#brave ten

[dad-fckr]

Finished c0mmission for AnonymousEDward from their 'stupid sexy Hank' fic series.

An unfortunate incident between Sumo and an unattended garden hose 😂

You can read the fic HERE

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Art book preorders still open HERE ⭐⭐

[metacrisisdoctor]

I'm more now that I was. More than just an ordinary human. There's no such thing as an ordinary human.

[shtoproishoditemae]

Poland again

[one-flower-one-sword]

well I know what you want from me you want someone to be your reflection, your bitter deception setting you free won't you come and dance in the dark with me? show me what you are, I am desperate to know nobody better than the perfect enemy and I know what you want from me you want the same as me my redemption, eternal ascension setting me free

for @bladesmercy's fic The Fear of Falling Stars

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Make the fluffiest and spiciest hero x villain you can. This is a challenge.

Smut.

Raindrops drummed against the window by the time the hero came home. It wasn’t like them to be late, they rather risked the embarrassing sprint to catch the bus than be late for their usual dinner time but today, traffic had been everything but kind and work was aggrieving them as so often. Days became slow and steady; boring and absolutely despicable with the prospect of falling into bed alone.

Ever since the villain had left for business a few months ago, the hero found themselves in a hole they’d dug secretly. So unnoticeable at first with the tiniest hint that something was wrong not being enough for them to actually wake up and see the pain they were in.

Mad at the disruption, they threw their bag full of bloody and sweaty uniforms into a corner, certain that they would start screaming if their mind would think about work for another second. With just as much enthusiasm, they let themselves fall onto the couch and stared at the ceiling, their breath heavy. As their mind wandered to the villain, as so often, they felt a stinging hungriness that settled into their stomach.

The hero was the only person the villain truly liked. No matter if it was on the battlefield or in bed, the hero had noticed a perfected protectiveness the villain let slip occasionally that made them feel safe and sound. The question why them was always complicated and on some days, the hero felt quite replaceable — maybe because of past relationships, maybe because of anxiety in general, they could never really tell — without the villain giving them any reason to.

Evidently, the absence hurt more than the fights. It was oh so much worse than the screaming and crying and breaking down in the bathroom alone. Because when that really did happen, the villain always managed to talk the hero into opening the door to be held. Comfort was difficult for the villain. Words never really reached their true meaning, emotions couldn’t be explained steadily but they didn’t need all of that. There were times when the villain only hugged the hero and let them cry into their shoulder.

That was enough.

The villain’s broad shoulders could feel like heaven.

When the hero realised they were drifting off into a very sad and distant memory like someone under hypnosis, they snapped out of it, clearing their throat, and ordered the takeout they were craving.

It wasn’t until 11pm that they actually got to eat anything which explained the headache but not the melancholy. Decaying on their couch, trying to read, they found themselves bored to death. They debated if they should just go to bed but they figured another lonely night would (once again) keep them awake for hours. So instead, they skipped through various television shows that burned their last brain cells.

Around one in the morning, the temperature in their apartment dropped significantly, making the tiny hairs on the hero’s spine shoot up. They could see their own breath when they exhaled and they knew — hoped, rather — that it was what they thought it was.

They turned off the TV, blinking the grogginess out of their eyes. Familiarity surrounded them, drenched them in deep longing and as they stood up, searching for their lover, they felt the cold fingertips touch the sensitive skin of their lower back under their shirt.

“Jesus—” Jerking around violently, the hero froze as their eyes met the villain’s. Their features softened. “What took you so long?”

A dangerous ecstasy consumed them from head to toe, ate them raw and left no hair, no bones. The hero was head over heels, completely obsessed with their nemesis and they were, by god, not gonna do anything about it in a million years.

This was their idiot. Their person.

“Is traffic a poor excuse?” the villain asked, crossing arms in front of their chest. Every time the villain tilted their head, the hero could feel their own self-composure crumble.

“You can teleport,” the hero reminded them. A soft smile answered.

“Doesn’t mean I abhor road trips. There’s little space in a car.” The hero’s eyebrows bunched.

“What does that mean?”

“Limited possibilities regarding your position,” the villain said. They looked quite proud of themselves. “I like challenging you. Figuring out your limits.”

