#just noticed I can’t write :)

[secretmellowblog]

Another reason I dislike Les Mis adaptations that make Jean Valjean constantly openly angry/violent is because they miss that Jean Valjean is not allowed to be angry. The fact he is forbidden from expressing anger is, I argue, actually a very important part of his character in the novel!

One of the subtler political messages of the story is that some people are given freedom to express anger, while others are forced to be excessively meek and conciliatory in order to survive.

Wealthy conservatives like Monsieur Gillenormand can “fly into rages” every five minutes and have it treated as an endearing quirk. Poor characters like Fantine or Jean Valjean must be constantly polite and ingratiating to “their superiors” at all times, even in the face of mockery and violence, or else they will be subjected to punishment. If Gillenormand beats his child with a stick, it’s a silly quirk; if Fantine beats a man harassing her, she is sentenced to months in prison.

(Thenardier and Javert are interesting examples of this too. Thenardier acts superficially polite and ingratiating to his wealthy “superiors” while insulting them behind their backs. Javert, meanwhile, is completely earnest in his mindless bootlicking. But I could write an entire other post on this.)

The point is that….Jean Valjean has to be submissive and self-effacing, or he puts himself in danger. He can’t afford to be angry and make scenes, or he will be punished. The only barrier between himself and prison is his ability to be so “courteous” that no one bothers to pry into his past.

Jean Valjean is excessively polite to people, in the way that you’re excessively polite to an armed cop who pulls you over for speeding when you secretly have a few illegal grams of marijuana in the your car trunk. XD It’s politeness built on fear, is what I mean. It’s politeness built on a desperation to make a powerful person avoid looking too closely at you.

It’s politeness at gunpoint.

Jean Valjean has also spent nineteen years living in an environment where any expression of anger could be punished with severe violence. That trauma is reflected in the overly cautious reserved way he often speaks with people (even people who are kind and would never actually hurt him.)

So adaptations that have Jean Valjean boldly having shouting matches with people in public and beating cops half to death without worrying about the repercussions just make go like “???”

Because that’s part of what’s fascinating about Jean Valjean to me? On one hand, he is a genuinely kind compassionate person, who cares deeply about other people and behaves kindly out of altruism. But on the other hand, he was also “beaten into submission” by prison, and forced into adopting conciliatory bootlicking behaviors in order to survive. And it can sometimes be hard to tell when he is being kind vs. when he is being “polite” — when he is speaking and acting out of earnest compassion vs. when he is speaking and acting out of fear.

The TL;DR is that I think it’s important that even though Jean Valjean is very (justifiably) angry about the injustice that was inflicted on him, his anger is harshly policed at all times— by other people, and by himself. He has been told his anger is wrong/selfish so often that he believes it. His anger takes weirder more unhealthy forms because he has no safe outlet for it. His rage at society becomes a possessiveness towards Cosette and silent hatred of Marius, but primarily it becomes useless self-destructive constant hatred of himself. And while I might be phrasing this wrong, I think that’s what’s interesting about Jean Valjean’s relationship with anger— the way his justified fury at his own mistreatment gets warped into more and more unhealthy forms by the way he’s forced to constantly repress it.

[viperwhispered]

Rest

Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.

At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner. 

However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.

You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.

So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.

It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.

At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.

Of course.

It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.

You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.

“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”

“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.

Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.

“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.

Really, when did he get so tired?

And how did you not notice it earlier?

You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.

Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.

You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.

Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.

Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.

“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.

Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.

“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”

“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.

Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.

But sometimes you really wish it would be.

Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.

Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.

“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”

You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.

“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”

Still, Jamil frowns.

You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?

“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.

And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.

“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.

It seems he has accepted his fate.

You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.

And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.

Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!

[wickmitz]

— THE ELECTRIC-FEVER REMEDY.

[fangirlerastour]

In my head, Peeta teaches Effie to paint and then whenever Haymitch is out she starts to paint little stars or flowers or sunsets or whatever around the house in hidden corners, on cupboard doors, under the table etc and doesn’t tell Haymitch to see how long it takes him to notice. What she doesn’t know is Haymitch spots them after like the second painting but doesn’t tell her because he doesn’t want her to stop doing them

[risingmoonyue]

Someone write me a ShinRan fic that reads like a stereotypical shojo. Whether this takes place in canon or an au is optional. The only requirement is that Shinichi is cast where there is usually a girl, and Ran where a guy is.

[figofswords]

somebody rec me some good books. and they do actually have to be good. don’t rec me something just because it’s gay or it’s popular, it has to also still be good. like both the story and the writing have to be good none of this good concept bad writing or good writing horrible story. fantasy or soft scifi preferred, especially if it’s nontraditional fantasy. I am bored and sick of the internet and I want to get back into reading more but I’m kinda meh about most of what’s on my shelf

*edit: when I say “soft scifi” I don’t mean cozy I mean not hard scifi, as in stories that are more fantastical than grounded in hard science. for example the Martian is considered hard scifi, so not that. Star Wars would be closer to a soft scifi bc it’s all bullshit on the science end and it’s more about the vibes

[dykeomania]

𝒎𝒊𝒂'𝒔 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃𝒔: parenthood (3).

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: parenthood means stress, and endurance, and exhaustion, and learning curves, and ... sometimes, really, really, really good sex?

