tags are amazing prev, wanted to get my thoughts on this section in particular!

If we take a look at Shine's chart, we have zero data on any of their stats (Intelligence, Moral Sense, Awareness, Life Expectancy, Status, Wealth). This lines up with Shine's tag #mysterious race — they're likely a mystery to even other segyein (aliens). But there's another important tag here: #transcendent being.

transcendent (Merriam-Webster)

— extending or lying beyond the limits of ordinary experience

— being beyond comprehension

— transcending the universe or material existence

Shine is a "being beyond comprehension" who "transcends the material existence."

With this description, it's no surprise that they would be entrusted with something by an "old and divine existence."

But what does it mean to be a transcendent being? What does it mean to be beyond the material world?

Personally I think it implies they do not involve themselves in worldly matters which includes wealth, status, and in relevancy to our topic, the morals of the segyein community. I think Shine, as "masters of the deep sea" no longer concern themselves with issues of the world at large, only that of the domain under their protection and management. Not to say that can't or won't change with the recent events.

Let's also look at Shine and Mizi and the latter's entry into Alien Stage. (Putting this under the cut bc it's unnecessarily long lol)

Shine is very clearly designed based on jellyfish, and all of these cues (the popularized "immortal jellyfish," "creatures of the deep sea," being "a mysterious race") surrounding them indicate that there's a high chance of Shine having a very long lifespan, if not immortal altogether. Either way it would be incomprehensibly more vast than we or Mizi and co. can conceptualize as humans.

Let's say you have a pet hamster. You've grown very attached to this hamster. You love them to bits and they're the brightest joy in your life and you would do anything for them [insert I've only had Arlo for a day and a half meme].

One day your hamster says they want to do this very cool and amazing thing that might end in their death or maybe not but the thought of it makes their little eyes light up and — OFC YOU SAY NO!! Is this little guy crazy??

But then you think again.

Because of their biological limitations, this little guy is only going to live a year or two. Maybe three if you take very good care of them.

Do you really have the right to dictate what your little guy can do in the short, short year they have to live? Even if it's for their own good? Do you have the right to say no if this is what they truly want? What their dream is for their short time on this planet?

Would it be selfish of you to choose keeping them with you longer over what they want? For the sake of extending 1 year with them to 3?

No matter what, Mizi's time with Shine was limited from the start.

Their time together was always going to be short. So why not do whatever they can to give her the best and happiest life possible while she's still with them? Why not try to grant as many of her wishes as possible? Even if one of those wishes will shave down the time they have, if it could make Mizi all the happier, wouldn't that be worth it for Mizi's sake?

From the perspective of a potentially near-immortal race, the difference between a handful of years and two handfuls of years is minimal.

Shine definitely wouldn't be on board with Mizi participating on Alien Stage but I can see why they would choose to support Mizi's wishes despite the risks.

But this is with the aforementioned by prev canonical "inability to truly understand humans bc they're aliens/segyein" coming into play.

Bc this reasoning is flawed ofc haha.

Mizi was a child, prob less than 6 years old when she was sent to Anakt Garden which means she likely told Shine she wanted to do it way back then and idk about you but 6-year-olds prob shouldn't be making life or death decisions.

Mizi also wasn't aware of the stakes at hand. I can see various reasons for why Shine wouldn't enlighten her of it, if they even realized this was a need. Additionally if Shine as a race are long-lived, Mizi wouldn't have many opportunities to encounter death as a concept among her companions in her homeland.

Anyway those are some of my extrapolations from the text with random thoughts thrown in haha

I hate alien stage…

I’ve recently gotten really into alien stage. I’ve been avoiding it because I wanted to finish watching milgram but I got curious and just decided to watch it. Point is I hate it. I hate it for a very stupid reason that’s honestly my own fault. I hate it because I fell in love with this stupid character.

Not Mizi (even though I love her also)

HER I LOVE THIS STUPID ALIEN AND I HAVE NO CONTENT FOR HER

EVER SENSE I FOUND OUT SHE EXISTED IVE BEEN LOSING MY MIND BRO

Shine my beloved ❤️❤️❤️❤️

The only good alien in this stupid series

Someone please make more shine content I love them so much…

Someone please tell me I’m not the only one…

Like I genuinely love them more than the other characters.

