#leave writers and artists the fuck alone

[livingincolorsagain]

People are getting so bold lately with how they interact with things created by fellow fans, so here’s a firm reminder that it’s never acceptable to leave criticism/ratings/disagreements in the comments/bookmarks/reblogs, whether it’s fics, art or gifs. If you don’t like/agree with it, just scroll by, no one wants to hear it.

[hecates-stuff]

Whenever you feel lonely, just remember..

"You have yourself, and yourself is always enough".

[saccharinecoffee]

Single albums and single releases are a pet peeve of mine bc unless you're a small indie artist, it just feels easy and like a cash grab, even if it isn't.

[ohposhers]

Thanks for supplying us with absolutely delicious food in the form of your art!

That being said I've seen alot of artists and writers getting harassed on Tiktok over FloydxRiff ships lately, I hope they're leaving you alone ♡! Your art is beautiful and tiktok is full unnecessary bullshit 😤!

I think if you're someone who harasses artists over innocent TROLL SHIPS you are a fucking loser, grow a pair and just hit that block button LOLOL Thank you for the love, I avoid tiktok for this very reason man

[the-kipsabian]

saw a take so fucking rancid on twitter i almost deleted the entire app from my phone jesus fucking christ

first of all ao3 is an archive site. this is like going to the library and saying "oh i dont like this" on every piece of media you find that you dislike and thinking they should be stamped with some sort of a marker just cause you didnt like it

you can always click back and leave. fic writers owe you nothing to explain themselves and their creations. if they have mistagged or miscategorized fics, then i understand, however there are report tools for that instead of yelling at the artist tbh

im not saying free works arent necessarily above criticism. but this is just. fucking wild. its common courtesy to just enjoy stuff (or fucking leave if you dont, the back button is free) and if the artist specifically asks for critiques, then give one - constructive that is, shitting all over someones work is not proper criticism, mind you

i just find it fucking wild people are treating art and archive sites as social media these days like this and everything needs to be policed and ~catered to the algorithm~ like. no. ao3 doesnt have an algorithm. you should be able to fucking tell what you like and what you dont like and steer away from that kind of content and let people fucking be with their art. they dont owe you anything (except trigger warnings i'd argue, but i know some people disagree with that as well for some reason), and imagine how much more energy you'd have if you only engaged with things you liked and spent time looking at instead of going to places where you dont enjoy yourself. let alone spending time telling other people you dont enjoy what they enjoy. what a fucking life

[itsabouttimex2]

MK and Mei’s Friendship

Wukong and Macaque’s Fallout

Mei isn’t the next “warrior”, and she would 100% beat your ass for implying she’s like Macaque

I’m going to preface this for anyone who might want to leave early- I personally dislike this theory!

Because to me, it isn’t a theory- it’s just wrong.

And usually it’s so wrong that it shatters the reality of MK’s and Mei’s character for the sake of forcing them into little “Sun Wukong” and “Macaque” shaped balls.

And so often it starts with demonizing MK/Wukong.

I see, so often, this portrayed in two ways:

1. MK loses his mind and becomes a vicious monster that must be collared and restrained for the good of all around him.

2. MK becomes obsessed with power and fighting, thus driving Mei away.

And both of these are done in an attempt to “link” the kids with the monkeys.

MK-Wukong and Mei-Macaque

We don’t really need to talk about the first two- most of the show is about MK interacting with the Monkey King and learned to handle his legacy and foes- we’d be here all day.

But, what sort of interactions do Mei and Macaque share? Well, for Mei, it’s:

1. Being a victim of his violent and murderous actions

2. Being extremely close to his other frequent victims

3. Bafflingly having no negative opinions on the man who led an assault on her people’s palace, tried to murder her friends, and forced Tang to unleash the Samadhi Fire, nearly killing her in the process.

4. Being a weaker character for her lack of hostile dynamic with someone who has hurt her again and again and again

5. Having a worthless “team-up” with Macaque without the show ever having her address what he’s done to her and her loved ones

6. Weaken her character by taking away characteristics like “willing to call people out” and “gets violent when people try to hurt the ones she loves” for the sake of a boring and short “team-up”.

…yeah, thats not a great list.

Already, Mei’s non-violent interactions with Macaque leave a lot to be desired- and don’t hint to anything even close to her being a “successor” to his story like MK is to Wukong.

Back to those two first bullet points, now, right under the read more.

Sun Wukong and MK are not; and never have been, “mindless monsters”, in spite of MK’s destructiveness in his monkey form- it is explicitly made clear that he’s in control of himself.

“There’s nothing “mindless” about this.”

And he was right. MK is completely awake and aware in his monkey form, with full mental faculties. He’s verbally capable of shredding Azure and decrying his crimes in an efficient fashion, all while kicking him around.

MK wasn’t “going insane”- he was having fun.

(That’s a rant for another day, though)

Nor did Sun Wukong solely drive Macaque away.

The crux of Wukong and Macaque’s fallout is clearly displayed in the show, in the fourth season of Monkie Kid- it started from a single fucking argument.

Now, I’d like to preface again: this is the first point that I see many, oh so many theorizers, artists, writers, etc- get wrong.

SUN WUKONG IS NOT THE “BAD GUY” IN THIS SCENE.

THEY ARE BOTH AT FAULT.

Sun Wukong is trapped. For attempting to overthrow the Jade Emperor, he is sentenced to FIVE HUNDRED YEARS trapped under a mountain.

Let me elaborate for anyone who doesn’t sympathize.

For the next five hundred years, Sun Wukong will be 75% immobile and alone under a nearly lightless mountain. There will be no noise, no stimulation, and no company. He will suffer in silence, and he will suffer alone.

But you know who ISN’T being punished for an attempt to overthrow the Jade Emperor?

Macaque.

Now, this is funny. Wukong leads a six strong band of brothers against the forces of the Celestial Realm, but only ONE of them faces consequences for the rebellion- himself.

Even five hundred years later when Wukong is set free and traveling with his fellow pilgrims…

No one else has faced consequences for the rebellion. All five of Wukong’s “brothers” (Azure Lion, Peng, Demon Bull King, Yellowtusk, and yes, Macaque) get away scot-free to continue their plans and schemes.

I would be pissed. You would be pissed. There is not ONE SINGLE PERSON in this world that would NOT be pissed about how blatantly unfair this is.

Especially not after spending five hundred years nearly immobile under a dark and lonely mountain.

So, even before all, here and now, under that mountain, before five long and lonely centuries have passed, faced with the current injustice of his predicament-

Wukong lashes out and blames Macaque.

No. Fucking. Shit.

All of us (none of us are saints, do not try to say otherwise) would have snapped in anger.

All of us would have been angry. Each and every last one.

Mostly immobile and imprisoned alone to take the blame of six guilty men, Wukong lashes out at the nearest person.

And what does Macaque do, when blamed one single time for something that is mutually the fault of six men, including himself?

He lies and runs away.

No the fuck you didn’t.

Macaque nudges the idea. He implies the idea. He hints, quietly and softly.

“You’re really going through with this?” Is not him shutting down the idea of fighting the Celestial Realm.

It’s him being a coward and trying to dance around the issue without a direct confrontation.

Not even once does Macaque say: “We shouldn’t fight the Jade Emperor.”

Macaque directly LIES to present himself as being the better person during this fight.

MACAQUE IS FUCKING LYING TO HIS BEST FRIEND’S FACE TO MAKE HIMSELF LOOK BETTER, THEN RUNS AWAY AND NEVER COMES BACK DESPITE HAVING FIVE HUNDRED YEARS TO DO SO.

(But because it’s their ‘pewfect pwecious Maccy’, the fandom blindly ate this blatant dogshit lie up and took it at face value. Y’all don’t deserve unreliable narrators and mature themes go watch cocomelon/s)

The moment something goes wrong, what do these two do?

Blame each other to absolve themselves of sin, and then one runs away and chooses to never come back.

This was fucked up and toxic from the start- Macaque was a cowardly little bitch, and Wukong was a power-hungry idiot.

And both of these dumbasses have ZERO communication skills.

You know who doesn’t fall into those categories? OUR KIDDOS.

Mei and MK fight too- as soon as the first season.

And what does Mei do when her best friend accidentally wrecks her bike and nearly costs her a race that was EXTREMELY important to her?

She forgives him almost the moment he apologizes, and he immediately works on making it up to her.

Well, hold on a minute! That doesn’t sound like, I don’t know…

Lying to make yourself look better, throwing the blame around instead of accepting it, and running away for five entire centuries?

Huh. It’s almost like, maybe, instead of being built on one-sided adoration and tenuous “brotherhood”, Mei and MK see each other as, of all things-!

