#tender threads

[sehtoast]

Tender Threads CH2 ( Homelander x OC )

chapter two: signed and sealed

chapter directory | slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, spidersona as original character, original trans male character, smut, sublander

summary: benjamin knows full well he's out there, watching and waiting, even doing a little breaking and entering. homelander is simply biding his time until he gets his way.

Benjamin’s personal life had always been a simple one.  With little to no time to truly be, there wasn’t much drama to get mixed up in– well, there used to be.  Back when he tried to have the best of both worlds, there was… a lot.  Failed relationships, friends walking out on him, family shunning him for his absences, unreliability, and perceived short temper that was truly just pure exhaustion.  It was one hell of a cocktail, but sometimes the loneliness was worse.  It was hard to see the few people who still talked to him, and harder still to make time to call his folks, but somehow those relationships survived.

Worse yet was his track record with jobs.  Delivery boy was optimal given his particular skill set, but showing up on time with every little disturbance was beyond difficult.  Table waiting jobs were even worse, and he’d lost a fair few.  These days he supplements income with side photography while primarily working an IT job at a small tech firm that he probably wouldn’t have gotten without a friend putting in a good word.

Moving to New York with his best friend from college was a decision he wouldn’t undo, but it wasn’t without its strife.  If not for his friend, good ol’ Jason Ortega, Ben would’ve fallen through the cracks so many times. Eventually they split from their cozy roommate situation after Jase got a girlfriend, but there were no hard feelings.  In fact, he was the only person in the world who knew about Ben’s little secret.

The two worlds of Benjamin's life were starting to collide bit by bit.

“You met Homelander!" 

“Shh! Not so loud!”  Ben stresses, eyes wide.  They’re on their first coinciding lunch break in a while, and they'd decided to pop a few blocks down to a sub shop for their first hangout in damn near three weeks.  “Yeah, just–”

“And you worked with him, right?” Jason asks, leaning forward eagerly, food all but totally forgotten.  “That’s what all the articles are saying.”

“No, I–” Benjamin releases a heavy sigh.  He knows about those.  It’d been two weeks since Homelander propositioned him, and… well. 

It had been an interesting two weeks.

“It wasn’t like that.”  Ben says, mind wandering back…

Bodega Burglary Botched!  Spidey and Homelander Team Up, had been Vought News Network’s big headline of the day the morning after the confrontation in the alley.  Ben pretty much choked on his bowl of Maeve-O’s when the segment ran on his TV.  

“Boy, I’ll tell ya,” Homelander said, smiling perfectly for the camera.  “That Spider-Man is exactly what we need in The Seven.  After last night, I really do see why people say he looks out for the little guy.”

Ben must have looked quite the sight standing there in his boxers, spoon dangling from his mouth. Did he have bedhead or was his hair just showing how absolutely fucking insane he felt in the moment? 

“I can’t think of anyone better to fill Translucent’s shoes.  So, Spidey, if you’re seeing this: you’ve got my vote buddy!”

“You mother fucker…” Ben murmured.  This was a power play unlike anything he could’ve imagined.  This wasn’t just for PR– though it definitely was.  This was a way to turn the public onto the idea.  To make sure the wall crawler would be reminded of the offer everywhere he went.  

Which is precisely what happened.  And now it was happening in his personal life, which was even worse.  Not that Jase knew the fine details of what had happened, but…

“Man, Vought’s been hounding me for a while now.”  He explains.  “And now they sent the big dog.” 

Ben takes a moment, voice hushed, to tell Jason about all that had happened.  About how intimidating the whole thing was, how Homelander practically looked right through him, how he fucking name-dropped him despite every length the bug has gone to keep his identity a secret.

“You wanna know what else?”  Ben asks, glancing from side to side.  “I think he’s fucking stalking me.”

“Dude…” 

“Yeah, so get this…”

He spares no details.

It started off small.  Simple fly-by’s, flickers of red, white, and blue in the sky zipping by at the most random of times.  At first, it seemed like something weird in his peripherals, but then Benjamin learned to look up.  He made eye contact three days after first noticing his stalker while walking into work, and he’s not sure if that made Homelander more bold but he definitely did get worse.

