#anyway this is the last time ill bring up this post. probably. but i need to talk abt these guys more

[sillyof1987]

i like how i made this as if deadpool doesnt already have his polycule of cable & spidey & wolverine… i apologize i was not enlightened before

“i like spideypool better!” “i like poolverine better!” have u considered polycule spideypoolverine where deadpool has his 2 amazing bfs who protect his dumbass… i bet not 💔

[kitashousewife]

“m’gettin sick,” osamu sniffles from his cocoon on the couch. ever since he got home he’s been quiet and sleepy, cuddling up with a blanket despite being hot to the touch.

one thing you’ve learned about osamu, is that he is never sick. ma always joked about how despite every illness that passed through the twins’ schools, teams, or even work; osamu made it out perfectly healthy. you’ve found this to be true. even when you’ve been at your worst, osamu’s immune system has never faltered.

“i can’t be sick,” osamu’s mumbled voice is stuffier than normal, and his nose is a rosy pink. “i got work in the mornin’.”

“not like this, you don’t,” you pour some water from the kettle into his cup and dip the tea bag inside. he waves you off.

“what? just close shop for a day? i can’t do that,” he snatches a few kleenex from the box on the counter, turning around when you raise an eyebrow at him.

“you can actually, and you should.” you slide the tea over to him before heading towards your shared bathroom. “just post something tonight to give everyone a heads up.”

osamu shuffles behind you, tea in one large palm with tufts of kleenex in the other. he huffs when he feels hot once again, flinging off his sweat shirt as quick as he can.

“but kita-“

“kita can deliver to our house, baby. we can bring the rice over a different day.”

you fold your arms and stand by the bath as it fills. osamu copies you, leaning against the doorframe with a pout.

despite being sick as a dog, he won’t go down without a fight. out of principle, of course.

“what about the special i was gonna run?”

“you can do it next week,” you test the water with your palm before adding some epsom salt in.

“what will the regulars do when they head to the store?” osamu puts his palms up dramatically and snorts when you roll your eyes.

“im heading into town tomorrow, i can put a sign in the door. trust me ‘samu, i think they will appreciate you being closed. who wants to eat onigiri from someone with a runny nose?”

he doesn’t say anything. for a minute, you think he’s finally rested his case. after he slips in the bath and lets out a comfortable sigh, he decides to put one last ditch effort in.

“produce gets delivered tomorrow! i have to be there for that!” he’s comically large in the small tub the two of you share, knees folded up as he tries to sink in. you shake your head and he groans.

“fine, fine. okay. i’ll close tomorrow. ya happy?”

“thrilled,” you place a towel next to the tub and sit down. “you need to rest, samu. the shop will be there when you’re better, i promise.”

he pouts again, but this time it’s genuine.

“but i’m never sick,” he splashes water on accident when he leans his head back against the wall. “i take good care of myself! i take my vitamins, drink lots of water, get good sleep,”

your lips tug into a smile.

“and that will help you beat whatever you have even faster. but for now, let’s take it slow okay? get plenty of sleep, heal your body, and stay home.”

osamu nods, and let’s his eyes close. he soaks for a few minutes, relishing in the relief his achey joints feel for the first time all day. while he gets ready for bed, he can’t help but feel his heart swell as he watches you grab extra blankets for his side, knowing he will probably be chilly tonight.

“i’m probably gonna sore with all this shit in my nose,” he sinks under the covers, propping his head up on the extra pillows you set up for him.

“you snore anyway,”

“do not! ya liar,” he smacks your bum when you snuggle up next to him. “don’t touch me, i’ll get ya sick. i’m real contagious,”

you place a big kiss on his forehead before getting back to your original spot.

“i’ll take my chances,” you listed to osamu’s steady heart while he falls asleep. osamu is always taking care of you, grabbing your favorite things from the shop because he’s thinking of you. carrying you when your feet hurt from the heels he told you not to wear, bringing you glasses of water because he knows you aren’t drinking enough, and never asks for anything in return.

“i love ya,” osamu whispers, half asleep and hums when you squeeze him closer.

“i love you too, samu. sleep well.”

[the-daiz]

When you’re sick | One punch man

Synopsis; How the one punch men would act when you’re bed ridden

genre: fluff, hc

Characters: Saitama, Genos, Speed-o’-sound sonic, flashy flash, Zombieman, Garou

side note; My… my hands… wont… stop typing… save me…. I’m gonna hibernate after this post

SAITAMA

Shockingly takes very good care of you

he’s a mundane guy that lives alone and needs to take care of himself, so I’d assume he’s gotten his fair share of sick days

He’ll be softer and more careful with his words

He lets you huddle up in his futon, even if he’s a little annoyed cuz now he needs to find somewhere else to sleep,

he still wants you to be close to him so he can look out for you

makes you lotssss of tea and warm meals

and bananas! (Saitama loves bananas)

he knows all the foods to avoid when you’re sick, ex: eggs

he’ll probably spend most of his day sitting next to you while he watches tv or talks to you about something

doesn’t leave the house to do any hero work so he can stay by your side

like I said before, he takes veryyy good care of you until you feel better

GENOS

oh gets really worried

a little bit frantic even, but he doesn’t let it show

does a shit ton of research about your illness/symptoms and how to take care of it

Consults dr kuseno

who of course gives him a lot of advice

he’s hella dotting

Like fr he doesn’t leave your side

despite being an S-class hero, unless its an absolute emergency, he DOES NOT LEAVE YOUR SIDE

Will make sure you take your medication exactly on time

Prepares gourmet type meals for you

Also expect a lot of broth, soup etc etc

Will offer you any form of physical affection you want. Since he’s a cyborg he doesn’t get sick, so will cuddle you all day without complaints if thats what you’d like

He’s constantly checking up on, his cool metal hand pressed gently on your forehead while his mechanic eyes inspect your frame, a small frown etched on his temple.

he’s so cute kms

SPEED OF SOUND SONIC

He knows how to take care of you

he’s gotten sick PLENTY of times, it never lasted long though because his immune system is simply goated

That being said, he’s very… awkward?

he’s concerned and worried, don’t get me wrong, but he’ll probably try to hide it

His words won’t reassure you much but his actions will!

He’ll drop off supplies like medication, food, herbs, or anything else you need, whether you mention it or he decides you need it anyway.

he’ll check up on you a lot, and he’ll try to stay nearby to make sure your safe

but honestly, you having to rely on him when you’re vulnerable makes him feel prideful

he doesn’t admit it, but he kind of likes having you sick, just a tinsy bit

FLASHY FLASH

Oh god

of course he’s terribly worried about you

very aloof about it though

I’ll start with the cons: He’s sort of emotionally distant, and offers very little emotional support, and he won’t try sticking by your side as often as the other characters

Now that that’s out of the way,

He does make sure you have everything you need, and if he’s not with you, probably because he’s doing some hero work, he’ll text you or call very occasionally to ask how you’re doing and if you need anything

If you do mention that you’re feeling worse, he’ll be right by your side in an instant

ZOMBIEMAN

He’s very down-to-earth and calm about it

He won’t fuss over it or worry too much in the slightest

He’ll take good care of you, bringing you meals in bed, drink lots of fluids and getting enough rest

he’ll focus on making you as comfortable as possible too

He’ll leave for hero work every once in awhile, thats unless you’re really sick, then he’ll stay rooted beside you without another word

He’ll spend a lot of time just sitting or laying next to you. If you’re uncomfortably hot and would probably not want him to sleep beside you, he’ll sit on a chair and quietly hold your hand.

If you want him to talk, he’ll talk, and if you don’t, he’ll sit wordlessly without complaints.

he’ll probably crack a joke here or there if the mood is too damp

also, he’ll offer lots of forehead kissess

GAROU

He’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s got the spirit! 😍😍

this lone wolf isn’t used to taking care of people, let alone himself

He’ll probably tell you to just walk it off, but his protective instincts will kick in anyway

he’ll try to stay by your side as much as possible

he’ll grumble and act like he’s annoyed, but he really isn’t

he’s a little harsh, probably giving you some weird motivation like “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” or smth

he’s genuinely concerned for you though, just be patient with him, he’s trying

[wildechildwrites]

Relax

Shinsou Hitoshi/Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Depression, self-esteem issues, mind control (not in a bad way but it's in there)

No use of Y/N, gender neutral reader

Summary: You haven't left your bed in days, too depressed to get anything done. Shinsou stops by your apartment to check on you and helps in his own way.

A/N: Wrote this because I've been too depressed to get out of bed, forgive any mistakes or ooc I didn't even really want to post it in the first place.

AO3 Link: Relax

You think you’ve hit a record for continuous hours spent in bed, and probably permanently fucked your kidneys because you don’t even have the energy to get up to use the bathroom. The floor of your room is disgusting, and dishes are piled up in the kitchen. You know you smell, and that there’s so much work for you to do, deadlines you’ve barely managed to avoid by calling in sick to the hero agency you do secretarial work at, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

There’s a knock on your door, but you just ignore it, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You don’t want to see anyone, and you’re not expecting to anyway. 

Whoever is at your door doesn’t stop, knocking harder and more insistently. You even hear your door knob jiggle, which spurs your anxiety on enough to get you to drag yourself out of bed. Your legs feel slightly wobbly, the inactivity of the last few days catching up to you as blood flows through your limbs. Catching your own reflection in the mirror makes you wince, but it’s a lost cause you’d rather not address. Whoever is knocking hasn’t stopped, and you yank open your front door irritably. If it’s some stupid solicitor–

Your jaw drops at the sight of one of the heroes from your agency, Shinso Hitoshi, standing outside your door. He’s dressed for patrol in all black, wrapped in his scarf, his voice modulator hanging loosely around his neck. His hair is wild as always, purple locks sticking in all directions, and he scans your form quickly, as if checking you for visible injuries. You remember how disheveled you look and your face heats up. 

“What are you doing here?” your voice is hoarse from disuse and your most recent crying jag, and you immediately wince at the way you sound, but Shinsou’s expression doesn’t change.

“I’ve come to check on you. I heard you were ill.” His tone is blandly neutral, as though it’s something that he does all the time, like you’re not just some stupid underling he’s contractually obligated to tolerate. His violet eyes narrow. “You’re not sick though.” 

You shrug self-consciously. You don’t understand why he’s here. You’re friendly at work, going out of your way to make conversation with the normally reserved hero, but you’ve never spent any real time together. You’re not sure what made him decide a house visit was in order. He definitely has more important things to do than checking up on you, and now you’re just wasting his time. You wrap your arms around yourself.

