#GMY

[ktgegitim]

Gümrük Müşavirliği Eğitimi

[wikihowhowtoexist]

THE AU POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS

[jinstronaut]

yoongi in green 💚💚💚 for @cordiallyfuturedwight (cr. namuspromised, dwellingsouls)

cc’s for palestine masterlist | request here

[tunastime]

ok ok?

Once again, Etho and Bdubs find themselves in the same predicament: navigating the complex relationships of their lives while trying to keep each other safe. However, unlike the times before, they have a little bit of a better understanding of each other. And a little more commitment to what they've made together. Or: like every time before, Etho and Bdubs have a conversation. This time, it feels good. (1584 words) (x)

The light sky is waning fast, the fringes of the horizon still orange with fading sunlight. In it, the small, deepslate keep is almost purple, the warmth of the day still held close in the humid river air and sun-warm ground. Inside, Tango is fast asleep. The sniffling breaths he takes are muffled slightly by the noise of nighttime: crickets and salmon and birds. Bdubs is among these noises as he lowers himself to the ground at the base of the keep, dropping his pack and resting against the cooling stone. He tips his head back, letting out a long, tired sigh through his teeth. 

Above him, as he widens his eyes and raises his eyebrows, he can see the beginning pinpricks of stars. He hums to himself, reaching up, eclipsing for just a moment the spread of the planets and suns he’s learned so well from stargazing. The motion feels familiar, in its own, strange way. He stares up through his fingers before he drops his hand into his lap. Bdubs shuts his eyes, letting out another slow sigh.

From beside him, Etho clears his throat. Bdubs startles, immediately cracking an eye at him, shifting around to pretend like he hadn’t just jumped. Etho snorts.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, that familiar smile to his voice and a crinkle to his eyes. Bdubs blinks his eyes open, furrowing his eyebrows as he gives Etho a quick once over. He crinkles his nose.

“You gonna nag me again?” he asks. Etho huffs out a laugh.

“Me?” he grins. “Always.”

Bdubs sighs again, slumping back against the cold deepslate tile. He rolls his eyes. 

“Alright, wise guy,” he grumbles. Then he pats the grass beside him. His hand comes back slightly dirty. Etho laughs under his breath as Bdubs waves his hand, trying to shake off the dirt before he ungracefully smears his palm onto his pant leg. After a moment, Etho sinks down beside him, letting out his own, tired sigh in relief.

“How ya feelin’?” Bdubs asks, shifting his body ever so to face Etho better. He glances over at him. Etho glances back. He raises his eyebrows and, in the fading light, looks less tired than normal. Bdubs for a brief moment wonders if it’s his doing.

“Mm?” Etho hums. “Pretty good, all things considered.”

Bdubs nods.

“Good,” he says. “I’m excited we’re together again, y’know.”

Etho snorts. He raises his eyebrows in question.

“And Tango?”

Bdubs makes a face. Duh. “A’course.”

Etho laughs again softly.

“Me too,” he says, all pleased like Bdubs had said something he found funny. Bdubs likes that tone of voice a lot. It means only good things out of Etho. Which usually meant good things for Bdubs, too. 

They lapse into a silence then, both comfortable and apprehensive. Etho fiddles with his hands, the skin of his fingers, picking at the nail beds in a show of his bad habit. Bdubs wants to grab his hands and force him to stop, as much as he kind of wants to tell him to just ask whatever question he’s holding himself back from, but Etho rolls his shoulders and settles back against the tile and seems to relax, so for a quiet moment, Bdubs watches his eyes flutter shut, and sees the pale eyelashes against his face in the rising moonlight. His chest seizes for a moment. Then Etho hums out:

“‘M sorry I forgot that one time,” he says, almost muffled through the mask he’s still wearing. “Bout the dragon.”

Bdubs blinks. He almost asks, albeit stupidly, what dragon. There’s a moment where his mouth opens and closes as he tries to remember what in the world Etho could be talking about. Dragon. Dragon. When had he fought the Ender Dragon recently? Not Hermitcraft, not this season at least. Later than that? Why would he be bringing it up now if it were something from this world? Unless he means. 

Ah.

Of course, this train of thought for Bdubs lasts only a second. And it’s in that second that he finally stammers out:

“Oh, what?” and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Nah, Etho. Don’t—that was so long ago. Don’t you worry about that.”

“You’re not mad?” Etho asks, tilting his head over. His eyes open to peer at Bdubs. It feels like his pupil is consuming his iris, the way the dark brown and black of his good eye muddle together in the dark. It’s black like the night sky. His eyebrows furrow as he looks over Bdubs’ face. Bdubs snorts.

“Oh I was furious,” he finally says, tearing his eyes away from Etho’s face. Warmth crawls up the back of his neck. He stares at Etho’s unfolded hands, which have come to rest palm up on his knees. “But now? You think ol’ Bdubs carries grudges?”

