#and this is only the first section of the fight!

[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.

[nomie-11]

The General - Part 2

masterlist! | Right Wing - Part 1

synopsis: hockey had always been ellie’s first choice. yours? not so much (soulmate au)

pairing: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

Ellie was nine when she was adopted by a fifty-one year old man named Joel Miller, who had lost his one and only daughter when he was thirty-four. They didn’t have much to talk about, much to bond over, except for Ellie’s love for comic books and dinosaurs, and his love for playing her favorite songs on his guitar. 

She didn’t know much about her birth family—didn’t know much about her mother or where she was from, all she knew was Joel, his house in Jackson, and her aunt Maria and uncle Tommy. That was her entire world, and she was content with her world to be that. 

Until one freezing December where a lake outside of Jackson froze over solid, and the boys from the high school cleared out a section for hockey, where Joel put her in a pair of Sarah’s old skates and a puck in her hand, and taught her to skate. 

Ellie was nine when she first stepped onto the ice. 

From then on, her world was that: hockey, Joel, Jackson, aunt Maria and uncle Tommy. 

Joel had been hesitant at first—Sarah had been more into soccer, and Ellie had the foot-eye coordination of a baby deer on a good day. But after weeks of watching the older boys play pickup games on the frozen lake, Ellie had begged to go out again. And Joel, who had already lost one child and was still figuring out how to love another, couldn’t find it in himself to say no. 

She had started with Sarah’s old figure skates, the leather stiff with age and the blades dulled from years in the attic. They were a size too big, and the first time she stood up, she fell flat on her ass. Joel had just laughed, crouching beside her with his own skates laced up tight. 

“Alright, kiddo,” he had said, offering her a hand. “First lesson: learn how to fall. Second lesson: learn how to get back up.” 

And that was how it started. 

Joel taught her how to find her balance, how to push off with just enough force to glide without toppling forward. At first, she wobbled like hell, arms flailing as she tried to keep herself upright. But every time she hit the ice, she got back up, scowling, determined. 

And then Joel gave her a pair of hockey skates and a stick. 

That was when something clocked. 

Ellie didn’t just like skating—she loved hockey. She loved the speed, the way the puck glided across the ice, the sharp scrape of her skates when she made a tight turn. She loved the way Joel’s face softened when she scored against him, how he called her kiddo with something like loving pride in his voice. 

She started playing with the older boys on the lake, bruises blooming on her arms and legs from rough checks and missed falls. They played hard, but Ellie played harder. She never backed down from a fight in the corners, never shied away from a body check, even when she was half the size of the guys coming at her. 

Joel saw it in her then—that aggression, that fire. 

She tried playing with the little girls’ league in Jackson for a season, but it didn’t last. Teh coaches kept telling her to be gentler, to play nice. She got called for roughing in every other game, even when she ‘barely touched anyone.’ When she checked a girl ‘too hard’ into the boards one time, her coach benched her, saying she needed to learn some self-control. 

Joel hadn’t been angry—not with her, at least. He had just sighed, shaking his head.

“Think you need a different league, kiddo.” 

So Joel fought for a spot on the boys team, and she played with the boys instead. That was where she learned how to really play. 

They didn’t hold back, and neither did she. She fought for the puck like her life depended on it. She took hits that rattled her ribs and gave them right back. The boys stopped underestimating her. They stopped treating her like some little girl who couldn’t take a punch.

She wasn’t just good. She was vicious. 

And then the scouts came, and then the offers, and then the University of Vermont. 

Hockey was her whole word, and she was good at it. But then—

University of Vermont Women’s Hockey got destroyed by Boston University Women’s Hockey Team Ellie’s sophomore year of college, and she got into a few too many arguments after that loss. But after being kicked from the Vermont team, Joel didn’t let her quit, and Ellie went to open tryouts for the very team that wrecked her. 

And suddenly, she was here, stuck at Boston University, being forced to play on a team that had steam-rolled her. 

Ellie thought that the Boston University team was just… better. There was nothing more to that, they had stronger players, the individuals were just better. But then she met you—The General—and her army. 

Ellie hated you. 

She had hated you front the second you told her to pass the stupid puck like the tattoo imprinted on her wrist in a radiant gold. 

You were the perfect captain—the golden child of BU women’s hockey, the one every listened to, respected, her soulmate. You played like you had something to prove, like winning was the only thing that mattered. And worst of all, you were right. 

Ellie had spent years thinking she knew hockey better than anyone, that she didn’t need a cohesive team, that she could bulldoze her way through any defense if she just tried hard enough. 

But you—you had systems. Strategies. You saw the ice like a general plotting a war. You read plays before they happened, called shots before they were taken. And every time Ellie ignored you, every time she tried to do things her own way, you made sure she paid for it. 

By the fourth week of practice, Ellie had bruises in places she didn’t even know could bruise. 

She had learned fast—if she didn’t pass, Vi would crush her into the boards. If she didn’t keep her head up, Caitlyn would pickpocket her before she could blink. And if she let herself get distracted, even for a second, you would strip the puck right off her stick and leave her in the dust. 

She had never played hockey like this before. 

She had never played smart. 

And she hated that it was you teaching her. 

It was after one particularly brutal practice—after Vi had laid her out twice and Abby had chirped her so hard she nearly threw a punch—that Ellie found herself lingering by the locker room, still fuming. 

She had been careless. Sloppy. 

And worst of all, she had let you see it.

You walked past her, still in your gear, your helmet under your arm. You didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at her. 

That pissed her off even more. 

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Ellie blurted. 

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “What?” 

Ellie scowled. “You act like you’re fucking invincible out there. Like you know everything.” 

Your eyes flickered, something sharp and unreadable behind them. “I know the game, Williams.” 

“Yeah? Well, guess what? So do I?” 

