#the circles should function a little differently and i think there is

[skyheld]

vg being like 'this isn't the south we don't have circles' you can't fool me game i remember. the circles started in nevarra.

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 31st. tom riddle — breeding kink, raw sex.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: tom has a dream about fucking you raw, and decides it’s time he ditches the self-restraint.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, needy tom riddle, fingering, slight begging, desperate sex, PIV, creampie, incoherent babbling/dirty talk, breeding kink, literally the most feralized and needy and pathetic tom i have ever written .

You wake up to the feeling of Tom at your back, sometime within the early hours of the morning. 

Not an unusual occurrence, per say, but you're vaguely aware of the fact that the desperate way he's gripping your waist and pressing against you isn't just par for the course—something's off—and you don't get to wonder or question what exactly it is because within a second he's pressing his lips to your neck, murmuring your name, and stealing your cognitive function before you even get the chance to wake. 

"What—" you manage to get out, just as his hand slides up the front of your shirt and his lips continue mouthing against your neck. 

"Hm?" He murmurs, as if he's doing nothing unusual, as if you aren't completely aware he's pressed up against you like an animal in heat.

"Are you," you're struggling to get the words out as his lips graze the spot on the nape of your neck that makes your breath catch. "Okay?" 

He stills for a moment at that, before he makes an amused sound in the back of his throat, as if the question is almost funny somehow. "Should I not be?"

"I just...mmf—" a whole body shudder goes through you as his hand reaches the underside of your breasts; palming, squeezing. "You seem—different." 

"Different," he echos against your neck with a smile. "In what way?"

"Uh, needier—oh," his hand slips from your chest to the front of your pyjama pants, grinding his erection against your ass. "What's—gotten into you—"

"You, of course," he husks, and the fact that he can be cocky while he's practically pinning you to his chest is the perfect bloody summary of him. "Who else?"

"Well—I mean—" the words leave your lips in a hissing moan as his hand, that beautiful, steady hand—slips under your waistband and wastes no time in finding your clit, long fingers swirling tight little circles against it. "What—ohhh—" 

"You do know that you're asking way too many questions," he whispers, teeth nipping at your ear lobe as he runs his index and middle fingers down your slit. "I'd rather you be moaning my name as opposed to doing a million cross-examinations on my behaviour."

Well, that certainly shuts you up, at least on the verbal side of things—because the gasp that leaves your lips is not entirely something you can control, considering the fact that you're suddenly very aware of just how badly he seems to need you right now.

"I think that was progress," he croons between open-mouthed kisses, absentmindedly making you shiver and jerk as his fingers resume rubbing and massaging your clit. "Good girl." 

You whimper faintly at that, and you wish you could hate the way you react to the praise on principle only—but that's kind of hard to do when it's him, and he's doing the praising in the first place. So instead, you just try to keep any kind of higher brain function intact, regardless of it being a losing battle at this point.

"I just need you," he practically groans, and it's the strangest thing to hear him say when he's usually just fine being all smug and self-composed. "I need to feel you, now."

It's the closest thing to him pleading that you think you've ever heard, and the guttural moan you let out as he slips one of those long slender fingers inside your embarrassingly slick cunt is the closest thing to feral as you're sure you've ever been. 

"Need," you whimper as your hips jerk, and it takes an embarrassing amount of time to realize that it's a sound you've made and not some kind of vocal fry of his. "Need me, why?" 

He doesn't answer right away, not in words—just sucks your earlobe into his mouth in a way that makes you want to scream. "You're not usually this difficult." 

"M'tired." The argument is weak, at best, but you're not exactly in any kind of frame of mind to try and make sense of the situation. "And you're—intense—"

"Yes," he murmurs, that smug tone still needling your eternal irritation. "And if you must know, it really is because of you. I had a dream about you." He punctuates the sentence by slipping a second finger into your slick heat, and you barely manage to keep a whimpering moan inside that you just know he would love to hear. "Fuck. It was a beautiful dream." 

He bites at your ear again, and it occurs to you that the desperate edge to his voice might have something to do with just how good the dream of you felt—or how badly he'd clearly wanted it to be real. 

You suddenly need to hear every goddamn detail. 

"Felt you for once, without protection," he tells you, as if reading your mind, and you whimper at what you're pretty sure is a pretty profound confession. "Even better than I thought you'd feel—fuck—"

"You're not the only one who's thought about that," you manage to get out, and you're not even being coy about it—at this point you're simply trying to deal with the realization that Tom Riddle having a wet dream about you is apparently enough to turn you into a pathetic, drooling mess. "But you are the one who's always been insistent on using condoms."

Oh, the low growl he lets out at that is a dangerous sound—it's low and guttural and it makes you realize that there's a very real chance this is going to go somewhere you might have trouble walking away from. 

"Yes, well," he pauses, and you can practically feel the fire in his eyes. "I'm just realizing I might have been a bit of a fool."

"You, admitting you're a fool?" You somehow give a half-assed scoff at the idea as you try to hold onto your sanity. "I think hell just froze over."

He laughs at that—actually laughs, and it does strange things to your insides to have it directed at you. 

"Maybe I'm just in a very specific sort of mood." 

"Oh?" You manage to raise an eyebrow. "And what kind of mood is that?"

"The kind of mood," he says, in an almost growl that you're trying to interpret through the haze of trying not to moan, "where I throw all reason out the window. The kind of mood where I forget all self-restraint."

"That's a dangerous thing, coming from you," you choke out, because that is true, but you're only half-thinking through your words before you say them, half your brain stolen by the curling of his fingers inside you, massaging your slick walls. "You don't usually—"

"Never," he cuts you off, like he's fully aware of just how different this is and trying not to admit it. "Until you."

Well, you don't know what to say to that—because you know him, and you know he doesn't usually lose himself in things like this, not like he's apparently doing now. 

"Oh?" You gasp, as his thumb sweeps over your clit, making your eyes roll. "So I've made you reckless." 

His answer comes in the form of a low, grunting sound of agreement, his grip on your body shifting a bit as he pulls you back tighter to his chest, rutting his erection against your ass. 

"You've done more than that," he murmurs with a sigh right in your ear as his slick fingers slip out to draw wet little circles against your clit. "Fuck it. I need to feel you—please, let me fuck you right. No protection."

Oh sweet Mother of Merlin.

There were a lot of words in that sentence that you were fucking sure, just a minute ago, were entirely out of the question for him. Not a soul on god’s green earth could have prepared you for the feeling that utterance just invoked—and you can't help but let out a helpless, wanton groan in response—his fingers driving you directly to the very edge of climax—

"I need a word out of you," he grits, and you realize then that you're both at the mercy of something he can only half control as he ruts against you again, his fingers slowing as if he's edging you— "please." 

You wish you could give him something teasing, snarky, maybe even witty. Something to needle him for just how beside himself he is, something to call him out for the feralized broken thing he's seemingly been reduced to. 

But you can't, because your climax is right there, and he's moving his fingers too slow, denying you of it on purpose—

"Yes," you whimper, the word like an answer to a prayer you hadn't even known you were praying for, and you realize somewhere behind your consciousness that you're desperate and aching inside for so many reasons, all of them because of him. "Please, fuck. Please, do it—I need—to cum—"

And at those words—that plea—the need in them, there's no stopping the sound that tears itself out of his throat, and before you can even think he's jerking your pyjama pants off your thighs—

"Wanna feel it—" he hisses as he frees himself next, tugging you against him and lifting your thigh toward your head. "Need to feel you cum when I'm inside you."

Oh, and at this point you're begging that you'll survive this. 

You're at his mercy, as you've been before, but in a completely different way—one that seems to be fueled by whatever animalistic thing is driving him today, and you're left with no defense besides the knowledge that he's doing this because if he didn't, he may just lose his goddamn mind. 

And for as much trouble you generally get into by enjoying him being cocky and in control of the narrative, this—this is something you've never once experienced. Tom on the edge of falling completely apart in his need for you, desperation and need taking a front seat to his usual restraint and control.

He's between your thighs before you can blink, and then he's pushing in. "Oh, fuck."

It's a sensation that's completely different when there's no barrier between you, and you're pretty sure that if it wasn't for the fact that the animal in his chest has risen to the surface, taking you by the throat, you would have gasped out in a moan so loud it woke the entire fucking country—but somehow, someway, you manage to tame it. 

His face buries in the crook of your shoulder, and it's a sound of guttural relief as his breath goes shaky and unsteady right in your ear.

"Feels so good," he whispers as he sinks in—as his thick, throbbing dick disappears into your greedy cunt. "Too good."

'Too good' feels like the exact wrong thing to say right now, at least in your mind, because you're pretty sure you'll take the fact that this feels so good you're scared it might kill you to your grave. 

"Oh my god." You manage to get out the words through the haze, and you're barely even sure what you're saying, your head thrown back against his shoulder, his arm coming up to wrap around your throat. "Oh my god, Tom." 

He responds with a shaky curse of your name, and you’re absolutely certain somewhere in you is exploding, something in your gut is coiled so tight it's like holding in the biggest possible secret of the world that you're desperate to scream to someone—

"So wet. So tight. I'm never starving myself of this again." It's a confession that steals your breath, and you struggle to keep breathing, struggling with trying to keep your world from spinning away as he starts to make shallow, languid thrusts into you, free hand slipping down to your clit. "Let me feel it. Let me feel it all."

You keen. "Fuck! Please."

It's the only word you can manage in a half-hysterical moan, your hand grabbing onto the one he's wrapped around your throat as if he's saving you from certain destruction, as if he's the only lifeline you'll ever find—and maybe, you think that's okay, because you're so used by him in so many ways that right now you don't even want another.

"T-tom—" his fingers swirl your clit in perfect time with his thrusts and you're clenching so tight your entire body is almost stiff. "Tommmm—I'm fucking—"

His teeth bite down on your shoulder with such ferocity you'd think he wanted it to bleed, and you're not even sure it's intentional as his body tenses against yours, tugging you back like he's trying to crush you into his chest. 

"Yes. Yes," he hisses again, and it's broken. "Please give it to me."

'Please give it to me' are the best five words you've ever heard from his mouth, you think with the quarter of your brain that’s still functioning—and it's like you've been waiting for permission without realizing it, because you feel fireworks going off behind your eyes a moment later. 

"Oh fuckk! Yes, yes, oh!" 

You cry out, so loud you'd be nervous about someone hearing you if the pleasure wracking your body wasn't so powerful you're pretty sure you're going to feel it all the way into next week—and there's a sound like something coming undone against your skin as his teeth dig deeper into your shoulder, a sound that's like a low, guttural moan of your name before he shutters something in half-broken words you're not even sure he's meant to.

"Oh yes—god, you're tight—fuck—"

You can't answer him, but it doesn't matter, because a moment later it's all painfully forgotten with the way he lets out another moan against your shoulder—

"That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it. Just like that."

It's the pet name that does something to your insides, twisting them up in a way you can't quite parse through the haze, but it's enough in the moment to make tears prick unbidden at the corner of your eyes as he jerks against you, his breaths coming in shaky, heavy pants against your skin as his own climax draw closer, and there's no way this wasn't something you both needed that neither knew how to ask for. 

"Tom," you manage to whimper, and it sounds like a prayer of your own creation. "Tom—"

It's like he needed to hear you moan his name like that in a way that's primal—because in that moment his hand moves from your neck to your hair, and he clenches his fist into it, pulling, and it's enough to make a shattered moan force its way out of your chest and up to your throat. 

"M'close. Mmm. So fucking close," he hisses against your skin. "M'gonna—fill this tight cunt."

And god, it should be alarming, because you've always been careful, careful, careful—because you've always known the risks, the consequences, but right now you're having a hard time remembering why you ever thought it was a terrible, terrible idea to let him do this. 

"You're—Tom—you—"

"I know,” he groans, and it's like a plea, as if you're saying something out loud that he doesn't want to admit he knows— "just take it. Let me—fucking breed you."

There's a moment where your chest seems to constrict violently at that, where you're almost sure you must have a heart condition because it feels like skipping a beat is the under-explanation of the century, but it's gone as quickly as it came, and god if it wasn't as profoundly hot as you know it shouldn't be. 

“Jesus—Tom—“ there're a lot of things you know you should be saying, things you'd planned to say—or not do, as the case may be—but the only thing that leaves your lips at this moment is, “please."

And he doesn't know if it's a plea or a prayer, but either way it’s all the same because there’s no stopping the sound that leaves his lips as your answer sinks into his brain, as the meaning sinks into his bones: the low, guttural, primal sound of a man losing pieces of himself in something that he doesn't care to stop. 

