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#but ANYWAY- i'm working on those asks
silentknives · 1 year
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last reblog-- ok don’t come for me, but i just finished watching the entirety of G/oT... and i have... ideas for Emily >:) ignoring the fact that her FC plays a character in the series, i think Emily would be such a bad ass in this world. she’d thrive with all the fucked up shit happening. mayhaps a general medieval verse for her in the works?? B)))
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Ace, aro and aspec flags but colorpicked from nygmobs because regardless of how you hc them, they fit the color schemes perfectly
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pokimoko · 3 months
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Hi, I just saw your art of the snake and the pigeon with aromantic flags, and they look amazing! I thought that a pigeon done in the colours of the queerplatonic and/or oriented aroace flag would be adorable. Did you know that pigeons mate for life and often show affection to their partner by cuddling with each other and giving them light pecks around the neck and head? They also are apparently great parents, with both males and females taking care of the young, this load is shared almost equally between the sexes. Both parents build nests, sit on eggs, and lactate (well “pseudo-lactation” technically) to feed chicks. I just thought the idea of two pigeons in a qpr would be really cute.
Sorry for the ramble about pigeons, I just really like them.
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Don't apologise, I love me some pigeon facts. And you're absolutely right, two pigeons in a QPR would be really cute.
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cuoredimuschio · 1 year
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a little start of something that may end up being Something, expanding on this post about eddie teaching steve to play guitar
(3.1k - no upside down, but still set in the spring of '86)
now on ao3 | part two
---
Jenna Burke is the girl of Steve’s dreams.
Yeah, yeah, he’s made that claim before. A few times. 
About Nancy. About Robin (he was half-right that time). About a dozen girls in between.
But Jenna’s different. Jenna’s the real deal.
They haven’t even been out on a date yet, but he knows. He can tell. He can feel it in the air every time she comes in to bring back her rentals. Which she always does when he’s working. Never on Tuesday when he’s off.
And let him just say, real quick: he knows how crazy that sounds. How crazy he sounds. But there’s something there, some kind of connection that sparks every time their eyes meet, something just waiting for the right moment to happen. And honestly, he’d have to be even crazier than crazy not to be completely mad about her. 
Because she’s everything anyone could ever want. She’s everything that Steve has ever wanted, and more. Intelligent, funny, sincere, kind, movie-star cool but still firmly planted down on Earth, confident, artistic, athletic, a heavenly laugh, a knockout smile, sun-kissed freckles, hair like caramel honey, gorgeous enough to blow Phoebe Cates clear out of the water: he could go on. 
And he has. 
He’s talked Robin’s ear off about her, shift after shift after shift, until she threatened to cut his tongue out, julienne it, and feed it to her cat if she had to hear one more time about Jenna’s dimples and how the left one is just the slightest bit bigger than the right one—as if she wasn’t ten times worse when she was crushing on Vickie. Steve was once treated to an entire sermon about the way the fluorescent lights of the band hall reflected off her pearl barrette. But anyway, that’s beside the point. The point being that, threats of violence aside, even Robin’s had to admit that Jenna is—by all accounts and in every way—perfect.
There’s just one problem.
Steve is not the guy of her dreams.
She’s always flirted back with him—or at least, she’d always seemed amused by his attempts to flirt. Always met him halfway, played along and giggled at all his jokes and lame lines, definitely checked out his arms when he leaned on the counter, even twirled her hair a few times. He could’ve sworn it was all there, every sign lit up green and pointing to ‘go’. But when he’d finally laid it all on the line and asked her if he could take her out for dinner and a movie on Friday, she’d hit him with the worst eight words in the English language: you’re really sweet, but you’re not my type. 
And what is her type? Springsteen, Bon Jovi, rockstars and their wannabes, apparently.
“There’s just something about a man with a guitar,” she’d said, her sea-shine eyes dancing with starry mischief. “Drives a girl wild.”
Then, she’d taken her movie, dropped a smile and a twiddly wave over her shoulder, and swept out the door with Steve’s heart stuck to the bottom of her Keds, leaving squelchy, sappy stains on the sidewalk with every step. And that was that. A beautiful flower, nipped before it could even bud. He couldn’t even really be surprised, shouldn’t have expected anything different given his recent track record.
It wasn’t until he was locking up that night, ready to go home and wallow, chalk up another failure in the books and look for comfort at the bottom of a beer or two, that it had hit him: the obvious solution, the one she’d handed right to him, with a wink and a nudge. 