The insinuation made the hero blush and as so often, they felt like a sinner walking into a church. Sometimes they wondered if they would burst into flames if they kissed the villain one more time. Being greedy and sleeping with the enemy was wrong but falling in love with them?

Understanding their motives a little too well? That was a free ticket to hell.

“I missed you,” the hero said tenderly. A sarcastic laugh was all the villain managed.

“You missed my body.”

“I missed you.”

Silence. Two pairs of eyes staring into each other a bit too deeply. It was the kind of stare the villain gave them when they edged the hero to a climax. They loved to observe, loved to see the hero’s reactions, loved to feel them.

“You’re rude. Didn’t even knock.” The villain hummed and averted their eyes hastily, almost as if they were embarrassed.

“Sorry.” They took a step forward and snatched the hero’s wrist. Slowly, they led the palm of their hand to their face and closed their eyes. The villain drowned in the touch just as much as the hero: leaning into it, kissing the hero’s hand gently and mumbling words like so soft gave them away.

“I don’t have to stitch you up again, do I?” the hero asked eventually but the villain’s hands were already sliding down their forearms, finding their waist too easily. At this point, it was simple muscle memory. The villain knew where to touch and more importantly with which pressure.

“No, I was careful. I knew I’d get an earful if I wasn’t.” Their hand found the hero’s ass and squeezed gently. It made the hero almost jump. “I’ve been good, I promise.”

“That’s for me to decide, isn’t it?” The hero felt their pulse rushing through their veins. Almost there. Only a few inches and the villain would kiss them. They crucified themselves in their mind.

“Judge, jury and executioner,” the villain purred. They leaned in and their warm breath tickled the skin of the hero’s neck, the tip of their nose brushed the shell of the hero’s ear, forcing a needy heat into the vulnerable spot between the hero’s legs. “Condemn me.”

“I—” Before the hero could respond, the villain pushed them back into the couch and kissed them sweetly. Their mouth was still closed and it could’ve been viewed as very innocent if it wasn’t for the villain’s fingers gliding under the hero’s shirt.

“No.” The hero pulled back with their hands on the villain’s chest. Putting more distance between them wasn’t what they wanted but they needed to make one thing very clear. For a split second, the villain looked horrified. “I get on top today.”

“What?”

“No answer from you for months. No texts, no calls — nothing.” Now it was their turn to cross their arms in front of their chest. Surprisingly, the pounding of their heart helped with the words, made the trail of thought a straight line instead of a whirlpool of words.

“I apologise, I didn’t know you’d—”

“I don’t want an apology. I want you to suffer.” Now, the villain looked concerned but they didn’t have time to say anything. They got flipped around, their back being pressed into the soft couch.

With a mean precision the hero had learnt from the villain, they rocked their hips carefully. Skin rubbing against clothes and clothes rubbing against clothes rubbing against skin — the villain moaned sweetly as their fingers pressed into the hero’s hips. A cruel satisfaction came over them as they watched the villain’s expression. Just a few movements and the criminal was completely under their control.

“Fuck…” Their eyes were closed and their head thrown back, completely caught off guard. Why the hero’s brain drew parallels to a fallen angel wasn’t important. It was important that it was right. They looked like some kind of saint. Something so unholy and untouchable that you wouldn’t hear from them for months.

“Never realised you can be such a good whore for me,” the hero whispered and as they saw the blown-up pupils of their lover, they began to truly enjoy this torture. “You’re always doing the work, always so eager to please. I should’ve known…”

“Please—” The villain’s usually cold body had become a heat pack, making even the hero sweat. Soon enough, the villain’s clothes fell to the ground and as the hero stared at the villain’s bare chest, tiny drops of sweat on them, they learnt something about themselves.

They wanted to lick it up. So they did. They just took what they wanted, what they needed.

The villain moaned pathetically and pulled on the hero’s hair but the hero didn’t stop there. Mouth and tongue travelled down the villain’s stomach in a low and teasing pace which the hero would use later on the villain for the whole night.

“You’re always so spoiled,” the hero said. They bit into the villain’s hip. “But I’m gonna teach you to be nice. I’ll edge you until you learn.”

