#Migrating back from instagram

[klaisksoutrob]

October 201x

I actually can't remember what year this was…

[vivwritesfics]

Sugar, Sugar

Max accidentally becomes your sugar daddy. He doesn't mean to, you don't mean for him to. It just sort of happens.

Warnings: 18+, smut, creampie, sugar baby x sugar daddy dynamics (accidentally), oral

The Bag

He tightened his grip on you, fingers bruising your hips as he came inside of you. "Fuck," he choked out, slumping forward. His body rested over you as you tried to stop yourself from collapsing.

But Max wrapped his arms around you, holding you up. "You okay?" He asked, still trying to catch his breath.

When you nodded, he slipped out of you. "Yeah," you managed, settling yourself against the cushions. "Yeah, I'm okay." You needed to get into his shower, needed to clean yourself up.

As Max stood from the bed, he looked at you. You were obviously tired, worn out. Sweat clung to your skin and your hair was a mussed up mess.

He loved having you like this. He loved having you on his bed, worn out because of him. "I'll get the shower running," he mumbled and disappeared into the ensuite bathroom.

It was casual sex, nothing more. Neither of you were in the position for anything more than carnal desires.

But he had something for you. A present, something he had found just for you. All because you sent him a text, complaining about how your trusty work bag had broken.

He started the shower, held his hand under the steady stream of water as he waited for it to heat up. When it did, he called you into the bathroom.

You kissed his cheek as you walked past him. When you weren't having sex, it never went further than that. Just a passing kiss on the cheek, nothing more.

When you stepped beneath the water, Max left the room. He heard you humming to yourself as you scrubbed your skin and washed your hair. (Max knew how much more you preferred his shower. Every time you came to his apartment, after every time he had you on your back, knees, whatever, you used his shower. Took your sweet, sweet time and came out smelling like him).

You both had the option to sleep with other people. You could sleep with all of Monaco, if you so desired, and Max didn't have the right to get angry. Just like he could sleep with other people when away at Grand Prix.

But the both of you chose not to. You were each others only sexual partners, and that worked for you.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped a towel around yourself. It wasn't uncommon for you to spend the night in his bed. Each time, the two of you kept the entire bed between you. But, through the night, you migrated closer and closer, until you were touching.

You dried your hair as best you could and walked out of the bathroom. Still humming as you went, not paying attention to anything. Not paying attention to Max on the bed as you grabbed your hairbrush. "My mum is convinced we're dating," you mumbled as you brushed through your wet hair.

Max cleared his throat.

You were still talking when you tired towards him. But you stopped when you saw what was on the bed in front of him. "What's this?" You asked, your voice pitching slightly.

Max raised his shoulders in a shrug. "You said your work bag was broken."

Your work bag was broken, he was right. As pretty, as expensive as the bag in front of him was, it wouldn't do as a replacement. Not big enough for all of the things you lugged to your office.

But you sat in front of him on the bed and took the bag from him. "It's gorgeous," you said, your eyes lighting up. Because you really did like it.

"It's for you."

You put the bag down as you looked at him. "Seriously, Max, thank you," you whispered and threw your arms around him.

There wasn't much better than the feeling of his large hands against your back.

The Instagram Likes

Your likes kept appearing on his Instagram feed. It was his fault for not following more people on his private account, for not filling his feed with things that weren't you.

But it was all you. Your posts. Your tags. Your likes. Things you wanted, things you had liked. Things that were now in his shopping cart or on its way to his apartment.

He was just being friendly, right? Because you were friends. At the end of the day, you were friends. You had been friends before you started sleeping together and you were still friends now. It wasn't weird he was buying you things.

At least, that was what Max kept telling himself.

He had it all stashed in his Monaco apartment, waiting for you to come over. But it had been a triple header and you had been busy during the week.

All the things Max had bought for you (clothes, bags, shoes, jewellery) were piling up in his apartment. It was becoming a little embarrassing.

After the triple header (which had at least one win for him), Max invited you over. Just for some casual sex, nothing more. He definitely didn't have good food and good drink in the fridge, and a good movie queued up on the television.

He hated that he missed you. But, the second you walked through the door, he was upon you. No words were exchanged as he pinned you to the door and kissed you. You threw your arms around him, hooked your leg around his waist.

"Fuck," he grunted. You grinned as you tugged at his hair. Your favourite sound in the world was his groans of 'fuck' while he was deep inside of you.

I missed you.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he kept them in his mouth. But he had missed you, every part of you. He just wanted you on your back, your thighs squeezing his head as he ate you out.

He dragged you away from the door. Dragged, but you went willingly. You were happy to let him pull you into his room, to undress you.

Your clothes were discarded on the floor as Max climbed on top of you. He pressed his hips against your as you whined and moaned. Max knew how to fuck like like nobody else. There was a reason you kept going back to him. He made you see stars.

"I got something for you," Max mumbled as you both laid there.

Turned on your side, your eyebrows rose at him. "You got something for me?" You echoed.

"A couple things."

He stood from the bed and walked over to the cupboard. Several bags fell out and Max picked them all up. He brought them over and dumped them in front of you. "Saw your likes on Instagram, thought I'd buy you some of the stuff."

Tipping the first bag upside down, a bracelet fell into your hands. "Fuck," you whispered as you let it dangle from between your fingers. It was simply gorgeous. "Thank you Max, seriously. You didn't have to do this."

"I didn't," he replied as he laid back beside you. "But I wanted to."

You leaned in and kissed his cheek.

The Car

It had been three days since your car last started. You'd called the garage, but there was no way for you to be able to afford the repairs.

You didn't tell Max with the aim of getting him to buy you a car. The thought didn't cross your mind. You were just ranting to a friend as you walked the distance to work instead of driving.

The next time you went to Max's house, you immediately went to kiss him. Frustration and anger welled up inside of you, and you just wanted some release. That release was supposed to be Max.

Instead of pinning you against the wall and snogging you, Max took your hands. "What're you doing?" You asked as he brought you over to the sofa.

"I know your car is busted, so I got you something," Max said. He pressed something into your palm and closed your fist around it.

You frowned at him and opened your fist.

"You didn't."

Max kept grinning as he looked at you. "I did," he said.

"I can't accept this from you."

