#we go every year and it's always great fun

[ryanmarshallryan]

The Foodie Genie

Vincent had purchased a vintage cookie jar from an odd little antique booth at a local county fair. He thought it would be a perfect thing to put his homemade cookies in, which he always kept a batch of dough ready to make on hand, as they were his favorite, and perfect to bring out when hosting guests.

He did not expect it, though, when it began to smoke as he tried to clean it at home. Sparks flew out of it as he dropped it into his sink. Somehow unshattered, but still spewing sparks and purple colored smoke, he heard it make a squelching sound as if someone was prying their hand out of the cookie jar but it was suctioned in.

A great big figure of semi-transparent man jolted up out of the cookie jar and smacked its head into the ceiling.

“Years of hitting my head in my tiny little jar, to finally being released to hit my head again. Go figure,” said the being.

Vincent surveyed its impressive height, its massive belly, its bald head and goatee, and the way its legs seemed to swirl away into almost smoke.

“All right then, let’s get to it, I am Xavier, Genie for the Foodies, great to meet you,” Xavier held out a comically large hand, Vincent stared at it in surprise, “And your name is?”

“Vincent,” he blurted out, “Vincent’s my name, but you - what are you?”

“A genie. You got ears right?” Xavier said as it leaned back in the air, crossed its arms which accentuated its belly forward a bit.

“Of a cookie jar? I’m confused.”

“I could do the whole song and dance introduction, but I don’t want to overwhelm the already overwhelmed.” Xavier stated, magicking a large cushioned chair, and motioning Vincent into it. “You see, I’m a special kind of genie. A previous wish-giver was a foodie if I ever saw one, and made it so I can only grant wishes of a specific nature. For example, any food you could desire I could produce.”

Just then a whole feast of roast duck, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and more appeared with a pop in front of Vincent. Then in another moment all vanished, and was replaced with a buffet style platter filled with noodles and meats and rolls and veggies, and again vanished and was replaced with a vat of ice cream, steaming in the hot room.

“You get the picture, I can help you experience the rarest of delicacies too… and every once in a while I get someone who wants to become a rare delicacy themself, if you know what I mean.” Xavier raised his eyebrows, and watched as Vincent looked intrigued. “The one who wished I could only grant food related wishes, used his last wish to have me even swallow him whole! He wanted to experience first hand what it would be like to be food,” Xavier, floated upside down and let his large belly hang down and show how massive it is. It seemed to grow and inflate until it was pushing up against Vincent’s face.

In a flash of smoke Vincent suddenly had a gut the size of a yoga ball, and the genie was back to normal.

“Or I can give you more room, so that any meal you desire you’ll be able to finish, and have room for seconds…” Xavier snapped and Vincent’s belly swelled to the size of a compact car, “Thirds… fourths… you get the picture.”

In another puff of smoke the room filled with jello and Vincent felt himself floating in the giant mass and heard a muffled shouting from Xavier say “Or if you’d like to play with your food, I’m sure we could have a fun swim.” Another puff of smoke and Vincent was as small as a soup spoon, looking up at a dollhouse sized castle made of graham crackers and gingerbread. The candy door of it swung open and Xavier popped out, “Come on in, and consider a wish. You get three. No more. No less.”

Vincent entered the graham cracker castle, grabbed a chunk of chocolate that was by the door and nibbled on it. Xavier let him up a staircase made of cake, into a hall with a long table. They sat down and Xavier asked again what wish Vincent would begin with.

Vincent thought for a while. He supposed his wishes didn’t matter as much as a normal genie’s might. He didn’t think the world would collapse if he wished for a fridge with unlimited eclairs or something.

“I wish I had a fridge that could summon any food I desire when I opened it.”

“I can work with that,” said Xavier. A flash of smoke and they were normal sized, sitting on the kitchen floor. The genie gestured behind Vincent who turned to see a purple fridge replacing his old one. He opened it to find his favorite smoothie sitting on the center rack.

“Cool!” Vincent exclaimed, picking up the smoothie, closing the door and opening it again to find a plate of kebab waiting for him as well, “I didn’t even realize I wanted that. Thanks!”

Vincent drank and ate as he considered another wish. How could a wish regarding food be helpful for both himself and others? Maybe he could wish to change the taste of anything he ate to something he loved. That’d make shoving down the burnt stuff his friend made more bearable, even enjoyable. Or perhaps he could wish to not have any allergy to food or poison: to digest anything. But what if he wanted to heat something but not digest it?  “I wish I could change the shape of my gut at will, so if I want to eat a whole roast pig I could do it in one sitting, but then be able to change my gut’s size back to another size to fit my clothes.”

“Hmm that’s an interesting one. Many ways that one could be used without relation to food so it’d be tricky to see if my powers would allow. I think I can grant it, but only if the primary body part you are changing shape is that of your gut and digestive system.”

Vincent felt a surge of energy through him like an electric charge. He looked down at his gut and imagined it ballooning to the size of a watermelon. It did so. He opened the fridge and found a cantaloupe waiting for him, and he stretched open his mouth to an impossible size and fit the melon in easily, swallowing it down if it were a small round candy. He felt his gut with his hands, feeling the soft flesh and the hard melon underneath layers of it. He imagined that his gut would be packed with thick fat to pad the melon inside. He watched as his layers of fat grew thicker and thicker until his gut could easily fit a human inside and have enough fat padding no one would notice a difference in shape. 

