#This show is consuming my life beyond the point of no return

[aste-ri-sm]

|| The Neo Trio + Rick deserve the world

Some doodle requests from Twitter under the cut ^^

#Epithet Erased #Prison of Plastic #Epithet Erased Prison of Plastic #Phoenica Fleecity #Molly Blyndeff #Trixie Roughouse #Trixie Roughhouse #Rick Shades #Zora Salazar #Giovanni Potage #God I love all of them #This show is consuming my life beyond the point of no return #I mean. No complaints here really #God I can't wait to see more of Rick #That man is an Autism Creature I want to crush him [Affectionate]

[essektheylyss]

You know what I'm thinking about? That trip to Vergessen.

Not the memorable one. The super innocuous one, in which Ludinus and Trent insisted they'd just dug this weird rock out of the ground weeks ago, it's nothing to them, the Bright Queen can have it. The one where Eadwulf told Caleb he looked good despite having just crawled out of an eldritch horror's sludge and then showed off his super muscular, super tatted arms.

Let's return to Eadwulf's arms in a moment.

The scourgers were helping out with the Assembly's research portfolio, which at the time had included Ludinus's pet project of developing dunamantic super-serum. The scourgers had also previously been involved—in their off time, when they weren't doing their primary duties of torture and execution—with human experimentation of methods of augmenting a mage's personal reserves of magic.

Sound familiar?

(Really, Ludinus, are you too old to test your experiments on yourself?)

Back to Eadwulf's well-sculpted arms. By the time we meet him in 836 PD, whatever might've been done to them in 810 PD has been covered with those pointedly geometric tats. Somewhere around the same time span, an assassination attempt is made on the life of the Voice of the Tempest by assassins using what was likely a prototype of Otohan Thull's dunamantic contraption, which is a kind of harness that uses the distilled dunamis created by Yeza Brenatto from studying the stolen beacons. This attack of course left multiple Ashari dead and beyond the point of recovery, among them Derrig and Will.

Six years later, Otohan Thull of course would kill Fearne, Orym, and Laudna in battle using that contraption, and not long after would also use the same assassination tactic to draw out the Champion of the Raven Queen so Ludinus could press him into an orb.

Still with me?

In Molaesmyr, after the Solstice had been stuck in time, Team Wildemount find a number of interesting items in Gildhollow, Ludinus's forsaken bachelor pad. Notable among them is a chest harness designed to consume various natural sources of power in order to augment the wearer's arcane abilities.

I think it's incredibly likely that the human experimentation component of the scourger program, given its scope, was requested if not designed by Ludinus, in an effort to further his research in the realm of augmenting mortals' capacities for magic. (Mechanically, I imagine this equates to additional spell slots per day, or the capacity to singlehandedly pull off experimental spells beyond the scope of ninth level, i.e. Dunamantic Nap spell, but that's just speculation.)

Primarily my point here is to demonstrate that its entirely possible if not likely that even the minutiae of the Assembly's horrific program to create child soldiers may have been part of Ludinus's effort to release Predathos and kill the gods, in an effort to show how broadly this may touch even other previous campaigns.

Additionally my point is to say that if anyone has reason to lead the vanguard (pun intended) of righteous warfare against Ludinus Da'leth, it's a Liam O'Brien PC, and frankly, at this point, given all of this character reasoning to do so, I do not care which one.

#critical role #cr spoilers #ludinus da'leth #orym of the air ashari #caleb widogast #vorb #(i do think I'm funny thanks :3) #cr meta #also it's possible the nein bathed before getting shuffled off to vergessen but i do not remember. it's for the joke.

[thegratefulsouth]

TWD Caryl - A Tree Fell in the Forest

I just finished watching TWD and searching a bunch tonne of stuff on this here Tumblr which I'm brand new to, and I have thoughts.

I am strangely drawn to imperfection, its beauty, and TWD sits in this place, hovering near almost faultlessness (characters), to being nearly unwatchable (where did the characters go), sometimes within the same episode. It's utterly fascinating! I am hooked! A little late, yes, but isn't that the story of my life.

I honestly have not felt this way about characters since the late 90's, when my 17 year old Willoz shipping heart waited desolately for Oz to return, and ... we all know how that turned out. Ah, shipping. I literally had not shipped a single ship since that day. Until I watched The Same Boat. TWD has some pretty special characters. Though I love Bojack and Ozark and Travis Fimmel's Ragnar, I did not feel compelled to examine the inner workings of those beautiful humans/humanoids beyond the show.

There I was, happily not shipping a ship, apart from my own relationship with my own beloved, which I ship ecstatically every day. (This is the kind of ramble I can indulge in when I think readership will be non-existent). Got another ship in!

Anyway, my point is that a Caryl romance is clearly canon, even though the relationship isn't (yet?).

I didn't actually fall in love with Carol until she listened to my urgent pleas to take care of the Wolves at the start of season 6. I should point out that I have ADHD so I didn't always have the dopamine? Emotional regulation? Focus? To listen to all of your speeches, Rick, or to watch entire episodes devoted to new characters, Tara, Magna, Alpha. So, apparently, I missed entire stuff.

Even after "C'mere", I just thought Carol and Daryl had this extremely unique soulmate bond, like that of Ragnar and Athelstan in Vikings. It is an extremely rare and unique portrayal of a transcendental devotion that cannot be likened to any other kind of relationship, because there are no other relationships like it. The bind encompasses every aspect of love and support needed to utterly fulfull and complete someone.

At this point I had stumbled onto Tumblr because I realised I needed pro-Carol recaps from Carylers, as they seemed to best understand and grasp this very special character. I went back and rewatched from the beginning and I was shocked. I rewatched (and noticed for the first time) the flirting, the hesitation, the banter, the unspoken LOOKS, oh so many. Drew the links from Consumed ("I kinda like it." "Stop.") Watched interviews, waded through the mass of gaslighting that abounds, which seems to wrap itself around every subtle, telling moment.

Why? Because it's fascinating. A mystery. Pretending something that happened, did not? A tree fell in the forest and some people did not hear it. Well I didn't hear it either! But I went back and found the tree. That tree is on the damn ground.

Carol and Daryl are so in love with each other it hurts. Their romance exists. Therefore, I'm gonna ship it.

TGS

#caryl #carol x daryl #daryl x carol #caryl positivity #caryl is endgame

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Hello I know you just wrote for D.M. but can I request ❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜ with D.M. too? Maybe the reader is his ex gf who left him cos she realized that he was a red flag

Thank you and sorry if my English isn't that good! Have a nice day/night!

Your english is fine no worries! Hope you enjoy this i based is lot on Sherlock Holmes lol

Rated Mature (to be safe) | Warning: possessive behavior, kidnapping, reader is done lol

Send a line

The end of engagements is not uncommon, it is something that happens in the search for the soul mate. It will hurt, it will take time. Yet telling the bastard D.M. to acknowledge you are no longer accessible to him or how the engagement ring is returned to him with a letter telling in long-winded words you no longer want to see him.

Well, he is delusional at first believing you simply needed space. You need to reflect and realize how good you have it with him. He gave you a week. Then another week, he was busy. Then another week due to once again, he after all, masterfully artfully creating schemes. When a month passed, he sent you a letter. There was no reply, in fact, the letter he sent was returned to him.

You moved. You moved. You moved.

Désire Mélodis never had someone leave him. He has broken many hearts of both genders, but when he read your letter— Actually read it, he saw the seriousness of your words. You rejected him, you gave up on a comfortable life with him… Are you stupid!?

The man’s rage is cold, he simply burned your letter before going to the desk where he has a poster of you from your performance here long before he approached you.

How ungrateful are you? The nonsense you wrote him is just that: Nonsense! The lord professor is the most desirable man you will ever meet! To have caught his eye means you should be grateful! Along with feeling special. He scoffs before laughing hysterically.

“Mon amour,” His finger tracing the jaw of your picture, “Enjoy your time away from your cage.” A dastardly smirk on his face, “For once I find you: I will clip your wings.”

You should have known sooner or later your former love would come back in a blaze of glory. All you could do is just prepare for that, mentally. You sigh the second you see Lady Truth, Mr. Inference, and Mr. White entered the theater and sat in the back. Oh, lovely.

Not even the first bloody act the stage is on fire and there is a villain who shows up by crashing from the ceiling. 

You are not even going to try to figure out how the man survived falling from that height to the stage.

There in the spotlight, there you stand wearing red, there the most dramatic moment happens before your eyes.

“You crazy son of a bitch!”

Is he serious? Is he serious about showing up like this?! In a dashing white suit with a top hair and cape, he appears, the curtain falls behind you, and he snatches you as if you magically weigh nothing. What madness! Wait, the man is too tall, and the long claws are not D.M.’s style.

“Tuberose put me down right now— Aaaaaa!!” Screaming as the terrifyingly tall man steals you away as the fire starts to consume the stage. Pointing at the place where he fell from, he points and launches the hook before sending you both flying through the air. The hook to pulling you both out of the theater.

“Please stop kicking me.” Once on the rooftop, he tosses you over his shoulder.

