#... i'll think of a title later.

[rjshope]

Namseok through the years for @raplinenthusiasts ✨

+bonus:

[blindmagdalena]

The Fall

2.8k mostly sfw homelander x reader. christmas adjacent. depowered homelander.

Summary: After being struck by an unidentified projectile that renders him powerless, Homelander crash lands in your backyard, wholly at your mercy.

this is a rework of this original prompt. inspired by the fable of the mouse that aids the lion whose paw has been stuck by a thorn.  ♡

Homelander is over a hundred feet in the air when he hears something whistling through the sky behind him. Some kind of projectile. A small missile, maybe. It's nothing he hasn't handled before: It could blow up in his face and he would be fine. He’s more curious about what exactly it is, who’s stupid enough to fire it at him, and where it’s coming from. 

With that in mind–in that split second he has to react–he decides to forgo dodging it and instead attempt to catch it.  However, as the mystery projectile gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel. 

What the fuck? 

His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him hard in his left side rib, exploding in fumes that fill his lungs and coat his skin. In an instant, he feels pain like he's been turned inside out, a sensation worse than anything he’s felt since childhood. Instantly he's plummeting towards the ground, crashing directly into your backyard in an eruption of snow and yard furniture.

With his vision going black, the last thing he hears is the sound of the world turning deafeningly quiet.

When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No–compressed, hands over his chest, pushing again and again in a steady rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he drives his fist into your unfamiliar form, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.

You should have flown back thirty feet with a hit like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass, coughing. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body heavy. He's having trouble breathing, every ragged inhale a struggle, and his heart is pounding.

"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in. His own brain is hammering against the confines of his skull, beating at the backs of his eyes.

He’s certain that he’s halfway to cardiac arrest, but no matter how he tries to focus, he can’t calm himself. His strength is gone. It’s gone. He looks at you, you, who should have a hole punched through your chest. Instead, you’re staggering to your feet, totally unharmed. 

"Homelander!" You address sharply, audibly trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. He can see his own fear reflected in your eyes. You’re just as confused as he is. Just a stupid little mouse that crawled out of your hole and found him like this. "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."

There’s something about the sharp authority in your voice mixed with an undeniable quiver of compassion that catches his attention. It could be the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.

It must be pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. You don’t look like you should be able to carry him. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.

You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag, a bottle of water, pills, and a first aid kit. He watches you fumble with it, hands shaking. He assumes it’s adrenaline, though you lack the acidic stench of it. No, you probably don’t. He just can’t smell it anymore. He can’t smell anything except the faint tinge of blood, and whatever nauseating scented candle you use to stink up your home. Though, even that’s distant compared to what he’s used to. However, he finds he doesn’t have it in him to panic. Is this what shock feels like?

He takes the water you offer him, but denies the pills. “No, no. I have no idea what that shit will do to me right now.” You nod, setting the bottle aside. You then lean over him, inspecting the level of damage. His ears are ringing, and his whole body is throbbing with sharp, painful aches. Maybe the pills would help, but he’s never had to take painkillers before. He’d rather swallow tacks than lean on something so pedestrian.

As you work, he notices a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his fist. Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it, remembering the blow he’d dealt you.

You startle, looking down where he touches with a wince. The skin looks as tender as he feels. It must sting. Is he bruised like this beneath his suit? The thought of these same ugly dark marks mirrored on his own body brings him visceral disgust. 

"Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as your voice can muster. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.

I'm not worried about you, he thinks derisively. "That should have caved in your chest."

"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another.

If not for how clumsy your movements feel, he’d think you’ve done this before. There is care and determination in the way you tend to him, but no obvious medical expertise. Even the kit you pull from looks out of date and sparse. You probably picked it up from a gas station on a whim because you needed safety pins. "I think these need stitches," you say as you carefully apply bandages, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak. What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, blowing a crater in their yard in the process, and then thinks to give them CPR?