You exhaled sharply, turning to face her fully. “Do you?” 

Ellie clenched her jaw. “Yeah. I do.” 

You stepped closer, your expression unreadable. “Then prove it. Play with us, not against us.” 

Ellie scoffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t need a lecture, Captain Perfect.”

You held her gaze, unwavering.

And then, quietly—

“Why are you really here, Williams?” 

Ellie froze. 

She knew you weren’t asking why she was standing in the locker room. She was supposed to be at Vermont, not Boston, playing D1 on a team that had given her a full ride, not a team that had picked her up on a whim, making a name for herself. 

But she wasn’t. She was here. And she didn’t have an answer for that. So she just swallowed hard, set her jaw, and shoved past you. 

But as she walked away, her wrist burned. 

And she hated that, too. 

—————————————

Before hockey, there had been figure skating. 

Before Ellie Williams and her infuriating smirk, before the rough checks and brutal scrimmages, before you had built a fortresss of a team around yourself—there had been sequins, music, and the dream of gliding across the ice like you were weightless. 

You loved figure skating. More than anything. 

You had started young, barely old enough to tie your own skates, chasing after the older girls at your rink with wide eyes and boundless energy. The first time you had landed a jump, you thought you could fly. The ice had been a blank canvas, and you had painted it with your blades, carving out stories with every routine, every careful, practiced step. 

And for a while, it had been perfect. 

Until it wasn’t.

Until your coach started correcting things that had nothing to do with your footwork. 

“You skate like a boy.” 

“You’re too stiff.”

“You don’t have the grace for this sport.” 

You tried to fix it. Tried to make yourself softer, quieter. More delicate. You watched the other girls, their effortless elegance and beauty, the way they seemed to float rather than skate, and you tried to be more like them—be more normal. But it never looked right. Never felt right. 

And then, when you were thirteen, your coach found out you had a crush on one of the other girls in the club. 

The comments changed. 

“That explains it.”

“No wonder you skate like that.” 

“You’re too much of a man for this.” 

The whispers spread through the club like wildfire, turning warm smiles into cold shoulders. One by one, the girls you had spent years laughing with started avoiding you. They avoided the locker room when you were in there. Invitations to hang out after practice stopped. You were alone, locked out of the one place that had always felt like home. 

And suddenly, the ice didn’t feel safe anymore. 

You held on for as long as you could, forcing yourself through practice after practice, pretending it didn’t sting when your coach praised the other girls for their ‘feminine grace’ while you got sharper criticisms and even sharper glares. But eventually, it became unbearable. 

You quit. 

You quit, and for the first time in your life, you thought you might hate the ice. But the ice wasn’t done with you yet. 

Because while the figure skaters had turned their backs, the hockey girls had welcomed you with open arms. 

They didn’t care if you were graceful or not. They didn’t care if you were too sharp, too aggressive. In fact, they liked it. They wanted the power, the strength. When you skated, it wasn’t about looking delicate—it was about speed, control, and dominance. 

And you thrived. 

At first, hockey had just been an excuse to keep skating. A way to stay on the ice without the crushing weight of expectations you could never meet. But then, something shifted. The first time you laid someone out with a clean, brutal check, you felt something electric in your veins. The first time you won a puck battle, fought for it like your life depended on it, you felt it. The first time you scored? The roar of the crowd, the way your team tackled you in celebration, the rush of it all—that was when you realized. 

You didn’t just love hockey. You were made for it. 

So you fought. You trained. You climbed. You worked harder than anyone, outskated every single person on the ice until you had no choice but to become the best. Until you made it here—captaining the Boston University team, leading your girls into battle, proving to every single person who had ever doubted you that you didn’t need to be graceful. You didn’t need to be soft. 

You would carve your name into the ice with your skates, with your bruises, with your victories. 

You were Boston University’s General—fearless leader of the women who believed in every play you called, and you wore that title with pride.

And then Ellie Williams showed up. 

Ellie, who played like she had something to prove. Ellie, who fought against her own teammates instead of with them. Ellie, who burned with the same kind of rage you had buried deep in your bones. 

Ellie, who had your words etched onto her wrist. 

“Pass the stupid puck.” 

It made you sick. Because she didn’t listen. She never listened. 

And yet…

She had something. Something raw. Something untamed. Something you recognized because you had spent years trying to beat it out of yourself. 

You hated her. You hated her because you saw too much of yourself in her stubborn defiance, in her reckless style, in the way she played like she was trying to prove something. 

And you hated her because she saw right through you, too. 

You could feel her eyes on you every time you yanked your sleeves down, every time your fingers twitched toward your wrist. She hadn't figured it out yet, but she was curious. 

And curiosity was dangerous. 

So you did what you did best. 

You kept your distance. You shut her out. You reminded yourself that she was a liability, a problem to be fixed, not someone to be close to. 

But then, in a late-night practice, when the rink was empty except for the two of you—Ellie finally passed you the puck. 

And you thought, just for one second, that maybe you were both exactly where you were supposed to be. 

This is part two of a multipart series! Read part 1 here!

If you enjoyed this series, please make sure to check out my others!

taglist: @vahnilla , @sevyscoven , @taurtel

[yimpysdiner]

Ridiculously long analysis of Jimmy's dialogue (PART 2)

PART 1 HERE Continuing with the next section,

Mimicking?

The whole ordeal of Jimmy copying Curly's "yeah?" in speech has already been pointed out, but there's something else I wanted to look into. This section is gonna be relatively short but this interaction still sticks with me. It's fairly easy to miss as you can brush it off but given Jimmy often repeats words or phrases from those around him I find it interesting.

This interaction was so awkward that it has me thinking about it over and over so honestly this may be one big nothing burger and more so headcanon territory but hear me out.

