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margaritalaux-antille · 8 months

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seriously hate how pap pictures have become mainstream again to the point where fandom blogs on tumblr will just post and reblog them with no thoughts head empty. like how do you see a picture of a guy where he's like holding his phone and his keys and be like "it's ok that someone invaded his privacy and took pictures without permission bc he's hot and famous" you're insane.

#kit speaks #sorry i thought we moved past thinking pap photos were anything other than the gutter trash of journalism after Diana but guess not #oh actually SPEAKING OF i saw someone reblog pictures OF DIANA leaving her gym and i wanted to throttle them!!!#like stalking and harassment is just ok i guess if you're famous

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dougielombax · 1 year

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Okay!

Now!

In light of the 25th anniversary of the Good Friday Agreement I would like to remind my fellow Irish users on this site that a great many of your fellow citizens in the Republic tried to sabotage the NI peace process.

I feel that doing so would’ve only prolonged the conflict.

I can think of a few of their names now.

Such as a few “journalists” like Eoghan Harris (he’s an odious little piece of human shite!) Ellis O'Hanlon, Cyril Cusack, Eamon Dunphy and Conor Cruise O'Brien to name but a few.

With a little help from An Garda Síochána AND MI5.

They chose to portray John Hume as a threat and a murderer all because he had secret talks regarding peace with the leadership of Sinn Fein circa 1993.

The phrase “pan-nationalist front” springs to mind.

The phrase in question was an invention by Loyalist paramilitaries to justify attacks and murders on random Catholics/Nationalists, even those unconnected to SF or paramilitarism.

The fact that those same journalists were both using the phrase and reinforcing Loyalist thinking behind it says so much about the establishment in the south and their contempt & even hatred for their fellow citizens in the north.

And in addition. ANY time people tried to point out the fact that people in the North like my parents and grandparents were suffering, they shat all over it and said it didn’t happen OR that we apparently deserved it, that we somehow did it to ourselves (Regina Doherty! You swine!),

And to think that this is all so that someone privileged enough to have never experienced conflict would think to use the misery of others to reinforce their own political outlook.

Sadly these sentiments are frighteningly pervasive across the Republic of Ireland.

There is something truly rotten at the core of Irish journalism and politics when it comes to the North.

Here’s some advice too for Irish folk on this site: Next time you’re gonna look at the news. Make sure it’s NOT the Irish Independent.

Partitionist thinking is a fucking disease.

End it!

#personal stuff #dougie rambles #vent post #political crap #ireland #northern ireland #irish reunification #irish republicanism #sinn fein #John Hume #gutter press #so-called journalism #Partitionism

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druggedupdog · 2 years

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woah really? do you have the call-out or op or something that's crazy

here's a screenshot of one of their posts where they call for sterilization of people with certain mental illnesses.

#journal entry #sorry for the late response my mental health is in the gutter.

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thedeepweb · 2 years

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one of the funniest thing i seeing people make tutorials of things they should not be giving tutorials on

#i like the colorful gutter i must admit its a nice detail but why oh why would you set a journal zine like that #without counting the best part that its that im looking if a zine is better on pdf or epub

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spotlight-on-a-lake · 1 year

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as a girlie from near liverpool it makes me seethe whenever I see the s*n mentioned casually. like i get why the rest of the world doesn’t get it. but like. blergh.

#this is about the tabloid btw not the actual center of the solar system #it’s not just blah blah gutter journalism

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adviceformefromme · 2 months

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What is that little voice in your head telling you on a day to day? Is it kind, sweet and supportive? Is it judgemental as hell, pushing you like a strict mother, making you feel as though nothing you do is ever good enough? Does it whisper how beautiful you are in the mirror as you wash your hands or point out the acne you're desperately trying to get rid of? Your inner voice is the soundtrack to your daily life and needs to be on your side, like a best friend, not your worst enemy. But how do you shift your inner voice from cruel to kind? I actually had to do this last week. I felt like nothing I was doing was good enough, especially as I'm in a chapter of self-growth. It was exhausting me. Thoughts like, your clothes are terrible, you desperately need botox, your bank balance is in the gutter, you need to do more, be more, become more...you are not good enough.My inner world was literally dragging me down day in day out. Full to the brim of judgmental thoughts. It was fucking exhausting. So what did I do to shift the gears ? 1] I noticed what was going on - this might happen immediately, but you could also be living with negative inner chatter for months if not years. So if you’re feeling icky and in a low vibe state take some time out to become aware, this means sitting in silence, or a guided meditation to take you out of your head. This little mental break will give your inner critic some rest bite so the real you can see what the hell has been going on.

