#crying jag

[howifeltabouthim]

The great storms of tears, when would they cease?

Iris Murdoch, from A Fairly Honourable Defeat

[abs0luteb4stard]

Me, trying to enjoy life.

[lcl-taste-tester]

handing out some criatura nina with flags like candy on halloween

[foxgirl87]

brotherly relationships that get destroyed by one of them doing something stupid… save me brotherly relationships that get destroyed by one of them doing something stupid

[pizzaqueen]

Another entry for day five of @steddie-week for the prompts 'together' and 'established relationship' because I thought of this after posting my other one

393 words of domestic fluff / rated T

Steve loves sleep-in days. They usually mean that neither he nor Eddie are working, so they get to spend the whole day together, instead of just the evening before they both collapse into bed.

They also mean he doesn’t have to be up at the asscrack of dawn, and he can get up at a decent hour. The closer to midday the better (though he doesn’t spend all of those hours asleep.)

But his favorite thing about sleep-in days is when he wakes up first, like he has today. His head is still lazy with sleep, but he feels rested, and he stretches out—not too much, though, he doesn’t want to wake the other occupants of the bed.

There’s Eddie, snoring softly, his head resting on Steve’s chest, leg hooked over Steve’s thigh, and his arm tucked under Steve’s arm.

Then, at Steve’s shoulder, Mercury is curled into a black ball of kitten fuzz, purring happily. On the other side of Eddie, there will be a similar ball of tabby fur, in the shape of their eldest ‘child’—dubbed by Eddie—Pippin. Steve wonders what they look like from the outside, the four of them tangled together in sleep.

And it hits Steve how damn lucky he is to be here, in this bed, with the ridiculous man he loves—who loves him back—and their two cats, in their apartment, getting to sleep in because, today, there’s nothing else to do.

Beside him, Eddie stirs, blinking his eyes open in a way that reminds Steve of their cats. Warmth and love rush Steve as Eddie peers at him, unseeing for a moment, before his eyes focus. He grunts something that might be good morning.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

Eddie grunts again, shifting so he can run a hand over his face. There’s an indignant meow from behind him as he upsets Pippin from her perch. “Time is it?”

“About 10.”

“Shit,” Eddie starts, looking panicked, but Steve smooths a hand down the side of his face.

“It’s okay, it’s sleep-in day.”

Eddie breathes out. “Thank fuck.”

“You know what that means?” Steve asks, rolling onto his side, gathering Eddie to him. When Eddie shakes his head, still too sleepy for full sentences, Steve adds, “We don’t have to be up for hours.”

Eddie slips his hand under Steve’s shirt, answering with a grin.

[skinnyazn]

I Will Not Ask and Neither Should You

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader (Jaguar) Chapters: 2/3 Notes: inspired by Hozier's Like Real People Do, Jag Backstory unlocked!!!

Part One | Part Three | AO3 | MASTERLIST Why were you digging? / What did you bury Before those hands pulled me / From the earth? I will not ask you where you came from / I will not ask and neither should you

___

You were in the kitchen getting water for the both of you when the message came in.

55.7249º N, 37.5541º E. Tuesday, 14:00. 

The +7 country code made a cold sweat break over your body. Russia. You didn’t know how the sender got your number, but if it was who you thought, they would have their ways. All you could do was stare at your phone as your heart hammered through your chest.

“Everything al’right?”

You hadn’t even noticed Simon come up behind you.

“Mmhmm,” you managed, passing him a glass of water as you set your phone screen-down on the counter. You lowered your head onto your arms, resting them on the surface to hide your face while you backed your nakedness against the colossus of a man. A raspy grunt was his response.

“Dangerous, Jag,” Simon warned, but closed the gap all the same. He kissed your shoulders and back, setting down the glass of water next to your phone. “Heart’s racin’,” he murmured against your skin as his hands smoothed down to your hips. “Can hear it from ‘ere.”

“You have that effect on me.” It wasn’t a lie—not usually. But at present, the contents of the text message were still etched into your brain. You felt like throwing up.

“Thought you needed a break, luv.”

“Changed my mind,” you tried your best to even your voice, but it still came out shaky.

