#one for sorrow queue for joy

[lizaluvsthis]

SMG4: Trash Friends

Shit. Hello guys- I stole my phone and it is currently 4 am and I posted this (Because it's scheduled on queue)

I'm still not here but I managed to grab the phone out of the room, I can post for a bit. But then again, I wont be catching up to stuff while I'm at it.

Okay so- this video is about SMG4 needing that usb where michael jordan is n stuff to become popular.

SMG3 is needing that one to become popular as well so that his shop would be flooded by customers.

And then where it comes to needing stuff, they'd do literally anything for their 'friends' to get it.

SMG3 lied to him saying the business is running good, he just didnt want to face the problem in front of the protagonist that he's going downhill with running the business.

"I'm finally gonna get the attention I deserve, and prove to everyone YOU'RE THE WORST VERSION OF ME!"

This? This was his thoughts. This is how it speaks for him that is why he was afraid to show that to him.

After SMG3 told Mario he needs that usb for Fame and Love because SMG4 has too much of that. He knew how much important it is to him. He wanted the same love like how SMG4 has, he'd never had all the attention like how SMG4 had too. He was lost of himself.

Mario being the gullible idiotic man he is, he never complained to three about his speak of truth, he had comforted his friends especially meggy. Mario figured that Three had exposed his inner emotions, the most that he can do is just vomit that sh-t out.

Right after Three hid Mario from his hat, turns out he really does need shampoo. I mightve noticed that he'd been staying up late at night and doesn't shower because of his bad habits.

Sometimes depressed people mostly forgot to shower and just cope sh-ts to themselves like curling up to the bed and wallow in sorrow. And mostly they just hide that feeling. And I guess you might've noticed SMG4 did. Thats the reason why he searched that up from the internet.

He was THIS obviously close to reveal he had been concerned about Three because he stinks.

When SMG4 told three what the matter was, since the only thing he knew from him is that his business is doing fine. SMG4 thought that three wanted that fame all to himself, being the selfish one he knew back then.

After four told him "you're being selfish! All you ever think about is yourself! JUST. LET. GO!" the soft spot where SMG3 got his by the heart because of it.

He never wanted to go back to being how he wanted to be. He never wanted to show that whole destruction thing again from his ecil doings. This was the rrason why he ever wanted to change into a better person.

"OKAY!" "Okay...?" SMG4 noticed where Three easily surrendered himself, letting his guard down due to his anger.

He opened up.

"YEAH! I dont know what I was thinking! I'm doing fine! My shop is ALWAYS flooded with customers, I'm SO successful. Nobody is EVER throwing my coupons in garbage.

AND I DEFINITELY DON'T FEEL LIKE THE WORST VERSION OF YOU THAT LIKES TO PRETEND HE'S DOING FINE!"

HE said that to himself. When he thought he'd be the worst ever version of him, because he was supposed to be an antagonist. He was supposed to be SMG4's enemy, but he was also supposed to be partners with Four because they were both meme guardians.

SMG4 didn't knew. He always didnt know all of SMG3's antics because he thought Three also had everything to himself. But he didn't know he also felt like this, like Trash.

SO THIS GOES ON WITH THE MORAL. SMG4 noticing it just now is that he felt like TRASH. Because last time he'd ever notice is just Three wanting attention of how the golden child (aka SMG4) is when he gains that love and joy with everyone from meme warts.

Yet Three is there saying that to himself. He was there being open to Four and to Mario that he is struggling as well. His whole life, his financial issues, everything that meant to him. He popped the balloon and spoke the truth.

Four picked up the coupon, he was sad about this when he had finally just realized the whole sh-t of things. Sure four has done alot of wrong things but this? This is sick to his guts feeling bad for three...

Four looked at mario because he knows how valuable of a friend Mario is when dealing with emotions and open ups. And so- he got to the talk with three.

With all thats settled, SMG3 came back and fist bumbs Four to know that he's good now. What I also didn't expect is that three after using the usb, Four didn't even stop him. He looks at three with those softened eyes and just. Wow.

Four really wanted to show three his kindness, he was soft on him so he gave him a chance. He wanted three to be happy too.

[neo-novaa]

enchanted

; the second part to enamored

*ੈ✩ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: neteyam x na'vi!reader

*ੈ✩ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut !! p in v, fingering, implied first time, not proofread so if you see any errors, no you dont!

*ੈ✩ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.4k

*ੈ✩ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: gah damn this took too long, writing smut as an asexual is not for the week.

“i see you.”

your breath catches in your throat when you hear neteyam say it. you slowly open your eyes, practically seeing your own reflection in his dilated pupils. it takes strength to only keep your eyes on his, to not let them wander down to his tantiling lips.

“i see you,” you whisper in return, watching the way that the corner of his eyes crinkle into a smile.

in mere moments his lips are on yours again, that carnal want and need weighing heavy in the air around you. it’s all tooth and tongue, messy, thick with something so much more carnal than you’ve ever felt before.

your hands are carelessly and aimlessly grasping neteyams body, trying to bring him closer to you, to get every inch of his skin against yours.

you only pull away when neteyam guides you to the ground, his hands still finding their place on your jaw. the way that he’s suddenly avoiding your gaze is making you nervous.

“what is it neteyam?” your voice is barely a whisper, throat dry from breathing so heavily, your mouth wet from his spit.

“i want it to be you.” he says, persistent in avoiding your gaze. 

confusion quickly clouds the yen in your mind. “you want me to be what?”

neteyams eyes finally reach yours, and you find something nervous behind them-- a look you hadn’t seen since that night you rode out together. he glances down quickly, drawing his hands from your face and taking yours instead.

“i choose you.” he whispers, punctuation every word. “for the rest of my life, i would want no one else by my side. i want it to be you--” his right hand is suddenly bringing yours to his chest. “i’ve always wanted it to be you.”

you can feel how fast his heart is beating, how strong it is; how heavy it is beneath the chest, weighed with the burden of his long pining over you.

“please,” he murmurs, a silent plea to hear of whether or not the feeling is reciprocated.

“ma’teyam,” you match his volume, delicately pressing down against his chest. “it has always been you; it could only be you.”

in less than a moment his lips are on yours, swallowing the air in your lungs and the words on your tongue. his hands are all over you, aimlessly grasping at your skin-- you barely have time to keep up before he pulls away from you, leaving you absolutely wrecked.

“i want you to feel what i feel,” neteyam’s reaching over his shoulder. “for you to feel what i feel for you.”

he presents you his queue, the pink tendrils grasping the air around it. you don’t hesitate to reach for you own, but you find yourself pausing before you make tsaheylyu.

you’re nervous, overwhelmingly so. the exhilaration at the thought of being his mate  is clouded at the sudden anxiety of your first time.

“hey,” he catches your attention by thumbing at your knee. “it’ll be okay, i promise. trust me.” his last words are a whisper, slowly but surely easing your fears.

you watch as your queues intertwine with one another, as you are suddenly and powerfully hit with an onslaught of effections--

his feelings get lost with your own, and for the first few moments, you can’t tell where you start, and he ends. your heartbeats in sync, your breathing steady with one another, your minds temporarily melding into one.

only then does it really hit you.

first, it’s the love.

the undying adoration, the never-ending fondness rooted so deeply in his soul that it has surpassed a feeling, and has turned into a core emotion.

joy, sorrow, fear and love-- love that is completely devoted to you.

the sudden warmth that is desperately heating your bodies, sharp adrenaline running through your brins, the unwavering need to be closer than physically possible with the person across, to be bound to them, body and soul.

then, it’s the lust.

the unyielding, ever present need for you, like a hunger that he was never able to satiate. you can feel those long nights he’d have, desperately bucking into his hand, wishing-- longing for it to be you instead.

the deep and inate desire that is heating your bodies, that primal desire for you ingrained in his body like a sixth sense; that ever-present, all-pervading yearning that never once waivered.

and you can feel his pain. not the one that you’d get from a knife to the throat, or a blow to a head, no-- the type of pain that resides deep in your abdomen, pulsing, aching-- the type that can only intensify with your touch.

you barely notice how hard your breathing, you barely notice how you’re sharing that same ache for him. 

you barely get his name out before you’re on top of neteyam, straddling his thigh, fervently pressing your lips against his. you keep moving yourself closer, nearer, you need to be underneath his skin--

the euphoric feeling of the bond becomes more tolerable, that out-of-body feeling dissipating until you can finally feel where your fingers touch him. you’re hyperaware of his breath on your neck, his hands gripping your waist, his dick pressing hard against your loincloth.

his fingers dig into you, grinding your hips down onto him. he’s breathing into your neck, desperately rutting into you. you can feel his own pleasure within you, every roll of your hip giving you and him the friction you need.

neteyams movements suddenly still, and you bite back a whine at the sudden understumulation.

