#..now cuddle him

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

sometimes katsuki gets really dramatic (but let’s be fr when isn’t he) and acts like you ghosted him when you don’t respond to his texts in thirty minutes. not in a creepy way, just in a dramatic, needy way.

he’s not worried or anything, he checks his phone every few minutes to see if any texts from you have come in. it’s a force of habit, because you usually respond pretty quickly but after a while it gets a little weird. and then he sends you a text and another one and unconsciously he starts spamming you a bit. again, not in a creepy way. just an annoying needy whiny dramatic baby, way.

“what’s up, bakubro ? you keep checking your phone.” katsuki doesn’t look at kirishima, eyes glued to his phone when he just grunts out an “‘m fine.”

and then kaminari just has to open his big mouth. his voice playful as he speaks “uh oh, trouble in paradiseee~?” katsuki scoffs, telling the blonde to fuck off.

and he isn’t worried..not at all. until he thinks about it and maybe there was trouble in paradise ?? were you maybe ignoring him ? what’d he do ?

you look up from your notebook at the sound of your phone vibrating. oh, it’s katsuki ! you smile just seeing his contact pop up.

“hi, katsu !”

silence, no response. you try again.

“…hello ?”

you hear a scoff from the other end, and some shuffling before your boyfriend graces you with an answer. “look at your phone, you idiot.”

“hello, katsu.” you snort. “yeah, yeah. hi.” you can practically hear the roll of his eyes through the phone, you giggle and your boyfriend huffs through the speaker.

it’s then that you see the wall of texts from him “oh, did you text me ? my bad i was studying.”

there’s a faint sigh of relief “‘s fine.”

“were you worried ?” you tease.

“fuck no. just—“ a sudden pause then katsuki grumbles “answer my texts next time, moron. bye. don’t overdo it while studying or i’ll kill you.”

“meanie !” you giggle, and when he hangs up you send him a text.

we can study together next time, just so you don’t flip out again 💗😚

katsuki scoffs a mean laugh, then sends you a middle finger.

[cephalopodvictorious]

my husband was at a bar with friends tonight and apparently he was telling the regulars about how we met because they didn't believe in real life meetcutes and he needed them to know it's possible 😭

[rorydrawsandwrites]

Ribbun Week day 6: "Comedy (Fluff)"... yeah sure let's call it that

The devil works hard, but so does an artist who's running late to complete a ship challenge... sort of. On a list of least likely scenarios this is somewhere toward the top, but regardless they're both going to need a nap after all that. (Pretend they're on a bed.)

[catzunnyuan]

I don't feel well which means I want comfort fic. YQY due to being Omega in omegaverse can't fully repress the extreme stress he's under. Most assume it's because he's the sect leader but really it's because sqq is constantly rejecting him.

Worse, he responds poorly to essentially all scents (except sqq, but he keeps his suppressed)

Mqf knows they were childhood friends, knows they were separated, knows YQY was locked in the caves, knows there was a massive falling out when they meet again (he doesn't know about the slave thing, he just thinks sqq is a massive piece of shit who can't let anything go, he doesn't know about YQY failing to communicate)

So anyway when YQY has a nasty qi deviation, mqf takes him back to his nest to recover, sees that there ISN'T ONE and is like "why me" but eventually begs sqq to come help.

Sqq wants leverage over the sect leader that despises him so he agrees.

Sqq is very appalled (once mqf leaves) about the lack of nest as well, especially because YQY has gifted him some socially appropriate linens and pillows that are extremely nice while he himself has nothing.

(sqq thought YQY was pressuring him to get mated in hopes it would make sqq more biddable. More despite those things being completely normal to give platonically, sqq is having Thoughts.)

When SQQ's scent immediately results in YQY purring and crying in almost equal measure sqq secretly moves YQY into the bamboo house and builds a nest for him.

Sqq comes to the conclusion that either YQY is really really really stupid and never hated him and there's been a miscommunication

Or

YQY is just that weak to his instincts that sqq is going to leverage that once he's back in his right mind.

Either way he slots himself into the curl of Qi-ge's body and gets the best sleep of his life

[motianz]

A couple of details from this update:

Firstly, it might be a coincidence, but He Tian is touching exactly where he pierced Mo's ear. He might be checking it to see if Mo kept using piercings there/kept that bond between them even after he left.

