#i hold em close

[rye-bread-soda-iceberg]

man just take them

[kagooleo]

here's a finished belated bday comm for @wyvernity of their soulsilvershipping :D!!! I was honestly really happy with the turnout for the piece so I did go a lil ham on their faves (～￣▽￣)～

i've still got 2 commission slots open on my kofi for both chibi and sketch pieces if anyone is interested :V

[puppyeared]

doodles of my fav sillies

anton belongs to @poicyss

[politemagic]

everyone say congratulations to the first time homeowners!

edit: i may or may not have been inspired to write some headcanons based on this, if you're interested

[heaven-zent]

i need to get crazier about brubuck

[suguru-getos]

cockwarming geto sama while he tends to the visitors and lets them worship the both of you 🥵

[ma-lark-ey]

nicky’s hypersexuality & flamboyancy is actually his attempt at taking back the youth of being an overdramatic teen baby gay that got stolen from him because of religious trauma & trying to counterbalance the twins’ permeating depression and to try and lift their spirits, no matter how little his attempts actually work. His ‘mellow out’ over the course of the series is not only due to his own growth, but also because he slowly feels less of a need to try and counter act the damage so clear on his family because he can see it healing on its own. in this essay i will—

[the-moon-pal]

as much as i want to be a pure digital artist- paper just hits different

[scionshtola]

sweet distraction

summary: On Friday night, Y’shtola found herself alone at the only bar in town. Corisande saves her from ending the night early. pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul word count: 2.4k | rated: G | read on ao3 notes: a modern day AU of sorts, where Y'shtola is a geologist new to town and Cori is a ranch hand who shows her around. there's a little bit of Hilda/Joye in here because I could not resist [divider credit]

On Friday night, Y’shtola found herself alone at the only bar in town.

“Leave your books and your research in your motel room for one night,” Hilda had said outside Y’shtola’s room only an hour ago, the same thing she’d said to Y’shtola every weekend since Y’shtola had arrived in town a few weeks ago. Y’shtola had shocked them both by agreeing, and then Hilda had shocked her by abandoning her for a pretty young woman, blonde hair divided into two braids over her shoulders, the moment their drinks had arrived. She’d given Y’shtola a shrug and a wave as she followed behind Joye, carrying both their drinks.

She could have left then, could have gone back to her room where her books and her research still waited for her. But something had held her back, something that had her keeping a vaguely interested eye on the crowd as she pushed her straw around her drink. 

Part of her—a small part—had hoped Corisande would be here tonight. Not that Y’shtola thought about them often, but they’d spent the greater part of the last few weeks together, with Corisande escorting Y’shtola around the Haillenarte ranch as she ran her tests on the land. It was only natural that her thoughts might stray now and again toward the ranch hand who had practically become her coworker. It was hardly her fault that ranch hand was six feet tall, with bright green eyes and the most sincere smile Y’shtola had ever seen. That was barely an observation worth noting—a simple declaration of fact.

She pushed thoughts of Corisande from her mind with a sip of a drink. She couldn’t deny there was some kind of connection between them, friendship and understanding forming between them from their very first meeting, when Corisande had shown both interest in and knowledge of Y’shtola’s work as a geologist. But Y’shtola was here for work, and she was not here for long—there was hardly even time for friendship. 

Anything else would only be a distraction.

“Mind if I join you, miss?” a soft voice said, pitched just loud enough to hear over the music. Y’shtola looked up and found herself staring directly into those bright green eyes, that sincere smile directed her way. 

“Oh,” Y’shtola said, unable to keep the note of relief out of her voice. “You’re here.”

Corisande tilted her head. Her long hair, free of its usual braid, fell in burgundy waves over their shoulder, soft pink highlights catching the warm light. “Were you waiting for me?”

Y’shtola shrugged, and tried to recover. “I figured you would show up sooner or later. Everyone else in town seems to be here.”

“There’s not much else to do on a Friday night around here,” Corisande said, with a knowing quirk to their smile that tugged at something in her, though she could not quite decipher what.

That did not bear thinking about. She tore her gaze from their mouth, letting it fall over them on its way back to her drink. Their usual plaid top had been left unbuttoned, the tails tied together in a knot on one side, revealing a low cut black tank top beneath. 

