#soft place to land

[el-huddpudd]

The Goose Girl, by Shannon Hale

Words that settled in my heart and lift into my mind, again and again. "I really do believe you. And when you get tired of worrying and trying not to be afraid, tell me and I’ll do it for you a while so you can shut your eyes and sleep peaceful.”

[1000-year-old-virgin]

Souvenir - Soft Place To Land

[kiruamon]

Moon landing

Never been to the moon. So what if...

Aaaaand a bonus drawing of Y/N chilling in Moon's lap a little bit longer while rambling over their hobby.

And second and last bonus drawing of this entry:

[jackwhiteprophetic]

All Buck wants is to be wanted and not just needed and all Eddie wants is to be able to be able to hold people near to him and in s8 we saw them choose each other time and time again.

All either of them ever wanted was a family and a soft place to land aaragshhdjdj and THEY HAVE THAT ALREADY WITH EACH OTHER AND IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

wormie wormie wormie wormi-

[laylakeating]

ALL AMERICAN FAVOURITE CHARACTER APPRECIATION WEEK DAY TWO | favourite arc/storyline → Layla’s mental health journey

[zukosdualdao]

a soft place to land

zutara month, day 16: injury recovery, @zutaramonth

summary: in the aftermath of an assasination attempt on katara, she finds herself safe in his bed, zuko looking after her from the bedside.

warnings: assasination/murder attempt, complicated thoughts about punitive judgment and executions, etc, excessive use of adverbs, lmao.

other notes: title taken from "a dream is a soft place to land" from waitress.

Katara’s eyes flicker open. She immediately sets to prop herself up on her elbows, struggling not to groan with fatigue and discomfort as she does. 

The sheets underneath her are gold and silken, the room around her faintly familiar.

She’s in the Fire Nation. She’d been here as an Ambassador for the latest treaty revision. A servant… a man dressed as a servant, anyway, he’d served her tea in the private chambers kept for her here, and her throat had begun to swell, panic building as it did, chest burning as the door slammed ominously shut behind him. She remembers lifting her hand shakily, trying to guide her blood to keep the toxins from working through it, but she couldn’t tear it out of her without extracting her own blood, it was no use, she couldn’t think—her head met the floor, brow slick with sweat, she was going to die…

As she looks around in the darkness, it occurs to her exactly where she is now.

“Zuko?”

He’d come looking for her just in time.

The last thing she remembers before her awakening is the taste of something herbal and sickly sweet, being overcome with sick and the aftermath of bile, Zuko’s gentle hand cradling the back of her head, and then succumbing to the darkness.

“I’m right here,” he says quietly in the dark, and when she turns just slightly to her right, she can see shadows cast over his house face. He’s sitting in a chair by her bedside, folding in on himself and wringing his hands until he casts his worried gaze up to meet her eyes. “It’s okay. You’re really okay.” He sounds almost disbelieving. “How do you feel?”

It’s quite the inverse of the last time she was here when he was the one prone on the bed, marked by lightning, and she waited up all night for him to wake again, too wired to sleep, needing to keep a weathered eye on his wound.

“Not amazing,” she manages a bout of shaky laughter. “But I’m alive, so that’s something. How did you know what to… ?”

Zuko was alone when he arrived and fed to her what must have been the antidote, though she thinks she remembers the patter of other footsteps arriving after the fact, possibly a sea of medics.

At this, Zuko leans back in his chair a little, rubbing an embarrassed hand at the back of his head. “Oh—my mother learned about plants and things from her mother.” Zuko’s mouth tilts into a frown. “I think she was an herbalist? I’m not sure.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t know what they’d used but—we keep something stocked here. It’s not a cure-all, but…” Shrugging again, he sighs. “Thank Agni it worked.”

“Forget Agni,” she murmurs. “Thank you.” Something that might have been panic if not for her weariness swells in her chest suddenly. “The man… ?”

Even through the darkness and the haze she still finds her mind in, she catches the way his pupils dilate, the way his posture stiffens. She’s seen him angry like this before. Protective-angry. She imagines his fingers are probably curling hard against the edge of his chair as he grips it, but looking down to check seems difficult and unnecessary. “Hired assassin.”

“Oh.” It’s sort of strange to think she’s an important enough figure that someone would try to assassinate her, that her death wouldn’t be a simple murder but rather to make some political statement or another. “That’s new. For me, anyway.”

Zuko’s had a few attempts on his own life in the past year, as she recalls. Most of them she read about through letters after the fact—she was here for the last one, though, and thank the spirits for that. Stab wounds are simple enough to heal with her bending—if they don’t bleed out first, which can happen more quickly than one might expect. Needless to say, Katara’s glad she was around.

