#and i need another shower

[lupinus-bicolor]

I'm so tired of being sweaty. I'm sweaty when I'm working the grill I'm sweaty when I'm running errands I'm sweaty doing nothing at home and I'm sweaty trying to sleep. sick of always being too hot

[errorkey]

wait i feel like i Need to say something re: the kantbison bondage scene in ep3 part 4

i've been seeing a Lot of people be like "yeah no that scene was really off-putting idk ://"... i think that was the point?

neither of them are actually in the moment. kant is very clearly not enjoying himself At All, and bison is inebriated (and drugged???) past the point of real comprehension.

but that's the thing – that scene isn't about the two of them having sex. it's about them trying to desperately get their hands on what they really want.

the show's established that kant isn't into this stuff in the least (as seen post-fadel's confrontation at the tattoo parlor), but he's willing to suffer through it, to grit his teeth and bear through the quite literal pain. he's willing to do anything, as long as he'll finally be able to get the evidence he needs to be free of these things forever.

on the other hand, we've seen bison state over and over how much he's wanted to do all of this, how he's never been able to find someone to actually hold power over. and now bison – younger brother, "never allowed to make a real decision of his own for even a day in his life" bison – is finally, finally able to take control over someone's life; something that's meaningful, something that matters.

that's exactly why i'd argue that the entire scene isn't meant to be "hot" or "appealing," but rather unsettling and weird (especially with the constant cuts to fadel digging(?) mysteriously in a field, but that's a whole other thing).

TLDR; kantbison's first time may have been passion and lust incarnate, but this one is so far removed from that. because, this time, neither of them actually care about the sex more than about what it means – a means to an end for kant, and a first glimpse at unadulterated power for bison.

[deoidesign]

Return date for my webcomic, Time and Time Again!

It's been set for a while but sometimes they change the date without warning, so I'll keep you updated if anything changes!

I'm extremely proud of the work I've been doing on it, I can't wait to share everything!

See you then!

[baeshijima]

mmm thoughts of private executioner!blade, who is high priestess!kafka's bodyguard. well, more like her guard dog, as many fearfully seem to think.

he is aloof and gruff and rough around the edges, his name capturing it perfectly. when in the eyes of the public he either keeps to himself or stands ready by kafka's side, but when out he lurks in the shadows ready and waiting to carry out her death orders.

you, yourself, haven't had very many pleasant encounters with him... if you can even call them that. that being said, you haven't had many pleasant encounters with anyone. notorious for your... less than pleasant disposition, for a lack of better words, you have more people who'd rather see you run through than those you can call a friend.

in a dog-eat-dog world, you had no choice but to protect yourself. that, however, ultimately became your demise.

"oh? so you're the one sent to kill me. can't say i'm all that surprised."

standing before you is the feared executioner. his sword is tucked inside the sheath attached to his hip, that ever-present dark swirl of an aura stifling the air. he doesn't say anything, instead opting to silently stare down at your slumped and worn-out form. you find that his gaze doesn't bother you; rather, it's oddly comforting knowing someone will see you in your last moments.

"i've never asked you for a favour before, so this will be my first and last request for you." in all honesty, you're not sure where this chattiness stems from. considering you're currently in a holding cell under the crime of attempted murder towards kafka (a poisoned wine you were most definitely framed for, though you can't say you were surprised) and are awaiting for your turn to be under the guillotine for your public execution, you probably should be a little desperate towards the private executioner in front of you.

and yet, your mind is nothing if not peaceful.

with a huff, you relay your request, "can you make sure it's quick? painless, preferably, but i'd rather you just get it over and done with."

silence blankets the cold chambers. moisture accumulated along the cobble ceiling drip in a steady rhythm, like a clock ticking away the seconds. it's unnerving, almost, how there is not a single sound other than your impending countdown.

"why?" comes his low mutter, effectively causing a ripple within the stagnant air. you almost think you misheard him, but his following words cease the thought, "why won't you ask me for help?"

had it not been for the abrupt shuffle and clanging against the metal bars, you would have never looked up to see him in your last moments.

his scarred hands gripping the metal until his knuckles turn a ghastly white and blood dripping from his palms is what greets your sight. as your gaze slowly trails up, you almost let loose a laugh of disbelief; who would have thought blade, the infamous guard dog of the high priestess, could make such a desperate expression? one looking as though his whole world crumbled before him, in which he can do nothing but sit and watch.

