#yep that's it that's the fic

[starscream-is-my-wife]

Some Bumblebee and mother Ratchet :)

I dont know if that's the artstyle but is Ratchet crying?? That's kinda sweet if he is 😭

Here's some G1 shots where it's just them cause I'm a sucker for these 3

[gremnda]

i read @hopepetal's fic sunflower days, went insane for a few days and this appeared-

i am so weak to pearl and scar being besties and this fic is basically that and more :,) <3 genuinely so so good, i already cried to zera about it and yall should read it and do the same ù_ú <3

[morningnoodles]

thinking about the headcanon of Thorin being immediately attracted to Bilbo the second he stepped inside Bag End and like duh of course he would be when THIS GUY AND HIS SEXY NIGHT SHIRT is what greets him

[pjs-everyday]

closeups of our cheeky thief: lost and found, finders keepers— if ya leave it behind, it’s hers! (she’ll give it back to ya… eventually 😉) 🩷

cheeky thief comic: part 1 // closeups // bakugo's shirt // part 2

[ghostbsuter]

It was Halloween, they were in Central City for some candy pickings (if their fathers know, it's too late, they're here and absolutely getting that stomachache in the morning once they're done here.).

Jon— Superboy had Robin in his grip, flying from apartment complex to houses, one ear out for flash, incase the hero accidentally stumbles upon them.

(He's doing some extra patrol, it was Halloween after all.)

It was spooky day and when they finally rest up on a roof, rummaged through their goods, did Robin and Superboy notice the glowing skull at the bottom.

It looked like it could be from gotham, honestly. It was creepy, dirty and Jon has it in his hands, studying and playing with curious spark in his eyes.

"Put that down superboy—! That's clearly cursed!" Robin warns, trying to take the skull, yet the other dances from reach.

"If I rub it 3 times, do you think I get 3 wishes?"

"Those are genies you're talking about, not skulls!"

Not waiting further nor listening, really, superboy rubs the skull 3 times and—

Nothing happens.

"Nothing. Will you pit the damn skull down now?"

Sighing, Superboy does so, until the skull starts glow.

And glowing it is, a bright green, frost growing along the ground and it was beginning to eat the entire apartment if they didn't do anything!

As the cool mist grows, they step and tense as a figure approaches through.

"Congrats, no idea how but you guys found Pariah Darks former skull! So much less work for me now."

[luna-loveboop]

@kikker-oma

Happy Fan Joy July, Oma!!!

Oma, thank you so so much for making Fan Joy July and sharing it with us! Our fandom, our artists, writers, readers, etc have loved seeing or taking part in this crazy challenge.

This is our gift to thank you- from artists all around who were affected by, or got gifts from, or took part in Fan Joy July. We all love you so much- so we made letters/art for this (Zelda themed!). Many said that they had already wanted to make/write you something, and this gave an opportunity.

One of the things I've loved about this month is how community/interaction centered you made it. The challenge was for yourself to make art each day (you absolute maniac /affectionate)- but then others joined. This July we saw or made art or fics with recommendations. Every day you made art for a writer with a scene from one of their fics, and inspired others to do the same, and writers even wrote every day for an artist based off an art piece they made! This led to a month of gift giving- everyone interacting and getting love for creating.

You truly led to a month of Joy for a lot of loz/lu fans- making the name "Fan Joy July" quite accurate

Thank you, Oma

Thank you for the gifts you gave all of us and the way you inspire others

Additional ramblings and art credits below the cut :P

I'm so grateful to all my artists who stepped up so we could do this when I asked- almost 36 hours and 19 artists. The art is like patchwork, with all these different styles, both traditional and digital put together. But that's exactly what happened- we all got drawn together, just like the other month-long challenges. It's so cool how art always connects people.

The artists who participated are @zolanort @la-sera @nancyheart11 @galenfeadraws @shade-pup-cub @arecaceae175 @isasan347 @ghosthoard @smilesrobotlover @unexpectedstormy @skyloftian-nutcase @knight-of-aether @uniquevoidflowers @jinxedruby @windwakingwhale @skyward-floored @xaeorian @blarefordaglare and me Thank you to all of you- You are all so cool and I'm glad! If I accidentally missed tagging or listing someone please let me know I'm so scared of if that happened djskdjdkd

There are letters based off of the colours/theme of each of the Lu boys- it's mainly Zelda and linkeduniverse themed... but we couldn't not have frogs for Oma! I did a frog, his name is Froggy and I'm very proud.

Here's a picture with a list of who did what-

Normally I would apologise for my handwriting, but you guys would just tell me it looks good anyways and honestly it does look good. :D Sorry for the ink splotches tho, and I hope you can read it.

