#OUGHHHH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

[octonauts-daily]

[lucasoliko]

Some doodles/sketches/stuff I did in class this week

[maukiki1]

my son and his uncooked pasta bit-beast

also heres th lineart bcs the lineart was especially laborious lol

[dont-hug-me-its-yuri]

more fart end job headcanon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

More fart end job headcanons!!!

. Coffins love language is acts of service while Briefcases is receiving gifts

. Coffin loves horror movies while Briefcase is terrified of them

. Coffin actually hung out with Briefcase (outside of work) for the first time when he made them watch Hellraiser together

. they had to stop it 20 minutes in because Briefcase could not handle it

. Coffin is way taller than Briefcase, she could literally throw him

. Briefcase is totally ok with helping Coffin bury and carry dead body but will not go through the dissection phase

. Coffin gives Briefcase so many gifts that it doesn’t understand (wilted flowers, jewelry made out of actual bones, etc.)

. Coffin is constantly helping Briefcase out with injuries since the man is the most clumsy man you will ever meet

. Coffin has never showered and Briefcase is totally attracted to that (little freaks)

. Briefcase thinks that holding hands is scandalous and Coffin has no sense of personal space due to having no social interaction for most of her decades long life

pay 20 dabloons to get more!!!

[set-phasers-to-whump]

somewhere to land

prompt: nowhere else to go

whumpee: river cartwright

fandom: slough house

hi here's river & louisa Again...sorry i am just obsessed with them. this is technically book canon (set sometime after book 4) but if you ignore like one or two small details it'll fit with the show too. hope you enjoy!!

She’s hardly expecting anyone. So when there’s a knock at her door, at damn near midnight, she grabs hold of the bat she’s taken to keeping beside her bed and steels herself before looking through the peephole. 

She drops the bat to the ground with a loud clatter. “Fuck,” she mutters, unlocking the door and opening it. 

It’s only River. 

He’s soaking wet and shivering–it’s pouring outside, has been all day–and for a second she’s hit with the image of him unconscious and soaked through on the bank of the Thames. 

She shakes her head, banishing this version of River to the depths of her mind. Whatever else might be the matter, he’s very obviously alive and conscious. 

“Come in,” she says, after a beat too long. She sort of gestures sweepingly to the flat behind her. “Only maybe don’t go too far,” she adds, “seeing as you’re dripping wet.”

River stops just beyond the threshold, shuts and locks the door behind him, and then just stands there. 

He looks fucking miserable. Even if he weren’t dripping rainwater onto the linoleum, she thinks he’d still look fucking miserable. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, because it’s not as though anything could be right. 

River shrugs halfheartedly. He’s looking around the room, and it doesn’t take Louisa more than a second to realize that he’s avoiding looking at her. 

“River. What’s wrong?”

He looks at her guiltily. She gets the sense that he’s been drinking, though not heavily. 

He shifts on his feet, winces, wraps an arm around his middle. 

Ah. 

“You’re hurt?” She forces herself not to imagine great, bloody wounds lurking beneath his clothes. She’d have noticed, she thinks. 

Right?

“Is it bad?” she asks, when he doesn’t immediately respond. She’s starting to freak out, just a little bit. He’s not usually so quiet, and sure, he doesn’t look like someone on death’s door, but you never know, and anyway maybe–

“It’s not bad,” River says quietly. His cheeks have turned pink, which is good, as this means there’s enough blood still in his body for blushing.

“Well?” Louisa asks, when it becomes clear he’s not going to offer up any other information. 

“It’s just–I was at the pub, and some guy got up in my face, yelling at me, I dunno what about, I didn’t know him, and I was trying to reason with him, and–he started hitting me. Didn’t do much before the bartender got him out, but–look, it’s nothing, really, just some bruises, but–”

His voice gets quiet, so she doesn’t quite hear what he says next. 

“What?”

“I didn’t–it just hurts, a bit, it’s not even that bad anymore but, well. Ididn’twanttobealone, okay?”

Aha. 

“It’s alright,” Louisa finds herself saying. “No shame in it.”

They’re both a little bit beyond shame in front of each other, she thinks. They’ve seen each other through terrible things, awkward things, and pretty much all manner of things in between, and look, she gets it, that desire to not be alone. God fucking knows she gets it. She likes it, actually. That River had come to her. 

