#i’m just rambling

[logansbelt]

౨ৎ ‎ ♡₊˚・₊✧ I’m Imagining a extremely submissive Logan 🤍 ౨ৎ ‎ ♡₊˚・₊✧

Sprawled out, his hair a wild, messy framing his flushed face. His chest rises and falls erratically, each shaky breath betraying how undone he’s become. His Adam’s apple bobs with every hard swallow, the motion drawing your attention as his throat works through a plea he’s too proud to fully voice.

“Please,” he whines , voice raw, a mix of frustration and desperation. His dark, heavy-lidded eyes lock onto yours, glinting with something feral, something needy. They roam over you like he can’t decide where to focus, lingering just long enough to make your skin burn under the weight of his gaze. His lips are swollen, slick from where he’s been nervously biting and licking at them, the sharp edge of his teeth catching faintly in the dim light.

He shifts beneath you, his body trembling as he fights against the vulnerability, his pride warring with the primal need etched across his features. His hips twitch slightly, seeking relief but unable to find it, his hands still gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering him to reality. The way his fingers flex and curl betrays how much he’s struggling to keep from losing himself completely.

“Baby don’t… tease me,” he whimpered through clenched words come out slurred, a little broken, but there’s no mistaking the desperation behind them. It lingers in the way his breath catches mid-sentence, how his lips curl just slightly around the words as though it pains him to say them out loud. His Adam’s apple bobs again when he swallows hard, his messy hair falling over his forehead, casting shadows across his face. His eyes flicker between defiance and surrender, his chest heaving as his breath catches, a strangled sound slipping from his throat.

“You’re killing me,” he groans, his voice rough and slurred, thick with the weight of his surrender. His gaze locks onto yours, dark and smoldering, like he’s trying to burn this moment into his memory.

“Just… take care of me, baby please” Logan says again, eyebrows furrowed the words trembling as they leave his lips, less a command and more a plea, steeped in desperation and trust. “Oh, God,” continued oh my gods him a broken record that sent shivers down your spine. His head fell back, his hips faster, harder, completely losing any rhythm in his desperation as he chased that release. His hand, already gripping yours, tightened, fingers interlocking with yours, his grasp growing harder with each movement, each frantic push. The pressure of his grip was almost enough to bruise, but he couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t pull away. His need was consuming him.

“You feel so damn good,” he growled his accent bleeding through and making the confession even more intoxicating. His dark, half-lidded eyes locked onto yours, pupils blown wide, a flicker of frustration mingling with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him.

His body trembled, a thin sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, his muscles taut as if straining against the intensity of it all. Every motion, every sound he made was desperate, primal, like he couldn’t hold anything back even if he tried. “Goddamn it,” he spoke again, the words barely audible, swallowed by the heat of the moment. There’s nothing left of , his body trembling as he gives himself over to you completely.

[ar-ghilas-vir-banal]

Prepare for a ramble. Just thinking about how if you refuse to have your vallaslin removed, Solas immediately stops you from trying to explain why. He knows why. He isn’t hurt. It doesn’t bother him; he sounds almost proud that you make that choice.

“You are perfect.”

“You are so beautiful.”

All these remarks that, despite there being a casual intimacy with them you can see, I feel like Solas saying things like this was seldom. Perhaps trying to spare his own self the pain of having to turn sweet words into bitter memories and also Lavellan. Perhaps he felt they weren’t enough. Not fitting for his feelings, which are so deep.

But for whatever reason, the cherishing words and the way he touches Lavellan’s cheek, she isn’t used to these things. The touch makes her touch her own face, like it burns. Or perhaps in this thinner area of the Veil, she feels his affection in the touch. The kiss is slower, more languid. The desperation of the first two isn’t there. This is just savoring. The potential to step into deeper waters is there; we know Jaal’s love scene for Andromeda was Solas’ first. We know where that went.

But this is how Solas ends it. Which. It isn’t an end. Not really. This is also how Lavellan is inextricably bound to him. She doesn’t pursue anyone else. She is ever hunting him after this. And let’s be real, Solas is always leaving her a trail.

