#this is actually a good video i was just so thrown off by that last bit of information

[mysterywheeze]

what a weekend, huh

I've refrained from using this blog to share my thoughts on the [gestures vaguely] situation for- well, for a few reasons. For one, I haven't been directly involved in the fandom for a while for personal reasons (I will reiterate that I am Mostly Fine). For two, until today we didn't have an official update on the matter. And for three, there's been A LOT of vitriol within the fanbase, so saying anything felt like stepping into a minefield.

Point three still stands. But what the hell? I've thrown my thoughts into worse rings.

My opinions on the whole fiasco can be summed up in four points.

ONE: Their initial plan was bad, and the way they announced it was even worse.

I don't think I have to explain why cutting off a large number of low-income and international fans is a shitty thing to do. That the initial treatment of Patreon fans was poor is, I think, similarly self-evident. And not just because we weren't initially given free access to the streaming platform; the abrupt cancellation of WW+ and early access screwed a lot of annual-membership patrons over.

We now have confirmation that Watcher needed a new revenue stream to stay operational, and that the team viewed this change as essentially a last resort to avoid layoffs or worse. We did not get this information in the "Goodbye YouTube" video. The Watcher team could have been upfront from the beginning, but they decided not to be. Instead they hyped up the announcement, even had a countdown, leading us to think that this was a sign of something good, when in reality it was a sign of something dire.

I hope we can all agree that more initial transparency would have significantly improved the audience reaction to the announcement.

TWO: The update/apology video was a good one.

They addressed why they made their decision, admitted to their fuck-up, and changed their plan. That's Owning Up To Your Mistakes 101. What we got was a compromise; they aren't scrapping the streaming service altogether, but they aren't abandoning fans who can't afford it altogether, either. And of course, they've told us that the streaming service is necessary for the survival of the company. Better late than never.

There's still a lot that they need to do before they can fully gain my trust. And I say gain, not regain, because this isn't the first time they've had a business fumble (NOTE: this is not about the HWYD incident). From Patreon rewards coming months late to factual errors in their educational shows, to what I strongly suspect is mismanagement of funds leading to their current financial troubles, they've always had flaws that ought to be addressed.

But it's a start. A good start at that.

THREE: Some fans reacted to the announcement (and to a lesser extent, to the update) in deeply inappropriate ways.

Look, I don't think you have to ~deeply adore~ Steven Lim to be a Watcher fan. I'll admit that, as a diehard Unsolved fan since 2017 who rarely watched Worth It before 2020, Steven's shows appealed to me less than Ryan and Shane's content did. The average viewcounts of Steven's shows compared to Ryan-n-Shane's shows indicates that my preferences are pretty common.

That being said, as someone who isn't particularly enthused about Steven content, I can appreciate the things he's done for Watcher and as a human being. He's always been the guy pushing hardest for Asian-American representation, as Grocery Run, Hidden Narratives, and especially his response to the 2021 tragedy in Atlanta, made very clear.

From years ago to just last week, he's said some poorly-worded and even insensitive things. He's a human. We're prone to doing that.

If you think that it's okay to insult him on a personal level over this weekend's fiasco, to drag up an old mistake he already publicly apologized for, or to make unfounded accusations about his moral character, you are solely mistaken and have some serious maturing to do. If you actually partook in any of those activities, I sincerely hope that you regret your actions and avoid repeating them. And if you're one of those people STILL trying to pin all the blame on Steven, or even calling for his resignation(?!?)... I don't know what to tell you. I really hope you become a kinder person soon.

This also goes for people who started getting personal with the other members of Team Watcher, or with their friends or loved ones outside the company. So what if Sara had an imperfect take? She's not responsible for Watcher's bad decision, and we shouldn't be dragging her into the discourse just because she's married to a guy who did a fuck-up.

And yeah, Shane did a fuck-up. It ain't cute to act like he's an innocent anti-capitalist baby being dragged into this mess by Steven. Same goes for people saying Ryan didn't play a part in this, but over the past few days I've seen way more support for Shane among conspiratorial fans than for Ryan. I'm not going to act like racial bias is the only factor at play here, clearly it's more complex than that, but making up conspiracies to protect your white fave while scapegoating the outspoken-against-racism Asian guy... it's not a good look. You have to realize that and evaluate your biases.

FOUR: The backlash to the backlash has become excessive and unhelpful.

I get it. When people are being dicks online, it's natural to speak out against it. And boy howdy, were some people being dicks this weekend. Emphasis on the some.

Yes, there's been a lot of mean-spirited, unconstructive hate sent Watcher's way over the past few days. There's also been an incredibly large volume of constructive criticism from all corners of the fandom. Some of it's been discussed between fans, some of it's been shared directly with Team Watcher. It doesn't stick in your mind as strongly as blatant hate does, but I can assure you, it's there.

And in the effort to defend Watcher against that hate, a lot of you have made it really hard for good-faith criticism to be heard.

Seriously, every time I see someone on the Wiscord politely criticize one of Watcher's decisions, they're immediately shut down by a fellow fan. Same thing happened to me in an unofficial fan server earlier today. My good-faith critique wasn't as important as the fact that some asshole could hypothetically make a similar argument in bad faith. Any attempt at a calm, reasoned discussion of Watcher's issues as a company gets drowned out with blind positivity.

Let me make my stance crystal clear: people are allowed to be upset about things that they aren't being forced at gunpoint to pay for. That's like, the the basis of media criticism. "You don't HAVE to pay for it so you shouldn't complain about it" is not an argument that should be taken seriously here on Al Gore's internet.

There's also been a lot of disingenuous use of the "don't you believe artists should get paid?" argument, because yes I do, and yes they have been getting paid. By thousands of people at once - far more supporters than most working artists receive in a lifetime. I personally have been supporting them financially since January of 2020, literally since day one. Watcher's situation evidently isn't ideal, but as far as independent creators go they're pretty darn privileged to have the following they have.

And if you think that Team Watcher has actually totally been doing the right thing all along, then you're wrong. The guys at Watcher themselves admitted that. If they really are the bastions of honesty you're convinced they are, you'll accept that. Above all, the changes they announced today are not proof that "the bullies won". If the bullies won, there would be no streaming service. What happened was a compromise, and the assholes in this fandom didn't want a compromise.

Look, I know you guys. I remember the old days, when we weren't afraid to provide feedback to Watcher when they fucked up, and over much smaller fumbles than this recent one. I know we've all put a lot of money and time into this company and the people behind it. The sunk-cost fallacy is a very powerful thing. But please don't let your hatred for bullies and love for the boys completely blind you to valid criticism. You can't entirely shield them from growing pains if what you want for them is real growth.

FIVE: This isn't a real point in the list I just had to separate my closing thoughts from the rest of the essay I accidentally wrote. Whoops.

The other day, I saw somebody (can't recall their handle, sorry) describe some fan reactions to Friday's announcement as "post-divorce honesty". It's far from the only comparison to a breakup I've seen. That phrase has been ringing in my head for a while now. Because this situation has made a lot of people reevaluate what they like about Watcher, why they became a fan in the first place, and if it's worth sticking around.

Watcher made a mistake. One that they could walk back but can't undo. Their reputation is never going to be the same as it was before. Likewise, a lot of fans said things that can't be taken back, and now that's tied to their reputation in our community. I can't blame anyone for feeling uneasy right now.

Hm. When I started writing this, I had an actual ending in mind. I don't know where that went.

Maybe that's the note I end this massive ramble on? Watcher's future is uncertain, the community's future is uncertain, so I'm uncertain about the last part of this post...? Agh. There's a reason why I'm more of a fiction writer than an essayist. It's getting late, I've got stuff to do tomorrow, and my browser's beginning to slow down from the sheer weight of my draft being open for so long.

Just... try to take it easy on each other, okay? It's been a hell of a week, and we haven't even finished Monday yet.

#watcher #ryan bergara #steven lim #shane madej #good lord. we all gotta sleep.

[theimpossiblescheme]

Stray Media Criticism(TM) thought I wanted to get down before going to bed...

I feel like you can really tell when a work is relying on its fanbase to do all the heavy lifting. They'll scatter disparate breadcrumbs of characterization and character dynamics, introduce ideas and themes that never really get followed up on, and either have a lot of buildups with no payoff or a lot of hollow payoffs without the buildup to justify them. You can hear them rushing to get to the good parts without doing the nitty gritty in-between work that would make them meaningful--prioritizing individual moments and grand gestures rather than the wider story. And I'm sorry, but that's just not an effective way to tell a story. Show, Don't Tell is a key creative writing rule for a reason. You can't just show your audience a cool scene in isolation and go "How did we get here? It doesn't matter, but write some fanfiction about it!" There's nothing wrong with encouraging fan creators, but you have to actually write a well-paced, fairly airtight story to begin with, not just rely on the Internet to connect all the dots you couldn't be bothered connecting.

#That's why I find 'mystery box' writing so annoying--because if you're a lazy asshole about it you don't have to *actually decide* #what the twist/solution is until the very last minute when people have already made a ton of tweets and theory videos about it. #You *cannot* outsource your foreshadowing and character development to your fans--you have to write that shit yourself. #Otherwise you've only written about half of a good story and just thrown up your hands and said 'fuck it' to the other half. #Brought to you by 'Amie is tired and needs to get off Tumblr for a while'... :P #the schemer speaks #media analysis

[reiderwriter]

Okay, I just wanted to start off and say I love your stories. They're always so good. You've reblogged one of my stories a while, and I actually squealed and scared the crap out of my friend. But yeah, I live you and your stories 💖💖💖

So I read your one story of Spencer being a soon-to-be dad, and I really like the idea of seeing Spencer and reader as actual parents just feeling the emotions. I thought something based around their daughter (because Spencer's a girl dad) hitting a milestone like walking, talking, or something even bigger like the first day of school. I don't know if that makes sense, but either way, I hope you like it!

A/N: I love the idea of new-dad Spencer. He deserves a loving family and a baby so much 😭 I combined this request with one of the prompts for @imagining-in-the-margins Kid Fic challenge which you can find the details for here! ❤️

Warnings: none, just fluff.

Masterlist

You never thought leaving to go for a spa day would be one of the hardest things you'd have to do in your life, but here you were. 

In the ten months since you'd given birth to your daughter, you'd been stressed, lacking in sleep, leaking fluids from places that you forgot could have fluids leak from, and you'd been totally, irreversibly, head over heels in love. 

Both with the tiny little gremlin you'd given birth to, and with the man that you watched become a father. 

Spencer Reid was a great dad. 

He'd had a fair amount of anxiety leading up to the birth, worrying about every detail, talking to geneticists, driving you to and from each check up or attending via video call if he was on a case. After she was born, he helped out as best he could. 

For a man who had delivered a baby before and was absolutely great with his teammates' kids, he couldn't hold her for the first week without an intense look of panic crossing his features.

“Y/N, what happens if I drop her?” 

“Y/N, she sneezed. What if I got her sick?”

“Y/N, she fell asleep, I can't move.” 

A genius with an IQ of 187 slashed to 60 in front of a pretty girl. His tiny daughter had him thrown through a loop he got seriously stuck in. 

He was still helpful, and he got used to all his new duties and tasks within a week, but watching those cute clueless expressions pass over his face now and then endeared you to him that much more. 

He knew everything, but he had to learn this right there with you. 

So yes, leaving for a relaxing spa visit was hard. 

Spencer had been on a case for the last four days, his first since your daughter had arrived and the official end to his paternity leave. You'd been happy to see him get back to it, in all honesty. Spencer’s job, his research, and his work at the FBI were like muscles he needed to stretch. It wasn't that he couldn't live without them, but there would always be a part of him that felt stiff or unsure of himself without the possibilities of a case to unravel or some theorizing to do. 

You were slightly panicked at the thought of being alone with your daughter for four days, but you managed. With a phone call home every single night where he asked you about every single thing your little bundle of joy had done outside of his watchful gaze. 

Now, it was your turn. 

Spencer had insisted on it upon returning from his case. He got four nights of relative peace after 20 months of waking up with the baby, sleeping with the baby, napping when the baby napped, carrying the baby around when it became evident that she was desperately scared of not being the center of attention. 

He came back with a spring in his step, and the deep desire to see you get a solid night's rest the way he'd been able to. 

You'd tried shooting him down, multiple times, to no reward. 

“Spencer, you didn't exactly just up and go off gallivanting. You were working.”

“I was working, and I still got more rest than you. I really needed that sleep and time away, Y/N, and I think you do, too. Now, please, go away,” he'd pulled you into his arms when you'd put the baby down that night to reveal his brilliant plans. 

“Just for the night. Go away for a lovely overnight break. Not indefinitely. I love you.” His panicked confession at the end sent you into giggles, that with a few well times kisses had you reluctantly agreeing to the girls trip he'd planned you. 

The BAU girls had been roped into accompanying you on the trip, which honestly meant that he'd be getting status updates any time he asked for one. 

JJ, Penelope, Emily, and Tara were all going to strong arm you into the car if need be to carry you off to the nearest 5(ish) star Hotel and Spa. 

And that's exactly what happened. 

The man had even packed the bag for you to send you off, had made you breakfast in bed and had run to every sound your daughter had made from dusk until dawn so you didn't have to lift a finger. 

“Y/N, you're resting today.”

“But-” 

“No. No buts. Just rest.”

“At least let me hold her for a second to say goodbye.” He blinked at you for a few seconds before his stubbornly helpful face turned softer, and he quickly handed your daughter back for a small cuddle. 