Zuko says the next like an oath. “The assassin is being dealt with.” With a confusing mix of shame, fear, and relief, she wonders how. Zuko’s not the type to execute, certainly not without trial, which is how things would have been done in the Fire Nation in days past. Mostly, she’s relieved for that, but still, she finds herself wondering whether she’ll regret being such a ready proponent of the right to trial and imprisonment over execution in the weeks to come. There is a swallow of fear in her throat, but it might wisp away once this isn’t all so fresh. 

But perhaps that’s something to think on later.

 “So are his benefactors,” Zuko spits out the word like it’s full of poison itself. “I’ve written to your father and Sokka and to Aang,” he adds. Katara’s stomach clenches unpleasantly in a way she suspects only has a little to do with the day’s events. Zuko doesn’t know she and Aang haven’t spoken in months, that they’re no longer together. “Spirits, Katara, I’m so sorry.”

Katara frowns as she leans back against the pillows. “What for? You didn’t poison me.”

“It was done on my watch, in my palace, because some group of fucking noblemen I’ve been trying to appease are—I keep trying and failing to make things better, and instead…”

“Zuko,” she glares at him in the hopes that it will quiet his self-recrimination. It does, quite efficiently, and she smiles. “Not everything gets to be your fault. Will you just accept my thanks for saving me instead?”

At this, she yawns, and she watches as his expression softens in the dim light of his bedroom.

Zuko rolls his eyes then, but there’s a faint smile playing on his lips, too, and she’s glad to feel the mood lighten again, though she can feel weariness starting to take her once more.

“That’s what you and I do,” he allows quietly after a moment, his (pretty, she thinks hazily, so pretty) amber eyes shining with the truth of what he’s saying. “We save each other. Get some more rest, Katara.” 

Still a little awake, but with her eyes closed, she asks drowsily, not even sure she manages the words, “Will you be here when I wake up?”

Zuko’s answer is quiet but certain. “Of course I will.”

Katara hums as she falls back into the allure of sleep, safe with the knowledge Zuko is watching over her. 

[tech-sapphy]

the dndads brainworms won’t let me go and i’ve been listening to a lot of broadway these past few days while thinking about dndads. a dangerous mix for my emotions. that means i Had to write some fic (marloakworthy you’re canon and real to me)

also i hc hermie as genderfluid. so here’s a thing i wrote on a whim

-

Makeup is, generally speaking, something that Hermie is more than used to. Stage makeup was always necessary, after all, and so that was what they were used to doing.

It’s also why, when he, Normal, and Scary got ready for their date night, Hermie was thrown for a bit of a loop seeing how she did her makeup.

He watched her relax as she did it, even as she was explaining it to them. She opted for a pink eyeshadow, using some black eyeshadow at the creases of her lids and blending it down to make it all a little darker, giving it an ombré effect. She also started to add extra wings to her eyeliner, smiling as she did. It already looked good, but she liked it.

Hermie admired how she did it to express herself rather than a role.

Neither he or Normal could stop staring at her. She was clearly basking in the attention, but he didn’t care.

Normal was the first to speak up. “…Can you do some for me?”

His eyes were wide, soft, with hope. No doubt an excuse to get close - which Scary probably clocked, by her smile and eye roll.

“Whatever floats your boat, Norm.”

Luckily, she had colors more than black - so Normal’s look was one with some brighter blues and greens, and she gave him some eyeliner too, at his request, with less of a sharp wing than her own. Her hand cradled each of his un-made up cheeks as she worked, and Normal leaned into it.

It was sickeningly cute.

Hermie’s heart leapt in joy, seeing them be so sweet. It was also beating, fast.

He admired them and he wanted to be close to them too, but he knew his heart beating was partially him wanting to be on that makeup chair.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s dedicated to doing the right makeup for his roles…but he doesn’t have one right now, and he still finds that he wants to do some makeup anyways.

Maybe it could help him find who ‘Hermie’ really was.

“What do you think, Hermie??” Normal reaches out to him, grabbing a hand. Hermie holds it in return, planting a kiss on the back of it.

“You’re radiant.” Normal blushes.

As Hermie sets Normal’s hand down, he can’t help but glance down at the makeup still set out on the counter. Some colors catch his eye. He looks to Scary, who he finds is smiling at them. She almost looks away, but Hermie is inclined to ask his question before she does.

“Well well well, we can’t go out on a date together if we’re not all matching. Scary, if you would be so kind…”

Hermie picks up a compacted container of eyeshadow, one that caught his eye earlier. A dark purple.

