#i love these two gremlins so much

[svllw]

[epilogue + random Pale Elf, Wizard of Waterdeep, Dark Urge spoilers below]

BFF Vampire Lord!Astarion is my Becoming Goddess of Murder!Durge’s treasure. I imagine them meeting hundreds of years later and reminiscing about their times together.

BFF = romanced until Araj/confession, then locked into “you need a friend, not a lover” option

Becoming Goddess of Murder = Karsite Weave Gale romance with accepted ascension; Bhaal’s Chosen (Slayer) through Act 2,3 then turning his murderous ass down further in Act 3

[stormagedoom]

YES THEY ARE 

Original post here

[seagreenstardust]

Can we also just appreciate that both Katsuki and Izuku are 100% obsessed with each other

[frnkiebby]

He's so eepy and silly :3 >_< ^_^

giving victorian woman on her fainting couch after having to sit through her husband explaining the new gas light system for the 230th time over dinner~🎃

[0booboozefool0]

[shiningstarr15]

Me: really wanting to see more works with Gregory and Vanessa being chaotic, playful siblings

No one:

Me: FINE, I’ll do it myself!

I think these two need more works of them just having fun! Seriously.. they’ve been through enough already y’all 😭

Let them play together

Let them laugh together

Let them have FUN together!

Based off the story by @sakichi56. Link to the story can be found here

[grem-archive]

Pspsps may we ask for some romerica headcanons/thoughts? 👀👀

A great majority of these are between the esteemed @temtamtom and me! I think I accidentally converted you to Romericism Tem, so I apologize. I hope you heal soon :facedowncrying: also I am sorry in advance that there are so many. There are just as many more that I’m not including.

Romano is a respectful short king at 165 cm/5’5” next to Alfred’s 188 cm/6’2”. Poor Roma is also in an entirely different weight class; 55 kg compared to 102 kg.

“Romano dates what he can’t have (fat ass and big titties).”

“If you don’t love me like Hadrian loved Antinous it’s not worth it.”

This is 100% a Zoomer BF & Boomer BF situation. Alfred had to teach Romano how to use Zoom and FaceTime and always uses strange magic Gen Z words that leave Romano bewildered. Alfred’s “she eb on my nezer til I Scrooge” to Romano’s “look at this funny minion meme I found” (it’s 8 years outdated).

Romano loves paired dances and Alfred has a fair bit of energy. They adore swing dance and jive! When determined they’ll clear the room to listen to their old records and swing.

Related to this, they love to dance together in general and sing. They’ve made a playlist for doing their home chores when together and it’s chock full of songs both know by heart; both in English and Italian. And the amount of dancing they do to distract themselves? Immense. We’re talking a disco outbreak in the hall, Alfred starting to do the hand jive and Romano joining. They have fun.

They love watching westerns together. And I do mean love. We call Romerica “Spaghetti Western” in this house! And we’re not saying Romano has a cowboy kink, but he’s got a cowboy kink. Will find any excuse to get Alfred into some version of western wear (he’s usually pretty willing, it’s really not that hard).

Alfred lets Romano dress him up like a Ken Doll. He's just happy to be spending time with Roma, who, let's be real, has a much better fashion sense. Romano also has a history of patching up Alfred's clothes and uniforms, sometimes hiding hidden stitched hearts on the former.

They cook for each other a lot. The way to both their hearts are through their stomachs and it’s very obvious at times. Food driven to the core.

“Your cooking is going to make me fat.” Romano complains. “Y’know you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.” Alfred replies. Romano scrunches his nose, “Don’t tell me what to do.” He then takes another bite.

When Romano first arrived in New York, he knew very little English. On the other hand, Alfred knew very little Italian, if any. Communication was a very glaring issue in the beginning. They figured out that they both knew Spanish and could communicate that way until they taught each other more of their respective languages.

