#all while giving him heart eyes

[godlygivenanxiety]

the fact lyrics like

you got me down bad to feel your touch, you put my body through pain and i confuse it with love

your voice so clear like you say my name, got me runnin' for my life like this shit's a game

are playing as william and zeke drive towards what will be their first step towards their own special game is so fucking personal to me, the home of sexuals did it again

[sysig]

can i ask for larry and kabu.... is it allowed......... if not i can ask for something else lol

Day 2 - Warm feelings

[lunewolf13]

Spilling Tea Part 6:

All the Robins (minus Jason, who left early) are sitting criss-cross applesauce on a plush carpet, summoned by Dick Grayson to play "truth or dare but without a dare and you can choose what to spill" (officially named by Dick).

Dick: Now it's your turn, Dami.

Damian: Richard, I am unsure I have anything of interest to share.

Dick: Don't sell yourself short, Baby Bat! I'm sure whatever it is, it'll be great!

Steph, who is experiencing some doubt: Uhh, totally!

Damian nods thoughtfully: Very well. I have learned the existence of the Pistol Shrimp, also known as the Snapping Shrimp.

Tim: Oh here we go.

Damian: They are largely carnivorous with a variety of feeding behaviors. They live in colonies consisting of hundreds of Pistol Shrimp. The name given to this creature is due to—

Dick: Damian, while we'd all love to hear all about Pistol Shrimp, you're supposed to talk about yourself.

Damian: A landscape caught my eye in a gallery—

Tim: Nope.

Damian: The Kent farm has six young chicks. During my stay, I was permitted to feed them.

Duke: You told everyone about that at dinner last week.

Damian: Tt.

Dick: Don't worry about it. You'll think of something.

Damian shifts uncomfortably: I would rather not.

Dick smiles at him, then scoots closer.

Damian: Richard.

Dick scoots even closer.

Damian scoots back: Grayson.

Dick snatches him up into his lap. Damian responds by hissing like an unruly cat, but thankfully does not attack. In fact, he looks rather comfortable to just stay trapped in Dick's hug.

Damian: If I comply with the 'bonding activity' rules, will you release me?

Dick fully intends to keep him for ten minutes minimum: Of course.

Damian: Tt. It has recently come to my attention that Todd is in possession of my photos. He has been exploiting them without my permission by seeking monetary profit from Father.

Steph: What kind of photos?

Damian eyes Dick suspiciously: Of my childhood. Starting from infanthood.

They are all hit with a mental image of what they imagine a little baby Damian would look like.

Dick in his head: I need to make a call after this. Multiple calls, actually.

[secriden]

I woke up this morning still thinking about Fadel waking up in Style's bed.

I wonder what was running through Fadel's head as he turned to look at Style, eyes still squinting against the too-bright morning light, the unfamiliar comfort of the shape of Style's name on his lips for the very first time. I wonder if he was too sleepy to process how strange it was that he didn't really mind being pinned down by the weight of Style's thigh thrown over his hips; that the sensation was grounding and reassuring rather than being confining or suffocating. I wonder if the thought crossed his mind that he wouldn't mind waking up like this again, wouldn't mind letting someone into his space, wouldn't mind giving someone the bared vulnerability of lying naked and unprotected with all the implications of unwavering trust that has -- not if it was with him.

I wonder if Fadel registered the way his heartbeat is steady and calm despite the strange surroundings and unfamiliar bed, because something in him has already labelled the person lying next to him as safe.

I wonder if Fadel even understood that this, right here, in all its quiet and unacknowledged stillness, was the moment he fell in love?

[sulky-cabbage]

The sukugo fight can't get animated any sooner I'm craving sukugo tiktok edits

[wildsaltair]

[found--family]

am i the only one who sensed some jilted lover vibes from jensen? 

[yourqueenb]

Jack can do no wrong in my eyes. Therefore, if my beloved Sir Montgomery is actually dead, I’m blaming the writers. Hope this helps!