Secondly, Mo both loves He Tian (and thinks it's a dream so he can freely express it) and loves to hold onto things when he's drunk, so now instead of hugging a bottle he switched to hugging HT, which I think is a super sweet variation of this drunk quirk of his.

I'm sure Mgs is holding Ht tight and not letting go until he wakes up sober.

[nibbelraz]

I don't think it should just be SVSSS bingyuan getting binghe pregnant. Modern Au bingyuan should get binghe pregnant too.

Yeah they should, Shen Yuan is very supportive about it

[pastafossa]

"Love Leaves A Mark" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic, Pure Fluff)

I've been working on this for a bit to celebrate the release of our older Born Again!Era Matt, and happily I can say this one's now done, which means I can finish up another little oneshot I have and then get back around to The Red Thread's next chapter. This is written with TRT!Reader in mind, but I also tried to write it vaguely so it's easy enough to enjoy even if you haven't read that massive saga. Also if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings for this fic: None that I know of, they're just being cute and in love as they grow old together. There ARE some vague physical changes described that are standard in aging but that feels pretty normal.

Fic Summary: You and Matt are growing older together, and you're both loving every second of it, including the physical changes that come with it.

“Did you get more toothpaste today?” you called sleepily, lifting one leg to idly scratch at your calf with your foot. You worked your toothbrush over to the other side of your mouth, wrinkling your nose at the taste. Nine years you’d been using your husband’s toothpaste and you’d never gotten used to the flavor, or lack thereof. You’d be damned if you didn’t use it regardless, though. “And Mini’s food?”

“Picked up both.” The low rumble of his voice was sleepy and distracted as it drifted out of the bedroom. Outside the little brownstone you both now called home, the snow continued to fall in thick, heavy flakes, muffling the roar of the wind and the few cars still out on the street despite the late hour and travel ban. You were grateful for that storm. In all the time you’d been with him you’d never had a problem with the Devil’s nightly rounds. Loving Matt meant loving Daredevil, too. But you still treasured evenings like these when he was able to stay in with you, your purring, cuddly husband happily playing the role of your favorite blanket. “I may have also stopped at the bookstore and gotten you something on the way home.”

You paused, shifting your gaze meaningfully toward the open bathroom doorway. You probed curiously at the psychic connection between you, a subtle attempt to discern what it was he’d picked up for you. All you got was a playful nudge back. He didn’t even have to try all that hard anymore, smoothly deflecting you with all the ease of swatting away a pillow.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” His voice was an amused whisper in your mind. “You’ll have to figure it out the old-fashioned way.” 

You scrubbed faster at your teeth, grinning at his laugh in the other room. 

“I don’t know how you have any gums left considering how often you do that,” he mused as you leaned down to rinse your mouth out. You quickly shoved your toothbrush back into the penguin-shaped toothbrush holder before flipping off the light and padding out of the bathroom. 

“The benefits of genetic tampering,” you said dryly, joining him in the bedroom. He was already settled into bed, sitting up with his back against the headboard, a well-worn book beneath his hand. Down atop his blanket-covered feet, a large, round black void of fur had arranged itself into a perfect circle, no head or tail to be seen. Matt tipped his head as he tracked your eager circling of the room, the barest little smirk quirking his lips. You scanned around for anything new, hunting along the walls and the bookshelves that had managed to migrate their way into the bedroom once your shared office slash library had gotten too full. Books had a tendency to breed like rabbits between you and Matt. “Where?” “Your nightstand. I figured you’d probably want to dive in.”

You darted over towards your nightstand.

“No way,” you breathed, sitting down on your side of the bed and snatching up the first of the three new hardbacks he’d placed on your nightstand. “This one—I thought it was going to take another week at least before they released it. How did you…?” “I kept checking with Hanna every time I passed by her bookstore.” He cleared his throat as you flipped open your new copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy to a random page, the much-loved scent of new paper and ink filling your nose. “Eventually she took pity on me and finally let me buy this one early with cash. Although she wasn’t sure why you wanted this one when you have so many other translations already.” 

“It’s Palma’s new translation,” you murmured distractedly, dragging your finger down the flowing lines of poetry, your eyes skimming rapidly over the page. You could already spot some of the changes. “I have the first translation he did of the Inferno, but this is the first time he’s done the entirety of the Divine Comedy, and he’s tweaked his previous translation. It’s supposed to mimic the rhyming scheme Dante created more closely. Not easy when you’re shifting it from Italian to English. Dad’s going to have kittens when he hears the Devil got me my copy before he got his.”

