#but it amused me to write

[thinwhitedoc]

SHERLOCK | Martin Freeman as John Watson

[ghu-leh]

Some Cardinal Copia Headcanons (because I ;;♡)

Has a pocket watch at all times. Likes to keep track of time in a way that's almost compulsive.

He is the first point of contact for any new siblings that join the ministry, since he is in charge of all introductory tours to the abbey.

He also shares the responsibility of teaching Latin and Italian with other cardinals. He's somewhat strict so he likes for his students to be on time and has high expectations of all of them. Despite all of this, he's very beloved among his students. His goofiness brings a nice contrast that makes him endearing.

A big stickler for routines. Loves to-do lists and reminders. Organization comes easy for him during his Cardinal days, which completely goes out of the window once he becomes Papa.

He simultaneously has beautiful calligraphy AND doctor chicken scratches... both of them undecipherable. Due to this, the higher clergy has forced requested for the Cardinal to typewrite all his paperwork, notes and letters. It is normal to find him hunched over his typewriter until the late hours of the night, mumbling to himself in annoyance.

Poor little darling deals with seasonal allergies often. "Ugh cazzo! goddamn pollen..." He mutters, pulling out his handkerchief yet again. They are the bane of his existence.

He's one of those loud sneezers. The type of sneeze that makes the earth rumble, and the eardrums ring; so whenever he lets one out, he can be heard almost all over the ministry, echoing through the halls. At least is cute to see him walking around with a reddened nose.

He deals with generalized anxiety, so he gets startled easily and is on edge often. Because of this, he is quite fidgety with his hands. He also shakes and bounces his leg a lot while doing long tasks.

The type of person to squint when he's reading something with a particular tiny font. His eyesight is not as great as it once was when younger, so he also carries his glasses with him at all times - old fashioned small glasses that get the job done. And yet, even if he now sees clearly, he still squints while reading the tiny font.

[violent138]

I think Batman passive-aggressively chews his kryptonite gum when he's annoyed with Clark. The sound itself drives Clark insane but the gum is a warning that further arguments between them will be settled on a battlefield of some sort.

[teastainedprose]

Play With Fire, Chapter 3 (Homelander x Reader)

Homelander finds your apartment empty and Homelander is going to be a creep about it. This chapter is a fluff break and an extra one from what I'd originally planned. 1.7k words, No sexual content. Female, plus-sized reader. Slight warning for hints of animal abuse. [AO3 Link, Chapter 1, Chapter 2]

You’re not home. This is new. Homelander frowns as he drops to his usual perch a building away as he surveys the area before scanning through your apartment building. It’s past lunchtime and normally you’d be settled at your desk working away on your PC, but the chair is empty. The laptop is closed and shut down. Where has his little bug scurried off to?

His frown further sours as Homelander scans your usual haunts around your apartment, but he doesn’t catch sight of your plump little figure anywhere. He blinks, reorienting his x-ray vision back to your apartment for another glance before his eyes snag on the whiteboard above your desk. It’s a weekly planner where he’s often seen notes of chores, appointments, or what meals you plan to have quickly scribbled on it. It’s Monday and on the planner is scribbled ‘FIRST DAY’. 

He puzzles over that before it hits him. A new job, that must be it! He’s so clever. Homelander has certainly seen you scroll job postings and even caught you coming home from an interview in the cutest little businesswoman get-up. So fetching, he could have eaten you right up.

Now what sort of new job did a worker bee like you get? Something to research later, Homelander mentally notes as he glides quietly down to your balcony. There’s a better use of his time right now. You’ll be out for a few more hours yet, of this he’s certain. First day and all. Better make a good impression, little bug. Homelander chuckles to himself at the thought as he peeks into your apartment.

Today is the perfect opportunity to indulge, and Homelander has never been one to hold back.

