#snippet maybe?

[onakomiyaki]

"Shit shit shit–" Oscar cursed as he struggling to wear his pants as he walk out of the bedroom, almost forgot to wear his–now wrinkly–white t-shirt.

After successfully zipping up his jeans and wearing his tee to hide his bare chest, he frantically searching for his backpack and phone in the living room. But he stop midway, eyes wide, and cold sweat run down his back.

"Morning Oscar," Jenson said calmly, stirring his morning coffee–not even looking up from his newspaper.

"S-sir," Oscar manage to say as he stand straighter, frozen in place as his boyfriend's bestfriend's "father" turn the newspaper with smile on his face.

Oscar however couldn't bring himself to smile as the color on his face slowly drained away from him. This is really is the last thing he needs, meeting Jenson the-first-ever-driver-to-press-the-DRS Button as he prepare to do a walk-of-shame out of his apartment is just like a perfect cherry on top.

"Did you kids have fun?" Jenson asked, "The whole living room is a mess but don't worry I've cleaned it up 2 hours ago," he cheekly continue as he fold his newspaper neatly, while Oscar felt a sword had just stabbed directly to his heart.

"We–I'm–I was just leaving. I'm sorry," the young Aussie said after he manage to find his voice.

Jenson giggled as he finally looking at Oscar messy appereance. Jenson knew a walk-of-shame when he see one, he'd been there long before he adopted Logan.

"Nothing to apologize for, don't worry. You both are young adult, I won't be angry." Jenson speak as he bring his empty cup to the sink.

Oscar let out a shuddered breath but of course he just froze there, somehow more statue-like than a statue when you see one. Jenson–bless him and his beautiful smile–turn his body to face the young Aussie.

"From the state of Logan's apartment, especially the living room, you guys had a blast last night." He asked while wiping his wet hands with a small towel.

"Rough race I must say, it's just one of those days, right?"

Oscar nod his head weakly as his eyes trained to the floor, unable to make eye contact with Jenson. Vegas GP was shit. Very much so that he had to bail out from Max's party and call Logan to pick him up.

When Logan worriedly answer his phone call, Oscar lost it. But of course him being as nonchalant he is never admit anything wrong. He simply said that he missed him. Logan never question him, he never was and will never do that.

"Sorry sir, I was just about to leave–"

"When will your next flight be?"

"Tomorrow morning, sir."

"Ah, that's good! We still have time for breakfast then. I'll make us some tea-"

The bedroom door creak loudly as a very tired-VERY NAKED Logan Sargeant emerged from the bedroom, hair sticking to all over places. He let out a yawn as he rub his eyes weakly.

"Oscar? Where are you going-OH SHIT-PAPA?!?"

Jenson wave at his adoptive son happily as Logan scramble to hide his naked lower region. Oscar facepalming as he trying his best to hide his embarassement.

"Hi Logie bear, papa's here to check on you. You know while I'm in town" Jenson smile innocently.

Logan quickly ran back to his room before emerging shortly after, this time wearing his brief. His whole face turned as red as tomato and he hurriedly walk toward Jenson.

"WHY DON'T YOU CALL?"

"Why should I call? I want to visit my son, that's it."

"YEA BUT-"

Oscar cleared his throat, hoping to make a reminder to both of men that he is here as well. He just awkwardly stand there, staring at the two blondes.

[eggwishing]

I ONCE TRIED TO WASH THAT SCUFFED OLD THING WHILE HE WAS TAKING ONE OF HIS NAPS, BUT WHEN I TOOK IT OFF HE WAS WEARING ANOTHER IDENTICAL ONE UNDERNEATH! AND ANOTHER! I GOT THROUGH TEN MORE LAYERS OF THE SAME THING BEFORE HE WOKE UP. I WAS SO FRUSTRATED! WHERE DID HE EVEN GET THOSE FROM? THEY ALL EVEN HAD THE SAME STAINS!!

[aroaceleovaldez]

i have suddenly become obsessed with a theme that HoO established but never proceeded to extrapolate on, which is:

You are Percy Jackson, and you have been swapped with a boy who was allegedly everyone's favorite person, but they have decided to replace him with you. They just met you. You stand next to his best friend and the people he's known his entire life. In his home. In his cloak. In his place. They stopped looking for him.

You are Jason Grace, and you have just found out you have a long lost sister who completely replaced you in her life with this girl you just met. Your lives and personalities are mirrors. She is you, living the life you were robbed of.

