#this one is tiny

[thhouseofblack]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

that one fic no one asked for 🧍‍♀️

[creepycrawliesanonymous]

“Hold still!”

Perched on the bathroom sink with Angel’s hands on your waist, you were currently undertaking the surprisingly difficult task of helping him shave.

“If you cut me I’m gonna be so pissed at you,” he huffed out with a laugh. You took his chin in your hands to get better access to the hairs on his neck.

“Gotta get rid of your neckbeard. Don’t want to find you on 4-Chan or whatever.” That earned you a pinch on the thigh, followed by a scratchy kiss on your neck.

“Never in a million years, baby.”

“Gonna make you look so handsome,” you muttered, more to yourself than anybody else. “Stop smiling, your gonna mess me up.” That only made him smile more.

You fell into a comfortable silence, with you putting all of your concentration into his face while he absentmindedly drew circles on your thigh with his thumb. All that could be heard was the humming of the radiator in the next room and the soft breathing coming from you both. Being in each other’s presence always did seem to bring out a calmness in both of you.

“All done.” You ran your palm down his cheek, inspecting your work. You tilted your head to the side to let him get a look at his face. He nodded, smiling before turning back towards you, landing one final smooch on your cheek.

“Do I look as handsome as you wanted?”

“More, honey.”

[grownups-are-the-real-monsters]

TOM & CLAY(!!!!!!) 3

Your song is ‘Bandstand Boogie’ by Barry Manilow !!!

(Send me a Stephen King ship + a number & I will shuffle my music that many times and write you a little one-shot!!!)

“Hey it's Mr. Dick Clark, what a place you've got here Swell spot, the music's hot here, best in the east Give it at least a seventy five!”

Clay Riddell flipped around his spatula and scrapped moist eggs across the landscape of his non-stick pan. There was a simple suburban type of grin on his face that was never afraid to make it’s appearance in the morning. 

Tom’s stomach protested at the sight of Clay’s tragically gross breakfast but he nevertheless smiled. 

“You like Barry Manilow, right?” Clay called over his shoulder as Alice softly corrected Johnny on a math problem at the kitchen table. Jordan slurped down chocolate milk like he was a five year old as he completed his book report. 

A great Sunday morning. Tom chuckled. “Not all gay people do, Clayton.” He teased, browsing the morning paper. “This one does-” Alice chuckled. “But not all.” He looked up. 

His partner snorted as he came ‘round and set down a full plate of eggs. “Well, I’m Bi & I think he’s groovy.” He shoved a forkful into his mouth. 

Johnny looked up. “Nobody say’s groovy anymore, old man.” 

Jordon would’ve agreed but his eyes were still sort of moony for Alice Maxwell, who seemed to always invite herself over on Sundays to tutor Johnny. Clay just ruffled his hand through his son’s hair. 

Alice stole a tiny bowl of the nasty eggs with a bit of hesitance only for Tom to drop her a bigger share that might actually do the job to fill her up. She smiled gratefully. 

Clay felt a ripple of joy burst through his stomach at the ridiculous amount of love in front of him. He silently stood, bent over to kiss the top of Tom’s head and fetched his drawing pad. Nothing made the man more grateful than Sunday mornings...

‘The singers' croonin', he ain't the greatest but gee My baby's swoonin' in front of all of TV So if you tune in, you'll see my baby and me On the bandstand...’

[shylittlemoosen]

It’s a me ;w;

Moosen belong to Meeeee <3

[storyadvocate]

Diamond Absolutes: Diana

An ongoing ficlet collection of various DCEU characters and their perspectives on Superman. Link to the fic on AO3.

My wondertrev feels are strong at the moment! Diana graces the first chapter of  this project.

                                                  Diana

 She didn’t know how to honor him.

 How could she possibly do it right, when he was so larger than life? How could she give voice to the myriad of emotions he evoked in her?  How could she ever pay a tribute that would perfectly capture who he was, and what he was to her?

 She didn’t know how to honor him.

 She held him as he died. And she wept. She stoked the fires of her rage, her grief, so she could finish the mission. It’s what he wanted. It was all she could do. It was the only thing that made his death worth something.

 She didn’t know how to honor him. Except as a soldier.

