#I kept seeing like: it was only love

[magicwithered]

I could go on and talk about how Laerryn is not, in the end, motivated by hubris. Though The Age of Arcane is the age of Wizards who believe themselves bigger than gods. Or, or, I could talk about how Laerryn Coramar-Seelie was pushed by grief so deep it doesn’t just come in waves, it never fucking leaves.

How “It’s stupid to try and become a god” because she asked for the gods to save her friend. Pleaded with them to bring them back. That it was hubris that got her friend killed, and Laerryn is not the smartest person in Avalir for nothing. That she crushed it under her heel, but if her best friend, the greatest person she’s ever known had to die for her ambitions than it better well be fucking worth it.

That it is love, and love lost, that motivates her to do the things she does. And the fear of losing love again and again that motivates her to cast blight, despite her having paused for a second to listen.

Pride was her fatal flaw when Evandrian died. But it was not when she helped cause the calamity. It was love and love alone. Because pride is for people who don’t get shit done, pride is for the undeserving. She built a cathedral with her own two hands between working and researching. Between grief and mourning. Of course Laerryn is proud of herself, of course she believes in herself. She’s the goddamn Architect Arcane, she keeps this city afloat, makes discoveries for people to eventually use. She is the heart of the city. But she does not still her hand in pride, but fear, but love.

Love is what causes the Calamity. Love for Loquatious, love for Patia, love for her people. And also deep unsettling grief. Grief for what was lost to her, grief that the gods did not grant Evandrian reprieve. Grief for all the things that she could not save. Why would she waste her time trying to become a god, when she can show the gods that even them, even the mundane, even the mortals that they’ve created can do wonderful things and perform miracles. That they do not need them to grant them wishes, that they can do it themselves instead of waiting for the whims and whimsies of the Primordials to pay them any attention.

Why would the gods give her this power, this intelligence that she’s honed like a finally tuned instrument if not so that she can show them all that Avalir can be? And in the end, how could she learn? Why would she change everything? Change anything. In the end, her point was proven, the things she lost were no longer for naught. How could she ever regret what happened if in the end it was for love?

[front-facing-pokemon]

[lovesickeros]

☆ you sow; & thus you shall reap what you are owed

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, violence {☆} word count 0.8k

You are dying.

Gold melts into the dirt, bleeds into the very earth that you'd molded by your own hands – a familiarity you do not understand the source of – you know it to be true, yet you do not remember it as Teyvat does. It weeps, in turn, for the way you bleed upon it, the way your lungs strain for breath.

It is fury and sorrow and fear and hatred so raw that your mind buckles.

You will die.

"A dying godling and its judge, it's jury – it's executioners," The voice is hollow and cold, sweeps across your broken body like the first chill of winter, "Archons who saw themselves Gods, now brought to heel by their own hubris."

A cold hand upon your cheek, the brush of a thumb across your lip, the gentle caress of cold across your skin. You know her – you don't remember, you shouldn't recognize her but you do – and she knows you. The cold beckons and you follow, let her kindness settle in the hollow space of your chest. You want to speak, to cry and scream and rage, let the world burn around you in a fit of flames so hot even she cannot contain it – but she silences you, quiets the anger seeping into your blood, quiets Teyvat itself.

"Do not speak, little godling. Guide my hand," She is cold; her hands are not gentle, yet it is bliss compared to the callous, cruel hands that have shattered you. She is cruel and cold and brutal but she is love in the way she kisses the crown of your head. She is love in the way she is the bulwark between you and the world that has scorned you – she is fury in the way she brings them to their knees. "And I shall enact judgement most divine."

They will pray for forgiveness, and they shall find themselves wanting.

"It wasn't our fault!" They cry, but you cannot recognize the voice – it breaks and cracks like glass. "They were too human. How were we meant to know? We– we thought they were.."

Silence.

