#// thank u for the ask anon! who are u

[chick-it-out]

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

wear headphones :)

Wasn't expecting another one of these so soon huh.

Transcript and context under the cut

Transcription: Fuck. Goddammit. K-Ugh. *whimper* Come on...

Context: An inside joke between some people on twitter resulted in them commissioning artists to draw gabe failing at pottery and it became a trend for a bit. This is him voicing that specific scenario

Audio source (Yeah I edited it a little to make it worse. I will not apologize.)

Link to a thread of the pottery fan art. This isn't all of it but this is the only collection I can find to link to. -> Link

If anyone has more that wasn't included here feel free to drop a link in the replies :0

[foolsocracy]

I can't help but notice you haven't posted any angst in a while and I'm suspicious

whipped this one up just for u anon

[stuffeddeer]

ddeeeEEER 😭 you have me clutching my chest dying from ur fluff good LORD

i'll be the first to ask for the rest of what you wrote post that shit NOW this is a threat/j

ouggggh ur dazai makes me want to squash him and blend him up and smash him into bits

butt anywho happy thanksgiving!!

-🩵

uefiuhseufh THANK YOU 🩵ANON!!!! i wrote these literally seconds after "pt1" but didn't wanna clog ppls feeds w thousands of kissing hcs um oops

PT1

(not necessary to read, just more silly ideas)

15!Dazai who, whether it's you who leans in first or him, gets so overwhelmed. The rush of emotions and warmth he's never been shown causes him to panic, which makes him push you away! (Quite harshly at that..) He doesn't mean to but omg Dazai is just SO not used to affection and comfort that the warm fluttery feeling in his chest makes him sick to his stomach. Processing these feelings makes him feel flustered and sheepish and AHH!!!!! It's too much!!! He'd avoid you so horribly after he's so stupid, ducking into other hallways or using his hands to physically cover his face (very obvious to poor you!!) all so he didn't have to acknowledge the fact that you made him feel different. It'd probably take Chuuya yelling at him for his stupidity for him to realize he really really likes you! And that feeling is actually good!!!

PM!Dazai who's cocky and knows exactly what he wants; He's the demon prodigy for a reason. This Dazai is an asshole who kisses you without warning - no "I'm interested in you" or slow lean in or anything - just cuts you off with a long kiss that takes your breath away before he moves back. He'll tease you for being "so in love with him, as many are," before waving his hand dismissively and leaving. Dazai is a total jerk so when you ask if this means he likes you, he denies it: just saying that he knew you liked him and thought he'd be generous and give you your first and last kiss with him. Dazai flaunts a pretty smile and leans suspiciously close as he says this before immediately leaving under the guise of some meeting he's definitely lying about. He'd start doing things to draw your attention to his lips after this just to mess with you - putting on chapstick and the like. PM!Dazai would love to see you get frustrated and annoyed with his antics but not do anything, knowing it'd only make it worse. grrr biting scratching clawing i need him gone

ADA!Dazai who's anxious. He's so totally in love with you and is overwhelmed by it all! His eyes sting and his throat turns dry, a sign that he feels like crying, but he just stands there at the sight of you. You 'd be the one to initiate it first, an anxious look on your face as you pull back to a ghostly white Dazai standing frigid. The thought of oh fuck, did I overstep? leads to you apologize profusely. Once he finally gets his breath back (you feeling downright horrible with every moment he's silent), Dazai practically hangs off of you, pathetically gripping onto your arm with both of his and holding you close. You ask if this means he likes you back but he still can't speak, just burying his head into the crook of your neck. Give him time, he's still working through everything!!!! It's been a long time since he has actually liked someone, especially so deeply, so it's hard for him to come to terms with it :( He just wants to be near you but he can't find the words to express that just yet. Being vulnerable is so scary!

Beast!Dazai who gets horrifically drunk. How else could he manage all of the things he has to go through? Just knowing he could never confide in Oda like he once has leads him to throwing back drink after drink... Until he ends up on your doorstep. He'd wanted to keep you at arms length, to stop you from following him down the dark road he was paving, but with a few too many drinks in him he found he didn't care. You let him in right away, more than happy to pour him a glass of water and let him crash on your couch for the night. Before you could even turn towards your kitchen, he pulled you in for a passionate kiss, full of love and need and every feeling he has felt for you across lifetimes. The kiss would last a minute or so before Dazai would pull away, hugging you tightly and making you promise him that you'd never leave him, even if he makes horrible decisions and drives everyone else away — you are his, remember? In every life.

[strawberry-daiquiris]

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy

For max f/oscar or nortrell pls!

DELICIOUS, love a drunken kiss. this was really fun to write because i've always done max f/oscar in quite a soft way and the max in this is significantly less nice. still reckon they'd fall in love though.

____________

“Thought you said Oscar doesn’t drink much?”

Max is having to yell over the music, standing too close to the speakers for his liking. Lando’s deep in his phone, probably dm-ing some model or a DJ, ready to ditch Max for the second time in three days. It was a mistake, coming to visit Monaco on race weekend.