We’re not calling Alfred Romano’s sugar daddy, but hey, it doesn’t hurt when your beefcake boyfriend has a shiny credit card and makes a wonderful bag carrier :shrugs:

Romano’s common household weapons: the wooden spoon (the only actual weapon), the rolling pin (threat only), a comically large frying pan (threat only unless they’re getting up to Tom & Jerry shenanigans), and a comically long pizza paddle (for long range ass-smacking). However, Alfred has started learning to declaw the rolling pin threats by responding with “That’s so hot,” or some equivalent. Romano is having to rethink some of his battle plans.

Both are serial cuddlers when they’re together, but Romano is more confident in bolder displays of PDA and touchier overall. A hand on Alfred’s back or waist as he passes by, a kiss to the shoulder. Alfred, taking advantage of his height, loves hugging Romano from behind and resting his chin on Romano’s head.

Alfred loves to carry Romano and pick him up. Romano complains but never actually means it. In fact, he loves it but is simply a stubborn fool.

Alfred has beef with Romano’s pet rooster, Ugo. Ugo is the only force that could make Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America, run for his life. Fear the peck!

Romano is the bedtime enforcer in this relationship. Alfred’s sleep schedule is pretty shit and Romano loves his sleep (and his cuddles). When they visit each other, he often has to physically drag Alfred to bed. They also nap together, though often it’s just Romano that ends up sleeping.

Alfred is constantly fascinated with Romano’s stories from childhood or at least the Nation equivalent of such. The number of things Romano and Veneziano can remember from times far before Alfred or frequent guest Ludwig ever existed blows his mind. He’s always asking for more. It’s both his natural wonder and curiosity, but also the archaeologist in him.

Alfred F. “Hey Romano babe can I bench press you? I wanna hold you but I gotta get my workout in.” Jones. Does squats with Romano on his back. Will be doing sit-ups with Romano sitting on him so he can give him smooches on the up. Romano complains about the sweat but doesn’t actually make any moves to get up or leave.

Both are romantics in their own way, but in this dynamic, Romano is the one who typically initiates the moment. Alfred is usually the one who ruins the moment with a joke but in the most affectionate way possible. He’s embarrassing, but he’s Romano’s.

Alfred and Ludwig have made their own joint study of the way Romano and Veneziano use their hands when they speak. I wish I had their notes.

Over time they’ve learned each other’s old full names and use them. Not that they have much of an effect, it’s more a silly than anything. But it is still a jumpscare. Alfred Fly-from-Fornication Kirkland versus Publius Romilius Romanus Regillus. Who wins?

If they encounter some bullshit together in public, Romano is the “I’m going to kick your ass.” Alfred is the “And I’m about to hand him the chair.” That, or he’s picking Romano up and carrying him away.

[sheepbunmonster]

someone please tell me i'm not the only one who thought this when nimona turned into a whale

[crimescrimson]

All Canon Pairings/Affections in Agents Of Mayhem (2017): Hollywood & Daisy (FWB) | Braddock & Friday (Dating) | Hardtack & Gremlin (One-Sided Crush)

[stylographic-blue-rhapsody]

hello tarspen nation of 5. I come bearing a gift of middle aged soldier yuri (and I'm only a little sorry for calling it that bc I will never be tired of this joke)

fwiw this is very very mildly nsfw in case anyone needed a heads up

scene: bazzoxan, present day. tarsenna's apartments

...

“Can we talk about Fyrna?”

Tarsenna has their back to you as they prepare dinner at the kitchen counter. They told you not to bother trying to help because, affectionately, you’d be in the way in such a small space and it would be annoying. Completely fair. When you ran the infirmary here your biggest pet peeve was junior medics and non-medical personnel not giving you enough elbow room while you worked. 'Get the fuck out of my med bay' was once a phrase every single soldier in Bazzoxan had heard from your mouth, present company included. Tarsenna made their ask with much more polite phrasing. 