Solas is also bound. And no matter how hard he tries not to be, he’s composing symphonies, he’s painting, he’s got a picture of her chair in his meditation room, he’s writing her letters, and is simply never able to stop looking over his shoulder at her.

And it’s not Inquisitor in the letter. It’s always “Vhenan.” I’ve done all this to you. But you’re still my heart. I’ve broken my own heart. I’ve wounded my own heart. I’m probably going to be responsible for it dying. But it’s still my heart.

You are still my heart. For whatever that is worth.

**Sigh**. They’ve got their hooks in me, y’all.

[atelierlili]

I always wondered why Katniss factored marriage and children into the equation when it came to reciprocating Peeta’s feelings for her. It’s a rather large leap, especially when Peeta himself never expresses wanting children at any point in the story. He uses children as a tool to persuade Katniss and the Capital to save her life, but the only time we see him express any desire/feelings of having one of his own is when he’s crying after the baby bomb. But we never hear his real thoughts.

But you wanna know who does express wanting children? Gale.

It’s one of the first thing he mentions in chapter one. And it pisses her off so much.

(I also want to add that Gale reframes/establishes the dynamic of Katniss and him caring for their siblings from something that is sibling-sibling to parent-sibling. And he is not wrong. Katniss doesn’t refute him. Both Katniss and Gale are surrogate parents to their siblings. Which is also why Katniss love and affection of Prim, is not just sisterly. I’ve seen people say Katniss is only sisterly to Prim- but she’s not. She’s parentified their relationship to the point she subconsciously see Prim as her child, which makes this a tragedy because she’ll loose her first child no matter what she does by the end of the story.)

But Gale’s phrasing here elevates himself as a potential suitor to Katniss by placing them both as the parental roles to these children. (Which irritates her a lot ). Which is why she brings the topic up with her relationship with Peeta. Because she’s subconsciously aware of Gale’s efforts and knows it will be a point of contention between them. It hangs over her head in a way.

With Gale, children are extra mouths to feed. (But Gale will do fine. He can work. He can hunt.) It’s all framed with calculated survival in mind. But it’s also not something she had planned in the future at any point.

But Peeta’s children? Oh they deserve to be born because Peeta deserves to be a father. He would be such a good father. They deserve to exist in a world where they can be safe and happy. (Even if it’s not with her.)

This is also why I think she subconsciously sees Peeta’s baby as her own. And I don’t think of it as a cruel/heartless thing, it’s just you’d be more protective of your own child compared to someone else’s. Katniss sees Gale as a reliable person who’s equipped to look after a kid. She doesn’t express the same kind of maternal instinct/yearning for the Baby Hawthrone’s safety as she does with the idea of Baby Mellark, because she doesn’t think of Gale’s child as her own. She never hopes for a better future for them, but she does with Peeta because he and that baby gives her hope. And she loves him that much.

[boba-beom]

taehyun hard thoughts

bf!taehyun who sits you on his lap, wandering hands over your ass and pushing your hips forward to grind against his half-hard cock.

bf!taehyun who has his hands resting behind his head as he lets you rut against his boner through his grey sweats, your pussy getting wetter by the second while your face buries into his neck.

bf!taehyun who lets out small grunts and low moans as you place light kisses along the column of his neck, nipping and sucking as you leave a couple of marks so they peek above his shirts and tank tops.

bf!taehyun who’s dick twitches when you buck your hips a certain way, the head of his cock deliciously rubbing against the material of his pants.

bf!taehyun who loves hearing your heavy breathing by his ear, your soft sighs and gentle moans as his orgasm nears.

bf!taehyun who tells you to go on your knees, pulling down his pants and continues to jerk off his pretty dick in front of your face while you kneel with your mouth open and tongue sticking out.

bf!taehyun who gets pushed over the edge by your eye contact. loving the way you look needy for him and he twitches forward as he shoots his cum on your tongue, a couple of spurts missing your mouth and dripping on your chin

[slipperywhenwet0o0]

i think about damien coming from an entirely different culture, and that on top of with his initial rejection by bruce (and murder attempts putting distance between him and tim) making him feel isolated. He’s in an unfamiliar country with unfamiliar customs and unfamiliar people, hes alone and othered.

