#BECAUSE HOW CAN SOMEONE GO INSANE FROM IT??

[irinochka25]

PINKERTON'S FAVORITE WHORE

He Paid to Be Betrayed

I can’t stop thinking about that girl. That shot from the credits — where the Pinkertons approach her with a casual smile, while she’s servicing another client. I’m absolutely sure Charles had been with her more than once, not just during that mission in the Valentine saloon. We’re not shown everything, right? We don’t see how the gang members spend their downtime, when they go into town, who they spend it with.

I’m almost certain Charles wasn’t the only one. Half the guys in the gang clearly had a thing for whores. And that woman — that prostitute — I’m sure she was one of the people who gave information to the Pinkertons. Maybe even about Charles himself, though he managed to leave Beecher’s Hope. In the end, she definitely helped lead them to John.

Working girls don’t care what they get paid for — whether it’s to spread their legs or spill someone’s secrets. Especially if they get paid twice as much. And her clients — even Charles — couldn’t really hide their identity from her. Sure, he’s the quiet type, but if you watch that saloon scene before the cutscene triggers, you can clearly see him talking nonstop to the girls — his mouth never stops moving. We don’t hear any of it, but his lips are constantly moving, like he’s deep in conversation. Javier, by comparison, barely moves his mouth.

Prostitutes aren’t stupid. They take mental notes on their clients — who they are, how much they’re worth, and whether there’s more to gain than just cash. So here’s what I’m thinking… I once read this crackpot theory that Charles was the real rat in the gang. Probably a joke, because the arguments were like: “He drinks coffee. Dutch drinks coffee. Boom — traitor.” Seriously.

But my theory? The girls — the prostitutes — were the real rats. Or at least, they played a way bigger role than anyone realizes. Maybe that sounds even more insane, because I’ve got no hard evidence — except for that one frame in the credits, where she’s clearly giving information to the agents. Maybe not directly about John, but about Charles and Javier? Very likely. And if so, all she did was pass along what the guys themselves told her — in drunken confidence, far too trusting of their smugly satisfied, rented companion for the night.

Where the Gang Fell Apart

We only see things through Arthur’s eyes, but we have no idea what the others are doing. Dutch told them to blend in, act like civilized workers, and find ways to make an honest living. But he didn’t tell them to get black-out drunk, hire whores, and start bar fights. And yet that’s exactly what they did — so recklessly it borders on stupidity. When you’re that drunk, you don’t care who’s listening or what you’re saying.

There’s even a line in a conversation between O’Driscoll members, where they say Colm ordered them not to mess with whores until their job was done. And honestly? He was right. A drunk man whose dick is doing the thinking is no friend to his own brain. And yes — scientific studies confirm that sexual hormones impair both cognitive and physical performance. Aroused men are less rational, more impulsive, and their coordination drops. (This is a bit of a tangent, but it fits.)

So, is it possible that one of the biggest reasons behind the gang’s constant failures wasn’t just Dutch’s madness or Micah’s betrayal — but the reckless, indulgent lifestyle of its men? I’m not blaming them for wanting to satisfy basic urges. But, seriously — showing up as a group of four (Arthur, Javier, Charles, Bill) at the saloon, all of them among the most wanted criminals in the country, openly using their real names, and then starting a fight?

That’s not just carelessness. That’s self-destruction.

[abbygailfox]

This is so, so important.

The amount of posts I have read – especially during the last few weeks – about how people think that she has always been this way and she wrote Harry Potter with the intention of pushing her agenda onto children from a very young age.

I truly, honestly think that that's incredibly dangerous. Because it operates under the believe that people's believes always stay the same. It stems from a black-and-white mindset in which people are – in the most simple of terms – either "good" or "bad" and they always stay that way. That is not the case. People are never unchanging in their views. They are made and influenced by things that happen to and around them. Constantly. And usually that is even a good thing. We measure the ability of critical thinking by observing how someone reacts to new information. If we give people information that they did not have before, we expect them to reconsider their stance. However that also means that we need to check ourselves again and again and again. And to do that tomorrow as well. And next week. And next year. And every day that comes after that again. It's a never ending process.

Because human beings never stop changing. And we are so easily influenced. Mainly because of two things:

1) All of us – every single one – want's to belong somewhere. Some of us may enjoy being alone, yes. But no-one ever wants to be lonely. And people have done and will do horrendous things to prevent being lonely.

2) If we have power, we don't want to let go of it. Especially if we know what it feels like not to have any. That doesn't mean that no-one ever does. There are good people in this world. But our first impulse is always to hold onto what makes us stronger and harder to hurt. And power does that.

Number 1) is what makes it so easy for people to get caught up in even the most ridiculous, dangerous or hateful cults and why it is so incredibly hard to leave them again. Because as soon as you can push a "we against them" agenda, you are a part of the "we". You're part of a group. You belong. No-one in their right mind would want to leave that. The situation – of yourself or someone you hold extremely dear – has to be incredibly dire for you to leave everything you know behind, leave your entire social circle, and subsequently be helpless, lost, potentially without means and confronted with people who don't understand why you joined in the first place. Who will potentially make fun of you and exclude you.

Number 2) is what happened to Rowling, I suppose. I don't know Rowling and at this point I don't care to. But she also probably didn't just wake up one day and said: "Actually I like all this money and power and the platform I have now quite a lot. But if I help marginalised groups to get more power, I might loose some of my own. So let's hate on them instead." No. It happens in increments. Maybe one day she was asked to give up more money than she was comfortable with for "some charity". And she decided the cause wasn't worth it, because after all, it was "just trans-people" and wait a minute what have "they" ever done for her? Or for women in general? In fact, couldn't their mere existence be a hinderance to the progression of women's rights? And after all it's her money. She worked hard for it. They could have done the same thing, but they didn't, did they? Or something else entirely, I can only speculate. (I don't support any of that, obviously. I'm trying to show how you slip into this kind of thinking.)

The point is, non of this is noticeable in the beginning. All these processes are gradual.

No cult just knocks on your door and goes: "We have the most insane conspiracy theories out there, science is a scam, we won't allow you to take modern medicine and we will drain all our your financial means to a point where you are helpless without us. By the way, do you have any LGBTQIA people in your social circle? We don't condone those. But hey, we can provide you with people who will act like they are your friends. You know, to substitute the ones that you will inevitably push away, if you join us. Heads up though, if you try to leave, we will blackmail you." No racist (or at least very few) will just come up to you and say: "I have this theory, that white people are better than people of colour. Let me convince you of it." (And frankly most people are not self-aware enough to realise when they are being racist.)

It will always start small. It will seem reasonable and harmless in the beginning. Some of the arguments you might even agree with. And suddenly you are in too deep, to get out.

This is NOT – and I cannot stress this enough – meant to be any sort of excuse for Rowling. I think the woman and the bullshit she spews is truly vile. This is also not meant to condemn all people in positions of power, because there are counterexamples – even if they get way to little attention. There are rich people who give money to science. Silently and without a self-serving agenda. Famous people who speak up for all kinds of marginalised groups. Powerful people that do invest in slowing climate change. There are powerful people giving a shit, just as much as there are people in marginalised groups that hate on everyone else and buy into a "we against them" agenda. (It's never black and white).

And please don't misunderstand me. You absolutely have every right to be angry at the bitch. You *should* be fucking angry. At anyone who tries to hurt and invalidate you. You should be livid. I am too. Oppose hatred wherever you find it. Oppose every vile word that comes out of Rowling's mouth, every anti-human rights bullshit you hear. Not just from her, but from everybody around you. Protect yourself and others. Do whatever you need to do to cope, especially if people don't just attack your believe in everyone being treated equally, but if they hit you on a more personal level. (Frankly, I personally get twitchy when people burn books – no matter which ones – mainly because I am German and pictures like those do not have great connotations in my world. But everyone copes differently.)

However the point is, the focus of this conversation has turned to "Harry Potter" way too much. (Yes, it makes her money, but we're not about to stop that, at this point. And I'll leave the decision, if the work can be separated from the author, enough to engage with content that does not make her money, for everyone to decide for themselves. The debate has been going on since before Roland Barthes discussed it [yes I know he mainly meant the level of influence the authors bibliography had on the text, it's still the same argument, but with a different aspect], using multiple prominent figures as examples. That is something every single person has to decide for themselves and we cannot push our decisions onto others.)

What I am really trying to make you understand is: We all like to think about ourselves, that we would use our power for good if we had any. That we would treat all people equally and would use our money to further the cause of all marginalised people in the world. End world hunger, end poverty, end the patriarchy, the list is endless. But we do not know if we would do that. Because we are not in the situation to do so. We do not know if – on the road to power – we would have kept the same three friends, that call us out on behaving like an asshole. We don't know if we could have kept a hold on our humility and our worldview and our ability to still see people in positions of less power and feel the urge to help.

What I am really, really trying to say in this rant (and I know it is endlessly long and I apologise) is this:

Nothing in life. EVER. Is black and white. You are not on the "good side", because you once made a selfless decision. Other people are not on the "bad side" because they have power or money. And the borders are not clear-cut. There are so many shades of grey. You can always ALWAYS slip. And you probably won't notice. EVERY SINGLE PERSON on this planet is corruptible. And this is not meant to discourage you. I don't mean to paint our world and our society as hopeless, because they are NOT. You are not condemned to become some soulless creature that does not care a lick about others, simply because you get to a place of greater power. This is in fact meant to encourage you. Encourage you to call others out. Especially encourage you to call yourself out. Encourage you to listen, truly listen, to people when they tell you, that you're being an ass about something. Maybe they are wrong. But maybe they are right. You can be influenced. But you can also influence how you yourself behave and how you treat people. How you view people. Not just groups, but individuals also. Have the courage to be kind. To everyone. And have the courage to question. Yourself and others. Check yourself and your thinking. Always. And if you think this could never happen to you and you could never harm people or mentally sort them into groups to be stigmatised and thusly easier pushed aside… Check yourself twice!

ok im going to #seriouspost for a second here. I don't think Harry Potter is a manifesto. I think it was a flawed passion project that millennials latched onto because of the fantasy of sticking it to their mean teachers and arbitrarily categorizing themselves (hogwarts houses; it's the thinking millennial's astrology). I think the fact that the series got popular when and how it did was very much a product of its time.

I don't think Harry Potter is the biggest symbol of JKR's bigotry. I think the most flagrant sign of that was how she responded to critics. I watched her become radicalized in real time. I watched how she doubled down on her racism when she was called out for the ways she promoted her tragically mid fantastic beasts movies. I watched her chase marginalized teenagers with a double digit follower count off of twitter for daring to criticize her thought process, and no one with any kind of power standing against her because she was the one who was paying them. This isn't to say Harry Potter is without flaws. This is to say she really didn't give a shit about that. Getting rich and powerful is a hell of a drug, and she had enough sycophants that she had no reason to care about what her critics were saying.

She was convinced that she was a martyr; a voice for the unheard; a leader for the ages, so of course her detractors were the bad guys. And I think we should take this to heart. We should see this as an example of how easy it is to get radicalized; if you think of yourself as a paragon of virtue, you are going to think that whatever you see as good and right is an objective fact. Most people don't know this, but the majority of terfs start out as trans allies. You are not immune to propaganda! You are not immune to falling into dangerous ideologies!!!

This is why the most important thing you can do as an activist is to listen. Do NOT think you're above being wrong; do NOT develop a god complex; do NOT form an identity out of being right all the time. Involve yourselves in the groups you claim to speak for. Listen to trans women; share resources that help trans women; familiarize yourself with the diversity of experiences that trans people have and the struggles they face.

No, none of you are as bad as JKR because you don't have her money or her power. You will likely never have the capacity for harm she does. But check yourselves. Do not affirm yourselves into thinking you always have the moral high ground. Watch yourselves; humble yourselves; check yourselves for signs of cult behavior and internalized prejudice. You are always learning. You will always be learning. Do not allow yourselves to get a power trip from brushing off marginalized voices.

