#i tag this with a shitload of things

[erebus0dora]

i can't unsee this, so have a black tie event follow-up to the gremlin t-shirt art

[lucabyte]

even dogs pass the mirror test

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[white-hole-station]

OWV really had the exact right "crazy mf" to "voice of reason" ratio to get that project off the ground, huh.

You've got Slate, whose idea of a good date is an explosion - and who says that they (Slate) (The Explosions One) have no idea how Feldspar lived long enough to become an astronaut, based on their nonexistent sense of self preservation. And then you've got the aforementioned Feldspar, whose idea of a good time is flying straight into the eye of the Giant's Deep storm for breakfast, and Dark Bramble for lunch.

Those two are the roaring engine of the endeavor, but if Hornfels wasn't methodical enough to channel that energy with actual science, they'd be an uncontrolled blast instead of power with steering. Gossan is the safety rails to the objective, the one to handle "how can we do this and live to do it again" and "how can we do this repeatably enough that other people both can learn and want to". If Slate and Felds are the engine and Hornfels is the steering, Gossan is the fuel line, a measured and steady input to give the whole thing staying power and make sure it's built to last.

Without the wilder half to take the plunges, they never would have passed the point of prototyping with the scant resources and unanswered questions they had. Without the more grounded half, they would have leapt too far too fast and become a barely-spoken cautionary tale instead of an inspiration. The existence and success of this project is as precarious and beautiful as flight itself, and it is so interesting to me to think about how each of its components helped to lift it to where it is by the start of the game.

(I briefly forgot about Esker but I fixed it in the tags) (Esker Rights forever they deserve to be remembered for their role and also visited, somebody visit them please,)

[shubbzebubs]

I may not be able to use my drawing tablet at a moment I need it most... But curve tool got my back

[bitegore]

can you leave me the fuck alone tumblr

[that-gay-guy-from-hell]

Been seeing a lot of dmc5se art (I'm too much of an anxious coward to tag them, sorry) lately and, some times, they draw Dante (and others) in the style of MLP. So, I thought it would be fun to draw as well! It's been an EXTREMELY long time since I've drawn MLP styled stuff (or drawn traditionally for that matter) so it's a bit rough (and stiff) but *shrugs* it was fun.

Forgive the poor picture quality, my phone's focus doesn't work right-- it's a feisty bitch and I hate it lmfao Also my handwriting is horrible, sorry lmao (Rambling about this idea below because I have been suffering brain rot over this)

Putting in my two cents on the idea, I think that Sparda (and his descendants) would have a white coat and blank flank (which is covered by their coats).

Sparda would obviously be a demon pony. I think that his "human" or in this case "pony" form would be of an earth pony with a hint of batpony. He'd want to blend in the best he can. He's too bulky to pass as a pegasus and would have an odd shaped horn if he tried to pass as a unicorn. The hint of batpony is because of his ears and eyes. Even with this however, he can still use magic and fly--which looks strange to say the least, an earth pony that's able to do other races things... Freaky.

Eva would be a unicorn, curved ribbed horn, hoof tufts, fluffy ears, and a "classic" type tail. (Not much else to say)

Vergil and Dante would both me earth ponies. However, they each would have devil/demon horns--that are the same as their Devil Trigger. Despite not having a unicorn horn, however, they can use magic. (which adds to the "wtf" factor the whole Sparda family has).

Dante would have a set of two (four in total) (pictured above) horns that curve downwards; which he trims/grinds down then covers the remaining stumps with his mane. Before you ask: yes, this hurts. He's grinding down something that has blood and tissue in it (like most animal horns do) but he's stubborn. The youngest twin inherited his father's body type (or well, fake body's type): a thicker more stocky build. The one major thing from Eva he has is fluffy ears. His tail he keeps trimmed close to his flank because it's a disadvantage in a fight (and a pain to take care of).

PRE NELO ANGELO: Vergil has a fully grown set of horns (two in total) that curve upwards and are more developed/tougher than Dante's--since he doesn't trim them. Oppisite his twin, Vergil inherited Eva's body type: long "traditional" unicorn tail, hoof tufts, slimmer build. The one thing he did not inherit from her is the ear fluff, having his father's batpony structure instead. POST NELO ANGELO: Vergil's horns are snapped in half. Unable to grow them back, he keeps them nearly sanded to a smooth edge. His tail is gone, only have a scar where it did attach before. His hoof fluff takes some time to grow back. V: Skinny earth pony that's white with black faded stocking marks. His front hooves have fluff and he has no tail. His ears are normal. V has his tattoos all over his body except his flank. URIZEN: Didn't want to exclude him but there's not much to say. He'd look like a rooted version of post Nelo Angelo Vergil. Maybe he'd look closer to a changeling? Not sure. His design is something that I would have to play with and try out before deciding.

Trish looks almost the exact same as Eva, however, the major difference is her horn has no ribs. It's a smooth curved horn.

Lady would be a hypogriff (Arkam would be a griffon). Again, not much to say.

Nero would be an earth pony with very little different (otherwise it would've been overly obvious that he wasn't normal). His back hooves have tufts and he has a longer--but not extremely long--base for his tail. His ears are fluffier, but not too much (and not bat texture). His devil bringer would be akin to a griffon's front claws; talons and whatnot. POST "Awakening" (learning to Trigger): Nero does have small horns that curve around his ears; just like his DT's (almost like a ram). He also gains the ability to use "magic" and levitate/hover/glide despite not having a horn or wings.

Sorry that was a lot... But it seriously has been just stuck in my head. Might doodle more of this at some point, might not; I don't know yet. This was really odd and strangely comforting to go back to. Most of my art pre-2020 was MLP styled (even though I had lost interest in the show WAY before that. Just got used to drawing it and was, not to pat myself on the ass, pretty good at it... but I never shared like 99% of it.)

okay I'll shut up now lol

MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[poppitron360]

TAG GAME!

What’s one interest/hobby/thing you like that you have NEVER talked about on your blog before?

It can be anything from a whole ass fandom to just a little thing that makes you smile but it CAN’T be anything that you’ve mentioned before.

I’ll go first:

This week, I can’t seem to get enough of the Album “For Emma, Forever ago” by Bon Iver. It’s just such a lovely album and great when I’m feeling overstimulated. It seems to be really heralding the late autumnal vibes for me, and I love to put it on while I’m working or tidying or drawing or out for a walk.

The lore of this album is that he got dumped so went to a cabin in the woods somewhere in Wyoming with a guitar and a shitload of alcohol and some rudimentary recording equipment and created one of the best-sounding albums I’ve heard in a while. He’s got a very distinct voice. I like Bon Iver’s other stuff but this one is my favourite right now.

What about you guys?

@lavenderfairiez @ginnyluna @groverapologist @echo-stimmingrose @demigod-shenanigans @keefessketchbook @sleepyycapybara @euryvices-deactivated20241019 @123letsgobestie @fairytalesociology @four-leafed-queer-gal @child-of-helios @green-tea217 @puzzled-pegasus @ollieisanerd @twomanyfandomshelp @lokiwiiiiiii @yoshuko-ew @frayna-of-the-hollow @via-rant @daonedaonlyskh @hadeslegacyhephgirl @siimplyapril @pjowasmy1stfandom @thetourturedwritersclub @m-for-now @inky-void @imarayoffuckingsunshine @deciduowl

[eyelessfaces]

say yes?

santiago garcia x reader

summary: the first time he asks, you say no. the next few times become a game to him.

warnings: refused proposal, angst (with a good ending), mentions of the operation from the movie, tom is mentioned like once or twice (yes this counts as a warning), brief mentions of ptsd and unhealthy ways to cope with it (drinking), a tiny smut scene

tags: gn!reader, fluff, santi being silly, the first few scenes are really angsty but I promise it mainly gets silly and cute after that!!

please mind that for artistic reasons (lmao), the first few scenes are not following a linear chronology (I wanted to point that out in case it gets confusing)

word count: 3k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

The tip of your fingers drum nervously against the counter; the sound is awful mixed with the aggressive rumbling of the coffee machine. Like every other morning, you watch the birds outside the kitchen window, pecking through the bowl of mixed seeds, and like every other morning, you feel Santiago’s hand gently resting over your lower stomach as the prickle of his stubble scratches your cheek when he kisses it.

