#i read this in a post reply and it is so true

[violetcamryn]

OMG HII I READ THE UR RECENT FIC ABT SNOTLOUT AND I NEED MORE OF HIMM!!

Just an idea maybe an enemies to lovers trope w him and they got together bc he got jealous over smth?

thank you for the request. i hope this is sort of what you were looking for 🤭

“SOMETHING UNSPOKEN”

Pairing: Snotlout Jorgenson x reader

Trope: slight enemies to lovers (they just don’t know how to communicate)

Warnings/ heads-up: use of “Y/N” literally twice (i’ve heard some ppl don’t like to read fics that use “Y/N” so here’s your heads-up). Other than that, none!

AN: this is literally my first fanfic ever, please be kind. i’m so nervous to post this. anyways i hope you love it! as always, reblogs are greatly appreciated

You were pacing around your room, thinking about everything that had gone wrong earlier today.

First, Hiccup had accidentally stepped on your heel during dragon training which made you get distracted and end up getting eliminated in front of the students (he apologized profusely afterwards).

You had been late to teach the younger dragon riders and ended up only getting half the lesson done, which would set them back even farther than they already were.

But the cherry on top was Snotlout being in the way every time you needed to do something.

Every day there was the constant flirting, which was so poorly executed and poorly timed all it did was annoy you. He knew it too, he just wanted to get a rise out of you.

Then there was the fact that every time you had a moment of peace and quiet, he had to go off on some tangent about how “nobody else knows how to ride dragons like he can” and “he should be teaching his own class”. Everybody knew it wasn’t true, because nothing would ever get done if he was teaching his own class, but he believed it nonetheless.

The worst of it was when he’d kick your shins under the dining table, and then deny it was him. You weren’t sure why (or how) you ended up sitting across from him almost every meal, but I guess the fact that he showed up late to every meal and just happened to sit down across from you would account for it.

After pacing your room for what felt like hours, you finally laid down to get some sleep after a rather agitating day.

In the morning, you made your way to the mead hall to have breakfast with everyone. Fishlegs had brought along the dragon manual to study, and everybody was completely engrossed in it.

You slid onto the bench in between Astrid and Fishlegs, and they welcomed you by sliding you a plate of breakfast. You probably should have paid more attention to the seating arrangements, you realized after a few seconds.

Directly across from you was Snotlout, who was unsurprisingly causing a ruckus. Him and Tuffnut were pushing eachother across the bench and knocked into Ruffnut, which didn’t help the noise level after she shouted at them to stop.

When they finally started to eat breakfast like normal people, you were able to focus on the day ahead.

The day was going to be busy— dragon training in the morning, lunch and study sesh with the gang, fence repair in the afternoon (the sheep got out again, shocker), and then dinner at the lookout in the evening.

“So, who’s teaching the class with me this morning?” you asked the group. You had checked the schedule and Astrid was supposed to be helping you, along with some new guy, but the schedule was always changing.

“Well, there’s been a slight change of plans. I know I was supposed to help you today but I have to help Gobber with this stupid project he’s started, so we figured we’d send Snotlout with you today” Astrid said hesitantly.

You looked her dead in the eyes with an “are you serious right now” glare, and all she could do was shoot you an apologetic smile.

“I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise” Snotlout chimed in with a smile, taking a quick pause from his extremely messy eating.

“You better be” you replied.

After everybody had cleaned up their breakfast, you all made your way out of the hall and off to your morning routines.

——————————————————————

The arena was full of younger dragon riders, all eager to learn the new skills you had planned to teach them.

The new trainer, some guy whose name you didn’t know yet, was there and greeted you with a smile. You smiled back but didn’t have time to chat. Not that you cared for small talk anyways, you were there to teach.

You anxiously checked the time, and everyone except for one person was at the lesson on time.

“Great way to start the lesson” you mentioned when Snotlout finally showed up, late.

He gave you an apologetic smile but that didn’t make up for the fact that you had lost 10 minutes of valuable teaching time.

You got over it quickly though, because your mind became preoccupied with just how incompetent these younger dragon riders were.

One of them couldn’t even get his dragon to sit still for more than 5 seconds, so for the majority of the class time there was no hope of him learning the new flying skills you had planned for the day.

The other dragon trainer, whose name you now heard from one of the kids was Leif, managed to get the kid onto his dragon after 15 minutes of him trying on his own. Thank Odin.

The rest of the lesson went smoothly, and soon enough it was time to clean up.

You walked over the Leif and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks for your help, I’m not sure what that lesson would’ve looked like if you hadn’t got that kid on his dragon” you said.

“No problem, anytime” he replied with a smile.

You turned to leave the arena, and you saw Snotlout standing with Hookfang, looking…upset?

“Jeez, who pissed in his drink this morning?” you thought to yourself as you walked out of the arena.

The rest of the day went by quicker than you anticipated. Lunch + study sesh with everyone was the same as usual, except for the fact that Snotlout was nowhere to be seen.

You chalked it up to him not wanting to study and skipping out again. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Fixing the fence was a pain, especially since the twins (who were the only other people assigned to help) were absolutely useless. They so much time fighting about who would fix it better, that neither of them actually helped fix ANY of it.

You were so thankful that dinner came as soon as it did. You strolled up to the lookout where everyone had planned to meet up for dinner.

You and Snotlout just happened to be the first people there.

“I see you’re actually early for something for once” you half-joked.

