#anywho enjoy !

[bender-at-i-love-bender]

we all know Bender is both (when it comes to Fry at least)

[strwbi-laces]

That’s my heart, burning on the tarmac - part 1

Lesbian wolfstar, E

cw: suicide + car accidents

Remus is there, draped backwards over the hood of a white Fiat that saw better days roughly fifty years ago, looking out of her mind and like sin itself.

“Let’s go.”

She stands up off the car and walks round to the driver’s side. Her skirt is bunched up from the back but Sirius doesn’t mention it. “Where exactly are we going?”

“I don’t know. Do you never get in and just drive?”

[frostings-silly-little-art-blog]

Lonely nights

At long last it was night. Florian fell into her bed, staring up. The dark felt so peaceful, swirling in a cold comforting shroud. Seeping into her very soul, turning inside and grasping at her. Its quiet whisper trickling in her mind, breaking down the tall mental walls. The soft brush of wind outside, soon to be replaced by clattery raindrops on the metal roof. 

It’s so beautiful, so very peaceful. But her thoughts couldn’t help but drift to herself, her loneliness, her inability to make normal conversation, her bland and fake personality, her everything. She would be alone forever and it was just a simple fact to her. Resigned to live an empty life at the young age of fourteen. At least life was simple, she would never have to worry about being presentable to others. That was so tiring while it was so easy being alone. Yet much harder being lonely.

Florian clenched her fists in her hair, barely stopping herself from pulling out the blonde strands twined in her fingers. After a few seconds of attempting to calm her emotions, clawing to escape, she stuffed them down. A small smile spread on her face, not knowing what caused it she gave in to the urge as a dry soundless laugh left her lips causing her to keel over. Life was strange and the night was beautiful. But beauty doesn’t change what life is, it just gives a reason to keep going.

[potatobugz]

here's a bonus comic for that last post I made, hehe

[myhiraeth]

another king arthurverse drabble for @headstrongblake

Styxx is not one of the lot being pulled around and shoved into place; whether he likes it or not, he's treated differently and while those he's come to like, to protect, to respect, get prodded and pushed, he's allowed to converse with the Roman soldiers that know who he is and who his father is. They make polite small talk, disparaging the new recruits to Styxx's annoyance, and talking strategy to Styxx, about where they've been and where they're going. But when Louis goes into a rage, he's quick to abandon the soldiers he's talking with and go try to diffuse the situation Louis has created.

He catches the younger boy right before he can launch himself back at his captor, yanking him by the shirt collar and throwing him behind Styxx, setting himself between Louis and the quickly approaching backup soldiers with their swords already drawn. " Stand down. " He hisses sharply, successfully turning Louis' glowing blue eyes to his own. The boy is panting, panicking though he hides it under rage, and while Styxx gets it- it doesn't make it acceptable. He grabs Louis by the chin and keeps his eyes on Styxx, holding his other hand out to the soldiers behind him to stall them in coming for the boy. " You assault them on Octavia's behalf and you won't be the only one bleeding. She is leaving with them, without you, and you want her to be the cause of their injuries?" He lets go of Louis but his voice doesn't lose it's steel edge. "Control yourself before you have Octavia's blood on your hands."

That at least gets Louis to pause, still panting with the effort it takes to control himself (they'll have to work on that while they're together in this century unit) and Styxx turns back to the soldiers, still careful to keep himself between Louis and the others. "He's upset, but he's calm now."

what's his problem?

"Sister." He says without skipping a beat, praying to any god that will listen that Louis is smart enough to go with the lie. "Nothing time apart won't cure." He can't tell the truth. If he implies the two are close, are intimate, that implies that Octavia is desirable, that she's desirable enough to risk one's life over. And the last thing he wanted were the words 'desirable' and 'Octavia' running through lonely soldier's minds at the same time. That, too, wouldn't end well for the girl.

keep him under control, laeti. Styxx bristled at the insult, an implication that his family weren't true Roman citizens, but forced himself to keep quiet as the soldiers turned their back on him and walked away, taking only a moment to shoot Octavia an unamused look before turning back on Louis and taking him by the arm and pushing him back toward their own line.

