#( stamina... maybe??? )

[scrumpylikesthings]

After a year and two days, I finally finished this double sided sheep blanket!!!

The design is by Nifty Knitter:

They have a lot of cute patterns and their double knit instructions are are super beginner friendly!

[funsizedcrow]

you could perhaps draw Wind and Wild not being very strong swimmers together >:D

the swimming stamina wheel and inability to dive brothers

[squidcandy]

i couldn’t get this specific interpretation of the clip out of my head so i tried my hand at something more animatic. ish

[kindred-spirit-93]

the peoples princess!

@notsolonedesert ur lovely ctimene has graced my lecture notes <3!! no references we die like my final braincells lol

her sarcasm knows no bounds and odysseus' famous wits have ocassionally paled in comparison to his sisters many a time ;)

sassy lil sister ctimene please and thank you. also stubborn af. idk i need more of them being siblings and and how they grew alongside one another and now tease eachother over meals and reminisce during cold winter evenings childhood shenanigans and laugh boisterously together (they have the same laugh. and a dad sneeze TM) and how they reacted to each others firstborns and and and

[suddencolds]

of painkillers and lenience

...hello! 😭 I wrote this way back in April; it's been sitting in my drafts ever since. Chronologically, it takes place shortly following Atypical Occurrence.

I wasn't sure if I was ever going to post this. I suppose it's more a character study than a proper romantic installment :') but it's an exchange I'd been wanting to write for a long time.

you can find everything I've written in this universe here!

—

Summary: Yves comes down with something. His best friend wonders where Vincent is, in all of this.

—

Perhaps it’s merciful that it’s on a Sunday that Yves wakes up with the slightest tickle in his throat.

Yves has an idea what it means. He’s had the flu enough times in his life to know that it comes on quickly. Maybe if he attempts to sleep it off, he’ll have a better time over the next few days.

Or maybe not. He cancels his Sunday plans, goes through his itinerary. There’s a slew of emails he’ll have to send off, a handful of meetings he’ll probably have to reschedule for this coming work week. He’ll need groceries, too, to last him the week—ideally something that won’t take too much effort to make. Resting now seems like it’d be a waste of time. Best to get everything over with before the illness has a chance to properly settle, he thinks. 

He really does mean to stop by the grocery store. It’s perhaps just the timing that doesn’t work out as planned. Between figuring out how to reschedule everything that’s coming up with work—figuring out who he can ask if he needs to reallocate any of his assignments to anyone else, rearranging things for clients, and getting all the paperwork in order—all of it takes him nearly two hours. He wanders into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, finds himself having to turn aside to cough, notes the unpleasant sting in his throat when he turns back around. 

It’s not terrible yet, but he feels distinctly off. His head feels a little heavy, and everything he does feels strangely—sluggish, maybe. Like he can’t quite manage to be as efficient as usual. Judging by past experience, he’s probably going to crash in a few hours.

He can already feel a headache brewing. Staring at his computer screen probably hasn’t helped with that. If he takes something for it, it’ll probably be at least tolerable when it gets worse.

He opens the medicine cabinet, rifles through the couple bottles and the first aid kit he has stashed in there.

Right. He’s out of Advil.

It’s no matter. Just a quick grocery trip, then—he can grab the rest of his groceries while he’s at it. Yves shuts the bathroom cabinet, grabs his wallet and keys, and makes it all the way to the doorstep outside when the wave of dizziness hits him.

All of a sudden, he feels a little lightheaded. Heat crawls up under his skin, prickling and unpleasant, as if something in him has cranked up the heat generation to the max—but that can’t be right, because he’s shivering inexplicably in the wake of it. He leans his weight back against the wall, squeezes his eyes shut.

Fuck. He probably should have gotten groceries first, before sorting out everything for work. Perhaps going out on his own now would not be the wisest.

He heads back in, locks the door, and—after some thought—calls Mikhail.

Mikhail picks up on the second ring. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Are you busy?” Yves starts, but the words catch on his throat, and he has to stop immediately to muffle a cough into his elbow. 

There’s a moment of silence on the other end. “It depends what you’re about to ask me for,” Mikhail says.

Yves swallows. Shuts his eyes. He doesn’t like asking for help, but he doesn’t think he’ll be in any state to be doing this on his own over the next few days. “It’s not that urgent. Just if you have time,” he says. 

He can almost feel Mikhail rolling his eyes on the other end. “You’d say that even if you were bleeding out.”

Yves laughs, startled. “I promise I’m not bleeding out. Just—do you think you could run to the store and get me some Advil?”

There’s another, longer pause on the other end. “Any time is fine,” Yves says. A part of him already regrets this. “If you’re busy right now—”

“I’ll be over in a few,” Mikhail says. Then the line goes dead.

—

He doesn’t remember drifting off, but when he wakes, it’s to a knock on the front door.

