#I forgot to post it on this platform so .. There it is

[asheepinfrance]

if you haven't gotten sick of seeing me on your timeline, i'm not doing it right. i'm like a challengers fan fiction cold sore! i'm not sure if i like this, but then again, i say this about everything i've ever posted and still make it publically available. i hope it's cute and just yearny (??) enough because what is a challengers fan if not a yearner? i will probably post something again in the next 24 hours maybe less so.. who's ready for a patrick fic? patfic. woah... hope you enjoy and feel free to leave tips and critiques as per usual<3

Societal conventions of platonic relationships are boring, and that’s why you all rejected them. I mean, sure, every time you said that you weren’t dating one of them the response was always “You know you can tell me anything, right?” but seriously! You’re all just very good friends. Best friends, more accurately. So, yes, you helped each other out. That’s what friends are for. Patrick needs a fake girlfriend for one of his parents’ parties? You and Tashi are on it. Art wants a date to some tennis gala? You’re all jumping at the chance. It’s not like it’s hard to fake something like that, because you’re all close already. A kiss on the cheek and a hand on the waist are essentially nothing. You wouldn’t bat an eye if it happened outside of one of those contexts, either. So it’s fine when it does, and it doesn’t make your heart race.

It also never bothered you to admit that they were incredibly beautiful people, because that’s just a conclusion that you can draw by having eyes. Even without your little set up, you’d certainly feel that way. So Tashi’s birthday party, which she’d dragged you all to some club you can’t legally be in for, was fine. It was fine that Tashi was dancing with her arms outstretched above her head like a prayer, slightly offbeat to the timing of the song, and yet still so in place. She’s dancing like she forgot there’s always eyes admiring her, skirt swaying around her long legs, eyes closed like she’d absorb the moment if she concentrated enough. And she looked gorgeous, the way she always did. Which you’re allowed to say, because best friends always support their best friends. And sure, when she opens her eyes and waves at you from her spot on the floor you start giggling despite having had nothing to drink, but it’s because you’re happy for her. It’s extra fine that Patrick soon comes up to join her, large hands to sharp hip bones, and they start swaying like one unit, and they both look lost in one another until suddenly they’re lost in you. You don’t bristle when Art leans into your side and mumbles that someone ‘looks really good, huh?’ and you don’t quite make out if the sentence started with ‘he’ or ‘she’.

It’s fine when Tashi pulls you up to some makeshift platform of a stage for karaoke, screaming the lyrics just a bit too loudly into the microphone, and clinging onto you for dear life. There’s a second mic hanging limply to your right, but it’s been deemed unnecessary because she’d insisted on pulling you close and sharing the one in her hand. From this close, you can smell the perfume she’d chosen for the night, which you note isn’t her signature, and the faint coconut of her shampoo. You can make out two sets of smiling eyes from the same shitty table you’d claimed, nursing drinks in calloused hands that still manage soft touches. 

It’s fine when you get a little solo and you manage to squeak out a few notes, voice thick with nerves and lack of proper use, and feel the way that three people’s worlds have stopped to take in each sound before they pass. They’re committing you singing to memory, and you’re not sure what’s telling you as much, but you know it’s true. It’s fine when the song’s over and Tashi leads you back to the table with a hand on your lower back, and her fingers are so long that your mind drifts without your permission, and your steps become a bit more rigid than they’d usually be. 

It’s fine when you’re pressed between Patrick and Art in the rented limo Patrick had arranged using his parents’ money, and two different hands meet your thigh, and you can just barely feel Patrick’s pinky grazing the hem of your skirt. It’s fine when Art begins feeding you praise like it’s his life’s goal to make you drown in it, because the compliments sound sweeter in his voice, so you can take that sickening butterfly flutter in your ribcage and crush it under the stiletto point of your heel. 

It’s fine when you’re all laying on dew-dampened grass somewhere near Patrick’s apartment, staring up at the sky, and the crowns of your head are all touching, because there’s a need to not acknowledge the obvious, and a deeper need to indulge in it. There’s a voice in the wind that’s rustling Tashi’s hair and creasing Art’s shirt that’s telling you to just give in to yourself. You wonder if it’s only talking to you. It’s fine when you turn to look at Patrick to find he’s already looking at you, and he’s got the wonder in his eyes you see on people gazing into a Van Gogh. He’d take staring at you over any painting in a heartbeat, he’d tell you if you asked. 

It’s fine when you find yourself in Patrick’s bed, goosebumps littered across cold-air-kissed skin, with your back to Tashi’s chest, and she’s cradling your head like it’ll fall off if she doesn’t hold it up herself. You find yourself liking the feeling of Art’s lips scattering feather-light kisses across the inside of your thighs. You lean further back against Tashi when she starts cooing some kind of praise you’re too hazy-minded to make out, but it sounds nice with the inflections of her voice, demanding but soft. You don’t mind watching Patrick’s lips connect with Tashi’s, then with Art’s, because you can focus in on how their bodies melt and their fingers bend. You can pick up on each little click of a broken kiss, and each sigh of a newly formed one. The night’s some kind of haze of warm hands, adoring eyes, and wandering lips with glints of white teeth that you can’t quite put in place. What you can definitively say is that it felt like coming home. It felt like sleeping in your bed for the first time since you’ve been away, and it molds around your shape like you hoped it would. It feels like falling asleep with Tashi’s hair in your face and a pool of Patrick’s drool building atop your stomach and not caring. It feels like getting a kiss goodnight from Art because he’s just as naked and giddy as you are.

