#this community really is done

[lucastheoclarington]

I suppose it's a good thing all you r*pe and abuse apologists out yourselves by publishing hate against Amber Heard right on your rules, but also fuck you.

[dazzle02]

So I keep seeing people say they want Buck to slowly move into Tommy's house without really realising it's happening, and I get the cuteness that could bring out and the humour too. But we've had that with Buck twice. He suddenly just realised he was living at Abby's place without either of them discussing it. And he realised Taylor had pretty much moved in without them meaning for it to happen too (before he asked her to, when she was dealing with her Dad stuff).

And that was a whole thing. It's what Bobby said. About how he finds himself in these relationships without really knowing how he got there. And this was said directly after Buck said he thought Taylor had kinda been living with him.

I want Buck and Tommy to decide they want to live together. Yes, they're both already comfortable in each others spaces, but they don't accidentally find themselves living together. One of them brings up the idea of living together, with absolutely no mention of "I mean we've basically been living together for months now" or anything like that. They just realise that they miss each other when they don't spend the night together, and when their shifts don't line up to give them time together. And so one asks the other if they wanna move in, and they talk about it and decide that they are ready for that and they want that.

It's deliberate.

And it can go as fast as you want. It can be that they've been dating four months and already wanna live together, or it can be that they take their time and don't live together until they've been dating for over a year.

But it's all deliberate and there's no accidental moving in. Because Buck's done that before and it didn't go well and this relationship is supposed to be different.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I ABSOLUTELY ADORE YOUR SQQ HE LOOKS SO FUCKINH DONE WITH LIFE

The recipe for SQQ is: calm on the outside, screaming on the inside.

[baconplasm]

(hands them over)

[anghraine]

"Much knowledge that was forgotten because it wasn't needed for many years has been recovered" sounds like something out of a fantasy novel, but it's actually from Voyager mission engineer Kareem Badaruddin wrt Voyager 1, and one of various awesome quotes in this article about the possible effective death of the Voyager 1 mission.

[unknownjesterr]

im so done with tumblr

[gentlespriting]

consolidated all the upcoming assignments this morning...there's so much to do :')

submitted 1/4 of my assignments !! 🙌 🙌

hot pot for one (hdl soup packet that my mum bought) 🍲

[blueskittlesart]

deeply refreshing to see someone critical of Swift who also like, genuinely likes her. Like i'm neutral to positive on her, but the online discourse has been absolutely rancid. flipping between "Taylor Swift has never done anything wrong ever and she's a fucking genius" and "Taylor Swift is the worst lyricist of all time and also a bad person" is exhausting, so thank you for like. nuance or something lmao

not to make it serious for a sec but i genuinely think that being able to like things that are bad is really important. like I think that it's an important skill to be able to look at something and see what you personally enjoy about it and then take a step back and acknowledge that objectively it's flawed. and to also be able to acknowledge that liking something isn't necessarily an identity or a moral stance. and i think that fandom space in general could really benefit from more people taking the time to learn how to do that. it's okay to like things that are bad

[queenlucythevaliant]

Just to clarify my thoughts (since I've had a number of people ask me about it) re: Job and cursing God. There's a big difference between cursing God as used in Scripture and how we generally would think of cursing at God today.

Cursing someone, in the Bible, has a lot of depth to it. It's not just saying "screw you " in anger, it's got a sense of forsakenness to it. It's the opposite of a blessing, a removal of blessing. If the blessing is presence, your face shining on the person you're blessing, then a curse is absence. In some translations, Job's wife tells him to "renounce God and die," which I honestly think makes a lot more sense to modern ears.

Job says a lot of unpleasant things to and about God in his anger and grief. So do the Psalmists. A number of the Prophets. So can we. God can take it if we come to him with honest expressions of our emotion, including those not-so-nice ones directed at him. I don't think there's anything wrong with getting mad at God and saying, "How dare you, you bastard" when you suffer unjustly. You can say much worse, I think, without sinning, though I don't feel particularly inclined to give examples. But as long as it's an honest expression of your heart, I think you're doing exactly what prayer is for. You're presenting him your heart with an open hand. He can use that. Opposite of love is not hate but indifference, etc.