(you will never know of the anger and desperation which coursed through his veins the moment he heard of your predicament. had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have cared. but you're not anyone else; you're you — unapologetically, wholeheartedly. it didn't take him long to hunt down those behind it, cutting them down without thought and putting an end to their miserable lives. he rushed as soon as he could when kafka gave him the order, no thoughts other than you, you, you, occupying his mind.

you will never know of the anguish which overcame him when he found you in such a state, your once healthy complexion and defiant gaze reduced to nothing but a tiredness which had always sat quietly behind your disposition. he's almost positive the muscle which unwillingly keeps him alive tore at the seams from your request, the acceptance in which you displayed causing his mind to go astray. even as he damn-near begs you to rely on him for help — to run away with him to some place no one knows of you and start anew there — you merely smile, resigned and peaceful.

you will never know of how much blade is willing to put on the line for you, for you never made it to see the complete and utter carnage he wrecked in your name.)

[theinfinitedivides]

wi papa look a thing there for me. awa.

prefacing this with a PSA that i'm going to try and keep short but basically regardless of anything i say here let me make it known that i do believe he should apologize. whether or not he's still actively saying that word in 2024 it is something he's used in the past even if he isn't performing said play anymore/saying things like that so flippantly. granted if he does apologize there's always going to be a section of fandom that's like 'he only apologized bc he got caught' yes?????????? that's what always happens????????? lbr you're not going to get on IG and announce you killed your ex two decades ago and you'll be turning yourself in when there's an entire true crime community in the depths of the internet who will dig up the cold case + the suspiciously convenient alibi anyway without you lifting a finger. politicians who get called out for blackface in college do not go around telling people they did blackface in college. celebrities who were homophobic on this hellsite in high school back in the early 10s before they realized they were gay are not going to let you know what their handle was. this is how the world works.

that being said i must confess i caught wind of the stirrings of this a bit early bc during the clusterfuck that was the Jam vs Zamasian RPF poll (i did not go in the notes. rancid ass shit) someone had taken a screenshot of a reblog made as a 'gotcha' to Zamasian voters by implying that they were anti-Black for voting for a ship featuring an actor that said the n-word in a play he hasn't performed for several decades since, with a short taped example that the general public was not going to know how to find unless they were on a mission. i poked around, saw a couple hints here and there that implied that the clip actually existed, marked that down for future ref and went about my business. disappointing? sure. run of the mill especially among people his age in the industry from that time period who are perceived to benefit from white privilege? absolutely. the former bird identified app dragging all of this back into the light (including the interview with Chris Rock. which i have not seen though there's no way it was within the last few years for AMC to still hire Eric if they had seen it. correct me if i'm wrong pls) is unexpected but tracks for the fandom on there.

generally i don't believe in cancelling someone for things they said or did more than ten years ago if they are no longer the same person they were back then. i don't believe Jacob or Assad or any one of the staff of color who may have been working behind the scenes would have agreed to continue interacting with Eric if he had the same attitude as he did when he first wrote and performed the play. i don't believe his Black comedian niece would continue to talk about him and share photos with him if he was calling her or the Black side of her family the n-word. i am willing to give the 'Eric Bogosian n-word' reply tweet he reportedly made before deleting it shortly after the brief benefit of the doubt bc it was 1. supposedly under someone else's tweet talking about the play incident and 2. i cannot count how many times i have accidently commented/almost posted something on here or YouTube or Reddit or ao3 bc i was on mobile and once the keyboard's open the app/browser flips the fuck out and puts the search bar and the comment box too close together. now if his ass shows up and shows out and stands ten toes down while he's currently on time-out or doesn't address any of this we're dealing with a different story. if more examples of him acting like this come out i'll drop him faster than you can call the election it will be that serious.

anyway for now i'm choosing to keep an eye on this while acknowledging that us Black folks do have the right to be upset and pissed as fuck. we deal with enough racism/microaggressions in fandom spaces as it is we definitely don't need new ones, and we don't need them from the past career choice of the main cast of a show a lot of us enjoy. amen

[whathappeninglestappen]

I have a question. When the drivers do the fan stages before a race, F1 usually has two teams go at the same time (for example, I’ve seen Alpine and Ferrari go together before). Why don’t Ferrari and Red Bull ever go together?

