#WHAT if i BLEW UP

[lycianlynx]

{ a surprise kiss just because the other couldn’t stop thinking about it 

There’s nothing in particular that spurs it on, really; it’s a day and moment like a hundred other days and moments they have shared. In the warmth of each other’s company, Maria wakes from a fleeting but gentle dream to grass beneath her palms and sunlight on her skin, and the sound of charcoal scratching away at paper. Something hums in her chest, simple but full: happiness, as she had missed it.

She could watch the sky, the clouds, the leaves rustling in the breeze — anything, really, but she watches Chad’s face instead. His eyes are clear and bright, and she thinks that maybe she could watch them for a long, long time. Maybe she would have, if he hadn’t scrunched up his face; her giggle gives her away.

“Good morning,” she smiles; she likes the way he looks when he looks at her, too. Then, by impulse, she cups a hand to her mouth, whispering for just the two of them. “Hey, Chad, I just thought of something… do you want to know a secret?”

The little robin of Madedon cranes her neck to meet him halfway, and when they’re good enough to turn an ear to her, her hand lands— gently, gently!— on the far cheek, a soft and sweet kiss surely placed upon the other.

She retreats with a gleeful giggle, rolling onto her stomach and peeking at him from behind folded arms.

“I like you a lot,” she finally answers, and breaks into a shining grin. “But… hee hee! I guess that isn’t a secret, huh?”

Chad sits, half-hunched over a sketchbook, supported on his knees. Robins and flowers dot the current page, a field and trees and clouds and the pattern on Maria's dress. There's a line out of place, a shape, an overlap, he thinks, but he barely even remembers what he was scrunched up about when Maria stirs.

Brown eyes flicker down to meet red, at first surprised, then fond. The charcoal pauses. "Morning." he replies, a tug at the left corner of his lip; It's only natural to lean in to listen to her secret, then, even when he sees the mirth (or mischief?) dancing in her eyes, the sweet shine of a strawberry atop whipped cream —

Though of all kinds of mischief she could make, this is...!!

... It was really just a split second, but her lips are soft, and so are her hands. They think they miss it when it goes, the thought of which makes them a shade redder than they were already going, only needing two beats to really realise what happened and turn utterly scarlet. Their think their hands go clammy, think there might be steam building up in their skull to release in a whistling hiss, think the world ends for a split second only to see vibrant spring again. Thought both races and comes to a shrieking halt.

She likes them? She likes them? That — That was obvious, maybe, just maybe, writ plain in picnics and walks and talks and bumbling about in the kitchen, in her shining laughter and joy freely given. They like her a lot, slivers of affection smuggled into crooked smiles and little chores and matching ball outfits and the mortifying amount of sketches of her and the things she likes shoved into their desk drawers.

But she — She likes them a lot?

"I," their voice cracks immediately, and they turtle back into the collar of their cloak, pressing the fabric to their mouth — But only the bottom half of their face, the top half still red-faced, wide-eyed, shining in shock and something other, unable to truly hide for being transfixed.

Is this real, or a vision, or a fevered dream? Their other hand, fingers stained with charcoal, paws at the grass longingly, hoping it isn't.

"Tell me again." they croak, eyes creasing with what might be a giddy grin beneath. "Just to be sure."

[kingcunny]

youre telling me steve toussaint was in the running for sexiest man alive 2024 and JOHN KRASINSKI won it???

[blastburnt]

google how to override the freeze response and not feel like frowing up

[mangoes-and-mothman]

I FORGOT I KINNED LOUIE DUCK FUCKING HELL

[wrightfamily]

NEW NURI DGS ART… OF SUSATO SND ASOUGI SPECIFICALLY

[fightleft]

what's your role in the tragic play?

desperate narrator

this story is a cycle, and you're spinning around it like a hamster in a ball being tormented by a cat. you know how this story ends. after all, you've told it a thousand times. but you try to change it every time. you love the people in this story more than anything. so watching them fall victim to the narrative breaks you in a way you can't begin to describe. but all you can do is tell the story── their story── with tears in your eyes. you're prone to anxiety and feelings of helplessness. you have so much love in your heart, and for once you wish it would change something. it didn't. it doesn't. it won't. but you refuse to stop telling the story. and you refuse to stop loving the people in it. in this way, no one is stronger than you. you just wish being strong hurt less

tagged by: @bloodiedpetals tagging: @stilledlife and also anyone else who wants to steal this. say i tagged you.

