#what I might do tonight

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

rough day...

[royalarchivist]

Ramon: we need to find Cucurucho again

Fit: Yeah, that's really weird that he was just watching us -

Ramon: so Pac can adopt me

Fit: Oh yeah– Well, you know– I mean, maybe we can like– Maybe we can have it arranged where if Pac gives you a cookie, it counts for the full amount instead of half. And then maybe the same for me for Richarlyson. Right? 'Cuz I mean, like– We're... basically a family. I mean we have– I mean, let's be real, we have been for a while, but it just a little bit– it's just a little more official now.

Ramon: yeah but Pac wanted to throw a big party

Fit: Oh, a big party?

Ramon: adoption party

[ Transcript Continued ↓ ]

-

Fit: Oh, an adoption party. Ohhhhhhhhh, I see. Yeah, well– I won't interfere with those plans then. Yeah, well I guess– um. It'll be a party for you, and then I guess it'll be a party for Richarlyson as well. Yeah, that'll be cool, that'll be cool Ramon. Are you- are you excited?

Ramon: [Nods]

Fit: [Laughs] I'm glad.

Ramon: Two dads

Fit: Yeah, that's right. Yeah, instead of just one!

Ramon: i appreciate u a lot >:(

Fit: Aww, Ramon, I kn– And I appreciate you too, Ramon.

Ramon: [Ramon bounces around happily, then gets shy / embarrassed and hides in the corner of the room]

Fit: [Laughs] I know, Ramon. It makes me happy, seeing like– You– you seem like you've been in a better mood the past, you know, couple weeks, especially with everything that's been happening. You seem like you're in a better mood. Yeah, I'm glad, I'm glad, Ramon. I'm glad.

[buzzingroyalty]

some porm pics from last night it was great to meet everyone :)

[oughtnots]

minor spoiler for todays Steeplechase, dont read this until youve listened to it -

Middle-aged/old Montrose truthers win!!!!!!!!

RISE UP BESTIES! HE'S OLD

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

So… An update…

(We’re watching episode 36 next, can’t recommend Toqger enough)

[atopvisenyashill]

not people calling george unprofessional for his post my god will u bitches never stop dickriding for this corporation is the man who created these characters not allowed to have an opinion on the way they’re adapting his work. they’re HIS characters!

[iraprince]

okay i talk a big game about never fearing cringe and always being 100% yourself and never surrendering your true artistic desires to something as immaterial as "embarrassment" EVER but now it's time for me to walk the walk bc i am drawing something that i think is so fun but it's also maybe super cringe and i am afraid of getting made fun of. I DON'T CARE THO i have to follow my own advice or i'm a hypocrite (posting this to embolden and also entrap myself. now i've said something about it and i can't backtrack)

[white-weasel]

Thinking about the au where Brit and Mallick become apprentices again and moreso thinking about Dr. Gordon watching all of it unfold.

He sees himself in Brit, professional hotshots, too busy with work to care about other people’s thoughts or feelings. Through their time in their traps they are pushed to realize that there is no weakness in emotion and that relationships built with others can push people to do what they need to, even in life or death situations. They made a connection within the game and that connection changed their entire life.

In Mallick he sees Adam, both men who seemed to be surrounded by people who said they cared, but never actually did. They wanted to escape from life and didn’t realize just how much they truly wanted to live until they were actually faced with death.

And sometimes when he looks at the two of them, Mallick saying something dumb and Brit rolling her eyes but not quite being able to hide the corner of her mouth twitching up, he can see it being him and Adam instead. In his mind, they’re living out the exact same “what if” scenario that Lawrence has been playing out in his mind for years — a scenario that could have been real if only he had kept his promise to Adam

[jasperscringepit]

looking for doodle options?? may i humbly request either some specs or splasher?

buy two specs, get one free!! I hope you like them, this was fun to try and mix stylisation but also keeping likeness :)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

spontaneously starts scribbling him Differently Every Time

[mokeonn]

Before I go to sleep I leave you all with this piece of advice: sometimes you don't actually have to answer big political questions, sometimes you can just say "I am not smart enough to know that, I just know the small things I do to help." Like you can often times completely avoid making a fool of yourself if you just say you don't know.

