#isn't poetic and beautiful as FUCK

[looseinthecatroom]

What’s that? It’s time to bend your ear about this one Corinthian storyline in the comics? Damn right it is!

--------(Spoilers for “The Dark Rose” comics arc. Issues 20/21 of “The Dreaming”, 1996)

So there’s a very very low chance that it’ll ever come about, given that it’s from the 1996 run of “The Dreaming” comics (post original run), which didn’t come direct from Gaiman, and moreover was retconned by later Sandman comics, but it would be fascinating to see an updated adaptation of the short “The Roisin Dubh” storyline.

In it we get to see (for possibly the only time? Could be wrong.) the Corinthian being a HELPFUL, USEFUL Nightmare. Doing the kinds of things that he was ostensibly built to do. In this case, (the short/simplified version could be read as) helping a gifted trans artist come to terms with himself and who he’s happiest being.

(The Corinthian, as ever, is still his own warning, >.>)

Long story short, (and from my perspective specifically, as there ARE multiple ways one could read it) The Corinthian is involved with a fantasy allegory for a “dark forest” that the protag wants to enter, and the mysterious amazing man trapped within it. The Corinthian is the key to entering the woods. The woods that represent the “unacceptable”, the “Roisin Dubh”. A life as a skilled, macabre, gory, wild gentleman artist that our protag here desperately want’s to live, IS already living, but has deeply repressed.

I mean, it still smells like the 90′s, and would require an update for a number of reasons probably, (God DAMN is there some intensely misogynistic “ew gross! woman bodies!” Corinthian not fully shown here) but it’s a really rich story, and it would be wicked to see it adapted.

I’d want to see it if only for an instance of the Corinthian actually fulfilling his intended purpose, or at least a potentially helpful purpose, so that we could paint in some more details and themes about what he really is, what he means.

What he represents to Mr. “Collective Unconscious, Shaper of Forms, Eons of Life, THE Storyteller” Dream as his “Masterpiece” for at least a bit more then the prior 1000 years of human dreams (Pre-Orpheus at least).

That is, in a broader sense then “A very 80′s flavored collective gay fear of violence”. Which is seriously fucking interesting by itself, of course! And if it is that the Corinthian is so wrapped up in the time the Sandman was originally written, that that’s all he is at heart, then so be it. But either way, he’s a compelling idea that that you can’t help but want to analyze more. (Like so much of the Sandman in general. Obvi. I mean that’s pretty much it’s THING. Archetypes, the nature of stories, secrets and mysteries. All that jazz.)

ALSO.

The protag is friends with Oscar Wilde, so that’s also fun:

[rynli]

me: I should write the one-shot that lives in my head about Harry applying for a job

brain: you will write a whole casefic about Harry realizing being a cop already killed him once, acab applies even to Kim, and he needs to quit if he wants to get better

[rivilu]

While we all know about Hawke's character-assasination in inquisition, I personally remain.. preplexed? a morbid kind of impressed? with how that game also managed to butcher my Warden with only about 5 lines of dialogue referring to him and a letter.

[triglycercule]

If you had to choose only one sans from the murder trio as your favorite who would you choose? also your art is amazing!! The way you draw sanses is very unique,in a cool way

STOPPPP DONT MAKE ME CHOOSE,,,, I GENUINELY DON'T KNOW IF I EVEN CAN CHOOSE!!!! ermmmm lemme think. i think it just depends on how i feel/the season/who i just consumed the most content of. like during winter months i think im more of a killer kinda guy because seasonal gloominess and killer is unarguably the angstiest of the mtt with just the sheer amount of bullshit he has going on. in summer i tie for all of them because im just happy and when im happy the trio are also happy because i dont subject them to horrors (HAHA PUN). but in spring i like dust idk it just feels right. and fall rn im a horror fucker

BUT that might just be because i consumed a TON of horrortale content working on my analysis of him so i may br biased idk. personality wise i cant choose a single one because they all have such interesting and fun personalities. if i were being biased i'd say based on who's most similar to me BUT i don't think i can even decide which of the trio has a more similar personality to me (i am a fusion of them all. call me the satsujinki. call me a mtt poly shipchild)

if we're talking canon designs here horror EASILY takes the cake with his stylization. BUT killer has some of the coolest fanon designs i've ever seen. BUT ALSO dust has absolutely amazing art dust artists CANNOT be topped at all. BUT ALSO AGAIN killer is so damn complex and interesting and i love complex characters AND AGAIN AGAIN horror also just has such a cool fucking vibe BUT AGAIN

i cant choose. for the sake of convenience i'll say horror because he's the one i feel like i know most about right now and the more i know the more i can enjoy (also tysm for the thing about my art im glad that someone can appreciate it and find it cool!!! my favorite thing when people appreciate other people's things its amazing 2 me. i still have a lot to work on and learn with my art (especially with like. everything including colors. i have ideas in my head i cannot execute) but still im really happy that the skill level im at right now is still bringing someone joy ‼️‼️‼️)

warning triglycercule gets POLITICAL (poetic about art) in tags. don't read LIBERALS (those who want to save their time. does anyone even read my tag spam that i always do?? idk but i still do it)

[awearywritersworld]

men are so quick to blame the gods

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night. w/c: 2.6k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst/fluff. aged up!yuuji. sa is mentioned but it's pretty much just sukuna saying he doesn't condone it. heavy kissing. obvi features yuuji x reader but it's not at all the focus. cursing. sukuna calls you kitten. i'd like to think he's not too ooc in this but im probably delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: am i rehabbing our handsome vicious psychopath? yes<3 loosely inspired by this post (features manga spoilers) of him being v beautiful and poetic series masterlist // masterlist

humans have always irritated the king of curses— pathetic little vermin scurrying around, utterly oblivious to their own weakness.

so it came as quite a shock to him when he awoke after over a millenia, only to find himself trapped inside the body of some teenaged brat.

nearly 7 years later and he's positive there isn't a person he despises more in the universe. not even the cocky six eyes wielder can elicit sukuna's fury the way itadori yuuji so easily does.

that's why he resolved early on to kill his vessel's pretty little girlfriend, an act he hopes might satiate his spite. he's positive nothing would devastate yuuji more.

luckily for you, life has a funny way of working.

you and yuuji are standing at an intersection in the city, the pink-haired man staring at his phone as he tries to piece together the directions to a new sushi restaurant you've been wanting to try.

when the pedestrian sign on the other side of the street blinks, you step out onto the pavement without checking for oncoming traffic.

"what the-" yuuji's confused voice fills your ears just as a rough hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward violently.

a car barrels through the spot you'd just been standing, the driver clearly not paying attention to the traffic signal. you look back just in time to see harsh black marks fading from your boyfriend's arm, though the rest of his body has seemingly remained unblemished.

it's an odd sensation for yuuji because he's never lost control to sukuna in such a manner. he doesn't dwell on it long though, as anger blossoms in his chest.

"do not touch her," he scolds the curse occupying his body.

a mouth appears on his cheek and scoffs. "sure. i'll just let her die next time."

"it's okay, yu," you interject before he can retaliate. "thanks, sukuna. i, uh, appreciate it."

he grumbles something incomprehensible, his mouth quickly disappearing. your boyfriend looks at you bemused, but you only shrug. the fact that yuuji had lost control to sukuna doesn't make you feel nervous or threatened. you're grateful that he kept you from being run over, albeit a bit surprised.

as you continue your walk to the the sushi restaurant, you find yourself not quite able to meet yuuji's eye because... well... you haven't exactly been forthright regarding your relationship with the king of curses.

the first night it happens, you're laying in bed eagerly finishing the final volume of a manga you've been reading. yuuji is fast asleep and has been for hours, though you're used to being the night owl in the relationship.

you keep wiping at your eyes, the cheerful ending tugging at your heartstrings and tying the story together in a beautiful way.

"can you stop with your incessant sniveling? this idiot's brain is so rarely quiet and you're ruining it."

you look over to see the eye beneath your boyfriend's is open, staring at you scornfully.

"can you fuck off?" your tone is obviously meant to mock him. "i'm finishing one of my favorite mangas and you're ruining it."

"need i remind you of your place, brat?" he sneers. "it's dreadfully wretched, crying because you don't like the ending to some stupid story."

"since you're so clearly invested, i'll have you know i'm crying because i do like it."

"..and here i thought you couldn't get any more pathetic."

your eye twitches in annoyance. "just because you're mad about being stuck in 'some idiot human's body' doesn't mean you have to go around projecting your feelings of inadequacy onto other people."

you move your hand to cover the mouth on your boyfriend's cheek before sukuna can respond, hissing out in pain just a moment later.

"oh my god, you actually bit me." you inspect the teethmarks on your palm in disbelief.

"just wait until i win control of this body— the punishment you deserve for such insolence. you'd better hope you're miles away, but even then—"

"holy shit, enough already. i'll go to sleep. enjoy your peace and quiet," you growl angrily, flipping off the lamp and turning away from him. for some reason, you still find yourself mumbling, "good night."

sukuna's eye widens before promptly closing, the silence hanging in the air heavily. it's the longest conversation he's had in years and the first casual pleasantry he's heard in a millenia. he tries to feel satisfied that he got what he wanted in the end, before returning to his quiet solitude.

over the next few months, your late nights are graced somewhat frequently by the king of curses. he mainly complains— the friends you hung out with earlier were annoying, the tv's too loud, it took yuuji twenty minutes to exorcise a curse that sukuna could have dealt with in seconds.

it doesn't bother you nearly as much anymore and he's no longer able to get under your skin like he did that first night. it seems as if he's losing his touch, or perhaps he just isn't trying as hard.

it's around one in the morning, a book resting in your lap while your boyfriend snores softly beside you. sukuna's eye pops open, peering over at the text. "you're reading homer?"

your body jerks, startled by his sudden question, but you recover soon thereafter. "yeah, were you two friends or something?"

"no, you fool," he derides. "he lived far before my time."

though you don't comment on it, you find it amusing that your sarcasm had gone over his head. "oh, you're right. how silly of me to think you had friends."

"such profound witticism. i can hardly contain myself."

you sneak a glance over to find he's narrowed his eye at you and you actually giggle. "sorry."

it doesn't dawn on you how bizarre the interaction is, but sukuna abruptly realizes that something feels different. not once before tonight had he made you laugh.

he pushes the thought from his mind. "i did, however, indulge in his works during the heian period."

"really?" you perk up. it's not often you give him your full attention. "what'd you think?"

"i suppose i liked him well enough. one of my favorite lines comes from the poem you're reading."

you motion your hand for him to continue. "well don't be shy. i'm sitting here with bated breath."

he rolls his eye, but speaks nonetheless.

"men are so quick to blame the gods— they say that we devise their misery..." you realize for the first time how gruff his voice is, the deep reverberations sending a shudder down your spine. "but they themselves, in their depravity, design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns."

his eye flickers between each of yours before you look back to your book, fiddling with the corner of the page. you're suddenly feeling rather shy. "does that mean you think humans are even crueler than you?"

he muses over your question briefly.