Scary groans, but is all smiles. Maybe she’s trying to hide it, maybe not, but Hermie can tell she’s more than happy to do it. Especially since she quickly reaches for a tube by the sink.

“You guys are so cute. You need primer first, otherwise it’s gonna stain or it’s not gonna stay. And it’d be suuuuch a tragedy if it didn’t stay.”

Indeed it would be, Scary. Indeed it would.

—

For how much of a powerhouse Scary has proven herself to be, Hermie understands why Normal leaned so close into her touch.

She’s incredibly gentle as she holds his face. He admires her range.

He also enjoys the feeling of the makeup. The eye primer was cold - but the brush it was blended with was firm, warming it up quickly.

Then there was the eyeshadow. Hermie kept tapping at his knees, in rhythm to the music that was playing softly from Scary’s phone speaker.

He closed his eyes as Scary raised the brush from the compact, covered in purple. He also leaned into the hand on his chin, just a little- he didn’t want to mess up the angle too badly. But he was right across from the mirror, so he couldn’t quite help…

“Wow, you’re really good at this, Scary!” Normal exclaims.

“Yeah, well, it might be easier if you stop trying to open your eyes, Hermie.”

“Sorry, sorry, my dear. Shouldn’t try and get a glance before your masterpiece is complete, I know.”

Normal laughed and Scary huffed at the nickname, her bangs blowing up as she did.

“You’re lucky the eyeshadow is done, but we still need some eyeliner. Close your eyes, you dork.”

Affectionate as could be.

He’s glancing down at the liners she has laid out - there are two. Both are black, but one is liquid and one is a pencil.

Both she and Normal had liquid eyeliner. He wanted to match with them, right?

So he doesn’t quite know why he reaches for the pencil. But he does, and hands it to her. She looks a little surprised, but not opposed.

“Oh, sure.”

“Oooh, good choice, Hermie! I think that’ll look good with the eyeshadow! Y’know, since it’s a bit darker!” Normal points out.

Hermie closes his eyes as he replies, “Of course. As you know, I have impeccable taste in style.”

Scary snorts.

“Oh, how you wound me, Scary.” He responds, leaning into the hand on his cheek.

The pencil felt weird. Not bad, just different. Not quite as smooth, but not bad. Eventually, Scary’s hands left his face.

He opened his eyes to look in the mirror, but Normal turned the swivel chair around before he could.

“Normal, what are you doing?”

“Can’t look at the masterpiece before the artist is done, remember?” He grins.

Hermie sighs, just as Scary - also grinning - is applying some bits of blush to his cheeks. He probably won’t need it tonight, knowing his reactions to his partners doing so much as holding his hand (as much as he tries to hide it), but he doesn’t protest.

She then holds out some tubes to him. Lipstick and lip gloss.

“Want any?”

He’s… he’s only ever worn it for his roles. Only ever red, bright enough to be befitting of The Joker and Poison Ivy.

Looking at the labels on the tubes, there’s one that is bright red. He’s about to reach out to point to it when he sees it - it’s almost second nature.

But before he can gesture to it, Scary pulls them away, looking through them.

“Not all of these would look right with your eyes, though.” She picks through a few of them, Hermie hears her set some down on the counter. Over his shoulder, he sees Normal point to a couple tubes, but he can’t see what colors they are.

“Good eye, Norm.”

They both turn back to him, each holding a tube. Both matte, one of them is a dark blue that almost looks black and the other is a nude pink. It's one he recognizes as a color his co-stars often used in their stage makeup, a shade that wasn't too noticeable.

“Wanna do half and half?” Normal suggests.

“It’d look metal as hell.” Scary points out.

He likes that idea. He really likes that idea. So much that he almost wants to cry. He nods, and immediately looks up just a little bit.

To stop himself from ruining the makeup? So that they don’t see?

Either way, both happen as Normal and Scary each apply a color on his lips at the same time.

“No, wait, stop there Norm-“

“But hear me out, we could also do a different pattern!”

“No, we’re not going to do that.“

Hermie is tempted to laugh, but refrains, so as to not mess anything up. Their bickering makes him feel… comfortable. Content.

At home.

He’s never really known what that felt like. His characters never did, either. So he really has no frame of reference, nothing more than observations of his friends with their families.

But he suspects that this new feeling, of contentment and of his mind Not racing with thoughts and clever lines - just needing to do what he wants rather than live up to some expectation or role -

That might be what home feels like. He's not sure, but it's enough for him.

“Okay, ready for the final reveal??” Normal and Scary both hold one of his hands after they turn the chair to face the mirror.

He opens his eyes.

He looks different. So different.

