#and you know damn well for you i would ruin myself????

[latibvles]

happy early bday fellow june bday!! not 2 b melodramatic but since it just got super pre-thunderstorm dark outside, can i please request “sharing a kiss in a heavy downpour of rain” for viv/bucky OR your choice if that doesn’t vibe? — @shoshiwrites

kissing in the rain.

thank you friend !! <3 whenever I write these two I roll my eyes. they're gross disgusting married and I need to shake them like maracas. I got a postwar idea for this and ran with it. a little rain never ruined date night. and they have quite a few fond memories associated with rain as we all know. they're so gross and married for real this time

—

There’s no means of saving their clothes.

Okay, so Viv is being dramatic — a quick trip to the laundromat will make it alright. But they’re thoroughly soaked: the pale teal of her dress clings to her body like a second skin and droplets turn Bucky’s button-down halfway to translucent. He still puts his jacket around her good naturedly as he yanks her beneath one of the tall oaks off to the side of the beaten path.

Bucky’s strong arm is still wrapped around her waist, keeping her tucked into his side. She still marvels at the way he’s able to make her feel small in a way that doesn’t tear her apart.

His dark curls are weighed down by the rain, flat and sticking to his forehead — blue eyes impossibly dark, lit up only by streetlights. His fingers tap absentmindedly against the curve of her waist. It was still a couple blocks to the car, he’d wanted to see if it would lighten up a little more.

There’s another version of this, one where she presses her face against his back as he bikes like a madman, where he’s singing at the top of his lungs and her laughter is swallowed up by downpour, and she feels herself falling just a little bit in love with the man so insistent on biking her to her hut in that mess. Now, at least, she can say with confidence that she is just that: in love with him. They’ve got the rings to prove it.

Viv looks up at him, and he looks down at her — the tip of his nose bumps her and she snickers.

“Don’t even say it,” he starts out. Viv snickers again, and arches an eyebrow.

“Say what?” Bucky says nothing for a few moments, allowing the downpour to fill up their silences as he continues to tap that nonsensical beat against her skin. Then he lets out a sigh.

“I told you so, about the umbrella.” Viv bites her lip a moment, then raises her brows.

“Well I did.” He pinches her side teasingly, she bats at his chest.

“What’d I just say?” Bucky half-heartedly scolds, looking down at her. Viv giggles, smug as anything as her other arm wraps around his front, meeting the one that was holding onto his shoulder.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

“Yeah, right.”

John Egan, in spite of all his impulsive decisions, could be rather meticulous when required of him. He’d handled tonight with care, emphasizing how much he wanted to treat her tonight, for no reason beyond the fact that he could. And he did — brought her flowers and a dress she’d quietly eyed on an errand-run, pressing kisses to her temple and telling her to be ready by six. He took her out to dinner, then dancing.

He’d just forgotten an umbrella, or rather, decided he didn’t need it.

“It’s kinda like England,” she murmurs offhandedly. Bucky smiles a little, humming and nodding as his lips pull into a contemplative pout.

“Just need a sheepskin and those pretty silk shorts,” She bats at his chest at that remark, but his hand is grabbing at hers, keeping it pressed against his chest.

“You and those damn shorts—”

“Can you blame me? You scandalized me.” He teases and Viv scoffs in partial disbelief as he leans down. He’d seen her in much less by this point, but some things he liked to dangle over her head even now. His nose brushes against hers and she gives him a narrow-eyed look.

“I did not,” she defends, and she feels the rumble of the chuckle vibrating through his chest.

“You definitely did. I was respectable before you came along,” Viv snorts, opening her mouth in an attempt to argue, but Bucky’s kissing her before she can get the chance, keeping her hand pressed right up against his hammering heart and pressing his arm against the small of her back until she’s flush against him and her eyes are fluttering shut.

She thinks he may just dip her for the dramatics of it all, her other arm wrapping around his neck and holding onto his broad shoulders as he kisses her — soft lips, the faint taste of wine clinging to him. Any other kiss she’s shared with anybody else has always, will always pale in comparison to this. How the flush creeps up her neck even now, how her tongue pokes out to run across the seam of his mouth and he grunts in reply, but still opens up for her all the same.

They’re a lot of things. Modest isn’t really one of them.

His hand follows the curve of her waist, then lower, still, her shaky breath swallowed by downpour, by his lips stealing breath from her lungs as she opens her eyes to look at him.

