#they are dating now ofc

[lunian]

still thinking this moment in the morning after Astarion tried to bite Gale for the first time was so damn funny

[chiroptophobiawrites]

lowkey trying to read x readers for certain batfam members is such an experience cause the ‘top’ side of the tag has the same 10 fics, but then the ‘latest’ side has random naked people, batmom/batsis reader, or like shared batfam reader and im just like 🤕.

Please i don’t wanna be his mamma or his sister or be with the whole fam bro, what is going on here.

[wikiangela]

several sentence sunday

tagged by @hippolotamus

sooo bucktommy won me over, i couldn't resist anymore 🙈 so here's a bit of them after their date lol just to be clear, im still 10000% about buddie but im gonna enjoy this while it lasts bc I feel like this is exactly what buck needs rn lol I just wanna write him be giddy and stupid and flustered about a boy even if that's not eddie haha (also, I didn't get the Tommy hype before but after seeing him everywhere for two days... I get it now 🥵)

___

"(...) We should do this again.” Tommy says, turning fully towards Buck, and Buck’s eyes immediately find his lips. He can’t wait to kiss him again, and this would be the time, at the end of the date, wouldn’t it?

“We should.” Buck nods, licks his lips, eyes darting up to Tommy’s eyes. He’s smiling softly, just looking at Buck. “I-” he starts, and then thinks, fuck it, and this time he makes a move, as he leans across the console to grab Tommy’s chin, like he did Buck’s in his kitchen, and bring him in for a kiss. Tommy immediately reciprocates, and Buck melts against him, and then when Tommy’s calloused hand covers his cheek, it just feels so- so different, in the best way possible. This kiss lasts longer than the first one, each of them constantly coming back for more, but it’s as gentle and tender as that one. Buck loves it, and can’t help smiling into it. He wants more. “Hey.” Buck says, finally pulling away, licks his spit-covered lips nervously. “Do you- do you maybe wanna come in for a beer?” he asks shyly, and at Tommy’s surprised expression and raised eyebrow he realizes it might sound like he’s inviting him for more than a beer, and he panics again. “I- I- I mean, just a beer. And maybe- maybe more of this.” he pecks Tommy’s lips again, not able to resist a smile. “But just a beer. I don’t think I’m- But who knows, maybe-” he stumbles over his words, because the truth is, he wants Tommy, he wants… he wants so much, he wants to experience so much for the first time – it’s just that he’s not sure if it’s not too quick for this relationship, and for him.

“Evan.” Tommy interrupts, bringing his other hand up, now cradling Buck’s face in both, thumbs moving soothingly along Buck’s cheeks. “Your pace, remember? No pressure, no rush.”

“You’re really cool, you know that?” Buck whispers.

“So I keep hearing.” Tommy chuckles, and it’s adorable. He kisses Buck again, and the butterflies in Buck’s stomach go crazy. Fuck, he doesn't remember the last time he felt this giddy and excited and just light. “I’d love to come in for a beer.”

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @neverevan @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @theotherbuckley @buddieswhvre @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @bidisasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @tizniz @your-catfish-friend

[lunarin64art]

That feeling when he can't stand to see you that way, no matter what you do, no matter what you say😩😭💔

[damatically]

OH OF COURSE WE HAVE TO SUGGEST THIS LMAOOO

Also

Mammon is into MC from the very start no matter what?? 🤧😭😭 he'll love me in every timeline

[daincrediblegg]

Think it’d be really cute that when Dream has a crush and he’s like tryina flex that he’ll like recite you a shakespearian sonnet or a romantic or gothic poem and when he’s done he’s like “I helped! 🥰” like he’s low-key nerdy about it and super tries to hide it waiting to see if you appreciate it but fucking low-key BEAMS when you do and want to talk analysis of this stuff with him

[luyo-mi]

yall ever just design a new outfit for barbie

[latibvles]

“a real tough cookie with the whiskey breath.”

oh blind dates oc fest my beloved how i missed you. to the surprise of no one, because i cannot be quiet about anything ever : a MOTA OC this time around. i'm sure this bar probably has a name to be found somewhere on the internet, but until I come across it [ big cartoony shrug ]. anyways, here's Genevieve Laurent, or Gen, if you're friendly. @blind-dates-fest ♡

Tom’s is only a fifteen minute bike ride away. The pay is good, she gets to keep all her tips, and her boss, for lack of a better term — downright adores her.

