#breathless with her

[jfkisonthemoon]

theres nothing like the quiet sadness of 1863 hsy's death. the quiet of hsy reaching and just missing kdj, the quiet of kdj's unfulfilled and unoccupied life. but also the quiet of the reader, realizing in horror as hsy reaches out that she won't survive. she won't manage to reach him this time, because if she had, kim dokja would have told us. a woman who lived her life as a love letter to a man who never saw her

[rottentiger-art]

I STAND FUCKING CORRECTED AND I WILL ISSUE MR. BRIDGERTON A HAND WRITTEN APOLOGY, THIS WAS NOT A ONE-SIDED BEEF

This edit here has opened my eyes bc I wasn't paying attention to Debling at ALL during this scene. There was an acknowledgement that they both wanted Pen, Debling here thought he was the winner. Debling was the first to interrupt rudely in the middle of a conversation, breaking an important moment, Colin was just more scansalous about it when it came his turn, interrumpting them mid-dancing

The way he looks at Colin both times, I thought he was just polite the first time but nah, he was smug, Colin sweety I'm so sorry I gaslighted you, you kinda had other valid reason to dislike him😭

[queenlua]

hey lua what decks do phoenix aceattorney and miles aceattorney play in magic

PHOENIX WRIGHT

once upon a time, a friend bullied me into going to a Pro Tour Qualifier, which was probably the largest Magic tournament i’d ever been to at that time, right?

i was happy to be bullied, to be clear, but the problem was… i hadn’t played standard-format Magic competitively in about 2-3 years.  so my knowledge of the current metagame, what deck archetypes were popular, and what the current cards even were, was staggeringly limited.

“it will be fine,” said my friend.  “here, take this spare deck i built.  it’s super-straightforward and easy,” he lied.

he said this to me approx. 8 seconds before the first round began, so uhhhhh, i sure was playing a game of magical cards without ever having even looked at the damn deck before!

so, lo, literally in the course of playing the deck, i was learning how this shit was supposed to work.  “oh!” i’d exclaim with delight, halfway through my turn.  “THAT’S how those two cards are supposed to interact.  oh that’s super clever.  what a neat combo.”  and then i’d proceed to shiftily look at my opponent over my cards, riffle those cards a lil bit, and then say “pass” with as much of an enigmatic vibe as i could muster.

meanwhile, my opponent was Actually Prepared, and they were Trying To Win, and they were pissed.  they threatened to call Slow Play on me because i was taking so fucking long reading all the cards.  as in, he literally called a judge over, who stood there watching me the whole time, in order to determine if i was being Criminally Bad At Magic versus just A Regular Amount Of Bad At Magic, and i was sweating bullets the whole time because i didn’t know this deck or their deck or any of those cards and AHHHH why is the judge staring at me!!!

….which only served to make it EXTRA-humiliating for this poor fuck when i proceeded to eviscerate them 2-0.  hahahah get dunked onnnnnnnn nerd!!!

and then i also proceeded to eviscerate my next opponent???

sheer dumb luck.  i cannot overstate how ill-prepared i was for this tournament.  i absolutely did not deserve these wins.

meanwhile the friend who gave me the deck was having a much worse time with their deck, and they were like “what the fuck. you weren’t supposed to win. how are you winning with that shit, my deck’s so much better than yours”

anyway.  i think that’s the kind of scenario Phoenix would get into if he were an MtG player.  dude Gets Himself Into Situations And Then Uses Cleverness + Bullshit + Luck To Get Out Again.

(AA4-era Phoenix seems like he’s doing the same thing… but, in reality, he’s actually been meticulously crafting his deck in secret for the past six months.  he’s not even aiming to win the tournament, he’s just exploiting a known weakness in the opponent-matching system that lets him know with certainty who he’s going to get matched up against (spoiler: first round is Kristoph), and he’s hyper-optimizing his deck to beat Literally Only Those People.  meanwhile, Apollo, who built a tryhard hyper-optimized variant of Red Deck Wins, is lowkey annoyed that Phoenix's seemingly-random pile keeps vaulting him just one table above him in the standings, because Apollo knows his deck is better. he knows it!!!! just let him go 1v1 and prove it aaaaughhhh!!!)

