#‘exercise more’

[imagine-darksiders]

Doctor: Oh before you go, I have something for you ;)

Me: Oh neat, thanks!

Doctor (slaps a sticker onto my ass that says ‘major depressive disorder’)

Me: Aw rats.

[sadclowncentral]

while i was trying to wade through the large amounts of people trying to leave the central subway station, everyone abruptly came to a halt in front of the subway turnstiles. two french girls had misunderstood the tap-out process, and one of them was now stuck behind the gate. as i was wracking my brain on how to explain the tap-in tap-out process of the milan metro to both of them with my rudimentary french while they both got increasingly upset at the closed gate between them, a young teenager suddenly pushed me to the side.

i was just about to give him my most scathing disgruntled glare when he took out his ticket and, after realizing they had no common language, started gesticulating wildly in front of the french girl left behind. he pointed at the ticket, then at her, and very seriously said: “on three, we go.” she nodded, and after he counted to three, holding up his fingers so there could be no confusion, they sprinted through the gate together, giggling profusely afterwards as if they had just pulled off the heist of the century,

it was just a small moment during the morning commute. but i realized then and there that the time i had spent trying to intellectualize the problem and wondering if my lack of language skills would be awkward the situation could have already been resolved. and that while i had been mad about being pushed aside, the teenager got it exactly right: no questions, no fear or shyness, just direct action to help where you can and rushing there to do so. i think about him every time now when i run to lift someone’s pram or ask a lost looking person if they need my help despite the fear of being rude. on three, we go.

[makenna-made-this]

Okkkkkk so where is Chicken Miku?

Anon the way i dropped everything when i saw this

HATSUNE BEAK-U

(based on the Onagadori chicken breed)

[blenselche]

meant to upload this for galentines my b

[affixjoy]

My darlings, my loves, my fellow weirdos, I am begging you all to REST after you have covid.

I know it is very hard, and our society asks you to get back up and running at full speed as soon as possible, before you’re even done testing positive even.

But please my friends, please rest.

If you push too hard too fast you might be sicker for longer, you might be doing long lasting damage to yourself.

So please my beautiful nerds, take care of yourselves and REST.

[hootyhoowoo]

art prompt: cosy reading day on Qing Jing Peak (they're scholars! let them snuggle up and read!!)

as requested! sorry this took so long, this piece had me clawing my hair out

While I was drawing this I was thinking the original Shen Qingqiu had a very neat, orderly personal library— but transmigrated Shen Qingqiu could not care less about appearance more so about the information in it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

-

[ID: Green-toned Scum Villain fanart of Shen Qingqiu, Ning Yingying, Luo Binghe, and Ming Fan reading together in the Bamboo House beside a shelf stuffed with books and scrolls. They are all cushioned by blankets and pillows. Ning Yingying is asleep on Shen Qingqiu's lap, his hand on her head petting her softly. Shen Qingqiu smiles pressed against Luo Binghe, who blushes while holding a book. Ming Fan looks at him with a frown while also reading. End ID]

ID by @/nebulations — thank you!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

suguru is desperate, tonight.

in hindsight, you probably should have noticed all the ways he tried to clue you in on it. a touch that lingers longer than usual, warm palms resting at your hips instead of the small of your back— the cologne he only wears when he wants to get you hungry. he's too polite to say it outright, too contained to ask, but it's always obvious when you think back. his lips at the column of your throat this morning, the slightest whine to his voice before he got up. when you kissed him goodbye, still tasting bitter off the coffee he made you: a flickering, candle-lit heat to his gaze. 

tiny, tiny hints. that's his style. building up, and up.

crashing, the minute you stepped through the front door.

you could feel the tension in the air, in his body, the all-consuming desire in the low-curved smile on his lips— and of course you weren't unaffected by it. of course you were carried along, by the waves of his devotion when he kissed you welcome home.

of course you were.

what else is there to do, when you have a beautiful boy in the palm of your hand?

(nipping at your fingers, in search of scraps. breathing oxygen into your lungs.)

"baby…"

a voice like caramel, clouding your ears. your brain is mush, so stuffed with cotton you barely hear it, too distracted by the wet, warm muscle of his tongue — the warmth of his body, his hands, careful not to crush you as he keeps you pushed against the couch. groaning, into your mouth.

needy. 

such a rare treat, for him to let you see it.

a weak, breathy whimper bubbles up your throat, spills into his own, his tongue gliding against yours and ghosting at the back of your teeth. he tastes like mint. it's a chain reaction, the moan that follows — your meek response only fuelling the depth of what he must be feeling. the closeness he's craving. even though you're already chest to chest, heartbeat kissing heartbeat, beating in rapid, thumping tune.

with the way he keeps trying to pull you closer, you'd think he wants you to slip between his ribs.

