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larluce · 2 months

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Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace , @star-rie , @error-username-not-available , @dogberryrowan , @jamieweasley13 , @tansyuduri , @tercais , @robynnemrys because we deserved a better epic battle between Merlin and Nimueh.

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , PART 10 , PART 11 , PART 12 (You're here) , PART 13

More of "The Poisoned Chalice"

Arthur: Do you want to see what you'll be wearing tonight?

Merlin: (thinking) Not those ridiculous ceremonial robes again! (says) My clothes, obviously.

Arthur: (smiling brightly) No, the official ceremonial robes of the servants of Camelot!

Merlin:(fakes excitament) Oh, I can't wait to see them.

Arthur: (pulls out a very nice and elegant robes, nothing to do with the buffon custome he wore in his timeline)

Merlin: (mouth open) You... you can't be serious.

Arthur: (frowns in confusion) You don't like them?

Merlin: Are you kidding? Arthur, they're gorgeous! They look more like noble's clothes than servant's clothes. I... I can't use that.

Arthur: Too bad. You're using them. (throws robes at Merlin, who catches them in reflex) In fact, Keep them. They're now yours.

Merlin: What?! Wait! Arthur-

Arthur: You're welcome (leaves before Merlin can't give him the clothes back)

Merlin: (in shock for a few seconds, but then puts the robes on and smiles) Uhm, they fit perfectly. Just like the other ones. (processing) Wait, how did he know my measures? 😧

Time skip. Just after the revelation the cup was poisoned.

Uther: (furious) Who dare to try to poison my son!

Merlin: (raises his voice) I know who did it!

Arthur: Merlin don't-

Merlin: (points at Nimueh) It was her! I saw her entering the room were the ceremonial goblets were at night!

Nimueh: (surprised pikachu face)

Uther: (suspicious, to Bayard) Doesn't she work for you?

Bayard: (unsure) I don't recall her face.

Merlin: (mumbles a revelation spell to undo the glamour Nimueh put on herself)

Arthur: (subtly stands infront of him, so nobody sees Merlin's eyes turn gold, thinking) Has he always being this careless for gods' sake!

Uther: (livid, shouts) Nimueh! (to guards) Seize her!

Nimueh: (Runs)

Arthur: (tries to go after her)

Uther: (stops him) Don't. She's too dangerous.

Arthur: Do you know her? Who is she?

Uther: Nimueh. She's a very powerful sorcerer. No one you should mess with.

Arthur: (thinking) And yet you messed with her (turns to Merlin) Merlin, we have to-

Merlin: (already gone)

Arthur: Merlin! (thinking) He did not go into danger alone again! He did not just go to confront a powerful sorcerer all by himself. This motherfu- (shouts, between furious and concerned) Merlin! (leaves where the guards went)

Uther: Arthur! (sighs and turns to his knights) Go with him.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the woods.

Nimueh: (stops running to take a breath)

Merlin: (appears) I must say that was a really intelligent plan. Pretending to be some innocent maiden and trying to make me believe Bayard poisoned the goblet. But you won't fool me. (thinking) Not twice.

Nimueh: (laughts dryly) I understimated you. I'll give you that.(straightens up, smirking) Come now. We are too valuable to each other to be enemies.

Merlin: (dryly) I share nothing with you.

Nimueh: Don't you want Arthur to become king?

Merlin: You just tried to poison him!

Nimueh: No, I was trying to poison you. You keep interfiring in my plans when we have the same enemy. I have nothing against Arthur. It's Uther I want to destroy.

Merlin: By killing innocent people? Sorry if I'm not okay with that.

Nimueh: Sacrifices must be made for the greater good.

Merlin: You just seek revenge, not justice. Nothing justifies what you've done. (Steps forward) I'll make Arthur king when the time is right. But you won't see that day. (extends his hand) Astrice! (strikes her with light of energy)

Nimueh: (traps energy in her hand) Your childish tricks are useless against me, Merlin. It's a shame, you could've been a powerful sorcerer, perhaps, if you had the time, the training and the experience, but you are no more than a newly hatched chick that hasn't learned how to fly. I, on the other hand, have been practicing magic for decades. I'm a Priestess of the Old Religion. I am an opponent you could face but not defeat Forbearne! Akwele! (Throws fireball at him)

Merlin: (stops fireball midair without moving a finger)

Nimueh: (utterly confused) ... What? 😨

Merlin: You're right. Immature talent can't overcome decades of experience. But an experienced talent can. Akwele! (Throws fireball back with more force and bigger)

Nimueh: Scildan! (makes a invisible shield so the fire doesn't touch her) Forbairn ypile! (Makes a circle of fire around Merlin)

Merlin: Cume þoden! (Makes a whirlwind that blows the fire and then strikes Nimueh against a tree) Fire is not the only element you can work with, you know?

Nimueh: (smiles) Oh, I know. Gewican ge eorðe (makes a hole in the ground and Merlin falls there while he screams. Then she stands up and starts walking to the hole, limping a little, and says to herself, rubing her back) Oh, that hurt.

Merlin: (emerges floating in a piece of earth and stone, eyes golder than ever) This is going to hurt more. Eorðe, stanas, hiersumaþ me. Akwele! (Jumps from the rock and it goes to strike Nimueh)

Nimueh: Stanas tobrytan! (manages to break the rock into pieces but she's still hit by them and is severely injured)

Merlin: (stands over her with a somber expression)

Nimueh: (recoiling in fear, weakely) How...? How can this be? You shouldn't be this powerful! You manipulate magic as if you've been practicing it for a life time!

Merlin: (coldly) You don't have to know. (Starts to create a fireball in his hand, about to make the final blow)

Lancelot: (appearing in the distance, meters behind Merlin) Hey! What's happening?

Merlin: (the flame dies as well as the gold in his eyes and he turns around, wide eyed, whispering overcome with emotion) Lancelot?

Nimueh: (takes advantage Merlin is distracted and pulls out a dagger hidden in her leg)

Lancelot: Look out! (Runs to them)

Merlin: (moves away just in time so the dagger cuts his neck superficially)

Knight 1: (far away, but getting closer) I think I heard something!

Knight 2: (far away, but getting closer) This way!

Nimueh: (runs away as fast as she can with all her body hurting)

Lancelot: (goes to Merlin) Did she hurt you?

Merlin: I... (falls)

Lancelot: (catches him before he hits the ground) By the gods! She did! (Checks him, full panic mode)

Merlin: (thinking in Lancelot's arms, only able to move his eyes) No, she did not. The wound is barely a scratch but she put a paralyzing poison on the blade, the sneaky bitch. 😑

Lancelot: (sees Merlin's neck is bleeding, worried) There's so much blood.

Merlin: (Thinking) No, there isn't. 🙄 Honestly, Lancelot, have you seen a serious wound before? (Analysing his symptoms) Hum... It's not a letal one, the effects should go in an hour or so.

Lancelot: (checks his vital signs and sighs in releaf) He's still alive.(shaking Merlin) Hey! Can you hear me?!

Merlin: (Thinking) Yes I can! I just can't talk or move, damn it! 😠 I did miss you though 🥺. Why did we have to meet again like this? 😖

Arthur: (arrives with his knights) Merlin! (raises his sword, furious) Stay away from him!

Lancelot: (puts Merlin on the ground gently and steps back, hands up) I was just helping him! The girl. She did something to him. He's seriously hurt! He needs help!

Merlin: (thinking) No I'm not! I'm just... ugh, never mind 😒.

Arthur: (finally sees Lancelot's face and his features harden due to the resentment he feels towards the man he once considered a friend but then betrayed him by getting involved with his soon to be wife in his other timeline) Arrest him.

...

Before you ask why doesn't Arthur know Gwen was echanted and Lancelot was a shade that time if he's from the future, well the only one who could've told him that was Merlin and he was a tree so... And I don't recall Merlin ever mentioning any of this to Gaius. But even if he did, I think Gaius just focused on telling Arthur everything Merlin did for him with his magic, and the man is old, he could easily have forgotten to tell him a couple of things.

#merlin bbc #bbc merlin #merthur #merlin #merlin fanfic #merlin fic #merlin prompt #merthur fic #arthur and merlin #merlin and arthur #merthur prompt #Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

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loving-family-poll · 4 months

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Ultimate Incest Tournament - Round 3

Propaganda under the cut:

Sam/Dean:

I'm sorry but they have it all. children of metaphorical incest just continuing the cycle in any way they can. they are brothers and mother + son and wives and each other's scorned lovers and life partners they've had multiple infidelity arcs they are sexually psychopathic together they have forsook life and morality and the earth itself for each other and just love each other so much . They are literally in a heaven of their own making together for eternity, incestuously. Come on!!! Blueprint!!!!! It's not gay if he's your brother!!!!!

dean did stuff to sam's dead body in ahbl. i just know it

Messed-up, isolated sibs with all the daddy and abandonment issues. Their lives are so claustrophobic with the brothers no more than five feet apart in the car, a motel room, or standing next to civilians (face it, they are frigging magnets). Can't leave out that they are always touching each other to check for wounds which is a huge PLUS for any shipper.

Sam and Dean ARE literally the blowjob brothers. They walk into a situation and everyone goes well well well if it isn't the blowjob brothers....... And they say. Yep. That's us. And then they fix the situation with their epic love story

THE classic, iconic, show shopping, never done before etc. etc. incest ship. It changed fandom and it changed the world

Sam/John:

Underrated Full House of Wincest variant. The younger son who defies his father in everything and runs away to escape the violent, isolated life he was raised in, only to be drawn back when his dad goes missing. It's all about the control/rebellion struggle and the love that persists despite it.

he's John's little boy <3 via John's journal we know John sees a lot of Mary in Sam. they fight a lot and no one can rile John up like Sam does. Sam is all the more precious bc John has to keep him safe from both other hunters and Sam's destiny

Their arguments and fights that look like they're so close to coming to physical blows. makes the hatefucking headcanons so hot. but also we can tell that they love each other so so much. and john choosing to lovingly stalk sam in secret at stanford to check up on him instead of actually talking to him <3

A father who thinks his son was born tainted? That there is something wrong with him?? A father who almost shot him because he beloved it was for the better??? A son who is compared so much to his mom???? Who is just rebellious and always butting heads with his father because he refuses to do what his father wants????? And so obviously his father has no choice but to fuck him, duh

#tournament polls #tumblr polls #incest poll #round 3 #samdean #wincest #samjohn #spn #supernatural #tw incest

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franklespine · 8 months

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Something interesting about the rare occasions that Sam and Dean actually talk about their childhood or their parents that I've noticed is how it reveals really how little Sam knows about his own family. Like in s1 when they have to return to their childhood home after Sam has a vision he asks Dean how much he remembers of the night their mother died. Dean tells him he carried him out the house and Sam is shocked at this development; clearly this was a day that they haven't talked about at all. Despite that night being the foundation of what drove John and Dean to even start their relentless hunt in the first place, it was always this unsaid thing that Sam never understood to the same level as they did.