“Careful what you start out here, Mrs. Egan,” Bucky mumbles, blue eyes dark, tone teasing. Viv grins at him. There’s something about the way he calls her that — the hand beneath his jacket, against her body, the chill of his wedding band and the gleam of her own. She doesn’t think she could get tired of that.

“Scared I’ll scandalize you?” Bucky kisses her again, briefly.

“Scared I won’t make it two blocks,” he refutes. Bucky looks out at the path. “Think it’s lightening up.”

Viv doesn’t get a chance to say anything — he’s hauling her along like a man on a mission. All she does, just like all she’s ever done, is laugh.

[conanssummerchild]

trobed as illicit affairs

[freya-captain]

Jacaerys Velaryon was engaged to Aegon Targaryen ii but had an illicit affair with Sara Snow when he visited the North

(Jacegon drabble where alpha!Jace not being an honorable Prince and a perfect lover (as he always is in fics))

Aegon and Jace had crush on each other from childhood. After Rhaenyra ascending to the throne and their marriage was consummated, they lived as if they were the happiest couple in town. Aegon was madly in love with Jace and very soon he gave him a beautiful silver-haired princess, Aemma. However, she neither looked like Jace nor she could very likely become their heir in future days. But Jace promise he’d love his first daughter no matter what.

And then Lucemond got married in the Sept (finally) and they started to breed like rabbits. Five years went passing and funny enough all their babies had brown hair and looked like Lucerys. Aemond was happy inside even though Aegon mocked at him saying ‘Karma for you despising and calling them Strong all those years’.

And Aemond mocked at Aegon back for not capable of bearing another child anymore due to his old drinking problem and libertine lifestyle. Aegon pretended he didn’t care but he did try so hard to change—he’s been quitting drinking a long time, going to church regularly and trying different herbal remedies which tasted like shit. He had been a brand new person. But the situation wasn’t getting any better. He couldn’t get pregnant and every time it finally happened, he just lost the baby in early months. Jace was always thoughtful and supportive as any perfect husband, telling him he couldn’t care less but Aegon started to think Aemma was merely a miracle and he was either barren or cursed.

And next time when Jacaerys returned from the North’s visit, he brought his bastard son Cregan Snow who was older than Aemma back to the capital.

Aegon was so mean to imply Luke’s kids may be bastards since Aemond used to treat him like shit but now he became the one who had to live under the same roof with an actual bastard boy, a living proof of his husband’s disloyalty. Aegon stopped laughing at anyone anymore.

Jace apologetically explained he didn’t want to leave little Cregan in Winterfall. His true firstborn deserved better education, training and comfy growing environment.

Aegon couldn’t complain cause he was not in the least a maiden when he married Jace and Jace also had this affair before he said those vows.

He figured it was Rhaenyra and Daemon’s idea all along. They thought he couldn’t have children anymore and they decided to develop the bastard boy.

He hated that the boy got Jace’s everything: his dark eyes, his curly hair, his cheekbones, and he got all northerner’s good attributes in him, determination and resolve. As a bastard, he got his prudence but also he possessed the kind of charm that makes people want to follow and die for him, just like a qualified heir to a future king.

Aegon fucking hated him and the north. He fucking hated himself as well. He hated Jacaerys when he found out it was him, not Rhaenyra and Daemon, that kept drugging him so he couldn’t have another baby of his own. That’s when he finally understood what it meant when Otto was executed and said “I died laughing because one day my bloodline would sit on the iron throne and his children and grandchildren would always have my blood” and Jace smiled cruelly saying “it wouldn’t ever happen, unfortunately”. He hated his beloved made him an idiotic fool all these years. He hated it was too late when he finally saw everything through.

Now all he wanted is to take Aemma far away in case they decide to marry her to the only living son of his husband to strengthen his claim or some noble lord in a castle. He never truly believed in Gods but now he started to pray, every single day.

[4arconinoma]

Ok so I haven't finished it yet But I'd like to ramble just a little about some thoughts on Marble Hornets so far that being: 1. WAY sadder than I had ever expected it to be 2. I find it really entertaining how the protagonist is honestly kind of terrible

[kashidaminded]

𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚎

[ambitionbled]

ISAAC TAG DROP.