[movedtodykedvonte]

I think it’s be funny to have a Spider-Man that is genuinely just a kid, not like a teenager or a kid who understands the gravity of his abilities but a kid who does heroics simply because that’s cool to a kid.

The gimmick is that the villains think it’s a gimmick and Spider-Man(?) fucks with them by acting like a kid to make ‘em feel bad or embarrass them only for them to realize he’s a literal child due to a forced team up where they like offer him a brewski afterwards and he’s legitimately like “Mr I am 9 years old, I just do this cause my aunt can’t take me to the park every afternoon.” And they grill him on adult things and he sits there just blanking cause he’s fucking 9.

[firecooking]

Something something parallel

[liesmyth]

god I can't wait for Alicent and Rhaneyra to fuck nasty in the dungeons

[simcardiac-arrested]

i am in some sort of bug hell

[attackfish]

AU where Iroh is given a choice by an ancient spirit to bring his son back from the grave in exchange for his nephews life.

The first time he has the dream is mere days after Lu Ten died. The spirit never shows his face, and with the logic of a dreamer, Iroh never questions it. The spirit asks him to trade the life of his nephew, little more than a fond memory after the long years away, for his only child. Of course he says yes.

He doesn't think about the dream. A grieving mind does strange things. He goes home to find his father dead and his brother's wife gone, the throne in Ozai's hands, the world turned upside down, and everything dark and gloomy as he feels. That night, he has the dream again. He begs the spirit for his son back, whatever it takes. He sees Zuko's fear and pain as death comes, and for a few moments of dream, Lu Ten is in is arms, a child Zuko's age. He wakes in the middle of the night with tears on his face.

The next morning, his nephew knocks on his door, and he turns him away.

The dream plagues him. It comes back again and again. He always says yes.

It comes the night Zuko is banished. Iroh sits by his bedside as he shivers and cries out in fever and pain, and doesn't know if Zuko will wake. He seems so terribly small. When he falls asleep at his post, he dreams, and the spirit asks him. Iroh can barely speak, he is so angry. Why does the spirit ask this? Zuko may be dying, why would he put his life in Iroh's hands? The spirit laughs. Isn't Zuko's life already in Iroh's hands? Iroh sees the spirit's face for the first time. It's Ozai's.

The dream comes back again and again, every time Zuko is particularly difficult to deal with, every time one more potential lead on the Avatar turns out to be nothing. Iroh has the dream every night. He doesn't always tell the spirit no.

When he tells the spirit yes, he gets Lu Ten back, sometimes as a child, sometimes as he was just before riding off to battle. The spirit keeps his bargain. Zuko dies.

When he tells the spirit no, Zuko only spits in his face.

Then they find the Avatar. Zuko throws himself into danger. And worse, he's fighting against what is right, against what the world needs. And Lu Ten died fighting for that same cause. That night, Iroh sees the spirit's face again. It's the young Avatar's.

Zhao captures the Avatar. Zuko goes to steal him. Iroh tosses and turns, and finally sleeps. The spirit comes to ask his question, and Iroh lunges for him. His hood falls away, and his face is Zuko's own.

It's been three long years since Zuko was banished, and Iroh's niece comes to take them both prisoner. Iroh stops her from killing her brother with lightning. The spirit wears her face that night.

They sneak into Ba Sing Se. The spirit wears the face of an Earth Kingdom Soldier. Zuko fights off another teenage boy, Jet. The spirit wears Jet's face that night.

Zuko joins his sister beneath Ba Sing Se. Iroh sleeps in his cell and screams at the spirit to leave him be. The spirit laughs at him. It has his own voice.

It never matters which he chooses. He still wakes to a world with Lu Ten dead and Zuko alive.

It matters so much which he chooses. Why should he be forced to choose? How can he?

He goes back to Ba Sing Se. His nephew rules wisely and well, as he cannot. The world is at peace. Lu Ten was part of the old world, the world people like Ukano want to bring back. Knowing that he died fighing for what Iroh taught him to fight for, and that it was wrong hurts. It hurts more than Iroh knows what to do with.

When he dreams of the spirit now, he gives it no answer. Eventually it stops asking.

[frozenartscapes]

*All the Edelgards standing around the counter in their apartment, staring at a broken kettle*

Hegie: So... Who broke it? I'm not mad - I just want to know.

