#and now gossamer Tumblr posts

[ayphyx]

Just found like 15 more fanfics to read <- guy who has 30 tabs of ao3 open

[desceros]

tries to sleep, fails, gets melancholy, copes by writing purple turtle fic donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated t, 1.6k. insomnia, friends to.... friends, (were you ever just friends? are you something more? what is love if not friendship shifted an inch to the left?), yearning, yearning, yearning, yearning—

Donatello is sleeping.

Hefting a fatigued sigh, you hover in the doorway to his bedroom for a moment. Staring at his face, taking it in. He’s gotten unfairly handsome as the years have gone by. Beautiful, even. Pretty angles, sharp defined lines, dark seductive eyes. Like this, unmasked, slack in sleep, it’s free for you to look as much as you want. More than you can during the day. A little secret thing just for your own heart’s keeping.

…Best friends shouldn’t want to stare at each other like this, you think with an ache.

It’s late. You can’t sleep. Lying down has provided nothing but racing thoughts you can’t quiet. Things to do tomorrow. Things to say when you see someone. Things to write down if you can hold them until the morning. Things, things, things. So many things in your head, ten thousand little voices like little snowflakes in your skull. Each small, powerless; but together, a force too mighty to outrun.

And Donnie is sleeping. Normally he’s awake. Fiddling, poking, prodding, studying, twisting, cracking, bending. Available to draw you into sleep. Always soothing, petting your hair, cooing at you until you drift off at last to the dulcet sounds of his low rumbles.

But not tonight. Tonight he sleeps, pretty in his sheets even as he’s all sprawled out and drooling. Cute. He’s cute. He’s cute and close enough to touch but so, so far away that you know you never will. Not like that. Not like that. 

It’s late. You can’t sleep. 

Slowly, not wanting to wake him, infuriated with yourself just at the thought that you’d risked it by lingering as long as you have, you peel away from his door frame and sneak into the living room. The couch greets you again. Inviting, soft. It smells like turtle ass. Popcorn. Movie night. It smells like family, like home. Scratchy beneath your cheek. You’ve been meaning to get them some new pillows. The way Mikey had laughed so hard he’d snorted his drink. Leo’s squawk when it got all over him. The weight of Donnie’s arm on your shoulder when he’d leaned on you while laughing until he got the hiccups. His cologne, new, smells nice. You should tell him tomorrow.

(You can’t tell him. There’s no way for a best friend to look at the other with pupils shaped like hearts and be the same. You can’t tell him.)

Heavily, you sigh. It’s late. You can’t sleep.

You sit up. Get up off the couch. Stretch a little before exhaling and walking around a bit to try and work off some of this excess energy. The darkness of the living room isn’t so much, anymore, what with how your eyes have adjusted. You can see the pieces of the evening strewn about. A pizza box that Splinter’s going to find in the morning and yell at the lot of you for not throwing out. Raph’s teddy bear, leaning against the other couch where he’d been pretending he hadn’t been using it to hide his face in the scary parts. Mikey’s cup, half-full, forgotten in Leo’s panic to find paper towels. And—

—Donnie, standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed, arms folded. 

“Why are you awake?” he asks, voice tumbling over your ears like rocks on a riverbed. Guilt strikes you like a blow. He’s exhausted. You’ve woken him up.

“I’m sorry,” you say as an answer, tangling your fingers in the shirt you’d borrowed out of his closet. The shirt you always borrow. The shirt that’s half yours, now. 

Donnie’s quiet. You sink your teeth into your lower lip and hope he’ll shrug and go back to bed. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s got enough sleep juice in him that he’ll drift right back off and forget this happened. 

He doesn’t. “…Can’t sleep?”

The guilt burns your skin like sand in the wind. You smile and pretend. “I’ll be okay. Go back to bed, Don. You need it more than I do.”

He doesn’t. 

“…Please?” you try again. 

You’re met, instead, with a sigh. He rubs the back of his head where his mask would tie if he were wearing it. Lets his arm fall to his side—ah, except no. He’s holding out his hand, palm outstretched, inviting you to come close. When you don’t, his beak wrinkles. “Come here.” 