Later in the episode Dark Side of the Moon in s5 Sam is put in the position of a passive observer to Dean's memory of a moment with their mother. Even in this good memory Mary has an argument with John over the phone and Sam is suddenly struck with the realisation that their life pre-Mary's death wasn't this ideal picket-fence family dynamic he thought it was. John and Mary's relationship was strained and even before the age of four Dean was 'cleaning up' their father's 'messes' (as Sam calls it). To me its such an interesting concept because no wonder Sam felt like the odd one out in the family (and this is not considering the whole demon blood freak thing). He was constantly in the position of hovering on the cusp of understanding this unsaid past, which is the key to understanding Dean and John themselves. No wonder he wasn't inclined to be a hunter; to him Mary was was an absence of a mother, and yet to John and Dean it was at the very core driving them to relentlessly peruse this lifestyle.

And its frustrating because neither John or Dean seem to ever want to acknowledge of even try to understand this position Sam's in. Dean continues to berate him for 'abandoning his family', when really Sam was being suffocated under a lifestyle that had been forced upon him, forever unable to fully understand the all consuming grief that came from Mary's death like John and Dean did. To me this idea seems to culminate in Dark Side of the Moon, which is also an episode where Dean frustrated me the most. Because of course I understand why Sam's memories of running away from home and going to Stanford being considered as good memories would hurt Dean - family is everything to him. But it really shows how Dean just refuses to even try to understand Sam's perspective in this. These aren't good memories to Sam because he abandoned his family, they're good memories because they are the pockets of moments in his life where he has ever felt any agency over himself. Sam tries to explain himself to Dean but no it's about as good as justifying your actions to a wall and this is something that Dean has held over his head since the pilot. And then he's apparently so angry that he throws away the amulet Sam gave him?? My god, like I wasn't already screaming at my screen.

These complexities to their relationship really wouldn't bother me so much if every time these interpersonal issues were brought up they weren't resolved with Sam having to acknowledge that he was the one in the wrong. Like I get Flagstaff obviously dregs up some real bad memories for Dean of their father but come on, Stanford?? Surely after this many episodes we can understand that Sam was just perusing something he wanted to do for once. What's worse is that all Sam really wanted out of it from his family was for Dean and their father to be proud of him. He compares their situation to 'normal families' saying that most families would be overjoyed that their son got a full ride to Stanford. And that's really at the crux of all he ever wanted from them... Anyway sorry this is deeply unstructured I just have some Thoughts occasionally whilst watching Supernatural for the first time in 2023. Currently on the first chunk of s7 and jesus the whole shit with Amy is the other Dean thing that has made me yell at him in frustration but I won't open that can of worms. I swear I do love Dean and his messed up complexities... I just like Sam more and find him to be a more sympathetic character (which I am beginning to think is an unpopular perspective but what do I know; I've been watching this show for like a month).

#supernatural #spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #john winchester

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slothgiirl · 2 years

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an understanding

morpheus x reader. 5k. no use of y/n. yearning. the only thing i know about video game development comes from mythic quest. dont feed ducks bread (its bad for them) morpheus.

“You know feeding ducks bread is bad for them right,” you pointedly tell the stranger in black. The man was wearing 30 layers of black under the midday sun. You had no clue how he could bear wearing a wool coat in this heat. Sweat was already gathering around your forehead and you were in a gauzy shirt.

“Oh.” His voice was deep, an alluring quality that would’ve made him a perfect audiobook narrator. He doesn’t look up, still hunched over his loaf of french bread: the good kind that was made fresh in store at some local bakery.

“Mind if I sit here?” You didn’t want to sit on the grass. Lugging a towel on top of your laptop and bag was bad enough so you were really hoping for a bench, even one with no shade. It was just too nice of a day to spend working indoors.

He doesn’t respond. Tearing another piece of bread, he pops it into his mouth, finally looking up, looking out at the park contemplatively.

You decide that it’s okay. He didn’t say no.

He was obviously incredibly awkward or maybe didn’t get out much judging by his pasty skin. It was rather unfortunate too. Now that you’d gotten a good look at him he was cute in a way that would’ve thrilled you at twelve when you were wearing studded belts and obsessed with Mary Shelley and Trent Reznor. His hair was a hopeless mess: it’s color so black it seemed to destroy any sunlight that shone on him.

Too bad he was about as interesting as a pet rock.

Even the beta testers who were chronically online, still figuring out women at the ripe old age of twenty six (which you understood as your dating life was no better and all your hopes rested on Hinge) were livelier to talk to.

You were probably being too hard on him, you thought as you opened up the company issue computer. It was the fancy type that bent completely backwards. There were so many dialogue trees to work through. So many paths.

Sitting cross legged on the bench, you get back to work and try not to think about the man on the other end of the bench.

He managed to make eating bread an incredibly depressing act; gaunt as he was, with a forlorn expression in his clear blue eyes.

Clearly the guy was going through something.

Refocusing on your work, you turn up the screen brightness and pull up your saved files for Project: Dracul City.

There were notes.

Bottle: get sent to old lady Constancia and gain +1 luck token

Newspaper: uncover school turned shelter LORE

Right.

“Thirsty now, are we dearie,” you utter under your breath. You worked best like this, saying the lines out loud. At the office, no one batted an eye, but you’d gotten plenty of looks at cafes.

No. That was too fairytale-esque. This was more survival horror. The words rich and velvet were also on the moodboard.

“A bottle of wine to soften the blow eh?” You frowned. It sounded too young, too flirty. Old Lady Constancia ran a black market shop in the game.

“Well then, a bit of liquor for the road? Better than anything in the tavern.”

Again, it was wrong. The wrong feel for the setting.

“No need to ask how your night is going then.” There. You grin a little, reading over the dialogue tree that led here, skimming over Lady Constancia’s lines. There’d be no voice actors for this so the diction would have a lot to convey.

“What.”

“Huh,” you look up from your screen. You’d completely forgotten you were sharing the bench, speaking too loudly.

“You were saying.” The man looks over at you for the first time. His gaze is no longer distant as he studies you. It was obvious you held his full attention in spite of how cold his demeanor was.

“Nothing,” you laugh nervously, “I just-it’s something I do while working. Say what I’m writing to see if it makes sense. It’s a really good trick for dialogue. Sometimes what sounds good in my head sounds really awful to my ears. It was advice I got years ago in school. Really fucking helpful though.”

“You are a writer?”

“Ha, I wish,” you scrunch your nose feeling yourself blush. “Well, sometimes. I don’t know. I always wanted to work in video games and thought writing for them would be cool. And yeah, every now and then I think I’ve got a novel in me but I like my job. Sure-I’m not lead in anything yet but it’s fun to flesh out these characters and help build a world where people can escape into. Just look at early fallout, Kentucky Route Zero’s a really good one. . .” Your own sincerity embarrassed you. “I know,” you look down at your screen, the blinking | waiting for your next words, “most people play to blow things up and kill lines of code but, I really do think it means something to people. Give them a world to play in, create, dream. . .yeah.” God you rambling so bad. “I can stop if it bothers you?”

There’s the slightest hint of interest in the subtle relaxation of his expression, “Not at all,” he replies, putting aside the bread he had left, “There is nothing frivolous in striving to inspire people.”

His words catch you off guard. He’d been so distant before, you were expecting a brush off. “Well maybe this line won’t impact someone but you never know what characters players latch onto.” Mariska Lutz’s tapes haunted you for months after playing Bioshock for the first time.

The man does not reply again, watching the ducks hop into the murky water.

You return to your work, making an effort to keep your mumblings quiet.

It’s not until the battery low notification pops up on your screen that you look up again, shutting your laptop and stretching your legs out. Your left foot tingles hellishly, having fallen asleep.

You look over, only to find that the man had left without a word, without making a sound. It was unsurprising. When you worked you got tunnel vision. That was the reason your pot of pinto beans had burned before. No enfrijoladas for you that day.

Well, he had certainly been a character.

*****

You escape a hectic office where you’d spent the past week during crunch time as the demo went live, a short teaser of the gameplay for corporate who would never even play the game but wanted to see evidence that money would be made when the game released in time for October aka when everyone would be over school and the spooky month would fit the game’s design. You’d brought a tote bag with your lunch and snacks from the office. Nothing hit the same as lays with salsa valentina though you would like to know who kept using your bottle. You’d labelled it. As a last resort you’d taken to stashing it in your desk when you knew you’d be working from home.

July.

Kids were chasing the poor ducks back into the pond. A woman in leopard print roller skates took on hills like a pro.

You liked the warmth of sunlight on your skin.

You still wore sunscreen though.

It’s Thursday but the park is packed. You try to look for any spot that has some shade, an open seat so you can enjoy a hard earned lunch. Your fingers have cramped from all the typing you’ve done in the last few days. You haven’t checked in the mirror but you feel like roadkill.

It was about three in the morning when you’d started using eye drops to keep going, but the meeting was happening. You’d done everything you could for your team.

No luck.

The moms were out in full force today, phone in hand as their kids ran wild.

Then-

You spot the same man from your last visit to this particular park. He looks the same, only his coat is longer. It was like he was trying to get heat stroke.

Well, the trick to adulthood was just going for it. Sharing a bench wasn’t the end of the world.

You walk over.

“Hello again,” you wave, “mind if I sit here?” You could always keep looking. There was plenty of time before you had to rush back to work.

“No.”

You plop down, leaving space for not only Jesus but all his homeboys too. “Thanks. I feel like everyone keeps having the same idea as me, but I guess it’s summer and unless you take the ferry west we don’t have the best beaches.” You open the bag of chips and liberally pour salsa on them, “want one?”

You hold out the bag, offering up your snacks to the man. He seemed less morose than last time, but was for sure managing to sulk under clear skies.

He doesn’t acknowledge you. Instead he reaches into a white paper bag and slowly grabs a pinchful of birdseed to toss over to the ducks.

You’re left holding the bag of chips long enough for it to be awkward before you shrug and dig in, sucking the salt and salsa from your fingertips.

This is why you’ll never have a flat stomach. Five minute abs workouts from tiktok were not enough and you sure as hell were not giving up gansitos. There were some in your freezer waiting alongside a pint of ben and jerry’s.

“You got birdseed,” you note, amused. He had been listening to you. A thrill of excitement bubbles up in your chest.

