#It has done irreversible things to my brain

[iyuray]

Low quality ray fanart

[twentytwoarts]

finished mother 3 for the first time last week so here's my take on a claus lives au

[volt-reblogs-n-rambles]

henchmaniac samus...

[yuritxrt]

Starceline the vampire queen 🌟

[treevore]

there's this severe problem whenever i see daryl where i'm like "i know he's supposed to be badass but.......but that's sam, mommy's specialest little pack mule who rocks his weird baby in the middle of the wilderness"

[backfliips]

As someone who admittedly has attention issues of my own, I think it's important to talk about how attention is a skill that can be learned and often requires conscious and focused effort to build. I think a lot of people despair over the current state of media --- short-form algorithm-driven content that is built to snare and lure and diminish people's attention spans for profit --- and while that despair is certainly built off of legitimate concerns, I want to stress that the damage being done is not irreversible.

Over the course of the COVID-19 lockdowns I fried my brain so intensely with tik toks and instagram reels that I was getting bored 2 seconds into a 5 second video and was finding myself scrolling so quickly that I wasn't even watching anymore. I was lethargic and unhappy and though my mood was definitely simultaneously impacted by the hovering doom of COVID-19 and living in complete isolation for months at a time (I don't recommend that, BTW), I found myself losing passion for the things I loved doing: drawing, reading, and writing. I felt miserable and useless and incredibly guilty for leaving my productive and fulfilling hobbies behind while I chased... not even happiness. Just something to occupy my brain and turn it into mush.

As time passed I realized that I wasn't even having fun on tik tok anymore. I'd see funny videos and get a rush of endorphins, and then the next second I would have completely forgotten what I just watched. I was refreshing social media pages to see numbers I didn't even care about. Everything was an endless loop of swapping between different apps, just time passing and passing and my attention span dipping lower and lower until I would go for days without feeling any sense of joy or accomplishment.

And this was most definitely aided by the fact that I was unemployed and stuck in a terrible worldwide epidemic, but as soon as I deleted the tik tok app and put harsh time limits on instagram (15 minutes a day, which I rationed compulsively) I suddenly wanted to draw again. I started reading books again. I started writing and spending time outside and getting inspiration from the world around me.

Now, years later, I work with teenagers whose lives are dictated by their phones. My coworkers often lament the state of the world today --- which, again, is a valid stance to have --- but in the few months after my workplace implemented a no phones policy, I watched disengaged students bounce back to productivity. Instead of scrolling during lectures they paid attention and asked questions and engaged their peers in conversation. During lunch they played board games and talked to each other. Students even told me about how they didn't even want to go on their phones when they got home from school!

It isn't perfect, and I'm not advocating for a world devoid of phones, but I just want to highlight that these neural pathways can be built and exercised. People's brains are resilient and fascinating and much stronger and more adaptable than many people are willing to give them credit for.

I've expanded my time limits across more apps on my phone, setting days where I can't even access social media at all from my phone, and in that short period of time I've found myself far more engaged with the world around me. I've been zipping my phone up in a bag instead of keeping it in my pocket, adding a step to access it, and I've found that that alone is keeping me from using it to a huge degree. I'll toss my phone across the room when I find myself on it when I don't have any reason to be scrolling. And it's helping!

My main message here is that it's never too late to focus on your focus. Change and improvement doesn't happen until you make an effort on your own.

[cherrywriterrr]

closed r.c

bsf!rafe x reader

warnings: 18+ mdni, very explicit sexual content, dry humping, grinding, oral (f receiving), possessive!rafe, jealousy, built-up tension exploding, degradation + praise, best friends to way more than friends, public-ish setting (shop), power play, slightly rough (consensual), reader = feral for him

->next

it starts with the lock. just a soft click.

but everything changes after that.

you’re behind the register, reading off inventory receipts, lips pursed, pretending he doesn’t have his arm draped over the back of the chair like he owns the air around you.

you hear it first. the lock. then the sound of the sign flipping on the glass. closed.

you glance up. “rafe?”

he’s staring at you. leaning against the front door with that look—like he’s about to do something irreversible. like he already did.

“rafe,” you say again. this time more breath than sound.

“we’re not open anymore,” he says, voice low, eyes dark. “just us now.”

you blink. “my mom’s gonna—”

“she’s not here.”he walks toward you.

“rafe…” you take a step back.

he follows.

“you should go home.”

he smiles like a sin. “you want me to go?”

you don’t answer.

his hand hits the counter behind you with a soft thud. you flinch. not from fear, from heat. from knowing exactly what’s coming and not having the spine to stop it.

“every time i walk in this fuckin’ shop, i watch your mouth talk and talk and talk…” he’s crowding you now. voice behind your ear. “but you never say what you’re thinkin’. not to me.”

your breath hitches. your legs press together.

“so i’ll say it for you.”

his knee slides between your thighs. your hands grip the edge of the counter.

“you wanna fuck your best friend.”

your eyes flutter shut.

“rafe—”

“don’t.” he grabs your chin, makes you look at him. “don’t lie.”

you’re shaking. your hands fist in his shirt, trying to push him off and pull him closer at the same time.

“you wanna know why i really locked the door?” he whispers. “wanna know why i flipped that little sign?”

he drags your hips forward until your clothed pussy is pressed directly against his thigh. he flexes, bounces it once, watches your whole body twitch.

