#unable to look away

[headlesssamurai]

[nemurian]

@bigboobyhalo Your sacrifices have been accepted by the great Dapper. I'm so sorry but I don't think you'll be getting them back anytime soon. Or ever.

[anotherdescentintomadness]

The Sunflower and His Sun

Painted for a lovely moot on Xitter

[espighty]

Warm blanket and Cool side of the pillow type pairing

They disgust me.

[braisedhoney]

it’s the not knowing that makes it difficult.

[fuckthemforthis]

And he lives carefree, forever captured in a moment of simple joy.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

everybody stay with me im shifting back into speculation & analyzing mode, this time about everybody's favorite pair of besties. ill put this under the cut for everyone's sakes

and please, take all of this with a Hefty grain of salt.

so ive been... thinking about a thing. a maybe-possibility. which if this has some merit, the part of me that loves characters having a good time and feeling good feels is screaming in fear. but the louder part of me that loves angst and hurting characters is rubbing its little fly hands together.

short version: i think Barnaby is going to emotionally distance from Wally, if not outright grow to resent him. maybe temporarily, maybe not.

full version: *cracks knuckles* strap in folks. so.

first of all, an entire chunk of Barnaby's bio is dedicated to his character relation to Wally. everyone else only has one-off lines dedicated to their relationships to other neighbors - even Frank & Julie just have single sentences about each other (note that they're described as "partnered with" and "depicted with" respectively. more on that soon). even Wally's bio has his Barnaby mention tacked onto the end of his first paragraph instead of being its own dedicated section

and then there's their character designs - their bios explicitly point out that they share characteristics; color schemes, hearts on their soles, similar outfits.

they were made to be best friends. literally. this quote is what made me start turning this theory over in my mind (sourced from @ /theneighborhoodwatch's collected & absolutely fascinating livestream trivia)

it appears that Barnaby literally did not have a say in whether or not he and Wally are friends. their bios even say "illustrated pages note that they were best friends multiple times." they have to be best friends.

which brings us back to Frank & Julie. they briefly reference each other in their bios, but they aren't described as best friends. it's incredibly likely that they were meant to be a romantic couple - i briefly covered that theory in this post (dont read the first one i was going insane) but they managed to avoid that. Frank and Julie defied the script and chose to be best friends instead.

and then in the trivia document a few more character relationships are briefly touched on, like how Howdy considers Barnaby a close friend, and Sally considers either Barnaby or Poppy as her closest friend, etc.

everyone else seems to be choosing who they're close with. they're forming their own opinions and dynamics and relationships. & its interesting that Barnaby is stated for both of these - as if implying that he may return the friendship feelings, or at the very least he's developed enough of a relationship with them to earn their affection

Barnaby and Wally... i doubt they ever got that. they were best friends from the start, no development, no choice. it's written into them.

and then there's how their relationship has been portrayed so far. i believe i saw an ask where Clown stated that Barnaby is very polite to Wally, which struck me as odd. have you ever had a polite relationship to your best friend? have you ever seen best friends be polite? i'd be surprised!

best friends mess with each other! they tease and rib and roast! what is a best friend for if not mutual tomfuckery?! jesting around? playfully pushing boundaries? a Polite best friendship... that's a straight up oxymoron. no such thing. that sounds boring and exhausting.

not only that, but the fact that Barnaby is often used for Wally's painting segments, and is the go-to guy for teaching Wally something new, is kind of concerning. it gives me the vibe that a big part of Barnaby's literal reason for existing is to be Wally's friend & guide.

which would make the fact of him being described as polite to Wally make sense. of course he's not going to push their relationship or try to deepen it - he's forming his own dynamics with the other neighbors. with Wally... it's already established. that is how they are with each other. that is what they are to each other.

and it's not like Wally can be the one to introduce nuances. i don't mean that as a slight or anything - he's just the way he's been described and the things stated about him that make me think that he wouldn't really... know how to? it just wouldn't occur to him. he probably thinks his and Barnaby's relationship is what a best friendship is and is how it should be.

but they have to hang out. they have to refer to each other as best friends. and while i believe that Wally does wholeheartedly think that they're best friends, close as can be... i doubt Barnaby feels the same. like - yes, he probably does care about Wally. everybody likes Wally.

but it's gotta be frustrating for Barnaby, especially as time goes on and he becomes more himself as a person over just being a character playing a part. it probably stunts his relationship growth with others, since his ~best friend spot~ is already taken and who would want to encroach on that? especially since its taken by Wally mcfuckin Darling?

