#god they’re… something

[caliburn-not-calculator]

Uh... Detective au...

You guys talking about religious symbolism got my brain spinning far too much. Enjoy the idiots making out. Help me they’re stuck in my brain and won’t leave

Not explicit but does include somewhat of a fade to black, religious guilt, a tiny bit of choking and uh... yeah? I think that's all i need to clarify first, do tell if I have missed something you see as important to forewarn

In the lull between their words, the silence in the seconds between their breaths, the stillness in that fraction of a moment where Maxim’s eyes fell to the downturned tilt of Veerle’s lips, the detective lowered his hand. From the tender touch against his cheek, down the bared line of his throat, to rest over the heated skin of his sternum. The brontide of his heartbeat in his head drowned any coherent thought. No doubt the detective felt its tremors beneath his fingertips, strong and swift at their epicentre.

The gentle pressure found cold metal, the oft unworn cross that now lay between his pectorals a cold brand beneath the weight of Veerle’s touch. His breath caught in his throat, and so did his next. Suffocating on nothing but the quaking of his own heart.

Veerle tilted his head, mouth moving in the formations of words, though it was far too late for Maxim to consider their meaning by the time they met his mind. Quiet almost beyond hearing, soft almost beyond sound.

“Do forgive me, my friend.”

After a too long beat of silence, Maxim pulled his gaze away from his frown. “What are you— mhH!”

Words were lost as fire sealed his lips. The gold chain looped around Veerle’s fingers, the metal digging deep into the back of his neck as he lurched forward with one firm tug. Any pain was erased by the burn of his kiss. The blistering blissful heat of his lips melding and melting against his own. They were chapped and rough, but gave way with a softness as, despite every ounce of better judgement, Maxim leaned in. Like he had any other choice, as Veerle held tight to his cross. Held him trapped and choking and… And then, a breath, a sound, shuddered from his lips.

Trapped and choked, and groaning low with the want of it.

The unsteady push and pull of the kiss drew humming hymns from the depths of his chest and rattle of his lungs. Not sounds of pleasure but perhaps ones of prayer as Veerle kept his cross in his palm, choking him with its chain. The bounds of his head grew fuzzy, black spots like ink in water swirling in his periphery. The sounds he made into Veerle’s mouth took on a high tone, a choir of gasps and groans as he gave his breath to the kiss, daring to taste Veerle’s in return.

He was bitter with smoke, a harsh sting that made his breath hitch, but by no means stopped him from lapping at the warmth between his lips. A hand found his hair, snagging the neatly combed stands. Maxim hummed at the ache, and pressed his palms over Veerle’s sides, holding him treacherously tight, drawing him unforgivably in.

The hand in his hair tugged as he pressed closer, their footsteps echoey and uncoordinated as they both staggered back, Veerle pulling them ever deeper and Maxim not fighting the weight dragging him down. He did not register that they’d stopped moving until the next step brought them flush, the cross caught between their breasts, Veerle’s feet scuffing uselessly against the floor as his back was met with a smooth wood panelled wall. A small sound not his own trembled over Maxim’s tongue, sweet and rich and turning his limbs leaden.

Unthinking (for he could not possibly think at a time like this, he could not willfully act this way, he was sure), he kissed harder, deeper, twisting his hands in Veerle’s shirt and searching for another sound. Another pleased noise to taste. An affirmation to get drunk and dizzy on. He leaned hard into the wall, letting it take his weight and keep himself from slumping to his knees. Not that it seemed unappealing, but the thought of leaving Veerle’s lips made his chest clench.

Fingers carding through the hair at his nape pressed with tender demand to the base of his skull, urging him ever forward, liquid flame lancing down his spine and through his nervous system like a lit fuse. Veerle nipped at his lips, teeth scrapping sharp over his tongue. His scrabbling had turned to shaking, arching off the wall to firmly fit himself to Maxim’s front. Even as the chain twisting in the detective’s fingers dug deep into his windpipe, or perhaps because of it, no hesitation could be found as he bit back. Chapped lips gave gentle way beneath his, the indent harsh and bruised in sacrilegious marking.