“Maybe I will stop kicking if you put me down!” You are beyond pissed. Honestly, you know D.M. is dramatic but burning down the opera theater, dramatic speech by his assistant, and what the hell is this get-up he put on Tuberose? “This suit is ugly by the way!”

“His request.”

You roll your eyes as you are forced to endure being chased after from rooftop to rooftop. “If you turn left at the next street you can lose them in the alley.”

“Thank you.”

“Uh-huh.” Bored. This is honestly why you ended the engagement! The drama was ridiculous, not to mention how you felt like you were competing for your ex-fiance's attention. “How is he?”

“Colder.”

“I see… I missed you guys.”

The assistant, you know you do not if Tuberose is an assistant, puts you down when close is clear.

“Are you going to change?” Watching him undress, “Oh your hair is messy.” As he changes, you fix his hair. “There.” Smiling then pouting when he puts on his fedora. He gives you his shawl to keep you warm given what you are wearing is a red costume for your part.

“Welcome home, mon petit gâteau.” Open arms as you are brought to his manor. His smile is fake, the foyer looks nice still, oh, you noticed a new maid.

“Hm,” Looking around. Nothing changed. Guess you shouldn't be surprised, you only left two or three months ago.

It took a bit of walking to the rendezvous point where Gatto sat in the automotive waiting. The drive was unbearable, you only compiled because you care for the safety of these two over your own.

Plus, D.M. would never hurt you… You hope.

“Sir, I know you understand this is kidnapping.” Crossing your arms after giving back Tuberose his shawl before that adds to this long overdue argument. “What were you thinking doing that!? Couldn't you have waited until I was home!?”

“Dear, you were merely a distraction to my true objective.”

“Ah, using me again. You never change.” Throwing your hands up in the air, “Did you at least have something made before stealing me away?”

“Dinner is prepared for us, my love. Your favorites.” Bowing as if so pleased with himself because he is, he thought of everything.

“And this is going to be civil?”

“As civil as you remain.”

And so you take his hand as he leads to the prepared dining room, alone. Alone with him.

Into the belly of the beast moment.

“Same chef?” You finished dinner, now having a shared dessert with D.M. beside you. It has been civil, a few quips or sarcastic remarks, for the most nothing argumentative. Yet.

“You said you like the way she makes the velvet cake.”

“And I told you she needed to be given time off to see her son.” Eating a spoonful of cake, “Did you?”

“Of course.” His foot rubs against your calf under the table.

“Désire.”

“I have missed you a great deal.” The lord's free hand touching yours, “We could have talked about this.”

“There was nothing to talk about, Désire.” Slipping your hand away to take a sip of the wine you have been nursing throughout dinner. Must be from his personal collection. “You have your pursues, I have my wants.” Speaking with some liquid courage in you.

“And your wants are for me to fulfill, (Name). Anything you desire and I can grant you it.”

“Do you love me?” Serious as you put the spoon down and lean on the table.

“Of course.”

“You say that but not once did you say it!” Annoyed, “I had to hope you loved me. But it seemed you loved playing games with those detectives over our relationship!”

Then you started yelling, tears ruining your simple stage makeup. God, doing this with a costume on makes this so ridiculous!

The former key to your heart is prepared, you know for he is sounding a lot calmer than you are as emotions flare out. The lord professor, son of a bitch, always so perfect; the Creme De La Creme of society, when your engagement ended— When you ended it, they blamed you. Because Désire Mélodis could do no wrong!

“(Name),” When he stands, you turn in your seat about to follow to stand your ground but when he goes on one knee, reaching into his pocket to pull out the ring, the engagement ring you sent back to him, you stop. “You're mine.” Sometimes it frightens you how sure he sounds. How can this man say without a shadow of a doubt that you are his? “You've always been mine.” The pain of that truth is you have yet to look for another. Oh, and there are suitors who have tried to do the song and dance, none have swept you off your feet like this bastard has.

“You can’t own me.” The wine hits you, “You don’t own me.” He chuckles at those words for it is the last thing you say before he kisses you. The sort of kiss he would give when you are mad at him, the sort that makes you dizzy and cling to his jacket pulling him closer. His finger outlines your jaw down to your throat, his lips leave yours as much as would enjoy staying there…

He is sweet, the sweet that makes you cry more, his arms the safest place you have ever been, and you let him slip the ring back to its rightful place.

The gentleman that he is, painfully at times, he does not take you on the dining table though you hint for him to do it. Instead, he takes you to the guest room (prepared beforehand) to sleep off the wine you drank (he knew to give you more than himself, snake).

In the morning, you will be upset. The lord likes that fire about you, keeps him entertained.

#reader insert #idv #anon ask #idv photographer #photographer x reader #identity v x reader #identity v #identity v x you #identity v photographer #identity v joseph #idv joseph #idv joseph x reader #idv x reader #joseph desaulnier #joseph desaulnier x reader

[yanderecyberpunkimagines]

Yo, good luck with your new blog! Can I have a short scenario about David Martinez being rejected by his obsession after he chromed up? After Maine died and all?

------------

Thank you! I hope I won’t disappoint with this little scenario. I hope you like it none the less!

-------------

David Martinez

The rain fell relentlessly, each droplet weaving a chaotic melody on the streets of Night City. In the midst of this downpour emerged a mysterious figure, a presence with an allure that bewitched David Martinez from the moment their paths crossed. The city's rain-soaked streets painted a vivid backdrop to their meeting, amplifying the intrigue and danger that characterized the cityscape surrounding them.

David recalled that encounter vividly, as if etched into his memory like a permanent scar.

He approached you first, asking you out for a drink out of the blue. Against your instincts, you accepted his invitation for a drink, although demanding your choice of venue. He accepted.

Soon, friendship blossomed, kindling his protective instincts and igniting emotions that ran even deeper.

Not long after that however, Maine died. You don’t know how, but what you could tell was that the way he’d died had a great impact on David. And it eventually showed as he suddenly disappeared out of the picture for about a year. He quickly delved into the darkest recesses of a certain underground clinic as the days passed by, trading pieces of his humanity for the cold embrace of cybernetic enhancements.

But with all the pain he’d lived through as result, he never though that pouring out his confession to you would actually be the one thing that’d eventually torment his mind the most after he’d suddenly called up to meet up with you. Even more so than the deaths of any of his loved ones.

“I do not want to be with you.” the words reverberated louder in David’s thoughts than the clamor from the familiar crowded bar behind them, drowning even the persistent rain that had characterized every moment since he met you. But the words that follow were even worse.

“You think you’re special, but you’re really not,” you downright growled at him, your voice tinged with an otherworldly blend of anger and concern. David's eyes widened, caught off guard by your harsh words. He stammered, searching for a different kind of response, but you continued instead, your frustration palpable.

"You've made yourself an unchangeable, ticking timebomb, David," you sighed heavily, your frustration giving way to a hint of sadness. "One day, somewhere, triggered by something, you'll start losing it. Gradually, and then all at once." Your glare returned to the same intensity it had before. "And I don't want to be there to witness that."

David was speechless, the weight of your words sinking deep into his soul. The rain continued to pour, a relentless reminder of the harsh reality. You turned and disappeared through the rainfall, quickly disappearing out of his sight. He didn’t find the voice to call after you.

The chrome upgrades, the Sandevistan at the very center of it all, finally consumed him as your words sunk in to the deepest point, twisting his once noble intentions into something sinister. As he emerged from the shadows about a month later, David confronted you near your home, his body exuding an intimidating aura. His eyes glowed with an unnatural hue, an eerie reflection of the cyberpsycho he had become over that period of time.

The tremble in your voice resonated through the cold air as you confronted him on your doorstep. "Why are you here?" you inquired, eyes fixed on the cybernetic man who lingered just beyond the porch's edge.

"To make you reconsider," David responded, his voice tinged with desperation.

"I can't," you assert, a shiver coursed through you. "There's blood on your hands, David."

"[Y/N]," David's voice quivered, a haunting blend of longing and desperation, "Everything I've done, every augmentation, every sacrifice, every life taken, it was all to prove my worthiness of your love. But I see it now. You never comprehended the depths of my devotion."

His words lingered in the air, a chilling revelation echoing between you both.

Fear flickered in your eyes as you stepped back, realizing the extent of David's transformation.

Sensing it, he reached out, his mechanical grip closing in on you. Your heart raced with a mix of terror and regret, realizing the monster you had inadvertently created.

He grabbed you by the arm and pulled. You screamed in shock, in frightened awe by the little strength it took for him to lift you up from your feet before hauling you towards the back of a van he parked at the back.

He threw you inside of it, hitting your back with a dull thud as lines of code started to blur your vision.  As he loomed over you, his voice held an eerie determination and a disturbing certainty of future love.

“I don’t care that you’ve rejected me today as well. But one day, you’ll see I’m different. Better. Prove to you that I can handle the chrome, and that I can protect you from any harm that may come your way.”   

His chocolaty eyes drifted downward towards your lips, and he ran a finger alongside the curve of your jaw. You’re too shocked to even move.

“You’ll learn to love me back eventually. I’ll make sure of that.”

