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dadsbongos · 2 days

Note

megumi x airhead fluff please don’t let gege get u again 😔

iehjejeueueh

GASP this has been in my drafts so long and i totally forgot about it, i am sooo sorry nonny :')

761 words no big warnings just fluff n idiots pining, not super proofread

the ghost of gege has been cleansed from my soul!!! ~~~

“Do you really think that?”

Megumi stiffly avoids your gaze, soon after shrugging, “Yeah. What of it?”

You frown, and it could be how attuned he is to your mood but Megumi swears the sudden shift actually overhauls the entire room’s energy. Something morose and slithering around the darkness, somehow the gloominess only thickens in the areas sparsely lit by Megumi’s lamp.

“That’s sad,” you lean up from your sit and onto your knees, fingertips just barely pressing into the springs below, “You’re not a bad person, ‘gumi.”

“I don’t think I’m the devil,” he turns his whole head to avoid your piercing stare, “Just not a good person.”

“That’s sad!” now you’ve flung your hands up on his shoulders, squeezing down his arms as if a heartbroken widow clutching her poor, dead husband, “‘gumi you’re the best guy I know!”

Scrunching away from you, Megumi presses his back into the headboard of his bed, swallowing harshly and continuously dodging your stare, “Yeah, sure.”

“Hey,” you whine, now squishing his hands between yours, “You are! You’re super nice all the time, and you’re way smart.”

The accusation of kindness pulls a little chuckle from Megumi, especially considering how often Yuuji and Nobara curse his nasty attitude. He cannot comprehend why you’d marvel over him this way, or in any other way for that fact. Megumi’s eyes flutter shut, he soaks up the warmth of your hands on his, and your face by his cheek. If he dared lean up, he’d easily be able to kiss you (he’s not so bold, he thinks he’d rather die actually).

“And you’re so pretty,” you tack on, as if you can sense the worst possible thing to say right now.

Though, Megumi knows better -- you’re soft and mellow, his opposite if anything. The knowledge of your earnesty in the compliment does nothing to calm his racing heart, or the raging red slathering his face.

“Whatever…” Megumi sinks down until he’s laid back on his mattress. He sucks in air slowly, boring holes into the ceiling rather than your face, “You’re pretty, too. And you’re nicer than me,” he cringes, “If you’re still sure I’m nice.”

“You are,” you lay beside him, petting a hand over the bunches and wrinkles in his sleep shirt, “You’re being nice now! You let me come over after my nightmare.”

“You sounded scared,” he tries to shrug off the praise, but your words are clinging to his brain stubbornly, “Why would I make you sleep alone after that?”

“Exactly,” you’re bolder than Megumi, bold enough to spike your chin onto his chest, “You’d be a great boyfriend.”

“You don’t say,” he chokes out, heat clogging his cheeks and red burning into a deep crimson. He prays the dim light emitting from his nightstand doesn’t expose the sight to you.

A melodic knock on Megumi’s door makes the duo flinch, and despite logic telling him nothing is wrong Megumi lets his arm come around your waist protectively. When its Satoru that pokes his head in, the boy grumbles.

“Hey, problem children,” Satoru coos, “if you’re gonna break rules, at least move apart when your teacher comes to scold you.”

“They had a nightmare,” Megumi’s hold on you tightens, “they didn’t wanna be alone.”

“Is that right?” Satoru’s blindfold is still snug around his face, but Megumi can feel his teacher’s stare pointed at where your head lays on his chest.

You nod viciously, “It was so scary! I thought I died for real, so ‘gumi let me stay with him so I don’t have another one.”

“Well how sweet,” Satoru taps the doorframe, “But c’mon, time for everyone to go to their own rooms.”

“Huh, no way!” you cry in protest, rocketing up straight.

“No way,” Megumi parrots.

Raising a brow, Satoru grins at his student’s sudden audacity, “You want me to stay in here with you both, then?”

“You want me to tell Yaga about the secret number in your phone?” Megumi glares, “The one you know by heart.”

Satoru grimaces down at the boy, then sighing and back out of the room, “Don’t do anything to make Yaga yell at me.”

“Wow, ‘gumi, you really got him.”

“He’s easy to wrangle, like training a big, stupid dog,” Megumi feels his heart thundering in his chest the longer you go without saying anything, simply sitting there and grinning at him, “What?”

“You stood up for me.”

“Duh.”

“That was really nice of you.”

He rolls his eyes, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you back onto him, “Yeah, whatever.”

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fluff #airhead reader #airhead regen

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matttgirlies · 20 hours

Text

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of drug use,, mentions of cheating,, physical violence

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 12

Now I could spend every minute with Matt. There were times when we’d shut ourselves off from the rest of the world for days. Matt would leave word that he wanted “no calls unless it’s my dad or an emergency call from Colonel.” It was my time, and no one could interfere. He was all mine.

