#sorry for any spelling errors!

[cerealboxlore]

imagine, and i don’t know how or why, cap having to reveal his identity to the league, but he just says his name

whatever members immediately look up billy batson, sees he’s a kid, and assumes that marvel being there is time shenanigans and that he was keeping his identity secret to not mess up the timeline

would be funny if somewhere after this another superhero asks him if he looked up to himself as a kid and he just responds with “nah, i hated captain marvel. i mean, who the hell would willingly be so cringy” or something idk i’m tired

that just seems like it could be a lot of fun to me

THIS TOOK FOREVER FOR ME TO RESPOND TO BECAUSE MY BRAIN WASNT BRAINING AND COULDN'T READ IT RIGHT BUT I GET IT NOW AND I LOVE IT

I think this is an amazing idea!! Using time travel as an excuse to lie to the Justice League and others about his existence is just pure, high-level wizard genius. Of course, some other time traveler, like Booster Gold, might make this a difficult lie to keep up, unless...he was in on the lie from the start 👀 It would make for a cute friendship between the two heroes and make for a good bonding story about the most unexpected people who became heroes.

A scenario where I can imagine your plan happening would most likely be a funny one, and while there can absolutely be a serious event that causes this idea of yours, I am laughing out of control thinking about Captain Marvel accidentally touching the lasso of truth and saying his name when someone asks him on the Watch Tower. And then he goes silent. Cap sees the rope next to him. And then everyone goes silent. They see the rope next to him. And then he leaves without saying anything, and the entire break room bursts into PURE chaos.

I think it's an awesome idea to have people think Billy hated Captain Marvel growing up, because that's just a factor of hilarity right there. In the Captain Marvel Adventures comic run, there was an issue where Billy pretended to have a feud with Captain Marvel (himself) so that people would leave him alone (if I remember right??). It's always funny to me to see someone pretend to hate their alter ego, it brings up so many opportunities for shenanigans!

Bonus:

Superman: Hey, Captain! Sorry to bother you, but I was curious, if it's not too much to ask, may I inquire as to why you're in the past instead of, you know, back in the future?

Captain Marvel: Ah, well, that's a pretty long story there, Supes. I can't go into it too much for privacy reasons, you know how it is.

Superman: Oh, no, I get it, don't worry, I won't press into it.

Captain Marvel: Hm...I can tell you this though, if I ever come into contact with my past self, due to my magic cells and the fabric of the universe, I will self-destruct.

Superman: ....what.

Captain Marvel: Yeahhh, it's a whole thing, it's why I never bother to meet my past self, and if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you left my past self alone. Haha, wouldn't want to risk cross contamination accidentally and explode.

He then walks away whistling without a care about what he just said, leaving Superman and the rest in a confused and concerned state.

On the news next week a JL member sees Booster Gold shake hands with Billy on the Fawcett City news (Captain Marvel's city) and holds back the urge to body slam him back to the future.

Gosh, this was wonderful to answer!

[ohbo-ohno]

what happens the first time Johnny comes home with some new sex toys for reader?? Cue your absolute PANIC as he pulls them out to show you, ecstatic at the thought of trying them out when Simon gets home, and then Johnny having to do damage control when he sees how he’s freaked out his precious baby :////

YOU!!!!!! Get back here!!!!!! You genius!!!!!

1.6k, nsfw below the cut. this one’s pretty long lol it really got away from me. pretend it’s a gift since i just hit 100 followers <3

Johnny’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to you - he can literally never get enough. When you don’t wake up to his mouth licking and sucking somewhere on you, you wake up to the feeling of him humping your back. On one occasion Simon threatened to “cage your little cock if it’s all you can think with, Johnny.” So like… you know they use toys. You probably should’ve expected this at some point.

But knowing they are probably comfortable using toys and staring at the goddamn spread of sex toys on the dinner table? Two very different things.

There are things you can’t even name. You spot several different types of vibrators, butt plugs of varying sizes, anal beads, nipple clamps, a few gags smaller than the ones they’d used on you a few times, several loops of rope and handcuffs, a fucking hook that you don’t even want to think about what it could be used for, and the goddamn crème de la crème - a butt plug with a fucking tail hanging from Johnny’s hand.

The bastard is smiling. Fucking beaming, like he’s found the meaning of life in a pile of sex toys.

It’s barely 9 a.m.

“Good morning, lovie!” Johnny says, pulling you towards him and placing an oddly chaste kiss on your forehead. “We’ve got a long day love. D’you know Si’s birthday is in a week?”

You can’t tear your eyes away from the cornucopia of sex toys, hardly listening to him as he prattles on.

“Bloody unfair he’s got the anniversary and the birthday so close, means I hafta get the man all sorts of gifts in just a month.” He glances down at you and shoots you a wink, twirling the tail in his hand likes it’s a fidget toy. “Some of them are for both of us, though, so I can’t complain too much, aye bonnie?”

You don’t answer, but he plows foreword anyways. “This’ll be the first part of the gift. Gonna let Simon play with you - well, both of us, but I had to buy the new stuff for you.”

You swallow dryly, hand twitching forward as if you’re going to grab one of the toys. “Play?” Is all you can manage to ask.

Johnny hums low in his throat, tucking himself behind you and wrapping both arms around you. He takes your wrists, still holding the toy in his hand, and guides your fingers across the spread in front of you. “Yeah, lass. You like playing with us, huh?”

You shake your head minutely.

“Don’t lie now,” he rumbles, and you remind yourself that he’s just as terrifying as Simon, only in a different way. Somehow you always forget to tread as carefully around Johnny, but the deep growl of his voice reminds you. “You’re soaked when we play, wailing loud enough we had to explain to the landlord what the noise was. You like it plenty.”

You whine a little, flinching backwards into his body at the reminder of your behavior at night. You don’t like it, don’t like thinking about how much you love being between the two of them, how right it feels.

“Now,” Johnny’s voice shifts back into its normal cadence, hands giving you two little taps on the front of your thighs as he steps away. “Si won’t be back until tonight, so the two of us are gonna test these out and have some fun. Excited, lass? I’m thinking we’ll start with this, work on your posture a bit.”

He picks up the fucking hook. You can’t help but lose your shit.

— — — — —

Ghost is in decently high spirits as he finally gets home. His work had been cut short hours early, and he was looking forward to spending a night in with his two precious little pets, curled up together on the couch and maybe even having a home cooked meal. He’d have to see if you could be trusted with a knife, but the idea of watching you and Johnny dance around each other in the kitchen is enough for him even if he doesn’t get to see it realized.

That all goes out the window when he steps into the flat.

He can hear the two of you, Johnny’s voice a little urgent and yours more than a little panicked. Not the most unusual thing, but the absolutely demolished living room is.