Can you imagine Charles and Max on the stage together. Laughing when asked silly questions or blushing when they look at each other.

Lestappen interacting during a fan stage would be simply lovely. 😊

[shadowisles-writes]

Home ☀️ - Lucien Week Day 5

Do you guys know that moment after a shower when you just have to sit on the bed naked in your towel for a while? @velidewrites was wonderful drawing this scene of Lucien at home for me! Please go show her some love <3

ps: if you look closely he's got a bunch of slutty freckles 🤭

[puppppppppy]

Tell me about a song you like right now, maybe an animation you just watched that made you think thoughts and feel things

Only Acting by Kero Kero Bonito!! I want to make an animatic for Macaque using this song and some parts of Shadow Play and the s4 special.. although im still mapping it and deciding whether I want to use the radio edit or not lol

[souenkun]

Sometimes I wonder why, exactly, did natori return to urihime, even though (1) she's a youkai, (2) it's confirmed early on during his first meetings with natsume (supposedly ~5 years after "a hand extended" took place in canon) that he still hated youkai at that point, and (3) he has no obligation to, especially after his arm was no longer cursed. Like, was there another factor contributing to it, aside from the kindness that natori actually inherently have (but had sadly not realized yet in his teenage years), and also him weighing on getting his own shiki?

These 4 panels might be the answer to that. Yes, urihime is born as the very same being that ruined natori's life, but she is also possibly the only one in his life back then who fully understood the weight of being hated so much for their presence and forsaken by everyone else because of it, to the point that one began to question why they were still alive after all that.

We also know that hiiragi was found in a similar situation (also a youkai who was forced to endure a life isolated in her own suffering, ready to let death take her when the chance was so near) until natori "saved" her again years later, even though natsume was the one who did the literal rescuing this time around. With this recurring theme, I wonder if natori had "saved" sasago too the same way, which would explain why his three shiki are so protective of him, even giving their all in doing so seemingly more out of love (judging from how they never want to leave him alone without at least one of them standing guard, or how they would jump to reassure him any chance they got), than because it was just their "duty" towards their master?

[triglycercule]

oh yeah before i forget cute mttpoly headcanon because i said so: when killer finds out (through SOME way of means. he has his ways) that dust and horror like something then at every chance he can he goes and finds that thing for them :3 because I SAID SO AND IT'S CUTE ‼️‼️ (something something killer has no idea how to properly show affection and appreciation after believing his whole life was meant to cause pain and suffering to those close to him and now that he's trying he does silly goofy stuff like this hehe,,,,,,, dust is DROWNING in piles of fluffy blankets and books. horror cannot keep up with eating the amount of snacks killer keeps stealing for him 😞😞😞)

[isbergillustration]

I am going to throw either me or my printer or both out of this fifth story window I want to fucking die

'edit: got it working so i am human again

[billdenbrough]

@naturecalls111 prompted me kevaaron + procrastination and was like ‘post grad’, meaning they’re not undergrads if it’s canonverse, & something abt the phrasing latched into my brain so we ended up with this vaguely professor au w/ the flimsiest excuse for a TA-adjacent situation ever instead. idk. as ever this was just for her texts & i’m coming off a 30hr migraine so pls forgive me LMAO <3

“I can see right through you,” Kevin murmurs.

“Oh, yeah?” Aaron challenges. God, he’s close.

“Mm,” Kevin says. “You just don’t want to mark the test.”

It's an accusation, but there’s no censure in his voice. He's amused, mostly; fond too, despite himself. It’s not exactly behaviour he should be encouraging, but—

Aaron huffs. “I never want to mark a test,” he points out. “Undergrads are fucking stupid. Or these ones are, anyway.”

“You were an undergrad once,” Kevin says. He very determinedly keeps his hands steady on the bench. Maybe he’s gripping the edge so he stays in place; so what? That's between him and whatever God Renee believes in enough for the both of them.