Then i think about little dick grayson who went through a somewhat similar thing. Romani practices being closed and so they leave with his parents, he’s not in the circus with the people he knows and loves, and i like to think this is the first time dicks been to america ( Haley’s primary touring europe). He’s in an unfamiliar country with unfamiliar customs and unfamiliar people, and before he found out about batman he is alone, in a big empty cold house.

I think about Damien beginning to feel shame at some point over his own culture because bruce is against the league, and his mixed feeling about his mother who loves him dearly but could not protect him, who sent him away.

I think about dick finding pride in his culture when he becomes robin, and later teaching Damien to have pride as well. To be who he is unapologetically, and to not be ashamed of where he comes from or his mother(despite dick and Thalia’s beef which i love)

[depressed-cherry11]

the duffers better not pull a reddie on us with byler istg

[ask-1984-starscream]

Hc for screamer

I thought of the best headcannon ya’ll. At least for me.

So we all (not the idw comic readers(including me)) know that idw Starscream was suppose to look like this:

Which he has purple optics. Why though?

We also know he has a mutant spark which doesn’t allow him to die. Basiclly immortal.

Finally does this design kind of remind you of another character?

To me yes, though to all of you mabye not. So… the things on unicorn back

Looks similar to the ones on Starscreams back

Also we know that the blood of unicron is purple. Purple is starscream’s optic color in his true form.

To those who says not all purple optics means they have a connection to unicron. Airachnid has purple optics because she actually has eaten dark energon before. Now this is my opinion so don’t come after me. In episode thirst every person infected by the dark energon optic turns purple but not Airachnid because she already had purple optics. We know that the only way to get purple optics is if you have the dark energon in you. Example is Megatron whose optics turned purple after he consumed (stabbed himself with)dark energon. So then why does Airachnid have purple optics. Yes it goes with her design but so does red or yellow. The creators specifically chose purple. Also remember she’s a hunter and has been on multiple planets. She could have seen dark energon on any one of those planets. Plus she is know to take power from wherever she can get it from. Example is with the incectacons.

Back to the point, what’s a word that describes Starscream? Manipulating, cunning, chaotic, narcissistic, self-centered, selfish, and a lot of other words but mostly chaotic and selfish. And who’s basiclly the god of chaos and chaos itself? Unicron.

So what I’m saying is that I think unicorn may have created his spark. Notice how I’m saying spark not Starscream. We know his body was made by cybertronians but his spark wasn’t. No one can created life except primus and unicron. We have proof of this in the comics! I forgot which one it was but it’s in the comics!

Also starscream’s original name was Ulchtar. Whose name also starts with a U? Unicorn. They’re both seven letters. Maybe I’m reading into this too much maybe I’m not. But my point remains, it’s possible that unicorn created Starscream’s spark. Now this is just a short essay because I just thought of this. I write more on this later. But think about it.

[apollosothertwin]

when he was very little apollo was scared of roosters and artemis always made fun of him for it

[starryrock]

Satoru Fujinuma (cosmically forced to time travel back to being 10-years-old) and Conan Edogawa (medically altered 17-year-old that survived a poisoning attempt only to look 7-years-old) in the same location together. One is the universe’s unwilling errand boy to stop tragedies before they occur, the other regularly finds himself in the middle of a crime scene (usually a murder).

[logansbelt]

I don’t give a fuck about the Hugh Jackman allegations, especially when they’re all based on random Twitter threads. Some of y’all are really out here believing gossip pages? And the whole thing about him and Sutton Foster? If they’re together now, fine—good for them. I don’t care. They’re happy, thriving, doing their thing. Not my business.

And no, he didn’t cheat—they were already separated, and they stayed together for the kids. Their words, not mine. Anyway, I’m still going to thirst over that fine man. Hugh Jackman lookalikes, if you’re out there, I’m hunting you all down in Australia. Stay ready. I’m coming!!!

[ar-ghilas-vir-banal]

@fenharel-babe this is your fault. You left some tags and… time for me to live up to the gut-wrench of my name, I guess.

