I just wanted to showcase a doodle of how much bigger Viceroy is than Gabriel. I'm sorry, Hawkmoth is a good six inches taller than Gabriel, what makes anyone think that Tom using the butterfly miraculous wouldn't gain another foot and he's already built like a shit brickhouse. not to mention he's a working man so he can already lift a house
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u know what. *scrunks your impact*
from this post
for my birthday im posting arlekira and u are morally obligated to acknowledge them
did this with my mouse and its so scuffed but i regret nothing. i wanted to see them together herfhhfdgh
please they'd be so funny. couple this with Childe lowkey adopting Diona (because small kid menace with a bow) and the Tsaritsa is going to have to start issuing out warnings to her harbingers "whatever you do, do NOT interact with any catgirls."
anyway. stan them
AND JOIN THE DISCORD SERVER FOR MORE UNHINGED UNWELL TAKES. and other genshin / honkai / star rail posting
//had to repost bc tumblr was being mean to me and the tags fjdhgfd
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Hello, salutations, happy Wednesday. I've been thinking I want to share something, but I don't know what to share, so I'm going to share a little of everything. Every WIP I have. Six snippets. Roughly in order of how much I've been working on them. Here we go.
One:
Baz had thought of Simon as someone who would indulge in any available vice, but it turns out there are only a few, very particular vices he cares about, and the rest is anyone else’s problem. “I don’t need much,” he said, which is an extremely relative statement at best and a reckless conflation of ‘much’ with ‘many different things’ at worst. He had, in his own words, half a drinking problem for a bit, and he’s never much interested when there’s alcohol on the literal or metaphorical table, but they did get high together the other night. (“Drink is to numb the bad. Weed is to augment the good.”)
Simon had brought them up to the roof of Baz’s building because he wanted to look at the moon. They laid down under a sky of sullen grey clouds turned sickly by the city lights, and Baz said, “Where is it?” and Simon shrugged, and then he found them a blunt to smoke instead. They passed it back and forth until Simon told him he wanted to eat the stars, and Baz asked why. Simon said he thought it would feel good. Baz laughed until Simon shut him up with a hand over his mouth and tried to explain that it would be a power trip, that you’d never feel more pure and full than having a star in your belly. Baz told him you would never feel more dead, and Simon threatened to make him dead, and the moon never showed her face, but it was rather a lovely night anyway.
Two:
“What?” Baz says, and Simon’s eyes snap up to his.
“Nothing, just, you—” What? You have a nice throat? “—you have a bit of fluff,” he mumbles, and he reaches out to brush the lie off of his neck. It was a bad idea, because now his fingertips are on Baz’s skin, and he’s cool to the touch, he’s softer than Simon expected, and it’s right there, all he wants to do is trace a finger over the shape of his Adam’s apple, down to the hollow of his throat. His collarbones, too, they’ve a nice slope to them. Gentle, smooth. His shirt’s open a bit (his shirt’s always open a bit), and his chest hair peeks out of it. He’s got more than Simon. Simon would get his fingers into that, too, rub his thumb over his chest, push his palm flat over his heart.
“Surely you’ve gotten it by now.”
Three:
Simon’s curiosity was losing the fight, honestly. On the whole, he was just so very glad Agatha had whatever weird baggage this was so that Simon had the chance to fix what fate had boggled by not sending him to the same school to room with Baz. (And look at Baz. And talk to Baz. And maybe get under Baz.) (Definitely get under Baz.) (He’d have found an excuse to manage it at school, one way or another.)
“And now?” Simon asked. He was downright giddy with it every time he got Baz to look at him. He felt it all the way down to his toes.
Four:
He thinks on that first night, as he shoves at the sash, fights with the frame, rests his hands on the sill to breathe once he’s managed it, that he might be truly, profoundly pathetic. That he craves the familiar, the routine, the mundanity of Snow’s existence so desperately that he will do this for just an echo of it.