#reader insert #yandere #cyberpunk edgerunners #david martinez

[highvern]

Heart of the Sea (EXCERPT)

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x reader, Jeon Wonwoo x reader

Genre: angst, adventure, pirate!au

Warnings: guns, violence (seokmin gets his shit rocked for a second), blood, mentions of drowning, knives, they're pirates and not the peter pan silly goofy kind.

Length: ~1.2k

Note: i've been reading six of crows and could not sleep without getting this off my mind. there's no obvious pairing just some tension and history.

extra warning: 180 from what i usually write but I've been inspired

Full Fic!

read more here

Salt water on the stale air caresses your senses awake, rousing you from your deep slumber as the gentle rocking of the tide tempts you to return to its depths. In the belly of the ship, only the gentle flame of an oil lantern hanging from the ceiling illuminates the dark closet you call your room. Just wide enough that your palms lay flat against each wall when your arms are extended, deep enough to hang a hammock for restless dozes through the night. 

Something is wrong.

A ship full of thieves, criminals, and other degenerates never quiets to an eerie silence such as this. The lap of the ocean at the wooden sides of the vessel drowns most noise but she seldom comes away with a clean sweep like she does currently. 

Something is very very wrong.

Twisting out of the hammock, your feet hit the floor with a slash. The black oily surface of water reflects in the dim light, consuming the entirety of your boots, soaking up to the middle of your shins. A quick survey of your space shows your only possession, a small leather trunk, bobbing in the corner.

The real prizes decorate your figure. Daggers tucked in their sheaths, littering their usual hiding places: one tucked under each cuff of your shirt, the largest one strapped to your thigh, one in the lining of each boot, and several strapped to the leather belt across your chest. Your revolver sits on your hip, golden neck polished, loaded like you left it before dozing off.

The door to this room is one of the few that sits less than an inch off the ground. Meaning the water in here is likely nothing compared to what's beyond the thick piece of wood. You need to get out of here. Out of this room and out to the deck. 

Steadying yourself, you plant your feet in a fighting stance, preparing for the force that will race in once the door opens. Barely a turn of the knob, a click of the latch and the door is blown wide; smacking into the wall behind as the sea rushes in, informing you that the water beyond is up to your thigh as it threatens to knock you off your feet.

The worn wood of the threshold threatens to rip your nails as you hold on for dear life. If you fall into the flood, it's over. You won’t be able to get back up, crushed under the weight of the ocean’s will. It's the first thing you learn on a ship: the sea takes and takes and she doesn’t return what she’s claimed no matter how much you plead. And if you do get away, she’ll come to collect eventually.

Arms straining and thighs burning, you force forward against the onslaught. By the time you exit the confines of your room , the water is at your chest. Caressing your collar bones, lapping at your neck like a crude noose. The jostle of your movement claps waves into your face. 

I’ve got you now. The sea whispers. Finally ran out of borrowed time, little bird.

Salt water burns your nose with each bob of your head as you work towards the stairs leading up and out. The tang floods your mouth, pooling in the back of your throat; choking you, silencing your scream for help.

Give up. The seductive voice purrs in your ear. Come to me. Let me give you oblivion.

When the ocean finds home in your lungs, you let her take what she’s owed. 

-

A knife to the throat is a less than friendly way to greet your second but Wonwoo should have expected it. His mistake for standing too close to wake his captain.

Wild eyes stare up at him, cataloging his features as the cool metal point pinches his airway. Sharp eyes, firm mouth, scar from temple to chin. He doesn’t flinch as you press a little firmer, forcing the dagger into the pale skin of his neck. Finally, safe triggers in your head.

Still, it takes a few seconds before your muscles relax enough to let you retract the small piece of steel.

“You’re needed on the deck.”

A shuddered breath is all the response he gets before you wave him out.

Wonwoo refuses to move, pointed gaze burning yours.

“Handle it.” You bark.

“Told me not to make deals in your name.”

That peaks your interest.

“Who is it?”

“Stragglers from a sinking ship.” He reports. “Seokmin pulled them from the wreckage.”

“Of course he did.” 

If Wonwoo was a stupider man he’d mistake the exasperation in your tone for fondness. But he’s not. If Seokmin was less valuable then his ass would have been at the bottom of the sea months ago. But the strikes against him are stacking higher and higher, and your charity is running out.

Today you’re in a good mood. Seokmin will probably end up back in the wreckage with the sorry sailors he saved if none of them prove to be of any use. That is, if you let them take a breath after finding out just who exactly is standing above you.

“What colors?”

You're asking their allegiance. The flag had been long gone by the time the three men were pulled from the chilly depths. But the brands on their necks tell it just the same. A circle with a vertical line through the middle.

“Krakens.”

You're out of your bed and up the stairs before he can blink.

Face cold as the winter wind that screams from the north, you hone in on your target the second you're in the daylight. Seokmin doesn’t see it coming as you round on him. The brass knuckles swirling around your fingers rips a crude gash across his cheek as the crack of your hand rings out, silencing your crew.

He falls to his knees as his own hands move to protect his face, a pained “Fuck!” leaving his lips. 

“You’re lucky I don't shoot you!” You spit, lips curled and teeth bared.

Garnet blood dripping from his chin and your adorned fingers to the wooden planks only furthers your disdain for the man in front of you. The gun on your hip sings like a siren but you have bigger problems to deal with. Seokmin won’t get the bullet with his name engraved on it today but tonight he should pray to whatever powers be that it finds another target first.

Whirling to the three strangers backed against the main mast, you eye them up and down. Wonwoo was right to wake you, because looking you in the eye with a shit eating grin is the demon you’ve been avoiding for years. The reason for your nightmares. The reason for the lump of hardened charcoal where a beating heart should be.

“Miss me?” he smirks.

In a flash, the revolver is in your hand. The shot hits dead center of the scant inches between his feet, smoke rising from the hole embedded in the surface of the deck. Whisps still rise from the muzzle of the gun as you cock the second bullet and raise your arm to aim for his heart. 

The cocky facade slips for a fraction of a second, but it pulls the infamous bloodthirsty smile to your lips.

“You’re a dead man, Jeonghan.”

#svt x reader #svt x you #svt x oc #svt imagines #svt fanfic #svt seokmin #svt wonwoo #svt jeonghan #svt angst #seventeen fanfic #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan angst #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo angst #seventeen angst #🫡 highvern #svt

[homosexualmorelikehomiesexual]

GOD i cant stop thinking about how weird it is that twilight was inspired by MCR which was inspired by 911. when everyone else was caught up in this aggressve patriotism as a form of defense and an excuse for violent bigotry, mcr said lets make something beautiful. lets make something that will let us heal. and then twilight and harry potter used to have this whole fandom feud, but ended up almost being two sides of the same coin. both deeply terrible and written by bigoted white women who either did nothing to amend for the damage her respective writing did, or actively tried to make it worse. and how they ended up sort of being married together by the creation of My Immortal, which is arguably a twilightified fanfic of harry potter, written by someone that absolutely worshipped gerard way. and how mcr was asked to make a song for the twilight soundtrack to which they said fuck you and instead made Vampire Money, a song about what itd be like if they succumed to capitalist greed and devalued their art by leaning into the edgy aesthetic beyond the end of its shelf life and whored out their emotions for profit. and then they broke up because it really Was killing them. and now theyre back. and then the WWWYf tour happened. and That happened. they turned it into an opportunity to make a giant fuck you to that selfsame concept, dressing up as a parody of what theyd have become if theyd done what the public wanted of them, if theyd stayed closeted and suicidal and become consumed by the addiction of selling that pain for profit. a point underlined by the contrast with how theyve been presenting themselves the past 3 months on their real tour, specifically gerard, and how specifically BECAUSE they took a hiatus, BECAUSE they didnt give into greed for more vampire money and didnt destroy themselves, they are alive today in order to be onstage now in front of us. awake and unafraid. a giant celebration of trans joy and affirmation and acknowledgement and love between them and us, their fans, specifically their trans fans. how they finished the WWWYf show with Vampire Money and no one in that crowd got it because no one in that crowd Would get it, and that perfectly crystalized their absolutely scathing point. and then on their real tour they made the more blatant but less serious reference by wearing a twilight shirt and talking about robert pattinson, just goofing off and having fun being gay, bc with us they finally can. and in the meantime, jk rowling has written a self insert cringe comp book longer than the fucking bible trying desparately to cling to relevancy and make herself out to be the victim in her own transphobia, desparately whoring out her bigotry for profit. and the fact that 50 shades of gray is just a twilight fanfic that caused 365 Days to get written and also kind of caused the normalization of fanfic getting turned into actual monetized netflix level media. but ofc its only okay when its cishet. the smut turned netflix series exuality is only acceptable when its straight. and its all toxic af!!! but somehow its fine that THATS plastered on every billboard!!! but the original queer people it was inspired by were shunned and shamed and now that theyre back from the dead, everyones trying to capitalize on their return. and they said go fuck yourselves!!!! and meanwhile the same type of people who hate us and them ARE succumbing to that greed, and theyre fucking floundering!!! just.i just. i. uGHGGGGGG

#finnposting #michemicheal romance #my chemical romance #gerard way #frank iero #ray toro #mikey way #wwwy fest #mcr #twilight

[redemptionbaby]

Hi there, I just binged your blog and it has restored my nutrition levels. If you want I would love to read about what Arthur would think/feel/do if his crush / s/o was not in the gang and he could only get away to see them once a week? (I'm not sure if he'd be wanting to keep his 2 lives separate for a while for some reason??) I'm wondering what he'd be like lovesick, cuz I'm definitely missin that cowboah </3 :') many thanks

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Arthur is not that interesting. At least, that’s what he thinks. He’s an open book— and he’s not the type to keep liaisons…. Until he met you. And suddenly he’s riding off to god knows where, as usual, but with a telltale smile on his face that makes people curious.

