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dirtbagdefender · 3 months

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#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #dylan o'brien #tv show gifs #( * mine )#teen wolf edit #wet stiles just for grace ilu #grace tag

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thisisadecisionimayregret · 1 year

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Declan's Corrective: Um. Alright, uh. This one doesn't have a name, yet. [clears throat]

When I was young I saw my father on Tuesday afternoons

A tray of fruit and a cup of juice, and little else between us

In search of more one week I thought I'd bring some questions to him

Because I knew so little but I knew he answered questions

My head was filled with textbook descriptions and encyclopedic depictions

Of places I'd hoped he'd seen in ways that go beyond curt summaries, white indices, quick glossaries

And dreamed he'd have some deeper knowledge, real knowledge,

Dirt under fingernails, the smells they don't write about

And people with names and ugly faces

And places not like the ones I saw on broadcast news

So I put my juice down, and I asked him what the world was like,

The real world, far away from the one out my window, on my wall, in my mind

The world I didn't have words for yet

Tell me what it's like

And my father said I knew all the places worth knowing

But I decided he was wrong

Tell me anyway, I said

And he said there was only here and there and here was all I needed

Tell me about a place you loved

And he said the house he grew up in always had dried flowers

Tell me about a place I haven't been

And he said there is a place

A terrible place

Where they worship gods

Have no place for laws, even the law of gravity

And there are no real people there and there are no real names and the flowers never really dry

And he looked me in the eye and said,

The Twilight Mirage is a place of blue bread and white strawberries.

Blue bread, and white strawberries,

And I didn't understand,

Not because I hadn't seen mold,

But because I hadn't yet learned

To make a meal of the world

#fatt #road to palisade #f@tt #orbital #declan's corrective #fatt palisade #poetry #samantha talks #this. this poem made me Feral and i needed to cut it so i can play it on repeat #god. mr austin underscore walker has No chill and I love it #grace tag

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celestialdeth · 14 days

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I’m going to start posting my cringe art on main, and use my art blog as an archive.

Grace as the Spawn of Bhaal

#art tag #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate fanart #baldurs gate tav #baldurs gate durge #the dark urge #Grace tag

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that-was-anticlimactic · 2 months

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babygirl your hands are like compression gloves. to me.

#corey tics:)#idk what this is #found this in my drafts #made it last night before bed???#sometimes i use grace's hands as compression gloves until they fprce me to get up and get my actual ones lol #so ig also like #grace tag #ALSO KUNIKIDAZAI CORE OMG

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hilplusterrorss · 2 months

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"are you feeling alright?" + reigen & mob?

(Whoops this got long so the rest is under the cut)

"Shishou, are you feeling all right?"

Like every sound that's penetrated the stale office air for the past couple of hours, Mob's words pierce right through Arataka's skull and dig into the flesh of his brain.

. . . He really needs to stop reading so many horror novels. That was a gross thought.

He sighs, stopping himself before he can shake his head. It would probably explode if he didn't. "I'm fine, Mob. I've just got a bit of a headache. I've been looking at this computer screen for way too long."

"Oh." Arataka carefully cuts his eyes to Mob, who has his head cocked to one side and his hand lifted to his chin in a gesture that looks simultaneously very familiar and very wrong. It takes Arataka several seconds too long to realize that it's a gesture he's never seen Mob perform, but one that he's caught countless glimpses of when he sees his own reflection.

Huh.

Mob stands stock-still for several moments, then fixes Arataka with his signature stare, unreadable but not blank. "Should I turn off the lights and go get you some pain medication? The corner store should have some."

Arataka forgets this time to resist shaking his head and squeezes his eyes shut after doing so, hoping to crush the pain away with his face. It doesn't work all that well, but after a moment it subsides anyway. "No, Mob, I'll be fine. I just need to send a couple more emails, then I'll be done." He pauses. "Turning the lights out might help though."

Mob nods, eagerness flashing briefly across his features, and goes to get the lights. The second they shut off, Arataka feels a tension ease out of his temples. He closes his eyes and sighs.

He keeps them shut for a bit too long, he guesses, because the sound of Mob sitting back down in front of his desk startles him. "Ah. Thanks, Mob."

Mob nods, placid as ever, and does that Mob thing where he just sits there and looks at Arataka without any particular expression. An awkward silence settles over them. Arataka feels like he should say something more, but he's not sure what.

He looks at his computer screen again. It's not as painful as before, but it still stabs his eyes like blue-white knives. He grimaces.

"Y'know, I think I'll take you up on the painkillers. Here-" He rummages in his wallet for a couple of bills and passes them over the desk. "Grab whatever's cheapest, and a snack for yourself. And then once you bring them back, you can take the rest of the afternoon off. I think I could use a nap."

Mob nods and takes the money, smiling faintly as he gets up. "Yes Shishou. Don't strain your eyes on those emails."

He's gone before Arataka realizes that he just did exactly what Mob wanted.