“Wow, genie, you outdid yourself with this one. I think my friend Henry is gonna get a kick out of this,” Vincent said, turning back to the fridge. This time, when he opened it, the racks were gone and in their place was a full size human being, looking utterly bewildered at their being in a refrigerator. 

“Hello? Vincent? How on earth - I was just in the library. How did I get here?” said the man in the fridge, stepping out of it into the kitchen, “And who’s this? Or what is this?” he said, gesturing to the genie.

“I know you’ve got a million questions but I’d like to try something if you’re still interested,” Vincent said, “Remember when you told me about those funny fantasies you like to muse about when you’re - well you know what I mean?”

Henry looked between the genie and Vincent, and began to notice their large bellies, “What - ?”

“Wanna make it a reality for a bit? I can let you out later. Like this,” Vincent’s stomach changed shape and the melon popped out of his mouth, good as new. 

Henry looked surprised, but interested. “Wow, you swallowed that whole?”

“And you’re next, Henry,” Vincent said, with a gleam of devilishness in his smile. He glanced down on Henry and saw he wasn’t the only one changing shape. With one quick swoop, Vincent grabbed Henry by the shoulders, and threw him head first into his rapidly stretching mouth, sending him down into his belly, which was swelling to the size of a large couch again. Henry seemed to be quite content with this experience, not even struggling to slide down into his friend's belly.

The genie started clapping, “Oh my, what a show! You’ve got the hang of it quite quickly! But I must warn you, you must make three wishes by the time the clock strikes the hour mark, or all of your wishes will be revoked! And if that happens, your friend might be stuck in there for good with no magical stretching maw to let him back out.”

“The hour mark? Isn’t that like Cinderella and stuff? Why’s there a time limit?” Vincent asked, rubbing his gut and mildly distracted by the lump of Henry inside.

“Someone tried to wait to give me a final wish for 30 years and I got fed up and got special permission to start setting time limits.”

“Oh, I suppose that makes sense,” Vincent said absent mindedly, turning to the clock which read 3:59pm. Sudden panic filled him and he jostled his belly, sending Henry bouncing around. “One minute!”

“30 seconds actually,” said Xavier, not stressed about it.

Vincent’s mind went blank with shock as he tried to think of something good. He gave up and went with something that intrigued him earlier, “You said you ate one of the previous wisher people? That could be interesting I suppose to know what it’s like for Henry. I wish you would swallow me whole for a bit, then let me out before I get digested!”

Xavier looked excited and coy, “Really? Me eat you? I haven’t eaten in years,” the genie said, blushing. He clapped his hands and the room filled with smoke, and suddenly the two of them were steaming in a warm vat of hot fudge together. Xavier leaned in close, “I like a little flavor. But what would suit you best? Hmm…” The genie snapped its fingers and the vat of hot fudge turned to chicken soup… then to a birthday cake… then to a pool filled with chicken parm and pasta… then suddenly Vincent found himself sandwiched between two human sized slices of seeded bread, with an assortment of stuffing, cranberry sauce, turkey and lettuce and tomato. “Just want to say thank you for being a great wish-giver,” said the genie.

Vincent’s eyes grew wide as Xavier’s mouth stretched to the size of a door. Vincent felt air rush past his face as the genie’s throat seemed to start vacuuming the air around them down inside it. The sandwich lurched forward and Vincent watched as the giant mouth came closer and closer and he began falling into it, feeling the wet, mushy expanse of the back of the genie’s throat, and the tight squeeze down its esophagus. He fell what felt like ten feet down a tight, slimy tunnel of saliva, and landed in an opening chamber of stomach juices that tingled his skin. He felt around the giant stomach and felt it shrinking. He began with space to move around, but by the time it stopped shrinking he could barely move his chest to breathe. He hoped Henry was doing alright in his own belly, though his empathy was not deep when he felt Henry’s elbows and knees jabbing directly into his bladder and lungs. He felt the stomach walls around him knead his body, squeezing and contracting, as acid trickled down his sweaty face. He felt like he was dissolving into soup, felt like he could no longer tell where his fat belly ended and the one he was in began.

He began to fade into unconsciousness when, in a puff of purple smoke, he felt all stress upon his body relinquish as if he had been let go of from the tightest, sweatiest hug ever. He landed softly, seated on the ground of his kitchen. He looked around but did not see the genie anywhere. Xavier had gone. He felt a bit groggy. Perhaps he had passed out on the kitchen floor. Had it all been a dream? 

His answer came at once.

“Hey, bud, I’m having a great time… but you might wanna swallow some antacids, or let me out soon… unless you're hoping to make me permanently belly fat, of course, but this stomach acid is getting stronger.”

Vincent turned to the fridge. It was still purple. “Cool,” he whispered to himself. He looked up where the genie had been floating a while before and mouthed a silent “thank you.”

“Vincent? You there? I’m kinda digesting in here.” Henry called with a forced-casual tone showing signs of mild panic.

“Oh, right!” Vincent said, opening the fridge to find antacids and threw the whole unopened bottle in his mouth and right down into his belly.

