#did i do your thoughts justice?

[he-calls-me-kitten]

Random brainrot: my guilty pleasure is the concept of Solomon with vampire!mc :(. He gives me the vibes of someone who gets off on toying with danger and likes a little pain in the right circumstances so I can't help but imagine him getting so turned on when mc bites his neck. Especially when mc is normally cold, apathetic but for some reason, Solomon just seems to press their buttons with seemingly no effort. It's frustrates them, annoys them beyond measure how they've spent decades with the perfect self control but this little sorcerer fuck just waltz in their life and makes them want to pounce on him. I could be bias bc I like vampires and I also like the idea of Solomon having someone he wouldn't have to worry about losing to mortality.

"Say, you're looking a little extra pale over there MC, when was the last time you fed yourself properly?" He grins, walking next to you in the corridor.

Almost 2 months now. But you wouldn't tell him that. You were disgruntled he even remembered.

"I'm fine, thank you, Solomon."

"Come on now, non-human blood supplements hardly work as good as the real thing." Solomon clicked his tongue. "You know I'm always a willing volunteer-"

You stopped in your heels and faced him. "Listen, last time was a one time thing, you just caught me at a bad time, okay? It's never going to happen again."

"What a pity. I've been filling myself up with pomogrenate juice to replenish more of blood for you." He dares to stroke your cheek with the back of his fingers.

"Like I said. No thank you." You swiftly rushed off to potions class. The tantalizing smell of his skin and the rich, magical blood underneath it was driving you crazy.

It didn't help that he was paired up with you during the class anyway. You groaned as he stifled a laugh at your annoyance, while cutting poison apples and dark berries.

"All that effort to walk away from me only to end up with me." He chuckled, playfully waving the little knife he was using for the fruit.

"3000 years old and still don't know not to play with knives so carelessly-" You retorted and paused. You smelt it again. Overwhelming and inviting.

"Oh trust me I was extra careful with it." He smirked, turning sideways, a little cut on his neck bleeding into his collar, driving you insane.

You clenched your fists and looked the other way. Solomon leaned in closer. "You don't need to try so hard to hold back."

Fucking hell. He always made it so hard to resist him.

Now you were back in the bathroom stall again. Him undoing his collar for you, sitting on the comode, leaning back, inviting you with open arms.

"Come on, MC. Let go of that stubborn pride, won't you?"

He pulled your hand, sending you stumbling onto him. His lucious neck inches away. You felt his hand grab the back of your head and push, your lips were on his skin.

"Don't blame for your dizziness later." You warned before sinking your teeth into him, lapping up the stream of blood from the previous wound.

He let out an erotic groan, his hands grabbing your waist, hips bucking into yours. This was the only time he could embrace you like this and he was going to take full advantage of it.

[pinkcadavart]

I'm still learning the characters rn so this might not be accurate but please tell me its at least funny

[kindahoping4forever]

⭐ 🐍

[licorishh]

i love og soap too much. my stomach hurts. i don't feel good.

[waifujuju]

What pokemon would Sol and Lune be? Inspired by an oc comic by @ambisweetiepie

[lesbianshadowheart]

the lack of fandom insanity about aloy hzd is crazy to me.....she was literally born of immaculate conception to be the saviour of a world that doesnt want her. she was the loneliest girl in the world the first and last of her kind. while gay

[my-chemical-rot]

Florida!!! by Florence + the Machine and Taylor Swift, Daytona Sand by Orville Peck, Spanish Moss by Against Me!, White Crosses by Against Me! //Pictures: map, surfers, post card, fountain of youth; plus my own photography // The Truman Show (1998) // Sunny Side Up by Jennifer L. Holm and Matthew Holm // Wikipedia

[coquelicoq]

Il y a les nuits où il se réveille d'un cauchemar, le regard frénétique, les poings serrant les draps, soufflant à perdre haleine. Ces nuits-là elle l'étreint ; elle fait de petites bises sur son crâne ; avec son pouce elle caresse sa nuque couverte de sueur, tendue et tremblante. Quand il revient à lui-même, elle le chevauche, appuyant fort sur son corps avec tout son poids ; elle prend son visage entre ses deux mains ; elle pousse son front contre le sien, en répétant : "T'es à moi, à moi, à moi, à moi," jusqu'à ce qu'elle voie la chaleur dans son regard, jusqu'à ce qu'elle sente la réponse de son corps sous elle.

