#This was WAY TOO FUN to write

[spockfallsinlove]

spirk prompt request: a moment on the bridge or at dinner with the bridge crew where Spock says something off handedly (like maybe Jim mentions having misplaced something and without hesitating Spock tells him it's on his nightstand) that subtly reveals to everyone the level of intimacy between Spock and Jim, with a focus on everyone's reactions. thank you!!

"It's not like I tried to provoke a potential galactic war!" Jim protests as he spears a piece of fried chicken off his plate. "It was a woefully inadequate translation."

"But somehow, those kinds of things only seem to happen to you," Bones shoots back. He glares at Jim's plate. "And I told you to have the chicken."

"I am having the chicken."

"The grilled one, you intentionally obtuse man. Your blood pressure—" Bones starts, face already red with an impending lecture on Jim's health.

"So Spock," Jim cuts in, turning to his First Officer. "How did things fare on the bridge while I was away?"

"Quiet, Captain," Spock says with a dainty swipe of napkin across his lips. "I believe Uhura has some interesting communications she picked up while we were stationed," he adds, nodding to her. (She's sitting across from Jim, also having the fried chicken, but no one's yelling at her about it.)

"It's just a few snatches I managed to translate," Uhura says, handing a PADD to Jim over the plates. "And you should really have asked me to do the translations for this mission. Starfleet HQ means well, but they do tend to hire linguists fresh out of the academy."

"I'll never stray again," Jim promises, setting the PADD down in front of him. He pulls up the document in question and begins to read Uhura's notes. Spock, next to him, bends his head down as well, their temples nearly touching as he reads in tandem. The rest of the bridge crew turns back to their usual lunchtime chatter, the hum of the mess room buzzing around Spock and Jim as they read.

"I can't make any sense of this," Jim murmurs.

Spock nods. "Further analysis will be required."

"Could make a great bedtime story," Jim says, grinning at his First Officer. "Better than that math nonsense you always insist on reading to me."

Bones, across from Jim, drops his fork onto the plate midair. His wide eyes dart between Jim and Spock. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't get me started," Jim emphatically sighs, leaning back in the chair and waving off Spock's attempt to speak, pitching his voice even louder. "No, don't try to defend yourself, mister. Every night I put up with that nonsense. No one needs to read twenty different arguments on the Pythagorean theorem, much less talk about it, while the poor sap next to you who understands none of it is just trying to sleep and—What?" Jim finally looks at Spock, who has a panicked look on his face. "What's wrong, Spock?"

He realizes too late that the mess room has gone quiet. At least twenty pairs of eyes are staring him down. Uhura has a hand over her mouth, a huge smile hidden behind it. Sulu's jaw has dropped. Bones looks redder in the face than he ever has. Scotty is very intentionally not giving anybody, much less his senior officers, eye contact.

"Oh," Jim says, stupidly, and a little belatedly. He turns to Spock, giving him a bashful grin. "I think this means that you've won the bet, my dear."

There's a smile dancing behind Spock's eyes. He pushes his knee into Jim's under the table; a small but powerful gesture as far as Vulcan standards are concerned. "Two weeks," he says, soft and low. "You have kept the secret longer than I expected."

Jim shrugs, rolling his eyes at himself, before going back to eating. At least he wouldn't have to work so hard mincing his words anymore. "Well, go ahead," he says to the twenty pairs of eyes on him, waving a hand. "Have at it."

Another blissfully peaceful, silent moment passes before the mess hall breaks into a cacophony of cheers, exclamations, and one Southern-tinged horrified wail rising above the rest.

[tonberry-yoda]

Angsty Kaku fic???

notes - hi :) i really like one piece :) and i wanted to get out a lil angsty Kaku fic, so here :) GOD I LOVED WRITING THIS!!! <333 I hope my Kaku simps enjoy! Have a good night everyone :)

word count - 504

Your heart felt like it had shattered into a bazillion little pieces. Why would he do this to you?

For five years, you knew Kaku as the reliable shipwright who wouldn't hurt a fly. People looked up to him and all smiled when they saw him soar over town to go fix another ship. He was welcoming, silly, and never failed to have a smile on his face.

