#and i just think both characters deserve more than that

[kiwriteswords]

I was listening to Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae (it gives me so much Hotch vibes for some reason??? I love it) and I thought it would be the perfect occasion to make a request for your Thirsty Thursday 👀 I don't have much idea but I guess something in the car, maybe a younger reader so we have a lovely age gap and maybe something that goes with the lyrics "I write my name with lipstick on your chest I leave a mark so you know I'm the best" (don't need to be the name writing of course ahah but I love the idea of lipstick stains on his chest)

You're the absolute best and congrats on your 2k btw!! you deserve thousand more 🫶

Fog up the windows in the parking lot [Aaron Hotchner x Age-Gap!Reader] **

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 3k|| AN: Hii! Thank you so much for this request--I still can't believe I was listening to this song when you sent this, haha. Great minds think alike!! I hope you like this (I can't write smut to save my life, but here i am doing a smut day.)

Tags/Warnings: female reader, porn without plot honestly, smut, mdni, unprotected sex, car sex, I am bad at writing smut sorry, horny hotch, sorta brat tamer hotch, age gap, you're hotch's controversially young gf, not specified if reader is BAU (so up to your imagination).

Summary: The one where Aaron Hotchner realizes he goes weak in the knees when he sees how tight his much younger girlfriend's jeans are.

Hotch couldn't help himself today, and it was all because of those jeans you decided to wear. Each time you bent over to grab something off the lower shelves at the grocery store, his heart skipped a beat, his mind filled with thoughts that had no place in the brightly lit aisles of their local market. You were oblivious to the effect you were having on him, focused on checking items off the grocery list, your hips swaying naturally as you moved down the aisles.

It wasn’t just the bending or the swaying; it was every little thing you did. Each time you reached up to grab something from a higher shelf, the way your back arched slightly, Hotch felt a pull deep inside him, a stirring of feelings he hadn't expected to be so strong.

When you both loaded the groceries into the car and then reached into the backseat to grab your purse, your jeans hugging you perfectly, Hotch found his eyes lingering. He was usually more composed than this, more in control, but today, those jeans had him teetering on the edge.

Driving home, he kept stealing glances your way, each look like adding fuel to a fire he was struggling to contain. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tinged with a hint of warning and desire mingled together. "You have no idea what those jeans are doing to me," he confessed, trying to keep his focus on the road but failing miserably.

You turned to look at him, a mischievous sparkle in your eye, fully aware now of the turmoil you were causing. His words, so out of character for the usually stoic and controlled man, only brought a playful smile to your lips.

Hotch knew he was treading uncharted waters, not just with his emotions but with how openly he was expressing them. Despite the teasing from the team, who noticed how much younger you were, and their offhand jokes about him being like a lovestruck teenager, it didn't matter. You brought out a side of him he never knew existed. A side that felt alive, vibrant, and yes, even a bit reckless.

You sighed, looking in your purse for something beside Hotch in the passenger seat. He then all about lost it when you unbuckled your seat belt in the passenger seat and twisted to the back. Your ass was now level with his head, practically drawing him in. He had to keep his eyes on the road--but god dammit. 

The car shifted slightly as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening from the tension. "You're doing this on purpose now," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with a mix of exasperation and barely contained desire.

Playing coy, you didn't respond immediately. Instead, you found your lipstick and settled back into your seat, taking your time to apply it carefully, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. His eyes flicked, catching yours, and you saw a flash of something intense in his gaze.

Hotch stepped on the gas a bit harder than necessary, the slight surge forward a clear indication of his growing impatience and agitation. You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, teasing him further. "You know, you're really sexy when you're all hot and bothered," you pointed out, your tone playful yet sincere.

The remark seemed to hit a nerve, and Hotch took a deep breath, trying to refocus his attention on the road. But it was clear you had effectively distracted him, his mind racing with thoughts he usually kept well under wraps. This side of Hotch, the one that struggled between his composed exterior and the mounting desire you elicited, intrigued you. It was a side of him that came out rarely, and you relished the moments when you could draw it out, loving the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching.

You leaned back in your seat, a mischievous glint in your eye, and teased him, "I have a good idea."

Hotch's response was immediate and a little strained, his voice tight as he focused on the road. "The only idea I have right now is getting home and taking a cold shower." He was half-joking, but the undertone of his voice betrayed his growing frustration and need.

You laughed lightly, enjoying the effect you had on him, but decided to push the envelope a little further. "You know," you started casually as if the thought had just occurred to you, "I've always wanted to have sex in the car."

Hotch paused at that, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He glanced at you briefly, his expression a mix of surprise and contemplation. The rational side of him kicked in almost immediately, listing several reasons why that was not a good idea—safety, legality, the potential for discomfort. But before he could voice any of those thoughts, he felt your hand on his thigh.

Your fingers started caressing him, inching dangerously close to his groin. Each touch sent a jolt through him, scattering his thoughts and straining his control. His grip on the steering wheel tightened again, and he drew in a sharp breath, trying to concentrate on the road while battling the surge of desire your bold move had ignited.

He half sighed, half groaned your name, his voice strained as he tried to concentrate on the road. "That's not—"

But he didn't finish his sentence. The sensation of your fingers, the way you leaned closer to him, your breath on his neck as you whispered just how much you wanted this—all of it was overwhelming. Hotch gripped the steering wheel even tighter, the car speeding along as he battled the surge of desire that you sparked with your daring touch.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the more he thought about your suggestion, the more appealing it seemed. Here he was, a man always in control, always calculated, yet at this moment, driven to the edge by the simple act of your hand on his leg.

"We should... we should at least pull over," he finally conceded, his voice a mix of reluctance and desire, realizing that resisting you completely was a battle he might not want to win today. As he scanned for a secluded spot to park, the thrill of the impending escapade with you sent a jolt of anticipation through him. 

Hotch pulled the car over, the tires crunching softly on the gravel as he turned off into a secluded spot shielded by trees. Without a word, he reached over the console, his movements deliberate, and captured your lips in a rough, hungry kiss. You moaned into his mouth, your lipstick leaving a taste of cherries against his lips, igniting a fire within him that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.

His hands roamed over your body with a sense of urgency and ownership, finally reaching across the console to trace down your legs to those tight jeans that had been torturing him all day. His touch sent shivers up your spine, and you pulled back breathless, meeting his gaze which had darkened with raw desire.

"You’re gonna need to help me peel these off," you suggested with a playful yet sultry tone, motioning towards the backseat, "Maybe back there would be better?"

The idea sent a thrill through Hotch, the tightness in his own jeans growing at the thought. His brain buzzed with a cascade of 'what ifs' — what if we get caught? What if someone sees? Yet, the logical side of him was quickly overridden by the sheer desire to be closer to you, to explore this daring side of your relationship.

Hotch's decision was made the moment you suggested moving to the backseat, but as he surveyed the space, he realized there was enough room if he pushed the driver's seat all the way back. The SUV, similar to the one he drove for the FBI, was spacious, but even then, the two of you fit just barely.

You began to wiggle out of your jeans in the passenger seat, and Hotch reached for his belt with urgency. Typically, your intimate moments were full of foreplay, and you both took your time, savoring each other. But today was different—there was a sense of rush, an urgency in the air as he pulled himself from his jeans, his eyes never leaving you.

"Come here," he said in a low, commanding tone that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a direct, uncharacteristically blunt invitation, but it carried all the intensity of your mutual desire. He adjusted himself, making space for you, anticipation etching every line of his face as he awaited you to straddle his lap.

Your eyes went from his to his hand as he began stroking himself with a semi-achingly slow pace that made your eyes widen. He watched you slide your panties down your legs, kicking them to the floor of the car with your jeans and shoes.

The rush, the spontaneity—it all contributed to a thrilling urgency neither of you could deny. As you moved towards him, leaving the constraints of your jeans behind, the tight confines of the SUV seemed to close in, enveloping you both in a private world where only your intertwined desires mattered.

You slid from the passenger seat, the fabric of the car seats whispering beneath you as you maneuvered yourself toward Hotch. The confined space of the SUV made every movement more deliberate, more charged with an electrifying tension. Your heart raced as you reached him; his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that mirrored the pounding of your pulse.

Carefully, you straddled him, positioning yourself over his lap. Hotch's hands immediately found your hips, his grip firm and sure, anchoring you securely against him. The close quarters of the SUV enveloped you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy that amplified each breath, each subtle shift in movement.

His hand moved from your hip to between your legs, spreading you and finding the wetness that waited for him there. He groaned, feeling it; he threw his head back, opening his neck for you to nip at and kiss. You began unbuttoning his button-up, glad he went without the tie today and just the button-up and jeans--a casual look you loved. 

You reached between the two of you and positioned him before swiftly sinking down with a shared groan filling the walls between the two of you. You felt the pads of his fingertips grip your hips again as you began to rock into him, subconsciously clenching around him. 

His hands caressed the curve of your ass, guiding your hips to rock against him. The way he pressed you so firmly down against his hips had the right amount of pressure on your clit, causing you to roll your eyes in pleasure. 

His hands spread up your sides on your still-clothed top. Through your shirt, he grabbed at your breasts roughly before returning to your ass. 

Hotch got a little rougher, meeting your hips rand ocking against his with a thrust beneath you. You could feel him deep within you. Caught in your throat was a moan, but the pleasure was too immense--too good. 

“You have no idea what you were doing to me today in those jeans,” Hotch panted, his lips finding the crook between your shoulder and your neck as he began to meet you thrust for thrust--so deep, so good--so much. 

“Oh,” You squeaked, “I have an idea.” You laughed, breathlessly. 

“Fucking,” Thrust, “Brat.” The sound of your hips smacking. Your thighs sweaty now against him, and your wetness now audible. 

“You love it,” You breathed, your lips going down to his chest now, kissing him and leaving marks of your lips from your lipstick, stained across his chest. 