Benjamin could’ve coped with the stalking. In fact, he was almost getting used to it, but then he went for the newly bought jug of milk in the fridge and found the seal cracked and roughly a quarter of the contents missing.

The lack of cup in the sink had him pouring the contents down the drain because that bastard clearly drank from the jug.  After that, subtlety went clear out the fucking door.

Ben’s apartment isn’t the neatest thing on planet Earth, but he prides himself on keeping up with his laundry.  His closet was organized, shoes kicked into a slobbishly-neat pile in said closet, and his underwear drawer was folded to perfection.

So why in the world were his boxer briefs unrolled from their tight, military-esque fold?  Why is his acoustic guitar on the stand where the electric normally sits?  

And why the fuck is the bed he made that morning now unmade and very obviously laid in?

Homelander had crossed a line.  This wasn't just some light stalking and intimidation, this was a Goldy Locks level violation of his privacy and space, and Ben didn’t know if it was going to end up so bad someday that he'd wake up to the fucker standing in the corner like some patriotic version of the hat man.

“And it’s still happening,” he tells Jason.  His best friend stares at him wide eyed with his mouth parted in disbelief. 

“Man, I hope you changed your toothbrush…”  He says.

“Fuck… No, but I will later, I–”  

A ringing from Jason’s phone breaks their banter and signals the end of their break.  Ben takes the opportunity to grab his own phone and type a message to him.  Eyes up when we leave.  Don’t react to this.

They pay and leave.  Sure as the sun rises in the morning, on the edge of the roof across the street stands Homelander, who smirks down at them, clearly having used that super hearing of his to listen in.

“Woah…” Jase utters.

Ben simply keeps his eyes up, watching closely as the star spangled supe gives an informal salute and takes off.

“Dude…” Jason says.  “That’s fucked.”

Yeah, Ben thinks to himself. I’m fucked.

By the end of the third week, Ben’s absolutely had it.  He can feel Homelander’s eyes piercing through the walls of his apartment building.  In fact, Benjamin knows right where he’s sitting.  He’d been laying in bed relaxing before his usual run through the city.

He hates to admit it, but… he’s given some thought to the offer.  Moral objections aside, he could make a real difference at Vought.  Plus, there’s the opportunity to try to change it from the inside out.  Maybe leak some information here or there…

Nothing he’s vocalized, of course.  He’d never risk Homelander hearing something and come barreling through the wall to laser him in two for even considering it.

But enough was enough.  These little interferences in his life weren’t going to stop, it seemed, unless he did something about it.  Ben swings his legs off the side of the bed and stares down at where his suit lays in a pile on the floor.  There was no sense in even putting the fucking mask on.  Homelander can see through it anyway.  He knows who he is, where he lives…  The jig is up as far as secrecy with Homelander goes, if there was even any to begin with.

Ben walks to the window and peers out.  Just as he predicted, Homelander is stood on the building across the street, looking almost amused at the bug’s knowledge of his location.

“Get over here,” Ben says.  He knows Homelander can hear it.  “For once, you’re being invited inside.”  With that, he opens the window.

What the fuck am I doing, Ben thinks to himself.  Fuck, I should’ve gone out, not let him in.  Fuck, fuck fuck…

It’s a curious thing to watch Homelander float through the window perfectly horizontal.  It never occurred to Ben that flying supes could do that so easily…

“Benjamin,” Homelander greets.  “Nice of you to finally extend the offer.”

The bug plops down on the edge of his bed, gesturing to his desk chair for Homelander to sit.  It’s almost comedic to watch him swish his cape out of the way to do so.

“Y’know, I can cope with you stalking me,” Ben says, getting right to the point.  “But rifling through my drawers is overdoing it.”

Homelander smiles, and it’s almost scary to see him so close in such an intimate environment.  Outside, he’s practically god.  In here he’s… scary in a different way.  Especially when Ben notices just how sharp his canines are.