[dairyfreenugget]

(Going insane boinkinh one AU in my head)

Hey hey hey

May I interest you in

(Slowly slides my FaaF AU towards you but void just Disappears without a trace one day before the accolade)

Teehee

[constantvariations]

I hate how, in issue 4 of the dc comics, Blake's constant reassurances that she's not afraid of Adam, usually in direct reference to the scar, makes it seem like it's being used as a symbol for his less-than-desirable traits, ie his trauma and the rage that stems from it

Combine this with Blake's attraction to Adam starting with seeing his scar -

- and this speech from Mrs Belladonna -

- it feels like Blake fetishized Adam's trauma and only cared about him as long as she thought she could "fix" him

The moment he confirmed he wasn't going along with her fantasy, she ditched him

[jeymania]

no thoughts just samijey part two: we ain't got no love for you edition

[mallahanmoxie]

every time either of my cats get the slightest ill or injury i get arrested by such present, clogging fear... im so not having any pet after these two die

[hauntingblue]

LUFFY!!!!!!!!! I HAVE BEEN CONVERTED!!!! LUFFY BELIEVER FULL TIME!!!!! LET US WORSHIP THE SUN!!!!

[acourtofquestions]

"I didn't break," she said quietly. His heart cracked at the words. "I didn't tell them anything."

She didn't say it for praise, to boast. But rather to tell him, her consort, of where they stood in this war. What their enemies might know.

"I knew you wouldn't," he managed to say.

"She ... she tried to convince me that this was the bad dream. When Cairn was done with me, or during it, I don't know, she'd try to worm her way into my mind." She glanced around the cave, as if she could see the world beyond it. "She spun fantasies that felt so real..." She bobbed under the surface. Perhaps she'd needed the cooling water of the lake to be able to hear her own voice again; perhaps she needed the distance between them so she could speak these words. She emerged, slicking back her hair with a hand. "They felt like this."

Half of him didn't want to know, but he asked, "What sort of illusions?"

A long pause. "It doesn't matter now."

Too soon to push—if ever.

Then she asked softly, "How long?"

It took the entirety of his three centuries of training to keep the devastation, the agony for her, from his face. "Two months, three days, and seven hours."

Her mouth tightened, either at the length of time, or the fact that he'd counted every single one of those hours apart.

She ran her fingers through her hair, its strands floating around her in the water. Still too long for two months to have passed. "They healed me after each ... session. So that I stopped knowing what had been done and what was in my mind and where the truth lay." Erase her scars, and Maeve stood a better chance at convincing her none of this was real. "But the healers couldn't remember how long my hair was, or Maeve wanted to confuse me further, so they grew it out." Her eyes darkened at the memory of why, perhaps, they had needed to regrow her hair in the first place.

"Do you want me to cut it back to the length it was when I last saw you?" His words were near-guttural.

"No." Ripples shivered around her. "I want it so I can remember."

What had been done to her, what she'd survived and what she had protected.

Even if the woman treading water before him didn't seem to have vengeance on her mind. Not so much as a hint of the burning rage that fueled her.

He didn't blame her. Knew it would take time, time and distance, to heal the internal wounds. If they could ever really heal at all.

But he'd work with her, help in whatever way he could. And if she never returned to who she had been before this, he would not love her any less.

Aelin dunked her head, and when she emerged, she said, "Maeve was about to put a Valg collar around my neck. She left to retrieve it." The scent of her lingering fear drifted toward him, and Rowan lurched a step closer to the water's edge. "It's why I—why I got away. She had me moved to the army camp for safekeeping, and I ..." Her voice stalled, yet she met his stare. Let him read the words she could not say, in that silent way they'd always been able to communicate. Escape wasn't my intention.

"No, Fireheart," he breathed, shaking his head, horror creeping over him. "There ... there was no collar."

She blinked, head angling. "That was a dream, too?"

His heart cracked as he struggled for the words. Made himself voice them. "No—it was real. Or Maeve thought it was. But the collars, the Valg presence ... It was a lie that we crafted. To draw Maeve out, hopefully away from you and Doranelle."

Only the faint lapping of water sounded. "There was no collar?"

Rowan lowered himself to his knees and shook his head. "I—Aelin, if I'd known what she'd do with the knowledge, what you'd decide to do-"

He might have lost her. Not from Maeve or the gods or the Lock, but from his own damned choices. The lie he'd spun.

Aelin drifted beneath the surface again. So deep that when the flare happened, it was little more than a flutter. The light burst from her, rippling across the lake, illumining the stones, the slick ceiling above. A silent eruption. His breathing turned ragged. But she swam toward the surface again, light streaming off her body like tendrils of clouds. It had nearly vanished when she emerged.

