#want you to want you too

[feroluce]

want you to, want you, too

Blankshipping <1k; getting together featuring a big fat scoop of Ingo's Catholic Guilt and Nii-san Complex uwu

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

When Emmet forces his way to Hisui, fueled by a determination that could override every karmic force in the universe, Ingo thinks nothing of his immediate attempts to get him alone.

His memories are still vague, but they're stronger now than ever, jolted and jogged, jostled about by the reappearance of the one person he'd remembered before anyone else. Ingo understands; all he wants is to stay close, spend every waking moment basking and soaking up his brother's presence. He'd missed him before he even knew him, deeply and intensely missed him, enough to hurt, enough to leave an empty ache.

Ingo had been content with the Pearl Clan in Hisui, but it had never quite felt like home. It does now.

As early as the first day after his fated Fall, Emmet fixes him with an odd look and says he has something he needs to tell him. Something important. Emmet is strangely serious as he says it, deathly so. Ingo finds himself standing straighter. 

"While we were apart, I realized something. I-" A pause, something akin to regret in his briefly hollowed eyes and his stitched-on smile. "Well, ok, no. I knew it before then. I've known it for a verrrry long time. I just didn't act on it." Ingo wants to ask; Emmet is rarely hesitant to act- whip-smart and sharp as a tack, once he's decided something needs to be done, he figures out how to do it as efficiently as possible. For him to be so overly cautious, it must be a truly tricky and delicate matter. But he doesn't dare interrupt now. 

"But I did not chase you across continents-" Emmet's eyes light up again, blazing now, bonfire-bright "-across centuries-" something rumbles within Ingo, like an early warning, moving as a phantom sensation beneath the balls of his feet, as though the world were about to shift, "-just to not take advantage of a second chance."

Ingo is suddenly painfully aware of his own body, of the curl of his knuckles, the bite of his nails in the flesh of his palms, a twitch in his legs and an itch in his throat. His head has forgotten, memories smeared and leaking out like a bird's egg dropped on a rock, but much still lives on in his heart, some beacon is in his center, at his core, sending out signal after signal, a rapid-fire jumble of SOS and morse code that Ingo can't decipher.

There is something happening here, something only his heart and his brother (between which there is only a small difference, he'll admit) are privy to, Emmet's voice a chorus of trumpets, a declaration of war, and Ingo's brain is scrambling to form some response. There is a niggling feeling somewhere within him, in a secret place cordoned off by chain and padlock, that all of this was a long time coming. That this is a long-at-sea ship finally docking, this is all of his chickens and bad decisions and "I'll reflect on these thoughts later"s come home to roost.

Emmet steps closer. The door is right behind Ingo, tauntingly unlocked and beckoning, he could so easily leave if he wanted to. Emmet never does things accidentally. He's given Ingo an escape route. Emmet takes another step, slow, watching and observing with his quicksilver eyes, giving every opportunity to turn and run. Like he's dealing with a skittish creature.

Ingo should escape.

Ingo does not want to escape.

Emmet is right in front of him now and he leans in so close that Ingo can't see anything else, loses view of the rest of the world around them. When he stops, it's at a lethal, point-blank range.

"Don't just let me do this to you, ok? Don't let me unless you want me to." He shouldn't. There is still that twitch in his limbs, those loud wordless pings of alarm in his heart that urge him to retreat, that tell him staying here is going to damn them both. Because his younger brother is making the worst mistake of his life, and Ingo is doing nothing to stop him. But Emmet's breath mixing with his own between them is a rallying cry, the close warmth of his body a call to action, the press of his lips against Ingo's a battle hymn.

Emmet kisses him, and Ingo horribly, selfishly, wants him to do it again.

The long, bitter civil war is over in a flash, he's won and he's lost. The side of him that had struggled to resist, that had held strong and weathered for years and years as it tried to be the model older brother Emmet deserved, finally succumbs and is trampled in the trenches by the incoming cavalry, stormed and seized by the parts of him that love Emmet in all the ways that he shouldn't.

"-san. Ingo-niisan." Hands cupping his face bring him out of the gunsmoke and fog. "Tell me if you don't want this, too."

Ingo stands atop a bloody battlefield of corpses, both conqueror and vanquished. He feels like he's won, a thrilling victorious high stronger than any challenger has ever given him. The loss is immeasurable.

"...I'm terrible," Ingo whispers.

His brother begins an attempt to console him because he's too kind, too forgiving, he always is when it's just the two of them. But he's cut short when Ingo grabs him, crushes them together and gorges himself, gluttonous and greedy, swallowing the rest of Emmet's sounds to hoard them for himself.

Emmet's smile widens against his lips, his arms coming up to hold on to Ingo like some sought-after, fought-for prize, as though he were the Spoils of War, kiss tasting like a bloodsoaked victory.