Ghost’s hands stilled on your hips as he paused. “We don’t ‘ave to—” 

“Need you, Simon,” you interrupted, raising your head to look back at him while snaking his tattooed hand up and around your neck.

Dark eyes glinted in the low light, looking at the phone on the counter, then searching yours for a moment—for an out, a reason. But all they found was benediction. He tightened his grip around your throat and kissed you softly.

When your beautiful man was finally asleep, sound and unsuspecting, you hated yourself for exploiting his weaknesses. For knowing that he got sloppy around you in this domestic setting; that he slept deeper—you both did—after a few rounds. That he knew you’d get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom or refill your water.

You slipped out of the warm bed, packing as quietly as you could—shoving your life with Simon “Ghost” Riley into your black duffel. Hating yourself more as you scribbled on the back of a receipt and set it down next to his mask.

Something I have to do. 

You looked at him one last time—perhaps for the final time. His blonde hair was exposed, his ultimate layer of trust in you; you watched his scared back softly rise and fall as he slept. Numbness ran through your body at stupidity of thinking you’d finally escaped your past. Cut all the ties. That you naively thought you had built something here, too. People in your line of work never get happy endings. Your throat tightened as you slipped through the front door, locking it behind you. Your cab was already gone by the time he woke.

______

Moscow was frigid and covered in a light dusting of snow when you landed. And all those memories of a life left behind seeped back up from their well of suppression on the cab ride to the coordinates. It seemed like a lifetime ago. In a way, it was. There was a split in the road then, where you made a choice. One that lead you to San Francisco and to Kokshetau and to Leeds. One where you chose your life. 

Yet here you were, back in the cold and snow—despair growing in the pit of your stomach with each mile passed. You worried your jaguar pendant between gloved fingers.

The cab stilled in front of large bronze doors, now a dull green after centuries of oxidation.

Новодевичье кладбище: Novodevichy Cemetery.

You paid the fare and got out, duffel slung over your shoulder. There were tourists and locals alike visiting the historic cemetery. It made you even more on edge as you entered through the double doors. You were too vulnerable out here in the open. 

Checking your watch, you were thirty minutes early, giving you enough time to scope out the location. It calmed you some, passing by the beautiful tombstones and monuments of Russia’s most notable and respected citizens. Anton Chekhov, Vera Mukhina, Lyudmila Gurchenko. Pristine marble and greying stone and wet concrete. It was an odd location for a meeting but you hoped with all the people around you could let your guard down a little. You wandered through the maze of the deceased. But then you saw it: a mound of freshly laid earth and an ornate marble bust. You stopped completely. Felt your heart stuck in your throat and a flush of heat to your face. Your hands went numb as you just stared. 

Vladislava Ignatyev.

The thread that lead you to where you were now. In memory you heard the gentle clink of a tea cup and the soft rustling of a maid’s dress.

You’d make a fine spy one day, my beautiful Odette.

That your wish or mine?

Neither. It’s your nature, dear. The same way a fish takes to water or a swan flight. 

…

You can give me that look but you know I’m right. You were a caged, pretty little thing when I discovered you. And now you’ve grown majestically into your true nature. Just remember who gave you your wings when you are enjoying your freedom. My door will always be open for you…

The marble bust on the cold floor did the older woman no justice. It failed to capture her elegance and the magnitude of her character. You’d learned so much from her. Vladislava was a woman who silenced a room when she entered, through no other means than just being her. And now she was in the cold ground beneath you. Beauty and stature decaying. You wanted to cry but the tears would not come.

“It’s you…”

The gentle voice snapped you to the present again. Standing across from you was a handsome man, with blonde, wavy hair falling to frame his young face. His blue eyes took you in.

You inhaled deeply. “Dimitri.”

He smiled and you felt a tightness in your chest.

“I…I was not sure you would come.” Low chatter from the other visitors passing by filled the silence as you took each other in. His smile grew wider. “You look so different, and yet exactly how I remember you.”

“And you’ve grown,” you found yourself returning the smile slightly. Dimitri shifted on his feet, like he wanted to take your hand like he used to, but knowing that too much time had passed. You continued, “Surprised you even recognized me.”

