#i haven't proofed this

[notroosterbradshaw]

warm blood

FULL FIC HERE.

The sound that escaped Rooster’s lips as you dragged your nails through his unruly sunkissed curls had you cackling. “Rooster Bradshaw, you need a girlfriend,” you decided.

“I don’t need a girlfriend; I just need to get laid,” he protested, realising how pitiful he sounded and then adding softly, “Please don’t stop. That feels so fuckin’ good. It’s like the most physical contact I’ve had in...” his eyes fluttered closed and took a deep, satisfied pull of his beer. He didn’t want to admit how long it had been since someone had touched him like that.

Continuing to press your fingertips into his scalp, his shoulders dropped, completely melting in your touch. “This must be the longest dry spell you’ve ever had,” you reckoned quietly.

“Feels like it,” he said dismally.

“How long?” you dared ask.

“It’s goin’ with me to the grave, don’t ask stupid questions,” he muttered in reply as you hide your grin with a sip of your beer. He turned back to you and made a face; he’d let pretences lie. “Maybe you’re right, I just need a girlfriend.”

“Rooster, you have no trouble finding someone to fuck… why are you off your game? Why don’t you go drag all the single ladies in with a song or something?” you suggested, hoping to perk him up. He shook his head. Honestly, he didn’t need to sit at the piano to have all eyes on him. At any point of the night, you’d look up and find some poor soul caught staring.

“Naw,” he didn’t feel like the spectacle tonight.

“Want me to wing woman for you?” you offered. “Babe on the other side of the bar. Tall, curvy...” you chewed your own lip.

“You’d do that?” he asked, honestly touched.

“Of course. I can’t deal with you when you’re being a whiny little bitch. If it means you get your cock wet, I’m here for you, pal.”

He laughed quietly as you asked him how you looked. He gave you a once over and frowned. “Beautiful, but are you trying to get laid, or am I?”

"I swore off your kind, any kind, as a New Year’s resolution. I want the year to myself,” you grandstanded, and he chuckled.

“You’ll be begging for sex soon enough,” he straightened, glaring at you out of the side of his hazel eyes and took another long slug of his beer.

“I’ve got toys, I’ve got fingers,” you reminded him, reaching for him with grabby hands as he bit back a grin and leaned away from you.

“You fuckin’ deviant,” he joked. It was untrue, but he loved to tease you… and you loved when he teased you too.

“Hey. If I want to find someone to share my time with, I won’t hesitate to break that resolution if I need to. They’re made to be broken anyway,” you shrugged casually.

He nodded, not disagreeing. “I’m sick of my hands,” he muttered as you took the hand that rested on his quad and cupped it in your own. You didn’t know why, he brought it up and they were just there begging to be held. He laughed quietly and gripped your palm back. “I just miss the warmth, you know?”

Putting the back of his hand to your cheek, he laughed again. You gave him the eyes, and he sighed.

“Don’t start. Knock it off immediately.”

“No, tell me exactly what you miss. Tell me what you need.” You settled in. You would love to know what turned Rooster Bradshaw on. He wasn’t like the other guys – he kept his conquests quiet. Lowkey. Sure, you knew when he was in the game, he made no secret of his intentions. But gee, he always seemed more complicated than an easy fuck kinda guy.

“You don’t need to hear about any of that stuff,” he rolled his eyes and retrieved his hand, stuffing it back in his jeans pocket. “Trust me, you’ll be just like me soon enough.”

“Look, if you get to a point you’re absolutely desperate, blue from top to toe, I’ll drop my standards for a night and give you a night you won’t forget, okay?” you tried to bite back the laugh that bubbled under the surface. You weren’t surprised he gave you the bird in response. “You’re just lazy. Go lay a line on any woman in here, and I guarantee, she will be putty in your hands.”

It seemed like such a nut-up or shut-up order, Rooster knew he had no choice but to follow through. Standing to his height and adjusting to his posture, he muttered, “Fine,” he stole your fresh beer as you protested and wandered over to the gorgeous woman, who if truth be told, was exactly his usual type, you’d pointed out only moments earlier. Well, what was expected to be his type - that glint in her eye that told him he wouldn’t have to work too hard to get her number either. He had a rule that one-night stands were never at his place. He’d rather sneak out than kick someone out. Win-win really.

[canisalbus]

Oh a little fluffy gold puppy looking up at the scary man in the portrait their father keeps in his office... 🥺

[sincerelybubbles]

"spence?"

"hm?"