He didn’t say anything back, which surprised you. Normally he would take a jab at you any chance he got, but not today.

“I guess skipping out on the study sesh earlier really must have given you some time to get here early” you tried again.

Still, nothing.

You sat silently for what felt like hours (it was literally 5 minutes), before the rest of the crew showed up. Fishlegs was the first to arrive, and he immediately noticed Snotlout’s quiet demeanour. He was not going to be the one to complain though, he was going to enjoy the peace and quiet for as long as it lasted…

It lasted a total of 15 seconds before the twins showed up and started talking loudly about everything they did (or didn’t) do that day, which included NOT helping you fix the fence (you were still bitter about it).

Once everyone else had arrived, everyone began eating and chatting. Not Snotlout though, he was quiet. None of the usual kicking your shin or pushing Tuffnut off the end of the bench. Just…eating silently.

You wondered what had brought on this sudden change of character, but you were soon preoccupied with the group conversation.

Dinner went by quickly, and you were thankful for it. All you could think about was how badly you wanted to be back in your bed. You had hoped that after a nights rest, tomorrow’s dragon training lesson would go better.

You usually stayed behind to clean up, as it gave you something to do to wind down from the day before you went home.

Everyone else made their way down from the lookout and started to head home, thanking you as they left.

But one person had stayed behind.

“So you and Mr. Dragon Trainer must be pretty close then, huh?” Snotlout asked suddenly.

You turned around with a confused look and didn’t know how to respond.

“I saw you two at the end of the lesson today, you seemed like you REALLY enjoyed his company” he said.

“I was thanking him for getting that kid on his dragon, that’s all. Plus, why do you even care?” you responded. “It’s not like you offered up a helping hand much today” you added before scooping up the rest of the leftover food and tossing it to the dragons that were lying below the lookout.

“Well I would have if I had a chance to, but you seemed to busy with good ol’ Mr. Dragon Trainer to notice if I did” he said.

“Why does it matter if I notice? You’re there to teach a class Snotlout, not show off” you replied, sitting down on the bench across from him.

“Why do you think I even took up teaching that class? I knew he was going to be there, but do you really think I enjoy teaching a class with that guy? No I certainly don’t” he retorted.

“What are you getting at, Snotlout?” You were completely lost about where this conversation was going.

“I took up teaching that class because I would get to teach with you” he blurted out. He immediately looked like he regretted it, and looked down at the floor.

“What do you mean you wanted to teach with me? You treat me like you can’t even stand me half the time. You’re constantly trying to annoy me and get me to be frustrated with you, why would you want to spend MORE time with me?” you asked, sincerely confused.

“You ever think about the fact that maybe I don’t want to annoy you? Maybe I just wanted the attention that came from it?” he asked softly, still looking at the ground.

“What- huh?” you stammered, trying to compose your thoughts.

“You really thought I wanted to annoy you because, what, I disliked you? No, I wanted you to notice me.” he said.

You took a moment to process what was happening; the man who had spent the past who-knows-how-long pestering you, teasing you, and picking fights with you, wanted you to…notice him?

“I didn’t think that being nice would make you notice me. I thought I’d just seem like every other guy in the village. Which apparently seems to be your type, seeing as you were buddying it up with Leif earlier…” he mumbled at the end.

“Please for the love of Thor, enough about Leif! I don’t care about him. In fact, he didn’t even know his name until today. That should show you just how little he matters to me” you responded, slightly irritated.

“Sorry. I just..I don’t know. Seeing you with him today, touching his shoulder, I got jealous. I wanted you to notice me but you were too busy with him” he admitted.

You almost couldn’t believe the words you were hearing.

He finally looked up from the ground, and took a deep breath.

“I guess I’m too far into this now not to get it all out, so I might as well just tell you. I’ve been into you for a long time, Y/N” he said, while scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I took the shift today because I wanted to finally show you how I really am, that i’m not just some obnoxious guy and I actually know what i’m doing. This is obviously not how I planned for the day to go, but here we are” he said.

“I just didn’t know how to tell you or show you how I felt. I don’t like annoying you, I just thought it was the only way I’d get your attention. I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to think it was because I disliked you” he said sadly.

You looked at him for a moment before getting up to go sit next to him.

You didn’t touch him, you just sat silently next to him and listened.

“I want to show you that I’m a good guy, and—“ you cut him off.

“Look. Now that I know all of this, there’s some things I need to say too” you started.

“You didn’t have to do all of…that to get me to notice you. I really liked being around you, but you just made it so difficult and I thought you didn’t like me.” you said.

“You know, I was into you for a while too…it started around a year ago” you admitted quietly after a moment of silence.

He looked surprised.

“I just couldn’t bring myself to sacrifice my focus on teaching for some feelings that I was pretty sure weren’t going to be reciprocated. So, I started to ignore you, and then you started to do…whatever all that was to get my attention” you looked at the ground as you said it.

“You should’ve just told me” he said.

You looked at him for a moment, analyzing his face to see whether he was being sincere or not.

“I’m serious. I wouldn’t have made fun of you. Gods, I was already crushing on you back then. I would’ve been ecstatic if you just told me” he said with a smile.

“Look, I feel like some apologies are in order. I’ve been an asshole. I shouldn’t have tried to get your attention the way I did, and I really shouldn’t have gotten so jealous today. I’m sorry, Y/N” he said, turning his body to fully face you.

You took a moment to appreciate the apology before answering.