True, it’s not like he would’ve had any other options, there’s really nowhere else for him to go–as far as friendships go at Slough House, they’re pretty much each other’s one and only. But still. He’s hurting, albeit not badly, and he’d chosen to come to her. 

It’s kind of nice, is all. 

Anyway. 

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just…let me get you some dry things, okay?” They have to start somewhere, and River’s not going anywhere until he’s dried off. 

She leaves him dripping in the entryway and goes rummaging through her drawers, looking for things that might fit him.

Her fingers brush soft, familiar fabric. A hoodie of Min’s. She sets it aside, smiles to herself, half sad and half fond. 

Eventually, she finds a few things that seem reasonable. A pair of sweats abandoned by a one-night stand ages ago, a big t-shirt she’d won at a fair, fuzzy socks she’d gotten as a Christmas present and has never actually worn.

She fetches a towel from the closet, then returns to River, standing precisely where she’d left him. He’s removed his shoes, placed them beside the door, and he’s in the process of wriggling out of his jacket. 

“There’s a hook on the back of the door,” she offers up, though he could hardly have failed to notice.

“Thanks,” he replies anyway, and hangs up his soaked jacket. 

“Go dry off, take a hot shower, if you like,” she says, holding out the stack of fabric. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

He takes the clothes silently, then trudges to the bathroom. Louisa watches him, eyes the floor for any particularly large drips–she can’t decide how she feels about having become the kind of person that cares so much about water on her floors–and then, when she hears the shower turn on, makes her way to the kitchen.

--

River joins her after a few minutes. He’s still damp but not shivering, and he looks overall a good deal less pathetic than he had standing there on her doorstep. 

Louisa passes him a mug of tea–hers is already half gone–and then just sits there and looks at him. 

“Are you really alright?” she asks, when she can stand the silence no longer.

He looks up at her, slightly startled. “I’m fine, honest. Just sore.”

“Can I…” Louisa stops herself before she can get out the rest of the question. He’d said it was nothing, really. That he’s just sore. 

Except she can’t stop thinking of all the times she’s seen him hurt, the times she’d thought he was dead. 

She just–she wants to make sure for herself, okay?

Even without her having finished her question, River seems to know what it is she wants. 

“I promise, it’s nothing bad. But if you want to make sure…” he trails off as well, looks away. 

She does. She just needs to see for herself that there’s really nothing to worry about. She wants confirmation. 

“If you don’t mind, I mean–it’d be nice, is all. To know you’re not really hurt.”

He nods, slowly, then stands. She doesn’t miss how he winces. 

He raises the hem of the borrowed shirt. The bruises on his torso certainly aren’t pretty, but they’re just that–bruises, one on his stomach and the other on his side. 

She touches them lightly, not really sure what it is she’s looking for. River tenses up when her fingers brush his skin, but then relaxes, breathes out deeply. 

When she’s satisfied herself that he really is fine, they both sink back down into their chairs, wrapping hands around rapidly cooling mugs. 

“I’m sorry I bothered you,” River says quietly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Louisa replies, although she’s not entirely certain that’s true. 

“You answered the door with a bat,” River says, and Louisa laughs. She’d forgotten about that, with everything that had come after. 

River smiles as well, half hidden behind his mug, and Louisa feels compelled to say something else. 

“Well, I was scared, a bit. I mean, yeah, by getting a knock at the door at midnight, but mostly by…by the thought that you might be really hurt.”

She says the last words in a hurry, doesn’t quite meet River’s eyes. “But you’re not, so it’s all alright, really, and mostly I’m just glad you came, ‘cause if you had been really hurt…” I could’ve helped. I could have done something, instead of being somewhere else, not even aware of the fact that you’d died. 

River nods, and she knows he gets it, as much as he can. 

“Thanks for letting me stay,” he replies, although she thinks they both know she wouldn’t turn him away. 

“You’re welcome,” she offers up in acknowledgement, and a comfortable silence settles between them. 