You are Annabeth Chase, and you have just become starkly aware that you have been inhabiting the void left behind by your best friend's long lost brother. You and Luke were just replacements for him. Now you have to look him in the eyes when he has nothing and know you took that life from him.

You are Piper McLean, and you have just found out your relationship is fake and built entirely on the memories of Annabeth Chase. You have been given a boyfriend when hers has been taken away. You have no idea how much of it is real or not but regardless you feel like if your relationship isn't exactly in their image that you have failed.

You are Leo Valdez, and you have just learned that you are the echo of your great-grandfather. You are not your own person. You just exist to be a mirror of him. A doppelganger. An actor and stunt double facing all the danger he never had to but wearing his face. To be there for his best friend decades later simply because he couldn't. You are playing a role. A seventh wheel and a pawn for a goddess who carefully sculpted your entire life for her own purposes.

You are Hazel Levesque, and the only reason you are alive is because your brother couldn't save your his sister. You are a consolation prize. An apology. Your existence here is misplaced in every way but you inhabit it anyways.

You are Frank Zhang, and you are a shapeshifter. Inhabiting your own body feels strange and clumsy when you could be literally anything at any time. You are anything and everything and live your life with the simple certainty of knowing exactly how you will die.

[parisoonic]

A bunch of wips and sketches 🎨🖌️

[mlobsters]

jared padalecki and jensen ackles nj con 2025 - gold panel

team stinky boys ✅ filled with regret

[ciderjacks]

thinking again about how much trust he had to have in Laios to recommend his own daughter in case he dies

[cacaocheri]

thinking about how sun is a touchy bastard and needs to be soooo sneaky to get closer to yn

[ihavesomejays]

even more amphoreus magical girls because i’m on a roll

[limboni]

"Children in the woods" 5/5

<- Previous

[sublimati0ns]

daily koss #18: guy who totally doesn’t have deranged kinks due to unresolved issues he really should work through … bsky

Trying to do the ‘post-war redemption (-ish) arc relationship thing’ means indulging your (ugh) (shudder) (gag) partner when he calls in a ‘weird interface favour.’ Sadly, you are less dense about his feelings than you used to be. What the frag was all that about?! (…Maybe you’ll admit it felt good in the moment, though.)

[villain-enthusiast]

TOUCH-STARVED HERO RAHH.

.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, actually,” the hero muttered from their sloppy position on the ground, though the oozing gash slicing across their torso and the fresh bruises circling their throat said otherwise.

The villain arched a brow, crouching down so they were eye level with the hero. “Do you think I’m dumb?”

The hero glowered at them. “Seems like you're deaf, actually. I said I’m fine,” they snapped, even as pain shuddered through their battered body. “Now if you could just get out of my way—,”

“Darling, please. You couldn’t stand up even if you tried, let alone walk yourself halfway across the city to your apartment.” The villain smirked at the hero’s deepening scowl, but the teasing flair didn't quite reach their eyes. “Let me do you a small favor while I’m here, at least.”

The hero bared their teeth. “Fuck off. I don’t need your stupid healing powers. You'll probably turn this into one of your idiotic bargains—," A harsh coughing fit cut them off, rattling their chest.

They tasted blood on their tongue. Fuck.

“Gosh, so prideful." The villain sighed, tilting their head. "Oh look at that, you're bleeding." They lifted a hand and ran a thumb over their hero's lips, wiping away a smattering of blood that had spilled from their mouth.

The hero's breath hitched at the villain's touch, the smallest, most delicate of noises escaping them before they could stop themselves.

The villain paused, their brow furrowing as their gaze took in every little movement and detail of the hero's involuntary response.

The hero's jaw tightened. Every muscle in their body screamed at them to get away, but they couldn't move. Or was it that they didn't want to move? "Villain, I swear—,"

Then the villain’s hand was cupping their cheek, and the hero melted.

A desperate whimper tore from their throat, their head lolling into the cool touch of the villain's palm as all the pain and exhaustion radiating through their body suddenly evaporated.

They closed their eyes, feeling their face begin to burn with shame.

"Oh, sweetheart," the villain murmured. Their other hand swept through the matted strands of the hero's hair, working through the tangles.

The hero had to bite down on their lip so that they didn't make another embarrassing noise. So gentle. The villain's touch was so, so gentle. So at odds to their earlier opponent's strangling grip and blinding punches, so contrasting to gaping loneliness and helplessness of coming home to no one, of having to painfully stitch themselves up day after day after day...

The villain brushed away a tear that the hero didn't realize had fallen.

