#But I'm telling you they're tethered even if I'm the only one that sees it

[maya-matlin]

What do you see as the main similarities and differences between Zaya and Joey/Pacey?!

I've been waiting for this ask my entire life LOL

So first things first, I've thought Zig and Pacey were similar characters for a long time. It's not a perfect comparison. High school Pacey was a lot more emotionally mature and almost unrealistically selfless and sensitive compared to Zig who was much more like your typical, ignorant teenager. But at the same time, there are still many parallels. Both guys had complicated relationships with their families. Zig's familial life prior to being kicked out is hardly shown or given much development. We know that his mother seems to love him and he presumably has a dad still in the picture. Pacey's parents resented and abused him, both physically and emotionally. He was constantly reminded what a failure he supposedly was and that they'd prefer he wasn't around. The tense family situation led to Pacey moving out of his childhood home halfway through his junior year in favor of living with Doug, and then Gretchen. Zig's story was much different. He's assumed to have a stable, relatively loving home life prior to his gang ties directly putting his family in harm's way. After Zig fails to leave the gang, either by his own decision or because he genuinely doesn't feel as though he's able to leave (it's unclear - Degrassi did not even try with this arc), he's kicked out and basically never accepted back home. Even after Zig does his best to leave the gang, doing better in school and staying out of trouble, it's still not enough. Just the hint of Zig being in the vicinity of something dangerous, aka Tiny being stabbed, is too much for his mom to accept. So as a result, Zig spends the rest of high school living in a group home after being forced to leave the Matlins' house. Both Zig and Pacey are fundamentally changed during their formative years by the absence of their parents' support and love. Pacey has been resigned to the reality that he'll never get what he needs from his family. Not that this even stops him from accepting the teensiest amount of affection, always being quick to meet his shitty family members halfway. Zig never fully recovers on screen from the loss of his family. He almost projects the need for a family onto Maya, the closest thing he has to unconditional love for a very long time. Considering their relationship is a romantic one and prone to falling apart because of the reality of high school relationships not typically working out, Zig never quite gets this from Maya. There's a semblance of Zig having a found family with Tiny, Grace and Maya, but it's like.. we don't really get that acknowledgement. At the end of Next Class, it's Zoe who has this moment with her classmates and closest friends. Regardless, Zig becomes desperate for love and stability in the absence of having a family. He's much more prone to self doubt and putting a lot of stock in his friends' opinions of him, something he directly tells Esme when apologizing for not doing a good job defending their relationship and Esme's status as his girlfriend. Both Zig and Pacey seek out permanent love to replace the rejection they feel from their parents.

Back to the self worth issues. No matter how many people in their lives try to validate them, Zig and Pacey never fully believe that they're worth much or are capable of good things. This aspect of Pacey is at least taken seriously. In season 4, Pacey' series-long self worth problems gradually manifest into depression and self hatred, resulting in him eventually ruining his relationship with Joey in a very ugly, self destructive way. Sound familiar LOL? Zig's self worth problems don't get this treatment. On some occasions, Zig's insecurities and strong feelings for Maya are almost played for laughs. No one takes his concerning comments seriously. Even when he opens up to Esme, sharing that he feels as though he isn't good at anything, she only focuses on Zig talking about "some other girl,” displaying jealousy that the guy she's into is still preoccupied with his ex. During Zig's relationship with Maya, particularly during the first season of Next Class, he's paralyzed with a lot of insecurities and believes he's losing Maya. No matter how much affection Maya gives him or tries to reassure Zig that he's the only one she wants - both physically and emotionally, he can't make himself accept it. Much like Pacey loses it at prom when he sees Joey dancing with Dawson, Zig self destructs in his own way: he cheats on Maya with Zoe, convinced she's doing the same same thing with Jonah even though he has zero evidence of this. Though Pacey intentionally and consciously breaks up with Joey through his actions, Zig indirectly does the same? Not really, but based on his demeanor when Maya comes back, Zig almost seemed convinced prior to Maya explaining what transpired during her visit to New York that what he did WASN'T cheating and that it wouldn't have mattered because Maya was already gone. Meaning, the official breakup was merely a formality. This doesn't negate his actions and isn't meant to downplay them. Simply put, Zig's emotions were all over the place. He could no longer discern the truth or have faith in Maya's love for him because of his own deep seated self hatred. This isn't unlike Pacey, who seemed to have less and less confidence in Joey's love for him as season 4 went on.

I can't find a coherent way to introduce the Pacey/Zig parallels, so here:

Eventually, both Pacey and Zig end up lashing out at Joey and Maya, blaming them for their bad behavior and/or the way they're feeling. Thankfully, both quickly apologize. Pacey does it more eloquently and comes across as much more sympathetic, though. But Zig at least does acknowledge he didn't actually hold Maya responsible for his impulsive, hurtful actions with Zoe.

In contrast, Maya and Joey aren't all that similar beyond spending some time in denial about their feelings and experiencing loss at a young age. Joey lost her mother to cancer while Maya's first boyfriend committed suicide. Their demeanors are very opposite. Joey is an extremely guarded person, using sarcasm and anger to keep people away. Maya is much friendlier. While she still has her guard up to some extent, particularly from the end of season 12 through halfway through season 14, she always welcomes people into her life - even if she sometimes can't let them all the way in. Much like Joey with Pacey, Maya exposes herself to Zig completely in a way she can't with other guys.

You'd think I'd be done by now, right? Sadly, I'm not. Both Zaya and Pacey/Joey had similar starts. Zig and Pacey spent a lot of time pining after Maya and Joey. Both girls claimed they didn't reciprocate the guys' feelings at one point or another. Pacey kissing Joey in season 1 only for her to reject him for Dawson could be comparable to Maya immediately getting back together with Cam after kissing Zig for the first time. But for what it's worth, it was always obvious to me that Maya had feelings for Zig that she wasn't owning up to, subconsciously or otherwise. Joey's feelings for Pacey don't appear to exist until season 3, though you could make an argument for repressed physical attraction based on the occasional comment. Not unlike how Pacey had gradually become Joey's best and closest friend during season 3, Zig served the same role in Maya's life once they started living together and moved past the messy triangle with Miles. Eventually, the tension came to the surface, and both couples shared a passionate kiss, initiated by one member of the ship.

Then, another initiated by the other half:

There's a brief attempt at a secret relationship. Though admittedly, Zaya's short stint (all of two seconds) as secret lovers was nothing compared to the traumatic experience that was the Dawson/Joey/Pacey love triangle. Eventually, both couples settle into a stable relationship after spending a mostly happy summer together. Being back at school and the the reality of both Maya and Joey being very ambitious people (Maya wanting to pursue her musical dreams and Joey wanting to attend a prestigious school) whereas Zig and Pacey aren't for whatever reason, perfectly content to be wherever their girlfriends are as they make zero plans for their own lives. The reality of what happens when you put so much stock into one person over your own success and self worth led to.. well, basically, my long ass rant, detailing Zig's and Pacey's issues.

Other miscellaneous moments that parallel are both Zig and Pacey having insecurities about their girlfriend's love for them because the relationships have yet to become or haven't since been, sexual. Both Maya and Joey have fears. Maya is afraid that things will get weird if she sleeps with Zig again. Joey has a whole host of sex-related fears that are barely addressed or even properly explained because this was the 2000's, and Dawson's Creek often perpetuated really gross ideas about female virginity and sexuality. But in time, both couples got on the same page and had somewhat similar love scenes.

Bonus:

As stated before, both Zig and Pacey plan to be with their girlfriends in the forseeable future:

Taking joy in their girlfriend's accomplishments:

Taking care of Maya/Joey while they're high/drunk:

It takes a long time, but eventually both couples find each other again.

And obviously, both thankfully ended up together! Zig moves to LA with Maya while Pacey is assumed to follow Joey to New York at some point after their reunion. Pacey eventually becomes a chef while Joey manages to get her dream, escaping Capeside and finding a fulfilling career. When we last see Zig and Maya, their lives are just starting out. But Maya is on her way to university to eventually work in the music industry. Zig's future is unknown, though it's always been clear that Zig has a talent for cooking, making it highly likely he'll also someday become a chef.

As for the differences, I'll keep it brief. Zig and Maya overall always had a pleasant, friendly sort of dynamic whereas Pacey and Joey constantly bantered, spending part of their formative years supposedly "hating" each other.

Okay, I'm officially done!

#mayamatlinscello #Long post #Not my gifs #I'm so sorry #But I'm telling you they're tethered even if I'm the only one that sees it #No one read this though #It's probably so full of typos but I'm sick of looking at it

[ghouljams]

but witch having a bad day bc somethings upset her n wanting price? Like n she struggles so much bc she knows if she was scared or hurt she'd pull bc shed have to and he'd be happy to help her out but rn she just wants price, not needs him. And price would be so over the moon when he feels the most tentative tug on the tether.

Istg thats how they finally become closer, when witch starts calling him when she wants him not just needs him

God I'm so fucking feral for them, they want each other so badly but neither of them wants to say anything for fear of scaring the other away. Even Price's flirting is such a cleverly disguised misdirect of his feelings. What do you mean he's in love, no no he's just flirting because it's fun, he's just naturally charming like this. And Witch literally can't stop her care from bleeding through into her spells, everything she gives Price is such a declaration, but God forbid she say she likes him or she might burst into flame. Anyway, here's some fluff for them, lowkey inspire by this video

People always assume that magic makes everything easier, that if they had access to the power you do they'd never have another bad day. The reality of magic isn't quite so... magical. It makes life easier sure, but only if you've prepared for the bad days in advance. Even then it's balm on a wound, an extra dose of ibuprofen for a migraine, another chore to upkeep if you want it to do anything to soothe the ache.

You can chart all the sigils you want onto your skin, but it doesn't unburden the ache in your chest. Doesn't relieve the burgeoning sadness or the sticky fingers of anxiety. There's no good reason for the dark cloud over your head, your day was hectic but you've handled worse. It's your hormones making your usually warm house feel cold and cavernous, making everything feel bigger and more terrible than it actually is. They make you curl into the corner of your couch, lonely, as you tuck your knit blanket under your feet.

There was a time that being alone didn't bother you. You've spent most of your adult life alone, content with phone calls and the occasional visit from your loved ones. Now your thoughts hover around wanting someone nearby, wanting to be held and comforted with physicality instead of words. You can't ask anyone for that.

Well, you suppose you could. You know one person who would gladly give you that. The idea of calling him is more embarrassing than calling one of your friends. You can't ask Price over for something so small, so self indulgent. Besides, you'd so quickly brushed off his concern when you saw him this afternoon. You'd feel like a liar asking for him now when you could hardly spare him time between the day's appointments. That doesn't stop you from wanting him, as much as you chastise yourself for it.

Your fingers toy with the tethers the lay against your skin. They're so gentle, hardly a spider's strand to their weight, easy to ignore. It's silly feeling your heart clench just thinking of how easy it would be to call him here. He's likely busy. The world outside your front window is dark, it wouldn't be worth his effort to even knock on your door. Wanting is so pesky. Your magic feels muddled, responsive to your desires but caged by your self imposed limitations. You try to think of something that could replace the feeling of having Price around when your ears pop. You tug sharply at your tethers as you turn to see what your wards are decidedly not biting.

Price rolls his shoulders with a pleased groan, "There it is, barely felt the first one." You untangle your fingers and wipe them against your blanket, as if you could erase the evidence of your wanting. Price walks around the couch to sit on the side opposite you. He drops heavily onto the plush cushion, leaning against the back with a sigh. He looks tired. You feel worse for having called him, you weren't trying to.

"I didn't mean to call you," You tell him. Price hums, his eyes closed as he rests his head against the afghan thrown over the back cushions. Having a guest in your house makes you feel restless. "I'll put a kettle on," You unbundle yourself, and slip your feet back onto the floor.

