#sealegs

[georgiagirlforever]

Dreams of warm days on the beach....

[anijig]

Hey y'all! Journey with your favorite characters as they make their way across the open ocean for the first time, and watch Valkaria really not have a good time with the motion of the ocean; Asha gets pretty darn spooked (with no additional help from Val); and Jaz'Zara seriously questioning her life choices Some weird magical shit is happening that no one can explain and while hilarious for some, really confusing for others. Let's see what lies in store for our three brave friends as they face more of the unknown and handle it with all the dignity they can muster. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride! #thesorrynotsorrygenerationpodcast #thesorrynotsorrygeneration #tsnsgen #tsnsgendndcampaign #dungeonsanddragons #dnd #tsnsgendndhomebrew #homebrewcampaign #tsnsgendnd #rollforinitiative #exandria #palebankvillage #ruinsofaor #wildemount #imonaboat #firsttimeontheopeanocean #seasick #sealegs #valkarianyekore #ashakell #jazzaratelina #thenamelesscity #dragonitesyndicate #underdark #wildmagic https://www.instagram.com/p/Cn4gmCXJdnw/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[uncanny-tranny]

So much love and recognition to the people who don't know how they feel about recovering. To the people whose scars are fading away, and there's a sinking feeling, despite knowing that it's a good thing. To the people who miss when they were "worse," when they felt "broken." To the people who mourn losing their coping mechanisms, even the ones that were destructive, scary, or unpleasant. To those who feel guilty they're healing because their past self wasn't ready.

Whatever it is, there is nothing wrong with any of those feelings. It's a natural reaction, something you don't have ultimate control over. There is nothing shameful about yourself, and I admire the strength it takes to recognize how you feel, even the parts that do feel like the "wrong" reaction to a Good Thing.

[0dd-0wl]

I forget to post here often, 

go pies

[nillial]

got my first job interview ive had in a while in an hour i feel RUSTY i feel FEARFUL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! everyone send me PROFESSIONAL PSYCHIC WAVELENGTHS or perhaps buy a "do well at ur job interview" spell from a witch on etsy . or a "do bad at ur job interview" spell if ur evil

[groovyace]

Thinking about tim drake. Cant wait for that guy to be on a boat.

[sysig]

Strong look, minor details ✨ (Patreon)

[elfgender]

okay I tried to describe this to some friends once and they looked at me like I'd grown a second head. please someone let me know if you understand what I mean when I talk about what I can only term "inner ear memory."

Say for example you spent some amount of time jumping on a trampoline, or maybe riding a roller coaster, rocking with the waves on a boat, or anything that involved repeated changes to your orientation and momentum in space, and then at a later point in time (a few hours, generally) you feel the sort of memory of that inner ear sensation again even though you are still. I think maybe it doesn't even need to be large motions, and something like your head rocking on someone's chest as it rises and falls with their breath can cause this effect. The key is specifically the inner ear going through a repeated motion.

I know I'm doing a terrible job of describing this and this requires you, the reader, to know a little bit about how the inner ear guides balance and orientation in physical space, please forgive me

[wheretwofacesmeet]

[destineden-archived]

I'm curious. What's Bill's opinion on what happened in Beaver Hollow after the Pinkertons showed up? What does he think of Arthur after that scenario?

ooc. I think there is a bit of a divide in how he acts and what he thinks. Not a large one, but it should be noted. More than anything else, Bill believes in Dutch. That man's like a god to him, and he's not even hesitant to admit it. There is a lot of hero worship and idealization going on here that is not easily undone. While Bill at no point genuinely believes Micah, he is not in the position to disagree with Dutch. So he has to make it make sense for himself. He cares for Arthur, in his rough and tumble way. That's why his doubt and perceived disruption so evidently hurt Bill. But on the other hand, he knows (and is repeatedly told) that he is slow on the uptake, that he is easily confused and misses things. He's told he can't comprehend what he sees because he lacks the intelligence for it. It is very easy to internalize a message like that, especially since nothing in his life so far has disproven it. So while emotionally he is very much in denial about how things went down and how the gang fell apart, he is also very quick to shove the blame onto Arthur and John. It's easier than admitting that the horse he bet on didn't cut it. He must have missed something. He must have been fooled. Because there is no way that Dutch could have been fooled instead. Right? Bill thinks there must have been something Dutch saw in how Arthur was acting that made him distrust him (and he's been disappointed in Arthur and his distrust in Dutch for a while, after all). Loyalty means everything to Bill. But I personally don't believe that he is as completely convinced as he pretends he is. He will likely carry an anger in him towards Arthur for "ruining" things until the day he is killed, but it's an anger tinged with hurt.