 “I just needed a day off.” You step backwards, going to shut the door. “Thanks for checking on me.” Shinsou’s foot shoots out, wedging the door open. There’s a beat as you two stare at each other, your mouth open in surprise.

“You’re not doing well,” Shinsou says, a frown on his face. He pushes your door open, and before you can protest, pro-hero MindJack has crowded into your disgusting apartment. You’re pretty sure it’s only because his poker face is so good that he doesn’t grimace at the mess, just stares at you, a crease in between his eyebrows. Humiliation burns in your chest. Now he knows you’re a gross waste of space, and he’ll probably tell everyone at work that you can’t even manage to keep your apartment clean. 

“Oh, little one,” he sighs. You pray for a black hole to spontaneously appear and swallow you up, but don’t get any such mercy. “You need tea,” he says firmly. “Tea, and then you’re going to tell me what’s making you depressed.”

Shinsou heads towards your kitchen with a strange amount of confidence for someone who’s never been in your apartment before, ignoring the dirty dishes piled in the sink in favor of the kettle.

Part of you knows you should protest, but you can't bring yourself to care, scraping the bottom of the well and coming up empty. You shove the pile of clothes strewn on your couch to the floor and sink into the cushions, your eyes on the hero in your kitchen. Maybe you’re just having a really weird dream.

All of your mugs are dirty, so Shinsou washes your favorite, plucking it out of the stack. You wonder if it's a part of his quirk to pick up on things like that. He even remembers how you take your tea, cradling the mug gently in both hands and plopping down beside you, sinking into your couch, his long legs sprawling out in front of him. Your fingers brush against his own, thin and unnaturally warm from the heat of the drink as he hands it to you. You're reminded of the last time you saw him. 

You've got two full trays of coffee balanced precariously in both hands, fighting a losing battle against flimsy cardboard and gravity. Your face is furrowed in concentration, your eyes fixed on your full hands when someone plucks the trays out of your grasp with nimble fingers. Your head shoots up, and you're about to protest when you see a pair of familiar purple eyes on yours. They’re beautiful up close, blue flecks making them seem almost periwinkle in the fluorescent office lights. Bashfulness hits you like a tsunami, and you try to tamp it down.

“Seems you've got your hands full,” Shinsou comments dryly. You smile and shrug, flustered by his proximity. 

“All in a day's work.” You bite your lip, feeling awkward. “I um, I got you one too, even though I wasn't sure if you'd be in today. You drink it black right? Dark roast?” Deftly, you pluck his out of one of the trays, then hold your other hand out expectantly. “Trade you?”

Shinsou stares at you intently, his expression unreadable. An odd shiver runs down your spine, like cold water dripping through your veins, and there’s a beat of silence before he finally responds, like he had to reboot. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs softly. He hands you one of the trays and accepts the warm cup from your hands, fingers brushing against yours. Despite your protests, Shinsou insists on helping you with your errand, trailing behind you to the meeting room you’re headed to. 

You pass out the drinks quickly, ignoring the odd stares that come with having a purple haired shadow lingering behind you, obediently holding the tray as though it’s the most important part of his day. 

Shinsou doesn’t speak until you're both out in the hallway. 

“You didn't get yourself anything.” There's a slight crease in between his eyes. It's adorable, the singular sign of concern in his placid expression. You’d like to reach out and smooth it out with your thumb. 

“They ran out of the tea I like,” you say, trying and failing to not sound like you’re pouting. Shinsou hums in acknowledgement. He’s suddenly distracted, his mind obviously elsewhere as he shoots you a vague goodbye before abruptly turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction. You smile to yourself. Sometimes the heroes were so odd.

After your lunch break, a cup of tea appears on your desk. You don’t see Shinsou again, but you can’t keep the smile off your face for the rest of the day.  

You’ve sat in silence for at least twenty minutes, unsure of what to say. You wish Shinsou would just leave, but you’re not brave enough to say so. You just want to be left alone. The idea of talking about your pathetic problems with someone who has real responsibilities is mortifying. Shinsou seems content to remain unnervingly quiet beside you, relaxing on your secondhand couch.

“I’m not even sad, really. I’m just bad at being a person,” you finally say. “I fuck up everything and I'm going nowhere.” Your head thunks back against the couch cushions. Shinsou is staring at you, and you wish you could just disappear, but the floodgates have been opened, everything that’s been weighing you down spilling out.

 “It’s so exhausting to even just be alive. I feel so overwhelmed and stressed constantly about the most miniscule things. I wish someone would tell me what to do because I seem to be incapable of making decisions, even with little things like what to eat and how to organize my closet. Every choice I make is the wrong one.”  You sniffle, desperately fighting back the threat of tears. 

There’s a quick change in the placid expression on Shinsou’s face, a ripple in the still waters of a pond. 

“I could help.” His voice is hesitant but his gaze is sharp, lilac eyes pinning you down. You run a hand through your greasy hair absentmindedly, confused.

 “How?”

He stares at you with a deadpan expression until you realize what he’s implying. Duh. 

“I could… make some decisions for you. Help you be productive.”

You've never seen a mind altering quirk in action. Your curiosity sparks, and you push yourself to sit up.

“Can you just tell me to… not? Be depressed?” you ask.

Shinsou tilts his head, a small frown on his face. “It doesn’t work like that, unfortunately. But I might be able to make you feel better. At least temporarily.”

The silence while you mull over his offer is tense. You don't want him to use his powers superfluously. You're not sure if his quirk has limitations, but you don't want to exhaust it for a stupid reason like this. 

“I can't ask you to do that.” You say.

“You're not asking,” he replies firmly. “I'm offering because I want to help. It'll–” he hesitates, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I've heard that it's not bad, the sensation of it.”

You stare at him, absentmindedly chewing on your lip. Nothing can make you feel worse than you do right now, you reason. Maybe you can get him to make you clean. Or fill out bills. 

“How do we start?”

Shinsou looks surprised, then pleased, his eyes warm. He shifts closer to you, and you catch the scent of cologne, light and clean. Your heart gives an odd stutter.

“Are you going to be good for me?” His voice is barely a whisper. Heat rises to your face at the question, warmth kindling low in your stomach. You ignore your own reaction, focusing on his question.

“Yes Shinsou,” you reply. His mouth curves up, his demeanor changing instantly, slipping on intensity like a glove. A long arm drapes across the back of your sofa, boxing you in, closing the gap between you. He's bigger than you realized, so close like this, wiry muscle covering his slim form. His eyes are dark and deeper than you've ever seen them, like a twilight sky. You can't look away, a rabbit caught in the hypnotic gaze of a snake.

“Relax,” he orders, his voice silky smooth but impossibly firm. The words have an immediate effect, melting into you, tugging at your brainstem. A shiver runs down your spine, and you feel the tension in your body unfurl, like you’re slipping into a warm bath.

There’s a part of you that’s panicking, a jerk of animal instinct that fights against the downy sensation that’s settling into your mind. You try to quiet the protest. You want to be good for Shinsou, want him to think that you're good. He sees the conflict in your expression and leans impossibly closer, a gentle hand reaching up to tip your chin towards him. Your eyes drop down to his mouth, and his breath catches.

“You’re doing so well,” he says quietly. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but I’d never hurt you.” He cocks his head, voice slipping back into a more authoritarian tone. “Now, go take a shower and brush your teeth.” 

The words have an instant effect on you, pulling an invisible string. You jerk to your feet, unsteadily beelining towards the bathroom, his little marionette doll. Shinsou rises as well, heading towards your bedroom. 

The first time you meet Shinsou is in one of the many break rooms of the agency you work at. He strolls in, and you have to make a concentrated effort from keeping your jaw from dropping. He's tall and handsome, his surprisingly delicate features thrown off by the dark circles under his eyes. The coffee you're pouring overflows onto your hand in your distraction, and you curse quietly under your breath, spinning around to grab some paper towel to clean your mess. 

“Careful, the coffee's hot,” a dry voice speaks from behind you. It's low in an unexpected way, appealing despite his lack of inflection. You let out a scoff at his comment. You go over a mental list of the heroes at your agency, trying to pinpoint who he is.

“You're MindJack, right?” you finally ask, turning back to face him, your curiosity getting the best of you. He looks surprised. 

“You know who I am?” 

“Yeah, I guess. I’ve seen what you can do, read your file and stuff.” You're desperately trying to come off as nonchalant, throwing your shoulders up in an exaggerated shrug. Hopefully he doesn’t think you’re a stalker or anything. You clear your throat. “You’ve got a pretty interesting quirk.” 

“Interesting is a kind way to put it, I believe.” His tone is light, but there’s an edge to it. You read the sudden tension in his shoulders, the way his lips thin. “Most people think it’s a villainous quirk to have.” 

You roll your eyes. Morons. 

“People are just shitty about it because they’d probably be evil if they had your power,” You say, trying to sound matter of fact. “If anything, it just proves you’re a better hero, you resisted the pull because you’ve got strong morals.”

 You smile at him, and he returns it, a quick crescent moon flash of teeth that has you ducking your head.

“I guess I’ve never thought of it that way,” he murmurs thoughtfully.

Shinsou found your stash of clean sheets and is making your bed when you walk into your bedroom after your shower, squeaky clean and wrapped in a towel. He turns to you, and you see his cheeks go pink, his eyes trailing down your form before shooting back up to your face with a guilty expression. Shame rushes through you, disturbing the detached serenity you feel. You should've told him you needed to change, instead of barging in practically naked. He's being so nice, and you’re ruining things like always. You can feel the corners of your mouth turning down, anxiety fighting against the artificial calm Shinsou has coached your mind into.

He clicks his tongue, matching your frown with one of his own. “I’m sorry, I lost focus. You’re alright, relax for me.”

It’s an odd sensation, a roller coaster drop and then you’re back to tranquility. He smiles at you with that half crescent flash of teeth. Your knees feel weak. 

“I’ll go start the dishes while you put on some fresh clothes and start some laundry. Sounds good?”

The sun's dipping low in the sky, the shadows growing long as you and Shinsou fold the mounds of laundry you've finished. Time feels strange, chores that normally take hours slipping by in moments, the sound of Shinsou's voice filling the silence and echoing in your head. He tells you about becoming a hero, about training and about work. You like the way his voice sounds, the lack of inflection giving way to little tells, peaks and valleys in his speech pattern that you’ve never picked up on before.