"Yeah you can."

You opened your fist.

A set of car keys sat in your hands. Brand new keys to a brand new BMW. "Max," you began. "Seriously, I..."

"At least until you get your car working. Forever, if you want."

You sucked his dick extra good that night. He held the back of your head as you moved, as you took him down your throat.

He came three times in your mouth alone that night. It was an all night affair, the both of you losing track of time.

There was a few days before you used the car for the first time. Just to meet your friends. It didn't exactly feel wrong, but you didn't feel right about it either.

They looked at you with raised eyebrows. "Where the hell did this come from?" One asked as you walked towards the group.

"Gift," you mumbled as you locked it and dropped the keys into your bag. "From Max."

The raised eyebrows became knowing grins. "Ah," somebody said and the group started giggling.

"Girl, you've got yourself a sugar daddy."

[violetdoestarot]

it’s actually insane how many ppl are so ungrateful in this community

these are readers who are sharing their gift to give you guidance and to help yet you’re taking it for granted?

Crazy how people who don’t run tarot blogs or read tarot are complaining about pick a cards with a paragraph-

Some of us have jobs… and lives… and can’t dedicate every waking hour of our lives to being chronically online 😭 like y’all are getting FREE content & youre complaining?

[amirawrah]

⭐︎ Bienvenue à la Famille

with KYLIAN MBAPPE⭐︎

synopsis: While on vacation with his family in France, you struggle to keep up with the fast-paced conversations. Kylian notices and quietly translates everything, making sure you never feel left out.

amirah: guys my first kylian fic hope you all like this also i wrote a smut like 😃

The scent of salt hung thick in the breeze, soft waves lapping lazily against the shore as the sun cast its golden light over the terrace. The Mbappé family vacation villa sat like a postcard on the French Riviera—white stone, terracotta roof, and views that made you forget the rest of the world even existed.

You sat nestled between palm fronds and wicker chairs, hands resting in your lap as bursts of French surrounded you like music you couldn’t quite catch the lyrics to. The table was full—Fayza was recounting a story to Jirès with animated hand gestures, Ethan was teasing Kylian in rapid-fire French, and an aunt you hadn’t even known was coming had just arrived with a tray of fresh clafoutis.

You smiled politely. You caught a word here, a phrase there—but most of it flew right past you, leaving you nodding along while pretending to understand. It wasn’t that you hadn’t been learning French—you had. Duolingo, late-night YouTube videos, Kylian quizzing you before bed. But nothing had prepared you for the pace of a real family conversation.

You didn’t think anyone noticed. You were wrong.

Warm fingers grazed yours beneath the table, and then—his lips were at your ear.

“She said Ethan used to scream every time he saw seaweed in the water. Like full panic attack, swim-for-your-life energy.”

You turned slightly, startled, and caught the subtle amusement dancing in Kylian’s eyes.

“He’s lying,” Ethan called from across the table, in English. “I was like, five.”

“Six,” Fayza corrected sweetly.

You chuckled as Kylian leaned closer again, his breath tickling your skin. “Don’t worry, I’m your personal translator now. You’ll never be lost.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “You just like whispering in my ear.”

“True.” He paused. “Also, it’s funny when you blush.”

And there it was—that smirk. The one that spelled danger with a capital K. He leaned back casually, arm brushing yours as he reached for his water, as if he hadn’t just turned your spine to jelly.

Later that afternoon, the group migrated to the beach. You walked barefoot through warm sand, your sundress fluttering in the breeze as you tried to hold conversation with one of Kylian’s cousins. She was sweet, maybe a few years older than you, but she spoke French like a bullet train. You caught the word jardin, something about her mother, and Instagram.

You gave her your best smile, heart sinking. You hated feeling like this. Like you were always one sentence behind, a guest in the middle of someone else’s language. The more you tried to keep up, the more the words blurred.

Suddenly, a hand slipped around your waist.

“She’s saying her mom wants to redo the garden and asked her to find inspiration online,” Kylian murmured softly. “Apparently, everything she pins ends up being pink.”

You exhaled, tension melting from your shoulders. You nodded at his cousin, laughed, and said, “C’est une bonne idée.” That's a good idea.

She smiled, delighted. Kylian squeezed your waist.

“She also just called you très jolie, by the way,” he added, dipping his mouth to your neck. very pretty

“Kylian,” you hissed, cheeks heating.

He grinned. “What? I didn’t want you to miss out.”

That night, the villa buzzed with activity. Someone had lit the grill, music flowed from a Bluetooth speaker, and laughter echoed beneath the stars. You sat curled on the outdoor couch, a plate of food balanced on your lap, watching Kylian help Ethan light sparklers near the pool.

Fayza joined you a few minutes later, handing you a drink.

“You look relaxed,” she said in warm accented English.

“I am,” you admitted. “It’s beautiful here.”

She nodded, then added, “You’re doing better with the language than you think, you know. It takes courage to listen this much.”

You blinked, touched by her words. “It’s hard, sometimes. I don’t want to feel like a burden.”

“You’re not. And you have him.” She nodded toward Kylian, who was now holding a sparkler like a sword while Ethan shouted something dramatic in the background.

You laughed. “He’s very helpful.”

Fayza gave you a look—one of those knowing motherly ones. “He’s smitten. You ground him. You notice that?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t know what to say, so you smiled, quiet and a little overwhelmed.

Then Kylian bounded over, cheeks flushed from laughter, still holding a sparkler.

“Come dance with me.”

“What?”

“I’m stealing you.”

You didn’t protest. He grabbed your hand, pulled you gently to your feet, and led you a few steps away from the group, into the soft shadows near the palm trees. The music floated out to meet you—smooth, slow, dreamy.

There, beneath the moonlight and fairy lights, he wrapped his arms around you and began to sway.

“You’re showing off,” you murmured, tucking your head into his chest.

“Always.”

You laughed softly, fingers brushing the back of his neck. “I don’t know the words to this song.”

“I’ll whisper them to you,” he offered. “But only if you promise to keep blushing.”

“I hate you.”

He grinned into your hair. “You love me.”

You looked up at him, at the way his eyes sparkled, at the hint of mischief and the abundance of affection.

“Yeah,” you said. “I really do.”