Equals. Friends. Partners.

Mei will NEVER abandon her best friend. Nothing could make her. Even when facing down lethal odds, her first response will ALWAYS be to run to him.

Even if she has to be forcibly dragged away, screaming and in tears, Mei will always fight to stay by MK’s side.

Nothing in the world could tear them apart. Not a petty fight. Not a presumed death. Not demons or celestials. Not an inky scroll of eternity inscribed with the past.

There is ONE circumstance in which she runs away from him-

When she’s overwhelmed by the Samadhi Fire and terrified of hurting the person she loves most with a

DEMONIC FIRE FUSED TO HER BODY THAT COULD EASILY BE USED TO DESTROY THE ENTIRE PLANET

then, and only then… does Mei run.

That is what it takes to drive her and MK apart. Not an argument. Not a game of flinging blame. Not a mishap or a tumble.

But fear for his life.

She runs away because, even if she wants to stay- Mei loves him.

And she loves him too much to think of putting her own life and desires before his.

Mei and MK are not the “hero and the warrior”.

This is not MK and Mei. And it never will be.

This is Macaque and Wukong, two people driven apart by boldness that was brashness and cleverness that was cowardice. This is a tale of adoration and anger and heartbreak and betrayal.

This is not MK and Mei. And it never will be.

Because they love each other too much to ever be “the hero and the warrior”.

And they’re all the better for it.

[br0kenangel]

I'm so tired of this bitch ass fandom. I'm not even a part of your stupid fandom. I'm just a fan of Tom Glynn Carney. I always have been and always will be. Even my first post is about his character Malachy in the jetty and not Aegon. I'm not a fan of hotd and I think it's trash but I love Tom and I very much like his most famous character, Aegon. I don't care that Aegon is a rapist. I don't care about what fucking team you are. Don't come and fucking harass me just because I like an actor. Go touch some grass. I deleted my last blog just because team black couldn't keep their fucking head on their own ass and were harassing me just because I like Tom and Aegon. So I had to delete my blog with 7k fucking followers. Stop going after writers and artists just because they don't worship Rhaenyra like you do. I can post a picture of Tom and say I like his style and people will comments shit like "he's a rapist" "you're defending a rapist" "misogyny" "racist" and blah blah blah AND IT'S NOT EVEN AEGON! IT'S TOM! A FUCKING ACTOR! I'm just a writer who's sharing her works with others. I'm not a part of your fucking fandom. Leave me the fuck alone. I already have enough in my fucked up life. I don't have time for you whining about Aegon being a rapist or that I just want to suck Tom's balls.

[wellofdean]

I wanted to make a separate pose to big up these excellent tags on this post about how a show can be about misogyny when it's about men from @deangirlism101 :

#by virtue of watching the show long after it stopped airing and after years of exposure to the fandom#I've experienced a very interesting phenomenon wherein i went in expecting a very straightforward male fantasy#specifically in regards to dean#and was continuously surprised by how dean was around women who were actual characters and not caricatures#with caricatures of women dean also becomes a caricature of a womanizer#but with woman characters? with victims and friends?#dean is constantly paternal/brotherly#endlessly protective and respectful#in fact dean's utter lack of sexualization of the complex women around him in the first few seasons#kind of had me thinking he might just be straightforward gay#additionally it's interesting to point out that dean is the only one of the three winchesters who does not have a#''symbolic woman'' that drives his narrative#i.e. of the three winchesters he is the one who engages with the women around him as people and not someTHING to give him ''purpose''#which ties pretty well into his own role in his family being a typically femenine one#john endlessly relies on dean to serve the role of his mother yet he resents him when he does it so naturally#which from a queer lense is pretty much spelling out ''john can't put his finger on it but something (queerness) about dean bothers him''#anyways it just surprises me how#the fandom has perpetuated this image of the characters#and how#ironically#that image is the exact caricature dean so obviously puts on and we so obviously are supposed to KNOW he puts on

Some really nice points here, and bang on target:

Dean is not called to his adventure/journey because a symbolic woman dies like John and Sam are; he is put upon it by his father and his own sense of responsibility and love before he has the agency to choose. He wants his father's approval, his brother's love, and he wants not to be alone in a world of monsters...and...is HE a monster? A killer? Is everything his fault?

John resents Dean because what he needs from Dean (obedience, domestic work, emotional labour) is feminine. It's what women are for. Dean internalizes that resentment. Sam defies John and is driven by his own losses, and John can respect that, but Dean becomes the family repository of what they've lost. Dean is the eldest daughter who can never do enough.

John has chosen to abandon normal life and live on the fringes to pursue his revenge quest, and Sam is fighting to get back to the center -- left his family, hot girlfriend, Stanford Law, credit in the straight world, friends. But Dean? He has accepted that he will never be normal. He has accepted that he will always be a lonely, liminal weirdo who knows something terrible about the world that most people are spared from knowing.

Like:

If you leave Supernatural season 1 without realising that everything Dean pretends to be is pretty much the opposite of what he is, then you are not watching it right, full stop. The Dean Winchester he pretends to be is a character invented by a terrified, homeless, wounded little boy who doesn't know how else to protect himself.

Second, if you can't see how totally fucking queer all that is, I CAN'T HELP YOU. And,

you cannot hit that many nails on the head without knowing where you're swinging your hammer, and in conclusion, Dean was always deeply queered, and that was in the DNA of his character.

The truth is, that Dean is a very cohesive character. He is written and performed beautifully, and with intention. He is not an accident, he is an artistic creation, and he is excellently drawn. I am not "giving the writers too much credit", I am taking an Occam's Razor-type view of it, and coming up with the simplest explanation for what I see on the screen.

That said, if by some insane magic trick they managed to make Dean this queer by accident? It doesn't matter what they intended, because THE TEXT IS WHAT IT IS. I don't need the permission of the authors to see a church by daylight, and Dean is THAT OBVIOUS.

[moody4world]

In my business pt 2

A/N: ik i take ages to post stuff guys but some things in life been kicking my ass and i either dont have time or im just not in the mood to write. I hope yall like this tho. next part will have more jack!!!

summary: AU where reader is an all around artist (writer, singer, model etc) and after being spotted with jack harlow she becomes the talk of the town. What will her baby daddy/ex central cee think???

previous part

moodymagazine

22.381 likes

moodymagazine Uh oh moodies! It seems like #Y/n baby daddy #CentralCee not too happy about the circulating rumors after she was seen getting cozy with the first class rapper #JackHarlow. He posted a photo of himself with the middle finger from a page of his interview in a #DazedKorea magazine, captioning the foto with “Current mood”. So far we have yet to receive any confirmation from Y/n or Jack Harlow about their current situation.

What do you guys think, let us know in the comments below⬇️

#moodymagazine #moodymagz

View all 1.138 comments

ryyannexox 1h

omg here we go again he is so pettyyyy. he nees to move on and leave her alone didnt he cheat on her multiple times???? men always act like trash then get mad when you leave them.

Reply

iammari 1h

@ryyannexox How does it feel to be loud and WRONG! You people just say anything on the internet. Cench and y/n both have said that he never cheated on her and the fact that they still follow each other should be a sign that they're still on good terms so stop projecting lmao

116 likes Reply

yungkelly 3h

Idk why yall bother arguing about these twos relationship. They break up and make up more than me and my man thats not my man

42 likes Reply

nia2pretty 3h

LMAOOO not my man thats not my man bitch im deaaad

7 likes Reply

View 4 more replies

bridget82 2h

They're both alays in a different country i hope theyre kids are well taken care of

2 likes Reply

y/ncloset 1h

@bridget82 yall ALWAYS worried about THEIR kids did you cook dinner for your own kids yet miss BRIDGET?

33 likes Reply

View 11 more replies

amylai 10m

the white boy she raps about in her unreleased song is probably jack!!!! hear me out guys

34 likes Reply

nianiania 6m

@amylai YOURE ONTO SOMETHING FR

2 likes Reply

❤️ 🙌 🔥 👏 😢 😍 😮 😂

add a comment for moodymagazine…

y/n

Liked by icespice and 153.164 others

y/n he be feedin me 🍝 & 🦞 #areacodes out @ MIDNIGHT !!

View all 1.363 comments

icespice 2m

😍😍😍😍

178 likes Reply

View 6 more replies

bbgrlashly 9m

y/n im begging you to give me one chanceee😫

264 likes Reply

_ell.a 3m

@bbgrlashly Get in line bby girl!

