#I hope y'all like this one :)

[kpforpresident]

Good Vibrations AU

Lexa is staring particularly hard at the one penis-shaped water stain in the damp ceiling, trying her absolute hardest not to eavesdrop on the couple that was standing a stone’s throw away, arguing hotly next to a hot pink, two-foot-long dildo that Lexa would hazard a guess at being at least as large around as her forearm. The girl, a tiny petite thing with platinum blonde hair fiddles with a bullet toy on the nearby display while the boy, a walking embodiment of a mountain dew and Cheetos gamer, gestures emphatically at the monstrous toy that dangles by the girl’s shoulder. Lexa can practically feel the toy staring at her with its bulbous head, the massive silicone ball silhouette gleaming softly in the dull fluorescent lighting. 

“Babe, I’m just saying, I think it would fit…”

Lexa bites back a shudder as she fastidiously scrubs away an invisible speck away from the display case that houses a frankly staggering array of lubes, both flavored and plain. 

One more year and I will have enough to pay outright for my master’s degree loans, and I never have to step foot in here again, Lexa finds herself thinking with the fervent hope of a thousand suns as she stares unseeing at a strawberry lube bottle that boasts an eye-wateringly bright green label that promises a “Sweet, Slippery Good Time!” 

“You have no issue with my dick, this isn’t that much bigger-” 

Lexa, fighting every demon known not to let out a cackle at the exasperated look on the blonde girl’s face, ducks her head to chew on her lip before moving from the safety of behind her glass and metal counter. Walking purposefully by the duo, she innocently straightens a lacy thigh-high garter that sits proudly in the slightly-frosted windows, just opaque enough to squeak by the city’s stringent guidelines but transparent enough to barely hint at what lay behind the metallic doors of Good Vibrations, Polis’s self-proclaimed best and largest sex shop. 

Kane, the town’s local eccentric but entirely affable billionaire had opened the shop three years ago must to the abject horror of the local evangelical group, led by the most fervent of the bunch, Charles Pike. 

Kane staunchly maintained that the shop existed to promote sex positivity and awareness in a world increasingly fraught with misinformation or staggering layers of prudish beliefs on the topic of sex education. Seething with barely contained hostility, Pike and his acolytes were ordered to cease their weekly prayer circles outside of the front door as Kane managed to find the largest, glittery, rainbow flag with a bedazzled uterus on it and set it flying proudly outside of their front door. 

Much to everyone and no one’s surprise, Good Vibrations does a rip-roaring trade in sex toys and accessories, with customers ordering online from around the world, business pouring in after young and scrappy student journalist Lexa Woods wrote a piece about the story of the local business for a university writing course. She, of course, had expected it to go no further than the boundaries of the sleep little town of Polis, assuming that many students would read the piece and make a note of the store as a place to stagger into when their sweet new girlfriend texted them that yes, they did really want to use the fluffy pink handcuffs, or no, of course, the vibrator wasn’t necessary and her boyfriend always made her O but the girl just figured it would be fun to try the Satisfyer Pro 2. You know, for science. 

Kane had laughed uproariously and framed it when the New York Times picked it up as an opinion lifestyle piece, hanging it just inside the front door with pride. He then offered young Lexa a job. Desperate to fund her dreams of global journalism and international affairs studies, she seizes the chance to work a flexible job with good pay and weekends off. 

Hence why she was currently furiously chewing her cheek again the onslaught of laughter bubbling up in her throat as Gamer Boy makes a show of jiggling the pink monstrosity of a toy near his own nether regions, minutely hip thrusting in the girl’s direction.

The girl rolls her eyes as she wanders away to examine some kinky position dice, leaving Lexa to contemplate the vast and confusing world of heterosexual encounters.

Her rumination on this topic is cut abruptly short by the cheery little chime of the shop’s front door, a high-pitched noise that automatically has Lexa pivoting away from the couple that is now arguing by a pair of furry, neon green garters, and towards the entrance. 

Only to be completely way-laid out by a wide-eyed blonde barreling towards her at high speed, brandishing something oblong and bright purple in her right fist. Completely nonplussed at this strange girl who was clearly on a mission, Lexa cocks her head and squints at the object in her fist, cursing the fact she forgot her glasses today. 

At least it’s not a weapon, Lexa finds herself thinking as bright blue eyes, sparking with indignation, are moving closer by the second. Hang on, is that—?