Jimmy gets quiet here as either 1, he expects them all to die on that ship as he said before crashing it or 2, he's terrified of any sort of attention their whole ordeal may get if they survive. The awkward silence is only filled by him commenting on ladies. Daisuke is no stranger to talking about "beach babes" and as Swansea puts it, "thinking with his downstairs long-nose." Honestly, Jimmy is a scumbag and gross around women, but I don't think this is the sort of situation where he cares to be impressing any ladies. This reads to me as him trying to "fit in" with Daisuke in a way. The way he often mimics people and says things they'd relate to defuse situations and get on their good sides feels like a form of masking. I'm no professional, no idea what in specific this would be, but Jimmy strikes me as the kind of guy who finds it really difficult to positively navigate a lot of social situations, especially if he feels uneasy like he was here. This parts super rambly sorry, this is just something interesting about him to me, how he'll latch on to other people's personality traits and mirror them.

Lashing out

We all already know Jimmy's not a very stable guy, very small things irritate him, he has levels to his anger however.

His base line irritation is just little remarks like this, things that you would scratch your head at but they're small so you can't quite bring them up. It's not completely aggressive, but it's definitely not very friendly either

I won't shove all the same screenshots of him lashing out during the birthday party here, but there he only lashes out in front of everyone else when he's able to make it seem like he's in the right. He insults everyone to their faces, but he's able to pin all the blame on Curly, letting out his anger while also in some sort of way getting people on his "side." Here he's *already* sewing seeds of doubt about Curly into the other's mind, so his little plan to blame Curly for the crash later on only works out all the more in his favor.

Then there's moments like when he's giving Curly his pills. He isn't exactly yelling, more so going on with his angry, paranoid rambles. This of course is followed by the implication he beats Curly while feeding him his painkillers, physically taking out his anger on someone who can't fight back. Side note, the only times he ever gets physical is when they're in a position of being unable to fight back (drugging Swansea, the implied drugging of Anya, and of course when Curly is left defenseless.)

I believe this is the first instance of Jimmy actually full on yelling while having one of his tantrums, which is why I say his anger is written in levels. It's not all one flat base of him cussing like a sailor and screaming his head off, remembering this and *what* exactly makes him tick helps me when deciding how I should write him reacting to certain situations. There's other instances where he's clearly panicked and flustered, stuttering and rambling because of high stress situations such as when Daisuke is on the brink of death and it's all his fault, which we'll get to later.

Hopelessness

Something I noticed when going back through everything is Jimmy seems completely and utterly hopeless about everything in his life. It starts out in the cockpit scene, one of the very few times he's genuinely vulnerable.

This line initially just seems like Jimmy is some power tripping guy who likes being the right hand man to the Captain, which is entirely possible (and true, given how quick he is to assume the Captains role himself), but it leads me to suspect something else as well.

These are out of order, but I think like this is better demonstrates Jimmy has never really felt the sense of control over his life like he has until he got this gig with Curly. He feels comfortable like this, which is why Curly wanting to "throw it all away" in his eyes baffles him. I really wish the devs gave some insight to what Jimmy's life on Earth was, why *he* ran from it all to assume a position where he felt he was finally in the drivers seat.

When Jimmy is faced with the reality of what he's done, his first worry is when he gets back home, he'll be caged in the same position he was, back at square one with no control over his life, rotting in a prison. Even if he did get out, as he said, none of it will matter, not with an assault on his permanent record. Maybe he held onto hope that he and Curly would find something new to do, but because he made the choice to force himself on Anya, that'll never happen. His knee jerk reaction to that? Kill himself. Kill himself and take everyone down with him, because if he's not in control, he may as well be dead. "The Tulpar crew was never found."

Remorse

Jimmy isn't entirely uncaring for what he's done. He suffers delusions for each and every one of the people he fucked over, all except Anya. Instead, he sees visions of the child he created, the ever looming reminder of what he did, no matter how hard he tried to block out Anya from his mind, it will always, always haunt him. Him crying to Curly and pleading forgiveness from someone who can't properly give it to him anymore is already a sort of in your face scene, that and the scenes with the horse delusions.

I want to talk about Daisuke and Swansea actually, as he had a much more direct role in their ends. In his mind he can say, oh, Curly ran in and did that to himself, oh, Anya swallowed those pills and did that to herself. It's Daisuke and Swansea who show up more broadly as themselves in his delusions as he was the sole reason for their passing. As Daisuke is dying, he is incredibly distressed the entire time.

Daisuke being so prominent in his mind has always struck me as interesting, seeing him in the vent, a grave, in the graveyard, all the flowers, the real genuine panic when trying to fix what he did. He never wanted him to die, he obviously feels immense guilt in making him crawl through that vent.

As for Swansea, Swansea can read him like a book, and he lets Jimmy know exactly what he thinks of him before he's shot and killed. He appears in the graveyard with Jimmy, also leaving a lasting impact on Jimmy's psyche.

To say Jimmy feels nothing over what he's done, or that he wouldn't care about people dying or anything like that is wrong on so many levels when the entire last half of the game focuses on him having to literally fight his own demons. It all culminates into him saying he fixed everything, deluding himself into being a hero as some sort of final comfort to his broken mind before he offs himself, "saving" Curly after dismembering him as if that makes up for all his wrongdoings. Jimmy is so layered and interesting and human, and that's what makes him a fantastically written character. It's what allows you to see yourself in him and reflect, see those insecurities he harbors, those toxic traits he exhibits, every little ugly part of him meant to be a mirror to your own actions. Denying him his humanity and making him an emotionless, aggressive, constantly angry person strips him of everything he's meant to be.

Sorry for the huuuuge yapsesh, but I thought going over these would be fun, it also helps me keep my characterization of him as accurate as I can possibly make it. If you have any thoughts let me know!!! I am very very invested in him and I love to hear what others think of him, even if I may agree or disagree.

