#[oh boy this got long!]

[ruiiplume]

Happy 17th anniversary Twilight Princess ✨

[chronicowboy]

we as a collective do Not talk about this line delivery nearly enough and for good fucking reason, i'll kill bradley james for this one line alone. he's just a little boy :'((

[turtleblogatlast]

Big Mama must have lost some serious standing in the yokai underworld because it’s gotten apparent that she keeps being beaten by a small group of teenagers and the occasional rat man, and when it’s not them then she’s taking L’s from her own schemes working against her.

And in the ensuing power vacuum, the Hamatos accidentally become the most feared crime family known to all the big bads of the Hidden City.

After all, they’ve publicly outplayed Big Mama multiple times, a couple of them have taken out the heads of two of the most well known criminal organizations, one took out Heinous Green, two are responsible for the destruction of Witch Town, they have ties to both the infamous Baron Draxum and Captain Piel, they won the Doom Dome death race, they’re Battle Nexus Champions, they’ve displayed insane feats of power and defeated impossibly strong enemies, most of them have been to jail, and they regularly mingle with humans.

You can just imagine the notoriety they’d accumulate from word of mouth alone.

[imthursdaysyme]

Final installment of the wrestlers 3/3: Steve runs his 5’8 mouth

[nymdraws]

while we are still alive

[lavenoon]

@naffeclipse I don't think that preference is news to anyone but y'know I did connect the dots there. Also I'm weak <3

*self insert is not a girl (he/ she)

og detective au by sunnys-aesthetic!

[fairyofshampgyu]

he’s literally so beautiful and handsome

[mochiwrites]

This is probably one of the weirdest alliances Joel has ever been in. And he’s been in some pretty weird alliances before. The Red Banners are the first to come to mind on that one, with Ren’s weird accent and all that.

But The Bad Boys might just take the top spot.

Upon first glance, his alliance with them seems pretty well put together. Joel has partly teamed with Grian before, back on a world where he seemed to be chained to the red mist, blood thirsty and out for whoever he could find. It had been fun, when Grian was also red and they ran around together.

So he knows how Grian operates, how he thinks and functions. He’s a good ally, loyal and eager.

(Joel pointedly ignores how nearly every ally Grian has ever had has died permanently due to his own hands.)

And then there’s Jimmy and well… Jim is Jim. In a good way, whatever that means.

The fact of the matter is, they’re a good team. With their Bread Bridge and then Bread Bridge version two in the sky. The Sadder Badder Ladder podcast. Joel likes teaming with them.

But this? This is a bit odd, even for him.

They’ve pushed their beds together. It’s hard to cuddle on a singular bed, and well, Bad Boys call each other babe and all that. Joel isn’t going to shy away from snuggling with Grian and Jimmy, especially when Grian fits against his side so easily, and Jimmy can easily wrap them both in his golden wings. Grian’s sleek cat tail tangles with Joel’s own (perks of being a wolf hybrid and all that), and sleep is quite peaceful.

It doesn’t start out that way though.

“Griaaaan, come on!” Jimmy whines as they all settle in for the night. They’re on the dry part of the mansion’s roof, the moon high in the sky above them. It casts them each in its soft blue glow, illuminating their figures. “You did it last time!”

Which is why Joel can see Jimmy’s pout so well.

Grian hums nonchalantly, kicking his shoes off and laying back in his bed. His ears twitch. “You willingly offered last time, Timmy. And now it’s actually my turn.” He shrugs.

“Because you had a rough day!” Jimmy points out. He’s kneeling on his bed, body angled toward them both.

Joel himself is already laying down flat on his back. He’s waiting.

“If you wanted your right and proper turn, you shouldn’t have given it up!”

“Griannnnnn!”

“Timmmmm.”

This is something that happens every night. The three of them get ready for bed, and Grian and Jimmy bicker over who gets to listen to Joel’s heartbeat. Honestly, Joel doesn’t get it. He knows it’s related to some kind of thing that neither Grian or Jimmy will actually tell him about. He’d ask, but asking feels… wrong, almost. Like if he does, Grian and Jimmy will stop.