The next morning, you woke to the smell of croissants and sun-warmed linen. Kylian was already out on the balcony, shirtless, legs kicked up on the railing as he scrolled through his phone. He looked up as you appeared, eyes crinkling.

“Morning, sleepy.”

You stretched and padded over. “Did everyone already eat?”

“They’re downstairs. I saved you a chocolate one.”

You kissed his cheek. “Mon héros.” My hero.

He pulled you into his lap without warning. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“Mon héros. You sound cute when you try to be dramatic in French.”

You smacked his arm lightly as he laughed.

The rest of the week followed a rhythm—lazy breakfasts, chaotic lunches, sunburnt afternoons, and golden evenings spent wrapped in conversation, or wrapped in Kylian. You started understanding more. He would lean over to translate a joke, but by the end, you were laughing before he spoke.

Sometimes, he whispered things he didn’t need to translate.

“Tu es belle quand tu es confuse.” You look beautiful when you’re confused.

“Tu fais de gros efforts et c’est adorable.” You’re trying so hard and it’s adorable.

And your personal favorite, one night at dinner when you struggled to find the right word in French, and he leaned in and whispered, “Tu es déjà parfaite, ma chérie.” You are already perfect, my darling.

On your last night, the whole family gathered around a bonfire on the beach. The stars shimmered overhead like spilled sugar, and someone passed around roasted marshmallows and cheap red wine.

You leaned into Kylian, your head on his shoulder, and listened to the voices around you—laughter, teasing, warmth. And for once, you weren’t lost. You didn’t understand everything, but you understood enough.

You felt his hand slip into yours.

“You were amazing this week,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I fumbled through half of it.”

“And still you did it. I’m proud of you.”

You looked up at him, eyes soft. “You really helped me feel like I belonged.”

He leaned down, nose brushing yours. “You do belong.”

You kissed him—slow, grateful, a little tipsy from wine and love.

He smiled against your lips. “So, uh… want to practice your French?”

“Now?”

He grinned, eyes gleaming. “I have a few phrases in mind. Bedroom only.”

You swatted at him, laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

He caught your hand, kissed your knuckles. “Tu m'aimes pour ça.” You love me for it.

You sighed, pretending to be exasperated. “Unfortunately.”

He pulled you closer, wrapping both arms around you and tucking you into his side.

The bonfire began to dwindle, embers glowing red like coals behind your eyelids as Kylian led you up the path from the beach, fingers laced tightly with yours. The moonlight painted silver over the trail of your footprints in the sand, and your heart thudded a little harder with each step closer to the villa.

You knew that look in his eyes—the low burn, the barely-contained tension. He’d been on his best behavior all week: polite, sweet, translating for you, being the golden boy his mom adored. But now, with everyone asleep and the night stretched out before you, something different lingered in the air.

The moment your shared bedroom door closed, he pressed you against it, his hands on either side of your head, caging you in.

“You’ve been teasing me all week,” he said softly, his voice a low murmur, lips brushing your cheek as he spoke. “Smiling at me in that sundress. Kissing my neck on the beach. Whispering ‘merci’ every time I helped you with your French…”

“I was being polite,” you said, breath catching.

He leaned in until his lips hovered over yours, eyes burning. “You were being dangerous.”

Then he kissed you—and it wasn’t sweet anymore.

It was hunger and heat, weeks of holding back poured into a single, breathless moment. His tongue slid against yours with confidence, familiarity, and just enough restraint to keep your knees buckling but your heart racing.

His hands trailed down your arms, over your waist, until they gripped under your thighs. “Jump.”

You did—wrapping your legs around him as he carried you effortlessly to the bed, laying you down like you were something sacred. His mouth trailed down your jaw, along your neck, pausing at your collarbone where he sucked gently—claiming you, but tenderly.

You tugged at his shirt. “Off.”

He grinned, pulled it over his head, and you let your eyes linger—he was all golden skin and carved muscle, the athlete in him obvious, but what got to you most was the way he looked at you. Like you were the reason he breathed.

He kissed you again, slower this time, hands exploring the familiar curves of your body with reverence. “You’re shaking,” he whispered.

“I’m excited.”

He chuckled, dark and low. “Good. I want you breathless.”

Clothes disappeared, tossed to the floor in a trail that told a story of urgency and trust. He kissed every part of you—shoulders, hips, thighs—with a whispered compliment in French. You didn’t catch every word, but you didn’t need to.

You understood what he meant.

When he finally moved over you, hands on either side of your face, eyes locked with yours, he paused.

“You ready, mon cœur?”

“Yes.”

He kissed you once more before he slid inside—slow, deep, letting you feel every inch. You gasped, arching into him, and his mouth found your neck again as he began to move. His rhythm was steady, intentional—driving you wild but never rushing.

“Tu es si belle,” he whispered, his voice strained with desire. “So tight. So perfect.”

Your nails scraped down his back. “Kylian…”

Clothes disappeared, tossed to the floor in a trail that told a story of urgency and trust. He kissed every part of you—shoulders, hips, thighs—with a whispered compliment in French. You didn’t catch every word, but you didn’t need to.

You understood what he meant.

When he finally moved over you, hands on either side of your face, eyes locked with yours, he paused.

“You ready, mon cœur?”

“Yes.”

He kissed you once more before he slid inside—slow, deep, letting you feel every inch. You gasped, arching into him, and his mouth found your neck again as he began to move. His rhythm was steady, intentional—driving you wild but never rushing.

“Tu es si belle,” he whispered, his voice strained with desire. “So tight. So perfect.”

Your nails scraped down his back. “Kylian…”

“That’s it,” he breathed, voice thick. “Say my name. Say it again.”

“Kylian.”

He adjusted his angle slightly and you cried out—pleasure blooming sharp and bright through your whole body. His lips brushed your ear.

“Je t’aime comme ça… you feel that.”

You barely registered your answer—you were too lost in the feel of him, the tension curling tighter with each thrust. He reached down, thumb finding your clit, circling it expertly while his lips captured your moans.

“Let go, bébé. Viens pour moi.” Come for me.

And when you did—when the pleasure surged through you in a wave so powerful it left your vision white—you clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the world. He followed seconds later, whispering your name like a prayer as he spilled inside you, body shaking, heart thudding against yours.

