#looooove this fic

[shaythey]

Target Aquired.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

gukgak specifically from my typing (man w/ three jobs & a creeping sense of dread)

[eggsdrawings]

tending wounds

pro hero au dabihawks after a battle, ko-fi request for @/WildLadyLuck on twitter !!

[spielzeugkaiser]

This was supposed to be part of a 'Ciri starts to realize that (while it's obvious that Jaskier is in love with Geralt) this is not as one-sided as she thought it was' comic (or like in short, when you find out your dad has two hands) but then I decided to colour that panel and made it separate 🙈 also a Ciri under the cut:

She's going hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

[violent138]

Batfamily member's civilian identity becomes some serial killer's target because it fits some profile. Cue said murderer going after this member of the Batfamily, earning a very shocked and mildly exasperated set of swear words and then getting their ass kicked. The Batfamily member doesn't even bother calling the cops, just tosses the would be killer in the back of their car (which has bloody gloves in the seat and weird files on people), leading the murderer to conclude they're in the presence of a much worse serial killer.

Tldr: Outsider POV fic where a Batfamily member earns the undying adoration of an actual murderer and it's a slow, convoluted process to getting the evidence to arrest them while also protecting their secret identity.

[forsoobado137]

Does NEKOTALIA exist in your Au and if so are they immortal If so are animal experts able to determine the cause also do they have their own social media accounts I have a mighty need for Nekotalia content

Nekotalia ABSOLUTELY exists in my au. I think they used to be mortal but then after they were taken in by nations, they lost their mortality. I also think that they slowly began to reflect their owners' personalities to the point where they are basically cat personifications. I believe that it's still a scientific mystery as to why they became immortal (much like the mystery of nations themselves). People, including nations, just assume they're normal cats.

The personifications and the media find them very adorable. They set up playdates mini world meetings for their cats. They fight just like their owners, but less about geopolitics and more about how to get more cat food from people. Sometimes the cats get interviewed and asked questions like "Do you love your owner?" and "What do you think of the (insert head of state) putting tax on tuna?" The cats just respond with meows, but sometimes the nations will "translate" what they say.

And yessss they have their own social media accounts. I imagine it's a gag where some nations who run these accounts pretend that it's actually the cats running them. Sometimes they make identical posts to the nations but make it more cat-like.

France makes matching outfits for his cat and poses with him. Japan's cat is an actual celebrity that makes the news for how cute he is. China's cat reminisces about the good old days when his owner spoiled him (He still gets spoiled). Italy posts his cat's "artwork" and it still gets a bunch of likes.

Greece is the king of posting about his cat. He has hundreds of posts where his cat is literally just sleeping. The caption is definitely something like "How lucky my cat is to not worry about debt. I wish I were a cat so it would be socially acceptable for me to take 14 hour naps."

[prettymediocrewizard]

[yupthisisshe]

For What It’s He’s Worth - Neville x gn! Reader

A/n: warning - negative self-talk (Neville talks badly about himself but reader quickly tells him how wrong he is); gender neutral reader; reader and Neville are not dating but reader is in love with Neville (they are def mutually pining in my head but reader doesn't officially know that in this piece and its not really hinted at on Neville's part); this is mostly just one poignant moment between the two and practically no other plot; its angsty fluff (I think?)

“But maybe that’s all I’m good for. Forgetting and being forgotten.” Neville says with such acceptance that your heart cracks in two because you can tell he has considered this too many times.

“No!” You exclaim, nearing a shout.

“[Y/n]…” he says quietly. Unsure where you are going with this, but understanding how heartfelt this moment is.

“I won't let you talk about yourself like that! I won't!” he was the melancholy one, but you were the one nearing tears.

“But it's true,” he says with the saddest smile you’ve ever seen. The tears became harder to hold back just looking at him. How can he believe this?!

“It’s not! You're not forgettable! Neville, you are so unforgettable that from the moment I saw you I've never been able to forget you! Not even for a moment!“ you couldn't tell if you were being hysterical but you didn't care. He needed to know, to truly understand that he was not forgettable. He was so much more than he gave himself credit for. You didn't care if you had to scream it from the astronomy tower or coddle him nightly while whispering it into his ear like it was the only words you knew besides “I love you.” Three words which you weren't sure you had the courage to say just yet, but you could tell him this: he. Was. Unforgettable. And nothing less.

“[Y/n]…” was all he could say. He didn’t know what to think. No one had ever said anything to him to indicate that he was anything but forgettable. Not everyone made him feel that he was, but no one had ever told him he was, in fact, unforgettable. He couldn’t believe it. Was he truly memorable after all?

Both of you stood there, unspeaking. Tears began to seep from your eyes. You couldn’t hold them back anymore. Neville still didn’t know what to think of himself, but he did know that he had to show you how much he appreciated your words and how much he appreciated you. He knew what it felt like to feel and be ignored and unheard. He never wanted you to feel that way. He rushed to embrace you and you returned the motion. The two of you remained that way for a while, not saying anything, but feeling it all.