You hear him pull the stool to sit at the bar table, like every other morning, and like every other morning, you give him the coffee you just made – though hesitantly, this time – before you make yourself one.

And just like every other morning, he checks on his phone as he waits for his coffee to cool down, the smoke curling up in the air, swirls visible through the ray of sunshine piercing through the kitchen.

You gaze at him, at the way he scrolls through the news page on his phone, your stomach churning at the fact you’re both trying so hard to act like yesterday was an evening like every other one and like this morning is the natural follow up of a perfectly normal situation.

Then, all you can hear is the coffee machine, your coffee pouring and the birds outside, chirping.

“Are we gonna act like nothing happened?” 

He looks up from his phone, to you. 

“Isn’t that what you want?” he quirks an eyebrow at you, his morning voice deep and raspy.

You huff out a small breath through your nose. “No” the coffee machine stops, but you remain facing Santiago. “I want things to be clear between us.”

He puts his phone down onto the counter, with a small chuckle as both of his hands rub the sleep off of his face. “You made things clear sweetheart.”

—

Your body was curled at the edge of your side, your arm hanging off the bed, fingers brushing the cool floor. Sleep had been hard to find, for the both of you; you felt Santiago move behind you across the bed, turning to face the opposite direction. 

How could either of you possibly sleep tonight?

Your heart ached inside your chest, your mind full and feeling like your head was about to explode, so you couldn’t even imagine how he must feel.

“Santi,” your voice was weak, quieter than you had anticipated. 

He hummed softly in response, just enough to let you know he was listening. 

You waited an instant. It all burned your tongue, everything you could possibly say to him.

“I love you” you reminded him, as if innocently trying to press a bandaid over the wide crack you had managed to create earlier. It felt stupid. You knew this wouldn’t fix the broken pieces.

Maybe it was even making things worse.

Santiago could hear the beating of his own heart reverberating through his ears; for you, the room was dead silent, and it remained like this for what seemed to be an eternity, during which you considered leaving the bedroom to take a breath outside, before he finally said, 

“I know.”

—

The ride back home had been oppressively quiet. Santiago's playlist, though playing at the lowest volume, had somehow managed to mingle with the shitload of thoughts running through your mind, and the rhythmic drumming of his fingers against the steering wheel felt like a desperate attempt to ease the sickening tension between the both of you and to make it feel like it all wasn’t awfully awkward.

Back at your shared home, you watched as he slid his jacket over the coat rack like he was on autopilot before you followed, hanging yours beside his. 

You glanced at him as he mindlessly tossed his cap over the couch. It felt like the right moment to address the elephant in the room – though you weren't truly sure there was a right moment to talk about this.

“Santi I–” you started, words dying in your throat, unsure where you were even going. He turned and sat against the back of the couch, knowing where the conversation was headed, his hands shoving into his pockets. “It’s alright,” he said quietly, his voice low, resigned. “You don’t have to explain anything. I get it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to marry you.” you affirmed. His gaze hardened, his lips pressing into a tight line as he looked at you. Out of all the things you could say, he hadn’t anticipated this. 

You could distinctly see the hurt and confusion in his flickering eyes. “Then what is this? Because that’s sure as hell what it felt like tonight.” 

You hated this. Hated to see him ache, knowing it was all your fault. Hated to hear the self defensive sarcasm in his voice – hated to see his conflicted furrowed brow. “It's just– not the right time.” you explained. You took a breath, stepping towards him, getting closer, but not too much. You could already see the frustration building up inside him, you didn’t want him to feel cornered.

“You don't know what you're doing. You're still processing what happened in South America” 

It had only been a month; he was still having nightmares, was still dissociating at random times, was still pouring himself a glass at random times of the day, more often than he should.

You knew you were right. You wondered if he thought you were. 

He stared at you, his expression unreadable, and you talked again when you started to see the defensiveness, the way his mouth gaped slightly as he searched for his words.

“You’re not doing this for us. You’re doing this for you, because you’re scared. You’re scared of things slipping away from you, so you jump head first into things to feel like you have control over your life. That’s what this proposal felt like” 

He rubbed the stubble of his chin, nodding, not like he understood or agreed, like he acknowledged what you were saying. His hand buried in his jeans pocket again. "You think this is just because of what happened? I’ve been sure about this for a long time. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t." his eyes darkened, his jaw working as he processed the conversation. “You think I don’t mean it.” he said quietly, more of a statement than a question.

“I'm not sure,” you pinched your lips, stepping towards him, desperate to make him understand. “I mean, I know you mean it. I know. But Santi… Ever since you came back–” you shook your head. His jaw tightened, the crease of his brows becoming more visible. “You’re trying to hold on to something, to control something, because so much of what happened out there was out of your hands. That proposal– it felt like a reaction to everything, like you’re trying to ground yourself, to finally have control over something in your life.”

He shook his head, a small sigh leaving his mouth. “It wasn’t. I just didn’t want to waste any more time.” he nodded, a pleading look over his face. Your heart clenched inside your chest. “I know it may seem rushed after what happened, with Tom and everything, but–” he stopped when he saw you wince. “I want to make the most of my life. With you”

The confession should make you feel all giddy, just like the proposal was supposed to. It just makes your heart tighten inside your chest.

“So, I’m right.” you raised your eyebrows at the way he just proved your point. “You’re doing this because of the operation.” 

You sighed with a shake of your head, your hand trying to rub away the ache lodged inside your skull. “So no, I don’t want to marry you out of emergency. Ask me again when we have it all sorted out, and I’ll say yes”

He nodded, biting his tongue. He knew he didn't have room to talk back on this, because he knew you were probably right.

“Jesus, Santi” you sighed, shaking your head once again, before you disappeared through the hallway. 

—

“I don’t want you to feel like shit over this,” you say, turning away to pick up your coffee. His lips tighten into a sheepish smile before he brings his own cup to his mouth. 

A soft frown grows over his face as he points a finger at you, his mouth still full. “So, next time,” he starts, having barely finished swallowing his sip. “Bigger ring, better speech, delivery?” he asks teasingly, testing the waters. 

You huff out a small, genuine laugh, relieved he’s taking it lightly, and an easy smile grows over his face when he sees yours.

You lean in against the counter, onto your forearms, humming in reflection. 

“Ring is perfect. Speech, delivery… I’d say save your talent in smoothness for our vows” you grin.

“Okay,” he chuckles, “So we're really getting married at some point” he grins, sliding his hand into yours.

“At some point,” you shrug playfully, gently squeezing his hand. “It just has to be the right time” you nod, more serious now.

“The right time…” he hums pensively, nodding slowly.

—

It starts rather innocently, at first, before it becomes a silly little game to him. 

The tension regarding the proposal has gradually eased between the both of you, and you have managed to find your regular dynamic again, not needing to sleep on opposite edges of your shared bed anymore.

It happens for the first time two weeks after the proposal, while you are getting ready to go to work; you’re almost done brushing your teeth, Santiago standing by your side doing the same, when he asks, out of the blue, “Would this be the right time?”

You frown at his reflection in the mirror, unsure what he means, leaning above the sink to spit out your foaming toothpaste. 

“What?” you ask, turning to him – his toothbrush is hanging from his mouth, his hand holding an open ring box. You freeze, once again, the same way you did the first time. 

“Marry me?” he asks, the toothbrush hanging out of his mouth moving as he speaks, his toothpaste-full mouth making the question almost unintelligible. You would think he’s being serious if he didn’t go back to brushing his teeth with his free hand as soon as he asked the question, and if he didn’t immediately follow into breaking into a laugh, rushing to empty his mouth full of toothpaste in the sink. 

“Very funny,” you sigh, your heart still thumping inside your chest as you watch him rinse his mouth.

“Oh you should have seen your face, babe” he chuckles facing you again, a playful grin plastered over his face. 

“Too bad you will never know my answer to the question,” you tease. He huffs out a laugh, wiping away the bit of dry toothpaste in the corner of your mouth before he kisses you. 

The next time it happens is more spontaneous, less staged on his part and more subtle – though still somewhat gently pushy. 