Elle le nique vigoureusement, ces nuits-là. Elle mord son épaule sans qu'il doive lui en demander. Elle le fait crier son nom à elle, pour l'empêcher de crier ceux de ses proches perdus. En lui coupant le souffler par amour, elle écrase le souvenir de ce qui l’a fait par terreur. Leur sueur s'entremêle, le stabilisant, le liant au présent, à ce lieu, à elle. Quand il se rendort, épuisé, des fourmis dans les membres, son cœur bat fort à cause de leur amour, leur amour et rien d'autre.

Dans la paix qui suit, elle passe les doigts le long des balafres sur le dos de son bien-aimé, écoute son haleine qui s'équilibre, se concentre sur sa propre sueur pendant qu'elle s'évapore dans l'air frais de la nuit.

[good-beanswrites]

Could I request "cooking is an art form" with mahiru and presumbly orekoto? I read your Night drabble of those 2 and now the idea of a potential friendship has been stuck in my mind for days, that was probably the sweetest interpretation of him I've seen! Mahiru can't cook in the current state she's in though so I guess orekoto could act as her hands...?

Ah thank you so much!! I was so worried about doing Orekoto justice, that's so exciting you enjoyed 😭 We still don't have a ton of characterization for him, so bear with me, but I absolutely loved writing this. Thank you so much for the request -- with food playing such an important role in Mahiru's story/symbolism, and the pair's unique relationship, this made me so crazy to think about !!!

The knife twirled through Mikoto’s hands. He brought it down with a grunt. Emotion pulsed through his veins. He went back for another swipe, much harder than necessary. He wiped spatter from his face.

“You’re making a mess.” Mahiru observed from behind. 

He glanced back to find her scowling at the tomato he was taking out his frustration on. “Who gives a shit? We’re not on cleanup duty.” 

He wasn’t supposed to be on cooking duty, either. It was Mahiru’s night according to their usual rotation, but she was in no shape to do any physical activity. Mikoto must have volunteered, and also gotten into some fight about it, because now there he stood: angry at an unknown source, full of adrenaline, and worst of all, in charge of tonight’s curry.

“I suppose…” Mahiru said. “I think that’s Muu tonight, I’ll apologize to her later.”

It was unsettling, how she remained positively cheery as she walked him through each step of the recipe, despite her current condition and his bad attitude. Not that he’d ever turn his anger on her. Mikoto approved of her, and that was enough for him. She’d been going through so much at the hands of their common enemy, he wouldn’t say a single thing against her. Even as she tested his temper with her cooking instructions.

“No, no!” With her good hand, she tugged on the side of his uniform. “You have to turn the carrot as you cut it. Like -- yes, like that!”

Mikoto rolled his eyes as he did what he was told. “It’s all going to get cooked together anyways, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is! You have to take your time with things like this.” She placed her hand over her heart. “It’s about the process, not just the final product. Cooking is an art form!”

“It’s about the final product to me. I’m fucking starving.” 

She was briefly distracted with the next set of instructions, telling him how to combine everything over how much heat. When she returned to the topic, her lighthearted voice was laced with a bit of desperation. “I mean it, there’s something magical about pouring your heart into something for someone else. Putting in your time. A little finesse here and there.”

“I know what it’s like to do something for someone else -- and there is absolutely no finesse involved. Or potatoes.” He gestured to the cut pieces before dumping everything into the pot over the stove.

“One of the most universal love languages is food, you know? People make meals and treats for their loved ones in every culture, in every time.” 

“They do a lot of other things, too.”

“You went to art school, you understand. This is an expression of yourself!”

“It’s a waste of time.”

“It’s the surest way to help someone!”

“That’s a load of bullshit.”

There was a pause. Then a nervous laugh. Then, “yeah.” As she dropped into more uncharacteristic silence, he stole a glance at her. 

Tears poured from her eyes. 

“Mahiru?” Fuck, he didn’t mean to make her cry.

“It is.” she hiccuped. “I thought… I thought it could save him. I made this big meal… I thought… But I was so stupid…”

She buried her face in her hands, offering weak apologies for the sudden outburst. He threw the lid over the pot before stepping back to her.