(Proship DNI)

#thanks grace this was funnnnnnnn #mp100 #hil writes #fic #teehee it's been a second since i thought about Them but aaaaa i miss them. i should rewatch. who said that #grace tag

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backhurtyy · 1 year

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i love when corey or grace likes one of my posts and then the other likes it two seconds later. it’s the epitome of matching set, do not separate.

#i love you two 🫶#corey tag #grace tag

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bewilderedbuck · 11 months

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ficlet for Benvi- deeply intimate, unexpected new york city kiss senior year edition

this was supposed to be like. 500 words and then i got possessed by the spirit of pining ben gross

let's tie our breath in knots again (nothing's complicated if we pretend)

"You didn't have to do that, you know," Devi says, gently placing a hand towel filled with ice on Ben's swollen cheekbone. "I'm perfectly capable of defending my own honor."

Ben winces at the touch, replacing her hand around the makeshift ice pack with his own. It stings, and soothes - just like the girl sitting across from him in this hotel bathroom.

"I wasn't trying to defend your honor," he insists, because he wasn't. He knows she's not some damsel in distress, that she doesn't need to be saved - especially not by him. He's no knight in shining armor - no, that would be Paxton, carrying her to safety after the coyote attack, or pulling her out of the pool and driving her home, waterlogged dress replaced by varsity sweats and hoodie.

Ben's no hero. Never has been, never will be.

But - despite the chasm that grew between them after that ill-advised night last May - he's still her friend, and he still loves her, and so he stepped in.

And now he has a black eye and a raging headache as a result, so maybe he'll leave the punches to be thrown by someone else next time.

"Well, good, because you're really bad at it," she jokes, leaning back against the bathtub and stretching her legs out in front of her. She knocks a socked foot against his thigh, and he tries not to lean into the touch.

"You looked scared," he murmurs, gaze dragging down to his crossed ankles, then back up at her. "When he- he had his arms around you. You looked scared."

She pulls her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her shins. Defensive, he thinks.

"I was," she admits quietly. "So, you know, thank you. For showing up when you did."

"I wish I had gotten there sooner," he says. "Not that you can't handle yourself or anything, but guys like that-"

"I know," she interrupts, a small smile appearing on her face. He wants to kiss it.

A silence lapses over them, in reality just a few moments long, but to Ben it lasts an eternity, her soft brown eyes looking at him in a way he would describe as fond, if he so dared.

"You wanna get off the floor?" she finally asks, head cocked to the side. He nods, and she stands, reaching a hand down to him and pulling him up. "Come on."

She leads him out of the bathroom and into the main area of her hotel room. He half expects Eleanor to have come back by now, but the room is just as empty as it was when they came back from the bar.

"Eleanor's crashing with Fab and Aneesa tonight," Devi explains, nodding to the empty bed on the far side of the room. "So you can stay here if you want. Or not, if you don't want."

He should leave, go back to his own room, let himself fall asleep to the droning sound of Trent's snores. He shouldn't tempt himself with this, this peek back into normalcy, or at least as normal as he and Devi ever were, a year ago, when, if asked who his best friend was, he could confidently say, "Devi Vishwakumar," and pretend that he didn't still hold a flame in his heart for her.

Now, neither of those things are true. The most they've spoken in months has been reduced to debate club strategies and the rare request to borrow a pencil, and each time, he knows what's blatantly written across his face: I miss you. I miss us. I miss what we never were. I love you, still, and I don't know how to stop. I'm sorry.

He hopes he's harder to read with a swollen eye and a bundle of ice covering half of his face.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks," he stumbles, perching himself at the edge of one bed while Devi digs in the suitcase laid at the foot of hers.

"Can you turn around for a second?" she asks, holding up a set of pajamas.

He nods, then faces away from her. The silence that fell while they were in the bathroom had been comfortable, breathable, but now it feels awkward and tense, the only sounds being the rustle of clothes and the hum of the air conditioner.

As she changes, he tries not to think about how he knows what she looks like undressed.

"Okay, you're good," she says. He twists back around, finding her closer than she was before. "Here." Her voice is gentle, and so is her hand as she reaches toward his face. He lets her remove the ice pack, his hands now clasped in his lap.

She's- she's so close, practically standing between his legs. She's got his chin tucked between her index and thumb, directing his face so she can better survey the damage, and he hisses as she gently presses at his cheekbone with her other hand.

"Sorry," she apologizes, stepping away. He itches to pull her back. A past version of himself would have.

But he's not that Ben anymore, and she's not that Devi, and so he keeps his hands folded in his lap. He watches as she grabs the hand towel, now soaked through with melted ice, from where she had placed it on the nightstand separating the two beds and disappears into the bathroom.

"Do you need more ice?" she calls.

"No, I'm good," he says. In truth, he probably could use more, just to keep some of the swelling down, but he can only handle Devi doting on him so much in one night. "Thanks, though," he adds.

"Mm-hmm," she hums, and a few moments later, she marches back into the room with a small white tube in her hand. "It's arnica cream. Close your eyes."