“These ones,” Aaron repeats, scoffing. “Anyway, I'd never have taken a history paper. Get real.”

Kevin can’t help the frown there. “History is fascinating,” he argues. Aaron scoffs at him again, but the way he watches Kevin runs counter to that. Like he’s listening to whatever Kevin says, regardless. “It is,” Kevin insists again, clearing his throat.

Aaron's gaze tracks the movement, eyes following the motion of his throat, and Kevin kind of wants to clench the counter edge hard enough to crack the formica. Jesus Christ.

“You like research,” Kevin says. He keeps his eyes on Aaron, watches as he steps in closer again. “History is an endless study of every mistake we’ve ever made—”

“—So we don’t repeat our forefathers’ mistakes?” Aaron asks wryly. “Hate to break it to you, but that’s a non-starter.”

“No,” Kevin says, shaking his head. “We’re bad at learning. Mostly, we don’t even see the patterns for decades, if not centuries.”

Aaron cocks his head. “Doesn’t that frustrate you?” he asks. “I've seen you watch sports. You get mad if people make the same fuck-up within, like, three minutes.”

An image floats in Kevin’s head, unbidden: the two of them at the sports bar, late one night after they finally convinced Jeremy to go the fuck home because the college wasn’t paying him enough to sleep at his desk to reply to nineteen year olds’ panicked emails at 11:17pm before a midnight deadline. Kevin had been unbelievably put-out by the Astros’ scoreline; Aaron hadn’t cared so much, but had seemed to find great entertainment in prodding at Kevin to express his opinion to a bar full of patrons who strongly disagreed with him.

Do you even care about baseball? Kevin had asked in the end, exasperated. He’d unknotted his tie and slipped off his jacket, heated by his opinions and the game and the alcohol and the way Aaron had sat there, head tilted, that clever mouth of his quirked up to the side like a smirk, like a secret.

Not really, Aaron had said, shrugging. He swished his beer a little. I played hockey at school myself. Before Kevin could get too excited about that—a sport! An actual goddamn sport! that wasn’t only worth watching European leagues for, cough cough Jeremy and Jean and fucking football—Aaron added, I like seeing how much you care about it, though, and knocked Kevin right on his ass, metaphorically-speaking.

That night had ended in a blur: Kevin’s flushed cheeks as he lectured the bar at large about heliocentrism after finishing his grumbling about the baseball, Aaron’s quiet snort and eyes that laughed more than his mouth did, alcohol-sticky wood beneath his feet as he made his way to the bathroom, the taste of Aaron’s beer on his lips, Aaron’s cool fingers a balm against his cheek, his mouth a searing heat burning all the way through Kevin.

Then when Kevin’s TA dropped out because of ‘unmanageable stress’ (which was not Kevin’s fault, no matter what Dan says, she and Matt can fuck off) and he had to scramble to figure out what to do, Abby had offered one of her tutors—but only for marking, Kevin, he has no base in history. He’s just smart enough to use a rubric and willing to help. Between this and Jean’s long-suffering offer to lead the tutorial that didn’t clash with his meetings with his advisor, and even Neil’s unlikely assistance in the form of helping restructure the syllabus, it all seemed pretty manageable. (The history department had quietly come to the conclusion that this was not, strictly speaking, acceptable by university standards, but elected to ignore this information until the conclusion of the semester. As far as Kevin’s been able to tell in his years in academia, this is how things tend to work.)

When Abby showed up at his office with Aaron, though, Kevin's cheeks had gone hot enough that she’d asked him if he was sure he wasn’t coming down with a stress fever. Aaron's face had stayed blank, but his eyes were – amused.

It was one thing when Aaron had been the regular third person in the staff room late at night alongside Jeremy and Kevin, rubbing his eyes as he scowled at whatever it was he was looking at. (Anatomy exams, Kevin found out later.) He’d been mostly quiet, but sharply funny when he’d ended up interacting with them, mostly starting with indelicate snorts at whatever madcap thing Jeremy was saying, then incredulous stares at Kevin’s rebuttal, and finally muttered jabs as he worked the coffee machine and Jeremy laughed delightedly and Kevin stared at him with disbelief and a slow-building warmth in the base of his stomach.