"Sit," Price tells you, commands you, as you start to stand. Your butt hits the cushion again in record time, the after effects of foreign magic shaking your fingertips as you draw your feet up again. "What do you need?" He asks.

You sigh, try not to feel like a huge fucking burden for a man who's really been nothing but helpful and understanding to you previous requests. You prop your cheek against your hand, going for casual. You're not sure if you sell it. "Nothing," you lie.

As if he'd believe that. Not when he could feel the soft pangs of loneliness with each brush of your fingers through the tethers connecting you. Price watches you tug your knees up to your chest, feels the lingering want on his skin, the clutch of his heart at the gentle look in your eyes. You're truly a terrible liar. Even if he hadn't felt your desires, he'd know you wanted something. You hardly look at him.

What about what he wants then? Is it easier for you to blame him?

He wants to hold you, wants to comfort you in the way you seem so desperate for. Why shouldn't he? Feeling you pull for him had tipped the rest of the world off his plate, it's just you, you're all he needs. All he wants.

"C'mere sweethear'," He holds a hand out to you, feeling your gaze touch his fingers. Your hesitation betrays you. "Unless you want me comin' over there," Price warns. You jump to take his hand, letting him pull you onto his lap. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as his hand grips your hair, your nose presses to his shoulder as you curl your legs to lean against him.

You smell like burnt magic, bitter and smokey. His hand digs under your shirt to rub your back, his lips insistent against your shoulder, your neck, your hair. You relax against him like unspooling thread, each muscle and line going slack in his hold. He can feel the crisp edges of whatever cage you sealed yourself in, his fingers starting to scratch at the dark swirls of it. You'll feel better if he pulls you out of it.

"Don't," You hum, your voice so sweet and tired, muffled against him.

"Not meant to keep everything cooped up love," Price reminds you. You make a quiet 'mmph' sound, arms starting to unwind from your tight grip on him. A threat you'll make good on if he isn't careful.

"Safer like this," You jerk a little closer when his blunt nails dig into the charcoal ink, the shiver of his attempts at breaking your magic making you feel electric. "Just hold me, please." You try a different approach. His fingers still, before every inch of his hold tightens on you.

"Thought you'd never ask," He mumbles. It feels like he can't get close enough to you, and after some maneuvering you're laying on top of him.

This you can do. You stretch out your legs, feel him shift underneath you, making sure you get as much contact with him as he can manage. Price bends his knee, the leg on the outside of the couch boxing you in carefully as you settle against his hip, your legs falling on either side of his thick thigh. He tugs a blanket over the both of you, keeping an arm around your shoulders. You forget sometimes, the way he dresses, that he is a well muscled man. You can feel the way each of them move and flex, the soft layer over them hardly disguising the raw strength that lays underneath.

You're safer like this, you think. Safer with him, always. Safe to want things without feeling like a burden. And even if you were a burden, he seems to say with a smile, I'd gladly carry it.

#Price's side of this fic is that he was sitting in the bar after a long day #felt literally the slightest touch from Witch and immediately focused all his attention on it #cataloguing what she was feeling as she touched his tethers #and plotting whether or not she was pulling for him #eerily silent while the rest of the 141 stares at him #before he just stands and apparates to Witch lol #tw periods #cod x reader #x reader #cod x oc #x oc #price x oc #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #john price x oc #john price mw2 #captain price #captain price x oc #captain price x reader #captain price cod #not to get too into it but I think the combination of blood and magic #makes periods sorta dangerous for witches #nothing better than magical blood for power hungry fae #which does mean Price gets a little feral when it's that time of the month #and like any other time of the month #Ghost and König get the same way with their darlings #fae!price #1fae1

[gingiesworld]

Will you do wanda x werewolf reader?

Really don't care the gender, but Yn in their human form is all grumpy but when they are a wolf, they only want to be close to Wanda.

Like, yn is an avenger being a werewolf and has this fame being grumpy, and they like Wanda a lot when she decide to join the team, but they don't show any type of interest in her but one day they can't control their transformation and walk around the compound being a wolf, Wanda being shocked when yn being with her all the time and when they turn into a human form again It was weird but have to confess their feelings.

Grumpy Puss

Wanda Maximoff x GN! Werewolf Reader

Warnings: Fluff.

18+ MINORS DNI

When Wanda joined the Avengers, she would wake to the sound of scratching at her door. Knowing it would be the wolf, she would let them sleep beside her as she would stroke their fur. But whenever Y/N was in human form, they were extremely unsocialable. Barely speaking a word unless it was a monotone syllable.

Of course the team knew of their genes and never really understood that Y/N felt free when they were in wolf form. Freer than they were in their human form.

"Why do they keep sleeping or just being near me when they're in their wolf form?" Wanda asked Nat as the two trained.

"Before you came along, we used to find them laying near the front door when they slept." Nat informed her. "They have a room but I guess it's the way they feel even more comfortable in their wolf form."

"But that doesn't explain their attachment to me." Wanda told her as Nat gave her a smirk.

"Maybe they'll tell you." Nat shrugged as Wanda scoffed.

"How? They don't speak. Whenever anyone tries to go near them, they run the other way." Wanda exclaimed as she just walked out of the training room in frustration. Nat chuckling to herself at Wanda's obvious crush on the monotone individual.

Of it was like every other night, Y/N slept on Wanda's bed in their wolf form as she stroked their hair.

"Why won't you talk to me?" Wanda whispered as the wolf nuzzled closer. "At least help me understand this. Why you love being close to me in this form but want to be on a different planet in human form." Wanda fell asleep shortly after that. The comfort and warmth she had felt from Y/N as they lay beside her. Like they were protecting her in some way.

Wanda woke the next morning to arms around her waist, nuzzling back into the body that held her. Her eyes widened in shock as she scrambled from her bed to see a naked Y/N who also jolted awake. Grabbing Wanda's pink robe and putting it on.

"I am so sorry about this." They mumbled as they made their way to the door as Wanda just stood in their way.

"Why are you attached to me when you're a wolf?" She questioned as they sighed in defeat. "I want answers Y/N."

"It's like I'm tethered to you Wanda." They explained. "I try to fight my emotions and my feelings when I am human because all it takes is one thing to set me off and I can become as dangerous and unpredictable as The Hulk. So I distance myself from everyone. From you." Wanda just listened as they spoke. "I like you Wanda. I have since you joined but I am scared of hurting you, but I guess my wolf form loves you even more. That's why the inner animal is drawn to you."

"I don't understand." Wanda whispered.

"I am in love with you Wanda Maximoff. It just took my inner wolf to make me realise it." They soon made their way towards the door before Wanda managed to stop them, turning them to face her once more. Pressing her lips on his in a tender kiss.

"I am in love with you too." She whispered before they kissed her more passionately than before. Holding her closer to them and feeling her warmth through the pink fluffy fabric.

"I am going to get dressed before Tony sees me in pink and starts to call me pink puff." They smiled as Wanda chuckled as they quickly left the room. A smiling Wanda stood tracing her lips as she watched the door.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff x you

[phatcatphergus]

Hi, you reblogged me with a lore dump about Q! Tubbo and you mentioned that you'd be willing to do a character analysis? Please, I'm invested at this point

Ahhhhh omg hi! I can't believe you came back for more lol. You shall soon be a qtubbo stan like the rest of us.

I do want to preface this by saying that this is my personal lore interpretation so it's subjective. So many people have great analyses of his character, so I recommend watching a couple streams or looking at the tag for a broad scope as well!

That being said...

I think the best word to describe qtubbo is loss.

He was brought to the island having already lost parts of himself he didn't know. Through his time on the island, he lost respect, credibility, friends, family, teammates, nieces and nephews, penpals, godkids, mentors, and himself. He never had something he didn't end up losing, whether by choice or force. He loses what matters most to him, yet he continues giving his all to everyone he meets.

He came to the island with loss and no sense of who he was or where he came from, yet he spent all of his time for the benefit of others. He worked day and night so that other people wouldn't experience the loss of what he could prevent such as items or supplies. He never wanted anyone to experience what he experienced, even when they were the ones perpetuating it.

No one ever cared about him unless it was for a reason. His relationships were transactional and needed to be because who would ever care for someone with no firm sense of self or where you came from? When he couldn't provide a transaction of care, he made himself useful, he became indispensable so that even if people didn't like him for him, they could use his skills until they didn't need him anymore.

The only time he actually felt that someone cared for him, just to care about him, was Fred. Fred had no emotions, no sense of self, and no past to speak of. Fred was someone who had no reason to hate or use Tubbo because Fred was like Tubbo. Fred was the first person who could care for Tubbo because he wanted to, and not because of his use or someone's sense of responsibility.

Losing Fred meant losing the one person who cared about him without strings attached. Anyone else only cared about him because he was useful, a leader, an engineer, a neighbor, a business partner, a babysitter, someone to steal from, or just someone to poke fun at. Until Sunny.

With Sunny, Tubbo knew better than to expect her to stay with him. He learned from his past that he doesn't deserve something as wonderful as Sunny, that he can only love and wait until she is ripped away too. If he wasn't good enough to keep Fred, why on earth would he be even partially enough for Sunny.

He mourned her loss the day he got her. He knew he wasn't the best for her, he wasn't anywhere close to what Sunny deserved, but he did his best regardless and loved her more than life itself. Sunny became his tether and the only reason for him to stay alive. Sunny needed him like he needed Sunny. Sunny was the only reason he kept himself alive after Fred's funeral. Through the jeers, through the belittlement, through the disregard for his feelings, Sunny was there and provided him with enough purpose to keep going.

Fit and Pac dating made his only sense of security start to crumble. The two people he figured would stick by his side were moving along without him. They wouldn't need him in their life because they would need each other. They don't need his friendship anymore, his usefulness has worn itself out. He doesn't see them extending a hand to him as they step forward because he's too focused on the empty voids in his past where others should be.

He tries to break them up, and even if they hate him, he can rationalize that he did it for the right reasons. They may hate him but they're stuck with him, kicking and screaming by his side. Everyone tells him that he needs to find Fred, that he's projecting his romantic life onto theirs. In reality, he is too scared of leaving the island the exact way he started, with nothing to his name and no one by his side.

His character is such a battle between what he wants to do and what he feels that he needs to do. His entire run through purgatory was fighting others for eggs that weren't even his. He spends his days working on projects for other people and picking apart his failures when others can only see his success. He works tirelessly so that Sunny won't ever understand what it's like to be underestimated, beaten down, mischaracterized, and alone. Even if the world is against them, he will be in her corner to fight until his dying breath.

He loves so deeply and so purely. He tries to compensate for the lack of it that he has received after giving it away to whoever asks. He is depressed, anxious, and on alert. He has gone through trials and events with his head high and carrying the weight of others on his shoulders. He loves and he gives and continues to even when the people he gives his love to throw it to the side.

He has people in his corner, but his fear of them leaving has already made them vanish in his mind. He's a killer and a father. An engineer and a friend. A penpal and an adversary. He is loss and he is love.

