#largely unedited

[riality-check]

i’ve had a shit day, so that means you all get to have an old drabble! bon appetit.

When he first starts spending the night at Steve’s, Eddie has to admit that, at first, it scares him a little bit. He’d thought he’d gone to bed with Steve “pretty boy” Harrington, but it seems he’s woken up with a demon in his bed. 

Steve’s hair is a rat’s nest, mussed in every direction and breaking at least three laws of physics with how it sticks up. His eyes are doing this freaky half-open thing that reminds Eddie of The Exorcist, for some reason, and his cheek is scrunched up on the pillow, squishing his face to one side. 

To top it all off, his mouth is half open, and he’s snoring. Loudly. 

His morning breath is terrible, but Eddie doesn’t turn away. He should. But he doesn’t. Maybe it’s because this is a Steve no one else gets to see. Maybe because he’s never seen Steve with his face completely at ease and without tension in his shoulders. 

This is a Steve without expectations or pressure. Eddie knows all about that. He got called “the Freak” for the first time in junior year, and it became his word. His armor. 

Let them see what they want to see, he remembers thinking. 

So, he sewed patches on a frayed battle vest and stuck up devil horns and ranted on cafeteria tables about conformity. 

Maybe it’s the same for Steve. “The Hair” turned into the Farrah Fawcett hairspray he refuses to tell anyone else about. “King” became carefully rumpled rich boy clothes and keg stand records. 

“Steve,” Eddie thinks, is this. A squished face on an unmade bed. Messy hair. Morning breath that could kill an orc. 

And Eddie, freakishly, absurdly, thinks Steve is at his prettiest when he looks objectively ugly.

[yinyuedijun]

hi I am testing out whether or not I'm shadowbanned. however I don't want to spam the main tags w irrelevant posts so I am offering this snippet from art of the bedchamber part 2 \o/

tw soggy sfw danheng (pre-1.2)

Dan Heng remembers when he assumed his human form for the first time.

It is a difficult scene to forget: the wreckage of an IPC ship, engulfed in the red glow of emergency lights. A robotic voice signalling the steady loss of air: Attention, attention, the system had blared in a pleasant, sunny tone. Attention to all passengers. The Altair has experienced irreparable damage to its seal. There are 120 minutes until complete oxygen depletion. Please make your way to the lifepods. The Vega is on standby to receive all survivors. Attention, attention.

The PA system said nothing of the vengeful ghost who’d wrought all that destruction—both upon the ship and its passengers. Probably everyone who could have made such an announcement was dead.

Yinyue Jun, the wraith had called him, mara-poisoned eyes shining as his gaze fell upon his features. The same features that Dan Heng was now studying in the broken mirror, fragmented by cracks running through the glass. Dan Feng. Sinner. You’ll never escape your karmic debt. You'll never escape your punishment. I’ll find you whenever you are, no matter how far you run. Even if I forget everything else of my mortal life, I'll never forget your face.

His face.

Dan Heng had never seen much of his own face in the darkness of the Shackling Prison, but he'd been strung up and whipped for its likeness. Punished for whom it once belonged. This is simply the weight of your karma from your past life. It was you who buried your beloved. It was you who nearly destroyed your homeworld. It was your fault, Dan Feng, that she died. How could you do that to her? To your friend? High Elder, do you know how the Vidyadhara suffered for your pride? It is you who is at fault for the deaths of so many of our kin. You, you, you. This is what you deserve, Yinyue Jun, for your arrogance. it matters not if it was your past life, it matters not if you're now a child, you have no right to shed those tears—

Seeing his face—Yinyue Jun's face—for the first time then, with its gleaming irises, its jadeite horns, its otherworldly glow—

—Dan Heng hated it.

His features were a curse, one not unlike the powers he'd inherited. You should never be allowed to roam free, Dan Feng. You cannot be trusted with the powers of a High Elder. Not with how you lost control in your last life.

You are a danger to us all, Dan Feng.

This is what you deserve.