It was yet another thing when Aaron had been the guy he bundled up Jeremy with, the guy he got drunk with for hours in a sports bar, the guy who laughed at him and offered him buffalo wings so spicy that they made Aaron’s cheeks red and Kevin’s lips feel like they were on fire, until Aaron kissed him, tipsy outside the bar, the warmth spreading through Kevin overtaking both the chilly night air and the spice-stained echoes on Kevin’s mouth.

But it was another thing entirely for Aaron to be Aaron, meaning Abby's favourite postgrad and the guy who diligently read Kevin’s syllabus on top of his own work just to better understand the marking rubric and hater of psych majors everywhere. Aaron, with his tired eyes and quiet laugh and complete inability to answer a phone call from his brother in a normal way. (At one point, Kevin had been half-concerned he was ordering a hit—less about the morality or legality of the situation, more in a if you get arrested, I’m screwed again type way—until Neil had shown up half an hour later with lunch for Aaron and Aaron had gone, ugh and Neil had rolled his eyes, spotted Kevin, and turned to Aaron to say, you’re one to talk. Aaron had flushed a little, then scowled and flipped Neil off, and said fuck off, to which Neil said, gladly, then see you at dinner? And Aaron had waved his hand. If you eat your fucking vegetables, to which Neil had laughed, and flipped him off, and walked out. Kevin had stared at Aaron, nonplussed, but Aaron had ignored him, focusing instead on the test he was marking while he ate the sandwich Neil had brought.) Aaron, with his unbelievably rude opinions about Kevin’s lack of video game knowledge, and the genuinely unreasonable amount of sour gummies he can put away in an hour, and the unbearably soft look he gets on his face when he’s sleepy and huffy and Kevin has gently dragged away whichever test he’s marking or article he’s reading that’s made him so grumpy late at night.

Aaron, who Kevin actually knows now. And likes even more for it, which is inconvenient and inopportune and probably inevitable.

Kevin clears his throat. “People are meant to try and win in sports,” he says. “History is about things that have already happened. It’s a different ballpark.” There’s a moment, and then, “They’ve already lost the battle. I'm not rooting for anything else there.”

Something flares up in Aaron's eyes at that, and he snakes his hand forward, tugging on Kevin's tie. Kevin, hands still holding onto the bench, allows it.

“But sports are about victory?” Aaron asks. 

He’s not even subtle about procrastinating, Kevin thinks. He wants to laugh. He swallows a sigh instead, and says, a little warningly, “Aaron…”

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop Aaron, doesn’t do anything to stop him. Maybe leans in a little, even.

“Yeah,” Kevin says after a long moment. “History, you live or you die. Sports, you’re the best or you’re not.”

“That's a reductive way of looking at the world,” Aaron says, but it’s that tone he gets sometimes, the one where Kevin doesn’t know if he believes it or if he just wants to poke at Kevin a little. Kevin hates that he likes it as much as he does; that he lets it stoke him up, bites at the bit every time.

“You are not subtle,” Kevin murmurs. The tests are sitting on the table behind Aaron, staring up at the ceiling. Aaron's coffee is abandoned, probably cold.

You are not subtle, Kevin says, and means it, but Aaron’s cocked his eyebrow at him, and there’s something a little taunting in his eyes, and he’s still holding onto Kevin’s tie, and something in Kevin loosens. He sighs, and lets go of the bench, tucking his fingers into Aaron's belt loops instead and pulling him forward.

“Is this a sport?” Aaron asks, because he’s a dick and facetious and he knows just how to make Kevin want to shut him up.

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” Kevin scolds, and then leans forward to kiss the rebuttal out of Aaron's mouth.

[covertleathers]

"Caught between hope and grief is a hard place to be"

[deus-ex-mona]

something something guys who think of the backs of the girls they love

and girls who pinch the cheeks of the guys they love

[sodrippy]

regressing to my worst teenage traits but also being in one of the best places w my mental health at the same time is insane. like insane insane. whats fucking going on.

[wriokitty]

This whole day I have just been yelled at by patients on the phone for long periods of time one after the other I’m at my limit truly