"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. That breaks him out of his stupor. He catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks, despite how pitifully weak his own grasp feels. "No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the bizarre sensation is gradually beginning to abate.

Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent. 

He hopes to fuck that it isn’t. "Okay," you say tentatively. Instead of leaving, however, you reposition to continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing from his temples down his jaw. He watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.

He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, that for a moment he almost forgets you're strangers to each other.

"What're you doing?" He asks eventually, voice low. You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."

Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight, leaving him uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for it. "I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."

"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?" Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on bated breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.

Looking back up at you, he schools his expression into calm focus. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up. 

"I need to lay low awhile." He can feel his powers steadily returning. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.

You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.

"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."

"Stay here," he says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.

He watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.

Even a curtain is better than no door at all.

After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first. It has him rubbing at his ears, screwing his eyes shut. It rolls in and out of focus, making it difficult to adjust to. “Are you okay?” You ask from the other end of the couch, where you’ve been sitting with remarkable patience. Maybe you’re afraid of him. He hates not being able to tell by the rate of your heart.

“Peachy keen,” he replies flatly. “Hearing’s coming back.”

“That’s good,” you say, though the inflection you end with makes it sound more like a question.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good, it’s just… Loud,” he says, grinding the heel of his palm into his temple. His skull is still pounding. “Everything’s all… Coming back in a jumble. Giving me a fucking headache,” he says, though as he speaks, he realizes he’s able to focus fairly well on the conversation, drowning out the more intrusive ambient sounds. “Keep talking.”

You look surprised by his demand, but after a beat, you oblige. After maybe an hour of idle conversation, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.

That’s just what you’ve told him.

From his personal observations, he's learned that you’re a perpetual fidgeter, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.

"I think it's lucky for you that I’m so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so inexplicably charming–nose wrinkled like you’ve somehow pulled a fast one on him–that Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.

"Oh, steady! Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does, hands out as if to catch him. He stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.

His lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. Not quite new. He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it. "Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.

You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms loosely to survey the damage with him. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.

Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hanging in the doorway makes him smile deviously.

Without warning, he puts his hands on your waist and spins you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you.

Your heart quickens to a race in his ears, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his head with both hands, deepening the kiss of your own volition.

Not one to be out done, he adjusts his hold on you, one arm wrapping properly around your waist while the other slides up to cup the back of your neck, gloved fingers gently squeezing your bare skin.

To his delight, you retaliate with your tongue, slipping it between his lips and coaxing his forth.

Just full of surprises, little mouse.

Maybe you aren't so boring after all.

He meets you eagerly, exhaling a rough, excited little huff through his nose, dropping the hand at your waist to grab a cheeky squeeze full of your ass, wringing a soft moan from you that sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock.

When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed warmly all over. You smell of antiseptic wipes and peppermint, like Christmas in a hospital. It’s bizarrely appealing.

"What was that?" You ask, dazed.

"Mistletoe," he purrs, tipping his head back without taking his eyes off you, settling his hands back on your waist.

You look up slowly–taking a solid few seconds to process–and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you. 

"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You manage to ask after swallowing back the lump in your throat, your shoulders relaxing, though your heart continues to gallop in your chest. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."

It's Homelander's turn to laugh. "Oh, no. I haven't even begun to say thank you yet," he assures you, hands lingering on your hips. 

The kiss had been pure unrestricted impulse, nothing he intended to follow through on. However, now that you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, your skin warm against his, your eyes half lidded, he’s not sure that he wants to let you go. Your lips shine where you’ve licked the taste of his from them. 

“I think for your good deeds, you’re owed a very merry Christmas,” he says, waggling his brows. 

You give a flustered, incredulous bark of laughter, covering your mouth as you look away from him, that flush of yours intensifying, making your whole body thrum warmly. You wouldn’t need to worry about keeping warm on these cold winter nights if he had his way with you.