That’s never been the reason why she’s stuck with it all this time, though. There were better paying jobs in equal distance, and if she really, really wanted to, she thinks she’d do a pretty okay job packing parachutes or something of a similar vein. Respectable work, her mother would call it, which was secret code for: work that will keep you out of trouble, and possibly off the street before midnight. But that was really what it came down to: whether Genevieve wanted to do it. And for all the respect she had for those women, she knew that wasn’t the thing that called to her — not like it did to Claire, who was now off in London with the best and brightest, working in the Foreign Office.

Whatever that meant.

Much more glamorous than Genevieve’s own station, and she’s fairly certain none of their mother’s letters are imploring Claire to quit anytime soon. She was almost apologetic, in a way, that she couldn’t entice her family with letters filled with omissions, with work so secret she could hardly speak of it — but the beer wouldn’t pour itself and somebody had to do it after all those hours in flight.

“Thought you were leaving me out to dry tonight, sweetheart,” There’s a solid hand gripping her shoulder and squeezing, and Tom gives her a smile that’s all crows feet and genuine appreciation. Of course, the place wasn’t actually called Tom’s — but the sign was so faded that she and the other girls just tended to refer to it by the name of their esteemed publican. Genevieve returns the smile.

“And miss out on all this? Wouldn’t dream of it.” As if to accent her point, there’s a wave of hoots and hollering from the floor beyond the bar — no doubt from a bet won or a game of darts coming to its speedy conclusion. The song of the end of the work day. He gives her shoulder a shake, then lets go.

“Do me a favor and take those whiskeys to the table in the back? I think Elsie’s got caught up out there,” she follows his gaze to one of the other girls on shift —Elsie’s smile is easy and the tray on the table is empty, but she’s chatting up a storm at a table of men in brown uniforms. And Genevieve can’t exactly blame her, because while they knew practically every member of the RAF who came in and out on their days off, Americans were a sight to behold. Which is probably why Tom is sending her to the table in the back, with the hopes that she’ll be speedy.

“Yessir,” Genevieve hums, taking the tray of glasses with little fuss, making her way across the bustling floor with practiced hustle.

It’s not the pay that keeps her here, or the warmth of her boss. Not even the fact that she could do every job in this place, if she had to.

Genevieve had a penchant for poking her nose into places for the thrill of it — and there really was no thrill quite like conversation with people who had time to kill and liquor in their systems.

She recognizes the RAF officer at the table: David Griffiths, who Claire knew better than Genevieve did. She’d laughed when Claire told her he joined the RAF, and as an officer, no less. He’d been meek before the war, to put it lightly — maybe that slate-colored uniform and dark blue tie gave him the confidence he once lacked, she didn’t know. And then a couple regulars from around town. So the one in a brown uniform as opposed to their English blue sticks out like a sore thumb, and her curiosity is piqued in spite of David’s attempt to draw her attention with his smile alone.

“Thought old Tom was keeping you in the back tonight.”

“You know, it’s much easier to simply say you missed me, Griffiths,” she hums, leaning over to set down the tray. “Whiskeys for the table, yeah?” David clears his throat and makes a show of adjusting his cuffs, flaunting the new insignia adorning his sleeve as he had for every promotion prior. Genevieve straightens out, wraps her arm around his shoulder to pick off a stray thread.

“Captain Griffiths, congratulations,” Genevieve acknowledges just for the sake of him, then diverts her attention to look over the table, eyes settling on the new face staring right back at her. His dark hair curls over his forehead, with a straight nose and a pretty pair of lips — the wings on his jacket are catching lamplight. The smile on his face is what’s got her the most curious. “And who’ve you brought to cause trouble in Tom’s respectable place of business?”

The smile grows, the stranger leans back in his seat.

