#or write something else

[aerodaltonimperial]

I'm really not used to people paying attention to me, I just sort of lost most of my wrestle fandom friends in the past year or so, and I guess I just want to say hi? Thanks for being here? I've gotten more followers in the past week than I've gotten in several months. 💚

[happyheidi]

𝗑, 𝗑, 𝗑, 𝗑

[martyfive]

SHHH… ma’s looking for you!

[himbosandhardwear]

Eddie's mid-speech, absently pulling his hair up off his sweaty neck to put up, when he sees Steve check out of the conversation, eyes drifting over his progress.

"What's up? You never seen a dude with a ponytail before?"

"Huh? No. I mean, yeah, maybe, but no, it's just..."

He gets up off his chair and, without a by-your-leave, takes Eddie's hair back down and starts carding his fingers through it. Eddie, seeing Jesus, Mary, and Joseph in that moment, says not a fucking word, just lets him do his thing.

"Huh."

"Hmm?" He manages despite the body-morphing, nerve-wracking, world-ending thing that's happening.

"I just never noticed... You've got real curls happening back here." He tugs on a strand, killing Eddie stone dead. "Not the Head & Shoulders and hot water fried stuff on top, like real, actual curls."

"Hey." He tries to drum up the right amount of offense but it's hard when his brain fled the scene thirty seconds earlier.

"Wonder if I could revive any of this," he mumbles to himself as he continues to catalog Eddie's hair situation. He's got the top half piled atop his head so he can study the 'good stuff' underneath at his leisure.

This might be the best day of Eddie's young life. Honestly, if he'd known Steve was interested in it this much, he would've pulled his hair half up years ago, showed off a little.

"Can I do a V05 hot oil treatment on you?"

"Baby, you can do whatever you want to me."

"What?"

"What?"

[seiwas]

just thought about stepdad bakugo being caught off guard the first time your teenage son calls him “dad” 🥺

it’s after years of being with you. their relationship isn’t bad by any means—it’s okay; it’s good. but your son has called him katsuki for the longest time, and he was happy with that, perfectly content even (at least, he thought he was).

it was enough that your boy dubbed his cooking “the best in the entire universe and beyond”; it was enough that your boy trusted him enough with a few harmless secrets that you may never know. it was enough that you’d both welcomed him into your home, into your lives, in a way that’s made him feel like he belongs.

it was enough (at least, he thought it was), until your kid comes home with a group of friends one day and they ask him, “who’s the guy in your backyard?”

between the scrapes of soil against his gardening shovel and mild hearing problems, katsuki shouldn’t have been able to hear anything—but he hears this loud and clear.

your kid tells his friends, “oh, that’s just my dad,” like it’s the most obvious, natural thing in the world and it hits katsuki square in the chest.

the next thing he knows, he’s smiling, eyes a little wet but not yet crying (—is what he’ll tell you later). it’s a small curve of his lips, but it stays plastered on until the moment you come home.

you wonder, when the three of you are cleaning up after dinner, “what’s got you all smiley today?”

he looks at you, back a little straighter and chest puffed out just a bit more. then, he glances at your son just an earshot away, wiping the table clean; he turns to you, mumbling, “tell ya ‘bout it later.”

(like he’s got all the pride in the world, like he’s got all the love in the world).

[asavt]

[ Your Truth. Your Lie ] (Comic Version.)

Hello hello! I come here to leave the little humble offering of the result of around three days of work (a little more if you take in count the fic version but aahhh....)

This has become an AU btw, not sure if I'll do the other parts since I still got to take care of my thesis and what not. But the other written parts are... in progress.

Anyways, here's the fic version too!

[itslarsyouguys]

Ok in a lot of video games, you'd have someone in your group that can do something cool, like talk to corpses, and then you never use it. Why do they do that.

Veilguard gave us a guy that talks to corpses and legitimately everyone in the group is solving problems by having this guy talk to corpses. He's talking to corpses left and right, I just had three separate cut scenes of corpse guy doing his corpse thing and I love it.

[aliteralsemicolon]

Thinking about how Spencer takes care of you when you're too exhausted to take care of yourself.

He walks into your bedroom to find you on the brink of sleep, carelessly curled up on your end of the bed and his brows raise in slight concern as he scans you. You couldn't even be bothered to change out of your day clothes. He chuckles lightly at the sight, as he makes his way to you.