“Okay, well, uhm, thank you for… for that thought,” you say, tripping over your words in a way you haven’t this entire encounter. “You hit your head pretty hard, though so maybe before you make any promises, we make sure you get checked out by an actual doctor,” you say, pushing lightly against his chest.

He maintains his hold for just a second longer, utterly immovable. It feels good to be himself again. He runs his tongue along his teeth, downright predatory in the way he stares down at you, but he does relinquish his hold.

“You should come with me to the tower. You know, now that you’re… Compromised,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “Someone might come looking for me here. Interrogate you on my condition.”

Real fear flashes in your eyes at that. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he gives back gravely.

“Uh… Okay. Uhm, let me… I’ll pack a bag,” you say nervously, stepping away from him to do just that.

“Okie-dokie,” he gives back simply, glancing around your home while he waits. He picks up an odd little gnome with a big red hat that covers everything but a little button nose, and a long white beard. Maybe he’ll convince you to bring along some of your festive decorations.

Merry Christmas to me, he thinks, already daydreaming about twisting the head off of whoever hit him with some kind of neutralizing agent.

He might thank them for the impromptu date while he’s at it.

[sforzesco]

I love how much Lucullus can't stand Pompey, and also this

Pompey the Great: A Political Biography, Robin Seager

with something from this thrown in for extra flavor

Crassus and Pompey, on the other hand, ridiculed Lucullus for giving himself up to pleasure and extravagance, as if a luxurious life were not even more unsuitable to men of his years than political and military activities.

Plutarch, Lucullus

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / tip jar!

[lalune9x]

'S-Classes That I Raised' chapter 814

And now... “I don’t need your approval anymore, Sung Hyunje-ssi.” His hair, clinging to his face in damp strands, and his golden eyes, still sparkled. Not just his appearance, but his very existence was beautiful. He was still the one I could call my ideal type, but it was different from before. “Sure, even now, I'd feel good if you think well of me. But that’s not the result of me trying to impress you. It’s just that I tried to live well for my own sake, and that appealed to you too.” It was his taste that matched me, not that I had changed myself to suit him. “Han Yoojin… lived well,” I said. [...] “I’m not going to be pushed around one-sidedly by you anymore.” “I see,” Sung Hyunje replied, smiling radiantly. My expression probably mirrored his. Then he let out a short sigh, pretending to be sad. “So Han Yoojin-gun doesn’t need me anymore.” “What are you talking about?” “It seems it’s now my turn to be cast aside.” “Oh, please. Don’t pretend you don’t understand what I’m saying perfectly well!”

[ruvviks]

The Dobrynin family is a corpo family through and through, rooted in Arasaka and Orbital Air going back by several generations; though their powerful position within the corporate world ends with the children of Nadya and Matvey Dobrynin. With Vitali and Daniil fired from Arasaka and Kang Tao respectively— the former indirectly getting his parents fired, too— and Roksana having refused to set foot within a megacorporation from the start, the family begins crumbling apart at the very seams when clashing interests lead to grudges, betrayal, and pointless acts of revenge. ↳ read the unrevised fic here if you're interested!

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @roseeway, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@kanos, @swordcoasts, @ordinarymaine, @claudiawolf, @strafethesesinners

[amelikos]

Listening to Only One Story while reading the lyrics (here), they are beautiful (especially the "no matter how many times you cry, you'll be fine" part).

I think everything written before verse 2 is going to be the TV version of the opening which we'll get to see accompanied with visuals. I am personally curious which lyrics will be associated with Amethio in the opening itself. One of the lyrics mentions "rainy days" so I wonder if they will take this opportunity for the wordplay ("ame" meaning rain, and Amethio's name has "ame" in it..). Also curious about the lyrics mentioning the "promised place", I'm thinking it refers to Rakua and meeting Lucius there.

