#Ughhhhh im so sorry

[zuiz41]

Taste in Music 🎧✨ (and Men 😏)

Iwaizumi's too stunned to speak.

[fedy0ka]

cannibal? radio demon? dangerous hell overlord? nah just a silly guy

[min-xie]

help i cant stop drawing fem neuvillette

[sorrelpaws]

the codependency is mutual btw pr*ship dni

[chevs-and-spiders]

[aejiee]

I just got rejected from calarts!! Definitely not crying in my car. I am going to post some of my favorite art now to make myself feel better 🥲👍

[chrispypapas]

superman injustice plot line is fucking ass

[smallest-moon]

I have to let my thoughts wonder... who had the idea to use "traveler ate our archons cake" to send them to the fortress. i fully believe it was Neuvillette but I have to wonder what Wriothesley thought about it.

Did Neuvillette warn him beforehand of the plan or did Wriothesley ended up finding that out by himself (i believe this is what happened)? Did he laugh when he read the "unforgivable crime" that the traveler committed?

Will he ever tease Neuvillette for that? I would love if he did that <3 hehehehe

[junkartie]

I think the most crushing autism experience is friends/romantic partners eventually figuring out youre masking bcz if you keep it up long enough its also off-putting & unnatural and then insisting you act like yourself- only to realize they in fact do not like your real self and make comments about how annoying/different youre acting all of a sudden. ❤️🧎‍♀️

[gauloiseblue]

You carved your love on mine / And left a wound / That refused to heal

(Younger!Simon Riley × Older!Reader)

[+18 | Adult Content MDNI]

TW: manipulative behavior (reader), toxic relationship

He met you when he's still young and reckless. You were enticing, dark, with your moral compass pointing to the south. With your words, you lured him into your world, where all the rules didn't matter except for yours.

He couldn't remember exactly when, or why you took interest in him, but you weren't afraid of showing it. Just like a fool, he took a bite of your poisoned apple.

The first time you marked him as yours was when you pricked his earlobes with earrings. It was a black and round pair, and the wounds slowly healed under your care. You smiled every time you saw your handiwork, and he got a sense that your love was gonna mold him into a puppet on strings.

The second time happened on impulse, because you tempted him with your work of art. You weren't a tattoo artist, but you drew intricate designs in your note. You told him you always wanted a tattoo, but upon an unfortunate circumstance, you were denied every chance of having one. So he offered himself to be your canvas instead. The next day, his forearm was wrapped with cling film, and you kissed him on his cheek as you both exited the tattoo parlor.

The third time you did it was when he wanted you, but you didn't reciprocate. Instead, you asked him to lay down, as you put his wrists on handcuffs. You tortured him for hours with your hands and toys, and never gave him what he needed. You pushed him to the point of frustration, and it made him cut himself from pulling too hard on the metal cuff. You kissed his tears away when you're finished, carefully tended his wound as he laid there, completely spent.

The fourth and the fifth time occurred at the height of your obsession, and he liked you enough to let you use him. You decorated his arm with blank ink, before you paid a tattooist to embed your work into his skin. It took a month to heal, but it was worth it, since you'd trace your finger on his arm when you both laid on the bed. Your touches lingered with him for a long time, and he'd caress the lines of his tattoo—absent-mindedly—as he thought of you sometimes. And he still does it, even to this day.

The sixth time you left a mark on him was the result of his confession. He told you about his plan to enter the military, and you sneered as you taunted him about his pain tolerance. He ended up on your bed, pinned down, as you worked on his nipples. He hissed in pain as you pierced his nib, before you slid the little rod into his skin and screwed it shut. Your eyes darkened as you watched him laid under you, panting, and helpless. Then again, you always liked him when he's powerless.

The seventh time was different, since he was the one who put the mark on himself. He told you that he loved you, that he wanted them to be something more. Yet you were silent, you didn't look at him in the eye. He took your hands into his, trying to get the words through you, but you pulled them away. "I'm sorry." You muttered to him, "I can't love you the way you want." He asked you, begged you for a chance, but once again he's met with your silence. So he swallowed his words, and lied that he's content with what they had.