He and Johnny hadn’t decorated much - neither of them had an eye for it and once they got you they wanted to let you decorate your new home - but what little they had done is out of place. A picture frame on the floor, dining room chairs feet away from the table and knocked over, a goddamn knife stabbed into a side table next to the slightly askew couch.

And a shit load of sex toys, both on the dining room table and the floor all around it.

It barely takes a heartbeat for Ghost to piece together what’s happened. He sighs wearily, resists the urge to rub at his eyes with his forefinger and thumb so he doesn’t track paint all across the house.

He moves further into their home, heading straight for the bedroom. Sure enough, Johnny’s got you cornered. You’re slid down on the floor, back pushed as far into the wall as you can go and knees tucked up under you.

Johnny’s crouched in front of you, one hand holding both of your wrists securely in front of you and the other holding your ankles together. He’s got scratches down his face and arms, a few that are seeping just a bit of blood, and a nasty bruise forming on one cheek.

He’s also rock hard in his sweatpants.

Both of you snap your eyes to Simon when he steps in the room. Johnny’s expression is pure relief, but yours is a mix of what looks like relief and fear. There’s a little spark in Ghost’s chest at the knowledge that you see him as a helping hand here, even against what’s probably your better judgement.

He tilts his head a bit. “Johnny.” Not a question, but an expectation.

“She freaked out on me, L.t.,” Johnny says - nearly whines - eyes big and pleading.

“Because you-!” You start up, thrashing in Johnny’s grip. “You fucking bastard, I was defending myself!”

“Against me?” Johnny makes a sad noise, one Simon knows is more manipulative than it sounds, leaning in to hover over you even more. “Baby, you know I’d never hurt you. How could you think that, huh?”

“You wanted to stick a fucking hook up my ass!”

That gets a raised eyebrow from Simon. Seems Johnny’s plans for the day were far more exciting than he had let on.

Johnny can’t help but bark out a laugh, which gets a little scream of rage from you and reinvigorates your thrashing. Johnny leans more weight into you, pulling your wrists further out to keep you off balance. It just works you up more, and Ghost can see Johnny’s cock twitch in his pants.

Alright. Time to do damage control.

He steps into the corner with the two of you, lays a heavy hand on Johnny’s nape and squeezes. His boy doesn’t let go immediately, but he does go loose, leaning one shoulder onto a wall and blocking less of your body.

You’re heaving as Simin crouches down, but your eyes are dry. A good sign for the progress you’ve made.

Simon brings his other hand up to grab your chin, pulling it up and forcing eye contact. “Didn’t want to play around with Johnny, love?”

You’re a little scared - always are, when he comes home with the mask and the makeup - but you don’t tear your eyes from his. Your tiny chin quivers in his grip, but you don’t cry. He can’t help but feel a surge of pride for you and your strength

“I didn’t want him fucking with me. I’m allowed to say no,” you hike you chin in the air a little, stiff and all but daring him to disagree.

He doesn’t play into your hands, just hums and strokes both of his thumbs - one over your chin and the other over Johnny’s neck. “You are,” he agrees, fighting down a smirk at the clear shock on your face. “But did you give Johnny a chance?”

“No-“ Johnny pouts, huffing and shifting in place.

“Quiet,” Simon growls, hand squeezing just past comfortable on his neck. “You’re already in trouble for doing all this shit without askin’. Keep pushin’ and you won’t be sleeping in bed tonight.”

That gets a whine, but no more arguing. Good.

You look a little confused when Ghost turns his attention back to you, but he doesn’t bother explaining.

“You are allowed to say no,” he starts again. “But you should give new things a chance. What if you’d liked having,” he can’t resist a smirk, let’s it seep into his tone, “a hook up your ass?”

You flinch back, and Simon bites down a sigh. You’re not in a place for joking yet, apparently.

He stays crouched there for a few minutes, petting both you and Johnny and watching as you both go limp - Johnny quickly, you with a little more work.

“Alright,” he days eventually, standing and tugging the both of you up with him. “Let’s rest for a bit, get the two of you calmed down, and then we’ll talk punishment.”

You and Johnny wear matching pouts, and Simon doesn’t even fight the smile as he tugs all three of you into bed.

[kiiingsnake]

Thank you for answering that mecha ask, it was very helpful!! Though if I may, could I ask if you have any advice/tips for people who are new(ish) to drawing mecha? or just struggling in general I guess

first off, sorry for taking so long to answer this- it made me really have to think about how the hell i structure my mecha drawings in the first place. so here's my best advice, structured in a very on-brand confusing and shitty manner:

really, when you're just starting out its all about taking a base shape and warping it. the biggest thing is exaggeration- what you exaggerate and where you do so really does depend on your own tastes/goals for the robot. high exaggeration reads as super mechanical/otherworldly/technical, while keeping it close to the base shapes you want to replicate will make it seem more organic.

a good thing to remember the whole time is that you're putting a shell around a frame! it's like trying to draw an animal but with only hard bits (well, most of the time). so your base shape layouts aren't exactly indicative of what will be your mecha's internal and external structure. you can exaggerate inwards to make it seem like, say, an armored skeleton, or only exaggerate outwards to seem like a carapace on a bug. it's really just a whole lot of pushing and pulling within your original silhouette and weights!

[rexwrendraws]

Sandcastles: Year One, A Sandman Fan-Fic Anthology ⏳

To celebrate The Sandman's one year anniversary this past weekend (how has it been a year already!?), I started a self-indulgent project and decided I wanted to take a crack at typesetting for the very first time.

So, I'm very proud to present: Sandcastles, an 180-page digital anthology that celebrates some of my favorite Sandman fics from the past year! Sandcastle collects shorter fics ranging from gen to mature, and is print-ready and available to be downloaded for free. Through this anthology, I hope others can get the same joy from these fics the same way I did over the past year (think of it as a glorified fic rec list)! (And, if anyone's interested, the print-ready files are available for download as well, if anyone wanted to print their own copy of Sandcastles!)

✨ Download Sandcastles here!

Thank you to all the authors for giving me permission to include their work in this anthology! This is my love letter to all of your work! Please check them out and leave a kind word or two!

