#I know I made it sad in my writing

[nobodysdaydreams]

I’m disappointed TMBS (the show) got cancelled for many reasons, but one underrated reason is that we never got to see Nathaniel and Garrison confront each other. I wish we could have seen this, because they are both such losers.

When they were working together they got beat by a team of children. When they parted ways and declared they didn’t need each other, Garrison ended up broke and living underground while Nathaniel ended up in tears breaking down backstage at his own live tv show because he wasn’t smart enough to figure out the technique he stole.

I just know they would have been so bitter trying to convince each other they were better off now as if they’re not both the cause of their own suffering.

[becca-e-barnes]

Since it seems everyone is as horny as I am about men cumming quickly, let’s keep talking about it 🤤

The very second your lips touch Bucky’s, you feel how eager he is already. His lips are warm and plump and slick and insistent, gliding against your own with a hunger you can only hope to match.

His hands trail over your body, touching you with an urgency you’re very much enjoying. His fingertips dig in a little, making you feel like he craves you and it’s entirely dizzying.

“This isn’t fair. You get me so worked up.” He’s practically panting through kisses to your neck, nipping and biting his way to your breasts, encased in the pretty lace he picked out for you.

The thick outline of his cock is more than distracting and even in the dim bedroom light, you notice the sheen of precum that has soaked through his thin underwear.

He kisses your breasts tenderly, not removing your bra just yet. He wants to enjoy it; he wants to be able to call on the memory whenever he needs it.

“Fucking perfect.” He moans, letting his hand trail between your thighs, finding you wetter than he could’ve dreamed.

“Not yet.” You tease, removing his hand and sinking to your knees in front of him, pulling his underwear down his toned legs. His hard length bobs in front of your face, the tip wet with his own arousal and your mouth waters at the thought.

“Prove you can handle my pussy. Show me you deserve it.” Your hand wraps around the base of his cock while your tongue flicks against the tip, savouring the taste of him.

You pump your hand in time with your mouth, pausing every now and again to take as much of him as you can.

Your soft moans are nothing compared to his.

Fuck, he’s lost in the feeling of your warm, wet, sinful mouth and the thought of you swallowing his load.

“Babe please, slow down.” You hear him moan and it makes slowing down the last thing on your mind.

“Don’t you dare.” You take just a second to breathe before you’re back to stroking and sucking his faster than before. He’s not going to last. He knows it. So do you. That’s exactly what you want.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He groans, desperately trying not to but that’s hard when he’s watching your pretty face and focusing on the way your lips look wrapped around his dick.

It’s a toss up. In your mouth or over your face? It hardly matters when you have him exactly where you want him.

[clockwork-carstairs]

do you ever think about how matthew fairchild was such a sunshine coded character—a golden boy, floated through school, charmed everyone with his infamous smile; a starry-eyed dreamer who had faith in most things that weren’t himself. and how because of one moment of naivety he lost years of his life to devastating self-sabotage, believing himself worth nothing, deserving of nothing, drinking day by day to numb out the pain—because he believed people could only ever like him when he wasn’t sober, when he wasn’t fully himself. and how despite visibly not being okay, nobody ever really said anything about it until he basically hit rock bottom. and do you ever think about how matthew would’ve given up his love for cordelia in a second if it meant james could be happy, when james wouldn’t do the same? you knew. i told you in the letter. and how he joked and deflected so much to hide how sad he really was, because he believed no one would care enough to see it. i did not know that i looked sad, to you. because i think about it a lot and it makes me very sad

[walkingstackofbooks]

a year or so after the war, a young, recently-graduated doctor gets off the shuttle on ds9, very excited to begin working in a proper medical team in a proper space station as an actual, proper doctor

and they're so eager to learn and so starry-eyed and so full of enthusiasm and have so many things they want to do and ideas they want

and they're used to people finding them a little annoying in all their talkativity, and certainly they're not quite sure what doctor bashir makes of them because while he's very patient and kind, he doesn't smile that much and has a strange sort of look in his eyes whenever they start rambling on too much

but a number of the staff seem to take to them quite quickly and at some point they start overhearing themself being compared to doctor bashir? and not in like, a medical way, which would be ridiculously exciting because doctor bashir is extraordinary and they'd love to be thought of as that intelligent--

but no, it's more... well, it's like people think they've got a similar personality? and they just don't see it. sure, he's very passionate and dedicated to his work, but... excited? eager? not really.

they mention it to a friend, a bajoran nurse who's also recently joined the station. "lieutenant commander mayfield called us two peas in a pod," they say. "and I heard colonel kira joke that "whether or not he has too much work, cloning's supposed to be illegal". are we really that similar?"