When we got hungry, I phoned down to the kitchen and ordered our food, which was brought up and placed outside our bedroom door. After we finished, we stacked our empty trays neatly back in the same place.

We saw no one, nor even the light of day. The windows were insulated with tin foil and heavy blackout drapes to prevent any hint of sunlight from entering. Time was ours, to do with as we pleased, for as long as we pleased. Matt had a few months free between film commitments, and there was no pressure to return to Hollywood. We always seemed to be more in love when we were alone. I loved those times, when he was just Matt, not trying to live up to an image or a myth. We were two people discovering each other.

Only in the privacy of our own quarters did Matt show me a side of himself which had rarely, if ever, been seen by others. With no Colonel, no scripts, no films or music, nor any other people’s problems, Matt could become a little boy again, escaping from the responsibilities of family, friends, fans, the press, and the world. Here with me, he could be vulnerable and childlike, a playful boy who stayed in his pajamas for days at a time.

One day he was the dominant one and would treat me like a child, often scolding me for an incidental action. On other days I was the stronger one, looking after him like a doting mother, making sure that he ate everything on his plate, took all of his vitamins, and didn’t miss any of his favorite TV shows like Laugh-In, The Untouchables, The Wild, Wild West, The Tonight Show, and Road Runner. We listened to early Sunday morning gospel singing—our favorites were the Stamps, the Happy Goodman Family, and Jake Hess—and we watched the old movie classics that Matt loved: Wuthering Heights, It’s a Wonderful Life, and Miracle on 34th Street.

When we weren’t watching movies, we played silly games like hide-and-seek, or we’d have pillow fights that often ended in heated discussions of who hit whom the hardest. Our arguments were usually playful, but I noticed that they could become serious, especially after we’d each taken a couple of diet pills.

One evening we had both taken uppers and were wrestling with each other. I threw a pillow at him. He ducked it, and then, laughing, threw it back. I hurled another one at him, and then another, and without giving him a chance to recover, I threw another one. The last one hit him in the face. His eyes flashed with anger.

“Goddamn it!” he snapped. “Not so rough. I don’t want to play with a goddamn man.” He grabbed my arm, throwing me on the bed, and while demonstrating how hard I had thrown the pillows, he accidentally hit me in the eye. I flung my head to the side and jumped up, accusing him of hitting me on purpose.

“You can’t play without winning,” I yelled, “even with me. You started throwing harder and harder. What did you expect me to do?”

I stomped off to my dressing room and slammed the door as I heard him yelling, “You’re not a goddamn man.”

That night, we went to the movies. My arm was bruised where he’d grabbed me, and my eye was swollen black and blue. To make matters worse—and to make sure he felt bad—I wore a patch over the bruised eye. Everyone teased me, and Matt joked, “Couldn’t help it. She tried to get rough with me. I had to show her who’s boss.”

That night I got named “Toughie.”

Despite his teasing, Matt felt terrible about the incident. He had immediately apologized to me and kept apologizing for days.

“Baby, I’m really sorry,” he said. “You know I’d never hurt you in any way, that I’d never lay a hand on you, don’t you? That was a real accident.”

Yet the incident frightened me.

From then on, I began taking fewer pills and eventually stopped. I tried to persuade him to do the same. I started to question the quantities even though I knew he had various ailments causing pain which necessitated taking prescribed medication. I did everything I could for Matt and we shared many wonderful happy times together. However, his harsh objection to stopping made me realize that there could be a problem. I assumed he knew best for himself.

Colonel William’s theory was: “If you want to see Matt Sturniolo, you buy a ticket.” Once you started passing out freebies, it meant a lot of lost income. He stuck to that policy.

Matt agreed with the Colonel, feeling that Colonel knew best, saying, “Colonel doesn’t mind taking the blame.”

When life got boring you could count on Matt to concoct some new escapade. He was extraordinarily inventive. One particularly dreary day he decided out of the blue that he didn’t like the looks of an old house located on the grounds in back of the mansion. His uncle Travis had once occupied the place, which was now used for storage. Matt took a long look at it, called his father, and told him to get a bulldozer over there right away and get rid of it.

I could imagine what was going through James’s mind: Good God, what’s he up to now? He knew if Matt was at home and bored between films, anything could happen.

When the bulldozer appeared, Matt insisted that he was going to do the honors, convincing his father—and the local fire and demolition departments—that he could handle the job himself.

Wearing his football helmet and his big furry Eskimo coat, Matt proceeded, as his entourage cheered him on, to bring down the house and set it afire. This brought the fire trucks screaming through the gates. “You’re a little late, fellows,” Matt said, a happy, mischievous smile on his face.

Another time, he ordered his go-carts to be brought out and readied to ride. He held the record, of course, for the fastest time around the large circular drive.

Trying to prove that I was just as good as the guys, I tried to equal his time. Terrified, I would speed along as Matt clocked me on his stopwatch, giving me an approving grin when I reached the fifteen-mile-per-hour mark.

