#and they SUCK they hurt so bad

[painted--constellations]

i know leaving sw is the right thing to do but god i feel so alone now, man.

[alpacacare-archive]

the brainworms are kiiling me. have a dad and son 👍︎

[buglaur]

if virgil was in a horror movie he'd probably be first to die

[beatcroc]

there's no way the bathroom at peppino's pizza is actually that big but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . hey ummm anyway.... i care them...... anyway there's a lil ramble on my take on fake pep's like psyche or whatever in tags on the og post if ur into that kinda thing :y

hey! it's a series! fake peppino world tour: [noise] [noisette] [peppino]<- u are here [gustavo] [gerome] [noisette again]

[mediumgayitalian]

The crooked, creaky door of the cluttered infirmary storage room pushes open and slams shut in the span of a second, just barely allowing someone to dart through. Nico jumps, banging his head on the shelf he’s hiding under, chomping full force on his lip to bite back a shout. The shadows, on lucky reflex, bend around him and shroud his face. The rest of him he tucks further into the forgotten corner between two filing cabinets, holding his breath.

Under the unflattering light of the single swinging lightbulb, Will looks dull.

A thin headband attempts to hold back his frizzy hair, although it does very little. Curls stick out oddly and many shorter hairs are plastered to his temples and the back of his neck. His skin is unusually lacklustre, even pale, except for the high flush around his cheekbones. The bruising under his eyes rivals Nico’s. He has been wearing the same scrubs for the last two days.

With one last look at the closed door, nothing but garbled voices filtering through the heavy wood, he slumps. He drops his face into his chapped and bleeding hands, heels pressed into his eyes, and holds them there for ten seconds, twenty. Slowly, with trembles so minute they are at first glance unnoticeable, his shoulders begin to shake. The long fingers flexed and tensed around his forehead curl tightly, and he twitches, whole body trembling, teeth sunk hard into his bottom lip to stop his chin from quivering.

It does not work.

The first sob is quiet. He catches it quickly, forcing it back down, breathing heavily through his nose and out his mouth to beat it back. The second follows quickly, though, and it’s harder to choke down. When his face crumples, his resolve goes with it, and his knees hit the floor, sharp crack swallowed by the stillness of the room. He curls forward until his nose nearly hits his knees, hands sliding through his hair and over his ears and settling finally clutching together in the dip of his chest, bouncing with every heave of his chest. It’s quiet, his crying, enough that every dropped tear can be heard as it hits the dusty floor. The only time his sobs are ever audible is when he opens his mouth, trying desperately to soak up enough air to catch himself, to carry himself through.

Mute horror holds Nico’s tongue hostage.

He’d escaped in here the second Will had been called away this morning, dragged for the umpteenth time to handle a crashing patient or a complicated hymn or to soothe someone’s nerves. For the past two days he’s been doing his best to monitor Nico and a handful of other front liners who’d exhausted themselves in battle, but his focus has been split and the infirmary has been crowded. Whenever he runs off to put out whatever fire had cropped up — sometimes literally — the whispers start, the glances, the skin crawling up Nico’s back. Nico can hardly tell anymore what’s the shadows and what’s the people around him, watching him out of the corners of their eyes like they’re waiting for him to bust out a scythe and a black hooded cloak and start reaping.

The storage room is supposed to be an escape. Out of the way and forgotten as it is, it is supposed to be the place he can hide for an hour, escape the heavy gaze of the rest of the camp, collect himself before braving it all again.

Clearly, though, he’s not the only one who thinks so.

There’s something disorienting about seeing Will Solace cry. In the few times Nico has spoken with him during his visits to camp, he’s been a barely-contained explosion of energy, whether talking Nico’s ear off with updates about people he barely knows and references he hardly understands or cussing him out for overextending himself. He’s used — as much as he can be to someone he’s only beginning to really get to know — to his wildly flailing hands and widely playful grin, his loud drawling voice, his painful, constant brightness.

His hands, now, clench until they’re bloodless, trembling. There is no hint of his wide smile or twinkling eyes, because his face is hidden by all the hair that his given up on the pretence of the hairband, and the only sound from him are his gasping breaths and swallowed-back sobs. Nico watches him because he cannot look away. He flinches because every cry, every rough, scraping inhale, sounds like shattering rock, like an iceberg breaking off a glacier.

A quiet beeping startles them both.