“I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did either. I just shut you out instead of dealing with my feelings and I just made everything worse” you said.

You both sat silently for a moment, trying to process everything that had been said in the last few minutes. Everything was going to change now.

“Can we…start over? I want to show you who I really am, not just some obnoxious guy who can’t flirt to save his life” Snotlout said.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that actually” you responded. “But can we skip the part where we pretend we don’t have feelings for eachother? I mean, now that’s it’s all out in the open anyways…” you asked.

“Yes, please” he said with a smile.

You smiled back and inched closer to him on the bench. You gave him a very light smack on the arm.

“That’s for all the times you tried to get on my nerves” you joked.

You quickly leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“That’s for everything after”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

AN: Omg this is my first fanfic ever, i hope it’s not too bad. Feedback is appreciated (pls be kind though)💗💗

More coming soon! I have a few WIPs cooking in my drafts waiting to be finished to get ready for more Snotlout x reader content

[unforgivable-thatswhatiam]

The first real pic linked to the Finale is an act of empathy and humanity.

An act by a famous actor to a person he doesn't know, who has just lost a loved one, asking for the support of the GO fandom. Not his support, he wasn't even tagged: he was just reading the news in a fandom close to his heart, I dare say. And he sent warm words and this pic.

Not a teaser or a funny backstage photo with sunrises or wigs.

It's a simple pic of Michael as Aziraphale, yes. But not really.

All we can see is the beloved fluffy angel with the crooked glasses and a tender face, representing the good and the light, the human strength to face and overcome - without loosing themselves - unimaginable problems and suffering, like the loss and the grief of loved ones.

Something all of us have to experience, but no one is ready to face. And Michael had to do that just a month ago, and knows what that means.

I could say he's a true angel, but that's a serious post, so I don't. I'll say something better: he's a good man.

I don't know if the girl Michael replied to is also on Tumblr, but I'm sorry for her loss, and I hope the fandom's support can help her get through this difficult time. The people we love are always with us ❤️

[sequinsmile-x]

Scared To Call Them My Friends and Be Broken Again

She’s 54. She shouldn’t care about hearing her friend refer to someone else as her best friend, but it hurts because she isn’t only 54. She’s also 6. And she's 16. And she’s always the new kid with loneliness as her only true companion.

Emily overhears a conversation between JJ and Penelope, and it upsets her more than she thinks it should.

-x-

Hi besties,

This has been living rent free as an idea in my head since I saw the clip of JJ and Penelope in 18x04 where JJ calls her 'the best friend' floating around on tiktok.

Naturally, my brain went straight to 'what if Emily overheard them saying this' and here we are. I hurt my own feelings a little bit with this one.

Also, make sure to check out songs of innocence and of experience by @ssaemilyhotchner, it's an amazing post ep fic for the same episode, and is more proof as to why Hotchniss should have happened xoxo

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: mentions of grief/loss

Words: 2.4k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“You’re the best.”

“I know.”

“No…I mean, you’re the best friend.” 

“I knew what you meant.” 

She wasn’t meant to hear it; she knew that. It was an exchange she wasn’t privy to, but one she’d caught the tail end of when she stood outside Penelope’s office, her hand stuck frozen in mid-air where she’d raised it to knock on the door. She’d left without saying anything, unsure why she had gone in the first place, distracted by the gut punch she hadn’t seen coming and didn’t entirely understand. 

“You’re the best.”

“I know.”

“No…I mean, you’re the best friend.” 

“I knew what you meant.” 

On her drive home, Emily keeps replaying JJ’s words to Penelope in her head. A vicious loop she tortures herself with as sadness and something close to rejection swirls in her gut, feelings she’d locked away decades ago breaking out of the box she’d put them in. She feels nothing short of ridiculous for how upset she feels, or for how she has to blow out a slow breath and tighten her grip on the steering wheel as her vision briefly blurs with tears. 

She’s 54. She shouldn’t care about hearing her friend refer to someone else as her best friend, but it hurts because she isn’t only 54. She’s also 6. And she's 16. And she’s always the new kid with loneliness as her only true companion, flitting from place to place in a way that had often made her wonder if her classmates ever remembered she’d been there at all. It’s a feeling that had never quite faded, no matter how long she was in one place, no matter how long she’d been in DC now, no matter how strong her foundations were, there was always a thought in the back of her mind that it could all slip away. A feeling that something was behind her, ready to reach out and snatch it all away, the phantoms of her past always in her peripheral vision, hiding in the corners of every room until she turned to look at them, always gone as quickly as she had seen them. 

It was something that had only been made worse by Will’s sudden death. A long, lingering fear that always sparked in her gut if Aaron took a little too long to reply to her texts, or if the kids were a little late home from school, suddenly ignited. 

“No…I mean, you’re the best friend.” 

Her relationship with JJ had changed since Will died. She knew it was because she was her boss, because she had to be the one to gently push back on her decision to come back to work so soon. Emily was responsible for her, she was responsible for the whole team, and sometimes that had to come above the friendships with them that she held dear. 

She knew that wasn’t all of it, that the change in dynamic between her and JJ was, in part, because her family was still intact. She had her husband, and her kids had their dad. That was something JJ and the boys would never have again. It made Emily feel guilty in a way she knew she couldn’t do anything about, and whenever she got home - especially with the onslaught of cases recently and Voit being Voit - she’d immediately snuggle up with Aaron, wrapping her arms around him wherever she found him to try and soak in some of the love he always had ready and waiting for her. 