“Couldn’t help it, Benny.  Besides, you’ve got some interesting things.”  Homelander turns in the chair just slightly to rap his gloved knuckles against the top drawer of Ben’s nightstand.  “Especially in here, you dirty boy.”

Ben’s cheeks flare red immediately.  Fuck, he hadn’t even considered–

“You are interesting, I’ll tell ya.” Homelander continues.  “You’re so fucking ordinary, and yet you’re about to be in The Seven.  Nothin’ to you besides that do-good moral compass of yours and some spandex.”

“What do you mean, ‘about to,’” Ben asks incredulously.  “I haven’t agreed to anything.”

Homelander gives him a smile so sinister that it practically takes a bite out of his resolve.  “Oh, I know.  But you’re going to once we’re done here, trust me.”

Ben cocks a brow.  “... explain.”

“Not yet.” 

Homelander leans to the side and snags one of those guitars he was clearly very familiar with.  “You’re a peculiar little thing, you know that?”  He says, finger plucking awkwardly at a nylon string that damn near snaps under his strength.  It makes Ben cringe a little.  “You’re so full of anxiety I can practically smell it on you, but you still have the balls to tell me no.  You’re pretty much a shut in as...” Homelander gestures vaguely to Ben to describe his secret identity.  “But then you’re such a social butterfly.  Thought you might’ve just had a thing for being stared at in spandex, but you’re quite the little ray of sunshine in the leotard.”

“I–”

Homelander holds up a finger.

“And you’re so fucking sad, little Benjamin.”  

What..? 

“You’re lonely.  Just that one buddy of yours and that strained relationship with good ol’ mom and dad… plus that cousin or whatever the boy is.”  Homelander plucks the lowest string, a deep open note reverberating through the body of the instrument.  “But you’re so sad, crying at night like you do.”

But I haven’t– 

“I can tell what you’re thinking… You haven’t had a bad night in a few weeks.”  Homelander says nonchalantly.  “What, you think I wasn’t scoping you out before that night in the alley?  Please.  I know you down to the fucking lube you use at this rate.”

“What the f–”

“Astroglide, by the way.”  He says, wiggling his brows.  “You want that spider-high you get when you’re swinging around to be permanent?  Quit your little desk job, stop being a pussy, and join my team.  Go have time to live your personal life– I don’t fucking care– just do the right thing.”

Ben’s gaze falls and he picks at his fingers.  Fucker found the sore spot and was using it to his full advantage.

“Don’t look so sad, Benny boy.  I’m offering you the relief you’ve been looking for, aren’t I?”  Homelander smiles almost genuinely.  “So exhausted all the time, too.  When was the last time you got eight hours, huh?  I’ve seen the way that little tingle in your head wakes you up all the time.  Plus all those late nights… you must be so burnt out.”

“Shut up…” Ben tries, but it comes out more sad than he means for it to.  He hates how fucking right Homelander is.

“Friends, family, rest… No more rent struggles…” Homelander sets the instrument down and turns toward Ben.  “You know what else?”  He asks, voice almost sweet.  When Ben looks at him, he grins.  “Ma and Pa will thank you when I don’t drop an oil tanker on them from orbit.”

Ben’s blood runs cold.

“Yeah, I flew by a day ago.  Nice little suburban house in Annville, right?  Pops has a nice red truck.”

No, no, no– fuck– 

“Be a shame if they had to suffer because of you, wouldn’t it?”

Benjamin sits stock still, his only movements being shakes of fear and anger.  How fucking dare he?  How dare he hold something so–

“Like I said, you will be joining The Seven.  And, if you do, no harm will come to mom and pop– I promise.” 

He knows he has no choice now.

“So, little Benjamin,” Homelander says, rising from the chair.  “What’ll it be?”

As if he has any choice.

“Fine…”

“Oh,” Homelander cocks a brow.  “What was that?  I think I need you to be a little louder.”

“Fine,” Ben says, more conviction in his voice this time.  

