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blacktobackmesa · 1 year

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any updates on rfyl? i love how you write everyone so much, rfyl and run as administrator made me cry

Yes! And thanks so much for the feedback. Run as Admin is probably my favorite of the bunch, I'll be honest. I'm really proud of it, and it's good to hear that it's having that kind of effect.

But yes, the next chapter of Run For Your Life is coming along smoothly. The pacing of some segments is making me adjust my outline a little bit, and I keep having new ideas to either work into the framework or sadly discard. It's mostly the former, which makes for more cool story but also more work for me. Here, have a free excerpt! I'd put it under a readmore but I'm on mobile.

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“That is something we need to take into account,” Bubby recognized. “The rest of us may be able to take out enemies or blast across the map, but if the player character himself doesn’t hit the event flags… well, it doesn’t mean shit. So even if Benrey could ignore walls or straight-up fly to the Lambda Lab, it wouldn’t help unless he could carry us on piggyback.”

Bubby paused in thought. “Actually–”

“Two is my maximum piggyback,” Benrey shook his head. “Also, I don’t think it would let me take you. ‘N’ if it did, we’d have to do the whole, fox-chicken-corn-boat thing.”

“Are you implying we’d eat each other if you leave us alone in the right combination?”

Benrey gave a lazy smile. “I don’t trust Bubby and Tommy together.”

“I’ve been alone with Bubby lots of times!” Tommy protested. “You know, he… he was my mentor when I started working there. And he didn’t eat me.”

“Well, I didn’t succeed,” Bubby played along. “You don’t know what I was doing when you weren’t looking.”

“Nah, it’s Tommy I’m worried about,” Benrey pointed to the friend beside him. “Look at that funny lil’ hat. He’s got so many of ‘em. That’s the, the decorum of an apex predator.”

Tommy spun his propellor with a finger, clearly tickled by the remark. “This one’s stripes make me think of watermelon ribbon candy!”

Gordon shook his head with a dramatic sigh. “You never stood a chance, Bubby.”

#rfyl question #rule of thumb for my writing style: if it makes you cry it was probs in the outline. if it makes you laugh it happened while writing.#there are exceptions tho. the potluck goodbyes were written on the fly and the kin jokes from the memory fic were engineered from the start

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arcenergy · 2 years

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motherly acting coworker looked at me very sternly and told me that i was going to bring in a dessert for a potluck on monday and today i bought the ingredients to make pretzel chocolate bars so we’ll see how that goes

#misc #it was non-negiotable to participate in the potluck i was being held at gunpoint #but also ive been wanting to try to bake more because im so bad at following instructions #because ill read them and be like No lmao and then do whatever then it turns out that was a horrible idea #but there's also going to be so much food and im looking forward to it. we may grill because we have a grill at an airport dont fukin worry #about it but i think it's gonna rain so maybe not :(#ive heard RUMORS that lead mechanic is flying in portillos chicago style hotdogs and having them grilled so im very excited if this is true

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firstfandomfangirl · 2 years

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(catches myself daydreaming about my wedding) (reminds self that I don't want to get married) (continues daydreaming about wedding)

#rambling #I get a sense of satisfaction from daydreaming about having a wedding that isn't very expensive #like id just hold it at my local church for free #probably only invite my close friends & immediate family #as well as anyone at church who wanted to come #and then have like a potluck style meal lol #the only thing I would want to splurge on is a wedding cake #outfits? couldnt care less #probably would wear my mom's wedding dress or a white dress from a thrift store #i am Cheap

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sethbryan · 7 months

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Latin American - Brazilian Style Chocolate Pudding Sweetened condensed milk, eggs, cocoa, and coconut are the only five ingredients you need to make Brazilian-style chocolate pudding.

#style chocolate pudding recipe #potlucks #cuisine #recipe #chocolate pudding #cocoa

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dhampling · 2 months

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some astarion girldad headcanons because i said so

Once there are a few younglings in his brood he becomes aggressively PETTY once more.

Still ridiculously soft but his onslaught of passive pettiness is not to be understated.

You’re crying? You’re crying?

Waaah. I am so unbelievably loved. Waaah.

I am too full of sustenance. The house is too cosy. Waaaaaaaah.

