#i'll start over

[xx-juju]

i wrote 75k for a shokohime fic and idk if i like it

[happyfairyskeleton]

It's okay, i just need to bide my time to have enough money to move far away from here and then everything will be okay

[briskchips]

Sorry to break it to you...

[hansoeii]

Some illustrations of my OC Sanja that I worked on last year for my final!

[stump-not-found]

Second or Third Contact

part 1 /part 2 / part 3 / part 4

---

and they never ever had any problems ever . the end

[yonch]

EVERYONE'S FAVORITE COSMIC JOKE

[soappox]

is it possible to warn this girl of danger normally

two wolves

[inkskinned]

i'm still trying to piece together the truth of it. when you left, you said: feel free to spin this narrative however you want. i have no idea if you were being cruel or if you just genuinely don't remember what you've done to me.

it's hard because i'd done so much of the work for you. i had seen the parts that flaked off, the rust underneath. i started separating you into two people - the one i loved, and the one who hurt me. i had this fantasy version of you - my partner - and then i had this stranger, a third person who would show up randomly to shatter me. i am deliriously glad i'm no longer with "the stranger". i miss the gentle (unreal?) "other" you terribly.

at first, i was so strict about my boundaries. i remember telling you to get the fuck out of my house if you were going to talk to me like that. by the end: i would justify your behavior for you, accepting even your mistreatment as "my fault" in the grand scheme. i look back on the person i was before you - smart, independent, confident - and i feel a strange sense of detachment. i don't even recognize me.

even in one of our last conversations, you said: if you want a partner that always talks warmly to you, find someone else. there was a time that a comment like that would have made me leave. and instead, somehow, i just placidly accepted that kind of thing. you were literally telling me that i wasn't allowed to have a reaction to your cruelty - and i just took it, because you'd so fully turned things around on me.

when people are faced with irrationality, a rational brain tries to make sense of it. this is the trap. they're lovely in the morning, gentle and blue-eyed and sweet. like nothing even happened, they breeze around the house and kiss you on the mouth. but at night; who is that? they snap almost randomly; flying into an impotent rage about just-about-anything. it just doesn't make sense. so the problem must be me, and my brain, and how i think.

the traumatized brain just wants peace. so maybe i'm misremembering. maybe you were just having a bad day. maybe it's actually me.

you eventually would fully turn on me and start implying that i am the bad actor in our relationship. that's what happens, right? that's literally in the playbook. you went to therapy for all of a month, told her a half-truth, co-opted therapyspeak. you figured out how to reframe your actions as "seeking peace." any time i stood my ground, i was "gaslighting." when i asked you to be more gentle, you said i was "tone policing." you said, randomly, i had emotionally manipulated you - i still have no idea what that's even specifically referring to. maybe my consistent requests for calmness and empathy?

and while i literally know better, and i'm sitting here, trained by you, thinking: wait, fuck. was i actually the person you made me out to be?

and the thing that scares me is that i literally do not know if you ever actually saw what you were doing to me. when you'd tell me how you remember arguments, you'd always summarize them in a way where you come off as gentle and easy: "i was trying to set an important boundary." what had actually happened was 15 minutes of you shouting at me i know you did something shady, just admit it already. eventually you'd say my reaction to your shouting (when i finally reacted, which usually happened around hour three) was inevitably "disappointing" and "another way i'm silencing your feelings."

how many times did i ask you - beg you - to just take accountability? looking back, i don't think i ever heard you say: you're right. the way i talked to you was wrong of me.

i am trying to tie together the two people into a full version of you in my head. yes, you made my coffee and made me laugh and spent hours on the phone with me. and yes - you would scream at me until i had to run away and hide behind something.

i wish i did have a narrative i could pull out and shape to my whim. i wish i did have some semblance of reality. instead i just stand here, strange and vibrating, wondering: what the fuck just happened?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

You made her cry, time to die.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[wardingshout]

Zelda goes mushroom girl

[switchbackhyperloop]

Ok, but how do Will and Hannibal, like, LIVE together? It's not all fucking and recreational murder.

Like, Hannibal obviously cooks and Will obviously does yard work. Who does the general housekeeping? Hannibal will want to hire someone and Will will be like 'I REFUSE TO HAVE A STRANGER TOUCHING ALL MY STUFF >:('

And then Hannibal will be like 'I'll touch ur sTuFf', but in a weird, Hannibal Way like 'Is it a matter of pride or a safe guard against intimacy? What is a home but an extension of our selves, even our very bodies? Have we not, through our cohabitation, the mingling of our material lives, become more intimate than a simple sweep and dust could ever approach? Tell me, Will, what dust and detritus has settled into the cracks of your being that we, together, have not unearthed into the light?'

And then Will would be like 'I'm going to kill you with knives and hammers, you pretentious fuck.'

And then they have sex on the kitchen floor.

What the fuck was I talking about.

[cashmoneychiyo]

Happy birthday & happy Valentine's Day!

~Tsubaki-sensei celebrating yet another Mikorin birthday on twitter!

[jortsbepis]

This was supposed to just be a silly shitpost about how I finally gave my shadow milk good toppings for arena but it very quickly got away from me LMAO

[orphicmeliora]

Secret identity au

You're what people call a walking disaster. You walk into a room, down a street, through a building, hell, even a park bench—anywhere at all—and it's almost guaranteed that someone, somehow, is getting hurt. Maybe a potted plant falls on a passerby. Maybe a toddler accidentally kicks you in the shin with a toy truck. Maybe a scooter mysteriously careens down a ramp and knocks over a vendor's hotdog stand. Either way, pain is usually involved, and statistically speaking, it’s either you or some other poor unfortunate soul caught in your gravitational field of chaos.