A while later, after stretching his throat and mouth to let Henry out, the pair of them sat at the table, sharing some cookies. They sat in silence for awhile, enjoying each other’s company and processing what had happened.

“So I’m thinking, maybe I can come over for dinner again next week?” Henry said.

“To be dinner? Or share dinner?” Vincent joked.

“Why not both?” They shared a smile.

[aritany]

hi alex! I’ve always been in awe of your ability to write and finish first drafts at such good speed while having so much going on in your life. any tips for being able to write so prolifically?

hi anon! this is such a sweet message—thank you!

i do think it comes down to a few things in my nature (i LOVE to write and having an unfinished draft feels like having an open tab in my brain that drives me nuts) but there are definitely some external choices and strategies that help.

above all else, i write daily regardless of inspiration. i almost never sit down at the keyboard because i got inspired or motivated to, i sit down because that’s a part of every day. like any habit, this becomes easier with time.

secondly, it’s essential for me to remember that first drafts don’t have to be great. sometimes they are, and that’s cool. sometimes they’re severely lacking, and that’s also fine. a first draft’s only job is to exist and to be a skeleton that gets the story out and the baseline personalities onto the page. anything else is a bonus. the more you do it, the better your first drafts get. except for sometimes. but that’s what editing is for!

thirdly, but by far most importantly, i have an excellent cheerleading team. this doesn’t feel like something i do on purpose anymore, but i did work hard to build a community of close friends who also write and who have become incredible sources of inspiration. just last month @reininginthefirewriting came down for a writing retreat and helped crack open a huge mess in my brain that had become a mental block. @unlicensedmortician lives in my house (because we bonded so hard over what i’d been writing) and not only feeds me so i don’t have to worry about the meat suit, but also makes the impossible possible when i start getting weird in the brain. @ghostcasket is my partner both in writing and in life. another friend of mine helped me recover my voice after tradpub stripped it, and i got to hire them to be my paid editor for IWYW. (i met all four of them here on writeblr! go message that writer you like—it pays off) and that’s just to name a few. the last 4 years have brought incredible people into my life, and there would be many less drafts without them. (hi discord pocket family! love you guys)

i’ll also note: my familial obligations are much less than the average person. this is not for fun reasons, but it does help that within my own home writing mostly doesn’t have to bid for my attention against my immediate family.

also READ. read lots. nobody is joking when they tell you that helps. it’s so important. read in your genre and out of it. read EVERYTHING.

so: write when you don’t feel like it. let your first drafts be messy. invest in your writer friends. cut off your bigoted family i mean don’t do that. (or do.) READ.

i hope that helps!

[ai-thne]

can't believe someone still has to say this but if you, a cis straight girl, fancy yourself for having so many friends who are gay men, but think that that makes you entitled to say the f slur and act weird around my partner and i (lesbians) when we're there talking to our mutual friend, you're a bigot in rainbow clothes.

[iknaenmal]

OH RHIS SUCKS

[magentagalaxies]

.

[iii-days-grace]

We’re going to the cottage on my weekend this week, I’m glad my dad supports me in my gourd-based art projects

[suicidemandate]

.

[whisp3roftheheart]

Sometimes I hate that my friend group is so close knit because whenever I'm having issues with one person there is never any real escape from them. At least no meaningful one because no matter what things will always circle back to them and I'll be forced to interact.

[singmyaubade]

Shades Of Cool

toxic!dark!rafe cameron x female!pogue!reader

summary: you are just living your life, completely normal and free. but, what happens when rafe cameron decides that you are his? he's danger.

warnings: smut! 18+ stalking, manipulation, rafe is obsessed with reader, fingering, swearing, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, praise, oral (male receiving), dark!rafe cameron, choking, jealousy, violence, heavy smut..

a/n: i'm delighted I'm finally starting this, even if it took me so long. i genuinely hope you all enjoy this series. i understand that this a bit short, but the narrative is only getting started, so things will only get wilder! however, it is to be expected—this is a rafe cameron fic.

series

One thing that you hated about Outer Banks was how the heat still radiated at night, causing excessive amounts of water to be drank and a great amount of fans that blew hot air into your face.

It only made everyone irritable and only caused more arguments like now,

"I swear to god JJ, I am about to fucking murder you if you say another word," You hissed, giving him a glare as he mockingly grew scared.

"I agree," Cleo said before falling back into her nap.

"All I'm saying is that we have been moping around here for hours meanwhile we could be partying on the fresh beach and cool water," JJ replied, using his hands to represent the scenery to all of you.

"I'm going to have to agree with Y/N," Pope said, turning his head to JJ, "I'm already in tough shit with my parents for when you knocked over my great-grandmothers vase," Pope glared.

JJ put his hands up in defense, "I told you tequila makes me clumsy,"

"Besides every single Kook is there, including Rafe and if he sees Sarah with us, it will only bring another fight and you are not going back to jail," Kie warned, still closing her eyes while the fan blew the air in her face, blowing her hair.

"When have we ever been scared of Rafe?" JJ asked.

"When he gave me a full smackdown for doing my job," Pope scoffed.

"And when he almost drowned me," Sarah chimed in from across the room where she was laying on John B's legs on the carpet floor.

"And when he shot Sheriff Peterkin in front of us," John B added.