The balcony door isn’t locked and opens quietly under his hand as Homelander smiles to himself, stepping inside. He already knows the layout, walking briskly across the wooden floor as he takes everything in from this new perspective. Being inside, instead of a silent observer of your apartment from above is a new experience for him. Now he gets to experience your world in truth. Homelander takes everything in with a new eye as he walks about, pausing to straighten a photograph or trace his fingers across the spines of your books. You’ve built a cozy little den here. It’s nothing compared to his opulent penthouse, but it reflects a creature such as yourself well enough. None of it is to Homelander’s taste, but he won’t hold that against you. The trinkets and baubles you’ve decorated your nest suit you and he approves of that fact.

Homelander pauses at the couch, plucking up the throw blanket discarded there. He’s seen you snuggled up in this very blanket many a night, tucked in with a book or watching your little shows. He brings the plush fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply. Homelander closes his eyes, savoring the scent there. Your scent. He hasn’t smelled you before, not really. The elevator encounter had been so brief and surprising that Homelander never registered what you’d smelled like at that moment. It had been all anger and stress radiating off you at the time.

He inhales again, breathing deeply with the blanket still held against his face. There’s the citrus scent of fabric softener, but also something undeniably human and undeniably you. Homelander finds that he likes it very much. A moan escapes him as Homelander presses the blanket harder to his nose as if he could imprint the smell of you in his senses. Idly, he wonders if you’d smell the same when he buries his nose in the space between your neck and rounded shoulder. Soft and warm and sweet like the hint of you on this blanket? Homelander sighs at the thought, the longing making his cock jump as he straightens. 

Reluctantly, he drops the blanket back onto the couch as his boots take him deeper into your home towards the bedroom. The door is shut, which Homelander finds curious. Normally, it stands open as he’s watched you wander from bedroom to living room to kitchen and back again while your mind keeps you elsewhere as you putter about doing whatever little bugs like you do. He doesn’t pause as Homelander opens the door, confidently stepping into your bedroom with the eagerness of a child given free rein in a toy store. Homelander expects to paw through your dresser and give the toys he’s seen you use on yourself a thorough inspection.

What he doesn’t expect is the sudden attack from a black blur pouncing onto his foot with a delighted chirrup. Homelander drops his gaze, watching in a detached way as the kitten tries to dig its claws into his boot while kicking back feet furiously. He feels none of it, of course. He doubts even a mere mud person would feel anything from such a pathetic assault, yet the kitten is determined. The little creature squirms about, bottom over front briefly before it twists and promptly scampers off in a confusion of fur.

Homelander frowns. When the fuck did you get a cat? He should have noticed such a creature despite its diminutive size. The little thing is barely a mote of soot as it scrambles under the bed, green eyes wild and wide. The creature pauses, making a sound Homelander would call an undignified squeak ill-suited for a predator before it rushes forward again. His lip twitches, annoyance settling over Homelander at this animal disturbing his tour of your apartment. 

Still, he makes no move toward the kitten as it stalks around behind him to inspect his cape. Homelander turns and the cape goes with him, fabric fluttering in such a tantalizing way that no kitten can resist. The little beast pounces or attempts to.

The frown on Homelander’s lips tugs further down now that he’s eye to eye with the green-eyed imp as in an instant he snatched it up to keep it off his cape. Homelander has never been one to interact with animals often, let alone young ones. The most would have been with such animals sulking away from him in the bad room, hissing and spitting while a doctor looked on behind bulletproof heat vision-resistant glass. Back then he’d been instructed to take care of the creatures to show how much he’d learned of control with his powers, but he can’t do that to this fluffy shadow.

A small purr emanating from the kitten draws Homelander from his memory as he blinks. His eyes refocus on the animal who now is trying to gnaw at one of his fingers through his glove eagerly as it thrums away. Poor thing has no idea who it’s facing. “Charming,” He mumbles before shutting the bedroom door behind him as Homelands steps into the room proper. He gingerly places the squirming animal onto the bed. 