The second verse is probably the part that won't be used for the TV version. Though, I'm looking at the lyrics mentioning "eternal feelings" because the reading for the kanji "永遠" is specifically "towa" (same reading used for the "eternal blessing/towa no megumi" in the series itself). "Eternal feelings" makes me think of the Six Heroes' feelings towards Lucius. Even Gibeon's, maybe, if he held on to his feelings towards Lucius (whatever they were) for the past decades (and maybe at the cost of everything else... since it feels like he wants to settle something that is in relation to Lucius and that he won't get to rest until he does). Eternal feelings overcoming the passage of time, etc.

Anyway, pretty nice lyrics! It feels like a melancholic song, but also encouraging (the initial promo for the opening mentioned that it was a cheerful song, here). Reminds me a bit of Halo in some ways. Now, just to wait for the visuals.

[kayzowl]

11 page comic under the cut ⚔ (also now available for download)

[buccellato]

We're at one of my favorite parts of the story (and probably one of Vash's least favorite parts 😬😬), where we get to see how much Vash's family means to him

In book 1 of trimax, the Doc tells Brad that Vash's concept of family extends to the entirety of the human race

...So a Man revenge-killing a murderer isn't just 2 humans committing various levels of violence against each other (at differing levels of justifiable), it's 2 families members hurting each other and Vash can't bring himself to not try and stop it. Even if you understand *why* they fight, you probably wouldn't want your cousins to kill each other in front of you, right? And Vash struggles with it, because some of these people he's saving really do deserve the bullet reserved for them; but at the end of the day he still doesn't want to watch them to die.

And over the course of volume 1 and 2 of trimax, the story repeatedly brings up the question (either overtly or through subtext) "What would you do if you your family was in danger? What lengths would you go?"

Which leads us to the first big fight for this question when Vash's actual, closest living thing to a loving family is under attack. His anguish is palpable to everyone alive in the room with him, his wrath is close to deadly, and every new room he finds with more puppets just hurts him further. But even when he's faced with a monster that has destroyed his one vestige of safety in the world, even if that monster has talked about how he wants to do the same to him, he still can't bring himself to kill him! He even goes so far to try and spare him!

Not because of any specific moral reasoning (even though he's given one to Dominique before), but because before he was Leonof the Puppetmaster, he was a little boy named Emilio that loved his father's bread and had a crush on a girl named Isabel. He was someone that Vash knew, someone he recognized, and someone he undoubtedly cared for greatly at one point. And even if he couldn't save him, he at least had to try, because he was family at one point too.

And of course, it's not all pain and suffering for Vash, because when he wakes up in the hospital ready to blame himself for not being able to save everyone, Luida cuts him off: He did the best he could, he saved lives despite the losses, and at the end of the day he's still family to them, too. Even if the rest of humanity views him as a menace, there's still someone out there who reciprocates his love in a way that doesn't hurt him.

And boy, you can see how much of a relief (and source of stress it is for him) on his face lmao

[twin-chains]

Clover

ALBW/TFH Link my beloved! Here's his profile along with his copious amounts of magic items, his alternate design concept, doodles of some of Clover's outfits, plus Ravio because I love him <3

Profile below cut

Age: 18 years old (almost 19)

Bi, male (he/him)

Adventures: A Link Between Worlds, Triforce Heroes (completed at 17yo)

dyed his hair green to differentiate himself from the other triforce heroes, hides his roots under his prized red cap with a clover on it

keeps a lot of Hytopian outfits on him and likes to mix-and-match outfit pieces for multiple small bonus effects (ex. Sword Suit padded tunic and cape for slight damage increase, Energy Gear belt for magic energy and stamina, Kokiri Clothes arm braces for 3-shot bow dexterity, Pegasus Boots for speed increase)

has mixed feelings about heroism but has mostly been going with the flow wherever the journey takes him

likes to experiment with magic items with his boyfriend, Ravio

him and Ravio live together with many pets including a bird (Sheerow), four snakes, and a beehouse behind the house

found out he is cousins with Princess Zelda (Mural) and they like to meet up for tea with Hilda and Ravio sometimes