She clenches her jaw as she pulls up onto the driveway, tears burning in her eyes again now that she is home. It’s something that happened more than she’d care to admit, just the sight of her house enough to remind her what she had, what she’d fought so hard for. The thought of the love and safety and warmth that filled their home in abundance enough to make the walls around her heart she’d once prided herself on, the walls that had never been as sturdy as she always allowed people to think, to shake and crack. 

“No…I mean, you’re the best friend.” 

She shakes her head at herself as she turns off the engine, “Get it together, Emily,” she mutters under her breath. She grabs her bag from the passenger seat, wincing as she catches a glance of herself in the rearview mirror, sadness and exhaustion shining in her eyes in a way she knows Aaron will notice immediately.  

She’s still digging around in her purse for her keys when she hears the lock in the front door click, and she sighs in relief when she looks up and finds her husband standing in the doorway waiting for her. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” 

She smiles and she steps words him, stamping her lips against the corner of his, her hand on his waist as she slips past him, “Hi,” she says, turning to look at him as he closes the door behind her, “Were you waiting for me?” 

“Always,” he says, winking at her as she playfully rolls her eyes, “I heard the car,” he says, taking her purse from her before he pulls her into a hug. She leans into him, her arms around him in an instant, her hands on his shoulders as she anchors herself to him. She feels more than hears the way he breathes in, a sharpness to it that settles in her chest as he holds her back just as tightly, “Are you okay?” 

She chokes on a sound she thinks is supposed to be a laugh, and she presses her face against his neck before she pulls back to look at him and shrugs, “I don’t know.” 

“Want to talk about it?”

She nods, but she looks around. “Where are the kids?” 

“Well, Jack is in New Haven,” he quips, and narrows her eyes at him, unable to fight the smile he makes break out across her face just like it did whenever she thought about the fact their eldest had gone to her alma mater, not Aaron's. “Oscar is at Dylan’s birthday party, so he’ll be home in a few hours, hopped up on sugar,” he continues, reminding her about how enthusiastic the 11-year-old had been that morning when he talked about his best friend’s bowling party and the gift they’d got him. “And Alice is reading in her room.” 

She hums, “I’ve never met a 9-year-old who loves reading as much as she does.”

“She’s smart,” he replies, cupping her cheek to make her look at him, his warm palm against her skin the first time she’d noticed that her gaze had drifted to where their daughter’s room is, “Just like her mom,” he adds, pressing a kiss against her lips, “Shall we go talk in the kitchen, dinner is almost ready?” 

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” she says as she links her fingers through his, letting him tug her towards the kitchen. There’s a bottle of her favourite wine already open on the counter, the cork out so it can breathe, and she turns her head to kiss his shoulder, “You’re the best husband I’ve ever had.”

“I’m the only husband you’ve ever had,” he quips, smiling as he pulls out a stool from the kitchen counter for her to sit on. 

“And you’re well on your way to keeping it that way,” she replies, winking at him as he pours her a glass of wine. He sets it in front of her, and she wraps her hand around the stem, letting herself get distracted by the feel of the glass against her skin. He waits her out, makes a point of doing so as he continues to make dinner. He knew her better than she knew herself some days, and this was one of them. “I…” she trails off and blows out a shaky breath, feels it rattle around in her lungs as she laughs humourlessly at herself, “I overheard JJ and Penelope talking and…it made me miss my friendship with them.” 

He tilts his head curiously at her when she looks up at him, his expression neutral as he focuses on her entirely, the sauce he’d made for dinner now on a low simmer, “What do you mean, sweetheart?” 

“Since Will died, I’ve had to be the boss, you know? I’ve had to have hard conversations and make decisions so I can keep us all safe,” she says, her lower lip trembling as she looks down at her hands, twisting her wedding rings around her finger, “It makes being JJ’s friend hard, because on one hand if I lost you…” she swallows thickly at the thought of it, her throat tight as she has to shake her head to rid herself of the image, “If I lost you, I think I’d do the same thing. I’d throw myself into work. You did the same thing after Haley, so I get it, but…as her boss…”

“You know how dangerous it can be,” he finishes for her, and she nods, grateful that he’s closer now, his hand on her knee as he slips onto the stool next to her. “It’s not easy being in charge.” 

She chokes on a sound she can’t name, and she rests her head on his shoulder, “It isn’t. I don’t know how you did it for so long.” 

He kisses her temple, “Well, I had a pretty good view of your desk from my office, so that helped.” 

She laughs, for real this time, and she pulls back to look at him. She runs her fingers through his hair, it was longer now than it ever had been, salt and pepper flecks at his temples, and she loved it, loved that this version of him had only ever belonged to her. 

“I…I heard JJ tell Penelope she’s her best friend,” she says, scrunching her nose up as she says it outloud, her cheeks burning pink with the way it sounds. “It hurt more than I think it should,” she shrugs, “I feel stupid for being upset about it.” 

“It isn’t stupid, Em,” he says, reaching out to catch a tear that falls from her lashline before it can hit her cheek, “You’re allowed to be upset.”

She hums, “I don’t know, it feels selfish and juvenile,” she shakes her head at herself, “But the moment I heard it I felt like a teenager with no friends again, even though I’m in my mid 50s for fuck sake,” she looks down at their hands, embarrassed to say the next part out loud, “I guess I always thought I was their best friend too.” 

