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bleedingoptimism · 1 year

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You Are Mine part 1

When Eddie decided to come out he thought it’d be funny to do so with a music video, so he wrote a song and presented it to the band. The boys loved it and the song was declared the first one of their next album, the third one.

And then it was time to shoot the video.

They hire their personal friend and favorite director, Argyle. Just Argyle, like Cher.

Between him and Argyle they come up with a cool script. The band is going to act in it, they just need two extras, so they hold auditions for a couple in their twenties.

On the day of the auditions, Argyle tells them the interviews are mostly for show, the band can pick whoever they feel the most comfortable with, and the boys tell Eddie he should pick since it’s his song.

The five of them sit at a long table like it’s fucking American Idol or something and just stare at the couples waiting in line through a one-side glass mirror whispering among themselves and watching amused as the couples start getting progressively nervous.

There’s a couple that immediately grabs Eddie's attention when he does a pass-over, a pretty tall dirty blonde and a brunette with big soft-looking hair.

The guy is absolutely gorgeous, with big kind eyes, a straight cute nose, a square jaw, big shoulders, a small waist, and tan skin that seems to be covered in beauty marks.

He just strikes Eddie as someone that would make Michelangelo cry with his inability to capture his perfection.

‘Oh, that’s good. I should write that.’ He thinks.

He and the girl are talking in hush tones and Eddie watches as she fixes his hair while he jabbers nervously and then, evidently says something that makes her angry because she pokes him in the ribs. The guy giggles cutely and loudly enough to carry over to their room and then blushes furiously when heads turn toward them, hiding behind his friend. The woman in question snorts and chuckles as he chastises her.

Eddie stands up, crouches behind Argyle’s chair, and tells him, “I want that one.”

“What?” he answers, so Eddie points at the couple, “I want him.”

Argyle looks at them considering and clicks his tongue and Eddie insists, “Please Argy, please, I love him, I want him, I want that one, pleaseee”

“Eddie, we need to at least consider the rest of them. This is my job we are talking about here. Please, take it seriously” Argyle says in a calm voice and Eddie deflates,

“Dude...I’m sorry I-”

“Nah man, I’m kidding!” Argyle cuts him off, “Couple number four! Please step forward!” he yells into a mike.

The blonde and the brunette look at each other and walk in nervously as Eddie goes back to his seat at the end of the table and Argyle does a small flourishing move with his hand inviting them to introduce themselves.

“Hi! My name is Robin, and this is Steve, pleased to meet you!” The girl says smiling kindly at them. She nudges Steve on the side and he does a little finger wave at them.

Eddie has to bite his lip not to smile too much because they are really fucking cute.

Argyle returns the wave enthusiastically, because nothing ever faces him, and looks at the list he has in his hands, “Any experience acting Robin and Steve?”

Robin says yes, something about drama club in high school and Steve just shrugs which amused Eddie to no end, and frankly makes him really curious, for all intent and purposes, Steve doesn’t seem to be interested in the job.

“How did you find out about this job?” Jeff asks them, and Gareth nods like he was just about to ask the same thing.

“A friend of ours told us about it?” Robin answers “He’s a photographer but I don't want to drop names, especially in case we embarrass ourselves,” she says jokingly and looks relieved when she gets a couple of chuckles from Argyle and the band.

“And you were interested because…?” Frank inquires.

Robin starts saying some carefully prepared speech about learning experiences but is interrupted by Steve saying, “We needed the money”

“Oh my god! Shut up!” Robin suddenly turns to him completely red in the face.

“What? You told me to be myself!” Steve tells her frowning.

“This is exactly why I always talk in interviews”

“What does that mean?”

“You suck at this Steve! Just as much as you suck at-”

Gareth clears his throat loudly making them stop and look at him sheepishly, “So tell us, do you know the band? Are you fans?”

Eddie takes a moment to look at his bandmates and to his relief they all look as amused as he feels, especially Argyle. The couple of newbies is clearly a mess but in an endearing kind of way.

“Well…” Robin starts but doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“Never heard of it,” Steve says looking apologetic.

“Wait, Really?” Robin asks him, once more ignoring the director and the band, “They are like, Mike’s favorite band, man! You never heard of Corroded Coffin?”

“Oh well,” Steve shrugs, “I mostly tune out when Mike is talking so…”

Robin snorts and is about to reply but Argyle raises his hand and they both look at him, flinching a little when they realize they had started talking among themselves again.

“Ok.” Argyle tells them clapping once, “Unfortunately for me, I love your energy my dudes, but I’m going to get serious for a second here: I need you two to be professional ok? We have a budget and a schedule and only three days to shoot and I can’t hire you and find out in the middle of the shoot that you are not okay with making out with someone-”

Robin visibly takes a step back and Steve snorts, “Yeah no, I’m not making out with my sister.”

Eddie, who was wondering what kind of relationship they had, does a little happy dance in his head at that.

“No, I meant one of the members of the band” Argyle answers amused.

Robin takes another step back and actually looks a little disgusted and Eddie tries not to find it offensive, “Me?” she asks unsure.

“No,” Frank answers and points at Steve, “Him.”

Surprisingly, they both relax at that, “Oh!” They exclaim in unison and it’s kind of creepy but again, in an endearing kind of way.

And then Steve looks at them one by one, he’s unmistakably and unashamedly checking them all out and Eddie swears his eyes linger on him the most before he smirks and says, “I’m okay with that”

Eddie immediately pushes the contract laying on the table toward Frank, who pushes it to Gareth, who pushes it to Jeff, who pushes it to Argyle and gives him a pen.

Argyle laughs loudly and shakes the sheet of paper, “Well shit, I guess you are hired.”

“We are?!”

He stands up and shakes their hands, hands them the contract and another paper, “This is the script, not that it has any dialogue but just in case you have any questions.”

They push their heads together and read the script at the same time.

The story is about the band being on tour. Robin and Steve would play as their roadies and the video is supposed to show them in concert, traveling, working, and hanging out. The whole video hints that Eddie is sneaking out with one of them and it ends with the band plus Robin opening a curtain on the tour bus to find Eddie and Steve making out.

The song is called You Are Mine.

When they are done reading, Steve smiles and says “Cute”

And Robin asks, “So which one of you is Eddie?”

Eddie lifts his hand lazily and winks at them.

And Steve, still holding the script, lifts it enough to cover his face but Eddie can still see the tip of his ears as they turn bright red.

‘Oh, he’s gonna eat him alive.’

to be continued

part 1: is this

part 2: ♫

part 3: ♫

part 4: ♫

☕ cafecito?

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #i wrote something #corroded coffin #omg another rockstar eddie au? mimimimi

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onsunnyside · 1 year

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🍁≬ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 (𝟏/𝟐)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | photographer!Ari Levinson x reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | glimpses of fluff, angst, old flames, childhood friends-to-loves aftermath, ex-boyfriend!Ari, size difference: 6’8!Ari.

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | Even the most beautiful love stories are bound to end in tragedy, but you thought you and Ari would be an exception.

𝗪/𝗖 | 3.64K

𝗔/𝗡 | currently in my sad autumn girl era but i know it won’t last long so i wanted to share this with you all. sort of poured my heart into it and wrote most of this in a teary haze last night. Inspired by Taylor Swift’s songs: Sad Beautiful Tragic, Exile, All Too Well, The Last Time. [𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 | all asks]. All mistakes are my own.

˗ˏˋ𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Don’t look, don’t look, you force your eyes on the television mounted above the table, half listening to the chatter of your friends and the hushed music playing from the speakers.

A nudge brings your attention to your redheaded friend, “How have you been? You haven’t answered my texts.”

“Sorry, I’ve been working a lot.” The music shop didn’t get very busy, but Natasha didn’t need to know that you spent the past weeks buried in turmoil, revisiting every decision you’ve ever made that brought you here. “I also applied to the dance studio as an instructor, I’m still waiting for them to get back to me.”

Her green gaze pools with worry. Of course, you’d answer a question about how you were with what you were doing. She hated to pry, but she cared for you like a sister. If you were hurting, she wanted to put a stop to it, or talk about it and try to understand. She couldn’t do that if you refused to open up.

“If you want to leave, that’s fine, I’ll walk you out.”

“I’m okay, Nat. I wouldn’t have come if I couldn’t handle seeing him again.”

The both of you know that’s a bald-faced lie. Especially because you’ve done everything to not peek in his direction.

Natasha is drawn away by one of your other close friends, and they fall into an easy conversation with laughs and bright smiles. Their voices fade into each other, a blissful hum filling the loneliness that has clung to you.

I wouldn’t have come if I couldn’t handle seeing him again.

You spoke too soon.

Ever so slightly, you glance at the bar. Over the heads of the other patrons, his gaze meets yours. Deep blue, unreadable and sharp, piercing heavily through your face.

Seeing him now, he’s different. His hair is longer, his beard is thicker, and he’s dressed in clothes you’ve never seen before—apart from his signature leather jacket that he wore for most of the year.

You wonder if the way he carries himself all the same, with quiet grace and self-assurance, too often falling victim to his insecurities.

You missed him.

You missed his stupidly loud alarm clock, his cute bedhead and how he never failed to keep you warm on winter nights. You missed his endless rants about society, space and the world, past, present and future. His mind stretched into infinity, and you never always understood what he was saying, but you listened nonetheless. Listening was the best thing someone could do.