"Oh—" he chokes out. "Oh god—"

It's like it's taking him like he wants it to, stealing him up in a way that both makes him feel both more whole than he's ever been and like he's lost more of himself than he can possibly cope with at every other moment all at once, and you're pretty damn sure you'll be the only thing that survives it, in the end— 

And then, he explodes. "Fuck—"

It's a choked-off sound that tears violently into the room without his permission, one that claws its way out of his chest and up his throat in a way that feels simultaneously like falling into and being pushed off of a cliff straight into oblivion—

"Mmm yes. Yes. Take it—" he's twitching inside you, hips trembling as he pumps his release deep within your walls. "Fuck. Fuck yes." 

There's a million and one responses to everything he's done and said in the last few minutes that dance on the tip of your tongue, but you're not entirely sure you have the mental capacity to do more than manage a shaky whimper at this point, and all you're even remotely sure you can do is respond to his own moans and gasps with ones of your own. 

"Tom," you whimper as he finally slows. As you both work to catch your breath. "I wish you had dreams like that more often."

He just laughs, a breathless, unsteady thing.

"That's my fucking girl." He mutters. "All mine."

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🧃 How to Develop a Vibe AND a Plot (aesthetic doesn’t cancel arcs. let’s balance them.)

hey you. yes, you. the one with the moody playlists, the 73-tab Pinterest board, and a half-written draft that just keeps…vibing in circles.

if you’ve ever written 10k of immaculate vibes but couldn’t tell anyone what your story is about, this post is for you. because here’s the thing: ✨ aesthetic is not a substitute for stakes. ✨

let’s talk about how to keep your ✨vibes✨ and actually have a plot that moves. no ✧ fluff ✧ just structure, character arcs, and some lovingly blunt advice from your local writeblr gremlin (me).

🌊 1. aesthetic is a result, not a premise

the most common mistake i see is starting with a vibe as the story. like:

“sad girls on the beach in 1996”

“a cursed forest full of dead gods”

“a pastel academic rivalry with secrets and sexual tension”

cool. great. love that for you. but… what’s the story? what’s happening?

✨vibes = setting + mood + tone. ✨plot = choices + consequences + change.

your aesthetic can inspire the story (please keep making playlists. i love them). but don’t confuse the feel of your world with the function of your plot. start with tension. stakes. character flaws. emotional damage. that’s the engine. the aesthetic is the paint job.

🎯 2. define your “emotional throughline”

okay, so you’ve got an aesthetic. what’s the emotional core of it? your plot should orbit a single emotional question, like:

will this character ever let themselves be known?

what does it take to unlearn loyalty?

is love worth destroying something sacred?

start with that. then attach aesthetic scenes to it.

🧩 pro tip: aesthetic scenes are more powerful when they contradict or complicate your emotional throughline.

ex: your story’s about loneliness? show them at the loudest, busiest party. story’s about grief? show them smiling in photos while everything breaks behind the lens.

aesthetic is stronger with irony. contrast. juxtapositions. don’t just bathe the reader in vibes. weaponize them.

💥 3. let your aesthetic hurt your characters

whatever your aesthetic is--soft academia, vaporwave horror, regency witchcore, don’t make it just a backdrop. make it an obstacle.

your setting should create problems. friction. conflict.

if it’s a sleepy coastal town: what’s festering beneath the quiet?

if it’s a hauntingly beautiful forest: what does it take from people?

if it’s a cursed mansion: what happens to the girls who stay too long?

every time you design a pretty place or moody visual, ask: ❓ how does this setting test my characters’ beliefs or desires?

because then your aesthetic drives the story forward instead of just decorating it.

📚 4. develop plot like a playlist: structure the escalation

your aesthetic playlist has structure, right? (don’t lie. i know you’ve got a specific song for act 3 heartbreak.)

plot works the same way. it’s not a mystery. it’s escalation.

you want a structure? here’s a dead-simple one:

give your main character a desire (internal & external)

give them a reason they can’t have it (flaw, fear, lie)

make them try anyway (rising stakes)

make it cost them something (midpoint shift)

force them to change or break (climax)

let that change play out (falling action / resolution)

that’s it. apply that structure to your vibey little story and suddenly it’s a book.

👁‍🗨 5. plot is what they do - vibe is how it feels

don’t choose one. you can have both.

you can have a soft lighting scene on a rooftop and the secret betrayal reveal. you can have dreamy prose and broken character dynamics. you can give me worldbuilding so lush it smells like petrichor and rot and still give me a plot twist that leaves me feral.

you just need to be intentional.

every scene = a purpose. every aesthetic = an angle. every image = tied to stakes, desire, or change.

✨ that’s the difference between “ooh pretty” and “oh my god i can’t stop thinking about this story.” ✨

💌 so in conclusion:

start with an emotional arc

let your aesthetic scenes earn their place

make your world fight your characters

escalate, escalate, escalate

and stop hiding a lack of plot under “vibe” like a glittery throw blanket over a broken chair

you’ve got this. now go write the beautifully messy, aesthetic and emotionally devastating story you were meant to.

i believe in you.

🧃rin t.

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[corkinavoid]

Case File: Unexpected Gift

They are unpacking their massive haul at Jazz’s place — because books had to be welcomed into their new home and organized first — when Tucker pipes up from the video call.

"Hey, what's that in your pocket?"

Everyone turns to him. Well, to the laptop sitting on Jazz’s desk, if they are being entirely accurate, where Tucker's face is illuminated only by a cold, blueish-white glow of his screen. It's only an hour of time difference between Gotham and Amity, so, if it's just barely past ten here, it should be around nine there. Danny still doesn't understand Tucker's commitment to sitting in the dark despite having a perfectly functioning lamp in his room.

Sam is on the couch, studying her Gala dress critically, accessories and other clothing items that Danny doesn't even recognize thrown around her in piles. Dani is down on the floor, surrounded by her colorful, bright, and shiny new possessions like they are trying to take her in occupation. Jazz, books in both hands, stands by her bookshelf, her face pinched in thought like she's deciding a fate of a nation and not sorting through her library.

Danny, who's only loot from today's trip is a tiny picture that he photobombed, frowns.

"Who's pocket you mean?" He asks because Tucker's tone doesn't sound like he's just pranking them.

"Dani’s," comes a response, "I was connecting to the Bluetooth speaker she got, the one that looks like a bunny-"

"It's a speaker?!" Dani snatches the fluffy white thing — to be fair, Danny also thought it was just a toy until now — and shoves her intangible fingers inside it, feeling it. "Makes sense why it cost so much, okay," she snorts a second later.

"Yeah, but there's another audio device in the range. In your pocket," Tucker patiently returns their attention to the matter at hand.

Dani leaves the bunny-speaker alone and shifts, searching through the countless pockets of her cargo pants. The first two come out empty, the third one produces some ancient-looking bubblegum package, but then, as soon as she shoves her hand in the next one, she frowns in confusion.

What she pulls out is a tiny, no bigger than a bottle cap, dark metal disk. No markings, no logos, nothing that could even clue them into what it is.

"I don't know-" Dani starts, but Sam is already jumping up from the couch in a flurry of expensive fabric.

"That's a tracker!" She points to the thing, and then turns to Danny, pointing her manicured finger at him, "I knew Caroline was a spy!"

First, why does she say it like it's Danny’s fault, but he doesn't voice that. Sam is merciless when she's in a state of righteous fury.

Instead, he freezes and raises his hands up in surrender, like he's dealing with a particularly aggressive animal. "I mean, who's to say it was her?" He tries.

"We were at the mall the whole day," Jazz joins in, her back turned to the commotion as she keeps putting books in their places. Trust his sister to treat a surprise tracker as an everyday occurrence. "Anyone could have placed it. Think of that consultant in the lingerie store, she kept going circles around us like a shark. Or the guy who tried to hit on you in the food court."

Reasonable arguments. Danny raises his eyebrows pointedly at Sam. She huffs and flops back down on the couch.

"But who else, other than that girl, could be so interested in some random tourists that they plant a tracker on them?" She argues, "Think of the motive!"

That's a bit rich, coming from her, the daughter of millionaires. Not to mention the whole gallery of Danny's Rogues, ghost hunter parents, Dani’s position as the 'little princess' of a crime empire, and Jazz being involved in that same empire as well. There are not enough fingers on Danny's hands — naturally, he means, since he could sprout a dozen or so more of them — to count all the people who'd want to track them.

"Okay, good news, it is, actually, a tracker," Tucker cuts in, causing them to pause.

"Why is that good news?" Danny threads carefully, and Tucker grins, his glasses reflecting the light of the screen.

"It's not a bomb, a bug, or some mind-controlling chip," he explains, smug. "Although it can, technically, record audio, but I doubt it caught anything beside your Caroline and Jazz speaking — the tech is new, and the rest of you are way too contaminated. So it's fine."

"Except now they know where I live," Jazz adds casually, and that makes Danny’s stomach sink. He was too focused on who planted the thing to think about the consequences, but-

"Relax, Jazz has a gun, and, like, five people guarding this apartment," Dani waves him off — his face must be telling — and turns to the laptop screen, "Can I eat it?"

"Sure, just make sure it dissolves completely," Tucker shrugs.

"Wait, I have people guarding my apartment?" Ah, so that's the part that gets Jazz’s attention. Danny snorts, watching Dani throw the metal thing in her mouth and chew on it with a satisfying crunch.

"M-yeah, Vlad put them there," the little gremlin confirms offhandedly, "Don't worry, they have reasonable shifts, weekends, and he pays for their dinner breaks." She picks the fluffy toy speaker again and turns to Tucker, "Hey, can I connect my phone to it?"

"Gimme a sec, I'll add it to our ecto-net set," the boy hums, his hands already clicking the keys.

Danny looks at Sam. She is glaring at her dress like she is attempting to set it on fire with laser vision. Thankfully, she doesn't have it.

"I still think it was her," she states, purposefully not looking at anyone in the room. Danny shrugs, as careless as he can manage.

"I mean, I'm not saying you're wrong," he admits, because, technically, it could be. "But she doesn't look like she's evil. Besides, didn't you ask her if she needed a ride yourself, and she refused? Why plant a tracker if she'd known where we lived anyway if she agreed?"

"You have a crush on her, I don't trust your judgment," Sam retorts. Which, ouch. True, but still ouch.

–○–

This is a part of Crime Scene Do Not Cross fic, and takes place a few hours after Chapter 3.

Honestly, every one of them has had too much experience with trackers and stuff to be truly alarmed by it. So, the Team Phantom's approach to unsolicited stalking is just 'yeah, we'll cross that bridge when we get there', because if they try eliminating all the suspects one by one, it would take ages, between Danny being the Ghost King, Sam having supernatural ties, and Vlad's whole business.

However, it was not Tim’s tracker.

[identifying-wrestling-moves]

Wrestling Move Explainers: The Irish Whip

I figure we should start simple. As simple as possible, with the move that’s so frequently used and so integral to wrestling you may forget it’s even a move at all: The Irish Whip.

The Irish Whip gets its namesake from the man widely considered to be its innovator, Danno O’ Mahoney. This move is also known as a Hammer Throw. 

O’ Mahoney’s Irish Whip is slightly different from the Irish Whip we think of today, but they’re similar enough to where it still kinda counts.

Modern Irish Whips, however, look like this:

(Except, yknow, it usually doesn't have that power walk included.) Simple move. A wrestler grabs their opponent’s arm, and pulls it while rapidly turning before letting go of the opponent’s arm, leaving the opponent running.The Irish Whip’s primary purpose is function. The existence of the Irish Whip allows the vast majority of all wrestlers in existence to access or flow into certain moves in their arsenal more easily. Most Irish Whips are done into the ropes, allowing the wrestler to use their opponent’s momentum to hit some harder offense. These moves tend to be more valuable a lot of the time because adding momentum means adding damage, so wrestlers will go for them a lot to get an early advantage or at the end of a match if they've got some particularly nasty offense for opponents running into them. Irish Whips are also frequently done into the corner to set up for a wide variety of corner-based attacks. 

The Irish Whip is somewhat risky however, as the distance and speed it creates allows a wrestler’s opponent to counter them with some hard and explosive offense. Because of this, a lot of momentum shifts and comebacks in wrestling will start with a wrestler being Irish Whipped and then countering their opponent as they run back into them.