The fics included in Sandcastles, in order of the Table of Contents, are the following:

Companions - Picture_Yourself (@anthrossandman)

Fridays - hardly_an_escape (@hardly-an-escape)

Warning Sign - issylra (@issylra)

Snacktime - fishydwarrows (@fishfingersandscarves)

Stray - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

Aulon Raid - moorishflower (@moorishflower)

Unbidden Miracles - mostlybuddingthoughts (@mostlybuddingthoughts)

Available - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

Points of View - cuubism (@cuubism)

Fern-Fevered - notallsandmen (notallmaenads) (@notallsandmen)

The Last - secondjulia (@secondjulia)

Scratch a Little Itch - sanyumi (@valeriianz)

Simple Dreams of Comfort - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

The Apocalypse is Nigh! - cuubism (@cuubism)

To Those Who Dare Wonder - Astrophel_Hireath (@mentallyinvernation)

The Perils of Inebriation - Lilibet (@the-slow-arrow)

Touch - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

Passing the Time - Anonymous

I'm Stuck on You (I'm Mighty Glad You Stayed) - hardly_an_escape (@hardly-an-escape)

Hob Gadling vs. The British Museum (Unknown Artist, c. 2022, Oil on Canvas) - TheAllKnowingOwl (@theallknowingowl)

This also counts as my submission for Day 1 of @mr-sadman 's Sandmanniversary 2023 prompts (Collection) :)

_ _ _ _ _ (Post & files updated — 29.08.2023)

[flutterflora]

Whenever I see people say things like "Pinkie Pie should've been a pegasus" or "Fluttershy fits earth pony more" I get a little frustrated because TO ME the mane six have always been a really good example of "societal expectations" VS "societal deviance" of the three pony species within equestria.

Earth ponies are almost always expected to be providers. Like the Apple family for example or the Cake family OR even the "flower trio". They provide necessities, often food or they often provide hard labour (note how "background" jobs like construction and taxi pulling are most often done by earth ponies too). Applejack is obviously a perfect example of this! She's the head of her family, she's extremely hard working, shes incredibly physically strong, she's known and relied on by most of Ponyvill. Applejack very much lives up to the expectations that pony society has of earth ponies.

Pinkie Pie on the other hand is not one bit concerned with hard work. Her whole thing is having fun and throwing parties. In a way she is also providing something very important and necessary, socialisation and relaxation, however these are generally not deemed as valuable as strenuous labour and food production. Pinkie Pie is always written off as "childish" or not taking things seriously enough. She isn't deemed as very reliable a lot of the time and has to work very hard to prove herself, more so than someone like Applejack.

Ponyvill was founded by earth pony farmers, and is densely populated by earth ponies. Earth ponies are expected to work hard and grow food and provide for everyone, their roles are incredibly necessary and their work is highly appreciated. However, without someone like Pinkie Pie who deviates from those expectations, Ponyvill would be a miserable place (as seen in the episode Magical Mystery Cure). She may not be a farmer or a construction worker but her divergence from earth pony "standards" is what keeps everything in balance.

The same can be said for Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy too. Rainbow Dash is an exceptional athlete, she flies like no other pony and she almost always has her wits about her. At the end of the day, Rainbow Dash is truly a performer at heart, she wants to be in the Wonderbolts and show off her skills to all of Equestria. Pegasi are expected to be fast, agile, eager, always cool, proud and quick witted just like the Wonderbolts, and just like Rainbow Dash. She is a peak performance pegasus.

Fluttershy is Rainbows exact opposite. She doesn't care for speed, adventure or displays of athleticism, she truly doesn't even care for flying. She is, in both a literal and metaphorical way, very "down to earth", however her role is still very important and her being a pegasus is still very integral to who she is. If it weren't for her experiences of being ostracised for being different she would never have the empathy and dedication to her animals the way she does (and on more practical note, being able to fly does aid her in her work a lot the time). Fluttershy slows down, she's quiet and she gentle which something that other pegasi (and earth ponies honestly) struggle with. It was alway right for Fluttershy to be a pegasus who could soar the skies, because if she never fell down to earth she would have never found her true calling. Without ponies like her, many important things, creatures and events would go unnoticed and unchecked.

Rarity and Twilight Sparkle is kind of a funny one because I think a lot of people may expect Twilight to be the prime example of unicorns, but that's not really true at all. Twilight, despite being our mane character, is actually the deviant one here.

This is illustrated for us almost immediately in the first episode, where she's invited to a party by three other unicorns but ditches it to go study instead. Magic is merely a tool for most unicorns, but for ponies like Twilight or Starlight, it is their whole existence, it's what they were quite literally born to do. Twilight does not value social status at all, she doesn't have time to and growing up so stuck in her studies I'm not even sure she aware that it's such a big deal to others, especially within Canterlot. It's also worth noting that to Twilight, Princess Celestia was always her teacher and Princess Cadence was her babysitter so their status as royals never really mattered to her and she's able to see them more are regular ponies for that reason also.

Most Unicorns are socialites, they value "social currency" and monetary gain more than they value magic. They don't care that the Princesses are very powerful magically, they care more about their political powers and their social status as royals. We see this clearly in the season 2 episode "Sweet and Elite" where Rarity gets swept up on the high society life of Canterlot, when she mentions being from Ponyvill to two random snobby unicorns they look down on her, yet once it's revealed that she's staying at the castle for her visit, things change, mostly notably: her status. Rarity is a prime example of a unicorn, she's stylish, she's ambitious, she's concerned with image, she's social, she has very fine tastes and she's a businesswoman.

As the series progresses we she both Twilight and Rarity gain some fame. Twilight is mostly inconvenienced and troubled by this whereas Rarity, like most unicorns would, relishes in any sort of limelight. Unicorns are expected to be professional, they're most often more modern or "ahead of the curve" than other ponies and tend they to be the primary business owners of Equestria. However without ponies like Twilight, magic would become just an afterthought. Without powerful wizards like Starswirl, dedicated students like Subburt or magic obsessed freaks (affectionate) like Twilight Sparkle, pony society would crumble.

Applejack, Rainbow Dash and Rarity are prime examples of what is expected of earth ponies, pegasi and unicorns, respectively, in Equestrian society. However without ponies like Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy and Twilight Sparkle there would be no balance and no progression. In fact in the episode "Hearts Warming Eve" we literally get canon lore telling us that if it wasn't for three ponies who deviated from the rules and expectations of their respective tribes, that Equestria wouldn't even exist today.

I think the mane six are a great small scale example of how pony society functions and I really appreciate this aspect of the writing <3

[solardrake]

BNY's updated ref sheet! ^^

[pinkhairswagtourney]

and the winner of the pink hair swag tourney part three , with 3,049 votes , is ...

MUKU SAKISAKA AND SATSUKI MOMOI AKA TEAM FRIENDSHIP !!!!!

thank you sososo much to everyone who participated in this pink hair swag tourney !!! i've had a blast hosting these tournaments , it's genuinely so much fun to see everyone root for their favorite characters . thank you for this amazing experience !!

the pink hair cringefail tourney will be out soon ! make sure to check the blog for updates !!! ♡

[finntheehumaneater]

An Ego Thing (Part 2/???)

HELLO. I had a mini panic attack at the amount of notes on the first part of this, and then blasted Noah Kahan while I wrote this part, so PLEASE EXCUSE AN ERRORS BECAUSE IF I READ OVER IT I’LL SECOND GUESS MYSELF AND NIT POST IT.

