#and prove that to you T~T

[blanc-ci]

If SNW is gonna keep insisting that the “deepening slow-burn bond” between K/S that’ll be happening in S3 is strictly platonic, then I think AOS4 should come out with Chris Pine and Zachary Quinto making out sloppy style for a third of the running time just to prove a point

[tenacquity]

If anyone could easily send Ryunosuke into a whirlwind of confusing emotions and keep him ever on his toes, it was typically Kazuma. One would think—given all that practice—he’d be a lot more equipped to deal with a similar nature in someone else, and yet… The present situation was doing a fine job of proving the young lawyer had much to learn: new terrains he needed to establish a footing in first before even attempting to walk.

Kaeya was—and perhaps always would be, Ryunosuke entertained—an entire puzzle of a man. Most of the time, as much as Ryunosuke desired to understand him intimately, he found himself running into one wall after another—as if each wall he managed to break through only made ten more rise up between him and that clarity: between him and knowing for certain what lived beneath a facade he’d at the very least learned Kaeya kept up in every interaction.

The Cavalry Captain strung him along on that thread of intrigue. He (somewhat shamefully) hung on to Kaeya’s every breath with the eagerness of any detective on the verge of solving a mystery—right there on that precipice, so close to finally reaching a conclusion only for the cliff to crumble beneath him and whisk him away ruthlessly. Because here, even in this moment, Ryunosuke felt like he was spiraling down an endless drop: one where he only on occasion would be upright, discerning anything going on around him, before the world turned upside down again.

Kaeya teased him—he always did. He had that knowing look on his face: a handsome smirk (it was no wonder he could charm most anyone he came across), a twinkle in his eye, a few well-placed statements on how fake their little “relationship” had been this evening as if he wanted to make that blatantly clear to Ryunosuke: Don’t get ahead of yourself. It was all for fun.

But, well. Who are you trying to convince with that? Ryunosuke wondered.

Something he’d suspected—one of the few aspects of Kaeya he’d grown to understand—became entirely clear: He lies to himself as much as he lies to everyone else… Doesn’t he?

Over the course of this well-practiced explanation, Ryunosuke felt his heart doing about a thousand different things: racing so fast it might as well jump out of his chest, screeching to a halt, tumbling down that chasm with him. Pink hopefully suited him; with how persistently warm his face felt, he assumed the color was well on its way to being permanent. As a hand roved over his waist, as those fingers became tender in their hold on his hand, Ryunosuke didn’t break eye contact. He searched the farthest reaches of Kaeya’s stare; he kept digging, digging, looking—

What are you so afraid of?

“Kaeya.” The word came out on a breath, somewhat of a prayer to the night breeze as Ryunosuke gathered the tattered remains of his composure. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t move an inch. He just stood there, a prolonged blink before meeting that eye again. “I— … You don’t have to—” A sigh seeped out, not at Kaeya, but at his own fumbling while he attempted to put his confusing thoughts (and feelings) into words. “You… know you’re allowed to feel things—right?” And he gave that hand another squeeze. “No matter what the other person’s ‘reaction’ might be… that doesn’t make anything you are feeling any more or less important.”

Finally, Ryunosuke moved. But not to leave Kaeya’s side. With their hands still intertwined, he led the captain forward, and thereafter pulled him into a quiet alley where the intimacy of their conversation was less likely to be heard.

“No, I suppose… you’re not wrong,” he confirmed then, casting a furtive glance to the main road to ensure no one had seen them. “But why you’re more concerned about my feelings as if they— As if you need permission to feel anything yourself… What did you expect me to do, exactly?” Ryunosuke pinned his gaze again, something stern but unmistakably compassionate burning in his eyes. “Reject you if my feelings didn’t line up with yours—? Kaeya, whatever you may be… Whatever we may be—now or in the future—you’re important to me. And I’d never turn my back on you for something as honest as… ‘matters of the heart.’”

His mouth slid into half of a smile: quaking ever so slightly at one side. “You didn’t need an excuse to say or do any of those… ah—things back there. Just for future reference.”