"You're practically identical," their friend replies, taking them aback before they realise she's just being sarcastic. "On one hand, a tight-lipped, serious, solemn genius-war-hero, and on the other a bubbly, impetuous, far-too-excitable idiot doctor. Yes. I see the resemblance."

"Exactly," they reply, feeling vindicated.

"... Hey!" they add a few seconds later, realising they'd just been insulted.

they do wonder, though, why they continue to get these comments from anyone who's been serving on DS9 for years. maybe the doctor had been different when he was younger, but no-one can change that much, right? 35 seems practically ancient (well, at least decently middle-aged), but even so, they can't imagine growing up to be anything like their new mentor

it's a mystery

[beatcroc]

there's no way the bathroom at peppino's pizza is actually that big but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . hey ummm anyway.... i care them...... anyway there's a lil ramble on my take on fake pep's like psyche or whatever in tags on the og post if ur into that kinda thing :y

hey! it's a series! fake peppino world tour: [noise] [noisette] [peppino]<- u are here [gustavo] [gerome] [noisette again]

[stil-lindigo]

the dredger.

a comic about closure.

(buy the digital copy of the comic anthology here)

creative notes:

[somnas-writes]

Thinking about the tragedy that is Ciel and Sebastian’s relationship.

They have a twisted power dynamic. Sebastian’s stronger and is inevitably going to eat Ciels soul. Ciel has the power of the contract and is going to die in the end.

Sebastian is raising someone who refuses to be a child, raising him like cattle for the cultivation. Ciel know this, knows it well but he acts regardless, doesn’t let it deter him.

We, the readers, can tell that they have begun caring for each other. Against their better judgment, they care now. They worry when they get hurt, when things go wrong. But in the end, none of that’s going to matter.

Ciel is going to die at Sebastian’s hands. That’s as clear as day, a fact of life now. They both know.

Will Sebastian feel regret or will it just be another meal. Is Ciel going to be afraid or will it just be another night for him. What will they feel when the end is near?

A Tragedy is an story that is based on human suffering that culminates in catharsis.

Theyre going to be a tragedy.

[operationslipperypuppet]

erlin kindleaf is sixteen years old when he dies.

he has just been kidnapped, plunged into absolute darkness, and heard his best friend, his boyfriend, get torn to shreds.

death, after that, is almost a relief.

when he blinks and can suddenly see, there’s a light at the end of the path laid out in front of him. a warmth. a promise.

he’s been in the green knight program his entire life. his parents were green knights. his sister is one of the most skilled green teens.

one of the comforts he held, when his parents died, was that staying with pelor would mean he could see them again one day. was this light, here and in front of him, the immediate aftermath of his fall.

so he continued to spread the light where he could. and now he found it.

a short life is always devastating. particularly when it’s your own. but he’s so tired. and he really wants to hug his mom.

at a slight run, he moves forward toward the light. he’s got people waiting for him.

but it’s harder to run than it should be. someone is hanging onto him.

and then the people who hang on, who used his death as a path, are cutting down pelor. ruining the one thing he kept in the back of his head as a comfort for years of grief and pain.

but then there’s this other warmth. one he’s even more familiar with. his home. beverly.

even as erlin knows giving into the pull will make things worse, he lets it take him. the anxiety fills his mouth and entire body as he takes a breath. but for a second, the briefest of moments, he’s safe.

he knew the world was ending, but this is worse.

he feels everything fall apart the instant his feet touch the ground.

and he didn’t even get to see his mom.

now with a follow up

[gen4grl]

you would think after all the yapping i do about these losers i would have a plethora of art uploaded … no… so here is my first kantrio post lol

i did these over the last month while watching the olympic weightlifting and jamming to kpop (stan red velvet and kiss of life BTW!!!)