Lando looks up briefly, eyes flitting to where Max is staring. Oscar Piastri, off his tits, trying to do something he suspects is supposed to be dancing.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Lando’s voice is full of glee, like Max has just pointed out Verstappen with a broken front wing, or something. “Guess he does tonight.”

Max watches as Oscar backs into someone, a girl in a short skirt who gives him a dirty look until something must click in her brain, some memory of seeing him on a poster, or a TV screen, plastering herself to his side. Max wishes he could get girls that easily, fucking F1 driver privilege.

Turns to Lando to say it, have a laugh at Oscar’s expense about his bad hair, or the sponsor t-shirt he’s wearing to a fucking Monaco VIP area, but he’s already gone, his face in the neck of some guy Max vaguely remembers meeting at Ush, once. Not a DJ, he doesn’t think, but close enough for Lando to shag him, clearly. 

When he looks back at Oscar, the girl’s got a hand on his crotch. It’s not Max’s battle really, but he still remembers when he was asked to keep an eye on Oscar, back in the academy days. Nobody ever said what they wanted him to keep an eye out for, but stopping him from doing stupid shit like getting a handy in a club would probably have been on the list.

“Fuck’s sake,” he swears under his breath as he weasels through the crowd, clapping Oscar on the shoulder. “Alright mate? Fancy some air?”

Outside, Oscar only seems drunker, swaying as he rests against the wall, head dropped. Max stands in front of him, blocking him from view in case he pisses himself or something. He’s seen worse from Theo, on nights out. 

“Celebrating the podium hard, eh?” Max says, trying to keep his voice light, not let the seething jealousy flow into his words. Deep down, there’s still something in him that believes it could be him holding the trophy, if someone would just give him a fucking try.

“’m not celebrating,” Oscar says, blinking these big eyes at him. Max always thought they looked like a koala’s, a bit menacing beneath the cute exterior. On the nose, he’s aware, but Max has never been one for metaphors. “I’m doing the opposite… sad-erbrating.”

Max snorts.

“Think Bob’s rubbing off on you if you think that’s a word, mate. Anyway, what the fuck have you got to be sad about? You got P2 at Monaco.”

Oscar levels him with a really serious look.

“I’m here ‘cos my girlfriend dumped me.”

Max startles, acid in his stomach like Oscar’s just bent him double and pummeled him there. ‘Cos that’s why Max is here in Monaco being one of Lando’s little harem, and not moving to a new place with P. Got fucking dumped, and it takes him a good few seconds to realise this isn’t Oscar playing a game with him, that he’s being serious.

That he’s heartbroken too. 

“Oh, well, same,” Max raises his glass to Oscar, who tries to focus on it like the toast is the point, and not Max’s words. “To being sad, lonely twats, eh?”

Oscar looks so distraught, Max has to try and backtrack.

”Or maybe not so lonely? You looked like you were halfway to getting your dick sucked in there, mate. Maybe you’ll get lucky and find someone to get you off, you’re not bad looking?”

Oscar’s whole face changes, brightness sparking in his eyes, and a slant to his mouth and Max thinks, for just a second, about how much better he looks happy before there’s a gentle pair of hands on his face.

It’s wet and scratchy, like when one of the cats licks him, Oscar’s fuzz of facial hair scraping the soft bit where his beard doesn’t show, and it takes him a good 30 seconds to realise he’s kissing back, failing entirely at stopping Oscar doing something stupid in public, following him to it, even.

“D’you want to go back to mine?” Oscar breathes heavily when he pulls back, and Max thanks their lucky stars he chose an empty alleyway. “I live here now, in Monaco.”

Max nods. Figures. Something else Oscar has that he should’ve had for himself.

Still, he thinks, remembering Lando and his nearly-a-DJ inside, there’s more than one way of getting what you’ve always wanted, isn’t there? And Max has never been afraid of grinding, of working for it. Might not get him an F1 seat, but somewhere to crash in Monaco that’s not Lando’s sofa? That’d be alright.

“Yeah, fine,” he shrugs “But you’re the one doing the sucking, alright?”

Max doesn’t think about the hungry way Oscar nods. That’s for later.

[sculkshrieking]

Hoffstrahmdon?? Oh my god?? Thinking so much about them?? Any more art or just thoughts for them in general would be so cool,,,

my hoffstrahmdon thoughts tend to be various canon divergence type AUs for hoffdon and hoffstrahm mixed together.

i like to think Hoffman had to take care of Lawrence when he was still very injured and delirious while John and Mandy were away in X. i also like to think Hoffman did wonders for Lawrence's gay awakening, since Lawrence is the most closeted gay man to ever live. to me. Hoffman, experienced in all things homo, is also definitely aware Lawrence is into him before Lawrence is even aware of it. Which is knowledge he uses to fuck with Lawrence as much as possible.

(if they had a fling or two in one of those warehouses then that's between them and whatever cameras John had set up in there.)

ultimately, i think they're two very fucked up guys wrecked with grief who grow to understand each other just a little bit, which leads to them also getting the slightest bit attached, despite their best efforts not to. a lot of very mixed feelings about each other all around.

as for the Strahm part, i think it'd be incredibly funny to mix Lawrence into the classic "Strahm swallows his morals and runs away with Hoffman to play house" type situation. hoffstrahm are like 8 months into living together peacefully in some random little town after Hoffman got his face ripped open and Lawrence shows up unannounced while Hoffman's home alone. Strahm comes back and walks in on them mid argument. immediately connects the dots as to why That One Guy from That One Jigsaw Trap is suddenly in his living room:

and then he promptly has a mental breakdown.