[elibeeline]

Gamers do we know if constant motion sickness is a cause for concern or am i sound

[pockymun]

I went to hell on a cruise.

[anijig]

Hey y'all! I know, I know, I'm late with the posts. Yell at me later Better yet, journey with your favorite characters as they make their way across the open ocean for the first time, and watch Valkaria realt not have a good time with the motion of the ocean Tune in on Thursday to find out what more lies in store for these brave women #thesorrynotsorrygenerationpodcast #thesorrynotsorrygeneration #tsnsgen #tsnsgendndcampaign #dungeonsanddragons #dnd #tsnsgendndhomebrew #homebrewcampaign #tsnsgendnd #rollforinitiative #exandria #palebankvillage #ruinsofaor #wildemount #imonaboat #firsttimeontheopeanocean #seasick #sealegs https://www.instagram.com/p/Cn2c598PaV4/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ceilidho]

prompt: ghost works on an oil rig. he meets reader during his osha mandated 2 weeks off. (ns/fw)

-

Ghost experiences time like a sudden swarming of locusts. Absolutely devastating for a period, and then silence, just him to observe the aftermath of the wreckage. 

Work on an offshore oil rig is split into shifts of two weeks on, two weeks off. During his two weeks on, he spends his near twelve-hour shifts in constant motion, muscles aching to the point of fatigue, to the point of giving out where he lugs tools and parts across the rig. He contorts himself into all manner of positions for quick and long repairs, breaking his back day in and day out because that is what work expects of him. What he expects of himself. 

Lying motionless in his bed, the sound of Soap’s snoring from the bunk over him the only thing half-resembling a lullaby. Hours before sleep falls on him, and then suddenly it’s day again, opening grit-crusted eyes to the bottom of Soap’s bunk, metal and leather straps across the underside, and then he’s up and down the halls that are never big enough for him. He wakes up ravenous, never full. Hungering always.

It takes nearly a full three days onshore to get his bearings; he never quite loses his sealegs. 

Foam-topped beer at his local pub. That’s how Ghost fills his days off; the rest of his crew flock off to their families, some into the warm arms of whatever casual arrangement they’ve got going on outside of the rig. For Ghost, he finds solace in counting down the minutes until his OSHA mandated period of rest is over and it’s time to head back. 

There’s nothing waiting for him outside of the rig. Family home long since burned to the ground. He won’t even let his mind turn to the family in it. 

He’s on the fifth day of his union-enforced leave, hunched over the bar like usual and picking away at an order of fish and chips when he happens to look up and catch sight of you. You’re chattering away at the other end of the room, dressed like one of the waitresses. 

You’re new. Ghost learns as much when he turns to the bartender—an old friend of his, though he’d call him less of a friend and more of a familiar face that’s come to know his name after the years he’s spent at this particular pub—and it’s said like it’s a novelty. It is. New faces are rare in towns like this, working class towns far off from any big city. It’s the same reason he hasn’t fallen into bed with anyone in too many years to count, not when he sees the same old faces whenever he touches land.

With you though, it’s different. Ghost keeps an eye on you while he nurses his pint. It’s not hard to catch your eye; you’re new and keen and curious and when your eyes rove over the crowd that grows as night outside deepens, it’s impossible to skip over the shape of him. His line of work has shaped him into something strong and solid; linebacker-size, a condition of which is to never feel comfortable on any chair. 

Your eyes go wide for all of a second, betraying you. Momentarily desirous. Ghost sees it and feels it stir in him for once in years. No longer the perfunctory thing to be dealt with in the bathroom every morning after waking up, one calloused hand wrapped around his thick length, grunting with his release and then washing his hands off before getting started with the day’s errands. 

