#(thank you soooo much for this ask!!)

[glassedplanets]

a few months ago giffy was like "haha hear me out, what if tattoo au" and then we blacked out and talked about nothing else for like three weeks

[ricky-mortis]

hi, ricky. i love your art style, and the way you do the lines is so cool! could you please draw duke keane from hatchetfield?

Howdy! Thank you so much, oh my goodness! Of course I can draw some more Duke for ya! He’s one of my favorite Hatchetfield characters, and criminally, i’ve only drawn him a few times.

Have a doodle page! <3

[rafesthroatbaby]

I'm sure rafe loves it when you slap his face and spit in his mouth. I just know he loves it he let you do it then proceeds to fuck the shit of you

OMGGG 😮‍💨 heavy on the mouth spitting, like I can’t even… this sounds so fucking hot !!!

tagging some of my faves 🤭 whoever wants to, can create some magic💦 ( no pressure ofc):

@rafeyscurtainbangs @starkeysbabygirl @cameronsprincess @starkeyisthelastname @rafesheaven @sugarcoatedstarkey @redhead1180 @blueicequeen19 @dark-fics-4-you @moremaybank @harryspet

[angelpuns]

Plot idea; what if raph and leo talked about the leader topic in an RP (i know i use rp topic a lot sorry 😭)

But once the two RP where leo tries to give raph the leading role he add " Leading the team is a team effort not a single person's job, so you can count on me in co-leading you " which in some way hit hard on raph since he COULD'VE used that as an idea to warm leo towards the leader role instead of immediately follow splinter and throw it on shoulder.

I didn't do this exact thing, sort of following the plotlines of the previous asks instead, but EAUGHHH YEAHH

I took kinda what you said and translated it to 5-year-old-speech :D

(PS YA'LL SHOULD THANK HER FOR ALL THESE GREAT COMIC IDEA ASKS CAUSE FRANKLY THIS IS PROBABLY AS CUTESY/COMFORT AS IT'S GONNA GET FOR A WHILE)

Also we cannot see Raph thoughts cause there's probably so many things going through his head rn :/

(ngl with the amount of content this sort of spinoff/asks series has so far I might as well make it a mini arc or smthn LMAO)

Kid Leo Au Masterpost | First

[thrpr0phetuseek]

ooc: I see the anons are still tormenting Tir - feel free to save this until after or place it in a separate time. Up to you! (Spoilers for the Ithaca saga, of course. When does a man become a monster? /silly)

Time in the underworld was imperceptible. Somehow, against that well-known fact, this break felt longer. Odysseus had been gone; his voice silent and his presence invisible. The only remaining piece of him was the seashell threaded charm that clicked on Tiresias' staff when shifted.

Then, he was back. The king stepped onto the island with sandal-clad feet, approaching the prophet with a small, weak smile. His cape is back, clipped over his shoulder with an old pin he had long forgotten. The depiction of the owl had been carved away, redesigned with scales.

"Hey there, star." He greets. Odysseus' voice is heavy with the weight of so much left unsaid. Tales of monsters and mistakes. Mortal and familiar. His heart is still fighting against his mind each night, and his eyes reflect the tiredness. Guilt clawing silently at scars.

[ the prophet, sat at the bottom of one of the cliff faces, barely moved. Even looking up, it didn’t feel like they even were looking. Everything about them seemed just as tired, but they seemed more broken than before, and their voice reeked of desperation to get out of their self-fed isolation ]

“What? Who—? Oh. Ody. Oh not now, please love, I can’t— not today, okay. You’re tired and I’m— . . . you don’t need to keep visiting, now. After everything. You made it back. Go enjoy your time, will you? Be with your family. For me.”

[unriding]

hi evie !! how have you been ? :33 i hope you dont mind me borrowing you and moze for something ehehe <3

[iamnmbr3]

I was reading the wiki page on Occlumency for a fic and now I'm even more confused why JKR thinks Draco can't be redeemed (or whatever she's said on it, I don't care too much for her words).

She literally acknowledges in a quote that Draco is so good at Occlumency because he can compartmentalise his feelings well, and gave as an example that he's such a 'good' bully (good is kind of contested because I really don't think he was that good lol) because he can suppress the pity he feels. Like, she basically says that he does feel bad for (some) of the things he did (or at least has the capacity to), and he just forces it down. I'd imagine an actually 'good' bully wouldn't even feel pity to begin with.