"And when-" Pope began.

"Okay that's enough," He said as you giggled, turning your head back to the fan.

You didn't know much about Rafe Cameron since you had moved to Outer Banks only last year and you had met the "star Pogues" a few months ago.

You had never really seen Rafe's face ever, only heard of him honestly.

But you didn't know if it was a bad thing.

All you had heard about was how evil and villainous he was which caused some places to be off limits for the fact that the boys couldn't handle another beat down with the Kooks and there was a greater matter at hand.

But still, you always were curious about "evil" Rafe Cameron.

"You guys are no fun," JJ pouted, sitting beside you on the couch.

You patted the lower part of his leg, "Poor baby," You sarcastically said to which moved his leg swiftly causing you to laugh.

Suddenly the lights and fans turned off as you all except for JJ groaned, knowing that meant the electricity was off you and you would have to deal with the heat and darkness.

Which meant the only choice was the beach party,

JJ cheered, "I win!"

You crossed your arms as you walked on the warm sand, lots of cheering and loud music around you. You could see the Kooks and the Pogues in their own groups, not daring to interact with eachother.

It was hard to get used to the fact that there were two groups of people based on economic statuses and that it meant that if you were one thing, the other one hated you.

You had never been to a place like that but you just kinda got used to it.

Yet you still could never tell which group was really which sometimes.

You were forced to walk around by yourself as John B and Sarah wandered off to a quiet spot while JJ started drinking with Kie as his babysitter and Cleo and Pope wandered around.

All of it sounded like a lot of third wheeling which made you stay away.

But you didn't mind being alone, you liked listening to the waves and watching the festivities that went along with a party.

And you knew that a beer would help you get more into the party festivities.

You walked over the keg where a man with a shaved head and a matching tank top and shorts poured himself a beer as you curiously looked at him.

You had to admit that he was one of the most attractive men you had seen before.

His lips were a perfect shade of pink and they were smooth like sucking on a cherry. His veins were bulging from his hands and you could see the peach fuzz on his jawline that you could only really see upclose.

You snapped out of your analysis as he looked at you as you waited there awkwardly, forming a smile on your face.

"Sorry to creepily stand here, I'm just trying to get a uh-" You said, pointing to the keg.

His face studied you for a second, almost as if he was trying to figure you out. You could tell by his face that he had never seen you before and he looked as if he was trying to figure out if you were a Kook or Pogue.

He chuckled, "Didn't mean to take so long, I wouldn't have if I had seen your pretty face sooner," He smirked, looking you up and down, causing you to blush.

You felt stupid for blushing over something that a man probably said to every pretty girl he saw but you felt something different about him.

You were taken aback by his boldness, "Do you say that to every women that waits for her turn on the keg?" You teased.

"Only the pretty ones," He replied, causing you to laugh.

"Smooth talker I see," You smiled.

"Always," He joked, "I swear I've never seen you around and usually, you know everyone in Outer Banks," He probed.

"Yeah, I just moved here last year," You answered, "I haven't made my rounds yet,"

"Figured," He said, "I would've definitely noticed you,"

"Pfft," You beamed, "I'm sure you would've walked past me on the beach, there are many beautiful girls here,"

"Nah," He laughed, looking off, "You are different from them,"

"How could you already assume that?" You asked, curiosity biting at you.

"For one, you aren't stuck up and preppy which is most the girls on this island," He grinned as you giggled.

"Ay, they aren't all like that," You replied.

"Most of 'em," He added, "But I don't pay much attention to them,"

"Figures," You said, eyebrow raising.

He saw your eyes move the keg and his cup before he offered his cup forward.

"Might as well take mine, I wouldn't feel proud of myself if I let you pour one yourself," He winked.

Great attempt at being a gentlemen.

"No no, I got it," You said before he shook his head.

"I insist" He said, his thumb grazing yours.

"Thank you," You smiled, "I'm Y/N" You introduced, taking the cup from him while extending your other hand for him to shake.

He shook your hand, "I'm Rafe," He replied with a smile as yours slowly fell.

The Rafe? The Rafe you were basically supposed to never interact with and who was the supposed devil? That Rafe?

"Rafe Cameron?" You asked, standing frozen.

"Guess my reputation precedes me," He joked as you didn't laugh but instead cleared your throat.

You took your hand back quickly, "Oh, i-it's nice to meet you," You cleared your throat, "My friends are waiting so I'm gonna-"

He clearly figured you out, "Pogue, I'm guessing?" He snickered.

Your face wrinkled, "Is that supposed to be a funny thing?"

"Hilarious actually," He answered, only angering you more.

"I don't see what's funny about that?" You crossed your arms with ur drink resting in your hand.

He wiped his jaw, "Must be tough at the bottom of the food chain,"

Your nose flared, "Must be tough being an elite asshole,"

He laughed, "I just think it's an unfortunate cause, I mean it's just unlucky," He smirked.

Asshole.

"Unlucky?" Your lip pursed, " I think what's more unlucky is thinking that your cool for a fucked up economic status that has been perpetuated on an island,"

"I just don't believe your friends belong on Outer Banks," He said, not a hint of hesitance in his voice.

He really believed in this bullshit.