"I'm sorry," he managed to say. Again, that angle of the head. "You have nothing to be sorry for." He did, though. He'd added to her terror, her desperation. He'd— "If you had not planted that lie for Maeve, if she had not told me, I don't think we'd be here right now," she said.

He tried to rein in the twisting in his gut, the urge to reach for her, to beg for her forgiveness. Tried and tried.

She only asked, "What of the others?" She didn't know-couldn't know how and why and where they'd all parted ways. So Rowan told her, as succinctly and calmly as he could.

When he finished, Aelin was quiet for long minutes.

She stared out into the blackness, the rippling of her treading water the only sound. Her body had nearly lost that freshly forged glow.

Then she pivoted back toward him. "Maeve said you and the others were in the North. That you'd been spotted by her spies there. Did you plant that deception for her, too?"

He shook his head. "Lysandra has been thorough, it seems."

Aelin's throat bobbed. "I believed her." It sounded like a confession, somehow.

So Rowan found himself saying, "I told you once that even if death separated us, I would rip apart every world until I found you." He gave her a slash of a smile. "Did you really believe this would stop me?'

She pursed her mouth, and at last, those agonizing emotions began to surface in her eyes. "You were supposed to save Terrasen."

"Considering that the sun shines, I'd say Erawan hasn't won yet. So we'll save it together."

He didn't let himself think of the final cost of destroying Erawan. And Aelin seemed in no hurry to discuss it, either, as she said, "You should have gone to Terrasen. It needs you."

"I need you more." He didn't balk from the stark honesty roughening his voice. "And Terrasen will need you, too. Not Lysandra masquerading as you, but you."

A shallow nod. "Maeve raised her army. I doubt it was only to guard me while she was away."

He'd put the thought aside, to consider later. "It might just be to shore up her defenses, should Erawan win across the sea."

"Do you truly think that's what she plans to do with it?"

"No," he admitted. "I don't."

And if Maeve meant to bring that army to Terrasen, to either unite with Erawan or simply be another force battering their kingdom, to strike when they were weakest, they had to hurry. Had to get back. Immediately. His mate's eyes shone with the same understanding and dread.

Aelin's throat bobbed as she whispered, "I'm so tired, Rowan."

His heart strained again. "I know, Fireheart."

He opened his mouth to say more, to coax her onto land so he might at least hold her if words couldn't ease her burden, but that's when he saw it.

A boat, ancient and every inch of it carved, drifted out of the gloom.

"Get back to shore." The boat wasn't drifting—it was being tugged. He could just barely make out two dark forms slithering beneath the surface.

Aelin didn't hesitate, yet her strokes remained steady as she swam for him. She didn’t balk at the hand he extended, and he wrapped his cloak around her while the boat ambled past.

But Aelin turned toward them, hair dripping onto the stone at her bare feet. Half a thought from her could have had her dry, yet she made no move to do so. "We're being hunted."

"We know that," Lorcan shot back, and were it not for the fact that Aelin was currently allowing him to rest a hand upon her shoulder, Rowan would have thrown the male into the lake.

But Aelin's features didn't shift from that graveness, that unruffled calm. "The only way to the sea is through these caves." It was an outrageous claim.

"And I suppose they told you that?" Lorcan's face was hard as granite.

"Watch it," Rowan snarled. Fenrys indeed bared his teeth at the dark-haired warrior, fur bristling. But Aelin said simply, "Yes." Her chin didn't dip an inch. "The land above is crawling with soldiers and spies. Going beneath them is the only way."

Elide stepped forward. "I will go." She cut a cold glance toward Lorcan. "You can take your chances above, if you're so disbelieving." Lorcan's jaw tightened, and a small part of Rowan relished seeing the delicate Lady of Perranth fillet the centuries-hardened warrior with a few words. "Considering the potential pitfalls of the situation is wise."

"We don't have time to consider," Rowan cut in before Elide could voice the retort on her tongue. "We need to keep moving. Gavriel stalked forward to study the moored boat and what seemed to be bundles of supplies on its sturdy planks. "How will we navigate our way, though?"

"We'll be escorted," Aelin answered.

"And if they abandon us?" Lorcan challenged. Aelin leveled unfazed eyes upon him.

"Then you'll have to find a way out, I suppose." A hint-just a spark-of temper belied those calm words. There was nothing else to debate after that.