With a lingering hug, you told your daughter - who absolutely did not care one bit that you would be wandering out of the house soon enough - that you'd be back in the morning, kissed your husband on the lips, and were swiftly kidnapped by JJ and Emily. 

To your credit, you lasted two whole hours before breaking down. 

The drive to the hotel was quick and peaceful, and it felt nice to breathe in the fresh air without having to also check for various baby smells. 

You checked in fast, and all gathered in the in-hotel restaurant for brunch and mimosas, and then it hit you. Another mother walked in with a stroller, and you were blubbering. 

Your bottom lip wobbled, and the rest of the world ceased to exist as you gave in to the emotions. 

You knew, of course, that you were going to have to leave your daughter at some point. It wasn't healthy for either of you to have attachment issues, and you didn't want to hinder your daughters development by sticking too close - but that didn't mean you didn't miss her. 

JJ noticed your watery eyes first. “Oh no, I know that look,” she smiled over her drink, taking a sip. 

“What? What look?” You said, but giving yourself massively away with a good sniff and watery blink. 

“You lasted longer than I did. I couldn't go half an hour without turning my car around and heading back to Henry, and I swear it was only worse with Michael.” 

You giggled a bit as you wiped your eyes. 

“Do you think… do you think we could go back? Just for a little bit. I just want to check on them.”

The women passed a look between them and then nodded back at you, obviously having expected this. 

“Actually, we didn't book any spa treatments until the afternoon. We had a feeling something like this would happen,” Tara smiled at you, and you snorted in surprise as you dabbed away your tears with a handkerchief. 

“We are laying some ground rules though,” Emily said, a stern tone fighting the playful smile on her face. 

“We can peak through a window, but we're not going in. And we're not going to call ahead and let Spencer know. The kid needs to know you feel confident in his parenting skills, and if he's just got the baby settled and you come back in, it won't be easy to calm her down again.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” you said, but you were already halfway to the car by the time you could finish the sentence. 

The girls pulled up a block away and let you walk calmly back to your front door. 

You'd since agreed to a time limit and not to unlock the door. Emily went ahead to scope out the house, communicating with JJ on the phone who was holding your hand to stop you from wringing them. 

You'd never been a part of the BAU, but somehow you felt like a team member on a case getting ready to stake out a target. 

When Emily gave you the signal, the rest of the girls gave you space, and you ducked down to peer into your ground floor window. 

Spencer was on his stomach with your daughter, and they were having what seemed like a riveting conversation. 

“And so then I obviously got tongue-tied. Like I said, Daddy isn't good at talking to people, let alone beautiful women like Mommy.” 

“Be be be da.”

“Exactly. I really embarrassed myself, actually. I went up to her and said ‘do you have a number?’ and she was so confused.”

“Ba!” 

“Yeah, she sounded like that, too. I kept talking more and more, and she couldn't understand what I meant. She thought I was asking about her age at one point. I was just getting redder and redder, and then she grabbed my hand and led me to a seat at the back of the bookshop because she thought I was sick.”

He smiled down at the infant again, still babbling to herself.

“I was sick, of course, but it was just love sickness. I still am.” 

The tears that you'd delicately wiped away earlier came back hot and heavy now as you resisted the urge to crawl through the window to your precious family. 

Spencer was telling your daughter the story of how he first asked you out, near disastrously, and from the sounds of it, he wasn't done telling stories. 

“I really love your Mommy, you know. She's wonderful.”

“Mmmm,”

“See, you think so too. Everyone thinks so.” 

“Mmmma” 

“Yes, your Mama. You’re just like her, everyone loves you, too.” 

“Mama.”

You heard Spencer's breath hitch as you closed a hand over your mouth to stop a shocked squeal from coming out. 

“T-That's right. Mama. One more time, say mama.”

“Mama,” the little baby squealed in delight, reacting to her fathers utter joy. 

“You're speaking. One more time, Mama.”

“Mama!” 

“Your mama is going to be so mad,” Spencer whispered, grabbing his daughter up in one more careful hug and kissing her face as she giggled delightfully. “We need to keep this a secret. Tomorrow, you'll have you say your first word in front of her, and we'll both act surprised, okay? Promise?”

The gargle he got in response was enough to have your shoulders shaking as the others extricated you from your own front lawn. 

Back in the car, you broke down into giggles and tears, shoulders rising and falling in sobs and laughter intermittently. 

“Is this a total psychotic break or just a symptom of seeing Spencer as a dad?” Penelope asked, nudging you with her elbow as you tried to regain your composure.

“It's… whew, it's okay. We can go back now.” 

“You sure?” JJ asked from the driver's seat, and you nodded once again.

“Yeah. I'm fine now. I'm really good.” 

The women all offered you similar smiles as you drove away, blissful and content. 

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

[hoshigray]

I WANT TOJI TO GUIDE ME (like literally almost teach me) HOW TO GIVE HIM HEAD PLZZZZ

Ohhhh, I don't know how tf I'm gonna write this, but here we go!! Hope I did alright on this one hehehe~ *sweats nervously*

Cw: Toji x fem!reader - oral (m! receiving) - it starts off cute but gets dirty, so minors DNI - reader admiring Toji's dick lol - face+throat-fucking (Toji goes at a reasonable pace) - pet names (angel, baby, cutie, sweetie, mama) - heavily detailed descriptions of a blowjob - praise - Toji laughing at you asking him to help bc what are boyfriends for, but you get a laugh out of it too - some humor. Wc: 2.8k

"You okay, kid?"

"Hmm?"

"You look lost in thought about somethin'."

"I do?" He lifts a brow and nods at you. "Oh, it's nothing, Toji, honest." The man looks at you for a few seconds as if he doesn't believe your answer, yet he goes back to watching the television, and the big hand on your shoulder brings you closer to him.

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon, and you and Toji are watching your favorite sitcom on the couch in your living room. But the show wasn't capturing your attention like it usually does. Instead, your mind wandered to other matters. Other...explicit matters.

How explicit? The two of you have been together for a long while now, and you can honestly say things have been going great. For him to be your first serious relationship — plus him being older and more mature than you — it's nice to know that things have been going way smoother than you'd thought in the beginning.

Although things may seem fine, something has been clouding your head recently. This is where explicit matters come into the conversation.

Through all this time together, it just occurred to you that you haven't given Toji head. Scratch that: you've NEVER given a blowjob, period.

It's always been the other way around. Not that you're complaining, because your boyfriend seems to enjoy eating you out. And he's actually good at it! Like, really good at it. Just reminiscing all the moments he's had you turn into jelly with just his scarred lips and relentless tongue is enough to make you go dizzy.

It's a pleasure how attentive he is to you during sex. And you appreciate that he cares for you in that regard...yet you can't help but feel like you're not a good partner in bed with your lack of reciprocity.

And it's not like you don't want to give him head. Because trust, you would've done so already! The real problem is that...you don't know how.

You've watched videos and read articles on how to do it, even practicing on a banana (per your friend's advice). Nevertheless, whenever you wish to initiate; or the opportunity arises, you just freeze on the spot and force yourself to forget about it. It's as if researching and amping yourself up is way easier than the execution.

Though, you can't just let your man be the only person doing the work — sex is supposed to be enjoyable for both parties, damn it! And you're gonna push yourself to have his dick in your mouth one way or the fucking other! But......where the hell do I start!!??

You release a defeated sigh, bringing your hand up to massage your forehead from the endless banter in your brain. And Toji watches you from his peripheral, his brows drawing downward at your display of frustration. "Alright," his gruff voice snaps you back to him as he lowers the TV volume. "What's goin' on in your lil' head, baby?"

You blink at his question. "Hmm? What do you—"

"Aht aht, don't do that with me." His jade eyes harden, and you hold back from finishing whatever you were going to say. "Somethin's wrong, so tell me. I'm over here watchin' this stupid show that you dragged me on to, and you're not even paying attention."

"Hey! It is not stupid," you counterargue, and use his comment to dissuade him from the topic. "You were very invested last week when my favorite character punched the guy she likes for stabbing her in the back! So who are you to—"

"Y/n." It didn't work. Your name was thrown at you with such seriousness that there was no use in trying to distract him. "Tell me what's goin' on. If somethin' is bothering you, don't be scared to come to me about it." He says it sternly, yet he's still gentle with his delivery.

"Toji..." You can only call him by name before he leans forward to kiss your forehead, and it almost melts all your worries away.

"Tell me."

The two of you look at each other for mere seconds, you searching for any sign of uncertainty before confessing your thoughts to him. You sigh once more and lean onto Toji, his hand rubbing on your shoulder — a silent gesture of him giving you all the time you need before confiding with him.

You told him, "Don't laugh, okay?"

He scoffs. "Can't make promises I can't keep, kid." His smile manifests when you shake your head at his shenanigans. "I won't laugh, angel."

When he uses the pet name on you, it seals the deal. It's now or never.

"I was just thinking that...I might need your help with something."

A brow is lifted. "With what?"

"Umm, it's..." Your fingers find each other to fiddle with to keep you busy from the awkward tension. "It's for......y-you know—"

"I don't know."

"I-ahem-I want," you can only gulp to ease the uncomfortable bob in your throat. ".........Iwannagiveyouablowjob."

No words. No movements. Nothing. Only the noise from the TV gives a sense of life to the silence following your confession. Even the big hand on your shoulder chose to remain completely still. And you can feel the slight quiver of your lips start to come to fruition.

Nothing happens until you feel a jolt on the shoulder you're resting on. Your face blooms hot, and your lips can't fight the uncomfortable twinge. Oh, this motherfucker is about to laugh.

"Is...Is that—ahem," A tiny gust of wind exits through his nostrils, trying to extinguish the beginning of a chortle. "Is that what was botherin' you this entire time?"

Now your ears get hot, and all you can think about is how you'll dig a nice big hole for yourself to crawl in later. God, why me??!

"W-Well, I mean, I notice how you're always doing it on me," another jolt from the older man. "And...I just feel like I'm not doing my part." He lifts his hand from your shoulder and rests it on his face. Fits of chuckles silently enter the air. "But I don't know how to....do that kinda stuff. So, I was just wondering—" He starts smacking his thigh, and with the twitch of your eyebrow, you've had enough. "Toji, I swear to Christ, if you don't fucking stop—"

And with that, the floodgates opened. The laughs he was doing a terrible job suppressing wheezed out, his hand covering his eyes while the shit-eating grin was present with laughter seeping out his system. You cover your face with your hands, shielding away from the embarrassment and not letting him hear giggles of your own.

"Oh shit, c'mere ya damn cutie." Toji pulls you in with both arms, caging you so he can place a kiss on your temple. "Pfft, kid, I'm not laughing at you. But goddamn, you looked so fuckin' stressed fr' no reason."

"But it is a reason!" You chuckle under your hands, only prompting your boyfriend to laugh harder. Once he calms down, you explain yourself further. "Toji, I'm serious. We've been together for this long, and it's always been me getting eaten out. I just think it's unfair that I get to feel good and you don't, ya know?"

He snickers. "I'm always feelin' good when I fuck the shit out of you."

"You KNOW that's not the same thing!!" Toji barks a laugh from you yelling at him, and you can't take this anymore. Removing yourself from him, you get up from the couch before you sink further into the internal pool of regret. "Just forget it. This conversation never happened...I'll just go to sleep." And hopefully, die of suffocation from my pillow.

However, before you could step toward your bedroom, Toji quickly caught your wrist. You reluctantly turn to see him looking at you with a playful smirk and soft hooded emerald eyes. "Not so fast there, sweetie." His hand slides down to fully grasp your hand, engulfing it with his size. "Ya know, you're a real cutie when worryin' about me. But don't go thinking you're not making me feel good, because you do with what you got. I woulda found someone else if you didn't." You briefly glare at him, though you know he has a point.

"Yeah, I know. But I want to do more. You always take good care of me, so...I wanna do the same for you." And Toji knows you're serious about this. It doesn't matter if you can't look directly at him because of your bashfulness; your words are sincere. God, you looked so cute it drove him crazy.

He sighs quietly with a smirk, his thumb making circles on the back of your palm. "Well, if you're really sure about putting y'r mouth on my dick," and before you could fully process his words, the older man spreads his legs for your eyes to observe. And the first thing that corrupts your vision is the outline of his erect cock, the tent prominent through his dark sweatpants. "Looks like ya got yourself a lesson. Up for it?"

You gawk at his erection for three extra seconds before you look at your boyfriend and give him a nod for confirmation. Seems like your plans of suffocation and dying in a hole have been postponed to another day.

Toji grins hard, his teeth peeking through under his scar, and then he points to the floor with his chin. As instructed, you kneel between his legs.

He pulls down the waistband of his sweatpants, freeing his cock from the clothed prison for you. And you're in awe with the sight before you. Of course, you've known his girth to be immense. You've had the damn thing inside you, for God's sake. But now, seeing his length so close, it's hard to believe you had him before. You can take note of every dent and vein of his shaft, how they structure all the way down to the base, and the pinkish-red color of the tip. It all overwhelms you and makes you second-guess what you're about to do...and the throbbing sensation down south flourishes.

"Like what ya see down there, angel?" The heat on your face worsens when you glance up and see Toji sneering down at you, and a hand comes down to massage your cheeks. "Try lickin' it first."

You gulp before following his suggestion, opening your mouth for your tongue to flick on the frenulum of his cock. You can hear him moan from the action, so you proceed and lap around the head of his cock until you feel adventurous enough to take his glans in your mouth. Toji groans from the wet walls of your mouth, and your teeth brushing against his glans makes his body jerk. "Hmmm, be careful with y'r teeth, baby. Relax that jaw and puff those cheeks a bit fr' me."