Your eyes fall on the loose and shaggy fabric around his neck. The cream knit was your first little home project, evident with the frayed threads and stubborn coffee stains. That single scarf took you a week because of your lack of experience. You worked on it everywhere, on the train, at work and the park. Your favourite place to knit was next to him as he hunched over his computer desk and went through hundreds of photographs with his glasses on the tip of his nose.

That was the one thing he didn’t mail back.

He goes around the table, handing out everyone’s selected drinks with greetings. “Sorry, I’m late. I got stuck at the studio with this last-minute family portrait session.”

“At least it wasn’t another self-proclaimed influencer.” Curtis snorts.

“Fuck no, thank goodness for that.” He laughs, almost too gleeful. When he gets to you, he simply sets the drink on the wooden countertop and flashes a tense smile.

It either took one or ten minutes for you to sip the drink before you rushed out the back door with an excuse about fresh air.

The cool, November air welcomes you with open arms as if it knew you wouldn’t last very long. You lean on the railing, distracting yourself with the red, orange and yellow trees across the way. The music and chatter fade into whispers, and the crickets and gentle wind take their place. Down below, the water ripples against the rocks, the wooden poles dark and green from the lake, another victim to time, just like everything else.

The fall season itself was a tale of death. The days got shorter because the sun comes and goes all too quickly and the leaves turn into different shades before falling to the ground. Bidding farewell in warm colour pallets and leave the trees bare, mere skeletons of life, dormant and dull.

Then, they’re reincarnated by spring. Brought back by more sunshine and warmth, blooming hues the world has longed for.

You wondered when your spring would come, or if you’d be trapped in perpetual autumn. Be forced to feel every part of you change into red, yellow or orange and fall until there is nothing left and you're in a barren comatose.

You stare down at your dress, the very one he said was his favourite. The soft blue silk is highlighted by the dim fairy lights hung up on the fence. Memories are woven into the fabric and they’re all good because you stopped wearing this dress when things got worse. With a brush of the lace hem, you’re reminded of him.

“I knew you’d look beautiful in this.”

“You have to stop buying me things, we have bills to pay.”

He scoffs, “bills aren’t going to help my girl realize how beautiful she is.” He takes your hand, pressing his plump lips on your knuckles, “I know it, the world knows it, but she doesn’t. And that isn’t okay with me.”

The door swings open and slams into the wall, making you jump.

“Oh shit, sorry!” His voice rings out, “Didn’t mean to scare you, I thought the door was heavier.”

You quickly wipe your eyes, not caring about your makeup anymore. You tried hard to look your best tonight and embody that healed person you’ve pretended to be for the past few weeks. But he couldn’t say hi or your name. Why couldn’t he say your name?

He tucks away his cigarettes, “You stay, I’ll go out front. You probably want to be alone.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m going to call a cab.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Natasha knows I have an early morning.” You keep it simple and duck away from his gaze, hugging your purse close as some sort of lifesaver that was keeping you from floating into the sky. Truthfully, you wouldn’t mind that abrupt escape after hearing his next words.

“Wait—I mean, I’ll wait with you. It’s too late for you to be outside by yourself.”

Your stride doesn’t slow, you hope he’ll get the hint and just go back inside, but with his mile-long legs, he easily catches up to you. His boots land heavily on the boardwalk and the buckles of his leather jacket chime, filling the strained silence.

“So, did you see that new cinema downtown?”

“Please don’t.”

He raises his arms in defence, a smile audible in his voice, “Sorry, I didn’t realize you hated movies.”

“Ari.” Your shoulders slump and the sorrow gets heavier. You swear the world could cave under your feet. “Don’t try to—” You cut yourself off, knowing if you didn’t get away now, you’d regret it, “I want to be alone right now.”

The pine trees sway in the breeze, surrounding you with their natural scent.

He takes one hesitant step back, nodding slowly. “Right, I’m probably the last person you want to see.”

He couldn’t be more wrong and that only worsened the pain. How could he think that when he was the only person you wanted to see every day for over a decade?

It stretches far back to when you were children and living down the street from each other.

How could he think that when you used to wait out on the porch for him to pass by so you could walk to school together? How could he think that when you’ve spent hundreds of hours writing about his face in your diaries, about how his smile could light up a stadium and how his eyes were endless pools of stories and wishes?

How could he?

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Ari’s features grow concerned as the hot tears stream down your cheeks. “It’s okay—” He reaches for you, gently grasping your hand.

“No, it’s not.” You try to shrug him off, not bothering to wipe your face. He knew you were crying out here anyway. He knew you more than he knew himself, so it wouldn’t surprise you if he also knew what you were thinking right now—where did he find the audacity to say it’s okay? “I’m sad—I’m still so sad. And you aren’t.”

Ari stiffens and releases your hand as if he’d been burned. His cerulean eyes are shaded by the night, and darkness bleeds onto his solemn face, “You think I’m not sad?”

You tearily blink, waving towards the bar by the lake. “You seemed pretty happy in there—and you acted like you didn’t even know me.”

Sure, you probably would’ve cried if he spoke to you, but at least he would have acknowledged you. You’d take that glimmer of attention over his silence any day.

“I was—I am heartbroken.” He confesses, his long hair falling over his forehead as he stares down at you, “I didn’t know if you wanted me to talk to you—”

“Yet you followed me out here anyway.”

Even in the moonlight, you can see his cheeks turn cherry red.

“Okay, but I was checking on you. I didn’t mean for this to happen and to make you cry.” He protests, “Am I not allowed to worry about you?”

You close your eyes and shake your head, turning on your heel to continue down the boardwalk. The main street mocks you in the distance, beckoning you with yellow streetlights and the chance to escape, but his fingers wrap around your wrist, holding tightly.

“Wait, please. I’m sorry.”

His touch is warm and familiar, the other end of the double-edged sword. On one end is the busy street, the carefree people living their lives on this fall evening, the cars driving by, and your bittersweet freedom—but also your lonely apartment with your cold, empty bed. The other end, the one entwining with your trembling fingers, is suffocatingly soft and inviting. Enticing you to stay and listen, but at what cost? Would it only bring more suffering draped in so-called closure or more confusion that your heart couldn’t take?

“Muse—”

“Don’t.”

He inhales deeply and you feel his breath on the back of your head. “I’m devastated, I’m alone, I’m stuck in this disordered loop that I don’t know how to get out of.” His grip constricts, once then twice but you force yourself to stay as unresponsive as a corpse. “You were my first for everything, I-I wanted you to be my last.”

You knew that and you wanted the same thing. You’ve discussed it countless nights in your shared bed, whispering about the possibilities that the great big world offered, from tamed to outlandish. Picking up a strange hobby, or travelling the globe, he even mentioned moving to a new country altogether, “think about it. A fresh start, just the two of us and unlimited options.”

“I wouldn’t say unlimited, unfamiliar sounds more accurate.”

“Pick a place, any place and I’ll make it happen.”

“What if I don’t tell you and just take off alone? Soak up all that freshness by myself.”

“Oh, then I’ll find you. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Experiencing things for the first time together was a big part of your relationship. You were both painstakingly sentimental, which only made it harder to pack your things. Everything reminded you of what was or what could’ve been, you eventually decided to keep what you needed and throw out what carried tender nostalgia.

You never followed through with that, but you do avoid the many boxes stacked in your closet. Full of pictures, gifts, and anything that reminded you of him. That was where you found this dress.

From the seedlings of memorable firsts, it was inevitable that you two gave each other your first heartbreaks too.

The tears come back with vengeance, spilling down your heated cheeks, “You ended things.”

“You walked out!” He rushes to apologize, swerving in front of you before you could take another step. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just please, listen to me.”

Why? He never listened to you in the end.

Whenever you brought up concerns about weird tension or the growing emptiness, he never listened. He was all about work and brushed off dates for last-minute gigs. You knew he wanted a greater future for the two of you, something better than your crowded apartment with your roommates (now the close friends in the bar), and something brighter than the stars combined.

You tried to understand and a part of you did, but the other part couldn’t take it anymore. The part that missed your boyfriend, missed your mindless conversations and quiet nights at home, and when he picked up that camera and photographed you like a piece of art.

That part of you won. You laid down your weapons and went defenceless into his line of fire, with only your heart in your hands and a rehearsed speech in your head.

You never made it all the way through because you two started arguing, right in front of your friends, spitting accusations fueled by rage and doubt, making each other into the bigger villain when it was always clear who was the culprit.

Even now, although you know it’s him, you wonder if you were an accomplice.

Childhood sweethearts turned college lovers, plenty of people have made it all the way—to whatever was their ideal. Many people have also given up, gotten tired, or fallen out of love.

You thought you and Ari were stronger than that, and you wouldn’t let the pressures of life, work, and school weigh onto your relationship. But in the end, those voices were always right, and your shared dreams were crushed at the hands of breakdowns, lost time, and agonizing lulls.

It was ironic how you’re haunted by voices while Ari rarely used his.

Ari wasn’t loud or interruptive. He was quiet and timid, and as he grew up, he slowly came out of his shell and matured into the tall, confident, and gentle giant in front of you.

When you were kids, he wrote adorably misspelled sentences on sticky notes to drop into your lunchbox, and then in high school, he wrote love letters to slip into your locker. The sweetest part was that he never signed them, yet you always suspected it was him. He pretended to be curious about your newest note from your secret admirer and asked about the contents, all the itty bitty details of the proclamation in black pen.

He was after your heart, and he surely got it.

He showed his love through touch, gestures and gifts, through photographs and love letters that were kept in a special box.

