#ALI I LOVE YOU

[babooshkart]

save a horse, ride a man who can inspire homicidal tendencies simply by breathing

some capri cowboys for my sweet @nv-md 💕 happy birthday, angel 😘🤠

[charlottedabookworm]

oh you’re angry at zenos too? we’re gonna be great friends

[powerboo]

Kim Mingyu: a summary (in/sp) for @kimsmingyu

[insignificant457]

There is a nebulous jordie lives au which lives entirely in my head in which jordie recovers from the plague while Kaz is still sick. He gets up to find them food and water only to return and discover Kaz is nowhere to be found. Still recovering from the fever, he searches the barrel for days before he finally sees Kaz wandering down the staves in a sort of fugue state, soaked to the bone with a haunted look in his eyes.

Kaz won’t tell him what happened, but jordie knows it’s bad because his baby brother flinches every time he touches him, and soon enough he’s started wearing gloves, even in the height of summer.

Soon, they discover kazs gift for cards, and it keeps them fed and clothed, if not much else. Kaz is angry at jordie for losing the money, refuses to let him make any decisions. Jordie is beholden to his angry traumatized little brother because he can’t deny that he failed them the first time around.

Kaz is offered a place in his pick of the gangs, but the only one willing to take both him and his tag along older brother is the dregs. Jordie dies a little bit inside when they join up, when they take the tattoo side by side, but he’s not sure they’ll survive another winter on the streets.

And the plot of SoC generally goes on from there. Jordie tags along on the ice court, he and Jesper test kazs patience at every turn, he’s constantly offering unsolicited annoying older brother advice about Inej.

This lends itself to a really interesting exploration of Kaz and jordies relationship, what holds brothers together in the face of incredible trauma, the skewed power dynamic of Kaz becoming the breadwinner for them both at the age of nine, etc etc. But mostly, this au is a vessel for the sailing of the ultimate crack ship, which is of course, jordie/alys Van Eck.

[togetherasap]

the serotonin released after reading any ali hazelwood book is unparalleled

[starry-bi-sky]

DPXDC Idea: Mother of Monsters Dan(yal)

Specifically Fem!Dan because I made this in mind with my Fem Danyal Au bUT. The best part about Dan is that I get to play dress up with her, and Fem Dark Dany is gonna go by Layal (pronounced lae-el) because it means "the nights" and it sounds similar to Danyal, and I think she'd choose that name to mock Dany. ANYWAYS

Mother of Monsters Danyal. She may be evil but she's an Al Ghul at her core (even with vlad's soul merged with hers - however, considering that Layal looks and sounds like Dany, she considers that soul to be the more dominant one.) and loves animals. And she might be heartless, but she adores the monsters of the infinite realms.

Mother of Monsters Layal who hates everyone but utterly dotes and adores on every manner of beast she comes across. Stealing the eggs and infant young beasts of the Infinite Realms to raise as her own because she wanted them. Her own island full of monsters, a monstrous menagerie of her own. She steals most often from poachers or exotic pet keepers and other menageries -- the full grown beasties can keep their young.

And with every monster she raises, she can shapeshift their features onto herself, allowing her to change her shape from humanish to any matter of monster or hybrid creature. She calls herself their mother, and them her children. Her precious little babies, capable of incredible mass destruction and mayhem.

From little griffins the size of kittens, to stymphalian vulture chicks, and leviathan young hatching from eggs the size of her pinkie, to creatures native of the ghost zone that didn't even have names in the living realm. There really wasn't a limit to what or who she would take in and she didn't limit herself to any form of mythology. If they were beasts and they were unwanted, she wanted them. And as such, amassed her own mini army of "children" willing to listen to her any command.

Earth doesn't know what hit it when she attacks them.

There are many monstrous forms she could take on, the first one I've thought of is a combination of various serpentine/reptilian features. The body of a naga -- her lower half long and serpentine, her upper still human -- with spiked fins connecting from the bottom of her arms to her sides, ever seen Sinbad where Eris goes "you might have seen my likeness on the temple walls" and her arms do that fin thingy? Same concept. Her hands are webbed and taloned, perfect for slicing through the skin of the living, and her teeth are needle-sharp and shark like. Her hair can either be spiny and feathery-like like the spines of a lionfish, or frilled like a frilled-neck lizard. It's perfect for dealing and doting on her reptilian and amphibian-inclined darlings.