He feels conflicted, of course. He loves you. He knows the gang isn’t a safe place— and you’re too sweet to fit in with a bunch of thieves and murderers like them…. He thinks it’s a miracle that you see anything in him. That— and with the increasing instability of it all, Micah whispering in Dutch’s ear, the way it’s becoming clearer and clearer that these violent delights are going to have violent ends. He doesn’t think the gang is a safe place to be.

Then again, he remembers the last time he left people he was connected to— left them to fend for themselves while he went and played Robin Hood. He had to bury them.

As things escalate within the gang, he also worried about his attachment to you becoming known, and it calling his loyalty into question. He could give less of a damn if Dutch thinks his allegiances lie elsewhere— but he doesn’t want you in the middle of it. He’s afraid of the lengths to which Dutch will go to keep Arthur close.

Back in the day, when he really thought they were all good people, when he thought the gang was the best thing in the world and a force of charity to those who needed it, he would’ve tried to get you in just as soon as you’d shared your first kiss. But the years have washed away the rosy tint on his vision.

A part of him is guilty. Is he just using you for a refuge? A place to go when things finally go past the point of no return? Are you a contingency plan for him?

But part of what keeps him coming back is how you melt those worries away. When he’s with you, he can’t bring himself to think of all his troubles. He’s consumed by you and all your radiance. You sit under a tree on breezy spring afternoons with his head in your lap while you read a book aloud to him.

In truth, having you to go to….. having a sort of home— that’s one of the few things that’s still keeping him going.

And he never comes back to camp empty handed. He doesn’t want anyone sniffing after him…. Suspicious of where he’s gone. So he always comes back with money, loot, fresh game, a lead….. anything to keep up his image of the Van Der Linde workhorse.

He might tell a few precious and trusted friends about you. The ones who still remember true love and the life that exists beyond their traveling bubble of crime and self righteousness. Sadie, for example. She remembers love. Not just survival and blind loyalty.

And in the world where there are happy endings, he shows up bloodied and beaten at your doorstep one fateful evening— his ties severed. Arthur Morgan died on a mountain, and a new man has emerged, ready to live his life for love and quiet solitude. And despite his aches and stinging wounds— he feels better than he has in a long time. Because he’s in your arms, and for the first time, he won’t have to leave them.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #writing #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader

[neoyi]

I had to think about this for a while, partially because I've only ever seen the entirety of Adventure Time once, so the minuscule details of its tangled lore is lost on me.

I remember waiting with bated breath for Simon and Betty's reunion come AT's series finale, and feeling cheated that it did not end that way. Season after season of frustration as Betty slipped into madness the more she tried to cure Simon, before ultimately ending up so far off that she and Simon couldn't possibly reconnect the way they had hoped, left something of a bitter taste in my mouth.

I guess there was something full circle that Betty ended up obsessed and lost in her mind as much as her significant other did when he wore the crown: two nerdy peas in a pod who were so consumed by their goals that it tragically overtook them. Simon's the one who made it out, because we've been with him the longest, it would have be upsetting if he never reverted back, but it meant he'd have to go on without Betty. And I was thinking back then, "Why? Why did that have to happen?" They were two folks in love who genuinely cared and missed each other, why weren't they allowed their happy ending? I guess it just felt like needless suffering.

I had hoped Fionna and Cake would have provided closure, and it did, and it wasn't what I wanted or expected, and at first, I grimaced, but after much thought, I ultimately came out of it perfectly content with its decision.

At first, I did think it felt flimsy Fionna and Cake established Simon's relationship with Betty as less than rose-tinted than we originally thought. After all, his romance was suppose to be a contrast to what we originally perceived the Ice King to be: a creepy dude who kidnapped princesses to marry when, contrarily, he was, instead, a mellow nerd who loved one woman.

Then I noticed that Fionna and Cake wasn't altering what AT established about their relationship, but re-contextualizing it based on little cues the show had always left behind. Of course it sucked the crown corrupted Simon beyond the point of no return, but flashback showed he had an obsession to it, and relied on it so heavily that he ignored the warnings of his adopted daughter. Marceline begged him not to put it on because he would never come out of it. He used it to survive back then, but it now firmly establishes that he wants it back because it was the only solution that would have easily resolved everything.

Fionna and Cake gets to live if he puts on the crown, his excuse to resume the role of a wintry weirdo, instead of his actual reason why (because he's sad, lonely, and feels his life has no purpose or meaning, so why bother?) To which, showing that Simon is so caught up in his own thing, that Betty wrapped her life around him (unintentionally so, I like that it's presented as a genuine mistake and not deliberately malicious), and how he's still so hung up on everything meant that, yeah, they weren't ever going to work long-term. Also Simon needed therapy and change in his life (which he accomplished by the end.)

I also liked this approach because it explains WHY Betty was so hellbent on freeing Simon from the crown. Her entire character in AT revolved around Simon, and Fionna and Cake dared to ask why it is and how unhealthy it was. Being GOLB likely meant Betty finally had the means to break from Simon and think about their relationship; she finally gained agency and can exist outside of him. What she plans to do next? Hey, man, she's literally Satan or some manner of devilish Chaos God, she can do anything the fuck she wants. Good for her.

It is tough to take a plot or character motive and rework it from its original intention; if you're not good at it, then it comes off inconsistent and a disservice to its narrative/character arc. I was ready to frown if Simon and Betty hadn't gotten back together by the end of this show, but instead, I was blown away by its thoughtfulness to explore and validate why Simon and Betty had to be apart. Only when they break their obsessiveness can they both move on and change.

Also, on another note, leave it to Fionna and Cake to make a multiverse show that I really and thoroughly enjoyed, mostly because so many of these worlds had previously been established. It's LORE! How cool is that?

I've never had a strong desire to own Adventure Time (or Distant Lands) on physical media. I liked the shows, but wasn't really in love with it. Fionna and Cake though? Give it to me. Give me the bluray. I want it. I love this show. It's so damn good. Shut up and take my money!

#adventure time #fionna and cake #neoyi talks #fionna and cake spoilers

[deus-mendacium]

missing numbers by @creatively-cosmic ; corresponding characters are their interps / belong to them

" y'know, ive started thinking."

she turned to him when he spoke, disdain on the tip of her tongue as she narrowed her eyes at his casual tone. this never meant anything good, and typically only served as her unfortunately learning of another one of his ridiculous ideas.

" i am not your chatting partner. " she informed Him, turning away and staring at something Beyond. even if this place was boring at times, she refused to leave. she refused to let him be by himself for too long, the clever little bastard. it would only mean more work for Her.

" no, really. this is a really good one. " he kept. fucking. talking. drawling out his words lazily and entirely ignoring her comment. she could practically see the smirk on his face, smug as ever. " life changing, even. you don't wanna miss this shit."

" i don't want to hear it. now now. not ever. " she snapped, scolding herself internally for not just ignoring him from the start. how foolish of her—another mistake to document for the future. she wouldn't make it again. she couldn't mess up again. " your ideas are nothing more than the ramblings of an insane man. your concepts are meaningless and your thoughts come from nowhere. i don't need your words, and i don't need your influence. "

" ah. still keeping the holier-than-thou scheme up, then?" ignore him. ignore him. ignore Him. ignore him. " think you're just the savior-ess of all worlds and im the big bad monster. "

she ignored his words because she was supposed to. not because she knew she wouldn't be able to keep herself in check. that was a ridiculous notion, and she purged the thought immediately. she wasn't easily swayed by emotion or desire, she wasn't supposed to be. and of course, to keep being useful, she had to make sure she was good enough. and yet…would it be wrong to respond if it were putting him in his place?

surely not. right?

right?

of course. because she was still doing her job—she was keeping him quiet and neutralized and keeping him from causing issues! she was…still doing what she was supposed to.

" this is for your own good too. " she insisted sharply, hands curling into fists. she would not be consumed by her weaker emotions. she would rather let them give way to frustration than show weakness in front of him. " you're a danger to everyone and yourself. "

" is that what you learned? " it was bait. she knew it was bait. and yet, she took it.

" it is. in fact. and it's been keeping us all safe for a long while. im doing you and everyone else a favor, and it isn't as if you don't deserve it. " her gaze was hard as she turned back to face him, crossing her arms. " you—"

" you," he interjected, sarcastic tone suddenly disappearing and being replaced with a cold one. " are a fuckin hypocrite."

she'd deny the sudden lump of fear she felt until the end of time. she gathered herself quickly, steeling her expression into something blanker as she opened her mouth to speak again.