It was beautiful in a way that only broken poets, starved artists and silenced lovers could understand. And you and Ari were all three. The tragedy was in colours no one else could see, the script in an undiscovered language, but to you and all the rest of the heartbroken, it was so vivid and clear. You dipped your fingers into that magic shade and poured your heart onto the white walls of the lonely tower, mourning your knight who would never return.

You made the tragedy your home, wallowed in it, and pitied yourself over every missed opportunity—the fleeted moments where things could have changed, leading you somewhere different from where you were. But you tried to get better, to get clean of him and those noisy, unhelpful thoughts. You wanted to save yourself, to gather the guts to leave that tower and climb down to the lush grass and sparkling rivers below.

In delusions, you are happy and satisfied, sober from the destruction. But right now, that false comfort was cracking beneath your feet. You wished to board up the windows and hide away from the world, from him.

“Will you please listen to me?” He pleads, his voice thick, “just listen, you don’t have to say anything or even stay afterward.”

“Why?” You turn to him, gritting your teeth to keep from sobbing. “Why should I listen to you when you never listened to me? When I told you that were growing apart, you just pushed me further away. Does—” Your voice cracks, “Does that not seem unfair to you?” Did you not deserve the same mercy he was begging for?

It was too late if he wanted to listen this time. It was gone, flatlined, buried under the dirt with overgrown weeds and ivy climbing on the gravestone. Your names were etched into the stone, just another miserable end in the cemetery of the heartbroken, the battered and bruised, the forgotten and silenced.

You’ve been a ghost ever since he mailed back the things you thought he wanted. Transparent and floating through the graveyard, weeping in wonder, and feebly searching for that scarf—the one thing he kept.

“I won’t ask again. This is the last time, Ari. You won’t get another chance.”

He opens and closes his mouth multiple times, rethinking every thought racing in his head, but then he finally settles on shutting his mouth. Those plump lips pressed firmly together, a barrier for everything he should say—and everything you had the right to hear.

Defeated, you release his hand. You didn’t realize you were holding him too, it was all just automatic at this point, unlike this moment which is only a rerun of a film you’ve already seen.

Your gaze traces his face one last time, locking everything to memory from the curve of his dark eyebrows, the shade of his blue eyes, the point of his nose, the blush pink of his lips, and every freckle like they were constellations.

In a flash, you’re staring at him from across the classroom, watching him slowly write on a yellow sticky note, his tongue poking from between his teeth in concentration.

Another flash, and you’re watching him bolt down the hallway, passing lockers and other students with his azure eyes set on you. In his hand is an old polaroid camera and he’s wearing the widest grin, “Let’s go to the park.” He almost crashes into you but grasps your shoulder in excitement, illuminating the dull hallway with his glow.

You laugh, “I have class… and so do you.”

“Yeah, but the weather is so nice today.” He pouts, already tugging you towards one of the exits. “Plus, you look really pretty. Wouldn’t you rather be my model, than sit in some dusty old classroom?”

He kissed you that day, under the biggest willow tree in the park with his hand on your cheek. He blushed a nervous red and asked so sweetly, “Can I—May I please…” He trailed off, profusely blinking at your parted lips, “Will you let me b-be your first kiss? And will you be mine?”

And finally, you’re back in the present. His looming shadow as he towers over your lifeless frame, executed by the quiet and unspoken words. You’d take anything at this point, from shuddering pleas to choked apologies—you’d grovel for a single syllable.

“That’s it.” You scoff in disbelief, “all you can do is look at me?”

Again, silence. His eyes pool with tears, seconds away from streaming down his cheeks and matching your wet trails and ruined makeup. He doesn’t speak, but he’s breaking, cracking at the surface like delicate porcelain holding back a flood.

“You deserve better than me.”

No, he doesn’t get to decide that. He doesn’t get to use that stale statement to dig his own grave, right alongside yours before the final self-deprecating eulogy. It didn’t matter if he thought you deserved better than him, all that should matter was that you wanted him, that you still wanted him even after all of this.

“So, you’re just gonna let me go? After all we’ve been through?” After you’ve given him everything, and showed him every part of you and let him in.

The first tear falls, dripping down his beard and onto the worn knit. Then another, and another until they’re streaming down his cheeks and soaked up by the scarf. “You’re already gone.”

There it is, the last nail in the coffin.

Ari has never been aggressive or forceful, but you wished he’d be brave. You wished he’d fight for you, step into the battlefield with an unrelenting resolve to make things right—to get you back. But he doesn’t, he just looks down at you, chewing on his lip with clenched fists.

He’s surrendered to the war, abandoning you in the tower of tragedy, but joining you in the cemetery of the heartbroken. He’s signing his name on the death certificate and damning you and your wistful dreams, erasing every ‘what if’ that has plagued the both of you since you were children.

“You couldn’t be more wrong.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and fight the weakness in your knees, but you refuse to do this to yourself again, to give him a chance he won’t take. You turn around and continue down the dock, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself in a form of self-soothing.

Autumn was a story of demise, but it had to be better than the earsplitting silence. You’d take the cruel cold and neverending abyss over the lack of effort. Right now, there was no spring in sight, no rebirth to raise you from the dead but you’d find your own life someday and somehow without him. You had to save yourself, be your own hero and come out victorious—alone, but triumphant.

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i’ve already started a part two for those of us who want a happy ending, so if you’re an angsty person, feel free to just leave it at this part. i’ll let you all know when i have a date. this is also my second time writing angst on here, and i had a few good cry sessions. i know this isn't the usual filth but i hope you all enjoyed this nonetheless.

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! i love you all very much. pls take this kith 😚🫶

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! [my inbox] <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

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butcherlarry · 4 months

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Weekly Fic Rec 46

I'll be out of state/traveling for the next two weeks for the holidays, so this will be my last fic rec list of the year. Fear not! I'll start up again 1/7/2024. It will probably be a long one since I'll have more down time to read some fics (hooray!). I might also post a link or two to some favorite fics I read during my vacation, and maybe a photo or two as well.

how to confess your love, as written by clark kent by scarletazure - Superbat, complete. Clark writes a WikiHow about how to confess your love to your best friend, who just so happens to be Bruce.

Naps are overrated, anyway by ionia - Superbat, complete. Photographic evidence is taken of Superman and Batman taking a nap together. Shenanigan ensue.

to lick your heart and taste your health by redlightofkryptonite (redlightofdawn) - Superbat, wip. Omegaverse Superbat, but only Kryptonians have a secondary gender.

Gotham Nights, Metropolis Days by tiredd_writer - Superbat, wip. An identity porn fic where Batman and Superman work on a case together, but the don't know each other's secret identities :))))))))

all i need is you by twoheadedmoon - Superbat, complete. A lovely smutty fic with service top Clark and dominant bottom Bruce.

Patchwork Pod by Ktkat9 - Superbat, wip. More of the mer Bruce fic! More secrets are revealed about Connor's past. Much feelings are had.

Everything Will Be Just Fine by lonelynpc - Batfam, wip. More of Goth Dad Battinson. Clark sees goth dad in action at a gala.

let the light in by TheResurrectionist - Bruce Wayne & Oliver Queen, complete. Some bonding time between two of the only humans on the JL.

Manor-Dad lets me drive the Batmobile by lostletters (loosingletters) - Batfam, wip. Part of the Bruce Wayne: Billionaire, Father, Dating Batman series. When Dick found the Cave, instead of discovering that Bruce is Batman, he thought they were dating instead. Bruce never corrected him, hoping Dick would eventually figure it out. He did not and neither did any of the other children Bruce adopted. My favorite parts are when the kids ask Batman if they can do something, he says no, and then the kids say that Bruce said they could (and vice versa). Those little shits (affectionate).

(Love) Triangles Have Multiple Centers by frozenpotions - Superbat, wip. I am in love with this identity porn fic. In this update, there is a (kinda) gala involved, flirting, misunderstandings, understandings, more misunderstandings, Clark's giant dinner jacket, Lois, and a surprise :)

slow dancing in the dark by scarletazure - Superbat, wip. Another fic I am completely in love with. Bruce and Clark get amnesia, sleep together, get their memories back, and start not-dating, because taking about your feelings is for losers. I vibrate with excitement everytime I see an update for this fic in my inbox.

Enjoy!

#weekly fic rec #fic rec list #fic recs #fanfiction rec list #fanfiction recommendation #superbat #batfam #bruce wayne #superman #clark kent #batman

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earl-grey-teacake · 3 months

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omg hello! your brain is truly so big for this idea… george coaching logan lives rent free in my mind at all times and their minimal interactions bring me life fr 🥺🥺 now.. very important question.. WHO adopted logan first? alex as his current teammate or george as his long-time mentor? i also have this insane image in my mind of george making a powerpoint titled “7 step plan on how to win oscar’s heart / why he’s definitely in love with you don’t be stupid / we need to talk about your (lack) or self esteem” . yea there are three topics but alex has sighed deeply and provided snacks to keep them going. and also the idea of carlando adopting oscar?? it’s a very strange dynamic bc lando is so excitable he’s def not a parent figure and oscar and carlos are still squinting suspiciously at each others for sure. maybe the three of them are using their combined 8 brain cells to come up with a game plan for wooing logan? and they’re just sitting their arguing over flower symbolism and lando and carlos genuinely almost break up over how worked up they both get. i know this ask got out of control but bestie.. your mind is so large and i am obsessedddd w this idea

Hello! Thank you so much! Very happy to hear that the ideas my brain makes up in the middle of the night are appreciated!🥰

To answer your question, Alex adopted Logan first. I see George keeping his distance, close but still professional. Alex, as both an eldest sibling and having gone through 2021, is very sympathetic to Logan. He sees the spiraling, he understands being alone as your parents are dealing with their own issues, and he knows what it feels like to be left behind while the friends you joined F1 with go on ahead. When Logan stops answering his texts and James brings up his worries, Alex is at Logan’s door telling him to pack up and come over to his place. George starts off in a “I’m here to help but mainly because Alex wants to do this and I love Alex” and quickly becomes “i am onboard with helping you, here is a list of therapists I have complied, please pick one.”