All muttered sharply under his breath whilst he lovingly cradles the wailing infant.

Before each one is born he picks a pattern from his sample book and deems it ‘theirs’ respectively.

Buys rolls of it and stores his horde in the attic like a little cloth magpie.

There is, therefore; no room in the attic.

At all.

What if they discontinue it, hm?

What then?

What is she going to wear AT HER WEDDING, THEN? HM?

First day of school ribbons, their first proper outfit; all made obsessively by hand with ridiculous detailing.

He knows each of his girls’ favourite foods, has nailed them individually; but has horrifically attempted to combine them all into a potluck style thing at least once.

Stresses far more frequently than you'd think.

He is not a 'chill dad'. At all.

Frequently acts as if the world is ending with fluttering hands and a really awful grimace.

#astarion #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #dadstarion #astarion girldad cult rise up #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate astarion

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omgthatdress · 9 months

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To get into the first looks that were made for Barbie, we need to understand the beauty and fashion of 1959.

1950s fashion existed under that shadow of World War II. Women of the war era were hardy, hard-working, and practical. Fashion was also extremely practical, using as little rationed material as possible. The silhouette was boxy, masculine and almost military, with big broad shoulders and knee-length skirts. Rationing and austerity continued in the years immediately following the war, but then in 1947, something miraculous happened:

(The Metropolitan Museum of Art)

Christian Dior created “The New Look.” Now okay, fashion in general had been leaning into this new silhouette and Dior was far from the only designer to be working with it, but his was the most copied and most iconic.

“The New Look” was a call back to the sumptuous femininity of the mid-Victorian era, bringing back tiny waists held in place by impossibly tight corsets and big, full skirts with crinolines and hoops.

The silhouette was a return to classic femininity, but the materials garments themselves were pure modernity: a practical ensemble for a wealthy woman-on-the-go who was lunching with her friends in Paris.

Looking back at Barbie’s 1959 looks, Christian Dior’s fingerprints are all over them, but I see plenty of other designers in the mix, as well. It’s actually very easy to find near-matches of almost all of Barbie’s 1959 looks with a cover of Vogue from the 1950s. Barbie from the get-go was an idealized woman who existed in a world that was separate from the middle-class American suburbs that the little girls who played with her lived in.

Looking at classic first-run Barbie, there’s honestly not a whole lot to say about the bathing suit look. I mean, yeah, that’s what fashionable women wore to the beach in the 1950s. Her buxom curvy body fit the idealized standards epitomized by Marilyn Monroe.

Her face has the heavy makeup that was worn by French fashion models of the time.

Arched, heavily-styled brows, eyeshadow, slightly winged eyeliner, mascara, and of course perfect red lips with matching mani and pedi. One of my pet peeves about vintage style is when people wear winged eyeliner as “50s housewife glam.” NO. Your average middle class American Mrs. Homemaker was not wearing that kind of makeup. Winged eyeliner in the 50s only had a small wing that accentuated the eyelashes, and was generally only worn by the high-fashion crowd. Maybe on a special extra glamorous date with Mr. Husband, but not to a church potluck. Anyway, end of rant, but you see that’s what Barbie is trying to emulate.

Her hair, however is different: the poodle hairstyle was one favored by teenage girls. Seen here on the squeaky-clean America’s sweetheart, Debbie Reynolds:

The playful, youthful hair pulls her back and keeps her from being *too* grown-up. It’s the first step in the balancing act that Barbie has always pulled off with aplomb: to represent adulthood without being too far out of reach of children’s imaginations.

#Barbie #1950s

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wxshing-aep · 10 months

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The Prom Committee (pt 1)

Ethan Morales x fem!reader

based on this request:

"how about one where y/n runs an after school club so Ethan keeps getting detention on purpose to see her because he thinks “clubs are for dorks” to quote Paxton and so his reputation as the bad boy isn’t ruined"

Warnings: swearing, banter, the word boobs

AN: decided to make it a 2 parter cause it was getting long while I was writing it and wanted to give Ethan more depth of character than the actually show so part 2 coming tmrw probs!

When his assignment was handed back by Señora Diaz upside down, Ethan wasn't surprised by the big F glaring back at him in red ink when he turned the page over.