[notsuchasecret]

TRICK OR TREAT TIME - first one shall be Tanaka and Haru :D

Come trick or treating in my inbox! Leave a “Trick or Treat” and a character or ship in an ask, and I’ll treat you to some autumn-themed fluff or trick you with some twisted spooky aus!

LMAO I WARNED YOU. I TOLD YOU YOUR BABY MUSE FINGERS WERE MAKING ME WANT TO DO THINGS. WELL HERE YOU GO. ENJOY THIS TREAT MY FRIEND. ENJOY IT WHILE YOU CAN. (under the cut because it is, somehow, over two thousand words. Oops?)

Sometimes, Ryuunosuke played this game where he would sit and stretch his mind back, trying to remember the beginning.

Not the Beginning, he wasn’t quite that old, but near it. Maybe a few centuries after.

The thing about time was that it didn’t work in quite the same way that humans thought it did. Their lifespans were so short. They thought a year was a long time, that eighty of them made an eternity, and that made a funny little thing happen. Their lives would end and then the next batch would begin and that next batch would think they were so much more advanced than the ones before them. But then they would do the exact same things as the previous, and the ones before them and the ones before them.

As Ryuunosuke walked down a bustling Tokyo street, he watched a pair of little girls hop around and sing some chanting rhyme, the same way little girls had been doing as long as he could remember. The words had changed, the language Ryuunosuke had been born to long dead, but the action, and the spirit of the game, remained. Humans, for all their adaptations, never really changed.

Ryuunosuke had been human, once. And since humans never changed, he was pretty good at playing the part now. When the woman at the fish stand tried to set him up with her granddaughter, he laughed and flirted with her instead and no one knew any better. He walked away with a smile, his bag of fish bouncing against his leg.

“You get too close to them.”

A shudder ran down Ryuunosuke’s spine, his smile going a little smaller and a little quieter and a little more sincere.

“You’re one to talk,” he replied, thanking the stream of time for the invention of headphones to disguise his conversation. People had long stopped giving him weird looks when he spoke to something they could not see or hear.

“That’s why you shouldn’t.”

“I know,” Ryuunosuke said. He turned into a park and sat on the bench there. “Keep those cold for me?” he asked as he set his bag beside him. There was no answer beyond a vague sense of irritation and a patch of cold air forming next to his hip. “Thank you, love.”

“Something’s different, this time.”

“You know we’re not supposed to look,” Ryuunosuke chided. “And even if you see by accident, you really shouldn’t be telling me. I’m not supposed to know.”

“They think you’ll warn the humans.” Ryuunosuke nodded. “Will you?”

“I don’t know,” Ryuunosuke sighed. “For a while, I thought I would. A few hundred years ago, when it almost happened that one time, I nearly did. But…” He looked around the park. “They’re so small, and that’s their blessing. They don’t know, and in ignorance, bliss. I can’t take that away from them.”

There was a sadness to the breeze that ruffled Ryuunosuke’s clothes. “Do you ever miss it?”

“Nah. It’s right there, you know?” He jerked his chin in the direction of a mother scolding her kids, and then again toward a pair of high schoolers clearly on a date. “People are still building families and walking through parks and laughing and singing and hurting. It didn’t stop just because I stopped.”

“You wish you hadn’t stopped.” But Ryuunosuke was already shaking his head.

“You know I don’t,” he said. “You know I wouldn’t trade you for anything, not even a human lifespan.” This time, the sadness in the wind took on a petulant tone and Ryuunosuke laughed. “Stop pouting,” he said. “It’s almost autumn. We’ll see each other again soon.” He smiled, leaning his head back, and let fall from his lips a word so ancient that its very mother tongue had been lost entirely, but its sentiment had been shattered into a hundred other words. Words like home and love and partner and friend, and a hundred more that, together, came close but didn’t quite hold it all. Soulmate came close, sometimes. When it was said with the right weight. That breeze tugged at his clothes once more and he smiled. 