You watch your judge – the executioner, the blade that shall carve their sins into the very marrow of Teyvat, stand above you like death. As cold as winter and just as brutal. Your temple has been painted in the gold of your divine blood, and she shall complete the masterpiece with their own. The Archons shall become the grandest art in the world – this temple the canvas, their blood the paint and their bodies the palette. The cold that cuts sinew cradles you – it sings to you, whispers sweetly in your ear and carves bone from body in the same breath. The cold presses it's lips to your wrist and it cradles a heart within it's palm – judges them and finds them guilty.

It is her spear that rests between their ribs, her sword that dissects and her dagger that carves – the cold devours.

In the breadth of this divine sanctuary, the Archons dwindle. They become the pieces of a divine work of art, they bleed and bend and break upon her hands. She shakes the heavens and carves mortality into the bones of the divine – your word is Law, and you weave their deaths into the roots of Teyvat itself.

They shall know of their grand folly in every moment henceforth and longer still and they shall weep.

And as the curtain falls, as the world crumbles beneath fist and blade, she cradles your face between hands too cold – as gentle as a shard of ice between your ribs, as brutal as the kiss of gentle snowfall. The world buckles at the loss of six, but she alone does not allow it to break – you will have to mend the wounds of the world when you are well, but today you weep and Teyvat weeps with you.

And alone, the cold remains.

Stone has eroded, the wind has ceased, the flames have been extinguished, the storm has been silenced, the forests have gone quiet and the seas go still.

But the cold remains, bathed in gold.

It wraps you in thick furs, cradles you against the winter storm that brews beneath a veneer of composure. It brings you home – lets the world settle into a stillness and silence that inspires only dread and still she presses a kiss to your brow.

It is cold, but there has never been something so warm.

Where hands have broken you, she drapes you in furs, wipes away the thick gold that clings to your skin. She pieces you back together where you have been shattered, reshapes you where you have been bent – makes of you something new. Not a god and not a mortal but something wedged between them.

But you are yourself.

And you are where you belong.

They shall put you back together and you shall know only the worship worthy of the divine. They shall carve this world into your image, tear out and burn away the rot that festers.

All you need to do is say the word and they shall be your tools to make this world your own.

One word and those who wronged you shall burn, too.

Just one word. That's all it takes, and they shall take away your pain.

[beaulesbian]

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023)

So we're just supposed to let people die because some algorithm says that that's supposed to happen? You realize how messed up that sounds, right?

[dirtytransmasc]

the Sully kids' reaction to Jake saying Spider "knew everything" breaks my heart.

they knew him better than anyone else, better than their parents. they knew his love for Eywa, for Pandora, for The People, for the clan, for their family. they knew he would never tell the RDA anything... not willingly at least.

they knew they were leaving because Spider would be tortured for information, he'd be forced to reveal their home, their plans, their numbers, their weaknesses. their brother would be tortured and they were being forced to leave him behind.

they knew they were being forced to find a new home, without their brother, because their dad knew he would be tortured.

[ryllen]

[ But i wish, the '"interesting" him' I am talking to right now, Hold some part of truth of the 'true him'. ]

----

( a bit of thought after seeing their 2 interactions on x & x )

[riickgrimes]

[pickletrip]

My absolute favourites are together and in love and by each other's side. With a promise to face everything together and with the promise to die together, oh, they have captured my heart.

Nooo. I'm going to pretend it's not over and keep rewatching it.

[tatck]

i love sonic boom (games)

[julykings]

lost boys @ the bar

[therabbitthatpostthings]

Kimetsu Academy AU were the Reader is in a relationship with Giyuu is my FUCKING SHIT

Idk I just like the idea of everyone teasing him without knowing that Gym Teacher/Student Council Member Tomioka is NOT hated by everyone and is the only member to be in an established relationship.

The reveal is always funny to me.

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King AU | Vettonso + Martian | 1.3k

There's something about putting the future emperor of the Holy Realm on his knees like this. About how easily he goes, how willingly, how obediently. What would his adoring public think if they could see him now. If they saw their beloved king pressed down like this, in the cramped space between Fernando's legs. When they realized their little boy king took it like he was a little concubine instead. 

Fernando's bitterness is lifted away in moments like these, like taking off a heavy cloak on a winter's day. It was hard to feel humiliated about his own situation when watching Sebastian debase himself like this. 

