#i don't know how my brain works anymore.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[theroundbartable]

Arthur has a parrot that tells him random facts.

It's a magical parrot that he was gifted by some random traveler who owned a dozen magical objects and animals that he was selling for low prices.

So far, the hide and seek rabbits are a hit with the town children and the parents love the wooden unicorn ovens.

Arthur, as King, was now given the parrot and he has no clue what to do with it (he can't even feed it. The thing eats knowledge by reading).

Arthur: what do I do with you

Parrot: It will be a dry season! -aarc!- prepare for draught!!!

Arthur: ... Alright, that's useful

Parrot: Emrys is a bird. -arc- Emrys is a bird!!!

Arthur: what?

[kalashnikovlobotomy]

uuh can i get the rusame apology special to go? yes the one with no "sorry" pronounced, that's right. and fries.

[vargaslovinghours]

And never let you go ♥

Bonus without the overspill lighting:

[blizzardfluffykpop]

alright~ a few updates about everything! so this weekend I'll be seeing changkyun in chicago- so I prolly won't be posting until after I'm alive again from that 😂😅 (I am vv excited about it- I just know I'll be vv tired when I return home). Anyways, I have a few fics in the works~ one of them that is a request 🤭 I'm vv excited to work on them! But I think I'm going to change my masterlist a bit when I come back. I'm going to retire a few groups from the main masterlist and I've been debating for the past year about it... But I think I'm going to add a yearly masterlist- So it would go from most recent to the beginning of this year~

I'm also thinking about changing my pfp- I haven't been really into stray kids for uh... years- But I will be sure to make an update about that if I go thru with that too- (It may be ji changmin next 🫣🤭)

Anyways those are my few updates 🥰💖

[sofia-not-sophie]

My grammar class has ruined reading fanfic for me

[antisocialxconstruct]

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[jenna-louise-jamie]

whenever i get assigned a task, i need a “clarify” emergency button that i can press that will make the person come back and explain exactly what they want me to do in excruciating detail.

[iamthemaestro]

had a character development moment today where I realized maybe I simply do not have a healthy relationship to classical music anymore

[natelia-aldelliz]

Guys... Listen I know I said I'd draw something for valentine's day but I had a bit of a rough week sooooo I'm just going to write it out instead, maybe I'll finish drawing it some day, maybe not. It's behind a show more because it's long.

(also there's talks about having sex but no actual sex, and like, general warnings about Ghost's backstory but it's very vague here).

Soap was hanging around outside, trying to bring himself to do something, anything. But the weather was nice for a February day, and the sun was out, and it was making him feel like a cat basking in the heat.

An arm wrapped itself around his shoulders, a huge body suddenly weighing on him. Ghost.

Soap hummed comfortably. This day was getting better by the minute. Any chill he might have felt from being outside in a tank top out of pure Scottish spite was instantly soothed.

Simon often times saw himself as a cold man, freezing to the touch, hidden behind a layer of ice. A proper little Elsa, Soap almost snorted out loud. The truth was that while yes, his fingers and toes' temperature was sometimes abysmal, especially in bed, the rest of him was the warmest place Johnny had ever been.

"I've got something for you in our room," Ghost whispered against his throat, making Soap shiver.

Simon had begun calling Soap's room theirs a few weeks ago and Johnny couldn't have enough of it. He was so in love it genuinely hurt sometimes to restrain himself from squeezing him to death.

"Is that so?" he purrs, knowing how Ghost likes that. If this day didn't end in sex he'd be very surprised. He'd long learned to recognize when Simon wanted sex and when he didn't, and the way he squeezed his pec in response to his voice was a very easy tell.

But then again Simon was way less subtle than he thought he was.

They made their way back to their room, and there it was, a repurposed shoebox, badly wrapped with cheap wrapping paper. Johnny couldn't be more excited, he had never received any gift from a significant other. To be fair he adored gifting but always felt awkward receiving.

But this was Simon. Something that Simon had chosen to give him.

He sat on the bed, leaving enough space behind him for Ghost to sit there so he could use him as a very comfortable backrest. When he did, he grabbed the gift and began opening it.

He knew that Ghost liked to tear the wrapping paper, liked the sound of it and liked tearing it into the smallest pieces possible after, but he himself loved carefully unwrapping it and folding it flat so he could later maybe do an origami with it or put a piece in his journal. Probably both.

This one was full of tape but he still very much enjoyed himself, considered it a challenge. He enjoyed the chase, wanted to drag it on. Ghost huffed impatiently behind him, a bit tense, probably nervous.

Inside the box was a weird old fashioned clunky thing. It was bright red, looked slightly like binoculars, definitely from the 70's, with a wheel of tiny pictures wedged in the top of it. Memories hit him all at once.

"Oh my god ah remember, my Ma had one of these when ah was a child! My sister and I loved it, it had pretty landscapes in!"

He put it against his eyes, excited to see what this one came with. At his biggest surprise, it was a picture of them. Simon had customised it.

The picture showed the back of himself a bit further away from the camera, pointing at something while in full gear, in a dilapidated town, Ghost's face in the foreground looking at the camera. It looked like Soap was talking to someone, but that person was cut by the framing.

"Wait, ah remember that mission, it's when ah saved Gaz from a landmine just to be shot seconds later," he laughed. "ah spent two fucking weeks in the hospital, ah was miserable. Ye kept joking ah should hiv left Gaz explode while staring at him, he was convinced ye actually wanted him dead!"

Then the next picture was indeed him in his hospital bed, unconscious but the state of his injuries told him he was probably just sleeping at least a few days after his admission, his life no longer in danger. In this one, Ghost was sleeping too, head in his elbow near Soap's head and his other hand holding Soap's hand.