Dan Heng was eager to sculpt a new face for himself. Relieved to lock away his powers. Anxious to paint into existence a dream he’d long imagined as a child. The dull green of his eyes, the short clip of his dark hair, the only hint to his past a cinnabar stroke along his lashline—these were features he’d long envisioned for himself growing up in the Prison, devouring countless novels about worldly life on the Luofu. All those stories about human men and women, leading quaint and romantic lives unfettered by destiny. All those tales about mortals far removed from his existence as a disgraced High Elder.

Looking like this—plain, unassuming, without the marks of a Vidyadhara elder—Dan Heng could pretend to be one of those mortals. He could act like he'd never felt the bite of shackles in his wrists. Like he'd never felt the burn of a welt slashed across his back. Like he'd grown up in sunlight, not the darkness of a cell.

He could act as if he were in control of his own destiny.

It would be impossible, of course, to truly entertain these delusions. But he still likes to imagine it every now and then—particularly with you, nowadays. He thinks of it when he stares at your reflections in the mirror in the early morning, brushing your teeth side by side. He thinks of it when sees the photos that March 7th has taken of the two of you, pinned up conspicuously on your bedroom walls. He especially thinks of it when he catches himself looking at the selfies that you always insist on taking with him—which is very often, given how you like to snatch his phone and update his lockscreen with them.

To the uninformed eye, all of these scenes make the two of you look like a simple, human couple—one right out of a novel.

Dan Heng thinks about this most often: a normal life with you, in which he is not burdened with the title of Yinyue Jun. In which there is no chance of staining your future with the transgressions of his past. In which you’ve never once been hurt because of his relation to Dan Feng, and where you will never be hurt again.

If paradise is but a dream, he thinks, gazing at the contours of your soft expression, then I wish to sleep forever.

dividers by @/cafekitsune!

[sysig]

Obviously I had to make it a thing (Patreon)

Spoilers for Handplates! Make sure you’re all caught up before continuing!

I ended up scene-picking around the timeline at pretty-much-random, whatever I thought fit the lyrics the best in the moment of blinding inspiration (lol), but now that I’ve got the basics down to paper, I think I’d more carefully choose in mostly-chronological order. That also means some would have to be cut, so I want to show them off here! :D I also drew them all from memory so if there’s inconsistencies, that’s why lol

For example this is one of the very early lyrics, but the events take place well down the timeline! I’m sure I can find a good stand in - mostly I just wanted to draw Papyrus from this scene, ugh I love him ♥ And the lyrics do fit!

Looking back to Sans for reassurance haha. I changed a few of the lyrics to be more Papyrus-specific -

- also featured here! He’s got the Gaster pose going on here hehe, and cutting around in time of him in Snowdin and also back at Asgore’s, him reassuring Asgore about Sans’ HP is so cute, I had to make reference to it haha

Happiest little sibling spinnies <3 <3 Probably the cutest panel of the whole bunch honestly haha ♥ Their little faces!! Ugh 💕

One of those instances of the lyrical contradictions, and I think I would keep this jump forward - everything has changed! And they’re really not okay, but they have each other

The one makes me laugh honestly, a bit dark lol. All their safe people, except for the two that take up the rear of each. I mean, technically it’s not inaccurate with Flowey’s, he won’t be alone! Unfortunately. The human, well

Started settling into a rhythm by this point, and rather pleased for it :) Poor Papyrus! He didn’t do anything wrong and he still has all these sad feelings about it!

All catching up to him :( You can only run from and ignore your problems for so long - this line feels so him, dealing with what their world is and all that entails, poorly

I appreciate the fact that Papyrus has this dream several times, it fits lots of places! Gaster look what you did to him even when you don’t exist anymore

Papyrus as an adult! Though he also is in the one with him and Sans dream-sharing. Things start breaking real bad for him, I’m still not over how good this song is lol

I did admittedly go a little over-the-top with these, he was not crying this much but I just jsalfdjfds this scene is so- much. So much! The lyrics goaded me, blame them haha - and also the attention to his neck! Even if it’s not in reference to choking on tears specifically, still drawn to the same place! I love Sans going to comfort him as well as rally him ahhhhh

I got his Soul glitches wrong haha, but seriously! This song, I swear!!