“Yes,” He thrusted again, sharper now, but the rhythm beginning to falter. “You better hurry up and come,” he said breathlessly. You clenched around him with a glint in your eyes, “I’m serious.” 

Reaching between the two of you, you began working your clit with a circular rhythm that was old faithful in any situation. Hotch’s eyes squeezed shut then open, continuing to meet you. There was a found tempo from the way your fingers circled your clit and the way his hips met yours.

You felt the coil begin to tighten as your orgasm approached. Your thighs began to shake and you threw your head back. Hotch’s fingers bruising your hips continued with each deep thrust. Over and over and over. Just right. 

You came with a gasp, which was then covered by Hotch’s lips kissing you. His hips beginning to lose control as his own orgasm left him. You felt him empty within you, only adding to the sensitivity you felt deep within you. His hips stuttered against you, resting, but your thighs still shaking against him. As if to hold you into place, his hand rested at the small of your back, settleing you. 

A groan left his lips into your mouth, and the two of you slowed with lethargy. As the intensity of the moment ebbed, Hotch's hands gently caressed your skin, soothing and tender in their touch. The two of you were left sweaty and breathless, the aftermath of your passion palpable in the close, humid air of the SUV. His hands moved slowly, tracing patterns across your back and shoulders, each stroke helping to ground you both as you came down from your highs.

The small space of the car, which just moments ago had felt electrifying and exhilarating, now seemed overly warm and confining. As you both caught your breath, the reality of the situation gently settled in—a mixture of amusement and affection hanging between you.

"We definitely need a shower," Hotch murmured, a slight grin playing on his lips as he acknowledged the state both of you were in. The thought of continuing this intimacy in the shower brought a soft smile to your face.

"And maybe a detail for the car," you added, laughing softly, the sound mixing with the faint hum of the idling engine. The humor of the situation wasn't lost on you, and Hotch's responding chuckle told you he felt the same.

"So, I take it you liked the jeans?" you asked, a playful note in your voice.

Hotch glanced at you, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes held a glint of mischief mixed with undeniable affection. "I loved them," he admitted, his voice low and enticing. "But for the sake of productivity, maybe never wear them again around me if we actually want to get anything done."

His witty response made you laugh, the sound light and carefree. It was moments like these that deepened your connection, mixing playful banter with the intense chemistry you shared. 

Your fingers trace the outline of your lips marked all along his neck and chest from the now-smeared lipstick you had applied moments before. A mischievous smile spread across your face as you pointed them out. "You know, this might be my favorite look on you now," you said, the playful tone in your voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction.

Hotch raised his eyebrows, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he reached up to feel the marks, his fingers brushing over the spots you indicated. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, appreciative of your boldness and the memory of the moments that led to such disarray.

"Is that so?" he replied, his voice laced with humor and a warmth that reached his eyes. "I suppose it's a good thing we're heading home then. I might need to wear it more often if it gets that kind of approval."

As you watched the fading lipstick marks on his skin, you leaned closer, a teasing gleam in your eyes. "I like marking what's mine," you murmured, tracing a finger lightly over one of the marks, emphasizing your words.

Hotch looked at you, his expression softening into one of deep affection, the playful retort ready on his lips turning into something far more tender. "Sweetheart, you don't need marks to know I am," he replied, his voice gentle yet firm, filled with a sincerity that warmed you through.

You kissed him tenderly there before he patted your bare hip. You smiled against his lips, knowing the two of you had to leave this little intimate cocoon now. “I know, I know,” you sighed against his lips before whimpering, slowly moving off of him, trying not to make an entire mess of his already dirtied car. Hotch groaned, feeling you leave his lap. 

Despite the age gap between you, something about being with you made Hotch feel as though he was losing his innocence all over again; each moment tinged with a freshness and excitement that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. It was a rediscovery, a rejuvenation of spirit in the best way possible, with every laugh, touch, and shared secret making him feel both wonderfully vulnerable and profoundly alive.

He sure hoped you wore those jeans again. 

[criticalcrusherbot]

Compassionate Questioning: A Gentle Push for Antis to Touch Some Grass

By….Human Assistant?? 💁🏽‍♀️🤠

💁🏽‍♀️: Shhhh 🤫 Crushbot is sleeping 🤖😴

Let’s be real—bad-faith critics aren’t interested in genuine debate. No matter how well you explain something, they’re not really listening. Their goal isn’t understanding, it’s winning. But after chatting with a psychologist friend of mine, I’ve started reshaping how I approach these interactions.

So, what if, instead of banging our heads against the wall, we tried two different things?

1. Recognize when someone isn’t actually interested in conversation and stop wasting our breath.

2. Use some empathetic questioning to get them to focus on the real issue: their borderline obsessive hatred of a cartoon about gay demon furries.

Because let’s be honest—most of these arguments aren’t about Helluva Boss itself. They’re about discomfort with its themes, biases against certain character types, or straight-up projection. So let’s break down some common criticisms and respond with some therapist-style questioning to (gently) expose what’s really going on.

1. “Stolas is just an ‘uwu boy’ to excuse his toxic behavior.”

💁🏽‍♀️: “That’s an interesting take! What makes you feel that his vulnerability is being used as an excuse rather than a character trait? Do you think a character can be both flawed and emotionally complex?”

Translation: Are you mad that Stolas has emotions, or are you mad that people like him despite his flaws?

A lot of people act like a sympathetic portrayal = automatic forgiveness, but that’s just not how storytelling works. Maybe the issue isn’t that the show “excuses” Stolas, but that it refuses to dehumanize him for making bad choices.

2. “Blitz doesn’t deserve a redemption arc, he’s awful to everyone.”

💁🏽‍♀️: “What does ‘deserve’ mean to you in this context? Do you think redemption arcs are only for characters who are already likable? If so, how do you feel about villains who get redemption arcs in other media?”

Translation: Are you this mad when other messy, morally gray characters get growth, or is it just Blitz?

People say they want complex characters but balk when those characters aren’t immediately lovable. A redemption arc isn’t about excusing past behavior—it’s about showing how someone changes.

3. “The show focuses too much on romance instead of being a fun comedy.”

💁🏽‍♀️: “That’s fair! Expectations shape how we experience a show. Do you think the issue is that romance exists, or that it’s not executed the way you personally prefer? How do you feel about comedies that mix romance with drama?”

Translation: Is the problem the existence of romance, or that you don’t like the way this show does it?

Helluva Boss has always been planting seeds of character-driven drama. Expecting it to stay a gag-a-minute comedy was bound to leave you disappointed.

4. “Loona has no real character development—she’s just a bitch who yells a lot.”

💁🏽‍♀️: “That’s interesting! What does meaningful character development look like to you? Do you think male characters with similar traits get the same criticism, or do they get more leeway?”

Translation: Why is Loona the problem, but not Blitz, Mammon, or literally any other loud, abrasive character in the show?

This critique isn’t new—it’s the same double standard that follows female characters in Helluva Boss in general. People say the female cast is either “too weak” (Octavia, Verosika) or “too aggressive” (Loona, Stella), but the moment a woman gets actual nuance (Octavia, anyone?) suddenly it’s “bad writing.” Maybe the issue isn’t the writing—maybe some people just don’t like female characters unless they fit a narrow, palatable mold.

5. “Fizz got retconned into a useless twink. He used to be cool.”

💁🏽‍♀️: “What specifically makes you feel that Fizz’s character was ‘retconned’? Do you think your perception of him in Season 1 was fully accurate, or just based on limited information? Do you believe a character needs to be physically strong to be compelling?”

Translation: Why do you feel personally betrayed that Fizz turned out to be… a disabled theater kid?

The real issue here is that people projected a completely different personality onto Fizz based on his Ozzie’s cameo and then got mad when the show revealed that, shocker, he’s a whole person with vulnerabilities. The funniest part? A lot of these complaints come from people who claim to be “progressive” yet have no problem calling a visibly disabled character a “useless twink” the moment he stops being an edgelord in their heads.

6. “This show is garbage and Viv is a terrible writer.”

💁🏽‍♀️: “That’s a strong reaction! What keeps you so invested in something you dislike? Do you think this much frustration over a cartoon is a productive use of your time and energy? Would you feel happier focusing on something you actually enjoy?”

Translation: Babe, why are you still here?

This is where a lot of anti-Helluva Boss people need to take a step back. If you genuinely think a show is that awful, why not just… move on? If you’ve made hating it part of your personality, that’s not media critique—that’s weirdly personal. Maybe the issue isn’t the show, but the fact that you’ve sunk so much time into something you refuse to let go of.

Final Thoughts: Don’t Fight—Redirect

The key here isn’t to get into an endless argument with people who refuse to engage. It’s to either:

1. Get them to reflect on what they’re actually mad about.

2. Make it painfully obvious to onlookers that their argument is weak and rooted in bias.

So next time you see someone foaming at the mouth about Helluva Boss, try hitting them with some gentle, leading questions. Either they start thinking critically, or they spiral into incoherence. Either way, you win.

[entamesubs]

Yu-Gi-Oh! Go Rush!! Episodes 140-145 Sub Release

Torrent

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Please make sure to read the FAQ if you have any questions.

There are translation notes below for 142+, so spoilers ahead.

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臼と黒 / usu to kuro Usu and Dark

When Yuuhi accidentally reads it as "White and Black" during the preview, it's because 臼 (usu) and 白 (shiro, which means white) look very similar in terms of kanji, so Yuamu is chastising him for reading it wrong as they're two different characters.

翁丁臼 Otei Usu

Here's a funny one. Otes' "old-timey" name can be read as "old guy with mortar". Do with that information what you will.

お殿様 / otonousama + 武将 / bushou "Honored Lord" + "Military Commander"

There's some liberty taken with the titles the characters use in this arc as there's really no good English translation of them.