also friends with the other triforce heroes, though they don't hang out as often

adopted: never met his mother, his father left when he was a teenager, and he was later taken in by the blacksmiths (first as an apprentice but Gulley is like a little brother to him now)

traits: friendly, artsy, cooperative, can be proud/cocky sometimes, not super dedicated, and has abandonment issues

likes: arts, music, pasta, bees

dislikes: strong smells, loneliness, the ocean

weapons: sword master sword, lots of magic rods (tornado, fire, sand, water, etc), magic nice bow, gripshot

fighting style: relies on a powerful arsenal of magic items and costume changes, prefers to use a magic rod with his sword instead of a shield, strong but pretty brash in battle

specializes in luck, fashion, teamwork, lifting heavy objects (or people), and channeling magic through items

[stellarspecter]

STWG daily prompt 2/11/24: date night

pairing: platonic stobin

wc: 1000

Robin felt like a cat, curled up on Steve’s chest, her cheek pressed to his ribs and his hand running through her hair. The wine was making her sleepy and silly, and with her favorite dingus she had no reason to act like anything other than herself. So she felt completely safe to hold him tighter and nuzzle her face into his shirt, chasing the sensation of the soft fabric on her skin. The surface beneath her rumbled with laughter.

“Birdie, what’re you doing?” 

She looked up at Steve’s smiling face, the crease at the corner of his eyes as familiar to her as her own skin. “You feel nice.”

“Do I?” He asked, bemused. He really shouldn’t be. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done stuff like this before.

Robin nodded against his chest, feeling the softness again. “You should wear this shirt every day.” It was just a worn out t-shirt, but right now it was the height of fashion in her tipsy brain.

Steve chuckled. “Don’t think it’d stay soft if I did that.”

Robin made an unhappy noise at that, but didn’t bother to respond with words. He’d get what she meant. 

Steve let her keep nuzzling against him for a minute or two before he spoke again with a soft pat to her sides. “C’mon, Rob, time to get up.”

She groaned again. “Comfyyyy.”

“We could be even comfier in bed,” Steve tried to reason with her. 

Robin opened her eyes and squinted across the room. That’s right, they were still on the couch. There was still an empty popcorn bowl and bottle of wine on the coffee table, debris leftover from their Platonic Soulmate Date Night, in which they watched whichever shitty romcoms got the worst reviews that week at work. This week’s movie had been so boring that Robin had started entertaining herself by throwing popcorn in Steve’s mouth — a normal Tuesday for them.

But being in bed… now that was tempting. It was much comfier than the couch, which Robin knew from the many times a week that she slept over. Steve had one of those rich people mattresses that felt perfect on her back, and so many blankets to bundle up in. 

“Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s go to bed.”

Steve waited a beat. “You have to get off of me for us to do that.”

“Oh, right.” Robin sat up and clambered off of him, the head rush making her see spots for a second. Steve steadied her with a hand in the small of her back as she wobbled, then led her upstairs. 

They flopped down in bed with a groan, Robin immediately cozying up to Steve again. Usually when they shared a bed, they ended up spooning, or with Robin using Steve’s broad chest as a pillow. Tonight, she pulled him to face her, pressing their foreheads together for a moment. They were too close together to make proper eye contact, but she tried anyway, his eyes blurring together into one. 

“Love you, Robbie,” Steve said, hushed in the quiet of the room. By now it was a familiar phrase, but Robin still felt pinpricks of tears at the reminder. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck.

“Love you, dingus.” The words were muffled against his skin, but he still heard them. She could feel him exhale contentedly, snuggled into him as she was.

His skin was soft against her face, even better than the t-shirt, because this was the real deal. She rubbed her cheek against him, slower than before, soft and gentle. His jaw knocked against her forehead, so she moved a little higher, the bridge of her nose at the hinge of his jaw, her eye socket level with his lips. 

She felt even more like a cat than she had on the couch. She was pretty sure she had seen her parent’s cat Rowan do this before. He would press his face into a soft surface over and over, paws kneading whatever it was until he was satisfied. The only difference here was that Robin wasn’t doing anything with her hands except hold on.

