#who am i in ur mind????

[cartoon-skeleton]

my dad has this weird misconception that i don't like pop music or 'old people music' ('old people' meaning his generation. so like early gen x.) which he consistently brings up whenever we discuss music... its like actually i think youre just inventing an entirely different version of me in ur mind because if im being perfectly honest ive been injecting midlife crisis pop directly into my veins for YEARS

[rendevok]

The sensation of waking up next to you ❤️💙

+bonus doodle:

…and they mimir’d happily ever after the end. ❤️

(ID under cut!)

Miles is roused from sleep by sunlight shining on his face. Slowly, his eyes adjust to the light, until finally, his scope of awareness broadens to a body he had been sleeping on.

Page 2

Miles looks up to the figure that holds him, and upon seeing, his eyes widen in recognition.

Miles looks up to the figure that holds him, and upon seeing, his eyes widen in recognition.

The bottom panel of the page shows minimal details of a window shedding light onto the bed and blankets as seen from a higher view in the room.

Page 3

On the other side of the bed, Phoenix rests, his head propped by the headboard. His hair is messy from sleep, and his expression is thoughtful. The light of the morning highlights his features.

The sun shines through the blinds of the window.

Phoenix finally notices his observer, and turns to look at him.

Page 4

Phoenix takes Miles’ hand in his, and lifts it to gently kiss the ring on Miles’ finger. They both move to share a kiss, and their hands shift to hold one another. Miles’ ring sparkles in the sunlight.

Page 5

They link their fingers as they kiss, and the morning creates a quiet atmosphere around them.

They part, but remain close, their fingers fully interlocked. Phoenix greets “Good morning,” with a tender, loving expression as he looks at Miles. Miles’ own expression is soft, unguarded, and fixed on Phoenix.

Page 6

Phoenix and Miles settle back into their shared bed; the morning sun illuminates them. They both smile softly, seeming happy and at peace. Miles rests his head under Phoenix’s neck, and his hand on Phoenix’s chest. One of Phoenix’s hands rests over Miles’ own on his chest, while his other hand holds Miles closer, revealing a matching ring of his own. Both rings shine softly in the sunlight.

Bonus image

A small simple drawing of Phoenix and Miles having fallen asleep again while holding each other as in the final page of the comic.

End ID.]

[pepperpixel]

Initial drawings of that old man… I literally, I haven’t finished reading the book of bill yet!!! I had to stop and take a break for a week to feverishly draw fanart of myself petting fords floofy hair and giving him attention and shit…!!!! The urge was too great….!! I’ve literally. I had a crush on this guy the instant he was first REVEALED in the show, but I did not have the artistic prowess to draw good looking old men back then… but I do now… thank god… thank fucking god

[bloodbruise]

regulus sending james little videos of him getting himself off while james is at work

oh this is... yeah this is it.

he changes it up. sending james videos of him languidly stroking his cock and whining lowly. hips jerking into his hand with a wobbly, "fuck- james." or videos of him, legs spread and three fingers inside himself, with the caption 'they don't feel as good as yours :(' sometimes its one of him desperately grinding into the mattress, high pitched cries muffled by the bed sheets. he's sending pictures too. ones of him messy, cum covering his hands and chest after getting himself off. or texts of 'come home soon daddy <3' followed by pictures of him in lingerie—with pretty lace and pink bows that make james fucking feral. all of it does really, no matter what regulus sends. james thinks he must have been born with innate wiring that inevitably makes his brain short circuit whenever he sees regulus naked.

reg is a bastard too, sending them when he knows james is in a meeting. tries to see if he can get him weak, get him to send a 'christ love, you're gonna kill me' or an 'add another finger' the unspoken 'and send me another video once you do' clear to regulus. or, if he's already weak, see if he can get james to break. get him to excuse himself from the meeting and fumble into his office. to not even bother locking the door before shoving his pants down and wrapping a hand around himself. to use the last of his functioning brain cells to press the call button next to regulus' name; before dipping into arousal-induced drunkness at the sounds of regulus' moans and pictures on his phone.

