#Light Ennui

[boxopher]

This is light my beloved

[theknucklehead]

I like all the little details you can see in the emotions' bedroom.

Joy has a paper mache of Bing Bong

Sadness has a tissue box

Fear has multiple night lights and a guardrail

Disgust wears a sleep mask

And Anger has a concrete block for a pillow and tin foil for a blanket.

And if you read the book "Go to Sleep, Anxiety!" you can see the sleep routines of the new emotions. (Altough they don't seem to have their own beds, I'm guessing because it takes place while headquarters was still being renovated)

[wordedarchive]

[spirit-doll]

OH MY GOD, THIS NIGHTLIGHT LOOKS JUST LIKE A MEMORY. HOW COOL IS IT 😭😭😭

(Good night, sweeties ♡♡)

[sword-dad-fukuzawa]

L change the worLd is such a funny light novel that is so close to my heart because nisioisin clearly thinks of L as this melodramatic hero of justice when it's pretty clear he's kind of an apathetic freak. however two things can be true at once.

[skyecoaiart]

Angry Red Warrior

[rizardofether]

I really wanted to do a comic of how the boss fight with Cazador went for me. Boy, I really have no idea how to draw these photorealistic human-looking characters. I sure tried.

Bonus initial sketch detail:

I think these faces actually looked better before I added all the details

[that-ducking-tool]

Just got caught up with the new Fionna and cake series. Man, I love that adventure time still hits for me all these years later. I really do feel bad for kids today and people who just missed the boat on AT, because having a series like this grow up with you is such a meaningful experience.

[wickedzeevyln]

How We Forgot

This is how we forgot. In the middle of an avalanche of screaming cars,lost without their northern star,they hold on to their dings, and we, our scars,and we haven’t really gone that far.Where are we now?We have forgotten somehow.A distant world, but in our heart is a stone’s throw away.‘78 was a good year,aged us inside oak barrels of ennui that snakes up into the night,outside time blitzes as…

[the-cimmerians]

It's 2024. I have been participating in fandom for 40 years. This is a ramble commemorating some history I've experienced along the way.

In 1984, I attended my first convention, and made a beeline for the one long row of covered tables in the Dealer's Room that was, according to the whispered lore of my friends, 'the one'. "um", I said, very suavely and coherently, except for how it was totally the opposite of those things, "I'm here for the... for the, uh. For-"

"Come around here," the man behind the table said with exhausted ennui, so I went around, and he lifted up the table skirt next to him and pointed to rows and rows of boxes underneath the line of tables. "It's all under here."

It was all under there. Along with about five older ladies with glasses, graying hair, cardigans. Flipping through slash zines and chatting in whispered voices like old friends (which of course they were). I noticed one of them had the good sense to be wearing kneepads. I was still too young and ablebodied to need kneepads when crawling on a carpeted floor, but I immediately found her preparedness skills to be both impressive and hot. "You're new," one of the ladies whispered to me--a bit warily, which made sense. "Are you sure you're in the right place?"

In the faint light (the kneepads lady had also come prepared with a flashlight, additional practicality hotness points for her) I grabbed a comb-bound book with a heavy line art piece on the cover, featuring a musclebound Captain Kirk getting righteously and enthusiastically plowed by a stern-yet-ebullient Spock. "This," I said, pointing helpfully at the cover, like I was trying to make myself understood in a language I had only the vaguest knowledge of. "I'm here for this."

Outside at the convention, most of the attendees were wearing large homemade circular pins that shrieked 'K/S is BS!!!'1. But underneath the table, we reveled in the forbidden.

***

In 1985, I fell very hard for Starsky & Hutch fandom. Which was simply referred to at the time as 'the other fandom', because there were only two. We were upstarts. Many fannish elders predicted that it was just a phase.

***

The 'circulating library' was a massive stack of barely-legible pages that smelled strongly of mimeograph ink. When you were on the list, you would write stories while you waited for your turn, and when the big box was mailed to you, you would read everything (new finds, old favorites), add your own sloppily-typed or hastily-mimeographed stories, and then mail the whole thing to the next person. For me, at the time, it was an extremely expensive indulgence--but my favorite one.