George is absolutely making PowerPoints. It starts off with “No one on the grid or your team hates you + with proof from the group chat” to “Your lack of self-esteem is alarming and we are all a bit worried” before becoming “Oscar is in love with you + photographic evidence.” George’s love language is PowerPoints. When he was getting Alex that Williams seat, I imagined him cornering people with a laptop in hand and a PowerPoint titled “Alex Albon’s Achievements: Why he is a perfect fit for Williams”. Alex is ordering take out and providing commentary on the slides, and questioning where certain photos came from.

I see Carlando adopting Oscar not in a parental way, but more in a “I have more life experience so let me tell you why ghosting your friend and crush is a bad idea”. They absolutely brainstorm ways to woo Logan but they keep failing because Logan thinks Oscar is doing this to apologize for not talking to him for a month/forgetting his birthday and Oscar is slowly going insane because nothing works and in every interaction Logan looks sadder and sadder. Carlos and Lando are definitely getting worked up because it was never this hard when they got together .

Your idea with the flower language is genius, can I write that in the fic? I am thinking of a scene like

“No, Lando we cannot put yellow roses in the arrangement. They mean decrease of love, that’s an awful flower to include.”

“How about orange lilies? There aren’t exactly a ton of papaya or orange flowers to choose from.”

“No! Orange lilies mean hatred. We should be starting simple like pink roses and baby breaths.”

“Those options are basic. They don’t have personality to them. It looks like Oscar just went to a supermarket and picked it up. How is anyone supposed to feel special receiving a standard supermarket bouquet?”

“I wouldn’t know Lando. You never got me flowers before so I don’t know how I would feel receiving a supermarket bouquet?”

This ask was super fun to answer! Thank you so much for sending it❤️ I am also obsessed with it and am drafting outlines to write it. Please feel free to send more asks. I really love answering them.

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hlficlibrary · 10 months

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✤ Secret Relationship Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ Fall Into Your Gravity by @zarah5 (E, 74k)

AU. In which Harry is an overnight pop sensation and Louis steals plants, Zayn pulls Liam's proverbial pigtails and Niall's really just pleased there are more girls for him.

2️⃣ Emperor's New Clothes by sunsetmog / @magicalrocketships (E, 92k)

The fact that Louis’s most precious belonging was a cat with a face like thunder and an uncanny ability to cover every single inch of Louis’s clothing with cat hair was something that Louis chose not to think about too much.

or: Harry’s a pop star and Louis isn’t, and there’s a non-disclosure agreement where there used to be a relationship.

3️⃣ Hands Clasped Tight by @afirethatcannotdie (E, 44k)

“What am I looking at here?” Harry asks.

“This, my friends, is a ‘proof’ Instagram account, run by your students,” Liam announces.

“It’s got all this stuff about how the two of you are together,” Niall adds.

“I heard about that,” says one of the math teachers. “Confiscated a kid’s phone today when they were looking at it. I have to say, the evidence that you’re dating is pretty damning.”

“Really,” Louis says dryly. “Do you think being married for three years might have something to do with it?”

Or the one where Harry and Louis are high school teachers and their students have been playing matchmaker for over a year. Little do they know, Harry and Louis are already married.

4️⃣ Learning to Breathe by youcomecrash / @drunkharrystyles-blog (E, 110k)

He’s playing football at one of the top universities in England and he should love everything about his life right now, but instead he’s moving backwards. How does your past fit into your present? Louis is still figuring it out.

5️⃣ so keep my candle bright by whisperdlullaby (E, 78k)

louis returns to his hometown after four years to find that the reverend’s son has done some growing up of his own.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 Caught In Your Gravity by @lululawrence (NR, 62k)

It felt like the blood froze in Harry’s veins even as he got a bit lightheaded. He hadn’t even made it two practices, only one of which he was remotely in charge of, without giving it all away and now he and Liam were both absolutely fucked.

“Shit,” Harry breathed out. “Who all have you told? Does everyone know? I thought I covered it better than that…”

“No, no,” Louis said quickly. "They’ll figure it out soon enough, though, because they’ll get used to you changing things up, but you’re only going to trip over your so called Americanisms for so long before they realize it’s because you don’t actually know fuck all about football.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I figured. I just need to bullshit for long enough to allow Liam to get the situation figured out from his end.”

“Right, which brings me to my entire point. I think we can find a mutually beneficial arrangement with all of this.” Louis leaned forward. “You need to learn the ins and outs of the sport incredibly fast. I can help you with that.”

“What do you want in exchange?”

Or, an AU inspired by a 30 second trailer of Ted Lasso that doesn't actually have much in common with the show at all.

💎 Old Photographs & Times I'll Remember by @jaerie (E, 54k)

Carefully he set that negative down and lifted the paper to see there was another beneath. This one again was a young man, this time posed against an antique car. He lifted a few more negatives out one by one, each a portrait of the same man with various backdrops. The man in a meadow, in an office, leaning against a doorframe — even one in his underwear grinning at the camera. On the edge of each negative printed in slanted, handwritten characters were the initials and date. H.S. 1924.

He quickly but carefully packed them back into the box and buzzed with excitement. He couldn’t wait to develop them to see exactly what had been captured in the images. It was a find that felt like a puzzle to piece together.

H.S. was likely the man in the photographs as well as the owner of the suitcase. Who was he? Why had his suitcase found its way into Niall’s attic? Was he still alive and well somewhere in the world?

A camera, a suitcase, and a relationship forged through time.

💎 On Thin Ice by @neondiamond (E, 16k)

As the goaltender for one of the best hockey teams in the world, Harry never expected participating in his second winter Olympics would be so eventful. His hidden long-term relationship with the captain of their biggest rival team may have something to do with it.

💎 I Can Build Your Heart A Home by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove (T, 10k)

“I was just thinking," Niall says. Did you know that Louis came out as gay last year?”

Harry nearly chokes on his drink, just barely managing to swallow. “Hrng,” he manages, trying not to cough. “Um. Yeah, I think I saw it on Facebook. Good for him.”

“Well.” Niall shrugged. “I figured it just made sense."

Harry feels goosebumps rise on his arms. “What do you mean?”

“I just think you and Louis should date,” Niall says. “I think you’d be good together, you know? You were friends in high school, weren’t you?”

“Erm.” Harry swallows. “Friends isn’t exactly the term I’d use.” Niall doesn’t need to know what terms he would use.

Or, Harry and Louis kind of secretly sort of dated in high school. Now it's two years later and they're both back in town for Christmas and it's awkward. Until it isn't.

💎 Battle Of The Balls by bluegreenish / @greenblueish (M, 5k)

“Rim of the hole, Haz, really?” he gazes at the camera again. “This is getting demonetised and honestly, rightfully so. How are we still allowed to make videos? YouTube, why don’t you just do yourself the favour and delete our channels?”

“After everyone sees that I win this game though,” Harry winks, dimples still showing.

or, the one where YouTubers Harry and Louis play Golf With Friends, go to the pub with Niall and return home six hours after posting the video.

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jahayla-parker · 3 months

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Hits Different : Freddy Carter x Reader

Description: 2.5k wc (including lyrics) set to the tone of If This Was a Movie by Taylor Swift. Part 2/Freddy's POV of Catastrophic Blues. Angst, breakup, heartbreak, post-breakup, longing, sadness, etc.

Warnings: I advise you re-read (or read) part 1/Catastrophic Blues first! Other warnings: drinking, Angst, breakup, heartbreak, post-breakup, longing, sadness, vomiting, crying, etc.

Part 1 - Y/n's POV - Catastrophic Blues

Last night I heard my own heart beating

Sounded like footsteps on my stairs

Six months gone and I'm still reaching

Even though I know you're not there

Freddy groaned as he ran his hands down his face. Tonight was going to be another sleepless night. He’d been having far too many of those lately. Ever since the night he and y/n had broken up.

Freddy had found himself constantly clinging to the faintest of sounds in ignorant hope that maybe it was her. There was no reason for it to be. In fact, he should’ve been adjusted to the lack of her presence by now. Instead, it was like this dark void that he found himself drowning in day in and day out.

Freddy missed y/n like mad. He knew she wasn’t going to be around anymore. But, he couldn’t stop wishing she was. He couldn’t stop the way his breath would hitch every time he thought he’d caught a glimpse of her around town. She may not have any physical presence in his life anymore, but her metaphorical presence was felt heavily by him nonetheless.

I was playing back a thousand memories, baby

Thinking 'bout everything we've been through

Maybe I've been going back too much lately

When time stood still and I had you

Freddy wiped his damp face as he shut the photo album. He carefully set the album on his coffee table as he threw his head back against the couch cushions. He wasn’t sure why he was torturing himself like this. It wasn’t like he even needed to look back at the photos to remember his time with her.