Memory was cruel.

His was sharp, acutely efficient at recalling the most minute details, from a scent on the breath of an Elvhen noble to the pauses between words meant to convey emphasis.

He could remember the first time he saw her. Laid flat on a sour straw pallet, drenched in sweat, the green glare of his Mark on her palm. Solas hadn’t focused much on her face then; he’d noted the Dalish markings of Mythal and that was enough of a reason not to examine the woman’s features for too long.

Would that he had. Would that he had simply stopped and allowed each and every single moment of their time together stretch for as long as they possibly could. There was always something drawing his attention. Always the next event, or mission. Always a bit of research.

And there was the matter of the Inquisitor’s own duties. She had been cast headlong into a den of vipers and she was at war from all sides, besieged and harried, fighting for not only her people and the world… but herself. Her personhood.

Her true self.

“I feel safe with you, my Solas,” she’d said once.

He could remember smiling at being called hers. He wanted to be. He longed to rise in the morning, warmed by her body and spirit, to live days at her side performing only simple tasks of the home together. It was the dream he liked best, even if it increasingly cut away at his heart; dreams with no chance of coming true were often jagged, weighty things.

Solas had also taken pride in the fact that out of all of their companions, he was the one in which she sought refuge and respite. He was the calm for her storm. There were times when he felt that his heart could soar for her, on the wind of her success and triumph…

Now, Solas felt as if his chest contained a fractured shard of obsidian. It sliced away at him with each breath, each push of blood through his lyrium-formed veins.

She lay still. As still as she had in Haven. The arm he’d severed some years back rested at her side. Her hair, longer with time, fanned out behind her head. Her face was serene and soft as driven snow. Not a crease, not a flaw; the blood from the wound in the center of her body had been cleaned away.

She could have been one of his paintings.

Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain were no more. Rook and the surviving Veilguard core team were quiet now, mourning their own dead. Morrigan was… somewhere. The various groups Rook had allied with were working on the wounded, fighting. Trying.

He hadn’t even been able to fight for her. She had been gone when he’d reached her. Face slack. Eyes wide open. She’d looked so small. Abandoned. Alone.

The Nevarran professor, Volkarion, Solas recalled numbly, had helped him bear up the Inquisitor. He was a slender man, graying of hair. But with kind eyes and an even kinder heart. He’d not made Solas speak while he made a place for them. Emmrich had even been so good as to find something to place under her head, and covered her with his own cloak.

It had been hours since it was all over. Solas hadn’t moved. He’d sat beside her, clasping her hand, watching her face. Pleading. Pleading with whatever gods there had ever been, in dreams or in the waking world, pleading with his own magic, with any Spirit that might hear him…

Elgar’nan had stabbed her with a blight tendril. He’d laughed, sensing Solas’ shock upon seeing her. Connecting the dots, as Sera once said.

Something in the mere recollection of their old Inquisition partner broke loose a final barrier within him, and Solas leaned on the table where Emmrich had laid his love, and wept.

He touched her arm, her shoulder, her face. Whispered her name. She had only wanted him to love her. And he had been too bent on his own internal morality that he’d refused both of them what they truly desired. Over and over he had pushed her away, but she had never stopped following him.

Solas had heard her calling out to Rook in the battle, Elven flying from her tongue, strong and swift. She’d moved with a grace befitting Andruil, quick and agile. Determined. She’d run to him, intent on freeing him from a huge arm of Blight. And she’d succeeded... Her life was the price for his freedom.

“Vhenan,” Solas begged. “I stopped, I- I will not… please. Please.” She, of course, did not answer. All Solas could do was hold her dead hand, kiss her dead lips, and hate every fiber of his being for bringing her to this fate.

It was exactly what he had done. He might as well have plunged the Fang into her heart, as well as Varric’s. He’d never deserved a second of her time. He’d never earned the gentle touches, the embraces round his back that made him want to melt… the kisses. The precious touches of her hands.

“She got your letter.”