You take a few steps closer, but don’t take his hand just yet. “What are you doing?”

“Just come here,” he says again, curling his fingers a few times in an imperious grabby command. You come closer. He opens his tired eyes in a squint, mouth dipped into a frown, and his gesture gets more demanding. “Come here.” 

Stepping closer, closer, closer, finally you get within range. You realize he wants your hand the moment he loses patience with you, watching as he rolls his eyes and reaches out to encircle your wrist with strong fingers. They eclipse the bones there easily, tugging as he turns, pulling you out of the living room. 

“Don—” you start to protest, but he stops you with a breath.

“Stubborn,” he accuses, though there’s no heat to the word. The scoff is thick on the back of your tongue—Donnie of all people calling you stubborn—but you don’t let it out, knowing it’ll be too-loud in the pitch night. 

He pulls you into his room, the very room that had been such a sweet siren song to you earlier. He pulls you towards his bed. He pulls you in behind him when he settles in. He pulls you beneath his blanket. He pulls, pulls, pulls, until your chest is flush to his plastron and his arm is around your waist and his breath is in your face and your heart is in your throat.

It’s late. You’re not going to be able to sleep.

“…Go to sleep,” he says after a few seconds, doubtless able to feel the way your pulse is like a hummingbird against his skin. 

“Sorry,” you say in lieu of—anything else. You don’t dare try to say another word, unsure of what exactly would tumble out instead. Perhaps a sweet poem about the texture of his skin against yours. Maybe a lament that he feels the need to tuck his thigh between yours so so so close to where you wake in a pool of sweat dreaming of his touch. Or possibly a whispered confession that tastes like lightning and blood and sugar all at the same time; that you want this but not this, you want this but more. 

Gently, a forehead bonks against yours. Dark eyes open and meet yours, centimeters away. He studies you, and you watch the gears turn. More slowly than usual, lethargic even, because of his slumber. 

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. Dumbly, you nod. “Need to talk about it?”

“…Yeah,” you admit, then, “…but I won’t.”

He doesn’t like that. A frown mars his beautiful, beautiful face. 

“Why?”

You swallow the incredulous laugh, the kaleidoscope of responses. They’re all irrelevant, impossible to share, save for one. “You should sleep.”

Donnie’s hand tightens, fingers curling in his—your—shirt in the small of your back. “So should you.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…”

“…I don’t understand.” The confession, rare, makes you sigh. 

“…I don’t either,” you tell him. And you don’t. Why did you have to feel this way for him? Why couldn’t it be someone easier that stole your heart? Why does it have to be the one person you can’t stand to lose? Why does he have to be so comfortable touching you like this and making it hurt even worse? Why can’t you stop feeling this way?

Why can’t you sleep? Why can’t you sleep? 

His fingers unfurl from your shirt. His hand dips beneath the hem, finding the skin of your back. Slow shivers spread like little earthquakes as he strokes along your spine, tectonic caresses that ripple and destroy. It's familiar enough a touch that you don't stop him; unfamiliar enough that it rends you inside out.

Donnie leans in. Ghosts his lips along your jaw. It’s not a kiss; you’re just friends, after all. But it’s a sweet caress that feels good, all the way to where he lingers at your ear, whispering there, quivering at the touch that's too close to something else to be fair. “Close your eyes.”

You have one rule: listen to Donatello. So you do; you close your eyes, let his nails drag down your back, let his mouth press warm into your pulse, let his chest rumble with churrs that fill the night air with something akin to a lullaby. His legs curl around yours, mixing, confusing, making the separation of you disappear. 

It’s… maddening. You hate this. You love him. You love him so much. You hate that he can do this so easily. 

“Shhh,” comes the gentle coo against your skin, like he can tell you’re pulling away from his intent. You obey that, too. Donnie says to be quiet, so you quiet. Thoughts, movements, words; all of them fall away at his beckoning. “Just like that. Good.”