They could actually be the worst character in the series and I wouldn’t know sense I just got into this stupid thing

Shine… please… I need more content

[good-beans]

Do you mind explaining your reblog/queue process?

LMAOO I assure you it is no way efficient and also I haven't been able to stop using this method asfgvg

Basically I love scrolling tumblr in tiny moments that I get between work and tasks, and usually don't have time/mental energy to write out tags. But I want to ;-; Whether it's a huge rant or the same repeating "this is cool!" I wanna say something to show there's a human being that enjoyed this art/idea/meme :) So I save everything as drafts to take time with when I have a longer break. I feel bad that my excitement/participation in tag games is so delayed, but usually it's only a week or so. Usually I get to a few low hundreds and go through everything in one or two sittings, but this past time I just kept getting busy/feeling burned out so it got uhhhh really big 😭

If I'm posting my own stuff or feel extra motivated I'll jump the queue and post things right away, but otherwise I try to keep everything queuing in the order I saved it. Whether it's perfectionism or not wanting to show preference, I really enjoy things in order. While I'm queuing I don't save new posts -- I'll go through my likes at the end so everything is in order.

However, sometimes I say screw the order (like this time) if there's so many that will take me extra time. I want to take time searching up and listening to songs mentioned, reading longer things attached, or just I don't have my Smart Brain on and want to contribute to analysis. In that case I'll shuffle it as I go!

[deviantaccumulation]

To be a hater, but omg The Acolyte is pretty bad

[yourgoldendeer]

Jeez girl I regret looking up the arsenal fc tag cause I ended up on your bullshit again.

> "haaland told y'all to act humble and clearly y'all haven't won shit so you are worse than us, act humble"

First of all, you make the critical error of forgetting WHO haaland said that to. Mikel Arteta. Let's leave the opposition manager dynamic out for now and remember that Mikel, for 2 years, was basically pep's apprentice at City. Haaland somehow having the gall to insult a man who worked with him, with his team and with his manager for 2 years on live TV is a pretty heinous act in and of itself. Let's also look at the context of the match, where, after a dubious red card (if you want to argue it's not dubious kindly don't, szboszlai committed the same "offense" a week later with no foul, and after wolves v arsenal I don't think you wanna argue that PGMOL is an impartial body if you want to come off as having any common sense), arsenal had to revert back to Mourinho tactics and somehow a team that had previously never done anything of the sort, managed to hold up a low block that took city 5 full minutes of extra time to break through. The same city (only major injury at the time was rodri) who got all your shiny trophies.

Secondly, yes, this team has not won anything. Why is that? Inexperience. On both the players and the manager, and this is something everyone in the arsenal sphere knows. And yet, we've come close. Closer than any other team to Manchester City, despite not having the finances, officiating bias (as shown in above para, michael oliver, but he is merely one of many many examples), or experience. I know to gloryhunters like most city fans the point of coming second is lost, but ask anyone who actually cares about football: SAF and Wenger was the greatest rivalry in the prems, despite the former completely outshining the latter. And yet, not for a single season, untill the last match did man u or arsenal fans mock each other (aside from the typical banter one expects from what had basically developed into a derby).

> "still not winning the league"

Man City away, liverpool at home, both Brighton games, wolves away. Do I need to give more examples of arsenal getting bent over by the PGMOL untill that fact goes through your thick head? On top of that, injuries. The only other clubs with injuries as bad as ours are spurs and city, and everyone can see they're both shells of their usual selves. Add to the mix the fact that edu gaspar left in the middle of the season and the board refused to replace him even with the oncoming January window.

