#context does matter

[a-bottle-of-tyelenol]

It is absolutely possible! I think a lot of people forget that there’s a a psychology to kink that is often intertwined with trauma or the need to cope— the same traumas and needs that could lead to a person regressing as well. Regression is also deeply personal and something that differs from person to person, so people will have different relationships to it and to themselves outside of headspace. What isn’t possible for one person, is for another.

That being said, it’s also important to be respectful regardless. The number one philosophy in kink/bdsm is that everyone involved has to be consenting. If someone isn’t and you try to involve them (interacting in bad faith, for example), that becomes an issue. This isn’t really a problem with the kink itself imo, and more with people not respecting boundaries. If someone doesn’t want their art to be used in a certain way, that should be respected (and would hopefully be by most people because, again, this is a fundamental to the community).

do you think maybe someone can have a fetish but have it seperate from their regression?

I know a couple of people who are like that where they do have that type of fetish, but keep it out of their relationships when they are regressed

guess im just saying stuff like that can be more grey sometimes

while i do think that is something u can probably do? either way, it would still leave me with the stress of having to figure out the difference between someone who has that fetish and is getting off on my art vs someone who has that fetish and keeps it separate from their own/other people's regression. sounds like more work on my part

and yeah, it can be pretty grey and this whole thing is technically out of my control, which is why i'll eventually get over my fears and just do what i want--it's just smth i have to think about rn

[inkyrainstorms]

Martian Stan AU - Aftermath & Discovery

The Beginning (1), Aftermath (2) (here), The Journals (3)

Extra! (The Apology)

Ford didn’t know how long it took for him to pry himself off the floor, but it felt like hours later when he managed to trudge his way upstairs, eyes burning and throat raw. There was new blood on his knuckles, and Ford couldn’t remember if it was Stan’s or his own. He’d tried to scrub the blood off of the portal, but most of it had been too high and Ford was so tired.

He couldn’t fall asleep in the basement, he chanted to himself, again and again and again and it only occurred to him once he stood swaying at the top the of the stairs, that is didn’t actually… matter, anymore.

It didn’t matter what Bill did, or didn’t do.

The portal was broken beyond repair. His brother was dead.

The journal is gone. his mind whispered insidiously, and he couldn’t remember if he’d always been so cruel to himself, or if it was a byproduct of Bill. You got what you wanted, Sixer. How does it feel?

Ford hobbled to the bathroom as fast as he could manage, and hurled his guts out into the toilet. When all that came up was acrid bile, though, and Ford wondered idly when we he last ate. It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered, Ford decided firmly, hands clenched on either side of the porcelain bowl so hard that they looked bloodless in the harsh white light. It didn’t matter what he felt, or didn’t feel.

Not anymore.

The journal was gone. That was a good thing, it meant that the portal could never be rebuilt again. Stanley made an honorable… he. He’d made an honorable sacrifi—

Ford hunched over the toilet and heaved again. Nothing came out.

Impossibly, time kept moving.

Ford was left drifting in the current, from room to room, machine to first aid kit to paper to specimen to paper to circling the door of his lab again and again like an anxious sentry. He didn’t process any of it, and eventually, the door was the only thing left in the house that felt truly real. It was the only mystery left that Ford could pay any real mind to, and most of the time he wanted nothing more than burn the whole thing to the ground.

Sitting against the door, head leaned back and staring at the ceiling, Ford searched his mind for something. Anything.

A plan, a goal, fuck, he’d take the will to actually get out of the house and get groceries despite the constant chance of being watched at this rate. There was near nothing left to eat in the cabinets that wasn’t rank with age, and Ford knew he was wasting away like this.

But there was nothing. No part of him cared.

He knew he’d always had the wildest aspirations as a kid and as a young man, that he’d never stop reaching for bigger and better heights, but the light had blinded him with its promise, and now he’d fallen. He’d fallen so far.

