#and get super fucking high

[rosicheeks]

💖

[gaypiratehell]

Back with my horrible angsty depressing AU where everyone on the crew but them dies and they each become the only thing the other has left

[gawki]

Happy bday to Elden Ring!!!

My headcanon for Goldmask and Corhyn! My thoughts in the tags for those who don't want spoilers. :3) Process video on TikTok.

[shannonsketches]

Why is the anime so weird, it's not even the same series dude?? It's like,

Anime:

GOKU: I have a great idea to bring peace to the universe, and my leadership and compassion alone will unite us all. I have No Flaws and am A True Relatable Everyman :)

VEGETA: NO! I AM THE BEST AND I WILL CAUSE PROBLEMS UNTIL I AM RECOGNIZED AS SUCH!!!!

Manga:

GOKU: Vegeta what's cornmeal made of? I know it's what the corn eats, but what's it made of? VEGETA: Hey Kakarot let's play the quiet game until one of us dies.

[biblically-accurate-dca]

super disorganized sketch page because i do what i want

[kopivie]

trick-or-treat.

# — pairing: spidey!kazuha x gn!reader

# — characters: gender neutral reader, spider-man!kazuha

# — warnings: a little suggestive.

# — tags: fluff, kisses (bc who am i if not a madman for kisses), mild hurt/comfort, BANTER YIPPEE!!, this is zuzu's way of making up for the fact that he all but forgot kazuha's birthday, apology fic

# — notes: (PLEASE READ!!) this is... not at all what i intended to do. it's 1:30 am and i just came down from a much needed high. as my head cleared, i noticed that this fic was like, riddled with flaws, but i feel too good about this to second guess it and feel bad. anyways, this is heavily inspired by this fic that 🎻 anon sent in my asks, as well as a follow-up to this fic i wrote on @awlumii last year on kazuha's birthday. i hope you enjoy and please do let me know what you think! i could really use some feedback.

✦ — 🎃 — ✦

There's a knock on your door. You stare at the entry to your apartment and think: "How mean would it be if I ignored them right now?"

In your defense, you've been giving out candy all day. All. Day. You figured that there would at least have been a lull in the early afternoon since children had school to attend, but no — you've been giving out candy to all ages from as early as 10:30 this morning. It's a good thing you stocked up on candy late last month, otherwise you would've had to ruin the days of some very enthusiastic trick-or-treaters. So after setting aside a bucket full of your favorites and giving out the leftovers until about 10 at night, you finally thought yourself ready to curl up on your bed with your softest blanket. You were halfway to dreamland when some monster started pounding on your door.

(So maybe you're exaggerating a little. But who could blame you? You're tired and you want to sleep.)

And so, here you sit, your legs half-tangled in your weighted fleece blanket as you glare at your door and hope that your unwanted visitor is telepathic and gets the message that you want them to leave. Scram! you think. You raise your voice in your head. Get out of here. Shoo! Begone!

…They knock again. (Kind of a dick move if they can read minds.)

The groan you let out is obnoxiously loud and is most definitely heard by whoever is on the other side of the door. You hoist yourself to your feet and trudge to the door, but you don't open it quite yet. Judging by the fact that this person has yet to say anything, you figure that they're old enough to know when their presence is not welcome and left.

Wrong. You're too optimistic. They knock again.

You sigh and once again, hope that the sound carries through the door. "Who is it?" You try to make yourself sound as unfriendly as possible. Considering how cranky you are, you don't have to try very hard.

"Trick-or-treat..?" The voice on the other side is muffled by the door, but also by something else. Fabric, probably. All you know is that their voice is deep enough to be an adult's.

You click your tongue. "Trick." You almost snicker. It's a little refreshing not doling out treats for once. "Go home."

"Can I at least give you a treat?" The person asks.

You blink. They didn't leave? "Pretty sure that's not how it works," you reply. "I give you treats and you… I dunno, TP my house or something."

"Yeah, well," the person at the door chuckles, "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to say 'trick', either. Since you're breaking the rules, it's only fair that it's my turn, right?"

Well… Shit. They have a point.

Impressed by the stranger's reasoning, you hum. "Fine. Let me find my costume." You turn to gather your costume and notice that you can't find the full thing. You were so eager to get to bed that you didn't hesitate to drop the thing in the wash. Not wanting to make the stranger wait too long, you improvise. You blindly grab the mask and the blue throw blanket you have folded up on your couch and tie it around your shoulder like a cape. It's a shitty excuse for a costume, but you reason that your exhaustion is a good excuse. You swing open the door and cross your arms over your chest. "Alright, what do you got for-- Oh."