“can i touch you?” he pleas, his voice dry and his chest heaving. “can i please touch you?” his desperation sends chills down your spine.

his hands are climbing your waist, reaching the bottom of your waist before falling back down to your hips.

“yes,” you rasp, mind foggy with your own arousal. “yes, please--”

you’re pushing yourself up from your knees, fussing with the knots of your loincloth, neteyams hand on the small of your back as he lays you down. the moment you get it off of your abdomen, he’s pressing a thumb against your clit.

your back arches to the sky as you let out a loud whine, neteyam matching it as he can feel your pleasure through tsaheylu.

without much warning, neteyam sticks a finger inside of you, the two of you gasping together at the sensation. 

“is this okay?” he asks, and you’re too overwhelmed to do anything but nod.

“good, good…” neteyam whisperes as he begins to curl his finger inside of you. you rut your hips into his hand, chasing that arousal, urging that tightening coil in your abdomen.

just as you’re getting acclimated to one finger, neteyam is pushing another inside of you, curling at your gummy walls.

“shi-- ‘teyam, feels so--” you can barely get a word out without whining incoherently, and you spot the way that neteyam seems just out of breath as you are.

“i know, i can feel it.” he murmurs, and you whimper noisily as he begins to hasten his pace. he gently pushes his thumb against your aching clit, and whines loudly  at the shared sensation.

“so good, doin’ so good,” he says against your neck, and you can feel him grinding against your thigh. 

“neteyam-- please,” you whine, grabbing at his shoulders. 

“yeah? what is it, use your words.” he purrs.

it’s hard to get any words out with the way that he’s fingering you. his thumb pushing against your clit in firm circles, his digits pressing against a spot that’s making you see stars--

“i wa-- ah… i want you in me,” you barely get out, and you can feel how quickly that gets to him-- his breath quivering, cock twitching against your leg.

neteyam doesn’t say anything before he pulls his fingers from you, leaving you squirming at the lack of stimulation. above you, you can see neteyam ardently working with his loincloth, sweat dripping from his forehead.

you could feel his anticipation, that voracious yearning that’s been festering inside of him for years. your heartbeats fast, your breathing in sync, and you feel that same ardor creeping up in your chest.

neteyams on top of you again, one arm encaging your head as hot breath hitting your neck with his head resting against the forest floor.

“you ready?” he grunts, his tip aching against your folds.

“yes,” you breathe, feeling your heart flutter with yours. 

he pushes into you, buries himself into you until his hips meet yours. you can’t help the way your chest arches into his, and neteyam can’t help the way he’s whimpering into your ear. you can feel each others pleasure, and it’s enough to make the two of you see stars.

your hands find his waist, thumbing against the muscles on his lower abdomen, silently encouraging -- begging him to move.

he swiftly gets the message, slowly pulling out, gently rutting back into you, setting an almost sluggish pace.

but you can feel how much he’s holding back. in his taut muscles, his furrowed brows, and the way that he’s grunting through his teeth-- he’s holding back, and you don’t want him to hold back; you want him to ruin you.

“neteyam,” you’re sighing his name, feeling the way he twitches inside of you. “please don’t hold back.”

“it’s okay,” he quickly replies, his hips stuttering against yours. “--just want you to feel good.”

“neteyam.” you say his name more firmly, nearly yanking him by the back of his head to face you.

“i want all of you.” you see his eyes widen. “i need all of you.”

he doesn’t say anything; all neteyam does it push your leg until your thigh meets your chest, kiss you hard, and set an absolutely brutal pace. 

you can barely hear his quiet whines and breathy moans against your hips rutting together; you barely register how hard neteyam is biting into your neck, his canines digging into your skin. 

your nails dig into his back, your chest meeting his as you arch into his thrusts.

“--teyam,” you whine, exposing more of your neck to his blistering lips on your neck. “don’t leave marks. people will see, they will stare.”

he pulls away, only to blow his hot breath against the welts on your neck. 

“let them stare,” he nearly growls, pushing away to meet your gaze. “let everyone know who you belong to.”

neteyam resumes position, his cabins digging deeper into your shoulder. his free had pushes your hips down, keeping you still as he keeps driving into you.

“you like that, don’t you,” neteyam whispers into your ear, brushing his temple against yours. “the thought of being covered in bruises because of me?”

you nod helplessly, relishing how tight your abdomen burns. you can feel it coiling tighter, burning harder, and your hands are clawing at neteyam, chasing your release.

you grasp at his neck, pulling him closer, pushing him to go harder. you beg for him, for his touch, for anything--

“what is it?” he murmurs, lips moving to your jugular, neteyam watching as it bobs helplessly, your words swallowed by helpless whines. 

“touch me,” you mewl, feeling tears prick at the corners of you eyes. everything he does is too much and too little-- you can feel every one of his nerves crashing into yours, yet you don’t feel him enough. 

skin against skin, heartbeats in sync, but yet you can’t feel complete without his hands on you. 

“where do you want me to touch you?” he’s filled with questions, and you can feel how hard he’s trying to concentrate on you. on your words, your touch, the beautiful noises that come spilling from your lips every time he buries himself into you.

“i don’t know, i don’t care-- i just want your hands on me. please--” you rush your words, the ache in your chest matching the burning in your core. 

he whispers something against your lips, something incoherent beneath his whimpers, your mewls, and skin slapping against skin.

you can feel his touch scortching into your sides, one of his hands digging into your waist as the other moves south, his fingers finding place against your clit.

you arch into his fingers, neteyam feeling the way your lungs burn with your needy gasps. you’re close-- he’s close, bodies moving against each other in sync.

“mine, all mine.” he says, rutting into you as he seeks his own release. he’s thumbing against your clit, helping the pressure build inside of you. he knows you’re close, he can feel it.   

your hands finally find their place on his cheeks, bringing his face down to yours. his pupils are blown, eclipsing his iris’ until all you can see is a golden halo. 

“yours,” you breathe against his lips, kissing him firmly. “all yours.” 

that’s all he needs to finish, burying himself into you, murmuring your name like a prayer. you feel yourself crashing over the edge, digging your nose into his neck, basking in the rhapsodic feeling of your shared release.

his forehead against yours, hands finding their place on your hips, calming your twitching abdomen as you ride the aftershock of your orgasm. 

through your bond you can still feel his heartbeat, it’s pace catching up to yours. you breathe the same air as him, thick with your shared heat and pheromones. it’s sickly, how deeply you scent him, and how much of you he can feel in his lungs.

for a moment, thats all you do; you bask in the shared space, the feeling of pure adoration eating each other alive. you can feel your breathing become even, your heart slowing pace, his chest beating against yours.

neteyam breaths your name against your lips, and you can’t help but smile.

you’ve never felt closer to him, and a part of you fears that if you break the bond, he will slip through your hands, and become a stranger to you once more.

so you hold onto neteyam like he’s falling, slipping away from you. you hold him like he’s nothing but a fleeting moment. you hold him like he’s a dream, and you squeeze your eyes shut in fear that when you open them, he will be gone.

neteyam can feel your fear. all he knows is that he loves you, and you love him, and he shows you that love by slipping his arms under your back, putting all his weight on you as he embraces you.