2] I journaled, I wrote and wrote and wrote. I know journalling is not for everyone, but if you can. Just start asking yourself some questions mine was something like ‘why is nothing I do enough, I am trying my best, I really am, why is nothing I do is ever enough’ after some digging, the answers always reveal themselves.

3] Make a new pact with yourself to be kinder and more loving. I wrote myself a little love letter and decided I will be kinder. I will be more loving, I went deep and used examples of how and this worked like magic. It’s been a week already and my inner voice is more gentle and loving.

Sometimes a little check in with yourself to re-align is all that’s needed.

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biblicallyaccuratechicken · 24 days

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Hey something that I haven't seen talked about a lot (likely because i haven't looked for it but that's not the point) that's been on my mind lately is Ford's relationship with his fingers (get your mind out the gutter you sicko).

We know that his polydactyly, supplemented with his abnormal intelligence, fed his appreciation and love for weird and unusual things. When he was a kid, he never seemed ashamed at all of his hands at home or alone with Stan. In fact, Stan's replacement of "high-five" with "high-six" in particular is an example of how normal and appreciated he probably felt for a good portion of his childhood (as in, it was normal to be different and weird and not a bad thing).

We also know that he was bullied quite a bit in school, and his extra fingers were an easy target. Crampelter and his goons made Ford ashamed of his hands. Since he was alive and on Earth at about the start of the Satanic Panic, we (with my incredibly limited knowledge, constrained only to hearsay) can only assume the kind of treatment he received as an adult. Even just with what we do have confirmed though, we know that his attraction to the weird was fed by a deep desire to find a place where he was truly normal, where he fit in.

And so his chase led him to Gravity Falls, and he was happy for a time. We see him comfortable with (even proud of) his hands again, marking his research journals with their golden silhouette, and no notable bullying about them; Fiddleford even added extra keys to his laptop. During his dimension-hopping years, he was even made king for a time because of his extra fingers, and who knows what else.

I like how he's depicted interacting with his fingers in the show after he returned home. He does all sorts of eye-catching things, wiggling them around and rolling a die between them more naturally than burning his facial hair off. I like how this contrasts with the way he hid them behind his back and looked at them despondently as a kid, or even his deliberate glorification of them as a researcher. He's truly comfortable with them, and proud of them because they're a part of him.

Anyway that's it that's my thoughts

#stanford pines #ford pines #am i stupid is this something everyone else has already seen and talked about #idk it's just something that stuck out to me and it made me happy #gravity falls

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paying-the-price-everyday · 3 months

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2 February 2024, Friday.

After breaking my head over the audit textbooks and whether or not to make notes, I simply bought a prepared concept book. It arrived today and it's good so far. I feel like it will make audit prep easier.

Trying to study, blog, exercise, eat healthy, read and journal everyday is exhausting. Add a quarter-life crisis in and my mental health is in the absolute gutter. I dropped everything for a while now and instead of being relaxed, I'm just more anxious. I really need to push ahead quickly.

-G

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viiioca · 6 months

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day 6: wind

From the journal of Estelle de Laussienne, 29th of the 1st Umbral Moon, 2 7A.E. You can tell much about a people by what they consider romantic, can't you? It surprised me to hear from Alphinaud that he had long imagined Ishgard as something out of a fairy tale, but on closer inspection, it made terrific sense; to Sharlayan children living in a land so peaceful it lacks a standing military, it must seem wonderfully exotic to have a cause you love enough to fight for. Brave knights swearing oaths of service, monstrous dragons terrorizing the smallfolk, tragedy, sacrifice, romance, revenge…Oh, they must have dreamed that we were living lives of excitement and adventure while they toiled away endlessly at coursework. Ishgardian children, on the other hand, are enchanted by stories of the ocean: infinite, lawless, and so very far away from us in the mountains that it may as well have been a myth. Pirates are a perennial favorite, to the dismay of every prayer school teacher. And isn't it enticing? Halone has no influence on Llymlaen's domain. The great black fleets of La Noscea respect bloodline only so far as its ability to produce a steady pistol-hand. No nobles, no dragons, no winter, no inquisitors, no war; only the wind at your back, the crew on your deck, the treasure in your holds. (Admittedly, these stories were not my preference – but thinking back, I was quite taken with the books Perette had imported from the Far East, about a people who found peace and safety in their bubble-cities beneath the sea. The subject changes, but it seems the theme runs deep in us.) To see what Leofard has built here is infuriating and fascinating in equal measure. It is juvenile. Sky pirates! Absurdity. I blink and I see not the headquarters of a legitimate operation (insofar as piracy might be considered legitimate), but rather a treehouse full of wooden swords and stolen bedsheets and pocket gil fished out of gutters. And yet – when the winds strike just right, and the clouds churn beneath us like waves off the coast – I find myself horribly jealous, knowing that our bedtime stories were out here above our heads this whole time, had I too been brave enough to make them real.