Given his ability to keep up with Kaeya to an impressive degree, Ryunosuke's fumbling in this moment spoke volumes. Kaeya could always find a way under one's skin if the desire struck; he could always read another well enough to turn the tide in his favor. Observation was one of his greatest strengths. Nothing escaped his notice.

Thus, in the moments after his calculated strike, the impish Captain caught the hitch in Ryunosuke's breath and the astonishment widening dark eyes. As his companion slowed to a stop, Kaeya's steps followed suit: keeping them locked in that orbit, dancing end-over-end in this game of cat and mouse. In the midst of his scrutiny—studying and memorizing every response he earned—Kaeya was struck by how charming Ryunosuke looked in his fluster. The mischief in his grin grew more pronounced the more he floundered.

"Hmm, well...Technically all of it was," Kaeya said with an easy shrug. "Surely I don't need to remind you that we're not, in fact, a couple." And while he didn't verbally acknowledge it, the gleam in his eye as he glanced down at their interlocked hands seemed to challenge that statement as much as the gesture itself.

"As I said: the main reason was to ensure the extension of our evening together. The second reason..." and he trailed off purposely, relishing in the drama, the anticipation of the pause— "...was to fluster you." Kaeya dipped inward with that admission, drinking in the swath of crimson that painted Ryunosuke's cheeks. "I'd say that was a resounding success.

"But if you want the truth?" Before that truth was even offered, those words felt foreign on his tongue. Bitter. Kaeya swallowed the taste; he wouldn't back down now. "I wanted to see how you would react. Onlookers have certain expectations when they think two people are a couple. If I were to speak about you that way, or touch you that way..."

Uncharacteristic for a man whose heart had long since fractured into shards of ice, his hold on the bend of Ryunosuke's fingers was gentle—even tender. Kaeya used it to tug him nearer. He stepped into his space, his opposite hand daring to cross that distance to settle at the curve of his waist.

"I can discern almost anything about anyone from the briefest conversation." His voice too had lowered; hushed not out of respect for the late hour, but for the preservation of this moment. Only for Ryunosuke to hear. "But I'm afraid that matters of the heart are where my talents find an abrupt end. I couldn't predict how you'd react."

Kaeya's thumb stroked over his knuckles—unconscious, almost hesitant. A coy smirk attempted to hide that uncertainty. "You still look like you want me to mean it. Am I wrong?"

[woman-of-many-fandoms]

lol, I mean...

[somegrumpynerd]

That's probably normal I bet

[sp0o0kylights]

obsessed with your latest steddie au! steve’s relationship with his parents is so emotionally abusive and manipulative and my heart is breaking that nobody seems to recognise that

Thank you!!

I really wanted to focus on how Steve's parents are abusive in a way that is a lot harder to clock.

They're not out there screaming and kicking him out of the house. These people want you to like them, and they lie like they breath.

These are the adults who downplay serious issues, who make you doubt yourself, who smooth things over or even apologize on your behalf as a way to control and isolate you.

If everyone thinks you're terrible, and your amazing, doting, angelic parents are once again swooping in to save you, then your escape routes close up rapidly--which is of course, the whole point. They want their victims to rely on them and them alone.

For a lot of the Party, that's just not an evil they've encountered yet.

Throw in the fact that Steve does in fact, have a head injury, and things get muddy FAST.

It makes for delicious, angst-ridden scenarios and I am delighted everyone's happy to come along for the ride.

[lovelyrotter]

can we all remember to just say 'oh no thank you, i dont like that kind of food' but apply that logic and rules to shipping and letting other people ship again

[funkervogt]

(Realizes that the most common transman experiences perfectly align with my life and feelings about myself and fascinations and who I want to be with) Ohhhh Okay i am fucked

[silusvesuius]

n*loth not being able to bag anyone over the (human term) age of 25-30 at most is the only logical and real conclusion to me because it can be just explained away as him wanting to prove and control everything and anyone (Cus he's a man!) but being stuck in that demographic because his unbearable and vile personality is a force that nobody can look past once they've outgrown the possible fear and idolization period of anyone but also n*loth in particular.

