#i'll edit this post as i go

[nyaslashthreat]

shout out to when i told my dad about goncharov and he figured out it was fake because i told him "1973 martin scorsese film with robert de niro" and he said that wasn't possible because the godfather came out in 1972 and the godfather part II came out in 1974 and they wouldn't have had time to make a movie in between. a perfectly good jest, foiled by this man's weird and vast knowledge set

[letbuckfuck]

too hard to find reasons to stay, even true love could not persuade

[royalarchivist]

Pac: I'm not going to say anything to you guys [Chat], I'm not going to say anything to you. I'm not saying absolutely anything, I'm not going to comment. Man, you broke me here, you broke me in 3 parts! I'm not going to- no no no no no, I won't fall for your game, I won't fall for your game.*

Pac's chat allows viewers to make music requests, which led to this very well-timed moment today where Careless Whisper started playing as soon as Pac met back up with Fit.

* [Approximate translation. I'm not a native Portuguese speaker, so as always, please feel free to let me know if there's a better way to translate things!]

[buck2eddie]

-Rick Riordan, The Last Olympian.

[polar-equinoxx]

shy boy - pat soundhouse from lost souls (ep)

[khaotunq]

One Year of Only Friends ○ Ray Pakorn Edition Episode One ○ original air date August 12th, 2023

[darkfluffydragon]

Here are some sketches I drew of Phantasmagoria Corrupted Burning Spice (Change) and Mystic Flour (Volition) :D

Just a fun lil thing while I debate to myself over whether to focus on the world-building or the story. Also Change as a cowboy..just for fun :')

[vaggieslefteye]

Appreciating Hazbin Hotel's Character Expressions ↳ ᴀʟᴀꜱᴛᴏʀ in 1x08 - "The Show Must Go On"

[jack-the-fool]

(x)

[boysareouttonight]

glenn howerton - guess

[blindmagdalena]

The Fall

2.8k mostly sfw homelander x reader. christmas adjacent. depowered homelander.

Summary: After being struck by an unidentified projectile that renders him powerless, Homelander crash lands in your backyard, wholly at your mercy.

this is a rework of this original prompt. inspired by the fable of the mouse that aids the lion whose paw has been stuck by a thorn.  ♡

Homelander is over a hundred feet in the air when he hears something whistling through the sky behind him. Some kind of projectile. A small missile, maybe. It's nothing he hasn't handled before: It could blow up in his face and he would be fine. He’s more curious about what exactly it is, who’s stupid enough to fire it at him, and where it’s coming from. 

With that in mind–in that split second he has to react–he decides to forgo dodging it and instead attempt to catch it.  However, as the mystery projectile gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel. 

What the fuck? 

His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him hard in his left side rib, exploding in fumes that fill his lungs and coat his skin. In an instant, he feels pain like he's been turned inside out, a sensation worse than anything he’s felt since childhood. Instantly he's plummeting towards the ground, crashing directly into your backyard in an eruption of snow and yard furniture.

With his vision going black, the last thing he hears is the sound of the world turning deafeningly quiet.

When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No–compressed, hands over his chest, pushing again and again in a steady rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he drives his fist into your unfamiliar form, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.

You should have flown back thirty feet with a hit like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass, coughing. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body heavy. He's having trouble breathing, every ragged inhale a struggle, and his heart is pounding.

"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in. His own brain is hammering against the confines of his skull, beating at the backs of his eyes.

He’s certain that he’s halfway to cardiac arrest, but no matter how he tries to focus, he can’t calm himself. His strength is gone. It’s gone. He looks at you, you, who should have a hole punched through your chest. Instead, you’re staggering to your feet, totally unharmed. 

"Homelander!" You address sharply, audibly trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. He can see his own fear reflected in your eyes. You’re just as confused as he is. Just a stupid little mouse that crawled out of your hole and found him like this. "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."

There’s something about the sharp authority in your voice mixed with an undeniable quiver of compassion that catches his attention. It could be the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.

It must be pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. You don’t look like you should be able to carry him. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.

You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag, a bottle of water, pills, and a first aid kit. He watches you fumble with it, hands shaking. He assumes it’s adrenaline, though you lack the acidic stench of it. No, you probably don’t. He just can’t smell it anymore. He can’t smell anything except the faint tinge of blood, and whatever nauseating scented candle you use to stink up your home. Though, even that’s distant compared to what he’s used to. However, he finds he doesn’t have it in him to panic. Is this what shock feels like?

He takes the water you offer him, but denies the pills. “No, no. I have no idea what that shit will do to me right now.” You nod, setting the bottle aside. You then lean over him, inspecting the level of damage. His ears are ringing, and his whole body is throbbing with sharp, painful aches. Maybe the pills would help, but he’s never had to take painkillers before. He’d rather swallow tacks than lean on something so pedestrian.

As you work, he notices a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his fist. Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it, remembering the blow he’d dealt you.

You startle, looking down where he touches with a wince. The skin looks as tender as he feels. It must sting. Is he bruised like this beneath his suit? The thought of these same ugly dark marks mirrored on his own body brings him visceral disgust. 

"Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as your voice can muster. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.