“Say it.  The whole thing.” Homelander demands, smile growing even wider.  “You’re gonna join The Seven.”

“I’m…” Ben sighs.  “I’m going to join The Seven.”

“Attaboy!” Homelander chirps, clapping his gloved hands together.  “Alright, buddy, get some shoes on and let's get you to the tower for your big signing day!  Did I mention you get a sign-on bonus?  Pretty killer, right?”

Dejectedly, Ben stands from the bed and slips his shoes on.

He supposes he’ll be signing his contract in his pajamas.

[fieriframes]

[What tender threads do life and death hang.]

[pinacoladamatata]

feeling totally fine btw. no goodbye battle kisses these are only come back to me kisses and post battle kisses

[secriden]

"it's okay": how Prapai makes this true for Sky

in the early parts of Love Sky, we see several instances of Sky trying to comfort himself with this phrase; either after a nightmare/flashback or after something difficult/stressful happens.

Sky is attempting to cheer himself up, but each attempt is largely ineffective because he has no real basis for hope. there's a helplessness and disbelief in the way he says the phrase, like on some level Sky knows that things aren't going to magically get better because he's still being haunted by his past.

but this is one example of how Prapai is genuinely perfect for Sky. Prapai offers Sky the same words in comfort, but he accompanies it with very specific and immediately evidenced reasons why those words are true.

when he tells Sky "it's okay," Prapai isn't offering empty words, but accompanying actions that prove the claim he's making.

it's okay: i'm here - whoever is chasing you in your nightmares, they can't get to you because i'm here. you can rest, because i'm here to defend you.

it's okay: you've finally said it to me - it's out now, there's no more lies and no more misunderstandings. i love you and you love me and we both know this to be the truth. you're not alone in this and your love isn't unrequited. we can be together and you can love me, because i'm already in love with you.

it's okay: you don't need to be with someone else - i will never ask you to give yourself away to someone else. your love is precious; you are precious; and i won't ask you to break off pieces of yourself to give away. it's safe to give yourself fully to me because i will never ask you to give yourself to anyone else.

Prapai actively takes steps to ensure that Sky can begin to trust in these words again because his presence, actions and devotion is what proves them true.

[telestoapologist]

namrask and sao moment

[wizzard890]

what got you so into the french revolution?

When I was in school for medieval art history, I did a lot of work on saints and their martyrdoms, particularly how the viewers of art depicting suffering imagined suffering, and how the agony/eroticism of those feelings induced a sort of memetic spiritual euphoria. Which means that I spent a ton of time looking at images of executions. I've seen them all: beheadings and sexymen shot full of arrows, saints barbecued or flayed or eaten by wild animals, criminals broken on the wheel -- all the classics. Or at least, I thought I had, until I encountered this triptych in my senior year of college:

This, by Belgian artist Antoine Wiertz, is The Visions of a Guillotined Head, painted in the late 1840s. Wiertz was a symbolist, and spent a great portion of his career drawn to the macabre, never more notably than on the occasion that inspired this painting.

In February 1848, two notable French criminals were due to be executed by the state. The guillotine was of course still in use as a method of capital punishment (and would be until the 1970s), and Wiertz was curious as to what a so-swiftly severed head felt and saw. He wasn't the first; since the guillotine's invention there had been legends of heads that blinked and blushed and tried to speak after separation. Luckily, Wiertz had a friend who was a hypnotist (as you do). Timed to the moment of the execution, he had his hypnotist pal put his soul "into rapport" with the dead criminal, and claimed that he entered the head itself as it fell.

He later recalled his experiences at some length in writing, but since we're talking about me, here is the important passage, dictated as he "felt" the horror of execution:

A horrible buzzing noise, the sound of the blade descending. The victim believes that he has been struck by lightning, not the axe. Astonishingly, the head lies under the scaffold and yet still believes it is above, still believes itself to be part of the body, and still waits for the blow that will cut it off. Horrible choking! No way to breathe. The asphyxia is appalling. It comes from an inhuman, supernatural hand, weighing down like a mountain on the head and neck. A cloud of fire passes before his eyes. Everything is red and glitters.