[shalpilot]

confiding

[stevebabey]

❤️🔥 hiiiii!! here to request a number 23 from prompt list 1: “fumbling with their hand as you tell a story.” i feel like you’d make it so soft and sweet <3

can u tell i was feeling so bad when i started writing this <3 nothing bout this prompt says angst but low nd behold, here's some hurt/comfort !! thank u for requesting alice m'dear :") this is like extra for u considering how sweet u are to me <33 1k+

It’s terribly late.

Really, the both of you should’ve wandered upstairs to bed at least an hour ago. There’s work tomorrow, early for you, less so for Steve, but it’s work all the same. He’ll grumble in the morning like he always does, tired and yawning all through his morning coffee.

Despite knowing this, Steve doesn’t even think of suggesting to turn in soon. Not when it’s one of these nights. 

Sometimes, Steve finds it takes gentle coaxing to get you to unwind from your day. When you spend so much of the day tense, reining in reactions and biting your tongue, he knows it takes more time, more touch. It’s worth losing the sleep, staying up to talk it out. Worth it to know he’s giving you peace of mind. That he can protect you from even restless nights.

Most of the time, you won’t even realise you’re wound up — it’s impossible to sift through feelings when all you feel is down. It’s not until after Steve’s worked his magic that you can tell how long the day has really been. When the stress leaks out of your shoulders and you slump into him like a puppet with its strings cut.

It’s one of those nights tonight.

You’re up on the kitchen counter. How you ended up there is lost in the haze of your tired night. You faintly recall tumbling through the door, somehow after Steve even though you started work before him. Overtime is a bitch.

Between then and now, you’re certain you’ve managed to shovel some food into you but mainly, you’ve been watching Steve fuss about the kitchen. To you, there’s no better remedy that the sight of your lover.

He’d already made dinner by the time you’d gotten in the door, some simple pasta dish, cheesy and delicious. He’d insisted on doing the cleaning up as well, seeing your low-lidded eyes and curled in shoulders. The fatigue rolls off you in waves. It makes Steve’s heart ache in an awful way.

So, he had kissed you sweet and ushered you up onto the counter, his warm hands helping under your thighs when you’d groaned and barely made a move to jump up. He mumbled something soft into your hair, ‘my tired, sweet girl’, and sealed it in with a kiss.

It had been soothing just to watch him, sleeves rolled up while he scrubbed at the soapy dishes. Rinsing the plates and working instinctively, letting the story about his own day come out in quiet rumbles, just letting you listen. You hum from time from time to let him know you’re listening, even if you feel a bit hollow.

But now, dishes done, Steve’s onto his most important job — drawing out the burdens of the day from his you. The cups of tea he’s fixed for both of you are beside you on the counter, long forgotten. Steam stains the air, just a hint of peppermint. 

Steve’s moved between your legs, hips leaning against the counter. He’s close enough that an inch forward and your head would rest against his collarbones. One hand sits on your knee, feather-light touches of his thumb against your skin. The other is held between yours, letting you fumble with it as you talk. Your hands work his fingers, playing with it idly as you talk.

“Yeah? And what’d she say?” He asks, voice low and head tilted to show he’s listening. 

“Y’know, just the usual. It wasn’t what she said, just like,” You sigh wearily, drawing a line down the middle of Steve’s palm with your finger. Your eyes stay fixed on your motions, his hand in your own. Your voice is smaller than you intend as you try to recall the rude memory of your manager today. “The way she said it? I don’t know, does that even make sense?”

“It does,” Steve assures, his hand giving your knee a quick squeeze. When your head remains bowed, still fiddling with his hand, Steve flips it over, his hand covering both yours to still your fidgeting.

“Hey,” He says, soft. His head ducks low, trying to catch your eyes. It’s alarming to see a sheen in them, glossy in a way he knows means tears. Something tears in his heart, his concern doubling in an instant. “Sweetheart, woah, woah, hey.”

You let out a pathetic sniffle and that’s all it takes for Steve’s instincts to kick in, pulling his hand out of your grip to bundle you into his arms. You cave, crumbling into his chest and burying your face away — one of his hands cradles the back of your head, loving strokes along your scalp. The other provides consoling sweeps along the curve of your spine. It all really just makes you want to cry harder.