He nods, the motion small.

Your companion was not an expressive man.

“No fat pigeons,” he states neutrally.

You’re puzzled but shrug it off. “I’ve heard you can feed them oatmeal. But I’d probably double check that.”

Finishing your tiny chip back, you fold it up neatly into a square and pop it back into your tote bag until you can toss it into the trash. Your actual lunch was a cold tomato and fresh mozzarella pasta.

Nothing exciting.

You’d been at the office for practically a week, only going home to have a quick shower and pick up food. You were overtired. Food was fuel. You’d treat yourself tomorrow to breakfast at your favorite cafe.

You idly eat as people bike by.

It could use some more sauce.

Your melancolic acquaintance continues to feed the ducks, lost in his own thoughts.

You stab a grape tomato, deciding to make conversation because what was there to lose. “I didn’t catch your name last time.” Last time, ha. You were really going on like there would be a next time. What was the chance you’d see him again? There’d been students in your same major you’d never shared a class with.

The question hangs in the air.

You chew the tomato, the juice spilling out into your mouth. It was tart.

You didn’t think he’d reply and were already considering fleeing. You could finish eating at your desk.

“Morpheus.”

“Morpheus,” you repeat so you don’t forget, “like the Greek god of sleep?” At least, you think he was the Greek god of sleep. It had been a while, he might have been a mythic hero.

“Of dreams,” he pauses, turning to you, his clear eyes peering into yours intensely, “and sleep. Yes.”

It’s only polite to introduce yourself properly now. You wipe the corners of your mouth clean and reply, “Nice to meet you Morpheus,” feeling silly and giddy (flip flopping between the two similar states) as you give him your name.

Blandly he states, “We have met before.” But with his attention on you, you catch the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. The corners of his small mouth twitch in the ghost of a smile.

“All the same,” you beam at Morpheus, and finish your long lunch in quiet companionship.

*****

When you’re exhausted, you don’t even dream. Depending on whatever game you are working on, there’s weeks when you’re so mentally drained that you don’t even get under the covers before you’re out like a light.

You’re pretty sure this is a dream. Your mind rested enough to dream.

It’s usually in the middle of the dream, in the middle of the scenery changing from a party in your grandmother’s house where a bird offers you a peach to you sitting on a trampoline that you remember from summer days at your childhood friend’s house before the trampoline broke and sent you both to the ER where you only had scratches only your friend isn’t there but a programer from your internship and hey maybe this was sign from your subconsciousness that you should text her-

You let out a breath.

The sky turns pink.

Yup, this was a dream.

You lean into it, letting it happen around you, letting your mind wander as the trampoline bounces lightly with Nina’s movements. It jolts your body, your brain swings around in your skull pleasantly like being in those massage chairs.

A breeze runs over your cheeks.

You look at the blue of the trampoline border. Blue like the waters in instagram pictures. Blue-

The black trampoline washes away into dark waves and your favorite aunt lays in an innertube sipping on a cocktail, “I’m really glad we came to Hawai’i.”

“Me too. Though I’m still waiting to see a mermaid.”

“It’s great. I’m glad Lady Gaga approved the highway from San Diego to Hawai’i.”

“And we got to see those sea dragons!”

“Exactly!”

You feel something by your leg and stick your head underwater. The water is so clear, you can see everything around you, including the dolphins swimming around you, leading you somewhere. Minecraft dolphins. You grab onto it’s fin, wondering where they want to lead you. Atlantis? Too see a mermaid.

From under the water you tell your aunt, “I’ll be right back!”

“Yeah-”

And your alarm goes off. Your dream rapidly fades as you wipe the sleep from your eyes and blindly grasp around your nightstand for your phone. “Shut up!” The alarm was so annoying. Shrill ringing in your ears when all you wanted to do was go back to sleep.

You send Nina a heart emoji on discord, followed by let’s grab some shaved ice.

Then, you flop back on your bed and doom scroll for a few minutes before you have to sign in on Slack.

*****

It becomes a habit.

Even as the weather takes a turn as fall sets in, you try and make it out to the park once a week, and without fail Morpheus is there. He’s not always feeding the ducks. But he’s always there and always leaves without saying a word.

You’re not offended when he barely acknowledges your wave as you sit down next to him. That was just what he was like. Morpheus suffered from perpetual resting bitch face because of his pouty mouth. You’d yet to see him smile.

It didn’t matter. You liked his presence. You enjoyed having company as you got fresh air.

He listened but rarely had much of a reply.

“It’s nice to go into the office and touch base with the other writers,” you muse, sipping at your drink, “make sure everything is coherent and I guess it helps to talk to people who are also living with this whole world in their head. It helps. The entire story’s been fleshed out by James, our lead.” You let the words hang in the air. Working from home was nice too. It lets you wake up at noon and crawl down the rabbit hole of your own imagination until three in the morning.

Morpheus’ tilts towards you as he continues to watch the wind sweep through the trees. A trio of teenage girls had brought an entire charcuterie board and flowers for their park day.

“Not to mention James does have to sign off on my work. I’m still pretty low on the totem pole.” This was your first full time gig out of school. Not an internship with terrible pay and long hours or freelance, but an honest to god full time job with benefits and pay that meant you could finally rent your own studio apartment. “Do you game?”

“No.”

You glance at him in profile. He remained as pale as the first time you’d seen him, but the gauntness in his cheeks had receded. There’s lines under his eyes that led you to believe he was closer to forty than your late twenties, closing in on the big 30. The Cut loved to post how everything changed at thirty.

“It’s fun. I didn’t really get into them until high school but that was only because my parents bought into the whole video games cause violence schtick but like, I wanted to play pokemon not Call of Duty, at least when I was nine.” You smile, thinking back on fond memories, “then I started going over to Michael’s house after school and we’d play Zelda and Fallout. His parents were complete nerds who knew Klingon so they were cool about us playing whatever they were also playing.” Your parents would not have approved of Left 4 Dead.

“I will take your word for it,” Morpheus tells you, sitting back against the bench.

You sip your tea. It’s still warm enough that the ice is melting away, watering down the taro flavor. “Or you could come over sometime and play Stardew Valley?” You pick a tree and stare at it. You were nervous about his reaction. But it had been weeks. At some point you had to make plans and grab a burger or a drink. That’s just what friends did and if you left it up to Morpheus it would probably take a year. That’s all. It had nothing to do with how your heart sped up the moment you spotted his familiar head of hair in the park. It had nothing to do with the anticipation that had you smiling like a fool on Wednesdays when you routinely went to the park.

He doesn’t respond, his expression dour.

After a beat of silence, you find it within yourself to look at him.

Morpheus meets your searching gaze with his own. You could see the emotions playing out in his blue eyes, but you could not read them. Like the eyes of a bird of prey, you could see the intelligence, the life and consciousness within, but lacked the ability to understand them the way you could read other people.

The corners of his mouth lift, his smile a precious thing you couldn’t turn away if you wanted to. “Perhaps,” he allows. “Once the image of an avenging Mina Harker fills the minds of dreamers around the world.”

Smiling softly you reply, “Only if it’s successful.” You could never be sure with indie games.

“It will be,” Morpheus states.

“I try not to focus too hard on what happens after it’s released and out of my hands. What will be will be.”

He nods.

You finish your tea.

It was a lovely day. The August sun was not so harsh after four. There were less people as families planned for a return to school. The tourists stopped visiting the Northwest in droves.

And maybe Morpheus would come over.

That was more than you’d had yesterday.

You could even show him the demo of-

You bite your lip, trying to think if you had let anything slip about Project: Dracul City. Developing games came with a strict gag order. Nothing could leak before it’s time, not the gameplay or plot or any of the concept art. Usually, you were pretty good about keeping quiet.

Surely you hadn’t told him.

And yet he’d known.

You frown.

“Do you wish to feed the ducks as well?”

His words break your line of thought. You hadn’t even noticed the crinkling sound of the paper bag as he opened the birdseed up.

“These ducks must be the most spoiled in all the public parks,” you muse, smiling at Morpheus before grabbing a handful of feed and tossing it lightly into the grass.

It was exciting to see the ducks and birds come over. The shyer animals waited to see if it was safe. They all had their own personalities.

You’re not bothered by his lack of response, the conversation stilling. You’d grown to like his taciturn ways. It gave what he did say more weight. He wore black like a uniform and over the course of the weeks in which you had been meeting up with him (undiscussed by either of you) he had become beautiful in your eyes. You wanted to run your fingers through his unkempt hair. You wanted to steal away his smiles for yourself: to know you could make such a dour man smile because he couldn’t help himself around you.

You reach for more birdseed only to find that Morpheus had left.

Figures.

*****

Unsuccessfully, you try to wipe away the number written on the cup of hot apple cider, otherwise known as the perfect fall drink as the leaves grew into vibrant array of reds and oranges with the change in seasons as the days grew cold.

The cashier had been nice, but you were only interested in one man.

The sharpie doesn’t budge at all.

You give up trying to get the sharpie off when you spot Morpheus. “Hey I got you a drink since it’s starting to get cold out.” It wasn’t coat season for you yet, but you’d started wearing a sweater while running all over town.

You hold out one of the cups, the one without the number scribbled on it.

His eyes widen, pink lips parting in surprise. But he makes no move to reach for the cup you’re offering.

“It’s apple cider,” you tack on, “warm you right up.”

He blinks.

You roll your eyes, “just take it and say thank you.”

It works. Morpheus nods, taking the cup from you, his fingers cool when they brush against your skin. “This was not necessary.”

“I know,” you say, plopping down next to him. “But I wanted to.”

“Thank you,” he inclines his head toward you. The sincerity in his voice is clear as a bell.

Heat blooms on your cheeks. “You're welcome.” Again, you smile at him as you take a sip of your cup, “I can’t wait until the street vendors start having roasted chestnuts.”

“You enjoy winter.”

“Yeah. Some of it,” you laugh, “The snow can get annoying at times but more and more I find myself taking the time to enjoy the little things. It’s not like I’m working towards getting into college, getting a degree or anything anymore. I’m just enjoying life, yeah?” You flush. In your head it sounded wise, but out loud you just sounded naive.

“My sister shares your thoughts.”

You arch a brow, “you have a sister! Older or younger?”

With a slight smile, Morpheus answers, “older.” He must be fond of her.

“Well she’s right. It’s hard at first. I’d pick up flowers for myself and then think about what a waste of money they were but why not. I like having flowers. Or I’d make up excuses not to go out with my coworkers to stay in but if you do that enough times they’ll stop inviting you and you fall into a rut and that’s no way to live. And some people are so different outside of work.” The older you get, the easier being content becomes.

