#babeys being babeys

[vebokki]

i present to you for your consideration: luo binghe and sha hualing as roommates. also they're both going to be late to their respective dates

[j-femmescoli]

aw lads he’s done it again

[deecotan]

cooldown

bonus hug.png because i like how it turned out:

[hiphopcherrrypop]

a cat with homophobia in its eyes ❤

[flutteringfable]

everyone shut up. kitty boys

[silna-pdf]

Envious of the organic beings for their ability to find relief from sharing warmth with a loved one. The connection isn’t as special when you don’t need warmth to survive

[shorthaltsjester]

having thoughts and feelings about perc’ahlia and their could-be-but-would-never-allow-the-other-to-destroy-themselves-enough-to-actually-become-the-briarwoods parallel/foilism. particularly with vex and delilah and potential places this season might go but also just vex’s “it’s like i’m a bad omen” and the fact that like. vex has full awareness of her feelings for percy and alludes to them to him. but then after she has sex with him it is so so compelling to me that vex is like. this is all i can have with him and i’ll take just this even if maybe it’s flying too close to the sun. and something something the shot of delilah embracing sylas after she’s brought him back, looking over his shoulder into a mirror where it looks like she isn’t holding anything at all and just . god. the like oppositional threads of delilah refusing to lose sylas and holding on tight at any cost and vex holding herself so far from percy to deny the pain that would come with losing/hurting him and the like. venn diagram cross over of something is lost anyway.

[sprnklersplashes]

wake up besties new inej/wylan parallel just dropped

crooked kingdom, chapter 16: "despite the bad hand he'd drawn with his father, wylan hadn't let his circumstances or this city knock the goodness out of him. he still believed people could do right"

crooked kingdom, chapter 26: "inej was stronger than [kaz] would ever be. she'd kept her faith, her goodness, even when the world had tried to take it from her with greedy hands"

[14dayswithyou]

[18 May 2022] after playing the game, i have gained the great misfortune of having Ren haunt my every waking moment. i simply saw pink boy on itch.io and thought "wowie" and then proceeded to cry when i found out that he actually looks like an e-boy and all I could think was "WOWOW HE SO NICE TO LOOK AT AYO???? 😳😳" either way, i actually wanted to ask if Ren could dance? and if so, does he have any preference? that and even if he couldn't, is he okay with MC just randomly grabbing him to dance with them in the apartment because they just like bonding with him like that? (honestly speaking all thoughts i have of this e-boy dweebus are domestic fluff bits, so while he has questionable hobbies, i would like for him to know he's lovely and that i wanna hold him gently like hamborgor 😔)

JFAFKSAFKA PLEASE "I HAVE GAINED THE GREAT MISFORTUNE OF HAVING REN HAUNT MY EVERY WAKING MOMENT" SENT ME 💀

But omg?? If you took his hand and just pulled him into some kind of dance, then he'd probably just crumble on the spot. Physically? he's chill and here dancing with you underneath the glow of your refrigerator light. Mentally? He's in another plain of existence just screaming into the void because "oh my god they're touching me?? we're dancing together???? they're so close????? i don't want to step on their feet???????? they smell so good??? im—"

[ratatatastic]

you dont think day 1 cup celebrations cant get any better than dumping the tin can into the atlantic but then erod and senko fill the bowl with apple juice and feed it to the kids together so they can experience the joys of drinking out of the cup so

6.25.24

[hyperblue]

you know how tim never actually wanted or planned to become robin? and how for a long time he was sure that he's not going to do this for the rest of his life and how once he'd gotten a chance he would put down the mantle immediately? so about that

i know that a lot of things changed as he got older and shit hit the fan multiple times, but i can't help but think that cloning a child would finally give him just enough of a reason to finally let go of being a vigilante. because as much as he learned to love being a hero, being robin, the moment he has this child is the moment when he decides yep guess that's it for me. and one of the main reasons is, deep down inside he still waited for this excuse. for something to force him into making this choice for himself. and nothing could've forced it better than realizing that there's plenty of vigilantes in gotham right now, but his child only has him, and his child needs him much more than gotham or even batman has ever had.

[yappacadaver]

I really love emmrich + non-watcher rook because of the way it soothes his anxieties somewhat

he's always so cognizant of how his magic and his culture is perceived outside Nevarra, and as a foreign rook you have the opportunity to be extremely welcoming to him in a way he really doesn't expect. In a character whose arc is about confronting fear, that seems like a really wholesome romance for himmmmmm

[essektheylyss]

Matt really said, "Yeah, let's throw the wizard with ninth level force damage spells and a history of crippling guilt into the deeply insecure pvp party to go wandering into a forced pvp zone that preys off of your insecurities, I'm sure this will go well," and he was correct for it 😌

[dasketcherz]

varigo is such an insane pair actually—an ex terrorist x son of a mafia boss ?? intelligent and deadly power couple like godddd they match each other's freak like that

[unabashedly-so]

Reaching

word count: 920

warnings: mentions of alcohol, sex, and kind of self-destructive vibes I guess?