He’d said Icarus didn’t flap hard enough, when Fiddleford tried to warn him of his own hubris all those weeks ago. Now he was just glad he wasn’t an English major, because it had taken him all of this just to realize that Icarus had found the sun, been embraced by the promise of warmth, and burned for it.

Trust no one.

Ford traced an idle finger against the freshly bandaged burn on the underside of his hand.

And no one should ever trust you.

…

The worst part, Ford thought to himself as he brewed another pot of coffee and searched for a clean mug, was the uncertainty of it all. There was a grief in loss, of course, but not knowing could be so much worse.

Stanley could still be alive out there, among the creatures of the Nightmare Realm, all alone. He could be dying. He could be dead. He could be sitting on the other side, waiting, hoping Ford could open the portal and bring him home—

Ford slammed down the sole clean  coffee cup he had left hard enough to startle himself, and then sighed.

He’d have to go clean up the remains of the portal, eventually. Before he fell asleep and Bill…

Ford poured out the coffee and leaned heavily against the counter as he took a sharp swig. It burned the whole way down. 

What did he have left that Bill wanted? What reason did Bill have to keep him around if his research was beyond saving, if he couldn’t be threatened or tortured into complying anymore?

The next time he fell asleep…

Ford didn’t know what’d happen to him, and despite everything, damnit, Ford didn’t want to die. He couldn’t let Bill win, couldn’t become another footnote in the history of the world because he was just another one of the poor schmucks who fell for Bill Cipher’s lies.

Taking another gulp of liquid courage, Ford pulled his coat tight around himself and marched to the door of his lab before he could talk himself out of it.

Forget not sleeping in the lab. Ford couldn’t sleep at all until he found a way to sever Bill from his mind for good. Project Mentem had been a bust last he’d checked, but it was worth another shot. What else hadn’t he tried? There was something… a protection spell? A charm?

Ford contemplated his options all the way down the stairs, one hand keeping him steady on the wall while the other held his mug. 

He still wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted yet, or what his next step was, but Ford could do this. He just had to secure his mind, like he’d planned, and then get rid of the blasted portal once and for all. Nothing had changed.

Nothing had changed. Nothing had changed. Nothing, nothing, except that Ford felt hollow where there must’ve once been something warm and vital in his chest. He didn’t know if he’d ever feel warm again. He didn’t deserve to.

Ford remembered a detail about sleep deprivation, as the elevator neared the basement level again and his heart dropped in time with the doors hissing open. Hallucinations were a common byproduct of the resulting sensory overload and exhaustion. They could take auditory or visual form, though visual hallucinations were a more common symptom by over 52%.

That was the only explanation he could conjure for the faint singing that echoed through the dark, cavernous sub-level before him. 

“It’s not real,” Ford whispered to himself, hands a vice around the coffee mug. He felt cold. “Auditory hallucinations are an expected and well documented symptom to experience in conditions less dire than these. Focus on your intellect, Stanford. Focus, focus, it is not real.”

For a long stretch of time, seconds, or perhaps minutes, Fords feet were glued to the floor of the elevator. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he said or did, the singing, or the static, remained steady and quiet. 

It wouldn’t go away unless Ford made it. 

Finally, Ford forced himself to creep into the basement, and then the control room to set his mug down on the desk. The music was louder now, more distinct here than it had been before. Had Ford left a radio on down here? Was that it?

Holding his breath, Ford crept around the trashed room, checking behind spare sheets of metal that had been propped up against the walls, kneeling to look under the control panels, and then behind them too. All the while, the music droned on, buzzing and humming and settling under his skin like an itch. 

-any- wind blows—

It got louder as he neared the very back of the room, the words filtering through the humming static and becoming clear. Ford couldn’t deny it anymore. That was a voice. He shivered hard, jolting like ice had been pressed to the back of his neck, and hurried forward. 

-really matter to me… To me. 