A bit of irony - he’s being heard! So much! Just not listened to. I am so enamoured with his pose callbacks throughout the entire comic ugh, so beautifully done

Handing off the song for a moment to someone who actually can rewind it - I don’t think I’ve ever drawn a Genocide Run human now that I think of it :0 It was so satisfying to draw Gaster kneeling on the ground like that haha, contact points were - on point ✨ for this doodle session hehehe

Originally I had his glow coloured in purple but this was one that I actually went back to look at (because I love this scene so much hhgggg <3 <3 <3) and had to change to his natural colour - he deserves it!! He’s earned it!!

I’ve honestly fallen more in love with this song through him and vice versa haha ♪ It’d be quite a bit before/if I could make a full version, even just with what I’ve got here, but it was so fun to draw at all ♥

[vroombeams]

💙 for paring of ur choice?

thank u nonnie!!! here is your 💙drunken kiss💙 from the kiss prompt game with oscarmark because i have lost control of my life 😙

The Leclerc boy’s been all over Oscar all night. Of course Mark’s not bothered by it. Why would he be?

It’s just that Arthur Leclerc has that same kind of charm that his older brother has. A bit dumb on the outside, pretty, charismatic. Very touchy. Very willing to get into personal space without really thinking much of it, which is what he’s doing with Oscar right now. They’re both a little drunk, Mark thinks. Mark’s also… very drunk. He should know better by now.

He orders another whiskey anyway. Turns away for ten seconds to pick it up from the bar and when he turns back Arthur has his palm pressed up against Oscar’s, laughing brightly, comparing the size of their hands. Something childishly intimate. 

Just a week ago, Oscar had cornered Mark in the back of the garage. No one else around. Just a week ago, Oscar had backed Mark into a wall, tugging him in by his pass lanyard, pulling him down for a kiss. Of course Mark had turned him down. Of course Mark had pushed him away, gentle hand to Oscar’s wrist, down, down. Not here. Not now. Preferably not ever, if Mark keeps his head. 

But that was a week ago. A week ago Oscar wanted Mark and Mark had told him no. And now Oscar’s smiling, sun-like, with Leclerc speaking so close to his ear that Mark can see his lips brush its pinking shell.

Mark downs his whiskey. He crosses the room, unthinking. Not keeping his head at all.

“Mind if I borrow Oscar a minute,” Mark says once he’s in earshot, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. Takes Oscar’s arm and hauls him toward the back of the club, a quieter, darker place, where Mark won’t have to face himself so starkly.

Oscar doesn’t look overly shocked, when Mark can look at him. When Mark can pull him around and push him back against the wall. He doesn’t look surprised or afraid. Curious, maybe. Hazy-eyed with drink he shouldn’t be having, pink in the cheeks. Curious, curious.

Mark grips his arm tighter. Oscar blinks. Mark bends to kiss him hard on the mouth.

It’s still too loud back here to hear the exact sound Oscar makes. It doesn’t matter, really, if it’s surprised or upset or pleased. Mark swallows it down regardless, when Oscar’s lips part to make it. Swallows and licks into Oscar’s mouth, tongue across the edges of his front teeth, the tender palate of his mouth. 

And then he pulls back. His chest is tight and heavy. Oscar’s eyes are closed and his mouth stays open and partly puckered like he’s expecting more.

Mark’s already given too much. “No more,” he says. “Not tonight.” Not here. Not now.

Oscar blinks his eyes open and now he looks confused, mouth twisting. On the precipice of petulance. Mark ruffles his hair and he leaves him there, confused and frustrated and whatever else he might be. Doesn’t matter right now.

Mark needs another drink.