It’s fine to admit to yourself that you’re in love when you don’t want to be. Love apparently didn’t care that you wanted a step-by-step plan, a playbook, a set of rules to follow. Love didn’t care that you’d been planning on keeping things simple, because lack of acknowledgement means lack of potential rejection. Love didn’t care because love is like a mother, it knows what’s best for you, even if it’s less than pleasant to sit with. But love was deeply breathing against your neck and snoring a little too loudly. Love was going to wake you up at sunrise to make them all hangover cures, should they need them. Love was going to let you fall asleep and dream about it, just to wake up and realize it’s still there.

[indimiart]

hi tumblr, long long time no see 🫶🏼 kind of forgot how to use this platform but I’m trying to get back to posting here and on bsky in light of… well everything terrible with socials right now.

world kind of sucks, so here’s a silly soft thing I painted of Nievan and @nesvann ‘s OC Maeth. They’re in love I’m super normal about them

[faer1efire]

my secret santa gift for @/awksbush on twitter !!!!

[nilovalentine]

Then and Now

[soranker]

have been super busy lately so doodled some wolfies to destress ^_^

[ganondoodle]

Sorry ab the shitty English translations/localizations, it's bc they think that Americans won't get it otherwise (bc when we act stupid, we act REALLY stupid), our bad 💀

[ikusam-art]

[cassielsunstone]

My attempt at drawing @fuastar 's beautiful Zora OC, Nayela! 💙✨

[odd-chips]

"They/them", but in the multiple guys sense, you see.

Bonus art of Tim/Ratman dabbling in weirdgender stuff from 2 years ago, and ramblings under the cut!

I couldn't really expand on the scope of it on twitter (280 character count and all that), but Ratman in my mind tends to be like. Weirdly label-less. Tim is explicitly gay, but I never say as much for Ratman's sexuality, because it's just not important enough to his character for him to think about. (I can just say "Oh yeah he's pan" but I dunno, it feels weird)

So in the same way, I don't tend to think of him as a man in a binary way, because, not only does it also hits that mark of "it's not really important enough to his character that he'd label himself", but he also quite literally was MADE. He sprung forth with only the memories of Tim's lived experiences as man without the societal pressures to back it up. Copy of a copy and all that.

He's a man, it's in his name, but he's not a man. If you asked him if he was a guy, he'd say yeah, but not in a cis way, but he wouldn't understand he means it in a non-cis way. His red is red, but it's not your red, and he doesn't realize he's seeing his red differently. He's experiencing manhood in genuinely the only way he knows how: through the filter of Tim and what little knowledge of gender roles he understands. (Although if gender roles were ever explained to him, he'd be super confused about it, to be fair)

Anyways I think Ratman's a man, but not in a cis way, but saying he's nonbinary feels about as wrong as saying he's pan. He's just fucking Ratman and his gender is Ratman. It doesn't change much about him, but it's just How It Be.

[bitchfitch]

I may have just convinced my shrink to start using Tumblr.

[chibishortdeath]

R.I.P Simon Belmont, he woulda loved the 80s 😔

[gxlden-angels]

Hey, hey dude I hate to be the bearer of bad news but uh, your boy is being killed in your own graphic. Like he's actively being murdered....yea idk what to tell you dude he's like Dead dead there

[kakusu-shipping]

You’re all getting another unpromted headcanon dump because I’m very personally tired of the “Mario would hide his struggles and trauma post Movie from Luigi because he doesn’t want to look weak and keep up the appearance of the Strong Older Brother” take. Don’t Eldest Daughter Syndrome Mario. He and Luigi are a team. A pair. He would tell Luigi everything.

Anyway here’s everything I think Mario personally struggles with and would rely on Luigi for

The Mario movie put it very blatantly on the table that Mario’s a little touchy about his height. It’s probably more so because he’s use to being picked on as The Short Guy on the sports team rather than it really actually bothering him all that much. He’s just assumes someone calling him short is an insult. The only personal problem he has with it is being shorter than Luigi. They spent a lot of their childhood the same height, and Luigi being taller still messes them both up from time to time

This is another left over from Highschool; Mario and Luigi (accidentally) kind of fell into the trope of the Smart twin and the Sporty twin, with Mario being the ladder. This messed with his head in a way he couldn’t really articulate, being expected to be a Meathead like the other guys on his sports teams did actually cause his grades to go down, especially in Math which use to be his best subject, which of course caused a lot of concerned backlash from their parents, especially his dad. Now he has it locked in his brain somewhere he’s stupid when he’s not.

He’s bad with people. Luigi’s a lot more of a people person than he is. He has a hard time connecting to people, or making simple small talk. He can be pretty blunt, or awkward, and maybe a bit aggressive sounding, especially to someone not use to how loud and confidently he speaks. As he gets older he gets quieter, speaks less, falls into a much more comfortable selective mute life style, and it suits him much better than trying to fumble through talking to people. He prefers to listen

He’s definitely a workaholic, he’d gotta be busy busy busy all the time. A lot of people will see him run from one project to the next, never turning down a request for help with something, constantly juggling tasks and working on something in his spare time and think it’s all because he’s such a nice, hard working guy. But no. It’s the stress of not doing enough. Or because he anxious being alone. Luigi’s the only one who knows Mario will keep going till he crashes, and is the one to always stop him and remind him he’s doing enough, he’s enough. Take a break.

Mario’s always struggled with separation anxiety. He’s never been one for the whole concept of “alone time”, he’d much rather be near people he loves and trusts and can relax around. He use to joke it stems from being born first, those few moments before Luigi was born was more than enough alone time for a life time. He tries to wave it off occasionally, but it really is a problem. If he is ever left alone, say Luigi goes off on some grand adventure without him, he finds things to work on until he passes out, and then just sleeps and lays about until Luigi comes back.

[raggedxyouth]

🩷*•🔸| platonically married… platonically

[mico-appreciation]

another edit 🫶

[ruiiplume]

I've been thinking i should go back to reblogging some cool art as well as my friends' art on this blog next month