[mintyys-blog]

Hi minty , could u please do headcanons for main mark and variants of what they would do and feel if they believe reader is cheating. (She is not)

HEADCANON | variants with s/o who they believe is cheating

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: mention of cheating, false accusations, attempted murder, swearing

MAIN MARK

Mark wasn’t sure when the thought first entered his head. Maybe it was the late-night texts he couldn’t see the names of, or how you started coming home a little later than usual. Logically, he knew you had work. Logically, he trusted you. But logic had nothing on the gut-sick panic that settled in his chest.

He didn’t confront you right away. No, he tried to ignore it at first. Laughed it off. Told himself he was being insecure. But then came the slip—the way you smiled at your phone one night, whispered something to yourself, and didn’t notice him watching. That smile. It wasn’t for him.

That night, he sat on the edge of the bed, unable to sleep. You were brushing your teeth, humming under your breath, looking completely normal. Like everything was fine.

And that hurt the most.

So he asked, barely a whisper: “Are you seeing someone else?”

You blinked, stunned, toothbrush in hand. “What?”

His voice cracked. “Just tell me the truth.”

When you laughed—not cruelly, just shocked—he looked like you slapped him.

“Mark, what the hell are you talking about? Of course not!”

You explained everything. Showed him the texts—your friend planning a surprise for him. The extra hours at work? Covering for a coworker. You even opened your phone, unlocked, without hesitation.

Mark sank to the floor, hands in his hair. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

You knelt with him, gently guiding his face up to yours. “You’re not. But next time? Ask me. I love you, dumbass.”

He wrapped his arms around you like he thought he might lose you again. “I’m so sorry.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “I forgive you. But you’re making me waffles in the morning.”

“Deal.”

MOHAWK MARK

He didn’t say anything at first. That wasn’t his style.

Mohawk Mark watched from a distance—arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes dark. You’d been acting different lately. Late replies. Brushing off his questions with a smile. And worst of all? You’d started hiding your phone.

He didn’t do subtle. So the storm had been brewing—louder in his head every day, pushing him closer to the edge until the night he finally snapped.

You were humming in the kitchen, minding your own business, scrolling your phone. And that was it.

He yanked the phone from your hands in a blink, slamming it on the counter. “Who the fuck is he?”

You stared at him, stunned. “Mark—what?”

“Don’t play dumb. You’ve been hiding shit. Acting weird. So unless you want me to start tearing this house apart, you better start talking.”

You shoved his chest, furious. “Are you insane?! I’m not cheating on you!”

He sneered. “Then what the fuck’s going on?”

You grabbed your phone back, unlocking it with shaky fingers. “Go ahead. Check it. You’ll find nothing—unless you want to ruin your own birthday surprise.”

His expression faltered.

You shoved the screen in his face. Texts between you and his best friend, planning a surprise party. Restaurant reservations. Gift orders.

Mark stared for a long moment before backing off, running a hand through his hair, swearing under his breath. “Fuck… I—I didn’t know.”

“No, you didn’t,” you snapped. “Because you didn’t trust me enough to ask before losing your shit.”

The guilt hit him fast. The silence that followed was heavier than any argument.

He muttered, almost too low to hear, “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping. “You will, if you keep treating me like an enemy instead of your partner.”

He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, resting his forehead on your shoulder. “…I fucked up.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, softening slightly. “But you can make it up to me.”

“Dinner, back rub, whatever you want.” You leaned back into his chest, still annoyed but touched by the sudden softness. “Start with ‘I’m sorry,’ and we’ll work from there.”

SINISTER MARK

Mark wasn’t loud. He didn’t throw tantrums or pace the room when he was pissed.

He watched. He waited.

So when he saw you getting out of a car with some random guy—his arm casually slung around your shoulders, the way you were laughing, all soft and familiar—his vision darkened.

He didn’t follow you home right away. No. He followed him.

It wasn’t until the guy was alone in the parking lot of a corner store, head down in his phone, that Mark made his move. One hand around the guy’s throat, slammed against a brick wall.

“Didn’t think I’d notice you pawing all over her?” Mark hissed, squeezing tighter. “You have about ten seconds to explain who the fuck you are before I start making an example.”

“W-what?! Dude—I’m her brother!” the guy gasped, choking out the words.

“Bullshit.”

“No! No, I swear—! C-check her contacts—ask her! My name’s Eli! Look at my f—fucking face, man!” Mark’s breath hitched. And suddenly, he did look at the guy’s face. Closely.

Familiar nose. Same eyes as you. He hadn’t noticed before—his rage had blinded him. You showed up minutes later, breathless and panicked, having tracked your brother’s phone when he stopped answering.

And what you found? Mark, fangs bared, fists clenched around your brother’s collar—just short of crushing his windpipe. “Mark!” you screamed, shoving between them. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

His jaw was clenched so hard you swore you heard a crack. His eyes flicked from your brother to you—back and forth, trying to put it all together.

“You didn’t tell me you had a brother,” he growled. “You never asked,” you hissed. “Because you were too busy acting like a psychotic asshole instead of trusting me!”

Your brother was coughing behind you, pale and freaked out. Mark ran both hands down his face and backed off, still trembling from the adrenaline. He didn’t say sorry. Not immediately.

But he did stare at you like he was trying to piece his heart back together. “I thought I lost you,” he muttered hoarsely. “And I don’t lose things I love.”

You didn’t answer. You were still too angry, too shaken. But you reached out and took his hand. “Next time,” you said coldly, “ask before you kill someone I actually care about.” His lips twitched, almost a smirk. “Fair.” He still didn’t apologize out loud. But he didn’t need to. The way he didn’t let go of your hand said enough.

OMNI MARK

Mark wasn’t like other versions of him. He didn’t shout, didn’t fly off the handle, didn’t indulge in petty emotions like jealousy.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

So when he spotted you at a quiet outdoor café—sitting too close to a man he didn’t recognize, your hand brushing his across the table—he didn’t make a scene. He didn’t even let his expression change.

He just… watched.

And when you laughed—genuine, unguarded—something in his chest pulled tight like wire straining to snap.

He returned to the Citadel early that day. Didn’t leave a message. Didn’t wait for you to come home. He simply stared out into the black stretch of space, arms folded behind his back, thinking.

You didn’t get home until late.

“Mark?” you called out as you stepped inside. “You’re home early—”

“Who was he?”

Your heart stuttered at the ice in his tone.

You turned, frowning, confused. “Who—?”

“The man.” He faced you fully now. No mask. No crown. Just a man whose brown eyes burned cold. “The one you met for lunch. You touched his hand. You laughed like you used to laugh with me.” His voice didn’t raise, but each word was carved sharp enough to bleed.

You stared at him for a moment before blinking. Then you laughed—soft, almost disbelieving.

“That?” you said. “That was my cousin. He flew in from out of town. I haven’t seen him in two years.”

His jaw flexed.

“I would’ve told you,” you added, your voice going smaller, “but you’ve been so… busy. You don’t exactly make time for small talk anymore.”

Silence stretched between you. You watched him process, piece by piece, his composure folding in at the edges.

“…Your cousin,” he repeated quietly.

“Yes,” you said. “I’m not cheating on you.”

He nodded once. Curt. Dismissive. But then he sat down—heavily, like the weight of what he nearly believed crushed something in him.

“I didn’t think I’d care,” he said after a long pause, his voice lower now. “I didn’t think it would matter if you left.” You swallowed, stepping toward him. “But it would?” you asked.

He looked up at you. For the first time in days, something warm and fragile broke through the surface of his gaze. “…Yes,” he said. And you knew that was as close to an apology as Mark would ever get.

VILTRUMITE MARK

Mark wasn’t one to hover. He’d never say it aloud, but he trusted you. Still, you were his wife—and the mother of his child. So when he couldn’t find you around the house that morning, a flicker of curiosity stirred. He didn’t panic—he never panicked—but the quiet absence of your voice made the silence feel too wide.

He flew a lazy loop above the property, scanning.

Then he saw you—kneeling in the backyard garden, your hands deep in the soil. Beside you was your daughter, a little smaller than she should’ve been for her strength, with your same sharp eyes and stubborn jaw. Her hair was tied messily like yours, dirt streaked across her cheek as she furrowed her brow in concentration.

“No,” you said gently, guiding her hands. “You press the roots in, not yank them out. Like this.”

“But it’s hard,” your daughter pouted.

You chuckled, brushing the dirt off your palms. “Yeah, well, life’s hard. Plants still grow. Try again.”

Mark hovered in the air, watching silently. He didn’t interrupt.

Instead, he landed quietly on the roof’s edge, arms folded, just… watching.

His expression, often hard and unreadable, softened around the edges. The quiet pride he felt burned low and deep in his chest—not the battlefield kind of pride, not the Viltrumite brand. This was quieter. He wasn’t proud because you were strong.

He was proud because you were kind.

And you were passing that kindness down to his daughter. A family. His. Mark smiled—just a little—and waited for you to notice him.

PRISONER MARK

Mark’s arms were always tense at night, like even in his sleep he was fighting phantoms. But tonight, his grip around your waist stiffened in a different way. His breath, hot against your shoulder, suddenly drew in—and didn’t release.

He shifted, nose brushing against your neck. His brow furrowed.

That wasn’t your scent.

You stirred at the sudden tension, blinking yourself awake to see his face shadowed in the dim light of your shared room. His eyes were half-lidded, but alert—suspicious.

“Why the fuck,” he rasped lowly, voice still gravelly from sleep, “do you smell like a man?”

You blinked at him, slow and confused. “What?”

He pulled back just slightly, not letting go but giving himself room to breathe. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know cologne when I smell it. Expensive shit too. That isn’t yours. That’s not mine.”

You frowned, then squinted like you were trying to remember.

“Oh—shit, no, Mark. I went out with Jules earlier—”

“The guy?” he snapped, sharp but quiet.

You held up your hands. “No, listen. We were at the mall. I was looking at cologne for you. I wanted to surprise you. He sprayed me with one of the testers to mess with me—he thought it’d be funny.”

His jaw flexed, like he was still grinding down suspicion. His eyes flicked over you, from your sleepy expression to the slow blink of realization on your face. No nervousness. No lies. You weren’t clever enough to lie to him in your half-awake state.

“…You were buying me cologne?” he said finally, voice quieter.

“I was going to,” you mumbled, “until I got soaked in that crap.”

Mark stared at you for another long second, then pressed his face into the crook of your neck again. His arms wrapped tighter, like he needed to crush the insecurity down with the force of his grip.

“You reek,” he muttered. “And if he ever sprays you again, I’ll break his fucking fingers.”

You smiled into the darkness, even as your heart still beat a little fast. “Noted.”

“Good,” he grunted, his body finally relaxing again behind you. “Still smells like shit.” But he didn’t let go.

TAG LIST: @onlybatsyy

[heavensgaze]

fanart for some clangen // warrior cat comics i've been very into lately !! all of the blogs will be linked below the cut.

PLEASE go check all of them out if you haven't.

Lilac is from @mammoth-clangen - your comic has been on my reading list for ages now and when someone suggested Lilac for this it gave me the perfect opportunity to sit and read. i love the choice to write in first person from the perspectives of the characters. it creates a really intense emotional weight in the story. your art is also just SO stunning. your environment and background work is to die for. Lilac is such a good character. he has this quiet dignity around him that i really love in a character.

Coalfrost is from @rainy-wc - rain has heard me gush about shoreclan and The Watchful Eyes of the Sea so so much already but that's not going to stop me from doing it here too. the atmosphere of the comic is so mysterious and bleak in the best way. the way you write the dialogue really feeds into the culty energy, with everything seeming so innocent on paper but also so incredibly guarded that something must be going on. i love the jagged shapes and the use of color so much too. you know i love coalfrost... i can't wait for people to see more of her.

Flowerdaisy and Rapidpaw are both from @sunclan-rising - i fell in love with your art the moment i saw it. i love the vibrant colors and sharp lines, and how varied each character's shapes are. it gives them so much personality. seeing what happened to little rapidpaw broke me, and then i remembered that flowerdaisy is practically a kit herself at 18 moons??? i can't imagine how this is weighing on her, and can't wait to see where it goes from here. (also sorry for flopping and calling them peakpaw... a classic jj L, i fear TT_TT)

Greenberry is from @fallenclan - i've probably read through fallenclan in its entirety four or five times at this point. i ADORE the way you draw cats, and the longevity of the comic is such an inspiration to me. i think one of the coolest things about fallenclan is how everyone seems to have their favorite little background character, regardless of their relevance. you're so good at making every single character have so much personality, even if they only show up once or twice. greenberry is my personal fav!! people who know me will know that a character having "green" in their design (or name, in this case) is a surefire way to my heart. she's MY clairvoyant little sweetie...and i was so excited to see her get her new accessory.

