#thanks for the ask!!! I hope you like it

[technically-human]

Payneland² 

[noodles-and-tea]

You’ve just got this real magic, capturing the sunshine summer of childhood in the tiny Pines twins. Like I am fully convinced I could show the overcast sky one of your pictures of Stanley and the sky would be like. Pack it up clouds, time to get back to the sun.

Ohh thank you :(((((

[egophiliac]

What do you like about the Diasomnia boys if I may ask?

I always love hearing about the different reasons people enjoy characters.

I mean, c'mon. he has split custody over Sebek okay

also, Lilia in particular has maybe the best timeskip character development of all time

[cherryfennec]

Summer Times

Hi! I'm finally back from my two week abroad trip!

[azarovas]

No Context Deadloch (2023-)

[somnimagus]

My page for @sheikahzine; about Impaz's duty to her village, empty of people and full of memories.

[id in alt text]

[erwinsvow]

Imagine if Rafe let R try a joint

Like, her brains getting all fuzzy and she's even more giggly than usual, and he's just, like enamoured. He thinks she's adorable.

"one hit, that's it-" rafe says, low and quiet in your ear.

you're curled up on his lap at the party, both of you resting on the couch while you observe the scene around you with big eyes. rafe's friends were snorting powder off of mirrors, washing it down with liquor that was definitely harder than the fruity seltzer your boyfriend allowed you to drink. rafe said you couldn't handle anything harder, and you agreed without questioning him, like you always did.

you had pointed to the white lines on the table infront of you and asked him as sweetly as you could if you could try some. kelce overheard you and starts pushing the mirror in your direction, and you look at him with a smile, before rafe stares him down and delivers a tap to your cheek. it's just to get your attention, not really to hurt you, but you feel your face flushing where he touched you when he speaks.

"hey, you don't listen to him, you listen to me, right?" you see kelce in the corner of your eye, taking the tray back and offering it to the girl next to him.

"i know, i just-"

"no, no just anything. y'can barely drink this watered-down crap without trippin' over your feet." he rests back on the sofa, hands gripping your waist and leg tightly. "wants to snort coke. you're funny, kid."

you pout, taking another sip of your drink. you're only half way through the can but your head is starting to feel fuzzy, already. you decide then and there that rafe always knows best for you, but you still want to try the things he tries, show him that you can handle it. the boys next to rafe pass a blunt over you, directly to him. when they blow out the smoke, you start coughing, but watch carefully as your boyfriend takes a long hit. just as he's about to pass it across to kelce, you catch his wrist.

"can i try that instead? please?" you try your best to straighten up, to show him you can take it and that you're not already drunk. "please," you whine, and his friends turn their head to look. you're sure that they think it's silly, the way you have to ask rafe for permission for everything and anything. you don't care, though.

"kid, stop-"

"i can take it, promise. just this time. i won't ever ask again."

that's how you had ended up like this, rafe talking into your ear while he holds the blunt to your lips.

"alright, suck in. long as you can. you're a pro at that, aren't ya?" his words make you lose your concentration, breaking into a coughing fit before you can even try to inhale.

"rafe!" you whine again, pummeling your fists into his chest, still choking on the smoke. your throat feels scratchy but you know that couldn't have been enough.

"what, kid, i gotta do everything for you?" he takes a long hit, and then grips your cheeks with his hand, forcing your mouth open and then blowing the smoke into your throat for you. then he clamps it shut, holds your shoulder while you cough, and passes the blunt along to kelce.

you cough a little, but before long, you're putty in his arms, leaning your head against his shoulder and giggling at nothing. you poke at his chest and then start playing with his chain, then his hair, and then back down to his fingers. he lets you do it, watching you play with his ring and pressing a kiss to your forehead. you're cute like this, he thinks, less shy and not as worried what everyone must think about you. he thinks he likes it, that maybe he should let you smoke with him every once in a while.

"feel good, baby?" he asks in your ear, and you squirm in his touch, pulling away before resting your head again.

"mhm. really good. this is fun. wish it wasn't a crime." he laughs, taking another sip of his beer. you try to copy him, reaching for your seltzer but knocking it over by accident.

"oops," you say with another laugh. "sorry to-wait, whose house is this?"