Ghost waits until he’s nearly at the end of his glass before stepping from his chair, heading out the front door. Before he exits, he makes sure to catch eyes with you again, something significant passing between the two of you. 

Cigarette in an alleyway beside the pub. Taking the glove off his hand so he can feel the cig between his fingers, feel the ash flake off past his knuckles. He’s leaning against the brick wall when you come out, apron tied demurely around your waist. 

It’s you that breaks the silence first. “Hi—haven’t seen you around before.”

He stares into your eyes for a spell, taking another pull before he tosses the butt to the ground, snuffing it out under his boot. “Wouldn’t imagine you had.”

You take a couple steps closer, despite yourself. Despite the fact that you know what you’re broadcasting, the way you look up at him from under your lashes, cheeks dusted with a blush that’s hardly visible in the dim light but for the way you make it obvious with the rest of you. 

“I just moved into town a couple days ago. Guess I’ll see you around more often—Gaz said you’re a regular.”

“‘Spose you could say that.” Time feels molasses slow for once; Ghost feels the edge of his lip curl up into something half-resembling a grin, in another time. “Don’t suppose you’re off for the night, are ya?” 

Your legs around his waist are softer than anything he’s touched in years. It’s a near revelation. There’s something in him that grows frantic when he finally has you on your back on his navy sheets; the sparseness of his bedroom hardly seems worthy of having you in it, but he won’t pass up the opportunity. His eyes go half-lidded when he gets between your legs, tongue flicking over your clit and laving over you from hole to hole. Greedy for it. 

His head spins when he finally slots himself over you and pumps into the soft warmth between your legs. The little bitten off noises, kitten-like moans that get trapped behind your teeth. Your arms are snaked around his neck, tightening like your pussy around his cock. His big hands clutch at your ass, squeezing into the flesh there; everything so soft. 

“None of that, love,” Ghost grunts into your neck, sucking dark bruises into the softness there. Hoping they flare bright in the morning light. “Want you loud. Gonna imagine this every time I’m alone and hard on the rig. Perfect little cunt.”

When he makes you come, fingers rubbing at your clit until you squeak, nails digging into the muscle of his back, it burns into his memory. Time stilling for once, segmented only by your quick breaths in. 

For the first time in longer than he can remember, his time off-shore can’t be long enough.

[auroravictorium]

labyrinth (k.b.)

Oh, I'm falling in love.

Summary: kaz and reader spend a peaceful evening in his room, enjoying each other's company.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship)

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, kaz working through his touch aversion, brief allusion to near-death

Genre: fluff!

Author's Note: i promised fluff, and i am here to deliver <3 ENJOY! btw six of crows requests are OPEN! feel free to drop any angst, fluff, or headcanon requests in my asks :))

The sensation of his fingers on the sensitive skin of your inner arm nearly made you shiver, but you forced yourself to remain still as he started to trace your tattoo next. He ran his fingertips over the feathers of the crow, its legs as it perched on the rim of the cup, the vines crawling around the stem and up the side. Your eyes remained trained on his face, though he refused to look at you as he fought against the tide threatening to pull him under.

"Breathe," you gently reminded Kaz as he traced his bare fingertips along the veins in your arm. You watched as he forced himself to take a deep breath in, hold it, and breathe out. 

You sat together on his tiny bed, shoved in the corner of the Slat's attic almost as an afterthought. Letting your mind wander as Kaz let his fingers do the same along your arm and hand, you wondered if Kaz realized he needed to sleep; either he was meticulous about making the bed every morning, or he hadn't spent a minute of his time as leader of the Dregs with his eyes shut.

"What are you thinking about?" Kaz asked softly. He only ever used that voice around you, and it appeared more and more often as he fought to become more vulnerable around you. He figured you deserved it; he didn't want you to spend a day of your relationship regretting choosing him, especially if it could end with a Dime Lion finally getting their hands on you. Two months had passed after your name was handed straight to Pekka Rollins and a bounty for your capture and destruction was placed on your head with the intent of intimidating Kaz into bowing to the supposed might of the Dime Lions. He thought about his rage that morning nearly every day. Nothing motivated his urge to fight his demons and grow closer to you more than his fear of losing you.