[vega-alphalyrae-hip91262]

So Brazil GP 1990 was kinda dramatic...

I've been thinking about this too much, but the Brazil Grand Prix of 1990 was filled with drama and I just want someone to write a fic (or multiple please) about this event.

Let me paint you the scene, it's spring 1990, Sao Paulo.

Three time world champion Alain Prost has just done the wild move of leaving McClaren (announcing it mid season and also giving away one of their trophies to the tifosi fans in a heated poduim) for Ferrari after two extremely hard seasons along Senna in McClaren. Although he's had great testing over the winter, the first race was pretty bad with both Ferraris retiring. He's desperate to prove himself (afterwards said it was the best win of his career).

Senna on the other hand was heavily involved in the redesign of the Interlagos circuit (there was a section named S do Senna, this is his hometown also) which reopened after 9 years of racing Jacarepaguá for the Brazilian Grand Prix, and despite the incredibly difficult economic panorama Brazil was facing (Inflation at 2000% and frozen bank accounts). The whole country was expecting him to win.

The week before the race Senna went of to relax in the beaches of Angra Do Reis with friend and new teammate Gehrard Berger (you've been teammates for a minute at this point Ayrton, wtf you never took Prost to the beach now did you?) and he shines in the qualifications taking pole position. In fact the Ferraris aren't even the biggest rivals for McClaren that weekend, the Williams have much better pace.

At the end of the first lap it's Senna first with Berger on second, Boutsen on third and Prost on fourth. The race goes well for both of them mostly, Prost gets third when everyone starts pitting. Berger falls behind a bit but still keeps the fight on falling to fourth and then third, then when Senna changes tyres going to second. A fairly tight race. When Boutsen runs over one of his mechanics in pits (man seemed to have been okay but was bleeding) Prost takes second, he is still 9 second behind Senna but he is getting closer.

Then on lap 42 Senna attempts to lap Nakajima and has a small collision, loosing his front wing. If you watch the video you can barely see it and it doesn't immediately looks like he is loosing much speed, but then it's pretty obvious. Now some people say Nakajima should have opened the gap, others say Senna rushed in, anyway, Senna has to go to pits to get the wing replaced 26 seconds lost.

Prost takes the lead with Berger behind, later Berger would say that he was having leg pains because apparently his sear didn't fit correctly? and he even had stomach cramps? (McClaren wtf?) Prost takes those laps to really make a gap and the manages the car. Senna is going like crazy behind them on third, making fastest time of the three but still unable to catch up.

In the end the race goes 1st Prost, 2nd Berger, 3rd Senna.

Noooow things get interesting. Alain Prost who is pretty composed through some truly horrific shit in F1 (have you seen those interviews where he is asked about all those terrible crashes and only smiles politely and replies all smiles?) is seen bawling his eyes out with Cesar Fioro on the Ferrari garage (happy? probably relieved to prove himself to Ferrari, overwhelmed? SURE, sad that Ayrton took Gehrard to the beaches before him? I'm going with definitely).

On the podium Alain Prost is crying because reasons (my money is on Ayrton's emotional terrorism but you can pick) , Ayrton Senna is crying because he probably feels like he disappointed the entire country (poor man truly) and sandwiched between two crying men Gehrard Berger stomach is still presumably upset. The entire crowd is SILENT. May I remind you that Alain (at this point on the story we are in first name basis) has said multiple times that the brazilian crowd is his favorite and he feels that racing there is like a second home, even BEFORE Senna (and he has a very complex relationship to his own country mind you); also he is coming here after being fairly criticized by Ronn Dennis who said he should have had the decency to take the season off instead of switching teams. This was the man that was in talks with Alain to get actions in McClaren (before 1988). Also this is the second time that Alain dramatically exits a team (at least this time there weren't any cars on flames), can you imagine the pressure?

Talking about pressure, the country was in it's most dire moment in decaaaades and banking on Ayrton to lift them up (he's never won in Brazil at this point), can you imagine the absolute devastation???!

Adding to the shit show btw:

-Balestre refuses to attend the podium because he thinks he'll be booed (well, yes that happens when you suck) and heads to the airport to rush back home but apparently someone pulled a prank on him (or maybe the airport staff were Senna's fans) saying there was like a bomb threat or something like and his plane gets delayed for hours.

-Xuxa and all of Ayrton's family were there being photographed at every move, also Honda executives.

So, it just feels like it was a race with so much tension, can someone please, please write about this? What happened before? What happened afterwards? Why was Alain crying so so much? (seriously I've watched hours of material on this man and it's the only time he cries like that) Did someone give Ayrton a hug? Was that someone Alain?

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

headcannons of the jackass crew on valentines? i think johnny would be soooo romantic!

Valentine’s Day with the Jackass Guys! ♡

Johnny Knoxville X Fem!Reader, Bam Margera X Fem!Reader, Steve-O X Fem!Reader, Chris Pontus X Fem!Reader, Ryan Dunn X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content, kissing, lingerie, PDA, cuddling, alcohol

An: Thank you for the request! I had a ton of fun coming up with these cute date ideas for the guys! Fun fact: Bam’s section is inspired by the trip to Paris he took his then girlfriend as mentioned in his book! Anyways, thank you for the request, and please keep sending them!

Johnny

Charged silence buzzed between you and Johnny as you waited at bar of that fancy restaurant everybody in LA had been fighting tooth and nail for a table at,

But from the stuffy, stuck up atmosphere and the snotty, well to do customers, one thing was becoming very apparent:

“I really don’t think this is our scene.”

Thank god you said that first. Paying for your drinks, he wrapped an arm around you with a grin,

“I’d reckon it ain’t.” Patting you on the back, Knoxville assured you as you weaved through tabled, “Ah, well don’t think I didn’t have a plan B prepared for this sorta thing!”