He’s not the guy of her dreams, but he could be. 
All it’d take is just one little change. And he’s more than willing to make it.
Which is why he’s now slinking back to his old stomping grounds, picking his way through the grey, gnarled trees huddled behind the track, and hoping with all he’s got that Eddie Munson didn’t get busted at some point in the last year and move to another neck of the woods. And that he’s in a generous mood.
Steve should probably explain. Because ‘obvious solution’ and ‘Eddie Munson’ don’t often belong in the same metaphorical sentence. But desperate times call for desperate measures. 
There’s just no way Steve can teach himself to play guitar. He wouldn’t even know where to start, and he’s always learned better when he has someone to watch anyway, when he can see, step by step, what he needs to do before he does it. And Munson…Still doesn’t seem like the obvious choice, granted. But he was always hanging up those messy, handmade posters for his weird band, plastering them all over the school, talking big about their gig at The Hideout every Tuesday; even though Steve had never caught one of their shows, never heard Munson play a single note, he figures if an actual bar hired them and let them keep coming back, week after week, he must be pretty good. 
Plus, with that whole rock-n-roll, long-hair-denim-and-leather thing he’s got going, he’s honestly not too far off from Bon Jovi. Steve’s not sure either party would appreciate that comparison, but the fact is, Eddie Munson is the closest thing to a rockstar that Hawkins has to offer. If he’s going to learn from anyone, Munson’s his best bet.
It’s quiet as Steve approaches the clearing—nothing but the birds squawking up in the branches and the weak crunch of the leaves under his feet. It’s so quiet, too quiet, and all wrong. Because ‘quiet’ and ‘Eddie Munson’ have never belonged in the same sentence either; they don’t even belong on the same planet. If he was here, Steve probably would have heard him before he even got out of his car. So he must’ve switched spots or maybe he’s busy with his nerdy club. This was always a pretty damn long shot, but preemptive disappointment closes around Steve’s stomach anyway.
He almost turns around. It’s a good thing he didn’t.
Because he steps out into the clearing and there Munson is: holed up at that same rotting picnic table, squatting on the bench, hunched like a gargoyle as he scribbles into an old, tattered notebook, stopping every few seconds to gnaw on the end of his pen, twisting his hair around and around his finger. It’s warm enough that he’s ditched his signature vest and jacket, thrown them down on the table and pushed his sleeves up, showing off a select few of his ghoulish collection of tattoos. Steve can hear now that his watch—the same dorky kind Dustin wears—is beeping, softly, incessantly, but Munson doesn’t seem to hear it. And he doesn’t seem to realize Steve is there either, too absorbed in whatever he’s cooking up in his notebook, mouthing something to himself over and over again.
Steve clears his throat. “Hey, Munson—”
“Fucking sh—” is all the further Munson gets before he topples; he flails, arms striking out, trying to keep his balance and save himself, but gravity wins this round, and he lands, hard, on his on his back in the dirt.
Not off to a great start. 
Steve steps forward, a hand ready to help him up, an apology brewing on his tongue, but Munson pops right back up, breezily brushing dead forest junk from his shirt. His eyes widen slightly when they land on Steve, a brow starts to twitch up, but he tosses on that smarmy, showman smile and slips into his usual act seamlessly.
“Ah, salutations, your majesty.” He doffs an imaginary cap and tucks his arm in against his stomach, bowing so deep the tips of his frizzy hair brush the leaf litter. It’s a damn shame, to have a killer mane like that and not even know how to take care of it; he clearly overwashes it and uses the exact wrong shampoo for whatever his hair type is; his curls are so limp he looks like a cocker spaniel after a night left out in the rain. “Long time, no see. To what do I owe such an auspicious honor? What brings you back to my humble shop on this fine afternoon?”
Alright, here goes nothing. 
“I need a favor,” Steve says. Short, simple, and to the point. 
That brow inches up a bit higher. “Well, unless ‘a favor’ is what the cool kids are calling an eighth these days, I regret to inform you that you’re a bit S-O-L, sire. My supply—” He raps his knuckles on top of his battered lunchbox “—ain’t what she usually is at the moment. Had a bit of a Spring Break blowout sale on Friday, everything must go, you know how it is. But…” He wedges his hands in his back pockets and sighs, as if Steve’s really busting his balls and twisting his arm here. “If you know what you want, I can try and get it for you, but I make no guarantees, and it probably won’t be ‘til next week.” His eyes pick their way up and over Steve, all the way up from his shoes, and a smirk spreads, like a fungal infection, across his lips. “Usually don’t take special orders, but I can make an exception for the king.”