[animasola86]

Dissecting the Intro 2/6

We usually see just a tiny bit of his back and top hat - but he is there, fully animated and lit. (His coat was glitchy though.)

Victor Rookwood

Had to include the ridiculous Apparition animation. Too funny.

(I dedicate this to @rookwoodswife <3)

Part 1: London, 1890 Part 3: Hogwarts Carriage Part 4: Dragon Attack Part 5: Falling Part 6: Squirrel + MC Showcase

[springtrappd]

dug up an old oneshot/study about afton (on elizabeth) that i wrote in maybe an hour back in january that i never shared outside discord.........

[time-for-crows]

Trying to find a blind playthrough of p3reload for my friend to watch is so hard. The exact moment she mentions she might be interested and I can’t find vods of someone who hasn’t played the original… EVIL

[silkhy-john]

Here’s a snippet of something else:

[alpinelogy]

Hiiii....just stopping by to say your lolex fic had me in chokehold. So yeah that... also hypotethically, do they talk it out the morning(?) after?? You don't have to answer (pls do) oh no..

Thank you sm for the lolex sargebon pieces out there, loved your previous lolex christmas one✨️

Hi sorry for taking so long to answer I wanted to respond to this after asks from a fic ask game from two weeks ago but well… to the people who sent in asks, those are cooking I promise adfsdgfh

First of all, thank you so much for reading!! I was nervous to post it because this is slightly too close to smut for what I usually write but I am so happy people like it so much 🥺

Second of all, I left the ending purposefully vague BUT I refuse to write/accept a sad ending so in my heart they do in fact talk it out the morning after and reach an agreement they are both happy with. What that is I have no idea but I believe in them!!

I hope to write more sargebon soon!! I have been sort of dry on ideas over the winter but I trust that team torque will in fact bring back inspiration and vibes for something shorter (and maybe something longer as well) once I get around to watching it :3c

[spellmage]

started multiplayer with my brother and i finally get to talk about bash, my large bard who sometimes wears a stupid cowboy hat (he thinks it makes him look less intimidating. it does not)

he's been living in my mind for weeks while i was waiting for my brother to finish his first playthrough. bash is rattling the bars of his enclosure he wants to lovingly insult everyone to death

bonus under the cut: my brother's character

he wanted to make a guy who was so edgy and i think he succeeded

[pleckthaniel]

it’s about the Thing: on toxic femininity

the privileged white lady Thing. the karen Thing. the dance moms Thing and the wholefoods housewife Thing. the Thing where your emotions are always everyone else’s problem, where anything that decenters Your feelings is the worst fucking thing in the universe, regardless of the material reality of the situation or how anyone else’s feelings factor in. total entitlement to the inner lives of the people around you. because you’re an empath. and a nurturer. and a mom. so you understand everyone and you, the perpetual victim, are never fully understood, and even if someone tries they can’t completely upend this dynamic because to do so would be to limit your access to the Thing.

this is the Thing that has so long prevented me from having emotions. partly because Mom does it, and her mom too. within the framework of the Thing, there is a hierarchy of Thing users. the alpha bitch is the one who is most frequently and openly allowed to do the Thing. betas are only permitted to be unpleasant either when the alpha isn’t present - making them a temporary alpha - or when it suits the alpha to step into her nurturer role. otherwise they have to grin and bear it, with the promise that one day they’ll have their own families on which to inflict the Thing. the Thing is your birthright. it’s the Thing that allows you to survive your own mother, this thought of becoming her to your daughters. it’s the payment for pushing all your unpleasantness down for a few decades: being able to spew it all out on your family and community for the rest of your natural lifespan.

it’s part, i think, of why so many women seem to view their eldest daughters as threats - not because they truly believe, deep down, that their daughters are going to steal their husbands or whatever but because they recognize that another adult or “adult” woman in the house is a threat to their position as the sole user of the Thing. suddenly, she is no longer the only one who can leverage victimhood and tears, and in fact might be at a disadvantage since the other user has the advantage of innocence on her side.