[cosmicallyavg]

illicit affairs by taylor swift is such a good doctor/companion song and it hurts my heart

[ultraviolet-morning-lights]

anyone else kind’ve floored by how much ‘You’re Losing Me’ relates to them as a fan in how they’ve been viewing Taylor lately? like we’re telling her so loudly: DO SOMETHING! SAY SOMETHING! LOSE SOMETHING! RISK SOMETHING! You’re losing me!!!! I don’t understand! The air is thick with loss and indecision! I know my pain is an imposition! How can you say that you love someone you can’t tell is dying? Fighting in only your army, front lines, don’t you ignore me!

[thedoorsofmyheart]

“Paint splattered tear drops on your shirt”

“My eyes leak acid rain on the pillow where you used to lay your head.”

[dropsofjupitcr]

ISAAC TAG DROP. (Currently retired muse)

◟ ⋆ & you know damn well for you i would ruin myself › isaac evans !

[tgcg]

an open fly walking

i didnt like this one but i thought id finally air it out since its been sat in my folders for months now

TG: hey karkat

CG: YEAH?

===

TG: you ever noticed you like

TG: walk weird

CG: WOW, OKAY.

CG: HAVE *YOU* EVER NOTICED THAT I DON'T GIVE A SHIT?

TG: pff

===

TG: no listen because i got my ears scoping that shit im like a scouter for dude activity

TG: ok maybe me mentioning it to you is gonna fuck up your ecosystem or something but

TG: you have the heaviest feet of the century man

CG: I DO???

TG: just thrust them straight down into the ground like youre trying to homebrew a san andreas fault

TG: viciously tamping on tectonic plates hoping for top score on the richter scale

TG: waging war against solid particles and the basic flow of gravity

TG: i could ID those footfalls out of a million i mean it

CG: SERIOUSLY?

===

TG: i mean theres nothing wrong with it but

TG: yeah

CG: I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU'RE FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW.

TG: im not fucking with you striders honor

TG: when have i ever lied to anybody about anything

CG: NOT UNPACKING THAT QUESTION WITH YOU TODAY.

CG: BUT SHIT, HOLD ON. LET ME SEE.

TG: yeah take the umbrella go over there and just walk to me

CG: ON IT.

===

===

TG: see you just kinda slam em straight down dude

CG: THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY RIOTOUS FUCKING JOKE OF A LIFE.

TG: dont your feet ache

===

CG: MOOT POINT. THIS MIGHT SOUND INSANE BUT I'VE ACTUALLY HAD MY STRUT PODS FOR A WHILE. ANY KIND OF PAIN THIS WOULD'VE BEEN CAUSING WOULD BE TOTALLY FILTERED OUT OF MY SPONGE BY NOW AS BACKGROUND NOISE.

TG: damn i didnt think that through

TG: my shades

CG: ALRIGHT, GET BACK UNDER THE SHITTING UMBRELLA AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME.

TG: look ive fucked myself over here too i dont have shit to clean these with

TG: ugh

===

TG: guess its karma

CG: HOLY FUCK. HOW DID I NEVER NOTICE THIS BEFORE?

TG: i dunno but im gonna assume having a dad thats a literal crab monster is probably a contributing factor

TG: im guessing thats not a great role model for this kinda thing

TG: just conjecture i mean

CG: YOUR ENVY IS OVERWHELMINGLY OBVIOUS DAVE. AS A DISCLAIMER, HE WOULD'VE ABSOLUTELY KICKED YOUR ASS.

TG: yeah probably

CG: THAT'S PRETTY MUCH ALL THERE IS TO SAY ON THE MATTER.

===

TG: but see bro had me stringent on feather feets

TG: i bet i could slip across a bike horn warehouse with nary a fucking toot

CG: HAHA. ASSUMING YOU DON'T MAKE A TOTAL ASS OF YOURSELF, AS PER USUAL.

CG: IF YOU WEREN'T CONSTANTLY RUNNING YOUR GASH ABOUT EVERYTHING AND BEING AN INIMITABLE CLOWN I SERIOUSLY THINK YOU COULD BE ON PAR WITH YOUR CUSTODIAN.

CG: THAT IS A MONUMENTAL "IF".

TG: well look at it this way

TG: im basically doing you all a favor by being a dumbass

TG: never gonna get caught off guard by the bozo patrol

CG: WOW. GOOD POINT.

===

TG: also screw this can i use your shirt

TG: this stupid hoodie is just smudging my lenses up

TG: i cant see dick

CG: UH

CG: SURE, I GUESS.