[eosofspades]

i didn't have "i'm broken" teenage asexual angst i had "i'm literally being the only reasonable one about this concept and the rest of you are behaving like fucking freaks" perception issues

[langernameohnebedeutung]

Lae'zel's character and her entire situation at the beginning of the game becomes so much more funny when you find out she's 22. It makes so much sense. Imagine you're 22 and you're exposed to this dangerous toxin or chemical or something - but not to worry, you learnt that this can be easily fixed, you just need to dial 911 real quick. Common knowledge. Everyone knows that. You learnt that in kindergarten, it's up there with fire alarm drills.

But the people you're stuck with have no concept of modern medicine and when you say "let's go to the hospital" they will say shit like "i think they kill people at the hospital" and "we should ask this swamp lady" or "this guy over there told me about this homoeopathic healer kind of guy but he got abducted" or "this random bard wants to help" and "I'm not going to dial 911 because I don't want the government to know my home address" or "maybe we should consider a deal with Satan". And then a bunch of them KEEP consuming the chemical because it makes them "stronger". One guy might explode for unrelated reasons. You have a few days before this situation is getting critical and suddenly they're solving crime and doing general charity for the community.

And FOR SOME REASON you still try to help these idiots and you STILL want to help them get the cure even though they all keep insisting the "doctors" at the "hospital" might try to "kill them" and they don't have insurance. And you keep telling them to just. go. to. the. hospital. before the time runs out and you all die very horribly of a very treatable condition.

And also you're 22 in a foreign country and you're responsible for shepherding this gaggle of idiots who are all ranging anywhere from 24 to 240 years old.

[cosmicpines]

I think a lot of people haven't actually read Flatland so you may not realize A. What Bill's eye mutation means and B. What precisely Bill did to destroy his homeworld.

Bill's home isn't completely the same as Edwin Abbott's Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions (notably, women and men can be both polygons #feminism) but we can assume most of the mechanics are the same. The basic premise is that the world is 2D. Everyone perceives the world in a 1D way, along the plane. There's a part of Journal 3 that describes this pretty well.

Bill can see up to the stars because his eye is on the flat surface instead of on the side like everyone else, like this:

(He's also slightly 3D, as we can see in the show.)

But there's one more important Flatland detail. The denizens of Flatland (and therefore likely Euclydia) do still have organs "inside" their bodies. Since there is no depth, they're just on the inner radius of their bodies. The 2007 Ehlinger movie adaptation shows that:

If Bill wanted to "give his world a new perspective" and "show everyone what they were missing," he wanted to get everyone to look upward.

Meaning he probably tilted the entire world.

Meaning everyone not only slid off of the plane, but all of their organs spilled out and everyone died.

...Hence "so much blood."

(The only issue with this is that it doesn't account for the number of times Euclydia is referred to have been burned ("saw his own dimension burn / misses home and can't return", he only has ashes leftover), but I'm sure the act of turning an entire dimension upwards expends a lot of energy.)

[cozylittleartblog]

cant tell you how bad it feels to constantly tell other artists to come to tumblr, because its the last good website that isn't fucked up by spoonfeeding algorithms and AI bullshit and isn't based around meaningless likes

just to watch that all fall apart in the last year or so and especially the last two weeks

there's nowhere good to go anymore for artists.

edit - a lot of people are saying the tags are important so actually, you'll look at my tags.

#please dont delete your accounts because of the AI crap. your art deserves more than being lost like that #if you have a good PC please glaze or nightshade it. if you dont or it doesnt work with your style (like mine) please start watermarking #use a plain-ish font. make it your username. if people can't google what your watermark says and find ur account its not a good watermark #it needs to be central in the image - NOT on the canvas edges - and put it in multiple places if you are compelled #please dont stop posting your art because of this shit. we just have to hope regulations will come slamming down on these shitheads#in the next year or two and you want to have accounts to come back to. the world Needs real art #if we all leave that just makes more room for these scam artists to fill in with their soulless recycled garbage #improvise adapt overcome. it sucks but it is what it is for the moment. safeguard yourself as best you can without making #years of art from thousands of artists lost media. the digital world and art is too temporary to hastily click a Delete button out of spite

[zanmor]

We are well beyond canary in the coalmine warning levels with the way trans people and particularly trans women are treated on this site.

Maybe you've heard the metaphor of allowing wolves and sheep to share the same space, welcoming everyone. You end up with just wolves because allowing them in that space makes it unsafe for any sheep. Or the story about how a nazi goes into a dive bar and is refused service. The bartender then explains to someone else at the bar that if you serve them once they tell their friends and before you know it you're the nazi bar they all go to and normal customers don't feel safe.