“i see you.” neteyam whispers. his words slipping into your mouth, his lips against yours, savoring the taste of your love for him. 

“i see you,” you echo, like it’s a secret that you’d been too nervous to share. but neteyam takes your words and swallows them whole, letting them fuel his blood, his lungs, and his heart.

[aonungyoufuck]

Runaway {Part 11}

Runaway masterlist

DNI/BYF

Synopsis: you have finally mated before eywa.

Warnings: Mention of Mating +18? but like no smut at all just making out and feeling each other +  Pregnancy 

“I cannot wait anymore my love” 

Ao’nung was kissing you. Kissing was not uncommon sure. But feeling him so close was. It was nice to feel him so close. His hands roaming you feeling you from the bottom to the top. And it was ever so addicting. 

The burning that came from his hands. The erratic feeling it was desperate. 

It was all you could ask for. 

“Ao’nung. Please wait.” You spoke between your teeth, feeling his lips linger far too long. 

“We waited enough haven’t we?” 

“Understand that once we do this ill be with you forever” 

“That is what I want” he whispered, nipping at your neck. 

“I am serious Ao’nung. I want to know that this is really what you want from me. I been wanting you for so long and this is what i crave i want to be with you as one. But if we ever go home-”

“No” Ao’nung kissed you. Biting your lips to hush your sentence “i Dont ever want go home for i have you here with me. I have everything i ever wanted with you. And ive been far to happy and liberated by your ever waking moment. And i want to be with you now. Feel what you feel” 

You took in a sharp breath feeling him rest his head on your chest. Looking at you with an intent you hadn’t seen since the day he spoke those sweet nothings. 

“I want to be wild with you. Be your every waking thought as you are mine. Feel your sorrows, your pain and your love. I want to have a family with you. Grow old with you.”

Kissing your chest he grabbed his Queue. Its nerves dancing with an excited joy that you knew too well too. 

“ I want to have you here and in our many lifetimes to come. Eywa may bless me to be born alongside you again. I want to have our kids find those they love and experience it as we have now. I want to have you all. If you so much as graced me to be known as yours”

Your breathe was taken. The glow of the tree illuminating you too. You kissed his forehead. Then his left cheek and the right. Before settling on his lips, consuming his breath. 

You grabbed your own queue. Looking at him before finally bringing them together. The sensation was warm. Too warn. The feeling of his arms now burning hot. He was gulping down his breath as he felt what he was doing to you. 

You were crazy adults in love. So desperate to finally have a name to it. Mate’s forever and always. 

“Sa’nok!” Neytiri went ahead to see her mother. As if she was just an illusion. From the looks of it. She had a tiresome flight. 

He didn't wait grabbing your waist and placing you on his lap. It would be a few hours before morning and you two would have to go back to your makeshift home. So for now he’ll enjoy what he can. 

“Mo’at!” Jake exclaimed looking at her. After the formalities. And letting Mo’at drink something after flying for so long. She began to talk

“ I see Your eldest isnt here” 

“So she isnt with you?” 

“No. We have moved once you two left. Be rest assured that our People are safe and well. Ninat has actually Given birth this past cycle” 

The Family was puzzled. Sure they hadn’t been able to find their old clan but they had tricked themselves into thinking that by any possibility that you two were with them. Safe and sound

“I came here to see Y/n and Kiri”

“Wait for what?” 

Mo’at grew quiet. There was clearly some distress in her face. 

“In the morning early. I had taken the New Tsahik for a communication with Eywa. However it seems that something was amiss. I do not know what it was. But it seems like one of my Granddaughters, Has come to that place for a mate. I came here to see if that was true” 

Jake's ears lowered. As is the mood of the pod as well. Mate? 

“Kiri?”

Kiri could only roll her eyes. “No its not I” It was no secret how close she got to a certain Mekayina boy. Though she often brushed it off as nothing more than friendly banter. 

“Ma Jake” Netriti spoke. Sharing knowing looks. There was only one person and they weren’t here. 

“Mo’at… Y/n.. She’s been gone for 3 years now marking yesterday”

Mo’at rose a brow. Crossing her arms as she looked at everyone in the pod. “For What reason”

Ronal had never felt fear. She was fearless, Like to show how powerful she was. How much she did not fear people at all. But right now she was so terrified of the older woman in front of her. “ I forbade her from establishing a relationship with my son”

Mo’at wasn’t angry. Not that she would show it. And that's what made her terribly frightening to  Neytiri who lowered her head in shame. 

“And where is your son?” 

Ronal’s ears flattened. Her arms were shaking. Trembling with a fear any mother would know. “I do not know” She wept. She didn’t know. How she wished she knew where on pandora her son was. Far too long she’s wondered. Far to long has she constantly woken from nightmares where he was just out of reach. “I do not know” 

Mo’at took her hand and rested it on her shoulder. Grounding her back to reality. 

“Tell me Jakesully. Do you know if Her son went with her?”

“I don-”

“He did! I know Grandmother” 

Everyone turned to look at Neteyam. No longer the little warrior boy that was always sitting by quietly. He needed to confirm it 

“He is fated for death. For Eywa told me so” 

“What?”

Mo’at rose her hand. Her face unchanging from her stern look. “All of them. The spirits and the past. All grew quiet with dread. And its only intuition to interpret her words. But it seems her mate. Your Son. Is fading from the strong man he is”

“You don't know what you speak of! My son is strong” 

“Your son isn't here” 

“Mo’at are you sure?” 

Mo’at could only sigh. She had experienced the hurt and the pain that was to lose your beloved. She had mourned so briefly. But the pain is one that she would never wish on anyone. Let alone her own grandchild.  

“I am not certain, however i am certain something is wrong.”

“How long will you be staying here?” Jake asked

Mo’at looked at him. Then pondered for a bit “A week. It is all i can stay before going back” 

“Okay okay. Neteyam. Lo’ak. You two and i will  search where we can. If they came to that tree surely they wouldn’t be far from there.  You two come back as soon as you can i’ll stay and look some more”

Ronal rose from her seat. “I’ll go and look in the clan on the eastern sea. Maybe their Tsahik or Olo’eyktan has seen them”

“I’ll come along too” Tonowari commented, turning back to his daughter. “Daughter. You stay here While we are out” 

“I’ll stay with her.” Neytiri commented standing behind her mother. 

Jake nodded. “Alright. Good plan” 

That was the Plan. Mo’at could only hope that you would not experience the pain of loss. 

—---------------------------

The week went by in a flash. No sign of you anywhere. And your family was growing desperate. 

Life was going on and that's the way Ronal had to have it. Days passed. Weeks maybe? Ronal had lost track after the first year. Ateyo and Tsireya were her grounding points. And even they seemed to move on with the passing of time. 

“How long has it been”

“A month since Mo’at left. A month and three years since they did”

“Tonowari i dont think i can do this” Ronal spoke. It was dark. It was night. And for once she had time to speak her hearts sorrows.

“Be strong Ma Ronal” 

“I know. But i feel my heart breaking. Hear it every time i wake it falling and shattering. I want my son. I want him back at whatever costs” Ronal croaked. 

Something so deep in the core of her being was screaming. 

There was no comfort for this kind of thing. For its sad. And this thing does not happen. 

“Ma ronal i-”

“Tonowari i dont think i can wait anymore. My heart cries any time i ask for any glance of my son. Aches”

“I know ma Ronal. But be patient. I will be here with you” Tonowari spoke kissing her forehead as he hugged her tight. Too much time was passing

It had been Pure bliss really. The loving touches. The words and the feeling. That morning when you had awoken from Mating before Eywa would always be engraved in your feelings. 