From that night forward, whenever Neville felt forgettable, he remembered that moment with you, as well as all the other moments he has spent with you. He remembered you and the bond he shared with you and he knew: He was worth more than he gave himself credit for. He was not forgettable. Even if he didn’t feel it, in your eyes, he was indescribably amazing and utterly unforgettable. And as time went on, he not only knew this, but began to believe it, and to live and breathe with it as the truth. Because it was, and he could feel that now.

[vaperarmand]

iwtv fanfic friday!

i'm being lazy today, so no theme, just some of my favorite DM one shots from recent history/memory 🫶

the great poems cover their famished faces by sweetartheart

They are rarely about comfortable.

immediately post season two, perfect banter and perfect everything. i'm obsessed with the way this author writes them beyond speech, truly

warm-blooded by flowermasters

“I am nearly five hundred years old,” Armand said, his gaze cutting through Daniel. “A vampire, and a beta.” His lip curled in apparent disgust at one or both of these conditions. “You’ll forgive me if I thought the odds were slim.” Daniel stared at him for a moment. “Slim,” he said. “Not zero.” Armand looked back at him. “No,” he agreed. “Not zero.”

daniel is pregnant post the events of 2.5 and armand checks in. it's so good and i need infinitely more of it. if you haven't read this yet, get tf up. we're reading omegaverse this friday.

no glory in love, only the gore of our hearts by luminoussbeings aka @gaysie

“Hurry up and call an ambulance,” Daniel grits out. Armand sits up and pulls back, frowning. “But Daniel,” he says, all sly bewilderment and slick disdain, “Now why would we do that?” Or: Armand rides that old man so hard he gives him a heart attack. (Un)lucky for Daniel, Armand’s going to take care of him.

they are so sick and twisted and gross and good in this. like oh my god. i'm literally in awe of kath's mind 24/7. like this is SO GOOD

monothematic delusion by uvlights

No one has painted Armand in over 400 years.

tagged 'no plot just vibes,' which is like food to me. it's freaky and violent and really fucking sweet, capturing them perfectly.

[dollypopup]

This fandom gets more bent out of shape and upset about that entrapment line than Penelope herself does

one day peeps who get soooo mad at Colin for very easily understandable statements will finally just admit that they don't like him instead of twisting into pretzels to justify why they're so angry at him. y'all don't like him, but Penelope does. she loves him and tries to understand him, she was upset that she hurt him and she extended empathy to him in light of such, which is why her only response to it is 'I didn't mean to trap you, Colin, I love you', and YOUR response is to write fic after fic foaming at the mouth blowing a singular statement out of proportion and using a meangirl Fanon Penelope as a mouthpiece for your own bitterness

Penelope Bridgerton loves Colin. And knows she's hurt him and wants to heal that hurt. She wouldn't vibe with a fanbase who demonizes him the way we have

[hedwig221b]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @dear-massacre, @endwersed and @thotpuppy! Thanks so much to all of you!

This time I actually have a wip that I can share. So how about some good pining?

💔

Derek was there.

Stiles’ heart drummed against his ribcage in an excited greeting, his face heated.

Determined not to embarrass himself, Stiles set up a light run to hopefully explain his bothered appearance.

“Hey, losers,” he blurted once he got to the small group lounging on the grass. He slapped a hand against Scott’s in a greeting, smiled at Allison, and fell next to Derek.

“Hey sunshine,” the latter grunted, not opening his eyes.

Stiles huffed at the usual greeting. He only allowed himself a small glimpse.

Arms under his head, bulging biceps, a sliver of the hairy stomach between the t-shirt and the jeans. A chiseled face sculpted by gods and a slight frown put there by the annoying sun.

Stiles swallowed and turned away. Grabbing his backpack, he began to roam inside in search of his packed lunch, all the while exhaling as furtively as he could.

Derek Hale did tend to make him lose his breath.

[rox-of-iu]

its that time of the week again lads,,,

(spoilers)

from the fic cultivate by @neonghostcat as per usual

[tunastime]

hi i’m here to make you worse, can i get uhhh “it’s fine. you’re here now.” + hiccuping tears into their shoulder with Kalesa and Julian? extra points if Julian is the one crying :]

"It's fine. You're here now." (1076 words) (x)

It's late when the rhythmic sound of whetstone and blade drifts up from the back garden and through the open window of the study. The sound is sharp, distinctly metallic as it should be, underlain by something smooth and careful in the way the metal grates against fine-toothed, dampened stone. Kalesa knows the hands that guide it almost as well as her own—she could certainly tell by the sound that they worked with a precision she'd only now begun to practice with her own blade. The noise is a comfort, even with its oddly steel-tasting sound. It reminded her of fires, and smoke, and laughter. And, even now, with the slight smell of oak wood smoke, it fills her with that comfort, all the way up until the sound of stone clattering against metal breaks through.

