#late-night talks

[clownboybebop]

if you’re ever in the position to choose between giving up and accepting defeat, and actually trying to fight the ancient unkillable god that is about to peel apart reality like a string cheese, remember this: scientifically speaking, you might as well give it a shot!

1.there were trees at the beginning of the world! there were trees so long ago that they predate bacteria that causes wood to decay. when a tree fell, it would lie there in stasis and there wasn’t any way of breaking down wood xylem on a molecular level in that way.

2. it seems obvious to say, but wood eating bacteria are literally incapable of comprehending what they’re breaking down. It’s just not information conciously available to a microorganism. they don’t know what they’re deconstructing, where it came from, bacteria have no way to even fathom the existence of a tree as a concept.

3. Regardless of the facts above, the world we live in today is a world where wood inevitably decomposes

it is worth fighting the unkillable god no matter how pointless it seems. it is worth taking the risk even though youre trying to accomplish something impossible. the reality in which you live was also once reality in which trees didn’t rot. You live in a reality that allows for existence before the possibility of destruction. you live in a reality where uncomprehending microbes break down matter that is so far beyond the scope of their comprehension that it feels comical to specify something so obvious. you live in a reality that occasionally allows unshakeable physical truths to be altered with no warning.

It is worth fighting the unkillable god because trees are so old they predate the source of their destruction, and it still did not spare them. It is worth fighting the unkillable god because bacteria rots unthinkingly, because there is room in our cosmos for destruction without comprehension on the part of the destroyer. It is worth fighting the unkillable god because now and then reality retracts the promise of immortality without fanfare, and when that happens there is no mercy for the ancient. the unmaking is not softer for the desecrators ignorance. for all things, existence is endless until the exact point where it ends.

so you might as well try to kill the unkillable god. it doesn’t seem likely, but at the beginning of the world, trees didn’t rot. so you never know! you never know

[sunbloomdew]

do you ever see a person and you are overcome with incredible fondness? and you just think "oh." but not in a romantic or sexual way you are just filled with warmth and it makes you happy, it just does. and you think "i'm so happy you exist. i'm happy you are somewhere out there in the world, doing your thing". it's love but also not entirely

like people are lovely and i feel it in my entire chest like a burning candle that smells like roses and a sunny day

[lilacgaby]

katsuki, who practices asking you out by talking to you. or well, a sleeping you at least.

you'd developed a habit of sleeping after a study session, which is when he'd take the time and softly whisper his confession to you, hands fiddling with his pencil, curses spilling from his lips as he messed up. heart rate spiking everytime you'd adjust yourself in your sleep.

it was the fifth time when he finally got his words down pat. his voice vibrating against the palm he used to support his head as he stringed the words together perfectly,

all for it to go to waste when he actually confessed. the words leaving his mind, his mouth hung open as the cogs turned in his mind, your favorite flowers held tightly in his hands as he fought to string together something. anything?

"please be my girlfriend."

as he felt his soul leave his body, he was relieved when you took the flowers out his hands, a smile on your lips as you eased all his tension with just 3 words.

"of course, katsuki."

years passed, yet the memories of his preparation never left his mind. and even though they weren't exactly helpful in the end..

he couldn't help himself from practicing his proposal to you using the same method. now though, you were asleep in your shared bedroom, you were both pro-heroes now, and he fiddled with the ring he bought for you instead of that mechanical pencil.

a lot of things didn't change though. the anxious feelings and butterflies that bubbled in his chest as he stuttered and mumbled a practiced speech over and over again,

and you, who played along despite not really being asleep.

tags: @k0z3me @darhinadadragon @maddietries @exoticrasin @lavendarstarz @hisonlyobsession @i-the-fluffo @cookielovesbook-akie @frosted-flakes @irenne-stans @lulumi1u @bakunis @twirlyphim @drawingforshitsandgiggles @babylambdietcoke @deimosjay

[http-wolfstar]

Some shmall james and sirius bonding time c:

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Council of lovefools.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[emjiroki]

Yuuta begs everytime to take the condom off. Wants to feel the warmth of you around him gripping him raw so bad he's near tears. Whimpering cries against your chest, throat, shoulder, anywhere he can sink his teeth

"Please baby, this time? Can I this time?"

"Wanna feel you all wet for me just once, let me slip it in please"

"Promise I'll be good"

The night you finally peel the latex off and give him the okay is the best night of his life.