𝐚/𝐧: this is my Parenthood (Thought) Piece because i understand that i am mentally 30 but i llloooooooooooveeee a good domesticity concept i eat that shit up nnomnomnonmonmnom. i needed to talk about early parenthood with ellie and i needed to talk about some of the ... Alternate Consequences ... of early parenting .. if you will. this was fun. this was also composed between the hours of like, 2-4am. i think it's pretty literate, and kind of alright. you may have a fun time reading it. if you don't, sorry i'll venmo you a dollar. not ssssure if i really have anything else to say, honestly. proofread (at a very early hour, mind you) but i always make mistakes, i'll always edit over time.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: i understand these tags are like super weird and i always preface my fics like "fuck around and find out," but just to be clear, this fic does not sexualize children in any way. any way. just to really make that clear. mentions of you and ellie being engaged. joel's technically alive. mentions of children. parental uncertainty. stress. a little bit of sub bottom!ellie. we're dipping our toes in. also dom top!ellie. mentions of oral (both receiving), mentions of vaginal penetration (reader receiving). both ellie and the reader being milfs / ellie thinking its really hot how you are a good mom (there are still so many things in this category that i could've hit that im probably not even thinking of, so if y'all like this and wanna talk about them, Please talk to me) i write in past tense for literally all of it and this is just a me thing, but that's not really my style, so things may be .. off. or maybe it's just me. maybe i'm tripping. we'll see. it's like, 4am. so.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.1k, just about (i did too much).

.   .   .   .

you both lived on the farm. it was a quiet, proud little life that you lead. a picturesque actualization of all of the little thoughts and dreams that you and ellie have had about living together, about having a family. though, parenthood was new, and difficult. there were some nights that the baby wouldn't stop crying, and both of you would take turns feeling like shit -- one usually at a grander magnitude than the other --  because neither of you would know what to do. what, am i like, a bad mom? does he hate me? you spent time convincing each other that that is simply not the case, and that this was all part of the process. that you were both new, and learning, and that it's okay.

if you knew nothing else, whether that be due to not having experienced parenthood before or the delirium accompanying the heavy set bags and dark circled ruminating under both of your eyes, then you did know that there were a few things for certain: he will suck his thumb. his cries will turn to wails which will turn to sniffles, which will turn to sighs. he will get tired. he will roll over, and coo, and will go to sleep.... eventually.

granted, while this mentality in general made things easier throughout the early days of raising your newborn son, there was still no doubt that it was.. exhausting. in every way. parenting was a constant learning curve, and it took tolls on both of you in different ways. for ellie, she'd get quiet. snippy, even, and gain a little bit too much audacity at times. a snarky remark or demonstration of blatant impatience towards something minuscule, but still hurtful. her frustration would always point toward some deeper issue that she often struggled met with annoyance first, and words second. one of the first things that ellie learned while parenting was that she was really bad at communicating. she'd find herself throughout the first three, maybe even six months, constantly finding ways to say sorry.. even without saying really having said it. like, slipping into bed when after you'd finally went to sleep, and pressing kisses to your temple. or making sure the dishrack was completely empty, so you'd have one less thing to work about. albeit she struggled to verbally explain that while she understood you were too, she was just.. a little tired.

maybe it was the sleep deprivation, or her willingness to take up most of the tasks that required attention in areas other than just the inside of the home. which.. you did have to admit, were a little bit more intense than cleaning and washing dishes. no one asked her to do all of that. she took it upon herself to do extraneous tasks, like fix the fucking roof, during the peak of summer. and you'd always offer to help, truly. but it was always no, i've got it. you've got other stuff to do. you just go play with him, and i'll be in to take over in a little, okay?

you would, at times, have to sit her down and remind her to take it slow. that the roof isn't really bothering either of you, right now, and it won't until .. october, probably. that it's okay to swap out, if need be. she can do dishes, cook if she wants (burn down the house, if she wants), clean up while you go fix the wiring of the fence, tend to the horses, whatever the fuck she feels the need to do, on top of having to do already.

you would have to remind her, that she just can't do everything all at once. and that's okay. but that's also neither of your faults.

both you and parenthood alike would teach her to .. slow down, take it easy, and to talk.

ellie would have to teach you something similar, believe it or not. your back hurt. your tits wouldn't stop fucking leaking, and ever since you gave birth, you wouldn't stop getting these aching migraines that made your ears ring. you quite literally found yourself bending over backwards, trying to do everything all at once all of the time (sound familiar?), because you knew that it was as much of your job as it was ellie's. you can change the diapers, you can pump the breastmilk, you can clean the house, you can stop him from crying, you can read him books (that he couldn't understand, yet, technically), you could do everything. and theoretically, you could. and you would, until it made you frayed, and unhealthy.

that would be enough to make ellie to step in, put her hand on your shoulder, and advise you in a tone that was about as gentle as it was stern:

hey, let maria take him for a couple of days. you're tense -- i can feel you from across the house.

despite the anxiety and the frustration and the sleep deprivation and the exhaustion, you really would feel grateful to be experiencing this trying time together. there were some patterns characterizing it that were obviously stressful, and anxiety-inducing. but there were some consistencies throughout it that were be sweet, and tender. like, running each other warm baths. sitting – either in the bath, with the other, or on the toilet, or the side of the bath – and talking in low volume, not really out of fear of waking the baby, but just to kind of relish in the pocket of peace that existed between the two of you in that moment. the affection never died between the two of you. you were always snuggling close to each other when it came time for bed. always pressing tender kisses to each other's shoulders, holding each other's hands, circling your thumbs and indexes over each other's engagement rings.

