#and this is what came out

[bl-inkstone]

"when the fire takes and leave me nothing but ash, cup me in your loving palms and make me human again."

a short kaveh thoughtspost about you loving him, burnt edges and all.

i think loving kaveh, for all his brilliance and fancy, is exactly what loving an artist is like.

it's not uncommon for him to come home with tired eyes and aching, reaching limbs honed onto you. most nights, you like to tease him and compare your love to a particularly needy limpet, where not even the crashing waves of alhaitham's annoyance at his "shameless displays of affection" (punctuated by sharp, pointed remarks and long side-eyed glances) are enough to draw him from your side. he says he clings to you because he missed your warmth, and that not even the most potent of electro slimes could ever compare to the amount of energy you give with one embrace. you only laugh in return to his poetic musings with one hand raised to hide your flushed cheeks from sparkling red-wine eyes.

but what is uncommon, however, is the first night kaveh came to you, tired and aching and physically reaching as he always does, but hiding behind halfhearted eyes.

at first, you feared what you believed to be the worst: has he fallen out love? have i been lacking in some way? am i not good enough anymore?

he reached for you and held you, yes, but you could feel just from his touch alone just how distant his mind is from you. were you any weaker, you would've stayed quiet, unsure and hurting, and internalized all of these little unspoken things until the day you could not take anymore and leave behind your heart (your love, and only love) alone in the four walls of his shared home.

but you aren't.

so here you are now, with kaveh near-catatonic on the floor and your anxious, worried hands doing all you can to bring him back to you.

it's been a rough few days, weeks, months for kshahrewar's golden boy, chasing deadline after deadline and just barely maintaining his own self-imposed standard of quality, and kaveh is barely holding himself together. and try as he did to keep such unsightly matters away from you, you've noticed. you always do. and it's the sight of your worried, asking eyes and the sound of your voice flowing through him, "what's wrong, my heart? what is it? how can i help?" that finally breaks him.

he has never denied you anything (not his joy, his company, or his pleasure), and as loathe as he is for his weakness, he won't start now.

so kaveh falls to his knees, strangely disconnected from his body with frustration and fatigue raging in whatever hollow he left behind. he tilts forward when his strength leaves him (when he finally allows it to, after months of pushing more, just one more deadline—) and feels himself physically melt when you catch him in ready arms and hears the steady beat of your heart. his genius is a passionate, fiery thing, lighting the way to grander ventures and innovations that could lead sumeru's tomorrow, but just as all fires do, it burns.

but here, he thinks, in the scorched ground of your embrace that no fire could ever touch, he can rest.

kaveh hates to disturb or inconvenience you in any way — being his lover, he'd often joke with quick, unsure eyes and a crooked smile, is enough work already. but you recognize his doubts as well as you recognize your own. he can't fool you. not about this.

so, you reach down and curl yourself around him, guardian and shelter and lover all at once, and allow him refuge from the burning embers still glowing in the dredges of his beautiful, beautiful mind.

"it's alright," you kiss the reassurance into the crown of his tired head, heavy with the weight of all that he carries with his name as the light of kshahrewar. "take all the time you need, my love. the world can wait for you. rest."

dampness invades the cloth of your robes and you feel them, his gilded tears (always gilded, because everything about kaveh, even his grief, is golden) soak through the skin of your lap.

"i have so much work to do." his voice is a fragile, ruined thing.

"the world will wait, and i will help you. there is nothing you can't ask of me, kaveh."

"you already do so much," he gasps through a stuttering sob. "i will - i will not begrudge you, my heart, if you choose to..."

no. he can't say it. he doesn't want to say it. there's something to be said about the old warnings his elders had about not speaking ill fates into existence, and the fear that he almost did so makes him shake like a battered leaf, barely holding onto his branch, in the raging wind. he shakes and muffles sobs that tear at your heart, hoping you wouldn't hear and think any less of him (because you must, you must, oh, how could he ever show something so ugly to you), and you understand.