[cutielatias]

I feel like Chip is a very special friend for Sonic compared to the other companions that Sonic encounter on his adventures.chip seem to have a special place on him.

on that scene sonic says as if chip was protecting him this whole time cuz of the fact of him being the light gaia and chip answers that wasn't him, but sonic himself that made it, but i do think indeed that chip was the reason of sonic not giving up to the dark/ being like the people during the night,but not because of chip protecting him as him being light gaia, but as a friend, chip was on his side even during his night/werehog form, chip was there with sonic during his lowest, chip didn't treat sonic different on his werehog form since chip didn't know/met sonic before, he don't have an idea of how sonic was or suppose to be, so, for him both his day and night version are still him, and that's something that sonic friends don't do, since this version of sonic(werehog) is too different from the sonic that they knew, so they don't even reconizer him or treat him like sonic, even though still him anyway. Doing this adventure and going thru this whole new version/situation together with chip, a friend, made sonic not be consumed by the dark.

Also feel that sonic and chip are very similar, chip just like sonic is a hero, an earth protector, just as sonic, both protect and save and care for the world from the evil, a responsabilite/something that none of sonic friends could understand, none of them carry this duty;something that also make chip friendship so special.

On the scene of adabat temple i feel that what chip meant to say, was that he was scared not because of the temple being "scary", but that he feels that on this temple he would find out who he is, he was scary of what would happen after,cuz after him finding his memory back he wouldn't need to stay with sonic anymore since the reason they were together was to find who he was, chip was scared to end the adventure/lose sonic company and friendship; that's why what sonic says on the night scene is so special "do i need a reason to want to help out a friend?", sonic on this moment confirm to chip that he already consider chip his friend, chip don't need a reason to reach out to him, chip was already his friend;

funny how in the beginning chip was the one scared of ending the adventure and lose sonic, but as the story goes now is sonic being the one insecure about it, the difference being that on sonic is a little more subtle, sonic on the eggmanland scene seem so…indifferent, he doesn't seem to be determined/excited as he was at the beginning even though he's so close to unite all the world parts again and come back to be his normal form (without have to become werehog on the night), sonic is indifferent/scary/sad cuz that's mean that the journey is coming to an end, and that this fight would be the last moments of him and chip, after that, both would go on their separates ways, but even sad sonic still supporting chip, but deep down he didn't want chip to go(and i feel chip notices that, but now chip is the one accepting and sonic is the one struggling) this scene after is almost as if sonic want to say something, but got interrumped by eggman(…if we think, is sad sonic and chip never had a proper goodbye)

before i didn't understand this chip dialogue "sonic, you have to live"(i was like, of course he has to live you can't just let he die!😅) but now i think i understand, chip wasn't talking about "live" on a life and death sense, he was saying that sonic must go on with his life even without him,sonic must keep…living, even if chip is not there anymore, sonic must continuing to live.

Then after when sonic is thrown out of the lava place, he even imagine chip, almost as if sonic was looking out for him, wishing that this was how it end; but chip is not there, the only thing that is, is his bracelet;

"I'II never forget you" "I'II be here by you, always." "A part of the earth you tread"

chip's words of consolation saying to sonic that he is always with him, being a part of the world that sonic lives and protect, when sonic is protecting the earth is as if him and chip were together fighting/doing the adventure and saving the planet, sonic and chip might not be together anymore, but their connection/friendship remains.

chip song("dear my friend") is pretty much very related to all of that, though the song is very related to chip(since the song voice also remind his) i think the song is also about sonic/sonic speaking to chip, no wonder the song image even show both of them, this whole song represents/shows sonic & chip friendship and the game message.

"Good times and bad times, I can count on being with you. I thank you for staying so true (...) And You are my reason I can make it through"

"I know life can be tough on you time and time again laughter maybe gone 'way I will wipe away my tears to-morrow Life must go on, that's the reason that you travel away"

"Just like a river that flows Just like stars in the dark night Lead me in the storm, Lead me in the dark You are the light of my life"

"Memories you can recall With me any time of day You can reach out you can ask me in your soul I will answer when you call me I will come no matter how Cause we are very special friends"

[ehlnofay]

One day – as far-off as a century, as near as tomorrow – it will all be a grand old story.