Y’shtola took another sip of her drink, mouth suddenly dry. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here, though.” Corisande set her drink on the table, a swirling sunset-colored concoction in a tall glass, and draped her jacket over the back of a chair before sliding into it. “Especially not sitting alone.”

“I was talked into taking a break,” Y’shtola said, tilting her chin to where Hilda sat with Joye, their heads bent close together. “And promptly discarded at the door for another woman.”

Corisande glanced over their shoulder, and a smile played on their lips when they turned back. 

“So you had no choice but to sulk at a table alone all night instead of, I don’t know, dancing,” they teased, gesturing toward the crowd on the dance floor that Y’shtola had kept an eye on all night—just for something to do, certainly not on the lookout for any pink tipped ears standing above the crowd. 

“I’m not sulking. I stayed to finish my drink,” Y’shtola said, swirling her glass in their direction. “Besides, I’m not much of a dancer.”

Corisande rested her chin in the palm of one hand as she sipped her drink, looking at Y’shtola with a glint in her eye that concerned her. There was an embarrassing swoop in Y’shtola’s stomach when Corisande smiled. She ignored it.

“Dance with me,” they said, tilting their head again so that Y’shtola had no choice but to follow the fall of their hair.

It took her a moment to realize what they’d said. She gave a short, incredulous laugh in response. Hadn’t she just said she was not much of a dancer? She opened her mouth to protest, but a voice boomed from the stage before she could speak. 

“Alright folks, you know what time it is! Who’s ready for some good old-fashioned line-dancing?”

Corisande’s lips parted, her eyes growing wide in excitement. She reached across the table and grabbed Y’shtola’s hand, pulling her to her feet and halfway to the dance floor before Y’shtola came to her senses with a shake of her head. 

“No, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, though she could not quite get herself to pull her hand from Corisande’s, their callused fingers warm against hers. 

“As your appointed guide, I can’t in good conscience let you skip out on a line dance,” Corisande answered, reaching to take Y’shtola’s other hand as well. 

“You’re only my guide at the ranch,” Y’shtola said, still not stepping back. 

“Consider this an anthropological extension of your research, then,” Corisande said, squeezing her hands. “You’ll have fun, I promise. We can stand at the back, and if you get lost you can just watch me.”

Their lips curled into a sly grin then. “You look like a quick study.”

Y’shtola did not like the way her heart skipped a beat at their words. Music started up again on stage, and Y’shtola’s protests died in her throat when Corisande moved their hips in time with it. They tugged on her hands with each slow swivel, and Y’shtola could not stop her gaze from following the long line of their legs, from where their dark jeans tucked into their tall brown boots to where they clung tightly to the curve of their ass. 

“Please?” Corisande asked. “Just one song.”

“One song,” Y’shtola relented. Corisande beamed down at her, and Y’shtola could not help but smile back. 

She let herself be pulled into line at the back of the crowd. The dance had already begun, and Corisande fell easily into the steps beside her, while Y’shtola watched the woman leading and did her best to follow the callouts. 

After a moment, Corisande caught her eye, her lips already quirked into the teasing grin Y’shtola was quickly becoming familiar with. “Good, but I know you can give it more than that,” she teased.

Y’shtola kept her eyes carefully away from where Corisande’s fingers framed her silver belt buckle, her hips swaying. Instead she followed the next step, sliding to the left and punctuating it with a quick shuffle and spin, finding her rhythm easily as she picked up the steps. When she met their eyes again, their grin had grown wider. 

“As you said,” Y’shtola said, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “I’m a quick study.”

Corisande’s head tipped back with her laughter, a sweet sound that warmed Y’shtola more than any drink this place could serve. 

When the lines turned and Y’shtola found herself behind Corisande, it was difficult not to watch her. She leaned into each movement, her long wine-colored hair swaying, a carefree ease and rhythm to each step that somehow made Y’shtola more comfortable in her own movements. 

They turned again, facing the front of the bar, and together they clapped and stomped and stepped in place with the others. Y’shtola’s skirt swung and swirled about her knees as she kicked and glided. She slid to the right, just a bit too far, and Corisande caught her with one arm around her shoulders and spun them both around. They leaned in and, just loud enough for her to hear them over the music, said, “I knew you weren’t one to do things halfway.”