((also, in case you want Actual Concrete Cards And Colors And Stuff: in general i think Phoenix prefers limited play (draft, sealed, "anything where you open booster packs on the spot & throw a deck together") to constructed play, because he doesn't like being tied down to any one game plan. when he does play constructed, i think he's less attached to a specific colors and more attached to specific mechanics. in particular: he's not a combo player exactly, but he likes mechanics that feel like bullshit. dude saw Madness for the first time & his eyes lit up & he was in LOVE, "you mean i'm discarding the card but then i can cast it for free??? hell YES." he absolutely ran a poison counter deck during New Phyrexia. ah fuck i just realized he was probably a huge stan for noted awful expansion Battle for Zendikar, i think i gotta cancel him now, sorry))

((and i think Phoenix also has a touch of Timmy in him! like, i went to a huge state tournament once with a bunch of really skilled players, and there was this one dude in our car who had a really solid deck, clearly adhered to a lot of the trends in the meta at the time... but his win condition was a Shivan Dragon. which wasn't a bad card at the time, it was a reasonable win condition, but it was... slightly suboptimal? not at all the obvious pick? sort of random? and multiple people asked him "why is that your win condition" & he shrugged and said "i like dragons." so the dragon stayed & that dude ended up getting second place in the whole tournament so FUCK optimal play, bring a dragon. i think Phoenix would sneak in a dragon now and again. just 'cause))

MILES EDGEWORTH

this one is trickier!!!

young!Miles is just going to play Whatever The Meta Deems To Be The Best Deck, right. the von Karma perfection thing and all. it's all very boring & micro-optimized to be the Best Deck Of Its Kind & he pours over the results of the big name tournaments week after week & does some math or whatever to hyper-optimize his own build of the Obviously Correct Deck. there is no soul in any of this, purely Executing On A Formula.

...but then he experiences Character Growth & has his big gay crisis & now he has to pick up the game again. he opens the latest tournament results... clicks around some win % stats for various cards in a desultory kinda way, and... his heart's just not in it, right?

enter 2-4 era Miles. 2-4 era Miles is playing some utterly unhinged Five Color Good Stuff thing. there's a lot of Planar Chaos cards in there, because that whole set was about Weird Shit & cards doing Stuff You're Familiar With (But In The Utterly Wrong Color!!!) & all that is resonating with Miles more than he'd care to admit. he cannot possibly talk about his unnecessary feelings but he can make a weird noise rock album about them. and by noise rock album i mean this fucking Magic deck.

and he's playing this deck with a 100% straight face, as though this is the exact same behavior that won him the Junior Super Series five years in a row & not a desperate cry for help from a madman. everyone else is like Miles... are you playing fucking singletons... in a fucking standard deck... you know your deck will be more consistent with four-ofs right... and then he gives a cool fish-eyed stare & taps out to cast some arcane bullshit legendary creature & gives a single rap of his knuckles against the table to indicate that he's passing the turn.

and it works, is the thing! all those years of training to be the Spikiest Spike Ever have paid off; this Five Color Good Stuff thing relies on some pretty clever insights to make the mana base work, and parts of what he's doing eventually get adopted by the larger metagame to become an Actual Serious Deck. but, like. it's still a monstrosity. any skilled players watching are still definitely wondering Are You Okay, Dude.

after 2-4, i think Miles settles back into playing something more normal. he still cares about winning, but he's going to do it with a touch of class. he wants a game that involves dialogue, some actual back-and-forth, because just trying to combo off is lame coward behavior.

aw yeah baby we're talking counterspells!!!

he's a blue player at heart & he's happiest when he's updating the autopsy report shutting down whatever his opponent's plan is. he'll splash other colors as the occasion calls for it, but he'd be happy running mono-blue the rest of his life. like, i ran a pretty fun Legacy deck back in the day which consisted of:

every kind of counterspell i could get my hands on,

propaganda because FUCK creatures,

thieving magpies for the card draw,

and a few silver wyverns to, y'know, actually win the game

...and i think Miles would appreciate that deck. just play counterspells until the opponent runs out of steam & then cruise your way to victory with a couple birds. simple. elegant. classic. doesn't involve any of this modern Planeswalker bullshit (Miles regards most developments that happened to MtG post-Time Spiral block or so as affronts to game design).