He says ‘king’, but it’s pretty obvious he means something more in the realm of ‘jackass’ or ‘douchebag’. And that the offer’s not exactly coming out of the kindness of his heart. So, things aren’t boding well for Steve. 
But whatever, he doesn’t need Munson to like him; he just needs Munson to teach him. And besides, he can’t really blame him for being less than enthusiastic about helping Steve out; it’s not like he would be Steve’s first choice either, if he had a better option. Or any other option, really. The guy’s weird. And loud. And abrasive. And a lot. Not to mention, they have next to nothing in common, and he means ‘next to’ as in ‘on the negative side of’. 
“I’m not here for drugs,” he says.
Munson’s face darkens, something hardened in his eyes that almost makes him look as dangerous as concerned parents say he is. 
“Then you’re in the wrong place.” He drops back down on the bench and picks up his pen again, pulling his notebook close. “Despite what your lovely friends like to say about me, I don’t offer those kinds of services. I’m not that desperate.”
It takes a second for Steve to realize exactly which friends and which services Munson’s referring to, but when it clicks, a bucket of gooey heat dumps over his head, searing his ears and turning his stomach. “Jesus Christ, you really think I’d—No. God no. Believe me, if that’s what I wanted, I wouldn’t be coming to you of all people. I wouldn’t need to.”
Munson props his chin in his palm, and now his eyes literally twinkle, catching a shard of the patchwork light that falls through the scraggly canopy, as he leers up at Steve. “Tell me, Harrington, have you ever asked somebody for a favor before? ‘Cause I gotta say, this is a unique approach.”
Right. Probably shouldn’t be insulting the guy who he’s throwing himself at the mercy of. 
If only Munson weren’t so damn good at being so damn annoying.
“Look,” Steve says, gingerly sliding onto the bench across from Munson, praying his jeans will protect him from getting a splinter up the ass, “I think we got off on the wrong foot here. Let me try again: you play guitar, right?”
“Yeah?” Munson narrows his eyes and slams his notebook shut before Steve can spot much more than a few choppy doodles. “What, does his majesty require entertainment for one of his soirees?”
“No, I want you to teach me.”
That brow disappears up behind his bangs. “How to tie your shoelaces or…?”
Steve pauses, takes a deep breath, pictures Jenna’s beautiful, smiling face. She’s worth it, he reminds himself, do it for her. “No,” he says again, nice and calm and level. “How to play guitar, asshole.”
“Why?”
“Uh, because you know how to play and I don’t?” He’s totally doing this on purpose, being deliberately contuse or whatever the word is. And Steve can’t help himself. “I would’ve thought someone who’s been in school as long as you would understand the concept of teaching by now, but I guess maybe that explains why you still haven’t graduated.”
“Get fucked,” Munson snaps, but it’s dull, all bark and no bite, more of a reflex than anything. “I meant why do you wanna play guitar, dickhead.”
“Oh.” Yeah, okay, Steve deserved that one. He’s burning bridges, and fast, but Munson hasn’t walked away yet, which means he’s still got a shot. And he’s gonna take it. “Jenna Burke.”
He can’t even say her name without cracking a smile. That’s how he knows it’s real.
Munson is decidedly less enchanted. He twirls his pen once, twice between his fingers and starts sketching a spider web around his knuckle. “Care to elaborate?”
“I’m into her. She’s into guys who play guitar.” Steve pauses, letting that information sink in. “Can you put those pieces together on your own or do I need to spell it out for you?”
Something surprisingly bitter curls up in the corner of Munson’s mouth. He laughs, but it’s not really a laugh at all. “Nah, I hear ya, loud and clear, your majesty. And the answer to your humble request,” he says, “is no.”
Steve blinks. “What? What do you mean no?” 
He hates—a little bit, a lot—how much he sounds like a spoiled child, but this isn’t just not getting some stupid toy he wanted on Christmas; it’s potentially missing out on the love of his life. He needs this.
“I mean no,” Munson repeats, nice and slow, dragging out the ‘o’ and puckering it off. “N-O? Commonly known as the opposite of yes? As in ‘not fucking happening’?” He tilts his head to the side. “Huh, I would’ve thought somebody with a brain in their thick skull would be able to understand such a simple concept.”
Steve crosses his arms; definitely not helping himself on the ‘spoiled child’ front, but it’s the best way to stop himself from punching—or strangling—that smug smirk off Munson’s smug face. “Why not?”