We did this for you, Oma, because... well you are awesome /gen. You gave us the opportunity for a great month and we wanted to say thank you for all the joy you brought us so... thank you :)

Art :D

As for everyone who said they wanted to talk to Oma or other Fan Joy July artists who they loved sharing this month with... feel free to tag and share in the reblogs. Share the joy I guess- there's enough to go around :D

Happy Fan Joy July, Oma :))

[not-rigel]

deep sigh.... councilwoman sevika<3

[not-rab]

at the Black Manor some time in the 1970s

Remus, exiting Sirius’ room:

James, exiting Regulus’ room:

Rita, exiting Bellatrix’s room:

Alice, exiting Narcissa’s room:

[backtofiction28]

Ar lath ma, Vhenan

“How are the knives coming?” Rook asked as she entered the pantry.

          Lucanis had been pacing but stopped when he saw her. “Rook, this isn’t going to work. They moved the moon!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the ceiling as if the moon was there. “We are in over our heads. This is not magic you can fight with a blade. You’re putting your life in our hands.” He took a shaky breath. “My hands.” He looked down at his hands, brows furrowed in pain. “All I know is death.”

          Rook stepped closer to him and gently encased his hands with her own. “These hands knew how to comfort me when I almost broke down after rescuing the Dalish. These hands know how to make the best churros in all of Thedas. And these hands will not let me down for the final fight with the gods, because I trust in them. Just like I trust in you.” She smiled, trying to reassure him. “I know we can do this.”

          Lucanis brought her hands to his lips, kissing them gently. “Optimism is your best and worst quality.” He gripped them tightly. “If I have to kill every blighted creature in Thedas to keep you safe, I will.”

          Rook smirked. “Just two will be enough. And you know you don’t have to do this alone.”

           “I’m never alone anymore,” he said, meaning he meant Spite.

          She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. I’ll be here for you.”

          “Don’t make promises you might not keep.”

          Rook was quiet. She stared at his chocolate brown eyes—eyes that stared at her with such deep fondness and worry. She was such a sucker for those eyes. How did she end up caring for him so much? This wasn’t in her plan to save the world. But then again, when have her plans ever gone her way?

          Rook could feel her heart racing. She had planned on telling him at some point after they had defeated Illario. Stolen chances and her own cowardice had gotten in the way. And now the gods had hastened their plans to create their own dagger.

          Now would be a good chance, right?

Rook steeled her nerve. “Lucanis, I—”

          “Don’t,” he interrupted.

          She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. Did he know what she was going to say? He released her hands, the cold of the pantry seeping into her skin.

          “Whatever it takes,” he said. “I won’t miss this time.”

          Rook placed her hands behind her back, trying to act casual and ignoring the stab of disappointment in her chest. “Right.”

          Inside her head, she was screaming. Why couldn’t she say it? And why didn’t he let her finish? Maybe if she had said it, it would distract him from his task. She needed him focused—she needed everyone focused. This was their last chance at stopping the gods.

          Maybe this really isn’t a good time.

          But if she didn’t say then when? And how would she know they were going to make it back from this?

          If I don’t say it now, then I’m going to regret this.

          “Rook, are you alright?” Lucanis asked, his eyes shining with concern.

          Damn. She had been staring at him for too long with nothing to say. Figures she would make this whole situation awkward.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” she said suddenly. She could feel the flush of embarrassment coming on. Shit, why did she say it in Elvin?

          Lucanis raised a brow. “What does that mean?”

          “Um…it’s an ancient Elvin saying for good luck,” Rook said, scrambling for a way out. “You know, kind of like how performers say ‘break a leg’ before a performance?”

          “Does that make you my good luck charm?” Lucanis gave her a teasing smile.

          Rook blushed at his compliment. How could he say that he wasn’t good at flirting when he said it so effortlessly? She smiled. “Only if you want me to be,” she said. “I’ll see you at the eluvian.”

          She swiftly turned around and left the pantry, trying to slow down her heart rate and hoping that Spite didn’t catch a change in her scent. She was definitely going to think about that all day, but at least she told him. Granted, it was in Elvish, but that had to count. Right?

          (after the events of Tearstone Island)

          Ar lath ma, vhenan.

          Those were the last words that Rook had said to him before Solas pulled her into the Fade prison. Lucanis paced in the pantry, Spite’s voice a grating sound in his mind. No matter how many times he told him that Rook was gone, it only seemed to anger the demon more.