His comments are taken wholeheartedly, making sure everything goes right for him. Your cheeks go hollow for you to suck his cockhead and take in a few more of his length, his hums of pleasure egging you on. It goes well until the tip hits your uvula, resulting in your gag reflex. And Toji is quick to gently pull you from him, your saliva coating his dick.

"Woah there, sweetie. Don't forget to breathe." He coaxes while you cough. Your eyes start to water as you gasp for air to even your breathing. "We can stop now, don't want you chokin' on— Aisssh!!."

He's unable to finish his sentence when your hand strokes his cock, paired with kisses to the underside of his shaft. "No, I can keep going." You look at him with half-lidded eyes, having the man twinge his lips upward.

"Alright, then we're gonna go slow, okay? No rush." He aligns his cock to your lips, waiting for re-entry. "I'll push, and you breathe."

You give him a nod to signal you're ready, and your mouth agape to take in his returning limb. Toji brings your head in while you remind yourself to breathe, but your body jolts when you feel the tip come almost close to your uvula again. "Relax, mama, relax. Keep taking deep breaths fr' me." He coos at you, and you do as he says. Breathe in, breathe out. Once you slowly move, Toji aids you by gently pushing the back of your head toward him. And a wave of astonishment and relief hits you when you manage to have his dick hit the back of your throat.

"There ya go, cutie." He smirks at you, aware of your tiny display of giddiness. "Now, try goin' at your own pace."

With a few bobs up and down, slowly but surely, you get used to having Toji's cock in your oral cavity, going at your own tempo and enjoying yourself with this. Your movements are filled with confidence, and you whimper every time you try to go as far as you can but not too crazy.

And Toji loves every second of it. Your moans vibrate the walls around his cock, and it turns him on even more when he peers down to see you suck on him so deliciously. Spit covers your lips the more you take him in your mouth, and he groans when he feels your hands stroking him and kneading his balls (something you've learned to do from the articles you've read). "So good...Hmmph! So fucking good..." It's been a long time since Toji's been given a blowjob, and it feels so good to have you — his sweet thing — do it for him.

But then a thought pops into his mind, and the pleasure in his body churns into a different path of want and need. "Sweetie." Your eyes flutter up at him when he calls you, stopping midway through. "Wanna go a lil' further than this?" It takes a moment for you to register, but you give a curt nod with a hum on his dick, which he can only assume is a "yes."

"I'm gonna stand up, okay? So keep taking deep breaths and follow my lead." You don't answer, only gaze at him as you mentally prepare yourself. Toji rests a hand at the rear of your head as he gets up from the couch, keeping you still on his cock in hopes you don't choke. Now he's standing upright, and his sweatpants slide down to his sturdy thighs. He places both his hands on each side of your head. "I'm gonna start moving slowly, 'kay baby?"

And so he does, unhurriedly pushing his shaft into you, and your hands find purchase on his thighs as he does so. His dick that once stopped at the back of your throat eventually finds its way deeper within, and you're senses are clouded with his smell when your nose and mouth meet his pelvis. It all feels so overwhelming that tears start to form.

Toji lets you adjust to all of him for a while, grinding his hips on your lips to fully accommodate his whole girth, prompting more muffled mewls from you. He ruts his hips at your face when he notes your steady breathing. Gradually, every inch of his cock sinks into your mouth. Your head starts to pound as you enter a haze.

The pace of his thrusts eventually goes faster and faster by the minute, and the tears finally come down with every jab to your throat. Saliva runs down your chin with the smack of his balls, the head bullying your insides with the erratic rhythm. Your nails form scratch marks on his thighs from all the stimulation you're going through, but you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't feel so fucking good. Having your boyfriend's pelvis smack on your face on par with the sounds of you sucking him off felt like fire to your eardrums. So hot but so electrifying the more you indulge yourself.

As for the older man fucking the hell out of your face? Oh, how he missed this. It's been so long since he stuck his dick on such a pretty mouth. And your throat's tight, velvety walls have him rutting for more. He knew this would make his thirst return, and now he was sure an addiction would form from this. But right now, he can feel the surge of his orgasm arise, and his brows crease with a guttural groan as he thrusts into your face with harsh motions.

"Shit, ahhhhh shit, shit," It's so close, almost there. "Gonna cum, mama, gonna—Mmmm! Haaah, oh fuck, oh fuckin' Christ!" Through his moans of pleasure, Toji releases his load down your throat. And you're in no other position than to just take it, whimpering blissfully onto his length as he gives you a few more ruts to your face.

When he's done experiencing his ecstatic high, the older man withdraws himself from you. Your throat and mouth become empty except for his essence that you swallow. Strands of spit and come connect your wet face to him for a crude yet intimate moment before they break out.

He pulls up his sweatpants and drops down to wipe your pretty face with his hand. "So? Was I a good teacher?"

#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒔 #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk thirsts #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen toji #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji x reader #toji thirst #toji imagine #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you #fushiguro toji smut

[withacapitalp]

All this was inspired by listening to She’s So Overrated by Madilyn Bailey so fair warning LMAO. Also this got SO MUCH LONGER THAN I MEANT IT TO IM SORRY IT WAS JUST ME WRITING DOWN AN IDEA......

Okay so I’m having thoughts about modern AU lead singer Eddie Munson who’s been in the industry for years with the boys. Corroded Coffin is a staple of the metal industry, but for a few years he’s been feeling really stalled in his career and just stuck in place. He’s still making music, still performing, but he feels like he’s getting farther and farther from that kid who used to scream and sing in his closet bedroom in the shoebox apartment he used to share with Wayne. 

So when he and the boys are in an interview and the interviewee brings up how “King” Steve Harrington from The Four is trying to reinvent himself with the help of former bandmate Robin Buckley, Eddie goes off. He works himself up into a little tizzy, ranting Munson Doctrine style about how a former teen pop star trying to become some second rate folk singer isn’t anything special, and that he wouldn’t be caught dead cashing in like that. 

That Steve’s music is bad (even though he’s honestly never listened to it) and “King” Steve is overrated. How even Beiber is better than him. He’s just bullshit. 

Of course the interview goes viral, and finds its way to Steve and Robin. Robin listens to it first and she doesn’t want Steve to watch it. She knows how close things like this cut him (especially that word), and how he’s been dealing with a lot of hate from everyone even from former fans who are confused by the sharp contrast of his new music- aka the music he’s finally being allowed to write now that he’s broken away from his momager- but Steve makes her show him. 

She’s sure that she’s going to have to spend the next week rebuilding his confidence. 

And instead, Steve’s lip curls into a smile, and he grabs his songbook, telling her to find her guitar. 

Eddie wakes up five days after the interview to a huge flood of social media notifications, a dozen missed calls from the boys and his manager and his uncle. He ignores them all and goes to see what he fucked up this time. 

Eddie opens Youtube and it’s at the top of his recommendations. The thumbnail is Steve and Robin sitting together with a guitar in her lap. The title of the video is just one word. 

Bullshit. 

This can’t be good. 

Eddie listens to it even though he doesn’t want to. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a coward. Not anymore. He listens to it because he has to know how much he’s fucked up. 

And then he listens to it again. And again. And again. 

It gets stuck in his head. All of it. Not just the song (which admittedly is pretty killer) but also hearing the flippantly mean words he had casually thrown at Steve being shoved back in his face. He had seen Steve as an abstract thing, just a symbol of everything wrong with the industry, not a real person. And now this actual human being that he’s hearing has turned all of that garbage into a song that feels more genuine then most of the music on the last two albums he wrote himself. A song that has heart, joy, and a strong current of pain underneath, especially in the bridge where Steve just sings the word bullshit over and over. 

There’s even more than that. He also sees the way Robin and Steve interact while they’re working the smiles, the jabs, the silly little way Steve bobs his head along as he listens to her play, the way they both collapse into giggles at the end as Steve directly quotes the part of the interview where Eddie said that Steve “is just another laundry basket devil trying to act like a big shot now that he’s too old for teen girls to moon over.” 

He can’t remember the last time he and the boys had that much fun making a song. 

Hell, Eddie even sees their apartment. It’s a pretty nondescript room, but he can see the wear and tear on the furniture, the cobwebs in the corners of the room, the slightly drooping houseplant with the name “Dart” lovingly painted on its pot. It feels like a home, and as Eddie looks around at the bedroom in his far too big mansion, he feels even more like a fraud. 

Eddie listens to the song on repeat for most of the morning. In the afternoon he finally answers everyone, and starts to put his plan into motion. 

By that evening he’s on the phone with Steve asking him and Robin to help Corroded Coffin write their next song. 

#steve harrington #stranger things #st #eddie munson #steddie #steddie ficlet #st4 #steve and eddie #Robin buckley #platonic stobin #platonic soulmates Stobin #stranger things au #modern au #rockstar Eddie munson #pop star Steve harrington #And yes in my head they fall in love #and robin falls in love with CC manager Chrissy Cunningham shhhhhh #corroded coffin

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

Girl on Film

Kinktober Day One Prompt: Getting Caught

A Travis Kelce x Reader Fic

Warnings: Smut, Language, Masturbation (F)

A/N: This is really "almost getting caught" but I wanted to run with this idea lol

You propped your phone on the dresser, stepping back to make sure you had a good angle toward your bed. You hit the record button, before turning to the mattress. You took a deep breath, carefully crawling toward the headboard.

You didn't know why you were so nervous. You had no problem being vulnerable and sexy in front of Travis; in fact, you thoroughly enjoyed it. Its just that you really didn't have to do much when the two of you were together, once he laid eyes on you, it was only a matter of seconds before he had you naked.

Your relationship was still fairly new, only a couple months in, and this was the first time you had a boyfriend that was away this often, and there were many things you had to get used to, including finding creative ways to keep your sex lives interesting.

When Travis suggested that you send him a couple of sexy videos while he was on the road, you immediately said yes, but now that you actually had to do it, you were having second thoughts.

You ran your hands up your bare things, tickling your skin as you let out a small whine, deciding to pretend the camera wasn't there, and you were alone, masturbating as you had done many times before. You reached over to your nightstand drawer, pulling our your vibrator. You knew exactly the speed you wanted, turning it on before you gently grazed it over your covered pussy, shivering at the sensation.

Any nerves were quickly replaced by the need to get off, and quickly. You shed your panties, flipping them off of your ankle across the floor. Your legs fell open, exposing your sensitive core to the air. You unhooked your bra with one one hand, tossing it onto Travis' side of the bed. You were sure you looked frantic on camera, but at this point you didn't care.

"Mhm", you moaned, slipping two fingers into your mouth to lube them up, gently dragging them through your folds before you took over with the vibrator, positioning it over your sensitive clit. Your body moved instinctively, writhing over the sheets as you felt your core begin to tighten, your hips moving in circles to match the pulsing of the toy.

"Oh shit", you whispered, tweaking your nipple between your fingers, heightening your sensation, your toes beginning to tingle as you worked toward your orgasm. Your noises were explicit as you turned up the power on your vibrator, feeling the muscles of your pussy begin to pulse, seconds away from releasing. "Oh Travis", you called his name over and over, imagining his broad body towering over you, repeatedly driving into you with his full length.

Your breaths began to quicken as warmth pooled in your stomach, feeling the need to pee as you turned up the intensity once more, orgasming in seconds, your head thrown back in ecstasy as you squirted over the sheets.

"Holy fuck!" You panted, not realizing you had that in you, weeks of pent up sexual frustration leading up to one of the best orgasms of your life. You took your time coming down from your high, gently caressing your breasts and inner thighs, extending the pleasure you felt from your fingertips to your toes.

You gingerly got up from the bed, and grabbed your phone, saving the video to the cloud before you sent it off to Travis with nothing more than a suggestive smirk emoji.

You hid your phone for the rest of the night, your anxiety getting the best of you, but when you awoke the next morning, you expected to see a bunch of texts from Travis, maybe a couple of missed calls, but your phone was bare. The Chiefs won their game last night, and Travis was usually running on adrenaline after the game and would crash as soon as the team got to the hotel, but you were expecting some sort of response, a wink emoji at the very least.

You spent the rest of the morning keeping yourself busy, a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that maybe Travis wasn't as turned on by you as you thought, making you question his attraction to you at all.

"Babe, I'm home." Travis dropped his bags by the front door, and made his way to find you, finally locating you in the kitchen. "Hi", he whispered, leaning over to kiss you as you stood at the kitchen sink but you backed away, rejecting his advances. Travis furrowed his brow as he watched you aggressively dry a plate, your face stoic.

"Something happen this weekend?", he asked, taking a sip from a protein drink. You let out a humorless laugh, leaning against the counter to face your boyfriend. You had planned on brushing the whole situation off, but now after seeing him again, you were still just as hurt.

"I don't know, you tell me." You were snippy with him, crossing your arms over your chest.

"We won the game, but something tells me that's not what has you upset." He was really searching his memory to think if he could have done something to piss you off.

"Nothing else eventful happened, let's say yesterday night?" You felt the heat climb up your neck, starting to get really pissed off.

"Not really, we went to dinner as a team, and then I crashed at the hotel." Travis scoffed, remembering something. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his phone. "I accidently dropped my phone in the shower and damaged it. Had to get a new one this morning."

Your stomach dropped to your feet at Travis' words, your face going pale.

"Wh-what happened to your old phone, Travis?", you questioned. You grabbed at his phone and quickly searched his message log, realizing that nothing had been transferred over yet. "What's the problem? I can afford a new phone babe", Travis chuckled, not realizing the urgency of your question.

