#so he does

[fanfic-gremlin-ft-trauma]

“You said you didn’t know how to dance, Sokka!”

[wendihoe]

Thinking about how at the end of the day Hoffman gets stuck with Adam’s body and Lawrence gets stuck with Peter’s body

[the-cookie-of-doom]

The alpha greets Kinn with Kim at his side, a possessive hand on the back of his neck forcing Kim to keep his head bowed. He gnashes his teeth against the radiating command of submit, submit, submit. He refuses to look at his brother, even when he hears Kinn’s sharp inhale. 

Oh, Kim is certain he makes quite a shocking sight. His alpha has been kind enough to allow him pants for this meeting, a pair of filthy days-old sweats that still stink of his heat. The rest of his body is left bare. Every last mark on his body—the bruises sucked and beaten into his flesh, the scratches raked into his skin—is on display. And the crowning jewel—the still-healing bite in Kim’s neck, too high to even think of hiding it, barely scabbed over and flushed an angry red. 

“Kim—” 

The alpha digs his claws into Kim’s nape and he snarls, jerking in the unforgiving grip. He’s half-feral with fury and doesn’t care at all about the sticky warmth now dripping down his spine. 

“Thank you for the gift,” the alpha says smoothly, dragging Kim into his side. He fights it, digging his own claws into his palms. He will not submit. “Not as docile as an omega should be, but it was a pleasure to break him in nonetheless.” 

Kinn, forever wearing his heart on his sleeve, stands there struck dumb. Kim wants to yell at him, to demand he do something, say something, anything other than stand there, his silence an admission of his weakness. But Kim, trembling beneath the force of fury and fear and that fucking command, pulsing through their bond, can’t force the words to come. 

“I believe we have business to discuss,” Kinn finally manages, a small relief, even if his voice is tight with barely restrained horror and hatred. 

“Yes. Let’s find somewhere more comfortable. Come along, darling.”

As if Kim has a choice. He’s led by neck as the alpha turns on his heel and begins walking down the hall. Is it a deliberate choice to pass the room where Kim was forced to spend his heat, the thick, cloying scent of it still wafting out as they pass? It must be. Kim feels the charge in the air, Kinn’s hackles rising. 

Kinn wants to kill him. The alpha that has taken what does not belong to him. He wants to protect his pack. Kim wants to tell him it’s too late for that. Years too late. Their father ensured a long time ago that there was nothing left to protect Kim from, no torment he’s been spared. Nothing he hasn’t learned to endure, just as he will continue to endure this. 

Kim catches Kinn’s eyes only long enough to shake his head. Slowly, so that his brother will understand. 

What’s done is done, he wills his brother to understand. Kim has already sacrificed himself to his brother’s cause. If Kinn ruins it all now in the name of hollow vengeance—it will have all been for nothing. The violation, the mutilation, a bite mark in his flesh that will scar into an unbreakable bond, forever tying him to this thing that is less than a man. Kim needs his sacrifice to be worth it. 

This alpha will get what’s coming to him someday. Kim will make sure of it. But when that day comes, it will be his hand that delivers the killing blow. It’s the least of what he’s owed.

[autumnhues]

lest we forget

(i did a remembrance day image a few years ago but i thought id change the feel of it to be more suitable for the general feel of remembrance day)

[oceanwithouthermoon]

kuboyasu purposefully stalling and having saiki wait to walk home from ramen after school so they can walk home at sunset together

[bubzterr]

sorry gogeta but I must edit u into gritz

[izayoichan]

Naptime. 🎶

(Infant pose by @acha-sims )

[givemetherapyimawritingtravesty]

Sirius black loves to wear silk nighties, send tweet.

[sarcasticdolphin]

“Mesmer(ize)” Mozart/Colloredo. 

No smut but very intimate.

It starts the same as any other evening. 

Wolfgang plays for Colloredo on the modest little piano the archbishop keeps in his bedchamber. Somehow it doesn’t really stick out despite how out of place it is amongst the opulence around them - but Colloredo doesn’t keep this one for its looks.

The sound is lovely - pure and with a slightly different candor to the piano that Wolfgang composes at during the day. 

The archbishop is half reclined on the bed in his purple and gold robe, hands clasped behind his head, eyes heavy on Wolfgang in spite of the fact that they are half-lidded.

Sometimes he finds this task beyond difficult - the music that makes for excellent symphonies is entirely unsuitable for this task, but today it is easy enough, the melody flowing softly through the room. It’s one from the string quartet that he’s almost finished - the cello line just needs a little work to make it fit. 

And so the time flows quickly enough, though Wolfgang can feel Colloredo’s presence behind him the entire time - his attention never seeming to falter. It is hardly a surprise after he finishes the last notes, taking a moment to breathe before standing and turning to face his patron, that the archbishop’s gaze is fixed on him, the beginnings of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

“Will that be all, Your Highness?” The Wolfgang of only a few months ago would sneer at the way he addresses Colloredo, at the way he bows his head, but fighting with the archbishop is ultimately a futile endeavor, especially when it comes to gestures that are largely meaningless, make like this in the presence of Colloredo alone.

But Colloredo doesn’t dismiss him, calling Wolfgang closer with a small gesture of his fingers instead. Part of him rankles at being summoned like a servant. A small voice mutters inside his head that he is one of the archbishop’s servants.

He stops by the edge of the bed. Colloredo is beautiful, almost angelic in the golden light. In addition to the purple robe he’s wearing dark trousers, though with the robe open his chest - pale and strong - is visible. And his eyes - Wolfgang has been around the archbishop enough to know that it is just a trick of the light, but they appear golden, but not like gold. Like honey - and enticing.