Even without looking at him, you could feel Matt’s smug satisfaction. “You should call him so I can hear him swear.” “Call him yourself if you want to rub it in.” You snorted in amusement at Matt’s neverending desire to goad your adoptive father Ciro, who admittedly had a habit of goading back. At the very least their jabs had become less hostile over the years, the two of them now closer to sparring partners than actual enemies. You leaned over to look at the other two books Matt had gotten you, your brows shooting up. “And you got me Emily Wilson’s translations of the Illiad and the Odyssey? You’re spoiling me, husband dearest.” “You said last month you were thinking about picking them both up. I figured I’d check if they were there.” There was a rustle of blankets behind you, and a slightly irritated, ‘mrrp?’, presumably as Matt adjusted his feet beneath the fuzzy black hole curled up atop them. “Consider it an early anniversary gift.” “Not that I’m not grateful, but you and I both know it’s January, dear.” You set Dante back down atop the stack of books before swiveling on the bed to face Matt. You started crawling across the mountain of blankets and silk sheets toward his grinning form. “Our anniversary is months away.” “The anniversary of our first kiss, then.” His smile only grew wider when you reached him and threw your leg over him to sit astride his waist. It was something he welcomed as he always did, his hands setting aside his book immediately in favor of you. He slid his palms warmly up and down the fleece covering your thighs, pausing here and there to knead at the muscle just because he could. It never seemed to matter that he’d touched you a thousand times before. He treated every moment like this as if it were the first. “A few hardbacks are the least you deserve.” “Lines like that make me want to marry you.” You sighed, draping your arms comfortably over his broad shoulders, lifting one hand to idly card your fingers through his dark hair. He hummed beneath your touch, tilting his head openly into the fond drag of your fingers like a big cat. “Buying a woman hardbacks? In this economy? Put a ring on me, Mr. Murdock.”

“Now Mrs. Murdock, how would your husband feel about you saying things like that?” His voice was a playful purr, words thick and glutted thanks to the drag of your nails. You were pretty sure his eyes had rolled back behind his closed eyes. “He’d, mmm, hunt me down until his dying breath if I laid so much as a finger on you. As for me, my wife is… not inclined to let me go gently.” 

“You’re goddamn right I’m not.” You sprawled out against his chest, dipping your head. He met you halfway, touching his lips to yours. You gave him a warm, lazy kiss, faint traces of copper and cinnamon passed from his smiling mouth to yours. The familiar taste of him, the softness of his skin, the sweet warmth of his breath in your mouth soothed you in a way little else could, and you drew him deep into you on a slow inhale, humming against his lips. His chest rumbled contentedly beneath you in response, his hands sliding up from your thighs to squeeze and rub affectionately your hips. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

“Never,” he murmured against your mouth, chasing after you to steal another kiss when you tried to lift your head. You ran your fingers through his hair again, sighing at the soft, playful brush of his tongue against your lips, giving it a mischievous nip of your own that made him rumble another pleased noise beneath you. His voice dropped further, all lazy warmth and possessive hunger, shades of the Devil coloring the edges like a painter’s brush. “Mm, my wife, all mine.”                                     “Your wife,” you agreed fondly. “One who’s cut people before and will happily do it again if it keeps you safe.”

“Your services are very much appreciated.”

“They should be since I fully intend to sit in a pair of rocking chairs with you one day in our old age.” You brought your hand around to scratch your fingers lightly through the coarseness of his beard, making him groan breathlessly in delight, his back arching just a little beneath you. He’d been letting his beard grow in for the past week or so. You were unsure if it was by choice or if it was simply that he’d felt too busy to take the time to shave. It had been a while since you’d last seen him with a full beard, though, a few years at least. And to your pleasant surprise, there were a few changes. Your fingers petted curiously over the small patches of silver scattered around. “I’ve even kept you alive long enough that you’ve got grey here in your beard now. That’s new.” His brows rose in surprise, his eyes fluttering open where they’d fallen closed. “Really?”