In actuality, he didn’t have anything resembling a backup, but it couldn’t be too hard to come up with…

Within the hour, you were back Johnny’s his place, not bothering to take off your fancy clothes as you cuddled up on the sofa.

Some romantic, French film you would’ve never guessed he’d know murmured quietly in the background as you picked through the Chinese takeout you picked up on the way home,

“I feel like I’m in a movie or somethin’…” Your flustered chuckle made that charming, Hollywood smile spread a mile across his ruggedly handsome face…

Knoxville pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Only the best ‘fr my girl…”

Bam

Now, most girls would be over the moon that their boyfriend took them to Paris for Valentine’s Day. However, keep in mind that your boyfriend was Bam Margera.

Take, for example, that morning you visited some fancy bakery. “Hey- hey, Y/N!” Turning away from some display, you just sighed as he gave you the eyebrows, giddily holding a baguette in front of his crotch.

Or when you nearly had a heart attack when your boyfriend got down on one knee and pulled out a little box in front of the Eiffel Tower. “Oh my god-“

“Wait- it’s a promise ring!” Seeing your face fall, Bam held up the silver, heartagram band and added, “See, I promise not to fuck any other chicks while we’re together.”

Way to ruin the moment…“What’re you, twelve?” You spat, to which he retorted, “Hey! I paid good, French money for this!”

But it’s not like Bam didn’t have a a single romantic bone in his body! I mean, he did take you to that fancy French lingerie store, but as you could guess, that was more fun for him than it was for you.

“Cmon, do a twirl!” He giggled as you tried on the thousandth lacy, black set he picked out in this demented Pretty Woman montage,

Thinking fast, you spun around and put on you best seductive coo, “When am I gonna actually get to buy these, babe? I’m real eager to, uh- test ‘em out…tonight.”

Of course, that’s what made him wrap it up, “Well, now youre speakin’ my language!”

Steve-O

Steve was broke. Dead broke, but he’s not the kinda guy to let that stop him from getting something for his girl!

“It’s a coupon book!” He excitedly showed you his handiwork, flipping through pages of shitty handwriting, “Y’can use ‘em whenever you want!” Oh, now you had to test that.

But you thanked your boyfriend and went about the day he had planned, making sure he was none the wiser

That is until you were halfway through your walk in the park and ripped out the ‘snuggle’ coupon. Okay, little weird, but there’s a lot worse you could ask Steve to do, so fuck it!

No blanket, no picnic basket, you were the weird cuddle couple in the park. But it wasn’t the end of the world for him

And if you thought the stares you got there were bad, you could only imagine the looks on the faces of the mall food court patrons when you tore off the slip of paper that read ‘back massage’.

“I’ll do it. No, really- I’ll do it!” Steve was testing your gall, but you didn’t back down.

You grinned, proudly wagging the paper in the air, “Coupon! No restrictions apply!”

Face down, on a table, you hid your smile as you could feel your boyfriend physically staving off the urge to say you owed him because no, you didn’t owe him jack!

He just went along with the program, an embarrassed smile creeping across his face as he worked out the sore muscles in your shoulders.

You sat up just enough to ask, “Ooh! What about couple’s portraits after this?”

Chris

This man is COMICALLY romantic like. Oh my god.

Rose petals scattered about, the room bathed in warm candlelight as the of scent of vanilla wafted through the air as cheesy, romantic RnB played softly;

Chris planned a whole ass romantic spa day for you! There he was, lying ‘paint me like one of your French girls’ style on the floor, waiting for you.

“Oh my god! I…this is so sweet!” But for a moment, you smile flickered as you looked your boyfriend up and down, “What’s with the robe?”

Grinning, Chris shot you a wink as he sat up and slinked it off one shoulder, “Well, you can’t have a couple’s spa day by yourself!”

What followed was the most confusingly sexy Magic Mike routine you could have ever conjured up! Giggles, giggles, more giggles…

But when you actually got to the spa stuff, it was a bit of a tight squeeze for the both of you to Tetris your legs together in the small tub, the mountains of bubbles not helping at all. But you made it work…

Raking his fingers through your wet hair as you laid back against his chest, Pontius explained all the fun he had on tap,

“We got mani-pedis, massages, face masks…” Chuckling low, he added, “Y’know, the homemade kind?”

You laughed, playfully shoving him away, “Ah! You are so nasty…”

Ryan

You would never expect that he’d be one for wine and paint night, but it tracked after you found out Bam billed it to him as, “that paint thing April goes to with booze”.

But, to your surprise, you started having a really fun time! I mean, after a few glasses, of course…

When you weren’t gushing over him being such a good boyfriend, you and Ryan were sneaking kisses when you didn’t think the instructor was looking. God, you felt young…

But then, in the midst of all this love, you caught something out the corner of your eye… Dropping your voice to a whisper, you asked your boyfriend, “Hey, what’re you paintin’?”

Shrugging, Dunn gestured to the abstract, pale blob (which was not what the instructor was painting) with a finger,

“Oh! That’s us. Having sex!”

He’s fucking with you. He had to be- but if you squinted and turned your head to the side…

“Ryan!” Your eyes flashed wide as you whispered yelled, hiding behind your canvas, “That is embarrassing!”

Grinning, Ryan sling an arm around your shoulders, “It shouldn’t be! You’re hot!” As sleazy as that sounded, it was a genuine compliment! At least, he intended it as one

Leaning back, he signaled with one hand, “Can this painter get another bottle’a wine?”

[theoi-crow]

I'm sorry if this question seems strange, but what do you do if you feel like you've been abandoned by the divine? Not only can I barely feel their presence in my life despite talking and praying to them, but I'm about to enter a very difficult chapter in my life so I feel like they're abandoning me when I need them the most.