***

By 1990, slash fandom had grown enough that I no longer knew everyone in it, which was both thrilling and a bit daunting. A young woman at a convention waited for me after a panel I was part of (I think it was 'writing impactful smut' or something like that), and said she had a question she didn't want to ask in a group setting. I'd heard that before. I said that's fine, go ahead and ask; and she came out with: "Why do you have to be gay?"

I blinked. "Is... that a problem?"

She looked annoyed. "Yes, because your stories are on all the recommendation lists and in all the top zines, but if you're gay and I read something you wrote and I get hot from it that makes me gay, and I'm not gay."

"Wow." I grinned, I couldn't help it. It probably made me look very predatory-dyke-about-to-score-a-toaster. Whatever, it was enough to make her back away from me fast.

When I thought about it later that night, I wondered what it would be like not to be the only queer person in slash fandom.

***

By 1997, slash started appearing on the internet. Many fannish elders claimed it was the death knell of slash fandom, or dismissed it as 'just a phase'.

***

Anyway, I wrote all this for myself as a commemoration of sorts, but if you took the time to read it--thank you. Love you, fandom. I always will.

1 In those days, m/m fandom was known as 'slash', which grew from the fannish shorthand where 'K&S' meant a story of Kirk and Spock having adventures or tribulations or what have you, and 'K/S' meant a story of Kirk and Spock getting it on (Kirk divided by Spock or Spock into Kirk--it was mathy fannish humor and I was into it then and I still am now). Slash was decidedly unpopular in the fannish world in 1984, and there was a concerted effort to force slash authors, artists, and fans out of 'mainstream' fannish public life. Hence, under the table.

[fadamniel]

"is zenos in love with the wol" can be answered a myriad of ways, but i think this post can also help to elucidate the feelings of our local battlethirsty crown prince of ennui for a certain warrior of light

[tea-plantz]

ahoy🗣️

can I request an anxiety/reader where reader represents the Love emotion?

like we're a little extroverted and flirty (and kinda serve tbh) but we are gentler around her and help her calm down when she's about to have an attack?

(I'm normal about her I swear💪)

Ahoy to you too! Yess I finally got a request for my girl!! She’s so cute, I swear-

Anyway, that’s an awesome request, I love the concept of the reader being a Love emotion!

~Anxiety x Love emotion reader hcs~

Anxiety wasn’t really interested in romance, partly because she figured she didn’t have a shot at it anyway, and because she thought it seemed way too stressful. That was until a new emotion appeared in the HQ, the Love emotion.

You were so sweet, kind, pretty and even flirtatious, causing the small orange emotion to quickly become smitten.

She would feel her heartbeat speed up x100 whenever you were around.

The poor girl constantly stressed about making a good impression on you, seeming interesting, and wanting to know more about you, but she couldn’t let you know that she’s excited, or else she would seem too intense, and so on.

Since you represented the emotion of love, your job would be to control Riley’s crushes, feelings of love, horniness, and all that. Anxiety would love to watch you work, observing as your hands glided over the console, making it light up with a soft, pink color. She swoons over everything you do

Anxiety sometimes even slightly envied you. Your job was to make Riley feel all these positive and exciting feelings, whilst hers was to worry her and make her anxious. She knew it was all to protect their girl, but she didn’t wanna feel like a burden. On top of that, you were also so extrovert and outgoing, speaking so easily with all of the emotions, even Ennui, which was something she admired and slightly envied as well. She would overthink it, feeling like she wasn’t a good enough conversationalist, and fearing that she came off as boring to you.

The fact that you where so flirty towards all the emotions, but more gentle around her would leave her with sleepless nights filled with overthinking.

“They act so flirtatiously towards everybody, but somehow different towards me! I mean, they’re still flirting, but it still feels different! Does that mean they like me less?! Oh no no no, that would be so bad! But what if they do..? And then they’ll slowly stop talking to me, because they secretly hate me, then they’ll stop looking at me, or even being in the same room as me, and I’ll die alone! Ah!!”