As for your wonderful advice, don't you worry ma'am we've done that already. For 10 years. For a whole decade we have endured abuse and laughter, to our club, players and 2 extremely talented ex-managers (not to mention the arteta out crowd who must suffer from severe delusions). And yet, here we are. We keep our heads up, despite losses, despite injuries, despite being the refs' guinea pigs for what can fly under mainstream media. However, perhaps it is time for city fans to apply this advice too? Yesterday your manager set up some of the worst tactical decisions of his career, such as benching khusanov and playing marmoush out of his preferred position, and after an 18 year old LB scored against his side, visibly tried his best not to break down in tears. Haaland, despite scoring a goal, seemingly forgot how to make runs (and it's not me saying this: it's thierry henry, and before you argue he's stupid cause he's an ex-arsenal player, do remember he also played under pep's barcelona). Eras end, and pep has without a doubt begun to lose his grip in the game. But I'm no City fan, and I respect the man, so I hope you lot won't turn on him when he stops putting in the numbers.

This is already a very long post, and I'm sure you will use it to fuel your "arsenal fans are sensitive" headcanon, but for those impartial readers who stumble upon this, let me clarify, arsenal are not against banter. Viera and Keane physically held themselves back from killing each other. SAF and Mourinho literally had fistfights with Wenger, but it comes down to respect. No matter how much SAF cussed out Wenger, he hugged him at his farewell. Mourinho still refuses to agree with the man and yet never raises his voice against him. Had haaland not thrown a ball at Gabriel, not tried to throw his weight around on an 18 year old, not pretended like arteta's some lowlife, we would not have had this reaction.

im going to explain this like someone would explain it to a little kid bc some arsenal fans are very dumb wont say another word for it bc they are also very uh sensitive...?

haaland told your players to stay humble because they act and celebrate as if they have won a treble or a ucl or a prem (yk all the trophies city has won) so he said it for you guys to chill out and know your place. Now, the team and the whole fanbase got super offended even though everyone knew what haaland meant and he is right. However, the fanbase and your team have proven his point countless times throughout the season....and you just don't get it. This match probably means to you exactly what it meant to city to complete the treble or 4 in a row. We are not on the same level. That is just a literal fact.

now are city having a bad season...100% that is also a fact. However, even though we are having a bad season does this mean haalands point is not true? no. it is true. the past 2-3 years your whole arguement has been "well how can we compete with them" we've been shit. and your still not winning the league HAHAHA. so my advice to you arsenal people is to look on the inside and just maybe come to the conclusion you guys think youre the shit when you are simply not...?

[favroitecrime]

barbie discourse getting unhinged actually please end the debates by tomorrow. the movie did nothing to deserve all this chaos and the fact i saw someone say margot and the movie started a ‘movement’… please.

[winterdusktales]

yg has conditioned ot7 ikon to be a touring group so now even when they all left yg, all they (ikon & hanbin) do is tour and join various music festivals. like i know those guys would prefer inviting other artists to guest in their concert over inviting them for a quick tiktok challenge or something

[medicinemane]

The problem with a lot of body horror for me is it's just gross without being compelling

Like yeah you had that person tear their leg open and pull muscle away from bone in a way that's very uncomfortable... but I don't care. Or a lot of Hostel style horror for me it's just kinda... yeah... grossing me out isn't some kinda win

Cause it's not that I don't like body horror, I love Dead Space for instance which... kinda the core pillar of that is body horror if we're honest

Could be a matter of that that kind of body horror is more fantastic making it easier to digest, I will advance that as a theory, but personally I kinda think that it's more that they do something actually interesting with it

Like if I wanted to I could probably see a really fucked up leg wound (and worse) in looking online about this shitty world

Can't really find dead bodies contorted into killing machines though

So I kinda feel like it's my problem with a lot of horror, of that it's horrible in a mundane way where as I'm looking for some unfathomable secret out of horror

So there's a difference between some stabbing a person in the eye cause they're just a shitty person, and doing it to try and create a replica of an alien artifact that gives unlimited energy but also drives people crazy and then turns their bodies into horrible monstrosities

One is just way more interesting to me

[cinnabeat]

ok so. this eye of the universe shit is wild to me. at first i thought the signal was like. dark bramble and essentially the light of the anglerfish inside it that lures in unsuspecting nomai for food. but according to the quantum tower the eye of the universe is actually the sixth planet that nobody could see. which is like really interesting to me?