… But!

you know... i'm a whore. so honestly, what really spurred this whole thought, is the fact that .. during parenthood your sex lives would practically be nonexistent. and it's not something that either of you really notice, until one of you explicitly brought it up. raising a child -- especially raising one in an environment that you both worked to keep safe, secured, and comfortable -- is a lot of work.

it wouldn't dawn upon either of you until you both were eating one night at the table - another tradition that you did not forfeit. you managed to dance around the subject due to something entirely tangential, and then it hit you, and you said – out of pure realization, ellie, we haven't had sex in .. like, months.

and just like that, the consequences of at least 98 days of involuntarily celibacy hit you both like a fucking truck.

for you, it came in the form of .. the simple reminder that your soon-to-be-wife is really... really fucking physically flawless. you'd notice this everytime she'd wear short-sleeves, or shirts no sleeves, which was really only.. every once in a while, as jackson got colder, or whenever you both woke up. sometimes you'd find yourself looking at ellie's back profile as she sat upright on the bed, adjacent and turned from you, stretching a big, grand stretch, and you'd feel a specific heat beginning to tickle the insides of your thighs. you found it harder to keep your gazes to yourself as ellie exited the shower, muscles apparent, and glistening. her whole body was littered with scars, and yet she was still so gorgeous. it was hard to believe that even for a second you failed to recall – or be conscious of – the fact that as much of a teddy-bear as she was, you were practically dating a fucking sculpture.

naturally, you would act on your desires first. and frankly, ellie would be so willing to lean into them. 

she'd be lying if she said sometimes she didn't wake feeling a bit restless, and like there was only one thing that soothe her. she craved it, sometimes – your hands, on her. all she needed were some quick rubs against her clit and kisses against her skin to motivate her to get out of bed and feed the animals. and she was so, so fortunate to have a fiancée good enough to her to give her just that.

she dared, shame on her, to forget how good you could make her feel. ellie never really let anyone touch her, before she met you. before she met you, she was honestly convinced a lot of the parts "down there" didn't work. she could hardly achieve making herself cum. it’d take so long. ellie hardly masturbated because she’d get impatient in any ordeal that wasn’t some needy, feral 3am occurrence that left her stirring, sweaty, and overwhelmed. it was a lot of buildup for what she saw as, in the end, very little payoff. and as far as other people making her cum went? well, no one had ever gotten that far. frankly, she didn’t think anyone would get that far.

that was until she met you.

it definitely wasn’t easy. there were a lot of tired wrists and upper biceps, and your jaw did get pretty sore. her pussy was gorgeously messy. but her clit liked to hide sometimes underneath the extra skin. when you found it, you learned that it was usually, extremely sensitive. but you told her that that was okay. you could make that work.

you spent a lot of time learning all of the technicalities. what was too much, what wasn’t enough. what to say to her; how fast to rub her.

it paid off, because about a month into dating, you showed her that it — and frankly, anything — was possible. just takes a little bit of time, and patience, kisses and whispers of affirmation how about how good she feels. how good she’s doing. takes some listening, intently, to what she needs. to what her body needs. 

can feel you twitching. you want my finger right here?

fuck, yeah. right there. just like that, baby -- please don't fuckin' stop.

and once you got good at it (and you got so fucking good at it), ellie couldn’t get enough. she jokes, regularly, that that’s one of the reasons why she’s going to marry you.

ellie's voice in the mornings would breathless and empty. all bostonian accent, rasp, and nothing else. they were vulnerable. whenever she'd let you between her thighs and you placed those kitten licks across her clit transitioning into these longer, learned drags, her moans would break, like glass. her hips would shuffle. sometimes, you’d have to hold her still.

no no, fucking running. it’s okay. just let me. can you let me? can you let me take care of you, baby?

fuck. yes. yes, yes, fuck. s— sorry just – oh, fuck.

it would mostly just be wake-me-ups. but ellie's back would always be arching by the middle of it. she'd find herself gasping, and sighing, and fucking -- against your tongue, against your finger -- and gripping onto whatever, all while mumbling to gods she didn't believe in.

that feels so, so so fucking – g–good.

so fucking good to me; feels so good, babe, thinki'mgonnacum–

ellie's orgasms hit her the same way every time. hard. ridiculously hard. leaving her breathing heavy, and screwing her eyes shut while she grasped at your hand, or your hair. her thighs would tense -- sometimes scramble -- and then collapse, after a while. she became this perfect amalgamation of tinted cheeks, chapped pink lips, messy brown hair, and sticky skin. 

she was such a fucking .. painting. she's so incredible.

the plan, as she wrote it, often was to immediately get out of bed after you made her cum. but oftentimes, she couldn't do anything for the first couple of minutes except lie there, body just a sack of bones and jello. her head would rest instead of pressing into yours, or would nuzzle its way deep into your neck. both occasions a precursor to her finally catching her breath. when she moves her head to kiss you, capturing your lips in something thankful, and sweet, it is almost always grounding for the both of you.

better?

so much better. holy shit, babe.

and that's not to say that ellie would never act on her desires. she was always just a little more calculated.