"Travis, what did you do with your old phone?!" You realized you were yelling but didn't care at that point.

"I gave it to Alex to back up so I can get everything transferred over to the new phone, he should be doing it now. Babe, what's going on? You're starting to scare me." You quickly left the kitchen, ignoring his questions as you headed to Travis' office. You searched his drawers for Alex's number, finding it scribbled down on a post-it note. Travis stopped you before you could dial him.

"Babe, stop. Tell me what's going on."

You turned to him, taking a deep breath before you spoke. "Last night, I recorded a uh- sexy video for you, and it's on your old phone."

'Wait, how sexy?" Travis raised his eyebrows in question.

"Let's just say your assistant is about to be very familiar with my anatomy. Like intimately familiar." You glanced back at your boyfriend, Travis' jaw clenched tight in anger. "We need to fuckin' call him right now." You nodded in agreement, pressing call on your phone.

"Hey, Y/N. How are you?" Alex cheerfully answered the phone.

"Hey Alex. I've been better. Listen, Travis told me that you're backing up his old phone. Please tell me you haven't gotten to his messages yet." You held your hands in prayer, waiting for his response.

"Not yet, is there something in particular I should be looking for?"

Travis shoved you over to get closer to the phone. "Alex, if you've seen my girlfriend naked, you're fired." You shoved his chest, shocked by his reaction. "Alex ignore him, of course you're not fired. I just need you to stop what you're doing and bring Travis' phone over to his place as soon as you can. There are some things on there that are for his eyes only." You let out a sharp breath, realizing you were most likely in the clear.

"Yeah, sure, and I promise Travis, I haven't seen anything. Just a lot of your selfies." You burst out in laughter, Travis less amused. "Yeah, just get over here ASAP."

As soon as Alex brought Travis' old phone over, you hooked it up to your computer, downloading all of his old messages to your hard drive. "Wait, I wanna see the video." Travis noticed you were going to delete the file.

"Hell, no. You're lucky if you get a picture of my ankle after this disaster."

Travis helped you up from the chair, sitting down before he pulled you down in his lap, resting his chin on your shoulder. "I wanna see it. I'm sure you look fuckin' amazing."

"You know, I actually thought you that you watched the video and hated it." You chuckled, hiding your face in your hands. He guided your face to look down at him. His voice was low and slow, so you could properly hear him. "You're the sexiest, most beautiful woman ever", you blushed at his words, "and you know exactly what you do to me." His gaze traveled to your lips, gently kissing you, his hand cradling the back of your head.

"I mean if you wanted to, we could make our own video right now, something to christen that new phone of yours." You whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

"Ok, but don't think I'm gonna forget about this. I still wanna watch it." He playfully patted your butt as you ran upstairs, Travis making sure to send your video to his new phone before he followed you to the bedroom.

Taglist:

@sporadicpaperchopshop

@marz22224

@rosesnothornes

@macey234

@amylouwho9

@jackharlowscumslut

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@trust-tequila

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@brixo

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@there-goes-thefighter

@kmc1989

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@fantasywritersstuff

@kelcemenow

@kristinamae093

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@purecinnamonextract

@jmamas92

@wittyjasontodd

#travis kelce #travis kelce fanfiction #travis kelce smut #travis kelce fanfic #travis kelce imagine #traviskelce #travis kelce x reader #nfl fanfic #nfl fanfiction #nfl imagine #nfl smut

[nico-di-genova]

For the ask game:

22. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

For Lestappen please! 🙏🏼

Thank you, have a lovely day 🫶🏼

22. "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice."

Charles has just about had it. Had it with the media who shove microphones in his face and demand to know what happened, why he and Max had ended up tire deep in the gravel. Had it with Pierre making little jokes about Charles and his ‘anger issues’. Had it with the disappointed looks Fred keeps casting his way during debriefs, as the damage to the car is discussed and the cost it will take to fix it. He’s had it with the social media team, the word ‘inchident’, the way his bad English in his teens seem to be one of his longest lasting legacies.

“It’s okay, we can spin this," they say, as if he gives a shit. It was a race. He raced, he saw a gap, he went for it, Max moved, and they both ended up out. It wasn’t anything.

But jesus, if Max gives him another one of those looks, Charles is going to lose every bit of media training he’s ever endured and strangle him right on this stage. In front of God, the cameras and everyone. He clenches his fists in his lap, grinds his teeth, feels his jaw tense. The cameras are probably picking it up, so he schools his expression into bored indifference. A neutral mask, they will know he is unhappy but they will not know it is with the Dutch bastard staring him down from the other end of the couch.

“It was nothing. Just an inchident, right Charles?” Max says, with that edge of ‘I think I’m hilarious, aren’t I?’ that makes Charles want to actually scream.

Instead, he picks up his own mic and laughs, nearly a giggle as he’s been instructed, it plays cuter. Makes him look less like the track menace who rammed into the back of Max’s car on turn sixteen of the Chinese circuit, as he cursed out Max’s speed in the straights over the radio.

“Yes, hah, right. We will, uh, we will do better this weekend.” He hopes he doesn’t sound as strained as he feels, rehearsed, it’s harder to pretend when he can feel the weight of Max’s gaze on him like the full weight of his own car, plus half the rest of the grids just for good measure.

Max grins, wicked little glint in his eye, “Absolutely.” And then he’s spinning the attention away from Charles and back to the Red Bull’s performance in high wind conditions – there’s a tropical storm brewing off the coast and it’s been fucking with the weather. How his team is confident they will be able to pull away from the rest of the grid with enough ease that situations like the last race don’t happen again.

Charles thinks about beating him to death with the microphone in his hands. Not seriously, not in a way he would ever act on, just in a way that would mean he doesn’t have to stare at the back end of a Red Bull wing for another fifty-seven laps.

The rest of media day is fairly uneventful. He knocks out some joint video stuff with Carlos, does a few social media photos and merch signings, and tries to ignore the questions about Max that just seem to keep coming.

Only once does he bite, when someone asks him if he and Max will ever refollow each other on Instagram.

He laughs, “He will have to follow me back first.”

There’s a camera recording his response, grainy iPhone footage that he will definitely see on Twitter later. Good. Let Max see the gauntlet he’s thrown down. Let him see the Ferrari cap Charles had been signing with the easy flick of his wrist and sharpie across the brim. Let him see Charles does not care.

Because he doesn’t.

Why should he?

Except that maybe he does, because when Max shows up at his hotel room that night he can’t help the annoyed sound that escapes him.

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

“So we’re fine a week ago, but you send me into the gravel and it’s you who gets to play the silent game?”

He’s been ignoring Max’s texts. There had been a lot of them.

“There is no game, I am busy. Meetings. Repairs. You know, the damage to the car.”

“Oh you’re moonlighting as your own mechanic now? Ferrari is that desperate?”

Max is angry, but more than that he’s hurt. Charles can see the flash of it in his eyes and in the tension when he clenches and unclenches his fists at his side.

“You’re-“ Max glances down the hall, at the Aston Martin employee who’s casting them glances.

Charles waves.

Max lowers his voice until only Charles can hear, “You are such a sore loser.”

The sting of it is well aimed, lands right between Charles ribs, pisses him off enough that he drops the act for a minute and tells Max to go fuck himself in Italian before slamming the door in his face.

It’s not that he’s never been called that before, more than he’s never been called it by Max. Somehow that hurts more.

Max wins in Miami. Charles has engine trouble on lap thirty and has to retire by lap thirty-two. The smile that he forces on afterward when he lies through his teeth that ‘it is like this’ hurts more than his pounding head after the DNF in China.

He tries to drown it all out by hiding in his room until his flight the next morning, instead he ends up at Max’s door.

“I hate you,” he says when the man opens it wide enough that Charles can slink past.

His hair is damp, sticking up in spikey points atop his head, and his white shirt is sticking to wet patches of his skin. He smells like ember, or leather, or something distinctly sharp. Charles tries not to think about it.

Instead, he paces tracks into the plush carpet and keeps his eyes glued to the movement of his own feet while the words spew out of him faster than he can stop them. It’s not all in English, spoken so fast he’s sure Max has missed most of it.

“I fucking hate you. You stupid. Moronic. Annoying. Idiot. You and your inchident like I am stupid. Fuck you. That was my race. My line-.”

“Is this about China?”

“Yes,” Charles spits, “Of course it is about China.”

Max crosses his arms. Watches as Charles motions wildly in the air.

“It is about China. And Suzuka. And Melbourne. About every circuit you follow me onto.”

“I follow you onto?”

“Shut up.”

“Interesting perspective.”

“Stop.”

“I didn’t even finish Melbourne.”

“Shut. Up!” He yells, he can’t help it, feels like something in his chest finally snaps and then there is a long silence where neither of them say anything at all. They both stare at each other, like someone took out a gun and shot the other. Charles does not yell. He is polite, kind, he is exceedingly lovely.

He does not yell.

Except that sometimes he does, and right now he would like to just so he could feel the pure release of it. Sometimes he does not want to be fucking kind. But he also does not want to yell at Max, realizes the pointlessness of it all.

“You want to be friends? Still?” Charles asks, because it is Max who had begun this whole dance of repairing whatever shattered thing sat between them from when they were kids. Max who had started texting him asking to play FIFA and paddle, to go running with him, offered his private jet for flights if needed. Giving everything hand over fist to Charles, assumedly because Red Bull had seen how well he listened to team orders, and behaved, and wanted to own him before Ferrari could lock him down again. Charles had played the game, and he’d maybe even become Max’s friend in the process, but there’s still a part of him that is twelve and bitter – bitter that Max has always had the money, the better kart, bitter he can’t seem to catch up no matter how hard he pushes down on the throttle.

“Do you want to be friends?” Max asks, keeping a wary distance from Charles that once would have felt normal but now seems unfamiliar. He looks at Charles like he is a ticking time bomb. Charles hates it. He hates feeling weak.

“I…I don’t know.”

“We don’t have to be, “ Max says, like the thought has not occurred to Charles.

“I know-.”

Max cuts him off like he can hear the growing edge in Charles' voice and wants to avoid alerting the housekeeping staff in the hall to their bickering.

“Then just say that. I won’t text. I’ll leave you alone. Don’t do something you don’t want to do, Charles.”

It is reminiscent of Max telling him choose whatever team he wanted a few months back, telling him to fuck expectation and do something just because he wanted it. Which was ironic coming from the three-time world champion who only wanted to race cars online. Charles chose Ferrari, because there was never realistically a world where he wouldn’t.

The simpleness of it, the way Max is so willing to just let him go, to give up on the bridge they’d slowly been building between them – Charles suddenly hates him all over again. Max Verstappen and his chivalry and his kindness and his brutal honesty because he has no need to lie. It sparks that familiar jealousy in Charles.

Which is maybe why he throws some of Max’s own medicine back at him.

“I have seen the way you look at me,” he blurts out, “When you think I will not notice.”

Max takes a moment to catch-up with the twist in conversation. His eyebrows doing this expressive little dance that Charles almost finds endearing before it settles on hurt shock.

“What?”

“You are not subtle.”

“I don’t-.”

“You’re only nice to me because you think you can fuck me now. That doesn’t make you special Max, that is all anyone wants me for anyway.”

There is a moment where he thinks Max will tell him to get out, a moment where he would go, it is a moment that is quickly lost in the anger that makes itself at home in Max’s eyes. The bridge crumbles, they are twelve and all they want to do is hurt.

“God, how do you see anything over that massive ego of yours, Leclerc.”

“You’re the three time champion, Verstappen. You tell me.”

Max steps closer, Charles steps back, he meets the resistance of the dresser and Max is suddenly there. Chest to chest, the two of them staring each other down with enough vitriol that it would probably put Pierre and Esteban to shame.

“You’re a fucking dick, Charles.” Max growls, “It’s not my fault Ferrari can’t pull their shit together enough to put you in a decent car.”

“Your car is a violation,” Charles spits back, “easy to win when you ignore the rules. Like always.”

They should stop, Charles thinks, knows they’re toeing along the precipice of something. But he’s sick of playing by the rules, so he pushes.

“Cheating is how you win, yes?”

Max's hands fist in the fabric of his shirt and push him further against the dresser before he even has the chance to blink. The furniture digs into his spine, until Charles can’t help the wounded sound that escapes him.

Max wrestles with something inside himself, Charles watches the struggle. He starts to pull away, but Charles grabs him by the hips and keeps him there. Max looks at him with that familiar expression, the one that Charles has been ignoring for months, want and need and longing all wrapped in steely grey that should be cold but might be warmest thing Charles has ever been cast in the light of.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Max says, and Charles feels rage. But it isn’t rage, not at all. It’s want. It’s the same feeling he gets when he’s gaining on Max in a race, hungry with the need to pass, to overtake, to get ahead and taste the clean air for once. It’s what landed them both in the gravel two weeks back.

Charles is smart, calculated when he needs to be, and right now he doesn’t want to play dumb.

“If I want you to hurt me?” he asks, really asks, even if he’s sure he hasn’t read the signs wrong.

Max’s expression does another dance, settles on the same want that Charles is reflecting back at him, “I don’t cheat.” He states.

Charles smiles, and it’s not the PR smile, all pretty for the cameras, it’s the smile of a man who drives on the limit and curses when he still can’t get ahead. “I don’t care. I’m going to beat you one day either way.”

Max wins in Imola, but Charles wins in Monaco.

They stand on the podium as the Monégasque anthem blares and he looks at Charles with pride, longing, reverence.

Charles notices, he always does.