Leapmist is from @ask-littleclan - first off... it was SO hard deciding which littleclan cat to draw. your character designs are so next level and inspiring to me!! and the comic is BEAUTIFUL??? the colors are so tasty and the way you use all of the space on each page is insane. like i can only aspire to have that level of visual interest. i chose leapmist because i LOVE how pointy they are, and i figured they deserve it considering their new promotion. i'm so very excited to see where the story goes, and i hope you're able to get lots of rest and that the new term goes super smoothly for you!

Yewstar is from @righteous-pines - if it's not very obvious from the content of gardenclan, i LOVE a story about religion. i'm very excited to see where your comic goes, especially since it starts with this guy losing a life? his design is SO fun. i love a grumpy old man, and his spiky fur and beard are such good details. i am such a big fan of how you draw cats, especially the really round ones. it's SO fun. and the detail and backstories you've given everyone are crazy intriguing.

Doll is from @ask-graveclan - i was torn between drawing doll and whispstar (I LOVE GREEN CATS!) but doll's design is kind of everything to me. every single cat in this clan is breathtaking. seriously. i could look at your art all day? graveclan is so full of mystery and intrigue... i need to know who killed this absolute SWEETIE. i hope her and sunpaw stay safe as they investigate... i'm also so invested in their little ghost romance too...

Siltsplash is from @loudclan-clangen - i've actually made fanart for loudclan before. it feels like ages ago now, but i don't think i would have gone down the clangen comic rabbithole at all if i hadn't found loudclan. it's SO special to me. Siltsplash and Wildfirecry are my faves, but since i've drawn the latter before, Silt was the obvious choice :3 i LOVE them so much and they've suffered more than christ on the cross... i love their relationship with their adopted sons, and their relationship with owlstar, even if i think they should be allowed to throw rocks at him forever. your art is so charming. i love the way you draw cats and i love how expressive everything is. your ability to convey emotion not just through their faces but through colors and framing is SO impressive to me. and the worldbuilding you've done is also so good. it's such a fresh take on the warrior cats formula. you are one of my biggest inspos for Our Garden Under Heaven. i'm SO excited to see where this story goes... and scared. but mostly excited!!

i'm so sorry that i'm incapable of being brief, but i hope you all know how much i love and appreciate your art!! thank you for doing what you do!

[ohtobeleah]

Hi,girlll!!

I can’t seem to find anything for Jack Abbot that is like the reader getting jealous of him interacting with Samira (bc we all saw that) and she gets angst and they end up admitting feeling for each other, so of course I’m running to you <3

This is like nothing to go off of, so I’m not asking for a fic unless you really want to, but do you have any recommendations that you know of that are maybe similar to this??

with love!

To me it’s giving chameleon!reader. You hear about it as word travels of some…not so standard of care procedures. It drives you insane because you shouldn’t be feeling this way…not when you were the one that left. It was for your own sanity, safety and self respect.

But non of that stuff seamed to matter as Jack approached his car in the parking garage. The one you stood leaning against with a fed up expression smeared across your face.

“Look, I’m sorry about that hair—it looks good, really—“ Jack started on one of his tangents, the ones he gets on when he’s nervous. “I just didn’t recognise you and that’s why it—“

“If you’re going to flirt with someone, can you make sure it’s, at the very least, with the woman you’re legally married to?” You cut Jack off. Anger was present in every word that came out of your mouth.

He doesn’t immediately respond. Jack lets your question hang heavy around the both of you as the night encapsulates you both.

“I thought you didn’t like me?” Jack questions with a frown. “You know, you can’t call dibs on someone you tossed away like some stale bread.”

“That’s not what any of this is and you know that,” You sighed heavily, love prominent in your heart for a man who constantly broke yours. “And..I don’t hate you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jack smirks. He’ll take what he can get as he comes to lean against his car beside you.

“For what’s its worth, yes, I did push some boundaries I maybe shouldn’t have in there.” Jack admits.

It burns your chest.

“But I only did it because she had it, she needed to know she was in charge of that situation like a pro.”

“You could have done that without looking at her like you were about to stick your tongue down her throat.” It was the eye roll that gave you away more than anything else.

Ah…You were jealous.

“You know what?” Jack knows he could push your buttons right now. He knows he could run with this and use it to keep you from falling out of love with him…But he doesn’t. “You’re right.”

“Sorry?” You nearly choke on your own saliva. “What!?”

“I could have done that better, I’m sorry, you’re right.”

“Why are you patronising me?”

“I’m not! No! No—you’re right, I should be flirting with my wife.”

Oh…oh fuck what have you done.

“No, god—Jack no, that’s not what I meant, all I said was that you can’t be flirting with residents while you’re wearing a wedding band and on the brink of—“

“Don’t say it,” Jack cuts you off with a plea. “Please, don’t say it.” It’s like he’s begging you not to say it out loud. If he heard you say it…then it was real. It was something he couldn’t ignore.

“I can’t hear about you doing things like that,” You admit softly, all the while keeping your eyes set of into the distance. “I can’t will myself to love you any less than everything, so when I hear about the way you act, the flirting, the banter, the affection I never knew you knew how to give, it all takes a-bit of me.”

Jack doesn’t speak. He listens and he processes and he lets you soak in the quiet. Until he responds.

“Why did you dye your hair?” He asks, looking at you with envy at whatever was lucky enough to have your attention. Your eyes were still off in the distance.

“To get your attention.”

[skelesnakesposts]

Ok so I ended up writing 12k words, I'll put the first chapter in here and link the ao3 bellow because I'm not gonna make people read all of that.

Chapter 1:

After what felt like an eternity, the bell finally rang, signalling the end of class. Lily had just survived the most boring math lesson of her life, and she was beyond relieved to be free. She packed her books as fast as she could while the teacher reminded everyone about the test on Friday.

She filed out with the rest of her classmates and made a beeline for her locker across the hall. As she was packing up to go home, Eve approached.

“Hey, Lily. I’m really sorry—I have to cancel again. My mom wants me home. Some family stuff came up.”

“Okay… Do you know when you’ll actually be able to work on the project? It’s due next week, and Ms. Maken will kill us if we don’t get it done. It’s like fifty percent of our final grade.”

“I know, I’m really sorry. I’m not sure when I’ll have time, but I’ll let you know as soon as I can, okay?”

“Fine. I’m going to start on my section—it’ll take a while anyway. Just send me your part whenever you get the chance. I’ll handle the formatting,” Lily said, obviously annoyed.

“Thank you so much, Lily. You’re a lifesaver,” Eve replied with forced gratitude—her tone made it obvious she wasn’t planning to contribute much.

“I’d better go. See you Monday, Eve. Hopefully, everything’s okay with your family.”

“Thanks. See you Monday.”   Eve turned and walked away.

Not long after, Lily headed home. She had a mountain of work waiting for her and couldn’t afford to waste time. Wanting to beat the early evening darkness, she decided to take a shortcut.

The alley between the vape shop and one of the dozen nearly identical phone stores shaved several minutes off her walk. It let out just a block or two from her house—close enough to feel convenient, not far enough to feel dangerous.

At least, not usually.

Halfway down the alley, she spotted a couple of shadowy figures. She paused. Should she really walk toward them?

“Whatever,” she muttered. “It’s fine.”

It was not fine. Walking toward strangers in a sketchy alley was objectively a terrible decision.

As she got closer, the figures began arguing—loudly.

“What do you mean you lost it? You had one job!”

Lily stopped cold.   She knew that voice.   “Uncle David?”

He didn’t turn, too caught up in yelling at the stranger.

“You think I meant to? I worked my ass off to get that! You seriously think I’d just hand it over?”

Lily opened her mouth to call out again—but then she saw something that made her freeze.

Plants—real plants—were snaking up around the stranger’s neck.

She blinked.

She had to be imagining this. Where would plants even come from in the middle of a concrete alley?

Then the man collapsed.

David turned—and saw her.

His face changed instantly. Panic. Regret. Guilt.

Lily’s heart was hammering. That wasn’t just anyone. That was her uncle. And she had just watched him kill someone?

She took a step back.

“Wait! Lily, it’s not what it looks like!” David called.

“Oh really?” she snapped, eyes wide. “Because it looked like you just murdered someone.”

David raised his hands, staying where he was. “Okay, it was—kind of. But you can’t tell anyone. It’s not like they’ll believe you anyway. You’ll end up in a mental hospital, they’ll think you’re insane.”

Lily stared at him. “You’re my uncle, David. How am I supposed to process the fact that you just choked a guy with plants? What even is that?”

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” he muttered.

“You think that makes it better?” she said, her voice high and shaky. “How the hell am I supposed to act normal after this? I could still call the police and say you strangled him with a rope or something. That’d be enough to get you arrested.”

David let out a slow, tired sigh.

“Okay, but… are you really going to do all that?”

The way he said it—so calm, so certain—made her stomach twist.   And, frustratingly, he wasn’t wrong. Her brain was still catching up.

The alley was silent now, thick with tension.

After a long pause, David spoke again.

“Look, I know this is a lot. But what you saw wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“You mean the part where vines came out of nowhere and strangled a man?” she said, arms crossed. “Yeah. Not exactly the family reunion I expected.”

David nodded wearily. “Right. So, let’s start over. I’ll explain. But I have so many questions.”

“Shoot”

She narrowed her eyes. “So that thing with the vines… that was magic, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It was.”

Lily exhaled, trying to centre herself. “Okay. So magic is real. Cool. Just what I needed to round out my week.”

David gave a tired smile. “You’re handling this better than I thought.”

“Well, I haven’t passed out yet, so that’s something.”

“Yeah that’s a good sign. You said you had a lot of questions, you may as well keep going.”

“Yeah ok. How did you even know you could do magic? And what about me? Is there a chance I could do it too?”

“There’s a test for that.”

“Seriously? It’s that simple?”

“Pretty much. All we need is a piece of paper, a drop of your blood, and a basic spell.”

“That’s it?”

“You sound disappointed. We’ve got better tools these days. No full ritual required.”

She rolled her eyes. “So… when and where are we doing this? Because I want to know but I need to be home before my parents start asking questions.”

“I know a guy. He’s about ten minutes from here, and the test only takes five. I can bring you in and get the test done, but if you don’t test positive you have to forget that all of this ever happened. I’ll have you home right after. Deal?”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

and here's the link for the rest if you want to read more:

Wait, are you saying that magic is real?" "Yes." "And you can test if I have magical potential?" "Yes. It's simple: a piece of paper, a drop of your blood, and a simple spell."

[oltammefru]

I've been thinking recently about Theresa and the end of Ep14 and her creating Civilight Eterna, and the question of like: Was she aware of the consequences of her actions? That doing so would extremely fuck up her loved ones, Kal'tsit most of all? The more I think about it the more I come to think that the answer is "yes, but she did it anyway."

Her behavior at the end of EP14 is kind of insane because like, despite how willing she is personally to sacrifice herself for the good of the future and how she tells Kal'tsit "My dear Kal'tsit, since we're all clear about our respective endings, why should we go through sorrow yet again?", at the same time she's like not really willing to let go either. (Think about how the moment she is out of sight, she goes on a mad scramble throughout time itself because she needs so, so, so desperately to know, if she can't have anything else, that her loved ones are ok. She says one thing, but then does another.)

Despite the path that she had chosen and her determination and willingness to see it through, at the end of it all she still doesn't want to go, she is still the person who listened in wonder to Kal'tsit as she told her stories about Terra, the world outside of Kazdel that she wanted to but never got to see, she is still the one who wanted to be able to hold Amiya and read her bedtime stories and assuage her of her nightmares, she is still the one who wanted to be there for her loved ones, in whatever form she can.