And for five years, he was your everything.

Were those picnics fake? Were those long walks around Water 7 a lie? When he kissed you, was it all just a big scam?

When you heard that he was working for the World Government and wanted nothing more than to hurt new friends that you had made, you felt destroyed. The man you had trusted for years, the man who would come home and fall into your arms after a long day, the man you fell in love with, was nothing more than a ruse.

“What the fuck, Kaku?!” you exclaimed when you finally got to see the sorry excuse that called himself your boyfriend. You didn't care if you had a sprained ankle and were covered in blood and dirt – you were too pissed off to care.

“y/n, look, I–” Kaku put his hands up in defense and fell to the ground as you slapped the absolute shit out of his face.

“I don't want to hear an excuse, Kaku! Five years. Five fucking years!���

“y/n,” Kaku rubbed his cheek that was now turning red and started stinging real bad. “I didn't want to hurt you. I just–”

“Stop talking, Kaku!” Your eyes were burning from the red hot tears that began flowing down your cheeks, and you could barely see Kaku past the blur.

“y/n,” he walked to you slowly at first and you began to feel your knees buckle. You guessed all of that damage done to you was finally kicking in. As you nearly fell to the ground, Kaku caught you in his arms before slowly bringing you down to the ground, sitting next to your weak body.

You managed to sit yourself up slightly, leaning on Kaku’s shoulder. “Why did you do it?” you whispered, choking on your own tears.

“I've always been this way.”

“No, why did you lie?”

“I didn't lie,” he sighed. “I just never told you.”

You both sat in silence for a moment, just listening to the chaos right outside of the doors of Enies Lobby, neither of you knowing what to say.

Five long years of this stupid thing you called a fling. Even after the bastard lied, you couldn't help but love him.

“I know you’re going to be mad for a long time, y/n,” Kaku said, kissing the top of your head and standing up. “But I'm going to love you for even longer.”

Before you could even respond, he left, and you didn't even care. You knew you were going to see him again soon, that much was obvious.

~~~~~

one piece masterlist | pinned post

2023 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated

~~~~~

[bayoubodycount]

Title: The Limit

Rated: E

Word count: 1.6k

Ships: Loustat, Devil's Minion, Armandstat, DanLou- or is it?

Characters: Lestat, Armand, Louis, Daniel

Warnings: none

Tags: Night Island era, relationships on the rocks again, pissed off Daniel & Louis, Lesmand bromance, something's off, Armand in drag, Nirvana nightclub, sex club, Armand's bright idea to revenge fuck, Lestat isn't wholly unopposed, Anything Goes room, anal sex sort of, Deadpool references, this does not end the way you think

Summary: During the Night Island era, Lestat and Armand are on the outs yet again, with Louis and Daniel. When given the proverbial hand for their latest attempts to make amends, they decide to test everyone's limits to force open the lines of communication, and end up learning some of their own.

@vampirefest

This is for Kinktober Day 8: Hate Sex

[huntingrays]

pjo prompt: percy and jason have to go on a quest together, so they both decide to bring their respective partners (annabeth and leo). during the quest, they get kidnapped by monsters and percy and jason wake up in an arena. the monsters explain that they have their partners and in order to save them, they have to fight to the death, with the winner getting to leave alive with their partner, while the other is killed. however, the monsters are very shocked when percy and jason sit down and start calmly playing cards with each other. they’re not worried about their partners. instead, they’re worried for the monsters. they trapped annabeth and leo together, two of the smartest demigods. the girl who redesigned olympus and the boy who built a warship in six months. they were toast.

[wardingshout]

Zelda goes mushroom girl

[bacchuschucklefuck]

they tried to rebrand as The Criminals but riz is literally the city council's treasurer and also turns out people in their late 20s don't really name their friend groups. so now they're The Intrepid Heroes

[gammija]

tiefling jon's first day at the Archives

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

whenever i feel the need to write poetry I stay up way too late and watch at least 10 scishow videos and I'm good to go

[zombie-bait]

Full Moon

Ok so I don’t normally post about Helluva Boss but the newest episode touched on an interesting concept I haven’t necessarily seen represented in media. Back when I was on Twitter (derogatory) a few years ago there was this now deleted viral thread where someone discussed how their struggles with mental health affected their relationship with their partner and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. 