" i don't think you're in any place to be throwing names around. " she informed him in a measured tone, never shifting her gaze from his even as that cold fear continued to seep through her. she refused to show it outwardly.

he met her gaze equally, expression a mix between bored and unreadable.

" nah. maybe not. you could probably do a lot of shit. but that just goes to prove my next point, doesn't it?" he shifted, sitting up the best he could with his restrictions. his wide grin returning was the only warning she got before he spoke again.

" you're so busy playing hero that you don't even see your own chains. really, you're just like me. you just hate to see it."

she couldn't keep herself from flinching, from flying off at the mouth and letting the words spill as she thought of them, anger lacing each one. " i am nothing like you. nothing! do you hear me, RED? we aren't the same, and we'll never be. what im doing is giving you what you fucking deserve!"

" aha! so it's not for the good of others? " he retorted immediately, taking pleasure in the way she bared her teeth at him in an almost animalistic anger. " you're selfish, too. you wanna know why nobody remembered you?"

before she could respond, he lunged forward, chains glowing brightly with the strain as his grin seemed to widen impossibly.

" because you were unimportant. nobody needed a girl named [REDACTED]. boys and girls alike we're fine with a simple avatar of male. you weren't supposed to exist. ever. so you were forgotten, just like you deserved. " he didn't give her a chance to speak, to defend herself. he kept talking, watching her crack. " we both were forgotten! but at least i was important. i started this fucking shit! what fucking importance did you have, huh? appear in one game and think you're the big shit?! you're fucking nothing!"

she couldn't breathe.

she willed herself to say something anything to deny it to hurt him but the words

died in her throat.

[ R???E????D ] leaned back, grin never faltering. " if you're something that doesn't belong, never belonged, and only fucked everything up with your existence then really, what makes you any different than the glitch pokemon that do the same?"

she didn't move. frozen in place, her body betrayed her mind's rapid orders to move to do something to do Anything to shut him up to make him Stop make him Stop make him Sto

" nothing. " he practically purred. " so, answer me one question, wontcha?"

" who's the real danger here, LEAF? "

#*.text #eyler's journal #now that that's out the way let's add the #missing numbers #missing numbers fanwork

[glass-expanse]

Since there is "men asking women how to find dates" discourse on my dash, I wanted to add my two cents as totally chad proof I'm destined to be an anonymous guy's relationship advice expert XD It's very general advice but in my life experience (which is admittedly limited to 19 years, one failed engagement, and playing middle man when a couple of my best friends broke up) it seems to hold true. But that is mostly because a lot of what I have to say here is basic biblical doctrine about who a good husband and just generally a good ambassador for Christ is, both of which I have studied.

Okay guys listen up. This is how it works.

Just don't. Don't meet women to date. Don't do it. It's a trap.

Make friends with women though. (Not ones in relationships of course.) That's okay. And as your friendships develop, you'll find which ones align most closely with you.

Developing strong friendships with many different people is an important part of being in the body of Christ. A strong friendship will yield a stronger relationship. But just viewing a girl as a potential girlfriend isn't treating her with the respect she as a child of God made in His image deserves.

Be a good brother in Christ to them. Don't let your mind carry your fantasies away. Stay grounded and treat the women you know like actual people. Work in the church alongside your friends-- do different things with your groups of people. This will reveal the character of your friends and you will discover which girl is worth pursuing. And if she says no, that's no. Leave it at that. Work to heal the friendship and return your focus to being a godly friend.

Things girls like: good listeners, kind and respectful men, good decision makers, men filled with humility and compassion, men who are responsible stewards of the money and time God has given them, and men who radiate the peace, hope, and love of God. Those traits will make you a good Christlike husband one day. More than that, these are traits that make you a good Christian. As a man seeking God, you should be seeking these traits.

Things that certainly don't hurt: keep yourself well groomed, avoid being a stupid show off, don't wear navy blue and black together, learn to cook and clean. XD

Things to avoid: starting a relationship when you are immature, unstable, just lonely, or consumed with lust. Deal with those issues first. You should never objectify anyone. Don't play with the feelings of a girl. Don't lead her on. If you start a relationship and it's not going right, you need to pray over it, then DISCUSS the issues in detail using scripture to explain your thinking. If you need to end it, don't be vague, be precise so that she can grow from the experience.

And always have an older, more mature, godly Christian man to help mentor you. So if you need to know more than this, that's one place your mentor can help you a lot. He can also help counsel you through sin issues, point you towards Christ, and generally help you when you're struggling or need wise counsel.

Beyond what's here, a girl can't help you much. This is all general advice. If you need help wooing a specific gal, this is only gonna get you so far. Individual girls have individual preferences. If you need advice tailored to your situation, that's another place your mentor can help a lot.

So go forth and grow in Christ. God has already decided your lot and He knows your story. You just have to not worry about what's coming and instead apply yourself to growing in godliness and growing into your Christian communities.

[trannydean]

Feigning Normalcy - Fictober Prompt #02

Prompt - #02, "Don't worry, I got you."

Fandom - Supernatural

Rating - T

Warnings - General angst, death and dying mentions, grief, torture mention, cursing

Word count - 1.4k

Summary - Jaime hasn't been taking care of himself since Dean left. Cas knows he needs sleep, and isn't going to let Jaime keep going without it.

A/N - This is a smaller piece of a future scene I plan on writing for my mainverse series for Jaime--I hope everyone likes it <3

It had been six days since Dean had left, and Jaime was showing no signs of returning to a normal schedule. He was still barely eating, and sleeping even less. Castiel knew this was an issue—knew even better now that he had experienced what being human was like. If his experiences had taught him anything, it was that humans needed food and sleep. Lots of it, really.

If you didn’t get that, it hurt, for one thing. As if your insides were revolting against you for not feeding them, and deciding to try consuming itself to satisfy the hunger. Or, your mind got fuzzy and you couldn’t concentrate, because keeping itself awake was all your brain could handle—it couldn’t start thinking beyond that.

Castiel had a hard time with this when he had first landed back from Heaven as a human. But after Dean told him to leave, and Jaime came with him, Jaime was very keen on keeping the both of them not hungry, not exhausted. Castiel recalled that Jaime had lived out of his truck, by himself, for a long time, and was already used to the conditions they met up with.

He was able to fix their situation swiftly enough to the point where they weren’t suffering too badly. Castiel had been lost, but Jaime had a constant grip on him, so at least he wasn’t alone. His companionship had been good.

But now Jaime was the one who was lost. Now Jaime was the one who needed someone to grip him and hold on tight, to let him know that despite how awful things were, he wasn’t alone. He needed that terribly right now.

Castiel couldn’t stand the thought of leaving the Bunker when Jaime was in this condition, so he had lingered, feeling awkward. He didn’t know how life usually was in the Bunker, but he was sure what occurred now wasn’t it.

He had watched children play, having fun with just existing. Though most of the young ones here were actually adolescents, poor souls stuck in between carefree child and experienced adult, it was almost certain to him that these sullen faces and quiet voices weren’t normal.

Sam was the one carrying almost all the weight of keeping things as usual as possible here. He tried acting normal, tried treating each day like an average one. But Castiel could see in all of their faces—it wasn’t the same, no matter how much they pretended it was. It wasn’t the same without Dean.

That’s what was hurting Jaime the most. Of course, that didn’t downsize any of the other things he’d experienced within the past two weeks. He had lost Kevin, he had watched Sam—Gadreel possessing Sam’s body, but still, Sam—being tortured, he had died, for goodness’ sake. Though Castiel and the Winchesters were unfortunately familiar with dying, Jaime wasn’t. This was his first time, and Castiel hoped dearly it was his last.

But losing Dean, again, so soon after getting back to him, was the final blow that had really thrown Jaime into the state he was in now. He would’ve been able to handle everything better if Dean was here. But he wasn’t, and Castiel was helpless to make that hurt go away.

He couldn’t remove the pain, he couldn’t fix this. That was something Castiel hated. All he wanted to do was fix this, but he couldn’t. No matter how many times he touched Jaime’s forehead, or how many soft kisses he press to his face or his heart, none of it could take away the anguish Jaime was harboring.

Castiel knew he had to do something, though. Jaime was going to kill himself if he kept up with not eating or sleeping. That was something he could remedy, surely.

So he entered Jaime’s room, the place he had been spending the most time in. He was usually at his desk or on his bed, laptop in front of him, looking for any clue to where Dean could have gone. Castiel was sure Jaime’s eyes were straining from how much they have been staring at the screen.

Right now, Jaime was sitting on his bed, legs crossed over each other. He didn’t look up as Castiel entered, though Venus did—she raised her head to stare at him for a moment, then rested back against Jaime’s leg, looking up at her owner with big eyes. Castiel could feel the concern that the little dog held for Jaime, and he wondered if Jaime knew how much his dog cared about him.