TG: cool

===

TG: so yeah i could be prowling around like a goddamn verbal assassin sniping convos left and right

TG: but no ive got the decency to go bunp in the night

CG: YEAH.

CG: IT'S DEFINITELY COMPOUNDED BY THE CONSTANT INANE RAMBLINGS.

CG: BUT

CG: IT'S ACTUALLY PRETTY RELAXING, Y'KNOW? IT HAS ITS OWN RHYTHM.

TG: see yeah i sound it off and

===

TG: wait really?

CG: YEAH

CG: I DON'T KNOW

CG: FUCK. HOW DO I EXPLAIN THIS WITHOUT WANTING TO CRAM MY FROND DOWN MY PROTEIN CHUTE.

===

CG: IT'S LIKE

CG: A SALVE FOR MY AGGRAVATION SPONGE.

CG: YOUR VOICE IS THE HUMAN EQUIVALENT OF ASPIRIN.

TG: uh damn karkat hold your hoofbeasts i was talking about the rhythm thing

CG: ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT. I'M TAKING US BOTH THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW. YOU HAVE REACHED THE BAD END OF THIS CONVERSATION.

TG: you think thatd be heroic or just

CG: IF I WAS STILL GHOSTING AROUND THE RUINS OF SGRUB'S ARCANE FRIGGIN GAME SYSTEMS, THE COMPLETE LACK OF SHIT AFOOT NOWADAYS WOULD BORE ME TO DEATH.

CG: LIKE. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME OUR THERMAL HULL LEVELLED UP, DAVE?

TG: hah

===

TG: but uh

TG: i mean we had aspirin on earth

CG: NO, NUMBNUBS.

CG: I'M SAYING YOU ARE MY ASPIRIN.

TG: oh

CG: YEAH, TAKE THAT TO THE BANK AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR 20-KARAT ASS.

===

TG: heh

TG: well get this

TG: i will literally talk at you forever for free

TG: you got lifetime priority seating for the davealogues

TG: never gotta go to the drugstore again you can just get doped up on my dulcet tones for the rest of time

TG: take that and some of this

TG: im packin punches

CG: OW, FUCK! NO! MY MIGRAINES!

CG: SWEEPS OF VEINCLOTTING AND NERVEFRAYING DOWN THE FUCKING GAPER. BECAUSE OF YOU.

CG: YOU ASSHOLE, THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME.

CG: AND YOU'RE LAUGHING.

TG: chuckle up it only gets worse from here

===

CG: BE HONEST WITH ME. DID FONDLING MY SHIRT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET EVEN DO ANYTHING?

TG: barely but yknow sometimes you just gotta deal the cards youre given

TG: ill just be astigmatic for a while its cool

CG: PFF… OKAY MAN.

[dinasmoon]

AND YOU WANNA SCREAM DONT CALL ME KID. DONT CALL ME BABY LOOK AT THIS GODFORSAKEN MESS THAT YOU'VE MADE ME YOU TAUGHT ME A SECRET LANGUAGE I CANT SPEAK W ANYONE ELSE

[k9wa]

𑣲 RILE HIM UP ! ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — your least favourite cyborg is brought back to you a mangled mess.

⠀ OR

⠀ — being boothill’s mechanic when you lowkey can’t stand each other.

⚠︎ sweet sweet tension, a little suggestive towards the end, gn reader (no referring pronouns), can they fuck already, this was ib by his lightcone, wc 1.9k

boothill's eyes flickered to life, emitting a faint glow of red as his systems began to reboot.

a pair of familiar red pupils met yours, two crosshairs fading into sight as boothill regained his sight and— to your dismay— consciousness.

as the cyborg regained his motion he attempted a step forward, only to realise he didn’t have the feet or legs to do so. the only thing keeping him powered on were some metal claws screwed into his back and a few loose cables connecting to your terminals.

“sugar plum,” boothill's scruffy voice cut through the silence. “do y'care to explain where my legs might’a run off to?”

you actually cocked an eyebrow. how the hell were you supposed to know? boothill was brought back to you in a mess of scraps and wiring— the damn hunk of metal was lucky you made him as blast proof as possible and he was left salvageable. 

“care to tell me how the hell you got this roughed up?”

you asked in turn, crouching down to look at the detached and ruined internals of boothill's torso where the stand-in wires were connected. you ran a finger carefully along the edge of his shredded metallic stomach.

