#this was genuinely such a joy to draw you don’t understand

[housesalad]

molly molly molly!

#critical role #critical role fanart #mollymauk tealeaf #I adore him but I’m not drawing his coat. bless #this was genuinely such a joy to draw you don’t understand #I know his hair is not this long but.. what if it was #this was going to be up yesterday but I took a detour to draw another purple guy one hundred times instead #mwah #my art #cr2 #mighty nein #digital art #artists on tumblr

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

summary: kissing your friend aka your crush

pairings: riddle :: jamil :: vil :: idia x gn! reader

warnings: none! just fluff ♡

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

Sunlight was falling through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Heartslabyul Lounge and reflecting in your tea cup as you stared at the paper in front of you. Tapping the pencil against your chin you read through the assignment again only to lean back against your seat and sigh.

“Prefect, is there anything I can help you with? Please, do not hesitate to ask me if anything is unclear.” Riddle’s voice rang through the quiet room, the scraping of his pencil momentarily stopping as he looked up at you. “I’m sure it must be hard having to study an entirely new curriculum, especially when you can’t draw on any practical experiences with magic. As a housewarden it is naturally my duty to help my peers in their education.”

You were sure Riddle’s offer to help went beyond just his housewarden duties, having become pretty close friends with you after the overblot incident in your first month. Since then, he had gradually warmed up to you, inviting you over for unbirthday parties, study sessions or a stroll through the rose labyrinth. 

So, quite inevitably, you slowly felt your feelings for your friend change. What used to be gratitude for getting the Adeuce combo off your back or joy at having someone to eat lunch with shifted into excitement at seeing him again or disappointment when you thought you had caught sight of him in a crowd, just for it to be someone else. Once you realised the situation you were in, it became even harder to hide those feelings, especially when you could feel the heat crawling up your neck when the housewarden reached over to fix your tie or straighten your uniform.

“Thank you, Riddle. There actually is something I don’t understand,” you sheepishly scratched the back of your head. Sliding over your Applied Magic homework, you pointed out the question you were struggling with. “Why is it dangerous to use a spell like this in that situation?”

“Ah, I see.” Taking a moment to reflect on how to explain it best, Riddle’s steel grey eyes flitted to the roses outside for a moment. “Try visualising the question’s context and the effect of the spell you're casting before your mind’s eye. What kind of environment are you in and how would the magic affect it?”

“Hmm, the energy released from the spell could… shake the unstable structure of the walls and ceiling and cause it to collapse? And even if it doesn’t collapse, the falling debris could still cause major injuries?” 

“Yes, that’s correct. A lot of offensive magic packs more energy than defensive magic and therefore has a greater impact on the environment rather than the caster themselves,” Riddle explained further. “Now, consider all previously used magic. In this example, a few spells have already been cast, like this shielding spell for example. How straining are they on the caster and how long do they linger in the area?”

“Uh, let's see… The elements of previous spells might react with that of the current one, causing unpredictable side-effects. And in a stressful situation like this casting an unstable spell could put more pressure on the magic user, leading to… faster blot accumulation?” The last part was a total stab in the dark and you nervously watched Riddle’s unreadable expression before he gave you a satisfied smile.

“Correct again, Prefect. It is very impressive that you have such a nuanced understanding of Applied Magic, despite not being able to use it yourself.” The gleam in his eyes was genuine before he let out a defeated sigh. “If only some of the Heartslabyul first years would give magic a second thought before leaping into action…”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that, having a pretty good image of just who he was referring to. Now, with your work out of the way, you could finally let your thoughts drift. And almost immediately they went to the housewarden sitting next to you. 

Looking at him, it was almost as if time stood still. In the afternoon sun, his hair was positively glowing and his grey eyes seemed even brighter than usual. As always, his posture was perfect and poised and there was such an elegance in the way he carried himself. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was actual royalty.

When he put the tea cup to his lips and took a sip you suddenly remembered the videos you had seen back in your world where people kissed their best friend to see their reaction or to confess. Riddle probably wouldn’t approve but when he turned to you, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his lips. You’d bet on the fact that they were soft with the taste of tea…

“-fect! Prefect! Are you alright? I’ve been calling your name multiple times now.” Blinking back into reality, you came face to face with a concerned Riddle who was leaning over. Putting the back of his fingers against your forehead, his brows creased even more. “I wanted to ask if you want to try the strawberry tarts Trey baked but you’re burning up. Perhaps you should go and rest up. The rules might not state it but you can even stay at Heartslabyul if Ramshackle’s too–”

Before the thought process registered in your brain, you had already pulled Riddle closer by his collar and connected your lips. You were right. As with every aspect of his life, his lips were properly cared for and pillowy soft and after you parted, you thought you could make out a hint of sweets and lemon.

With a shocked yelp of your name, Riddle snapped you back to the present once more. Under different circumstances, the sight of the usually put-together housewarden staring at you with saucer-wide eyes and his face decorated with a rose-red hue might have been endearing but, right now, it chilled you to the bone. 

Jumping up from your seat and noisily scraping the chair over the floor, you hurriedly stuffed all your belongings in your backpack, ready to book the hell out of there. “I’m sorry, Riddle, I really have to go water the cat and feed the plants–”

“Prefect please wait.” A hand gently wrapped around your wrist and made you turn around. The short-tempered housewarden wasn’t yelling (yet), which you took as a good sign. In fact, he wasn’t meeting your eyes at all. “I have to admit that was quite the surprise. But… not an unpleasant one. Prefect, if I may be so bold, do you have feelings for me?”

“Well, I don’t kiss just anybody I meet,” you awkwardly chuckled but you quickly abandoned the idea of joking yourself out of this situation at Riddle’s unimpressed reaction. With a sigh, you conceded. “Yeah, I do have feelings for you. Look, I am really sorry, I don’t know what–”

“I’m not,” he quickly interrupted. “I’m not sorry this happened. I, too, like you. More than a friend, that is. I might not have the most experience in this field but I’m willing to try if it’s with you. However, I do believe there is a proper protocol to be followed.

“Prefect, before you spring another surprise kiss on me, may I take you out on a date first?”

JAMIL VIPER

The sound of boiling water and knives moving over a chopping board filled NRC’s kitchen. At this time of day -or should you say night?- nobody but Jamil usually came here. Most students were probably already heading to bed or cramming in a late-night study session right about now but the vice housewarden of Scarabia was still diligently meal prepping for the following day.

“Could you pass me the turmeric please?” He didn’t even look up to see if you had heard him, eyes still trained on his task at hand. 

“Sure, here you go.” Sliding over the spice, you took another moment to study his side profile. As always, there wasn’t much of an emotion readable on his face but you noticed how his shoulders seemed less tense than during the day. Or maybe it was just your imagination.

After he hummed a ‘thanks’, both of you went back to working in silence. You really appreciated Jamil trusting you enough to let you lend a hand, knowing just how strict he was about being the only one to prepare Kalim’s food. The first time you asked to help, in fact, he had watched you like a hawk and your hands had never shaken more.

At first, Jamil had been a little annoyed, thinking he’d have to look after someone else instead, but as you swung by more often, he started to appreciate the company. Not only did you not cause any trouble for him but you also stuck by him even after his overblot, whereas the rest of his dorm gave him a wide berth. So he allowed you to stay and if he ever ‘accidentally’ made too much food he let you take the leftovers.

And you, too, started to enjoy his presence more and more. You didn’t necessarily need to do something together, just being in the same space while working was enough to put you at ease. That was when you realised your actual feelings for Jamil but you didn’t know what to do with them.

Besides fear of rejection, you were also well aware of his position as Kalim’s retainer. Acting out on your feelings could cause a lot of problems for him even if he were to reciprocate them. Could he even accept them?

Before you knew it, your thoughts had distracted you enough to where your knife was merely hovering over the poor vegetable in front of you. As you were about to shake your distractions away, two warm hands already took the knife and board from you.

“You shouldn’t handle sharp objects when you’re not feeling well,” Jamil sighed but you could tell he wasn’t upset with you, rather, he was concerned. “You could seriously injure yourself.”

“I’m feeling fine actually,” you said. It wasn’t like you were physically unwell.

“Are you now? I couldn't help but notice you spacing out a lot more often lately.” Quickly throwing everything into the pot, Jamil leant against the counter with his arms crossed, giving you an earnest once-over. He was quiet for a while before mumbling “It’s okay to ask for help you know. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Workaholic,” you snorted. “Between the two of us, the one in need of a break is not me. Anyhow, it’s nothing, so don’t worry about me.”

“So there is something after all,” Jamil cocked his head to the side with a raised brow. 

“Great Seven, if you must know. Yes there is something that’s been weighing on my mind,” you groaned. “Are you happy now?”

“I’d be happier if you also told me how I can help you.” 

“And if I told you you can’t?”

“Then I wouldn’t believe you.” This guy…

“Agree to disagree, then,” you deadpanned. Turning your back to hide your burning cheeks, you pretended to wipe your hands. This once, you had wished Jamil’s sharp senses would fail him but of course not. 

The irony of this situation wasn’t lost on you.

As you had your back turned, you hadn’t noticed Jamil stepping closer, so you nearly collided with him as you went to face him again. Quickly, he steadied you by your shoulders, his touch lingering perhaps a little longer than necessary.

“Prefect, let me be perfectly honest with you, I’m worried about you. You’re not normally this distracted or careless.” And whose fault was that? 

“You know it’s hard to keep saying no to you like that. But I really don’t think you’d want to know,” you sighed. 

Aside from the bubbling pot, the kitchen was quiet as you leaned against the countertop and examined your fingers. For a moment, nothing but you two in this moment seemed to exist. Jamil wasn’t bound to the Asim family and your future wasn’t so uncertain. If only it matched reality.

“Try me.” Jamil’s voice was a lot gentler now. You thought you saw his hand hover over yours for but a second, then chalked it up to wishful thinking. “You’ve shown me that it’s okay to be my own person and that it’s possible for me to have my own dreams despite my status; I’m very grateful for that. I also really like… spending time with you, so please tell me what’s wrong.”

Heaving a deep exhale, you braved yourself for whatever was bound to happen next. Maybe you were about to lose a friend.

“I don’t know if it’s wrong but… I like you, Jamil.”

As you looked up you caught a glimpse of surprise on his features before it was replaced by his usual poker face. “I’d hope so, seeing as you’ve referred to me as your friend.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know that.” If you took the leap you might as well see it through to the end. Leaning in, you placed a quick kiss against his cheek before turning and marching straight towards the door, leaving Jamil alone in the kitchen. “I like you like that.” 

Luckily, the next day was a Saturday, so you could stay in bed and pull the covers over your head. Ignoring the yelling cat in your house and the absolute flood of text notifications from what you assumed was the first year group chat might as well have been your signature spell.

Eventually, you did crawl out from under the sheets and got dressed, even if it was just because the growling of your stomach became too annoying to ignore. As you were rummaging your fridge for something edible that wasn’t tuna, the doorbell rang which was suspicious enough. Nobody ever rang the doorbell.

As you approached the door, you could already make out Jamil’s neatly tied back hair. Steeling yourself, you slowly opened the door to find he hadn’t magically transformed into someone else.

“Jamil, what brings you over at this time of day?” Forcing as much normality as possible into your voice, you hoped that maybe he had just forgotten.

“I wanted to talk about what happened last night.” So much for that. “I sent you a few messages but you didn’t respond.”

“Nya! What’s that? Are you the reason my henchman has been hiding in bed all day?” You whipped around at hearing Grim speak, promptly grabbing him by the bow around his neck and throwing him out of the dorm.

“Go play with Ace and Deuce for the day.” Ushering Jamil inside, you threw the door closed before Grim could protest. “Don’t mind him.”

“I didn’t see you at breakfast,” he started as he handed you a container with some of the food you cooked yesterday. “I thought you might be hungry.”

As on cue, your stomach growled rather loudly. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Jamil, but you didn’t have to come all the way here just for that.”

“I also wanted to apologise,” he blurted out. Ah, so he came to reject you once and for all. “I didn’t give you a proper response. Well, to be fair, you didn’t give me the time to do it.”

You bashfully looked away, standing with your back towards him, at the memory of storming out of the kitchen. Your response came out a lot more seriously though. “Jamil, I’m sorry for saying something so selfish, I know that your work–”

You were cut off by being spun around suddenly until you were looking into Jamil’s sharp eyes. “No, I’m tired of my work getting in the way of what I want. You said it was selfish of you to tell me your feelings? Then let me be selfish as well and tell you I reciprocate them.”

There was such genuine certainty in those pools of grey, you couldn’t help but reach out and cup his cheek. One of his hands wrapped around your waist to pull you closer as the other found yours. Bringing it up to his lips, he held eye contact as he placed a tender kiss on your knuckles.

“For once, I’d like something entirely to myself.”

VIL SCHOENHEIT

“Hold still.” At Vil’s commanding tone you completely froze despite not moving much in the first place. “Good. Now close your eyes.”

You did as he said and tried your best not to flinch as the cool brush touched your eyelids. While Vil concentrated on perfecting your eye make-up, you did your best not to think too hard about his fingers currently holding your chin or how the scent of his perfume invaded your senses.

Despite being close friends with the Pomefiore Housewarden, it was still quite the task not to shrink away under his scrutinising gaze, even if it was directed at his own work rather than you. How did Epel endure this every day?

Well, the first year was most likely not head over heels for Vil and didn’t turn into a stuttering mess every time he talked to him. So much for your plan to play this crush cool and be as graceful and elegant about it as possible. Yeah, there was probably a reason you weren’t a Pomefiore student.

But then again, this was Vil you were talking about. The walking, talking, breathing definition of perfection. On top of that, he was smart and hard-working with the skills to back up his confidence. Naturally, he had people falling at his feet, no matter how intimidating he came across as. Not wanting to be seen as just another one of the masses, you decided to hide your feelings to the best of your abilities.

And so far, it seemed to be working. You were a regular visitor at Pomefiore dorm, so much so, the guards already let you pass the gates as if you actually belonged there. Seeing the actor achieve loftier goals over time, surpassing others and himself on numerous occasions, was fulfilling in its own way. There was a spark  of pride every time he was chosen for a new lead role or when he had the chance to work on a new line of skin care. Yet, although you got to be close to Vil this way, it still kind of stung to know that this would be all there’d probably ever be between the two of you.

“My, I have to say, this is a job well done,” Vil concluded, giving you a content smirk. Turning your chair to face his pristine vanity. What could you say, he was right. Even though the make-up wasn’t all that elaborate or out there, you still almost didn’t recognise the person staring back from the mirror. “You clean up nicely, potato. I’ll permit you to stand by my side now.”

“You never fail to impress me, Vil. Just, how do you do it?” you chuckled, your eyes finding his in the reflection. “Normally, I would’ve called it magic, but I know better now.”