for ellie, her frustrations would creep up on her in the weirdest ways. it would be.. small things. things that were, actually, probably mutual. watching you wash the dishes, even when you’re not bent in a particularly promiscuous way. watching you cook, even when she wasn't really watching you, 'cause she was keeping the baby busy. but what really did her in was watching how you handled your son. something about seeing you have him on your hip, cooing at him or laughing with him, or playing with him, or smothering his cheek in big kisses that elicited these big, big giggles from him, drove her.. a very, questionable? kind of crazy? it was pure. it was so sweet, and most of the time, it was just that. but you were so, good with him. after so many months, despite all of the struggle, you really did blossom into a beautiful, capable mother, who still held the glow and all of the weight from the pregnancy and just–

ellie would realize how good it all looked on you. she would feel.. really proud.

and it made her feel like you ..  deserved something.

you both remember the first night she’d acted on her desires like it was yesterday. it was on the night that you two had hosted a dinner party for all of your mutual close friends and people who you called family. the dinner was a 3-week-long process of grocery picking, tablecloth finding, invitation designing, and recipe collecting. it honestly stressed you out more than it did ellie because, to be honest, she was kind of just there for moral support. it was your idea, after having had maria over for dinner once. and it was a great idea. but it left you drained – defeated from the final week of preparations, which was especially hectic. when you bathed that night, you bathed alone, a little overstimulated from the day. but you’d let ellie run the bath, though. only because she insisted on doing so. 

the soak cured some of the ache that settled deep into your joints, muscles, and bones.. but not all of it. after you'd set the tub to drain, brushed your teeth, and wrapped a towel around your body, you entered the room with an expected level of silence. you slathered moisturizer on your face, over your arms, over your stretch marks. when it came time to take off your jewlery, the rings – except the prized one – came off easily. but when it came to your necklace, your hands were simply too slippery. you sucked your teeth. you always did this. 

you eventually sighed, filling your lungs to call:

hey, bug. can you come help me take this necklace off, please?

ellie eventually would appear behind you, probably shuffling off of the bed or rounding some corner after changing and becoming into her own definition of comfortable. if she seriously complained, you didn’t hear it. you only felt her, how her hand placed itself on your shoulder just to let you know that she was behind you.

some things never change, move your hair over.

you do as asked, and hang your head. ellie's fingers brush against your skin with a kind of delicacy that makes shivers run down your spine. you lift your eyes, catching ellie's in the mirror before you. yours, heavier than hers.

you watched as she fought a smile, or a smirk. either was a given with her, honestly — in retrospect, it was most likely the latter. you couldn’t really tell, though. she’d dipped her head, eyes fixated on her fingers that fiddled with your necklace clasp.

you did a really nice job on the dinner, tonight.

suddenly, you were the one fighting the smile. you watched her, still.

yeah?

oh, you like.. completely knocked it out of the park. you did great. it was really, really really nice.

you didnt know if ellie was referring to the food, or the setup, or the wine choices – whichever. but something about the appraisal made your head buzz, like you were coming down off a two glasses of champagne (which.. maybe you were). ellie successfully removed your necklace, and yet didn’t back away. instead, she pressed herself closer to your back, and tilted her head so that she could speak just above the top of your ear,

you looked really nice, too.

been waiting for you to settle down, a bit. so i could tell you.

you probably hummed something in response, something that was probably suggestive but also thankful at the same time. it gets lost, though. because ellie bent down, and placed these slow, unassuming, appreciative kisses down your neck, and against the plateau of your shoulder. between those words and the way her hands lingered over your skin, the way she was breathing you in and drinking up the moment, and your scent, made you melt into her way too easily. like butter in a warm pan.

you exhale, like you've been meaning to for .. you don't even know how long.

el..

mhm?

you realize though, that the house is quiet. too quiet. there is a stillness to it that makes the pit of your stomach twist, and anxiety and guilt bubble in the base of it before you could even stop it.

...where's our baby?

you felt ellie grin against your shoulder. she masked it with a peck,

he’s at joel’s.

and then you felt her tongue drag across your skin. a long, open-mouthed kiss across the midpoint of your neck. she presses the padding of her tongue against tender flesh, sucks hard enough for blood to make the skin bloom, and almost -- against your own will -- makes your eyes roll shut.

the simple act -- acts rather, of ellie coordinating behind your back to have the baby taken off your hands (you knew it for a few days –  it's always a few days). she thought she was so slick. it was odd, how much relief those three words gave you,

but at the same time, you kind of wanted to be mad at her.

it was hard to, though. but you couldn't think straight, with how her hands were moving over you, over your towel. with her pelvis pressed against your ass, and her lips on your neck.

you tried,

he was fine here. everything was .. fine, ellie.

but she was so..

i never said everything wasn't fine.

i just think... you've had a really long, stressful week.

you hate how your body reacts to ellie's hands smoothing up your towel. your whole body broke out into goosebumps, seemingly trying to fit into the pores of ellie's palm, 

and i think i wanna make it better.

ellie's breath was hot on your ear, and you didn’t realize it, but your head was already tilted. your eyes had begun to flutter closed. you felt yourself, almost swaying against her. your mouth hung as her teeth grazed over sensitive flesh. her tongue pressed against familiar spots that had been untouched -- like the rest of you -- for so, so long. it was too activating.