Homelander casts about the bedroom with fresher eyes, taking in a plastic mat with food and a water dish atop it. He doesn’t even need to sniff the air to discern the faint aroma of ammonia and cat litter coming from the open bathroom door. The little beast has been properly set up in your bedroom. A new acquisition. The creature is yours and confined here with purpose, so he can’t risk it suspiciously going missing. At least not yet. A cracked window later down the line will fix this little problem. There’s no need for you to house this extra distraction. Not when he’s so close to getting his claws into you. Homelander smiles to himself.

“Your days are numbered.” He points out, even going so far as to waggle a finger at the black kitten as it rolls about atop the bed. 

In reply, the kitten promptly drops onto its rump atop the comforter and sticks a leg out. This it began washing intently. There’s a slight charm to such a fragile thing being oblivious to the danger present. Homelander cocks his head, watching the animal a beat longer before a sound catches his interest.

There’s the unmistakable rattle of keys too close that takes Homelander by surprise, too lost in his thoughts to notice the approach of footsteps down the apartment hallway. Your footsteps. He’s instantly on high alert, quietly opening the bedroom door and closing it behind him to not let the little beast escape and alert you of something amiss. He waits a beat, eyes on the door as he watches you on the other side while you fumble with the keys. The lock sticks as he’s observed and you never seem to remember to bring it up to the landlord. Forgetful little bug.

Homelander’s form is a patriotic blur as he rushes right across the room, to the balcony, to yank the door open, and dart out to the open sky in a woosh of air. It all happens in a blink as you click the key into place and the lock slides free of the deadbolt.

You pause as you open your apartment door, a slight frown on your face. Something like a breeze seems to have disrupted your apartment as a tapestry on the wall flutters back to rest. You shake your head as a glance about shows nothing amiss. All is well and now you’re smiling to yourself. Your first day at your new job has been a success! 

Dropping your purse on the kitchen counter, your feet are quick as you move to your bedroom door to yank it open. There sits your stray kitten you’d taken in only the other day. He’s mid-lick while grooming his leg. You grin wide, quick to cross the room to scoop the bundle of fur up into your arms. 

“Adrien, did you miss me?” You coo to him, burying your face into his fur as Adrien purrs up a storm. Indeed, he did. You laugh at his enthusiasm as Adrien promptly starts to lick your cheek as if you’re the one in need of a bath. Your smile doesn’t falter as you drop onto the bed before gently laying down to let him settle beside you. 

“It’s nice to be back doing something, you know?” You confide in him. “This charity work is doing wonders to soothe my soul.” Being a kitten, Adrien’s only response is to purr as he curls himself up as close as he can get to your neck.

High above your apartment, Homelander lets himself linger a moment longer. Charity work? Interesting. He watches still, taking in your smile as you cuddle that obnoxious ball of soot. He rolls his eyes, a huff escaping him before moving on.

[nuclearanomaly]

Hashtag Nailed It

[leapdayowo]

I am learning that writing my own story is akin to unraveling a ball of yarn. I find one end, unravel it and it’s satisfying and fun, then BOOM massive clump of knots! But no worries! I’ll just- if I can get this loop over this bit- oh for the love of- how did that happen??? And then most of the knots are out of that section (ignoring the ones I just tighten so much I cannot get them out). And then more unraveling fun! Yippee! until the mother of all tangles and knots appears from the center somehow like a writhing king rat and there’s yarn everywhere :’) some piles are meticulously folded or laid out nice and neat on the floor while other parts are a Mess. And I’m sitting there, looking at this creation/project at 2am realizing, I can’t put it back. Maybe I could have at the first hiccup, but Oh No. I have to finish this now because look at how much progress I’ve made! And made if I. Just. Keep. Chipping. Away. At. It-

nope.

I’m sleepy

so I carefully scoop everything up and place it in a basket until six months later when I have more important things to do that I really don’t want to do, I find that basket and dump its contents back out and start retracing my steps and progress I made on the yarn. I ‘tsk’ at the tight knots beyond help and resolve to take it slower. There is no rush with this particular ball of yarn to unravel it and get it ready to be used. So this end goes over here, then over here, put this piece in my mouth to create tension over here, pull this through then under- AHA!

and so it goes :)

[mari-lair]

i'm surprised koukane isn't popular in the rarepair spaces.