102 likes Reply

View 2 more replies

cyabiah13 1h

It's the body for meeee🔥

Reply

amore2.o 1h

maam are you not gonna address the rumors???👀

Reply

missjanay 1h

Stomach said "what kids?!" share the routine sis

Reply

davespi 1h

Jack harlow out of all people? thought you were different

Reply

cassinspace 1h

@davespi boo fucking hoo go cry somewhere else. as if you ever had a chance with your ugly ass

278 likes Reply

y/ncloset 1h

MOTHERRRR❤️

Reply

❤️ 🙌 🔥 👏 😢 😍 😮 😂

add a comment for y/n...

pt3

[oniraki]

Broken into fractures

Pairing : Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

TW : Mental health, Psych ward, mentions of : self harm, suicide wishes/attempts , severe trauma (both Simon and reader), dark themes , angst, hurt/comfort , swearing , nicotine and psychiatric medication/sedation use - maybe too much tagging but it's better safe than sorry I guess?

AN : inspired by all the fantastic artists and writers here I gathered the courage to try and write something up myself. Hope I don't mess shit up .. please have patience with me for I really don't know what I am doing right now (and English is not my first language..)

"you're in time out Mr.Riley.." his psychiatrist says in a hushed tone, making Simon's head throb painfully. He does not like that bawbag of a man with his silly round glasses and his pathetic attempts to comb his hair in a way, that would hide his growing baldness. Simon tries to focus on Doc.Hershal's words but instead his eyes are glued to a coffee stain on the man's button down.

"Mr.Riley do you even pay attention?" A grunt is the only response that so called doctor gets out of him. The man sighs. "You hurt another patient, Mr.Riley.." he tries again and Simon chuckles hoarsely. "I'm well aware of that. He had it coming for some time .." - "You broke his nose." The doctor states more urgently, observing Simon's features as far as possible, since half of his face is hidden behind a black scarf.

"Fucking hell..should've broken his neck instead." Dr.Hershal shakes his head. "We have talked about this plenty of times, didn't we, Mr.Riley? This is no healthy way of coping with your feelings. This is unacceptable behavior above all of it. Every patient has a right to be here, to heal and to be safe while doing so"

Simon could feel his blood boil, hear it rushing through his whole body. Safety? He was talking about safety after all, that happened earlier that day? "Where was her right of safety when that fucker had his hands all over her...?!" The psychiatrist nods "I have heard about the incident. But that does not justify your aggressive behavior. That was something to be dealt with by the hospitals staff, Mr.Riley."

Incident. The nurses should've handled this. "And still nobody showed up fast enough to put her out of her misery, for fucks sake!"

His heart was beating way too fast, his bruised hands shaking in his lap. Knuckles cut open from that other man's broken teeth. He felt no shame, no regret. He'd do it all over again. Do anything to keep you safe, to protect you from harm. Even if it ment that he had to be locked up here longer than he had anticipated.

He'd do it for you.

Anything..

_______

The light was nearly blinding you as you crossed the threshold of the door, leading to the cage on the hospitals rooftop. You've never been entitled to garden privileges, going out alone and wandering around the paths between old trees and decorative bushes. You couldn't be trusted, the nurses always explained with that sorry, kinda pittying smile on their faces. You'd be a danger to yourself, they'd argue. Couldn't risk you hurting yourself, fulfilling your death wish..

The cage was just a sorry excuse of a garden. An area with fake grass and plants, some benches, secured by a Chain-link fence.. but it was your only escape from the sterile and sad gray walls of the ward, crushing you between them until you couldn't breathe. Closing you in, never letting you go. The flickering of the neon lights, the squeaking of the linoleum floor. Cold,blood sucking fingers that had a hold of you. Everything designed to torture and torment you furthermore.

The only way for you to leave that place was in a body bag. That much you were sure of.

"Hey scare-bear.." you whispered as you let yourself slump down on the fake grass next to Simon. He didn't even flinch or look at you at your sudden intrusion of his space. Not even when your head was leaning against his biceps. No words or sounds left his lips as he fetched a cigarette out of the box, lighting it up on the one he was smoking and then offering it to you. You stayed in comfortable silence for a smoke or two. Simon could feel the tension leaving his body, how his shoulders relaxed more and more with every passing minute. You were here. With him. Not in the observation room with that big window, directly connected to the nurses office. Not sedated and fixated. Not alone.. never alone, as long as he could impede it.

You sneaked your arm around his, your hand engulfing his with featherlight touches. The nurses patched him up properly after his emergency session with Hershal.

"'m sorry, love." You could feel the vibration of Simon's voice. Calming and soothing as a lullaby. He still didn't look at you, instead he kept his gaze on the sundown, throwing another cigarette butt off of the roof. "nothing to be sorry for, Si. It's my fault they relieved you of all of your privileges.." you murmured kinda dejected, petting his hand ever so lovingly.

Simon huffed, shaking his head eagerly, nearly making his hood fall down. "I'd trade every fucking, meaningless privelege if that's what it takes to keep you safe. Stop acting like it was your fault. You didn't ask him to touch you.. should've killed that bastard the second he tried to get close to you the first time."

Your movements stilled for a long moment until you released a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"they all told you to stay away from me, didn't they...?" Your voice was merely anything above a whisper. Simon only grunted in response. "As if that's ever going to happen. Nothing can stop me from being near you, little gremlin."

"but what, if they're right, scare-bear?" You ask, now avoiding his gaze that lingers on your face. "What if.. I'm no good for you? Making your condition worse..?" You thought intensely about it for the last couple of weeks. Simon used to make progress, used to get better.. at least until you came along. Certainly it hast to be your fault. "Is that what they believe or what you believe?" He snapped at you, hating himself for the harshness in his voice immediately.

You heard the night nurses whisper about you and Simon. About you being a liability to him. Stopping his progress, pulling him down into your dark abyss.

Your mind began spiraling again.

"I need words, love. Talk to me.. don't shut me out. Not again.." he demanded softly, freeing his arm out of your grasp. He'd leave you, right ? Because he realized how much of a burden you were.

But instead of getting up and leaving he placed his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him gently, as if he might break you.

But by now your thoughts and emotions were cutting too deep, pulling you into a kind of headspace where'd you go nonverbal ..

Burden. Threat. Liability. Rotten heart and soul inside a useless, broken body. Not good enough. Not loveable.

Why can't you finally die?

" 'm here, lovie. I got you." He whispered into the crown of your head. "It's okay not to be okay right now. We'll get through it, together."

Oh how you just wanted to believe him..

[damnfandomproblems]

Responding to 3 anons in #5796

"I agree with this tbh. Like adults are the ones making things unsafe for minors in fandom spaces. YOU are the ones who approach minors unprompted. Minors are just minding their own business in fandom, then you all come along and bother everyone."

Predators that are adults are not synonymous with all adults in fandom. It's not the fault of the vast majority of fandom that kids purposefully bust into adult spaces and arbitrarily believe the creeps saying they're "safe" adults. It's the fault of your parents for not reaching you worth a damn and the predator. And yes, kids do fucking barge into adult NSFW spaces. None of the the ones that say they mind their business actually do.

"I agree with this post, cause like... the ones doing the most harassing are adults. I am a minor, and it makes me feel unsafe in fandom spaces. Especially when I see adults drawing nsfw of characters who are MINORS! aging them up does not excuse that gross and creepy behavior. Just stop and give us a space where we don't get pushed into a corner and called annoying. Leave our fandom spaces!"

It's gonna be really funny when you age out of your favorite characters and have a moral dilemma over the fact that you don't stop thirsting over Bakugo or whoever the fuck the minute you're older than him.

And aging up is...how time works. That's like saying no one can view anyone sexually, fictional or real life, because they were once a child. Do you realize how stupid that sounds? If you don't want to be sat at the kids table, learn how to behave rather than screaming at the main table because Aunt Milly told an off color joke and Grandpa Joe has a naked Princess Peach tattooed on his arm.

"I see people getting mad about Fandom Problem #5796, but that kind of is just proving the point? You all act like the minors are the biggest problem in fandom, but you are the ones constantly inserting yourselves and making it about you.

I see adults say things like:

- "Fandom wouldn't exist without adults."

- "Who do you think created fandom? Not minors!"

- "Minors wouldn't have content if it weren't for adults."

All are ignorant of the idea that minors are the foundation to fandom. Fandom would not exist if it wasn't for minors being interested in it and starting groups for people to join. Often times, the best artists and writers in the fandoms are THE MINORS.

Adults make the space uncomfortable by inserting themselves and putting NSFW fics and art of minor characters. Then they get pissy when a minor points out it makes them uncomfortable and go "stop invading our space!"

You are the ones trying to push minors out when we just want to have fun! Just leave us alone!