Steve didn’t seem to mind. She knew that he liked cuddling — they’d talked about it before and did it often enough that it was obvious. She didn’t usually get this touchy, though. Or at least, not in this way. At the moment, though, she couldn’t remember why when it felt so good. 

The rhythmic movement of her face gradually moved up and up until Steve and Robin were cheek to cheek. She moved up and down, enjoying the scratch of his stubble against her cheek. She didn’t notice until she slowed down, but Steve was moving with her, going the opposite direction for her to rub against. She stopped for a moment, and he kept going, fully in it, moving down so that now he was nuzzled against her neck and her cheek was pressed against his hair.

Robin smiled to herself, a little teary that her favorite person was turning out to be weird in all the same ways that she was. She moved back down, pressing their faces together against the other cheek this time, making the stimulation even across both sides. They picked up speed, enthusiastically rubbing their faces together in the most platonic way possible.

It was funny, Robin thought, that this was maybe the most intimate she had ever been with another person, and she wasn’t even a little tempted to kiss him. In a way, this felt closer than kissing. It wasn’t limited to just mouths and tongues and teeth, it was cheeks and necks and foreheads, skin against blissful skin. If she could purr, she would be.

They slowed down, mutually losing steam. It was late, the bed was soft, they were wrapped in each other’s arms. The tiredness didn’t have to fight hard.

Their eyes closed, their bodies entwined, and they slept, a perfect end to a perfect Platonic Soulmate Date Night.

[dumb-butt-with-a-sword]

FNAF AU (Work in progress!)

Okay so I made a FNAF au where none of the actual canon happens lol. It's just an au that exists in a world full of anthro animals and some of those animals started a biiiig chain of restaurants. (I know that sounds not very interesting but there's some drama.)

This is the FNAF 2 gang.

Please click for better quality!

[sleepinglionhearts]

Man, just saw a post about it, but renewed my frustration over work nonsense yesterday

Being like, oh, cool! It's disability pride month! We get to switch the displays in the store! I wanna make a really cool display right up front!!

Getting a cart to go start selecting books from our wide array of children's books, picture books, YA novels, adult fiction, nonfiction, etc that I know feature disabled characters and people and that I've seen sitting on the shelves for a while, our previous book buyer was always suuuuuper vocal about finding books w disabled characters, after all, representation just MATTERED SO MUCH to her,

And then being absolutely dumbfounded when we BARELY HAVE ANYTHING outside of characters w ADHD/Autism. MAYBE anxiety. PERHAPS a character has cancer. THE FAINTEST SUGGESTION of a wheelchair in one book. Huntington's? Question mark? In another? Conditions resulting in disfigurement/amputation? The concept could possibly exist in this book, uhh.. maybe...... anything else? Ha! Not on these shelves I fucking guess?!

Like.... we have a ton of books w queer rep! Different body types! Different skin tones! Teach your toddler about social justice! Transgender characters! Nonbinary characters! The alphabet but we're making it gay! At least one book, I think, with asexual characters! But no, we don't have our self-empowerment books anymore or the little guide to sexuality and disability, we have Buddhist monk advice for anxious people, but nooooo we DON'T have that cool book that talked about disability activism anymore, and definitely not in time for July!

I know she and I were at odds before she left, and I know my specifically putting "National month of..." prompts up on my desk calendar after she expressed it was "so difficult to find out what each month is the month of!" probably really irritated her, but I'm like. Appalled that she hadn't been ordering to restock for disability pride month since she always made such a big deal about having books like that in the store.

[chemicalarospec]

What Makes a Ship Demolition Lovers Core?

I want to do a series where I make posts for a bunch of my ships evaluating their Demolition Lovers AU potential (though who knows if I will). I figured it’d make the most sense to set up these basics in a separate post instead of just squeezing it in the first one.