the other reason the Thing has prevented me from developing any meaningful level of emotional intelligence or maturity is because, as a beta bitch and a people-pleaser, i was nearly always on the receiving end of the Thing for the first two decades of my life. when young, i tried to leverage it to my own advantage, as anyone would. screaming, crying, manipulating and externalizing, without ever engaging in the kind of self-reflection, calm expression, or open conversation that could prevent those things from needing to pass. this is understandable, since i was a child. what’s disturbing is how much this behavior was mirrored and encouraged by the adults around me. when i engaged in the Thing unsuccessfully, my punishment was to be the victim of it from my mother. when i was successful, though, i was rewarded with the unquestioning obedience we’re trained to meet the Thing with.

when, in middle school, i first started to notice the Thing and how bad it felt to be targeted by it, i wanted out immediately. i did not want to ever again be the one inflicting the Thing on another person. but when you’re raised in an environment where nearly every adult woman you know is a frequent dallier in the Thing, and you are the only one who seems to see anything at all wrong with the Thing, and people are actively gaslighting you about the harm that the Thing does, you don’t magically develop emotional maturity just by deciding that you don’t want to do the Thing.

people deal with it in different ways, probably, but i dealt with it by turning off my emotions. i couldn’t risk becoming my mother and doing the Thing, but as far as i could tell from my life experience, the Thing was the only possible way to deal with emotion. the only other model i had for inner life was the Thing’s opposite: toxic masculinity, and the associated cycles of shame, internalization, self-denial.

it wasn’t like i sat down and planned it, but watching the Thing play out over and over in front of me, the only option for living with it that looked remotely appealing was in the blank faces of the checked-out fathers and husbands accompanying their alpha bitch wives. be supportive, keep all your shit to yourself, deal with it later. or don’t deal with it; if you bottle it up well enough, you don’t need to. now that seemed like a plan.

so i quit having emotions. or at least, i tried. you can’t actually do that, it’s impossible with how the human brain is wired, but i turned off all my immediate emotional reactions and all my self-awareness and it seemed good enough to adolescent me. of course, no longer cognizantly expressing your emotions does not mean they are no longer being expressed, it just means that you’ve avoiding the problem. they tend to leak out.

for most men, this leakage comes in the form of excess anger, one of the few emotional expressions that men are socially permitted to engage in even by the toxic law of the Thing. for me, it came in the form of happy tears. i started to be known as a crier whenever any good thing happened. id never been this way before but i took it as a good sign. wow, how mature and evolved i must be to be so in tune with my own joy as to cry from it!

whoops, i would realize years later. that was my brain jumping on the single opportunity available to me where shedding tears was seen as OK and normal and i could therefore rid myself of a yearslong buildup of sad chemicals in my skull. because i was still a teenage girl, i had to abide by the laws of the Thing which declared i could not be sad unless my mother had pre-condoned it by asking me about something she decided was wrong and invited me to share about my feelings on it. but because i had subscribed, unconsciously, to a different Thing, i was playing by the rules of two games at once and this was the only overlapping opportunity. or maybe it was just the only way i could consistently emotionally overwhelm myself enough to provoke an undeniable reaction. joy was rare for me at that time.

both of these Things are two sides of the same self-harming coin that tells us emotion is a bad thing. under the model of the Thing, the goal is not to experience our lives and emotions but to avoid dealing with the things that make us unhappy at all cost, because to do so would be to rock the boat, incite change and that is far more uncomfortable, the Thing tells us, than just not dealing with your shit.

i’ve started working on having feelings again, which is to say that im learning for the first time how to identify feelings in my body and in my thought patterns, and how to live through them instead of being immediately triggered into the panic that the Thing encourages. to be honest, i kind of hate it a lot of the time. when i ignored my emotions all the time, i felt more efficient. i was productive, and i was good at making friends, and my life looked right from the outside.