Skidding on the recently mopped hardwood in front of Lexa, courtesy of a curious frat boy and an exploded bottle of body glitter, Lexa has approximately 4 seconds to react as the girl slips, cartoon-like, feet flying out from underneath her as she fails to find traction on the glistening floor. 

Lexa, acting on autopilot, thrusts a hand forward to try and catch a flailing limb–

Thud. 

The girl hits the ground so hard the glass dildos rattle menacingly in their cases, Lexa’s teeth along with them. The girl peers up at Lexa dazedly, gaze sharpening and seeming to run the full gamut of human emotion before settling into horror. Both sets of eyes were now fixed on Lexa’s right hand, grasping the only thing she managed to find purchase as the blonde fell. 

A purple vibe fits snugly into her right hand, lights flashing at random as the toy gives a feeble bzzt of protest, seemingly in response to being manhandled in their owner’s fight with gravity. 

A strangled “What the fuck?” roughly 4 octaves higher than normal is all a startled Lexa can get out in response, a very gay part of her brain flashing loud rainbow lights as if to alert her that by some strange twist of fate, she has ended up being personally given this very pretty girl’s personal sex toy. Said toy vibrates feebly twice more before going dark and silent, as if satisfied that its death toll was in Lexa’s confused hand. 

The blond’s head hits the ground for a second time as she rolls her eyes back to face the ceiling, seemingly resigned to her fate. Then, as if animated by the gay sex gods, she pops up again to snatch the toy out of Lexa’s hand. 

“You-” Lexa can barely lean back in time as the purple toy sails within millimeters of her nose- “owe me an orgasm, Woods.”

[magicalpoisonouspotato]

Here's one of my uquizzes, Answer some (rather silly) questions and I'll tell you how I love you

It's based on my very specific thoughts, and fueled on vibes

[folklorianhaze]

this year, to save me from tears

Pairing: Elain x Azriel (with some background Feysand and Nessian)

Rating: M (sexual themes, but nothing explicit)

Tags: One Shot, Solstice fic, post-ACOSF, canon-compliant, Forbidden Love, Sexual Tension, Elain-centric, no beta we die like the Weaver

Word Count: 3,827

Summary: Another year, another Solstice celebration at the Night Court. Elain Archeron can still remember the last time she saw Azriel over the holidays — the rose necklace he'd put around her neck, the way they'd nearly kissed before Rhysand interrupted. And while she might have done her best to accept that since then, Azriel has seemed to distance himself from her a bit, she can't bring herself to just sit quietly and not get some answers.

So this time, when she and Azriel are alone for a few minutes at the townhouse together (thanks in no small part to some scheming from Feyre) Elain has decided she's not going anywhere until Azriel explains why he's been avoiding her.

Oneshot. Post-ACOSF.

Read it on AO3 here!

As the day’s Solstice celebrations had slowly dwindled to a halt and the last whispers of daylight had disappeared beneath a glowing blue horizon, the cozy townhouse in Velaris had quieted at last. Where mere hours ago the space had been filled with roaring laughter and clinking dinnerware, the rustle of fabric as presents changed hands, playful dancing as a result of too much wine, now there was only restful silence. Save, of course, for the merry crackling of the fire in the hearth, a warm light to ward out the frosty winter chill waiting just outside those arched front doors. Outside the steadily darkening windows, snow fell in graceful, almost lazy flurries.

A tiny smile formed at the edges of Elain Archeron’s mouth at the sight — as she realized that Rhysand and Feyre had opted to fly home tonight to the river house, and that her youngest sister would be none too thrilled to get her hair (expertly curled by Nuala and Cerridwen hours earlier) wet and heavy with snow.

  Given how quickly the room had cleared out, Elain had to wonder if those ever-so-slightly rushed goodbyes and promises that they’d all meet up again in the morning were, in fact, her sister’s work. Feyre, who often regarded the dynamics within her Inner Circle with the same keen, careful gaze she used to paint an empty canvas, missed nothing — not even, it seemed, the way Elain and the Night Court’s spymaster had been looking at one another all evening.

Perhaps once, an entire lifetime ago, another person ago, Elain might have found it within herself to be embarrassed by the idea.

She supposed she still was, partly. No matter who it concerned, having your sister know — or at least suspect — intimate details of your romantic involvements was never exactly an ideal circumstance one dreamed of. The thought of Feyre not only seeing so clearly what had passed unspoken between them for so long, but making an effort to orchestrate situations where the two of them might be alone together, was enough to bring a blush to her cheeks.