[cadaverkeys]

HOLY SHIT. THANK U SO MUCH TO THE ANONYMOUS PERSON WHO PUT MY TOP SURGERY FUND OVER THE 5K MARK. OMG OMG OMG. YOURE AN ANGEL GAH

[puppybot]

BEGS YOU to draw sam and Sebastian being gay. please please please i need to see what you cook up with them. only if you want to though. sorry 😔

shaneydays: 1 willow lane , pelican town

[updatingranboo]

ranboo is currently wearing an R800 mc skin :D

credit goes to the lovely sirvee_ on twitter!! give them some love <3

[rattkachuk]

Hello! Hope you are having a good day.

So I have a question for you, just ignore when you don't feel like answering.

I came to Mattdrai via the enemies/rivals to lovers tag and then got sucked into hockey. I really like the fanon take on Leon, fav character, fanon Matthew was fine but way too woobified and infantilized in so many fics. So my surprise when I started to watch games, interviews etc. Public Matthew is so confident, so loving, awesome family to back him up, especially Brady, hot as hell, sexy way of playing hockey, amazing public persona. Loved and respected by his team, beyond hockey.

Then Leon. His only trait seems to be that he's pissy which I can appreciate but it seems that he's just a downright mean, arrogant guy with a superiority complex (see that interview when he puts Silovs down.) I don't find him stoic at all but he's just seems boring and bland and yeah, pissy. It doesn't seem like he has fun or likes his team a lot or is liked by them (Connor aside and his skills aside.) His friendship with Connor seems the only endearing or likeable thing. He even looks good in a bland way and his hockey is while it's so skillful it's not hot and also I wonder why his dirty plays aren't called out more often.

So what do I miss? Where does great fanon Leon come from? Why is he written mostly so superior to Matthew and where comes the "his team likes Leon so much but Matthew is an outcast in his own team come from?) It's so far from what I gather from old and new interviews or games and I have watched a lot, also German interviews. I really would like to like Leon, shipping them had been more fun when I didn't find his public self so jarring. What do I not see what everyone else seems to get?

Sorry for the long ask! Have a great day and thank you

first off thank you for such a thought out ask! i don't get to dive into things like this a lot outside of writing fic and it got my brain gears going.

to get right into the bulk of this ask: i get what you are saying about leon. that can be the way he comes off for sure, and look everything i'm gonna say? i'm talking out of my ass here. i don't claim to know anything about him as a person besides what's publicly presented, and i don't have much right to theorize about why he is the way that he is, but i'd be lying if i said i didn't think about it. how would i write rpf otherwise, right 💀

i think he cares a lot. and i think sometimes he gets so wrapped up in things, how things should be, how he should be performing, etc, and when it doesn't go a certain way he gets frustrated and snarky (eg, pissy comments and such). but i don't see that being bad necessarily, especially when it's seems to come from such a team oriented state of mind. which, i dont think he dislikes his team at all? i think if anything, he has a sort of blind faith in his team, and that's the only context i could see a 'superiority complex' making sense in. and yah maybe a little misplaced at times, but ultimately i think it comes from believing so fully in his team and not seeing that come to fruition. he really does not seem to care about his individual performance much at all, so how self obsessed can he be? when i think about leon i just see someone that is ultimately very passionate and committed to the game he plays. i'm also curious to know where you get the vibe that his team doesn't like him? simply because i never got that impression from any of the other oilers, they all seem like they're obsessed with him.

beyond hockey, i see a caring, sweet, kindhearted individual. anytime i see a picture or vid of him interacting with bowie, or even the things his girlfriend posts about him, the comments he leaves for people on ig, and yah of course in the way he talks/acts around connor, i see fragments of someone soooo different than the little two minute post game interviews (which, can we judge any hockey player on those? i think they all hate them dfkjgsd). it's not always something i actively go digging for or have examples of the top of my head, but i do see it, and it definitely goes into creating the version of leon that i have in my mind.

hey, and, he's a silly guy!!! please, i know the reputation is pissy and humourless, ESPECIALLY in fic, but that man is so funny. so many random offhanded comments that make me pause and then laugh. a different sense of humour but it's so there. i love the sandcastle vid from the asg last year and feel like it's a good example of that, all sunburnt and happy. also hey, big man in tune with his fear of the ocean? love that. that little vid of him dancing on the ice earlier this season, those halloween photos where he's dressed as a monkey, every time he talks to a kid. hell, seeing him in warmups and watching the way he takes time to interact fans?? loveee watching warmups but i'd never had a player actually acknowledge my existence before leon!

also i really enjoy his personality on the ice, i like the rat behaviour and the sassy comments that he makes to other players/refs, i like the bitch moves, and i like his hockey too. i think his game is dependable and like you said skillful, and while maybe not the most creative, the sureness and the technical aspect it is hot to me. so my thoughts on everything are probably skewed in that regard.