Stop and smell the roses indeed.

Then you ask him, deviating from your unspoken plans, “do you want to walk around?”

“If you wish to.”

“I do, but we don’t have to.”

Morpheus stands, and you take that for the answer that it is.

******

The grass tickles your calves as you wander through the meadow. The sun paints the sky in hues of orange as it sinks below the treeline.

It’s lucky it’s not raining.

On your first trip to this national park, it had rained the entire time. Not surprising. Rain was a constant companion in this city, but it was more than worth it when you got this lovely meadow all to yourself. Wildflowers were sprinkled throughout the grass.

You’d always wanted to come back, splurge on the fancy lodge instead of being in a tent and hoping the rain wouldn’t get through the plastic. Plans to come-

You blink, looking around slowly.

Was this a dream?

You try to string your thoughts together: trying to remember how you got here. It was fall. Not spring. It’s hard, your brain feels like it's sinking into a thick comforter, the way it always feels when you’re on the border of deep sleep.

Taking in the scenery, the solace, you let your train of thought dissolve and you give into the nonsensical logic of dreams, letting yourself fall back into deep sleep.

It’s lovely.

You sit down in the grass as the leaves take flight, butterflies in the air twirling in constellations before settling back down in the branches. These trees were unmatched by anything you’d seen before. It only made you wish to see more, go to more places.

“You are fond of the natural world.”

Turning, you find Morpheus sitting next to you. His long coat is no longer black but a starry night. Stars twinkle in the depth of the fabric as you take him in with wide eyes.

“Morpheus,” you’re delighted to see him.

And because this is a dream, you don’t hesitate to reach out, crossing boundaries without a thought, you brush your fingers over his shoulder, half expecting your hand to go right through and slide into an abyss of night. That doesn’t happen.

Sheepishly, you meet his gaze.

His eyes are black unfathomless pits with a sole pinprick of light for a pupil. At this, you draw back.

Morpheus says nothing, regarding you carefully.

You blink.

And when you can bear to meet his waiting gaze again, his eyes are clear as ever. It must have been a trick of the light.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you note lamely. The national park wasn’t exactly close.

“I have business to contend with,” Morpheus replies, which leaves you with more questions than answers. You didn’t even know what he did for work. “We will not be able to meet in the Waking world for some time.”

“Oh,” you answer, crushed. It was ridiculous to feel so intensely about someone who was the equivalent of a classroom friend. You didn’t even have his number. Lin, your coworker, would call that a red flag.

His words sink in and, “the waking world?” Now you’re just confused.

His brow furrows with concern. “We are in The Dreaming.”

“I don’t understand.”

Morpheus frowns. “This a dream, your dream.” The sky goes periwinkle as snow starts falling. “And I am King of Dreams, Ruler of the Nightmare Realms.”

“Oh,” you go, “should I bow or something?”

Your words elicit a rare smile from the dour man.

It made your smile grow, to know that you had made him smile.

“There is no need,” the small smile stays on his pink lips.

“No off with her head” you joke, accepting dream logic and not questioning it as you quote the Queen of Hearts.

Morpheus frowns. “I would not be so crude.”

“Oh so I should be worried,” you wiggle your brows.

“Not of me.” He utters softly, his eyes become glassy. “Not while you are under my protection.” Morpheus reaches for you. The back of his hand ghosts over your cheek.

You lean into his touch without a thought.

You meet his gaze unabashed.

He blinks slowly, peering at you through dark lashes. There was a sedate romance to him that the Brontë sisters could only dream of.

“I cannot stay,” he confesses with remorse.

“You did say you had stuff to do.”

“I do.”

His hand is soft against your cheek. Neither of you move, resting in the moment, holding the pause for as long as possible.

Morpheus draws away, standing. Snow falls around you but the temperature remains pleasant. Snowflakes fall on your arms and do not melt.

You stand.

It’s the awkward point where you’re waiting for him to leave but don’t want him to leave and he’s dragging it out too. You’ve been through this plenty of times on friends' doorsteps as you chat and say goodbye and wait.

He stuffs his hands in his coat. It touches the ground, melting away the snow around the hem with its soft red flames, more ember than anything.

Morpheus makes no move to leave.

You wait, taking in the sight of him. Snowflakes fall in his unbrushed hair.

“Here,” Morpheus draws something from his pocket.

“Oh.”

He drops it in your outstretched palm without ceremony. Morpheus looks away as you study the object.

It’s a necklace. The chain is simple gold. It’s the pendant that catches your eye.

Encased in glass are grains of sand. They swirl inside the glass on their own.

“Thank you,” you look over at him.

Morpheus nods slightly. “It allows you to enter The Dreaming at will.”

“A standing invitation then,” you wink.

“Yes.” He has a talent for filling words with a weight beyond their common vernacular. Morpheus’ gaze is heavy on you.

You can’t parse out why this is so important, but it obviously is for him.

You unlock the clasp, wrapping the chain around your neck. With your fingertips, you try to lock it. The clasp is impossible when you cannot see it.

The hairs at your nape get in the way.

“Allow me.” Morphues closes the distance between you.

“Yeah, that would be great.”

He takes the chain from you, his fingers brushing against the back of your neck. He works swiftly, making quick work of it.

The pendant hangs in the middle of your chest.

Your heartbeat is hummingbird quick.

Morpheus’s breath tickles your nape.

You don’t dare move, fearing this is all a dream that will end if you do anything.

“I shall be expecting you.”

“I’ll be sure not to disappoint. Though it’s about to be crunch time and I’m not looking forward to-”

His actions cut you off.

Morpheus leans forward, his lips brushing against your neck chastely.

You draw in a breath.

The moment is over in the blink of an eye.

Something witty, sure to ruin the moment, is on the tip of your tongue as you turn, looking over your shoulder. But he’s gone.

****

The sand continues to swirl, defying gravity inside the pendant, when you wake.

You play with it as you scroll through files, read through work emails, and desperately try to recall the details of your dream.

You’ve never been more excited to sleep in your life.

#morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus x y/n #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman #an understanding #lmao i love miscommunication as a trope #to morpheus: he explained what he is perfectly #meanwhile readers like: idk whats going on but im into it #unedited as usual

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lazypapers · 4 months

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do you have any HCs about how Arthur reacted to John being distant to Abigail when Jack was born? /how Arthur reacted when John showed up after a year

Oh definitely, my HC is similar to Roger Clark (the actor for Arthur). I think Arthur resented John for being distant and leaving her and his baby for a year. I imagine a couple years before Jack was born that's when he lost Isaac and that tragedy never left him and deeply effected him. He hated John for running away and taking things for granted from the very thing Arthur always sought and wanted. So when John returns, Arthur is just livid and their relationship is broken.

Arthur seemed like a character who wanted to be loved and belong in a family. He tried that with Mary, but I felt like Mary toyed with his feelings in the most wishy washy way (I get it. Like what future would you have with an outlaw). Obviously Eliza was a rebound from him breaking up with Mary. And that one night stand led to the conception of Isaac. He still chose to stay with Dutch's gang cause that was his family and he wasn't gonna stay with a girl he barely knew and didn't love. He probably tried to bring her along but she most likely didn't want to. I have this headcanon that their relationship was getting better and had potential to work. Arthur would have wanted to stay with them more often as his son got older with each visit. I would say maybe his son was like 4-5 years old the last time he saw him (since it's hinted in the game he taught a little boy fishing during the Jack fishing mission). However, this is when Dutch would manipulate Arthur severely.

He likely pressured Arthur to choose his loyalty to him and the gang over Arthur's son and Eliza. Think about it. When Hosea left to make a life with Bessie, Dutch got really messed up about it. Which explains his disgruntlement with John's loyalty and Abigail. For a bit he lost his family unit and control. He wasn't going to lose Arthur through the same thing. So he starts tightening that leash around Arthur through his low self-esteem and self-worth. He didn't want to lose his best dog. Definitely a red flag, that a lot of the gang members felt obligated that they owed Dutch just because he saved their asses (weird savior complex going on there 😬🙄).

As for why, he didn't seem all that bothered that John left. Maybe he kind of learned from his mistake with Arthur. Under his manipulation, Arthur completely broke when Isaac died (I feel like Arthur never fully recovered from that and Dutch noticed that he wasn't the "same" anymore). So not wanting to break his 2nd Golden Boy he loosened the leash. I'm pretty sure Dutch cared deeply about Arthur and John, and he isn't this evil selfish guy the way I'm describing him. That would be later in RDR1 😆, Dutch is complete bonkers in 1911. He is just incredibly flawed and super weird and a messed up way of showing he cares in 1899 prior.

Anyways I want to draw a storyline focused on the year John left and returned in the Golden Hour. Since the Golden Hour comics are basically about the close bond and eventual collapse of the gang. It would be fun to explore that part of the era of the gang. But once my wrist stops hurting and I have more time. All I can do is talk about it instead of drawing it.

#long rant #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #john marston #the golden hour #discussion #lazypapers answers #character analysis

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milogreer · 1 month

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so uhh this is gonna be scatterbrained. but i'm gonna ramble about milo and (what little info we have on) colm. sorry in advance if it doesn’t make sense i just had to exorcise this demon 🫡

i believe "camping with your alpha boyfriend (2021)" is the earliest mention of colm in an audio. obviously we don't actually know milo's side of things because it's told from david's POV, but we still get the mental image of little thirteen year old milo sitting shotgun in his dad's pickup as they drive to their camping spot. gabe's goofing around in the truck bed to make david and asher laugh, and colm joins in the fun by swerving the truck to mess with gabe. very basic dad thing to do, my dad's done the exact same thing to me and my siblings. it feels familiar and silly, and david frames it as a good memory, so it feels like a good memory. which is important to the point of this post

in "celebrating the new house (2022)," we get a little more colm lore:

My dad was forever blowing any cash he made on fucking bets and gambling and shit, chasing some fucking high. My mom was the only reason we didn’t end up out on the fucking street. He didn’t pull his head out of his ass and get some help until after I’d already moved out. So I never got to have that feeling of being in a house that was actually ours, ya know?

already this is a stark contrast to what we've previously heard of colm (i don't think there's any real mention of him between sept 2021 and dec 2022?) and it kinda makes me look at that old memory in a different light, especially with regards to david saying marie was "nagging [colm's] ear off about being irresponsible and a bad example." like. ykwim? like i'm just thinking about that interaction and wondering how far along those problems were at the time, if they were present at all. was this a normal, fun family outing? or would milo have rather been in the truck bed with david, asher, and gabe?