-A minor"

Minors aren't the biggest problem, no. But by food are they the loudest. You say you just want to have fun but minors have on mass harassed people that were leaving them alone simply because they didn't understand the concept of dead dove don't eat.

And no, you are not, nor have you ever been, the foundation of fandom. It has always been adults, from the very beginning when Sherlock Holmes novels gained an international fan club unlike the world had ever seen to the 1960s housewife Spock/Kirk shipping Trekkies starting conventions, mailing lists, having coalate parties for zines, and laying down the foundation we have today. Adults were the ones that got sued my lunatic writers in the 90s, and they're the ones that, 90% of the time, are buying the services or media for you to consume in the first place.

And I'm sorry, but the best artists and writers in the fandom are never minors. Exceptionally talented minors are exceptional for a reason. The rest of you sit somewhere between "average and has potential" to "would make My Immortal hide its face in secondhand embarassment." Art and writing are skills, and anyone under the age of 16 likely hasn't been writing fiction long enough to run with the heavy hitters. Considering the state of the US education system, this is an even more laughable stance.

Many minors have great potential, but acting like your the best in show when you just made it out the gate is the height of hubris.

Posting as a response to a previous problem.

[rockstvrdotcom]

Hi! I was the one who recommended the Toby story and I LOVED it! (You're definitely one of my favorites if not my favorite creepypasta writer atm) I was wondering if I could make another request? Y/N trying to top Toby (more in a bratty way than an actual wanting to top way) but little did she know how shitty the day has already been for him because of one of the missions slender had sent on him and he really wasn't in the mood for her shit. And things just get rough from there 🥰 Also if you start an anon list can I be 💤anon?

☆ // IM GONNA FUCK YOU UNTIL YOU'RE SORRY, SWEETHEART! ✿⪼

aww tysm for the sweet words! it really warms my heart knowing you enjoy my writing, and ofc yes i'll add u to my anon list, i never originally planned on making one so ty for the idea!!

im not sure who the artist of the image is, if somebody finds out please tell me so i can credit them! i tried reverse google search but it didnt work D: i found the image on pinterest

im also so sorry for the super late post, shit has been a lil wonky lately and i recently js got my shit together LMAO, ill be back to posting.

CW: rough sex, choking, also degradation, overstimulation, brat taming

you were sat on the couch in the living room of the mansion. the rest of the creepypastas were either out on missions, or doing whatever the hell they were doing. slender was visiting his brothers, so you were all alone, free to do whatever you wanted to.

you sat there, awaiting for a certain someone to return. your hands were inbetween your thighs, rubbing at your clothed pussy. something about the fact that you could possibly get caught by somebody, toby or not, turned you on. but toby was expected to return from his mission first.

right on cue, you heard keys jingling around in the knob of the front door. you quickly repositioned yourself, pretending you were watching tv. the door opens and you turn around, seeing none other than toby. you greeted him, on purposely bending over the couch a little too far so he could see a peak of your boobs, only to be met with a stone cold stare. you were planning to get him to fuck you some way and when you saw him walk past you and into the kitchen, you realized it may be harder than you thought it would.

you trailed behind him, following him into his room. he looked over his shoulder, grunting in annoyance.

you took his shoulders and held him to the wall, leaving gentle and lustful kisses on his neck. you could tell he was bothered by something, yet you decided to continue anyway. you kissed and kissed until you pushed him past his limits. he escaped from your grip, walking away. you could see how tense he was, holding back from lashing out at you.

"i'm not in the mood for your bullshit, (y/n)." he almost yelled, pushing you onto the bed. you flinched, unsure what he was gonna do next. "you want this dick so fucking bad? you're gonna get it. and i'm gonna fuck you so hard until you're really sorry." he growled, flipping you over onto your stomach. he pulled your pants down and you yelped. you could hear the sound of him unzipping his pants.

you whined as you felt him go inside of you with no prep, but it slipped in easy with how wet you were. he thrusted in and out of you, his chest heaved as he fucked the absolute shit out of you. you moaned with each time he went balls deep inside of you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. this wasn't like the other times you had sex, it was full of anger and frustation, yet lust at the same time.

you clenched around him as you felt his hand wrap around your throat, he took your chin with his other hand and shoved 2 fingers into your mouth. he slammed into you repeatedly while you choked on his fingers. tears streaked down your cheeks. you could feel your orgasm come nearer and nearer, and you whined around his fingers.

you cried out as your pussy spasmed around his thick cock, you came so hard your vision began to become blurry, white spots everywhere. toby still hadn't came yet, fucking you at an even faster pace now. still sensitive from your orgasm, you sob. maybe this was your punishment for bothering him. he leaned over you, still fucking and choking you as hard as he was before. he bit into your neck, almost enough to draw blood, and left kisses around the mark he had left on you.

toby removed his fingers from your mouth and roughly gripped your thighs as he continued to fuck breathy moans out of your mouth. "toby i just came- slow down." you pleaded, eyes watering from the overstimulation.

"shut the fuck up, you wanted this, slut." you almost felt another orgasm come with his words. you whimpered, clenching around him. he grit his teeth, your warm pussy tightening around him was almost enough to send him over the edge. he leaned over you and gripped your cheeks, kissing you roughly as he pounded into you.

his tongue played with yours, he tasted the tears streaking down your face as he bit your lower lip. "fuck, your pussy is so good.." he groaned as he continued to kiss you. you felt him throb inside of you, and you knew he was close.

"shit-" he said between clenched teeth as you felt him release his load inside of you. your eyes rolled back as you both orgasmed simultaneously, his dick twitching as his thrusting came to a stop. he bit at your neck to stop himself from moaning. you buried your face into the sheets.

he lightly squeezed your ass, then put his dick back in his boxers. he picked you up bridal style then placed your head gently on the pillows, pulling the sheets over your naked figure. your eyes fluttered closed as he put his pants back on and left the room.

[grungeprincess2]

Kurt Cobain Quotes

1. I'd rather be hated for who I am, than loved for who I am not.

2. Practice makes perfect, but nobody's perfect, so why practice?

3. Friends are nothing but a known enemy.

4. Wanting to be someone else is a waste of who you are.

5. If my eyes could show my soul, everyone would cry when they saw me smile.

6. I am definitely a feminist. I'm f--king disgusted by the way women are still treated. It's 1993 and some people still think we're in 1950s. We need to make more progress. There needs to be more female musicians, more female artists, more female writers. Everything is dominated by f--king males and I'm sick of it!

7. Thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art.

8. Drugs are a waste of time. They destroy your memory and your self-respect and everything that goes along with with your self-esteem. They're no good at all.

9. We're so trendy we can't even escape ourselves.

10. I definitely feel closer to the feminine side of the human being than I do the male - or the American idea of what a male is supposed to be. Just watch a beer commercial and you'll see what I mean.

11. I mean, I’m definitely gay in spirit, and I probably could be bisexual. But I’m married, and I’m more attracted to Courtney [Love] than I ever have been toward a person, so there’s no point in trying to sow my oats at this point. [Laughs] If I wouldn't have found Courtney, I probably would have carried on with a bisexual lifestyle.

12. Ever since the beginning of rock and roll, there's been an Axl Rose. And it's just boring. It's totally boring to me.

13. I thought I would try to be gay for a while, but I'm just more sexually attracted to women. But I'm really glad that I found a few gay friends, because it totally saved me from becoming a monk or something.

14. If any of you, in any way, hate homosexuals, people of a different color or women, please do this one favor for us—leave us the fuck alone. Don’t come to our shows and don’t buy our records.

15. The problem with groups who deal with rape is that they try to educate women about how to defend themselves. What really needs to be done is teaching men not to rape. Go to the source and start there.

16. The duty of youth is to challenge corruption.

17. We’re not as popular as everyone thinks, and we’re not as rich as everyone thinks.

18. There are a lot of things I wish I would have done, instead of just sitting around and complaining about having a boring life.

19. Punk is musical freedom. It’s saying, doing, and playing what you want.

20. Words suck. I mean, everything has been said. Words aren’t as important as the energy derived from music, especially live.

21. I'm a spokesman for myself. It just so happens that there's a bunch of people that are concerned with what I have to say. I find that frightening at times because I'm just as confused as most people. I don't have the answers for anything.

22. Holding my baby is the best drug in the world.

23. No one is afraid of heights, they’re afraid of falling down. No one is afraid of saying I love you, they’re afraid of the answer.

24. I use bits and pieces of others’ personalities to form my own.

25. If you die you're completely happy and your soul somewhere lives on. I'm not afraid of dying. Total peace after death, becoming someone else is the best hope I've got.