"if i recounted how men would flee the villages i burned, leaving their families behind in a selfish attempt to save themselves.. who would you find more revolting?

you swallow nervously. "i.. i don't know."

"what if i told you of the men who would eagerly offer their wives and daughters to me, hoping i'd spare them.. who would you deem more wicked?"

you're so busy avoiding his gaze that you don't see the way he carefully regards you. a question you're unsure you want the answer to tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. "did you accept? the.. the husbands' offers—"

"no," he responds. "i have little interest in unwilling partners."

"oh. well that's, um, good."

he hums in response, leaving you to process everything he's told you.

"you should stop," you blurt out eventually.

"stop what?"

"being nice to me." you wouldn't normally consider discussing literature then reminiscing about the egregious stories of his past life particularly kind, but then again, it is sukuna you're speaking with. "it's weird."

he rolls his eye again. "you're hardly in any position to be giving me orders, you insufferable brat."

"see? that's much better."

"why are you crying?" his tone is even, conveying neither annoyance or concern. truthfully, he has no idea what compelled him to ask in the first place.

you don't answer, hoping he'll leave you alone. you really don't have it in you tonight, even if sukuna's been much more tolerable recently. it's been weeks since you finished reading homer's epic poem.

the moon is already setting and it's just a few days before your date at the sushi restaurant.

when you sniffle again, he calls your name. you don't register that he doesn't say brat or idiot. it's the first time he's used your actual name.

"w-what do you want?"

"i seem to recall asking you a question."

you're laying on your side, facing away from yuuji and by extension, sukuna.

"i'm not crying," you declare.

sukuna briefly wonders why he's stuck dealing with you while yuuji sleeps, but his inward 'annoyance' is half hearted. "you're an awful liar."

you exhale and turn to look at him. the only light in the room is coming from the tv, but it's enough that he can see you clearly. "sometimes.. i can't help but worry about the execution."

yuuji has told you countless times that gojo has a plan, that he won't let anything happen, but you know what the higher ups are capable of.

and while it's down right shameful, you know that much, it's not only your boyfriend you worry about these days. sukuna's become so commonplace in your life, you almost look forward to talking with him at night.

"the thought of losing yuuji... of losing.. you.. it scares me," you murmur.

your words stir up feelings he's never once experienced and it's confusing to him. "i'd have figured you'd at least be pleased to be rid of me."

"well, i-i kind of thought we were friends now," you share without thinking.

"don't flatter yourself."

he regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth and the guilt he feels as he watches your face fall is unbecoming of a being so powerful. you apologize meekly, shifting (too late) to hide your hurt.

he can't remember a moment in which he's hated being trapped in his vessel's god forsaken body more. he wants to reach out to you, even if the idea feels entirely foreign to him.

but he can't, so he just sighs. "if you think i'm going to let a few feebleminded sorcerers execute me and the brat, you're even more foolish than i thought."

you peer at him, the smallest smile gracing your lips when you realize that's probably as close to an apology as sukuna would ever get.

"promise?"

for fuck's sake. he feels utterly pathetic. completely deplorable. laughable, even—

"yes," he states impassively. "now go to sleep."

"okay." your smile is just a little wider as your fingertips brush the spot below his eye and above his mouth. you wonder if he can even feel it. "good night, sukuna."

"...night, brat."

less than a week after sukuna saves your life at the intersection, yuuji kisses you goodbye as he heads out to a mission. he assures you he'll be early tonight, as he only has to exorcise a semi-grade one cursed spirit in roppongi.

though things don't go quite as planned because in addition to the semi-grade, he finds himself standing before two special grades. he manages to defeat one of the special grades, but the other two leave him badly hurt, his breathing labored.

he has to beg sukuna to switch out with him. the king of curses hasn't forgotten his promise to you and he's no fool— it's clear this is an ambush by the higher ups— but he'll be damned if he wasn't going to have a little fun with the brat first.

he makes quick work of the curses, each of them going rigid with fear as soon as he appears, and it soon becomes apparent that yuuji is too weakened to take back control of his body just yet.

at last, sukuna has his long yearned for freedom and a new world at his fingertips, but there's just one problem... all he wants to do is find you.

when the lock to your apartment clicks, your eyes shift to the door, an excited grin on your face. you can't hide your shock when it isn't your boyfriend that steps inside.

you don't say anything at first, simply following his frame across the room as he approaches you. he leans against the wall a few feet away from where you're sitting on the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

"seems your concerns about the execution weren't unwarranted."

"w-what?!" you exclaim, rising to your feet and taking a step toward him. "what happened?"

he relays the story to you, emphasizing how 'unimpressive' yuuji's power was and how 'terribly simple' it was for him to finish the job his vessel couldn't.

you narrow your eyes at him, only half joking when you ask, "what are you doing here, then? shouldn't you be off pillaging tokyo or something?"

he chuckles. "such a dark mind you have. it wounds me to hear you assume the worst of me."

you bite your lip to hide your smile. "just figured it'd save time."

he closes the space between you and though you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you don't shy away from him. instead, your eyes trail over the dark lines adorning his face and chest.

he reaches up and your breath catches in your throat when the back of his fingers ghost over your neck. his nails graze your skin and a sly smirk forms on his face. "aren't you frightened? it'd be all too easy to kill a little thing like you."

"but you won't."

he can't tell if your assuredness pisses him off, but it certainly makes his heart rate pick up. his hand now occupies the space where your neck meets your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "what has you so convinced?"

"well you saved me, didn't you? and.. and you kept your promise."

he hums in response and your hand seems to act of its own accord when it reaches up to rest atop his. any lingering sense of amusement is gone in an instant, the air now fraught with tension.

"so why are you here, sukuna?" you murmur.

the king of curses has never known goodness. he's wrought untold destruction and misery, his name inspiring fear even after millenia. he's a legend— a god, even— yet here you are staring up at him and he swears the look in your eyes is almost tender.

"i don't know."

"and you had the nerve to call me an awful liar."

you know you're taking a risk when you lean up and press your lips to his. he freezes for a moment before his mouth begins to move against yours tentatively. his arm stays at his side, so you grab his hand, moving it to your waist.

it's as if that flips a switch in sukuna. he backs you up against the wall somewhat roughly and you can feel him smile against your lips when you let out a squeak of surprise.

he uses the opportunity to take your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it before moving to your neck with the intention of leaving a trail of marks across your delicate flesh.

you know you should care, but you just can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. you're too preoccupied with the feeling. he revels in the little gasps he's pulling from your throat, in the way you grab weakly at his biceps.

"you are divine, kitten," he growls. "been waiting so long to touch you."

just as he finishes speaking, he pulls back a few inches and his body stiffens.

"damn it. not now, you stupid brat—"

the words die in his throat as the black lines begin to fade and you're met with the perplexed face of your boyfriend. he breaths out your name, clearly worried. "what.. what happened?"

[whirlpool-blogs]

whirlpool's personal MOTA fic recs!

I've actually been dying to put this together for a while now...today is as good an excuse as any! I might not know everyone's tumblrs vs ao3 names so I will NOT be offended if you tell me to correct something!! <3

the big list = going alphabetical order in my folder because YES I do download my favorites, it's like having your own little bookshelf!!

non-clegan fics:

nine mothers' sons by @reallylilyreally (truly beautiful, breathtaking, and **THE** John Brady bible for the fandom so make sure you pray to it every night)

at your heels by @reallylilyreally (this one is Ev Blakely, another really beautiful story that helps you understand just why Crosby's memoir speaks of Blakely with such love and affection)

clegan (or gale-centric, or john-centric) fics:

A Direct Solution by @sweaterkittensahoy (Gale & Marge proposition Bucky...so cute and so hot)

ain't it easy? by @stereobone (dom/sub with john as the dom but ohhh man it's so much more than just that!!!!! this fic is so full of FEELS. and it's also HOTTTT. and also the FEELSSSSS.)

all the rest of what I want with you by @london-cowboy (the level of care that went into writing this fic is insane and impeccable. down to its own internal timeline, little egan kiddos, and the ANGST. but it's all worth it, I promise!!)

back home where you're from, that's the measure of a man by wolfhalls (nice little oneshot of the bucks, I love the back-and-forth of their dialogue in this one, it really does feel like two people who know each other well)

bittersweet between my teeth by @blixabargelds (post-war adjustment...love when the two majors are a little messy and a little sad and also john calls gale the prettiest thing he ever saw so there's that <3)

bluebirds singing a song by ourdarkspirits (Marge jumps Bucky's bones. Then Gale joins. Super fun, super hot!)

Close and Yet Closer by Anonymous (LITERALLY THE MOST!!!!!! FIC OF ALL TIME!!!!!!! Gale is a little bit mean and John is a lot bit sweaty. Like all the time. it's amazing and you should read it and it WILL change your life.)

Corpse Song by birdwif (oof. john is miserable in the stalag he's scratching at the door he's gnawing his own leg off.)

deep breath baby by @defnotanarc (um FISTING. yeah. intense and delicious. side note sometimes the world isn't fair and people who are really talented and amazing at drawing are also really good WRITERS too LIKE WTF!!)

DOG DINNER by @wompire (super interesting writing style, extremely poetic and striking. hits you right in the gut.)

everything and the kitchen sink by @swifty-fox (YEAH THIS ONE WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE TOO. modern au where gale is a professional dom and john is a journalist who hornily consents to both (1) fucking around, and (2) finding out. in top ten fics of the decade in general tbh)

Freed From Desire by @feyd-meowtha (yoooooo such a fun and free and sexy fic!!! such a great writing style and such a cool remix of all the characters we know and love!)

He wears his love around his neck by kasugayamaisforlovers (Gale character study, he tries to run his little gay thoughts away which is always so fun to see)

hold me like a knife by storm_warning (tw: self-harm, this REALLY gets into John's self-destructive stalag spiral and it's super visceral and wet and heart-wrenching and written with such, such care and precision)

Hound Within the Heart by Anonymous (fairy-tale esque, gets super crazy and pushes the limits of reality but in the best ways possible)

I Don't Wanna Be Alone Tonight by @johnslittlespoon (cuddling for warmth <3 and then a little more <3 <3 so sweet and intimate!!)

I Like A Bad Boy by @nicijones (modern college AU and bucky is a fratty fuckboy type & in this fic he DOES punch a guy for Gale and it's all very hot and sweet and a delight to read)

i wish you wouldn't tell me (about your hawaiian party) by @whitetrashjj (when the fuckbuddies thing gets messyyyyyy because gale catches feelingsssssss, so delicious and meaty!!)

if that isn’t love, it’ll have to do by @irregularcollapse (ALWAYS such incredible character reads from this author, never misses. also facefucking. also FACEFUCKING <3)

i'll be seeing you by @puffanities (a quick 1.6k oneshot but still packed with some really great characterization and powerful language!! 'when the numbers of planes don’t match...')

i'll find you before the dust settles by butidontreallycare (a Westworld AU!! super cool)

in our bedroom after the war by @stereobone (one of those fics that's just like. a pillar of the community, y'know? iconic. classic. eternal.)