The eyeshadow and lipstick are darker and give a bit of a shadowed look. The pencil eyeliner makes his eyes look softer than his partners’.

Both of whom are blushing. Normal squeezes his hand.

“You’re so beautiful, Hermie!”

“Like midnight.” Scary whispers.

Beautiful. Like midnight.

Beautiful. Beautiful.

It’s so… feminine. Hermie feels feminine.

He loves it.

Tears are welling up in his eyes, and he tries to look up, but a tear slips down his cheek. His partners swoop in at the same time.

“Oh no- what’s wrong Hermie?” Normal wraps his arms around him.

“Oh shit, what’s wrong? Do you not like it?” Scary squeezes his hand, running a thumb over his wrist.

She doesn’t even care that her hard work is at risk. She just cares about his feelings.

He’s overcome with adoration, at their reactions and at his reflection. It’s why his usual quick wit is completely out of commission, and he can only respond with a few words.

“I love it.”

He gets up and maneuvers around them, to bring them both into a hug. They’re both quick to return the hug, wrapping their arms around him. He can feel their hands link on his back. Normal leans into the crook of Hermie’s shoulder, and Scary’s drawing little circles on his shoulder blades. It’s reassuring, it’s grounding.

They had plans for tonight, but Hermie doesn’t want to let go.

For once in a life riddled with shit luck, Hermie feels like they’ve hit the jackpot.

[nsewell]

i've never stopped thinking about kaidan alenko's "i want to be your soft place to land" and have used it as the metric for every fictional relationship i've liked hence forth

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF SHENKO 1/?

The end of the world has a way of reminding you of all the things you forgot to say do. Mass Effect: Legendary Edition (2021)

[karliahs]

i was poking around in my ao3 stats and realised i have posted more than 80,000 words of fic this year...once i get a soft place to land posted it will be more than 100k?? i don't think of myself as a prolific writer at all so this feels...wild

[zukkacore]

I know we’re in a like Jaceporter cannibalism metaphor mood rn and I do think there is something abt Jace and wanting to be consumed, possessed, controlled, encircled. Etc etc. Bc like, I think the rep for sorcery is that it’s lazy bc it’s innate, it’s effortless but like in my mind I’ve always kinda seen it as. All work bc it’s all coming from you. Not the material world, not channeled through divinity, or a contract, it literally comes from you. It’s like Kristen’s whole thing w religion. It’s oppressive when someone comes in and builds a cage around your whole life, but it’s also easier when someone came in a decided to give you all the answers. Working to build something of meaning is hard. Self determining is hard. Projecting your will into the world is hard because it all comes from you, nobody can give you the answers. Thats why Porter giving him certainty is like—tantalizing in its own way. Someone please tell me what to do. Comforts of a guilded cage etc etc. i want a nice soft place to land. I want to lie down forever.

[landwriter]

i have never done one of them tumblr videos but winter is the prettiest season here and i wanted to share the extremely specific sight of snow drifting off conifers and being caught in the afternoon sun

my goal craft-wise as a burgeoning little words doer is to be able to describe something like this and do it justice

[two-person-job]

may we all be so lucky ☹️

[summersofsalt]

a soft place to land (b&w version here)

[astarab1aze]

i think shifters are often treated the way they are because they're essentially walking crucibles of magic and life. they are closest to godhood, made in hargraven's image, and to such a degree that enables their ascension. it's why so many of the outer gods are ascended shapeshifters. other nightfolk aren't nearly as close to their creators, made less in their image and more as their subjects, enactors of earthly will, whatever blahblahblah. but shifters were made to be like hargraven, to ascend and hold up the world with him. he's arguably a benevolent god, at least toward shifters; he won't abandon them, even if they turn away from him. souls are offered reincarnation or eternal rest in his garden in the form of ethereal flowers, insects, birds, etc. unbound by the painful trappings of mortal life - even those who have sinned or are objectively evil are offered a second chance, though there are some he will relegate to his garden against their will.

i think, also, it may be due in part to the fact shifters are essentially amalgams of every animal in existence, at least the ones capable of multishifting. they're also territorial by nature, mischievous and cunning too, and both sort of automatically agitate other shifters or weres on an instinctive level. something about their pheromones, other nightfolk being jealous of their natural inclination toward magic and power-- they just end up as magnets for trouble. many of them die young for it, and those who manage to live to adulthood struggle immensely for the rest of their lives, sometimes economically, mentally, emotionally, physically, and so on. nearly all of them are left with lasting scars in some fashion or another - take loux, faith, satra, and kaede as key examples. the world of nightfolk is whimsical and curious and fun, yes, but it's also extremely hostile toward its people (just look at what happens to harpies and shifter children).