So you’re at the table, one leg folded up with a foot propped on your chair, watching their impressive knife skills. The question isn’t a surprise but the faint tension in their voice is. You want to reach for them, to create contact, to soothe, but you dutifully remain seated and out of their way. In any case, you have an inkling as to what they’ve been chewing on, and it’s easily resolved. You say, “Of course. What are you thinking about?” 

What has them tense is the terrible intersection of love and grief, a crossroads you yourself know all too well. They loved her, maybe not in the same way you did, but by the Luxon they loved her and wouldn’t want to disrespect her—or you, or your grief that they both share and cannot fully know—but they somehow also think that Fyrna wouldn’t mind, and that feeling has them unbalanced. Ever insightful, Tarsenna is, and you’re so glad they know her as well as you do.

“I think she would clap you on the back for this, actually,” you say thoughtfully. “I fucking knew it,” Tarsenna mutters in reply. The exchange is so silly it makes you laugh. You’d congratulate both of us, wouldn’t you, firefly? You’d probably complain that it’s not fair that I get to kiss them and you don’t. But you’d be so pleased. I know it.

The tension drains from them at that, and the rest of the conversation over dinner is easy. Navigating this new-old space between you both (new, in that there’s a physical component, old, in that you have loved them this way since you and the cohort were callow greens in basic training) feels as intrinsic and simple as channeling healing magic.

As you talk, you feel the resonance that has always existed, the resonance that couldn’t be weakened by time or distance or grief: I’ll take care of you. I love you. I love you. I love you. Let me take care of you. I will always come back. We are the same. I love you.

The resonance that blazed incandescent in the shape of a seven-pointed star—a perfectly balanced isotoxal heptagram. Now it’s just you and Tarsenna and five blank vertices; two remaining lines of a forgotten septenary verse. 

You should write to Khith’s family. Maybe someone knows what happened to them. Maybe there’s a third line of the stanza to be salvaged. 

“Leave the dishes,” Tarsenna says softly when you stand to gather them for washing. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

Tugged by the hand, by the heart, you follow them out of the kitchen and into the bedroom.

Unexpectedly, you feel shy, which is absurd; no one of your acquaintance in all of Xhorhas would call you shy. But there is hesitance here nonetheless, born of your desire to make them feel good against the knowledge that your experience in such endeavors is exclusive to one person, built on years of learning and memorizing her body. Fyrna was the only one who ever wanted you this way, until now. 

You’re not practiced, at this. It makes you anxious.

But their hand lands in your hair to cup the back of your head, and it’s easy. Your palms slide under the hem of their tunic to press against the warmth of their abdomen, and it’s easy. The call and response is easy.

I love you.

When you sit on the bed, you tease them about the mattress being made of stone (it’s just firm, but you can’t help being a smart-mouth). They tell you that it shouldn’t be a problem for you, a person who had been known to fall asleep on battlements in her youth. You’re old now, you shoot back, and sensitive. Their body presses into yours, welcome weight, as they follow you onto the bed, and their laughing, suggestively rumbled “Oh yeah?” makes you flush. Whatever secondary retort you had metamorphoses into a soft, breathy noise when their knee presses between your legs. 

The worry that had been churning in your chest is entirely inapposite. You should have known it would be. How else could this have gone? Tarsenna is as they always are: steady, warm, anchoring. There are no expectations, only the instinctual manifestation of love as touch. It’s just you, and them, and the relief of not being alone. 

We are the same.

A slow, simmering heat builds between you, unhurried and tender. The cool air of the room brushes gooseflesh over your skin when you are fully divested of tunic and breeches, but Tarsenna’s hands are warm and their kisses are soft and you quickly forget the mild discomfort of the clime. Their mouth finds your jaw, then trails to your breast, your stomach, your thighs. Their strong hands hold you in place, but when they lower their mouth to you and your body jerks at the sensation, you insistently slide your hands over theirs until Tarsenna relinquishes the gentle grip on your hips in favor of lacing their fingers with yours. You squeeze, holding on, and they squeeze back. 

I love you.