I'm more of a fan of aus where Dan is a sibling of Danny's rather than their kid, so Layal's redemption(..?? probation?) proceeds with her legally becoming Danyal's "twin" sister, who had been lost to the foster system before the Fentons adopted Dany, and was only recently reunited with her. The two of them look so alike that the lie is easy to take root and spread.

Layal is very indignant to the fact that she's now ten years in the past and has to restart her menagerie all over again. Do you know how much blood and sweat went into raising those children? How dare you separate them from their mummy. Although she'll admit she does miss their juvenile years, so she won't mind (too much) needing to raising them again. Dany is helping her retrieve all of them though, dammit.

long story short: epic the musical's "Scylla" has a CHOKEHOLD on me and this is the result of it

Unlike her Dan counterpart, Layal's voice is dancing and sirenic. It's purposely alluring and motherly, in order to lure people into a false sense of security until she feeds them to her "children." Echidna doesn't have shit on her. She almost seems friendly and reasonable, until you get too close and realize it was all an act and she drops it to metaphorically swallow you whole. She's like an anglerfish that way. She and Dany both sound like Scylla from Epic.

[yurozo]

time in a bottle (secret santa)

┌─── ∘°❉°∘ ───┐ leon kennedy x reader ( roommates / christmas morning / musician!reader/leon || gift for @its-wolfgangster ) @leonsecretsanta summary: after leon's unfortunate mission to spain, you've taken it upon yourself to get him into the christmas spirit with a long string of presents. leon tries to make it up to you. (2.5k words) tags: fluff, romance, no use of y/n, post-re4!leon, mentions of alcohol. a/n: merry christmas babies! this work was done for a @leonsecretsanta event, and i am so honoured to be included in the list of super talented artists and writers for this!! please check out everyone else's pieces and especially check out @its-wolfgangster they're a super talented writer AND artist!! their stuff is just so chefs kiss. wolfie, i'm pleased to be ur secret santa, and i hope you like this!!! └─── °∘❉∘° ───┘

Leon finds the first on a rather unremarkable Tuesday, well before the first snowfall. Over two months since he had returned from Spain— barely conscious and half-delirious, mind you— before promptly falling asleep for two straight days. Over two weeks since he had finished the necessary reports and administrative work post-mission, only for Hunnigan to push him into a temporary leave of absence for ‘health reasons’. Over five days since he had poured his last bottle of whiskey down the drain and told himself that he had to be better this time. 

Over six years, two months, and three days since you had moved in, threaded yourself into every aspect of his life, and slowly stitched him back together. 

Whatever Leon had expected next in this long string of near-misses and almost-dying, it wasn’t this. A perfectly wrapped box, tied together with a bright blue bow, nestled into his closet. 

It’s noticeably out of place with the rest of the room. Beautiful and picturesque— all tight corners and pressed paper, where the rest of his belongings is usually scattered haphazardly into its approximate area. In a cramped space of wrinkled post-ironic t-shirts and combat boots, it sticks out like a sore thumb. He has to run his fingers along the wrapping just to ensure it’s not a trick of the light, or maybe the remnants of some undiagnosed disease playing tricks on his already vulnerable mind.

It’s real, at the very least. And saves him from a very awkward doctor’s appointment and government appointed psych eval. 

It doesn’t take him long to find the culprit. Leon just follows the faint sound of strumming into the living room, holding the box in one hand like a piece of delicate evidence. You’re sitting there, casual as ever, tuning your guitar like Leon isn’t giving his signature cop-stare from across the room. 

“This your doing?” He’s holding it up for inspection with one hand, the other placed perfectly on his hips. Ever the stance of the interrogator, practiced with years of getting answers from belligerent detainees. 

Which apparently does not work on you. You just shrug nonchalantly, staunchly avoiding eye contact with him. 

“I’m just trying to figure out if we need to update the security system.” He tries again, shaking the box in his grasp. It doesn’t rattle— clue number one. Another hint at whatever gift you thought was so necessary that you’ve given it to him weeks before actual Christmas. “Lots of robberies in this neighbourhood, you know.”

The slightest raise of your eyebrows and twitch of your fingers over the strings. Guilty. 

“Maybe the person just really wants you to open it.” You half-concede, still maintaining at least some air of dignity. “And robberies kind of require the person taking something from the house, not leaving things there.”