[roevember 2023 prompt by boreal tempest & roe fizzlebeef]

#ffxiv #femroe #my wol: estelle #roegadyn #roevemberxiv #roevember #roevember 2023 #gpose

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sanzuballs · 1 year

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short n sweet law hcs! sfw & nsfw

warnings: fem bodied,

IM ON PUNK HAZARD ARGG laws so fine and his devil fruit is cray! i havent posts in forever my bad lollllzzzzz

————-

is jealous and possessive but instead of blowing up he silently rages until you two are alone

pretends he doesnt like to cuddle but is a snuggle bug

he LOVES when you come and ask what hes studying

hes very clean

sometimes hes so awkward it’s embarrassing

anytime you kiss him, he gets all stiff and awkward

he hides his blushes when you sit on his lap

loves to cum inside u or ur mouth

when you fall asleep on him he tries to not move a inch

he tries his very best to last as long as he cant but you both know that is not long at all

looks absolutely adorable when hes sleepy

will use ur boobies as stressballs

looks forward to seeing your face when your sleeping, he thinks its too cute

likes to choke u when ykyk

he loooovvveesss when u wear skirts

has a journal just about you

has tried to draw you before but it ended up bad and he got upset

when hes fighting and youre near he tries to look cooler

hes not super horny but when he is horny, be prepared

he doesnt like taking his stress out on you during sex but its hard

you dont mind tho its hot

hes so embarrassed to moan so it all comes out guttered

cums so so so fast when u ride him

smiles the most around u

law is too good 😞💗

#law smut #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #one piece x you #law x you #trafalgar square

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gardigansandkarma · 5 months

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Travis Kelce Opens Up About Taylor Swift and What Comes Next

Wall Street Journal - Travis Kelce full article under the cut

A few months ago, he was merely football famous. Now Travis Kelce is ready to tell his story. ‘I’ve never dated anyone with that kind of aura about them.’

By J.R. Moehringer

WHEN TRAVIS KELCE was a young man, his college football coach pulled him aside one day and told him the secret of life: Everybody you meet in this world is either a fountain or a drain.

“I need fountains,” the coach growled at Kelce. “I don’t need f—ing drains. Travis, you’re f—ing draaaining me!”

The advice left a deep impression. (“Changed his life,” says one of Kelce’s closest friends.) Yes, Kelce thought—you’re either a giver of the basic wellsprings of life or a thirsty taker. He vowed to be the former. In a world of gutters, be a geyser.

You think about that story as Kelce drives you around his beloved Kansas City, home of his world-champion Chiefs, for whom he’s the star tight end and arguably the second-most popular player, after his best friend, quarterback Patrick Mahomes. You think about that story on a gorgeous autumn afternoon as Kelce gives you a personal tour of his decadelong history in this city, his singular journey from clueless rook to legend. (“I used to take this scenic route [to the stadium]—there’s just something about seeing the city you’re about to go represent….”)

A different sort of celebrity might be more guarded, might even chirp those big Rolls tires and speed away before someone throws their body across the luminous silver bonnet, but Kelce’s default emotion is this—exuberant extroversion. He likes people. Loves people. Never mind deciding not to be a drain. If people gush at him, he can’t help it, he gushes back.

Noting all this, you think how fame itself might be a kind of fountain. Some people moan about getting wet, others frolic like kids around a hydrant. You even wonder if this fountain-drain paradigm might be the skeleton key to Kelce, the Rosetta Stone for which half of America seems to be hunting right now.

Kelce was famous for several years, thanks to his Hall of Fame résumé, his symbiotic relationship with Mahomes, but that was just football famous. This year, after winning the Super Bowl, after hosting Saturday Night Live, after starring in all the commercials, Kelce became inescapable. And that was before—you know.

People have begun to ask in all earnestness why they can’t turn on their TV anymore without seeing Kelce’s sculpted mug. They wonder, not with snark, but in all sincerity: Who the frick is this guy? And where did he come from?

You have a TV. You wonder too. So you decide to join the search for answers. One weekend, in the thick of football season, you get on a plane to Kansas City.

BUT FIRST. Back up. Like that knucklehead who threw it into reverse, go back. Before you can take the Travis Michael Kelce Guided Tour, you need to watch him cry.

Kelce tries to play it off. He launches a sentence, stops. He launches another, again aborts. He paws his eyes with his giant hands and looks to be on the verge of losing it, because if Kelce loves people, what he really loves is his people.