He looked at you kindly and chuckled. “You weren’t always in ballet attire, my lisIchka. The short hair suits you though.”

You ran your gloved fingers through your choppy hair, recalling the muscle memory that had sleeked it into a taught bun countless times in the past—not a flyway in sight. Streamline. Efficient. Orderly. Your true nature. 

Dimitri stepped around the grave so that he was facing it too, the both of you staring at the bust on the floor.

“We were just kids, then, weren’t we?”

You hummed. “You more-so.” You sucked in a breath. “When did she pass?”

“Last week. A stroke. It was so sudden—she had been in perfectly good health," his voice wavered slightly. “I was the one who found her in her bed in the morning. She just looked like she was sleeping...”

The statue’s hollowed eyes stared into nothingness. You had to look away, so you looked up at Dimitri. “I owe your mother a lot. I… I’m sorry I never came back,” you paused, studying the side of his face. He must be twenty six now—a decade gone in the blink of an eye; all those memories of the two of you when you were younger filtered back. You steadied your breath. “But I had to experience the world for myself.”

The younger man turned to you. “I understand. Never could keep you caged. No one could.”

You smiled but it didn’t meet your eyes. Nostalgia was a deceiver.

Dimitri cleared his throat. “There is another reason I asked you here, though. Something I have for you. From Vladislava.”

He reached into his wool peacoat and procured a long velvet box. Hesitating, you reached for the it, staring at the plain box in your hands before opening it. 

It was the necklace that Vladislava had worn the night you first met: a massive canary diamond choker, surrounded by ornate gold and diamonds. You recalled the burning in your legs as you took your closing bow for the Vaganova Ballet Academy, peering into the crowd and seeing a glint of yellow among the blur of the audience. She’d come to you after, as you were removing all the feathers and makeup backstage. Introduced herself. You had no idea her influence at the time; you were only eighteen. But soon you were living with her. Wandering her massive estate with Dimitri. Being her eyes and ears at events with the most affluent; sometimes the most corrupt as well. Learning all you could from her as you started down a completely different path than when you first moved to Russia.

The significance of the necklace wasn’t lost on you as you stared down at the gorgeous piece. You closed the box quietly.

“I can’t take this, Dima,” you passed the box back to him, but he didn’t move. He just looked down at you, fondness in his eyes at the familiarity of his moniker. He wrapped his hands over yours.

“I'm afraid you don’t have a choice, lisIchka. It was in her will.” His hands stayed for a moment, then fell back to his side. 

You simply stared at the box. 

“You know,” he said softly, moving slightly closer to you, “there’s always a place for you here. In Moscow. At our home.”

And for a moment, the sun peaked through the grey day, alighting Dima’s golden hair. But when you looked at him, all you saw was Simon and his flat and the rain and his warmth. You gave a sad smile.

“Ah,” he said, understandingly.

You reached out and took his hand, running your gloved-thumb over his knuckles. “In another life, perhaps.”

He squeezed back. “I’ll look for you, then.”

You heart hurt at the whole situation. Vladislava was a force, now extinguished. And a childhood crush had clearly become something more. You held onto him for a while longer, then finally let go of his hand.

“Well, you must be exhausted from your travels,” Dima looked around. The oppressive sky was continuing to lighten. “To be honest I wasn’t sure you would even come, but I reserved a room for you at the Kempinski anyway. Stay as long as you need.”

You tucked the box into you jacket and looked at the younger man one last time, reaching up to touch his face. “Thank you for everything, Dima.” He leaned into your caress. “Take care of yourself.”

“And you.”

You gave a final glance at the grave, then left, not looking back. ______

Dima bb we're so sorry T^T Thanks for the wait, one more chapter to go! if you'd like to be (un)tagged for updates let me know! @deadbranch @solidly-indulgent @aalxrose @dotcie

[imelht]

Day three: Gifts.

“A secret rendezvous between a king and his knight to exchange gifts under the sole surveillance of the moon. The king looks longingly at the warrior, to which the warrior looks abashedly away. The knight offers up his tears, and the king, pebbles and a box of chocolate.”

Context is in the tags.