And he could only ask for his son’s life. 

Tsaheylu was always a warm feeling. A feeling of becoming one unit and it was really nice. But Tsaheylu in the form of a mate? It was different. A good different. 

You had always imagined it would be different and under different circumstances. You would have a man of your clan and they in turn. And everyone would be happy for you. 

But this wasn't what you pictured. Ao’nungs hands. How he felt you. How his body worked alongside you. And connecting as one more than tsaheylu. It was something else for sure. 

You had felt it once more on one “date night” as Ao’nung had put it. But there was no room for that now. 

Ao’nung had been growing weak. And You had been growing tired. It was only a week and some days into your new bond that you had your suspicions and gathered the few leaves you had established that you were blessed with life inside of you. 

You were going to tell Ao’nung. But he had been laying in his pond far too long. And yet he had made it so known how happy he was for you two. 

“Ma Ao’ you seem paler today than the last days” 

“Its alright” He rasped out. His eyes were heavy with a tiredness you never knew. Exhausted, sunken into himself. You could count his lower ribs. His pale appearance now always wrapped in ointments to keep him comfortable

“I ask you to please lets head home.You are growing so ill now please”

“No. And risk my Mother taking you away from me?” 

You frowned. Placing your hand on his sunken cheek bone. “Please You are ill”

“You are the thing that keeps me going Ma Yawnetu” Ao’nung smiled,  Eyes closing. 

You had watched him fade and it scared you how you were alone. You laid your head on his shoulder. Feeling his breath slow. You sighed, feeling tears in your eyes. “Ao’nung i have something to tell you”

It was quiet. Far too quiet and far too long. 

“Ao’nung?” 

His eyes were shut and his breathing uneven. 

“Ao’nung!”

But it fell on deaf ears. You cursed under your breath. Wiping your eyes as you called to your Ikran. Grabbing his shoulders you Pulled him from the water. You didn’t want to do stuff without Ao’nung to know. But you had bit back your tongue far too long. 

Tossing Ao’nung over your shoulder and onto Mezu “Come on Ao’nung hold on a little longer” You whispered making Tsaheylu as you took flight. 

Praying and hoping that you could hold on just a little longer too

============================================

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[eagle-writes]

This recent answer by Neil Gaiman:

https://www.tumblr.com/tryan-a-bex/725653824659947520/some-of-your-books-make-it-seems-like-you-believe

I can write down a few words and make people thousands of miles away, whom I have never met and will never meet, laugh tears of joy and cry tears of true sorrow for people who do not exist and have never existed and never will exist. If that isn’t actual literal magic I don’t know what is. ~Neil Gaiman

This one had already been added to my personal queue, but the ask means it got done sooner!

[shizunitis]

@miaoqing hath taggeth me and thus. i answer

why did you choose your url?

so people would mistake me for @shizunstits

any sideblogs? if you have them name them and why you have them.

@mark--er for anything unrelated to shizun/fandom, and a secret third one for. well. that’s my business.

how long have you been on tumblr?

since 2012, approximately? 2011, maybe?

do you have a queue tag?

i can’t figure out how to make it automatic…

why did you start your blog in the first place?

good question!

why did you choose your icon/pfp?

self-portrait

why did you choose your header?

shizun deserves support, love, respect, and to be handled with gentleness and care. he has old man hips.

what's your post with the most notes?

i’m not sure how i could check that, but it’s either one of my au’s from when i was young and excited, or the loyal ghost story? i’m sorry, i really don’t know 😞

how many mutuals do you have?

enough to make me sit and think about how much i love the world every now and then. every one of them, i respect and cherish dearly

how many followers do you have?

enough to intimidate me 😞 i’m used to yapping to myself, so this is. uh. overwhelming? but the warm and good kind. it’s fitting that it happened because of shizun… he truly is a treasure…

how many people do you follow?

226

have you ever made a shitpost?

what i do is speak my mind, not shitpost. i bless and curse people with my joy and sorrow. my funny shizun thoughts. write that down. but yeah, i suppose most of my posts are either shitposts or sad/melancholy/yearning shizun musings

how often do you use tumblr each day?

once. like my thinking of shizun, it never ends, so.

did you have a fight/argument with another blog once?

no. but i got very close, once. i respect what danmei-confessions is trying to do but. GOD. god leave my boy and my shizun alone. please

how do you feel about 'you need to reblog this' posts?

useless, condescending, annoying, does nothing, reeks of self-righteousness. shame does not work the way some people think it does

do you like tag games?

sometimes. i love seeing others’, i’m very lazy.

do you like ask games?

i do! a lot!

which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

odd question, mefears

do you have a crush on a mutual?

yes. i giggle every time they interact with my posts. it’s very embarrassing

what is the last song you listened to?

stars by tai verdes, it’s almost depressions season

what are you currently watching?

jerma vods, if that counts? i’ve been meaning to re-watch, you guessed it, the svsss donghua

sweet/savoury/spicy?

any and all flavours are good <3 depends on my mood.

what is your current relationship status?

courting two characters that are married to each other and one of them has two alternate universe counterparts that i’m also attempting to woo. it’s complicated.

what is your current obsession?

…guess? you’ll never get it, i promise.

what are nine albums/songs you've been listening to lately?

steve lacy’s dark red, hozier’s unreal unearth, some of taylor swift’s songs, syml’s the bird and the boy, radiohead’s amnesiac, epic: the musical, conan gray’s lonely dancers (but the album as well) and unlike pluto’s we’re screwed (PEAK. BINGQIU. also the orv animatic with this song? OUGH)

tagging anyone who would like to join in <3 (i’m insecure but mostly i want everyone to have fun so i can watch like a benevolent guardian)

[bludhavenbirder]

Information

Hello! I'm Ev. My pronouns are they/them. I'm 24. I used to be an avid roleplayer, but fell out of the habit for several years. I'm interested in getting back into it, so feel free to shoot me a message if you're interested in writing with me. Below are the rules and some other important info.

This is a sideblog, so you won't be followed by this handle. If you've got any questions about how that may impact roleplaying, you can shoot me a message or an ask.

I don't roleplay with minors.

I am open to roleplaying with any fandoms as well as OCs! If you send me a meme or a starter out of the blue, I might message you to work some things out before responding, but I am excited to get to know your characters!

I am interested in writing Dick Grayson during his time as Nightwing and his time as Robin. I'm also open to AUs.

Tagging— if I haven't tagged something that is triggering, let me know and I'll fix it ASAP. The blog will contain canon-typical violence. Tags are formatted like "tw: material" such as "tw: overdose" or "tw: discussion of suicide" but will also be under a cut.

I'm fairly open to writing characters discussing most topics and dealing with the aftermath of things, but there are certain things I will not write happening "on screen." Those are rape, sexual harassment, suicide attempts, self harm, eye gore, animal death or abuse. I'm alright to write characters discussing those things, but I've a hard line against deleting them.

I don't write smut. If things get steamy, I'll fade to black.

I'm open to shipping with chemistry. If you play a character who Dick is canonically in a romantic relationship with at some point in the comics, let's chat about it before writing specific romantic plot. If you write a character who doesn't, we also need to chat before writing anything romantic/one character coming on to the other.

No romantic relationships with Batman or the other Robins.

I'm usually on mobile, so formatting will be limited.

You can reblog memes and art and the like from me, if you want. Do not reblog threads unless you are the person I'm writing with please and thanks.

Don't spam like.

On inspiration— I mostly draw from the comics. I've seen a few animated films here and there, but most of my inspiration comes from the comics. In terms of content I see referenced often, I feel that I should mention that I haven't watched any Teen Titans shows and I haven't read WFA. I'm also not super up to date on current runs because I prefer to read trade paperbacks. If you have any questions about whether or not I've consumed a particular piece of media, feel free to shoot me a message! I don't have any particularly strong opinions on fanon beyond the fact that I don't enjoy the idea that Dick is either a goofy, happy guy or someone full of rage— my philosophy with the character is that someone who feels sorrow and rage as deeply as he does is someone who can also feel joy and love with the same level of intensity.