The eighth time you ruined him, was the time when you took him on a holiday. It was a three-day trip, and you were the one who's driving. The two of you went to the countryside, slept on cheap motels, ate at old diners, and lazed around wherever you liked. You both stopped at a quiet lake, where he took a photo of you for the first time. You were smiling, with your eyes crinkled with amusement. That was the day when he realized he loved you more than he let on. At a Chinese shop near the hotel you both stayed in, he brought you a jade ring in lavender color. You kissed him senselessly once you received it, turning him drunk with the only kind of affection that he knew—on the bed, two bodies tangled, with heavy breaths filling into every corner of the room.

Perhaps the only time you've ever been honest to him, was the ninth time you marred him with false hope. He was lying on the bed with you in his arms, when you suddenly asked him of what they'd become. He furrowed his brows, as he lifted his head to look at you.

"We can be anything you want." He answered.

"What do you want us to become?" You asked him again.

"I want us to be married."

Your eyes widened, before a laughter erupted from your lips. "It's not possible, I'm the daughter of a politician."

"Run away with me, then." He replied, with a certainty in his tone, "We can live together, just you and I."

"My father would catch us in no time."

"We can leave the country, change our names, and live somewhere quiet."

You looked at him with an amused smile, and a strange sense of pity that he could only decipher once he lost his naivety.

"Do you think we'll be happy living like that?"

He shrugged, "Maybe. But I know I'll be happy with you."

You chuckled at him, before you gave him a kiss. "I hope you never change, Simon."

You didn't mean it, but he didn't know better. You made him believe that you were capable of love, and he gladly took it as a promise.

And he was happy, he was happy that you're happy with him, at least that's what it seemed. He thought they'd stay that way, until you maimed his heart for the last time.

He was in the kitchen when you told him that it's over, that you could no longer keep this going. He could only listen as you confessed to him about your engagement with a man of your father's choice. He felt his heart twist as you said that it's inevitable, and there's nothing he could change. You shouted at him when he grabbed you by your wrist and demanded you to think it over. We can run away together, we can leave the country, just stay with me. But you shoved him away, telling him things that you knew would hurt him. You forced him out of your apartment and slammed the door in his face. He convinced himself that everything would be fine by tomorrow morning, and you'd change your mind once you realized that you loved him. But when he came in the next day, he found your place had been emptied. He searched for you—even just a trace of you—in every room, only to find a single ring on the table.

And just like that, you disappeared from his life. Leaving him with a self he no longer recognized.

You left such an imprint on him, that you ruined him for another love. But you, no part of him stayed with you. You slipped his ring off your finger just as easy as you slipped away from him.

He never saw you again, and never once did he not think of you in a day.

Years would pass, and he'd keep on searching for your face in the crowd. It became a habit of him, as he'd look around, wishing to catch even just a glimpse of you. Until he found you everywhere, in the train station.

You were on the front page of every newspaper, with a man beside you. A promising man, with a promising career in politics. You were smiling, but it wasn't the grin you used to show. When he unfolded the newspaper, he noticed the little accessory on your fourth finger. It's no longer made of the lavender jade—rather, it's a silver one, with a diamond adorning the top.

A mark of someone else's possession.

And a proof that you're never his.

[ashwii]

I saw in your tags that you stopped reading fanfics bc you would get hyperfixated on them. Did you ever try sorting by complete, and with a lower word count? That’s what I’ve had to do to make sure I don’t get nonfunctional for days while reading a long one. Just only read completed fics that are 3k words or less haha

Hehe yes I would, usually I read fics that were less than 10k 🤔 however that kinda left me unsatisfied a lot of the time, i guess. Say, after a 5k I would always go look for another few fics too, so I still wasted some hours until I passed out asleep. And then sometimes there'd be that *perfect* fic I wanted that was 100k, and well there goes the *entire* day XDD

I got reminded of all this bc I was feelin Leo angst a few days ago, and I remembered that one of my very lovely friends rec'ed me a Leo fic last year (Where in the World is Neon Leon?) and I was like "... welp what's the worst that could happen," 90k and I didn't do anything till i finished it 12 hours later AHA. *Then* I got such an enormous urge to look up F!leo fics, and I was so "I've avoided rottmnt fics for 3+ years now, is this where I finally break-"

Man I love fics so so *so* damn much, but I'm in the middle of my semester rn and it would be such an awful idea for me to get hooked on fics rn lmao. Maybe once the semester is over I can take a lil dive into into ao3, find those f!leo fics ehehe. Maybe if you lovley people have any recs, I can keep the recs for when I finish my semester as a reward ehe -w-

[jumpy-buggy-33]

I just made a whole entire post on how bored I was only for it to say “Connection went bloop. Try again?”