On some occasions, an Irish Whip itself can do some damage. Sometimes you’ll see a wrestler go for an Irish Whip and put all of their strength into it, effectively launching their opponent into the corner so hard that the impact does significant damage to the opponent’s back or chest. This is usually done to show that a wrestler is more powerful or more dominant than their opponent. 

Additionally, there’s the simple act of throwing one’s opponent into some kind of hazard. This could be the outside ring post, a barricade, a cage, or some exploding barbed wire, among other things. This is more common in matches with some kind of hardcore or deathmatch stipulation. In standard wrestling matches, an Irish Whip like this is used to indicate a willingness to get a little rough or dirty during a match either due to viciousness or desperation.

Lastly, sometimes a wrestler will simply choose to not let go when doing an Irish Whip. This allows a wrestler to quickly pull their opponent into them in order to catch them off guard with some higher velocity offense from short range. This is ironically more akin to how Danno O’Mahoney originally used it. Wrestling has a way of coming full circle like that sometimes.

Anyway, that's the Irish Whip just in case you didn't know the name or some of the particulars. Some of these Irish Whip gifs were surprisingly difficult to find. Hopefully I can find them more quickly next time on the next one!

[carnatus89]

Shen Qingqiu triple trouble!

So, System Possession AU of @artsarasp is going through, stuff let's say. Angsty stuff. So of course my mind was like.

Let's make shen triplets!

The situation is, Shen Jiu has his fatal Qi deviation, Shen Yuan dies by choking on food and all is normal. But, some error occurs, and both Shen Jiu’s and Shen Yuan’s souls are in danger of disintegrating from the Qi deviation. The System notices this and tries to fix it, forcing the soul to generate a body to occupy from basically thin air. But there’s a problem, since there’s two souls that are now generating a body, meanwhile the original body is still functional, though has been metaphorically dragged through the mud. Thus, both Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan materialize with new bodies while the System is absorbed into the spare body.

So now we have three Shen Qingqius. And the System is Not Happy.

Neither is Shen Jiu to be honest.

Shen Yuan somehow convinces both the System and Shen Jiu that they should pretend to just be brothers, make some bullshit about trapped consciousness to fool the peak lords, while he wacks his brain to try to avoid death or punishment from the enraged System. Which can still give both points and punishments. The problem is that since he got the short end of the stick in the body lottery, he has to be very careful of exerting the body’s limits, so he can’t get agitated. And giving punishments is very agitating. Shen Yuan is basically trying to make the System care. If Wall-E can love, so can the System, wouldn’t it be better for the story if he becomes an active member? It would also be better to leave the story to develop itself organically, think about all the character development! So the protagonist can have a more round support cast! If he read something like that, he wouldn’t have criticized so much the papapa scenes since he could just focus on that! What do you think System-bro?

Meanwhile Shen Jiu is very conflicted, since these, what, fakers? Clones? Some type of demons? Are stealing his face and seem to have some ulterior motive, but both seem eager to ‘help him’ somehow. Granted, the blue eyed freak is creepy as fuck, a fake cherfulness that all his instincts scream to get away from, but he’s mostly… nice. The definition of the word, at least. The other fake is snarky, doesn’t really back down from a verbal dispute, and, while infuriating, it’s more real. Safer, in a way, more honest. Besides, the blue eyed one is useful when trying to find synonyms while writing or finding the name of a song he couldn’t remember well. They can stay, for now.

System is actually scared. They saved the scum villain character, but made a bigger problem while also becoming… vulnerable. How could they make sure the story functions if they have a weak and frail body? They are forced to play along, become a more direct support to the characters to make sure they stay in line. But [User02] seems to have other ideas, and while they must punish him, they really can’t without suffering themselfs. The original scum villain for the most part follows the script, but he also seems perturbed by their presence, which is fine. All is fine, they should be able to fix it.

Somehow.

The three of them are mostly the same in appearance. The major difference that the peaklords catch on is the mark on the forehead (I don’t remember what it is called). Shen Jiu has a lotus flower painted, Shen Yuan has a dot while the System has an empty circle, resembling a zero. Both Shen Jiu and the System have their clothes correctly, while Shen Yuan doesn’t really know how any of his layers of clothes work, so he fastened the belt around everyone, even the outer robe. Finally, the System has their hair tight to their head, Shen Jiu has it a little loose to let it flow but staying neat and clean. Shen Yuan just, tries his best. Finally, the System’s face is kinda cartoonish, they make faces that shouldn't be possible, stretching his smile wide and making their eyes a little too big. Both Shens don’t mention it much, they just say they’re special.

I don’t know what came to me to do this shit, but now’s here, deal with it.

Spanish rambling when this idea just came barreling through my brain.

[lastoneout]

Hey @ my fellow bitches and besties who deal with a lot constipation/gas/bloating because of IBS or other digestive issues!!

Did you know there's a way to deal with it at home on your own without medication?? Because my doctor sure didn't fucking tell me about this!! But I just tried it because my gas always makes me SO fucking nauseous that I can barely function and it takes like an hour for my nausea and IBS meds to kick in, but I always feel the urge to rub my stomach when I'm bloated, so my Wikipedia boyfriend ass googled it and YEP MASSAGING IS BACKED UP BY SCIENCE.

The article does say to not do this if you have recently had abdominal surgery, but here's the method:

"To perform abdominal massage on yourself.

Lie flat on your back with your belly exposed.

Overlap your hands on your lower belly and hold them here as you focus on your breath.

Warm your hands by rubbing them together for about 30 seconds.

Apply any oils that you’re using.

Use the palm of your hand to massage your entire stomach in a clockwise direction several times.

Then massage the centerline of your abdomen, starting below your sternum and ending at your pubic bone.

Do three more lines an inch apart down the left side of the abdomen.

Do the same on the right side of the abdomen.

Then press your fingers into your navel firmly.

Continue massaging with gentle pressure and circle outward from your navel in a clockwise direction.

You can spend extra time on specific areas or trigger points that feel like they need some extra attention.

Do this for up to 20 minutes.

If you don’t feel comfortable massaging yourself, you can also have your abdomen massaged by a massage therapist. Call before you make your appointment to see if the therapist performs abdominal massage. Not all masseuses provide this service."

I also found a slightly different one from the University of Michigan!

"Massaging your stomach can help to move stool along the inside of your colon. It may help relieve symptoms of tightness, pressure, cramping, and bloating.

Start on the right side of your stomach down by the bone of your pelvis.

Rub in a circular motion lightly up to the right side till you reach your rib bones.

Move straight across to the left side.

Work your way down to the left to the hip bone and back up to the belly button for 2-3 minutes.

Rub with your fingertips in a circular motion. You may press a little deeper with your fingers.

Spend about 1 minute moving from the right hip bone to the right ribs then 1 minute across the middle (gently) and then 1 minute down to the left bone by your pelvis to the belly button.

Repeat rub, always in a clockwise motion, for 10 minutes."*

I was literally so nauseous from being bloated that I couldn't even swallow food without feeling like I was going to puke, but I did the second one just sitting up at my desk, clockwise like they both said(I'm assuming bcs that's the direction things travel through your gut) and within like 2 minutes I felt better. I cannot BELIEVE no one has ever recommended this. Fucking life-changing. I used to just sit there and drink sprite and hope it was over soon and now I don't have to do that!! And if people already know about this that's good but like, again, no one EVER told me about this so if this can help even ONE person who struggles like I do I'll consider it a win!

Also, for clarification, I'm not advocating ditching your meds obvs, I just know it takes a while for pills to kick in and I don't think people should have to be miserable while they wait when there's something easy you can do to get some quick relief.

(*I added more bullet points to the second method because the wall of text was a little hard to read.)

[soleminisanction]

I've always really liked DC's in-house choice of referring to their various superhero groupings as "families," but it has gotten a little frustrating recently with people both in canon and in fandom seeming to forget that families aren't just a parental-unit-and-kids formation. They're complicated, and a lot of the DC families are too messy to fit into that neat little nuclear family mode.

Which is to say... here's some scattered thoughts/summaries about how these families are actually structured in canon, because I think it's interesting:

Supers -- The smaller, more traditional Superfamily (Clark, Lois, Kara, Kon, etc.) is a pretty traditional Midwestern nuclear family, with Jimmy Olsen filling the role of close family friend/goofy neighbor sidekick (in the Silver Age, he was Kara's would-be suitor) and Steel feeling more like part of Clark's personal circle of friends. The recent line up, though, with Jon, the twins, Kong and Nat? Starts to feel more like some old dynasty or noble house, complete with fostered foundlings and the Steels acting almost like knights under a noble's banner, possibly reflective of what the House of El would have been on Krypton.

Arrows -- Might currently be the closet to a traditional nuclear family structure. You've got Ollie and Dinah, their younger sisters, Ollie's adopted and biological children, and Ollie's granddaughter through Roy, plus by some counts Roy's co-parent and her sister as "in-laws." Bonnie and Cissie King-Jones are adjacent to but not technically "part" of the family, though I believe it's implied at one point that Ollie might also be Cissie's bio-dad. Pretty straightforward, these guys are actually family and they act like it, for good and ill.

Shazam Family -- Also a literal, actual family. Not originally, the original golden age "Marvel Family" was considerably more complicated and only Billy and Mary were full siblings, but nowadays the whole point of the modern Shazam family is that they're foster siblings united by familial love and that's fantastic. Meanwhile your average Black Adam story is 75% angsty family drama, 25% Egyptian mythology references.

Flashes -- Technically closer to three nuclear families (the Allens, the Wests and the Garricks; four if you include the Quicks), two of whom are united by marriage and all of whom are bound by the Speedforce, which, given its semi-spiritual connections to things like Speedster afterlives, can act almost like a religious force that connects them to the additional members like Avery, Circuit Breaker and Max as Bart's foster-dad. They're a big, sprawling tree with more cousins than siblings, the kind of family that functionally has a reunion every Christmas and Thanksgiving.

Lanterns -- Now these guys are the exception that proves my point about the whole 'family' thing not being straightforward. The lanterns aren't a family, they're a corps. Soldiers. Space cops. Comrades-in-arms. They respect each other, have each other's backs, might even like or care about each other, but those last two are optional, and they don't have the same kind of assumed obligations towards each other that a family would have. They're friends and co-workers, not family, but that doesn't mean their relationships are less significant, they're just different.

Wonders -- Roughly half of them are either one of Hippolyta's daughters (Diana, Donna, Nubia pre-Crisis) or related to them through the gods (Cassie), and the other half (Artemis, Yara, modern-age Nubia) use sister as a term of endearment more in a utopian lesbian commune kind of way. I think they brought Steve Trevor back recently? He's basically the Ken in this equation and perfectly fine with that role. None of which should be surprising if you've seen Professor Marston and the Wonder Women.

Bats -- This is the one that people get really wrong when they try to force it into a traditional family structure. Don't let WFA fool you, the Bats are and have always been way more a snarled mess of tangled interpersonal relationships than they've ever been a cohesive family. Whether Dick is Bruce's son or his brother depends on what era you're talking about, and the former reading is much more recent than you think -- as in "started cropping up in the early 2000s" recent. Barbara is both Cassandra's sister and her mother. Duke and Steph both have living parents and neither of them want or would ever dream of treating Bruce like their dad; Tim was the same way until his dad died. None of the Robins ever lived in the mansion together, nor did Cass. Babs considered Jean-Paul Valley her brother and Huntress is so close to Tim she once hallucinated him calling her Big Sister. They're a beautiful mess of people finding places where their broken edges fit together into something that works for them and trying to reduce it down to a cozy nuclear family is just so goddamn reductive and lazy.

Blue Beetles -- Are only tangentially related to each other. Seriously, they never even get direct mentoring, each one just takes over when the previous one dies and works on completely different rules from the other two. They're complete strangers bound by a legacy and that's honestly pretty fun.

Zataras -- There's only three of them and they're literally a father, daughter and cousin.

Martians -- Not really a family because there's only the two of them, but an interesting case where the two survivors of what was functionally a war of mutually assured destruction came together in an attempt to find some peace in the aftermath of what they'd lost.

Titans -- The JLA and JSA aren't really in the "family" category, but the Titans lean into it hard, mostly because they're a textbook found family. They don't mirror a nuclear family structure, they're simply a group of people who came together to form a mutual support network. They're the idealized college friends you grew into your own with, some of them childhood companions and others you only met once you leave home for the first time, but all of them friends that you manage to maintain contact with for life, with everyone coming back together even as you scatter and do your own things.