"Hey, look at me," the villain said softly, nudging their chin up. The hero blinked at them, fighting back a sob. "You need to let me heal you, okay? You're losing a lot of blood."

The hero swallowed, barely processing the villain's words, their brain entirely occupied by the hand still on their face—or maybe it was just the blood loss. "Yeah," they managed, voice hoarse. It felt like their vocal chords were coated in tar.

"I'm going to do your stomach first," the villain noted. "I need both my hands for this, alright?"

The hero nodded, ignoring the inevitable panic that shot through them at the sudden absence of the villain's touch, which returned almost immediately on the deep laceration on their lower torso.

The hero cringed, bracing for some kind of torturous, painful mending, but the villain's powers were warm, soft, like honey in a cup of hot tea or a crackling fireplace during a winter storm. God, how many years had it been since they'd felt so comforted?

A whimper escaped the hero once more. They tensed. Jesus fucking christ.

The villain cracked a smile as they worked. "Don't worry, love. You're not the first person I've healed that enjoys the feeling." They brushed a palm over the wound, weaving the hero's flesh and skin back together. "This is gonna scar, but at least you'll live to see another day, hm?"

The hero scoffed weakly, still drunk on the villain's magic.

The villain swept their hands over the hero's body, feeling for more damage. "Gosh, Hero," they hummed, "you get yourself into so much trouble, do so much for this pitiful city, and for what?" They placed their hands on the hero's battered neck, soothing the inflammation. "When's the last time someone took care of you?" they asked quietly, but the question seemed more for themselves than for the hero.

Several heartbeats passed before the villain pulled away, finished with their work. The hero couldn't stop themselves from chasing their touch, nearly toppling over.

The villain caught them before they hit the ground, chuckling. "Oh, what am I gonna do with you?"

The hero felt a lump form in their throat at the thought of the villain leaving. I'm not gonna make it home. Not without Villain. They squeezed their eyes shut, swallowing their pride. "Please," they whispered. "Take me home. All I ask."

"Don't need to ask me twice." The villain swept the hero up into their arms, smirking at their indignant (and exhausted) glare. "You're not walking, sorry. You're getting all my love and special treatment today." They winked, as if they were joking.

But as the villain paced their way to the hero's apartment, and as the hero began to fall asleep in their arms, they both knew it wasn't a joke.

[straw-eri-chan]

What if Kon was the one who raised their clone baby instead of Tim?

“Oh.”

Kon stared at the baby in the test tube of green goo. The baby that had Tim’s little face but said very clearly on the screen was made of *his* DNA.

“Oh.” He repeated, and hesitated and all of thirty more seconds before punching the glass. He wasn’t thinking about the consequences. That was a baby in a test tube. A baby that would not be staying in a test tube any longer.

The second he picked the little thing up and held it in his arms, Kon honestly thought it had given him some sort of disease. His pulse was racing, his heart was full, and he felt so light he was *actually* floating. He knew if anything touched the baby in his arms to cause it harm he’d absolutely *destroy* them.

“Hi there.” He cooed, and seriously, *cooed?* That wasn’t a thing he normally did. He loved kids, loved them a lot, but even he didn’t normally *coo* at them. But there was something about this baby that made Kon feel something he’d never felt before. A kind of love so deep rooted and impossible to ignore it kind of hurt. “What’s your name?”

Like a normal baby, it—*he.* The baby was a boy. He was a he. Not an it. *He* didn’t respond to Kon’s question. Which, fair. He was so freaking *tiny!*

He didn’t need to know his name. Kon was already convinced this kid was *his.*

[emryses]

i've decided not to share my full cameo because they responded to some personal stuff i'd rather not be spread around, but the boys were so, so sweet and kind and i cried a lot lol. i still wanted to share some of it with everyone. so i've transcribed what they said!

i asked them: if prompted, what would the boys say their favourite thing is about the other?