“Stupid bitch” he muttered under his breath.

“In Español, Ethan” Señora Diaz paused on her way back to the blackboard, unsure of what he said but certain that it wasn't in Spanish.

“Sorry" he retorted and she continued her route back to the front of the classroom.

"perra estúpida”

“ethan!”

That’s how Ethan ended up in detention for the umpteenth time in his academic career, tapping his pen on the desk in the nearly empty classroom with Mr. Shapiro's happy go-lucky self staring back at him.

"Well, happy to have you here Ethan!" Mr. Shapiro greets picking up a clipboard from his desk. "Not happy to be here" Ethan deadpanned. "Sorry to hear that. Not sure how you managed to get detention during the first week of school, but hey I think that might be a new Sherman Oaks record! Congrats buddy!" Mr. Shapiro cheers before realizing the younger boy is not the slightest bit amused. "Alright, tough crowd."

"Moving right along then," Mr. Shapiro clicks a pen in his hand "time to take roll!" which causes Ethan to look around the empty classroom.

"...I'm literally the only one here"

"I know, I just love checking things off lists," Mr. Shapiro clears his throats " so do I have a Morales comma Ethan?"

"seriously dude?"

"Second call for Ethan Morales"

"you're gonna keep going til I say here, aren't you?"

"You betcha!"

"Here."

"Awesome!" Mr. Shapiro marks a giant check by the one name on his attendance sheet. "god I love doing that- Alright so unfortunately I've gotta skidaddle to help out with the faculty potluck but lucky for you sir we're implementing more of a reformative detention style this year!"

"What the hell does that mean" Ethan asked.

"It means, that instead of sitting here for the next few hours, you my friend, get to offer your help to one of the after school clubs or committees that are a bit low on helping hands" Shapiro responds with finger guns. "so guess who's today's newest member of the prom committee!"

"yea, no. I'm not joining some stupid after school club. clubs are for dorks, losers, and ugly people" Ethan responds grabbing his backpack out of the chair next to him to get up and leave.

"well actually it's a committee"

"even worse"

"Alrighty well I can see what the other options-" is all Mr Shapiro gets out before he is interrupted by your voice from the doorway.

"Oh- hey! Mr. Shapiro, did you find anyone to help with the prom posters? Eric said he'd help me out but then canceled cause he said he had to train with the assistant swim coach to quote make Michael Phelps my bitch end quote. Whatever that means, so I'm kinda flying solo here" You say, drawing Ethan's attention towards you as well.

hot damn. okay maybe after school activities are not only for ugly people. He thinks you might be the prettiest girl he's ever seen and definitely takes a mental note of your outfit that's hugging you in all the right places. He quickly realizes that he doesn't know your name and has no idea how he's never been informed of your existence prior to this moment. He's snapped back to reality by Mr. Shapiro responding to your question. "Ah- I'm sorry but Ethan is-"

"super excited to help decorate for prom" Ethan finds himself blurting out before Mr. Shapiro could finish his sentence.

"Oh- well that's great! Uh Ethan just report back by 6 so I can log your hours! I'm gonna get going, you kids have fun decorating. Go crickets!" Mr. Shapiro says, making his exit as you watch him almost skip down the hall.

"Sup, I'm Ethan" Your attention is brought back to the brown eyed curly haired boy who's suddenly standing in front of you (how the hell did he cross the room that fast, you wonder) with an outstretched hand. He never really shakes hands, he just wanted an excuse to touch you. He's cute, you note mentally. You accept the offer and shake his hand. "and you are?" he continues.

"I'm-" you pause noticing those not so innocent brown eyes are directed elsewhere, "acutely aware of the fact that you're staring at my boobs".

Ethan thinks his brain might've just short circuited cause he was definitely just caught red handed. He'd recently grown a lot more confident with girls since his summer growth spurt and subsequent glow up had dramatically increased the number of girls interested in him, but there was something about you and how you so deliberately called him out that had definitely thrown him off his game.

"Sorry- I uh- I was actually looking at your shirt. They're- It's nice" he wants to die he thinks.

You chuckle at his sudden change in demeanor. "Hmm. Yea, I know they are" you respond, turning on a heel and heading toward the auditorium.