“Magic has nothing to do with this. It’s solely hard work and practice which makes perfect.” Spinning you back around, he came face to face with you again. “While you flatter me, I am far from finished. I will see this through ‘til the end and perfect this look.”

With that, Vil went back to work, prepping your lips to the point where you were convinced this would be the smoothest they’d ever be. Then, with a look of utmost concentration, he started tracing them with a lip liner before filling them out with lipstick and applying gloss after blotting it.

Despite being finished, the housewarden didn’t move away from you and you were suddenly keenly aware of the distance between you. Or the lack thereof, rather. Subconsciously, your gaze drifted to Vil’s mouth before snapping back up as you caught yourself. Your heart was racing so fast, you’d be surprised if he didn’t hear it. Was this how you died?

You knew you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t, but screw it. The few months here had already put you through so much, at one point you stopped thinking things through twice and just leapt into action. If you’d learnt anything in this school, then it was that you had to take what you wanted because nobody would just hand it to you.

So, against better judgement, you closed the gap between the two of you. 

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise but a simple kiss from Vil was overwhelming; it was entirely too much and then again not nearly enough. If you had to find just one word to describe it, it would be intoxicating. He might be the death of you but you couldn’t care less.

Even after such a short contact, pulling away wasn’t easy. Especially because you didn’t get far before a hand at the back of your neck held you in place. Your eyes flew open to see the challenge and amusement written in his lilac ones. Not that you minded per se.

In the end, you were positively stolen of your breath whereas Vil looked as dazzling as ever, except for the slight smudge of lipstick in the corner of his lips. In your opinion it only added to his charm though. 

When you had sorted your thoughts again, your tone was slightly accusatory. “You did that on purpose.”

“Whatever do you mean?” His infuriatingly handsome smirk looked just a tad too smug for him to play coy. “May I remind you that you are the one who kissed me?”

“You weren’t even surprised!” You bristled at his act. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did. I can read you like an open book, sweet potato. I just wanted to test if you’d be daring enough. Seems as though you’ve passed.” Reaching out a perfectly manicured hand, Vil wiped the stains under your bottom lip with his thumb while his gaze was trained on how your mouth parted at the movement.

“Hmm, it seems I need to do this again...”

IDIA SHROUD

Standing in front of Idia’s room, you firmly knocked on the door in a very specific rhythm to let him know it was you. Otherwise, there was a rather slim chance the housewarden would even open it. But luckily for you, you were one of the only people who were granted access to his abode. 

After grumbling a greeting, Idia widened the crack of his door just enough for you to slip through. The two of you might be friends but that still didn’t mean he was suddenly a ray of sunshine, especially when it came to social interaction. As you adjusted to the artificial blue light, you were already prepared to be tackled by a certain blue-haired boy but the anticipated weight never came.

“Huh? Is Ortho not here today?” you wondered.

“Ah no, uh… Ortho’s out running errands,” Idia mumbled, shifting from one foot to the other. “You’re probably disappointed now, right? It’s like seeing your bias is not at a fanmeet…”

“No, not at all! I was just noticing it. You’re the reason I’m here after all.” Winking at him, you were already grinning at his reaction for what you were about to say. “I’m Idia-biased after all.”

And he didn’t fail you. Instantly, his eyes widened and you could practically see him blue screen behind his golden irises. Meanwhile, the ends of his long hair tinged pink as he tried to hide himself by tugging the drawstrings of his hoodie tighter. “HUH?! I- You- What– You can’t just drop SSR dialogue like that on me…”

“Why not? It’s the truth and you’re supposed to tell the truth, no?” You tilted your head to the side expectedly. 

“What’s with you and your ability to turn a supposed buff into a massive debuff?” Idia shook his head miserably.

“Come on, I’m just teasing you. Although you are my fave, that part’s not a lie.” Nudging him back into the realm of the living as you pass, you plopped down on one of the gaming chairs in front of his PC. When had you asked him why he had two, he’d said that one was for Ortho, yet it was perfectly adjusted to your height. You just pretended he had fooled you though and didn’t comment on it further. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Uhm, that show we’ve been watching released a new episode today, so maybe we can catch up on that…” At your approval, he started setting everything up as you watched his fingers fly over the keyboard with such practised ease it amazed you every time. “You still remember the plot, right?”

“Of course, who do you take me for,” you playfully accused him. “The protagonist basically gets isekai’d to a mmorpg-like world and would die almost every two seconds if it weren’t for the cooler side characters.”

“Ya, cut him some slack. Everyone else grew up there while he’s a total noob.”

“Trust me, I know the feeling,” you deadpanned. “But even you have to admit his decisions are questionably stupid.”

Idia just looked at you as if you had grown a second head. “Is the outside perspective making you realise something or what?”

“HEY! I can go three minutes without being an orc’s breakfast.”

“Only because there’s no orcs on Sage’s Island,” he taunted with a grin, showing you his sharp teeth. In return you gasped in faux indignance before dissolving in a fit of giggles.

“Just imagine there’d be a show like this about NRC…” You tapped your finger against your chin. “I wonder what kind of tropes everyone would fall into. Like, Kalim and Jamil are your classic deredere and tsundere duo.”

“Riddle is the type of crazy skilled character you wouldn’t consider at first. But then he saves everyone by casting some seriously dangerous magic or something,” Idia sniggered.

“Meanwhile Malleus is the impossibly powerful, show-breaking character who is always conveniently absent when there’s a problem to be solved,” you sighed. Turning in your seat, you leaned your head against the back of the chair. “Say Idia, what kind of character am I?”

He tried to suppress his tiny squeak at the drop of your voice. To be honest, you had never been shy about showing your affection for the housewarden but you had come to the realisation he just wouldn't catch on, no matter how many hints you threw his way. Or rather, he’d convince himself you couldn’t possibly mean any of it.

“Y-You? Uh I guess, you always jump in to save the day no matter the risks, so you’d probably be some sort of knight in shining armour type. But with a serious case of ‘chosen one syndrome’,” he mumbled. “Seriously, only crazy people would play hard mode with those gimmicky stats of yours.”

“Aww, really?” you cooed before preparing yourself to strike. “What if I want to be the love interest though?”

By the look in Idia’s eyes it was a critical hit. 

“Lo-Love interest? You can be both I think… I mean there’s a lot of people you’re close to…,” the poor guy stammered. Seriously, how could one person be so smart yet so dense at the same time? But fine. If you needed to spell it out for him, so be it. 

Getting up, you slowly came to stand in front of his chair and propped your hands on the arm rests. You almost felt bad for him with how he was staring at you like a deer caught in headlights; Idia looked as if his life was flashing in front of his eyes. But you’ve had enough of your little cat and mouse game, it was time for the chase to come to an end.

“I was talking about your story. I want to be the love interest in your story, Idia. Hmm, how am I going to get that thought through your thick skull, I wonder…” You pretended to think about it for a moment before giving him a cheshire grin. “Ah, I think I have an idea.”

By now Idia’s hair was bright pink, matching the colour of his face, and he was radiating heat like a fireplace. As much as you wanted to see his reaction to a kiss on the lips, you were afraid it would actually kill him and you didn’t want this experience to end in giving him CPR.

So you settled for a sweet but lingering kiss to his forehead. Just as expected, his skin was warm to the touch and you felt him relax after the initial tense up. Maybe it were your own rose-red glasses but as you pulled away to cup his cheeks you could swear little hearts were flickering at the end of his hair. “Pardon the straightforwardness but I really needed to get my point across.”

“Wait, so you like me?!” Apparently his brain had kicked back into action at this point.

“I have for a while now,” you laughed, “but thanks for noticing.”

“So you were serious when you got me roses? And chocolate? And said I was your favourite?” The incredible tone of his voice was simultaneously endearing and heartbreaking. How could he not notice how amazing he actually was?

“I told you, it’s the truth,” you smiled. “So how about it? Can I be your love interest? Or is my affection already high enough to clear your route?”

“Woah you’re like straight out of an otome game,” he breathed. “Is this the super secret ending you have to play flawlessly for?”

“Oh come on, Idia,” you shot him another wink, paired with a teasing smirk, “You don’t really think this is the end, do you? If anything, it’s only the beginning."

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[cerise-on-top]

Taking Care of a Drunk Valeria and Laswell

Somehow, Tumblr botched this upon me having posted it, so I'm posting it again. I'm genuinely sorry about this, I really don't know why it happened!

Valeria: Valeria isn’t exactly a lightweight, but she certainly can’t outdrink everyone either, meaning it’s not too hard to find her drunk when she’s out with you. While she can normally drink quite a bit, if it’s good and expensive wine she’s drinking, she’s a goner fairly quickly. Despite normally already having quite the temperament, she gets fairly aggressive when drunk, picking fights with just about anyone who looks at her the wrong way. Most people don’t expect someone so pretty and cute to get this mad when drunk, much less expecting them to be able to suplex them into the ground as well. It becomes evident quickly enough that she’s had enough, with someone, pretty much always you, needing to drag her away from the bar and the booze lest she actually just kills someone. It wouldn’t be her first time, but you were hoping last time won’t be repeated like that. And thus, you put your hand on her shoulder, telling her that it’s finally time to go home.

“Don’t fucking touch me, pendejo, I’m married!”

“I know, I am your wife!”

Upon hearing that, she’d be quiet for a moment, and that’s about the best chance you have to drag her away. It’s sweet that she’s that loyal to you, especially when she’s as drunk as she is, but she really needed to stop. Putting her in the car, you drove as you had had much less alcohol than she did, but Valeria, having “regained” her composure, wouldn’t shut up, questioning you about things only her wife would know. Naturally, you knew the answers to all of her questions. Why wouldn’t you know about her love for the stuffie you gave her all those years ago? Again, she’s stunned a bit, but won’t shut up either, starting to flirt with you instead. If you can speak Spanish, congratulations, you’ll hear the worst pickup lines in existence that aren’t standard. Most of them won’t even make sense since she comes up with them herself and she isn’t exactly the most creative person. If you don’t speak Spanish and tell her such, she’ll try to speak English with you, but fails horribly and either speaks Spanglish, or simply reverts back to her native tongue. Her accent, too, becomes very thick when she’s drunk.

Once you’re out of the car and back home she’ll be more inclined to touch you. Putting her arms over your shoulders, trapping you between her and the wall while stumbling over both her feet and her words, looking for the worst excuses to simply touch your hand. If you wear your ring, then you can be certain she’ll be looking for and at it. Still can’t believe she’s your wife.

If you wanna take care of her, now’s your chance. You can put her head in your lap without her protesting, but she will have to leave fairly often for the bathroom, so the joy isn’t very long lived. But she will always come back to you and demand you run your fingers through her hair. Actually thinks she’s 0.5% weaker than she actually is while drunk, giving her enough of an opportunity to want to be spoiled rotten by you. Give her the princess treatment and she’ll return it tenfold. And yes, she will remember, she’s never forgotten anything just because she was drunk at the time. Draw her a bath and help with washing her. If you gently rub in the shampoo she’ll go very quiet, simply wanting to enjoy your presence. While she does want to tease you still, it’s not nearly as mean and venomous as it usually is. Her words are slurred, so there’s a chance you can’t understand everything anyway. I know they say “in vino veritas”, but I think she also gets a bit more cuddly. Not particularly emotional still, just slightly more mad than she usually is, but definitely more cuddly. Yes, she hates PDA, yes, she wants to hold you close so you won’t run away from her anymore.

While she will lay down for a few hours, she won’t be able to sleep all that well after drinking a lot of alcohol, so if you’re down for an all nighter, she’ll appreciate it once she’s sobered up enough after those few hours. Doesn’t need to be taken care of in the sense that you need to hold her hair back while she throws up, she rarely ever does after an intense night, but if you make her some toast she’ll definitely show her appreciation. Get her some aspirin while you’re at it too. Valeria might not be the most traditionally affectionate person normally, but she’d fight tooth and nail for you if you ever got drunk like she did.

Laswell: Laswell isn’t a lightweight in the slightest, she can hold her liquor quite well due to larger alcohol consumption when she was a lot younger. While she still wouldn’t be able to outdrink someone like Nikolai, it takes quite a bit to get her drunk. She’s a classy woman as well, but she does like stronger things such as tequila or some cocktails. Not one for too much vodka, but not above drinking the good and expensive kind upon being offered. As mentioned, she can take quite a lot, but she only really drinks the strong stuff, so it doesn’t take too long for her to properly get drunk either if she’s had a few too many drinks. Most of the time you couldn’t even tell she was drunk in the first place since she acts just about the same. Aside from her breath, it’s hard for just about anyone to tell she’s drunk, so if she ever wears a mask, no one would know she even drank anything in the first place. Yes, her judgment is just a bit clouded, but she can still make some good decisions. However, she loosens up a bit more while drunk. It’s not too often she tells jokes while sober, but you’ll hear one pretty much every other hour when she’s not. Laughs at them a bit too, she thinks she’s a comedic genius. Her jokes are just what you’d expect from someone of her age. They don’t always make sense, but she likes them. A guy walks around the corner and the bus is gone. The bus drives around the corner and the guy is gone. Both round the corner and the corner is gone. It’s a real knee slapper to her and she’ll laugh every time. Don’t ask me what it means, though, I couldn’t tell you.

While usually not a very touchy person either, she’ll keep her hands on you just the tiniest bit more. A hand on your thigh, a hand on your shoulder, a hand on your arm. She’s not touch starved, but getting to feel you, getting the reassurance that you’re there, it’s a good feeling to her. Unlike Valeria, Laswell is usually the first one to suggest you leave when she’s had a few drinks, but when she’s with Price and Nikolai and having a very good time, she might forget about her drunken state and needs to be reminded of how she’s going to get home. And thus you tug at her arm.

“I am a happily married woman, stop trying to get my attention.”

“Kate, my love, I’m your wife, please let’s just go home.”

It’s the first time something like this has ever happened, but you couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit. She’s so cute when she’s drunk. It takes a bit more convincing to get to her, but eventually she’ll remember you and agree to go home with you, begrudgingly. Saying her goodbyes to Nikolai and Price, she’ll trot alongside you, her hand in yours. I know, she’s not a fan of PDA either, but there’s nothing wrong with holding hands while it’s pitch black outside. Most of your time driving back home is spent just chatting over this and that. How nice it was to see her old friends again, how she hoped you and them would get along as well, that sort of stuff. As well as thanking you for taking one for the team and driving home.