          There was no method to calm Spite down when Lucanis couldn’t even calm himself. He was just as devasted that Rook was gone. Emmrich had been working tirelessly to find her, but could he? From his limited understanding, the Fade was huge and seemed endless. How could Emmrich find her?

 Lucanis was getting restless. It had been two weeks since she had disappeared and the last words she had said to him plagued his mind. He tried asking Spite if he understood, but the demon did not. Rook had told him that it meant good luck, but Lucanis had a feeling that she had lied. But why? He growled, frustrated. He had to know the truth. So, Lucanis left the pantry to find Bellara. She was in Neve’s room, blankly watching the wisps fly.

          “Bellara?”

          She blinked and slowly smiled as he approached. “Oh, hey Lucanis. Don’t mind me. Just…” She trailed off, her eyes shining with tears.

          “I am sorry,” Lucanis said, “this is a bad time. I’ll go.”

          “No! It’s okay!” Bellara quickly wiped the tears from her eyes. “Was there something you needed?”

          Lucanis wasn’t sure if it was alright to even ask Bellara for anything, considering her state of mind. But, then again, after the damn island, everyone’s mood was low.

          Even his.

          “Rook said something to me before we left for the island. It was in Elvish,” Lucanis explained.

          Bellara cocked her head. “What did she say?”

          “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” Lucanis said, his accent stumbling over the words. “Rook said it meant good luck, but I have a feeling that it is not true.”

          Bellara had gone still, eyes wide and shining with tears. “It doesn’t mean good luck.”

          Lucanis frowned, noticing her body language. “What does it mean, then?”

          A tear escaped. “It means…I-I love you, my heart.” Her voice cracked at the last word.

After Rook had separated the dagger from Ghilan’nain’s body, she had disappeared. Lucanis called out her name over and over again, searching for her in the ruins. But he couldn’t find her. And neither could anyone else. Instead, they found Solas, freed from the Fade prison. Lucanis’ world had collapsed underneath his feet when the Elvin god told them that Rook was never to return. Instead, she was trapped in the Fade prison.

Now, it felt like Lucanis was falling deeper and deeper into a dark hole that he wasn’t sure he could escape. He stumbled a bit and had to grab the edge of Neve’s desk tightly, trying to use it as a way to center himself as Rook’s words once again echoed inside his mind.

Ar lath ma, vhenan.

          I love you, my heart.

          Rook had told him that she had loved him before heading to the island. Why? Why didn’t she say it to him in the language they both understood?

           Her scent. Changed. Smelled like. Roses. And hesitation.

           Is that why she had that strange look in her violet eyes?

          “I-I do not understand,” Lucanis said, his chest constricting. “Why did she say it in Elvish?”

          Bellara was fully crying, fat pools of tears dripping down to the floor. “I-I don’t know.” She sniffed and wiped away her tears. “But what I know is that Rook really did care for you, Lucanis. I-I think she truly meant what she said.”

          Bellara covered her mouth, eyes closed tight and shoulders shaking as she was wracked with more tears. In any other circumstance, Lucanis would not have hesitated to comfort her, but not this time. He could barely comfort himself. He wished he could have cried and screamed and raged or felt something other than the hollow feeling inside of his chest.

          How much more heartache could he take before he was finally broken? He spent a year tortured and imprisoned, but he, somehow, was able to keep himself sane. He was determined to set himself free and kill those responsible for his imprisonment. But this? This was not something he could solve with a knife.

          You. Should have. Told her too.

          Lucanis could never hide what he was truly feeling from Spite.  How could Lucanis hide away the feeling that he had been harboring for weeks? The feeling that he had been hesitant to say. He was an assassin. He should have known better. He was taught to never miss the moment to strike.

          But now it was too late to tell her.

          Too late to tell Rook that he loved her too.

[hl-obsessed]

✨💎 a yuzu grows in brooklyn by @stylinsoncity

(M, 67k) harry is a recent implant in new york and a young chef opening a restaurant called yuzu. louis, a music teacher and broadway lover, has been around the block for a while. in a city that's so fast-paced, they're slow to catch on to each other.

✨ You Took My Heart By Surprise by @loveislarryislove

(T, 39k) There is reason to believe Prince Harry’s life is in danger. After a failed kidnapping attempt, Louis is assigned to guard Harry around the clock. He is the best at what he does, but he has a tendency to not get along with clients. Louis and Harry start off on the wrong foot, but it soon becomes clear that neither is at all what the other expected.

~*~*~

Queen Anne met Louis’ eyes. “While your file documents many remarkable accomplishments, it also contains a number of early terminations. Why is that?”