He doesn’t take the bait. Giving Leon anything that isn’t directly asked for requires some degree of inconspicuousness, like replacing his boots after they’re nearly falling off his feet when he’s not looking. It doesn’t really help, most of the time. He’s nothing is not observant, and more than a little justifiably paranoid, given the circumstances. 

So he does exactly what you expect him to do. “What if it’s a bomb?”

“It’s not a bomb.” Your fingers pluck one of the strings in annoyance, and the high-pitched squeal of the chord only succeeds in making him laugh.

“How would you know?” Leon asks innocently, even if he’s already pulling the tape off the box. If it’s from you, he’ll go through the increasingly annoying task of not ruining the paper, especially since you insisted on one-upping him on the presentation factor. “Comes with the job, you know. Maybe I pissed some asshole off, they break into the apartment, leave an inconspicuous gift to-”

“Can you focus on opening the damn present?” You finally snap, even if the anger is half hearted. The admission of guilt makes him smile, even if it’s quickly schooled by his usual intense look of focus. “Like pulling teeth with you.”

He just scoffs, finally pulling the last of the paper off and letting it flutter to the ground. 

It’s a songbook. One he had been eyeing at the music shop, only to convince himself out of it. The home recordings of Kurt Cobain, most definitely inspired by his longing gazes and Spotify playlists. The gift is personal, authentic, caring. Everything you are, and everything he is decidedly not. 

“I-” he stammers, clutching the book like it will dematerialize from his sight if he were to let go. “You-”

“Articulate.”

A hint of faux-annoyance flicker over his features, almost too quickly for you to clock had you not been searching for any sign that Leon suspects the true nature of your supposed generosity. 

“You wanted to learn,” you answer simply, like you didn’t just rip out his heart and hold it still beating in your hands. “It’s easier when it’s music you actually like, rather than just playing a single chord progression over and over.”

Moments pass in a stiff silence. There’s an expression you recognize— gratitude with the slightest twinge of guilt. Either about the gift, or for the annoyance of listening to his half-tuned strumming at all hours of the night. Before you can say more, his face falls back into something unrecognizable, before he’s giving you a stiff nod and walking briskly back to his room with his metaphorical tail between his legs. 

You feel unaccountably pleased with yourself. Getting him to quip back with a sarcastic remark is easy. Given, almost, given his penchant for brushing off any form of emotional confrontation. Reducing him speechless required a great deal of effort and was, therefore, exceptionally rare. 

The gift is placed on his bookshelf, finding its resting place on wood that’s been collecting dust for quite some time. He swore to himself he would fill it eventually, only to realize just how much of his life had been rendered empty. There’s no souvenirs to document his life, no gifts from family or friends to remind him of home. 

A bookshelf, dust, and you. 

He hasn’t even bought your present yet. There’s a notes app on his phone, ironically also collecting dust, of potential gift ideas that he’s scrapped over the past few weeks. Nothing ever seemed right— nothing encapsulated the lengths of his gratitude towards the one frustrating constant in his life. The one person who had invited him into your life like he had always been a part of it. 

That’s the part he felt the most guilty about. What could he possibly give you that you could keep without him?

The portrait of Cobain looks disapprovingly at Leon from across the room, like he too understands just how terribly inconvenient it is to have the one person he shouldn’t have wriggle between his ribs and nestle next to his heart.  •,¸,.·' '·.,¸,•

The second time, Leon becomes understandably frustrated at just how thoughtful the gift is, and how sneaky you’ve become at leaving it somewhere you know he’ll find it before he can stop you. Bioweapons and double agents, sure, Leon can handle that. His roommate sneaking around at all hours just to give him presents is apparently where Leon’s agent skills are tested. 

Then the third happens, and the fourth; each more creative than the last. Hidden at the bottom of the laundry basket, under his pillow, and then on his work desk. Apparently you’re charming enough to rope Hunnigan into this little scheme too. 

Not that he’s all that surprised about it. He too has been a victim of your whims— roped into whatever you desire by batting eyelashes and pouting lips. 

A new pair of guitar strings, a model of his old Heckler, and a bottle of cologne join the book on his shelf. Things he’s been secretly eyeing for weeks, and another thing he’s been meaning to replace. It softens his heart more than he should let himself, more than he’s ever let himself. 

And he still hasn’t bought your gift yet. Not for a lack of trying, mind you, he’s been stalking the nearby mall for days in hopes something would just scream out at him. Christmas is still creeping ever-closer, the clouds above swelling with unfallen snow. 