So he doesn’t really question it, instead letting it happen.

Even if it’s weird. It’s such a weird habit, but none of them ever talk about it in the morning. In fact there’s not even any mention of it when they wake up.

(In retrospect it isn’t that weird. It’s normal to listen to your partner’s heartbeat. But what’s weird is it’s Grian and Jimmy wanting to listen to his. His? Joel’s? The red, lone wolf?)

A head on his chest makes him pause, and he looks down. He sees two fluffy ears and ashen blond hair. “Hello Grian,” he greets, watching as the other snuggles close.

“Hi Joel.”

“Comfortable?” He lifts a brow.

“Quite.” Joel can hear the smile in Grian’s voice.

He looks over at Jimmy, finding the other pouting as he lays down beside them. Without a moment of hesitation, those golden feathery blankets are settling over the pair, drawing a content purr from Grian.

But Jimmy is still pouting, most likely bothered that he lost to Grian. Which honestly, did he expect anything different? In a match between Grian and Jimmy, the winner is already decided.

Joel sighs, “Here, Jim.” As per usual with their weird little routine, Joel holds his wrist out to him as he wraps his other arm around Grian’s waist.

Jimmy’s face brightens as the pout leaves his face, and he holds Joel’s wrist in both his hands, fingers pressing carefully against his pulse. Joel feels the tension leave his body almost immediately as Jimmy relaxes against him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He then hears Jimmy make a curious trill, “Grian? Are you asleep yet?”

“Yes,” Grian answers, even as he pops an eye open to look at Jimmy. “I’m the sleepiest lad you’ve ever seen.”

“He’s a sleepy lad, boy,” Joel jokes, making Jimmy choke on his laughter.

“Stooop!” he exclaims, but he’s smiling.

Grian laughs, “We better stop, Joel. Wouldn’t want Tim to become a mad boy.”

“Or a sad boy.”

“Stop, stop it! It’s sleep time!” Jimmy laughs again, Grian and Joel’s own laughter joining him. After a moment or so, Jimmy calms down and he looks at Grian, expression turning bashful. “G can I… erm…. can I have your wrist?” he questions.

Something in Grian’s expression melts, his gaze turning soft and empathetic.

(There’s another thing Joel will never understand about Grian and Jimmy. Whatever the connection is between them. The silent understanding, the way they take one look at each other and just seem to understand what the other is thinking. Upon first glance, you’d never expect that from their dynamic. Not when Grian is so set on being a menace to Jimmy. But Joel gets that special look when it’s just them. He gets to see the way Grian is always touching Jimmy in someway, the way he presses against him, almost like he’s clinging to him. The way Jimmy will tuck Grian against him, and hold him.

Joel feels honored, not just to see it, but to be included in it. Like he’s been given a special sort of trust that no one else has. Not that he’ll ever tell either of them, of course.)

Reaching over Joel, Grian offers Jimmy his wrist. And Jimmy takes it in one of his hands.

Humming quietly, Jimmy pressed his lips first to the skin of Grian’s wrist before doing the same to Joel’s. “Good night,” he chirps.

Joel feels Grian’s lips through the fabric of his shirt, the contact leaving him warm and contented. “Night, Tim.” He feels Grian’s tail tangle with his own, and his purrs are soft, soothing.

Though it’s a little difficult, Joel reaches for Jimmy, pressing a kiss to his head before doing the same to Grian. “Night.”

The Bad Boys are certainly a weird alliance, but Joel is an expert in weird at this point. It doesn’t matter all that much to him, because he’s given both Grian and Jimmy a piece of his heart anyways. Weird or not, it doesn’t change the fact that these two are his. And every wolf protects their pack.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 44

PREV

The flight up to New York is a pleasant one.

The time in the airport itself had been less pleasant. Matt, as it turns out, is a firm believer in arriving with just enough time to check a bag, get through security, and get to the gate. He had claimed up, down, left, and right that he had it down to a science.

