#new story name

[livelovesimallways]

The Weekend Pt. 3......

(Previous)

It’s been nearly two months since things went down between me, my sister and Sean. Dana forgave him for messing with Julia and despite my best efforts, he went back home. While they moved on and continued planning their wedding, I distanced myself again. Opening up those old wounds made me bitter, angry and hell bent on making sure I got my "lick back". I didn’t care what it cost, Sean had to pay for breaking my heart. I wanted to confess everything to Dana sooner but I realized doing it during that time wasn't the way to go. Humph,  with how I was feeling, something misdirected and reckless surely would have come out my mouth. Now that I’ve calmed down, I’m ready to tell her all of it. Even though Sean is the catalyst for this, Dana has a right to know. It’s going to hurt without my sister in my life, but I put myself in this position. Damn...We really do reap what we sow.

The Following Week.....

"Shit! Girl, you scared me." I said, trying to catch my breath.

"My bad...Just making sure you're good. I mean, the way you ran out the kitchen..."

"I know, I know...I'm fine though. Thanks for lookin out."

"Of course...But umm, are you sure you're good? You've thrown up almost every day for a week now."

"Yeah, but you know how sensitive my stomach is. I've been eating too much dairy. Plus the smell of eggs always makes me nauseous, it just got to me today."

"I understand that but..."

"But what? What are you trying to say?"

"It might be morning sickness."

"Look, I appreciate your concern but it's not possible."

"Nothing is one hundred percent, Dee. Your sugar daddy may be older but I'm sure he still has swimmers."

"Okay eww, he ain't that old. He's fifty but the odds of that happening are less than one percent." I said, doing a cutting motion.

"Well still, if you wanna check I have some tests upstairs. Don't ask." *both snickering* "You gone find out either way so..."

"Fine ho, I'll do it." I laughed, rolling my eyes.

"I don't know why I'm so nervous...Did it come up yet?"

"........."

"Mimi??"

"Ummm, Yeah...It's positive."

"Positive??? Nah, that can't be right." I said, grabbing the test in complete disbelief. "Fuck!...Maybe it's a false result."

"A false positive?? You're my bestie but..."

"I know. This is fuckin crazy though. I swear he definitely had a vasectomy. I was even nursing him back to health. "

"Seems like you were doing more than that." *smirking*

"This is not the time, Mimi." I said, smiling although fearful and in shock.

Trying to make sense of this, I started to put together a timetable in my head. I thought about how long I've missed my period, how long I've been feeling sick and who I've had sex with. As my stomach sank, Mimi asked question, reminding me of the shit storm that is to come.

"Are you still having your sister over later or is that off the table?

To Be Continued..........

Next

[sickfreaksirkay]

yes im still thinking about gawain’s stupid names

[bixels]

Scary Sunset.

I'm concepting things way outta order in this story, but I'm sure you can piece things together. Context is for a storybeat where, after defeating and capturing Adagio (thus having all three sirens in her possession), Sunset enacts her revenge plot to release the sirens on Canterlot as Thea discovers she's been manipulated. In a confrontation, the two scuffle and fight over the siren orbs while Sunset struggles with her conflicting wants and emotions.

[nordsea-horizons]

if you ever feel crushed by the burden of modern life…

theme for my new island☀️ a farming sim inspired farmcore island🥕complete with a terrible job you can leave and a neglected farm you can work on turning into a beautiful one🪴

[murkshade]

silly alert silly alert!!! watch out!!

[demaparbat-hp]

He noticed the spears resting not too far away from the women. Zuko squinted his eyes and recoiled at the sight of blood painting the blades, in clear contrast to the whimsical whites and blues of the South. These women were hunters.

The Southern Water Tribe brings shades of white to Zuko's soul in For The Spirits Chapter IX: A Rider Alone.

Sharpened mothers and fatherless children resting on the back of tattered tents. A Ghost-Mother, a shapeless howl, and the blue eyes from his dream—everything comes together in the land of the Midnight Sun.

[canisalbus]

I LOVE your art!! especially the very specific ways to depict intimacy. It feels very real, it's so so tender but there is often that sheer layer of tension that makes me want to consume as much as your art as possible. I hope I'm not bothering ypu, but what's the porch of your two characters? I love them, I love their dynamic.