J: I think Charles' favourite thing about Edwin would be his organization, and his knowledge for the work. [George nodded and agreed with this] Because that is kind of what the boys are doing together, you know? They're detectives and they're solving theses cases and if Charles was left to his own devices [he laughs] to kind of sort out cases and everything there would be no organization and no body would have a clue what the hell is going on. G: Yeah and I would say off the back of that, Edwin's favourite thing is that he knows that Charles is--well I think he's very moved by how protective he is of him, even though he wouldn't admit it. But I think he appreciates how Charles is really happy to get his hands dirty. Charles is the one who throws the grenade. Edwin builds it, Charles does the dirty work. I don't think Edwin physically likes to get his hands dirty, so I would say that. But I also would say, you know, we've talked about it a lot in our interviews and it's commented on how they kind of complete each other. And I also think it's worth saying, I think the boys know that. I think they know that their favourite thing about the other is that the other is like their other half. J: It really is like the ying to the yang, isn't it? G: Yeah, and I think they're aware of it, I don't think it's just something that you see from the outside in. So I would say that is ultimately, for sure, Edwin's favourite thing about Charles.

the only other thing i'll add is jayden signed off the cameo by saying "love from your dead boys" because in my message i said i hoped it was okay that i referred to them as "my dead boys" to which they BOTH were like "we ARE your dead boys" which was well and truly the end for me.😭

i love them so very much. our dead boys. ❤️💙

[lucky-draws]

is this anything ...

[mediumgayitalian]

He doesn’t realise how odd it is for the infirmary door to be closed until it is shoved open, wooden frame crashing into the wall, making everyone inside jump to high heaven. Will stumbles in after it, and the sight of him makes startled shrieks and grumbles stop in all mouths; his eyes are red-rimmed and bruised with sleeplessness, staring cloudy and vacantly ahead. He walks like he’s unfamiliar with the shape of the ground, steps clumsy and hesitant, hands picking at bare legs. His faded, oversized camp shirt falls all the way down to his thighs.

He looks sick.

He makes his plucking way to the nurses station, oblivious to or uncaring of the eyes on him. When he finally makes it to the door his hands shake too badly to unlatch it, and he tries for minutes before giving up, hoisting himself up on the counter and stepping over piles of paperwork, half-balanced on the spinning chair. He is barefoot.

“What’re you looking for? Austin is the first brave enough to speak, taking a half-step closer. “...Will?”

“Where the hell are the scissors,” Will mutters. He rifles through folders, opens and slams drawers shut. “I need the — scissors.”

“Second drawer down from the right,” says Kayla quietly.

The second drawer creaks, badly, tiny wheels wailing on their tracks as Will yanks it open, shoves it shut. He half-jumps half-falls off the chair, blades clutched in his fist, and shifts over to the back wall, squaring in front of the mirror.

In quick, thoughtless action, he lobs off the tangled ponytail low at the base of his skull. At the back, near the window, Lacy from Cabin 12 inhales like she’s been stabbed.

In the stunned, heavy silence of patients and healers and people in the wrong place at the wrong time, Will methodically pulls straight coils of hair, snipping them an inch from the root. He takes no care to line up the strands, no care to feather the edges. The office scissors are so dull that in some sections he has to saw through, hairs snapping like guitar strings. In minutes both hands are clenched full of dull gold, wiry snippets dusting his neck and shoulders. He drops them in a wastebasket at they flutter like leaves around the rim.

“Thanks,” he says, belatedly, dropping the scissors back on the counter. He turns without looking to the doorway by the shelves of salves, slipping quickly down the Big House hallway.

Austin is the first of them to move, too, darting past cots heavy with gaping campers He turns to Chiron.

“Should I follow him?” he asks, hesitating by the shadows.

For a moment there is nothing. The Chiron sighs, heavy and long, and puts his head in his hands.

“You can most certainly try,” he says, tired and muffled. “But it is the great failure of my life that Will Solace has spent more time in this building than I have in centuries. You wouldn’t find him with Ariadne’s string.”

[flaccid-rats]

pre ANH au where Din and Luke meet on Tatooine, have their summer romance and all that, and when Din inevitably has to leave Luke gives him a japor snippet (“It’s a good luck charm,” Luke says with a smile. “I’ve seen how reckless you get on your bounties.”) and Din thinks it’s a little silly, but he lets Luke put it around his neck anyway.

It is only a few days later that Din hears about the Lars family, about the fire, about how they never found a third body.

And then Din just…never takes that japor snippet off.

For years he wears it, the sound of the japor clinking against the beskar of his mythosaur pendant becoming so familiar to him that he panics when it falls silent. He reaches for his neck when he cannot hear that ringing sound, reaches for the japor, desperate to make sure it’s still there, that he did not lose what he has left of the man he would never really stop loving. Even when Din is dying, when he takes off his mythosaur pendant to give to Cara, when he begs her to take it, to bring this child he knows nothing of to safety, he keeps the japor close to his slowing heart.

And somehow, Din lives.

(“It’s a good luck charm,” Luke says with a smile.)