Ooh, May I Have # 18 On The Soulmate Prompt List With Marcus Pike, Please? I'm Very Curious As To What

This is why I don’t tell 99% people im bisexual

Pumpkin Carving

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader Rating: G Word count: 3,212 Warnings: Food mention, alcohol mention, drug/addiction mention, unashamed and unabashed fluff. Pining. So much pining. No beta reader. 

Summary: Frankie invites you out with his daughter to collect pumpkins for carving before going back to his place to carve them and watch a movie. 

A/N: @chicken-ona-stick​ has the SOFTEST IDEAS OK AND I LOVE THEM. Have some Domestic!Frankie

Masterlist | Ao3

You’ve known Francisco Morales for so many years. You sent letters to him while he was deployed, you stood on his side of the altar along with his team members for his wedding, you helped coordinate his baby shower, you held him in your arms as he mourned his crumbling marriage, and you stood by him as he got back to his feet to act the part of the single father he now was. Always smiling for him along the sidelines with him none the wiser to your true feelings. You love him, truly and deeply, but always silently. Pope and Benny both knew, and had consistently been on you about telling him, but you just… can’t bring yourself to. Not anymore.

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mood: chief jim hopper, stuck in some interdimensional tunnels, lighting up a cigarette because he’s given up on life

Had a long talk with a friend about tumblr after going on hiatus. I didn't actually know if I'd ever touch my beloved hellsite again.

Because... I'd hit a breaking point. I couldn't stand it anymore.

There's so much bullshit everywhere you look.

So much goddamn drama.

I'm an observational person by nature. I watch and I pay attention. I'm always cataloging information whether I mean to or not. It's just how my brain works.

And all I saw was... Pain.

Everyone hurting each other for no reason other than a difference in opinion on FICTIONAL PEOPLE. That exist in a world that is also FICTIONAL. Or about CELEBRITIES that they will never know on a personal level.

We can all feel close to an actor or musician, etc.

But in the end?

We don't know these people.

We get shown a side of who they are.

They're actors. Some of them so mind-blowing at it that it's breathtaking. Wouldn't you think they could present a certain persona if they wanted to? Anytime they wanted to?

I'm not saying what we're seeing isn't real. That who they're presenting to us isn't true to them.

I'm not saying it isn't organic.

What I'm saying is that we don't know them on a personal everyday life level to be able to properly evaluate what kind of person they are.

Belittling and torturing someone with emotional trauma? Because of that?

That mentality is in need of a sharp hip check.

When I say that what I mean is this:

Sometimes you get so deeply immersed in a world and a way of thinking that reality slips away a little. You stop seeing things as clearly. As rationally. You stop seeing people as people.

I've personally had to hip check myself many times in the last year. Many, many, times. Because I got caught up in the euphoria of it all.

I acquired blorbo vision.

Several times I had to pull back, take those blorbo vision glasses off, and take a breath.

Reevaluate.

I would take time to consider if the things that were upsetting me were something that merited it. If it was something of any actual consequence.

And every time?

It wasn't.

It didn't matter in the face of human decency.

It didn't matter because fandom is make believe.

Every inch of it is fiction. Even the ones that revolve around real people. It's all fiction.

But what isn't fiction?

The person behind your favorite blog isn't fiction.

The person behind the blog that makes you feel like screaming and cursing isn't fiction.

But the arguments?

That goes back into fiction land.

There's dissecting a film because it's fascinating or vile.

Then there's thinking that moment of fiction is worth someone taking their life. That we need to argue over the merits of something that happens in fiction like it's on our own front porch. That something happening in fiction has any bearing on real life ideals.

I have been in fandom for over twenty years.

I am a card carrying elder at this point.

And this shit? This new wave of toxic mental warfare?

Fuck that shit.

All of it.

I would say that fandom in it's current form can go to hell but, it already is hell.

My friend did talk sense into me about the situation, though.

Going forward it's gonna be idgaf land:

I'm tried of censoring my opinions.

