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inkskinned · 8 months

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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

#writeblr #warm up #this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru #but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist #ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school.#like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it.#was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes.#but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create''#when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work #part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just #like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent.#speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r #ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week #this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice.#''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism #imagine if we said that about literally any other profession.#''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt?#u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky''#we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY #''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''

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lihhelsing · 8 months

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Part 4 - Catfish Steddie

Author's Note: This part turned out to be bigger than I expected, so I also decided to take this to AO3. I'll update when I have the link, but I'll keep posting over here too, and doing the tag list at the end. Thanks for reading! Look out for two more parts after this one!

Now on Ao3

It's not that Steve didn't care that someone was using his face to catfish people. He knew, from how little Eddie wanted to discuss it, how it affected him. How it messed with his self-image and his ability to trust others.

Steve could feel it in the way Eddie always seemed to be ready to bolt from him. He offered something real and then pulled back again. It was a slow back and forth that Steve didn't mind, because he knew what he wanted.

Eddie. He wanted Eddie.

He felt the way he retracted every time Steve complimented him, hiding behind jokes or self-deprecating comments. Steve tried to reassure him, and he felt like he was winning.

But when Eddie called the catfish number, that he still had on his phone under Steve's name for some reason, it was like every inch they had walked towards each other had disappeared. Eddie retracted again, as if he was certain he was reading the situation right when he possibly couldn't be.

"I don't understand," Eddie says at first and Steve tries reaching out for him, seeing the exact moment Eddie flinches away.

It hurts more than he can admit.

"Eddie, let's talk about this," Steve says, but he can see it in Eddie's eyes, how he just wants to run out of there.

"Why do you have two phones?"

"It's not my phone," Steve says calmly. Eddie's not calm.

"It's in your house. Your couch!" his voice comes out a little strangled, and he jumps from the couch, the other phone still gripped hard in his hand.

"Can I see it?" Steve raches his hand, but Eddie shakes his head. "Please. It's not mine, I swear."

But Steve can see how his words go through Eddie and doesn't really make an impression. It's just words, especially if he doesn't try to see how crazy it would be. Why would Steve invite Eddie over to his place and not hide the phone better?

Why would Steve be so careless about the whole thing?

"Eddie, I swear. This phone is not mine. I have no idea what's-"

"I have to go," Eddie says, his hands are shaking and Steve wants to hold him and make him listen but Eddie is not in the mood to listen and Steve can't force him so he just nods, lets the fight leave his body and Eddie hurriedly gets his things and leaves.

Before closing the door, he drops the phone on the table and doesn't look back.

Steve thinks his heart could explode from how fucked up he feels right now.

It's not really surprising, but Steve doesn't sleep at all. He tries a couple of password combinations and when he gets to Chrissy's birthday, the phone unlocks in his hands.

Steve is scared as he scrolls through it.

Robin always seemed nice, even if they weren't all that close. Sometimes Steve even thought they were friends. He didn't have much experience with those and most of his friends were kids that he used to babysit when he was in high school, but he thought he and Robin could've been friends, somehow.

Maybe he was wrong.

But when Steve pulls on one of the only apps he sees on the phone, he feels…

He doesn't know how he feels as he looks at a profile with his picture and name on it. There are a bunch of chats in there and he sees himself flirting with lots of girls - and guys.

He doesn't remember mentioning to Robin he's bisexual, but she must've picked up on it for some reason. Steve doesn't mind, he feels comfortable with his sexuality but he doesn't feel comfortable with a bunch of people thinking they are talking to him when in reality…

It's not surprising that he doesn't get much sleep, really.

Steve is in his room when he hears the front door unlocking. It's still before nine and Robin doesn't usually come home that early on the weekends. She likes to spend the day with her girlfriend Chrissy and Steve gets it.

He listens carefully as she walks inside, doesn't even stop to take off her boots, so Steve hears the click, click, click as she moves through their tiny apartment. He hears rustling sounds and then.

"Shit," Robin's voice is low, muffled by the closed door. Steve thought a lot about how to do this and yet he feels sick to his stomach. "Where the fuck did I put it?"

He gets up and slowly makes his way to the door, opening it a little.

"Robin?" he asks. Her head snaps in his direction and she looks panicked.

"Steve? What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep. Is everything ok? You look-"

"Yeah, yeah! Everything's great," Robin forces out a smile. "I just forgot something Chrissy really needed and you know her, she gets really mad at me and I need to fix it, otherwise she will hate me forever and I-"

"I don't know."

Robin frowns. "What?"

"I don't know her. You never… Introduced us."

Steve doesn't know what he's saying, but neither does Robin. She looks frazzled, on the verge of a breakdown. Steve can't say he's not enjoying it, though.

"Well, we should. You know, do something, the three of us!" Robin is talking frantically now, her voice taking on a high-pitched tone that shows Steve how desperate she is. "Anyway, we can decide on that later! Don't worry about me, just go back to sleep! I'll be super quiet!"

She finished her sentence whispering and smiling at Steve, but he doesn't buy it. Her smile is completely fake and her hair is a mess, sticking up to all sides.

"Ok," he says, playing along. He moves to close the door and Robin isn't even looking at him anymore. She's kneeling on the ground and looking under the couch. "Oh, Robin?"

She almost hits her head as she looks up at him.

"Did you happen to be looking for this phone?"

Steve holds it out for her and she squints her eyes, processing, and then all the color gets drained from her face.

Steve can't say he hates it.

Robin fidgets nervously with her hands as she and Steve sit side by side on the couch. The phone is almost burning a hole through their table and Robin hasn't tried anything too crazy like grabbing it and running away.

Maybe even someone like her can tell when she lost a battle.

"So… Care to explain?"

Steve tries to keep his tone neutral but from the way she flinches, he knows he failed. Robin takes a deep breath, then another.

"I'm sorry," she says, not looking at him. Steve raises a brow.

"For what? Catshing people? Using my picture and my name without permission? Lying to my face?" He sounds so angry he barely recognizes his own voice. Steve is not a guy to get really angry, he's good at taking a punch, but this feels… Too much.

Robin shakes her head. "All of the above?"

The worst of it is that Steve wants to laugh. Robin looks outright miserable and his entire chest feels heavy when he remembers how Eddie looked at him, but this is too crazy for him not to laugh.

"I'm really sorry Steve, I didn't mean-"

"Can you just… Not? Just tell me. Why? Why me?" He says sharply and has to pinch his hand to try and get himself in check. He already knows there's nothing Robin can say that will make this ok to him.

It's not only that she lied to him. She used him to lie to other people. She hurt other people. But she made Steve think he was doing something wrong. She watched Steve try and try and try knowing she would never let him in because she couldn't stand the guilt.

Robin sighs dramatically.

"It started as a joke, I swear. When you first moved in, I kept telling Chrissy how you looked like a hot model from a magazine. How I had never seen a guy so good looking in my life and mind you I don't like guys. But you're… You know, objectively attractive."

"Uh… Thanks?"

"Chrissy found that super funny. She said you must've been one of those guys who were always hooking up with girls and I agreed. Like, it took me six months to gather the courage to ask Chrissy out and I still wasn't sure she was going to say yes, and then Chrissy was saying how you probably didn't have this problem because anyone would say yes to you."

Steve frowns at her. Robin has a tendency of rambling and talking really fast and Steve feels he's not following.

"So it was a prank?"

"I mean… Yes! At first. Chrissy and I wanted to see what it was like to be you on Tinder. You know, how many people we would match with, so we just swiped right non-stop. On the next day, there were thousands of messages for you."

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and he sees a faint dust of pink on Robin's cheeks. She's embarrassed.

"Chrissy laughed and moved on, but I kept thinking about it and I started talking to people there because why not? It was kind of addictive, being someone else. I know it's wrong and honestly I have no interest in anyone other than Chrissy, but it was fun to like, make up this whole persona and just see what people would do. I was curious about life as Steve Harrington. It must be easier than trying to flirt as, you know, me."

"And Chrissy doesn't know?"

Robin shakes her head. "She thinks I dropped the whole thing, but I couldn't. So I got a new phone, I deleted everything from my phone and I just kept going. I wanted to know how long it would take people to want a date. I started analyzing data, and I thought it would be a good study subject. But it's like I said… I only have eyes for Chrissy. I don't even like men. It was just… A test, I guess."

Steve exhales. He has to be honest, this is way more complicated than he thought it would be. It still doesn't make it ok, and it still confuses the hell out of him.

"Robin, this is fucked up."

"I know ok? But there's just this… Adrenaline thrill. Of creating a personality for you, talking to people and seeing how they act, how they flirt with someone that looks like you. I never experienced any of that because I'm awkward and weird and I like girls. I told one of my professors I was doing it and he said it was fascinating. I couldn't just drop it. He wouldn't let me drop it. He kept saying how I had a chance of a lifetime with it and I just… How the fuck do I say no to that?"

Steve knows it still doesn't make it ok, but he's starting to feel sorry for Robin, so he tries to hold on to the anger. It's easier that way than if he tried to understand her. But there's still this one thing that doesn't make sense.

"But how the hell did that evolve into you setting up a date with Eddie? And that's why you kept telling me to not go out with him isn't it?"

And that… That felt awful. He liked Eddie. He had liked him from the start and because Robin fucked up he had felt a little unsure about asking him out. When she finally speaks, she's not looking at Steve.

"I didn't set up a date with him. I knew I could never do that because there was no way I could keep up the farce if I started doing it. But I should've been more careful. One of the pictures I set up on your profile had the coffee shop in the background. It didn't take a genius to make the connection, but I never thought he was just going to show up like that!"

"Well, that does sound like Eddie," Steve pointed out and he was assaulted with mixed feelings. An ache spreading on his chest as he thought he might never see Eddie again. Because of Robin.

"I panicked when I started getting weird messages from him saying like 'surprise' and 'stop messing around' and I didn't get it. I sent a bunch of question marks and Eddie never got back to me. I figured it out after you told me what had happened and, well, you know what happened next."

After that, Steve stays silent for a long time. Robin keeps fidgeting with her hands as if she's waiting for a death sentence of something.

Steve feels… So many things. He's mad at her, of course he is. But the frustration right now feels so much bigger. Even if Robin thinks it's easier being like him, Steve is tired of all that comes with it.

And Eddie was the first person in a long time that saw Steve in a different way. Sure, he might've started talking to not-Steve for his looks, but right now Eddie knew him. And Steve wasn't ready to let that go. He had no idea how to fix it and his head was pounding with lack of sleep and Robin was… Talking. Always fucking talking.

"Robin!" he said, his voice going up an octave and making her shut her mouth. He got up from the couch and pressed the heels of his hand on his eyes. "I'm just… Please delete the whole thing. I don't care what you're going to tell your professor, but I'm not your little experiment. I just wanted to be your roommate. Maybe even your friend.But right now I just… Just leave me alone, please."

Steve walks to his room without looking back and he only hears when Robin leaves the apartment, a couple of minutes later. Previous | Next

#steve harrington #Eddie Munson #Coffee Shop AU #AU #Alternate Universe #Stranger Things #Fanfic #Stranger Things fanfic #Steddie #Steddie Fanfic #Catfish AU #Steddie ficlet

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spamgyu · 5 months

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COLLEGE!Mingyu drabble – haircuts and contact pictures

no bc college!mingyu as someone who lives down the hall from your dorm and you always run into him doing something questionable

College!Mingyu Masterlist

"Mingyu this better be good." Y/n mumbled, not bothering to say hi.

She was home for the weekend for her older brother's birthday. She thought that being away from her school assigned living quarters would grant her a break from her father's golden player – but boy was she wrong.

Mingyu was clearly making good use of her phone number, sending her random memes and tiktoks he found. He didn't care if she would simply react to his messages with a thumbs up or haha reaction Apple provided it's users for their messaging app – he continued to send them anyways.

She thought that would be the end of it.

But what more did she expect from him.

Y/n was lounging in her childhood home's living room, catching up on her favorite sitcom, when the phone on her lap began to ring – he was facetiming her.

It's not like she had anything better to do.

Swiping to accept the call, Mingyu's face instantly filled the screen.

"I got bored today and did something." He giggled, fiddling with the hat on his head.

"Your homework?"

Shaking his head no, he took off the fitted cap – showcasing the mess that hid under it.

Throwing her head back, letting out a loud laugh. "What the fuck?"

"I cut my hair."

"You look like a troll doll." She fell over onto the couch, all while the boy on the other side of the screen tried his best to keep a straight face.

"My sister said I look like a sucked out mango seed."

"Help." Y/n laughed even harder, hitting the cushion – moisture beginning to pool in her eyes. "Let me screenshot this."

Mingyu sighed, keeping still.

It was all an act. He enjoyed every minute of this – making her smile.

He knew how ridiculous he looked. In fact, he had seen what he looked like before ringing her, and he knew that the second she caught glimpse of how stupid he looked, she would be sent into a fit of laughter.

It was music to his ears.

His favorite sound.

"This is your new contact picture."

"New?" He gasped, putting the hat back on. "What was the old one?"

"Your bean sprout hair."

"I liked that one."

"I like this one more."

Mingyu bit back the smile that threatened to form on his lips. "Whatever, I got dirt on you too. Your brother sent me a picture of you sleeping."

Just like her father, Y/n's brother had grown fond of Mingyu – and not just because they were teammates.