No matter how many times Smith had wondered about the scientific rigor of this 'science' he still kept it to himself. There was no need for Smith to voice his uncertainty with this plan because Kevin well and truly had it covered.

"You're giving us only an hour to check bags, get through security, and get to our gate?!" Kevin demands.

"Kevin, if you wanted to be there earlier then you could have asked Andrew to give yo a ride." Matt says. "We'll be fine."

"You know what Neil and Andrew get like when they have a long roadtrip ahead of them." Kevin argues.

"All lovey-dovey?" Nicky asks as Aaron makes a gagging sound.

"No, well yes, but no they always stop and buy all of the worst food too." Kevin reminds. "I'm just concerned about us missing our flight! We have barely enough time!" Kevin huffs crossing his arms.

"You're wrong anyways." Aaron says idly as he continues to text with Katelyn.

"How am I wrong?!" Kevin demands.

"We also have to park within that hour that Matt has left us with." Aaron says looking up from his phone.

"Matt!" Kevin squawks.

"It'll be fine." Matt reassures for the 2nd time.

"We all have checked bags!" Kevin exclaims, "What if we miss our flight?!" he wails.

"It'll be fine!" Matt repeats.

"No it won't!" Kevin exclaims.

---

It was fine.

The only real delays they met were at security.

Smith prided himself on being efficient in the security line. He has his watch off, his phone and ID secured in a zipped jacket pocket, his backpack and electronics in separate trays, and his shoes ready to be slipped off.

So he was shamed to have been the cause of the first delay when the TSA agent wouldn't wave Smith through the metal detector since she didn't realize he was there. That had been a whole anxiety attack and a half as the line had formed up behind him all wondering what the hold-up was.

Finally she seemed to startle as she realized that Smith had been standing there waiting and waved him through.

The other delay was that Kevin got patted down after he had forgotten to empty his 'emergency' water bottle.

It was probably for the best that they didn't have to be in the airport for that long. Every announcement that it was very important to not leave your bag unattended made him worry that with every blink somehow someone had slipped a bomb into his backpack.

While it was on his back.

As he was running with the rest of his friends to their gate.

"It just had to be the gate on the other end of the terminal." Aaron huffs.

"It would have been 100% perfect if someone hadn't left their water bottle in their bag despite the, let me check, 3,820 signs that said remove all liquids from your carry-ons!" Matt says as they continues to run.

"I said I forgot!" Kevin yells back from his spot at the front of the pack. Smith was under the distinct impression that Kevin was keeping pace with them since he had seen the Striker move much faster on the court and during warm-ups.

"We could have forgiven that!" Nicky pants, "Why did you have to slam the whole thing to prove that it was 'just water'?" he asks.

"Because I wanted to prove I wasn't a national security threat!" Kevin says. "I'll be going to the Olympics in a couple years and I can't have that on my record." he continues as he rounds a corner.

"What record?!" Smith asks suddenly worried that there was a record.

"Smithy, there's no record Kevin's just an idiot. An idiot who got patted down, tested for explosives, and had his carry-on searched." Nicky huffs.

"You don't know that there's not a record! The record everything nowadays!" Kevin huffs and their gate is in sight.

"Kevin, just shut up!" Aaron exclaims as they reach the line for their flight.

"Wait why aren't any of you getting shitty with Smiths?!" Kevin asks.

"His delay was like a minute and more importantly NOT HIS FAULT!" Nicky defends.

"He should have just walked through!" Kevin argues.

"Oh it's fine if he gets a record but not you?!" Aaron asks.

"So there is a record?!" Smith asks again.

They reach the line and the largely empty area around their gate is more than enough evidence that this was the final boarding. Smith breathed a sigh of relief as he took his place in line behind Nicky.

"The lines pretty slow, I'm going to go get a water." Kevin says and before any of them can say anything he is off towards a busy looking Newsweek store.

"I cannot believe him." Aaron huffs.

"All that water he just drank and is about to drink? He has lost window seat privileges." Matt pants wiping sweat from his brow.

"Agreed." Nicky says.

Smith laughed between panting breaths. His stomach hurt a bit from the stress of running but it was fine.