“guess i didn't make you as smart as i thought. time for a newer model, maybe?”

boothill's eyes flickered down to his missing lower half, then to your hand that was more or less caressing him. it was amazing how much annoyance they could show in all their artificial glory.

“look who’s talkin.” the cowboy grumbled, pointy fangs poking out in an irritated grin. 

“how ‘bout, ‘gee, boothill! i’m real glad y’ain’t get blown to smithereens beyond repair!’” 

“it would've been less work for me if whoever blew you up finished the job.”

you sighed as you stood up, putting a hand lazily on your hip.

“how’d it happen?”

boothill bit back another argument with a gruff chuckle.

“some real cutie-pies i was huntin’ down had a lil’ more firepower than i expected. guess they didn’t appreciate me spoilin’ their party.”

boothill visibly cringed as his insult was substituted with some cutesy nickname mid explanation.

“and can you fix my beautiful synesthesia beacon already? this thing is drivin’ me up the wall.”

the request fell on deaf ears as your fingers typed something on your laptop, likely another string of code.

“you’re more concerned about your censor than how long it’s gonna take me to put your legs back on…” you sighed to yourself, still leaned over your workbench, eyes focused on your screen.

“i'm not touching it right now. you’re lucky i’m even letting you stay sentient after this.”

boothill snorted at the remark, brows furrowing in a steady grimace.

“well, ‘scuse me for wantin’ to speak freely–  i’m a grown man!” his pointy teeth shone as they peeked out again in a grin.

“y’know what? just leave yer lil’ tools and all the pieces there— i’ll get my legs back on myself. don’t need no charity work from the likes’a you.” he laughed. “heck, may even give myself a new pecker while i'm at it!”

the mechanic had half a mind to listen, sit back and watch boothill struggle to reassemble himself just to prove a point and simultaneously bask in his embarrassment when the former realised it wasn’t possible.

(not that he would’ve admitted defeat– you would have begrudgingly stepped in and helped before he inevitably messed up his wiring more.)

you stepped back over to boothill, hands moving to hold his cheeks so you could tilt his face side to side to check for any more damage.

“cool it, cowboy.” your eyes squinted in focus as they looked at boothill's, lightly tugging up on his eyelid to check for scratches or cracks.

“i'll get you back up and running, just lose the attitude already.”

boothill's eyes narrowed as he felt your touch on his face. the temperature difference of warm fingers on his cold, mechanical body stirring an oddity where his gut should have been. though he tried to ignore it, the sensation was there, clear as day against all his artificial nerve endings. 

“real easy for you to say,” he huffed, avoiding your eyes as he was examined like a broken toy. “let’s see how peachy you are when yer all strung up and legless, love muffin.”

that censor really was gonna drive him insane.

“just get it over with.'' boothill muttered in annoyance. “and try not t’fuss anythin’ up.”

it took quite some time, as expected, for you to successfully reattach boothill’s legs and fix his mangled midsection. when you were finally finished, you tugged out any leftover wires that connected boothill to your terminals and pushed back in your wheelie chair to beckon the cowboy forward. you pushed your glasses up to your forehead, some hair getting swept out of your eyes with them.

“feel fine?”

boothill rolled his ankles and bent his knees, giving his legs a good stretch to test their mobility.

“mighty fine,” he responded, satisfied to feel they were weighted and moved the same as before. “though i can’t say i’m lovin’ the breeze up my backside.” 

boothill glanced down at himself, steel body completely bare and lacking any of his signature clothing. 

“got my pants lyin’ around anywhere, sugar plum?”

you pointed to another table in the room, where boothills clothes— (or rather the new ones you had to go and get—) were neatly folded, his hat placed on top of them. 

boothill went to get himself dressed, hoisting up his bell bottomed pants and sliding on his jacket. he stole a glance in your direction every so often, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes at the mere sight of you.

the artificial man hit a small bump in the road as he went to zip his jacket (could you really call it that with how little it covered?) up—  his fingers weren’t responding as well as they should have been. he could open and close his fist, but lacked the precision to pinch and hold the zipper.

“hey, honeybun,'' boothill called over to you with a furrowed brow. “didn’t i tell you not to go fudgin’ anythin’ up?”

you, in all your overtired glory groaned, turning around in your chair and waving boothill back over.

“what are you talking about?” 