Standing on the other side of your door is none other than Spider-Man himself. The two of you stand in silence as you take in each other's appearances. Then, after what feels like forever, he speaks. "So… a cape, huh?"

You don't hesitate — you grab your door and swing the thing shut as fast as you can, but Spider-Man is faster, catching the door in his gloved hand. You turn your back to him. The mask is obscuring his face, but you already know what expression he has underneath. "Don't say a word." You warn him.

Spider-Man pays you no mind. You can feel him lifting your 'cape' as he inspects it. "Hmm… capes are kinda aerodynamic, but considering how dirty my enemies fight, I don't think that's a very good design choice." You can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. "I'll give it a five out of ten."

"I said shut it!" You snatch your blanket out of his hands and march further into your apartment with Spider-Man's laughter following at your back. He walks inside and the door shuts behind the two of you. "Get the fuck out, webhead," you seethe. Your voice trembles with shame. "I didn't invite you in."

Spider-Man just walks around you to look you in the eye. "Come now, lovebug," he tilts your chin up with a finger, "you look cute wearing my mask."

You grumble and push his hand away as you struggle for words. You want to say something like, "this isn't what it looks like!" to try and save face, but there's no point in trying. This is exactly what it looks like.

Because the mask you'd been wearing for Halloween -- and the mask you haphazardly thrown on moments ago -- was none other than Spider-Man's mask.

To be fair, these things were a dime a dozen. The people of this city adore the vigilante. It was only natural that kids and adults alike would want to pretend to be him for a day, even if they had no powers like him. You're not exactly one of those people — you've seen firsthand just how brutal Spider-Man's job can be. You wouldn't trade your life for his even if you were offered money. But as you stared at the costume while shopping, you couldn't help yourself. There were obviously cooler, much more interesting costumes to choose from but this one just… called to you.

Hindsight is 20/20, after all. You should've ignored that calling.

Spider-Man takes your chin in his fingers and shakes your head side to side. "I never knew you liked me so much, lovebug. I'm touched."

You scoff. "Don't be."

"Y'know, if you wanted to wear my mask so badly, you could've just asked." Spider-Man leans in and presses a clothed kiss to your cheek. You consider yourself lucky; he can't possibly feel the burn of your cheeks through all that fabric.

You stammer. "Ha-ha. Very funny."

"What? I'm sure I have a back up somewhere." He eyes you for a moment. "You'd look good in it."

Against your will, you wonder if he's saying that he wants you to wear his clothes. Would he ever actually loan you clothes that he's worn? The thought makes your face burn hotter. "Why are you here?" You ask. Anything to change the topic.

Spider-Man chuckles, but plays along. "I haven't swung by in a few days," he says, "so I figured I'd try and surprise you as a trick-or-treater." He shrugs. "I wanted to do some reverse psychology thing where I could trick you into thinking I was just some guy in a costume so you would give me candy."

You process his words for a second. "Okay, first of all, you already are a guy in a costume."

He visibly deflates and places a hand over his chest. "Ouch, lovebug. What if you hurt my feelings?"

"Second of all," you continue, "do you have any idea how many Spider-Men I've seen today?"

"...Is that a serious question?"

"Don't be a smart ass."

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess twelve."

You pause. You actually aren't even sure if that's the right number or not. You lost count after three hours of giving out candy to cute kids.

"Am I right?" He asks.

"Who knows?"

Spider-Man huffs. "If there's that many of us around, then what am I even here for?" You giggle at his petulant behavior, and he makes another breathy sound, reminiscent of a stifled laugh. "Did you treat them the same way you treat me?"

"What?" His question takes you off-guard for a moment. You chortle. "Oh, definitely."

"You gave them band-aids and kicked them out, too?"

"Mhm." You cross your arms. "Just slapped a few on some pretend wounds and told them to get the fuck off my property."

The two of you laugh together for a moment. Once the laughter dies down, Spider-Man tugs at your cheek for a brief second. You let him get away with it for now. "You're so cute." He sighs and you can hear something somber enter his tone. "I was worried about you. It's been a week since I've seen you."