He always gives himself up so easily. When Fernando threaded his fingers through his thick curls. When he pulled them, and then when he pressed his face down further down into the vee of his legs.  Sebastian rubbed his cheek into the coarse fabric of Fernando's breeches and blinked up at him. Fernando had to smother an embarrassing sound; he was just like a little cat!

Sebastian quirked his lips up into an odd little smile and slightly rose up on his knees, "What's funny?" Fernando swallowed lightly and schooled his face back into being impassive, "Nothing. As you were." Sebastian simply smirked at him and let himself be pushed back down by the fist clenched in his hair. 

Fernando scoffed internally, there was only so much pleasure in putting the other man in his place when he instead acted like this, this degrading action, was his birthright. He took to ruling and indulging in carnal pleasures as if they were of equal gravity. To be privileged to hold such high station and also let himself be taken apart like this…Fernando felt embarrassed for him.

He is dragged away from his musings when Sebastian moved to settle his hands in Fernando's lap, clutching his hips over the fabric and slightly squeezing; Fernando fought against the urge to shiver. Sebastian pushed up the skirt of Fernando's waistcoat and smoothed his hands over the opening flap of his breeches.

His eyes darted up at Fernando again, a daft smile on his face. Fernando scowled at him, "What?" Seb's grin sharpened, "You could stand to be a little more gracious. This is your future emperor, and future husband might I add, kneeling for you on this dirty, depraved, derelict- ah–" Fernando tugged on his hair again and hissed, "Well then, why don't you show me how eager you are to perform your marital duties?" 

Seb licked his lips, completely unconcerned by Fernando's annoyance, and unbuttoned one side of the closure to Fernando's breeches and moved to open the other–

The door to the carriage flew open, arrival announcement dying on a wheezing breath as the servant took in the image the two kings made. One splayed across the seat, exuding power, the other kneeled, debauched, between the former's legs. 

One would be hard pressed to determine which was higher on the totem of power and titles. 

There was something gratifying about this to Fernando, about being caught. He had been humiliated enough throughout the entire courtship, what was one more thing? And, certainly, what was one more thing if he could drag Sebastian down into the dirt with him. 

"Oh Mark, don't act so abashed! It's nothing you haven't seen before, in fact, we have been in this very position not even a fortnight ago!"

Oh. Yes. That. 

It was hard to be completely pleased when he remembered how Sebastian had already spent years prior to their engagement sampling the palace's ample selection of fellow high-born men. And how all those men seemed to be completely and utterly wrapped around his little finger.

Fernando released his hand from Sebastian's hair as if it had burned him. He did not understand why he felt ashamed with Mark looking in on them like this. Fernando was the one marrying Sebastian, not Mark; Mark was just a lowly courtier who had the esteemed duty of spending practically every waking hour with the brat…something he himself was decidedly not looking forward to. 

Sebastian stayed kneeling, staring impassively up at Mark, still fiddling with the clasp on Fernando's breeches. Fernando gritted his teeth and looked up from where he was watching Sebastian's clever little hands; Mark stared back at him placidly. 

Mark's indifference made the entire situation worse. Fernando now felt as if he was not doing anything unique, not doing anything particularly new. How many other men had Mark caught Seb with in this exact position? Fernando felt like he was just another plaything of the boy king, soon to be boy emperor, except his position was forever, permanent. He was the "Kept King", the king who only kept his throne due to the whims of a boy who doesn't even understand what power is.

Mark coughed, "Well," he says, "Your Majesty, I do believe you have a meeting to attend." Seb pouted at him and whined, "We were just getting to the main course," but still braced himself on Fernando's thighs and got up off the carriage floor. 

Seb pranced down the steps Mark had placed next to the carriage, miming tripping sown the stairs, snickering when his action made Mark reflexively reach out to grab him, and then playfully skipped off the final step. 