He's propped himself against your bed, making quick work of the pile of socks he’s folding, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he concentrates. You're struck with the soft domesticity of it all, the compassion of Shinsou taking so much time to help try to pull you out of the hole you’ve found yourself in. Gratitude overwhelms you, your chest tight with it. 

You don't realize there are tears running down your cheeks until Shinsou looks up at you, and lets out a soft gasp, abandoning the pile of socks.

“Are you alright?” he asks, concern lacing his tone. “Did I push you too much today? Did we do anything you didn’t want?” He’s so close to you, hands hovering hesitant around your face, desperate to comfort but afraid to close the gap. You shoot him a watery smile, wiping your eyes before you pull him into a tight hug. He freezes at the contact, a heartbeat of surprise before melting against you, long arms wrapping around your body.

“You're just so nice,” you say, voice muffled against his chest. You feel his lips brush against the top of your head softly. You don't feel better, necessarily, the empty hole in your chest still present, but you feel less heavy. Your apartment looks great, and your to do list is down to an almost manageable level. He’s done so much more for you than you can express, so you just hug him tighter, burying your face into his neck. 

You want to stay like this forever, huddled on your bedroom floor, cradled in each other’s arms. The warmth of the moment is shattered by the ring of his phone. 

Being a hero is a ceaseless calling. He answers, and you try to convince yourself that the curt note in his voice is disappointment at the interruption. You pull back and pretend not to eavesdrop, schooling your face into a neutral expression for when he hangs up, regret coloring his features.

“I have to go,” he says, and you muster a smile.

“I’ll walk you out.” 

MindJack stands in your doorway for the second time tonight, lingering in the warmth of your apartment. You’re back to feeling stressed, hyper aware of the vulnerability he’s seen today. You hope he doesn’t say anything to anyone. You hope he still likes you after all of this. His next sentence catches you completely off guard, your own self doubt totally off base. 

“I'll stop by to pick you up for work tomorrow morning,” he says, his voice almost casual. There's a soft pink to his cheeks, and you feel an answering heat rise to your own. “Unless you’re planning on calling in sick again.” 

“You really don’t have to do that.” You feel like you’ve put him out enough tonight already.

“I’d like to.” Those purple eyes have you pinned again, and you feel yourself nodding without thinking. Before you can blink, he leans into your space, wrapping a long arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him and pressing his lips to yours in a fierce kiss. His mouth is warm and soft. He nips at your bottom lip and you quietly gasp. He takes advantage, deepening the kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, his tongue sweeping against yours. You reach your hands up, weaving your fingers through his hair, and he lets out an appreciative groan when you tug him closer. His phone buzzes again and he pulls away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he says breathlessly. You don’t know how to tell him what a difference he’s made for you. You’ve got so much you’d like to say to him, but you know he has to go. He’s stayed longer than he should already.

“Thank you,” you say simply. You hope he understands the true weight of your appreciation. You gaze tenderly at each other for a moment before he reaches a hand out, fingers ghosting against your cheek, then slips out of your apartment.

[hello-from-the-night-archives]

hello from the hallowoods dashboard simulator

😈 valerie-meme-stone

I'm not ready for my spotify wrapped to just be stonemaiden. like i get it spotify i know i'm gay

53 notes

📝 the-poetry-panopticon Follow

Unfriendly reminder not to sign up for a Dreaming Box subscription! The Botulus Corporation is not to be trusted! Here's an article explaining the language in their contract and why it's concerning! In addtion, they use AI generated images in the Prime Dream, which we should all know by now is unethical.

14,034 notes

🥗 bisexualranchdressing Follow

dang this is crazy. i thought wildfire smoke was bad but what the fuck is this????

🌅 nerdy-tragedy-theorist Follow

well according to color theory

🌅 nerdy-tragedy-theorist Follow

never mind i've got nothing

739 notes

⚡ evil-electrician Follow

friendly reminder to stop spreading misinformation about the black water! people are saying that it brings people and animals back to life but that's not exactly true! although their body may be back, they're not the same person and they will likely become violent and dangerous. please stay inside and be really careful what you and your pets eat or drink.

🐈‍⬛ cats-not-capitalism Follow

fuck you op i'm keeping my undead cat

⚡ evil-electrician Follow

good luck keeping your fingers

48,230 notes

🐧 morally-grey-penguin Follow

1,383,248 notes

eccentricelina-deactivated04232030

i must not go to sleep in the lake today. afternoon nap is the mind killer

eccentricelina-deactivated04232030

mmmmmm cozy

eccentricelina-deactivated04232030

where is my skin

eccentricelina-deactivated04232030

going back to sleep honk shoooooo

635 notes

🌮 mysteriously-crafty-nacho Follow

reblog this post to go north with the person you reblogged this from

54,092 notes

🧊 botulus-corporation Follow

The Botulus Corporation is with you during this difficult time. Join our happy dreaming family where you and your loved ones will be safe from the rain. Tumblr users get 30% off on a Dreaming Box subscription!

🐨 chief-koala-typhoon Follow

73,932 notes

🌿 shiny-wolf-tragedy Follow

it fucken rainny

🐼 dreamland-panda Follow

love that they'll be a literal apocalyse and tumblr users will just make memes. never change tumblr

72,138 notes

👁️‍🗨️ the-magnus-brotocol

choosing between the irl amazing digital circus or probably fucking dying was not on my 2030 bingo card but okay

👁️‍🗨️ the-magnus-brotocol

at this point i just gotta expect that if the year is divisible by 10 then something terrible will happen

94 notes

🐺 werewolves-are-hot

hey do you think i can get a real werewolf boyfriend now that monsters are real

🐺 werewolves-are-hot

any cute werewolf boyfriends in this part of the woods

429 notes

🌷 pleasant-arcade-land

oh man it's been a couple months since I last updated this fanfic huh! so I just drank some black water by accident and now I have a few extra fingers, and honestly that took some getting used to, but it's actually pretty convenient now and is really helpign me get more words in lol im still here writing homestuck fanfic in 2030 hehehehehe anyway new chapter here

38 notes

🌑 the-void-whispers Follow

so, it looks like tumblr might be dying soon due to, well, *gestures wildly.* You'll have to kill me before I join Twitter now that the Botulus Corporation bought it (and no, I am not calling it B, that is just stupid) so if you want to hear from me you will simply need to look out for passenger pigeons. in the meantime, ill be here until tumblr straight up dies and i have a crying session about it

🦌 gamer-guy-bath-water Follow

we do not grieve ice when it melts, or celebrate the sapling when it rises from the soil. they just are. life and death and rebirth are one constant state. and without change, there would be nothing to watch

⚔️ sword-lesbian-enthusiast

add that to the list of banger quotes from tumblr memes

82,362 notes

[philtstone]

24. Showing up injured at their friend/mentor’s house: for shawn? :)

[emerges from writing this fic bloody and beaten and on the verge of collapse] ill explore karen vicks character in an overly complicated post-episode missing scene fic or die trying! set immediately post "right turn or left for dead". i genuinely dont know if im happy with this but i also cant figure out how to fix it. actually, it would have probably been easier to write if i was willing to rewatch the episodes its based on. which i am not, because i am a sensitive little soul. so i winged it. i think there are like 10 different ideas that crop up and theyre all equally fascinating as character threads but i have no idea if i tied them together in an even remotely coherent way. also, WOULD she say that??? i had to call my brother twice to ask. this is what yall get for sending me actually interesting prompts, huh

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Henry’s voice said on the phone. “I’ll send Shawn over with them on his way out. He's going in your direction, anyway.”

In her short tenure as the junior detective to Henry Spencer’s lieutenant, Karen Vick observed two things:

First, that he was a far more clever strategist than most people gave him credit for. Despite the ongoing wreckage of his impending divorce and a kid who was slipping through his fingers as everyone looked on, Karen didn’t agree with the other junior detectives’ impression of him as a smash-the-door-down old school hard ass with thinning hair and a worst attitude. The man played four dimensional chess right out of a bonafide Star Trek episode. When he really wanted something done, Henry Spencer could bullshit and bluff and battle plan with the pros, and half the time you’d get too caught up in the blustering misdirect to realize his game was intricately thought out three steps in advance.

It was how they caught the Shorttown Killer, and also how they got that idiot Trembley at the mayor’s office to finally replace their coffee maker. Karen went home to her then-boyfriend, now-husband, and, right before bed, pulled out an old school workbook and took notes.

The second thing was that Henry Spencer loved his son. 

Not a lot has changed since then, Karen thinks, staring down the weirdness that she now faces through her open front door.

“… Oh — Mr. Spencer,” Karen says, because it’s rude not to greet your employees when they show up at your home outside of work hours, and are also your old friend-slash-colleague’s kid. “Hello. Thanks for — bringing these over.”

“Dad said it was urgent,” Shawn says.

Urgent isn’t quite how Karen would describe it, but hearing through the grapevine that your department might be facing an audit sometime in the next quarter does light a fire under the proverbial ass. Karen would rather bend a few rules and make sure the last year’s i’s and t’s are dotted and crossed right than leave her detectives vulnerable to the whims of a mayoral stooge. 

In general, Karen prides herself on caring about the people under her command just enough that it inspires genuine friendship and loyalty. The just is important. Care needs tempering – it’s important to pull back, press pause, keep certain lines uncrossed. It’s especially important if you want to be successful as a woman in an authority position where lives are often on the line. 

What she’s saying is that she tries to make it none of her business what her employees get up to in their spare time. She really genuinely does. She’s shut O’Hara down gently midway through the twelfth sweetly-frazzled attempt to overshare about her dating life (or her efforts to befriend her next-door neighbor, or the endearing personality quirks of her last cat – rest in peace, Triscuit, you will be missed –) enough times to be well-versed in the art of I Won’t Ask, You Won’t Tell, But You’ll Probably Know I Care Anyway.

An invaluable rapport to maintain. In any situation, Karen thinks, but especially when you’re a person who regularly hires and works alongside Shawn Spencer.

She’s not sure whether what she’s looking at right now makes her want to second guess or double down on her usual policy. 

“Special delivery,” Shawn adds, like everything is super normal.

Karen narrows her eyes. She glances behind them into the quiet residential street.

“Shawn,” she says.

“Yes, Chief?”