Once home, the first thing she always does is ask you for a glass of water. She’s thirsty, alcohol doesn’t hydrate as much as it dehydrates. But other than that she’s really just content playing UNO or Sorry! with you. Despite her being very drunk, she can keep her cool, she’s just very low maintenance in that regard. In fact, you could leave her as she is and she’ll be just fine. However, that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t want your company. When it’s very late and you’re both still up, Kate opens up a lot more about herself than she usually does, regardless of whether you’re having an impromptu therapy session among yourselves or you're wiping the dishes. Those are things she genuinely doesn’t tell anyone aside from the people closest to her, the things that, from time to time, do weigh on her. She knows she can’t particularly tell you everything she does at work, but nothing prevents her from telling you personal anecdotes she thought she’d take with her to her grave. You don’t need to always respond to her, simply listening is more than enough. Usually, she remembers your late night deep talks, but sometimes she does forget about a topic or two you talked about. But she’ll always remember you giving her the time of your day to listen to her. And for that she’s truly grateful.

#cod #cod x reader #fem!reader #valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #kate laswell #kate laswell x reader #no tag-rambling this time since I'm so incredibly tired #sorry! #and sorry for posting this again! #i hope you'll see it still! thank you for the lovely request though!

[cinnibelle]

I’m going to vent. Sit tight for an artist’s reflection on the acotar fandom!

I was going to use tumblr to strictly post art (at least on my end) and engage with the wonderful ppl here as well. Except what I’ve been seeing as of late is a lot of abuse (across platforms) and it’s very jarring. As an artist, I understand to make the most of your experience in a toxic fandom is to say nothing and do nothing that bothers those a bit **too** passionate about their opinions. I get it, I’m used to being content fodder from other fandoms. So I am not new to this.

But this fandom is *so* toxic that I immediately understood why artists choose to stay neutral or entirely avoid making art for this fandom at all. I have several art friends interested in the books but won’t touch the fandom with a ten foot pole from what they’ve seen. What I’ve personally witnessed the past few months is genuinely disgusting. The only reason I’m here after being FLAMED on twitter is because 1) I began posting BECAUSE people were so kind and encouraging and I don’t want to leave them and the possibility of befriending others 2) I was fully prepared to be dragged for the smallest offense.

I didn’t want to believe people would be downright atrocious to me for Elain, being starborn, holding the sword that reflects her (as I’ve stated when I paralleled quotes) but that’s what they were: awful. And what I got in turn was: why are you victimizing yourself this is what other artists deal with! Ok?? And!? Why is it appropriate AT ALL. Why is it fine for you to do that? I don’t care what anyone ships, why do you feel entitled to comment nastiness under someone’s art. To directly be in their mentions mocking the concept and the way it looks or how you hate the character. It brings me and others joy.. why are you being ruthless? For a fictional character??

It’s too much. And you know, this is my first fandom experience where the shipping is so extreme. I would’ve loved multi shipping as I’ve done it in other fandoms, I really don’t care for what sort of crack ships people make up (though I have my limitations, I think everyone does. “Notp”.) But you know what I DON’T DO as an adult? Ridicule artists for their work. They are providing content FOR FREE. And if they aren’t, they are gifting you with their expertise and talent. You are scaring people away.

I was afraid of joining and just stayed on the sidelines for months just enjoying arts in peace. I only gave in because I showed some friends some of my sketches and they ADORED it. And pleaded that I post. So I did, and I found many others really wanted me to continue posting. So I do. Were it not for the toxicity, I would’ve drawn all types of ships because I’m genuinely someone that does not care about the ship and if it’s canon or endgame or not, if I like the characters and the vibe- cool. Draw it. That’s the beauty of fanart.

But people are acting diabolically UNHINGED over it. And treating artists like they’re players and they’re revoking sponsorships. Fandom should not be a competition. That is exhaustive and tiring. I shouldn’t have to be fearful of the engagements on my posts. I don’t even have 500 followers yet on ANY of my platforms. And still, I am treated like filth. I need people to reflect on their behavior, recognize if they don’t like something ignore it or block it or what have you and be at peace. Stop giving into negativity and using artists as some pawn- they have feelings TOO! And you really turn them off to a character or a ship or a fandom in general with the way you act.

I have my comments off where I can keep them off because I simply don’t want 1) people arguing in my comments and 2) comments that are generally unhelpful or just shaming me for what I post. But twitter I really can’t help what happens. And tumblr too there’s some limits I can take and a filtering system I can take advantage of but even here people lack etiquette. I don’t understand where people get off acting like mean girls over things people made.

This is the most extreme, unhealthy fandom I have ever been in and I’m really not all shocked when I hear an artist quit and doesn’t want to partake. This is not a competition of who has it worse. Stop bullying artists because they don’t make content that pleases you. Just drop it. I can’t believe I am being called TOXIC for defending myself and my art. And I know who these people are, I know exactly the type of content they themselves post and it’s COMEDY to be telling ME I’m toxic for standing up for myself.

Most artists leave or go silent. That’s what you want, right? Or to antagonize them to the point they really lose patience with you. This is me losing patience: a call to being better. Be the change you seek. It’s funny I have people going at me and in their bio it says “ spread kindness not hate” Pardon??

Seriously, I would’ve liked to explore any theory and a variety of arts despite my preferences but the way people act with what I DO put out, I’m just sour. I don’t even want to expand beyond the two characters I really like because I have a headache already with the “you don’t really care about-“ takes that I’ve seen other artists get when they expand what they draw in this fandom.

It shouldn’t offend you that an artist has a preference and wants to share the things that they found intriguing or makes them happy. And if it does, cry about it in private at minimum. Stop dumping your grief onto the artists. That’s all. Maybe then you will see a resurgence of artists that do content for free (and frequently) or a return of artists who left.

#sorry I’m just shaken and tired #acotar #small artist #bookish

[mouschiwrites]

Creepypasta/MH - How They’d Ask You Out

Characters: Eyeless Jack, Nina the Killer, Clockwork, Jane the Killer, Tim/Masky, Brian/Hoody

Eyeless Jack

I don’t think it would take him too long to ask out someone he liked

As long as he was sure that he really did like them, and that they didn’t hate him or anything, he’d be comfortable at least asking

He would bring flowers for sure

He’d show up at your door late at night, bouquet in hand

“Would you care to join me for a walk?”

You’d stroll through the woods, talking a bit about yourselves

It’d be a pretty deep conversation, both of you staying serious as you exposed vulnerable parts of yourselves

He’d hint at being romantically interested in you, but he’d wait until you were back at your house to pop the question

“You’ve probably noticed by now, but I really do think you’re amazing. I’d love it if you’d be my partner.”

If you say yes he’ll be absolutely radiating joy and he’ll promise to treat you well before bidding you goodnight

If you say no he’ll understand, thank you for your time anyway, and disappear into the night

He’s okay staying friends, but he’ll be sad about it for a while

Still, your companionship is more important to him than being yours

Nina the Killer

It won’t take long at all for her to ask out someone she’s interested in

As soon as she knows she can trust them, she’ll go for it

She’ll use something homemade to actually ask the question

Like a kandi bracelet that says “be mine?”

Or maybe a cake she baked herself

Either way it’s bound to be something decorative made with lots of love

She’ll find you at school/work/home and tell you she has something to show you

She smiles hugely when she reveals her little project, but inside she’s buzzing with anxiety

“So..? What do you say?”

If you agree she’ll literally drop whatever she’s made and throw her arms around you

She will proceed to take you out shopping to buy something to commemorate the occasion

Matching shirts, bracelets, a new piercing, maybe even a pizza to share

Just a little something to celebrate :)

If you say no she’ll be devastated

“Oh… well, thanks anyway…”

She probably won’t talk to you for a while, if ever again

Clockwork

She’d have to know you for a VERY long time beforehand

She has trouble trusting people, as well as trouble finding someone she’s genuinely interested in romantically

You’d know pretty much everything about each other by the time she decides to ask you out

That just means that she knows the way to your heart though

She’ll make a beautiful sketch of you

Maybe there’s some gore incorporated, but hey, if you’ve stuck with her this long you’ll be used to it

You’ll be hanging out one day, her drawing and you distracted by something else, and she’ll suddenly tear a page from her sketchbook

She hands you the drawing while saying:

“Hey, Y/n, so… I really like you. You’re my dream partner. I want you by my side always.”

If you agree to be her partner, she’ll grin, turning back to her sketchbook with a little pinkness on her cheeks as she mumbles “cool”

When you leave she’ll peck your cheek before slamming the door in your face, giddy that she had the courage to do that

If you reject her, she’ll frown

Probably won’t want to be friends anymore :(

She just doesn’t want to be around someone she loves knowing they don’t love her back

Jane the Killer

I think it depends on the person when it comes to Jane

If you guys click really well, she’ll probably try to advance the relationship quicker than if your relationship started off rocky

But either way she’s going to plan something romantic

She’ll buy you something nice and deliver it in secret

Like, one day you’ll just find a box of chocolates or a necklace with a note attached telling you to meet her someplace

Personally I like to think it’d be a blossoming cherry tree, or perhaps a scenic overlook

You’ll find her there waiting for you, hands fidgeting nervously behind her back

She’ll get straight to the point:

“Y/n, I like you. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but if you do… wanna be my girlfriend?”

If you accept, she’ll get a huge smile and run over to you, throwing her arms around you and twirling you around

You’ll sit together at the scenic location for a while, leaning on each other with your fingers intertwined

If you decline, she’ll just nod with a sad smile

She’ll be sad for a while, but ultimately she’s got other things in her life to worry about, so I don’t think she’ll wallow for too long

Might keep talking to you, might not; again, it really depends with her

Tim/Masky

Another one who’d have to know you a while first

He needs to make sure he trusts you, yes, but he also needs to start trusting himself around you

Once he’s sure that you can both handle yourselves, he’ll take more time to hype himself up to do it

He questions bitterly whether you’d even accept if he did ask you out

Eventually he gets so exhausted from the constant will they/won’t they in his head that he spontaneously blurts out:

“Do you want to go out with me?”

You’ll be taken aback; you guys were literally just chilling in silence

Plus he would’ve given next to no hints that he liked you at all

If you accept, he’ll sigh, slouching severely in relief

Finally some peace of mind… and heart

He’ll murmur a thank you for giving him this peace, but won’t elaborate

If you decline, he’s going to beat himself up about it so hard

He won’t blame you at all; no, every ounce of blame is going into the anvil that he’s crushing himself with

Probably won’t want to keep contact for much longer

Your presence is just a constant reminder of (what he sees as) his failure

Brian/Hoody

He didn’t know you for too long before deciding to ask you out, but he knew a lot about you

If he’s interested in you, he’s going to find out everything he can

He prefers outside sources, but if he absolutely cannot find something he wants to know, he’ll begrudgingly just ask you

That being said, he knows how to charm you

He’s a pretty naturally charming person regardless, but he wants to do something special just for you

He’d leave a gift for you; something he knows you love

Jewelry with your favorite gemstone, your favorite flowers, a nice new fluffy blanket… something on the luxurious side

Plus a note saying:

“Y/n, please be mine. With love, Brian”

He’ll approach you later and ask for your response

If you agree, he’s got a whole nice evening planned out already, and he’s more than eager to take you on this first date

If you decline, he’ll probably “cut contact”

I use quotations because he’ll probably still keep tabs on you in secret for a while

He’ll get over it eventually, but until he does that’s his way of coping

Thank you for reading!! Take care of yourselves pumpkins <33

(divider by saradika)

#creepypasta #marble hornets x reader #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanons #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #clockwork #clockwork x reader #nina the killer #nina the killer x reader #jane the killer #jane the killer x reader #masky x reader #tim wright #tim wright x reader #brian thomas #brian thomas x reader #hoody x reader

[hitlikehammers]

intimately entwined

rating: e (but not how you think) ♥️ cw: the deepest intimacies in the most unexpected places knocking someone on their ass  ♥️ tags: established relationship, care-taking, casual intimacy, fluff, relationship development, slice of life, idiots in love

for @steddielovemonth day three: Love is wanting to do everything with someone, even if its nothing special

and yes, again: these boys probably grow up to star in the rockstar-husbands-with-the-sex-toys fic je ne regrette rien which will have a sequel flavoured revival via @subeddieweek in April whaaaaaatttt

“Another.”

And the way it’s said: it’s almost fucking expectant too, Jesus Christ, this man.

“You’re sure this is okay?”

Because, like, Eddie needs to know it is. He needs to check, then double check, then triple check because…because this feels like a wholly different step, y’know? This feels like crossing a kind of line they haven’t even dared to tiptoe near just yet, wholly different from all the other lines they’ve navigated, both reckless and careless but together, always, and that helps, in theory. It helps to know that no matter how they’ve fumbled or triumphed in this, between them: it’s been hand in hand. Before, and during, and after.

Still, though. This is…this just feels very fucking different. The kind of boundary with implications that feel heavy and expansive under Eddie’s ribs. Maybe it should seem less monumental compared to other shit they’ve done, and most of that with far less deliberation and hesitation for them, at that. But this does, it…Eddie genuinely believes this pumps weird and novel through his veins, because it is different; and incredible for it, no question. Terrifying. Wholly beggars belief, honestly, and Eddie never really understood that phrase meant but.

He thinks this thing fits it, to a T.

“I said it was, didn’t I?”

Eddie blinks, recenters: was it okay?

And this, this…brilliant perfect little shit: Eddie can hear the smirk in his voice without even looking. He can hear the amusement as much as the loose-ends of frustration. Like Eddie is being absurd here.

Which: what the actual fuck; seriously.

Like, like: goddamn seriously.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, a little hesitant, a lot fucking dazed; “yeah you did,” because…he did. From the beginning, from even before they settled int to start this: Steve had been…vocally enthusiastic. Not that Eddie hadn’t been! He’d mostly just, he’d just been—

“You think I’m fucking with you?”

Again: without having to see Eddie clocks the eye roll, the not-even-subtle challenge in it.

Alongside the nugget of genuine hurt held for if it turns out true and that: no.

No, Eddie will not fucking have that, so.

Okay, he won’t have that, but also first:

“I mean, yeah—“ because umm…their sex life is a little undeniable.

Steve snorts; how. How

“Here and now, jackass,” he snipes back and Eddie…Eddie really and truly doesn’t fucking know what to do with this. How cal, Steve is. How focused and dedicated to the task. How monumentally and profoundly, just…

How this is sitting in his chest as so much more than the rest of it somehow in a way Eddie cannot wrap his mind around to understand and it’s frightening. Not understanding something so clearly and intimately important; so clearly fucking intimate.

“Not exactly,” Eddie ultimately settles on speaking rather than continuing to gape, continuing to stew in his terror as his heartbeat picks up but speed, it comes out more choked than he’d been hoping; less convincing by a mile as a result. “I don’t think you’re fucking with me like, like it’s something intentional,” and Eddie seeks out Steve’s gaze directly then because that’s it, that’s the hurt part he needs to root out and not crush to bits because he doesn’t crush any part of the man he loves, ever; no.