She always thinks so negatively about every single situation, not concerning that it could be because you liked her.

It was only after you helped her calm down when she was about to have an anxiety attack that she realized that maybe her feelings were mutual. The way you had gently hugged her, rubbed soothing circles on her back,y kissed her head and whispered sweet nothings into her ear made her absolutely melt. She knew she needed to confess, or else it would drive her insane!

Anxiety spend many many nights, filling out countless notebooks with her frantic writing, trying to figure out the perfect way to confess. She knew you loved romance, so she wanted to be romantic and sweep you off your feet. One problem though, she was very bad at romance… like… really bad. After the made the perfect plan she practiced again and again before she actually mustered up the courage to confess.

She wrote a whole ass 5 page long script on what to say, and a backup script for when if you rejected her. She didn’t hope that would happen, of course not, but she thought you would, always preparing for the worst case scenarios.

Assuming you said yes to her cheesy little confession, Anxiety would be thrilled! You, the glamorous, lovely, super pretty, sweet and confident emotion that you were, wanted to date little ol’ her!! She almost couldn’t believe it!

She definitely cried

It would take the poor girl a long time to settle into the relationship, but with you showering her with love, affection and kisses, not to mention words of reassurance, everyday, she would quickly feel safe and relaxed in the new relationship.

You two would give off major Jessica and Roger Rabbit vibes.

Even though you might be kind of opposites, you both fit really well together. She appreciates you and all of your affection so much, it always helps with calming her down whenever she can’t sleep, or starts stressing out too much.

Anxiety loves it when you flirt with her, but would quickly become overwhelmed if you where too seductive, leaving her brain completely fried and her hands jittery.

She also loves it when you declare your love to her, but she would become way too anxious or overstimulated if you preformed some kind of grand gesture. Instead, she would much rather prefer if you did smaller stuff, like send her love letters, surprise her with hugs and kisses, cuddle with her or enjoy a cozy stay at home date<3

[fermithesilly]

night owl buddies (they’re gonna kiss later)

I should’ve added the light effect to ennui’s phoneeee iehhhhrhryrg

[tarotomorrows]

Yeahhh expanding on this Punk/Band/Rock AU. I’ve already drawn enough of anxiety’s role in the band so I made some rough designs for the other members of the band.

Ennui is on bass. Ennui and Anxiety met back in their high school days and were the first two to join together. It started as a hobby between the two of them looking up to the towns idol band (Joy and the others emotions) and later turned into actually pursuing a music career.

Embarrassment is the band’s vocals. He joined later in the group when Anxiety and Ennui went to the towns local grocery market and found him singing while restocking. Once the two discovered his vocal gift Anxiety practically begged him to join and the rest is history. He unfortunately has a major case of stage-fright which is why most if their shows are dark shows meaning most of the light is backlit and nobody can see who is singing specifically. This along with having his hair cover most if his vision allows himself to pretend he isn’t singing in front of a crowd of people.

The shop he works at is owned by Nostalgia he works to help provide for his younger sister Envy.

Envy is Embarrassment’s little sister and the bands number one supporter. She likes dressing to fit the bands esthetic and often accompanies the crew when they are doing rehearsals. She wants to one day become a part of the band if not as a member then at least to be their manager.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

*images credited to Kim Kardashian Twitter, and CW photo stills

Anonymous Prompt: I really want demon dean stalking someone but I don’t know how to do that with consent? But guh just the thought of him.

Characters: Knight of Hell/Demon Dean Winchester x unnamed female character

Tags/warnings: 18+ only; this is not your mother’s Dean Winchester; stalking; exhibitionism; voyeurism; mutual masturbation; dirty talk; horny on aisle 3; fuck it, we ball

Words: 2,400

Author’s notes: #Mutual Masturbation for @jacklesversebingo

This did not turn out the way I'd planned, and it's not nearly as dark as I thought it would be. But I still love it! I hope you love it, too.