Somehow, Mingyu was infiltrating her whole family. It was only a matter of time before he got to her mom.

The smile on her face fell. "I'm going to kill him."

"It's your contact picture." He beamed.

"Right after I kill you."

@thegirlwhoimagined @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @f4iryjjosh @akeminy @yonabutnotyuna @tacosandbitch @hanniebaby95 @vanillacheol @aaniag @bettybotterboughtabitofbutter @xbaekcult @alwaysalmostthere @ashkuuuu @morkswatermelonnnn

(for some reason it's not allowing me to tag some who wanted to be added to the perm tag list ... cries... pls check ur settings so i can for future posts)

#what if i make wonwoo oc's brother.....#anyways credit to that one tweet where someone said mingyu looks like a sucked out mango lol #spamwrites #mingyu x reader #mingyu scenarios

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yeyinde · 1 year

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how do you think the boys would look after you when you’re sick? i think Soap and Gaz would wind up getting sick because they couldn’t stay away from you

they definitely seem like the type to coddle. as for the rest—

GHOST—

It's short. Succinct. He prefers blunt honesty, and that's what you aim for when, sniffling pathetically, you open up your messages, and type out: Can't make it. Came down with something, and hit SEND.

It goes unanswered.

You pretend, through the hazy spool of your fever, the one that clots inside of your head until you're shivering, teeth chattering, and yearning, that you aren't surprised. That it doesn't prickle somewhere inside of your chest with the distinct flavour of disappointment.

You toss your phone aside, head swimming, and try to get some sleep. You need rest.

You dream of vague touches, and low words dripped in condescension but carrying a tinge of worry. Of care. It's a mess inside the gummy spool of sickness, but it's comforting. The phantom hand on your forehead makes you sigh.

When you wake up hours later, there is a bag from the pharmacy filled with electrolyte water, cold and flu medication, canned soup, and something to reduce your fever. No note. No phone call. No text. The message is clear.

(Next to the bag, is tea in a thermos. No brand. You taste it and know he made it himself.)

—distant, reserved. He sends you a care package, one he delivers himself, but doesn't linger. If you ask him about it, he'll roll his eyes, maybe mutter a fuckin' hell as he walks away from you.

—(if you'd touched the seat across from your bed, you'd find that it was still warm.)

GAZ—

He shows up wearing a mask, and has a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Says, as he makes his way inside, that he'll fix you right up. All you can do is baulk when he storms your kitchen, pots clattering loudly together, and tells you to go sit. He has it covered.

(It surprises you a little bit when he does.)

He brings spicy soup that, according to his auntie, is going to clear your sinuses. He fluffs your pillows and drags a blanket over to you. Tucks you in, nice and tight, and turns on Taskmaster for you.

You spend the evening drifting in and out, caught in the throes of a fever nap, but he stays by your side the whole time.

You wake up late at night, startled awake by some ALDI commercial, and find him snoring on your couch, your feet in his lap. The mask is lopsided. His hair is moussed. He left you some medicine and a glass of water on the coffee table.

His phone chimes with the sound of an alarm. When you check the notification, all it says is: MEDICINE. EVERY FOUR HOURS. You turn it off, and a notes app pops up. You don't mean to look, but the sight makes you a little misty-eyed.

how to care for someone who is sick

All the boxes are ticked. Spicy soup. Water. Blankets. Rest. Medicine.

You throw the end of your blanket over him and snuggle into his side.

He wakes up hours later, and you watch trashy reality television together until he carries you to bed.

—no getting rid of him. He wants to make sure you're taken care of. It doesn't surprise you at all, when, a few days later he rings you up, and says he's sick. He's a surprisingly adept caretaker.

SOAP—

The last thing you remember is texting Soap about something—sick, can't make it—before the medication and the sickness dragged you under.

You wake up, sticky and wet from the cold sweat of a fever—edging, somehow, on the equilibrium of being both incredibly hot to the point of panting from the inferno blazing through your veins, and absolutely freezing, near hypothermic with goosebumps, and chattering teeth. Nothing sticks in the oil-slick lining of your head. It doesn't make sense. You're dizzy and disoriented. The room spins. You kick the covers off of your burning legs, but pull the comfort tighter around your torso where an arctic chill has settled in the pit of your stomach.

You try to move, but you're chained down. Locked. Trapped. You nearly panic, but a noise cuts through the wave of terror—

"Stop wigglin' so much," it's slurred into your shoulder, humid breath ghosting over your sweat-slicked neck. "M'tryin' t'sleep…"

His mohawk tickles your nose, his scent thick in your throat. Soap pulls you closer, tucking you deeper into his embrace, and murmurs soothingly until you settle. Until the wave of nausea passes, and the throbbing in your skull is abated by the warm milk and honey smell of him that floods you.

Clumsily, he reaches for a bottle of water he tucked beneath his pillow, eyes lidded and groggy with sleep.

"Drink," he urges, pressing it into your hands.

"I can't drink right now, I'll be sick—"

"Y'need water," he rasps, rubbing his cheek over yours. "Need to drink so you don't get dehydrated."

You huff. "I'll need to sit up for that."

The prospect of moving makes him grumble softly. His arm tightens around you, refusing to let go.

Then he stills.

The curve of his smile on your skin spells trouble. You're already shaking your head before he pops up, smirking. The sleep fades from his eyes in an instant. "I know a way—"

"You'll get sick," you warn, but he's already twisting the cap off, and spilling the water into his mouth

It bulges his cheeks. He looks ridiculous, and you scoff.

"There is no way—"

His lips seal over yours. Water runs down your chin when he pushes it inside the melting cavern of your mouth.

He doesn't need to slip his tongue inside, but he does it, anyway. Nips your lips when he pulls back, eyes glazing over as he watches you sputter and gasp.

His hand settles on your throat. "Swallow it. Got the whole bottle to get through."

His eyes trail over your wet cheeks, darkening when your throat bobs under his hand.

"Good girl," he breathes, and brings the nozzle up to his mouth again. His hand leaves your neck, and slips under the covers. There is a promise in the tips of his fingers when they glide over your molten skin. "We'll work on sweatin' your fever out next, bonnie. You're burnin' up."

—Soap's definition of caretaking is coddling you. He's a firm believer in sweating it out.

—it doesn't surprise you when he sends you several articles about how sex is good for colds, and you only feel slightly bad when his voice cracks a week later.

PRICE—

For a man who lives off of Maduro and scotch, his immune system is surprisingly resilient.

("It's the cigars," he husks, leaking smoke from his pores. "Keeps me in top shape."

You know better than to argue. It's never a battle you'll ever win.)

You, however, do not survive on miracle tobacco and malt.

Price doesn't answer the text you send—sick, can't make it to dinner tonight—but nine times out of ten, he usually doesn't. It doesn't surprise you, and you're not worried. He has other things to do—reports, interviews with new cadets, and planning recon missions for men in precarious situations. You turn your phone over on the coffee table, prop your heels on the edge, pull a blanket over your legs, and turn on the trashiest reality television you can stand.

A cup of tea sits by your ankle. You'd taken some medicine, and expect to be napping in a fugue state for the rest of the day.

It's just a tickle, really. Nothing to be worried about. Nothing that needs immediate attention. You're used to dealing with it alone.

Somewhere between Gemma blinking at the camera in confusion, you fall into a fitful sleep. Plagued by fever demons that ravage your body until you're drenched in sweat, and moaning in discomfort. Everything feels wrong—

A worn, rough hand settles on your brow. Words clipped, gravel thick.

Just gotta let it work itself out, love.

Your stomach churns. You whimper. Arms slide under your knees, bracketed around your back. Flying. Weightless. You sniffle into a warm neck that smells of smoke, and hickory.

Adrift in the sea. The waves lap at your body. You cling to the thing keeping you upright amid the waves that try to drag you under.

It sets you down on a lush shore, sand billowing around you until you're tucked inside a cocoon of sun seared warmth.

It pulls away.

Your hand snaps out. "Please, don't leave me—"

Gritty hisses whisper in your ear. "Shush, shush. M'not goin' anywhere, but you need water and some medicine. Stay here, love. I'll be right back."

You find comfort in the raw, rasping tone. Pitched low, and brassbound. You nod, head carving out a piece of bliss in the sand beneath your head.

It's a blur, really. You remember the weight of a hand holding your head in a plinth, water slipping down your aching throat. A hand brushing back the sweat-slicked hair on your forehead. Dry lips pressed to your crown, susurrus murmurs leaking out into your skin.

You wake up hours later. The island fades into shades of familiarity. There is a weight in your palm. You blink the dredges of fever away, the gossamer of sick that sounds like the waves crashing on the distant shore.

Price. He's sat in an armchair pushed as close to your bed as it'll allow. Your fingers threaded through his. The other hand falls on his lap, resting over a manila folder.

His head dips, chin tucked into his chest. Soft, brassy snores fill your bedroom.

On the table beside you sits two glasses of scotch, a bottle of water, an ashtray, and medicine.

You smell something robust and meaty wafting into the room. On your dresser is a bag of takeaway from the Vietnamese restaurant you were supposed to go to. The heady scent of Pho fills the air.

Your fingers squeeze his, a gentle pulse. Warmth blooms in your chest. The heat is enough to rival your fever.

He stayed.

(He snorts awake a few moments later, and makes you sip the scotch between mouthfuls of the electrolyte water. Good for you, he says. Drink it up, now.

Once you've drunk as much as you could, he hands you the pho, and watches you sip the broth.)

—firm, like everything he does. No room for arguments: he's taking care of you whether you like it or not.

—he keeps you tucked to his chest, and turns on your favourite movies, making snarky comments from the corner of his mouth that make you laugh. You feel instantly better with him by your side.

He, of course, does not get sick.

#godddd im so sorry this took so long!!!!!#im terrible #captain john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare #kyle gaz garrick #cod headcanons #gaz headcanons #soap headcanons #price headcanons #captain price x reader #ghost headcanons #simon riley x reader

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genericpuff · 7 months

Text

The Extended Mishandling of LO's S3 Midseason Finale Premiere

Alright, so I had mentioned leading up to the release of the newest LO episode that my feelings regarding LO returning were pretty "meh". Not hyped, but not completely back of mind either. Just sort of a weird calm before the storm type feeling that could go either way.

I'm glad I got to have that moment of calmness because good god, this episode was an absolute shitshow. And honestly, I'm not surprised, for several reasons:

Rachel has never been good at maintaining a buffer, even back at the start of the series she only ever had 2-3 episodes ready ahead of her schedule which is NOT an ideal buffer for an originals series.

Rachel has never been good at writing, she's very "draw first write later" and has stated as such in interviews that when she gets 'stuck' on what she's writing, she'll just start drawing and fit the pieces in later.

Four months is NOT enough time to both rest, attend massive conventions, and work on improving a project while also getting buffer episodes ready.

Because of the FP episodes remaining locked over the hiatus, technically Rachel only needed to have ONE episode ready upon return for the newest FP release, not multiple like she'd usually need like in the past during the S2 midseason hiatus or the season finale episodes which would unlock those FP releases like normal - so for all we know, she could have drawn this episode literally last week, especially when the promo material was so last minute. Frankly I think it was REALLY stupid for whoever it was who decided to keep these FP episodes locked (whether it was her or WT, it was more likely WT) but you can read all I have to say about that in my review of the midseason finale episodes.

All that's to say, no, there was never any guarantee Rachel was going to somehow "turn around" the ride we're currently on. I know that many of the critics were hoping for that to happen, but with the circumstances of the hiatus mixed with Rachel's bad habits of putting her best efforts into the procrastination projects that aren't her actual comic (ex. the few original pieces and LO sketches she put out during the hiatus) it just wasn't in the cards. This is where the comic is at and this is where it will remain until it's over.

I want to also point something out about this episode that was... really glaring to me.

As with all of these hiatus returns, LO got priority advertising in the first two banner slots and push notifications AND a popup ad within the app. This is unsurprising, Webtoons is still trying to milk this thing for what it's worth.

I know a lot of people are gonna focus on the art, or the fact that WT is continuing to shill LO, but I wanna point out the part that WT implemented specifically - "NEW SEASON".

This is literally just false. At best I'd like to think some intern just messed up and thought this was a new season, but it's literally not, the episode designation still says "S3". Note that the creators only design the banner art, the actual labels on top are put there by Webtoons.

But at worst, this feels like blatant lying to continue to hide the fact that LO is ending. Mind you, Rachel and Webtoons have still not put out official posts stating that this is the final arc. There is NOTHING from either of them to communicate to the audience that the comic is ending next year. It feels like they're trying to avoid the topic altogether out of fear of losing the fanbase they still have, rather than hyping up the comic's end for those who have stuck around to see how it all wraps up. And honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if this was the case, considering they're now trying to funnel the fanbase into Penguin/Inklore with new marketing deals and the whole Rachel Smythe Presents thing. They're trying to make this seem like the beginning of something "new" when it's really just a quiet shifting of management (Penguin House).

But all that aside, let's actually get into the episode. It's one episode after 4 months, which is not standard for LO's hiatuses, typically FP episodes release on schedule (meaning free readers start hiatuses 3 weeks after FP readers do), the only time this has been an exception has been with the 2 week breaks because the whole point of those was to build a buffer (which you can't do if you're going ahead and releasing the FP episodes anyways). For extended hiatuses like these, usually free readers still get their FP episodes, but that wasn't the case here. That means Rachel technically only needed one episode ready for the comic's return, and it shows. It really fucking shows.