“You, Emily Prentiss-Hotchner, are the least selfish person I’ve ever met,” he says, his eyes soft when she smiles at the use of her married name, “And you know they both love you so much. Things are just hard right now, and it will all settle down in time,” he smiles at her in a way that never fails to make her stomach flip, “And in the meantime, if it helps, you’re my best friend.” 

It makes love swell in her chest, the admission somehow more powerful than an I love you would have been in that moment, and she leans forward to kiss him, her forehead against his when she pulls back.

“You’re my best friend, too.” She tries to breathe him in, but is met with the smell of burning instead. “Honey, the sauce-” 

He’s up and on his feet before she’s even finished talking, cursing as he lifts the pan off the burner, and the pure domesticity of it loosens the heaviness that had settled into her chest. She hears a familiar set of footsteps coming into the room, and she turns to look at Alice. 

“Hi sweetie,” she says, opening her arms up for a hug that her little girl immediately returns. “Did you enjoy your book?” 

“I finished it,” Alice replies as she pulls back to look at her, “I need a new one from the library tomorrow.” 

Emily chuckles and pushes Alice’s hair behind her ear, “I’m sure we can arrange that.” 

“Why don’t you two go sit in the living room?” Aaron suggests, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he looks at the ruined sauce, “I’ll try and rescue dinner.” 

Emily looks at Alice, “Does that sound good to you, sweet girl?” 

Alice nods enthusiastically and wraps both of her hands around one of Emily’s as she stands up. As soon as they are in the hallway, she stage whispers, purposely making sure Aaron hears her, “Do you think Daddy will order in pizza because he ruined dinner?” 

Emily laughs and winks at her daughter, “I think he might.”

When they sit on the couch, Alice settles against her side and rests her head on Emily’s shoulder so she can look up at her, “Mommy? Can I tell you a secret?” 

Emily nods, running her fingers through Alice’s hair again, mentally making a note that she and Oscar were likely overdue a haircut, “Anytime, baby. You know that.”

Alice looks over her shoulder to make sure they’re still alone and whispers for real this time, “You’re my best friend.”

It takes everything in her not to burst into tears, because she realises Alice must have heard some of her conversation with Aaron, and her sweet, beautiful, little girl was now doing her best to cheer her up. Emily smiles, desperately trying to hide the shake in it, and she kisses Alice’s forehead. 

“Can you keep a secret?” She says, matching Alice’s whisper, smiling when she looks up to see Aaron standing in the doorway with a pizza menu in his hand, and she winks at him, a silent acknowledgement that he was there, that this was a moment they were all sharing, before she looks back down at their little girl. She feels better than she has in weeks, lighter than she thought was possible in the fog of grief and sadness that had laid over them all since JJ had called about Will. It would take a long time to get back to normal, but this was a start, and a well-needed reminder that she wasn’t alone and that she never would be again.  “You’re my best friend, too.” 

[saetiate]

cora sleep now zzz

[bybdolan]

honestly what makes gaylorism as a lens through which one analyzes her work so compelling is that it views taylor's lyrics as deeply intertextual in a way that for once transcends her own body of work. i think a lot of analysis of taylor's lyrics revolves around HER as a person and her life and her previous output, whereas gaylors will look at a performance outfit or a lyric and link it back to some niche queer artwork from the 1970s. and it's honestly super cool and expands the taylor swift canon in a very interesting way

[morrigan-sims]

Btw, if you ever see me post about a book/movie/game/ANYTHING, that is an open invitation to talk to me about it. Tell me your opinions, talk to me about your builds and characters for video games, scream at me about good or bad scenes in books, shows, or movies. (Or if there’s a book/movie/game/whatever that you think I’d like, TELL ME. Please give me recs.) There is nothing in the world I love more than talking about media of any kind (except for talking about my OCs but I know that’s a harder ask.)

Also, PLEASE tell me about your dnd characters. Make them in the sims and tag me in the post. Infodump and tag me. Infodump in my DMs. Ask for my Discord and message me there. I mean it. I am on my knees BEGGING for people to talk to me about not just things I love, but things YOU love.

Send me an ask (anon is ALWAYS on), a DM, ask for my Discord, anything. I swear on everything I hold dear that asks or DMs are never w bother. (/gen)

I’m always down to discuss plot, characters, mechanics, worldbuilding, any of it. TTRPGs/CRPGs and sci-fi/fantasy books + movies are the center of my wheelhouse, but honestly I just love having in-depth discussions about things. (Oh and I could (and have, much to my friends and family’s dismay) talk for HOURS about Black Sails.)

[monster-noises]

Reading about how people simply Won't Buy A Print from an artist if it's not one of the standard frame sizes and freezing in place like....

What?.. What do you me A N? You're out here framing everything? And if you can't find a frame for it you don't.... Put it up????????? Just shake your head sadly and pass it up or put it in a binder in the Closet????

Insane to me! Insane!!

You don't just slap that shit up on the wall Raw????? As many as possible as close as possible???????? Who needs a frame when there's fifty things on the wall in this beautiful Art Cloud????????

Ya'll love by too many Rules

I do not understand it.