“Yup. It’s very handsome.” You stroked at the prickly grey strands before your hands slid back and up to his temples, tracing the few strands of grey there just as affectionately. His cheeks had even turned the tiniest bit pink at your praise. “Some here, too. Just a little at your temples. You gonna be my silver fox, Matt?” “I guess so. That’s what I get for letting you pet all the color out over nine years.” He heaved a great sigh beneath you as if his care sheet instructions didn’t specify he get at least ten minutes of petting each day, without which he would wilt away. “You made me look old.” “Oh please. You don’t look old. You look human.” Your fingers left his hair so you could poke him pointedly in the chest. He threw you a wounded look, all furrowed brow and big sad eyes that you weren’t falling for even a little. “Also, you gave yourself those grey hairs, thank you very much. You’re the most stressed man I’ve ever met. Half of what you put yourself through would have turned anyone else’s hair white by now.”

“Fine. I’ll admit that I may have done… a few things that were somewhat stress—” “Got a building dropped on you. Fought Nobu in tissue paper. Got shot in the head. Used a neti pot to snort some fucking rusty tap water full of amoebas and tiny shrimp—”

“That last one still really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“You have no idea. One day I’m going to kiss you and taste brain shrimp, I just know it.”

He snorted. “You say that like I don’t have my own list of all the things you’ve done that have almost given me a heart attack.”

“Alright, so my list is also… a bit long.” You tilted your head, watching his eyes shift absently around. After so many years with you, he was no longer self-conscious about letting you watch his eyes this closely, much to your delight. In the low light of the bedroom, his eyes were a soft, dark brown rather than the green or grey they could shift to during the day. Beautiful as always, especially with the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, lines that now seemed permanent even when he wasn’t smiling. You brushed your thumb over a few of those lines, your playful tone falling away into something more serious. “What if I like it, though? These parts of you that are getting older? Like these laugh lines.”

He furrowed his brow pitifully. “Now you’re telling me I’m wrinkly, too?”

“Oh, fuck you!” you huffed, his body shaking beneath you as he laughed. “You know that’s not what I meant. Stop deflecting, I’m serious.”

“I’m know you are, even if you’re telling me I’m a grey, grizzled, wrinkled husk.” He groaned theatrically, rolling his head back. “You should just bury me if I’m that old.”

“Not a chance. Not when I love everything I’m seeing. Like these…” 

You leaned in and planted a kiss on the laugh lines in question, feeling them grow deeper under your lips as he smiled.

“And these…”

Another kiss, this time against one of the grey patches in his beard, making him sigh. 

“...and goddamn do I love all this, too,” you murmured, sitting back so you could drag your hands hungrily down the front of him. There was no part of him you didn’t love, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little obsessed with the dark hair now edging up past his shirt collar—so much of it now that he’d finally given up on shaving his chest and let it all grow back—and the slightly thicker lines of his abdomen and hips, both of them a touch softer than they had been almost a decade ago when you’d first met him. You’d know; you’d been laying on him almost every night for most of that decade, barring a few rough patches and business trips.

“Mrs. Murdock,” he breathed in feigned shock, as if he wasn’t aware of exactly how much you enjoyed both his chest hair and the whole of his body from top to bottom, “are you insinuating something about me?” “You mean like insinuating I’m the reason you now eat regularly and aren’t so dehydrated that I can practically draw a map of your veins by sight?” You squeezed at the meat of his abdomen and hips greedily, your voice growing smug as you kneaded at him. Your touch made him chuckle and squirm beneath you, only drawing more protests from the cat trying to sleep on top of his feet. “Yes. Yes, I am. You’re welcome for the health, by the way. You’re aging like a fine wine, husband dearest. And it makes me happy.” 

His face softened at that, one hand leaving your hips to lay against your sternum. “If your heart wasn’t beating so steadily, I’d say you were just trying to flatter me,” he mused. “But… me getting older really is making you happy, isn’t it?”

“It is. I…” 

You paused for a moment, struggling to put into words what you were feeling. His hand at your hip edged up under your shirt until he could rub his thumb soothingly at your skin, content to wait while you figured out how to say what you wanted to say.

“I think it’s that… there was a time when I wasn’t sure if you’d live long enough for me to see you grow old with me.” You cupped his face in your hands, treasuring the way his eyes fell slowly closed and he leaned into your touch so openly, so easily. It had taken so much work to get him here, where he felt comfortable accepting your love and your affection, but it had been worth every ounce of effort. You traced over his laugh lines again with your thumbs before skipping down to the faint smile lines at the corners of his mouth, a mouth that pursed to kiss your thumb when you swept one over his lips. “But you did. I’m getting to see it. That’s special to me. I want to see that… that you’re still alive, that you’re living long enough for these things to happen. I want to see all these little grey hairs, and wrinkles, and the way your body has gotten a bit softer, because every little piece of you that gets older represents a moment I didn’t know if I’d get with you.”