They get on the plane without Kevin and head to their seats. Most of the overhead storage is taken up at this point but Smith slides his bag under the middle seat in front of him after Matt

In the end, Kevin barely made it onto the plane in time since he got caught up in deciding on water. "You're in my seat." Kevin says as the only man not yet seated.

"I am not about to spend this flight getting up every 2 minutes because you have to pee." Matt says, "Abby didn't used to need to take all those pitstops when we're on the bus." Matt adds.

"I hate the aisle, the cart could hit my legs." Kevin argues.

"Then you can sit in the middle if Smith's willing to move." Matt says.

"You can have the middle Kevin." Smith offers actually preferring the aisle seat since then he doesn't have to ask anyone to move for him.

"I hate the middle seat, there is no room." Kevin crosses his arms.

"Smith is like only 3 inches shorter than you and he's not complaining." Matt continues.

"It's an important 3 inches."

"I bet it is."

"Nicky, are you serious?"

"What?!"

"There is an uninvolved member of the public, right there."

"He's wearing headphones it's fine!"

---

It's fine.

Eventually Kevin takes the middle seat if for no other reason than Matt stubbornly pretends to go to sleep but absolutely does not want the aisle seat either.

Smith gives it up and ends up with his own preferred seat while Kevin pointedly takes both of the arm rests, as is his right. The plane ride progresses smoothly from there. Smith has always liked flying. There is always a sense that the second that he gets onto the plane and the door closes he has absolutely zero control over what happens afterwards.

That is a nice comfort.

He pays attention to the safety briefing, finds his nearest exit, and that he should secure the bag over his own face before securing it on Kevin's.

He puts his headphones on and tries not to think about the anxiety of meeting the 'girls'.

He has heard much about the 'girls'.

Allison Reynolds. Allison was someone who's legacy existed even outside of the team. Smith didn't know much about fashion but a Reynolds bet remained a solid practice within Palmetto. She was, undeniably, absolutely gorgeous and if Kevin was to be believed 'kind of a bitch'. Nicky had swatted his arm but had said that it was not entirely inaccurate but like 'in the best way'.

Dan Wilds. He met Dan. Dan was nice. Also, if Matt was to be believed, the best human to ever walk the planet earth. The reason the sun rose in the east and set in the west. The gravitational pull that held the universe together. If Andrew is to be believed, she's fine.

Renee Walker. Renee was the one who taught Andrew how to use knives. His friend has talked warmly of her, in the way that Andrew talks warmly about anyone which is mentioning them at all. She was the one that Smith was the most anxious about meeting.

Kevin turns his nose up at the ginger ale that Smith gets but he's allowed these now per his actual doctors orders.

1 hour left until arriving at JFK.

He hopes this ginger ale is enough to calm his stomach since he's still not allowed Pepto.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

[lavatory-sealed-hanako-kun]

Genderbent designs! Teru has two because Teru is special.

And a bonus comic cause yeah Mitsuba really didn't change much. He has the androgynous rizz regardless of what gender he is.

[saints-who-never-existed]

I love Dundy so so much but Christ, do I hate how fucking calm he seems in that Lawful Mutiny scene...!

Little is riled the fuck up. He's the most animated and impassioned we've perhaps ever seen him, using uncharacteristically expressive language too ("this coven of traitors", "that devil").

Le Vesconte, in sharp contrast, appears cool and collected, to the point of complete detachment and numbness (I say appears because of course he's suffering too). He speaks slowly and plainly, clearly having rehearsed, and chooses his words very very carefully indeed (those too ill to walk will not be left behind, for example, they'll just "stay").

It's almost like he's that arsehole in a disagreement who tries to convince you that they're right just because they're arguing in a calm, 'logical', grammatically-correct manner, and you're wrong just because you're getting passionate and emotional over the subject at hand.

Like, just imagine being Little in that situation!

You've been suppressing your emotions for god knows how long, keeping your anger and resentment simmering just below the surface for as long as you can remember for fear of what will happen if you let those emotions show, fear that it'll just make things worse.