You lay tangled together in the aftermath, skin damp and legs still wrapped around him. He traced slow circles on your stomach, eyes half-lidded.

“So,” he said, lips curving into a lazy smirk. “Still nervous about French conversations?”

You laughed softly, breathless. “Not anymore.”

He rolled over, pulling you with him. “Good. Because the only phrase I want you to remember tonight is tu es à moi.” you are mine.

You repeated it, messy and sleepy. “Too-ay… ah mwah?”

“Close enough.” He kissed your forehead.

The room was still humming with aftershocks when Kylian sat up, brushing a hand through his curls. He looked over his shoulder at you, a little dazed, completely satisfied.

“You good?” he asked with a grin that could melt glaciers.

You stretched like a cat beneath the sheets, glowing, lazy, and so very warm. “I’m amazing.”

“Yeah?” He leaned down, kissing your shoulder. “Want to be even more amazing?”

You turned your head to look at him, already knowing what that smirk meant. “Kylian—”

He scooped you up, bridal style, without warning.

“Kylian!”

“We’re showering,” he said simply, like it was the most innocent plan in the world. “Can’t have you walking around dirty.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He nudged the bathroom door open with his foot and set you down on the tile, turning on the water to a perfectly warm temperature. Steam began to fill the glass enclosure, curling around your bodies like a promise.

The moment you stepped in, his hands found your waist.

“God, you’re unreal,” he muttered, eyes roaming your body as water cascaded down your curves. “Turn around.”

You did.

He stepped in behind you, his hands running down your back, fingertips gliding along your hips. You leaned into his touch as his lips kissed along your shoulder, and you could feel him harden against you again, pressing into your lower back.

“This was your plan, taking about dirty” you whispered.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, voice husky, grinding slowly against you. “Just trying to help you get clean…”

You braced your hands on the wall as his hands slid around to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until you gasped. He tilted your head to the side and kissed you deeply, the hot water mixing with the heat of his mouth.

Then, with one arm wrapped tight around your waist.

He slid into you from behind with a slow, deep stroke that stole your breath. The position—his body flush with yours, the slippery slide of water and skin—made everything more intense. His rhythm was smooth and controlled, his hands everywhere: gripping your hips, sliding up your ribs, tugging gently at your hair as your moans echoed off the glass.

The glass steamed completely over as your body arched, and he reached down again, fingers circling your clit with precise pressure. It didn’t take long—between the warmth, the closeness, and the way he whispered your name like he was worshipping you—you fell apart in his arms, your body trembling as the orgasm rolled through you.

He wasn’t far behind, burying his face in your neck, hips jerking as he came with a groan that you felt all the way down to your toes.

You both stood there for a second, panting, water running down your overheated bodies.

Fifteen minutes later, you were wrapped in a towel, hair dripping, as Kylian walked out shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips. You were mid-lotioning your legs, humming to yourself when—

“YO!”

The bedroom door burst open.

Ethan stood in the doorway, holding a phone charger, absolutely frozen at the sight of you on the bed and his older brother stepping out of the bathroom behind you with damp curls and a smug expression.

“Oh my God—”

“Ethan!” you shrieked, diving under the sheets with your towel clutched tight.

Kylian, unbothered as ever, just crossed his arms. “Tu frappes avec ta bouche ou… ?” You knock with your mouth or…?

“"Êtes-vous sérieux?!” Ethan yelled, covering his eyes dramatically. “ Je suis venu emprunter un chargeur ! Je n'ai pas demandé à être traumatisé !” Are you serious?! . I came to borrow a charger! I didn’t ask for trauma!

You peeked out from under the sheets, face flaming, as Kylian tossed a pillow at Ethan’s head.

“Get out.”

“I am out!” Ethan backed into the hallway, flailing.

Kylian closed the door behind him, chuckling as he turned back to you. “So… breakfast with the family might be awkward.”

You flopped back on the pillows, groaning. “He’s never going to let us live this down.”

Kylian climbed into bed beside you, pulled you into his arms, and kissed your temple. “He’ll survive.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Of course,” he said smugly. “We’re finally even. I walked in on him last year. Now he knows how it feels.”

You stared at him. “Your whole family’s just casually walking in on each other?”

He winked. “Welcome to the Mbappés, baby.”

[castielscaplan]

i was at 2,011 followers last week. went through my blog and blocked so many porn bots & blank blogs, I'm back down to 1,963 and I'm still on the verge of going back for a second round of mass deleting.

please, if y'all are going to migrate to Tumblr dot com, put some effort into reblogging things that you enjoy on here. this isn't TikTok, or Instagram. we don't get paid to have silent followers. we don't get paid for anything on this site, really.

if y'all want 'content' and new fics to read or art to see, reblogging is the way to do it on this website. there is no such thing as 'fans' this isn't your typical social media. it's a site for blogging. it's a site for the weirdos who obsess over mundane things.

interactions with others are what keeps this hellsite from turning into Facebook or IG, or twitter. please for the love of God, do not treat this sanctuary like every other social media platform.

ETA: the people liking this without reblogging are proving my point. LOL

[adelelorienne]

Happy December, everyone! The frost has begun to creep atop every rooftop here during the nights, and I'm already starting to see snow on some of the mountaintops. My wall heater is working overtime to keep my fingers thawed enough to draw, and fuzzy blankets have made their annual migration from my closet and back into every room of my apartment. My cats are very pleased about this. :)

And a game that touched my life and changed my art forever back in 2016 just had its release anniversary (November 29th!)

Happy 8th Anniversary Final Fantasy XV! Thank you for the joy, the tears, for a beautiful, unforgettable world and friends to share the journey with. You gave me the inspiration to create again when I was in the worst slump. All my love and gratitude to the hardworking teams who made this game possible back when, and to the incredible fan community still going strong today! I've made so many wonderful friends and memories because of you. You guys…are the best! :D

Eight years later, and I still cry.