 But the war ended, and she gave up on saving man’s world. They would never come together. They refused to be saved. The battle was finished. She was no longer a warrior. What should she do now? He was one bright thing in a world gone gray and now he was gone. He said she inspired him, but he had inspired her. How could she keep his memory alive?

 She didn’t know how to honor him.  

 She kept the name he gave her as a mark of respect and love. She used it to forge a new identity and a new life. She wondered, sometimes, as she idly traced the name on her business cards, if he ever knew he was a prince among men to her. He had opened her eyes and he was all she could see. He gave everything to his cause. She understood that. She felt the same, even though she was still alive. The world was a dark place that took what it wanted, leaving broken pieces behind. She kept him safely guarded in her broken heart.

 She didn’t know how to forget him.

 The years were relentless. They moved her farther away from his time, from his war. From his life. New wars, new battles, endless strife. She watched from the sidelines and refused to get involved. A soldier no more. He was all but forgotten in history. But he wasn’t forgotten by her. How could she forget him? The pain became a dull ache, ever present, a constant thing. She dealt in antiques and history and she was occasionally reminded of him through little things. A certain smile, hair falling over a pair of blue eyes, a wry joke.

 Or a pure heart and a desire to save the world.

 A hero in a blue suit emerged, and she saw some of Steve in him. She wondered how long it would take before the world broke him too. She waited. She watched. She mourned his loss of innocence, his idealism. It was familiar, which meant it was inevitable.

 But the moment she saw Steve in him the most was when he gave his life for something he believed in. And he believed in this world. She saw herself in him, but she saw Steve more. She saw the awful cyclical nature of humanity come around again as Lois wept over his body. She felt the crushing loss, the grief anew.

 The world buried him amid pomp and circumstance. Bruce scoffed at them, calling it a circus. But she understood. They were paying tribute the only way they knew how. Not with a god-like statue, not with worship. With heartfelt grief and the desire to carry on in his name.  With gratitude and the desire to be better.

 They don’t know how to honor him. Except as a soldier.

 Bruce was readying for battle, honoring him in the same way whether he realized it or not. Even he reminded her of Steve now, in how he could fight so hard and do so much without powers. She saw him everywhere. And Diana felt the stirrings of a feeling long forgotten in her own heart.

 Hope.

 Maybe this was the best way to honor him after all. As a soldier.

 Stop the war. Protect the world. Make the sacrifice worth it.

 To honor both a superman and her prince, she would fight again.

[making-excuses]

In other news my tiny blog got 2500 more notes than it usually gets during a race weekend... I have no idea what I did to make that happen. 

[owlbearcounter]

Corym/Merrill - Petrichor

Petrichor - The smell of dry rain on the ground.

His bare feet sunk into the ground, his tattoos becoming streaked with brown smears as he ran across the camp. Years of practice had given him a particular agility; his strides were entirely uninhibited by the uneven terrain.

"Merrill!" She was awake, like him. She sat on the grass just outside the camp, her silhouette framed by sunlight. She turned her head toward his voice, and her eyes brightened at the sight of him.

"Oh, Cor! I should have known you'd be awake." Her easy smile sent a swarm of butterflies through his stomach. He returned it with a grin, taking a flying leap over to her side. He landed evenly on both feet, splashing mud in every direction.

"Ah! I'm sorry!" He dropped to his knees (which only added to the mud splash) and frantically tried to wipe her clothes clean with the side of his palm.

With a giggle, she pushed his hand away. "It's alright! I wouldn't have come out if I didn't plan to get a little dirty." She gestured to where she was sitting - specifically, the mud stains on her ankles and calves.

"Oh. Right." His giggle mirrored hers, his gaze lingering on her legs to avoid her eyes. For a few moments, they sat together in silence. He took a deep breath, letting the familiar smell saturate his nostrils. He and Merrill breathed in perfect synchronization, exhaling in a joint sigh.

"Would you like to take a walk with me?" she asked, and he lifted his head to meet her eyes. "The forest is so pretty this time of day. And no one's awake yet, so no one will miss us."

"Okay!" He couldn't hide his excitement; with a quick swing of his arms, he sprang to his feet. Merrill took his outstretched hand to rise, and didn't let it go as they disappeared into the trees.