The stories will speak of a handful of champions, rushing headlong against time and logic to save the world; the last Blades, the last Septim, and his hanger-on Hero, carving a bloody path to the Temple doors. The stories will tell of skies like burned blood, of fire and ash and uncountable legions of monsters – hundreds, thousands, millions, the quantity rising with each telling – the city streets cracked and quaking, every civilian locked up in their homes and businesses and praying for deliverance. The stories will tell of the appearance of Dagon, red-hot and roiling, a gory perversion of the sun; they’ll tell that when all seemed lost, Martin Septim sacrificed himself in a blaze of glory, calling down the avatar of Akatosh and casting Dagon and his ilk back whence he came. They’ll tell that the golden dragon threw back its head and roared, and the sky cleared and brightened at its word; they’ll tell how it petrified in place, a magnificent pillar of stone, a sacrosanct statue. A site of pilgrimage. A shrine, to the grace and glory of the gods, and the bravery and benevolence of the last Emperor, the best of men.

It will be a good story. All splendour and triumph, a bittersweet victory right out of the epics; the pages closed, the crisis done, the world saved in as golden a resolution as could be asked for. It doesn’t get better than this, a perfect saviour, a hallowed end.

What the stories won’t tell is how, under clear skies and sunlight, the Hero of Kvatch falls at the statue’s marbled feet and howls like the world is still ending.

“You fucking coward,” Pax is screaming, as best as she can. Her mouth tastes like smoke. Her voice is hoarse. “Stupid worm, fucking – selfish bastard – what’s wrong with you?”

His head is swimming, a bit; he shouldn’t have tried to stand, but he – but – he’s dragged himself up to the dais, just about, and managed to sprawl himself over the edge, a snail’s trail of blood smeared along the floor behind him. The copper tang of it is strong in his nostrils. The statue stands, proud and silent, one marble claw dug into the cracked stone of the rostrum. His whole body is beginning to ache – just because of a stupid stab wound in his side, he’d swear he’s had worse, it’s not that bad, it’s not that bad. His throat burns. He isn’t crying. He isn’t.

The sky is so fucking blue.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demands, again, and brings the heel of his hand thudding against the clawed foot hard enough that he feels the impact down his arm, through his blurry head. “Why would you – piece of shit – sorry spit-gill – I thought –”

None of their thoughts will go through to the end. “I thought,” Pax says again, and she’s not crying, and it hurts so much it’s looped back around to not hurting, and it’s all getting fuzzy at the edges, all the world narrowed down to this and this and this and all fucking hell she’d rather be anywhere, anything else. The statue is cold. Her throat is scraped raw. “Come back,” she’s begging without quite meaning to, “come back,” and she drives her palm into the stone again, and the pain sets her reeling.

And all hell, the sky is so blue; the statue enormous; and here they are, at its feet, vision blurring, staring up at its cold marble face. It’s so fucking tall, so proud, face tipped up towards the new-appeared sun, away from them.

“How could you?” Pax says, and then they can’t even see it anymore, blood unspooling from them like skeins of madder-dyed thread. Red has never been their favourite colour. The shape of the dragon, glowing like the sun, is fixed forever on the backs of their eyelids; gold, they think, is worse. The world is detached and floating about them. They taste smoke and then bile. Stone digs fierce into their spine.

It burned like the sun, the dragon; like all the divine light of Aetherius come to earth just to sear the moisture from her eyes. Where it clawed Mehrunes Dagon, his blood boiled; when it screamed, the world moulded itself to its call. Pax hadn’t known what was happening, while it happened; sure as shit doesn’t know now. What they do know is that he’s gone. What they do know is that the dragon didn’t look at them once. They don’t taste ash on their breath, now; just fear, stagnant, sour, blood jangling bitter in their veins and seeping out to soak their gambeson.

It doesn’t hurt, anymore, there’s just this spreading, vague numbness. It doesn’t feel like their body. It’s just a thing they’re putting on. Their ears are still ringing from the crashing-in of the Temple, but there’s a faint buzzing of noise outside. They might be dying. They can’t be assed to get up.