He drew in a shaky breath before his eyes fluttered slowly open again. And in the dark of his eyes there was such a reverent joy, such a bone-deep love filling their depths that it almost took your breath away. You’d never tire of seeing it, even if you both lived for another fifty, another hundred, another thousand years, joined in this lifetime and in whatever came next. Religion had nothing on being loved fully, wholly by Matt. 

“I could say the same thing about you,” he breathed, his hand at your sternum sliding up to cradle your neck, thumb sweeping gently over the thin skin above your pulse. He pressed just a little, just enough to tug your skin back and forth. A moment later, he tugged you in until he could feather a kiss against your pulse where his thumb had been, lingering there as you nuzzled into his dark hair. “And spots like right here.”

“What’s changed there?” 

“The texture of your skin. How much it moves when I touch it. I like to think,” he whispered against your throat, “that your skin’s a little looser here now, more worn in, because I’ve stroked at it so much that I’ve changed you permanently. It’s a sign of just how much I’ve touched you, how many times you’ve trusted me and let me put my hands here. It’s never mattered to you how scarred those hands were, how covered in blood. You let my love leave a mark.”

He tightened his other hand against your hip next, taking hold of the curves that had changed as you’d journeyed through the years with him. “And you’re softer now, too, just like me.” From there he smoothed his hand affectionately upwards over your ribs and up past your breasts, mapping over all of the places your body had begun to show your age like his: stretchmarks and small wrinkles where once skin had been smooth and tight, scars from old battles now faded and ragged with time. The journey his hand took was made with reverence, tender and heavy with intent, his smile so very soft and almost… wondrous. “I may not be able to see you, but I can feel you growing old with me, too, sweetheart. More curves, a few wrinkles. It’s like I can feel your body sinking deeper and deeper into a life with me.”

“That’s what happens when love winds up being your gravity.” You leaned in to kiss his forehead lines. “A decade of being drawn in by you.”

“Mhm. And up here.” He shifted his hand at your throat to cup your face like you had his, his thumb tracing the corners of your eyes. “Laugh lines. Because our life’s made you laugh so much that it changed you. They weren’t there the first time I put my hands here. But they are now. Signs of how happy you are with me. And there are more every year, because you… love me enough to stay.”

“Hey, my Devil-Man,” you whispered, tilting his head up until your forehead could meet yours. He didn’t bother to hide the vulnerability in his eyes, this old wound of his. It was mostly mended now, when it came to you, but sometimes that furrowed scar inside his heart still made him ache. “Do you need me to remind you again? I’m not going anywhere, husband of mine. There’s nowhere you’ll go that I won’t follow.”

“I know.” His eyes fluttered as you stroked at his skin. His arms left your face until he could wind them tighter around you, pulling you in tight against him until his every breath became yours. That seemed to settle him some, the weight of you against his chest, especially when you dropped your head to his shoulder, nuzzling in against his neck. “That’s… that’s just it. With me, you see… moments you didn’t think you’d have because you didn’t think I’d make it. And I didn’t think I’d have this with you, either. A home, wrinkles, greying hair. Not because I didn’t think you’d live long enough, but… but because I never thought I’d find someone who could love me enough to stay this long. To love me this long. Long enough that I could feel you grow old with me.”

“Loving you has never been a chore, Matt.” You breathed in the scent of his skin, soap and the faint copper of blood, traces of cinnamon and just him. It was a scent you knew better than your own. You  lifted your hand to run your knuckles down his cheek, tracking your way through his greying beard, hoping that your touch would help your words sink in. He slid his hands up under the back of your shirt to drag his palms smoothly down your back, comforting himself with the feel of your skin as he tilted his head, listening to your heartbeat. It wasn’t because he thought you were lying, that much you knew. But he’d told you once he found the truth soothing when hearing something that might make him feel otherwise vulnerable. Something like this, this old wound of his, absolutely qualified. “And it never will be, no matter what comes at us. If you need me to remind you of that every day, I will. I’ll tell you that over and over again, until the day we die and get buried in matching coffins.”