“my cute lil’ fingers ain’t workin’ that’s what i’m talkin’ ‘bout!”

boothill's footsteps were clunky and loud as he stomped his way back over to his mechanic.

you reached for his hand, an uncharacteristic gentleness in your touch as you examined five mechanical fingers.

“make a fist,”

boothill obeyed, curling his fingers into his palm.

“open it,”

he obeyed again, letting them open and relax.

“hold up two fingers,”

boothill tried, but his fingers got stuck halfway into the motion, locking at the joints.

“son of a bitch.” you sighed, turning for one of your tools. “sit back down.”

boothill grumbled and went to hoist himself back onto the workbench.

“least one o’us can say it…” 

“do you want me to fix you or not?”

“i'm sittin’ ain’t i??”

you pulled boothill's shirt off his left shoulder and popped open a tiny panel on the curve of his neck, sliding your glasses back on to the bridge of your nose. with a lean forward you began carefully looking at a few thin wires that filled the space.

boothill tapped his fingers against the tabletop while you worked, that same oddity as before settling in his now repaired gut. he rarely got messed up enough for you and him to spend this much time together, or for you to have to really be in such close proximity.

it’s not uncomfortable, but the feeling is by no means familiar. it’s actually a little embarrassing– a galaxy ranger, a space cyborg and expert hunter, feeling almost flustered at some close contact like some kind of shy little girl.

“something the matter?”

boothill nearly jumped as you spoke up quietly to check on him, voice quiet and so close to his ear he had to refrain from leaning both closer and away.

“nah, everything’s just dandy.” boothill’s voice followed yours– quieter and a little softer as a result of the closeness.

“you’re sure?” you looked up from the small mess of wires, eyes glancing up at your cyborg over the rim of your glasses. “might as well fix anything else that’s bugging you while i’m here.”

boothill would have swallowed if he had the need to lubricate his throat. he shook his head, turning to look somewhere— anywhere else.

yours lingered on him, albeit briefly, observing the clench of his jaw and the way he tried to shift in his seat without being disruptive to your work. he didn’t see the little smirk tug at your lips as you refocused on the task at hand.

boothill’s cybernetic limbs felt almost human in their sensitivity, sending faux shivers up a spine he didn’t even have. the mechanics fingers running down his forearm are doing him no favours as they move to hold his hand again.

“close your fist…open it…two fingers up…”

each command was obeyed, ten gunmetal fingers finally holding up a little peace sign.

“that should be it, come see me if they start acting up again.”

you stood up, tentatively reaching out to fix boothill’s jacket and begin to zip it for him.

boothill didn’t protest the act, but it was…confusing, to say the least.

“reckon i’ll just start seein’ those auto bots again,” he leaned back on his palms as your fingers fixed his collar, straightening it out.  “much as i love our lil’ visits.”

you only hummed, smoothing out a few wrinkles and neatly tucking his scarf into it’s neckline, as he liked. “you could,” you mused, hooking your finger lightly into his collar and giving a gentle tug forward. “they don’t take as good care of you as i do, though.”

this time boothill caught the little smirk on your lips, clear as day and enough to make him question if short circuiting was possible.

you’re doing it on purpose, he knows. the careful touches to his hands and body against the sensors you put there, quiet voice leaving him with a frisson you made it possible for him to have.

boothill returned the smirk, albeit a little wobbly.

“you tryin’a rile me up, sugar plum?” 

he entertained you with a lean forward, two white crosshairs looking right at you while he considered if a hand on your waist was too forward or the perfect cornering move. 

“just like watching you squirm.”

you were gone as quickly as you’d arrived, finger unhooked and going to pick up his hat.

“but say i was,” you didn’t bother with a glance over as you made sure the brim was straight and unharmed. “i hardly have to try.” 

boothill hopped down from the table, following your path and offering a scruffy chuckle when you reached up to place it on his head.

“yeah? and what makes y’say that?” his hand found a place on his hip.

you didn’t respond— not verbally, anyway. a quick flick of your eyes downwards was all he received. 

so he followed, looking down as well, to the very appendage he had insisted you give him over and over again pushing against his trousers. 

his own dream, now his downfall. 

boothill pushed passed you, pushing his hat further down onto his head while he stomped away. the profanities that left his lips filled the air— or rather their replacements. something something i love you blah blah peach cobbler something cutie-pie or meow!