“Hey, hey. Come on. Don’t cry.” It was a command rather than a comfort. 

She didn’t listen. She just continued sobbing and blubbering on. “It was all stupid, worthless… I should have known…”

He crouched by the wheelchair. There didn’t even seem to be anything wrong, they’d just been talking about food. Why was she such a mess? He gave an impatient sigh. No reaction. What was Mikoto’s nickname for her again? “Listen, Mappi --”

She snapped her head up to look at him. 

Her teary eyes flicked all over his face, making him scowl. “What?”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed, though her breath still hitched. “Sorry. You said… and well… I thought you’d gone away. I want you to stay.” She took his hand. “You.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because you understand me.” 

He did not. Like, at all. But he kept his mouth shut.

Thankfully, she was too talkative not to explain herself. “You love someone very much. That love turned out to be dangerous -- deadly. And you weren’t forgiven for it.” She pressed her lips together, suppressing the wave of emotion that almost overcame her. “And now we’re both getting what we deserve for it.”

“Like hell we are.” He felt the spark of rage again. “Neither of us deserve any of this shit, okay?”

“But --”

“No.” He glared at her. That familiar fire rose up inside him. “I’m tired of all your speeches and optimistic crap. You’re always falling over yourself for others. You’re pathetic. This place is hell, so you need to get your shit together and act like it. You might be willing to forgive the others, you might be able to treat them with that stupid sweetness all the time, but no one’s going to do the same for you. Stop letting them fuck with you.”

She gaped at him. He realized he’d leaned in very close. He prepared himself for more tears, or maybe some cowering away from him. Good. Mikoto didn’t need people like her who would convince him this verdict was deserved. He didn’t need any of these people. It was fine to push them all away.

Mahiru surprised him by leaning over. Her head rested on his chest. “It’s hard. It’s so hard, Mikoto. But… I’ll try.”

His attention was quickly ripped away by a hissing behind him. He yanked himself away from her to run to the curry, which was bubbling and burning and spilling out of the pan all over the stovetop. 

With an outpouring of profanities and clattering of dishes, he cleaned the sad remains of dinner off the burner. When he looked back at Mahiru, she had dabbed at her eyes and composed herself slightly. 

“It’s okay,” she said, “I’ll pick something easier you can make instead.”

“Nah, I’ll make more curry. Tell me how much of everything again.” 

“A-alright.” 

His agitation slowly faded as she began her gentle instructions again. Though he had just tore her apart for it, he was grateful for her patience with everyone around her. He probably could have left, then, seeing how calm the kitchen became. But he wasn’t risking ruining the meal a second time with an unexpected switch. 

And maybe Mahiru’s words still played through his mind.

The food was back on the stove in no time. He stood diligently next to it. They’d lapsed into a content silence. He still didn’t know what had set her off earlier, but wasn’t about to ask questions.

Mahiru had regained her usual bright smile. “Hey, when I get better, I’ll cook something for you, okay? I think you don’t appreciate cooking because no one’s made something special for you before. I want to do that.”

He sneered. “Heh, sure. And I’ll let you in on my preferred art form.” His words were layered with sarcasm. By now, she could guess that included destroying things by putting all of one’s might behind a powerful swing. 

But she giggled, completely unfazed. “Well, friendship is about give and take, right? I’d love to try.”

[bassboosted-moon-chao]

A redraw from the music video for Usseewa by Ado, but with Yata from Lupin III! I've always kind of associated Usseewa with him.

★★★

Original frame here! I actually had to trace a couple of things (the gun, the text and the hand placement), but other than that, entirely done from scratch. It was... a fight! PaintX and I are not friends right now.

I tried my best.

[moe-broey]

*pulls out a crumpled up piece of paper*

My transfemme Fire Emblem Headcanons. Include:

> Rosado, transfemme non-binary, most likely to use neopronouns or multiple sets of pronouns (fae/faer, she/he, never let 'em know your next move)

> Forrest, has been on estrogen for years but still says "I'm a prince" if asked and insists on using he/him pronouns (may be closeted, may be in denial, may do so out of a sense of obligation, may be a case of pronouns being "indicative of but not exclusive to gender identity", may also just have an exceedingly complicated relationship with the gender)

> Loki, a shapeshifter, chooses to look Like That (and she's so based for it)