[maymaylyn]

I think Rorke wears the durag constantly because he’s trying to live the fantasy of having long hair

[theinfinitedivides]

never thought i would see with my own two eyes daddy cop Heon holding Ji Yong by the hood of his black sweatshirt like a rabid dog after the two of them almost died together in that tank. never thought i would see that glorious vision of Heon having his boyfriend on a leash when they're both drenched and covered in blood we are never getting over the comparisons!!!!!! never ever gays this is our year!!!!!!

[blametheeditor]

I need more tiny James in my life. He’s very holdable.

Agreed, he is very holdable! I think we both need more tiny James, it's good for the soul!

Pocket Doctor

Content Warnings: Cursing. Trapping someone against their will. Addressing someone as ‘it’. Mentions of infestations.

And bad for Scott’s health

________________________

Scott doesn’t so much as blink when he spots something dart across the desk out of the corner of his eye. 

If he was looking over reports at Fazbear Entertainment Center, he might’ve been a little more concerned. That location is newly built and hasn’t even existed for a full year. It shouldn’t be possible for any kind of infestation to run rampant in the walls. Not when wooden beams aren’t so rotten they’ll turn to dust the moment air hits them, and the walls are properly insulated to keep moisture from seeping in. 

As it turns out, he’s at Freddy Fazbear’s, a location that’s over 20 years old and has its fair share of issues, including being overrun by rodents and pests alike every other year. At least the rats and roaches made some kind of agreement they’ll switch off who gets the run of the place. 

Scott was hoping they’ll get a break this year considering he hasn’t caught a single glimpse of antennas peeking out from under cabinets or dark shapes scattering for cover when a light is flipped on. It turns out they’ve only gotten smarter, giving him a false sense of security so he wouldn’t have pest control on speed dial until they arrived. 

They may have won this round as a collective, but he isn’t anything but experienced with one on one encounters. And as luck would have it, he had yet to get a refill of coffee.

Scott’s concentration on the financials before him isn’t broken as he reaches for his empty mug. With practiced movements, he picks it up before turning it over in his hand as he circles a line to remind him to check in against what the manager reported. Only when his trap is ready does he finally glance in the direction he saw the fleeting form disappear. 

It seems to sense his intentions, because the moment he looks at the phone is the moment it runs to find better over. If it had been on the floor or even ran over his shoe, he wouldn’t have bothered giving it so much as a second thought. It decided to invade his desk, however, in the middle of him needing to have this done by noon for Afton to review. 

So Scott effortlessly thunks his mug over the roach. Turns back to the desk at hand, satisfied there won’t be anymore distractions. 

He was a bit too quick to celebrate. Because even though nothing will be catching his eye as it scuttles over the desk, something is trying its best to get him in trouble with Afton. This time in the form of a distinct though very soft clanging sound. It’s not loud enough for him to immediately discern what is it or where it’s coming from, but it sits right on the edge of his hearing where it will drive him mad if it doesn’t stop. 

Scott sighs in frustration. Tosses his pen away before leaning back in the chair as he stretches. Once his joints have popped back into place, he finds himself turning toward the East hallway. His gaze becomes longing, wanting to do nothing more than walk into the kitchen to get another cup of coffee. 

That’s when he realizes he can’t hear the noise anymore. 

Confused, the man leans toward the desk. Feels his brow furrow as the clanging is once again within earshot. 

What the hell?

Realizing it’s coming from the desk, Scott carefully gathers up his papers to set aside. Gives a cursory look over the surface to confirm there’s nothing out of the ordinary. He then begins to open up the drawers to see if something’s rattling around. Pauses when the noise stops after the headache inducing squeal of metal scrapping echoes through the office. 

Looking down in the drawer, he doesn’t see anything that could be the culprit, proceeding to close it again before waiting. 

It’s silent. And then the noise starts again, this time distinct erratic compared to the rhythmic tempo from before. 

A chill runs down Scott’s spine. Because it can’t just be a coincidence the sound stopped when he made one, not when his actions seemed to have directly effected whatever is causing the clanging. 