The knock is just for courtesy, of course. Mikhail is one of a few people whom he’s permitted the privilege—or the burden, perhaps—of having a spare copy of his apartment key.

Yves opens the door anyways.

There, in the windy April weather, Mikhail shuts an umbrella and leaves it dripping at his feet. “You look even worse than you sounded over call,” is the first thing he says.

Yves blinks at him, surprised. “Did I really sound that bad?”

In lieu of answering, Mikhail just looks at him, scrutinizing, the corner of his lip ticking downward. “What is it? An injury? A migraine?” When Yves shakes his head, Mikhail presses forward to pick a stray lint ball off of Yves’s shirt. His hand makes contact with Yves’s shoulder, and he frowns.

Before Yves has a chance to explain, he feels a tickle—not the first, today, and certainly not the last—surface. It’s irritatingly difficult to ignore, more irritating still when he finds himself forced to turn away, to duck into one arm—

“hHehh-!’ hEHh’yyiISCHh-HHEEW!”

The sneeze is rough enough to scrape against his throat. He coughs tightly into his raised arm.

“A cold,” Mikhail says, with a frown. “But usually you don’t take Advil for colds. Wait—don’t tell me this is something worse?”

Yves winces. What is he supposed to say to that? “The Advil was all I needed,” he says. “Thanks for making the trip. I owe you one.”

“No, I’m sure of it now,” Mikhail says. “If it were only a cold, you would’ve driven out to get this yourself.”

“It probably isn’t,” Yves says, neglecting to mention that he knows exactly where he caught this. “Thanks for bringing these. I’ll take the next couple days off. I—”

The next sneeze sneaks up on him. He ducks into his sleeve again, taking another step back.

“hHhEH’iiDzzsCHH-yYew!” The sneeze sends a burst of pain through his temples, and for a moment, he’s glad his face is too deeply buried into his sleeve for Mikhail to see.

“Does Vincent know?” Mikhail asks.

The question catches him off guard. “What?”

“That you’re apparently unwell enough to ask me to pick up Advil for you.”

Yves doesn’t like where this conversation is going. “I told you not to come if you were busy.”

“It’s not a problem,” Mikhail says. “But if you’re sick, shouldn’t he be over here, taking care of you?”

 “He’s had a really busy few weeks,” Yves says, which is true, but simultaneously might be true at any point during the year. He clears his throat. “I - coughcough - wouldn’t want him to catch this.”

“So he doesn’t even know,” Mikhail says.

…Perhaps Yves should’ve thought of a more convincing excuse. Mikhail isn’t the type of person to drop an issue after he’s raised it, and Yves had, perhaps, neglected to think about how—for all Mikhail does to appear casually disaffected—he’s one of the most perceptive people Yves has ever met. “He doesn’t have to know.”

“What are you talking about? He’s your partner. I’ll text him,” Mikhail says. It’s then when Yves recalls that Mikhail probably does have Vincent’s contact—exchanged before their trip to France, so that he could text them all to coordinate the rides to and from the airport.

“Wait,” Yves says, unable to keep the panic out of his voice. “Don’t. If you text him, he’ll - snf-! - feel obligated to come.”

Mikhail doesn’t lower his phone. “I’ll just ask him to drop by,” he says. “You can talk to him about it when he gets there.”

But that won’t happen—can’t happen—because Yves knows that if Vincent were to see him like this… 

I’d feel terrible if you caught this, he’d said. He’d sounded so upset over it. How can Yves, after all his reassurances last week, admit to him now that he’s faring badly enough to need someone to look after him? 

Besides, Vincent probably has enough on his plate already. Yves knows enough to know that in their line of work, taking time off almost always means being swamped with assignments upon return. 

“Please don’t ask him anything,” Yves says.

Mikhail looks long and hard at him. He looks as though he’s trying to puzzle something out. “Did you guys get into a fight, or something?”

“No,” Yves says. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then, if you’re on good terms, why are you so resistant to the idea of him coming over?”

Yves squeezes his eyes shut, and then opens them. He can think of a dozen more excuses to field away the questions—that isn’t the hard part. Mikhail has always been good at seeing through his bullshit, but if Yves has to steer this conversation to a close through sheer willpower, he thinks he can do it. But then again—

Maybe it’s fine, he thinks, if Mikhail knows. For better or for worse, Mikhail is his best friend. Yves knows that if he asks him to keep his mouth shut about this, he will. 

“Vincent is my coworker,” he says, slowly.

Mikhail’s eyebrows creep up. “Yes, I’m aware.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Yves says, with a cough. “He is just my coworker. Nothing else.”

The alarm that flashes across Mikhail’s face is unmissable. “You two broke up?”

And there it is—another crossroads, where Yves thinks the easiest course of action would be to reshape the current lie into a simpler one, to keep the trappings of their fake relationship intact. With anyone else, it would be easier, that is.