This is such a good, short example of how anxiety and depression can play tricks on you. It becomes so easy to envision yourself as a nuisance, a constant burden to those closest to you because they cannot possibly genuinely enjoy your company, right? But in doing so you create this arbitrarily cruel version of the people you love, people who would otherwise never behave like this outside of your own mind.

It's mean. Because your mind wants to be mean to you under these circumstances. It wants to put everyone else's emotions and desires above yours, both in worthiness and validity. And that starts bleeding into your understanding of other people, especially those you care about.

Now. Helluva Boss.

"Can I get a fucking MINUTE to think after everything you put me through you pompous rich ASSHOLE? Treat me like one of your little butler imps, you can’t just dismiss me like that! I mean, you royal fucks think you can do this every time, like you can just play with our feelings because we’re smaller and not as important. Well I’m not letting you, BITCH! Let’s go!" - Blitz

I find it really interesting how Helluva Boss decided to approach this conflict between Stolas and Blitz. Obviously, the difference in power matters. It's the underlying tension of their entire relationship and their lives. Stolas is burdened by the mountain of expectations thrust upon him from a very young age while Blitz is constantly reminded that he can NEVER be part of that world, that he is "smaller and not as important" not just in Hell's hierarchy but in his own life and family. Stolas very literally has power over Blitz (through the grimoire, the arrangement, his position in society) and Blitz uses their relationship as an excuse to reverse those roles. But that power dynamic, in one form or another, never truly goes away. And for Blitz, it's a lot easier to paint Stolas as this manipulative symbol of power and himself as nothing more than Stolas' plaything. It's easier to be angry than to be vulnerable and accept that someone might care about him.

"Dismiss" is the keyword in that quote. All that Blitz has been able to process is that Stolas has decided to end the relationship that they have. He feels ls like a choice has been taken away from him so he lashes out because he's not ready to emotionally tackle what the rest of Stolas' offer might entail. If Stolas hates him, just wants to play with him, then he is justified in his anger, his self-destruction, his isolation. If the world is mean, you're "allowed" to be mean back.

But

In that moment he forgets that Stolas is someone he actually cares about. Someone he's known for way too long and clearly wants to keep in his life, no matter how reluctant he can be to admit it. Someone who is not innately cruel or manipulative but sad and desperate for connections in a lot of the same ways that Blitz is. And Blitz immediately sees that he's miscalculated something.

Somewhere along the way the fictional version of Stolas that he's allowed himself to be mad at and the real one that he's not ready to admit he cares about have merged into something real that he has actual power over. Stolas can get hurt and Blitz can be the one who does it. He has once again allowed his greatest fears (which Stolas so frequently symbolizes) to co-opt his loved ones, to give him an "out" even though he didn't actually want one in the first place.

I'm definitely not the first person to say this but I think this is an example of the miscommunication trope done right. Their individual struggles are what cause them to be unable to connect during this conversation or to even have a proper conversation in the first place. There is no convenient misunderstanding or third party fabricating this rift. Both of them have preconceived ideas of what the other one is thinking but those ideas are flawed and rooted in self-hatred. They also both shutdown in their unique ways when the conversation starts heading in the direction they'd feared it would.

Blitz and Stolas work because they're both fucked up in similar ways, because they want similar things. That's the same reason why they're uniquely designed to hurt one another. A fear of rejection and a yearning for happiness. To borrow a quote that has been used by literally everyone from Spiderman to Evangelical preachers, "hurt people hurt people."

anyway, I really liked this episode.

(twitter thread screenshots sourced from this reddit post)

[waddles-ex-machina]

some more comic panels I liked :>

[kaorusan241]

Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader | Audio Scenarios

og screenshot: @rimaeternax All the slang is accurate for the time period (if a little rude, hah)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Get Souped!