Kalesa stands all at once, journal left open and forgotten as she leans out of the open window and casts a wide glance to the firepit, glowing warm red in the early evening light. A cold breeze floats up and through the twisting curtains. Julian, sat quietly, staring into the blade carefully balanced on his knees, clutches his hand to his chest.

Kalesa swallows. Something cold rushes up to meet her, clamoring up her throat even as she tries to steel her resolve and back away without any noise. It takes a moment of pressing her nails to her palm to bring her energy center, and, even then, she falters. They'd both long since cast the cloak of adventuring from their shoulders and yet, whatever he found before she really knew him, whatever lurked behind her husbands eyes when they seemed just a touch too far away to properly read, seemed to linger. Seemed to fester. Not an anxious state. Not a paranoia. A rot that wasn't his. Something only magic could touch.

Kalesa rounds the stairs and steps into the evening greeted only for a moment by the sound of the lake on the shore and fireflies. She moves carefully, shoulders and elbows tense with worry as she rounds the side of the house, careful not to let the anxiety show in the shake of her breath or the sound of her voice.

"Jules," she says, soft and comforting, like talking to a spooked animal. Her hand comes out, right hand, ring heavy on her left, palm out. She steps to him, not slow, but deliberate. Julian's eyes don't leave the blade. Not until Kalesa removes the weighty weapon from his knees, the wrap and hilt warm in her hand from where it used to soak up his, and the fire's, heat. The blade seems to hum ever so in her grip. She isn't afraid, though—not of the blade. Not of Julian. Not even of the weapon in his hands. As Kalesa sets the blade in the grass, Julian's eyes snap up. He gags on a breath as he startles.

"Kal."

"Hi, JJ," Kalesa starts. She smiles weakly as Julian's dark eyes rove her face for some beat of recognition. There's a moment of held breath and silence before Julian's forehead collides dully with her right shoulder with enough force to briefly wind her. She wobbles on her heels, sinks to her knees as Julian crumples into her.

"Oh," she startles, holding fast to the back of his neck, turning her face into it, kissing the clammy skin. His pulse races. He tastes like sweat. "It's okay. It's okay. Jules..."

Julian shakes his head, pressing firmer against her shoulder as he does, curled still around his hand. Kalesa drags her hand down his neck, pushing into thick, corded muscle, trying to force anything to give. She feels him shudder, hiccup, sink into the touch.

"What happened? Where did you go?" she asks, quiet against the soft skin of his throat.

"I don't know," he hiccups, voice wobbling with tears. Her platitudes begin with the space between his shoulderblades, running her hand as far as she can reach down the center of his spine to ground him. Julian's crying is a quiet, sniffling thing. She feels Julian wheeze as he coughs out a breath, as he pulls another tight in through his teeth. Her tail curls around his ankle.

"You don't need to," she murmurs, trying to unclench her jaw, eyes screwed shut. It's been a long time since Julian fell into the half state of clarity, of seeing visions that weren't his, feeling the inky black of the hand he thought was his god reach through him. It had been many, many years since he'd been that weapon. And still, he held himself as if he were the knife's edge, the sword's blade, the downswing of an axe. The same sword that killed now moved in slow motions to teach. The same weapon that crawled out of possession to find the party he loved now cradled himself in Kalesa's arms, worming his way back to warm reality.

She says, "Just be here with me," and Julian's wet sigh makes her feel like he will. Julian sighs again, deeper now, hiccup softer as he readjusts. His hands fall to his lap, and for the first time, Kalesa gets a glimpse at the angry red cut across the heel of his hand. It isn't deep or wide, a thin thing bleeding more than it should, seen mostly from the tacky blood on his wrist at the small stain on his beige tunic. Kalesa takes Julian's wrist in one hand, careful not to jostle too much. She hums once. The sound is a mix of displeasure and concern. Holding his wrist, other arm still curled over his shoulders, she tucks her face into his neck again, sighs once, and says:

"I want to clean this up," and kisses the high of his shoulder.

Julian nods, letting out a damp huff of breath.

"Me too," he says softly. Kalesa smiles against his neck.

"Let's go then," she says, and tugs Julian up with her, limbs tangling, resting and rocking up together, until they both can stand. They both leave the sword and the embers of the fire to their wishes until they return to lay them to rest, in scabbard and soil.

[floralcrematorium]

Arthur allows himself to catastrophize over his insecurities, but Francis is there to bring him back down to Earth.

Words: 3,426

Relationship: FrUK

Characters: England, France

Additional Tags: Comfort, Self Doubt, Established Relationship, The French dialogue may be a bit botched but it's FIIIIIIINE

[shrinkthisviolet]

“Everyone has a place at our dojo. It doesn’t matter what happened in the past.”

AND THE LOOK TORY GIVES SAM?? AHHHH BE STILL MY HEART

Also the way they banter after that fight...the theme of them bonding via fighting continues 💞