FROM HERE ON OUT THERE WILL BE FASTPASS SPOILERS REGARDING EPISODE 254. DO NOT CONTINUE IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE SPOILED !!!

As per tradition, we get a title that means nothing at all. It just says what we already know.

Our collective husband Zeus is dying, no thanks to the poison cupcake fed to him by Apollo. For those who don't remember, Apollo had tricked Zeus into eating the cupcake by making him believe it was from Hebe. We are fully aware that it was Apollo who poisoned him. Remember that for later in this review.

Right off the bat we're off to a hilarious start, both with a cryptid appearance from Apollo in the background (lmao) who is, for some reason, ALREADY returning to the scene of the crime he just committed because... who knows at this point. Apollo and Psyche know it was Apollo at this point, I might add, but I have no clue why Apollo is actually returning to the scene of the crime when he has no idea Eros and Psyche know.

Moving on from that, can we talk about this hilarious dialogue?

"We have to call a doctor! Let's call Asclepius!"

"No, we can't trust him! Gosh darn it, why are we only bothering to think of ONE doctor in this universe where we've seen more than one doctor?? Guess Zeus is just gonna die! What a horribly contrived situation this is!"

And that's literally how I can best describe most of this episode. Contrived. There is a LOT of manufactured drama in this that makes ZERO sense even on a surface level.

And what do you mean exactly, Eros? "What a terrible system!" Is this supposed to be a joke? Lampshading? We've seen Persephone go to the gynecologist. There are non-god doctors who tend to gods all the time here.

Eros just doesn't seem to be that pressed over this, he sounds like Ned Flanders and that's NOT a good way to open up a scene like this... let alone an episode people have been waiting four months for.

Anyways, after a few pointless reaction panels (again remember I have to cut a lot of what I show here for Tumblr image limitations but I promise you, I'm keeping as much important stuff as I can in this, there's just THAT MUCH filler at this point), Eros and Psyche confront Apollo and he is... good god.

There is... so much to unpack here.

First of all, remember those theories about how Rachel was clearly trying to write Apollo as this "secret twist villain" the whole time but it doesn't work because Apollo is simultaneously written as both a 'conniving villain' and a massive dumbass at the same time?

Well, I finally have a more appropriate term for him. He's your average red pill redditor - someone who thinks he's smarter than everyone else when really all he does is sit on reddit all day using big words incorrectly in arguments he gets himself into with a bunch of equally-air-headed dumbasses.

"You can't possibly understand the nuances of the Olympian political system," Apollo said proudly, a man who had, ironically and obliviously, run for president in a monarchy. The union of kettle and pot is eternal.

He's the Slappable Jerk but instead of it being a painfully hilarious impression, it's just painful and hilarious for all the wrong reasons.

this is so stupid because it's 1.) Eros pointing out how obvious Apollo's plan was, despite Apollo acting smart two seconds ago with a goddess who, mind you, has been a goddess for ten years, and 2.) patricide isn't even intrinsically linked to politics, there's nothing 'political' about a guy trying to kill his dad except in, idk, a monarchy, which again, Apollo has spent ten years trying to rise to power in as a president which is a completely different form of government.

If I wanted to be really granular with this, I'd like to think Apollo is making some kind of point about the critics who call out LO's whack as fuck political system (especially in the trial arc) - as if he's saying "well you're just a stupid reader and this is fantasy where you don't understand exactly what political system we're using, so shut the fuck up you stupid twig" - but I don't think it's meant to be that deep. I think it's just Rachel trying to write a smart character and then failing at it because she, herself, is not a smart writer. And I'm really inclined to believe that more than the theory about this being some kind of meta-narrative about the critics because this entire plotline is contrived and stupid down to its core.

I did not cut anything out here, that's the pacing. Leto literally just appears out of nowhere and uh oh spaghettio's, she has Kassandra! Remember Leto? The character we were led to believe was truly "pulling the strings" until she disappeared from the story completely after she realized that Apollo and Persephone weren't a thing, even going so far as to call out her own son for being a fucking dumbass? Well, she's back and once again she's being involved as some kind of "double agent" in this whole thing, even though we literally haven't seen her since halfway through S2.

"Mm yes, you're so stupid, falling into my trap! Even though you had no reason to remember Kassandra anyways because she's literally a mortal woman you just met and you yourself have committed acts of violence against mortals without a shred of care! I'm so smart! My plan is all coming together!"

We've never seen Apollo do anything except cry and poop his pants, the closest he got to being "powerful" was his attempts to murder Daphne (who he seems to have forgotten about in this "master plan" of his) but ultimately he's literally just a piss ant baby and there's no reason to believe that he could somehow outmatch the God of Love who can literally manipulate people's emotions and states of mind with his arrows. But yeah sure go off, you're so powerful and smart.

The worst part is, I can't even buy this as the narrative trying to be like "see how manipulative and conniving he is?" because it's just silly. We've SEEN this man cry with his victim complex, we've seen him say and do the DUMBEST things that don't lend to any amount of "intelligence" he may have, it comes across less as him being "smart the whole time" and more as him trying to sound smart but ultimately sounding incredibly stupid. And I can't even immerse myself into it and buy that maybe that's the point, because it doesn't feel like the point, it just feels like inconsistent writing, he doesn't feel like a 'threat', he's just monologuing.

Bad art and Apollo literally just repeating what Leto already implied so this is a waste of the audience's time.

This is the funniest panel in the whole episode because I can't tell if Apollo is supposed to be in the background (for some reason, despite him literally being in front of Eros and Psyche two seconds ago) or if he's in the foreground and just REALLY small for some reason. This is so off-putting. And of course, it's just Apollo explaining what we're ALREADY SEEING ONSCREEN.

You see, in addition to this episode being contrived, it also talks down to its audience a LOT by explaining exactly what we're seeing onscreen. It's like Rachel saw the criticisms about her not including enough to depict what's actually going on in her head and so she thought the solution was to spoon feed information over pictures that are already doing the job of explaining what's going on. Rachel really doesn't know how to write and even when she tries to implement changes that reflect criticisms that have been made of her writing, she somehow makes things worse because she completely misses the point of what those criticisms are trying to get across.

Anyways, without even trying to resist (for some reason) Eros and Psyche get sentenced to horny jail.

They're now trapped in a basement that Leto somehow has in her home. How do we know that?

HAHAHA FUNNY LAMPSHADING SO FUNNNYYYYYYY

Leto claims that they shouldn't try to escape because the dungeon is "enchanted", but she doesn't even bother to explain what that means. So they literally don't bother trying. They don't try to call her bluff, they don't try to teleport out of there, they literally just go "well shoot", shrug their shoulders, and accept their fate. Just like with the whole "we can't trust the only doctor we bothered to think of" situation, Eros and Psyche are turning out to be some of the stupidest, lowest-effort characters in this comic who literally can't be bothered to try because that would require too much brain power.

Notice how much time we've spent on this and we haven't gotten back to where the cliffhanger of the last episode left off? Well buckle up because there's still more to cover.

So it turns out Hebe was still inside with her dad, in FULL VIEW of what was going on through glass which is somehow COMPLETELY soundproof, and when Apollo steps inside, she just has no idea what happened. She never bothered to even look outside to see what was going on with Eros and Psyche, she's just been sitting on the floor staring at Zeus' dead face for what was likely several minutes, unless Rachel is seriously trying to convince us that conversation and hostage negotiation from earlier only took 2 seconds. The timeline is such a mess at this point that characters basically freeze in place as soon as they're not the focus of the scene.

Apollo rushes inside, acting shocked over the situation, and when Hebe asks where Eros and Psyche are (again, she could have just looked out the window at any time), he's just like "dur idk they just left lol" which Hebe just... buys, I guess.

That's just Persephone but yellow. She's even missing her beauty mark.

See how Apollo put his hand on Zeus' chest/shoulder by the way?

Apparently, despite Mr. Smarter Than Everyone Else trying to pretend it wasn't him, he's able to discern that Zeus is dying from a toxic and rare poison just from touching him. He doesn't even really seem to use his powers, he just touches him and goes "welp he's dead i guess lol don't bother asking me how I know that".

But oh nooo remember that note from before? Well gasp Apollo's gonna use it to frame Hebe! In front of no one else at all!

Hebe of course says she didn't write it, but Apollo continues to try and frame her anyways, even though, again, there's no one else present here, and so it effectively just becomes the most absurd form of gaslighting I've ever seen.

Again, THERE IS NO ONE ELSE HERE IN THE SCENE. He's just trying to claim she did it to absolutely no one at all, in the hopes of... what exactly? That she'll just take the fall for something she knows she didn't do? That she'll somehow be convinced? It's not like Hebe has the same thing going on as Persephone where she has a 'wrathful dark side' he could pin it on, this is just a criminal who just robbed a building pointing at the first person they see and yelling "YOU DID IT!"

All I'm saying is that Apollo would be really bad at Among Us. He'd be the type of player to kill someone, hit the report button, then claim yellow did it which, even if he DID convince the rest of the team, would still get kicked anyways as soon as yellow was proven through the eject to not be the imp and everyone would go "okay cool so yellow wasn't the imp, that means obviously it's purple self-reporting." It's a trick that doesn't even work anymore because of how old it is. Hebe isn't a child here, she's an 18 year old woman who should be fully capable of raising an eyebrow and wondering why Apollo is this quick to accuse her - almost like he's trying to hide the fact that he did it.

But Hebe can't catch onto this, just like Eros and Psyche, she has to act stupid for the sake of the plot.

At first I thought maybe Rachel was trying to do some "whodunit" scenario, but that doesn't work here because we already know who did it. And while there are stories that exist like that that pull it off (ex. Knives Out) the problem with trying to do this the way Rachel did is that the person being framed has to have this thing called motive. The reason why Knives Out and Glass Onion work so well is because the person who was murdered (or conspired against) is someone who is being targeted by multiple people who could all be the murderer. It's quite literally called out in Glass Onion as a form of smart lampshading. "It's like putting a loaded gun on the table, and turning off the lights."

But it doesn't work here because Hebe does not have motive. If you're going to attempt to frame a murder on someone, it has to be someone who would have reasonable motive to commit that murder, even if they didn't actually commit it.

And who among Zeus' children has motive?

What about the war-mongering bloodthirsty god of war who has been regularly sentenced to time in the Mortal Realm to fight in wars in which he's been regularly injured?

What about the chaos-seeking wrathful goddess who would do it to get revenge on the parental figure who cast her aside, or even just for the fun of saying she did it?

Why try and pin it on Hebe, the doting daughter of Zeus who's only had a collective of maybe 20 panels in the entire comic?

But then I realized... it's not Knives Out, it's the fucking Lion King.

Which is just as contrived - if not more - than the assumption this was gonna be some attempt to frame Hebe. It's not. He's literally just trying to keep her from assuming it was him. He could have just as easily played dumb without calling attention to the note but he intentionally went out of his way to try and be Scar from The Lion King , while completely missing the point of why that scene worked in the original movie.

Scar wasn't trying to 'frame' Simba for Mufasa's murder. He was trying to hide the murder, while also attempting to get the only heir to the throne out of the picture, so he passed the guilt of the death onto Simba - a child who, unlike Hebe, wouldn't have the ability to rationalize or realize his uncle his a scumbag - who then ran away from home because he was too terrified to face his family for what happened, assuming that it was all his fault when it wasn't.

That's not how this is panning out here. Hebe is the now 18 year old daughter of Zeus, and not one of his only children. She doesn't even fit into the whole "sons overthrowing their fathers" prophecy like Aries would. Apollo is literally just being a big idiot here by saying "well I'm gonna give you a headstart to run away, because if you stay, I might hurt you" (which btw, should be MORE of a smoking gun that Apollo did it??)

And again, it's all so contrived so that the plot can move forward. "Well I'm going to frame you for this murder, but y'know, you should just leave, I'm not gonna try and press it further lmao"

Again, Apollo is a fucking idiot here, because he just attempted to frame someone who has NO MOTIVE to harm Zeus, to absolutely NO ONE at all who would side with him, only to let her go which would leave her to question why Apollo would try to accuse and harm her in the first place before considering other options. And through ALL this he claims he's the smart one, which I can't even be bothered to "love to hate" because it's written so poorly.

And really it all comes down to how everyone else behaves in relation to Apollo that makes it so stupid and unbelievable. Apollo, you're not smart just because all the characters around you are intentionally being written to be as stupid and non-confrontation as possible. If you can only write a smart villain by making everyone else stupid, you haven't written a smart villain, you've written a dumbass whose victory only happens due to contrived plot convenience. It's not even done well like in Glass Onion, it's just bad writing, full stop.

And who does he call to report this emergency? The satyr police? His son the doctor?

No.

The media. Literally just "hello, the media?? I need your best journalist here stat!"