"i'm not going anywhere." the words leave you like dew falling off leaves after a storm, and they sting and soothe in the same breath the burns he's hidden for so long.

(am i good enough for you? is all i am enough for you? when my hands no longer hold my pens the same and my words escape me, and the clay has become too hard for me to shape, will you still love me then?)

"i'm here, kaveh. yours, for as long you'll have me, and you're mine, for as long as you'll allow."

forever, then. through the blur of his tears, he raises his head and presses himself, cheek and nose and crown, to your waiting hands like a devout believer laying worship to the first temple that has given him solace in years. forever, forever and ever until the sands of time erode whatever is left of us that loves away.

he drinks in the comfort of your shared silence, basks in the security that even now, at his worst and most unbecoming, you still love him enough to allow him this. his heart settles, slowly, and his mind calms into something less frenzied, less a forest fire, and into something he can recognize as himself again.

kaveh has always loved your hands, endlessly gentle and comforting as they are. he could recognize you blind, deaf, and mute, from the sheer comfort your touch brings him alone. he grasps them in his own calloused fingers and lays soft, grateful kisses to each segment, knuckle, and stretch of skin wound around it. it's these hands that have soothed his physical aches with skin-warmed salves and massages. it's these hands that have calmed his mind in the worst of his passionate genius, running careful fingers through golden strands and reminding him "that the mind can churn and charge all it wants, love, but the body has needs too." it's these hands that have cupped him, left as nothing but ash and bitter tears and dead dirt by his own fiery resolutions, and sculpted him into something human again.

i love you, he does not say because the weight of all the love he feels, both in him and from you, chokes him to silence. instead, he closes his watery eyes and presses himself closer, closer to you, and breathes.

he shakes again in your embrace, but more softly, this time. calloused fingers curl around yours in a desperate bid to keep you close, so much like the stubborn limpet you'd liken kaveh to during nights when the fires hadn't burned him yet, and you understand.

i love you too.

[i may not know much about kaveh, but he is very precious 2 me. i hope i did him some justice with this, and that you enjoyed reading it!]

[moraent-keys]

[s-guacamolearts]

THE NEW NEWSLETTER BE LOOKING DOPE

Transparent version:

[coline7373]

"All he wears is red orange bottom heels..." 🎶

🎶 👠🧡

[chaos-monkeyy]

The writer's lament

Someone, please, give me something to write. Something. Anything. Throw a thought my way and I’ll do it. In fact, I’ll do it in a hundred words.

No, really; give me an idea— any idea at all— and I will take it, change it, grow it, and return it… one hundred perfect words later.

No?

Are you sure?

Are you sure, sure?

Ah, alright, then. I get it, I really do. I have no ideas today either. Not even a hundred words’ worth of one.

It’s a shame, really. We could have made beautiful words together.

Next time, perhaps.

[qusok]

They're being soft, your honor

Erin loves Jamie's tattoos. That's all

[miserablecreachur]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: All Elite Wrestling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Adam Cole/Maxwell Jacob Friedman Characters: Adam Cole, Maxwell Jacob Friedman Additional Tags: Hotel Sex, Shower Sex, Masturbation, Anal Sex, PWP, just like a really smutty inbetween, Kayfabe RPF, adamjf, so maybe there's gonna be more of this after all Series: Part 2 of Double Clotheslines and Kangaroo Kicks Summary:

“So if I told you to say ‘please’ for me right now, you wouldn’t?”

“No.” His answer came automatically, and Max would allow Adam to position his body, having him lean forwards a little bit and part his legs just so.

“You love me but you won’t say ‘please’?” The amusement was clear in the other man’s voice, easily heard even over the sound of running water.

“Yeah, that’s about the long and short of it.”

“Hmm.”

[fromkenari]

If you’re not going to give me one-on-one Malex “I love yous” can you spare me one domestic, light moment like the cheek kiss in the back of a pickup truck and like, I don’t know, not destroy it with immediate angst? IT’S JUST A THOUGHT I HAD AS A QUEER PERSON. Positive and light moments exist for queer people. I’m not sure this writing team is aware of that.