(and the fact that it wasn't until after milo moved out that colm tried getting any help?? i could make a whole other post speculating about milo struggling with wanting to move out of that environment ASAP vs not wanting to leave marie on her own to deal with colm)

so then i'm re-listening to "your werewolf boyfriend is worried about you" and having a visceral reaction to (re-)learning that colm was also an alcoholic:

But what he chose to do with that frustration and that feeling of powerlessness was not his job’s fault, those were his choices. He’s the one who decided to lose himself in booze and gambling and never being home. Never being there for the people he said he loved but apparently couldn’t stand to be around.

the last sentence especially is just an absolute heartbreaker because milo's, what, thirty now? and he's been dealing with this since he was a kid. clearly he's not on great terms with colm. the only times he ever talks about him is when he's shit talking the department. that is a crazy weight for someone to carry their whole life. i don't have experience with the gambling side but i do have an alcoholic family member who i used to be really close to as a kid but grew up to intensely resent as a result of his actions, so it hits a little close to home to see that reflected in milo

but i digress. umm. i bring up the camping story to highlight the most recent mention of colm from milo and how there were good times and sometimes maybe it hurts to remember them when the person involved devastated you as you grew up because they weren't what you thought they were. and how these things follow you through life and impact how you approach certain things. milo has to live with the fact that the same system that royally fucked colm is potentially going to do the same thing to the love of his life; i never drink more than one shot or half a beer, if i drink at all, and i don't like being around drunk people. even though we don't hear about colm very often, his influence is still there whenever milo has to deal with the department in any way

anyway i guess TLDR; imagine living the majority of your thirty years of life feeling like your dad couldn't stand to be around you because he was too busy drinking himself stupid and gambling away every penny he had as a way to deal with the strain that his job put on him. imagine having to witness your mom struggle constantly to keep you cared for. imagine the few good childhood memories you have with your dad being overshadowed by thinking he didn't love you or your mom enough to change. imagine watching the department run your soulmate into the dirt physically and mentally the same way it did your father and wanting to be supportive of them but also being so worried for them. it's a really interesting situation for him to be in and i enjoy it but it hurts me. the end

#one thing about me is that i will gravitate towards characters with alcoholic family members whether i know it or not #redacted audio #redacted asmr #milo greer #sweetheart.txt #milo #colm

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babydollmarauders · 1 year

Text

HITS DIFFERENT— JACK HUGHES

final part of the Midnights Fic List

summary: in which y/n and Jack were in a relationship for 4 years before deciding to go separate ways, but everything reminds her of him and y/n realizes she’s made a mistake by letting him go.

specific lyrics: “i washed my hands of us at the club, you made a mess of me. i pictured you with other girls in love, then threw up on the street.” and “they say that if it's right, you know. each bar plays our song, nothing has ever felt so wrong.” and “i find the artifacts, cried over a hat, cursed the space that i needed. i trace the evidence, make it make some sense why the wound is still bleedin'. you were the one that i loved.” and “i heard your key turn in the door down the hallway. is that your key in the door? is it okay? is it you?” and “i never don't cry at the bar. yeah, my sadness is contagious. i slur your name 'til someone puts me in a car.” and “love is a lie; shit my friends say to get me by.”

notes: i don't know how i feel about this one. i feel like i could've potentially done better, but anyways MIDNIGHTS FIC LIST IS OFFICIALLY DONE! it's a month later than i had originally wanted to finish it, but it's finally done!

the reflection staring back at me is a bit of a hot mess. mascara smudged, hair tousled, lipstick fading. i stare in the mirror until i feel the sting of the hot water on my hands, pulling them back with a hiss of pain. the alcohol running through my veins helps me avoid overthinking about this dingy club bathroom, my shoes sticking to the floor with every step. but the buzz does nothing to help with the thoughts that run through my mind when i hear the song that’s blasting from the speakers throughout the club.

“y/n/n, you good?” my head snaps over to Marie, her upper body peeking in through the bathroom door. one look at me makes her sigh. “you’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”

“it’s our song.” i explain, as though she hasn’t heard the same excuse at every other bar we’ve been to in the past six months.

“i know it is, hun.” she gives me a pitiful smile, fully entering the grimy bathroom in order to grab my hand.

“it just feels so wrong hearing it without him.” tears well up in my eyes, my heart hurting just a little extra.

“let’s go get you another drink.” i give a numb nod in response, letting her lead me to our other friends that sit in a booth by the bar. at the sight of my state, they both give each other an unspoken glance before giving me a look of pity.

“i ordered you another tequila sunrise.” Beth tells me, sliding the drink towards me. i drop into the booth, muttering a short ‘thanks’ before gulping at the drink.

“lay it on us, babe. what’s on your mind tonight?” Lisa pipes up, sipping at her own drink and raising a brow at me.

“i just— they say that if it’s right, you know. and i thought we were right. but, it makes no sense because why didn’t i know until we broke up? i mean, i knew. obviously i knew, i followed him here from Michigan. but, i didn’t know know until we separated, ya know?”

“i’m gonna be honest, i only understood maybe half of what you just said.” Lisa says, making Beth and Marie giggle. “but love is a lie, y/n/n. sure, you can like someone enough to be with them for a long time, but romantic love? complete bullshit. it doesn’t exist. this isn’t the movies.”

“she’s right. and the quicker you realize that, the quicker you’ll get over him.” Marie nods, pointing at Lisa as she speaks while Beth hums in agreement.

“i don’t know if i’ll ever get over him. i love him. i miss him.” i whine. “i want him back. i don’t wanna be here. i want Jack.”

“alright, maybe it’s time we get you back home.” Beth sighs, tapping her thumbs on her phone. ordering an uber, i assume.

“i don’t wanna go home. i wanna see Jack.”

“you can’t see Jack, y/n. you’re drunk, and you guys broke up.” Marie pats my shoulder, helping me out of the booth and out of the club, the other two girls following behind us.

i continue mumbling to myself, my words slurred, and i’m eighty percent sure that the only actual audible word was my ex’s name.

“c’mon, hun. watch your head.” Lisa coos, helping me into the uber. “we’ll see you on tuesday, babe. get some sleep.”

Marie and Beth call out some goodbyes before Lisa shuts the car door, she motions for the guy up front to lower his window, whispering something to him before he starts off towards my house.

“would it be too late to ask to change the drop off location?” i ask him, anxiously playing with the strap of my purse as i speak.

“i’m sorry, ma’am. your friend just told me you might ask that. she said i’m under strict orders to take you straight to the predetermined destination.” i heave out a deep breath, slumping back into the seat of the car.

it doesn’t take too long to get to my apartment complex, muttering a ‘thank you’ to the man before sliding out of the vehicle and making my way up to my apartment. as soon as i make it into the apartment, i bee-line for my bedroom, stripping out of my club outfit and changing into some leggings and a tank top. i wipe off my makeup and throw my hair up before entering my closet. my sights set on the old USA Hockey sweatshirt on my shelf, i hop up, reaching for the article of clothing. however, as soon as i pull it down, something else comes tumbling down with it, falling to the floor in front of me.

slipping the sweatshirt on, i bend down to pick up the fallen item. holding it, tears prick the backs of my eyes as i realize what it is, Jack’s hat. his New York Yankees hat to be exact. my heart aches remembering the times he wore it. our Yankees game, date nights, even just lounging around the house. clutching the hat to my chest, i sink to the floor, sitting criss cross as i cry.

space. why did i think i needed space? i got plenty of space when he was always gone for roadies. fuck space. i just want him. my fingers trace the Yankees symbol, my tears falling down onto the dark blue fabric. why does it still hurt so bad? it’s been six months.

i know it may not help that i’m still in the same apartment we shared. every piece of this home reminds me of him. but it’s been much too hard to move. i tried looking at other apartments, but nothing felt as right as this one. i’m not ready to give up the last piece i have of the one i love.

too busy crying on the closet floor, i barely hear the lock on the front door turning. my head snaps up at the sound, trying to remember which of my friends have spare keys. Marie, Beth, and Lisa are the only ones, but i just left them. that only leaves two other options, Quinn or Jack. but, that i’m aware of, Quinn is still in Vancouver. i know he doesn’t have another game in New Jersey until next month. which only leaves Jack. i try not to get my hopes up, but i can’t help but wonder if it’s him, if he’s come back. the chances are slim. it’s been six months, why would he come back now?

i come to the decision that it’s probably Marie checking up on me. probably worried about the way i was when we parted not that long ago. it wouldn’t be the first time she’s checked on me.

footsteps thump against the wooden floors, getting closer to the bedroom, and i huddle further into the closet, hoping Marie will just leave me alone. tears still stream down my face as i clutch the hat closer to my chest, letting out silent sobs.

“y/n?”

that’s not Marie.

too exhausted, i opt out of leaving the closet, not even able to get myself to speak without being racked with sobs. i sniffle as i hear him pass the closet, the footsteps stop for a moment before i hear them start again, getting closer to the cracked open closet door. i don’t bother looking, fully believing that at this point i’m a mix of drunk and sleep deprived, just hearing things that aren’t there. i wipe at my eyes but the tears keep coming. i shift to bring my knees to my chest, the hat now gripped in my hands in front of me.

“oh, baby.” i hear from behind me before a body drops down beside me on the floor, pulling me into them. his cologne fills my senses, my face buried into his chest. the scent fills me with melancholy, memories of when he used to hold me close and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. comforting me. making me feel at home within his arms.

“it’s okay.” as if i summoned the whispers with my thoughts, his breath fans across my ear. “i’m here. i’ve got you. i’m right here.”

his reassurances calm me just slightly, but the real help is when he splays a hand along my chest, taking deep breaths. muscle memory takes over as i mimic his breathing.

“what are you doing here?” i ask once i’ve finally calmed enough to speak. i wipe at my nose with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, finally looking up into the blue eyes that peer down at me.

“Beth called me.” he whispers.

“she did?”

“yeah. she told me you’re not doing okay.” he confesses. “she didn’t tell me much more than that. just that she’d really appreciate if i checked on you.”

“you came over here in the middle of the night just to check on me?” i question. “you have a game tomorrow. you should be sleeping.”

“you’re a lot more important than a game.” his hand moves from my chest to cup my jaw. “i told you i would always be here for you, y/n. i meant it.”

“but, we broke up. i didn’t think you cared anymore.” a lone tear drops from my right eye as i speak.

“i’ll always care about you. i don’t think i can ever stop. i love you, y/n/n. and i know you said you wanted space, and i respected that, but i told you when we broke up that i would be here when you decided you were ready.” he pauses, his eyes scanning my face before he continues speaking. “and now i really hope you’re ready because these past few months have been hell without you.”