their friendship might become less of a role and more of a responsibility. Barnaby might grow to feel obligated to stick with Wally as his "best friend". someone invites Barnaby to hang out and/or help with something? sorry, he has to pose for Wally's painting. Barnaby is trying to do his own thing? sorry, Wally is knocking on the door and asking for help with something.

i wonder if Barnaby ever hopes that Wally will go to someone else, or feels relief when he does. and then does he feel irritation/guilt over that denied hope or that granted relief? then does he get angry at himself for those emotions?

how would this effect how he treats Wally and acts around him? this confusing muddle of emotions and this strange growing resentment for his painfully earnest friend who only ever means well, if he means at all.

it makes me curious whether or not this theory has merit. and how this could come to a head. what would Barnaby, in this situation, do if/when he discovers that they're puppets on a set, and he's literally written to be Wally's bestie while everyone else changed their scripts and chose their own relationships.

personally, i don't think he'd be happy, and i doubt he'd handle it well.

[respectthepetty]

THIS!

This is the toxic bitch energy I'm talking about!

This is that good shit!

Being a witness to all the destruction.

Yet being unable to do anything to stop it.

This friend group is toxic

but all these men clearly see what they are dealing with

and they still won't walk away.

I love it here.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Headcannon that Kisaki has a small dick and he's super embarrassed about it. But you don't mind and you tease him by saying “You've got a small dick, baby? That's ok, it just means it's easier for me to take all of you in my mouth”

Minors DNI plz

[saccharinescorpion]

hahaha... ah...

[iwoulddieforienzo]

Miyabi and Tatsuya are the “my boyfriend doesn’t remember me because he’s in another timeline and I am DEVASTATED” gang

[lunarharp]

the flash and the flood

[almightyshadowchan]

Happy New Year!

(If this were a fanfiction, this would be about the time Sasuke goes Oh.)

[mercymaker]

astarion x inexperienced tav who's prone to overthinking

after defeating the netherbrain and leaving most of the chaos behind, they could finally focus on the journey that awaited them—without the world’s fate depending on their choices.

astarion took his time getting to know her the way he couldn’t before. he would ask her to play with herself, so as to memorize all the places she liked to be touched.

he'd watch mal, naked, sprawled on the bed for him, back resting comfortably against the headboard, legs bent at the knees as her fingers roamed freely, touching and rubbing the places that yearned to be caressed. despite all his experience and restraint, he'd soon find himself itching to join her, teetering on the edge of just going for it—taking in the visuals and all they did for him. how uncomfortable his cock felt inside his pants, how deep was the desire to relieve the pressure. all only matched by the urge to pounce on her—to feel the slick warmth against his length.

astarion would sit there and think about the way he could stroke her glistening folds with his tip, make her whimper, and when she couldn't deny how desperate she was for him, only then he would reward her. but before he could go any further with those thoughts, he'd notice her getting frustrated, unsure of what to do with herself, brows furrowed as maleane desperately chased the feelings of pleasure and release, now both fleeting. the vampire spawn would watch her expression for a while, trying to determine what was wrong from the changes in her face.

maleane would look back at him, as if searching for help and he'd soon step in, as always, kissing her, moving his hands to her breasts, her waist, until one found its way between her legs to tangle alongside her own fingers. and yet, when he'd move his lips away he would catch a glimpse of worry in her eyes. mal's frustrations would bubble to the surface. because pleasing herself was hard and it didn't feel as good as she'd wanted to. because she was overthinking everything, the thread was slipping, and soon the frantic thoughts would take her completely out of it. the sorcerer wouldn't want to be touched at all.

they’d try again, of course. another time, with more help from astarion—his voice, his instructions—to touch herself. he'd tell mal what he saw, how delicious she looked, how she was turning him on, how he wanted to touch her. he'd confess every single thing he'd like to do to her, how he wanted to explore her body, how he wanted to give her pleasure. how badly he wanted to hear her sing his name.

and through it all, he would see her getting closer, with eyes shut, fingers moving and voice breaking. mal would get lost in the picture he’d painted for her, and he too would see colors he had never noticed before. the little gasps of pleasure were all the encouragement he’d need to begin stroking himself. but he would nonetheless continue, albeit in a breathier tone. maleane would hear every detail on how he’d give anything to taste her, to have her, to indulge in her. and before he could even begin to name all the perverted things he'd make her try, she'd be unfurling in front of him—toes curled, muscles tensed, fingers sore—finally orgasming before him.

[introspectivememories]

touch-starved bernard dowd is sooo canon to me

[necropathys]

A with Swad for the mini fic thing? :3

Fire, flames, or excessive heat.

swapdreammare flavored. wc: 862

"Let me look at you, darling." It wasn't a mere request; despite Nightmare's resistance, the magical chains pulled him closer to his captor with a single, compelling tug.