He pulls three orgasms from you before hiking your legs over his shoulders and thrusting his sensitive cock in so deep he cums bucket loads against your womb, a contended sigh gracing your ears as he releases your legs and sits between your thighs to push his release back in with his fingers

[stillnotyourmusebitch]

Late night thoughts....

Imagine finding younger pictures of Silco and him trying to puck the photo from your hands but you just say.

"Damn so it is true."

He grabs the photo to lock it away. But asks what you meant.

You walk over to him lifting his chin to look at you.

"Men do get finer with age."

Then you lean down and kiss his goofy lil smile.

(The things I would do to this man are unreal. Get that boy moaning like a wanton whore)

[autisticrosewilson]

While we're on the topic of De-aging AU's I wanna talk about Jason and Damian if Jason was 14 again real quick.

Do you guys think that Damian looks at this version of Jason, so different from the version he knows, nothing like the person he was told Jason was, and feels uncomfortably seen?

Damian was always told that Jason died because he was reckless, because he disobeyed orders, he was fired as Robin and he got himself killed. A cautionary tale, not a threat to his position. He dismisses Jason because Bruce does, because Dick does, because sometimes even Babs and Alfred do.

That's not the kid that he's looking at now. This Jason is happy, and smart, and full of love that has not yet soured into grief. He hangs on Bruce's every word, trains until his hands bleed and his body gives out to perfect the moves Bruce teaches him. He looks at Bruce with stars in his eyes and he calls him dad.

And Damian can't help but think, that this is the perfect Robin. The perfect son. And if Jason - sweet, loving, strong, Jason - can be fired, can die and have his room locked away and his pictures torn down, can have his last memory as Robin be as A Good Soldier, how could the rest of them ever compete? What could Damian do to stand a chance?

Jason will never grow out of the shadow of Robin, like the rest of them did. As long as Bruce, and Dick, and Babs, and Alfred look at him and see a dead kid who came back wrong, he will never get to be anything else. He will not get to be looked at through who he is now without the shadow of a dead boy looming over him.

And the worst part? Jason is exactly the same person he was back then. Bitter, sure, angry, justifiably, but he is still the boy with too much love in his heart and righteous fury festering in his gut. He is exactly the same boy who threw himself in front of an explosion to save his mother.

(The lines between the mother that betrayed him and the father that disgraced him are so very blurred. Fire or blade or crowbars or fists it does not matter. It ends the same way it always does because Jason Todd always dies, in every universe, in every timeline, Jason dies and crawls out only to be killed again and again and again.)

[deeply-unserious-fellow]

No okay because what REALLY GETS ME about Adam and Lute's final interaction is that THIS FACE

Seems deeply out of character for Adam. Like, especially considering how he was having the classic Third Act Breakdown right before this? This cocky motherfucker got stabbed by fucking NIFFTY after getting his ass beat by LUCIFER HIMSELF, and yet this is the look on his face as he bleeds out. You'd think he'd be more upset, but he just seems. Accepting. Ready for this fate. Which is COMPLETELY UNLIKE ADAM!!!!!!! The only in-character reason this would be the final look on his face would be that he's putting on a brave face for Lute. Lute who came running over to him as soon as she saw him fall, yelling for him, crying. Adam, the pettiest, bitchiest asshole in the entire goddamn show is putting on a brave face for her. Or he's just like. Happy to see her in his final moments. Which either way they cARE ABOUT EACHOTHER SO MUCH I CAAAAAAAAAN'T-

[betweenstorms]

Late night talks with Simon Riley

The balcony of your flat was surrounded by stillness, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the gentle autumn breeze, the distant hum of vehicles and the occasional hiss of your cigarette as you took a drag.

The city stretched out below you, its noise muffled by distance, streetlights glowing like indifferent stars. The cool air brushed against your skin like the lingering touch of a departing lover. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once and then fell quiet.

Simon Riley stood beside you, a looming silhouette etched against the night, the soft glow of a distant streetlamp tracing the edges of his massive frame. He leaned against the railing, arms crossed over his broad chest, his mask still in place even though you were alone.

He didn’t seem out of place, even in your silent little apartment, though his size and demeanour should have made him feel alien against the backdrop of your soft furnishings, pastel colours and faintly floral candle scent. Somehow, he belonged here in a way you didn’t entirely understand, just as he belonged anywhere he decided to stand.