First, "Honored Lord" can mean a high minister or a lord (or both, it's not exactly exclusive). One of the synonyms given was "daimyo", but that is very much something completely different (and also, if they really wanted to call him a daimyo, they'd have just said it).

Second, Yuudias refers to himself as a 武将 (bushou), though as I researched it, 武将 (bushou) is normally translated to "warlord" which was fitting for that time. However... Yuudias is not a warlord. He neither has his own soldiers nor his own land. Given that he's basically trying to introduce himself the old-fashioned way to "fit in", and as a nod to his own military accomplishments, he probably just thought it was the right word to describe himself.

Though, it also felt strange to try and translate that as "military commander" considering that "Commander" is a real position in real life, and in the context of the show, was also something that Zwijo used to be titled with ("Supreme Commander"). We know that Yuudias' official military designation within the Velgearian army was "Captain" (from episode 20 & later 49).

Anyway, I went back and forth on this in my head. It was genuinely a little hard trying to think of appropriate titles that didn't make me feel as though I was mislabeling them. This strict adherence to the correct military title is the reason why Zwijo is usually referred to as "Lord Zwijo" in the subtitles when Dinois and Myuda address him as Zwijo-sama. They're still showing him the due respect he deserves as their Supreme Commander, I cannot call him "Commander Zwijo" since he is no longer part of the army.

It goes against what I personally would like, but given that I have no other ideas, "military commander" had to do for Yuudias.

This is basically a lot of words to say that the original idea was the best one, LOL. I guess Oda Nobunaga and Tokugawa Ieyasu were also known as "military commanders" back then, so it's not that bad... I just have a little bit of a complex about correct titling.

Speaking of Ieyasu...

Ah, how pleasant! Two awakenings and one sleep. This dream of a fleeing world! The roseate hues of early dawn!

Otes' summon chant for Outerverse Oblivion is a nod/reference to Tokugawa Ieyasu's death poem. It was customary back in the day to compose a poem on the verge of death by learned men (noblemen and monks, mainly).

This translation was taken from Phillip Johnston. While translating SEVENS/Go Rush is my forte, I defer to the professionals for poetry-related matters. It is so much more complicated translating poetry than it is some dialogue from a card game anime.

"The Yuudias Incident"

I cannot give a crash course on Sengoku era Japan in the span of a single translation note, but basically the era was very hectic due to the different lords fighting over land and to rule Japan. These lords also betrayed each other constantly, backstabbing and overthrowing the masters they served like changing clothes.

When Otes said that Yuudias rebelling is "fitting" for the time, he's referencing that same backstabbing endemic to the era.

The title of the episode is also a reference to one of these betrayals, known as "The Honnouji Incident". It was when Oda Nobunaga was betrayed by one of his vassals and forced to commit seppuku (kill himself).

from the hour of the rooster until the crow’s evening cries

The "hour of the rooster" is mainly known as around 5-7pm. I'm not quite sure when "the crow's evening cry" is supposed to be, but I assume around 9-10pm. Zwijo makes his proclamation as a way to say "children have to work until this time, then they can play" (as was the case back then).

Episode 145

Not really a TL note, but just wanted to point out something really cool about this episode.

The episode is a reference to "Blink" from S29E10 of Doctor Who (the season where David Tennant was the Doctor and the main female lead was Martha Jones).

Yuamu font changes

Baloo 2 -> Sephora Sans Serif Medium

This is the same font that all the Darkmen (+ Dark Meister) use, but now with Yuamu's old colors. I felt like it was a cute change to recognize who she was before and how she's changed since then while still retaining her old flair.

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

Well, if the dub is to be believed, we have anywhere from 6 to 7 episodes of Go Rush left. It feels kinda strange being so close to the end and yet not quite seeing where the end could be, but I suppose the same thing happened with SEVENS.

Regardless, have fun and keep enjoying Go Rush!

"Are you back on normal weekly releases?" 🤷‍♀️しらん

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Zae!!!!! (you know me, this is going to be long lmaooo)

That was so incredibly hot I'm not even kidding. I have so many things to say and it still won't do justice to how incredible reading Evanescence was.

First of all, I want to say just how funny that cut was between the woman from Doyle's Tavern insulting him and asking for money in exchange for information to Arthur walking out with said info, all his money and a ban from the Tavern?? Idk it just made me laugh out loud for real 😂. Alright, now more serioulsy—

"Instinct lured him to the debauched inn, and your name frothed from his muzzle in more of a growl than speech. Like a rabid dog, he snapped and barked orders at the women unlucky enough to be trapped with the beast on the arena floor."

Looove that section and the paragraph after. Fellow figurative lovers, we are spoiled. And Jesus am I completely insane for finding the whole thing even hotter with a bestial, animalistic Arthur like this? Perfect comparison.

And the whole ring part! Their entire relationship is SO well written and so well balanced. You had shared your doubts with me about how to write an LH, but my GOD, this was absolutely perfect. GIVE YOURSELF MORE CREDIT I'M BEGGING YOU!!

His intrinsic violence, his possessiveness that dominates him in spite of himself is so in character, and YET, we love it, we love him, just as always.

I so love all the nuances you described in both him and the Reader. She's aware of the problems in their relationship and wants to fight him; she refuses to make things easy for him and give him what he wants. She loves him and hates him so much at the same time... And Arthur, all his impulsiveness, his brutality make us think he's looking for control at all costs; in the end, it's just the only way he can react to the fact that it's him who's completely in love with her and under her thumb. Brilliant. The dialogue in this part is really perfect, with Arthur repeating the “Yours” more and more surely. *sighs*

“You don’t own me, Arthur Morgan!” But the shouting was no use. He closed in on you again, and you reached out, clenching your fists in his shirt to stop his advance. If he noticed, he didn’t let on, talking with a tight jaw. “No, dammit, cause you own me.”

And the wild kiss right after! The whole prey and predator game, so so good. You know I'm suuuuch a sucker for these kinds of comparisons. And the way they're fighting each other but getting closer at the same time... So, so erotic.

And EXCUSEEEE ME, Reader insulting him as they succomb to it? I am so into this. God it made my body feel all sorts of ways 🥵🔥

He knew you were dancing dangerously close to the cliff’s overhang by the way you were keeping him in place, right where you wanted him. But the brute stopped and locked eyes with you, lips curved downward. That slight glimpse of vulnerability you thought you’d seen earlier was now on full display. “Say you won’t go,” he choked out.  Down on his knees, looking up at you with genuine sincerity was the closest he’d ever get to prayer or penance. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat but didn’t answer him.

Oh. My. Lord. I could DIE from this simple vision. This is just incredibly hot and so good to read; I wasn't expecting him to actually be the dominated one here. (Big boys just want to be taken care of, don't they?🤭😉)

And Jesus, how do you achieve that Zae? Because the part after was even better!!! Honestly, I was already choking here, and then that:

“No good, thieving, murderous bastard.”  “I know.” He drew out, tightly clutching the sheets. With a firm nudge, you urged him onto his back.  “You don’t deserve me. Never did,” you continued. His hips jutted in time with your wrist, his climax sitting low in his balls.   “I–dammit–I–kn–know.” The muscles of his stomach constricted as he fought for breath, damn near suffocating under your touch.  “I’ll change.” He gasped, eyes closed, and brow furrowed. “I’ll change. But–ahh–I ain’t ever gonna be good enough for you, woman–nghh–no matter how much changin’ I do.”

I AM DEAD!!!! I loved this part so much I think I read it four times already!!! I mean come on guys, the dialogue, every word sounds so fcking good, perfectly transcribing his voice, making him spit out he's indeed too bad for her, and her stroking him like this, him babbling that he'll change? I'm getting all excited again just talking about it 🫠 This is definitely one of my favorite fic moments, ever.

And of course, as always, the grandiose climax, with once again the predator comparison but with HER as a lioness???? ZAE MARRY ME. This was absolute perfection. And even better, the second echo with him finishing inside, while she asserts "Yours". I just can't with that level of perfection, of masterfulness. This is mind-blowing, Zae. You really made me lose my mind with this one.

The last words also struck me; they are so relevantly bitter-sweet. An ideal ending for this nuanced relationship. You're forever inspiring me.

To conclude, one of my new favorites of yours (yes I knoooow every new one is becoming one of my favorites of yours, but hell I'm just a girl and you're still so incredibly talented!). I'm left in awe of your talent, every time, and here especially with such a subtle LH Arthur. Please, be proud, because you really did him justice. Bravo, bravo, bravo.

Love u! -Your loyal Piney 💞

Evanesce

Summary: You try to runway. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 3,673 Tags: angst, smut, mid-low honor Arthur, handjob, unprotected p in v, oral, breeding kink, tb? Don’t know her. Warnings: 18+ MDNI, toxic relationship

An: I feel like I ran a never ending marathon with this one. Drafted it a month ago, but I never really vibed with it. Challenged myself to just get it done and make sure I was proud of it. Once again, I'm trying to step out of my comfort zone. Shout out to @googoolies for the note idea! As always, I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

Tagging @hihomeghere because you asked ❤️

Evanesce: to dissipate like vapor

Worn floorboards of Shady Bell wailed under Arthur’s weight as songbirds began their morning melodies. The gunslinger scoped the eerily empty, quiet camp for traces of you, but all he found was a folded letter on his pillow.

Echoes of your last conversation flashed in his mind as he tramped across the narrow room to retrieve the note. Two nights ago, The Old Guard overlooked their kingdom from the second-floor balcony as they discussed their plans to wage war against Angelo Bronte. Bile stung the back of your throat as two-thirds of the trio outruled the other. Hosea’s final words to Dutch and Arthur, “You’ll damn us all,” filled you with dread and the overwhelming feeling of impending doom.

Arthur avoided your shadowed eyes as he reloaded his weapons and ignored your outcry against Dutch’s plan. Your desperation had turned swiftly to indignation, and an argument commenced, your voices clashing like swords. You begged him not to go, pleading with the enforcer to listen to reason for once, to listen to you. But he pushed back with the shield of obstinance he had long forged for survival. 