(i do think Miles has a secret fondness for sagas as a card type, however. they remind him of all that Character Growth, but in an abstract/subconscious/nonthreatening way. too bad most of them are a bit of poor match for the kinds of decks he likes to play)

FINALLY: i think Miles hates playing Commander with every fiber of his being & Phoenix loves it & this is a pretty serious point of contention in their relationship. poor dudes

[aemondsbabygirl]

Was anyone else super turned on from that scene when Aemond shouts :

“Give me your eye, or I will take it bastard!” ?

I mean listen :

Everybody talks about the dagger twirl, which is indeed sexy, but his tone and voice when he shouts at Luke and lunges at him??

Just end me already.

[akkivee]

ALSO!!!!!! HAPPY FIVE YEARS ANNIVERSARY TO THIS ICONIC INTRO!!!!!!!💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

[mightymizora]

I literally hear the dial up tone when I hear people say that Minthara isn’t beautiful. It’s not even a judgement, it literally doesn’t compute to me. Is she not the most beautiful? Is that not what beauty is??

[143bc]

[reyolfx]

a silly little ficlet i wrote in the mountains when i was kinda drunk in my tent. finale fix-it even though i haven't even seen the finale??? lmao and won't. fuck that hoe.

(like the most minor teeny tiny turn into explicit near the end)

cas comes back, dean's kinda pissed, cas's love for dean is totally insane, here we go.

---

Becoming empty is a process.

Filling up can take just a few minutes if the calories are right.

That's a human thing.

But Castiel knows about those.

Darkness turns so suddenly to light that it feels like he might vomit.

Utter, torturous quiet becomes loud – not with screams or crashes, but with white noise. It's been so long without white noise. The sound of generators should be faint – Castiel knows they are not anywhere near this room – but to him they roar. He nearly weeps. It's so good to sense, but so harsh.

Angels have more than five senses.

The Empty, of course, allows for none.

Suddenly, all of Castiel's are back at once and he wants to crawl under his bed as much as he wants to rejoice.

His bed – yes, it's really here. Or rather, he's really here.

The bunker.

He's not really sure if his arrival made a sound, what with all the overwhelm, but it doesn't matter. He knows it's only a matter of time, and sure enough, footsteps are pounding down the hall. They are so lound.

They are so familiar.

Castiel kind of wants to claw his vessel's ears off.

But also,

His heart beats fast and everything in him warms.

It's been a long time since he was warm.

Tears spill over before the steps even reach his door, and they reach it fast. It's all so much, the anticipation a thousand fold. He has never felt this intensely, not even as a human. He supposes total deprivation will do that to you. The tears are a nuisance. He wills them to stop.

Of course, thankfully, unquestionably—

It's Dean that enters. He doesn't knock.

The door flings open and slams against the wall, and Dean is on him almost as fast as Castiel could have been on Dean, if he'd tried.

Dean. Right there, in his face. So up close and personal that Castiel has to wonder who taught who about personal space. Such a long time ago and also just a blink away.

(This life, since the rescue in Hell, has felt quite long in comparison to other 10, 100, 10 thousand year periods. Every moment has stretched on and on. Not in a negative way, as humans might describe time crawling. Long like deliberate, like important, like precious, despite the pain.)

"Tell me it's really you," Dean pleads, and it brings Castiel back into his body. Many humans mean that figuratively, but Castiel means it literally. He had begun to float away. Everything is so— he could do with a wider scope.

But no. Not with Dean here. His focus narrows, pinpoints green eyes. Green like a forest floor in early September. He knows he must be biased but he is familiar with every language on earth and thinks they all fall short to describe this green.

He says: "Hello, Dean."