Job doesn't renounce God. Neither should we. But I think when you're truly suffering, you're gonna have those feelings toward God either way. He'd rather you address them with him directly than try to avoid them. Cursing at God in the modern sense is actually a great way to keep the relationship strong and not end up cursing/renouncing him in the Biblical sense.

[aropride]

if you add fandom discourse bullshit like this to posts about how to spot and escape cults you are my worst enemy and i hate you specifically

[dont-offend-the-bees]

If the Shoe Fits, Then I Won’t Try It On

Omg I made it! Threw this one together today, so might not be my best! But thanks to my pal @every-moment-a-different-sound making these gorgeous gifs for my fic Outside Looking In, and also @wordsinhaled writing this lovely little fic inspired by it, I felt compelled to pop back in and give the disguise altar egos a little love! So this one is set pre-canon, about seven years into the boys' friendship/detective agency, and it's the first outing of the disguises (in their very early and imperfect forms! I like to think Charles has been experimenting over the years and the ones we've seen in show are just like, the latest versions!). It can really only be called case fic by the barest technicality but it's the best I got xD There's some nebulous Edwin gender-feelings, I'll leave it up to your personal preferences/interpretation whether it's a bit of transfem/nonbinary/genderqueer joy or just a boy's formative experience with drag, this baby can fit so much gender!! And references to fictionalised alcohol abuse, gambling and infidelity, but it's all just banter and tall tales, really. 2k, T-rated, also available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

"Perhaps we ought to rethink this strategy," Edwin muttered, fussing with his skirts.

"Relax, it'll be fine," said Charles. "No one's gonna suspect anything."

"They may suspect something," said Edwin. His voice sounded different, but the tone was one Charles had heard a thousand times before — pessimistic and haughty. Edwin seemed to pick up extra helpings of poshness when he was rattled. "They needn’t ascertain the exact nature of our ruse to know we're playing one."

"What? You think they're gonna be expecting someone to go in for fake marriage counselling?" Charles laughed.

"Stranger things have happened, Charles." Edwin spread his hand and swept it, gesturing between them and their magical disguises. "Q.E.D."

Charles looked at him blankly.

"Quod erat demonstrandum."

"Mate. They haven't taught Latin in that school for donkey's years."

Edwin made a noise of frustration — it had a bit of a high pitched, trilling quality with his fancy new vocal chords. "What I mean to say is that you and I are — figuratively speaking — living proof that real life is stranger than fiction."

"Well, yeah. But only to people who know ghosts exist," Charles reasoned. "And if this lady knew that, our client wouldn't've needed to come to us, would she? She'd've haunted the information out of her already."

Edwin exhaled, a quick, nasal huff like a bull, and pinched the bridge of his nose. His fingers bumped the chunky plastic frames of his enchanted glasses. "Pity. If she could see us, there'd be no need of these ridiculous costumes."

"I think we look brills," Charles beamed, proudly straightening out his big red rain mac. Sure, the disguises weren't perfect — he was still getting the hang of tweaking the enchantment. And yeah, he'd ballsed up his own bald spot at first, made it too big and just a little bit sort of... Australia-shaped. But all in all, he thought they looked mint! No one was gonna suspect them of anything, couple of old geezers. Who'd think they were a crack detective team?

Edwin was obviously having a harder time settling into character. He kept on faffing about with his unfamiliar layers of flowy clothing. Kept tugging on his little blue cashmere scarf, changing his mind on the drape of it — getting thrown whenever a tug of the fabric dislodged the waves of hair on his shoulders. Charles really hadn't got the hang of hair, just yet. He'd been aiming for something a bit classic and classy for Edwin, something honey-blonde and neatly coiffed. Instead he'd ended up with straw-like, brittle strands of peroxide white with... maybe just a hint of green. Charles would have to get that sorted out sharpish before they brought these disguises out again. Edwin would never let himself walk around looking less than his best if he had any say in it!