But he thinks on the second night that he is wrong. That maybe he wants the familiar but it is not this, because the open air doesn’t make Baz think of Snow. It makes him think without relent about how fucking cold he is. No other thought stands a chance. He buries himself under every blanket and he shivers still, he watches that open window and he curls in on himself, he feels no warmth and that is what he wants, something physical and immediate that is so loud in his head that there’s no room for anything else. He aches with the cold, and there are worse things to think about than that.
Five:
This is the first time he’s felt suited to actually sitting in this car like he belongs here instead of accidentally existing in it like some kind of dodgy hitchhiker, and it’s making him restless. He feels like he’s wearing someone else’s skin. He huffs again as he drops his head to the side to look at Baz.
“Can I hold your hand?”
Six:
He’d gone out to the alley to get some fresh blood in him. It was a stupid idea—you had to be drunk to be humming happily while you sucked blood from a rat’s neck, and from there sobering up could only be a steep downward tumble—but Baz was a stupid drunk. The sort who thought the line between stupidity and brilliance was very thin, and that he was always wobbling on the correct side of it. The sort who thought he could get away with flashing fang in central London just because everyone else in a three-block radius was also being a stupid drunk.
This is an open invitation for someone to come round and hit me with a pool noodle until I finish any of these, please and thank you.
Now, tags:
@fatalfangirl @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @moodandmist @artsyunderstudy @cutestkilla @confused-bi-queer @ivelovedhimthroughworse @basiltonbutliketheherb @martsonmars @facewithoutheart @captain-aralias @forabeatofadrum @aristocratic-otter @ionlydrinkhotwater
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How would you say Underswap Papyrus handles stressful situations? How would you say he handles stress?
That would depend a lot on the type of stress! Prior to his health issues, he and Blue were actually trained pretty thoroughly, and by nature he’s very skilled with magic and has a bit of a silver tongue, so in more sort of physical stress situations, he's very good at keeping his cool and doing his best to figure out his next step.
He’s got lightning fast reflexes and a mind almost as sharp, with a lot of collective knowledge about all sorts of things, so let's say he gets caught up in like, a hostage-bank robbery. He'd be quick to gauge how he could distract the assailants, who'd be most susceptible to engaging with him, risk factor, what he could use blue magic for, getting himself and the others out. Not to say he could do it all perfectly and entirely on his own, but he’s the type to immediately shift into "okay, what now" mode and tries to minimize the damage as efficiently as possible.
House fire? Natural disaster? Dangerous person with a weapon? He’s very good at diffusing or acting calmly in those situations.
Personal/mental stress? Absolutely terrible. Just complete garbage at dealing with internal stress, or normal life stressors. He gets drained so easily, and because of how hard he masks, all the mental routes he’s mapped out to get through the day with as little collateral damage as possible, if even the smallest thing goes wrong – he hurts a friends feelings, misses an important appointment, forgets an important date to his brother – he wracks himself over the coals for hours, possibly days, possibly weeks.
It's why Sans hated that Toriel asked him to be the judge. That is a ton of emotional responsibility for a guy who gets panic attacks over screwing up a phone call. Mostly Stretch deals through repression. But that's usually what brings on his depressive downswings, because it always catches up to him eventually.
It's a bit of a conundrum, because he actually is surprisingly good at handling a lot, but that doesn't mean it doesn't still have its effect on him. How well he learns to cope with age depends a lot on those around him, but especially after the resets stop and he gets lovingly bullied into therapy on the surface, he...does, eventually, start to get better and dealing with personal stress as well 👍
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Saw your hurricane pic post and immediately went "Okay skinny legend" 😭😭😭
if you saw me accidentally post that here instead of main no you didnt and yes its true i am a skinny legend once my mom saw esteban on the tv and immediately said "omg hes just as skinny as you dave"
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The Totally Normal for Rhys Darby Tumblr Association presents: The best in thirst tagging
Below is an assortment of tags taken from the members of the Totally Normal for Rhys Darby Tumblr Association that I have randomly assigned to pictures of the Darbs.
Thirst roulette. Maximum Darbinization.
If you feel like you can out-tag this lot, I fucking dare you to reblog this and show us what you got. I honestly do not believe our collective brain cell can get any damper but I've been proven wrong before.
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