Into the Unknown by Melanie_Mikaelson (big win for john whump enjoyers. BIG win. like 20+ chapters of winning)

it ain't for meatball by @meyerlansky (Curt/Bucky. Curt puts the dog collar on Bucky....and it's HOTTTT arf arf i'm barking just like bucky is in this fic...)

It's Not Love, but It's Fun by @sweaterkittensahoy (Curt/Bucky, 500 words so it's short and sweet just like Curt ahahahaha, ANYWAY still such an interesting little read regardless!)

judgment by the hounds by @puffanities (PG, very visceral and tender apology after the stalag fight scene <3)

level-off maneuvers by wormringers (sweet little oneshot of the Bucks in London)

little fix by ForASecondThereWedWon (Algeria <3 <3 you just kNOW those two gay pilots were sniffing and huffing and licking each other's sweat.....this author GETS it)

love means nothing (in tennis) by @irregularcollapse (fics that make you go WEEEEEEEE!!!! every word, every physical action that these characters take is SO precise and well-written. truly like wrapping a soft bathrobe around yourself and also the bathrobe is incredibly sexy and also they're sucking each other off post-game but PRE-shower. also gale's dad!! also margie!! truly such a well crafted AU)

make you feel alive by @sig-nifier (really sweet little oneshot of gale being a little protective of john. and i am ALWAYS a sucker for the 'call off your dog' trope... and it's done perfectly here!)

meet me at the chapel by @swifty-fox (still in-progress and SUCH a creative, inventive universe!! outlaw john you will always be famous to me!!!!)

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder by @swifty-fox (swift can really weave a story like no one else. so many lines that pack a punch. and in the end, they make it <3)

my type by @spaceshipkat (this one is SOOOOO well-written, I always go so crazy for the dialogue!!! such a great push-pull dynamic in this fic)

night terror by @antiquitea (hot! and sweet! and HOT! and angsty!!!!! highlights include: gale gives john a literal countdown deadline to get off)

Obligate Mutualism by bowhuntress (Gale-centric story of trying to get John through the stalag, then returning the England without Bucky, a fic very obviously written with a lot of care and love)

obsessions, and other things by @sig-nifier (the Bucks cope. really great pacing and dialogue, and I always love when fics take the care to delve into john's struggle with alcoholism as well)

of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world (he walks into mine) by @whitetrashjj (really fun parallel universe where Buck owns a bar, just a great read all-around!)

Oh, I do, do I? by @defnotanarc (DIRTY TALK, like the most delicious, incredible dirty talk you can imagine, this fic nails it!!)

One of your Girls by @soliloquy-dawn (9k oneshot and it's great all the way through, Gale is jealousssss of John fucking around, don't worry they resolve it <3, definitely captures that innocence of pre-Bremen MOTA episodes)

peacetime like a liminal space by @spaceshipkat (this one is PHENOMENAL. post-war, John goes to New York City and turns out it doesn't fill the emptiness. luckily Gale shows up. <3)

Putting Words to It by @impalachick (YEAH THIS ONE IS REALLY HOT. John is a snoop and reads Gale's letters to Marge <3)

Reunited by Flowersandthings (PG, cute & funny oneshot of the Bucks being reunited after Gale makes it over from Greenland!)

Reverie by @avonne-writes (REALLY creative, well-crafted story. Gale and John are soulmates and can visit each other's dreams since adolescence. INCREDIBLE journey and arc in this story, the stalag part is just wow. truly such a gift to the fandom!!).

Rugire by Anonymous (umm omegaverse-ish but with deer dynamics. messy. and SO good.)

SHOTGUN. by pornogirl (YEAH this one is awesome, it's not safe it's not sane but oh boy it is consensual)

Song of Songs by @swifty-fox (sweaty sex sweaty sex sweaty sex)

Spin, Sit, Roll-Over by @glumbabie (Gale is a little mean to John and it's VERY sexy of him tbh. 'DOGS DON'T TALK'???? 'YOU CAN EAT'???????? yeah. read this.)

the chimneys hardly ever fall down by @redbelles (another Gale/Marge + John, and it's HOT. it's SEXY it's awesome!!)

the hand of a good man by @stereobone (John rewrites Gale's daddy history <3)

the jacket by @dogmetaphors (REALLY great sense of dialogue and characterization even in 1.6k words, also shamelessly horny and SO yummy)

The Major’s Wife by tryingmyhandatwriting (John/Original Female Character but like. give this one a chance, I'm telling you!! I'm always soooo compelled by sex scenes that like. are actually a little bit unhappy. and this one SERVESSSSS.)

this must be the place by @blixabargelds (BIG win for Gale whumpers. broken bone and LOTS of blood and super well-written)

To be alone with you by Damn_Illusive (THIS ONE IS SO, SO SPECIAL AND CREATIVE!! freaky army experimentation gives gale and john telepathic communication. incredible separation arc while gale is in the stalag. really, really unique story that is such a staple in my mind as one of the the most incredible clegan stories ever. I think about this one A LOT!!!)

To the Moon and Back by @rambleonwaywardson (iconic astronaut AU, written with SUCH care and love, it's so obvious!! and BIG win for john whumpers. who said that -)

Tough And Sweet (Like You And Me) by @johnslittlespoon (sooo fun and creative and inventive, Bikeriders-esque!Gale and a sweeter, more innocent John. really well crafted)

trading paper dolls by ForASecondThereWedWon (Alex draws Gale pinup girl style in the stalag.....John swipes it.... super great fic!)

two slow dancers by everywordnotsaid (unrequited love, John for Gale, through their journey. I genuinely, actually sobbed for a long time at the conclusion of this fic. I am always thinking about this fic. I think it really captures something about the experience of watching the show and realizing in that hopeless, lovesick kind of way that there's no way to go back in time and save all of them. I still get teary whenever I think about this story or hear the song. It's one of those fics that's not just good, not just great, but somehow also really fucking IMPORTANT. this story MATTERS. you should absolutely read it and save it and imprint it onto your heart. I know it's imprinted onto mine.)

Un Chant d’Amour by @counting0nit (really intriguing take on the interrogation center time frame!)

unicorns, and other extinct animals by @spaceshipkat (really, really incredible reading experience. something that actually touches other aspects of my life, even now. I see planes overhead and I think about this fic. I see letters on a table and I think about this fic. just. this author GETS IT, you know? just absolutely nails every aspect of this kind of fic: post-war adjustment, the pain, the LOVE. this fic will make you FEEL it. let it happen.)

Up In Our Bedroom by @steeseman (ICONIC. really one of those pillars of the community type fics, y'know? it's funny and it's sweet and it's painful and the hot parts are HOT. clearly written with SO much care, and SO much love, and SO much precision. every single word packs a punch. absolutely one of my top reads of all time, across time, across fandoms)

When the bones are good by @aramblingjay (a really incredible post-war fic, such a beautiful, rich writing style!! isn't afraid to dig at the hard parts - john's relationship with alcohol, their nightmares from the war. stunning visuals -- the author uses setting and place and motion in such a tangible, real way. I can still see the little hideout spot in my mind's eye, even now. one of those fics that's just. such a treasure to the fandom.)

your dreams, whatever they be by @drylite (this one is super new, and it's just SUCH solid writing!)

You're A Dog (I'm Your Man) by @johnslittlespoon (one of those fics that's a pillar of the fandom for SURE!!! definitely a classic)

[a41-i-finally-caved]

JJ and PTSD and why 4.10 was a slap in the face

Okay. so. Here's my issue.

(there will be a ton of cursing because I'm fucking pissed.)

JJ's ENTIRE FUCKING ARC has been him feeling like he's worthless, like he's somehow inherently evil, that he "deserves" the things that happen to him, that everything's all his fault. That he should be killed saving his friends because that's all he's fucking good for.

And that? That's not a JJ-exclusive thought pattern. That's what happens to your brain when you're a CHILD and a fucking grown ass man instills that in your head. Whether physical and verbal abuse like they showed in canon, or childhood sexual abuse like what's happened to me and many, many others. An adult shows you that you're not worth shit compared to them, and since you, again, are a child, you fucking believe them. Adults teach you about the world, and kids are good fucking listeners.

So you grow up knowing down to your guts that you don't belong on this earth, you don't own your body, you don't deserve the space you take up. Any of y'all confused by JJ's bullshit?? Well there you go. That's the very basic assumption he's working off of: he's dead, been dead for years, so what the fuck's it matter what he does? It doesn't.

(I don't know how to express that screaming lack of existence to those with an inherent understanding of their own worth and right to living but the closest I can get is this. You look at yourself and understand that no matter what actions you take, you are wrong on a soul-deep level and there's nothing you can do about it.)

Here's the thing. It's all bullshit. And it takes so much fucking effort to believe that, and some days you don't but you trust that you will tomorrow or the next day or the next. That's called healing. That's called living.

Because the only way past this is time and support and fucking proving with every breath that no. Fuck you. I deserve to be here. I deserve to get old. To cry. To weep. To fucking dance on a dock because you finally made a home. That you deserve to LIVE.

And S4E10 just declared no; you don't. JJ was too damaged to give him any other ending. Even Kie couldn't fix him. The best he could hope for was dying in the dirt with someone he loved. Oh look he gave up the crown! He was happy in the end! He had his wish! He loved her!!

Yeah well sorry to bust the 'isn't it all so tragic' circle jerk, but no. It's not fucking poetic. Or beautiful. Or God-fucking-forbid romantic. It's shit.

Because JJ Maybank was never real, but they chose to highlight the very much real pain I and others struggle with using his story. And then they told me that struggle ends with death...because how else could it end?

Just because y'all can't imagine living his life and going on, and going on, and going on, and not fucking killing yourself doesn't mean the rest of us aren't looking down that path every day and deciding to break those lies in one moment of existence after another.

The showrunners missed that.

If they wanted to finish JJ's arc? It wasn't saving Kie, or finally having some 'realization', or sacrificing himself for his friends. It wasn't some short but meaningful life.

JJ needed to fucking live to prove that he deserved it. End of story.

Thanks for the slap.

[madschiavelique]

hear me out, miguel letting a bunch of ‘i love yous’ while he’s fucking you? especially while he’s close, him just being like ‘iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou’ does something to me…

ANON I'M SCREAMING THIS IS SO SWEET i felt way too poetic and had to write smth like come on

this man just worships you, every curve of your body, every inch of your skin, and every discovered or unexplored meander of your personality

he'll never tire of your smile, your eyes, the way your body welcomes his hands

the mere thought that you love him makes him less miserable, almost to the point where he feels blessed. What has he done in a previous life to deserve you?

He kisses your forehead to thank it for carrying all your ideas He kisses your cheeks and lips to thank them for making you smile He kisses your neck to thank it for making your voice bloom He kisses your shoulders to thank them for being so gracefully illuminated by the sun He kisses your hands to thank them for speaking and expressing when your mouth can't He kisses your chest to thank it for carrying your heart He kisses your soul to thank it for existing

But he needs more than just thanking you. He would offer you pearls of rain from countries where it never does, he would dig the earth until after his death to cover your body in gold and light. What would he be without you than this hour stopped on the watch face, what would he be without you than this stammering.