"when did you get home?"

a more awake you would be squealing, thoroughly excited he came home early from his trip, but the early hours have hardly begun to bring light and you're struggling to even open your eyes to look at him. your cheeks still widen into a pleased smile though, turning into his warmth and humming, confused, when your hands find the rough fabric of his coat.

"a few hours ago," he says, voice rough, eyes still shut. one arm across his eyes, blocking the minuscule light, the other a vice around your waist. his voice is slow, deep in his chest, caught on the sleep he obviously wishes to keep. but he still turns his face toward the sound of your voice, smile creeping up at the corners of his lips, willing to entertain you despite his fatigue.

"are you still wearing your shoes?" you ask, voice teasing, scooting up in his arm to nudge your nose against the curve of his jaw. you press a kiss there, the point where his bone hits a right angle, lips tingling from the stubble you find.

"no," he says, voice honest, "i know better than that."

"no shoes, but your belt is still on?" you tease, fingers dragging across the leather. you don't care, not beyond a genuine concern for his comfort, but you enjoy teasing him in this way, skimming your lips across the rough skin of his chin in not-quite kisses.

"i took my gun off," he complains in a half-hearted groan, lifting his arm to peek at you out of the corner of one eye. "hi," he says, voice still soft, somehow deeper with affection, dimples the star of the show on his cheeks.

"hi," you say, tilting your head back and lifting your arm to cart your fingers through his mess of hair. "welcome home."

he smiles, reaching around with his other arm to gather you up and drag you across his chest in a bear hug, chuckling at the squeal you let out, sighing against your hair. he presses a firm kiss there, right above your ear.

"we will have to wash the sheets, though. it was really gross for me to not change, i was just exhausted, sorry."

[uncanny-tranny]

Basically, my philosophy around disability fakers is: I would rather a thousand people fake a disability than have one disabled person suffer without care, aids, compassion, or any help.

[evercelle]

2024 art summary! it sure has been a year

[notadreamurr]

@justwantswafflefries i think they should get married and go on a honeymoon trip to the bahamas 👉👈

[anthropoetics]

someone pushed my mom on the bus and she chipped her tooth on the bus handle. she went to the er and they basically sent her away with pain medication, telling her she had to see the dentist (that's a two month wait). she says she's in no pain, but her lips and mouth are contantly bleeding and everything she eats tastes like blood, so if you can help me, please. i've sent her everything i have saved (which is basically nothing given the fact that i just got a job), she's going to the dentist in two hours, but we still don't have enough to pay him (which he kindly agreed to do what's necessary even if we don't have the money now). if you can help us with anything, please.

my p*aypal is ianalsvn@gmail.com

[teastainedprose]

Mark You Pretty (Homelander x Reader)

My brain saw this post and ran with it. Homelander bruises you. 13k words, Homelander x GN!reader (Warnings for bruising, mild Sadism/masochistic play)

The first time Homelander bruises you, it's an honest mistake. He didn't mean to grab you that hard. Not really. Sometimes Homelander forgets how delicate normal people can be. It had been a reflexive thing, snatching you about the arm just above your wrist as you reach over him to gather up the handouts from the meeting.

"Leave it," Homelander mutters with eyes still fixated on the stack of papers set before him, gloves creaking as he briefly tightens his grip on your arm before releasing you. The small gasp you make as you withdraw doesn't penetrate his concentration. He doesn't notice how you rub at your arm, expression pinching up while stepping away. You're another faceless worker bee and Homelander has no time for you. The meeting is over and you shuffle out with the other nameless non-supe Vought employees. His attention is back to the paperwork in front of him, mind buzzing on how to handle the downswing in public opinion on The Seven. You're forgotten as Homelander turns back to the task of being Homelander.

He doesn't even register that he hurt you until the next day. It's the top you're wearing that does it. Long sleeved and out of season, which draws his attention to you for the second time this week. He registers the blooming bruise peeking out from under your sleeve when you bend over to offer handouts about the table. He blinks, clocking the imprint as a mirror of his gloved grip. There's no guilt associated with this realization, simply an understanding of the connection. He did that to you. Homelander marred your pretty skin with a bloom of purple where he grabbed you. Suddenly, it's satisfaction that's coiling in his gut. He likes how you wear his mark.

For better or worse, now he notices you.

Homelander lets his eyes wander up your arm, snagging briefly on your ample chest before flicking across your face. You instantly look away, unable or unwilling to meet his gaze. Cute. He smirks as he takes you in. You're a charming enough little thing. A bit too skittish for his taste, but the bruise he left on you keeps drawing Homelander's eyes back over and over again.