"You take that with you everywhere you go?"

"Eleanor bruises like a peach. Now close your eyes." She sits down next to him, then uncaps the tube and squeezes a dollop onto her fingertips. He complies, eyes fluttering shut just as she reaches her hand towards his cheek again. Her touch is firmer than before, and he clenches his jaw as she rubs the cream into his tender skin. “Sorry, sorry. Almost done.” He feels her fingers drift higher, towards his brow bone, too gentle to be filed under the pretense of caring for his wound. “There you go,” she whispers, the warmth of her hand now replaced by cold, empty air.

He blinks his eyes open. Devi is still next to him, still just as close, still just as out of reach. She looks- soft, he thinks, bathed in the dim light of the lamp.

He still wants to kiss her.

Instead, he busies his mouth with a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” she promises, and he knows she means it.

He wants to kiss her.

He wants to ki-

She kisses him.

At first, she presses her lips to his delicately, like he’s something fragile. He is, he supposes, at least right now, with a fresh bruise blooming across the right side of his face. She's kissing him with a softness that borders on hesitancy, and it brings him back to salt-scented air and the choking call of seagulls - to a lifetime ago, it feels like, back when he first thought there was something beautiful blossoming between them.

She's already pulling away by the time he cups a hand around the back of her neck, nudging his nose against her cheek. He tugs her back, gentle, gentle, and slides his lips against hers again, and again, and again. The ache in his cheek grows, but he ignores it, dampens it with the feel of her hair in his hands and the taste of her tongue against his.

It's good, it's so good, better than what his memory replays on the nights he spends thinking of her, remembering the warmth of her skin on his.

His mind flits back to that night, to the look on her face when he opened his door, to the way his hand fit at the curve of her waist like a puzzle piece. To the way they moved together, clumsy at first, and the moans that fell from her mouth as she fell apart on his fingers.

Then his memory fast-forwards, to her running away, right when he had a confession perched on the tip of his tongue.

He's the first to pull away this time, a question forming in the back of his throat, because he has to know, needs to know.

"Is this-" he starts, before she cuts him off.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” she tells him. “Just- keep kissing me.”

And he does.

#benvi #ben gross #devi vishwakumar #never have i ever #nhie #myfic #asks #grace tag #mutuals #im sorry this is like four days late lmfao

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beachytablecloth · 2 months

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"is it really you?" + either zukka orrrr a lost ship of your choice since i saw you just finished watching it!

GRACE!!! am i answering this several months late? YES!

but anyway, you have noooo idea how perfect this prompt is for lost. tbh this might not make much sense out of context/ if you've never seen lost, but i had fun writing it and jack and kate are everything to me.

Jack stumbles. There’s so much to take in.

When he tries to remember how he got here, he can only remember flooding waters and fires and darkness. He can only remember the island.

But how did he get here? Here, standing in the vestibule of some church he doesn’t recognize, his deceased father standing across from him.

His dad. His dad who he lost. His dad that he killed. Not directly, of course, but because of what he did. He carries his blood on his hands. Jack swore an oath—do no harm.

He’s not sure he fulfilled that promise.

His father should be buried somewhere deep on the island, his corpse rotting in the modest coffin they’d sent him from Sydney in. He was going to the funeral.

But no, here he is. Standing across from him, alive as anything, and smiling.

“Jack,” he says. “Jack, you’re safe.”

Jack doesn’t feel safe. His heart is pounding. He can hear his breath coming in jagged, uneven patterns.

How did he get here? Where is here?

“Jack,” Dad says, “Jack, you need to calm down. There’s something you need to see.”

Jack sputters. “I don’t understand!” He looks around, still panting. “Where are we?”

“Please, Jack. They’re waiting for you.”

“Who’s waiting for me?”

—

His father walks in front of him, once Jack has steadied his breathing. Jack trails behind him as he pushes through a set of ornate double doors. They open into the sanctuary of a large, ordinary church.

But there, in the pews, stands nothing ordinary.

It’s them.

It’s Hugo. Boone. Shannon and Sayid.

John. Juliet and Sawyer and—

Kate.

He’s by her side in an instant. Slowly, he reaches out, raising his hand to her cheek. She’s crying, and smiling, looking up at him like he’s the only thing in the world.

Kate. “Is it really you?” He manages, breath coming again in shallow, cutting breaths.

“It’s really me,” she nods, “we’ve been waiting for you.”

Jack pulls her into him—she flings her arms around him and holds tight.

Jack still doesn’t understand. Maybe he never will.

But they found each other—again and again they found each other.

They all did.

#THANK U GRACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!#full disclosure i wrote this in like 15 minutes and didn't even readit over and also i'm a little tipsy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! but #had a lot of fun with it and it makes me wanna write more lost #lost #jack and kate #grace tag #my ficlets

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icyfox17 · 2 months

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Foxie I’m getting my hair cut today 👀

OOOH!!!! THATS SO EXCITING OMGOGMGOGMGOGMH