"I mean you would really rather hang out with a group of dirty Pogues?" He snickered, looking off.

"Well I am one of them and they are my friends," You scoffed, "You seem more dirty than us," You insulted.

"Is that so?" Rafe mocked.

"Do you wanna talk about your father's dirty money?" You asked.

"I would watch that pretty mouth," He replied, inching closer.

"Or what?" You hummed, acting braver than you usually would.

"Fuck around and find out sweetheart," He came closer, breath fawning on your face.

The whiskey on his breath kissed your nose but not breaking your eye contact with him as you inched closer, eyes on his lips.

As he tried to close the gap, you threw the drink in his face. "Oohs" and snickers filled around the both of you as you stomped away from him.

He smirked, wiping the alcohol off of his face.

'What an asshole,' You thought,

Little did you know that Rafe only grew to like you more.

You found JJ and Kie sitting by the beach together as she laid her head on his shoulder. You were thinking about interrupting them but tarnish their moment, you choosing instead to call it a night and also you didn't feel like trying to find the rest of the group.

You were glad that you knew yourself enough to drive to the party considering that you got tired fast. You couldn't really see in the parking lot due to how dark it was and away from the lights.

You digged in your back pocket for your phone to pull out of the flashlight as you reached for your keys but dropped them instead in the process.

You audibly groaned as you searched on the floor in the darkness for the keys. You went on your knees with your flashing light, searching on the ground as you heard footsteps behind you, darting your flashlight behind you but seeing nothing.

You had a bad feeling but you thought it was paranoia because you were alone in the parking lot and maybe a little due to the interaction you had earlier with Rafe.

You couldn't stop thinking about how he came off as nice but switched so quickly into an elitist piece of shit.

Sounds like how they described him.

But still, there was a pit in your stomach that felt like butterflies when he grazed your thumb.

You sighed, pushing the thoughts out as you finally grabbed your keys, using the concrete-sanded floor push yourself back up off the ground.

Suddenly, you felt a cloth on your mouth and a hand covering your waist as your muffled screams filled the parking lot, trying to kick your attacker behind you.

You felt yourself drifting into the darkness as you screamed one last time,

And everything went black.

tags: @hysteriahall @avengersassemblee @lighttism @whereismymindnow @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @vi06ma01 @haven247 @vanessa-rafesgirl @blvebanisters @riordanness @aleidag1rly @muzanjackson22

[pyrrhiccomedy]

I am genuinely so proud of my wife for becoming a crafts person over the last few years.

Like, I was always a crafts person. I was an arts and crafts kid. My parents sent me to classes or summer camps or after-school clubs pretty much continuously from when I was about 5 years old, and over the years I did metalsmithing, stained glass, polymer clay sculpting, loom weaving, oil painting, charcoal drawing, clothes-making & tailoring, carpentry, woodcarving, macrame, miniatures, beading, jewelry-making, basket weaving, leatherworking, paper-making, bookbinding, papier mache, decoupage, sand sculpting, and probably more that I'm forgetting. There was never a day in my life while I was growing up when my entire bedroom floor wasn't taken up by 2-5 different ongoing art projects. As an adult, it's given me the firm confidence that I can walk up to pretty much any crafting skill, and get the hang of it, and enjoy doing it.

My wife never had that. She wrote, but that was really her only artistic outlet. Art & craftsmanship were just not any of her business. She always expressed admiration for my gumption when it came to making things with my hands, usually with a "bigger idiots than me have done it" attitude, but she was certain she'd be bad at it if she tried it, and that she wouldn't have fun. As evidence, she would offer every time in her life when she had attempted to learn a craft, and didn't have fun, and all the Arts And Crafts kids picked it up a lot faster than her.

Which like - yeah! Learning how to do a new craft is a skill all on its own! Fine motor control is a skill developed over time! So is spatial reasoning, and materials intuition! She wasn't just 'trying to learn wreath-making,' or whatever, she was trying to learn how to learn how to make something with her hands AND wreath-making, at the same time, so of course it would take her longer than the kids who already had the first part, and of course it would be more frustrating for her. I knew she wasn't uniquely bad at crafts: she just didn't know how to approach picking them up, because she was never encouraged to learn.

And then the pandemic hit.

And while we were all trapped inside and going insane in new and exciting ways to all of us, she tentatively decided to pick up embroidery. She probably wouldn't stick with it, she explained: she'd probably be bad at it. It probably wouldn't be fun. But she thought embroidery was pretty, and literally what else did she have going on?

And then she did stick with it. For over a year. And she got pretty good at it! She embellished a baseball hat for her sister with cactuses and wildflowers from where they grew up which came out adorable. She made an embroidered portrait of one of our friends' cat that they still have displayed in their entryway. And she discovered - and remarked on it often, with mild surprise - that she was having fun. She'd say a lot of stuff like "this stitch was so frustrating at first, but now that I get it I really like doing it," or "I kept getting this tangled but I've figured it out now. I just needed to relax."

Then she took up pottery. We did that as a couple for about a year, too. Now she's a knitter.