Oh, and if anyone doesn’t know (A/N: u don’t belong here, prepz!!!), the Demolition Lovers story, is, in short: “the story of a man, a woman, and the CORPSES OF A THOUSAND EVIL MEN” outlaw lovers gunned down to restore their lives and reunite, one approaches the devil and a deal seals: “bring me the souls of 1000 evil men.” 999 he slays, only to realize the blood has sullied his soul and the 1000th is himself

traits of the demolition lovers dynamic:

the ship is not unfamiliar with “darkness” and “death” . inspecific phrasing but like basically they just gotta be a little emo

willingness to “sell soul” - turn to dark forces

willingness to kill — they don’t HAVE to be a murder couple to fit a demolition lovers AU but nobody can be a goody two-shoes (murder couple is another category on my list of favorite dynamics - status is determined by canon amounts of violence)

the non-killing character must have the capacity to find the killing endearing/romantic. this trait isn’t featured in the original demolition lovers lore but it’s a part of how I see it plus since they were described as Bonnie and Clyde-esque, I think it’s an easy assumption. speaking of their pre-death dynamic,

partners in crime

mutual commitment that reaches codependency — extreme devotion — inseparable in this life and the afterlife. They would fight for each other!! if one dies, they do NOT move on

Notably, the original demolition lovers has that bit of sexism to it where the man does the whole killing thing and the woman doesn’t. Sometimes I like to change this up and split the labor, sometimes I work with it as is -- depends on the canon of the ship.

uh I don't have an ending for this post. that's all for now!

[gigantomachy1916]

(Or should it be "Fade Down to Keep" without the "You"?)

General vibe is "coming-of-age fic with very very slowburn agegap forbidden romance with a mentor figure, also they're fighting a war."

[yourlocal-lichen]

it's not blursday anymore but i implore you to feel free to talk abt your ocs regardless :]

whats an oc you're thinking about a lot lately? how abt an old favourite? one that's been giving you some trouble?

omg :3

I've been thinking a lot about Nox recently because I've figured Bard's arc out so well and right now they just seem like an extra (btw these guys are all old favorites I thought of them maybe even 3 years ago now and they're still stuck to me like baby opossums). but I've been thinkin about them lately! mostly about how their city is fighting a big monster and how Nox relates A Little Too Much to the monster and how their best friend is supposed to be the figurehead of light against the monster

I also just thought of two more scenes so you get to have them shoved down your throat with some context

(context: Bard is supposed to be a religious hero for the city but he doesn't believe in the god he's supposed to represent. he has light powers but that's just a thing he's been able to do his whole life but now everyone is calling him the Lightbringer and thinking he's the icon of Lady Light and when he doesn't know what to do he starts actually praying to her and becomes more devout. also he's like. 16)

but anyway. Bard goes to battle against the monster (he doesn't really do anything his job is purely symbolic) and at some point gets face-to-face with the thing who had seeked him out and totally overwhelms him (but doesn't do anything to him something something understanding being made into something you're not) and the people hell bent on protecting their icon beat the monster back (who lets them) and Bard was terrified out of his mind but Nox saw what the monster did and after that starts doing research and maybe tries to find the monster and talks to it

and then later in the story we have a parallel scene where Bard goes to find the monster and be face-to-face with it in battle and uses light against it (aided by Lady Light, his light on its own is not that powerful) which works but at this point the reader has followed Nox and understands the monster more and maybe doesn't want it to die? and that scene either ends with Nox pulling him back (thus committing heresy) or the monster killing Bard I haven't decided yet I just thought about it. I don't think Bard's arc is advanced enough for him to die yet (he hasn't started loving himself again) [plaintext: "he hasn't started loving himself again"].

so that's who's been causing me trouble they've been causing me emotional grief

[aromanticasterisms]

downloaded the pocket mirror soundtrack AUUUGH. who was going to tell me that the same theme that plays in the beginning over elise giving her the pocket mirror is the same that plays throughout the emotional scenes.