 Especially when she got the sneaking suspicion that her sister’s mate . . . well, not entirely disapproved, but certainly wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Azriel spending so much time around Elain to begin with.

And she understood Rhysand’s worry. Truly, she did — or, at the very least, she had attempted to. With so much between the courts left in such a tenuous place following the war with Hybern, she supposed they were lucky enough to get peaceful Solstice gatherings like tonight’s at all.

But there was a part of her — a part that, recently, had become harder and harder to stifle or shut out — that secretly bristled at the idea of being treated like a child. Like a naive girl, incapable of making her own decisions or understanding the gravity of the situation. It had been that way for so long now; so many people, underestimating her, hiding her, protecting her rather than letting her step out on her own and . . . well, maybe see what she wanted from this new life she’d been granted.

Elain drew a shuddering sigh as she continued watching the snow silently fall, gathering at the edges of the windows, each individual crystal of white sparkling with breathtaking clarity through these new Fae eyes. She still hadn’t quite become accustomed to it yet, even though it had been what seemed like an eternity now since she’d been turned — not just the enhanced vision, but the newfound strength of her body, the arched ears, the inhuman face that stared back at her in the mirror each morning. How was it possible that she felt as if so much had changed, and yet as if she herself were still arrested in time — still frozen as the girl she’d been when she went into the Cauldron — all at once?

A noise at the far end of the room, so soft she might not have even heard it back when she’d still been a human, drew Elain’s attention. Reeling herself back in from her reverie, she blinked and turned slightly in her chair — and her breath seemed to catch in her throat as she found Azriel staring back at her.

No doubt he’d wanted to subtly alert her to the fact that he was there — knowing Azriel’s talents, he certainly could slip away unnoticed if he’d truly wanted to. Elain swallowed unevenly, taking in the surprise tinged with something unreadable on his face, something she dearly hoped wasn’t discomfort. Those eyes of his — they seemed to lance right through her, seemed to twist something deep in her chest without even trying.

Despite the charged glances passing between them all evening, he’d barely spoken to her during the Solstice activities. Whenever they’d been close enough that he’d been forced out of necessity to directly address her, his words had been formal, strained. And when she’d given him his gift — a thick, woolen blanket she’d painstakingly knitted herself, so that you can lie down anywhere and take a nice nap when this lot gets too exhausting for you, Elain had joked — he’d laughed along with the rest of the group, but his smile had been edged with pain, the amusement too obviously feigned for even the most unobservant person to mark it as genuine. She’d ducked her head to allow the curtain of her hair to fall forward, to keep anyone else in the room from seeing her reddening cheeks, the tears that had stung her eyes.

Perhaps Feyre had noticed more than she’d let on — perhaps, in her own way, this was part of her sister’s Solstice gift to her. An opportunity that she and Azriel might not have had, without Feyre distracting Rhys for the remainder of the night. An opportunity to talk to one another — really talk, and figure out where things had gone so horribly wrong between them.

“Hello,” Elain breathed at last, hoping her voice sounded less nervous than she felt. “I’m sorry, I was just—” she gestured back to the window, then glanced back at Azriel, at last deciding to rise from her seat. “I hope I haven’t been in your way at all.”

She smoothed out the skirts of her dark green gown, clearing her throat and trying to look busy. Obviously, if her presence had vexed him so much all night, then the last thing she wanted was to bother him any further.

This was a mistake, he’d told her once, on another Solstice that seemed so long ago now, when they’d been so close they were nearly sharing breath, so close she could nearly feel his lips upon hers.

  A mistake. Perhaps he was right. After all, who was she? Why would he ever — ever possibly want someone like —

“Please,” he said. “Don’t apologize. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Perhaps there had once been a version of her that would have been cowed by his words. She’d been raised that way, to be polite and kind, to always be open to anything anyone — especially anyone male — had to say. Another girl had been taught those things, to dip her head and look shyly away from what she wanted and never hint to an inner life of her own.

  She’d always been the good one, and over the years she’d come to notice how very many people associated goodness with how willing you are to allow them to walk all over you.

But so much about her had changed now on the exterior — perhaps now was the time that she challenged everything that had become instinct so long ago, that something on the inside changed for her, as well.