And then, when Dean doesn't move, because one hand of his is over his gun and the other is extended halfway out to Castiel and he's been frozen like that for a good moment—

"I believe it's really me."

He does. He feels like himself. He doesn't know how it happened. He pats himself down like maybe it is a trick after all.

Could he be dreaming?

He hasn't dreamt since he was a human.

And those dreams, well. The quality was much different. Dean was often there, but his breath never felt so hot against Castiel's face in a dream.

He's so close.

Castiel thinks, I told him I loved him, doesn't even have the time to flinch at the thought before Dean is pushing him up against the bedroom wall.

He could resist if he wanted to. He always could have resisted.

"You stupid self-sacrificing son of a bitch, Cas," Dean yells, somehow loud and soft at the same time, like a rain storm. Wildly, he uses one hand to wipe the wet from beneath Castiel's eyelashes. Those forest floor eyes roam his face accusingly, adoringly. It's so much to take in.

How can he reconcile the complete and utter darkness, nothingness, emptiness, that existed just two minutes ago—

With everything?

Because this is everything.

Every one of his senses is alight

Dean's hot breath Dean's forearm pressed against his collarbone Dean's eyes Dean's smell Dean's soul Dean's vastness. Dean. He can taste him through his vessel's pores. Everything is Dean, all in place of nothing.

He thinks maybe he's let the moment extend too long. He breathes unnecessarily just to take Dean's scent deeper.

"Did you fucking hear me?" Dean looks bewildered. He looks hopeful and angry and faithless and beautiful.

Castiel says: "Yes. You're very loud."

"I'm very—" Dean splutters. "I'm very loud? That's what you have to say to me right now? You fucking— you fucking died, Cas. I told you not to get dead again, I told you. And you went and did it, what, because you think you've got a— some kind of unrequited crush?" Dean is fury and spit and anguish. Castiel can feel it all on his skin and all through the room. He rises to it: breaks Dean's hold on him, flips their positions. He has him up against the wall now, a hand on Dean's throat but it's featherlight. He feels his pulse. It's hammering away.

"If you must diminish my love for you to a 'crush' so you can comprehend it, so it can be dismissed, then so be it. But make no mistake, Dean. I would sooner steal your soul and carry it with me all my days before I ever let you die. Before I ever had to live without you, now that I know what it is to live with you. 'I love you' doesn't begin to describe the way you are the universe, the way it would stop if you did."

Dean's breath is shallower. He's closer. Castiel could lean in just so and brush his nose against Dean's freckles.

"How are you back," Dean breathes, and it's more a demand than a question, and it's more a caress than a demand.

"I don't know," is Castiel's honest answer. He knows he should expect holy water, a silver blade, but he doesnt, because Dean always believes him.

He'll prove it anyways — Dean has no visible injuries right now but Cas presses his palm to his chest and emits healing. Wounds or no wounds, Dean should be able to feel it. To recognize it.

Dean buckles, pants.

"Jesus, Cas. Warn a guy."

But he doesn't look displeased. Castiel smiles.

"Dean."

It's a sentence all on it's own, full and complete. It has its own taste, and it's not molecules.

Castiel thinks Dean may have gotten lost. His lips are parted, his eyes are on his but they're unfocused. His hands are on his arms, somehow. Castiel doesn't know when that happened. He should — his power feels fully charged. But he can't catalogue everything in this moment quickly enough to keep up. Senses still sluggish from Empty.

Dean finds himself. "Cas," he says. "Don't— don't ever fucking do that again."

Castiel juts his chin out. Meets Dean's eyes, those greenbrowngold autumn eyes. Defiant.

"Why not," he asks, because he needs to know, once and for all. He died for this. He was prepared to never see these eyes again. He can face that same chance now. It would be destructive, but he is a soldier. He is one thousand feet tall. Rejection is a small thing, a tolerable thing, he tells himself.

His vessel's heartbeat picks up. A lump forms in his throat and his tongue dries. Rejection might ruin him.

"Because you can have me, you—you feathered fuck. I want you to—please have me. Keep me. I love—you gotta know I love you too."