in your best effort of defense, you spun yourself to turn around to face her. ellie’s head was tilted, her eyes were low. her breath spanned over your mouth while your palm laid flat against her chest. you stalled – shivering, shaking, suddenly caught in a rapture of toiling emotion that you hadn't felt that strongly in .. god knows how long.

her head dipped back into your neck. she pressed her cotton-clad hips against your towel-covered ones, and it just wasn’t enough. it was a lot, and yet, not enough.

your hand snaked over the nape of her neck as you breathed against your cheek, whole body feeling heavy and compliant. your knees were jelly. you could feel your clit. pulsing, and pleading. it ached as you feel ellie's hand slip over the backs of your thighs, inching under the cusps of your ass.

you needed something. you needed anything. you like to think that you had no idea what necessity meant before this moment, because you had never felt it so strongly. it knocked the wind out of you, only leading you to ask – to plead, without pleading,

e... ellie?

and she understood.

ellie’s head lifted from the crook of your neck she crashed her lips upon yours. the kiss was heavy, and deep. your knees buckled, and where you swore you may fall, she made sure you didn’t. you were shuddering, a hand suddenly possessive around the back her neck. her hands suddenly possessive and stabilizing with the grips she held on your ass. months worth of unknown tension relinquished itself in the pushes and pulls you demanded from each other's bodies while teeth clattered and bit into chapped flesh, turned glossy. moans and breaths circumvented between the two of you, and suddenly, the whole room felt like it was on fire.

she delivered a verbal command, teeth tugging at your lower lip as she half-way parted from it, 

jump.

you’d used whatever remainder of your energy to follow the simple instruction, your legs wrapping around ellie's waist like she was your lifeline. they remained around her as your back fell against the duvet, and as she kissed you so deep, your head ran dizzy and your body was left no choice but to arch into her.

you remember your hand smoothing over her abdomen, and reaching up to grab her chest. you remember sighing into her mouth over the fact that you could. you relished in the moan she released your mouth, and only returned it halfway. 

you remember gripping her and massaging her and bucking your bare hips up against her in hopes of making her make that noise again, louder. you remember how she bucked her hips into you in hopes of the same sentiment, her waistband grazing against your bair clit cauisng her to succeed far quicker than you. 

the night was filled with mind-blurring, fuck-until-the-sun-rises kind of sex. sex that you had no idea your body had needed until ellie had given it to you. your body reeled with every kiss that she'd placed over your skin – you’d watched as she peeled back your towel, and replaced bits and segments of the fabric with her lips in soft, attentive kisses.  it was hard to believe that they would transpire into messy, sloppy things. wet, tantilizing things that would trek down the axis of your body. that would hold your body hostage as her tongue and her lips worked on your clit to bring you closer and closer to your third orgasm of the hour. 

your body wasn’t used to it. any of it. it was, however, too used to and hyperaware of having a tiny human in the house that you simply couldn’t wake at this time of night.

you were shuffling, at one point, scrambling to put a hand on your mouth, or to bite your own knuckle.  when that didn’t work, you let your head fall over to a pillow while you fucked up against ellie’s tongue and bit the fabric, trying so hard not to moan. but you felt yourself cracking. 

you’ll never forget how ellie looked up at you. eyes a deep, pointed shade of green as she shook her head – mouth still attached to your clit – which in and of itself had almost made you cry. when she pulled away, it was the only time you let yourself make a noise. only because the whine that was ripped out of you was entirely unanticipated, just like her action.

her breath rippled over your the nerves as she ran her fingertip up, and down your hole. you whimpered, hips shifting up relfexivley, cunt tightening just from the invitation. nearly gushing from the feeling of her beginning to small rub circles against it, instead.

i’ve missed you so fucking much.

she dipped a finger inside of you with such ease, and no warning. a long, slender digit bottomed out inside your cunt, before she pushed in another, and made your jaw go slack. her eyes hung on yours – glossed over with lust and a bit narrow as a result of the devious smile that’d begun to overtake her expression.

she’d begun pumping her fingers.

he’s not here, baby.

it’s just us.

her fingers were so fucking long, you swore to god, you would never want a life without them in it. couldn’t bear another 3, 4, 5 months without having them in you. jesus fuck.

wanna hear you. 

wanna hear you be as loud as you fuckin’ want.

ellie emphasized her words by proceeding to fuck you faster. her tongue latched back onto your clit, rolling over and slurping at the nerves, rolling beads of saliva and your juices into and against the bundle. the sound of your cunt was so encompassing, it was hard to believe that it became the backdrop for the moans that ellie had ripped out of you. that made it into, and mostly out of, the pillow, amidst a sea of praise and bucking hips.

the next morning was luxuriuosly unproductive. ellie had only woke to feed the animals and returned to bed and slept with you until noon. she was always affectionate, come mornings. but especially riding off of the honeymoon buzz of the night prior, she made the morning after memorably tender, often pressing kisses to your forehead, and your shoulder, regardless of how awake both you or she was. she’d whisper sweet nothings into your ear, promises of how much she loved you. how she’s really glad this is how she gets to spend her life, as long as it’s with you. all of the sugary things that eventually caramelize into jokes and giggles and laughter, and that how you’d know it was time to get up.

it’s safe to say that parenthood brought you and ellie both very interesting things. it brought you challenges, and it brought you lows. it brought you highs, and photographs, and moments where you did feel like all of your hard-work was paying off, even when it didn’t seem that way. having a family meant having the opportunity to open your house up to people you who you loved. having a family meant having traditions, and things to fall back on – things that you would develop over time, as you learned more and discovered more of what you wanted. and having a family with ellie meant that you could fall back on each other, no matter how tough things got.