You’re trying to assemble a shelf, reading over and over again the instruction manual that might as well be written in another language; Santiago’s sighing as he checks every side and angle of the half built piece of furniture, trying to figure out where it went wrong, when he confidently affirms, “If we can get through this, I think we can go through marriage.”

And from there, it goes on, and on. 

It's little jokes about it thrown randomly through the weeks, making you playfully hit his chest with the back of your hand.

It's him getting on one knee, looking up at you with soft eyes, before he eventually just ends up tying his shoe.

It's him opening the ring box at the most random situations.

It all gets so frequent you don’t even get surprised when he kneels to grab something from the shelf when you're out for groceries, then shifting to one knee and dramatically pulling the ring box out of his jacket to present it to you.

“Santi, c’mon, your knees!” you urge him up, offering your hand for help, giggling like a teenager as you look around making sure no one actually thinks he's serious. He laughs and gets up, putting the item he was originally grabbing in the cart. “Are you really carrying that ring everywhere with you?” you scold him, pulling on his arm as you cling to him.

He shrugs. “You never know when it might happen,” he grins playfully.

He's not, in the slightest, kidding. He even does it in the middle of sex once.

He's under you, his grip hot and firm over your hips as you roll against his lap, small gasps leaving your lips swollen from kissing; he pulls your upper body down to his, silencing your desperate moans by licking into your mouth as he fucks up into you, one hand pressed against your back, the other gripping your side. 

His hand comes to rest at your neck once he pulls away. “If this doesn’t make you wanna marry me, I don’t know what will” he breathes out, reaching to his bedside table to grab the small box resting there.

You grip his wrist. “Don’t do that to me. You know I’d say yes to anything right now” you whine, drawing a huffed laugh out of him. “You’re not playing fair”

He laughs into your neck, planting a kiss there.

Spring quickly fades into summer, so it gets more and more frequent for you and Santiago to spend your weekend evenings at the boys’; it is at Will’s place this time, so like each time you’re there, they play poker, and because Benny is a sore loser, he ends up hanging out with you by the firepit, further away from the group. 

“So, are you actually gonna say yes one day?” Benny asks, handing you your glass refill, pulling the empty chair by your side to sit down next to you.

You smile, amused as you take your glass from Benny’s hand. You know the subject is no secret to anyone, but it still manages to make your heart leap inside your chest each time someone mentions it.

“It would require him to actually ask” you say with a tilt of the head before you take a sip of your drink.

Benny hums thoughtfully. 

There’s a silence between you before you can hear a sudden commotion of laughs further away and Frankie’s familiar bragging sneer, breaking the prior focused mood of their poker table. You smile as you watch them, your attention drifting back to Benny when he nudges you with his bottle of beer. “You know, for as long as I’ve known Pope, he’s always had commitment issues.” he nods, a small scoff breaking through. “Could rarely keep a girlfriend long enough for us to see her twice. Hell, you should see how many girls he’s had casual sex with, it’s–” 

“Okay Benny, you don’t have to–” you scoff, holding a hand up to stop him.

“I know, I know, it’s not something you wanna hear” he laughs, shaking his head. 

“What I mean is if the Santiago Garcia I know is asking you to marry him, he means it.” he shrugs, taking a sip of his beer.

“I know,” you mutter casually, like he just said the most banal thing ever when in reality your stomach flutters at Benny’s words and you suddenly feel like a teenager with a crush. 

The night goes on and quiets down until eventually, everyone ends up leaving or going to bed; Will offered his sofa bed for you and Santiago to sleep on, and you both agreed to accept, admitting you were too tired to drive back home. 

“So how many games did you win?” you ask him, sliding underneath the thin cover to press yourself against him. 

He chuckles, extending his arm so you can slot close to him. “Only one” 

“You suck”

He grins at your teasing. “I’ll never be worse than Benny” 

You chuckle, pressing your lips against his stubbled cheek. His hand slides down your back, pulling you even closer against him before he slips it underneath your shirt, his thumb dragging back and forth against your bare skin. 

Your mouths meet when his other hand cups your face, his broad hands roaming onto your sides and back when you fully lie over him, the kiss deepening as his tongue slips into your mouth and you start full on making out; you would be fucked if anyone came by the living room to use the bathroom, but either of you could care less.

“Hm, I could ask you to marry me right now” he hums, barely pulling away from your lips; he’s still so close, so close that you can feel him smile. You chuckle, your hand burying into the short curls at the side of his head. “No, I mean it,” he affirms in a serious whisper, adjusting his position under you. “Look, I’m done joking. Marry me”

You back away, enough to be able to read his expression. 

Something in his eyes tells you he might be serious, this time. “Really?”

He nods. “Yes. Fuck, I don’t even have the ring right now.”

You grin softly, shifting to rest by his side again. “You’re good. You’re really good.” you prop yourself onto your elbow, your other hand resting against his chest. “Because you’ve done it so many times throughout literally months and I’m actually surprised now that you’re asking for real” he smiles at that, his hand resting over yours. 

“You know, I’m still waiting for my answer” he grins. 

You shrug playfully. “Eh, you don’t have any ring, so I don’t know–” you tease, stopping when he rolls over you and presses his mouth to yours. You kiss him back, your hands burying into his hair again. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

He smiles contentedly, his eyes softly roaming over your face.

“I meant it the first time I asked” he admits, pinching his lips into a small smile. You mirror it, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone.

“But I get why you said no. And you were right to. But it’s kinda crazy that it’s now happening in Will’s living room” he snorts up a laugh, and you burst out laughing, before you quiet yourself with the palm of your hand against your mouth.

“I know, right? But it could have been at Walmart, so”

He chokes up a laugh, burying his face against your chest. 

“Yeah, it could have been at Walmart.”

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

triple frontier taglist:

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mystinky-butt @anightshift @whatthefishh @alexxavicry 

@grxywindd @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry 

@jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @luxisluxurious @dowbastan 

@unear7hly @pigeonmama @mari-thesimp

& @missdictatorme :p

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Don't cha wanna dance?

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 30/31

Prompt: New year's resolutions

Rated: T

CW: Vague boner references again

Tags: No UD AU; dancer Steve Harrington; good neighbor Eddie Munson; Flirting; Sexual tension

Notes: Continued from day 22. This is for @sourw0lfs and @wormdebut specifically, who very gently bullied talked me into writing more dancer!Steve. 🩰

Eddie has never understood new year's resolutions. He believes that, if he wanted to change something about himself, he could do it any time. Like quit smoking. Or stop biting his nails. Or be less of a goddamn push-over. 

Okay, so maybe the latter is something he should really, really work on, ‘cause it's gotten him into a whole shitload of unfortunate situations lately. As if chauffeuring Max to her stupid ballet classes wasn't enough. Now he's also helping out at the dancing school’s annual Christmas recital, because he's just such a nice guy, apparently.

While he tries to arrange the lopsided folding chairs into something resembling a neat line, he struggles to remember when he agreed to this shit. For the life of him, he can't recall. His brain was probably flat-lining when Max asked him, as it tends to do around a certain very hot dance teacher and his muscles and his tights and-

“Looking good!” 

He whips his head up. Steve is standing a few paces away. The tights are a pale pink today. Jesus Christ. 

“You too,” Eddie blurts. Steve's eyebrow arches and shit, he wasn't talking about Eddie, was he? “I mean, thanks, I … ow, son of a-”

“Oh, shit!” Steve is next to him in an instant, freeing his hand from the maws of the folding chair. Eddie swears, sucks his throbbing thumb into his mouth. “Sorry, these things are ancient. You need an ice pack? I've got some-” 

“‘m good,” Eddie says. Tries to go for suave. Fails because he's still got his own thumb up his mouth like a fucking two-year-old. “Had worse.” 

Steve’s face is a mask of doubt, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Anyhow,” he smiles instead, putting the offending chair in line with the rest. “I just wanted to say thanks again. You're probably busy enough around the holidays, but Max insisted you'd be happy to help.” 

“I'm not,” Eddie says. Pauses. Grabs a strand of hair to hide behind. “Busy, I mean. I am happy to help, so … don't sweat it, or whatever.” 

A heartbeat passes in awkward silence. 

“So, what's with the, um …” Eddie says. Watches how Steve tilts his head at him, hair swooshing with the motion. Briefly considers stuffing his thumb back in his mouth to shut himself up. “... with the y’know. The getup.” 