this is the goal of the Thing: allowing us to build a house of cards. a castle, even, if we so dream. but as soon as you take the first steps toward an actually healthy experience, the entire Thing collapses. the shivering child inside is left out in the rain, and, since our journey is just beginning, we’ve only got a brick or two with which to shelter him.

sometimes i feel like a robot who’s just woken up to find i was freed and reprogrammed without my consent. i was perfectly well-adjusted, i was happy, i want to say, but i can’t because i didn’t even really know what happiness was before, i was just not sad because i wasn’t anything and that seemed like it was as good as it was ever going to get. and it makes me bitter, ungrateful even because this change is not something that the old me wanted, at all, and it is not something she thought she needed, at all.

i do need it, i know. and i want it now, too, even if it is exhausting. i’m just really not prepared to face myself. it’s bizarre after being told for years that i was ‘mature’ and ‘self-aware’ to realize that those things were not even remotely true for most of my life. people talk a lot about how ‘mature’ is teacher-speak for an emotionally neglected child, but ive never seen anyone talk about how ‘self-aware’ is therapist-speak for the same thing. it means “you’re easy like this, so i’m not going to bother actually helping you.” fuck those teachers and fuck those therapists.

i guess the point of all this is to say that i grew up seeing two sides to every story : the male and the female. two sides of the same coin both embossed with the very same Thing, and neither ever getting the full picture. it is a cycle of emotional neglect and violence that is deeply, deeply embedded into white middle-class american culture and which those of us who live there steep in for decades without ever being fully aware. it is a cycle that for the most part, we can’t address because we fucking idolize it. or at least we tend to idolize our own side of the coin, and villainize the other. this, too, is part of the Thing. we can’t keep blaming outgroups for our own emotional toxicity.

the way forward: it’s neither male nor female. neither externalizing nor internalizing. it’s just having the courage to fucking face your shit like an adult and take responsibility for it, and fucking gender roles while you’re at it because why not.

at least, i think. i’m still at the part where i only have a couple bricks, a pile of cards, and a shivering small wet thing next to me in the rain. but i do prefer this to the house of cards. at least this way i can acknowledge the problems.

[aclosetfan]

"be more careful next time. i don't want to bandage you up again" buttercup taking care of bubbles (or blossom) after a monster fight? just butters showing her love for her sisters through acts of service. thanks ily ‹3

haha, hey anon, we both agree "time" is just a concept, right? sorry it took so long :(

If you forgot this prompt is for this ask game!

content warning: vague body horror/gore, major character death (sorta?)

a/n: experimenting with writing styles, the pacing isn’t my norm.

----------------------------------------------------

"You know, forget what that huffy college advisor said, I think you'd make a great nurse!" Bubbles chirped, trying to break the nearly suffocating silence. It hung so heavy around the two of them, it felt as if someone or something was sitting on her chest, force feeding guilt and anxiety straight down her throat.

Silence aside, Bubbles was only telling the truth. First-aid was something Buttercup was apt at doing, given all the fights she had been in, and really, honestly, she should have been doing it professionally, if she didn’t have such lousy bedside manners.

Buttercup's jaw clenched and her nostrils flared as she spat out through gritted teeth, "shut up."

"I'm serious!" Bubbles protested, "Really, honestly, Butters, you'd make a great nurse."

Buttercup slammed a roll of bandages down on the tray beside her and shoot up out of her seat. She walked a few feet away and kicked over another freestanding tray, spilling its contents onto the ground.

"You know damn well that isn't what I meant!" Buttercup seethed, turning around to point a shaky finger at her.

Bubbles didn't even flinch. She sat still, taking in the angry flush running across her sister's face and the fire in her eyes before deflating.

"I know," She whispered, "I know it isn't."

Bubbles let her gaze drop to her hands. They were wrapped up in gauze, just like most of the rest of her body, making her look like some modern day mummy. If she had been human, she would have been dead, but Chemical-X, that wonderful, mysterious chemical, was one heck of a life saver! Her skin was still healing, however, burnt, bubbling, and smelling of rot and decay.