Elain lifted her chin. “If I have truly done nothing wrong, then why have you refused to so much as acknowledge my existence tonight?” Her tone remained even, calm, but there was a frankness there that others around her seldom saw.

Azriel blinked, as if thrown by it, but other than that minuscule tell, she wasn’t entirely certain how her words had landed. The muscles in his strong jaw worked as he seemed to search for something to say. She waited, patient but unyielding.

“Elain,” he said at last, as if there were nothing else, nothing more that he could think of to justify his strangely cold behavior towards her. There was a note of resignation in his voice as he added, “If I was brusque, then I assure you it was no fault of yours. I just haven’t . . . it isn’t—”

“Please,” she nearly whispered. “Please, do not think of insulting me with lies. By presuming I cannot handle the truth. Tell me whatever it is I’ve done to bother you so, Azriel. Tell me you can’t stand to be near me any longer, fine — only don’t sit here and say one thing when I can so clearly see you mean another thing entirely.”

She hadn’t even realized that she’d started walking as she spoke to him, that she’d nearly cleared the distance between them by time the last syllable left her lips. Now in the following silence, he edged slightly closer to her, as well, until they were both standing nearer to one another than they’d been all night — than they’d been in a long while, actually. She couldn’t help but think of last Solstice, and the rose he’d tried to put around her neck, the way she’d nearly trembled to have his fingers brush against her collarbones —

“It truly isn’t your fault,” he said, and he sounded so terribly pained by it that, despite her frustration and despite his confusing behavior, she felt inclined to believe him. And she could hardly believe it as he lifted a hand to gently run his thumb along the curve of her jaw, her eyes fluttering as she leaned into the touch. “But you must have some idea why we can’t do this. Why I might have needed to create some . . . distance between us, since the last Solstice.”

Elain swallowed past the sudden dryness in her throat, her gaze holding Azriel’s as she searched his expression. As she tried to push past all the inner tumult she felt roiling off of him to get to the heart of whatever he must be feeling. That he was letting her see this much at all, that he had drawn so close to her, touched her when he seemed to be so averse to the very idea, was a feat all its own. And it certainly hinted at some great conflict within him.

“Is it Rhysand?” She hardly dared to ask, but once the words had escaped her, there was no shoving them back in. “The look on his face last year, when he came into the room and — and you and I —”

Something in Azriel’s face closed off, became distant and removed as he took in her statement. “He is my High Lord,” he replied, though even the Night Court’s finest spymaster could scarcely disguise how halfhearted it sounded. “If I were to act against his wishes, go behind his back and betray his trust — I couldn’t,” he said.

Elain set her jaw. Paused for a moment, not daring to tear her gaze away from his, as she searched for the right things to say. Would it be better to comfort, to soothe, as had always been her instinct? Or would standing her ground prove the better method here? She had never felt the need to shrink away or make herself smaller, more palatable for Azriel before, and she doubted it would be effective with him if she started now.

  For a heartbeat, she found herself wishing she was a little more like Nesta or Feyre — her fierce, beautifully unapologetic sisters who would have had absolutely no qualms over making a man grovel a bit before accepting any forgiveness. They had never been raised to put kindness over everything else, including one’s own feelings. She had always admired that freedom within them because of it, maybe even been envious of it. To her, it would be as natural as breathing to defer to someone else, to concede an argument in the name of keeping the peace.

But for just a few moments, she truly wished she could march right up to the High Lord of the Night Court himself and give him a piece of her mind.

“He was angry with you,” she said, as if the weight of such a realization had finally settled onto her shoulders. She was no fool, of course, and had suspected Rhysand’s watchful eyes keeping Azriel well away from her for a while, but to have it all but confirmed . . . to know that her sister’s mate truly disapproved so strongly of them being like this . . . “I saw him last year, on the — the staircase. When we were about to — well. I hadn’t realized that he’d given you such a hard time about it afterwards.”

Azriel’s typically calm, steady gaze flickered, and something twisted deep in Elain’s gut. Even without a verbal confirmation, that one look had been enough for her to know the truth.

People occasionally underestimated that about her — how gifted she’d lately become at reading those around her. Perhaps nothing like the shadowsinger’s own skill set, which had been honed through years of the kind of brutality she couldn’t even begin to imagine, but still, a trait she was proud of.

Or maybe it was simply that she’d spent so much time noticing Azriel’s presence, studying him closely, waiting to see if he would do anything, say anything . . . maybe she’d just gotten better at reading him in particular.