#He is so complex and deep that its hard to put into words sometimes #hes shaped by his experiences but refuses to let them define him #he would rather throw himself on a blade for you then let you do something for him #he doesnt believe that hes enough for sunny but tries anyway #he is a tragedy and a comedy #I hope this makes sense #anyone that wnats to add something please feel free #everyone has a different take on him and that's so awesome #i am running on 3 hours of sleep and a dream rn so this may just be word soup #tubbo #qsmp tubbo #qsmp #qsmp character analysis #asks #I also may make a post about qtubbo and how he relates to being in your 20s at some point bc that's definitely something I've thought of

[nightprompts]

&. 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 (𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

( dialogue prompts taken from episodes 5 & 6 ( "eat at baratie!" & "the chef and the chore boy" ) of the netflix live action one piece series. feel free to edit and change as you seem fit. )

❛ how about we sail away as fast as we can? ❜

❛ about the battle, you wanna talk about it? ❜

❛ there's something on the breeze. smells like butter. soy sauce. and meat. ❜

❛ think he has brain damage? ❜

❛ i smell food, which means that there's someone somewhere cooking. ❜

❛ what's a... baratie? ❜

❛ let's eat! ❜

❛ you'll have to excuse them. they're idiots. ❜

❛ wanna take this outside? ❜

❛ are you asking me to dance? 'cause i kind of had my eye on that blonde at table eight. ❜

❛ i call it a true bluefin sauté. it's elephant tuna, seared asparagus, in a sweet soy reduction. ❜

❛ if i gotta sling one more prime rib medium-well, i am going to drop dead of boredom, you old shitbag! ❜

❛ this ain't gonna be a fight. i'm just going to kill him. ❜

❛ hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambience is the food. ❜

❛ one of our signature cocktails to help you choke down your meal? ❜

❛ apologies, madam, i didn't see you there. ❜

❛ something wrong with your eye? ❜

❛ just blinded by your beauty. ❜

❛ nami's got a boyfriend. ❜

❛ did i catch you in the middle of something? ❜

❛ just killing some time. ❜

❛ who's the quarry? ❜

❛ doesn't sound like much of a challenge. ❜

❛ why are you after me? ❜

❛ you woke me from my nap. ❜

❛ i can't eat another bite. but it's so good. ❜

❛ who the hell is monkey d. luffy? ❜

❛ i don't even think there's liquor in this. it tastes just like candy. ❜

❛ who's ready for another drink? my treat. ❜

❛ i don't really do regret. no point in looking back. ❜

❛ sometimes, when i try to look ahead, all i see is back. ❜

❛ you know, you're a really good cook. ❜

❛ if a man is hungry, i feed him. ❜

❛ what are you carrying around that's so heavy? ❜

❛ i bet i know more about you than you do about me. ❜

❛ i guess something about you, you drink. you guess something about me, i drink.❜

❛ i have business with your captain. if you know what's good for you, you'll hand him over. ❜

❛ i've been following your career since i was a child. it's an honor to finally meet you, sir. which is why it pains me to inform you that tomorrow... you're going to die. ❜

❛ accept my challenge. you'll see how serious i am. ❜

❛ you want me to say you're the best? you're the best. okay? ❜

❛ you're the best i've ever seen, but you are not better than him. ❜

❛ why do you give a shit? ❜

❛ because you're my friend, you idiot. ❜

❛ you said it yourself. you don't have any friends. ❜

❛ what is that? i'm here for a sword fight. ❜

❛ i don't hunt rabbits with a cannon. ❜

❛ you're brave. i'll give you that. ❜

❛ wounds on the back are a swordsman's greatest shame. ❜

❛ this world could use a few more wild cards. ❜

❛ it's too soon for you to die. grow strong and come find me. i'll be waiting. ❜

❛ you could never fail me. ❜

❛ look, i'm not gonna lie to you. he's lost a lot of blood. it might be too late for him. but it might not be. ❜

❛ he's got one foot in each world right now, caught between life and death. you have to find a way to keep him tethered to our world. ❜

❛ nice of you to announce yourself. ❜

❛ i don't take orders. not even from the likes of you. ❜

❛ what's the matter? don't like fish? ❜

❛ if you don't want the fish, i got two-inch t-bones in the kitchen. or maybe you're in the mood for saffron risotto? ❜

❛ i can make anything. just tell me what you want. ❜

❛ being a captain, it's the toughest job in the world, okay? ❜

❛ how'd you two meet? were you on his crew or something? ❜

❛ oregano's for savages! ❜

❛ you've got a sharp tongue on you, boy. how about i cut it out and fry it up with some pig fat? ❜

❛ do what you want, but i'm not gonna die here. ❜

❛ they're all dead, except for us. ❜

❛ you ate it? you ate your own leg? ❜

❛ you don't even know me. why would you do that for a stranger? ❜

❛ so i'm gonna need you to live on. and i'm gonna need you to fulfill that dream... for both of us. ❜

❛ have any idea what that's like? having someone lose a limb to save your life? ❜

❛ sometimes, when you are in charge, you have to make the tough decisions. ❜

❛ i'd do anything to save him. anything. except stand in the way of his dream. ❜

❛ isn't there something that you want? something more than anything else in this world? ❜

❛ not everyone gets to follow their dreams. ❜

❛ did you not hear what i just said? they are hunting you. we need to run. ❜

❛ i can't let innocent people get hurt because of me. ❜

❛ i hear you're looking for me. ❜

❛ so this is the pirate i've heard so much about? ❜

❛ do you know who i am, boy? ❜

❛ how'd you even know how to find me? ❜

❛ if you bow down to me, i might even let you serve in my kingdom. ❜

❛ i don't bow down to any man. ❜

❛ i told you in the bar i didn't have any friends, but the truth is, i couldn't let myself have them... because i always end up hurting the people closest to me. ❜

❛ why waste your time killing a devil fruit eater? let the sea do it for you. ❜

❛ what is your problem? ❜

❛ me? i'm fine. you're the one with the problem. ❜

❛ you're not gonna be anything, not if you stay here. ❜

❛ it's not like i can just leave. ❜

❛ don't you get it? it's one thing to have a dream. it's another to go after it. ❜

❛ you want my permission? you got it. ❜

❛ i didn't know what to say before, but i know what to say now, and it's so simple. i need you. ❜

❛ you gonna keep talking, or let me get some sleep? ❜

❛ i vow to stand by your side from now until the end. ❜

❛ you're my captain, and i'm your first mate. ❜

❛ heard you guys need a cook. ❜

❛ why are we bringing the waiter? ❜

❛ you keep your feet dry. ❜

❛ you know, all these years, living under your shitty roof, cooking at your shitty restaurant... i owe you my life! ❜

❛ thank you for putting up with my shit all these years, old man. ❜

❛ i'll never forget you! ❜

#one piece #opla #sentence starters #roleplay memes #roleplay starters #rp memes #inbox memes #rp starters #dialogue prompts #ask memes #tv

[seasonsbloom]

if devotion is a river (then i'm floating away) . hangman

pairing ; jake seresin x female!reader

synopsis ; in your bedroom on a saturday night, jake reminds you what it is to be alive.

wc ; 4.5k

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; explicit language, explicit sexual content (p in v, daddy kink, finger sucking, dom/sub dynamic, reader might be in subspace??, unprotected sex), this is all v consensual and they're both aware of what to do to tap out but it's not explicitly stated

note: i'm going to hell. i am SO sorry. also pls don't spring kinks on your partner out of nowhere, y'all gotta discuss that first, this is only okay in fiction ashdhfjkgjr

desertsagecelestial aka sol... you're my rock (star).

It goes like this: When he touches me, I feel like a song… drifting, shifting, dancing through the air.

It goes like this: When he touches me, I feel like a river… flowing, rushing, pouring into the sea.

It goes like this: When he touches me, I feel like summer… blooming, beaming, glowing.

All this to say: It’s an accident, the first time it happens.

“You like that, hmm, honey?” Jake asks, his voice drifting to you from far, far away. “Missed my cock?”

It’s all soft in your bedroom on this Saturday night - soft light, soft sheets, soft moonlight spilling in through half-closed curtains. You’re soft too, soft in the nightgown he got you last Christmas, the fabric rucked up all the way over your breasts, where his spit is still drying on your nipples. Soft with your hair down and your mind fuzzy and your lips loose.

It’s all soft in your bedroom on this Saturday night. All of it, except Jake. Jake who is unyielding, relentless. Edges in the streamlined world you’ve lived in while he was gone. A rock in a rushing river.

You can’t answer. There’s so much to say that you can’t find the words for any of it, can barely hold onto the tether of reality that anchors you to who you are. You’re drifting now - a balloon cut loose.

Jake’s been gone for two weeks. Just two weeks… If you total it up, count it against the stretch of your life, all the days and all the months and all the years, it’s insignificant. A blip. A heartbeat.

But that’s not how it felt while you were in it. While you were walking through the days like a sleepwalker, a constant hum beneath your skin, an itch you couldn’t scratch. Something that built and expended and grew until your skin felt too small to hold you. Until the expensive sheets rubbed you raw. Until you stared at your computer at work every day without seeing anything, spoke to coworkers without hearing, did your groceries and your dishes and your laundry without remembering why or how or when.

It doesn’t always happen. But sometimes, when Jake’s gone, you stop feeling like a person and start feeling like a concept instead.

It’s a strange feeling, a scary space of mind. Where everything’s too much, all the noise and the people and the light. Where you go loopy and jumpy and irritable and can’t even recognize yourself in mirrors. When you need somebody to help you, need somebody to take care of you.

Need Jake to take care of you. Fuck the feeling out of you.

Need Jake to put his hands on you and tell you you’re here and you’re real, and I won’t let you drift away from me.

Jake plunges his cock deeper into you, hand sliding from your hip to your stomach. He’s got big hands, elegant ones, long fingers, and blunt, short nails. Palm spreading flat, fingers splayed, it feels like he can reach from hipbone to hipbone. 

Your answering sound is pathetic. In fact, you feel pretty pathetic right now. The sound of your slick, needy pussy sucking him in, again and again, the involuntary noises it punches out of you. The opened mouth, the face pressed into the mattress. You don’t even have the strength to raise your head.

“Asked you a question, honey,” Jake says, leaning down to press an open-mouthed, hot kiss to the slope of your shoulder. “You’re not even gonna answer? Did I fuck the brains out of you already?”

Your lips move, but no words come. He presses his hand a little harder against your stomach, and you wonder if he can feel his own cock moving beneath the skin there. The thought has your eyes crossing, your ears ringing.

It doesn’t really matter. Nothing really matters, you think, a streak of fatalism shining through, nothing but the feeling of Jake’s cock in you. You never want him to stop, want him to keep fucking you forever, always riding that razor’s edge, slow-dancing on that precipice, want him to…

Abruptly, Jake stops moving. He’s still and thick and impossibly deep inside of you, and it’s so sudden it lurches you, lunges at you from the fog that’s gathered around your mind. You make a garbled sound, almost a shout, try to move your hips backward, try to fuck yourself on him, get that friction back, that thing that makes you feel real, but Jake stills you with the hand on your hip, holds you in place right there. On your knees beneath him.

“Be a good girl, and I’ll give you my cock again,” he promises, the fingers on your stomach tapping against your skin gently. “Just tell me, honey. You miss me?”

In the ruin of yourself, you can’t find your voice. So you just nod, again and again, head still pressed against the sheets, nose squished down. You’ve spent the past two weeks afraid of the moment when the pillows and blankets stop smelling of him, and it’s good to know that, at the very least, tomorrow you won’t have to worry about that anymore.

The fingers around your hip tighten, nails biting down for just a second, and you yelp, then moan, body twitching as you can’t decide whether to move into the feeling or away from it. You imagine him leaving a mark, imagine the imprint of his hand on your skin, and suddenly you feel dizzy.

“Out loud,” Jake reminds you, steel in his voice. “Tell me you missed my cock.”

You’ll start crying soon, you can feel it—that tell-tale tingling behind the bridge of your nose, the burning in your eyes. Frantically, you try to remember how to speak, how to move your tongue.

His dog tags dangle between you, tracing over the ladder of your spine like fingers of ice. You shiver.

“Yes,” you croak finally, voice like gravel, voice like a gasp. “Missed you. Always miss you, Jake, miss you...”

He hums, fingers tapping once, twice, three times against your hip. “Not the right answer, honey.”

In your chest, your heart squeezes to the point of pain. It’s so difficult to form a single coherent thought. Like you’re wading through molasses, through marshland, seeing him standing far, far on the shore, and you want to get to him, want to run, but you just can’t move fast enough. Can’t even put one foot in front of the other.

“Jake…” you whisper.