This whole display takes place on a Monday afternoon at a Kansas City steakhouse, where you and Kelce are having an early dinner. Like, retirement-community early. He’s in recovery mode, healing from dozens of violent collisions sustained during the previous day’s win over division rival Los Angeles, and food is medicine. He can intuit when he’s hit the caloric sweet spot necessary to mend or maintain his 6-foot-5, 260-pound frame (roughly 4,000), and he’s not there yet. So he orders the dry-aged filet rubbed with coffee, Caesar salad (hold the anchovies), a side of “triple-cooked” fries and a glass of water.

After a long pause, and several Lamaze breaths, Kelce collects himself, apologizes. Can’t help it, he says; those folks who always have his back, who call him by the ancient secret nicknames (Big Yeti, El Travedor, Killatrav, Michael, etc.)—they’re everything. He doesn’t think of them as his entourage; he thinks of them as family, an extension of “Mama Kelce” and “Poppa Kelce” and older brother Jason, the starting center for the Philadelphia Eagles.

Patrick Bacon, a friend since first grade, says Kelce’s go-to method of winding down after a hard game or long day is to sit with this “core group” around his kitchen island and chop it up. Talk, that’s what nourishes Kelce, not videogames, not bottle service at some club.

“He loves to talk about the old days,” Bacon says. But it has to be with people from the old days. People who know that Kelce will sometimes dismiss a bad or subpar thing as “buns.” People who know that one of Kelce’s favorite desserts is French toast dripping with whipped cream and syrup. People who know that, growing up, he played every sport in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, and also know the difference between Cleveland Heights and Cleveland proper. You want to break into the Kelce core group? You better have a phone number that starts with 216.

And yet, you wonder how well his friends really know him, how well he lets anyone know him, because to a person they all say Trav lives in the moment, Trav never thinks about tomorrow, Trav never worries about retirement, despite recently turning 34, making him a Gollum in the NFL, whereas Kelce confesses that he thinks about it nonstop, “more than anyone could ever imagine.” In the same spirit, perhaps, he keeps his own counsel about his round-the-clock physical anguish. “That’s the only thing I’ve never really been open about,” he says, “the discomfort. The pain. The lingering injuries—the 10 surgeries I’ve had that I still feel every single surgery to this day.”

Kansas City’s longtime tight ends coach, Tom Melvin, says Kelce undersells the pain because the alternative is not playing, and the man will not miss games. “He has phenomenal pain tolerance. He’s played through things that other athletes I’ve coached through the years have not been able to push through. Mentally tough—way off the charts.”

Kelce’s trainer and physical therapist, Alex Skacel, says there’s not a single day, in season, when Kelce stretches out on the training table and doesn’t have some gruesome bruise. What few realize, however, is the insane number of scratches. Guys claw each other out there, Skacel says; it can leave Kelce’s epidermis striated with crimson. To bounce back after such abuse requires more than basic therapy. Kelce and Skacel use a battery of esoteric treatments, from cupping to dry needling to occlusion therapy: essentially tying off a limb with a tourniquet while Kelce works out. Kelce also adheres to a pregame regimen of anti-inflammatories, which he doesn’t like to discuss because they “have a history of affecting people’s insides.”

“There were definitely people she knew that knew who I was, in her corner [who said], ‘Yo! Did you know he was coming?'” Kelce says about how he initially found his way into Taylor Swift’s orbit. “I had someone playing Cupid.” Loewe coat, $4,990, Loewe.com.

IF KELCE BROODS on life without football, one reason is that he had an excruciating sneak preview. A redshirt sophomore at Cincinnati, he got booted off the team for smoking pot. In a blink, he lost everything—his purpose, his meaning. “It was like my life was over.”

He also lost his scholarship. He had to get a job. The best one he could find was at a telemarketing firm, doing healthcare surveys. “Eye-opening,” he says, bowing his head.

Cold-calling people in southern Ohio, northern Kentucky, eastern Indiana, asking what they thought of Obamacare, taught him a lot. (“Uh, sir, I ran out of the comment box, I can’t write anymore, we gotta kind of keep this moving.”) Above all it taught him that he didn’t want to ever do that again.

He probably won’t have to. He’s got options. Sometimes he sees himself in a broadcasting booth. Sometimes his manager talks about action flicks. (Maybe a Marvel movie? Kelce’s already built like Wolverine.) You also get the sense that Kelce toys with notions of doing some form of comedy. He haunts clubs, lives for open-mic nights, and he’s gotten to be friendly with several rising stand-ups.

At the moment, of course, the only thing millions of people want to know about Kelce’s future is whether or not it will include Taylor Swift. And the second thing they’re dying to know is how he and she got together in the first place.

Did he sit in a dark room and say Jumanji three times? He laughs. “I don’t know if I want to get into all of it,” he says, and then he gets into it, because fountain.