On response time— I work full time and my job has varying and weird hours. If I haven't responded in a week, please shoot me a message. Based on how busy my life is, I may queue some responses.

Tags— you can find memes under #prompts, wishlist under #wishlist, open starters under #starters, headcanons under #headcanon, out of character content under #ooc, threads that take place while Dick is Robin under #Robin-era. Most art of characters are tagged with their first name, but art of Batman/Bruce Wayne is tagged under #the-bat and Dick is tagged under #the-guy-himself.

[kouros-herc]

Swyn Task: 'Do You Remember'

Caught In The Undertow

29/09/2024

Disclaimer - I have heavily re-used tracks from the 2022 Wrimo task 'Soundtrack To Your Life' depicting one of Herc's other lowest points. This is on purpose, because he's feeling so many of the same feelings, despite everything that is different in his life (and also because I only know so many songs ok).

Track 1: Uncomfortably Slow - Newton Faulkner

Traveling again / I know exactly how it's gonna end / the routine daydream starts as I get off / I'm holding up the queue / because my ticket won't go through / I know it should be simple but it's not /

This is such a song about depression, to be honest. It captures the idea of the world carrying on turning as you're caught in this place where something is really fundamentally wrong. You can know you're lucky to have some things, and still feel like you're drowning. Yeah.

Track 2: Numb - Abe Parker

When my family stopped askin' what was wrong with me / and the character flaws turned into personality / I don't know how I got here / I thought I still felt my feet on the ground / and just like that, I'm going numb /

This is part of how I envision Herc's burnout. He is, at his best, a person who feels so much and has so much love and energy and excitement, but lately that's been further and further away. Instead he's been quiet and shy, struggling to find the joy in so many things he loves... it's a really shitty place to be. I think the song also nicely captures the surrounding fear, like... he's pleading not to go back to that place.

Track 3: Numb - Linkin Park

All I want to do is be more like me / and be less like you /

This is more abstract, envisioning Hercules' inner perception of himself and the expectations he puts on himself and how that creates this insane burden, and the feeling of failing that is just pushing him further and further from his best self. Besides, every good breakdown needs an angry song, right?

Track 4: Morning Elvis - Florence & The Machine

The bathroom tiles were cool against my head / I pressed my forehead to the floor / and prayed for a trapdoor / I've been here many times before /

In the aftermath of what we see in the self-para, eventually, when Herc has let it all down, this is the song that takes over. It is sad, and sorrowful, and self-reflective. It is, in many ways, a song about how pressure can make a person burn out and the place that leaves them. But the orchestration does also have something hopeful in it, I like to think, in the rising patterns within the music and the way it swells towards the end.

Track 5: Dear Hope - Brittany O'Grady (From Little Voice)

Dear hope / if you can hear me, don't go? / I don't feel you know, but I know you're there / Dear hope / I could really use you now / throw me a rope / throw me a rope / Dear hope.

I can't seem to shake it yet / feeling that things may never change ...

Hope is such an integral part of who Herc is, it's the thing that gives him optimism, it's the way he constantly tells himself that things will change and get better. Sometimes it hurts him, but at the end of the day if there is one thing he would pray to without hesitation, in his lowest moments, it would be hope.

[musicarenagh]

"A Place Called Home" by Richard Green - An Auditory Quest for Belonging Imagine if Vivaldi took a detour through a 21st-century speakeasy, where the lead act is not another flapper reincarnate but one Richard Green, flourishing in his latest single “A Place Called Home”. With Irene Veneziano’s fingers dancing on ivory keys like fireflies on a meadow at dusk and the Archimia Strings Quartet resonating with the heartbeat of ancient woodlands, you know this neoclassical rendezvous is set to tug at strings—both metaphorically and musically. https://open.spotify.com/album/0FUJDMpKhw0vnC2l5otCws The air within this track vibrates with an almost sentient yearning; longing embodied so palpably that it could well be another guest musician credited alongside. Bittersweet affection oozes from every chord progression as if the music itself wistfully remembers nights spent under foreign stars and craves only the lullaby of its own bed. [caption id="attachment_54816" align="alignnone" width="1483"] Richard Green[/caption] Mixing honeyed nostalgia with sophistication (a linguistic cocktail I like to call 'sophistalgia'), “A Place Called Home” pivots around home's contradictory nature—the permanence in transience, joy in sorrow. The vibrations seem old-soul-esque while concurrently tapping into modern serenity, offering whisperings of what made our funky toes tap during Mr. Green's pandemic partnership with Irene. [caption id="attachment_54815" align="alignnone" width="1200"]  Irene Veneziano[/caption] And yet... amidst classical harmonies harkening back to powdered wigs and majestic halls emerges an unexpected tranquility—a musical oxymoron serving us chill-out previews from his upcoming EP before bowing down gracefully. What even is genre anymore? Who knows! But surely Beethoven would’ve sipped green tea to this? [caption id="attachment_54817" align="alignnone" width="2000"] Archimia strings quartet[/caption] Quixotic comparisons aside – or are they embedded within? – let’s declare “A Place Called Home” less of a song, more of an emotive expedition painted upon silence itself. Its transcendent timbre feels akin to flipping through sepia-tinted photographs but knowing your place isn't just amongst them but beyond them too. Richard Green gifts listeners more than mere melody; he provides passport stamps for auditory exploration—no queues at immigration required—just ears wide open and perhaps eyes gently closed as we bask in homespun bliss till summer whispers anew with chill vibes… Await those tunes as though they’re postcards sent from tomorrow—you won’t want them lost en route. Follow RICHARD GREEN on Facebook, and Instagram.

[tallmantall]

#JamesDonaldson On #MentalHealth – #MentalHealth Matters: #SuicideLifeline, #988, Is A Vital Service That Saves Lives