I named this “an ego thing” after the song by Lizzie McAlpine because I love that song and I thought it fit (not really but still. I love that song so much. Music is important to me.)

a lot of you guys liked and reblogged, so let me know if you want me to tag you in the next part in the comments :)

@strangersteddierthings

Enjoy :)

—

It would’ve been better if Steve had asked anyone else to give Eddie back his jacket. Anyone but Robin Buckley. Because she was furious. 

“What the fuck is the wrong with you?” She snapped, shoved the coat at Eddie so hard that he stumbled backwards and almost tripped over his own feet, his now pressed against the side of his van. 

He felt all too trapped under her glare, and he did not like it all. She crossed her arms and her eyes narrowed even further—if that was even possible—and her words had far too much force behind them. 

“He told me that it was a bad idea to tell everyone, and I told him that it was fine! A-and look what you did! Now he’s upset, and you need to fucking apologize to him—preferably in person—before I—“

“Robin—“ He tried to cut in, tried to explain himself, but just like with Steve, he was met with more harsh words, more furious tone—except this was more livid and less hurt. 

“No, Eddie fucking Munson, you shut the fuck up and listen.” She said quietly, which made him flinch at how soft her tone sounded—yet still stinging at the same time. “If you tell anyone about this, I will fucking—“

“Robin!”

He didn’t have the guts to yell at Steve like that, and it was worse doing it at Robin, but he had spent the past two days feeling horrible, and he was done feeling like that. He took a deep breath, trying to stop his hands from fidgeting with the sleeves of the coat that he was still holding, his boots slipping slightly in the thin layer of early-snow that had already fallen, despite it only being early December. 

“I-I didn’t kiss Steve because I thought it would be funny, or because I was trying to be a dick, okay? I…I kissed him because—“ He cut himself off, not knowing what he wanted to say next. He didn’t exactly know what he felt about Steve, and maybe that’s why all he could do before was leave without explanation.

He didn’t just like Steve, it was more than that. But, then again, he wasn’t sure he was ready to call it love, either. But the only way he could get Robin to not melt him into the snow with her stare was to finish his sentence, and she looked even angrier than before, considering how he had snapped at her like that, so he had to say something—

“Because what?” She whispered, her arms dropping to her side, falling against her green patterned coat as she took a step back, and it made Eddie realize that he had been staring for far too long than he thought he had, and it was probably making her feel uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat and found his hands curling into fists in the soft fabric of his coat. “Because—because I wanted to.”

Gods, he was such a fucking idiot. Because he wanted to? Of course he wanted to, but that didn’t make the situation any clearer to Robin. He needed to just say it—

“A-and I wanted to, because…”

“Because…?” She prompted, her face softening into something more like confusion as she bent down slightly to meet his eyes, her head tilted. 

“Because…I…like him…” Is what he settled for, even though that didn’t feel right.

“You like him?” She said, much louder than she had been speaking before, and it was all Eddie could do not to flinch away from her, which would have resulted in his head smacking into the side of the van, seeing as she still hadn’t moved far enough away for him to step forward a good amount. Still, his hands twitched closer to him, which she seemed to take notice of.

“Oh.” Was all she whispered, lowering the volume of her voice a considerable amount, for his sake. 

“Yeah.” He whispered back, looking away again. “And I didn’t mean to make him upset, or to scare him—because I would never tell anyone, I swear—but…I just don’t know how to say it to him. And now he probably hates me—“

“He—He doesn’t. He doesn’t hate you. I mean—yeah, he’s upset, but he doesn’t hate you.” She muttered, sighing. “I should’ve known you liked him, because now that you’ve told me, you have been very obvious about your feelings in the past.”

“Shit—I have? Does—does he know already?” He hated the blatantly obvious panic that was crawling into his voice, clinging onto his words like smoke. 

“No, no. As much as I love Steve, he’s pretty fucking stupid when it comes to realizing stuff like this. You’re good.”

“Fuck…thank God..” He breathed, sliding down the side of the van and sitting in the snow, not even really minding the wet feeling that was seeping into his jeans, because his legs were already kind of numb, anyways. 

Robin sat down in front of him, tucking the bottom of her coat beneath her so that she wouldn’t get wet when the snow on the ground melted. “Are you going to tell him? Because I don’t think he'd be upset anymore if he knew…”

The way her voice trailed off let him know that she was withholding a very vital piece of information from him, and he did not like that. “Why? What am I missing?” 

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, “God, you guys are perfect for each other.”

And if that didn’t only serve to make Eddie even more confused.

“What I mean,” She continued, using her hands more like she needed to visually explain it for him to understand. Like he was some kind of child. “Steve likes you back.”

And oh, God, did Eddie feel dizzy, his head snapping up to meet her gaze, eyes wide, eyebrows pressed together. “You’re joking.”

“I never joke.”

That was a lie. But she seemed serious about this.

“So, Edward…“

“Don’t call me that.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

Eddie sighed and pulled his knees to his chest. “I don’t know if I can…”

“Well, if you do, let me know how it goes.” She said, standing up and brushing off the back of her coat.

“You—You won’t tell him, right?” Eddie said quietly, not liking how he had to look up at her, now.

“Of course not.” She said, holding out her hand to help him up, and he reluctantly took it, her skin cold and clammy from the gradually dropping temperature outside. This really was an early winter.

“Right…thanks, Buckley.” He dropped her hand as soon as he was standing up and stepped back, just wanting some time alone to process this information. Maybe a nice drive around the town with some music playing so that he could just think. “Did you walk here?”

“No, dumbass, I drove. Yes, I walked, what the fuck do you think?” She rolled her eyes again. Eddie really hated when she did that. “I’ll see you around okay? And I’m still pissed at you for running off on Steve like that. He was really upset when he called me.”

“Yeah, yeah…sorry…” He muttered—and he would’ve offered to drive her home, but he really just wanted to be alone. Just him and his music. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me know how it goes—actually, scratch that, Steve will probably immediately call me afterwards, but—I still want your side of things!” She called, starting to walk down the road again, somehow not slipping in the ice that had formed in patches on the road, since the “snowplow” (some random ass guy with a scraper attached to the front of his pickup-truck) hadn’t bothered to spread the road-salt out evenly.

He waved goodbye and then leaned his forehead against the side of the van, giving Robin a few minutes to walk away before he got in and fumbled with a Cassette tape, before shoving it in the slot above the radio dials.