Ready to pack everything up and say to hell with Afton, his eyes land on the fan. And suddenly Scott feels like a complete idiot not having thought of checking that first. It’s about just as old as the building and honestly a miracle the thing hasn’t broken before this. 

Scott flips the switch with a long sigh. Rubs his face tiredly as he turns back to his papers, snagging his pen to continue the monotonous task of reading numbers. 

Except the clanging doesn’t stop once the blades are still. If anything, it’s gotten louder, and quicker as if rejuvenated. And now, the man can almost hear something muffled added to it. 

His eyes lock on his overturned mug. Freezes as it finally clicks there’s something hitting the ceramic. 

...roaches can’t do that. 

Scott will admit fear begins to take root, unsure what exactly he managed to catch. He hadn’t exactly check to make sure it was a roach, just jumped to the assumption it was one. What else could it be? 

He stares at the unassuming mug for a long moment. It’s enough time for whatever the hell it is to start faltering, the odd sound that might as well be his death toll slowing until it finally stops. The silence is loud in his ears. 

Curiosity wins over the fear of potentially getting bit by something poisonous or releasing one of Afton’s deadly creations into the world. Besides, he’s already caught it once. If it somehow manages to escape, it’s clearly no match for a ceramic mug. 

Scott reaches over the desk, carefully grabbing the bottom of the mug with his fingertips. Slowly, carefully, he then lifts it at an angle about half an inch. Not enough space for something to squirm its way out, but enough so he can finally hear the odd sound clearly. 

“Cawthon, it’s me, Stiller!” 

Scott’s mouth drops open at the same time the mug thumps back into place. His hand doesn’t move as he’s left to sit in complete shock. Because that wasn’t, it couldn’t have been, it’s not possible. 

He did not just hear James’ voice come from underneath the mug. 

James Stiller is a young man who Scott essentially forced Afton to hire as an on call doctor. James Stiller stands about the same height as him. James Stiller could never be mistaken for a roach. 

Scott takes a deep breath. Silently prays that after 20 years he isn’t finally loosing his sanity. Lifts the mug up completely to reveal James, the one man crouched with one hand clutching a fishing hook and the other raised defensively. 

“James?” the man demands, though it sounds more like a plea than anything. 

Miniscule brown eyes rapidly blink before squinting up at him. As if he was in complete darkness just before. Which means this his real, his mind isn’t playing tricks on him, he trapped the doctor under a mug. 

“Hey, boss,” James greets. Sends a wary look above him before offering a hesitant smile. “Almost had me worried that’s how you normally punish those who interrupt you.” 

“Oh God no,” Scott breathes, horrified at the thought of knowingly trapping James like that. Trapping anyone. “I am so sorry, I swear I had no idea you were...” 

He trails off as the last few minutes finally sink in. Not just the part where the assumed roach turned out not to be one, the part about the fact it turned out to be James. Even though that should be impossible. 

There’s no way to deny it, however. The person standing before him is James. And there the phone stands directly beside the man, the receiver three times his size. 

“You’re tiny.” 

“And you’re giant.” 

Scott sputters. “James this is serious. I trapped you with a mug for God’s sake!” 

The doctor hesitates, looking tense. After a moment, he gestures above him. “I can explain. Though, I would prefer if the mug isn’t involved.” 

He hadn’t noticed he never set the mug down after the big reveal, meaning it’s been hovering over James’ head, capable of sealing him away in darkness at any moment. Scott is more than happy to set it down. Right side up so it can’t simply be grabbed to trap James again. 

Turns to the doctor to look him up and down. “Are you hurt?” 

“I’m fine, didn’t even run into the side of it,” James reassures. He seems to think something over before lowering his arms, the fishing hook glinting in the dim lighting as it’s tapped against his leg. “You know, usually people try to catch me with a jar.” 

“They what?” Scott demands, appalled at the thought of someone knowingly trapping James. And while a mug is certainly despicable, a jar seems ten times more malicious, especially with the sole purpose of catching someone. 

“It’s human nature,” the doctor shrugs. “I go against every scientific law of energy and matter conservation, not to mention it’s a bit fascinating to find a living person that’s no taller than you’re finger.” 

