#no he did not groom me

[pascalscoffin]

God there’s nothing that’ll make you feel as alive as flirting with a 34 year old man in your early 20s

[hinamie]

binding vow

[age-of-moonknight]

“Systemic Approach (Part Two),” Avengers Unlimited (Vol. 1/2022), Infinity Comic, #64.

Writer: Mat Groom; Penciler and Inker: Caio Majado; Colorist: Pete Pantazis; Letterer: Joe Sabino

[storytellering]

Torn apart. Inspired by Romeo and Juliet by Sergio Cupido

[marysblo0d]

Every time I see a Daemyra stan posting about how the portrayal of Daemon is unfair because he’s supposed to be the best husband in the world:

[sunfyrisms]

it’s the way people hate criston for calling rhaenyra a “cunt” once (not good, but this man’s situation was unique and he otherwise respects women from what we have seen), and simultaneously think daemon is a feminist (he repeatedly called rhea “a bronze bitch”, murdered her in cold blood, groomed his niece, choked his pregnant niece, and fucked her immediately after the death of his second wife). criston’s loyalty and dedication to alicent has been all but unwavering both seasons, and daemon has spent the entirety of season two plotting against his wife (aka wife number three, aka the niece he groomed), and it took him, what, eight episodes to stand by her again? people really hate criston just because he was hurt about being used and his position being put in jeopardy (he said no. it doesn’t matter if we know that rhaenyra would ever tell anyone that they’ve slept together, he doesn’t know that). he has been loyal to alicent, loyal to her children (does daemon even remember his daughters’ names), loyal to their cause, while daemon seized the opportunity for power the first chance he got like a hungry dog. truly pathetic.

[massiveladycat]

[followingrose]

fully expect to get backlash for this but also

It’s my blog and I get to choose the opinions

As a dwarf pc enjoyer, I’m kind of obsessed with the reveals about how it was the evanuris all along who killed the titans—and for such a HEINOUS reason. I know people have ~feelings~ about DA elves and the lore being revealed in Veilguard, but like…

That’s kind of how history works? Sometimes you learn that a people you respected were actually INCREDIBLY shit awful chucklefucks. It doesn’t erase the way elves have been treated in the series thus far (re: the absolute worst) and I think the convo between an elf Rook and Harding is really intriguing.

Idk I just think they tied up loose ends in a really interesting way, and if the lore doesn’t work for you that’s valid! That’s why we have fanfiction and such!

(P.S. if you’re like me and genuinely enjoying the game and our new blorbos pls talk to me about it I need more ppl to be happy with)

[mrmeepsmadmind]

thunderhowl doesn't even like to lick mechs (he'll sometimes lick rocks or random objects to help decipher what it is if his smells can't help with its history) because he likes to keep up his elegant knightly air but. also. he likes seeing that seemingly impenetrable wall of soundwave's superiority complex Crack a little with the impudence of Utter Disgust

[dittolicous]

If I can be real for a second - what turned me off from BNHA/MHA wasn't even the series itself (though it def has some things I don't care for in the later half) but the fucking real life League of Villains stans who just CONSTANTLY blasted the hero side and acted like LoV were totally in the right just because they have tragic back stories where they were abused or failed by society (it started getting truly unbearable when Hawks killed Twice, like jesus. I will forever argue his actions were entirely valid, if misguided, given the information he had).

Because... it's literally the gif.

The who damn point was that they had valid points, that hero society was fucked up and failing the people who needed help the most... but LoV were not against MURDERING GENUINELY INNOCENT PEOPLE and thus had to be fucking STOPPED. They didn't just kill heros, they'd kill civilians as well. They were actively continuing the cycle that hurt them, just for the other half of society. Their actions weren't about making everyone equal, it was about making others suffer and putting themselves at the top.

Their reasons being understandable and sad DON'T MAKE THEM THE TRUE GOOD GUYS. Just like the heroes weren't purely the good guys because they fought bad guys (fuck Endeavor, all my homies hate Endeavor). It was gray vs gray, not black vs white. Both sides had something they needed to learn or understand, and change as a result of.

I just got so sick of wading through 'LoV is right!' 'Kill Hawks/All Might/etc.' 'All Mights a bad guy' rhetoric, I couldn't enjoy MHA.

[3-aem]

my cat has been so cuddly tonight im just like r u dying……why do you crave being a ball on my lap no matter what

[queeraliensposts]

Illymation: Don't be a dick to fat people.

The internet: EWWWW SHE'S GLORIFYING OBESITY LET'S DOX HER!!!!!!!

[tillman]

Uhmmmmm ok. Good night. Frowns.