“No trouble over here ma’am, not unless you hate singin’.” His voice is deep and gravelly and, well, very American. His tone goes up at the end of the sentence, like it’s a question she’s meant to answer, and Genevieve wonders if it still counts as a bait when she can recognize it for what it is. She raises her brows, David’s hand curls around her wrist loosely as if to remind her that he’s there.

“Only if it’s bad.”

“Best keep your mouth shut then, Major, wouldn’t want to cause a scene,” around them, the other men chuckle at David’s quip — Genevieve pulls her wrist from his barely-there grasp as the Major raises his glass to his lips, before waving a hand dismissively on the swallow.

“Don’t listen to him, I’m like a canary over here.” He draws out each syllable, his smile only growing. She doesn’t believe him for a second.

“Well, Major, make sure not to shatter any glasses with your tunes and you’ll have soothed all my worries,” He chuckles at that, sitting back in the chair and Genevieve looks him up and down rather shamelessly before patting Griffiths’ shoulder. “Enjoy your evening, boys.”

Genevieve knows the feeling well — that sensation of eyes tracking her every movement as she walks away. She’d call it a sixth sense, the way she can make the distinction between the slighted nature of Griffiths’ staring as opposed to the more welcome lingering look of the Major, who’s name she’d surely get by the end of the night. If Claire were here, she’d probably laugh, then apologize to Griffiths for her little sister’s fleeting attention span, accompanied with some remark about how Genevieve had a penchant for things shiny and new. Genevieve would beg to differ and say it was more like she had a penchant for the things she didn’t understand.

And so what if she liked the staring, and leaving the air more charged than she’d found it?

Regardless of the interaction, the night wears on, and so long as the taps are flowing Genevieve is busy enough to keep from staring at the back table for too long. At some point, they stand up and make their way toward the dartboard (and Elsie with them, who shoots her a wink from across the room that has her laughing and Tom groaning from their spots behind the bar). Luckily, she’s only gone for maybe fifteen minutes — and she comes back with orders for Tom, before scurrying over and leaning forward on the bar.

“Better straighten up over there, Genny,” Elsie leans forward further to tuck one of Genevieve’s stray hairs behind her ear.

“Back from your mission so soon?”

“Well I had to make sure the prize was in place.” Genevieve raises an inquisitive brow.

“And that means..?”

“It means—” Elsie is effectively cut off by another round of hollering, and Genevieve knows the grin on the other girl’s face all too well. Elsie turns around and she follows the girl’s eyes to several things. One, Griffiths walking out of the pub, two, Major Canary laughing as he makes his way over and three, a conglomerate of Irishmen clapping his shoulders and shaking them in congratulations. “Well now we know who the winner is. Good luck!”

Before Genevieve can get a word in, Elsie’s scurrying back over to Tom on the other end of the bar to grab the drinks he’s lined up. She turns her back to the floor, but still hears a heavy exhale as someone takes a seat behind her. Then she tilts her head to look, and makes little attempt to withhold her smile as the dots connect fairly quickly in her head.

“Major Canary,” Genevieve hums in greeting. “Am I getting you anything?”

“Whiskey’s fine,” He looks around, like he’s taking a survey of the room, then turns to rest both elbows on the polished wood as she grabs one of the glasses that’s already dried. “Think you got me in trouble with your boyfriend back there,” he laments with a grin, running his thumb over his bottom lip.

“Who, me?” Genevieve slides the glass along the countertop. “You might have the wrong girl, sir.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?” He takes that tone again — so clearly baiting her and Genevieve is, admittedly, a little too eager to take what he’s giving this time.

“Well for one, I don’t have a boyfriend,” she hums, holding up the pointer finger, and then her middle one, “And two, I’m willing to wager it was the dart game that got you in trouble, Major.” She slides the glass over the countertop, and he takes it. He’s closer now than he was at the table — she can finally make out that his eyes are blue, like the RAF uniforms.

“Yeah? How much are you willing to bet?”