No, Eddie needs to root that out so he can draw it into the pounding in his chest warm and safe to be cradled and adored until it snuffs itself out in contented fucking joy, for being loved right. Like it deserves.

Which might be part of the problem in the present case just: this time it’s a problem for Eddie.

“Like not mean or anything,” he reiterates, to make absolute sure of this part too; “I just…”

Steve watches him as he struggles to put any part of it into words, can’t even move, or fidget like this: caught, and kinda giddily so underneath everything else, and maybe he needs to lean into that base sensation, see if he can chart his way out from the center versus stumbling around the sides:

“It can’t be, like, enjoyable,” is what he ultimately settles on saying as clear as he came because honestly, that sums up the bulk of it.

Plus he’s learned by now to trust Steve to reach around his rougher edges and find the heart of his meaning, or else, and probably more often: hold his hand as the send out a search party between them for the right words.

Because that’s still it, isn’t it: together.

And of everything else, Eddie doesn’t have to even pysch himself up to trust in that; it just it. It comes natural like breathing.

“Umm,” Steve draws out, a little incredulous; “why not?”

Why not? Why isn’t this exchange clearly one-sided?

“Because,” Eddie tries to find his words, or at least some of them: “I guess, what do you get out of it?”

Steve’s the one glancing to lock their gazes and Eddie…Eddie doesn’t feel ashamed where he might have early on. But he recognises the similar dive where it still lives in his stomach for the gentle warmth that Steve stares into him. Like he sees Eddie’s question, and loves Eddie enough that he won’t dismiss it.

“One more,” Steve instructs confidently, just-shy-of-demands.

“Steve—“

“If you hate it we never have to do it again,” Steve counters; a compromise; “promise.”

“That’s not—“ because fucking hell, as if Eddie could ever hate it.

“One more,” Steve reminds him with the patience of a saint and…Eddie’s moving almost without any thought for it at all, like his body runs the way of his heart and moves for Steve be rote, which.

Kinda, yeah.

“Blow,” Steve’s instructing and Eddie’s doing the moving-by-instinct-because-Steve-says thing again; knows he’s blinking owlishly as he purses his lips and does as he’s asked.

Blows. Ever-so-gentle.

“Okay,” Steve assesses and then grins: “okay, that’s it. Perfect.”

Eddie won’t fucking argue. Not least because it’s true.

Though he’s more invested in the perfection looking up at him like this.

“Verdict?”

And okay, Eddie thinks maybe he has words now, at least inside his head: intimacy wasn’t something he’d ever had before Steve, and frankly was never something he was hanging hopes on ever getting, again—before Steve.

But it wasn’t just because he didn’t have other options that Eddie banked on intimacy equalling sex, either. Because once he did have Steve, it just shifted to the idea of sex as a way of showing love. The more of himself he could give to Steve, the more intimate they’d become: the more of him that was Steve’s for the taking, the more of Steve he look reverent into himself, body to body: that was intimate. That was a relationship, how it looked as it grew. First time Steve came inside him. First time Eddie licked him open. First time he fucked Steve’s gorgeous goddamn thighs.

That kind of thing.

But Eddie’s not sure even the heaviest, headiest sex has ever left his heart as much of a thumping, fluttery mess as just this, which doesn’t feel like just anything: Steve. Sitting in front of him. With a bottle he drove out to Indy to get just for Eddie. Because Eddie wanted it. Because Eddie would like it. Because it might make Eddie happy and it did, it really really did, and—

Steve’s just painted his fucking nails the most gorgeous shiny black, only the slightest bit straying off on the skin, too, and it’s somehow hitting Eddie deeper than the first time they fucked, the first time they stretched each other open, the first time they 69’d in the sheets.

This is apparently what knocks Eddie on his ass for just how deep the love goddamn goes.

“That.”

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, blinking back to the moment where he was busy getting caught up in the new revelation of what intimacy looked like, not to mention caught up in admiring his nails: “what’s ‘that’?”

And Steve’s smiling beatific, incandescent, as he pokes Eddie’s cheek, no, more specifically: as he pokes Eddie’s dimple.

“What I get out of it.”

And Eddie flushes hot under Steve’s touch, then, as it all adds up and seeps in strong enough to shake his core before reshaping him from the inside out as Steve taps the little divot in his skin playfully:

“That.”

Which is how Eddie realizes full on and forever, probably something he already knew, just somewhere under the surface: the intimacy was the sharing of the joy. And in love, especially a love like this one: joy itself is the payoff.

Joy, like everything, is shared by default.

Eddie lifts his eyes, meets Steve’s smile so wide, and relishes the color on his nails as a sign of it for seeing; relishes the dizzy cadence pumping in his chest as proof for the rest of him, to feed and nurture this depth of loving for all the simple things, undimmed and forever until his heart stops doing anything at all. Because there is no pay off, even if there is always something to get out of it. Out of all of it.

Because love is them; together.

Intimately entwined to the goddamn cells.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland

♥️

divider credit here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #established relationship #idiots in love #slice of life #intimacy #specifically: intimacy when it’s deepest where you least expect it #domestic fluff #criminal levels of softness #steddielovemonth #love is wanting to do everything with someone #even if its nothing special #relationship development: it doesn’t always come from the things you anticipate #Eddie takes care of Steve #(even when he’s a little bit scared shitless) #but then also! #Steve takes care of Eddie #(kinda like always and Eddie is still figuring out what that means) #(and how to lean into it) #stranger things

[dracoqueen22]

For Melly: Aerith/Tifa - against all odds

Tifa is exhausted. 

She’s covered in cuts and bruises. Her body aches. Her head’s spinning, and worst of all, her heart has taken a beating. She doesn’t understand Cloud. She doesn’t know Cloud. She wonders if she ever did. 

And she definitely isn’t sure what happened five years ago. Not anymore. 

Tifa’s exhausted, but she can’t sleep. Energy runs through her veins, adrenaline certain another battle might come bursting through that door. She can’t seem to calm down. 

It doesn’t seem like Aerith can sleep either. She’s been staring at the ceiling and fiddling with the buttons on her dress for as long as Tifa’s been fruitlessly counting chocobos. She’s up to 963. 

Tifa rolls on her side, facing Aerith, arm tucked under her cheek. “Can’t sleep either, huh?” 

“You’d think I’d be exhausted,” Aerith says. She turns to face Tifa, their bodies a pair of parentheses on opposite beds. Her shoulders are bare, but Tifa isn’t sure why she’s focusing on that fact. “I mean, I’m definitely tired, but I guess that’s not enough.” 

“Worried?” Tifa asks. “About your mom?” 

Aerith smiles, gentle and sweet all the way to her willowy bones. “No. She can take care of herself.” 

“Do you think we made the wrong choice?” Tifa blurts out, almost before Aerith can finish answering. It’s something Tifa’s gnawed on, over and over, especially after Cloud’s recitation of an event he can’t have seen. 

Is he wrong because he’s lying on purpose? Or is he actually remembering something he experienced because the choice they made, there on that highway, has fundamentally altered the course of their universe? Is he even her Cloud? Or is Tifa the one misremembering? 

Tifa doesn’t know. 

“It’s too soon to say.” Aerith draws nonsense on the mattress in front of her. That soft smile lingers. “It’s terrifying, but it’s also kind of exhilarating.” 

Tifa would chalk Aerith’s optimism up to naivete, but that’s far from the truth. Aerith’s life hasn’t been a picnic and that she can still be sweet is a testament to her strength. 

Tifa envies her for it. That strength that allows her to be weak. 

“How so?” she asks. 

“Well, I’ve never had a sleepover before,” Aerith says with the frankness that makes Tifa’s heart ache. “Or a girlfriend.” She pauses, cheeks going pink. “I mean, a woman who is a friend. Woman-friend? No, that just doesn’t have the same ring to it.” 

Tifa laughs quietly as Aerith’s face scrunches with genuine confusion. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a girlfriend,” Tifa says. “Most of the kids my age were boys.” 

“Like Cloud?” 

Tifa’s too slow to stop the flinch. It’s hard to say if Aerith noticed. “Yeah,” she says quietly, but then the memory hits her, easing the sting. “Though he’s always been pretty enough.” 

“He sure is.” Aerith giggles and turns on her back, stretching her arms over her head with a hum. “But that’s what I mean. We made a choice and decided to fight, and now here I am, against all odds, on my first sleepover.” 

Tifa doesn’t tell her all the ways this doesn’t count. It’s a simple wish. A simple joy. She wants Aerith to have it. 

“Do you think we should have a pillow fight?” Aerith asks, but before Tifa can answer, she laughs and says, “Hmm. Maybe not. I think you’d win in one hit.” 

“I’d be gentle,” Tifa says. 

“I know you would.” Aerith’s grin makes Tifa’s heart go thump-thump-thump in a way it hasn’t before. 

Aerith abruptly sits up and looks around as if an idea has popped into her mind. “Hmm,” she says. “There’s not enough furniture to make a fort, and I don’t think that vending machine had any candy. I’m stumped on ideas.” 

“Aren’t we a little old for sleepovers anyway?” 

“Probably.” Aerith sighs, and there’s a wealth of disappointment in the small sound. “I guess we should be sleeping. We have a lot more walking ahead of us.” 

Aerith flops back, pulls the blanket up to her chin, and stares at the ceiling. She dutifully closes her eyes, and Tifa feels a bit like she’s kicked a bucket. Could it really hurt to entertain such an innocent joy? 

Tifa rolls off the bed, bringing her blanket with her, and flops down next to Aerith. “Tell me a secret,” she says as she squirms down to get comfortable. 

Aerith blinks at her. “What?” 

“It’s what you do at a sleepover.” At least, in Tifa’s experience, that what she thinks most young girls do. “You tell each other secrets.” 

“Oh.” Aerith’s cheeks turn a pretty pink. “I don’t think I have any that you don’t already know.” She presses her lips together, face scrunched in serious thought. 

“Nothing?” Tifa prompts as she tucks her arm under her head. “Not even an embarrassing story you don’t want anyone to know?” 

Aerith laughs and turns to face her, voice going softer like they are two young woman sharing a secret with no one else. “I have plenty of those stories. But what about you? Do you have any secrets?” 

“Too many,” Tifa sighs, and her thoughts wander again, to home, to Nibelheim, to five long, confusing years, and one stubborn, confusing blond the next room over. Maybe this is a bad idea after all. 

She shouldn’t spill all the troubles on her shoulders. Aerith shouldn’t have to help bear that load. She has enough problems without Tifa adding to her stress. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. 

Tifa shifts, intending to go back to her own bed, and back to chocobo number 964. But Aerith touches her arm, and that’s enough for Tifa to freeze. Surprised. 

“We don’t have to share secrets,” Aerith says, her resting hand curling into a gentle hold, “But we can share the bed. If you want, I mean.” 

Tifa’s heart throbs so loud, it thumps in her ears. Slowly, she settles back into place, arm tingling under the barely noticeable weight of Aerith’s hand. 

“That is one of the rules of sleepovers,” Tifa says, even though they’re both too old and bruised for such a thing. But they are also a lot alike. Tifa’s never had a “girlfriend” either. 

Aerith giggles and winks at her. “I won’t tell if you don’t. It can be our secret.” She holds out a hand, pinky crooked. “Promise?” 

Tifa’s face heats, almost like she’s blushing, but that would be ridiculous. No less ridiculous than hooking her finger with Aerith’s and saying, “Promise.” 

Lying there next to Aerith, Tifa doesn’t even get to chocobo number 965 before she’s fast asleep. 

***

#aerith gainsborough #tifa lockhart #aerti #aerith/tifa #ff7 fanfic #flash fiction fills #draco writes #unedited #ff7 rebirth

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

*°:⋆ₓₒ day 7. mirror sex

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “frosted windows”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ the fogged windows are perfect places to trace pretty little shapes on, cirrus however has a different shape in mind

pairing: cirrus ghoulette x gn!reader

a/n: i want mommy cirrus to step on me so hard you don’t understand. this one will be shorter than usual

cw: nsfw content. mirror sex. fingering. technically it’s sex against a window but it has a reflection. strap on usage.

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“i think i prefer seeing you all fucked out against the window like this… you just look so damn hot.” —❤︎

┅✦┅

“hehe, look at this little shape i made.”

“awww, that one is cute.”

cirrus just giggled at your antics, finding them endearing. the two of you rented out a log cabin for the season to stay in, just to enjoy the holiday with each other’s company.

the two of you stood in front of one of the many windows in the cabin, which was frosted from the chilling, crystal snow from outside. it was a rather freezing day today, especially because it was getting closer to late december. but of course, you wanted to make do of the lovely frost and have some fun with it.

“see look at this one! it’s a little bunny!” you cheered happily, tracing your fingertip on the glass to create a simple, cartoonish bunny that had such a dorky look on it. the air ghoulette laughed.

“seriously? that’s what you call a bunny?” cirrus laughed sarcastically. she pinched your cheek with a coo, and you just whined.

“heyyy.”

“here, i’ll show you how it’s really done.”

her voice held a certain confidence to it. cirrus used her ghoul tail to make quick swipes across the window, each one creating a thin, swift line that led to the creation of a rather skrunkly looking snow bunny.

you stifled a laugh.

“… hah, you sure that one is better than mine?” you managed to snort out, and cirrus narrows her eyes at you, rolling her eyes playfully. “it looks like a shitty shakespearean disaster.”

“you dare to make fun of my creative intellect? i’ll have you know that i am a very talented artist.” cirrus spoke in an exaggerated, dramatic tone, obviously messing around with you.

you just punched her shoulder playfully, giggling at her sassy attitude. “yeah, only with your fingers.”

she sticks her tongue out at you. “i can’t tell if you meant that as a sexual connotation, or me playing my keyboard.”

“hey you never know! it can be both!”

the two of you giggled, laughing and pushing each other around. it was nice getting to rewind and relax with your partner like this. as much as cirrus was a pain in the ass sometimes, she was genuinely a great girlfriend to you. you both leaned against the window and calmed down from your laughter, wiping away tears of joy.

“ahh.. but honestly.. there are other shapes i’m good at making, ones that don’t involve me making shitty drawings on a frosted window.” cirrus spoke between her chuckles, her voice becoming more calm and soothing.

you giggled, wiping your eyes as you looked at cirrus, growing intrigued by her words. “haha.. elaborate, will ya?”

cirrus smirked, her tail coiling around your calf.

“well, first i’ll have to preface this by saying that it is a two-person job.” cirrus started out, her voice dropping lowly. “y’know, it’s a team effort.”

your breath hitched from this.

“uh-huh…”

“and it’s very hands-on.”

“mhm..”

“y’know, to really create the most beautiful piece of art.”

you sighed at your girlfriend’s attempts to be teasing.