“It all depends on what your priorities are,” he said slowly. “If your primary concern is protection, I’m your guy. If you’re looking for someone polite…” He shrugged. “I don’t generally try to be rude, but social graces aren’t what I’m being paid for. If someone values being sucked up to over being protected, that’s their problem.”

“You seem quite well-mannered,” Anne said, frowning.

Both Nick and Louis snorted at that. “You’ve only known me for ten minutes,” Louis said. “Give it time.”

✨ Put It On Me by @stylinsoncity

(M, 15k) Harry's bachelor party doesn't go as planned.

✨ so many birthdays (that I missed) by @tofiveohfive

(NR, 11k) Louis doesn’t know nearly enough about science and the cosmos to explain how every atom in his being stands to attention; how his body immediately knows who he’s bumped into.

It’s somewhat underwhelming when the first word he hears out of Harry’s mouth after twelve months is, “Oh.”

AU inspired by Julia Michaels’ Into You

✨ No Place I'd Rather Be by @iamasphodelknox

(E, 39k) Harry's had a crush on his stepfather's friend for six years. A small crush. A tiny crush.

Honestly, if you don't look at Harry's dozens of poems about Louis Tomlinson, the crush is practically infinitesimal. They haven't even had a conversation.

But then a car wreck prompts them to finally have a conversation.

Christmas works its magic, Harry pines, Louis fonds, and they just might make it.

✨ The Places I Share With You by @iamasphodelknox

(M, 7k) Five times Louis comes home to Harry and one time he's ready to welcome Harry home.

The process of Louis and Harry finding home in each other.

Sequel/Coda/Epilogue to No Place I'd Rather Be.

Primal and Divine by WordsInBloom28

(E, 33k) Embarking on a mission to save his pack, Louis is pushed to the brink after his friend is killed in a dangerous forest. Awaiting the graces of death, Louis is saved by a peculiar healer who lives alone in the woods.

Throughout his healing process, Louis forms an unlikely bond with the healer and, with it, a life of serenity. His body grows stronger and his heart grows fonder, allowing love to take root.

In order to protect his new found peace, Louis and his companion work together to fight against the evil that threatens to take it all away.

It was always you by @defences-down

(T, 1,3k) It's their first Christmas living together, and Harry has been trying to figure out how to talk to Louis about his feelings for weeks.

He could never have expected what would happen next.

Ideal: An Advent Fic by @iamasphodelknox

(M, 40k) All Louis wanted was some god-damned time to write his novel. He didn’t expect to move his and Liam’s entire production of a Christmas variety show to a small inn in Vermont just before the holidays. He didn’t expect to save Niall’s inn. He didn’t expect Liam to fall in love. He definitely didn’t expect to fall in love himself. And he certainly didn’t expect it all to feel so much like a Christmas movie.

Oh hell. There’s a lot of things Louis didn’t expect.

A White Christmas au, complete with drama, fluff, choreographed dance numbers, and idiotic boys falling in love. Just your typical Christmas fun.

Frankincense-ational by @londonfoginacup

(T, 31k) Harry Styles works at the Hillsyde Library with his friend Zayn and best mate Niall. It’s December, which means Christmas, which should be the happiest month of the year…

Except Niall just broke up with his boyfriend, Zayn needs to let up on the rules a little, and the library is getting their fire alarm system replaced, which means that for the next few weeks there are going to be firemen patrolling the library ‘looking for fires’ while the system is down.

Harry almost hits one of them with his car right off the bat - and of course he’s the hot one.

Happy Christmas, here’s to many more.

Is that a candy cane in your pocket? by @kingsofeverything

(E, 4,8k) Louis accuses Harry of shoplifting. Harry was definitely not shoplifting.

They work it out.

Close To You by yourgorgeouscolors

(E, 5,7k) “You’re lovely,” Louis rasps out. He feels so close to Harry in a way that's different from the other intimate sex positions they’ve tried. He can see Harry, feel him all over. Feel the way he’s clenching down on his cock as he adjusts. He can feel Harry’s hot breath prickling his skin, and can feel his body everywhere. Each point of contact feels like a zap of electricity.'

Or, Harry and Louis try a new sex position.

Listen To Your Heart by @chloehl10

(E, 35k) Are you kidding me right now?

I… No? Louis frowned, feeling angry now. It wasn’t fair, he knew that, but at the same time, he couldn’t help his feelings. It felt like this had been brewing for weeks, and this was it. Give it a rest, Harry.

Why are you such a brat? Why can’t you just be happy for me for once?

You think I want to hear about you kissing James? Really, H? There’s things I just don’t need to know, okay? I’m your best mate, not your fucking relationship advisor…

***

Louis has always been comfortable being Harry’s one and only. When Harry starts to branch out, Louis has a hard time letting him go.