[cuubism]

PLEAAE write dreamling pregnancy crackfic you MUST and PLEASE include Sad Crying I Forgor cat dream

Behold, lovely anons, some nonsense.

---

“Um, Dream,” says Hob, staring at the tiny plastic stick sitting on his bathroom countertop, “what is that.”

Dream comes to stand behind him, peering over his shoulder. “It is a pregnancy test.”

“Yeah, why?” Hob picks it up, squinting down at it. “And why is it negative?”

He realizes a second later that the first question out of his mouth should, in fact, have been why the fuck do you have a pregnancy test? Unless it’s not Dream’s and someone just broke into his flat and left it there, which might actually be less weird.

“Presumably because I am not human,” says Dream.

Hob puts the test down. Turns around, takes Dream by the shoulders, and steers him out of the bathroom. Once they’re back in the living room, he means to say a number of things, but all that comes out of his mouth is, “What.”

“The test does not work because I am not human,” Dream repeats. He’s definitely being deliberately obtuse now, if he wasn’t before.

A million questions swirl in Hob’s mind, and a rising swell of panic. He mentally shakes himself. Forces himself to get it together. He’s not a seventeen-year-old kid who got a girl pregnant. He can handle his shit.

He holds Dream still by the arms. Tilts his head until Dream meets his eyes. “Dream, do you have something that you want to tell me? In words, maybe?”

Unless he doesn’t know. But he’s like, a concept, how could he not know?

Wait, is this why Hob was having random dreams about babies last week? He is going to kill this man.

Well, he’s going to give him a hug first. Then he’s going to kill him.

Dream looks into his eyes. Oh God, he’s serious now. So this wasn’t all just for kicks, not that Dream really does things for kicks, anyway. “Hob, I am—”

Hob hauls him into an embrace before he can finish the sentence. Perhaps he should let Dream say it. But he can’t not hug him.

Dream relaxes into his hold. Hob hadn’t realized how tense he was until he did. Oh, poor thing. Just because they’re not young people floundering about on the precipice of adulthood doesn’t mean it’s not stressful. Especially that in between moment, when he knows, and Hob doesn’t.

“I have known for a few weeks now,” Dream says, face pressed to Hob’s shoulder. “Are you upset?”

“No, of course not.” Upset? He’s having their child and Hob’s upset? He supposes they didn’t exactly plan it, but, when has he ever planned anything when it comes to Dream?

He pulls back at last, kisses Dream’s temple, and steers him over to sit down on the couch. He sits beside him, their knees touching. Takes Dream’s hand and squeezes it. “If you already knew, then why did you bother to use the test?”

“I was curious if it would work,” says Dream.

Somehow, Hob doesn’t think that’s the whole truth. “Please tell me you weren’t just going to leave it somewhere and let me guess?”

“I would have crafted some more dreams as well,” Dream says. Blasted idiot. Why is Hob in love with him? Oh yeah, because he’s even more of an idiot.

“Wasn’t picking up on it,” Hob says. “I didn’t think this was possible, to be honest. We’ve just been recklessly having unprotected sex for how long? And you never thought to mention this was a possibility?”

“I forgot,” Dream says morosely, the most pitiable frown on his face. “It is not as straightforward as it is for humans. But yes, it is possible. Evidently. I suppose I have been caught up in the… joy of our moments together. I have not had a lover in a long time.”

“Oh, love.” Hob holds him close, rubbing a hand up and down his back. “It’s alright. It’s my fault, really. I should have asked. Wrap it before you tap it, Hob.”

Dream wrinkles his nose at the phrasing. Hob kisses him on the tip of his nose.