And in that moment, you wondered if perhaps the truth was simpler—perhaps it wasn’t the space itself that had been shaped to make room for him, but you. You, drawn to his gravity, reshaping yourself to fit into his orbit without even knowing it. He belonged here, beside you, in the way that storms belong to the sea, in the way that shadows belong to the light. 

You tilted your head back, blowing a stream of smoke into the evening air, the grey tendrils dissolving into the sky that was kissed by ink. “Y’know,” you began, your voice quiet but steady, “I’ve always wanted to be someone’s muse.”

Simon didn’t move, yet you felt it—his attention turning toward you, like the faint pull of the moon on restless tides. He tilted his head slightly, a silent invitation, or perhaps a challenge.

You smiled at him coyly as you tapped the ash from your cigarette, scattering it into the night like fragile, burnt-out stars, lost to the endless abyss below. “I mean, like in art, poetry, music. I want to be the reason someone picks up a brush or a guitar, someone to feel something so deeply for me that they have to create.”

Simon exhaled sharply through his nose.

You hesitated, searching for the right words. It wasn’t vanity that spoke, but a quiet yearning to matter, to etch your existence into the soul of another as deeply as the stars carve their light into the sky.

“I want a love that hurts. The kind that rips you open. I want to feel it so deeply that it bleeds into everything I do. I want the kind of love that’d make me die for someone, kill for someone, and know they’d do the same for me.”

Simon grunted, the low, rough sound cutting through the fragile stillness like a stone dropped into water. It wasn’t anger, not exactly, more like the weight of disbelief, a scepticism carved from years of lived truths. His gaze shifted, leaving yours to trace the city below, where the streetlights bled golden, silver and ruby trails across the darkness. “You describe pain like it’s somethin’ noble,” he said after a beat, his voice low and clipped. “It’s not.”

You frowned, your brows pulling together as you turned to face him fully. “It’s not about the pain, Simon,” you argued, though your tone was softer than you’d intended. “It’s about what the pain means. It’s about knowing you feel something so deeply it’s worth hurting for.”

“Pain doesn’t mean love,” his voice was grounded in a pragmatism that felt carved from stone. “Pain just means pain. Doesn’t make it grand. Doesn’t make it art.”

You scowled, though there was no real heat behind it. “You’re no fun, y’know that?”

That earned a quiet snort from Simon, the closest thing to a laugh you’d ever heard from him. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing briefly as he inhaled.

“Better borin’ than daft,” he said, his tone almost teasing but still blunt.

“You just don’t get it.”

“Don’t want to,” he countered, his voice calm, unbothered, as if the subject held no weight at all for him. 

You didn’t answer straight away, letting the silence breathe between you. The smoke burned its way down your throat, sharp and biting, but there was a strange comfort in the pain, like holding a burning match too close to your skin just to prove you could, watching the flames die before they could hurt you. “You’ve never felt it, then,” you said at last, your voice quiet, softened by the weight of something unsaid. “That kind of love.”

There was no edge to your tone, no venom, just understanding, a threadbare truth spoken not to accuse but to surrender. It was a question in form but not in spirit, the answer was already etched into the spaces Simon left unfilled.

He didn’t answer, but his silence was a language all its own, louder and clearer than any words he might have spoken. You turned your head slightly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, searching his face for something, anything that might betray the man behind the mask. The faint light from the street below brushed his face, catching the edge of his jawline and the downward curve of his lips, but the rest of him was consumed by the dark.

“I think you’re afraid of it,” you said, your voice barely audible, a whisper carried on the faint wind. “Afraid of what it might mean. What it might take from you.”

Simon stiffened, the motion a whisper of tension that rippled through his massive frame, so fleeting it could have been imagined. But you saw it—the tension in his shoulders, the barely perceptible tilt of his head as though your words had struck a chord too deep to ignore.

His gaze flicked back to the city, his jaw tightening.

“Maybe,” he muttered at last, the word low and reluctant, spoken like a confession he didn’t want to make, scraped from some buried place within him.

The silence that followed was vast, an ocean of unsaid things swelling and breaking over the edge of the balcony. And yet, in the spaces between your longing and his restraint, there was something unspoken, a fragile truth suspended like the smoke curling from his cigarette.