“just say you wanna fuck and i’ll say yes, babe.” you bluntly stated. cirrus’ eyes widened, and you gave her a blank look, but that smirk spoke volumes.

no further words of affirmation were needed.

cirrus shook her head and mirrored your devilishly charming grin. in a blink, she had you pushed up against the frosted, chilling window, her chest pushing up against your back.

“fine then, since you’re so insistent on it.” she chuckled out lustfully, grabbing your chin and forcing your head to turn around.

the two of you started to kiss with a fervent desire to feel each other’s bodies on one another. cirrus’ quick and nimble fingers quickly made do to discard the jeans you were wearing, yanking both your jeans and underwear down until it was sagging off of your knees.

“i’m going to turn you into a fucking work of art, darling.” cirrus moaned into your mouth lustfully. “and you’re going to fucking like it.”

“mmmh.. sure i will honey.” you teased, and cirrus growled, but it was quickly replaced by a promiscuous chuckle.

licking her fingers, she teased and prodded at your aroused hole before pushing them inside of you. you let out a sharp gasp and pushed your face against the hazy up cabin window, your breath fogging up the areas that were clear. despite the haziness on the glass, you could see your reflection, and your blissed out face.

“fuccckk that’s it… relax.” cirrus groaned out, watching your reflection and how you moaned lustfully against the window. the window was bone-chilling, but the difference in temperature only made pleasure shoot between your legs.

cirrus’ fingers continued to make work in that ring of muscle, stretching out your hole, and prepping you for the main event. she was precise with her fingers, she knew exactly what she was doing.

as your moans got louder and more pornographic, cirrus suddenly pulled her fingers out, making you whine from the emptiness. she quickly hushed you by putting the fluffy end of her tail against your lips, effectively shushing you.

“quiet. i’m only getting started.” she said with a tone of authority. cirrus pulled her pants down, to reveal the strap on she’s been hiding this whole time.

you cursed at the sight. “damn, you just had that on you?”

“hell yes i did, i knew i was gonna have to fuck that attitude out of you on this trip.” cirrus groaned. “so you better hold onto that window, baby.”

you obeyed immediately, and held onto whatever surface the window had to offer. without warning, cirrus pushed the strap on completely inside of you, and she relished in the sight of watching you squirm and moan from taking her size.

“ahh!”

“ohhh there we go… look at that slutty hole taking my cock so well.”

it wasn’t long before cirrus started to absolutely wreck your hole, watching you bounce on it and hearing you let out heavenly moans. each moan only created more fog against the window, and the lusting fire in your core only grew more hot.

cirrus was pounding away onto you, her breaths ragged from the quickness of her movements.

she grabbed your chin and forced your head to look at a mirror that was laying on the floor across from you guys. there, you could see how good cirrus was fucking you with her strap, and damn did it only get you going.

“o-ohh yess!” you whimpered out loudly, voice hoarse from all of the screaming and moaning.

cirrus had a satisfied look on your face. she could sense you getting close to your impending orgasm, and she just kept fucking your tight little hole.

“you see that? you see how goddamn sexy you look.” she whispered in an alluring tone, watching how her hips thrusted into your hole from behind and how sexy you looked against the window. your palms, face and body pressed up against the glass.

“i think i prefer seeing you all fucked out against the window like this… you just look so damn hot.”

you could only whine pathetically in response, to drink off of cirrus’ strap to even care about what she had to say.

“c-cum… i need to cum!”

“oh? is that what you want? does this toy want to cum?”

she grinned and pushed you more against the window, her strap digging deeper into your hole, making you cry out in pure euphoria.

“then cum.”

like it was on command, you came with a loud whine. hot, sticky fluids coated your lower regions and dripped on cirrus’ toy. she let out a loud groan and held onto your body tightly as you rode out your orgasm. finally, she pulled you away from the window, and you just leaned against her chest.

“shhh.. i got you.” she spoke lovingly, and you just mewled in response, before looking up at the window.

your body was marked onto the glass. every lustful moment was captured on that glossy window, and it looked damn good. your eyes widened at the sight, and cirrus smirked.

“see? told you i was artistic.”

you definitely need to do this more often.

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#holiday hoes event #nameless ghoul smut #cirrus ghoulette #cirrus x reader #cirrus smut #nameless ghoulettes x reader #ghost bc smut #the band ghost smut #ghost bc x reader #smutty drabble #smutty fanfiction #christmas prompts #christmas #holiday prompts

[nomsfaultau]

Important PR Response to the Wilbur Soot scandal:

    Abuse in any form is abhorrent, and I condemn Wilbur’s actions. Previously I had established the division between people and personas in my work. I failed to reiterate the stance during the course of Fault, and would like rectify this now. I work with characters and not creators.

No works will be deleted. I will be continuing to use Wilbur Soot as a character only in preexisting works. Fault, Mandatory Family Reunion, and back burner projects will continue. The preplanned plot lines will not be altered greatly, so don’t expect sudden deaths, character assassination, name changes*, etc. However, I am not certain about Lighting Lanterns to Bring You Home as it is Wilbur-centric so it may be abandoned.

The current plans for this blog’s future are as follows:

- My characters be tagged as ‘Noms Wilbur’ or ‘SCP Wilbur’ for people who want to block tags. If cc comes up, he'll be tagged.

- I will not be financially supporting Wilbur in any way. I believe this is an important component in any Death/Disavowal of the Author situation. My fics are unlikely to contribute to further monetary/platform support that facilitates the further harm of the victim/s.

- No new AUs will involve Wilbur, so as projects finish he will be phased out more and more. Though keep in mind Fault is an extremely long term project.

- For those who wish to disconnect from the fandom entirely and stop following this blog, I wish you the best. Genuinely. This is a rough situation.

If anyone has any respectful and reasonable questions/comments, the ask box is always open. Please do not engage in bad faith; I am trying to do my best here. Below the cut I discuss my personal justifications and philosophies upon the matter. I’m not trying to force them on anyone, so please return the same courtesy.

    My reasonings: As I said after Technoblade’s death, I’ve poured a little too much of my soul into this to stop. I fully understand the people who have walked away, because I also feel sick and angry and sad and just— betrayed that this person I admired and enjoyed was abusing the people around him. But I am not going to let Wilbur’s vile actions poison the pride in the art I’ve made. And the fandom? We built it, not him. These are our stories and our drawings and our joy. So many other wonderful creators and fans poured so much effort into this community. To me, it feels like a betrayal to Technoblade’s legacy to let everything be tarnished. And I’m just not ready to lose this fandom that has meant so much to me for 4 years.

    I’m going to try for a little nuance here, a dangerous game on Tumblr I know. But part of the betrayal that I’m sure many of us are feeling is the thought we were tricked into liking a bad person. I have a friend who has been pouring over all of Wilbur’s content the last few days, desperate to find all the red flags they missed, painting every single thing he’s ever done with the knowledge of the things we couldn’t have known. And it’s not healthy for them, or anyone. In many stories we like to have a clear cut good and bad guy, because it’s easier if it’s true. The abuser becomes a cartoonishly evil caricature that makes it harder to recognize them in real life, and it makes real victims seem stupid for being hurt when shouldn’t it be so easy to tell? But it’s not, it’s messy, and complicated, and awful. Because in real life, abusers are people, and they can do good things like charity streams and making you laugh when you’re having a bad day and fostering wonderful communities of creative, amazing fans. They seem generous, and kind, because…they are. And they’re also abusive. And it’s really hard to hold both truths at the same time, which is why people prefer jump to extremes of defending and demonization. We like to believe the people we like are good people.

    Truthfully, I don’t believe in ‘bad people’ which is probably evident in much of my writing. I find it a category that too often used to discourage growth, remove culpability, and dismantle nuance. The moment people become monsters there is no question of rehabilitative justice, no question of what conditions and structures enabled this that need to be mended, revised, or replaced. The question becomes how do we destroy the monster instead of how do we protect future victims. Remove support from Wilbur, yes, but the next step is to give that support to Shubble. Mobs are fun. They feel right. But monsters don’t exist, people do, and people are complicated and abuse is complicated and their solutions must be accordingly nuanced. Sticking one guy’s head on a pike might ‘save’ the victim (which: Shubble saved herself), but it doesn’t support them in the long run. And it certainly doesn’t address the underlying personal, mental, and societal problems that caused someone to be abusive and allowed them to be undetected. And if anything, when put in a corner most people only get more desperate and dangerous to others and themselves. Justice requires far more effort than monster hunting, which is why it is often rare. And like we already discussed, people are often bad at detecting when someone is abusive. I’m not saying Wilbur is innocent, obviously. I’m saying demonization is a dangerous game and most people have done good and bad.

    But also, most people aren’t abusive pieces of shit.

    I don’t want to demonize Wilbur, but also I’m not going to wipe my hands of it by throwing my hands up, claiming there’s too much nuance blah blah morals are complicated, and then not actually hold him accountable. Wilbur does not deserve a platform with which to perpetuate his harmful actions. In reaction to this, we need to build systems and communities that don’t enable abuse, to support victims, and to help abusers become better without giving them the opportunity to hurt other people or themselves. Which, you know, is *slightly* outside the scope of one SBI fanblog, but I’ll do my best and pray others choose the same.

    I understand people who want to raze everything he’s ever touched, to delete all their fan works and eviscerate their love for anything involving him. I really, really do. I feel nauseous every time I try to write. But I’m trying to not throw the baby out with the bathwater, because I’ve found a lot of good here and I refuse to abandon it. My enjoyment of the story and community Wilbur helped inspire does not condone the bad he’s done, nor do I support him financially or emotionally. It’s a really difficult line to walk, but this is where my morals fall at least. I want to reclaim the joy I used to have.

    I hope Shubble is able to recover and heal from the harm done to her. She’s a wonderful person and is lucky to have friends and a community that have supported her in this time. I’m glad that the fandom has (mostly) collectively disavowed her abuser instead of exploding into controversy and a ‘he said-she said’ toxic mess a la Dream style, even if it hurts knowing much of the community we’ve built has been destroyed. Lastly, I pray Wilbur will become a better person. I would like to believe anyone has the capacity for redemption, but that is a decision entirely within his hands alone at this point. As for me, I will simply do what I think reduces harm and uplifts joy.  I may be wrong, but I will continue to do my best.   

Again, if anyone has any respectful and reasonable questions/comments, the ask box is always open.

#*for the name change: may happen in Fault due to magic mechanics #idk. I'm just very very drained by this whole thing. #I hope nothing gets misconstrued. I mean it all with the best of intentions. #wilbur soot #fault au #something to nom on

[ashtxeman]

WHY I LIKE GLASS JOE A LOT

I promised a lot of information about why I like Glass Joe so I wrote this in an hour with no plan, no proof reading, completely improvised. If I planned this it would probably be WAY longer lol but I'll spare you all the pain of that. SO. ENJOY MY REASONING.

Glass Joe. Glass Joseph. Fragile Joey. It’s a name that’s been uttered for centuries in many different forms, given many different explanations. Critics, theorists, philosophers alike have carved away at their lives trying to solve the answer to the universe's greatest question. And that is:

Glass Joe, good why?

I can answer that, absolutely.

HEY I LOVE GLASS JOE A LOT IF YOU DIDN’T KNOW THAT ALREADY JUST GOTTA ESTABLISH THAT HAHAHA OKAY LETS GO. SHOUTOUT TO THE FUCKING RTGAME PUNCHOUT VIDEO YOU DID THIS TO ME.

POINT 1: HE IS HANDSOME.

I swear to God this man was hand-crafted by the hands of an incomprehensible deity because HOW is he this flawless. He’s 5’10, great height honestly I’m 5’3 I don’t want to be dating a skyscraper you know. He’s a skinny bastard but that’s okay, more on that later. His hair, oh my goodness gracious, lord above, help me Jesus. HIS HAIR. IS SO GOOD. If you put that skateboard ramp ass hairstyle on literally any other character they would look like a dumbass, but here, on this man alone, it’s the most delicately poised series of ginger strands I ever did see.

His hair looks SO soft. It’s unbelievable. It’s such a lovely shade of auburn with hints of burgundy. It must smell like cinnamon. He must take great care of it. A real Head and Shoulders, coconut oil, double wash kinda guy. A real bougie kinda guy. Yeah he’s not great physically in SPORT terms but in PUBLIC terms he’s absolutely stunning and stronger than anybody else. I wanna run my fingers through his silky locks so bad it’s insane and to understand this desire I’ll have to be strapped down and operated on. DONATE MY BRAIN TO SCIENCE GO AHEAD. THEY NEED IT. 

Not to mention it is SO fun to draw. SO SO SO FUN. Maybe I’m just lucky it’s such a wacky and dynamic hairstyle it transfers quite well into my artstyle, but it’s so fun. It’s easy, it’s fast, it creates an absolutely iconic silhouette, I love colouring it because it’s so damn pretty and ginger/red is such a broad colour scheme that can be put into a gradient so well (i love doing gradients with hair cause i hate when its just a block of colour). Nobody could understand the sheer joy i get putting that dumbass ahoge between the bridge of his fringe and the rest of his hair. That little ‘ right at the top ITS SO FUN. i love him his hair is great.

His face. Carved like the works of the finest artest. He’s a canvas of quality that can rival Van Gogh, for god sake. He’s got the jawline of a man on a lifelong mewing streak, STOP IT HE’S SO GORGEOUS I CANT EVENNNN. He is seriously so good looking. His eyes, the little pink-tinted eyebags that show he doesn’t need sleep because he’s so hardcore on caffeine, his gorgeous big ol nose i wanna kiss so bad, his super dynamic chin i wanna kiss so bad, his face i wanna kiss so bad. I wanna kiss him so bad. He is genuinely such a beautiful man its stunning, im literally a lesbian but if they somehow brought glass joe into the real world looking exactly how he does in those GOD DAMN CUTSCENES OOOOO i’d be bisexual so fast it’s crazy. He’s just that great. He’s got that power. I love his nervous little grin and the little creases on his face, cause he’s OLD AND SENILE. He’s 38 for god sake he shouldn’t look this good and sure, you can see his age slipping in a little with the eyebags and the wrinkles but that only ADDS to how stupidly divine he is in appearance. Stop that handsome man officer!! He’s breaking the laws of BEAUTY. GIVE IT TO MEEEEE. MEEEE.

His fashion sense although odd (ive never actually seen anyone wearing red trousers) just works. It wouldnt work on anyone else but it works on HIM. this is a theme. THINGS DONT WORK ON OTHER PEOPLE BUT THEY WORK ON JOE HE’S SO COOL LIKE THAT. his turtleneck kills me its so good it highlights what little figure he has and it contrasts his red hair so well cause its a really deep blue. SIGH. i wish. I have a turtleneck thats exactly the same but let me tell you i dont even breath the same air of fashion that he breathes. He’s so far ahead of the game he’s on an entirely different runway. He is not gonna sashay away anytime soon. On a constant shante. Unstoppable.