Colloredo merely gestures again and Wolfgang takes a few steps closer, confusion starting to build. The next gesture is easy enough to interpret, but Wolfgang puzzles over it for half a moment before obeying after the archbishop taps his thigh. 

He moves more slowly than perhaps he should, as he toes off his shoes before climbing up, settling into Colloredo’s lap. The archbishop’s hands fall to his hips, gently resting there in a way that almost feels grounding.

“You are tense. Stressed.” Colloredo speaks softly. Even if there were others present, none but them would be able to hear.

Wolfgang for his part finds an odd-looking spot on the bedspread. “Yes, Your Highness.” There is no point in denying it. Though he wonders what gave him away. As skilled an observer as the archbishop is, Wolfgang thought he hid his turmoil a little better.

Colloredo seems to read the unasked question on his face. “You played the same tune last night.” Wolfgang winces at that. Had the cello line really been on his mind for so long?

“It is from a string quartet I’ve been working on. The cello line has been vexing me.” Wolfgang doesn’t realize until after he’s done speaking that he forgot to address Colloredo correctly, but as he opens his mouth once more the archbishop presses a finger to Wolfgang’s lips.

His eyes jerk up to meet Colloredo’s. The archbishop sits back, interlacing his fingers, as if contemplating something for a moment.

“Give me your hands.”

Wolfgang does, and Colloredo examines each finger in turn, his grip surprisingly gentle, tender almost.

The archbishop releases Wolfgang’s hands in time, but places them on Wolfgang’s lap, one hand reaching out to tilt Wolfgang’s chin up a little more.

“Keep them there.” Wolfgang nods, murmuring that he will.

“And close your eyes.” He does hesitate but lets them flutter closed.

There is nothing for a long moment. Wolfgang can feel the archbishop’s legs beneath him, their warmth. He can feel the soft and silky material with his feet, and the material of his own trousers beneath his hands.

The touch is achingly gentle, just a single finger that traces Wolfgang’s cheek at first before proceeding down the curve of his jawline to trace his throat, moving slowly and making gentle spirals as it continued. Wolfgang was almost sad when it traced over onto the fine material of his shirt, moving gently and slowly down one arm, then upwards once more. As it reached the top of his arm it began to slowly descend his chest, passing over his ribs and tracing the last one before finally stopping on his belly, just below where his ribs ended.

The archbishop simply held his hand there against Wolfgang’s belly, never really pressing, just there. Grounding, in a way. It felt a bit strange, but Wolfgang quite liked the warmth that he could feel even through the material of his shirt.

Colloredo did eventually move his hand once more, trailing it down to rest at Wolfgang’s hip, opposite where his other hand still rested. The archbishop’s hands made small little soothing circles, dipping under Wolfgang’s shirt. And still, his eyes remained closed, even as Colloredo’s grip shifted, pulling Wolfgang a little closer, then going to the buttons of Wolfgang’s shirt, slowly, inexorably making their way up his chest even as they undid the buttons, one after the other.

Wolfgang’s own chest was as bare as Colloredo’s soon enough, but even still the archbishop’s hands continued upward, tracing up Wolfgang’s neck, over his cheeks, and into his hair, drawing a purr from Wolfgang’s throat as the carded through his hair, over his scalp.

And then the hands began to descend once more, drawing graceful spirals over his throat, down and back up both arms, and finally down his chest, until they rested at his hips once more, pulling Wolfgang closer still.

He let his eyes blink open, taking in Colloredo’s handsome face. Ever so slowly Wolfgang leaned forward, until he was resting against Colloredo’s chest, the archbishop’s hands shifting to better cradle Wolfgang even as he closed his eyes, his mind zeroing in on the steady beat of the archbishop’s heart.

It was steady and even, slowly but surely banishing the last of the tension from his body. And Wolfgang was tired. So very tired. Colloredo’s heart beat on, steady and clear, until Wolfgang was just on the edge of sleep.

Part of him thought he must have imagined it, such was the half-dreaming state of his mind, but Colloredo had pulled Wolfgang off his chest if only for a moment, and Wolfgang knew he hadn’t imagined those lips, warm and enticingly gentle, on his own. 

He felt a second kiss, to his brow this time, as the archbishop returned Wolfgang to his resting place on Colloredo’s chest. Sleep claimed him only moments later.

[forbelobog]

i find it very cute but also poignant that two of gepard's favorite hobbies - gardening and drawing - are things he's not very good at, but he still does anyway. while he strives for improvement with training, he mostly does either of these things just because he enjoys doing them. it doesn't have to be perfect. he just appreciates little moments of joy he allows himself to have because he doesn't let himself often

[swan2swan]

Whoever conceived and animated this moment, I hope they're doing well and thriving. This is S-rank romance stuff here.

[kensatou]

MONKEY MAN (2024)

[batcavescolony]

Katniss is such an unreliable narrator. She says "Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me" girl you deliver strawberries to the Mayor, you hunt and trade for the district, when you fell at Prim being chosen someone caught you, when you went to Prim people parted for you, when you volunteered EVERYONE stopped. Idk how to tell you but I think you're a pillar of the community.

[tuttle-did-it]

David Tennant for Prime Minister, please.

edit- Since this is getting so much attention, edited to include descriptions of screenshots.

This woman has lost her fucking mind.

Jo, are you okay?

[captainsaltypear]

IS ANYONE ELSE GONNA TALK ABOUT THIS OR

[noodles-and-tea]

Continuation of this