“Your fish are going to get warm.”

Ryuunosuke rolled his eyes. “You’re getting lazy if you won’t even hold them for me,” he muttered, getting to his feet. “I should trade you in. They have actual refrigerators now. They’re more useful, and they tend to sass me less.”

A gust of air nearly knocked him over and he laughed. 

“Hey, what’s with the wind lately?” he asked. “That’s not usually your go-to.”

“It’s easier to follow you like this.”

Ryuunosuke frowned. “Are you having trouble—“

“I thought you weren’t supposed to know.” The teasing note to the wind’s voice had Ryuunosuke relaxing somewhat. He rolled his eyes.

“Following rules is all well and good when it comes to humanity at large but you know it’s different when it’s you.” The fingers of Ryuunosuke’s right hand moved without thought to trace a half-minded line down between his ribs. This body didn’t hold scars, didn’t take well to change. But Ryuunosuke knew there was a mark there nonetheless, left by something outside of the control of time. He sighed. “You don’t have to tell me any details, just let me know that you’re okay. Or if you’re not, let me know which of the gods I need to track down and have a talk with.”

It was all bluster, they both knew. Ryuunosuke was no longer human, but that didn’t make him powerful by any stretch of the mind. In fact, it took away much of the power that came with things like mortality and curiosity and that unique sort of hubris that stemmed from knowing you wouldn’t live forever.  Still, as Ryuunosuke unlocked the door to the apartment building he’d been staying in for a while now, the wind settled along his shoulders, almost like a body leaning its arm there and dropping its head against Ryuunosuke’s neck. The breath caught in Ryuunosuke’s throat for a moment before he smiled.

“Okay,” he said, and opened the door. “You want me to light the fire when I get in?”

He didn’t get an answer in words, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hear the affirmative anyway.

It had been difficult to find a place with a fireplace in modern Tokyo, so difficult that Ryuunosuke had almost given up on the city. It wasn’t quite the sunken irori he had been looking for, but the western hearth in the living room was built for wood burning and that suited their purposes fine. So before Ryuunosuke even paused to put the fish in the fridge, he stooped by the hearth and struck a match. It was only when the fire was catching, spreading from the kindling to lap at the larger logs that he turned and finished putting everything away.

“You know, it may be time for me to be moving on soon,” Ryuunosuke said. The logs creaked in question and he shrugged, not even bothering to turn and face the hearth before answering. “I’m probably imagining it, but I think the old man who lives below us was looking at me a little longer than usual the other day. And it’s been, what, seven years? This body is young enough by today’s lifespans that people will start to notice soon that I don’t really change.” He smiled, picking up his cup of tea and moving to sit cross-legged in front of the fire. With the tea cup balanced on his knee, he reached out to flirt his fingers through the flames, laughing at the playful response he got.

“Where will we go?” crackled the fire. Ryuunosuke shrugged.

“Europe might be nice again,” he said. “Not England, we’re never going back there. And North America just feels… off right now. We could go south, though. It’s been a while since we visited… what’s it called these days… Peru.” The fire was warm where it wrapped around his wrist, tracing down the lines of his fingers before flicking up in between. “Oh, hey!” Ryuunosuke said. “I just remembered. I picked up the paperwork today. What do you want your name to be this time?”

The flames crackled, growing dimmer for a moment, before the answer came.

“Haruka.”

“I like that one,” Ryuunosuke said with a smile. “Haru for short?” The fire gave an affirmative. “You want me to pick a surname at random, like we did last time?” The response he got was irritation, but not a no, so he just grinned. “Hmmm. I think I read about a Nanase the other day. Nanase Haruka, then?”

“I like that.”

“Okay. I’ll fill out the papers so we’re ready when the time comes.”

“I think it will be early this year.”

“Yeah? Any particular reason?”