He doesn’t even say anything, just makes a sound above you, a soft, scolding, displeased tsk, and it has your stomach swooping. Is he upset? He sounds upset. You don’t want him to be upset. You want to be good for him, want to make him happy the same way he makes you happy. You want to be his best girl, always, always, always.

The thought that you’re being bad, you’re doing something wrong, bounces around your empty head like a tennis ball. You’re frantic now, desperate, on the verge of a great, big fall.

It takes all you have, but somehow you manage to say, “Please. Please, Jake, I missed you, I need you, missed your cock, I missed you, missed you….”

Jake sighs, shushes you as his palm wanders up and up and up, from your stomach over your ribs, flattens to your chest, right where your heart is thundering like it’s trying to press a pattern into his skin.

“Good girl,” he whispers, “I’ll give it to you. Give you anything you need.”

The words have you preening, some knot you didn’t even know existed, loosening in your stomach.

And then finally, mercifully, blissfully, he starts to move again.

The first plunge of his cock through your wetness lights you on fire, ignites something in you. You clench around him, push your face into the sheets that smell like him, and wish he could be closer, wish you could kiss him or hold his hand or climb into his bloodstream. It’s a liquid heat - one that shifts and flows through you, that courses through your veins, that consumes you. 

Like he can read your thoughts, Jake leans down, covers you with his body. It’s his chest pressing to your back, hot and a little sticky with sweat. It’s the cold metal of the dog tags shoved against your spine, the thought of his name imprinted on your back. It’s the sound of his quick breaths in your ear. It’s the feeling of the belt buckle pressing against the soft meat of your thigh, clanging against you with each thrust.

Jake always knows what you need. He always gives it to you eventually.

“That good?” he asks, voice pressed against the shell of your ear. “That’s what you need, isn’t it, honey?”

And you just moan, then nod, then move your hips back against him and babble, “Yes, yes, yes, Jake, so good, thank you, thank you….”

Under any other circumstances, it would be embarrassing. Humiliating. 

Like this, you don’t care.

In this bedroom, with Jake deeper inside of you than anybody before - everywhere, your heart and your cunt and your soul - there’s not really a choice anyway. Eventually, the truth comes spilling from you always—no secrets between him and you.

Jolted by the force of his hips fucking into you, his hand on your chest slips an inch or two, dry palm rasping over your hard nipple, and you let out a strangled sound, a moan or a shout or a whimper, fingers tugging at the top sheet, cunt squeezing around him like a vice, and suddenly you’re so, so close. At every thrust forward, your clit pushes against the firm mattress. At every pull backward, it catches on the fabric beneath you.

Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

“Tell me,” Jake says, his voice finding you, always finding you, even when you feel like you’re millions of miles away from this bedroom, even when you feel like you might as well have entered a different universe. His hand tightens around your breast, almost to the point of pain but all it does is send another jolt of electricity straight to your clit. “Tell me, honey. Pretty pussy’s so fucking wet, god. This is what you needed, right? This is what you’ve been thinking about all this time I was gone? Wanted me to fuck this needy little cunt, wanted me to take care of you, didn’t you?”

You want to say, yes, Jake. You should say, yes, Jake.

But your head is so empty, your whole consciousness reduced to nothing but the sensation of it all - the wet glide of his cock in your pussy. The hitched rhythm of his heart against your back. The pressure of his lips against the nape of your neck. The metal of the dog tags, the belt. The way you’ve barely held on for the past few weeks, have turned into a shell of yourself, have forgotten what it feels like to enjoy, to feel, to do anything but follow a routine, and how he’s back now, how Jake’s here, how he holds you together, helps you do what you can’t do yourself. How he takes care of you, always, always, always.

So what you say instead, what tumbles from your lips like something secret, like something forbidden, something you didn’t even know you carried inside you, what punches out of you on a desperate gasp, is, “Daddy.”

Behind you, above you, inside you, Jake freezes.

It’s not even much of a sound at all, whimpered into the sheets as it is, too little air left in your lungs to make it loud. And still. He’s heard, definitely.

The panic is instantaneous. It trickles into you like somebody upended a bucket of ice cubes over you. Claws along your bones. Burrows into your chest.

Oh god. What did I just do?

“Honey,” Jake says, and his voice is very quiet, very low, impossible to decipher when your ears are ringing, and your heart is thundering, and your head is spinning, spinning, spinning.

“No,” you say almost immediately. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t….”

Jake pulls out of you with a slick, gross sound, and even through it all, through the mortification, the humiliation, the horror, you can’t help but whimper at the loss of him.

For a moment, you just lie there, face hidden in the mattress, thinking, this is it. This is where I went too far. He’s going to hate me, he’s going to…

And then Jake rolls you around. Hands on your hips as you go from your stomach to your back, as the room spins around you. He leaves your legs splayed wide open, pushes between them, and the belt buckle swings between you, slaps against your clit, and this time you can’t bite back the shout, stars reeling in front of your eyes.

Jake’s face appears above you, and you can do nothing but blink at him, the shame still rampant in your chest.

And then it’s his hips pressing between your thighs, his cock, still wet with your arousal, pushing against your pussy, it’s his chest against yours, and his mouth opening over your own, tongue plunging between your parted lips, his fingers sinking into your hair.

He pulls back, pupils blown so wide his eyes look almost black, cheeks flushed, lips pink and rosy from your kiss, and he says, “Say it again.”

“It…” you stutter, whimper, try again, “I’m sorry, Jake, I’m sorry, I….”

The panic has cleared your head somewhat, but you’re still under the surface, tons and tons of water dragging you ever deeper towards that ocean floor where everything is quiet and nothing hurts. You’re still lost somewhere in that haze.

Jake is shaking his head, and in the twilight of your bedroom, his eyes gleam.

“Not that,” he says, pushing his hips forward, so the tip of his cock drags slowly, torturously over your clit, so your eyes roll back in your head, “what you said before. Call me that again.”

It’s not difficult to read that tone of voice, to understand the fingers grasping at your collarbone, the insistent, relentless rubbing against your center. To interpret it as desire.

But something’s shifted now, something that makes you hide your face in his neck, shake your head, hope he doesn’t look at you. Suddenly, the truth eludes you.

“No,” you say again, even though you both know you’re lying. “It’s… I didn’t mean it.”

Without warning, Jake slides back inside of you, slides back home, and you sob with it, legs wrapping instinctively around his hips, ankle hooking around his thigh to open yourself wider. Nerves on fire.

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispers into your ear, lips soft against the side of your jaw. “I got you. You can let go.”

But you shake your head, grasp him tighter, wrap both arms around his neck. Hold onto the last shreds of your sanity with desperation. Sometimes it’s scary to let control slip away so completely.

Jake’s fingers slide around to cup the back of your neck, fingertips teasing over the short hairs at the nape, and then he squeezes, applies the tiniest bit of pressure, and says, “Who’s got you, honey?”

And in the end, you always do what he asks you to. You always give in. Because when you’re good for him - that’s when he makes it so, so good for you.

It spills from you, unstoppably, the truth like a river that rushes forth.

“Daddy,” you gasp. “Please.”

The reaction is visceral - Jake groans, shudders against you, cock jumping where he’s buried in you. For a moment, you think he’s going to cum, but then he just moans, traces his lips over your throat, and starts moving.

He wastes no time with teasing, too wound-up himself, doesn’t go at the slow, steady pace he’d kept up before. Instead, it’s raw and frantic and desperate, it’s quick and deep, his hips rutting against yours, his gasps by your ear.

Through a fog, through a haze, through an ocean, you realize that while Jake always gives you what you need, you give it right back to him. Even the things neither of you knew hid inside of you.

It’s the sweetest kind of torture. A slow death that keeps climbing, that carries you higher and higher and higher. He’s so thick inside of you, spearing you open over and over, and your chest feels warm, warmer, hot, your mind fizzling out at the edges, your mouth opening.

Distantly, you’re aware of all the noise you’re making, the sobs and the whines and the moans, the groans from Jake, the squelch of your pussy as he plunges in and out in and out in and out. It only sends you spiraling higher.

Jake grabs one of your legs just below the knee, fingers tight, draws back to hook it over his shoulder, and then he sinks even deeper, goes just a bit harder. Hips pistoning against your own, belt buckle leaving indentations on your thighs. How insane, you think, that he’s still wearing his pants. That they’re still somewhere around his knees, that you’re so bare, so spread-open, so naked in front of him, and he’s still wearing his fucking pants. It sends another jolt through you.

Some sudden presence of mind, some remote, belated compassion for your neighbors has you biting your lower lip to keep the mewls at bay. The sharp sting of your teeth against the tender skin is almost grounding, almost leveling. 

Jake’s thumb finds your mouth almost immediately, tugs your lip gently from beneath the pressure of your teeth.

“Gonna hurt yourself, baby,” he says softly. As if he doesn’t like hurting you sometimes. As if he doesn’t like seeing it.

Regardless. There’s a gentleness to it, a tenderness, that has your stomach rolling, your muscles bearing down on him, your head rearing back. 

You just do what he says, the way you pretty much always do when he’s balls-deep in you, suppress the instinct to bite down. Instead, your mouth stays hanging open, lips parted wide, and suddenly you feel so empty, so goddamn empty that you ache with it in a way you can’t explain.

A whine escapes you, a pathetic, pleading little thing, and you open even wider, hoping that somehow he’ll know what you want without having to verbalize it. 

And, like always, he does.

“I got you, honey,” he whispers, and two fingers slip between your parted lips, press down on your tongue. “Always got you, don’t I?”

You just moan around the digits in your mouth, drawing it a little deeper, sucking on it, lathering your tongue all over the callouses on his fingertips. It feels good to know he’s everywhere, to feel so full, to have him inside and above and to smell him everywhere after the absence of the past weeks, after the longing and the yearning. The motion of his fingers in your mouth has saliva dripping from the corners of your lips, but you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed anymore.

Jake’s fucked any trace of shame out of you. 

“You wanna come, honey?” he asks, his voice breathless, his thrusts stuttering.

You moan around his fingers in answer, nipping at the tips. He hisses, and then he’s drawing his fingers out, replacing them with his tongue, reaching down between your bodies to rub your own drool into your clit.

The touch of his fingertips, the figure eights he draws against the swollen bundle of nerves, the punch of his cock, the unrelenting rhythm of it all has you keening. You turn your head to the side, his lips catching your cheek instead, squeeze your eyes shut, press your face into the mattress, and marvel at the galaxies swimming by rapidly in front of you.

“Good girl,” Jake whispers, and you mewl, nod along, because you are good, good for him, his best girl, always, always, and you know it, feel it when he’s inside of you, and you’re drowning, pushed down by the currents of all this pleasure, and you don’t care not one bit, happy to die like this, happy to…

“Let go now, honey,” Jake says, kisses you so sweetly, lets his lips wander up and down the column of your throat, presses his mouth to your cheekbone like you’re standing in the vegetable section at the supermarket, like you’re getting drinks in a bar, like you’re watching the sunset at the beach, like he isn’t fucking your brains out, like he isn’t moving you like a puppet, all your strings pulled by him. “Let go for daddy, baby. I wanna feel it, wanna feel you squeezing my cock, wanna….”

It barrels into you. Waves knocking you over, currents pulling you under, vision sizzling at the edges, black eating its way towards the center. A film caught on fire.

You clench around him, back arching off the mattress, chest straining into him, arms and legs tightening, fingers spasming, and you’re babbling nonsense, babbling daddy, daddy, please, yesyesyes, please, Jake, I can’t…

And then it’s just slick, it’s just wet, it’s just white-hot relief sucker-punching you, coursing through you, and it’s lifting into the air like a song, it’s rushing like a river, it’s hot like summer, and you sob into his neck, tears mingling with the sweat and the spit and it feels like it’ll never end, like it’ll keep going and going forever and ever and ever.