“Well, how much did you earn in your game? Must’ve been a hefty sum for the Captain to walk out like that.” Genevieve leans forward on the bar now, tilting her head as she looks at him, already knowing the answer. His eyes flit over her face and down the length of her neck, following the curve of her shape before the bar cuts off his vantage point, then he goes back to returning her stare. He brings the glass to his lips, then licks off the excess before he opens his mouth again.

“A shot with the pretty girl serving drinks tonight? Pretty priceless if you ask me.”

“Well that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one,” Genevieve remarks with an airy laugh.

“But it made you laugh. Must be doing something right.” He counters, and she laughs again with a roll of her eyes. “See? Just did it again.” Genevieve shakes her head slightly.

“Well if my company’s so priceless why haven’t you asked my name yet? Bragging rights and all that.” It’s hardly the bait of their earlier conversation — but it’s something, and she wonders if he recognizes it for what it is, like she had at the table. He finishes off the glass, pushing it back to her with his fingertips and holding her gaze all-the-while.

“Well my bragging was gonna be making you laugh ‘till your boss throws me out, but I should probably get the name so I know who to ask for next time, right?” She takes his glass, and moves to fill it again — feeling both like the belle of a ball and like one of those wood logs in a fireplace crumbling into charcoals, giving off sparks. Somewhere in the back of her head, Claire is screaming at her to stop dancing so close to cliffsides before she takes a tumble she’ll regret, but right now she doesn’t feel any ground giving way beneath her feet.

“Genevieve. Gen, if you’re friendly.” She hums out, taking her time on his refill with the express purpose of keeping him there a little longer. The laugh he lets out is breathy, almost disbelieving, and she looks back up at him through her lashes. “Your turn, or should I just keep calling you Major Canary?”

“My turn, she says,” he mutters, probably more to himself than her even if she can hear it. She passes the glass back over. “Well if we’re being friendly it’s Bucky. Egan.” He exaggerates it — the word friendly, but Genevieve’s really hanging on the ‘if’. She feels almost like a kid picking apart words to prove her point. She should’ve been a lawyer. ‘If’ meant she had options, and maybe she feels a little prideful; to know she has control of where this thing goes. It’s a rush. The kind she wouldn’t get packing parachutes or up in an office. The kind only another person could give her.

The ground gives a little beneath her feet, but Genevieve is undeterred.

“But I take it you’re aiming for a little more than that, is that right, Bucky?”

The smug grin on his face is as much of an answer as any.

And it excites her down to her bones.

[please-help-this-little-lesbian]

I Miss 2020

I miss 2020. I miss when I pulled up Folklore on Spotify and rediscovered Taylor and freaked out over Evermore and watched Miss Americana and thought Taylor was the greatest person on earth. I miss being ignorant and being able to enjoy her music in peace. I'm no stranger to her controversies (I used to have a blog dedicated to her but deleted it after the Ginny & Georgia fiasco), but somehow I convinced myself to just move on. It was my white privilege I guess, that told me I could still maintain a relationship with her. (Albeit a critical one).

But now?

I just can't. I can't defend her anymore. Taylor's not an idiot. Her team aren't idiots. They know full well who M*tty He*lly is and they don't care. They are, in their good conscience, associating (and in Taylor's case dating) He*ally, a (now) known racist, anti-semite, queerphobe, Islamaphobe, etc. They don't care about who he is. Taylor doesn't care about who he is. She's just in it for herself. And I in good faith cannot continue supporting her. Like, at all. And I feel so lost.

I have multiple of her CDs. She was my top artist on Spotify wrapped last year. I have a fucking CALENDER of her on my wall. She meant a lot to me. Her music means a lot to me. Just last week I was flipping out over Spean Now TV. But how can I listen to it now? How can I still give her my money knowing who she truly is? I can't hide from it anymore.

For those who say this a PR stunt, it's a fucking horrible one. If I were on her team I would have shut this down before it even started. "All press is good press" well sometimes the press isn't worth it. Sometimes it blows up in your face. And I HOPE it blows up in Taylor's face. I hope she regrets this for the rest of her life. Because she should know better! Her team should know better! Shame on them! Taylor, who made a whole documentary about her "stepping into politics" and standing up for minority rights, should know enough that she needs to stick to her word. But she also knows she's a rich white billionaire so IG we know what truly drives her morals.

