#THAT LITTLE KISS TO HER HAND

[ahollowgrave]

“When people get a glimpse of me I’d like them to feel like it is a good omen.”

-- Jenny Slate, Little Weirds

[buttercup-barf]

Hhhhrg... Miss Pauling...

I love her. I wanna figure out how to draw her face so bad. She's so cute!!

Even in Bad Situations!

I love women. Her, especially. I want the seventh comic to come out sooner for her alone... My girlboss girlfailure...

[thatwildwolfart]

serotonin is stored in the turian nosey

[bonefall]

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN

WE GOT EM

BUMBLESWEEP REAL

WE DID IT! SHE HAS DEFEATED ALEX DEWITT!

In spite of people trying to downplay the fact she is a domestic abuse victim treated as unreasonable and stupid for asking for help in a YA novel for young readers, not caring that both her abuser and her murderer are treated as good, worthwhile people by the narrative because they're all superficially written as cats, we did it!

BOTH characters in this poll were victims of egregious misogyny, and Alex DeWitt, inventor of the term fridging, was a worthy opponent. We respect her and the contributions to discussions about misogyny in media she's responsible for! It was a reasonable choice to vote for either option.

But we WON! We're doing it! People outside our fandom are seeing what happened to this character and acknowledging some of the awful things that WC does to its female characters, and ESPECIALLY to Bumble, possibly the greatest example of its hatred of women, fat people, and outsiders in the entire series. Thank you to EVERYONE who contributed to this round of the Canon Misogyny Tournament!!

And to everyone who thinks Bumble doesn't matter "because she's just a cat," WELL,

DEAL WITH IT

[peachsayshi]

shoko seems like a casual dater to me and occasionally brings girls back to the apartment. as her roommate, you can’t help but wonder what goes in her bedroom, especially when the walls are so thin (you don’t even think shoko is aware of it).

but you lay in your own bed, flushed with heat hearing the way her dates moan, groan, or whimper out her name. listening to the constant babbles of “please, please, please”, and “yes, yes, yes”. notice the way they are reduced to nothing but whiny vowels in the end.

& the morning after, you see the instant difference in their behavior. their eyes in shapes of hearts as they coo and snuggle up into shoko, who always remains unmoved and stoic.

& your skin tingles because you counted how many times shoko got her date off, know exactly why they buzz around her like a bee to a pretty flower.

[outletcrash]

little doodles of my rouges designs. these are more-or-less set in stone, since i actually understand these characters this time around.

my joker, two face and penguin designs are in the workshop rn keep your eyes peeled

[missmouse43]

JJ pulling Kiara in by the waist during their kiss and sliding his hands up her back is something I think about a totally normal amount

[astrangetorpedo]

may i present an underappreciated angle of this moment 🙂‍↕️

[doverstar]

actually I love Tentoo and he is the Doctor and it was the only ending for Rose that worked and it is a huge gift to be able to have the man she loves grow old with her, they were always heading for that, y'all be quiet. I 100% understand the angst but it's okay, they're okay, good ending-

[jinjjayo]

KISS OF LIFE LOSE YOURSELF ALBUM SAMPLER

[m4rs-ex3]

tdp s6 really said this one's for all the daughters out there. stay safe girlies

[ahollowgrave]

-- I prefer girls. [featuring the ever elegant Lia of @the-white-snake!]

I am very late with this trend, but we are here! Recreation of this novel cover:

Recreation might be a bit of a stretch, no? Perhaps inspired by. Either way!! Thank you to Rasp for sharing her poses HERE -- I just had to tweak them for scaling! Also thank you to Iron for lending me Lia and rotating them together with me. It has been a joy building their relationship.

[creacherkeeper]

a handprint over your heart

for @masculinepeacock

{yannis ritsos / mary oliver, in blackwater woods / anaïs nin, a spy in the house of love / hala alyan, i'm not speaking first / anonymous / seline burn, untitled / bianca sparacino, a gentle reminder / hanif abdurraqib, they can't kill us until they kill us / rebecca perry, beauty/beauty / @medievaljournalist}