It all started when he tried to meet Swift at her Arrowhead concert in July and got blocked, presumably by security. He then recounted the experience in a charming way on the podcast he does with Jason. Soon after, he says, he received an unbidden assist from inside Team Swift.

“There were definitely people she knew that knew who I was, in her corner [who said]: Yo! Did you know he was coming? I had somebody playing Cupid.” He wasn’t aware at the time, however; the revelation only came later, after he looked down at his phone and got the shock of a lifetime. “She told me exactly what was going on and how I got lucky enough to get her to reach out.”

He lets slip that some of his early helpers were part of the Swift family tree. “She’ll probably hate me for saying this, but…when she came to Arrowhead, they gave her the big locker room as a dressing room, and her little cousins were taking pictures…in front of my locker.”

Understandably, he’s not handing out details about the first date, though he will say that he managed to not be nervous. “When I met her in New York, we had already kind of been talking, so I knew we could have a nice dinner and, like, a conversation, and what goes from there will go from there.”

If anyone was nervous, he adds, it was his core group. “Everybody around me telling me: Don’t f— this up! And me sitting here saying: Yeah—got it.”

Likewise, his mother. Donna Kelce still berates herself for how she handled a question about Taylor on the Today show. Trying not to sound too enthusiastic, she came off underwhelmed. Kelce, not wanting his mom to feel bad, immediately phoned her and assured her that she did a super job—adding that her green eyeglasses looked great.

These days, however, with the relationship progressing, Donna feels more at liberty. “I can tell you this,” she says, beaming. “He’s happier than I’ve seen him in a long time…. God bless him, he shot for the stars!”

Kelce seems freer, too. He doesn’t need to be asked about Taylor; he mentions her unreservedly, lavishes praise on her, calls her “hilarious,” “a genius,” notes that they share compatible worldviews, especially when it comes to family and work. “Everybody knows I’m a family guy,” he says. “Her team is her family. Her family does a lot of stuff in terms of the tour, the marketing, being around, so I think she has a lot of those values as well, which is right up my alley.”

One of Kelce’s friends describes a sweet, magical moment, a late-night gathering around Kelce’s firepit. Kelce and Swift looked like two “peas in a pod,” the friend says, and at one point they even burst into a memorable duet of—“Teenage Dirtbag”?

This must be fake

My lips start to shake

How does she know who I am?

Kelce squints into the distance: He’s not sure they were singing…Wheatus. But he allows that his memory might be compromised.

LONG BEFORE MEETING SWIFT, Kelce was just another Swiftie. In some ways he still is. He explains the concept of her concert—“She does it in eras”—as if you live in a yurt in Outer Mongolia. Then he eagerly informs you that the night he attended, he was counting the minutes until she got to 1989. (Both he and Swift were born in 1989.) “ ‘Blank Space’ was one I wanted to hear live for sure. I could make a bad guy good for the weekend. That’s a helluva line!”

More often than not, he says, it was a Swiftian beat, a melody that captivated him. (“She writes catchy jingles.”) But lately he’s all about those lyrics; he’s scrutinized the breakup stuff. What a miracle, he says, the way Swift can turn life into poetry. “I’ve never been a man of words. Being around her, seeing how smart Taylor is, has been f—ing mind-blowing. I’m learning every day.”

Something he might need to learn from Swift: how to handle the attention. Kelce lives in a quiet neighborhood north of downtown—leafy trees, trim lawns, no gates. There’s now a clutch of desperate-looking dudes with cameras stationed on his sidewalk 24/7. He’s followed everywhere, drones buzzing overhead—it’s stressful, more than he lets on, according to one confidante.

“Obviously I’ve never dated anyone with that kind of aura about them…. I’ve never dealt with it,” Kelce says. “But at the same time, I’m not running away from any of it…. The scrutiny she gets, how much she has a magnifying glass on her, every single day, paparazzi outside her house, outside every restaurant she goes to, after every flight she gets off, and she’s just living, enjoying life. When she acts like that I better not be the one acting all strange.”

Asked if he has anything to teach Swift, he looks shy. He can’t think of anything offhand.

Football?

Sure, he says, sounding unsure.

Of course, the thing she probably wants to learn about most is him. While talking to Kelce you realize all at once that the most avid participant in the national scavenger hunt for clues about his character is likely Swift herself. To that end, Donna says that anyone wishing to understand her younger son would do well to start with her older. Travis “could never quite catch up” to Jason, she says. “He was always just second, just searching to be the best, and never quite getting there.” (The only way in which the two brothers were full equals was appetite. As boys, Donna says, “they would sit down and eat whole chickens.”)

Others say the key to Travis is simpler than that. He’s basically still the kid who filled his Dad’s shampoo bottle with hand cream. “He just lives his life with so much joy,” Jason says. “He’s always kind of surrounding himself with people who are funny, who have a zest for life; it’s one of the things that defines him.”