26. I just can’t believe anyone would start a band just to make the scene and be cool and have chicks. I just can’t believe it.

27. To be positive at all times is to ignore all that is important, sacred and valuable. To be negative at all times is to be threatened by ridiculousness and instant discredibility.

28. You can’t buy happiness.

30. Nobody dies a virgin. Life f***s us all.

31. Music is energy. A mood, atmosphere. Feeling.

33. If you’re really a mean person you’re going to come back as a fly and eat poop.

34. There’s good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too f****** sad.

35. I have to admit I’ve found myself doing the same things that a lot of other rock stars do or are forced to do. Which is not being able to respond to mail, not being able to keep up on current music, and I’m pretty much locked away a lot. The outside world is pretty foreign to me.

36. I really miss being able to blend in with people.

37. It’s better to burn out than fade away.

38. God is gay

[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Nine

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: i love angst and i love it when roy acts like a middle aged white woman at a wine party where he laughs too loud and pretends he's having a great time just to get through it all

Word count: 6.5k

Chapter Nine

After a few weeks, you’d already got used to the tube journey from Richmond to Somerset House. You reluctantly found out that, despite London being one city and the tube routes being easy, it was so fucking huge that it took you almost an hour to get to work. Maybe that was your fault for staying in Richmond instead of moving, but you didn’t mind a longer commute into the City of London if that meant you got to stay put.

Pluto Press was unique, and you felt proud to have a position there. Your desk was by the window, looking over the Strand outside. Your colleagues were nice, and you got to work alongside artists and writers wherever you went. It was like a dream come true. Which was why, as you arrived home on the Friday of your second week, you couldn’t understand why you felt so… shit. You felt lonely, isolated, and so overtired that you were certain your brain wasn’t working at full capacity. You missed the team at AFC Richmond, talks with Keeley and Rebecca, Ted’s american jokes– Roy.

Since his last game, Roy had gone off the grid. You were lucky if you randomly saw him out and about in Richmond. You’d attempted to meet up with him after his retirement press conference, a month after the end of your placement and his injury, but to no avail. And even now, staring at your phone, glass of wine in your hand as you settled in for another Friday night alone, you had the urge to text him. You downed your wine before you did, and dropped the glass onto your coffee table as you opened up Roy’s and yours text chain. Then, you typed:

Are you coming to the game tomorrow? I’d love to see you!

Enthusiasm wasn’t the key to Roy’s heart, but you’d run out of options to get him to respond. It was only a friendly match, anyway, since the season was still a few months out. You wanted to imagine him there tomorrow, black shirt and black leather jacket donned, hands stuffed in his pockets, as he settled into his seat at the Dogtrack– not as a player, but as an admirer, maybe. 

When you sat in the owner’s box the next day, with the whistle about to be blown, you couldn’t stop calling yourself an idiot. Why the fuck would Roy want to come back here, of all places? The pitch where he played his last game, the stadium where he trained for his last season ever, surrounded by the people who got to keep playing after he all but faded away. 

You settled into your seat with a sour taste in your mouth and a frown on your face. Keeley squeezed your hand affectionately. “You okay, babe?” she asked. 

You shook your head, trying to get yourself out of this hole. “I asked Roy to come,” you told her. “Stupid, really.”

Keeley frowned at you empathetically. “ You tried, babe, but I think that’s all we can do right now after his retirement.”

You nodded, feeling sick. “Yeah.” You forced yourself to perk up, to focus on the positives, and abruptly shot up from your seat. “Come on, Richmond!” you screamed into the void, in some attempt to make you feel better about it all. 

That feeling only lasted so many days. By Tuesday of the next week, you were back to feeling overwhelmed, overtired, and so lonely that you genuinely didn’t know what to do with yourself. Most of your colleagues at work didn’t live anywhere near the west, so you were forced to leave after work drinks early, or not go at all, just to get home at a reasonable hour. 

The walk from Richmond station to your flat was becoming so dull that you could hardly stand it. One Thursday in the beginning of July, you elected to cut through Richmond Green and travel a longer route home, just to stop your brain from imploding. You left the station in the complete opposite direction to your flat, and said fuck it in your head. You passed over the green, treading along the concrete paving around the edge, until you reached Mae’s pub. 

To your surprise, inside you saw the unmistakable moustache of one Ted Lasso, sitting opposite the familiar hat donned by one Coach Beard. Your heart soared, and you bound into the pub before you could tell yourself to slow the fuck down. Ted spotted you as soon as you entered the bar, and stood up immediately. You realigned your direction of movement and took a hard right, heading straight towards the coaches.

“Well, howdy–!” You wrapped your arms around him before he’d even finished speaking. The happy smile on his face quickly dropped to a confused frown. Ted embraced you warmly, and it was clear to see that something was very wrong. “Hey–” He was going to ask if you were alright, but he stopped himself. “It’s okay. It’s alright.”

Beard peered up at the two of you, his face stoney and thoughtful. His finger tapped on his chin in subtle curiosity and concern. Ted didn’t urge you to say anything, not for those few moments where he held you tightly. Beard gestured to Mae at the bar, and whispered “One lager, please, Mae. On our tab.” She brought it over in a matter of seconds, and you finally pulled away from Ted long enough to suck in a breath. 

You glanced at the beer on the table for you. “Thank you, Mae,” you croaked, turning to look at her as she strolled back to the bar. She smiled at you warmly, and you finally took a seat alongside the coaches. “Sorry, Coach. Didn’t mean to ambush you,” you breathed out. 

“I don’t mind it, not when it’s you who’s doing the ambushing,” Ted said, taking a sip of his beer and waving it off like it was nothing. 

“Seems to me like there’s something going on,” Beard chimed in, and took a sip of beer to mimic Ted before him. His eyes seemed mischievous, like he was looking for gossip, but that was generally what Beard looked like when he wanted to know something. He was like an old, wise owl. He placed his beer back on the table. “It’s either that, or I just haven’t noticed that you’ve always looked like you’re in the middle of an existential crisis.”

“Very funny,” you let out, tapping your glass anxiously. “I’d go with the former over the latter, Beard.” 

“I know,” he said, before he smiled at you knowingly. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You frowned at the table while Ted and Beard waited patiently for you to open up. You felt silly. How could you put your loneliness into words when it felt so unnatural? You had no reason to feel so terrible. You had a great new job, lived in a gorgeous neighbourhood, and had everything you could possibly want in life. You had the guys, and couldn’t wait until the season started up again in a few months, despite them being relegated to the Championship. You had Keeley and Rebecca, two strong and powerful women who you could confide in and rely on if you really needed to. You had… Well, that was just it. 

Did you really have Roy anymore? 

“It’s so stupid,” you started, trying to keep yourself steady, but all composure went out of the window as soon as those three words left your lips. “I have no reason to be this way. My new job is fucking fantastic, and I still get to live in Richmond, in my flat that I love so much, and I still get to go to games and see the guys and walk to Nelson Road across the green. This is all so fucking stupid.” You smacked your hands over your face in frustration. “I have no reason to feel this alone.” Your words were muffled beneath your palms, but Ted and Beard still glanced at each other with concern. 

“You’re feeling lonely?” Ted asked gently. 

You dragged your hands down your cheeks and sniffed through your snotty nose. “A little bit.” 

“A little bit.” Beard mimicked you. You scoffed abruptly, and it felt good just for a second.

Ted shuffled next to you, and readied himself to speak. “Lemme tell you something about loneliness,” he started. “When you feel it, you always feel silly. You feel like a dang moron, because all it does is make you think about all the people you have in your life that are there to listen to you, yet when you reach out, you pretend not to feel that loneliness, am I right?” 

You remembered the text you’d sent to Roy. So over enthusiastic in some attempt to hide how awful you’d been feeling. When he didn’t respond, or give you any indication that he’d even read your message, it just made you feel even worse. If you’d been honest, maybe he would have been more inclined to reply.

You nodded at Ted in understanding. “It’s hard sometimes. To tell people close to you that you’re struggling.” 

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Ted said. “That’s the catch, ain’t it? You wanna keep things light, you wanna keep things happy, but sometimes you can’t. And that’s alright. It’s okay to feel lonely, and tired, and tearful. Don’t beat yourself up for any of that.” 

You held onto Ted’s words for dear life. You’d never understand how he was able to be so optimistic, so constantly happy. No one was truly like that, so you bet it was all a bit of an act. Even so, Ted had a way of getting through to you. His words resonated, and you found yourself listening to him more than shrugging him off. He was good to you. You had the small green, army man that he’d given you for good luck, in your pocket or your bag constantly, moving it around like a chapstick from garment to garment. 