I need you to understand, even if he were calling a tabloid magazine like The Weekly Nark, you don't just... call a journalist to report a murder. These are not the actions of someone who's trying to absolve himself of guilt, these are the actions of a complete dumbass trying to get news coverage of his trophy kill who would be better off just playing dumb instead of trying to play smart. Even Walter White wasn't this fucking stupid despite all the times he fell on his own sword, Apollo is literally just instigating suspicion towards himself for no reason at all. He's self-reporting so hard and worst of all, you can't even take any of this seriously because of how corny it is. There's no dramatic tension, no stakes, it's just a bunch of characters performing in a really bad stage play and reducing every conflict to "well I guess Zeus is just dead now because no one's bothering to make an effort to stop Apollo or ask questions lmao"

It's truly the epitome of "this plot wouldn't exist if characters would just talk to each other."

But finally, FINALLY we mention the thing this episode is named after, the transition point to Persephone.

Just like with the midseason finale episode, there's a lot to cover here, so I'm gonna get more into it in a part two post.

That said, you can see already this is the messiest, most contrived bullshit to ever wind up in LO. It's trying so hard to be smart and it just comes across as a bunch of toddlers in the world's worst stage play rendition of Clue. None of what was done here was in any way dramatic or tense, it's just a bunch of characters infodumping shit we already know, trying to set up new plot threads that don't make any sense, and allowing one another to get away with what they're doing because they don't bother to even try.

It's completely manufactured, contrived nonsense. It's not "smart", it's not "so dumb it's brilliant", it's just dumb.

youtube

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #this is the comic that bought two eisners #uh i mean *won* two eisners #... no wait i had it right the first time lmao

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heywriters · 11 months

Text

how to make a tumblr post (and get notes!)

Have never seen any post discuss these exact things, so i'm sharing my insights with y'all*

Use images. They don't have to be good or spectacular like this extremely coherent thing I just made. They just need to catch the eye break up dashboard monotony.

The gif search feature is an unreliable wild card at best and a NSFW eye gouge at worst, but it gives credit to the op of the gif

If you're an artist your whole post is your images, so skip to the links and tags section of this post because the rest won't help much.

-> Image Descriptions

When making a post that contains images, hover over an image and click the meatballs icon in the lower right corner of the image. Click "update description" to add a description. It isn't always necessary, but it is very courteous for a variety of accessibility reasons.

-> Text

Break up your text. Run-on sentences are standard here, lack of punctuation too, you can really do whatever you want, but avoid massive blocks of text. unless you've got a really incendiary opening line and the entire center of that granite chunk of text is actually comedy gold, hard-hitting tumblr journalism, or one of those zany confessional posts that can be followed up by the drive thru meme

break up

your text.

and go light on the ALL CAPS. save it for emphasis or when you're feeling very unhinged or saRcAStiC y'know how that goes, i don't need to explain it. this site has a very dry tone to its posts so caps are rare. also periods

Bullet points and numbered posts are good and fine. The "Chat" post option is used less often these days, but different groups found uses for it so it sticks around.

Titles Matter

they help break up text and put people at ease. they are best for informative, mature posts but can make you look like a square in more relaxed conversations. sometimes they are also great for emphasis in a comedic sh*tpost (censorship is entirely up to you, btw. you don't have to censor much on tumblr except titties and genitals).

Tumblr automatically shortens long posts now, but etiquette asks that you tag #long post if you want to avoid clogging up someone's dash. It don't matter too much though, this is the "color of the sky" site, so get used to posts being too long

That being said "READ MORE" is a fantastic feature. Use it when you want some level of privacy like "hey, only click below if you want to hear about my problems" or "click below to read my 18+ fanfic." Read more is also great in case you want to delete something forever. If a reblogged post has a read more, but op deleted the og post, that content is gone (readmore has to be on the og post at time of posting for this to work, btw; edits to og post do not span all reblogs)

the other bells and whistles like colored font or italics are helpful in improving text, but we don't really rely on them. every mode of looking at this site alters those aspects somehow so we often ignore them

-> Links

Hint: People don't want to click links. We don't know where they're taking us. Most of us are on our phone and don't want to open another tab or leave the app to go on the browser. We're cozy here on Tumblr and do not wish to be whisked away (unless it's a rickroll)

Don't leave the link thumbnail to do all the work, like so

add a little sneak peak info, maybe your favorite line from the article or a reason why it's important for people to know the info on the other side of that link. Sell it!

When you're adding a link into a list, i.e. no large thumbnail just a line of text leading you to another site, try not to copy/paste the link as is

"https://......"

No one wants to click on that it's gross and scary. It's screams "meh, i'll click later if i feel like it." If the build up to the link is too good to resist ("if you want to save the orphaned puppies here's the link") then that http mess is sufficient.

Otherwise, dress your links up a little by including the title or a description of what the link goes to:

Or, if it's an informal post where you're just popping info in to back up whatever insane thing you just said, just write something like "link here" or "(x)" and hyperlink it.

-> Tags

artists, writers, and other creators: leave a tag on your creative content that makes it easy for blog visitors to see it all at once. e.g. "My work" and we click on that while on your blog and see only your works

You can have up to thirty tags on any post. All will make your post show up in searches and followed tags (it used to be only the first five tags that got you traction). However,

Please. Do not tag everything you can possibly imagine being relevant to your post because

It's called tag spam and it's against TOS

Everyone here hates that

No one is going to check all those tags ever. Someone might search one five years from now and accidentally find your post hanging out in the ether and they'll still ignore it.

Your imagination is wicked tiny because I guarantee the perfect tag is going to be something indecipherable and seemingly niche.

Follow popular tags (or at least be aware of them)

If yours is an off-the-cuff post and you don't have time to find out what a niche group is into then wing it, sure, idc. this is also the shitposting site do whatever you want

Don't put your hate in the fan tags. This is the unapologetically-like-dumb-things site and your negativity is not wanted. You can still complain, just avoid tagging to get the attention of the fans of whatever you're complaining about. That enables pvp and even nonfans will know you deserve the backlash

-> Audio & Video

clickable by nature because we all love noise and moving images so there's no special way to share posts like this. just post them with good tags and maybe a one-liner, and they'll sell themselves

Tip: it's nice to add descriptions to these too but it isn't common

Protip: if the audio is the best part of the video (e.g. a baby burps REALLY loudly and it's hilarious) please caption or tag "Unmute!"

-> mkay bye

that's all i can think of right now. will update later if i remember something

---

*this is year eleven of my time on tumbles and i studied marketing in college for like six of those years and have been applying that bupkis to tumblr ever since. every post i see that gets no traction and every lovely artist that goes nowhere on here bothers me so deeply and i sincerely want y'all to succeed <3 <3

+ If you find this helpful and want to support my blog, I have a ko-fi!

+ If you're concerned about my mental health from being on Tumblr so long and want to contribute to my "get better" fund, I have a ko-fi!

#writing #tumblr guide #tumblr etiquette #marketing #writeblr #authorblr #artists of tumblr #og #tongue in cheek #long post

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spider-man-199999 · 10 months

Text

Pacifier pt 3

pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader;

word count: 5K

part1 part2

warnings: mentions of sex ; Peter is younger than the reader, but still 18. Reader is around 20. Peter is trying to pin reader even though he is younger.

summary: In this one you’re hired as Morgan’s babysitter (and low-key underpaid Stark!assistant). Looking after a little girl isn’t too hard, but looking after her “big bother” as well, definitely is.

an: Peter and reader are just Tony's kids at this point. I've never really written anything about people actually being in a relationship so apologies if it's kinda sucky.

"No, we're not making an official Avengers tik-tok account, forget it." You told Peter, who had been begging you for days now.

"But it's going to be soo good! People will see the silly, goofie side of everyone and that way we can build more trust!"

"Pepper, please back me up here!"

"Peter actually has a point." Pepper said.

All of you were sitting at the dinner table, it was the first family dinner since the Starks had come back from their vacation.

"Tony, please!" you looked at him, begging him to support you this time. "Do you seriously think anyone would want to participate in supid dance trends or prank wars?"

"I'm a great dancer!" Tony said, he was taking Peter's side to mess with you.

"I cannot believe this is actually about to happen. Imagine making Steve do a tik-tok dance. Or anyone for that matter. Imagine Tony doing the makarena in the iron suit!"

"It's going to be hilarious, exactly my point!" Peter whined, drinking some of the orange juice he had poured for himself.

"I'm not doing the makarena, I have a daughter!''

"Should have thought about it before backing up Spider-man on that one!"

"Should have thought about it before back up Spider-man on that one!" Tony mocked your tone "The world should see what these hips can do! We're definitely making a tik-tok account now!"

Your "relationship" with Peter was still in the closet, since the first month wasn’t over, you didn't really feel comfortable sharing it with anyone, especially Tony. Peter on the other hand was pretty much settled down. He spent every free minute he had at the tower just to be with you, which was really getting in the way of your studying. He was a lot of help with Morgan, most of the time you felt like both of them shared one brain cell. It made so much sense now why Tony loved Peter like his own son. And that being the case, your secret relationship with him was in the clear.

You gave Morgan a tissue, helping her wipe away some of the food that was on her face. She giggled because the corner tickled her nose, turning to look at you. You smiled at her, petting her head as she continued eating with her spoon, spilling most of the contents all over the table.

"Tony, do you even know what tik-tok is?" you asked.

"I'm not that told, of course I know!"

"It's that video app that Morgan watches on your phone." You explained anyway, sure he had no idea what the conversation really was about.

"It's that? Then no, we're definitely not making a tik-tok account."

---

Somehow Peter managed to persuade all of you into this. But if you think about it, he persuaded you into dating him, he could practically get anything he wanted. And because of this absurd idea, you were now setting up a phone on a tripod, placing it in the middle of the living room. Peter was next to you in his spider suit and the other Avengers were talking on the couch while you two worked.

"So you guys have to go rounds?" you asked, looking over at Peter. He had his mask off, holding it in one hand.

"Yeah, and after we film, we have to put the names after every round with an X on an O, depending on who managed to hide in time."

"Sometimes I think you started this whole thing because you don't have any friends."

"I have friends?"

You took a few steps back, seeing what was in the frame.

"Yeah? Like who? And you're not allowed to say me, we're not friends."

"Well, there's Ned and MJ."

"I don't think this is going to work out." You said, looking at the others. "You literally have gigantic, muscular men, trying to hide in a minimalistic living room. And then there's also the Hulk."

“Did you just thirst over muscular men right in front of me?” Peter laughed, placing his hand on your waist. Usually you would tense up when he did that, but since you were now dating, you didn't. "Trust me, it will be fun!"

"Mask on please, get everyone in position."

He nodded, putting his mask on and telling everyone to gather in front of the camera and pose. You stood behind the phone, looking at the frame. Everyone was in it. They were gathering like they were about to take a picture, standing in cool superhero poses.

"Okay guys, you look poster worthy. I'll count to 3 and all of you have 5 seconds to hide somewhere before the camera takes a picture!" you explained. Peter had ran through this with them before but you felt the need to explain again. "1, 2, 3..."

And you pressed record. Pure chaos was unleashed after that. Peter shot a web and stuck to the ceiling, Thor jumped over the couch along with Cap, laying flat on it so they were not visible. Hulk just grabbed the couch with both of them on it, lifting it and putting it in front of him sideways, while the others just fell on the ground on top of each other. Natasha practically jumped on an armchair that got knocked over from her force and got out of the frame entirely. The 5 seconds were over and you were barely holding in your laughter at that point. You had expected this to go badly but not nearly as bad as it actually was.

You did a few more rounds, each one more ridiculous than the previous. And after that you got to work, writing out the winners and losers to each round in your notes. Now all that was left was editing it and posting.

—

You were sitting at your desk, biting your lip as you were concentrating on figuring out where to place all the names and scores on the screen so they wouldn’t block out any important things in the video. Or should you have them appear at the end? Your work was interrupted by Peter walking in your room, making your head turn. He had the mask in his hand, still wearing the suit.

“Hi, pumpkin!” he said, which made you raise an eyebrow at him and squint your eyes in displeasure.

“That sounded ridiculously cheesy and I really hate it.’’

“I thought introducing some kind of pet name into this relationship would be nice, I need to change your name in my phone.”

“Think of another one.”

He walked over to you, a gentle kiss was immediately placed on the top of your head while his eyes wandered to your phone, looking as the video played with half of the scorings written in the middle of it.

“Ooo, did I win?” he asked, his hand resting on your shoulder.

“Mmmm, you didn’t lose definitely, but you lost a point on the third round when you stuck yourself in fetal position to Hulk’s back and he started spinning in circles trying to get you off.”

“That’s not fair! I hid well!”

“But the camera still saw you, I don’t make the rules.”

He kissed your cheek before laying down on your bed. You finished up the video and hit upload before following him. It was still new and uncomfortable for you to be affectionate with him in public, but your room offered a safe space to try. You wouldn’t shut him down when he tried making a move on you in front of the others like you used to do, but initiating intimacy yourself was really out of the picture. He put his phone away when he saw you get up, opening his arms. You lay on top of him as he wrapped his arms in a warm embrace. You relaxed your weight on him, head pressed against his chest. Cons to having a spider-man boyfriend was you were never worried you’d crush him.

“I need to say something and I don’t want it to turn into a fight.” he said, making you look at him.

You placed your hands on top of his chest, resting your head on them as you watched him.

“What is it about?” you asked.

“Since the month of us trying to date is almost over…”

“Pete… I know what you’re gonna say and the month isn’t over yet. Please don’t let it get over your head before it actually happens.”

“But we’re a week away from a month!”

“I know but a lot can happen in a week… You know exactly how much.” You told him, referring to the time you two had spent alone together almost a month ago.