And it's just been so great, to see her eyes light up when she sees a sweater she likes, and hear her say, "I could make that!" She's slowly let go of the perfectionism that I think holds a lot of people back from doing crafts: that dismay when you make a mistake which leads to discarding a whole project, or starting something over. More and more she's taking on the veteran crafter attitude of "oops lol, whatever I'll just keep going." She's picking things up faster. She's taking pleasure in learning incremental steps. She's started to see crafting as something that relaxes and engages her, instead of as something inherently frustrating. I've gotten to watch her learn to find joy in making something with her hands. I always knew she was creative and artistic and capable of learning how to do anything. It's been so much fun to watch her start to take that on as part of how she sees herself.

We have this running joke about how she will prematurely declare herself to be in an era. Like, she'll go swimming twice and announce that she's now in her "swimming era," and then never go swimming again. Or she'll make one smoothie, buy a bunch of fruit, and declare that we are now in a "smoothie era," and then a week later we have to throw out a bunch of fruit that's gone bad.

The other day (while she was knitting, and I was sitting on the couch next to her doing crochet), she went, "I feel like I've gotten - like, I'm a bit crafty these days, I think. Like, I've done a couple of different crafts, and gotten pretty good at them. I think this is now, kind of, you know...something that I can say that I do."

I supplied that I would even go so far as to say that she was in her "crafting era."

Her eyes widened. "It's an era?"

I pointed out that it was something she'd been doing pretty much continuously for the last three and a half years. That feels like the start of an era to me.

"Yes," she decided. "It's an era. This is my crafts era. I'm a crafts person now."

She's planning to make me a sweater with a duck on it for fall.

[inconveniently-discorporated]

I think I have a potentially controversial opinion on Aziraphale and the ending.

So one of the things that made me smile so, SO much, was THIS:

That PURE ABSOLUTE UTTER JOY.

We have not seen ANYTHING like that from demon Crowley. We've seen him be drunk and silly, we've seen him be amused, but we've not seen this.

Now, let's consider what we know about Heaven:

It's never fully populated. ALL of the shots are completely devoid of angels, except for a few, who are almost always just getting somewhere and never really talking to each other.

Where I thought the archangels were a tight clan, it really looks like they're super catty and prone to jealousy. No doubt they would stab each other in the back happily if it came down to it. How much of Heaven is like that, if even the archangels all hate each other?

Aziraphale already has a nervous disposition when he meets Crowley. Is he perhaps an angel that NEVER fit in? Is he familiar with being ostracized by his peers? Just how lonely IS Heaven? Crowley seems to be a pretty powerful angel, and HE doesn't even know that it's all getting shut down in 6000 years -- it's like no one talks to anyone.

Aziraphale, during their whole meeting, looks absolutely smitten. At one point, Crowley goes, "Look at you! You're gorgeous!" and Aziraphale looks over with happy surprise, just before realizing he's not looking at him but rather at what he's created. And then, when Crowley starts going on about making suggestions and asking questions, Aziraphale is IMMEDIATELY concerned and doesn't want him to get into trouble.

Aziraphale is hooked on this angel, and I cannot help but think that this is perhaps the first angel who has ever WELCOMED Aziraphale into his company.

He is hooked on this angel, and the way Crowley smiles is with the light of all the stars he's just created, and it's infectious and it brings a smile to Aziraphale's face as well. And then this angel shields him from the oncoming falling stars.

He is hooked on this angel, and then this angel goes and joins the Great Rebellion, and becomes fallen himself.

"You were an angel once," Aziraphale said, softly, at the bandstand. He remembers.

I think it's reasonable to guess that Heaven has never felt so warm as it did in the presence of millions of exploding stars, next to the (arch?)angel that may perhaps be one of the few (only?) to pay him any positive attention.

I think it's reasonable to assume that Heaven was not the same after Crowley fell. I wouldn't be surprised to find out Aziraphale had wondered about the angel, wondered if he was okay. I would imagine that Aziraphale keeps that picture of pure, angelic, unbridled joy somewhere inside of him.

So, really, is it any surprise that threaded throughout EVERY interaction, Aziraphale has this deep-down feeling that Crowley is good? Would it be any surprise that Aziraphale, an angel who goes along with Heaven as far as he can (which isn't always), feels that if HE is still an angel, then what was done to Crowley was a great injustice?

I think it would make sense that we are shown "before the beginning" not just because it is fun, but because THIS is the foundational context for everything Aziraphale thinks Crowley is, everything Crowley enjoys. I think he remembers this moment and wishes he could live there forever. With Crowley. The two of them with this happiness, forever.

But nothing lasts forever, as much as he wishes it did.

I'm not saying Aziraphale was right with what he did to Crowley at the end of s2. There is a lot I think he did wrong. I think he held onto this picture so tightly, he didn't realize that Crowley had long since let it go, and painted a new one with Aziraphale with all the shades of grey he picked up as he sauntered (or plummeted) vaguely downward (into a pool of boiling sulfur).

I don't think he was right, but I do think he is understandable. I think there was a lot of selfishness, but also some misguided selflessness too. I watched that first scene with angelic Crowley and my heart actually broke a little, because I thought, "What a shame this joy was taken away from him."

I think Aziraphale is trying to right the injustice he feels has been done. But I also think Aziraphale doesn't realize that Crowley can never go back. The concept of falling never crossed Crowley's mind when he suggested that he ask a few questions, and he will NEVER get that kind of innocence back. And Aziraphale doesn't understand, because Heaven has clearly always just been that way for him (he is already aware of the danger of asking questions).