“’cause i’m done pretending we’re just friends.”

you whimper.

his hand slides under your shirt, hot palm against your stomach, moving up—slow, teasing.

“this the part where you tell me to stop?” he asks, mouth ghosting over yours. “or the part where you ride my thigh like you mean it?”

you snap.

you rut against him, rolling your hips like it’s the only thing that’ll keep your brain from melting. he groans, head falling to your shoulder, fingers tightening at your waist.

“fuck, baby. that’s it. been waitin’ for this.”

you’re both panting now. heat everywhere. no one’s talking, just grinding—friction friction friction—your clit dragging along the seam of your shorts like he planned it. like he knew.

you whine. loud.

“shh,” he murmurs. “door’s locked, but not soundproof.”

his hand covers your mouth. you moan into it.

“look at you,” he mutters. “riding me like it’s the last time you’ll ever get touched.”

you buck harder.

“y’know what you sound like?” he asks, voice thick with lust. “sound like someone who needs to be bent over this fuckin’ counter and wrecked.”

your breath catches. your whole body goes still.

he freezes too.

you both look at each other—wild-eyed, flushed, barely keeping it together.

then you’re turned around. palms splayed on the wood. shirt bunched to your shoulders. his hand slips under your waistband like it belongs there.

“wet already,” he growls. “fuckin’ soaked for me.”

you can’t even deny it. can’t say a word.

he kneels.

you gasp. “rafe—”

“shut up and let me taste you.”

his mouth is hot against your center, tongue flicking fast, precise, devouring. you sob, back arching, hips jerking. he grabs them, pins them down.

“don’t run from it,” he says, voice muffled. “take it.”

you do. you break. fall apart on his tongue, shaking so bad he has to hold you upright with both arms.

you’re still catching your breath when he stands, cock straining in his jeans, chest heaving.

“gonna fuck you next time,” he promises, mouth wet, voice hoarse. “gonna make you scream in this shop, let the whole street know who you belong to.”

you blink up at him, dazed. “but not now.”

you blink harder.

“now?” he grins, cocky and ruined and in love with your mess.

“now i’m gonna walk outta here like i didn’t just eat my best friend out behind a cash register.”

he kisses your jaw.

“you clean up.”

click.

the lock turns again. you’re still trembling when the door swings shut.

and the sign should’ve been sorry, we’re fucking.

bsf!rafe ->next taglist masterlist

tags: @rafesbabygirlx @k4yr14 @iconiccolo @sc05 @devoutedlover @viqtoria @purplerose291 @t0x1cfaerie @deeninadream @rafescloudie @meetmeintheemeraldpool @sydneysslove @babygoddam @mrspuffdriving @silkylovey @qversazex @alphabetically-deranged

[wwhore]

I'm thinking about episode 48 again. Theseus' ship save me. Save me theseus' ship

relationship dynamics and gender are like identity and time to me . Concepts to give some sense of consistency and unity . To try and understand things that are fluid. Little gods we've made because we don't like change and inconsistencies

[poledancingghostson]

To put it into perspective, the same number of people texted me asking if I was okay when William Finn died as they did when I was a single mile away from the evacuation zone of the worst fires in LA history.

I found out while I was at work. I work in service, and I managed to stay professional, to swallow my emotions, for a grand total of ten minutes before a customer was slightly mean to me, and I immediately broke down crying. It’s embarrassing to explain to all the kind people who tried to comfort me that, actually, it wasn’t really the angry, unforgiving customer that had caused this reaction, but the death of a man in his seventies who I had never met.

The thing is, I can’t totally explain why this struck such a blow to my foundations. I knew he wasn’t young. I knew, to some extent, that his health was failing. And, once again, I didn’t know him. But I think he’s the reason I know myself.

As a lonely high school student with no real sense of my own identity, I found myself and the community I desperately needed in the very queer and very Jewish online fandom that formed around the 2016 Lincoln Center revival of Falsettos. My connection to Judaism, my gender and sexual identities, they all trace back to what I learned from that community.

As a lost college student slipping into deeper and deeper depression, my joy revolved around an obsession with the New York theatre scene that had its roots firmly embedded in the deep dives I had taken into William Finn’s works and the history that surrounded them.

As an aimless college dropout, I remembered the musical theatre class I had taken with In Trousers’ own Alison Fraser, the lifetime of musical theatre that I had done with the person who had introduced me to Falsettos in the first place, the way it felt to perform, and especially the way it felt to perform a work of genius like Finn’s songs. I auditioned for musical theatre school with “Love Me For What I Am,” from the original 1979 version of In Trousers.

As a frustrated musical theatre student, whenever I felt my love for the artform slipping away, as it can when a passion becomes an obligation–when your favorite songs become graded assignments, and your excited analysis becomes an essay with a deadline–it was Finn’s work that reignited that fire.

No other body of work has embedded itself so deeply in my life and my soul as William Finn’s. None have felt so intertwined with my being, and with the trajectory of my life.

I have, over the years, met most of the 2016 Broadway cast, flown cross-country to see a production of A New Brain, and of course made everyone in my university class groan over and over again by bringing up Falsettos for the thousandth time (I swear it was just relevant a lot). I could tell a hundred stories of friendships and accomplishments and survival that only happened because of the inspiration brought by the songs and stories of William Finn. They are a part of me. Irreversibly so. What breaks my heart, what will never stop breaking my heart, is that I never got to tell him any of those stories. That I never got to thank him for altering my brain chemistry–for changing my life.