Young Justice -- Meanwhile, this team is the chaotic group of misfits you hung out with when you were a teenager, especially when you were just starting to be allowed to act without adult supervision. You drive each other crazy, none of you know you're all queer as fuck, and you'd fight a bear for any of them even if they asked you not to. They'd probably be insulted if you tried to call them a family. They come out here to get away from their families, thank you very much.

[susiekern]

9. the one in Kyoto

warnings: swearing, suggestive, mentions of sex, change of pov's in the last part (it was much easier to me to put what I wanted in like this, sorry)

word count: 1.704

lyrics from: The Apparition - Sleep Token

masterlist

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Why did you think that sharing a room with Megumi would be a good idea? Why, God, why? Your brain keeps going in circles as you lay in bed and scroll the reels on Instagram. You really try to focus on anything, from weird 5-minute crafts to tarot card reading, but as soon as the girl starts with how your sign is in a ‘space for love life troubles and enlightenment,’ you block your phone and put it on the nightstand. Love life troubles, yeah, who would've guessed? You don't need an Instagram witch to tell you that. It's been what, two weeks since you've slept with Megumi again… for the first time? One more time, huh? That's what you've been telling yourself, when the next day you found yourself knocking at his door with a coffee and a book or when he invited you for a movie night two days later. It just felt too good. Having someone you're heavily attracted to, you feel comfortable around, and you actually like talking with.

Should you two talk about what's going on? Yeah, definitely. Are you going to be the one to start this conversation? Hell no.

A buzz of your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, at least for a moment.

"You’re sure you don't want me to just take the couch?” So focused on texting with Nobara, you don't even notice when Megumi comes back from the bathroom. His hair is a little damp, and he's wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. Way too low for your brain to function properly. “I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Megs, we've slept in one bed like three times this week. Was I uncomfortable back then?” You smile a little, signaling him to the other side of the bed.

“Fair.”

When he lays down, there's a space that feels like a valley between you. Why does it feel awkward? It's not any different from how you've been sleeping two days ago. Well, except now at least you're clothed. Both of you lie on your backs and look at the ceiling like it holds an answer to this unspoken question.

“Yeah, we're not sleeping like that. Come here.” Maybe after a minute or so, Megumi sighs and opens his arms to invite you in. And he doesn't need to repeat himself. In a second you're by his side, head on his chest, and a leg draped over his hips. He rests his arms, one over your waist, the other behind his head, as he leans his cheek on top of your head.

“This is nice.” You murmur into his skin, breathing in the smell of his body wash. “Goodnight, Megs.”

“Goodnight, y/n.”

Your alarm is going off, there's a heavy weight on your body, and you're overheating. Great.

“Turn this shit off.” The weight moves slightly, only to bury itself more into you, as Megumi groans in the material of your shirt. 

Somehow you manage to reach the nightstand and blindly tap the phone until it stopped screaming. With open eyes now, you can finally see the ‘weight’ that is in fact a bigger part of Megumi's body. You must've shifted throughout the night, because now you're the one lying on your back with the man wrapped around you like he's holding a teddy bear. His face is buried right above your navel, arms keeping you close, so all you can see right now is his messy hair and muscles on his shoulders and back. You sigh and try to move, but his hold is harder than you've anticipated.

“Megs, I need to get up.”

“No, you don't.”

“Um, yes. Yes, I do. I need to be at the event in two hours.” It's like talking to a wall, you think. Megumi couldn't care less, and somehow he wraps his arms even tighter. “If you squeeze me to death, I'll haunt your ass, I swear.”

“5 more minutes, come on.” He raises his head a little to look at you, and hell, how are you supposed to say no to his sleepy eyes and messy hair?

“5 minutes and not one longer.” His head is back where it was before, and you can't stop the smile that makes its way onto your face. One of your arms is on his shoulder, circling the soft skin; the hand of the other is playing with his black strands.

5 more minutes won't hurt, right?

'Why are you never real? Whenever you appear You leave me with that grace’

She should be excited. Trembling with emotions, right? She's at the show of the band she adores, invited by the vocalist whose voice itself wakes up the feelings in her that many people could never. She can see him clearly, standing in the middle of the stage, hands gripping the microphone, words flowing from masked lips with so many emotions behind them it makes her shiver.

‘I am trembling with fear But I know that you will disappear Just as I awake, whisper in my ear ‘

So why is her brain focused on something else? Or rather, someone else. She recalls this morning and how her heart warmed up seeing Megumi right after waking up. How good it felt to lie in his arms, brush her fingers through his hair, and trace his muscles with her fingertips.

‘Well, I believe Somewhere in the past Something was between You and I, my dear’

Her eyes are fixed on Zenin, and a stupid voice in the back of her head tells her he's looking at her too. She wants to believe it. That somehow she managed to catch his attention, that she was in a way special enough for him to spend his time watching her streams and talking to her. He suggested more than once that he actually wanted to get to know her. He showed her he was interested in her thoughts. The hopeless romantic deep inside her mind wanted to think, ‘What if?’.

‘And it remains With me to this day No matter what I do This scar will never fade’

What if they kept it up? What if both of them would open up and let the other one in? Would Zenin even be able to do that? With how secure he is about his real life? Hell, would she even allow it to happen in the first place? Trusting someone whose face she's never seen, not even learning his real name or hearing his voice while talking, not singing, seems insane. The rational part of her is saying how stupid she was. Telling her, she shouldn't waste time on either of them, Zenin nor Megumi. Zenin is an unattainable dream of a teenager. A love story written by a fangirl, something she has seen many times on the internet. Megumi is… a challenge. The one she wasn't sure she wanted to take up. A few weeks ago they couldn't stand being in one room without fighting, and now they share a bed and cuddle in the morning? Their relationship is evolving fast, but it only means she isn't sure how thin the ice beneath them is and how long they could keep it up before it collapses.

‘So let's make trouble in the dream world Hijack heaven with another memory now’

He knew she'd be here, obviously. So why did his heart speed up like it was surprised when he saw her? When picking a spot for her, he tried to put her as close as possible, but why? To keep an eye on her? To help himself with just her presence? He knew how pathetic it was, and he didn't need the looks his friends sent his way just minutes ago in their private room when Toge saw y/n’s Instagram story. Why did it even matter?

‘I make the most of the turning tide. It just split what's left of the burning silence’

She wasn't here for him, for Megumi. She was here for Zenin. He once thought he and Zenin were one and the same person, but it's never been true. It took him some time to understand it. Zenin is his mask. The one he'd put on when everyone and everything became too overwhelming, when he couldn't meet their expectations or deal with his own emotions. Because when Megumi was terrified of his own feelings more often than rare, Zenin would put them in beautiful words; he'd let them flow onto the paper, sometimes hidden in sentences so well he himself had a problem with decrypting them.

‘Don’t wait, ‘cause this could be the last time You turn up in the reveries of my mind’

Maybe that's why he reached out to y/n as Zenin. Sure, a part of him wanted to make a little dream of hers come true, but he had to admit to himself it was a selfish act. Talking to her as someone she doesn't see almost every day, someone who didn't start their relationship on a bad note. He wanted an opportunity to open up to her, to show her the part of him no one had seen before. Even if she had no idea that it was part of Megumi. But what is he going to do next? After building two separate relationships with her? Would she hate him if he told her all about it? If she found out that Zenin wasn't real, that it was Megumi all along? That it was his voice she adored so much? That Megumi was too scared to show her his feelings?

‘I wake up to a suicide frenzy Loaded dreams still leave me empty’

He should tell her. Fuck. He should've told her before they had sex again two weeks ago. Before he found comfort in holding her body so close to his own. Before he caught himself missing her, not only her body, just her, throughout the day. But what exactly should he tell her? That he was Zenin? Or that he started falling for her and he doesn't even know when? He will tell her tonight. He has to.

‘I believe Somewhere in the past Something was between You and I, my dear’

tag list (lmk if you wanna be added!): @nytylie @fresa-luna @syrooo @zaranobiyuyu @jvpit3rr @pandabiene5115 @good-mourning0 @pearlydays

[generalsdiary]

Ratio and Aventurine are Sherlock and Watson coded but not in the way you think. Where one might assume Ratio would be Sherlock because of his intellect and analytic approach to life and the comments he makes, allow me to switch the perspective. Aventurine is an addict. To what? To feeling like shit and endorsing it, to having low self-esteem, to rejecting everyone in a way so no one gets too close and realizes how vulnerable he is, how much he yearns for love. He hid it away so well that he himself isn’t aware anymore of how much he wants it. to be loved, appreciated, and seen as more than just his luck- much like Ratio wants to be seen for more than just his achievements (poor man ain’t aware of how much he wants it either). Aventurine plays this perfect little role of a charismatic, lucky, fun-to-be-around persona. And that’s all it is, a play, a stage act.

let us switch gears back to Sherlock and John. Sherlock is also an addict, depending on at which point in the timeline, it is nicotine, drugs, crime cases, and similar. Here is where the point lies. Who is the one that pulls Sherlock out of that shit, out of the drug den, to hide his cigarettes away? John. We think Sherlock functions fine… before John, sure. After John, after Mary dies; oh no, Sherlock is not well without him. He can barely function, (yes, Mary’s death comes also in account here, but I won’t get sidetracked), living in a mess, doing drugs again, smoking, treating himself like shit and like he is worthless. So, who reminds Sherlock of his worth, of his genius, of the fact that he is human and not just a performance act that he puts on of deducting others? John. Both Sherlock and Aventurine throw these spectacles, these performances, these acts of a grand image, they play it and they dance to the song that others sing, moving to the melody that strangers decide; playing into whatever image that is painted of them no matter how untrue it is, ex. Aventurine will play a gambling alcoholic as much as you wish although he is more than that, and Sherlock will play the killer, the crazy ‘psychopath’ that kidnapped those kids and poisoned them, and he is also more than that. The difference is that Sherlock performs his knowledge and analytic skills, unlike Aventurine who keeps those cards close to his chest- that is how he survives, that is how he survived, his instinct, his trauma making him aware of a lot of things in his surroundings and aware of everyone else; carefully analyzing everyone to ensure his safety. Aventurine is better with his tongue, knowing what to say and when to say it, with much better people skills- that is what got him this far after all; so, he performs with flashy promises, with fun games- gambling with his own life because what is it worth to him anyway anymore? it circles back to his ‘the only survivor trauma’. Sherlock was ready to gamble his own life (S1E1) and who stopped him? John. Well, more like who saved him. The drug addiction that Sherlock has is a bit downplayed and it always ends fast within the episodes, but in its own way, it is also his gamble, him not valuing his life as much as he should.

yes, in a way Ratio and Aventurine can both be Sherlock. But it is not about Sherlock, as much as it is about Watson. And exactly what Watson brings to the table, to their relationship. In the case of Johnlock, Ratio is very much Watson. The one to tell Aventurine his life matters, the one to go along with his plan of deceiving Sunday- because Aventurine had this great plan, a huge gamble. sound familiar? The usual thing about Sherlock with big plans, ex. exposing Mary after getting shot, going to Magnussen’s to sell Mycroft’s PC. And who follows along even when they don’t agree? John.

to take into account Johnlock in the later episodes/at least the second season, when they are closer- we are brought up to speed on where Aventio are. it is a well known fact that Aventio knew each other before the first scene in the hotel of them interacting. So, they have a history, and their period of getting familiar is over. They know each other. we only see John openly criticizing Sherlock later in the series, be it insulting him or calling him out on his bullshit. The same thing happens with Aventio, where Ratio is the one to openly state his thoughts and criticize. While yes, one may argue that that is in Ratio’s character to behave as such, if we recall the scene between Ratio and the MC, he doesn’t behave that way if unprovoked. And Aventurine wasn’t provoking him, hence the conclusion. As much as Ratio seems like the black sheep here, the odd one out (which he is don’t get me wrong), in this perspective it is Aventurine who is that. and yes, Ratio walks on eggshells around him, apologizing for his harsh words. these two aren’t the perfect puzzle pieces for Johnlock, they do differ in the way they walk in public and who leads the way, and of course the point of this isn’t to make them overlap, but to draw parallels. And while writing this, truly a lot of opposing things came to mind, where both couples differ in such vast ways, all four being complex, rich characters- it pained me that Aventurine and Veritas would be compared to Sherlock and John only in the way that the “genius” matched the “genius”. smh.

