#little thing

[ozth]

me if I was a speedrunner (I can only reach the spacebar)

[pinkedify]

punk

[idksmtms]

baby thoughts are being THHUUUNKKK ….

TMM! baelor with his wife in his lap, laying on a chaise in front of the fireplace, your head on his chest, his hand around you, his other hand running through your hair

and he tells you about his battles in the blackfyre rebellion and delights at the little “oohs” and “aahhs” and gasps you let out when he talks about the more gruesome stuff

and he feels your arms around him tightening, sees your lip wobbling a bit at some painful memories he recounts and hes just constantly kissing your head

haedcore inspired by seeing a clip of egg singing that folksong and specifically the line “country was in peril, the anvil was a rock, the hammer smashed the bastard” like thats THE HAMMER right there omg

OMGGG I love this. This is so cute, wholesome, sweet just aaaaa! PLSSS keep thinking thoughts, they give me life!!!

I expanded on it a little here because I couldn't not...

"Will you tell me about the rebellion?" You asked quietly, voice just above a whisper.

The room was quiet, disturbed only by the crackling of the fire in hearth, it's gentle warmth caressing you and Baelor as you lay on the chaise. It was that quiet time after dinner where neither of you were quite ready to sleep but were far too tired to attempt any more work.

Both of you had stripped down to the barest of clothes, your plain nightdress caressing you about the shins. He chose to forego any clothes other than a simple pair of black trousers, citing that he was feeling far too warm for anything else despite the chill breeze that rushed through King's Landing and forced you to have the fire started. But that was the dragonblood in him, both of you knew (and you had never once complained about having him like that in your vicinity...).

He was relaxed where he lay, his upper body raised slightly with the curve of the chaise and the massive pillows you insisted needed to stay there for comfort. You had come and strewn yourself on top of him, your head on his chest, tucked just under his chin, your legs tangled with his, your arms thrown haphazardly on either side of him as both of you murmured quietly to one another. One of his arms was wrapped around you, a snug weight over your back, and the other gently caressed your hair, occasionally fiddling or twisting some of the strands of your hair.

His eyes flicked down to look at you. You were watching your own fingers trace unrecognisable patterns on his bicep, the sensation a little tickle on the skin there. He smiled, kissing the top of your head gently.

"The rebellion?" He asked, humming in thought, eyes drifting closed as he delved into his memories.

"They speak of your bravery," you whispered, "the great hammer who defeated the Blackfyres. No one tells me much of that time, or at least, no one did as I grew up."

A mixture of warmth and something worrying, something apprehensive, pulsed through him. You would have been too young during the rebellion, perhaps not even born yet. He wrapped his arm a little tighter around you.

"Will you tell me of your escapades?" You asked, blinking up at him, the gentlest spark of hope in your eyes.

His smile returned, warm and soft and he nodded a little, his chin brushing the top of your head.

"Battle is never what you expect it to be," he told you, voice dropping a little lower. "It is never neat in the way they describe in songs. It is bloody, brutal, dirty." He rubbed your back as he spoke, a slow motion. "I remember one man with an axe in the thick of it, a frenzied madman in the bloodshed. He attacked with such a fervour... it was unlike anything I had ever seen. And he came at me with this axe, swinging and thrashing, and bam, he nearly lopped my head from my shoulders." You gasped softly, eyes going wide as they flicked up to his face. "I was lucky to have ducked when I did," he added quietly, your hands stopping their tracing on his arm, your palm resting flat there as you gripped the muscle.

"He nearly cut your head off?" You asked, voice breathless, and he nodded, smiling a little as if it was something funny.

"I endured worse than a near miss in the thick of the battle," he told you, eyes fully closed now as he imagined those moments 20 years before, where his life had changed irrevocably. "Feel the skin at my lowest rib, there, just above my hip," he guided you, relishing in the way you dragged your fingers down his side, lifting up your head so your eyes could follow. You felt about until you reached a long jagged scar, the skin still raised and rough this many years later. "There, that scar," he stopped you, hand still caressing your hair as he felt you lay your palm there.

You were familiar with this scar, though you had not thought of it much. It was gruesome to be sure, skin and flesh that had once been ripped through, but you did not ask Baelor about his scars for fear of worrying him over things passed. Often you laid your hand there as he draped his weight on top of you in bed, and even now, you gently caressed it.