“Okay, okay, baby mice steps. I get it.”

“Precisely.”

You tried to relax after the conversation, laying your head on his chest while he stroked your back gently. For some reason it was just not working to calm you down. You turned to look at him again and he was already staring, a soft smile painted across his lips. A soft sigh escaped yours, your hands reaching out to wrap around his neck and pull yourself closer to him. Still feeling uneasy from what he said, you slid your body on one of his sides, hiding your face in his neck. He giggled softly because you tickled him in the process, squeezing you gently.

“I’m sorry.” you mumbled against his neck, your hand drawing soft circles on his chest.

Peter hummed softly, raising your chin with his hand to place a soft kiss on your lips.

“It’s okay, I know I’m impatient.”

“No, I think you’re being reasonable. I’m the one who’s overreacting.”

He kissed you again, slowly and gently, his lips moving against yours while he still held your chin with his hand.

“You’re alright, babe. Baby steps.”

You nodded, letting your head fall on his shoulder this time, placing soft kisses on his jawline.

“Baby steps.” You repeated in a whisper.

You enjoyed cuddling with him more than you had anticipated, neither of you expected your primary love language to be physical touch. But Peter didn’t mind that even one bit, he loved touching you for comfort, his hands were on your legs whenever you two went somewhere with the car, no matter who was driving. He would make sure to place his hand one the small of your back whenever you two would pass each other in a hallway. His knee would touch yours under the dinner table when he was over. It was subtle and it brought the both of you so much comfort and adrenaline. You were basically hiding in plain sight.

You had no idea if Tony was onto the two of you yet or not. Peter was over way more than he used to be, he even sneaked in a few times during the night. The alarms wouldn’t go off because, well it was Peter after all. It wasn’t like you were trying to sneak in someone who wasn’t registered into the security systems. And Tony adored the kid, so he was extra happy about having him around more. Things were going pretty smoothly if anyone had to ask you.

—

You hated to admit, but Peter was right. This whole tik-tok thing was an absolute hit. It humanized all of the Avengers so much that people started trusting and liking them more than ever before. You were getting millions of likes and comments on all of the videos you uploaded, which were more or less different trends. It was annoying that you had to run the whole account, like you didn’t have enough work to do.

Today you filmed the tortilla slap challenge with Bucky, Natasha and Sam. Peter desperately wanted to join it but everyone was against the idea of him publicly announcing his secret identity, especially for a tik-tok. So you made him mop up the floor after, since he wanted to be involved so badly.

All of them went into a meeting straight after that, leaving you with 10 minutes to run and grab a coffee for everyone. The 10 minutes you had were definitely not enough to make it back with so many cups. And to top it all off, the Parker family was on a mission to make it extra difficult for you. Peter was spamming your messages begging you to listen to “Yellow hearts” by Ant Saunders because somehow it was “exactly describing the relationship you two had.” And you were walking down a street, trying to reply to a message, hands full of coffee cups, when you ran into Peter’s aunt - May.

“Oh, Y\N! Lovely seeing you!” she said with a bright cheerful smile, making you look up from your phone. You were trying to support the cups with your chin while you texted, because all of them couldn’t fit in the paper bag.

“May! Hey!” you replied once you shook off the surprise, shoving the phone in your back pocket.

“How are you, sweetheart? I’ve been hearing about you lately, but not seeing enough.” she smiled, placing a hand on your arm as she spoke.

“I’m alright, a little busy actually. Are you here to pick up Parker JR after the meeting?”

“Yes, and I thought I could drink some coffee while I’m waiting. Peter recommended the place.”

“He did, didn’t he?” you asked, trying to mask how frustrated and overwhelmed you were becoming. “I need to run, I’m already late.”

“It’s okay, we can catch up another time? Dinner over at Queens this week?” she asked, but you were already walking away from her.

You turned your head to look at her in a little bit of a shock, not expecting a whole dinner invitation to her house. Your fears turned out to be true, Peter had told her about dating you.

“I’m very busy, I’ll tell the spider whenever I can.” You smiled politely at her before walking away, in the most rapid pace you could manage without actually running.

“Hey, kid, these are for you.” you heard Tony say as he walked into the living room.

You were helping Morgan with a coloring book, or rather watching her color in it from time to time while you read through your biology textbook. Exams were coming up and you didn’t have a second to spare. Tony’s voice captured your attention, making you look up and see him hold a beautiful bouquet of yellow and white roses, decorated with little daisies.

“For me? Thank you Tony, but that’s so weird.”

“They’re not from me. They were left for you at the door.”

“The front door?”

“No, by the doggy door.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, getting up to look at the flowers yourself. In the meantime Tony took the card out reading out loud. You tried stopping him by grabbing the card but he lifted his hand up, making you jump to try to get it but failing.

“Thank you for coming to dinner last night, love, your secret boyfriend.” he read, looking at you in shock “You have a boyfriend?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Does Peter know about you having a boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Yes, and he’s not sending you flowers at your door for having dinner with him. Who is he?”

“Tony, you’re not my dad.”

Your words made him snap out of his protective mode, giving you the flowers and the note. You took them in your arms reluctantly, reading the note to be sure he was actually right about what was written on it. Tony looked at you with an expression that you couldn’t really decode, it looked like shock, pain and worry at the same time. You were going to kill Peter, for real this time.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.” you said, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the two of you.

He placed an arm on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“Nothing to apologize for here, I know I can never replace your parents, I’m not trying either.” Tony gave your shoulder a pat, turning around to look at Morgan, who had stopped coloring and was now listening to the two of you.

“Thank you… For worrying about me, I appreciate it. I know I don’t say it enough but I value your presence in my life, or rather my presence is yours.”

“Please don’t make this more awkward than it already is.”

“Usually I’m the one who says that.”

“Would you look at that, your boyfriend has made you cheesy.”

You shook your head in disgust from his words, watching him as he walked over to Morgan and lifted her up in his arms, spinning around as he hugged her. It was your queue to leave before it got any weirder, so you gathered your books and left as fast as you could.

Shutting the door of your room behind you, phone on your ear as you had already dialed Peter’s number. He picked up on the fourth ring, right before you gave up on this call.

“Hey!” His cheerful voice on the other side of the line.

“What’s with those flowers?” you asked, cutting right to the chase.

“Don’t you like them? May said it was what I was supposed to do after you came over for dinner and she said flowers would be a ni-”

“I love the flowers, but Tony found them before I did.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you for not being dumb enough to not sign your name on that card.” you sighed, placing the bouquet on your desk next to the messy piles of notebooks. “Now he thinks I have a boyfriend.”

“But you do have a boyfriend.” he laughed softly. You could hear his smile on the other side of the line.

“I know this label makes you very happy, I’m glad it does, but please be more careful next time.”

“Alright, bet, next time I want to bring you flowers I’ll stick them to the ceiling of your room with my webs so no one else can see them.”

“Now that’s a thought.” you laughed, looking at the ceiling just to make sure he hadn’t already done that.

In reality, you weren’t mad at him for sending you flowers. You loved them, it was a very nice gesture and it made you feel warm on the inside. Sure, it wasn’t the best way to receive them and it stressed you out, but at the end of the day, you had a very good boyfriend that wanted to make you happy.

—

Peter walked in the apartment holding a red rose in his hand. His smile was spread across his face as the elevator door opened in front of him, leading him into the big living space. He came here straight from school, after his Math quiz. He didn’t bother going home first to leave his backpack, went straight to a flower shop to get you a rose and head to the Stark tower so he could invite you on a very special date. He expected you to be watching over Morgan alone and it caught him by surprise when he saw Tony sitting on the couch. You were standing next to him, reading over something which he had probably given you. Tony turned his head, noticing it was Peter with the side of his eye.

“Hey, kid.” he said.

Peter froze in his spot, his heart pounding in his chest from the fear of how this was going to play out. He had to think of something really fast. He threw the rose in the air as Tony’s head moved to face you again for a second, shooting a web at it to stick it to the ceiling.

“What’s with that rose?” Tony asked a second later, after he processed what he had seen, turning fully around to look at Peter.

“What rose?” Peter replied, looking around, his hands empty now.

“I swear you were holding a rose just now.”

“No, I wasn’t. Maybe you saw my Math quiz with this big red A written on it.” The paper was folded in half and shoved in his back pocket because he was in such a rush to get here, he didn’t have time to put it in his bag. He took the paper out of his pocket, showing it to Tony.

Their conversation made you look up at Peter. You knew he was lying. The tone of his voice sounded nervous and like he was going to crack under the pressure.

“You need to work on your lying skills.” Tony said, turning his back to him and looking at you again. You looked at Peter, then at Tony and your gaze fell on the papers.

“Everything seems fine.” You told Tony, handing him the red folder back. He had hired some new engineers for his labs, helping him and wanted you to review their work just in case. It wasn’t like you were majoring in engineering, your passion was biology and biochemistry, but you just knew math well enough to spot any mistake if there was any.

“Okay, thank you. You’re free now” He told you, reading through the folder again.

Ten minutes later Tony was still sitting on the couch, reading through the folder. You and Peter silently decided to study on the kitchen table across from each other. You were already engrossed in the textbook you were reading, highlighting, writing things down in your notebook, sticking sticky notes in the book. You were trying your best to ignore Peter’s constant fidgeting in his seat, the annoyed flipping through pages with sighs escaping his lips. His hands moving on the table when he would get bored, making you flinch in your seat, worried he would try to touch you in front of Tony. You heard silent ripping of paper, trying to ignore it, but Peter threw it a small paper ball at you to get your attention. You looked over at him, annoyed by his overall behavior in the last 10 minutes. Both of you had finals knocking at your doors and he was doing everything in his power to distract you. He pointed at the ceiling as soon as your eyes met, making you look in the direction. And there it was, the rose Tony was talking about earlier, a single red rose, webbed onto the ceiling. You wanted to burst out laughing but held yourself back, looking at Peter again. He was writing something, passing it to you a few seconds later.

“Will you be my prom date?” it read, looking at him and shaking your head no. You had already told him a million times you were not going to do it. He pouted, putting his hands together and locking his fingers into a prayer, begging you to say yes. You shook your head again, giving him back the note.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Tony asked, making the two of you jump in your seats.

He had been looking at the two of you for the past 5 minutes, he saw the rose as well, saw Peter begging you and you declining. He was standing by the table. This whole time you felt like you were in detention with Peter, and now that Tony caught you, the feeling got deeper. Neither of you said anything, staring at Tony in shock. And since you wouldn’t speak, Tony took the paper and laughed.

“I don’t think her boyfriend is gonna like that.”

“Her boyfriend?” Peter asked, looking at you.

“Yeah, she has a boyfriend.”

“I don’t think he’ll mind.” Peter continued.

“I definitely think he will.”

“No he won’t, he’ll be quite happy actually.”

“What is making you think that?”

“Because it’s me, I’m her boyfriend.”

You didn’t say a word the entire conversation. A few weird looks were shared between the three of you in complete silence. You felt like you wanted to die. Peter turned to stare at you, waiting for you to confirm it. Tony was staring at you too, unsure if this was real or another attempt of Peter’s to flirt with you. Then he laughed, Tony started laughing loudly and sincerely. He was laughing so hard you could see a tear running down his cheek. Peter whined, throwing his head back in frustration from his reaction.

“It’s true! Tell him!”

You gulped, looking at the still-laughing Tony.

“It is.” you almost whispered, hoping he wouldn’t hear you.

“Wait.” Tony stopped, looking at the two of you with furrowed brows. “Really?”

“Yeah.” you said, nodding softly.

—

The lights flashed softly as you walked in, blinding you for a second. You tried to walk in a straight line but the lights did not help you at all. You grabbed Peter’s arm for support, scared you would miss a threshold that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and trip. Peter looked over at you in concern, thinking something had suddenly made you anxious. You looked at him as well, blinking rapidly, trying to adjust to the light changing all of a sudden. Your hand was holding his biceps, squeezing it softly. He placed his other hand on yours, patting softly. He stared at you until you nodded that you were okay now and you could continue walking. Of all the cringe things you were expecting to see tonight, a disco ball was definitely not on the list.

“Penis Parker with an actual date to prom? This will go down in history as the biggest plot twist!” You heard a somewhat familiar voice from behind you, turning around only to be faced with Flash.

“Oh, it’s that annoying guy.” You said, looking at Peter, who nodded in agreement.

“Wait, I know you, you were at my party once.”

“Unfortunately, yes, I was.”

“Why are you with that loser, ditch him, you should be my date instead.” Flash said, reaching a level of annoyance you didn’t even know existed.

“Sorry, I don’t do charity work on evenings but you can try the homeless kitchen in Queens on Saturdays and Tuesdays, I’m usually there to help on those days.” you told him as Peter wrapped his arm around your waist. “Plus we’re kind of already matching.” you pointed at Peter. “Your costume wannabe will clash with my dress and that’s a big no from me.”

Peter was trying his best not to laugh as you were absolutely destroying Flash verbally. It brought back memories from when you used to do the same with his attempts to flirt.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t want to know what kind of sado-maso sex you two freaks are having.”

“Did you just call me a sadist? I didn’t know you could read people so well, Flash!” you asked, looking at Peter for back up.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Peter said, pulling you closer to him and walking the two of you away. “That was brutal, can’t let you ruin his ego on his prom night!”