….

NO. THIS GONNA BE A DRAFT TILL IT WORKS😡😡

Anywayyyyy ✨Redson✨

✨PAIN✨

Might start doing commissions, but for 🚫💴✨FREE✨💴🚫

Idk guys I’m bored and idk what to do

Kinda wanna draw

I’m trying to change up my style..

Heck, I might just change up everything(idk bout heads..) but with the way I draw bodies…

🥲

I HATE IT UGH

LIKE WHAT IS THIS???

It is dark asf in my room ugh😭

Someone, anyone, how should I draw bodies to match up with my style?????????????

Gonna cry😋

[haveihitanerve]

Another Love

Bruce and Tim. 

Tim was hurt. Bruce didn't know what to do. With Jason, with Dick, he would have rushed to his side. Would have held him. Patched him up. Done something to make him laugh. Distract him from the pain. But Tim wasn't Dick. He wasn't Jason. So Bruce watched, unmoving, as the boy lifted himself. Watched as he straightened. Tim turned, and there was such pain in Tims eyes. Such hurt. But Bruce couldn't bring himself to move. Couldn't bring himself to offer apologies. Words of comfort. All of that had been poured into Dick. Jason. The man, the stupid goon who had managed to get a hit in, was running away. Bruce knew he should follow. Knew he should beat the man up. Words had never been his forte. Nor had been actions of love. Of care. But violence he could do. He could show Tim he cared by beating the man responsible. Show him there was some emotion behind keeping him as Robin. But Bruce was tired. He was so tired. His hands hurt. And his throat felt so dry. And he wanted to sing something, Dick had always been singing, goading him to join. Jason had always hummed, and been so excited when Bruce had started singing along. But… he just couldn't. Tim clutched his bleeding side and turned away. Bruce had tried. Gods he tried so hard. He took Tim to the same roof every patrol. Tried to make it seem like their roof. Like it was theirs. Like anything in this godforsaken city belonged to just them and not… them. The look in Tim’s eyes hurt. It hurt so much. But Bruce couldn't bring himself to reach out. To offer the boy a place in his bed. Even if it was so empty. He couldn't. His bed belonged to Dick. To Jason. He couldn't let another smell mix with theirs. Bruce wanted to open his mouth, say something, scream, call him back, as Tim hobbled out across the roofs, heading to his empty, too big house. Wanted to cry and scream and beat the world and cradle his boy to his chest. But he couldn't. And he couldn't even drag up enough goodness in his tormented and black heart to try with another one. He couldn't. Bruce turned away, and headed to his house. 

[im-still-watching-anime]

one piece is crazy fr like what do you mean you’re following up Everyone’s Dead™️ with Objectifying Women: The Arc™️

[bunnihearted]

🗣️

[joznii]

Sorry I have to send my ask through my main blog, but it is soooo nice to see more Sven and Faendal shippers out there. I hadn't ever thought of it until a couple years ago when someone here posted their fic and it was only the 2nd? or 3rd fic for the two of them to ever go on ao3, BUT IT JUST MAKES SENSE!!!! They are the PERFECT enemies to lovers!! I can't see it any other way anymore tbh. Your art and ideas are great and I can't wait to see what you do and who you convert!

THEY REALLY ARE !! Their dynamic lends itself to SO MUCH i honestly thought i was going INSANE when i looked for content of them and there was so little like HOW!! Tailor made enemies to lovers like AHGGGHHHH

Im glad u enjoy my art, i hate to say they single handedly pulled me out of a YEARS long artblock its so embarrassing lmao