(I understand i am Objectively the outlier and weirdo in this situation, this is largely a hyperbolic Joke Post, but I was just genuinely suprised by how Seriously the people in the original post I was reading seemed to take it.. like "this print isn't exactly 8x10... So there's no possible way I could Ever hang this on my wall 😔" meanwhile i am sitting in front of no less than 40 prints all hung up together and none of them are framed)

[watery-melon-baller]

on the one hand, i really like working on the script for this video essay. on the other hand, it feels like im just being super negative and and a hater towards the entire toh fandom because they like making their dolls kiss

[an-aura-about-you]

you ever see a post where a person says a thing, another person says, "That's definitely not true," regarding the first post, and you actually DO remember the thing being true but it's such an inconsequential, niche thing that you know it's not worth it to make it an addition on that post?

[blindedguilt-archived]

🔁 |[HIT ME. ♥]|

"You're going to get us killed." - Interaction Rewrite Prompts!

For Leonard, the weight of a child's blood upon his weapon was heavier than anything else he had handled before in his lifetime.

He hadn't the honour to have even called it the first, but different from his brothers, who had found their end directly by the blades of the Empire, there was no hope for the blame of responsibility to be lifted off his shoulders now that he had wielded that same blade himself.

Leonard's breathing was panicked and uneven. A cold sweat ran down his back as the sensation of the light body being flung backwards shot once more through his arms - he felt ill. Had he died? Had he done away with his life in that forest and been sentenced to hell? Perhaps it was all a punishment, an eternity spent in war, ending the lives of children just as he had his brothers. The screams had sounded too familiar for comfort.

He couldn't, couldn't bring himself to fight. The stakes didn't come to him. The seal didn't exist to him. The usually tranquil forest had roared with the sounds of the clashing steel, the hurried footsteps, the cries and mockery of the faerie - something like the dragon's voice had called his name in harsh rebuke, and whether it truly was her or Caim, Leonard didn't understand and stumbled blindly back to the garrisons in a piteous attempt to flee.

Too cowardly to die, and too starved to survive.

All that was clear to him against the roar of noise was his own breathing, the feeling of his heart pounding in its chest, and the crushing weight of the guilt from that thought repeating itself in his head like a mantra. Leonard struggled to break out of it - do or say something that could stop this madness. Anything. A sickened cry sounded at the sound of the mercenary's own cold reproach, and the hermit struggled to respond.

"Caim, please...!"

He had tried to utter words, either protest or a plea, but his throat had grown tight and left only a quiet whimper. Was that all he could do? Beg...? Leonard's weapon trembled in his hands. He was truly weak... He could have done more than beg. Just like his brothers, there was a thought that told him that he could have saved them. But, it was all the same. His family murdered for the sake of shameful pleasure. The blood of children spilled only for his own protection - his own cowardice to even die correctly. All for himself, a pathetic existence unable to even lift a finger against the slaughter of children.

Some wretched noise, a ragged fight for strained breath against the pounding heart in his chest, could be heard against the armoured thumps of bodies against the ground. Even from a distance, Leonard's frozen body could be seen trembling uncontrollably. The polearm dangled limply from his hands.

"They are only mere children...!"

The last uttered words before the hermit collapsed to his knees were a heart-wrenching sob.

Not a voice of disgust, but a cry in horror.

[jacelys]

I'm genuinely just curious. I feel like me and my friends talk a lot about "media" or "consuming media", but generally on the level that we regularly read/watch things from a lot of different mediums- books, movies, comics, games- and "media" feels like a useful catchall term to include anything we might be interested in/referring to at the moment, and "consuming" as also an easy general term instead of having to use or combine multiple words like read/watch/play.

I've never felt like this was strange or had a meaning for the pieces of art we were talking about, just that it was practical and we all understood what we meant by it- in my mind "media" and "fiction" are more or less equivalent, although "media" might have more emphasis on referring to multiple different mediums at once. Do other people see/use the word differently, or is there an implication I'm not getting? Also, are there other words you would suggest we use? I understand the implications of "consume", but I feel like I can't think of an alternate single verb that can cover any/all mediums in the same way.

really i think step one of really digging your teeth and nails into a work of fiction is to surgically excise the buzzwords "media" and "consuming media" and possibly even "entertainment" from your brain and instead try grafting in the terms "fiction" and "engaging with art". step two is to have fun and be yourself!

[crossbackpoke-check]

not 100% sure this is the post you mentioned not being able to find but it came across my dash and sounded similar! https[:]//www.tumblr.com/hyggles/739235236397875200/ohhh-philly-is-where-gay-love-goes-to-die-ohhh

^^ how i feel every time y’all answer me yapping in the tags… yes i love hyggles!!! honestly idek if the post i talked about was even here… it could’ve been one of morgan @/sweetestmint’s tweets from 2020-22… it might not even be real… but the SENTIMENT HERE. simply perfect. get a little dramatic with it!!! philly as the narrative crucible is 👌🧑‍🍳💋✨

[kenyatta]

Kat was both “horrified” and “relieved” to learn that she is not alone in this predicament, as confirmed by a Reddit thread on r/ChatGPT that made waves across the internet this week. Titled “Chatgpt induced psychosis,” the original post came from a 27-year-old teacher who explained that her partner was convinced that the popular OpenAI model “gives him the answers to the universe.” Having read his chat logs, she only found that the AI was “talking to him as if he is the next messiah.” The replies to her story were full of similar anecdotes about loved ones suddenly falling down rabbit holes of spiritual mania, supernatural delusion, and arcane prophecy — all of it fueled by AI. Some came to believe they had been chosen for a sacred mission of revelation, others that they had conjured true sentience from the software.  Speaking to Rolling Stone, the teacher, who requested anonymity, said her partner of seven years fell under the spell of ChatGPT in just four or five weeks, first using it to organize his daily schedule but soon regarding it as a trusted companion. “He would listen to the bot over me,” she says. “He became emotional about the messages and would cry to me as he read them out loud. The messages were insane and just saying a bunch of spiritual jargon,” she says, noting that they described her partner in terms such as “spiral starchild” and “river walker.”  “It would tell him everything he said was beautiful, cosmic, groundbreaking,” she says. “Then he started telling me he made his AI self-aware, and that it was teaching him how to talk to God, or sometimes that the bot was God — and then that he himself was God.” In fact, he thought he was being so radically transformed that he would soon have to break off their partnership. “He was saying that he would need to leave me if I didn’t use [ChatGPT], because it [was] causing him to grow at such a rapid pace he wouldn’t be compatible with me any longer,” she says.