*tense pause*

Christmas: I did, I broke-

Hegie: No, no you didn't. Beach?

Beach: Don't look at me! Look at Brave.

Brave: What? I didn't break it.

Beach: Huh. That's weird. How'd you even know it was broken?

Brave: Because it's sitting right in front of us, and it's broken.

Beach: Suspicious.

Brave: No, it's not.

Flame Emperor: If it matters - probably not - but Student was the last one to use it.

Student: Liar, I don't even drink that crap!

Flame Emperor: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the tea cart earlier?

Student: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows I prefer teatimes with- Nevermind...

Christmas: Ok, ok! Let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Hegie.

Hegie: No! Who broke it?

Brave, looking suspiciously at Legendary Edelgard: Hegie... Legend's been pretty quiet lately.

Legend: Really?

*fight breaks out*

Hegie, aside: I broke it. It burned my hand so I punched it. I predict ten minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with war paint on their faces and a pig head on a stick.

*looks back at the chaos, turns around with a grin*

Hegie: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

[jonathanbyersphd]

In conclusion, Will Byers makes Mike Wheeler feel braver

[bestworstcase]

@based7100 this tag made me snicker so

#forbidden tdt lore!

forbidden tdt lore!

we are not going to get into the whole entire TDT Salem Backstory for spoiler reasons and also because my gods we’d be here all day. the salient piece with regard to her semblance is that through the vast majority of the epoch between the moonfall and humanity’s return salem was experiencing varying degrees of deep deep psychosis and still, to this day, doesn’t really know How Much of what happened during that time was real. once there were people again and she’d had a few centuries to feel mostly sure of this fact, her semblance crystallized from her determination to. uh. live in this world.

(blows a kiss to ice queendom for giving me a leg to stand on here with this being in scope of what semblances can do.)

the baseline ability lets her enter and arrange her own mind as a tangible, real physical place. she has constructs representing memories, feelings, ideas, beliefs, pathways and architecture that she’s built out over thousands of years to guide and contain her thinking within the bounds she finds comfortable. which all adds up to salem being very weird but cogent Most Of The Time and having things she can do to ground herself when it gets. bad again.

in a sense her semblance is itself a realm. not a very large one—back of napkin estimate it takes about two hours to walk across end to end and four top to bottom following the main thoroughfare. but akin to ozma’s reliquaries in that it’s a real place where, conceivably, anyone could go if she opened a door. the pool of grimm and the waters of life are both In There.

(<- i had all this sketched out pre-v9 which made the salem-wrote-it ever after theory VERY FUNNY. btw)

sustaining that requires a Tremendous Amount of aura obviously but salem has an infinite reserve and also has been at it for almost the entire history of humankind 2: electric boogaloo so She’s Fine. anyway

that’s the foundation. the fun thing about giving salem a semblance of course is her immortality. what happens if you take a semblance and give it thousands upon thousands of years to cook? (one of my reasons for devising hers this way was to impose some restriction on the answer; it projects inward, not outward, because it’s a staircase she had to build to find the outside world. it can’t go the other way.)

when it originally manifested, the one point of ingress was through her dreams. (although the dividing lines between dreaming and waking and lucid semblance dreams were… permeable.) then she figured out how to cast herself in and out while awake, and from there developed a technique for making doors, which correlated with the interior construct becoming more real and let her physically enter it from remnant.

later on she decided that, since she could open the door in her semblance from anywhere on remnant, that door should also be able to open anywhere on remnant she felt like from the inside, and i think she spent a Long Time trying to make that work before it occurred to her that she could just… make more doors. (from the inside, a door always opens to where it was last opened from without; she still has not cracked this. but she does have a set of doors that all lead to destinations she’s “saved.”)

so she can use her semblance to travel, central location style, across remnant.

the other big thing she’s figured out how to do is use her semblance on other people, projecting herself into constructs of their minds. these aren’t real in the same way, they’re very dreamlike and fade when she withdraws, and of course she won’t have absolute control in a spatial model of someone else’s mind, but as you can imagine few of the outcomes of having salem in your head are pleasant. among other things this is how she “teaches” people how to communicate with grimm.

[cyanparadis]

what was the first song by hozier that opened your third eye? please lmk in reblogs or comments or asks however you prefer.