Jake moans loudly, hips punching forward of their own accord, whispering praise and filth and anything that comes to mind, once, twice, three times, and then he stills, buried to the hilt, shoulders rounding as he curves over you, around you, as it bowls him over, as he spills deep inside of you.

The warmth of it, spreading through you, has you whimpering, clinging to him. And you’re so full, you never want it to end, never want to feel anything but this again.

And Jake’s trembling in your arms, panting, both of you trying to come down from your highs as you hold each other, as you lie in the mess of the sheets and your own spend, heads spinning, hearts soaring, pressed together from chest to stomach to thighs.

When his weight threatens to crush you, Jake brushes a tender kiss to the side of your shin before carefully moving it from his shoulder. You gasp, the strain finally catching up to you, feeling the rawness of all your muscles. You’re aching all over, in the best of ways.

“Jesus,” he whispers, leaning down to press kisses to your face, to your nose, your eyebrow, the edge of your jaw. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

In the aftermath, there’s nothing but a quiet, pleasant buzz in your brain. White noise. Like zapping through radio stations and finding only static.

“I’m…” You search for some semblance of words within you, tightening your legs around his waist to keep him in place. To keep him from slipping from you before you feel like a whole person again. “Sorry, I… I don’t know….”

And Jake laughs, leans down again to rub his nose over yours, to brush a single, tender kiss to your mouth.

“Honey,” he says, voice soft, touch soft, eyes gleaming in the soft, soft light of the bedside lamp. “Don’t apologize. You did so good.”

You can’t really look at him. The reality of it all is catching up quickly, and part of you wants to be embarrassed, but the rest of you is too full, too satisfied, too happy to really care.

“I just… it wasn’t too much?”

You didn’t even know that this was something you wanted. Sure, your thoughts had toyed with the idea once or twice when you were all alone in your room with your fingers in your panties, but it had been so far-fetched you hadn’t ever broached the topic with Jake. Hadn’t even considered it.

And now it hangs between you, all of a sudden undeniable. All of a sudden so very real.

You’re still so dizzy. So far removed from yourself. So confused by it all.

Jake cups your cheek, fingertips sliding into your hair, and he tilts your face up so you can’t look anywhere but at him. His familiar face, his eyes filled with love, his mouth curving downward with concern.

“Honey,” he says, very gently, very earnestly, “that was the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed. You’re always, always so good for me.”

And you don’t know why. Can’t explain it. But it makes you sob, makes the tears spill over, all the emotions crowding in your mouth, making your tongue heavy like lead, making it impossible to speak. You feel raw and hollowed-out in a strange way, drained of energy and so overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, by how good it was, by how much you love him, by how he accepts you, always, without question.

Jake gathers you in his arms, gets his knees under him so he can draw you into his lap, so you can cling to him like a monkey, like an octopus, like something else unattractive that latches onto things. His softened cock slips from you, a gush of wetness following that makes you whimper, and when he withdraws, stupid as it is, it’s like he takes a piece of you with him.

For a while, he just holds you, mumbling sweet nothings into your hair, saying you’re my good girl, I love you, honey, I love you so much, you’re always, always so good for me, my best girl, my love, you’re all mine, yeah? Never gonna let you go, never, never…

You just cry it out into his neck, listening to the steady hum of his voice, the rumble in his chest, let the warmth of the words wash over you until finally, slowly, for the first time since he left, the feeling returns into you. Until finally, it’s like you’re almost whole again, right there in his arms.

Eyes dry, nose runny, exhausted beyond words, you turn your head a little, face lolling against his collarbone, and you say, “Thank you, Jake.”

There’s so much in it. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for holding me together when I can’t do it myself.

And he smiles, face tender, arms tightening around you, holding you like he never wants to let go. 

He says, “Always, honey. Always.”

#hangman x reader #hangman fic #jake seresin x reader #hangman #jake seresin #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin #fic #writing #mine #top gun maverick #fic: idiar

[bensonsballerz]

elysium

You can feel the piercing of something long and sharp careen through your massive gullet, the sound of organs being gnashed and blood spilling filling your eardrums. You never thought pale could hurt this much, but you were wrong. You don't even have time to say anything, the only sound exiting from your filthy mouth the choking of your blood. It's warm and copper taste feels familiar somehow, but you wouldn't remember. And you won't get to.

HEALTH CRITICAL!

You hear somebody screaming your name, a voice usually composed and quiet undone by years of grief and isolation that's toppled over at the sight of your death. You were his last hope, his anchor for a boat that's been cast away at sea for many years; you thought he was your anchor, but in reality, it was quite the opposite. You have never heard somebody scream like that... actually, yes, you have many, many times. You just never thought somebody would scream like that over you.

MORALE CRITICAL!

The man next to him is white as a ghost, eyes big and wide in terror. He mutters his favorite curse word (he'd make sure you died a second time if he found out you said he had a favorite curse word) under his trembling breath, his lip quivering. In the end, your relationship was far from perfect, but he believes you deserved better than this. Anything than this.

Your eyes feel heavy and you know it's ending soon, but all you can feel is guilt: you couldn't save anybody, not even one person. You were their only hope, the only tether to Elysium in all of Her glory, and you failed exquisitely. You deserved a far crueler death than this, but all you can do is cry, cry, cry.

Let me say goodbye, at least. I don't want them to be sad.

Life is no fairy tale, Harry boy- this is the end for you. There are no goodbyes and there are no happy endings. You're going to die, then Kim is going to die, then Jean, then the rest of Precinct 41, then Martinaise, then the rest of Revachol, and finally Elysium. There is no hope; just death.

Let it happen, Harrier! Let it happen!

You finally close your eyes, anticipating the warmth of darkness and death like a hug from a friend you haven't seen for a time. All you can hope for is that death will be kinder to Kim and Jean, if She is inescapable.

It's over. It's all over...

...

...

...

SHIVERS: NO.

SHIVHER: YOU ARE NOT DONE YET. YOU WILL NOT DIE.

HIHER: THERE ARE STILL PEOPLE WHO NEED YOU. GET UP.

But I can't.

HER: YOU WILL. THERE IS STILL MUCH FOR YOU TO DO. IT IS NOT YOUR TIME YET.

Through your closed eyelids, through the darkness, you can sense a light below you. You can also hear again. It's quiet at first...

LGIC: GET UP

HAF LGH: GET UP

ESPR D COS: GET UP

But then they grow louder. And the light grows brighter.

COMPOSURE: GET UP

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: GET UP

EMPATHY: GET UP

HER: GET UP

HEALTH AND MORALE RESTORED

THE MIND: GET UP

Ok, ok! I'm getting up, you guys don't need to yell.

You open your eyes, and you see that your lungs are glowing and you are bleeding gold. You are light and you are holy, finally, after 44 years of being nothing but a tar pit of misery.

Is Kim ok? Please tell me he's ok.

You look to him and the light reflecting off of his glasses and tear stricken face. As always, he is an awe of you and he mouths a raspy "how," adjusting his spectacles.

And Jean?

He says his favorite curse word for the second time this day, a hand on his forehead. But he is relieved, you can tell.

Your shining lungs expand with an echoing sigh. As long as they're ok, then this is all worth it.

You try to move your limbs, but all you can feel is tingling; they are weak. The pale is still impaled in you. No pun intended.

HER: I AM YOU. AND YOU ARE ME. I AM YOURS AND YOU ARE MINE.

You can hear the cricking and cracking of bones being forced to move, and you jerk your head to your left to see your arm moving on its own. Your meaty fingers contract and stretch like a overturned bug being poked, and all of a sudden, your hand grips the pale. The sensation is everything and nothing, like touching water, fire, needles, and blankets all at once. It's horrible and it's beautiful.

There is an astounding crack that sends chills down the spines of every citizen in Elysium as your fingers clutch the pale, nails digging in, and you rip it out swiftly, your blood spilling the snow and soil below. The hole in your body emits a gorgeous light, perhaps the most wonderful thing you've ever seen your body exhibit.

ELYSIUM: SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL IS GOING TO HAPPEN.

#my post #disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #harrier du bois #harry du bois #jean vicquemare #de #ficlet #my writing #tw blood #blood tw

[softspeirs]

Relief, forrrrr... a certain Major Egan? 😊

A/N: You and @blikebarbie92 both had the same idea, and I'm happy to oblige! I have something else brewing for these two coming (hopefully) later today, so here's a little precursor. If anyone else wants to send a prompt, send me something from this list!

three. afterwards.

He's trying really hard not to think about after.

Some days it's harder than others. It's especially hard on mail call days. He watches Buck's face completely transform as he devours word after word from Marge, and while he can't blame him, it makes something sour curdle in his gut.

Because where does he belong in all this? In the after?

The buzzing in between his ears to get out, get out grows louder every day, and every day he feels panic begin to brew when he thinks he might not be in this with Buck, not totally.

He doesn't want to do anything stupid, but he doesn't want to sit here for god knows how long, either.

But Buck has other things to live for. He has Marge, and he has a wedding to plan, and it makes him careful, careful in a way that Bucky can't feel.

He stopped feeling careful about this, his life, somewhere around jumping out of a plane and freezing in stillness in some German swamp.

He's not too far gone yet to recognize he's becoming hard, so he tries he best to be the person he was before. He plays cards with Crank and Murph (and no, he's not trying too hard to make up for the echo of an angry conversation that happened right before the mission from hell, though it did replay over and over in his mind as he watched Crank's ship go down that day. (Jesus Christ, Crank, it's a war! Are you flying today, or not? / Yeah. / Yes, sir.)

It helps, for a little while.

But then they're told about an escape attempt, and they're not-so-subtly threatened, and he sees Buck tense beside him, back ramrod straight at attention, only a brief glace over at Bucky like he actually thinks Bucky is going to make a run for it as they speak.

He's not that stupid, and he's not that depressed. Not yet.

Still, nothing sets a fire blazing in him like the day he comes back to find their hut completely ransacked. It's fury like he can't explain - they do this to them all the time. It shouldn't be anything new or shocking.

It's just -- his jacket is dumped on the floor, and the one thing he notices when he picks it up and dusts it off is that the half-squashed, yellowing daisy that was tucked neatly into his breast pocket is gone.

It's the straw that breaks the camel's back. He doesn't even know why he kept it, except that it started to feel like a sign, something tethering him back to who he was before, when he was just standing in a pub doorway with flowers for a pretty girl.

A girl who he stared and stared at, never daring to say anything too flirtatious in case her father was looming over her shoulder, daring any pilot to get too close.

But that day it had been just her, and him. And while he had apologized for telling her not to get too attached and apologized for getting angry because she wouldn't let him get drunk off his face after Buck went down, she had pressed a flower into his hand and a kiss to his cheek.

So he's furious, when he can't find it. There's been no promises made. He doesn't get letters, doesn't send them either, but it had been there, a reminder of the man he used to be.

And now it's gone.

"Jesus Christ, Bucky." DeMarco says, pushing past him. "What? What happened?"

Bucky realizes he's white knuckling the table in the middle of the room. "Nothing."

"Did they find something?" Benny's face is hard, urgent. "I'm serious - if you need to tell us--"

"No. Nothing. I just-- we only have a few belongings to our sorry names and they do this? Why--" He stops himself, hands on his hips. He's overreacting. He knows it. Can't help it.

How does he explain without sounding absolutely insane?

"I had something in my pocket. From someone back home. I--" He's astonished with himself when his voice cracks.

DeMarco's face falls. He doesn't crack a joke, he doesn't do anything to make Bucky feel worse than he already does.

"What is it? I'll help, we'll keep lookin'--"

And so they sit there, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb, while Buck and Frank and Crank come in too, and without more than a quiet word and sharp look from Benny, they start helping.

"There," Murphy says, dropping to one knee near Bucky's bunk, his hands cradling a small, wilted flower. It looks like nothing, like something they would have swept up with the garbage if not for Bucky's panicked energy.