Now it was Y’shtola’s turn to laugh, bubbling breathlessly out of her as they released her. The lines turned, and she felt their eyes on her from behind. She cast a glance over her shoulder, and they met her gaze with a warm smile, one that felt inexplicably secret and knowing between them despite the crowd around them. 

They caught each other’s gaze more often than not for the rest of the dance, smiling and laughing as they stepped and clapped. Each glance set off a spark in Y’shtola’s chest, leaving her warm from more than just exertion.

Corisande’s dark blue pickup rolled to a stop outside of the motel. They’d passed the short drive in a companionable kind of quiet, Corisande with one hand on the wheel and Y’shtola watching the night pass by outside the window, settled in the jacket they had slung over her shoulders. Every so often their gazes met across the cab for a moment, until Corisande’s kind smile made Y’shtola’s cheeks heat and she had to turn away. 

Now that they’d arrived outside Y’shtola’s room, she found herself reluctant to end the night so soon. But she supposed there was no use in staving off the inevitable. 

“Thank you for the ride,” she said, forcing herself to unlock the door and reach for the handle, though she did not open it just yet. “And for the dance. I had far more fun than I expected tonight.”

She could just make out Corisande’s gentle smile in the dark. They leaned back and stretched their arm across the back of the seat. “Better than a night spent with your data?”

“Yes,” Y’shtola admitted with a small laugh, and their smile grew. “I think I needed the break—I’ve been so caught up in my work I’ve hardly let myself have one since I got here. It’s good to be reminded every once in a while.”

“Happy to help,” Corisande said, the sincerity of their tone causing an embarrassing flutter in Y’shtola’s chest. Before she could get out of the truck to avoid any further flustering sentiment, Corisande’s eyes darted to the radio, which had been playing at a gentle hum in the background since they’d left the bar. “In fact…”

They shifted toward Y’shtola. She froze, her breath caught in her chest as they leaned in, until they bypassed her in favor of the window crank. Y’shtola watched them roll down her window, and then hop out of the truck and come around to the passenger side. They opened her door and helped her out of the truck with one hand, before ducking back into the truck, leaning across the seat. 

“What are you doing?” Y’shtola asked, watching them. The volume on the radio climbed and a soft, slow song emanated from the truck’s speakers, a woman’s gentle twang carrying toward her. Corisande straightened and faced her, shutting the door behind them, but it wasn’t until Corisande held their hand out, palm up, that she understood what they intended.

“You haven’t had enough dancing?” she teased, but she took their hand. She hesitated a moment, and then rested her other hand on their waist.

They moved closer without pause, putting their arm around her shoulders. “One more dance, before you get back to work.”

“I wasn’t planning on doing any work tonight.”

“Sure you weren’t,” Corisande said, beginning to turn them in small, slow circles.

“Well,” Y’shtola said, a bit sheepishly. She looked up at Corisande, who smiled teasingly down at her. “I may have wanted to go over one set of results—but only one.”

“Of course, only one,” they agreed, in a tone that indicated they definitely did not believe her. “And then another, and another, until it’s four in the morning and you’ve scattered papers all over your room.”

They lifted their arm, leading her into a twirl as she laughed before pulling her back in, somehow closer than before.  

“You may have a point,” Y’shtola said, surprisingly pleased at the way they seemed to know her so well already. Corisande only hummed, and they fell back into the same comfortable silence they’d had in the truck. Y’shtola found herself leaning in, her head resting on their chest as they turned. She tried to remember the last time she’d felt this relaxed, but nothing came to mind. And yet it hardly seemed strange at all that she should find some kind of peace in their arms, a sweet distraction from her duties here, though she had only known them a few weeks. 

When the song ended, Corisande stopped turning them. They held Y’shtola for a moment longer, and then released her, stepping back. The cold night air rushed into the space between them, making her shiver.

“I suppose I will see you Monday,” Y’shtola said. It suddenly seemed an eternity between now and then, though in reality it was only a few days.

“I suppose so,” Corisande said, her smile small but warm. She squeezed Y’shtola’s hand before letting go. “If you need a break before then, you know where to find me.”

“The ranch? Or line-dancing at the bar?” Y’shtola teased, pleased when she was rewarded with Corisande’s laugh as they turned away, heading for the other side of the truck.

“Definitely line-dancing,” they called as they climbed into the truck, reaching over to turn down the volume on the radio.