“How many reasons you want? ‘Cause I can give you a few.” He sticks up his middle finger, adorned with a flying pig’s head. “One: learning guitar takes a shitton of practice, patience, and passion. It’s not something you just pick up one day to impress a chick. It’s serious shit. If you’re not doing it for the pure, honest love of the music, then you have no business even breathing in the same room as a guitar. And it’s my sworn duty as a defender of the faith to hold the line and keep the rabble—” He jabs his middle finger in Steve’s direction, in case it was unclear who the ‘rabble’ was in this scenario “—back from the gates.”
“Jesus, who do you think you are? Some kind of musical messiah?” Steve scoffs. He shouldn’t, he needs Munson on his side, but something about the guy just gets under his skin and itches. “How about you get off your fucking high horse for two seconds?”
“Hey, man, you came to me. If you wanted sympathy, you should’ve knocked on a different door. And I wasn’t finished, alright? Two,” he says, lifting his other middle finger, “I have no interest in helping you get your rocks off. I, frankly, don’t give a fuck about the state of your rocks. And call me uncharitable or inhumane or whatever you like, but I think your little fella will survive if he has to stay in your pants this one time. Three—” He raises his left pinky “—I don’t fucking want to. It may not have occurred to you, my liege, but I have better things to do than listen to you butcher Hot Cross Buns over and over again until you inevitably give up because you’ve never actually had to work for anything in your life.”
Again, Steve probably deserves that, but still. “Jesus, man, you don’t have to—” 
“And four,” Munson says, even louder. He lifts his right pinky, opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “No, actually, that pretty much covers it. So if you’re done wasting my precious time—” He pushes up from the table and sweeps his arm toward the tree line, his smile more plastic than Barbie’s “—you can kindly return to the Hell from whence you came, your majesty.”
“Munson, come on. I’m sor—”
“Buh-bye! Thanks for coming!” He turns his back, as if not being able to see Steve will make him disappear faster. “Don’t let the door kick you in the ass on the way out!”
Fuck. 
Steve blew this. 
He blew this so hard. In every way he possibly could’ve. 
But there has to be something he can say, something he can do—
“I’ll pay you,” he blurts, before his brain can catch up and think better of it.
Munson stills. Just for a second before his I-don’t-give-a-shit act kicks back in, but it’s enough. Steve knows he’s got him on the hook. Now he just has to reel him in. 
“Twenty bucks a week,” he offers, wincing even as he says it. “I just need you to teach me the basics and help me learn one song. That’s all you gotta do. And after that, we go our separate ways, and we never have to talk to each other again.”
Munson mulls that over for a second, a long second, fingers fiddling at his split ends, before he spins around. There’s something almost hungry in his eyes: the kind of hunger you see on a stray dog waiting by the dumpster behind a butcher shop. “Make it thirty.”
Two years ago, Steve wouldn’t have blinked at that number, would have forked it over happily. Now, it hurts, physically. Now, he can barely get the word past his gritted teeth, but he finds a gap and shoves it out. For Jenna.
“Done.” 
He can’t, technically, afford it. Not on his skimpy paycheck. But he’s been saving up, squirreling away whatever cash he could spare so he can put this town in his rearview someday; it’ll set him back a few months, maybe a year, but he can dip into his savings a bit, maybe pick up a few shifts to cover the extra. It’ll be fine. Jenna’s worth it. More than.
“Well, shit, Harrington.” Munson shakes his head, and he doesn’t look or sound any more enthusiastic about the whole situation—he actually looks kind of seasick—but he sticks his hand out. “I guess you’ve got yourself a deal.”
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ybkitten · 16 days
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He might be my boy but he's still going in the cube. I'm sorry Doppo. Anyway-
It's Doppo Day and it's MerMay so it's time to draw fanart for a mermaid Doppo fanfiction I read!! You should go read @partywo's deep serpentine! And its sequel, brackish, boiling! It's good! I'm eating it like a man starved for Matenro.
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daneesoro · 7 months
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guy who takes friendly responses as flirting
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can-of-slorgs · 2 months
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The other researchers are also here! (magical edition!)
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seekingthestars · 11 days
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she's beauty she's grace she's Miss Eevee Cosplay 3.0
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jacksprostate · 3 months
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Can you talk about how fight club is the story of a deeply closedeted gay man the wake of the aids crisis? How do his anxieties about hiv manifest?
yeah sure! i feel like i've talked about it in bits and pieces in a few different posts which I'll link here but I'll also type up a little summary. Not operating on 100% so forgive me if it's a bit all over the place.