Leon scowls. It’s been an unusually warm winter, which makes his sixth trip to the mall slightly more bearable, but the clerks are starting to recognize him at this point. Somewhere in your shared home there will be another present, this he can be certain of. It will be a decoy, a pretense: small enough to get under his guard before the big present comes and simultaneously sweeps Leon off his feet. 

It only achieves in making him more irritable— at the consistent blaring Christmas music, the swarms of people around him, at your persistent cheeriness around the apartment. Like you don’t know how many nights he’s spent sleepless, guilt gnawing at every piece of him. 

The coin is already in his pocket when he thinks to look for it. HIs thumb absentmindedly rubs the worn face of it, at the memory of his fingers repeating the same motion every time he feels his heartbeat start to double in his own chest. 

Something he can give to you, that you can keep when he’s long gone. Either stuck on a helicopter halfway across the world, or buried six feet under the ground. Something that will prove he existed, at least for a time, and had the privilege of circling in your orbit. •,¸,.·' '·.,¸,• The persistent cloudy weather eventually gives way to snow by the time Christmas actually rolls around. Thick snowflakes stick to every surface they touch: his hair, his thin jacket, his month-old boots. They endure on the box in his hands too, which unfortunately lacks your flair for presentation. 

He had to pack it at work, with Hunnigan snickering behind him the whole time, hurling accusations of Leon being a secret romantic. His grumbles deterred her little, and he was forced to eventually cave to the idea that he had become much softer than initially intended. 

By the time he opens the front door to your shared apartment, you’re already sitting by the tree, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. 

The near-sodden box nearly crumples in his tight grip at your easy smile. 

“Merry Christmas,” you call out, pulling out the final gift from under the tree. Another painfully thoughtful gift, he guesses, if the others were any indication. “Merry Christmas.” Leon tries, not quite successfully, to hide his smile. His present is unceremoniously handed off to you, and his fingers just ever-so-slightly graze your wrist when he does. Your skin is warm, as it always is, and he can just barely feel your shivering pulse ringing through his skin. 

Leon really doesn’t know how to untangle any of that, so he picks the easiest reply he can think of. “It’s no Ferrari.”

His quip only dims his nerves a little, and is barely heard over the rustle of your hands ripping apart the wrapping. While you may lack the careful precision he usually enacts, your excitement makes up for it tenfold. 

“Good. We’d only ruin it.”

Leon’s watching you from the edges of his vision, like staring at you too directly would forever burn your image into his retinas. A small box is sitting in your hands, and the small click of its opening feels more like a gunshot in a painfully silent room. The shared silence sings with uncertainty, and Leon is almost sure he’s going to throw up if it endures any longer. 

A coin sits on the cushion inside, rusted and worn from years of use. Imprinted with the constant movement of his thumb, rubbing over the metal before and after every mission. A reminder that someone’s at home waiting for him, that he actually matters enough to at least try to return unscathed.

A coin that you had given him in the wreckage of Racoon City as a meagre attempt to bring him protection. It was simple instinct, a soft I’ll take care of you that Leon has been trying to make up for in each passing day. You just happened to have it in your pocket, he’s smart enough to know that, and yet he carried it with him every day for exactly six years, two months, and fifteen days since. 

A coin that is currently being held up by a chain in your hand, glittering in the dimming light. 

The silence lingers. A long, impenetrable pause. 

“Leon,” you mutter eventually, “I-”

“Very articulate.” 

“Asshole.” Ever observant as always, Leon catches the slight hitch of your breath that will soon give way to tears. He also knows that you won’t let them fall until you’ve successfully sequestered yourself away, while he feels unimaginably useless puttering outside your door like a lost puppy. 

“A good luck charm.” His voice softens as he kneels in front of you, thumbing the budding tear from the corner of your eye. “To keep you safe. At least while I’m gone.”

Leon spent six years lingering in the edges of your life, trying to keep himself as close to your orbit when his routine was so often upended by an emergency halfway across the world. Chaos had become his trademark, and he didn’t often get to feel the privilege of becoming familiar with things. 

Sometimes, he just wants time to stand still for a while. 

His hand lowers to the cusp of your jaw, holding the weight of it in his palm. Ever so gently, your fingers curl around his wrist, and his heart fucking soars.