[stuckinapril]

so past the point of changing people's minds about me!! like i actually just realized today that i don't care. i am so much more capable of shrugging my shoulders at someone's preconceived notions of me than i used to be. throughout my life i will probably run into many a person who will have a negative impression of me that they will not be able to dispel (or will go out of their way to fuel for the sake of their confirmation bias or whatever it is). but i will also have the honor of meeting a lot of amazing people who won't do that and who will actually see me for who i really am and will affirm that w their thoughts and actions. so long as i know who i am, anyone who's willing to make the effort will know who i am too. and that's all that matters

[samarecharm]

People who really like shuake also seem to write themselves into a corner wrt Akechi and his relationship to Akiras team. Contrary to popular belief, the team, including Haru, does not hate Akechi. At worst, they tolerate him and deal with his attitude. Hes a good teammate and respectable fighter and the team recognizes that at the end of the day, he was a teenager who was manipulated and abused by a man who saw him as disposable. Just about every thief understands this intimately. They have the same mindset wrt adults who take advantage of the people beneath them. Under different circumstances they wouldve been friends. And if u approach it from that angle, it becomes less about Akechi being the sole person who ‘gets’ Akira, and more about the thieves being the only people in the world who ‘get’ Akechi.

When you expand your thoughts to include the thieves as members of his Team and not roadblocks that get in the way of your ideal shipping dynamic, you allow urself to give Akechi and Akira more depth and nuance to their own relationship.

Akira and Akechi are wildcards; both of them struggle with the face they choose to display to the world. Its the first time Akira interacts with someone who is, at a literal, technical level, his ‘equal’. But Akechi is one of many firsts for Akira yeah? Every thief has their bond with Akira thats completely unique and personal. Akechi will never be the person who witnesses Akiras Awakening, hes never the person who watches Akira have his restless nights alone in the attic, and hes never the person who realizes in real time that the teenager hes housing is just Some Kid, not the delinquent hes been warned about. Hes not Ann or Yusuke, or any of the thieves; he doesnt have the time or experience that they have with Akira, and I think its interesting to explore that part of their relationship, shippy or not.

Akechi is someone who is incredibly lonely and self depreciating despite his cockiness and attitude. He has no positive bonds to speak of save for his connection with Sae. To have him see a team that works together and cares for each other, how do you think he would feel? Out of place? Inferior in some way? Angry about how hes been alone for so long in this single minded quest for revenge? Wouldnt that be a point of struggle between the two of them? I think what makes shuake good for me is knowing that Akechi needs alot of time to heal, and the thieves would want to help with that process. They do it bc they care, bc Akira cares, and bc they trust Akiras opinion (and he trusts theirs in return); if Akira feels like Akechi is someone who can be trusted Now after everything thats happened, then the thieves would do their best to help. And how would Akechi feel about that? Angry about the show of pity? That even now, he has no real say in what happens to him? Or begrudgingly grateful that they are cordial with him? Because they do care, he KNOWS they care, they care TOO MUCH actually; but the one thing he values over brawn and wits is honesty- fighting for what you believe in without having to use soft words to justify it.

[3-aem]

chill tf out i was just giving an advice, you have no right to treat random ppl like that, especially when i was just trying to help. you’re a proper asshole, hope ppl realize that

who tf asked for it though

here i’ll spell it out for you since you clearly don’t understand and id like you comprehend why you giving unsolicited advice is broadly seen as entitled and a dick move by the entire creator community online: we are not an art critique circle

if your criticism ever hurts someone and stops them from wanting to draw you failed as a critiquer. your criticism wasn’t constructive it was destructive. and the chances of this happening on the internet is High.

point blank: you don’t know if someone is doing drawing something someway because they like it or not. and you voicing your opinion is thus not ‘helping’ as you so very much want to believe, it’s entitlement to think you know better.

people draw and post on here to get away from real world where critiques from ur boss or ur colleagues actually matter.

there are times where creators solicit advice or suggestions. give them there.