Even now, as you gently stuck your hand into your jacket pocket, the army man was there. Gun raised, knees bent in a defensive stance, ready to protect you. 

“Have you… heard from Roy?” you asked. 

Beard looked at Ted sullenly, almost, and you understand immediately. “Roy will be Roy,” Ted said, smiling at you halfheartedly. “His retirement press conference, though– jeez, it didn’t half tug on my heartstrings, here.”

“The end of an era,” Beard said, widening his eyes with grandeur. 

“I haven’t seen him since the Man City game in May,” you said. “Two months.”

“He’ll come around eventually,” Ted said, trying to reassure you, but you were sure that nothing but seeing Roy’s face in person would be able to do that. Ted suddenly perked up. “Anyway, how’s the new job! Got some new friends? Got some new besties? Oh– have you met anyone special yet?”

If you didn’t already know Ted, this would be incredibly out of the blue. But, you did know him. He was sweet, and kind, and capable of distracting you from your sadness. He made you feel welcome, and loved, and thought about. And– he made you roll your eyes to oblivion. 

You did just that, rolled your eyes into your skull with a smile on your face. “Job is great, but the dating pool is still very much dry, Ted.”

“Dang it!” he exclaimed. “Maybe the guys were right, all those months ago, huh? You should get on some dating apps, just for funzies.”

“Keeley has been wanting me to try out one, to be honest. It’ll only be a matter of time before she forces all of you guys to get on it,” you said, pointing at Ted and Beard in warning. “It’s called… um– something with a B. Like, Bantz, or Bumz. I don’t know.” You waved your hand in front of your face, giving up on remembering. 

“Might be worth a try all the same?” Ted said, egging you on. 

You sat for a moment, thinking, before you nodded. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I should put myself out there, yeah?”

“Heck yeah,” Ted said enthusiastically. “No harm in it, right?”

Was there any harm in it? Surely not. You were a single woman, you were free to branch out. But, underneath it all, there was still something that held you back. Without meaning to, Roy’s head popped into the back of your mind. All that you’d shared over your year at Richmond, that unspoken thing that fluctuated between you. 

You thought back to his final game then, as you remembered it all. The gentle way you held each other’s faces as you knelt on the floor beneath him, just to be close, just to let him know that you were there. The soft way he’d draped his arm over your shoulder as the team gathered after relegation. Despite the loss, and the end of his career, Roy had still laughed alongside the guys. His fingers had skimmed over your knuckles under those fluorescent lights, noticed by everyone, but it had all gone unsaid. It didn’t need to be mentioned, not when everyone had known this was bound to happen eventually. 

You and him, him and you. It fit, didn’t it? 

But, with the silence of the past few months, you didn’t know anymore. Maybe it was just the proximity, the familiarity of being around each other, that had made you believe it all to be so. Roy hadn’t said a word to you in months, hadn’t tried to. Had it all been in your mind?

As you finished your pint with Ted and Beard, talking about the new season, you forced yourself to stop thinking about Roy. You’d let him know you were there, and it had gone unreciprocated. As much as a part of you still yearned for him to be near, you had to stop putting in effort when he wasn’t trying to do the same to you. 

The name of the dating app was Bantr, and as soon as you messaged Keeley to say you were doing it, she replied with a winky face. You scoffed to yourself as you filled out your profile, and within an hour had got chatting to a guy from Richmond. 

The thing about Bantr; it was anonymous. You knew ages, and usernames, and location, but not actual names, or looks. It was a refreshing change from other apps, and you found yourself having a great conversation. Within a week, you’d already arranged to go out for dinner in the town.

As you walked to your date, a week or so after seeing Ted and Beard, you spoke to Keeley on the phone for a pep talk. 

“What if he’s ugly? Or boring?” you said. 

“Give it a chance, babes, you haven’t even met him yet!”

“I know, I know. I don’t think I was made for dating apps, honestly,” you let out, laughing to yourself to avoid a proper anxious meltdown. You thought you looked quite good, as you wore the same jumpsuit that you had for the charity ball last year. It was amongst the only fancy clothes you fucking owned. 

“You’ll get used to it. How long has it been, anyway?”

“Since I’ve got some, or since I’ve been on a date?” you joked. 

Keeley cackled down the phone. “The date. No– both.”

“A long time. For both, unfortunately.” You could practically feel Keeley grimacing.

“Go and get some then, babes,” she urged you on. “You never know, he might be your soulmate.”

You felt sick immediately, and frowned in disgust. “Ew, stop talking like that. Soulmates aren’t real. And if they were, I doubt I would meet him on Bantr.”

“Stop being so cynical,” she said, like a teacher telling off a student. “Take it from me– even if he’s not your soulmate, still try and have a good time, alright?”

You laughed softly. “Alright,” you gave in. 

“You deserve some fun! Promise me you'll have fun,” Keeley said sternly. You would never be able to deny her. 

“I promise,” you let out, alongside a smile. 

“Tell me everything. Love you.”

“Love you too, babes,” you said, before you hung up. 

You dropped your phone into your bag, and inhaled sharply as you made your way into the restaurant. Maybe this would be a good thing. A change of pace, something to get you back out there into the real world. As you waited at the bar, you shoved away the thought of Roy from your head. He didn’t belong there anymore, not when he’d made no attempt to stay close. 

Rebecca had been right. Footballers were dangerous. Especially the ones who pretended not to care. 

You spent the first twenty minutes of your date wondering if you were being pranked. There had to be a camera crew round the corner, there had to be some presenter who would pop out and tell you it was all a massive joke– because he was gorgeous. 

Lucas was his name. He had a face that lit up a room, and a voice that whacked you in the chest. For a week, you’d been discussing books, films and all the things you enjoyed over text. That didn’t change when you were face to face, but the accompaniment of seeing his face was definitely a plus. He bought you drinks, and was interested when you spoke, and all the things you’d been dying for over the past few years of being chronically single. 

“You’re new to the area, aren’t you?” he asked, as you finished your main courses. 

“Partially,” you said, tapping your wine glass. “I moved here last year for a masters degree.”

“Oh, fantastic. In what?”

You let out a breath. “It’s sort of a long story.”

“We’ve got time,” he said, smiling. “We still haven’t had dessert.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he was utterly perfect. You told him everything. The mix up from the university, the placement being at AFC Richmond, of all places. You spoke about your time there in depth, not even realising that you’d been whittling on about the guys, and Ted and Beard, for a while. By the time you were done, your dessert plates were thoroughly devoured, and you’d both moved onto something a little stronger. Lucas swilled a whiskey, and you clutched onto a gin and tonic. 

“That sounds like an awfully big adventure,” Lucas said, awestruck, when you were finally finished. 

“It was a blessing in disguise, really,” you said, smiling to yourself as all the memories of the year came flooding back. “I still got a position at Pluto Press, and I got to know some of the best people I’ve ever known. Luck was really on my side for this one, I think.”

“Definitely sounds like it,” Lucas said, gawking at you with eyes that only made you feel one thing; heard. “So, you’re still friends with them all?”

You nodded. “Absolutely. I saw Ted and Beard last week, actually. They convinced me to get on Bantr, funnily enough.”

“Well,” Lucas said softly. “You’ll have to thank them the next time you see them. I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.” Your heart lurched in your chest. You fought the urge to look away and cool your face down by fanning your hands. “Also, you need to do me a favour,” he continued, and you smiled questioningly. 

“What’s that?”

“I was a big Chelsea fan growing up, the biggest, if you can imagine it,” Lucas said. “My favourite player of all time was number six, Roy Kent.” Your heart dropped into your gut. When before it had been pumping happily, it was now a stone in your stomach, ready to be ejected through your windpipe. “The next time you see him, can you get me his autograph?”

You stopped breathing for a moment, from a lack of what to say. As soon as Lucas saw your face, he changed his demeanour immediately. 

He leant forward and looked at you with a gentle smile. “I’m totally joking,” he said quickly. You could breathe again, and found yourself stuttering out some chuckles of relief. “It was a joke, truly,” he repeated himself. 

The two of you shared some awkward laughter, but you were thankful it was all a bit of fun. “You scared me,” you said. “You don’t know Roy. If I asked for an autograph he’d fully think I’d gone mad.”

“You seem to know him quite well,” Lucas figured out. “I’m probably barking up the wrong tree, but he doesn’t seem like the friendly type.”

Your chest burst with the need to defend him immediately. “That’s not true at all. Don’t believe what the press says,” you said quickly. “Roy is… he’s… well– an arseshole, completely, but…” You swallowed, allowing yourself to think of him, just this once. “He’s also one of the kindest people I know.”