anyways this was just a whole lot of rambling about why i find him interesting, endearing even, but i understand the perception you have. i don't like some players that other people love, just cause i cant see what they see. and honestly that's sometimes just the way it is! if you don't like leon, maybe u just don't like him and thats fine.

disclaimer that i have only been on hockeyblr for a couple years, and really didn't spare many thoughts for leon til the beginning of the 22/23 season. truthfully i'm hardly the person to ask about leon imo, but of course i have thoughts anyways! if someone else with more knowledge reads my bit of rambling here, please feel free to chime in and add your voice to this!

and side note, ofc, i have to touch on this bc who would i be if i'm not one to talk about matthew; in the way of m.tkachuk, i think that in the early days of mattdrai it was maybe a fair take away during his time with the flames (minus the woobifying). even though he was loved so much here and had some fucking times, and i think the team was mostly good to him (player wise if not regarding management, that is), i see such a stark difference now that he's on the panthers. he seems much happier and more confident, and obviously he's clicking with the cats on another level, and i do see a shift in how he's been portrayed in fics since tbh.

[strangersatellites]

pride, envy, wrath, sloth, gluttony, greed, ao3

Seven Deadly Sins Series (NSFW 18+)

lust (noun) - a shortcut to sexual fulfillment, but it doesn’t actually get you there. When you lust after someone, you are objectifying that person for your own selfish pleasure. 

The summer heat beats down with a strength that must rival that straight out of Hell, Eddie thinks. 

The thermometer Wayne keeps on the porch outside reading somewhere between ninety degrees and the devil’s asscrack and Eddie can feel all of it. 

Sweat rolling down his spine even where he’s sat in the shade, sunglasses and baseball cap on and a glass of ice water pressed to the back of his neck. 

You couldn’t pay him enough money to set foot in the grass, to feel the sun hit his skin and start burning it instantly.

The only thing keeping him even outside is Steve. 

Steve who is washing his car like it's the most important job he’ll ever have. He’s paying attention to details that Eddie’s never even noticed, let alone noticed were clean.

But that’s not what Eddie’s paying attention to anyway is it?

No. There might be one thing in the steamy July air that is hotter than the sun, and it's the thoughts running through Eddie’s head. There’s nothing cool about those. 

See, Eddie’s covered in a layer of grime and his hair has gone frizzy and he’s sprawled across the couch in a way he knows makes him look less like a man and more like a deflated balloon.

But despite the heat, Steve looks like a vision.

He’s got on a tight little pair of cut-off shorts that do absolute wonders for his thighs. 

He’s ripped the sleeves off and cropped one of Eddie’s old band shirts, a white one at that, and Eddie’s eyes can trail all the way from his shoulder to his happy trail, view unobstructed. 

He’s got his hair pushed back with a pair of sunglasses that started on his eyes but were apparently hindering his vision too much. Whatever. Eddie’s not complaining. He looks sexy with his hair pushed back.

It started out innocent enough. With Eddie mentally making a note to tell him he looks cute the next time he’s close enough to the porch.

But that was before he took a break from scrubbing to douse himself under the hose. 

Because now Eddie’s old, white band shirt is stuck to his skin like glue. Like it was painted on just for him. Eddie loves Steve’s strong arms, he does. But he’s never going to pass up an opportunity to watch the way the muscles in his back ripple under his skin. The “Metallica” stretched across his shoulders is just icing on the cake.

When faced with the wrath of the sun, Eddie’s skin turns pink and tender. But Steve goes a beautiful warm golden and his freckles seem to multiply. 

Right now Eddie’s eyes are glued to Steve’s legs. The way his muscles go taut when he squats down to scrub at his hubcaps. If he squints hard enough against the harsh afternoon light, Eddie can almost make out the indentions of his own teeth on the underside of his thigh. The fading purple bruise he’d sucked into soft skin, sweaty for an entirely different reason. 

He thinks of the way he’s made those strong legs tremble and shake. The way he’s had them wrapped around his waist, his head. 

Steve shifts and sits on the grass, leans back on both of his hands and throws his head back with a sigh. Eddie’s gaze gets redirected to the shirt clinging to his chest, his soft, but still strong tummy. 

He wants to lick his collarbones and leave bruises on his neck. More bruises, that is. There’s already a few mottled across his skin because Eddie just can’t help himself. How could he? How could anybody help themselves with Steve in their lap whimpering their name like a prayer? Eddie gave up trying to hold back a long time ago. 

When his eyes come back into focus Steve is stretching to reach across his windshield, back muscles stretched long and strong. If Eddie closes his eyes he can imagine the feeling of the welts he’d left across his skin. Claw marks drug all the way down his back. Can almost imagine the feeling that elicited them. The groan he’d pulled out of his boy in turn. 

Eddie snaps his eyes open and is met with Steve’s lazy smile looking his way and he really can’t be blamed for the heat it sends dipping into his stomach and the strained huff he grits out. 

The way Steve throws his head back again, this time in a laugh at Eddie’s distress, doesn’t help his case. 