Now the way Ratio is Sherlock is very simple, he doesn’t consider himself human- more like, doesn’t allow himself to be human, to feel, to connect, to breathe; when he is too much of a human – and the main reason he wasn’t accepted into the genius society. Poor Ratio, cursed because he wants to help and spread knowledge, what a mean fate struck upon the burned out gifted autistic asexual kid. To switch to Sherlock (also very autistic asexual coded), he is the most human out of them all, (I believe Eurus calls him that but I don’t recall the exact quote, also pointed out by Mrs. Hudson, John, and Mycroft), trying to be this analytical machine when his caring bleeds through his skin, evaporating through his pores, his love for John and so many others making him pull himself apart and do anything to protect them, ex. killing Magnussen, giving himself to Smith to a guaranteed death, faking his own suicide to protect Lestrade, John, and Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock who, much like Ratio, wishes to be strict in his way of life, but cannot help wanting to explain and help others, and Ratio here differs by wanting to help everyone improve while Sherlock is willing to help only after the person has shown some amount of will, intelligence, proved themselves in some way (Irene Adler) or he so rarely happened to like them (ex. the kid that was at Mary’s wedding). Although, their shared way of calling others around them idiots is neat. I’d say this is their main connection and outside of it they are extremely different characters, which is why further comparison is pointless and shallow if you just want to compare characters because they are quote on quote the clever one.

Case in point, Aventurine is Sherlock because Ratio is John, and the one that saves him. The one that grounds him, and Aventurine NEEDS him. He needs Veritas. And Sherlock needs John. Therefore, Aventurine isn’t Sherlock without Ratio, much like there is no Sherlock (be it books, movies, or the show) without John. It is more about the relationships between them than the actual characters, and that, honestly, makes it even more beautiful.

[wasyago]

yago what if tango and etho are somehow the last two standing, what do you think would happen are they gon be at each others throats or

statistically, there's only like.... a 0.04% chance of both of them making it to the end, considering how skilled and good at the game they both are... but if it were to happen...

god i don't know. this whole "tuff guys" situationship they got going on is honestly driving me a little crazy, because bdubs is over there like "etho, let's kill tango!", etho is in 10 different alliances simultaneously and let's be honest bdubs and tango aren't the strongest of the bunch, and tango is still for some reason trying to keep them together even if he knows it's gonna backfire. i am NOT normal about the whatever episode it was where tango was playing the leader, and his goals were to help each other survive and get kills? when originally they said that they shouldn't trust each other and that they should backstab each other if the opportunity presents itself??? and the other two are very clearly very ready to kill tango if they can????????? while tango is not doing anything about it and pretends that they're a functional team?????????????

so. if it was only tango and etho left. i feel like they're both very set on "doing what they're supposed to" in a way, so they'll both try to win and kill each other. i dont see them being all like "oh no we're allies we can't kill each other" because they were never really allies.

i think etho can be a bit ruthless at times, unintentionally or not. the moments from limited life come to mind, one where he kills skizz ("i just wish you were better at the game") and another where he kills joel ("you saved me, so now i can kill you"). so it's not new for him to kill people he was close with. and i dont think tango can be an exception... it takes a lot for etho to feel like he owes the victory to someone and that he should sacrifice himself for them. and tango sadly didn't earn his loyalty. (a point can be made that etho didn't want his loyalty to begin with, but im not gonna talk about it because im afraid ill have to fly to canada afterwards for unspecified reasons)

so. etho will most likely try to be the tough guy he always wanted to be, and he'll earnestly try to win and kill tango. "nice guys finish last" is a horrible way to phrase anything but i feel like at some point etho would say that.

tango however... tango has this thing where he kinda gives up at the end, because he doesn't deem himself skilled enough to win, so he just goofs around until he dies (did so in limited and secret lives, don't remember anything about others sadly). that's why it's so hard for him to be in the last two. i think he will be a little lost on what to do when it's only him and etho left, because there's no more room for messing around, this is serious suddenly, he either dies or he wins the series. that's a lot of pressure. but losing intentionally is not really an option, he has to at least try to win, to not be a total disappointment. and i mean, cmon now he can't lose to etho. etho did nothing to even make tango consider giving him the victory willingly, etho betrayed them.

maybe they'll make a little tuff circle to fight in <3

i doubt it though. there's not a whole lot of tension and drama between them to make them take their time to resolve it and give proper attention to their last fight. they'll probably just meet in a field somewhere and everything will happen too quickly and anticlimactically.

they both suck tho so idk who'd win :/

[heartfullofleeches]

Oh god PLEASE do a short with creep reader giving horrible torture ideas to Host while the contestants look on in horror.

(sorta forgot the short in your ask, but I hope you enjoy)

You are in an office.

The wall directly to your south is missing, but you can't see that far behind you - and so it is still there. A man sits cross from you at the other end of the table. You sense the presence of others in chairs beside you, but trying to make out distinct features from their grainy silhouettes only worsened the dull throbbing in the back of your skull. The amount of attention should bother you, but the significance of that man and yourself overshadowed them like the phantoms they were. Besides you, he's the most important in the room. He's your boss afterall.

Bathed in grey from his suit to his slicked back hair to even his skin, the man nurses an equally monochrome mug branded with the cheeky title of "A Show Host." The only bout of color on him was his tie which was curiously the exact shade and hue as your favorite color, and the book he held in his free hand. A quaint little journal with its lock popped and the key still in your pocket. Your brain screams to steal it back, but same as you can't look anywhere except ahead your body has lost all control of the rest of its motor functions.

The man barks a chuckle at the twisted thoughts you've put to paper. He removes his tie and tucks it smoothly between the pages of your journal, folding his hands neatly on the table as he closes it shut. His excessively wide grin peaks further as your eyes meet where his should be.

"Before we begin our meeting I must say what an honor it is to have such a clever mind in our little studio. Been a big fan of your work for quite some time and I think it's time to put some of your works to action."

The man tilts his sightless gaze towards the table. There are three folders where blank space once preoccupied. You gain control of your limbs as your fingers wiggle in the direction of the one closest to you.

"Those folders contain everything you need to know about the lovely contestants joining us today. Hopes, fears, ambitions, regrets- All you need and more to cook up some delicious punishment for our losers. Anything and I do mean anything is on the table. Give us your deepest, darkest fantasies and we will be more than glad to make them reality. The ball's in your court, and the pen is in your hand."

You open the first folder - gripping the pen in your sweaty palm as you read. As told, the folder is chalk full of notes on some guy just a couple years your senior. Someone's entire life held within rubber bands and pages. You sit in silence for a while. Circling some pieces, crossing out others. The Host watches intently from his end of the table feeling the swell of pride and admiration towards your dedication in whatever part of him resembled a human heart. You set down your tool and gather your notes as you begin your speech.

"Contestant A has severe claustrophobia resulting from locked in a closet by siblings as a child and forgotten for several hours. They also have fears of the dark and needles which are mostly unrelated on the surface. A potential punishment is to lock them in a room with just enough space to move. The walls are covered in spikes, slowly closing on them as time passes. The walls move at different paces so they believe it's safer elsewhere when in reality there's nowhere for them to go."

Silence. The silhouettes turn face each other, muttering amongst themselves with words you can't quite make out before facing Host sitting patiently this whole time. One by one, the silhouettes rise - striking their palms together in a chorus of applause which reaches its peak as one final member joins the frey. Host wipes a fake tear of his cheek. It almost feels...pleasant to receive positive attention for once.

"Beautiful, just beautiful. Childhood trauma, the hopeless hope or escape. I knew there was nothing short of genius in you. Keep going."

Host returns to his chair, resting his chin on the ball of his palm as you reach for another folder. Your hand naturally falls on the next one in order, but upon picking it up the letter on its cover is C. Host picks up his cup and holds to his lips as you look up at him. Skimming through the pages a strange feeling settles in your stomach. The same that plagued when writing nearly every entry in your book. You set the folder down and pick up the third. Then the first. It all clicks.

"Contestant C.... Contestant C is someone who tried to make my life a living hell in the past. In spite of this, with your permission I'd like to make them an offer. The other contestants are close friends of theirs. Life long even. Contestant C is now both an star athlete and plays guitar on weekend. They are also selfish and care for no one but themselves. I would like to give them the opportunity to free themselves and their friends in exchange for their dominant arm. If they refuse they are free to leave, following immediate punishment, torture and killing of their allies they must sit through."

Host stares at you - least you assume so given his lack of eyes, for quite some time. So long whatever he was drinking had to be cold by now. His cup turns out to be empty as it rolls across the floor. Thand resting on his chin covers his entire face as he folds, head bouncing off the wooden as his body twitches and jerks with every giggle he stifles. His attempts are in vain as his laughter echoes through the shadows around you, and the unseen crowd behind you. They convulse in ways unnatural foe the human forms they mimic. The sound reverberates from every corner, drowning your thoughts. You pick up the mug at your feet, reading its message for a second of clarity.

"Reality's Greatest Co-Host."

Host gradually regains his composure. He cards a hand through his hair and fixes his collar as he lifts himself off the table. He shutters returning to focus to you having never known more love or appreciation for the human mind than what consumes him now.

"I... could honestly kiss you right now. Forgive me for my brashness, but you have proven yourself a second time as the perfect member of our team. I'd kill to have a look at your brain, but I much prefer it in that pretty head of yours. I simply can't wait to see what you have in store for future guests, but for now let's focus on the ones we have now. We've kept them waiting long enough..

Blinking once, Host stands over you, holding out his hand as bright light blinds your vision. You're no longer facing the table and now in view of the stage hidden behind that wall that never existed. Three people stand behind podiums, each expressing terror, dread, anger or a perfect mixture of the three. Your lips pull into a smile as you take Host's hand and step out onto the stage. The crowd's cheers pitch higher seeing their favorite hosts hand in hand. A whisper soft as a lover's embrace meets your ear as his lips meet your temple.

"In the impossible chance they agree, you don't plan on letting any of them go - do you?"

He knows you so well.

[nicstylus]

Fellow SP fan artist here, do you have any tips on designing sigils? I’d love to draw China more but any time I try my hand at putting sigils on her, they never feel quite right. Do you have a process on figuring sigils out?

Hello! This turned into a REALLY long post I'm so sorry, but I'm flattered you're asking me for advice! Take everything I say with a grain of salt bc there are absolutely no thoughts in my head :]

Okay, here's a secret. You can't tell anyone okay? It's suuuuper important that we gatekeep this. /j I go into a sigil design with absolutely no idea what's going to come out of it. Maybe I have like a very basic shape in mind, but generally I just scribble until something pops out at me and then I keep adding stuff and erasing until a cool design happens. I come up with the meanings as an afterthought, and usually only if someone asks about them; Skulduggery's right facade sigil is the one exception because I went into designing that with the reflections sigil in mind. My China's tattoos are all designed with only 'ooo that looks cool' in mind.

Under the cut: My personal process, How to design sigils (with n without function in mind,) references, and two of my super secret!! canvases

Warnings: doll-like nutity, blood and burns, a lil angst

Here's my personal process: - Scribble - oh I like that shape - make thicker and erase designs into it - Figure out where it would fit on her body - Panic when someone asks what it means - Gaslight myself into seeing a function - Profit

How to design sigils:

Think about where it's going to go on the body.

The back is a bigger canvas than the forearm. What will fit there?

If you're designing sigils with a function in mind:

Is the function used often? It should be easily accessible.

Is the function an emergency or last resort? You shouldn't be able to bump it, but it should still be easy to reach.

Arms, face, and chest are easy to reach. Legs are harder and you need wiggle room. Palms, hips and thighs are good for subtle taps or stealth sigils. Are your hands bound behind your back? What can you put within reach that will help?

What shapes resonate with the function? Triangles could mean fiery or offensive functions. Squares could be defensive. Circles are good catch-all designs. Circles are very magicy

If you're designing sigils without function in mind:

Think about design: Use negative space! Use thick lines or thin lines or both! Overlap shapes and angles! What looks cool?

Do you want them to all flow together? Do you want patchwork? Both are valid! Maybe one arm is a sleeve, and one is patchy!

You can design the sigil first and figure out where it fits on the body, or you can keep the body part in mind while you're designing.

I like thicker sigils/designs, so I start with a blob of ink or a solid shape and erase until something pops out at me.

For thinner designs, the opposite applies. Scribble until something resonates with you or looks cool. What shapes go together?

I like to write little sigil 'letters' alongside thick lines or shapes.

Have fun with it! You can figure out technical stuff later, or never!