He turned Graceland into a private playground for us all. He’d have gun-shooting contests and also “screaming thrill rides” when he’d pack several people into his custom-built golf cart and race around the grounds at top speed.

Graceland’s backyard had more holes in it than the moon has craters—all from Romancandle fights. On the Fourth of July Matt always spent a fortune on fireworks, which arrived by the boxload. The boys would team up sides, aim candles directly at one another, and fire.

Although there were casualties—burned fingers and singed hair—no one seemed to care. Matt himself was as carefree as a young kid, hiding and then sneaking around the opposition with surprise attacks. Matt knew how to play hard and have fun.

Unfortunately, the time came for him to go back to Hollywood. He was due to begin his new film, Viva Las Vegas. His bus was parked in front of the white stone lions flanking the front steps of Graceland, loaded and ready to go.

I hated to see him leave. Arm in arm, we walked out the door.

Suddenly I pulled him back and tried to tell him what I was feeling, but there were distractions all around—people saying goodbye, music blaring from inside the bus, Alan yelling to George Klein to keep the sound rockin’ and rollin’.

I thought, If only it were quieter, if only Matt would take me aside so we could have some privacy.

But his attention was on all the activity and he was caught up in the excitement of going back to work.

“What is it, Baby?” he asked.

“I just wish you didn’t have to leave so soon,” I said, still unable to tell him what was really on my mind. “Just when we were starting to get used to each other, you have to go. I wish there were more time.”

“I know, Little One. Just give me a couple of weeks to get into the film and maybe you can come out for a while. Be a good girl, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He gave me a quick kiss on the lips and boarded the bus, the doors slamming shut behind him. Then I heard the familiar shout, “All right. Let’s roll it!”

With a roar, the bus cruised down the hill and through the Music Gates where, as always, his fans were loyally waving goodbye and urging him to “hurry home!”

I watched until I could no longer see the red taillights fading out on Highway 51.

Cursing myself, I wondered why I couldn’t tell him what I feared. I’d been upset ever since I’d learned that his new leading lady was going to be Julia Ernst, the fastest-rising starlet in Hollywood. Julia Ernst had made only a few movies, including Bye-Bye Birdie, but she’d been dubbed “the female Matt Sturniolo.” Matt was curious about her, pointing out that “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

I realized that even had I told him my fears, he could have said nothing to put my mind at ease, because one evening he had made the mistake of telling me about the romances he’d had with many of his costars. Trying to listen calmly to these stories, I justified his behavior by reminding myself that I’d been living in Germany during those years and that we’d had no real ties then.

Now I was in his territory, living in his house with his friends, his family, and mementos of the past. It didn’t occur to me then, but I was living the way he wished—out of Hollywood society, the girl back home. I adapted. I wasn’t with him, but in a sense I was. And I assumed that he would be as faithful to me as I was to him.

Each time I would get ready to join Matt in Los Angeles he would delay my visit.

“Baby, now’s not the time to come out. There’s a problem on the set.”

“What kind of problem?”

“It’s just that all hell’s broke loose. I’ve got some crazed director madly in love with Julia. The way he’s directing it, you’d think it was her movie. He’s favoring her in all the goddamn close-up shots.” He paused, his anger rising. “Not only that, they want her to sing some of the songs with me. Colonel ’bout blew a fuse. Told ’em they’d have to pay me extra to sing with her.”

As I listened to Matt rant and rave, I tried to sympathize with him and his situation, but emotionally I was far more concerned about his leading lady than his director.

“Well, how are you and Julia Ernst getting along?” I asked.

“Oh, she’s okay, I guess.” He casually dismissed her with the line, “a typical Hollywood starlet.”

My concern was temporarily allayed. I knew that his attitude toward actresses was unfavorable. “They’re into their careers and their man comes second,” he’d say. “I don’t want to be second to anything or anyone. That’s why you don’t have to worry about my falling in love with my so-called leading ladies.”

I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t help noticing the national gossip magazines and the headlines about the torrid affair on the set of Viva Las Vegas. The problem was that the affair was not between Julia Ernst and the director. It was between Julia Ernst and Matt.

We were talking on the phone one night and I asked, “Is there anything to it?”

“Hell, no,” he said, immediately becoming defensive. “You know how these reporters are. They blow everything out of proportion. She comes around here mostly on weekends with her motorcycle. She hangs out and jokes with the guys. That’s it.”

But that was enough for me: She was there and I wasn’t.

Infuriated, I declared, “I want to come out now.”

“No, not now! We’re wrapping up the film and I’ll be home in a week or two. You keep your little ass there and keep the home fires burning.”

“The flame’s burning on low. Someone had better come home and start the fire.”