"I love you," he whispers against your ear as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, his pelvis touching your thighs as your lips let out the most beautiful sounds that music has ever created.

What would he be without you but a sleeping heart? You took him by the hand in this modern hell where the man no longer knows what it is to be two.

"I love you," he murmurs as he kisses your cheek, inhaling the scent of your skin until he's intoxicated and the sensation never leaves his memory.

Those who speak of happiness often have sad eyes. Isn't that a sob of disappointment? He felt like a broken string in the guitarist's fingers and yet he now says that happiness exists elsewhere than in dreams, elsewhere than in the clouds, elsewhere than imagination.

"I love you," he breathes as he kisses your lips and you give him the gift of pleasure, as you make him feel the perfect pairing of sentiment and carnal desire.

He's waiting for the universe to shrink down to your hearts, to be safe from the wicked and the mad, waiting for your moments to drag on for hours and for the thread of time to wrap itself around you.

Prepare some of your time, because for you he has all of his.

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

an ocean in a world full of puddles ◦ Chapter 1

-After being brushed off by Chan once again, you are stuck waiting in the lounge room for him to arrive. What are you going to do when it isn't Chan that arrives, but instead Felix? And it feels like you've known him for years."

words ◦ 5k

genre ◦ series, angst, fluff, the beginning of a wild ride

warnings ◦ chan is painted in sort of a negative light because he is always busy, felix is sort of shy around you at first, but lowkey flirty near the end as he starts to get more comfertable, theres a lot of fucks in this, i keep calling yall im dumb im sorry, fem!reader, felix calls her a lady once,

a/n ◦ The strikeouts are intentional to show how chaotic the reader's mind is and how she feels like her emotions are so invalid she has to just erase them away. I'm sorry if this isn't what you expected. I found myself struggling to describe certain aspects of this and was quite disappointed by the outcome (but please do not let this deter you. If anything, read it and let me know what you think/what I can change. Plus, I know the other parts are going to be way better than this).

also i listened to heather while writing this up until the phone number bit... then i listened to slow down by chase atlantic...do with that information as you will

A VERY VERY SPECAIL THANK YOU TO THESE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE that helped me through the different struggles and stages in this fic I thank most of my unnecessary errors being fixed because of them @yongbun, @jeonginsleftcheek, @luvtak

masterlist ◦ a loved lived in between the stars and the sea

The human condition: a soul filled with passion, but not a mouth to spill it into.

It was ironic really. 

Your soul was filled with passion, but you had a mouth to spill it into.

That mouth just didn't want your passion- 

Your fervor-

Your ardor-

Romance practically coursed through your veins, your blood cells shaped like the hearts you saw the world through. 

Chan was filled with passion.

Chan was filled with ardor.

Chan was filled with romance.

But Chan didn't want poetry-

Chan spilled too much soul into songs. 

Songs that made him too busy for you.

The two of you saw the same goal, but spoke different languages- 

Your love was often- 

Lost in translation. 

You shout, frustration poking in the pit of your stomach painting the car red you dig the pencil into the words scratching them out so hard you cut holes in the page that sounded so stupid

all of this was so stupid

your feelings-

stupid

your issues-

stupid

the thought that Chan was anything other than perfect-

stupid

Why couldn't you just be content with everything you have? So many girls would pay to be in your place, tripping over each other just to be in his presence, and yet, what, you're unhappy because you spoke different languages? 

What the hell does that even mean?

You were trapped inside an inescapable box, the sharp edges of your unrealistic expectations like shackles that cut into your skin, bleeding with a passion only ever found in fiction. 

Why were you always stuck?

stuck in the stars, stuck in the sea-

stuck in this stupid line of stupid traffic, waiting for a stupid meal that Chan probably will be too busy to eat with you, writing some stupid piece of poetry that was about as poetic as the rotting innards of unidentified roadkill.

stupid

stupid

stupid

“Finally,” you mumble as the car in front of you inches up, allowing you access to the next window. You politely bow, grab the trays from the worker’s hand, and drive off.

Your life quickly turned from the hope of a story to the reality of a routine. The road, the walls, the button your finger grazes as the doors to the elevator slam shut, the number of steps it takes to get to his room, the feel of cold metal underneath your palm as you open the door, the same hunch of his shoulders, the same glow of his laptop, the same empty look in his eyes.

the same

the same

the same

Most of your relationship is spent looking at him like this.

"Hey channie," you say, setting the food down on the empty spot beside his keyboard.

"Hi, love." His voice is nothing more than the ghost of a mumble, blending with the click and shift of his mouse, moving different blurs and blobs of color on the screen. Chan tended to get tunnel vision when he was working, even if that meant you were left stranded in the shadows of his forgotten responsibilities. 

"I um brought you dinner." you clear your throat, pointing lamely at the boxes beside him like he couldn't clearly see they were there. He perks up, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours. 

"Oh baby, thank you." The tension in his shoulders melts. "I'm sorry, you know how busy I am sometimes; right now it feels like I'm drowning in work," he chuckles, absentmindedly shifting in his chair.

you're always busy

You push a smile through the tangled ball of suppressed emotions climbing up your throat.

"I know you're busy, but do you think I could eat dinner with you today...please?" Your stomach twists in painful knots. It was pathetic really, the way you begged for attention like a needy dog more than a doting girlfriend, but you were desperate, scrambling to fan a flickering flame that felt long sputtered out. 

stop

You knew what you were getting into when he asked you out—the stress, the anxiety, the workload, the long hours. Chan was always upfront and honest about the struggles of being an idols girlfriend, never wanting to veil your eyes from the harsh sting of realities rays.

then why does it still feel like your soul is burning?

He flicks his gaze to the screen, guilt gnawing at his core. There was so much to do in the day and just never enough time to do it. "I don't know, I don't really have a lot of time right now..." He mumbles, picking at the seam on his shorts apologetically, "Do you think you could wait about 20 minutes? I'm kind of on a roll here."

When your relationship was first blooming, your spirit would often shatter with those words, but pain only holds power when it isn't welcome, and as long as you are loved by him, you will accept the feeling with open arms. 

"I'm going to go sit in the lounge room then." You try to keep the disappointment out of your tone, but it leaks through the cracks echoing in your chest, radiating in palpable waves. You clench your jaw, picking up your tray of food.

does he not care?

"Okay," The squeak of his chair indifferently swiveling back to its previous place echoes in your ears. Louder than anything you've ever heard. 

he didn't even kiss you

1 hour 45 minutes and 13 seconds

That's how long you have been waiting in the lounge room for Chan to walk in the door.

that is how long you've been wallowing in a sad pathetic heap staring at your uneating supper

1 hour 45 minutes and 15 seconds now

16 seconds

17 seconds

You spin around when you hear the door creak open, anticipation fluttering in your stomach, only to plummet when you see Felix standing in the entrance, too busy shoveling a fork full of noodles in his mouth to notice your presence.

Felix was a familiar face, mostly associated with sweet smiles and bouncing eyes; you have only ever talked to him on a handful of occasions, possessing the basic relationship of hellos in the hallways and smiles when you enter the same room, but besides the couple times where he offered you some of his freshly baked brownies or told you which room Chan was in, you haven't actually had a conversation with the boy.

You groan, dramatically deflating in your seat.

Of course, it wasn't chan

Felix yelps, his heart leaping in his chest, only to wrap around his bones, doing trapeze tricks inside his ribs when he lays eyes on you—why, out of all the days he could have seen you, it was on the one day he was least ready, and the way your whole body slumps like a deflated balloon, it becomes crystal clear you weren't exactly jumping up and down to see him either.

Does Cupid have a vendetta against him or something?

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know anybody was in here," he stutters awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair like he was trying to fix it without a mirror. Disappointment quickly brews into guilt watching the way his eyes shift, hurt drooping his shoulders down. 

"No, I'm sorry, it's not like that; I just thought—" You falter. What the hell did you think? Sorry, but I thought you were my boyfriend who left me here all by myself, and like usual, my stupid, hopeful heart really believed this time was going to be different. "You were someone different." You sink into the couch, a dull ache spiderwebbing through the chasms in your chest.

"Let me guess." His eyes crinkle with sympathy. "Chan."

You glance down at your ribs—some silly part of you really believed your shirt had blossomed with the crimson stain of your sorrows.

"How could you guess?" you mutter sarcastically, picking at the skin of your nails. Why did it seem like everybody else got the memo that if you were to search the thesaurus, your name would be the first word under forgotten?

"Well, really, it was a toss-up between you being with him for the past 5 years and the fact that he has been glued to his computer for the past 5 hours," he grins. "Pick your poison."

Your gaze drifts back to the couch that sits idly in front of you, lonely in the middle of the room, out of place, without the implant of another person's body.

"W-Well," he starts, shifting his bowl in his hands. "Do you... I don't know, want some company...maybe."

He's so awkward, so unsure, like a baby deer wobbling on unfamiliar legs, struggling to stay upright. You tilt your head, your lips pulling up into an adoring grin; you never really noticed it before, but he was sort of shy. You had a terrible tendency to take your time observing people unintentionally, causing discomfort to the victims of your restless brain—assessing in silence.

His ears burn when your eyes gloss over with an opaque glaze. His heart drops only for those silly little butterflies that always appear when you are around to swarm their wings around the lump growing in his throat.

Well, that was a bust.

Why couldn't he just be normal around you?

"O-Or not, that's fine too. I-I get it; you're probably l-like waiting for Chan or whatever. I-I can go get him if you would like." He jerks his thumb behind him, forgetting he was holding something for a second, stumbling to catch it right before it falls. You snicker, biting your lips to contain your laughter. His eyes flutter shut, scrunching his nose in embarrassment.

He was cute

Why haven't you talked to him before?

"No, please sit down," you lazily gesture to the couch in front of you. "It's not like Chan's going to be coming down anytime soon."

He sighs, his whole body melting with relief, practically forming into the couch when he shuffles over, adjusting himself to comfortably sit with his legs wide and his head tilted down. He picks up his fork just before whispering, "I'm sorry that he kept you waiting," and stuffing his face. You smile, the sight all sorts of endearing. The amount of food stuffed into his cheeks puffs them out, forcing his mouth into a pout that's smeared with red sauce. For a moment, you almost forget that you're supposed to be groveling, but why would life want to let you live when instead it could remind you constantly how much it sucks?

"I'm used to it." You learn to live with the absence of air when your hope always causes you to suffocate.

"You shouldn't have to be," he murmurs, his hand politely veiling his mouth while he chews. He's staring at his food like his noodles were an impossible labyrinth he's forced to escape, completely oblivious to the cataclysmic sentence he just uttered. Your jaw drops, stomach fluttering with butterflies, butterflies that you could’ve sworn burned out a long time ago. When most of your time is spent in a constant state of apocalypse, you forget the side effects of a romanticism, felt before your soul was littered with the echos of war.

"Oh?"

"Are you not going to eat?" He questions, forehead creased with concern as he gestures to the food that was currently burning a hole in the table. You stare at him stupidly, mouth ever so slightly agape. Did he not notice that there were swarms of zombified insects burrowing their way into your belly, kaleidoscopes charred wings creating panic in your pounding heart?