#charles leclerc #max verstappen #lestappen #formula 1 #my fic #lestappen fic #I call this: want disguised as hate disguised as mess

[honeybcj]

@jegulus-microfic february 8 / headphones / 941 words / based off those silly videos i’ve seen where people approach others and ask what song they are listening to

The last thing Regulus anticipated for his peaceful morning walk was to be bombarded by a man with a tiny microphone asking him the silliest of questions.

The morning had been going well; headphones on, a cozy sweater hanging from his torso. He finally had a free moment to walk around campus without the impending doom of assignments on his back. So when this man—a concerningly gorgeous one, mind you—approaches him with full blown enthusiasm, Regulus’ mouth suddenly runs dry, no words coming out.

“So what song are you listening to?” The man asks, extending the tiny microphone at him.

Regulus blinks at the man, mouth opening to say something. He freezes, glancing down at the phone screen in his hand. He could lie. Come up with just about anything. Or he could just flat out ignore the infuriating man.

There’s another one of them, balancing a phone in his hands, seemingly recording the whole interaction. Frankly, Regulus has no idea where to look. Actually caught off guard by the whole situation.

Cautiously, Regulus slips the headphones from his ears, peering up at the man in front of him to get a better look. He’s got these gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, which are kinda dorky, but they actually look good framing wide hazel eyes surrounded by crinkles from smiling too hard.

“Uh, I’m listening to, um,” Regulus stutters, glancing back down at the screen. His voice comes out quiet, “Chopin’s Nocturne No. 20 in C-Sharp Minor.”

The man’s brow furrows in surprise, the corners of his mouth turning up even more. A smile that stretches miles wide revealing pearly white teeth that are blinding. Those stupid little crinkles aren’t going anywhere, and it’s making Regulus positively mad.

How does one just go about their day having a smile like that?

Infectious, even. Almost possessive in the sense that Regulus has to school his own expression, tugging the corners of his mouth down into a flat line. An attempt to remain neutral like a stick wasn’t thrown right into the middle of his morning routine.

“Wonderful. Thanks so much,” the man replies before turning to his partner behind the camera. As the camera is lowered, seemingly having gotten what it needs, the bothersome man turns back towards Regulus, cheery grin still in place.

“Is it okay if we use that for our video?” The man inquires.

Regulus just blinks, unsure of how he got himself into this predicament. Ages ago. He could have walked away ages ago, no longer caught up in whatever scheme this is.

But, no. Regulus may or may not be swooning. Too captivated by brown skin and the blinding smile. Warm, inviting eyes with those goofy glasses and unruly curls twisting along his forehead.

Feeling brave, Regulus straightens his shoulders, cocking his head to the side. With a deep breath, Regulus says, “If you tell me your name, you can.”

Like a godforsaken dog, the man’s ears perk up, a dimple popping in one of his cheeks. Regulus finds himself wanting to dig his thumb into the divot. Find out how deep it can go.

“‘M name’s James.” The man—James—extends his hand out to Regulus. A stupid handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

Hesitantly, Regulus takes his hand, giving a good, practiced handshake in return.

“James,” he tries out, getting a feel for the weight of the name on his tongue.

“Am I pushing my luck if I ask for yours?” James asks, tilting his head to the side curiously.

Regulus snorts his response, taken aback by the man’s sheer will to keep asking him questions. The audacity of this man. Absolutely, positively ridiculous.

But he takes it all back with a shake of his head, caving in and responding before he even has a chance to stop himself. “Regulus.”

“Regulus,” James repeats, still shaking Regulus’ hand. How had they not let go yet?

The two of them stand there staring at each other. Neither of them saying a word, just looking. It should feel awkward, having just met this stranger on the sidewalk, but Regulus can’t tear his eyes away from this James guy.

It’s the voice of the other man that cuts through, ending the shared moment between James and Regulus.

“Oi, James. We’ve got places to be. Gonna need you to peel your eyes away from your newfound crush for a second, so we can get going,” the other man announces, which makes Regulus breath hitch.

Apparently, it’s doing things to James as well because his cheeks go ruddy, ducking his head down to get out of view of Regulus who is feeling far too amused now. He’s pretty sure his own cheeks are dusted with a soft pink, mesmerized by the sudden shyness James is emitting.

“Seems like you have places to be, James,” Regulus comments, shifting in his place.

“Appears that I do, Regulus,” James agrees, taking one final look at the man in front of him. “See you around then?”

Regulus hums, jutting his chin out. “Maybe so.”

It all ends too soon for Regulus’ liking. Has him wondering when the next time he’ll see James will be. Hadn’t seen him before this point, so what is the likelihood Regulus will run into him again.

It’s a gamble he’s willing to take.

One thing though, he doesn’t miss the way James throws a wink in his direction as he walks away. Or when he friend whacks him over the back of the head, warm laughter falling from his mouth.

It’s enough for the smile to finally spill over onto Regulus’ mouth. Oh, he wants to see James again. Very much so.

#jegulus #james potter #regulus black #james x regulus #jegulus microfic #marauders #han’s microfics

[starwikia]

suicide cw

look i have been in this area before mentally. it sucks and i wouldn’t wish this on anyone. but, and this is going to sound callous, but i don’t feel any sympathy for james somerton. even if i hope he’s like. not dead. But thats all the amount of goodwill im willing to give him. The more i think about this really, the more angry i am. 

ngl this entire situation is another example of how white people weaponize their mental illness to avoid consequences. Im seeing it in real time.

this man has a continuous habit of using self-harm as a get-out-of-jail-for-free card. in both of his apologies, he has worded his supposed attempts in ways that were clearly meant to guilt people who displayed his plagiarism and overall horrendous history of racism and misogyny. i say supposed because, while i’m not saying those are lies and this would he such a fucked up thing to lie about that i don’t want to think he has, unfortunately, it’s been proven again and again that his word can’t be trusted, as he’s known to lie to try get out of consequences. Hes a proven liar. him lying about this is actually the best case scenario, because no one should go through this entire situation, wouldnt wish this on anyone, but you can only do this so often before people stop sympathizing with you. is this callous? Yeah, but like. I’m actually fucking angry he cant straight up take no as an answer. that this is how he reacts realizing he cant be one of the Cool Kidz™️ on youtube anymore. he acts like he DESERVES a career, like its not a privilege hes lost due to his own actions.

He lied about apologizing and forgiving people, he lied about giving the money to hbomberguy to give to ppl he ripped off (yknow, instead of doing it himself), he lied about the jessie gender situation and rewrote the narrative to make it so he isnt the bad guy, and hes the victim all along actually!

you can’t tell me that supposed last message of his isn’t meant to be a 13 reasons why esq attempt to deflect the blame “look i’m going to kill myself and it’s all YOUR PEOPLES FAULT for not letting me achieve my DREAM of being filmmaker IN PEACE!!! I just wanted Nick’s (the guy who I have thrown under the bus again and again) portfolio up!! Im just being a good friend dont you all FEEL BAD” he refuses to take ANY ACCOUNTABILITY of any of his actions and he IS STILL trying to shove the blame over to other people again.

it’s also pretty ironic people are like “uhhh well hbomber’s fans harassed him!!!” like hbomber outright told people NOT to HARASS JAMES!!! ALSO acting as if james doesn’t have a very real documented history of STRAIGHT UP sending his fans to harass and threaten smaller creators, more notably women, trans, and bipoc creators. especially after he’s stolen typically very personal anecdotes so he could profit from them. so why can he do it but the second people are like “hey this guys an actual piece of shit.” and he can’t handle it suddenly people are trying to white knight his shit? like no he doesn’t get that. he doesn’t get that at all just because he couldn’t handle the consequences of his actions. 

what? were supposed to stay quiet about a man profiting off of other minorities because he wanted to be the spokesman for all gay people? people tried to solve this on a smaller, more private scales for YEARS and he kept doing it. it was clear that the giant public video was the ONLY way to get people to notice. HE WOULDVE GOTTEN AWAY WITH STEALING 87 FUCKING THOUSANDS WORTH OF DOLLARS. HE CANT HANDLE THE FACT HE CANT GET AWAY WITH IT. 

am i supposed to feel bad for the guy who basically threatened a trans woman with the police? i don’t care what anyone says, it’s so fucking obvious that he threatened jessie by implying he was getting the police involved in their conflict. what am i supposed to act like that didn’t happen? are we supposed to pretend like he didn’t glorify nazi’s and outright said that gay people made up a good chunk of the nazis? That he didnt say america joined ww2 bc they were jealous of the NAZIS. WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO FUCKING SAY THAT. but then? He gives women (not even women most of the time, he misgenders nonbinary ppl constantly) shit for writing mlm. are we supposed to act like he doesn’t straight-up sees himself superior and better than people of color and steals their works to put himself on a pedestal? Are we supposed to act like he didnt spit on our elders by saying “only the boring gays survived aids” like man! Fuck you! He BLANTANTLY MAKES UP HISTORY TO PUT HIMSELF ON A PEDESTAL!! HE ACTIVELY TRIED TO REWRITE LGBT HISTORY TO SUIT HIS FUCKED UP NARRATIVES!

yes this sucks ! no one deserves this but no one should be making him a martyr. Thats what he fucking WANTS! He wants to be immortalized as a victim!! (again, supposedly, it was reported hes alive but its not confirmed).

The shit he got isnt near the amount of fucking callous behavior hes done again and again. Again, to drill this point, EVEN IF HE DIDNT CALL THE POLICE HE THREATENED A TRANS WOMAN INTO THINKING HE DID!!! The fact he tried to use a head injury to justify years of the outright ghoulish shit fucking astounds me. Why the fuck did anyone in his life thought it was a good idea to let him TRY to come back. in the end, he had options. he didn’t need to try to make a comeback. HE DIDNT NEED TO FUCKING LIE OR IGNORE THE SHIT HE WAS CALLED OUT ON the reality is, he wanted to come back thinking he could shove it under the rug, was told that no dude, you’re not allowed to be a youtuber anymore. you’re done. you need to move on and went full nuclear. it’s not on anyone’s hands but his own. HES BEEN DOING THIS TO HIMSELF!! But nah man we cant call his shit out bc hell may or may not kill himself. Fuck the other minorities who have the same issues but worse and sometimes BECAUSE of him. This is going to SUCKKKK so bad when other ppl, specifically white gays, are going to weaponize this shit to get away with their stuff.

#warning: do not read this post if you want me to be nice to james somerton. i am extremely mean in this post. #before anyone accuses me of shit i legit never contacted him myself or anyone involved. i am someone who witnessed this behavior repeatedly #again. i hope hes alive and well. the fact is him lying about this WOULD BE THE IDEAL SITUATION. BC NO ONE SHOULD GO THROUGH THAT. but. #he HAS to forever be the victim in his eyes. attempting doesnt automatically mean youre free of sin. #its just terrible to see that regardless whether or not he did do it #its very clear his attempts to run away from his consequences are working on some people #we need to acknowledge that if your shitty ex friend can weaponize a threat to kill themselves #so can this internet person after being called out for horrendous shit #like what was the alterative? what were people supposed to fucking do? be nice about it? #yeah as if poc and trans women arent historically given shit for being 'too mean' about wanting justice. #this isnt just the plagiarism this is the fact a white dude has been parading himself as THE speaker for the gays(tm) but has been using hi #gayness to shield himself from his misogyny racism transphobia and antisemitism #its very clear regardless this means that ppl r going to side with him and then give him benefit of doubt #if you cant handle the heat stay out of the fucking kitchen dude. this is the consequences of your fucking actions. #hes a disgusting person who cant handle being told no so hes going to drag everyone down with him #like. idk this entire situation is frustrating to me. #its also frustrating ppl trying to be moral abt it like 'see! i knew this was bad all along!' no you didnt. shut it. #for the record im like mainly talking abt twit watching those spineless uwu cutesy ppl basically saying hes done noting wrong #oh and also alt righters who are clearly weaponinizing this where u know they wouldnt give a shit if a right ytber did this. #james somerton #idk might delete this later its just. ugh...

[moriwood]

One More Shot — l.hs

lee heeseung x male reader angst (heavy?) 1k words

Your best friend Heeseung bursts into your apartment with soju after breaking up with his nth girlfriend of the year. A few bottles later and the true meaning of your relationship with him is put into question.

includes: drinking and crying, bros being homos(?), cringy dramatic lines warning: toxic relationships, blood and violence? (very very minor, like 2 sentences max)

“Get in,” you sigh, beckoning your best friend Heeseung into your apartment. In his hands were heavy plastic bags, one full of liquor and the other snacks. He trudges past you, dropping himself and his items on your couch before staring at you wistfully.

“She broke up with me,” he hesitates, “said I had someone else in my mind or something, whatever excuse that was.”

You lean against the doorframe. “Well, do you?”

Heeseung scrunches his face in disgust. “No, dude. I suck at relationships but I don’t cheat.”

You take the bags from him and set the bottles of Yakult and soju on your coffee table. “The Yakult’s for you, wimp,” Heeseung weakly smiles.

“What’s up then?” you mumble, opening two bottles of soju. Heeseung immediately grabs a bottle and chugs it down.

“That bad?” you ask. “Three weeks of that girl got you that bad?”

Heeseung laughs.

“Exactly, dude! Three weeks, fucking three weeks. I can’t make these relationships last.”

You wish you knew. Heeseung has practically thrown himself to any woman who showed him interest for the past year, and a delusional version of you would love to link this phenomenon to something that you said a year ago.

It’s not like Heeseung is a bad guy, he really isn’t. He’s a romanticist, he likes bouquets of flowers, the arm around the shoulder, the subtle kisses to the nape… A part of you wishes you could’ve been one of the dozen women instead, but you knew where your place was.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Heeseung,” you chuckle, “it’s not like I’ve dated anyone yet.”