I'm getting jaw joint replacement surgery in April and my surgeon told me that it will cause severe nerve and muscle damage in my face, and that I'll lose most of the feeling and movement in my entire face and neck. It's a surgery that will change my entire life moving forward and I feel like crying because I can't feel the presence of the Theoi or any other Gods, despite needing them the most right now.

I've heard that the gods never truly abandon us, but what do we do when we still can't feel them even after crying out? What am I supposed to do right now? I apologize for the vent, but I really need some guidance rn and I love and admire your blog, so I hope it's okay to ask you this. Thank you

I want to start this very important ask by first saying that I think the gods are still with you because I got this very urgent feeling to answer this question and the energy felt like it was coming from them so they were helping me gather the scientific research needed to answer why it's hard to sense them right now (which took me a few days longer to complete than I had previously anticipated). I had to go through a similar surgery with the same possible outcome a couple of years ago and the wait leading up to it was one of the hardest moments of my life so I can sympathize with how difficult this situation is for you right now.

The answer to this ask is very long because I wanted to use scientific research to thoroughly explain why it feels like the gods have abandoned you and have added things that could help sense them again:

Why is it hard to sense the gods right now?

There are times when I can't hear the gods at all and it happens when I'm very upset and need them the most. This is a very common experience for worshippers who are going through a crisis or when they're in a situation that causes their stress levels to get higher than usual.

There's even a scientific explanation for that:

According to Harvard research: Stress causes the amygdala to take over because it switches to survival mode and your amygdala governs the survival part of your brain. At the same time it reduces the energy sent to your brain's memory and other centers that help with cognitive function. Dr. Ressler says, "...the brain is shunting its resources because it's in survival mode..." The brain pumps us with cortisol (the stress hormone) and adrenaline to trigger our fight or flight response because it thinks we're being chased by an apex predator even though we no longer have to worry about predators like saber-toothed tigers and other fauna that once hunted us, but our bodies still respond by pumping us with chemicals needed to run away because we were hunter-gatherers for 1.8 million years (LINK) and only started engaging in agriculture and complex communities beyond family like villages and towns more recently so our brains and bodies are wired to react to stress as if we were still hunter-gatherers. The reason why I'm mentioning all of this is because when we have high levels of stress:

It's hard to sense the gods because the usual cognitive functions we're used to sensing them with are being impacted by the amygdala.

High levels of stress caused by situations that trigger the amygdala can change how your brain functions by changing your brain waves. In this situation the amygdala increases the beta waves (LINK). Neuroscience research studies brain waves based on these five categories: (LINK)

According to research the beta waves have three sections:

High Beta waves (18-40 Hz) - Are the ones that get affected by the amygdala because the brain only cares about survival when it thinks you are being chased by a wild predator which is different from the slower frequencies of ALPHA and THETA waves which help you better connect with the gods since ALPHA waves are reflective and THETA waves help you connect with your intuition (LINK) and both help you feel more spiritually connected (LINK).

How to change your brain waves and reconnect with the gods:

I have a really hard time hearing the gods when I'm in the middle of a crisis or my stress levels are very high so I often use different forms of meditation to bring my high Beta waves down to Alpha or Theta levels. Classic meditation has been proven to work in doing this (LINK) but since I have ADHD I have a hard time with that so I'm going to suggest other activities that go beyond the traditional form of meditation in case you have a condition that also keeps you from being able to meditate this way:

1) Deep breathing: According to the article talking about classic meditation that I linked to just a second ago, taking in deep breaths has been shown to change your brain patterns by boosting Alpha waves. I recommend taking 3-10 deep breaths, or however much you would prefer and ending it with "my gods are with me," either said out loud or in your head. Here's a little gif that can help guide you but please go slower if you need to or ignore it if it doesn't help.

2) Dancing or exercising: Even though we have gone beyond the hunter-gatherer lifestyle, our bodies are still specifically designed for a hunter-gatherer body so when the amygdala triggers your fight or flight response, it will not stop until it senses the danger has passed. Exercise/dancing fools the brain into thinking you are doing something about that predator (either running or fighting) which helps it finish the process a lot faster. After it's done it will lower you from your high Beta three waves to lower beta waves, this will make it easier for you to reach your Alpha and Theta waves and thus spiritually connect with the gods. I suggest making a playlist full of songs that remind you of your gods and exercise/dance to them or ones that get you moving even if it's just swaying.

3) Light stretches or light exercises that require deep breathing like Yoga, Tai Chi or others within this category: I often do Yoga because it helps me do the first two suggestions rolled into one. Movement is very important for the body to tell the amygdala you are physically doing something to get to safety (again, hunter-gatherer bodies require hunter-gatherer solutions). By doing light exercises and deep breathing you are releasing the tension triggered by your cortisol levels and simultaneously lowering your brain waves from beta to alpha or theta levels. Add positive affirmations about your connection to the gods ("my gods are with me" or something similar) and imagine them with you while you do this.

4) Listening to music: Earlier I suggested making a playlist of songs that remind you of your gods that you can dance to but just listening to the music will also help. I suggest only listening to songs you want to listen to because even if a song reminds you of a god but you don't like it, don't add it. Make sure the music moves your emotions even if the song is angry or painful, so long as you're feeling the song, it'll help move your beta waves to a more relaxing state and fool your brain into thinking you're doing something about that perceived predator.

5) Journaling: The god I have the hardest time hearing is Apollo so I sometimes use spiritual journaling to connect with him. Spiritual journaling is great because it helps you use different parts of the brain that may not be as affected by the amygdala. Plus you'll have a record of your conversations with the gods in case you need to refer to them for past advice or days when you can't hear them. The way spiritual journaling works is you allow the gods to write through you by following a few simple rules:

1) Write everything down, whatever is in your head in whatever form it's in, even if it's a positive or negative thought, it doesn't have to be fancy or poetic, it can even be crass or harsh but it needs to be typed or written. Don't worry about your spelling because that'll slow down your writing and the point is to get it all out and not overthink it. Writing it down uses a different part of your brain that can help you sense the gods better in case your usual methods aren't working.