I'm tired of fandoms bullshit politics.

I'm tired of the drama.

I'm tired of being told what I should think and who I should be and what is acceptable for me to feel.

That shit? Can get fucked. I'm done with it.

Fandom is for fun.

Fandom is for screaming yourself hoarse to your friends about how much you love a character, a show, a book, a graphic novel, a band; anything and everything that makes you feel like a four year old with your brain all lit up like it's fucking Christmas morning.

It is not about being pushed into a goddamn box and being told to behave.

It's not about being shunned for having your own opinions and emotions.

It's not about being told you'll have your privileges removed if you step out of line.

A line that someone else has drawn with invisible ink.

That shit? Can also get fucked.

Say goodbye to censoring and hello to idgaf I'm here to enjoy my blorbos and be stupid. 👋👋👋

Fandom is for fun.

La Belle et La Bete

Ghost!Ezra Prospect x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.7k 

Warnings: angst, mentions of death/poisoning, enemies to lovers, AU, cursing, brief mentions of NSFW, angst with a semi-happy ending, crying, lots of fluff

Summary: You’d been able to see ghosts for the entirety of your life, but the last thing you ever expected was to fall for one.

Beautiful ghost!Ezra fanart by @honestly-shite

You don’t remember when you began seeing the specters in your day to day life, believing them to be just oddly dressed people up until a certain point. You remember the day you realized that the people you saw were not living, however. You had pointed at a rather odd looking man in a top hat that towered over you, exclaiming to your mom about the funny hat. The man had smiled at you and given you a little wink, but your mother had gawked at you like you were the one with a two foot tall hat perched on your head. It became quickly apparent that you possessed a gift that those around you did not; a gift that you would have to keep a secret unless you had a wish to spend the rest of your days in an asylum.

They were everywhere, and the only way you could truly set them apart was the slight translucent quality to their skin and their often time-inappropriate clothing. As you grew older you realized that it was not, in fact, normal for adults to walk around in Victorian era garments, and for young men to be adorned in shiny metal armor.

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Reblog if you're gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, asexual, transgender or a supporter.

This should be reblogged by everyone. Even if you’re straight, you should be a supporter.

This is why it’s so important for parents to support their trans kids.

ghosts

—CHAPTER THREE: happy

pairing: Javier Peña x f! reader

previous part | next part | masterlist 

a/n: okay wow, this was at 3k when I promised it two weeks ago and now it’s 5.7k. just a slight continuity warning: this whole series is kind of a ‘fuck you’ to the narcos timeline bc I can’t remember when they were in Medellin or when Connie left and came back all relative to everything happening with Carrillo so don’t hate me, I’m going to make it work out I think

also just a general thought – to everyone who responded so well to the last two parts, your enthusiasm is what made me get this part done and edited, tell your fav authors you love them whenever you get the chance ! it makes a difference :)))

The day had been sort of a daze. 

By the time the sun had set gently behind the horizon, muting the sunlit sky into hues of lavender, you were already a few drinks deep, laying back on the front steps of the complex. Time was passing, the seconds turning to minutes, turning to hours, playing out so beautifully in the sky overhead with clouds and colors floating, changing with every breath, and you weren’t moving. You just couldn’t find the energy. 

Not to take a picture, not to flip through the diligently kept journal in your lap, not to do a damn thing but drink. It wasn’t a solution but at this point, it didn’t seem like it could do any more damage. 

The lavender grew darker. The soft orange of the streetlamps ignited up and down the length of the barely busy street. Windows that had previously welcomed the temperate afternoon breeze shut to the aching chill that blew in with the gradual fall of the blanket of dusk over the city. Glasses and bottles clinked with a cheer of ‘salud’ in the small restaurant down the street, couple’s arguments behind closed doors leaking into the street, the roar of a motorcycle’s engine being cut short as the chastising slap of a mother knocked the poor boy in the adjacent alley out of his confident bluff. All the little things. 

It was always the little things. 

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RIP CURLS

Transgender Day of Visibility.