You grab yourself a bottle of soju, taking a glance at the pack of Yakult to the side. Maybe not tonight. You could drink soju by itself anyway, you think.

“No Yakult? ‘Lil bro trying to man up?”

You shrug. Heeseung stares at you oddly before grabbing another bottle to drink. The two of you sit in silence, trading snacks in between sips of soju. You’ve always been satisfied with this ritual of yours with him, just the warmth between the two of you equating to a hundred unspoken sentences. Yet, this one feels different. The television’s off, no video games are being played, and there is an invisible wall dividing you from leaning on him. Heeseung is on edge, distant, as if holding back. 

As you both drink the silence away, you slowly slip into a different space of inebriation.

“Sometimes, I wonder,” Heeseung seems to think over the next words in his mind, “why you’re still friends with me.”

So that’s what he really wanted to talk about.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. You really don’t know.

“All these women come and go but you’re still here.”

“They were girlfriends. I’m your best friend,” you reason, hoping that it’s enough to cut the conversation off without delving into something else.

“But you liked me, didn’t you?”

Maybe Heeseung is actually not that good of a person. Perhaps, you’ve just gotten used to him, standing right there beside him, a fallback for when things go awry. A convenience store receipt crumples beneath your feet, reminding you that you sent him money for your drinks and snacks tonight.

“We don’t have to talk about that anymore, Heeseung,” you warn him, “it was a year ago.”

“It still hasn’t changed though, right?”

You open another bottle of soju for yourself but Heeseung only snatches it away. He chugs it all down again, before standing and clasping his clammy hands on your shoulders. He was pinning you down to your couch.

“Answer me.”

You close your eyes and breathe deeply. “What do you want me to say, Heeseung?”

“You know, she always felt off whenever you were with me. You hovered around us, clinging onto me like some fucking lost kid. God, I swear you’ve made this year so miserable for me.”

You’re trembling. Your room starts to stink of liquor as Heeseung continues to breathe down on you.

“Are you trying to blame me for you being a shitty boyfriend?” you whisper as you stare directly into his rage-filled eyes. Then you shove his hands away, standing up to meet his height.

��You shouldn't have said anything. You should’ve just kept it all to yourself. Now, my mind's all messed up. I don't know how to approach you, I don't know how to approach all of this bullshit!”

“I told you I'd understand if you wanted to end the friendship, Heeseung! I’m not the one who crawled back here weeks later pretending nothing happened,” you exasperate, accidentally knocking a bottle off the floor with your foot, causing it to shatter and spill over your wooden floor.

Heeseung attempts to pull you away from the shards but you push his hand away. He insists, shoving you to a dry side of your couch. He pins you again but now he rests his head on your shoulder.

“Fuck, it’s all coming out wrong,” Heeseung says under his breath, speech slightly slurred with drunkenness. The sleeve of your shirt gets wet as Heeseung begins to sob.

“I should’ve given you the chance,” he finally says. “I shouldn’t have rejected you back then.”

Your hands find their way to Heeseung’s back, attempting to soothe him as he slowly embraces you tightly.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats between hiccups. “It was so hard for me to admit it but I think I like you too.”

The thought has been prodding at the back of your head since that moment from a year ago, that there must be a reason why Heeseung chose to remain friends with you despite your confession. There must be a reason why there became a palpable tension between the two of you each time you met since then. You’re giddy with the feeling of your repressed feelings finally being reciprocated, and the liquor in your system only rouses you further.

“I’m not too late, am I?”

You feel pain spike up your leg, noticing a slit on your foot bleeding, mixing with the spilled soju. Let the brain run later as the heart decides to beat what it wants. 

“No, you’re not, Heeseung, you’re not. You’re right on time.”  

author's note: this is my first fic! very new to this platform (in terms of posting) so please be gentle if it sucks jk. feels like i could flesh this out more ngl aioksaozkasd i decided to start posting cuz of my friend hehet~ now somebody please tell me what to do next 💀 (sorry for rambling)

— moriwood.

#enhypen x male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #lee heesung x reader #lee heeseung x male reader #angst #heavy angst #flash fiction #mori fics

[respectthepetty]

Pit Babe Colors Ep. 12 The Black Parade Episode

I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are, so I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, the captions are off also. It's just colors and vibes here. Y'all done told be EVERYTHING, so I know the entire plot now.

THAT WAS A TEAR! KENTA IS CRYING!

I thought it wasn't just sweat last week but knowing he is actually crying as he thinks about their past did immediate damage to me, and now they are ALL standing there in the dark with Way and Pete highlighted by the blue, and, and, and . . . Kentana are you gonna die? You and Waymond are stressing me the fuck out!

Now that I know they are both enigmas, I can't see them the same. Are they using their superpowers on each other right now? Are they reading each other's minds? Are they trying to figure out how to get Kentana back, so they can make this poly?

Kentana, how many times are you going to have this man spit in your face before you realize that he ain't shit? Go to your room, turn on Billie Eilish's "Happier Than Ever" and really hear it. "Never told anyone anything bad cause that shit's embarrassing. You were my everything, and all that you did was make me fucking sad."

The blue keys in front of the red product placement is all I need to be reminded that this show refuses to allow me peace.

Shocking absolutely fucking nobody, Kentana did not listen to "Happier Than Ever"

And now someone is gonna die because there are only so many ways for you and Waymundo to redeem yourselves, and if you have Jeffrey in all black, I'm worried it's gonna be your funeral we will be planning next, Kentana.

There is one episode left and I am death gripping the one time Vegas' Hedgehog wore blue because I will never get it again. I hate them.

Real question: Is Barbie pregnant? I know he is sad Charles is "dead" *eye roll* but he is taking pills, getting fruit thrown at him, and staring out into space. I would love to believe he is going through his Edward-left-Bella-so-she-was-super-duper-sad era, but now that I know pregnancy is on the table, that's all I can see.

Oh, thank goodness! Someone actually has a tracker on his phone! But Kimberly has been kidnapped, caught up in human trafficking, and is now beating up children. Bro, what was your life before it all went to shit? Do you ever call your mom and tell her these are your friends now? Are you even still racing? Nevermind. Go catch those kids.

The problem with black is the shades. Waymond's jacket looks green. Peter's pants look blue. And yet it still feels like we are preparing for a funeral. A real one this time. Not fake like someone else's *cough* Charles *cough*

Kentana, are you betraying Jeffrey as Big Red watches? Or are you asking him how Peter's been? Has he been well, without you? Is he dating anyone? What is his status with Way? Well, Jeffrey wouldn't know, but Peter x Waymond could be poly if you get out of that fucking house and stop kidnapping people!

Going from Kentana in that House of Horrors to Pete looking like this makes me understand why Kentana is out there kidnapping people. I'd feel some type of way too if my childhood crush looked like this and was getting chummy with a dude who looked like Way Way. Damn.

What the hell is this?! The cover of a boy band album? A meeting to discuss poly? The Thai version of Barbie where Ken(tana) explains why he won't leave the Mojo Dojo Casa House? AND WHY ARE ALL OF YOU WEARING BLACK?! Someone is gonna die.

Did Big Red know Kentana went to see Barbie and the other Kens?! Was he sent there by Big Red?! Kentana is really breaking my heart on his knees hugging this man like this. I want to slap Kentana all the time, but I also want to hug him and tuck him into bed with a moon nightlight calmly lighting up the room.

Let's stick him in a video game, so he can learn to love himself.

Push him down the stairs, Kentana! Do it. PLEASE! Shoulder check his ass at least.

Oh Lord, NO! Waymond, do not take a fucking bullet for anyone. You canNOT die by Whiny Winifred's bullet. I refuse to let you go out like that. You finally used your powers for good, but this is not the time to die.

Y'ALL DIDN'T EVEN GRAB THE BAG!

This is Mission Kim Possible all over again! How do you not grab the damn bag?! Waymundo looks so damn good in his suit, so thank God he is still alive, but what the fuck guys?! One job! SECURE. THE. BAG.

I hate how good everyone looks in black because I keep swinging through emotions. I'm terrified for everyone yet very attracted to everyone. All the guys connected to Big Red have been in black this episode regardless if it was their color or not, so I'm hoping that means the funeral will be Big Red's.

A cult meeting, in this economy? Villains make the dumbest decisions.

Waymond has some white on . . . over black. Please Mary, mother of God, do not let him do something stupid.

Alan, did you just say "eff them kids"? No. Not my Alan. He'll be back for them. Right. Right?

Peter is gonna Regina George his way into this Halloween party that he was not invited to just to cause some havoc. Mad respect.

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

How the hell did Charles get there?! Did Barbie's dad tell him to go to the cult meeting? Dressed like that though? Did his spidey sense go off? So many questions, but all I know is Kentana better let them go, so he doesn't have to die.

Whiny Winifred better not get better at aiming in the final episode because I still need both of these two to wear blue TOGETHER.

WAYMOND, NO!!!!!!!!!!

Good to know it only took being kidnapped twice and (possibly) someone dying for Jeffrey to finally commit to the blue.

My nerves are wrecked. There was too much black this episode. Someone is going to die, and as much as I want it to be Big Red, I just don't feel good that Kentana is still on his bullshit, and Waymond keeps jumping in front of guns. Peter needs both of his boyfriends to live.

Also, Barbara, I already know you are immediately going to hug Charles next week, instead of having a moment to be pissed all the way off at him like you should be, so I'm going to start meditating on that right now. I've been mad at Charles the entire season, so I'll hold this grudge for both of us in the finale.

#pit babe #pit babe the series #the colors mean things #and they will guide me the whole way through #color coded boys in love #episode 12 #I'm gonna be stressed all week #way is gonna do it #he is gonna break my heart to redeem to himself #love yourself Kenta #love yourself more than you worship Big Red #and don't sacrifice yourself either!

[bias-fan]

PERFECT [baseball player!kim seungmin x only fans creator female!reader]

[16: please let me explain📝]

[masterlist] [previous] [next]

kitty met up with jeongin outside of the building, with the coffees. her eyes widen, “jeongin! you dyed your hair? when?” she question as she hands the coffee to him.

“last night. i thought i should change it up.” he answers as he pulls his phone out and took a photo of her.

she rolls her eyes, “it looks nice on you. can’t decide between the blond or brunette.” jeongin shakes his head as he laughs a bit.

while they walk to class, kitty freezes, seeing seungmin outside their class waiting. he’s alone, looking around until his eyes meets her. jeongin notices this and whispers, “want me to tell him off for you?”

she shakes her head, “no. he’s still your best friend. besides it’s not like he’s looking for me. he’s probably looking for hari.”

the two go and walk pass him, until his hand grabs her arm. “kitty, can we please talk? i’ll explain everything.”

kitty glances at jeongin before looking back at seungmin. “isn’t your girlfriend going to be pissed you’re talking to me?”

seungmin shakes his head, “she’s not here today. please.” his eyes are begging her. she sighs before nodding.

he brings her to outside between two of the buildings. “what did you want to explain?” she spoke in a bit of a quiet tone.

“i’m sorry that it seems like i lead you on. i didn’t want you to think that.” he starts off. “hari and i are complicated. i do like you, i do. we just been together for six years and she does have this hold on me. i didn’t know why i went back to her. you treated me so much better in a few weeks than she has in six years.” he continues, “i didn’t think you would actually ever like me back, and i didn’t want you to think i don’t like you either. “

kitty stares as he tells her all this, shocked. “i also felt guilty that you stopped making your content since we started to fake date, and i didn’t want you to stop doing your job either.” he continues to speak, “i never minded you making those videos in the first place, like get your money the way you want, you know?” she continues to listen to him. “i basically lost my best friend because of hari, since we got back together and i hate it. i don’t know how to finally break it off with her. i was hoping i’ll figure it out while dating her but i don’t how to still.”

kitty opens her mouth to say something, but someone cuts her off. “minnie?! what are you doing? talking to her?” his girlfriend marches over, pissed.

“it’s noth-” kitty gets cut off by hari slapping her. she holds her cheek in shock.

“hari! why did you do that?” seungmin asks in shock, “she didn’t do anything to you.”

“she’s talking to my boyfriend. aka her ex. that’s never a good sign. you need to fucking leave him alone, you whore!” hari shouts.

she scoff, looking at his girlfriend now, rubbing her cheek. “geez, you are such a bitch from what i was told by jeongin.” she states, glaring at her. kitty gets in her face now, “listen, you’re just a bitch who thinks you can have someone she dated for six years wrapped around her finger. you can’t let go that he’s moved on and just doesn’t know how to let you know and that’s why he’s dating you.” she informs her. “i don’t know why you think you have a huge claim over someone you cheated on, but you’re so pathetic. also a huge bitch.” she pushes her a bit, “so don’t tell seungmim who he can and can’t be friend with. you’re ruining his life.” kitty turns around and walks back to class.

synopsis: being an onlyfans creator in college is hard sometimes, getting innuendo comments thrown at you, that’s what kitty deals with but ignores it. she meets seungmin by accident, a baseball hitting her face. he knows who she is because of his friends.

a/n: i am so sorry for not posting for a bit, work has been eating up my asshole, licking is nice and clean😭 i worked for like 9 days from friday and i finally gotten back into this. i was stressed from the distract manager complaint about anything i do, working multiple stations everyday for my job, dealing with a coworker who doesn’t remember where she works, while she been here for the pass 5 months😭 and dealing with stupid customers. but here is the long awaited chapter!!!!🥳

#angst #skz #kim seungmin #stray kids #crack #bang chan #han jisung #hwang hyunjin #lee felix #lee know #lee minho #seo changbin #yang jeongin #skz smau #skz x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #fluff #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin imagines #kim #stray kids x reader #x female reader #college au

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

WIP Wednesday Thursday

Happy Thursday y'all! It's been a while since I gave an update on the Dancing with the Stars Dieter fic, Closed Position.