There was a pile of debris, in the back of the control room, farthest from the door where he’d entered. Stanley must’ve crashed into it, when Ford and him had been… when he’d…

-just killed a man —a gun against his head…

Ford slowed his pace, staring down at the dented metal plates and machinery that had fallen loose in a heap on the floor, the stray wires and screws jutting out of the mess every which way. Slowly, Ford sank to his knees and pressed his aching palms onto the cool floor beneath him.

He could hear the singing now. Warbling, staticky. Familiar.

-Life had just begun, and now I’ve gone and thrown it all away.

Ford choked on his next inhale, thin and trembly as it was, and searched through the wreckage with wide eyes. 

There. Nestled between a dented panel with half its screws undone, and a jumble of wires and smaller panels of sheet metal, was the source of the sound. 

For a long, long moment, all Ford did was stare.

Oh mama… oh ohh oh. Didn’t mean to make you cry.

If I’m not back again this time tomorrow…

Ford’s hands trembled as he reached out, carefully prying the radio out of the scrap heap and holding it up in the dim light.

Carry on, carry on…

As if nothing really matters…

The voice faded out. Static.

Ford set the radio down on his lap, gently, as it would shatter into a million pieces otherwise, and pressed a trembling hand to his mouth.

“Stanley?” Ford choked out, and it was like trying to breathe glass. But he had to know, he had to, because— because…

He sat there, dully staring down at the radio Fiddleford had cobbled together months ago, when they’d still been in the implementations stage of the data and blueprints they’d collected, when the preliminary tests had begun. A device to send and collect waves and other information from beyond this dimension without actually opening a rift.

And here it was. In Fords hands, dented and scratched and still whole despite everything. Ford had turned his sights completely to the portal before the it’s completion, since Bill had deemed the entire endeavor a waste of time and energy and an ineffective outlet for his genius.

Fiddleford must’ve completed it, back when he was still just as enthralled in the project as Ford was. He missed his old friend, but Fiddleford was likely back home by now, in California to try and reconnect with his wife and child. As bitter as Ford was, he hoped Fiddleford was successful. His old friend deserved as much and more. 

There was no reply to Ford’s question, except, Ford brought the radio to his ear and strained to listen through the faint static. Was that… humming? 

Doo- doo doo, yeah, no poindexter, I‘m done, man. That’s the last song of the evening, I’m not paid for overtime. 

Moses, wish I were getting paid for this.

Ford jumped, wincing at the sudden burst of noise loud enough to make his ears ring, then processed what Stanley, because that had to be Stanley, had said.

“Stanley! Where are you? Are you in the Nightmare Realm? You must be… what sort of method did you find to transmit your signal? Are you al—“

But Stanley continued speaking as though he hadn’t heard him. A thrill of irritation  went through him. Was Stanley ignoring him? Was this some kind of petty revenge tactic?

When’d that song come out anyway? ‘75? 

He hummed.

Sounds about right.

Ford shook the radio and bit back a growl, before he remembered that the technology in his hands was damaged and sorely in need of a repair and upgrade, and loosened his grip again. He set it down in his lap.

“Stanley, I need you to take this seriously, please, for once.”

Wow, that song was everywhere back then, wasn’t it? I remember thinkin’ Ford probably liked it when it came out, wherever he was. The nerd was probably in college.

“Stanley?” he tried again, but he wasn’t expecting a reply anymore. Stanley soldiered on, rambling about everything and nothing and Ford could almost hear the smile in his voice if it didn’t sound so tired. 

Hell, where’d I first hear it? Must’ve been over at a gas station in… eh, Kansas? Somewhere over there, the big ol’ middle states. 

We sure aren’t in Kansas anymore.

Ahh, those were the times. Me, the open sky, and so, so much dirt in my hair. Seriously, where did the dirt come from. I roll around in one haystack and suddenly i’m fishing filth out of my hair a month later.

Stanley went quiet again, before he laughed. 

Aw man, I actually like this story. Buckle in folks, and I’m taking us back to that weirdly cold summer day in Kansas, where I had to steal 5 prized chickens. For some reason.