“You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“Ha,” he says, half rolling his eyes to accompany a weird aborted grin. “No. Even I don’t think riding a motorcycle with a concussion is a good idea. What if someone who wasn’t me got hurt? That’s — that would be no good, then you’d have to arrest me. Wouldn’t that be a huge bummer for the whole team, Chief? Gus would cry. And my dad wouldn’t let me take his truck.”

Karen stares at him. Shawn stares at the ground.

“I got a cab,” he says.

“And you are … taking another cab – home?”

Shawn looks quite suddenly like he’s going to be sick.

“Sure,” he says. 

Shawn looks terrible. Bruised face, bags under his eyes, and a weird frenetic energy twitching in his limbs that doesn’t pair well with his general air of exhaustion. He’s holding his shoulders stiffly and can barely meet her eye. His t-shirt and sweatpants are rumpled, like he slept in them, even though it’s too early in the evening for Henry to have woken him up to send him here, and when he thrusts the promised files out into the air toward her, abrupt and, admittedly, Shawn-like, he only just hides the awkward wince that immediately overtakes his left side.

The last couple days have been a bit of a whirlwind, so Karen can’t say she necessarily blames herself for not looking more closely. 

Even so.

Slowly, Karen reaches forward and divests him of the case files. They slip a little bit, because Karen can’t seem to stop peering shrewdly at Shawn’s face while she does it, and on instinct he reaches forward to stop the stack from toppling. 

It does help, but the autopilot he moves on makes it harder to mask what is to Karen’s eyes a very obvious flinch. 

“Alright,” is all he says. “Well, good to see you. Time to head back to the old hay stack.”

Like a needle in a haystack and time to hit the hay, Karen supplies needlessly in her own head. Aloud, she says, in many ways against her better judgment, 

“Mr. Spencer, are you okay?”

Shawn sways on the spot for a second, one fist clenched, mouth half open. For a strange moment, Karen gets the impression that he’s trying really hard not to say the wrong thing.

“... As rain,” he finally manages, then nods to himself like he achieved some great feat. “Okay. Well –”

“Did something happen to your shoulder?” 

“What? No!” Shawn’s eyes flutter closed and he shakes his head, “I’m – fine, Chief. It’s not – I mean, I’m – normal, fine. Fine in a normal way.”

“That’s not something an individual who’s fine in a normal way would say,” Karen says. 

“Uh, is it not! It is. I would know, because I am that individual. It’s – I was – there’s just mild – pfft … stab wound – or something, who would even …”

Is Shawn broken? is the unhelpful thought that pops into Karen’s head. She’s never heard an attempt to bullshit collapse so quickly into pathetic nothingness before – certainly not from Shawn.

Perhaps even more than his father, the kid’s a pro.

And then the rest of the sentence catches up with her.

“A mild stab wound?”

Oh boy. She watches Shawn’s eyes widen with the panic that proceeds an unquestionable blunder.

“Chief –” 

“In.”

“Chief, I really, really don’t think –”

“Inside my house. Now.”

He’s certainly uncoordinated enough that he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Karen herds him  through the door as firmly as possible and leads them in a beeline past Richard’s office toward the bathroom, ignoring the reedy stream of consciousness that spills out of Shawn’s mouth as they go.

“Oh, hey, woah, it’s been like forever since I was in here. Did you redecorate? I swear that lamp wasn’t there the last time we visited. It could be the tacos I had earlier, but I’m sensing a distinct neo-modern Chinese aesthetic going on here, Chief, which calls to mind the merits of cultural appreciation in suburban home decor – hey, is that your husband’s office? Can I meet him? Is he home? That man is a true enigma to us, Chief, and it’s leading me to believe that he must possess all the facial and personality qualities of the pop superstar Mr. Pitbull Worldwide –”

Richard is home, actually, and Karen needs to alert him to the fact that they have an unexpected house guest, so, ignoring Shawn completely, she calls out,

“Honey? Shawn Spencer’s here for a couple minutes about a work thing! I’ll go up to put Iris to bed in a second!” in the finely-honed There Are Many Layers Of Complicated To This secret married tone that Richard should probably be able to catch through the closed office door. 

“Alright,” floats out her husband’s pleasant voice. “Tell him hi from me.”

Perfect. There’s about a ninety-three percent chance he understood.

They make it to the bathroom, only stumbling slightly. Shawn says,

“-- or The Rock. Does your husband look like Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson? I really think that would make so many things about the Chief Vick family make sense –”

Karen closes the bathroom door with a snap and crosses her arms.

“Sit,” she says, in a voice that even he knows brooks no argument.

Shawn does. He looks – well, beyond uncomfortable, and more than a little bit miserable, and probably closer to completely dissociating than either of them are prepared for. Karen wonders belatedly if he's gotten any sleep at all in the last forty-eight hours.

“I’m assuming you have not been to the hospital.”

He gives her a baleful look, like he really expected better of her. She only just stops herself from rolling her eyes in response. And there’s that huge goose egg on his forehead, too. What, exactly, he got up to in between Carlton’s wedding reception and oh-eight-hundred hours this morning Karen has no idea, but he looks like someone’s run him through the world’s most aggressive industrial tumble dry cycle and spat him mercilessly back out. 

Or maybe over with a truck.

Sending a silent prayer to the universe that Iris never hit puberty and remains a sweet-tempered six-year-old forever, Karen gets to business.

“Well, I had to at least ask. Shawn. Does it need stitches?” He mumbles the answer the first time, and then looks beyond startled when she grabs him under the chin so he’ll look her in the eye. “Listen. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But you’re going to tell me the truth. Got it?”

Shawn grimaces so hard at her words it’s almost a flinch. 

“No,” he says finally, clearly enough that she hears him. Karen raises an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think it needs stitches,” he articulates, but doesn’t meet her eye.

“Hm. Alright. I have gauze and tape in the medicine cabinet. Can I … is it alright if I pull up the sleeve of your t-shirt?”

Released from her hold, he groans and presses his face into one palm. “Chief –”

“I don’t really know what you expected, coming here! It’s not like I’m any less of a hardass than your father.”

“Yeah, but I can bitch back at my dad,” Shawn says, sounding like he’s finally realizing the magnitude of his mistake. Karen smiles grimly.

“Tough. Now pull your shirt up while I get the first aid kit.”

While Shawn proceeds to wrestle awkwardly with his t-shirt in a muted shuffle against the toilet seat, Karen rummages efficiently through the cabinet and eyes him through the bathroom mirror. He seems oddly reluctant to expose himself. In fact, in a stark contrast to his usual insistence on making his presence and contributions as obtrusively obvious as possible, Shawn seems intent on shrinking into the aforementioned Asian-flavored floral wallpaper (which does need an update, unfortunately) with all the equanimity of an anxious chameleon. Karen feels her eyebrows crease. Taking the first aid kit in hand, she brings it over and deposits it into his arms, ignoring his small startle.

“How about you hold that,” Karen says. Shawn does, against his chest, like a pillow. She walks around him and surveys the damage, antiseptic gauze in hand.

He wasn’t lying about the severity, at least. It’s a shallow thing, already mostly congealed, and has only stained his shirt in a small smattering spot of crusty brown blood.

Karen swabs at it with the alcohol using light careful fingers.

“Ow, ow ow ah –”

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s hardly a life-threatening injury.”

“Super insightful, Chief,” Shawn snaps, as genuinely sarcastic as he’s probably ever been with her, “never thought of that myself. Totally the reason why I just had to go to the hospital.”

He doesn’t pull away, but she can feel the tension radiating through his back. She blinks, one eyebrow crawling up her forehead. 

Alright then. So that’s how it’s going to be. 

“I’m assuming your father doesn’t know about this,” she says.

Shawn grunts, noncommittal. Huh. Maybe he does know, then, and has just been disallowed from doing anything about it right now.

She tosses the first used antiseptic wipe into the trash.

Goddamn four dimensional chess.

She supposes she’s never been bad at the game. She may as well work her way backwards through the moves: Guster, the most obvious node in Shawn’s turn-to-in-a-crisis-system, would never voluntarily abandon his friend in a time of need, so Karen assumes that whatever this is has either already included his support or not been made known to Gus at all yet. Henry’s likely exhausted his own usefulness in the situation, and Detective O’Hara is …

Karen has to work very hard for her hands not to pause in a way that gives away her hard-earned mental sleuthing. A bad feeling wholly unrelated to her ill-advised hangover of the day before begins to bloom at the back of her gut.

“You have really small hands, Chief.”

Shawn’s voice is notably more subdued than before.

“Do I?” 

“They’re like … little kangaroo hands. Like the mom kangaroo from Whinnie the Pooh.”

“Didn’t you know?” Karen says, not unkindly. “They’re given out at the hospital when all first-time moms leave with their baby.”

He lets out a tired little laugh, more boyish than he probably means it to be, and in spite of herself Karen feels her heart clench. She isn’t blind. In all her last seven years as the leader of their chaotic little precinct, she has never seen Juliet O’Hara look as ill as she did yesterday morning. The usually sweet-faced young woman had all the pallor of a Victorian ghost, and stood so far away from Shawn in any given room that to an unassuming observer he might have had the plague.

There are only a handful of things, Karen thinks, that could have invited that particular evolution in their dynamic. She rips the surgical tape from its canister a little bit more harshly than is strictly necessary and fights the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“So,” she says conversationally, laying the tape down in neat, gentle little strips, trying not to pinch the wound too tightly. “Any fun plans for the evening?”

Shawn sniffs. She can see him gripping his hands together over his knee from where she stands above him.

“Um, yeah, uh –” he clears his throat, “you know me, Chief. We’re working our way through a Robert Guillame marathon, which means some good old fashioned Benson, running commentary on the quality of that child acting, naturally.”

“Naturally.” 

“Then Gus and I were gonna hit up the new, the new chili cheese joint up by Hermosa, you know – they’re doing sliders –”

“Chili cheese sliders?” Karen hums, contemplative.

“Buy ‘em by the pound,” Shawn agrees. “Then I was thinking of getting a tattoo, maybe a belly button piercing, I’ve been really – really needing a change – would you let Iris get one, if she asked?”

“A tattoo?” Karen clarifies, cutting off the next piece of tape. The skin around the cut is warm to her touch but Shawn’s arms have goosepimpled. The hair at the back of his head sticks up unstyled, like he slept weirdly and couldn’t be bothered to fix it come morning.

“Of a marmoset. That’s what I’m thinking. With distinctly effeminate vibes.”

“Well, Dick hates marmosets. So I’d probably encourage her toward something else. Perhaps a sea lion.”