Lucas smiled, satisfied. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said. 

He paid the bill, and batted away every attempt you gave to pay half of it. As the two of you left the restaurant, Lucas put his arm out for you. You took it graciously, and the two of you walked back into town together. He walked you to your door as you continued your conversation, and when he rose up the steps to your building, he gently let your arm go. 

“I had a really lovely time tonight,” he said. 

“Me too,” you smiled. You meant it. 

“I’d really like to see you again,” he said strongly, before he backed up slightly. “Only if that was something that you wanted, as well, of course.”

You were already laughing by the time he’d finished. “I would love that, yes.”

“Great,” he said. “I’ll call you?”

You nodded, and he nodded too, both of you smiling like two school children who’d just discovered crushes on the other. As he left, you watched him walk away and around the corner. You felt giddy, you felt content, and you couldn’t believe it had all gone so well. Part of you was certain it was all too good to be true, but you followed Keeley’s advice as you entered your flat. You told yourself not to overthink it, to let yourself have a good time, to embrace something going well for once. 

Even so, as you got ready for bed at home, your mind kept flashing back to Roy. He was part of you, and it was impossible to ignore it all. As much as you shouldn’t have, you felt guilty. You and Roy had never been a thing, never gone there, yet you felt like you’d betrayed him, almost. The happiness from your beautiful evening quickly descended into sadness. You’d never felt more lonely than this, despite having a lovely meal with a gorgeous man. 

You dropped yourself onto your sofa, and brought out your phone. Quickly, you clicked on Roy’s name and began typing out a message. You sent it before your slightly drunk self could take it back, choosing to be honest with him for once in your life. 

I miss you. 

As the season kicked off, you focused on work. You applied yourself generously, and were hanging out with your colleagues in the city even more so. You took Keeley’s and Ted’s advice on board– you opened yourself up to more. You went on a few more dates on Bantr, including a second date with Lucas, over the next few weeks. 

None of them had worked out well, apart from Lucas himself. He’d kissed you after your second date, and you’d had to tell yourself not to invite him into your flat for a drink. You didn’t want to rush it all, didn’t want to dive into something that you were enjoying at this pace. Despite being in need– desperately, if you were being honest– you held yourself to a higher standard than that. Not that there was anything wrong with having fun and sleeping around, but you were out of practice. You’d rather sleep with someone you knew a bit more, before jumping straight in. 

Lucas seemed fine with that, too. He made an active effort to call you occasionally, and you’d both talk about work or your plans or your friends and family. He made you laugh, and that was a big green flag in your eyes. 

“So, when are you going to fuck?” Keeley said, and you scoffed abruptly. You both sat in the owner’s box at the Dogtrack, watching Richmond’s third match of the Championship season. July was well and truly over, as the second week of August had just begun. 

Still– nothing from Roy. You’d stopped caring to count the days. 

“Not everything has to be about sex,” you hit back. 

“Sure, I know that. But if he’s really as gorgeous as you say, why the fuck haven’t you yet? Are you playing hard to get?”

“Absolutely not. If anything I probably reply too fast to his messages,” you said. “I just… I don’t want to rush. We’re having fun, and he’s lovely, and– I just don’t need to worry about when sex is going to happen or not happen.” You made yourself believe the words you were saying, but you were definitely lying.

Keeley saw straight through you. “It’s going to happen on your next date, isn’t it?”

“God, I fucking hope so,” you burst. “It’s been over a year for me, you know.”

“A year? Like– a calendar year?”

You nodded severely, like it was the worst thing in the world that you hadn’t been dicked down in over 365 days. Since moving to Richmond, you’d never had the opportunity to, if you thought about it. You had your work colleagues, who overlapped as your friends. Shitting where you ate was always a bad idea, especially with a bunch of footballers. As much as they were all gorgeous in their own ways, you couldn’t imagine sleeping with any of them– well, except…

“What about Roy?” Keeley’s tone changed to something much softer. Her gaze hit you gently, and her eyes told you it was okay to open up to her. “You didn’t ever… you know.”

You frowned as soon as she brought him up. You shook your head, not knowing what else to say. When Roy was brought to your attention now, all you felt was anger. Red, burning rage, penetrating deep into your bones. Your prior loneliness and sadness had turned to being pissed off. 

“No. We never did.” Your voice was blunt, plain, so devoid of anything other than severity, that you hated the way you sounded. You let out a sigh, and told yourself to push forward. “He’s a footballer, Keeley. And you know exactly what he’s like. Maybe I thought something was there, but it’s been three fucking months. He hasn’t contacted me at all, and honestly– I’m done with it.”

Keeley quickly dropped her hand into your lap, clutching her fingers over your own. She smiled at you. “Screw him. You’re so much better than you were last month, so fucking screw him.”

You smiled at her, feeling your anger dissipate. You were lucky to have her, Keeley, because she wholeheartedly understood you. She supported you, and held you when you needed to be held, and yelled encouragement at you when you needed it, too. It was then, as Richmond failed to score a goal, and subsequently performed their third tie of their season so far, that you couldn’t wait for her to meet Lucas. Maybe this would turn into something great, if you only let yourself fall into it. 

A week later, across the green and beyond his neighbourhood, Roy stared at his phone for the umpteenth time that day. He had no new messages, no missed calls, not even any notifications from Dominos or Pizza Hut. He counted the days in his head– thirty-four– since you’d last contacted him. That message, the last one you’d sent him, saying you missed him; he still found his gut coiling and his chest compressing when he thought about it. 

As he oversaw his under 9’s girls football team on the pitch, he slotted his phone back into his tracksuit. This was all getting to be too much for him– missing you, avoiding Richmond, growing out his fucking hair– but he couldn’t seem to shake himself out of this after-retirement slump. 

He regretted the conference. Putting his heart on the line at the end of his career, bursting into tears behind the microphone and in front of the press. You’d messaged him about that, too, saying that you were proud of him, that you wanted to see him, that it’d been a while. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to respond. He was a prick, he knew that more than anyone, and the fact that he was actively avoiding you and other people who gave a shit, made him feel even worse about it all. 

It only made him want to stay away more. 

Maybe he could coach these under 9’s for the rest of his life, and live in seclusion, only interrupted by his yoga mums and an occasional glass of rosé. 

He entered his house that evening, grabbing a beer as soon as he did. He popped off the top, and glugged back a few gulps. The evenings were bright in summer, and it only made his house feel emptier. He glanced around his living room, skimming his eyes over his overflowing bookshelves, when he caught a look at your article. 

He’d framed it, and placed it in the middle of his homemade cards from Phoebe. As much as it stung him to look at now, it was a reminder of you. Those months together at Richmond, his final game, all of it. He thought of it all more often than he wanted, as his mind roamed and landed upon things that only made him feel worse. Going from playing football everyday to this was a big change. It hurt his heart profusely, but he knew it was partly his own doing.

He’d cut himself off from everyone, shut himself away for the foreseeable future. In some ways, he felt he deserved it. He’d battered away every attempt at people to reach out. You, Ted, Keeley; their names sat in his phone with messages from over a month ago that he’d never responded to. He gulped back more of his beer as he started getting angry at himself, and a split second decision had him finishing his drink and grabbing his house keys. He left his empty house and headed into town, as the sun still shone high over Richmond. 

You hugged Lucas as you approached the bar, and your table outside. He kissed you on the cheek affectionately, before he pulled out your chair. You sat, and he confidently waved over a waitress to take your drink orders. 

This was nice. Your third date, and neither of you could get enough of the other. You sipped on wine and talked about your daily lives, sharing jokes over some olives, as the sun skittered across the lush outside space of a central Richmond bar. 

“How are they doing?” Lucas asked, popping an olive into his mouth. 

“Not good,” you said. “They’ve tied three games in a row. Not the best after relegation, really.” You shrugged, picturing Sam’s sullen face after the game last week. 

They were all so tired, all so capable, but they’d lost Roy. It was doing a number on all of them. They missed their ex-captain.

“Hm, that’s a shame. What do you reckon is holding them back?” he asked. 

You often felt giddy when Lucas asked you about football. He listened to what you had to say, took on board your points, and thought you knew a lot more about the sport in general. It was a welcomed change from what the guys at the club had thought of your knowledge. 

“Lots of things, I suppose,” you said, taking a sip of your drink before you started. “Having Ted and Beard was always going to be a learning curve, but that wasn’t the reason for their relegation. Jamie Tartt was taken back by Man City a few months before the end of their previous season, which drastically made things worse, amongst other things.”

Other things being Roy. 

“Other things?” Lucas said, and you wished he hadn’t. 