The relief he feels at seeing it is overwhelming. To their credit, the other guys turn away, they don't ask him any questions, they don't ask what's wrong with him that he's getting this upset over a flower.

He takes it gently between his large palms, and imagines he can still smell its sweet scent, long gone.

To him, it's a talisman of better days that has miraculously stayed with him through all the hell he went through to get here to Stalag Luft III, and he feels a piece of him settle back into place when he places it in between pages of a battered notebook he's taken to carrying with him and keeping under his mattress at night.

Later, he'll tell Buck about it. He'll tell him about her, and how she had given him a small hope that someone might miss him, however fleeting their exchange had been.

He clears his throat, thanks his guys.

The rest of the night that relief courses through his veins like adrenaline. It makes him think maybe there is an after for him, that there's something out there that he's still fighting for, even if it's happening on the ground instead of the air.

#i have another thing coming later where we finally learn her name #but this is a good little preview of that! #also my first real shot at a bucky POV #john egan x oc #masters of the air fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #mota fanfiction #softspeirs mota fanfiction #bucky x ellie #oc: ellie peters

[sapphic-agent]

Why is Simon able to see Maddie?

I've been thinking about it for a while, and I think I might have an answer.

*SPOILERS AHEAD*

Let's start with what I don't think it is. I'm 99% sure that it's not because Simon's dying. There's speculation that he has a tumor or undiagnosed cancer causing him to slowly die and that's why he's able to see Maddie. But I have two issues with that:

Why is he only able to see Maddie? If him approaching death is what enables him to see and talk with a ghost, why is that only extended to one ghost? At the very least, wouldn't he have some kind of connection with the other ghosts? Maybe if not outright seeing them, then sensing their presence or something? But he's never given any indication they're there, we've seen that. If he was dying, he'd have a connection to the entire metaphysical plane, not just Maddie.

Why does he only start seeing her at that exact moment in season 1? If he was dying, wouldn't it have been sooner? Maddie was "dead" for three days before Simon saw her. And it was only at this specific time that he was able to do so.

What this tells me is that this isn't possible because of anything from Simon's end. Or, not completely from his end.

To answer this question, we need to look at the only other instance of a living person and ghost interacting. What enabled Maddie to see Janet and Mr. Martin arguing? What allowed Janet to steal Maddie's body in the first place?

I think it's a combination of things. Mr. Martin says to Janet, "What did you feel? You have to tell me." This implies that she did something that was completely unexpected by him. We don't know what it was exactly, but we can assume that it has to do with blurring the lines between life and death even if it was just a little. But I don't think it was just this that allowed Maddie to see her and Mr. Martin.

When Maddie describes her altercation with her mother to Simon, she says very deliberately, "She killed my spirit." Maddie wasn't just feeling upset in that boiler, she was broken. A lifetime of being battered down by her mother's alcoholism and negligence and this was the final straw. She wasn't physically dead at that point, but emotionally she might as well have been.

I think that these two things happening at the same time created a sort of passageway between Maddie and the metaphysical plane. The hollowness Maddie was feeling coincided with whatever Janet had done to blur those lines, and that's how Janet was able to push her soul out.

Now, if I'm right about all of that, what does that have to do with Simon?

Well, remember what Simon said to Ms. Fields, "I don't know how I'm going to survive this place without her." It's important to remember that Simon had a feeling she was dead, or at the very least seriously hurt/in trouble. He accepted the possibility of her being gone as fact, which is why he never questions her being a ghost. It isn't such a stretch to assume that he was feeling the same hollowness that Maddie was concerning her mother.

(This also answers why he was the only one. Sandra and Nicole still believed Maddie was alive, they weren't broken in the way that Simon was. And when Sandra did receive the news that there was a good chance Maddie was dead, she was at home, not the school. So her and Maddie wouldn't have been able to connect the way her and Simon did. Also, Maddie's relationship with her mother is very complicated. They don't have anything close to the bond that her and Simon do)

But like I said above, the connection has to be on both sides. Not only did Maddie watch him have this breakdown and was probably feeling similarly to him in that moment, she also had a tether to the living world; her body. So, the combination of their emotional bond, Simon's emptiness when faced with a world without her, and Maddie still technically being alive allowed them to connect past the limitations of death

#school spirits #school spirits theory #maddie nears #simon elroy #janet hamilton

[pyreo]

I know there's people who like their fantasy storytelling to take a few steps away from reality, you know. Nothing that verges on allegorical to the stuff we worry about in real life. And I think I'm on the opposite team to that and y'know, the further away we get from gw2's original core story the more I see The World Summit instance as more pivotal than it appeared.

It's the part in the middle of Season 2 where you bring the world leaders together to try and insist that they need to aid you fighting Mordremoth, a primal force who's only just now awakened and started causing disruption and deaths. Mechanically, it serves to show the various cultures being made aware of the upcoming antagonist for mostly the first time.

But there's something that grips me to this day about the realism in that segment. You know full well that this thing is beginning its warpath and will kill those around you. You and your guild know that you need to take action immediately before it gathers itself together to a point you cannot fight it any more. I don't think the scene serves much more than obligatory scaffolding in a narrative sense but it echoes the way I feel in real life all the time. It's the focal point where I've never felt more aligned with my Commander.

Smodur: They're plant creatures! How hard can they be to fight. One good flamethrower and…

Knut: Mordremoth is not yet as close as the Sons of Svanir. They press in around our homesteads. That is more important.

Phlunt: Are you saying we should put ourselves on the line to protect all of you? We are safe in Rata Sum.

Jennah: I'm not ashamed to admit that I don't see how this will work. What are you asking of us?

It's not easy to ask the Main Five Peoples to get anything done together - they do come from legitimately incompatible cultures and there's bad history between humans and charr, and sylvari and asura. But you have to present an argument to each one to convince them this is the most important thing to devote resources to.

It's been about ten years since this was written and it still feels exactly like every conversation that deflects from the reality of climate change. The 'we have bigger things to worry about', the 'it's not that bad', the denials, the giving up, the ones who have enough to feel secure individually and don't really care.

That and the way the narrative turns from 'you're the hero, slay the dragon' to a domino effect that cannot be stopped, wrenching the planet off its hinges and it was all down to you. There's a big difference in changing the threat from ancient dragons awakening to devour all life... and it being the Commander's fault that the stabilising effect those dragons had is unplugged. The allegory becomes undeniable - you doomed the world. You have to chase down that tether and pull the weave back from unravelling even if it'll tear you apart. And even if nobody realises how close their lives are to ending, even if nobody respects you for it.

You have to look the most powerful people alive in the eye and plead with them to fucking help you for god's sake knowing it's a crisis and if you don't take action right now instead of waiting for it to get worse... being able to tell them 'I told you so' will be no solace at all.

And fuckin.... if fantasy stories are there to give us hope for ourselves, nothing hits as directly as the journey from "It's not that bad, why should we put anything on the line for you?" to

That hope means something very real to me.

#guild wars 2 #gw2

[lemonhemlock]

More on Otto as a tries but fails girl!dad and the non verbal communication with the greens. Just how he shows care for his daughter, even though he dooms her. He loves her, wants what's best for her, the family the realm but in doing so he has essentially signed off her execution.

When he tells her to once again visit the king and reprimands her for her self harm he holds her hands

One could argue that this is simply a manipulation tactic and while i don't completely disagree I have other evidence I'd like to present.

Look at how they're holding each other like this is a final goodbye. Neither knows when they'll see each other again. I know he (rightfully) warns her about Rhaenyra he cradles her face. Like it's something precious 🥺 (it is)

Who is this look of devastion for? The imaginary audience? He was not only fired but ripped away from his only daughter. Realizing the mess he's put her in. How she is now truly alone.

We know Criston was her sworn sword and one of the few people she trusted. It makes sense he stand behind her. He's got her back, but look Ottos there too.

In this episode when she was worried about her brother she looked at dad for reassurance and he provided it. Knowing just how concerned she must have been.

Whether or not he's being a manipulative bastard when he does this stuff before he steers her in his own direction, using this to keep her tethered to him, it's quite clear that he understands how important these moments are for his daughter. Can you genuinely look me in the eye and say that Tywin would do this with Cersei? Hold her like she's the most precious thing in the world to him? Nope he'd just command her to do stuff and as her father it is seen as his right to do so.

This family is so dysfunctional. You can love your child and wants what's best for them from the bottom of your heart, with all that you have but still mess up. In the modern day he'd probably be pushing her to a stable career like doctor or lawyer or whatever because he wants her future to be secure without realizing that it's not necessarily what she wants and being blind to how truly miserable she feels.

Sidenote: Wasn't Helaena his favorite grandchild, someone who was not a boy thus a potential heir? Otto is a girl! grandpa too. (If I'm not mistaken 😂)

When it comes to the girl! dad wars he wins because he taught his daughter accountability and how to not get screwed over in a bad trade deal, like idk give someone what is rightfully yours in exchange for being a consort to a king wiyh questionable lineage (Sorry couldn't help but shade the Viserys and Daemon)

OTTO DRIVES ME INSANE HE IS SUCH A DAD BUT HE IS SUCH A MAN TOO!!!!! WHY ARE FATHERS OF DAUGHTERS ALLOWED TO BE MEN???????

HE IS A GIRL GRANDPA TOO OH MY STARS 😭 They should show him with Jaehaera next, so he could add girl-great-grandpa to the allegations 😭

I also wish they had scenes together with Gwayne! In the books Alicent has multiple unnamed brothers, but Gwayne would have been enough, like can you IMAGINE the dynamics with him thrown into the mix??? Him with his DAD and his SISTER and his SISTER'S BOYFRIEND Ser Criston???? He got so shafted like he is the only person in this effed up family not to have a psychosexual obsession with Alicent?? Unfair!

I imagine they wanted to highlight Alicent's isolation as a source of her growing paranoia, but could you imagine??? Her having at least one more person is her small circle?? Standing up to their dad for her??? Holding her hand through her pregnancies??? Throwing shade at Rhaenyra together?? Bonding with Ser Criston over how much they want to commit regicide??

I'm not sure he stayed in King's Landing for all this period, but he could have at least visited once in a while? What we know is that he is named second-in-command of the Gold Cloaks at the start of the way. ALSO OTTO INTERACTING WITH A MALE RELATIVE OF HIS OWN GET THAT IS NOT A COMPLETE FUCK-UP??

#cersei would kill with her bare hands to get a hug like that from her dad #chaoticcoffeequeen #what a performance rhys ifans is putting in too #masterclass #he EATS every scene he is #CANNOT forget him beatboxing at rhaenyra #SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT #*screams into pillow* #otto hightower #gwayne hightower #alicent hightower #alicent & otto

[wonusite]

spooki szn nerd!josh (nerd joshie AGAIN because 1) I feel like that's just my Brand™ at this point and 2) I cannot get this bitch out of my head!!! Gonna have to start charging him rent at this point) headcannon since is officially October

.

.

You dragging josh to a halloween costume party and surprise surprise, he's unimpressed and like 😐 the whole time. You probably had to wrangle him into some costume because "it's crucial we dress up joshie!!" and you being you, of course it's some kind of couples costume. You're probably dressed in something slutty because of course you are, and the constant male attention you're getting is starting to piss josh off. Even though you stay tethered to him the entire night (really, you might as well just be a hyperactive puppy he's holding the leash to. You excitedly hop from group to group, seeing and talking to everyone but you're always looking back, making sure he's within hand holding vicinity. fucking simp) the amount of wandering eyes over your body, the predatory gazes of the men (and several women tbh) trying to get a peak at a flash of your panties when you turn a little too fast, they're all starting to cause jealousy to settle in Joshua's bones (especially the one in his pants AYEEEEE).