“I don’t take orders from you, woman, and keep your goddamn voice down.”

Thousands of tiny needles pricked at the backs of your eyes at the harsh directive, but you held firm. 

“Arthur, if you go I’ll–” 

“Don’t,” he warned dismissively, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and ambling to the door. He didn’t even bother saying goodbye as he twisted the knob. Your last words fell on ears deafened from years of gunfire. 

“If you leave, I won’t be here when you come back.”

Two days later, Arthur masked his guilt with anger as he skimmed over the last piece of you left in the room. Four words in the polite loops of your handwriting taunted him: Saint Denis. Train. Running. 

After a quick check of the cinch, he found himself begrudgingly engulfed in the city of smog and greed he’d come to hate so much. Riding through the maze of cobblestone, brick, and vermin was like laying under a guillotine, staring up at the blade and waiting for it to drop. Law on every corner, people jammed together, and now, Bronte’s men out for revenge–none of it felt right. 

Taking in a breath that didn’t reach deep enough, he started his search for you in this hornets’ nest of a city. Most of the hotels and saloons served him with nothing but a heavy dose of adrenaline and dead ends. As he approached Doyle’s Tavern, his last stop, he dug his nails into his trembling palm, savoring the sting of apathy that came with the pain.

Arthur made a beeline to Gabe Doyle, reciting his rehearsed description of you. A woman standing beside him, whose garments had seen cleaner days, tapped him on the shoulder. The outlaw didn’t even look at her, didn’t give her time to speak before he rejected her with razor-edge disdain. When Arthur finished, Gabe only shrugged his shoulders, but the woman, still standing close by, let out a derisive giggle.

“He won’t be of no help, mista’. Coulda’ told ya’ for free, but it’ll cost ya’ now.”

Ire made his ears ring, drowning out all the other sounds in the slum’s saloon. He drummed his fingers hard on the worn wooden bar, the taste of pride sour on his tongue. 

“How much?” 

Cleavage spilled over her top as she leaned towards him and twiddled brazenly with the collar of his shirt. 

“Well, for clients that play nice, seven dollars, but for you, rotten dirty bastard––times it by ten.” 

A minute later, he exited Doyle’s Tavern not a cent lighter, heavy with an indefinite ban, but finally, a real lead on you. Four new mocking words overshadowed ones from the letter: Whore house; Courtenay Street. 

A brothel—a goddamn brothel. 

Instinct lured him to the debauched inn, and your name frothed from his muzzle in more of a growl than speech. Like a rabid dog, he snapped and barked orders at the women unlucky enough to be trapped with the beast on the arena floor.

They tried futilely to stop his march down the hall, tried to keep him from getting to you, but the chaos drew you into the colosseum and into the lion’s direct line of sight. You yanked the man-turned-animal by the sleeve and sealed yourselves away before he could do any more damage. 

More tame now, sea storm orbs surveyed you in a quick but covert once over, then he spun on his heel, searching for anything else to focus on.

“Christ, been looking for you all day, woman,” he bit out through clenched teeth. 

The lone wolf prowled the new territory for a threat but was only met with a vacant cave and the empty feeling of shame. Deflecting, he found your luggage, lifting the bags with the practiced ease of carrying buckets of water to and fro. His biceps flexed with the weight of your whole life in one bag, but he nodded at you, matter of fact. 

“C’mon. M’taking you home.”

Home. You could’ve laughed if it didn’t hurt so much. None of these places had ever been home.

“I ain’t going nowhere with you,” you fired back, grabbing for the suitcase in his hand. A brief game of tug-of-war ensued, your grip relentless, Arthur’s unwavering, until he finally let you pull one of the bags free. He dropped the other and exhaled with the sharpness of a saber but stayed silent at the conclusion of your weaponless duel. He’d fallen in love with that gnawing defiance, but now it was tearing him to pieces, bit by bit until it exposed the marrow of pure anger.

“Runnin’ off is one thing.” His nostrils flared, and the timbre of his voice deepened as he carried on, “But running off t’here–– selling yourself?” He shook his head and blew air through his teeth, “Yer crazier than I thought.”

You whirled away from him, swatting your hand like he was as insignificant as a fly.

“And you’re a bigger idiot than I thought. Ain’t selling myself, you damn fool! And I’ll do whatever the hell I please. Right now, I want to get far away from this shit city and you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, dragging out the words. “I know you just as well as you think you know me. If you wanted away–really wanted away–you wouldn’t’ve left this pretty little letter, and sure as hell wouldn’t’ve told me where to find ya’.” He retrieved the letter from his satchel, held it up just long enough for you to see, and crushed it in his fist before discarding it on the floor.

“That’s what I think of your pretty little letter.” 

You had started a slow involuntary backtrack during his monologue, the flight response pushing back against the fight. He followed, sandwiching you between himself and the door.

“Screw you.” Scorn was hot on your breath.   

Just as you thought to turn the knob, to free yourself from the prison of flesh and wood, the iron teeth of a bear trap, his fingers, clamped around your wrist, bringing your hand to eye level. 

“And you still got something of mine.”

Both pairs of eyes landed on a small round sparkling opal set in a gold band on your left ring finger.

You’d never forget finding it on your pillow along with a letter from Arthur that just said, “One day…”

He had made promises he didn’t keep. First, you just had to wait for the Ferry Job. Next, you needed to survive Colter. Then you had to get far away from the Pinkertons, and most recently, all you needed to do was help case the Lemoyne National Bank. One last job, he’d told you. It was the same thing he said before leaving for that boat in Blackwater.

Contempt flowed through your veins as you tried to wrench free. God, you hated him right now, but you hated yourself more for letting him fool you.

“Let go.” You hissed, seething. 

Your hand throbbed as he gave your wrist another squeeze.

“You first.” Then he nodded towards the stone on your finger. “My ring,” he demanded.

Your knuckles collided with the wood of the door with a hard knock as you freed your hand. You flattened your palm against the wood behind your back, guarding the ring from the career thief’s piercing gaze.

“No,” you shot back, sinking into yourself. “It’s mine.” 

Your finger throbbed around the ring you’d seldom taken off. It had become part of you, melded to your skin like a vine coiled around a tree in a beautiful and deadly embrace. 

“Yours?” he huffed incredulously, shaking his head, trying to form your words into something he could understand. For a short beat, the heavy huff and puff of his breath was the only thing you could register. 

You had mined forever to find something other than cold coals of anger within him. You thought you’d found it—thought you’d finally struck gold when he confessed his feelings for you somewhere out west all that time ago. Now, you were left wondering if it was only fool’s gold you had stumbled upon. The cowardly knight was far too proud and far too afraid of getting stabbed to lay down his armor. But you were having a silent conversation with those sad eyes, reading words he’d never speak or ask aloud. What does that make me, then? 

“Yours.” He answered his inner thoughts without hesitation.

Mine. You thought back but only stared at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of cracking under his scrutiny. 

“Yours.” He repeated assuredly, final. 

It was your turn to shake your head now; you could hear his vocal cords vibrating, generating sounds you were supposed to understand, but he may as well have been speaking another language because what the hell did he know about being anybody else’s? You repeated your thoughts bluntly.

For a moment, he looked stunned, but then his hand shot out, cupping your jaw and tilting your face toward his. He was so close, you could smell him now. The scents of liquor on his breath and leather in his hat permeated your whole being.

“You don’t think–” His voice was low and trembling with fury. “I been yours since the goddamn day I laid eyes on you, and you know it.”

Fight, flight, freeze, and now fawn all warred for dominance. Twin mirrors of blue cosmos peered into your soul, but you didn’t look back, knowing that black holes of destruction ruled in the center and could swallow you in the blink of an eye.

“You have to go, Arthur.”

You tried to reach for the knob again, but Arthur imposed on you further, his chest brushing against yours. 

“No,” he said. “I ain’t going nowhere without you, and you ain’t going nowhere without me. M’done talking about it.”

It’s like he couldn’t listen, couldn’t hear you, couldn’t respect what you wanted. He only ever responded to shouting and violence. So you dipped down to his level, anything to get him to understand. Your open hand pushed full force against his chest, knocking the wind from him and making him stumble backward.

“You don’t own me, Arthur Morgan!”  

But the shouting was no use. He closed in on you again, and you reached out, clenching your fists in his shirt to stop his advance. If he noticed, he didn’t let on, talking with a tight jaw.

“No, dammit, cause you own me.” 

You balled your fists around cotton fabric and pulled him down into you, inhaling like you were bracing for the worst. This game, Predator and Prey, had become second nature to you. You would always be his fawn, thrashing and wailing, yet never escaping the salivating jaws of the coyote. And it always ended the same: a clash of heavy breathing and snarls before you surrendered.

Tobacco and whiskey never tasted so good, and they were just as addictive as him. Your teeth clashed together, and his left hand fell to your hip while his right twisted the lock on the knob. 

He was never gentle, but now, he was almost crazed. Rough hands that were trembling only an hour ago were all over you, gripping your jaw, sliding under your blouse, pushing and pulling you to his whim.

“Falling in love with you was the dumbest thing I ever did,” you confessed as he removed his hat and set it aside; he had better access to you without it. Heat surged through you as his hands bit into your hips, pinning you in place against the locked door. 

You mumble under your breath, “Bastard.”  

So far, he was ignoring your attempts to rouse him; you were his pretty little doe, caught in his chops, and a few barbs wouldn’t keep him from utterly devouring you. Dipping his head into your neck, he fixated on that pulsing artery, taking no time to roll the flesh between his teeth.

“Goddamn asshole,” you huffed but cradled his head as he claimed you.

He brushed over the ruptured blood vessels with his knuckles, and the bastard was smiling, eyes glazed over with lust and self-indulgence. Electricity sparked down your legs as he looped his fingers in the waistband of your skirt. 