Solas shuddered, unable to lift his head from her. But the knowledge seemed to claw its way through him, a demon born of grief. She’d come because of him. Why had she loved him? What in him had she been so… why? Why couldn’t she have loved one of the others? Blackwall… Thom? Or the General? Bull… they would have been good to her.

“For what it’s worth… she wouldn’t have been anywhere else. She spoke of you so… she never gave up. You proved her right. Stopping…”

“I killed her… I-“

Rook drew near, boots scuffing the ground. Their hand rested on his back. “… I’m so sorry, Solas. She deserved that future she wanted… she dreamed of being with you, you know? You were happiness to her… even just… the thought of you.”

“I wish she’d never loved me,” Solas whispered, cradling her face in his hands. He’d never held her with abandon before, placing his hands exactly where he wanted. Where she wished. He could never.

“Solas… I’m sorry but… I have an idea.”

Solas didn’t immediately look up. But he sighed, heavy, exhausted… he hoped he was dying. He hoped it would all just stop. Drawing back, he kept the Inquisitor’s hand, brushing his lips to her knuckles. Her fingers.

“Please leave me alone,” he asked in a gray, lifeless voice.

“It is just that… the Veil needs a source of power. To remain effective, a life must supply it.”

“Please…”

“You’re not hearing me, Solas. If your life could sustain the Veil… it could sustain her. I am a necromancer. Her spirit is here, with you. It will always be, until you release it. Stop for a moment… feel for her.”

Rook’s hand withdrew, giving Solas space. He lifted his head a bit, letting his eyes close. Tears fell across his cheeks, down his neck. His mind was so very tired, battered. He wished to stop… to cease.

“Vhenan?”

All at once, there she was. Warm. The light. He couldn’t see her but… she was there. As if his use of the name, her name, had given her just enough tether to let him see her.

“What must I do?” Solas half-sobbed, opening eyes that pled with the Professor, and then with Rook, who clasped his shoulder. Steadying him.

“Shed your blood, for the Veil and for her, let… let them mix.”

“Dorian.” How long the Wizard had been there, Solas didn’t know. But the man looked every bit as wrecked as Solas felt. They looked at each other across the broken down courtyard, matching haunted stare for haunted stare.

“I’m here for her, Solas. This wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for you… but she wants… wanted you. You fail, at least you’re protecting the world she loved. The world she died for.” Then Dorian’s face darkened, hardening. “And you will protect it.”

Solas swallowed, nodding once. There weren’t any words to speak.

Rook slipped something into Solas’ hand. The dagger. “Here… best hurry.”

He’d never done anything so easily in his long life as draw the blade over his hand. It stung, but he turned toward the glowing rift behind them, and slung the cupped handful of his own blood at it. It pulsed as if receiving it. Then Solas gingerly pulled open the Inquisitor’s tunic and laid the flat of his cut palm over the wound near her heart.

“Please,” he whispered, bending close to her, gathering her up to his chest. “Vhenan, please.”

But she just slumped there, her head nestled into the hollow of his shoulder. Not a stir of breath. Not a twitch.

Dorian stepped forward but Emmrich held up a warning hand. “The bond must be made. Give it a moment.”

Rook fidgeted, rocking side to side worriedly.

Only the necromancer watched with a serene understanding. And then… a slow smile.

“Mm… what… Solas? Solas…”

He wept. He’d broken before Mythal, as she released him. He’d shed tears so often in the Fade that Spite had remarked that he smelled of them… as well as in the Lighthouse. But never like this. Solas collapsed, knees buckling under him. He pressed his face into the Inquisitor’s lap, clutching her to him, unable to do anything else.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry-“

“Solas! Solas, Vhenan, Vhenan.”

She was crooning at him, her voice was divine, she was alive, she was alive!! Her hand smoothed over his neck, the back of his hand and shoulders. Then she made him look at her, and she smiled…

“Ar lath ma,” she said, tears brimming in her eyes. “I knew you could save us. I knew you could.”

He surged up into her arms, lifting her, shivering under her kiss at his forehead and temple, and then, miracle of miracles, Solas kissed her. It was a tearful, graceless thing full of trembling lips and hands that clutched at the other too tightly.

And it was perfect.