References:

I like to use the Twilight Princess Hylian alphabet if I get stuck, or if I have a function in mind. If you glue a bunch of letters together and erase bits, eventually something looks magicy! (Different Zelda titles have different Hylian letters, so you could mix n match as well)

Maybe you use a different sort of script you like. Maybe a code or sorts, or icons from medias you like. Take letters or characters from languages and warp them into something that looks like a sigil

How badly can you draw a 5? There's a sigil! Can you use dots instead of lines? Now add random lines! There's a sigil!

Circles are always good starting points. Eyes are good details. Egyptian glyphs and runes are good starting points. Just make sure not to rip anyone off :]

My China only has like two or three sigils that I went in knowing what I wanted it to look like overall, and those are: - The huge sigil wheel on her back, which I knew I wanted to be a a big circle with swirling symbols and such. - The belt-like design around her waist, I knew I wanted those to look like the top of Midna's Helmet - The upside down crown like triangles on her forehead (which have sort of changed to how I wanted them originally) and the designs under her eyes and on her chin and throat. There's many ways to come up with sigils, and here's another secret: They don't all have to have meaning! My China has a ton of designs, but I've only assigned functions to a handful of them

Keeping it consistent:

I also have a 'China sigil map' I have for reference, but it's not even fully filled out because I got distracted. If part of her skin is visible and I haven't drawn that part of her body before (like the ONE time I drew her back, or her left leg or something) I come up with the sigil then and there xD If you're interested, this is what my 'sigil map' reference canvas looks like. It's nowhere near complete and frankly, a huge mess: but it works for me. Started this like a year ago and just kept adding to it when I needed to

Here's my canvas of previous China references I use to keep everything consistent

Here's where I started rambling and I can't be bothered to edit it, so its prob repetitive lol

One tip I do have is decide if you want thin or thick designs. My China started off with thin and squiggly sigils, which ultimately I never actually liked, but now she has thicker tattoos and I think it feels more athetotic If you go a thinner route, I recommend using lots of squirls and angles together and finding one basic shape and then adding to that. A good example of this are my facade tattoo designs, where I took the reflections sigil and altered it, or took the hourglass shape and added smaller designs around it. However, if you go with thicker designs like I have, ERASE more than you draw. I start with a blob of ink, and then erase designs into it. I reallllly like how negative space is used in tattoos and think about that as I'm designing Chinas sigils as well.

If you're going into designing a sigil with the intent of 'this is going to make her skin hard like iron' then think about where she would logically put it? - To me, that sounds like a 'tap the chest' sort of sigil. The chest is a bigger canvas than a forearm or something, so it can be bigger and more detailed. - Maybe instead, it's two sigils, one on each arm, and she crosses her arms to active it. Okay, that's two smaller sigils bc you have less space for detail. - What reminds you of iron skin? It's defensive, so that makes me think of squares and hard angles. Maybe you straight up draw a shield shape and erase markings into said shield. yeah sigils n stuff! Thanks for the ask and hopefully this was somewhat helpful :]

[lucabyte]

i want to be nosyy what r ur jadesprite thoughts? shes around so little

okay so i should probably horde ur ask until i get past all jadesprite's appearences in the comic while im rereading (<- fell behind due to *gestures* but am finally in act 4 good lorddd) so i can be more coherent because right now my thoughts are mostly me grasping at half-remembered themes re: her and how they tie into post-retcon jade & epilogue jade & people reeeeallly not liking epilogue jade. as someone who.. okay so "like" is a reductive word. I was very compelled by epilogue jade(s) and am curious to see where she goes. but like.

If i get more coherent about this ill just find this post again and reply to it or something. Anyway.

there's... somethingggg... about jade's temper that i've been noticing during rereading even this early on. she's very bubbly in a3 obviously, but her big "angry" moment in act 3 is her staging a verbal fight with her grandpa. She invokes that all on her own. That she antagonises Grandpa Jake so thoroughly throughout it too. While all of her words are happy and sweet, her narration is Really Really fucking Mean? Like, moreso than the other kids! And the narration, while external in-text, does give an insight into the caliber of the kid's internal monolgoues a lot of the time. And Jade's is the first sign that she's that angry deep down.

Obviously later in act 4, 5a2 and especially a6 we get a whole lot more angry Jade. And much like most girls in HS her anger is justified basically always, even if everyone else puts her down for it. And while I'm going to need to keep rereading before I can make proper statements that actually refer to stuff post "the start of act 4-ish" I do wonder about that reaction to Jade Being The Specific Kind Of Unpleasant That She Is In The Epilogues. Because once again, (YMMV ALERT) I completely understood her reasonings for acting out like that, even if the raised stakes of adulthood made the choices kind of wild. Honestly, especially because of those raised stakes.

But onto Jadesprite-- She is maybe the distillation of this, I think. The fact that all of Jade's anger is supressed and inwards until she finally lashes out. The fact Jadesprite's crying is so overwrought and outwardly 'annoying' being the thing Jade can't stand-- Compared with how much both the characters and fanbase seemingly can't stand when Jade turns her self-destruction outwards and catches other people in the crossfire. (That 'catching in the crossfire' being another thing. for a character so defined by loneliness, self-destructing by destroying social bonds seems like the way to go. Again: Jadesprite is so upset because she (oh so selfishly) wanted to stay with her friends and she's been torn away from them)

Anyway ^^^ ALL OF THIS IS PREFACED BY A MILLION 'based on my recollection'S BECAUSE ITS BEEN . A MINUTE. so if im wrong or am talking kinda vaguely. that is why... But I do think Jadesprite is a really overlooked facet of Jade's characterisation. Once again, i think people struggle in general to percieve characters as A Gestalt Of Their Alt-Selves. Like... Idk how to explain the disconnect but sometimes it feels like people see them as Seperate to the "real"* version of the character, but in cases like homestuck where the Alt Universes are *time travel* and not like... idk. "An AU" in the fandom way-- You GOTTA remember that all versions of the character are valid outcomes of the same guy. and that the "real" guy is functionally indistinct from the "fake" guys. they wouldn't Act Different for any reason other than literal occurances. their Cores aren't different. So for Jadesprite-- You have to remember she's not some "AU" Jade-- This is in some way just how Jade "really" feels. So. ??? i am talking in circles. you get it. you also get what i mean by people being unable to percieve characters as 'the same deep down' in a characterisation sense just because theyre acting 'different' when stood next to themselves. In perhaps other arenas we're both familiar with. Bestie.

*how ironic. almost like davesprites whole thing is this. or something

[tumbleweed-writes]

Fight For What You Want: Chibs Telford X Reader

When Chibs Telford overhears the woman he's been unwilling to make a move on has a first date lined up, will he be willing to fight for her? When Y/N's first date turns into the first date from hell will Chibs Telford's efforts to protect her be enough to turn the night around?

Part one of two.

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

Chibs Telford had never been one to eavesdrop. He knew well enough in the world he’d chosen to operate in that listening in on private conversations could only lead to trouble and could even be deadly. So, when he was well aware that there was a conversation that he had no business listening in on he was quick to disappear and mind his own business. 

He wished he’d thought to mind his own business as he approached the door to the office at TM Auto. His feet remained locked in place though as he heard her voice.

“Are you 100 percent sure you’re okay with me dipping out a little early today, Gem?” 

Gemma was fast to respond to the inquiry. It was clear by the tone of her voice she’d been asked this at least a dozen times today and there was a slight hint of amusement to her voice. “Yes, Y/N. I’m sure we can function even if you leave a little early today.”

Y/N let out a soft sigh, a nervous chuckle leaving her lips. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry I keep asking. I think I’m just feeling a little anxious, pre-date jitters I guess.”

Chibs felt his heart sink down into his belly upon hearing the words Pre-date jitters.

Although everything in his heart and soul was screeching at him to walk away before his heart had a chance to sink even lower, his body remained locked in place as he continued to listen in on the conversation.

Gemma was quick to speak, calling Y/N out on her comment. “Not butterflies?”

“Pardon?” Was the reply she earned Y/N’s voice raising a pitch it clear by her tone ovf voice that she was unnerved by the comment.

Gemma was fast to speak again not backing down with her observation. “Just jitters, not butterflies.”

This comment earned a small nervous laugh from Y/N as she replied. “I don’t know what you mean by that. Aren’t jitters and butterflies the same?”

Gemma spoke up, clearly not letting this go even with Y/N’s attempts to laugh off the reasoning behind the questioning. “I’m just surprised that’s all, Sweetheart. You don’t seem excited about this. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to have any first dates, at least not with him.”

Y/N Winston let out a heavy sigh at the words apparently already well versed in this conversation. “I’m accepting a date from the guy who will actually ask me out. I’m sick of waiting around for the guy I want to ask me out. I’ve accepted it’s not going to happen”

“That’s because you won’t force it to happen.” Gemma was fast to point out it only earning her a huff from Y/N.

“I shouldn’t have to force it, that’s the problem. It’s pretty obvious he’s not forcing it on his end. I’ve realized that he’s just going to keep dancing around me. I refuse to be the one who asks him out at this point. I’m not chasing a man. I should not have to chase him down. I refuse to chase him down and force things. I just have to accept that it’s not happening. He’s made it clear he’s not as into me as I am into him. I am realizing he’s not going to ever make a move and like I said, I’m not doing it for him. I got my hopes up, which was a dumb move on my end…I mean,  I guess I shouldn’t be shocked that he’s just sitting on his ass not making any moves to show me this is more than flirting and hints that he might want me. I should have known how this was going to turn out from the start. I mean, pretty sure most guys around here have been sworn off even looking twice at me. So, why should he be any different? Maybe it’s time I just go for a normal guy outside of this entire SAMCRO circle.”

“I’m not sure that’s entirely the truth, Y/N. I mean, I am sure your uncle and cousin have something to do with his hesitancy. You have to understand though that this has gotta be complicated for him. It’s been a while since he’s pursued anything with anyone, at least anything more than a quick fuck from a croweater.” Gemma was quick to provide, trying her best to soothe Y/N’s apparent angst.

Chibs furrowed his brow wracking his brain over who this mystery guy who was dancing around Y/N could possibly be. He’d not noticed anyone paying her more mind than what seemed to be appropriate.

He furrowed his brow all the more realizing it was someone within their inner circle. He searched his brain thinking of each one of his brothers searching for the possible culprit ignoring the way it made bile rise in his throat to think of any one he shared a kutte with harboring romantic feelings for Y/N.

He widened his eyes the truth hitting him like a freight train as Y/N spoke a huff leaving her. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Estranged wife…or whatever is going on there and a kid in Belfast. I’ve heard all about the baggage. Trust me, he’s told me about his past. He opened up to me about it all over a shared joint and some whiskey. I’ve heard the entire story. I get it, it’s complicated for him. I am done making excuses for him though. I mean, either he likes me and wants to ask me on an actual date, or I’m just a friend. I can’t have it both ways, Gem. It’s not fair for him to want it both ways. I get that he’s maybe rusty at this whole dating thing, but either he wants me or he doesn’t. He hits on me and is all too happy to flirt with me, but any chance he’s had to take it to the next level has been squandered by him. He clearly isn’t going to pick if he wants me as a friend or a romantic partner. So, I’m picking for him. He’s just going to have to stay my friend.”

She paused a shaky sigh leaving her lips a bitter laugh following the sigh. “I was a fool to think that there’s something more he wants from me. I thought he was sending me all the signals that he saw me as something more than the club’s kid sister.  I mean he’s taken me on a dozen bike rides and there've been shared joints and a ton of private talks on the roof of TM or outside at a Friday night party where it’s just us…conversations got deep and I felt like we connected. There have been so many moments where I hoped that he might actually make some kind of move, but like I said, it’s clear that he’s just not as into me as I am into him. I got my hopes up last time we spent some time together…I swear he was about to kiss me, but then he just backed up and acted like he couldn’t wait to get away from me. It’s like anytime I think he’s getting close to making a move this switch goes off in his head and he’s tripping over himself to get the hell away from me before it goes too far. What else am I supposed to believe when he’s so back and forth on the romantic gestures. It’s obvious that he’s just not that into me.”