Meadowhaven.net | DeviantArt | Patreon | Instagram | X | Etsy Shop

[xinyuehui]

I couldn't put on a finger on why the whole tiktok migration to xhs left a sour taste in me until I got annoyed at recent subtle sinophobic comments towards Love and Deepspace left in the tags. (It's a Chinese game that has a global/English server)

Which had me thinking and seeking out if other people felt the same way. The Americans found a new platform, the Chinese on the platform are welcoming and attempts to speak to the Americans in English. Cool, what is left? The third group of people out here that aren't Americans or Chinese in China, it's us Chinese diaspora that live outside of China (in particular the west). We learnt English, forced to erase everything Chinese about ourselves to fit in here fit in there but never fully get accepted into any community. Online spaces are no better, we get all sorts of hate even though we are all communicating in English. One comment that I read on tumblr here a while back that really struck me was op posted something regrading Chinese culture and some white person dismissed op for having a Chinese url so they must not speak English to speak on a Chinese topic.

Americans barging themselves into other people's spaces seemingly with no effort is the most white privilege behaviour ever. Some of them don't bother learning the language, the culture, or social etiquettes. To call it 'refugees' in this current climate is lowkey insensitive even as a joke. Some are just outright racist saying they are there to colonise the app. The offhanded uninformed political jokes are also on thin ice. If this was reversed and a massive group of Chinese people suddenly joins instagram/twitter/tumblr, starts posting in Chinese, the comment sections will not be as 'haha funny' and 'wholesome' as the ones on xhs.

White people posting selfies on the app is harvesting thousands of likes and compliments is the prime example of white privilege, they don't have to work hard to get far, boosting their egos further more. How am I supposed to feel even when I share something on here of my culture either get no recognition or sinophobic comments?

There's a sense of helplessness when I see my people pandering to the white, similar to when Chinese diaspora/Chinese in China on the discussion of cultural appropriation. The experiences the two groups have are vastly different. I don't blame them for this. China, for the most part, is still a very closed society, a handful of them probably never left the country, interacted with a white person or had any prejudice against them for being Chinese. To them, it's just an amusing conversation or two without much thought. At the end of the day when the Americans leave the app, it'll be another fever dream. But for us, we still have to go to work with these privileged white people, come home from work to what I thought was a Chinese safe space to find that insufferable co-worker is on xhs going 'hello China [google translate some nonsense]'.

That said, I suppose for me who is able to post this on tumblr is a somewhat privilege move. For the people in China, it is an avenue to interact with Americans on a large scale without having to use a vpn. The welcoming atmosphere gives me peace knowing that to be respectful is still in our core. For the Americans, whether they are on the app out of spite without thinking of the consequences or to learn about China with an open mind, only time will tell if they will remain on xhs after the fad dies out.

[vioredynamite]

I'm going to ask people to stop spreading the idea that all black people disappeared from Argentina because "we killed them all". Is Argentina racist? Of course it is. But leaving aside the African and Afro-descendant population of recent migrations (20th century), the problem with the Afro-descendant population in Argentina is that it's still incredibly invisibilized, especially the one with roots going back to colonial times.

1) Any Argentine will have heard of the "crisol de razas", ("melting pot"), the metaphor linked to the supposed "homogeneous" integration of the entire foreign population that arrived in the country during the era of the great waves of immigration (1890-1920). This concept, in addition to establishing a false equivalence between "nationality" and "race", always left out the Afro-descendant and indigenous population, not because they didn't exist but because there was a need to create the myth of a "white Argentina".

2) There are other sources of invisibilization:

a) At the end of the 18th century, the Spanish monarchy approved a Real cédula called "gracias al sacar" which established "monetary compensation" (a payment, so to speak) so that freed black people could acquire the status of "white" and thus access some of the privileges and benefits that this position entailed (it's important to note that in colonial times, at least here, "white", "black" or "indian" were legal categories rather than racial).

b) During most of the 20th century, the DNI (Documento Nacional de Identidad, "National Identity Card") included a description of the physical traits of individuals, one of which was skin color. One such color was "trigueño", a category difficult to describe accurately because it was used very broadly to describe people who were "brown" or "morenos", neither black nor white. As Miriam Gomes (activist and literature professor) mentions (in Spanish), many black people were pigeonholed in this category (in Spanish, see min. 21:40), which contributed to their invisibilization. Imagine that this category was so broad that even my own paternal grandmother, who has Mapuche (but not black) ancestry, was also labeled as "trigueña".

3) According to the 2022 Census, the population that recognizes itself as Afro-descendant or has black or African ancestors totals 302,936 people in the national territory. This population group constitutes 0.7% of the total number of people living in private homes, while in the 2010 Census it represented 0.4%. [[I must remember that we should take into account the possibility that for whatever reason there are people who don't know or don't identify themselves as Afro-descendants even though they are]]. The third graph of the linked document shows that most of the Afro-descendant population in Argentina is located in those provinces/jurisdictions that concentrated the black population (either enslaved or free) during the colonial period (i.e. Buenos Aires, Cordoba, Santa Fe and the Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires). Unfortunately, this graph doesn't provide information on the migratory origin of this population, but according to the data I risk establishing a certain continuity with the colonial period.

4) I will strongly urge you to follow Afro-Argentine activists and people who write about their history to get any doubts you may have out of your mind: I recommend Miriam Gomes, Sandra Chagas, Piba afroqom (@ pibaafroqom on Instagram), Mesa Afro Córdoba (@ mesaafrocordoba on instagram), Malungo Libros (@ malungo_libros), GEALA (Grupo de Estudios Afrolatinoamericanos), Comisión 8N (@ comision8n), and Asociación Misibamba (@ misibamba).

[tshifty]

anyways, I genuinely do hope that a big portion of tiktok users migrate here to tumblr. and before yall start with the "NO WE HATE TIKTOKERS" "dont invade my website" shit like. imma need you to seriously look at the bigger picture.

twitter has become x which is now a breeding ground for alt-right ideologies and is rapidly becoming state sponsored media.

meta, so facebook and instagram and threads, are now heading down the same road as twitter/x. they're no longer fact checking the content, and are scaling back hate speech protections.

so, what does that leave us? snapchat, bluesky... and other random apps? tumblr objectively is the best option for the type of communities that exist on tiktok.

and I'm really talking about this from a keeping connected to each other and globally perspective, from a "we need to fight against censorship as much as possible as we continue our descent into fascism". the more connected americans are to each other and to everyone else in the world the better for everyone. the less connected we are the worse off we will ultimately be. we need to know what is happening outside of the media our government wants us to consume, and the world needs to know what is happening here too.