Harry is very lucky to have someone who listens to what he has to say, despite the fact that he’s deaf. He’s finally feeling like he’s coming into himself, but Louis seems bothered by his newfound confidence.

(do you think it's easy) being of the jealous kind by @the-larry-way

(T, 0,8k) Harry is mad and Louis isn't exactly sure why.

(or Louis comes home smelling of another omega and Harry is near heat and jealous)

Make a Dime Go One Hundred by screwstyles

(E, 18k) “Hey, Haz,” he says, encouraged in equal parts by the weed and the cocoon they seem to have created around themselves. “Do you think you could trust anyone enough to have full control over you?” he asks into the night, hoping his sentence won’t break their bubble. It doesn’t, if the way Harry’s eyes meet his is any indication.

“What do you mean?” Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper, rough from the singing they had done earlier. Louis wants to keep this memory forever.

“You know, if someone wanted to, uhm,” he coughs, “to tie you up, or blindfold you.”

-

Friends to Lovers AU: Harry volunteers to help Louis experiment with bondage. Things don’t go exactly to plan.

✨ Chestnuts Roasting... And All That by @elsi-bee

(M, 47k) Louis is apparently the only person at his new job who is single as can be. It’s not a big deal to just tell his new colleagues that he has a boyfriend, right? Until he has to make this imaginary boyfriend magically appear at the office holiday party. Cue fake relationship antics with a certain someone who is more than willing to play along.

Linger by @yourpricelessadvice

(E, 136k) Louis has a truckload of painful memories and a custody arrangement where a family could’ve been. The last thing he’s looking for is a new relationship.

Harry has accepted that he’s not made for relationships and isn’t interested in getting burnt again.

It’s a good job they’ve both got meddling friends.

° ✨ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ✨ °

more recs | recs masterpost

° ✨ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ✨ °

[mediumgayitalian]

“Can I come over tomorrow?”

Nico’s hands still on the stubborn pillowcase. “To…my cabin?”

“Yes.”

“Um.” He resumes, sliding slowly away from Will’s wide round eyes, stuffing the puffy square of feathers into its fabric prison. The ghost of geese past are not happy with him. He is their prince. They will submit. “Yeah? You could all those other times, too.”

“Yeah, but I want to come over.”

“Yes,” Nico agrees, wondering if this is perhaps one of those moments Kayla warned him about. Has it reached day five of Will not sleeping? He doesn’t think so. He was napping when Nico came into the infirmary this morning to help with the tidying he promised to do. At least he was drooling enough that Nico hopes he was sleeping. “You mentioned.”

“So I can?”

“Yes, Will.”

Maybe it’s just an American thing. Nico has been noticing some Moments lately. He’s not sure if all teenagers have unanimously decided on some code they’d like to speak in during the few months he was busy defeating his great grandmother, or if maybe he’s finally stuck around long enough to notice, but nobody says what they mean, nowadays.

(He has gathered, thus far, that ‘on fleek’ is a synonym for ‘aflame’, although ‘yeet’ continues to evade him. Perhaps because Cecil and Lou appear to have indulged in the sick delight of replacing their every word with the term with the sole purpose to Confuse. Or perhaps, as Will has so indicated, they have each endured one concussion to many and are beyond any hope.)

“Sick!” That one Nico knows, at least. “I’ll come by after my morning shift? Connor got cursed by the Hypnos, Hecate, and Aphrodite cabins this morning so I have to do brain surgery before he forgets how to feel genuine human connection again, but I’ll be done by noon. Probably. I mean, Connor has a thick skull, genuinely I mean, which is why his lobotomy has been delayed so many times, but so long as I —”

It has been under Nico’s notice lately that Will eyes, genuinely, sparkle. He has read the cliche time and time again and rolled his eyes almost every time: diamonds sparkle. Water sparkles. Snow sparkles. Eyes reflect, and sometimes glow with reflection. They do not sparkle. To claim a set of eyes are sparkling is to profess to the world and all capable of registering your words that you are a brainless idiot who cannot dredge up from the depths of your mind, the most barren and bereft back corners, a single unique or clever comparison; a minutely original way to describe excitement or animation.

And yet.

Will is indeed very animated, and very excited about very many things, and it shows on his face; in the wideness of his grins, the springing mass of his curls, the stilted and flailing gilt of his languid limbs. It also shows, perhaps most obviously, in his genuinely magnificent eyes — Nico has seen the Logan Sapphire. He has touched the precious thing with reverent hands, stared in awe as it thrust out the light shine upon it like the golden ichor of Ouranous swirling with the sweet saltwater to birth Love Incarnate. He knows glittering, he knows gleaming, shimmering and shining and twinkling.