.. it also just meant sometimes having really.. really good sex. 

(whenever you remembered that that was something that the two of you could actually do, that is.)

[sweetpapercroissant]

i don’t get the appeal of an incest ship if you’re only ever going to focus on the good romantic feelings and not the icky negative ones. the resentment the feeling of being trapped shackled wanting out and away from the person who knows so much too much about you since before you even knew to not allow it but at the same time you can’t imagine living in a world without them being away is like tearing a limb a piece of your soul you will never again be complete without them. no one else will ever understand you the way they do no one else will ever get so deep under your skin and you may hate it but you hate the thought of them not being there even more you can’t stand to see anyone else get to a part of them you didn’t and even worse when they get it before you. you push and you push and you push but when they let go it’s like you’re free falling and it doesn’t matter how far away you run you will never be far enough away because you carry them inside you everywhere you go. you tell yourself you want nothing more than to get away but they’re the only home you will ever have and you won’t ever let anyone get that close you’re already moulded to only fit in perfectly with them and you didn’t have a choice but this is who you are. there’s nothing you could do to make them let you go but there’s nothing you could do to make them let you go. you want to be so close to them you want to merge your bodies into one you hate how crowded you feel when they’re in the same room like they’re sucking in all the air and there isn’t any left for you and you want to get away so you can just breathe but you don’t even want to breathe in the air that hasn’t passed through their lungs first you hate that you feel this way you wish you could claw it out of your veins but then who would you be without it without them you want so much and it’s so ugly and you’re ashamed of how raw that need is how you want every part the good the bad the human you wish none of this had ever happened you feel dirty you never even had a chance to find something else be something else but then you look over and you love them so much so much and when it comes down to it nothing else was ever going to be enough for you anyway.

[adrift-in-thyme]

I read Winter Light by sister_dear the other day (highly recommend; it’s adorable) and had the urge to write something fluffy. And of course, I had to include First because I love him and he deserves good things for once

——————————-

“IT’S SNOWING.”

The ear-shattering exclamation jolts First out of a deep, dreamless slumber. He raises his head, blinking sleep from his eyes. Wind stands a short ways away, gazing out of the bedroom window and bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

Carefully, First disentangles himself from the mass of slumbering heroes he had been held captive by. Somehow, they had all managed to cram onto a single bed the night before. Though it had been a bit smothering, he can’t help the twinge of remorse at breaking free from the welcome warmth.

“What’s that, Wind?” He whispers, as he gently removes Wild’s arm from where the champion had draped it over his shoulder.

Wind turns to look at him, a huge grin on his face.

“You gotta come see! It’s amazing!!”

The other heroes begin to awaken as First slides out of bed. They come to slowly, groaning and mumbling and shoving off arms and legs and blankets.

“What’s all the ruckus about?” Legend snaps, unwrapping himself from his cocoon of Sky’s sailcloth.

Sky chuckles. First smiles, knowingly, as the veteran continues to grumble, all while taking his sweet time to fully remove himself from the embraces of his brothers. He is a bit like Legend, he supposes — still unwilling to allow himself to grow too attached to those he already holds dear. Both of their carefully constructed walls, however, seem to be crumbling.

The heroes have a way of doing that, First is quickly realizing.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Wind races back to the bed, practically vibrating with excitement.

“There’s white stuff everywhere outside! It’s all over the barn and the field and-and everything!” He grabs Legend as the veteran sits up, and shakes him so hard his teeth chatter. “IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL.”

Legend shoves him off with a scowl. But he eyes the window curiously.

“Snow day, huh?” Warriors grins. “Well, you know what that means.”

Twilight matches his expression. “We’ve gotta go out in it, that’s what.”

Warriors bumps his shoulder against the rancher’s.

“Exactly.”

Sky rises from the bed now and walks to the window. First follows him.

The lawn is indeed covered in a thick blanket of snow. It seems to glow in the dim light of the cloudy morning. It covers the trees, weighing down their branches, and the tops of the fence, the roof of the stable too. Just as Wind said, it coats everything as far as the eye can see.

First steps closer to the window.

“It has been too long since I last saw snow,” he murmurs.

The last time he had reveled in the icy stuff had been before his imprisonment. He hadn’t realized how much he has missed it.

Sky smiles at him. “This is only the second time I’ve seen it. The first was when Zelda and I had just started building a home on the Surface. I’ll never forget it. It was so beautiful.” He chuckles. “Groose was terrified, though he’ll never admit it.”

First laughs. But before he can say anything further Wild shows up at their elbows.

“You two better get dressed. We’re heading out!”

“Hurry up or everybody’ll muddy the snow before you get to it!” Twilight says as he tugs on his tunic.

A mischievous smirk quirks First’s lips.

“If we try, we can beat them all,” he murmurs to Sky. The Skyloftian’s eyes light up. He turns and practically dives for his tunic and trousers.

They aren’t the only ones intent on making it out first. Before long, it’s all-out chaos in the bedroom. The heroes trip over one another in their haste, laughing and throwing clothes and boots. First nearly gets hit in the face with one of Legend’s.

Miraculously, though, he breaks free of the room before anyone else does. He rushes through the door with a burst of victorious laughter, the others racing after him, still pulling on their scarves.