Something flashes across Steve’s face, something dangerously akin to hurt. 

“What?” he asks, doing a hesitant three-sixty. “Something wrong with it?” 

Screw the thumb, Eddie thinks. He needs to find a way to fit his entire hand in there. And Steve, for what it’s worth, needs to stop twirling, or they're about to have a massive fucking problem.

“It’s fine!” he says. Maybe a bit too fast, because he thinks Steve’s mouth curls into a smug smile. “I just mean, um … you’re not … dancing today, are you?” 

Is he? Oh dear God, please no. The place is gonna be swarming with proud parents and relatives, Eddie is not ready for the inevitable consequences of Steve in his pink tights on that stage. Not in the skinny jeans he had to wear today, stupid fucking moron that he is. 

“Huh? No, tonight is all about the girls,” Steve says. Eddie is so busy sighing in relief and nodding that he doesn’t catch the next words.

“Sorry, what?” 

“That other recital I was talking about earlier? You coming to that, too?” Steve repeats, and fuck, what other recital? Eddie really needs to work on his listening skills. If he actually listened instead of staring at the guy like a catatonic caveman every so often, he might be able to maintain a halfway intelligent conversation. 

He’d also probably know why Steve is suddenly coming closer. Eddie tries to take a frantic step backwards and almost crashes into the folding chairs. 

“Oh, erm …,” he stammers. “When was it again?” 

Stever reaches up to run a hand through his hair, boyish and bashful. 

“Um, New Year's Eve,” he says apologetically. “I totally understand if you already have plans, it's just… There's a little get-together after the show, too, with drinks and snacks, and I thought-”

��Sure, I'll be there,” Eddie says. 

See, what did he say? Total push-over. 

The thing is, with the way Steve’s eyes light up, he can't really find it in himself to regret it. 

*

“Ew, what happened to your finger?” Max looks about as disgusted as she sounds. Which is probably fair, because Eddie’s thumb has turned a vibrant purple. 

“These little babies did,” Eddie gestures offhandedly at the chairs they're stacking against the wall. “So be careful.” 

“Were you staring at Steve again?” 

“Fuck off, I wasn't.” 

She pushes the hair that has come loose from its bun out of her eyes so she can give him a deadpan stare. Eddie glowers right back. 

“And even if I was, what's it to you? You can be glad I keep showing up to these gigs. Today, on New Year's Eve, it's really getting-” 

“What are you on about?” Her entire face scrunches up in confusion. “There's no recital on-” 

“Oh no?” Eddie pulls the flier Steve gave him from his pocket and pushes it into her chest. “Then what's this?” 

“That's not our school, dumbass. Check the address.” 

She studies it for a second.

“Huh? What d'you…?” Eddie is already squinting at the letters again. Sure enough, the address doesn't match the one he's been driving Max to. Instead, it's somewhere downtown. “What?” 

“That's the studio Steve goes to,” Max has already returned to stacking chairs. “Super fancy place. He used to be a pro, y’know? Before he tore that muscle?” 

When Eddie doesn’t reply, she tugs the flier from his limp fingers, folds it neatly and puts it into his jacket pocket. 

“Happy new year, doofus. Better wear bulky pants.” 

All my holiday drabbles

[possibly-in-wonderland]

introductions

hey, welcome to our blog!

collectively, our name is alice, and collectively we use they/it pronouns, but we don't mind if you ask who's out and about or lurking (sometimes it's not who you think) :P

{more information below}

*PL3AS3 TAK3 TH3 TIM3 T0 R3AD TH3 3NTIR3 P0ST, W3 MAD3 IT R3AL PR3TTY S0 Y0U'D STAY 0N TRACK. Userboxes, blinkies, and stamps are not ours EXCEPT for the PsychoCuties and TMA userboxes.*

Alice's Personal Project Status

Our Artist-Based Discord Server

COMMS, DIVINATION, AND OTHER THINGS AVAILABLE ON OUR STRAWPAGE!

note: we're pro endo, but don't care if anti endo's interact, as long as they leave harassment at the door (a "wipe your paws" policy). syscource is NOT allowed on this blog.

hey, little more about us:

we're bodily 19 and use "we" and "i" interchangeably (as stated in the userbox above). we're learning norwegian and our hobbies include noodling around on the guitar, crocheting, writing, urban and rural adventure, making collages, and looking for pirate radio stations. we're also ordained because we thought it'd be funny. side note, we may have a(u?)dhd and maybe some other things.

note: we're self-diagnosed, but we do a shitload of research before actually saying we're something. unfortunately, we have no access to anyone who can properly diagnose us with anything (and with the soggy wet cheeto that bought his way into office, we doubt that's gonna happen anytime soon, so bear with us).

anyway, this blog is mostly fandom stuff and shitposts we find funny (along with other miscellaneous things). DIS and i are working on a slenderverse series so you might hear about that a bit (and some roleplay stuff). we also bitch about the government and laws. a lot.

often yapped about fandoms here:

the habitualhybridverse (referring to @/habitual-creatures)

slenderverse

creepypasta

fnaf

minecraft

(more to be added)

tags:

we plan on better tagging our stuff from here on out. we've been better about cw tags lately, but we're referring to posts regarding who's posting/reblogging what.

Alice M. | Pronouns/Genders: 🗝️.txt

DISC0RD | They/It/Bun: 🕕🐇.txt

K.D | He/They/It: zombie posting

Unnamed Catfish | ???: 🐱🐟.txt

Damsel/Steph | She/They: 🫀🖌️.txt

Zooble | They/Them: 🧩.txt

Brian | He/They: 📟.txt

Bugs | He/They/She: 🐰🥕.txt

Anya | She/Her: 📓.txt

Cecil | He/They: 👁️‍🗨️🎙️.txt

Nightmare Bonnie | He/They/It: 🎸🐰.txt

Kat | She/They: 🥽.txt

Jon | He/They: 👁️‍🗨️📼.txt

Elena | She/Her: 🩰.txt

Sasha | She/Her: 🥡📚.txt

Alice D. | She/Her:

Needles | He/They/It: 🪡.txt

Jack | They/Them: 🦝⛓️.txt

Evan | He/Him: ⚔️.txt

Ash | He/Him: 🦾.txt

Nightmare | He/It/?:

Ushka | She/They/It/Kit: 🐱.txt

Paul | He/They: 🪼.txt

Milo | He/She/They/It: 👁️📖.txt

Susie | She/Her 🐊🪓.txt

NOTE: next time someone forms, just make this a separate post ~milo

NOTE 2: No. ~Susie

we doubt our resident fish friend's gonna really post, but it's there if they want it.

ask posts: ask.txt

hate mail: Hail to The King Baby

recipes: recipebook.txt

original writing posts: ink.txt

sideblogs:

@alice-the-arcane | alice's personal witchy blog

@joannes-journal | habitualhybridverse rp blog

@cinnamontoastedwords | steph's personal blog

@wonderland-after-dark | 18+ masochistic thought blog (mdni)

@wonderland-creations | our request blog

and though we don't write fanfiction (much anymore), we do still write. here's our masterlist.

masterlist

misc things:

don't send those "send this to x-amount of people" inbox asks. tagging in posts? cool with. the other thing? no. too much pressure.

