#[ i forgot about this lmao ]

[exotic-dinostuff]

Blehhhhh

You can put this up to your own interpretation whether it is romantic or not I absolutely don't mind :) and I also have no set intention 😭

Lizzy is a leopard cat

[designers-teaparty]

[daiisiy]

pyke starfall the pretty little princess of the people!!!

i need to ask...

[that-one-empty-skull]

Your the best boy 🥰🥰

Woof

[forgettable-au]

LMAOOO I HAD to draw this idea I mentioned on this post

+ Here's an extra little thing

That's not what's happening Sans...

[danlous]

Lestat + his wedding band 2.07 'I Could Not Prevent It' / Meet the Vampire Lestat teaser

[froopa-coopa]

i mean that could have gone worse

[homoquartz]

"they get sad when they fight"-ass drawing

they're not speaking

[keylimeart]

could i interest you in my space regency au

[weekly-eons]

New Pc so new icon

[spoopdeedoop]

you’ll forget it anyways

[nipuni]

Ten! my love 🥰

A speedpaint video of this will be available at my Patreon on Jan 1st!

[budyak]

clean version under cut. It feels so underwhelming…bruh

[hatsbuckets]

He does NOT like to talk about it.

The weeks—months—spent between pain meds and recovery after he came back from the dead.

Barely lucid for the first few weeks, and a hollowed-out man after he finally switched to lower-dose pain meds.

He remembers when they told him he was “lucky to be alive.”

Except Simon Riley has never been lucky.

Luck would’ve given him a home. Luck would’ve given him a father. Luck would’ve given him a face that doesn’t remind him every damn day of the man he loathes. Luck wouldn’t have had him crawling out of his own fucking grave and dragging himself back to life.

Luck would’ve been fantasy.

Simon Riley does not live in a fantasy.

He lives in a body that barely made it back. Knife wounds down his ribs, healing jagged. A shattered radius. Dislocated shoulder. Crushed digits. Stitches up his thigh. Two cracked vertebrae. An eye that still doesn’t always focus right in fluorescent light.

The worst part? The ache in his jaw. Not from injury—though there was that too—but from grinding his teeth night after night, just to keep the screams in.

Price had visited. Simon was never sure if it was real, or if the drugs were still puppeteering his grief into hallucination. He remembers a warm hand on his shoulder. That was real.

He remembers not crying. Only because he’d already run dry.

The anger came later. When the fog lifted. When the pain stopped being an abstract thing and started screaming in every nerve. When he realized he couldn’t tie his boots.

Couldn’t hold a fork.

Couldn’t even sign the discharge forms without his hand seizing up.

He nearly threw a chair at the wall when his pen slipped again. The physical therapist just handed him another sheet of paper. Told him to try again.

Like it was that fucking simple.

But he did. Again and again. Because the fury needed somewhere to go.

And repetition was safer than silence. His body healed, but his hands were the worst.

He started tracing letters. First his name. Then lines from books. Then nothing at all—just letters, shapes, lines.

Somewhere along the way, it got… good. Neat. Sharp. Clean block print, easy to read. And if he really focused, if he took his time—

It became beautiful.

A steady hand in ink. A small act of control in a world that had stolen everything else.

Simon Riley doesn’t like to talk about what it took to come back. He doesn’t talk about the way rage nearly drowned him. Or the way he still checks every lock twice. Or how he sometimes wakes up clutching at fingers that no longer hurt, just to make sure they’re still there.

But the handwriting stays.

On gear manifests. On margin notes. Initials. Coordinates.

Sometimes letters.

He’d written them to Price as practice, as part of the therapy—physical and mental, he now realizes.

He still writes them today. Habitual. Short notes, mostly.

Mostly—always—to Price.

But eventually he slides one under Johnny’s door. He couldn’t tell you what he wrote. Doesn’t remember. Something gentler than he'd have ever said out loud at the time, probably.

And soon after, Kyle gets them too. Appreciation. Praise. Anything Simon can give, even if he might never speak the words into the air.

There exists a note to his family—to his mum and Tommy. It sits at the bottom of his desk drawer, forever sealed.

He does NOT like to talk about it. Those months spent in agony.

He probably won’t ever talk about them now.

But maybe he’ll write something.

a/n: I just think he would have pretty handwriting and I could write a whole essay on why. like wdym this tortured man wouldn't come back and find that this is something he has the max amount of control over (other than when he realizes how much control he has over himself (see: non-existent essay on Simon having the MOST control over himself out of the 141 because discipline, trauma, and dog-motif.)) started at this headcanon post if you care

[benjinoff13]

posted this 3 years ago and i stand by it actually

Thunderbolts looks amazing 😍

[inkedberries]

expanding on the thought of kudou getting the call sign 'hero' and afo getting irked by it for some reason