Now he just needed to figure out how to tell Steve…

[forgotten-amongs-the-stars]

Most days i pray to lord hypnos before bed. we always wake up feeling really comfy the day after, and most of the morning.

i love that, its so comforting. thank you lord hypnos

thanks for reading my tiny appreciated rant to lord Hypnos

[spookynerdchopshop]

I decided to simplify Dante's/Vergil's designs and ended up just making a ref sheet for Vergil lol

Sorry there's a whole essay on the side you don't need to read it to understand what's going on, it's just technical stuff and me trying to fit the DMC lore into this

All the essential stuff is on the right anyway

and a closeup of crusty Vergil cause I put too much effort into it

Expect Dante sometime, though his obviously won't be too different from Vergil's since their coat designs are the same

idk what exactly I'm gonna do with Pony May Cry, but I like doing it so far and that's all that counts I guess so enjoy :)

[strqyr]

tai is often characterized as this 'always positive, keep on smiling, hide the pain with a joke' yang-lite and having thought about it more, i... i don't think i agree?

first things first: tai quite literally wears his heart on a sleeve; he may not talk about his feelings a lot--presumably, since we have primarily seen him interact with his daughters, so it might just be a case of not wanting to burden them with his problems--but he definitely shows his emotions, clear as day. there's no pretence that he's fine, he's just the type to take his time and not rush it.

you know who kinda does do the whole 'gotta stay positive, smiles all around', 'hide your fear with a joke' thing that yang took upon herself to be for ruby's sake, to 'pick up the pieces'?

summer rose.

summer, who upon being caught leaving by tai, turns around to hide her emotions, before facing tai with a smile and some levity: "you know how ozpin gets. mystery after mystery." <- an opening for further jokes.

it's not one-to-one comparison--e.g. yang doesn't need to turn around to steel herself first (that's what ruby does)--but like. the influence is there; the acting of like everything is fine, great even! see, i'm smiling and even making jokes!! :)

it's just. yang trying to fill the void summer left behind.

[cerealboxlore]

hey so ya know the prompts or whatever where cap changes to his billy form and the league think he’s deaged and he just goes with it?

what if that happened but instead of billy pretending he reverted in mind completely as well that he still has his memories as captain marvel?

so like he can’t use any cap abilities but he can use some magic since is still the champion

what if he pretended that while he does have his memories his feelings and behaviours are more like when he was this age?

just imagine the league thinking that the cheerful, childish captain would be even more like that as a child but just seeing him extremely bitter and never smiling

what if they finally make him smile like once around them and notice how different that smile is to caps?

OOO MAMA I'VE BEEN WAITING TO ANSWER THIS ONE

I totally and completely love and worship the prompt/idea of the Justice League believing that Captain Marvel got de-aged when they see his Billy form. It makes me go feral!!

I've really been wanting to see a scenario like the one you described, where Billy doesn't pretend to have amnesia and finally gets a chance to be just Billy around the League and just breathe. That kid needs a break every now and then. He gets to have a little excuse to just sit in the watchtower to eat his fruit snacks and apple juice, and not feel bad about neglecting his duties. I mean, all the League sees is that one of their teammates and heaviest hitters just got turned into a child! Ah well, at least he still has his memories and some magic abilities left, he should rest after pulling so many night shifts and fighting so much lately.

However, despite expecting the Captain to remain cheerful and happy, what they see instead is this tired, malnourished, and bitter, young child. Was...was this what the Captain was like as a child? What kind of childhood did he have growing up??

The Justice League would be very concerned and try to talk to the little Captain Marvel, but every chance they get to get close to him, he flinches. He turns away. He runs away. Little kid marvel isn't as happy and bright as the "adult" version of him.

From the episode of Justice League Unlimited, "Kid Stuff", the League members retained their memories but acted more like their child selves in a way. They conclude this is something similar and begin to try and cheer the little marvel up. None of them know anything about him after all, they don't know what kind of trauma he's been through. Billy on the other hand, just wants to use the zeta beam and get out of there ASAP! He messed up when transforming and got into this sticky situation. When he finally gives in a little and let's them talk to him, no one can even see a glimpse of their Co-worker's smile on Billy's face. None of that glowing shine and warmth that it usually brought, just a small, tragic one that felt given out of pity to them.

Billy doesn't know it, but from that moment, he isn't allowed to leave the watch tower at all unless supervised until they find a way to turn him back.

Wrote my own little thing there for a moment, sorry, but I just adore this idea. So much can happen with the League interacting with who they think is a de aged Captain Marvel! It could also lead to Batman and others trying to corner little captain marvel into getting his secret identity from him, thinking that a kid version of him could slip his real name on accident. Billy doesn't play around though. Billy bites.

[anonmojito]

As an absolute sucker for A/B/O Au's I love the idea of Kim Suho getting thrown into that kind of verse.

Imagine living your life, dying (?) And waking up to the concept of alpha, beta & omegas being the norm???

Plus the number of changes he'd have to deal with in his new body (omega!Lloyd hc).

This naturally brings only trouble for Javier (ノ^o^)ノ

It turned into a ramble more than anything tbh. Don't mind that <3 if there's anything plot vise I forgot/overlooked thru this it's cause my memory is A s s)

Javier POV lowkey:

Lloyd couldn't get any weirder. To add onto his sudden change in demeanor, he'd begun to get reckless with his scent as well. A scent similar to a Clementine or Tangerine that wafts in waves whenever Lloyd is particularly pleased with himself or got his way with another contract. Its a sharp contrast to the smell of booze everyone was used to, and it more often than not left a few townsmen sputtering when they spoke with him. Javier was left to deal with this change too, except he was beside his master 24/7. When that scent would hit him full force every morning, leave his nose twitching when Lloyd gets into the rhythms of his new work and when it calms into something comforting around noon; when the days almost gone and Lloyd decides to rest.

Javier first chokes up this lack of scent control to Lloyd's cold turkey sobriety. But it's been weeks now. Almost two months and Lloyd still hasn't tried to restrain his scent. Worse, others seem to be picking up on it as well. Loitering around the young master when they get the chance, chatting it up now that Lloyd wasn't defaulting to throwing chairs and yelling. Lloyd himself doesn't seem to enjoy it either; after a few minutes of chatter his lip would start to twitch and that scent of Tangerine (it was definitely closer to tangerines than clementines) would sour. Javier learns to take that as close enough a hint to pry his master away from the crowd, spill a white lie about how he's needed elsewhere and get Lloyd some air. He tries not to be pleased about how Lloyd visibly relaxes when it's just the two of them.

"Master Lloyd–" Javier is at his wits end. He's a patient man. Strong willed and resilient when it comes to most obstacles. His Master however? His loud , arragont, obnoxious at times master being this stupid? Javier is a patient man but he's a man nonetheless. A Knight who's had to deal with his masters turbulent scent that just doesn't want to leave him alone. And worse, Lloyd turns back to him with a genuine look of confusion (as genuine as it can be). Javier ends up questioning his master through a locked face and Lloyd in response looks bewildered. "The drinking must have hit me worse than I thought" is all he gets. Javier refuses the sleeping spell that night, throws a hand over his masters mouth before he can get a word in and declares to help him control his scent again. From then on they spend an hour every night before bed going through the motions, and Lloyd (after months) finally learns to control his own scent. Javier sighs in relief, and tries not to think about how he misses that familiar tangerine scent.