(cookie interruptions: I was today years old when I found out that a kaleidoscope was the technical term for a swarm of butterflies)

Why was he making you feel so jittery?

"Oh," you blink, giving an imperceptible shake of the head—a weak attempt to gather your disoriented thoughts.

Honestly, you had forgotten it was there.

"I was waiting to eat with Chan..." You mutter through the tufts of wool still stuffed in your head, wrapping your fingers around the tray, but when you pull open its flappy lid, your lips pull into a sneer glaring at the congealed sauce and cold noodles. You weren't surprised that your food had spoiled over the 2 hours you had been waiting, but it didn't make the frustration that bubbled in your gut any less apparent either. "But clearly, that hope was shortlived," you scoff, chucking the useless tray back on the table. 

Felix clears his throat, adjusting himself in his seat. He often found himself tiptoeing on the edge of insanity, always rewriting the words he wanted to say, terrified you had written a line in the sand the waves had washed away.

You were a star with a heart tied to the sea, where he would have more success breaking the bond of the moon than turning the tides of the ocean that suffocated your soul.

So for now, he will coast the cosmos alone, waiting for the day you will finally look his way.

"You can have some of mine... if you want," he whispers, shyly scooting his cup over to you. "It's salmon-flavored; it's really good."

"Are you sure?" you blink, utterly flummoxed.

"Yeah, of course!" You swore you could trace the stories of the sky in the gaps where his freckles glowed.

"Thank you; I promise I won't eat too much," you joke, pulling out your fork. "I don't mind it, really. I can always make more as long as you're eating I'm okay," he grins, sliding his hand out of the way to allow room for yours, grateful for his generosity; you bite back a smile, digging into the hot noodles; a spicy flavor pulled straight from the sea explodes on your tongue as soon as the food meets your lips.

You swear you just tasted heaven's gates.

"Holy shit, this is delicious," you moan, rolling your eyes back in your head.

"I'm glad you like it," he smirks. "It's my special recipe."

"So you do more than bake, huh?" you waggle your brows lightheartedly, though you were sort of impressed by his broad palette of skills. 

"You know that I bake!?" He was still recovering from the shock that you even knew his name—the way he often dissolves into the wall when you enter the room.

"Of course, I know that you bake; I always have to eat at least half of the plate of brownies Chan brings home." You giggle, picking at the noodles, wanting more but feeling guilty for hogging the whole bowl.

"Oh, I'm full," he stretches, rubbing his stomach like a stuffed cartoon character. 

"Are you lying?" Cynism was a side effect of being a creative romanticist—your artistic brain didn't limit itself to only forming one conclusion, while the stories that ended up on paper were solely portrayed as having happy endings—you knew this philosophy was neither sadistic nor realistic, for even if the fictional characters made up of the fluid of your mind betrayed each other, what would a human, evil in its rawest form, do to you?

well that was melodramatic

"You know you're a very skeptical person," he jests, pulling his lips ever so slightly up.

"I'm a hopeless romantic; there's a difference," you state, stuffing your face when you finish studying him down to the very twitch of his right calf muscle.

"Aren't hopeless romantics supposed to be happy-go-lucky all the time? Seeing the world through rose-colored glasses and stuff?"

"You know we are called hopeless for a reason," you snort, unrealistic standards were more of a curse than a blessing.

Scratch that, having unrealistic standards is just a curse

“Being a hopeless romantic is like being an ocean in a world full of puddles.” Your soul speaks like his fingertips have felt its walls a million times before “devastating.”

He stares at you gobsmacked, blinking like you just hit him over the head with a mallet. Your mind kicks into gear, anxious little butterflies flipping on the switch for damage control.

that must have sounded so self-centered

"I-I didn't mean, like, in a cocky way, I'm better than other people. I just meant it's impossible to pour my passion anywhere because everybody else doesn't have room to take it. If anything, I-Im the bad one in this scenario.” You stutter, sporadically shaking your hands, worried that the misconception is going to create a concrete opinion. He quickly waves you off, seeming anything but bothered. 

“An ocean in a world full of puddles that's pretty deep,” he implores, treating the words like age-old wine to be sipped with both time and deference. “You know you should really consider being a poet 'cause that like moved my soul.” Only Lee Felix can make humor sound so honest. 

Why was he so ...amazed

"I like to think I'm a poet." Your cheeks are painted red as you bashfully tilt your head down. 

but right now not so much

“You can't think you're a poet,” he chuckles. “If you ever wanted to read somebody your stuff, I would be happy to help…Maybe it could fix your uncertainty." Something twinkles in his eyes, something nervous yet desperate, something you couldn't quite pinpoint while your stomach was sprinting in circles—the mere thought of showing somebody else your poetry was the equivalent of slicing your heart in half and presenting it to the world on live television.

basically, something that will never happen never ever

"No, no, no, it's nothing like that. I don't really write poetry per se; I just write my..." You trail off.

What do you write?

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he reassures, his warm smile cooling the icy anxiety that crystallized around your core.

Why do you do this to yourself??

Stupid Felix and his stupid power to loosen your lips-

stupid. stupid. stupid.

To be a poet is to be vulnerable; no great art is ever created comfortably. 

Fuck it 

“I write my dreams,” you blurt, peeking out through your clenched eyelids to see if Felix caught the spit of a sentence; clearly, he did the way he lifts his brows thoughtfully. 

“Elaborate”

A man of many annoying questions you see 

“Why,” you groan, sinking into your seat almost comically. 

"Because I want to listen to you," he laughs like whiskey and wine, both husky and rich. You choke, your heart imploding into a million tiny, rose-shaped pieces.

"Nobody wants to listen to me ramble on about hopeless fantasies that will never come true," you sputter, still trying to reshape your rose-shaped shatters into something that resembles an organ. 

"I do."

Oh well, there they go again, forming right back into roses-

He made all of this seem like a complex game of chess, every move of hesitance quickly countered by a block of honesty.

From the moment you could write, you found out that paper was not volatile the way people were, how you could erase a word written but, in time, in life, you cannot erase a sentence said—that philosophy stuck with you, forever rendering you apprehensive to vocalize your feelings.

Maybe it was your soft spot for the stars that made you speak, but either way, when your mouth opened, it felt as though all your past doubts had washed away, and for once, you were free.

"I have always held onto my dreams through the tip of a pen, existing in between the lines of my poetry. But I don't write about deep philosophical pearls of wisdom; I write about love, passion, beauty. I write about coffee and cream, roses and vanilla. I write what I think romance tastes like, how the contrast of the most iconic confessions has been written in the rain, a usually gloomy, grey thing completely transformed through the lenses of love…" You sigh, tilting your head against the back of the cushion in bliss.

"I write the way I want to love, for I know it's the only way to quell my heart's aching urge to live anywhere but reality."

He stares at you eerily still, blinking once, twice, three times."

Why wasn't he saying anything?  

Perhaps you were drunk off Felix's promises, or the cracks Chan created in your chest made you bleed with a passion only ever reserved for your poetry. But either way, you felt naked—exposed under his exploring eyes.

"What?" You croak, picking at the sleeve of your shirt.

Why did everybody act like you were crazy?

Was there something wrong with you?

You are floating in the asteroid belt, a thousand tiny rocks hovering around your head.

"Maybe you're just not looking in the right places." There’s a deep intensity in his eyes, a million roaring waves crashing against each other; you run face-first into a meteor, bouncing around the surfaces of a weightless space.

How many brain-altering revelations could Felix bestow before your brain cracks?

"You know, I haven't even told my friends that," you deflect. It was a dangerous game, diving too deep into your thoughts, and right now, with him—with that statement, danger could quickly bleed into destruction.

"So, I'm not your friend?" Clearly, Felix catches on to the sudden swerve of the conversation, how he eases into it with such grace, jestingly poking your knee.

"This is the first time I've ever had a real conversation with you," you scoff, poking him right back. His jaw drops in faux offense.

"You know, I just gave you my food. I think that deserves an upgrade into friendship territory," he states matter-of-factly.

Two can play at that game-

"I don't have your number; usually friends have each other's number." You place your elbows on your knees. He has been playing a metaphorical game of chess with you this whole time, his pawns moving ever so slightly forward. He forced your hand, the comfortability in your eyes making openings on the board you never meant to create. His rook, his bishop, his queen—they kiss the place right below your king.

You had one more trick up your sleeve-

You were a creative romantic whose moves were nothing less than a story, and you were going to be damned if you let your king be captured.

Now, where's the happy ending in that?

(cookie interruptions… I dont know what this is nor why i am so dramatic but hey what can you do ALSO LISTEN TO SLOW DOWN BY CHASE ATLANTIC I BEGTH OF YOU )

He leans forward, pressing his tongue against his cheek. The fabric of his shirt stretches across the hard ridges of his abs—

No, stop it, bad y/n. 

"Do you want it?" He leans his head ever. So. Slightly. Forward  

"Maybe I do."

"Maybe I'll give it to you," soft, smooth voice- 

you narrow your eyes,

"What will Chan think?"

"It doesn't matter what Chan thinks-"

"Tell that to Chan-"

"Maybe I will." His lips-

"You know, if Chan saw us here right now, he would not be very happy." You suck your teeth.

Check-

He scoffs. Moves his bishop. 

You're right back where you started. 

"You're not his pet."

"Yeah, but I am his girlfriend." Block.

"Those two words are not synonymous," he says. Moves his queen.

Too many openings, too many moves, too many pieces on the board.

Too many outcomes.

Do you even still want to play?

Weren't you the one who started the game?

You bite your cheek, his eyes burning like molten amber, glinting in the overhead lights.

Should you have really asked for his number?

What would Chan think if he saw it in your phone?

Who were you kidding? He would actually have enough time to look at your phone.

"You know," he leans back, extending his arms to drape across the couch, pushing his thighs ever so slightly apart. Gone is the man with smiles like sugar; determination wisps across his face like spits of fire, overtaking every feature."If I give you my number, I'm going to have to help you unlearn your engraved cynicism." He's closing in on you, moving all his pawns in one fair swoop. You're surrounded, swarmed.

"You can't ungrave something it's scientifically impossible." You shift your king. One last dying breath-

Before- 

"I can try."

Checkmate

And like every person of honor does when they have nobly lost a battle they created- 

You run away. 

“I have to admit, as much as I loved this conversation, I really should be going,” you say, picking up your tray of forgotten food to chuck in the trash, leaving Felix's bowl on the table. He jumps up, scrambling to pick up his mess while you dart out the door, tossing the tray in the can just outside the room.

“Wait,” he gasps, stumbling to catch up with your speed. Your finger, out of habit, moves to press the button to the elevator doors—that is, before he catches it, his warm hand wraps around your wrist.

“Now, what gentleman would I be making a lady get her own door?” He bellows, voice deep and low, a sound echoing through his chest as the fabric of his shirt kisses your back. He’s so close, so close, so—

How long has it been since you've been touched? 

Heat. You're drenched in it, painted in it, enveloped in it.

His hand grazes your skin as he slides up your wrist, his finger extending to press the button.