[of-pale]

Can't make an omelette without the burning desire to crack someone's skull

It was a relatively peaceful morning at Devil May Cry, if one considers a half-demon trying to figure out how to make an omelette after decades of not even touching proper food 'peaceful'. Not to mention another half-demon, full-time idiot constantly pushing the chef's buttons at every opportunity.

“Can you pass the eggs?”

“I don't know, can I?” Dante grinned.

“Depends on your incompetence, I suppose,” Vergil shot him a glare and reached for the eggs.

“Fine, don't get your panties in a twist.” Dante snatched the box of eggs out of his reach. “Here.” By the time Vergil recognized that annoying bratty smirk on Dante's face, it was too late. Dante had cracked an egg open right over his outstretched palm.

“You...” Vergil let the egg slime drip from his palm into a bowl before scrambling it. “You’re eating this one.”

“Had I known it would be this easy to convince you to make me a breakfast—”

Without blinking, Vergil took a literal handful of pepper and dramatically dumped the whole thing into the egg mixture.

“Mmmmm, how did you know I like my food spicy?”

Vergil had planned to use Dante as a guinea pig for his first prepared meal in decades before he even considered making anything for Nero. However, Dante's antics deserved nothing but the most vile thing Vergil could possibly produce. He didn't even bother making sure the omelette wasn't burned, lazily flipping it over once it had nice black, burnt spots on the bottom.

“You're doing it wrong.”

“You don't say.”

“Step aside, peasant. Let me show you how pros do it.” Dante bumped into him on purpose, trying to take over the pan. “Hands off my macaroni!”

“Dante… it's an omelette,” Vergil said, despite its questionable status as an edible food item.

“Ye, but I always wanted to say that.”

Vergil’s work here was done; there was no redeeming the omelette, so with a sigh, he let Dante take the reins.

“Now check this out,” Dante skillfully flipped the omelette, shoving it forward in the pan and catching it midair as it spun around. “That's how it’s done!” He did it again, like the show-off he loved to be.

“You need to cook the other side, so stop flipping it.”

“Fiiine, killjoy. Got no appreciation for the fine art of—” As Dante flipped the omelette again, the handle on the pan decided to give out and snap off, sending the hot pan and its contents clattering onto the floor.

Silence never lasted more than a few seconds where Dante was concerned. “Aw, shucks. Was my favourite pan too.”

“It's your only pan.”

“Doesn't change the fact that it's my favourite,” Dante shrugged casually. “You know what they say—ten second rule.”

Vergil watched in horror as Dante ducked down and swept the spilled contents from the floor back into the pan. Dante lifted a piece of the half-burned, half-raw egg amalgamation and took a hearty bite like it wasn't peppered beyond reason.

“Could use a bit more salt,” he said nonchalantly, taking another bite.

Vergil could only blink slowly in disbelief. “You repulse me.”

“No way would I miss your first attempt at cooking in decades,” Dante said through a full mouth, happily munching away at the absolute war crime of an omelette.

[sublimedragontragedy]

I've been reading through the Warriors series in chronological order and I thought it would be fun to draw covers for each book I get through! I'll be doing this for the main series, super editions, novellas, mangas, and short stories!

All designs are by @cloudtail

[the-space-between-all-things]

I just found out that there was a trilogy of novels planned about Jaina Solo and Jagged Fel and that Disney robbed me of that and if there was a possibility to be even more bitter about the whole canon relaunch thing … well.

[thejagged1]

Unlucky 02

The feels are hitting Jimmy hard today. His father died when he was very young, and his mother was too busy with her own mental problems to pay much attention to him.

My Socials/Galleries - See new art early on Patreon! - Leave a tip via Ko-Fi!

Posted using PostyBirb

[i-am-a-living-god]

wtf is wrong with Clear Sky

He's like worse then Tigerclaw and yet he's barley treated as a villain. he kicked out cats for being disabled including his own brother.

His own brother, a mere child, kicked out the moment he no longer has a use.

He murdered a cat for being in their home because he wanted to expand his already most of the forest territory, and then wanted to murder her children after he realized she was a mother who was only protecting her children.