"About how you make your bed like a member of the Kerch navy," you answered, leading him off the violent path his thoughts started to head down. He was grateful for that, and he forced another breath of air into his lungs to calm himself down.

"Is that so?" Kaz traced his fingers over the lines on your palm, and a shiver ran down your spine. His lips twitched upward at the reaction.

"Very much so." You scanned his face, from the creases in his forehead as he explored your skin to the focus in his blue eyes, down to the purse of his lips. "Perhaps you'll consider adding Sealegs to your long list of aliases."

Kaz broke into a small smile and finally met your gaze. "I prefer land, but I'll let you know if I develop an inclination otherwise." He dropped your right hand and went for the left, pushing up your sleeve and starting his investigation again. The terror that usually consumed him was bearable as he felt your pulse thrum against his fingertips.

You smiled as he turned your hand this way and that, leaving no mark, vein, or scar untraced. Kaz was nothing if not meticulous as he pushed himself toward being able to bear your touch. "How are you feeling?" you asked, daring to turn your hand in his grasp and loosely curling your fingers around his index finger. You brushed your thumb over a thin, silvery scar he had there, and you wondered how he'd gotten it.

He looked down at your hands, appreciating the subtle test. Instead of pulling his hand away, he laced your fingers together. He held your twined hands in his free one. "It's not bad," he told you quietly. "Not easy, but not difficult." Not as hard as kissing you for the first time had been, though he wanted to try again now and see if the feeling had changed. 

"That's good." You squeezed his hand, hoping it told him how proud you were of him. He'd been somewhat open with you about wanting to push himself and push back against the trauma of what he'd been through. He hadn't told you what that was exactly, but you didn't press. It wasn't your place, and he hadn't pushed you to share what drove you to Ketterdam either. There was a silent agreement that your pasts would remain undiscussed, and it was something you were all too happy to agree to.

Kaz pulled his hand away from yours, and you figured he was done for the day until he started to remove his coat. Your brows furrowed as he neatly folded it up and set it at the foot of his bed with military precision, then rolled up his sleeves and held his arms out to you. "It's not the same," he said, seeing the confusion in your gaze. His voice was uneven from nerves, and he pushed away the urge to pull his gloves and coat back on. He could do this. He was determined to. "Being touched and touching someone else."

You nodded slowly and hesitantly reached out. "One at a time," you told him. He lowered his left arm but kept his right arm stiffly extended. "Breathe," you reminded him. He nodded curtly and watched as you held his hand and slowly started tracing his tattoo with your fingertips.

The ink of the crow and cup stood out starkly against his pale skin, and you noted that his tattoo was more detailed than yours. He'd added more thorns to the vines circling the cup, partly filled with what was supposed to be wine. As you reached the crow's beak and the skin of his inner elbow, Kaz exhaled slowly. He flexed his fingers but allowed you to continue. You reached the crook of his arm and spotted another patch of ink peeking out beneath where he'd rolled his shirt up.

You brushed your thumb over the fragment of the mystery tattoo then ran your fingertips back down his arm, making sure to trace every scar like he had with you. Once his right arm was finished, you switched to his left and repeated the process. To your delight, he had a freckle on the inside of his wrist that you probably spent too long admiring. There was something about Kaz having a freckle that made you smile.

Kaz didn't realize he was smiling with you until you pulled your hands away and looked up at him. As the two of you looked at each other, really looked, heat rushed to your face as you realized that in the past eight months, you had fallen for the Bastard of the Barrel. With every smile he shared with you, you fell all over again. Every flutter of your stomach and pound of your heart in your ears since you'd told him that you'd chosen him, danger and all, confirmed it. A sudden fear that he didn't feel the same struck you, and the fluttering in your stomach slowed with anxiety.

"What is it?" Kaz asked quietly, noticing your smile fade. You didn't seem unhappy, but something had clearly shifted on your face. Did you realize that this was the reality of being with him? Celebrating touches that should be easy?

You considered not telling him. Maybe this wasn't the time, or it was too soon or sudden. But Kaz had fought so hard to be open with you that you owed him the same. The vulnerability should go both ways.