[reineydraws]

Is the renkaza a crackship?

nope! on ao3, they're the third biggest kny ship and the biggest kyojuro ship, actually--not that popularity automatically means a ship can't be crack? hm.

the definition of crackship is debateable lol but to me they're not cracky 'cuz the things akaza was saying during their mugen train fight and akaza's human backstory provide a lot of give in terms of connection points to kyojuro.

they're a ship for all the people who love enemies/rivals-to-lovers plots, and ships that involve a lot of physical fighting and/or searching for humanity, which are some of my fave things to look for haha. they can also just be deeply convoluted and toxic when romantically involved, which is its own brand of fun! (tho i personally tend to look for stuff that ends more wholesomely. angst with a happy ending my beloved. 💞)

i will say that while they're not a crackship, the au's where akaza just fucks off completely (like my au comic haha) or where kyo goes all-in on being a demon right away can come off cracky, but i think that's less "crackship" and more "crack taken seriously".

i hope this makes sense!

[breezere]

Sooo...looking through you account and I was wondering....

More Venom-Kokichi please? 🥹

THE BOYS R BACK!!!! ......but somethings Different

[takami-takami]

A Dog Unfed.

includes— hawks x reader. angst. hurt/comfort.

warnings— animal abuse analogy. discussion of drugs and cravings. be warned and avoid this if you need. sorry for spoiling the subtext lol, but it needs a tw. though, i encourage you to apply this however you feel it apply.

perhaps we all have a dog.

Did you ever tell him?

The fullest extent of it all, the thorny vines that adorn your past— more bondage than decoration, a dragging weight against your throat and up your nasal cavity. A growth, an infestation, a plague on your subconscious.

It is a dog you unwittingly adopted— a drooling rottweiler that smacks its jaws and begs and paws at your thighs, pleading to you each night: "I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry. Please feed me, I'm hungry."

Everyone who has ever seen your dog has mistaken you for it.

Everyone who has seen your dog has peered down their pudgy little noses, muttered "mutt", spit it and clinked their heels away; or perhaps they simply looked on in sneers of smiling horror, down past their clutching pearls.

"This is you? By god, my goodness! An animal, an animal!"

You used to hate your dog.

You used to lock it in chains outside, let its fleshy paws burn and blister against the cement in the heat of the blaring sun. You grew tired of feeding it, of crushing up its kibble, of leaving it out to dry then quenching its bottomless thirst.

Now you just sit with it.

You sit by its side with your knees to your chest, listening to the cicadas chirp their prayers. Some days, you even let your back burn against the molten floor, a grounding heat while you lie down flat; but every day, every position, your eyes always remain locked on it.

You stare as it rests on its side, fusing to the glistening cement. You listen to its keening whines and dying breaths with a familiar pity and an unbearable disgust.

You blink, unfeeling again now.

You're sure it will never die, no matter how many hours it spends dying.

You never wanted to show Keigo your dog; even though a part of you is screaming and begging to present it to him. A gift from your innards, dirty in the palms of your blistering hands.

Keigo is just like everyone else, you assume. He is kind, he is gentle, he is an angel among men and he is the exact same as everyone else.

You've come to realize a person's good qualities— openmindedness, kindness, empathy— mean nothing in the face of what one is taught. No one is immune to propaganda, and there is no shortage of that nowadays against people with dogs.

The part that makes you doubt your assumptions is this: Keigo has honey in his eyes. Flicks of gold specks dust along the amber of his irises, a sticky kind of love swimming in them that drips down to his lopsided and infuriatingly safe smile.

You could never fathom his nose upturned, as he has been on the ground too many times to do that to another; nor could you picture a sneer from a mouth as sweet as his, honeysuckle and gentle, bright yellow.

So one night, you allow it to spill, hoping for him to soak up your blue one last time.