“He was right to correct me,” Azriel finally admitted, and she hoped he couldn’t see the flicker of hurt she couldn’t stop from crossing her features — hoped, even though she knew he would. He noticed everything, especially when it came to her. “Things are too tenuous right now between the other courts. The last thing we need is Lucien catching wind of this between us, and—”

“Lucien,” Elain practically spat, finally allowing some of that frustration to swim to the surface from where she usually kept it buried so deep. “Everyone is always so concerned with protecting Lucien’s feelings.”

“It isn’t only his feelings Rhys aims to protect, Elain. A Blood Duel between us, it could mean war.”

  But the explanation was feeble, and both of them knew it. She knew it from the way his eyes kept drifting down to her mouth, to the rise and fall of her chest just above the heart-shaped neckline of her gown.

“Has anyone thought to wonder what I have to say on the subject, then?” she said, and she couldn’t help but feel the briefest sparkle of pride that her voice remained steady, unwavering. “Everyone has given so much thought to what Rhysand thinks, or what Lucien will think. What about what I think? What I wish for myself.”

“What do you want, Elain?” The question was low, pulled from Azriel in barely a whisper.

His words hung in the air between them, a thousand different meanings to attribute to the same statement. What she truly wanted . . . she supposed she’d only recently been given the time and space to think about it. Once, she’d thought that all she’d wanted was to be Graysen’s wife, to be the kind, dutiful human woman he’d always believed her to be. Once, she’d wanted a garden, an enormous field of her own to tend, to escape and ignore the realities of a world for which she’d always been told she was too soft. Once, she had been content to let others direct her wherever they willed, had always just assumed they knew better, since no one had ever given her the chance to try for herself.

Who was she, now that so much had changed? Now that she herself had changed?

It only took a moment for Elain Archeron to decide that what she wanted, more than anything, was to simply be seen for who she truly was. For someone to look at her and not see a pretty, mindless doll that needed constant guarding, or a weakling too afraid to lift her face up from her flowers long enough to truly make a difference in the world . . . but to just see her as Elain. To not reject the softness or demand she shuck away her kindness in order to be respected. To allow her to exist as both someone understanding, empathetic and as someone who would not be taken advantage of.

After all this time, she was tired. Tired of having others’ choices or wills forced upon her. Tired of these so-called unseen forces who were apparently so fit to decide the fates of everyone in the known realm. She had been in that Cauldron. She had seen her sister steal from its very essence. Who was she to answer to its will now, when she and Nesta had both peered into its very soul — and survived it?

Who was she, to allow any Cauldron to choose for her which person she should love?

“I want . . .” she began, her voice trailing off as her eyes again flicked up to meet Azriel’s, any words dying in her throat at the naked yearning in his stare. She was arrested by it — frozen to the spot, even as her heart thrilled at the sight of it.

And she supposed his control slipped — she supposed both of them were alone, and eager, and perhaps still a bit too rosy from the wine to think too much of the consequences any longer — supposed that they both had realized that now was as good a time as any to give up the fight — as the shadowsinger surged forward and pulled her into a kiss that stole her breath.

Her body went molten and deliciously pliant in his arms, and the kisses took on a frenzied, heated edge, their breaths shuddering in the space between them. Those beautiful, scarred hands of his seemed to be everywhere at once — a comforting pressure at the small of her back, between her shoulder blades, sliding along her waist, her ribs, as if he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching her. As if he wanted to drink his fill of her as much as he possibly could, in case they had to stop. In case they came to their senses and realized that they should stop.

But Elain found herself rebelling against the idea, raging against it in her very spirit. Last year, she’d been stopped. Ever since then, all those shared glances, those secret moments passing between the two of them that no one else could notice, those little excuses to touch each other or suddenly become so conspicuously quiet if they had to be in the same room together . . . it had all built up to this. All one grand release of tension, a wave that threatened to sweep her under. And though she was surprised by the force of it, Elain couldn’t bring herself to be entirely afraid.

And the townhouse — the townhouse was empty, she realized as his hands found their way into her hair, as his mouth now trailed its way down the curve of her neck and drew delightful noises from her that she supposed she ought to be embarrassed of making. It was just the two of them here, and they had time, they could —

As if he’d sensed the direction of her thoughts, Azriel murmured roughly, “I — I’m expected at the House of Wind soon. Cassian and Nesta, they’re waiting for me.”