"god, i love you so much. god…"

suguru's voice is silicone, honeyed tongues and teeth, but now the rasp at the throat of it is all you can hear. your senses are overwhelmed, wrapped up in notes of amber, cradled by his scent — his warmth flowing into your body and keeping all coherent thoughts away from your brain. no thinking, only him. your big, gentle boyfriend, kissing you with enough reverence to pluck pearls from the bottom of a seabed. keeping his knee in between your thighs, his big palm at the back of your neck, to make sure you can't run from the love he's giving you.

(not that you'd ever want to.)

love you, you try to say, ultimately sputtering on something like a mewl. suguru only pulls away to whisper praise against your lips, then he's back to waltzing with your tongue. he isn't fast — isn't rough — only intense, in the gentlest of ways. mellow waters lapping at the skin of your ankles, dragging you into the sea. you're being coaxed underwater, having trouble keeping up with the slow, deep rhythm he's set, his tongue in no rush to explore your mouth. you're having trouble remembering the first letter of your name.

your response only makes him hold you closer. there's no space between your bodies, nowhere further for you to go, but he's desperate enough that he's trying, pulling you up into his lap and wrapping both his beefy arms around your waist. mwah, mwah, two sloppy pecks against your spit-swollen lips, before he pries them open again.

you feel a little like you're dying. like you already died, and went to heaven.

suguru must have wanted this, all day. must have been waiting. it must have been a struggle just to help you get your shoes off, to close the door behind you before swallowing you whole. squeezing your body, like a fidget toy — though the way he handles you couldn't be farther from it. he just wants to feel you. to feel your flesh, and bones, and heartbeat, your tongue down his throat.

your boyfriend wants you to eat him alive.

(before he does the same to you.)

big, warm palms settle at your ass, and you know he's hanging on by a thread because he actually squeezes down, gently, feels the fat fill the gaps between his fingers and robs more air from your lungs before giving it back — heavy, bated breaths shared between the two of you. a gasp pushes past your lips, and he drinks it down. like freshwater, like cherry-red wine, lapping up the last drops at the bottom of the glass. a man intoxicated. drunk on you, his fingers sneaking under the fabric of your shirt to feel your blood beat and rush under his palms. ba-dump, ba-dump. he feels, listens, rubs circles into your hip. you hold onto his shoulders, dig your nails into the fabric of his skin-tight sweater, feeling so doused in heat you fear your nerves will catch on fire. heat at your neck, at your cheeks, in between your thighs. he licks into your mouth, flames at your teeth.

as a child, your mother told you the sun was a lion playing catch with the stars. 

(you used to wonder what it would feel like to be eaten by it.)

it's dizzying. suguru's kisses are always intense — he's always intense — but it's not often you see him this visibly bothered. he keeps tugging you closer, closer still, little rocks against you, like he can't stomach the thought of you being anywhere else. his rhythm is getting sloppy, and your breaths are getting more sparse, bodies melting together like gum on a hot, scorching sidewalk in the precipice of summer—

chew, and spit. you can't think of anything else. nibbling at his bottom lip, just to stay afloat.

fortunately, suguru knows your body. 

a deep, steadying breath. he manages to pull away, his fingers shaky, deft thumbs rubbing circles into the skin of your thighs.

"s-suguru."

"sorry,” he exhales. his lips are swollen, slick and puffy, eyes so lidded you wonder if he's really there. if he actually got drunk on your spit. they're hazy, so dark you feel that you're staring into a deep, deep sea, sinking helplessly towards the bottom. "i don't think… i can control myself, right now."

(you aren't doing much better. droopy-eyed, lips thoroughly abused, drool seeping out from the corner of your mouth — his or yours, you couldn't say. a swipe of your tongue, and it's gone.

suguru inhales, shakily.)

too tired to speak, you lift your hands to cup his cheeks. they're rosy, cherry blossoms in the breeze, the fuzzy skin of sun-warmed peaches. hot, under your touch. when you smooth your fingertips against them his eyes flutter shut. 

a blissed out sigh flows from his parted lips.

"i think i'd die if i couldn't love you." the words are spoken with bated breath, as if he couldn't keep them lodged inside his throat, couldn't even try. when he opens his eyes again they shimmer like sheets of glass, leaves wet with morning dew. 

you don't think he's exaggerating.

"… c'mere," he sighs, running out of patience. "you're too far."

this time, he's more careful. beginning to feel sated, maybe.

one palm on the back of your head, the other on the small of your back. heavy, radiating heat, pouring from the tips of his fingers through the fabric of your shirt, your thighs wrapping themselves around his waist to offer him the same. arms around his neck. he hums into your mouth, appreciative. his tongue glides against the seam of your lips, until you part them for him; letting him kiss you how he likes.

slow, and steady. breathing you in, and out.