Matt laughed. “You’re beginning to sound like me,” he bragged. “I’d better watch it. There can’t be two of us walking around. I’ll be home soon, Baby. Get everything ready.” By the end of our phone call, I was eagerly making plans for his return.

I took out my calendar, counted the days until his homecoming, and then crossed them off one at a time. Threatened with doubts and fears, I did everything I could to please him, from educating myself about the gospel music he loved to taking good care of Graceland.

My eagerness to please Matt was so overwhelming that it almost angered him. He always had an excuse why his other relationships hadn’t worked out. “They were either too hometown and couldn’t fit in with my Hollywood life-style,” he said, “or they were actresses too into their careers.” But how could he get out of a commitment to such a willing partner as me?

I often felt sorry for myself, and angry at Matt for putting me in a situation in which I was forced to be alone for literally weeks at a time.

Bored, I resorted to exploring the attic at Graceland. I’d asked Grandma once what was up there, and she’d answered, “Oh, nothin’, Hon, jus’ some old junk. God, I haven’t been up there in ages. No tellin’ what’s up thereor who.”

There was no question that something was stirring around in the attic. Many nights strange noises were heard above the kitchen. Grandma said she’d heard the noises herself, lying awake, praying for daylight before even closing her eyes for sleep.

She imagined that it might be Mary Lou’s spirit up there, watching over Matt.

“Do you believe in spirits, Grandma?” I asked.

“Ah, yes, Hon. Sometimes I wander through this house and I can just feel ’em all around. Ask Hallie, she knows. She’s felt ’em too.”

Hallie was a large dark-skinned woman, our faithful and devoted companion. She stayed with Grandma and me at night while Matt was away, guarding us with her life—and a small gun that she tucked securely under the bed each night.

One evening, after Hallie turned out the lights, I asked her, “Hallie, do you think there’s spirits there, like Grandma does?”

“Well, Miss y/n, all I can tell you is that I hear strange voices I ain’t never heard before in any house I’ve ever been in, and sometimes it gits awful quiet here, a kind of stillness that I ain’t never felt neither. But don’t you lay there and worry, child. If there are any spirits, they’ll do you no harm.”

“Amen,” Grandma said.

The next day, I decided to venture up to the attic, to see for myself what was there. As I walked up the stairs, I rubbed my hand up and down the gold-painted banister, noting the chipped paint. I called out, “Don’t you think this should be repainted, Dodger?”

Grandma, standing at the bottom of the stairs, lifted her dark shades to get a closer look. “Yes, Hon, we’d better tell James. That does look bad.”

“Maybe we should do it before Matt gets home and surprise him. I’ll ask Mr. Sturniolo in the morning.”

At the top of the stairs I entered the attic and discovered Matt’s world.

Several trunks were filled with his military gear. There were old television sets and furniture that had been in his bedroom years before. I ran my hand over a couch, wondering who’d sat there with him. Jealous, I walked away.

I found two closets side by side and opened one. It was filled with clothes from Matt’s early days—black leather jackets, motorcycle hats, and a pink shirt I’d seen in pictures. I loved the way he looked in that shirt and wished he’d wear it again.

With growing curiosity, I sorted through everything. I felt closer to Matt just by touching his things, and all I could think of was what girl he’d been with at the time—Lucy, Judy, Nicole, Bonnie? I was so possessive, I had to know.

Then I came across some letters hidden under an old sweater, letters from Nicole, all addressed to him in Germany. I put them in dated order, from his arrival in Germany to his departure, and sat there for hours poring over every one.

Nicole had written at least two letters a week, all saying basically the same thing: she loved him, missed him, and was counting the days until his return—just as I had done. She had been in the process of acquiring him as a lover just as I’d been losing him. Clearly Nicole had been telling her that she was the only one in his life. Confused and hurt, I realized that he had been writing to his “Little Bit,” as he called her, that he couldn’t wait to come home and see her, at the same time that he had been holding me tightly, telling me he couldn’t bear to leave his “Little Girl.”

I felt betrayed, as I’m sure she felt when she read and heard about me. Returning the next day to investigate the adjoining closet, I came upon Mary Lou’s belongings—her clothes, her old photos and papers. It was strange to see all her dresses, hanging neatly. I knew Matt had had them put there. He couldn’t have faced throwing away any of her personal belongings.

I tried on one of her dresses and could tell that she liked soft materials on her skin, just as I did. By the size of her dress, I could see she was a small woman, and by the texture, I knew she cared more about the feel of a dress than about fashion or style. She liked to dress simply and comfortably. I felt guilty in her dress, but it gave me a better sense of Mary Lou Sturniolo: a woman, as Grandma had described her, with a heart of gold—yet you never wanted to cross her. When she was angry, “she cussed like a sailor and had the wrath of God in her.”

I felt sad—for Matt, for Mary Lou, for us all because we have to contend with death. Life could be so different if Mary Lou were here, I thought, weeping as though she were my own mother. I felt Mary Lou’s presence in that little room, also her grief and loneliness. Maybe it was her spirit that Grandma and Hallie sensed.