The whine poured onto his tongue sunk simmering heat through to his very bones. They broke for a fraction of a moment, and Maxim’s reverently closed eyes fluttered open. Had he still had breath to lose he surely would have. 

Dark swoops of hair adorned with spun silver veiled dark eyes, Veerle’s pupils blown wide and iris a thin halo of gold around his night sky gaze. The deep blue of his rumpled shirt was painted in rich ultramarine by the dim. Maxim’s own hung loose and undone around his shoulders, letting Veerle’s fingertips and breath caress bare burning skin. The detective blinked back at him, eyelashes gilt by lamp light fluttering over flushed cheeks only a few shades softer than his bitten red lips. The cross slipped from his hand, falling back to Maxim’s chest.

It was white hot with the heat of his touch. A brand laid over his heart. One that went ignored as Veerle took his face into both hands, guiding him back to the chancel of his lips. Slower, softer, and methodically ravenous.

Maxim kissed him like tasting communion. Head bowed and the prayer of a moan falling into their joined lips, nothing but reverent hunger in the careful glide of his hands beneath his shirt. Veerle shivered as fingers traced up his sides and fabric was pulled away, skin bared and blessed flesh to be partaken. More whines fell against Maxim’s mouth, and he drank them in with unearned eagerness, gently and unsurely petting the unmarred skin. Veerle’s chest heaved under his touch. Trembling and untaken, movements insistent and his fire making Maxim shake with the fresh boiling of his blood.

His kisses grew messy, missing the detective’s lips and littering his cheek and jaw, down his neck and lapping at his heated skin. Veerle’s shirt slipped around his shoulders, blue falling from his frame like water from the rocks, the red of heat and bruising bites taking its place. Knees trembling, Maxim sank. Lower and lower, mouthing his way down Veerle’s hitching chest. His hands followed suit, steadying the body from which he feasted. The indent of his teeth marred the edges of his pectorals and dip on his waist, decorating his navel with liturgical rouge.

His knees hit the ground with a near silent thud, the ache of his limbs inconsequential to the heavy heavenly breaths of Veerle above him and his thighs trembling in his hold. He squeezed tight, willing them to still. The whine he received in return fell upon his bowed head rather than tongue, but his thoughts spun with it all the same. Hands tightened in his hair, gold waves bunched tightly in a white knuckled grasp. Maxim dragged his eyes heavenward, and swallowed hard at the sight before him.

He had little doubt Veerle was not the one who would be begging for forgiveness when they were through.

Not if was going to pin Maxim with such a wide and ichor eyed stare, be so bare and beautifully gilt in the light before him, sound and shake so sweetly as Maxim took his flesh between his teeth, mouthing and sucking at the softness to leave more red blooming in his wake.

His shirt, still clinging around his wrists and hanging low around his hips, hiding their edges with blinding blue veils, fell easily beneath Maxim’s hand. His fingers sunk into the tide, pulling it free with one firm tug, Veerle’s breath hitching as it was yanked from his arms. He mouthed at the divide between fabric and skin, lips resting low on his stomach. With veritable desperation, the detective arched his body into the kisses. Maxim hummed into his skin and tightened his grip.

Next, he gave a firm tug to the fabric of his pants, and Veerle sighed his assent, eyes closed and lips parted by soft breaths. Shame coiled tight in Maxim’s gut, hot and heavy and surely nothing else. He pressed a final soft kiss to Veerle’s skin, and whispered a pointless prayer nothing or no one would hear. Not from a place this low.

Veerle tilted his head, looking down through half lidded eyes. “Did you say something?”

Maxim paused, the breaths of his lie curling low over Veerle’s stomach. “No,” his tone was stiff, the untruth unwieldy and unfamiliar, and he swallowed at the doubtful stare he received. “Nothing important.”