“Can I?” He finally asks, nearly begs, because his heart is and always has been inextricably entwined with yours ever since the burning ruins and the end of the world. 

There’s a pause, before a meek nod. 

It’s shy, at first. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for more, just holds his lips against yours. Like if he sits in this moment, completely unmoving, maybe it will stretch on and on until the end of time. 

Twenty minutes later, when he’s been thoroughly kissed and properly sated, the two of you are sitting on your shared couch as he strums on his new guitar. The movements are stiff and clumsy, requiring your helpful intervention to get the right chords.

Your hands are pressed against his, and every so often, your lips pepper small kisses along his neck. His fingers hurt from the strings, but it’s a comfortable and controllable sort of pain. One that can be managed and packed into neat little boxes, rather than scattered through his life and inflicted on random and excruciating intervals. 

“I can teach you a song from the book, if you have the time.”

Leon smiles and presses one final kiss against your cheek. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

[rosie-tyler]

TARZAN AU

I wanna know, can you show me

I wanna know about these strangers like me

Tell me more, please show me

Something's familiar about these strangers like me

Johnny (John Clayton jr.) - a 20-year-old man raised by gorillas. Johnny learns to survive the dangerous jungle with help from his adopted mother and family, as he grows up he tries to learn more about his past and meets Daniel LaRusso, one of Mr. Terrence Silver's expedition team. As Johnny discovers his true identity and begins to harbour deeper feelings for Daniel, will he be able to protect his beloved apes and choose between his home in the jungle and a new life in England?

Daniel LaRusso - feisty, benevolent, and intelligent young man, a student at the University of London. Joins Terrence Silver's expedition to Borneo. The first one of the group who meets Johnny. Fascinated, Daniel decides to teach him how to speak English properly and show what the human world is like. During the lessons he imperceptibly falls in love with Johnny.

Mr. Terrence Silver - filanthropist, explorer and adventurer. Forms an expedition group to Borneo. Unlike Daniel and Ali, sees Johnny only as a savage. His dislike towards him increases when he finds out about Johnny and Daniel's feelings for each other, as he wants the latter for himself.

Ms Alison Mills - the botanist, quickly becomes Daniel's best friend during the expedition. Her father, the editor of the London Evening News, disowned her for her "unnatural" proclivities towards science and athletics.

Inspired by @thereminwriting amazing Tarzan AU drabble series!✨

[fisherrprince]

if you look at the literal implications of alisaie stealing the limit break first chance she gets it’s not because she sees a shiny button and hits it it’s because she is Always, Consistently ready to push past her limits in combat at the drop of a hat

[theghoulboysblog]

trick or treat!! 👻

here’s every shane and ryan hug that exists to this day! :) have a great october 🧡🤭

[jeremyfrail]

some of my favorite quotes from 10/03/2024

Entertainment Weekly's The Apprentice cover shoot

[space-manatees]

am I painfully aware that the book I’m reading is the same story different font? yes absolutely

am I still loving every second of it and eating it up in under a day? yes absolutely

[end0r4]

they are all five years old (affectionate)

[hungharrington]

thinking abt steve holding my hand during sex. the fact it’s literally canon still has me prancing around and giggling like a fiend

literally 🥹 if i think about it too much i actually go insane because it speaks so much on his character- esp when he’s like presented as ambiguous to whether he’s a good or bad guy at this point in the season!

but god he’s such a baby he just wants to hold hands while he makes you feel good :’) it probably means he’s a big softie and like loves to nudge his nose against yours, nuzzling against your own while he rolls his hips into yours expertly and then loves to swallow the little gasps you make with a kiss — loves loves loves asking you open your eyes, his lips scraping against your own, “show me your eyes, sweetheart,”, just so he can see them when he’s making you feel good, he just adores seeing how you look when you moan and come apart beneath him. definitely the type that loses it when you start whimpering “i love you’s” to him, his thrusts stuttering and then increasing in speed and force, spurred on by your words— his own whimpery i love you caught up in a searing kiss cos he can’t handle it at all— and whines loudly when he realises that your words and your hand holding his, the other curled into his hair so lovingly, is gonna tip him over the edge

[kimsmingyu]

VERNON + blue / green

for j @vcrnons , from your carat secret santa 💙💚🎄

[vigilskeep]

lot of companion reactions to romances that take unfair precedence in people’s minds over alistair’s lelimance comment that he noticed and “the rest of us have talked about it”