Freddy nevertheless found himself pulling out the photo album at least once a week. He found himself flicking through the pages of him and y/n as he nursed a beer. He still had the memories of each moment that was photographed in the album. But, they felt like just that, memories. Memories that felt so far gone now that he needed to be sure they were real. Whereas the photos were physical evidence that their love was real and genuine. So no matter how painful it was, he’d willingly sit on his sofa at night to pore over the photos.

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You would, you would if this was a movie

Stand in the rain outside 'til I came out

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You could, you could if you just said you're sorry

I know that we could work it out somehow

The role Freddy was cast in for his latest projects felt almost painfully derisive. He was playing the role of a man who had been reunited with the love of his life. It was a brutal contrast to Freddy’s own life at the moment.

Freddy had been certainly that y/n was the love of his life. Quite frankly, he still was certain of that. Only, there wasn’t anything he could to do repair the damage and close the distance between them. While he accepted the part he’d played in them having reached this predicament, the fact remained that the ball was in her court now. She had to be the one to decide she wanted a life with him. He wouldn’t force her nor beg her to choose him.

As painful as what she’d said had been, Freddy knew they could make it through all of that. If only she wanted to. If only she was as heartbroken as he was over their relationship ending. Then they could work together to make it through to the happy life he envisioned for them.

But if this was a movie, you'd be here by now

As optimistic as Freddy was over the notion that he and y/n could work things out, he couldn’t ignore the evidence that she clearly didn’t agree. Despite considerable time having passed since the initial rush of emotions that night, she hadn’t come to apologize and say she wanted to work through it. She wasn’t here fighting for their relationship, for their love. Unlike the romance film he was working on, this wasn’t the set or plot of a movie, this was just reality.

I know people change and these things happen

But I remember how it was back then

Wrapped up in your arms and our friends were laughin'

'Cause nothing like this ever happened to them

“Mate, it’ll be alright,” Max, Freddy’s friend mumbled softly. He knew his friend wouldn’t believe him, but he hated seeing him this heartbroken over his breakup. He carefully took the photo out of Freddy’s hands and set it upside down on the table. “You guys wanted different things, you weren’t on the same page anymore, it happens”.

Freddy nodded solemnly. Max was right about one thing. Freddy wasn’t sure when he and y/n changed in a way that drove them apart; but, they had. However, Max was wrong about it being okay. It wasn’t alright. Not now. Nor would it be; ever. Despite the pain he was suffering, Freddy still swore she was the one. In fact, he’d argue that his anguish was merely a testament to that. It wouldn’t be hurting this bad, for this long, if y/n wasn’t the one for him. If only he’d been the one for her as well.

Now I'm pacing down the hall, chasing down your street

Flashback to the night when you said to me

"Nothing's gonna change, not for me and you"

Not before I knew how much I had to lose

Freddy sighed to himself as he slowly dragged his feet in defeat on his way back to his apartment. He’d ventured out to take a walk and hopefully clear his head. Or at least that’s what he’d say if anyone asked. Truthfully, he’d been secretly hoping that he’d catch at least a glimpse of y/n somewhere between his flat and the outside of their apartment building. His mind kept telling him it wanted to see her just once more. But, he knew even if he had run into her, it wouldn’t have been enough.

Freddy often thought back to the night before he’d cluelessly asked y/n to move in with him. He had been so naively happy and content. Her wrapped up in his arms as they cuddled after their date earlier that night. He hadn’t even contemplated y/n saying no, much less things ending between them because of it. He had no idea how much he had to lose. And by the time that he did, it was already too late.

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You would, you would if this was a movie

Stand in the rain outside 'til I came out

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You could, you could if you just said you're sorry

I know that we could work it out somehow

But if this was a movie you'd be here by now

What Freddy wouldn’t give for a chance to fix this pain. For a chance to take y/n back. For a chance for happiness and love to once again be the focal point of his life. For a chance for him and y/n to be together again. But he refused to push her into anything; especially something she didn’t want. And she’d made it clear she did not want this life with him.

It was crushing to hear y/n say he was suffocating her by wanting to live together. It was singing he wished to never risk being out through again. That being said, Freddy knew he’d take y/n back in an instant if she knocked on his door and apologized. It was all he needed. It didn’t have to be anything dramatic, he just needed to know how she felt. Her apology would be the sign Freddy would need to hear to know he wouldn’t be forcing her to do something she didn’t want. But the apology never came. And neither did y/n.

If you're out there

If you're somewhere

If you're moving on

I've been waiting for you

Ever since you've been gone

“I want her happy,” Freddy mumbled drunkenly. He took another swig of his beer and sighed loudly. “No matter what,” he clarified. He leaned his heavy head on the pub table. “Jus’, would like it to be with me,” he added with a frown.

Freddy’s brother Tom sighed sympathetically. “We don’t even know it was her,” he pointed out. “She could be feeling the same way as you mate. You don’t know she moved on”.

Freddy pursed his lips as he tried to think through the haziness in his mind. Perhaps Tom was right. Maybe the woman Henry thought was y/n wasn’t her after all. Maybe it was her but the guy she was spotted with was just a friend. Like Freddy himself was now. Actually, that’s not true. Freddy scoffed out loud at the cruel realization his mind was forcing upon him despite his drunken state. He wasn’t her friend. Not anymore. So if it was y/n Henry had seen earlier today on the metro, even if the man she was with was just a friend, that was more than what Freddy could say. More than what Freddy now was to the woman he loved. The woman he had envisioned waking up next to. The woman he hoped he’d find himself spending his future with.

I just want it back the way it was before

And I just want to see you back at my front door

And I say

Come back, come back, come back to me like

Freddy groaned as his older brother exasperatedly shoved his drunken body back down to the sofa. He’d yet again tried to make his way to the door so he could exit and go to y/n’s apartment. Just to talk. He just wanted things back the way they were before.

When he woke the next morning, Freddy was sure to thank Tom for stopping him from going over to y/n’s. While sober Freddy too wanted things back to the way they’d been, he didn’t want it being done like that. He needed to give her the space she’d asked for, the space she said she needed. He couldn’t go to her. As much as he might want to. If only y/n felt the same way and would come back to him on her own.

You would before you said it's not that easy

Before the fight, before I locked you out

But I take it all back now

Freddy regretted that night. Not just because he lost her. But because he hadn’t truly listened. Perhaps if he had, they could’ve escaped with just an argument instead of a breakup. Instead, when she tried to express herself, he hadn’t been truly listening; too caught up in his disappointment and hurt at the time. He hadn’t seen the signals that would’ve normally clued him in to the fact she was flustered and needed time to process things. If he could go back in time, he’d take it all back. More than anything he’d take back the way he’d reacted so defensively. He’d undo the damage he caused. He’d take back the way he reflexively stated that he agreed with the notion of breaking up. That he too thought they needed space. It wasn’t true then and it still wasn’t true now. If only he could take it all back.

Come back, come back, come back to me like

You would, you would if this was a movie

Stand in the rain outside 'til I came out

Is that the kind of ending you wanna see now?

Baby, what about the ending?

Oh-oh, I thought you'd be here by now, whoa-oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh

Thought you'd be here by now

Freddy had given up hope. If y/n was going to come back to him, she’d have done it by now. But instead, he once again found himself alone in his flat as he laid in bed and stared at the ceiling.

Maybe it was naive optimism fueled by seeing or acting in one too many movies… but Freddy could’ve sworn she’d have been here by now. That they’d have figured it out by now. He truly thought y/n would come back to him saying she wanted to give them another shot and he’d eagerly take her back and promise her however much space she desired.

But, this wasn’t a movie. This was real life. His life. And y/n wasn’t here. It didn’t matter how deeply he believed she would’ve been. It had been a seemingly long time since their breakup. Surely if she wanted to be with him, she’d have been here by now. But she wasn’t.

Freddy Carter Taglist: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @missdreamofendless @nikfigueiredo @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @alex-kazbrekkersimp @opheliaofficial07 @historynerd77 @el-de-phi @booklover2389 @whistle1whistle

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anlian-aishang · 1 year

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SNK Men - Rebounding After You - Eren, Armin, Jean, Levi, Erwin, Reiner, Zeke

// exes!snk x ex!reader, angst, semi-smut, alcohol mention, smoking cigarettes, gn!reader // while writing this, i listened to // read also: Rebounding With You

Eren

He was upfront about it: happenstance to some, intentionally to others.

His roommates noticed how your socks had disappeared from the dryer. Friends saw old sweatshirts return to his outfit rotation. Prescriptions and ripped photographs rested on overfilled trash bags. A box of condoms readily and shamelessly displayed on his nightstand.

To his rebounds, that was neither the most explicit nor first indication of his intentions. In the club: a hand to the wall, his fingers beneath their chin, a harsh kiss. On the pullback: “Listen,” he would snarl, “I am fucking to forget.” Eren recognized that his words drew mixed reactions, some nervous laughs, some lip bites, but always the enthused yes when he asked if they would like to come home with him.

Stripping them free of their clothes, his haste was interpreted as rampant desire, a need. Their minds snowballed at the thought of how much he needed them, but really, what he needed was evidence - evidence that they’re better than you were. Their waist, more delectable, right? Their taste, sweeter, right? The passion, the sex, the kiss, all better…right?

Each night, with his partner passed out beside him, he would take in their moonlit features. Even with the stars twinkling, their blissed sleeping face, dressed only in sheets, he recognized: no, they’re not better.

Throwing his arm over his head, he was faced with his forearm tattoo: Forward. No matter how many times he drew those backward comparisons, it would not stop his routine - not until he found that someone better than you. Eren knows they’re out there.