“You… You were praying. You don’t do that often,” he whispered, tracing a smooth unbroken line over Maxim's brow, voice far too strong and not nearly breathless enough to satisfy the shameful heat bottle in his chest.

“Ah, far more often than you would know.”

Veerle tilted his head, curious confusion sharpening his stare, and Maxim gave another squeeze to his thighs before it could go too far. His eyes scrunched shut, and a small gasp released from his lips. The coiling heat turned from boiling to simmering. Steady with satisfaction.

The detective swallowed and offered a shaky nod. “Okay then. Well, if— If you are inclined to obsecration, then by all means,” he laced his fingers back through Maxim’s hair, and sunk his weight into the wall, bare chested and bruised, expression strained, standing on shaking limbs. He guided Maxim to keep his gaze, “Plead for me.”

[breesperez139]

Dc x Dp Prompt #6

“I’m a twin”, Damian said one night. He could feel the narrowed eyes of his family drilling holes on his back in disbelief. Not that he could blame them. Damian had never so much as implied being raised with a companion, much less a sibling.

“I had a brother”. Damian paused to recollect himself. He had not said his brother’s name out loud in over 8 years.

“His name was… Danyal”. Damian hated the way his voice wavered, but he could not help it. Danyal was everything to him, his other half. Their heart beat as one and when one heart stopped beating, the other one died with it. At least until his family put his heart on metaphorical life support without ever realizing.

“Where is he now?” His father asked, voice filled with knowing grief and a hint of betrayal. It had in fact been 6 years since Damian first showed up on his doorstep.

“Up there”. All eyes shifted towards the specific star he was pointing to. “Right before he died, he promised me he’d guide me from the stars. Unfortunately, the stars are not visible in Gotham, so my brother is unable to be of much help unless I leave the city.”

“Your brother is Polaris, the North Star?” Tim questioned warily, most likely in attempts to not offend him. Damian was aware of how stupid it sounded, but Danyal had promised, and his brother never broke his promises.

“Yes. Danyal is with the stars now, just as he always wanted”

[mccoyquialisms]

ITS PROM, INTREPID HEROES! ASK RAGH ABOUT WHAT HE SAW AT PROM! ASK ABOUT JACE AND PORTER AND ARIANWEN!! INTREPID HEROES!!!

[thatrandomblogsays]

Annabeth, and others, often treat Percy as if he’s ridiculous or obtuse for his reactions to the demigod world, when in reality he’s a (relatively) well adjusted kid who was raised by a loving parent. His actions make sense based on his upbringing

- parents arent supposed to be neglectful

- parents are supposed to be easily attainable, loving, and present in a child’s life

- if you’re in trouble, you should call for help, there isn’t shame in admitting you’re in over your head, you’re twelve

- you shouldn’t have to jump through life endangering hoops to get your parent’s attention

Annabeth acts like he’s ridiculous, but he’s right. Annabeth knows how the Greek world works, but Percy knows how the real world is supposed to work. & rightfully calls out the BS. But it’s hard for most demigods to agree because what kid wants to admit the way their parents treat them is awful? That their actions are those of aloof, negligent, even narcisstic people who are unwilling or incapable of giving the proper love and support a child needs. That even if their godly parent does love them, it’s a pathetic, horrible, attempt at love you’re better off without.

[proxycrit]

What if I redesigned some horses to fit MY favorite narrative trope: fallen gods and forgotten myths of old? Anyways.

Twilight’s mentor is a strange one. In a world of twilit planes forever shrouded in mystery, the older unicorn Lest and her adopted student Twilight are one in many common travelers, migrating the pitted wastelands and eeking survival within settlements that spring up around the glowing meteor shards. Despite living with Lest for the last four years, Twilight can’t help but seek answers to where her brother has gone— and in the process, perhaps dig a bit too deeply into the complexities of gods far older and dangerous then she can truly fathom.