Heather Loeb Guest columnist A few years ago I was suicidal and had to Google a 1-800 number, the #NationalSuicidePreventionLifeline. They had a chat feature, and as upset as I was, I didn’t think I could talk to anyone through the sobs, so I waited in the queue.  Tears blurred my vision, but I noticed on the screen that 75 people were ahead of me. I didn’t think I could get more upset.  I didn’t wait until it was my turn; I called a friend. Luckily, I didn’t have a plan to end my life that night. I guess I needed to vent and distinguish reality from the lies my brain was telling me.  That was one experience, one person and one night out of many. I in no way would ever bash the Lifeline, established in 2005, but in 2022 I was elated to see that the 10-digit #NationalSuicidePreventionLifeline is now the three-digit #988, the #NationalSuicideandCrisisLifeline.  Lyssette Galvan, public policy director at #NAMI Texas, says #988 is imperative to make it easier for individuals in crisis to be connected with a trained #counselor, not only to de-escalate the situation, but to create a safe space for someone. The next steps after de-escalation depend on the severity of the crisis and services available in the area. The goal is to stabilize a person in crisis, she said. In the first six months after the line launched (July to December), more than 2 million calls were fielded. The majority are being answered in under a minute.  I read in a #CNN article that the average time to answer calls year over year was three minutes in 2021 versus 44 seconds in December 2022, according to Dr. John Palmieri, a senior medical adviser at the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services' #SubstanceAbuse and #MentalHealth Services Administration, who serves as #988’s deputy director. What I like about #988 is that it has a special prompt for #LGBTQ+ #youth and a prompt for #veterans. Both have a higher risk of #suicide. What worries me about the program is the funding. I know that may seem silly when you read/hear that the Biden-Harris administration increased federal investments in the #988 program from $24 million to $432 million — that’s absolutely great — but that money will go very fast if we’re talking about strengthening current call centers; investing in new ones; hiring and training #counselors for 24/7/365 coverage; paying for special crisis intervention officers; reinvesting/building new facilities to treat people who are in crisis, etc. That’s a lot of what #NAMI Texas is focusing on this 88th legislative session, which I think is a no-brainer. #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleOrder your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife:From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com Other #NAMI Texas ideas: - Increasing the line item for Community #MentalHealthCrisis Services in the Health and Human Services Commission budget - Creating a monthly fee on all phone lines (how 911 was funded) - Investing in public education and awareness of #988 Galvan said it is vital to have adequate funding to provide services for people in crisis. Within the first month of implementation of #988, Texas had 15,000 calls made with a 57% in-state answer rate. Texas has five call centers in various parts of the state but does not have the workforce necessary to answer higher call volumes. A comparable state, Florida, has 12 call centers with a 77% in-state answer rate. Galvan said Texas needs to ensure that the state is recruiting and properly paying trained crisis #counselors to increase the in-state answer rate. It also needs to increase funding for Mobile Crisis Outreach Teams and community crisis services.  “By equipping our #988 system with all the tools needed,” she said, “we can save lives.” Some people might not understand why we need 988, but the advantages (to me) are clear: It’s less #stress (and money) on 911 and its dedicated resources; it’s faster (and more efficient) to connect if you’re having a #mentalhealthcrisis; and there are multiple ways for you to connect: chat, text, call. That one night, when 75 people were ahead of me, could’ve been fatal. Thank God, it wasn’t. I have so much faith in the people who made #988 happen, the resilience and strength of the people keeping it going. The lawmakers who can turn this program into the next 911. I’m not worried about that happening again to anyone. I beseech you, legislators, please don’t make me regret my words.  I don’t think that #988 is the answer to all of our #mentalhealthproblems, but it certainly brings light to a huge problem that has been in the dark for so long. Let’s keep going; let’s bring everything into the light. We can start by sharing with our friends/family what #988 is and why it’s a vital service. The first — and most important thing — is that it saves lives. How could I have forgotten to mention that? Sure, the program saves time. It saves money. But out of those 2 million calls in six months, how many lives must have been saved? I leave you with that. Facts - 1 in 5 U.S. #adults experiences #mentalillness each year. - 1 in 20 U.S. #adults experiences serious #mentalillness each year. - 1 in 6 U.S. #youth aged 6-17 experiences a #mentalhealthdisorder each year. - Half of all lifetime #mentalillness begins by age 14, and 75% by age 24. - #Suicide is the second leading cause of death among people aged 10-14. Source: #NAMI.org - Every year in the U.S., more people die by #suicide than in car accidents and more #suicide deaths occur than homicides and AIDS deaths combined.  - For every one person who dies my #suicide annually 316 seriously consider #suicide but do not kill themselves. - The Lifeline has received more than 20 million calls from people in distress looking for support when they needed it the most (2005-2021). Source: https://988lifeline.org/ For more than 20 years, Heather Loeb has experienced major #depression, #anxiety and a #personalitydisorder, while also battling the #stigma of #mentalhealth. She is the creator of Unruly Neurons (www.unrulyneurons.com), a blog dedicated to normalizing #depression and a member of state Rep. Todd Hunter’s #SuicidePrevention Taskforce.   MIND MATTERS Now more than ever we need to take care of our #mentalhealth. Guest columnist Heather Loeb discusses why and explores other important #mentalhealth topics in this special series. Read the full article

[vampirelover890]

// I am by no legal means an author nor have I ever been published, but would like to pitch in anyways. Writing is hard because emotions are hard. Putting a person’s thoughts, feelings, reactions, and little social queues that are hard to notice into legible words that make sense is really difficult. The intricacies of a unique smell, look, or texture can be almost indescribable, and yet people write. People write for other people. For educational purposes and for entertainment, people write essays and stories and books for other people to read. Paragraphs don’t need to be perfect. Ultimately, the words on a page are but a medium for the author, and like any other medium, such as paint or clay, there’s no one way to do it; no set rules restricting freedom. People write for people because they want to. They have stories pent up that they wish to expound unto the world. They have sadness, sorrow, joy, and cheer, and want to express it in a way that other people can interact with. One sentence at a time. People write about people for people. The only thing that every author has in common is that they’re on this one planet we all share.

TL;DR: Emotions are tough, people write because they wish to be heard by others, paragraphs don’t have to be perfect, books are crafted one sentence at a time, with care. Every single author is on Earth. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

Why the why is writing so hard, and for what? If even writing a single, relatively perfect paragraph takes ages, how the literal heck to authors make entire books, man? Like what are those guys on? Lend me your wisdom, PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE

[willvalor-moved]

new tag dump bc my old ones suck

[willvalor]

tag dump

[avengerscompound]

Apartment X - Chapter 13

A Hawkeye Fanfic

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS //

Buy me a coffee with Ko-fi Character pairing:  Clint Barton x F!Reader

Word Count: 1830

Warnings:  mentions of sex

Synopsis:   You had chosen your apartment for a lot of reasons.  It was quiet.  It had good light.  It was secure.  Your landlord was an Avenger.  It was a good space to live and work and feel safe. When you become friends with your landlord Clint Barton, it also comes with the potential of a pretty special boyfriend.  You’re just not sure how the public will react to finding out that one of the Avengers is dating a Camgirl.

Chapter 13

The speed at which you and Clint were able to pull a wedding together, was nothing short of impressive.  Even with an extra fee to cover the paperwork, it took a week before you were legally allowed to marry him.  You could only have the chapel on a Tuesday morning.  But you still managed to get it all ready.  You had bought a white lace dress with thin straps with a skirt that just reached the floor.  It wasn’t necessarily intended to be a wedding dress, but it would pass for one.  Clint had got himself a mismatched linen suit with cream pants, a white shirt, and a lavender jacket.  The butler had organized flowers for you both, and there would even be someone playing the guitar for you to walk down the aisle to, as well as a photographer to capture the event.

 So, on the morning of the wedding, you woke up to have breakfast on your deck and changed together.  Clint did your hair and makeup, and the two of you were taken by boat to the floating chapel.

It had been such a whirlwind of events leading up to this that you hadn’t had time to consider if it was a good idea or not.  You stood just outside the chapel doors waiting for your queue, and wondering if this was maybe just a little too crazy to go through with.

You did love him though.

Clint Barton was hilarious, kind, brave, talented, gorgeous, and easy to be around, just to name a few of his amazing traits.  You loved spending time with him but rather than feeling like he completed you, it was more like he complimented you.  You had been fine by yourself, but you were better with him.  You couldn’t imagine marrying anyone else, so if it was Clint you were going to marry, it might as well be here and now.

The music started to play and you took a deep steadying breath, looking down at the white and purple orchids you had gripped in your hands.  As the music picked up you stepped inside.

The shutters were open so the chapel was completely open to the ocean around it.  There were two rows of timber chairs painted white standing on each side of an aisle made of glass that looked down at the ocean below.  Standing at the far end of the chapel was Clint in his linen suit with the officiant who was wearing dark blue, and two staff from the hotel who would act as witnesses.  The guitar player sat on a chair at the side of the room and the photographer walked up the side of the room a few paces ahead of you, snapping pictures as you made your way up the aisle.

It was so empty and so beautiful.  It felt intimate and right.  Just you and Clint against the whole wide world.

You reached Clint as the song ended.  He was beaming at you and his hands went to yours right away.

“I’m so excited,” Clint whispered.

You nodded in agreement and gently squeezed his hands.

“Welcome, love birds.  We are here today to unite you in marriage,” the officiant said and turned to address Clint.  “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedding wife?  To live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor her, and respect her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” Clint said.

The officiant turned to you.  “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedding husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, comfort him, honor and respect him, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” you confirmed, grinning at Clint.

“Do you have the rings?” the officiant asked.