Elain had the distinct feeling that Cassian and Nesta were currently engaging in more or less the same activities as them at the moment, but she only breathed, “So we — we’ll make it quick.”

Azriel ran his thumb along the corner of her kiss-swollen mouth, saying thickly, “This — Elain, it’s not the sort of thing I want to do quickly.”

The words alone were enough to set the sudden heat between her legs to pounding. Yes, from the look on his face, she could tell that he’d waited a good long while for this, and didn’t intend to rush it. And the thought of it, the way he seemed so intent on so thoroughly worshiping her —

“Who knows the next time we’ll have a chance at all,” Elain said, praying inwardly that her voice hadn’t taken on a wheedling edge. “I — I can’t bear to go back to how we were before — with you barely looking at me, not even able to touch me if Rhys or the others are in the room.”

“We’ll have another chance, and then some,” he promised her, a ferocity in his voice she hadn’t heard there before. He brought her in for another kiss to punctuate his sentence, this one slower, more luxuriant. “I promise you, I won’t be cold to you any longer. Not if it hurts you, I — I never want to hurt you.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she realized for the first time just how badly she’d wanted that reassurance — from anyone, but especially from him. Feeling safe, that was what she wanted. Now that the war with Hybern had ended, now that life had finally started to gain some semblance of settling down again. Now that she was High Fae and had an entire eternity ahead of her.

“Then don’t pull away from me again,” she breathed, and he nodded his head, as if he’d do anything she asked, as if he wouldn’t even question it. “We’ll . . . we’ll do whatever we need to do in order to get by, in front of the others. But this . . . I’d like to continue this with you. In secret. Whenever we can. For as long as we need to, until . . . ”

“Until everyone else can learn to mind their business,” Azriel filled in with the barest of smiles, so soft that to anyone else, it may not have looked like a change in expression at all.

  But Elain knew — she could see it in the way those stunning eyes glinted in the light from the blazing hearth fire.

  So she laughed, a breathy, disbelieving thing, and nodded her head in agreement.

And she knew that sneaking around was dangerous, that Rhys’ wrath if he ever found out would be something to behold, but she couldn’t help herself any longer. Couldn’t stay away.

“In that case,” Elain whispered, her mouth lifting into the beginnings of a playful smirk as she leaned in and nibbled at his ear, “don’t stay away for too long. I hope to continue from where we left off soon.”

Azriel chuckled, low in his throat. “I promise. When you’ve put it that way, how could I do otherwise?” And then, more gently than before, brushing a lock of burnished gold hair from her face: “Happy Solstice, Elain.”

Her only answer was to reel him in for another lingering kiss.

[nekrosmos]

Okay one last batch of silly little memes for you silly little memes enjoyers out there

Part 1 / 2

[evgar]

they'll be kissing once they stop being chased don't worry!

[inkskinned]

she says he won't let her get a dog, which is fine, because they're in an apartment, and that's the kind of thing people say about their partners. he won't let me get a dog. and you're at a dinner party and you tilt your head a little to the side just like that dog he won't let her get, because is this the thing that's going to upset you? you don't know every corner of their relationship, she could be joking, they could have had so many healthy conversations about the dog, right, and maybe she's not letting herself get the dog because of money and time and whatever. but, like, she did say let

and she wants to move away from his hometown and he wants to stay and then he tells you with a wink and a conspiratorial stage whisper don't worry i'll convince her and she laughs about it - so clearly this is something they laugh about. but you do just stand there and stare at him like what the fuck, man. you can't say what you want to say which is why do you get the final say on everything because they're both obviously aware of the other person's stance on this and have obviously had private conversations about it and what are you going to do about it except make a scene and then he'll be mad at you and call you one of those bitches behind your back and she'll cut you off, which is a loss that doesn't feel worth it just because he makes you a little skeeved out every 3rd comment

and they both agree he just isn't the type to get flowers which is fine because everyone shows love differently, and are you really gonna judge someone based on their sense of individual relationship responsibility? maybe he's constantly cleaning her car and writing her poems and making her furniture or something. maybe she doesn't even like flowers and this is perfect, actually. and no you couldn't date him, obviously, ew; but like, she tells you she's happy. you almost send her a tiktok that says don't be 25 and the cool girl that doesn't need anything, you'll hate not getting flowers at 30, but that's like, starting drama & you shouldn't start drama needlessly.