[astraldreams-ids]

id: webweaving comprised of written text and dungeon meshi panels.

1) "Q: Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted? A: No. but I once got very close. Q: What happened? A: I don't know. Everything disappears. Even dreams. I suppose I just flew too close to the sun." 2) Marcille, crying, looking at the Winged Lion's book in her hand. 3) Marcille, with open hair and a shocked expression, sitting on the Winged Lion's hand, as it talked to her with a serene expression. 4) "Very early in my life it was too late." 5) Marcille and her mother, both wearing funeral attire. Marcille is crying as her mother places a hand upon her shoulder and tells her: "You run at a different pace than everyone else. From now on, you'll have to watch as others pass before you." 6) "Because you are no longer an angel but a person all alone on two tired feet upon this earth that turns, that wakes terribly young every morning." 7) Marcille, with her hair undone and a frightened/sad expression. She is bundled up in a shawl/poncho, and ascending dark stairs. 8) The stairs are now crumbling beneath Marcille's feet as she is running and reaching out towards a closed wooden door at the top of them. 9) "[…] she left this one. (highlighted) I invented a world because death is unknowable and someone I loved was about to live there. (end highlight)" 10) Marcille, in her nightmare as a child, sobbing, yells: "Everyone gave up on running together with me and got swallowed up by it! Papa! Pipi! And Farlyn, too! Everybody!! That's why i studied magic so hard…" 11) "Desire is no light thing." 12) Marcille, with tears in her eyes, yet determined: "I want to eliminate the differences in lifespans across all the races." 13) Closeups on the Winged Lion and Marcille, continuing from previous panel. Lion: "'All the people in the world', you say… Indeed, that isn't the kind of wish that could be fulfilled with a mere half-hearted desire. However, you came to this dungeon filled with the resolution to see it through, correct?" Marcille, still crying, resolutely: "Of course!" 14) "You're addicted to loneliness and desperation. It's the strongest emotion you've ever known, so your subconscious tell you that it's your destiny." 15) Thistle, mocking Marcille in his house: "Half-breeds cannot live their lives in the same flow of time as any other race! A hundred years from now, nobody will be there to sit around a table and share a meal with you! Does that make you terrified? Is that why you desire the dungeon's power? So you can change your fate?" Marcille looks shocked, unsure, then replies: "No, you're wr-…!! That's not…!!" 16) "Still, there is this terrible desire to be loved. Still, there is this horror at being left behind." 17) Marcille, surrounded by the party's corpses. She's leaning against Laios', as if in a hug. "Did you even stop to think about what it would be like for me to be surrounded by everyone's dead bodies…?" 18) "We want to hear someone say, 'I give you my heart,' meaning, 'summer and winter,' meaning, 'all my time in this world,'" 19) Marcille, in her dungeon lord outfit, looking up at Laios: "I just want to live out my life with all of you at my side. In order to do that, is it so wrong for me to wish to keep death at bay?" 20) "Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story." end id.

Doomed from the beginning

Unknown / Marguerite Duras / Blanca Varela / Ramona Ausubel / Anne Carson / Heather Havrilesky / Michael Cunningham / Lisel Mueller / Richard Siken x Dungeon Meshi by Ryoko Kui

[sunbloomdew]

do you ever see a person and you are overcome with incredible fondness? and you just think "oh." but not in a romantic or sexual way you are just filled with warmth and it makes you happy, it just does. and you think "i'm so happy you exist. i'm happy you are somewhere out there in the world, doing your thing". it's love but also not entirely

like people are lovely and i feel it in my entire chest like a burning candle that smells like roses and a sunny day

[yatgb]

Just Dance amv with sanitized agent 3 and "the club" is kamabo and "dancing" is fighting agent 8 and most of all the dancing in the club being a metaphor for losing themself and celebrating their newfound power instead of being afraid of the sanitization like they should be

[lycianlynx]

He paid close attention to the bulletin boards, and had since he'd arrived here - in any setting, they provided a good source of information, and even if some of it was not necessarily factual, it was useful all the same - and so it had been an easy spot.