It has been a week, hasn't it? You may have been swamped with work at the hospital, but there was never a night that you didn't find yourself waiting on your balcony like an idiot in this chilly weather. You had faith that he was okay — the Daily Bugle printed something new about the "masked menace" every day this past week — but that didn't stop you from longing for his presence. Stories can't compare to the real thing, after all. You're far more taken with the masked vigilante than you'd care to admit to yourself.

You hum. "About time someone else did the worrying for once," you mumble jokingly. "It gets tiring worrying all by myself."

Spider-Man stays quiet. "I've been okay. A little worse for the wear for the past two days, but okay otherwise."

You reach for him instinctively. "Lingering pain isn't like you," you say, already in doctor-mode, "did something happen?"

"No, not like that. I've just been… sad. I guess." His confession is soft as he takes your outstretched hands in his own. He's been more vulnerable around you lately and you're not sure if that's good or bad. "It's been a rough couple of days, that's all."

You rack your brain. What could possibly be paining him that you don't know of? He's already told you that he tells you everything (within reason), so maybe it's something that you already know of? You furrow your brows as you dive deeper into your memory. Deeper, deeper… until you happen across a memory from just about a year ago.

The kiss you shared on your balcony close to midnight.

"Oh my God." You voice your incredulity aloud. "Oh my God! I missed your birthday!"

Spider-Man straightens his posture as he inhales sharply.

How could you have forgotten? He confessed to you on his birthday last year that you were the only person he had left in his life since he hated his birthday so much. October 29th was such a painful day for him — to think that you didn't stop for a second to wonder if he was okay that day. It's not like you would've been able to contact him of course, but what if he swung by after you'd fallen asleep? You should've at least left him a note or something.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, lovebug." The confidence is starting to bleed out of him, you notice. Spider-Man walks over to your couch and sits on the floor in front of it. "I'll be okay. It's not like I was going to celebrate or anything."

You move to the couch and adjust yourself so that the vigilante is between your legs. You two often assume this position when you're finished patching him up and too tired to goof around until he leaves. You would place your hands on his head and press your fingers into the fabric of his mask. Spider-Man told you once that the action was soothing, but you have yet to admit to him that it's your way of trying to conjure up an image of what his hair must look like underneath.

Like always, he gets himself into position, draping his arms across your legs. This time, however, he's looking up at you. You're not sure what expression he might be wearing.

"I wasn't saying that we should've celebrated," you say softly. "I'm just upset that you had to be alone. Are you sure you're okay?" You ask as you massage your fingers across the crown of his head.

He hums. "I am now. I promise."

"If you're ever feeling down, you know you can come and see me." Your words surprise the both of you, but you don't regret them at all. He always seems to be around when you need his company the most, so why shouldn't you do the same for him? Who else would? your mind unhelpfully supplies. "I may not be the best company in the world, but at least you won't be alone, right?"

Spider-Man moves so that he's on his knees facing you. He's so close to your face like this; you inch backwards to preserve your sanity. "You're the only company I need." He says it with so much conviction that you shiver. "But does this mean I'm getting special treatment?"

"What--? You mean from the other Spider-Men?" When he nods, you snort. "Yeah, I guess you do get V.I.P privileges. You get extra treats unlike everyone else."

"Extra?" He tilts his head. "But you haven't given me any candy at all."

You raise a brow. "All that's left is the candy I'm hoarding for myself. And before you ask, no, I'm not sharing any. Why don't you try actually trick-or-treating? People would probably give the city hero the best of the best."

He sinks a little lower, seeming defeated. "...Would you believe me if I said I tried that already?"

"Did it work?"

He's silent.

"...It didn't work, did it?"

"...No. They thought I was just some superfan."

Peals of laughter burst out of you at his admission. "So this is how they repay you, huh?" You say between giggles. "No faith and no candy? That's rough, buddy." You get the distinct impression that he's glaring at you, but that only makes you laugh harder.

Fed up with your insistence on laughing at his misfortune, Spider-Man taps your leg. "Since I get special treatment from you, can I ask for a few wishes?"

You wipe a stray tear from your eye. "I'm dressed as a superhero, not a magic genie."

"Please?"

"Fine, fine." You finally catch your breath. "You get two wishes.

"Not three?"

"I'm not a genie. Don't push it."

Spider-Man puts his hands up in defense. "Alright, two it is. The first is… let me stay with you for the rest of the night."