And despite all her willingness to sacrifice, and the selflessness of almost all her deeds, she is still in many ways a selfish person (which she acknowledges herself). This is one of the central contradictions of her character, that despite her selflessness, she is characterized majorly by a few specific, extremely, extremely selfish choices of such enormity that they arguably outweigh all of her selflessness. She passed on the crown to a 10 year old child (and Theresa knew Amiya would accept, since she is like that, even though it's not a question that Amiya could given an actual, non-coerced answer to) because so believed she could carry on her ideals, she erased the Doctor's memories both to free them from the shackles of their past, but also to shape them into the person she wanted them to be to best carry out her ideals.

There is such a delightful hypocrisy to this. She, in some sense, wanted desperately, in that selfish core of hers, more than anything else, was to live a life where she was free from the burdens of the past and the shackles of fate, but she still forced that onto Amiya. At the end of Babel, she is walking toward her literal death, but she is still vaguely aware of how death works for the Sarkaz, that she will return to the Originium but still exist in some form, and so she is still hopeful about this: "it's time to say goodbye… we'll meet again in the future won't we… Kal'tsit… Amiya… Doctor." But this time, it really is the end for her, after this there will be nothing left of her, it is a total and complete annihilation of the self. (Which, the thing about this is that like, she deleted the Doctor's identity and subjected them to this, but is unwilling and scared to go through it herself). Despite her virtues and her selflessness, despite what she tells Kal'tsit about partings and endings, she is scared.

The thing about Theresa is that she is a hypocrite, but she is a hypocrite in a highly specific and interesting way. If you pay attention to depictions of Theresa throughout the story, she is someone who believes that fate can be overcome, that the cycle of violence can be broken, except when it comes to specifically herself, for which she is incredibly, incredibly pessimistic, and believes that she's a failure and was unable to break free from her fate. ("To change a man is to make them believe, to make them believe is to destroy their faith, nothing can save such a lost soul.", "But yet, there is no antidote to loneliness, there is no end to nomadic wandering, there is no cure to a terminal illness..." etc.) This is why she's willing to do what she does in Ep14, intentionally choosing to perpetuate the cycle of violence and inflict suffering on other people for the ends of her (and her people) and this something that she fully acknowledges and is perfectly ok with doing in Ep14 even though she could have just like, not. She chooses to act against her ideals because she is a failure, a victim of fate, the sacrifice on top of which the future will be built, an obstacle that the true idealists must and will overcome. She is a hypocrite because she believes that Amiya/the Doctor/Kal'tsit are better people than her, that they are capable of doing what she isn't, and so she is willing to subject them to standards that she doesn't apply to herself.

She can't bear the idea that this is it, that there will be no more of her left, and is willing to do anything to assuage this, and so she makes CE, so she can linger and be there for her loved ones in whatever form possible. I think in this there is a conscious understanding that doing this will hurt her loved ones, and especially Kal'tsit most of all. It's not something she wants to do, but she thinks of Amiya/the Doctor/Kal'tsit as better people than her. She is deliberately doing something that will hurt them yes, but they are strong, and will get through this, like they always have. But herself? She is scared, she has nothing left and soon she will be nothing at all. And so (like she always has), she chooses to go out with one last moment of selfishness.

[biblicallyaccuratemeat]

Satin

Part 1

MDNI!!

A/N: Wow the long awaited part two to Velveteen. I had to basically put a gun to my head to finish this :') I rewrote this way too many times, I'm not entirely pleased with the finished product but I WROTE THE THING!! And that will always be a victory in my book. I have yet to see Thunderbolts* because I have absolutely no time to go to the movies but!! When I do see it, get ready babes, I will be unstoppable. UM anyway, thanks to @ethanhoewke as always for being insane with me and helping me flesh this out, ily babe. Bucky Barnes x female reader, morning after, morning sex, oral sex (fem receiving), developing relationship, fluff & smut, Bucky recovering from being the WS, two dumbass cutie pies being horny or whatever <3

ALSO!!! If anyone wants to blow up my inbox with some Bucky requests, please do! I love writing for this 100 year old emotionally repressed fossil <3

Word count: 4.2k

Too bright. Way too fucking bright. The golden morning sunshine is searing through your blinds, drawing a whine of protest from your throat. It’s too early, that much is clear to you. Far too early to be awake. You almost want to hiss at the sun like a cartoon vampire being awoken from an eternal slumber. Shifting in the bed, trying to get your wits about you, two things become abundantly clear to you. One, you’re sore. Like, really fucking sore, like you got hit by a small bus or thrown through a brick wall. Two, there is without a doubt a man in bed next to you. Your foot brushes across a sleep-warm, hairy calf under the sheets. You can’t bear to open your eyes, opting to keep them screwed shut against the sun’s laser-like light and the fact that Bucky definitely stayed the night. 

With a deep breath, you peek one eye open, turning your head to the side. Your eye lands on Bucky, face down on a fluffy pink pillow, snoring like a goddamn chainsaw. His stupidly handsome face is squished into the cotton, brow furrowed like he’s personally affronted by your choice in bedding. One of his arms is thrown haphazardly across your middle and— holy fuck, his arms are fucking huge. Were they that big and beefy last night?! Surely, you’d remember biceps that fucking large. Your eyes hungrily rove over the tan, scarred flesh. God, he’s delicious, you’d sink your teeth into the fat and muscle right now if it wasn’t going to wake the poor man up. 

Trying oh so carefully to wiggle free from Bucky’s heavy, comforting weight, you reach blindly for your phone. Hand rooting and tapping uselessly along your side table, knocking just about every other item over in the process before your fingertips finally find purchase on it. You swipe it off the table, holding it up and squinting as you read the time. Half past eight, okay, that’s not too early. However, you choose the wrong time to squirm again. Bucky grunts in his sleep, his arm binding tighter around your waist and all but dragging you into his side. 

A surprised squeak bubbles past your lips, you tense up, scarcely allowing yourself to breathe. Who knew he was such a cuddle bug? So, you allow yourself to melt into it a little, because you honestly can’t recall the last time someone held you like this (not to mention after a night of ravenous fucking…)

Your phone, now lying on the mattress next to your hip, buzzes. You snatch it up quickly, hoping that it didn't stir the man next to you. You’re not ready for this impromptu cuddle session to be cut short. 

Girl are you dead?

Oh my god, we’re gonna be on Dateline! Talking about how great of a friend she was and I’ll have to cry on camera and wail about how she didn’t deserve this!! She was too young!!

Your friends are nothing if not dramatic and incessantly nosy. You love them though, like scruffy dogs you pick up from the pound that nobody else really wanted because they honestly seem kind of feral. With one hand, you quickly type out a reply, rolling your eyes at the theatrics of your group of gremlins. Your other hand, because you just can’t help yourself, absentmindedly cards through Bucky’s unfairly thick and soft hair. 

I’m not dead and I wouldn’t want you in my Dateline episode anyway, bitch.

The replies come immediately, in rapid succession, absolutely blowing up the group chat.

Holy fuck!! She lives!!

How did the date go? Did you finally dust those cobwebs out of your pussy? Or rather, did he? 

That’s a horrific visual, though you have to give Faye points for creativity. You’re not even entirely sure how to respond to that, because yes it had been awhile, but it hadn’t been that long. Words are failing you in this moment honestly, so you resort to the most damning option of all. With a trembling hand, you hold your phone a few scant inches above Bucky’s clueless, sleep-slack face. The photo is avant-garde level art. They should hang this shit up in the Louvre or paste it on billboards across the country. The Hello Kitty pillowcase, the strong line of Bucky’s nose buried in the fabric. The way his dark lashes create little spiderweb shadows on his usually so serious, broody face. He’s an angel, plain and simple. Cast down from the heavens to torture you and fuck you better, deeper than any of your ex-boyfriends did. Before you can second guess yourself, you send the photo to the group chat, shoving it under your pillow before you can see the immediate replies.

Buzz…buzz…buzz…

Your canine digs into your lower lip, biting back an exasperated smile. Your friends are, and always have been, veritably insane. You shouldn’t have told them about the date, or the fact that said date is still in your bed, in your apartment. You should have just turned your phone off, allowing yourself to sink into this syrupy, lazy little bubble of perfection. You could get used to having this man in your bed. Absolutely.

Your phone continues its angry vibrating like a little pissed off bumblebee beneath your head. So, you let out a long suffering sigh and check the 9+ notifications awaiting you.

HELLO???

Oh my god, I want to lick that cheekbone. Do I have a cheekbone fetish guys? This is awakening something in me.

Wait a fucking minute!!! Dude, that’s the Winter Soldier. 

Okay, that certainly catches your attention, because no he isn’t…is he? Wide eyes flick between your phone screen and Bucky’s peaceful face with the speed of a caffeinated hummingbird. What did the Winter Soldier even look like? It’s vague and fuzzy in your mind like TV static. You wrack your brain, desperately trying to recall what dominated the news cycle for weeks in 2014. Captain America, Natasha Romanoff, lots of explosions and property damage… A quick google search confirms your friend’s suspicions or rather accusations. There is without a doubt an ex-sleeper agent in your bed, you fucked an ex-sleeper agent. Were you in danger? Oh god, all you had on hand was one of those cheap cans of pepper spray. The only reason you’d really bought it was because it’s sparkly and also you wanted the illusion of self-defense. What the fuck was pepper spray going to do against an assassin? He’d probably sneeze at best and then rip you apart like a rotisserie chicken.

Before you can spiral into a full blown panic attack, complete with hyperventilating and popping an Ativan or two, Bucky groans sleepily, rousing. You freeze, eyes comically wide, lips parting like a child caught with their hand in a proverbial cookie jar. But the fear, the sense of self-preservation, the whole seconds away from shitting your bed, dissipates. It melts away like tissue paper in hot water, because his eyes open and they land on you. They remind you of the sea glass you used to collect as a girl, when your parents would whisk you off to the beach and you’d carry a little bucket around and feed the seagulls corn chips even though your mother explicitly instructed you not to.  His eyes sharpen just for a moment, your anxiety spikes, you hold your breath. And then, oh god, his gaze softens and you can’t help but feel utterly besotted by the very sight.

“Did I do that to you?” Bucky murmurs, sounding absolutely delicious and raspy and gravely. You try to reshape your brain back from the goo his eyes turned it into. He’s asking you a question and you’re sitting there smiling at him like a dope. He taps the side of his neck to emphasize the query, arching an eyebrow expectantly.

Your hand immediately flies up to mirror where his rests, brushing the pads of your fingers lightly down the side of your throat. You can’t bear to break his intense gaze, it feels like divorce, but then you wince because fucking ow! You spring out of bed, stumbling to the vanity, no longer concerned about appearing graceful or effortlessly pretty first thing in the morning. 

“Oh shit,” You breathe, staring at your reflection. You look ran through, like you got passed around a frat party or something within that vein of debauchery. Mascara and that winged eyeliner you were so proud of smeared and running down your cheeks, your neck, your tits absolutely covered in a variety of hickeys, bitemarks, bruises. You look like a demented racoon who got mauled by a particularly aggressive grizzly bear. Time to lock yourself in your bathroom and do some major recon.

Ten or so minutes later, you reappear with minty-fresh teeth and a clean face. A sheepish smile spreads across your lips as you resume your seat next to Bucky, “Uh, yeah, I think you did do that to me.” You quip awkwardly, refusing to meet his eyes, far too interested in fiddling with a loose thread on your fitted sheet. “I mean, obviously I liked it.” You can’t help but glance up quickly, heat burning your cheeks.

“Right,” Bucky snorts, smirking roguishly, and god you swear your pussy has butterflies. “I remember.”

“Hungry!” You blurt out, springing off the mattress, far too shy and idiotic to even attempt to carry on that particular route of conversation. “Are you hungry? I am definitely hungry! We should eat! In the kitchen.”

You attempt to smile, but it feels all wrong on your face, crooked and stilted by your own mortification at your lack of social graces. You don’t need to see the way your entire body is turning a rather unflattering shade of pink from the tips of your ears, down your chest-- you can feel it and it only worsens the matter. Bucky just huffs in amusement, a man of few words outside of rearranging your guts it seems, “Sure, doll. I’ll meet you out there.”