It’ll have to be broken, at some point. They cannot sit at Louisa’s kitchen table indefinitely. Sometime soon, decisions will have to be made. One bed, one couch, a bus ride home…

But all of that is for later. For now, it is them, and the silence, and this is enough.

thanks for reading! hope you liked!!

[spinnysocks]

i love clangen so much. i love the little details that can become so important even though they're completely randomly generated. a cat started wearing juniper berries after their nephew called juniperkit was killed. a cat getting last grief over a cat who i didn't even realise was his close friend this whole time. the way the statuses and patrols and events create their characters. my clangen save makes me so ill (both /pos and /srs??) because i love these silly tragic kitties

[dawnslight-aegis]

23. on cloud nine

(oops, I didn't actually get to the bit that would go with the traditional meaning of the prompt. anyway. no content warnings yet but this will eventually be edited and the rating will increase accordingly.)

‘Twas late, long past when Aymeric should have left his office and headed to bed, but his duties as Lord Speaker had caused him to let some of his responsibilities at the Congregation fall to the wayside, and he needed to set them right before things along the Shroud-Gyr Abania border erupted into all-out war.

A quiet knock against his office door drew his attention, and his Second Commander stepped in without waiting for an answer. He wore a heavy cloak over his armor to ward off the autumn chill, clearly about to head home, and Aymeric felt a twinge of guilt for keeping the man there so late, away from his wife and daughters. “Here are the troop movement reports you asked for, ser,” he said as he set them on the edge of the desk, out of Aymeric’s easy reach, “but I really think you should leave them for the morning.”

Aymeric waved a hand in acknowledgement, smiling faintly. “Yes, yes. I’ll be on my way soon, I assure you.”

“Good.” The man paused, then leaned forward slightly. “There is one other thing.”

He felt his eyebrows crawl towards his hairline as he took in the shift in Handeloup’s bearing, from official to almost conspiratorial. “Oh? What is it?”

“The door guards have just informed me that the Warrior of Light has returned to Ishgard, and was seen going into the Forgotten Knight less than a quarter bell ago.”

Aymeric froze. Typically speaking, when in Ishgard, Kaede preferred to stay in her rooms at the Fortemps Manor – or his own house, in his bed, a quiet little voice whispered in the back of his mind, to be firmly squashed – while it was Marzanna who usually took up residence within their reserved suite at Cloud Nine. There was no reason to assume this time was any different.

“Which one?” he asked, with what he thought was a quiet neutrality. ‘Twas curiosity, nothing more.

The look that Handeloup leveled at him told him quite clearly that he had not succeeded. “Ser, with all due respect – I would not bother to mention it, were it simply Mistress Kimbatuul come to start a bar brawl or some such. I would simply set an extra sentry near the Knight and be done with it.”

Heat warmed his ears as Aymeric rubbed his forehead and dropped all pretense. “Gods, does everyone know?”

The man sounded as if he was moments away from bursting into laughter, despite his sympathetic expression. “If your… regard for Mistress Kazarishi was meant to be a secret, ser, it’s a poorly kept one.”

He truly had no response for that, and his Second Commander grinned as he saluted and slipped out the door with a cheeky “have a pleasant night, Lord Commander.”

Pleasant, indeed. The object of his affections, she who had occupied most of his waking thoughts since the night she had confirmed that her feelings for him ran deeper than friendship, was just across the plaza, after being gone for nearly a fortnight. If he dared, it would take him only minutes to be at her door.

Taking a deep, steadying breath through his nose, Aymeric shook his head. She had not come to him, nor to his home. She had not even gone to her normal lodgings – which, to him, indicated either a wish for privacy or simply for rest, given the lateness of the hour. ‘Twould be presumptuous indeed for him to assume that a visit in the middle of the night would be welcome, regardless of the relationship that had been growing between them over the past two moons.

Firmly chastising himself for even entertaining the notion, Aymeric stood and walked to the edge of his desk, collecting the reports that Handeloup had delivered. He rifled through them, reading the same one three times before he realized that he hadn’t absorbed a word that they contained.

Clearly, he would be getting no further work done this night, as was likely Handeloup’s true goal. Collecting his own cloak, he fastened it over his armor and left the reports on his desk for the next day. Stepping out into the night, a sharp, cold wind hit his face and took his breath away – a late autumn blizzard was moving in, apparently, and snow was already beginning to pile up against the walls of the buildings. Aymeric pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and frowned. His normal route home through the Pillars would expose him to the wind and take more time than he’d like in these conditions – quicker to cut through the Brume, despite the danger.