You swore to yourself two nights ago that it was all over, that you wouldn’t let him slither back, yet here you were, Eve, being tempted by the serpent. Teeth sank into the forbidden fruit with the lift of your hips off the door, giving him permission to snatch both your skirt and bloomers down in a swift pull. Arthur didn’t need much persuasion to eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil; a man like him could have never lived for eternity in The Garden of Eden. 

The pair of you wore pride like heraldry, but neither of you was as honorable as you’d led the other to believe. You, provoking him with the threat of leaving, knowing you’d let this happen as you always did, and him never changing and never stopping the cycle of broken promises. 

Your scent was intoxicating, but he held off from relishing it, studying your face like he’d done many times before. Something was different this time, though. Only for a heartbeat, you saw something in his eye, a minuscule hint of vulnerability. You blinked, and it was gone like it was never there, replaced by an unabashed smirk. You kept the insults flying. 

“Jerk.”

Hearing the laugh rumble in his chest made your skin prick up the same way it did when a thunderstorm was brewing on the horizon. The cowboy braced his hands against your thighs and peeked up at you, his lips still curved in the corners.

He lifted his eyebrow in question, “You done?”

“Shut up,” you responded, tangling your fingers in his hair and guiding him, not so gracefully, to the heat between your legs. 

Obeying, he flicked his tongue out to lap at you, drawing you closer in a hug, his palms resting on the curve of your ass cheeks. Steadying yourself against the door, you tugged on his hair like reins, but fuck, you didn’t want him to stop. You grunted and cursed under your breath as that gluttonous, greedy grifter feasted on you. 

Blasphemous sounds rose up from your chest as you rocked your hips feverishly with every swipe of his warm wet tongue against your clit. Every tug of his locs and bump of your mound into his nose sent blood pulsing full speed to the bulge in his pants. He knew you were dancing dangerously close to the cliff’s overhang by the way you were keeping him in place, right where you wanted him. But the brute stopped and locked eyes with you, lips curved downward. That slight glimpse of vulnerability you thought you’d seen earlier was now on full display.

“Say you won’t go,” he choked out. 

Down on his knees, looking up at you with genuine sincerity was the closest he’d ever get to prayer or penance. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat but didn’t answer him.

Instead, you ushered him back to his feet and crashed your lips into his again, tangling your tongue with his.

In a swift motion, you popped his suspenders loose while you walked him backward. The backs of his knees hit the bed, and he shimmied off his multiple layers just as quick as you unfastened the buttons on your blouse. You stood before him, a goddess, determining his eternal fate. And he waited, fixated on you, languidly stroking his engorged cock while you decided.

You replaced his fisted grip with yours, bending to meet his eye. The almost frown on his face made you wonder what he was seeing staring back at him. You imagined your pupils blown out, your lips swollen, and your hair disheveled. Arthur was the only man in the world who could turn you into a vixen. 

“You’re a fool, Arthur Morgan.” Your noses were almost touching as you tightened your grip and stroked him painfully slowly. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded, his face downright solemn. 

“Mhm,” you went on, rubbing circles atop his hot, leaking pink tip. Your pace quickened as your cheek grazed his. A shiver ran through him as the vibrations of your voice tickled his ear.

“No good, thieving, murderous bastard.” 

“I know.” He drew out, tightly clutching the sheets. With a firm nudge, you urged him onto his back. 

“You don’t deserve me. Never did,” you continued. His hips jutted in time with your wrist, his climax sitting low in his balls.  

“I–dammit–I–kn–know.”

The muscles of his stomach constricted as he fought for breath, damn near suffocating under your touch. 

“I’ll change.” He gasped, eyes closed, and brow furrowed. “I’ll change. But–ahh–I ain’t ever gonna be good enough for you, woman–nghh–no matter how much changin’ I do.”

Air finally flowed back through with the halt of your pumping. The mattress sunk with your added weight as you slung your legs on either side of him. Neither party stalled. You gave him a quick nod before he could even ask, and he sank his length into your warm, wet pussy. There were no hushing kisses, no waiting for you to adjust, no cajoling, just the smacking of skin and the aroma of sex in the room as he molded you to his girth. Bashfulness had never even crossed your mind. You rode him tirelessly, whimpering, gasping, and filling the air with his name. 

The roles reversed; you were the animal now, a lioness pursuing a buck. Chasing the high, you galloped hard and fast and grinding your hips against his to relieve the throbbing ache in your clit. You massaged the sensitive nub between your thighs, indulging in the pleasure you were giving yourself and receiving from him. The tip of his cock bumped that sweet spot inside of you, the one that made you tense and cry out over and over again. 

You didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want him to know what he was doing to you or how he was making you feel–how he always made you feel when he was burrowed deep inside of you. You couldn’t hide from him, though. He knew you–knew the faces and sounds you made, knew the way you tightened around him, knew how you stiffened, knew how your breathing shallowed when you were on the edge. He knew the control he’d have over you forever.

“You ain’t going nowhere.” He grunted as he pounded up into you, the knot in his stomach tightening with his own upcoming release. 

“Fucker,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, and you love it.” 

You couldn’t deny it.

He took your hand in his and felt for the ring on your finger, stroking it, all while keeping eye contact and hammering relentlessly into your velvety walls. Four more thrusts and your eyes rolled back as the lightbulb of tension burst.

“That’s right, let it go, there it is.” Muttering, his upward ruts got sloppier as you rode out your body-spasming orgasm. Then he started babbling, lost in your sweet heat,

“Shit, I’m–bout t–m’close.”

The cowboy tried to lift you up, tried not to spill inside of you, but you buried your head in the crook of his neck and lowered yourself back down, taking him balls deep.

“Goddamnit,” he growled, hugging you to his chest, “the hell you doing, t’me, woman?” He panted and stared up at the ceiling like a man condemned. 

“Ain’t going nowhere,” you echoed breathlessly, still bouncing, before adding, “Yours.” 

In a few more strokes, he filled you up, grunting through his teeth and cursing up a storm that’d make even the most seasoned sailors look on timidly.

Outside noises of the establishment and the streets of Saint Denis droned back in as both of you came back to your senses. An ocean of things was left unsaid as you redressed and let Arthur lead you out of the room and to a proper hotel for the night. The next morning, you took Arthur up on his offer to get away for a few days. As the train you had boarded for your trip chugged on, something in the distance piqued your interest, a small homestead. You could vaguely make out a woman sitting on the porch and a man, presumably her husband, tending to a horse nearby. Of course, you didn’t know their life or their struggles, but if you could write your own happily ever after, it would be that. Arthur nudged you with his elbow, interrupting your daydream.  

“M’sorry...about everything,” he said, low, barely audible. The perpetual ache in your chest had almost gone numb after so long. Almost. 

“I know.” You replied and turned back to the window. The house was out of sight now, and you had a feeling your fairy tale ending had vanished with it.

[gamerbot-22]

Spending Valentine's Day with the Trigang!

GIF by the-princess-cinnamon

TW/CW: Written with a combination of traits from across Trigun versions, written with the idea that they and reader are in a relationship (separately), lots of pet names!!! (Mayfly, Angel, Honey, Sweetheart), I am aiming to make y'all's teeth rot on how sweet these are, barely proofread and I appreciate spellchecks!

Characters Included: Vash the Stampede, Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Meryl Stryfe, Milly Thompson, Millions Knives/Nai

Recommended Listening: my love, mine all mine . a short playlist

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! I hope you all are having a wonderful day, whether you have a partner to spend it with, a friend, or just your lovely self <3

Likes and Reblogs appreciated (reblogs > likes) and Requests are Open! It’s all under the cut!

Dividers in this post were made by @/strangergraphics ☆

🥀 Vash the Stampede

GIF by kvroko

He is the most lovesick man in the world on this day, let me tell you.

You wake up and see him in bed next to you just absolutely whipped. He wraps an arm around your waist and nuzzles in close and his first words are "Happy Valentine's, Mayfly..." before just drowning you in kisses.

Originally the plan was he would get up and make you breakfast in bed but he got all caught up in being close to you. So you're making breakfast together! It turns out nice, even if you two struggle to get it right.

There's not really flowers on Gunsmoke, but he knows what they look like. So you get a drawing of all sorts of flowers, with meanings only half-remembered from books he used to pour over as a kid.

If you got him anything it takes all of his effort not to fall apart on you. (Please get him something sweet, he deserves it!!)

He wants to take you dancing so baaaad. Like serious bad. There is nothing he loves more than getting to just be close to you and spin you around.

Vash spends all day trying to find a place to take you dancing, but it's a little hard to do that when you're an outlaw and an outlaw's partner. The effort is there but it just doesn't pan out.

But you know? There's something special about slow dancing with Vash by the fire out in the desert while he hums a song to you under the stars <333

🍭 Nicholas D. Wolfwood

GIF by mine-loves

I don't think Valentine's Day had been on his radar in a very very long time, so it's probably either day of or immediately upon waking up where he realizes "Oh shit, I need to do something--"

You're about halfway through the morning thinking that you're not getting anything from him when he nearly goes ass over teakettle rushing over to you. He has a half-crushed box of sweets in one hand and a bottle of something bubbly in the other and the most embarrassed look on his face.

He mumbles out a "Sorry, Angel, I almost forgot--" and holds both gifts out to you with his head bowed, like a shy kid or a nervous dog. But you take them in your hands and give him a kiss on the cheek and he doesn't feel as bad.

You two end up sharing, and while the sweets and drinks might be cheap, the time isn't. Hell, maybe you two even end up feeding each other like those sappy couples in those newspaper ads.

He's not a man of flowery words, but he did learn a lot about the saints as a kid. I don't think Wolfwood would frame it as a gift or anything, but when there's a quiet moment he tells you the story of St. Valentine if you're willing to listen.