Fernando couldn't help but stare as Mark made the weirdest grimace in response, and he inexplicably felt all his mortification seep away from him. Huh. Maybe Mark is-

Seb then turned around and frowned at him, seemingly disappointed, but his eyes are deceivingly sharp, "Fernando, I regret to inform you that I have other duties I must attend to, you will simply have to wait." He then grinned up at Mark next to him and giggled as the other man stiffened when Sebastian looped both of his arms through Mark's. 

He leaned all his weight on the other man, Mark not so much as shifting his weight, "Oh Mark, won't you carry me back to the palace? I'm so very tired after all the horse riding," Seb looked up at him imploringly.

Fernando observed as Mark rolled his eyes and shrugged off the man, though notably not pulling his arm from Seb's grasp, and he got the distinct feeling that this exact scene had been played out countless times before. 

Fernando clenched his jaw as he watched Seb turn and saunter off, Mark trotting alongside him like a loyal dog. Fernando was supposed to be the unaffected one in this partnership, the unflustered one, the unconcerned one. And yet here he stood, in broad daylight, in a foreign kingdom, on the steps of a carriage with his breeches half unbuttoned and his cravat in disarray. 

He heard a cough from beside him, jolted and looked to the side. Sebastian's loyal Horse Master stood there, lounging against the side of the carriage. Fernando had forgotten who had even been driving the carriage in the first place. After Seb has let himself be pushed down, his hair still windswept from their ride together, everything else seemed to fade away. His thoughts were reduced only to how he could mess up the younger man's hair further. 

Jenson grinned at him wolfishly, and casually crossed his legs,  "First time?" he inquired. Fernando glared at him. The other man laughed openly at him, "What? He's a busy man with big prospects. You're not his majesty's only conquest, you know. Now your throne on the other hand…"

Fernando seethed, it was one thing to be humiliated by the future emperor, but to be patronized by the king's horse boy? No. It would simply not do. He closed his eyes in annoyance, pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled, and prepared a speech about how he was not about to be talked down to by a man who didn't even have a throne to speak of! 

But when he opened his eyes again and opened his mouth to begin his tirade, Jenson was already wandering away to tend to the horses. Dios mío, Fernando was not mentally prepared to spend the rest of his life with all of these impertinent morons. 

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #131

Tony Stark has been kidnapped. Barely a year after saving the universe, and fresh out of a coma -- he's gone. Everyone is doing everything they possibly can to find him. The Avengers, the government, the cops, everyone.

Well... everyone except Morgan. Nobody will let her help.

Irritated, determined, alone, and terrified, Morgan finally decides to take matters into her own hands. 

Her mom wants to keep her away from the search. The Avengers and other adults won't take her seriously. But she knows of one hero who might support her. A hero known for guiding kids to their lost parents (though usually the kid is the lost one, but her mom always says her dad is immature so he probably counts).

She remembers her dad's stories. This hero would understand her need to help, to do something, too.

It's weird that nobody has thought to call this person in for the search anyway, and it's weirder that FRIDAY doesn't seem to have any info on them, but Morgan is persistent.

She sets out to ask Spider-Man to help her find her missing dad.

This is a remix of an old fic idea (#44, which no one has done yet btw!) that I just thought of ^_^

[found--family]

am i the only one who sensed some jilted lover vibes from jensen? 

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

not to out myself on main but Katsuki Bakugo continues to make me fucking insane

[izartn]

Something something the way the bones/ashes of a ghost in TGCF work as a totem of love, bc they're literally the anchor of the soul on the mortal realm. Something something Palamedes trusting Camilla to take care of his remains in case he died, so he could come back, trusting her with his soul. Something something Camilla defending ferociously what little she could kept of him near her heart, lamenting she couldn't find the rest, keeping faith to the end.

This is a ghost love story. You could say the way remains and ghosts link is everywhere all over the world, but the specific way theyre a token of love in TGCF reminds me awfully of Camilla and Palamedes whole situation.

Hua Cheng says that if his ashes were destroyed (bc he knows xl enough to know it'd be only when xl is permanently dead and gone himself) (bc if xl doenst want him to remain in this world he won't...) it'd be OK. His soul, his very being on the hands of his beloved. The year of waiting by XL at the end, trusting HC will find his way home to him. Brr.