And they had little to pack. The others gave Aelin privacy to dress by the fire while they inspected the boat, and when his mate emerged again, clad in boots, pants, and various layers beneath her gray surcoat, the sight of her in clothes from Mistward was enough to make his gut clench.

No longer a naked, escaped captive. Yet none of that wickedness, that joy and unchecked wildness illuminated her face.

The rest of their party waited on the boat, seated on the benches built into its high-lipped sides. Fenrys and Elide both sat as seemingly far from Lorcan as they could get, Gavriel a golden, long-suffering buffer between them.

Rowan lingered at the shore's edge, a hand extended for Aelin while she approached. Each of her steps seemed considered—as if she still marveled at being able to move freely. As if still adjusting to her legs without the burden of chains.

"Why?" Lorcan mused aloud, more to himself. "Why go to these lengths for us?"

He got his answer—they all did—a heartbeat later. Aelin halted a few feet away from the boat and Rowan's outstretched hand. She turned back toward the cave itself. The Little Folk peeked from those birch branches, from the rocks, from behind stalagmites. Slowly, deeply, Aelin bowed to them. Rowan could have sworn all those tiny heads lowered in answer.

A pair of bony grayish hands rose above a nearby rock, something glittering held between them, and set the object on the stone.

Rowan went still. A crown of silver and pearl and diamond gleamed there, fashioned into upswept swan's wings

"The Crown of Mab," Gavriel breathed. But Fenrys looked away, toward the looming dark, his tail curling around him.

Aelin staggered a step closer to the crown. "It—it fell into the river."

Rowan didn't want to know how she'd encountered it, why she'd seen it fall into a river. Maeve had kept her sisters' two crowns under constant guard, only bringing them out to be displayed in her throne room on state occasions. In memory of her siblings, she'd intoned. Rowan had sometimes wondered if it was a reminder that she had outlasted them, had kept the throne for herself in the end.

The grayish hand slipped over the rock's edge again and nudged the crown in silent gesture. Take it.

"You want to know why?" Gavriel softly asked Lorcan as Aelin strode for the rock. Nothing but solemn reverence on her face. "Because she is not only Brannon's Heir, but Mab's, too."

A throwback to her great-great-grandmother, Maeve had taunted her. Who had inherited her strength, her immortal lifespan.

Aelin's fingers closed around the crown, lifting it gently. It sparkled like living moonlight between her hands.

My sister Mab's line ran true, Elide claimed Maeve had said on the beach. In every way, it seemed.

But Aelin made no move to don the crown while she approached him once more, her gait steadier this time. Trying not to dwell on the unbearable smoothness of her hand as it wrapped around his, Rowan helped her aboard, then climbed in himself before freeing the ropes tethering them to the shore.

Gavriel went on, awe in every word, "And that makes her their queen, too."

Aelin met Gavriel's gaze, the crown near-glowing in her hands. "Yes," was all she said as the boat sailed into the darkness.

[robots-are-kinda-hot]

Five Pebbles x human reader (platonic) headcanons

I’m very sorry if this is ooc, I’ve never written anything like this before :/

•Five Pebbles is the most emotionally constipated iterator ever made, so this is going to be a very, very long process.

•start by bringing him pearls, trinkets, anything remotely interesting. he is so, so bored!! please give him things!!!

•little by little, he changes. he starts to talk with you more instead of just telling you about what you brought him. he tells you to leave a second later than last time. he lowers his puppet down enough to be at your level.

•eventually, you two could be called friends.

•the cycle Pebbles realizes this, he is more quiet than usual. if you ask what’s wrong, he will tell you not to worry and tell you to leave soon.

•make it clear that you care about him. don’t pry about it, just tell him that you will be there if he wants to tell someone.

•he won’t say anything, but you can tell he appreciates it.

•Eventually, Pebbles will ask “…are we friends?” In a defeated tone, as if you’ve said no already.

•of course, you say yes and… he doesn’t know how to react. His eyes are wide, and pearls start circling him. His antenna flick up and down quicker than you’ve ever seen them.

•Five Pebbles is the happiest he’s ever been after Moon’s fall, and it’s all thanks to one creature at the bottom of his chamber.

•Finally, he opens his arms a little, hoping you will get the hint.

•And if you do hug him, he hugs you back.

[bisaster-energy]

okay what you have to understand is that while against the kitchen floor is a dean song...willard! has cas written all over it