As mentioned before, I do not plan to fully dive into this fic and start posting until Destiny & Deliverance has been completed. However, there is only one chapter and the epilogue left (I'm not ready). Since, it's not that far off...I have started working on my outline for dancing Dieter. More below the cut. 👇

I have it planned out fairly well, so I am sharing my chapter list with you today. This could change slightly when I start digging in, but this is the format I'm going with:

Prologue

Introductions

Week 1 - Foxtrot

Week 2 - Cha Cha

Week 3 - Jive

Week 4 - Rumba

Week 5 - Argentine Tango

Week 6 - Paso Doble

Week 7 - Jazz

Week 8 - Viennese Waltz

Week 9 - Quickstep

Week 10 - Samba

Week 11 - Finale

Epilogue

I've been doing a ton of homework on the show, so I plan to incorporate a lot of crazy behind the scenes stuff that actually happens and makes for an entertaining plot. Anyone down for a weekly spray tan? No? Dieter isn't a fan either.

This fic will not be anywhere near as angsty as D & D. However, some tough topics are mentioned, mostly relating to Kat's (OFC) asshole ex who will be very present as another professional dancer on the show. Then of course, Dieter's issues with drugs and alcohol are discussed too. He will be sober in this fic, but early on in his journey. Still very much our loveable, hot mess trash panda though.

I would like to do a lot more extras with this fic. I plan to share some inspiration videos for each chapter so you will have a visual of the dances. I think it will help you understand what ultimately causes Dieter and Kat to fall for each other. If nothing else, the visuals are just hot AF.

There will be a lot of Latin dances, just because we have to show off Dieter's loose hips. You know there are going to be jokes about that. I feel like it's a good excuse to take Dieter's button allergy up a few notches too. 😏 Here is a sexy little Rumba video to get us started. This dance may or may not be the one that gets them in trouble...🤐

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo was looking to change his bad boy image and clean up his act after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble. 

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dance partner to one of Hollywood’s biggest stars to go the same as it had for the past nine seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo. 

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

If you would like to be added to my taglist for this fic, feel free to comment below or shoot me a message and I will get you added.

Tagging all my usuals. If this isn't a fic you would like to be tagged on, let me know and I will remove you. 😉

@rhoorl @chaoticfestninja @survivingandenduring @partyofone3413 @wannab-urs @cakipy-blog @titlee78 @poodlebae @guelyury @missladym1981 @maried01 @alokaerza @samiamproductions @misstokyo7love @themonadiaries-blog @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @avastrasposts @weho2kcmo @harriedandharassed @tkchaos @girlofchaos @yghuibt @musings-of-a-rose @secretelephanttattoo @maggiemayhemnj @legendary-pink-dot @linzels-blog @morallyinept @undercoverpena @sin-djarin @trulybetty @goodwithcheese @jazzloveslatte @timpletance @myloveistoolittle @annieispunk @bitchwitch1981 @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @for-a-longlongtime @hisandsnakes @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @copperhalfcent

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #dancing dieter #closed position teaser #closed position series #Youtube

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not having a job despite having time for it?

🍏🥝🍏🥝 <- to keep track of this when it posts,

My family really loves talking about me(20) when they think I'm not listening. I've heard them on multiple occasions say that I need a job and that I should just start working part-time while I'm going to college. The issue with that is that while other people can do both pretty decently, I dont feel like I'm capable of doing both part time and college without one of them suffering a lot because of the other.

My family is pretty financially stable, and the fees I owe never go over 900 dollars and sometimes I even make my own money off of commissions to help pay for things. I actually did have an actual job during my classes for a while filing things and remote video editing work (for the same job) but one of my family members worked with me there as my boss and I decided to quit after they decided to ask if my mom would've rather died than had me after I told him she called trans people abominations (I am trans, I'm only out to that family member and my brother). I haven't found a consistent thing to do to earn money since but I've been trying really hard to advertise my commissions since then.

The part where I feel really guilty though is the fact that I've been going to a community college for almost 3 years now (with my family supporting me money wise) and know I'm only going to come out with a one year certificate because of how fucked my schedule got in my first year. I didn't meet some prerequisites , and despite the course I wanted being a 2 year degree it was worth almost 80 credits, which felt insane as I went into it. 5 classes a term, some 5 minutes after the other, all based on pouring hours and hours into artsy projects (video, audio, 3d modelling, painting, 2d animation, ect...). I broke down within my third term after I started failing some of my classes. I was still trying for my 2 year degree up until 2023 where I decided that getting a certificate that was similar and getting a job after would probably be better for me at this point rather than spending ANOTHER 2 years struggling OR straight up giving up and dropping out with nothing.

I'm also home a lot when I'm not in class (I'm only taking 2-3 classes a term now). I do little things sometimes like take out the trash and pull dishes from out the washer and so on but it's all only when no one is home because the place where things generally need to be cleaned up is all in our very small kitchen AND the fact that I'm scared of them poking fun at me for "finally doing something for once" because it makes me feel terrible when they do. I end up chilling out in my room completing work and desperately finding work arounds for projects to only ever really need done in my room or on campus- generally anywhere that's not going to worry my grandma too much.

I've told my family that their teasing doesn't make me feel good but it just gets responded with "that's just how we show love!" when I know it doesn't have to be that way! My boyfriend teases me pretty often but the difference is that he actually listens to me when I tell him something he said didn't feel very good to me and we talk it through, and then he doesn't make that joke again or i feel better after knowing the context of it!!! A lot of my family members will bicker until another one ends up crying and it's horrible to watch how petty and bitter everyone can be.

Don't really know what else to write, AITA guys? I know I could be doing a lot more around the house instead of working but I'm scared of being touched (my aunt randomly spanked me as hard as she could one time last year) and scared of more mean comments being thrown my way. I already have a plan to leave this home and have been open about it to them, but I don't want to rush it if I don't have to and want to spend a few years saving money up so that I'm not in a horrible situation if things go awry.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[makethatelevenrings]

Somewhere Only We Know - TWO

Chapter Warnings: spoilers for 2x02, swearing but that’s part of the show idk why you would be surprised by that

shoutout to @yanna-banana​ for showing me this Instagram dupe site so I can make this a bit more ~interactive~ since reader is, y’know, a social media manager. also thanks for ur patience my lovelies, i’m having “ahhhh im graduating” depressive states and all my energy is going towards finals and existing rn.

Series Masterlist

“Okay. Laptop. Charger. Keys. Coffee. Shoes. Shoes!”

For some reason, you were a mess this morning. You had been repeating your list of things you needed over and over again and yet every time you kept discovering something else you had forgotten. Your bag lay half-packed on the couch as you ran around like a chicken with its head cut off in pursuit of your shoes. Seriously, how the fuck did you lose the shoes you had grabbed from your closet just a minute ago?

That’s because they were in your hands.

Sighing, you pulled on the sensible flats and took another moment to look around your room and list out all the things you needed for work today. The TV played in a lone drone behind you and you turned your head to see This Morning playing. Philip and Holly were interviewing some guy from that one reality show.

“What about Amy? Are you going to wait for her?” Holly asked.

“Nah, no. I was just playing a game, know what I mean?” the guy replied. Christ, was that Jamie Tartt? It was, wasn’t it. “Find the fittest girl there, have sex with her in the toilet, ask her to marry you. Strategy.”

“Wow,” you drawled before you shut off the TV. “He’s a piece of shit.”