It was so...strange, how bullets bounced off her, but still left bruises, and acid did nothing to her body, but still stung, and lava was like water, but still burnt, and the sun's rays only left cumbersome sunburns, but HIM's mist, at least, in that moment, when she had lunged towards Blossom before her sister had disappeared into that dark red haze, had felt like nothing, and yet, had left her body almost beyond repair.

Her bandages were neat and tidy, Buttercup made sure of that everyday when they needed changing. The Professor had offered to do it, but her sister had insisted, and Bubbles preferred it that way. She could deal with Buttercup's anger, but the distraught, broken look in the Professor's eyes was too much to bear. It only reminded her of the things she'd rather forget, of her failures, of Blossom. Not that she was having any trouble remembering on her own.

She felt a crying sensation behind her eyes start to swell, closing her throat and stuffing up her nose, but no tears came out. She had no more to spare. It was almost a miracle. Her, Bubbles Utonium, had no more tears to spare.

For what it was worth, she gave it her best try.

Dry, heaving sobs echoed throughout the lab-turned-med bay, and Bubbles wished she could stop. It hurt to cry, but everything hurt, so it didn't make much of a difference.

"I'm sorry," She choked, sounding almost as desperate, but more borderline hysterical, "I'm so, so sorry! She—she was right there! She was right there!"

"Bubbles, wait, don't," Buttercup pleaded desperately, "don't cry."

"She's gone!" She wailed over Buttercup’s protests, thrashing around and pulling on her IVs, "She's gone! And it's all my fault!"

Firm hands carefully clutched her own, keeping her still. "Stop," Buttercup ordered, "stop. You're going to hurt yourself."

"What's that matter!" She hissed, "What does any of it matter!"

“I’ll get her back!” Buttercup yelled, her voice cracking, “I promise! I’ll get her back, now, please! Stop!” 

“How!” Bubbles cried back, “How! She’s gone! I killed her!”

“I don’t know!” She shouted, her eyes shiny. Buttercup sunk down into a squat, and when she spoke again, her words came out around a half-formed sob, “I don’t know.” Buttercup cradled her head, “I almost lost both of you, please, just, please be more careful, okay? I can’t—I don’t want to bandage you up again.”

“Please,” Her sister begged, speaking into her hands.

They sat there in silence as Bubbles observed Buttercup, realizing for the first time, that the toughest out of all of them, the doer, was unable to do anything at all but fix her bandages. Her perfectly wrapped, clean bandages. It was only then that Bubbles felt her heart fill with something she had thought died along with Blossom. 

It felt like love. It felt like hope. Whatever it was, she clung to it.

“Okay,” Bubbles agreed after another long, painful silence, punctuated only by Buttercup’s quiet sobs. “I’ll be more careful.”

[bitd]

dear magnus (SUPER old oc project) is on my mind again and its like. magnus + washington are so funny. [shows up at your house because its the apocalypse and i dont know where else to go] Um hi

[haitani-plague]

wait i remember now 😭 but do it. write that essay. i wanna know what ran would be like in to be alone.

bby i'm gonna dive in as much as i can hehe. i feel like this song fits hanma too but i'm looking at this through the lens of ran! my thoughts will be under the cut. the song discussed is To Be Alone - Hozier. link to listen is here!

In the first verse we're met with the lyrics "All I've ever done is hide / From our times, when you're near me", which points out how Ran isn't someone that is immediately vulnerable. He's often one to run at the start of a relationship, as despite his romantic tendencies he's wary of the reality of it. The lyric afterwards, however, show him opening up.This is shown when Hozier writes "honey, when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes/ I feel like a person for a moment of my life". While I agree with the interpretation of him refering to rejuvenation through sex, I also believe that he is writing about feeling safe enough to open yourself up to another person. The source material around Ran and his brother tell us that they were brought up in a world of violence, not necessarily conducive to self awareness or the ability to appear unguarded in any capacity, which is what makes that lyric all the more important in my eyes. An environment like that often results in self alienation in a way that it almost dehumanising, and so a reminder of his humanity is exactly what Ran craves.