Look man, when someone pays you a hundred bucks and tells you he wants chickens, you don’t ask questions. 

Anyways, I’d been-“

For the past few… well, it had to have been days since Stanley fell through the portal by this point, if Fords state was anything to go off of, Ford’s mind had been eerily blank. He’d been a hollowed out shell of his former self, a ghost in his home and life that held onto the living plane by only the barest threads and pure spite.

It was like a switch had flipped. Ford’s fingers drummed on the outside of the radio as he forced himself to his feet, mind whirling at a hundred miles per hour and making calculations and theories and discarding some and contemplating others, and he was nearly jittering as he walked out of the control room entirely. He’d need to find a way to secure this side of the portal from Bills influence, recollect his journals, and then, he was bringing his brother home.

He stopped just before he got into the elevator and turned around to stare down the wrecked portal that loomed overhead. The once perfect inverted triangle, now ruined and warped nearly beyond recognition.

He grinned in a way that was more just like baring his teeth.

“You may be a god, Cipher, and you may think you can control me, but never forget. I am a scientist.”

The portal stood dead as it had been, but Ford didn’t care. He whirled around and stalked into the elevator. He felt more awake than he had in days. And he had research to collect and a demon to banish.

Stanley was still talking, as the elevator began to shudder and rise, and Ford’s adrenaline shot began to ever-so-slightly wane. Something about… attack pigeons?

-And when I finally think I’m in the clear, I duck around one of the hay bales and come face to face with, and I’m not kidding here, a cow wearing heavy duty armor, like a helmet and shit the guy in ‘Nam would wear. It even had holes for the ears!

There was a strange sound then, and Ford realized with a start that it was coming from him. He was laughing. It wasn’t even than funny, really, but something about Stan delivery made Ford wheeze. 

When was the last time he’d laughed? It must’ve been before this whole thing started, when he’d been with Fiddleford or B—

The laughter died in his throat. Oblivious to Fords inner turmoil, Stan kept on jabbering.

And there I was, 5 chickens smuggled into my coat and in my bag —and if you’ve never tried to carry 5 chickens, never do, it’s hard as hell and not worth it at all— staring down ol’ Bessie. 

And then, because this fucking farm couldn’t get any weirder, the cow started moo-ing like it was setting off a tornado siren, and all the other cows in the whole place started mooing in sync too. It was fucking terrifying man.

They must’ve been calling the attack pigeons, because those suckers came back, and they started dive-bombing my sorry ass, and really, that was when I reached my limit.

I dove into the hay bale like a damn football player going for the end line, and even though it was by far the itchiest thing to ever happen to me, it saved me from death-by pecking so I’ll take take it. 

The itchiest, of course, save for my stint in Albuquerque.

Ford could almost imagine Stan shaking his head as he paused again. With a start, he realized he was still smiling.

Just. Don’t try selling pillows in Albuquerque is all I’ll say.

Stan gave an audible shudder. 

So many feathers… And itch powder. The itch powder didn’t help. 

Ford couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out of him at that.

Tags! (I’m sure I’m forgetting someone, pls tell me if you want to be on the list! Or just follow the tag that also works) @aroace-get-out-of-my-face @pleasantartisanhottea @littlelilliana15 @empressofsamoyeds @pinesfamilycatsau

Super Epic Secret Surprise!

[shorthaltsjester]

Imogen Temult, Exaltant Hope of the Red Storm

Heroes and Monsters by Penny & Sparrow // Critical Role Campaign 3

[zaunbinary]

arcane transgender trifecta

“reborn after killing my past self i saw as weak” dads and “reclaiming my name and identity with a blue and pink color palette” child

[aroaceleovaldez]

Romantic in nature or not, I always just looked at that scene in MoA with the notion: Annabeth is convinced that Nico, a gay man, has a crush on her in this exact scene (or you know, a different scene in MoA, I don't remember), and since we know that Annabeth isn't the best on the emotional front, she read Luke's intentions incorrectly, and Percy did, as well, due to his jealousy of the guy.