I'm not worried about you, he thinks derisively. "That should have caved in your chest."

"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another.

If not for how clumsy your movements feel, he’d think you’ve done this before. There is care and determination in the way you tend to him, but no obvious medical expertise. Even the kit you pull from looks out of date and sparse. You probably picked it up from a gas station on a whim because you needed safety pins. "I think these need stitches," you say as you carefully apply bandages, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak. What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, blowing a crater in their yard in the process, and then thinks to give them CPR?

"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. That breaks him out of his stupor. He catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks, despite how pitifully weak his own grasp feels. "No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the bizarre sensation is gradually beginning to abate.

Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent. 

He hopes to fuck that it isn’t. "Okay," you say tentatively. Instead of leaving, however, you reposition to continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing from his temples down his jaw. He watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.

He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, that for a moment he almost forgets you're strangers to each other.

"What're you doing?" He asks eventually, voice low. You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."

Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight, leaving him uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for it. "I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."

"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?" Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on bated breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.

Looking back up at you, he schools his expression into calm focus. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up. 

"I need to lay low awhile." He can feel his powers steadily returning. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.

You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.

"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."

"Stay here," he says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.

He watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.

Even a curtain is better than no door at all.

After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first. It has him rubbing at his ears, screwing his eyes shut. It rolls in and out of focus, making it difficult to adjust to. “Are you okay?” You ask from the other end of the couch, where you’ve been sitting with remarkable patience. Maybe you’re afraid of him. He hates not being able to tell by the rate of your heart.

“Peachy keen,” he replies flatly. “Hearing’s coming back.”

“That’s good,” you say, though the inflection you end with makes it sound more like a question.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good, it’s just… Loud,” he says, grinding the heel of his palm into his temple. His skull is still pounding. “Everything’s all… Coming back in a jumble. Giving me a fucking headache,” he says, though as he speaks, he realizes he’s able to focus fairly well on the conversation, drowning out the more intrusive ambient sounds. “Keep talking.”

You look surprised by his demand, but after a beat, you oblige. After maybe an hour of idle conversation, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.

That’s just what you’ve told him.

From his personal observations, he's learned that you’re a perpetual fidgeter, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.

"I think it's lucky for you that I’m so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so inexplicably charming–nose wrinkled like you’ve somehow pulled a fast one on him–that Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.

"Oh, steady! Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does, hands out as if to catch him. He stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.

His lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. Not quite new. He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it. "Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.

You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms loosely to survey the damage with him. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.

Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hanging in the doorway makes him smile deviously.

Without warning, he puts his hands on your waist and spins you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you.

Your heart quickens to a race in his ears, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his head with both hands, deepening the kiss of your own volition.

Not one to be out done, he adjusts his hold on you, one arm wrapping properly around your waist while the other slides up to cup the back of your neck, gloved fingers gently squeezing your bare skin.

To his delight, you retaliate with your tongue, slipping it between his lips and coaxing his forth.

Just full of surprises, little mouse.

Maybe you aren't so boring after all.

He meets you eagerly, exhaling a rough, excited little huff through his nose, dropping the hand at your waist to grab a cheeky squeeze full of your ass, wringing a soft moan from you that sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock.

When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed warmly all over. You smell of antiseptic wipes and peppermint, like Christmas in a hospital. It’s bizarrely appealing.

"What was that?" You ask, dazed.

"Mistletoe," he purrs, tipping his head back without taking his eyes off you, settling his hands back on your waist.

You look up slowly–taking a solid few seconds to process–and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you. 

"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You manage to ask after swallowing back the lump in your throat, your shoulders relaxing, though your heart continues to gallop in your chest. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."

It's Homelander's turn to laugh. "Oh, no. I haven't even begun to say thank you yet," he assures you, hands lingering on your hips. 

The kiss had been pure unrestricted impulse, nothing he intended to follow through on. However, now that you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, your skin warm against his, your eyes half lidded, he’s not sure that he wants to let you go. Your lips shine where you’ve licked the taste of his from them. 

“I think for your good deeds, you’re owed a very merry Christmas,” he says, waggling his brows. 

You give a flustered, incredulous bark of laughter, covering your mouth as you look away from him, that flush of yours intensifying, making your whole body thrum warmly. You wouldn’t need to worry about keeping warm on these cold winter nights if he had his way with you.

“Okay, well, uhm, thank you for… for that thought,” you say, tripping over your words in a way you haven’t this entire encounter. “You hit your head pretty hard, though so maybe before you make any promises, we make sure you get checked out by an actual doctor,” you say, pushing lightly against his chest.

He maintains his hold for just a second longer, utterly immovable. It feels good to be himself again. He runs his tongue along his teeth, downright predatory in the way he stares down at you, but he does relinquish his hold.

“You should come with me to the tower. You know, now that you’re… Compromised,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “Someone might come looking for me here. Interrogate you on my condition.”

Real fear flashes in your eyes at that. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he gives back gravely.

“Uh… Okay. Uhm, let me… I’ll pack a bag,” you say nervously, stepping away from him to do just that.