“How’d you finish first?” Hyrule asks, once he manages to catch up. His tone is accusatory but he’s smiling. “Aren’t your joints old and achy?”

First grins at him. “Ancient though I may be, I am the First Hero. All of your tricks came from me.”

“What on earth are y’all doin’?” Malon asks when they come running into the kitchen. She pauses in her task of kneading some dough to look up at them. “The snow isn’t gonna go anywhere, you know.”

“It’ll get all ruined if we don’t go fast!” Wind exclaims, pushing through the front door. He nearly collides with Time who is coming in with a bucket of water in his hands. The hero raises an eyebrow.

“What’s the hurry, sailor?”

“SNOW!” Wind bellows. “Have you seen it?”

“I have.” Time smiles. “It’s quite beautiful.” His eye twinkles. “And perfect for snowballs.”

Hyrule and Wild exchange a glance, mischief glinting in their gazes. They sprint outside, letting in a rush of cold air in their wake. Wind is right after them, grinning from ear to ear.

“You’ll keep them in line, I trust?” Time mutters to First as he watches the others hurry out, trading playful jabs and yelping as the cold hits their skin.

First grins. “I will do my best.”

Time shakes his head, already turning back to Malon. He is smiling fondly though.

“I look forward to your efforts, First Hero. Wrangling these boys is nothing at all like leading troops, I assure you.”

First heads toward the endless white that beckons him.

“I believe you,” he says. At that moment, he catches sight of Wild dumping a gigantic pile of snow atop Twilight’s prone form. He chuckles, exasperatedly, and steps outside.

He pauses once he is over the doorstep to breathe in deep. The air is cool and crisp, biting at his skin and burning his lungs. The light of the early morning sun glints off of the fresh piles of fluffy white, nearly blinding him. But he squints bravely into it, a smile forming on his lips.

This beautiful day brings to mind one eons ago when he and his goddess had walked hand in hand through the winter wonderland that was Faron Woods.

If he closes his eyes, he can almost still feel her beside him, warm and magical and real. He can still see her beautiful face, brightened with a smile, love and joy and, perhaps, a hint of mischief sparkling in her blue eyes. He can still hear her laugh, loud and happy and free…and entirely at his expense after a tree limb deposits a handful of snow onto his head.

“Hey, First!”

He jolts out of his memory just in time to get a face full of powdery ice. He shakes his head, sputtering as the stuff cascades down his neck.

Sky, of all people, is grinning at him.

“Come on!” he says, laughing. “You said it’s been too long since you enjoyed the snow, right? Let’s have some fun!” He steps closer, expression softening. “She’d want you to.”

First gazes at him for a moment, trying to do away with the unexpected lump in his throat. Then, slowly, he smiles back. If Sky sees the glint of danger in it, he gives no indication.

“You’re right. Hylia would want me to enjoy this lovely weather.” He bends and scoops up a handful of snow, twisting it in between two, practiced hands. “And she would want me to enjoy it in a fashion that honors her.”

Sky’s eyes widen. The snowball hits him smack in the chest.

“Hey, no fair!” He complains. “I was trying to help you feel better!”

First is already in the process of creating more ammunition. But he pauses long enough to send the Skyloftian a cheeky grin.

“Ah, but you did help me feel better, Sky. That’s the problem.”

He throws another projectile. This time, however, Sky is prepared. He ducks into a roll and comes up smoothly a short distance away. Instantly, he digs his fingers into the snow, forming a sloppy snowball. First lunges for him and Sky leaps sideways, laughing. He whirls, sailcloth flying out behind him and nails First right in the face.

“SNOWBALL FIGHT!” Wild howls, as First dives for another handful of snow. And just like that the contained chaos is freed.

So much for keeping them in line, First thinks ruefully.

He has to admit though, that this is much more fun. After centuries of just existing and an eternity of pain, to be able to just have fun is almost a shock. A wonderful one.

Snowballs fly to and fro. Heroes tackle each other, rolling around in the snow, cackling. Shouts ring out as they pummel each other with the icy slush and slip and slide on the icy remnants of their footprints.

It isn’t until Malon calls out, “I don’t suppose any of y’all would like some hot cider?” that they decide to finally call it quits.

Exhaustion hits them as they all trudge inside, sopping wet and shivering. First can see it on every face, making their eyes droop and their movements slower, lazier.

He chuckles as Wild dares to take one, last swing at Twilight. The snow hits Warriors instead. If the captain weren’t already beat, First is certain he wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate.

“Next time, champion,” he warns, pointing a finger at him. A dangerous grin lifts his lips. “Next time I’ll get my revenge.”

“He will, believe me,” Time chimes in from where he stands in the doorway. He hands the heroes each a towel. “Now, dry yourselves off before you ruin the floors.”

When First steps up, trying to subdue his chattering teeth, Time smirks at him.

“I suspect you had fun?”

First grins. “I did. And you?”

He hadn’t missed the stray snowballs that had lacked an apparent source. Nor the mysterious footprints that would sometimes appear on the outskirts of the ruckus.

“Me? Of course. Spending time with my wife is always enjoyable,” the hero replies, calmly, and drops his towel right on top of his head.

First laughs as he drags it off.

After changing and drying themselves off, the heroes drift into the living room. They huddle close, mugs of cider cupped in their hands, drowsily watching the flames dance in the fireplace.

