#I think this is the last installment

[applestruda]

The changing of the seasons

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

[soosoosoup]

Poppy sweet love ❤️

Pucca!!!

Also the korean vers bc it's my fav <3

[keymintt]

it's all "fuck it, we ball" until someone decides you're qualified for the thing you applied to despite not being qualified, then it's "fuck it, we ball (slightly scared)"

[ovcii-doodles]

The Director always said it was important to have ambition, Captain Tucker. We are the Meta, and together we will be strong enough to save your friends.

meta tucker gang we've waited almost 10 years for this (I made the quote up btw)

[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.

[prince-liest]

First draft of 666 #11 is complete! +^+

[melrosing]

first month of dead dad COMPLETE

[cerubean]

kidnapping townies off the street and making them over pt 2!

[corioheinous]

Currently writing a post-Blue Lock aged-up kaisagi fic on ao3 and have been struggling so hard with creating a solid foundation for both characters’ Characterizations. but man did it become easier when I realized how many possibilities there are to explore when making Isagi juuust a little bit obsessed with Kaiser. Like we all know Kaiser is a lot a bit obsessed with Isagi (read: tearing his hair out and choking himself over it every other week) but I think it’s fun to explore Isagi’s quieter, most likely unwelcome obsession with Kaiser. Because at the end of the day, all toxic yaoi situationships are at least somewhat of a two-way street.

There’s a great paradox in which Kaiser embodies everything about a professional football player that Isagi wants to become (and look I know Noa exists but they’re not. they’re not foils in the same way okay that guy is pushing 40) while simultaneously being the most infuriating and annoying bastard in the world to him. Isagi recognizes Kaiser’s raw talent and the years of practice he’s put into developing his techniques as both very intimidating qualities to have in a rival and inspirational ones. Because they’re not impossibly far out of reach; these techniques (particularly metavision) are ones Isagi already employs on the field everyday, just has yet to master them at the extraordinary level Kaiser has. Isagi wants to beat Kaiser at his own game, using his own moves, and has unconsciously allowed Kaiser to become a sort of model for him in the process. Despite the fact that he hates the guy’s guts, he’s mirroring his best qualities to the point where even fans can see that they would synchronize well together if they just let themselves.

But Isagi would never let himself. He’s stubborn. He despises Kaiser. He probably sees a rosebush growing on the side of the road and lets it ruin his day. He’ll probably bear ill will toward anyone with blue hair and pronouns for years down the line. Which is why it’s so fun to be writing a more mature version of Isagi, one who has probably put a lot of that childish resentment behind him. Because when you remove his resentment toward Kaiser, you’re still left with some irritation, yes, but the bulk of it is admiration. It’s Isagi letting Kaiser rile him up more than he pisses him off. It’s Isagi wanting to butt heads with Kaiser both on and off the field. It’s Isagi buying a shirt/hoodie/pair of boxers with a rose pattern on it for no reason he could possibly fathom on his own. It’s a quiet, repressed brand of obsession that might take them both off guard when it comes to light, but it’d be a beyond brilliant moment when it does.

[cicadagaze]

heartbreaking! man wants to play clangen but he fucked it up trying to edit updates in so he wouldn't have to transfer all his mods over

[temeyes]

i dont think i can draw tonight y'all, the new assassin's creed trailer has me a little fucked up rn (it looked so good it made me concerningly horn knee and depressed)

[dickgreyson]

girls how r we getting photoshop in 2024

[heksen-sabbat]

this post is too long but i actually have an update about the diary texture i found 👁 (repost for your convenience ⬇)

while trying to read what it said i knew i had heard it somewhere before, because there are actually voicelines of shtopor (female-voice version) reading it out:

"bandit leader" is the ingame title for the character mitya (or jimmy in the english dub), therefore it seems most likely that the diary is mitya's

i cannot find any evidence that these voicelines or the diary page exist in the game itself (they did not appear in an asset search of the levels and does not appear in the subtitles file), though i think that's quite strange considering they went through the effort to translate it to english

but anyway. mitya bisexual real

[pumpkajelly]

I love watching this man's fish filleting videos but this section from when he's redoing a room fundamentally changed me. Look at my power socket, boy

[sophaeros]

“The mirror can be a source of vanity,” he says softly. “But it can also be a point of self-reflection, you kind of see yourself outside yourself, one of many perhaps. [Pause.] And being able to see yourself and the relationship you have with the artwork kind of sanctifies that moment — I’m hoping.”

the strokes for shortlist magazine, march 2011 // fabrizio moretti inside his installation sculpture kube, 2021 // fabrizio moretti for los angeles times, dec 2021