Thank you @brrose-apothecary @talltalesandbedtimestories @sam-is-my-safe-word @runawaydr3amerao3 @bigmouthlass for idea bouncing, and @stusbunker for the proof read and green light.

ENNUI

For some people, the passage of time is beautiful and magical; the smallest things are to be cherished. For others, time passing reinforces our connection with the world, marking each pulse of the rhythm of life. For her, time measures the loss and emptiness of what isn’t or will ever be again. 

Today is a milestone birthday for her. The days leading up to it have been punctuated by discoveries of new lines, bulges, and other undesirable changes to her body that remind her she’s steadily failing.

Since she had just two appointments this morning, she decided to close her office early and hit the pool shared by her HOA. Her neighbors are mostly professionals without children, and it’s Tuesday; she’s sure she’ll have the pool to herself to languish in the wet heat of July in the Midwest.

That annoying fucking saying ‘it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity’, comes for her breath and doesn’t leave. It seeps into the lining of her lungs, heavy and damp, slowing and weighting each step she takes toward the south-facing bank of chairs. Once she reaches the chair she always uses, she drops her canvas tote to the concrete and shrugs out of the sheer wrap before shuffling out of her sandals.

She bends to rifle through her bag for her tanning oil, and a faint chill begins to weave its way up her spine. 

+

Dean is sitting in the front seat of the Impala, swallowing the last bite of his Biggerson’s double bacon and cheese when she snags his attention. She walks with the measured confidence that speaks more of a dare than of enthusiasm. She’s alone, and everything about her vibe tells Dean that she’s more than comfortable with that. 

She doesn’t miss a beat as she makes her way to a randomly chosen lounger in a line of another dozen exactly like it. She lets her bag slip from her grasp, and her robe floats from her straight shoulders to join it at her feet.

She’s small in stature but she looks strong and fit—thick thighs and sculted arms, a narrow waist, and curves upon curves. Dean's never cared much about short, tall, fat, thin; he likes women and sex, and if he hits it off with someone, he’s down to fuck.

But this woman is a work of art.

He watches her dig through her bag, dragging his gaze from her delicate ankles and smooth calves and thighs to the generous curve of her ass. He imagines wrapping arms around her, lifting her to carry her to... bed, most likely.

He chuckles to himself. 

She takes a seat half-upright with her legs outstretched and applies oil to her bronze skin. He wishes he could rub it in for her. He lets himself believe she can read his mind, that she's doing this for him, putting on a show just for him. 

Why not? 

When she unties her bikini top to expose her full, heavy tits and dusky nipples, he doesn’t think twice about popping the button on his jeans and pulling his hot, persistently hard cock from his boxers.

+

As she had hoped, she’s alone at the pool. The small cluster of townhouses where she lives and the complexes on either side are as quiet as any Tuesday afternoon. Other than the birds and squirrels in the trees, she’s got the place to herself.

Well, and the old black Chevy parked at the Biggerson’s next door and the shadowy figure within. She may be cynical, but she’s self-aware, and she’s going to squeeze every drop of pleasure from this bland existence as possible. 

She’s always been an exhibitionist, definitely a thrill-seeker.  She pulls the tie at her neck until the triangles, scarcely covering her breasts, fall away. Then she splashes oil across her collarbones, letting it heat and drip down and around, and between her breasts. 

She flicks her shaded eyes to the car before hefting and massaging the full mounds of flesh, then sighs and nuzzles into her lounger. She bites her bottom lip hard as she pinches and twists her puckered nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.

She notices the figure shifting in the driver’s seat. They don’t start the engine or exit the vehicle. Instead, they lift a palm to their mouth and, she imagines, they spit before the hand disappears out of her sight once more.

“Fuck,” she whispers with a smile as she settles her head back against the plush headrest, dragging one hand down her torso and pushing it into her bikini bottoms.

+

That smirk.

Dean looks around the parking lot to find no one else around—it’s as empty as her pool area. He looks back to see that she’s planted her feet on the ground on either side of her chair, her legs spread open, and one hand working rough and slow in her bikini bottoms while the other pulls at her nipples.