I hope he knew anyway. I hope today, and will always hope, that he knew how much his art meant to so many people. People who felt seen, maybe for the first time–-people who found community when they thought they had none–-people who found themselves and found their way–-because of his shows, his music, his characters. I hope he knew that his bravery and boldness, the stories he chose to spotlight, changed Broadway, and by extension the entire media landscape, forever. I don’t think he gets enough credit for that. But I hope he knew how true it was, and how true it remains.

The grief I feel today is bigger than it has any right to be. As I sit here writing this eulogy for someone who never knew I existed, trying to put into words everything these shows have meant to me over the years–-as Mr. Bungee rides around my TV screen on a Razor scooter, courtesy of the bootleg recording of the Encores! Production of A New Brain–-as I try to come up with a way to feel okay-–to create something that can somehow honor his tremendous legacy-–the one thing I keep coming back to is the most cliched conclusion possible. That the source of this grief is a wellspring of immense gratitude that I will never be able to fully express. But I’ll try my best. In whatever ways I can.

And I’ll start here. Sharing these stupid, complicated, unexplainable feelings with whoever is willing to read it. I’ll start here. With a deep, emphatic thank you.

Thank you, Mr. Finn. For getting me here. For making me who I am. Thank you.

[mothwingwritings]

WOW!!! I LOVED "The Innocent Act Of Dredging Up The Past", IT WAS VERY GOOD!

I wonder how Y/N reacted when she found out she was pregnant and how Fox allowed herself to keep the baby because he doesn't seem like someone who likes sharing attention.

Thank you so much darling!!! I am so glad you asked me this because I have been thinking about Ren as a father nonstop since that request. My brain has been full of many thoughts and opinions and I am happy to have an outlet for sharing lol. That being said, forgive my blathering. ^^;

(18+ and warnings for noncon, pregancy/baby birthing talk, incredibly unhealthy relationships, abuse, and being kidnapped/held against your will.)

Being impregnated by Ren would be absolutely dreadful for you, causing you to spiral into a pit of fear and despair the moment you miss a period or begin to feel queasy in the morning. With the signs starting to show, your brain comes to the instant conclusion that you are with child-his child, and it frightens you like nothing else before. At first you try and convince yourself nothing is wrong, that you are probably just late due to stress, and your upset stomach can be any number of things, it doesn’t necessarily mean you are pregnant. Any of your symptoms can be explained away by something else, so in an effort to try and maintain your sanity your brain churns out explanation after explanation, no matter how nonsensical they may be, in hopes of calming your rampant nerves by coming to some other resolution. A stream of constant lies and false reassurances play on repeat in your brain, forcing the thought that you may actually be a mother to the farthest reaches of your mind.

But the longer you wait and the more you dwell on it, the more you are faced with the inevitable. He never wears protection, you haven’t had access to birth control, and despite your warnings of it being a delicate time of month for you, his base instincts always won out in the end. There was nothing else this could be.

Faced with the reality of the situation, you were now tasked with the burden of sharing the news with Ren. You didn’t want to tell him, terrified of what his response would be, worried that he would somehow blame this all on you and hurt you because of it, quite possibly worse than he ever has before. But an even more horrifying concern than that is if the news actually pleases him. What if he wants to keep the baby? What if you were forced to carry this pregnancy to term while trapped in this grim environment, left to raise another human that shares half their dna with a man who has done nothing but cause you irrevocable damage?

No matter what the outcome, none of them are favorable.

But you didn’t have a choice, and you knew it was better to break it to Ren sooner rather than later, lest this whole nightmare become irreversible. In the event he saw things your way, you wanted this thing out of your body as soon as possible (though you loathed to consider what strings Ren would pull to achieve this, and what backwater procedure would be done to do so).

At first Ren brushes it off, not truly believing your concern. He’s had sex with you countless times without protection and just now you get pregnant? Seems suspicious, so he concludes you’re either overreacting or trying to get a rise out of him, potentially both, and that in and of itself riles him up. Are you telling him this as some kind of ploy? Are you using a false pregnancy as a means to get him to ease up on you a bit or as an attempt at escape? After all you had gone through together, after all the love he has lavished upon you by sharing his home, his life, his heart, with you… Would you really tell a lie like this?

He struggles with that possibility. Despite his inclination to feel otherwise, he has a hard time believing you would use a pregnancy scare for your own selfish benefit. You have always been a good girl, his good girl, and deep inside he knows this is not something that is within your nature to do, even if he does have some major doubts.

So, though he doesn’t truly believe your claims, he buys the pregnancy test more as a means to shut you up and prove a point than because he actually believes you. Needless to say, he ends up biting his tongue over that one.

When hit with the truth, his emotions are mixed. On one hand, he wants nothing to do with children or child rearing. He didn’t have to do much of a self-assessment to recognize he would be a shit father, and he never particularly wanted to be a father to begin with. His own upbringing wasn’t the best, he himself never really having a father figure that was worth a damn to guide him or show him any love or support. He had no parenting manual to go off of, and was sure that a culmination of having no positive family experience and maturing into the warped individual he had become led to no other conclusion than NOT being cut out for fatherhood in the slightest.