POINT 2: HE EMBODIES HIS CULTURE WELL.

Cats out of the bag, joe is a french stereotype. But. and dont quote me here. I find it very admirable HOW he is a french stereotype. Because he kind of.. Isn’t? He uses the characteristics of that stereotype sure, but he doesn’t engage with them the same way an actual french stereotype would. He likes coffee, he likes bread, he loves France like its his child, sure. But he doesnt have a twirly moustache, he doesnt wear a beret, he doesnt galavant around in black and white mime clothing. Even if that would be funny yknow it just wouldnt be as good. 

His admiration of coffee and bread is so relatable cause hell, I LIKE BREAD AND CAFES AND STUFF! He needs that coffee to keep him going you dont understand. If he misses a dose of caffeine he’ll deflate like the pyramids did in despicable me 1. He’ll be a puddle on the floor, he’ll quite literally cease to exist. Coffee is his golden idol, his hand of midas, his treasure. He has great willpower (more on that later) but coffee is that secret weapon he uses to push him just a little bit further. Plus he just thinks it tastes good and is happy to express that, you cant blame the guy for that. A good drink is a good drink. Even though i dont like coffee he’s so happy with it i respect it. He makes things i dont like respectable. Thats whats so real to me. What a goat. As for bread, bread is just great. Baguettes are yum. All the french bread i know about is usually close to white bread and autism behold thats like the only bread i can bear to eat so its alright with me man. You can go to joes house and he will have one of those fancy bread cupboards. He’ll pull out baguettes like he’s at a renaissance fair and they have a sword shortage. He’s on the case. You will NOT leave his house on an empty stomach. Like a very caring grandma, he will get you fed with the most immaculate 5 star meal you ever did eat. French food is great and theres no doubt about that, thats why he loves FOOD. I TRUST HIM. HE KNOWS WHATS GOOD. if mr glass joe turned around to me and said ‘broken glass is good food’ you bet your ass id be smashing windows and munch munch crunching all day long. 

Maybe his admiration of his country is a little over the top to some. You know the french landmarks in the back of his cutscenes, the ‘vive le france’ and singing the national anthem. But no. i dont think its excessive, i think its passionate. This is undeniably a man that is SO passionate about his culture and the lifestyle he’s grown up around, he’s not afraid to express it to other people until they cant stand it anymore. He’ll take as many hits as he needs to in the name of france. He is an embodiment of everything endearing about being foreign, honestly. An extreme love for the things his country has: food, landmarks, fashion, language, culture. EVERYTHING IS ON HIS LIST. NOTHING IS LEFT OUT. HE LOVES FRANCE AND I LOVE HIM. YES SIR!! VIVE LE FRANCE!! YES!!! 

Also he single-handedly convinced me to start learning french. I seriously didnt care about it before but after i started to like him more and really get into punchout i downloaded duolingo and i still have a streak going AND im actually convinced to try hard in my french lessons and exams because yknow.. I want this fictional french guy to be proud of me. :] 

POINT 3: HE IS DETERMINED.

OHHHHHH BOY. okay right im gonna get inspirational here. Play some dramatic orchestral music or something. 

The thing about Glass Joe is that he never. Gives up. Never. There is nothing in the world you could do to this man that could possibly stop him from boxing. They call Kaiser a fighting machine but boy have they not seen Joe. once that man stepped into the ring for the first time, he’d found a second home, and i think thats evident. 100 times this man has fallen down, brushed it off and gotten right back up. He’s had hardships, ups, downs, tumbles, falls. But everytime, no matter what, he’s back on his feet and ready to try again. And there is something so admirable and inspirational about that kind of approach being written into a CHARACTER THAT IS MEANT TO BE A FRENCH STEREOTYPE. ‘GHHHH FRENCH PEOPLE ALWAYS SURRENDER ACSHUALLY’ SHUT UP!! NOT THIS ONE!! I like to think Joe’s motto is ‘never surrender’. Yes he’s a little self aware how ironic it is thats hes french and doing all this but shhh. He knows whats hes doing and he’s happy to do it. Because like ive said again and again, theres nothing that can stop him. 100 kos, 200 kos, 300, 400… you keep cranking that number up and he’ll keep cranking the punches. Keep those lights up, keep those gloves on, you knock Joe down and eventually, no matter how long it takes, he’s back for more.

Now dont misinterpret that, he’s not a masochist like aran ryan, no sir-ee. He doesnt enjoy losing, nobody does. But the thing is he pushes past that disappointment and those hardships because he knows that eventually, if he keeps on going, things are going to change. He knows that if he lays down the gloves and walks away, there’s no possibility of succeeding. You could drop Joe off on the other side of the world and just like that immortal snail, he’s gonna find a way back. Even if it takes forever. Cause he is weak but determined, he isn’t threatening but relentless, he is stoppable but unstoppable. Glass joe has the strongest will out of any character i know. Cause if any of my other favourites went through 100 whopping losses like he did, they’d retire on a tropical island and never interact with the world again. But not joe. Never joe. My king.

POINT 4: HE IS ENDEARING.

THIS GUY IS SO DAMN CHARMING IT MAKES ME WANT TO EXPLODE INTO CONFETTI AND GLITTER AGHHHHH.

Come on. How can you look at his smile, his lovely little, subtle smile with those shy old eyes, and not immediately fall in love with him. He’s got some many little subtle things. Like the way his pupils dart around or his little sway back and forth when he’s knocked out or the way he bounds back and forth on his legs like an old-timey guy about to have a squabble. The way his mouth goes :0 so very subtly when he’s breathing. The way he always looks either shocked beyond repair, completely zooted or very confused. It’s all so perfect. IT’S ALL THESE THINGS THEY MAKE HIM BRILLIANT.

Im seriously looking for scraps here but i love finding meaning in otherwise meaningless things. I love analysing every detail until there is literally nothing else i could possibly say about it. He is perfect for this.

His fucking VOICE. OHHH MY GOD. it was so damn funny the very first time i heard his voice, because honestly it feels deliberate how they put his humble cutscenes before his first bit of dialogue so you expect this soft-spoken kinda light-voiced french guy only to be greeted with CHRISTIAN BERNARD’S DEEP ASS VOICE. OHHH KILL ME HE SOUNDS SO HANDSOME I WANNA SINK INTO THE FLOOR AND CRY WITH JOY. i wouldnt even mind if he was a soft-spoken light-voiced french guy but they really had to amp it up a little and give this lowly frenchman the most eloquent unnecessarily deep and silky voice ever. HE DIDNT NEED THAT. BUT THANK YOU FOR GIVING HIM THAT NINTENDO CAUSE ITS ONE OF HIS GREATEST QUALITIES. Plus french is just a really fun language to listen to. I could honestly sit listening to joe’s voicelines on repeat for hours on end and be fine with it. They’re so good. He’s so beautiful sounding. Its absolutely hilarious considering his voice in comparison to appearance. COME ON!!! AAHAHHGGHGHGHGHGHGHGHAGHGHS I LOVE CHRISTIAN BERNARDS VOICE I WISH I COULD HEAR HIM SPEAK IN ENGLISH. I NEED MORE OF HIS VOICE. AGGGGGHHHHH. 

POINT 5: WHATEVER ELSE

I erm i erm i just wanna say i love joe so much. The way he’s constructed, appearance, personality, physicality, dialogue, culture inspiration, story. EVERYTHING about him is just so cool and fun to think about and in my head it all weaves perfectly together to create the best character in all of fiction. It has now been over 2 unapologetic years of me yapping on about this guy. Whether it be his canon self and the things he does or the fanon version of him thats ive sourced from other peoples awesome HC’s or forged from my own lore. Any excuse i get, i talk about joe. Because it is so utterly fun. Yeah, he’s not the only boxer i love!!! Not at all!! I have several other favourites persay, but on the punch-out tier list joe is so good he has his own category thats about 4 ranks higher than what S rank is. And that is deserved. 

He loves his culture, he never gives up, he’s arguably a weakling and an absolute screwup but he never lets that get in his way because of her persistent he is, he’s gorgeous, he’s cool, he’d be a great friend, dad, boyfriend, husband, EVERYTHING. He’s got a weird hairstyle and weird fashion sense but somehow he looks great with it. He beat NICK BRUISER CANONICALLY?!?! He’s french, he’s ginger, which in a joking sense makes him the worst but against all odds he is the best. The french are lucky to be represented by him because he’s so utterly and unapologetically awesome and cool and fun and nice and inspiring and all that jazz. There is not a single thing that could stray me away from the path of Joe. my lore for him is SO deep. My admiration for him is INFINITE. Ive read through his wiki a pagillion times. Ive beaten him over 80 times in-game simple because i like seeing him so much and.

Well. i have entire shrine dedicated to him. let me know if you wanna see that....

#punch out wii #punch out #glass joe

[kirby-the-gorb]

reply roundup!

boy howdy I love being medicated

other news:

reminder that stickers and prints left over from kirb2k are finally available on [kofi], only shipping to north america without tracking rn to keep it simple

my wife fiiiinally matched into a residency program in her specialty of choice after 3 years, she'll be moving out of state starting this summer while my partner and I stay here and hold down the fort

also thank you for all the boops at the beginning of the month! and all the support and enthusiasm for finally getting better medical treatment. and even more yeehaws still coming in for [cowboy kirby] too :')

on [rare disease day] @ragefilledmunchkin said: happy rare disease day! my mom has MCAS/POTS/EDS and I’m getting tested for the trio this month

oh man I hope it went well! it's very not a fun thing to have but it's definitely way better to know than to just be afflicted by Mysterious Horrors. (although if you're lucky enough to genuinely not have it that would probably be the ideal lol)

anonymous asked: My fiancee absolutely loves your Kirbys and goes into hysterics every time I show her. Thank you for making very good kirbs!

aww how sweet! I love drawing things to make my wife laugh so I'm glad it's working for someone else too lol

on [lichen] @joekingv1 said: *has been subscribed to baby since the start*

it's true, you've been around for quite a while! (several of you have in fact! it always makes me happy to see urls that have been around since the reply roundups were so short they didn't need readmores lol)

(also thanks as always for all your little replies, you offer up so many cute ideas I don't have the energy to draw >n< )

on [lichen] @ceylonsilvergirl said: ok, so as someone who makes this joke A LOT and her kids don’t get it and her husband doesn’t think it’s as funny as she does (me. I’m the she) this is HILARIOUS!! I have a lichen growing around the door handle of my pickup truck. yes I suppose I don’t wash it enough. But it is an almost 25 year old beat up ford ranger. but I can’t remove it, it’s my lichen subscribe

lichens are precious little friends and I wholeheartedly understand preserving your little truck friend. take every harmless little joy you can get!

on [pacman] @nexus-nebulae said: i wonder if kirby and pacman are related. round. little to no limbs. infinitely consumes. chased by funny lookin but kinda cute little guys constantly. consumes Fruit for power

hmmmmm you may be onto something there...

on [normal] @graycoin said: Ooogh. Sorry you're going through normal. It looks krunkly.

it was so scrungy dude -_- (thank you as always for the supportive replies <3)

on [normal] @paperstarwriters said: sending hugs your way op I really hope you get through this and get the treatment you need

thank you! it seems like I finally am!

on [normal] @the-halo-of-my-memory said: get well soon op, and you too kirbs

thank you <3 dunno that I'll ever be well, but I'm certainly better than I have been.

on [taped] @journey-within said: i will sing for you in the car on my way to work

waaah that's so sweet, thank you ;n;

#reply roundup #asks answered #text #title text #long post #readmore #ragefilledmunchkin #anonymous #joekingv1 #ceylonsilvergirl #nexus-nebulae #graycoin #paperstarwriters #the-halo-of-my-memory #journey-within

[flowersarefreetherapy]

Hold On: There Is No Morning Glory

CW: Emotional whump, negative internal dialogue, implied past conditioning, dubcon kissing, complicated relationship dynamics

Previously, Star had been dreading this shift. Just him and Cindy, and her boyfriend who comes in halfway through her shift and doesn't leave. Ezra is at class and normally Star would feel his absence throughout his whole body.

Today is different. He moves through orders with robotic precision. Mixing and blending and handing out scones that usually melt in his mouth but the one he has on break tastes like ashes. Cindy glances at him but doesn’t speak. He doesn’t trust himself to speak either. Just make it through the shift, clock out, and–

No. Because Ezra can’t pick him up. Over the weeks they had formed a habit of him picking Star up, going to the Castillos with him, and staying late as they play games and talk for hours. Not now, not today, because he has his bonded waiting for him.

“It isn’t really my business to pry,” Cindy says during a lull in the customers. “But is everything alright?”

Star nods. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” She draws out the word, one perfect eyebrow raised, somehow looking skeptical and understanding at the same time. Her eyeshadow is red today. 

Like blood.

Star shakes the thought away. He has to make it through this shift without crying in the freezer. His manager is already concerned enough as it is, he cannot be called into the office again. Instead, he takes a deep breath, plasters on a welcoming smile, and goes to greet the next customer. 

At the end of the shift, Cindy’s boyfriend walks over, keys in hand. They kiss and laugh about something. Star ignores them, slowly pulling on his jacket. He grabs his phone and checks it. No messages from Thad. Who is picking him up? He swallows back the lump in his throat. It’s a small change. He can handle it. Why is he getting worse at being able to handle things? Before he would barely blink. Why has it changed now?

“Star!”

Star’s head snaps up. Ezra stands in the doorway, a slight smile on his face. He’s wearing the dark leather jacket that matches his eyes and highlights the broadness of his shoulders. Beyond all that, it’s the joy in his eyes that draws Star forwards, moving before he realizes. 

“Hey there,” Ezra says. He sounds genuinely happy. “How’s your day been?”

“Good,” Star whispers, resting his forehead on Ezra’s shoulder. “Long. I, I, I’m tired.”

Ezra’s fingers comb through his hair. “Come on, let’s get you home. I have some leftover study candy I saved for you.”

Can I share with Daniel? “That sounds, um, that sounds–thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all.”

Star follows Ezra to the car, afraid of each step he takes. Closer to the car means closer to going home, closer to seeing Daniel, closer to being reminded so vividly of his stupid, selfish choices. This is all his fault. All. His. Fault. 

You don’t deserve candy. You don’t deserve his kindness. You don’t deserve any of this. Stupid whore. 

“How was, was, um, how was your day?” Star whispers as Ezra pulls into traffic. 

“It was good. Long. Paying attention to lectures was hard today.”