Skeeving asshole. They’re getting blood on the dragon’s immaculate feet. The hollow sounds of voices feels distant. Could well be worse.

Then, “… a healer, here!” they hear, much closer than anything else had been before, paired with the faraway thudding of the door, and “Pax. Pax! It’s – where’s –” and there’s hands on him, a cautious manipulation of his neck, a shifting of his legs. Pressure on his sternum, and then his stomach, and a pained grunt slips out of his mouth, bound up with a slurred curse.

“Stay calm,” says an unfamiliar voice, soft and steady. “I’m just accessing the wound.”

“Go away,” Pax says, or tries to say, but his voice is whispering-hoarse and the dragon looms in the dark even still. He could open his eyes, but what would be the point?

The hands stay on him even when he bucks, holding him steady; they whisper over the stab in her gut, pulling at the drying blood, mumbling words that she can’t be fucking bothered to listen to, one voice known to her already, one voice not; pressure again on the injury, and they try, half-heartedly, to breathe out a swear – and then light, copper-bright, behind their eyelids, and burning heat, and pain pain pain eclipsing all else as something inside them wrenches back into working order, and then their eyes are open and the sky is blue and they are very fucking aware, thank you.

Pax sits up, fast enough to send the world dizzily whirling, and shoves the mage-medic away from them.

“Piss off,” he says – and it’s still hoarse, smoke-throated and scraped raw, but there’s more bite to it this time, more sound. The strange hands fall away from his side, and he looks down. His gambeson is hanging open, cords untied, the emblem of the wolf split clean down the middle. His undershirt is rucked up around his chest, too, so much of his skin is bared to the clear, bright air; all to get to the wound tucked just under their ribs. It’s an underwhelming thing – smaller than they would’ve thought, a thin short slash like a very red mouth has opened itself up in their gut. It’s stopped dribbling quite so much blood, gone scabby with rough healing, though the stuff is still smeared all over their skin, damn near enough to bathe in. It’s barely anything, really. They’re barely even hurt.

“I’m not done,” says the mage-medic, all stern. The wound itches, the taste of hasty magic gone sour in the back of their throat with all the rest of it. “I might have to find my suturing needle. It isn’t too bad, but it can’t be healed all at once.”

“Piss off,” Pax repeats – and all fucking hell it hurts, and he’s sitting up against the statue, legs lolling. He’s dizzy. He ignores it.

Ocato – his fine clothes sooty, face tight as a wound-up spring – says, “Calm down, please – he’s a skilled healer, he knows what he’s doing.” His eyes keep skipping around the room like he’s searching for another enemy lurking hidden in the shadows. “What happened? Where’s the Emperor?”

Ah – not an enemy, then.

Pax tastes bile.

“Not very quick on the uptake, are you?” she says, elbow braced against the statue’s massive marble claws (she hates touching it, she hates it, she hates it, she wants to set it crumbling apart, she doesn’t want to let anyone else touch it ever again). She can’t stop leaning because then she might topple back down again. Fuck, she needs to keep her head on straight – or lose it altogether, whichever happens faster. Her fingers feel cold. “How’re you going to run an Empire when you’re this fucking clueless?”

Ocato looks them in the face; his brow, high and slanted in that way elves have, furrows. “You’re hurt,” he says, in a tone like he expects Pax to argue with him. “Martin Septim–”

“Can’t you see him?” Pax demands, tone torn in half and uglier than they’ve ever heard it before, and they slam the back of their hand against the stone for echoing emphasis. (They want to shatter all the bones in their knuckles, break every piece in their hand one by one, like wishbones. They want it bloody and bruising. They want to scratch its polished-smooth surface until their fingernails tear. They want – they want – they want –)

Ocato, the Empire’s de facto leader, says, “Ah.”

In his plummy robes, all fruit-rich and stained with ash, he looks very stark against the Temple’s cracked marble floors.