“Like Shabby.” The nervous note has bled into his legs again, and his earlier subdued tone has gone back to sounding strained. “Yeah, that’ll – that could be it.”

“All in one night, huh?” Karen says.

“I –” Shawn doesn’t even hiss when she presses down with a cotton gauze to cover the last of the thickened blood. His legs are properly jittering again. “I was – yeah, y-you know me, Chief, total night owl.”

“Shawn?”

“Yeah?”

“What about going home?”

Silence. Shawn doesn’t answer for a moment long and pregnant enough that Karen wonders if her question will be ignored entirely. 

Then,

“Chief,” he says finally, in an awful, tiny little voice, “I really, really fucked up.”

Finally, her hands do falter in their ministrations; as emotionally exuberant as Shawn often is, she doesn’t think she’s ever actually heard him close to tears. For a horrible moment she wonders if Shawn Spencer will suddenly start crying atop her toilet seat for reasons neither of them are capable of discussing honestly. Then she wonders if her horror makes her a terrible boss.

Boss – mother – person.

Oh, dear.

She sets down the surgical tape and lays a ginger palm over the newly-bandaged gouge in his shoulder. It’ll probably scar, but not at all badly. She doesn’t like to think about the far more obvious one just below, puckering in a violent yet unassuming divot. Another narrow miss for Henry’s boy. 

At this point there are so many of them to count, Karen has to question the statistical likelihood of the whole thing. Becoming a mathematical anomaly is, Karen can attest with confidence, not exactly the future the Lieutenant Spencer she knew dreamed of for his increasingly unmanageable teenager. 

Doing what he loved, on the other hand – absolutely. Being with a person he loved, even more so. Karen grits her teeth at the irritating web she’s spent the last six years constructing around herself and wonders if this evening right here is some kind of cosmic karma for leaving Iris in the care of nannies for the first three years of her life.

That sounds like the kind of thing those horrible parenting magazines and Karen’s mother-in-law would claim, anyway.

“Shawn,” she says slowly, because she has to at least knock this possibility off the list before risking her career in an attempt to mediate her detectives’ love lives, “did you … you weren’t – unfaithful, were you?”

“What?!” 

Shawn yanks his shoulder away and whirls around to face her with such a look of horrified betrayal on his face that it’s almost comical. 

“No!” 

Thank fucking God, Karen thinks. Aloud, she says,

“Well, I’m sorry, I had to at least ask!”

“No! No! What the hell, Chief!”

“Oh would you be quiet! I’m gathering my evidence here!”

“How could I – I would never – you’d even think that I could –”

“I know! Shawn, for God’s sake –” He’s scrambled to his feet in the cramped bathroom space, glaring, and has probably messed up all that surgical tape in the process. The half open first aid kit and his crumpled shirt press lopsided against his front and her garbage can is now full of oxidizing bits of cotton. Karen officially gives in to the urge to press her palms against her forehead. “I had to ask!” she repeats finally. “You and I both know you’re not gonna give me much else to work with, and you sounded so – so sad!” 

Shawn barks out a hysterical little laugh. Karen almost growls in frustration. 

“I am not going to risk all the very hard-earned rules I have in place without knowing for sure that my instincts aren’t wrong. Is that so hard to appreciate?”

Does it count as sound police work when the framework for your investigation is an unacknowledged lie? Karen doesn’t really know. Probably there’s another math metaphor to be made in there (you screwed your proof from the very beginning, maybe, Richard the professor would definitely have thoughts), or just a straight up joke. How to solve a case that’s cold before it ever has the chance to go live; a cover-up if she ever saw one. Unlikely that O’Hara will peep a word, and things will be a true mess for a few weeks, if she can’t make an educated guess about it. And no one will be explaining anything to Carlton, either …

Right before their goddamn audit, Karen thinks, aggrieved. She wonders if Henry considered this in his calculus. Send Shawn over, have her deal with him. Offer a huge unspoken you’re gonna be walking into a shitstorm tomorrow canary for her perennially chaotic mess of a coal mine. 

She can’t help but feel begrudgingly grateful, but that doesn’t mean she and he won’t be having words about this later.   

“Jesus, Karen,” Shawn mutters, pressing his face back into his free hand. Karen shakes her head and squares her shoulders.

“Well then! Back to the issue. You fucked up.”

“You know what? I can’t talk about this with you.”

“Oh, Mr. Spencer, I assure you I am more than well aware.”

Shawn blinks at her between his fingers, looking genuinely confused for the first time since he showed up at her door. 

Karen does not bother to clear up his confusion; it’s better this way, anyhow.

“Will you be sleeping at Gus’s place or your father’s?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“I’m – I don’t –” Shawn doesn’t meet her eye. The earlier thread of anxiety is back. “I wasn’t …”

So, neither. 

“Put your shirt back on,” she says. “We’re relocating to the living room.”

“Chief –”

“That was an order, Mr. Spencer.”

The living room is as quiet and mundane as it was an hour ago. It’s past Iris’s bedtime – she’ll have to go up, and soon at that. Karen seats her guest, retrieves a mug and a bag of chamomile from the kitchen, and removes the fluffy throw blanket from the basket behind the couch on her way back in. He’s deflated completely by the time the tea and blanket are set in front of him. Small and exhausted. Caught. It’s a horrible way to think about it. But she can’t avoid the hundred yard stare – Karen has seen it one too many times in people only just realizing they’re about to go away for life.

“Shawn,” she says, firm as she can make it. “Drink the tea. You’re dehydrated.”

“I’m … what?”

“Your lips are dry. You shouldn’t be dehydrated with a concussion.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Karen suddenly wonders if he’s going to get up and leave. She has experience with these things – she knows a runner when she sees one.

“I might as well have,” Shawn finally whispers.

She doesn’t catch it the first time. “What?”

“I – I might as well ha – Chief, I …” Deep shuddering breaths. He’s finally shutting down, she realizes. She can’t send him back out like this; Henry would give her the stink eye for a month.

Goddamn Spencers and their goddamn irritating overcomplicated lives.

Karen pushes the tea directly into his hands and tilts her chin so she can meet Shawn’s eye. He’s still lucid enough that she doesn’t think he’ll start hyperventilating, but now that the outrage and adrenaline has worn off, the symptoms of shock are pretty hard to miss. “Shawn,” she says again, and wills for him to understand.

“What if she – what if I never –” He can’t get the full sentence out. He looks at her, eyes wide and terrified.

Life sentence, Karen thinks again. The messy stack of files Shawn brought over sits almost unimportantly on the coffee table between them and a memory comes to her, unbidden, of words penned carefully in the corner of a modified police report that she pulled the minute the door closed on the McCallum case seven years ago. 

Date: May 4th, 1995. Reporting Officer, Spencer, Lt. H. Perpetrator a caucasian male, brown hair, five foot nine, insists on wearing those stupid earrings just to spite me. What the hell do you want me to write here, Chief? Spent two hours in the fucking principal’s office convincing them not to expel him one month off from graduation. All that effort, and I still booked the kid. It’s gonna follow him for life, and it’s gonna be me that did it to him. For life. You think he’ll ever forgive me? He’s the greatest thing in my pathetic little world and he keeps breaking my heart, and I can’t even properly accept that it’s my fault. 

How’s that for a fucking crime.

She needs to go put her daughter to bed. It’s the thought that keeps running through her head, oddly enough, like a strange antidote to the impotent anger and heartbreak and frustration she’s feeling for the people under her care.

With all the notes she took in that little workbook, she still let herself become complicit in the painstaking, convoluted resolution of Henry’s mistakes without accounting for all the variables.  

Richard’s footsteps sound muffled in the next room; he’s made his way upstairs in Karen’s absence. She needs to go. She wants to hear the soft and sleepy love you Mama that with her unpredictable hours and regular long nights isn’t nearly routine enough.

“Shawn,” she says evenly. “Do you love her?”

It’s hard to reconcile the smarmy kid who tried to barter with her for twelve hundred a day with the devastated young man sitting on the couch in front of her.

“Chief …” he starts, barely above a whisper.

“Good. Then she’ll see that. Detective O’Hara is a smart and observant woman. What she chooses to do next is her decision, but … you might be – well, comforted by the fact that she’ll know that – truth.”

Shawn stares at her. The tea steams in front of him, cooling in increments. She takes a deep breath and gets to her feet, patting his uninjured shoulder brusquely. 

“I have to go check on Iris. When I come back down, I can drive you to the Psych office.”

Iris is fast asleep when she gets there. A library book lays open face down over her stomach, and her soft brown hair fans out against the pillow, silhouetted by the soft glow of the unicorn nightlight in the wall above her. Karen turns off the bedside lamp, tucks her daughter in, and kisses her forehead. Just before she leaves, she hears it: murmured, half-awake.

“Love you, Mama.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Karen goes back to her living room, car keys in hand. She’s planned her next move in the driver’s seat enough times throughout her career that it shouldn’t be too hard. 

[exhosionn]

i’ve been here for a while and i still don’t know how to use this app anyways i need somewhere to post all my really random sampard headcannons so here we are honestly it’s really just random bullet points i’ve compiled and also most of this was written at 2am so there might be some spelling mistakes.. probably one other thing to mention, im not a lore reader,, i’ve been trying to recently because i find it really interesting but any details i’ve missed is bc i haven’t read it all yet 💔💔

gepard although hes not too great at taking plants (hes def trying tho) id like to think in his spare time he has like a book on floriography and goes to flower shops to buy sampo flowers with specific meanings?(like he goes to a flower shop and requests very specific types of flower arrangements)

sampo knows a LOT of things about belebog that no one else does some kind of like historical knowledge however i think the reason why sampo wont actually KNOw any floropgraphy is because with all his vast knowledge from across the universe as a masked fool, why would he bother to know something as ‘mundane’ as the meaning behind flowers.

to link to that, i think with sampos big world he sorrta gets dragged down to belebog in like a nice way and through gepard learns that the small things in life ACTUALLY matter or they noow matter. so for example these flowers he gets he never knows the meaning of them, def gets flustered by gepard initiating anything at all lmao.

i think sampo would ask around the underworld such as natasha, seele, even hook tbh about the meaning behind these flowers usually getting information from natasha. BUT he doesnt just outright ask he would like slip it into conversation because hes sly like that. Natasha very obviously catches on quite early on and although shes not as knowledgeable with the meanings she still retains enough information for sampo to start relying on her to help decode gepards bouquet.