"c'mon kid, makin' a mess," he groans, picking up the can and watching the fizzy liquid travel.

"sorry, daddy." in your state, you don't realize how loud you said it, but even with everyone's eyes on you, you don't care much, smiling back sweetly at rafe.

"alright, we're leavin'."

[kimtaegis]

JIN HUGS JIN HUGS! for @jinstronaut ♡

cr. namuspromised, dwellingsouls, 0613data

[shushmal]

from @skepsiss: Steddie (obviously), prompt = one of them is trying to convince the other to go to the hospital for a minor thing (needs stitches from a fall, stomach bug).

"Stevie, please."

"Oh my god," Steve sighs, wrapping the gauze tight around his hand. It blooms red with blood. "It's fine, Ed."

"It really isn't." Eddie is a little pale when Steve looks up to glare at him. "Steve, please baby, I saw the bones in your hand."

"You're being dramatic."

"See," Eddie whines, high pitched and panicked. "I do understand why you're saying that. I know this is a case of boy who cried wolf. But I am begging you here. Please, let me drive you to the hospital."

Steve wrinkles his nose. "It wasn't that deep, I promise you."

"Steve."

"Ed—"

And then Eddie does this thing—where he pulls himself up to his full height, crowding up into Steve's space, until they're nose to nose, his eyes wide and intense—and it shuts Steve up every time. It's stupid, and horribly embarrassing, but it works and Eddie uses it to his advantage, pressing Steve into the edge of the counter and boxing him in, his hands tights against Steve's hips.

"Steve," he says, low and serious. "You can bitch at me all you want in the car, but I'm taking you to the hospital. Okay?"

"Okay," Steve says, against his will, face burning as Eddie pulls away. As soon as he has breathing room to think, he scowls at him. "But if I don't need stitches, you're on the hook to do dishes for the next month."

Eddie doesn't even grimace—he hates doing dishes—and gently starts herding Steve out the door. "You got it, honey," he says, distractedly. His face turns green when a line of blood drips down Steve's wrist from beneath the bandage. "Whatever you say."

Steve ends up getting 15 stitches. Eddie's stuck doing the dishes until it heals anyways.

[nachobsns]

Hello - I was impressed and extremely relieved by what you wrote in the post about the cult mentality of the Left RE Israel and accusations of genocide. You mentioned that you bought into the mindset until recently. If it's all right for me to ask, what was it that helped you break out of it? (Please feel free to delete/ignore if you'd rather not answer!)

thank you!! and no worries about asking— i think i put something in my pinned post about how people are welcome to send asks about this stuff, although my story isn’t super interesting. i fell down the typical online rabbithole, a couple weeks after october 7; i knew what had happened, at least vaguely, but the posts trickling onto my dash were all about the (undeniably tragic) loss of life in gaza, with little to no acknowledgment of the hamas atrocities that had started the war, so my narrative was pretty one-sided from the beginning. it just continued to snowball as the months went on and people became more radicalized, calling into question the reality of the 10/7 attacks and the humanity of all israelis. i never went all the way down the pipeline to full-on endorsing hamas or justifying their attacks, at least on a personal level, thank god, but i would reblog other people’s posts referring to hamas as a “resistance movement” and calls to boycott starbucks and mcdonald’s and condemnation of the “zionist media” etc etc etc. what pulled me out of it wasn’t any one thing— if someone had directly called me on my flawed logic and antisemitic biases while i was in this mindset, i doubt it would have done much, just reinforced my belief that i was on the “right side of history” and zionists were aggressors who couldn’t be reasoned with. it was mostly just passive observance and a slow exposure to other perspectives. i’m pretty sure the first post that led me to question my thinking was an ask on jewish-vents, which popped up on my dash in like, late july. this led me down another rabbithole, first scouring every single post on jewish-vents, then moving on to more popular jewish blogs that i had seen on “zionist blocklists” (applesauce42069, xclowniex, and spacelazarwolf were probably some of the blogs that influenced me the most, though i told myself i was just hate-scrolling at first, lol). i felt incredibly guilty seeing all the harm the movement i was a part of had caused to random jews and israelis just trying to live their lives and i realized how it went against everything i believed about how minority groups should be treated. from there, the aspect of actually undoing my thinking and changing my behavior for the better still took several weeks. denial of jewish indigenity to the levant in the face of tantamount archeological and cultural evidence was the first to go, as well as any ambiguity in my feelings about hamas. after that, it’s mostly been a slow process of redefining the idf’s actions from a “genocide” to a “war.” i still believe that what’s happening in gaza is unconscionable and horrific, and that too many innocent civilians have died, but i also understand how difficult it is to fight against a terrorist group that systematically embeds itself in civilian populations, and that the ratio of militant to civilian deaths is incredibly low compared to most urban warfare. i quietly deleted my old blog in early august— if i had directly engaged in harassment against jews, i likely would have kept it to make amends to the harmed parties and put a face to my actions, but as was, i had just contributed to the larger atmosphere of antisemitism on this site, and i felt uncomfortable knowing that i had a blog full of sentiments that no longer matched my values and beliefs. i decided i would be better if i took my endorsement out of the equation entirely, because when you’re looking through the notes of a post, it obviously doesn’t matter if someone who’s reblogged it no longer agrees with what was said— their notes still count as tacit approval, and i did not want approval of this “activism” attached to my online presence. i still have unwanted kneejerk reactions that crop up sometimes, particularly around the fundraiser posts from people “in gaza”; even though i know logically that they have all the markers of scams, there is still a part of me that really wants to believe i could help.