"I told you after Pekka got my name that I chose you," you whispered. Kaz stiffened, his mind getting ahead of him, and you gently squeezed his wrist. You weren't going anywhere, not like he was probably thinking. Shit, that was a terrible way to start this. "You told me I chose to stop running, not the danger of being associated with you."

Kaz nodded slowly, unsure where you were going with this. For once, he couldn't puzzle something together, especially when you were consciously or subconsciously being hard to read. Why were you telling him this?

"I don't regret choosing you for a second," you told him, meeting his gaze. You tried to muster your confidence, though you struggled to keep your breathing steady and your eyes on his. "I've never been able to say that about anyone before. It's never been right." Right time, right place, right person. But you're right. You always have been. "But this is right. You feel right. And I love every piece of you, whole, bruised, and scarred."

The silence that followed your confession was scarier than saying you loved him, and you had to remind yourself to breathe this time. Kaz was so still and quiet that you could have mistaken him for a statue, and you were terrified as you waited for him to say something. Anything. 

You slowly withdrew your hands from his arm, giving him space, and your heart sank to your stomach as Kaz didn't respond to the loss of your touch. "Kaz?" you whispered. "Can you say something? Please?" Your voice cracked on the last word, and you didn't realize that your eyes had started burning until you had to blink to keep your emotions at bay. I shouldn't have said anything. It was too soon.

Kaz finally thawed and met your gaze, and you let out a slow breath in relief. He was silent for a moment, tracing a finger along the inside of his wrist where he would usually pull on his glove. "I thought you were leaving," Kaz admitted, and his voice was rougher than you expected. He caught your hand and laced your fingers together. He took a few deep breaths; suddenly, even the slightest touch seemed like too much. He didn't have long before he'd need to put his gloves back on. "I will say it," he said quietly. "I swear it. I need time. I know that's-"

Your shoulders relaxed at his words, and you offered him a small smile as relief flooded your chest. "It's enough," you said, cutting him off before he could concern himself with whether that was alright with you. Of course it was. You brushed your thumb over his knuckles before pulling your hand away and offering his gloves to him. "It's more than enough. Your pace, Kaz."

He nodded. Before he put his gloves on, he lifted your hand to his mouth and brushed a soft kiss along your knuckles. "Thank you," he whispered, his lips ghosting against your skin. He pulled his gloves back on but did leave his coat off, letting you admire how his forearms tensed and relaxed as he flexed his fingers. Kaz raised his brow at your not-so-subtle look. "What?"

"Are you sure you're not considering a career in the navy? I think you'd make a fine sailor."

Kaz scowled, but his eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned back and grabbed a book from his nightstand. He passed it to you, though you saw him briefly consider tossing it at you and letting you try to catch it. "You're a bigger flirt than Jesper."

"Nobody is a bigger flirt than Jesper," you answered as you made yourself comfortable at the foot of his bed while he leaned against the headboard. 

Kaz smirked and opened his own book. "Except for you."

"Read your book, Sealegs."

A stiff pillow hit you in the back of the head, and you dropped your book. It thudded to the ground, and you turned around, raising a brow at Kaz innocently reading his book on the True Sea. Your hand twitched toward the pillow. His face was in its usual frown, but his eyes glimmered with a challenge that you were all too happy to accept.

You grabbed the pillow and smacked him with it once, knocking his own book away, then hit him again in the face for good measure. The book lodged somewhere between the mattress and the wall, and satisfaction burned through you as Kaz spluttered and grabbed at the pillow. You slipped off the bed, giggling, and danced out of reach as he wrenched the pillow from your hands and tried to strike you with it. You grinned, content with how the tension in the air had loosened, leaving you both feeling much more carefree.

Failing to reach you while sitting on the bed, Kaz launched the pillow at you. He felt content with his aim until you darted across the room toward the door.

You narrowly made it through before the pillow hit the doorframe, and your laughter echoed down the hall as you went toward your own bedroom to get ready for bed. There was a smug skip in your step as you moved down the stairs and rounded the corner to make it to your room. You'd return to tell Kaz goodnight, but until then, you'd let him stew in his loss of the pillow fight he'd started.

TAGLIST: @tonberry-yoda, @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r, @futurecorps3 (welcome to the taglist!)

[nevereacheaven]

sealegs ready