She also says he shut down his compassion to be a good DE, which really just sounds like he tried to shut it down and failed in the end, because he's awful at being actually cruel and doing things the other DEs do. And overall, most people don't hold out for very long when they're actively suppressing or shutting down emotions, and I honestly think it's very possible that Draco struggled more and more with that near the end of the War until it all fell apart at some point.

Of course, this is all just post-books quotes, and fuck JKR, but it's so interesting that she acknowledges that he can (and maybe actively does) feel pity and compassion, which would be such a good set up for a redemption arc imo!

I'm mostly asking this here because your analyses are amazing and you're by far my favourite drarry blog (even though this is only Draco, oops), but I'm curious what you think of this since I don't think you've said anything on this yet (correct me if I'm wrong lol, I could be).

yeah exactly. (for those who don't know - on wizarding world there's this whole long incredibly pretentious and condescending essay that she wrote about how draco didn't get a redemption arc and fans better not like him or else which is hugely contradictory and literally describes how he got a redemption arc - and drops some cool additional lore that makes him even more interesting and complicated - all while trying to get fans not to care. it's wild.) a while ago i started a meta breaking it down but I never got around to finishing it. I really should dig it up.

and yeah I think that whole essay provides great additional backstory that adds depth and interest to draco's character (love the bit about him keeping dark arts relics in a glass cabinet as a reminder - to look at and never use) and is literally the opposite of what jkr wants it to be. she literally describes how he had doubts and had to suppress parts of himself to go along with something he knew was wrong (something that bellatrix or even lucius very obviously didn't have to do) and how ultimately his morals won out, he spent the rest of his life regretting his actions, and fought with his family in order to raise his son with different values. I.e. he CHANGED HIS MIND AND HIS ACTIONS...aka a redemption arc.

the essay is great till jkr concludes with 'so this is why draco is irredeemably evil and fans shouldn't like him'. um ??? the??? why didn't u write him that way???? her lack of self awareness is bizarre.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

https://www.tumblr.com/twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat/763488708451352576/kitsunegeto-is-heavy-on-the-mind-today-but-not-in?source=share

Hi, I am here to fuel this more,, PLSPLSPLS FEED ME, ANYTHING, ANYTHING U HAVE🤲🏻

your wish is my command 🙂‍↕️ (THANK YOU FOR ENABLING ME THANK YOU THANK YOU)

okay so . kitsune!geto is very much my most deranged sugu in the way he views the reader . his love is very very strange and also blurred between the lines and a lot of this stems from the way suguru is, but most of it stems from the fact that kitsune!geto is . (sort of (we’ll get into that)) a God. and with his character i really want to capture allll the fucked up aspects of godhood and a relation between a god and a human :3c basically, the power dynamic goes crazy . freudian dynamic goes crazy. i had a vision of him referring to you as ’my child’ because he’s this older, infinitely greater being and in his eyes you might as well be a fawn . he sees himself as your benefactor . but also you as his loyal devotee. but then he also very much sees you as his soulmate in a traditional sense — he believes you were born for him, made for him, in every single way.

….. so really he’s just kinda twisted. kitsune!geto also happens to have a very ambivalent and strange dynamic with his own god, who is sort of like a mother/mentor figure but then he also kind of suspects you’re a reincarnation of her (you are Not) so it’s just strange all around. above all else, you’re his beloved — that just isn’t a very good thing to be .

[eeblouissant]

Not sure if you're taking requests. I love seeing your Golden girls art so much and I wonder what your take of older Golden Wives, (like 10-15 years post series) would be? Please and thank you, no pressure of course 😊

hiiii i hope you don’t mind me responding to this insanely fast but omg I was so obsessed with this idea I just had to … gonna reblog with an essays worth of headcanons in the morning but for now pick out what you will :D

(Also — requests are always open!!!! You have no idea how much I love them aaaaa /gen!!!!)

[turnipoddity]

this isn’t a question but sorry for spam liking your saw art. I’m really fixated on it rn and your art is a god send 😭🙏🏻

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT DONT EVER BE SORRY!!!!!