Crowley does not want to go back because he can never go back. He can never be the same angel he was when he thought he could build a universal machine that would crank out stars for eons and eons. He can never be the same angel he was when he thought he could make some suggestions and ask some questions and co-create with THE Creator.

Crowley understands that, and Aziraphale doesn't. But I can understand why Aziraphale would want to try. And I think it's all because of this:

[number-1-crush]

you guys have no clue how head-over-heels i’m falling

[hazbin-writings-and-musings]

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader Smutty Headcanons

I promised on this LM x Reader post things would get spicy soon, so here we are, coming so far from my first post! Just the first of probably many more smutty Lucifer posts, because we all know this man fucks and we all want a piece.

Warnings: SMUT

- This man legitimately loves everything about eating pussy. He loves performing it, he loves bragging about how well he performs it, he loves giving tips because he believes in respecting the craft, and he loves putting down anyone too entitled to provide what he sees as this most enjoyable of services for one's partner. You don't even have to ask him to go down on you, it'll be one of the first things he offers, and he'll regularly ask if you're interested in letting off a little steam. Having the ability to extend and shapeshift his tongue into having an opposable forked tip makes him capable of techniques beyond your wildest fantasies, and whether you like to receive from above or below, he's equally down to have you seated on his face or laying back to enjoy yourself.

- He's not poorly or overly endowed for a man of his size, but he's also quite literally the one who originally proved that size doesn't matter in the slightest, and he's had thousands of years to perfect those original techniques. From position to tempo, he's mastered everything he needs to hit the G-spot with impeccable accuracy, and his hands will be quite busy seeking out where you most enjoy attention as he rides you with the power and virility of an untamed stallion. All this combined results in a mind blowing time for you, every time, and he's got the stamina to answer all of your repeated requests for another round.

- Nevermind the magic he can work with his tongue or his dick, the King of Hell is also a wizard with his fingers. He's even got a carpal tunnel roller just to keep his dexterity in top shape for when his skills are needed. Finding your clit is effortless for him, and he'll show it all the love he thinks you deserve, responding eagerly to your feedback in the moment and putting his mouth to use on your neck as he does so. Whether you want him inside, outside or both at the same time, he's happy to provide, and he'll gladly push his wrists to the limit if it leaves you properly satisfied.

- If you offer to be the one servicing him, he'll happily accept, and you'll quickly find his mannerisms shift quite considerably when he's on the receiving end. He starts out confident, offering banter to match your own, but as soon as your mouth gets to work, his demeanor changes. A grin becomes an open mouthed moan, his hands tenderly take hold of you to ground himself, and witty quips turn to soft and needy sighs. The more heated things get, the more he loses himself, but it's a great way for you to gauge how well you're performing. Growls and an appearance of his horns are a sign he's really having a good time, especially considering he's always got steam to blow off. Particularly rough days will result in him losing all control by climax; fully extended wings and horns, an unfurled tail he wraps about you, hair disheveled and clinging to a fine layer of sweat, and more than a few reality bending bursts of power surging around the both of you. It's his favorite way to end the day on a good note. He'll pull his fingers from your hair as he breathlessly apologizes for the show, but the both of you know watching him go feral is part of the fun.

- The afterglow is peak cuddle time for him, and he'll be in no hurry to get dressed if there's somewhere either of you needs to be, so more than a few of his duties will end up delayed thanks to post-coital bliss. All six wings will seek you out for a fluffy embrace, and if the two of you are at all winded, the otherworldly softness of Archangel feathers might make staying awake quite impossible. Should you have some energy to spare though, he'll want to actively enjoy the snuggle. Hearing you breathe, feeling his skin against yours, and engaging in pillow talk just make him the happiest little guy. Such moments really allow him to let his guard down, and you might hear him speak with a softness and hopefulness that rarely leaves the bedroom, but he's just as interested in listening as he is in talking. Don't be too surprised if he drifts off with his head in your boobs though.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One

Baker Steve and Rock Star Eddie wrong number AU

Part two

"Steve! You have no idea!" Eddie's laughing, and that always makes Steve laugh, too. He's clearly a little tipsy. "Everyone went mad for the cake! It's was just, gone! Here, I'll send you some pictures!"

"I know what it looked like Eds," but Steve's grinning, knowing he's talking to empty air, can hear Eddie very vaguely mumbling to himself as he looks through his camera roll. Next to Steve' ear, his phone vibrates several times.

"Anyway, Stevie, I was thinking," Eddie's back now, still clearly tipsy but sounding uncharacteristically sheepish, "it's Christmas kind of soon right? Going to need a cake or two there. New year. Easter. Birthdays and bar mitzvahs and...and... independence day...so I was thinking I should get my orders in now, you know? Avoid disappointment."

"Eddie," Steve starts, finds himself turning shy himself, "you don't have to have a cake on order just to talk to me."

"I, ah, don't?"

"No, I mean, pretty sure we're friends, right?"

"Friends," Eddie starts slowly, "there's, like, lots of different kinds of friends."

"Sure, sure," Steve agrees easily, butterflies running rampant in his stomach, "there's even, kind of, more than friends, really."