(Now, I know that neither of these are the case, especially since I doubt Nico was thought to be gay until HoH, and this is around the time that Annabeth was starting to be characterized as Never Wrong About Anything Ever, but it's always been my go-to regarding the whole Luke-Annabeth debacle. What I mean to say is that I like your interpretation of the scenes, too)

Oh i actually believe Nico was fully intended to be gay starting around MOA at least (though I do believe Rick claiming he had figured that out about Nico earlier than that), because Rick was absolutely acknowledging queer topics in his writing at that time. Jason's arc particularly in the latter half of HoO is extremely bi-coded and there's just straight up a canonical polyamorous relationship in Serpent's Shadow, which came out several months before HoH.

Which does make Annabeth's line about that in MOA funnier, especially considering by that point Nico has held maybe one full conversation with her in the entire franchise thus far, maybe two or three if you wanna push it. I cannot emphasize enough how little they had spoken to each other - and tbh, continued to not speak to each other. Just in general. Like the most notable interactions the two of them have prior to the high-five scene in BoO are literally both in BoTL and it's one line and then one off-screen scene of Nico breaking up a fight between Rachel and Annabeth (where they were fighting over Percy) entirely for the purposes of going to save Percy. They barely interact in HoO. Nico and Annabeth have a chronic case of their plot lines being in different locations because only one of them is allowed to be active at a time due to their narrative roles. Annabeth is kidnapped for most of the TTC Nico scenes and Nico is at camp when they get to Annabeth, and then in TLO Nico's busy with all the Underworld stuff and flirting with Percy so he never interacts with Annabeth. Then Nico is off at Camp Jupiter when Annabeth's at CHB and then busy being kidnapped for the first stretch of the Argo II mission and only shows up when Annabeth is busy on her Arachne quest. And then Annabeth FALLS INTO TARTARUS when Nico gets there (and proceeds to pine at Percy) and then IMMEDIATELY after Annabeth gets out of Tartarus, Nico skips away with Reyna and Coach to drag the Athena Parthenos to camp. And then FINALLY they interact and it's not even Nico speaking directly to Annabeth really, just high-fiving her after insulting Percy to his face. He literally only says one word directly to her.

Like. I cannot overemphasize the absolute comical degree to which these two avoid interacting. They're like magnets repelling each other. And yet Annabeth is like "I think he has a crush on me - he spoke to me once, allegedly." Like ah yes, sure, HoO. Next you're gonna tell me you retconned them into having a FOURTH conversation! Don't get too wild!

[canisalbus]

Imagine for a moment that reincarnation is real... and now imagine senior, gray muzzle Vasco rescuing a sickly albino horse who seems very frightened and uncomfortable with the concept of being a horse. Vasco is too old and frail to ride anymore, as you've mentioned in the past if i remember correctly, but he takes this horse in.

No one at the stable can even make eye contact with this pale steed without its ears pinning back and its eyes threatening to bulge out of its head. However, Vasco visits every day he is physically able to, so he can gently comb its mane and tail and handfeed it oats and hay, since it refuses to eat otherwise.

Vasco doesn't give the horse a name, but in a voice soft enough for the two of them to hear, he calls it various old pet names only he should know. He swears the horse's eyes light up at his words despite not fully believing the possibility.

Regardless, they comfort each other.

.

[peacereturnedtothevalley]

[has no right to say this since I went in with full context but I’m going to say it again] I think you can listen to palisade without listening to anything that came before

[seiwas]

hello sel!!! hru doing??

The ask game is super fun! How about Gojo + vindictive.