Master Lloyd seems to loose his filter as well. Not when around the staff, count or contracted men he's hired no. Only when it's just the two of them, in a moment of what Javier could've hoped was peace before his master opens his mouth. "You smell like mint." he says unabashed. "I'm safe when you're here aren't I?" He laughs with no shame. "I trust you." He declares. Javier understands this is comradery of some kind. A trust and faith in him that no one else has given him before. His master is far too good at feeding that quiet voice in the back of his mind, and Javier let's him. (Alpha instincts have low standards lmao)

It's after they get back to the estate that Lloyd gets his heat. It's not hard to notice. He asks for seconds during meals, sleeps late into the mornings, speaks more with his summons than with anyone outside the estate and avoids half the staff like the plague. It's rather obvious when that overripe scent of tangerine clings to his skin and his expressions screams dazed more than anything. The count had noticed, Javier had as well, but Lloyd hadn't. Despite being days into Pre-heat, his master still drags himself out of bed and goes about the motions, despite how miserable he looks. It ends up being Javier's job (once again) to pull him aside and question him. "My what-" is all he gets before Javier realizes he has more on his plate than he expected.

(+I like to think heats can be sexual and non-sexual given the circumstances!)

His pillow is missing. Javier turns his room inside out and still can't find it. He assumes he'd left it where he last slept; Lloyd's room. When he enters said room however, he doubts he would've found it if he tried. The beds drowned in pillows and blankets. The summons are jumping around in their own world until they notice Javier and greet him with small chirps and sounds. Javier ends up smelling Lloyd coming before the door opens. Sweet Tangerine and hints of earth that hit him when the door opens. He finds his pillow then, tucked under his masters arm as if it belonged there. Javier blanks out for a moment. "Ah Javier! Great timing. I was just looking for you." Lloyd smiles. Something often quiet in Javier's gut comes to life then and there. He doesn't end up on the chair that night. Lloyd doesn't let him. Spouts nonsense about how the chair isn't comfortable and how important sleeping positions are and only shuts up when Javier relents. He ends up in Lloyd's nest, the only barrier between him and the other being his own damned pillow. He falls asleep without the sleeping spell that night.

That's it for now? That's a lie my brains rattling with more HCs but I should stop here lmao. If people like this word vomit I'll make a part 2.

[hoeplessl0nging]

A Mother's Lament

Helaena takes revenge into her own hands. [2.3k words]

inspired by this post from @sleepwalker-02-artist , i don't normally write these little prompts but something took over and i couldn't not write a little oneshot. || cross-posted on ao3

The air was thin, up so high. High enough her hair was kissed by cotton clouds. The wind was near deafening and cold, yet it quieted the rage in her blood, blew the tears from cheeks and dried her eyes. The steel on her shoulders, silver, shining steel, heavy like death, heavy like the grief nestled under her chest and in her belly, it pushed against her lungs, it hurt when she took a breath. Yet what was the pain other than a motivation?

High over the rivers, green grass and blue waters, carved like an angry god had taken a knife to the lands. How much blood has tainted the water of the trident? Helaena had found herself wondering. Much, certainly, though there would still be more to come.

The woman sniffed and violet eyes grazed the skies again. He had to be here, somewhere. Far below her, near several miles below, a brown dragon flew, surveying the lands, as if searching for something, or perhaps someone. Helaena sighed, it was not the dragon nor rider she was searching for. Absentmindedly, she pulled the reins and whispered to Dreamfyre, an order to fly high and steer clear of the other enemy rider. It was not the conflict she was after.

The pressure on her lungs returned with another breath, the chainmail clinked as she shifted her weight in the saddle. She squinted and felt that familiar burning rage and blue grief, flowing like waves, a thundering storm inside of her. Lightning struck each of her nerves and violet eyes searched through the sky and clouds for a bloom of crimson.

'Twas no revenge, no eye for an eye, nor son for son. It was blood. It was death for the sake of it, that sweet boy she had carried, had birthed, had cherished did not deserve that. That man, that monster, who had held the blade to her throat. The other that had held her precious daughter. The one responsible for it would die. Be it today, or tomorrow. He'd not survive the week. He'd not live long enough to harm another.

"Choose. Choose!" He had screamed, the other jeered almost gleefully. The edge of his knife had kissed her throat.

Too close, too loud, too much. Not her boys, not her girl, not her. "Choose!" The rat-catcher and the sellsword had cried, Helaena remembered crying. Tears salting the stone of the castle. Had it always thirsted for blood as so? Death, death, death, the crow faced god cloaked in shadow cawed, hauntingly.

"Stop, stop," she had shouted. "Stop!" Yet they did not, not until the sellsword had deemed her overcome by grief, mad enough, weak enough to drop the blade from her neck.

Her limbs had felt weightless, boneless, a flop of fabric and skin on the stone floor. He had moved to threaten the squalling babe in the cradle. "Take me, kill me. Not him, not my son, don't you touch him! Not any of them, please, not my Maelor!"

The sellsword had laughed, yet it sounded more like a howl. A feral dog. A blood thirsty hound. "You have named one, then."

Violet eyes had stared on in horror. Her throat had ached - had she been screaming? Why had no one come? Where were the guards? Where was her mother? Or her brothers or her husband?

More tears had bubbled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Her lips wobbled and throat bobbed. Helaena remembered the back of her hand, reached out desperately, as if she could summon the foul blade from the sellsword's hand with some unknowable power. Yet it did not happen.

If she had strained her ears, there was a high howl that sounded like Shrykos. A croaky caterwaul of Morghul. The deep, haunting, angry bellow of Dreamfyre. She could still hear their calls now, along with the crying children.

Death was never pretty, in the few deaths she had been forced to watch, she had always looked away. A delicate lady with delicate sensibilities, a gentle and good woman, she had been told. Quiet and prone to melancholy, but good, a clement Queen, her mother had said as she'd laid her crown upon her head and kissed her cheeks.

She had made Aegon and the war council agree send their half sister terms of peace, she had made them all agree to leave Rhaenyra's title and let the woman and her kin keep Dragonstone, yet what had she received in turn? Death.

The gods had warned her, she had warned them all, ever since she could speak, from the moment she could process more than grief. Yet no one listened, they never did. Close an eye, a dance, a war, the death of the dragons.

Each divine message wrapped in riddles and the visions covered in a haze like layers of chiffon, faces and features warped into unrecognisable humanoid blobs. The death of her son, slaughtered like an animal, by some foul, cruel butcher and rat-catcher.

Not her Maelor, though. Not the babe, not the one that foul creature had tricked into her not her sweet daughter either, brave little Jaehaera, stony-faced and catatonic at the sight before her, frozen as she had been since the rat-catcher had threatened what the sellsword -a man so callously named as Blood- would do to the little girl if she did not hurry and make her choice. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Debts never paid and twisted.