On the narrator and Marla wrt sexuality
On the Lou scene of the movie
The central obvious joke yet not really comparison
Anyway so. I'm going to focus on the book as always but lots still generally applies to the movie and in the above links you can see a bit about the Lou scene from the movie if that's your interest.
So first I think it's important to acknowledge the narrator meets Tyler on an empty nude beach. This has a lot of connotations for a lot of reasons. Nude beaches/beaches in general have long been a gay male hookup spot. The beach is empty — it's the 90s. Many, many people have died. The narrator chose to go there — an interesting one. Stepping out of bounds a little only to be reminded of the constant threat, by how no one is there. He just watches Tyler do his thing, doesn't engage. He keeps his foot, with the AIDS-like rash on it, buried in the sand so he doesn't start dying in people's eyes (and presumably so if he ever got the gumption, he could tap it). Even if you assume the nude beach isn't specifically gay, all these things still apply, and it's still his idealized man he hallucinated all sweaty and tan.
Kind of discussed in the Marla related link above but he's like, horrifically repressed, even if he WAS straight. He can't imagine himself having sex. But when he has Tyler have straight sex (see above link for detailed thoughts on that), it's Marla he's jealous of. It is literally written that way. He is jealous of Marla stealing Tyler's attention and ruining the vibe they had with just the two of them.
Something, something, elaborate rituals for the touch of another man. Getting a big rubbery one in response to Bob. Arguably it's about him getting off on misery but it's not like it was written with regard to Chloe. And Chloe— amyl nitrite/poppers are commonly used in gay bathhouses and stuff. Used in straight sex too but yeah pretty common... Back to Bob though, this mimicry of closeness with another human being  another man in particular, staring down the gun at a man who can't functional have sex like society expects him to anymore. 
He invents a club that word for word could be swapped with gay sex for a large portion of its introduction. He is desperate for the touch of another man even if violence is the only way he can get it. Sex would be violence, in an age of being terrified of AIDS. 
The constant underlying sharing of blood and spit and contaminating food etc. All these other ways HIV is spread. But at least it wouldn't be That way. If that's his destined way to die then at least it wouldn't be like that. Dark, but.
The fucking scene about his birthmark holy shit man. Essentially, the doctors thought his birthmark was a sign of, pretty much, Kaposi's sarcoma. The cancer overwhelmingly associated with AIDS, and he's a medical marvel. Because he'd be dying from an unknown horrific disease. Now he hides the birthmark, because that unknown disease is everywhere now. <-bastardization of a line from the book. And when people see that birthmark, he starts dying in their eyes. If he was openly gay in any fashion, he'd start dying in their eyes too. The same way.
There is, distinctly, a sense of a complete lack of actual functional future. There is a sense of complete lack of role models from the past. 
The environmentalist turn even in this sense. The burden of history. He was not the one who spread the virus. There's a lot of deep, deep self hate and internalized homophobia in that. In the single time the narrator mentions gay men, too — as gay men wanting children being the cause for why all the single mothers in the clinic Marla goes to  are dying of AIDS. But that's not true. Gay men, overwhelmingly, are not the reason it went from gay men to eventually reaching women. But what he repeats is part of the societal curse upon them, and what he repeats is a chastisement, look what happens when you dare desire anything. If you actually want to act on those perversions. You curse everything and everyone. Stay repressed, or you'll die and kill everyone.
He invents Tyler. "Perfectly handsome and an angel in his everything-blond way." He invents the perfect man, who also can never infect him. Who also pisses and spits in soups, god what a conundrum — society assumes you're evil, sick, and damned, but you're still their responsibility. How do they like it. I am not glamorizing the willful spread of disease lol I don't think it's ever a sane response but in fiction it hits that like... vindictive anguish. 
Honestly, even the section I just mentioned. Where Tyler rants to the union boss. You don't actually give a single shit about me and better yet you probably hate the living shit out of me. But I am still your responsibility. You have sucked me dry til I have nothing to love, and you have everything. And the narrator says he says the same thing Tyler said, but about contaminated food. The parallels, with how that would apply to people with HIV, especially gay men. There is so, so much emphasis on the narrator's blood and how it gets all over the Pressman hotel's manager.
Fight Club, Project Mayhem — they're the designs of someone who doesn't expect to live long. The home of people who don't expect to live long. Whether that's because medical care is too expensive or because you catch a blood infection or because the cops shoot you. 
