#I'll give my live for them

[dermy-der-demp]

Kuroko little/middle sister AU angst make me go like

OWJFMAJXKSBSMMUAJAAJAJA

[14dayswithyou]

tell ren to turn his location on👉👈

I saw one of the posts of how ren does get jealous of pets being loved over him and alll that so now I have the thought of the one meme of ‘ah yes, me, my partner and their [enter normal pet size] foot [pet]’

I don’t have anything else, it did pop into my head though and I thought I’d share with the class.

⌞♥⌝ ItsNotVivy on Twitter actually made that exact meme with Ren a looong time ago!!

[heartorbit]

just how can i protect your smile?

[cangrellesteponme]

i don't think wonderland is ready for those alices

[gingermintpepper]

“Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

It’s conscious effort that keeps him from tucking the strands behind his ear, from taking the knife at his hip and shearing it all off. He keeps his stance focused, attentive, there’s little else he can do when he’s taken so completely after his mother when it comes to his hair. His father scratches his chin, the clouds of his beard snaking about his finger like mist parting for mountain-peaks. Ares’ chin is still child-smooth. He can feel the tickle of his over-long fringe against his soft jaw. There’s no heart in his chest, but still he feels as though a pulse is lodged in his throat. 

Father sighs, put-upon, disappointed, and Ares feels a slight tremor start in his calves from holding himself so tense. “Well done, Ares. Go clean yourself up and get some rest. Phoebus will want to look you over later.” 

He should be ecstatic to be praised by his father. Over-the-moon with joy. There should be pride emanating from every pore of his body, the blood on his skin should be sweeter than ambrosia. 

Instead, he bows, manages a soft ‘thank you, Father’ around the lump in his throat and immediately flees the room. A mild ‘make sure to trim your hair’ hits the back of his head like a spear through the skull. He almost wishes the great door had slammed on his foot so he would have reason to feel this horrid in his retreat.  

Phoebus Apollo is waiting for him in his infirmary. 

He’s gilded as ever, gold from crown to heel. Perfect like the statues they carve of him in his temples. He has a smile for Ares when he sees him, a crinkle at the edges of his pretty eyes from the weight of his joy. Ares is waiting to see the crack in the marble, to see if that’s the chip that’ll reveal his fangs.

“Brother,” he greets, and his voice is warm - like the arms that embrace him, his voice is so warm, “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve done well.”  

There’s a tremble in Ares’ fingers he hadn’t noticed before. Strain from carrying his sword for so many days, a throb from wounds he hadn’t noticed he’d accrued. “Heard? There’s already gossip?” 

Phoebus blinks, disarming, demure, coquettish, “But of course,” and Phoebus’ voice is honey to Ares’ gravel, the juxtaposition is grating on his skin, “It’s Olympus. The gossip began long before you set your course.” Those warm hands lead him further into the room, bodily sits him on the chaise, pulls his helmet from his head. It’s all one, unbroken motion, “It’s summer alas, so I could not watch your war myself, but I hear it was quite the decisive victory.” 

A thousand thoughts run on horseback through his mind then. 

Did Father overhear some terrible slander that pre-emptively disappointed him? Was Ares’ victory merely a rumour, a bet his father hadn’t bothered to take? Was the gossip more enticing than the stark truth? That Ares wasn’t some child toddling about in the shadow of his sister, that his sword and spear weren’t merely for show - he’d think such a thing would warrant celebration. Not -

“Oh my,” Phoebus is in front of him, pleasant warmth more sticky heat with how close he’s pressed himself into Ares’ space. From this angle, Ares can see the multi-coloured flecks of his eyes, like shards of golden glass suspended in ichor. From this angle, with his hand so gently holding his hair, were Ares to blink too hard, he’d swear Phoebus looked just like his mother. “Your hair’s grown long again.” 

He pushes Phoebus off with such force that he bangs into the wall. It’s Phoebus, it won’t make even the impression of a scratch on him, but Ares wishes it would. Wishes he’d hit his shoulder or crack his neck or hit his head just hard enough for all that perfect, gilded gold to bleed. 

“I’m only here for you to heal me,” the tremble in his hand extends to his shoulder now. He flexes and unflexes his palm. Gods what he would give to just have a sword - “Don’t waste time with the pleasant-work.” 

Phoebus huffs, adjusts the fit of his himation, “...Only because we’re meant to be celebrating your victory.” He crosses the room in two great strides, his hair a swirling tempest behind him as he gathers his poultices and wraps. “The only reason I’ll not throw you from the window is because we are meant to be celebrating your victory.”  

There’s not enough acid in his tone for this to truly be a fight. Ares’ jaw clenches, he bites out a terse, “How benevolent.” 

“Aren’t I?” He’s got nectar and his sutures in hand, that focused look falling upon his face when he switches from overbearing busybody to Paeon of the Gods. “Now strip unfaltering Ares, let us see the measure of damage done to your indomitable flesh.” 

(Somewhere between the fifth set of stitches and the gentle frown that crosses Phoebus’ face when he notices the persistent tremble in his fingers, Ares pins his eyes to the far wall and asks, “What does it mean when Father says ‘well done’?” 