Perhaps he didn’t share your desires, your romantic ache for love and creation, but maybe he recognized it. Maybe he knew the weight of it, the way it pressed into your ribs and made the world feel both painfully beautiful and unbearably empty.

But he wouldn’t name it.

Simon Riley wouldn’t meet you in the light of your confession, wouldn’t extend a hand into the soft vulnerability you offered. The stars above blinked just as faintly as him, indifferent to the weight of your conversation, and somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of laughter drifted on the breeze.

But here, on this small balcony overlooking a world too big to contain you, the silence between you was everything.

betweenstorms (next) (masterlist)

[crocwork-clockodile]

I'm a little more than halfway through reading Terry Pratchett's Night Watch (yes I know, it's taken me a while, hush) and my dad, who introduced me to them when I was in high school, told me this was the first Discworld book he'd ever read. That made me feel all sentimental anyway, but this evening I realized this book has been part of my life far longer than I'd realized.

Young Havelock Vetinari, student at the Assassin's Guild school, has been researching different forms of camouflage found in the animal world, and thus is breaking Assassin tradition of wearing all black. It's stylish, but it's pointed out several times in this book that black silhouettes still stand out in the shadows. So he's taken to wearing grey and dark green, muddy colours. And reading that, I was overtaken by the memory of my dad, years ago, when I was just little, explaining to me that if you want to blend into the night, don't wear black, because the night isn't black, it's dark blues and greens and greys, and black will still stand out. I don't remember why he was giving me this Assassin instruction, but it stuck with me forever. And now, here I am, finding the man who taught my dad all those years ago. I love these books so much, they're such an intrinsic part of my heart, sometimes in ways I don't even realize yet!

[theeroticlover]

The Outcome....

[suntails]

knighted

[lilacgaby]

after the war, katsuki had amassed a fanbase. even in the school itself, he'd find himself being chased down every period.

saying he hated it was an understatement. he hated not only being followed and judged, but being late to his classes? that was the final straw.

you slammed your head against the desk in your now empty classroom. math was your weakest subject and you'd just failed another test..

with a 70%. oh, the horror.

deflated and upset, you sunk your weight against the desk. only to jump up in surprise as you found yourself eye to eye with bakugo himself.

"h--"

"be my girlfriend really quick."

"what?!"

he pulled you up with surprising gentleness, pulling you to the door and opening it, the dozens of eyes staring at you. more specifically, staring at the way bakugo's hand was intertwined with yours.

"my girlfriend doesn't appreciate your bullshit. and neither do i."

he pulled you with him, walking you down the hallway as you heard the groans and grievances of his fan girls. he finally stopped in front of the stairs, letting you free your hand now moist from his sweaty palms.

"uh.. if you help me with this shit, i can tutor you or whatever." he had a hand behind his head as he now looked into your eyes.

you barely needed to contemplate it. spend time with your crush and get your grade up?

you stuck the pinkie of your hand out, "i'm in!"

he scoffed, a soft smile on his face as he intertwined your pinkie in his.

little did you know, you had him wrapped around your pinkie in more ways than one.

full ver!

taglist: @k0z3me @darhinadadragon @maddietries @i-the-fluffo

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[killowave]

[mimefish]

Scar's win has me feeling all sorts of emotions. How he admitted his alliance could have gone either way. How he continued to embrace being the villain but flat out refusing to kill Pearl until it really came down to it and the fight was as fair as it could have been. How he had so, so many chances to betray people one on one, and didn't. How jumpy and paranoid he was, on such high alert to every threat that telling Bdubs about Etho's death had him scared of Bdubs coming after him on a horse. How he still kept burning bases and causing chaos despite the flat out warfare going on. How he wasn't able to trust Pearl enough to look behind him but at the same time was only fighting her at all because his loyalty got him there. How he didn't realise he'd killed Pearl and kept trying to pursue her, thinking it was some sort of trick. How Grian of all people had to tell him that she'd died, and Scar had won. How shocked he was to realise it. How he stood there for a moment, just taking hits from that zombie. How he didn't understand how the guy with no friends had made it this far. How the villain, all alone, survived. And how upon approaching the Secret Keeper to succeed, he didn't die, not like in every other series. No, his task was renewed. To win Secret Life. Scar might have been the last one living, but he never got out.