[nereidprinc3ss]

diva

in which flirty!reader shows up to work in a bad mood and it’s spencer’s job to deal with her attitude. not that he minds. (bandages universe)

fluff warnings/tags: fem!reader, mentions of reader coming to work from a casual hookup, flirting, lots of teasing, the BAU being silly geese bc this is before all the trauma, insecurities about reader's job performance, spencer wants to be a cyborg, borderline cuddling hehehe a/n: nanana diva is a female version of a hustler (bandages!reader theme song) no but really i just missed them so much lowkey always accepting requests for these two!! I hope you guys likeeee bc i loveee them and also this was based on a request so i hope u see this LOL

As soon as Hotch calls wheels up in thirty you’re slumping forward, resting your head on folded arms. The to-go cup on the round table in front of you has long been emptied but you look at it longingly anyway. 

Morgan chuckles, slapping his folder down on the table next to you. “Aw, look at that. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

“It’s Sunday,” you groan. “It’s seven in the morning. Excuse me for not being ready to carpe the diem.”

“It’s just carpe diem,” Spencer interjects, standing and slipping his file into his bag. You sit up and give him the most indignant look you can manage, though it’s hard when you’re this tired and he’s that cute. Slacks. Sweater vest. Button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. An enviable waist. 

“Whose side are you on?”

He frowns, brushing a tuft of shining-clean brown hair out of his eyes. 

“If I was on anyone’s side other than my own it would cease to be their side. We’re all always on our own sides.”

“No, you’re on my side. Defend me.”

His brows only dart up and he looks back down to his bag. It’s a look you know well. Don’t get me involved. 

Morgan spins in his chair to face you, one elbow resting on the table. 

“I’m just saying, if this is your Sunday morning, I’d love to see your Saturday night, little miss forty five minutes late.”

“You heard Hotch say he called me half an hour earlier than everyone else. It was technically fifteen,” you frown. “And I… was at church.”

Rossi gestures at you with his coffee cup. “You step foot in a church, your shoes are going to start smoking.”

Your jaw drops. 

“Wow. I thought old people were supposed to be sweet. Come on, Spencer.”

Spencer knows better than to put up a fight as you get up and grab him by the hand not holding onto your cup and folder, dragging him to the bullpen to sit at your desk until the team is ready to go. 

He stands in front of you, hands in pockets, as you plop into your own chair. “I… can’t tell if you’re actually mad.”

“I am. At you. For not being on my side.”

Spencer sets his bag down and leans against the adjacent desk, arms folded. You stopped caring a long time ago if he’d notice you ogling the long, lithe lines of him. Maybe you never really cared, if you’re being honest with yourself. He’s a little harder to scandalize these days, anyway. But you’ll never stop trying. 

He bites his lip thoughtfully. 

“If you’re mad at me, why am I the one you dragged down here?”

“I’m not taking questions, Reid.”

He hisses. “Ouch. Reid.”

“Mhm. That’s how mad I am.”

“Okay, grouchy. Do you want a refill?”

You borderline pout, continuously perplexed by his kindness in the face of your insolence, but holding out your hollow cup for him anyway as you slouch lower in your seat. 

“Don’t call me grouchy.”

“Then don’t call me Reid,” he says, taking your cup as he passes, and you think you sense the faintest wash of amusement coloring his tone. 

The jet doesn’t do much to put pep in your step. 

“Aberdeen,” Morgan muses, letting his file closed on his lap. “Isn’t that where, uh, Kurt Cobain grew up?”

Spencer sits down in the chair next to you, setting the day’s third cup of coffee in front of you on the small table. “It is. It’s also where Washington’s first suspected serial killer William Gohl resided.”

“First of many,” Rossi amends. Reid nods. 

“In the US, Washington State comes in fifth place in terms of serial killers per capita. Some blame a widespread vitamin D deficiency. Just under eight hours of sunlight in the winter, the least in the contiguous United States.”

Emily gives an abhorrent rendition of a famous Nirvana riff, imitating a twangy electric guitar, before gesturing to your boss. “Hotch, you’re from Seattle. Did you ever get into Nirvana? The whole grunge scene?”

Hotch lowers his folder, giving her an unimpressed look. “Did you?”