All of a sudden, Hallie’s face appeared in the doorway. We both screamed with fright, yelling, “What are you doing up here?”.

“Child, this ain’t no place you should be. Too many sad memories. B’sides, it’s dark and scary. Only reason I come up is ’cause Miss Minnie was worried ’bout you.”

Then, as Hallie walked away, waving her hands above her head, she said under her breath, “No ma’am, I don’t like it up here.”

The next time Matt returned to Los Angeles, where he was to begin filming Kissin’ Cousins, I flew with him. I loved L.A. It was exciting compared to the slow pace I had grown accustomed to in Boston. Best of all, I felt a part of Matt’s world. His hectic schedule and daily life were realities to me now, no longer just remote events chronicled in our nightly phone calls.

The problem was that his life still included Julia Ernst, despite the fact that their film, Viva Las Vegas, had been completed six weeks before. The newspapers were reporting their “blossoming” affair daily, each article hitting me like a slap in the face. I thought, When will this be over—the news, the gossip, the headlines, the affair.

Matt returned from the studio one afternoon, carrying a newspaper and fuming. “I can’t believe she did it.” He flung the paper against the wall in disgust. “She had the goddamn nerve to announce we’re engaged.”

Though I was pretty sure of the answer, I asked, “Who?”

“Julia Ernst. Every major newspaper in America’s picked it up. The rumor’s spread like a goddamn disease.”

Turning to me, he said, “Honey, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. The press will be hanging around the gate and following me all over for a statement. Colonel suggests maybe you should go back to Boston till it calms down.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Suddenly all the months of unbearable silence broke and I screamed, “What’s going on here? I’m tired of these secrets. Telephone calls. Notes. Newspapers!” I picked up a flower vase and hurled it across the room, shattering it against the wall. “I hate her!” I shouted. “Why doesn’t she keep her ass out of here where she belongs?”

Matt grabbed me and threw me on the bed. “Look, goddamn it! I didn’t know this was going to get out of hand. I want a woman who’s going to understand that things like this might just happen.” He gave me a hard, penetrating look. “Are you going to be her—or not?”

I stared back at him, furious and defiant, hating him for what he was putting me through.

After a long pause, our tempers cooled considerably. Once again desperate to please, I said, “I’ll leave tomorrow. I’ll be waiting in Boston.”

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - 3 songs for extra long chapter!! (can you tell i like ultraviolence😬) 🎀

#matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturn #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

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writin-with-the-blues · 2 days

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can you please write more of the blu medic x red mercs but the rest of red team finds out?? Like the red merc walks into base and the rest of the team is like "um hey what the HELL you have a crush on a BLU!?!?!?" (If you can't do this scenario for all the mercs can you do it for pyro, engineer, and scout please) thank you!!! Sorry If this request is alot.

Oh absolutely I can do this! Sorry if updates have been slow, finals has been killing me and this seemed the easiest to post. (I feel like I am always writing Pyro wrong LMAO).

OG Post Here

Right person, Wrong side

Pyro, Engineer, and Scout x Male!Blue Medic! Reader (Romantic)

Pyro:

They are probably the most interesting when it comes to you.

They tried to talk about you to the rest of the Mercenaries actually. However, since most of them can’t here them, they brush it off as utter nonsense. Except for one particular person.

Miss Pauling.

It was over a phone call, since pyro was in their room, they didn’t feel the need to put on a mask. It had to do with a contract killing you in particular and they rejected it. Miss Pauling inquired further about it, she was simply told, “Oh they didn’t tell you? I love him.”

“You can fall in love?”

Okay, ow, that hurt. But that one conversation with Miss Pauling somehow got spread around the entirety of Red Team. Though, it isn’t really a case of, ‘They are in love with blue team’ but a case of, ‘They can love?!’

Overall, it went alright. Though it did show how people felt about their cognitive abilities.

Engineer:

Ah yes, Dell, the man with more PHD’s than fingers of the Mercs have after a fight. He got caught because of an invention.

I am a firm believer that Dell’s love languages are Gift Giving and Acts of Service. He adores the moments when you just look so happy and excited, so keeping the stressful moments to a minimum with his inventions or hell just giving you a cup of coffee is something he thinks about a little too much.

So when he finds out that your medigun isn’t working as well as it should be, he immediately gets to solutions for you. It wasn’t like you asked though, since you didn’t even know something was wrong with your medigun in the first place but the nozzle doesn’t have the same range as it used to.

Though, his teams medic assumed it was for him until the very quick realization that it did absolutely nothing for his medigun. Which immediately was brought with accusations of being a spy and betraying the team.

To tell you it was ugly would be an understatement. To the point where his only defense is that he loved you. So he just simply said that. Did it resolve his issues with spy accusations? Yes. But it created a whole new problem.