and you're a little older than her but not so much older you can pull the whole trust me on this one babe thing and besides that wouldn't have worked anyway (when does it ever) and besides you have trauma so you and your therapist both agree that you're always looking for a problem even when there isn't one. and you tell yourself that just because you see them for 15 minutes every month does not mean you can identify every single red flag based on a single shitty half-joking(?) comment

and besides, what are you going to do? she says i actually wanted another stand mixer but thankfully he stops me when i'm about to spend too much money and you're standing there like are you okay? is this normal? is this just something people say? and again - what are you going to do?

to your therapist you try to language it - it's not, like, any of my business. but sometimes, doesn't it feel like - you should do something. there's got to be something, right? you've tried dropping little hints but they sail right through and you've tried having a single serious conversation and she got upset because why does it matter to you, yes it's different but we're happy, it doesn't need to make sense to you and you're like. really unwilling to push a boundary about it anymore; because the truth is that you know logically it shouldn't matter to you, as long as both parties are happy.

and besides, you've been wrong before. it's just... like, every time you see them both, something else happens, some kind of shiver down your spine like do you even hear each other when you talk. it's their strange, bickering orbit. just the way he's on his phone through dinner or watching sports instead of helping in the kitchen or, fuck, another one of these little throwaway comments he makes about we'll see about that, babe. she laughs when he calls her passions stupid shit and meanwhile she gets him tickets to see the knicks and he tells you well at least she's smart about something and still! it's none of your business.

you say get the dog anyway and she laughs. like, this is is you being funny. and not you saying - no really. get the dog. get the dog and get out of here. pack up and start running.

[finemealprompt]

DP x DC Prompt #42

Billy's pretty pleased with his ability to keep his secret identity a secret from the League. The only ones who might know are Batman and his crew, but that was to be expected.

So, he's a little surprised when he spots a new hero who has joined Justice League: Dark who looks a lot like his cousin. Like, a lot a lot. Give him black hair and blue eyes, and that's Danny ... Oh holy shit Phantom's Danny! When did Danny become a ghost?

Billy hopes Danny won't tattletale to his mom. That'd be a nightmare.

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

This was the max amount of effort I was willing to put into this

[abd-illustrates]

I might’ve spoiled the plot of Natlan | Genshin Impact THEORY

In which I read so much lore that I gained the power to see the future (maybe) This ended up being a real challenge to make - but it was also really fun! Please do lemme know what you reckon of these ideas, and whether y’all wanna see me pattern-recognition my way into several corkboards worth of theories about any other topics sometime down the line! (^^)/

(also: HAPPY NEW YEAR! 🥳🎉 Here's wishing y'all every good thing for 2024)

[dothegravitybounce]

somebody let larian studios know about a franchise called vampire the masquerade quick

[zecoritheweirdone]

hehehehehhooo,, decided to draw some hermits as the mystery skulls animated gang!! why? uhhh mostly just 'cause.

special thanks to the ibaaf server for helping me pick the roles! gem is vivi,, false is arthur,, pearl is lewis,, and etho is mystery!!

better pic of pearl under the cut, where you can how lazy i am,,ms ksmsksjs

[beanghostprincess]

zolu is a very asexual couple in the sense that they do have sex and are attracted to each other but their attraction doesn't come from the arousal of seeing each other's bodies sexually. it comes from possessiveness and passion and the privilege of worshipping the other to the point of needing to touch and pleasure each other. their relationship goes so beyond love and sex that their way of making love is indescribable. they need each other emotionally and physically in every way.

[blackkatdraws]

Draw your TSP designs as UNDERTALE CHARACTERS CHALLENGE!

The ONLY rule for this challenge:

Carefully look at the reblogs so you don't leave an artist out of the chain when you're reblogging. Try not to separate the chain into two/more threads if it's possible 💗

[a2zillustration]

I jumped out of my gosh dang chair

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[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]

[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]

[imthursdaysyme]

While I love Steve having a kid that's a nerd, my favorite is if his kid is just like him. He's popular even at 7, he's extroverted, funny, and charming albeit a little strange. He loves sports and struggles in math and doesn't really get english and gets scolded when he laughs in history—sue him he thought it was funny—and has a tendency to get detention but also is somehow a teachers pet all at once.

He has a tendency for feminine things, makes it his own with earrings and the occasional pink flower print shirt.