You headed for the door and quickly backtracked. You almost forgot your entire bag and the leftovers from the shoot you had last night. Ugh, you needed more coffee.

~~~

You were scrolling through TikTok in search of a new trend to use for a Richmond video when all five foot two inches of your boss came bursting into your office.

“Oh, sorry! I should have knocked. Get your bag, babes, we’re going to lunch,” she exclaimed. “There’s this cafe that’s a ten minute walk from here and they’ve got the best coffee.”

You knew better than to argue with the pure ball of energy that was Keeley Jones. In the short time you’ve known her, you loved the beaming blonde. She and Rebecca were infectious in their laughter, light, and kindness. When you first interviewed, you were intimidated by the two women, but you quickly learned that they were goofy as hell and always down to gossip.

Grabbing your purse, you dutifully followed Keeley through the maze of hallways. She passed the locker room without a second glance, but you made sure to peek over your shoulder to see a few of the guys streaming out of the doors.

“Yo, Keeley!” someone called. She spun around and waved at whoever yelled and then grabbed your hand, pulling you over to talk to a few of the guys.

“Hi Isaac! Have you met our new social media manager yet? She’s gonna be the one making you all look sexy on the Gram now,” she announced. You offered them a tentative smile and the large man in front of you beamed.

“Isaac McAdoo,” he introduced. You gave him your name in turn and then cleared your throat. You weren’t as charismatic or bubbly as Keeley, but you were trying to make more of an effort. Your last job was filled with a few passive aggressive comments thrown over cubicle walls and then bossa nova jazz everyday. No one had been chatty or nice the way everyone was at Richmond.

“I’ve actually been meaning to set up meetings with all the players,” you explained. “My job is to handle the team’s socials, but I also want to integrate the players' ideas and individual brands. I’d also like to know if anyone is working with a management team so I can coordinate with them on certain posts.”

“Isn’t she fucking brilliant?” Keeley exclaimed.

Isaac puffed out his chest and flexed his biceps. “As long as you make us look good, then I’m in.”

Keeley patted you on the shoulder. “We should get going to lunch, but check your email soon. I’ll make sure we can coordinate times to meet.”

“Awesome. Nice to meet you!” He darted off to go talk to someone else and Keeley slid her arm into the crook of yours so she could lead you out of the building and down the road.

“Isaac’s all bark and no bite unless you’re on the field,” she explained. “Sam is an absolute sweetie and Colin is darling. Richard is my go-to when I need to know a wine pairing and Zoreaux is a beast at Dance Dance Revolution. Bumbercatch is…”

Keeley listed off all the players on the team and you tried to keep a mental catalog of everything she said, but it was making your head spin. You were grateful once she stopped outside a small cafe that was indeed a short walk from Nelson Road. A simple vanilla latte and a chicken cobb salad was your order while Keeley got a complicated drink and a wrap.

The owner, Alex, handed the two of you your drinks and you turned with the intention of finding a table to wait for the food when Keeley stopped short. Some guy stood half-obscured by the plant shelves, but he stepped out once he realized he caught Keeley’s attention.

“Jamie?!” she exclaimed.

“I-I’m not stalking ya,” he blurted out. “I’ve been following you for, like, a few blocks now and I couldn’t text ya because I deleted your number.”

As he rambled on, his words started to fade in and out as you took him in. His slicked back hair made him look like a corny Godfather character and the all black ensemble didn’t help. You could understand why people fawned over him with that strong jaw and blue eyes, but as his lips moved all you could hear was his smarmy talk from the show this morning. 

“So, yeah, I’ve been following you for the last few blocks. No, I’m lying. I’ve been following you for your whole lunch hour. But I’ve just been trying to build up the courage to say hi…so…hi.” His voice trailed off and he shrugged.

“That’s, like, the definition of stalking,” you murmured which drew his attention to you. Jamie Tartt was starting to feel like a bad omen that was following you around.

“Hi, sorry. Jamie Tartt.” He offered you a cocky smile that you recognized from the TV that morning and you merely glanced down at his outstretched hand. You had no idea where that hand had been. Raising a single eyebrow, you let your gaze trail up from his hand to his face.

“I’ll go find us a table,” you said to Keeley before you brushed past him and found an empty table by the window. You always loved sitting by the window and watching the world pass by. You could make up stories about the people that passed by. Like the lady walking two poodles. Maybe she was some CEO or maybe she was an undercover agent. That would be sick as hell.

“Sorry about that, babe,” Keeley apologized. She placed your salad in front of you and then took the seat across from you. “Now, I just want to say that your idea about meeting all the players? Brilliant. Absolutely fucking brilliant. When we get back to the office, we can set up a calendar for everyone to schedule a time to meet with you. How’s that sound?”

“That’s great. I really love working here.” You looked towards the door where Jamie Tartt was heading out of, a coffee clutched in his hand. He glanced back at the table you were sitting at and you immediately looked away and back at Keeley. You offered her a tight smile and nodded along to whatever she was saying.

Hopefully that was the last time you would ever see Jamie Tartt.

Tag List: @shiptheship​

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt series #jamie tartt fanfic #ted lasso fanfic #somewhereverse

[ckret2]

Chapter 18 of Mabel has made the questionable decision to befriend human Bill (real title TBD), and the first chapter with an actual title!

After the emotional rollercoaster of the last chapter, this one's pretty lighthearted. Featuring: food poisoning, anti-intellectualist propaganda, ritual sacrifice, arson, burns, injury, cannibalism, and children almost dying. And friendship!

####

One of the things that came with immortality—mature, cosmic-scale immortality, not baby immortality like you found in vampires with a few measly centuries under their belts—was an expertise at meditation.

And it had nothing to do with being particularly wise, or serene, or enlightened (although Bill would argue he himself happened to be all those things). Even the most rambunctious, cantankerous, petty, spiteful, impatient, silly immortal in the multiverse could drop into a thoughtless trance deeper than the Mariana Trench with nothing but five seconds' notice that he had some time to kill and there was nothing interesting on TV. 

Most mortals struggled with this idea, the same way fish struggled to understand how it was so easy for land mammals to hold their breath underwater. They didn't understand that it was a necessary survival skill.

Some millennia were boring. "You've had every conversation you can imagine with every person you know, you won't see a fresh planet for an eon, you're floating in the void of space, and your only company is the glitter thrown off of dead stars" boring. So boring the only way to get through them was by holding your breath until they were over. And in those times, the only way to endure the soul-crushing mind-shredding suicide-inducing boredom of those long, slow, dull millennia was knowing how to productively dissociate for the next five thousand years without so much as needing a snack break.

Bill was very old. Bill was very good at meditating.

It wasn't doing him a bit of good.

He'd lost count of how many hours he'd spent meditating since his capture: sitting in the dark, legs crossed, hands on his knees, eyes shut, trying—trying—trying to do anything. Trying to astral project out of this prison. Trying to see into the mindscape. Trying to connect to the countless windows through which he could see all over Earth. 

Trying to feel the vast stores of pure energy that made up the core of his being.

He couldn't feel it.

And he was not terrified, he wasn't he wasn't he wasn't.

Surely the Axolotl hadn't taken that energy away—that would be infinitely cruel—but he'd done an amazing job of sealing it away. Bill was psychically dead when he was awake, helpless prisoner when he was dreaming. Here he'd thought the Ax was gonna help him avoid punishment.

Well, what do you do when you're in a cage and you aren't strong enough to break the bars? You pick the lock. Where could Bill find a psychic lock pick?

Someone knocked on the bathroom's doorframe. "Hey Bill?"

He snapped out of his futile meditative state. "Yeah?"

"Are you using the toilet or just lurking creepily?"

"Lurking creepily!"

Mabel pulled aside the curtain and turned on the light. "Do you wanna help me make a video on—"

"More than anything." Bill got to his feet and—ow—cracked his sore back. Meditating could keep you sane when you were in the deepest depths of sensory-deprivation boredom, but it didn't actually offer you any entertainment. Mabel, on the other hand, did.

He'd find a lock pick later. Something would come up. It always did.

####

The weaving camera only revealed a blurry patch of carpet and upholstery back before it managed to focus on its target: half a hot dog lying between the back of the sofa and the living room wall. "There it is!" Mabel said. "I knew I smelled something in here."

"Wow, look at the colors on this thing! The green splotches kinda look like tie-dye," Bill said. "Hey, nobody's had hot dogs since you locked me up, have they?" There was a moment of silence as they tried to figure out how long that hot dog had lain, cold and forgotten, behind the couch.

Then the camera jostled as Mabel tried to reach past it to the food. "I'm gonna eat it."

"I'm gonna eat it."

"Hey!"

Bill's arm stretched past Mabel's, snatched up the hot dog, and disappeared. 

"Biiill! I wanted to try it!"

"No way, it's mine now! You snooze, you lose, kid!"

Mabel whipped the camera around to focus on Bill's grinning face as he inspected his prize. "Hey, this thing's growing mushrooms! It's provided its own condiments!" He held Mabel back at arm's length as he shoved the hotdog in his mouth, chewed quickly, and swallowed.

"Jerk," Mabel said. "How did it taste?"

Bill looked thoughtful. "Kinda sour and vinegary," he said. "Probably from the mold."

"Gross! Do you think it was safe to eat?"

Cheerfully, Bill said, "We'll know in a few hours, won't we?"

####

Mabel sat outside the downstairs bathroom with the camera turned toward the curtained doorway. A radio on the floor playing a Sev'ral Timez song unsuccessfully drowned out the sound of Bill heaving into the toilet.

One trembling arm reached out of the bathroom toward the radio. Bill croaked, "You're my only proof that time is still passing." He feebly patted the radio. "Tell me the universe keeps moving forward. Songs play. Moments end. I'll be free again." He made a choking noise and the arm quickly withdrew.

Mabel turned the camera toward herself. "And that concludes Mabel's Guide to Indoor Foraging! Tune in next time for... I don't know, how about animals?"

Bill replied with a deathly wheeze as he inverted his stomach.

"Animals it is!"

####

Mabel's Guide to Animals

####

The camera opened on a shot of the living room sofa, where Bill sat cross-legged and grinning next to a large easel pad. The first page of the pad was covered in drawings of cute animal faces, birds, fish, and (closer to Bill's side) skulls, lightning, and triangles.

From behind the camera, Mabel said, "Welcome to Mabel's Guide to Local Animals—"

"I'm helping," Bill said.

"—featuring Bill Cipher as my cohost!"

"That's me!"

"Yes it is. Lots of different systems have been proposed to help categorize animals—"

"These are called 'taxonomies,'" Bill said.

"—but together, we've picked out some of the best, most useful ways to categorize the animals of Gravity Falls. Such as: size!"

Bill flipped the first page of the easel pad, revealing a page covered in drawings of a couple dozen creatures ranked in size from mosquito up to lake whale.

"Color!"

Bill revealed a page with animals arranged in rainbow order. (Several of the overwhelmingly brown population had been circled in various hues of blue, purple, green, and pink, as Bill made mental notes to himself on how he'd recolor some of Gravity Fall's more visually boring creatures. Mabel had stuck star stickers beside the ideas she liked the best.)

"Friendliness!"

Another flip, and four columns capped by faces ranging in emotion from smiley to angry. The angry column was very long, but several creatures had been scratched out and hopefully moved to the sorta-smiley column.

"How good they taste!"

Bill turned another page to reveal a list of animals ranked by flavor, and said, "And a very important follow-up..." He turned another page to reveal one titled "How Many Times You Can Survive Eating It." There was a lot of overlap between the previous page's "Delicious!" column and this one's "Only Once" column.

"Super important," Mabel agreed.

Bill said, "You can also sort animals by..." Flip. "Quantity of bones!" Bill's handwriting utterly filled the page. It was unnervingly thorough. He'd listed "humans," "human babies," and "toothless humans" as three separate species.

Flip. "Planet of origin!" There were twelve different headings, only one of which was in English. One heading titled "?????" simply had a doodle of Bill underneath.

Flip, revealing a pie chart. "Percentage of known timelines in which a species has conquered the Earth!" Bill pointed at a slice that took up almost a quarter of the chart. "Humans are in the lead!"

"Yes!" The camera jiggled as Mabel pumped her fist in the air. "USA! USA!" Her chanting petered out. "Hey—what's that bit next to it—?"

"Don't worry about it." Bill smacked his hand over the pie sliver labeled "Bill" and quickly turned the page.

Mabel said, "Anyway, after several rounds of rigorous scientific debate, we've determined the most efficient and useful way to categorize the various creatures in Gravity Falls: the Fuzziness Scale!"

Bill gestured proudly at the heading on the final page, and then pointed at each category as Mabel listed them off.

"Starting with hard animals—"

Bill said, "Such as turtles and rocks."

"—then crunchy ones—"

"Roly-polies, ants, and baby turtles."

"—then smooth and firm—"

"Snakes and fish."

"—smooth and squishy—"

"Slugs, pigs, and Soos."

"—part fluffy, part bald—"

"Humans and winged snakes."

"—regular fluffy—

"Cats, dogs, and bears."

"—extra fluffy—"

"Alpacas and baby chicks."

"—and super deluxe MAXIMUM fluffy!"

"Tarantulas!"

Mabel said, "Our primary goal is to offer the scientific community a new, more accessible taxonomy that everybody can enjoy!"

Bill said, "And our secondary goal is to remind humanity of the inherent futility and cruelty of categorization! Reject boxes, embrace irregularity, and destroy the tenuous connections between concepts and synapses that you call 'knowledge'!" He pointed directly at the camera. "Return to the times of Icarus when humans could fly because no one had taught them they couldn't! Raze your universities, turn your libraries into origami, and execute your teachers as witches! Burn it all down!"

"Burn it down!" Mabel cheered. "Burn it DOWN, burn it DOWN—"

####

From atop the kitchen table, the camera recorded the stove, upon which the easel pad lay engulfed in flames. Mabel and Bill watched the mini-inferno silently.

Mabel turned to Bill. "I'm gonna get some sticks so we can roast marshmallows."

"Good idea. I'll watch the fire and not make it worse."

Mabel shot him a skeptical look.

"I promise."

"I'm holding you to that!" Mabel jogged from the room.

Bill glanced out the kitchen doorway to make sure she was gone, turned toward the stove, and slowly, ever so slowly, stuck one finger into the flames. "A—"

####

Mabel smiled at the camera. "Welcome back! My co-host has been banned from the rest of this episode so he can reflect on his behavior."

Behind her, Bill, one hand bandaged and face covered by a paper bag that read "PLAYED WITH FIRE," said, "It was worth it!" He'd persuaded Mabel to draw his triangle face over the text.

"So, now that you know several ways to categorize the creatures of Gravity Falls, you can go meet them! And hopefully befriend them!" Mabel said. "Now, meeting animals is difficult, but there's several ways you can make it easier! Such as fishing, going to a petting zoo, sneaking into your friends' homes to talk to their pets, disguising yourself as an animal—"

Bill threw in, "Using a spell to summon them."

"Using a spell to su— Doing what?" Mabel stared at him. "Do you know a spell to summon animals?"

"Oh yeah, it's easy!"

"What kinds of animals."

"Any animals in hearing range," he said.

Mabel gasped. "Can you teach me?!"

"Sure! It's easy. You've gotta be a girl, put on the fanciest dress you own, stand somewhere in the open, sing a song—"

"What song?"

"You make it up on the spot. It's one of those 'sing from your heart' deals."

"Oooh, Mabel likey."

"The most important part is keeping your mind focused as you sacrifice a..." Bill hesitated, glancing toward the camera, and said, "Well, the whole world doesn't need to know this trick, do they?" He covered the camera lens with his hand, and the screen went black.

####

Bill shot from the attic window as Mabel stood on the picnic table in a frilly lime green dress and a dozen multicolor bead necklaces and held up a cardboard sign for the camera that read, "Summoning animals with magic: ATTEMPT ONE!" She gave Bill a thumbs up. Visible from the edge of the camera's shot, Bill gave one back.

She tossed the sign aside, turned toward the trees around the shack, and started singing into a megaphone loudly enough that the camera faintly picked it up: "My name is Mabel, queen of the animals! I want all creatures to be my pals! La-la-la—um—la-la, la—be my best friends foreveeer!"

"Hey, she's not bad at this," Bill muttered. "Even got a rhyme in." He panned the camera around the scene as squirrels, rabbits, gnomes, and other small critters curiously emerged from the tree line. A couple of deer watched thoughtfully.

"To animals everywhere, small and huge—come to me and I'll give you a hug—aaAAAH!" Mabel jerked up the hem of her skirt and hopped from foot to foot. "Bugs, that's so many bugs! Ack!" She shakily resumed singing, "Um—The queen of the animals is friends with bugs too... but it'd be cool if you didn't... climb on my shoe...?" She started. "YEEK!"

The camera wiggled as Bill flinched. "Oh, uh-oh, M—Mabel, watch out—!" He banged on the window. Mabel evidently didn't hear. Under his breath, he muttered a word not designed for human tongues but that probably should have warranted washing his mouth out with soap. And then a giant hand with fingers like tree trunks reached from the woods and snatched up Mabel.

The world blurred and bounced past the camera as Bill tore across the attic, screaming, "WHATCHERNAME-MABEL'S-BROTHER YOUR SISTER'S GETTING STOLEN IT'S NOT MY FAULT—"

####

Bill aimed the camera through the tiny window in the front door to watch as Dipper and Mabel limped back to the shack—weary, dirty, clothing torn, sticks and leaves in their hair, arms slung over each other for support. Bill stepped back as they opened the door. Brightly, he said, "Hi, kids! Have fun?"

Dipper gave him a murderous look. Exhausted, Mabel looked at the camera and said, "This has been Mabel's guide to... how not to befriend the local animals." She slithered out of Dipper's grip and lay on the floor. "I'm gonna take a nap here."

Dipper looked tiredly at Mabel, then glared again at Bill, then just sighed and muttered, "Bill, take that stupid bag off." He trudge up the stairs. "This is all your fault."

"Is not!" Bill called; but the camera picked up his quiet chuckle.

The view dropped to the floor as Bill decided his amateur cameraman duties had been completed, recording his feet as he walked into the kitchen to leave the camera on a counter. He didn't turn it off.

It caught the scene through the kitchen doorway as Bill tossed his paper bag mask aside and surveyed Mabel on the floor, hands on his hips. He crouched in front of her and loudly whispered, "Hey. Shooting Star. Can you hear me?"

She didn't respond.

"Out like a light," Bill murmured. He studied her face; and then gently placed a fingertip on her forehead. The camera recorded his lips moving as he murmured, too quietly to pick up: videntis omnium, magister mentium...

He finished his chant. Nothing of any note happened. Bill frowned, stood, and sighed.

And then, after a moment of shifting his weight as though debating what to do next, he knelt back down, awkwardly picked Mabel up, and carried her upstairs. He paused cautiously on each stair step to ensure he didn't trip. A few minutes later, the camera watched him stumble back downstairs, trudge into the living room, and turn on the TV.

Half an hour later, Waddles wandered into the entryway and Bill went into the kitchen, came back with a stick of dry chorizo, ripped off chunks with his fingernails, and tossed them to Waddles while singing a song he'd made up about cannibalism. And then he returned to the living room and Waddles wandered upstairs.

Nothing else of interest happened. The camera kept on recording, forgotten, until the battery died.

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