But finally you can suppress no longer, something in you breaks. All that anger and resentment starts to boil over but you find that you were right - letting those emotions show didn't help at all, it made everything worse, just as you feared.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OH ARTHUR BENNETT.. such a gorgeous and intriguing character. terribly burdened by a GRUESOME set of crimes, his light suffocated by a HEAVY century of GUILT. so tragic, so dark and broody, and yet PAINFULLY awkward in any social setting ever

[arthursfuckinghat]

Arthur and the gang 𑁦𐂂𑁦 The Heartlands

[manygreetingsfriend]

i’m sooooooo normal about the god of war series. so incredibly normal i liked it a normal amount and would be so chill talking about it. don’t worry about the sign

[blindmagdalena]

how do you think homie would react to reader breaking up with him because they have very different morals (homie kills people, ik he's babygirl but he does just brutally kill people, reader is a pacifist)

-bree(sorry for multiple asks in short time :P)

cw gaslighting, imprisonment, manhandling. no more mr. nice homelander.

"Fine, listen, listen, if it means that much to you, I won't do it anymore," Homelander says, hands lifted placatingly. The way he says it makes it sound like he's doing you a favor. Like you're overreacting to a mild infraction. You stare, mouth agape. "This... This isn't some bad habit. You kill people."

"Yeah," he agrees, a slight strain creeping into his voice. "Yeah! Okay. And? Lots of people kill people. And typically, I only kill people who're also killing people." "Typically," you echo, at a loss. How can he be so flippant about this? It's like he hasn't heard a single word you've said. "You don't care. At all." "Why should I care? Why should you care? It's not like I'm killing people you like, or even know," he says, his exasperation with you intensifying. "But you love me. So just... Cool off, alright? Sleep on it. Before you do something you'll regret."

The shift in his voice when he says that runs a chill up your spine. "Are you threatening me?" "What?" Homelander laughs. "No! Of course not. Babe, listen to yourself. C'mon, I know you're upset-" he moves to take your hand, but for the first time, you yank it from his reach, crossing your arms. His hand hovers in the space yours had been for a moment, his eyes locked on the same spot. He inhales a slow breath, his fingers curling into a fist before dropping back to his side.

When he looks at you, his gaze is bereft of any playfulness. Your denial of him has flipped a switch in him that you've never seen before.

"You're tired," he says, voice set low. Any traces of the lighthearted pretense from earlier has been dropped. "It's late. You have a lot to process. So, we are going to put this aside for tonight. You are going to come to bed with me, and we'll talk about it in the morning, when you're calm." "I am calm," you tell him, refusing to let him make you feel like you're the one being unreasonable. "Please move. I already told my friend I'm on my way," you lie. You wish you had. You wish you realized sooner you would need to. Homelander had always been so utterly devoted to you. He hung on your every word, met your every whim, loved you so thoroughly that he made you feel like his entire world. Only now have you realized the dangers of that kind of love.

His mouth twitches. "Which friend?"

You begin to answer, wanting to give validity to your fiction, but an awful thought occurs to you. Would he hurt them? "It doesn't matter," You reply instead, clutching your overnight bag. "I need space, and I don't want you coming to me before I'm ready. Please, move," you say, voice wavering. He was making this so much more painful than it already was. You do love him, but he's making you feel like you barely even know him.

Homelander taps his hands on his thighs, considering you. After a prolonged silence, just before you open your mouth to speak again, he claps his hands together. "Alright. Sure," he says, stepping forward. You step backwards. "Door's right there." You're immediately relieved, but there's a nagging feeling in your gut. "Thank you," you say softly, adjusting your grip on your bag. "I'll call, okay?" Homelander offers a sideways nod, seeming... resigned. You feel the guilt of it weigh heavily, and for a split second, you question yourself, whether what you're doing is right or fair. You have to steel yourself before your resolve falters. You need time away from him to collect yourself, and figure out what to do about the man you, as it turns out, know very little about.