Now comes the moment when the executed man thinks he is stretching his cramped, trembling hands towards the dying head. It is the same instinct that drives us to press a hand against a gaping wound. And it occurs with the dreadful intention of setting the head back on the trunk, to preserve a little blood, a little life.

This fucked me up so bad.

I am well aware that consciousness after having your spinal cord severed is a done deal. I was aware of this in college. But there was something about this artist's act of imaginative empathy that compelled me, for the first time, to think about the guillotine in particular. About the mechanical wait, not being pushed off a drop or axed while kneeling, about being slid through on a board, of seeing the basket beneath you, already full of heads. Maybe even heads you know.

I imagined it so hard that I made myself sick and couldn't go to class for two days.

The reason I studied what I studied wasn't because I was ghoulish. In fact, I'm a little squeamish. It was because in the experience of pain, we are all deeply individualized, but entirely, helplessly human.

I laid in bed and thought about the small number of humans who I, an educated layman, knew had been guillotined: Marie Antoinette, obviously; Louis XVI; and (in what felt like black historical irony, given what I knew of his day job) Maximilian Robespierre.

It felt intrusive to have intimately imagined their last, most private moments, without really having any idea about them at all. Better to start at the end and work backwards, I thought. So I started reading.

Robespierre, decapitated by guillotine when he was thirty-six. That's the manner of death. How did he meet his death? In terrible pain, I learned. Why? Because he'd had half his jaw blown off the night before. Jesus, why? Because he'd (maybe probably) shot himself. Why?

It turns out, if you keep doing that, a piece at a time, for years, you can learn a lot about someone's life. And, relatedly, in long and branching paths, you can find your way into every nook and cranny of what burned through France at the end of the 18th century.

[carminekings]

— ❛ i realize you can change the people, change the scenery, but you can’t change your own rotten self. ❜ @egojock

nate's come round enough that joe's gotten good at picking out the sincere comments from the full of shit ones. sometimes he likes to be ridiculous for the sake of it — moan over an itch he'll forget the following hour — but on occasion, once in a sensitive blue moon, he will mean every word. his heart will pour out of his chest like pungent gasoline, and nate will hate the admission more than anyone else privy to it. this time, joe's senses suggest this particular confession one of the latter. (the truth is in the details: the discomfort, the impatience, and the self-flagellation.) he's learned to adapt to both extremes, and it's highly convenient then that his cheeks hollow around a joint. he sucks it red, and with a shuddering sigh, holds the rest of it out for nate to pinch. "...c'mon now." there is no rolling set of eyes, no scoff nor condescending sigh — only a quiet look and an impending high. the words aren't alien anyway, they echo with unbearable reason. joe elbows him once more. "dunno. yer a'right sometimes."

[poisonedspider]

Continued for @top-shelf-tender

It would be a lie to say he hadn't been concerned about Husk, but he tried to withhold his concern as much as possible. The last thing he wanted was for the bartender to think he was putting too much stress on the sex worker, and worst case scenario, decide that this relationship wouldn't work because Angel deserved someone stable. Laughable, considering Angel had never been with anyone stable in his life.

He knew better than to interrupt, one hand pressed to the other's chest, where he had felt the racing heart previously. Another being clutched in Husk's paw that was five times the size of his own hand. He watched the process, blinking as the other apologized, quickly shaking his own head. "What th' fuck are yeh' apologizin' for, Whiskas? It ain't like yeh' can control when things get bad."

One of his lower arms wrapped around Husk immediately, pulling him closer to the fuzzy spider. Another lower hand rubbing at his eyes, that were still full of sleep and exhaustion, having gotten home from work late and barely fallen asleep himself when the bartender had started to panic. He yawned, tugging them both back down to lay, never letting go of Husk the entire time. "Another nightmare?" He whispered, one of his many hands coming and drawing invisible circles on the other's back. "Ah' wish yeh'd talk tah' meh'. Ah' wanna help."