The scar in his abdomen twinged in pain from the cold, reminding him of what had happened the last time he had thought to take that route, and he sighed. As he stood, seized by indecision and getting colder by the moment, his eyes fell on the Forgotten Knight, barely visible through the snow. The light in its windows called to him, the siren song of warmth and companionship far more tempting now when set against a long walk home in the dark and the cold, to an empty bed.

May the Fury have mercy on this lovesick fool, he thought with a sigh, and turned towards the tavern. The back of his mind cursed him soundly, but he could not alter his course. And so he stepped through the door, cloaked and hooded, attempting to attract as little attention as possible as he made his way to the counter. Fortunately, the tavern was all but empty, the patrons either driven home or to their beds in the inn by the weather.

Gibrillont raised his eyebrows as Aymeric approached, immediately recognizing him. “Well. ‘Twould seem I have the honor of hosting two important personages tonight,” he muttered under his breath as he wiped out a tankard with a rag that looked barely clean enough to do any good at all.

Aymeric leveled a look at the former knight of House Haillenarte. “I do my best to keep myself and those under my command well clear of your business, ser, and you have prospered for it,” he said, and the man grunted in response. “On the morrow, I will continue that practice. I only ask for two things: that you keep my presence here quiet, and –”

“Give you her room number?”

Aymeric groaned internally. A poorly kept secret, indeed. Unsure of what to say that might leave his dignity mostly intact, he simply stared at Gibrillont until the man sighed and nodded.

“Under one condition. That you not be using my establishment for your ‘clandestine meetings.’ I’ve a reputation to uphold, I’ll have you know, and sheltering slumming members of the peerage ain’t part of it.”

He could not quite squash the urge to argue the man’s claims, though doubtless it would fall on deaf ears. “I assure you, ‘twas merely the weather that drove me here.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that. Second floor, third door on the left. Don’t come cryin’ t’ me for a room if she throws you out on yer arse the way she did the last man I saw her take up there. We’re full up.”

Aymeric ignored the obvious jab – Kaede’s business was her own, and he was well aware of her extensive romantic past – and nodded in thanks before heading towards the stairs at a pace that could not quite be called unseemly.

Before he could think better of this entire mad plan, he was in front of her door, lightly rapping his knuckles against it. For a long moment, there was silence, and he was left with the internal debate of if he should knock again or just head home in defeat.

Fortunately, he was saved from his nervous indecision by the door cracking open and beautiful blue eyes staring blearily up at him.

Oh gods, he’d woken her up.

“What is it – wait. Aymeric? Is everything okay?” Her gaze sharpened, Warrior of Light rapidly replacing the tired woman before him, and he cursed himself for a fool. Of course she would think something was wrong, with him showing up in the middle of the damned night.

“No – I mean, yes, everything is fine. I merely –” he stumbled a bit, before shaking his head, the excuse about the weather dying unspoken on his tongue. “I heard you were here, and I wanted to see you.”

The reason sounded so juvenile to his ears, but… it was the truth.

A blink, and she was simply Kaede again, her surprise slowly giving way to a small, private smile. “Oh. Well. I didn’t think you’d still be up, or I would have come by.”

“For once, my propensity for working late does me a service. I must confess, I missed you fiercely.” The admission rolled easily off his tongue, and her smiled widened a bit in response.

Tucking a rogue lock of hair behind one of her horns in a gesture he was thrilled to recognize as one of flirtation, Kaede stepped back and waved a hand towards the room. “Would you like to come in? It’s not anything fancy, but it seems a shame to come all this way and then stand around in the hallway.”

Suddenly aware that they had, indeed, been doing just that, he ducked into the room and shrugged out of his snow-damp cloak as she shut the door behind her.