Will’s eyes sparkle, like the very tip of a mountaintop, like the crackling ends of a flame, like dewdrops on spider silk. It is transfixing. It is alluring.

“—ico. Nico! Hello-o?”

It is also a trap.

“Sounds great,” Nico says loudly, voice like cold soda over vanilla ice cream. He clears his throat, twice, to no avail. His vision begins to blur as the heat pouring off of his face warps the air. “Um. See you then?”

Will nods, or at least Nico hopes he does. His curls bounce, anyway. They are hard to miss. They remind Nico tangentially of how laughter sounds, unimpeded by shame; how the shimmering satin of a ribbon would curl and bend under the smooth slide of the scissor’s blade.

(His father’s circuit of jesters often included poets playwrights. They also doubled as Nico’s babysitters. Surely no lasting consequences, that.)

“Yes!” He flashes a smile, then, and it becomes imperative to note that his eyes squint at the force of it, and his slightly-too-big teeth brush his bottom lip, and he has, in fact, on each cheek, a dimple.

Now, Will is often and even frequently called Apollo Junior by just about every living soul in camp, up to and including Immortal Camp Director And Horse, Chiron; and uproariously once even Mr D, God of Wine. Allegedly, as taunted by Kayla, even by Will’s own mother. The golden hair and unfortunate habit of winking and legs for days do most definitely create an image.

Nico, however, contrarian he be, must deny: he has seen Apollo. Apollo is beautiful and golden and charming, but Will is not quite his spitting image. Will, more aptly, is the son of the Sun. He glows; the glare of his smile leaves impressions behind in the cells one’s eyes, the glide of his limbs is almost dragging, languid. To look at him is to commit yourself to blinding. To seek so desperately the solace of the light as to ignore the unsettling sting of the burn.

“I can’t wait!”

As a blissful cloud moving in front of the solar system’s brightest star saves your eyes the eternal fate of darkness, Will’s duty so saves Nico from an eternity of shadow. He returns, humming softly and horribly, to his work, sifting through folders and updating patient files, and Nico exhales the breath setting foundations in his lungs, slumping forward in fervent relief. A melancholic reprieve from the summer rays, if only for a moment.

He waves goodbye, or at least he hopes that he does, rushing out the infirmary doors and tripping down the rickety porch steps.

“Hurrying somewhere, Nicholas Claus?” drawls Mr. D, throwing darts a perilously balanced apple atop the horns of a satyr bleating in morse code.

“That was not even an attempt,” responds Nico, and hurries away before he can be dolphinized. Dolphinified? Made into a bottle-nosed beast. (Why bottle? Of all comparisons to make, who decided bottles were the utmost separate object to which the snout of the slippery beasts should be named? Oh, wait, drunk people. Bottles. Okay. Mystery solved.)

He manages, in his heroic retreat across the common, not to destroy entire swathes of grass and plants, a feat for which the Muses could perhaps write epics about. Truly he is capable of the utmost restraint and self-control. He does raise several full sized wolf skeletons, but they seem primarily preoccupied with hunting down the the Stolls, so a win-win as far as Nico is concerned. Probably not for Connor, who is apparently cursed or concussed, he doesn’t remember exactly, but he has managed thus far with his startling amount of daily braincell loss so by statistic and happenstance he is bound to survive another incident.

“There has to be away to shut myself off,” Nico says, out loud to himself, proceeding the slam of his cabin door and the heavy breathing upon it. He turns to his altar. “You mentioned an off button, Father. I don’t suppose it has been successfully implemented.”

No answer comes forth. He indulges in a brief moment of self pity, wherein the Nico who lives in his brain clears his throat, digs around the messy confines of his mind to find an imaginary black hoodie, slips it on, digs around again for a dagger, and stabs himself, choking and twitching pitifully. Real Nico then walks with great purpose to the exact geological centre of the stone cabin.

“Okay,” he says again. He nods, once, narrowing his eyes in determination. The Nico in his brain opens one curious eyelid. (Does Will do psychiatric assessments?) “Okay, this is. Hm.”

It is not the first time they have been alone together, after all.