[kandismon]

totally lore-accurate swanqueen screencap redraws 4/∞

they're on their first date :3c

[merverelli]

"you just feel yourself let go."

still thinking about this episode. man. 💪💥

[themeraldee]

Awkward sex prompt: homelander figuring out how to control his strength with a human reader, who still wants rough sex, but would prefer to be alive at the end of it.

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 1.2k | Homelander x gn!Reader | Realistic sex. Communicating during sex. Choking. Penetration (but not specified). Fluff at the end.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“But I want you to.” 

It really should have been no surprise to Homelander when you requested he goes a little rougher on you in bed. At first he was taken aback, stopping the pace he was fucking into you with, jerking his head back as if offended, choking on his breath in surprise. You know who he is, bringing up the use of his strength is no small ask. But you’ve shown the signs before. He could hear the spike in your heart rate anytime he’d showcase the incomprehensible strength he possesses. Whether it was him moving heavy objects, accidentally bending steel frames in his penthouse or breaking furniture—like that one time he ripped the headboard off during a particularly fine blowjob—you loved it. Though he never thought that your dirty little thoughts went straight to him using that strength on you. 

“What if I can’t hold back?” He looks down where you’re right below him, all flushed and spread out for him. He’s been giving you a damn good time but it’s like you can never get enough of him. Always wanting more, more, more.

“You can. You’ve been doing it your entire life. Adding a tiny bit more pressure isn’t gonna change anything.”

The one thing Homelander loves about you the most is the pure trust you have in him. After all you’ve seen of him you still believe that there’s no world in which he would purposefully hurt you. So to hear you all but beg for him to use strength that has more than decimated many gets his heart soaring. The feeling of acceptance and unconditional love blooms warm in his chest spreading all the way out to the fingertips currently wrapped around your neck.

“Come on, what’s the point of being the strongest man in the world if you can’t rough me up a bit? I’ll tell you if it’s too painful okay?”

Your hand sat on top, your fingers tracing over his as you squeezed your hand.

“A little more.” You guide him verbally and manually. Your hand is still squeezing around his own until you reach a point where you’re satisfied with his confidence to do this himself and you pull your hand away. “Yeah, that’s it.” You squeak out a little breathlessly as he restricts your airflow.

“That’s good?” He asks, choking on his words halfway at the way you squeeze around him while he’s still lodged firmly inside you. He jerks with his movement, giving you a very short snappy thrust but after your little intermission where you taught him how to choke even this little sensation made you moan.

Homelander’s eyes widen when he realizes the sheer potential of your request. Not only could he hear your heartbeat, your shaky breaths and moans, he could now also feel them. Right against his fingertips. The moan vibrated against his hot skin, your heartbeat constantly thrumming all around him. He felt it in the way you were tight and clenching around him and now he felt it under his grip.