In answer, the flames grew brighter, one branch reaching out as though toward Ryuunosuke. Ryuunosuke laughed and threaded his fingers into the fire, curling as though to hold another hand. “Yeah, okay,’ he said. “I can see that. You’re stronger than you have been at this time the past few years.”

“The leaves will change soon.” It was a promise.

“And when they do, I’ll meet you beneath a maple,” Ryuunosuke promised in return. “Or should we find an oak this year?”

“Maple. Smells better.”

“Okay,” Ryuunosuke laughed. “Can’t wait.”

And he didn’t have long to wait, after all. September began hot and vengeful, but it retreated into a sudden autumn with a whimper. And, the day Ryuunosuke saw the first of the red on the trees, he knew it was time. So he followed the color as it trailed from tree to tree, winding a path through Tokyo until he found a secluded-enough park, with a large maple standing in a forgotten corner. He smiled up at it, certain that it was the right one.

The leaves were a crown of fire, gold and red and orange and every color laid out in between. Ryuunosuke reached up to touch one, and it fell away in his hand.

“Is this a gift?” he asked, laughing. He turned his head to see the figure standing at the base of the tree, raking his eyes appreciatively up their form. “I like that shape,” he said.

Haru rolled his eyes, pushing away from the trunk of the maple to walk over to Ryuunosuke. He was slender this time, and pale, with dark hair falling in blue eyes, gorgeous from tip to toe. He reached out to link his fingers with Ryuunosuke’s, letting that same ancient, forgotten word float on his voice, familiar from the wind and the fire and the passage of water in a stream, but half-forgotten in a more human form. Ryuunosuke closed his eyes and smiled, leaning his forehead against Haru’s and taking in the dust-and-magic scent of him.

“Hey, there,” he said, and Haru hummed.

“Hey. Ready to get started?”

Ryuunosuke looked around, at the amount of green still hanging from the trees around them. He looked back to haru, reaching up to brush some hair out of his eyes.

“I’m ready,” he said, and let Haru’s answering smile fill his senses the same way his autumnal magic filled the air.

Time, it seemed, always stood still for them in these moments. Since the first time Ryuunosuke had looked at his reflection and wondered why he still looked so young, the omnipotent march of time had carried him ever-onwards. But each year, there was a pause. A breath. A moment to simply be Haru’s and let Haru be his.

They would not have long together like this. When Winter came to bully away the dying into the dead, when it drove the sleeping things deep under the ground and the waking things huddled themselves close for warmth, Haru would retreat once more into the elements. But Ryuunosuke would always have him. No matter what name he took, no matter where he was, no matter how the years crept on, this was always certain. And it always would be. From the beginning all the way until the End.

Ryuunosuke couldn’t wait.

[kiwi-peep]

Ghostface is drenched coming back from a trial

[care666bear]

[fifthnailinstevesbat]

after the events of season 4, steve just wanting SO BADLY to be friends with eddie. just LOVING the idea of them getting closer and having eddie as a friend because hell yeah! a close male friendship with someone that is actually my age, and who i don’t have a weird history with involving bruised eyes and love triangles? count me IN! and eddie is FUN, he is actually hilarious! the way they share the same glances of understanding when dustin is being an absolute shit head, rambling on and on about some obscure topic, expecting everyone to always be on the exact same page as him. of course. and, although steve suspects that eddie actually probably is keeping up with everything dustin says, much better than he ever could, he knows that above it all eddie can appreciate the antics for what they are, and roll his eyes with steve at dustin, i concur, you dustin henderson, are a total butthead.