In the weeks following Gaea’s defeat and Will Solace’s nonstop, irritating persistence, Nico has been thrust in his proximity an incredible number of times. From his three day stay, during which he was simply so unconscious for so long his father was concerned enough to manifest onto the mortal plane and poke at his soul until he responded, to his unofficial indoctrination (ha) as a nurse, to camp clean-up efforts, to cabin renovation, to general life — they have become friends. Coworkers, at least. Together they make the camp a little more bearable for everyone in it, including Nico. It is rewarding work. It is illuminating work; Will is a good teacher, and he is funny, and he is good company (and he happens to have very long legs that he does not bother to cover up very often and Nico has eyes that do what they please). They have been in Nico’s cabin together several times over the last few weeks.

Never before has Will come over without some kind of stated purpose.

At least, not and absence he has made so obvious. True, the renovations took longer than expected, and the paint on the east wall is smudged from where Nico shoved Will, shrieking, off the stepstool, and they have perhaps, on occasion, used Nico’s illegal Wii when they were meant to be helping Annabeth make plans for Capture the Flag, but —

But.

Intent.

Is important.

It has been made abundantly clear to Nico over the summer that he has friends upon which he can rely. Reyna has made a point to Iris Message him at whatever Roman tryhard time she believes he should be awake, prompting an attempted murderous shadow travel that left him unconcious in Missouri and at the unfortunate end of many people’s shouting. And Will’s friends, who can perhaps at this point be called his friends also, have created a game entitled “How Many Grapes Can We Flick At Nico During Lunch Before He Goes Ballistic And Sends Us To Purgatory For A Little While” (four), which they are inclined and inspired to play every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Piper enjoys dragging him around to do Things. Jason is just around constantly. (Does he sleep? Nico should check on that properly.)

He had a point, somewhere. He’s sure he did.

It was maybe the impending anxiety attack, helpfully informs Brain Nico.

“Ah,” regular Nico replies, then grapples around for his least favourite pillow, slams it into his face, and screams at the top of his lungs for several minutes.

Brain Nico decides once again that commentary is the way.

I think we are an all powerful demigod of something, he muses. Dirt, maybe? Bad vibes? I can’t quite remember.

“The dead?” inquires regular Nico.

Do you think those years isolated in the Labyrinth perhaps situated us firmly on the shores of mentally unwell? responds he, blissfully unhelpful.

“I think that was Tartarus, actually,” says regular Nico, and promptly banishes his brain self to the deepest recesses of his mind, among memories of the taste of liquid fire and Calculus.

With the remaining, functioning (well.) part of his brain, he places both palms on the cool floor and attempts to focus.

Juicy Fruit It gets right to ya Juicy salt Hmmm Juicy Fruit, The taste the taste that’s —

For the love of all holy things, Nico begs his brain. It doesn’t work, but what ever really goes right in his life, so he pushes past the increasingly louder replays of eighties commercial jingles and maps out the ground below the cabin floor, pushes through the layers of underground.

Ah. Perfect.

He pulls up the very aptly placed skeleton of a cat, letting it scratch and sniff about his cabin before cautiously approaching him.

“You will be sure to tell it to me straight,” Nico says solemnly, holding out his hand. The cat bobs its nasal cavities in and out of Nico’s fingers and, apparently deciding him to be worthy of its attention, rams its skull against his knuckles. Nico snorts, running a fingernail along its cranial sutures and grinning as its purring echoes in his mind. “You seem very wise.”

The cat’s caudal vertebrae rattle in indignation, miffed at the mere idea that it could be anything other than wise. Nico is honestly quite impressed by its ability to glare without actual eyeballs, eyelids, or thought power.

“I am going to name you after my sister and pray that’s not weird,” Nico says. “I mean, I don’t think she would mind. You’re pretty cool, actually, and Hazel’s cool, kind of, so. Win win.”

Hazel the Cat seems unbothered by her christening, curling up in Nico’s lap. He runs his hand from cranial base to coccyx, finger dipping and bumping along the ridges of her spines, and settles against the cool floor, attempting to breathe evenly.

“It’s just.” He swallows. It takes a try or two, to work around the massive stone borrowed in his throat, and Hazel the Cat nips playfully at his fingers until his lungs settle again. “Before we had something to do, you know? We’d be cutting bandages, and he’d be all, hey, did you know bandages are mentioned in one of the first ever medical manuscripts and definitely predate it by many hundreds of years, and I would say I did, actually, I talked to the guy who made that clay tablet, and his eyes would get all wide and he’d be like no way, tell me everything, and then I would just talk forever.” Nico huffs. “We had something to talk about, you understand. Something to do.”

Nico tries to imagine what Hazel his Sister would say. Probably something along the lines of you are an impossible person, which is code for I have about as much luck as you do in this century, pal, the best I’ve got is hope for the best and remember adults no longer smack you for standing wrong. Which. Fair.

Hazel the Cat just purrs in his head again. It’s as encouraging as anything, he supposes.