You all but sprint to the kitchen, eager to remove yourself from the situation before you further embarrass yourself. Thank fuck you cleaned your apartment before your date, the usual state its in would warrant entering the witness protection program if Bucky saw it. Unfortunately, you hadn’t anticipated preparing a full breakfast spread, so you find the bare bones of your pantry. Cup of noodles, a brown banana (unclear to you if it’s really ripe or hazardous), and whole milk that’s one day out from being past its expiration date. Wonderful.

“What’s for breakfast?” Bucky's voice comes from behind you and you nearly jump out of your skin, the way he snuck up on you could have very well sent you to an early grave. Definitely was an efficient assassin, you’ll give him that.

“Oh, um, I’m not sure…” You mumble, back to Bucky, acting as if you’re perusing an entire treasure trove of options. “Do you like noodles and milk?” You ask tentatively, peeking at him over your shoulder.

He blinks, seemingly unsure if you’re joking around, and if you aren’t, he has no clue how to respond.

“What type of noodles?” He asks after a moment, crossing his thick arms, leaning back against the kitchen island.

“The cup kind,” You mutter, glaring a hole into the tile.

“I’m sorry?” Buck huffs, tilting his head to the side like an adorably confused puppy, a puppy who’s had over two dozen confirmed kills.

“Um,” You lick your lips, your mouth feeling suddenly bone dry, an explanation sticking to the roof of your mouth like bubblegum, “You know, cup of noodles? It’s like, a styrofoam cup and there’s ramen in it with seasoning. You put hot water in it… the, uh, packaging actually says not to microwave it, but who listens to that anyw--”

Your lame little rambling is cut off by the gentle pressure of Bucky’s lips slotting against yours, his large hands cupping your face, holding you like you’re the most precious, delicate thing in the world. You melt, your train of thought fizzling out into goo, so you press up onto your tiptoes, eagerly returning the kiss. Bucky starts to move away, but you spring forward, chasing his lips, whining like the needy little thing you are. 

He chuckles, lips barely brushing yours, murmuring, “So you have noodles in a cup?”

“Cup of noodles,” You correct breathlessly, pupils blown wide as saucers after taking that mainline of pure Bucky.

“Tomatoe, tomato,” He snorts, slowly sweeping the pad  of his thumb down the bridge of your nose, “Are we having anything else with these noodles? A plate of broth, maybe?”

“Uh, no, just almost sour milk and if you’re really feeling brave, a very brown banana.” You’re silently planning your suicide note, because why of all the times your fridge had to be empty, it’s when Bucky is here after a night of insane sex. Sex that quite frankly, rewired your brain and probably ruined any chance of another man coming close to what Bucky made you feel.

“A very filling spread,” Bucky hums dryly, cracking a small grin. You can’t help but smile in return, your heart doing a funny little flutter. This man is going to give you a heart murmur. 

“Well, I mean, if you’re not busy…” you start, looking anywhere but at him, wringing your hands together shyly, “We could go get breakfast?”

Bucky watches you silently, thinking over your suggestion. “A second date already? Wow, you move fast.” He drawls lazily.

Your face is on fire as you desperately start to back track, “Oh! Um, I mean, you don’t have to! You can leave! I won’t hold you hostage or force you to get breakfast with me. I just thought maybe it would be better than risking it with the banana.”

Buck chuckles, stepping forward, entering your personal space. He still smells like smoke and cinnamon even after a night in your ultra-femme sheets. The rough pad of his finger slips under your chin, tilting your face up towards his. His eyes are the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced, guarded yet so expressive at the same time. 

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, doll. Relax.” He whispers, voice silky and deep. There’s a moment, it’s so brief, so fleeting, you almost don’t catch it. The walls lower for a heartbeat, and Bucky asks so achingly soft, “Was… last night good for you?”

You can’t help but freeze, because is he seriously asking you that? Bucky interprets your silence as a bad thing, his face falling subtly, he shifts on his feet, taking a step backwards that feels like a mile. 

“No! No, I had an amazing time last night. You were amazing,” You blurt out, hands shooting up to gesture wildly. 

Bucky’s relief is a tangible thing, his shoulders lowering, the crease in his brow smoothing out. “Oh, good. I’m glad, I don’t…” he clears his throat, running his vibranium hand through his cropped hair, “I don’t usually do this.” He admits, gesturing vaguely around your apartment, “The whole sex on the first date, spending the night thing.”

The butterflies in your stomach break out into a spontaneous synchronized swimming routine. And you can feel your blood rush to your cheeks and then lower, much lower. It’s flattering, the way he confesses that he doesn’t do this and apparently you’re an exception to his vintage dating etiquette. Though, you’re almost certain there definitely would be a rule in there about not leaving your partner looking like they got mauled by an angry vacuum cleaner.

Not that you’re complaining…

So, you laugh nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “I hope I didn’t make you feel pressured or anything.”

Bucky snorts— the man actually snorts, at that statement, as if it’s the funniest joke he’s heard in a long time. “A little thing like you? Pressuring me? Nah, doll, I liked it. I like you.”

Liquid sunshine spreads through your veins and you nod dumbly along with what he’s saying, “Oh, right. You, um, like me, huh?”

He steps into your space, the heat of his body seeping into yours as he gently runs a finger along the curve of your spine, “Yes, I like you. More than I probably should.” He affirms, that exploratory hand coming to rest just above the swell of your ass. It slides down, he squeezes the fat and flesh gently, as if testing the weight of it in his vibranium palm. 

“What a coincidence,” you squeak, all the finesse and coyness from the night before evaporating into the atmosphere, leaving behind your usual awkward self, “I happen to like you too. Not sure about the more than I should part. That makes it sound like I’m in danger…oh god, I’m not in danger, am I?”

Bucky silences you with a searing kiss, his criminally soft lips slotting against yours, rubbing deliciously, pulling a high pitched whine from your throat. The hand on your ass squeezes hard, grounding you, ripping you from your inward spiral. Bucky backs you up against the kitchen counter and with a strength only a super soldier could muster, he sweeps you up, depositing you to sit on the edge of the island. Your thighs part, making space for him to stand between them, and your arms loop around his neck. You deepen the kiss, arching into the hard plane of his chest, fingers threading and tugging at his hair. He groans, low and unbearably sexy, into your mouth, strong arms wrapping around your waist like a python. 

His tongue expertly delves into your mouth, tracing the sharp edges of your teeth, tasting the sleep-sweet saliva welling up beneath your tongue. Emboldened, you wrap your lips around his tongue, sucking the slick muscle, earning another delicious grunt from Bucky. His arms bind around your waist tighter, till you feel like you might pop, splattering the kitchen in one thousand shades of red. There’s barely a breath of space between your bodies, the two of you slotting together like long lost puzzle pieces, reunited at long last. It’s heaven, it’s hell, the kiss is enough, you could cum just like this. Happily, easily, and that’s more than you can say about any other man you’ve been with. 

Bucky breaks the kiss and you whine, feeling as if you might burst into tears if he stops touching you. He shushes you, sinking slowly to his knees on the kitchen tile, peering up at you through dark lashes. Hands gently pull you to the edge of the counter, as he sits back on his haunches. Bucky takes your left foot, holding it in his organic hand as if it’s the most precious thing in the world, placing a worshipful kiss to the inside of your ankle. Kiss after kiss is trailed up the length of your calf, the softness of his lips and the roughness of his stubble create a juxtaposition of sensations that send goosebumps erupting across your body, fine hairs standing to attention. When Bucky reaches the inside of your knee, his tongue flicks out, tickling the sensitive flesh. You tense up, instincts screaming to wriggle away from the feeling, but Bucky holds you steady. He doesn’t kiss the start of your thigh, opting to just drag his stubble across the smooth skin, back and forth. His teeth nip playfully as he gets closer and closer to the center of your body. Each snap of teeth immediately remedied by a soothing brush of lips. Your cunt flutters, you can feel your heartbeat in your clit, throbbing insistently. Begging for friction, for penetration, for something to ease the molten ache rapidly growing between your legs.

When Bucky reaches the apex of your thighs, he doesn’t move your sleep shorts to the side, not yet. He leans forward, pressing his face into the fabric, into the flesh, and inhales deeply. An obscene, drawn out sniff, and he moans at the salty, musky scent of arousal that greets his nostrils. His fingers dig into your spread thighs, massaging, marking. He kisses your cunt over your shorts, over your underwear. And then, with no further warning or preamble, he rips the fabric off. Cotton falls in tatters to the floor, leaving you bare and flushed to his gaze.

You realize faintly that it’s definitely brighter in your apartment now and neither of you are tipsy, so you should feel at the very least a bit self conscious about Bucky being eye level with your bare cunt but he drags the tip of his nose from the inside of your knee up, up, up to the crevice where your thigh and labia meet. Every coherent thought flies out the window; he licks maddeningly slow, just shy of firm from hole to clit. Your hands scramble to grasp the edge of the counter, hanging on for dear life.

“Oh, fuck!” You curse, throwing your head back, dragging your ass to the edge of the counter, so close to falling off. You’re shaking like a leaf in a storm, Bucky’s mouth is cruel and heavenly in equal measure, finding your clit easily. He sucks the swollen bud into his mouth like a piece of hard candy.

And you decide if Bucky remains a fixture in your life, you will absolutely be tossing out your beloved vibrator. You won’t need it anymore now that you have unrestricted access to Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s mouth, Bucky’s dick…but you’ll still hang onto her for now because if last night and this morning are a two-time thing, you’ll need that pink hunk of plastic to get off to the memory of this perfect moment for the foreseeable future. 

Bucky moans into the folds of your pussy, eating you out ravenously, like he’ll die if he doesn’t make you cum on his tongue at least thrice. His hands grip your thighs harder, spreading you wider, opening you up to him like a delicate flower. You can’t hold yourself up, not in these conditions, so you lie back on the kitchen island. You spread as wide as you can, giving yourself over fully to Bucky’s mouth. 

“Please,” you breathe out, screwing your eyes shut, your entire body pulled taut like a bowstring, “Oh god, please.”

You don’t know what you’re begging for, or what god you’re calling on, all you know is the heat and the suction of his mouth. It’s embarrassing, how easily Bucky manipulates your body, how close he’s bringing you to the precipice after only a few minutes. But fuck, if it doesn’t feel good, the pleasure vastly outweighs the embarrassment. In fact, it feels so mind-numbingly good, you swear your brain is melting and leaking out your ears. Then, Bucky’s tongue swipes, a perfect arc right over where you want him, need him most. You tense up as if you’ve been electrocuted, moaning brokenly.

“Oh my god, right there,” you wheeze, borderline hyperventilating, “Please, just like that. Don’t stop, please.”

Bucky doubles down, his ferocity turning into a beast, and you worry you might just die from this. You clench around nothing, squirming weakly, chasing that ever elusive peak. The warmth turns into a fever pitch, you gasp and whimper, bucking into his mouth, simultaneously wanting to escape and to arch into him. When Bucky’s tongue curls into your cunt, the striking line of his nose digging into your clit, your mouth falls open. You tense up, hardly able to move or breathe. 

Your orgasm spreads through you like a wave, from the hair follicles on your scalp, down to your curling toes. Your spine arches clean off the counter, hips bucking wildly, legs clamping around Bucky’s head. You pant, gasping for air, twitching amidst the aftershocks as Bucky tongue fucks you through every ripple. Only when you’re limp, boneless, brain dead, does he rise to his feet. He watches you with dark, hooded eyes, unashamedly licking his lips and moaning at the taste of your orgasm. If you weren’t absolutely winded, you would’ve had the good sense to blush at the display. 

He rubs your thighs soothingly, up and down, silently watching as you come back to this plane of reality. He reaches down, helping you slowly sit up, smoothing your wild hair down, and kisses your forehead, “Breakfast?” He murmurs against your temple. 

“Huh?” You mumble, blinking up at him, confused and too fucked out to follow the current track of the conversation. 

“I’m not eating a noodle cup, come on,” Bucky nudges you gently, helping you back down to the floor, “I think there’s a diner a few miles down from here. It’ll be our second date, like you said.”

With shaky legs, you wobble to your bedroom, “It’s cup of noodles.” You mutter under your breath, smiling softly. 