Jason recalls many nights in the Kelce family room, the two brothers and mom eating in front of some comedy. “We had one of those coffee tables that the top would lift up and meet you at your face if you were eating,” he says, guffawing.

Indeed, Kelce has warned Swift that she’s going to have to reckon with this part of his personality. Adam Sandler, Chris Farley, Will Ferrell—they will all be a part of the relationship. “I told Taylor that I have that world, I’ve got to introduce it to her. I let her know: This is my jam right here.” (Kelce does an uncanny imitation of Farley’s dorky baritone, and the ringtone on his phone is Farley primal screaming: For the love of GOD!)

If the past is any prelude, this will register like an 8.0 earthquake among Swifties. Their queen—screening Tommy Boy? Every new factoid, every new piece of the puzzle, gets eagerly cataloged, investigated, celebrated, especially on “SwiftTok,” a fervent virtual community, according to Brian Donovan, a professor at the University of Kansas who teaches a seminar called The Sociology of Taylor Swift.

Donovan says several of his class discussions this semester have been given over to No. 87. Swifties make no apology for delving into her relationships, just as Shakespeare scholars like to contemplate the subject of the sonnets. But the deep “vetting” of Kelce, Donovan adds, goes well beyond fans. “I think there’s a public fascination, because it seems like a pure unalloyed moment of joy in the wider context of global wars, deepening political polarization, dysfunction in Congress, an ongoing health crisis. There’s a lot of bad news out there, and this is a common story that everybody knows about and can talk about. I don’t think we’ve had that in American culture for a long time.”

NOW GET IN THE CAR. Now you’re ready for the Rolls. Or are you? Gawking at the ceiling, you ask, Are those stars?

Yes, Kelce says.

You stare in disbelief. Embedded in a leather firmament are scores, no, hundreds—many hundreds—of twinkling lights, a fiber-optic galaxy meant to resemble the larger galaxy in which we’re all floating. For the sake of verisimilitude, the Rolls even produces a shooting star now and then. There was one, just a second ago, Kelce says. “Make a wish. Dreams come true.”

He guns the engine and steers toward downtown. The Rolls doesn’t drive so much as waft you around Kansas City. The ride is so cush, it almost makes sense, for a moment or two, that the car is worth more than many of the buildings you pass. (A Rolls Ghost, before customizing, goes for nearly half a million dollars.) All of which makes it that much more startling, as you come to the heart of downtown, when Kelce points out his first-ever apartment and shows you the alley door where he’d sneak in and out when he was late on the rent.

What?

He’s not ducking landlords these days. Still, he’s grossly underpaid. His $14 million salary, though near the top among tight ends, is half what the league’s star receivers make, and Kelce often functions as a receiver.

Nothing to be done, he says flatly. The Chiefs know, he says, that he would play for free. They know he loves his city, his quarterback. “Unfortunately, in this business, things gotta get ugly, they gotta get unpleasant [if you want more money], and I’m a pleasant son of a buck.”

Thank goodness for endorsements. At this point, says his co-manager Aaron Eanes, “the NFL is just his side hustle.”

Eanes and his brother, Andre, handle much of Kelce’s business life, from investments to marketing, and it was they who widened his investment portfolio, putting him into a tequila company, an energy drink and a chain of car washes. They also steered him into lucrative endorsements, like Bud Light and the Covid vaccine, for which he caught much grief from Aaron Rodgers. The Jets quarterback, out since game one of the season with a torn Achilles, belittled Kelce as a Pfizer shill during one of his Tuesday appearances on The Pat McAfee Show.

Kelce took the high road then. He’s staying on it now. “Aaron’s always been cool to me,” he says. “I knew he was trying to have some fun. He’s in a situation where Tuesdays are his game days…. So I get it, man, I’ve been injured too…. Who knows what the guy is going through?”

Mary Esselman, Operation Breakthrough’s CEO, says that whenever Kelce visits, he doesn’t bring media and he doesn’t leave until the last kid has felt seen and appreciated. Not long ago, she adds, Kelce sponsored a football camp. Afterward, Esselman asked the children to name the highlight of the experience.

One told her: “He remembered my name.”

Kelce drives you past a jazz club he likes, a coffee place he used to frequent. Just recently, he concedes, he could go to a Starbucks in Manhattan without anyone looking twice. Those days seem over. Minutes later, he’s steering past a small airport, where Swift’s plane is often prominently parked these days.

Is it there now, gleaming in the moonlight? The Kelce eras tour is coming to a close. Left unsaid, but palpable: She’s at the house, waiting.