In the building pleasure—so much, so much, so much—you let out a wounded noise, spilling from your mouth like blood, like a litany. A prayer for being alive. They pause and pull back, and indignantly you nearly kick them with a heel to their shoulder for it before they’re hovering over you, thumbs wiping across your cheeks, saying, “Hey, hey. You okay? Shit, I didn’t scratch you, did I?”

You realize your eyes are wet. Your startled chuckle sounds watery, and this surprises you, too. “No, it’s not—I’m fine. My body is just overwhelmed, I think. It’s been a while.” Nineteen years of ‘a while.’ When they open their mouth to reply you cut them off sternly, “Do not apologize to me for being good at sex.”

Tarsenna barks a laugh, and it’s bright and full. Light, it is the most beautiful sound in the world. They retort that they’d never be sorry for giving exemplary head, although you know they were going to ask if they should slow down, ease off. Big softie.

I’ll take care of you.

Call, response. Rise, fall. Hands and mouth and hips and gentle loving touch. You tremble with the intensity of it, an electricity long dormant singing in your veins. It would be enough to make you feel unmoored, but Tarsenna’s steady presence is an anchor and you remain safely tethered. It both surprises you and doesn’t that this push-pull with them feels like sparring—synchronous attunement to the cues of another. There’s a joke in there, somewhere, but you’re too occupied to search it out.

The way Fyrna said your name was always one of your favorite sounds. You add Tarsenna’s low, gravelly ‘Espen’ when you roll on top of them to the list. 

I love you. I love you. I love you.

In the languid quiet that follows, you murmur small talk with your head pillowed on their shoulder. Is it small talk if you are deeply invested in the minutiae of their life? If catching up on the trivialities feels like sunshine on your face? It matters so much to you. They tell you about their favorite recruits, the best of the current petty gossip here, updates on their sisters and father. You tell them about Jigow, about Shanfel and Serendipity. Set aside are the topics of the Rise, and Marquet, and Alyxian—it’s all too heavy for the afterglow.

You are determinedly not thinking of how you will leave soon. How you will be a continent, an ocean away. How it feels like you’ve returned home for the first time in two decades, only to have to leave again before you’ve even taken your shoes off in the entryway. 

I will always come back.

You close your eyes with the intent of reverie, your back pressed to Tarsenna’s chest (how long has it been, since you rested in someone else’s arms like this?), but as their breath becomes deeper and slower so does yours, irresistibly. Your body, so sympathetic to theirs, so tired from the Rise and its aftermath, matches their inhale, exhale.

For the first time in years, you fall asleep without meaning to. You dream of a room full of laughter, a raucous card game, and a poem not yet erased.

[rt3nenbaum]

everyone favorite duo is back! can't wait to see what crazy things these two do this year💚

[zombeikid]

The duality of man

[magnuspirate]

Please take a look at these wonderful artworks I got from my mutuals for my birthday ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Pascha & Noe by Satsscarlet ❤️‍🔥

Pascha, Noe & Magnus Worm by skylerFox

My beloved Heat and Magnus by @shipshinablog | twt

And last but not least the true romantic pirate story by @thecatatonic | twt

BONUS

[goldentangerines]

some terrible indescribable things happens and you come back wrong from it and you can't tell what it is ..... and the world curls away from you in disgust and helpless admiration because you came back Wrong and you shouldn't exist at all but you do ...... you did something you can't remember and it turned you inside out because you've come back Wrong and your own skin is revolting against you ..... yeah

[ferberus-skull]

pixel cat's end i love you.

flight rising.... you're okay (joking, i love you too)

[analogboii]

sometimes I think about the fact that when oda was making the supernovas, he thought that kid would be more popular than law. like he didn't expect law to be as popular as he ended up being (thusly bringing in the backstory, etc)

so does that mean we possibly have an entire backstory of kid and his pirate crew just sitting around???? like what plans did he have??? did he have any??? WHAT IS THE LORE?? ODA PLS I NEED TO KNOW. IM BEGGING. IM ON MY KNEES.