one way or another serval catches wind of this (through natasha) and i think thats how she connects the dots

sampo most definitely leaves back notes with kisses on them on gepards windowsill (gep leaves his windows unlocked always.)

i can also imagine sampo to ‘retaliate’ somehow finding some extinct belobog flower and gifting it to geppie being all like ‘i bet ya can’t find the meaning behind this one’ lolll

gepard is a gay in denial in the sense that hes never had a crush on a woman but he sees madam poisson and he has a MASSIVE crush on her. everytime serval asks him if hes gay he brings up his ‘past’ crush on madam poisson.

gepard the 'nuh-uh' vs serval the 'yuh-huh’

serval has gepard as "gay man sighted in belobog" in her phone - sampard nation gave me these last two

serval and natasha they totally hang out at natasha’s clinic occasionally idk why i just see it

sampo kisses the scars on geps body

gep is taller w shoes one but actually shorter than sampo usually but no one believes sampo when he says thisn bc no one sees gep without his boots off.

sampo could be having the most absolute worst day and see gepard and feel beter same works for gepard except he doesnt realise it as much because gepard is more like ‘huh my headache clears from seeing sampo yeah he just uh annoys me so much that i think my heacache is clearing hahahaha’

soarkle and sampo sibling dynamic seems really funny but at times i also dont see it if we apply the whole sampo might be an emanator theory idk i think its silly at times but sometime it doesnt make sense….

on the other hand although it doesnt logically work sampo and seele sibling dynamic i actually really like it like a lot

i feel like gepard wears grampa pajamas?

although gepard def gets flustered by sampos flirting all the time, the one who actually initiated anything i believe would be gepard (ill go more into why i think so at a later date)

both of them are really light sleepers and have trouble sleeping all the time

also gep likes to hold onto sampo a lot when they fall asleep cuz he get scared that sampo might just leave randomly

i love these two sosososo much im going insane i need more headcannons to fill the brainrot

[leviiackrman]

TAG CATCH UP: PERSONAL PICREW, QUESTIONS + URL SONGS;

Heyyooooo I’m back (even tho I never left) but these illnesses have been kicking my ass and I FINALLY feel better! I’ve been tagged in a bunch of fun games recently that I’ve been neglecting, but thank you so much to everyone who tagged me! Have an oversized post to suit my oversized fashion taste tehe

Tagged by: URL Tag: @rolangf @carrionsflower @timdownie @thedeadthree || Questions 1: @rosenfey || Questions 2 + Picrew: @binatalia

Tagging: @bbrocklesnar @risingsh0t @statichvm @marivenah @confidentandgood @unholymilf @florbelles @simonxriley @shellibisshe @roofgeese @aezyrraeshh @faerune @tekehu @arklay @jackiesarch @minaharkers @captmactavish @carlosoliveiraa @queennymeria @shadowglens @nightbloodbix @riikugan @heroofpenamstan @fenharel @alexxmason @malefiicarum @gearvmac @gwynbleidd @delzinrowe + @binickmiller

|| hair colour is not accurate cus I’m a brunette but I bleached it recently so it’s a lot warmer than this! Wolf cut going strong tho and not this long but anyway ||

L: Liar Liar - Dylan, Bastille

E: ERA - The Faim

V: Vampire Disco - Friday Pilots Club

I: IDK How to Talk to Girls - Beth McCarthy

I: I Don’t Like You..OK - The Hunna, Kelsey Karter & The Heroines

A: AmEN! - Bring me the Horizon, Lil Uzi Vert, Daryl Palumbo

C: Conquer - Marshmello, Space Laces

K: Kick Back - Kenshi Yonezu

R: Rise (Redux) - The World Alive, League of Legends

M: Make it Out Alive - ONE OK ROCK

A: Animals - Nickelback

N: Not Alone - New Rules

last song: Stormy Weather - Kings of Leon (my saved songs was playing while doing my chores lmao)

currently watching: I’m FINALLY watching American Horror Story (after my bestie pestered me for years aha) and I LOVE it!! I’m also watching The Kardashians cus it’s good background noise when I’m working lmao, and on going critical role etc

3 ships: I’m gonna choose 3 of my oc ships cus brain no function: Margot x Levi, Rin x Dabi + Mineyo x Rin

favourite colour: mustard yellow! Just such a pretty colour and so cheerful!

currently consuming: the daggerheart one shot hehehehe! So now I’m planning ideas for a daggerheart oc for when me and my sister make our characters!

first ship: anakin x padme…. forever a precious ship to me

place of birth: South England, UK

current location: 30 mins from my birth place lmao, I’ve moved a lot tho

relationship status: single pringle as always but my brain clearly is pining cus I keep having dreams about having a partner…

last movie: oh daymn… uhhh idk I don’t really watch films anymore! I think it was Suzume!

currently working on: oh BOY so many things! I’m making the invites, seating plan, table decorations and other bits for my sisters wedding, I also need to make a curtain for our stair window cus it freaks my dad out lmao, more crochet designs for my Etsy shop (critical role characters and Disney princesses are in progress), timelines for my ocs which is taking FOREVER cus i ain’t no writer, more drawings for my ocs, my oc publication, MULTIPLE ideas for oc art and just never ending odd projects cus i CANT. STOP. OH and all the planning for mummas fundraiser/birthday! So it’s a lot aha

are you named after anyone? Not my first name, but my dad went to a garden centre the day my sister was born and chose 2 flowers for our middle names, so she’s Molly Jasmine and I’m Jessica Rose!

when was the last you cried? Uhhh idk I cry a lot, half the time I don’t even realise I am. Probably on the weekend when I was feeling shit

do you have kids? AHAHAHA no. I have 0 intention of having my own children but whenever I’m financially stable (and potentially with someone) I wanna adopt/foster as many kids as I can!

what sports do you play/have you played? When I was younger I played football, hate it now. I play games at work with the kids a lot but nothing legit

do you use sarcasm? I’m British. So what do you think?

what is the first thing you notice about people? Their eyes and smiles! I can tell when someone isn’t smiling genuinely tbh

what is your eye color? Hazel but got a lot of green in them

scary movies or happy endings? Scary movies. That way I can create my own happy endings while enjoying the carnage hehe

any talents? I don’t really believe in ‘talents’, I prefer to think that anyone can CREATE a talent through practice and dedication. I guess you could say my art skills are a talent, but again I practiced for my whole life so it’s not really a talent more than determination. I can also cook decently, dance/sing okay, but they’re not talents to me, just passions

where were you born? The shit hole called England.

what are your hobbies? Oh FUCK I have way too many… drawing, crocheting, editing, writing, reading, watching anime, creating characters + content, puzzles, painting, diamond painting, organising and SO MANY MORE

do you have any pets? I doooo! I have 1 doggo named Harley and she is my pride and joy, I love her sm

how tall are you? 5 foot 11 and a half, so I just say 6 foot

favorite subject in school? Art, history, dance, drama and IT

dream job? Freelance artist or concept artists. Tho the latter is less likely nowadays cus yknow… everything is fucked from AI…

[its-no-biggie]

thinking about post-implantation wash again.....

cause like. the rvb writers dropped a lot of balls, but this is the one i find personally the most upsetting. like. a soldier getting irreparably fucked up by an experiment gone wrong is the kind of premise i read fanfiction about (that probably says something about me but im not gonna examine it. moving on). especially since he STAYED with freelancer???? you could take this in so many different directions- his fellow freelancers are worried about him but he pushes through anyway. his fellow freelancers ARENT worried about him and push him harder than he can handle. the director pulls the ai fragments and theres hostility from more than just the one-dimensional "raging bitch" character. the director DOESNT pull the ai fragments, which seriously calls into question the ethics of the whole operation (which i believe is more in line with the pfl that was described in earlier seasons, but thats a story for another time) AND puts potential pressure on wash to get another implantation (oh my GOD. show me THAT version of pfl).

and of couse. how could i possibly forget epsilon. there is something so uniquely tasty about 2 characters who went through something traumatic together and then didnt see each other again until ages later- ESPECIALLY when one of them was the cause, even though they werent directly at fault, and the other was just unlucky enough to be involved. like holy shit????? the TENSION that would cause???? the discomfort being around each other? the guilt? having nowhere to place the blame except the director?? oh my GOD literally any interaction between them couldve had so much FLAVOUR. im not saying they need to be the main focus of the story or anything but we didnt get a single interaction!! not even a crumb!! like. do something with the fact that wash needed to have alpha in his head in season 6 despite refusing to ever have another ai after epsilon. do something with wash needing to SEE and HEAR and TALK TO epsilon again. do something with epsilon remembering fucking exploding in washs head!!!! im not asking for a lot here- asking for a lot would be suggesting a scenario like the one from season 6, except wash needs EPSILON in his head for some reason and gets legitimately triggered by it or cant bring himself to do it. thats the kind of shit i want to see, but i understand that that isnt carolina-centric enough so ill get it from fanfiction as god intended. but cant i ask for at least some awkwardness? maybe an uncomfortable confrontation? irrational hostility? SOMETHING. it doesnt have to be the focus but it should be THERE.

and like. youd think that this is an issue with retconning. and it kind of is, but its more about missed opportunities. like. i dont mind the retcon that freelancer was always its own thing, or that church was always an ai. those things are cool! they take the story in a more interesting direction! yeah it makes things more confusing and id prefer if the retcons werent necessary, but. its not the end of the world. but the thing with wash is. they did a really cool and interesting thing by having an ai COMMIT SUICIDE in his fucking HEAD. and then they went back on it! they very quickly went from "this clearly left a lasting impact on him" to "oh well it was bad, probably worse than hes letting on, but some of it was an act! so he could take em down from the inside!" to "yeah i mean he screamed while it was happening but he was fine when he woke up. no lasting consequences" and then it was never addressed again. and im mad about it!! they didnt even properly retcon it- they just decided that it had no consequences anymore, and it made washs character LESS interesting.

[disappointing-my-kid]

Im sorry I think I heard someone say angel Luigi? Like oddly born with wings? Learns to hid them? Magic? Maybe some sort of creature that latched on to baby Mario’s cries as a child? Shifted to match him but has the wings? Maximum Ride vibes? Hmmmmm. Trigun vibes? Maybe a lil bit of both!

Ok hear me out. But I warn you this isnt my typical post. Im tired and cold so it’s a mess but maybe ill clean it up later. Who knows.