"Baby?" He gently calls to you, rubbing your calf with his hand as he takes a seat next to your legs. You're unable to respond to the sound of his voice despite hearing it. He tries again, this time kneeling on the floor next to your head.

"Angel?" His fingers lightly brush through your hair as he whispers near your ear.

"Hmm?" You reply hazily.

You wait for him to speak so you can go back to sleep but all that follows is silence. He resumes his motions in your hair and it keeps you aware of his presence. He's waiting for you to gain some more consciousness. You rub your eyes, fluttering them open and Spencer's quick to guide your hand away from your face.

Right. Your makeup.

"What's up?" You mumble, stifling a yawn.

"I know you're tired, and I'm sorry for having to wake you up," he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "but you do know why it's bad for you to fall asleep like this?"

This is a topic the two of you have discussed before. You're usually quite meticulous about removing your makeup before bed, but you're also no stranger to nights when you can't find any energy to do so.

"Mhm. Clogged pores, risk of infections, bacteria spread, discomfort…" You trail off, summarising his extensive research.

Getting you up and off this bed is a losing battle tonight and Spencer graciously accepts defeat, sporting an endeared grin.

"Can I at least help you get comfortable? Would it be alright if I took these off for you?" He tugs at your top and waits for your response. You nod, letting out a barely audible hum.

Spencer moves off the floor and begins to remove your clothing. "You're gonna have to help me just a little bit, Angel. Lift your hips for me."

You blindly follow his commands, wanting to get it over with so that he can relax and you can go back to sleep. He doesn't relax, though. As he rids you of the last of your clothing, he mentally fights himself on letting you sleep with your make-up. There are so many risks involved, but hygiene aside, Spencer knows that if you wake up with your pillow stained– or God forbid…a pimple– you're going to be beyond pissed with yourself.

The sudden dip in the mattress slightly startles you, as a cool feeling drags against your cheek and you whine.

"Shhhh, sorry, it's just me." Spencer coos.

"What're you doing?" You groan, squeezing your eyes shut, still in a sleepy haze.

"Just wiping off your makeup, sweet girl. You're going to thank me tomorrow." His finger hooks under your chin and he soothingly rubs his thumb just under your lips.

"Spence…" You begin whining but you're unable to pronounce anything else coherently.

He can tell you're slightly irritated, but he doesn't mind. He knows that it's the exhaustion talking.

"I know, I know." He sympathises with his continually gentle tone. "I'm almost done. You're being so good for me right now."

Your lips pout, but you don't complain any further, his words calming you. By the time he's finished ridding your face of cosmetic residue, you're knocked out again. Light snores can be heard from you. He chuckles to himself at the sight of you. So peaceful. So adorable. He leans in closer and plants a firm, lingering kiss on your forehead before he disappears to get ready for bed himself.

"Spence?"

He turns around at your groggy voice, still half asleep. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

"Anytime, my pretty girl."

I do not consent to my work being used to feed/train AI and/or re-posted anywhere by anybody else

[princessjello]

Oh it did not hurt me, no. It DESTROYED me.

[warrior-of-storms]

Okay but do you know what really gets me?

There's no one left in-universe who can or will talk about Jaybin as he really was.

Bruce is the founder of the Jaybin Slander Department;

Alfred is no better.

Dick wasn't around much, didn't know him that well.

If Barbara ever interacted with him in his original run, I haven't found it yet.

I mean, he had some interactions with the Teen Titans, but was he really close with any of them?

I suppose Gordon could, assuming he isn't in on the Jason-bashing. I haven't seen it but I could be missing something.

And, well, Jason... somehow, I don't think anyone's asking Jason what he was like as a kid, nor is he really a reliable source. Autobiographical memory is weird.

No one in-universe will ever really talk about this bright, friendly, eager kid, and it's a tragedy.

He was smart and clever and had so much compassion.

He wanted so badly to help people, and he found joy in his work as Robin.

He had a dramatic flair and he was kind of a nerd and he was really funny on occasion.

He was so deeply, fundamentally good, and the fact that somehow his legacy has been twisted into one of anger and recklessness is honestly a crime.