Turning to her, Aymeric opened his mouth to ask what brought her to Ishgard, when he found himself seized by the front of the coat and yanked down into a kiss, desperate and hungry. Off balance in more ways than one, he braced one hand against the door frame, the other sliding beneath heavy gold hair to curl, possessively, around the back of her neck. He had not intended, but gods, he had wanted…

Still, when Kaede finally relaxed her grip on him and slowly lowered herself back down from her tiptoes, he shook his head. “I swear to you, I did not come here for –”

Irritation flashed across Kaede’s face, and she sighed. “Aymeric. Do you really want to stand around making small talk a bell past midnight in a vain attempt to spare whatever tiny shreds of virtue I have left?”

Whatever protests he had meant to make caught in his throat as she stared up at him expectantly. The truly foolish thing had been to forget, even for a moment, that her directness was one of the many things he loved about her. “I… no. I do not.”

“Good, because neither do I. There will be plenty of time for talking in the morning. Right now, I would like to go back to bed, and I would very much like you to join me.”

“As my lady commands,” her murmured, before dipping down and pressing another kiss to her mouth, slower than hers had been, but no less heated. When they broke away again, there was a flush to her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes despite the fatigue, and there was a part of him that was proud indeed to have put it there. “Let me get out of this damned armor, and I am utterly at your disposal.”

–

Later, as they dressed in the dim pre-dawn light, Aymeric finally felt compelled to speak that which she had forestalled him from saying the night before. “Kaede.”

“Hmmm?” came the distracted, tired reply, and he felt a twinge of guilt for having woken her up from and shortened her much needed rest, but he forged on anyway.

Setting aside his surcoat for the moment, he walked over to her and looped his arms around her midsection, tugging her back so she stood flush against him. “I just want you to know,” he murmured, “that I do not take anything that happens between us lightly. That everything I do is rooted in respect for you, and in affection. That me coming to see you tonight was not a craving of the flesh, but a yearning of the heart.”

She went still in his arms, then let out a slow, controlled breath. “Careful, ser, or else I might think you were attempting to confess something.”

Her tone was trying for light and playful, but there was a tightness in it, and he did not know if it was born from hope, or fear.

Here was the moment, the crossroads. He could laugh and let the moment pass, and they could continue as they had been – more than friends, yes, but with no promises yet made. He could let her leave him again, for the Fury only knew how long, without saying the words that burned within him, that underscored his every thought and action towards her.

The mere thought was agony, and he could not bear it.

“And if I am?”

There was a long pause, and Aymeric’s heart sank as Kaede slowly extricated herself from his arms, gathering her boots and refusing to look at him. When she spoke, it was to the floor, her hair fallen in a curtain to shield her face from view. “I cannot be what you want me to be.”

The last time he had seen her, she had let slip her insecurities that what lay between them was not meant to last; that sooner or later he would tire of her wanderings, and seek out a wife and an heir as befit his station. He had attempted to reassure her, but held himself back from making any grand statements – it had felt too soon, their relationship too fragile, and to place too much pressure on it would be to have it dissolve like a soap bubble. But though she had seemed satisfied with his answers then, doubt had clearly set in in his absence.

Aymeric let out a frustrated sigh. “I do not want you to be anything or anyone else, only to be as you are.”

When she did not answer him, he knelt on the splintered wooden floorboards in front of her, sweeping her hair back and drawing her chin up, so that she might meet his eyes. There was apprehension in them, and blatant misery, but also longing.

He wished he knew who had made her so damned sure that she would eventually be tossed aside like refuse, that she would respond to love with fear.

Withholding the depth of his feelings had done nothing to secure her trust in him, so this time, he would give her the truth in its entirety.

“I love you, Kaede. Deeply, fiercely, as I have not felt before in all my life. There is naught either of us can say or do that will change that fact. And though duty demands much of us both, I will take whatever you can give me, and give all of myself I can spare in return.”

Aymeric watched as she turned his words over, her face a mixture of emotions that he could not begin to identify. Finally, she landed on a small, sad smile as she reached out and pressed a palm to his cheek. “You deserve better than that. You deserve someone who can give you all of their time, not just scraps of it.”

“As do you. But what either of us ‘deserves’ matters very little to me in this moment. I care only for what I want, and what I believe you do, as well.”

And may all the Twelve have mercy on him if he was wrong.