For the entirety of the meeting, Homelander lets his attention wander to you while his eyes roam your form. He's shameless with the ogling and never looks away when you catch him at it. No, he's only further pleased by it. He makes sure to catch your eye as his lips curl up and part slightly, his tongue poking at the corner of his mouth. That gets a blush across your cheeks and you're quick to break eye contact. This only amuses Homelander further and galvanizes him to find further ways to unsettle you throughout the meeting. You are his distraction to make this presentation a little less dull.

The meeting ends and Homelander puts you from his mind once more as soon as you walk out the conference room doors. You're nothing but a passing amusement, something to play with at the next meeting perhaps. He's already letting the image of your blush and the bruise he left on your skin fade from his thoughts before something catches in Homelander's ear later that day as he strides down the hallway.

There are many curious sounds within Vought Tower and Homelander has heard plenty. People whispering secrets across phone lines and into ears. Muffled moans of employees sneaking off to empty conference rooms or even broom closets for salacious rendezvous. The one that catches him now? It's soft, more a quiet exhale with a moan undercutting the sound. He blinks, pausing to look towards where the sound came from. It's your office Homelander finds himself standing outside as he cocks his head to the side. He watches you as you sit at your desk, clearly not thinking yourself observed. X-ray vision lets him watch as you press two fingers into the bruise he left on you, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to hold back that noise. You moan again all the same, your enjoyment evident as your face twists into a brief flash of pleasure.

Oh, isn't that interesting?

Now Homelander's fascination with you ignites. His eyes seek yours constantly throughout every business meeting the two of you find yourselves in now. He's prone to stepping too close and invading your personal space whenever Homelander comes across you, which has jumped in frequency. He even has the gall to hook his pinky on the sleeve of your shirt one day, tugging it up enough to check if the bruise is still there. By then the purple has faded to a duller, splotchy green. His mark is almost gone and Homelander finds he doesn't like that one bit.

The second time Homelander bruises you, it is very intentional. 

He's bolder the second week. Homelander deliberately holds you back after one meeting with a flimsy excuse. Those massive doors ominously shutting close after everyone else has filed out. Now you're trapped inside the conference room with him. It makes your pulse skitter with terror, which is an utter delight to Homelander. He can smell the fear off of you. A heady scent that stirs a primal need within him because it's mingled with your arousal as well. That fact alone has a smirk on Homelander's lips as he approaches you, hands clasped behind his back and under his cape as he leisurely strolls over. Normally, such posture would be non-threatening but on Homelander it's anything but.

It's a terrifying sight yet compelling. Homelander is ever the perfect superhero in looks. Vought's true golden boy that you and countless others privately swoon over in the break room despite his reputation. yet even you have learned that Homelander isn't the squeaky clean supe he's portrayed as. The looming trial only adds further credit to the rumors that circulate about him. Still, it's thrilling, and you may be a little too into the danger Homelander represents. You can't help the anticipation coiling in your belly as you watch him stalk closer.

He traps you there against the wall, shifting as he places a palm flat against it. You stare at his chest as Homelander slides his hand down, lifting it to cup your chin to tilt your gaze up to meet his own. "Er, you wanted to talk sir?" You manage to push the words out, flushing at the tremor in your voice. He smiles and those too sharp canines flash. You shiver, eyes wide as you meet the clear blue of his gaze.

"You bruise easily, don't you?" Homelander muses, his hand on your chin shifting to stroke down your cheek before moving to your neck. Electric heat shoots up your spine from the chaste caress, the leather of his gloves smooth against your skin. His fingers curl around your throat as you feel his thumb ghost over your pulse point. Your breath hitches at the subtle threat but then he's sliding his hand down to tighten his fingers about your shoulder. Homelander digs his thumb in just below your collarbone to the point of pain as he watches you intently.

You hiss in response, eyes squeezing shut before you huff out a sound. It’s not a pained noise. An echo of the sound he’d heard by chance last week. He eases up, a knowing look on his face as you open your eyes again.The scent of your fear lesses, while your arousal fills his nostrils. You like the pain. He smirks all the wider while leaning in to ghost his lips over your cheek. 

"I didn't mean to hurt you." Homelander rumbles out, breath a hot caress against your skin. For the other day or just now? You don't know which he's apologizing for and there's not much time to ponder over that because Homelander's lips are against your own in the next breath.