The chorus then details his struggles with the prospect I think, especially with how he refers to the situation as "hell". For context, the full lyric reads:

"But you don't know what hell you put me through To have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you To feel your weight in arms I'd never use It's the God that heroin prays to"

To me it speaks of the sweet struggle of being involved with anyone - the initial fear of vulnerability, the work you put in and then, finally, the pay-off. The phrasing used seems almost like horror, like the writer feels unworthy? But by the end of it we see that he revels in it, the fact that he's wanted. All anyone wants is so be desired in some way - its part of the human experience. In relation to Ran, I think that he just wants to love and be loved despite what he has done. It's a reinforcement of his humanity, and the repetition of "it feels good" just strengthens my claim.

The second verse strikes me as an ode to the adoration he holds for his lover. I'll admit there isn't much material here that stands out to me in this context, but the final lines of the verse do. While I don't believe Ran would necessarily chose to leave the lifestyle he's chosen, I do think he'd try his best to keep his love safe from it. He acknowleges the dangers of his world ("not a trace of me would argue"). The last line reads "our baby and her momma, and the damaged love she made". Again I'm pointing out how he is a romantic, but one who's romance is grounded in reality. There is no such thing as perfection, and love isn't easy, especially in his line of work but it's something he's willing to work for.

The last thing I would like to point out is the reversal of the pre-chorus, where Hozier talks of "kiss[ing] the skin that crawls from you". It highlights Ran's commitment, almost, in that he's as devoted to you as you are to him. It's mutual obsession, an urge to love someone through anything as long as you both are a burden to each other.

And I think that's it! If you read it all, thank you.

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited) inexperienced simon.

your lips are soft against his, plush and warm; you taste like the fruity gum you always chew and he hesitantly licks into your mouth to get a deeper taste. his large, strong hands tighten on the fat of your hips, pawing and kneading when you moan at the feel of his tongue diffident on yours; your pretty little hands cradling his face and body pressing impossibly closer.

the movie that's flickering in the background is nothing more than a soft drone in his ears, dull and distorted; he can only hear your breathy moans and the wet sound of your messy kissing. it makes his head spin, makes his heart race in his chest and he's sure that you can feel it against your breasts. the weight of your body nestled in his lap, ass perched on his bulge and thighs caged on either side of him; makes his hands clammy, a low, desperate whimper rumbling in his chest.

heaving breaths are taken when you pull away from the kiss, simon's usual shell-pink, thin lips are swollen and tinted with a rosy hue. his eyebrows knit together and his teeth dig into the softness of his bottom lip as your kisses descend upon the rounded angle of his jawline; teeth nipping and mouth suckling upon the skin, your tongue lavishing attention on every inch.

you can feel the soft tremble of his fingers, the gentle bounce of his knee; the tapping of his bare feet on the hardwood floor. his grip tightens, a delicious ache on your hips as he moans, a soft hissed whimper coming from his parted lips. the sound of your soft chuckle feels almost mocking and simon's chin sets; lips almost pouty as he goes to speak, however, his words die on his tongue the moment you're sucking the sensitive skin on his neck.

his eyes flutter back and he practically whimpers your name, a guttural plea as his hips buck up and roll for a brief moment before his thighs tremble and a flurry of whispered curses spews from his mouth. he hugs your body close, burying his face into the warm curve of your neck as he cums in his pants. simon feels your gentle retreat, the soft caress of your hand cradling his cheek, your voice all pretty and breathless. "did you just…?"

"fuckin'…." simon is still cumming in thick spurts, hands keeping your hips steady, his head reclining onto the back of the couch. his skin is flushed red and you can't help but lean forward and press a kiss to his adams apple, his hips jolting beneath you again. "…yeah." he confirms, it's such a breathless, needy sound that you coo and lave softly at the bruises forming on his skin. "can you do it again?"