[ID: nine quotes and one image in a litstack 1: I hide behind simple things that you may find me; / if you don't find me, you'll find the things, / you'll touch what my hand touches, / the imprints of our hands will merge. 2: To live in this world / you must be able / to do three things: / to love what is mortal; / to hold it / against your bones knowing / your own life depends on it; 3: You're not mad. You're very hurt, and very frightened, and very desperate, and you feel you have no right to live, to enjoy, 4: I want to love something. / I want to love something without having to apologize for it. Please don't tell. 5: i wish we were pressed flowers on the same page 6: a traditional drawing of a close up of a breastplate with a braid of hair tied with a ribbon falling over it 7: One day, when you least expect it, you are going to crash into someone who is going to be so soft and gentle with your heart, and you are going to be so glad you kept it open. You are going to be so glad that you continued to fight for it - that you chose to believe it deserved more. 8: No matter how obsessed you've been with your own vanishing, there will always be someone who wants you whole. 9: There is a Japanese word to describe / the sense a person has upon meeting / another person that future love / between them is inevitable. / This is not the same as love at first sight. / For example, / your smell was never unfamiliar. 10: is getting chased by wolves yuri. end ID]

[elvisqueso]

"Alright...let's go talk to your father."

Pocahontas (1995)

[blotsjunkyard]

[romance-rambles]

eden ayn | the best of distractions

A moment in time, where Ayn attempts to write a letter and then promptly gets distracted.

1.7k, takes place during ayn's eden reborn ssr [traveler's letter], domestic fluff + light angst, reader is mc, series: none

— and happy birthday ayn!

[EXCERPT FROM AYN'S LETTER]

...

That day, I told you that you were my first—the first time I missed someone as deeply as I miss you. Thinking about it now, you've always been a series of first. The first one to tell me I'm worth it. The first person I ever kissed. The first person

[The rest of the line has yet to be written.]

As I'm writing this, I think of you, sitting on the couch with me. I'm sure your ears are as red as mine, but you'll still reach out and pinch my cheek. And I'll kiss the palm of your hand and you'll say, "You like me." As if you won't kick your feet and squeal, when you're alone—the way you do when you're reading a good book.

Since I'm a good lover, I'll pretend I didn't hear anything. Or that I don't know why you're suddenly in a clingier mood than normal. And I'm sure the next words out of your mouth when you read this will be, "That's only because you like being mean to me."

Whenever I write my letters, I think of everything about you. Your eyes, your smile, your cold feet—and the way you use me like a personal heater. About how I'm grateful you stayed, no matter how selfish I feel afterwards. About what it would be like if we were sitting together, instead of kilometers apart.

And now you'll say, "That wouldn't be a problem if you'd just take me with you."

...

[End of excerpt]

AYN STARES AT HIS HALF-FINISHED letter, keenly aware of the warmth traveling up his cheeks—a scene that, much to his chagrin, can't be chalked up to the rising sun outside his window. His only saving grace is that you remain entranced with the Ayn of your dreams, muttering blissfully about how cute he is, all the while oblivious to how cute you are.

It remains to be seen whether he'll include that part in the final letter. Or the part about how you clung so stubbornly to his sleeve as he was leaving that he feared you would wake up the moment he shook himself free.

Because, as it turns out, baring his soul on paper is no less embarrassing than it would be in person.

In fact, he'd wager it's more embarrassing.

Words spoken will eventually disappear. Only their memory will remain, and only in the hearts of the parties involved. Words written, however, can live on forever. So long as the letter remains, anyone can read it.

…provided they can wrestle it out of your zealous grip.

And, truthfully, not many can.

As he sets down his weapon of choice, his promise to you rings out clearly in his mind, reminding him that there's no escaping his commitment. After all, it was the only way he could think of to ease your disappointment—his deepest thoughts exchanged for another stay in Eden, where you would await his safe return.

Where you'd be safe.

Then a spark of inspiration paves the way for his next paragraph. The truth is, Ayn is aware that his desire to keep you safe is, in many ways, selfish. You were not the one who nearly lost control of your powers. You were not the one bedridden for weeks, vaguely aware of the hand holding yours, yet unable to open your eyes.

That was him.

And if something happened to him out in the harsh world that resides beyond Eden, you would be forced to twiddle your thumbs as the manifestation of your bond left you in agony. But you would be safe. He's allowed to hope for that much, isn't he?

Until he finds an end to the sands outside of Eden, at least.

After all, there were times when the roles nearly reversed, and it was him who had to stay by your bedside, even if only for a night or two.

"Alright, what else?" he mutters to himself, his gaze flickering towards the sizable gap left between his paragraphs. Somehow, it's enough to help him swallow down his guilt. Temporarily, at least. "What to add…what to add…"

Home is where the heart is, and where his heart sits is in the palm of your hands. And with that distinction comes his clumsy dreams for the future—a ring on your finger, and a matching one on his, followed by a kiss that comes too early.

But you laugh against his mouth, painted lips slanting into a smirk as you pull away first. The friends that have followed them both this far have many things to say, and on the topic of his affection, in particular. It boils down to this:

Ayn is whipped for his wife—and proud of it.