His mouth against your is Homelander's sort of apology, more for him than you but you enjoy it all the same.

[tiredandoptimistic]

What I enjoy so much about Angel's curse as a plot device is how it works to expose who he is as a person and call up questions about what it means to be good or evil.

The intent of the curse was nothing but punishment. Angel would be forced to feel the guilt of everything he'd done, and if he ever let go of the guilt enough to experience pure joy, it would all be stripped away from him. It wasn't about giving him a soul so that he could be a better person, it was all just to maximize his suffering. And well, it does a pretty damn good job. For almost a hundred years, Angel spent his time wallowing in guilt and misery. He wasn't contributing anything to the world, but he wasn't taking anything away from it either (unless you count the rats he was eating). Until Whistler comes along and shows him a glimpse of Buffy Summers, and suddenly his life has a purpose again.

In the first season and a half of Buffy, Angel tries to actually do some good for the first time in his life. He makes the choice to use his abilities to help people, and it changes everything. He lets himself fall in love with Buffy, and as a side effect he concentrates more on the positive potential of his future than the shadows in his past. Turning evil is his punishment for allowing himself to be happy, and it exposes the hypocrisy of the original curse. Guilt and punishment was effective in keeping Angelus out of the world, but it's also what brought him back. Angel lost his shot at joy, and so did Buffy and Giles and Jenny and all the others. It's such a good representation about how punitive justice cannot lead to positive change. Arguing that his past crimes make him unworthy of any hope just leads to him going back to his wicked ways. If he'd been allowed to be happy, the Scoobies wouldn't have lost one of their most powerful allies and the world wouldn't have been nearly swallowed by Acathla.

Having a soul was never meant to be a reward. It wasn't supposed to be a shot at redemption, but he found his way to Buffy and was redeemed anyways. The hundred years of sitting around being sad did a lot to shape who Angel is, but it didn't motivate him to try and be better. It was Buffy that made him genuinely strive for a brighter future and save hundreds of lives along the way. It wasn't guilt that made him a good man, it was hope.

[milkfur]

My wofsona (drawn in 2023). Her name is short for Albatross. She's a chonky IceWing.

[skrunksthatwunk]

EXTREMELY REAL MOMENT FROM HIRANO HERE

[kaiserouo]

[flowersforthemachines]

watched the Rookanis romance scene with flycam and did you guys know that Lucanis rests his hands on Rook's legs/thighs during the kiss. a bit unwell about that detail

[ell-arts]

The Veil  |  Chapter 10  | No Rest for the Undead

Chapter Summary: The Ghost Gang find themselves in a compromising predicament.

-

Finally, a ghost with actual fingers for me to draw! :D

I am very tired, but so glad to finally get this baby out. I might hop back into the chapter tomorrow to fix some errors I may have missed, but for now, enjoy!

I am very, VERY curious over what you guys will think of this chapter.

[anthropwashere]

A downside to my Miss Havisham era: I have to acknowledge that the weird maybe-metallic bang heard without the house 1-3 times almost daily isn't the roommates bumping about, the cats getting up to trouble, the dishwasher/washing/drying machines, or even the radiators or A/C.

1-3 times a day something in this huge old dilapidated house decides to go CLANK, and I have no idea what it is

[mcyt-cats]

Quick question, am I allowed to ask for a tally of how many life series people own cats to your knowledge?

If so, what is the ratio of cat owners to non-cat owners?

Sure!

Grian: 2 cats, Maui and Pearl

Pearl: 2 cats, Olive and Nugget

Scar: 1 cat, Jellie

Impulse: 1 cat, Luna

Martyn: 2 cats, Kiki and Pascal

Jimmy: 2 cats, Norman and Flick

Cleo: At least 2 cats, Atlas and Glados

Skizz: At least 2 cats, Ginny and Ravenclaw

Scott: 1 cat, Elle

--

Mumbo: Technically no cats, as Benji lives with his mom. 1 dog.

Lizzie and Joel: No cats. Sadly, Buddy passed away. 1 dog of course, Meri.

Bigb: To my knowledge, no cats.

Bdubs: To my knowledge, no cats. (Edit: 1 dog)

Tango: To my knowledge, no cats. (Edit: 2 dogs)

Ren: No cats, 1 dog though (edit: no dog cries)

Etho: To my knowledge, no cats

Gem: No cats. 1 dog, though.

---

Final ratio: 9/18 have cats, so right at 50%!