Armin

Armin knew better. He knew better. Plenty of fish in the sea. Bigger things in life. He was in his twenties, still a whole life ahead of him. No matter how many times he told himself that, though, it did not fix his feelings. The brain and the heart, although connected, were not the same. His thoughts immaculately logical, his heart stubbornly refused conversion.

Still, he was not a defeatist. He made sure to try new things and see old friends. Waking up early, catching the sunrise with a book in hand. Every Wednesday, trying a new spot for lunch. Thursday nights, an old bar with his hometown buddies. On his calendar, he crossed off each day, and soon, it was visibly apparent how long it had been since his split with you.

Shortly after, the glow of his new healthy habits began to radiate. Neighbors wondered who the slender silhouette was at 5 AM in that window sill. His coworker asked him for his restaurant recommendations, wondered if he could show them how to get there. That one regular heard both his intelligent speech and sacred laughter from across the lounge, and after a few drinks, yearned to grow closer.

More Xs on the calendar, more and more attention towards the wallflower. He was never and never will be a player, but at last there was proof to his theory: plenty of fish in the sea made you seem like less and less of a catch.

Jean

Fingers made fists in his hair. Tears fell, landing on his jeans, seeping through to his skin. He was not mad at you, not at all. You insisted it was you, not him, but yeah, right. Someone as nice as you, of course you would say that.

Uncharacteristically, he slammed his hand down against his mattress. Mad at himself, he couldn’t stand being in his own skin. Between sobbing breaths, “You fucking idiot.” Another punch. How could you let them get away?

You had taught him how to love himself - which was why, after you left, all he could think was that he needed you back. What he really needed, though, came along with time. The classmate who noticed he was confused and tipped their notes towards his direction. The staff who called him after he left his credit card behind at their establishment. The patron who saw him sitting alone and asked if they could take a seat. One by one, using the lens you gifted him, he began to notice how loved he was - even by complete strangers.

But there were more than just strangers in his life, and when those more intimate found out that he was single, they were eager to show him more than you ever could. They grabbed his hand in public, kissed him long and hard, cherished his body - prioritizing his happiness as much as their own. In the lows of his self-esteem, every act of affection felt like a new high. He thought he had the best in you - and maybe he had - but after feeling his worst, the tiniest efforts of others make everything feel better, including the broken heart you left.

Levi

Stupid. Fucking stupid. This whole dating thing, he was better off on his own. He had known that all along, but had suffered a lapse in judgment when he first saw you back then. A momentary mistake that evolved into a year-long regret.

It took a few days for him to fold your clothes and box them up. It took much longer for him to get over you. Levi would rather die than talk to anyone about it, but his friends could soon enough tell. He holed up - even more than usual, rejected their invites, and after a while, your split was all but communicated.

Having had enough, of course it was Hange to arrive on his doorstep. Knocking incessantly. As soon as he opened the door, Hange snatched his wrist and threw him in their passenger seat.

Angry, but no tears left to cry. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”

Sharp jam of the child-safety locks. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

That someone just similar enough. If he was a man of faith, he could have sworn it was you reincarnated. But with the same pull he experienced on your first date, he was beginning to become a believer.

When he kissed them, he thought of you. When he fucked them, he felt you. Pleasure - so fucking good - drowned out the drone of his underlying doubts: Another mistake. Another mistake.

Erwin

Workaholic. It was his means of survival after the death of your relationship. At the same time, it was the cause. A clusterfuck he had yet to understand. So much time away, whether he truly was at the office or having external affairs, that was not the crux of your downfall. The passage of time was cruelest, a seemingly miniscule aspect was deeply wicked: drawing wild thoughts and exponential anxiety. Nights that he came home just a couple hours late, they blew up with a break-up. Before he knew it, it was all over.

Now that there was no you to return to, he had no real reason to get home at reasonable hours, and oh - how he had searched for one. Unfortunately, though, it came to this point: a duffel bag with overnights hidden under his desk and a pile of take-out containers threatening to peek over his garbage bin.

So far, it had not been affecting his work performance. Neither clients nor his superiors had noticed the changes after you left.

There was one coworker, though.

The city had just gotten past rush hour. In the background, occasional honks and sirens made their voice sound more heavenly, “Hey, Erwin.” Fingers curled around his door frame. A hand effortlessly on their hip. “Burning the midnight oil again, huh?”

Pen in hand. Hand on cheek. Erwin glanced up from paperwork that suddenly felt meaningless. A low smile encouraged more.

“Before you know it, the sun will be up.” A couple sauntering steps brought them into his office, “What say we hit happy hour before then?”

Now that there was no you, “Why not?”

That was what he told himself each step of the way. When they leaned in for the first kiss, why not? When they invited him to spend the night, why not? When their lease was up and they proposed moving in, why not? What he never asked himself, though, was why? Why them? Busying himself, the worker bee never let that question come to mind, for if he had, he would have to reconcile: because they were not you.

Reiner

He swore, he swore he would never find anyone after you. A pain that deep. The belly aches. The empty bottles surrounding his bed. The nights he had woken in a cold sweat, hoping it was just a bad dream: he would reach over, feel you there, and find reassurance. Only thing: you weren’t there, not anymore. Reiner vowed to never love anyone again.

But with each day came new leniency. The barista at his coffee shop, serving java and a smile: a break from relationships, at least a year. The tailor of his jacket, measurements taken in the most agitating places: when the time is right, you’ll know. The new hire who clung to him throughout all of orientation: things will go differently.

In just a month, the never find anyone after you evolved to never to love anyone the way I loved you which finalized: never to love anyone like you.

At last, a vow and a break-up that he could live with. One that became preferable. Appreciation garnered each time they kissed him, hugged him, caressed him. He began to forget the sound of your voice, the feel of your skin. His scars began to heal, hesitation left behind. From I want to take things slow. To you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.

Wasn’t it you who had said those same words to him? But it was getting harder and harder to remember those promises, that relationship, everything about you.

Zeke

The smoker turned chain. Sharp tongue turned silent. A beard unkempt, just like his apartment: he had not shaved since you left, had not even thought about cleaning. Even when the ashtray overflowed, even when every article of clothing had gone wrinkled, he did not raise a finger. If not for the smell of tobacco, it would be your perfume still in his sheets. If he did the laundry, he would have to sort yours. Snapping and shutting his lighter, glasses glared with the flickering flame: he wasn’t ready for that.

Others were ready, though. The biggest, tallest, cockiest tease in city limits was newly available. And if scrubbing the traces of you was something he could not do, there were a dozen on the block who would play a French maid to help him out with that task, however innocently.

He did not wear innocence well. He did not search for it in others. What he came to appreciate, though, were the lights and buzzes of his phone: Heard about what happened. Here for you for whatever you need. Depending on who was on the other end, whatever he needed could be anything from a pat on the back to a hand around his cock. If you had not blocked his number, his victorious impulses may have let you know: he was getting plenty of the latter, getting over you one night at a time.

// masterlist //

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skylarbee · 4 months

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After seeing a post where it said that Miles no longer posted photos of him and Alex, I thought the same thing, they never appear together again, whether on Miles' IG or elsewhere, even if they are at the same party etc... Just a little hasty hug on stage and that's it. It seems like there is a fortress that has been built around Alex, (or that he himself built) As if they should no longer be seen together. This is why I am more and more skeptical about the possibility of a TLSP3, as if they had gone "too far" (and I'm not just talking about "milex") that saddens me, in done there I need to be reassured haha! Sorry for this rambling but I really appreciate your point of view and your analyzes ;)

first of all, thank you anon for your kind words, i really appreciate them!! <3 and don't worry about ramblings as you must know that it's all i do when answering an ask and it's what i'm gonna do now 😂

yeah, it is is saddening (and sometimes concerning) that we basically never see them together nowadays, but i think that if they were actually trying their hardest to hide then we wouldn't have spotted them at the scott walker tribute concert for example, or at that party or whatever where miles is in the background (where they both knew they could be photographed together at any time), or miles wouldn't have said many times that alex goes over to his place or they have dinner and such, or alex wouldn't have asked miles to support them in ireland (and the fact that these were the last shows... of course he wanted to end it with a bang -this could be interpreted in more ways than one-), etc. i thought that the hug in london was very very sweet and so intimate, and even the one in ireland in the dark was cute (the lack of sntm was weird), not to mention alex singing to and pointing at miles so unashamedly (c'mon, he must've known people would figure it out but didn't care). zackery's wedding was a weird one as they were seated apart from each other, but there is no way that they didn't talk to each other - there just isn't any evidence.

i know there are people who say that this is done deliberately by alex's pr team and because they saw the effects of the eycte tour and don't want people to start going crazy over them and ignore louise in the meantime and get the rumours starting about his sexuality... i'm not sure whether to believe this or not. it seems a bit too far-fetched, but who knows 🤷‍♀️ i wouldn't be too surprised it was at least a little true.

speaking of evidence, we know how hard louise tries to show off and exploits her boyfriend and how silly it all looks in the end... to me, miles not posting about alex just means that what they have is reserved for them and them only. the pictures miles has in his phone with/of alex are just theirs, their memories are just theirs, whenever they hang out and the moments they share are just theirs - and this is so important. love, in whatever form, shouldn't be used as a tool to make others jealous or to post in order to gain likes or get people talking - it should be something more private, more precious, something to share between the two of you that is yours only - this should be enough for happiness. maybe after eycte and the fans' reactions they decided to keep their relationship and their private life a little more private. besides, it was always the girlfriends that posted alex a lot and not miles, and i'm not sure he wasn't too big of a fan of that, given... well, everything we know about him, and this interview from 2016:

Like Chung, Bagley has been known to post a lot of pictures of herself looking impossibly attractive on Instagram. There she is posing with her dog, posing naked in the bath … but never, as far as I can tell, posing with Turner. Is that because he’d rather not be there? “I don’t recall submitting that request, but I’m not sorry about it if I’m not on there.”

i think that miles is just simply respecting what he knows about alex and his dislike of social media, and he knows that posting photos with alex would only result in getting more likes than usual and people saying that he's profiting off of his fame. alex and their relationship means more to him than a few likes and reposts.