While the exchange is amusing, the coffee is not perking you up and you’d like to be slightly less upright, if possible. You bump Spencer’s knee with your own, and he looks over at you obediently. 

“What’s up?”

“I wanna move to the couch.”

He nods and gets right back up. When you pass, and he doesn’t immediately follow, you turn around. Maybe the lack of sleep has rendered you unable to hide your look of contempt as he tries to sit back down. 

“What are you doing?”

Morgan snorts. “Uh oh. Lapdog almost forgot his training.”

“I am not a lapdog,” Spencer defends, giving Morgan a harsh look of his own, before following you, much to the amusement of the rest of the BAU. 

“Don’t listen to them,” you mutter as you step aside to let him pass. 

He settles into the corner of the couch. “I almost never do.” When you cozy up next to him, he seems surprised. “Um, hi?”

“I’m cold. You’re warm.”

“This is… unprofessional.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh my god. They don’t care.”

That’s enough to shut him up. Eventually he relaxes, and though he doesn’t put his arm around you (they remain crossed in front of him) he doesn’t seem too distraught over the way you’re leaning against him, head on his shoulder. The sky is a soft grey where you can see it through the little rectangles lining the far wall, like a pale tea with plenty of milk. 

“What’s up with you, anyway?” He asks eventually, gingerly, and though he’s bold to ask it you know the last thing he means to do is offend. Luckily for him, he’s your soft spot. You let your eyes flutter shut against the boxes of diffuse light. 

“Tired.”

“I know that. You’ve had three cups of coffee and you’re still about to fall asleep.”

“Well… that’s all it was.”

“Mhm.”

“God, you’re—” you lift your head, about to give him a good old fashioned verbal lashing, but he’s so sweet looking, and he’s so kind to you even when he’s not, that you deflate—all your air coming out on a sigh as you settle back against him. “I… was… not home, when Hotch called me.”

“Yeah, you said you were at church?” He sounds utterly bewildered. Your heart melts, and you can’t hide the fondness seeping from every pore as you look up at him through your lashes. He really is so beautiful. 

“That was a joke, Spence. I was with a friend.”

His brows knit and a faint blush tinges his cheeks. 

“Oh. I knew that.”

And he really is getting better at detecting your brand of sarcasm. One day you doubt you’ll be able to pull any over on him, and he’ll stop being so adorable and bashful and embarrassed and sweet all the time. You don't relish the thought.

“What were you doing this morning?” You ask, in a bid to quell the very embarrassment you covet, because you’re not actually a demon, despite what Rossi had implied earlier. 

“Sleeping.”

You hum. Imagine taking his hand. Don’t really take it. 

“Me ’nd you should hang out outside of work more often.”

“Like… in the mornings?”

“Uh, probably not,” you laugh, your own face heating at the implication he’s only sort of and undoubtedly accidentally making. “I mean—we could. We could have breakfast sometimes.”

“I like breakfast,” he muses. “I know a couple of good spots. I can show you when we get back. There are these ube pancakes that are like bright purple on the inside. Have you had ube? I think you’d like them. The pancakes and the tuber. They’re the same color as your laptop case.”

You giggle, too tired for anything more dignified and too charmed for anything less authentic. Spencer has a moment of apparent self-awareness and after a second chuckles along with you, and like 99% of your moments with him, it’s a nice one. 

It slowly fades, and you sigh. 

“We’d probably get called in right in the middle of breakfast.”

“It’s always a possibility,” Spencer agrees, and you feel him nod. He smells really nice—clean and sort of cedar-y. Warm. 

“You ever think about how we’re just… robot arms to do the bidding of the federal government? We’re not even people. We’re cyborgs.”

“I’d love to be a cyborg.”

“But then you wouldn’t be so warm and comfy.”

“If I were a cyborg I could install a heating element. I’d still be warm. I don’t know about comfy. Maybe if I kept the biomechatronics to one side of my torso.”

“You’d install a heating element just for me? So we could keep cuddling?”

He clears his throat. You smile to yourself. 

“Why are we cyborgs, exactly?”