“The same coffin,” he said quietly, tipping his head to nuzzle at your temple. “There’s a reason we took ‘Till death do we part’ out of our vows. No parting, even in death.” 

“Do they even sell double coffins? If so, I’m down.” “Even if they don’t, I’ll tell Foggy to make sure I end up in yours with you.” “I think I should end up in yours.” “Why?” “Because everyone will just assume your coffin’s extra heavy due to your goddamn audacity.” He burst out laughing beneath you, his body shaking and almost throwing you off him entirely. “I’m just saying,” you continued, trying not to grin as he choked out more laughter, “you live your life in a very particular way, man without fear. ‘Christ, why is his coffin so heavy?’ And our friends can just say, ‘well, you know, it’s Matt Murdock’ and it’ll explain everything. No one will notice me shoved in underneath you so you can lay on top of me forever.” 

“It’s a date,” he said, still huffing in amusement. A pointed paw tapped at your back before starting a walk up your spine. “Speaking of which, looks like someone’s eager to get in on the cuddling.” “Behold, offer to cuddle and both Matts will appear,” you snorted as roughly twenty pounds of scarred black cat trod his way stubbornly up and onto your shoulder, rasping out an indignant meow that sounded like he’d been smoking a pack a day for the past seven years, because how dare the two of you do this without inviting him. “I’m about to be sandwiched, I think. Hello, Mini-Matt.”

Sure enough, Matt’s smaller clone enthusiastically rammed his head against your temple, making you grunt, before doing the same to Matt’s chin. He was already purring like an old motorcycle engine in a request to get in on what seemed like a nice, cozy cuddle pile, as if Matt would ever turn the cat down. Sure enough, Matt leaned in, planting a kiss to Mini’s big fuzzy forehead before turning and laying a much gentler kiss on yours as Mini draped himself over your shoulder, stretching one paw out to pat Matt's face. “Something tells me you don’t mind, though.”

“Not even a little.” 

[deep-space-lines]

I MADE MYSELF AN EARTHMOVER

The idea that earthmover plushie was something i could realistically maybe make was beamed into my brain on friday may 10th at exactly 11:23 PM and then proceeded to consume my entire weekend. i did not know if this would work but i did it. i made him. my weird lopsided dog Benjamin

(I'd be happy to write up the pattern/instructions if people are interested- I think it'd be pretty simple to recreate since he's like 90% rectangles- but be warned that I have never tried to draft a plushie pattern from scratch before and it's kinda janky as hell the way the legs are attached feels like one of those illegal lego techniques so you have to promise not to make fun of me ok)

[lozeyart]

A couple of quick sketches of Usagi-san and Misaki (might color the second one who knows)

[viktorarcanedeservesbetter]

I've been thinking more about a Jayce joins the commune but the commune is just weird, not evil, AU and it gets funnier every time.

In this universe, pretty much all the adults are super into Viktor (save for the ones who could care less about the romantic/sexual drama of it all, they just want to grow their peaches and get healthcare) and are downright pissed Jayce came in and was like. Yeah sorry. I stole y'all's man. Oops! (He isn't sorry)

Salo is the number 1 Jayce hater. He'd been trying (and failing) to get into Viktor's pants for years, even before Jayce came on the scene with Hextech, and when he thought he finally had a chance he came back even hotter and clingier than ever and Viktor ate it up.

Huck, second in command (third or fourth depending on what they think of Sky and Jayce's role in the commune) is so tired. He finally has purpose and everyone is infighting about the Herald's man. He's trying to keep them on track. (It's not working lmao).

EVERYONE knows when Vik and Jayce are getting it on. Not because Viktor tells them via mind-hive, but because his presence is suddenly gone. Salo gets even angrier.

Vander, resident sane wolf-man, is very unamused by all this. He has to deal with being a wolf, he shouldn't have to deal with the fact his neighbors want to bone the landlord and can't cause the smelly man with a beard and giant butterfly hammer is.

It's even worse that Jayce is good at everything. He sketches photos of the Herald that even their best artist is jealous of. He helps grow the plants in the greenhouse. Jayce sets up trades with the firelights. Jayce gets to touch the herald and no one else can.

Viktor is doing Yoga outside his home and sometimes people stop and watch, only for Jayce to come back from an early blacksmithing job and start yoga with Viktor, blocking their view. Did he do it on purpose? They don't know. (He did).