[lemongogo]

they should get to kill each other at least twice .i think

[willowser]

not to be so disgusting and gross about gojo on the dash but i think he's such a flirty, teasing idiot that, when you show him genuine and true affection, he goes all somber and quiet.

like you come up to him after dinner and stand on your tip-toes and hug him for no reason, give him a fat kiss on the cheek for no reason, and he just — lets you. doesn't say anything, just kind of hums and lightly places his hands on your hips, so gently you might not even know they're there. you tell him, "i love you, thank you for eating with me," and he presses his mouth to the top of your head, lips squished, and says it back, but there's no jokes, no teasing remarks. he just allows himself to be weak and to bask in it, for as long as he can.

[diyasgarden]

merry christmas, please don’t come

“Oh, golden boy, you shined a light on our home and at your best you were magic we were sold. But don't tell 'em what you told me. Don't even tell 'em that you know me.I would rather burn forever”

from “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call” by the Bleachers

“What do you mean Patrick isn’t coming?”

Art doesn’t know how many times they’ve had this conversation. (He stopped keeping track after the fifth time)

Memory loss, a dwindling attention span, and blanking. All problems the doctors said his grandmother would struggle with after her stroke. He’d expected difficulties with remembering her routine or where she was. Even the people around her. General things, he could walk her through. Not something so specific. And frankly, considering all the things she could forget, this feels like a cruel joke.

He lets out a steady exhale, stepping closer to where his grandmother stands by the small fir covered in lights, tinsel, and other markers of the Christmas season. Sebastian, the old tabby, is nuzzled right by where his grandmother placed the small, wrapped box under the tree, looking up at him with a cautious gaze.

“He isn’t able to come this year,” Art repeats, reaching to the home-made popsicle candy cane ornament hanging at arm’s length on the tree. It was the decoration he made with Patrick when he came to visit Christmas in 2000 — the first of a long line of ornaments they’d make together for the holiday. 

His grandmother lets out a gentle, albeit unbelieving scoff as she shakes her head. “He always comes,” she remarks, a blatant dismissal of Art’s words. 

His thumb rubs aimlessly over the painted birchwood decoration, as he looks back at her with a tentative gaze. She wasn’t wrong, Patrick would always come for the holiday. After spending Hanukkah with his folks, he’d fly out to the midwest by the twenty-fourth and spend the rest of winter break with him. “For a proper Christmas experience” he’d tease, although Art knew that he just didn’t want to be at home.

Now it’s the twenty-third and he was nowhere in sight. 

“Well he isn’t this year, grandma,” Art sighs, eyes quickly darting back to the tree. The ornaments he made with Patrick are there on nearly every other branch. His thumb presses down harder on the candy-cane popsicle, continuing it's steady back and forth motion, as his eyes jump from one decoration to the next.

Her eyebrows knit and she looks down to the present she placed for Patrick, Art’s gaze trailing behind her’s. In smooth, cursive black sharpie, the word “Pat” is written on top of the metallic red wrapping paper. It's small enough that Art can’t figure out what it is, but its presence may as well take up the whole room. 

“Did he say why?” she suddenly asks, instantly looking back up to him. 

The question is ironic. As if Patrick had any say in the decision. As if he chose not to come. Really Art should just say "he isn't welcome here" and move on. But that's an over simplification in itself.

Art turns his head up to her and settles with: “He’s busy.” 

t wasn’t a lie. The last time he checked, Patrick was somewhere in the Mediterranean, probably trying his luck with the European tour. Or at least that’s what Art gathered from Patrick’s recent facebook posts. (He allowed himself a peek every once in a while to keep his curiosity at bay)

His grandma takes in a soft inhale, looking back down at the present. Sebastian moves away from the box to rub against her leg with a purr, and she looks down at the cat, before shrugging. “We’ll keep it in case he comes.” 

He supposed the danger of going no-contact with Patrick meant that his old friend really had no way of knowing what Art expected.

And Patrick always had a tendency to see what he wanted.

we'll keep it in case he comes

Suddenly, Art feels a sharp poke in his hand, and he turns back to where his finger holds the popsicle stick decoration to see a splinter in his thumb.

He stares at it for a moment and then yanks the decoration off the tree.