"Who took this one?" Soap asked, moved by the tenderness of Ghost's hold on him in the picture. It would have been right after Johnny had admitted to maybe liking him more than friends, before they were officially dating.

"The hospital one?"

Soap hummed.

"Price did. Said it was for blackmail. Should have seen him, he looked like his child had just married the person of their dreams and had ridden off into a rainbow on a unicorn or some shit. Old man's sentimental as fuck, but I didn't call him on his bullshit, he's already old, that's punishment enough."

Soap giggled in response. The next few pictures were all of them together but each time he was either turning his back or asleep.

"Why the fuck am ah never looking at the camera?" he whined. He wanted some cute couple pictures, dammit!

"Couldn't have you suspecting what I was planning," Simon said, kissing his shoulder soothingly. Only then Soap noticed that he had taken his mask off at some point and turned to ask for a proper kiss, which he immediately got.

"Keep going, there's more pictures," Simon whispered against his lips when he tried to turn around to kiss him some more. His pouting only got him a smirk in response, so he got comfortable again and brought the slide viewer back against his eyes.

He was happy he did. The next picture waiting for him was just Simon in the mirror, almost in full gear, but with one gloveless hand dragging his trousers down so the camera could see the bottom of his stomach, follow along his happy trail and reaching the very top of his pubic hair. The picture cut of his head, but he could see that his mouth was uncovered and he was holding the glove with his teeth.

Soap groaned. "Steaming Jesus, love, you're so hot."

He felt Simon hide his face in the back of his neck, warmer than usual, and chuckled a bit. He loved him so fucking much.

There were four more pictures of Simon, in various suggestive poses and states of undress, some almost showing his cock but never quite committing, making Johnny feel like he was being teased.

He was getting hard though and so ready to be done with the pictures and access the real thing. But Simon was still tense behind him. In fact, he had only gotten tenser and tenser with each click.

Soap was unsure why. They never had a problem with their sexual life, Simon had already changed his mind about having sex after starting and Soap had absolutely no problem with that, was glad to hug him instead and reassure him when he had tried to apologize.

Simon knew that there was no pressure, ever, to have sex. Hell, Johnny would still be happy even if Simon decided that he never wanted to have sex again, and he had made sure to make Simon understand that.

Then he got to the last picture and immediately understood.

It wasn't a picture of either of them, just a little bit of paper, with a few words written in Ghost's awful handwriting.

Just a few words that made Johnny drop the viewer on the covers and turn around to grab Simon's face, worriedly looking in his eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked, looking for any trace of Simon forcing himself. "Baby, ah'm happy to bottom for the rest of mah life, there's no pressure, okay?"

Simon looked at him with warmth in his eyes and his cheeks completely red, a wrapping bow added on top of his head. "I know," he said simply. "I just want to. I don't want to be haunted by memories anymore. I used to like it, and I want to like it again. With you. Just.... Be gentle, okay?"

Johnny kissed his forehead. "Ah dinnae think ah ken how no tae be gentle with ye, love."

[apoloniaspiegelgold]

All my life I've been told by all kinds of people that they can never really tell what I'm feeling or what's going through my mind because apparently I'm always just hiding everything behind a smile so that I've become rather unreadable. And then he just. Takes one look at me and goes 'Yeah. I know that face, oh here we go again, she's about to unleash her thoughts. She's gonna bash that theory I just showed her so hard. Where's my popcorn?' I hadn't even said anything yet and he was already laughing.

And to be honest. It's quite nice to be known, actually.

[icefire149]

.

[izzy-b-hands]

Me to myself: you are SO behind on finishing your izzy bingo prompts. You definitely won't finish the whole card now, and you've gotten so little done today. We DON'T need to research if this roadside coastal motel in our head actually exists anywhere. NO ONE IS GOING TO GIVE A FUCK

Also me: Time to search google maps for coastal motels and hotels and cabins and things while my word doc that's got a nearly fucking finished draft on it rots waiting for me!

[hesitantvampirealien]

I'm biased with mcr fans /j

every time i see a long post criticizing something that people do that is hurtful, that even i myself have suffered with and did hurt as hell, i usually just feel... numb. I just lost sensitivity to so many things. I obviously don't invalidate what they're saying, but I just can't feel things anymore

but then I see they either have a url or profile picture related to mcr and I'm instantly like "oh maybe they went through a lot more than that". I don't know, i guess it's because it's my comfort thing, so every time i see someone who shares a comfort thing, i tend to involuntarily think we might have a few other things in common. Maybe they went through a lot more and they found a common comfort, and maybe they're also a bit... numb

[advisorsage]

I think I've fucked up

[kyofsonder]

I haven't had much time to write with my new study schedule and family things, and when I do have time I have to wade through a sludge of doubts and fears about my ability to write prose at all, and when I manage to push that aside I often hit locked doors with spoon-shaped keyholes and have no keys for them.

It's frustrating, but I eke out what words I can while working on improving my writing conditions any way I can.

Then I finally have the feeling I can pull off writing some poetry, something I feel even more scared of more often than prose -- but also something I know I won't be able to leave unfinished as easily as prose and will be more likely to create something complete -- and I get a spark of hope.

And I go to compose the poem and my brain hands me what can only be described as an all-emoji recipe for fried eggs and ice cream. Which is not, as far as I know, a poem. Or even the pieces to make a poem. It's simply. Emojis. Vibrant and colorful and wholly unhelpful.

Thank you, brain, but next time I'd like to actually make a poem or story. Please.