The Rolls pulls off the highway, up the hill to your hotel. You thank him for taking so much time, for answering all your questions. As you step out of the Rolls, you turn, ask him one more.

You ask him if you’re going crazy, or did he really say that thing when you first got in the car? Did he really point to a shooting star in the ceiling of his Rolls-Royce and say, “Make a wish. Dreams come true”?

He cracks up.

He did. He said it.

He’s not running from it.

What’s more, it might just be true.

“How do you think I manifest it all?”

#travis kelce #taylor swift #wall street journal #interview

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herebegiants · 6 months

Text

It’s been a week since the- I don’t know what to call them. Since they’ve shown up. They’ve covered my house in these tiny contraptions. All real wood and gears as far as I can tell. Like these little steampunk elevators and stairs. The hallway’s now covered in these industrial catwalks the width of my wrist, and every now and then there’s old fashioned cars that drive down them. Those kinds that probably topped at 15 mph. It’s… weird. Surreal, I guess. One second I could be watching YouTube and the next I’m watching a horse the size of a mouse pull little barefoot kids around in front of the media center on a wagon. They seemed to enjoy it, laughing and waving. I think I became part of the sight-seeing when they noticed me.

They don’t run away anymore. I’m… kinda happy about that, honestly. Sure they steer clear of my feet, and I’m glad about that at least. I’m sure none of us want me to end up stepping on someone. Actually I. Don’t really want to think about the possibility, to be honest. That’d feel too weird…

Morbid thoughts aside, they just. Kind of acknowledge me and go about their business, now. Like it doesn’t even matter that I’m there, or that I was living here first.

Is it weird that I kinda like that little chorus of ‘hellos’ in the morning?

… It probably is, isn’t it.

I’m thinking about talking to my therapist about it, but… I’ve got enough on my plate as it is. I don’t really want to end up finding out I’ve gone insane. That I really am seeing things somehow. Finals are next month. I don’t really have time to be hallucinating-

“Whatcha doin’?”

“gAHha!”

Nick slapped his hands down on the page. Staring wide eyed at the little figure on the bed beside him.

She snickered. Sticking her tongue out from the side of her mouth as she shot him a teasing look.

“You’re so jumpy. What, are yah writin’ somethin’ scandalous?~”

“W-? What? No!”

“Ohh? Well yah won’t mind me seein’ then!”

Nick jumped with a squawk as she bolted, snatching the book into the air. Only to remember he didn’t have a thing to worry about as she jogged to a halt. Staring up at the book overhead with a pout and a stomp to the sheets.

“No fair! Let me see!”

Nick blinked, before grating out a snort and letting himself relax again. His brow furrowing over his smile as he shook his head.

“Little gremlins don’t get to see my journal, thank you!”

“Journal?”

Nick’s smile fell as her own grew. Flashing an impish twinkle in her eyes.

“So yah are writin’ somethin’ dirty~”

“No! W-?!” He sputtered. Shutting the book up and tucking it under his arm. “Get your mind outta the gutter, would ya?”

“Pahhh- yer no fun.” She waved off with a roll of their eyes. Only to grin at him again and promptly begin climbing up his knee.

He huffed, but he didn’t stop her. Setting the book down on the nightstand to turn a frown back to her. Though the longer he watched the more a smile began to pull at his lips again, threatening to break the now thin mask of sternness he refused to let down.

“Gremlin.” He repeated. Finally breaking into a grin as she got nearly to his waist and stopped to shoot him a glare.

“I am not!”

“Are too. Look at you! You’re literally climbing me!”

His hand dropped behind her, and she jumped with a startled squawk. It was purely an accident, but her glare only grew as she whipped back around to him.

“I will bite you, giant!”

“Then you’d only be proving my point,” he snickered, figuring with his hand so close, he might as well use the opportunity. He carefully itched down her back in a show of affection, though he tried not to think too much about how he was practically petting her. It was a weird parallel to make. At least she seemed to like it. Her scowl dropped altogether with a flash of surprise, and the stiffness that always seemed to be in her tiny body melted a little.

Before it shot right back through her limbs. Her sun tanned face turning beet red.

Nick’s brow shot up and fingers stopped. Hovering behind her as worry took his face.

“Pebbles…?”

“What!? Oh! U-uh- nothing! Nothing, it’s fine!”

She hesitated, and much to his dismay, let go. Flopping back onto the mattress and brushing herself off as she climbed back to her feet, shoving her hands in her pockets and turning her gaze pointedly down.

“I- I forgot somethin’ is all. I’ll uh… be back later.”

“Oh. Uh… Okay.”

Nick watched as she reached the edge of the bed, grabbing hold of the covers and disappearing as she dropped over the side. Minutes later she was back in his view, seeming smaller than anything as she headed for the door.