More than that however, the thought of sharing you, even with a life he helped create, really REALLY pissed him off. Thinking of all the nights you would be spending tending to the baby when you could instead be wrapped up in his arms, or all the attention and affection you will be giving some inept kid that could instead be going towards him, truly gets under his skin. He doesn’t WANT to share you. You’re HIS. And while a baby isn’t going to change that, he doesn’t want the needless competition to begin with.

But on the other hand, having a baby does have its appeal. It would be nice to bring a life into this world that loves him from the get-go, completely relying on him while being totally oblivious to all that has happened in the past. That sort of pure, blind love is hard to come by in this world, and the fact that he could obtain it so easily from a life he created with you, a human that has your blood running through its veins, is EXTREMELY appealing. And on top of that, you are sure to love the child whether its conception was wanted/planned or not. If you loved a child that was half his for the remainder of your life, would that not bind you to him for just as long? Though he didn’t doubt your loyalty (or his ability to keep you tied to him with no hope of escape), it would be a nice assurance to have in the rare event things did not end up going his way.

Once that thought enters his head, it’s over. No further thinking or future planning is required-he is going to be a father, and YOU are the beautiful mama! Congratulations! (Does he get off to you being pregnant? Did this pregnancy make Ren Hana realize he has a breeding kink??? Sources say yes and that’s your problem to deal with now. :))

♡

Holding his newborn for the first time, he has never been so nervous. Tears flood his eyes as he watches the small bundle squirming in his arms, his heart aching as they stare up at him with wide, pure, inquisitive eyes. He was no stranger to ending lives, but creating them? This was something entirely new, as exhilarating as it was scary. His smile grew as he stared at her small face, pleased that she looked so much like you. He could only hope that her personality would mirror yours as well.

♡

As time passes and the baby grows, you find out quick that Ren has a very ‘hands off’ way of parenting, which is to say he relies on you to do most of the work. And honestly, he feels that is fair. He’s the breadwinner who works hard to provide for you and the newborn, which leaves all other parental duties in your capable hands. You are left to be the child’s main caregiver, their guiding force to lead them through life, their teacher, confidante, and friend. It’s a daunting task, all residing solely on your shoulders.

Ren won’t readily admit it, but he much prefers it that way. All the abuse that he has suffered through from an early age, every heinous act of violence that has been carried out by his own hands (your wounds, included), all of it has turned him into something unrecognizable, something grotesque. Even if he wanted to have more of a presence in his child’s life, he knows he doesn’t deserve it. If he had too much sway in the kids development there’s a good chance they will grow up to be like him in some way or another, which would be a waste of all the love and hard work that you had put into raising them into being an upstanding person. Ren had made peace with who he had become, but that didn’t mean he wanted to keep a cycle that someone like Strade had begun going either.

So, the baby more or less becomes your soul responsibility, and god is that a burden for you. It’s bad enough that you have such little support from Ren to begin with, but the fact that this is YOUR first time being a parent as well makes it all so much worse. You have no idea what the hell you are doing, and with Ren making sure to keep you as isolated as possible you had no one else to turn to for help, either. It was just you and this brand new life with no one else to rely on, if you fucked up in even the smallest way it could be devastating to the baby. If your daughter got truly hurt, sick, or worse in your care, you didn’t know how you would live with the repercussions, let alone handle Ren’s reaction.

If your life with Ren hadn’t already made you a strung out, nervous, irritable wreck, being a mother certainly would. As she continues to grow, Ren refuses to discipline the child at all, not wanting in any way to appear like a ‘bad guy’ to your daughter. Given the circumstances, part of you is thankful for that (you honestly don’t know what you would do if he turned his ire towards her), but it also just makes things more difficult with you. You are already beyond stressed about trying to raise a child in this type of environment, having no united front and constantly butting heads makes raising her that much harder, especially when any kind of rule you attempt to establish can so easily be overridden by her father who has no remorse over the frustration this causes, nor care as to how his flippancy may affect your child’s development in the long run.

It’s also not lost on you that being the sole disciplinarian also paints you in a less than favorable manner in your child’s eyes, something you are sure Ren has thought about as well. Being the ‘strict’ parent means your child will be more likely to hide things from you, or seek out her father instead of you for support, approval, and advice. Given whom Ren was as a person, this thought didn’t sit particularly well with you.

All you can really hope and pray for is that somehow despite the lack of social interaction and outside influence she will grow up to be a decent human. Even maturing under the delusion that her father is a noble man, even if in some instances you have to make yourself the villain, as long as it helps her out in  the long run you’ll do everything you can to insure your daughter lives the best life she possibly can, whether her father helps you or not.

I think the REAL problems will begin when the child gets older. When she truly comes into herself and forms her own opinions, develops her own personality, and starts to forge her own way of life… It’s gonna be messy. :/ Your child’s autonomy is definitely going to be a point of contention for Ren in the future, and he won’t be so pleased if/when she catches on to his true nature and begins to rebel or straight up reject him. God forbid she tries and join forces with you or attempt to become your savior. It’s going to take a lot of cunning on her end to make it out unscathed.