[klaisksoutrob]

Sharing some drawings from the distant 2020

Pen and marker for october drawings, always a good month to try some of my dubious design choices for my OCs and see if they stick.

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

I don't recommend Twitter rn they've announced they'll be using art posted on their platform to train Ai bots with no opt-out option!! As far as I know this went into effect Nov. 15

I know bluesky is better!

Please please please don't let your art get stolen because the cheetos ugly bimbo is an ass!

(along with other anons who warned me)

Thank you so much everyone for you guys' concern and warnings. I read it all, and I did in fact chose to make a twt account. So far it's been normal, though (for now).

BUT. I stumbled upon this post on Twt :

it... basically said that there's an opt out option 💀

From my observation, the event is as goes :

X announced the plan that they'll use the images to train AI.

X said it'll launch on November 15th 2024

Artists mass delete their art and deactivate

November 15th came

The button to opt out showed up

I saw mass art deleting and account deactivation from the artists on Twt to Blue Sky. That did made me kinda doubt opening a twt account but I did anyway.

I do not know if this really is an actual opt out switch, but if it is, then that mass art-deleting and deactivation could be for naught. I don't know if I should laugh or cry tbh 😵‍💫 Like what the fuck is this turn of events?? Then again, this might also have something to do with Elon fuckery and people is just fed up with his shit..

Like, wherever big platforms we go to post art, I feel like in the end they'll fucking fell off and starts to train AI as well once they're big enough, they'll train AI. Don't forget that Instagram, Tumblr, and DeviantArt is doing this as well, even before X.

The formula is as goes -> Big social media platform trains AI. And then artists migrate to new platform. The place is now full of artists. Then that platform becomes big and announces that they'll train AI. And then artists migrate to a another new one. This shit is never-ending.

Our rights as an artist harmed by AI yes, but I don't fear AI that it'll replace me. I get it's annoying, but I'll stay in IG Tumblr and Twt because people use it.

It is trying times for artists, but until we have our legal creative protection by the government, I'm not backing down and deleting my shit and move around the internet from platform to platform because the trend says so/it's the right thing to do. It's exhausting 😵‍💫

[calabria-mediterranea]

The fair of Saint Blaise in the district of Sambiase in Lamezia Terme, Calabria, Italy

The toponymic origin of the district of Sambiase in Lamezia Terme can be traced back to Saint Blaise (in Italian: San Biagio), more precisely in its Latin form Sanctii Blasii, which gave rise, after various passages, to the dialectal Sambiasi, Italianized precisely in Sambiase.

Saint Blaise is a saint of Byzantine origin and there are conspicuous references to the culture of Constantinople found in the town of Lamezia Terme.

To trace echoes of the passage of the Byzantines in these territories, it is sufficient to highlight the names of well-known urban neighborhoods, such as: Santu Nicola, Santa Sofia, or to broaden the gaze towards the nearby and flourishing countryside, encountering places such as Santu Sideru (Sant'Isidoro), etc.

The majority of the Byzantine "migrations" in the territories of Calabria can be dated around 840, a period characterized by Iconoclasm, which caused thousands of victims and fugitives among the monks who did not submit to the imperial impositions regarding the cult of images in Constantinoples As was easy to intuit from the toponyms proposed previously, therefore, the majority of the Byzantines who arrived in Calabrian lands belonged to the monastic class. Further proof of the passage and settlement of the Byzantine monks in the Sambiase territory is the presence of various monasteries in the mountain areas (of which few and sparse ruins remain), such as for example the monastery of the Holy Forty Martyrs and of San Costantino.

It was precisely around the ancient monastery of Saint Blaise that the first residential settlements began to develop, which constituted the original pieces of the current district. Although the cult of this saint, protector of sore throats, is now little felt by the population, a tradition linked to his celebrations has continued over the centuries, reaching us: a phera’ ‘i Santu Vrasu (Calabrian dialect for "the fair of Saint Blaise"). Vrasu is a further distortion of the name Blasium that we talked about at the beginning of the article, with a passage from B to V, a phenomenon known as betacism.

In the first three days of February – later intertwined with the celebrations of Candlemas – the historic district of Sambiase, where the church dedicated to the Madonna del Carmine now stands and where the Byzantine monastery once stood (until some time ago an iron cross, now disappeared, indicated its correct location), fills up with faces, colors and noises. Sellers of every ethnic group and from every part of Calabria meet along the slopes of the Vignola, displaying their fabrics, ceramics, agricultural tools, livestock. In ancient times, in fact, the fair of San Biagio was a fair specialized in the buying and selling of livestock; a fair that over the years and centuries has increasingly become a point of reference, bringing to Sambiase the sellers of mostaccioli from Soriano, the ceramists from Seminara, the shepherds from Sila, the producers of Sardella from Amantea and a whole series of traders from all over the region and beyond, who converged in the central area of Calabria, meeting and giving life to one of the most colourful events (in a folkloric sense, but also literally chromatic) of Calabria.

Photos by dorianculturarendegiovani

Follow us on Instagram, @calabria_mediterranea

[updownlately]

every time you walk into the room (i’m speechless)