"A sword with a serrated edge, made to cause the worst damage to any it encountered. If nothing else, the Blackfyres were clever with their weapons. It felt as though my entire side was on fire. I can still feel it ripping through the flesh." You clenched your eyes shut, your lower lip wobbling as you caressed him there, running your fingers over the skin before you turned and looked up at his face.

He was smiling softly at you, so much love in his expression as he watched you mourn for wounds that had long since healed. He brought you back to lay down as you had before, kissing the top of your head as a distraction. You pressed your arms to his sides, caging him in return.

He told you more stories, tales of his fights, of Maekar at his side, of the Hammer and The Anvil, and you were rapt for each one. You gasped, oohed and aahed, clenched your hands into fists against his chest or tilted your head to look up at him as he narrated a particularly vicious battle. And through it all he paused to smile, to kiss your head and re-centre himself in your presence.

Silence gathered for a few moments, settling calmly over the two of you as you breathed each other in. Then Baelor felt your lips smile against his chest, felt the whisper of your breath there.

"Country was in peril, the anvil was a rock, the hammer smashed the bastard with his giant veiny-"

"You cheeky girl," he huffed, face pulled into a wide shocked smile. He looked down at you as you giggled, hiding your face against his chest, nuzzling there as he grunted. "Who in all the realms taught you that?"

"I should not say," you responded, but your smile was wide and he could not help but to fall in love with it all over again. He cupped your cheek, lifting your head so he could lean down and press a kiss to your mouth.

"It was Egg, was it not?" He asked quietly, slowly opening his eyes and looking into yours.

"Mhm," you responded, biting your lower lip as you smiled and nodded.

"Oh that boy," he sighed, shaking his head, but you just leaned forward and kissed him again.

[smittenvixen13]

Meant to be

Give me a Danny who was always destined to be the High King of the Infinite Realms. Give me a Danny who had curious wisps and spirits peering at him at night, when the veil was still thin but not broken, when he was nothing but a babe and toddler. Give me a Danny who was never afraid of the dark, who wished for it to come sooner because the stars would be out then, and that's when he sometimes felt a weird comforting cold from somewhere. Give me a Danny that sometimes saw wisps and blobs, too small to be a proper ghost or spirit, who had no ill intentions. Give me a Danny that would always look around before carefully petting them, smiling when he got little chirps and purrs (yes this was inspired by the fanart, I would appreciate if someone could either tell me the artist or link in a reblog/comment) Give me a Danny who hears his parents' crazed speeches and doesn't think they're crazy because they think ghosts are real (even if that's what he tells people). He thinks they're crazy because no ghost or spirit thing he's met has ever been mean or non-thinking. Everything thinks and feels. Give me a Danny who was just on that edge of territorial of his things, just that bit more aggressive, more possessive of His things and His people. Give me a Danny who had dreams with whispers of cold, of electric ozone, of a world he could never quite remember but ached to not forget. Give me a Danny who gained bullies because there was just always something off about the youngest Fenton, something that made their primal senses prickle and hiss. Give me a Danny that, for one glorious moment between the pain and death and reanimation, had felt a sense of belonging. Give me a Danny that tries not to give in and make noises not at all human, who has to fight to speak English and not purrs and clicks and churrs and snarls. Give me a Danny who felt at ease in The Realms, felt the familiar comforting cold like he had all those nights beneath the stars. Give me a Danny who knew, somewhere in his mind, that he shouldn't be this powerful and strong so quickly, not when he sometimes had conversations with his rogues and realized how much older they were in comparison. Give me a Danny who had to fight every instinct to not throttle the GIW or Vlad into an abyss, because they invaded His town, His home, His haunt. Give me a Danny that, once he obtained his crown and ring, felt a click and oh, that's why. Give me a Danny who was destined to be the ruin of the realms, or the savior of them.