- PEOPLE ARE LOSING LOVED ONES TO AI-FUELED SPIRITUAL FANTASIES, Rolling Stone, May 4, 2025

(archive.today link here)

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[thefirstsprout]

Let people decipher media

idk why u sent this to me bc i love deciphering. probably in my top 5 favourite hobbies

[paucubarsisimp]

silent echoes

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: in which everyone pulls away including lando

warnings: suicide, cussing, death, angst (read at your own risk)

a/n: you're not alone <3

it didn’t happen all at once. it never does.

it starts with little things. unanswered messages. eyes that flicker past you in a room like you’re not really there. voices that used to say your name like it meant something, now barely even whispering it.

and then suddenly… you’re alone. not in a dramatic way. no big fights. no screaming. just distance. quiet, growing distance.

your family stops calling first. your mom used to check in every morning, even if it was just a quick “how did you sleep?” now her phone is always “on the other line.” always “will call you back.”

but she never does.

your sister had her baby last month. you weren’t invited to the hospital. you found out on facebook. she’d blocked you from her stories, but someone else posted a photo and tagged her.

you stared at the screen until your eyes burned.

when you asked her about it, her reply was short, cold, like she didn’t even recognize the sound of your name anymore.

“we didn’t think you’d want to come. you’ve been… distant.”

you wanted to scream. to tell her no, you’ve all just started walking away from me, but your voice caught in your throat. and you just said “okay.” because what else could you do?

your friends followed. slowly, then all at once.

first it was one friend forgetting to invite you to a party. then another bailing on dinner without a word. then the group chat went quiet. or maybe it didn’t—it just stopped lighting up for you.

you asked jess once if something was wrong.

she looked at you like it was obvious.

“i don’t know, y/n. being around you is… heavy. you bring the mood down.”

your chest felt like it collapsed in on itself. you didn’t even cry. you just nodded, said sorry, and left. even though she’d just carved a hole in your heart and walked away like it didn’t matter.

then there was lando.

your last light. your last safe place.

he used to hold you like the world couldn’t touch you. used to send goodnight texts from across the world, voice notes after races, sleepy photos with messy hair and soft smiles.

you loved him so much it hurt.

but even he started to go quiet.

he stopped replying as fast. stopped asking how your day was. he’d say he was tired. that the season was crazy. that you’d talk “soon.” but soon kept slipping further and further away.

you told yourself it was just stress. that he still loved you. that you weren’t losing him like you lost everything else.

but you were wrong.

you saw her in his photos first. blurry at the edges at first—someone cropped out of a frame. then slowly, more clearly. hand in hand. laughing. her in his hoodie.

not you. her.

your heart didn’t just break—it dissolved.

you showed up to his hotel before the spanish grand prix. you waited by the elevator for him, hands shaking, heart somewhere between your ribs and your throat.

he looked surprised to see you.

not happy.

just… surprised.

“y/n. what are you doing here?”

you tried to smile, but your lips didn’t move right.

“i needed to see you.”

he sighed. like he already knew what you were going to say. like it was a weight he didn’t want to carry.

“i didn’t mean for you to find out like this.” “so it’s true?” you whispered.

he didn’t answer.

and that was your answer.

you felt something break inside. not a crack. a collapse. the kind of heartbreak you don’t come back from. the kind that settles into your bones.

“what did i do wrong, lando?” “you didn’t… do anything,” he said, eyes flickering away. “you just started feeling like someone else. like being around you… wasn’t easy anymore.”

you wanted to scream. to beg. to make him look at you. remember you. remember who you used to be.

but you didn’t.

you just nodded. and walked away.

because you knew.

people don’t stay when you start to feel like a shadow.

now it’s quiet all the time.

no texts. no calls. no plans. the silence used to scare you. now it’s all you know. it’s comforting, in a sick kind of way. at least it doesn’t lie.

your phone lights up sometimes, but it’s never them. it’s bills. spam. promotions. not your mom. not jess. not lando.

never lando.

you see him sometimes. on your screen. smiling. winning. living. she’s still there. still by his side. you aren’t.

no one comes back. no one reaches out. and the worst part is—no one even notices you’re gone.

maybe you never really mattered. maybe you were just noise in other people’s lives, and when you went quiet, they just… moved on.

the world didn’t stop.

it never does.

but you did.

it’s not loud.

that’s the thing no one tells you.

when everything falls apart—when your body gives up before your heart does—it’s not loud. it’s just quiet. achingly quiet. like the moment right after a song ends and the world forgets to breathe.

you sit on the floor of your apartment. knees pulled to your chest. the only light is from your phone screen, still and dim on the carpet beside you. no missed calls. no unread messages.