steve just about junps RIGHT IN to being friends with eddie. hey man, what’cha up to tonight? wanna watch a movie? get drunk, smoke a bit? hey eddie, how have you been, man? he starts calling eddie up on the phone regularly just to check in, shoot the shit, he loves it! he loves having this new friendship with eddie munson and he loves how much the other boy has surprised him with how much he actually enjoys being around him. he’s not a freak, really, well ok maybe he is a little bit, but only in the best ways. he’s kind, thoughtful, and is always looking out for the people he cares about, which is something steve can really respect in a dude. but he’s also so funny? steve never could’ve anticipated just how much eddie has managed to make him genuinely LAUGH over their short amount of time spent together. and he’s really, out there? with the way he presents himself, the way he takes up space with these big THEATRICAL movements, leaving no room for regret or shame or god forbid embarrassment. steve isn’t even sure munson is capable of feeling it at all.

eddie munson is a good dude, and steve could use a bit more of that kind of person around him. he loves all of his friends, the weird little bonded family he’s found himself apart of, and they are all good people, but it never hurts to have afew more added in here and there. it never hurts to know there are more good people out there to find.

so steve is all over eddie, it seems.

at least, from where eddie is standing. nobody else seems as phased as eddie does at this sudden change in steve’s demeanour, in his interest in what eddie munson spends his time doing these days. it seems like, to everyone else, to steve, it’s just a natural progression in their relationship, after being sort of role model figures to the same group of kids, both being the two single dudes, who fought the same monsters together last spring, it seems nobody questions too much that they’d start casually hanging around eachother more. especially since eddie has found himself to fit into his own special spot as one of the group now after it all, after he unwillingly became tangled in this whole upsidedown-superpowers-supernatural-monsters and demons debacle, and tangled quite dramatically at that, the rest of the group that’s been with this since the beginning seemed to find no trouble in taking him in and seeing him as “one of them” now.

so, steve asking eddie to smoke, to watch movies, to go for a drive with no real end destination, it’s not really something that earns them too many double takes. dustin makes a comment or two in the beginning, because steve since when did you like hanging out with eddie? you guys are like so opposite, you don’t like any of the same stuff he does? and steve barely gives a shrug and a dismissive yeah yeah whatever man in response, with a signature eye roll, and dustin had said it seemingly also not too seriously, poking fun at steve wherever he can, not really meaning anything by it, as he fidgets around and rambles in the backseat of steve’s car, eddie riding up front. after that, though, he’s dropped it. it’s never brought up again. part of eddie thinks, too, that dustin would actually be enjoying that his two older friends are becoming friends themselves.

robin seems to be the only other person to look a bit harder at their situation, lingering stares at their interactions, all squinted eyes and eyebrows raised, though from her all this seems to be almost always and only ever directed at steve. eddie’s not sure what to make of that. isn’t he the weird one? i mean, he’s the one that stands out, right? he’s the odd denominator that makes their friendship strange. why would steve harrington want to hang out with Him? HIM? but robin doesn’t spend her time studying eddie to try and search for what about him could possibly have piqued the interest of cherished steven harrington, no, shes always looking at steve. like she’s seeing him differently, almost. eddie doesn’t even think that steve notices it, either, because he doesn’t seem to be questioning or doubting anything odd or strange or out of the ordinary with their newfound time spent together. and maybe, maybe robin is seeing him differently. eddie knows he definitely has been. seeing him more, intensely. deeply. human. seeing the person that steve is, as just steve, not this idealised version of a boy that eddies starting to question ever really even existed at all, or if everyone around him just needed to believe that he did, and who was steve if not happy to comply to the wants of the people around him for who he should be?