She paused again another heavy sigh leaving her the sound shaky. It was clear she was getting emotionally overwhelmed. She cleared her throat as she spoke again. “I’m done waiting around for men. I’ve spent almost ten years tending to a guy’s ego, emotional needs, and wants. I’m not a mother nor am I a therapist and I am not a sex doll. I’m done tending to and waiting for men. A perfectly nice guy finally asked me out and I am not going to turn him down just because I’m sitting around waiting on Filip Telford to decide what he freaking wants. Trust me, I’m so done being the girl who sits around and waits on a man to decide if he wants me. I’m not getting any younger. I’d like to settle down at some point in my life and maybe have at least one kid. If the music thing isn’t going to work out for me then I’d like to at least have some part of what I pictured for my life. If I’m not going to be the musician I wanted to be, then I’d at least like to fall in love with my soulmate and be a mom. I’m clearly not going to get that with Filip. So, it’s time to move on to a guy who can give me that.”

Chibs felt as though the breath had been knocked out of him as he soaked up her words. Him? She wanted him? She was talking about him?

He felt his stomach churn as he soaked in her words, his heart sinking all the further. She thought he didn’t want her?

That was so far from the truth.

When Piney Winston had announced that his niece would be moving back into town earlier in the year, Chibs Telford had been intrigued.

Chibs had been living in Charming for almost a decade now and he’d not heard of any Winston niece.

He’d of course heard the entire backstory from Bobby; Bobby Munson was a terrible gossip.

Apparently little Miss. Y/N Winston had left home at eighteen years old, just a few months before Chibs Telford had rolled into town. She’d taken off down to Southern California chasing some dream of getting signed to a record label in Los Angeles with some boyfriend who’d talked her into forming a band.

Though she’d not remained in Los Angeles for too long. Apparently she’d been hopping around the country living in New York City, Las Vegas, and Nashville, Tennessee. 

The boyfriend she’d run off with had bounced their band around from state to state trying out different cities and different labels. A few records had been put out through independent labels but nothing close to the music stardom they’d been hoping for had turned out.

Apparently the band had broken up with Y/N who had been the lead singer getting the boot after her ex boyfriend and she had a nasty breakup.

Y/N had been left broke and homeless; sleeping in her car and spending what little savings she had to survive as meagerly as she could. She had been forced to call up her late mother’s brother, the man who had raised her, and ask to come back to Charming.

Piney had accepted of course even shelling out the money to get her home. He was the type that believed it was a man’s responsibility to take care of his family, especially the women in the family. Y/N was family; that meant he was going to come to her rescue. 

Chibs had also received another piece of information about Y/N this information coming from Tig who had been happily listening in to Bobby’s gossip. “Y/N is hot from what I remember, but painfully untouchable. If Piney doesn’t shoot any guy who glances her way, then Opie will do it, Jax probably too. Fucking shame too, fine piece of ass like her having a ton of guys who aren’t afraid to commit murder watching her like rabid fucking dogs. It’s all look and don’t touch with that one.”

Upon hearing that information Chibs had been all the more intrigued but mildly terrified. Although Piney was attached to an oxygen tank, the man had a nasty temper. Opie and Jax were quick to anger as well, especially when it came to the women in their lives.

So, Chibs had resigned himself to keeping his distance and following Tig’s advice of looking but not touching.

That was easier said than done. Upon his first sighting of Y/N, Chibs Telford was hooked.

She couldn’t just be pretty, no that wasn’t enough. She also had a sweet personality to match her pretty face.

Then there was her voice. That voice had sprouted their very first conversation.

He’d walked into the office at TM Auto late one night when they’d been the only ones working only to hear her singing softly to herself absentmindedly as she went over the books.

The words had left his lips before he could stop them “Ye have a beautiful voice.”

She’d gazed up at him, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly and Chibs Telford had known he was screwed when it came to keeping his distance.

Before he’d known it there had been offers to take her on bike rides on the weekend, shared joints on the roof of TM Auto during Friday night parties, lots sneaking away during Friday night parties where they’d had deeper conversations that Chibs had with any woman in far longer than he would ever admit, and shared lunch breaks.

As much as his heart had screamed that he wanted nothing more than to press his lips to hers and press his body against hers preferably in a bed or any available surface, he had held back.

That stupid comments Tig had made kept ringing in his mind: painfully untouchable, guys who aren’t afraid to murder watching her like fucking rabid dogs. If Piney doesn’t shoot any guy who glances her way, then Opie will do it, Jax probably too.

Chibs Telford would probably deck anyone who called him a coward, but he’d found that he was spineless when it came to pursuing Y/N Winston.

His heart screamed it wanted her, but his mind told him that making her his would sow disaster among the club he loved.

Anytime he found himself imagining what it might feel like to feel the press of his lips against hers or feel how glorious her body might feel under his, he’d quickly pictured Piney Winston strangling him with the tubing of his oxygen tank or Opie or Jax putting a bullet through his skull.

Chibs had reminded his heart and his hormones that Y/N was only meant to look at but he could never touch her.

He had been foolish of course, he knew that now, he’d not considered that Y/N might just find someone who was willing to touch her.

He felt his heart sink all the more as Gemma spoke. “And this paralegal is going to give you what Chibs won’t?”

Y/N let out a deep sigh as she replied to this. “I have no idea, but it’s worth a try.”

Chibs grinded his jaw realizing just who this paralegal was. The man had come tagging along with SAMCRO’s lawyer to the clubhouse just a few weeks ago.

Jax Teller had contacted the lawyer to draw up some papers for him, something concerning a will and the Teller children. It had been nothing like what the Sons’ lawyer was usually called up to TM Auto for. 

Chibs had of course noticed the attractive young paralegal gazing a little too longingly at Y/N, and he’d not been thrilled with it.

He’d held back any desire to be a possessive asshole about it though. A little nagging voice in the back of his brain taunted him pointing out that he would not lay a claim on Y/N, so he had no right to get pissy just because a guy was looking at her like she was a rack of all you can eat ribs and a pitcher of beer.

It seemed though that perhaps he should have shown it bothered him.

He felt his heart crack as Y/N spoke. “I mean, I don’t get butterflies or whatever you want to claim I’m supposed to get when Russell looks at me, but I’m not saying I have to marry the guy. Maybe he’ll grow on me. Either way this date will be good for me. It’s time for me to stop putting all my eggs in one basket with Filip. I’m just breaking my own heart waiting around for him.”

“He should give you butterflies though, Sweetheart. You shouldn’t waste your time on a guy who doesn’t make you feel something. He shouldn’t have to grow on you.” Gemma pointed out a sigh leaving her lips clearly frustrated that Y/N seemed determined to see this date through.

Y/N let out a shaky sigh, it obvious she was feeling overemotional again. “I know, but I’m not sure what other choice I have. I am so sick of waiting on, Filip. I’m tired, Gemma. I’ve spent my entire life having guys I like scared away by my family both immediate family and my SAMCRO family. I ran off with the first guy who didn’t get scared off by you guys and look how that turned out for me. I came back home hoping things would be different…but it seems like even guys within the SAMCRO family are too chickenshit to make a move on me. Russell doesn’t seem scared. So, I should just take what I can get. Even if he’s not what I envisioned, I…beggers can’t be choosers at this point.”

“It doesn’t seem like it’s making you happy though, Hon. That’s all I’m saying. You’re settling.” Gemma pointed out the obvious Chibs feeling his stomach turn as he soaked in all the information that had just been slammed down on his head.

He felt his knees grow weak as he backed away from the door hearing Y/N’s voice sounding far too defeated. “We can’t always have what we want. I guess I’m just getting to a point where I no longer can say this is what I want my life to be and am just saying, well that’s life. I have to grow up and accept that we don’t get the love we want. I have to accept that this is what life is going to offer me.”

Chibs felt faint as he allowed everything he’d just heard roll through his mind like rocks in a rock tumbler. 

He let Y/N’s words ring through his head, the words feeling like dozens of little knives to the heart: we don’t get the love we want.

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

Gemma tensed her jaw as Chibs Telford made his way into the office of TM Auto, the woman who had been ruminating over him having left hours before.

Gemma gazed up at Chibs who seemed to be lingering around the microwave that they kept sitting over a minifridge to hold whatever meals the guys in the garage might bring for a lunch break.

There was no real breakroom at TM Auto. Most of the patched in Sons who worked at the garage just took their lunches to the clubhouse, unpatched guys who worked in the garage were afforded less luxuries.

She dared to speak, deciding to just be as blunt as possible. “What are you still doing here Chibs?”

“Jus lookin fer a quick snack. Transmission on that Honda is killin me. I need some energy.” Chibs remarked a voice in the back of his head snapping that this wasn’t quite what Gemma was meaning to ask him.

Gemma let out a heavy sigh fast to say the words. “I mean, why the hell are you still here when the woman you are crazy about is out with some spineless yuppie prick?”

Chibs cleared his throat, his eyes widening. He spoke trying to keep his cool and pretend that he had no idea where Y/N was at the moment. “I don’t know what yer talkin bout.”

Gemma rolled her eyes not above calling him out. “Don’t bullshit me, Chibs. I know you heard everything. Y/N might not have a clue, but I could spot you through the blinds listening in earlier. Now, I’m going to ask again, why the hell are you here right now and not out crashing that date and taking what you want?”

Chibs felt his stomach plummet his head feeling faint all over again. He’d been asking himself the same question all afternoon. Why wasn’t he taking what he wanted?

He let out a heavy sigh, deciding to just be honest. “Pretty sure lass has a few guys in her life who’d skin me alive if I even thought of it.”

“So, you and I both know you aren’t the kind of guy who backs down from a fight?” Gemma pointed out rolling her eyes once again as she stood up, her hands resting on her hips a stern look of disapproval crossing her features.

Chibs dared to turn to face her, he almost shrinking back at the look of disapproval on her features. Not many women intimidated him, but the Queen of SAMCRO had a certain intimidation factor when it came to the Sons. She was like everyone’s unrelenting mother. No one wanted to piss off mom.

He cleared his throat trying to square his shoulders and make his point of view clear. “I aint goin to stir up trouble in the club, not when shite has been this tense. I’m doin this fer the good of the club.”

“Oh, bullshit.” Gemma remarked, removing her hands from her hips stepping around the desk to approach him.

She spoke again, her voice firm. “Don’t feed me that for the good of the club bullshit. You have been following her around like a lost dog since she moved back to Charming. If you were trying to avoid trouble you wouldn’t be so obsessed. You want her. If you think that no one notices it, then you’re blind and stupid.”

Chibs cringed at the comment, a heavy huff escaping his lips. “Doesn’t matter much if I do, Gem. Shite, I…”

He paused, his throat growing tight revealing the other reason he’d been so hesitant, the truth he’d not even wanted to admit to himself. “What can I give her? I’m a criminal, I’ve done a lot of horrible shite.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Chibs, but Y/N was raised around this club. When her mother died Piney was the only one who was willing to take her in. She knows this club. She is not naive to the nature of SAMCRO.” Gemma pointed out.

Chibs shook his head, a heavy sigh escaping his throat. “Even if that’s true. Shite with me aint so simple. I got an estranged wife in Belfast, a fuckin messy history there too. Shite is complicated there. Fiona and I been talkin bout finally divorcing…but that aint even started yet.”

“And she is aware of that messy history. She is all too aware of Fiona and the mess there. Hasn’t seemed to make her shy away from you, Sweetheart. You can’t use that as an excuse to not go for something with her. Don’t you think you deserve some happiness, after all the misery?” Gemma offered attempting to make him see the reality of it all.

Chibs took a deep breath rolling the question through his mind. “Do I though? Would I bring er anythin but misery? Look at what happened to Donna, Luann…shite, how difficult is it fer ye and Tara…isn’t lovin men in this life a ticket to misery? What if I bring er nothin but pain and heartache?”

“That’s a risk with any relationship, Honey. Sure, loving a man involved with the club is not without its own risk and heartbreak. You’ll probably break each other’s hearts a million times, but what matters is you put those hearts back together, together. You talk about pain, but I know for a fact that Y/N won’t be protected with anyone outside of this club. She needs someone who will go above and beyond to protect her. We both know that spineless prick she’s out with right now won’t have the balls to protect her. If push comes to shove he’s not the type to fight for her. I think you and I both know there is only one man who will do whatever it takes to keep her secure and love her. I’m looking right at him.” Gemma explained, reaching out placing her hands on Chibs’ shoulders, staring up at him.

She gave his shoulders a squeeze driving the point home. “You have to ask yourself something important, Sweetheart. Can you stand by watching someone who does not deserve her get a life with her? I think we both know the answer to that. Take what you want, Chibs. Decide if you can stand losing her or if you’re willing to fight for her.”

Chibs let the words sink in, the choice rolling through his head.

He swallowed a lump developing in the back of his throat, the answer seeming so clear.

He knew what his choice had to be.