[cynlikesdanganronpa]

Hhhhheelllooooooo I see you wanted hirojim hc asks so I am here to provideeeee :D

hcs abt silly domestic stuffs, Hi roam it's social media presence in general, and their post canon life?

they probably tried long distance for a bit, and it probably didn’t work, so hiroaki just… kinda… moved. he has money-

anyways, they definitely have a cat. it probably is a little spoiled thing that bites people and is mean, so ojima probably tells hiroaki “the cat acts like you.” because the cat kinda does act like him. they probably adopted another cat at some point, and it’s probably a really cuddly cat, and the two cats probably are really cuddly and hiroaki pretends to be all nonchalant and swag or smthn but in reality he’s going all “awwwww little cat babies!!”

hiroaki probably mass-makes outfits for ojima and ojima’s just like “this is too many clothes for any living being please stop making so many outfits…” and hiroaki is like “nonsense i’m already sewing a new jacket.”

i don’t think either of them can cook which means they kinda have to learn how to cook which is basically just “HOW DID YOU FUCK THAT UP?!” “I DONT KNOW I ZONED OUT” and then them ordering pizza.

hiroaki probably starts posting silly pictures of ojima on his socials and tagging ojima (whom he forced to make an account, his only post is a selfie of him and hiroaki) and he never really made any announcement that he has a boyfriend so his fans are all confused and shit until hiroaki posts a selfie with ojima with him kissing ojima on the cheek and that’s when his fans figure out. ojima probably got a shitload of a hate train for that, but like, he has ONE post, and he does NOT gaf.

at some point he probably ended up getting stalked, and him AND hiroaki ended up making public statements and legal threats, which made the stalking *mostly* stop.

their sides of their room are so different because ojima’s is drawings and him and his brothers and hiroaki’s is posters and shit.

i’m probably gonna repost this with more hcs soon but that’s all for now

[muffinrecord]

I don't understand why people want this game to fail so badly.

I mean, I can't tell if you're talking in general or like directly at me but:

I absolutely don't want the game to fail dude. You know how happy I'd be if it made some changes-- actually, hell, you know how happy I'll be if it doesn't make changes but still lasts a shitload of a long time? I want this game to be success! It's got characters I really care about and a fandom full of people that I really love. One of my best friends is having an absolute blast and that makes me thrilled.

I went in wanting to love the game too, but at the end of the day, the experience is just not for me-- and I don't want to go through a gacha addiction again. I'm allowed to feel that way, you know? And this is my blog, so I'm allowed to talk about it. I'm not putting my criticisms in the tag either.

I haven't been keeping up with discord too much, but I have seen that the magidora subreddit is overwhelmingly negative so far (though a few folks are defending the game as well). If folks are bringing you down then it might be a good time to step away from some of those areas and enter more positive ones.

Alternatively:

The best way to combat criticism in fandom imo is to talk about what you like and why you like it. Every game or story is gonna have flaws. That's just the way things work. But talk about why you love the game with people and you'll both bring positivity into the fandom and into your own life. People are more willing to give things a chance when they see someone passionately love something. If you say something positive, someone else might as well. You can start a whole conversation.

As an example, I don't really like Kazumi Magica, but I have friends who go apeshit for the story and you know what? It's given me a more neutral perspective and I can appreciate things about it. You can be that person, you know?

Some folks won't like the game and that's okay, and they might be jackasses about it and that's not.

It sounds like you're having fun and that makes me happy anon. I do apologize if my dissatisfaction with the game is making you unhappy. It makes me unhappy too when people dislike things that I like. That doesn't mean I want the game to fail though, I promise.

I'm all over the place alkjfaslkfa anyways, I hope this helped

[richeeduvie]

i literally just found your madman Lalo and i've been scrolling the tag for HOURS, love literally everything, but because i'm such a sucker for angst and pain what do you think is the worst things/near abuse Princesa has had to endure 😭😭😭??? if you have ideas you can write a drabble but even just your thoughts are gold for my heart 😭🙏

Lalo never learns, really. He doesn't believe he has anything to learn from. Princesa is his. He knows what's best for her, and she has to listen to him. Even in their odd, ever-growing, symbiotic ass relationship, there would be times when Princesa would "disobey" or end up miscommunicating her feelings due to her anxiety and insecurities.

It seems that his habit is blowing up at her whenever he's so sure she's doing something wrong. Which, yeah - it's bad. It's THEM, but it's bad.

I've said that Lalo is a man who does waste his time with his paranoia and insecurities. He's not like Princesa; he can think calmly and clearly. It's why she needs him. But this is what blows up in his face. The moment there's any sign or implication of Princesa leaving him, not loving him, being scared of him, etc. (Most of those signs being false)...it's a moment he takes to go insane.

There are plenty of fics to go off on:

Sweet Girl (The very first time we see Lalo comfortable in his control and paranoia over Princesa)

Pity Party (Where he thinks she's cheating on him. She'd never)

The Thrill of It (Where the more primal aspects of Lalo's paranoia takes over him)

Loopy (Lalo, the chill Salamanca, the smartest and most clear-headed sociopath, goes fucking insane over the slightest mention of Princesa leaving him...Princesa's high from laughing gas)

The worst of it is what comes after Lalo's anger. It's his immediate guilt (because Princesa's the only thing to ever make him feel that) that fuels his manipulation of her. It fuels his apologies and such. It's what forces Princesa into his arms, because the paranoia still rushes against his veins - he's smart enough to know that his...reactions have actually scared her, and she might ACTUALLY leave him. He can't keep himself calm right after she's "accepted" his apology.

Princesa endures a shitload lol. Like Lalo wtf

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Delicate (Jake's Version)

22 - Share In Your Suffer (Is All I Can Do)

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OFC Samantha Kazansky

Rating: Explicit (MDNI!)

Warnings: Fully fleshed out emotional trauma, Mentions of Dubious Consent, a certain R word, and Jake's capture/torture

A/N: I have no effing idea where this chapter came from but its damn heavy and it needed to be here. There's a shitload of trauma dumping here between Sam and Jake, with mentions of dubious consent (not by Jake, though he does say a certain word that begins with R) and he begins to unpack his capture. I know I've made Rooster the villain here, but I PROMISE he will get redemption at some point. Just not right now. Also I know I'm skipping a lot of time but the next thing coming up is going to be the Navy Ball and then the first chapter of the crossover so I had to. I will still be writing chapters for Delicate and Lightning concurrently with the 3rd part too so just be aware of that! As always, likes, comments, reblogs are the most appreciated. Thank y'all for showing this story as much love as you have.

This was wild to write but I loved every fucking second of it.

Tags: @djs8891 @mrsevans90 @gpsmississippihippie @barnesboo1967 @dizzybee03

Jake decided the best place to meet Maverick would be on base. It would be the first time he was stepping on base since the mission. He’d also decided that he needed to try to do this without Sam, so while he really wasn’t supposed to be driving, he promised he’d be careful, and went alone. He needed to do something by himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Sam to help him, but it was a matter of his own pride, his own ego, that needed a boost. Sam would wait with bubbling anxiety until he got home.

He pulled into the base parking lot and hopped out of his truck. It felt good to drive his own vehicle. He had begun his physical therapy, but he still had to wear the sling during the day. He’d felt much better about his body within the first appointment. He had been extremely sore the next day, but he appreciated the soreness. It meant he was getting better. 

As he walked toward the main building, he noticed Nat leaving. She smiled at him and approached.

“Hi, Jake. How are you feeling?” She asked, pulling him into a hug. He accepted warmly and hugged her back.

“I’m okay. Just trying to get better. I’m here to see Mav. I wanna talk with him about Rooster.” Jake said and Nat nodded.

“Sam told me what happened. Rooster is pretty broken up about it. He didn’t mean to scare her. He wanted to talk to you when he got back.” Nat explained and Jake tilted his head.

“Where’d he go?” He asked and Nat’s brows furrowed.

“You didn’t hear? He asked to go back to Virginia. He’s deployed on a short mission.” She said and Jake took a breath in disbelief. He pursed his lips and then smiled at Nat, patting her on the shoulder before returning his hands to his pockets.

“Good to see you, Nat.” He said as they parted ways. He continued into the building, and headed to Cyclone’s office first. He knocked on the door and heard Cyclone’s voice say ‘come in’. Jake entered and found Maverick and Warlock there as well.

“Lieutenant. Have a seat. Good to see you.” Cyclone said, and Jake did exactly that. He pulled a chair from across the room and sat diagonally to Maverick. He folded his arms across his lap. “You’re out of your sling?”

“Just for a few hours during the day and to sleep. I’m supposed to put it back on if my shoulder starts to hurt or feel fatigued, per the doctor. I don’t particularly want to put it back on at all, but Sam is keeping me honest, so we’re rotating how long it stays on.” Jake explained and all three of the other men smiled wide, knowing all too well that Jake was being a stubborn patient, and they weren't the least bit surprised by it either.

“So, you wanted to discuss Rooster? We were just talking about him coming back after his current deployment.” Maverick said, cutting right to the chase. 

“Yeah. I didn’t realize he’d requested another deployment so soon.” Jake said and Mav swallowed hard.