For a stretch of time Will is motionless. The beeping continues, steady and soft, bouncing off the cluttered shelves and fading before they echo. After the third round — and Nico counts, if anything for something to do besides watch the chafed skin on Will’s hands crack and bleed with every flex — he drags himself upright, nails drawing lines in the thick dust of the floorboards, and rests back on his heels. He breathes for a moment, shuddering, hands pressed flat to his face; in, beep, beep, beep; out, beep, beep, beep. None of his breaths are ever steady, but he wastes no more time, swiping under his eyes and pinching his cheeks to restore his face to some of its usual colour. He grips onto each board of the shelf to his right as he yanks himself upwards, hand over hand, until he’s stretched, finally, to stand, although there remains a slouch to his broad shoulders.

The beeping continues, emanating from the watch on his left hand, growing softer or louder as he trails his fingers over the shelves from one end to the other, from the first, the second, the third. He pauses finally on a collection of bottles, turning them carefully to read the labels, then tucks them each gently into his already bulging pockets until he is left with what he must carry between his fingers.

The shadows bend to cover Nico again as Will turns, unknowingly facing him, and pulls himself suddenly straight-backed, chin set high, shoulders squared. He smiles, wide, fractured, squinting his eyes deliberately. The beeping stops. He breathes, in, smile, out, nod, and turns, striding, back to the door, opening it with flourish and swiping the dust off his clothes.

“Found them! Sorry it took so long, I really had to look —”

The door swings shut behind him, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

Nico stares at it with bile churning in his too-empty stomach.

———

art by the incredible @clingonlikeclingwrap

[yuridovewing]

genuinely embarrassing how blossomfall gets more fandom sympathy than breezepelt. “boohoo my sister is disabled and my mommy is emotionally abusing her paying more attention to her than me and i hate my stupid ass sister for getting herself disabled and wish she died. also im a grown ass woman.” vs “my dad hit and neglected me as a child and isolated me from my clanmates and it left me maladjusted and seeking validation from terrible sources and its implied hes like this because he’s drooling after the one that got away” like how is this not cut and dry. you cant even soak in the shitty “well breezepelt was a shitty kid” excuse because blossomfall was also shitty before and after the incident. tbh, id argue she’s shittier because breezepelt actually did change his behavior while blossomfall is just as bigoted as ever.

[makiswirl]

can i just say. and this is probably a niche hill to die on. that i am so gobsmacked every time someone vaguely hints at the idea that jotaro doesn't care meaningfully for the other crusaders, usually particularly kakyoin and joseph, when those two actually tend to be the ones he reacts to being hurt the hardest

like he cares for his loved ones!!!! that literally plays into his character motives in every single part he shows up in!!! stop lying to me!!!!!!!

[biohazard-inevitable]

You ever think about Sanji waking up from a nightmare about Germa 66 and stumbling across Zoro in the hallway and Zoro kinda gripes at him about it only for Sanji to flinch HORRIBLY in his half-alseep state and immediately physically defend himself full force mistaking zoro for Yonji and Zoro has to come face to face with the most TRAUMATIZED sanji he’s ever seen cause….

Thinking….

[cozymochi]

Can u pls draw Silver crumbled on the ground like Aurora

now gimme something in return, but you can only guess what i’d want, no hints

[wishfulsketching]

I survived s4

Soon, I can see him again

The better Edward. He shall outshine his inferior counterpart and the embarrassing+one sided love triangle plot line I had to see with my own goddamn eyes

Finally someone who deserves Penguins love

Ed better buy (steal) the most expensive wedding ring he can to say sorry

[tei-to-tei]

December 14 - Spare Time

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | ...

[myrmica]

s5 zam is so nuts like he resolved his issues by outrunning himself entirely. it's so fragile because he can't ever accept or have empathy for the way he used to be even a little bit or else the tenuous resolution he has found might crumble! how does he possibly respond to someone valuing the person he used to be when it puts that fragile peace he has found in who he is now in danger! not just valuing but EMULATING. he has to destroy minute to reassert his current identity or else what the fuck does he have

[loving-jack-kelly]

something something jack and davey both thinking they were acts of service love language types because they were both so deeply insecure in themselves that they needed to feel useful to feel loved. and something something both of them finding for the first time with each other that they don't need to provide utility to be loved. and something something this spilling out into the rest of their lives as they make each other better and push each other to grow.

[canisalbus]

i’ve been in a lot of undiagnosed pain recently and struggling with medical care for it, but your art and bits of lore have been giving me a wonderful distraction. you have my gratitude and appreciation!

I'm sorry to hear you've been in pain and not getting the proper treatment for it, that's awful. But I'm glad my art and ramblings have been able to take your mind away from it. I hope things work out for you soon!

[bunnihearted]

starting to feel too much like i wasnt made for anyone and i truly was meant to be all alone

[kazelnoot]

It's what they call "you"?

Miquella they could never make me hate you Ever it's not your fault </3