2) Ask the gods questions and write down whatever comes to your head. Be specific about which god you are talking to, for example it might look like this: "Hey Apollo I need help with this thing, what is it? My mind won't shut up about that thing I said 3 years ago, breath with me, in 1, 2, 3, out, 1, 2, 3, again in 1, 2, 3, out, 1, 2, 3, better? Yeah, thanks." I colored Apollo's parts with the orange font for the sake of clarity but I'm writing what is coming to my mind as I talk to Apollo so on the paper it will be whatever color your pen or font is, don't worry about differentiating between who is talking until you re-read it later.

3) you can type or write it but be sure to use whichever method you are most comfortable doing fast because you don't want to have time to second guess yourself wondering if that was you or the gods. It's easy for doubt to happen in these situations. The problem with doubt is that it causes a disconnection since you are allowing the gods to write through you but your mind will try to question if you're just making it up. It's one of those "trust the process" situations that take time to get used to.

6) "What would my god do/say?" This is the most important question for worshippers who can't hear or sense their gods. Sometimes I do this with Apollo or Athena because I can't always hear them so I'd go "what would Apollo say right now? He'd probably tell me it's better to do my physical therapy right now or I'll regret it tomorrow because he's the god of medicine and cares about my health." Or I'll sometimes go, "if Athena were here, what would she do? As the goddess of strategy she would probably ask me if I thought about plans B and C in case plan A falls through." Sometimes you have to guess what your gods will say until you can hear them again. This works your memory by helping you recall information you learned about the gods and/or past experiences you've had with them and eventually you will have these gut feelings about what the gods would say or do as if it's the gods themselves telling you.

7) Every time you think of your gods, assume your gods triggered that thought: In my Native American culture, we believe that when you suddenly think of an ancestor (or a family member who recently died) it means they are hugging you from the spirit world, likewise, whenever I suddenly think of the gods I assume they are triggering that thought and sending me messages, for example I'll suddenly think to myself "I should probably drink some water," and get a sudden image of Apollo so to me Apollo is the one who is telling me to drink water.

8) Be in Nature: Unlike the religious buildings we see today, the temples of the gods were not designed to be places of worship for humans but places for humans to store whatever gifts they gave them because the ancient Greeks believed nature was where the gods were worshipped, especially mountains that required effort for humans to reach or places that took your breath away. That being said, the gods I turn to when I can't connect with mine are Helios, Selene and Gaia because these are the gods I can immediately see and touch. Gaia is all around you, Helios will blind you if you stare at him for too long and Selene will keep whatever secret you tell her while you're admiring her moon form. Likewise, your gods also have nature aspects or concepts they embody like Aphrodite being the concept of love or Athena being wisdom. You can be with your gods by engaging with the realms and concepts they rule over or embody.

9) Arts and Crafts with your gods: While drawing or crafting whatever activity relaxes you, have an honest conversation with your gods and use the "what would the gods do/say" method to assume what they'll say. Play relaxing or inspiring music in the background for a more enjoyable experience.

10) Hug your gods or Cry on your gods: Sometimes crying on the lap of your god or hugging a pillow/stuffed animal while imagining you are hugging your god might help you feel both better and better connected. I wrote posts on how to cry on a god here and how to hug a god here.

11) Classic Meditation: It's been proven to work (LINK) but the act of meditating in this form doesn't always work for everyone so I added it later but still wanted to include it in case it'll work for you or you wish to try it.

12) Prayer: Prayer works like meditation in that it can also bring your beta three waves to alpha and theta levels but my disclaimer is that you have to feel the prayer move you. As someone who grew up Catholic I can pray in my sleep without knowing what I'm saying by only going through the motions of praying without ever feeling the words because I've been told what to say since I was three when more complex words were just sounds to me and never understood what I was saying until I was 12 and had to write it down for Sunday school, so prayer is only at the bottom of this list because it never worked for me until I started making up my own prayers. You also have the option of using Hymns as prayers but I'll write down how to make up a prayer in case you need it. To make up your own prayer you can use epithets that represent whatever specific aspect of the god you want to connect with if you're looking for a specific aspect. You can use epithets they already have in theoi.com or you can make up an epithet yourself in whatever language you are most connected to. You can praise the gods based on their hymns or past experiences you've had with them. You can make it as simple or as poetic as you'd like but you have to have a very honest and open heart when you are making up a prayer that will move you. You need to feel the words and make a prayer that will bring you peace and comfort. I sometimes sing Happy by Marina (LINK) or Venus by Sleeping at Last (LINK) to Aphrodite because they are songs that make me feel peaceful and feel like prayers so I wanted to add these to remind you that you can also use songs as prayers too since hymns were sometimes sung.

In conclusion:

Even if you can't sense the gods, they are with you, it's just that in our hectic lives we often forget we are still subject to the physical functions of the brain which controls what switches will be turned on or off and unfortunately it's hard to hear the gods when we are in our Beta three state because we're in a crisis and it has decided to turn off intuition and the ability to sense spiritual connections because those are in the Alpha and Theta levels but the amygdala puts us in beta three because its main priority is to either fight or outrun whatever apex predator it thinks is putting your life at risk. We may not remember a time when we had to fight or outrun wild predators but our bodies and brains still act as if we are and will limit the energy to other cognitive functions until it thinks we are safe. This is also why people who try to control others use fear tactics because it's easier to control someone in Beta three since their cognitive functions are disrupted and they will do anything for safety and security even if it means giving up their rights in exchange for it.