[elllisaaa]

Hear me out… a fantasy fic about merman Felix x reader

first things first, felix gives out such strong merman vibes, he would look so good swimming in the ocean with his long blond hair omggg i love it ! i've never posted anything about fantasy on this account (yet) so i don't know if many people will enjoy it but i do, soooo much ! let me know if you would like to have a full fic about it maybe ? i'm into this idea i must say…

MERMAN!FELIX and you, a marine biologist, that is very passionate about what you're doing. every new day, you hop on the boat you use to make your samples. since you were a kid, you always loved the sea, maybe because you were living so close to the ocean and spent all your days at the beach. that's how your passion for marine creatures started, so much that you decided to make it your job. and you loved to scuba dive everyday to take notes on the species you're studying. in conclusion, you were doing your dream job and you couldn't be happier.

and you were even happier to go on a month-long study in the middle of the ocean. every night, you stay out to watch the beautiful stars in the sky, loving the way they reflect in the water. for a week, you are unaware of the gaze following your movements each night. and then you see him, particularly his head picking out from underwater, the intense brown eyes watching you intensely. you both jump in surprise when you realize you saw each other. felix doesn't have the courage to come see you that night, so he comes back the next one, but you're not there, and he prays that he didn't scare you away.

three days after your first encounter, you call for him asking : "is someone there ?" you think you're stupid, and that you just hallucinated what you saw. nobody could live in the ocean like that, and mermaids don"t exist. you have a logical mind, and you cannot help but rationalize his existence. it was probably just something you imagined because you were tired. but you see the guy approaching, you can't help the scream that you let out. felix is quick to slap his hand on your mouth, though : " please don't yell, you'll wake them up."

you succeed in calming down a little, but the shiny fish tail you can see underwater brings back every doubt and nervous feelings you had the second just before. "w-what are you ?" - "i'm a merman" he states as if it was obvious, but for you it made you question everything you knew. "but that doesn't exist, it's impossible, i must be dreaming !" - "you're not, i'm real." felix cannot say anything else before you run away.

he doesn't expect you to come back the next day but you are here, waiting for him. "are you okay." - "i just… i just don't understand how you can be real." felix chuckles in a low tone, and you take a propre look at him, at his cheeks covered in freckles and his long blond hair that are starting to dry because of the wind. "i don't know either, i'm here, that's all."

both of you stay silent for a little while. if it wasn't for the fish tail, you could believe that he is only a human. "what's your name ?" - "felix. and you ?" - "y/n". this is nothing, but this is what starts your nightly meetings with the merman.

[usetheforce]

for your prompts—Obi-Wan and Anakin are same age padawans for Qui-Gon and either/or gets curious about the other’s body at like 16 (ofc they’ve explored their *own* bodies by this point) and then end up with some touches and some kissing. Maybe frottage?

Send me a nsfw prompt or headcanon and I’ll write a 5 sentence ficlet!

Obi-Wan stormed out of the training salles, letting the door slam behind him with a bang, unable to get the image of Anakin looming over him out of his head, pinning him to the mats flushed and panting with exertion.

"Obi-Wan, wait!" Anakin called, running after him, but Obi-Wan kept walking, head down, unwilling to acknowledge both him and the burgeoning swell of his cock in his pants.

Of course, Anakin caught up, and of course, he reached out to stop him with a firm grip on his shoulder, and frustrated, Obi-Wan whirled around at the touch to slam him into the nearest wall with a snarl.

Anakin blinked up at him, surprised, his perfect mouth parted slightly, and Obi-Wan couldn't take it anymore, he just couldn't, after so many hours of wrestling each other to the mats as they sparred under Qui-Gon's tutelage, the tension between them ratcheting up and up and up--he leaned in to roughly capture those tempting, lush lips with his own.

Anakin gasped into his mouth, a short, stuttering thing, and lolled out his tongue to swipe at Obi-Wan's, the contact electric, and Obi-Wan licked more firmly into his mouth with possessive ownership, crowding him against the wall until their hips met and he could grind his aching cock against Anakin's own.

[trevination]

hi blue. um. i know ur still reading the book but heres two of my favorite bits. thought you would appreciate.

YESAHAHHHHH OH MYNGODDNESS YES i think i’ve gotten to those parts AHHHH 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 i genuinely can’t with them they’re so oblivious omg. “southern gentlemen had nothing johnny” “he’s good looking so are you” JUST KISS ALREADY U OBLIVIOUS TEENAGERS head in hands…. ohhh i can’t with them

[jaskiercommabard]

Hi can I request “Let me do this, please.” for geraskier please and thanks 💛

I'm sorry this took so long! I am a slow writer on a good day, and I was planning on doing like a 300 word drabble but Geralt said NO. 2500 words or I feed you to Roach

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Geralt, help me, please,” Jaskier screams. 