eddie likes having steve as his friend, too. don’t get it twisted. he loves how unexpectedly expressive steve is about everything, even really small things. steve LOVES to raise his voice, rest a hand on his popped hip, scolding the kids for something stupid with no real heat or malice behind it. and steve is, like, kinda bitchy too. eddie knew he had the capacity to be a real asshole when he wanted to be, that’s all he knew steve for back in the day, when he was back in high school, hanging around tommy h and the basketball boys, the jocks. eddie would spend his days hearing only whispers and gossip in the hallways of the parties at king steve’s house and the fights king steve had started and won on the court or out in the fields, only ever getting as close as a shove into a locker with the guy at the time, but eddie knew how it could go. he knew all about what steve had done to jonathan, what he’d said to him, the words he’d used. eddie knew it all. he’d seen enough, and been through enough himself, to know how these guys acted in response to guys like him, like jonathan, people who were lower on the social food chain. so, eddie knew about steve’s “mean streak”, if you will, but this kind of snarky bitchiness was something new to him. harrington was almost, sassy, when he wanted to be. it was less so cruel and more just, just sass. if he’s being completely honest it kind of blew eddie away, at first. he thought steve was one of those dull headed jocks who thought with their fists more than their actual brains, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. steve’s insults were well thought out, they were FUNNY, he was smart with his words. and silly. oh my god steve harrington could be so fucking silly, real honest to god goofball when the moment called for it, when he felt comfortable enough. eddie had caught on multiple occasions steve mimicking lightsabers to play fight with dustin, or the stupid fucking shit he would do or say just to make robin laugh, singing along to a song playing on the radio with a funny voice.

it was all a little, intoxicating, to watch. eddie didn’t know what gave him the right to be in on this now, to get to see this side of steve and better yet to be at the other end of some of his best qualities. it was fun, all the time they spent together, but there was always something else tugging inside eddie everytime they spent close time together, too. something, he knew steve wasn’t aware of. something he knew steve wasn’t equipped to deal with. something he knew, was him. was him, making things something more than they should be, because, nobody seemed to be questioning that they could become friends, so why ruin that? why disrupt it?

- robin and steve

“Steve.”

“-but then like, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to watch it I just thought, hey, y’know, let’s try something different for a change, but then he- oh my god he honest to god TACKLED ME Robin — I mean, it was so fucking funny and it happened so quick — and all over a fucking Tom Cruise movie-“

“STEVE.” Robin lightly slammed a hand onto the counter. She had been standing behind it for no short of 20 minutes, watching Steve as he paced around, supposed to be stacking tapes onto shelves, but ended up spending the whole time going on and on, and ON, about how movie night went with Eddie last night. She thought she was bad…

Steve jumped, almost running into a shelf and knocking down his hard work, and seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had found himself in after starting to tell Robin a story about something funny Eddie had done last night.

“Shit, sorry. Sorry, what were you saying? Were you- were you saying something?”

To this, Robin just rolls her eyes and let’s out a laugh, “You, sir, are goddamn hopeless.”

“Sorry. How long was I talking for?” Steve wandered his way over to lean his arms onto the counter from the opposite side.

“Oh, I dunno Steve, just about half an HOUR?”

“That is an over exaggeration Robin, it’s only been like-“

“Honestly, man, i’m concerned for you. You are like next level OBSESSED with Eddie. Eddie Munson. You do realise this right??? You are obsessed with him, Steve.”

To this Steve sputters, lazily waving his hands back and forth.

“No, Robin, what the hell are you talking about? I am not OBSESSED. No need to be jealous, alright, Stevie-Boy here can have more than one friend. Your spot in my heart isn’t any less special now that it’s beginning to be shared by another.” He bats his eyelashes up at her, holding both hands over his chest as if to cradle his heart.

“Oh my GOD! You even SOUND LIKE HIM!”, she playfully slaps his shoulder. “Steve. You are obsessed.”

“I am not obsessed! He’s just a really great guy, alright-“

“Blah blah, yep whatever you say, lover boy.” Robin quips, plopping down onto the chair chair infront of their staff computer, turning herself to face it.

“Wha- what? Lover boy? What the hell Robin, that is not- that doesn’t even make any sense!”

She is just smiling at him now, enjoying seeing him spiral like this. Steve let’s out a sigh as he puts his hands on his hips, and shakes his head, looking at her right back.

He opens and closes his mouth afew times, like he’s really thinking about what he wants to say next. Or like he has no idea what to say next, and his brain is not moving fast enough to formulate the next sentence his mouth knows he wants to say. He wasn’t obsessed. That’s not- that’s like- no. No he was not, Robin was just playing around with him, she knew how to get on his nerves. Get him all wound up over little things just to see him react like this.