Your breath hitches.

Body shutters. 

Every atom erupting in flames. 

The elevator doors slam open-

Your brain clicks back into place-

“Will I be seeing you again?” Your hot, so hot. He’s hot, so hot. Breath—it tickles your ear. Disoriented, so disoriented.

“I still don't have your number,” you manage to utter, slipping into the doors. His face will be the final thing you see as you descend down the shaft, lifelessly walking to your car where you will go home, go to sleep, and start your routine all over again. He smirks, flicking his eyes to your pants.

“Yes, you do.”

I do? 

The doors inch shut, and a small, teeny-tiny part of you wants to wrench them open, pull him in, force him into the stanzas of your story. You are tired—tired of waiting for your life to begin, tired of repeating the same vicious cycle.

But that wasn't you talking- 

That was the hopeless part of your personality,

The unrealistic-

The fiction- 

Life wasn't a game and reality wasn't a book. 

You had a good thing going wth Chris and you were going to be damned to ruin it just because of one fun conversation.

You reach one finger into the back pocket, feeling around for what Felix could have been talking about.

There's no way.

Your skin brushes across a smooth surface—something that definitely wasn’t there before.

There's no fucking way.

You pull it out.

It's pink and folded and definitely written on. You unfold it.

XXX-XXX-XXXX. Just in case you ever need an editor or a friend.

Oh well, fuck the game. He just flipped over the whole damn chessboard.

Read Chapter 2 here

[gyll-yee-haw]

I'm yours

Jake Gyllenhaal smut/fluff

This one is a bit different <33

Not requested, straight up self indulgent 🤭

Prompt: you and Jake are ridiculously in love, but decide to take things slowly. One day, you realize you're ready to make love to him for the first time.

Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, like the best relationship ever, you're obsessed with each other, implied trauma with bad previous relationships, unprotected sex.

Like 1k words.

---

It was a big step letting someone walk into your life again.

Letting him hold your hand in front of your family and friends.

Letting him know about all your dreams and insecurities.

Letting him make you laugh and not care if you sound weird.

Letting him tell you he loved you and letting yourself say it back.

Your relationship was full of big steps.

But he always made sure they were taken at the right moment.

No rush.

Maybe day after day, as the trust grew between the two of you, his touch started getting more intimate.

Maybe you became comfortable with him grabbing your butt or your breasts during a make out session, or while you cuddled on the sofa, watching a movie.

Maybe you didn't mind changing in front of him and he complimented your body all the time.

And it's unusual to imagine this, but none of those actions, not the touch or the praises, none of them were sexual.

It was all about love and trust. All about feeling so comfortable around each other that your body represented so much more than pleasure for him…

But as your love grew, so did your desire.

Sometimes it was a poetic desire, like: I want to know all of you, feel your body so close to mine, I want us to become one.

Sometimes it wasn't so poetic, but still a very valid desire, like: I want you to fuck me senseless until I forget my own name.

Romance isn't about what you do, but how you feel while you're doing it, right? Maybe rough sex means "I love you" as much and the slow and passionate one. It's all about giving each other what you need at the moment.

And Jake wanted to know what you needed at that moment...

When he was laying on top of you, breathing heavily after a mind-blowing make out session.

His golden chain wrapped around your finger as you looked him in the eyes and said: "I'm ready."

His face was a mix of worry and excitement.

God, he couldn't wait to take the next big step in this relationship. To be able to love you more explicitly. To be able to give you more. To discover new things about you and, why not, about himself? He craved you more than he ever craved anyone else. Still, he didn't need to have you on the first opportunity he had. He needed to have you when all the circumstances would work together to make that moment unforgettable.

But the universe wouldn't tell him when that would be possible. Only you would. And he asked you a bunch of times if you were sure. Assured you that he could stop at any moment. That he would be gentle. That he was honored to be able to give you all his love.

And you assured him that you were ready to receive it. And to give him all of yours.

He undressed you and you saw a new kind of look in his eyes.

When he called you beautiful now, he couldn't hide the lust in his voice.

When he kissed all over your naked skin, his love felt like fire and your smiles became moans.

He undressed himself and he saw a new kind of look in your eyes.

When his hard cock brushed your folds, making you buck your hips eagerly.

When he finally entered you and you moaned in pain.

"Are you okay, baby?" He kissed your neck and stroked your hair, not moving a muscle until you were ready.

"Yes, love." You replied, bitting your lip. "You fill me up so right. Feels like you were made for me."

"Fuck." He whispered, feeling the urge to fuck you because of the praise, and the urge to give you the world because of how sweet you sounded. "Yes, I was made for you, honey."

It was a very romantic connection, but your bodies craved more than that.

So he started thrusting slowly.

His fingers intertwined with yours, his soft voice telling you: "God, you feel so good…"

Smiles and moans and the sound of his skin against yours.

And love. So much love.

Love and lust. All too much. At some point, he just lost control. And you were thankful for that.

His thrusts became fast, deep and hard.

He wanted to be inside you forever, and he knew that the slower he took things, the longer it would last… but it was all so overwhelming. He wanted you to cum, he wanted to give you his cum, and he wanted to start over. As many times as possible. His self control was based on previous experiences, and with you it was a whole now level, nothing could prepare him for that.

Nothing could prepare him for the way you screamed his name and digged your nails on his back.

Or how your eyes rolled back and you announced desperately that you were coming at that exact moment.

Nothing could prepare him for the way your walls clenched around his cock and how hard that made him cum.

But more than anything, nothing could prepare him for the moment he would have to remove himself from you. So he simply didn't.

He held you close and kissed you like he would die without your lips. At that moment, nothing could convince him he wouldn't.

He felt like his lips had only two jobs in this world: taste your skin and praise you:

"You were so wonderful, princess. I love you so much."

"I'm not letting you go, I wanna stay like this forever…"

Didn't take long for you to feel him getting hard inside you again, and even though your sensitive and exhausted body asked you to rest a little more, your brain knew nothing but wanting him.

"Don't let me go, then." You told him. "I'm yours."

[becca-e-barnes]

There's just something about CEO Bucky being a secret Sub that's really appealing to me tonight

Your heels hardly make any sound at all as you cross the carpeted hotel room floor, letting the door click shut behind you.

"It's good to see you. It's been too long." You're only half listening to the man in front of you, choosing instead to find a spot for your bag and fix your hair after the short walk up the street to the hotel.

"It's been far too long." You agree, turning to face him. Fuck, he looks good. His crisp, white shirt has the top button undone, his tie draped over the back of the chair. His black dress trousers look quite uncomfortable now but you don't dwell on it. He won't be wearing them too much longer anyway.

His hair is sitting perfectly and he's clearly shaved earlier that morning. He looks fucking fantastic but as much as you need to feel some control over him, you need to start with having control over yourself.

You take a second to lean over and give him a gentle kiss, your lips barely brushing his. It's gentle and tender but saturated in barely restrained lust.

It's hard not to let this devolve; to let his hands wander over your body, to let your tongue glide against his and your fingers curl in the short hair at the top of his neck. You're hungry for him and you know he shares your desperation but a when you've waited this long, what's a few more minutes?

"You look beautiful." He smiles, his eyes darting from your lips, back up to meet your eyes again. He's so gentle with you; so wonderfully considerate of your needs and desires. He always has been but tonight, you know he needs the release you're going to offer him.

You stand up, shrugging your long coat off, laying it carefully on the chair off to the side of the bed, leaving you in only a dark leather set and your heels.

"Jesus Christ." You hear him whisper and if that didn't make you feel powerful, the weight of flogger in your hand that you slipped out of your bag certainly does.

"I want you..." You begin, crossing the space once again, marvelling in the entirety of that statement. "To take all this off. And then I want you to get on your knees for me. Can you do that?"

It's nice to make a man like this feel small, knowing that's what he wants too. His head nods excitedly, his fingers busy undoing the buttons of his shirt while you cup his stiffening cock through his trousers.

"Good." You're practically purring, heat blossoming between your legs at the eagerness of this brilliant, intelligent, capable man to hand his ability to think over to you.

Once he's naked, he places himself neatly on his knees on the carpet and you enjoy wrapping his own tie around his head, securing it over his eyes.

His cock juts beautifully out from his body, erect and begging for attention that neither of you want to give it just yet.

"Now." You tease, positioning yourself at the edge of the bed beside him, guiding his face to your spread thighs. "I want you to put that pretty mouth to good use. You can do that, can't you?"

"Yes." He whispers between kisses to the soft insides of your thighs and you know in his head he's waxing poetic about the heat of your skin under his lips.

The tips of the flogger trail up his back, gently tickling his skin before you flick your wrist and make them strike his back.

"Talk isn't what I'm looking for." You remind him, your fingers in his hair guiding his head to your cunt.

He laps eagerly, moaning pathetically at the taste of your arousal, flicking your clit and sliding his tongue into your entrance like this is all he's ever needed.

"Traffic light safe word system." You remind him, trailing the tips of the flogger up his back again. "Or just don't disappoint me and we won't need to use it."

[bookshelfdreams]

#Op I need u to know I thought this was about his post-coytal bedside manner when I read the first line#was fully expecting you to wax poetic about how Ed's mediocer attempt at making breakfast was actually a heartfelt attempt to make sure#he didn't feel like he was a One And Done type of thing#I was vibrating#and then it was s1 meta 💀 RIP LMAO (@zo1nkss, on this post)

No, absolutely, let's talk about it. Because this?

This is terrible. Comically bad. The worst anyone's ever done it, I'm sorry to say. The toast looks like it's covered in coal dust. The tea (? I hope it's tea, might as well be Ye Olde Cuba Libre) has clearly gone cold. Ed spooned the marmalade directly onto the tablet instead of just leaving it in the jar like a sane person, for fuck's sake!

Of course that's deliberate; they even make sure we know what the platonic ideal of a nice breakfast tablet looks like with the title card.

It's like an Expectation vs Reality meme. There's a flower, there's porcelain, there's even a plate! Ed, I know you've had breakfast before, why are you so bad at this?

Because, of course, this was doomed from the start.

Ed is panicking, because he knows falling into bed together right after everything that happened in 02x06 was a mistake, and he's desperately trying to salvage the situation.

Ed wanted to take things slow, because he wants stability. He wants to pursue happiness. He wants to build a beautiful life with someone he loves! Breakfast in bed every day!

Instead he to watch the love of his life be tortured in front of him, because of him, and then had to watch him intentionally kill a guy for the first time in his life - also because of him! This is the opposite of what he wanted, for himself or for Stede.

He wanted them both to be safe and happy, but instead they had an evening of horrible experiences and then had sex about it. It's all coming crashing down. Aside form the worst breakfast spread in known history, look how the scene is shot and coloured: The slightest green tint, just enough to turn the light harsh and cold, how far apart from each other they are. Tons of empty space in the frame. How they are backlit, so they are in the shadows, their faces barely discernible.

This isn't a happy Morning After. This is them standing at the ruins of what was supposed to be a beautiful moment, but the violence of piracy broke into it and destroyed it.