Clint pulled the two rings out of his pocket. They were matching, made of titanium, and shaped to look like arrows that wrapped around your finger.  He handed the larger one to you.

“The rings are a symbol of your unending love for each other,” the officiant said.  He turned and addressed Clint again.  “As you place this ring on her finger, repeat after me.  With this ring, I thee wed and pledge you my love now and forever.”

Clint began to slide the ring on your finger.  “With this ring, I thee wed and pledge you my love now and forever,” he repeated.

The celebrant turned to address you.  “As you place this ring on his finger, repeat after me.  With this ring, I thee wed and pledge you my love now and forever.”

You pushed the ring onto Clint’s ring finger.  “With this ring, I thee wed and pledge you my love now and forever.”

“Now, by the authority given to me, I pronounce you husband and wife.  You may kiss your bride,” the officiant announced.

Clint pulled you close, the huge smile on his face, reflected by the one you had.  He leaned in and as he brought his lips to you, he turned and dipped you.  The photographer was taking photos, but all you were aware of was your husband’s lips on yours as he held you dipped above the glass walkway.

He pulled back and set you on your feet and the few people in the chapel applauded you.

“We just have some paperwork to sign,” the officiant said, gesturing to the group to follow him to a small table.  You each signed and dated in the pertinent areas of the wedding certificate and when you were done, he put it into his folder.  “I’ll submit this and in a few weeks you will have your official wedding certificate.”

You and Clint thanked everyone and met with your butler to take you back to the villa.  The place had been decorated since you left.  Candles lined the deck and the side of the infinity pool.  A table had been set for the two of you on the deck.  It was decorated with candles and orchids and when you had both taken your seats the waiter brought out a bottle of champagne and an antipasto plate.

When the butler had left to collect your starters from the restaurant, Clint raised his champagne flute.  “To my gorgeous, sexy, wife.”

“To my gorgeous, sexy, husband,” you replied and the two of you clinked your glasses together.

You each took a sip and put your glasses down and began to pick out things from the platter in front of you.  “I’m really glad we did this,” you said.  “I really fucking love you, you know?  I didn’t ever expect to meet someone like you.”

“What an archer on a superhero team?” Clint teased.

“Exactly,” you laughed.  “My must-have list for a romantic partner only had two points.  Point one; has to be an archer.  Point two; has to be on a superhero team.”

“God, am I glad you met me before you met Kate,” Clint joked and you absolutely lost it laughing, nearly choking on a piece of cheese.  “I’m really glad we did this too, babe,” Clint said as you finally started to get yourself under control again.  “I know given that this isn’t the first time I’ve gotten married at the spur of the moment, that it had to be a huge leap of faith for you.  But I really fucking love you too.  And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

You leaned over and kissed him, your hand cradling his cheek, holding him in place as your lips caressed his.  You sat back with a smile.  “What do you think people are going to say when we get back and we’re married?”

“I don’t know,” he said.  “All kinds of things I imagine.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I think most of my friends will be happy for us,” Clint said as he made himself a little sandwich out of crackers, cheese, and cured meats.  “Natasha will probably be pissed that I got married and she wasn’t there - again.  Tony might throw us a reception but mostly just because he’ll use any excuse to throw a party.  I think the public will be mixed.  There will be so many people who couldn’t even give a shit.  Their friends will say; ‘did you hear hawkeye got married to a cam girl?’ And they’ll say ‘so what?’  I think there will be some who will have super strong opinions about it.  Angry hateful people are super loud and there will be a lot that say they can’t believe an Avenger would want to marry a sex worker.”

“I doubt those people are going to use the term sex worker,” you deadpanned.

Clint laughed.  “I’d say you’re right.  But you know what else?  I think there will be a lot of loud people who say good for her.  And good for him being the kind of guy who respects women like that.  Because quite frankly - I respect the hell out of you.”

There was an edge of innuendo to the way he said ‘respect the hell out of you’, which made you laugh.  “Yeah, you do.  All night long, baby.”

“I respect you in all kinds of positions,” he added and you both broke down into laughter again.

As you were just beginning to get yourself back under control, Clint popped his little cracker sandwich in his mouth.  “I think some people are going to say you’re cucked,” you said nonchalantly.

Clint snorted and choked on his food, sending a piece of cracker flying across the deck.  He grabbed his glass of champagne and downed it as he fought back laughter, and you completely lost it, wheezing, and tipping sideways as you held your side.

“Why’d you have to say it like that?” he gasped.

“I couldn’t help it,” you cackled.  “It sounded funny in my head.”

“Good god,” he said, rubbing his hands down his face.  “I guess you’re not wrong.”

“I hate that word,” you said.  “Except for just then because it made you choke.  But normally I hate it.  Plus, I would never cheat on you.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he said, reaching over the table and taking your hand.  “It’s going to be you and me against the world.   But we know the truth, and we’re in it together.  It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks or how they react.  All that matters is that we’re together.”

You poured him another glass of champagne and topped off his glass.  “I think that requires another toast,” you said as you picked up your glass.  He did the same, and you held your glasses out to each other.  “To you and me against the world.”

Clint clinked his glass against yours.  “Together against the world!”

~ END ~

[stanfordscrush]

Okay but what if season 2:

Episode 1-5, stede and the crew fighting their way back through storm and fuckeries to chase the revenge while stede gets his "im in love" and "for once in my life i have a purpose" arc. Blackbeard can have the "im moving on" and "this is fine, im coping just fine" arc where he basically try to make peace of stede leaving him and i am more than my heart thing.

AND THEN AT THE END OF EP5

Blackbeard gets the info of stede's (fake) death and believes it because its stede

Now, he just realized that his heart was always there. Always yearning for stede, always hoping one day stede will comeback and it'll be alright.

But he cant

....

Cuz stede is dead

....

Queue the next 5 episode for a deep exploration of grief and ed's different personality show as a response to the situation (ft. The auxiliary wardrobe because i love that room)

Ed, the heart, in denial of the loss of his hope, his love, his joy-bringer (he cries, he cocoons himself in stede's clothes, pretending that stede is just away for a bit. He'll comeback, right? Edward just need to comfort and entertain himself for a bit before stede opens the auxiliary wardrobe and say "there you are! I've been looking for you")

The kraken, lashing out at anything because how dare stede left him, permanently this time, without facing the wrath and revenge of the kraken (he rips stede's clothes and fabrics from the auxiliary wardrobe because stede is not there so his items will substitute and bear the anger)

Blackbeard, the strategist, bargains an impossible deal with the universe to feel the warmth that stede brought once again. Just a glimpse, anything at all. (He prayed to the stars, to the sea, to anyone listening. To bring stede back, he'll do anything. Finding a sea witch and getting a bad solution resolves him to the next step)

depression, blackbeard even hollower than before he met stede, than after stede left him on the dock. ed feels numb, loosing purpose once again. the kraken’s subdue, with no target and no justice to serve. (the auxiliary wardrobe is either empty that its taboo to enter or edward never left the room and just bask in the sorrow)

Acceptance, from every facet of him, that stede is gone. The time with stede was great and will be cherished, but he is dead. Forever. (The memory of stede will be carried as long as edward lives because he now lives for two person. Its time to move on. Its time to face the reality of loss and growth that comes with it. A piece of torn fabric from the auxiliary wardrobe now fills the space in Edward's pocket where the red silk used to be, as a memento and as a piece of stede that he will always carry till he meets his end)

Last shot of s2ep10, ed sees with his own eyes that stede is back and, most importantly,

Not. Dead.

[sanders1665]

Time has become a distant friend,

the fading light has me ruminating the journeys end,

cherished souvenirs of my youth,

are the memories that captured springtime's truth.

Sweet Summer is nearly over,

this body is tired from pushing the boulder,

the demeanor of my sleep seems like a prelude to death,

but her love and dreams give me strength.

Feels like I'm blending with the background,

I'm not invisible yet, I can still be found,

my sense of relevance is fading away,

but my inner child still wants to play.