And when you’re on the back of Bucky’s bike, face smushed into the leather of his jacket, when you’re sitting across from him in the diner, laughing so hard chocolate milk shoots out of your nostrils…he may have once been the Winter Soldier, he may have killed at least two dozen people, but now? He’s holding your face in his hands like you’re the center of his universe. He’s paying for the bill like a gentleman. And when he drops you off back home, he pulls his dog tags off, guiding them over your head, giving them to you, claiming it’s so you have to call him back. He’s just Bucky, he’s your Bucky, plain and simple.

[instantdinosaurtidalwave]

So, we've got two options. Option A: the Chamber is native to Westeros, or Option B: the Targaryens brought something with them from Old Valyria that would become the Chamber.

Option A: The Chamber is native to Westeros. It's been there for as long as anyone can remember. Located near where King's Landing would one day be, the kingdoms used it to test their princes and kings, a tradition probably enforced by the smallfolk who found their lot in life better under kings (and knights) tested by the Chamber. I will arbitrarily say, in this headcanon/what-if scenario, that by the time of the Targaryen Conquest, all the Kingdoms of Westeros use the Chamber except probably the Iron Islands, and even then, maybe occasionally, someone will come and ask to use it . Depends on what the Drowned God's deal is, but that's not the point here.

Now, how we get the Targaryens to trust and use the Chamber is a question I haven't answered yet. Maybe the Chamber gets forgotten/abandoned until the first or second succession crisis, and someone on the Small Council suggests it for choosing the next king, and after that it gets put back into somewhat infrequent use for choosing kings, and more frequently for testing knights. The Chamber continues to fall in and out of use both for kings and knights, some mad Targaryen is sure to try and destroy it and promptly get SmoteTM for the attempt.

When Robert's Rebellion succeeds, Robert chooses to undergo the test of the Chamber the night before his coronation, and after, makes all Kingsguard undergo the test as well, in addition to restoring the tradition of testing knights-to-be in the Chamber, which was probably a secondary goal of the Rebellion, since the Chamber had long been out of use by the time of Aerys the Mad King.

Option B: the Chamber or something that would become the Chamber came with the Targaryens from Old Valyria. An old, old tradition of Valyria that fell out of and into favor due to the death count, Aegon the Conqueror brings it with him, more out of respect of the past and wishing to save as much of Valyrian culture and tradition more than anything. During the early years of his reign, he eventually enters the Chamber for advice on how to rule and lead his reluctant subjects.

I don't quite know what he sees or how he reacts to it. At the very least, I think he learns he can't maintain the Old Valyrian tradition of siblings marrying because the magic to keep out insanity will fail.

Actually, Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys all enter the Chamber shortly after the Conquest, though the women may only enter after Aegon does. Aegon annulls his marriages to his sisters and carefully chooses spouses for them, and himself, made easier by the current lack of issue. The two cadet houses carefully maintain genealogical records and marry back into the main branch every so often.

Some Targaryen along the way is still probably going to marry someone they shouldn't, nothing stays perfect forever, but the wheel turns on; good kings and bad kings come and go, the Chamber falls into and out of use, both for kings and knights. I don't want to copy-paste from Option A, so maybe the Chamber's magic fades, since it comes from Old Valyria this time, and thus, while it may be traditional for kings and knights to hold vigil outside the Chamber before becoming kings and knights, it's now a mere formality rather than an actual test.

This means that when the Chamber's magic does return, no one notices, at least, not immediately. Someone eventually will feel drawn to the Chamber and either get a vision via touching the door or will straight up be able to enter the Chamber once more. Thus, when Robert wins his Rebellion, he declares he will attempt the Test of the Chamber.

What happens after that, in both timelines, I leave to others who have either read the books or watched the show.

I’m not going anywhere with this but it’s a thought I had.

[david-lynch-ate-my-son]

season 3 of animal kingdom is RIPE for a pope cody marriage of convenience storyline.

DCFS placing lena in foster care? smurf angling to adopt lena as a means to control pope because the state will never allow her to go him with his prison record?

well, lucky for pope there's a sweet, pretty, upstanding pillar of society who has lived right next door to lena since before catherine "disappeared."

and boy does she love lena something fierce. after all, she's been babysitting her for years. is the one cathy always called when there was a last minute shift at work and fuck knows where baz is. the one who taught lena to make a macrame friendship bracelet; bought her the dolphin squishmallow she sleeps with every night; dried her tears after cathy left and baz was too busy fucking someone new to be there for his own goddamn daughter.

there's a reason lena calls her tia.

and yeah, maybe pope isn't a perfect guardian, but she's seen how fiercely he loves that kid. how he'd flay himself open for her.

and she did a stint in foster care herself as a kid--it was the worst year of her life. she can't imagine that for lena.

so blame it on the romance books she reads, or the fact that she's had a tiiiiiiny crush on her neighbor's brother since the first time he came around to visit (and she literally ran into him on the sidewalk, sweaty and out of breath from her morning run, and he steadied her with a strong hand on her elbow).

but when she storms into his house the second DCFS pulls away with lena in the back of their car and blurts out, "we should get married," there's not a single moment of regret.

even when pope stares at her hard, gaze as opaque and unreadable as ever. even when he says, "what"--flatly, not as a question, but as a statement of pure disbelief.

she just cuts him off before he can gather his thoughts enough to realize how insane of an idea it is.

"i don't have so much as a parking ticket on my record. my credit score is 850. every library book i've ever checked out since elementary school, i've returned on time. i've never done a drug in my life--not even weed! i got drunk once in college and fell off a trampoline and broke my arm, but there's no way DCFS could hunt that down, right? i mean, they could probably track down gina from my old dorm--she was the one who took me to the hospital--but i'm sure gina wouldn't say anything, right? plus, i'm a high school teacher, so i've already passed all of the state-required background checks for working with children. i've known lena her entire life--i'm perfect! you may have a spotty legal history, but if you're married to me, there's no way DCFS would say no to at least a temporary placement to adopt!"

and maybe pope would have put up more of a fight if she wasn't so goddamn cute, all red-faced and riled up, stomping into his house in her fuzzy ducky slippers and yelling about her hairbrained scheme.

which, when he actually thinks about it...could work...

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

Y'all, Freefall Gambit is so good 😩❤️‍🔥 Loved the return of Onychinus Sylus! He was aura farming so hard in this card, I had to restrain myself from audibly fangirling ijbol. I do feel like this card is sort of preparing us for the upcoming branch, where we'll most likely see alot more of this type of stuff and of this particular dynamic of SylusMC. Of being on opposing sides. Lots of angst and potential for drama, as well as self reflection and growth on especially MC's part.

My sole complaint is that Sylus isn't wearing the suit from the illustration ＿|￣|● I love his Onychinus fit as much as the next person but man... that suit... I will cry if they intend on forever gatekeeping it.

Because I want to avoid spoiling anyone that doesn't have the card yet, I've decided to write down some of my immediate thoughts below the cut.

Let's get the angsty predictions out of the way first – these lines set my alarm bells off. I feel like they are foreshadowing that something of Sylus' will indeed get taken or lost. Or rather someone. That someone ofc being MC, his most precious treasure.

I'll admit that these would not have alarmed me had it not been for certain lines in Sylus' birthday event and in Greedy Heart. I go into why exactly those lines make me uneasy in the linked post, and I just feel like the above ones further reinforces my theory. Call me paranoid or angst obsessed, but I predict pain for both SylusMC and for us in the main story, perhaps even in the coming branch.

On a similar note, just as how Sylus' vulnerability and fear (MC, and MC getting hurt or worse respectively) has been brought up more than once recently, so has MC's. Namely, that Sylus will get caught and put away, or become weak. We see these fears in Valleydream Bloom and in this card, as well as in Where Hearts Live. So things might be building up exactly to that.

I thought it was interesting how MC specifically mentions that the Association have Evol suppressing equipment. Which leads me to believe that said equipment could potentially be used against Sylus at some point to subdue him (provided of course that Sylus' powers are indeed Evol and not demonic/draconic based, but that is an eventual topic for another day). Idk but something tells me that Sylus will get captured whether willingly (most likely) or unwillingly. After all, we do see Sylus behind bars in the music video to Visions Opposées.

Could it be foreshadowing or just a neat visual? Only time will tell.

Me personally though, I am leaning towards the former, and I can see both MC's and Sylus' fears coming to fruition. Maybe even in a connected way (MC gets kidnapped and/or hurt and Sylus jumps in to save her but gets weakened or subdued in doing so, or Sylus gets captured by the Association, MC gets gravely injured trying to save him and maybe in the process triggers Sylus' dragon form and with it MC's memories? Boom. Several birds one stone. Helluva plotline imo)

What I still don't believe will come to pass however is either of them perma dying. This is an otome gacha. The main character nor LI can't die, especially not in a game as young and fresh as Love and Deepspace. So on that front I am not at all worried. Doesn't mean the angst we do get won't hurt a lot, though. But that being said, SylusMC will persevere in the end. Trust. Neither will let the other get torn away from them. Either will move heaven and earth to bring their lover back come what may.

Moving on...

I thought this was a nice callback to Sylus' anecdote

Here Sylus is revealed to actually be a sort of deepspace Robin Hood. We stan.

And the crowd cheered!!!

Also this is actually why Sylus jumped out of the plane. Man needed some cool and fresh air after this comment made all his blood flow south...

This makes me cackle 😭 bro is so unserious. And actually kind of insane, but again, we stan.

MC is living the dream. Do you know what I'd sacrifice to wrap my arms around that waist?? Happy for my girl though 💞 ( and for Sylus, you know that man is on cloud 9 here).

I adore that the card ends on a sweet and nostalgic note, with them gazing at the moon... like they used to in a distant past 💗

[whimsiwitchy]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 (part two)

Pedro Pascal x singer!reader

series masterlist & series playlist

summary: you're a hot singer that has hot older men falling at her feet. pedro becomes one of them. (literally my cyg hughxreader fic but for pedro)

warnings: age gap (23/49), use of y/n, swearing, sexual themes, afab reader, she/her pronouns, verbal fighting, pedro is a smoker, cheating, Hugh Jackman is your ex (oops), he also pops up a few times and is mentioned, grammar is fake to me srry <3

warnings may change as the story progresses. all descriptions of real people in this story are fake! I don't know these people and this all for funsies. let me know if I missed anything!

author's note: hi everyone! since part one and two are a little shorter, I wanted to go ahead and give you part two. i'm trying to figure out a posting schedule so once that's put together, i'll update the masterlist with the dates! Alsooo, there's an extras section on the masterlist where you can find random things such as a picture of the dress that was mentioned in this chapter!! okie enough yapping, enjoy!!

part two: sparkle in your eyes

London was beautiful. You’d always dreamed of coming here, seeing the historical sights you grew up looking at through photos and hearing the accents you’ve always wanted. The overcast reminded you of home. Of when a sudden storm would roll in, hiding the summer sun in an instant. You found it funny how the Earth was so big yet felt so small, similarities in different cities, countries, continents showing the truth behind what it means to be human. The thought grounded you when the fame felt too suffocating.

Fame

It was a word you were still getting used to, a word you weren’t sure if you loathed or loved. It made you feel distant and disconnected from the world around you, creating a barrier between yourself and every ‘normal’ person. The word was true though, you were indeed famous. You were known around the world for your music and people gave you a job through their endless support. Moments like yesterday were a reminder of just how different your life was now. Moments where Pedro Pascal came to see you after only meeting you once before, like he was a friend and not some insanely famous actor. He hadn’t left your mind since the interaction. It was honestly pissing you off. 

When you told Stacy that you wanted to take a break from men, you weren’t lying. You wanted nothing more than to focus on yourself and your career…but those dark brown eyes that sparkled when he smiled made it so hard to care about anything else. They were a hypnotizing color, a striking contrast from the bright blue eyes you looked into just a few months prior. Pedro was everything you found attractive in a man: tall, dark, handsome with a godly personality. His emotional intelligence was a trait you picked up on the moment you met him and it was refreshing to hear a man be so willingly open on important matters. 