Not Jaskier.

It is not Jaskier, but that doesn’t keep the blood from rushing in Geralt’s ears as he hunts the thing that has his voice. 

Jaskier is safe, back at the inn - probably sleeping by now, or else terrorizing the pretty barmaid Geralt had left him flirting with. He’s safe, far away from this barren, gore-filled clearing, unless-

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have followed you.”

The voice is thick with tears, wobbling pitifully. The cries continue, ricocheting mercilessly through the forest. 

“I’m afraid.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“Geralt, Geralt. I’m here.”

He is not here. The only trace of Jaskier comes from the strip of thick linen blocking Geralt’s vision, the barest memory of lemongrass and cinnamon hitting the air when he tugs the fabric more securely over his eyes. Beneath it, only rot. 

Geralt turns in a slow circle, blade raised and ready to strike. He’s spent all day tracking the location of a nightwraith that has been calling young men to their deaths in the forest, and now the moon is high. Geralt is not a young man, so he is relieved to find - in a stroke of his peculiar sort of luck - that the nightwraith isn’t overly particular about which hearts it rips out and leaves at the edge of town. 

“There you are,” it coos, the tone familiar and melodic. “I tried so hard to find you.”

It’s a perfect mockery of relief and exhaustion, the same sigh that greets him after a long day riding or a long night performing, and it’s close. Its feet fall just like Jaskier’s, a little heavier on his right side where his hip is starting to give him trouble - Geralt can almost see the unevenly worn soles of his boots crunching toward him through the blanket of leaves on the ground.

It's late enough in autumn that Jaskier would be grousing about the cold, and as soon as the thought crosses his mind, the creature's teeth begin to chatter.

“There’s something out here. I’m frightened. Why won’t you help me?”

Closer, now. Close enough for Geralt to lunge at it, and the gasp that falls into the quiet air when his sword finds the creature’s flesh belongs to Jaskier, too. 

The strike falls short of a killing blow, thrust out blindly as it is, and does little more than confuse and enrage it. Soon the voices are overlapping, shrieking above him, losing their soft edge. Vicious wind tears around him and he’s caught in a squall of Jaskier weeping, Jaskier laughing, Jaskier howling in pain. It is behind him and before him, above him and around him, oppressive, inescapable. He has no choice but to rip the fabric from his eyes and-

And there is Jaskier, where Geralt knew he would be, kneeling in the dirt with trembling hands pressed into his side. A gruesome stain slips out from beneath his fingers, so similar to the red of his doublet that it only makes the fabric darker, and a matching ribbon of it falls from his mouth. 

It’s a nightmare Geralt has woken from a thousand times, Jaskier all blue and pink and red, too red at the end of his own sword.

"Why?" the thing mouths, but it's lost, crackling out somewhere in the air instead of falling from his lips. The creature wields his voice like a weapon as it loses control, twisting that sweet tenor into something that stings his ears. 

The taste of blood coats Geralt’s mouth and fills his nose, real and hot and nauseating. It's a strong illusion, built from grief and malice, and it has to end, now, before he cracks beneath the weight of it. He has no choice but to sprint past Jaskier to reach the corpse on the other side of the clearing, but even his enhanced speed is no match for a wraith this powerful. Fingers colder than ice wrap around his ankle and he is flung like a doll to the ground, knees singing with pain as they crash into the earth.

“Let me do this,” he shouts over the roaring wind, twisting back to face the wraith. He’s foolish for it, maybe, but it’s easier to argue with a monster when it wears a face he squabbles with a hundred times before breakfast most days. “Please. Let me help you!” 

For a moment, the frigid hand on him only tightens. It’s enough to make his bones creak, but then Jaskier’s face softens, rippling out from the center. That familiar mop of messy hair turns golden, tumbling easily over a set of round, narrow shoulders. Finally, blue eyes turn maple brown - upturned and mournful, a perfect match to the farmer who had begged Geralt to find his missing daughter. 

They had looked just like hers, watery and wide, when the man chased him down outside the alderman's hut. Find my girl, he had pleaded, pressing a stack of old coins into Geralt’s palm. Bring her home, however you can.

The flickery image of the girl nods once, just the barest dip of her chin as she releases his ankle. It’s enough for Geralt to lurch away, extending his hand to cast Igni over the too-small body decaying in the dry grass beside them. For a moment, above the rot and char and heat, the air is washed out with a breeze of sweet hay and lilies, and then she is gone. 