He begs steve to not work on the car until he gets home from school, cause even at 5, he would rather climb over the fence and run home by himself then learn his dad worked on the cool car without him.

He loves driving and cooking and dancing and loves swimming—aunt Robbie calls him a variety of aquatic animals instead of his name; minnow, fish, stingray, tigershark. Anything went.

They look alike and act alike to the point robin laughs and claims Steve just cloned himself, Eddie says that the kid is actually just Steve brought to the future through time travel. Steve laughs, he loves it ofc but he's never pushed or forced it, it just happened that way.

But there's also times, where Steve sees his son, so like him with big tears in his eyes trying to be tough. Or when all he wants is to sleep in the bed with Steve when he has a nightmare, wants his dad to kiss everything better, when he so easily seeks affection or struggles with school to the point he's getting stress migraines at 9, sees him try so hard to do his best and do what he does well. Sees him fail.

And when Steve sees this, he wonders if maybe he wasn't a bad kid. Didn't need to be tougher, manlier, smarter—better—to deserve love.

Just. Like. Steve seeing that he didn't need to be anything other than what he was. That he has no idea how his parents didn't love him bc how could he ever not love his kid? Just like its okay for him to be how he is and have a kid that a like him as well bc he's pretty great

And like. Its just that idea that Steve could only “heal his inner child” with a kid that's different then him or a girl is kind of sad that it's only that what if him and his son go to every game and constantly have grease on them what then.

[fishofthewoods]

Oh my god I woke up this morning and my Stardew Valley meta post had almost 150 notes????? Hello?????????? Anyways I started writing this last night because @moon-is-pretty-tonight left nice tags on the original so thank you so much!!

We know from the starting scenes of the game that the farmer's grandfather loved Stardew Valley. So why did he leave? Pelican Town is a good place to grow old; George and Evelyn are just fine. It's a fine place to raise a kid, but maybe he just wanted to raise his child closer to real schools and other children.

Or maybe, just maybe, he understood.

Was there a day when he was in his thirties where he looked at his friends and realized they weren't like him? That he could run faster than them, work longer, explore deeper into the hidden places of the valley?

Was there a day when he went to the wizard to ask him for help, for knowledge if nothing else? Did he learn then that his family was different? Special? Chosen? And how did he react? He couldn't possibly raise a child in the valley if they would be as strange and fey as him. He had to leave. There was no other way.

But years later, on his deathbed, did he regret that choice?

Is that why he gave the farmer the letter?

Is that why they went back home?

When the farmer steps off the bus that first day, the valley is still on the cusp of winter, just barely tipping over into spring. The flowers are starting to bloom, but a chill still hangs in the air. As soon as the farmer's boots touch the soil there's a change. The air gets warmer. The trees get greener. Not by too much, not all at once, but it changes.

The junimos watch the farmer as they do their work. They're new to farming, but take to it with frightening speed; their first batch of crops is perfect. None of the townsfolk tell them that parsnips don't normally grow in less than a week, that cauliflowers don't grow to be ten feet tall, that fairies don't visit when the sun goes down and grow potatoes and beans and tulips overnight. The junimos talk amongst themselves in their strange, wild language, and agree: this is the one. They're back. The valley recognizes its own, even when they've left for a generation. The farmers have come home.

Things change fast in the valley. The community center, empty and decrepit for so many years, is rejuvenated. (Lewis says it was abandoned only a few weeks after the farmer's grandfather left. Strange coincidence, he says, that it both came and went with the farmer's family.) The mines and the quarry, similarly abandoned, are explored for the first time in ages. The town becomes cleaner, brighter, more vibrant, happier.

And it is happier. Not just the environment, but the people. It's the talk of the town for weeks when Haley does her first closet purge. Leah's art show in the town square is a huge success. Shane's smiling for the first time since he moved to the valley. All of them, when asked, say it's all thanks to the farmer.

People love to ask why Lewis didn't fix the community center on his own. Why Willy never repaired the boat to ginger island. Why Abigail or Marlon never went down to fix the elevator in the mines, or why Clint didn't fix the minecarts.

But isn't it so much more interesting to ask how those things were there in the first place? How they got so broken down? If the stories the townspeople tell are true, the valley was once a beautiful place, flourishing and full of life; why did that change? When did it change?

Was it when the farmer's grandfather, the locus of the valley, its chosen representative, left town?

And if so, what happens when the farmer comes back?