Mario’s family was super freaked out at first but accepted it cause of how much it helped Mario. Like maybe he was sickly as a baby but this odd creature who looks like him is helping. Doctors told him he was gonna die. Now it’s a miracle. So they just raise Luigi too. Well guarded family secret. Maybe thats why Mario is so protective of his brother. Their mother believes Luigi an angel sent to save her lil baby boy. Their father thinks him a demon who will one day eat their little boy. Why else would it be helping if not for it’s next meal he claims. Luigi has no idea why he was sent here. Never a good enough reason for their father. Maybe their mother and Mario are the only two who really accept Luigi, rest of family share the fathers pov.

Idk how to tie this into bowuigi but just let me think of the middle part for now think of the end game!

Bowser finds an injured winged Luigi. Slap that man in a bird cage. Oops thats Luigi’s biggest fear. (Did you papa traumatise you Luigi or was it just me) anyway mans having a horrible time at all the bird puns. Yoikes hes heard those before get creative Bowser smh. Oops did he say that outloud? Well now Bowser is pissed. Someone is lucky their so pretty up in that cage. Oops did he say that outloud? Well now Luigi is blushing. GET THIS MAN SOME SKIPPY CLOTHING AND A GOLDEN CAGE NOW! Well now Luigi is mortified and horrified. Hes just a decoration now. Or a pet! Awww maybe they can give him a little collar. Oh how humiliating. Whats he got left now? Probably no more tears at this point. Hey Bowsers new pet doesn’t look so good. Oops someone stopped eating. Maybe actually be nice idk man you killing Luigi from the inside. Look at those soulless eyes. You did that Bowser you happy?

Cut to Bowser trying to bring some life back to Luigi. Awww hes making sure hes ok. Getting him food. An actual bed? A room? Who said the beast doesn’t have a heart? This is how Luigi remembers the story. Though he doesn’t understand why Bowser had a change. Of course Bowser saw the soulless eyes of someone begging for death and realised he done fucked up. Of course he never thought he would have greenie over this long anyway. Wheres that red pain in his side. It’s been ages? (Oops Mario is injured and thats why Luigi had his wings out. From protecting his brother. Maybe ill put Mario in a coma for sillies)

Anyway ever so slowly Luigi gets some pep back in his step. Though hes clearly more reserved. The kids (yes plural) helped. But Bowser can see the longing in Luigi’s eyes. The way the man just looks to the sky like an old friend. They had just started really getting along too. But if you love something set it free right? So he does. And Luigi doesn’t even hesitate. The moment he is uncollared (yea baby thats last to go lmao) and outside. The moment Bowser tells him to go he just takes off. As fast has those beautiful wings can take him. Can I get an F in the chat for Bowser and his broken heart.

Luigi is frantic to see how his brother is. Consumed with worry almost his whole stay in Bowsers castle. He could feel their link, their bond, and knew his brother needed him. Of course once he reaches Mario and grasps his hand Mario wakes up. Awww brotherly love (and nothing else ya goobers) is a magical sight. Literally Luigi is glowing and has wings. Neat says princess Peach.

Maybe once he is sure his brother is oi he can feel love sick about Bowser. And misses the kids. Now it’s Mario’s turn to see the longing look in Luigi’s eyes. Mario’s turn ti tell Luigi it’s ok to just go. Though he better tell his brother whats going on when he gets back. But maybe since im such a kind god ill make it painful for Luigi to show his wings. Like painful when they sprout. So he just walks to Bowsers castle. Who is probably smad. Lmao hes sad and mad. Though word filtered in of Mario being in a coma and he figured thats why Luigi needed to go. Anyway hes probably relieved to see Luigi back. So relieved he can feel mad about not even getting a goodbye. Oopsies. But they will make it. Im sure of it.

Ok I know this post is a mess but man I had to get this idea out of my head. I wanna draw it. And I just might.

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

(Medical notes and I need to post them publicly so they show up in tags, don't violate HIPAA on me!)

My blood pressure is doing some Funky Shit lately.

I keep having vasovagal(?) episodes on flights the past two or three years. Near-syncope, probably. Feeling miserably ill, hot flushes, sweating, dizziness, vision tunneling, the whole shebang, and having to put my head between my legs to not feel like I'm actively dying. According to the doctor I saw One Singular Time, the symptoms come on because of blood pressure being lowered by the reflex.

(I haven't fully passed out on a flight, which is good at least. But it really does feel just like it does before I pass out... Research says your blood pressure can lower in flights and I think I have a fairly low resting blood pressure anyways. Usually. More on that momentarily.)

Last time I was at the dentist (in July I think?), my blood pressure read something like 102/66.

This time (just yesterday), it read something like 136/84.

??????? Are you high or low? Make up your mind.

I don't know what I did differently. I had a different lunch (maybe more sodium yesterday?), but I had the matcha tea with ginger in the morning both times, I don't think I took my ADHD meds either day because I read you're not supposed to take it if they might use anesthesia.

Though I've been taking the meds for my back injury (both oral and topical) the past two weeks. But google is saying both of those should LOWER my blood pressure.

Can chronic severe pain raise blood pressure, maybe??? Both of the past two weeks, my back flared up on the weekends and I've spent a day in agony, two days having to walk with my hands on my hips to support my back, and then the rest of the week able to walk, but slowly, deeply aching and sore and still unable to bend over. Physical therapy stretches help, but only for an hour or two.

My stomach did an awful Episode^tm yesterday morning at work, so yeah, Phobia Trigger might be a thing, and I drank less water due to that (can't swallow for an hour or two after), but that was around 9am and the dentist appointment wasn't until 3:30pm. That's six freaking hours and I was pretty sure I'd calmed down by then? I think I was actually in a pretty good mood.

??? Very confused noises? ??? ?????? ???????????

(I do have an appointment with my psychiatrist at the start of September, I'll bring this up with her and see what she thinks.)

[fluffykari]

So, why do I stop posting anything on my socials once in a while?  Quite a tough thing to answer shortly because technically it's always a different reason and I don't really like to get into details about my life online. But this last situation is such a good example of what exactly makes me disappear so often. 

After russians blew up Kakhovka dam we don't have safe water in the region. Yes, since June 2023 and to this day. You still can get drinkable water, but even if you get it from one of the free places you still must physically bring home all the water you need.

And, because of water quality, I got a severe kidney infection. Symptoms started all out the sudden and the next day I'm in 40C fever. But why did I wait a whole day before going to any doctor? Because of a massive shelling on that day the region went into a couple of days blackout. Including all the means of communication because batteries on telephone towers can only work so long.

To the moment of the regular doctor being able to get to me I already was outside of what can be done at home and needed emergency care. Luckily, we caught the moment of some signal going through and an ambulance was called. But because of time wasted I had to stay in an intensive care unit and then stay in the hospital for longer. All while still going blackout and without an ability to contact my loved ones. My loved ones having to be on the frontline. And during my stay in the hospital catheter in my vein injured my hand so badly while I was having panic attacks, I’ve lost all the movement in my elbow for a while. Which is fun, not painful at all and I didn’t even had to be fed by someone else. And so, this is a one story. Just a few last weeks of my life. Sadly I’m having way too many stories like that. Being already chronically ill none of the russians’ actions do me any good, saying it softly. No russian is welcomed here, but special shout out to those who use my art for russian content farms. Have fun picking out everything even remotely Ukrainian from my art. Anyway, this is not a fun text and probably will be mostly talking into the void, but at least I will be able to refer here anyone asking “why”.

[camellia-thea]

What would Tamerlane's life had been like if Annabelle Lee had gotten to keep sole custody, do you think?

:eyes::eyes::eyes: long post so under a readmore

okay so. i indeed have thoughts about this. so, we know that without the deal point blank, roderick would've been a poet and frederick would've been a dentist (rip). not quite the same scenario as annabel lee keeping custody of course, but a good stepping stone.

another interesting thing i feel about tamerlane is that she is the only one who i think's Issues:tm: would continue without the deal/roderick and madeline/fortunato's influence. she'd still have severe ocd and identity issues and these would still colour her life experiences.

i think the key difference between tamerlane with annabel lee alive/having kept custody is that she wouldn't have lost her ability to see other people as people. it wouldn't have become (something i personally see as) a coping mechanism for fame and riches at a young age, and also a way to protect herself from the mental illness i interpret she has (mentioned above, though that's a discussion for another time). i think that annabel's presence also would've turned that coping mechanism into being a bit of a people-pleaser; she already cares so much about her image and how people see her, i think that there was a coin toss made (one side of the coin being madeline, the other being annabel lee) and it dictated which side she favored.

i actually think freddie would still end up with roderick, because, from what i gather from the conversation in the last episode, roderick asks them to move in with him, and they accept because he's been, essentially love bombing them with money. tammy saying no to this would be really interesting. but, it leads her to being happier in the long run. i don't think she ever stops wondering about what would've happened if she said yes, but i think after a point, i think she stops caring, even as the thought crosses her mind.

i think she probably, at least from my interpretation of her, would've taken a similar route, minus the business degree i assume she has; that is to say, studying nutrition and kinesiology, with a focus on wellness. i think that she'd probably have stepped into being a (less... predatory) life/fitness coach, with a primary focus on matching her client's abilities and needs to try and give them a little control over their health (as always, it's all about control). if we're playing around with tamerlane keeping the heart condition i hc her as having, it only makes the drive to help people more important, as she'd be aware of just how difficult it is for disabled people to find care that actually accounts for their conditions and illnesses. it's also a profession that would help her see people as people, i think, because you have to get to know your clients to do your job well (and she's a perfectionist, she doesn't believe in less than 110%).

the other route i see, which would still play into tamerlane's Issues:tm:, would be a nurse. specifically this would be interesting in comparison to victorine being the daughter of a nurse and going into medicine as well. this would be really interesting to examine if annabel lee died in tamerlane's early-mid twenties. roderick and madeline try to bring her back into the family and she ends up as almost half an usher. freddie trying to convince her to come back -- or maybe he tries to push her away, because she's a threat? i'm not sure -- and victorine absolutely feeling threatened by tamerlane's approach. tamerlane would feel like an imposter, in this situation, with victorine being "her but better" in a way that links the really awful systemic disrespect of nurses against other medical careers. i think those comparisons would push her to cut all contact.

i like to think she would've met bill anyway, and they'd have had a far healthier relationship, just because the touches of honestly we get from tamerlane about how she cares about him is important to me. she'd still be incredibly insecure in said relationship, don't get me wrong, but i think she'd be more ready to work with bill over it. i don't think they'd have kids together, but they'd have a dog (this features in my tamerlane wip), and a nice but small house. tamerlane would value privacy, i think, and so i doubt they'd live in a city. suburbia maybe?

the deal still taking place, verna would make her die in her sleep, quietly, knowing she was loved. her funeral is planned by bill, who doesn't let roderick and madeline sweep in.

i think overall, she'd still be tamerlane; capable of being really cruel when she's feeling defensive, but i think that she'd have the capacity to step back and admit that she was at fault.