“The Avatar,” he says. “If – the Amulet – joined blood of kings and gods –”

“Ocato,” says Pax, leaning heavy against the statue’s hateful foot, “shut up.” Their voice is bowstring-taut; he looks at them, his eyes too golden to meet. His mouth twists. They tip their head back against the stone, glaring up at the chips of blue sky shown in the crater where the roof once was, and try hard to ignore the tugging ache hooked behind their ribs.

It really fucking hurts. Worse than it did before, maybe, like some gauzy veil has been ripped from it. A veil has been ripped from the world. All the colours are too-bright, hideous. Pax breathes, because there’s no alternative, and waits for the pain to ebb.

(It doesn’t, really.)

“The Gates are sealed,” Ocato says, slowly, and he’s looking at her again, she can see out of the edge of her eye. “We will speak later. I’ll have you put up in the Palace until you’re healed. Ah – Quintus, does –”

“As long as she doesn’t go back into shock,” says the mage-medic, busily flipping through some kind of supply bag at his belt, “her odds are good. Lost blood, but I don’t think anything important was too damaged – get a proper examination, all I did was give her a second wind. Stitches, rest, fluids should do it, with luck.”

“Can she stand?”

“Can or should are –”

“Shut the fuck up,” Pax snaps, “I’m right here.” Her back pressed against the cold marble of the statue, her plait half-loose and knotted, filled with ash. The sky is so fucking blue. It hurts like hell – if the healer took her out of shock, then shit, she wishes he’d put her back in. She can see in too much detail. She can feel the skin, damp and ragged and angry. She presses the heel of her hand to the injury; her palm is crusted with dust, tacky with the same half-dried blood streaked over the floors.

Ocato, in the edges of her vision, shifts, all a blur of rich clothes and sympathetic eyes and solemn voice turned soft like he’s talking to an easily spooked horse. “I know.”

The mage-medic clucks his tongue. “Let me take another look first,” he says, and takes a step forward –

Pax kicks out at him before he even gets close. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Pax,” says Ocato – and why, why the fuck is the Empire’s de facto leader here, now, babying them like a whimpering little puppy instead of anywhere fucking else, why is he bothering to talk to them all patronising soft, why does he care? They’ve barely fucking met – talked twice, if you can call either of those times talking. Is it because they’re the Hero of Kvatch? Is this what they’ve earned – a bit of leeway as they throw a tantrum, bleeding out at the marble feet of that stupid bloody statue? Ocato looks so fucking tired; Pax wants to hit him in the nose. “You need care.”

“I need –” and Pax chokes it off in a puff of air. The statue looms behind them. There’s blood on the floors. (Traitor liar coward come back come back I hate you come down I’ll knock your fucking teeth in stupid selfish fraud come BACK. LOOK AT ME.)

Pax closes his eyes.

“My gratitude,” Ocato says, “ – our gratitude for what you’ve done cannot be overstated. The Crisis if over. The gates are sealed. Mehrunes Dagon and his ilk can never threaten Tamriel again.”

The knobs of Pax’s braid are pressing uncomfortably against their scalp. They can hear footsteps, coming closer. They don’t respond.

“It’s a great shame we had to pay such a price,” Ocato says, and Pax would fucking love to know who’s we here, “but it’s done. Dagon is defeated. We’ve won.” He’s much too close, now; his voice pitches softer. “Martin – is dead. But he died an Emperor – and a hero to rival Tiber Septim.”

Pax shoves him.

It’s a good fucking shove – knocks him right to the ground, his elbow hitting the marble with a painfully audible crack, Pax standing over him, shirt rucked up, their handprint on his shoulder marked in blood. “You useless, prattling jackass!” they spit, hoarse, and deal a swift, savage kick to his side. “How dare you act like this is a victory! It should have been me!”

Then their head swims, and they’re sitting again on the edge of the dais, palm pressed to their side, the sweaty cloth of their gambeson pushed half off their shoulder and its cord biting into their hand. The mage-medic is kneeling over Ocato, who still lies, stunned; Pax can’t see his eyes, now, but they remember them, brassy with shocked fear. Their bow is off by the wall where they left it. Pax’s palms are sticky with blood. The sky is so fucking blue. No matter how hard she rages the dragon won’t look down at them.