Ed knows he needs to leave it behind, once and for all. Throws out his Blackbeard kit to make his decision to abandon the pirate life irreversible. Tries to have a soft, domestic moment, shares the lovely story about Merstede coming to rescue him, in an attempt to salvage his dream of retirement with Stede.

But Stede? Oh, Stede is on an entirely different page. He just had his first real taste of the power violence can grant him. While the torture wasn't fun, in the end, he triumphed! Defended his love, defended his crew! And topped it all off with what was probably the first positive sexual experience in all his 40whatever years of life! He's patronizing and kinda bitchy about the whole spread, because he doesn't get what Ed is trying to tell him. All he sees is Ed being terrible at this domestic bullshit, but that's okay because he thinks he's terrible at it too!

They'll just sail the seas, terrorize the various empires and have adventures together, forever and ever! That's the dream, right? Right???

(Wait, what do you mean Last night was a mistake?)

[siriusleee]

23:20

a/n: please reblog I love this piece.

pairing: ghost x medic!reader (hazy) tags: not really romantic, religious symbolism and imagery, dying, gunshot wound, blood, lots of cursing, lots of switching between character pov, obvious ptsd

Part 2 1.8k words

Exodus 23:20 Behold, I send an angel before you to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place that I have prepared.

He's going to die in this alley. Simon lets his head fall back against the brick behind him. His comms are lighting up - Johnny screaming on the other end for backup, for an exfil, for Simon to fucking answer him. But Simon can't; he doesn't know how much blood a human body needs to lose before it stops functioning - (cut through the femoral artery, hit the ribs just right and it doesn't matter because they'll be dead before you can even think about the blood) but he knows he's getting close to it. It's ironic, he thinks, that this is where it happens: some quiet alley in some fucking city a thousand miles from home and not face down in the desert somewhere. A quiet death for a man who doesn't deserve it. 

It would be poetic if he had the brain for poetry.

Simon Riley has never believed in angels. He's seen too much to believe in them. there's been too many he's been too late to save who needed an angel more than Simon ever will - the angels never appeared for them. There is no divine savior coming for him. Johnny isn't going to sweep in and take him to safety. No Price to shake him sober. No Gaz to be the eye in the sky. Simon wouldn't deserve it anyway. 

"-are you ok?"

"-the fuck is that?"

"-grab under his shoulders we can-"

Two sets of small hands grab Simon. He tries to tell them to go away - Johnny'll be here any moment to get him, but he can't articulate the words. Above him, the stars spin in a dizzying array. His feet stumble beneath him; when his knees hit the ground it doesn't hurt. The hands grab at his vest and haul him up. The voices merge around him - he can't make out what they're saying through the ringing in his ears. 

Sorry, Johnny; I won't be here when you come looking.

He can feel his boots catch on the concrete below him as he's being dragged - he tries to get his feet beneath him, but they won't listen. His toes are freezing, but the air against the exposed part of his face is warm.  

Can you guys fucking slow down?

The sound of a fist on a door rips through his skull. Shut the fuck up. 

Simon Riley doesn't believe in angels, but one opens the door. 

***

He stumbles on your doorstep, barely held up between the two boys on either side of him. One of the boys you recognize from the neighborhood - you had stitched him up earlier this year after he cut himself in a skateboard accident. He looks at you and then at the giant of a man he's struggling to hold up. A tactical vest - a skeleton mask - a patch that you don't recognize. Maybe you do, but it's unrecognizable beneath the blood spatter and viscera. 

"I think he needs your help."

It takes two seconds for your years of training to kick in. You can feel your shoulder screaming at you - an old injury that never healed quite right - as you help the two boys drag the guy across your small townhome, a bloody trail left in the wake of the hurricane. 

He's fucking heavy and you wonder what a miracle it was that the two boys could even drag him any distance to you. You're not sure what miracle worked to get him onto the kitchen table. 

"Leave," you tell the two boys, "go home and lock your doors and do not open them for anyone do you understand me?"

They understand you. 

The man on your table is barely breathing.

***

She's on top of him - he wants to make a quip about it, but his brain isn't connecting enough with his mouth. Johnny would be able to think of it faster than him. He knows she's talking to him; he can see her mouth moving, but her words are a soft hum. He can't tell if she's beautiful, her halo is blinding him. 

Take it off.

"-name. What is your name?"

A breakthrough. A crack in the static. 

"Come on dude; you cannot fucking die on my kitchen table."

I'm already dead sweetheart, otherwise, you wouldn't be here.

She curses more than he thought angels would be able to. Maybe it's not in their by-laws to keep a clean mouth; that must be reserved for mortals.

She's rough as she pulls off his tactical vest, her hands sliding underneath his drenched t-shirt. I don't fuck on the first date, sweetheart.

Can angels fuck?

It seems like the kind of thing that would be forbidden.

Her hands are so fucking soft and warm; Simon didn't realize he was freezing until she touched him - her skin is like fire against him. Her hand traces up his bicep, to his neck. She grabs his shoulder; maybe he needs to roll over for her. That's stupid though because he can't. His shoulder lights on fire as her nails dig into the shoulder there. Stop that.

The kitchen ceiling above him comes into sharp focus until she fills his entire vision. Her halo is gone.

"What is your name?"

She's begging him to answer.

I like that.

His lips are like sandpaper; his tongue is glued to the top of his mouth. His lips form around the word, but he can't make himself say anything.

***

His eyes light up when you pinch his trapezius muscle; beneath his mask, you can see his face rearrange in a grimace. 

That's good.

He's not dead yet.

Your medic bag is dusty beneath your bed, but everything inside of it is still good. His shirt is drenched in blood; you drag off the tactical vest the best that you can do after cutting the thick canvas on the side. The shirt cuts off easier, so blood-soaked that the blood drips onto your knee.. 

Through the blood you can't tell where he ends and the injury begins. You think as you press the Quikclot to the wound that you should have put on gloves - who knows what this guy could have. But you never had time for that out in the field either. What difference is this? It was one of the first things you learned as a medic. Every battlefield is the same, every victim is just another body beneath your hands. 

Keep 'em breathing. Keep it moving. 

You hold the gauze with one hand, the other trailing down his arm to his wrist to take his pulse. 120. 

Fuck.

You hear your old captain in your ear, walking you through all the steps.

Feet up.

Blanket on top. 

Pressure on the wound. Add a new bandage on top of the one if the one below becomes saturated in blood.

Pray. 

Fuck.

Beneath your bare feet, the floor is slippery with blood. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

The comms on the guy's vest lets out a hazy sound of static and you reach for it, running off instinct and adrenaline. British voices explode on the other end - angry and searching.

"This is call sign Hazy looking for exfil. Last townhouse on Miller Avenue. I've got one down and bleeding out - he's going into shock."

The words slip out of you and for a moment you're back to mortar shells and blood on the sand. Dust in your mouth. Screaming in your sleep with blood caked underneath your bitten-down nails.

"Who the fuck 'r you?"

You repeat yourself, hand slipping on the button from sweat and blood, yelling over the voices on the other side.

"This is call sign Hazy looking for exfil. Last townhouse on Miller Avenue. I've got one down and bleeding out - he's going into shock."

A hand reaches up to wrap around your wrist. The guy on your table is looking at you, eyes alert but searching. When he speaks, it's barely a whisper.

"Ghost."

His hand shakes where he holds you.

"This is call sign Hazy looking for exfil. Last townhouse on Miller Avenue. He's dying on my kitchen table. Please."

***

She's hurting him. It fucking hurts when she presses down on his side. If Simon could open his mouth, he might scream at her. Might beg her to stop. His heart feels like it's about to break out of his chest; he can't breathe through his stupid fucking mask. He's gasping, hand reaching out to grasp her wrist. He doesn't remember trying to do what.

"Ghost."

He doesn't want her to not know his name. If she's his angel, she needs to know what to call him when she delivers him to where ever they're going together. What kind of first date would it be if he didn't at least tell her his name? Aren't angels everlasting? Are they going to be together forever?

That might not be too bad.

"This is call sign Hazy looking for exfil. Last townhouse on Miller Avenue. He's dying on my kitchen table. Please."

Hazy. What kind of name is that? Fitting though, he thinks, because he can't make her features about above him as she presses on his side. 

Hazy. 

Hey.

Hazy.

That fucking hurts.

***

They don't even attempt to just open the front door - it shatters off of its hinges as their boots connect with the flimsy wood. They come in guns pointed; it's not the first time this has ever happened to you. Might not be the last. 

They're screaming at you to put your fucking hands up, and you're screaming at them to get you a fucking towel because he's bleeding through and you don't have anything else to put on top. It is a cacophony of noise; your ears are ringing, and your hands shaking against Ghost's side. 

This is exactly why you left in the first place. 

This shit fucking sucks. 

One of the men - the youngest-looking one - finally listens to you and snatches a towel you have laying on the back of the couch. Outside you can hear an ambulance screaming; intermingling with the men screaming into their comms, screaming about getting someone there now. 

Thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds and he's gone - loaded onto a stretcher and rolled out of your townhouse, the remnants of your broken front door slamming against the wall behind them. One man is still screaming at you, hand grabbing your shoulder roughly as the blood from your hands drips to the linoleum below.

***

Her hands are replaced with rough ones; they drag him away from her - he tries to stretch his hand out towards her to grab her, to bring her with him. Guardian angels have to come guard. He can't get anything to work. 

It nearly fucking kills him, turning his head back towards her to catch a glimpse of her standing there, hands bloodstained and dripping. Johnny's screaming at her; he reaches out to grab her shoulder. Simon wants to tell him to take his fucking hands off of her - she's here for Simon anyway. Johnny doesn't get the girl this time. 

She doesn't look at Johhny - she only has eyes for Simon.

That's good. 

She disappears around the corner, her halo the last thing Simon can see in the darkness.

Hazy.

Fuck.

[kookies2000]

After learning the history behind Nimona, can we agree that Nimona is the biggest middle finger to Disney in film history. Like, everyone says Shrek is or that Sony is. But Nimona gives Blue Sky Studios that title. Think about it. Blue Sky Studios was the black sheep in the companies that Disney owns.

LGBT+ & Diversity 🏳️‍🌈

Blue Sky Studios had zero issues with making an LGBT+ friendly film. With a racially diverse cast/charaters. Makes perfect sense for the studio to be comfortable with LGBT+. Their first franchise (Ice Age 1-5) is about a bunch of outsiders who don't fit into "normal" families, so they get kicked out of their family. They find each other and form a loving family together. And don't care if they don't fit into the standard normal family.

Disney kept pushing back Nimona because of that diversity. And yet Disney loves to promote themselves with "There's room for everyone under the rainbow." And keep bragging about their first LGBT+ characters. Yet they didn't let Nimona get released. They kept pushing Nimona back until they shut down the studio, and like that, Nimona was expected to die and be forgotten.

THEMES

Blue Sky's films were average but always political. And when they weren't, they were about love and acceptance. Robots and Hortan hears a Who were about classism. The two films had higher-ups controlling the lower class. In both films, the lower class characters would have to face death from the upper class ones. I'm mentioning this because it's pretty..... poetic? Blue Sky's did get shut down by Disney. A higher company than Blue Sky's. Proving Robots and Hortan Hears a Who's message, right

Nimona

Nimona being released is pretty poetic.