#and as the post was getting embarassingly long - don't worry too much about tlsp3. let's have more faith in our boys and their love;#i think it's all gonna work out in the end for them #(there i go with my infinite positivity when it comes to them; i can't help it. them and what they have is too special for tlsp3 #not to happen)#who cares if we have to wait 10 more years? the time will come again some day #alex turner #miles kane #milex #tlsp #the last shadow puppets #tlsp3 #anon

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leclerced · 4 months

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thinking about Charles and teammate!gf (she rly needs a name!) being all over each other when they think they’re alone in the back of a dark club after a race but one of the drivers catches them (idk who— maybe Lando? Danny?? someone who’d for sure clown them about slipping up even tho everyone already knew they’ve been fucking for months)

Charles would be annoyed at them for interrupting more than anything as his hands never left her body, too drunk and smitten with her to care that they’d been found out. he just shrugs and smiles stupidly and waves the other driver away so he can go back to kissing his hot girlfriend <3

also I love thinking abt him teaching her French, his accent does things to me so I just KNOW girly would be absolutely dripping hearing him whisper all his dirty thoughts about her in her ear when they’re working and she’s not allowed to touch him. she’d get him back for it later though and have him whimpering underneath her in his driver’s room as she makes out with him and sits on his lap, grinding softly against his cock straining in his racing suit 🤭

help I’m hyperfixating and I need more of your thoughts pleeaaseeee 🫶🏼

im so sorry i saw this when u sent it but i was at work and forgot about it n then got sick and lost it pls forgive me <33 we do need to give her a name!!

max is the one to catch them because the three of them shared a podium together and yet he’s the only one partying as such, so he’s looking for them to pull them into his drinking shenanigans. he finds them in a booth at the very back of the vip section, after searching everywhere else he goes back to the couple he saw out of the corner of his eye while leaving the section earlier, he almost convinces himself it’s not them but then the couple parts for air and she goes for his neck, and max recognizes the blissed out face of his best friend as his head tips back and he moans, and as max gets closer, he realizes that she’s grinding on his lap. he slaps his hand on the table and they jolt apart as he teases, “since when are you two going at it?” as soon as charles sees max he laughs, and just shrugs, “awhile. don’t tell.” and max looks around to the drunk drivers meandering around the club and realizes even if one of them saw, they’re probably all too drunk to realize its the two ferrari drivers getting hot and heavy, or too drunk to remember it in the morning.

charles waves him away with one hand and cups her cheek to pull her in for another kiss with his other hand and max leaves them to it, after taking a photograph of them making out so even if he gets too drunk to remember, he’ll have the photo evidence to remind him in the morning so he can tease charles about it.

he speaks french alll the time around her, not even to her but to anyone who knows french. she never knows what he’s saying so it doesn’t even matter, he’s talking about how bad his race was and she’s dripping for him, like imagine it it happens in an interview, the interviewer speaks french by chance so charles they’re using french constantly. the cameras catch her biting her lip staring straight at him with the neediest look and f1 twit goes crazy for it, like damn girl gets it, she goes crazy for charles speaking french too.

but the dirty talk really gets her, she knows it’s dirty when he leans into her ear in a back hallway and puts his hand on her waist and starts whispering in a low voice all the things he wants to do to her, he’s not even doing anything and she wants to moan for him. anytime they get out of the car, he has a reason to be close to her, pretending they’re talking about the car as he gestures at ir but he’s really saying all the positions he wants to put her in. or telling her how he’d fuck her on the car.

as soon as they have a break, she’s pulling him away to her drivers room and after making out and grinds on him until he’s ready to cum in his suit, then she’d get off on his thigh. he loves when she does that so he’d be so into it, be even more turned on and half expecting her to get on her knees and finish him off like usual, but she leaves him high and dry. later, when he finds her in her garage, she asks him how it feels to be teased?

#ask #anon #tag later #cant remember if i created a tag or not

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terrence-silver · 14 days

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Jack Blaylock with a detective!beloved 👀

---

I can envision Jack convinced that if his Detective (emphasis on the his) has been tailing him for as long as they have, it is entirely with a reason.

That their paths were meant to connect. Converge.

In the infinitely complicated pattern of life, with every murder, assassination, unresolved case or mutilated carcass Jack Blaylock leaves in his wake, his beloved, who has been on his track for months, maybe even years to no avail, keeping on eye out on his handiwork with every newly opened police file his killing sprees puts up for investigation, coming so close to catching him and connecting the dots, but never quite managing, following in his shadow dragged forward by the red thread of fate and not even realizing that same piece of string leads back to him every time. How could they, after all? They don't know him. Not the way he knows them, having observed them and the devoted work they've been doing. As a result, I almost imagine Jack killing with the intention of keeping his beloved hooked on these cases. On bringing the perpetrator to justice. Playing a one-sided game of cat and mouse. Case shut.

It's his profession, but it can't mean it cannot prove to serve multiple purposes.

He wants them to come forward. Research crime scenes he leaves behind. Take photographs. Pin up newspaper clippings of the incidents. Write meticulous reports. Swap notes back and forth with Forensics. Dedicate time and effort to uncovering the culprit. Work overtime. Be passionate. Be frustrated when there's no clear-cut answers. Get drawn into the gruesome mystery. Get drawn into him long before they ever even know it's him who's doing all of this. Long before they have a name or even a face to go off of or any sort of concrete evidence. He supposes it's meant to be. A karmic connection. That they know each other from somewhere and that's why they're drawn to each other like this. That's why Jack feels he has the compulsion to do this. That's why he's convinced beloved wants to bring him to justice as badly as they do even before he started remotely encouraging that trait in them.

Instant recognition. From a past life, it seems. Regardless of circumstances.

Every slice is for them from there on out. Every beheading. Backstabbing. Shot at point blank range, execution style. Jack does it with beloved in mind, envisioning their shock at his brutality, their abject sadness, even their professional facade suppressing their personal feelings so they wouldn't lose their mind when faced with the gore --- everything --- he ponders the diligent hours dedicated to precise analysis, lab results, their antiseptic latex covered hand lingering on every slash he made. Every wound. Every scar. It'll be as close to touching him personally as they can get. It's like being together, in ways. It's a love letter to them. He might tactically meet them at some bar downtown as a perfect stranger once they're tired from all the work he's been putting them through needing a weekend break and he might just introduce himself, offering to buy them a drink, no strings attached. Everyone needs to blow off some steam, right?

The evening will blur into a fog of pleasant, noneventful conversation.

Fueled by a little bit of alcohol (his treat, of course), slow swaying on the club's dancefloor and a lot of unwinding (after all, Jack knows what he's been dragging them through), they could just share a tiny kiss or a little bit of affection because Jack seems to say all the right things at all the right moments, getting under beloved's skin seamlessly, appearing like not much more than an entirely normal guy. He might even disappear before the night is over and leave beloved wondering where that guy they just met has gone off to without a goodbye or without leaving any discernable contacts behind now that the weekend is drawing to a close and they have to get back to the usual routine of their job tomorrow morning at the station, never even catching on to how close they got to the man who has possessed their every waking work hour of the week or the person who's been leaving a trail of blood behind engulfing the better portion of beloved's career.

Naturally, Jack will never stop.

At least not until he decides he and beloved should meet face to face.

Without pretenses this time.

Or at least until beloved figures everything out on their own.

After all --- if it's meant to be, it's meant to be.

#jack blaylock #ulterior motives #ulterior motives 1992 #jack blaylock x reader #jack blaylock x beloved #detective!beloved #tw; assassination #tw; murder

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timchalamet-devoted · 1 year

Text

Trip to the 'City of Love' (part 3)

Here is the third and final part of this series. I'm actually quite happy with how it turned out, however, this was my first time writing smut, so I must admit I'm a bit nervous. I hope you enjoy it, and I'd love to hear any feedback that you may have!

Summary: A romantic day in the city ends with intimacy between two lovers.

Pairing: reader x Timothée

Warnings: vanilla sex, cockwarming, not proofread

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You leaned over the railing of the balcony, feet bare, hair released from its tight updo, falling perfectly around your shoulders.

Your eyes were aglow, reflecting the outline of the Tower in the distance, breathing in the delicious scents that carried from somewhere below. Above you, millions of stars peppered the night sky, as if they were gems upon a dark veil that shielded the city. You sighed contently, recalling the events of the day prior; the seemingly endless wandering around the Louvre, the cousine, the walks along the river with gelato dripping down from the cone due to the summers heat, and the breathtaking view upon the tower of lovers. It was beyond anything you had ever imagined.

A cool breeze washed over your figure, easing your hot skin and scattering thin stands of hair across your face.

You heard footsteps behind you, before a pair of arms wound themselves around your waist, pulling you into his body.