Also, I kind of touched on it previously, but Ren would be incredibly horny the whole pregnancy. Not that he isn’t already incessantly slavering over you, something about seeing you round and full just makes him snap. Which is scary in its own right, Ren isn’t the most gentle of lovers to begin with and has a tendency to lose himself more often than naught, hurting you in the process. It’s a constant struggle to satiate him while protecting yourself and the unborn baby, best of luck to you! :D

(And he’ll definitely breastfeed from you. He’s gotta make sure you are producing enough for the baby, ya know? :))

[justheblueberry]

handbinding of A Study in Scarlette by kittebasu

There are people who want to live forever, and then there is Shinichi, who just wants to live a little longer than this.

this bind has been in my head since i first read the fic like, three years ago. i dreamed up so many ideas for it, for so long, and now it's finally done! the typeset was actually done in early 2022, back when i was still using google docs, but it went through a few iterations because i was just. so. fiddly. with every aspect of this book. it needed to be perfect (as close to perfect as i, an amateur bookbinder out of my depth, can get) and it had to be absolutely over the top, to reflect the insane amount of love and care that the author put into the fic itself.

the first time i read this fic, i barely knew what detective conan was, much less all of the intricate plot details; i was just along for the ride, but by the end i was completely invested. i went back and watched through the anime as well as a few movies (it took me six months) and then read the fic again. and then a few more times. kaishin and the world of dcmk has utterly gripped me. it's 100% this fic's fault and i love it so, so, much.

i went through a few iterations of visual designs and i'm really happy with the little details i managed to squeeze in.

the entire color scheme is based around red, because 1) it's a murder mystery, 2) for scarlette shinamoto (and the title of the fic as well as the original holmes novel it references), and 3) the irony of "lady red" actually being red. the secret fourth reason is that i think red/gold is a super sexy color combo.

i sewed the textblock with red thread to reference holmes' "scarlet thread of murder".

another detail i love is the five yen coin bookmark, it was one of my first ideas and it turned out even better than i thought.

i wanted the endpapers to evoke a sense of the white marbled floor of the ballroom, with the glow-in-the-dark kaitou kid caricature being the luminol on the floor, and the little pops of red looks like blood that's been mixed in. i lucked out in that the other side of the endpaper was like a lavender-purpley color, i like to think of it as a little wink wink nudge to the color of the actual Lady Red.

the chapter pages got a few reworkings, but i'm happy with the illustrations i ended up doing for each of them. the chapter titles are one of my favorite things about the fic, each one has so much meaning packed into it and flows so beautifully, and i wanted to put as much care into making them pop as possible.

the cover was a linocut carving i designed and carved, which i then printed onto the bookcloth, and ironed on htv on top.

i also threw in a couple of my drawings of my favorite scenes.

this is getting way too long, so i'll end it here. i'll have a separate post detailing the process every step of the way, if anyone wants to take a closer look. this fic is kind of directly responsible for getting me into fanbinding, so it's safe to say it altered the course of my life. i now spend way too much time (and money) looking at book stuff.

kittebasu, if, somehow, you see this and would like an author copy, i would be honored to make one and ship it to you; i would be overjoyed to gift you with any art i have the ability to make, because the fics you wrote have irreversibly altered my brain chemistry, and being able to give back in any capacity would be a dream. (thank you.)

a few postscripts:

i am not selling any copies of this fic. partially because i believe in the gift economy of fandom as well as firmly keeping fanbinding a hobby that will stay unmonetized, but also because it took me months (years, if we are counting when i first finished the typeset) to finish this and i do not have the strength.

however, if you are also a fan of this fic and would like a copy, i honestly, fervently, encourage you to give fanbinding a try! renegade publishing and its discord server are an absolutely wonderful and free resource. i knew nothing about bookbinding and had zero materials when i first started, but i've learned so much thanks to the lovely people there. if you're still apprehensive about getting started, i'd be willing to share my typeset of this fic as well as answer any questions about the making of this book if you DM me.

[adhdnursegoat]

This is Not a Drill

Word count: 1.8K

Content Warning: fluff, confession of feelings

Pairing: Edward Nygma X gn reader

Setting: Young Justice

“Dammit.”

It came out quieter than it felt. Soft, almost polite, like the word had tripped over his teeth on its way out. He wasn’t angry, not really—just tired. Tired of circling the same anxious drain. Tired of knowing exactly how to solve a thousand unsolvable problems, but not this. 

Not you.

Someone might’ve heard him, had anyone else lingered. But mercifully, he was alone. Had been for the better part of an hour, haunting the lounge like a nervous ghost. He’d half-registered the shifting people, the casual comings and goings of Injustice League members grabbing coffee, making personal calls, or just plain needing a moment. But they'd all filtered out eventually, and Edward... Edward stayed.

First, he sat. Then slouched. Then paced. At one point he’d laid on the couch like a tragic Victorian figure, forearm flung over his eyes, until the automatic lights dimmed and shamed him back to verticality.

Now, he was just standing. Rooted. Heart rabbiting beneath his ribs. He stood in front of the coffee bar—an unremarkable stretch of metal and glass—and stared at the faint outline of himself in the backsplash. The reflection wasn’t sharp, not like a mirror, but he could make out just enough to scrutinize. The stiff line of his shoulders. The twitchy motion of his hands as they tapped a rhythm against the counter—Morse code for I'm losing it, send help.

This was it. The final boss. Not a mission. Not a trap. Not even Batman. 