“Am I supposed to have…conversation starters? He likes twizzlers and intentionally bad poetry. Maybe I could do something with that?”

Hazel the Cat shrugs at him.

“It’s not even — okay, it’s not just that, though. What is — how close is close enough in a casual setting? Or too close? How am I meant to greet him? Am I supposed to offer something? Make something? What do I do if there’s a lull in conversation? Or if it’s all lulls? Oh, gods, how much silence is socially appropriate —”

Hazel the Cat twists in his hold, meeting his eyes as if to say well I don’t think you’ll be struggling with that last one.

“Shush,” he tells her, but his mouth is twitching. “I’m just — I don’t want him to finally realize I’m weird. Or boring, gods. He’s such a hyper person, you know? He never stops. And I am supposed to entertain him! I think!”

This time he can actually hear his sister’s voice, in the back of his mind — you’re such a dummy. Ringed with fondness from the many times she’s said it to him, shoulders nudged carefully together, head knocked gently against his. You are weird and boring. Most people are.

“Ugh,” he sighs, tipping his head back until it rests against the mattress. “Friendship is hard work.”

Hazel the Cat swishes her tail, rattling the discs of bone like a rattlesnake. It’s a surprisingly soothing sound, like rain pinging softly against his window, or the flutter of the poplar trees outside of his father’s palace. Unconsciously he matches his breathing to it, slowing until it’s even, gentle, deep. His eyes, without any direction from his brain, drift until they blanket his hazy eyes, heavy as stone..

“S’not that serious,” he murmurs to himself, soothed under the weight of his feline friend. “S’just Will, I guess.” A beat. He smiles, slightly, a small, curling thing, mimicking the coiled heat in his belly. “It’s just Will.”

———

part two

[mother-ofthe-universedraws]

Sup babe, guess what I finally did

[jubshead]

“Death comes for us all.”

Yeah, Lilia.

She’s definitely cumming for you and Agatha.

[themeraldee]

I think Homelander would love someone who gets jealous. Not 'i need space to calm down for a bit' jealous but 'i'm gonna either be super clingy or fuck you into the bed for the rest of the night' type of jealous. Because his SO doesn't kill people even if they're chill with it.

But imagine them having a jealous streak and Homelander finding it out because after a while he connects the dots of people flirting with him or Vought pushing a relationships for media purposes to the times his SO is suddenly VERY clingy or is pouncing on him

yes yes YES!! My man's ego is gonna be through the roof. As if it already wasn't. But if it's the kinda jealousy that makes his SO clingy he is SOO gonna indulge in that anytime there's a chance (upon finding out about this in the first place).

With all his previous relationships not caring about him to that degree to finally have someone who literally FIGHTS for his attention? He's smug as hell. Teasing you about it when he figures it out.

"Don't tell me you're jealous." He's biting back a grin, instead cocking his eyebrow.

"How could I not be! She was all over you!"

"It's her job. Madelyn wants her to be my public girlfriend." He keeps riling you up. Especially mentioning the new superhero meaning to act as his new 'girlfriend'.

"Well maybe you should tell Madelyn that it's not happening." You walk him to the couch and he lets you push him down on it. Immediately straddling him. "You..." You start off with fire in your eyes. "Are in a happy committed relationship. It's not fair that I have to see you with other people." You're close enough to nuzzle into his warmth, your face stuffed in between his neck and his collar, inhaling that intoxicating scent of his.

"Mhm you're right it's totally not fair." You feel the rumble of his voice in his throat.

"Stop taking this lightly!" You're already peppering kisses across his neck. Your hips having a mind of their own are already grinding down against him.

You have this intrinsic need to make him smell like you, to touch him and kiss him everywhere you can. If you can't be out there in public with him you'll make sure that he remembers your fingers and lips all over him. Not a part of him that's been untouched by you.

"I'm not. I just love when you get like this." He finally lets himself grin at the needy way you're pushing yourself against him and he couldn't be happier that you want him this bad.

He needs to make you jealous more often.

[lexithwrites]

i cant even imagine how frustrating it must be for katsuki, he has so many feelings so many emotions so many thoughts and he has no idea how to put it into words outside of his own head. he just glares because he's frustrated at himself, not anyone else. he doesn't understand how izuku can just say whatever he feels perfectly, whilst he jumbles it up and just yells because he can't do anything in life gentley. he just communicates through glances, frowns, huffs, sighs, grunts, scoffs, eye rolls. but god does he wish for once he could just say how he feels

[lihhelsing]

To-Do: Eddie Munson

Coming SOON

Based on this post