I hope u hv had a lovely day 🫶

zuro anon

zuro anon hello!! thanks for sending in a prompt!! i'm doing good 🥺 spending this lil vacay at home, mostly 🥺 and happy to be back writing 🥺 i hope you have the loveliest weekend 💗

contains: non-canon, childhood enemies to lovers (ish), (modern) arranged marriage, reader wears a braid and dresses

gojo + vindictive

you hate gojo satoru. you have ever since you were 5.

he's a bully―a real cocky one at that, with no regard or remorse for how his actions affect those around him.

on the day before your 6th birthday, right as your parents gathered together for the annual countdown, he gobbled up the entire plate of your favorite milk cakes before you could even take a bite. this marked the start, the beginning of a vengeance stewing inside of you.

at the age of 8, when you first learned how to do your own braids, he would tug at them, pull them free and unravel all your hard work for the past hour. you used to chase him for it, yell "satoru!" with all the strength your little lungs could muster and he would merely laugh and run faster.

the name "satoru," you've learned, must be synonymous with "sabotage," because it's all he's ever done. he threw the flower geto suguru handpicked for you straight to the ground, and purposely splashed gutter water all over the white dress you intended to wear on your first date.

not to mention, he's always rubbed in the fact that he's better than you, at everything―dangled all his accomplishments in front of you as if he knew they were just centimeters out of reach.

gojo satoru is solely responsible for tainting your childhood memories a miserable cerulean blue.

so, when your parents sit you down one day and tell you that you'll have to marry him, you feel transported in that moment, to each and every instance gojo has ever wronged you. it flips through your mind like a montage of flashbacks in a movie.

it's both surprising and not. your families have always been partners, in everything―business, education, and now you guess, life as well. you hate gojo's guts but this creates an opportunity you don't think can result from anything else.

so, sure, you'll agree to the marriage―only to make his life a living hell.

"hello, fiancée," he greets you, for the first time since the agreement.

you don't do anything to hide your disgust, face scrunching up as you spit out, "shut up, satoru."

the wedding planning is horrendous―at least, you hope it is for him. you pick out every single cake flavor you know he hates and choose the brightest venue possible for the event. the lights you pick for the afterparty are strobe lights, and you make sure to do multiple test runs just to play with his eyes. it doesn't occur to you that the solution to his light sensitivity is simple: just a plain pair of shades.

you wear plumping lip gloss on your wedding day, just so his lips burn when you have to kiss him. but gojo is either extremely numb or just good at faking it, because all he does is grin as he whispers quietly before parting, "spicy."

in preparation for your married life, you create a ledger of some sort―a book of accounts housing every single thing gojo has done wrong. you write down your plans to get him back for each of them, a list of pranks and inconveniences to make him regret ever messing with you all those years ago.

at half a year of marriage and 25 years of knowing each other, he casually tells you the big "i love you," but you're sure he doesn't mean it. you tell yourself your heart is racing from how infuriating his existence is; at how stupid his face looked when he'd said it. not anything else and most especially not the little dimple on his cheek that shows itself every now and then.

(you didn't know it yet then, but he'd found the ledger you kept and read through it all. the one-year plan, the three-year plan, the five, and so on. and it does nothing but strengthen how he feels about you, since he was 6, 14, and a few years ago at 24.

it's at your third year of marriage that you find out―how gojo's known all this time, but more importantly, how there were reasons behind every single instance you thought he was out to ruin your life.

with intelligence far beyond his age, gojo has always preferred the company of adults more than children. at age 6, he would listen in on conversations his mother had with her friends, roughly comprehending complex worlds with the simple ones he understood. someone had mentioned something about their daughter being allergic to milk. and so, when your birthday came up and all he saw were milk treats, he gobbled them all up in an effort to make sure you wouldn't be subjected to an adverse reaction―even though you were far off from any dairy allergy.

what he was sure of, however, was that you were severely allergic to bees. and when he spotted one perched right on the buttercup stem geto handed you, he had no choice but to smack it right out of your hand and down to the ground, stepping on it too, for good measure.

and, okay, maybe he was a little naughty for tugging at your braids when you'd just spent all that time doing them, but he always liked how they flowed into waves when they unravelled; how you'd chase him afterwards, angry but so, so pretty.

if there's one moment gojo will consider real sabotage, though, it's that date he stopped you from going to. like there was any way he was going to let another man see you dressed like that. he isn't nice that way. when gojo wants something, he's not sharing, and the sight of you in white―that was meant to be his and only his.)