It's not uncommon for you to spend the dim of your nights at Keigo's home— his real home, the one the commission has never barged themselves in, the one he keeps hidden from every soul in this world but one.

It is uncommon for him to listen to the water of his shower run for several hours.

If you had feathers as sharply perceptive as his, you'd detect the nervous pacing of his leather boots against the carpet of his bedroom floor, even through the sheetrock that separates the two of you. The patter of the showerhead is far too consistent for his liking, very little movement being detected at all and his mind is bouncing off countless possibilities while sticking to none.

Those worries overflow from the cup of his bleating heart, bleeding when he turns sharply toward the bathoom door, resolute.

With a barely audible thud, his forehead traps golden strands between it and the wooden door it rests against.

He doesn't ask you if you're okay. Keigo never bothers with questions he already knows the answer to.

"Baby, open the door. Please," he begs. "I promise, it's okay— just need to be with you. Please."

The song of your sobs muffled through the door causes his feathers to sting an unbearable itch.

How his heart is just as red as those wings. It begins to drip, the string connecting him to you pulled too far for him to take. It— he needs to be with you right now.

A palm slides up the plane, resting firm by his cheek. The air of his breath hits the wood, fogging back against his lips.

"Please, let me in?"

His hopes blossom in the heavy pause that follows.

"...The door's unlocked," you answer.

Keigo knows. He could have pried it open in a heartbeat with a single feather even if it was locked, but trust and respect are precious commodities. They are irreplaceable, yet entirely and easily breakable.

Slowly, the knob creaks open, the careful movement still startling your spine stiff. The heels of your feet gently propel you backwards, firmer against the icy wall at the furthermost corner of the shower. The expanse is wide enough to accomodate fierce wings, wide enough to swallow your comparitively puny body in its open jaws.

Curled in on yourself, soaked, and trembling; this is what Keigo sees when he enters the room. This is what he sees when he dashes over, mumbling words you don't quite catch— some are familiar. "Dove", "sweetheart", "oh, my baby."

Down, he kneels by your side under the pour of the synthetic rain. The fabric of his shirt clings to his skin now, hair soaked just like yours; a wet dog all the same.

And with your tears plopping down against the flat tile, scratched knees held to your chest, you allow it to spill.

It spills through the hiccups, it spills through the wet of your cheeks; and above all, it finally spills through your confession, nose upturned to look up at his shaky gaze.

"Oh, angel..."

You can hear the palpable crack of his beating heart in that voice; but even if you didn't, the rustle of scarlet feathers that puff out in protection give his wounds away.

Keigo busies himself with a racing thought: how could he not notice the signs? He knew there were secrets nestled in the cavity of your ribcage, tandrils of some sort of ivy even he couldn't quite recognize.

You have a weight. Shackles chaining you to be left out in the midday sun.

He could tell. It's not the same as his— it's another flavor, another disease, another beast of its own— but in the most abstract of ways, Keigo could see it: you're just like him.

"Why didn't you tell me," he rasps, cupping your cheeks with shaky palms. They tap and squish like they're searching for signs— distress, hurt, anything.

You smile a mimicry of his, pulled from your most precious memories, and silently beg for that wobbly smile back; but it does not come. Instead, his eyes begin to shine, glassy and wet.

You've never seen him cry before.

You've never felt as desperate for his yellow as you do now, but you have felt this pathetic and small, once. You have felt like an animal, desperate to be domesticated— a synonym for loved.

"Y-You don't need to worry! I'm good, I'm still clean, see? See?"

As if that's the only thing that matters, you tip your chin towards him to offer your pupils as proof.

Such a gesture may shatter hearts, and Keigo is but a man. Despite it all, he is but a man.

He declines the offer, your words more than enough for him— his body opts to tackle you in an embrace instead, clutching your skull close to his hammering chest.

With each wide-eyed blink, the droplets resting on your lashes flick onto his chest. The soaked strands of your hair cling to him, both bodies drenched now by the roaring downpour above.