“i made a mistake. i don’t want space. i want you. you’re the only thing i’ve wanted since i was seventeen.” my voice is barely above a whisper, scared for his response.

“you have me. i’m right here.” his eyes jump between my own and my lips three times before he leans down. i meet him halfway, our lips pressing together in a slow kiss. gentle passion and love radiates between us, his hands cupping my face as mine grip the nape of his neck as if he'll disappear from my hold.

pulling away, his forehead leans against mine. my breath catches in my throat at the sight of the smile gracing his lips. a smile of my own spread across my face and i crane my neck to place a chaste kiss on his lips.

"i missed you so much." i admit. "moving on from boys in high school was so easy, but the heartbreak hit different this time."

"that's how you know it's real. we're real. there's no moving on from us." he tells me. "at least, not for me."

he pulls me in tighter against him, crashing his lips against mine once more, and i feel content again, my life being fixed with such a simple motion.

#midnights fic list #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes blurb #nj devils #faithlynn’s writings <3 #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl blurb

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thedeviltohisangel · 2 months

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Can you do a request for John Egan where a new recruit calls the reader “the major’s girl” in front of them both despite the fact that they aren’t together, just obviously in love with each other?

All The Things I Did (Interlude): A Feeling I Want To Get Used To

chapter 1 chapter 2 interlude 1 chapter 3 interlude 2 interlude 3

a/n: ok tooth rotting fluff. john egan is literally holding on by a thread. which also means my brain wants to put him through hell. if anyone is feeling devious and wants to talk about a spook/bucky disagreement please reach out. let me know your thoughts, interlude requests still open!

Cass was used to whispers and shadows. Sought comfort in them even. You’d be surprised what you learn when people think you’re not around. It was how she learned she’d been given the nickname of Spook. How she had learned Colonel Huglin was coughing up blood. It was also how she learned that, apparently, she belonged to Major John Egan.

She was sorting through her mail at Mary’s desk when her ears prickled with the sounds of whispers coming down the hall. When she heard her name, she paused her sorting momentarily but regained herself.

“...and then apparently he laid her down on top of the table and kissed her right there!”

“No! Lieutenant Cooper would never be so public.”

“Maybe Major Egan is driving her that crazy.” There was giggling that drifted away as they turned down a separate hallway away from Cass. It was not like her and John were trying to keep their burgeoning relationship a secret. He would bring her flowers every morning and they sat together in the mess hall for almost every meal. But they hadn’t been dancing at the base social club or kissed each other on the airfield for all to see. She was certain John would if the idea crossed his mind. Was certain he would do it right this very second if she asked. But she didn’t like being the topic of gossip.

“Find everything you were looking for, Lieutenant?” The secretary came from around the corner and sat back at her typewriter.

“Yes, Mary, thank you.” Cass turned to go but stopped short, unable to help herself. “Mary, I do have a question for you. Were Major Egan and I a topic of conversation amongst the girls last night?”

“Lieutenant-” Mary, for her part, was blushing furiously.

“I’m not asking because I’m upset. Just curious.”

“I didn’t confirm or deny anything, promise ma’am. But the girls all have such a crush on Major Egan and they’ve noticed you two spending time together. And someone mentioned maybe seeing you two at the pub in town and before we knew it, we were planning your happily ever after.”

“Oh.” Cass’ words were catching in her chest. Her heart hammering at the notion that not only had people noticed the something between her and John but that they were writing their own fairytale of it. “Well, on his good days, I do suppose he has a certain Prince Charming quality to him.” They both giggled.

“I promise, Lieutenant, it was just girls chatting.” Cass tapped the stack of envelopes on the desk a couple times.

“Thank you for your honesty, Mary. Enjoy the rest of your day, will you?” She slid her own pair of aviators over her eyes as she stepped out into the morning sun. “John, John, John.” Even the sound of his name put a smile on her face. Happily ever after indeed.

----

John was antsy. Gale was watching him with a toothpick between his lips. The rest of the boys were either dancing with a girl, talking about dancing with a girl or huddled together laughing over training stories.

“I don’t understand, Bucky. She said she wasn’t feeling like going out tonight. You shouldn’t be surprised she isn’t here.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be upset about it.”

“Your pouting is ruining the night for the rest of them.” John scanned the room and they all seemed fine enough.

“Where’s that girl we were looking at the other day?” Two younger men walked past Bucky and Gale and took a spot at the end of the bar.

“James told me they call her Spook.” John’s eyes whipped to the side so quick it made him dizzy. “If she shows tonight, I’ve got to have enough of these to ask her to dance.”

“I’m not sure, Robbie. That nurse I was dancing with said she heard Spook is Major Egan’s girl.”

“Well, if that was my girl, I’d make sure there were no questions about it.” Gale readied himself to intervene in whatever was about to ensue.

“Alright, gentlemen, let’s get a couple of things straight.” John squared his shoulders and held himself to his full height. His threatening words were never able to make it out of his mouth as he watched the two plebeians in front of him look over his shoulder in both shock and awe.

Cass had decided that no one was going to wonder about John and her after tonight. The entire time he had been giving her all of him. Open and honest about what he wanted and willing to go at whatever pace she dictated. In return, Cass had interpreted their dynamic as him trying to find a crack in her armor. To expose the real her. She had been fighting to regain the upper hand. Barely treading water trying to work through the feels he stirred up. But she didn’t want there to be any ambiguity. For him or for anyone else. John Egan was hers. And she was his.

The whole room had gone silent, even the saxophone squeaking out a wrong note, as she stood in the doorway in a red dress looking like a pin up they would paint on the side of a fortress. It was slightly off her shoulder, John drooling over the sight of her bare collarbones, the fabric hugging every inch down to her hips before flaring out into a skirt.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” she whispered to herself as her heels carried her over to the bar. She waved away the Coca Cola he went to place in front of her. “Something stronger tonight. A double.” It went down in one go, Cass afraid to turn around and face the crowd again.

“Cassandra Ann Cooper, you are the most phenomenally beautiful, gorgeous, angelic woman I have ever had the honor to lay my eyes on.” John had love in his eyes. That was the only way she knew how to describe it. And, God, if she didn’t think her eyes were showing love right back.

“Thank you. I’m not used to all these eyes on me.” His eyes flicked down to the empty shot glass on the bar before flickering back to her.

“We can get out of-” His hand was running from her bicep to her wrist to her hand, ready to whisk her somewhere far, far away if that is what she wanted. She shook her head.

“No. That’s the exact opposite of the reason why I came and wore this dress.” She thought back to the hyperbolic version of her date she had heard this morning. Thought back to Mary saying someone thinks they might have seen them. Cass worked in the shadows but she didn’t have to live in them. “Dance with me?” She grabbed his hand before he could answer, as if he would have ever thought to say no, leading him out onto the floor just as the band was beginning to switch to something slow.

“Cass, not that I’m complaining, but did I miss something?” One arm wrapped and settled around the small of her back and the other held their interlocked fingers to his chest.

“Have you noticed people whispering about us?” He thought back to the airmen at the bar.

“Yes.”

“I’m sure it’s my fault for not being as forward or open-”

“Cass-”

“-but I want everyone to know you’re mine.” She felt his heart skip a beat under her hand. “That is, if that’s okay with you.” Words failed him so he chose action. Afraid the word he felt and meant but couldn’t say would slip out.

John held her face between his hands and groaned at the first sweet release of her lips on his. Even with heels on, she pressed onto her tiptoes to get all of him. Cass gripped the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer and closer and closer. She could hear the whistles and the cheers but they were muffled by her heartbeat echoing in her ears. He kept her bottom lip between his teeth when he pulled away, Cass whining and chasing his lips for more. John obliged her with a laugh, a genuine and happy laugh, barely able to oblige her kissing antics around his smile.

“I’m holding onto my last strand of fucking sanity, Cass, but I’m yours. I’m fucking yours.” She smiled wickedly and kissed him again in the hopes of branding his words onto her skin. John lost himself in her easily. Easier than breathing. Easier than flying. Easier than singing the words to his favorite song while he drove down an open road on the perfect summer evening in Wisconsin.

“You’ve got a little bit of lipstick on, Major.” He looked downright sinful with his swollen lips and blown pupils and her red lipstick smudged against his skin. Cass nuzzled her nose against his sweetly, her eyes closing with the warmth of being with him for all to see. “Hey, John?” He kissed her forehead and held himself there.

“Yeah, angel?”

“I’m yours if you’ll have me.” He wanted to say something cool. Be suave and charming and impressive.

“Never letting you go.” Instead he was truthful. They both just had to get through this damn war first. “Cass, I have to tell you something.”

“Can tell me anything.” She stroked her thumb over his cheek and kissed him again, insatiably high on her feelings for him. Cass knew the word to describe them. But she couldn’t say it. Not when it would devastate her.

“I lov-” His declaration was interrupted by Meatball’s barking as he ran towards them. She dropped to embrace him with a giggle, accepting his kisses and scratching behind his ears. “You’re a horrible wingman, Meatball.” John quickly recovered from his near declaration of his love for her. The word and the feelings that went along with it were simmering in his soul the past few days. He was desperate to tell her. Desperate for her to know the truth behind what she meant to him. John didn’t know how much time they truly had but knew they had to make the most of it.

“Sorry, you were going to tell me something.” She stood back up and twisted her fingers with his. John brought the back of her hand to his lips as he shook his head.

“Not important.”

“Everything going on in that beautiful head of yours is important to me.”

“Don’t let Gale hear you say that,” he mused as he leaned in to kiss her again. Cass looked around and noticed they had been swaying to their own beat as the music had changed around them. “I told him I was jealous that he and Marge were able to create their own world whenever they were together.”

“I think we’ve created our own solar system, John.” One where she was the sun he revolved around. One where he hung the stars in the sky just for her. One where they could build a life together and live forever.

“And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He let the way he kissed her and held her and danced with her express the words he had tried to say. Let the way he carried her back to her billet and brought her flowers the next morning, as he always did, express his promise for tomorrow. Wrote the words on a piece of paper and put her name on the envelope before tucking in his trunk. If anything happened to him, he wanted Cass to have it. Wanted her to know he was hers as long as he had known her. That he had dreamt of an after with her. That as long as he was here, that is what he was fighting for.

John could only hope the universe deemed him worthy of having it.

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfic #callum turner fanfic #mota fanfic

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surferblues · 2 years

Text

the cat and the mouth ! ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

part one . . . !

costar! austin butler x fem! reader

warnings smut, reader is an actress , needy austin, p in v, slight praise, no established relationship, bathroom sex, and obviously sexual themes.

prompt " i shouldn’t allow myself to get this close to you. "

Sexual tension was something that constantly lingered between you two, and you both were aware of it. The lustful eye contact, the not so innocent teasing that would leave you both with crimson shaded cheeks, and the longing wishes of hoping a one of you would strike and take action towards your sinful urges.