And for those who say M*tty's just doing a bit or that we should just let her be happy, A) M*tty is a grown-ass man. A grown-ass man does not use bigotry as a "bit" in good conscience. If he thinks it's funny as a bit then he thinks it's funny actually. B) Nobody's happiness is worth more than those who are hurt by it, celebrity or not. Taylor is 33. She knows what she's doing. She sees the controversy. And she's basking in it.

To all the Jewish, Muslim, and POC swifties who are hurting right now, I'm so sorry. You deserve someone better. Your pain is more valid than her money. You have my utmost support.

[destinationtoast]

Snogging Rebecca was like making out with a grandfather clock: intimidatingly large and elegant, with more hidden complexity than you might first imagine.

- Keeley, in a fic I dreamt I was writing last night

[pixelatedraindrops]

RAINCODE 4KOMA COMIC PROJECT

This is another project that I'm currently working on with @kazinsblog! We adore makoyuma and they're our number one faves.

So we decided to make a little 4koma style side special of Kazin's mini series "The Kanai Ward Case Files"

This intro is the only normal comic in this story.

Prologue: Flu season hits worldwide, and Makoto calls Yuma one day and gives him the warning. Yuma notices his congested voice so he wants to head to to Kanai Ward to check on him. But meanwhile, Yuma is trying his best to hold his cough as he talks on the line. Only to suffer the fit after Makoto hangs up. He isn't well either.

When Yuma arrives in Kanai Tower finding Makoto completely disheveled and passed out at his work desk, he ushers the stuffy CEO to bed. The two were shown pushing themselves while being sick alone. But now that they're together, these stubborn workaholics will finally rest and break from their duties in order to take care of each other.

further information below

Of course since I'm involved in this project, they're obviously not going to be doing well... XD But this story is going to be a lot more fun and lighthearted than others I have written. (It's essentially written in a silly sick filler episode of a cartoon kind of vibe) meaning less whump, and more sick comfort and hilarity. There may be a few somewhat whumpy ones here and there (I can't resist) but it won't be as common.

Full Story Summary:

This RainCode fan side story revolves around slice of life comedy 4koma style strips with scenes of Yuma and Makoto being sick together and spending time with each other in Kanai Tower for about a week. They both have different halves of cold symptoms, Yuma with throat based, and Makoto with nasal based. (hence the title) Various cute and wacky stuff happen between the two and their bond grows stronger spending this sick week together away from their duties as detective and CEO. They may be sick and miserable, but at least they're in it together! What could possibly go wrong?

The comic strips will be drawn by Kazin, but there will be some bonus art that the two of us will work on together (similar to the title which was a collab by us both)

Also, both of us agreed that these strips should be posted on my blog rather than Kazin's. Reason being is that this story is based on illness and my blog is half an illness blog so it makes more sense to share it to mine. You all likely expect this sort of thing from me at this point anyway… XD (I’m also the director so I write the descriptions of them.)

And this series will continue to be ongoing so long as Kazin and I have ideas. (we currently have almost 100 strips planned)

I will update this in separate posts whenever more strips get fully digitally drawn by Kazin whenever she can work on them. With the tag #kanaiwardcasefiles h&h. Some strips will be random, some will be two parters, and some will have a timeline or are connected to others.

We both hope you look forward to this project! There will be a lot of funny and cute moments between these two, so we hope you makoyuma enjoyers are excited!

Also bit of a fun fact: This was inspired by when my mother and I had covid late April 2024. Something similar happened to us, and we each had one cold-like symptom more than the other. So I thought of this idea!

[duahauuoplanh]

[shimamitsu]

it sucks that if stl doesn't get a s2 many anime onlys won't get to experience the shift from (even though engaging and emotional) light hearted slice of life to like... in depth character study that makes you wanna climb walls. if that makes sense

[marchsage]

world's most well-adjusted daughter

[jimmyspades]

[acronym49]

more Plush Designs!!! Any interaction is always welcome☆ (especially given how long I've spent on these-)