“Because we don’t get personal lives. The job comes first. I could be doing anything. I could be in the middle of eating bright purple pancakes with my good friend and colleague Spencer Reid and it doesn’t matter. If we get called in we have to leave.”

“If we were in the middle of breakfast, we could just… take our food to go and finish it at our desks.”

“Well—I guess it would be different if it was us, but with my other friends… it’s kind of a bummer, sometimes.”

You’re thinking about the friend you left this morning. Nobody you’re particularly invested in, but you wonder if that friend is still asleep in bed—and you realize you don’t much care. You’re glad to be here, and not there. 

“I think if the job didn’t feel worth it to you, you would’ve left by now. But you haven’t. You can complain all you want, but you show up every day.”

You scoff. 

“Fifteen to 45 minutes late, depending on how you look at it.”

“That is… atypical. You’re usually on time.”

“Usually…” you repeat darkly. A moment passes. An uncomfortable insecurity begins to bloom and ache like a rotting tooth. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Do you think…” you falter, unused to this kind of vulnerability. A cloud swallows the jet and the cabin darkens into a place for secrets. “Do you think I’m worth the trouble?”

You know Spencer senses the unease like a sheepdog can sense a storm from the way he perks up next to you. He’s always been like that—incredibly attuned to the moods of others. You hope he doesn’t think profiling is just another of many learned skills. It’s a genuine talent, a sort of savantism in its own right. You can’t imagine him doing anything else as passionately as he does his job. Sometimes it almost makes you insecure. 

“What trouble?”

“Like… Hotch having to call me half an hour earlier than he calls the rest of the team. Or you, accepting my constant teasing. I know I’m—I can be kind of a diva. I don’t always really feel as professional as you guys. Or… qualified, maybe.”

You can imagine the way he’d narrow his eyes as he thinks this over, though you’d still like to see it for yourself—but you keep your head on his shoulder. In a way, he’s already getting a closer look at you than you usually grant to anyone. 

“I think… you’re good at your job. And you care more than you’d like to admit. That thing you do—where you sometimes show up a few minutes late, or you piss Rossi off on purpose, or you flirt with Hotch—I think… we all have things like that. We all self-sabotage, because it’s a really hard job, and I think we all wonder if we’re really qualified for it, or deserve to be in these positions, or if we even want the responsibility of trying to save people’s lives. But you’re a genuinely good person and a gifted profiler. And everyone else knows it, too.”

The deep thrum of the jet’s engine blurs the rest of the team’s incomprehensible chatting and the pounding of your heart into one big muddied streak of paint. Hopefully Spencer can’t feel the heat of your cheek through his shirtsleeve. 

“Oh,” you murmur. 

A moment passes. 

It’s a relief when Spencer’s anxiety comes bubbling up before your own can. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“No,” you hurry, “no, it was—no. That was really really nice of you to say. Thank you, Spencer.”

He relaxes. “Well… it’s all true.”

How could anyone ever deserve him? How does anyone get lucky enough to know a man like Spencer Reid?

When you burst through the other side of the cloud, the sun has come out. It burns away the milky early morning fog and makes your eyes ache just enough to finally wake you up. You blink and stretch against him like a cat. 

“Spence?”

“Hm?”

“I just want to clarify… I don’t flirt with Hotch. I flirt with you.”

[whorelaud]

bsf!rafe slips it in during a gathering   warnings smut with slight plot, unprotected p in v, public sex, creampies, dirty talk, teasing, reader lowk ovulating 

The college reunion wasn't something you were fond of attending; hence, when Rafe offered to tag along, your fear and anxiety strived less evident on your expression. It’s something you’ve been avoiding, and while not showing up sounded great, you felt obligated to, as many of your classmates insisted on seeing you, having not done so since your graduation. 

It wasn’t a party, nor a typical hangout. Things deemed chaotic, but not crazy enough to cause discomfort. Drinks were everywhere, mostly to get rid of any unnecessary tension, however, Rafe chose to be far away from the booze aisle, as he needed to drive back. That didn't stop him from having fun, though. 

He took a corner on one of the armchairs, patting his lap as an invitation upon spotting you awkwardly shuffling around for a seat. Of course, you hesitated to acknowledge the gesture, eyeing him reluctantly before accepting. 