[pidovespost0519]

🫵

It is always morally correct to imagine ur F/O as fatter and hairier than they appear in canon.

[greensaplinggrace]

unfortunately for antis, any criticism of spuffy that involves a comparison to how much better bangel is just highlights the fact that they really shouldn't be shipping either of them. by their own standards.

[romance-rambles]

[modern] cael | red dress, white dress

After Cael picks up a new hobby relating to your latest work, the two of you discuss weddings and wedding dresses. It ends with a proposal, from you to him.

1.8k, set after qixi [+ some spoilers for his whisper], romantic fluff + super self-indulgent, reader is mc, sequel to this cael fic [but you don't have to read it in order], series: none

IN THE TIME SINCE THE night of the QIxi festival, Cael has discovered an amusing new hobby with which to occupy himself with, when he's with you.

The words that the painter and the spirit speak—particularly towards end of your oneshot—are, evidently, not unrelated to your relationship with him. That much is obvious. And it'd be rather difficult to claim otherwise, given the faces they wear.

You haven't tried to, either.

Between the two of you, there is an acknowledgment, implicit, that they are a reflection of your innermost thoughts and desires. That they are the kind of daydreams that even someone eloquent as him would find difficult to describe, domestic and loving—just tumultuous enough to describe their standing, with the sort of fairytale ending most would wish for. That they are memories, transformed only in setting and time—only this time, they are not newly acquainted or on a time limit.

He thinks of the quaint little moment where the painter promises to make sure that no one will bother his lover. Had he not done the same for you, once, long ago?

He remembers the casual affection the spirit showers upon her love too, the way she finds herself with her head on his lap underneath the wisterias, and if that ever stops feeling familiar, it must be because he's lost his mind.

After all, you've always been an affectionate person. How can he miss it when the evidence remains in the lingering heat left by your touch? Through the way you so easily take his hand, or throw your arms around him—

When your lovesick gaze isn't boring holes into his body, that is.

He's no better in that regard. In some ways, he thinks he might be worse, with the way his loving gaze seems incapable of following anyone but you. But you might turn it into a competition if he brings it up, so Cael—well aware it won't end well for him—keeps his mouth shut.

Still, it's clear that you never expected him to start quoting your dialogue back at you.

It reminds him of one of the first times he'd properly let his mask down. The way the gears turned in your head, your deer-in-headlights expression betraying your panic before he'd clarified his joke. You'd stared at him—half-relieved, half-surprised, sitting in the silence a bit longer before you laughed.

Today, when you stare at him, there is a hint of defiance peeking through from underneath your flustered mien.

You're dressed casually, in a yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt with one of your favorite cartoon characters. Jagged lines run across the drawing, signaling its age. Some parts of the design have entirely vanished, but it remains one of your most faithful companions still.

With your head on his lap and legs thrown over the armrest, you're sprawled across the couch. In your hand is your phone, and before he dropped his line of the day on you, you'd been showing him a red dress that you really liked—one you intended to buy with your next paycheck.

"Thank you." The effect of your haughty tone is greatly lessened by the scarlet hue painting your cheeks. You clear your throat. "Does that mean you'd like to see me in a red dress?"

Cael chuckles, brushing your hair gently. "To me, it seems like you're the one who wants to be seen in a red dress."

"Of course, I do," you reply, your hand reaching out to play with his hair. "But red or white, it's not the dress that matters. As long as there's a certain someone waiting for me at the end."

For a moment, his quick-thinking mind betrays him, offering him nothing but static. He puts down the book in his hand down and carefully adjust the bookmark until it looks neat. His attention had left its crisp pages when you'd sat down beside him, but it remained in his hand still.

Occasionally, he would flip to the next page, then remember that he had absorbed none of the words on the previous page. So, he would go back, a fact that had not escaped your keen gaze—you'd teased him plenty for it, and who was he to stop you?

"I wonder who that certain someone is," he murmurs.

"I think he knows who he is," you answer, holding onto the end of his now braided strands. After a moment of digging around in your pockets, and the sofa as well, you managed to find a hair tie. "Or, he should, by this point."

"Indeed," Cael says, earning himself a wry smile from you. "It would be difficult to miss."

Enamored by your smile, he sifts through his memories, searching for the line that had left every single reader in desperate search of their own painter.

You'd been rather pleased when you went scrolling through the comments, with a smile so big it bordered on evil. So pleased, in fact, that you made sure to show him every such comment. The underlying meaning to your words was clear—you'd already found your painter, after all.

You'd have a big ego if you were dating someone so pretty too, you'd said, when he'd commented offhandedly on it.