Yves says, honestly, “We were never together in the first place.”

“But you went with him to France,” Mikhail says, confused. “Not to mention, to Margot’s new year party, and then to Joel and Cherie’s housewarming. Are you telling me—”

“That was all an act,” Yves tells him, and waits for this information to register. “There is nothing between us that’s real. That’s the reason I haven’t called him.”

The recognition settles on Mikhail’s face. Then he laughs, a little disbelieving. “You’re really not dating him? Why would you lie about that?”

“Do you remember Margot’s party?” Yves asks. It seems like the right place to start, after everything. “Erika was there with Brendon. And I was bitter, and—to be honest, jealous—and I wanted to show her I was fine. So I asked Vincent to go with me.”

“That was months ago,” Mikhail says.

“It was easier to just keep up the act, after that.” Yves says. “Easier to have him accompany me once a month than it would have been to stage a proper breakup. But obviously, this is all temporary. I just haven’t figured out when it’s going to end.”

Mikhail is quiet for a moment. Yves looks past him, at the staircase that leads down to the first floor.

“You’ll be fine, then,” he asks. “If you two break it off.”

“Of course,” Yves says. “I know it’s going to happen someday.”

“You won’t be upset at all?”

“What is there to be upset over?”

“From the way you spoke to him, I really thought there was something there,” Mikhail says.

“He is a good liar,” Yves says.

“Maybe so,” Mikhail agrees. “But you are not.”

He says it so calmly, it barely registers as an accusation. But Yves hears it, loud and clear.

“Vincent is attractive,” Yves says. “Anyone with eyes can see that. That’s all there is to it.” it feels wrong, even as he says it. Yves has always known Vincent to be attractive—that much hasn’t changed. But he knows that the feeling in his chest when he sees him at work, in the break room, or at lunch—the unusual ache—is a little more than that. 

“Margot’s party was at the end of December,” Mikhail says. “It’s April, now. Margot wouldn’t tell you this, but since I don’t like withholding my feelings from you, I will.”

Yves waits—waits for Mikhail to tell him how all of this has been unduly dishonest, how Mikhail doesn’t appreciate having been lied to.

But Mikhail doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he says: “If you’re still intent on keeping this fake relationship up…” Here, he meets Yves’s eyes, a little sternly. “You should think about who you’re really doing it for.”

It’s only for convenience, Yves wants to say. Now that we’ve set things up already, it’s merely the path of least resistance. But that isn’t quite right, is it?

“Don’t worry about me,” Yves says, trying a smile. “Vincent and I have talked this through already. Whatever happens with our arrangement, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Mikhail says. He pockets his phone, and then hands Yves the bottle of Advil. “Sorry for the interrogation, then. If you believe it to be fine, I trust you.” Perhaps that’s the worst part of it. Mikhail has never been the type of person to stay quiet about any foreseeable problems, but Yves knows that his agreement now is not a tactical retreat, nor is it an acknowledgment that it’s not worth arguing over something they won’t agree on. Mikhail is dropping the subject because he really trusts him.

Yves just doesn’t know if that trust is justified.

Mikhail turns on his heels, steps delicately past the hinge at the bottom of the doorframe. 

Yves clears his throat. “Thanks for stopping by.”

Mikhail nods. “Feel better soon. If you need anything other than Advil, just give me a call.”

Then he’s gone. Yves shuts the front door behind him and wonders just what exactly he’s gotten himself into.

[vivsicx]

Happy Birthday Ayn! (★ᴗ★)

I can’t stop thinking about his cn bday sr help

[hylianane]

One OP character that I can NOT picture with abs no matter WHAT the anime or manga or any piece of fanart tells me is Trafalgar Law. He Does Not have them, I’m sorry, I can’t help him.

He lives in a submarine, which means a far less physically demanding lifestyle than a pirate ship and that he is NOT building up muscle passively. He’s not building out of necessity either, his damn devil fruit is activated with words and hand signals, not any hand-to-hand like Luffy’s or Kidd’s- PLUS his whole DEAL is careful planning, laying low and striking undetected. And he’s a fucking. depressed and overworked med student who doesn’t eat bread and you expect me to believe he’s putting in the effort to get the right nutrition and near-CONSTANT work outs to have abs. You expect me to believe he has toned biceps? He looks like THIS

[barbwalken]

Day 22

Like any of the bosses can knock-out Cyrus and Maxie with one punch, but can they defeat the nerds that seem to walk all over their respective regions mountains and land in a pokeathlon?

[kremy-lecroux]

literally just saw some red dude run past me (i think he works here?) to shut down the teacup ride for ‘“maintenance and cleaning” but he looked awfully distracted. his face was a bit red and not like his skintone red but like red. also his hair was on fire? is that not like a hazard??