It gets the worst though, when Steve sets to detailing the hood. 

Now he’s got his back directly facing Eddie. He’s bent over at the waist, hips popped back and his spine dipped low and Eddie’s not a praying man, he’s not. 

But he’s about to send up one of gratitude because sometimes he can hardly believe Steve’s his. 

And Eddie’s not stupid. He knows Steve’s onto him. He knows because he’d laughed. Because he’s peeking over his shoulder every few seconds to see if Eddie’s eyes are still on him. He knows because he’s tugged his little shorts up enough that the crease of his ass and his thighs sits right below the frayed denim hem. 

There might’ve been a time where Eddie would’ve tried valiantly to redirect his train of thought. To stop himself from making a fool of himself. But now Steve’s his boyfriend. And Steve knows Eddie’s thinking about getting him naked more often than he’s not these days. He’s just as bad. 

So Eddie lets himself sink into it. Into the visions of the bounce of Steve’s cheeks when Eddie smacks him. Of the tiny freckle just shy of his hole and how he loves to sink his teeth around it. The tiny heart tattoo on the back of his right hip that Steve totally should not have let Eddie give him, but they both love nonetheless.  

He thinks about the way his normally strong voice, breaks and goes soft when Eddie fucks him. The way he squirms when he rides Eddie’s face. 

The goosebumps that break out across his skin on the comedown and his glassy eyes and soft smile. 

His eyes are wide open but he’s so lost in the memory of his boy’s ass pulled against his hips that he misses when Steve stops washing his car and climbs the steps of the porch. Doesn’t see him until he feels his weight drop down across his lap and hears Steve ask what he’s thinking about in a sultry whisper.

So Eddie really doesn’t feel all that bad about his thoughts burning hotter than the summer sun when he says, “Nothing, baby. Just you.”

[possibilistfanfiction]

hey!! saw you reblogging some of your butch bea stuff & just wanted to tell you that it lowkey changed my life and that if you ever want to revisit that universe you’d have at least one very avid & enthusiastic reader. there’s no pressure though — im grateful it exists at all!!

[i am going to be completely honest, i have no idea what this little prompt fill is but i love butch bea sm, it's soft & basically plotless. feeling so normal about her this pride month lol. also some lilith pov for the culture.]

//

not that you like people, but if you had to pick a favorite, under deep duress, beatrice would be at the top of your list. not that you would ever, ever tell her that, but, unfortunately, you're also pretty certain she knows. and, to your utter horror, you find that you have a reluctant soft spot for ava — you try to contribute it to beatrice being your sister, and therefore ava is basically your sibling-in-law, because they're not married yet but you watched beatrice say goodbye and you watched her grieve and you watched her fall in love, disgustingly, every second of every day, when ava returned. and, sure, ava is steadfast and faithful and far too brave and saved the world, twice, but, like. his relentless optimism and terrible sense of humor is too much sometimes.

but, you remind yourself when you get his text — he's your family too. someone who should have never forgiven you, you remember, like acid leaking in your stomach, but ava has always been too generous. and so you answer with an eye-roll emoji but also I'll be there in ten.

it's not the first day that ava has asked for help, and you're sure it won't be the last, but these days don't happen all that often anymore. you understand, though: your wings ache and sit heavy some nights when you can't sleep, and even if you fly over mountain ranges or tropical fjords or the flat, gorgeous planes of the savannah, deserts and oceans, the world — this admittedly beautiful earth, better than all the heavens — isn't quite enough to hold your sorrow. or, maybe it holds it along with you, and you can't quite put it down.

so you diligently mask your scales with jillian's annoying but very useful tech, and you put on an outfit that nun-you would have deemed inappropriate and nun-beatrice would have blushed furiously at, and teleport from your favorite room, tucked away in the middle of nowhere on a tiny island off the coast of iceland to beatrice and ava's sunny, big house on the beach. it's cool today, though, the day covered in a marine layer that's lingered for months. beatrice looks surprised when you show up in their kitchen, where she's staring off into space while, apparently, very slowly unloading the dishwasher. ava says hello from the living room, where you assume they're on the couch with korra by their side.

'hello, lilith.'

you pop a fresh grape into your mouth from the bowl sitting there in lieu of greeting.

'those are for ava,' beatrice says, and her hands shake and you can tell from the set of her shoulders that ava was right, that the world stings in your palms and up your spine, and sometimes you just need someone to see you through it until it calms.

'he can share,' you say, eat another one and swipe the bowl with beatrice scowling after you as you walk into the living room. ava is, unexpectedly, watching some reality tv drivel — so what if you're caught up on all ten seasons of vanderpump rules, it reminds you of hell if anyone asks — but she smiles sincerely when you hand her the bowl, one you're pretty certain beatrice had sculpted and glazed with her own hands.

'i can share a few,' ava says, and you don't bother to stop yourself from scratching korra's head in greeting when ava nods. you can admit that korra is awesome; she has loyalty to ava but at least you can understand that one. she's wearing a hoodie you know is beatrice's favorite, so it's ava's favorite too, and a beanie; ava hadn't mentioned it, but you know on really bad days her body has trouble regulating its internal temperature too — and if the pile of blankets at the foot of the couch is anything to go by, you're guessing that's happening too.