As his brother neared, the heat radiating from Dream stilled Nightmare's writhing and dissolved his struggle against the ethereal bonds. Fear transformed him into a trembling statue of stone, his SOUL pulsating in a rhythmic staccato within his chest, as if attempting to escape through his throat, rendering him breathless.

This was it, the moment he anticipated as his death knell. There seemed to be no other outcome.

All his futile struggling amounted to nothing. How pitiful.

He expected Dream's clawed hand to reach for his ribcage, to grasp the last Negative Apple, the final fruit Dream had been denied, and bring an end to Nightmare's existence.

Yet, he was blindsided when the hand instead caressed his face. Dream's fervor manifested in sharpened phalanges, leaving impossibly thin lines of violet in their wake, like delicate scars on porcelain.

The sting of the scratches paled in comparison to the burning heat radiating from the touch, akin to concentrated flame brushing against his cheekbones. The sensation prompted Nightmare to jerk away in an attempt to escape, but Dream was persistent.

"Hush, dear. It's alright," Dream's dulcet voice echoed in Nightmare's ears, a familiar attempt at consolation from times long past. "I just want to see you, brother." He soothed, while Nightmare hissed and struggled fruitlessly in his grasp. "It's been so long…" Dream's tone held a strange flatness, as if he couldn't decide on the emotion to convey.

Nightmare didn't understand.

Dream's proximity allowed him to feel the bite of incandescent feathers brushing against him. The texture of the long jacket enveloping Dream, accompanied by the burn of raw magic searing clothing and bones, left a vivid imprint. The scent of sulfur and an alluring sweetness invaded his senses, accompanied by the subtle sound of quiet cracking.

Long, elegant fingers traced the planes of his skull, leaving a tingling sensation somewhere between pleasure and pain. Initially frenzied, Dream's hands fell into a less hurried exploration, their touch indulgent and almost languid. The power held within those hands pulsed just beneath the surface, and being cradled by them felt strange and foreign. Nightmare couldn't recall the last time someone willingly touched him, and the urge to lean into the touch was difficult to suppress.

"You've gotten so handsome. You really did blossom from a duckling that followed my every step into a gorgeous swan," Dream cooed through Nightmare's heavy confusion. He didn't understand what was happening. Wasn't Dream supposed to kill him? To reclaim what Nightmare had stolen?

Why else would Dream pursue him so violently? Why else would he ensure that everyone hated Nightmare, spreading Positivity to the point where his existence was shunned if not despised?

"I've missed you so much, brother," Dream murmured, close enough for Nightmare to feel his hot breath. Trembling, a part of him wanted and ached—I miss you too, please I just want to go home—but the rest of him remained trapped in terror.

The feeling of danger never relented, even as his older brother appeared almost docile. He could still see the ruins of the city he had hidden in, the scent of dust and debris obscured by Dream's overpowering fragrance. The once-blue sky was awash in oranges and yellows.

"…Aren't you going to kill me?" Nightmare eventually asked, uncertain of what to make of any of this. Dream's words twisted around his mind, but he wasn't sure how to interpret them.

"Wherever did you get that idea?" Dream replied, sounding offended at the notion.

Nightmare opened and closed his mouth several times, torn between bewilderment and the sheer task of explaining the viciousness that Dream unleashed every time they clashed. Words failed him.

He shifted slightly, the crunch of broken glass beneath the well-worn soles of his boots. Dream's hands followed his movement, unerring in their task. Broken and shining eyes never strayed from their target.

"I only want you to stay with me, dear," Dream murmured sweetly, his voice smooth and seductive like dripping honey. A thumb traced the curve of Nightmare's mouth, even as Nightmare tried and failed to speak. "I need you with me. This game is amusing, but it grows tiring," he complained lightly.

"Is that what you think?" Despite his horror and astonishment, Nightmare's voice sounded exhausted. "That this is… a game?"

Dream stared at him, head tilting lightly to the side in puzzlement—a familiar gesture. One that Nightmare had seen him make time and time again when faced with something that didn't make sense. He was still smiling.

Nightmare wondered if Dream could even frown if he wanted to. If he was still capable of it. It wasn't an expression he had seen since Dream's ascension.

And then a laugh bubbled up from somewhere inside Dream. His grin stretched wider as he shook his head in mirth. The hands resting on his face drew lazy patterns on his cheeks.

"Well, of course! After all," he leaned close, voice lowering to a purr. "Why else would you run from me?"