“Maybe I was thinking about it a little bit,” Hob admits. The thought has definitely… crossed his mind, before. And it’s easy to get drawn in, when Dream is in his bed, when he looks so gorgeous, when Hob makes love to him and fills him and—

Oh, this is his fault. This is absolutely his fault. He’d thought it was a safe fantasy to indulge in, impossible in reality. Meanwhile he was fucking one of the few beings made of both fantasy and reality at once. Hob’s really the king idiot.

“A little bit?” echoes Dream, raising an eyebrow.

Hob cringes. “A lot a bit?”

Unexpectedly, Dream smiles. “You are happy, then.”

Hob goes still, staring at him. “Did I not say?”

“You expressed that you were not upset,” says Dream. “Which is not the same thing as being happy.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” Hob holds him closer, kisses his cheek, his brow, the corner of his lips. “I love you so much. I’m so happy.”

“Truly?”

Hob kisses him on the lips this time, long and deep. Takes Dream’s face in his hands and caresses his cheeks. “Truly. Obviously.”

Dream hums, sounding pleased.

“Are you happy?” Hob asks. Though he suspects Dream would have been rather obvious in his displeasure if he wasn’t, he usually is.

“I believe so,” says Dream carefully. “I… would like to be. Only, I have failed before, when I had a child.” Hob pulls far enough away to look at him. Dream’s expression has twisted now. “I do not wish to repeat that.”

“You won’t.” Dream looks unconvinced, so Hob repeats it. “You won’t. You’ve learned from that. So have I.” Hob certainly made many of his own mistakes with Robyn. But he still wants to try again.

“There are many terrible endings to this story,” Dream says. Of course, Hob’s just looking at the beginning of the thing, and Dream’s looking at the whole arc, especially the end.

“And good ones,” Hob says. “I promise. I’ll do everything I can to make it good.”

“I do believe that,” says Dream, finally offering him a small smile. “You have been able to make many things good for me when I thought it impossible.”

That might just be the greatest success of Hob’s life. To make Dream see that things can be good.

“It will be good,” he vows. “You’ll see, darling.” And Dream smiles again.

Hob lays his hand over Dream’s lower belly. He doesn’t know if this pregnancy even has a physical component at all—Dream himself barely has a physical component sometimes—but it’s instinct to hold him there.

Hob can already feel himself wanting to coddle him. He’s going to have to stop himself from doing that, he highly doubts Dream will appreciate it. He has to remind himself that what happened with Eleanor won’t happen again this time, that modern medicine is so much better, and that Dream isn’t even human in the first place. For all he knows, the baby will just be born out of the clouds.

“Hob,” says Dream. “You are drifting.”

Hob shakes himself. “Sorry, love.”

“What were you thinking of?” Dream presses, brow pinching. “I felt the nature of the daydreams turn… darker.”

Hob grimaces. “It’s really nothing. Just me in my head, you know.”

Dream keeps looking at him expectantly.

Hob sighs. “It’s just, it didn’t go so well last time, with Eleanor, you know? And I know this is different, you’re different, so just be patient with me if start being a mother hen, yeah?”

“Hob…” Dream takes his hand, interlacing their fingers. “I’m sorry, I had not considered. Do you not want…?”

“No! I do want this. I just worry, is all.” He kisses Dream’s cheek. “It’s because I love you. Couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you.”

“I must do what I can to make it good, then,” Dream says, and Hob smiles at the turnabout of his words. “You need not worry. There is no danger to me. And the baby is not human, besides.”

"It's not?" Hob supposes it's not that much of a surprise. "What is it, then?"

“I am not quite sure. I expect it will become evident soon.” He rests his hand over Hob’s, which is still on his stomach, and he looks fond now. “Perhaps once I can see its dreams.”

“You can see its dreams?”

Dream casts him an amused look. “I am made up of those dreams. And all others. Why should our baby be different?”

Our baby. It’s so affecting to hear him say it like that.

“Our baby,” Hob repeats, just for the sound of it.