It takes a moment to sink in. And then—

Castiel feels every single thousand feet of himself. Joy and exaltation rocket through him and he didn't know. He didn't know it could feel like this. He feels uncontrollable, his power vibrating through his vessel and beyond it. The Empty does not come and he could weep again. Nothing bad happens.

Well—depending on the definition of bad. It's not the best decision in the world to fly immediately to the top of his favourite mountain in Nepal, Dean still clinging to him, but it wasn't so much a decision as it was a result. He hurriedly pulls the necessary oxygen around Dean so he can breathe at the altitude and emits enough warmth to keep him from hypothermia.

Still, the green of Dean's eyes spreads to his face and Castiel says "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

Dean laughs dazedly.

Castiel starts again. "Dean I—" and then "Please, can I—" and every one of Castiel's 247 eyes are on Dean's lips.

"God yeah Cas," Dean breathes, and that hot breath is still everything in the frigid mountain air. It's all everything because all he's had for so long is nothing and if Cas had come back to earth a thousand miles from Dean his senses woud still have been overwhelmed by Dean. He could feel Dean anywhere. See him in a storm, in a fern, in a river.

He kisses him and it's like a storm, a fern, a river.

It's nature and its harsh and soft and glowing and crushing and

Everything.

The mountain disappears. Castiel takes Dean Winchester to bed.

Between sighs and groans and pleas Dean says:

"Never again Cas"

And

"Don't you ever"

And

"I looked for you"

And he says

"I'm sorry I failed."

Castiel kisses him quiet after that one, with a hand on his face, rocking into him in a way that makes him wonder about the human drug ecstacy. Surely it has nothing on this.

He says "Shhh. Maybe you didn't."

And then, Dean's sweat under his chest and breath he doesn't need coming quick:

"I don't—Dean I don't think I will ever be strong enough to let this end."

Dean laughs and says "Well, sweetheart, it's almost over on my end," and then it is. He spills over his own fist and onto Castiel's stomach and it's warm and Castiel loves this too.

He rolls his eyes though, because "You know what I meant." He's still going, so close.

And Dean grabs his face and stares with those eyes of his and says "I told you to keep me, didn't I? 'm not used to staying dead anyways."

When all is said and done in the long life of Dean Winchester, Castiel gathers his soul, and flies.

[doortotomorrow]

CLARKE & LEXA - The 100: 3x04

[rose-n-gunses]

Hellcheer au where they're in the same college class and keep responding to each other's discussion boards because they're both convinced the other person is a genius because they just. have the most beautiful insightful things to say and they're infatuated with the thoughts they have and connections they make in their discussion posts

They've never met in person and only know each other by name and their tiny canvas profile picture or whatever until they do meet somehow, maybe in a different class or through mutual friends OR maybe one of them works somewhere on/near campus and the other shows their student ID to get the discount and the one working like. quotes one of their discussion posts at them or something idk

[dreadfutures]

I just had a vision of one armed Ixchel and Lucanis facing off to spar with rapiers and it will be the first time any of the crew sees her come to life

[herlittlebunnyboy]

She called me on her way home and was reluctant at first but finally let me in on a fantasy she's been thinking about and holy fuck. . . I was incapable of forming words. I could feel my pulse in my neck and else where and I could see the veins in my hands and arms standing out way more than usual. My body flushed and I could feel my mouth go dry. All from like 4 sentences. I'm still not fully calmed down and it's a half an hour later.

Someone needs to put me down, she's got me going into heat and I'm not liable for what happens 😵‍💫

[spirit-lanterns]

i would love to make out with fu xuan

Especially when the both of you are angry at each other. Angry make outs are the best, just you two wanting to vent your feelings out and getting lost in each other’s lips to forget why you were arguing in the first place 😳

Fu Xuan angrily making out with you is the best though. No other HSR woman does angry make outs better than Fu Xuan 💕

[theswampghost]

this poem actually stole my breath away when i first read it like FUCK it’s crazy. david elliott when i GET you

[becabeale143]

Darby 🌹❤️

[143bc]