“Okie-dokie,” he gives back simply, glancing around your home while he waits. He picks up an odd little gnome with a big red hat that covers everything but a little button nose, and a long white beard. Maybe he’ll convince you to bring along some of your festive decorations.

Merry Christmas to me, he thinks, already daydreaming about twisting the head off of whoever hit him with some kind of neutralizing agent.

He might thank them for the impromptu date while he’s at it.

[moxielynx]

my prediction for the ending of spiderman 2 is that peter will hold harry so gently like he did in ultimate spiderman and then they'll kiss and tell each other how much they love each other and-

Edit 1: I’m finally gonna be playing Spider-Man 2 this weekend and I would just like to say I get mental damage every time someone reblogs this with something along the lines of “how does it feel to get it so accurate” /hj

Edit 2: I AM A SAD, SAD BROKEN MAN. APOLLO HAS GIFTED ME THE POWER OF PROPHECY. DAMN YOU INSOMNIAC DAMN YOU.

[jsvausvqbd]

Bae Seok Ryu and Song Hyeon Jun

Truthfully, the circumstances just weren’t in their favor, regardless of how much they loved each other and dreamed of a future together. They were faced with a huge obstacle in the form of stomach cancer, for which Hyeon Jun fully committed to being Seok ryu's caretaker, taking a sick leave from work and even putting his whole life on hold for Seok Ryu, because he loved her and wanted to be there by her side. However, Seok ryu's decision to not tell her family and close friends meant leaving Hyeon Jun- who respected her decision and even after they broke up, kept her illness hidden from her family- as her sole caretaker and support system, which was bound to take a toll on him as well sooner or later.

After her treatment ended, they were yet faced with another huge blow in the form of depression -none of which are Seok ryu's fault by the way. But once again Hyeon Jun was left as her sole source of support. Now, I'm not saying that one's partner isn't supposed to be there (I mean, "in sickness and in health", right?), but it's clear that it was too much for him at this point. This reminded me of a cancer research conference I attended years ago, where one of the discussed topics was caretaker burnout and the importance of respite for them, both the sick person and those around them are greatly affected both physically and mentally, and that's what we saw in the episode; Two exhausted people who, despite loving each other, just couldn't bear with how exhausted they were and Hyeon Jun ended up snapping. Does this mean he's a shitty person? No, we saw him be by Seok ryu's side through thick and thin, but at last he was tired and snapped in a moment of desperation. This sadly just means they just weren't what the other needed at the moment anymore, and this is a very realistic portrayal of relationships where there isn't respite nor a proper support system.

I do think he loves her and feels guilty for being so burnt out, but sadly she's ready to move on and that's all that's left for him to do now. Move on.

This sets up a huge challenge for Seung hyo tho, how do you get through her walls when she’s seen first hand what can happen to a relationship when faced with adversities? She said it herself, she’ll be constantly on the lookout for her cancer possibly coming back or even spreading. How can he convince her that he won’t burn out? How can you convince someone who knows firsthand that sometimes love is not enough? Good luck Charlie!

[fizzytoo]

time skip and update: karlee and art have started dating long distance, amaya is still doing what he does best (this time he’s ginger!), and andrew moves in with his siblings!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Smell Check [Easy: Failure]

MDZS Disco Elysium AU part 1 (part 2 - part 3)

[anipgarden]

How to Increase Biodiversity on a Budget - Masterpost

It cannot be stressed enough that supporting native wildlife is important, wherever you are and however you can. But it can feel a bit daunting to think about doing, especially if you’re operating on a smaller budget. It’s not uncommon to hear about someone’s success story and think how much did it cost to do that?

I’m hoping that I can provide a good bunch of ideas on how to help heal the world around you without hurting your wallet. Feel free to use this as a guide, or a bouncing-off point to do actions in your own style!

Before we get Started

I want to make it clear that this is not a checklist of things you are required to do in order to be ‘helping.’ This isn’t an ‘all or nothing’ kind of deal. Every little bit you do helps. Being aware of these options and spreading awareness helps. Doing even just a handful of these options as you’re able to helps.

With that being said, we need to acknowledge that not everything in this list is feasible for everyone. Some people have a fenced yard in the suburbs. Some people have an unfenced yard with judgy neighbors and/or a restrictive HOA policy. Some people can’t directly control their own landscaping, whether that be because of an external lawn maintenance ruling or something like ‘living with your parents.’ Some people have a 4th story apartment with a small balcony. Some people rent and can’t grow directly into the ground. If the best you can do is put up a bird feeder, or grow a few pollinator-friendly plants in pots? I see you. I feel you. I’ve been there. I appreciate what you’re doing, and you know what? So does the wildlife.

Un-actions, or Restriction of Activities

Things to Do that Aren’t Related to Growing Plants

The Plants-Related Section

Adding To, or Starting, A Garden

Cheaply Starting

Supporting Your Plants for Cheap: Composting, Mulching, and Trellises

What Plants to Add

What to Do Once Things Are Planted

The Secret Other Thing - Managing Invasive Plants and Animals

Parting Words and Sources

If you’re interested in joining a group of gardening enthusiasts who are always down to talk about biodiversity, project ideas, and native plants, feel free to hop into my gardening discord!