| leah williamson x reader | fluff | 1.9k | inspo: speechless by dan + shay | a/n: another req let's go! this one's been in the ask box for minute and it finally made it past the outline stage! twas a fun one to write! s/o to this anon for the req! i hope i did it justice! this is the outfit inspo for leah btw!

~~~

You loved your girlfriend, you really did, but sometimes moments like these really tested your patience. She sometimes really tested your patience.

“Leah, love, for the sake of football, any chance that we could head out before the world cup starts?” You shouted up the stairs, hoping the other girl could hear you clearly. 

The two of you had been invited out with the team, just a nice little get together to celebrate the end of the season before everyone parted ways to prepare with their individual national teams. It wasn’t much really, just a dinner that had the possibility of migrating to a bar or club, but nothing outwardly crazy.

You and Leah had started getting ready a while ago, you getting dressed much earlier due to Leah wanting to kick you out of your shared closet and room, something about a surprise and a kiss promising she wouldn’t be too long distracting you from complaining.

So here you were, sitting at your kitchen island for the past forty-ish minutes or so, resignedly waiting for the blonde to finally come down. Some time between the doom-scroll of Instagram and then TikTok, your mind had been severely sidetracked, the sweet aroma of your girlfriend’s favourite perfume floating down the stairs, overwhelming your sense in the best way possible, and for a while you hadn’t minded how long she was taking. 

Now though? A little under half-an-hour away from the designated time for the dinner, you were beginning to worry whether you’d make it on time, well aware that London traffic and parking would be a pain to navigate.

Getting no response from earlier, you tried once more, leniency wearing thin. 

Hand running across your face in a vain effort to relax, careful not to mess up your hair, you called out a bit gentler this time. “Leah we gotta leave soon otherwise we’re gonna be late!” 

This time you got lucky, the frenzied voice of the defender carrying through the hallway and down the stairs.

“I’ll be down in five! Almost done, I swear…just got my hair left!”

Quietly groaning to yourself, you threw your head back, aware that five minutes weren’t going to be just five minutes.

“I heard that!”

“And yet you didn’t hear my first call! Love you too babe!”

Shaking your head and taking a deep breath, you fiddled with your keys in front of you, getting antsy with every minute that passed. 

All you really wanted to do was see your girlfriend dressed up, admire her, and head out to enjoy your night with your teammates turned friends, something you were immensely excited for and therefore eager to attend to. All this waiting wasn’t doing you any good, the restlessness taking up home in your bones, jitteriness becoming ever present.

It seemed that luck was on your side though, when only about seven minutes later you could hear the defender approaching the top of the stairs. Murmuring a quiet thanks into the air, you rose from your seat, heading to the landing, hoping to usher Leah to the car quickly and head out.

Approaching the bottom steps though, you couldn’t help but stop in your tracks, the sight that awaited you when the blonde walked down the stairs making you glad you waited.

Your mouth falling agape, adoration pouring in your veins, you couldn’t help but stare.

“I-…Leah…baby…” You tried, words not seeming to fall past your lips, at least none that would do justice to just how beautiful she looked standing there ahead of you. 

Blinking, mind short-circuiting, you stood there stunned, speechless.

Leah wasn’t going to lie, she had expected this reaction from you, with the number of times she had already witnessed it in the past. Yet, each time it didn’t fail to cause her to blush gently, your love for her always surprising her, making her appreciate you just a little more.  

Head ducking down, biting back a smile, Leah’s soft voice wrapped around you. “What do you think? Worth the wait?”

“Uh-“ Swallowing hard, you tried to regain your bearings, praying for your internal gay panic to stop for long enough to allow you to form at least one coherent sentence. Letting your eyes trace over her stunning form, you tried once again.

“Shit.”

“That bad?” Leah couldn’t help but tease you, aware that you meant it in awe, yet not willing to pass the opportunity to annoy you.

“Leah…okay fuck. Shit. Fucking hell.” You threw your head back, eyes closing at your nervousness at seeing your girl dressed up. 

You could feel the blonde’s eyebrows raise in amusement at your words, not needing to look at her to feel her smiling, yet you did, bringing your gaze back down, not wanting it to leave her for even a second.

“What happened to being late for dinner?”

“Babe…” you whined. “You absolutely cannot be asking me that after you come down looking like that!” Finally finding your ability to talk, you continued. “Literally not at all fair. Not one bit. Did you even think about me? Or the other girls? How, tell me how are we supposed to stay focused on dinner when you look so gorgeous?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you eagerly stepped forward to close the gap between you two. Opening and closing your mouth a few times again, you searched for better words to express how you were feeling.

“My god…”

“Yes I’m real, and yeah, I don’t know how you managed to pull me either to be honest.”

Head shaking in amusement, you reached out to the blue-eyed angel. “You’re so cocky y’know, out here thinking you can read my mind.”

“Am I wrong?” The cheeky reply not taking more than a second to slip past Leah’s lips.

“You know you aren’t. It makes it so much worse.” Grinning you let your eyes trace over her outfit for the umpteenth time. 

You weren’t sure how Leah managed to make everything she wore look so amazing, but she did, especially the suits that she wore, like she was now. There was just something about the way that the cropped blouse and tan suit had you in awe, her wavy hair and makeup complimenting it ever so perfectly, the world’s most elegant model, here in your arms. 

Taking a deep breath in, your eyes widened once the realisation that she was yours hit you again. “Seriously though…no words. I’d tell you you look beautiful but I don’t think that even begins to cover it.”

Your words had Leah blushing even harder, ocean eyes shyly meeting yours. 

“I’m so serious babe. I know I say it every time but you genuinely blow me away with how lovely you look. Out here leaving me at a loss for words really.”

Stepping back just a tad bit, you raised your intertwined hands above your head, wrist turning enough to wordlessly tell Leah to spin around slowly. 

“God I’m gonna marry you one day…” The words slipped out of your mouth, heart speaking faster than your mind could comprehend.

Leah stopped in her tracks at your words, slowly finishing her turn before looking at you intently. “You mean that?”

This time it was your turn to blush, cursing yourself for being so lovesick. 

Seeing the truly concerned look in the midfielder’s eyes though, you decided to double down.

Shrugging, pulling Leah closer by her waist, you eased her mind. 

“Yeah. You've had me wrapped around your little finger since the day we met. Still have me in a daze most days. In fact, you said it yourself, I genuinely can’t believe I managed to get you and so I’d be honoured to love you for as long as I can, forever hopefully.”

The look that she gave you at your words had your heart bursting in joy. Eyes shining with love, a gentle smile on her face, Leah looked at you like you were her whole world (because you were- she didn’t know what she’d do if she lost you).

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise. And you know we can’t break those.” 

Interlocking your pinkies, you brought your joined hands up to your lips, placing a tender kiss on the back of her hand before dropping it down.