“He’s running away from his problems, as usual.” He said and Jake’s brows furrowed. Maverick continued. “He’s pretty fairly broken up about Samantha. He’s always been in love with her. They met when they were teenagers, just through Ice and I being friends and wingmen. Bradley was less bitter about his dad then too. And then his mom passed and I pulled his papers. That pissed him off and when he finally graduated, he tried to be as far away from me as he could so Oceana base was where he settled. A few years ago, Ice and I ended up needing to attend a funeral for a friend and fellow pilot down there, and Sam had come down to visit her dad from college in that same week. While Ice, our friends, and I were out reminiscing, Bradley was trying to romance Sam. It worked for about two days and then Sam headed back home and the next time she saw Bradley, it was like nothing had ever happened. You can imagine how much that pissed Bradley off.” Maverick explained and Jake stayed silent as he disgusted everything that he’d been told. Sam had told him some of this but not all of it. 

“Sam can be harsh, especially if a guy is being a jerk. It doesn’t come from a place of entitlement either. She wants respect. She demands it. But I think guys see all that she gets, and don’t get me wrong she’s worked her ass off to get where she is in her job, but I don’t know how many pilots have found out that she’s Ice’s daughter and they just try to make a play at her because of it. She’s developed an armor over her heart because of that. I’m surprised she let you in, honestly. But the bigger issue with Rooster is he tried, and succeeded in getting a night with her so now he thinks he’s entitled to it again. He sees you and knows you’re getting everything that he thinks he deserves. What he doesn’t see is what I assume is all the work you put in to get her. And the way in which you went about it.” Maverick’s analysis was spot on to what Jake was thinking. He knew that Rooster was jealous because he had Sam’s heart. And when looking in from the outside, it didn’t seem like Jake had done much to get it, but he had. All the texting, sweet talking, buying her breakfast, lunch and dinners, and it helped immensely that Rocco immediately liked Jake. 

“I want to try to iron things out with Rooster. I know it’s never going to be completely smooth sailing, but I’d like to coexist at the least without having to have Sam be stressed the fuck out every time he’s around. We’re all friends with the same pilots.” Jake said softly and Maverick reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

“Well, now you have some insight on Rooster. A lot of his problem is me and he and I are trying to work everything out, but it’s going to take time, like anything that needs fixing. You know that all too well. I can’t say fixing our relationship will fix everything between you and him and Sam, but I do think it’ll smooth some of the sharp edges that are there.” Maverick said and he smiled at Jake. “I’m sure when he comes back, he’ll have had enough time to think about things and he’ll come apologize. He always apologizes. He’s not all bad, he’s just in his head too much. But let him come to you. If you try to approach him, it’ll just make it worse.” 

“Noted. Thank you for telling me. I just feel like he’s trying to compete with me and with Sam it’s not a game. At least I don’t see it that way. I haven’t ever been interested in settling down, but with her, I have this overwhelming need to do anything and everything for her. I feel like that’s more a life purpose than a game. I’ve played the game long enough. I tap out.” Jake explained and all three of the other men chuckled and nodded in agreement.

“I can see why your fellow pilots said you’ve grown outside of work as well. It’s funny when you figure out that you can fly not only for yourself, but someone else as well.” Cyclone added and Jake smiled. There was a comfortable silence that fell over the room then, and suddenly Jake felt like he’d grown up. He wasn’t the little kid in his bedroom playing with model planes and pretending he was flying a jet in the back yard with his brother. He wasn’t the kid who thought he was invincible driving fast down route 57 in Arkansas, racing his brother. He wasn’t the young man flirting in the bar after his first air to air kill with every pretty girl that came along. He wasn’t the man who unknowingly fell for the Fleet Commander’s daughter at first sight. In that moment, in that room, he’d become a man whose purpose was now to build a family with the woman he loved. He had something more than himself to live for.

While Jake was at the base, Warlock elected to show him the office that they had prepared for Jake when he was ready to come back to work. He and Sam were planning to go down to Oklahoma for Christmas, immediately after the Navy Birthday Ball, which was in a few weeks time. Jake was doing everything he could to be out of his sling by then because he was absolutely not accepting his Navy Cross in a fucking sling. After setting foot in his office, which was small, just enough room for the desk and the shelves that were there, as well as a couple chairs, he glanced out the window, which overlooked the taxiway. It was a nice view. Jake thanked Warlock and when he left, he stood for a few moments in the front lobby. 

There was a memorial board of Iceman that people had tacked their favorite pictures on. There were old pictures of him and the pilots from his and Maverick’s squadron. There were pictures of him and pilots shaking his hand at their graduation from Top Gun and from the Naval Academy. And at the bottom, there was a picture that only one person could’ve put up. It was of Ice, Mav, Rooster, and Sam from that funeral. Just the four of them, but Jake’s brows furrowed at the way Rooster’s hand was wound tightly around Sam’s waist. Jake shook his head. He understood all too well why Rooster was so willing to help Sam when she needed it and to protect her when he thought she needed it. It wasn’t Sam’s fault for reciprocating the one time. Jake figured she’d thought it was okay to give him a chance, and she probably regretted it a hundred fold now, because it had backfired on her in such a spectacular way. She was probably kicking herself every now and again for letting Rooster in that one time. 

Jake walked out to his truck and stopped for a moment, taking a heavy breath before climbing in. He didn’t want to know at first but now he needed to. He needed to ask Sam what happened between her and Rooster, because he was getting the feeling that something wasn’t lining up the way it should. Something about the whole thing wasn’t right.

Arriving at home, he found Sam comfortably napping on the couch, the dogs all around her. Of course, they had come to greet him at the door, but they’d immediately went right back to laying in the vicinity of Sam. Javy and Maisy were out again and he shot Javy a quick text, asking when they’d be back. A couple of hours had been his response. Jake went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water and sat at the small island. He then heard the shaking of tags on collars and soft footsteps on the carpeted floor. Samantha appeared, yawning and stretching. She stepped behind Jake and wrapped her arms around his waist and placed her chin on his good shoulder, pressing her lips to his neck then.

“You came back in one piece.” She mused and he turned in his seat and pulled her between his legs. 

“”I did. Hey...listen...I wanna talk about something.” Jake said, averting his eyes for a moment. This was going to kill him to ask.

“Sure, is everything okay?” She asked, placing her hands on either side of his neck. That was good. He could keep her close in case she got emotional. He was banking on it.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” He said, his tone with an accusatory edge that made Sam pull back. “I know I said I didn’t want to know, but now I need to. Tell me what happened with you and Roos all those years back, please.” He demanded and Sam’s eyes drifted shut for a moment before she took a shaky breath.

“I told you. We had sex. It was shit. I wasn’t interested in going further than the one night with him and that pissed him off.” Sam said, her gaze drawn down to Jake’s chest. Her fingers lingered on his neck but they stilled and Jake could tell she wasn’t telling him everything.

“Run me through that night.” He said, his tone softening significantly, reaching up to cup her cheeks with his hands. Her face contorted into a painful grimace and she bit her lip.

“Only if you tell me what happened when you got captured.” Sam said, hoping that he would give something up too. His lips thinned and he glanced away for a moment before his thumbs rubbed along her cheekbones.

“Okay. But...it’s going to scare you, so remember that you asked.” He whispered, poking his nose toward her. She met it with her own and her fingers clawed at his shirt.

“My story is going to make you want to kill Rooster, so...I guess we’ll be equal in some aspect.” Her eyes fluttered shut and she pulled away slightly with a heavy sigh. She leaned against one of his thighs and the side of the counter before beginning her story. “So...we’d gone to a funeral that afternoon for a friend of my dad’s. Then we all went to dinner that night and some of his friends stayed at the restaurant and some of them wanted to head to a bar. Rooster was all sorts of mad at Maverick and I was trying to be a good friend and went to the bar with him. We had some drinks, we danced, had some more drinks, and then he got a little handsy which I remember at the time I wasn’t having. And of course as Rooster does, he apologized, telling me he was just mad and he really needed a friend right now. I told him maybe we should go back to my room or his.” 