You shrug. Wouldn't be the first time. He's usually gone by the time you wake up, anyhow. "Granted. Next one's your last — make it count, bug boy."

Spider-Man doesn't react to your nickname. Instead, he just stares at you. A familiar sensation tickles up your spine. He's watching you; you know that stare all too well. "I think you know what I'm going to ask for next." His voice is deeper, smoother than it was mere moments ago.

You nod and he eases himself closer to you. You feel your heart pick up an unsteady rhythm and rather than kiss him normally, you lean in close and press your masked lips to his. He makes a surprised noise before he laughs and melts into the "kiss" all the same. When you pull away, he's still laughing. A very welcome change from the bitter smile you're sure he was wearing when talking about his birthday. "Consider that a freebie," you mutter.

"You're too kind," he chuckles.

Soon, your fingers come to the base of his mask to raise it just above his lips when he suddenly stops you. He reaches for your face and you feel something tug at the base of your neck. Somehow, you completely forgot you were wearing that stupid mask. "It's kinda funny," he half-laughs, "having to unmask you for once."

"You... You can't tell anyone about my identity, okay?" You tease.

Spider-Man rolls your mask up just enough to expose your lips and you do the same to him. Neither of you are sure who leaned in first, but you meet in the middle in a kiss that has fireworks bursting behind your lids. The two of you are greedy, pouring a week's worth of longing into the kiss. The mutual yearning is palpable, so much so that you can hear his breath hitch when you sigh. He rises to the couch slowly and without breaking the kiss, doing his best not to part from you for even a second.

You missed him. Oh, how you missed him — you missed how he would wrap a strong arm around your waist and pull you closer like it was nothing; how he would whisper his adoration for you between breaths; how he would chase after your lips whenever you would tease him with barely-there kisses. You missed the exhilaration, the thrill of knowing that you were the only one Spider-Man would ever treat this way. That you were his and he was yours.

He moves from your lips to your jaw, trailing kisses up to your ear and down to your neck. His pace is unhurried, though he seems eager to pull a reaction out of you. You give him what he wants whether you intend to or not. You press yourself closer to him in a silent request for more and he indulges you; his kisses become little nips, and the nips turn to bites as he starts to leave marks on your neck. He eases you back so that you're laying on your couch and he's hovering over you. The two of you stare at each other for a moment.

"Can I use my next wish?" His voice is rough. When you nod, he leans in once more. His uncovered lips brush against your ear as he whispers. "Let me give you a treat."

Something foreign yet familiar makes you shudder as you nod.

Spider-Man attacks your neck once again. Clearly he was holding himself back earlier, because every mark he leaves stings. He makes them dark and obvious, completely disregarding any warnings you may have given him on other days. You normally would tell him to ease up, to hide the marks that he so desperately wanted to leave on you. But now you let him do as he pleases. You gave him an inch and as expected, he took the mile. He soothes each one with a kiss and muffles your whimpers with his lips.

It takes a while before he's satisfied with his handiwork. Kazuha raises himself up with a shaky breath. Your wrists are in his hands and pinned against the couch. Looking down at you now, all flushed absolutely covered in his marks, he feels something uncontrollable stir within him. He has half a mind to tell you to close your eyes so he can take his mask off, but he refrains.

That's all he ever does when it comes to you. You, the greatest test of his endurance that he will ever encounter in his lifetime. No supervillain with any amount of underground connections or otherworldly technology will ever test his patience and restraint quite like you. For years, Kazuha has weighed the pros and cons of telling you who he is. He always wonders if you would still allow this, if you would still treat him like a lover if you knew who he was — if you knew that he's been lying to you. Though your reaction may not be guaranteed, it's a risk he's more than willing to take.

But he doesn't. Not tonight. Maybe another day when the time is right.

For now, Kazuha releases your wrists and sits himself up. He fixes his mask while you take yours off. You sit up and he watches as you ghost your fingers over each of your fresh hickies. You wince a little when you brush the one on the left side of your collarbone, above your heart. The silence that hangs in the air is evident, but not uncomfortable.

Then, you mutter. "I was supposed to give you a treat."

Kazuha reaches out and touches a hickey left on your pulse point. A sensitive spot for you – you shudder in response. He admires the lingering haze in your eyss. "You did. Thank you, lovebug."