[mistbix]

so i've been re-watching atla....... expect more art soon

[ambrosiagourmet]

I think one of the biggest tragedies of Laios & Falin and their relationship is how much his actions impact her life. But like. Specifically how much they WOULDN’T impact her life as much if they weren’t both stuck in such a shitty abusive situation.

This part of the Falin-tries-makeup daydream hour comic is what got me thinking about it again because truly it just... it seems like such a like an offhand comment that I'm sure Laios didn't mean to be cruel or anything. That's just like. A little kid not thinking about what they are saying. ESPECIALLY when the kid in question is Laios.

But man they depended on each other SO much as kids. Too much. It really feels like they didn't have any other source of positive reinforcement, or anyone else to share themselves with. So of course an offhand comment like that has a huge impact on Falin.

Or this little bit from one of the flashbacks:

This tears me apart. Do you think it tears him apart to think about? I think it does. I think Laios holds every small failure to care for Falin against himself.

And then there's the Bigger stuff. The way that him coping with his own trauma ended up impacting her.

Like his interest in monsters. Like him going to find a ghost, and accidentally revealing Falin's magic to the whole village in the process.

Like him needing to leave. And leaving her behind.

He shaped her life so much, and he carries so much guilt for it. And again, there should have been other people there to help. The same things that made Laios need to leave home are the things that made his leaving so hard on Falin. She ate alone after that. She shouldn't have had to eat alone just because Laios wasn't there.

She was 9 when he left for school, and he was 11.

Nine. And Laios feels like he failed her because he didn't stand by her through this better. As an eleven year old.

Both of these kids deserved so much better from the world.

[ninjasmudge]

thats a red flag narinder, get that crown back while you still can

+ top panel without text below the cut

[lesbinewren]

truly do not understand people looking at something with dynamic, colorful, beautifully stylized animation and going “okay that’s cool but what if it just looked like real life instead”

[korppipoika]

Snowball in Hell, acrylics, 30cmx20cm

I used a random piece of wire to paint the smallest details..!

[pokecraftking]

Everyone: "Unova had a bunch of references to it recently and we had gen 4 games not long ago, next mainline game is gonna be in Unova!"

Also Everyone: "Gen 2 would be up for a new game soon after Let's Go did Kanto, and the whole Pokemon Present was FILLED with Johto related stuff. Next game will be Johto!"

Gamefreak:

[onejellyfishplease]

Behold! Shapes and Colours <3

[kymsys]

'It was late spring, the first time all year that the sunshine had any real strength behind it. Satoru was wittering on about something inane as always — Tentomon or something equally ridiculous.

There was nothing special about the moment. Not really. Except for the fact that Satoru had shrugged off his jacket in the heat. It was draped around his shoulders just so, exposing the long column of his throat, pale after a long winter. Really, there was nothing special about the moment. But when Suguru looked at the boy silhouetted against the spring sky, bright and blue and boundless and beautiful — just like his eyes, Suguru thought — his heart skipped a beat all the same. With all the sight afforded to him, Satoru never missed a thing. So it was risky, what Suguru did. Later, when he was looking at his new phone wallpaper under the cover of darkness, grinning like an idiot, he'd wonder how he ever got away with it. Yet, if Suguru's yearning to capture that perfectly ordinary moment forever was stronger than all reason, perhaps it was stronger than the Six Eyes, too. After all, not even Satoru could stop time.' - by my beloved @fushiglow ♥

(( also glo says: FUN FACT! Tentomon is voiced by Suguru's VA — ergo it's Satoru's favourite Digimon, obviously )) ---------------------------------------------------------

freshly added headcanons: • gojo at some point randomly barged into sugurus room and put glowy stickers all over his ceiling • suguru has gojo as his phone wallpaper, but keeps it a secret • suguru is a hamasaki ayumi fan • the cinnamoroll phone charm is from gojo who spent almost an eternity getting that out of a gatcha machine for him • they were happy