Jake swallowed hard and his brows knitted. It was hard for him to hear, but it was because he loved Sam as much as he did. He couldn't stand the thought of another man having her, even though it had already happened, but as he understood Rooster more, he thought less of him as an enemy and he just felt plain sorry for him. Sam searched Jake’s face for a signal to continue then. She took the gentle caress of his fingers across her jawline as exactly that.

“Rooster and I went back to his apartment, which was just off base. It wasn’t terribly late and he asked if I wanted anything else to drink and I said sure. We were already pretty buzzed at that point so I remember him handing me a glass of tequila or whiskey, something like that, and saying what a terrible idea that was. We sat on his couch, drank, and listened to music. At some point he...decided that he wanted to kiss me. I...allowed it once...and then pushed him away. I told him he was being stupid. We sat there for a while and then he tried again, the same thing and I got kind of pissed at him because he just wasn’t getting it and obviously we were drunk so I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. I pushed him away and then he walked away. Of course I felt bad. I went looking for him and he’d gone into his room. I remember leaning against the door frame...and he stood up and I went to leave but he grabbed me. He kissed me and I tried to push him away...” Sam hadn’t realized that she had tears running down her cheeks and that was when Jake stopped her, his stare hard, his nostrils flared. 

“Did he force you...did he...?” Jake couldn’t bring himself to say it, but Sam knew what he was asking.

“I let my pity for him get the better of me. He...kept pulling me toward the bed and I tried to stop but he kept telling me he just needed a friend right now’ and that I was ‘being such a good friend’ and I just didn’t understand what exactly was going on. I felt bad for him...so I just let it happen. We were so drunk, Jake...I just...didn’t know what to do...and I wanted to help him because we’d been friends for so long. I think I felt obligated...” Sam explained and Jake’s hands steadied her at the sides of her head.

“You should never feel like you need to do that. Even for me. Sam...he coerced you to have sex with him. That’s not something a friend does. That’s borderline...rape.” Jake said, his lips tight. His jaw tensed and he searched Sam’s eyes then, seeing in them understanding for what he was saying. She knew the whole exchange hadn’t felt right but she believed that Rooster wasn’t intentionally trying to hurt her. His basal instincts took over and he wanted connection, which for him, the only way he knew to do that was through sex, and Sam being drunk, was all too willing to give in that night. Sam became bubbly and overly nice when she was drunk. She hated that part of herself.

“That’s not how I thought of it...at least not at the time. We’ve never talked about it...Roos and I...” Sam sounded apologetic and Jake’s brows furrowed and his tone became edged with anger.

“Don’t you do that. Don’t you be sorry for him acting like a shitty friend. Don’t you ever feel sorry for that.” Jake growled and Sam took in a sharp breath at his words. “And you have every right to be an asshole to him. I get that you were both drunk but even then he shouldn’t have been begging to fuck you. If he was a good friend he should’ve respected you. He can’t even respect you now. I just needed to know how deep the disrespect runs because it’ll inform my interactions with him from now on. You won’t be alone with him ever again. That’s on me.” 

“Are you mad?” She asked and Jake shook his head.

“No. I feel sorry for him. He’s so angry and conflicted inside because of his parents and Maverick.” Jake said. He pulled Sam into a hug and all he could do for Rooster was to forgive him. There was nothing that could be done. It wouldn’t help Sam for Jake to go and beat the shit out of Rooster. It wouldn’t help Jake to hang onto a grudge. Jake had his fair share of drunk hookups. Jake would probably want to hit Rooster the next time he saw him, but knowing that Sam was trusting Jake with an experience so raw softened that urge. 

“I left in the morning. I felt like that said enough. Rooster and I never spoke about it again. I’ve never told anyone else about it, not even Nat. At least not the truth.” Sam said.

“And that’s the whole truth? You swear?” Jake asked and Sam nodded.

“I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that, Jake.” Sam said and she realized just how mature Jake was in that moment. Most guys would run off and try to kill someone that did something like that to their girl in the past. Jake was cool and calculating, sagacious in a way that she wasn’t expecting. She didn’t know why though, because she’d come to know that Jake was consistently this way. He was observant and watchful, and everything he did was planned, even if it didn’t look like it was on the outside. He thought a million ways to one how to make things work. His hands dropped down to her waist and then his eyes became apprehensive. 

“I don’t know how much I can offer...but let me start with my nightmare the other night. You did so good telling me...so I want to give you something like you asked.” Jake said, tone unsteady. Sam leaned closer, her hips meeting his. He intertwined his fingers around her back and the sage of his eyes held distress as she watched his thoughts grow dark. There was a shroud that washed over him, his muscles tensing as he shared what he felt he could. “When I tell you the only goal they had in mind was to make me suffer, Samantha, I’m being serious. These men did not care whether I lived or died. I was starved. They withheld water as long as they could. They taunted me. And you know how I can’t help making a smartass remark, but there were things they said to me that made me stay quiet. I’ve never been so scared. The worst part was the pain. Not just from the broken bones, but my whole body ached from dehydration and starvation. And they had the ability to take that away, but they wouldn’t.” 

“Jake, you don’t have to tell me anymore, right now. I get the gist of it. And I know you’re probably never going to want to tell me all of it.” Sam said softly. Jake brushed his cheek against her cheek.

“That’s the thing, Sam. I do wanna tell you. But I’m still sorting it all out in my head. I need you to know it all, but I’m fucking terrified to tell you, not because of what you’ll think, but because it scares me how much my love for you and my need to get back to you made me shatter myself to pieces. I would destroy every part of me to love you.” Jake murmured. Sam didn’t know what to say, only that she couldn’t put anything quite that eloquently, so she wasn’t even going to try. She couldn’t even begin to. 

[jiraisupportgroup]

why do you get to sit in your heated home with daddy’s money and tell everyone who can and can’t wear jirai kei?

I don’t usually respond to stuff like this, especially because I’m fairly certain this was just ripped from a popular j-fashion creators video, but:

I feel like I make it quite clear that when I talk about jirai kei it’s just my opinions. I openly state that I’m likely a dumbass and you should take my word with a grain of salt considering I’m not a spokesperson for the Jirai Kei community, I’m not an expert on Jirai Kei, I also don’t speak Japanese so I can’t rly access a lot of “OG” jirai kei content that launched the community.

Additionally: I’ve never stated that anyone can’t wear anything. The closest I’ve gotten to that is when I state that I don’t generally believe “jirai kei” is the appropriate term for the fashion (therefore you can’t rly “wear it” if we want to be super technical) or when I said that “fashion jirais” who complain about the community can fuck off.

Never at any point in that did I say that anyone can’t wear anything. If you want to wear girly kei or dark girly or larme or ryousangata or whatever the fuck you want to wear - by all means please do. My main point is if you don’t like the jirai kei community, don’t interact with it. You can post coords and find friends and have a lot of fun with the clothing if that’s want you want to do. You can buy Liz Lisa & MCM bags and generally live your best ryousangata life. You don’t have to interact with the jirai kei community to do that. Block the people you find annoying. Block tags, block accounts, block whatever you don’t want to see. No one is going to be mad at you for not wanting to interact with the “dark side” of jirai kei (as people love to call it for some reason) UNLESS you’re adamantly saying “the dark side is wrong” and then using a shitload of jirai-related tags. Other tags for these clothes exist. Separate the two if you want, I don’t give a fuck; jirai kei doesn’t own the clothing.

I’m not going to sit here and outright defend people in the jirai kei community posting people’s coords and bullying them, I’m not gunna sit here and defend the fatphobic or racist things that have been said on jirai kei twt. I will point out that those posts are not actually super common in the jirai kei community, and the people that post them generally aren’t very well liked by other landmines either, they also tend to be very young. It’s a really big community. There are going to be “bad apples” especially because it’s a community based around mental health issues. You can’t look at that handful of posts and say “the entire community is toxic and awful”. Venting & the like are very common, but it’s pretty rare that I see people actively posting hate like that, and there is a huge difference between the two. Most of the landmines I see are too scared to even make vague callout posts. Maybe that’s just Tumblr, idk, but honestly the amount of hate I see in this community is rather small.