“Yes,” says Dream. He sounds properly happy now, which is so lovely to hear. “Ours.”

“Well, now I’m glad we forgot to talk about magical birth control,” Hob says. “Irresponsible sex for the win! Now I get to meet our magical baby.”

“I have never known you to be a man particularly driven by responsible decision-making,” Dream says solemnly.

Hob gapes at him. “Hey!” It’s true, though. It’s all true. “I’ll be the most responsible parent you ever saw. I’ll only let them have the iPad for twenty-three hours a day instead of twenty-four.”

“I can create fantastic spectacles to which the likes of ‘Cocomelon’ cannot hope to compare,” Dream says indignantly, as if this was really an open question in Hob’s mind.

“You can be in charge of screen time, then,” Hob tells him, and Dream’s scowl shifts into a smile.

“When do I need to be ready for this?” Hob asks. “Is it like a nine months thing, or…?”

“Unclear,” says Dream. Fantastic. Typical. For all Hob knows, Dream will show up with a whole baby in his arms tomorrow. Either that or it’ll be a hundred years from now. “I suspect there will be an element of surprise.”

Of course. Dream’s sense of time passing is pretty bad at the best of times, why would the baby be any different?

“I’ll have to get to the shops, then, seeing as I don’t currently own an iPad,” Hob says.

Dream hands him one that definitely was not in existence a moment ago.

“Did you get that—”

“From a dream, yes.”

Hob stares at it in wonder for a moment, wondering if it even has normal apps, or strange ones only dreamt of, then sets it on the coffee table. “Well, Christmas shopping with you will be a cinch.”

Dream is quiet for a moment. “I would not wish to burden you with these things,” he finally says. “To upend your life when you are already well-occupied.”

“Nope, none of that.” Hob takes Dream’s hands and pulls them close. “First of all, I’m very old and can afford to buy a lot of iPads, so don’t worry about it. But more than that, I love you.” He taps Dream’s belly, though he still doesn’t know exactly how or where this not-human baby is meant to grow. “And you. So don’t think like that. I know I can’t expect a nine-to-five, normal daily schedule from you. I’ve never expected that from you.” As of now, Dream just visits whenever he can, often at odd hours. Hob doesn’t expect he’ll be able to change that much, even now. He is still Dream above all else.

Dream doesn’t deny it, either. He looks down at their joined hands. “Would that it were otherwise.”

Hob rubs his thumb back and forth over his knuckles. “It’s okay. I needed some new excitement in my life anyway. Besides—” he gestures to the dream-iPad—DreamPad? Dream will hate that name, so Hob will definitely have to use it—“even if we can’t always have you, we’ll have your stories, hm?”

Dream smiles, then, a fragile smile. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Course it is.” Hob kisses his cheek. “We’ll figure it out, love. Don’t worry.”

“That is one skill you certainly do possess,” says Dream—in contrast, Hob supposes, to his lack of rational decision-making. “‘Figuring it out.’”

“My PhD is in Winging It,” Hob agrees. “Speaking of, though, we are going to have to have an actual talk about how not to have another ‘surprise’.”

“Yes,” Dream agrees ruefully. He seems quite embarrassed about it, actually, and Hob can’t help but hug him again, squeezing him tight, kissing his cheek and temple. Despite the shock and confusion, Hob really is happy, powerfully so. A baby, his and Dream’s baby. He can’t even imagine the possibility of it.

Dream squirms under the attention, but hums, seeming pleased deep down.

“A little baby Dream,” Hob sighs. “They will be a terror.”

Dream raises an eyebrow. “And you think your influence has no effect on that?”

“I was a delightful child,” Hob protests.

“Do not tempt me to draw proof to the contrary from your dream records,” Dream warns.

“You’ll be a terror,” Hob says. “‘No, Da, I definitely didn’t cheat on that exam,’ ‘Mm, that’s not what your dream at 2:34 am indicates.’”

“Precisely,” says Dream. He sounds quite proud of himself, really. Little nightmare.