Now there’s a bit of pressure from the rest of the team to just, ‘Snap out of it’ but he doesn’t. As much as he lies through his teeth, and as much as he tries to ignore it, he can’t. I mean, he’s a full grown man dammit, who cares?

Scout:

If you were to ask me how he even gotten himself in this situation, I’d say the many doodles he has of you.

He has a somewhat (very) crass way of expressing his feelings when using his sketchbook. Everything he feels about you just drawn out, kissing, hugging, other things a 20 year old with art abilities draws.

The first person to find these sketches of you is Spy. His first thoughts follow the beat of, ‘This is really good anatomy.’ To ‘Is that the enemy medic?’

Spy tried to use it as leverage against Scout. Once Scout realized what had happened, he almost immediately decided to tell every red merc on his own terms.

It’s the most Jeremy thing he could do, but I genuinely believe he’d do it. Though it goes as well as you expect it to. Which is not great.

To sum it up, there were so many argument over it. Whether it is justified or not, but most were in agreement that they knew they can’t change his feelings about you.

Masterlist

#x reader #idk how to tag this #tf2 #scout x reader #tf2 x reader #engineer x reader #pyro x reader #engineer tf2 #tf2 pyro #tf2 scout #dell conagher #scout tf2 x reader #engineer tf2 x reader #pyro tf2 x reader

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blueskittlesart · 19 days

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deeply refreshing to see someone critical of Swift who also like, genuinely likes her. Like i'm neutral to positive on her, but the online discourse has been absolutely rancid. flipping between "Taylor Swift has never done anything wrong ever and she's a fucking genius" and "Taylor Swift is the worst lyricist of all time and also a bad person" is exhausting, so thank you for like. nuance or something lmao

not to make it serious for a sec but i genuinely think that being able to like things that are bad is really important. like I think that it's an important skill to be able to look at something and see what you personally enjoy about it and then take a step back and acknowledge that objectively it's flawed. and to also be able to acknowledge that liking something isn't necessarily an identity or a moral stance. and i think that fandom space in general could really benefit from more people taking the time to learn how to do that. it's okay to like things that are bad

#people ask me sometimes why ill occasionally talk about something i like and then go 'but it's bad' and the answer is usually because it is #i love teen wolf. i love genshin impact. i love detective conan. and i fucking LOVE taylor swift. that doesnt mean theyre good #it just means i like them. and recognizing their flaws actually helps me better identify what i like about them!#it's like. in my mind bad > good is the x axis and i like it > i dont like it is the y axis yk. they're not mutually exclusive #tldr it's not that serious. we can all relax a little #irt taylor swift i do also think she has done some real harm to her fans in enabling them to deflect all criticism of her as misogyny #and i don't think it's fully the fault of these people who are parroting that response bc so much of her marketing has deliberately #reinforced this idea that to be a swiftie is to be a part of a sisterhood and that any attack on taylor is an attack on all of those women #who are in that in-group. when that's obviously not the case. but she's marketed herself as. for lack of a better term. 'girl music'#to the point where it makes her fans feel as though any criticism of the music or the woman responsible for it is an attack on their #personal experience of womanhood/girlhood/sisterhood/etc. and that's how you get all of thess bad-faith accusations of misogyny #i don't necessarily think this was her deliberate goal with her marketing tho because like. on first glance such a strong sense of communit #among fans sounds like a great thing. the friendship bracelets i got at the eras tour movie are really genuinely special to me.#but it does present a problem when your fans are unable to separate how they feel about the community and experience your music has fostere #from how they feel about you as a person. especially when you are a billionaire who absolutely CANNOT be above criticism in this economy #anyway. tldr i love taylor's music and i don't think swiftie hivemind is as deliberately malicious as it may seem #but it's obviously necessary to be able to take a step back and look objectively at what you're participating in.#anyway stream ttpd or don't idc <3 #taylor swift

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slyandthefamilybook · 5 months

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I hate this post so much

It is CATEGORICALLY IMPOSSIBLE for people of color to be racist towards white people in the same way white people are racist to people of color. Yes, people of color can say mean things to or about white people, but that's not the kind of racism we're dealing with. Racism as leftists understand it is a system of oppression, a top-down hierarchy. No amount of calling white people "cracker" is going to reverse that hierarchy. Therefore, accusations of "reverse racism" that pit "calling me white boy" against "Jim Crow" are always frivolous

In a similar vein, it is CATEGORICALLY IMPOSSIBLE for women to oppress men in the same way men have oppressed women for tens of thousands of years. Therefore, accusations of "man hating" that pit "patriarchy sucks" against "women should be seen and not heard" are always frivolous

it is EMINENTLY POSSIBLE to be antisemitic in your Pro-Palestine activism. We see it all the time. And yes, right-wing Zionists and racist Israelis will often accuse people of being antisemitic for supporting Palestine, even when they're not