Good, you think, feeling a little fuzzy. It feels good to be good for him. God. You’d be so good for him—but no. None of that, now. Not when you can pretend that these little presses of his lips are kisses. That the thickness of his thigh pressed to your shorts means something. That his hand scratching lines in your skin is something meant to claim as much as it is to calm.

“Making me work for it tonight,” you hear him mumble, half-conscious of the words, not sure if they’re real or part of a dream he’s built for you. “Good job, sweetheart. Just like that.” 

More brushes of his mouth. A slow glide of tongue. A lovely dream, you think, finally letting your muscles go slack. A dream of a Donatello who would hold you like this, talk to you like this. A Donatello who is more than just your best friend.

It’s late. Finally, warm and held and pulled into a sweet dream, finally, you sleep.

[bobbinalong]

Made a reading guide for Jay, Jon and Nia's relationship leading into Absolute Power because I've been asked about what happened there once or twice and certain people could use a refresher.

The spreadsheet is a work-in-progress. All the comics are there but it's sorta ugly.

[fae-morrigan]

jayjon blobs :)

[nakamurajay]

I knowwww they’re not like that but I need Jay & Jon to break up even if it’s just for show. I need Superman and Jay to publicly break up and then get caught making out in a bad hiding spot near Steelworks before Jay’s shift. Jay’s coworkers gotta see him coming in and be able to just KNOW he was smooching Superman literal minutes ago. Superman quotes The Truth whenever he’s on the news. Whenever Steelworks hosts an event and EVERY photo/video of Superman has him staring at Jay, literally not a single one of him has him looking anywhere else. Whenever someone asks Jay or Jon if they’re planning on getting back together, they say no but if you ask literally anyone else they’ll just give you a look and you can tell that they never really broke up.

[gossamer-green]

assigned sopping wet cat by the entity stuck sharing my body

[see-arcane]

Barking Harker Cast Snapshot 9: Dead

“Here lies Clarimonde,

Who was famed in her life-time

As the fairest of women.” —Epitaph, “Clarimonde,” or, “La Morte Amoureuse”

“True that there was there, as we had seen them in life, the traces of care and pain and waste; but these were all dear to us, for they marked her truth to what we knew.” –John Seward, Dracula

voluptuous, adjective: Imbued with or characterized by great luxury, indulgence, and/or sensual pleasure.

Presenting two dead beauties. The good girl, the wicked witch. The dearest darling, the sensual sinner. The defiled corpse, the flawless Snow White. The twice-murdered, the ever-merry. The pious, the blasphemer. The entombed, the traveler.

One was loved by many and she loved them all in turn.

One was lusted for by all and she loved but few.

The dead Madonna.

The undead Whore.

Tasters of blood past and present.

Sisters of an uncommon bond, hunted and wanted and shadowed by the same grasping horror that crept down from the mountains to cross their paths. But at last, their ways uncrossed. The horror has left. It should all be done with now.

Shouldn’t it?

More details about Barking Harker here.

[qilinkisser]

doodle :) they r on a walk!!!

Reblogs appreciated! S/I (center left) uses they/them! F/Os use she/her!

[feleshero]

❝ The "Mother Bitten By A Radioactive Spider Who I'd Like To Fuck" T-shirt has people asking a lot of questions already answered by the shirt. ❞

[lunaicfantastic]

just rewatched the first two httyd movies and I can't get the idea of Steve and Eddie as stoick and valka out of my head... the dancing and the dreaming scene, them both unknowingly echoing each other while believing the other dead/incapable of change... this scene:

(taken from a meme cause I couldn't find a gif of this exchange)

just,,, steve seeing eddie for the first time in so long and how can he be mad when the love of his life is here, with him, again, something he never thought he'd see until he crossed the threshold of Valhalla?