You were trying this thing where you didn’t bring up Roy when you didn’t need to. It had helped you a lot so far, over the past few weeks, and kept your moods happier in general. When you thought of him, it was often difficult to get him out of your mind again. It only ever reminded you of the past few months of silence, and no one needed to be in the firing line for that– except him. 

Nevertheless, you sucked in a breath, and drank a large gulp of your wine, before you forced yourself to continue. “Well, their final game of last season. Other than the loss, and the relegation itself, they were definitely shaken up by–” You stopped, but not because of anything in your mind. 

Your heart catapulted into your throat when your eyes focused on him. Black t-shirt, black leather jacket, black jeans. His hair had grown out. He looked scruffy, and unkempt, and all the things that he hadn’t only a few months ago. You noticed his limp first, next to the steely gaze that he shot to the world around him. 

“Roy.” His name burst from your mouth.

He was fast approaching, about to pass the bar, and you didn’t want him to spot you. You weren’t in the mood to see him now. You wanted to enjoy your date, and get laid afterwards, and not think about him ever. 

Lucas hummed and nodded. “Oh, yeah. Losing Roy must have been a big change for them, you’re right.”

“No– uh,” you said, suddenly leaning forward to clutch onto Lucas’s arm. “Can we go inside? I suddenly have a really bad chill.”

Lucas widened his eyes at you in concern, but he didn’t seem to catch on. “Really? It’s still quite warm. I can grab you a blanket, would that help?” he suggested. God dammit he was so considerate, and kind, but you didn’t think a blanket would fix this. Panic set in tenfold.

You rethought your escape plan. “I– I’ll go to the loo, and grab one on my way out,” you said frantically, standing up far too quickly. 

Your leg hit the table abruptly, sending a sharp pain through your kneecap. You squeaked, and your glass toppled over suddenly. It was too late to be stopped, as it fell from the table and smashed upon the floor. Glass shards littered the concrete, and your presence was alerted to everyone at the bar, and beyond. 

Lucas got up swiftly, and clutched your arm. “Are you okay?” he asked, worried. 

“Yeah, I just–” You looked up, and you froze. 

Roy Kent stopped walking, as his eyes focused on your face. You felt your blood boil uncomfortably beneath your skin, as his gaze took in the panicked expression on your brow. The jig was up. He’d spotted you, due to your utter clumsiness, and a wave of upset ravaged in your chest. 

The first thing Roy thought when he saw you, was how much you were glowing. You hadn’t glowed like that in a while, not unless he counted the night of the charity ball, or when you’d interviewed him in his dining room. The sun settled over your shocked expression, a look that should have made you look scary, like a deer in headlights, but it only made his heart lurch. 

There was a man before you, clutching onto your arm as he asked you if you were okay again. He rounded the table and held you close, and as he did you finally looked away. You smiled at him, clearly embarrassed that you’d broken a glass and whacked yourself. That look was one that Roy recognised– you’d looked at him that like many times before.

This is what he’d allowed himself to pass by. You, and drinks in the summer, chatting over a bowl of olives as you swished a straw into a spritzer or got froth on your upper lip from a beer. He was a fucking idiot. Roy told himself this was it. He could either go over, and get you back– get it all back– or he could miss this opportunity and never fucking try. When he started walking again, you snapped your gaze back at him in warning. 

Roy chose to ignore it.

You could’ve punched him.

“What was that all about–?” Lucas said, as he followed your gaze. He stopped short as soon as he saw Roy, and smiled excitedly as he looked back at you. “Is that… Roy Kent?”

You inhaled sharply, deeply, trying to calm yourself down as a wave of anger rose from within you. “Yes. Yes, it is,” you said, giving up. There was a look on Roy’s face that you knew well, that fake smile that he put on for people, when he was pretending to be a joking version of himself.

“What a coincidence!” Lucas exclaimed. 

You hummed, trying to keep your tone light. “Massive,” you said bluntly. 

As Roy stepped towards you both, you felt your chest crumble ever so slightly. Lucas peered at him like an awestruck kid. This was the last thing you’d ever wanted to fucking happen. 

Roy gestured to the broken glass on the floor. “Think you dropped something.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” you said, as you inhaled his words for the first time in three months. Alongside your anger, you felt your throat start to close. Seeing his face again after so long was a hit. 

“Roy Kent,” Lucas said happily, sticking his hand out. Roy shot you an amused look as he leaned in and shook it. “Big fan. I’ve heard a lot about you from this one,” he said, gesturing to you affectionately. 

“Have you now?” Roy said. The sweet way he was talking was all a farce. He was playing nice for your sake, but you had a horrible feeling that he was going to go overboard. 

“Yes. All bad things,” you said, smiling sarcastically. Lucas laughed loudly, and Roy smiled overenthusiastically, like someone at a pantomime performance. It was incredibly off-putting, and made you feel slightly sick. It was probably overlaid from the deep panic you felt in your gut, amongst other things. 

Roy and Lucas parted. As they did, Lucas peered down at you. He took one look at your face– your gaze stuck on Roy bluntly and trying not to scream– and utterly misinterpreted your emotions. “Would you care to join us for a drink?” he asked Roy. 

You sucked in a breath. “Oh, no, he’s–”

“You know what,” Roy cut over you. “I’d love to.”

After a year of knowing him, you knew this was it– this would finally be the time you punched Roy Kent in his fucking face. 

CHAPTER TEN

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[warper-in-training]

Some of ya'll need to start parcticing don't like, don't read the hell.

I'm sick of this fandom, ya'll harrass writers and artists away from this fandom over dark shit you can't stomach and ignore. all you did was ruining this fandom. I will publicly say that I'm anti-harrassment, and supprtive of problematic elements in fiction. the game's main story contains elements of incest, noncon, dubcon, interspecies ships, abuse, grooming, etc and some of ya'll are crying over someone HEADCANONING smth cause of their TRAUMA.

the fuck ya'll are attacking them for? they even mentioned they have trauma of what they wrote. don't like it? DON'T READ. I personaly don't like evil Michael hcs.

does that mean I get to attack the author? NO. me being uncomfortable or triggered cause of it has nothing to do with THEM. its MY problem.

writing & hcing grooming, problematic shit, etc does NOT mean someone does it irl. nor supports it. some of ya'll tend to find a small, not so well known person in the community to harrass. hell, i even I bet ya'll harrassed @/devildomwriter over their raph x belph post. ya'll made posts about @/boxbusiness on that confesson blog too so i donr except much.

I'm dissapointed at what this community has become. leave artists alone. leave people alone.

[nikethestatue]

Is it just me, but I don’t like how in this fandom everyone is being pacified. I know of of this one YouTube channel where two women discus the “Easter eggs” that SJM put down for gywnriel, bryriel, & Elain and Tamlin. It’s the same with getting art commissioned for the next couple. Artists feel like they HAVE to also draw something to appease to Gwynriels, Bryce x Azriel shippers, & the Elain x Tamlin shippers. They are treating this fandom like “everyone is a winner” type of thing, where someone might have come in third place but they also get a prize for competing, even though they didn’t come in first place.

This isn’t the third grade where everyone gets brownie points to make everyone happy. This is about what’s the next most logical ship. I thought we were all adults. As it turns out, artists can’t even be bold about being an Elriel because they have to worry about drawing something to appease to other ships. They don’t really have to in my opinion. I am sorry.

No, we aren't all adults. That's the thing.

Most artist are doing all these double, triple arts not because they want to but because they don't want to be harassed by GAs.

GAs were so vicious back in 21-22 that artists left completely, or just decided that this wasn't worth their time and nerves and just did GA arts not to be hassled.

Like Morgana is a good example. She is a huge artist and she repeatedly, for YEARS, declined to do GA, because of a variety of reasons. But they--especially one of them--hassled her so relentlessly, she finally just said fuck it and did a GA piece. And wasn't too shy about saying just that--today she drew it because they wouldn't leave her alone.

Other artists, who were staunchly Elriel, just stopped making art entirely or don't do any more SJM art.

Even big popular writers of a few years ago were approached--and even offered money--so write GA. There were promised of 'it will open you up to such a large audience. It would be good for your exposure. You should write GA.'

Listen, I was offered $200 once to write an Elriel piece, where at the end, Elain decided to leave Azriel for Lucien, and Gwyn swept in. It was suggested as a 'compromise' for all parties apparently. And everyone would be happy and I wouldn't have to write a GA fic exclusively.

Good thing I am rich and don't need $200 and wouldn't give my info to a random GA. But yeah, there was that.

And with artists, who can actually make money on commissions, it was an offer they couldn't refuse.