“Someone had to do it!” you whined, your hands crossing in front of your chest.

“We’re here to have a good time! Come on! Let’s dance and not think about Flash.”

“Remind me, how exactly did you convince me to come to this? I hated my own prom and I’m definitely hating yours too.”

“You want me to remind you?”

You nodded, his hands resting on each side of your hips as he looked at you. His forehead pressed against yours, placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Are you sure you want me to remind you here?” he whispered in your ear.

You nodded again, looking at him. Your arms still crossed on your chest.

“In front of all these people?” He asked with a fake shocked expression on his face, pulling your body closer. You rolled your eyes at him, his arms wrapping around you, chests pressed together.

Your heartbeat accelerated as you looked at him, faces inches away from each other. His hot breath glided across the skin on your face, making your eyes fall shut as his lips gently touched yours. His fingers dug into the soft skin on your back. You rested your hands on his chest as he kissed you, consciously trying not to ruin his suit by grabbing anything you shouldn’t. He wasn’t that careful tho, his other hands scrunching the fabric that was so perfectly wrapped around your waistline, in desperate attempts to feel your body closer to his.

“Did I remind you?” he asked, breath heavy as he broke the kiss seconds before.

“You basically just admit to seducing me into this.” you told him, your head resting on his shoulder as he rocked the two of you gently to the rhythm of the blues that was playing in the background.

“You can never just fall on your back, can you?”

“Never!”

The two of you laughed, him kissing your forehead as you continued swaying, wrapped in each other's embrace.

---

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theferrarieffect · 2 months

Text

soy lago

masterlist

lando x carlos (carlando)

summary: since carlos left for ferrari, lando has spent the last four seasons trying to move on. but then the world learns that carlos might end up anywhere next year, and lando dares to let himself hope...and puts some of those hopes down on paper.

warnings: plenty of ✨angst✨

soy lago

Sweaty, exhausted, and covered in stubborn pieces of green and yellow crepe clinging to the sticky champagne on his race suit, Lando does his very best to stand up straight, holding his P3 trophy with stiff arms. He doesn’t smile; it’s hard enough as it is remaining upright. Then he feels an arm around him. He knows its owner is clad in red—although once upon a time, he wore papaya orange. And the feeling of that arm is what lets him scrape together the will to put on some semblance of a smile as the cameras flash, capturing Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, and Lando Norris in their podium photograph of the 2024 Australian Grand Prix.

Dear Carlos,

I’ve always been rubbish with words—hell, I showed a million people on Youtube that it took me three tries to spell “heights”, in English, no less. So it shouldn’t surprise you that, when they told me I needed to go on camera and speak Italian, I downloaded Duolingo and didn’t open another app for a week straight. Never mind that it was one single sentence. I could not mess this up.

Ai nostri amici della Scuderia Ferrari ed ai loro tifosi.

I could say it in my sleep.

And yet, when the camera started staring into my soul, I still managed to fuck it up. On the very first word. They asked me later, you know, if I wanted them to edit it out…but when I watched it again it seemed right somehow. Because the truth is, they could’ve asked me to say “to our friends at Scuderia Ferrari and the famous tifosi” in plain English, and it still would have been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say. So I figured it’d at least be honest.

When I joined F1 my rookie season, you had already raced for four. Two other teams. McLaren was not your whole past. At Melbourne, the season opener, I already knew by the way your eyes sparkled so hungrily talking to the press, that it would not be your future either. But for me, it was all I had, my precarious shot at making it in F1. I had something to prove.

So why was I so nervous when they stuck a camera in front of us to play that stupid game of ‘Would You Rather’? I can’t even rewatch that video now, because I already know I’ll cringe seeing myself slowly dismantling the sole of my shoe with my fingernails, hardly even able to make eye contact with you. You had a reputation of charming every teammate you got with—I won’t pretend like I didn’t scour the internet for every video you filmed with Max with Toro Rosso. You made Max Verstappen giggle like a little girl on video. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to me.

But at the Chinese GP, after Kvyat crashed me out, you came up to me in the paddock. “Wanna go on a walk?” you asked. As if you’d seen me crying in the garage. There was a little lake, a pond really, near the track, and I don’t know how many laps we must have taken around it. What I do know is that you pointed to the water, told me that in Spanish, it’s called “el lago”. And that you stopped me from feeling like I didn’t belong, didn’t deserve to be in F1.

I had a lot of retirements that first season. And after each one, I knew I’d hear your voice, or see a text on my phone, or once, a little paper airplane in my driver’s room. Every time, the words were the same. And every time, I wanted it more. I just didn’t want to admit to myself that at some point, it became less about debriefing the race failures and more about the person I had an excuse to see off the track. Away from the cameras. Away from everybody else.

On the flight back to London, Lando scrolls through headline after headline, all pondering the next move for the triumphant Spaniard. Red Bull, Red Bull, Mercedes, Red Bull, Kick Sauber—Lando chuckles at that one—Red Bull, McLaren, Mercedes, Red Bull…

The speculation about McLaren is clearly a joke. And yet, it makes Lando’s breath catch in his throat…fuck, if Max Verstappen can DNF on Lap 2, give Ferrari a 1-2 podium with Lando in 3rd after the team told Oscar to give it up for him…clearly, crazier things have happened in F1.

The pandemic hurt, a lot. It’s all a blur now, logging onto my computer day after day, gaming with George and Alex and Charles to pass the time, refreshing Instagram in case you posted a story from Madrid. Until one day, the first day of May, the phone rang. You told me you were in Woking, that you were going to be at the MTC but you’d explain later. And then, those five magical words.

“Wanna go on a walk?”

Maybe we were all a little crazy during lockdown. Let’s just call it that. How else do you explain the fact that I spent twenty minutes picking a pair of jeans after spending four months in sweatpants, another twenty picking a shirt that wasn’t bright orange? What excuse do I have for dumping every beanie I owned onto my bed, cursing myself for shaving my hair off, even if it was to raise money for COVID? It was a miracle I made it to the MTC at all.

You were already outside by the time I skidded into the parking lot. The sun was low in the sky, not quite setting, turning the lake lavender, cotton candy, papaya. You faced the lake, just a dark silhouette against the colors. Suddenly, it felt hard to breathe. I just knew you were going to say something…big. I wanted to tell you so many things, how I’d been counting down the days until lockdown would be over, how not a day went by that I didn’t wonder what you were doing, how you had become someone that I could never be close enough to. You made me greedy.

I knew something was wrong when you saw me and smiled. It was happy…but not the smile I knew. This smile was tainted, as if someone had poured a single drop of vinegar into a glass of milk, and you could taste it starting to curdle just a bit.

“Lando,” you said. Another red flag. Normally, you drew out the “o” in my name in a tantalizing singsong. “My muppet friend, I have something to tell you. Something exciting.”

I wished time would stop right then. I didn’t want to hear what exciting thing you had to tell me. But no amount of wishing could stop what came next.

“Ferrari. They offered me a contract. Two years in their fastest car…I cannot believe it, my muppet friend. I will race for them in 2021.”

The sun hadn’t set yet, but there were stars in your eyes. Stars that I had seen since your—our—very first race with McLaren. Carlos Sainz, destined for champions, for greatness. There would not be room for slow cars, midfield teams; there would not be room for Lando Norris. And I knew this from day one. So why, looking at the stars that filled your eyes, did mine start to fill with tears?

I smiled in the hopes you’d think I was simply overcome with happiness on your behalf. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” you asked.

I had wanted so badly to find the words that would’ve made your journey all the way from Spain to see me worth it. But even if I had them, all of those words were useless now. And in the moment, I could only think of one thing.

“Soy lago,” I said. You furrowed your brows in confusion. “I am lake?” you laughed. “Your Spanish has always been terrible.”

Then I told you that my tears could fill the very lake we were looking at. Watched the realization dawn on your face. Heard you call after me as I ran back to my car, so you wouldn’t have to see any more of those tears.

In his room in the MTC, Lando sits, clicking his pen compulsively. Balls of crumpled-up paper surround him, ghosts of past attempts at penning a letter worthy of its reader. He curses his messy penmanship, curses his inability to spell anything remotely non-phonetic correctly. He resorts to writing in pencil, then painstakingly tracing each letter over with ink. By the time he’s finished, the sun has begun its descent towards the horizon. Just in time, he thinks.

Later, I texted you my congratulations, assured you how happy I was for you, how much you deserved it. I meant it. But maybe you sensed that something was up, because even when the new season started and we no longer shared a garage, you kept sending me texts after every race. Each one was the same: “Wanna go on a walk?”

I couldn’t tell you if it was an act of self-preservation, because of how badly it hurt to see you with Charles at Ferrari, or if I wanted to feel the twisted, bitter satisfaction from knowing that I got to reject you after you left me. Either way, the excuses were simple enough. Meetings with Mark. Last-minute training sessions at the gym. And my favorite—dinner with Danny Ric, my new Carlos Sainz.

Come to think of it, I never did end up getting dinner with Danny while we were teammates.

When I did show up, I’d make sure to tell you about how charismatic Danny was, how good the banter was, how hard we made each other laugh off-track. Only later did I realize that everything I was saying was what I would see in your C2 videos with Charles, which I followed with a level of manic compulsion that scared even me.

Eventually, the texts stopped coming. I thought I’d feel…relieved, or at least like I was moving on. And maybe I tried to tell myself I felt that way, but in reality, everything was just empty. I couldn’t have all of you, and I was so greedy that I chose rather to have none of you at all.

Lando searches his contacts for a name that doesn’t exist. Carlos Sainz: Not found, his phone tells him infuriatingly. With an exasperated sigh, he starts to swipe. And stops short, realizing that he had saved Carlos under Chili.

His thumb hovers uncertainly over the keyboard. He presses send.

Me Wanna go on a walk?

Time, teammates, and races passed, and as you got used to seeing yourself in red, I got used to being a Formula 1 driver, then a team leader as Oscar came in. I buried us deeper and deeper with each passing season and perfected the art of a casual hug on the podium, a cheerful clap on the back if we happened to pass each other on the paddock. I had only just come to terms with the realization that we would likely never be the same again when I woke up on the first day of February, 2024, to the news that Lewis would be taking your seat at Ferrari next year. Leaving the question of what color you would wear, if not red, open to every shade of the rainbow.

Then the dreams started.

When you came off a surgery hardly two weeks ago and snatched P1 at Melbourne, I dreamt that I walked into the motorhome, saw someone wearing a papaya cap with his back turned to me. And I knew it wasn’t Oscar, because those broad shoulders, the shock of hair that even a cap couldn’t contain, could only belong to a certain Spanish driver I knew so well, once upon a time.

You turned around, just like I knew you would. Smiled in a way I haven’t seen in four years. “Landooo…my muppet friend,” you crooned, drawing out the “o” the way you always used to do. You wrapped your arms around me…you always did have such strong arms.

“Chili. I should have done this long ago,” I told you, before the kiss…

A little gray bubble appears on the screen. Three dots, pulsing to the time of Lando’s pounding heart. Then:

Chili Can’t today 😞 dinner with Charles!! Celebrating that Ferrari podium 🥳🇮🇹

He stares at the messages. A minute passes, then two. He gently folds up the note, tucking it into his pocket as he stands and walks out of the MTC.

Lando looks out over the manmade lake in front of the building. The sunset reflected in it has uniformly turned it the exact shade of his hoodie. There will be no lavender, no cotton candy pink tonight.

He tugs the letter out of his pocket, unfolds it, and reads it one last time. A weary sigh. Carefully refolds it. A little airplane takes shape in Lando’s hands.

Four years of pushing you, thoughts of you, my feelings for you away, all gone with one headline. I hated myself for falling again so easily, but nobody can deny how addictive the feeling of hope is. Carlos, Chili, I had so many regrets, and maybe this is a sign that I should stop living with them from now on.

And if there’s one thing I regretted the most through all this, it’s not that I didn’t ask you to stay that evening at the MTC. It’s that I didn’t give you enough reason not to leave in the first place. Didn’t tell you what you meant to me when I could, didn’t try to make you see that there could be something here…something bigger maybe even than racing itself.

I don’t know if you’ll be wearing papaya, or navy, or (god forbid) highlighter green next year, but it doesn’t matter. I should have done this long ago, but that doesn’t matter either. All that matters is that you know how important you are, and have always been, to me. Know how the best podium celebrations and the fizziest champagne paled in comparison to the little blue bubbles of texts from you on my phone. Know that my trophies sit on a shelf collecting dust, but the paper airplane you made me never leaves my sight.

You are the stars in my eyes. In my wildest dreams, you’ll give me the chance to convince you that I can be that for you too. Teammates or not.

But until then…

In one fluid motion, he sends the plane sailing into the air, watches it catch the breeze until, robbed of its lift, it skims the surface of the lake, sending ripples emanating from where it first made contact with the water.

The plane bobs gently in the lake until it soaks up too much water to stay afloat. Lando watches it list gradually to the side, slowly disappearing from view as the paper disintegrates.

He turns and walks away from the lake.

Soy lago.