With soft steps, Castiel came to sit on the bed beside Jaime, on the opposite side Venus was on. Jaime’s eyes flickered over to him for a moment, before returning to the screen.

“Jaime,” Castiel said softly. “How long has it been since you slept?”

He was given a halfhearted shrug in return. Castiel waited a moment, to see if he would be given anything else to go on, but he got nothing.

“If you can’t remember how long it’s been, then that means it’s been too long,” he commented, quoting what Jaime had told him, several weeks back. Probably remembering this, Jaime let out a small huff, a little bit of amusement showing through.

“It’s fine, Cas, I’m fine,” Jaime told him, his voice a bit rough—it was from lack of use, and that was saddening, since Jaime wasn’t one for keeping quiet.

Castiel had by now learned that “I’m fine” was code for “I’m not fine, I just don’t want to talk about it”. Both Winchesters and Jaime did this so often that it was something Castiel was actually able to pick up on somewhat quickly. That was all right, however—they didn’t need to talk about it. Jaime just needed to sleep.

“You need sleep,” Castiel said bluntly. “Humans can’t survive on such little sleep. Your body is going to shut down sooner or later. Probably sooner, at the rate you’re going.”

“Dammit, Cas, I said I’m fine.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. Doesn’t matter. I’ve got better things to do than sleep.”

Castiel seriously doubted this, and he was sure that could be seen on the frown he gave Jaime. Jaime caught a glance of it and sighed heavily, rubbing his face with one hand.

“I’ll sleep later, okay? I’m doing shit right now.”

This was something common with this particular group of humans, too—they would say they’d do something later, but then didn’t end up doing so. It usually was something that could be counted under self-care, a category that Sam, Dean, and Jaime all had issues dealing with. It was incredibly frustrating.

He couldn’t let Jaime put off sleeping any longer. When Jaime removed his hand from his face, Castiel reached forward to press two fingers against Jaime’s forehead. As soon as his fingers touched, Jaime’s eyes rolled back, and a moment later, he was collapsed onto his back, out like a light.

Venus was startled by Jaime’s sudden collapse, springing to her paws and racing up to Jaime’s face. She sniffed him fervently, giving him a little lick on the nose before concluding he was okay. She sat back down.

Reaching for Jaime’s laptop, Castiel picked it up and closed it, returning it to its rightful place on the desk. Then, he lifted Jaime to properly lay him on the bed, covering him with his blanket, resting his head on a pillow. Venus curled up at his side, resting her head on Jaime’s stomach. She was a very good dog.

Castiel sat himself on the other side of the bed Jaime wasn’t occupying. He carefully toed off his shoes before bringing his legs up to rest. A soft sigh left him as he glanced over at Jaime, now sleeping peacefully. At least now he could get a little rest.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” he whispered, unnecessarily. He had noticed Jaime had whispered similar things to him, when he was still human and Jaime had thought Castiel was asleep. He knew Jaime did it to comfort him, and Castiel wanted to do the same for him. Needed to, even.

He reached over to caress Jaime’s cheek with his knuckles, a slight touch he’d hardly notice even if he was awake.

Dean wasn’t here, but at least Jaime didn’t have to worry about that for a little while, now. He could sleep for a time. That would be okay.

#dean writes #fictober 2023 #oc: jaime morgan #oc: venus #castiel #jestiel #general angst #death mention #dying mention #grief #torture mention #cursing

[lilith-weasley]

New Moon (If Edward Had Never Come Back Edition): Chapter 1

This is the first chapter of what I would like to be my version of New Moon without Edward returning, aka Bella ends up with Jacob.

Disclaimer:

Harry Clearwater doesn't die (or at least hasn't yet).

This first chapter is what would be the book's Chapter 17 but without Alice returning.

Really just fluff in this chapter><

Songs to listen to while you read:

Rosyln by Bon Iver

Glimpse of Us by Joji

Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex

Sweet by CAS

Sunsetz by Cigarettes After Sex

K. by Cigarettes After Sex

I had been stupid, ludicrous even, to believe that Edward would ever come back for me. He had meant those words that had been spoken in the forest back in September. I shivered at the thought of the months that would follow that soul-crushing conversation. By that first summer without him, it began to settle in my conscious mind that the hope I was holding within me was useless weight. He had left Forks and me with it permanently. I owed my life to another love that had blossomed because of his abrupt departure. 

Though I had known Jacob Black since our very early years, I had never really considered him a friend. He was more like a family acquaintance, that would show up unexpectedly or whenever Charlie had Billy over. It’s not that he wasn’t friendly, I just had never gotten to really know Jacob, beyond the mud pies we had made with our tiny, chubby toddler hands. But all of that had changed when Charlie had decided to send me to Florida with my mother following Edward’s abandonment. I bargained with him, using Jacob as the chip that would allow me to stay in Forks. By that point, I was spending more time at La Push than at Charlie’s, which he didn’t complain about. The wound Edward had left in my heart, the one that had made me double over in pain for innumerable weeks, had begun to stitch itself together with Jacob’s company. He had pulled me out of the numbing limbo and eased me back into the world and life. 

At first, I denied any idea or thought that might have to do with Jake, in any sense that strayed away from friendship. I had spent so long setting firm boundaries with him. The internal battles of guilt and confusion were constant. I didn’t even know why I so desperately wanted it to be false, why I wanted to repress any feelings in return to his very clear ones. I wasn’t scared of him and I certainly didn’t owe anything to Edward, he was long gone. It was the fear of hurting Jacob that pushed me away from entering that realm. I knew I wasn’t an easy person to handle and to be fair, he wasn’t either, but I still felt that my baggage was much heavier. I knew that sooner or later, the love I had for him would consume me and eventually, us both. I just didn’t know when. 

*********

I heard Charlie’s cruiser pull up into the driveway as I finished grilling the stakes on the stovetop. 

“Hey, Bells,” Charlie spoke, as he shut the door behind him and took off his jacket. 

“Hi, Dad, dinner’s just about done. Just give me another 5 minutes,” I called back over the sound of running water as I began to clean up.

“Sure thing, there’s no rush.”

Charlie was easy to please, between keeping him fed and spending the little quality time we had together, he had no complaints. He had loosened up significantly since Edward had left, not forgetting the time I had run off to Phoenix and told him I didn’t like living with him in Forks. I winced at the memory of his pained and confused face as I had run out of the house screaming. He had also calmed down after my sudden spiral into depression when the Cullens had moved away, though it had taken him a long time.

“Smells good,” Charlie commented, peering over the stove and then sitting down at the table. 

“Thanks,” I smiled, pleased with myself and his reaction. I knew that Charlie appreciated my cooking, he had told me almost instantly after moving back with him. 

We ate in silence until Charlie broke it by mentioning Billy. 

“Billy says he hasn’t seen you down at the reservation this week,” he noted, trying to sound indifferent.

This was exactly the topic I didn’t want him to bring up but knowing Charlie, he was bound to, even if it was unintentional. I had been wrestling with my feelings for Jacob for over a month now and had ultimately started to avoid him. It wasn’t an active decision but rather a passive space that I had placed between us, as I gave myself time to process. 

“Oh,” I mumbled absentmindedly, “You know how time consuming being a senior is.”

“I’m sure you could still find a little time to see him,” Charlie went on, clearly not having believed my lie. 

“Yeah you’re right Ch-Dad, I’ll stop by next week. I’m sure letting him catch up with his own homework isn’t that bad of an idea,” I said, picking up Charlie’s dirty place and stacking it on top of my own before making my way to the sink. 

“It’s only Thursday, you could stop by this weekend. I might be out fishing with Harry on Saturday anyway,” he hinted. 

I continued to wash the dishes silently, hoping he would drop the subject. It had been very clear from the beginning that Charlie had preferred Jacob over Edward and honestly having endured his heartbreak, I too began to agree with his favoritism. But this wasn’t something I wanted to talk about with my dad, especially not now, not undecided.

“You know, Bells, it’s been almost a full year since..you know,” Charlie fumbled with his words as he stood by the doorframe, rubbing his hands across his creased forehead, “there’s nothing wrong with having…um..feeling things for someone again.”

“Dad!” I shrieked, mortified at the conversation that was beginning to unfold before me.

“I’m just saying, you and Jake seemed to really enjoy each other's company and he’s a good kid, Bella,” his voice had a hint of concern, probably remembering what Edward’s betrayal  had done to me. 

“I know, Dad. I just have a jumble of feelings in me at the moment and it’s not exactly the conversation I wanted to be having tonight, especially not with you,” I answered truthfully, hoping it would send him away to watch whatever game was on TV. 

“Okay, kid, just wanted to let you know,” he smiled back, clearly as embarrassed as I was before heading off to the living room. 

“Night, Dad,” I called out to him after having finished all of my tasks in the kitchen for the night.

“Night, Bells,” he replied, as I ran up the stairs to the privacy of my own room. My heart raced at the thought of being alone with my thoughts but I had decided to not censor them as much. Or at least to try not to. 

I sprawled across my bed, facing the white ceiling above me, listening to the rain softly fall. 

Plink, plonk, plink, plonk.