But that's not what this tweet says. It only identifies a vague "oppressor", which is, by their definition, "someone who is telling you you're being antisemitic". By comparing accusations of antisemitism to accusations of reverse racism or man-hating, this tweet is priming people to categorically dismiss those accusations as unserious and facetious. When Jews tell you you're being antisemitic, we're not "claiming victimhood". Antisemitism as an idea is not "manipulating the language of the oppressed". It is the language of the oppressed (well not entirely because the word itself was invented by a Jew-hater but you know what i mean)

I assume the oppressor they're talking about, the one who "justifies their violence as self-defense" are Israelis. But the people telling feminists that they're man-haters are men. The people accusing people of. color of reverse racism are white people. Unless you live in Israel or Gaza, Israel is not committing violence against you. They're not oppressing you, at least not directly. The people who are telling you your activism is antisemitic are largely, in my experience at least, just regular Jews. Some of us are right-wing, some of us are left-wing. You should take the words of both equally seriously, just like how you would take the word of a Republican woman who said she was assaulted, or take the word of a Black Trump supporter who said they were attacked with racial slurs, or take the word of a conservative trans woman who said she was misgendered.

White people who accuse you of reverse racism are trying to uphold a system of racial dominance and segregation. Jews who accuse you of antisemitism are...what? Trying to uphold a system of Jewish supremacy?

Jews are not your oppressors. We're trying to help you. But we can't do that if you refuse to listen.

#atlas entry #like. to be clear I wouldn't have as much of a problem with this post if they were just more specific #if they just said “right wing Israelis will accuse Palestinians of being antisemitic so they can continue to oppress them”#that's an idea I can get behind !!#but saying “people accusing your Pro-Palestine activism of antisemitism are racist oppressors” is just so open to misinterpretation #and. if you'll allow me. it's often that way by design #I don't know who this person is but if they've seen what I've seen then they know people aren't wearing their critical thinking hats lately #I'm just saying you have to try to be as careful as possible when talking about these tjibgs #things

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lottieurl · 3 months

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person only following blogs that spent their 2021 blogging about dean winchester being female coded: has anyone noticed that NO ONE on this site cares about women?

#listen. im sorry but it does have to be said okay bdhsjsjs like there is no damn algorithm on your actual dash #if no one is blogging abt women on your dash that is bc you yourself do not care abt women enough to follow the people who do #like im not even trying to accuse anyone of anything genuinely i do not give a shit if someone is spending their free time here #talking abt fictional men only. like i do not give a shit #but its also funny to observe #like the problem youre experiencing may be caused by: you following almost exclusively blogs you followed for uhh marvel dudes content #if you joined the site and followed people for orphan black years ago and kept following them you would not be having this problem #i am Just Saying #this is the insane abt women site to me. i do not know what site the rest of you are on but thats not the site im on

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krisget-thebanana · 1 year

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So if Sayu x Near and Soichiro x Mello are both existing pairings, does that mean someone starting to ship Matt and Sachiko is all it would take to create the holy trinity of Light’s pain and suffering

#i don’t know how i came up with this i’m sorry #death note #what even is the shipname for sayu and near?? i’v been calling it sayunear but that feels kind of boring #sayunear #near x sayu #sayu x near #soichello #mello x soichiro #soichiro x mello #imagine you’re kira after the timeskip and instead of L’s successors trying to kill you they just start dating your family #and if you even try to complain your words get twisted and you get accused of being kira #“oh you have a problem with me dating your sister? is it because i’m working on the kira case and you are kira?”#it’s pretty much a lose/lose situation for him #shitpost #top ten worst posts i’ve ever made

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honeysunchild · 21 days

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It really hurts when it feels like a friend you considered family gives up on you and the relationship

Like, we could have talked about it, we could have found a solution together, we were each others family remember?! But instead you chose to just give up and cut me out

#and in like #about five messages too!#that were pretty accusatory #like apologizing peofusely bc youre afraid that karma wikl fuck u up for hurting le #doesnt really make up for accusing me of what you did #there are so many more compassionate ways you could have said that!#I'm so so sorry but you suck and i can't take it anymore goodbye #WTF #is this the goodbye seven years of friendship is worth??#we went through thick and thin #and yeah i have not been too well lately and i was pretty depressed two years ago #you asked me to share my problems with you and when i do i am too much and you drop me like hot metal instead of talking about it?#and that goodbye was so rushed it felt like i was chasing her just to get a little closure #you said you would always be there #even with our lives being so different I still believed it was possible #and you kept ignoring me!#i shared good stuff too and you didn't even respond! you said you were too busy and didn't make time for me #so when I stop sharing that good things happen to me too bc I'm frustrated with being ignored all the time you say I'm toxic for only #and drop me? instead of having a talk about it or taking a break?#like #i thought we were each others family but it seems like I was the more loyal one who cared the most and got burned yet again #is it so hard to talk and try to adjust?#i thought we were the real ones for each other yanno but clearly thing were different for you with all your toxic ass family and all your #jobs and friends #she's always had more than me #doesn't mean I'm alone tho #i have friend who can talk to me and try to adjust and fix the relationship and is a true loyal friend #it's not the end of my world that you're gone #even if you were a big part of it #how can I loose when I was so loyal and true and honest

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katyspersonal · 10 months

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Idk why you get hate when your blog is one of the most honest i have come across and your lore posts are so meta that i don’t even think most bb youtubers have discovered what you have lol. Y’all just got jealous haters.