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

Y/N cringed as her date reached out placing a hand on her bare knee. His hands were too soft. 

The thought felt ridiculous but it was all she could focus on.

She glanced over at her date mentally wondering why she’d agreed to any of this. He wasn’t exactly her type.

He was too clean shaven and too prim. The polo and slacks he was wearing seemed too formal for a movie date. His blonde hair was neatly trimmed and styled. His face was too smooth and though he had a sharp jawline and nice cheekbones she found herself wishing that there was a little facial hair there. His eyes were a pleasant shade of blue but she found herself comparing them to a certain brown shade sported by a Scottish Son.

She pushed thoughts of the Scotsman out of her head, refusing to let Chibs Telford ruin her night. 

She placed her hand over Russell’s shoving it away as he dared to run it up her thigh getting too intimate in her opinion for a first date.

She spoke, clearing her throat as they turned down an unfamiliar road, the area looking more secluded and not anywhere close to the restaurant on main street he’d promised her they were going to after the movie they’d watched. “Where are we going?”

“Just a quick detour.” Was the response she received, the comment making her stomach turn a red flag waving in the back of her head.

She cleared her throat trying to laugh off the comment  as they turned down an alley. “Quite the detour.”

She felt her stomach churn as they pulled into an alleyway Russell parking and turning the engine on his shiny red sports car.

She glanced over at him through the dim lights a voice in the back of her head telling her that she was possibly in danger. This didn’t feel right. It was clear what he was most likely expecting.

She felt her stomach turn a hint of rage raising in the back of her mind. He seriously thought he could pull into an alleyway and get lucky?

She spoke her voice holding a bit of tension. “I’d like to go to the restaurant now, please.”

Russell leaned in his breath warm against her cheek he far too close to her he having taken off his seatbelt. “We’ll leave in a minute. I just thought we could take a moment.”

He spoke again making her skin crawl. “Come on, live a little.”

She parted her lips to once again demand that she did not want to be in the alleyway with him, but did not have much of a chance to say a word as he pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was too damp and too rough. She recoiled from the kiss bile rising in her throat as he attempted to coax her mouth open.

She placed a hand on his chest shoving him back with all her strength she fast to speak making her voice as demanding as she could. “I want to leave. You need to take me home. I don’t want to be here.”

“Oh, come on Y/N. I didn’t take you for a prude.” He remarked a scoff leaving his lips.

She was fast to reply to the comment her arms crossing over her chest scooting up against the door thinking of reaching for the handle and escaping the car. “I want to go home.”

“I thought you’d be more fun, I mean the people you’re involved with, I assumed you’d be a little more free thinking.” Russell remarked, he scooting closer to her making her stomach turn the rage that had been building in her becoming all the more prominent.

“Excuse me? The people I’m involved in, my family?” She snapped her hand reaching for the door handle ready to bolt for it if she needed to.

Russell smirked quick to say it. “Family or not, I’ve seen the girls who hang around that clubhouse. Girls only hang around that club for one thing. Now quit being such a fucking tease.”

He pressed his lips to hers again the kiss harsh his hands roaming her body as she struggled to open the door panic surging in her, her mind screaming to run.

She shoved him back, managing to find it in her to deliver a harsh slap to his cheek.

The action worked a growl from his lips, his voice tense and far from the charming tone he’d taken with her when he first asked her out. “You stupid bitch. I’m going to make you pay for that.”

She felt her blood run cold not helping but wish she’d thought to carry the revolver, Piney had insisted on giving her when she’d first moved back home, in her purse. She had left the gun at home though telling herself it was not needed on a dinner date with a nice normal paralegal.

Her mind began to spin wondering what he intended to do with her. What did he mean by making her pay?

Her salvation came so suddenly she did not even have a chance to fully understand what was happening.

The driver's door was yanked open, a pair of hands reaching into the car and harshly yanking Russell out of the vehicle, a familiar voice sounding out. “What the hell do ye think yer doin?”

She widened her eyes, recognizing Chibs Telford’s voice anywhere. managing to open her own door, her knees feeling wobbly adrenaline still rushing through her veins as she turned to see the scene playing out on the other side of the car.

Chibs Telford stood over a stunned and scared shitless Russell, the Scotsman’s fist risen. “What the hell are ye doin?”

“I didn’t mean nothing by it. I just figured she was up for it. I mean I know you guys have girls who hang around the club who are up for that kind of thing. I figured she was used to this kind of thing.” Russell dared to explain Chibs’ eyes growing darker at the explanation.

He delivered a harsh blow to the man’s face, his fist colliding with Russell’s nose a sickening crack sounding out.

Y/N watched the blood pool around Russell’s nose the youunger man reaching up to clutch it as Chibs’ fist backed off.

Chibs managed to push back his rage enough telling himself that tending to Y/N was far more important than beating her date to a bloody pulp. He’d deal with Russell later hopefully with some members of SAMCRO to aid him.

He spoke his voice holding a dangerous edge. “Ye get in yer car and drive away before I do somethin worse than a broken nose.”

Y/N watched as Russell scrambled to open his car door and get in still clutching his bleeding nose with one hand.

She watched as he fumbled with the keys, managing to turn the engine, the car backing out of the alleyway and speeding off carrying her would-be attacker far away.

She stared up at Chibs Telford as she and he were the only ones left in the dim alleyway, her mind going a million different directions all at once.

This was not how she pictured this date going. 

Everything had gone completely awry so quickly, and she had a feeling her night was not over yet.

[gx-gameon]

I already did the DM cast but here’s what I think the Gx cast would be in DnD or in a Fantasy au. There is going to be a lot more multi-classing in this one

Jaden

I have agonized over Jaden because whatever he is, Aster is to.

Part of me wants to just make them fighters. They have the super hero decks (Aster’s basically Batman). Just let them be the people swinging it out without magic.

But that doesn’t feel right either. Jaden is so connected to spirits and the magic or Yugioh that it feels wrong to just send him out there with no powers.

And part of me was like make them Monks. And that is an option. Very spiritual, still has the fighting aspect. Even has elemental abilities depending on which way they go.

But (and maybe this is my bias showing) what about Druid.

Druids can shape shift. If you think about it what is polymerization other than changing one’s form. Jaden also has the elemental hero’s, the druids have elemental powers, he also has the Neo-Spacians many of which are based on different animals.

Jaden is a circle of the moon Druid and he absolutely abuses it.

He’s casting lighting and then transforming into panther to just take full advantage and scare the bejabers out of any opponent. At a high enough level he can just become an elemental beast.

It’s so broken and over powered it’s not even funny. Yes he is still physically fighting. But I feel the Druid matches Jaden’s use of spell cards in the show while also making him over powered enough to handle most of the groups problems.

Yubel

Is also a Druid, not really but listen to me. Yes they are a fiend or spirit Jaden speaks to. Yes they are an antagonist at some point

But when Jaden fuses with them he gains access to circle of Dreams. This is a replacement for the general darkness ablities.

He’s can command shadows to hide himself and the party. He can pass between dimensions to get from one place to the next (it functions like teleport) He’s able to communicate with people in their dreams, or torture them with nightmares. He can move people around during fights and heal other party members.

Circle of Dreams is very support heavy. Keeping yourself and party safe and healed and feels like a protector like Yubel would be.

Should Jaden be allowed to be part of two circles, no. Is he going to be anyways since he has two souls in one body. Yes.

Hasselberry

Barbarian

He already goes into a blind rage when his Dino-DNA kicks in.

He’s a little too perfect for the role.

Alexis

Cleric.

She’s got the religious theme already with her Cyber angels.

She’s also in a support role. She’s making sure her brother and friends can keep fighting.

Zane

Artificer

Uses a mixture of tech and magic. Creates weapons to fight/support the ‘team’

He’s working on making a Cyber Dragon. It’s his ultimate goal.

He just can’t seem to make a powerful enough dragon. Everytime he tries to make Cyber End Dragon, he just can’t do it.

He comes to the conclusion that this is because he does not have enough magical power.

Instead of asking for help he looks for a new way of gaining power

Multi-classing into a Warlock. He makes a pack with a Dark entity. They give him more power but at the cost of his heart.

Syrus

Artificer

Just like his brother he loves to work with magic and Machines. He was inspired to become an Artificer because he looks up to Zane.

His creations are more childish, and he is often mocked for them. Zane tries to convince him to create more serious creations

Once he meets Jaden and the others and gets more comfortable with his own powers he gains confidence and his inventions start working.

In the end him and Zane (after breaking his deal with the Dark entity) work together to create Cyber End Dragon.

Chazz

Sorcer

He’s overly proud of his bloodline and thinks he’s superior because he was born with magic. Only to be shown up by a guy who likes to live in a hut (Jaden)

He can’t study to gain new powers he’s locked into his birth magic. So how does he improve?

Say it with me, Multi-classing.

I think it would be funny for him to become a bard to follow in Atticus’s footsteps but I also think he’d make a great rouge.

Starts as an overly proud magic user and then switch to someone who only wears black, and relies mainly on the skills he’s learned when traveling with his friends. His magic still comes in clutch but he’s grown past thinking he’s superior for just having it.

Bastion

Wizard!!!!

This boy loves to study. He loves to learn. A wizards whole thing is they have to study to learn how to do magic.

At first he feels very out of place because everyone else is so good at their branch of magic or their skills and he feels like he’s falling behind.

But over time he starts to amass a large collection of spell books (the gang defiantly looks for them anytime they are in a new environment)

Over time he’s able to master high level spell and stand next to his friends in his own power.

Atticus

There is an obvious answer to this one and I will get there but first

Paladin (stay with me)

Sworn to the Red Eyes Black Dragon

Something about him and Alexis being Cleric and Paladin siblings just feels right.

Maybe by becoming Nightshroud he broke his oath and that is why he is so much weaker.

Throughout the story he’s working on atoning for his crimes as Nightshroud to restore his oath.

During this time, to become more helpful to the crew and just because he wants to (he’s trying to do things he enjoys after his time as Nightshoud) he multi-classes as a bard.

Until he can restore his oath he’s mostly doing bard magic.

Aster

He’s also scoring in as a Druid.

I don’t know if he should also be Circle of the Moon and him and Jaden have a rivalry over who does it better. (Aster cares way more than Jaden does. Asters pulling off powerful spells and transforming into powerful creature and then turns to Jaden like “top that” Jaden transforms the enemy into a mouse, transforms himself into a hawk, scoops it up and throws the mouse off a cliff. The fight is over in seconds. Aster thinks he’s a genius Jaden thinks of himself as funny)

But I’m also thinking about making Aster a different form of Druid, Specifically a Star Druid.

Circle of Stars. Allows you to make yourself or opponents glow. Transform into constellation forms; the archer (combat) chalice (healing) dragon(fortitude/concentration/movement) at high levels you can easily switch between forms and be flying around as a comic thing.

They have a whole relationship with the stars which feels more like Jaden with the Neo-spacians until you realize it’s all related to divination and Aster and his relationships with Destiny fits it much better.

Jesse

Either a paladin or ranger

If he’s a paladin his patron is Rainbow Dragon. He has an oath to protect the Legendary Crystal Beast

He is more than their protector he has become part of their family and the Beasts are just as protective as him as he is of them.

Or

He’s a ranger. Instead of having 1 companion he has 7. The Crystal Beast are connected to Jesse by 7 Gem stone he keeps with him at all time.

Maybe he finds the Crystals throughout his life. The legendary creature choosing him as their companion and family member.

His goal is to find all the Crystal beast (maybe he starts the campaign with only Ruby and has to find the other crystals through the story) and the final goal is to find and free the Rainbow dragon

Both are great options. One has him coming in as a powerful paladin and the other has him growing as the story goes

Maybe make him multi-class. Start as a ranger and then once he find all 7 crystal beast he specks into paladin to better protect his family and search for rainbow dragon.

Or

Make him Druid 3 this time a circle of Shepard allowing him to command an army of animals. (Funny that he Jaden and Aster are all Druids) but I think I like the Ranger plan.

Jim

Again a ranger

His companion is Shirley the Crocodile.

He’s a tracker and hunter. He definitely has a fascination in legendary and ancient creatures

Axel

I have three thoughts; Artificer to bring in his guns or a pure fighter or monk.

I don’t think he’s an Artificer. He’s tech savvy but it’s not a passion.

I kinda like him as a pure fighter.

Coming in to this group of heavy spell caster and being like “That’s great. How many of you know how to throw a punch.” And just whips them all into shape.