'you've looked better.'

ava rolls her eyes and beatrice flicks you on the back of the head. 'so have you,' ava says, but you look hot and so you know by that lackluster insult she really is in a good deal of pain.

'ava's back is bad today,' beatrice says, as if that wasn't completely obvious from the way ava has a heating pad and special pillow and is propped up on the couch with korra attentively lying next to her, ready to get anything or alert if she needs to.

'lots of hand spasms,' ava says, 'which are the worst, who knew?'

the only reason you refrain from making a dirty joke is because you'd never want them to think you have ever, for one moment, thought about their sex life. 'well, i'm taking beatrice for a bit,' you say, which is just what ava asked for, 'so maybe some heavier duty pain meds and a nap? we can bring you a late lunch.'

you feel beatrice stiffen behind you. 'i need to be here today,' she says, clipped and anxious. 'what if ava —'

'what if i what, bea?' ava says, without any malice, but with a glint in her eye that even you know to be careful of. 'i just need to sleep today and watch some stupid tv. we can go through all my rehab exercises in the evening again, like we always do.'

beatrice's jaw is clenched, and she bites her bottom lip.

'bea,' ava says, and reaches for her hand, and, not for the first time at all, do you feel a little out of place. lonely, and sad, and aching: they are in love, however much it annoys you. there's a care there that you're fairly certain you will never have, and never be able to give.

'a few hours, beatrice,' you say. 'that's all.'

ava had texted that beatrice had been losing track of time and tasks all morning, which is a sign you'd all started to understand as a bad ptsd day, not infrequently leading to a panic attack or a flashback if she's left to her own devices. usually, they won't have bad days at the same time, some divine knowledge of something, but today the stars hadn't lined up.

but beatrice sighs and then nods: she knows herself, knows when her brain is misfiring or misaligned, when things aren't quite as real as they should be. ava's hands are in painful, involuntary fists and so it's up to you today, to hold beatrice's through it.

'great, now that that's settled,' you say, when she offers nothing else. you take her wrist and, just for fun, teleport her right into the middle of the ocean, until she's spluttering and yelling but then, blessedly, lets out a laugh. you teleport her right back to her shower and even ava is grinning from inside. 'get ready,' you tell her, throw a towel at her from the neat stack in their patio bin. 'see you in fifteen.'

'don't have too much fun catching up on vanderpump rules without me,' she says, color back in her cheeks and a clarity seeping into her eyes.

'i hate that show.'

'sure,' she says, dismissing you with a wave of her hand, and, fine, you do join ava on the couch, but it's only because he's high and divulges, eagerly, beatrice's latest cooking mishap. beatrice comes in from their bedroom a few minutes later, looking a little steadier still, in soft, tailored pants and an oversized t-shirt, tucked in precisely. she's put contacts in and has sunglasses slipped into the collar of her shirt, a thick, fancy watch on her wrist. ava, even in a lot of pain, looks like they might start drooling. 'great.' you fling a pair of pristine birkenstocks at beatrice, who catches them with a scowl, 'you look fine to be in public. let's go.'

'bye, baby,' ava says, frustratingly unfazed by you. beatrice smiles, gently, her eyes clear for the moment when all she has to focus on is ava, and kisses her forehead, gently cups her jaw in her hand. 'love you, have fun.'

'i love you too,' beatrice says.

'no fun,' you say, and ava's still laughing as you touch beatrice's elbow and teleport on your way.

/

'this is my sister, lilith,' beatrice introduces, and, like, whatever, your heart swells in your chest and you feel warm and kind. you sink into it — only for a moment.

'nice to meet you,' beatrice's barber says, offering her hand with a genuine, easy smile, not batting an eye that you and beatrice look absolutely nothing alike; you feel warm and kind again when you think about beatrice talking about you as her sister to people you've never met, that you matter to her enough to mention. 'i'm xavi.'

'xavi, cool.'

beatrice sits down in the chair, comfortable and present, even though her hands still shake, but it's clear that this is a space she's always been made to feel safe. somewhere she's always been made to feel seen, which you realized, over the past few years, she had never had, despite how much you had — and still do — still love her.

'same thing, bea?' xavi asks.

bea nods. 'you can take the skin fade up a little higher, i think. it just grows so fast.'

xavi nods. 'sounds good.'

and it's not like you don't spend a fair amount of your time with beatrice and ava, because they live somewhere beautiful and it brings you deep joy to annoy them, and, like, drag brunches and queer bars are admittedly very fun, but to see your sister just be is kind of moving. and maybe she realizes that too, that it's special you're here, that it's special you're allowed to be here, in this space that is very much hers, the quiet hum of the clippers in the background, while she chats with her barber about the latest ridiculous episodes of love island — which, yes, you have watched; yes, you do participate in the conversation after beatrice includes you immediately, because you're only so strong and it's always been a summer tradition of yours to watch nightly — and they laugh together. you laugh too, and then all of a sudden beatrice is crying, and xavi turns the clippers off carefully. beatrice snakes a hand out from under her cape and tries to wipe her eyes.