Aa thank you for your kind words! I'm glad you like my stuff :>

You probably mean my current main characters, Vasco (the golden floppy-eared dog) and Machete (the pointy white dog). They're a couple living in the late 16th century Italy, at the very end of the Renaissance era. Vasco comes from a wealthy noble background and has a career in politics. Machete is a catholic cardinal, and as a secretary of state he oversees Vatican's foreign politics. Due to their surroundings they have to keep their relationship strictly secret.

Vasco originates in and lives in Florence. Machete is originally from Sicily and lives in Rome. They first met in their late teens/early adulthood when they were both studying in Venice. They were best friends before their feelings deepened, but eventually they had to separate. Machete graduated and was ordained a priest as intended. Vasco dropped out and returned home, where his family pressured him into wedlock. He ended up in a lavender marriage with a lesbian noblewoman named Ludovica (the red and white spaniel), she also has her own partner (still unnamed). Vasco and Ludovica are close friends, they get along well and cover each others' backs, but their union is purely platonic.

Machete and Vasco reunited in their early thirties by random chance, largely because they both work in foreign relations, and quickly resumed where they left off. They don't live together and can only see each other intermittently. Usually it's Vasco who visits Machete in Rome under the guise of working as a Florentine ambassador, but sometimes Machete manages to find an excuse to travel to see Vasco as well. They stay together for over a decade, meeting in secret and maintaining regular correspondence when their duties keep them apart (and quietly come to regard each other as their spouse), until Machete gets assassinated in his early/mid fourties. Vasco lives to his seventies and dies of old age.

They also have a modern au, which works as a sort of a reincarnation situation. They get to be a couple openly, get married eventually and grow old together.

[purplebehittindifferent]

I have added a quirky comment here for the last year and a half, however now… I have no words.

jk I have all these words 👇

I know it is very bitter sweet, but this is the end of Reconnecting. Thank you all for coming along on this journey with me. I plan on making a behind the scenes video on my YT sometime soon. Feel free to send any asks you have I want to answer them all!

Please know I am not going to dissapear! I still plan on making content consistently, and my original comic RULE 5 is already underway, and if you’d like I’m certainly not against writing some exposition fics for Reconnecting 💜

masterpost

Prev (3::8) / This is the End 💜

[justlikebart-allen]

tim drake has literally never had a vigilante id that he named/designed himself. robin? inherited from jason who inherited it from dick. red robin? inherited from jason again. drake? fucking stole it from his EVIL ALT UNIVERSE SELF.

and hypothetically he'd be so good at it. think about alvin draper. caroline hill. Mr. Sarcastic. this boy has a new identity for every day of the week and you're telling me he can't come up with his own hero-sona? absolute bull.

[cubbihue]

Hm. Could've sworn his name was different. Did it ever have one?

[xxplastic-cubexx]

erik will genuinely jump at any chance he can to steal charles' last name and be so catty about it i know this for a fact WHAT is his deal

[Magneto (2011)]

[unproduciblesmackdown]

Lackadaisy Enrichment

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[amanitacurses]

Part 1

[alicentsaegon]

The Marriage of Aegon III and Jaehaera Targaryen.

They are so Henry VII Elizabeth of York coded...

[fumifooms]

Kaka compilation

Because everyone is sleeping on him. Witness his greatness!! First two Kaka colored icons were colored by me, lineart by Ryoko Kui though!

Kaka & Kiki are kinda like Laios & Falin… Kaka being stoic and giving repressed energy like early Laios, Kiki being cryptic and always smiling and kinda soft-looking. Autism siblings 2, ostracized and othered as kids and have a deep bond due to sticking together through it all, though unlike with Laios their parents are very loving so Kaka developed family as a big value more than Laios (bc asides for Falin Laios doesn’t care much about it).

In the gnome festival comic you can see Kaka is more emotive than he seems! Full with a :3 face, and he’s the one crying at the end. He’s insecure about his legs and being tall… It really got to him. Conceal don’t feel. In the gnome festival comic you also see him sensing others’ gaze on him and that something is off unlike Kiki, again Laios-like in the way that judgement from others gets to him more than her.