Scott suddenly feels sick. “I swear I had no idea what you were. I just assumed you were a roach.” 

Despite how small the man’s face is, the expression of pure amusement is easily recognized.  “Left your reading glasses at home, Cawthon?” 

“It was a glance.” 

James only gives a wry smile before it morphs into something more thoughtful. “So, you had no plans for me specifically?” 

That’s when it finally clicks. As the shock from finding a handheld James slowly fades away, Scott begins to peace everything together. From the doctor commenting about being caught before, to the fishing hook having what looks to be a thread tied around it, to the expectation the mug was used to trap him for a reason. 

James wasn’t shrunk and somehow made his way onto the desk. Being only a few inches tall is normal to him. 

God, what did he stumble into? 

Scott pinches the bridge of his nose as he takes a long, deep breath. Slowly exhales as he tries to think about how he should proceed. When he’s gathered his thoughts, he looks down to find James casually leaning against the phone with his arms crossed as if it’s the wide of a building rather than something people use to make calls. 

“No,” Scott begins softly in response to James’ original question. “I didn’t and don’t have plans for you except ask you’ll be at Fazbear’s Pizzeria from 2 until 7.” 

The doctor’s eyes go wide as he stares up. Only then does Scott realize how much he must tower. God he’s a monster. “Don’t want to ask me any questions?” 

“No,” Scott growls. “I can only imagine what you use that hook for, and I would rather not know how many times you nearly break your neck in a day.” 

It’s better he doesn’t know. Or else James would be at risk of being locked away for his own safety. Never to be studied as an interesting specimen, but certainly to keep him from dying by his own stupidity. 

If Eggs is ever suddenly handheld, Scott’s locking the mechanic in a cage and throwing away the key. 

“I’ll be at Fazbear’s Pizzeria by 2,” James agrees. “Mind if I stay here until then?” 

Scott glances over at the clock, glares as 10:20 blinks at him as if to say he’s running out of time to finish looking through the financials. “As long as you don’t distract me.” 

“You won’t even know I’m here.” 

Truthfully, he should’ve known James would be distracting even if he didn’t move from his spot by the phone. But Scott is an idiot, not to mention greatly ashamed of the fact he treated someone like a pest even though it was unknowingly. He didn’t have the heart to kick the doctor out of the room. 

Maybe it would’ve been better to banish James. It certainly would have saved his heart from yet another scare when the pen he was reaching for turned out to be a living person. 

At least he had the foresight to check before he blindly grabbed. If he hadn’t, James either would’ve been snatched up carelessly or flicked across the desk. Though, he wouldn’t have needed to check if a certain shrunken man hadn’t picked the pen up so they’re standing side by side. 

Scott can only sigh in exasperation, unable to even admire the fact the pen is about twice the man’s size. “Why?” 

James shrugs, a bit too casually for someone who was almost grabbed. “Wanted to see something.” 

That earns the doctor a glare. “I’m counting this as a distraction.” 

“Means I’m doing my job.” 

“Jameson Stiller I swear to God.” 

[dramarants]

i only want love triangles if it's whatever fucked up polygon junmo kicheol and euijeong have going on

[olberic]

literally paused my episode of beast wars bc the idea of drawing blackarachnia possessed me. she deserves sooo much more than what the show gives her. shes an unwilling convert to the predacon side but clings to her predacon identity with everything she has. shes a femme fatale. shes a scientist. shes willing to kill herself and everything around her for her freedom. she falls for the goody-two-shoes. shes the goth juliet to the maximals' romeo. shes never allowed to grow as a character outside of the men in the show. she wants control. she clings to it with everything shes got when she gets it. she doesnt want to be "good" she wants to be herself and only what she chooses for herself.

[craptainkirk]

I think For a long time the reason i was hiding behind a really big ego around art is because of how weak and helpless and bad at art and not good enough I feel around it. That's why i avoid it. I feel like a sad little child and if I'm humbled by something I feel that crushing feeling. I feel like a weeping little beast

[squashfolded]

Italians are always named something like antonio faggottini

[netherdevil]

unnormal vivilly dweller thoughts in my head