It is far not the first time I've heard explanation that people are just jealous, really :') 👍 Like... That Alfred-chan (aka Clod Frollo) simply hated me and was jealous and latched onto the first chance to justify the unending wish to remove me is painfully apparent at this rate. Inventing up bigotry, harm and opinions that were never there to get the chance to declare someone you hate a "witch" is the oldest trick in the book! If you convince people the person is bad and harmful, you are automatically justified to treat them however you want.

It might be my lore, because they were really mad at the fact that I write essays on multiple occasions? Like, they try to paint it as me "having no life" or "being mad", but. dude. dude you are projecting. If the only way you could write essay on a topic you care about is abandoning all your chores and needs and/or getting mad at someone, then I have bad news for your intellect? :/ This is a very common attitude from people that cannot say anything interesting on their own and just post the same two-sentence brainlet takes about how much male characters/fans suck or how their [LGBT headcanon] is the only true interpretation and everyone who disagrees can't analyse media. 🤔 So how can they feel better about not having as many interesting headcanons or good theories? They've picked the low-effort way - to attempt destroying the value of "lore essays" by painting them as a bad thing! I will be real tho - they've gotten like, two asks about their headcanons in a lifetime (both about the same character, ironically) and shown that they CAN post something good when they want to, so eventually it is the matter of choosing low-effort way. Destroying is easier than creating!

It could also be freedom, and honesty, like you said. Some people's only trump card is being """good"""! Some people think if they put 'transphobes DNI' in their bio and regularly seek to call out bigotry that isn't here they are automatically a good person who is now allowed to stalk, harass, be toxic in general and push even genuinely innocent people under the bus. But I do not have to compensate for lack of personality and latch onto any ideology or activism - I am already a pretty awesome and interesting individual on my own. 😎 Not to mention how they have to put on the hard show of fighting "for the common good" to keep their following engaged, meanwhile I still have very genuine and deep support even despite my honest fuck-ups (forget the fabricated accusations!). I don't have any other theory than them knowing (maybe subconsciously) that by surrounding themselves by witch-hunters ideological soldiers, they've trapped themselves in the situation where if THEY fuck up - their "fans" will turn on them, if not cancel them. Building following based on ideology instead of shared interest (or one's own unique radiant personality, like mine 😎) is the worst thing you can do to yourself. Because... guess what? Correct, because that sort of people eats their own.

________________________

I'd appreciate no more personal asks like this for some time, because I genuinely start to feel guilty talking about myself so much (in my personal blog.... hmmm logical...). But again, kids, remember - you must make your worth with cool shit like talent, great personality traits, positively encouraging others, etc and not in ideology and making up witches you could "defeat". That person has the capacity by having some nice ideas, being able to craft stuff, drawing. They could easily win all the supporters they've lost back and outgrow me by LARGE merit if they apologised, admitted mistakes and committed to cultivating positive emotions, discussions and content. It is basically so easy and it is so much cringe to take so many Ls because of jealousy and obsession?

#personal #ask replies #/drama #honestly? positive emotions are STRONGER #they're harder to create yes #but the last time i got pissed at a bad g3hrman take for example?#i combated it not with vaguepost but with creating a very wholesome poll about him that everyone liked #i am slowly turning into local toxic positivity freak i know but:#my depressed ass found it more helpful to react at the takes i hate by nurturing my takes #hate a ship? post headcanons about a ship you prefer instead!#hate a character? utilize their 'awfullness' in a fanfic or fanart or boost the character you do like #hate a take? write an essay with your counter-take without vagueblogging #why waste time and energy on a person you already 'defeated' instead of rebuilding what you've lost to do that?#my friends told me there is a demand for 'moral victory' too because i still enjoy my videogame and mutuals #and like that's against the rules i guess? hell if i know anymore #like... okay keep convincing yourself that you are harming me for 'a good cause'.#because admitting how much of a mess you've made and how untrue your accusations were would crash the narcissist won't it?#i tend to make enemies whose whole problem is them figuring out they misjudged me but they NEED to stay in denial #that person literally never admits their mistakes - not in regards to people nor in fandom/headcanons stuff #even though doing so would only paint them in a good light #dude. duuuuude. being 'always right' just makes you look like a prick. admitting mistakes attracts hella more simps trust me

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