And at the end, after everything has happened, after his manic pixie dream boy helped him martyr himself, what does he really get? Idk man. Drugs that will kill his sex drive. A deep fear of himself that now has evidence for how far he can fall. A deep disillusionment. No hate, but no love either. Still just empty, now knowing he has opened pandora's box, whether he intended to or not. He can't put it back. He tried. 
Idk. something to be said about all that. Probably a lot more as well but that's just off the top of my head.
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perelka-l · 25 days
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sometimes like this. But also like that.
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ontosgold · 1 month
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I LOVE the way you drew ryomina they are soooo 🥺💖🥰🥺🥺🥰🥰🥺🥺💖💖
Curious, I would love to know if you have more personal headcanons for them! I love your art of Minato wearing glasses
Good luck in uni!!!! Hope you have an amazing day/night ^^
THANK YOU ANON :D !!!!!
and yes I have a few more hcs !! thanks for asking hehe now i get to ramble >:)
I have some hcs regarding fashion and such !! I've kinda been thinking about this a bunch ever since I made those casual outfits for ryoji
-ryoji loves expressing himself through fashion, he really enjoys experimenting with clothes and discovering his style
-he likes going on shopping outings with yukari (minato has been dragged along a lot as well) (yukamitsu ryomina double shopping dates !!)
-ryoji's a big fan of yellow and also just any bright colours that go well with it. he's a bright and colourful boy :>
-minato never really cared much about fashion or style, a t-shirt is usually just good enough for him (his style is just. if its comfy and it looks nice then its good) and he's not a fan of bright colours or anything that makes him stand out too much. ryoji's been trying to get him to experiment a bit
and here's some of my more general hcs for them ^_^
-ryoji's a lot quieter when its just him and minato and minato smiles more around ryoji (minato is completely unaware of how much he smiles in ryojis presence and he'll get a lil embarrassed if someone points it out)
-minato's sleepy and tired all of the time. chronically sleepy (<- lol). god's sleepiest soldier. but he feels super comfortable having naps around ryoji. sleeping when he's nearby just feels safe.
-if ryoji and minato are hanging out at the dorm together, there is a fairly high chance that minato will end up asleep.
-also i like to imagine that if the two of them have a movie night at the dorm, they'll both end up asleep by the end with koromaru all cosied up with them too (<- i should draw this sometime)
-minato's super introverted. while he loves spending time around the ppl he cares about, he only has so much energy for socialising. ryoji is the one person minato can spend all his day around without draining the social battery
-also minato's a pretty quiet guy, he's a man of little words. he prefers to listen to people, rather than be the one leading the conversation. and bcs ryoji and mina know eachother like they know themselves, they don't always need to communicate verbally. I like to think they spend a lot of their time sitting in comfortable silence together
-ryoji's super fascinated and interested by all the simple joys in life. whenever he's out with minato he'll point out things like pretty flowers, birds, the way the clouds look. and they'll stop to admire the sunset if they're out late. and of course minato takes a lot of interest in the things ryoji points out to him :>
also i hc ryoji as bi and minato as greyromantic ace ^_^ !! ryoji and minato's relationship is something so much more than a typical romantic relationship to me
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nebulousfishgills · 3 months
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Please do share the notes with us 👀
Okay, let me transcribe *exactly* word for word what I wrote down in my journal for you all (Again, bear in mind that my bestie and I have NOT finished the game yet, so this isn't the full list, I will be adding more):
(The whole dialogue exchange between Henry and Brenner when Henry's getting his tattoo touched up and calls Brenner a parasite because *chef's kiss*)
Orange for Lunch??
Freedom in mind void to ability suppression
Windows
Russian Spies?
Losing Control of the hivemind?
Eleven makes him emotional?
Control over the hivemind is fickle?
"Creepy Henry" by the other kids
Mind Flayer bullies him
Using the hivemind to hunt for Eleven
"Obsession is how you love"
Eating dinner away from the rest of the family as a child
Comic books
Eggs?
Flies around like Spider-Man with the vines
Corpses = Trophies
Spiders = Muse
Mind Flayer communicates to Henry with Brenner's voice
"Most human thing about him" is feeling time
"Tied down like your mother" ??
Physically inside brains?
Obsession with the past
Obsession the only way he can connect
Influence only goes as far as the corruption
Ants? Spiders eat ants?
Chapter 2 says November 1983
Mind Flayer wants to devour everything
Will the key
Chapter 3 The Possession of Will Byers
Vecna in communication with Will
Manipulates Will's memories?