“S’okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into the side of your head. It’s warmth seeps into your skin, a silent comfort through your tears. "It's okay, honey."

It feels so utterly stupid to fall apart over something so little, just a bad day that’s crept under your skin, made its home in your nerves. It feels unbearable, trying to unwork it from your blood. You’re not sure how long you cry, just that Steve’s there the whole time.

When you finally pull back, shuddering breaths, Steve’s fingers make quick work to wipe your tears. Calloused fingertips that sweep across your under-eyes, tender and kind.

There’s a light kiss against your forehead, another against your damp cheek, gentle as ever. Steve doesn’t speak, his eyes just searching your face — though you can’t tell what he’s looking for. You’re too dead tired, exhausted by your own emotions, to give any semblance of a smile, even though you feel a bit better now.

“Bed now?” He suggests, voice soft and low. The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the lull of words, a reminder of how long ago you both should’ve been asleep. You nod, pitiful and small. Steve trails the both of you upstairs, sets out your pajamas while you brush your teeth, then waits in the bathroom doorway til you’re done.

It’s close to midnight when you both finally crawl into bed. Steve’s arms are around you the moment you’re beside him and you find immense comfort with your head against his chest. The echo of his heartbeat plays like a lullaby beneath your ear.

“Sorry for keepin’ you up.” You whisper in the dark.

Steve’s arms tighten around you. He shifts around for a moment, then his hand sweeps back the hair off your forehead, and he gives a soft kiss there. It lingers for a few seconds, and when he pulls back, he snuggles closer, resting his cheek atop of your head.

“M’sorry you had a bad day.” He counters. You know he means it completely.

“I love you,” the words slur a bit, feeling yourself already dropping off closer to sleep. It’s impossible not to when you’re this warm and this damn tired.

You’re asleep before you hear his response but it doesn’t matter, you heard it in every kiss, know it from every sweet gesture and moment of the evening. He loves you, and he takes care of you. The sleep is a peaceful one.

[khaotunq]

genuinely forgot it was my birthday today until I got a text from my mother. I'm clearly doing well.

[iamthecomet]

Did I really just write 1000+ words of random slice of life ghoul bullshit that I thought was going to be smutty but really just ended up as "Dew helps Mountain with something super mundane"? yes. Apparently, I did. No warnings here. Very much SFW. Just ghouls living their lives. There's a peak into Dew's somewhat angsty thoughts, elemental magic, a kiss, and a suggestive joke or two, but nothing worse than that.

Dew tramps across the Abbey grounds. The sky is snow gray. The world washed out to hues of purple and blue. His breath trails after him in tight puffs of white. His fingers are tucked under his armpits. He’s wearing a flannel that is too thin for the weather and torn jeans. His boots are unlaced, feet bare inside of them as he hurries across the already frosty ground and tries not to slip and fall and die. 

The greenhouse is a short walk in the summer–but a long one with a blizzard on the horizon. The sharp windowed peak of the roof is just visible over the crest of the hill. It sits at the base. Vegetable gardens long since put to bed stretch out in front of it. Beyond that, the livestock barn, the pens, the lake. Frozen over. Gray like the sky. 

Dew descends the hill, and leaves the Abbey behind him. Sinking slowly into the horizon as he goes. Treading carefully now. Imagining slipping out of his boots, tumbling ass over teakettle (or whatever it is Copia says) all the way down to the greenhouse door. Busting an ankle, a rib or two, well and truly ruining his planned winter of relaxation. 

The greenhouse is enormous. A sprawling gabled structure, made of dark metal bones and thick glass walls. A thin metal chimney rises from the far end. Dew drags his eyes up the length of it. No smoke. Mountain really must need him. The greenhouse is pretty. Dew admires the it from afar often. Looking at the scrolled metal edges of the frame, ivy leaves pressed into the metal on the corners of the glass panes. An intricately carved wrought iron and glass door. It’s a lot of work for something so functional. 

Dew doesn’t often think about the Abbey before him. That line of thought typically leads to ones about the Abbey after him. And those are unwanted. He can get lost in the realization that he’ll go back to the pit someday. That this strange and wonderful life he’s somehow stumbled into, is temporary, he cannot keep it forever. No matter how hard he tries. 