Malon and Time sit side by side on the couch, Malon’s head resting on her husband’s shoulder, Time’s arm wrapped around her. Twilight sits on the other side of them, slumped against Time, blinking as he tries to stay awake. Wild has settled down at his feet and the rancher lazily cards his fingers through his hair. Four is slumped on the champion’s shoulder, already fast asleep. Wild shifts to pull him closer.

Legend and Hyrule are close by, mugs close to tipping as they drift off in each other’s arms. Wind is wrapped in Warriors’ scarf and the captain smiles softly as the small hero sighs and cuddles against him.

First watches them all with a small smile on his lips. Beside him, is Sky, a blanket draped over his shoulders and First’s. The hero settles in closer, resting his head on First. Gently, First puts an arm around him.

This, he thinks as Sky gives him a bleary grin, this is pure bliss.

He almost can’t believe he is free to enjoy it. It feels as though any moment something will appear to shatter it all, like awakening from a pleasant dream.

Perhaps, it will. But for now, in this moment, he chooses to pretend that it won’t.

“Did you,” Sky mumbles, sleepily, “did you enjoy the snow like she would’ve wanted you to?”

First raises his eyes to the window. He swears he can see a figure dressed in white with hair the color of the freshly fallen snow. She turns and smiles at him before dissipating like the morning mist.

He smiles at the space where she once stood.

“Yes, Sky,” he murmurs. “Thanks to all of you, I did.”

[no1ryomafan]

Was showing my irls ZXA cause I had shown ZX off before and it was already a trip-my tv fucking broke but that’s a different story-since I haven’t seen the cutscenes in FOREVER but I realized a detail I don’t know how I missed even if no one mentioned it:

There are multiple capsules in Greys room laying face up and the glass is broken, and given Pandora said Grey was going through the mind control sequence, this all but fully confirms the evil mega men we see using the guardian biometals are under mind control and awoke out of these capsules before Grey.

This is information I don’t know how to fucking process.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

me sitting down to write a diabolical and soul-crushing story vs nagi going “i no no wanna :’(” about every plot idea i have

[simgerale]

me after attempting to get back into sims and realizing i had a lot more to do than play the game

[crystaltoa]

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate Good Omens for improving on the bad duck-feeding habits featured in Season 1, but my brain can’t help thinking about the probable cause of this in the Doyleist sense.

I have two theories:

A legion of fans wrote angry messages to Neil Gaiman about it to the point where he felt morally obligated to do something.

John Finnemore already knew this about ducks, and upon joining the show said, “Alright Neil, you know we have to fix the duck situation, I can’t in good conscience put my name on something that promotes unhealthy lifestyle habits for waterfowl.”

My money’s on the second one personally.

[ghosttotheparty]

has anyone written anything where everything is the same but steve has beef w eddie bc he saw hellfire coming out of the school the night of lucas’s basketball game

[crustyfloor]

stupid. Really weird theory because this doesnt exactly make sense but I need to vent

so what if the mist is actually… *drum roll* a sort of limbo for the characters

In some of the character stories they go to the most a little bit before they’re hinted to die, like Cora, she was running away from her father after he attacked her. She likely would’ve died had it not been for the mist. But what if she ALREADY DIED? oh and for Amari, the dude was about to die in the plane crash buttt he didn’t because of the mist. This type of situation occurs a few more times with other characters

Eiji and Jun (Got into a car crash. Didn’t die because they were transported)

•Seoung (could’ve died/got possessed in the main timeline because of the ritual. Didn’t because of mist)

•Eman, Aaaqil, Callum, and Yronica (Could’ve gotten killed by principal had it not been for mist)

•mamo (could’ve died from the bus crash. She didn’t but then got transported to mist)

•Dakota (could’ve gotten ran over. Got misted instead)

• Parker and Gavin (almost crashed, didn’t. But got misted)

•Kyle and Serena (not exactly sure about this one but I think they could’ve died to Cole had they not been transported)

•Sarah (drowned, got transported)

•Emil (could’ve died from either getting kidnapped or his wounds. Got misted)

•Lyndon (his story is sort of vague but either two things could’ve happened, he could’ve died from the guys or hopping overboard and drowning)

•Janitor (died from the fall down the stairs)

but as you may notice, most of these aren’t deaths, and some of them are. They are more like near death experiences. So I think that mist isn’t like a normal limbo where people go when they die, but it’s half that. Simply a phenomena that occurs triggered by near death and death experiences from people. So like a pseudo limbo, though I don’t really have an explanation for characters like Taylor who didn’t die or have a near death experience. I might expand on this idea later but it’s an interesting thought. Mist is definitely more than it looks on the outside.

[possum-quesadilla]

List of things Blue needs to stop saying:

- Slay (cringe)

- Bestie (cringe)

- holy moly (too vanilla)

- dear lord (too southern)

- lord have mercy (too southern)

- radical (too 90s)

- yaaaay! (Princess Unikitty voice) (people are scared when you pull the Girl Voice outta nowhere)

- my dogs are barkin (too southern, also what the hell)

- that dog won’t hunt (too southern)

- Baby/babygirl/babydoll DIRECTED ONLY AT MEN?? (Why do I do that. It’s insane.)

- BAD LUCK TO KILL A SEABIRD (no one gets that reference. Just sounds insane)

More to be added…. This is just from the last hour