Just... feelings.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he muttered, squaring his stance like he was prepping for a debate. “Just say it like a normal person. Not like you’re delivering a riddle. Not like you're... trying to recite a dissertation."

He took a breath. Then another. Then your name slipped from his lips, shaped with hesitant reverence. A pause. Then—

 “I like you.”

He winced. A slow, full-bodied grimace like he'd just witnessed himself fall down the stairs on security footage.

“No, no—too simple. Uggghhh.” He slapped a hand against the counter and dropped his head. “They deserve better than this. They deserve a confession with gravitas. Drama. Maybe a sonnet.”

Edward sighed. Then straightened, like he was trying to make his spine remember it belonged to a man and not a melted question mark. His eyes flicked back to the backsplash—his warped reflection staring back like a rival, or maybe a lifeline. He squared his shoulders again, poking a finger at the glass like it was both a chalkboard and a confessional.

“Try again, dumbass,” he muttered, barely above a breath as he pointed at his reflection, coach and player in the world’s most pathetic halftime pep talk. "I like you. Like, like-like you. As in—I think about you when I shouldn’t." He huffed, shaking his head. "During briefings, when you’re asking smart questions. During missions, when you move like you were built for this and I have to remind myself to look away before I forget how to walk. And lunch—don’t even get me started on lunch. Watching you eat fries has done irreversible damage to my brain chemistry."

Feeling a little hopeless, he laughed at himself, the sound dry but fond. His fingers slid back through his hair, tousling it into an auburn crown of frustration.

"And I know you’re probably into someone cooler. Someone who doesn’t speak like their mouth is hardwired to an encyclopedia. Someone charming. Charismatic. The kind of person who knows how to make a move without having to rehearse it like a courtroom deposition…" 

He swallowed. Then, softer, "But I’m trying. God, I’m trying. Because if I don’t tell you soon, I’m going to short-circuit every time you so much as breathe near me. I already stammer, fidget, knock things over—I’m practically an animated error message when you’re in the room. And that is not a sustainable lifestyle. So—" Your name caught on the edge of his tongue. He hesitated, like saying it aloud might make it all too real— "...I-I like you… And... and I’m trying so hard not to ruin it by telling you in the most Edward Nygma way possible. Which is to say—badly. With poor pacing. And analogies. And at least three footnotes. Or, godforbid, a riddle…"

He leaned forward, pressing both palms flat on the counter, eyes locking with his reflection like he was trying to convince himself this wasn’t the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

“Okay—that wasn’t bad. Now. One more time. With feeling. Maybe less rambling. Maybe…” He took a breath. Let it out. “Maybe like you believe it—”

“You could just say it to me.”

Edward jolted. His head snapped up with such force he nearly unbalanced himself, whipping toward the doorway like someone had rewound reality and hit play too fast. For a heartbeat, he just blinked, staring at you as if you’d stepped out of a hallucination.

You were there. Not in his head. Not in the glass. Real. Leaning against the frame with your arms crossed, casual in that devastating way you had. Like you weren’t aware of the hurricane you’d just walked into. Like your smile wasn’t already unraveling him at the seams.

His brain stalled. Froze. Rebooted somewhere between panic and prayer.

"...How long were you standing there?" His voice had shrunk to something small and embarrassed, like it was trying to hide behind his teeth.

You tilted your head. “Long enough to hear the part about fries.”

He winced, visibly. A hand scrubbed over his mouth like he might erase the last five minutes from existence.

“And I’d really like to hear it again,” you added, stepping forward. “You know—said to me.”

There was no teasing in your tone, not really. Just a kind of quiet sincerity, soft as velvet and twice as dangerous. An open door he wasn’t sure he deserved to walk through.

Edward blinked. Once. Twice. As if your presence needed time to process, buffer, and load in full HD. Then he straightened up fast—like someone about to stand trial—and tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves with quick, fidgety precision, as if dignity could be tailored back into him with fabric and focus.

"R-right. Yes. Of course. To you. I can... do that." A beat. It took effort not to get locked on the glimmer in your eyes. That soft glimmer, that gentle curiosity—it disarmed him more effectively than any superpowered threat he’d ever faced. He actually had to shake his head, then take a deep breath. His chin lifted, his eyes narrowed. Then, firmly: "I like you."

The corner of your mouth tipped up before stepping forward just enough to enter his space—just enough for him to feel your warmth.

“Better,” you murmured. “Now try it again… without looking like you're preparing for an oral exam.”

He laughed—a breathy, uneven sound, like the release valve on a too-full heart. “Okay. One more time.”

Edward ran a hand over the back of his neck, expression sheepish, posture softening as the tension gave way to something quieter. Something real. His shoulders dropped slightly, and he looked at you from the corner of his eye—like the full force of his feelings might be too much if aimed directly.

“I like you,” he stated again, gentler now. “And I think I’ve been trying to say it in riddles...”

You tilted your head. “And now?”

His gaze didn’t leave yours this time. When he spoke, his voice was low, vulnerable, steady. “Now I’m just hoping you’ll say it back.”

After that, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected. A laugh, maybe. A grimace or nervous look. The quiet shuffle of your feet as you backed away. Some kind of mercy.

But instead, you just smiled softly.

Not a grin. Not a smirk. Not one of the carefully curated expressions he’d imagined in every hypothetical. It was smaller than all of that. Unhurried. Like you weren’t shocked or even surprised—just there, with him, steady as gravity.