Similar to and taken some inspiration from @snailmail444's fic, "Elliot Situationship"; but I promise while are inevitably structural similarities, the content is, hmm, unfortunately organically homegrown. Hope you don't mind the mention--it's a fic that stuck with me and I just felt it fair to acknowledge the similarities! 💕

----------

Elliott needed a muse; you needed a release. Neither of you were ready for commitment, but neither of you were ready to be alone.

So together, per the agreement, you do everything except love.

He reads you his manuscript. You tell him the town gossip. You dance, you drink, you dance some more, you drink a little more. You discuss philosophy, politics, religion, family, and all the things neither of your last partners knew very much about. You smell salt in his hair, the cherry wine on his breath, and taste the cherries when he kisses you.

It’s well past 3am—and not for the first time nor for the last—when he asks you if you’ve ever…? And the answer is complicated—it always is. When he listens, you’re certain you see it—in his intention, disbelief, sadness, care. When he holds you in his arms, it’s secure.

Then you make love. Or, you would, but it can’t be that, so you… what was the word he used, ever the wordsmith?

“Fuck.”

He tries to say it smoothly, but it trips out of his mouth like an accident. Elliott doesn’t curse. He could euphemize, allegorize, wax poetic… but whenever it comes to this, he curses instead.

He is gentle, tender, slow as he lights sparks down your body.

The first several times, everything feels right in the world. Riding the high of release and connection, you hardly notice it’s not the same. Then its absence begins to grow heavier on you, time after time, until you finally recognize—it hurts.

You spend your days raking yourself over different scenarios: we have to stop doing this, or I can’t keep doing this, or this is no longer beneficial for me, or you’ve begun to mean too much to me, and always, I’m sorry.

You spend your nights chasing, reaching for what you know you cannot have, and telling, lying to yourself that the act of reaching is enough. Because you can’t, but you do. You do, you do, you do.

If you think you are in love, and you feel like you are in love, then how far of a reach is it to say you simply are?

Pain’s like that, too.

“Harder,” you tell him the next time he’s between your legs.

He kisses you just below your ear, whispering as he does not falter in his steady pace, “Patience, patience…”

“Harder.”

Now he pauses. He looks at you, his beautiful auburn hair tossed in a way he never lets anyone else see, and you look at him. His voice is soft but firm.

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

--but there’s a lift at the end, you heard it. He’s weak for you. “You won’t,” you lie, sinking your teeth into his weakness. “Please.”

You blink and hope the lowlight hides what had welled in the corners of your eyes when he’d stretched you to tears only moments ago.

His eyes hold yours in the winded silence between you. He opens his mouth to say something, then looks away, lips pressed into a thin line.

This is what we signed up for, isn’t it? If you don’t love me, then fuck me like it.

“Do it,” you press.

And not without hesitation or passion, he does.

It hurts, but at least it’s an honest hurt.

Afterwards, you lay your head on his chest and listen to his heart gradually find its steady rhythm again. His arm is wrapped around you. He pauses before he kisses your hair, where his lips do linger.

When it is time to leave, because someone must always leave, his fingertips trail against your skin. For a split second, you imagine they twitch, reaching, as if to grab you and bid you stay. But you stand up and only feel the chill of empty air on your skin.

It’s not the first time you’ve done this together, too, so there’s a ritual around leaving. You go through it with mechanical precision. He thanks you for coming by, says he enjoyed your company. You say the same, and together, at an arm’s length, you do both mean it.

“Good night, Elliott,” you bid him as you reach for the door.

“Good night, love,” he says back to you without flinching.

Why would you say that? you want to scream, Why would you say that?

And so, instead of screaming, you don’t say anything at all. You open the door and step outside and away from the cabin, and maybe the door closes behind you, maybe not, it doesn’t matter. Your eyes transfix on the sea as the roaring of the waves crashing against the shore drowns out everything else. They swell, they break, they reach and reach and reach, and then they’re dragged back, cast back into the devouring void. To be re-congealed, reformed into swells destined to break again and get dragged back again—

and reach. And reach. And reach.

It’s high tide, and the sand an arm’s length away is solid and cold from a wave for now receded. Another wave swells, breaks, reaches, and is dragged back, leaving barely a trace to show so that each wave looks fresh and new, and not an infinite plus one.

You are not so lucky. Though your tracks in the sand quickly erode in the breeze, you will hold the memory from each and every time you find yourself here again.

How many more times will it be?

You begin to count the waves.