(also steve doesn't die in this au bc fuck that noise)

[targeted-at-sunflower]

I want you to make me take edibles but not tell me what they are so you can take advantage of me. You could start babying me while you wait for it in kick in, that way I’m too subby and little to realize what you gave me when it kicks in. I’d start whining about feeling so heavy and fuzzy, and you’d start comforting me like “it’s okay baby, I’ll take care of you Angel, mommy knows how to help you feel better, just lay down and let me make you feel better puppy”. Then you could touch me and use me however you wanted, and I’d be whimpering and shaking pathetically beneath you 🥰

hey baby we’ve got this lined up for thursday! and honestly i am so excited i know my sex drive has been low recently but my libido was still boiling beneath the surface and i am back in a big way!! and i REALLY REALLY want to get you high. also warning: i think i went a little heavier cnc with this than the ask implied, but nothing too new

i just wanna watch you come up as you don’t understand what’s going on!! you’d come to me first of course, because i’d already have you nice and small for me 🥰🥰 you would tell me that your brain feels all fuzzy and you don’t know why, and i’d act all concerned and insist on doing a body check for you— just to make sure you were okay! that’s all, and if my knee is between your thighs then that’s just a coincidence, baby 💚💚💚 even if i’m tilting your head and repositioning you in that way that makes your brain run wild, even if it feels like it’s taking a lot longer than it should, mommy’s just trying to keep you safe baby boy! mommy’s just being careful 💚💚💚

i wouldn’t shove my knee into your clothed crotch until i could tell the edible was really hitting. you would be so cute and out of it as i slowly stripped your top off 🥰🥰 id bite and suck at your chest as my hands roamed and my knee forced you to soak through your jeans 💚💚💚💚 you wouldn’t even know what was going on! you would tell me it feels hot and wet between your legs, and i would say “oh my angel! are your little puppy parts all wet and tingly? did my puppy make its undies all wet? let me take a look~”

maybe you would still be present enough to try and stop me from pulling your pants down, but you certainly wouldn’t succeed 🥰🥰 i would spread your legs and knock your hands out of the way to get a good look at your drippy boycunt. “ooh, puppy, that’s what i thought~ you naughty thing! getting off on being drugged… do you need mommy to help you puppy? mommy knows how to make it all feel better, mommy can make you feel *so good* puppy, do you want mommy to touch?” and you would be shaking your head and whimpering even as i lowered my head to your adorable puppy cock and started sucking and bobbing 💚💚💚💚💚 i’d wrap my arms up around your thighs and force you onto my face, massaging with my tongue until you were a crying, cumming wreck 💚💚💚💚💚💚💚 i could keep that up for a long time, i could overstimulating my dumb, helpless puppy until it passed out 💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

[shadow-dragon-fr]

Thorn my clan leader and progen is finally all gened up! 

fern/constellation/spines 

shadow/crimson/rust

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 159

Adjective: Royal

Noun: Gossamer

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Royal: having the status of a king or queen or a member of their family; belonging to, carried out, or exercised by a king or queen; in the service or under the patronage of a king or queen; of a quality or size suitable for a king or queen, or splendid; (informal) (British) unmitigated, or extreme

Gossamer: a fine, filmy substance consisting of cobwebs spun by small spiders, seen especially in autumn; used to refer to something very light, thin, and insubstantial or delicate

[bobbinalong]

@fae-morrigan commissioned me to draw their gossamer!jay design! always delighted to draw him, even more delighted to get paid to do something i love lol.

[maxellminidisc]

My period has me in full blown KILL!! MAIM!!! mode like a rage riddled chimpanzee

[venushorned]

👌 if you would like to explore a PLATONIC relationship between our muses! / @faebhaal friends for sure but I'm open to other ideas!

Gossamer is Frenchie; Ith is Rizzo. Sorry, I'll run out of Grease jokes to make about them eventually.

In all seriousness, I love the "looks cute, can and will kill you in ways you didn't know were possible" vibe of them compounded together. Very threatening. I also think it can create some interesting tension between them, especially as they are first learning to trust one another. I just know that once they properly synergize, they are going to be lethal in a fight together!

I could also potentially see it progressing into something more over time, although it's difficult to tell with Gossamer sometimes because she flirts with everyone. She also doesn't really introspect about that behavior, so even if it is rooted in real attraction or desire, it's not like she knows that. They strike me as the type where... if it did become more than platonic, they might be the last two people to know about it, LOL.

@faebhaal | from: x