What’s left behind is a maelstrom of untamed rage and malice, once more with Jaskier’s face, flickering now as the illusion struggles to hold itself together. Something sick and sharp blooms in Geralt’s throat, but he raises his sword anyway. He wavers, and the wraith smiles with his friend’s mouth. It’s all wrong - all sharp, dripping teeth jutting out from endless black, and that is just enough to snap Geralt back to focus. 

The wraith shrieks, the witcher springs. It still has Jaskier’s tears and Jaskier’s hands and Jaskier’s sweet, wide eyes when it dies on Geralt’s sword.

**

The pleasant hum coming from the warmly lit hall of the Merry Magpie rises when Geralt stalks in the front door, its patrons ruffling like rattled hens at the sight of him. He forgoes the bar entirely - he’ll collect his coin from the alderman and deliver it along with a box of ashes to the farmer in the morning. Tonight, he’ll tend to the cold spike of grief and guilt settled in his own chest.

He can’t shake his unease as he climbs the stairs to the shadowy upper floor of the inn - it rolls around in his gut, sends his shoulders bunched halfway to his ears. It’s irrational, he knows, but the feeling only winds itself more tightly around his spine when he shoves open the door to their shared room and finds it empty. 

Geralt swallows around the sharp thing creeping higher into his throat. The bard isn’t far, not with his lute and songsheets strewn about the bed. He’s just as likely to be in a room around the corner with that freckled barmaid, or out behind the inn with the stableman he’d been making eyes at all day, or-

“In here, Geralt!”

In his panic, he’d missed the thick humidity of the room and the scent of Jaskier’s soap, missed the familiar tick of his heart beating quarter-time against Geralt’s own. 

“That is you, Geralt?” he continues, calling from behind the dressing screen in the corner of the room. “You’d better be Geralt, or you’ll have some explaining to do to my outrageously large and occasionally violent very best friend in the whole wide world-”

His voice swings up an octave when he turns to find the witcher only a few paces from him.

“Merciful gods, witcher, you really have to stop doing that. It’s…unnerving. I am unnerved. Has anyone ever told you you’re unnerving?”

Jaskier has. Frequently, but Geralt is so caught up in staring at his throat working, whole and unhurt, that he doesn’t answer. 

“Fuck. Are you alright?” Jaskier asks as he rounds the steaming basin in the center of the room to close the space between them. His tone is tempered now, low and even, the way it is when he soothes Roach while Geralt picks pebbles out of her shoes. Geralt wets his lips but only nods, and careful hands rise up to pet him over anyway. 

There’s a peculiar crease in his brow, a dimple beside his frowning mouth that, surely, no creature could ever mimic. It only deepens as he works away the armor to uncover Geralt piece by piece, unable to find any visible injury. The help only slows him down, really, but Jaskier is warm and real and his waist fits neatly into Geralt’s palm where his hand has drifted, so he lets himself be fussed over. 

The bard is chirping away as he always is when the thorns start to prick at Geralt’s stomach again.

“Jaskier,” he tries to command, but it comes out strangled, “I need you to stop talking.” 

The bard squawks indignantly, swatting at his shoulder where he’s masterfully knocking loose a pauldron that needs its latch replaced.

“You are so rude, do you know? You’re terrible to me.” 

“Jask. Stop.” 

Either Jaskier hears the plea he’s trying to swallow, or Geralt is bleeding out on the forest floor and hallucinating, because he snaps his mouth shut obediently and steps back. That’s wrong, that’s worse, so Geralt tightens the hand on his waist to draw him back into the circle of his arms. 

He presses his face into the space beneath Jaskier’s jaw, because he wants to, and because he can’t help himself. His other hand drifts into the gently curling hair at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, damp with sweat and steam from the bath slowly cooling beside them. He startles slightly at the touch, but Geralt only noses in further. 

After what has been only a moment for Geralt but certainly a small eternity for the bard, he speaks softly into the top of Geralt’s head.

“Just tell me what’s wrong, dear. Please.” 

“It had your voice,” he whispers. Jaskier scoffs indignantly, but it’s missing some of his usual bluster. 

“I can assure you, nothing and no one on this Continent has my-” 

He cuts himself off, tensing in Geralt’s hold as the words hang above them.