He released his hand a little, settling the palm of it in between your collarbones.

“See? Wasn’t that good? I love feeling your strength, let me have a little more of it.” You say it with such conviction, inviting him in, accepting him exactly—no, especially—because of the way he is.

The last thing Homelander wants is to not be able to fulfill your needs. As much as the thought of hurting you—actually hurting you—kills him, if it’s something you find excitement in he’ll be damned if he doesn’t deliver.

He pulls you down the length of the bed a little bit to give himself more space and with a grin he pins your wrists above your head, holding them down against the mattress with little effort. He knows he’s doing something right when that startles you, you let out a cute yelp that quickly turns into a moan. God, he could eat you up with the way you’re looking at him. But he’s gonna need to leave that for round two. Now he’s here to fulfill a wish.

He slowly picks up the pace. He’s thrusting slow and deep while his other hand freely explores your body underneath him, giving it generous squeezes as he goes. He’s testing the give of you. Learning where he can apply the pressure you so desperately crave. 

He’s fucking into your faster now, grunting at the sheer heat of you surrounding his cock with every slide. His hand glides up your body, settling back on your neck. He gives you a look as if he was warning you of what’s to happen. Yet he still manages to catch you off guard. With the snap of his hips and the iron-clad grip of his hand your eyes widen in what Homelander only translates to fear.

Immediately, he lets go.

“Why did you stop?!” You look at him, your own hand gliding across where his hand was squeezing a second ago, as if to chase the phantom feeling, recreating it yourself.

“Why did I stop? You got scared and I don’t want to fucking kill you!” He sounds angry but it’s mainly to hide the genuine worry that comes with this irresponsible play. It’s already hard for him to hold back anytime you’re having normal sex. Wanting him to rough you up conjures very different imagery in either one of your minds.

“Baby, the scary part is the best bit. I know you’ll stop before it’s too much. You can feel the give of my body. Let yourself feel that, okay?” You say softly, soothing his fears. In your entire relationship he’s not managed to hurt you, you don’t imagine it was about to start now.

“Now come on, I wanna cum with your hand around my neck.” You give him a cheeky smile that breaks him out of any doubts he had about manhandling you the way you’ve requested.

He’s given you exactly what you’ve asked for. Just enough squeeze and pressure that you feel so overwhelmed with the greatness of his presence pinning you down and nearly squeezing the life out of you that you succumb to your release. Homelander follows you there, unable to hold off after seeing the way you look at him with such adoration right after he let your airways open fully and you regained your senses. 

After you’re both beyond blissed out you snuggle up to one another, locking the jigsaw pieces of your bodies together.

Homelander traces a finger across the bruised finger marks wrapping around your neck. Part of him relishes in the way he’s managed to brand you where you won’t be able to hide it easily. Even with a scarf or a turtleneck, any slight move of the garment will expose the impressive size of your lovingly placed bruises. 

The other part of him isn’t that happy about it.

“I hurt you.”

“Duh! I wanted you to!” You scoff as if it was the most obvious thing.

His fingers trace over them some more before he leans in, placing a soft kiss against the marred skin.  

“You’re fucking crazy.” He lets out a little disbelieving laugh as he pulls you closer into his arms.

“Yeah, you’ve been rubbing off on me.”

“Nope, this is all you.” 

“Maybe. Hey, can we try spanking next?”

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged anytime I publish a new Homelander story): @infinetlyforgotten  @rafecamsgirlll @nervoussystemss

[haveihitanerve]

batman has trouble telling his family how he feels. So he decides he can write it down in a journal or leave them notes. It's easy to write down the words than say them because the words he wants to say always get lost in translation when he opens his mouth. Dickie when he was robin has a whole box filled with notes from Bruce. Turns out batman can be funny when he writes his thoughts down. Jason writes back to Bruce just as sassy.

i love this

With Dick, the first note appeared after the first fight. A nasty fight, where Dick had screamed

"YOU'RE NOT MY DAD, WHY DO YOU EVEN CARE, I DON'T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU!!!!"

Bruce had gone quiet after the words, and isolated himself away. Dick had felt crummy afterwards, but there wasn't much to do about it, Bruce wasn't around to apologize to and... well, it was true. The screams had just been... inner thoughts he hadn't voiced.