It’s around midnight when he goes to properly handle the decorations.

He tip-toes down the stairs, cautious to avoid Sebastian on the railing who is already looking at him with an accusatory gaze. If it wasn't for the cat's general hatred of him, he'd assume it knew exactly what he is about to do. When he walks to the kitchen to grab a trash bag, he can hear the cat hiss. Drawing out an eye roll as he creeps towards the tree in the living room.

The place is only illuminated by the yellow-toned string of lights on the tree, and he just stands there, taking in all the ornaments he is about to take down. 

Some wash pin-figures

Couple of snow globe bulbs

Many paper snowflakes. 

And the candy cane popsicles.  

He lets out a deep exhale before quietly pulling each decoration from the tree and placing it gently into the trash bag. He moves quietly and focuses his eyes on the motions of his hands, not allowing himself to look at any ornament longer than he has to. Only Sebastian’s displeased purrs filling the room.

By the time he’s done, his stomach churns at the sight of the tree now mostly decorated by store bought figures, tinsel, and lights. It’s a foreign sight he keeps looking at, up and down, until eventually the little present with the cursive “Pat” written on-top catches his attention. 

The metallic red wrapping of the little box reflects the Christmas tree lights back like a kaleidoscope. Art just stares down at the sight, still unsure of what the present is. 

Hesitantly, he bends to the floor and gingerly reaches for the box, picking it up in a sluggish motion. It fits into the palm of his hand, and makes no noise. There's a certain weight to it that he can’t place. and his thumb deliberately runs against the tape of wrapping paper.

Then with the same sluggish movement from before, he puts it back down underneath the tree. His hands flex against where he holds the trash bag, and he remains on the ground. Eyes tracing the loops of his grandmother's handwriting and the fractured reflections of colored light.

When he eventually pushes himself to go back upstairs, he puts the bag in the back corner of his closet. Tucking it away behind some old duffle bags from his time at the academy before dragging himself to bed.

Patrick posts a photo of a Turkish marketplace on the twenty-fourth. Somewhere in Istanbul. Or Izmir.

Art doesn't really care where.

At least he was right about it being the Mediterranean. 

authors note: this is me fighting the art donaldson hater allegations!! not really sure how i feel about this, but i think of art and patrick everytime i hear this song and knew i had to write a fic based on it for them. although i did change the line for the title, just so it would fit better with the final product. many mixed feelings on this, but i hope you enjoyed it!! tell me what you think!!! and if you want an edit of artrick to this song...check this out!

art credit: from the December 1960 issue of the new yorker

[momowoah]

I could write an essay on Doctor Odyssey and how the fantastical aspect of the ship isn't due to it being the purgatory or a dream but rather linked to the metatextual plot of the show and how the Odyssey is meant to be an in-universe representation of what the show aims to be in our reality, a direct answer to the effects of the COVID pandemic on our world that aims to create an atmosphere of escapism in a medical environment to create hope and happiness while still acknowledging current events. The weekly themes, along with the very goal of the show, are the strongest indicator of a meta narrative, very clearly designed with the show's weekly nature in mind. They wouldn't work as well in a show designed for streaming. Captain Massey himself says the ship is carefully built to show itself as a heaven to its guests, explaining the unrealistic scenarios and vibe of the show, but by focusing on the emergencies that happen on board the show allows the viewers to explore the cracks in that illusion and creates a place in which both serious themes and mindless fun can be equally approached. We see that contrast in 1x06 when the screen cuts from a threesome straight to the suicidal hotline screen; the episode successfully indulges in the hedonism of the cruise ship established early on without detriment to its more serious storyline, which includes one of the best portrayals of panic attacks I've ever seen on tv. Although both concepts are more clearly separated throughout the episode, the cut-off from one to another at the end is jarring, reminding the viewer of how both concepts coexist both in the Odyssey and in real life. As silly as it might be at times, the show isn't mindless, but rather a well-executed reminder that there is light at the end of every tunnel, and that maybe that light comes in the form of a Ryan Murphy network tv show about a throuple solving medical emergencies on a cruise ship.