✧ my goodness. @perpetualcynicism look at what you've done. you've reawakened a monster in me.

✧ edit: btw, the dividers belong to @cafekitsune!! thanks so much for making such beautiful dividers!

[front-facing-pokemon]

[nano30cm]

they're gym buddies :)

[tinypaperstar]

offers u alnst oc stats

[cakemoney]

riz is the child of sklonda who is dating gorthalax who is the father of fig whose mom is sandra lynn who is dating jawbone who adopted adaine (and aelwyn by extension i guess) and also jawbone's daughter's ex-girlfriend who lives with him is kristen and also fig's other dad gilear is dating hallariel whose son is fabian. and then there's gorgug, who i'm sure thanks various sundry gods every day that neither his adopted nor his biological parents have any relation to any of his classmates

[poison-into-positivity]

I won’t lie it’s depressing the hell out of me that people on my dash are literally begging others to watch certain queer shows in an attempt to stop them from getting cancelled.

Neil Gaiman is on here asking people to tell their friends about DBD so that the likelihood of the show getting axed becomes lower. That show hasn’t even been out for two whole weeks - people have barely even had time to enjoy it before worrying about whether it’s going to be renewed.

It just really sucks that we’re finally getting good, diverse queer representation on TV but now we have to learn how to play the game and fight for it to stay there.

[threefuckencrowsinaleatherjacket]

Hi ppl who are nosy and want to know ur grades so they can judge how smart u are are annoying as fuck

[carefulfears]

okay the hank & mia ask i've been struggling with: i genuinely have no real thoughts about this show, just intense feelings. like i truly love it, all the characters and relationships, but especially these two. and i just wonder at all the ways they're similar. i always go back to the scene on the balcony

i have intense feelings about this show too and a hard time articulating so many of them, this topic included. it's funny because this is something that i've talked about absolutely non-stop for coming close to a year and have broken down from seemingly every angle and i still don't know how to pull it all together or what to say, where to start. most people who would care have heard me run the talking points through a thousand times over.

they asked duchovny this question too ("is mia at all similar to hank?") on the season 2 DVD and i literally hopped out of my seat when i heard that in my longest "i've been saying" ever, because it's something that i find very interesting and emotional but that i was a little surprised to find was as intentional as it is in the text. one of the first times that i talked about it was this tweet: "they're very similar people and it drives me crazy...when you have a dead mom, an absent dad, and you act out by putting yourself in dangerous disrespectful sexual situations."

and i used the word "disrespectful" because there's a quote of duchovny's that always reminds me of mia: "hank's lack of respect is really for himself, not for anybody else." which i think is an insightful observation about mr. moody and his relationship to women and culture and himself, but that also relates a lot to this idea of "acting out" and of sexual encounters as infringing on something personal. which is an experience familiar to that of a young woman trying to develop those relationships and sense of self, during a very spongy time where it's easy to infringe upon.

and so yeah what i'm saying is basically that hank moody has the constitution and coping mechanisms and vulnerabilities of a teenage girl (or as i put it in this tweet: "he has abandoned 16-year-old girl swag")

or how duchovny answered when they asked, is mia at all similar to hank, on the DVD: "you kinda know that there's...that her behavior is being driven by some problems, you know, and you wanna reach out and try to help that. and i think hank has a little of that too. you know, obviously they've got a history that makes everything complicated. but i think that he feels paternal towards her more than anything."

or how madeline zima put it: "mia is a wealthy girl who has had every luxury and is now probably really bored. she's been touched by hank's writing- it may be the only time she's been affected or stimulated in that way. so she's looking for something new, something exciting, and she finds that. and i don't think hank has found many people who are on his wavelength."

mia is the only character on the show that can really go toe-to-toe with hank and match him and never waver to him, which is why she's so diabolical to a certain demographic. they even call it out in the show: "did you see how completely unfazed she was by hank? i mean, no offense, he's a cool guy, but it was kind of pathetic, right?" (dani to charlie after the book meeting)

the only times that hank ever really surprises her or throws her for a loop or catches her off guard is when he's genuinely investing in her. (like when she's struggling in her writing class and he tells her that he'll help her if she just writes something and lets him read it, her eyes go SO WIDE when she has the "really? you'd do that for me?" line.)

and for the most part, outside of the obvious, mia doesn't surprise hank either. he is the only person in the world who really knows her and what she's doing and what her life is like.