He abandoned his child all because he was sour about his ex wife only to manipulate Thunder into abandoning his real family (Gray wing and Turtle tail) to join his fucked up little group of traumatized cats.

and then when his son breaks up with his girlfriend because he found out that she was actually just using him so that her murderer dad could kill his family easier. you know what Clear Sky does? He marries her!

He marries his son's ex girlfriend.

Who's dad tried to kill him and his family.

What. The. Fuck.

Also not to mention he's the whole reason for the shitty clan system in the first place.

Yup every problem with this series you can blame on Clear sky.

Gray Wing deserves a better brother honestly.

Ooh! We can't forget about the whole Falling Feather and Jackdaws Cry situation.

This mf took Falling Feather's very real concerns about how Clear Sky is leading as treason and then stripped her of all her rights.

He called a clan meeting just to publicly shame her and he told everyone that she is basically dirt beneath their paws and they can and should boss her around like she's worthless.

He told the clan that she is only allowed to eat the leftovers of whatever food was hunted, that she hunted herself because she was talking with her friend about how Clear Sky is kind of shit.

Oh did I mention that he grew up with this cat? These two cats have known each other since birth, how can he treat her like that?

He also threatened to kill Jackdaws Cry when he came to his camp to see his sister. They weren't even separate groups yet.

Anyway because of Clear Sky's horrible abuse of his camp mate's he ended up getting like ten cats killed (probably more) and Falling Feather and Jackdaws Cry ended up killing each other in this battle, all because Clear Sky is worried there won't be enough food in this pray rich forest.

He's greedy and doesn't even barely regret it.

He had two siblings kill each other because he is paranoid. The way Falling Feather acted in that battle really makes you feel how horrible Clear Sky's punishment must have been. She was so desperate to prove that she is loyal and not a traitor that in the end she ended up losing her life and taking down the one cat she cared for most with her.

Wow. Just wow.

The only "good thing" Clear Sky ever did was sacrifice his tail to save Gray Wings child.

I consider that just a fraction of a debt repaied. He still owes Gray Wing so much.

In conclusion, fuck Clear Sky.

And there are probably so many more awful things he did but I don't feel like listing them all. He's just the worst.

[autobots-in-training]

Now I wanna know what the twins did- so uhm- if yall don't mind answering this- what did they do? ALSO IS RODDY OKAY?????

Sunstreaker- I want to preface this with: Hot Rod is fine, he's a baby, hes still mostly protoform, we could put him in a hydraulic press and he'd be fine. He'd enjoy it!

Sideswipe- We kinda... showered him with rocks.

Sunstreaker- That makes it sound worse than what we did!

Sideswipe- But it's what happened!! Basically, it was this big tarp, suspended over OP's bed, we filled it with rocks-

Sunstreaker- He's a big bot! The rocks wouldn't've hurt him! What we didn't realize...

Sideswipe- Hot Rod was in OP's room, napping. He's so small! You can't blame us for what happened!

Sunstreaker- He's small, but he was still able to trigger the trap.

Sideswipe- The booby trap...

Sunstreaker- Yeah, when we heard that we got Roddy instead of OP... We confessed immediately. They still banned Halloween this year though.

Sideswipe- It sucks, cause now everyone is blaming us!

Sunstreaker- it would have been funny to get OP. Too bad we got the wrong Prime.

Sideswipe- He's not a Prime.

Sunstreaker- He's Prime's kid, so is Bee, so they are under Prime to me.

Sideswipe- Ugh, you got me there.

*end transmission*

[plumbtales]

When you're jealous of all the cool sims renders people are making but don't know how to use blender so you just try to add shadows in photoshop instead.

[static-quo]

I had an idea and needed to get it out as soon as fucking possible-

(Just a wip but I think I may be on to something here- ówò)

[wandringaesthetic]

When celebrities die, but they're like, in their 80s, I'm like "pour one out for a real one/they had a better run than most of us could ever have." There's not really any sadness/mourning for me there. Even my own granny, the feelings are more akin to "pour one out for a real one" than any type of real. Sadness.

Which is to say...... I don't think there's anything wrong with a feeling of loss. but it does remind me that the average emotional experience is maybe different than mine.