Water cascades in heaps onto the floor below. It never stops.

With your cheek pressed against his sternum, his scent invades your senses. He smells like cedarwood cologne and thickets of the forest, a warm signature. It matches his labored breaths: sturdy and weighty and masculine.

"I thought you wouldn't see me as a person anymore," you confess.

He hushes your worries as your eyes flutter shut, kissing the crown of your head with unwavering pride.

"Dove... You're my person."

Keigo thumbs away your tears and pulls back to offer you a wobbly smile.

You offer your own in return— a real one, too, this time.

---

The greatest advice you've ever been told was "don't start".

The words felt feeble at the time, like a joke passed down through unproductive seminars in high school out the mouths of stuffy men in suits, men who spoke of the boogeyman and jumped out behind chairs.

It meant nothing at the time.

It means everything now.

It helps you explain a little better to people who've never had a dog.

The words "don't start" are a language they do not speak; and yet, it helps to say it to their mirrored face, to imagine the breadth of your world could be pressed compact into those two tidy little words.

Talking to yourself helps you pretend you're understood.

Even though it is not necessary to be understood before you can be loved:

Don't start.

[oopbackinmymcdphase]

Lol I love my comfort character *torments him* *torments him* *torments him* *torments him* *torments him* *torments him* *torment-

Clear versions + rambling under the cut

The mind control thing could've been cool if it was LITERALLY mind control not just "Garroth Ro'meave gets no bitches" syndrome. It would make more sense too with his character arc.

He finally gets comfortable in phoenix drop with showing his face and having this new big family with the guards and aphmau. He can finally be himself.

But then the pendants start acting up ; there's threats of war and Dante's being secretive. His paranoia starts acting up. But he's got his friends and he knows as long as he's with them, it's going to be ok.

During the baby shower he cools off but then he sees something. He chases after the evil undertale looking bitch but then he sees something. Saw something he wasn't supposed to see. That's all he can remember at least.

But as he's making his way back he keeps hearing things, seeing things. It's almost like he can feel something at the back of his mind, digging into his skull , eating at him.

Over the next few days his mind is hazy with thoughts of okh'assis, muddled memories and regrets. He can hear his brother in his head whispering about how foolish it was to hide away from them. He had no chance escaping his own blood. By the time he snaps out of it he noticed he's moved. Right to the edge of the walls with his communication amulet.

The haziness and whispers just keep getting worse and worse and so does his grip on reality. He can feel the chilly okh'assis air in the middle of summer. He keeps seeing things in the trees watching him. Cadenza tells him he looks paler than usual.Lillian arriving just makes it worse. Eventually he locks himself in his room saying not a word to anyone.

He can't eat, can't sleep , won't even close his eyes.Refusing to let them win. All he can do is listen; sounds of reality and delusion mixing into a buzzing living nightmare. All he wants to do is to help Phoenix drop. But when he looks in the mirror all he can see is the same pale , snowy haired boy who left Okh'assis. Maybe he never left?

IDK I'm a sucker for battle inside the mind plots as well so I'd pay to see jury of nine garroth get dropkicked by regular garroth but serious lol get reckt whoreless scrub

[hella1975]

stop asking me for a large flat white.

[demdems]

genshin trying to explain why every playable natlan character is gonna be paper white but enemy npcs who get easy aggro'd need to be dark skinned

[sculien]

Lauren Reynolds is dead. Prentiss said that on a phone call 17 days ago. But her intonation wasn't surprise or grief. It was like a mantra, like she was reminding herself. 

Criminal Minds – Season 6 (insp.)

[greenbirdtrash]

it was way funnier in my head

[dicaxasinus]

i know the question of "realness" came up in this ep and its like "yeah were real bc were here and talking to each other but also theres things that are More Real in ways we cant comprehend" or whatever but i hear the concept of "realness" in relation to stories and im like

i want the velveteen rabbit. where is he. where is my stuffed rabbit who was loved so hard he became real. i want him in this conversation