we were talking in the group-chat the other night about the scene in season 2 when karen says that mia asked her opinion ("it was like she was kind of asking my approval") on dating an "older man," a scene that's one of my favorites of the series and such a delicious example of dramatic irony.

hank is instantly on offense ("i hope you shut that shit down immediately." / "why would you say something like that?" / "that's foul." / "this gross 'older man' thing.")

while karen is so much more relaxed and talking about her own times in college and how it can be a "valid life experience" with "the right guy."

and what i love about this scene is that they aren't having the same conversation, they aren't talking about the same thing, but so much of that difference is what we said: karen thinks that mia is her, hank knows that she's him.

the kind of dynamic that karen imagines when she hears her 17-year-old stepdaughter who is about to graduate and travel the country say “older man” is a world away from the reality that mia actually inhabits, and that hank knows about. as jaden pointed out when we discussed it, when karen finds out that mia is having sex with lew ashby, she freaks the fuck out!! she goes and throws shit at him and yells and cusses at him and rants at him about how she’s a child. (and hank has the nerve to go “you’re the one who condoned it” during their “parental units” phone call L.M.F.A.O.)

karen tries to look after mia and be there for her (“we are meant to be taking care of her”), but they have such a strained relationship always. and she really isn’t equipped, especially as kept in the dark as she is. it’s honestly really sad the way that you can tell mia regrets pushing karen away.

but hank knows her. he says it himself in mia culpa: “i know you. you’re a mischievous little fuck, but you’re not malicious.” (in the same scene where he tells her that she can do better than her exploitative boyfriend, that karen loves her, that becca looks up to her. holds her hand when she tears up)

and they’re able to say anything around each other. it’s this twisted thing where no one else knows their secrets. i was thinking about the other day, how duchovny always says that his favorite thing about hank moody is that he always tells the truth, and his favorite thing about mia lewis is that it’s the one time he doesn’t. it’s this pervasive exception to a rule that bonds them. the most devastating thing about it all, to me, is that there comes a time when you realize that there is no one else looking out for this girl. there is no one else who looks at her teacher and knows there’s danger. there is no one else that she feels she can call to come get her when she’s in trouble. there is no one else to read her writing or ask where she’s going when she leaves the house. (“my own father has never so much as helped with my homework” / “my dad’s always out of town, i don’t think he cares about my whereabouts”)

but they can tell each other and joke with each other and ask each other (loser shit for grown ass mr. moody but still). one of my favorite moments is when the print review of “mia’s book” comes out and she hops on his bed to wake him up so they can read it together: “it’s our review in the times!” (so much talk and discourse over her stealing his manuscript, it’s their story, it’s their book.)

in more ways than one, considering that both books (hank’s “modern day answer to lolita” and mia’s “nabokov meets judy blume”) are responses to their big secret that they intend for the person closest to them to read. hank is heartbroken when karen won’t read his new book, and we know from charlie that all it takes is “the first page” to figure out the truth. mia wants her dad to read hers, and when he calls it a “fantasy” about hank, she nearly blows the whole thing when she gets upset and snaps “who said it was fantasy?”

these are ultimately two people who want to be seen, who want to be understood, who want to be taken seriously- and they both put that pervasive truth on paper then immediately in the hands of the person that they each should fear ever finding out. it’s the defining moment of their lives, and they both try, and they both are still left with just each other. (what a trap it can be when the person you relate to the most is the most regrettable thing that ever happened to you)

it's these circumstances that lead to the scene on the balcony, my favorite of the series. they haven't seen each other since the arrest. she's back in town for the trial. and everything is so awful. each character is so much darker and weighed down. and every single time that we see mia in season 4 she's drunk or drugged or crying or all of the above.

it always makes me sad to think of her at 16 or 17 or even 19, joking around and being her "mad as a hatter" self, and then to see her on that ledge. hollywood's latest victim.

in a couple of weeks she'll be shaking in a court room, looking over at him from the witness stand, but for today she's on the balcony. remarking how easy it would be to just let go, just fall off. and still, no less tragically, there's only one person to come get her, and know what to say.

"you know what we need to do, mia?"

"what's that?"

"we need to forgive our fucking selves. you understand?"

[shannonsketches]

[jynjackets]

.

[instinctsxbad]

*scratching at the walls thinking about how no one has adapted Peter’s college arcs in a consistent and satisfying way.*