[3416]

watching leaf fans who spend 80% of their year disparaging their own team and reacting to every random ass stat about them as if they're uniquely bad and evil and cursed be so holier than thou about the game 7 stat abt the avs or the 1st round exit stat about the wild is so funny.... almost like this is a game and all teams have things that haunt them but their own fanbases don't let it define them and maybe if you didn't spend so much time buying into and perpetuating that useless shit, the leafs would get more positive and fair coverage

[frogaroundandfindout]

As a child, Dick liked to tease Bruce by dropping his voice as low as it would go and mimicking the Batman voice.

As an adult, Dick stares at the tattered cowl clutched tight in hands crusted with his fathers blood and thinks of how much it used to hurt his throat.

Why does it always have to hurt with Bruce?

[the-evil-skull]

I ship thranto as like, a joke, but on a serious level they're friends to me because a) thrawn is aromantic and b) his epilogue about how much he values his friends strikes me as so uncharacteristically honest that I believe it, I don't think he's telling Eli what a good friend he is as a way of shying away from telling Eli he's romantically in love with him, because he isn't. I think that if thrawn did romantically love anyone he would just say it plainly. He is not in love with Eli Vanto. He is Eli Vantos friend, and he thinks that fact is important enough to include it in his personal diary.

"One must be able to read an allys strengths, so as to determine how best to use him. One must similarly be able to read an enemy's weaknesses, so as to determine how best to defeat him. But what of friends? (...) A friend need not be kept either within sight or within reach. A friend must be allowed the freedom to find and follow his own path." This is grand admiral thrawn we're talking about, the guy who uses every asset like it's his last, disposes of anyone who hinders his plans, and still values the thoughts of his proteges. If this man ever writes so earnestly about how much friendship means to him, he means it.

[dykedvonte]

Do you think any of the crew members (outside of maybe Daisuke) actually believed that Curly intentionally crashed the ship? Obviously, that's the story that they're told, and the "fact of the matter," but do you think Anya or Swansea ever for a moment really bought it? They've both worked with Curly for at least one other haul prior to that one, I don't think they would have ever gotten a grasp for a motivation and Jimmy's accusations sound like they're pulled straight out of his ass anyways.

I think they could have believed it at first, I mean the initial shock of the accident, Curly being in the cockpit, Jimmy's likely embellished story...

Though I think they realized one by one. Anya first because she knew the type of person Curly was and that he wouldn't take it out on them all (he'd just shoot himself) and knowing the type of person Jimmy is and that he actively would. Swansea likely started believing things weren't adding up towards the end and with all the evidence stacking against Jimmy, he realized either during his speech or right before it. Daisuke is the only one who'd have no real reason to not believe Jimmy as he died before having that doubt sowed into him.

Still, I don't think they let Curly know that. A big reason I think only Anya and Jimmy deal with Curly is because she had fond sentiments for him and Jimmy is obsessive. Swansea likely doesn't want to deal with someone he believes put them in this situation and Daisuke listens to him/wouldn't be much help. I think a big factor in Anya's case is that Curly went to confront Jimmy before the crash and knows it wasn't just him with something on the line. She could've believed something more sinister occurred but again, she has no proof.

It's still a little tragic after all that he has to live with the fact that they all believe he put them in that awful position. That they all could've thought so little...

[ryemiffie]

More of me and my own twin as rottmnt disaster twins incorrect quotes:

Donnie: Ugh, don't you just hate Janine?

Leo: Oh my god yeah, she's such a bitch like honestly just get a life at this point.

Donnie: Do you know who Janine is?

Leo: No.

[snow-lavender]

I would die for this fake minecraft child.

[whothehellisspock]

I really hate that “Professor Spock” and “Vulcan robes” combined in my mind, for some reason, into a mixture between Leonard Nimoy’s Spock and Alan Rickman as that mean alchemy teacher and now that is the only way I can imagine Spock looking no matter the context.