Just as you pass him, you feel a sudden grip on your arm, and in a flash you're spun around, stumbling back into the penthouse. You stare wide-eyed for a moment, turning back around. Poised exactly as he had been before, Homelander stands in front of the door, hands on his hips. His brows lift slightly. "Well?" Your heart is racing now. "What are you doing?"

"Go on," he says, ignoring your question. "Door's right there."

Anger rolls through you in a heated wave. "I'm not playing this game with you," you say, moving to shove more forcibly passed him this time, but once again he catches you with a hand on your wrist, spinning you around with such ease, you may as well weigh nothing at all. Yet again you stumble back into the penthouse, tears welling in your eyes as you round on him. "Stop it! Get out of my way!" "Door's wide open, babe. All you have to do is get to it, and you can leave," he says, voice perfectly relaxed, devoid of any passion or empathy.

With a frustrated cry, you hurl your bag at him, and full on sprint towards the door. You get closer this time, but just as you reach for the knob, Homelander takes you by your shoulders and spins you right around. Your own momentum carries you further in. You barely catch yourself from falling, letting go a sob that's equal parts rage and heartbreak. Who is this man?

This time, you throw yourself bodily towards the door, screaming your distress, your anger. You do it again and again and again, and every time, Homelander spins you right back around. On the final attempt, as he once again redirects you, the force of your own momentum hurls you to the ground.

"Do you get it yet?" Homelander asks, cocking his head to the side, checking to see if you're picked up on this lesson in futility. "You don't call the shots here. You don't get to just decide we're done. Relationships go two ways, sweetheart," he says. That petname used to give you butterflies. It sounds sour on his tongue now. You hear him sigh, closer to you now.

"Didn't think you'd be that stubborn. But I guess I've always loved that about you when it wasn't pointed at me, huh?" He asks, a playful little lilt slipping back into his voice. You struggle when he scoops you up, you make an animalistic noise of pure aggravation, but it's as fruitless as ever. Homelander is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object, his grip on you like steel. He cannot be stopped, or even hindered, as he carries you towards the bedroom. He sets you down on the bed, and out of pure unthinking fury, you raise your hand to slap him across the face. The strike lands, but Homelander doesn't so much as twitch. Your hand smarts, you may as well have slapped a brick wall. You clutch your wrist, letting go another sob. It aches immediately, frail in comparison to his unyielding frame.

Cupping either side of your face, Homelander swipes away your tears with his thumbs, watching you impassively. There's patience in his expression, though it looks stretched thin.

"I know you're upset," he says, an echo of earlier, as if picking up right from where he'd left off. As if nothing of the last twenty minutes had even happened. "But we'll get through this. And hey, hey, I'm not even mad at you, okay? Because that's what it means when you love someone. You forgive them." You feel numbed by your own plethora of tumultuous emotions, strung out and exhausted. You close your eyes, unable to stomach the loving way he's gazing at you. He kisses your forehead, wringing a weak, hiccupped little noise out of you. "That's my girl. I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you?" No matter how gentle his hold on you is, it's inescapable. You have no choice but to face him, bleary as he is through your tear-welled eyes. Unable to push an answer through the tightness in your throat, you just nod.

"That's right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?" Those words break something in you. You lose whatever bit of composure you had built back up, and you begin to sob anew, an agonized sound. Homelander's expression twists. He's never liked seeing you cry. He's also never been the source of it.

"Shhh, shhhh, hey, it's alright. You're okay. I would never let anything happen to you," he says, as if he wasn't the very thing happening to you in this moment. He kisses your forehead again, your tear-streaked cheeks, and finally your lips.

You don't have any fight left in you. Not against the press of his lips, and not against the way he brings you under the covers with him, clothes and all.

He pulls you against his chest the same way he has a hundred times before, as if this is any other night that the two of you have fallen asleep in each others embrace.

You hug your arms tight to your chest, crying hard, while he rubs your back, hushing you. Comforting you, as any good boyfriend should.

"It's alright. I've got you," he says, his arms an oppressive force around you. "I've got you."

[fairyroses]

— SMALLVILLE, “Rogue” (1.09)

+ the relevant ‘TalkVille’ discussions