You liked the tension, the wait, the need for him. You considered it a continuous game of cat and mouse, a game you felt like would never end.

But, one thing you hated was attending the parties that you were practically forced to come to because of your role as Priscilla. They were all the same, full of people you didn't know or parties that died down an hour in.

You had swallowed down your fifth alcoholic drink that had more sugar than anything, but, you had to find a way to enjoy the lifeless party. You had been seated at the mini bar ever since you arrived at the after party, chatting up a few men that you had no interest in and just observing the drunken party goers that had been wandering around and dancing carelessly.

"Just a whiskey on the rocks." You ears peeked up at the familiar, husky voice that you knew all too well. Your curious eyes turned towards the source, landing on the tall blonde boy, who had been wearing a black suit that fit him ever so perfectly.

“This seat taken?” Austin's voice pulled you out of your trance, his finger pointed towards the empty barstool placed right next to you. “No, not at all.” You shook your head, flashing a tight-lipped smile as he took place right next to you.

"I would've never took you for a bloody mary type." Austin husked out, pointing out the drink that head been halfway drunken infront of you. "Me either, just ordered it to make this party somewhat more amusing." You shrugged, raising your dark brows before scoffing playfully as you lifted your eyes back to meet his.

"And how's that working out for you?" he questioned, his brows quirked up as he waited for a response to slip from your lips. his hand went towards the whiskey that he had ordered moments ago.

"oh, just great, having the time of my life." you chuckled, shaking your head with a playful smile as you let out a sarcastic response. "life could never be better." he nodded in sarcastic understanding, he went along with your words, finding amusement at how you covered your bore by using humor.

"im sure there's been a few guys coming over here, trying to talk you up though?" Austin lifted up his drink, his lips connecting with the glass. He assumed so... assuredly, as if his assumption was something he was so sure of.

"I haven't given any of them a chance to stick around." you foretold, dangerously murmuring your words as you grabbed the straw from your alcoholic drink and puckered your lips around it.

"oh, am i the first guy you're letting stick around long enough?" he poked his tounge on the left side of his cheek, slightly twirling the barstool to be in your direction.

"Depends, is there something you needed, Mr.Butler?" You questioned, slowly speaking as you kept your eyes on his. You knew what you were doing, starting up the endless game you two have been going at for months.

"i... " he hesitated for a spilt moment, turning his eyes away from yours as he took a deep breath. "would you like to go somewhere a little more private?" Austin asked in dangerously low tone, he quickly shrugged off his hesitation , lifting his blue eyes towards you. You could read him like a open book. The lustful eye contact, the not so innocent teasing.

"Alone?" You smiled, playing oblivious, smirking to hide the crimson red that threatened to spill on your cheeks. "You know what I mean, darlin, let's not mess around."

"I can't help it, you're fun to mess with." You gracefully moved your hand from the glass cup you had been sipping fron moments ago. " Baby, don't make me spell it out for you... you know i want you."

You two looked like animals - teeth clashing, needy bodies colliding, hands roaming every vulnerable spot of one another's body. You move in sync and the arousal in your panties only escalates, burning your entire body. his hands make their way around your hips, pressing into the bone as he steadies your body against the door.

His clothed knee between your thigh, your hips jutting for friction against your heating folds. "as much as i wanna explore your mouth, i think you need attention somewhere else." his breath fanned over your ear as he leaned his head against the bathroom door that your body had been leaning against.

his hand removed from your waist, slowly trailing down towards your hips... then the end of your little black dress... and the wet lace that had been collecting every drop of your nectar his dangerous words had squeezed out of you.

"is this okay?" Austin drops the cocky demeanor and looks towards you with a caring gaze, his fingers still fiddling with the lace protecting your needy cunt. you nod, lip still stuck in between your teeth. you watch as he slips your underwear right down your knees.

"Austin..." you sigh out, his name coming off as a plea. You wanted him, more than anything.

“stay still, so pretty like this.” he assures incoherently, he takes his hands off of you and instead turns the focus to himself. Unzipping his pants ever so gracefully, revealing his dick that had been poking through his thin boxers.

Your breathed hitch at the sight, precum peeking out through the thin covering. "Do you trust me?" Austin asks, placing kisses all over your shoulder blades. You threw your head back, growling, "Fuck, If i didn't i wouldn't be waiting for you to fuck me."

"that'ta girl." he smirked confidently as he hiked your dress up to your hips, preparing to invade your body with ease. His fingers turned back in the direction of your hips, holding you in place as you felt his tip travel. the precum soaking your swollen button, causing you to throw your head back in nothing but pure pleasure.

"that feel good, yeah?" he nodded his tip swirling around your clit, not long before he moved it again. his tip now traveling, a long stripe gliding down towards your hole.

finally, the game of cat and mouse was over.

#austin butler imagine #austin!elvis smut #elvis presley x reader #austin butler smut #elvis presley imagine #austin!elvis #elvis smut #austinbutleredit #elvis x reader #austin butler elvis #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x reader #austin butler #austin!elvis x reader #elvis presley smut #elvis 2022 #elvis presley #elvis movie #carrie diaries

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d10nsaint · 1 year

Text

❝ MARY JANE ! ❞

— kim dokja, yoo junghyuk, OD and secretive plotter x fem! reader.

notes; SOAPDDJSKDJDKE. request here

Kim dokja;

“Im sorry, Dok-ja! Really!” You followed behind him,laughing,as he stormed off. Anybody who didn’t know what you just did would have thought you really hurt the man. But you didn’t—you may have hurt his pride, but thats the most of it.

“What you just did wasn’t funny,” he whipped his head around. You got a view of the pinch marks on his face and the lipstick stain on his forehead.

“Im really sorry, i swear.” you caught up to him and wiped the stain off with your hand.But all that really did was smother it around.

You giggled as he turned around again.

Yoo junghyuk;

You sat on the gravel watching Junghyuk train. You were bored out of your mind, watching him swing his sword at a thick tree. He wasn’t even sweaty—but he was also shirtless, with his coat, shirt and upper garter belts folded neatly next to you( Courtesy of you not wanting his clothes to wrinkle) and a jug of water you and Junghyuk shared.You noticed that he was holding back his strength because he is obviously able to cut it in half in less than 1/4 of a second.

“Junghyuk-nim, im bored!”, you threw your head back and said. Your hands were getting all dirty from the ground, and your back was aching from supporting itself for so long.

“get up and come train with me.” He walked over to you and bent down near you to grab the water bottle. As he bent dow, you caught a glimpse of his damn-near perfect figure and features. You wondered if he had any fat on his cheeks— or his face, because it was so chiseled to perfection.

In less than a moment, your hands came to either side of his face, harshly gripping and pulling him around.he was severely off guard, and had to steady himself while in a squatting position.

“What the hell are you doing?” He glared down at you, but didnt stop you.

“Wow…you really do have face fat.”

OD;

You were sitting next to ■■ as you both ate. He was eating rather quickly— as if you and Plotter had never fed him, ever.

“Hey, look at me.” ■■ turned his head and looked up at you, big innocent eyes looking at your soft ones.

You grabbed a napkin off of the table and wiped his face from his mess. As you wiped, you noticed how his face turned red and he flailed his hands.

You smiled softly, then kissed his forehead.

“Your food wont go anywhere. If anything, you can get more, so make sure to chew, okay?”

Secretive Plotter;

You sat next to your husband watching the scenario—or rather, kim dokja—amusedly. He had taken the cloak off and had an arm wrapped around your waist as you both sat in your shared bed, with a few of the kkomas surrounding you.

This is perfect, and looking up and to your side, you also see that Your husband is, too.

You turned your body over to the side so you’d be fully facing him. He looked down to see what you were doing, and you suddenly pushed him over on his side and started peppering kisses all over him.

“What in the hell are you doing?!,” He grunted, as you kept kissing his face. If he really wanted you off of him, he would—no, could push you off. But here he was, wrapping his hand around your waist whilst pressing you down onto him. He would never, ever, get angry at you for your spasms of affection. He loved them, truly.

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swbookerr · 23 days

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Been doing a lot of thinking about Shanks...

And the more I think about him, the likelier I find it that he could be some kind of antagonistic force. (In my heart of hearts? I don't believe it. But speculation is fun!) This is a bit of a jumbled mess of thoughts, but I figure it'll be interesting to write it down and see how wrong I am at the end of the series.

So, here's two predictions I think are pretty likely:

Luffy will destroy Mary Geoise and, with it, Fishman Island and part of the Red Line—thereby creating the All Blue. (I think this is fairly self-explanatory considering Madame Shyarly's premonition.)

Luffy will find the One Piece, but Buggy will become the Pirate King. (Perhaps becoming the Pirate King has some greater meaning/responsibility that Luffy rejects? Whatever the reason, Buggy seems to be heading in that direction—he's essentially been used as a placeholder before, after all, as a Warlord and Emperor.)

When I think about Shanks' role in the future, it's very foggy. We don't know a lot about Shanks, obviously, but if Buggy is to become the Pirate King, then the way they've juxtaposed him with Shanks is interesting. Shanks and Buggy are, like, opposites in terms of ambition (by which I don't mean what they seek, but how they seek it, and how they feel about their ambitions altogether).

[Important note: There's some great posts (try here, here, here, and here) talking about Shanks and Buggy's history. The gist of it is that Buggy never truly believed in himself because of Shanks' obvious potential; that Shanks was a bit of a bully, intentional or not; and that Buggy set his sights on a lesser treasure, never aiming for the OP because of Shanks' existence—only for Shanks give up on heading to Laugh Tale, their dream, altogether.]

Shanks was always the one considered to be Roger's successor; he was the one who got the hat. He shared his aspirations with Buggy, promising they'd go to Laugh Tale together—and then gave it all up when Roger returned from Laugh Tale. Which, of course, hurt Buggy tremendously, alongside all of Shanks' other transgressions (such as the mishap with the Devil Fruit, and losing Buggy's treasure map).

Buggy's feelings for the hat, and for Shanks, sour and complicate as their lives go on, even as they find distance from one another. While I do think Shanks has a lot of regret for what happened with Buggy, he tries to look toward the future, hence the importance of Roger's legacy and the straw hat. Buggy, of course, knows the importance of the straw hat more than anyone—it's why he's so furious to see Luffy with it.