Hob kisses him again, on the lips this time. Yes, they will definitely be absolute terrors, the both of them.

But it would be boring otherwise.

[eddiestommy]

so the 118 obviously has a boyfriend tax jar that's exclusively for buck. when buck starts dating tommy everyone's very happy for them so they're willing to put up with buck constantly bringing him up and talking about everything he gets up with his boyfriend thinking that it'll stop once they leave the honeymoon phase except that it's been nearly six months now and he won't stop talking about tommy and there's only so much one can hear about a coworker's sex life before starting to go a little bit mad, so, the jar is introduced

buck gets three free passes a day and after that every mention of tommy requires money in the jar ($1 every time he mentions his name, $2 if he calls him "my boyfriend" because that's somehow even more sappy, $5 if he mentions what they get up in bed, $10 if the words "dick" and "hole" get brought up (after one conversation where everyone learns way much more than they ever need to know about buck's sex life a new fine is installed: $20 if buck ever calls tommy "daddy" at the station))

so anyway, the jar system is working. it doesn't stop buck from talking about his boyfriend at all, if anything since the jar started he talks about him more, but at least the money collected funds the A-shift's once a month happy hour so we're calling it a success. except that one day out of nowhere eddie also starts bringing up tommy and just won't stop. one day he spends a good twenty minutes talking about tommy's hands and how massive they looked when they were working on some car's engine, another day is all about how big tommy is and how his muscles look while he works out, three days after that is about how nice tommy is with animals and kids and how he can bake the fluffiest cakes, did you know that? and whenever this is happening buck will only look at eddie and smile and doesn't say a word

so the 118 is very fucking confused because the tommy jar is exclusively for buck because they thought no one else would have a reason to not shut up about him but now here eddie is and they don't know if they're supposed to start making him put money on it too because like, it's the boyfriend jar after all. they also don't know what to make of it. is buck exploiting a loophole they didn't consider before through eddie? are those actually eddie's thoughts? does eddie have a crush on buck's boyfriend? does buck know? is he okay with it? do they need to rename the jar to simply "the tommy jar" and make everyone who brings him up put money in it?

(the confusion is cleared out a couple months later one day that buck and eddie get to work together one morning and before doing anything else eddie drops twenty dollars on the jar and loudly announces to everyone "so, turns out buck wasn't overselling how pretty tommy looks when you ride him. truly life altering experience". everyone considers just banning mentioning tommy at all during working hours)

[capsensislagamoprh]

Because I am god damned shipping trash and you can't stop me, I started looking up things. When I saw this:

I had a hot moment of: BWAHAHAHAHAH! Then I was like: I wonder what the other names mean. The rabbit hole.

I found a twimbler by jikooksubunit that basically summed up to : Katsuki Yuuri means ‘student of a victor who benefits from courage’ and I think that is beautiful. And I was like: Fuck yeah.

Then I went further down, because fuck you, you can't stop me.

Yuri Plisetsky means (first name) farmer [unless he's Jewish, in which case it means Light of God] (last name) Influencer/Freedom Lover/Charisma. Which, I mean, humble origins, willing to suffer for what he wants, and damned if he's not an influencer with his own style and everyone wants a piece of him (for good or ill). Also a fucking demonic angel. So... yes.

And as you know, shipping trash don't do half. So I looked up Otabek Altin. We all know Altin means gold. What dose his first name mean, google? Fucking help me! So it did. It's actually an Uzbek name. It can be translated as "The Father of all Dukes" or “The Greatest Duke”. In middleage it was also a title for all the heirs coming from a certain lineage of Taimur. MY MIND FUCKING BLOWN.