'i apologize,' she says, really trying to get it under control. 'i — sorry.'

'she's having a weird day,' you offer, and beatrice nods with a sniffle. you don't bother to explain further — that's beatrice's to tell, if she ever wants to — but it seems to calm beatrice a little bit.

'sorry,' she says again. 'i — i'm just happy to be here,' she says, adds a quiet, 'as i am,' and xavi just squeezes her shoulder.

'i'm happy about that too.'

beatrice lets out a big breath and steadies herself; you feel relieved too that you won't have to deal with a panic attack in the middle of a barber shop while beatrice's hair isn't nearly faded properly. 'i never cry.'

you roll your eyes. 'if by "never" you mean five to ten times a week...'

beatrice shoots you a glare through the mirror and you just grin, all teeth.

xavi laughs a little and turns the clippers back on. 'it's okay,' she says. 'you're secret's safe with me.'

/

admittedly, beatrice's hair does look great, a clean fade and a little messy pomade on top, but you've already complimented her on this haircut twice so you're certainly not doing that again. you walk with her along the street her barbershop is on, that she knows well and it hits you quietly that you know it well too. you don't have a home — you haven't had a home in a while — but this might come close.

years ago, before the war, before all of it, on a bad day the two of you would go at it for hours sparring, blood on your knuckles and along your teeth and once mother superion had been irate when you got such a good shot in beatrice's eye was swollen shut for days — but there is no war anymore. there are small battles, but beatrice hasn't fought since she got hurt; even though she's better now, with a sturdy rod down her femur and scars that don't seem to bother her much down her abdomen, you think, unofficially, that she's not ever going to fight again.

you don't have the same fate, you know, but for today you look beautiful in an easy bright blue shift dress and sunglasses, your hair dark and long, and beatrice's hands have stopped shaking.

'sushi?' you ask, a reach, maybe, but when she smiles you know you were right.

it makes you realize, too, when you sit down at a restaurant you've come to so many times with her — and ava, too — that you know the server, who greets you both by name and brings you shishito peppers and spicy edamame without you even having to order. beatrice relaxes in her chair after a second on the patio, lets out another deep breath.

'all right?'

she takes her sunglasses off and nods. 'thank you.'

you shake your head. 'you're my sister.'

you mean it: i have not forgotten who you are; i have not forgotten who i am. you mean it: i love you. even if the words get stuck in your chest, even if you can't quite say them — you mean it.

'plus,' you say, 'you're paying, and i'm ordering the best sake on the menu.'

she laughs, bright and easy, and shrugs. 'you know the catholic church and my horrible parents are footing the bill anyway. we should order whatever we want.'

you remember when you were nineteen and beatrice was brand new to the ocs, how much you felt frustrated by her, deeply: she was earnest, and so serious, and very hurt, but kind in a way you never could be. the pressure sat heavy on both of your shoulders, but she held it with grace. 'could you have imagined this life when we first met?'

she seems as surprised by your question as you are that you even asked it, but her smile is easy and she runs a hand along her buzzed hair with a laugh. 'i think i would have had a heart attack if anyone had told me even a sliver of what my life is now.'

you wait a beat but then you do laugh, because it's true. your server brings you your sake and some sashimi you'd ordered, along with some scallops that are your favorite. ava sends a text in the group chat the three of your have — which you refuse to really participate in, but fine — saying that she's doing fine, that she had to take a fever reducer but korra's been on top of anything she needed to get so ava hasn't had to try to get up, that the protein smoothie beatrice had made her had been fine and she's just going to try to sleep some more. it makes beatrice relax even more, palpably, and you understand, in some way.

'you've retired, haven't you?'

she calmly swallows her tuna and then puts down her chopsticks. 'fighting? yes.'

it's simple and it's big and it's quiet. you knew already.

'but i'll be around. you know i enjoy research, archival, collaborations with jillian. i'm not — this will always be part of my life.' it's unspoken too: you will always be part of my life. and you know she means it.

'good,' you say, and for the first time in longer than you can really remember it feels like you're able to offer a benediction.

her eyes are soft as the clouds burn off, finally, as the afternoon turns warm. 'i — i want to live a long life.'

you can't say anything, but you can nod. you want that too — for her, for all of you. 'plus,' you say, 'ava was even worse than normal when you got blown up.'

she rolls her eyes, as glad for the levity as you are. you drink more sake and order more sushi and laugh as you watch people walk by on the street and beatrice offers — delightfully and playfully kind of mean — commentary about some of them. she's been your person for a long time, you remember, her gentleness despite bullets and arrows and bombs, despite holy wars, despite knuckles — yours, or hers, or both — split open to the bone. beatrice holds her chopsticks easily, steadily, and the scars on the tops of her hands shine white in the sun, but they've faded. you can only see them if you know where to look.

[a2zillustration]

What species is Croissant, anyway? They have elfin (or gith) ears, but their eyes don't look like anyone else's

Trying to be very normal about answering this since I've been spinning Croissant's lore around in my head like a microwave for months.

Croissant is a half-elf!