Usually when you drag him to your frat parties you have a little more class when it comes to hooking up with you boyfriend, typically waiting until you get home to go at each other like feral rabbits. This time though, josh can't seem to push down the annoyance that fills his entire body at people seemingly challenging his claim over you, so as soon as he gets a chance to, his dragging you upstairs and into some poor guy's bedroom, not even giving you a chance to speak before he has you bent on all fours, roughly grabbing your panties and pulling them down, giving you a few harsh spanks to your ass before delivering a couple to your sopping wet cunt.

Of course, you're already wet for him. It's not like you can be blamed, he's your boyfriend and you're ferociously down bad for him. At this point I'm almost sure he could turn you on by taking a shit but I digress!! He's been hard since he first had the idea of fucking you at the party, and wastes no time rectifying that. He slides in without warning, knowing you love when he's rough with you, treating you like some insatiable slut (though tbh you are, just like, exclusively for him).

You've taken his cock hundreds, no, probably thousands of times at this point (it's actually quite impressive, you'd probably have a Guiness world record if that kind of thing existed for sex) and you moan at the sudden intrusion, clenching wildly around his cock. He starts thrusting almost immediately, forcing every last inch of his big cock into your tight little hole, groaning when you whimper and cry out for him. He grabs at your hair and encourages you to cry out for him, to moan his name, to make sure everyone at the party knows who exactly it is that's making you feel so good, that he's the only one who could ever fill your pussy up like this. Like the absolutely angel you are, you obey his every command, preening at the cooing and attention he gives you when you listen to his instructions.

It's not long before he cums, filling you to the brim and bringing you over the edge with him. You think it's the end and start to make yourself presentable to join the party again but Joshua roughly throws you back on the bed, your pussy clenching involuntarily at the motion. The smirk he gives you as he turns you on your back to stare at him tells you you're in for a long, long night.

After 4, or maybe 5? more rounds, you're thoroughly fucked out and Joshua's finally beginning to feel spent. He figures he'll get you home so he can quite literally fuck you through the rest of the night, so he grabs your discarded panties and winds them around his index and middle finger, slowly starting to push them into your ravaged cunt that's still leaking his cum. You babble, an incoherent mess of "yes joshie", "please baby" and "give it to me please" spilling from your lips. And just because he's a generous man, Joshua, the ever so sweet gentleman, starts rubbing your clit, making you cum around his fingers and your panties.

You're absolutely delirious at this point, needing his help to stand up. And luckily for your boyfriend, when you're fucked out you're needy. The whole time he's trying to get the two of you dressed and presentable-ish so you can leave, you're whining, clinging to him, sucking hickey after hickey into his neck to try to leave your mark and stake your claim on him, though it's not really necessary. His hair is a mess, a light sheen of sweat making stray hairs stick to his forehead. Both your lips are red, swollen and now, courtesy of you not being able to keep your hands to yourself, you both have an array of red and purple bruises all over your necks (he leaves quite a few on your hips and thighs too, but he'll be damned if anyone else gets a glimpse of that). You, even after Josh's fruitless attempts, look like a hot fucking mess. Your makeup is smudged beyond salvation and your hair is a knotted mess thanks to round 3 where he came all over your face and made an absolutely sloppy mess out of you.

You start making your way down the stairs and out of the party, Joshua careful to shield your now bare ass and pussy from onlookers from below. Getting you to do anything when you're this cock drunk isn't an easy feat, with you clinging to and kissing Joshua at every single opportunity you can find. Some party goers that have only heard rumours about you being enamoured by the stoic nerd are slack-jawed, unable to comprehend that you, the hot, bubbly, outgoing, popular cheerleader is this much of a simp for someone who they can only describe as an attractive brick wall. Paying them no mind, your boyfriend guides the two of you out of the party, pressing kisses on your lips and whispering I love yous into your ear periodically.

The rest of the night is a blur of sex and aftercare in your shared appartment, with you falling asleep almost instantly the second you feel Joshua's big arms wrap around you as the two of you finally settle down for the night. Waking up in the morning, the previous nights events flood your memory, and Joshua wakes up to you with your big bright eyes happily blinking up at him, a wide smile on your face.

He looks at you with an inquisitive look, a "can I help you?” slipping out with a chuckle.

You shake your head with a smile, leaning up to press a sweet kiss to his lips, leaving him with nothing but a "happy Halloween baby" and a mischievous twinkle in your eye.

.

.

hehe this was supposed to be a short little headcannon oops I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless :')

#how am i meant to function in these conditions #this was everything to me #and i’m never getting over it #ask #thatgirlfromwindsor

[raayllum]

After the new short story drop... forget about Ezran and Callum's arguments, HOW IS EZRAN GOING TO REACT TO RUNNAN'S BOW W/RAYLA????????????

I am deeply intrigued by the potential of Callum finding the bow (the literal weapon that spilled their father's body) and subsequently willing to work in tandem with Rayla wielding it in S5 vs Ezran finding the arrow - a symbolic representation of the murder - and well, breaking it under his boot. (Garlaath's merciless boot of crushing, anyone?). It makes me wonder if an old theory I had, of Runaan's remaining binding on his arm providing a tether to Ezran, may come into play with both brothers aiding in freeing the Moon fam, but we'll have to see.

I admit, I had assumed that Ezran's lack of immediate long term proximity to Rayla - thereby not having to interact with Runaan, really, more than he'd want to, in comparison to Callum, who will presumably be his son-in-law someday - would mean that Ezran would have an easier time with Runaan than Callum would... but in some ways, Runaan took more from Ezran than he did from Callum. Runaan took not just Ezran's last remaining parent, but the only parent he'd ever known, and one he was fully comfortable with. He was far younger, so Runaan took his childhood, and saddled him with kingship from age 9 onwards, which... yeah, be pissed as hell, baby boy. (You could argue that Runaan and his patterns / assassin-y encouragements that were passed down to Rayla are also what took her away from the boys, particularly Callum, for two fitful years, but that's a post for another day.)

Ezran is also crueler, I think, or at least more outwardly angry, towards Rayla in 2x08 than Callum is to her in 2x03 each time the secret comes out. Part of this is I think because Callum already had an inkling/basically knew and just didn't want to accept it (and was older) whereas Ezran was blindsided. I've long thought that Ezran would have good reason to be angry at Callum and Rayla, still, for not telling him in S2 (it was understandable, but also fucked up, and could easily lead to a breach in trust there, however subconscious).

I think Ezran will have an easier time understanding Rayla's side - he's friendly with Zubeia, who ordered the hit and who he's gotten to know as a Person ("Zubeia is gentle and kind and funny") - because no matter what Runaan did, he's still her father, and well... Ezran sure as hell misses his Dad, too. Rayla will also, most likely, be against any sort of dark magic risk as well, so they're more aligned there.

Ezran going back to stomp the arrow reminded me a lot of Claudia tricking Rayla in 4x09, which is to say - younger, typically more passive siblings who were forced to be more active in uniquely taking up the heavy burden of their father's powerful mantle, while their older brother got off comparatively scot free? Yeah.

I think Ezran could have a harder time with Callum's involvement because 1) this man took their dad away, and Callum has no personal relationship to Runaan (although I'm sure meeting Ethari, which Ez has not, impacted him) and 2) the anger and fear at Callum being willing to risk himself as well could be a wedge. Even maybe getting at "You're going to risk yourself for Rayla when you nearly died last time" mixed with "You're not going to listen to me when I've been right here the whole time?" because well - she did leave both of them. And if they make plans or discuss the coins and wait to bring Ezran into the loop? It's their joint secret keeping in S2 all over again, and he has every reason to be hurt about that.

But yeah as someone who's wanted Ezran to have Big Messy On Screen Feelings explored in depth for a while, a possible "Ezran feels hopeless/angry" arc, and a Broyals conflict episode/arc (for those sweet Viren-Harrow parallels) I am thrilled. This is everything I could've ever wanted for him tbh

#brotp: we're in this together #tdp ezran #brotp: it's super annoying #pranu-b #thanks for asking #ezran #let ezran be messy #mini meta #analysis series #sort of #analysis #the royal family of katolis #broyals #political trio theory #redux ooh

[carefulfears]

top five season 2 episodes. or top five season 3 episodes. both iconic seasons for the myth arc but also full of really good motw eps

you're so right, they're both some of the best!! let's chat season 3

(some of this is derived from my newsletter)

1/ oubliette

#MYepisode. aside from paper hearts, this is my favorite episode of the series. it means so much to me. i love it so much. i love that they accidentally wrote a very poignant story of abuse and trauma reactions, from so many different sides.

oubliette opens on the abduction of 15-year-old amy jacobs from her bedroom, her nose beginning to bleed as her kidnapper whispers the words "nobody's gonna spoil us."

twenty miles across town, lucy householder is working her shift at a fast food chain when her nose begins to bleed, and she collapses, repeating the phrase "nobody's gonna spoil us" over and over again.

when mulder begins investigating, it is revealed that lucy had been kidnapped from her home 22 years ago at age eight, her abductor never found.

he becomes convinced that lucy is the connection to finding amy, as lucy continues to experience everything that amy experiences. every scratch on amy's face appears on lucy's. when amy is kept in the dark, lucy can't see.

"i feel like it's happening all over again," lucy whispers to mulder in her room at the halfway house where she lives, and this is a feeling that all trauma survivors are familiar with.

the supernatural element of this episode is a heightened version of the re-traumatization that lucy would be experiencing regardless, upon learning that her kidnapper had taken someone else.

the psychic connection between these two survivors, simply intensifies the implicit connection between them. they've never met, but they're tethered to each other. in experience, in understanding, in reaction and physical response.

lucy isn't the only one reliving the worst nights of their life, as mulder is once again walking into the childhood bedroom of a lost little girl.

years earlier, in conduit, he confessed to scully that he spent his childhood walking into his room with his eyes shut, feeling that maybe one day when he opened them, his sister would be there. "just lying in bed, like nothing ever happened."

in oubliette, he arrives at the jacobs' house alone, with scully's flight delayed in D.C. (later, when she says that she tried to call him, he tells her that he left "in a hurry," and forgot his cell phone).

it's hard not to feel a little pang in this scene, when he pauses to speak to amy's mother. tells her that he's sorry, that they're going to do everything they can to find her daughter, and she says "how could you really know how i feel?"

(i'll do another post sometime on mulder in this episode, there are a lot of angles to it that i'm not going to address here)

amy isn't the only person that lucy feels a connection to though, and i love the script page of this moment between her and mulder.

contrasted to mrs. jacobs’ reaction, lucy understands how sincere he truly is, even without knowing him. i love how purposeful the use of light and dark is in this story.

this is a really important episode for mulder's characterization, as the conflict builds to scully and the other investigators suspecting lucy as an accomplice in amy's kidnapping, due to her criminal history and traces of physical evidence.

mulder defends her from law enforcement fervently, leading to a confrontation with scully where she accuses him of "protecting her beyond the point of reason" and rationalizing a personal identification with her, because of her correspondence to his sister.

he responds that he's thought of that, and "not everything i do, say, think, and feel goes back to my sister," telling her that motivations are more complex than one singular childhood event.

this is something that elizabeth kubek touches on in the book deny all knowledge. kubek writes that the key women in oubliette, along with samantha mulder, are viewed as "simple equivalents."

and that the kidnapper of the first two girls, carl wade, "represents a symbolic logic of duplication," in the ways that he subjects both girls to the exact same experience and treatment, years apart.

this is amplified by the psychic connection between them, which furthers the degree to which they are, in many ways, the same person, having the same experience.

kubek goes on to note that mulder "resists" reading the girls as simple equivalents, instead viewing all three of them as individual people, leading individual lives.

in the end, when lucy gives her life for amy, the "logic of duplication" model would suggest that it's an even trade- that the girls are identical in their defining life event, and therefore exchangeable.

mulder relentlessly fights to save amy, then openly grieves lucy, weeping over her body outside of the home where she was held years ago.

in the final scene, it's mulder that suggests that maybe lucy's death was about more than saving amy. maybe it was about escape, and being her own person.