Nick clenched his jaw. His lips pressing thin and brow twisting as regret turned in his stomach.

Maybe trying to show a little affection really had been too much…

#g/t #g/t writing #something I wrote a while ago and just remembered #giant!Nick #or rather Human!Nick #he’s a soft big and I need to write him big more often #also #Pebbles #uncertain if she’s sticking around or not as an OC but the possibility is high #also she got a crush :3 #and just realized it lol #because we like to have fun here with smol ladies crushing on gentle giants #edit: extended the ending a bit cause the last ending was a bit sudden

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adviceformefromme · 5 months

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Sis, please tell me, how do I LISTEN?

It’s not that I can’t HEAR, I can feel it, it’s just that I’m not LISTENING.

How? How do I listen to my Body? How do I listen to GOD? How do I listen to my spirit, to life, to the experiences and lessons that come for me? I keep ending up in the same situations over and over again: broke & unemployed, angry and short tempered, desperate, lonely and self-isolating; overwhelmed with all the negative and all I WANT to be doing that I shut down and turn everything off and close my mind and my heart to everything and everyone.

I lost my brother 4 years ago, the love of my life, my best friend & cheerleader, virtually my dad, as I didn’t grow up with mine. I couldn’t handle it, I’ve never experienced loss like this. I turned it all off and threw my spirit, along with my hopes, dreams, will to live and self worth into a box and down into a Black Sea of grief and heartbreak 💔 Now, I can’t find that box anymore…I can HEAR it screaming to me, but I’m not listening close enough to find it. What do I do?

Hey Sweetie, sorry to hear of your pain! I can relate as I lost my brother suddenly over 7 years ago and we were sooo close. It was pain I had never experienced. As for closing off and shutting down, this was also my coping mechanism. The main thing is, is that everything you write is totally possible to overcome. I'll put some tips below, take what you need and DM me if you need more support xoxox

The broken record, the keep making the same mistake pains. Spend some time analysing these. Where was the window that you could of made a change? For example. If in relationships you loose your temper when a guy doesn't message back. Where is the window in that process for change? Bring light to it. Is it learning to say no to men who show you early on that they are crappy with messaging? Is it not sleeping with them too soon so you can see their true colours? Really observe the cycle. And drill down on where you can see your set back. Once you can see the pattern and the behaviour keeping you stuck. You can move into prevention. If X happens, I will now do X. Keep reminding yourself of this. Keep reminding yourself of your new behaviour.. Daily, even outside of the situation, keep reminding yourself if X happens I will now do X. And this is the PRE step , this is making the change before you end up in the gutter. This is your preventative action. When you feel ready ask God for a test. He WILL deliver.

Stop breaking your own promises. Learn to build trust with yourself. Start small, this is how you build self respect, and move forward. This really affects your whole being. If you say you are going to make your bed start making it. Start small and build some trust inside, this is how you gently start listening to yourself, and responding. Once that trust is there and you become that person to yourself that you can rely on you can move to bigger goals.

Have an outlet to process your emotions. Create space to cry and feel if you are someone who does not have ability to do this day to day. Carve out some you time for reflection. I struggled to cry when I was grieving as a child I was not allowed to show emotion with my abuser, so during my grief my emotions became so clogged up. I would have to carve out time to FEEL. Sometimes it was journalling, but movies allow me to feel so i would sit with a box of tissues sobbing my heart out to any random movie. Do what you need to give yourself space and freedom to process and feel.

Get a therapist if possible, if not lean on youtube, podcasts, books. There are so many amazing books, I recommend Marianne Williams - Return to Love. This is a great book for healing and references to God.

Find a community, you need a support system. Through Church, through new hobbies, through existing friends let them know what you are going through and let them know what you need from them. Maybe you just need your best friend to listen instead of doing xyz, let them know. Part of asking for help is knowing what your needs are. What are your needs for yourself? What do you need right now? What do you need from you ?

Become DEVOTED to your self - care and self - love. This should be your first and foremost priority. Healing from deep wounds of loss requires extra love and care for you, so let this be your main priority.

Cleanse your life of all the pollution. See yourself as the ocean, keep your ocean clean. What music is polluting your ocean? What people are toxic to your waters? What actions are you taking that harming your beautiful seas? Take inventory and start making adjustments. Remember, the ego will be overwhelmed if you go hard on all these changes. Imagine a swinging pendulum. Going too far to one side will only mean swinging to far to the opposite side. With the above, try to find some middle ground when introducing new habits. Be kind to yourself, and keep a check of your inner voice. Are you living in an internal war zone? Imagine yourself as a small child, how would you treat her? Love her? Care for her? Wash her? Feed her?

#levelupjourney #growthmindset #healingthebody #healingtrauma #dealing with grief

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