Secondarily to your point; my house is not fucking heated. I can barely afford to run the AC in the summer or the heat in the winter - typically I turn it on when my BF is here and turn it off when he leaves to save money. I have my own apartment. I work for my own apartment. I can barely fucking afford it. I make about $2700 a month and my bills add up to be about $2400 a month (and it’s not like an expensive or nice apartment it’s literally full of roaches and my oven doesn’t work). I usually end up spending about $100 of the leftover on cat food, and then have $200 left over for gas to get to work AND food AND toiletries for the MONTH.

I don’t have “daddy’s money”. I live by myself about 8 hours away from my family; they don’t have shit to send me. My dad died 3 years ago and left us with 50k in debt because he decided paying taxes was optional. When that happened - I was making 17.50 an hour and I had the HIGHEST WAGE out of anyone in my family. I was trying to finish college which I was attending on a scholarship bc I couldn’t fucking afford it, I was working overtime, trying to organize my dad’s funeral bc no one else in my family could do it, and paying tax payments. “Daddy’s money” was a negative sum. I frequently send leftover cash to my family if there is any just to help them in any way I can.

The cute and nice things I can afford are typically bought either because I pick up overnight shifts at my secondary serving job or from sugar daddies. Although I stopped sugaring about 3 years ago.

I started working when I was 15. I started SW when I was 17 to help my family pay rent. I did SW from about 17 years old to 21 and stopped shortly after my father died because I didn’t have the time anymore. And I fucking hated it but it made money.

Don’t fucking come at me saying I’ve got a nice house and daddy’s money when I’m sitting in a roach-infested apartment that I work myself to the fucking bone for & I spent multiple years trying to pay off my dad’s debt.

Fuck right off with that dude.

[slashyrogue]

tags: younger man/older man, alpha Hannibal, omega Will

There have only been fifteen omegas that presented in the entire world in the last seventeen years.

Will Graham was one of them.

His father had practically celebrated when he got his heat, telling everyone he could, “My boy is gonna make me a shitload!”

Will’s mother had been a beta, just like his dad, and left just weeks after he was born. 

Dad had said for the longest time he looked like her. 

There were few pictures but he kind of did, the same hair color and face looking back at him unsettling enough he rarely looked.

Then the interview process began. 

Countless alphas of all genders would come from all over to vie for his next at The Omega Outreach. 

It was required by law to report omega presentations and the parents got a dowry based on demand from 1 to 100. The minute Will was out into public alpha rotation his demand score was 101 because the influx of offers caused the website to crash. 

His father celebrated. 

Will felt like throwing up. 

He didn’t want to be an omega. 

He didn’t want to be mated.

And he really didn’t want to be fought over by a group of rutting alphas.  

But Will held his tongue. 

No one seemed to notice his discomfort. 

Or maybe they didn’t care. 

No one even thought to let Will look when his father and The Omega Outreach went through the offers practically salivating. 

They got a percentage of every omega dowry to keep the Outreach open.

Will got none.

How was any of this fair?

“May I be excused?”

Everyone turned to look at him. 

“Oh!” 

The laugh from Penny, their coordinator, made his skin crawl. 

“Do you want to look at our current top ten?”

He nodded, blinking back tears, and scrolled through a bunch of faces, all older than him by decades, and tried not to cry out. 

Then he stopped on one of them, turning the tablet around. “Who’s this?”

Penny grinned. “Dr. Hannibal Lecter. He’s thirty, a thoroughbred, and has never even courted on record. All of our top ten have but not him. Usually your dad has final say, after negotiations and interviews. But I’m sure he’d take your interest into consideration. Right, Dad?”

Will turned the tablet back over and bit back a purr at the picture on screen.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter. 

The alphas would all come after they were summoned and plead their cases, even offer things to be picked. 

Will felt like slick start to pool under him, embarrassed.

“Dad?”

His father was staring at his phone before he looked up. “Yeah?”

“Mr. Graham, Will seems to like this one. Remember the doctor?”

His father scoffed and took the tablet. “Yeah, I remember,” he muttered, scrolling away, “But this one owns Verger Meat! He’s a millionaire!”

Will got up from his chair. “Can I be excused?”

“Yeah, sure, go on.”

He left the room fast, barely able to hold in his tears, and wasn’t looking where he was going.

Which was why he slammed right into someone, only to nearly fall but was caught with ease. 

He looked up as he inhaled the scent of an alpha.

And there was Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

“I….”

“Hello Will.”

Will stepped back. “I…alphas aren’t supposed to be in here.”

Hannibal smiled. “No? I wasn’t turned away at the door. Are you so certain?”

“I…”

He let out a long breath as Hannibal touched his cheek. 

“Have you chosen already?”

Will purred. “N…no.”

“Hmm,” he whispered, “Then I suppose it’s safe to say I found perhaps plead my case?”

“I…”

It was then that Will noticed the blood on his arm. 

He froze, reaching out to touch. “Are you hurt? Did…”

The screaming was something that would remain in his memories forever. 

One second Will was filled with concern and the next Hannibal snarled when the doors burst open behind them. 

“WILL GET AWAY FROM—"

He was lifted with ease as Hannibal ran from his father and Penny, and he felt sick when he saw the piles of bodies littering the floor. 

Hannibal didn’t get to his car before he was tased, but he did do something no one expected. 

He bit Will.

The instant euphoria was gone so fast and Will screamed as they dragged him away. 

The bidding was cancelled. 

No interviews. 

And Hannibal was put into confinement while they tried to sever the beginning of a bond. 

Will got a stipend, barely enough to do more than keep them afloat. 

The Outreach informed them Hannibal had been sentenced to confinement for twenty years for killing twelve people to get to Will. 

But could get out early with good behavior.

He was a thoroughbred after all. 

Will could feel the bond struggling to complete as they left, and had to stop himself from letting out a distress cry when the police questioned him.

His father went into deep depression then, the drinking depleting their meager funds, and he drank himself to death five years later.

Will was sent to live with an aunt, and became a pariah even though he did get a job teaching history. 

The bond refused to be severed, even after treatment, and he had nightmares every night that Hannibal would come to claim him that turned into wet dreams. 

Will was pitied, ignored, and forgotten as nothing more than a joke. 

Which was why when fifteen years later he got a letter saying Hannibal was freed he didn’t know whether to be overjoyed or horrified. 

So he settled on being angry. 

The Council informed him Hannibal had offered a million dollars for his dowry. 

Will rejected it. 

One day later, Hannibal showed up on his front lawn. 

He felt him before he saw him, tearing up and hating his purr as he watched him exit a goddamn Bentley. 

How dare he come here after everything he’d done! 

Will threw open the door, careful the dogs didn’t follow, and ran out to hiss. 

“GET THE HELL BACK IN THAT—"

Hannibal dropped to his knees when he saw Will and crawled across the grass as he fell at his feet. 

“Will….you..,you have….”

He hugged Will’s feet, shaking, and Will froze as his neck tingled. 

“What are you….”

Hannibal looked up at him, his red eyes filled with tears. 

“I cannot ask for your forgiveness, Mylimasis, but I can beg for your bite. I can…I can offer my undying love and complete submission. My selfish frenzy…I cannot change, but….I will spend every second of every day making up for the pain I’ve caused and the time we lost.”

Will stared at him, the half bond clawing to be made whole, and then started to laugh as he stepped back. 

“You’re lying! I can FEEL you, you idiot! You’re not sorry at all!”

Hannibal knelt back and sighed. 

“I…I do regret my…impulsiveness when I let my instincts dictate my actions.”

Tears fell down Will’s face. 

“ONE TIME! IT ONLY EVER HAPPENED ONE TIME IN THIRTY TWO YEARS! No one else…”

Hannibal growled. “Because I knew my wealth and status would not give me enough cache to win over your father. I….”

Will shook his head, hand coming to his neck, and could hardly see through his tears. “No damn way will I pity you for worrying some other alpha would get to buy me. My father drank himself to death after you ruined my life and no one would touch me. I never…I never wanted to be mated and had to spend fifteen years pining for a serial killer. Get the hell off my lawn and don’t you dare come back.”

He let out a sob as he ran unto the house, locking every door as he armed the security system he’d gotten for this very reason, and stared out the window.

Hannibal didn’t leave. 

He just knelt there in Will’s yard.

All night long. 

Will knew when he woke up this wasn’t going to end any time soon. 

And hated the part of him that wished it never would.