Yet the look in the little girl's eyes was as if the whole earth had shattered. Helaena couldn't find it within her to bring up his face inside of her memory, not when he was smiling an laughing, not when he had died scared and screaming. Face so cruelly contorted by fear. His little body, those little lilac eyes, lifeless and everything, so so red. Four namedays old. Bloody and haunted. Her first, her boy, named for the Old King, only he would now never grow old, spiders would find their homes where her eldest son had once been.

Perhaps once upon a time, they had taken her warnings. Perhaps it would have been peace. Perhaps if the rot had been cut off before it touched the entire tree. Before the blood seeped into the water and found it's way into the wine. Before the flies feasted upon them all, before crows and buzzards picked their bones dry. She had warned them. Yet the seeds of war had long been sewn, crime unpunished and far from forgotten.

Hadn't her mother and half-sister found peace before Viserys had died? Put down their poisons before it tainted the roots anymore. The woman bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to draw blood. The taste of iron filled her mouth as the liquid kissed her tongue.

It was foolish to believe that it was enough to stop the ever-growing rot. To expect the scorpion wouldn't sting. It was all the thing knew how to do, all her half-sister's attack dog knew how to do. No matter how gently one handled a creature, it would still bite. But the scorpion had stung the wrong frog, for whilst the grief had confined her, melancholy and guilt twisting her mind into a prison, it had put her upon the window ledge more than once swaying and staring down at the long drop, the spikes at the bottom of the pit.

The anger had found her a way to break free. Anger, righteous and shrewd and vicious, burning like wildfire in her belly. A dragon. A monster taking over where she had once been human, ready to avenge her son, her people, her Hightower uncles and cousins, the families of her ladies and the soldiers that had died for their cause, the smallfolk that starved along with them and suffered at their hands. The lost Shrykos. For her living children, for Jaehaera and Maelor, for her mother and brothers.

Daemon Targaryen would befall the fate of all mad, rabid dogs. The frog would drown the scorpion before it could sting again. She'd cut as many of the rotted limbs from the tree as she could, herself, or she'd die trying.

The beat of Dreamfyre's wings was as soothing as it could be. Like the drums of war. Sure and steady, like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. Like Sunfyre glimmering gold and platinum and rose, like the light of the Hightower, like the will of the gods. The wingbeats were thumps of a thunderous heart. A lilting lullaby from the only other creature who truly understood her pain, her fury - who knew her better than anyone else did and likely ever would. A gentle giant and an apt listener-. Dreamfyre was certain, she'd ne'er fail her, heart and soul and strength and innocence, grief and mourning. Dreamfyre knew it all. She is as much me as I am myself. She thought.

Her mouth grew dry as the dot in the distance drew ever closer. Dreamfyre rose higher and higher, the air growing thinner and colder. The red dragon and rider had not spotted them yet, and if the gods had woven the tapestry of fate in her favour, he would not until it was too late. Jaehaerys was dead. She was not.

He was dead. She was not, yet a part of her had died with him, a hole in her heart and an aching web of guilt that made it almost impossible to look at Maelor and Jaehaera, unable to meet her mother's gaze nor stomach being in the same room as her brothers for longer than a moment. Would he have grown to look like them? Aegon's messy waves, Aemond's eyes? Daeron's mannerisms? Would he still have her smile? Maybe the gods could reveal it, in another dream.

Another dream, an omen, a wish, a warning - If she lived long enough to dream again. Fire for fire, blood for blood. Like the fear that haunted her mind. Like the words and riddles whispered by some ancient power. Like their house words. Helaena took another breath, deep and slow. There was a change in the air. It smelt of sulphur and fire and rot. A shadow of a beast as large as her own appeared in the distance. Red and lanky, fierce and unfathomable. Near the size of Vhagar and mighty.

Another breath, perhaps soon to be her last. The weight of the shining silver pauldrons unfamiliar and frightening, yet it kept her grounded. A hand rubbed the pale blue and violet and silver scales, they were hot like a fire, warming and electric against the cold.

The deep green of the singular jewel around her neck. The blade at her hip, unused and untainted. Steel shiny and fresh forged and sharp The golden dragon she had stitched herself marked the hem of the blue-green-black tunic beneath the silver ringmail. Blooming gold and yellow like a bruise. The gods caressed her face, cloud-forged fingers raking through her hair, smoothing braids and tangling through the rest that draped loosely over her back and flowed behind her.

Dreamfyre unleashed a low croon, a growl deep and haunting. Musical, tragic like the songs, tragic like the saints. Fingers dug into the tangle of leather reins and rope, "Gentle mother, font of mercy."

The dragon crooned again as if she was singing along with her. Blood thumped in her ears. Dreamfyre's sapphire spines twisted in the winds, sky and silver membranes like the sails on a ship. Seven hells hath no fury like a mother protecting her children, nor the Fourteen Flames mimic the song of vengeance, cold like ice, burning like fire inside of her heart. Aegon had taken care of the rats, and soon enough, the White Worm would be dead too. She'd show Daemon the true meaning of their house words. Fire for fire, blood for blood.

As her violet eyes befell the form of Caraxes, soaring over the Riverlands, crimson and copper. Flown far enough from where he had split from the skinny brown dragon's side. She strained her eyes to glare at the form of black leather and onyx armour. If this was to be her death, so be it. A fall from the sky, to spikes or to earth, burned like her husband had been, it didn't matter. So long as he was gone. Until he faced punishment for the death he ordered.

Helaena called out in Valyrian, leather and chainmail covered chest pressed into the front of the saddle and reins bound tight around her hands. Strands of silver-gold-moonglow hair flying free of the braids she had woven that very morning. The same braids her mother had taught her all those years ago.

Dreamfyre dove. Soaring swiftly despite her size, the scream of the wind in her ears and against the dragon's mighty wings. As they drew closer, faster and faster and faster. If this was the day of her death, she'd face it with a stiff lip. No return, no return, no reason. She had come this far. Regardless, fear coiled in her belly like a viper ready to strike. Death would always be scary, a stranger, a crow cloaked in shadows with leathery wings like a bat, claws like a dragon and the shape of a tall, thin man lingered in the dark corners of her vision, the Stranger - ready to lead them to the world beyond.

She was not ready to face Jaehaerys. The little boy whose body was butchered and head hacked off by a half-blunt blade - Helaena didn't think she could ever be.. Yet, at the very least, the gods would pass their judgment upon his killers. Pass judgement upon Daemon Targaryen and his band of rabid hounds and scorpions. Death, death! The Stranger crowed through the wind.

The Mother's hymn found its way past her lips and into the wind. Flies and spiders and birds. She pleaded for the Warrior's strength, for the Maiden's goodness and the Father's justice. Fire in her blood, rage belly and thunder in her heart, the gods whispered something soft into her ear. Not a riddle, not a vision nor prophesy. Dreamfyre roared. Fire reigned o'er the back of the crimson beast, mighty dragons of blue and red danced.