"You comin or what?"

For one person, you had made pretty okay progress in a week. The current task at hand was making posters to get people excited for the theme reveal. The ground was littered with several half finished or barely started posters.

"Can you draw?" You asked Ethan.

"I'm not much of an artist"

"Really? the graffiti on the side of the school says otherwise. Your handwriting definitely sucks though so I'll do that, but the art's good and if you can do it with a spray can, you can definitely do it with some paint and markers" your unsolicited review of his graffiti made him crack a smile. His latest act of defiance had been a giant snake comically eating a cricket accompanied with the words "get fucked" on the side of the school building.

"You can't prove that was me" he challenges.

"Maybe not, but Mr. Shapiro had mentioned that I might have a detention helper today thanks to Señora Diaz and I happened to notice the words 'stupid bitch' spray painted on her car containing the same weird ass t's as the graffiti on the side of the school and here you are, Ethan."

"Damn, you're good" he pauses realizing he can't throw your name back at you because he still doesn't know it.

"Y/n" you say quietly.

"Huh?"

"My name's y/n"

Pretty name for a pretty girl, he thought.

"Alright y/n. I'll draw as long as I don't have to to touch any glitter. that shit's impossible to get off"

"deal"

"and I don't write my t's weird"

"you write your t's like a crazy person"

Time was pretty much flying by. Together you'd gotten nearly twenty posters done and were slowly finding out more information about each other. You were informed about some of Ethan's tattoos and how he'd actually drawn the designs for all of them himself. Not an artist, my ass, you thought. Ethan learned that he hadn't met you before because you'd previously been homeschooled and had all but begged your parents to be able to go to school with other kids for your senior year until they finally cracked and agreed to enroll you at Sherman Oaks.

"Ah I see, you're a total secret weirdo. That explains your freaky detective skills" he teases.

"I am not a secret weirdo. I just like criminal minds and puzzles"

"You were homeschooled. All homeschooled kids are a little weird"

"That's an unfair stereotype"

"Whatever you say, y/n"

"If anything you're the secret weirdo. or at least an undercover art nerd"

"I'm not an undercover art nerd"

"Yea you are. Something tells me this whole" you gestured largely to him sitting a couple feet away from you, "tortured angsty hot skater boy thing you've got going on is a pretty recent development" you comment absent-mindedly. You looked back up from your poster when he didn't respond to see him sitting there, arms crossed with a smug grin on his face.

"What?" you prodded.

"You totally just called me hot"

You're now very aware that he's a bit closer to you than he was before.

"mm don't think so"

"oh you definitely did"

"did not"

"did too"

"did not" that one came out much less confidently considering his hand had made its way to your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. damn, he's good.

"whatever you say, y/n" he almost whispers. have his eyes been that sparkly this whole time? He's leaning in and you're definitely not backing away. You're maybe a centimeter away from his lips until the alarm blaring from your phone, which seemed like much better idea hours ago, sent you flying back from him and scared the shit out of both you.

"shit- I- god that scared me, I uh set an alarm for 6 so you'd remember to check in with Mr. Shapiro cause, ya know, I thought we'd both probably be busy. Um- busy making posters, i mean. Obviously I mean making posters cause we definitely wouldn't be busy doing anything else so-" you ramble.

The smug little smirk has made its way back onto Ethan's face as he is quite enjoying this role reversal from your first interaction of the day.

"shut up" you say to him.

"I didn't even say anything" he responded, hands in the air in surrender.

"I've gotta head home, but thanks for helping out even though you basically had to be here. If you ever find yourself in detention again this semester, feel free to help out. Hopefully the committee is more than just me by then" you say, starting to gather your belongings. Ethan secretly hopes it isn't, he likes the idea of hanging out with just you.

"I probably will find myself in detention again. It's kinda part of this whole tortured angsty hot skater boy thing I've got going on" he says throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

"not what I said" you still attempt to deny.

"sure it wasn't"

"bye ethan"

"bye y/n"

Yea, he'll definitely be finding himself in detention again.