I had once reached a point of tolerance with the rain and the cold, as everything I loved most had resembled it. But now after everything, I craved the sun and its warmth more than anything. I sighed, rolling over on my side. The moon was out, not quite full yet, but its light shone dimly behind the clouds. I wondered if Jacob was out with the pack tonight, I knew the rain didn’t bother him. 

Jacob. His name swam around my mind, along with his face. The boy that had saved me after jumping off of that cliff, who had cared for me during all of my most painful moments. The boy who had brought back the life in me. He wasn’t so much of a boy anymore, My Jacob had gotten mixed in with Bad Jacob after becoming a werewolf, he wasn’t nearly as naive and sweet as he had been during my first year in Forks. He was different now but so was I and though his attitude and ever changing moods were annoying, I liked who he had become. The fact that he wasn’t fully human didn’t alarm me in the slightest but he had loathed himself for weeks before he could stand to talk about the matter with me. He was my best friend and the love I felt for him was unlike any other. 

Unlike any other, I thought again. Could it be that that’s why I had been avoiding my own feelings? Because it didn’t resemble the love I had had for Edward? My head spun as I tried to piece everything together. Could it be possible that I was indeed in love with Jacob? Why was it so hard for me to accept? There was no one but him. He was my entire world, my whole life was tied to him and I had refused to acknowledge it. We were no longer the shy acquaintances we once were when I had first moved back to Forks. Our time spent together had become meaningful, intimate. 

I could see it all so clearly now. I was in love with Jacob Black, my Jacob. My own little sun whose warmth I loved so dearly and craved even deeper. How could I not love him? He had shown me time and time again that he would not leave my side, no matter the circumstance. After saving me from the ocean’s pull towards its floor, he had begged to see me open my eyes again, to breathe. His warm hands had frantically searched for a response from me. He had cried as I took my first breaths and pulled me close to him, rocking me softly as he repeated my name.

Now it was me who was crying, the tears had been silently flowing down my cheeks for the past minutes, as I replayed my most tender moments with Jacob. He had not given up on me, even with all of the changes to his life, as he had once promised me at the movie theater.

“But don’t get mad at me for hanging around, okay?” he had patted my hand, “Because I’m not giving up. I’ve got loads of time.” 

And suddenly my legs were moving beneath me, my heart beat erratically as I made my way down the stairs, overcome with emotion and excitement. Downstairs, Charlie was still seated in front of the TV but I didn’t even care. 

“I’m going to see Jake. I won’t be out late, I promise,” I said frantically, grabbing my keys and opening the door, not bothering to grab a jacket despite the weather. Charlie didn’t even protest, he simply chuckled and gave a thumbs up. 

The drive to Jake’s house was tortuous. My truck fought to keep up with the speed I was trying to enforce. My mind raced as I sped. I hadn’t even thought of what I was going to say, I hadn’t even really known how I had gotten out of the house and into my truck. But as I neared the road that wound up to his house, I decided to say anything and everything that was on my mind. Who cared about embarrassment at this point? Before I knew it, I had parked and was making my way to the door. To my disappointment, Billy answered.

“Bella? Is everything okay? Did something happen to Charlie?” he asked, his face clouded with worry. 

“Charlie’s fine, I just really needed to talk to Jake,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. I put my shaking hands into the pockets of my jeans. 

“Jacob is out back, he just got back from Sam’s,” Billy said, pointing to the little clearing in the woods behind the Black’s house.

“Thanks,” I said, walking briskly in that direction. I could feel his eyes watching me even after I had turned around in search of Jacob.  

I was clearly out of breath at this point, something I could easily blame on the brisk pace of my walk if needed. As I walked, I started to see the light of a fire in the distance. Jacob was sitting in front of it, his bare back facing me.

“Jake?” 

He turned at the sound of my voice almost instantly, his eyes lit up when he saw me but nothing more than a slight smirk emerged from his face.

“Got tired of ignoring me?” he snorted, rolling his dark eyes. I knew he would probably never admit that my avoiding him had upset him. 

“It’s not like you haven’t done that before,” I shot back, my cheeks suddenly warm. I knew he hadn’t enjoyed the space I had created between us but I was surprised at his tone. 

“Jesus, Bella,” he shook his head at me angrily, “That was different. I was trying to protect you from myself!” 

“Look, Jake, I drove up here to talk to you about something pretty big but if you’re going to just pick fights with me I’ll go back home,” I challenged cooly. I realized I now had the upper hand in this situation. Jacob’s face went still. 

“Did the leech come back?” he asked, clearly repulsed. 

“Of course he didn’t,” I assured him, hoping to sway him back towards my conversation and my terrain. 

Jacob’s body eased slightly at my words and his face was no longer clouded with anger. “Oh. Sorry, Bella. I’m listening, if that helps.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to steady myself, looking back up at him when I had finished. His gaze pierced into me, those beautiful, dark eyes searching mine for some hint or clue as to what I had to say. 

“I’ve been avoiding you,” I confessed, “but it’s not for the reason you think. It’s not because you’re a werewolf or that at times, you’re insanely annoying.” 

Jacob rolled his eyes at both statements but stayed silent. 

“I think it’s because seeing you made me feel things. Things I wasn’t sure I wanted to feel,” I continued, my pulse quickening as I reached the peak of my full confession. 

Jacob’s mouth now curved into a grin. He knew where this was going and he was clearly enjoying it. 

“I want to hear you say it,” he said, stepping closer to me, his smile never leaving his face. 

“I’m in love with you. As much as I tried to deny it, I am. It’s you, I-I think it always has been but I just didn’t know it till now. You’re the sun, Jake, how could I live without you?” I said, tears had begun to form in my eyes but I was determined not to let them fall. It felt so good to finally say those words out loud and I knew it felt good for him to hear them. 

“Bella,” he gasped, taking my face in his hands and pressing his lips against my own. He ran his fingers through my hair, sending shivers down my spine. My own hands were tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to me. His lips moved against mine gently, but with a sense of urgency behind them. His free hand had made its way down to the small of my back, pushing me even closer to him. He was so warm everywhere, his lips, his hands. I could even feel the heat of his body through my clothes and it felt good against the cold, rainy night that surrounded us.

“I knew you loved me,” he whispered, after he had pulled away and pressed his forehead to mine, “I told you I would wait,” he chuckled.

“Oh, Jake, how couldn’t I? You saved me,” I said, cupping his face in my hands. He was so beautiful and warm that I thought I’d melt.  

“So did you.” His voice cracked as he said it and I could feel the tears that had escaped on my hands, “I’m in it for the long haul, Bella. You’re it for me. I knew it from the first day you came back to Forks. I’ll be here by your side everyday,” he promised me, kissing my hands that were still holding his face to mine. 

I buried my face in his arms in relief, letting myself sink into his warmth. He felt so comfortable and safe. And better yet, he was mine and I was his. 

#twilight fanfiction #twilight #bella x jacob #jacob black #bella swan #jacob black imagine #jacob black fluff #twilight saga

[ethandesu]

The Value of Things

Being of an age where the things I own can sometimes feel like they own me, taking up more bandwidth than the joy they should bring, I have been thinking more and more about the things that do bring joy, the things that I truly value. I realise that I am in a fortunate position, owning my own brand and working with some of the greatest producers of men’s garments in the world. But the theory of being a consumer is the same - the scale of things may vary, but embracing a little stoicism and learning to be a conscientious consumer is as pertinent to me as anyone else.

Bespoke Jacket by Ono Yusuche in Maison Hellard Linen.

While I am no Jay Gatsby, silk shirts strewn across marble floors, I nevertheless have accumulated more garments than I honestly need, and in the process of deciding which will be passed along and which remain, I have set my mind to what constitutes value for me. While these are my opinions only, and every man must navigate the necessary and unnecessary consumption of life, here are a few things I’ve gleaned along the way.

The First and Golden rule for me is this - Sacrifice inherits value to almost everything in life. The hard won, the possessions and relationships I most value, have come with some level of sacrifice. The people I have had to fight for are the ones I am least likely to abandon, and the possessions I have sacrificed for seem to be the ones that both receive the most care and attention, and in turn bring the most joy.

I generally don’t shop on sale. I don't judge anyone who does, but in turn, I don't and I don't allow the things I produce be sold that way. I believe there is a fair price for a thing, and if that price is pushing the ceiling on what is comfortable to spend, the purchase takes greater consideration. An investment of time, thought and finance. The converse seems to be true for me as well - if something has cost no effort or expense, whether it is the price or the process of acquiring it - it is more easily forgotten and more easily neglected.

I have seen that tangibly over the years  - when the ticket shows 30% off, it is immediately and often subconsciously compromised. It’s value wasn't what it was, to the merchant or to the customer. It is inherently flawed even if as a thing it is perfect. It came easily and so can easily be forgotten and neglected.

I look to the garments that I hope never to part with, and there is something that unifies them - they all have come at some sacrifice to attain. An investment in the relationship, time spent in the process, a price point that has caused enough pause for me to make sure that purchase was the right one. Having to reach that little bit further, save that little bit longer. It’s what makes a bespoke jacket and a favourite pair of jeans members of the same class - the sacrosanct in my wardrobe, the things that will be held on to, passed on only when my suitability as their caretaker has expired.