“You’re lucky I like the weird ones.” 

It wasn’t said cruelly. You didn’t weaponize it. No sarcasm, no scoffing. Just the faintest lilt of playfulness, the kind that slipped under his skin and warmed everything it touched.

Edward blinked. His chest thudded in his ears. His mouth twitched like it wanted to smile, but forgot how.

You took a half-step closer. Not enough to crowd him—just enough to prove you weren’t afraid. To make it even worse, or better—the jury was still very much deliberating—your hand reached up, slow and intentional, until your fingers brushed his tie. And stayed there. You didn’t yank or pull or do anything remotely scandalous. You just toyed with the fabric—soft little tugs, like you were adjusting it, straightening it, claiming it. Your knuckles grazed his chest, and Edward thought he might actually combust.

“And for the record,” you murmured, eyes finding his—half-lidded, sharp, unreadable in the most intoxicating way, “I’ve known for a while.” Your lips twitched. A smile barely contained. “You weren’t exactly subtle. But I was waiting to see how long it would take for you to implode.”

Oh.

Oh god.

The bloom of heat on his cheeks was so fast it should’ve had its own weather forecast. His hand shot up, uselessly scrubbing along his jaw, like that might do something about the heat scalding through him. But it didn’t help. Nothing helped. Not when you were still standing there like it was nothing—like you hadn’t just unraveled him with your fingers and a single, stupid sentence.

And worse—worse—you didn’t look away. You didn’t mock. You didn’t vanish like some hallucination conjured by emotional exhaustion. You stayed. Still smiling. Still close. Still casually holding his heart between your fingertips and treating it like something worth being gentle with. You knew. You liked him. You’d waited.

Edward swallowed hard. Tried to assemble words that made sense. Came up with gibberish. Tried again.

“I—I’m not always this bad,” he mumbled, which was objectively false, and judging by your raised brow, you both knew it.

You tilted your head, amused. “You’re worse, usually.” Then your voice softened, that teasing gleam still dancing in your eyes. “But it’s cute.”

Cute.

He was going to die. Right here. In front of the coffee bar. Cause of death: you. Yet—when he looked at you again, really looked—something inside him, something that had been shaking since the moment you walked in, finally went still.

Because you weren’t laughing. You weren’t walking away. You were smiling at him like he’d done something brave. Like this wasn’t a catastrophe—it was a beginning.

Maybe not the one he’d rehearsed. But maybe the one he actually needed.

Did you like this? Check out the rest of the PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE RIDDLER series!

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Thanks for the support!

[ohtransarchon]

August has been rough

Almost 6 months post-op now and I've moved back home with my parents and my mental health has rotted again!!

It's been really rough though. I don't really know how to explain the problem. I've been feeling bad about transitioning and that's a scary thought. I'll be honest I'm scared of fully vocalizing these thoughts, as if saying them out would make it real.

There are many possibilities for these thoughts though, I could be feeling bad because I'm regressing because of moving back home, I have done this before I got surgery back in 2022, I would constantly question whether or not I wanted to reaaallly do it even though I kept thinking about it. And now it's the same except I have actually done it and my brain is just freaking out-

It could also be me struggling with the irreversible part of it, which is a personal flaw of mine. I find myself needing to have a way back even if I never find use for it. Like holding on to receipts of things I want "just in case I suddenly don't want it"

or it could be me somehow pre-mourning a possibility (extreme overthinking on my part), my brain is upset that if I were to get implants they wouldn't be my boobs anymore, like my insides are forever gone so my brain is just prematurely sad for a complete hypothetical scenario.

Some people on Reddit told me that it's quite normal for people who have had any kind of surgery to feel kinda like shit 6 months and below after their surgery because your brain is trying to get used to the change, which is something I was aware of but- when you're in it you just become so blind fyi-

Recently though it does seem like maybe my previous identity might not fit anymore :) Sort of like, I used to have a more masc leaning identity to compensate for my body and now that my body is more aligned to me it's kind of like now there's too much masculinity in my life- and I need to get in touch with my femininity more now. I've heard that happen to other queer people as well!

When you transition you might find yourself changing again because your body isn't restricting you as much as it used to.

Transitioning can be freeing but also scary at times. There's a lot going on aaaall the time !!

[sugar-crash]

🍬King Candy (Wreck-It Ralph) x (gn) Reader👑

(First Date Edition!)

(Picture’s not mine)

(Request here! Picking out songs for this loser is so much easier than I thought it’d be, like I’d make my friends help me choose with previous posts I’ve done on my main, only for me to pluck these songs straight from my playlist.)

- Again this man is an avid date enjoyer, a complete contrast to how he was as Turbo, with him openly liking the concept of dates because he associates it with spending time with you, taking your attention up to fulfill his need for it.

- His intentions with you go from pure to not so pure (in a manipulative way you sickos) in a way akin to a pendulum, flicking back and forth while not going to their full extremes, at least not yet.

- Your first date is far from what it’d be Pre-RoadBlasters, having actual date stuff to it because he wants you to see him as a gentleman and a proper lover in general.

- His grip on everything at that point, where he knows who you are as a person to a great degree helps him mold that first date into something that benefits and his efforts to keep this relationship going.

- I’m thinking something small and yet classic, like a nice personal dinner in the castle spent after he claims his spot on the avatar roster for the umpteenth time, his golden coin pocketed for next time when he has to do it all over again.