—Lando

part 2 here!

notes: saw carlos explain lando’s comment on carlos’ mclaren → ferrari announcement post back in 2020 and have been unwell since also, yes, the mclaren building (mtc) does have a lake and boy the sunset does do it a lot of favors… easter eggs: lando not being able to spell, the damned ferrari video (where lando actually did have to start over and it RUINED ME), Would You Rather

more fics here! thanks for reading as always :)

#the one where parker delivers on her promise to do a soft lando fic #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fandom #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #lando norris #carlos sainz #ln4 x cs55 #cs55 #ln4 #ln4 imagine #cs55 imagine #ferrari #mclaren #formula 1 #carlando

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fifthpilot · 2 years

Text

So About the New Asra Tale by Dorian...

The plot was, not great. It was pretty boring, but it did touch up on a few interesting points from Asra's main story; like how much of his memory did he loose, his past before MC's death, and what extremes he had to go through because of MC's death like erasing his own memories of certain spells, which in my opinion is a very interesting scenario. Things did seem rushed considering the fact that the story had two endings depending on whether you chose to use the spell or not; and how the supposedly "bad ending" kind of implied that you and Asra somehow may have brought back the plague? or Lucio i.e the plague? It was left up to interpretation. The writing was, not good. I think they did try their best to stay true to Asra's tone even if it was a bit too on the nose at times and a little overbaord. But it was mainly the MC and the Magician that felt most off note to me.

That all being said, I like many others don't consider this a part of canon, it does ultimately give off a very wattpad feel. But in all honesty so did some of the main content after probably halfway through the main 3's routes. I think many people forgot just how erratic and disorganized the Nix Hydra Team was and how many people who came up with the original storyline had left the company before the end of the M3 routes. But a lot of people don't seem to notice that because all the content was in one place, the arcana app. Which brings me to my next point.

I think a good portion of the hate Dorian is getting is mainly due to the fact that their app is terrible. The UI is confusing, the app lags a lot and it's very slow. The game looks different on the dorian app, the font is wrong, there's no music, the character sprite animation is messed up, and the LI never says your name. And a lot of people have demanded that Dorian uploads the new conent to the Arcana app. But after thinking about it I personally think it's a good thing that the Dorian content and the "original" content stay physically seperated, so we know where one starts from where one ends. And I know a lot of people would disagree because using the Dorian app is a hassle, but like I mentioned before. Dorian is making fanfiction (but worse). They're using whatever's left of the arcana fandom to make some cash. This whole thing with Dorian creating new routes and new content is just another marvel-like tactic of beating a dead horse with a stick. And, they're even using the same Nix Hydra trick of placing the best content behind a paywall.

I'm personally not even upset at how terrible the app is, or how rushed and boring and generally just bad the tale was, I think I'm more upset that we won't put the Arcana Game to rest. And instead we have to watch as corporation after corporation uses the story for whatever means it wants to make money. I'm more upset that things can't just end and be celebrated for being. And how the way we engage with media has mutated into something more greedy and gluttonous.

What I'm saying is, we had a beginning and ending, we had prologues and epilogues and hidden scenes. We had plenty. We don't need more. Sometimes enough is enough.

#the rest should be left in the hands of fans #as free content creators for passion and love #not for a make cash scheme #while it was amusing to read a new asra tale and see some cute official art #i think we should put the pen down and honor the story properly #by leaving it the fuck alone #the arcana game #the arcana #dorian games #asra #asra alnazar #asra the magician #asra the arcana #arcana thoughts #also like maybe a new adaptation like an anime or novel woukd be cool but this.#this is shit

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pixeldistractions · 2 months

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When Colette made it down to the kitchen, she was pleased to see homework books open and being worked on. One less thing to stress about. Dinner though. She called in an order for takeout. Colette didn’t cook. Actually, that was another thing Jordan left them to deal with on their own. As it turned out, he cooked more than she did. And even when he didn’t cook, he often brought leftovers home from the hotel kitchen or brought the boys in after school for dinner.

So much for that. But Colette wasn’t broke, and they would eat somehow.

“We can go on the train,” Milo suggested after she’d hung up the phone. “We can ride it by ourselves. You don’t even have to take us.”

“No,” Colette said. “You can’t, actually. Not until you’re ten. And I’m not sending you to live in a camper. But since you all love to go behind my back, why don’t you tell your dad to get a real place to live? He doesn’t even have electricity—did he tell you that? Could you live without all your video games for even a weekend? Just finish some of that homework. I do not want another email from your teacher. C’s are not acceptable. And I hate your hair like that, it’s too long.”

“God, Mom, chill,” Felix said. “Maybe if you weren’t so crazy all the time, Dad wouldn’t’ve left.”

She felt that one like a dagger in her gut.

Milo didn’t chime in, but he didn’t defend her honor, either.

Those boys would never know how close they’d come to seeing their beloved game console spiked through the center with the sharp heel of her pump, shattered into pieces, then scooped up in a dustpan and thrown into the bay.

But she didn’t do that, because she was a grown-up. She was the one who held everything together and cleaned up everyone else’s messes.

To hell with both of them. To hell with everything and everyone.

She closed her eyes, balled her fists so tight that her fingernails made crescent-shaped indents in her palms. “I’m having a bath,” she said. “That homework will be finished by the time I’m done or God help me, I will throw your games into fucking bay! And if you don’t think I can throw that far from here, I dare you to try me.”

There was tension in her shoulders that she needed someone to pound out. She could also use a good pounding, but she couldn’t begin to imagine how to make that happen now. Jordan had been good at giving both, once upon a time. Shame he had to fail her in absolutely every other possible way.

She had her yearly checkup that morning.

Your blood pressure is high. Are you getting any exercise? Eating fresh fruits and veggies? Making time for self-care?

Please. Her children’s father fucked off to the wilderness on a journey of enlightenment or some bullshit and excuse me, fucking self-care? Can you just get the exam over with and get me out of this paper gown?

Colette didn’t have any date to go on. She did match with a trauma surgeon on her dating app, and he did sound very successful. She had been hopeful that he could administer a good pounding, or at the very least, maybe he could help with her high blood pressure. But she didn’t have a babysitter for the boys, because their father was a flake.

The boys were asleep and their homework books were stacked by the time her bath was finished. She wasn’t going to check the homework. She knew there was no possible way Milo could complete his fifteen missing assignments in one night.

They had eaten the takeout she ordered, and she didn’t order anything for herself. She would eat rice crackers from a paper bowl.

Self-care? She cleaned a whole man out of her house, and maybe that was her self-care.

What few things he left here she threw in the trash—a toothbrush, a small pile of dirty work clothes, a pair of muddy boots. As it turned out, she never let him keep much here in the first place.

But the couch smelled like him, like orange soap and wood chips and campfire smoke. So she trashed that, too. And she bought another one. She spent a whole paycheck on it, and she framed the whole room around it. This wasn’t the kind of couch anyone would ever sleep on. The leather was cold and hard, the angles sharp, the color was an eye-searing fuchsia, and the design was exquisite. It was like a piece of art.

She bought a flamboyant vase for a very fake plant. She bought a thin bookcase for books she wouldn’t read. The room felt beautiful and hollow.

— from “boxes and squares #4.1: first fall apart” (4/5)

Next ->

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #sims story #colette #milo #felix

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fablekitty · 10 months

Note

Hey, I know I am the last person you wanna talk to rn, but my life is in genuine danger (still) because all I wanted was for a apology for the misconception.

I honestly meant no harm at all, and https://www.tumblr.com/lunarsilly/725681668334256128/all-i-wanted-was-for-fable-alologize-for-the

If you read this it will make a lot more sense.

I’m low empathetic and it takes a while for me to feel epmathy, and I think it’s hitting me like a bus

I never meant for you to be harassed anything (as I said in my OG callout posts) and I have not ONCE put your life in danger.

However, Davis has put mine in danger cuz he took some things I said in the wrong manner and it has caused me to get harassed to the point where I have to deactivate most of my accounts.

No, this isn’t ‘karma’ at all because I didn’t even want anything bad to happen to you and I didn’t mean to be malicious, all I wanted was for people to be aware that you could have possibly done this stuff, and benne like

“Hey, I have a choice if I wanna continue supporting them.” And unfollow if they please.

I have not once tried to put you or anyone else in danger, all I was doing was being like “hey, this can be seen as sams since you tagged it as such.”

Also to call you out for your ableism towards your own community.

That whole ‘no TSBS fictives and no factives’ rule is not only ableist, but it further Demonizes DID by saying that alters are their source when they aren’t,

People had a choice to support you, and I hadn’t meant for it to become this huge thing because a mess up in my wording )which I mostly wrote them at 1-5am, mind you. There’s going to be some mistakes since I was obviously running on 2-4 hours of sleep, and I always apologized if I said anything wrong in Davis’s DMs)

I get why you’re upset but this whole thing has gotten me death threats and it has also put not only me, but my family at risk.

Anyways that’s pretty much it, dm me on this app if you wanna respond.

This whole situation began because instead of trying to talk things over with me, you instead chose to cast a stone at me publicly. I’m not unreasonable. I would gladly have clarified anything you were concerned about, whether it be the claims of ableism or concerns about Lulu’s design. Instead, you publicly accused me of being a pedophile, not once, but twice. Which. I won’t lie; is a VERY harsh accusation that shouldn’t have ever been tossed out on a whim. The first was in a comment thread on one of Davis' posts, the other was a public callout post. You cannot downplay it by saying you just wanted to 'spread awareness' and 'let people choose to support me.' All I wanted to do was be left alone, and you wouldn't have it.

You took my art and made fun of it, called me names, called my partner’s alter names, and tried to make connections to an accusation that wasn’t there to begin with. I have co-workers that follow my SFW account on Twitter. I could have lost my actual job over this. You losing your Twitter account is not comparative to my entire livelihood. You can say you never wanted me to be harassed, but you slandered and insulted me all over Twitter and Tiktok during the entire duration in which this all played out, not to mention all of the posts and videos about me being ableist and treating me like some sort of class traitor.

I only spoke out about it when I was at the end of my rope, which you also mocked and slandered, and thus the harassment continued.

Davis reached out to me about it because after doing his own research, he saw it as unfair that I was being falsely accused of something that could literally ruin my life and career and put my safety in danger.

I didn't ask him to post it, and I certainly wouldn't have asked him to take so much time out of his busy schedule to research and write that entire google doc. All of the accounts he posted there are public socials, all of which have the Lunarsilly moniker attached to them somehow. He's never really talked to me much if at all outside of this situation.

As for the comments made towards people who were clearly against you, entirely unnecessary. If you wanted people to stop and leave you alone then you should have never responded. This stirs the pot and makes more trouble, it also makes you look bad.

I can't convince people to stop attacking you, despite telling them not to come after you in my last tweet about this situation. I can't order Davis to remove your socials from the google doc. All we can simply do is drop the subject and move on.

None of this would have happened if you just came to me first instead of airing out dirty laundry into public places where you were fully aware I was in. Next time you think you've been wronged in some way, instead of acting out, take a step back and breathe. Walk away from the computer/phone and clear your head so you can think straight. That is my absolute best advice to you.

I understand that you're only 15 and probably have some stuff going on at home, and the last thing I want is for anyone to get hurt. Death threats and doxxing are wrong in general, let alone to a teenager, and if you're reading this and have done either of those things to Lunarsilly, I am incredibly ashamed of you.

As for the damage? My alter is traumatized by the claims you've made. My early design of Lunar was never canon. His design belongs to me and I can use it however I please. He is not canon show Lunar.

Speaking of Alters, I want to address the ableism thing.

Once again, all this stress could have been avoided if you’d have just come to me privately on Discord when this was first addressed. I asked you politely to please keep alters of real people from the show avoidant of fronting in the TSBS server. I asked this of you with the knowledge of what was written in the moderator handbook that each moderator must read and follow in TSBS, and had no idea it wasn’t written in the public rules. I will admit fault for not checking that. It was never my intention to come off as ableist towards you nor anyone else.

We didn’t just come up with rules on a whim. We put rules in place to try and keep everyone in the server safe and comfortable, systems and otherwise. Ultimately, the bottom line was that some of the voice actors from the show found discomfort in seeing alters of themselves and their characters in the server, and the business that owns the whole shebang also agreed, and their word is final.

I entirely understand the frustration behind having alters from the show. I have a few of them myself and so does my partner. Yes, they are not their source. But that doesn't prevent the original creators, or actual person from being uncomfortable, much like some alters are uncomfortable with doubles. Everyone's system is different. Mine isn't large. It's not small either, but my alters all do have one thing, a mutual agreement to work together and harmony. If that's something you can't control, then I'd recommend staying out of larger servers such as TSBS.

I was also never obligated to tell you that I'm a system. I don’t exactly go out of my way to make sure every individual who interacts with me is aware of this information about myself. However, if you ever took a moment to look in my discord profile, you would have known. The first line that is on my profile on Discord is “Marshmallow System-DID” and it’s been there this entire time.

All I want is to be left alone. I want this all to finally be dropped so we can move on with our lives. I’m old and tired and simply do not have the time or energy to keep putting towards this situation. Just please, move on and leave me be.

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8loveletters · 2 years

Text

"there's something i want to show you"

pairing: xu minghao x gn reader

word count: ~1.2k

genre: fluff, established relationship

content warnings: some kissing, mentions of the holiday season (no celebrating), the reader is implied to be shorter than minghao, there's a very very light suggestive remark at the end. lmk if i should add anything else!

a/n: another fluffy mess i wrote very quickly in my notes app lol hope you like it!!

when you walked out of your office building at the end of another long work day, you were surprised to see your boyfriend waiting there on the sidewalk for you. minghao's face lit up when he saw you and he greeted you with a big hug. it felt warmer than usual, but you thought it was just because of how cold the weather had gotten.