“remind me t’settle for them lovely auto bots next time!”

he opened the door with a firm kick of his boot, stomping out with a scowl. 

as if he wouldn’t be back. you took better care of him, after all.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[backtodecembertv]

illicit affairs bridge you will always be famous

[daincrediblegg]

no you know what I'm going to scream about the stuff I talked about in the tags of this post publicly

I'm tired of the well-meaning "don't feel bad if your work only gets 20 notes your genius is what counts and do it for you!" bullshit. I've had a good handful of friends who have straight up DEACTIVATED in recent months because their work was not getting reblogged AT ALL. No, it wasn't from lack of not being well-liked, no it wasn't from lack of trying to make sure it was getting out there to the people they knew would engage with it. It was because no matter how much they were praised privately for their work, when push came to shove, absolutely NOBODY reblogged it and gave it the audience that it was due, and I'm tired of people shoving the "unsung genius" narrative as an excuse for it. Nothing excuses that. And the boop event really proved that.

because I know given the opportunity, indiscriminately pressing a button (sometimes 10 thousand times, as I did) is not beyond this website's capability. y'all loved doing that. and look at what it wrought. nothing but love and affection and happiness. just from a couple of quick clicks of a little paw button. sure. nobody knew who you booped but the other person (which is how likes used to work on this website, btw). there was an element of anonymity to it. but that is kind of the core of this website that no other social media platform still has: the ability to be anonymous. and hyper-curating a blog on here like you might on twitter or instagram to project an image is simply not viable. and hey. you wanna know a secret: literally nobody cares what you post or whether it goes with the "theme" of your blog or not. yeah. I know. CRAZY concept in this day and age. but literally. I myself have reblogged things that have had nothing to do with whatever I am currently fixated by and you know what happened to my follower count? not a damn thing. in fact, I actively try to reblog things specifically BECAUSE it's my friends who made them (even though I'm not always good at KEEPING UP WITH HOW MUCH THEY POST @prismatica-the-strange will NEVER GO UNRECOGNIZED by me).

And you know what fucking sucks? I have to deal with this too. surprise right? you ever wonder why I reblog fics or art I post like 20 times the day that I post them? do you ever wonder why I ask about tag lists and beg for asks all the time? IT'S BECAUSE EVEN I GET LIKE. 5 LIKES ON THE THINGS I POST. AND THE REST OF THE REBLOGS ARE MINE SO I CAN MAKE SURE THAT PEOPLE WHO WANT TO SEE WHAT I MAKE GET TO SEE IT. and I say that knowing that I'm certainly not an unpopular blog, or an unpopular writer. I know that people love the stories that I create. Hell, half of the people that I've talked to about lady terror have told me that they consider her to be canon (AND EVEN SOME!! THOUGHT SHE WAS!!! WITHOUT EVEN HAVING WATCHED THE SHOW! WHICH IS STILL SO SO WILD TO ME!!!) But especially in the last 4 years (which really dates this phenomenon), my posts, no matter how well received they've been amongst people I've talked to about them directly, I still go into the notes and at least half (often more than half) are MY reblogs to make sure people saw what I posted. and it happens every single time, and I can't tell you how much it crushes me considering that it used to be that I would be able to post it only once, and people would reblog it sometimes even HUNDREDS of times.

It's not about popularity. it never has been. it's not about anxiety. or shifting website cultures. even if you lurk, the simple fact is, that if you want people to keep making what you love. you have to reblog. your theme won't suffer because you reblogged a fanfiction that you really admire. your posting won't be ruined because you reblogged some fanart from someone in a different fandom. really. I promise. and if people do unfollow you for that? who needs em. followers come and go but you should NEVER have to cater to them. on this website it has ALWAYS been the other way around. lean into it. make it yours. put stuff you ACTUALLY WANT to be seen and that you love and appreciate on your blog. no matter how old it is, how new it is, no matter how niche or off-theme it is.

so please. if you really want to show your appreciation for someone's work? you reblog. it's really as easy as that. check the tags. add some when you reblog if you like. but please for the love of god reblog. it's as easy as booping and even more rewarding for the people who you reblog from. if you want to let someone know that their work is genius and appreciate it? show it. reblog. then DM them if you're too nervous to say what you want to say but not in a public forum. but for christ's sake. REBLOG.

[secretsquirrelsqaud]

illicit affairs by taylor swift but its in the context of academic validation