Luring our men into the forest, the innkeeper's wife had said. They all heard it - their wives, lovers, calling to them in the night. It drove them mad, ripped their hearts out.

“It had my voice.”

He understands, and the meaning is cutting through the air like an arrow let loose too soon, flying outside Geralt's control.

“And you had to…?” Jaskier grimaces, all blunt teeth, and leans back to drag a thumb across his throat. Geralt nods tightly, follows the motion with his eyes and then with the tips of his own fingers. That familiar sparrow-heart pulse jumps up to meet his touch in the same soft and perfect spot where Geralt had plunged his sword. 

“Oh, love,” he breathes, and it twists in Geralt's stomach like a fist. He slides his eyes away to track a bead of sweat falling from Jaskier's temple, and he can smell it - lemongrass and cinnamon, salt-sweet skin. No copper, no decay. 

Though his blood moves too slowly for it to show, Geralt feels the flush high in his cheeks anyway, where it might blossom on a human's face - where it does begin to blossom on Jaskier's. It pricks strangely beneath his eyes, makes his tongue slow and clumsy. 

“Did you know?”

A startled noise bubbles out of Jaskier as he meets Geralt’s gaze, but his eyes are fond and soft, wide with something that looks like wonder. Geralt leans into the tender brush of knuckles across his cheek, forgetting for a moment why he ever stopped himself before.

“That you love me?” He laughs, high and soft and musical. It's unbearable. “I suspected. Did you?”

The answer sits on his tongue like the last bite of an apple tart, lives in his throat like a shared skin of good wine, scratches at his chest like an ancient shirt stitched together by a musician's cautious hands.

“I must have. I-” he shakes his head as if the right words might tumble out of him. Jaskier only sighs, an easy smile stuck on his face as he raises his palm to Geralt's cheek. It's the same look he has when they meet each other on the road after a season apart. 

He can’t reconcile the smile and the screaming, the image of the wraith still exploding like a bomb behind his eyelids.

"I'm sorry," he says, nonsensically. His thumb is back at the hollow of Jaskier's throat.

"For what?"

"I hurt you." 

I cut you down as you begged me not to. As you cried out for me to help you. What does that make me?

"Show me," he whispers, just loud enough to hear over the peculiar tangle of their heartbeats. There is an unfamiliar look on his face, something curious and patient, something that makes him sweat even as the room is cooling. 

Geralt swallows hard, presses his thumb into the top of Jaskier's throat, dragging it down until it meets the loosely gathered laces of his chemise. Jaskier's hands fly up to untie them, slowly exposing each precious inch of skin that had been rent and torn by the blade. Instead of steel, Geralt pulls gooseflesh along in his wake. It blooms along with the sweetly creeping flush that spreads across Jaskier's collarbones - blood brought to surface by his hand, again, so different this time.

Geralt continues his path over Jaskier's breastbone, across the dip between his ribs, until he reaches the spot above Jaskier's navel where his sword had struck its final blow. He follows the path again with the flat of his hand, up over a rabbiting heart until his palm rests in its place against Jaskier's neck. His breaths have gone thin and quick, the way they did when he was dying. 

He's not dying, now - no, Jaskier is very much alive when he closes the meager space between them. He's alive when he tips their foreheads together, and Geralt wonders how he could ever have been fooled, seeing this face without the crinkles near his eyes and the easy flush in his cheeks. He’s so alive when their lips brush and it’s all sweet and hot, no ash left in the breath they share.

Geralt knows what Jaskier sounds like with steel in his throat, now, what he sounds like drowning in his own blood. He’ll never unlearn it. It's only fair, he decides, that he should know what Jaskier sounds like when his lips find that same place, when his tongue follows.

[homelander-rp-blog]

❛ why don’t you just kill me? ❜ @awkwardcourage .

He places a hand above his heart with a gasp, playing like Hughie's words hurt him. "Don't. Tempt me, Hughie. You know well there's no fun in that, I mean, are you really tired of being with me?" He has to leans up on the tip of his boots to press a kiss to the younger man's jaw "am I not good enough? Not treating you well enough? What, you want more? Or maybe.." it's empty threat and he knows that Hughie knows but he hates it. Hates it how sometimes younger man straight-forward just pushes him away.. there's this familiar tingling behind his eyes and he's aware that his laser is activating, can see the red reflection in young man's eyes "..you missed your girlfriend, hm?"

[elizabeth-mitchells]

here to finally say..... THESIS OVER!!