Modern morality and behavior is corroding my sense of humanity,

but my liberal perspective offers reluctant amnesty,

remembering love makes the world go round,

as angels and demons cavort in the playground.

Triumphs and conquests hold my head high,

but the tragedies and sorrows make my heart heavy with a deep sigh,

trying to stay focused on the good that tomorrow could bring,

while I fortify my castle with a luscious wellspring.

Adventures can be found at a much slower pace,

my journey of life is no longer a race,

I'm taking time to appreciate the pretty in the view,

for joyful memory making has become an active pursuit.

With age comes new understandings,

that maturity has a different type of dancing,

experience and wisdom can provide clarification,

when the outside world causes consternation.

Shadows of ghosts follow behind me,

and I entertain them during midnight reveries,

murmurs of dubious deeds vaguely reverberate,

but my northern queen brought about their checkmate.

We used to write old fashioned love letters,

and we can still satiate each others pleasures,

all good love stories have chapters of pain,

for rainbows do often appear after the rain.

Observing youths vitality can be wearisome,

conflicting with the aging man I have become,

but love, passion and romance have serene rapture,

these gifts are precious in my storybook chapters.

Mirrors can be cruel if they hold my gaze,

for they reflect poor judgements of long ago days,

on this body, gravity and time are conspiring friends,

but my youthful mind still pretends.

Enigmatic moon and faraway stars saunter over my head,

as children sleep peacefully in their bed,

sometimes, soothing quiet can fall into disarray,

in solitude, I secretly pray.

Flowers of joy blossom in my blood,

with sweet aromas that remind me of the good,

and still, serendipitous moments spring out of the blue,

pushing sadness to the back of the queue.

Sunset memories shimmer beyond the horizon,

and the sunrise will always tease with fresh surprise,

friends and family come and go,

mindful of ones ebbing caught in the flow.

Troubling thoughts of a diminishing future,

as misty graveyards tease with a tombstone suitor,

I'm not ready to write my epitaph, it will be a long time before it's carved,

for this mans zest for life is still full of charge.

Sweet memories are cherished within my mind and soul,

keepsakes that are sustenance in my fruitful bowl,

life moves us forward in mysterious ways,

and love accepts us regardless of the days.

[calpops]

masquerade | m.c.

A masquerade ball offers Michael one last night to be with the person he loves.

1.2k words

my masterlist | feedback and reblogs mean the world

Copyright © 2021 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

♔ ♔ ♔

The ballroom was aglow. Chandeliers hung from high vaulted ceilings, flames blazed above and left a lurid haze of warmth in their wake. Michael swept into the room as a crashing crescendo hit its queue. The music was loud, overwhelming when mixed with the crowd of strangers. He knew no one, if not for the masks on their faces, then for the fact his home was filled with dignitaries and lords and ladies of lands he had never been to. His eyes scanned the room, from the glistening display of ice sculptures to the exuberant amount of food lining tables against the walls.

None of it mattered. All Michael wanted to see was shy smiles and fidgeting hands. He scoped out the room once more, falling into disappointment when he couldn’t find her. But a gentle tap on his shoulder had him turning on his heel, letting out a breath of awe and taking her in. Instead of uniform—a gray dress and apron—light blue lace and pearls donned her body. Her hair was done up and a mask made to match her dress hid her face. But she was unmistakable to Michael. He’d know her anywhere.

“Care to dance?” Michael asked and extended his hand to her in offering.

She nodded and behind the mask that claimed her face Michael knew her cheeks were warming.

“As if I could refuse a prince,” she whispered airily as they drifted to the middle of the dance floor.

For the first time since Michael met her there was no fear that lingered between them. Secrets danced in the open. The prince took a beautiful lady to the middle of the ballroom and no one spared them a glance except in awe. Whispers would not carry words of disapproval, sneers would not meet their gazes. Michael felt like he was on the clouds as they twirled around, his hands lightly on her waist. He was trained in dance but she knew no steps other than to sway rhythmically to the music.

“Can you believe a kitchen maid is at a royal ball?” she asked in another whisper, the question so timid and filled with such disbelief it nearly broke Michael’s heart.

If he had it his way he would escort her to every event the castle threw. She would be awe inspiring in silks and jewels. She would be his princess and arranged marriages would cease to exist.

Instead of voicing all of those thoughts and wants he simply sighed with content. “You’re stunning.”

Her touch glided from his shoulders, up his neck and to his face where she gently lifted his white mask. She smiled shyly as she took him in before placing it back down. “As are you, my prince,” she responded and twirled with the music. Her dress sashayed in a grand sweep and she giggled. “I’ve never worn a dress so fine. You’ll have to thank her for me.”

Michael went rigid, the mere mention of his betrothed enough to make him falter. He wanted to despise her, he certainly hated their situation and the fact he could not marry the one he loved. But he couldn’t find resentment for her in him. Not when she was kind enough to grant his lady a night made from her dreams and dress made of lace and pearls.

“I will,” he promised. The ballroom was beautiful, her dress and mask were intricate and complimented her in a wondrous way, but Michael was still missing something. “Come out to the balcony with me?” he asked, knowing the shadows of the night would give them privacy.

She nodded as he took her hand and led the way out the doors to the desolate space. The moon was out, full and glowing just like her smile. Stars dotted the sky in tales of heroes and tragedies. Michael found her gaze, innocent and sweet. He acted on impulse once he was sure they were completely alone.

Just as she had, with gentle fingers and a loving touch, he lifted the lace mask from her face, finding much more beauty beneath the material. She smiled again, not as shy as before. When they were alone, she wasn’t afraid to be intimate, to show sides of herself the rest of the kingdom would never know. She beamed under the moon and looked up at the sky.

“It’s a beautiful night,” she said and turned to reach a hand out to the balcony railing, gripping it softly with a gloved hand. “It’s too bad it will be over so soon.”

Michael breathed out, breath colliding with the chilled air in a sorrowful plume. The party would die down in only a couple of short hours. Her dress would be replaced with the uniform Michael was prone to seeing her in though her glamor and beauty would not disappear. The castle would go back to being dark and feeling hollow. The morning would come and his wedding day would approach, no matter how much he willed it not to. His one true love would not be the one to walk down the aisle to him, no matter how much he wished for it.

“We could slip away,” Michael suggested and while she was used to the phrase--slipping away from the kitchens or royal responsibilities and finding alone time in the dark of Michael’s chambers--this time she sighed and shook her head slowly.

“We can’t do that anymore,” she said softly but the words were enough to pierce against Michael’s heart. “This is our last night. You’re meant to be wed in a fortnight,” she continued and turned back to him, reaching out for his hands and giving them a gentle squeeze. “She’s a good woman. And you’ll be a good husband.”

“We could run away,” Michael then suggested even though he knew it was farfetched, he could never run from the crown he was born to wear, he could never escape the fate that followed him.

She laughed but it was not filled with joy as it usually was. “I couldn’t rob a king of his crown.”

“I’m not king yet,” he mumbled.

“No, but you’ll be the best one this kingdom has ever seen. If you let yourself be,” she encouraged and closed the small distance between them, her lips brushing his softly. “I love you too much to let you run away from everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“You’re everything I want,” Michael spoke the truth but he knew it wasn’t enough. He knew the night was their last. “Stay with me tonight?” and in the morning they would go back to being a prince and a kitchen maid. Only crossing paths when the castle halls brought them together. Only exchanging familiar glances and pretending their hearts weren’t breaking with each day.

“One last night,” she agreed and slipped her mask back on, all of their games and disguises coming back to life as they left the party.

Their guards only came down when they were tucked safely away from everyone else. One last night filled with bliss and promises they knew they could not keep. The moon faded away and with the sunrise came an empty side of the bed and a lace dress left behind on the floor. Michael’s heart in pieces.

***

Part 2??

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