Read Part 2 here

#never have i ever #never have i ever s4 #nhie #nhie s4 #ethan morales #ethan morales x reader #michael cimino #michael cimino x reader

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andy-jam-blog · 1 month

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My French class is having a potluck style party and as a joke someone said "you should bring jam!" So I decided to make Jam cookies that look like Jams.

"Haha ain't that cute" I hear you say! No! Not really!

The cookies turned out great, but the jam recipe I followed-

-made too much jam!!

I was kind of assuming the berries were supposed to reduce down or something but no! It was just a recipe for way too much gosh darned jam!!

I've had like 3 PB&Js since making the cookies and I feel like I haven't even made a dent in it! Aaaaaaa!!!!!

#jamposting #food

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its-time-to-write · 9 months

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AH I've been waiting for requests to be open! i love love loveeee your writing!! I've been in dire need (if you feel like writing it lol) of reader comforting jamie after the locker room scene w his dad at wembley.. like maybe instead of roy hugging him the reader swoops in? you do you! thanks!! <3

Listened to 17 Pushing 24 by Sabrina Sterling while writing this. Highly recommend ✌️🥲

i know what i’m doing

Sometimes Jamie wonders if you two are attracted to each other due to your compelling need to take care of everything.

It certainly was difficult at first, both of you with residual issues due to your upbringing. His as the only son of a single mother, yours as the oldest daughter of a large family.

Those types of child-caretakers aren’t always compatible. Jamie’s much more lighthearted about the way he tries to control everything, and you’re more serious.

You’d think it would be easier, both of you taking care of each other, except for the small fact that neither of you were capable of accepting help from the other.

It came to a head one evening when Jamie came home to you crying in the laundry room, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the tasks you had yet to complete before going to bed.

“Love, I can help you,” Jamie had said.

“No! It’s my laundry and my responsibility and you already have enough to do without me burdening you even more,” you replied before dissolving into more tears.

So yeah, it was a whole thing. It involved therapy and everything.

But you’re moving past it. You’re both getting to a point where each of you can receive the same love that you’re giving, however strange it may feel. Jamie even let you stay home from work to take care of him when he was sick a couple weeks ago, something that was pretty much unheard of up to this point.

You’re channeling the need to control things in healthy ways, like having all of AFC Richmond over to Jamie’s giant house for potluck-style family dinners. Or hosting non-video game nights, where FIFA is strictly banned as a form of entertainment. Or themed outings where everyone had to dress as something that shared the first letter of their name and then go see a movie at the local theater.

Stuff like that.

You’re the brains, Jamie is the execution. You can see Isaac side-eyeing him a couple times, making mental notes about temporary captains in the event that he can’t play a match.

Jamie’s gone from Richmond’s resident prick to Richmond’s resident morale-booster.

He comes home one evening with brighter eyes than normal.

“Babe,” he calls before he’s even in the door, “Coach said I can go back to being a prick again.”

“Ted said that?” you ask from your spot on the couch. You’re laying down length-wise with your legs dangling off the end.

“Fuck no,” Jamie replies, “Roy.”

“Oh,” you say as Jamie plops his bags down. You sit up a little so he can have a spot on the couch. He pats his lap so you lay back down, head on his thigh.

“Roy said that Ted fucked me up, so ‘when it’s appropriate’” (he uses air quotes) “I can be a prick to the other team.”

“That’s nice, babe,” you say, “but how do you know when to do that?”

Jamie shrugs. “Coach said he’d give me a signal. Don’t know what it is, though.”

You say, “hm,” then lapse into comfortable silence, Jamie’s hand running through your hair.

—

The prick signal worked so much better than you could have thought. It’s the best. You see Jamie go from playing defensively to being completely offensive, screwing with the other team’s heads. You scream and clap as he scores, while Keeley practically throttles you with joy.

Now it’s late after the game, and the lads are all over at Jamie’s. They’re absolutely exhausted, but buzzing with energy. It isn’t until about 1am that they disperse to the various guest bedrooms and pass out on top of each other. You catch a glimpse of Dani cuddling Jan Maas who’s asleep in a starfish position as Colin sneaks in to draw on their faces with sharpie.

“Don’t tell anyone it was me,” he whispers. You zip your lips and head to the master bedroom and pretty much fall onto the right side of the bed.