They're also so confused because he's the one member (besides the pink-haired girl and her blue-haired sisters who visit and chill with Vander) who isn't a part of their hivemind.

Also in my mind, he and Jayce are equals here. Jayce is in charge of defense and casual activities, blacksmithing, Viktor is the healer and ya know. deity. But they work best as partners and now everyone has to deal with the fact the guy they all hate for taking their herald is also in charge, in a way.

(He teaches them better was to make homes in the blacksmithing area and theyre all mad cause he's right)

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Childe with residual pain, the strain of Foul Legacy seeping through.

his hands are always cold, joints aching from gripping weapons so tightly and fighting for his life. you hold them gently within your own at night, kissing each blackened fingertip and knuckle, stained twilight with white speckles. gently, you bend and flex them, making sure he has a full range of motion without pain. Childe hums quietly in relief, lacing his fingers with yours and kissing the back of your hand in thanks, careful not to pierce you with the tiny claws his nails have become.

you're the only one who knows- or, notices- the other strands of white peppering his hair every here and there. Childe pulls on them, both idly and in grief, his face burying into your shoulder as he cries. it looks like snow and the sun at dusk to you, hands running soothingly up his aching back, pressing against his spine. he laughs, slightly choked, when you tell him so, muttering something about only you being able to see beauty in something monstrous.

when he slumps into bed with bruises and cuts on his body, when he feels more Abyssal than human with little horns in his hair and patches of carapace on his skin, you simply drape an arm over his waist, tucking the blankets around him as if it's the most natural thing in existence. Childe stiffens, then melts with a sigh, curling his body slowly around yours and pressing kisses all over your face. he drops into sleep so easily in your embrace, warm and finally safe from waking and dreaming nightmares.

chances are, you'll wake to a slumbering Abyssal monster, and you'll get to shower him in affection all over again.

[timethehobo]

Rook needs to apologise for getting him ill, dragging him across Thedas like that.

[teatitty]

It's way funnier to me to imagine that Geralt is the one who desperately wants Dandelion to winter at Kaer Morhen with him but Dandelion keeps saying no on the simple grounds that it's too fucking cold and do you want me to die Geralt? Do you want me to get hypothermia and fucking die?

And Geralt's like "please I am begging on my knees I will cuddle you every night to keep you warm I just need to prove you actually exist"

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

[Robin panted, frantically trying to make sense of where he was] Wren: What is it?! … Wren: Geez-.. did you have a fit or something? [Robin blinked as Wren’s voice finally reached his ears, realising he was properly awake this time; he didn’t usually have such horrific dreams, but it’d felt so real…] Robin: Erm-.. a nightmare. Wren: Are you okay? … Wren: Robin? [Robin coughed a soggy sob into his palms, his chest too tight to think straight] Wren: What was it about? Robin: I don’t know! Wren: You don’t rememb-… Robin: Fuck’s sake, shut up! Why do you have to know everything all the time? Wren: I-… Robin: It’s overrated-.. and it wouldn’t even help! Wren: Okay..? Wren: Do I need to get mom, or..? Robin: [sniffs] No. Wren: I’m gonna get mom.

[jordiipordii]

praying jab pees in the apartment in book 3. why? because jean said he’d return jab to the shelter if he did. except we all know he would never. jean would stare at the huge pee-stain and wonder how it came out of such a small dog and then he would get to work getting the smell and stain out. he would sit on the floor and scrub and look at jab cowering nearby and grimace because he knows what it’s like to be afraid when you did something you just flat out didn’t mean to. and so jean would keep his sense about him and he’d finish cleaning the spot before washing his hands and then he’d sit in the center of the floor with his face turned away from jab. why away? because scared dogs see full on eye contact as a challenge. and jean doesn’t want jab to be afraid even if he did bad. so he’d sit and put one hand out where jab can see it’s extended and he’d wait as he looks at the wooden finish of the floor or the paint of the counters. and eventually jab would come to him because jean showed trust and patience in a time where jab realized he did bad. and even as jab sniffs his hand jean wouldn’t make a move towards him because trust is a fragile, fleeting thing and jean knows it better than anyone. but eventually jab would fold himself into jean’s lap and put his head down in both apology and submission and jean would pet him carefully but sweetly as he stared at the drying carpet.

[strang3lov3]

Seething with rage