Any other sibling would mock before they gave a true response. Any other sibling would laugh and dismiss it, would say that praise is praise and any lingering ill feeling is just the worst of the war still fogging his mind. Phoebus does not answer immediately. He doesn’t make a single sound. The question settles like fetid water between them, unignorable, the scent right there on the tip of the tongue yet firmly unacknowledged. Ares closes his eyes and tries again to settle his squirming so he does not interfere with Phoebus’ work.  The metallic snip of scissors cutting thread breaks the silence. Phoebus bids him to sit up and slides his warm palms up his back until his fingers tangle gently in the ends of his hair. He twists the dark red strands until he’s gathered it all into a neat handful, holding it loosely as he switches his scissors for his shearing blade. “You should know it was not praise,” Phoebus says softly. The first of Ares cut hairs fall like viscera from his head. Phoebus treats each cutting with the sacredness of a blood-sacrifice. If he focused on the moment of tension right before the blade cuts though, Ares thinks he can imagine the agony of his sister’s sacred birth. “It is acknowledgement. Father thinks you’ve done well so he says ‘well done’.”

Gently, Phoebus releases him. Ruffles his head so all the extra hairs fall like red rain to the floor. Ares runs his fingers through the ends now curling against his ear. “Has he ever told you ‘well done’?” 

A laugh, warm and gilded, “No, and it would not make you feel better if he had.” 

Ares swallows down a thousand different questions. Phoebus wouldn’t answer them, he’s infuriating like that. Instead, he clenches his teeth, the phantom of Father’s dizzying tangle of grey cloud-hairs persistent in the corner of his eyes. “Cut it shorter.”

Phoebus doesn’t protest. He never seems to say a word when it really matters.)

[chocokano]

a sequence of events (smooching more like stealing)

+ extras under cut

[yamsgarden]

holy shit time flies...

[quirkle2]

i have GOT to stop drawing things for fics i haven't written yet

[bumblingbabooshka]

S'chn T'gai-Grayson Family Memes

[just-somedude]

.

[mechieonu]

something about the togachako fight feels so PARTICULARLY vulnerable. the violence, the gore, the spitting, screaming honesty, the grief, oh my gosh, the GRIEF. toga realizing that jin is fading away at the same time ochako hugs her close has done horrible things to my brain. i just want to grab hori by the shoulders and shake and ask what the FUCK was the inspo for them

[beeholyshit]

My little bebes ❤️

[okkennymay]

It's been a very interesting year to say the least- those months still weren't 100% healthy but it was such a difference it was like living a different life, one not filled with constant dread and fear of the next monthly health episode.

It was unreal and I wish I'd made more use of of that time online while I had the chance, instead of being nervous of setting my body off and ruining a good thing going- but having past a new month my body completely imploding (only partially, which still sucks eggs), I can start to pick myself back up and keep going, hopeful once more! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

To all of you who have watched fade in and out of existence since my return online, Thank you for always being so patient 💖 my god was my previous username ghost-chicky ironic as hell, s2g it would be more appropriate these days than anything 0w0"

[kitkatsgalore]

you have my soul, you have my heart ♡

[902186]

thinking about kurapika and chrollo and parallels and this circle of horrors where they are the victims AND the tools of their fates.

they both think they are neither or more like they don't care about it at all. they don't see themselves as victims, and they see absolutely no other way to live other than this role they took upon themselves. kurapika had such a strong sense of identity and what he wanted to do with his life and understands himself perfectly at all times. he was a part of his clan, but he was more an individual than anything else. kuroro, on the other hand, never knowing, never thinking what his motives are, deliberately not understanding himself and desperately holding on to the spider. he can't be an individual but with others, he can be the spider.

and for both of them, it all started on vengeance. kurapika abandoned himself in order to become a tool, a weapon, to avenge his clan, and to collect scarlet eyes. he stopped being himself and became his people. kuroro didn't know his family, didn't know where he actually came from, didn't know who he was or what he was supposed to be. so growing up in meteor city, he held on to his people strongly. and in order to avenge and protect his people, he would become a tool, a weapon, he would give himself to them. he started being himself as he became his people.

kuroro could be something for his people. and kurapika could be nothing for his people.

kurapika took on the role of judgement for vengeance. kuroro took on the role of villain for vengeance. kurapika acted his part by diminishing everything he was, and kuroro acted his part by filling up his identity with it.

but one thing stays clear and fixed with them throughout it all. they would do anything for their people. for whomever they consider their people. "he'll put his friends before his mission." a weakness kuroro sees in kurapika so quickly and so easily. but the same thing he considers a strength in himself. "i am not your top priority. it is the spider that must be kept alive." as long as his people are alive, his identity will live on. and as long as kurapika is alive, his people’s identity will live on.

"now you will get to experience the pain of losing your home." kuroro (and the spiders) killing the kurta clan set this parallel in motion for himself as the circle began for kurapika. and (speculatively) kurta clan hurting his people was what set the circle in motion for kuroro, too. now thinking about where they are in the story and how their end could be, it is very clear that they are finally ending up in a place where they mirror each other (as they have from the beginning) and they can recognise it in each other and themselves. kurapika ending up empty after his mission and kuroro ending up empty after losing spiders. both of them purposeless and with no self left outside of it. in a way, this is how the circle ends. "i can hear that he accepted death." they walk with death every day with no fear and full acceptance and after losing the only thing they live for, not even something they hold on to because they don't see a point in being alive outside of the fact that they must keep going for their people, for their purpose, and if not then there's no reason to exist, they are meaningless.

kuroro's vengeance left kurapika all alone, with everyone he knew dead, and feeling hollow at the end. by fate, he ended up all alone, with everyone he knew dead and feeling hollow at the end.

and at that point, they will have to start a new page and build a new self for themselves.

[mars-ipan]

happy birthday you weird little freak. it's finals season so i can't afford to make a full drawing for u rn but i can at least give you your favorite thing in the world

bonus drawing + og imgs under the cut

cannot believe that crucified!komaeda is the cuntiest i've ever drawn him. call it divine inspiration