You weren't naive, you noticed the way his breath heaved every time you’d giggle while conversing, or shuffled around to fix your position. Rafe was tense for the entirety of the night, the bulge in his pants really not of much help, oblivious to the carefree act he was putting up. He was hard from you sitting in his lap, his own best friend, who he’s been dying to fuck and get a taste of, envious of every man who ever got close to touching you. 

The hardon in his pants had you wet to your core, brushing over your clothed cunt each time he’d press your hips down to adjust himself. It was on purpose, you knew Rafe, he was a sly bastard, cocky with everything he does. All the hookups he’d tell you about, and the endless one night stands that keep piling up. He was one experienced motherfucker, every girl in OuterBanks wanted a piece of him. 

Therefore, you were lucky to have him as your best friend, lucky enough for him to sneak his hand under your skirt, and work his fingers in gradual circles over your clit. You fought the moans bubbling in your throat, suppressing them as his digits slid down your folds, grunting when he pressed a finger to the thin material of your panties, immediately noticing the wet patch on it. 

No one noticed your flustered state, nor did you care if they did. Lust blurred your vision, mind going hazy as your hips stuttered down against Rafe’s crotch. It felt so fucking good, despite not having any alcohol in your system, you felt drunk off the sensation of his cock making fraction with your pussy. And Rafe? Yeah, he wasn't no saint either. 

Managing to free himself from his boxers was quite the struggle, though disregarded by others, as one of your friends continued on with the conversation you were having. He pushed your panties to the side, keeping them firm and in place as he lined his dick with your slick folds, wet with your arousal. 

A gasp threatens to leave your lips when he leisurely inserts his cock inside, tip coating with your juices. He used the hand around your waist to press you down, letting your pussy swallow almost all his length. Now, that was an easy task, but, next came the part where he had to move; create a fraction, which fell quite difficult surrounded by all these people. 

That didn't stop you, though, nor Rafe. You grinded down on his cock, plastering a tight-lipped smile for the girl speaking as you pretended to listen, well aware it entered one ear, then flew past the other. Rafe squeezed the skin around your waist, encouraging you to keep moving. His breath fanned over the exposed skin near your neck, lips mere inches away from your ear. You could stop and continue this somewhere else, but that means confronting Rafe, and interrupting whatever this was; which practically felt illegal to do. 

“Why don't you answer her?” Rafe whispered, lips ghosting over your ear. “C’mon baby, she’s asking you a question.” 

“I don't–” you almost yelp as he slams into you, “I don't work as of now, I’m searching– I’m searching for a job, though.” 

The girl nods with a smile, feigning ignorance to your fucked state. You were practically drooling over how Rafe’s throbbing cock thrusts inside you, sending you into a spiral as the tip continuously kissed your cervix. Your eyes forced shut for a moment, a ragged sigh exiting your lips, far too gone to process your surroundings. Fuck it, it’s not like you were going to see them after this anyway. 

“Fucking hell,” he hissed, reaching his climax with everytime he rolled his hips up. “Y’gonna let me fill your pathetic lil’ pussy up, hmm?” 

You hummed, mostly to him, containing the whines at the tip of your throat. Rafe’s strokes grew fast and sloppy, with your pussy now drenched in your arousal, welcoming every thrust he slammed inside you. Your hole is stuffed with his cock, clenching around him when your orgasm made its approach.  

Your vision went blank as you came undone, soon followed with a thrust from Rafe before he emptied his load inside your cunt, painting your walls white with his sperm. The warmness filling your hole made you relax in his arms, leisurely fluttering your eyes open, suddenly faced with the reality of your presence. 

Right, you were still encircled by people. Rafe slowly pulls out his cock, pussy lips dripping with his come, as it got buried deep inside you. His teeth graze the skin behind your ear, tone teasing as he mutters his next sentence. 

“Maybe I should come with often.” 

And if you spent the rest of the evening loaded with Rafe’s come, no one were to find out, nor acknowledge said fact. 

a/n prepare to be sick of me i love bsf!rafe