"hi honey, how was work?" his voice was so cheerful that it made you forget how exhausted you were just moments before.

"eh, same as every other day. what are you doing here, hao?" it wasn't that you weren't absolutely delighted to see him, but he was usually still working well after you got off, so you were a bit confused.

"i finished my work early and thought i'd surprise you." he somehow answers the question you hadn't even asked aloud yet. he was so perceptive he could usually tell how you were feeling or what you were thinking just by looking at your face. this was amazing most of the time, but could be annoying because it made it nearly impossible for you to ever be the one to surprise him.

you laced your hands and fingers together and started your walk home. as the cold early winter air blew, you instinctively wrapped your free arm around his and brought yourself closer to his body to keep warm. although he wasn't much for pda beyond holding hands and some short hugs and kisses here and there, he found you especially cute in this moment and donned a fond smile without saying a word.

you kept walking for a bit and venting about your day while minghao listened attentively and silently. you were so distracted that you hadn't even noticed you passed the corner you were supposed to turn at blocks ago. "oh, wait." you stop in your tracks forcing him to a halt as well. "we missed our turn. why didn't you say anything?"

you're a bit confused when he looks at you with such a carefree smile. "i thought we could take a little detour today. there's something i want to show you."

you nod with a smile and know that asking him to give you any hints would be futile. he never cracks, and it's more fun for things to be a total surprise anyways.

the sun starts to set as you make your way to your mystery destination. you are so lost in your conversation with minghao that you hardly notice the temperature drop. however your boyfriend does notice how your body instinctively presses even closer to his own, and it sends enough heat throughout his body starting from his cheeks to warm the both of you.

finally, you make your way to a city park that has been beautifully decorated with lights for the holiday season. he looks over at you and lets out a laugh filled with adoration when he sees how your face and eyes light up at the sight. one thing you both had in common and loved about each other was your ability to see and appreciate the beauty in almost anything.

"hao, this is so beautiful." you turn to face him and realize he has already been staring at you this whole time with a soft grin.

looking only at you he replies, "it sure is." he cups your cold cheeks with his warm hands and brings you into a passionate kiss. as if it couldn't feel any more like a cheesy romantic holiday movie, it starts to lightly snow as you embrace under all the twinkling lights.

after your lips finally part and your head comes down from the clouds you hear him say, "actually there's more i wanted to show you."

you can't help but notice how particularly bold minghao is being tonight. he has always been a passionate and romantic person, but he usually doesn't make such public displays of his affection for you. he likes to save all of that for home when he has you all to himself. something is different today, but you still can't figure out what.

he grabs you by the hand and leads you down a more secluded path away from all the crowds of couples taking pictures in front of the lights. by this time the sun has completely disappeared and it's a bit dark, but you can see a soft light glowing from further down the path.

before you go any further he stops you. "here, put this on." he pulls one of his small, pretty silk scarves out of his coat pocket.

"honey, i'm already wearing a scarf. plus, i don't think this will do much to protect me against the cold." the confusion on your face grows even more severe when he just chuckles back at you.

"no, silly." he moves so he is behind you now. he feels you flinch a bit as he begins to wrap the scarf around your eyes. "just trust me, okay?" you relax at his soothing voice and let him guide you a few more steps down the path.

finally he stops you and you feel him leave your side. he moves so gracefully you don't even hear him, but suddenly hear his voice come from in front of you now. "okay, you can take it off now." you unslip the loose knot he had tied at the back of your head. you drop it to the ground in shock when you see the sight before you.

minghao is down on one knee with lights spelling out 'will you marry me?' decorating the tress behind him. he just waits there silently with his precious smile for your response.

"oh, minghao..." you trail off as the tears start to flow out. you drop to your knees in front of him and pounce on him with a hug that sends you both all the way to the ground. "yes! a million times, yes." you let out before drowning his whole face in countless kisses.

eventually you both turn into laughing messes as you realize how ridiculous you look on the ground, hair and clothes all disheveled. you help each other to your feet and dust each other off. minghao looks down at you and brushes a leaf from your hair. he stops with his fingers entwined in the hair behind your ear and looks you dead in the eyes. you can see all the love he has for you stored in his gaze and it makes your cheeks heat up and stomach feel fuzzy.

"i love you, y/n." he brings his hand around so it is caressing your cheek, and wipes away the tear that had begun rolling down it. he then reaches down and grabs your hand and places a soft kiss on it before reaching into his pocket and placing the most beautiful ring on your finger. it's more stunning than anything you ever could have hoped for.

"i love you, minghao. so much." he brings you into his warm embrace and places a kiss on the top of your head. you stay there in that moment before a cold wind gusts through and makes you both shiver.

"come on, my love. let's go home and warm up a bit." the hint of suggestive mischief in his tone excites you, but you also can't help but laugh. you've never been happier than you are in this moment.

you take his hand and let him lead you into the rest of your lives together.

#svt #seventeen #xu minghao #minghao #minghao x reader #minghao fluff #fluff #pg

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cryptid-kay · 5 months

Text

Is this really a writing post?

I maybe don't actually like write ABOUT writing much, but I wanted to get on here today and state that I've been writing for around 12 years. Started as an edgy fanfic writer, and somehow evolved into maybe a decent writer?

And I wanted to write a post about the importance of writing what you connect with.

Recently a friend started asking about our processes of writing. In this, they asked us about writing exercises/prompts/ etc.

I'm not here to tell you NOT to write using them. But I wanna make a few points.

Writing is Exploration I think I'm not wrong in saying writing is for many of us a way to explore language, explore ourselves, and yeah, sometimes it's therapy. Writing little exercises for me was always super boring because I didn't connect. Or I had to really dig into my brain to find some little piece of me that was interesting enough to write about, and then I'd get lost in it and forget the exercise. It was just a struggle.

IMAGE PROMPTS PEOPLE Alright, I just dissed writing prompts/exercises, but I think if you REALLY need some inspiration. Pinterest. Open the app. Lose yourself in it. Find some artwork that speaks to your SOUL. Then go write about it. Set a timer, whatever your process is. If you want an exercise, use images. Art is emotional, it's personal, and it's interpretive. It's a wonderful foundation for an idea or exercise.

Why I just really hate writing exercises (and you can disagree with me) I didn't grow up with books on how to write. I grew up as a 12-year-old kid who watched movies, read books, and fell in love with characters. And when I ran out of stories on my shelf, I made them up in my head. I practiced writing by writing. There wasn't a "write in the 3rd POV" exercise when I started. There was no, "imagine yourself in X situation," there were just characters and stories and stories, and stories. When I finally got around to wanting to be better at writing I tried the exercises. I tried writing every day. I tried writing what I saw. I tried journaling. I tried basically all of it. I got books, I got online classes, and somehow...none of it improved my writing, it just frustrated me that I couldn't sit down and do a writing exercise like I could an essay question. It lacked all soul and I hated the words I produced. I took a whole creative writing class and came out of it almost determined I'd never be a good writer. Then last year I got stuck after working for 12 months tirelessly on a mess of a trilogy. I hit a wall. And I sat down and wrote a fanfic. Heck, I wrote two. And I read books. And I became 12 again, with stories in my head, music blaring, characters talking, no prompts, no exercises. And I improved. Now I wanna be clear, I challenged myself in my fanfic. I chose POVs I wasn't proficient in, I pushed the boundaries of my prose, but I didn't make it an exercise, I made it a story. I needed that POV because the character needed to be viewed that way. I needed better prose to showcase the nuances of my silly little fanfic. But most of all I needed to connect with the story and have fun. So I'm not knocking writing exercises, but I do wanna say, to all the fanfic writers, to the people languishing because you can't follow the prompts in some "how to write" book, you're not a bad writer. Writing is supposed to be fun. Writing is supposed to connect with us. It's all one big sandbox, so go play in it.

#okay I got a little carried away #but tldr #fanfic is writing too #writeblr #and if anyone says fanfic writers aren't real writers I have a pitchfork with your name on it

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elfandomdelpandicornioyeldorito · 7 months

Text

Chapter 6. The ghosts of guilt

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Valentina Rivera (OC)

Word count: 1035

Trigger Warning: Angst, alcohol, grief

Disclaimer: I don’t own any Marvel character, only the Original characters are mine. English is not my mother tongue.

General Masterlist - Willow Series Masterlist

Gifts and pictures aren’t mine

Dust, that is all in her mind, close her eyes for sleep? Dust, having a dream? Dust, an anxiety attack? Triggered by dust. She kept dreaming the same thing all over again, herself in that control room, suddenly losing contact with half of the people in the battlefield, watching the other people in it become dust, and when she came out, there was a light cloud of dust that was people, that was the signal of defeat.

It's been two months, but everything kept feeling like yesterday.

Her aunt Gloria planned a girls day, at her home in Long Island, the few adult girls of the family that make it and some survivor friends of her, in a whole day of alcohol, food and "spa".

"I found vodka, Rum and Wine" her cousin Diana sits at her side, with the company of her two "now widowed" cousins Rosa and Michelle.

The four of them were hiding in an old closet of the guest room.

"I claim the wine" Val takes the bottle, opens it and starts drinking from it.

That was her daily routine, wake up, smile, pretends everything is fine and drink all the liquor she could find, she knows her drinking state was ending that week when Miguel force her to go to a psychiatrist and a therapist

"Why did this have happened?" asks Rosa, with the Rum in her hand "I mean, I understand we were fully sons of bitches with the environment, but this is awful, why do I have to lose my husband? What can I say to my kids?"

"At least he “died” and not left with another family with a much younger wife in Portugal"

"Val is right"

"Cheers" Val and Diana do a drunk high five

Steve calls Valentina’s brother to dinner. The old capsicle was worried about her, somehow he felt the pain she was feeling but she was close to speaking with him, or whoever was a superhero.

"She is a mess, man. I have seen my sister being a mess but this time… she drinks herself to sleep"

"There is something I can do for her?"

"Yeah" Miguel looks at his empty cup of coffee" Stop trying to push her, she needs time, I understand that you are doing this for good, but she needs space. She feels guilty"

"Is not her fault"

"She knows it, but somehow, when someone leaves because dies or something, she feels it is all her fault" they both made a pause, that Miguel used as an advantage to look at his phone" You know what? Yes, you can help me with something"

Miguel drives to his aunt Gloria's house in Long Island with Steve. Someone as skinny and definitely not sporty as him, the task that his aunt Gloria was asking to do, was now difficult.

The scene is quite sad, her sister was on the floor, literally rolling on the carpet laughing hard at the shenanigans of Rosa and Michelle, trying to fight, and Diana, well, she was in the bed, jumping, cheering at her cousins. All of them in a really sad drunken state, evading reality.

"Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is more than alcohol" Miguel took his phone, opened the camera app and took some pictures of it, Valentina needed to see herself.

"Is just alcohol, nada mas mira el tiradero de botellas que se tienen"

Miguel sighs, putting his phone in his pants pocket.

"Took Valentina, I would try to stop those locas"

Steve nods, and walks to Val, taking her and putting her over his shoulder.

"HEY! IS THE DORITO POPSICLE!" all the four drunken girls explode in laughter at Val’s comment" Wait, what are you… WAIT!" The poor girl tried to hold herself from the door frame, but it was useless, and Steve finally can take her out of the house.

It was around 5pm when Valentina was out of her drunken state, under Miguel’s order, Steve took her to her family restaurant, Las Tres Damas. Also the older sibling made a very clear order of keeping the little sister away from the alcohol and made her eat nuts and greasy food that can be found there, and that worked well.

"Where is Migue?" Steve take seat at her side and hand her a bottle of electrolytes

"I don’t know, he told me something about working in a different time zone"

"Shit, yeah… He is probably in my apartment" she opens the bottle and takes a few long sips" I owe you an apology, Steve. All that happened is nobody faults, you tried the best you could, all of you tried… we all… It just happened, I guess it has to be that way"

Steve gave her a sympathetic smile, everyone was feeling guilty, Avenger member or not. Silence establishes there for a brief moment, while both of them watch the empty restaurant.

"You know? This place was always full of people"

"Being honest, is the first time I heard of this place"

"The idea came from my aunt Gloria when uncle Jorge left in duty, he missed so much of his children, nieces and nephews, then my mom jumped in the idea, she gained money by cooking for rich people when she got divorced, and mi grandma Rita jumped later, her first job in America was in a kitchen. Those ladies brought together their ideas and created Las Tres Damas, a place in which veterans could see their kids perform on a lazy night, even if it was an old thing, a family place to reunite; a safe place for everyone that needed that kind of place"

"What a shame that I missed that all this years, sounds like a nice place to be"

"Maybe, one day when the family feels ready, this place will open again. I’ll be sure to keep the best place for you and Nat. And whoever superhero that would want to come."

"That would be nice"

"Steve, I need a favor… Would you teach me how to fight? Like… for real, training me"

His first thoughts were related to a really bad drunk joke, but Valentina kept her straight face, she was talking seriously about it.

Tags: @pinkpondofasgard @invisibleanonymousmonsters @dance-dreamer @americasmarauders

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #Bucky x Latina Reader

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