Bruce knew it too. And, it shouldn't have to be up to Dick to make amends. So he withdrew to his office, locked it tight, so that he wouldn't say words he'd regret and make things worse with Dick.

The first few drafts... were hard. But Bruce found his rhythm, and it was so much better. He could erase and start again, and reword, and clear up any parts that weren't clear. He could be concise, precise, honest and literate, he didn't have to stumble and rip his way through an uncomfortable conversation where he'd make things worse.

Dick found the note later that night, laying on his pillow, three pages worth of words that told him he was loved, whether or not he wanted Bruce to be his dad, he could just remain a friend, a brother if he wanted, and that he cared, even if it wasn't always shown, even if it wasn't as a father.

Bruce established boundaries, and apologized too, because it was needed, and it was so much easier to say what he needed to through written words, instead of admitting them aloud. Maybe it made him a coward, it made him a coward, but the next morning Dick hugged him and apologized back, so it worked.

The notes became frequent from then on, usually after fights, or misunderstandings, and Dick understood the need, knew that Bruce wasn't as able to concisely share his thoughts and formulate them as well on the spot aloud, so he let it happen, but soon they became more commonplace, left on chimneys on patrol for Dick to find, little love notes and encouraging words that Bruce became better at saying aloud too.

Dick kept each one, tucking them safely into his belt, and kept them in a box in his closet, one he had made at school with Bruce during a parent-child fun day, and pulled them out to read every so often, when things between them got hard.

The box moved with him, stuffed in the closet at Bludhaven, and postage was expensive, travel even more so, but Bruce still sent him letters, apologies Dick didn't open, notes taped to his window he tossed away (still into a pile he never threw out, but never read either).

When things got better, Dick would read the notes, but he never touched the letters from before, because for once he needed the words from Bruce's lips, and he had liked Bruce's stumbling, his faltering and chagrin, and did not want to read his well thought out, thorough one instead. He still kept the notes, of course.

With Barbara.... Bruce didn't have a claim to her. She wasn't his daughter. She wasn't looking for a father. She wasn't, quite honestly, even looking for a mentor. But she found one in him anyway, whether either of them liked it or not.

But Bruce still sent her notes. Little letters, facts, information, telling her through a note was easier than in person. Because then he could lay it all out, and maybe she'd see something he'd missed. Because she always did. She completed him, in a way none of the other did. In a way even Dick didn't. But, then again, they all completed him in different ways. Hers was just more noticeable.

After Joker... every day he wrote to her, flooding her phone with messages, her laptop with emails, her room with cards and flowers and notes.

And when she moved to the Clock Tower it didn't stop, maybe slowed a little, became smaller in quantity, but he always sent her something. Let her check over his work, proofread anything and everything. His fresh set of eyes.

She wrote back, sometimes. But she was more like Dick in that regard, choosing to answer his messages verbally rather than write back. She did have the perfect time to do it too, and she always had something to say.

Barbara never struggled with her words the way he did. And he appreciated it. Loved it, even. Even if it usually didn't mean anything good for him...

With Jason... Bruce hadn't done it, originally, because Jason was just so bright, and understood, and didn't need the words because he heard them because Bruce was better, all the mistakes he'd made with Dick cleaned up a bit.

But Jason needed the words, and he had such a spark, so Bruce began writing again, sliding notes under his son's door and leaving them taped around the house, or on patrol. And Jason, Jason wrote back.

Little witty notes, marked up Bruce letters with grammar corrections, book recommendations, questions about what they were eating for dinner, or little stories, scrawled in the margins of notebook paper, stuck to Bruce's cape, or on his pillow, or taped to his mirror.

Bruce still wrote the letters, left them in Jason's room, after his death. Red Hood never mentioned it, but after a trip to the manor to "haunt" them, he became a little less violent.

With Tim, Bruce was ashamed to admit, he just didn't care. He didn't care that Tim winced at his words, he didn't care if he was misunderstood, he didn't care if he neglected the boy.

And it hurt, Bruce knew it hurt him, but he just didn't care, couldn't bring himself to, not when Tim was so much like the boy he'd lost, not when Tim was so different.