Star glances at Ezra, whose white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel tells him everything he needs to know. He’s angry, very angry. At him? No. Yes. Maybe? Does he hate him now, for going back to Daniel? Is he allowed to go back to Daniel? Star twists his hands in his lap, letting out a slow breath as he stares into oncoming traffic. 

“Have much home, homework?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Good.”

Silence again. Star blinks rapidly, trying to ignore the burning in his eyes. He can’t cry. His cheeks get red when he cries and then he looks ugly. Ezra doesn’t want him to look ugly. He’s supposed to be pretty and poised and perfect, desirable. Attractive. Daniel thinks he’s pretty. Daniel loves him, even when his cheeks and nose are splotchy from tears. Ezra won’t love him when he sees how ugly Star actually is. 

“Cindy made cookies today,” Star whispers. “She, she, she showed me how.”

“That’s fun.”

“I was, was hoping you could, um, maybe you could show me? Next time?”

“I don’t usually make the cookies. I make the sandwiches.”

Star swallows back a sob. It catches in his throat and he hurries to cough, to cover up the sound, make sure that Ezra doesn’t get suspicious. Five more minutes, then they’ll be home. He can hide upstairs and cry then. 

Ezra clears his throat. “Um, but I would love to teach you if that’s what you want.”

Oh. Star sucks in a deep breath, then another, then another. A tear rolls down his cheek. No, no, no, no, he can’t cry! Not here! Not right now! He wipes his sleeve across his face, pretending more tears aren’t spilling free.

“Hey.” Ezra’s voice is soft, low. He holds out his hand and Star grips it, hating how his body shakes. “Hey, stjerne, what’s wrong?”

“Are, are, are you mad?” Star hiccups. He swipes again at his face, wincing as snot catches on his sleeve. Such an ugly crier. Stop that right now, starlight, no one is going to want you looking like that. “Are you mad at, at, at me?”

“No! No, no, no, I’m not mad at you, stjerne. I’m just . . .” Ezra sighs. “There’s a lot going on right now, Star. That’s all. A lot I have to think through.”

Star grips his hand so tightly he feels the bones shift. But he cannot make himself let go. Some small part of his brain whispers that if he lets go of Ezra’s hand, then he will never get him back again. He will be gone and leave and he cannot imagine his world without Ezra. Without Daniel.

“I, I understand.”

The car falls silent. Star scrubs at his face, hoping the splotching goes away. He can’t look ugly when he sees Daniel. He has to always look his best. Does he? Does Daniel still care? The Castillos don’t care, but they aren’t his bonded and they have other ideas about what he should be doing and saying and acting. They say he’s free and can do what he wants, but Star knows that isn’t true. 

The car stops and Ezra puts the car in park. The silence overwhelms Star’s senses and he focuses on the ticking of the engine as it cools down. After a moment, he unbuckles and reaches for the door handle.

“Are you, you coming to dinner?”

Ezra pushes locs back from his face. “I don’t know. I have a lot of homework to do.”

You just said you don’t have much. Why are you lying? Oh. Daniel. Daniel is here and he’s who Star should be focusing on, not the man who taught him to dip fries into a milkshake and which hair dye is the best for different types of hair and how to make the latte art he loves. But Daniel. Who taught him to cook and begged the handlers to leave him alone and was so soft and kind, no matter how Star acted. 

“Oh. That, that’s fine.” He pulls the sleeves of his work jacket over his fingers. “Thank you for, for, for driving me home.”

“No problem.” Ezra glances at the door, then says, “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Star nods and slips out of the car. His shoe lands in a puddle and he flinches. Now his sock is going to be wet and cold and he’s going to have to change them before dinner when he doesn't want to and he takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He digs his nails into his palms and counts to five.

“Stjerne?”

“I, I’m coming.”

Star hurries up to the door, Ezra right at his side. His hands shake as he reaches for his keys. Ezra beats him, sliding them into the lock with precision. Star keeps his gaze lowered as the door unlocks and Ezra steps back. Silence again. He hates the silence. From inside the house he hears the faint strains of upbeat music. Thad is home, hopefully cooking. 

“Ezra?” Star whispers. Please go, please don’t leave me, please stay here, I don’t want you to fight him, I want you to be happy, please kiss me, please please please please! What do I want? Help me!

Ezra smiles. The easygoing smile Star loves so much, the one he remembers so clearly from their first meeting when he gave him that cup and a scribbled number he couldn’t read. With a flourish, he takes Star’s hand and kisses it. 

“I love you so, so much, Star.”

“I, I, I love you, Ezra.”

Before he can question the choice, Star has his arms around Ezra and kisses him, hard and long, not pausing to breathe because if he moves away, he fears he will lose Ezra forever. His back knocks against the door and Ezra’s hands wrap around his hips and Star melts into him. The kiss deepens and his hands slide down, brushing against Ezra’s waistband. 

“Star,” Ezra breathes. “We-”

“Please,” Star whispers. He doesn’t care that they’re outside. It doesn’t matter. What matters is keeping Ezra here and with him. “Please, don’t–stay for, for dinner? Please?”

“I can’t.” Ezra leans back. Star shivers in the sudden absence of body heat. “I have to get home. I have a lot of homework.”

“Oh.”

Ezra steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets. He smiles again and blows him a kiss before heading to the car. Star watches him go, leaning against the door, biting the inside of his lip until the taste of copper fills his mouth. Through tears, he watches Ezra pull out of the driveway and stays there until he can no longer see the car. 

Then he takes a deep breath and steps into the house. 

Tagging: @blood-is-compulsory @darkthingshappen @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @whumpinggrounds @pigeonwhumps @cepheusgalaxy (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

#emotional whump #negative internal dialogue #implied past conditioning #dubcon kiss #complicated relationship dynamics #star my beloved #ezra my boy #hold on: i still need you

[justastrugglinghotchocolate]

💪🏽 I am in a desperate need of Dasil

This went from "funny fic about Dorian picking up Basil" to "Dorian and Basil have a genuine conversation about had Basil treats Dorian and learn things about each other ft. bridal carry"

This is technically for the og book, but you could see it as a prequel to The Losing Game or set in a Modern AU

AO3 Link (if it's easier ^-^)

~~~~

Dorian had many talents. He was a brilliant pianist, he could draw quite well, he could act decently when needed, and he looked stunning at all times with little effort. However, there was one very important thing that Dorian could not do:

Pick up Basil.

It made sense; Basil was tall and his body naturally dense, despite his rather lean figure. It didn’t help that Basil grew bashful and shy whenever he so much as looked at him. Really that man reminded Dorian of a sweet little turtle—hard shell, but so shy and always trying to hide his head in his coat.

Dorian might have let the inability slide—there were many other things he couldn’t do like tying a necktie or immediately tell his left from right—had Henry been as incapable. But on one sunny afternoon, he watched the lord lift a laughing Basil up a few inches off the ground. The artist had looked so happy, his smiling face illuminated in the warm orange glow of the sun despite how his coal black hair tried to soak it in. And when he saw how Basil had looked down at Henry with a look of pure affection and adoration—Dorian knew he had to do it too.

He started his process by cornering Lord Henry at a party and demanding to know everything about picking up Basil. 

“Pick him up?” Henry chuckled. “Dorian, you don’t have to do anything at all. Basil’s already enamored with you—tell him that you want to lay with him and he’ll worship your feet.”

Dorian blinked, “But I don’t want him to worship my feet. I want to pick him up.”

Henry smiled, “Yes, you’ve said. And as I’ve said, simply tell him you want him. You’ve already won his affection, picking him up shouldn’t be hard—you won’t have to play much of a game.”

“‘Game?’ What are you—?” Dorian shook his head, “Harry. I want to physically lift Basil in my arms.”

The lord stopped mid sentence and Dorian had the rare split-second joy of watching Lord Henry’s brain buffer as he tried to save face. He eventually forced out a laugh and patted the young man’s back rapidly.

“I know, Dorian.” Henry quickly tried to maintain his composure and appearance. “‘Physically pick up Basil’—I did understand you—”

“You had no idea what I meant.”

Henry excused himself from the conversation, citing boredom for his early departure. Dorian let him go, unimpressed and still nowhere closer to lifting up his favorite artist. He’d have to figure this out on his own.

He considered making himself stronger through exercise. He had a friend in the Guards who was more than willing to help him. After a single session, Dorian realized he’d rather die than do a ‘push-up’. He turned his focus to innovation, throwing himself into strategy books he had accidentally stolen from Alan Campbell.

Dorian would need to account for both Basil’s physique and his own. While Dorian couldn’t lift a thing, he certainly could hold them and, since Basil was tall, it wouldn’t be efficient to start from the ground up. Somehow he needed to elevate Basil. 

That night, as he flung himself into bed, an idea came to him. He fell asleep easily, eager to test out the idea the next day. 

…

The next day he arrived outside of Basil’s home. Instead of immediately alerting the artist of his presence, Dorian balled up the scarf he had brought with him and threw it into the great tree in Basil’s garden. It took a few tries, but finally he got the scarf to stay in the tree.

With a wide grin that he quickly hid, Dorian rapidly knocked on Basil’s door.

Basil opened the door with a concerned look, “Dorian? Has something happened?”

“My scarf got stuck in the tree!” the youth said, clutching at his chest. He batted his eyes, “Basil, will you please get it down for me?”

Basil stared at the man in confusion, but nodded his head and with long strides walked over to the tree with Dorian’s scarf. As he reached for it, Dorian quickly grabbed the small stool he knew Basil kept foyer and rushed to bring it to Basil. He slammed it down into the ground in front of the artist.

“It’s on a higher branch, so you’ll need to stand on this!” he said quickly.

Basil stared at him, “Dorian, are you feeling quite alright?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve already gotten your scarf down,” the painter smiled, offering it to the youth.

Dorian’s eyes widened and he stammered, “That—I brought a different one today, that’s not it.”

Basil furrowed his brow, “You… brought two scarves?”

“Yes—no!” Dorian grabbed Basil’s arm and began pulling him to stand on the stool. “I lost that scarf when I last visited you!” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Basil asked. “Dorian, are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, now just stand on this!”

“Why?”

“Because—because—” Dorian made a frustrated noise, hissing, “Just get on the stool, Basil!”

Nervously, Basil did as Dorian requested, grabbing one of the branches to steady himself as he looked through the tree. For a moment neither spoke. Then in a small voice, Basil said, “I’m sorry, Dorian, but I don’t see a scarf here.”

As hard as he could, Dorian kicked the stool underneath Basil. Unfortunately, because of how hard he’d placed it down earlier, it had been pushed deeply into the ground. His kick only resulted in him stubbing his toe against the hard wooden stool as it gave a small jerk upon impact. Basil slightly lost his balance, but grabbed the tree branches to keep steady. In a panic, he glanced back down at Dorian who looked like he was trying hard not to cry.

“Dorian, what’s wrong?” Basil clambered down the stool. “Should I get you ice?”

“No!” the younger man, stamping his foot. “No, no! This isn’t fair!”

Basil was bewildered, but tentatively he placed his hand on the other man’s shoulder, “Dorian… what’s wrong?”

The young man sighed, whipping furiously at his eyes, “I wanted to pick you up.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Henry could do it.”

Basil couldn’t help but chuckle, “Dorian, you don’t have to do everything Henry does. I’d honestly advise against aspiring to even attempt to be like him.”

“It’s not—” the young man sighed heavily. “I don’t want to be like Henry.”

“Then, why—?”

“Because I can’t just be me, can I?”

“What?”

“Basil,” Dorian looked down at the ground. “I’m only your friend because I’m your muse. Once I am old and no longer beautiful, you won’t want my companionship anymore—I have to do something more so you’ll want to stay as my friend as I get older.”

Basil looked aghast, “Dorian, you thought I’d stop being friends with you simply because you’ll… age?”

Dorian crossed his arm over himself protectively, “You spend half our time together giving me compliments. What other reason will you have to tolerate my presence?”

The painter sighed, “That’s… not untrue. But Dorian, I enjoy our time together because I simply enjoy being with you. There is no reason or any other justification necessary.”

“But we don’t do anything. I just sit and you paint. Those are wholly individual activities. When I’m with Henry, or anyone else for that matter, we laugh or talk or do something with each other. And when you’re with anyone else, you talk to them or laugh with them or anything else that friends are supposed to do!”

He frowned, holding himself tighter, “Why do I have to be the one you treat differently?”

Basil looked surprised, then guilty. He opened his mouth then closed it as he searched for the right words to say. Dorian wiped at his eyes again, wishing that he’d stop crying in front of Basil. Eventually, he sat at the trunk of the tree, watching the sky as he waited for Basil to say something.

Finally, Basil came to sit with him. With a saddened look in his eyes, he said, “Dorian, I’m sorry that I’ve treated you differently than how I’ve treated others—it was never my intention to make you feel as though I only valued you for your beauty.”

He paused, hesitating, then gently said, “I’ve only done so, because, well, truthfully, my friend, I’m not sure how to treat you.”

Dorian raised a brow.

“You act very young, Dorian. And forgive my blunt wording, but you’re… fragile.”

“I’m not!” Dorian paused and sighed. “I am.”

“And it’s not just that. You’re so… open. You wear your sleeve on your heart—I always know how you feel and what you want, but I never know how to respond to it.”

“I can give quite a lot at once,” Dorian admitted softly.

“And I have trouble giving anything at all,” Basil chuckled, defeatedly. “Sometimes, I want to be nurturing and give you someone to look up to and other times, I… Well, that isn’t important. I just don’t know how to treat you in a way that respects your human complexity.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, I lov—I appreciate your genuinity. I can’t fathom ever being as confident as you.” Basil's eyes grew sad again. “Truthfully, it’s quite ironic that you think I’d end our friendship over something so fickle. Once you met Harry, I was sure our friendship had come to an end.”

“Why?” Dorian looked at Basil with wide eyes. 

“He seems to understand you better than I do. You seem to enjoy his company more.”

The young man scoffed, “Absolutely not, Basil. Harry is fascinating, but I do not enjoy his company enough to even attempt to do half as much as I’ve done to maintain my friendship with you. I’d prefer you to him on any day.”

Hallward was surprised, “I… I wasn’t aware of that.”

Basil leaned back against the tree and Dorian leaned onto his shoulder, gently grabbing one of Basil’s hands and absentmindedly thumbing over the back. Around them, birds chirped and the gentle wind rustled the leaves.

“If you want to do something other than sit for me, you are always welcome to ask,” Basil said, lifting his hand to run his fingers through Dorian’s golden locks. He felt the other man relax in his hold. “I can’t always promise that I’ll be available, but I am willing to make time for what you’d like. You’re my friend after all.”

“Thank you, Basil.” Dorian smiled mischievously. “But I’d still like to try picking you up.”

Basil laughed, “I don’t intend to stop you.”

Dorian guided Basil to stand on the stool then to carefully lower himself into Dorian’s arms in a bridal carry. Basil warped his arms around Dorian’s neck, then allowed his full weight to fall down on Dorian, fully expecting to be dropped.

Both were surprised to see that Dorian managed to hold Basil up. Dorian was gritting his teeth and overly tense, nail digging into Basil as he tried to carry him back into the house.

“You don’t have to do that!” Basil laughed. He felt light-headed from being so close to Dorian and fought the urge to bury his face in the other man’s neck. 

“I’m… going to!” Dorian grunted out. His face had gone red from the exertion and he took a shaky step forwards, jostling Basil. Basil cried out and clutched at the other man, bursting with laughter. Dorian would have laughed too, but he was more preoccupied with not dropping Basil.

Finally they reached the door. Dorian hissed out, “Basil, please open the door.”

Basil did so, but reached too far, causing Dorian to lose his balance and fall into the doorway with Basil in his arms. They fell into a heap on the floor, both laughing hysterically.

After they calmed down, Dorian breathlessly said, “Can we do more things like that?”

“Like carrying or falling?” Basil wheezed, looking at the young with adoration.

“Whichever one means I get to hear you laugh more.” Dorian grinned, feeling a flush on his face.

Basil was glad his face was already red. He forced out a chuckle and motioned deeper into the house, “Shall we grab something to drink?”

Dorian nodded and held Basil’s hand as they walked to the kitchen together.

#the picture of dorian gray #dorian gray #basil hallward #fic #fanfic #2k words #choco wrote a thing #ask answered #hya! #thank you hya #I appreciate you :) #i might post this on ao3 too #it's really long #oh henry's there and alan's mentioned #“pick up” has a very different meaning for Henry “women are decorative sex” Wotton lol

[kipandkandicore]

okay, so we’d like to talk a bit about transrace and transrace discourse

please note that we are a white system. it is our goal to speak up for (not on behalf of) and uplift (not silence or speak over) marginalized voices however we can. it’s always better to center poc voices when discussing something that directly affects them. so if any poc reads this and finds it offensive/wants us to change something, please get in touch!!

what is transrace?

the terms “transrace” and “transracial” have existed for decades outside the scope of tumblr discourse. they refer specifically to adoptees whose race differs from that of their adoptive parents. transracial individuals face unique challenges due to their racial identities differing from that of their adoptive parents. having the language to describe themselves gives these people the opportunity to vocalize their struggles and draw attention to the issues they face.

we ourselves are not transracial, but we have a younger sibling who is. we’ve witnessed her struggles growing up as a Black child in a white family, and she deserves to have the language to talk about her experience. she does not deserve to have the language coined to help her understand herself and others like her co-opted by radqueers on the internet.

what is the radqueer meaning of “transrace?”

transrace, or trace, according to many radqueers means identifying as a race that differs from the biological race of the body.

it’s worth noting that some supporters of transrace are pushing to call it “trace” as a way to separate themselves from those with actual transracial identities. however, it’s implied that the t in “trace” stands for “trans,” so it’s really not that much different (nor any less offensive) than the transrace term.

how or why is “transrace” harmful?

claiming to be a race that differs from the body’s biological race is, in fact, racist, despite otherwise claims. it is cultural appropriation under the guise of “cultural appreciation.” it is taking the experiences, struggles, and joys of a marginalized group that you are not apart of, and co-opting them to try and make them your own. it perpetuates racist and transphobic stereotypes and disrespects people of color.

but don’t take our word for it! here are some sources by journalists and people of color explaining why transrace/trace as a concept directly harms non-white people.

x x x

the transrace/trace movement also fails to understand race as it is and how it works in the world today and throughout history. race is a social construct, true, but it is more tied to biology and affected by intergenerational trauma than gender or sexuality. race is determined more by the society in which an individual lives and their family’s generational history than any individual desires or choices that person may have or make.

what if i’m disabled or neurodivergent?

it’s still racist, sorry. it is quite possible for disabled people to be racist, as it is possible for marginalized groups to be bigoted towards others from different marginalized backgrounds. being marginalized does not excuse you from being able to be held accountable for your actions and choices.

what if i’m an alter in a system?

this doesn’t change the fact that identifying as trace is racist. if you are an alter who views yourself as a different race from the body, it becomes your responsibility to unlearn your internalized racism, understand how your biology and environment affect you, and ultimately realize that race has external factors that either grant or deny you privilege.

what if i’m biologically a person of color and i’m white transrace?

if that is the case, we’d ask you to genuinely ask yourself why you feel this way. is it due to racial trauma, or witnessing racism in the past? is it because people of color are far more likely to be impoverished or underprivileged than white people? is it because you feel other people of color are treated less fairly than white people? if any of this is the case, we strongly recommend you ask yourself if racism is at the root of your feelings. no amount of identifying as a different race will help you be able to reap the benefits or privileges that come with being born white. in fact, identifying as transrace/trace will only further perpetuate the harmful stigmas and stereotypes that surround race in the world today.

where can i learn more about race and combatting racism?

please consider (especially if you’re white!!) reading the book how to be an antiracist by ibram x. kendi. this book defines race and discusses racism in depth, along with ways average people can work to combat racism every day. you can also check out pbs’ educational series on race and racism, the netflix documentary 13th, or search out poc content creators who are advocating for fellow poc and educating about racism, its history, and how it affects people today. if at all possible, see if you can take a race and ethnicity course at a local college or university. ask questions, keep an open mind, and foster within yourself a willingness to change for the better.

especially if you’re white, unlearning racism is a lifelong endeavor. it involves making personal lifestyle changes, questioning your own thoughts and actions, and calling out the racist words and actions of others. rather than getting discouraged and giving up on trying, it’s important to try to do the work of unlearning bigotry to the best of your ability. it won’t happen overnight, but accepting the fact that change needs to happen is a great first step.

thank you so much for reading. stay well, and take care.

#transrace #trace #transx #transracial #transid #radqueer #racism #long post

[ragingstillness]

MAJOR SPOILERS

Ok just finished the season here are my thoughts:

@/djenks fuck you man

No seriously, I love like 99% of what you do but killing Izzy? Fuck you man

I know it’s entirely possible he won’t turn out to actually be dead and season two will start with Izzy being like “you fuckers buried me alive without even checking?! I hate you all!”

I’m always afraid of stuff like this happening when characters are given so much development and love but really it feels so unnecessary I can’t accept it as a plot point like I don’t even feel sad now because I’m so numb

Certainly seems like we’re getting a third season or at least the set up is there

Ricky can fuck right off. I do kind of wish he had remained and become a sort of protégée for Stede from the beginning and someone else became the villain because the whole thing with him was clearly that he was meant to be a metaphor for queer people feeling safe to live their truth when they see other queer people do so and playing out that metaphor against the plotline of the season gets pretty negative

Not a fan of us not seeing if the rest of Zheng’s crew were ok

Not a fan of them just fleeing without acknowledging that the port is probably overrun by soldiers who are holding pirate captives still. In general I wanted a better idea of how many British soldiers were really there so I’d get a better understanding of how the plan worked

This is turning into a rant about the things I didn’t like but I’m gonna keep going, I’ll put the neutral and good thoughts at the end

Yeah Zheng’s ships got blown up but they seemed to still be on the water. Did they even try to fix them up and make them seaworthy again? Healing people?

During the fight where Stede and Ed reunite and Zheng is there I got a bad feeling that she was starting to replace Izzy as the “swordsman” character and I thought of how Auntie is acting an awful lot like how Izzy was developing when she was trying to be more encouraging to Zheng to be herself

If they were gonna have Izzy get gut shot I wanted more significance to it, maybe it’s over the only wound he has from being stabbed “in the right bits” and it was from Ed? Or smtg like that

Izzy’s death scene was way too short and no one was sad enough for me

Genuinely ridiculous for Ricky’s character to be faster on the draw than Izzy with a literal knife against his back

We never found out what happened to Ed’s red silk scrap and that was a bummer

Did the only person to acknowledge Izzy’s infamy really have to be Ricky? Give Izzy more respect from more people

Idk if this was on purpose, probably was, but the way Ricky was treating Jackie felt racially motivated to me. It’s rare the show gets explicit about that, mostly just in season one when that one officer called Roach a slave and got killed for it. It felt, like Izzy’s death, unnecessary, considering how much of this show is about joy and seems to dance nimbly around the discrimination that would have existed in that time period. Pick a lane. Is the world gonna have racism and discrimination or not? Because having just tiny moments feels out of place.

When something like “we get poison training in this family” exists why kill Izzy

Really I’m just pissed about that, he means a ton to me and to a lot of other people too. Con was the first celebrity I got to meet in person and hug and talk to. Ok the numbness is wearing off now I’m sad

Still waiting on Sam Bellamy to show up in this show

Not sure I love Izzy calling Ricky a cunt. I mean, I know I’m somewhat prescribing American sensibilities onto British language and that it seems like splitting hairs when Izzy has been calling everyone twat from the beginning but while I know this show is mostly about men being queer I wouldn’t mind less gendered insults against women

Izzy still never got a proper apology from Ed and that’s bugging me

Did Zheng not say she’d need Ed and Stede? How did they go from that to the two of them being inn keepers? Just odd and jolting

When did Ed and Stede take possession of that house where they buried Izzy?

Did the bird landing on Izzy’s grave symbolize Olivia or Buttons and are they implying that sea witch magic is gonna bring him back? Confusion symbols

The Happy/Neutral stuff:

“Finding family to kill for” - fuck me up Izzy that’s so sweet

“Being a part of something bigger than yourself” “the crew” “you have family all around you and they love you” dammit Izzy this is supposed to be the happy section

Auntie is my love she’s so good

This episode had all the slow motion badassery of my dreams

I totally knew Ed was gonna dive for his leathers, idk how I knew but I totally did

Ed reverting to a violent version of himself on the rejection of “pop-pop” is totally analogous to Ed turning to a life of piracy after killing his father and the fact that Stede’s letter/Stede’s love has always brought him out of that killing phase is beautiful to me

I had forgotten about the messages in bottles and that genuinely cracked me up

Finally we get to see the characters be really really cool. Like we’ve seen them be silly and incompetent but it’s refreshing and exciting to see them be genuinely awesome, makes me feel an odd sort of pride

Love that Zheng remained relevant for the whole season and wasn’t a one-off

I could literally feel the passion in Con’s voice talking about how the pirate spirit will survive I guarantee he was picturing himself giving a speech about queerness because the wording and delivery was very reminiscent of his commentary during conventions and especially the “vote the fuckers out” speech

Archie/Jim kiss wahoo we love to see it

Jim should wear a tricorn hat forever they looked so good

I am genuinely having difficulty remembering so many of the good parts because I’m so sad

I’m glad Ed said I love you first, it was beautifully delivered, that frigging Star Wars reference Stede you fucker

Lucius/Pete marriage fuck yeah

Wedding questions asked by the crew? Beautiful

Mateys - yeah Matelotage is a little clunky of a word to say without a french accent this is a good medium

Ok I legit can’t think of anything else I’m gonna see if I can get in a good cry before work in the morning sorry guys

#ofmd #ofmd spoilers #ofmdspoilers #ofmd season two #ofmd season 2 #ofmd season finale #ofmd season two spoilers #our flag means death #our flag means death spoilers

[blueringbeetle]

Loving comes easily to me and I’m honestly seething with rage that it is a piece of me that was almost completely killed. I know I would’ve gone with it.

I love picking flowers and taping them into my sketchbook, I love drawing things I’ll never think about again purely because I love the act of drawing, I love creating things that become massive projects and things that never pass the stage of notes in the borders, I love my dogs, I love it when they annoy the shit out of me because it means they’re here. I love clear skies and rainy ones. I love watching movies. I love going swimming. I love doing a good job and doing a bad job. I love doing a middle-of-the-road job. I love starting, I love ending. I love day dreaming. I love music. I love eating from the pan before the meal is even finished because I love what I’m cooking so much, it all ends up in the same place anyway. I love failing. Miserably, even. So horribly it feels like I’ll never recover but I always do. I let myself feel that feeling till it passes because all things do pass eventually. I love how I feel grief and I love how I feel hope.

My spark, the thing that keeps you warm when nothing else does, it was dead for I don’t know how long and now that I’m gently bringing it back to life I am genuinely awestruck that I survived how long I did completely without it. The inertia and muscle memory could only take me so far and I’m glad I collapsed into a heap when I did.

I think the scariest part was that it came so slowly and carefully that by the time I realised where I was, it felt so close to the end I didn’t know what to do. I think smothered is close to the right word, like my innate brightness could only be met with ‘why are you doing that? You shouldn’t do that?’ I’m only sort of beginning to understand what happened, it was slow, nit picky, and near disgust. A quiet ‘oh’ and then I made myself smaller. It was a cutting and minimising act pretending to be refinement and discernment.

I seethe. And I seethe and I seethe and I seethe. It’s a kind of seething that builds and erupts into laughter because I can’t believe how stupid it all is at the end of the day. I’m allowed to play my favourite songs and dance in the kitchen, more than that, I should play my favourite songs and dance in the kitchen. Each time I scrape together the energy to do something purely for fun I am rewarded tenfold with the energy to do it again and something else too.

If someone sees me dancing or laughing, or picking flowers, or being joyful, digging out happiness from between the cracks in the pavement and enjoying my limited time here, and their first act is to point, scoff, sneer, and say ‘wrong.’ I will burn them to the ground with how much I love being myself. I don’t want people who enjoy picking at the happiness of others like a scab to find me easy to be around.

It’s not been easy to recover. It hurts to pick myself up when I am an engine with no fuel but I’m lucky and have people around me who know how to fan my flames. That’s what makes it so easy, even when it’s not easy, is if you have people who know how help works for you. Luck is part of it too, a good breeze can carry you far, and I’ve learnt that to get a good breeze you need to be in places where there is wind. So I dragged myself, at times kicking and screaming, into the tree tops and valleys and I let preparation meet opportunity.

I’m relearning to trust myself. Not in a blind way, importantly. In the way that when I feel internal resistance and terror I’m able to hold myself and move in the direction that I know in my heart and mind is the right direction. Failure and success are both big changes and I need about the same level of self care to deal with either.

I am a warm person because I seek joy like I’m starving and now I find it everywhere. I am hard to kill because all things give me life. I will never let someone leer down at me and my uncomplicated contentment and scoff at me for it. Never again. My sketchbook is full of flowers, my belly is full of food, my heart is full of love and anger and grief. I am alive and learning how to be. All I am is a human, and my god, what a thing that is to be.

#rant #brain dump #word vomit #my own thoughts #massive rant #the human condition #I got carried away #no idea what to make of these thoughts but they’ve been rattling around in my head SOOOOOO much #I had to get this into words #poetry #idk what to call this? #my post