> Gullveig. Just. Everything Seidr/Heidr/Kvasir and Gullveig have going on. Is so transgender. To me

And on vibes alone

> Triandra

[craqueluring]

hi @wrathfulgraham here – GOD your tags on my post got me thinking. will and hannibal's relationship is a teacup. it shattered on hannibal's kitchen floor. hannibal gutted will with the shards of it, and will tried to return the favor in italy. they slay the dragon and will tips them over the cliff's edge – will the teacup shatter, or will it gather itself together?

im going APE over here !!!

here is the post and these were my tags:

#hannibal wanting to make abigail proof of time reversing and the teacup being able to gather itself back together#he wanted to use her to prove that time could reverse and order could restore itself again#but will hurt him so much that was completely turned on its head and solidified that the passing of time will always be marked by increasing#disorder and entropy#the teacups will always shatter and time will pass no matter how hard he tries to work against it

#i like ur comment about hannibal’s time being before mischa and after mischa#makes me think that#hannibals teacup was mischa#but wills teacup is hannibal#the thing that represents the most significant moment where the past turned into the future#the teacup isnt ONLY abigail#its hannibal and will’s relationship as well#thats why the raven stag died with abigail

UGH YES i love the comparison of the cliff to a teacup!!! i love ur WORDSSS u make me think so much

i've also seen it as a really significant moment of hannibal almost giving up his neurotic control of trying to tie the past to the present/future and to control the future. every single pivotal moment in hannibal is in hannibal's control (for the most part). but ive always interpreted the end of twotl as him giving will the reigns purposefully, fully, and completely. will stays very carefully vague and gives double entendre non-answers to hannibal in their last conversation before the dragon fight. hannibal accepts this with fond smiles and — "no greater love hath man than to lay down his life for a friend."

i feel like their relationship, the teacup, is (somewhat) whole again with the consummation that was the dragon fight. maybe will was right in digestivo, and the teacup is broken and will never gather itself back together again. maybe this is a new teacup, or they metaphorically glued it back together again, lol.

and then, as you said, will tips them over the edge, the kintsugi teacup falls, and it could shatter, or it could stay whole. for the first time, the teacup is in will's hands. he is in full control of the direction of the teacup, in control of the direction of their future, and hannibal is okay with this. because at least he has will, at least the teacup is repaired. that's all he ever wanted.

[mirkwoodmunson]

Hi. I’m struggling a lot and I was wondering if you could write a Eddie comfort fic?

Im sorry if that’s too deep. My dad died a year ago and the holidays are really hard. Anyway. I’m sorry this is awkward lol i really like your writing.

hello! first off i am truly deeply sorry for your loss, i hope you are doing well and finding your way through the grief. second of all, thank you so much for this request and for your kind words, and for trusting my ability to at least attempt to do this request justice — i really hope i do. third of all, i'm so sorry you've had to wait and thank you for being patient with me, i wanted to make sure i was in a good headspace to tackle this but also wanted to make sure i got to it before the next holiday. i hope, again, that i do your request justice and that you find comfort in this fic. this is for you, sweet anon!

post divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

you turn your head at the squeeze of your shoulder, meeting a soft gaze that regards you carefully yet sweetly, big doe eyes that manage to catch your attention and pull it away from your cloudy thoughts. a smile just for you, and you do your best to return it, but eddie’s expression twists a little more into sympathy when it falters on you almost immediately.

“hey. you with me? we can go, if you wanna-“

“i’m alright,” you assure him quickly, resting a hand over his and returning the comforting squeeze. “promise.”

you turn your head away, looking back towards the commotion. steve had put together quite the party, everyone in attendance; you watch him and robin bicker over something likely not that deep, yet both are firmly planted in their views, exchanging exasperated expressions and words that are tinged with humor and desperation. robin sees you watching, waves, and when you only manage a quirk of the corner of your mouth she falters slightly, glancing at eddie and then smiling at you again before turning back to steve.

eddie, who’d kept his eyes on you, meets eye with robin and you feel another squeeze before he leaves your side to approach them. they talk quietly, trying to make it not obvious they were talking about you, but steve’s worried glance your way spills the beans. you can’t help a soft sigh, lowering your head a little.