Their mother is a wood elf, and their father is a fey of the fox persuasion (drawn glamoured and unglamoured). Croissant gets their eyes from him, though they didn't always look like that.

[hella1975]

hiiii haha. hello. exceptionally awkward introduction bc idrk how to start something like this so let's just jump right in. im taking a break from this account for a bit. i know i said i wanted taob out before halloween and currently im fine sticking with that deadline, but if i decide i need longer away then i will take longer away. every time ive reassured people that id never abandon a fic and updates will always come eventually i never once considered that my writing and ability to feel safe and comfortable on this site would be actively taken from me, so im not even going to apologise. i dont want this either and more importantly i dont fucking deserve it. i dont know what it is in the past year, if ive hit a certain amount of followers or 'popularity' that's made it so the natural ratio of positive to negative interactions must in turn go up, but there's been a serious uptick in weird asks for me. the annoying part is that a very small amount of them are actually objectively mean and hateful, the rest are just weird and invasive from people who seemingly dont realise that's what they're being. ive reached a point where i dont care if the intentions are good. it's not my job as a 20 year old tumblr user of all things to defend the morality of someone who couldnt even bother to come off anon. unfortunately, after blocking only one or two anons, the weird asks have decreased substantially, which says all you need to know about the fascinating and exhilarating lives led by these people, but ive also gone on to turn anon asks off entirely. this is something i actively fought against doing and had to be pushed into by my mutuals (who have been the coolest people on planet earth during this entire thing). turning off anon was a big deal to me even if it sounds silly. i felt betrayed and like id been backed into a corner because it was so vehmently something i DIDNT WANT that to feel like i had to do it anyway for my own mental health??? that sucks. so even though ive 'fixed' the problem, im still kind of reeling and uncomfortable every time i come on tumblr. i hope it's just something i need time to ease because i'll truly be devastated if this becomes 'ruined' for me. tumblr exists as the only place in the world where i am honestly every facet of myself without shame or hesitation; losing that would be insanely harmful to me. and to the people who cant appeal to the actual human behind the post, let me put that in words you can understand: we wouldn't get any more writing 😦😦😦 riots and fires and sirens, i know. so yeah. to anyone who has sent me an anon ask and you're now wondering if you were part of the problem, im firmly of the belief that you'll know if you are. when i say 'weird asks' i dont mean 'you sent me a para about your personal life just to vent or ask for advice' or 'you sent me a really deep emotional compliment about the impact me and/or my writing has had on you' - i love asks like that, so much that i put off taking a break and turning off anon solely for the joy they bring me. im sorry that it might feel like you're being punished too bc of the actions of what in reality is a HANDFUL of weird people, but this is what i feel like i have to do to feel safe and not go insane every time i log in. love you guys, hopefully ill see you soon x

[theloveinc]

househusband deku who gets a little too excited when you playfully run away from him

HOUSEHUSBAND DEKU I'M GONNA DROOOL—

But awww, unlocking old memories from his days of being a hero🥺🥺🥺 like a kitty who sees a feather on a string and immediately wants to play. You don’t even have to be all that serious about it, swiping your hips away from him, but he’s ready to bat...

which usually means a chase around the house that ends up with you sweaty, bent over and panties down on whichever surface he gets you on first👀 like a big puppy in his attraction to you ... tho be careful what u wish for

[jacarandaaaas]

Since we couldn't to see Isabela's perspective so much... describes her feelings of mirabel in your own words.

ooh this is an interesting ask! we do get some of isas perspective in the “tale of three sisters” book! (highly recommend btw) but other than that we really only see everything from mirabels perspective!

Something interesting pointed out in the book is that isabela doesn’t actually dislike mirabel. In fact I think you could say she feels sorry for her and pities her.

it seems isabela is very similar to mirabel in a lot of ways! stubbornness being an obvious one but also how they both tend to use snark as defense. For mirabel when she feels upset and isas around she quickly masks that feeling with a snarky remark to her sister. Isabela on the other hand doesn’t want to show she actually pities her sister and so masks it with her snark. Deep down isabela genuinely pities mirabel and wants to reach out but she doesn’t know how. She mentions in the book that mirabel always wants things done “her way” and in Luisa’s pov she mentions mira is always “in her own world”

and here’s another example of isa wanting to reach out but not knowing how

Isabela doesn’t hate mirabel but she is jealous of her freedom. We actually see isabela is quite perceptive and good at reading people! which is to be expected I suppose when you’re so used to acting a certain way

Isabela does think that mirabel is childish and a troublemaker, she also thinks mirabel is too stubborn for her own good (sounds familiar)

Like in the movie we see isabela fears mirabel will mess up her life plan, she always finds some way to ruin it in Isabelas eyes so her reaction to the disaster proposal dinner makes sense.

Isabela noticeably gets irritated around mirabel as mirabel is the most imperfect aka polar opposite to what isabela wants for her image. A lot of their issues is projection from both sides. We even see when isabela embraces her imperfection with mirabel old habits die hard as soon as alma shows up

Overall I think neither isabela nor mirabel hated eachother they just took out the frustrations of their own situations on eachother because one has the life the other wants so badly. (This is your sign to read tots!)