Jamie comes in shortly after, saying something about Isaac telling a bedtime story. He burrows under the covers and you quietly shriek because he’s placed his ice-cold hands on your ribcage.

“How are you so cold?” you whisper.

Jamie shrugs sleepily. “Dunno,” he whispers back. “Got ice in my veins, I guess.”

You smile. “You’re tired, aren’t you babe?”

Jamie shakes his head and stifles a yawn. “Nah, ain’t tired. Thinkin’ about our match against Man City.”

He says it casually. Too casually.

You see, both you and Jamie have this thing where the more nonchalantly you say something, the more important it is.

You prop yourself up a bit so you can face him and scratch his head. He sighs and leans in.

“You nervous?” you ask.

Jamie shakes his head. “Not to see the team. Lookin’ forward to seeing Pep. It’s just…” he trails off.

You whisper, “Yeah. I know. Whatever happens, I’m here. Don’t forget that. I’m here no matter what.”

Jamie says, “hm,” and then he’s asleep.

—

You’re running.

You’re running faster than any of the boys on the pitch had run the entire match, and you’re pushing past people in a way that Keeley would later describe as “absolutely fucking feral.”

It happened like this:

The game was over. Richmond lost to Man City.

You were on your way to see Jamie and the rest of the team.

You were, maybe, three floors away? when Rebecca got a text from Ted, showed it to you, and before you knew it you were flying down to the guest locker room to find Jamie.

Of course his dick father would show up to make this day worse. Of course he would.

You’re ducking under security and pushing your way to the locker room in a flurry of motion, then immediately stop.

It’s silent, absolutely silent.

And so still.

No one moves a muscle as your eyes land on Jamie, clinging to Roy like he’s a lifeline. Roy. Roy Kent, self-proclaimed Jamie-hater and staunch advocate against physical touch.

Jamie’s eyes are squeezed shut, but they flutter open at the sound of your tentative footsteps. He lets go of Roy for a moment, but only so that you can grab him in the next.

“Right,” says Roy, “Everybody get the fuck out!”

There are no complaints as the lads hurriedly grab their bags and exit the locker room.

Roy nods in your direction before leaving, and Beard mouths, “take your time.” You’re not sure where Ted’s gone off to.

Jamie feels like he’s going to collapse if he stands any longer, crushing you in the strongest grip you’ve ever felt.

“Oi,” you say gently, “let’s sit down, yeah? You don’t have to let go.”

So now you’re on the bench in Jamie’s lap, scratching his head in the way he likes, waiting for him to break the silence.

“Fucking stupid,” he says, voice muffled.

You ask, “What?” because surely that can’t be what he just said.

“I said it’s fucking stupid,” Jamie says, refusing to meet your eyes. “I’m a fucking adult. Don’t need to be crying about stupid shit, especially not in front of the lads.”

“Oh, right,” you say before you can stop yourself, “because crying after your dick father tried to swing at you when you set boundaries for the first time ever is a completely unreasonable response.”

Jamie is still in your arms and you cringe. Curse your stupid, logical tongue.

Jamie finally says, “Didn’t think about it like that.” He sighs. “It’s just fuckin’ embarrassing, innit? Him showing up here like that. Didn’t need the lads seeing that.”

You kiss his forehead.

“The only person it’s embarrassing for is him. Not you. You’re absolutely fine, Jaim. If anything, the boys are going to look at you better for finally understanding the shit you had to grow up with.”

Jamie nods, but you’re not sure if he believes you.

“Jamie,” you say firmly, “It’s not your fault. You handled it the best way it could have been handled. You did a great job.”

Those words seem to do something to Jamie, and his face takes on an expression you’ve never seen before

He asks, “You think so?” in such a forlorn manner than you have the sudden urge to find James Tartt and kick him in the balls with steel-toed shoes. You briefly wonder if Roy and Beard would like to join you.

“Yes,” you reply forcefully, “Yes Jamie. You did a wonderful job in a shitty situation and I’m very, very proud of you.”

Jamie doesn’t reply, just holds you tighter if that’s even possible. He takes a deep shuddering breath, but it’s the first real one he’s taken this entire time.

“I told you I’m here no matter what,” you say. “Just like all the times you’ve been here for me. Now I’m here for you.”

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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