[fish-at-fish-fish-resort]

*ring* *ring*

"allo?"

"hey candi, its me mahi"

"oh morning mahi. why're you calling this early? did something happen?"

"more or less. do you think you and ikkan can handle the store alone today? i couldnt sleep a wink last night and REALLY dont feel capable of going to work today. *sniff* i dont wanna lock myself in the bathroom like neta always does hehe"

"take your time darling, well handle the shop today. take care of yourself alright? if you need to talk to someone i can always lend an ear."

"thanks candi. but dont worry, mizoles coming over in a bit anyway. im good. i promise. see you tomorrow."

*click*

"mahi?"

"over here"

"babe..... what happened"

"nothing... im just overreacting...."

"no youre not. tell me whats on your mind"

"youre gonna think its dumb..."

"i should feel insulted you think that about me"

"pff ur right. im just worried about neta and warabi. especially warabi. actually only warabi, i know neta can handle himself. and i know neta said its just a low risk mission but what if something happens to him. what if he gets into some dumb argument with some other soldier and gets beaten up. what if he gets lost. what if he dies. and- and i cant call or text him or anything because they couldnt *hic* couldnt bring their phones and im just so lonely and i dont know what to do without him here *sniff* i miss him so much"

"and its just the 3rd day of their mission and theyll be gone for at least 2 more days and i already cant sleep! i just want him back home.....ugh sorry i probably sound pathetic"

"no you just sound like your wife died"

"i FEEL like my wife died!" *uncontrolled sobbing*

"hey... cmere... look at me. theyll be fine alright? warabi managed to get on netas good side im sure the other soldiers will warm up to him too. plus neta wouldnt let anything happen to his number one employees best friend and husbands bandmate, right? and im sure if it was actually dangerous his parents wouldve intervened"

"*sniff* yeah... youre right.... i just miss him....."

"i have an idea. were gonna have a fun day together: eat breakfast at a nice buffet and go to wahoo world. we can also call your friend, uhhh what was her name? umami??"

"umishi?"

"yeah that one! she can join too! i wanted to get to know her anyway"

"hehe i dont know if shed like to get to know you though"

"whats that supposed to mean?"

"oh nothing nothing hehehe"

"hmmm fine whatever, ill excuse it cause youre cute."

"youre such a sap"

"and you smell like rotten sushi. get in the shower, im cleaning your kitchen"

>this plays parrallel to @yesyourstalker's posts w warabi and neta. :) just thought hmmmm how does mahi feel about this

umishi was metnioned sooooo @catastropic

[gloriousmonsters]

i’m the same anon who had the knee-jerk capslock malfunction. i realize it’s probably kinda cheap of me to be like “literally talk about whatever original work u want!!!!”. so to do the meme/challenge properly and pick one……..I’ve actually been MOST curious about Heart Hands Bone. just given some of the stuff you’ve reblogged that really resonates.

but seriously, i wanna hear about whatever original work(s) you’re feeling unhinged about rn!!!!

I'm always happy for the excuse to bring up HHB :D honestly now that I think about it, it probably would be useful to write up little 'this is what that project is' posts I can link to when I talk about them. table that for now.

Heart Hands Bone takes place in a town built over the remains of an ill-understood network of fungal and flesh 'brain' that, once upon a time, took the form of a fairy-tale forest above ground. It's all that's left of a narrota bestia, a creature that fed off narrative and granted miracles, and the town above it is split uneasily between tourism that sells a sanitized museum of its past and the people still caught in the Forest's threads; the cursed, the blessed, the transformed.

Katinka is a new resident, but feels closer to 'fairytown' than she does the modern world. When the chance to save a life presents itself, she does what old-school virtue dictates, and trades her own life for another; but just as she's resigned herself to an inglorious role in a bloody fairy tale, she's pulled into a much stranger one.

The Child-Eater is the last of his kind; the scion of an ancient mother, he never saw the Forest in its glory, but he still believes in its power. Indignant at Katinka facing death for an act of kindness, he saves her life and entangles her in a story he's convinced isn't really about him; it's about the man he loves with a passion that's made him uneasy with his current role. Hal Anselm, the 'prince', the enigmatic and unstable heir of a royal family descended from Snow White. The setting has changed, but their power has not, nor the bloody and jealous hold they keep on the most treasured relics of the Forest--Snow White's bones.

But through the years, five have slipped through their fingers. The Child-Eater has discovered the location of four, embedded in the dying Forest's last strongholds of story. When he gives Hal the information, the cursed prince is happy to invite the two of them along on his quest--and Katinka, despite herself, follows her conflicted sense of honor and her own fascination with the prince into a fairy tale made of fairy tales.

...Man, I need to whittle that blurb down somehow, but there's a lot going on in this one, y'know? Anyway. Excerpt.

Solvania’s house crouched like a toad in the shadows of the river bridge. The west end of town, fairytown as some humans called it, for how it was thick with the remnants of fairy tales, boasted many houseless inhabitants, but none of them took advantage of the bridge’s shelter--Solvania’s house exuded decay, long-toothed bitterness. In the old days, if the fire was lit, it would have smelled like baking bread due to the flour in the bricks; these days, it smelled like mold and rot.

The only other people that came there, aside from the child-eater, were occasional bandits barging in to use the oven or other kitchen equipment. He loathed them--still thought longingly about the death of the one that had put a nick in his good cleaver--but in a way, he had to be glad of their crass manners. If the Bandit King hadn’t barged into his kitchen once, commenting cheerfully on the bones he was trying to clean and commandeering the use of his small knives--a favor from one cannibal to another, let’s call it--he would never have seen Her bone.

A tooth, rattling around in that cheap plastic locket the King wore like a prize. Just in its presence, the child-eater’s stomach ached and the gut-trees grown to two or three feet down near the river started singing, rubbing their branches together in the wind. He’d sat on the floor staring, barely aware of the bandits jeering at him in between their business of cutting a girl up on his table, until the Bandit King noticed, and laughed.

“In love with Snow?” he’d asked, dangling the locket from his fingers. “I can’t blame you.”

That wasn’t quite accurate. The child-eater did love Snow--as he loved the Gallows God, an encompassing, reverent love that seemed to fill the ugly, rotten hole Solvania had hollowed out inside of him over the years. Twin lanterns in the darkness. But he wasn’t in love with her; such things were beyond a creature like him, even if he aspired to them.

And what he felt, in that moment, wasn’t about love. There was reverence, yes, but mostly there was excitement. Fervent, wild hope. He’d already heard rumors of three bones, after diligent searching, but to have one so close to his grasp--this, he could take to the prince with an easy mind.

[azumasoroshi]

minidura chapter 11 react

ok i found chapter 11 translated by amnemonie on tumblr (thank you thank you thank you and if you want me to take this down i will!!) but there's no guarantee ill be able to find the rest lmAOo we'll see

HOT MAN!!! HOT MAN

i mean what no pathetic sopping wet man

cat face izaya i thought id never see you again

man after realizing there's a minidura tag i saw a post that was like "i wish minidura got animated like bsd wan" and like. YEAH. PLEASE

it would be the perfect revival of the durarara fandom pleaseeeeeee do it for meeeeeeee we could revive durarara like we revived trigun

and i need shizuo izaya and shinra cooking together being animated. please

anyway izaya looks like he really doesnt wanna be here in that last panel and i mildly spoiled myself on the comments/reblogs saying this one is really mean to izaya which you know i live for. [cracks knuckles] i hope he gets hit by a truck but like an emotional one because that's the only one he'd really react to

oh god he's more pathetic than i thought he'd be

they're really looking at him like "damn bitch you good" which is fair

bro summoned up all his courage to ask 😭rip bozo

??????????? THEY TOLD YOU HE'D BE WITH THEM

izaya simultaneously has the best social skills known to man and the WORST social skills known to man

ill never stop bringing this up but. now presenting orihara "i love humans because they're so unpredictable" izaya getting fucked by humans' predictability everybody

and here we see izaya walking awkwardly in his natural habitat, trying to eat cake with high schoolers /j

kadota casually calling out izaya on his bullshit bkgjdSGKHDSHds

he just wants to eat cakeeeee someone go with him

not me though i wouldnt be caught dead with that man

i swear walker's face gets longer every time i see him and it tickles me so much

aaaand cue shizuo on stage right

god bless erika for suggesting that he invite shizuo cuz id have done it myself

also "just today". are you implying that you want to see shizuo every other day. izaya.

WAIT

WAIT IS TODAY IZAYA'S BIRTHDAY

OH

oh my god thats actually sad okay

id say to ask namie but namie probably rejected him already without even letting him finish the question bkfdgjhgf

shinra keeping up the stupid anniversaries trend from that other chapter we love a consistent malewife

man shiki he wasnt even here for work 😭 at least he got some food although karasumi does not look that good if im being honest

at least compared to cake

shinraaaa you FORGOTTTT

may 4th is the date of my statistics exam but i swear ill celebrate it for you izaya. ill even mark it down on my calendar

oh 💀 namie is as delusional as i am. love that for her

he's even singing to himself ohhhhh poor baby...(i say this as if i'm not grinning wildly to myself in my room rn)

i swear i feel bad for him but he's so fun to bully

man i remember those fics where shizuo was the only one to remember izaya's birthday bgkjhfdgfd i guess those were founded from somewhere (even if his gifts were things like 'not chasing him today' or sending him black roses)

oh my god 😭 he's so desperate at this point i didnt think he'd actually be happy to see shizu-chan

even grabbing him by the arms bkgdssdkahdskjhgsdsd

this is gonna end badly though if the comments/reblogs i read have anything to say about it

😭yep the izaya bullying is real

SHIZUO NOOOOOOOOOOOO THATS BASICALLY THE WHOLE CAKE

izaya's conscious too 💀 MAN

part of me feels like this is narita's personal revenge against the shizaya fans in his fanbase askdbgskjhsdhgsd shizuo needs to be extra cruel to prove he's not gay

he's so happy to just get birthday textssssss this is so sad