[hymnoire]

❛ you changed everything. ❜ --- for Gaya

"To me it's no diffrent than moving furnitures in a living room I did not like the decoration of anymore." A twisted smirk dances on her lips before going back to the usual severe of her lines. Ever since Kang Gaya Lockwood has been named Judge, she does change everything in a city that she considers now hers. The death of her father, the minister of Justice have paved the way for her to take his legacy. Vine words are never a coincidence, his mere presence here, isn't either. "Is it that you crave justice for the humans and view my politics as too authoritarian? Being called a dictator has never been an insult to me. I doubt you would care though, would you. " Her head is titled to the side as her steps lead her through the room, she is pacing. "Is it about Her." Her arms are crossed now. "I believe my sister holds some sort of fascination for you. Her and this insane desire she has to opens the gates between the living and .. what she seems to believe could be, the Gods, or Heavens and Hells." Dr. Kang Kaeleena Lockwood, known for her genius in the years - a genius Gaya has always considered madness. "I do know what you two have been doing. Disgusting little games with corpses and obscure rituals. What was it, was she luring you in to have sex down her autopsy tables?"The relationship between the sisters have went downhill on that Day, that one Day Kaeleena took it too far, that one day her expriment worked, that one day she created... it. Gaya had no chance but to lock Kaeleena up along with the creature she has created. The same way she is locking up all criminals in the city. To clean : that is her mission now. "Everything I do, I do it for the greater good."

𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐊 & 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 // accepting

[angie-long-legs-moved]

@top-shelf-tender

"My room. Balcony. 8pm."

The Ace of Hearts with its scrawled message was left on top of the bar, tucked beneath a bottle of Angel's Envy.

Its benefactor was there ahead of time, shifting nervously in his seat. He had agonised over tonight - as far as Husk was aware, Angel didn't even know it was his birthday, so it was possible this surprise of his would be less than appreciated. He didn't trust Alastor for a second to provide him with the any accurate information, and the man wasn't exactly known for his vast social circle. It had taken a trip to Cannibal Town to acost some old lady Husk mentioned having an amicable relationship with to finally uncover the actual date, and Angel had left with an earful about how she'd turn him into spider stew if he broke the gambler's heart. Although, beneath her cantankerous demeanour, Angel could almost detect a hint of pride for her feline friend - as though she were happy for him. For a miserable hag who was also a cannibal, that was.

Angel had thought long and hard about how to celebrate. Husk would probably break it off with him there and then if he did something as gratuitous as throw him a surprise party, but what kind of festivities would he be up for? Husk liked drinking, sure. He liked gambling. He liked Angel.

So here Angel was, sitting at the table he had set up on his balcony, a decanter with some glasses set beside a couple of cigars, laying in wait for the man of the moment. Angel himself was scantily clad in a black babydoll dress that could barely be considered more than lingerie, the hem adorned with card suit symbols. It was the guys birthday, after all. Besides, Angel wasn't exactly known for his subtlety.

His heart fluttered at the sound of footsteps approaching. Fuck, he hoped this was a good idea.

He turned to greet his visitor with an amorous, inviting grin.

"Happy birthday, Whiskers."

[imaginarianisms]

🖤 for misa about light ??

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends (eventually, over time) / my only friend. (eventually, over time)

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

current impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours; specify. || ALWAYS ACCEPTING || @prodigum.

[sehtoast]

Tender Threads Chapters 16-17 up now

now with smut :)

[antlered-host]

💗 {{I know we already have threads, but I couldn’t resist x3}}

Send 💗 to pull my muse into a sudden hug and hold them tight, refusing to let go

Alastor froze at the sudden hug, confused. He squirmed just a little bit, but found himself unable to escape the cat's grasp.

"Husker. What do you think you're doing?"

[rikamp3]

should syd Phantom Thread carmy to get him to "settle down a little"? perhaps :)

[telestoapologist]

sao asking namrask to teach them his way of looming and he immediately brightens up

[turojo]

Me yearning for old man shipping at 2 AM but Turo is emotionally bankrupt and exhausting to be around 😔