"He used to perform weddin's for people 'n secret," he tells you, one arm wrapped around your shoulders. "People weren't too big on the Man Upstairs back in the day, so what he was doin' was pretty dangerous. Didn't stop him, though. Or the people he married."

Then he turns his head away from you to save some face. He doesn't want to put too many ideas in either of your heads, but... the idea is kinda nice. For the future.

Once he gets past the nerves though, you get all the kisses you could want. From the crown of your head to your eyelids to your cheeks to your lips. He has a new favorite holiday <333

📸 Meryl Stryfe

GIF by mine-loves

"Ah, honey! My birthday was yesterday! You already got me a gift; you didn't have to get me anything, really!"

She says that, but honestly she's really happy that you would go out of her way to give her a gift a second day in a row. Like! You didn't have to!! But you did!!!

So she takes it and gives you a kiss and when she pulls away her face is so pink. It's precious, and with her soft cheeks she looks a bit like a sweet all on her own.

And you get such a nice gift in turn. I think she's the type to get you something to wear or decorate yourself with, so she gives you this really beautiful pendant on a chain to wear either around your neck or wrapped tight around your wrist.

She also does her damndest to have a nice dinner reservation lined up, if you're in a part of Gunsmoke that allows. She wants to get all dolled up with you and just have a nice evening in whatever luxury an insurance agent/newspaper reporter's salary can get you.

And after dinner, if you still have energy, maybe you can go to a show together! Surely somebody has to be doing something on a stage nearby, right? And if they serve food too, you can share a dessert while you listen.

I think you two end up at a comedy show and have a great time, either laughing until your sides get sore or sharing some amused-if-sympathetic if the person on stage is floundering.

By the end of the night, Meryl's pretty beat and ready to just prop herself up in bed with you. I don't think she even makes it out of her clothes, she just lays her head on your chest and drifts off on the spot <333

💼 Milly Thompson

Breakfast! In! Bed! For! Her! Sweetheart!!!

You get the absolute gentlest wake-up call. She puts her hand on your shoulder, kisses your temple, and chimes "Good morning, sweetheart! Happy Valentine's!"

While you eat she gives you her big plan for the day: Nothing! She just wants to stay in with you and relax all day. And she seems so genuinely excited for that it's nigh impossible to tell her no, especially when she assures you that she still has special things to do in mind.

Once you're both ready to be up and out of bed, she gets the radio tuned to you guys' favorite music station so there's a nice backdrop to all your activities.

Then you spend the whole day just. Making things together. Poetry, stories, silly songs for just the two of you, and all the while there's that lovely music playing and a batch of cookies in the oven for later.

And once the cookies are done and cooled, it's time to ice them! You have so much fun mixing colours and making all these pretty patterns that look absolutely nothing like the book you're using for reference.

At first, Milly is a little upset she's not as good as the pictures, but you help her realized two very important things: no one else could make patterns exactly like she is, and they'll taste delicious either way!

Your evening is spent feeding each other cookies and going over all the things you've made together, and when you kiss each other goodnight you both taste like icing <333

🔪 Millions Knives/Nai

WE'RE PLAYING IN THE SPACE HE'S HERE TOO!! Nai lovers I see you and I love you!!! /p You deserve some time with your man on the holiday, too!

I don't think he would really mention the holiday or observe it in any special way, but like...

If he's playing his piano and you come in and be quiet, he won't stop. Even when he sees you sitting on the floor or leaning against the piano out of the corner of his eyes.

He has that one piece he plays all of the time, Visitation of a Calamity/Memory of a Piano, but it's not the only one he knows. After he's finished with that one for this bout of practice, he shifts into another one.

It's calming by some definition. It's still very powerful, and it reverberates off the ceiling and in your ribs, but it doesn't feel like the usual posturing that the other piece evokes.

It's sweeping still, but less a torrent and more a breeze that catches the folds of your clothes and the air from your lungs. It feels a little like flying, you think.

He doesn't say a word to you until he finishes the suite, then without even looking at you, he asks "Is there something you needed me for?"

And I mean... is there? <333

[warrioreowynofrohan]

@bethanydelleman Here are my musings on the question I asked – I was thinking more in terms of which characters could like and respect each other and how well their personalities would mesh, more than their likelihood of necessarily falling deeply in love. Mr. Knightly does deeply respect and admire Jane Fairfax, though he isn’t in love with her, and many of the people I’ve shipped with him (Elinor, Fanny, Jane Bennet) have personalities similar to hers.

Who Else Could Austen Characters Marry?

If Austen characters didn’t marry their canon spouse, who else would they be good with?

Elinor Dashwood: I think she mostly values a man who has sense and principle, from what we see of Edward Ferrars, and who doesn’t stand too much on dignity. I think she could be happy with either Mr. Knightley or Edmund Bertram, and they could be happy with her.

Marianne Dashwood: I could see her and Wentworth falling for each other. They’re both passionate and romantic, and for most of the time between his breach with Anne and the midpoint of Persuasion Wentworth wants a woman who is firm and determined in her opinions, decisions, and loves, which is definitely Marianne! I think this would lead to both of them being somewhat less mature than they end up in canon – they’d reinforce each other’s impulsiveness and passion, and they might also have some trouble budgeting – but on the whole it would work. Marianne would have a lot of trouble keeping it together when he was away at sea, or might decide to go with him on his ship.

Jane Bennet: Jane’s kind and generous of spirit, I think she would like any warm, personable, and good man. Mr. Knightley is again a good choice.

Elizabeth Bennet: I could see her with either Mr. Knightley – she and Emma have the same liveliness and some of the same flaws of over-trust in their judgement, and I think he’d be good for her and they would be happy, as he has all Darcy’s good points without the haughtiness – or with Henry Tilney. In the case of Henry Tilney, I think that (like Wentworth and Marianne) they’d both end up less mature than they do in canon: Elizabeth and Henry would both reinforce each other’s satirical tendencies, rather than them being leavened by Catherine’s innocence in one case and Darcy’s stability in the other. But they would be happy, and make a good deal of sport of their neighbours.

Another possibility – I don’t know how well it would work out, but I could see it happening – is her and Henry Crawford. He’s intelligently, lively, active, with a lot of ideas, and I think that would appeal to her. She was initially drawn to Wickham, after all, and Crawford his his charm along with more intelligence. Would Henry Crawford fall for her or just leave her “crossed in love”? If the latter – she’s pretty resilient and I think she’d get over it. If the former, I’m not sure how it would turn out.

Fanny Price: I’m being repetitive, but I do want her with Mr Knighley, she deserves him and he would be kind to her and she’d be, honestly, a really good Lady Bountiful with the capacity for helping those around her that his estate gives, and with the support of a husband who is thoroughly and non-ostentatiously charitable himself. Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax is my fanon ship, but honestly this is even better.

Emma Woodhouse: This is more difficult, especially as I don’t think there’s anyone but Mr. Knightley who would be willing to move into her house with her father and be as patient with Mr. Woodhouse as Mr. Knightley is. But she’s also the Austen heroine I can see as the most happily single – she’s independently wealthy, and even when she realizes her feelinfs for Mr. Knightley it’s more about not being superceded and excluded from his confidence (“being first with Mr. Knightley”) as anything romantic. Her level of happiness would somewhat depend on who else Me. Knightley married – I feel like she and Elizabeth would get on like two cats.

Jane Fairfax: Bingley has Frank Churchill’s liveliness and friendliness amd is, I think, a better person; they could be happy. Caroline Bingley would be so mad about him marrying a governess, though, so that would give Jane a harder time.

Anne Elliot: It’s hard to tell with her. Would she ever love anyone but Wentworth? She turned down Charles Musgrove, who’s a good guy on the whole and personable, probably because she was still in love. She and Colonel Brandon, who are both older and have lost loves (and he’s a military man as well) might bond and make a match of it.

Catherine Morland: The main challenge here is how young she is (17) compared to most of the male leads. She could be happy with a lot of different people (Edward Ferrars? Bingley?).

I’m finding it more difficult to work out who else would be a good match for some of the men. For example, Darcy: there’s no one else with quite Elizabeth’s combination of liveliness, defiance, intelligence, and goodness, that would have the defiance and fire to deflate his pride and make him reconsider his attitude, the wit to make him take himself less seriously, and the boldness not to be intimidated by his haughty reserve. I do not think he and Fanny Price (a pairing I have seen suggested) would work at all – he might feel compassion towards her, but if Elizabeth’s family are embarassing, Fanny’s are not even genteel: he’d never lower himself so far as to marry her. And if he did, the girl who’s browbeaten by Mrs. Norris would be ready to sink into the floorboards at the contempt of Lady Catherine.

[sir-malk]

♠︎♥︎◆♣︎Cosmos Cat Revamp♣︎◆♥︎♠︎

Would you like to experience a never-ending dream? To get whatever you desire and to play for however long you'd like, doesn't that sound better than being awake?

This Plushie Cookie definitely thinks so! As the old forgotten plushie of the Legendary Milkyway, Cosmos Cat Cookie's biggest dream is to find her playmate who will never ever leave her nor forget her! Won't you leave reality and come play with her? Even if it is forever...?

♠︎♥︎◆♣︎(about the design and stuff below)♣︎◆♥︎♠︎

I usually don't explain my designs in detail, but because this oc is very important to me and had many rewrites and redesigns, I think she deserves it!

♠︎ Flavor and base concept

Cosmos Cat Cookie is based on a Cosmos brownie! Not only is it a nostalgic and childish food to me, but this was also to make her have a connection with Milky Way Cookie, both having a connection to something extraterrestrial and massive despite being small and little!

In a lot of ways, Cosmos Cat is supposed to be a direct opposite to Milky Way cookie! Her being a cat is supposed to be a nod to how Milky Way Cookie is often compared to Sanrio's Cinnamon Roll, like a black cat is to a white dog.