Charles turned to him, properly, grabbing Edwin's restless hands away from his scarf. "Eds. You look fine. Nice, even! Leave it."

Edwin glared at him, brow wrinkled. If Charles was being honest, the weirdest thing about seeing Edwin like this wasn't the fact that he looked blonder or older or, well. Like a woman. No, weirdest thing by far was how much thinner his eyebrows were. Charles had probably made them a bit too thin, he'd have to fix that, too. They were decent eyebrows! Visible, at least. But they were skinny and pale and neatly plucked, no little dusty dark hairs in between. Charles sort of missed them. He'd gotten used to those thick, dark brows scrunching up at him like grumpy caterpillars when Edwin was ticked off about something.

"It hardly matters if I look nice, Charles," he said, with a little belligerent flick of his hair that sent it flying. Charles probably should've made him a hairband or something — all long and loose, Edwin couldn't seem to get his hair off his mind. "But I do need to look convincing."

"You do! It's a good disguise, mate — made it special, didn't I?"

"I never said it wasn't." Edwin sighed, eyes fluttering closed a moment. Charles winced — maybe he'd overdone it a bit with the eyeshadow. There was a bit of colour-clashing going on, but hey-ho. Sort that in the next edit, too. "I am not concerned with the quality of the work, Charles."

"What is it, then?" asked Charles, dropping Edwin's hands to squeeze his shoulders instead. "What's got you all het up?"

Edwin shifted on his feet. His high heels clicked on the concrete porch. "I am merely concerned that I'm not... wearing it well," he said, a little bit through his teeth. "I don't want to compromise the entire investigation because I'm unable to act in a... befitting manner."

"Well, you're not gonna. Mate, you're doing brills." Charles smoothed down the big, floppy collar on Edwin's trenchcoat — he tried to do a Casablanca thing, but he might've gone a bit overboard — and grinned at him. "You're a natural. The way you stand all straight and that. Christ, you could've been walking in them heels for years! You're smashing it. For reals."

Edwin ducked his head, with the smallest smile. It was so Edwin that Charles could almost see the shape of him through the disguise; high, sharp bones under those rouged apple cheeks. Could almost spy that little spot on his chin. Actually, the chin wasn't a million miles off Edwin's own, with that barely noticeable little dimple in the middle. Maybe Charles had been taking some inspiration, subconsciously.

"I don't come across... peculiar?" asked Edwin.

"No. 'Course not." Charles sighed and patted his shoulders. "But look. If it's too weird for you, I can be the girl."

Edwin's brow twitched.

Alright. So maybe Charles could've worded that better. He coughed and took a step back, shoving hands in his pockets. "I mean, y'know. Bet I can manage it. How hard can it be? Probably won't be as like, chic as you, but I could give it a go."

Edwin pursed his lips, looking off to the side. He was fiddling with the rings on his fingers — maybe Charles had overdone them too, a bit.

"It... doesn't feel strange," said Edwin, quiet as a mouse. He couldn't seem to look Charles in the eyes. "It doesn't feel strange at all."

Charles smiled, all warm in the chest. Edwin had been a closed-off, buttoned-up sort of chap as long as Charles had known him — seven years and counting. Every time he offered up something of himself, Charles wanted to cup it in his hands.

"Oi," he said, gently, waiting for Edwin to look at him. "Suits you, mate."

Edwin smiled again, a barely-there twitch of his tinted lips. But he gathered himself quickly, clearing his throat and adjusting his scarf. "Well. We'd best be be getting on. We're due for our 'appointment' any minute now."

"Right."

"Shall we walk through the plan once more?"

"Go in, introduce ourselves, spin a backstory for a bit, make her think we're legit," said Charles. "Angle for a bit of one-on-one time. I keep talking, see if I can get her to slip up, drop us a hint — while you sneak off, search the office."