Disney baiscally expected Nimona to die with Blue Sky's and never come back. Plot twist, someone found Nimona and saved it from the fate Disney gave them. And Nimona simply existing is a "FUCK YOU!" to Disney. For these reasonings.

It has the LGBT+ representation that Disney claims to have. Yet Disney tried to hide Nimona for LGBT+.

Nimona is about anarchy, not being under control of those higher than you (freedom) and going against the higher power. Nimonas roots come from Blue Sky's, the lower studio that got destroyed by Disney, higher power. Yet, it's the only Blue Sky film that isn't under Disney's control. It's free.

Nimona holds the morals that past Blue Sky films held. Love, peace, and justice.

The film baiscally avenged Blue Sky's for what happened to them. And let Blue Sky's rest in peace at last.

The only way this film can be a bigger middle finger to the company is if it somehow brought Blue Sky's back or at least brings in ex Blue Sky employees over to Neflix. Unlikely, but this film is still amazing for it's story telling, art, voice talent, and especially for its history.

This shot of the film is a major bonus. It's so beautiful that the film recognizes its roots and show it the respect Disney never gave them.

Ps, I wanted to note that the Rio franchise is about finding your roots and learning about where you're from. Which is baiscally what the creator's did with this film. Remembering their roots. Yes, I am reaching. Let me cope with my the loss of my childhood studio.

[psychewritesbs]

Chapter 236: Go South—JJK is generational

Gosh. Can we pleeeease just like... have a moment of silence for the one and only...THE Man, Gojo Satoru.

Ok, time's up.

Moving on.

Word vomit under the cut.

The process of reading this chapter was a very interesting one this week because the fandom got really noisy as soon as the leaks dropped.

Between allegations of bad writing and the utter sense of grief Gojo fans were expressing, it was quite the 💩 storm.

And then the actual scanlations started dropping, and little by little they replaced most of the noise with the utter sense of calm and peace and satisfaction that Gojo felt in his last moments in this plane of existence.

I gotta say that I just absolutely loved how Gege depicted those emotions (outside of Gojo's "dream") through shots of the devastated Shinjuku district.

The remnants of the battle of The Strongest, as if the landscape and the buildings themselves represented the end of an era, the devastation of the structure of Jujutsu society itself.

After all, as The Strongest sorcerer in the modern era, Gojo represented the very system he was trying to destroy.

Gege loves his irony.

Now, I would normally say that the words in the speech bubbles are superfluous because Gege creates such a beautiful atmosphere through the setting alone. But it is the words themselves that re-contextualize not just the battle, but also shed more light on Sukuna's interest in Megumi, which I feel we haven't seen the extent of what he had in mind.

Now I'm hoping this isn't a dream

Listen, I must admit I've never cared for Gojo.

I don't hate him, I don't love him, I simply never really cared for him.

That, of course, changed with this chapter.

And it is perhaps Gojo's death that really solidified in my mind the idea that one of the underlying themes in jjk is... dun dun dun... DEATH.

Yeah, I know. Sue me, I'm late to the party lmao.

But it's not just death itself that is a theme, but rather the face we put on when death comes knocking at the door.

There aren't many things that we can be certain of in this life, but death is one of them. So how we confront death and our mortality shapes the sense of self.

I know a lot of people were dissatisfied with the transition from 235 to 236 and Gege not showing how/when Gojo got slashed in half, but I find the abrupt transition makes sense, and I even dare say was... quite poetic.

For one, now knowing that Gojo knew Sukuna was holding back, a lot of incidents throughout the battle are given new meaning. Like that look of confidence on Gojo's face as he "thinks" he's finally managed to "get through" to Sukuna.

So I have to say that I loved that Gege starts the chapter with Gojo becoming aware that he has died or is dying.

In other words, Sukuna's attack was so sudden that Gojo's next moment of awareness as "Gojo Satoru" is in what we would normally think of as "the light at the end of the tunnel" where he is greeted by people who were of significance to him in his youth.

And can we please just talk about how Geto is the first person he sees when he becomes aware that he is dying?

Please. This is fucking poetry!

Insert keyboard smash.

Screaming in jjk.

Go South

I literally lack the words to explain why I love this whole chapter so much. Which is a lot to say because I am about to word vomit about it. But like...

Again, hindsight is 20/20.

I always thought of the panel above as Geto being jealous of Gojo surpassing him in strength but, in retrospect, I think Geto's disappointment had more to do with Gojo's sense of self over-identifying with the title "the strongest" and how that made him harder to relate to, which is one of the main themes in this chapter. I'll come back to this in a sec.

But first...

Quick depth psych segway. I think I've said this before, but it bears repeating again that an overwhelming sense of self is all ego. There's nothing wrong with ego per se.

The problem is that an over-identification with ego means inherent separateness because, as an organ of the psyche, the ego sense of self is what gives us a separate identity from the collective.

On the other hand, soul/heart (another organ in the psyche) is the principle of relatedness--love, the single energy that can bring us all together as a collective.

But as we already know, the stronger the sorcerer, the more overwhelming the sense of self.

Unfortunately, because an overwhelming sense of self = separateness, this also means the person in question can't relate to others.

And is this not thematically perfect for a sorcerer whose perfected cursed technique was meant to render others unable to "reach him"?

In other words, Gojo saw himself as separate (because he was "The Strongest") and that made it harder for him to relate to others, but only because he self-identified as "The Strongest".

Infinity ∞, in this sense, is also about the self-fulfilling prophecy Gojo was stuck playing out in his life in regards to seeing himself as "The Strongest".

But like a serpent eating its own tail, Gojo came back full circle, and in the moments before his death, learned that what really mattered to him was not strength for the sake of strength, but rather the connections he had fostered with others.

PLEASE. GEGE. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK?!!!!!!!!!!!

To bring it back to "Satoru became 'The Strongest'"...

I just loved so much that seeing Geto as soon as he becomes aware he's died felt like an encounter that meant Gojo had returned to the person he was before he self-identified as "The Strongest".

But more importantly, Gojo's imagination of himself as back when he was young also speaks both to how much he cherished that period of his life, and to how he was emotionally frozen in time due to his encounter with Toji.

It makes me wonder whether Gojo was afraid of dying alone when Toji almost killed him. So it's almost like what he took away from that battle was that he was always alone, and so he sought to push others away.

The kicker is that he simultaneously feared his existential isolation and yet craved the very source of his fear--human relations.

But in choosing self-preservation, he was a selfish to the very end.

What an idiot (tragically affectionate).

Anyways. How much of this is hc? Someone tell me please 😂. I feel like I went off the deep end in the last few paragraphs.

Like everyone else in this fandom I've lost all objectivity when it comes to Gojo because his departure from the story was truly one of the most heartbreaking moments in jjk.

I understand people's complaints about the "execution," but I think the world-wide phenomena that Gojo's death has spurred speaks to Gege's ability to elicit deeply archetypal emotional responses as a story teller.

With Gojo's death, a part of our own psyche too has died. And what's most significant about this death is that it was, true to Gojo's character, "something that needed to die because it represented the very thing it sought to destroy."

And this would be why I love Gege's writing.

A fitting way for Gojo to go out

I know not everyone agrees, but I really appreciated that he was satisfied and at peace in the very end.

He got his cake (battle to death with Sukuna) and got to eat it too (reconnected with his loved ones).

Sukuna

But we can't talk about Gojo without talking about Sukuna as the one who liberated Gojo from the burden of his existential isolation.

Sukuna gave Gojo a fun battle, but if it weren't because Sukuna figured out how to cut through Gojo's metaphorical defenses by learning to cut through space-time itself--the very fabric of reality, Gojo might not have found his humanity once again.

The outcome of this battle spells out in no uncertain terms how dire the situation is as Sukuna has proven himself to be the uncontested "Strongest".

But in a sense, the end is a new beginning, and this time, there is no light at the end of the tunnel.

JJK is generational

I get the feeling that everyone will remember where they were when this panel dropped.

I was in bed. It was 6 am and Tasokare, my miniature panther, was demanding attention.

A moot was on the way to the gym. They never made it out of the house after seeing the panel.

Another moot was completely avoiding Twitter to avoid leaks, but her brother, who does not even read jjk, saw the panel on Facebook and showed it to her.

Yet another moot was on vacation at the beach.

JJK is generational like that and there's just so much more I can say about this chapter and its implications (like the idea that Sukuna can now cut through space-time, why?! what does he want to get out of this ability?), but I just don't even know what more I can say right now.

Anyways, thanks for reading. I'm looking forward to any thoughts you might have. Just a heads up, I'm very, very slow at replying.

[jaehyunsprincess]

[12:36 am] w/ mark lee !

pairing :: boyfriend!marklee x gn!reader

genre :: angst + fluff

wc :: 0.4k words

a/n :: my first ever fic ?!?!?!? WHAT. i hope you all like it <3 (hopefully it isn't too trashy)

"I'm sorry," you say nuzzling your head into Mark's shoulder.

Today was just one of those days where you need to cry for a while in your boyfriend's arms. You need to get everything out, stress about your future, school, your 'friends' - or, lack thereof - and your family. You know they love you, you know that. But sometimes they just don't understand. They don't understand anything.

Your head is buried in the crook of his shoulder. You breathe in his scent. So sweet. His head rests on top of yours and he is running his hand up and down your back in an attempt to comfort you. Your hearts beat together and the sound almost sounds melodic, you could lay like this with him for hours, and you both didn't even have to speak, the sound of your heartbeats conveyed words neither of you could verbally express.

"Shh, baby, it's okay, yeah? I'm right here." Mark coos in your ear, reassuring you. His voice always eased your heart. You hug him tightly in response, being grateful to have a boyfriend like him. He starts patting your head and kisses your forehead fondly, "I'm proud of you for getting through today," he says with his voice low. Mark knew how hard you had it and so he always tried to give you all his love, all the time, because you deserved nothing less. Your breath hitches at this and you cry harder, what did I ever do to deserve him, you think to yourself.

Mark notices your actions and smiles to himself, he truly loves you. He would do anything for you.

It's only you and Mark, on his bed, the moon is the only source of light in the room. You like having moments like this. They feel intimate, they feel real. You look up at Mark through glistening eyes, but even through the tears, Mark looks as beautiful as ever in the moonlight. Mark smiles, finally being able to look at you. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before he says the words that somehow always manage to make your heart flutter, "I love you, y/n, so so fucking much," sincerity so evident in every word, it ties your stomach in knots, "always remember that."

You and Mark have been saying 'I love you' for about four months now. And it wasn't like this was your first boyfriend you said those words to. Maybe it was the way those words rolled off his tongue so naturally and poetically, or maybe it was the way he looked at you with hearts in his eyes when he said them. But either way, it felt magical. Every. Single. Time.

You were hopelessly in love with Mark Lee, and he was hopelessly in love with you. And as you said "I love you too, Mark," with a soft voice, your heart skipped a beat, and you wished upon every star that this love would last forever and ever.