Keeping Buggy in mind, Shanks meeting Luffy becomes more interesting. He gives up the straw hat he loves (that Buggy loves) to a little boy he supposedly loves—but why? Because he sees Roger in Luffy, because he believes Luffy is The One, or because Luffy ate the legendary fruit? Would Shanks, in a universe where Luffy wasn't chosen by the Gum–Gum Fruit, give up his arm to save Luffy? Would he give Luffy the hat? A classic question. I mean, I like to think that he would—I think Shanks comes across as a sentimental, kind man, if a little rough around the edges—but I don't know so.

Besides, simply giving Luffy the hat could be construed as an antagonistic act, as it potentially puts a target on Luffy: the right people will know whose hat that is, and will wonder why he has it. Oda frames it as an inheriting of wills, but it's not like he's not retconned things before! Either way, the feelings Buggy must have when he sees the hat not on Roger, not on Shanks, not on himself—but on Luffy? Some random kid? Fuck.

Fact of the matter is that we all know Shanks saved Luffy, in part, because Luffy ate the fruit. But what if that was the sole reason? What if Shanks saved Luffy simply because he knew that Luffy, as Nika, was the only one who could find/use the One Piece? Perhaps Shanks' plan is to use Luffy to grab power for himself. In a story about governmental oppression and the corruption of those in absolute power, it doesn't seem too far off. Especially if Shanks' past and his mistakes have warped him a little.

Extrapolating from what little we know of Shanks, and of Joy Boy and the Void Century, I'm not sure what Oda will do. The basic possibilities, as I see them, are:

Shanks is an ally to Luffy and gives himself up for Luffy's sake. Perhaps he dies while helping Luffy, potentially before they've had a chance to meet again. (I can see him dying in the fight against Blackbeard or Mary Geoise, for instance.) Or perhaps Oda makes it rhyme: perhaps he's sick like Roger, or something, and he acts in sacrifice, the way Roger did in unleashing the Great Pirate Era.

Shanks acts as an obstacle for Luffy to fight in pursuit of the OP. I think this one makes the least sense because the only reason I could see Shanks doing this is to test Luffy, but he already knows that Luffy is Joy Boy, so there's no point.

Shanks is antagonistic, but has a change of heart! By which I mean: Luffy does it again, folks! Shanks is using Luffy as a means to dismantle to world order, after which he can seize a lot of power for himself—but Luffy persuades him against it. (Look, this doesn't make sense with the Shanks I envision, but what do I know, huh?)

Shanks is the antagonist. I mean, I guess we don't know his background, do we? People have long suspected he's of noble birth, having been found in God Valley. Regardless of whether he's working for or against the World Gov, we have no idea how powerful Shanks really is. And, if he's got less than noble ambitions, a small, trusted crew makes sense, I suppose. Yet Blackbeard fills this role pretty neatly: a tale of betrayal in pursuit of power, playing the long game, etc.

Shanks doesn't die and everything is hunky-dory. Look, I don't want my favourite swashbuckling drunkard to die, but this sounds pretty boring, doesn't it? Shanks guides Luffy right to the finish line and everyone cheers! "The One Piece is the friends we made along the way! Yeah!"

SO, what do I actually think is going to happen?

I don't know. This is a mess. I have so many more thoughts but this is already too long. Send help.

(something about how shanks not wanting to become the king perfectly sets up buggy to take the position... something about luffy denying becoming king for freedom-related reasons... something about shanks potentially changing his mind and chasing the one piece because of the promise he made with buggy... something about how shanks never got to give the hat back to roger, so it would make sense if luffy also can't return the hat, and thus gives it to buggy instead... something about buggy finally getting closure... )

#idk what i'm talking about honestly #i just have a lot of thoughts #and feelings #this is NOT succinct and I am NOT okay #buggy's jealousy of shanks translates to luffy #and that's partly why him becoming PK as a stand-in for luffy makes sense #imagine luffy giving buggy the hat...#also I am NOT caught up to OP I'm just autistic as fuck and don't care about spoilers #one piece #character study #shanks #buggy the clown #monkey d. luffy #one piece meta #my posts #shuggy #kinda

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evsstolenhearts · 8 months

Text

FUCKING BITCH

YOUR A TEENAGER IN THE SHAW PACK AND BRINGING YOUR PARTNER TO A PACK MEETING FOR THE FIRST TIME!!!

For reason, your partner in powered but not in a rival pack, clan, ect.

Requested by @frog-0n-a-l0g <3

Also, I want gonna post this till tmr but I changed my mind, i dislike not having constant posts.

David: is kind and greets them, tells them to tell him is anyone messes with them, ect. But also silently watches them almost creepily....

Asher: you know that scene in the first My Big Fat Greek Wedding? Where Toulas brother meets Ian and is like "I'll kill you, I'm joking! No really, no one will find your body. Just kidding! Totally... joking..." that's Asher. Super kind, but will threaten your partner lightly.

Milo: is with Asher when he threatens your partner. Also nice, but his nice is weirdly unsettling... like yeah he pats your partner on the back and puts his hand on their shoulder... but it's weirdly stiff and threatening. But pretty supportive.

Tank: sits of to the side with Sam. Is silently judging your partners character, but is surprisingly supportive, understands how awkward it is to bring a partner to a pack meeting. Unlike David or asher who had human partners, Tank and Milo have powered partners and it feels like a weird amount of silent pressure. Will be the first to hide their body tho.

Marie: surprisingly doesn't say much. She smacks milo and asher upside the head for being menacing assholes, but she does care. She obviously was with Milo's dad for a while and understands a toxic relationship. So, she's less threatening and more observant on how you and your partner act, how they treat you, how you treat them, so make sure you are in a healthy relationship, even if it's not a forever relationship.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted teenagers #redacted darlin #redacted david #redacted tank #redacted asher #redacted milo #redacted marie

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randomnumbers751650 · 5 months

Text

I finally have time to talk about Lone Trail. I will be focusing on its depiction of science, technology and its progress. Will get a bit political, but funnily enough less than I imagined.

The thing that called my attention most in Lone Trail were the discussions on the nature of scientific progress. This is a theme that’s dear to me and the stuff I research about. It’s easy to think of scientific progress like an inevitable march forward, like an escalator. After all, we are much richer than we were before, right? Go to OurWorldInData dot org to play around with economic statistics in time – make sure to check the World GDP chart, from year 0 to 2000 and see it taking off like a rocket from year 1700.

What kind of Uncle Ted fan or neoluddite would go against that? Haha…hah…

Truth is that, although its effects are there, it’s not a clear if this is the little, neat process techbros want us to believe. It’s new and produces more, therefore it’s good, right? I could be writing this as a new wave of AI-generated NFTs pollute my algorithm.

That’s what makes the storytelling in Arknights so effective: it mashes together fantasy and sci-fi to really tell stories on the role of beliefs, technology, science and religion. The Rhine Lab saga is definitely an exploration of technology, with focus on the equivalent of the United States. During the period before the First World War, 1870-1913 (which is the one that Arknights draws most from), the world underwent through the so-called Second Industrial Revolution and I’ve read economic historians considering it the most innovative period in human history. I mean, obviously, there is an absolute number of inventions in our current age, but in relative terms 1870-1913 experienced a much larger number relative to the previous one.

The escalator narrative constructs scientific achievements as work of daring people (mostly men, but there were women like Marie Cuire), that combined science and technology to help mankind, like Prometheus giving mankind fire from the gods (in fact, one of these books is even named “Prometheus Unbound”); more than often they have to fight against the establishment. Remember Ignaz von Semmelweis? He just wanted doctors to wash their hands. Even I learned this standard narrative in the university. But that’s not the entire story.

The positivistic paradigm – of a science free of value judgements, made with the power of math – has actually helped build this escalator narrative. In reality, some scientists and scholars are horrible people. Later, I learned that Semmelweis, as much as he campaigned for the right thing, was a very arrogant person, who abused everyone around him, to the point few people went to his funeral.

Narratives focusing on one single hero are easy to sell and the ones building them are always on the lookout. Remember how ten years ago, a lot of people tried to push the narrative Elon Musk was going to create a new industrial revolution? Nowadays he’s just an arrogant loser who keeps dragging on his midlife crisis. The 1880s also had similar people like that, such as Thomas Edison.

Kristen Wright is definitely better than them both, because she is actually an engineering genius. But she’s also just like them, in the sense of unethical experiments, collusion with the military-industrial complex and being an overall superficially charismatic, but rotten to the core person. And she’s surrounded by a lot of people like Parvis and Ferdinand.

Breaking this line of reason, I have to say how much I hate Nietzsche’s ubermensch and master-slave morality, I hate Great Men theory, I hate Ayn Rand; these people are sheep who think themselves wolves. And before you say that Nietzsche didn’t consider himself an ubermensch, well, neither did Parvis and his reasoning was the same. For every person fancying themselves ubermensch, there’s a lot of those whom he’d call untermensch to clean up their messes. You have no idea of how times I stumbled upon people (especially libertarians) that advocate lower barriers to regulations that were written in blood, so that progress can happen quicker. Creative destruction works, as long as some people get “creative” and others clean the “destruction”. Deaths and injuries? Acceptable, just give them a pension (but fight tooth and nail in the court to not do it beyond the barest of the bare minimum, because it’ll lower the shareholder profit in 0.01%). Increase in inequality? Nobody will care in a few years, it’ll make everything cheaper anyway (look up Baumol’s cost disease to see how wrong that statement is, without being incorrect). I’m not exaggerating, sometimes the people saying that don’t even bother lacing it in politically correct language.

Because Lone Trail showed it “worked” – Kristen Wright broke off the ceiling over Terra and that will have consequences (especially with Endfield coming closer). The data from her experiments will advance science, the sight of a broken ceiling will inspire artists and prompt politicians to act. Was it worth it? Well, it will depend on who you ask (like, Ifrit or Rosmontis would have strong feelings), but it’s just there now. Serious history isn’t kind on this question as well – many technologies have a lot of transgressions, both legal and ethical, in their supply chain (both the American and Soviet space program come to my mind – guess who helped them); the difference between an entrepreneur and a criminal are contextual, because both are finding new opportunities of profit and both interlock frequently.

In the end, anyone can put an equation that has its uses, not mattering if it’s a good person or not. But that is no excuse to find good ethical practices. Silence saw everything with her own eyes and I’m really glad she’s leading the initiative for a more ethical science in Columbia – especially because people who are willing to break moral rules tend also to be willing to break research rules (this is why the “research” made in concentration camps is actually useless, it didn’t respect experimental rules). So I’m really glad for the Arknights writers for understanding these nuances and communicating them to the audience through one of the best stories of the game.

#arknights #lone trail

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