You felt your heart rate pick up ever so slightly as he rested his head on your shoulder, eyes level with yours. Timothée's warm breath was palpable against your skin, as was his stare. You turned your head to meet his eyes, placing a gentle kiss to his cheek. Even in the dim lighting of the single outdoor lantern that hung on the wall of the balcony, the blush that made its way to the spot was evident.

"Thank you for this trip Timmy. It meant everything to me"

"I wouldn't have wanted it any other way mon amour" He whispered into your ear, sending unexpected chills across your skin.

"It was nice to have our time with each other, without the constant interference of the photographers and paparazzi." You sighed, a trace of sorrow creeping into your voice.

Timothée knew you well enough to understand how much it bothered you that you private life was out on display for everyone to see. Of course, you were aware of that exposure that Timothée recieved when you first started dating, however, it crushed you not to be able to have these quiet moments to yourselves.

"I know, love, I know."

He brushed a piece of hair behind your ear, before spinning you around so that you faced him. Your face was only inches away from his, foreheads touching, breaths heavy and slowed.

You took a moment to gaze into those eyes, those eyes that expressed every word that didn't need to be spoken. Those eyes that held within them the most beautiful of colours: from a vivid green, to deep hazel.

You reached up a hand, cupping the side of his face, running your thumb over his cheek, down to his jaw and lower lip.You felt the soft skin underneath the pad of your finger.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips, before returning to his eyes.

You couldn't help yourself; slowly, you leaned in, taking his lips in yours, a fire spreading through your entire being. The kiss was tender but passionate, your lips moulding together wonderfully.

His hands left your waist, moving slowly along your body, exploring every inch.

Cautiously, he backed up through the curtains, leading you with him into the dark hotel bedroom.

Your heart raced, his scent enveloping you, and driving into a frenzy of desire.

Your dress soon lay crumpled on the floor, followed by his attire.

Gently, he lowered you onto the bed, moving to hover above you.

Adrenaline pumped through your veins, your breath accelerating at each of his movements.

His lips were on yours in seconds, this time messy and eager.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, wrapping around yours.

His hands roamed free, his fingertips leaving goosebumps along your exposed skin. You shuddered beneath his touch, earning a satisfied smirk from him.

A single touch set tour skin ablaze.

He left a trail of sloppy, intimate kisses down your body; from your collarbone travelling down past your breasts and further down, lingering on your tummy, hands stroking your sides lovingly, caressing your aching muscles.

He worked his way cautiously to the hem of your panties, nervous eyes darting to yours. Your heart melted at his actions, a radiant smile filling your features. With your permission, he gently hooked his fingers over the fabric and pulled them down, sliding them off your legs and discarding them on the floor.

Normally, you'd feel the strong urge to cover up, however, upon seeing the adoring look in his eyes, you felt yourself getting much mote more confident.

He studied your body, tracing every beautiful curve and feature with his eyes before landing back on yours.

"You're so gorgeous, my precious girl. You have no idea how much I love you."

"Oh Timmy, I love you too"

Your hand found his, entertwining your fingers together.

He brought himself back up to you, body pressed flush against yours, his lips landing on the tip of your nose, before dropping to your neck.

Gently, he guided himself inside you, allowing you to adjust to the feeling. It was the most heavenly sensation, as it left you feeling full and complete.

He rocked his hips at a steady pace, reaching places new to you. Your body moved with his, following a silent beat.

Soft moans escaped your mouth, dancing about the room, urging him on.

You were in a trance like state, his name rolling of your tongue with ease, utterly infatuated with him, and the feeling of his body against your own.

Gradually, you felt the knot in your stomach tighten, your muscles tensing as you were caught in a state of complete euphoria.

You muttered his name again and again under your breath, as the wave of bliss washed over you, leaving you to see white.

Timothée, was close to follow, releasing pleasure filled grunts, eventually collapsing on top of you.

Your eratic breathing slowed as you lay there, limbs still entangled in one another's. You had never felt so close to Timothée, this new exposure only strengthening your trust and love for each other.

His head was rested in the crook of your neck once again, curls tickling your skin slightly. You sighed contently, fingers combing through his hair and massaging his scalp.

Feeling safe in Timothée's arms, your eyelids began to droop, sleep finally engulfing you, with him safely tucked inside you, and the moon illuminating your figures.

#timothee #timothee chalamet #timothée #timothée chalamet #timothee imagine #timothee x reader #timothee x y/n #timothee smut #timothee soft smut #timothee fanfic

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oldimgurpics · 1 year

Text

The Future of oldimgurpics

Hello everyone. Activity has been kind of sporadic again—sorry about that, prior engagements and all. Posts will resume again in the near future, but there's something we need to talk about.

Over the last six months, this account has received a massive amount of new followers—well over triple what it had one year ago today. That's insane to me, especially when I consider the fact I've been running this blog for just north of six years now. I am grateful that you all share my niche interest in these nuggets of internet history I keep picking from the sieve, and would like to keep doing this for a good while longer; even if my inconsistent posting runs counter to that.

However, I may not be able to for much longer.

What's going on?

This was posted yesterday on imgur's blog. At first glance, this seems kind of dire, and while it is pretty bad, it's not as bad is may seem. Imgur has done this kind of thing before, and this has been evident to me for quite some time. When I generate new images, there are far more failed fetch requests than successful ones—often two failed requests for every one success—and when I started, this certainly was not the case. Not only that, but I'm sure some of you have spotted broken imgur links across the web before, especially on forums, especially on help forums. You know, the worst place for an image to be broken? Isn't that lovely? It's tinypic for a new generation.

The issue is not the fact that it's getting rid of pornography, nudity, and sexually explicit content—that would actually be a good thing if not solely for the amount of people's stray nudes that are floating around in the void that would no longer be waiting for someone to accidentally find. The problem is that there is no way to root through what is considered inappropriate content without collaterally annihilating huge swathes of unrelated, inoffensive content along with it unless you basically do what I've been doing, and I doubt imgur—or any company for that matter—would be willing to supply the manpower to do something like that.

Unfortunately, pretty much no matter what happens, we are probably going to lose a vast amount of internet history from this, and while the bulk of that is so far buried under imgur's content servers that most will never even see those images, I still think it's a bad move. Even beyond the fact that it may spell the end of this blog, I think it's garbage that companies can just piss away millions upon billions of images.

Regardless of how mundane and unimportant most of what's on those servers are, (barring the illegal and morally reprehensible stuff) I believe it all still deserves to exist. These images come together into a disgusting, muddy, misguided, tapestry made out of words, photographs, memories that were once woven together with times, places, and people. And while most of those threads have been long severed from each other, I still believe burning the whole thing is wrong. So much of it is a product of an online environment we will never see again.

What can you do about this?

Pretty much absolutely nothing. As much as I want to be like "flood their support! ask them to reverse their decision! find which dipshit exec made this decision and [REDACTED]!" I know for a fact that absolutely nobody at support has any power to do anything about this, and hardly any action can be taken to change the course they've already charted. That sounds incredibly pessimistic, but I'm not without reasons for being so.

Sure, we could raise concerns, and get it sent up the chain of command, but this is more than likely the same bullshit song and dance we see across every website: the parent company doesn't like all those icky images (the ones with the boobs and dicks, mind you. not the ones with bigotry, or gore, or other illicit subjects—to a corporation, these things have a possibility to generate revenue, so they're all fine), and wants them gone to appease the advertising overlords who want to scrub every blemish, imperfection, and deviation from every corner of online to make the internet as sterile and banal as inhumanly possible. Perhaps all of that is pure, bitter conjecture; but be honest: would you be surprised?

Many people (rightfully) make a big deal about sites like photobucket, tinypic, and imageshack all being huge image hosts of the late aughts who basically dumped all their servers without much notice at all, and how that broke so much of the old internet. And while that was devastating, I assure you that if imgur manages to mangle this (and I'm sure they will, like any big web company tends to) this will be much worse than all three of those sites shitting the bed combined.

Imgur has been the biggest image host for over a decade now, and considering the increase in net activity that correlates to their popularity growth, there's an enormous amount of content that's going to break/becoming missing as a result of this. There are countless reddit posts that depend on imgur hosting. There are countless forum posts that will be illegible as a result of this. Hopefully this will be nowhere near the catastrophic degree I'm prognosticating, but I've been online for two decades, seen this kind of thing happen time and time again, and it's always worse than it was the last time.

You are free to do what you will about it. I won't push one way or the other. It just sucks, folks! But that brings me to:

What am I going to do about this?

Well, since the future of the blog is so uncertain, I'm going to start planning around the possibility that I may not be able to generate images for much longer, so there will be a few changes.

I already try to save all the images on this blog to my hard drive locally. Every time you save an image on imgur, the default image name is the URL it comes from, so I'll still have tentative proof that what I post is an imgur pic even if the URL 404s. I'm going to start saving a lot more now, though.

Queued posting will slow down from 4 times a day to just one. I know that's quite a bit lower than my previous output (if you don't look at averages lol), but this will ensure the blog keeps going for a while, even if the worst comes to pass and I'm unable to generate anything else for this blog.

Hope I'm making a bigger deal over this than I need to be. There's a chance I've typed all this out, and in six months time it will have absolutely no effect on how this blog functions. A year from now, many posts may not actually break the way I expect them to. I would love it if all my concerns were over nothing—sometimes, being wrong kind of owns, and this would definitely be one of those cases, but I won't take chances. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

Either way, thank you for reading, and please don't be afraid to shoot an ask my way.

#long post #imgur

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