Hmm... Thanks for tellin' me. I'll get that checked out as soon as I can.

[lizhly-writes]

kim iwol is such a funny fucking man. which is the reason why i'm like okay. what if we throw him into daydream inc.

look. look i'm not saying he'll do WELL. legitimately i have no idea how good he is at handling horror, and his skillset gained through hating idols is not going to be particularly useful, except in VERY specific circumstances.

but! he is also really good at/used to doing random miscellaneous tasks that have nothing to do with his actual job. i think he'd handle being thrown in a horror story with just the most resigned "fuck my baka life". i can imagine him trudging through one of these powered by pure resentment of his boss.

terrible au where kim iwol does manage to resign from his job only to end up at daydream fucking inc. terrible things happen to him and the running joke is just "well this is still better than working with manager nam".

[almost-an-arsonist]

every now and then i think about my first full playthrough of botw and the sheer concentrated willpower and dumbassery that got me through that game.

as in. i never upgraded my stamina once. i didnt learn how to do a perfect dodge OR a flurry rush until i got totk like years later. it was also my first zelda game and i legitimately did not know what the master sword was and a friend had to explain it to my confused ass because i had no clue what they were yapping about. i skipped ALL of the cutscenes because i didnt know that there was relevant plot.

even before THAT, in my absolute DISASTER of a first attempt at the game i completely forgot about the ability to get new hearts and was just. carrying mounds of spirit orbs and wondering what the heck they were for. somehow i managed to get all the way to gerudo desert with no clothes and like maybe a stick and somehow managed to get into vah naboris (still with four hearts and my best weapon was like a travelers sword). obviously i could not beat the dang thing because well. i had four hearts a stick a prayer and no concept of a flurry rush. so i watched a tutorial and was flabbergasted by how many hearts the guy had and i thought i softlocked myself because i didnt know that you could freaking LEAVE the divine beast and COME BACK and so i deleted my entire save.

when i came back i watched the cutscenes. i had missed a lot of very crucial information.

[happi-dreams]

a silly dandy world oc for funsies !

generally pretty quiet and monotone but quite handy in terms of hiding and support :D

plus some doodles !

( machines are the bane of their existence )

[hazelnootnut]

This was the first thing I did during my hiatus as a treat for myself because you know what? Protag is so MISERABLE at all times even after getting his new job. You know where he should be? Out in the fields, living his best life in Stardew Valley.

I actually wanted to do a little more on this, but uh. You know. Got distracted with Elehitch RP stuff and drew a lot of art for that. But I do want to explore this little AU a bit more. For now, you can have him without his silly little straw hat!

[silverskye13]

ur the only one of the fanfiction writers i actively check in on that hasnt mysteriously fallen off the internet for 6 months

Oh don't worry, every spring, end of February to around May, I tend to fall off the face of the earth as The Horrors devour me whole, only to realize they don't like the taste and spit me back up again. My time is coming.

[amostexcellentblog]

Yup, still on my "what if movie was a Top Gun AU" brainrot, anyway...

Rooster, barging into the Hard Deck: Nat! Thank god, where is everybody? I need to talk to Bob, or Payback, or Fanboy, Coyote, anyone. I need their help!

Phoenix: Jesus Rooster, they're not here yet. What are you even doing here, weren't you visiting Admiral Kazansky for the first time since you cut him off?

Rooster: I was, he's so frail Nat, I'll always hate myself for not going sooner. But we were talking, I told him I was gay too, and he wanted to know if I had someone. He looked so hopeful, I couldn't deny him after what I did! And now he wants to meet him, so I need a fiancée quick, but none of the guys are here!

Phoenix: Well, I never said none of the guys are here...

Hangman: Alright Phoenix, here you are, fresh from the tap... Bradshaw? I thought you weren't coming, why'd you have to go and spoil a good evening like that?

Rooster: ...The worst part is I can't even pretend I don't deserve this.

(Jake agrees to do it after Bradley pulls a "I know we hate each other now, but we used to mean something to each other and if any of that was real, you'll do this for me." Mav is there when they get back, he knows it's a lie but goes with it because Ice is so happy. When Ice miraculously begins to recover, Mav is the one who forces them to keep up the ruse. He was reconciled to losing his husband and now he has him back, and he's not going to let them endanger that by upsetting him.)

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

"Nah," Xie Lian declined politely. "My San Lang has overworked himself." "Nah," Hua Cheng laughed. "How could San Lang ever be afraid of hard work when it comes to working gege hard?"

Okay but what if Hua Cheng literally is tired and feverish because he sexed himself out? That's hilarious. Feared and mighty Ghost King marries the strongest martial god and then stubbornly refuses to tap out upon discovering that he's having sex with an endless well of stamina. We need more tops working themselves to absolute exhaustion for their indefatigable bottoms.