But Tim started writing letters, originally just for himself, begging for affection, begging for his parents to love him, begging for Bruce to notice him. Then the notes got angry, rants, screaming, slashes across the page, pencil marks that tore paper and dug groves into the table.

He kept them all to himself, waded up in the corner of his room, but Bruce found them, found them all, and he hated himself, hated the Drakes, but he couldn't even fault them because he, oh he was much worse. (no he wasn't the Drakes owed Tim love and affection those were his parents and a child deserves that from his parents Bruce tech didn't owe him anything but shiii he was awful and-)

So Bruce started writing again, answering all of Tim's pleas, cataloging every single movement and jump and case and file and everything Tim had ever done right and congratulating him, giving him pride Bruce wasn't even sure he was allowed to give anymore, and he apologized, begged for forgiveness, for a chance to start over, because he was better now, Tim had made him better, and he wanted... he wanted to be better. For Tim.

In the end the note was twenty three pages long, and ended with the simple phrase, "I love you, you are my Robin, and I'm so sorry"

Tim was at school, so Bruce left it on his bed, and shut himself away in the cave until he got home. He always stopped by his room first, tidying everything up, because he was only a "guest" and all, before heading down to the cave.

Bruce waited for two hours. When Tim finally came into the cave, his eyes were red, tears still falling down his face.

"Oh Timmy," Bruce breathed. "I'm so so sorry." Tim walked to him, and collapsed in his arms.

And from then on, things were better. Not perfect, nothing to do with Bruce's personal life was perfect, but it was better. It was good. And Bruce started sending notes. Slowly, they turned from letters into emails, into texts and shared google docs. So Tim would have evidence in his favored form, of Bruce's love.

With Stephanie... things were different. She didn't live at the manor. She had a father, albeit a bad one, and Bruce didn't want to give her another one of those.

But he still left her notes, information, or clues, things that gave her autonomy for a bit, let her work still "alone" as Spoiler, but kept her connected to him. To Robin. And when she died...

Bruce gave every letter to Leslie. Not because he knew, exactly, but because he knew she was closer to Stephanie, and he couldn't have them at home. Couldn't look at them.

Leslie gave every one to Steph. Who read them. Sometimes. Enough times that when she came back, she wasn't as hard on Bruce. Enough times that she let him hug her. And came over for dinner. And never regretted being Robin. Enough times to admit she loved him too. And that he would never be her father. Because at his core, he was a good person, and Arthur Brown was not that.

With Cassandra, Bruce didn't write letters. Not only because Cass couldn't read, but because she could read him. And no words were necessary. For once, he could love someone in silence.

With Damian, words came easier, somehow. Maybe because Damian needed words, needed the commands to be spoken aloud, needed the reprimand or the praise. He needed the tone, couldn't weed it out of what Bruce had written like the others, needed the verbal confirmation or denial.

Bruce needed the words to. To tell his son it was alright to mess up, to make mistakes. He needed to words to reassure his son that harsh language was the extent of what he was going to get. That punishment wasn't physical in their world. In his home.

He wrote Damian letters too, of course, in the case his youngest might feel excluded, but usually only at special occasions, a card for his birthday, or a quick poem to brighten his day.

And words... words came easier now. After so many. It was easier to tell Damian what he needed, aloud as well as on paper. It was easier to speak, to not stumble over his words, to praise and apologize. A good thing too, because Damian needed it. And maybe... maybe Bruce did too.

[rainingcatsandjune]

haha heyy its been a while 😭😭 sorry for the lack of activity here,,, school has been kicking my butt + i've gotten SUPER hyperfixated on disco elysium,,,, BUT THE MOMENT I SAW THE ORIGINAL I KNEW I HAD TO DRAW SAM AS THIS RAHSBBFBDN i seriously need to catch up on the recent audios 😭😭😭 ANYWAY enjoy :)

vvvvv ORIGINAL BELOW vvvvv

shhhhghhshhshhsh youre telling me this ISNT sam??? like????

[arttsuka]

Request: Jed and octavius dancing on/playing the piano like in that scene from the movie Big.

(Your art is amazing)

Like this? 🎹🎵🎶

Maybe they can have an iPad too