Y’shtola got the feeling that Corisande would not drive away until she was inside her room, so she bid them goodnight and went inside. It wasn’t until their headlights had completely disappeared that she realized she was still wearing their jacket. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled it close for a moment, letting the peppery scent that lingered on it take her back to the moment Corisande had held her close, her head against their chest as they spun. 

She shook her head clear of the memory, slipping the jacket off and hanging it over the back of a chair. Though she had planned to do some work, it seemed it would be a largely useless endeavor with the way her thoughts kept drifting toward Corisande.

Instead she readied herself for bed, and fell asleep to thoughts of Corisande’s hand in hers, and the sweet sound of their laugh. 

[saexy]

also umm i completed a year of commission two weeks back!!! thankyou everyone who was a part of this journey!! <33 MUCH LOVEEEE TO YOU ALL <333

[smol-tired-binch-blog]

[kicks door down]

Autistic Nishiki whose special interest is fashion and not only considers what's trendy but also looks out for fabrics that aren't a sensory nightmare, however sometimes he will force himself to wear something that isn't comfy for appearance's sake, which leaves him more vulnerable to getting overwhelmed and therefore 'emotional' Also means he has his collar popped like Kiryu's for sensory reasons too and slutty reasons, which would once again make me correct in saying if he undid his collar in Kiwami he'd be normal again because if I were constantly experiencing sensory discomfort I too would be fucked up and evil.

Cause like here's the thing, autistic Kiryu and Majima headcanons are more obvious (especially the former), whereas Nishiki probably comes off as the most 'normal'; he can likely maintain eye contact and talk to people 'normally' and not like, go off on some random tangent about a special interest or hyperfixation. And then you remember masking is a thing.

And okay, so I actually think it's unfair a lot of fandom considers him a 'crybaby' right, cause he's cried in situations MOST PEOPLE WOULD RIGHTFULLY CRY OVER! BUT, I can use this to my Autistic Advantage and have this be he actually struggles to regulate his emotions, and considering he's been exposed to the yakuza world since a young age where ANY emotion that isn't 'respectable stoicism' or 'righteous fury and indignation', he's seen as even MORE overly emotional. Hence the need to start masking so early, PLUS having to protect Kiryu who couldn't mask if his life depended on it because he doesn't realise he may HAVE to (speaking from personal experience, Kiryu definitely went his whole life unaware there was anything ""wrong"" with him (for lack of a better word) and had people just like "oh yeah he's just Like That dw bout it" and went on with his life), so Nishiki takes up the mantle of I'm The One Who Knows What We're Doing Lad's desperate to gain acceptance and will change whatever he has to but people still somehow pick up that Something's Off About Him and so they tend to be disdainful or brush him off. It's easy charisma that can win over hostesses and brief encounters with civillians but can't carry across in the yakuza. Kiwami is him trying his DAMNDEST to act neurotypical even at the cost of his own comfort, and the worst part is it's not working

[hanasnx]

yea i don’t care harrison ford’s & hayden christensen’s heights are 6’2”

in my head, han solo’s pushing 6’5” and anakin skywalker is 6’5” in his boots. and i live in there

[randys-ranch]

good morning to hypersexuals, hope youre all doing okay today

[theonlythingimfuckingisstupid]

Blood sugar is still low but I just chugged a bottle of root beer so I’m laying down

[chiropteracupola]

but still I keep your hand, as a precious souvenir...

[aria0fgold]

When too lazy to draw but wanna see my own OCs interacting, it's picrew time! With slight annoyance and a lil more added urge to just draw it myself... cuz picrew limitations...

[1st picrew and 2nd picrew] the Flowerheart! My dear children with the slowest slow burn but they're happier in picrew form... Hal is also not supposed to be that pale but it's either him being so pale or being so dark skinned in which case, both are inaccurate orz... Feli's skintone on the 2nd is wrong too but it's pretty accurate on the 1st, it's just that I can't dual colour her hair on the 1st...

[Picrew] My duo ever... Alec and Ray as kids being the happiest ever, I love them...

[Picrew] THE LESBIANS! It's Alec's sister, Elyanore with her future partner Cressida being incredibly flustered to be That close to her senior at school that she secretly idolizes. Her skintone, hair style and hair colour is... pretty inaccurate... but alas... picrew limitations orz...