(like this, you feel less like two people and more like one construct. a mechanism. inhale, exhale, your chests rising and falling, the way dandelion seeds float up into the sky, the way pebbles sink and sink until they hit the bottom of the sea. 

you think you understand him, a little more than usual. you think you'd drop dead, too, if someone were to pry your limbs apart.)

"i love you," you say, rasping against his lips. 

ba-dump, ba-dump. his heartbeat says it back, before he gets a chance to. 

[shandsformation]

got my hands on sb pro :0

[infernal-lamb]

Searching your eyes for the saint is an act of futility

something that's just been on my mind recently!

[ruporas]

trigunned the hades or hadesed the trigun (id in alt)

[whiskeyswifty]

The Eras Tour - Mid Century Poster Redesign

posters in my etsy store

[tartppola]

silver♀ dump + fairy gala sil/prefect sillies..........

[inkskinned]

i love when words fit right. seize was always supposed to be that word, and so was jester. tuesday isn't quite right but thursday should be thursday, that's a good word for it. daisy has the perfect shape to it, almost like you're laughing when you say it; and tulip is correct most of the time. while keynote is fun to say, it's super wrong - i think they have to change the label for that one. but fox is spot-on.

most words are just, like, good enough, even if what they are describing is lovely. the night sky is a fine term for it but it isn't perfect the way november is the correct term for that month.

it's not just in english because in spanish the phrase eso si que es is correct, it should be that. sometimes other languages are also better than the english words, like how blue is sloped too far downwards but azul is perfect and hangs in the air like glitter. while butterfly is sweet, i think probably papillion is more correct, although for some butterflies féileacán is much better. year is fine but bliain is better. sometimes multiple languages got it right though, like how jueves and Πέμπτη are also the right names for thursday. maybe we as a species are just really good at naming thursdays.

and if we were really bored and had a moment and a picnic to split we could all sit down for a moment and sort out all the words that exist and find all the perfect words in every language. i would show you that while i like the word tree (it makes you smile to say it), i think arbor is correct. you could teach me from your language what words fit the right way, and that would be very exciting (exciting is not correct, it's just fine).

i think probably this is what was happening at the tower of babel, before the languages all got shifted across the world and smudged by the hand of god. by the way, hand isn't quite right, but i do like that the word god is only 3 letters, and that it is shaped like it is reflecting into itself, and that it kind of makes your mouth move into an echoing chapel when you cluck it. but the word god could also fit really well with a coathanger, and i can't explain that. i think donut has (weirdly) the same shape as a toothbrush, but we really got bagel right and i am really grateful for that.

grateful is close, but not like thunder. hopefully one day i am going to figure out how to shape the way i love my friends into a little ceramic (ceramic is very good, almost perfect) pot and when they hold it they can feel the weight of my care for them. they can put a plant in there. maybe a daisy.

[scealaiscoite]

‧₊˚ 🪦 ✩ unsettling dialogue prompts

¹⁾ “i’m not crazy! someone’s been in here!”

²⁾ “someone’s standing outside the window.”

³⁾ “i don’t know who sent you that, but it wasn’t me.”

⁴⁾ “i locked this door when i left; i’m certain of it.”

⁵⁾ “i can hear footsteps.”

⁶⁾ “the dog’s barking like crazy, will you go see what’s wrong with him?”

⁷⁾ “that car’s taken every turn we have for the last ten minutes.”

⁸⁾ “did your phone just lose signal too?”

⁹⁾ “i, uh- i don’t remember telling you that.”

¹⁰⁾ “letter came for you- no stamp, though. i think it might’ve just been left at the door, weird as it is.”

¹¹⁾ “upstairs has been banging on the ceiling all damn night, i haven’t slept a fucking wink.”

¹²⁾ “i think someone’s slashed my tires.”

¹³⁾ “i know it’s late, but i need you to come downstairs and meet me out front. someone’s following me home.”

¹⁴⁾ “i don’t know anyone by that name. you’re sure they knocked and asked for me?”

¹⁵⁾ “yeah, because someone sending you a bouquet of the flowers you’re deathly allergic to is definitely not something to worry about.”

¹⁶⁾ “no, no, please tell me you didn’t let them in. the landlord said she’d come and fix the faucet herself, that she never calls in contractors! no one has any reason to be in there!”

¹⁷⁾ “that’s weird, i could’ve sworn i closed the curtains when i left this morning.”

¹⁸⁾ “that car’s been out front all day.”

¹⁹⁾ “i just moved in, i haven’t given anyone the address yet.”

²⁰⁾ “what are you on about? i’ve been in bed since nine, i didn’t text you to meet me anywhere.”

[bacchuschucklefuck]

class swap design masterpost for convenience (from top to bottom: bard!riz, cleric!gorgug, sorcerer!kristen, barbarian!fig, artificer!adaine, and rogue!fabian)

[tillydouspart]

cabincore 💯