2/ pusher

along with beyond the sea, this might objectively be the best episode of this series, and i definitely view modell as the scariest villain.

even more than the gruesome monsters or the brutal serial killers, modell is impenetrable. he can pass through any security with one word written on a napkin. you can track him, you can seek him, but no one can stop you from lighting yourself on fire or pulling your car out into traffic when you find him.

he is the kind of killer who calls the police and confesses, because even if you get him to court, 5 bucks says he gets off.

this episode smoothly combines a truly well-executed MOTW with subtle character dynamics and standards.

mulder is any serial killer’s ideal adversary. scully is the disbeliever who trusts her partner more than she dismisses any phenomena.

these are themes that we’ve seen before, but they’re rarely as prevalent as in this episode.

the episode reaches its climax in one of the most intense sequences of the series, the russian roulette scene, which perfectly encapsulates so much of both what is scary about modell and what is steady about our agents.

mulder will put a gun to his head and pull the trigger with no hesitation, but he’ll shake and sweat and scream when it’s aimed at scully.

scully will cry with fear, but she won’t run, she won’t move, until she finds a solution that doesn’t involve leaving him there.

in the end, it’s not worth another minute of their time.

3/ grotesque

i love a good "maybe mulder's been possessed/bitten/infected, or maybe he's just like that" episode!

the moment that really sticks with me from grotesque is this one here; when scully, unable to find mulder, goes to his apartment, and discovers that it is completely wallpapered in the killer's drawings.

season 3 is heavy in characterization, more so than any other season, and grotesque is one of the more visual explorations of psyche and obsession, the effects of sanctity, of following someone who is constantly chasing something else.

grotesque follows a chain reaction of fixation and consumption, in line with its central statement, the advice that mulder's former mentor bill patterson lived by: "to know an artist, you have to look at his art...if you want to catch a monster, you have to become one yourself."

a mulder-centric story told largely through scully's eyes, the audience follows as patterson pursues the killer, mulder pursues patterson, and scully pursues mulder, each of them compulsively striving to understand the other.

undercutting the tension of this procession, is the entity that mostow claims possessed him to kill. with mostow in custody, the murders continue, and no one is sure who or what is carrying on the objective.

in the end, it's patterson himself who is responsible for the copycat killings, though it’s never clear if “possession” was literal or figurative.

mulder theorizes that after years of obsessing over mostow's murders, of studying his work, patterson sunk “deeper and deeper into that ugliness, as you taught us to do” until the violence he bore witness to, stayed alive inside of him.

this is something that mulder is quick to understand, and after all, he was once one of patterson’s students.

“you said it yourself, if you want to know the artist, look at the art. i’m finally agreeing with you.”

in a show, and character, that finds comfort in evil being found "out there": in space, in starlight, in underground creatures, grotesque posits evil as "something born in each of us."

something lying dormant, that can be seen or activated in examination and association.

4/ quagmire

like so many season 3 episodes before it, quagmire is a love letter to the core of who the characters are, except this episode ruminates on new revelations and quiet conversations rather than exemplifying the traits that we already see in them.

sitting on the rock discussing literature and family origins and earnest theses disguised in flippant remarks, the audience is let in on the same realization that scully has when she tilts her head.

that they are ahab and starbuck, and have been since childhood nicknames and “boyhood” fantasies. that they know exactly who they are, and what they’re doing, and where they’re headed, and they are never more than 3 feet from the shore.

they can get up and leave, but they don’t realize it, they’re sitting in the dark with each other.

this is a unique episode in that mulder is both right and wrong.

it might not have been the true culprit; but the creature is real, the hope is there, the belief is worthwhile. he’ll never know it.

scully knows it though, she knows it without ever seeing it, because she understands what belief truly represents. that people want to believe, that these stories will always endure.

ahab slew the white whale, and it wasn’t enough, but there’s still hope.

5/ jose chung's "from outer space"

i have a hard time writing about this episode because i literally have no reason for liking it this much except that it's funny. i don't even like the plot. it just made me laugh so hard that i had to keep rewinding it and laughing again, so it always makes my lists.

but we're just chatting so let's giggle over the top 5 jose chung's moments that make me laugh.

1/ blaine describing the ""men in black""

i swear to god this is what the transcript says:

"one of them was disguised as a woman, but wasn't pulling it off. like, her hair was red but it was a little too red, you know? and the other one…the tall, lanky one…his face was so blank and expressionless. he didn't even seem human. i think he was a mandroid...the only time he reacted was when he saw the dead body.

(mulder lets out a very girlie, high-pitched shriek)"

2/ the alien smoking a cigarette

not a day goes by that i don't think about this.

3/ roky's interaction with the men in black

MAN IN BLACK 1: no other planet has been misidentified as a flying saucer more than the planet venus...even the former leader of your united states of america, james earl carter jr., thought he saw a UFO once…but it's been proven he only saw the planet venus.

ROKY: i'm a republican.

4/ alex trebek

"mulder didn't say it WAS alex trebek. it was just someone that looked incredibly like him."

5/ agent diana lesky and "her partner, reynard muldrake, that ticking time bomb of insanity"

darin morgan, thank you for the implication that mulder gets off to the bigfoot tape. i treasure it.

#thank you for the ask! #sorry this is all over the place #love to everyone #txf #oubliette #pusher #grotesque #quagmire #jose chung's from outer space #asks #kae meta

[swaps55]

*screaming into a pillow*

I FUCKING CALLED IT

I KNEW IT WOULD BE KARA

I was literally mulling over the ways Horizon would go a couple of chapters back, when Hannah tells Hackett to send Kaidan to lure Sam out (which I think is a SUPERB twist, by the way, but more on that in a moment), and while I was not expecting Muriel Aslany to shatter my heart before you even got to the meat of the Horizon mission, goddamn if I'm not sitting here vibrating impatiently for the next chapter because SWAPS HOW COULD YOU?

I mean, I know how, it's brilliantly done and you should be so proud of it oh my God but HOW?

I CANNOT WAIT for an eventual Pendergrass POV now. She's the perfect "person on the inside," as it were, and you set it up so well. This line in particular really sells it: "Yeah, she's not nearly as oblivious as she seems. She's just good at not seeing what she doesn't want to." Pendergrass is about to see so. many. things. that no one wants to see. That she's not going to have a CHOICE but to see. Is she going to be up close and personal for the... emulsifying? En-goo-en-ing? (whatever you want to call turning people into a human reaper via sludge-based means) Whatever happens to her in there, she's going to process it and deal with the fallout so differently than anyone else in the cast would, and I am here. for. it. I'm so excited to see how her arc plays out.

(Also, Kaidan telling Aslany to keep her out of trouble and then THIS? We're gonna gloss over it but it done did hurt my heart and you should know)

Okay, back to Hannah for a second. So, in this version of events, Hannah Shepard is directly responsible for sending Kaidan and the gang to Horizon. If she doesn't intervene, THEY DON'T GO. She goes through the motions of learning Sam might be alive and thinks, "give him something he wants," looking at it through Sam's SOLDIER'S perspective. Because she only knows the soldier.

And as a result, she puts three of Sam's most beloved people directly in the line of fire, throwing all three of them at the mercy of genocidal bugs. In one fell swoop, she has completely unmoored him, and HE'S NOT EVEN THERE YET! He doesn't know! The main tether he could have had connecting him back to Sam the Person (TM) has been cut and he doesn't even know it yet and his mother was the reason why.

"If that is my son, I want him back."

Ma'am, if those three die, I don't think Sam comes back. Where he's at right now, I'm even willing to go so far as to say I don't even think SHEPARD would. I don't think Anderson or Garrus or any of his other friends save him at that point.

Mezzo!Sam is already fucked up ten ways from Sunday, I don't want to imagine the alternate timeline where he loses them all basically right after he wakes up. That's a bad reality.

I am so so so SO tempted to ask you if Sam ever finds out she was responsible for the gang being on Horizon. To ask you if he does find out, if he forgives her for using them as bait. How does that change their estranged relationship? Hell, I want to know if KAIDAN finds out, how he'll react. I will be patient. I will wait to find out. But I am DYING to know. It is SUCH a gut punch for Hannah to be such a big part of the reason Horizon happens the way it does. I'm enthralled. It's masterfully done. I want every damn reader of this fic to stand and applaud you.

God, the next chapter's gonna hurt bad, isn't it? How dare you make me feel my own feelings

...I'm so excited tho

I'll end this ask on an actual ask for once instead of just enthusiastically yelling: what are the 'Yang gang's favorite toaster pastry flavors? A new Opus!verse Pivotal Food Item (TM) just dropped, so I figure I should get in on the action while they're fresh and hot (out of the TOASTER, Pendergrass)

I have been sitting on this ask ONLY because I wanted to give folks a chance to catch up if they didn't want to be spoiled, but please know this DELIGHTED me.

It had to be Kara. For a lot of reasons that . And you are correct, it is a BAD reality if Sam loses all three of them. He doesn't come back from that.

Re: Hannah Shepard, I have given a LOT of thought to the questions you posed about whether or not Sam and/or Kaidan find out, and how they react, or would react. I think I have the answers to both, and they will be covered eventually in Opus.

And the poptart question!

That whole scene is actually a nod to a post I made eons ago about exactly this question, and it remains the best breakdown of the 'Yang gang's personalities to date.

#swaps replies #soulcastermindset #long post #opus!verse

[astriiformes]

I know it's very likely to end up romantic in the show but like I am choosing to see Huntlow as Queerplatonic until otherwise stated because it's just so sweet

I'm going to tell you fun little a secret anon: You can see it as queerplatonic no matter what! There's no rules against it!

Like perhaps this is something we lost the plot on a bit in back in the aspec discourse mines of 2015-2018, but there's nothing wrong with preferring a duo as queerplatonic instead of romantic -- they're both meaningful types of relationships that, depending on the people involved, can look incredibly similar. I'm a little baffled by the fact that so many people talk like you can only think that up until a point.

People ship non-canon ships, I don't see why we're not allowed to do the opposite and say we like it when two characters that appear to be a couple are actually into each other queerplatonically. Especially with characters where the shoe really seems to fit. I know I happen to like queerplatonic Willow and Hunter because the two of them remind me so much of my and my qpp (Which is one reason I'm not a fan of how a lot of shippers tend to talk about them -- it's fine to prefer it as a romantic relationship, but looking at their interactions and saying the "only" explanation is romance or there's no way the two of them stay "just friends" makes me feel pretty uncomfy, seeing as Willow and Hunter don't really act any differently than she and I do with each other)

Anyways, that's just my two cents, but I really do hope more folks take it to heart. I've seen a lot of people saying they would like to interpret them as aspec or in a queerplatonic relationship but feel like they won't be able to anymore if the show does certain things, to which I say: Be free! Queer headcanons are tethered to our wants and desires, not some specter of what we're "allowed" to do. Queerplatonic partnerships are not obligated to exist only until eclipsed by romantic desire! We are allowed to steal them back!

I know I've got at least one aspec Hunter fic idea I intend to write sometime after TOH ends regardless of how things play out in the show (and possibly even influenced by them), as does my qpp if her curse allows, and I hope other folks who like aspec/queerplatonic Willow and Hunter as a dynamic will join us.

Queerplatonic-ing ships is good for the soul! Don't settle for having dynamics that bring you joy stolen from you! People like us are allowed to take up space and tell stories too!

#i hope this doesn't come across as patronizing i just feel very strongly about it #sending love to my comrades fighting the good fight #i met one of my best internet friends because we both had STRONG feelings about queerplatonic luke/mara in like 2014 #and we were so right #anyways folks who queerplatonic ships are cool; folks who ship those ships but just let us do our thing in peace are cool #we can in fact all be cool to each other. in fact i encourage it #f: us weirdos have to stick together