"Spot on," said Edwin, with a brisk nod. "According to our client, this woman writes down everything. No doubt she stores her more sensitive journals somewhere apart from the rest, somewhere discreet. Find the journals..."

"Find the body," Charles agreed, tilting his head side to side to crack his neck. "She'll have written down what she did with it for sure."

"Precisely. Right. That's the aim." Edwin steepled his fingers. "And we are...?"

"Edie and Colin Cromley," Charles replied, automatic. He should bloody well hope he knew that one — he'd had to put up with Edwin calling him Colin all night, trying to get him into character.

"Correct. And we are here because of discord in our marriage, resulting in my alcohol dependence and your extramarital affair."

Charles frowned. "Right..."

Edwin cocked his head a little. "Is there a problem?"

"You, uh. You ever actually been drunk before, mate?"

"Not as such, no," said Edwin, primly. "But, as we've quite thoroughly ascertained, I've never been a woman before, either."

Charles snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Fair point."

Edwin's manicured finger hovered over the doorbell. "Right. Are we quite ready?"

"Yeah," Charles mumbled, fidgeting on his feet. "Yeah, s'pose."

Slowly, Edwin lowered his hand. "Charles. We must be on the same page if we're to go inside and sell a convincing fiction."

"Just... feels a bit weird, is all."

"Why? You've always enjoyed undercover work in the past."

Charles shrugged. "Just... feels off. I wouldn't do that to you, y'know? Cheat, I mean. If we were married."

Edwin stared at him. "But we're... not married."

"Yeah, obviously." Charles felt all hot in the face, embarrassed. He should've just kept his big mouth shut. "Just saying, like — I wouldn't mess around on you like that. Or anyone," he added, quickly, because he was making things weird again, fuck's sake —

"Charles," said Edwin, amused. "Are you having ethical qualms about the character you're playing in this scenario?"

And alright, yeah. It sounded bloody ridiculous when you put it like that. Charles huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just — it's hard, yeah? Dunno how I'd even pretend I'd screw you around like that."

Edwin hummed, toying thoughtfully with the dangly end of his scarf. "Perhaps... I could play the unfaithful partner?"

"You want to?"

"... No. No, not particularly." He pressed his fists together. "Hm. Perhaps infidelity is the wrong narrative for Mr. and Mrs. Cromley."

"Not believable, is it?"

Edwin chuckled. "No. No, I suppose not. Hm. Back to the drawing board..."

Charles mulled it over, tugging on his earlobe. "How about... right, okay, how about, yeah, if I have a secret gambling problem?"

"That does feel more authentic — we've had plenty of words about your impulsive decision-making," Edwin teased. He nodded, eyes sharp as he formulated the new story in that big brain of his. "Very well, a gambling problem is it. You've been losing money at the races —"

"Reckon I'm more of a footie bloke. Big bets on the big games."

"You've been losing money at various sporting events," Edwin corrected, rolling his eyes. "And the extent of your debt has recently come to my attention."

"You should see how much I lost on the cricket world cup," said Charles, seriously.

"Oh, believe you me, I did. Hence, marriage counselling."

"And boozing."

"Indeed. I knew the problem needed addressing a month ago," said Edwin, fingers gesticulating as he spun his little yarn. "When I visited our local public house for a consolatory tipple and became positively sozzled on sherry."

Charles chuckled. "Sure you wanna go with sherry?"

"Is it not appropriate?"

"I mean. It's fine," said Charles, raising his hands. "Nothing wrong with it! Just doesn't sound like your usual sort of, uh, blackout drunk sort of booze. Never heard of anyone going on a sherry bender."

"Well, what would be your suggestion?" Edwin challenged.

Charles wasn't actually sure, come to think of it. What did middle-aged classy ladies drink to get sloshed? "Um... well. Me and the lads used to get pissed on White Lightning after school."