Becoming aware that you had already spent long enough in your apartment and not enough on the streets though, (not that you would ever mind spending time with Leah) you decided to suggest finally heading out, only having ten minutes to make the twenty minute trip now. 

Tugging Leah closer to you, you placed a kiss on her lips before stepping back and giving her another once over and then a playful wink.

“As much as I'd love to stay here with you, Katie and Beth would absolutely kill us if we skipped out on tonight. So, before we get any more late, shall we head out pretty girl?”

Nodding and letting you lead the way, Leah followed you out the door, smiling to herself at your actions. She knew you were extremely punctual, not one to ever be late if it was in your control. Yet, in moments like these, you’d always make the time to appreciate her, to love her, and she couldn’t adore you more for it if she tried. 

It wasn't a secret how much the pair of you loved each other, endless teasing from all your friends (and sometimes family) adequate proof of that. Yet in stolen seconds like these, where it felt like you two were the only ones in the world, in the cozy bubble of your love, nothing ever felt greater, nothing ever felt more important. Not to you and most definitely not to Leah.

The English captain knew that she'd spend forever with you if she could, the idea of loving you, of marrying you having always been a question of 'when' rather than 'if'.

So if on the drive there, she silently planned your guys’ wedding in her head, you didn’t have to know. And if she spent a good chunk of that planning thinking about what wedding outfit would best leave you speechless, more than she had ever made you thus far, you most definitely didn’t have to know. After all, while her beauty left you tongue-tied, your love for her, all of her, left her at a loss for words, nothing but warmth coursing in her veins, a permanent blush on her cheeks.

And when you both arrived indisputably late, nearly half an hour past the designated time, and the teasing from your teammates was directed at you, you couldn’t help but shrug, declaring your love for her and ignoring the impending comments of 'whipped' headed your way.

“Leah looking at me dressed like that? There’s my weakness. She can take as much time as she needs to get ready. Hell, I made us late in fact. Really though, anything she says tonight, I agree with,” you joked, adoration and mirth filling your eyes.

It really was safe to say that it wasn't a secret how much you two loved each other, especially when all it took was her walking into the room for you to fall in love all over again.

[amekotry]

as I migrate away from instagram, I need to recreate my portfolio of past work, so I'm revisiting some old photos!

this one's quite timely. I made black parade gerard years and years ago and you know why? because I was unable to find and purchase the hot topic exclusive funko pop of him. the power to make merch whenever is always on my mind...

I believe this was one of my first custom dolls to feature removable clothes! jackets tend to be pretty doable unless they have a very tight look. it does take some doing to squeeze him in and out of the sleeves, though.

yarn gerard was my plus one to the concert back in september 2022! I had high hopes of making yarn party poison so I could bring both (party poison Would have matched better with my jet star jacket, it has to be said) but ran out of time. here's hoping I can get my act together in time for the new show next summer!

[heystephen]

Do you have an idea/a guess why Taylor doesn't speak up? Do you think she fears for her life? She doesn't want to destroy her image? She's so calculated with what she puts out and clearly, she isn't oblivious to what's happening right now in the swiftie community. Why is she turning a blind eye?

there’s no benefit for her to outweigh any backlash, and in her world, every risk she takes needs to pay off for her first and foremost, and any benefit to anyone else is just lucky collateral.

with YNTCD, she knew she would get pushback from the conservative side of her fanbase BUT she would also welcome a huge lgbtq+ migration into her fanbase and have that cushion, not to mention all of the lgbtq+ celebrities who began to endorse her to their own fans. she got to tap into the rainbow capitalism a little bit and can depend on pride month every year to get her some good headlines by making some half-enthused speech about how she loves the community, and ppl will eat it up every time.

with miss americana, it was no longer possible to fly under the radar as apolitical nor was it going to be possible for her to remain popular in pop music if people thought she was a republican. when she came out as a democrat, people who formerly didn’t like her were now saying they were cool with her. again, she gets to depend on the good press for a throwaway instagram story reminding people to vote. and it is great that she’s passionate about that, it’s great that she’s getting the gen-z & millennial voters in her demographic to get out there.. but she’s also very smart and chose to make that her schtick for a reason.

and obviously there’s her notoriously self-serving brand of feminism that bears no need to examine deeply. the ginny & georgia debacle, dating a man who enjoys torture porn of black women specifically and doubling down on wanting to be with him despite the #haters when that came out, etc etc. she’s never tapped into any kind of intersectional feminism or dug below the cishet blonde haired blue eyed and white category of feminism because she sees no need to. she gets what she needs by saying she’s a feminist, gets hailed as an icon for it for doing fuck all, and then sticks her head back in the sand until another tweet about her dating life goes viral.

[astars-things]

can you do literally anything for thomas bordeleau???

Pairing Thomas Bordeleau x reader

warning- swearing

word count- 402

You were curled up on the couch in Bordy’s hoodie, a blanket wrapped around you for warmth, as you watched Thom’s game. He was in Colorado, while you sat alone in your shared apartment in San Jose.

Everything had been going fine—until the first period took a turn for the worse. Thom delivered a brutal cross-check to number 14 on the opposing team, and the impact looked bad. Within moments, the refs handed him a five-minute major and a game misconduct.

The broadcast cameras followed him down the tunnel, capturing the frustration radiating off him. He ripped off his helmet, threw his stick to the ground, and stormed into the locker room, leaving you staring at the screen in disbelief.

You shut off the game with a sigh, sinking back into the couch in disappointment. Checking the time, you forced yourself up to make dinner, trying to distract yourself from the frustration bubbling in your chest. After eating, you curled back up on the couch, Love Island playing mindlessly in the background as you scrolled through the Barracuda’s Instagram, refreshing the page every few minutes to check what period they were in.

Finally, the game ended. You knew Bords was back at his hotel, so you dialed his number,

"Hey babe are you okay" you cooed having your phone placed on speaking as you migrated from the couch to your shared room

"of course, I'm not fucking okay y/n I literally got thrown out of the game" he yelled his frustration hitting you like a brick wall.

You took a slow breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "I know you're angry, but don’t take it out on me."

"I’m not taking it out on you—"

"You’re yelling at me, Thom."

Silence. You could hear his heavy breathing through the speaker, the weight of his emotions pressing through the phone.

"If you’re going to keep yelling at me, then I’m going to hang up and go to sleep," you said as calmly as possible. "I get that you’re upset, but I don’t deserve this."

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of his breathing. Then, he let out a slow, measured exhale.

"I’m going to go cool down," he muttered, his tone softer now, exhausted. "I’ll call you back. I love you."

"I love you too," you murmured before the call disconnected, leaving you sitting in the quiet of your apartment, the weight of his frustration still lingering in the air.