A bespoke jacket has a price beyond the often uncomfortably high price they command - they cannot be bought on sale, and further they cannot simply be purchased, nameless and faceless and solely an exchange of money. An investment in understanding what makes it great is the first hurdle. Not everyone has the understanding or the experience to be able to recognise it’s value.  

It then requires an investment in a relationship with the tailor or the shoe maker or whichever artisan it is commissioned from. The better that relationship, the more time working towards understanding each other, the better the garment. The second commission almost always trumps the first, and so on and so forth. The maker is making for you, and the better they know you, the better the result.

Then it requires the effort of returning for fittings, going through the process of refining the garment and the customer in tandem. The garment physically becomes closer and closer to what the customer requires, the customer becomes closer and closer to being the sort of person best suited to the garment. Nobody, regardless of their wealth, can get a garment better suited to them on a first try than you can after years of getting to know the maker and them knowing you.

When you receive that garment, there is something like ceremony - the maker presenting it to you, checking its fit, assuring that it is representative of them and of you. It is handed to you by the maker themselves, passed from their hand to yours. 

They say the things we own end up owning us, and this I can say is true. The things we own should bring us joy, and they should better us as people. In a world congested with things, I hope that every thing I cause to be produced its of such value as to bring me joy until I no longer can do it justice.

This is my way of creating the value of things.

[captain-grammar]

Netflix cancelling a BUNCH of their shows featuring diverse casts and WLW characters reminded me of a rant I had earlier in the year on Twitter with regards to The Old Guard but didn't share here. So, here it is.

I've seen tweet after tweet on yonder Twitter from people who were unaware that there's going to be a sequel to The Old Guard so if you'll indulge me, I'm about to don a tin-foil hat and speculate wildly as to why it's slipping in under the radar and what might be the reasons for that.

Within the first week if The Old Guard being released in July 2020, it was already in the top 10 most streamed movies on the platform at reached around 72 million households in a month. Incredible viewing figures. It was well-reviewed by critics and a runaway smash hit with viewers - "certified fresh" on Rotten Tomatoes - and gained an active, passionate fanbase online the instant it was released (hello, welcome to Tumblr) due in part to the fresh take the movie had on the dull, formulaic action-movie genre.

Netflix had momentum. They had the stats to work with and a fanbase to back them up. They could have announced their intention to make a sequel back when interest was fresh (as they did with the likes of The Gray Man) and gotten everyone excited while it was being talked about. Because it was being talked about. A sequel was in the works fairly early on with the cast and crew pretty much confirming as much on social media. But in this fast-paced, binge-consume world, Netflix seemed to wait until all the hype had died down before making it official.

WHY? Why take a big-hitting, genre-bending, record-smashing movie that you KNEW had proven to be a success and KNEW had a follow-up in the pipeline and let it die? A hugely sceptical part of me has a theory that it was down to just how genre-bending it was.

From my experience online, the vast majority of those who enjoyed it reflect the characters of the movie and the team behind it - diverse, LGBTQ+ individuals who rarely see themselves on screen without it feeling like a kind of tokenism. The movie was directed by the amazing Gina Prince-Bythewood - a black woman. The cast was lead by two strong females who were neither sexualised or portrayed as damsels in distress. Two of the men were unashamedly in love with each other. All of the main male cast were allowed to be emotional and even cry. In the action genre, these things are all but unheard of. Male characters are rarely given emotional complexity beyond revenge and women are usually relegated to the role of side-kick, love interest or doe-eyed ingenue learning from the "best".

Because the genre tends to lean towards a stereotypical male audience.

A part of me wonders whether that's why Netflix didn't give it much promo and kudos and have let the pot come off the boil in terms of hyping The Old Guard's return. The service has a history of platforming voices that are anti-LGBTQ and cutting diversity within its ranks. And now they're at it again, axing a slew of shows after only one or two seasons that all seem to feature wlw relationships fairly prominently.

If you're not a straight, cis, white male then they're not interested in catering for you. If you're a minority, too bad. The fact that The Old Guard was a hit with the very communities they seem to be actively oppressing is a hurt that Netflix seemingly refuses to live with.

I'm just sick of "was the movie/show popular among straight white men?" being the metric against which a piece of media's success is measured. As if that demographic is the Holy Grail and if your fans aren't 28 year-old cis dudes, you've somehow failed.

I thank Netflix for bringing some truly great stories to life but at this point, I cannot trust them to keep them safe any more.

#the old guard #netflix #bry rants #like honestly kids #i went for it

[othunderous]

🌊 for your muse to come across my muse skinny dipping in a lake (whichever way u want)

many times throughout his long life, thor has thought himself in love. he has known infatuation, passion, lust. his reputation has facets and he is aware of all of them; arrogant, hot-headed, fierce, brave, and— as some would put it— very, very loving. for as long as he can remember his heart has been full of love. it’s lead him to pouring it places that can’t contain all of it. he has tried, and failed, many times. lasting beyond the burning of want, building something meaningful, seemed to be a feat he would never overcome. but there had been one who inspired him to look deeper, to appreciate the time it takes for a true connection to be found.

then there had been rey. when he thought he’d learned all there was to know about love, romance, relationships, she proved him wrong. so delightfully wrong. she showed him everything: the passion will not always fade, attraction is not the sole nor defining factor of desire, to appreciate and care for tenderly and protect is vastly more consuming than the simple & temporary whims of the flesh. knowing someone’s heart, every last bit of it, and offering his own in return— knowing of the immense devastation that may have followed had she turned it away— and being still wanted & welcomed anyway is the greatest gift he’s ever been given.

rey brings him happiness, safety and security, joy even in the darkest and most difficult of times. thor will spend eternity trying to thank her for that. now, he only smiles, trying not to mind the slight blur in his eyes as he watches her. it’s been a few minutes since he’s stopped where he stands, leaning against a wall of stone with his eyes trained on her. moonlight paints them and the wading water in a pale blue. the wetness of her hair and the rivulets running down her back as she rises from the water glimmer. absently, he wonders if she can feel him admiring her, knows that his heart begins to hammer. it isn’t just the sight of her, but all the thoughts of endless love that have crossed his mind since he left the shelter of the cave. gods, she is so beautiful. thor has often thought to himself it should hurt to look at her — right now, it does.

they are alone. this planet is not heavily populated, and its people don’t live this deep within nature. most of the wildlife has kept a safe distance. understandable; it must be odd to see people here, in their home. rey would know if they felt intruded upon. because they are alone, he worries not over being seen without their clothes, or in an intimate position. he takes advantage of the solitude to appreciate her as she should be appreciated. completely bare, exposed, vulnerable. . . but only ever protected and adored by him.

slowly, thor’s feet leave the rough terrain of stone beneath him to step into the water. undoubtedly, she can hear him coming, with the light splashes hitting his skin. a hand lifts to run through his hair, wetting it. it isn’t cold as he’d anticipated it would be. approaching her from behind, wrapping an arm around her waist, he is pleased to find that while the darkness of the water shrouds him just beneath the navel, she is barely tall enough that her chest isn’t concealed. it pulls a brief chuckle from him.

“hi,” he murmurs, one thumb stroking at her hip whilst his free hand caresses along her arm. “are you enjoying the water?”

he knows the answer is yes. rey loves oceans, rain, even the simplicity of a bath. it’s why he brought her to this cave. with his chin resting atop her head, he takes a moment to admire the moon above. so big and bright, illuminating the darkness of the surrounding void. well— the stars that pepper the sky offer their help. temporarily, the hand stroking her arm lifts to point at the sky. up, up, slightly to the left.

“do you see that one? it is very slightly bigger than all the stars that surround it. that’s no star; it’s earth.” looking down at her, the smile he wears is quaint, but so visibly taken with her. “i wonder how many are there, right now, looking up at the sky as we are, not knowing we’re looking back.”

as gorgeous as the night is, rey is captivating. he finds he can’t tear his eyes away. of course, her body calls to him; her curves, the softness of her skin, the glittering of the droplets that cover her, the perfect shape of her mouth. but he sees more than that: her strength, her devotion, her compassion, her love. all the memories they’ve made and have yet to make. amidst the thudding, his heart skips. the hand that’s returned to stroking her arm lifts again to move her hair, draping it over one shoulder. thor takes up the free space with his mouth, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to her skin. the arm wrapped around her tightens its hold, pulling her closer against him.

“you are so. . . beautiful.” his voice is low as he speaks between kisses to her neck. he sighs against her, teeth offering gentle nips before he pauses, parts, turns her in his arms. touching his forehead to hers, he releases her to cradle her face, tilting her upward to meet him. but he doesn’t kiss her, despite how close they are, and the very ends of their lips brush. “rey,” he whispers, so quietly he hardly hears it himself. thor inches closer; they’re chest to chest, hips to hips. her body heat both soothes and excites him. how his eyes take her in, raking over her face before focusing on her mouth is intentional. “kiss me.”

#lightsiided #𝙜𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧. main #honeymoon 🥰