"Very well, then. I overindulged on White Lightning. Happy?"

"Aces."

"Right. Well, now that's all straightened out..." Edwin lifted his finger to the bell again. "Shall we?"

"Go for it."

Edwin rang the bell — and when he dropped his hand, Charles picked it up. Edwin looked at him, quizzical.

"What?" said Charles. "Meant to be a couple, in't we?"

"One in the throes of marital strife," said Edwin, a little smile on his lips. "I doubt we'll be expected to be affectionate."

"Right. 'Course not," Charles agreed — but he didn't let go.

Edwin chuckled, and stayed put. His hand felt small, smaller than it ever had the few times Charles had held it — usually when he was hauling Edwin out of harm's way. Small and bony, lined with soft wrinkles, dotted in sun spots. Couldn't be much further from Edwin's long, lean, smooth hands if it tried.

But it fit in Charles' hand just the same.

~~

Hope you liked it! Probs won't be one tomorrow unless I can whip up something suuuuper short/quick or I find an existing WIP to polish off, but there'll defo be fic on Sunday! Thank you so much for all your love and comments I seriously appreciate them beyond words 💛💛💛💛💛💛

[raineandsky]

#127

The lock on the door is an easy pick, and with one final touch the door clicks open and allows the villain inside.

Now, the villain is usually well above petty crime. He’s done his fair share of thieving. He’s pick-pocketed, he’s robbed, and yeah, sure, he’s broken into places here and there. But his life is actually fun now, thanks to a villainous promotion and some less of the dirty work, and so stealing ended up rather low on his list of fun weekend activities.

It’s not a weekend, though, and it sure as hell isn’t fun either. This is business, and goddamn if the villain isn’t a professional.

He glances at the screen of the phone in his hand, checking and rechecking the picture he took of the supervillain’s instructions. If only the supervillain wasn’t trained to be a doctor, his handwriting might be somewhat legible. He is though, unfortunately, and the villain is wishing he’d just typed up the words when he had the time before.

I’ve had a ‘tip’ on [Hero]’s address. The villain can just about make the words out. It’s like a word puzzle, which he is notoriously bad at already. I have reason to believe she’s got some important documents in there. Infiltrate, find her stash of secrets, and bring it in.

Easy enough. The fun part of stealing was usually finding the most expensive object, though, and the villain has an inkling that some paperwork won’t exactly make him a millionaire. He tucks the phone into his pocket, taking a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness before shutting the door behind him and exploring.

He finds a living room, a bathroom, a kitchen, the fridge, ooh she has good taste. The villain plucks a punnet of grapes from the fridge and tosses one into his mouth. The supervillain has him on late nights—he doesn’t have time for dinner at the moment. The hero will have to survive without her grapes.

The office feels like stumbling across a mine of incredibly boring, inexpensive gold. The villain takes to rooting through the piles of papers mounting on the desk. All plain, civilian problems—bills, taxes, a newsletter from the mayor. Nothing exactly incriminating.

“What are you doing in my house?”

Who the hell is awake at three in the morning? The villain wasn’t that loud coming in. He turns dramatically, expecting to make his first introduction to the hero, but he isn’t faced with the hero. He isn’t faced with a hero at all.

An old lady is standing in the doorway, her glasses perched wonkily on her nose and a baseball bat in her hands. The bat is kind of menacing, at first, but then she has to awkwardly adjust her glasses and the illusion is gone.

The villain’s mind is short-circuiting. That’s not a goddamn hero. What the hell has the superhero gotten him into? What the hell is he meant to do with a bat-wielding civilian?

“You’re deaf as well as unlawful,” she adds drily.

“No, no.” The villain's cool demeanour is slipping too fast. “No, I can hear just fine, thank you.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?”

The bat taps pointedly against the woman’s palm. She’d probably injure herself trying to swing it at him. That thought alone is vaguely comforting. Only vaguely, though—she’s still wielding a baseball bat.