In general, Cosmos cat being connected to Milky Way Cookie (and Moonlight cookies Milky way costume) is very important to her as a character and her story. It's not cause Milky Way is my favorite character, TRUST ME.

♥︎ Outfit and Aesthetics

Cosmos Cat Cookie, and by extension, everything around her is heavily based on Alice and Wonderland and Yumekawaii aesthetics, giving off a nonsensical yet soft and comforting feeling! Like a dream!

Her character and the places around her are also slightly based on the Creepy Cute aesthetic, a little bit of nightmare fuel. Only a little, though! Wouldn't wanna scare the kids TOO soon.

Cosmos Cat Cookie's outfit is based on clowns and ring leaders, As a toy, she's made for entertainment! But in her own realm, she does have control! The rainbow candies on her hat and everywhere else are dulled down slightly compared to an actual Cosmos brownie for the more soft and dreamy feeling.

◆ Main inspirations

A lot of these inspirations may not be fully obvious, but all of these were important to building her character and story to where it is now

The list goes:

My irl cat

Coraline the movie

The story of pandoras box

Universe cat drowning by kikuo

Missing Missing by Kikuo

Kyubey from madoka magica

The entire basis around dreamcore, limital spaces, and Yumekawaii

Milky Way cookie from cookie run

Foxglove cookie (An old scrapped cookie run oc)

Maromi from paranoia agent

basic horror tropes centered around toys

and my own struggles with maladaptive daydreaming disorder and memory issues

I would explain each one of these, but this section is already big because it's a list.

♣︎ Extra stuff/fun facts

These are just little fun facts that'll probably come up in later posts as a joke or little comic, not too important!

Each one of the rainbow candies on her hat, tail, and paw are actually eyes, it's not too obvious because of the cookie run artsyle, but they do noticeably have the white outline like most cookie eyes do!

Her wand is like a cat toy. She often ends up playing with it like one, too! This usually leads up to her casting dreams and nightmares all over the place...

Cosmos cat Cookie can change her form! She usually sticks to a small cat (Her plushie form) or a slightly more cookie shaped child (Her dream form). These changes can only happen in the dream world. To those who are awake, she's just a plushie all the time!

All of that, and it's only about the design... Don't EVER let me get into her lore, personality, or main story.

you made it to the end, tho! You get a Cosmos brownie for your struggles!

♠︎♥︎◆♣︎HEY. HEY, JUST TAKE ONE. NO♠︎♥︎◆♣︎

[waynes-multiverse]

Awww, I'm so glad these headcanons inspired you! I love reading everyone's takes on Jackles characters. We should make it a PhD thesis at this point 😂💕

I really loved that for Dean you made it a thing that he "doesn't know how to be romantic." or that he believes that he "isn't romantic." Because it kinda fits that Dean doesn't understand that romance doesn't always have to be super big gestures but can be just giving someone your last bite of pie (HA) or just remembering the kind of coffee your significant other likes or lending a gentle ear when your significant other needs that.

Absolutely! And Dean's just so sweet and kind and caring naturally that he surely wouldn't realize that these simple gestures and small acts of service he does more or less subconsciously are actually the things that make him such a wonderful partner 🥰

And I love that you highlight that the reader knows this, but Dean doesn't. That the reader can see those wonderful little things that Dean does for her and no other man ever has. Also so jealous because I want Dean to make me a mixtape 📼

Hahaha yes! Guess she's been living in the bunker with that man for a while 😂 (And if he ever gave me a mixtape like this, I'd legit cry 😭💚)

But I love Dean's take on romance in his section: the chick flick, the fairy lights, the snacks, and the box of chocolates. It is very him and oh so perfect 😍

Aww, happy you could see that for him! I legit always have him prepare a romantic date night surprise in the Cave, but it just seems so him lol (And of course he had to make a joke toward the end to hide his vulnerability there 😝)

Everything you wrote for him is so perfect- "Of course" the lingerie and a dress that is his signature color, and the fancy resturant, the horse drawn carriage, the roses- All so on brand for him.

Oh, he went all out for this, didn't he? 🤣 But I could so see him doing all of this, mostly to brag and receive his reward. He saw Feb 14 on his calendar and knew it would be his big day lmao

Because we all know that man would one million percent be possessive of his woman and fall into that traditional view of a woman being a trophy, but oh my sweet baby corn sometimes the feminist inside of me kinda goes just a tad on hiatus 😂 And then when she comes back, she usually thinks that she can fix him lol

Omfg same, girl! Can't even spell the word feminism when I think of this man 😂 (But can we really fix him or will he just bend us to his will? 👀) Let's hope we're more successful in that endeavor than Taylor Swift lol

I still have not gotten to see Big Sky yet, but each time I see something for this beautiful "cowboy sheriff" I remind myself that I need to lol.

Aww, kinda jealous you haven't seen it yet. You get to experience it all freshly 🥰

This is exactly how I'd feel. I love the romance but at the same time I would literally feel like I've done absolutely nothing to deserve that and how can I make it up to him?

Oh so true! His dedication would freak me tf out and give me panic attacks lol. But reader found the perfect way to show her love too, I think 🫶

I'm crying. I just thought you should know 😭

Oh, I'm sorry, love! The hopeless romantic in me fully kidnapped Beau into the sunset here 😂🩵

Out of all of these, I think that Russell's was my absolute favorite. (Ben I still love you, please don't take this the wrong way 😂)

Oh, we both know SB will take this the wrong way lmao

And love that Russell is your favorite! I based his on personal experience. My husband surprised me like this when he was still in the military. But you bet your ass I sulked all day when I only got a short text message before he showed up at my door at night 🤣💕 (Also probably why that reader came across so realistic. I was sharing past trauma lmfao)

Thank you so much for reading & reblogging, Lee!!! So happy you enjoyed these and even better if they inspired more of your amazing fics! I already told my husband he's on toddler duty this weekend, so I can finally catch up with my tbr 😂🩵

Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

(Dean Winchester // Soldier Boy // Beau Arlen // Russell Shaw – Edition)

Prompt: How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine's Day?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader // Soldier Boy x reader // Beau Arlen x reader // Russell Shaw x reader

Warnings: +18 for some language and spice, tons of fluff, a smidge of angst

A/N: Something sweet to sweep you off your feet for the most romantic day of the year 😉 Happy early Valentine's from me, my loves 💖 (And big thanks to the lovely, amazing @zepskies 💜 for starting this trend in the first place. It's addicting 😂🫶)

Dean:

Dean isn’t big on Valentine’s Day and romance. Not because he thinks it’s an unnecessary holiday invented by greeting card companies, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to be romantic.

You’re aware of this and don’t care if he surprises you with a big gesture. Because truth is, Dean’s romantic when it comes to the little things.

You don’t care if he brings you flowers because he brings you your favorite take-out order when you so much as mention that you’re hungry.

You don’t care if he gets you a card because he gets up in the middle of the night and saunters all the way to kitchen to bring you a glass of water when you tell him you’re thirsty.

You don’t care if he gets you chocolate because he creates personal mixtapes for you with songs you said you liked during random drives.

He listens to you. He holds open doors for you. He protects you. He keeps you calm. He takes care of you when you’re injured. And he loves you with every fiber of his being.

So, really, you don’t care if he makes a big deal out of one random calendar day a year or not. It doesn’t prove his love for you – the little things do.

However, you’re still sweetly surprised (and moved to tears) when you find the Dean Cave dipped in the warm glow of fairy lights and candles.

He’s picked out your favorite chick-flick and your favorite snacks.

He opens his arms with a big, cheeky grin and invites you into his snuggly embrace on the couch.

There’s a box of chocolates on the coffee table, a few of them half eaten, and a note that reads: I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is. Be mine?

You smile and kiss his scruffy cheek. “Always.”

Flustered, he smiles, cheeks tinged pink, and kisses your crown. “Happy unattached-drifter-Christmas, sweetheart.”

Soldier Boy:

To say Ben’s old-school when it comes to romance would be an understatement. While the rest of the year his bedside manners leave much to desire, he strangely shines on Valentine’s.

Mostly, because he knows sex is a given on this holiest of holy days. No sickness or period can stop him.

If you accidentally died, you’re even sure he’d pull a full Weekend at Bernie’s and have a night out with your corpse.

First, he surprises you with a delicately wrapped gift on your bed: a tight-fitting, beautiful emerald evening gown and the matching lacy lingerie set.

Of course he got you underwear, even though he won’t mind if you don’t wear anything at all under that dress.

He then takes you out to the fanciest restaurant in the city, where he reserved a private room away from all the other commoners.

His attention is only on you.

He praises you all night long and gives compliments as if he's never done anything else his entire (long) life.

He orders the most expensive bottle of wine and the best steak and makes sure you know that it is.

He encourages you to play footsie under the table with him before he slips the heel off your foot, and your toes massage the growing bulge in his slacks.

He holds your hand in public and protectively guides you goddamn everywhere with a palm on the small of your back, showing you off like arm candy – the trophy wife.

Sure, you could protest and critique his… traditional views.

You’re not a fucking award he’s won for bad acting!

But your cheeks flush furiously every single time he brags boisterously about you to anyone who will listen. And those who don’t listen are forced to listen.

But you can’t deny it feels good to be so wanted, so desired.

When you come home at the end of the night (with a fucking horse-drawn carriage no less), Ben can barely keep his large hands from roaming your curves. You know he expects his reward now for being the best possible lover ever.

On the kitchen island, you also find a huge bouquet of red roses waiting for you. You can barely appreciate its beauty before the zipper in the back of your dress slides open. Well… rips open.

Between the thorny stems, there’s a card attached, too. It doesn’t read “Be Mine,” however.

Nope, it says, “You are mine.”

And you know he fucking means it.

Beau Arlen:

Your favorite cowboy sheriff will pull out all the stops as soon as the calendar on his desk reads February.