“Helloooo…earth to y/n.” Stacy says as she snaps her acrylic adorned fingers in your face. “Are you gonna tell me what has you all spaced out or can I take a guess? Because I’m pretty sure his name starts with a P.” Her gum pops as she closes her glossed lips, a smirk sat smugly on her face. 

“Shh. Could you be any louder!?” The two of you were sitting in a cafe that was packed with people with wandering ears. You would have spilled every thought racing your mind if you weren’t so worried about someone listening to your every word. It was another aspect of fame you had to get used to. It wasn’t always bad. For instance, sometimes you could sit in a cafe with your best friend and other times you can’t even walk down the street without having a horde of people rush towards you. 

“Plus, I'm not thinking of him.” You say defensively. 

“Whatever you say girl.” The same smirk still sits pretty on her face before gently falling into a smile. “Anyways, I got tickets for the London Eye at 2pm. Then, I thought it would be nice to go grab lunch somewhere. I have a few places picked out-” You’re looking at her, nodding every once and a while to allude that you’re listening to her but you aren’t. Your mind is occupied by those stupid brown eyes again. 

—

The two of you didn’t end up getting on the London Eye at 2pm. There was a delay, causing a wait of an extra 45 minutes and Stacy was pissed. Other than the fact she was your assistant, she was also a lot more organized than you. She plans each trip you’ve been on, including itineraries for days you don’t have to work. She also has bad time anxiety. The smallest change in time has her stressed out, even if it’s off by a minute. Once the anxiety wears off, the anger creeps in. She complained at the latter end of the wait and would have had the king on the line if you hadn’t confiscated her phone until she cooled off a bit. Her mood was unchanged by the time you stepped into the private car. 

“If I tell you something boy related will it make you calm down and enjoy the ride?” You ask softly as you look down at the water, the wheel slowly moving the bubble higher. 

“What happened to swearing off men? I told you that you wouldn’t last that long.” She scoffs with a slight irritation in her voice but you can tell she’s itching to know more. 

“I know but Pedro had really bad timing so it’s not really my fault.” She’s quick to respond. 

“AHA! So you were thinking of him earlier.” The smirk from earlier makes a return and you’re pretty sure it would become a permanent part of her face from now on.

“It’s kind of hard not to when he came down a few floors down just to see me again.” You dramatically lean back and throw your forearm over your forehead. The poor attempt at acting like a damsel in distress earns a cackle from Stacy. 

“You’re insane.” She leans against the rail and looks at the view. “How’d you two even meet anyways? I feel like I would have been there.” Her brow lifts in confusion. 

“It was when you were sick and Hugh insisted on accompanying me to the sag awards when my song was in that one show.” Her eyes light up. 

“Ohhh yea. I do remember you telling me that. Didn’t you say he was drunk or something? I’m surprised he remembered you.” It’s your turn to scoff. 

“Drunk or not, who could forget a face like this.” Your hands shoot up to frame your face as you dramatically blink your eyes. Stacy rolls her eyes at the gesture. “But yea he was pretty drunk. He called Hugh my old man, which caught me off guard. I do remember him looking hot as fuck though. His stylist did him good with that look.” You nod, thinking about the white button up that was thankfully not buttoned up all the way, giving you a great view of his upper chest. 

“You’re such a slut.” She lets out a light laugh. 

“Am not.” You turn away from her to look at the view, the bubble finally reaching the top of the wheel. 

“You so are. You literally checked out Pedro when your boyfriend was right next to you and now that you’re broken up, you’re openly admitting that he’s hot. That kinda fits the definition of slut.” You know she’s joking but it stings nonetheless. 

“Whatever. I probably won’t even see him anytime soon so there’s no use in doting on the fact that he’s the hottest man I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” Stacy hums. 

“I think he might like you.” You glare at her.

“Stacy please don’t feed into my delusion right now.” She laughs.

“I’m not trying to but he was giving you major goo goo eyes yesterday. It was kinda gross.” She shakes her head. “And he followed you on instagram. I don’t know, but it seems like he might like you.” 

—

Turns out one of the places Stacy had picked out for dinner was one of the most prestigious and hard to get into restaurants in London. The reservation list was years long and impossible to get on. When Stacy told you about it, you ensured her that there were plenty of other places you two could go eat at that didn’t require a fight just for a seat. She wouldn’t listen though and insisted that she would make sure the two of you would get in. When she told you she got a table, you never asked how but now that she was calling the front of house to let them know ‘ms.y/l/n would be arriving soon’, you wish you would have. You hated having the status of your name to get you things.

You were sprawled out across your hotel bed as you waited for Stacy to finish getting ready. You weren’t very fashion forward and often opted for a simple look. You threw on a black a-line dress that had ruffled tulle down the middle. It was something your stylist helped pick out when you first started going to events and it quickly became one of your favorites. You opted for a bit of dark purple shimmer on your eyes and a small winged liner. After doing a quick touch up on your brows and throwing on a layer of mascara you were done, shying away from the full beat that Stacy was currently applying to herself. 

You were scrolling through instagram when your mind wandered to Pedro again. Before you could even think twice about it, your fingers were flying to the search bar and typing in his user name. Last night after you saw his comment, you were tempted to take a peek at his page but you knew it would keep you up all night. You didn’t have to scroll far into his page for your heart to start racing. There was a short gif-like video of him in his costume for Gladiator, twirling a sword around. You’re not sure how long you were staring at it, watching it, but you snapped out of your daze due to a loud noise that came from the bathroom. You feel something trickle down your chin and move your hand up to wipe it. Drool. You close the app and lock your phone in shame. You can’t believe you were actually drooling over an eight second video of Pedro. God you were pathetic. 

“Sorry about that, I dropped my blush and it went all over the place.” Stacy says as she exits the bathroom wearing a floor length dark red gown. “You ready to head out?” She asks, slipping on a pair of black heels. You nod and do the same. You both take a moment to look at yourselves in the large mirror that covers most of the hallway wall. 

“Mhm, we look good as fuck.” She licks her finger and makes a sizzle sound as she places the wet finger on the curve of her butt. You giggle and grab your phone from the entryway table. “Let’s take a pic for insta.” You say excitedly. You both pick a pose and you snap the picture, posting it on your story with a simple caption: ‘dinner time 😋’. 

One of the things you adored about Stacy is that she didn’t care about your status in the world outside of her job. She let you enjoy the simple things in life when it was possible. When you wanted to uber or take a taxi, she never complained. You got tired of always taking private cars when it wasn’t necessary, you craved normality. The uber ride to the restaurant was a quiet one, each of you staring out of your respected window, soaking in the reality of being in London. 

The restaurant was gorgeous with high painted ceilings resembling the ones found in the Sistine Chapel and you now understood why this place was so booked. Outside of the beautiful interior, the service and drinks were phenomenal. As the waiter was walking away from taking your food order, you sipped on a perfectly sweet martini. Stacy and yourself were making light conversation about a meeting you had with a brand when her eyes caught onto something behind you. 

“You’re not gonna believe who is walking over here right now.” Stacy says with a hint of mischief in her eyes. Before you can question her, there’s a familiar voice behind you. 

“Good Evening ladies.” There’s a warm hand on your bare shoulder and when you look up, Pedro is already looking down at you. 

“Hi Pedro, it’s funny running into you again.. or rather you running into me, I should say.” You joke and move a hand to meet him on your shoulder for a moment before both hands return to their person. “Oh! Pedro, this is Stacy, my assistant slash best friend.” You look over to Stacy for a moment. 

“Hi. It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you recently.” Stacy says while shaking Pedro’s hand. If looks could kill, the one you were giving Stacy would have made her explode. 

“Oh, have you now?” Pedro glances down at you and lets out a small chuckle. “It’s nice meeting you as well.” There’s a brief pause in conversation. 

“You know, I’m kinda offended that you just now followed me on instagram and not when we first met.” You regret your words as soon as you say them but your mouth always works faster than your brain. It earns a small laugh. 

“Hm, I should have then. Guess I just didn’t wanna step on anyone’s toes darlin’.” You want to ask him what he means but he’s already speaking again before you get the chance to. “Well, I should get out of your hair. I recognized your dress and wanted to come say hi. It was really nice seeing you again…again.” He laughs after adding the second again, joking about the fact he said the exact same thing to you just over 24 hours ago. You blush. 

“It was nice seeing you again…again as well.” You add, letting your own laugh slip out. He gives Stacy and yourself a small ‘bye’ before returning to his table. Once he’s out of earshot, Stacy is quick to burst out laughing. 

“He’s so fucking into you. God…I mean he said he memorized your dress from your 15 second long story for fucks sake.” The tables close by give her a few rude looks from her outburst but you could care less, the realization of Stacy’s words settling in. 

The rest of the dinner was very tame, the food was good and you felt woozy from the martinis you’d been downing. Stacy let you know half way through the dinner that she had a perfect view of Pedro from her seat and that he kept glancing over every few minutes. It made you giddy to think that he might have been looking at you and if you begged Stacy to trade seats, that’s nobody's business. 

When you got back to the hotel, you immediately stripped from your heels and dress. Laying in bed, you opened instagram one more time and scrolled through all the likes on the story. As you scrolled nothing really caught your eye until you saw that username and the words from earlier rang in your ear. 

“I recognized your dress and wanted to come say hi.”

You got up and went across the hallways towards Stacy’s room door in your shared hotel suite. You knock softly. 

“Hey Stacy…” Your voice is shy, feeling bad about disturbing her so late. 

“What’s up babe?” She’s leaning back on a mountain of pillows as she scrolls on her phone and eats a bag of chips. You lean into the doorframe. 

“What do you think Pedro meant when he said he didn’t follow me because he didn’t wanna step on anyone’s toes?” You had a feeling you knew what he meant but you needed a second opinion before you spiraled. Stacy smiles and laughs a bit. 

“Hugh, babe. He didn’t follow you because of Hugh. He didn’t wanna feel like a threat to your relationship.”

thank you for reading! feel free to leave feedback in a comment, private message, or in my ask box!

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*pls comment on series masterlist comment section to be added to taglist. comments on this post will not be added!*

[kizusof]

He’s willing to do so much for you yet you’re out of touch, someone who he can’t easily grab and take as his. Has he become greedy?

He wants you, he needs you. He yearns for your touch, your smile, your existence. You are tearing him apart. You weren’t something he planned on falling for, you became a distraction to him.

He’s sick, love is incurable. He can only ever stare from afar, and he is not afraid. He will stare at you for days and you’ll never realize, cause you will never look at him. To you, he doesn’t even exist.

And he drives from that. the unrequited feeling keeps him going because it reminds him, he’s still human. Love is a normal human feeling that cannot be helped, he is satisfied with how you make him feel. He hasn’t reached insanity yet.

[alltimecharlo]

can you do a mic’d up mack fic where the editors are complaining about the limited content they have because most of it is him gushing over plays will makes or how good he looks

anon!!! when i read this i instantly knew it would be sooo fun to play around with hehe — thank you!! fic under the cut :)🩵🩵

Maggie’s been editing player mic’d up footage for three seasons now, and she’s seen a lot. Mario Ferraro chirping toddlers from the bench. Klim Kostin making up new swear words in Russian. Logan Couture once humming Taylor Swift into a hot mic during warmups.

But nothing—nothing—could’ve prepared her for Mic’d Up: Macklin Celebrini Edition.

She drags the slider across the Premiere timeline and scrubs through the next clip, brow furrowed.

“Mack, please,” she mutters, clicking her pen against her teeth. “Say literally anything that isn’t about Will.”

“Who’s the subject?” Max calls from across the office, not looking up from his laptop.

“Celebrini.”

“Oof,” he says, wincing. “That the one from last week?”

“Yeah.”

Max swivels his chair to face her. “Let me guess—thirty minutes of soft Will Smith commentary and zero usable chirps?”

“Thirty-eight,” Maggie says, dragging a hand down her face. “I’ve listened to thirty-eight minutes of Mack being, like, clinically in love.”

She taps her spacebar and the video rolls.

There’s a clip from warmups. Mack’s skating slow laps with his helmet tipped back and a goofy little smile on his face. “God, Will’s hands are so nasty,” he says to no one, breathless admiration in his voice. “Did you see that drag move he did last game? Jeez. He’s, like—he’s the real deal.”