[artemishuntest]

“you’re the first person i’ve ever felt this way about” is actually insane like the possible characterisation deepdives this series is gonna bring might kill me on the spot

[twilightdomain]

ID: two panels of a sketched comic. the first shows the silhouette of park chul-moo in the arched doorway of a room that is much darker than outside. dialogue from him reads, "I was wondering if you'd turn up." the second panel looks over his shoulder from behind, showing a hooded figure seated cross-legged on the floor in front of him, lit by the doorway but with their head bowed and hands bound in front of them. dialogue from chul-moo reads, "Again." end ID

this got. so long. it's under the cut. an ode to my favorite plot-relevant renown heart.

ID: a sketched, dialogue-heavy comic of guild wars 2 characters in two long vertical pages. the first two panels are the same as those above the cut.

The next shows the lower half of the hooded person's face, which is pale with faint scratches and bruises, and grinning nastily under a thin mustache. A loose bandana is pulled down below the chin so it hangs around his neck and he wears the shoulder guards of medium jade tech armor. Dialogue from him reads, "Like a bad penny."

The panels begin to overlap with each other. The next shows Chul-moo's face and shoulders from the front, looking unamused with slightly gritted teeth. Two merging dialogue bubbles from him read, "And what do the Kestrels think they stand to gain by wasting my time? We're the only reason Tetra hasn't already blown this whole forest to smithereens."

In the next panel, the hooded man (it is Ratthew the Vile) tilts his head up, revealing a truly scummy smile framed by strands of loose hair and topped off by several worse scratches and bruises. His dialogue is in two bubbles connected to him both here and in the next panel. It reads, "Oh, don't worry. There's another outsider doing the same in the Speakers' camp right now. And I guarantee they're not being as friendly about it as me." He says the last part in a large panel with a solid dark background that extends vertically behind the two above it. Both figures are shown from the side, facing each other and starkly lit by the doorway. Chul-moo's arms are crossed, and Rat looks up at him, still smiling, with his bound wrists held in front of his chest.

The second page starts with two panels side by side, simpler than the previous one. Chul-moo is doodled with raised eyebrows and wide eyes, gesturing loosely and saying "Great!!" Then with lowered eyebrows and holding his hands emphatically, saying "Why don't you go help with that then."

The next panel shows him again, drawn with the original level of detail, slightly backlit by the doorway. He has lifted one hand from crossed arms to wave it in the air, eyes closed with an irritated smirk, saying "I can even give you some pointers," and in smaller text outside of a bubble, "Please get our bread oven guy out of there."

The next panel shows most of Rat's seated form from the front and the edge of Chul-Moo's crossed arms from behind. Rat's smile has become more unassuming and friendly, his one blackened eye shut and head tilted slightly. His hands are still tied so he gestures slightly with his thumbs, saying "Well... The company here is so much nicer..."

The next three panels are the same size and shape, stacked vertically to the right of the previous one. The first two are close ups of Chul-Moo's eyes, first glaring down with one raised eyebrow, with no dialogue, then looking to the right with an unreadable expression, saying, "Is that right?" The third is a blank dark box with white text that says "Maybe we've been too forgiving then."

The next two panels are close-ups of hands; The first is Chul-Moo's armored fingers over the opposite elbow of his crossed arms, the pinky finger tapping slightly. The second is Ratthew the Vile's bound hands, seen from the side, with all the fingers comfortably folded besides the pinkies which are sticking out slightly. Dialogue extending across both panels says "Or if you mean it... Why not join us for real?"

A jagged tail leads from the last dialogue bubble to an even more loosely-drawn final panel with no frame or shading. It is being emitted by a boxy radio on a large table, surrounded by Kestrel Ayumi, Detective Rama, and Gorrik, who are all wearing varying concerned or weirded-out expressions. Ayumi is saying, "The little Krytan got caught again. I thought you said he'd be good at this?" Gorrik replies, "He should be! The Marshal said he did this stuff all the time! Maybe he's sick?" Another bubble from the radio says "—What a generous offer—." Rama says "I'm gonna be sick if I have to keep listening to this." end ID

something something first conversations. phew! this was a pain in the ass. thanks for making it this far.