But he does think about these structures. Who built them. Who cared so much that the greenhouse was pretty when all it was meant to do was grow food and flowers. It’s starting to snow by the time Dew gets to the door. Big fat flakes that stick in his eyelashes. The glass is covered in foggy condensation. The plants and earth ghoul inside reduced to blurry silhouettes. 

Dew extracts his stiff fingers from under his arms and blows on them a little before he reaches for the metal door handle. It’s cold, but warm pours out of the door when he pulls it open. The greenhouse smells perpetually like summer. Warm and green and humid. Dew slips into the building. Dirt soft under his feet. He shuts the door behind him. 

“Quick,” Mountain hisses from the other side of the room. Crouched in front of the woodstove. It’s practically sweltering in here, so it can’t actually be that urgent but Dew hurries over anyway. Careful not to trip on his bootlaces. 

Despite the impending apocalyptic weather outside, the greenhouse is cozy, warm, teaming with life. Dew cuts between rows of plants and touches his finger to a young tomato plant, thriving under Mountain’s watchful eye. 

“Thought you were just trying to get me down here for something fun,” Dew teases as he reaches Mountain. The earth ghoul is kneeling in the soft dirt in front of the stove. It’s a modern addition to the greenhouse, and therefore temperamental. Dew doesn’t know shit about mechanics or machinery. But he knows a thing or two about fire–and that usually is enough to solve the problem. 

The stove is designed to run constantly as long as it’s fed. If Mountain feeds it well enough tonight it will run for the next day or two with a touch of Dew’s magic to help it out. Long enough for the storm to pass without Mountain having to trek out here in the middle of it. He’ll do it anyway if someone doesn’t keep an eye on him. 

But that’s a problem for another time–because right now the stove is out, and Mountain can’t get it to light. Dew can smell the frustration on him, wafting off of him in thick waves. Bitter, burnt earth. 

“No. This is serious.” 

Dew nudges Mountain out of the way and eyes the stove. Crouching in front of the open door. Clean and piled with kindling to get it started. 

“Did you really run out of matches.” 

Mountain doesn’t answer, but when Dew looks up the bigger ghoul is glaring down at him. Too stressed for this, Dew knows. Especially considering the thorny vines sprouting from around his horns. Dew sighs. 

He sparks the fire to life. Easy. Then, as it grows, he feeds it with logs and little bits of his magic. Ties himself to it. He’ll know it goes out, if it gutters. He’ll know long before Mountain even thinks to climb out of his warm bed to check on it. 

But it won’t go out. Not as long as Dew is watching it. 

Dew stands, closes the door. Heat pours out of the stove and into the room. Dew steps away from it–too much for him. But Mountain slides closer to feel it. Dew stands on his toes and starts plucking the thorny veins from Mountain’s hair. Careful not to prick himself or the earth ghoul as he does it. 

“Better?” 

Mountain nods. When he glances at Dew now it’s apologetic. Dew waves it off. 

“You ready to go before we get stuck in here for a week?” 

“I just need to do one more–”

“Mountain,” Dew says, firmly. He grabs Mountain’s hand, laces their fingers together. “I love you, I do. But if we get snowed in because you needed to just check one more thing I will eat you.” 

“Fine. Just don’t hurt the plans,” Mountain jokes, pulling on Dew’s grip just a little, enough to get over to his potting bench to start cleaning up. “I’ll eat them first,” Dew promises. “I’ll make you watch.” 

Mountain gasps–false offense. He turns back to grin at Dew, bending down to kiss him softly. Bumping their horns together as he pulls away. 

“Bullshit,” Mountain nips at Dew’s bottom lip. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly.” 

[kimetsu-chan]

I’m gonna be out most of the day bc I’ll be helping my dad with a big shopping trip plus being out after, so I’m going to be super duper exhausted

I don’t do well in crowded or loud places in the slightest, I get woozy and tired and I feel miserable or like I’m gonna pass out, and if the shopping isn’t gonna make me wanna cry, the outing after will bc it’s gonna be packed with lots of noise and people

I don’t say this because I want to complain, I just wanna give a super quick warning that I might not be active tomorrow as well as today bc when I get exhausted, my mental health tends to decline as well ;-;

so- a bit of a warning that I may poof a bit (sorry! 😣)