By the time the mage-medic has helped Ocato up, they’re gone. The Kvatch guard gambeson remains, smoke-smelling and crusted with blood, left like an offering at the statue’s feet. The Hero of Kvatch is never seen again.

[cheeriochat]

Hmmmm DMC headcannons 3!!!!

This one's a bit wordy

☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆

• Dante and Vergil are the type of twins that when they are close by, are touching in any way possible. Sitting together? Dante is leaning on Vergil. Standing together? Vergil has his arm resting on Dantes shoulder. Walking together? They keep bashing into eachothers side. They can spend time apart (obviously) but when they are close there is always some form of contact.

• Nero felt phantom pains where his hand used to be, but when his arm grew back they kind of just became ordinary pains. He wasn't sure if it was a side affect of growing a whole ass arm back or something but he was happy when they went away.

• I kind of think Kyrie would have depression. I mean she went through a lot and lost her parents and brother but she lived, so I feel like she would have survivors guilt but due to constantly being busy she wouldn't really have the time to process it. It's a sad headcannon but I feel like it just seems right :(((

• On a bit of a lighter note, I feel like Kyrie would have a good support system though. I mean she has Nero obviously, but also I think she would have Lady, Trish and Dante there for her and eventually Vergil too.

• Talking about Trish, Lady and Dante. I feel like Lady and Trish would go shopping Bayonetta 2 style, and have Dante carry all their stuff around. (He gets compensated for his work when they stop at a Cafe and he gets a parfait, although he doesnt mind helping his friends)

• Nero has a huge sweet tooth, but because of the kids, he can't keep anything to satisfy his need for sugar around long enough. Vergil likes to buy him sweet stuff though as a form of peace offering. He's found Nero likes Lemon Sherbets, Sour patch kids, and controversially, Liquorice.

• Vergil likes Hotpot and Shabu Shabu. I don't know, I just feel this in my soul.

• Dante is jealous that Vergil gets a tail and he doesn't. Vergil is jealous Dante's horns are fancier than his. They are both content with the wings that they have. (Also vergil has long skinny fangs with sharp teeth and Dante has wider, stubbier (but still as equally sharp) fangs with more "human" teeth)

[dazais-guardian-angel]

Well, at least Fukuzawa got his wish granted, I guess.... he's finally inside Fukuchi <3

[asthedeathoflight]

I need to stay humble about my headcanons because I spend so much time trying to justify ajax and rembrandt being in love in my brain and it's just occurred to me that Ajax and Cleon are not, in fact, canonically best friends, and in fact only have one interaction in the entire musical which is in roll call Ajax saying ugh I don't wanna go to the meeting. And then they never directly speak to each other literally ever again.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

RODBT therapist @ the group: Does anyone have any examples of situations that generated complex emotions?

Me: Well... recently, scintists identified the remains of James Fitzjames who died in the Franklin expedition for the Northwest Passage like 176 years ago... it made me feel a lot of things...

[deoidesign]

HI I think I sent an ask a while back about having recently found TaTA and a) if it came off as trying to rush/guilt you. I am so sorry because that was NOT my intent, and b) I can hugely guarantee you have at least one person who will eat up any return, no matter when it happens, because I care about the guys so much 🥺 really looking forward to whatever comes next!!

Oh, I appreciate this a lot thank you!

Tbh it's a stress I would have regardless of anyone asking me about it, I'm probably the biggest one rushing and guilting myself on it. Which might contribute to some of the burnout I had...

My complaints are more about people who are demanding "more content daddy" or asking me if I'm dead or asking on every single post I make where it is... Wondering when it's coming back is completely reasonable, it's been a long time! but there's definitely a line haha

my editor also keeps randomly scheduling me and then saying "oh, btw you're scheduled to return in 3 weeks. Is that alright?" And I have to keep saying no, that's not alright??? And then dealing with that process...

I could write an essay about all the reasons it's not back yet, but that doesn't help me feel any less pressured, and it doesn't help you all get the rest of the comic any faster...

As of right now I'm scheduled to and trying to return october 21. No official announcement yet cause I have to do a lot of work in that time, but it's my official goal at least. When we get closer I'll be able to say for sure whether it's coming back on that date!