He looks up at Etho again. Etho shrugs, looking away.

“Uh… yeah?”

Bdubs blanches.

“What! No—not with—” he stammers out. Etho pales even further, visibly swallowing. “Etho!”

‘What!” he squeaks out, spreading his hands, shoulders coming up to his ears. Bdubs swats at him, grumbling as he whacks fabric. 

“Not for you,” he huffs. Etho deflates a fraction—at least, his shoulders come down from the sides of his head. He tilts his head, eyebrows still raised questioningly.

“You sure?” he asks. Bdubs sighs.

“Yeah. Not anymore,” he says, folding his hands together, unfolding them, fidgeting with his fingers. For whatever reason, a prickle of nervousness stores away in his stomach, forcing him to swallow to try and push it around. He sighs, stretching out his hands. “We… we play these things differently. I know that now.”

Etho, from his peripheral, nods once.

“Oh…” he says, voice mellowing out. He sighs too. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

“Yeah,” Bdubs says. He reaches out after a beat, knocking his fist into Etho’s shoulder. Etho wobbles, eyes crinkling. “I missed hanging out with you.”

“You—” Etho wheezes, voice peaking suddenly in amusement. Any higher and they’ll really risk waking Tango. “You see me every day!”

“Well!” Bdubs huffs, folding his arms. “This is different!”

Etho shakes his head. The tufts of white hair being held back by his poorly tied headband come loose all at once. He sweeps them back unsuccessfully, scrunching up his face.

“I dunno Bdubs,” he argues, squinting at him. Bdubs rolls his eyes dramatically, hunkering down over his folded arms. “Feels a bit the same, don’t’cha think?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Etho shrugs, relaxing again, leaning back against the cold stone. He finally tugs his mask down and off as he settles, turning his face from where it rests against the stone to give Bdubs a once-over. He smiles and it’s all slightly crooked teeth and sharp canines and wrinkling his nose. Bdubs’ lungs squeeze painfully. 

Maybe that’s the reason that he leans forward and grabs a fistful of Etho’s shirt. Maybe it’s the reason Etho’s hand ends up on his knee, then his thigh, then his hip as Bdubs kisses him. Maybe it’s the reason he feels Etho laugh against his mouth and kiss him again. And maybe it’s the reason that Bdubs rests his forehead against his, nose against his nose bridge, and sighs the most profound breath he has in a while. The air leaves his lungs and enters warm and humid. From this close, Bdubs can see the faint beauty marks on Etho’s cheek. He smooths his hand back up Etho’s collarbone to his shoulder, flattening out his high-neck shirt, keeping his hand under the lip of his coat, under fluff and wicking fabric.

“Let’s not do something stupid this time,” Bdubs says to the point of his nose. “Okay?”

“Like what?” Etho asks. His eyes flick up. For a moment, they’re far away, fixed on a spot far from Bdubs’ dark eyes. His expression softens like he’s remembering something far too painful. Bdubs squeezes his shoulder.

He’s never gonna get that blood off his hands, is he?

“Like stupid traps,” Bdubs finally says, forcing a smile. Etho’s eyes clear just a touch, and he pulls a face.

“I’ve never made a—” Etho pauses. Then he grins. “A stupid trap.”

Bdubs rolls his eyes. It’s in this moment that he pulls away, shaking his head as Etho giggles at him. He smothers the sound with his hands, peering over at Bdubs over his fingers. It takes everything in Bdubs not to swat at him again. His face is properly warm now.

Instead, he shuffles over and makes his home at the dip of Etho’s side. He folds his arms, huffs indignantly, and presses his cheek to his shoulder. Etho makes a small squeak. He relaxes, though, and lets Bdubs lie against him for a long moment. After that moment, however, he presses his cheek to his head and says:

“I’m not gonna let you fall asleep here.”

Bdubs grumbles.

“Fine,” he says. He lets Etho untangle himself from beside him, takes both his hands when he offers to help him stand. In the slowly building moonlight, Etho and Bdubs trudge into the small deepslate fort. Etho’s hand stays in his, warm and solid. Tango still rests soundly, sprawled out on one sleeping mat at the other side of the base, tail twitching ever so in his sleep. Bdubs sighs again as he lies down next to Etho. It takes a long time for his eyes to finally close.

At least he has him now. He doesn’t want to let him go any time soon.

[boycritter]

ode to a teenage detritivore

i think i'm doing it all wrong

[angelwiththeblue-box]

sometimes your friends van breaks and you and your five friends squish onto your motorcycle (to the displeasure of said motorcycle)

taglist: @disdoorted-crows @thedragonemperess @depressedtransguy @starchaserbaby @leelovessharks @blueskiesandstarrynights @joshkiszkashusband @dramabeansoup (lemme know if u want to be added or removed)

[whats-a-username]

CSM 182

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HOLY SHTI THEYRE BACK???.