"I understand you more than anybody else"
Can possess technology?
Sows seeds of doubt
"You'll finally matter to someone, Will"
Fascinated by environment (nerd)
Mind Flayer absorbs Henry's memories
Studies Henry
Brenner said he'd take the chip out
Stole some of the Flayer's power?
Mind Flayer is a DICK
Keeps escaping Mind Flayer's influence
Rewarded for hurting things
Saw Eleven like a sister - "Alice"
Eleven was the "replacement?"
Mind Flayer deadass pulls out a "rate your emotions" chart
Henry corrupts the Upside Down
We stopped in the middle of the memory nexus loop since the headset was dying and it was getting late, but that's what I've written down so far. I'll update this once we finish the game and then maybe come up with a more comprehensive analysis post.
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just-french-me-up · 10 months
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hey hi i'm buzzing with the need for dreamling fic recs if you would be so kind as to point me in your favorite direction pls pls pls
Oh friend, you asked and I shall ✨ deliver ✨
DREAMLING FIC RECS 🌻✨
of my misery make thy use by @qqueenofhades (Explicit - WIP - 129k so far - In Universe, but with some tweaks, Rescue fic) Dream is Roderick Burgess' prisoner, in all his silent, sullen, naked glory, and has given up on the thought of anyone ever helping him out of there. Even Hob Gadling. Especially Hob Gadling. In fact, he's quite sure the man never wants to speak to him ever again, regardless of his current predicament. A bummer, really, because he also happens to be married to him. (Listen that fic has slain me EVERY WHICH WAY, it has EVERYTHING, it will take you PLACES (literally), it's rewarding as fuck, has OCs to die for, just... just read it, ignore the WIP status, what's there is absolutely chef's kiss)
the unknown and static strange by @qqueenofhades (yes, again, listen, if i loved you less i might be able to talk about it more bla bla bla) (Mature - WIP - 69K so far (nice) - Dubious AU status, Memento mets Academia, Modern day with a twist) Professor Robert Gadling, under cut rocking, weird dreams having, and trauma suffering, discovers a strange piece of undocumented art that seems to follow him everywhere he goes. The Regis Somnorum won't leave him alone, and as he tries to follow that thread, a whole mysterious tapestry unfolds, putting everything he knows, or thought he knew, into question. (This fic is a fucking delight, it's just KEEPS feeding you "oh shit" moments and suspense and revelations and the pacing just keeps you on the edge of your SEAT. Again, IGNORE the WIP status I BEG OF YOU, read it, devour it)
This Rough Magic by @avelera (Mature - WIP - 36k so far - Rescue fic with a twist) Hob Gadling never fancied himself a mage or a warlock, but dabbled enough in the occult to pick up a few tricks over the years, all in the hope to communicate with his Stranger. A stranger, he later discovers, who is trapped under Roderick The Fucking Magus Burgess's manor. Now, he may not be the best magic wielder there is.... but Burgess doesn't know that, does he? (There are some VERY clever things in this fic, everyone is written to a T, I love a fic where my loathing of Burgess can burn from the brightest flame and at the same time have him not like a cartoon villain but a full human being! Can't wait to see where that goes!)
if you just let me (have you, love you) by Lost_Elf (Explicit - 25k - Human AU - Adult Film Actors AU (I see you tumblr, restricting words these days, I see you) Both very prominent in their own niches of the Internet, Dom-BDSM-oriented Dream and Vanilla-centered Hob cross paths and plan what could be (or so their managers hope) the collab of the century. And they might learn a thing or two along the way. (Listen, I read this on a whim, I wasn't too into Human AUs at the time, I was up for some smut that day, and this fic is a LOT more wholesome than the subject lets on and really gripped me! Lots of very nice details in there! And also, you know.... smut)
by the minute by @issylra (Explicit - 11K - Human AU, Sex Phone Operator Dream) Dream has a bet with Desire : he has to manage a phone sex line for some time. He's not thrilled by it. Callers are... unimaginative and unoriginal, to say the least. Except one. He has a very nice voice. He's funny. And he sounds just about as lost as he is, in life. (The tags make it sound super raunchy but it's more about developping attraction through someone's voice and getting to know someone through the phone and falling in love and.... it's just lovely, it's very sweet, it's like a little blanket with a warm cup of tea, really)
Now I KNOW this is not what you EXPLICITELY asked for but.... dare I suggest..... something with an OC thrown in the mix? Cause that's just adding a fun player to the game, with added stakes, really!