It makes me so desperately sad that there's not a single character who can even start to undo the lasting damage of a four-decade smear campaign against a kid who did nothing to deserve it.

[feelingthedisaster]

it was 9 chapters and aside from horrified (which i was), i was also embarrased i read those chapters outloud to friends

[bisexualeddies]

wait so apparently some people get mad if someone else writes fanfiction based on headcanons they shared on tumblr??? so now i got to ask

[jennelikejennay]

You know what I think t'hy'la means?

It's not an ambiguous term, like it could mean three different things. But I also don't think it always means all three. I think it's a singular concept that we don't use on Earth, but maybe we should.

You know how some people's number one person is their spouse, while other people, married or not, have a best friend who's the one they really tell everything to? You know how you might have a queerplatonic relationship but whether or not you have sex with them is just ...not an important question?

I think t'hy'la means your number one person. And humans don't have a word that says most important without distinguishing whether we're blood-related or whether we're having sex.

Vulcans do. So I don't especially like the idea that all t'hy'la pairs have to be lovers in a sexual sense. It's not that at all. It's that they have this deep bond that transcends everything. You could have that with your brother. You could have it with your friend. Or if you're attracted to that person, you would probably be lovers.

Kirk and Spock love each other deeply; everyone who knows them knows that. The word they use for each other doesn't say whether they're having sex because Vulcans don't care about that. Humans are all "weird, the dictionary definition won't tell me whether they're boning, which is information I'm used to having publicly announced!" Well, too bad. Vulcans have arranged marriages usually, and some of them have sex once every seven years. So I just don't think sex is the defining point that makes a relationship serious to them.

If a Vulcan says "this is my t'hy'la" that lets everyone know they are bonded in the deepest level of the katra and any arranged spouses or temporary pon farr surrogates they might have don't even rank, by comparison. That's uncomfortable to humans.

Now Kirk and Spock are definitely having sex, but Spock doesn't consider that to be the fact that makes their relationship serious and primary over all others. So that's why he chooses a word that is about the soul bond, not the flesh.

[pavo--ocellus]

you ever think about how kaeya is everything crepus wanted diluc to be.

this makes me soooo sick bc imagine being diluc. your entire childhood you strived to make your father proud and rise to his expectations and you DO, you get a vision at 10, become a cavalry captain at 14 (we should talk about that actually, what in the child soldier—) and everything is great. but then your dad dies and your entire world falls apart in just one day and you leave everything you know behind on a pointless quest for revenge. you come back years later and everything is the same but so, so different.

and then there's your little brother. undoubtedly capable, but never truly showing what he can do. he's cunning and strategic and always five steps ahead of everyone else, but timid, usually letting you or jean do the talking. he prefers sticking to the shadows (your shadow, specifically—), working behind the scenes. that's how you remember him.

but you come back and there he is. a stranger wearing your best friends face (not your best friend, not anymore, not after—). he's still the same, capable and cunning and smart and strategic, still working behind the scenes, but he's so, so different. gone are the gentle, shy smiles, the timid personality, the preference for sticking to somebody's shadow (there's no shadow to hide in, anymore—).

instead, he's outgoing and confident and there's a near-constant cocky smirk on his face and you don't know who you're looking at. to the people, he's the beloved cavalry captain. the acting grand masters right-hand man, a talented swordsman and vision-wielder. the "top candidate for grandson-in-law" if the word on the street is to be believed. he's reliable and witty and kind, always offering aid when he can. he doesn't look down on anyone, friendly even towards the most unusual visitors.

the model knight, one could say.

he walks into your tavern one night, orders his usual (a death after noon, your father's favourite, of all things, is he joking) and you watch as he chats up the most random people there. all charming smiles and suave words and you have to blink a few times as he absentmindedly twirls his wine glass. your mind is playing tricks on you, you know it, they have zero similarities in physical appearance, but for a second you could swear—

he looks just like your father.