[empresskadia]

I have John-117 brain rot tonight and I'm sleep-deprived, so buckle up friends ;)

I've been thinking about how Spartans use their downtime after missions because regardless if they want it or not, they're gonna get ordered to take mandatory downtime. So it's not surprising when Captain Lasky tells Blue team to take a 48-hour rest period, even if John tries to protest and tell him they're fine. An order is an order.

So, Fred goes to catch up on paperwork, Kelly wants to go bully the IVs and Linda joins her on the promise that they'll go to the shooting range together and get a chance to play wargames, so she can test out a new modification she made to Nornfang.

But, all three know where John's going to go and that's to find his partner. They know the Chief won't admit it but they notice the slight slack of his shoulders as they leave debriefing and John's eyes flickering to the door as they get stripped from their second skin. They know the exact direction of your room and coincidentally that's the way Chief is heading after they've showered.

None of them say anything but exchange small glances of understanding. In a way, his partner was the only time he allowed himself to feel human, even if it was just a fraction. They'll all tease John about it in the morning when you both arrive for breakfast, but until then, they were grateful for the small reprieve you gave him.

So when your door swishes open after the bioscan confirms his handprint and the only light in the room is a dim glare from the projected screen playing a rerun of a show he's sure you've already watched and the body in the bed barely moving in response, he knows you're tired. There are no words said as he approaches, his partner giving him a simple hum of acknowledgment as you roll over to make room for his giant frame on the mattress.

John's movements are slow and careful not to disturb you too much. He sits on the edge, the familiar creak of the springs under his weight like a subtle greeting. You can hear the steady rhythm of his breathing as he begins to uncurl the laces of his boots as you instinctively reach out, fingers brushing against his forearm. It's a simple touch, but the question is there, asking if he's okay. He pauses for a moment, glancing back at you, and in the dim light, you can see those blue eyes soften slightly and the barest hint of exhaustion lay there.

No, he wouldn't say anything, but you could know and he lets you see.

He lies down next to you, his massive arm wrapping around your waist as you shift slightly for his head to rest on your chest. Your hand instinctively goes to his back, and running your nails up and down his back, taking a moment to gently brush over the divots of scars that you could tell apart from the augmentation ones to the ones he received from countless battles.

After a moment, you could feel him relax into your embrace, finding that perfect spot where your shoulder cradles his head. The gentle patterns on his back are seemingly like a lullaby for the Spartan. The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, the hum of the old show filling in as white noise.

John sighs, a deep, slow breath that you're sure he's been keeping in for a long time. You know he's holding a lot inside—memories of what happened to Cortana and the Didact, the constant need to keep going, and the result of New Phoenix. But here, in the quiet of your room, he can let go just a little, trusting you to hold the pieces together while he rests.

You keep tracing the lines on his back, your fingers gentle but deliberate as the room descends into total quiet and darkness. The air is warm, and the subtle scent of your shampoo mingles with the sterile smell of the Spartan's armor. You rest your head against his, the warmth of his skin bringing a small comfort to your tired mind.

It's not often you get moments like these—where the world outside doesn't matter, where you're not Spartans, but just two people sharing a quiet night together.

Downtime is as much a part of the job as the missions, and if it means spending it with you, he's not going to argue. Even if he had an easier time being a part of the armor, he could be human for a moment. Human for you.

[verylastdropsofaninkpen]

Jude’s exile from Vivi’s perspective

a short fic I wrote ((((:

word count: 707

Heartbreak is not something I’m experienced in. I doubt most of the folk are. Most of them think we can’t even get our hearts broken, so maybe it came as a surprise when Heather broke mine. 

I can’t tell if I’m less or more experienced in other peoples heartbreaks, but I sure can tell Jude just had one when she shows up at my apartment door with red rimmed eyes and her head held low.

“Jude?” I say, taking in her disheveled appearance. “What happened?” 

My sister stumbles into the apartment behind me, immediately falling into a sitting position on the couch. The despairing look in her eyes is almost haunting.

“He exiled me, Vivi.” Her voice is rough, like she’s been crying or she hasn’t talked in awhile. “He exiled me.”

She sounds weak when she says those words, tired and beaten. Broken.

So I am surprised when she gets up and throws the nearest vase against the wall. She screams like I have never heard her scream before, and then she sits back down on the couch and puts her head in her hands.

I do nothing but watch in shock and confusion.

The days after Jude shows up are only filled with more sadness. Now that there is two of us suffering, it feels like the despair is echoing off walls and won’t stop ringing through the small space of my apartment.

Jude sits on the couch with a bowl of cereal and watches bad quality mortal shows. I make food for her that she barley eats and try to explain to Oak what happened with Jude in the easiest way possible.

 I think it’s hard for him to swallow seeing his brave, knife-wielding, king controlling older sister broken and blue. Sitting on the couch looking mortal, for the first time he’s ever seen.

I think at one point even in my mind Jude had become like the folk. She was clever, and brave, and smart. Now she was heartbroken just like me.

Not that she’d ever admit it. I know she still claims to hate Cardan, but I can see it in the way she talks about him and cries over him at night.

I think she loved him.

Jude is the Queen of Elfhame. It took me awhile to understand that when she told me, and it’s not any easier now that she’s in the living room mindlessly watching television.

But she is. She’s the Queen of Elfhame, and not only is she mortal, but she’s also exiled.

I’m a faerie, but I’m in love with a mortal who doesn’t understand our world or me. I’m heartbroken just the same, yet I feel obligated to fix Jude’s problems along with mine.

I let out a breath and rest my head on my arms. Maybe Jude has it right. An easier life is a better one.

I know I’d rather be watching cartoons than be the Queen of Faerie.

So the days go by full of nothing but sadness and a feeling of waiting. Jude gets dangerous jobs she doesn’t need, and I continue to text Heather nonstop well also taking care of Oak and trying to figure out where Jude is half the time.

When Taryn shows up, I’m not sure I want her here, and I know Jude definitely won’t, but it almost feels like a reprieve from the cycle.

I let her into the house.

When Jude comes home, and they go into their natural course of fighting, once again I am waiting. 

This time, I’m not surprised with what happens. Jude chooses to go. 

I don’t know Jude as the Queen of Faerie, or even Cardan’s seneschal. I don’t know her as the haunted girl who showed up at my door and who sits on the couch for hours.

I know her as my sister, loyal and protective even to Taryn, who has betrayed her more times than I can count. So we send her off with worries and wishes, to pretend to be Taryn and face the man who exiled her.

When me and Taryn go back into the apartment afterwards, it feels like all I’m doing is more waiting. More wondering.

And then Grima Mog knocks on my door.