The camera catches Will in the background, stretching by the boards.

“Look at him,” Mack says, almost dreamily. “Just look at him.”

The video cuts to black.

Maggie throws her head back and groans.

Max cackles. “Is this our next Mic’d Up Monday or a slow-burn rom-com?”

“I can’t use this,” she says, gesturing helplessly at the screen. “The fans want chirps. Banter. Dumb locker room jokes. Not—whatever this is.”

“Love confession?”

“Obsession,” she mutters. “It’s not even subtle. Listen to this one.”

She skips ahead.

They’re mid-warm ups now. Mack’s voice crackles through the mic. “Hey, hey—did you guys see Will’s goal from last night?” he’s saying. “The one off the rush? That edgework was insane.”

Someone chirps back, “Dude, you’re obsessed.”

“I’m not, I just—I appreciate greatness,” Mack says quickly. “Shut up.”

Another player laughs. “You wanna kiss him so bad, bro.”

“Shut up.”

Maggie pauses the tape.

Max wheezes. “Okay, but like. Is he wrong?”

“No,” she says miserably. “But we’re not an HBO drama. We’re the Sharks social team.”

Max leans back in his chair. “You think he even knows he’s doing it?”

She rewinds a few frames and lets it play again.

This time, Mack’s leaning over the bench between drills, eyes locked on Will at center ice. “God, even his skating stride is hot,” he mutters, so low it’s almost lost under the wind.

Maggie slaps her desk.

“Okay!” she says. “No. No. We’re cutting it all. I can’t be the reason Celebrini accidentally soft-launches a full-blown crush on his fellow rookie heartthrob.”

“You don’t think the fans would like it?”

“I think the fans would implode.”

Max grins. “So let them.”

Maggie glances back at the screen. Will’s laughing at something off camera. Mack—still mic’d—sighs softly and says, “Man, Smitty’s got the best smile.”

It’s so quiet. So genuine.

Maggie’s chest does a stupid little lurch.

“God damn it,” she mutters. “I’m keeping that one.”

⸻

The final edit of Mic’d Up Monday: Macklin Celebrini drops two days later.

It’s only ninety seconds long.

It features:

- One (1) “Let’s go, boys” during a rush

- Two (2) moments of Mack complimenting a nice pass by Toffoli

- And one (1) completely unprompted quote:

“You know when someone’s just meant to be on the ice? That’s Will.”

It’s the last line in the video. The camera cuts to Will grinning over at Mack, returning his grin unknowingly.

The TikTok comments are a bloodbath.

@hockeypuckzz: MACKLIN. BE SERIOUS.

@smittenforsmith: this is not a mic’d up. this is a LOVE LETTER.

@sharkswife: if my teammate said this about me i would simply marry him on the bench

@macklinsjawline: i’m sorry you want me to believe this is heterosexual???

@captainwsh: “meant to be on the ice” bro just say you’re in love and go

Maggie sees the comment count, sighs, and starts a new folder.

PROJECT: “Macklin Celebrini Soft Launch (Extended Cut).”

♡

[thewebcomicsreview]

I know you've consigned sinfest to the dustbin of irrelevance but the latest arc is so mask off about his feelings regarding porn and woman. It's weird. It's so open and out there about his whole madonna/whore issues but he doesn't attempt to even address it. His whole ass is on display and i don't know if he's even aware.

I suppose I appreciate that he’s taking a break from the racist caricatures, even if the Wojak Popemen are tremendously lazy an-

Is that the Nostalgia Critic?

Anyway, while this story is stupid and offensive it’s at least Tats’ own bizarre hangups again and not warmed over /pol/ memes. I guess he needed his own brand of insanity to fill the gap of 4chan going down, but that makes this storyline useful in that it’s maybe the clearest window into what’s left of Tat’s mind.

So, Snow White is tricked into eating an apple. This makes her “love the stranger” and not be hateful, which is presented as a bad thing.

Specifically because she’s kind to “creepy” animals, which the name of the strip makes clear are a metaphor for nonwhite people. There was a long time where I thought “Tatsuya Ishida” was a pen name and he was a white dude IRL, like marvel contemporary “Akira Yoshida”. Some research revealed that he was using the name Tatsuya Ishida for his college strips so I figured that was his real name because no way was he that committed to the bit. But there are times when I wonder, man.

But anyway, Snow White is a Pure White Wahmen who’s been converted to being liberal/leftist by an evil queen. Who is a trans woman. Which you might go “Obviously” over except remember that Tats hates Jews now and considers them in charge of everyone else he doesn’t like. But here with Snow White trans women are back as the main Thing Tats Hates, which is certainly interesting.

Prince Charming sets out to rescue her and is constantly distracted by various racist things happening by. Also Tats hates Trump this week.

Or, sorry, Drumpf, which is a nickname resist libs gave Trump in 2017 that’s so tired that the guy who came up with it publicly apologized. I’ve seen /pol/ types refer to Trump as “Drumpf” when mocking liberals (as in “This’ll get Drumpf for sure guys” sarcasm) so it’s’ kind of bizarre that Tats is using it unironically as an insulting nickname here.

Charming finds that Snow White is a lib now and calls her a slut for it.

Which makes this Snake imagery very Eyes Emoji, but moving on

Prince Charming saves Snow White from being an eGirl, and a bunch of other women are like “Hey we are also being sexually oppressed help a bitch out?” and he heroically refuses because he can care about exactly his women and zero others. Given how Sinfest’s descent started with him become a Radical Feminist who hated porn (and that was his only feminist belief), this is kind of a wild shift.

But on the way home the Prince suddenly gets horny for a second. Religion shows up so that Tats can be mad about them for a bit.

Then the prince escapes through a vagina-shaped portal (symbolism protip: A man literally entering a vagina is possibly a metaphor for sex!), but when he gets back Snow White is still and eGirl and he’s still horny for her. He tries to stop being horny, but that is also bad apparently.

Not quite aligning the top and bottom text of your meme? Veeeery naughty!

Finally, they collapse into failure, surrounded by snakes which, remember, are penises here.

So, what can we divine from this? First off that Tat’s worldview is incredibly bleak. That’s not news, really, but I’m increasingly worried he’s going to shoot someone for real. This is such a dark place to be in, mentally.

It’s also, perhaps, as close as we’ll get to an origin story for Tat’s weird turns. It’s been speculated for years that Tats had a girlfriend who got him into the radfem stuff, and there’s been all sorts of wild speculation that she left him for a trans woman or something but I think this is the actual story, albeit through Tat’s warped and self-serving retelling. Here’s my theory:

Tatsuya Ishida had a girlfriend. She was very left-wing, and also didn’t like pornography. Tats glommed onto the porn connection since that was a long-standing bugaboo of his own, and made that his personality for a few years. Then Tats started getting really right-wing and the girlfriend didn’t like it and they broke up (this might be before the anti-trans turn in 2019) and he never got over it and then Covid happened and he was a conservative old dude in a bad mental place during Covid and went down the same facebook rabbit hole all our collective dads did. He tried to fill the hole in his heart with right-wing boomer 4chan memes and the spark of joy that gave him is burning out and the comic’s becoming more aimless (to the extent “hate” is an aim). Wouldn’t be shocked if he made another weird-ass political shift soon that seems left-field but in retrospect is obvious. Maybe he’ll be a “wellness” crank next and start tanning his balls.

[rapunzellovesbooks]

Okay, I am going to write something that has legit been running through my mind for weeks now. You can like it or not, but this is my opinion of the whole situation and this is coming from someone who, yes, would love it if Nicola and Luke eventually became a couple but who also is very tired of the unnecessary drama. I lowkey hate what I have become over two people who have done nothing and I mean NOTHING wrong.

So, we all saw the world tour, we all have seen BGT, we all can safely say Luke and Nicola have insane levels of chemistry in and out of the show. That is not something solely shippers have said, critics, reviewers have said it, their friends have and so have the people themselves. You can have chemistry with someone and not be dating them, otherwise no show or movie would ever get made. We can say chemistry is there, period. While I do think that Luke and Nicola always behave like what I consider to be simply bestie behaviour, I am also very aware that I have no idea how I would behave with someone I shared this filming experience with, had shared intimate scenes with and was travelling the world with. They were each other´s people during that world tour and, yes, they were unhinged. I probably would be too amidst the madness of it all. So maybe their bestie behaviour is different than mine. Everyone ate it up, we all loved it. Some were convinced they were dating and they flat out multiple times denied it, they did. Some people knew Antonia existed and by some I mean folks who have way too much free time and go lurk under tags and posts from family and friends to see if they spot Luke or someone he is hanging out with. Folks who monitor every like, every follow, unfollow, time they are online, etc.

So when people saw her clear on a paparazzi picture, they thought Luke had lied to them, had betrayed them, but you cannot betray someone you owe nothing to. They said he ruined Polin and rushed to Nicola´s defence. And then Jake came along, also on a festival picture not two months after that. And then everything was very different. Jake was the saviour, the one who healed a broken heart. And it bugged me for so long until I understood why people thought this way. And now I see it.

People legit believe that Nicola has only ever had one boyfriend, Jake because he is the one on her instagram, the only one that I am aware of she has ever been photographed with, which makes total sense, since before, no one cared about who Nicola was dating. Even during the world tour, since people assumed she was with Luke, no one looked further. So when Luke did not fill the role people wanted from him, Nicola became a martyr of sorts and anyone who was beside her, a person worth of adoration, while the girl who had "sabotaged" her became the villain of the story. Everyone became a caricature of sorts in the fandom. And the person I feel bad for now is Nicola, because this is what, to me, the whole situation screamed.

You think Nicola waited all her life to simply shoot season 3 with Luke and be with him. A girl "like Nicola" in people´s eyes could only have her co-star as boyfriend. Now, Nicola has had boyfriends before. She has, she said so herself. During season 1 and 2 and 3 maybe. So people being angry at Luke for not dating Nicola after breaking up with Jade annoys me so much because how the hell do you know Nicola was not in a relationship? Can you really only envision a girl like Nicola alone until ONE guy comes along? And I mean this because so many people then commented, "oh, we all knew he would never be with a girl like Nicola". The fuck does that even mean?! Nicola is gorgeous and Jake is not a saint for being the guy she is dating, he is not. He can be whatever he wants to be but a man does not get to be the greatest thing since toast simply for dating a woman who is not skinny nor is a man a devil for dating a woman who is skinny.

Everyone created their stupid timelines but you failed to see that there are a thousand things, people and meetings in Luke and Nicola´s lives that you will never know about. It is very possible Nicola was dating someone before the WT and during (she had already met Jake) and Luke as well. We know this. So, no, Polin is not ruined because if the requirement for Polin was both leads being single then you would not have loved the Polin that you already have, one where both leads were in relationships with others but still remained the actors, besties that we know and love. I admit that I do not understand them most times when they interact as if that is normal bestie behaviour but that is on me.

So, no, there is no feud or beef because, why would there be one? They know each other, no one duped or sabotaged anyone. You just simply believed Nicola and her body type was only ever good enough for one person and one person only and when that person did not do what you wanted all hell broke lose. You say you defend her and you are happy for her but that includes, in my opinion, the notion that you thought she was sad before. Why? For all we know she could have had a million boyfriends and lived her best life all this time and we never knew.

There was never a conspiracy, no one lied to you. You dont have to like that they have a bf and gf, I dont, but I can also simply go watch BGT season 3 and be done with it. I dont have to analyse the new Luke and A pictures or leave nasty comments under Jake´s posts, I do not. I can ship them because, in my mind, they are Colin and Pen while also being very VERY aware that they are not. I want to go back to a sense of normalcy because this is stupid. It just is and it is insulting to two people who have, honestly, been more than patient, more than kind with this nonsense.

In conclusion, the reason I believe so many people lunged at Luke is because they saw and still see Nicola as someone who can only have one man because she has a different body type. So many people get mad at Antonia for simply being skinny and it makes no sense to me. None, at all. Maybe Luke tried to be with Nicola and she was unavailable, maybe everyone is only happy in pictures, or maybe not. Maybe it is none of our business and it never should have been in the first place. We are all curious and noisy people, but man, it is more than time to tone it down by a thousand.