The boy wasn't forthcoming with his personal information, but Raven had gotten a sense for them over the prior months, and although he could not in good conscious pretend that he and anyone here were friends, couldn't be, couldn't risk it, it was difficult to ignore that the boy had wormed their way into a soft spot in spite of himself.

He didn't approach the boy outright - knew that they were prone to embarrassment, easily flustered by displays of any kind, and couldn't say that he blamed them. It was just as well, for these kinds of displays were not his forte, either. It wasn't a big deal, and didn't need to be treated as such.

And so when Chad returned to their dormitory from classes that day, in a neat (but plain) wrapped parcel on his desk, they might find a cloak of fine burgundy wool, edges embroidered but not embellished in similar triangular patterns of the plainspeople of Sacae. If they unfold it, a note might fall to the floor, and if they open it they might read:

'Keep your head down and your back dry.'

Chad's back in their room after a relatively uneventful day; There's no loud singing of happy birthday around a dinner table on another's insistence, noone needling him on purpose to go as red as his favored cloak. The few gifts they did receive weigh their pockets down as much as they do their conscience, but offer this weird comfort all the same... Carefully, they lay them out on their desk, mentally making notes of everyone they're all too grateful for, estimating how much they'll have to do in return.

Or, at least, he means to, but there's something on his desk that wasn't there this morning, or when he dipped in to grab a red pencil that escaped his pencil case during lunch. It's a nondescript thing, and alone in his room, Chad tears the paper open without hesitation or fanfare, too curious to do otherwise. He catches the note that slips free, sets it aside for a moment, hands too full to read it for now — But when familiar patterns catch his eye and burgundy meets his hands, so fine it doesn't even catch on his fingertips, he drops the cloak on his lap to scramble for the note again.

The handwriting — He recognises it, but even the fact he can count his friends here on his fingers, much less people who would leave gifts like this and know Sacae, is enough to narrow the selection down to Raymond. Horror and warmth and gratitude war, all at once; But gratitude unquestionably burns brightest as they bring their knees up to their chest, tracing triangles reverently. The collar's just as high as the current one, too, they note as they try it on later.

Yeah... He gets it. This guy gets it. Saints, they'd consider him a friend if they'd just stop being awkward about it.

Needless to say, they're wearing it the next day, and the day after that, and Saints know how many days after.

[urmom973729]

They are the father daughter duo

sometimes nimona gets to be carried too + somewhere safe enough to fall asleep :]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Must be a Sugondese joke.

[alarstar]

feeling Normal abt nocturne. completely changed how i see shadowheart. so insanely fond of her it makes me crazy

[gogetyrshovel]

i just did hw for 6 straight hours. it is week 3.

[akanemnon]

I don't like this place. It's turning everyone edgy and sad.

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[hyacinthsdiamonds]

Production houses: but if the writers stay on strike we can't guarantee the future safety of your favorite shows 🥺🥺😭😭

Viewers who 1, have already lost their favorite shows because they were cancelled in spite of good ratings and good reviews or 2, have stopped watching new content entirely until the entire series has aired and concluded as a result of so many good shows getting cancelled on cliffhangers and thus leaving said viewers unable to gain closure with those characters and with a hollow viewing experience, so they've begun a, watching older shows they know came to a planned conclusion or b, revisiting their old favorites and enjoying the nostalgia or c, reading new books or fanfic instead: YOU ALREADY CAN'T GUARANTEE THE FUTURE OF OUR SHOWS SO GET FUCKING WRECKED AND PAY WRITERS WHAT THEY DESERVE!