Like I keep a tab of fanart open just to remind myself that Starfleet uniform is a thing in Spock’s life.

[spaceiix3]

just one step at a time (Asmodeus x GN! Reader drabble)

Content warnings: physical self harm alluded to but not described. very very slight yandere.

Word count: 769

Asmo looked up from his phone as he heard his bedroom door creak slightly, taking his hand off his chin as he shifted his weight to rest evenly on both elbows. His beloved human stood in the doorway, frowning and not quite meeting his eyes. They swayed slightly on their feet.

"Darling?" Asmo asked after a moment of silence. The human didn't reply, eyes wandering around his room as they grimaced slightly.

"Why don't you come in? Come sit by me, please." Asmo beckoned them over, his tone gentle yet commanding as he moved to sit up against the headboard of his bed.

The human nodded, taking a few quick deep breaths before moving. They closed the door behind them after a long moment and disjointedly moved over to Asmo's bed. Asmo noticed they winced slightly as they shifted their weight to their thigh to get both legs on the bed. His eyes widened slightly in understanding, but he said nothing about it.

"Can I hold you, dear?" Asmo asked, placing his phone to the side. His human nodded.

The demon gently maneuvered their body to rest their head on his chest while pushing them to lay on their side, facing him. He watched as the human's eyes drifted around his room, looking around but not seeing. They certainly weren't asleep, but weren't present either.

Asmo kissed their forehead, leaving a slight mark from his lipstick. His manicured nails followed, mindlessly drifting to scratch against their scalp and cup their cheeks as he nuzzled against the top of their head. The same hand then drifted down to rest against their arm. He rubbed his thumb against it gently, calmly.

The demon closed his eyes as they stayed like this for a few minutes, breathing in the scent of the shampoo he had gifted them a few weeks ago. He felt the human's heart rate slow down as they laid there, until it was calm and steady again.

"Asmo..." The exchange student started talking quietly. "I remembered you said I could see you when I wanted... I just saw you were livestreaming before and didn't want to bother, so..." They trailed off, grimacing as they tried to explain their behavior.

"So you just tried to take care of things yourself?" Asmo questioned gently. The human nodded, tilting their head to bury it further against his chest, almost trying to hide themselves.

"I can't even go two months without... you know..." They sighed, feeling like they were going to cry, but knowing they were too emotionally exhausted to do so. “I just don’t know any other way of helping myself, I… I just don’t know…” They trailed off.

"Darling... you don't need to try so hard to fix everything yourself." The demon mumbled as he rested his cheek against their head, before pulling back slightly to speak more clearly.

"I know your... methods work for you, but they make you feel so bad afterward, too. That’s why you should let me help more. I can end a few livestreams early now and then, there will always be more." He smiled at the human, then continued.

“My fans don’t mean anything compared to you, kitten. I love my fans, but I’d sacrifice all of them if it meant I could keep you consistently content.” He felt them let out a slight laugh at that. He giggled in return at the sound.

“Mmm, you’re so cute. Don’t think of it as a joke though.” His grip on their arm tightened slightly. “Would killing off a few random fans help to show my devotion to you? To help you feel better about coming to see me?” He continued. The human shifted slightly to finally look up at him and gauge his facial expression. He blinked himself out of his slight stupor as he felt them move, then moved his eyes back down to meet theirs, his face splitting into a gentle grin.

“Sorry, hun, I’m getting off-topic. My bloodlust can be hard to control, hehe.” He giggled again, and put a hand on their head.

"But I’m really so proud of you for coming over to see me, honey. I know it's hard to get used to, but you did so well." He started, petting their head as he spoke.

"Maybe we won't break your... habits of emotional regulation right away, but we can in time. Just keep being good for me like this, darling. We can take one step at a time together.”

The exchange student nodded, sighing.

“Just one step at a time.” They mumbled as they sank back into Asmo’s embrace.