“Fuck yes, sweetheart. Do it for me,” Dean mutters, twisting and pumping his cock. 

He grunts and groans as she pulls her hand from her bathing suit and lifts it to her mouth. She raises her head, then, and pushes two fingers between her luscious lips. She sucks and licks her fingers, taking her time, and Dean wishes she wasn’t wearing those mirrored sunglasses. He wants to see her eyes.

Are they blue? Green? Brown?

Is she watching him like he’s watching her?

After what feels like the longest and most uncertain staring contest, she pushes her fingers back between her legs. She doesn’t immediately put her head back, though. This time, she licks her lips and grips the edge of her chair with the hand she isn't using to fuck herself.

“That’s right, good girl, show me how you like it.”

He grips the steering wheel as he pumps himself until her mouth drops open and she starts to tremble. Her gorgeous tits bounce and her hips undulate, and, before he knows it, he’s spurting hot over his fist. 

+

She slams her head back against the headrest, sweating and panting even more than she was from the afternoon sun. She feels gooey and giddy, and light. She opens her eyes and heaves a sigh of satisfaction, pitching forward to look across the pool to Biggerson’s parking lot.

A flash inside the car lights a cigarette, and she catches the first glimmer of the dark stranger. He holds her gaze for a beat, the flame’s reflection dancing in eyes so dark they appear black, before throwing the zippo closed and roaring from the empty lot.

She sighs again as she sits up straight and ties her top back in place before standing, stretching, and striding toward the pool to dive in. The water is cool and calm as she strokes from one end of the pool and back again three times before barrel-rolling to her back to aimlessly float. A light breeze ruffles the leaves overhead, making the sunlight flicker like a strobe. 

After a while, she draws a deep breath before tucking into herself to blissfully sink to the bottom of the muted 4-foot depth.

+

“Sure.” Dean nods and rolls his eyes as Crowley nags him on the other end of the line.  

Crowley gave him a job, which is what brought him to her town, and he really should do it—to calm The Mark and keep the peace with the King of Hell—but he’d rather be knocking on her front door. 

Seeing her yesterday has completely derailed his plans. It’s been years since he felt an instant connection with someone like he feels with her. Separated by the green vining through the black chain link and shade inside his car, he felt her. He wants to feel more. 

“I’ll take care of it, OK?”

He isn’t lying, not really; he’ll take the guy out, just not right now. He’s... preoccupied.

“Now, Dean. Not tomorrow, not next week-”

“Yeah. I know. I’ll get it done. Bye.”

Dean cuts the line and tosses his phone to the passenger seat then looks up just in time to see her exiting her townhome. She’s wearing those stretchy kinds of pants women wear to the gym with heeled boots and a leather jacket. Dean has no idea what the fuck that outfit is all about, but her ass looks incredible. She takes even steps with her head held high. The view from behind her is infuriating. With every stride, her ass plumps and sways, and her wide hips tease him relentlessly.

He fires up the engine and puts the car in Drive before carefully pulling away from the curb to follow her. 

He pictures what she’d look like bent over the hood of the Impala. He imagines yanking those stupid fucking pants down to her knees and kicking her heeled feet wide. She’d moan and arch her back, presenting her perfect, bare ass to him. He’d smack it, and she’d yelp, begging for more. 

She’d beg. And he’d grab a fistful of her shiny black hair to twist and squeeze as he slammed inside her over and over.

“Fuck,” he groans, pressing the heel of his palm down onto his ever-present and now throbbing erection.

He watches her toss her hair as she turns into a storefront six blocks from her front door, and Dean slides into another parallel spot and waits.

+

The drugstore door closes behind her, and she’s instantly enveloped by artificially cooled air. One of the many things she despises about midwestern summers is the necessity of air conditioning. She procrastinates turning hers on inside her townhouse every season as long as possible, but when her clients begin to complain, she gives in.  