there’s a moment of guilt. you didn’t want them to feel bad for you. you didn’t want them to worry, least of all eddie; whether you wanted him to or not that boy was going to worry for you. you hold yourself at the middle, can’t help that shrinking feeling, heaviness in your gut.

the three share smiles and nods, and then eddie turns away and heads back to you, keeping his touch light and easy as he fixes a little bit of your hair, “think i’ve hit that time, sweet thing. mind if we head out?”

your heart beats a hard pump and your throat clenches. he so badly doesn’t want to make you feel bad, wants you to feel like it’s on his terms, wants you to feel okay with leaving early. eddie can read you so easily, and you’re both thankful for that and pained by it. you want to tell him again that it’s okay, if he’s really having fun you didn’t mind staying a while longer. but words die on your tongue as he pulls in closer, makes sure his eyes are all you can see, wants you to really hear him.

“it’s okay. i promise.”

just as your eyes start to water, he pecks your forehead and wraps an arm around your shoulders, leans you into him so you can hide yourself there.

“sayonara, goblins!” eddie throws up devil horns and wags his hand, the party bid their goodbyes joyfully behind you as eddie leads you out the front door, helps you up into the passenger seat of the van before driving you to the trailer.

he’d taken you right down to his room, laid down on the sheets and let you lay yourself on him, petting your hair while you hid your face in his neck and vented tears and frustration. when talking becomes too hard he rests lips against your temple and gives soft pecks, murmurs to you gently, reassuring words.

“you’re okay… i’m here… just let it out, baby, that’s it… i’ve got you…”

his love is present in everything he gives you, and even though you feel so empty, eddie is adamant in helping you feel more full with that love. you didn’t have to be okay for him, eddie would always take you as you were; there was never any pressure to put on that mask around him, because to him the mask was glass. he’d learn to see you, through and through, and you him. when everyone else heard ‘i’m fine,’ eddie could hear the ‘please help.’ and eddie would always help.

after a while you’re both sat up on the bed, cheeks since dried and now you were dressed in one of eddie’s baggy old corroded coffin t-shirts and a pair of his ratty plaid sweatpants. you have his headphones over your ears, holding the muffs firmly against you to let the music envelop you. eddie watches with a warm smile and shining eyes.

you see his gaze flit up to something behind you, a grin spreads, but before you can react there’s a light tap on your shoulder. pulling away the headphones and turning, you see wayne standing at the bedside almost shyly, looking right at you and smiling as he holds something behind his back.

“know it’s pretty early but, uhh… seemed like you could use a pick-me-up… thought i’d give you this now…”

from behind his back he procures a small-ish, colorfully wrapped box, offering it to you.

you crack a genuine smile, carefully taking the box and looking up at wayne who nods at you to say ‘go on now, open it up!’

you tear into it with a light giggle, eddie and his uncle watching with bright eyes as from within the box you pull out… one of wayne’s mugs, from the wall. your favorite one.

looking back up at him you swallow another growing knot in your throat, smiling wide but it trembles.

"now you, uhh... you c'n use it here, if you like. that's your special mug now. or-or if you'd wanna bring it home..."

“th- … thank you, wayne.”

he rubs the back of his neck, relieved you like the gift.

“don’t mention it, kid…”

[secretmellowblog]

Random, but. It’s fascinating how “Valjean and Javert written by someone who thinks cops are Good” is so radically different from “Valjean and Javert written by someone who thinks cops are Bad.”

Like, for me the number one Thing that will determine whether I enjoy someone’s take on Valjean and Javert are whether they realize that the police/prison as an institution destroyed both of their lives, and is the villain of both of their stories XD.

But yeah it’s really fascinating! Both in adaptations and in fanfiction, the tone/interpretation with which the plot beats are handled can change so much about the characterization. All the adaptations/fic start off with the same basic plot beats but so much can be changed and colored (for better or worse) by the way the author chooses to interpret them

[the-acid-pear]

I never tried the option myself bc it'd probably mean skipping the Reason You Suck speech at the end (fire for speedrunners though) but I Love that you can frame your Phoneys in 3, especially so if you've already killed the previous two. Like yeah couldn't send you off to die so i'll let the goverment do it for me 🧸 like its just Peak evil imo.

[shuruzy]

body practice... decided to use Quin as my training partner since they've got Forger Muscles & i dont draw or talk about J:USTICE characters enough