He remembers responding with:

Then I'm certain I have the biggest ego out of anyone.

Though, his words ended up only disarming you for a brief second. It wasn't long before you were throwing your arms around him and calling him a liar ". But for the time being, the comment section was forgotten, and it was just you and him—and Beanie, watching you both from his favorite spot underneath the round table in the corner, seemingly miffed at being excluded.

He had snuck in a few extra treats for him.

Then, all was well in their relationship once more.

"'If that day ever comes, no matter what you want—'" Cael smiles helplessly, remembering the way you'd so easily captured his expression on the painter's face. "'I'll do everything in my power to bring you the most elegant wedding in the entire world.' Though you said the dress itself doesn't matter..."

You inhale sharply, seemingly forgetting—for a moment—that you're in the middle of braiding another section of his hair. When you look back at him, having looked away, your eyes are shining with poorly-disguised affection and your voice is painfully soft.

"When," you correct. "When that day comes. That's what I should've written down."

Letting go of his hair, you pull yourself off his lap and draw your knees closer to your chest. You rest your head on his shoulder. And as loose dark hair begins to tickle his cheek, his hand seeks out yours, pinky finger brushing against the back of your hand.

"When that day comes, we'll get married."

His gaze softens when he looks at you, in the midst of murmuring his agreement. Your wedding is something he's thought about often—his own is not. But now, the groom at the altar is no longer a blurry figure, devoid of any recognizable qualities and having only an aura of happiness that befits a day so celebrated.

It is something he'll ponder over until the day comes, all so that you're the happiest bride to ever live, whether on Earth or any other world.

"Good." You squeeze his hand gently. "Consider it a proposal then."

"It's the first time I've ever been proposed to," he comments offhandedly.

"Really?" For some reason, you sound surprised. And though your words sound like they could pass for a joke, the thoughtful note to them makes it clear that they are not. "Alright, I'm taking it back. I'll make sure to come back with a ring next time."

Cael smiles helplessly at you. "I'm not sure if you can take something like that back so easily."

His breath catches in his throat when you lift your head slightly to meet his gaze. Because in that moment, you're smiling at him brightly, It is blinding. While he's distracted, you lean in close and steal a quick kiss from his lips.

"Temporary measure," you respond, squinting at him in faux annoyance. "You're not getting rid of me so easily."

In a voice so soft that he's half certain you'll miss it, he says, sincerely, "I would never dream of it."

Judging by the way your smile widens into a grin, you don't miss it at all.

+extra

"YOU KNOW, YOU MISSED IT BEFORE," you point out unexpectedly, long after they've moved on from the topic of weddings and wedding dresses.

Cael catches onto the context immediately.

It's past dinner time now. The dirty dishes in the sink wait for you and your yellow rubber gloves patiently for their turn. He'd been the one to make dinner, something quick and easy, per your request. Your wish for the day had been "a lazy day together", so your initial intention was to order to takeout.

But halfway through the day, you began to crave his cooking.

Once he'd made sure the ingredients were there, getting them both out of a trip to the supermarket, you had no reason to refuse his offer. So you'd scrapped your plans and followed him into the kitchen to help.

"I'm not sure it would've been very appropriate to point out," he says, from where he sits at the dining table.

He'd expected nothing to come out of it, so he simply never brought it up. There were more important things to worry about at the time—your presence in Godheim, and all that came after that. His heart aches at the memory of your tears, particularly because he'd been the one to cause them.

They'd never properly spoken of it—of the day Peter Pan understood, but could not bring himself to make peace with, the fact that Wendy would have to leave him one day.

"After all, you were a teenager," Cael adds, remembering what he'd told your friend Natalie. "It would be no different than taking advantage of you."

His words, however, go in one ear and go out the other. You're rather specific about what you choose to pick out from his words, your next words discarding all but the subtext.

"So, you did know about my crush on you."

Though your words are undeniably a conclusion, a statement and not a question, they carry with them an expectation of a response. You crane your neck to fix him with an equally expectant stare, as if the weight behind your words isn't enough.

"Yes, I knew about your crush on me," Cael admits wryly. A helpless sigh accompanies his words. "What brought this on?"

You hum strainedly, returning to your dishes. "Nothing."

For the time being, he leaves it at that.

It is only when the two of you happen to encounter Lars while on a date that he discovers the truth, after some coaxing on his part. That you'd been under the impression that your crush on him was a secret kept carefully under wraps. That it'd been Lars who'd guessed otherwise—after some advice on how to handle Cael's new hobby—and subsequently been proven correct, leaving you to sulk on your own.

Unsurprisingly, Cael does not manage to stifle his laughter before you notice.