The brain makes it harder to sense the gods because it is prioritizing your safety and has turned everything else off in order to protect you. Gently thank it because it's only doing what it has evolved to do to guarantee your safety, and try any of the activities I listed above to help reconnect with your gods or feel free to try new ones so long as they will help turn your Beta Three waves into Alpha or Theta waves.

May your connection to the gods be easy, clear, and loud when they bring you peace.

[lateleviathan]

Saki, Mai, Michiru, and Kaoru vs Goyan(Full Power)

[bet-on-me-13]

The Fentonworks Mega-Lab.

So! AU where the Fentonworks Labs actually stretch Miles upon Miles below the City of Amity Park.

It started when the Fentons wanted to add a simple addition to the original Lab when they ran out of space to store their more dangerous weapons. They didn't want their (at the time) young children getting their hands on their experimental Weaponry, it could blow up in their faces!

So they built a different Wing of the Lab to hold all those Inventions.

Then they ran out of space and added a few extra Storage Rooms. But then they decided it was a hassle to have to carefully transport their Dangerous Inventions all the way to the Storage Rooms, and built a Lab specifically for Dangerous Experiments near that same Section. Then that Lab was occupied for a while, and Jack wanted to start a different experiment as well, so they built a few more.

In the end they just never stopped building onto their Labs.

There are sections of the Mega-Lab that are entirely walled off because a few of their more unstable Experiments contaminated the area. Walking into them was not recommended, else you could walk out with an extra eye or 5.

In other sections, their Captured Ghosts had taken over a few Labs and created a sort of Mad Max style civilization using their discarded weapons and vehicles.

In another, all Ghosts became Humans and all Humans became Ghosts. That was a weird one, to this day they still didn't understand how they pulled that off.

In another, some type of Eldritch Time Ghost had been born, and now sort of always existed and never existed, and began experimenting with its powers. They nicknamed it Clocky because it liked to carry around a stopwatch.

And so many more. At one point a failed Portal Experiment messed with the internal Space of the entire thing. Now there was literally no way of Mapping it. The Fentons still somehow managed to navigate it perfectly.

When Jazz and Danny grew up, they too learned how to navigate the Labs, which is how Danny managed to show his friends the Portal Experimentation Wing in the first place.

Unfortunately, it wasn't safe for anyone aside from the Fentons to enter the Mega-Labs, so one day when the Fenton Family+friends left town on a Week Long Camping/Road Trip, they put up a few Ghost Shields to keep both Humans out and the Ghosts in.

This drew some unwanted attention after some tourists saw the giant Glowng Green Building in the middle of an Illinois Town, and rightfully called the Justice League.

Now, the Justice League had tried to call the owners of the house, but nobody picked up the phone. (An incident with Jack and a Canoe had knocked most of their phones into the lake. They weren't even at the lake yet.)

When nobody picked up, they decided to investigate personally.

After getting into the House, they quickly found a door labeled "Labs: Do Not Enter (unless it we are late for Dinner)" and went into ignoring all the warnings.

They quickly regretted it.

[yuwuta]

can i ask why do you dislike satosugu?👀 not hate! i'm not particularily fond of them either outside of a platonic relationship tbh, i have a long mental essay as to why lol (feel free to not answer if you feel like this is controversial, i don't wanna make anyone uncomfortable)

not a problem, i love openly bashing this man. it’s mostly because i don’t like geto to begin with LOL the short version is: i think he’s kind of a bitch, really wack villain arc, and his ct it overrated 🙄 also he was a terrible friend omg… i feel no sympathy for him all around, and pairing him with satoru doesn’t gain him any points in my book.

even as a pair, i don’t see the appeal. sure, they were the strongest at the time (but even in that statement i roll my eyes) but the second satoru started to take himself seriously, geto started to crash out like an insecure dcom second lead, there’s no way i could overlook that in their relationship. he was not the only one who got his ass kicked by toji and he was acting like he was and the whole universe was plotting against him 🙄 one little mission goes awry and he’s ready to be a villain? LOSER! that is so not the ninja way!! and even if toji caused him that much pyschological damage: (1) toji died, so he’s not your problem anymore, (2) he was in hs like sorry you thought you were the shit and got your world rocked like oh nooo there are people more seasoned and more powerful out there than a second-year highschooler 😱 knuck up, buttercup!! do you see anybody else losing their marbles? NO! 

i could be serious and give an elaborate answer but unserious shorthand version is really don’t think he needed to do all that nor do i think he had the status to be doing all of that 🙄 

[universalthaumaturge]

so. chapter 5 huh.

[ieidolon]

now that i'm playing dragon age: veilguard i understand hbomberguy so much better. think i could probably do a 3.5 hours long video called "dragon age: the veilguard is FINE and here's why"

[teamhawkeye]

me anytime someone tells me that I don't have to fight and kill my way through every single enemy in the video game i'm playing:

[knbwn]

"oh man! i'm so excited to clear chapter 6 for the first time in a day!", i exclaimed. little did i know, it was a feature, a creature feature. featuring, 20+ battle nodes that locked me into using cards i have never known existed

[masked-and-doomed]

Anyway listening to Pulse and Anxiety 2 makes me wanna paint the Conclave as Funger enemies. I think they could fuck hard as bosses.

[orcelito]

Sasuke is Out! Sasuke is Doing things! What will Sasuke do?! I have no idea!!! I've never gotten this far in the story before, so I have no idea how things are going from here!!!! But Sasuke is Loose!!!!!!

Quoting this post to myself as I see Sasuke walking around and doing things. I haven't seen this guy do anything in like a hundred episodes. It's so exciting

[lyricalambrosia]

I think my current timeline is that im gonna finish can you feel the sun then participate in millionsummers week (which may or may not necessitate pausing cyfts if i havent finished it by then) and once both those things are out of the way i want to start working on "i never want to miss you again" like i said i would months ago