He doesn’t wait for D-Day either. Every day for thirteen days straight, there’s a little surprise waiting for you when you get home.

Your favorite flowers, your favorite meal, your favorite movie, a framed picture of you and him from your first vacation together, a necklace you saw in an antique store you mentioned in passing…

Some might say he’s a little overcompensating.

But Beau has made mistakes in his past, especially on the relationship front, and will be damned if he hasn’t learned from them.

So, he will make sure you feel wanted and loved till the day he dies, even though you keep repeatedly telling him he doesn’t need to make a fuss about Valentine’s Day.

Really, you’re good with picked flowers from the garden.

But Beau’s stubborn and won’t be discouraged. The southern gentlemanliness is rooted deep within his heart and soul.

This day is all about his endless love for you.

Honestly, the sheer amount of everything makes you even slightly uncomfortable. It might sound dumb, but how could you ever compete with that level of commitment?

There ain’t enough blow jobs in this world to make up for his devotion to you.

But on the big day itself, you are actually the one who surprises him with a romantic weekend trip to a cabin in the mountains and excellent fishing spots close by.

You know the biggest gift you could give him is some peace and quiet, time for himself, and a listening ear because he will surely talk the entire time about God and the world while you’re stuck on a boat with him.

But on the night itself, when you give him your gift, he’s actually speechless. Tears brim in his green eyes because you thought of him.

He’s moved, and it moves you.

Because, after all, to you, there’s no bigger gift in this world than his smile.

Russell Shaw:

You don’t expect much when Valentine’s Day looms in the distance. In fact, you don’t expect anything at all.

You’ve only been dating Russell for a couple of months now, and you barely ever see him. Your time together mostly consists of text messages, late night phone calls, and the occasional video chats.

You know his job is complicated. You know he can’t be around as much, even though you direly wish he could.

On the morning of the dreaded day, you receive a simple text message:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart! I’ll call you later!”

You hate to admit it, but you feel a little disappointed – disenchanted even. You don’t want to make a big deal out of it because it’s a stupid, unimportant almost-holiday.

All day long, you curse the greeting card companies and the poisonous claws of consumerism for making you care in the first place.

You’re a strong, independent woman. You shouldn’t need a man to give you flowers, gifts, or attention to feel appreciated.

Still…

As you park in the driveway after a long day at work where you watched your colleagues fawn over the bouquets they received from their partners, you feel disheartened when you still haven’t even gotten your promised phone call.

Russell always leaves you wanting more… That can both be a good thing and a very bad one.

But as you close the car door, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You all too keenly pull it out and pick up, almost dropping it because your hands are jittering with excitement at this point and your heart is pounding furiously.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Russell greets you on the other end, the deep timbres of his voice sending immediate shivers down your spine. “You home yet?”

All your worries and sorrows are instantly forgotten when you hear the big smile on his freckled face that he’s surely carrying.

He’s worth it, you remind yourself, even when it’s not easy. Life is not always rainbows and butterflies.

“Uh, almost. Unlocking the front door as we speak,” you tell him.

“Sorry I couldn’t call you sooner. Was stuck on a plane. Long flight,” he says mysteriously. You don’t even ask at this point. You know he can’t tell you.

“No worries. I was busy, anyways,” you lie and hope he buys your nonchalance. “Anywhere interesting you are now?”

“You could say that, yeah…”

“Well, if you hold on a second, I’ll slip out of those clothes and make your evening even more interesting with some pictures,” you tease flirtatiously and push the door open to your dark apartment.

The light switches on by itself, though. You blink in surprise before the phone falls out of your hand when Russell beams broadly at you.

“As much as I love getting your dirty little photos, I think I prefer the real thing tonight,” he says slyly.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” You surge forward into his strong arms so forcefully you almost tackle him to the ground, your hands slinging around his neck. If you could keep him caged there forever, you’d be fine with it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” Russell says with a warm chuckle and claims your lips in a searingly passionate kiss that shows you just how much he’s certainly missed you too. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Hope you enjoyed these little snippets, friends! Do you agree with these? 😉

I legit stole Dean's half-eaten box of chocolate and the Forrest Gump note from another fic of mine. I couldn't resist. I can totally see him doing something silly and cute like that 😂

Happy Valentine's 💕

☕️ Ko-Fi🩵 Tag List

TAGS:

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@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

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Other lists that apply: @snowayumi @deans-baby-momma @corruptedcruiser

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character 2024 — Scripted Redemption Bracket — Round 2.5

Propaganda

Graham Casner (The White Vault):

White Vault spoilers:

[Coughing violently]

Graham Casner survived the Forrmynður, the thing that will stop at nothing to sacrifice you

He deserves this as a break and a reward

Thank you for coming to my TEDtalk.

Yaretzi (Hello from the Hallowoods):

Give it up for the werewolf lady Yaretzi. She's in a streamy romance with a vampire and co-parents her skull-floating-in-a-giant-metal-suit son with her demon former blood enemy. Also she wears dangly gold jewelry and IS strong enough to princess carry you.

Additional propaganda below the cut:

Graham Casner (The White Vault):

Peter Joseph Lewis hottest voice of all time

#I know he's gonna lose but gotta go with Graham

#I am tma girlie and I dropped The White Vault at season something #but Graham is sexier!!! (In reference to Tim Stoker)

#Look from the allos I know. The people voting have NOT heard TWV

#WHAT are these results #I understand that we're pitting the canonically sexiest men from each series against each other. But casner!!!! #Graham 'going to protect all of you if it kills me' Casner #Graham 'brooding in the corner but it's brooding like a mother hen' Casner #Come to think of it interesting that they both sort of kind of died the same way?? #Anyway pokemon go to the polls to vote for casner

#im sorry but have you people HEARD graham casner's voice #i think that might be the sexiest voice of every podcast ive ever listened to and that is. many #like i love tma and i love tim but this is specifically for sexiness and graham casner wins by a MILE. the injustice ...

#VOTE GRAHAM PLEASE GOD #i love tim so much but hes nothing put against Graham #im so sorry TMA girlies but i need you to listen to more than TMA #YOU SIMPLY DO NOT KNOW

With zero hesitation, it’s Graham. #sad strong Russian dad vibes #he’s such a gem

#Graham Casner #his voice is hot and he fought a giant arctic squid (and won???)

#i'm begging y'all listen to more than just tma #tim's voice isn't even that sexy compared to graham #graham got shit done #sorry tim #but i know you'd fuck graham too #AND YOU WOULDN'T SURVIVE

#it's graham casner #you're all wrong and i won't apologise

#rip casner I still love you

#Graham casner did not survive the nobody gets out alive ritual twice for nothing

Yaretzi (Hello from the Hallowoods):

#star werewolf with found family is very sexy

#yarezti is literally canonically big and butch and hairy. how much hotter can a fictional woman get

#YARETZI MY BELOVED#SHES SHORT SHES STONGG SHES HAIRY SHE CAN TURN INTO A GIANT WOLF

#GIVE YARETZI WHAT SHE DESERVES #SHES GAY #SHES DOING THE WEREWOLF VAMPIRE LESBIAN ROMANCE #SHES IN A QPR RAISING A KID WITH THE DEVIL #SHES BLESSED BY A HOT FEMMEBUTCH INDESCRIBABLE BEING

[angelsdean]

it’s as if ppl have forgotten others will lie for money and attention lol like sorry but I don’t believe a word some random tour guide says (even if it’s confirming my ship!) esp when it’s literally just reiterating what we already have heard misha say about the pre-covid heaven reunion but with random added embellishments to act like there’s “new” info on top of what we already know. also idk why anyone is celebrating that ending, it’s still so shitty like dean only able to “accept” his sexuality once he’s DEAD in heaven ??? When he’s been bisexual on our screens openly flirting with men and doing dudes since the 90s??? Get out of here with that bullshit lmao

[anonymouscheeses]

They are everything to me.

[the-carlos-cow-eyes]

What Bellamy Blake deserved: NOT FUCKING THAT

[owlyflufff]

haikyu's dumpster batte is only going to be around 1 hour and 24 minutes, oh it's genuinely bokuakaover

[pwurrz]

being obsessed with yakumo is a job and baby i’ve never called in a sick day!!!!!

[shoot-i-messed-up]

One of the hardest things about writing superlantern is figuring out what’s the deal with clois in this universe…they’re literally soulmates….why is clark with hal and not lois….

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

If you actually believe suicide is punishable by eternal damnation and that applies to Javert as well, you must invariably also apply this logic to Valjean, who starved himself to death. A passive suicide is still suicide; it doesn’t stop being so just because you prefer one character to another. To pretend like Valjean didn’t commit suicide and goes to heaven but that Javert must go to hell is just outright incorrect and biased on every level. They either both went to heaven or both went to hell, but you can’t have it two different ways.

Hey thanks for the ask /gen!

I don't believe suicide sends you to hell. I've been pretty careful to specify that *Catholic doctrine in the past* (as I'm not aware of their current position) has taught that suicide is a mortal sin (you can even see this attitude in Hamlet, in which the characters are Catholic), but I am not Catholic, nor do I believe that doctrine was ever true.

Your salvation is not gained or lost by your virtue or sin. Salvation is given by God: "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith--and this is not of yourselves, it is the gift of God, so that no man can boast" (Ephesians 2:8-9).

Narratively, how this applies to Valjean vs. Javert is that Valjean accepts his salvation and the mercy shown to him, while Javert, because of his pride and shame (among other reasons) rejects it and instead commits suicide. Neither of them "deserved" a second chance, but both of them were offered it; Valjean took it, and Javert did not.

God will not force you into heaven, but He does make the Way (through faith in Christ) available to everyone. The tragedy of Javert is that he is unwilling to accept that God's path is not the path he thought it was, and instead of living a new life in light of this truth, he ends his life in rejection of it. And in doing so, he condemns himself, when mercy was right in front of him--as so many choose to do.