as heart for heart, for loving me by @kittttycakes (hello darling) (Explicit - WIP but soon to be finished - 151k so far - Canon compliant - OT3 if there ever was one - How to polyamory, a guide for Dream of the Endless, a primordial being who needs to use his goddamn words) When Dream finds Hob at the New Inn, he's ready to open up a little. Be a friend. Be a little more than that, though he can't quite articulate it. The only issue with that is that Hob has a girlfriend. A live-in girlfriend. A very much serious girlfriend. Dream tries his darnest to hate her, and finds he can't quite bring himself to. (It's soft, it's lovely, it has angst, it has smut, it has fluff for days, it has developping relationships GALORE (plural) and it's just a nice read to switch up your rotation, cause the potential for situations is tripled now!)
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kindahoping4forever · 5 months
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my ultimate wish for this next era is they finally let Ryan go like they did Andy. I'm so sick of not getting the content we deserve. All the gatekeeping of tour diaries and now the crumbs of concert footage in that "documentary" yesterday. he was working for months on that? that's why we didn't get tour diaries? all that footage just goes in his vault now? Please.
Hello! I'm sorry to hear you felt disappointed by yesterday's special. However, I feel compelled to comment on a few objective points in your ask.
- "Live & Backstage in Amsterdam" was directed by James Tonkin, the same director (and production team, Hangman) they worked with on "The Feeling of Falling Upwards" (and the unreleased "Live in Brixton" special). Ryan was credited as director of the documentary footage and as a contributing editor (1 of 3) but the live footage and overall final program was not his work.
- Regardless of the particular creatives involved here (or in any given project for that matter), the fact remains that any directors, producers, photographers, etc are all hired hands operating with full input and specific direction from the band. The band chose to make this a hybrid concert film/documentary. The band chose to condense the setlist the way they did. The band chose this format over the traditional tour diaries. What happens to the unused footage will be determined by the band. Ryan is a friend but he is first and foremost an employee and the band owns that footage. (Likewise, the MYT diaries are not sitting on Andy Deluca's hard drive because he's "gatekeeping" or too lazy to edit it. If the band wanted them released, they'd be released.) All this to say, of course you don't have to agree with the decisions but it's important to clarify who your complaint is with.
- This concept of the band or their collaborators "gatekeeping" and fans not getting what we "deserve" is, to be blunt, entitled and immature. Being a fan does not make an artist indebted to you. They make music, if you feel so inclined, you listen. That's it. That's the extent of the contract. Anything beyond that is optional for both parties. Any content an artist chooses to release is not out of obligation or generosity, it's part business strategy, part artistic vision. Artists do not owe you anything. This band does not owe you anything.
#apologies for the long answer but clearly i had a lot to say (still do tbh)#i didn't link it bc it hit a lot of the same points but i answered an ask with similar sentiments last year about the CM promo era aesthetic#bottom line is at the end of the day these dudes are not our friends shit posting they are professional artists#artists trying to fulfill not just a creative vision but also business obligations#the people they work with are tools in the toolbox hired to help accomplish those goals#they don't get raw footage and do whatever they want with it - the band will always get final say#the hate their collaborators get is always so bizarre to me-whether it be their signature style or the manner in which they deliver content#the band hired these people for a reason 🤷🏻‍♀️#also just bc I have the time: Andy was not 'let go'#thru their work with 5sos andy & sarah have become quite prolific mv directors both individually and as a team#as well as continuing to be in demand live music photographers - andy literally shot depeche mode last week#ryan has also had a number of high profile ad campaigns he's shot this year#what I'm saying is they don't need 5sos lol#the band likes their work and is lucky to have access to collaborators that make them feel understood#i just... can't reconcile this 'we deserve' bit#this was the third concert special in as many years... we only had to pay for one... bc it was a global livestream#it's ok to be disappointed if it wasn't what you expected and i don't mean to invalidate that#but this concept of 'deserving' is a different thing especially in the context of this fandom where entitlement is an ongoing issue#so that's where this long ass answer is coming from lol#anyways that's my rant for the year - just in under the wire!#ask#anon
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tristansarchive · 10 months
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It's the way you move I knew I would stay with you After just one touch The way you move has got me stuck Stuck
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jakeperalta · 7 months
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I literally think being in the taylor fandom is making me a worse person like I am so not a hater at heart and yet I just get so irritated by the fandom that it makes me feel like the most negative bitter person :/
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