She doesn’t waste time browsing for anything other than what she came for—eye cream. Yesterday’s existential crisis is a distant memory, surpassed by him. 

She thinks it’s silly that he’s trying to be stealthy, parking a block down the road, like she didn’t see that ridiculous car of his in front of her house before she even opened her door. This game of cat and mouse is fun for her, though. There’s mystery and suspense. It distracts her from the mundane.

She pays for her eye cream and drops it into her handbag before replacing her sunglasses over her eyes. She doesn’t know the rules of this game they’re playing, but she’s never played by anyone’s rules except her own, so it doesn’t really matter.

Back out in the heat, she pauses before heading toward the restaurant to meet a friend for lunch. Sunlight beams off the chrome bumper of his car, making her squint even with her sunglasses on. She shields her eyes and tosses him a smirk, then turns to walk the other direction.

+

She sees him now, and she saw him yesterday.

That fucking smirk of hers is the guarantee he needs. Every step she takes and every move she makes is an invitation, and he has to think long and hard about whether that’s a good thing or not. Because he’s sure that not only does she see that he’s watching her, but that once she sees him up close and personal, she’ll see who he really is.

She’s a kindred spirit. He knows this as well as anyone knows when they find that person, that connection. He doesn’t know what the connection is exactly, but he knows it’s there, and it’s undeniable.

But can she hold her own with him?

He decides to follow her with renewed purpose. 

+

After lunch, she stops at a consignment shop, the florist, and the liquor store. She wanders along the selection of wines, row by row, waiting. She doesn’t have to wait much longer, though.

“Lotta choices, huh?”

The ticking of her heart speeds up from the sound of his thick, masculine voice. It’s only been 24 hours, but she’s been on tenterhooks, willing him to approach her, and it’s finally happening.

Then she turns to face him and gasps.

He’s gorgeous—tall, broad-shouldered, perfectly proportioned, defined, angular jawline, thick eyelashes, and a mouth that has her rapidly dampening her underwear. But it’s his eyes that give her pause. 

Sparkling obsidian. She wasn’t imagining what she witnessed yesterday. Then he blinks to reveal the most exquisite jade. Her skin crackles with anticipation. He’s like no one or thing she’s ever seen before.

She wants to know everything.

“Small talk? After all we’ve been through together?” she murmurs, shifting into him like he’s a black hole that will never let her go. 

She can’t- won’t deny him.

+

He narrows his gaze and slowly tilts his head, studying her face. 

“Honey, we can talk about anything you want.” He scans her bright, whiskey eyes and the straight bridge of her nose leading to the enticing pitch of her top lip. “But I’d rather do something else with my mouth.”

Her eyelids flutter and he chuckles, teasing the backs of his incisors with the tip of his tongue. He reaches for her, tucking one hand under the back of her hair and bringing her the last few inches closer. 

“Like what?” she whispers, and he meets her trembling lips with a firm, insistent kiss. 

“I think you know,” he mutters, turning and pressing her against the selection of Australian whites.

She hums, draping her arms around his neck. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Dean drags her flush against him by her waist and twists his fist in the back of her long, raven hair. And he tells her what she wants to hear.

“I’m gonna taste every inch of you.” He mumbles against her throat and lower. “I’m gonna suck those beautiful tits and bite your tight nipples.” He pushes a knee between her thighs and lifts until his leg meets the hot, damp crotch of her thin, stretchy pants, then scrapes his teeth over the shell of her ear. “And I’m gonna lick and play with your little clit until you're begging me to fuck you. And then I’ll lick you some more.”

She grinds over his thigh. “We gonna do this here?” she breathes. 

Dean huffs a laugh as he steps away, setting her back on her own two feet. He holds her hand and her gaze. “Yeah, I know how much you like an audience. But I want you naked and I don’t wanna share you.”

She swallows and nods. “What’re we waiting for?”

Dean grins and spins toward the door, leading her out into the afternoon sun.

Dean Winchester Masterlist | MJ’s Masterlist

[sword-dad-fukuzawa]

thinking about my ships. if plantcest was about grief then lawlight is about rage