How Solas allowed her to leave his arms, he couldn’t ever know. She didn’t let go of him, though; she gave him her prosthetic hand to close his around.

Dorian wept but kissed his best friend’s forehead. “Take your wolf on home, now.”

Rook and Emmrich gave her encouraging smiles.

She tugged at his hand, giving him a wide, unrepentant smile. “Vhenan. Ir ghilana.” So he allowed her to lead him. Up the steps. Across the platform.

“Hamin.”

“Solas. Garas.”

He drew her close, close enough to see the flecks of green dance in her eyes. Her alive, vibrant, empowered eyes. “Ar ghilas vir banal… .” She was bound to him, to his life force… but the thought of her suffering his own fate. There would be a time where he may find atonement… but peace… no. Not if she remained. But she should remain.

The Inquisitor shook her head and smiled. There was nothing but pride and love in her face. It made Solas want to bow down to her. “Tel’banal ar ama. Vir shiral malasa… bellanaris.”

She kissed him. Short and gentle. It took his very breath. And then she tugged at him again. “Garas.” When the rift sealed behind them, neither looked back.

[albino-parakeet]

Laughing so hard at the damn framed picture of Eddie and Wu, Brooklynn accidentally steps on.

[qaze]

So I um. May have made a google doc with a breakdown of every song by The Crane Wives and both associated and explained why it matched certain fable smp characters and I cannot decide if I want to post this or not. But it has taken the greater part of 4 hours to make this and I would just like the fact that this document exists to be known by the masses

[drizzledrawings]

When people say that Mary is manipulative it makes me pause a little

Did she ask Arthur multiple times for help? Yeah. Did she ask him specifically cause of his skill set and his relationship with her? Of course. Do I think it was malicious? Absolutely not!! Mary is a flawed character just like everyone else in the story. She loved Arthur sure, but he’s an outlaw, being with him would ultimately put herself and her younger brother in danger. She is hyper aware of that. It makes sense that she has complicated feelings towards him and feels like because of their history she can still call upon him to help

Arthur is manipulated by many characters in the story who are far worse than Mary (DUTCH). Arthur loved her, and in Saint Denis he wanted to go with her, she wanted to run away with him. There was no manipulation there, if Arthur didn’t feel this great responsibility towards the gang, if he wasn’t so deep into the cult like following of Dutch, I think he would’ve gone

Idk the amount of discourse and hatred when it comes to the very few important women in rdr makes me angry. Wether it’s saying Mary is manipulative, Sadie is annoying, or villainizing abigail for her past prostitution, it all feels very wrapped up in misogyny

[shouta-aizawow]

Xie Lian’s Relationship with Pain Thoughts™️

It’s canon Xie Lian doesn’t care much about his physical wellbeing bc as far as he’s concerned he’ll just heal anyway and he’s already gone through the worse, so what’s one more injury?

But I think there could also be more to that.

On the one hand, physically, I think him being hurt with no one to care for most of his very long life has kinda developed into warped nerve sensitivity. Like he went through so much that some pains don’t register (or slowly fade into just another part of him) as he unconsciously suppresses his feelings and discomfort, but gentle touch is so rare for him that he has no “defense” against them. He’s hypo-sensitive to harsh things but hypersensitive to gentle things.

On the other hand, emotionally, Xie Lian has gone through torture and suffering for 800 years with no scar to show for it. He carries his pain in his head but it doesn’t show on his body, and it creates a dissonance within like “did I really go through that? Was it really that bad if it even did happen?” It makes nothing happening to his body feel real after a day or month or year (bc what is a year to someone who’s lived for 800?)

So, in that side of it, I think the lack of consideration for his physical safety and nonchalance when it comes to pain is his way of “proving” to himself that he’s there, present, and his experiences are real (bc, to him, that’s evidence more reliable than nightmares) for as long as the pain will last.

[bubblergoespop]

to be honest i feel some people forget that redacted listeners are actually characters as well and not just placeholders for people to self insert. though they are left up to interpretation in a lot of aspects to be inclusive to as many viewers as possible, they’re still characters in the redactedverse with canonical personality traits.