“What are you doing in my house?”

“I am here,” the villain starts slowly, “to rob you blind.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. He didn’t expect to run into anyone, much less a civilian, much much less a little old lady. He’s running on a bank of prewritten sentences he used in his thieving days, and for some reason the least helpful one is the one that wants to be said.

The woman’s face scrunches up in an emotion the villain can’t read. At first he thinks it might be distress, or perhaps fear, but then she raises the bat and he realises that, oh, no, that’s actually unbridled rage.

She brings it down in an arc and the villain just about dodges to the side. She doesn’t seem to mind the fact the bat absolutely annihilates her desk in his stead. Jesus Christ, is that thing made of steel?

He may be a villain, and villainy may require a certain amount of balls, but this is where he draws the line. The old lady swings again, crashing into the glass cabinet a hair’s width away from the villain’s face, and he decides that no, he’s not dealing with this shit tonight.

He scrambles for the window, throwing himself out onto the fire escape stairs with his new nemesis in tow. She makes one last swipe at him as he takes the stairs down two at a time.

“I’ll bash your head in next time!” she shrieks after him.

It’s only when the villain is safely on the other side of the building that he slows down. He pulls his phone out, sucking in a deep breath, and unlocks it to look at the superhero’s note again. Really scrutinises it. Then it clicks. He sees the problem.

That’s not a 6. It’s an 8. He was on the wrong goddamn floor.

He stares blankly at the screen for a moment. He’s too old to be putting up with this shit.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket, heaves a age-old sigh, and lets himself back into the building for round two.

[transmascissues]

do you actually view nonbinary people as non-binary or as binary people too scared to come out

this is a wild thing to ask someone who’s very openly not binary. like what even prompted you to send this? even if you didn’t know that i’m not binary trans, what have i said that would lead you to think i don’t believe in nonbinary people? is it just the fact that i’m a trans man and talk about being one on here? because sometimes it really feels like that’s all it takes for some of y’all to just assume i hate nonbinary people, as if those are mutually exclusive categories (which is ironically an exorsexist assumption in itself).

anyway, if it needed to be said, of course i view nonbinary people as nonbinary. it would be very silly of me to feel differently given that i’m not a binary trans person myself and that most of the trans people i’m close to in real life are nonbinary. i would strongly encourage you to ask yourself what it is about me that made you feel the need to ask me this in the first place.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Try Morse Core. Women Love Morse Code.

[First] Prev <--> Next

[befuddled-calico-whump]

I may have to enforce a hiatus on myself 😶

I think I'm getting a little too obsessed with getting feedback/interaction and it's impacting my mental health SO I may end up stepping away from tungle for September

Gonna wait and see if this is just a random low period or if it persists first though, cause I like keeping up with everyone's projects on here!

[smolgirlbigdreams]

HEY YOU, G/T WRITER!!!

Yeah, you! C'mere!

I've seen some talk in the community recently about writers not really getting the attention they deserve/not getting as many notes as artists (and no prob with artists! We love you artists ❤️). So I thought, why not call all the g/t writers together so we can support each other? Y'know, kinda get a little g/t writing sub-community going here on Tumblr if that makes sense!! The idea being that if we band together, it's harder to get lost in the heaps of short-form content that's out there. Plus, we can read each other's work and support each other! :D

Here's an idea:

Reblog with a little bit about you and your writing! (If you write anything that might make anyone uncomfortable please leave a warning as well.)

Link your awesome g/t stories!!!

Check out other awesome stories by other g/t authors and show them some love~

I'll start!

Hi! I'm Eliza and I've been writing since around 2016, although I was a bit too scared to post anything until I started working on my current story!

Right now I'm working on a book called Too Small To Be Afraid, about a human girl living on a distant planet who has a fear of the giant race, pertheans. Only, she has to learn how to share a desk with one at school!

But enough about me! I want to hear about you! I'm excited to hear about you all and see what you're writing!!! :D