(there's this little girl that follows him around sometimes. well. really, he's following her around, with the way she always runs ahead. she's energetic and chatty and you can't help but notice the pyro vision shining from her backpack (mocking you—) as kaeya looks at her with pure, unfathomable fondness, like she's the only thing that matters in the world.

the first time you hear her calling for his attention, you pause, for just a second. you've seen them around enough to be familiar with the duo, but that. that's a first. an excited voice sounds from somewhere over your shoulder, "big brother kaeya! look, look!" and you take a moment before glancing over. the little girl is crouching on the sidewalk, pointing at something on the ground and staring up at keaya with big, curious eyes. kaeya's there, leaning over her with a gentle smile and a soft, soft look in his eyes—. you turn away.

you can't quite catch kaeya's response, with him having a lot more control over his volume than an enthusiastic child, but his quiet chuckle and following, affectionate tone still register in your mind.

"looks like he's a model older brother, too.")

[natedevereaux]

ok but knowing now that billy can read minds. can you imagine how hard it is for him to focus when he's near agatha and rio. so much sapphic pining going on there. he must've heard at least some of it

[the-modern-typewriter]

"You're hurt."

"I'm fine."

The ex-villain caught the hero's arm, forcing them to a halt. That at least, perhaps, was one thing that never changed. It shouldn't have comforted them - the ex-villain's lack of care for other people's potential boundaries.

Still. It did.

They couldn't remember the last time any of their friends or team had touched them so fearlessly, as if the hero wasn't an infinitely breakable thing. Just as they couldn't remember the last time their friends or team remembered that they weren't simultaneously invulnerable. Untouchable.

It was nice.

The former villain's grip was strong and firm and warm, like if the hero suddenly keeled over they wouldn't buckle with the weight of it.

The hero realised distantly that the ex-villain was saying something, eyes dark, brow furrowed.

"Hm?"

The ex-villain's lips pressed thin. "You're hurt," they said, again.

"Yeah," the hero said. "I know. It's fine."

"Hurt doesn't sound fine." The villain's teeth were gritted. "They can't be sending you out there in pain. Do they do that a lot? I'll kill them."

The hero laughed before they could help themselves.

The ex-villain's scowl deepened.

"Sorry," the hero said.

"How is that funny? Aren't you supposed to be against brutal murder?"

"Oh, yeah. No. I am. Don't kill my friends." The hero waved a hand to bat that whole idea away. "You're supposed to be reformed and all that jazz. It would look terrible on your record. People will get the wrong impression."

The ex-villain stared at them.

The hero gave their arm a gentle tug.

The villain did not let go.

"I have chronic pain," the hero said. "So it's funny."

The villain stared at them for a long moment in absolute silence.

"I'm sorry," they said, very calmly. "What?"

"Today's not a bad day for it, particularly." The hero shrugged. "But like, yeah. If I didn't do my job when I was in pain I'd like never do my job or really much of anything, so..."

"That's not funny."

"It's gotta be a little funny."

The villain was still staring at them.

"Comes with the whole being magically super flexible thing," the hero said. "It's okay."

"Every time you say 'it's fine' or 'it's okay' I become even less convinced that you are either of those things."

The hero snorted, partly to mask the way the words caught them off guard, an unexpected odd-angle blow. "Eh. Fine enough to fight. Speaking of..."

"No." The former villain's fingers flexed on their arm. "Your people know about this?"

"Obviously."

"And they're fine with it?"

"I can handle myself."

"Maybe you shouldn't have to."

The hero's ever-present cheer wobbled, just a fraction. Their throat thickened. They weren't quite sure what to say. They shrugged again, and did their best to summon a smile even brighter than before.

"I should go," they said. "Big robot to restrain before it hits the city and all that."

"Can I help?"

"Don't you have your own assignment to get to?"

"I meant with the pain."

"I mean, unless you can give me a new body."

"I can endeavour."

The hero snorted again. "It's fine, Doctor Frankenstein. Thanks."

"Is it?" The ex-villain's voice was quiet. "It doesn't have to be, you know. Not everything is."

The hero opened their mouth, then closed it. Their throat felt dry. They looked away, suddenly self-conscious in a way they'd thought they'd long since shaken off. Suddenly...

The ex-villain's fingers stroked through their hair. The hero willed themselves not to cry.

They didn't think anyone in the hero industry had ever told them it was okay not to be okay. Struggle was a part of the job, sure, but only in a very specific way. Everyone knew that heroes kept going. They got up every time they were hit and never gave up.

"Can I...can I have a hug?"

They felt silly asking, but the villain hugged them immediately and without question. Held them close like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The hero melted.

Then, they went to save the world.