IM GOUNG INSANE

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

"let me be the moon and you be the sunshine. i need you to shine"

[wackpedion]

eating has gotten like x10 harder for me the past few weeks and idk why i think its the seasonal depression, but i seriously like cannot eat more than a few bites without feeling sick. yesterday i had half a mini candy bar and even that i had to force myself to get eat that much. eating is just impossible unless im starving, which is kind of frustrating when i??? need to eat?????? like is my body tryna kill itself or what

[mincerift]

foolish thinks lobo nocturno is vege based on how his abs felt 🏳️‍🌈

[ktgegitim]

Online Dış Ticaret Eğitimi

[metroid-fusion]

this is like the most amount of concerted attention ive got from my art in. like a really long time if ever. thank u ..

[raspberrysmoon]

insane to me that people in this fandom can. see the shitni write

[tunastime]

back around

To continue loving is the greatest feat of perseverance. Love is the one thing we always have to give.

Etho will finally reunite with Bdubs, alongside a long, internal struggle, after Bdubs gets back from Double Life. Until then, Etho lives alone, and finally comes to terms with, and accepts, the love he knows he deserves.

(6227 words)

There’s nothing pleasant about respawn.

Etho wakes up in the basement of the monolith and his eyes burn. Around him still lingers the smell of burning hair and charcoal. Joel’s voice rings in his periphery, hoarse and afraid for the very first time. Etho took his time leaving that world, feeling the shape of Joel tug on his sleeve. To remember him in another life. He’s a good guy, a better fighter, desperately loyal. He knows that, at least next time, he might have somebody to trust again. Etho opens his eyes. The world dips and sets him back into bed too fast.

His stomach rolls as he does, onto his hands and knees, coughing up and swallowing down. He sinks to the cool floor, and for a long moment, tries to keep his head from spinning. Wake with the spins, go to bed with the spins. His hands splay out. Wooden slats beneath him. Quiet around him.

When he finally collects himself enough to stand, the first thing he does is stand in the threshold of the bathroom holding the door frame tight with both hands. In the light he can just barely see his bare face, tired but unbruised. It’s a face he hasn’t seen in a while. He tracks his eyes in the mirror and his pupils are big to take in the light. These aren’t the clothes he died in. He washes his face in the sink. He rinses his hands. Twice. Three times. He doesn’t have the patience for a bath, but there’s a fine feeling on his skin—sticky and unclean. Not blood. Sweat.

Etho takes a long breath in, sighs, and stands up straight. Then, and only then, does he try to remember how to be himself again. He pads into the other room, scrubbing sleep from his eyes. He changes his clothes and leaves the old ones in a heap on the bedside. Something about the repetition of changing makes his skin crawl a little less. He changes his socks. He combs back his hair with his fingers. 

Time passes differently here. When he makes it to the staircase that should lead up into the rest of the monolith, he checks the calendar, the remnant of one. A few nights will pass until everyone is collected and brought back. A few nights will pass before people realize they don’t have to stay to watch bloodshed. Or when they get bored. And Etho is here, now. No use watching bloodshed. No use watching someone die.

Etho trails up the stairs. He pulls his mask over his face only when he reaches the landing, right before the door. The air is still and cool. The inside of the monolith is still and cool too, but something lingers. The fragments of living—the smell of cooked food, coffee, still lit lanterns. It’s midday; Etho peeks out through one of the windows to see a bright blue sky and a stretch of birch as far as he can see. 

He wanders up the stairs with his heart thumping in his chest. It isn’t possible for him to be back so soon. Is it?

He keeps going, tracing up the wall as he walks. There isn’t a noise. 

The whole monolith is quiet, a settling sound he hasn’t heard in weeks. No shuffling or movement, no sound of anyone living besides him. He knows it’s not the truth, he knows Ren wanders upstairs–he has to be up there. It would only make sense, given the timing.

Etho pauses at the threshold.

When he stops at the doorway, the sun is pooling into the window, filtering through the dust. On the table is a coffee cup, a dish, a dishrag left abandoned. He pushes past a vine that climbs down the beam and into the entryway. The leaves of their potted plants trickle down the wall. There is silence, aside from the faint sounds of birds and cicadas and windchimes.

When he looks into the kitchen, there are only empty dishes.

Etho rinses out the metal kettle and fills it with water. He lights the burner. The kettle goes on top. He takes down one cup and a tin. The tin, in capital letters, reads: lavender lemon. 

On the stove, the kettle begins to boil.

(read the rest on ao3!)

[quietwingsinthesky]

or, what if kevin was lucifer's prophet to protect?

ft. kevin being extremely traumatized. and lucifer not being much better off.

[jyakkopotto-saddo-gaaru]

i literally cannot fathom why someone would love me. i am the no redeeming qualities girl