- It’s the start of something rather grand, which he reiterates and emphasizes to his candy people as he makes them set things to your liking before you come.

- Everything has to be perfect for you, it’s much like the movie Coraline, the Beldam was able to make everything just look so picturesque at first in a way that was able to eventually ensnare Coraline into trusting her in the matter of a couple of days.

- However King Candy is more… Dare I say realistic in his approach? Like there’s no piano that plays you or a gravy train that pours it for you, but every request you may have is done almost immediately.

- Everything is done right by you— I mean, this is King Candy’s domain, and being his s/o gets you brownie points indefinitely.

- I think it’s a way to get you to keep coming, to spend your time in Sugar Rush than anywhere else, I mean— Why would you want to go anywhere else after hours when you are treated so well??

- That and the various areas of Sugar Rush are so numerous— So varied, so explorable, and he’s more than happy to drive you around the place whenever you want.

- Performative to a fault, which is something that comes from Pre-RoadBlasters— He needed to be for the sake of being the protagonist and main avatar of Turbo Time after all, everyone kinda has to be— But him especially.

- In a way, I think he was able to both perpetuate and diverge from who he was, those negative traits thriving underneath the guise of being a ruler who is highly defensive of his game and the citizens who reside in it.

- But in reality, he’s only really defensive over you— Much like the game he was able to alter and become a usurper for he worked hard to get this to where he wanted, and now that he had it and by extension you— He’s not exactly keen to let it all go.

- That first date when you look back at it later on encapsulates that desperation to be King Candy, to be something he wasn’t by any means while fooling everyone, fooling you.

- As King Candy, he’s more in tune with what he feels and knows how to react and when to react, giving off a more friendly aura that initially lures you in and makes you keep coming, especially if you are a particularly lonely person— Probably having no frame of reference to what a healthy relationship looks like beyond the niceties of previous relationships that didn’t stick as well as what you had with him.

- The more vulnerable you become with him the better he can worm his way into your heart and brain in an irreversible manner.

- That’s the thing with him, he wants to be significant so bad to any gamer or fellow game character that warrants it— Much like how Ralph is, but far more extreme, to the degree in which if it warrants it— He will kill someone to get what he wants, caution thrown to the wind if he’s been aggravated enough.

- That extreme behavior can even be seen in that first date you both have together, with him being strung up for brief moments when you bring something up that’s something he can’t easily explain away with smoke and mirrors.

- But those cracks aren’t established just yet, he’s able to get you wanting more and that’s enough to make him a bit giddy as he rejoices over this new and promising connection you have with him.

- It’s the start of something good, something bad, and something downright ugly.

(Svcl jhu mpa zv thuf kpmmlylua klzjypwapvuz av nv hsvun dpao kpmmlylua zpabhapvuz... Buzahisl pz aol wlymlja dvyk mvy doha fvb adv ohcl.)

[jadebread64]

gonna watch the new doctor who episode like 2 days late as i usually do :3

[SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT]

the doctor being a britney spears fan never gets old it gets me every time lol

getting lethal company vibes of all things lol. "broken neck. or broken everything" yeah a bracken could do that to ya

i love that the doctor is the first one out of all of them to start signing thats really nice

aliss saying "i want to go home" and belinda looking at her sadly agreeing is really good

seeing belinda getting jumpscared twice then instantly going "no it's nothing" right after is making me think of the silence. i highly doubt it is but that would be fuckin really wacky

OH SHIT OH SHIT ITS FUCKING MIDNIGHT OH WE'RE SO FUCKED LMAO

this casio guy or whatever the fuck his name is sucks ass and thats all that needs to happen for shit to go south. if they kill aliss i'm gonna be pissed they are FUCKED

holy shit i know i'm wrong for saying this but holt fuck thank god she told aliss to turn 180 and kill that guy he would've fucked everything up

holy fucking shit it knows the doctors name. thats it thats actually the scariest shit they could have done in that moment. this is actually one of the scariest things in the entire series RTD what the fuck

thats awesome the episode is buffering like fuck rn. RIGHT when the doctor has his big plan. it's so joever

oh shit that's really fucking smart. also i'm really glad she's ok and that she's not dead

oh fucking shit is it belinda. she isnt saying anything oh fucking hell oh shit

RUSSELL NO YOU HAVE GOT ME FUCKED UP WITH THAT ENDING OHHHHHH FUCKING BOY

wow. holy christ. i havent felt this way watching doctor who in so fucking long, this reminds me of watching the really scary 2000s dw episodes when i was really young. this was peak. this was so fucking good. i fucking KNEW RTD was the best. this episode is absolutely gonna irreversably alter my brain chemistry, i can tell you that right now. usually most horror things dont really get to me, but this scratched my VERY specific horror itch so fucking well this shit was legitimately terrifying to me lmao. well fucking done

man watching this at like 5am is a great idea isnt it LMFAOOO. i'm fucked :3

i cant put into words how good this episode was. doctor who is absolutely the show to completely and utterly destroy your fucking brain permanently. god i love this gay space show so much

[homkamiro]

YOUR SNIPERSCOUT STUFF HAS DONE THINGS TO ME, IRREVERSABLE THINGS TO MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY!!!!!

LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOO SPEEDING BULLET NATION🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️