[nanapples]

ever since your name manifested on the flesh above caleb’s heart, he’s become unable to take his eyes off of you.

every visit back to linkon consists of him pestering you whenever he can, catching you even when you attempt to avoid him. it’s difficult when you constantly hide away with zayne as you always have, but he does try.

caleb is your soulmate after all.

he has the right to do this much. he would do so much more if he could, but he tries not to overstep any boundaries.

he respects your decision to refuse fate and walk away from it. that’s what he wanted, too. he felt it was the perfect agreement because he has always been devoted to mc— just as you have chosen zayne all those years ago.

and yet…

he can’t help how his eyes unconsciously chase after you. his heart races in your direction. his body grows warm and fuzzy just standing in front of you. he sees you in the clouds he adores looking up at. he’s reminded of you when he smells certain scents. flowers, fresh bread, petrichor.

you, you, you.

everything in this world reminds him of you.

it makes him think— maybe fate was right.

if all roads lead to you, why go in the opposite direction?

the longer he goes without you, the more uncomfortable he becomes. he feels terribly lonely. numb, only ever feeling something when thinks of or hears from you. it’s undeniable how perfect you are for him.

despite everything, even if his heart was once elsewhere, it’s you he needs. not mc, not anyone else. you.

“you’re mine.” caleb says one day, hand wrapped around your wrist like metal handcuffs.

you had just finished trying to brush him off. something about meeting up with zayne, you had said. that set him off completely. he absolutely couldn’t take it anymore.

you look at him with wide eyes. “what..?”

“you’re mine,” he repeats. his eyes lower, covering the lights in them. “why do you always run off to zayne all the time?” he asks in a huff.

“caleb…” you make a pathetic attempt to pull away from him.

he doesn’t let you go.

“let me go,” you say, your stomach swirling and heart racing. his touch is as wonderful as it is disgusting.

“no.” he responds. his hand tightens against your skin. “i won’t let you go. not if you’re going to see zayne.”

your eyebrows furrow together. “why are you acting like this, caleb?” you ask, squirming, desperate to escape from his grip. “you’re being weird.”

“why am i acting like this?” he scoffs. “i’m your soulmate. do you really think i would like seeing you run off to another man?”

“just because you’re my soulmate doesn’t mean i belong to you.” you quickly say, your voice slightly raised.

“you do belong to me,” he retorts. his rebuttals remind you of a child throwing a tantrum, but the dark look on his face is not innocent— it’s terrifying.

“my name manifested on your body.” he tugs you closer. “i’m your soulmate. i always have been and you hid that fact for years.” he pulls you against his chest. “you have always been mine.”

your heart hiccups at the crazy look in his eyes.

“you belong to me, and i belong to you.” he says, lips curled into a pleased grin. “you don’t have to fight it anymore.”

leaning down, he presses his face into the crook of your neck. he whispers your name over and over again.

he dreamily sighs, “i love being close to you like this.”

that disgusting sensation in the pit of your stomach courses through every vein in your body all at once.

“let go!” you shriek, pushing him away hard enough to send him stumbling backwards. you breathe heavily, both guarded and afraid.

“i don’t like you, caleb.” you say with scalding sincerity. “i never have and i never will.”

he says your name, but you cut him off.

“i don’t care if you’re my soulmate.” you take a step away from him. “it doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“but we can be happy together.” he stresses. “don’t you feel it?” he asks, “how amazing it feels when i’m with you?”

you shake your head. “that doesn’t matter to me.”

“i’m happiest when i’m with zayne.” you notice how he flinches and the corner of his lips drop.

“that’s not true.” he reaches out to grab you again, your name a plea on his tongue. “i can make you happier—“

at that moment, someone tugs you backwards and your back is flush against the chest of someone painfully, and lovingly, familiar.

“zayne..!” you gasp in relief.

he nods at you, his expression falling firmer when he looks towards caleb. “is something the matter here?”

“you’re interrupting,” caleb snaps.

“you aren’t,” you hurriedly chime in. “you came at the perfect time.”

“did i?” zayne smiles at you and the gross feeling from earlier fades away instantly.

“zayne,” caleb grunts, “you’re getting between my soulmate and i. this is our issue to solve.”

“there will be no issue to solve at this moment.” zayne responds, shaking his head side to side. “perhaps you two can talk about this at another time.” he holds you gently in the safety of his arms.

“don’t.” he’s warned. caleb’s tone is grave.

zayne doesn’t seem to mind it.

“we’ll be leaving now.” he turns around with you still held perfectly against him.

one step away, caleb calls for you. your name is said in a wispy voice. your name— the one branded into his skin like fate itself.

you hear him then, begging in a broken voice, “don’t go.”

and you waver, but not for long.

not enough to make you turn around.

you’ve already made your choice.

and it isn’t caleb.

[makxmaa]

Kugumi Harvest

[recklesspony]

little young caterpillar Laurens… so jubilant! So rotund! So well fed! How vibrant and plump!