In that way, you are also a first.

He just has no idea how to tell you that.

Closing his eyes, Ayn lets out a sigh. It happens to coincide with the creaking of the door. This room was once a bedroom, but you had it converted into an office for the nights when you'd bring your work home with you.

When he asked—jokingly, wanting to have a turn at seeing you stutter and blush—why you couldn't have made this into his bedroom, you merely raised an eyebrow at him. Ayn had read enough of O'Connor's trashy romance novels by then to know that the correct answer was to back out of the discussion entirely.

As he leans back against his chair, twirling the pencil in his hand aimlessly, the feather light footsteps he's grown accustomed to come to a halt. Neither of you dare to breathe. A stalemate—and you're the one to break it.

You draw closer; the anticipation leaves him antsy. His heart is stuck on taking a peek. His mind is intent on biding his time. The hand left empty hovers by the edge of the desk, its owner knowing well how much you love your spoilers.

If he can discretely grab the letter before you notice—

A pair of hands—frosty, despite the lovely weather indoors, not helped by the ring on your finger—cover up his already closed his eyes. The empty hand changes its prerogative. It comes to rest on your wrist, squeezing gently before its other half joins it on your other hand.

Ayn opens his eyes and sees darkness.

"Morning," you say, and even without seeing your face, he knows of your silly grin. "So this is where you've been. Couldn't sleep?"

The weight against his back assures him you have no intention of swiping his draft. Your gentle tone asks, nightmare?

A faint smile slips onto his face. There is a kind of affection he's come to realize exists only for you. And if his heart is a cup, carefully built glued back together with a technique he's read of in the history books (kintsugi, he remembers, the art of mending broken pottery), then the surge of affection he feels is threatening to overflow.

For once, what kept him up was not a nightmare.

It was this letter—and you.

"You tend to snore, remember?" he tells you, mischief dripping from his words.

You do. Just not enough to disturb his sleep. But it's always fun to pretend, especially when it leaves you huffing and pouting indignantly. Like now.

"I do not."

"Ask anyone else." Before you can pull away and cross your arms, Ayn tugs your hands down. They sit encircling his neck, leaving his own hands to properly grasp yours. "They'll say I'm right."

Your hands have always been on the softer side. It's a consequence of your upbringing, in a world that knows mostly peace. Sometimes, he'll catch a paper cut on one of your fingers—and Ayn does not believe kissing it better works, but he makes sure to give it a try anyway.

As his scarlet eyes soften, he leaves a light kiss on the palm of your hand, then on the cool metal band on your ring finger. A simple promise ring, one he'd clumsily welded together with his powers.

"Morning," he greets, for no particular reason.

Something soft presses against his cheek, a flash of muted purple appearing in the corner of his eye. It's succeeded by a soft laugh, one that—like others of its kind—lodges itself in some distant corner of his brain, for the days when he misses you the most.

"You're okay?" you ask softly, seemingly having forgotten your earlier exasperation.

Ayn hums. "I'm okay."

Despite his words, he can feel your skepticism seeping out into the air around you. Letting go of your left hand, he taps the half-finished letter on the table. You lean over his shoulder, your slightly unkempt hair obscuring your side profile.

"It turns out I had a lot to say," he says, mirroring your tone, and watches your hair gleam in the sunlight. "Enough that I couldn't sleep."

Silence, as comfortable as it can be, engulfs them both. You pull back, burying your head in the nape of his neck. Your breath is warm—and if you ever ask why his ears are too, he'll chalk it up to a transfer of heat.

When you pull away, your tone is chipper and he's given up wondering about the words bouncing around in your head. But he thinks I'll miss you and Let me come too might comprise some of them.

"Come on." You exhale, as quietly as you can, and pat his shoulders cheerfully. "Let's get breakfast."

Ayn leaves I'm sorry for the letter, hidden amongst his fear of losing you. Instead, he swivels the chair around and catches you standing under the door frame, one hand holding onto the edge of the door.

And calling your name, he says, "I love you."

You whip your head around, startled. He thinks it has less to do with the frequency with which he says those words—a fact he knows only because you're no longer wide-eyed about it—and more to do with the thoughts in your hand.

Once you recover from your surprise, a grin spreads across your face. "I know."

Laughter accompanies you as you slip out into the corridor. Then, warmth spreads across the palm of his hand, dissolving his annoyed expression into a fonder one. I love you too spell the letters, with a little heart at the end.

Ayn glances at the unfinished letter with a wry smile, before following you to kitchen—where last night's leftovers wait to be devoured.

It isn't until night falls upon Eden once more that he remembers to pick up where he left off.