The worst part? Most of the time, it’s not even your fault. It’s like the universe itself has you on speed dial for comedic misfortune. Things just happen around you—doors swing open, drinks spill, ceiling tiles fall. Some say you’ve got a black cat’s luck. Others whisper it’s your evol to attract chaos like a lightning rod. Like some sort of cosmic magnet for near-death experiences.

Enter this Lumiere guy who shows up out of nowhere every time you need help. The masked man with a heroic streak and perfect timing. He always seems to be there the second you're dangling from a balcony, caught in a runaway shopping cart, or about to be squashed by a suspiciously fast-moving food delivery drone. He’s graceful, mysterious, and efficient—like if Batman had a Pinterest board full of soft lighting and silk capes. Naturally, you’re halfway in love. Because who doesn’t catch feelings for the guy who literally saves your life every 48 hours? The mask only makes it worse, honestly. What does he look like? Why won’t he take it off? Why does his voice sound like a lullaby dipped in espresso? It's all very stressful.

Anyway, fast forward. You're back from a long shift of not dying (you tripped, a ladder fell, long story), and you’re practically vibrating with excitement over your latest Lumiere sighting. So you do the most obvious thing: call your bestie to fangirl.

You're pacing in the hallway, phone pressed to your ear, animatedly relaying every detail ("I swear, his cape glowed when the sun hit it—no, I'm not exaggerating! And then he caught me—like, full-on princess-style caught me, I thought I was gonna die, but no, he just—ugh, the way he looked down at me, I swear—") when the elevator finally dings and the doors glide open.

That’s when you notice him.

You falter mid-sentence. “Hold on, I think my neighbor wants to murder me with his eyes.”

Xavier doesn’t even blink.

He’s standing a few feet away, waiting to get past you into the hallway, staring like you’ve personally offended his ancestors. As your words trail off, he levels you with the kind of look usually reserved for gum on expensive shoes.

You lower the phone slightly. “Uh…hi?”

Nothing. Just a sharp exhale through the nose and that judgmental, soul-piercing stink eye like you’re the human equivalent of elevator Muzak.

The man is wearing a plain white hoodie and sweatpants like he walked out of a moody fitness ad, and yet he exudes the same intensity as someone plotting world domination—or at the very least, filing a very strongly-worded HOA complaint.

You step aside as he brushes past, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “loud.” The nerve.

Okay then.

You resume your call, lowering your voice only slightly. “I don’t know what this guy’s deal is. I’m not that loud. Maybe he’s allergic to joy?” Okay, maybe your voice carries, but you’re excited! You could’ve died! Again! Some people journal. Some people drink. You cope with high-volume storytelling and minor public disturbances.

And you’re just about to get over it when something weird happens. Just for a second, Xavier's hoodie sleeve slips up as he adjusts the grocery bag in his hand.

There’s a flicker of something silver peeking out from under the fabric. Thin, intricate. Almost…mask-like?

Wait.

No.

It can’t be.

Can it?

[bennetsbonnet]

I'm currently reading Eavesdropping on Jane Austen's England: How Our Ancestors Lived Two Centuries Ago by historians Roy and Lesley Adkins and it's a very well researched and informative book, which I highly recommend if you already know a lot about Jane Austen's life and works, but want to understand the context of her novels and how society functioned at the time.

I have to share this passage from the chapter about childbirth, which details a naval officer's response to learning that his wife had given birth while he was away at sea... because it made me think of a certain Austen couple:

It was not unusual for fathers to be absent from home when their children were born, and it took some time for the news to reach William Wilkinson, at sea in the navy, that he was a father. Finally he held the letter that his sister-in-law Fanny Platt had excitedly written from their lodgings at Kensington in London, a few hours after his daughter's birth. 'Heartily do I wish you were now here,' she said, that we might congratulate with each other on the happy arrival of your little daughter. It was born at 17 minutes past 9 o'clock this 9th day of Nov [1807].' Fanny next gave William an affectionate description: 'the precious Babe, [she] is, I think, the loveliest little creature I ever saw. [Her] eyes are dark and beautifully bright, [her] nose and chin we all agree in our opinion as to their being exactly like your own. [She] has a pretty little head with a good bit of hair, which is very dark. [She] is in good health and so plump you cannot think.' William was extremely happy, and early the next year he wrote to his wife: 'in my Prayer Book (which I keep in my desk) I have your hair, Baby's and a piece of my own. I cut mine off the other day to see the contrast. They are all in a small piece of fine India paper... and they do look very pretty, yours light, mine dark, and Baby's between both.'

After reading this, now I can't stop thinking about Captain Wentworth cutting off a piece of his hair and placing it next to a lock of Anne's hair (that he brought to sea with him so she'd be with him in some way) and a piece of their newborn baby daughter's hair!

It hurts to imagine them separated for such an important moment but if duty called and Wentworth was forced to go away, this is exactly how I imagine he would deal with the separation.

[lyxchen]

Having to keep watch at night can reveal things about people…

Also tagging @izzyfishie cause this is inspired by your headcanon of Gi-hun sleeping on top of Sang-woo and being like a weighted blanket for him <3