Terfs and other bigots are seeing these targeted harassment campaigns succeed against trans women and rejoicing. They see Tumblr ban them and officially stand by those decisions as endorsement for their harassment. It's a sign to bigots across the internet that Tumblr is a good place for them.

And what's more is that a lot of us probably don't realize just how much trans women contribute to Tumblr. The women banned recently were sources of site-wide memes and posts I wasn't even aware originated from them.any years old memes and references can be traced back to trans women on this site.

How many of these folks have to be removed before this is no longer a site you want to be a part of it? Sure you cultivate your own experience, but you can't follow or interact with people who aren't here. And if I wanted to interact with the nazis and terfs I'd go to reddit.

I encourage everyone to reblog this. Trans women shouldn't have to be the only ones speaking out against the bigotry they're experiencing. They shouldn't be the only ones risking their blogs being nuked by staff. We have to stand with them.

[millificent]

Every Nico Di Angelo fan focusing more on the background of the episode than the actual plot

[mynnthia]

was talking with a friend about how some of dunmeshi fаndom misunderstands kabru's initial feelings towards laios.

to sum up kabru's situation via a self-contained modernized metaphor:

kabru is like a guy who lost his entire family in a highly traumatic car accident. years later he joins a discord server and takes note of laios, another server member who seems interesting, so they start chatting. then laios reveals his special interest and favorite movie of all time is David Cronenberg's Crash (1996), and invites kabru to go watch a demolition derby with him

[artkaninchenbau]

A h-heartfelt reunion..?

Bonus

[batbabydamian]

Obsessed with little Lima Bean Baby Dami. I feel like Bruce would pass out from cuteness if he witnessed his child looking like that.

Talia should send Damian's baby pics to Bruce lol

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[amygdalae]

I think he wld be very happy as a zookeeper

[mamawasatesttube]

BTW... PSA.... even if we arent mutuals if youre in my notes regularly theres a Very high chance i am still fond of you. yes im vaguing someones tags on the compliment the person u rbed this from post. but like. positive vaguing? THE POINT IS im weird abt following ppl but IM STILL SENDING U FOND VIBES...

[o0kawaii0o]

no mercy 😭

[solitarelee]

East Asian fanartists are starting to migrate back to Tumblr because Twitter is insane, toxic, and dying, and what we're NOT going to do is let the fucking exclusionists get them, do you hear me? We are not going to let a bunch of feral idiots try to apply the most myopic version of puritanism to foreign artists we're not we're not we're not. Form an armed brigade if you have to, do you hear me. We're not going to bully the artists who may or may not even speak English because we have our precious standards of moral purity. If we see art that makes us uncomfy we're going to block the artist and tumblr savior their name so we don't have to see them again AND WE'RE GONNA MOVE THE FUCK ON.

[shotmrmiller]

single dad simon not knowing how to be a dad. not his thing. doesn't get it. hand him a gun and he can take it apart and put it back together in his sleep. but a diaper? formula? baby food??? knows next to nothing.

so you see him, miserable old man with sunken dark eyes, hunched shoulders and a screaming baby at his doorstep with groceries in his hand and decide to help. (besides, you're also suffering with a lack of proper sleep)

he's not a good dad but he's a protective one. he's at your throat in an instant, baby in arm almost behind his back, ready to sink his teeth into your jugular. you squeak out that you're a part time babysitter. you can help. you've got the most experience with babies her age.

you keep your eyes on him, tired eyes now sharp as flint. it's scary how quickly he'd moved. footsteps barely a whisper. his breath chills your skin.

threatens you with your life if so much as a hair on her head is hurt. he must be really tired if he's willing to accept help being this defensive.

you take the chunky babe and bounce her as he opens the door to his flat. you don't dislike kids but you're not their biggest fan either. babysitting is just a means to an end. easy money that goes toward your tuition.

simon, you come to learn, doesn't care. he thinks you're the missing parent. he doesn't ask you if you can help watch over the child. simply knocks on your door and hands her to you with the diaper bag. mutters that he'll be back and with food.

he helps himself to your couch when you tell him that the baby is asleep. takes off his shoes and is snoring in seconds. simon also doesn't help the rumors going around the building. "a terrible parent, you are. how could you abandon your baby and husband? he's been struggling for months!"

simon leaves you sputtering when he tells them to stop talking about his missus like that or he'll kill them in their sleep. burp the baby, pet, or she'll keep us up all night.

at least he pays well :/

(if you go out for a friends night, which he will drop you off so stop talking about uber, he's telling you to go say goodbye to our baby who happens to be asleep in her crib and if you're wearing a short little number he's gonna watch you bend over to kiss her fat little cheek before he takes you to the bathroom to eat it from the back and is sending you to his car with trembling legs and a slap to your arse. don't look so tasty next time idk)