On the otherhand, Celestia “Lest” Sol is having a terrible millenium. Her sister is no longer her sister, her student teleported herself halfway across the continent, and she got herself kidnapped by an old rival trying to attune with the elements of harmony to overthrow the current ruler of Equestria.

At least she gets a toxic yuri moment.

Meanwhile, Chrysalis is having a great time. She’s got kingdoms to conquer and people to feed and a waning god to taunt.

(The Selene Grace hates the sun monarch they deposed five centuries ago as they stay chained to their post, keeping the lunar and solar bodies from crashing into each other. Luna misses her sister, and the easier world where they haven’t hurt each other beyond reparation. Nightmare Moon misses their monstrosity, trapped in a host who’s grief has poisoned them with empathy.

Things are bound to tip. The celestial bodies are not bodies, but prisons, and the amalgamations we call alicorns the key. And something desperately wants to be freed…)

Anyways:

My mane 6 redesign here!

And my luna and celestia redesigns here!

[im-tired1124]

Hazy warmth ☀️

Another Colentine thingie because once again I need something to help me cope with my weird gay pseudo-crush, and y’all lost your marbles the last time I posted something with these two in it.

[just-bee-lieve]

opening night

[keferon]

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[pparuparfait]

so like…this is 100% why ivy had That Reaction to fig disguised as lucy, right? it wasn’t that she saw through the disguise, she just saw her once dead friend now revived (like the rest of the party had already been) and thought lucy finally chose ankarna (chose them)

[cordership]

Wait.

There’s no way…

Holy Shit.

[tanoraqui]

Kabru: [lies to Laios’s face about sharing his interests, in a deliberate scheme to befriend him]

Kabru: [watches Laios have a knock-down, drag-out fistfight with Shuro when he found out that Shuro has been lying to him for years about being friends]

Kabru: Huh.

Kabru: …Skill issue.

Kabru: [continues lying to Laios’s face]

[angelusmonts]

alyosha and sonya, I think they would be friends (drew this for my gf)

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 209

Now Jason was planning on, well, a lot of things, when he came back to Gotham. He had a lot of plans, several of which had to do with the old man and even more that had to do with cleaning up Crime Alley, making it safer and all that. 

What he was not planning on was to find some sort of lab in the basement of where he was planning on setting up a safehouse. Nor was he planning on finding several literal children in cages inside said lab. Oh and Lazarus Waters- but children! With muzzles! Being experimented on!

Now he’d like to say he had a plan in what happened next, but if he’s honest everything had gone Green and he didn’t remember what happened next, only that he’s back home with said children and covered in blood. Oh and everything smells of smoke. 

… And apparently there’s more of these things dotted around Crime Alley with the rest of these kids, er, siblings? Family? Fright does mean family? Okay kids, he’s not turning into Bruce but you can stay here while he deals with this… however long that takes. 

He better not be turning into Bruce he swears-

[bicheetopuff]

tgck and bkdk parallels make so much more sense when you think of it as Katsuki paralleling Uraraka and Izuku paralleling Himiko instead of the other way around…

[little-pondhead]

I have a simple fascination and joy in the thought that, for the Ghost King AU, most of the time Danny is literally so normal compared to other ghosts.

Like, he’s a kid. He looks like a kid. Going by canon appearances, he is the most human looking ghost we see (aside from Ellie). Even Plasmius is more inhuman, which is where all the vampire jokes come from. Every single one of this enemies is off even in a human disguise. They’re not human, and people don’t expect them to be.

So aside from the implications of Danny looking like a child ghost, I wonder what other characters would think if they summon the Ghost King, expecting this huge monstrosity worse than anything they’ve ever seen, and getting a totally normal human-looking kid.

I’d be terrified. Because if horror movies have taught us anything, it’s that the most innocent and normal looking people are the worst monsters you’ve ever seen.

Like, what is he hiding??

[darlingpeasant]

It’s the look of awe, disbelief, desire and love, the sparkle in her eyes, the pure feeling of warmth and safety in that moment. It just makes you feel SO MANY feelings 🥹