"That sounds really really great-"

"Eddie!" There's a cacophony in the background, people shouting, "man, you're missing your own party-"

The line goes dead, and Steve's left standing in the dim light of the evening, just staring at tomorrow's cake order where it's cooling on the racks. A minute later, his phone buzzes in his hand, "so sorry baby, talk tomorrow."

Steve smiles at his phone. He had gone a little quiet after finding out who Eddie really is. It had kind of surprised him. But then Eddie had text him, "did I do something? 😞" and Steve realised Eddie's entitled to his privacy, the same as anyone.

"Hey Stevie, how's your day?"

Steve has Eddie on speaker phone as he mixes batter, "pretty good so far, you? You hungover?"

"No, no, didn't get that wasted, too old for that nonsense now, you know?"

Steve laughs, "aren't you like, 25?"

"I mean, maybe. Definitely old enough to, like, think about settling down, you know?"

Steve's breath catches in his throat, excitement and nerves after their interrupted conversation last night, "yeah, you, thinking about that? With, uhm, someone?"

"Yeah, I am, it's just..." Steve's heart sinks in his chest," my job, you know, I travel a lot, and that would be a sacrifice for anyone, and I couldn't ask someone to live with that, you know?"

"Well...what if it wasn't? What if they just...went with you?"

"What if...this person...had a job they loved? Their own business they worked hard for?"

"Yeah," Steve agrees slowly, "but what if...well, take me for example. I love to bake, but I don't love my business. That's just a means to an end, you know? I don't always love the orders, I'd choose to make something else if I was doing it for fun. So if it were me, i'd give it up in a heartbeat as long as I can keep baking."

"Yeah? You mean it?"

"Yeah. Yeah Eddie, I mean it."

"I, I mean, sure. Good. Thanks. I mean, not thanks, I mean, good, that's great."

Steve grins at Eddie's ramblings.

"I'll be away though, soon, for a couple of months, like four months, so, maybe, we could keep talking and when, I mean, if you want, what I get back..."

"I'd like that." Steve fist pumps, silently celebrating. "You never actually told me what you do for work?". Steve's teasing him, but Eddie doesn't know that Steve knows so, Steve grins to himself and keeps his voice even.

"I ah, music?"

"Yeah, you have mentioned that before, but what about it?" Steve knows he's being a dick, he just can't help it though.

"I ah, travel, with the band," Eddie starts slowly, and that is technically not a lie, Steve thinks, "and I kind of, look after some of the instruments and...have a lot to do with the sound checks? Like I'm definitely always there, for every sound check, like, I have to be."

All of that is probably true, Steve thinks, and god bless Eddie for not wanting to actually lie to Steve.

"Oh right, and what's the band called?"

"Oh, they're like, heavy metal, you've definitely never heard of them."

After they get off the call, Steve laughs all afternoon.

[coelakanths]

ik my birthday is three months away but i have GOT to start planning

[ladyloveandjustice]

I saw a post in the My Adventures with Superman tag claiming that Lois "finally" has a character. I really like the show and it's version of Lois too, but I want to make this clear: Lois Lane has been around for over 80 years and she's always been a distinct, dynamic character with a lot going for her, every bit as admirable as Superman. This isn't a new thing!

Like any character Lois has had some bad adaptations, but she's been a great character from the beginning, and I wanted to show off some panels from comics over the years so anyone new to Superman lore can see why she's a beloved character and the MAWS portrayal is building on that, not starting from scratch.

Lois in the golden age comics (1939 through the 1940's) was shown to be a career-driven woman who didn't take shit from anyone. This was an era where a lot of women were entering the workforce because men were serving in WWII and there was excitement and change in the air, and Lois was meant to be a reflection of that. She fought against the sexism of her boss sticking her with the advice and gossip columns because she was a woman, and she was go-getting reporter out to get a real story. From the beginning she was fearless (sometimes reckless), driven, and had no patience for Clark Kent's (feigned) cowardice (and was always full of sick burns). She never let anyone push her around.

And she's been pretty consistently like this her entire run as a character. Of course, there were some bad writers, and there was a time in the 50s when all female characters had to be marriage obsessed (Lois wasn't the only one hit with this, Wonder Woman was too), but she reverted back to her firebrand self in the 60's and 70's, and when the 80's came along, characters started getting more filled in backstories, including her- this was where we started seeing stuff about her home life, her childhood moving around as a military brat, and her troubled relationship with her father and sister. She had an interior life, inner conflict- and she still kicked ass and always got the last word in. As someone invested in journalism, she is THE coolest fictional journalist to me.

This was also when comics started focusing on Clark being who Superman WAS rather than a pure act, and we got to see their relationship really grow and Lois fall for Clark, not Superman. So here, have some panels of Lois being great and see the scope of her own personality.

Lois also has lots fun little quirks and hobbies comics readers know about- she takes her coffee a certain way, she doesn't cook much because she's so on the go (so Clark is the one who cooks in the fam), she likes to sit on Clark's desk when they're talking (this happens in other Superman media too), she REALLY likes monster trucks and Clark REALLY doesn't but will support her anyway:

Also, she's always seen through to who Clark really is:

Anyway. Have more of my favorite Lois panels because I have a lot:

also this one because I'm gay: