#[BUT IT'S FINALLY HERE]

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Part 9 - Pneumothorax

Slasher Handler Masterlist

NSFW under the cut.

CW: Accidental injury with knife, descriptions of wounds, wound care, field medicine, allusions/symptoms of lung collapse, blood, ingestion of bodily fluids, gagging

Something your nightmares have never been able to truly capture is just how unnervingly easy it is to push a knife through flesh. The smallest knife cuts through Simon’s skin easier than the MRE packaging. Something dangerous flickers behind his eyes as he looks down at where you’ve pushed the knife into the side of his chest.

Everything is eerily still for a moment. And then he looks back up at you and grins so hard you can tell through the mask.

The knife slips from between your numb fingers. It stays lodged between his ribs for a moment before falling to the ground. You scramble to your feet to stand over his still kneeling form. “Oh god. Simon.”

The way you’d slipped and rolled must have put the knife exactly where it needed to be to slide around his vest. His shirt underneath is ripped enough that you can see pale skin and so much red blood. The wound is bubbling, blood thinning in the cold rain. “Oh, god, Simon, what do I do?”

“Punctured a lung,” he whispers, barely a breath.

“You need a doctor,” you say, and it feels stupid, so obvious, but, “I don’t know where we are. How am I supposed to call for help?”

“’M okay, Precious,” he grunts. And then he stands up, like he’s not at risk of lung collapse. He points at the muddy backpack that flew from your shoulder as you’d grappled with him. “Get the bag.”

The bag? “We’re not playing games anymore!”

“’S got medical supplies in it,” Simon answers. He crouches down to pick up his own pack, and his chest makes a wet sound. “’N another gift for you. C’mon, we’ll go back to the cabin.”

Your heart is in your throat, but at least the cabin has running water. With the medical supplies, you can at least try to clean him up before driving him to the nearest hospital. Wherever that might be. You prop his arm over your shoulder and do your best to brace his good side.“Okay. Okay, let’s go.”

As you start to walk, the edge of the roof is barely in view through the drizzle. You’re so glad you were already on your way back to the cabin when he’d tackled you. Why did you have the knife out? You’d been playing with it, cutting shapes into a big leaf. He should have seen it, he’d run at you from the side. But that’s why he got you something so small, right? So someone attacking you wouldn’t see it, so you could have the element of surprise.

“Call Price,” Simon says, suddenly, knocking you out of your worried spiral.

You look up at him, then at the cabin that’s barely ten meters away. “What?”

“Use my phone. You know the code,” he says again, “Call Price, tell him we’re at the empty north cabin.”

Before you can ask “What?” again, or even, “Who the hell is Price?”, he starts slumping into you. And then all 18 stones of him are in a semi-controlled fall. You try your best to not drop him, gasp when he hisses as your arm presses against the hole in his chest.

The only thing in your head, as Simon slumps into the mud, his blood all over your hands, is that the weather didn't hold out the way you both expected.

Simon’s phone isn’t on him, or in his little knapsack. It’s one of the scariest things you’ve ever done, leaving him there in the dirt to run into the cabin. At the same time, it’s… familiar. Leaving a man to die while you call for help that can’t possibly arrive in time.

This is different. The first time you’d stabbed a man, you’d meant to do it.

The cabin is a little abandoned thing that Simon had fixed up a bit in the middle of nowhere. Outside of the room you’d woken up in, it has a wet room style toilet and shower and a counter with a hot plate. The rest of the weirdly clean little building is just one empty room leading to the only external door.

You hand shakes as you paw through the pile of stuff in one corner of the main room. Simon’s left his battered old phone in the pocket of his jeans, like he always does. Your hands shake as you punch in his passcode. You’re jogging back to his side as soon as you select the only named contact in the phone.

By the time someone picks up, you’re back on your knees by Simon’s side, relieved to see his eyes fluttering.

“Price,” a man answers.

“Hello?” You try not to let your voice get to frantic. “Simon’s hurt. He said to call you. We’re at the north cabin.”

“Empty,” Simon grunts, barely audible.

“The empty one,” you clarify. The line is silent. “Hello?”

“He’s wounded?” Price asks, cool and almost distracted.

“Punctured lung,” you say. “He passed out, but he’s kind of conscious now.”

The man on the other end hums. “That does sound a bit serious.”

“Please,” you insist. “I don’t know where we are, please call an ambulance.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” And then the line goes dead.

Your hands are shaking when you touch Simon’s face. “He hung up. Simon, I’m so sorry, he hung up. I don’t know if I can get you into the car. I don’t know if there’s enough time for anyone to get here.”

“’S fine, Precious,” he says, barely a whisper. He looks just as peaceful as if he was at home, in bed. The mud and blood and burbling chest wound ruin the illusion. “Been in worse shape’n this. Price’ll come.”

“We don’t need him here, we need you in a hospital!” It suddenly strikes you that Simon had mentioned medical supplies. “Should I try to stop the bleeding? Gauze and pressure, right?” You grab the backpack and tear it open. There’s gauze, antiseptic gel, and bandage wraps. You also find a small bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Splash of alcohol first,” Simon says, closing his eyes. When you slap him, he glares up at you with one eye. “Oi.”

“Don’t fall asleep on me!”

“’M no’. Just restin’ m’eyes.”

“Not that either!” The way his accent is becoming more pronounced, and his words more slurred, sets your already galloping heart racing. You uncap the alcohol and tip it, not at all gently, over the wound. “Stay awake.”

“Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell,” Simon growls, followed by a pained wheeze. “Okay. Fuck. Gauze next, you’ll have to hold it down. Don’t have enough bandages and too much mud, besides.”

The first piece of gauze gets soaked with rain and blood immediately, so you open another couple of packages and press. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you tell him over his hissing. Tears finally start catching up to you. “Simon, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Simon.”

“’S fine,” he sighs. One big, muddy hand comes up to pat your shoulder. “Shouldn’a come at you from the left. Better t’ stay low and come at you from the right.”

“I still might have stabbed you,” you protest. “I shouldn’t have had that stupid knife out, I should have known better-”

“You couldn’a known.”

“I should have,” you insist, and the tears are falling even faster now. “I didn’t need to be playing with knives, I knew you were out here, that you’d start chasing me any moment.”

“’S part of the game,” Simon sighs with a lazy grin. “Weren’ supposed t’ stab me in the chest, but tha’s on me.”

“I wasn’t supposed to stab you at all, Simon,” you sob. “I never wanted…! I don’t…!” Simon’s eyes flutter closed again, and you feel your heart break. “Simon, please, stay awake. I’m sorry. Please, Simon. I don’t hate you, I’m sorry.”

You're not sure how much time passes. But you jump when a hand touches your shoulder, whip around to put yourself between Simon and whoever’s come up behind you. A white man with a beard you would absolutely expect to see walking around in the woods looks between you and Simon with raised brows. He brings a cigar to his lips and takes a pull.

“Simon,” the man says. “You broken?”

“No, sir,” Simon says. When your gaze snaps to him, his eyes are bright behind his mask.

“She said you punctured a lung,” the man you can only assume is Price points out.

“Affirmative.”

“John Price,” he finally introduces himself. He offers you a hand up. When you look between his hand and where you’re keeping pressure on Simon’s wound, he chuckles. “Let’s get this drama queen inside, shall we?” Then Kyle appears at his elbow with a grin and an arm full of blue tarp.

“How’s the hobby search going?”

You can’t stop yourself from bursting into tears.

John Price had guided you inside while Kyle somehow maneuvered Simon onto the tarp to drag him the last few meters to the cabin. Now, there’s another tarp laid out on the floor, with Simon’s clammy, pale body on top of it. Knelt next to him, Kyle mutters something to himself, focused but relaxed. He’d complimented you on a clean strike, once he’d gotten Simon inside and cleaned the wound enough to look at it. Apparently, you probably could have done a lot of damage before killing him outright, if you’d really wanted to.

The sucking sound from Simon’s chest as he chuckled had made you run outside to throw up.

“You meet my girl, Skipper?” Simon eventually wheezes. There’s a big patch of of gauze taped over the wound. That side of him, from shoulder to hip, is the only part of him that’s really clean, besides his now-unmasked face. He winces when Kyle does something with the tubing sticking out of his chest. It’s still trickling blood, but that seems to be better than the flood from when Kyle had first pushed a thick needle between his ribs.

“I have,” John Price says, blowing a cloud of smoke. “You haven’t been keeping her here long. Surprised she stuck around to make sure you’d be okay.”

It strikes your ears as… absurd. The idea that Simon had whisked you away to this tiny, sparse little building for, what? For good? Nonsensically, you want to point out that there’s no kitchen, and Simon knows you like to prep and cook when you’re stressed. MREs wouldn’t cut it for long.

And then it occurs to you that John Price knows Simon. Knows him well enough that he expects you to die.

“She’s had Riley here on a leash for half a year,” Kyle informs him. He pats Simon’s cheek condescendingly, ignores his growl of annoyance. “Poor bastard’d been going mad, cooped up with nothing to do since Soap’s been locked up.”

“Eight months,” you whisper. You’re sitting on the edge of the tarp by Simon’s good side. You sip some water and offer it to Simon. He lets you tip the bottle carefully to his lips. “We met eight months ago.”

“Christ,” Price says, rolling his eyes. “I told you to keep a low profile.”

“’ave been,” Simon grunts.

“And, that little excursion at the ski lodge was what, exactly?”

Simon tilts his head to look at you, mischievous smirk under the black makeup around his eyes. “Had to make sure our first date was memorable.”

You want to smack him. The thought makes you feel guilty since you’ve already stabbed him today. You compromise by petting through his hair, right where the scar you gave him sits, then give his ear a little tug when you get to it.

“Hope it was worth it,” Price says. “You going to get rid of her, or am I?”

Simon is up and standing in front of John almost before you see him move. The back of him is still spattered with dirt and blood, silvery scars in stark contrast. You watch his chest expand, hear the whistle and bubble of air and blood through the tube you can’t see. You take one look at Kyle’s startled, worried face and quickly get to your feet.

When you come around his side, you shiver and shrink back a bit. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Simon’s face this frigid. He’s completely closed off as he stares down at Price, doesn’t even spare you a glance.

For his part, John remains completely relaxed. He takes a lazy pull from his cigar and blows the smoke from the side of his mouth, away from you. “Touched a nerve, have I?”

“She’s good people,” Kyle pipes up, coming to stand across from you, so everyone is in a loose square. He keeps his hands in his pockets. “Hasn’t made no trouble yet.”

John doesn’t look away from Simon. “That so?”

You reach out for Simon’s hand, then think better of it. You touch his back instead, in case he needs that hand. You step closer but stay a little bit behind him. “Simon?”

“She’s talked to the police, you know,” John says. “After your stint at the hospital, and again after your little date.”

That startles you. “I never-”

“Hush, now,” John says.

Simon flinches at the same moment that you feel your back straighten. “Excuse me?” You take a step forward into John’s space. “Maybe you forgot, but I called you here to help. If I wanted him dead, Simon would be dead right now. If I wanted him arrested six months ago, he’d have been arrested.”

“Precious-”

“No, Simon.” you interrupt him, staring into John’s eyes. “He practically lives in my apartment. He drugged and kidnapped me literally last night. He made me touch Brandon’s skull, and then I stabbed him this afternoon. I’ve been at the scene of two mass murders and now I’ve almost killed someone else. What the fuck makes you think you can come in here and talk about me like you know anything about me? Like you think I’m an idiot? Why do you think you get to shush me?”

The man doesn’t react except to pull from his cigar again. Your clothes are stiff and damp and uncomfortable, but you resist the urge to fidget. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Kyle look from you to John and back again.

“If you ever have him arrested, he’ll be out in a day,” John finally says. “You’ll be dead before then.”

“Oh gee,” you mock. “I wonder why that never occurred to me. Making the serial killer angry might get me killed. Shocking.”

Simon’s hand gently touches one of your wrists. “Easy, Precious. Price ‘s just lookin’ out.”

You let him take your hand. “He can do less of that, thank you very much.”

Simon reels you back against his front. He props his chin on top of your head and kind of sags some of his weight onto you. “Don’t think he can, love. Fundamentally incapable. Has to take care of his men.”

“Well he’s my man, now,” you grit out. “So you can fuck right off, John.”

For whatever reason, that cuts the tension. Kyle barks a laugh before he can stop himself. John tips his head back and huffs out smoke. Simon just presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Kyle told me you were a little off,” John says. He props a foot on his knee to stub out his cigar on the sole of his boot. “Simon’s been real tight lipped, but I see why he likes you. Not much self-preservation to speak of.”

Of all the stupid conclusions he could have come to…!

Simon’s hand covers your mouth before you can tell John exactly what you think of him. “She’s helping me find new hobbies.”

John just shakes his head. “I don’t want to know. Kyle, how long is he recovering?”

“Three weeks. Two, if he avoids aggravating it,” Kyle answers.

Simon hums. “’M gonna aggravate it.”

“Goddammit,” John swipes a hand down his beard. “Soap’s supposed to be my troublemaker, not you.”

The murderous stalker isn’t the problem child? You snort behind Simon’s hand. Hopefully, you never meet this Soap guy.

“Fun as all of this is, I’m on shift in four hours,” Kyle says, looking at his watch. “Need to get home and sanitize. Riley, usual wound care. Drain’s gotta come out in three days. And you need antibiotics. Seriously.” He looks at you. “Make sure he gets them and takes them. All of them. His feet will fall off.”

“No they won’t,” you say when Simon drops his hand to wrap around your shoulders, just as he says, “Fuck off, Garrick.”

“Take the damn antibiotics,” John says, standing from his seat. “Be ready for a call in three weeks.”

“Affirmative.”

“And you,” John holds a hand out to you to shake. Waits for you to take it and gives a firm shake. “Let me know if you get tired of him hangin’ all over you.”

“So you can kill me.”

He gives you an amused grin. “I’m not in the practice of wasting valuable assets.”

“I’m sure you meant that in a way that’s not offensive,” you answer. “I’ll do my best to never call you again.”

“Smart girl.” He gives Simon a nod, and then he and Kyle are out the front door.

The shower head sputters and spits, but eventually produces surprisingly warm water. Not hot, but warm enough that you don’t feel bad herding Simon in to get clean. Warm enough that you groan when you step in with him.

There’s a silicone bulb hanging from the tube in Simon’s armpit, compressed to create some kind of vacuum. It’s pink with blood and other fluids. It doesn’t seem to bother him, so you use your hands to gently wash you both with a generic body wash. When you start rinsing dirt and an errant piece of leaf litter from your hair, he smirks and leans in until your back is pressed against the cold tile.

“Fuck,” you can’t help but panic. Your hands go to his hips in case he’s losing his balance. “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, just braces the arm on his wounded side over your head. The drain site looks a little red, but not concerning, so you check the edges of the waterproof bandage Gaz placed to make sure it’s still set.

That’s why you don’t realize what he’s done until a splash of his blood hits your cheek and drips into your mouth. You can’t really rear back, trapped against the wall. All you can do tilt your face away and sputter as he empties the drain onto the side of your neck to drip down your collarbones.

He grunts a disagreeing sound when you lift your arm, catches your hand before you can lift it very far. His hand comes up to your cheek, two fingers touching where his blood has dripped to your chin. He pushes his hips into you, and you can feel where he’s getting hard.

When he speaks, it’s little more than a whisper. “You were supposed to slash my arm, you know.”

“Wha-”

He’s not gentle when he shoves his fingers into your mouth. For all that he was laid out on the floor less than an hour ago, you can’t force his hand away with both of yours. It’s all you can do try to fight the urge to gag as you barely hold him at bay.

“Knew you’d like the gifts,” he growls down at you. “But you were s’possed to slash, hm? That’s what a good girl like you does, chased in the woods. Easy to drop a knife that way.” He uses his fingers in your mouth and thumb under your chin to make you stare up into his eyes. “Where’s a sweet thing like you learn to keep a knife close to the body? Felt you let it slide, flat. Felt you push.”

Had you? You hadn’t felt it, just the anxiety spike of being attacked, the cradle of his hand shielding your head from the ground. Just his huge body and that skull mask, on you suddenly, without warning. You can’t answer, can’t even try without gagging. Simon gives your jaw a little shake.

“You could have killed me, today.” He grinds your body between his and the wall for a moment, before stepping back. He drags you under the spray of water, other hand cradling the back of your head. You struggle to cough, try to turn your face down. Your heart races as you do, knowing it’s only because he let you.

And then he slips his fingers from your mouth and brings your face to his chest. He holds you as you cough, pets over your back. You cling to him, because what else can you do? When you finally look up at him, his pupils have all but swallowed the blue of his eyes.

“Fear looks so good on you, Precious.”

Taglist: @mishaglass, @oceanicexolorer, @whitetiger846, @iknownothingpeople, @fruitdoom, @achillesquartz, @hindi-si-ikay, @ahopelesspedantic

[lollaika]

Chapter 7 of The Agony is here!!!!

After half a year of difficulty finding the time and the creative energy to write, finally Chapter 7 is finished!! Featuring Season 4 happenings and Eddie's slow descent into a closer orbit around Steve. Excerpt below the readmore.

I am so happy with how it turned out and I want to thank @cuips-not-cute for all the support he gave me and all the effort he put in his drawings for this fic. I couldn't have done it without you, so from the bottom of my heart THANK YOU!!! <3

“You know you don’t have to do it. Give me that alibi, I mean.”

“I know.” Steve’s voice is flat. Two little words don’t allow for a lot of inflection, but there’s usually emphasis, anyway. Eddie had made a study of it, how many different ways you could say a word and have it change meaning because of it. He can’t read any meaning into Steve’s, though. Maybe tiredness.

“Then why do it?” He doesn’t know why he asks. Maybe the silence is getting to him, maybe he wants a distraction, maybe he just wants to listen to Steve more, to get him to talk as long as he needs to let out some kind of emotion.

“Because the best lie is telling a truth different from the one asked for. I thought you roleplaying types knew that.”

“Us roleplaying types. Right, cause we’re all the same.” He’s poking the bear, provoking, annoying. The coffee is still warm in his hands and the kitchen is cozy and well lit. Chrissy hovers in his thoughts.

“Yeah, you are. Kinda like us jocks are all the same.”

Eddie’s not used to being called out. He’s the oldest, the leader, undisputed, unfought. He thinks back to yesterday evening, to the last session of his Vecna campaign that by now seems to have happened months ago. Steve had made the same point then, too. Had said that it was Eddie reinforcing the stereotypes, keeping up the boundaries of artificial categorization into social cliques. He wasn’t wrong. It sucks to admit. But the memory reminds him that he hasn’t seen one of his new sheep for the last two days.

“What about Sinclair? If Henderson and Wheeler are involved in this, he’s involved, too, I guess?”

Steve nods. “Both of them,” he says. “Lucas got involved in ‘83 when it started, ‘cause you know Will went missing and the twerps couldn’t let it lie. And thank God they didn’t. I hate that they had to do it, but I shudder to think of what would have happened if they’d given up. We told him yesterday, and he’s chosen to stay with Jason, so he can make sure Jason doesn’t start doing stupid stuff, like going to search for a murderer he won’t find. And then Erica joined in ‘85 for the mall. Was in the Russian base with Dustin, Robin, and me. Great spatial memory retention. I wish I’d kept her out of it. Wish I’d kept Dustin out, too, but he’s the one who found the original transmission, so that would’ve been a lost cause.”

So, this is the way to get Steve to talk. Of course, it is. Even if Eddie had disbelieved the reports of a barbarian Steve Harrington – and shame on him for that – it had been plain from the way the kids talked about him that Steve genuinely loved them, each of them. Which is why Eddie does what he does best. He doubles down.

“God, I can imagine, he’s like a dog with a bone, that one. I’ve never met a child more insistent on getting their way than him.”

“Yeah,” there’s a soft little smile on Steve’s lips. Eddie wants to keep it there. “Only one who wins against him solo is Erica and that's because she’s a terror. Never ever make a deal with her, because she’s going to take you for all you’re worth and not feel a whit of guilt about it.”

“Awesome kids, though.”

“The best.”

There are deeper things they could talk about, more important things too, things that have accumulated between them in dried blood and corpses, in open wounds and broken spirits. But it’s just as warming as the coffee is, to see Steve open up a bit more, to see him light up from within, see his eyes start to shine, recalling memories with extreme fondness. Eddie doesn’t dare change the topic.

[stars-n-spice]

(9/1) SHORTS UPDATE!!

Folks, the time has come. :) 

Disaster’s Shop Stop is officially open! 

After what, like, several months and so much fucking tests and trials - it’s finally here!!

I cannot stress enough my gratitude and appreciation for those who made it possible. Special shout out to @madameminor for giving me the resources I needed to start this shop up, without you, I don’t think I would’ve put all of this together. So thank you!! Even if it was a pain in the ass to set everything up and then even more of a pain in the ass to carefully craft all of the shorts and arrange the letters and whatnot, I’m super fucking happy with how the website and shorts have turned out. If I could, I’d buy all of the shorts I’ve made so far lol. 

That being said, my 501st enthusiasts PLEASE do not fret if your favorite 501st boy doesn’t have a pair of shorts!! That will be the next batch of shorts I am going to work on, so give me like two weeks max to get that collection together! I know a lot of y’all asked for Fives, Kix, and Jesse and I PROMISE you that you’ll get them! Eventually. 

That being said, if you would like to be tagged to be notified when that collection is finished, please let me know!!

But, uh, the shop is live :D Go tell a friend. 

And again, thank you all for making this possible! If y’all weren’t so enthusiastic about it I wouldn’t have done this ;) 

Also please praise me for my product titles and descriptions please. Fuck, half of the battle was coming up with something clever. Please.

[suchine-toki]

Gintaka or Takagin?

Short answer:

Long answer:

The issue of who comes first in the ship's name is usually tied to who has the most power over the relationship. In heterosexual couples, 99% of the time the man is put first by default, but when this doesn’t happen, it’s more complicated and falls on the preference of each one.

I would like to examine their relationship based on canon. I’ll do it chronologically, analyzing only a few moments so as not to extend myself too much.

One of the ways that power in a relationship is measured is through physical strength, but we know that Gintoki and Takasugi are evenly matched in this regard because they keep track. This is striking because it reflects the hyper-competitive side of both, even from Gintoki, who usually avoids unnecessary conflict out of laziness.

Another way in which power is measured is in regard to the ability to influence the other, which I'll discuss below.

At the beginning of the relationship, it seems Gintoki has more control, usually being the one who teases Takasugi. However, we do know of other instances where Takasugi has teased Gintoki as well. This shows that since they were little, they’ve had a balanced dynamic in this regard.

In childhood they were more allowed to antagonize the other, which changes with the capture of Shouyo. Before they used to compete for his attention, now they’re forced to work together to rescue him. When they’re older in the Joui war, Takasugi seems calmer and more collected, while Gintoki remains relatively the same.

They continued the teasing nature of their relationship. Although one point I find interesting to highlight is how Gintoki allows himself to be hit by Takasugi without retaliation (immediate at least), which is unusual with the male characters in the series. This raises another point about their ability to compromise.

I know I said that I would only consider the canon material, but I wanted to cheat a little and refer to a moment from the second movie (BFY), which was written by Sorachi and I believe to be semi-canon.

Here Takasugi tells Gintoki to follow them, when there was no need to. I mean, where else he would go at that moment? This reflects Takasugi's bossy nature, which was likely reinforced when he became a general, and Gintoki’s more passive nature (in the strict sense of the word). Instead of getting mad, Gintoki just says he will follow, and he does.

With what I’ve expressed, it seems that Takasugi is the one who has the most influence on the relationship. However, it’s at crucial moments, such as the promise they make and Shouyo's subsequent beheading, that Gintoki's influence over Takasugi is evident. After all, it’s because of Gintoki that Takasugi lives on and continues his destructive crusade.

Continuing chronologically, their first meeting at the beginning of the series comes after 10 years without seeing each other. Here Takasugi presses his sword against Gintoki's back, who in response immobilizes it with his bare hands. In the manga it’s not shown, it can only be assumed the meeting ends with them leaving without another word. This would be the first time that both declined to fight.

Later in Benizakura arc Gintoki tells Takasugi to be careful if he catches him walking down the street. Ironically, their next meeting is in Courtesan of a Nation arc, in which they pass each other on the street, the second time they both decline to fight.

I expose these moments because they’re quite revealing in retrospect. The first time I watched the series, it seemed to me that Takasugi carried more emotional energy into the relationship, albeit in a negative way, while Gintoki was rather indifferent. How wrong I was. Reviewing these points after the end, it can be seen there’s a strong emotional energy that’s present throughout the entire series, with a feeling of longing on the part of both, waiting for the return of the other.

I also find it surprising that Gintoki, despite his self-deprecation, knows how important he’s to Takasugi and tells him so in the Shogun Assassination arc. Meaning, he acknowledges that he has power over Takasugi. Also, in this arc, Gintoki demonstrates his more possessive tendencies towards him, stating only he has the right to protect or kill him. In the same way, Takasugi has also spoken like this about Gintoki.

The second part of Silver Soul arc focuses on the relationship of these two. At first, it’s appreciated that Takasugi keeps some distance from Gintoki, but at the same time he wishes to be with him. The truth is Takasugi wants to protect Gintoki this time, he wants him to be happy. However, Gintoki chases after Takasugi and refuses to let him go. It’s a push and pull in their ability to compromise.

Their interactions in this arc were particularly interesting to me because you can see how the power dynamic changes, leaning more towards Takasugi on some occasions and more towards Gintoki on others. A good example of this is when they’re fighting over Shouyo's crystallized heart.

Takasugi takes leadership of the situation and messes with Gintoki before reaching the ship. However, when Gintoki demands he hand over the heart, Takasugi concedes. In this way, it can be seen how in certain cases Gintoki does what Takasugi wants, while in others Takasugi does what Gintoki wants.

Even if they spent years apart, in the end, they understand how important they’re to each other. That the other is an indispensable part of their own being, thus recognizing both the affection and the admiration they mutually feel. Both have an enormous capacity to influence the other.

Now, if you mean R18+ stuff… I'll just say I can't see one bottoming or topping all the time lol they’d probably keep track of that too 😂

In short, Gintoki and Takasugi’s dynamic is one of the most equal in the series in my opinion.

[vodka-01]

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: Avatar: Legend of Korra

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: Korra/Asami Sato

Characters: Korra (Avatar), Asami Sato, Tenzin (Avatar), Hiroshi Sato, Mako (Avatar), Bolin (Avatar), Opal (Avatar), Amon | Noatak, Tarrlok (Avatar), Lieutenant (Avatar), Lin Beifong, Jinora (Avatar), Ikki (Avatar), Meelo (Avatar), Pema (Avatar), Original Characters

Additional Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Alternate Book 1: Air (Legend of Korra), Equalist Asami Sato, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Dom/sub Undertones, Power Dynamics, Possessive Behavior, Emotional Manipulation, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Korra (Avatar), Omega Asami Sato, Smut, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rutting, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Inappropriate use of the Avatar State, POV Alternating, Unreliable Narrator, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Touch-Starved Korra (Avatar), Non-Sexual Intimacy, Tattooed Korra (Avatar), Panic Attacks, Seizures, Politics, Worldbuilding, Inspired by Gone Girl - Gillian Flynn, The Toxic Yurification of Korrasami

Summary:

Korra and Asami.

Bender and non-bender.

Avatar and human.

Two people pretending to be other people; the best versions of themselves. But when the cracks start to show, and when the lie breaks down, a true tragedy begins. One where they have to destroy each other.

[rejoiceinsilverlight]

i think mabel somehow finds a picture of stan and ford's prom outfits and goes ham recreating the suits for her and dipper's prom

[mochasucculent]

The gang all together 👍

Sketch v final + refs below!

First pic was reffed from My Own Private Idaho, which ended up being a really bad idea because this focal length was ridiculous to try and flatten out and match with the others lol

Second pic was obvi The Pieta by Michelangelo, but shoutout to my partner for suggesting the role reversal cause I was initially gonna draw Viktor in Jayce's arms again, but having it the other way around gave me the idea for the last piece where they're mutually in each other's arms and on equal ground in the composition

Third pic was reffed from The Blossoming Of Love by Miquel Blay! Had to move Jayce's hand to Viktor's shoulder because he was too yolked for his arm to fit between them lmao

[gibbearish]

love when ppl defend the aggressive monetization of the internet with "what, do you just expect it to be free and them not make a profit???" like. yeah that would be really nice actually i would love that:)! thanks for asking

[chloesimaginationthings]

Everyone loves FNAF music man.. even Michael

[skelly-b0nez]

𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝙲𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚝 🖤

Howdy! The name's Bonez. I'm a 19 year old hobbyist juggling university and internet life. I use she/they pronouns, which means you can either address me using she/her or they/them. I don't mind either! With that out of the way; Welcome to my blog! (dividers by magicalboything on Tumblr)

BYF - BEFORE YOU FOLLOW

Some of my posts and/or reblogs may contain things that may be upsetting. Sometimes I'll ad TWs if I get a hunch but if I post/reblog something that you want a tag for, please let me know!

Some OC backstories contain topics such as abuse, religion, abandonment(?), etc. I can't think of what else but I will add on when I can.

The Mitchell Chronicles heavily focuses on the topics of murder (more specifically child murder), and in some cases alcoholism. It's a very "angst-driven" story.

DNI - DO NOT INTERACT

Proshippers - MAPs - Zoos - Terfs - Transphobes - Homophobes - Zionists - Copiiia shippers - Stans - Transmeds - Abelists - Misogynists - Nazis - Xenophobes - Trump Supporters

BOUNDARIES

This is more on a negative pretense, but if I've said something that you don't like, PM me instead of slipping into my inbox. I'm not afraid to show off your clownery, you goon. Haven't had this happen yet but I'll say it now just to be safe.

I'm a little iffy on venting, I'm not against it but at the same time, I don't know you. I might not know what you're going through so proper responses will be tricky.

Flirting is a hard no. I don't know you, you don't know me.

Constructive criticism is completely fine! As long as I am requesting it and you aren't being a jerk.

I've never written boundaries before, but I'll add more when I think of them.

[tofupixel]

witch's treehouse (updated)

cross stitch pattern here

support me | commission me | buy a print | buy a sticker

[gh0sdae]

On how they still think curly tried to commit with the crash:

[panstarry]

heads up: this games charity bundle was finally approved on itch.io! it opens this friday, april 12th, and will run for a week. all proceeds will go to the Palestinian Children's Relief Fund.

you can check out the bundle on itch.io and follow @vgforpalestine on twitter for more updates!

—

EDIT: as of april 20th, 2024 this bundle is now live!!

[queerente]

happy ten year anniversary of my favorite tumblr post of all time!!!

[hinamie]

I don't want to regret the way I lived