Fucking ICE KING Winner-Winnerson

his Queen/King consort SIMPAI TAUGHT ME HOW TO KICK YOUR ASS

there feral ice child some times called princess to the determent of everyone with the sheer chutzpah to try it HO, I'M GONNA AND MAKE YOU PAY THE BILL RESPECT MY ETHEREAL, DAINTY, TOUGH AS NAILS ASS, YOU BASIC BITCH

and his BFF/prince charming : LITERALLY A FUCKING ROYAL BLOOD LINE MADE OF GAWD DAMNED GOLD, A.K.A. original 'Daddy of them All' (it's in the fucking name!), called a hero of his home country (rescue Yurio, on your modern day steed, daddy?). [Calmly exert your 'dad energy' in that 'you have awoken the beast' way that the wild cat some times needs?] Ether way, mah dudes. Ether way.

No wonder his ass can afford to ship that bike where ever he wants. Yurio is gonna get so damned spoiled. I love this fucking fandom.

[museofthepyre]

Reddit AITA: I want to kick my coworker out of the refuge he’s found in MY CABIN… because HE FAILED TO HOLD DOWN HIS OWN TURF, and now he’s MESSING WITH MINE.

I (24M) am a well respected, admired, and well regarded (co)LEADER of the cabin I’m stationed to preside over. However some BRITISH ASSHOLE has weaselled his way into our cabin after his campers staged an insurrection and successfully kicked him out. Middle schoolers. Kicked him out. And now it’s our problem, now we have to deal with him, and he’s upsetting our whole cabin ecosystem!!! There’s a natural order to our cabin, wherein *I* am the much needed strong male role model, and he’s totally trying to commandeer that position with his… his completely unqualified and immature influence. Our kids have been totally out of order since he got here. When I confront him about it, he just says “oi, simmer down ol’ chap! The kids have earned some lollygaging and tomfoolery, innit?” Or some shit. And like— he got kicked out of his cabin by MIDDLE SCHOOLERS!!! He ENABLES THEM by not stepping up to the role of the alpha leader they need!!! If he’s not even capable of handling them, why is he just allowed to wander in and bring that bad influence into MY TERRITORY!!!??? And the kids and *MY* co counsellor who is supposed to be on *MY* side seem to have no problem with this. They say he has nowhere else to go, and it’s petty to kick him out. I say he can sleep on the roof of his cabin if need be, these are the natural consequences of HIS inaction. AITA ?

[wordfather]

thank god i suck ass at my hobby and no one give a shit. creating things is so fun when you suck so much at it and no one is watching

[the-modern-typewriter]

Just a brief anecdote based on your most recent posted anon that I thought you might find amusing- one time I was talking with someone about protag/antag dynamics and how they're some of my favorites in media. They mentioned that they hadn't seen that dynamic very often and I was like "huh, weird! I've read so many, I see it all the time!" And then when I was thinking of examples I realized that. I was just remembering your whole catalog of work which I love dearly and have read all of (I'm a long time subscriber to your patreon as well). A slight spiders georg moment

oh my god

am I villain spiders georg

not exactly the same, but here are four books with good protag/antag vibes:

Summer sons by Lee Mandelo

Dark Rise/Dark Heir by C.S Pascat

The Invisible Life of Addie La Rue by V.E Schwab

The Last Tale of the Flower Bride by Roshani Chokshi

[t4tieflings]

In honor of pride month I’m out here not only supporting YuGiOh characters’ gay rights but also their gay wrongs. 

[nat-20s]

I have already gushed about how much Shaun Temple loves and adores Donna Noble but I cannot emphasize enough that I am 100% certain she is JUST as wholly besotted with him!! I know in my heart they are like. An EMBARRASSINGLY lovey couple. I know Donna's like SHAUN!! HEY!!! and he's like YES HON?? and she's like. You have a cute butt :3. Hell it's probably WORSE now that her other special little guy is back and she's not trying to work around an open wound of inexplicable grief. Hope she has flex time at UNIT because she's been repeatedly late due to a impromptu 20 minute snogging session.

[violent138]

Bruce definitely had to get better and better with organizing his obsessive, insane numbers of contingency plans. They went from file folder to binder to computer database and now the Batkids gripe as they have to develop a new algorithm to sort through them by category.