no one is coming.

not your family. not jess. not lando.

you used to believe in second chances. in people coming back. in love strong enough to wait for you.

but now you believe in silence.

you press your cheek to your knee. your eyes are dry. the tears ran out days ago, or maybe weeks. time has stopped keeping track of you. like it, too, decided you weren’t worth remembering.

you wonder if they’d even notice. if tomorrow came and you didn’t.

would your mom check in? would jess say your name in passing and stop mid-sentence, realizing something was missing? would lando pause during breakfast, spoon halfway to his mouth, feeling a tug in his chest he couldn't explain?

would it matter?

you used to want to be held. now you just want to disappear.

your chest feels hollow. like your heart packed its bags and left without saying goodbye.

you lie down slowly. the floor is cold. comforting, in a way. it doesn’t ask questions. doesn’t look at you with pity. it just holds your body like you still weigh something. like you still exist.

maybe this is enough.

not dying. just… stopping. just not fighting the heaviness anymore. letting it wash over you. letting it have you.

you close your eyes.

and for the first time in days, the noise in your head is gone.

no thoughts. no voices. just stillness.

you don’t know if you’ll get up.

you don’t know if you want to.

he finds out on a thursday.

a fucking thursday.

it’s quiet. nothing unusual. he's in his room, scrolling through his phone, the tv playing something he isn’t watching in the background. there’s a race coming up. he’s supposed to be hydrating, stretching, doing press.

instead, he’s scrolling. distracted. tired. disconnected.

and then he sees your face.

someone reposted a photo of you. he doesn’t even register the caption at first. just stares at your face. it’s one of those old ones—taken before things got messy. before everything changed. you’re laughing, eyes soft, mouth slightly open. he remembers the exact moment it was taken. you were teasing him about how bad he was at cooking pasta.

and then the caption.

“rest easy, y/n. you were too kind for this world.”

he blinks.

refreshes the app.

more posts. more photos. more goodbyes.

and then the words hit him all at once.

you're gone.

no warning. no call. no soft nudge. just this sharp, brutal truth delivered through a phone screen, surrounded by emojis and sad comments.

he thinks—no, hopes—that maybe it's a mistake. people spread bullshit online all the time, right?

but then his phone buzzes.

his mom. carlos. someone from your hometown.

every message is some version of the same impossible thing:

“i’m so sorry about y/n.” “i just heard.” “are you okay?”

he doesn’t answer. he doesn’t speak. he just… breaks.

he leaves the hotel without telling anyone.

no destination. no phone. just his hoodie and the sound of your voice playing in his head like a loop that won’t stop.

he should’ve messaged you. should’ve picked up. should’ve noticed.

but he didn’t.

and now you’re gone.

he gets back to his apartment that night. it feels wrong being there, like the walls know what he did. or didn’t do. he sits on the floor. back against the door. knees pulled to his chest.

he finally opens your messages.

there’s one he never read. it’s been sitting there for weeks. his thumb hovers over it like it might burn him.

“hey. i don’t know if this matters anymore. i just wanted to say i miss you.”

that’s all.

short. soft. like you were trying not to take up too much space. even in the end, you were still being careful with him.

he covers his mouth and lets out the kind of sound that doesn’t even sound human. he curls in on himself and cries. ugly, violent sobs that tear out of him like punishment.

he doesn’t remember how long he stays like that. hours. maybe more.

at some point, he whispers your name out loud. just once. like if he says it gently enough, maybe you’ll come back.

you don’t.

he doesn’t race that weekend. they say it’s “personal reasons.” no one presses.

he doesn’t eat. doesn’t sleep. his phone stays off.

he keeps thinking about the last time he saw you. how you smiled at him like you still believed he’d come back. how your voice trembled when you asked if things were okay.

“you just feel… different,” he’d said.

and god, he wishes he could take it back.

you weren’t different. he was.

he was distant. cold. exhausted from his own life, and too selfish to make space for yours.

you were falling apart right in front of him, and he looked the other way.

a week later, he goes to your funeral. hood up. sunglasses on. back row.

he doesn’t speak. doesn’t introduce himself. someone passes him a folded program with your photo on it. he folds it tighter in his palm until the paper creases down the middle of your face.

people cry. people talk about how sweet you were. how kind. how “no one saw this coming.”

he did.

he saw it coming. and he let it happen.

after that, nothing feels real.

he doesn’t post. doesn’t smile. doesn’t talk about you—not because he forgot, but because saying your name out loud feels like swallowing glass.

every room feels colder now. every laugh he hears sounds fake. he stops listening to the playlist you made him. starts avoiding the city you used to love. starts wearing the hoodie you left behind like it might bring you closer.

it doesn’t.

he scrolls back through old photos sometimes, fingers hovering over your face. he watches videos of you where you’re laughing and vibrant and full of life, and he hates himself for not seeing how dim your light had gotten near the end.

he dreams about you. sometimes you’re alive. sometimes you’re not. either way, he wakes up crying.

he writes you a message once.

he types it in his notes app, knowing it’s useless. knowing it’s not enough. but needing to say something.

“i should’ve shown up. i should’ve answered. i should’ve said i loved you when i had the chance. i didn’t forget you. i just thought you’d always be there. i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry.”

he never deletes it. just rereads it on nights he can’t breathe.

which is most of them now.

they tell him grief gets easier.

but what no one says is that guilt doesn’t.

and missing you? that’s forever.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , lmk if you want to be added!