“I –”

Whatever she had been about to say was lost as the insistent ringing of her linkpearl, the same that had awoken them in the early hours of the morning, shattered the moment. She let her hand drop from his face and turned back to finish lacing her boots. “I have to go. I don’t want to, but…”

“I understand.”

And he did. Gods, if he understood anything about her, it was this. Even though it hurt, he stood when she did, and did not attempt to bridge the gap between them again.

He thought she might leave it like that, words unspoken and hanging in the air, but he watched her jaw clench and release as she pulled her hair back into a hasty ponytail, rather than her customary elaborate braid, and then she turned back to him, determination in her eyes. “I do want to finish this conversation, I just need to… think on it, a bit.”

“You will come back?”

“I will. I promise.”

The resolve in her voice went a lot way towards quieting the unease in his heart, as did the way she pulled him down into a kiss that was a softer, sweeter echo of the night before.

And then she was gone.

Aymeric raked a hand through his hair, and sighed. Much more of this uncertainty and he would nearly welcome the war that lay on the horizon. At least then, he would have a distraction.

[batjpeg]

i watch so much diy and home reno (if they're normal ab it and not flipping houses and furniture for profit and painting everything white) and i fr need to stop cuz i get rly inspired and then i realise very quickly that nice furniture usually costs money or if it's cheap (2nd hand) it usually reqs a car..... and then i get sad lmaoooo

[mellowthorn]

I love how quickly Nighteyes ends this whole debate. Being apart from Fitz for good is not even an option to him, they belong together and that's that

[follyshroom]

I know I technically passed the Trigun Stargaze date but I was busy fighting demons (sane Trigun fan reactions) until night became morning

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

hi guys I’m playing age of calamity for the first time and OH MY GOD

[dj-wayback]

hey i drew fanart for the iterator with the most swag ever. The scromblo scroingly boingle if you will.

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

The secret to good school is good funding. One day, I dream of a world where all schools have options for their children. Personally, I think it's pretty important for that sort of thing to start out early. See if you're actually into that think BEFORE you're 100k in debt and hating your life.

My area has some awesome architecture. One time, I wanted to do a project on it, and my teacher said it was too complicated. I cried, like genuinely left that class, found a place to sit down, and just cried. The buildings were pretty, and I wanted to talk about them. I really do love the amount of thought put into those buildings. The people who made them are dead, but their art is still there. A bunch of dudes 100 years ago sat down and designed this theater. Then more came in and built it. And here I am, sitting there.

Architecture is so awesome in the way that it's interactive. It can survive longer than any human.

definitely!! being able to explore interests before you gotta choose one for your career is soso important i rlly wish i got to try out some more shit before i had to settle on smth

also sameee my city has a lot of old architecture (especially my school. some of the buildings are falling apart but they're very old and very pretty) and im like just in awe of it like architecture is an art but it's more than an art because unlike a lot of art it's not just something to look at it's somewhere someone lives or works or goes with friends and makes memories like a lot of art doesnt have a practical function but architecture does and it serves as a setting for so much of people's lives and that's really impactful and so awesome because there's architecture everywhere and it's all so beautiful *dreamy sigh*

also sucks that ur teacher sucked i hate when teachers/profs won't let you do projects on what ur passionate abt like passion is the basis of learning why aren't u supporting that....

[uygfiug]

ive misjudged the passage of time to a disastrous degree again :(

[chadsuke]

Books Read in 2024:

Little Mushroom: Revelations by Shisi (2022)

The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System Vol. 3 by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu (2022)

The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System Vol. 4 by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu (2022)

The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros (1984)

Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller (1949)

Doppelganger: A Trip into the Mirror World by Naomi Klein (2023)

Bad Blood: Secrets and Lies in a Silicon Valley Startup by John Carreyrou (2018)

Heaven Official's Blessing Vol. 1 by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu (2021)

Heaven Official's Blessing Vol. 2 by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu (2022)

[ID: Covers of the aforementioned books. End ID.]

[triptychofvoids]

My splatoon hyperfixation has been brought out into the open of my brain again because I changed my main to. Z+F splat charger. Very fun to skewer people (multiple splats at once!) Anywho what's ur main? :)

-☎ anon, stuck catalog grinding for new gear

i play hydra splatling, octobrush nouveau, and undercover brella!!