After a minute or two, Robin realises Steve was not going to reply anytime soon, so she turns fully back toward him. Saving him from his spiral.

“So, what are you’re plans for tonight Steve-O?”

He lets out a chuckle and walks around the counter till he’s behind it with Robin, leaning his back against it so he can stand across from her and face her.

“Well, not really sure. Parents aren’t home, no early shift tomorrow, might drink afew beers, listen to some music, —“

“See what Eddie’s doin?” Robin finishes for him, quirking her eyebrows up and down as she does it.

“Oh shut up!” Steve just laughs and softly throws a tape from the counter at her chest. “As a matter of fact, yeah I will see what he’s up to. Because we are friends now, Robin. Is that a problem? Actually I was also gonna ask you what you were up to after work, too, but you know what after this I’m having second thoughts, I mean, the way you’ve been treating me lately-“

“Oh my god, you are the worst. Yes, I’m free, of course I’ll hang out with you dingus. You and your tweedle dee.”

Steve laughs at this, then tilts his head.

“Wait, does that make me dumb? Tweedle dumb?! That’s how you see me?”

“Yeah it is actually, got a problem?”

“Oh wow, she’s feisty today. Can’t believe you think I’m dumb, Rob’s. When you come knockin’ tonight, do not expect a warm greeting at my front door.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take my chances.”

- later. steve’s house. to be continued?

[kotofeden]

Happy unnecessary feelings day pals 💖💖💖

[iced-souls]

Uhm, possible spoilers i think for Marble Sky [made by @somerandomdudelmao in which you should go and check out if you haven’t read rn cause they be very cool very cool and very cool]

but—OMG I LOVE THIS BIRB AUUUHGHGHHGUGHUHURHUEHGI—

IN WHICH THEY ARE PERFECTLY FINE AND WE SEE SO SO MUCH OF THEM NYYYGUUH—

Guys guys guys — please trust meee she is A-OK and she is gonna be a teacher to Oscar as they make a pacifist alien befriending club

I am not in denial i have no clue what you’re talking about—

I ain’t got a clue what these so called ‘jars’ even look like yet but i sketched a thing out immediately and then at that point my intrigueness started to fade, and then the ref came out and for some reason that boosted my interest even further. But i know what a bird’s brain looks like now so thats something.

I just think she seems very cool

I may have also did some other doodles a week or 2 ago that i didn’t post cause the social of anxiety was kickin in high those days but I’ll put them under the cut if thou wishes to see

That is all ok buh byyeeee go see marble skiessssss

[heartsofminds]

i'm calling just to hear you scream - part i

"She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down." or Natalie gets fed the fuck up and hires a hospitality attorney before everything else turns to shit. 

a/n: i couldn't help myself at all and had to bite by trying my hand at writing for carmy! what can i say? i love men with trauma that need to be cuddled like newborns! please enjoy the beginning of enemies to lovers to enemies back to lovers fic with a workaholic chef and an overly empathetic attorney. angst is my brand! i hope you enjoy!

Being the peacekeeper of your family is never something anyone ever sets out to be. 

One day you’re normal and live blissfully with the rose-colored lenses of naivety tinting life shades of bashful blush and magnetic magenta. The next day you’re diffusing a spitfire scarlett dispute between your anxiety-ridden mother and impulsively crude older brother while simultaneously taming the balloon of battered blue tears your baby brother sheds who observes from the corner; scared yet somehow unaware of the emotions sucking the oxygen out of everyone. 

At first, it feels good. It feels nice to be appreciated and turned to in moments of darkness. Helpfulness defines your livelihood and gives you the nameplate of the gold star child who can never do any wrong and always finds a solution. But then you realize that is what you ever really are, and you’re both hated for your inability to let things sour and for always having an answer despite uncertainty plaguing every course of action. 

Being the peacekeeper of your family is both a Medal of Honor, worn with pride and graciousness, yet a bullet wound wielded by shame and agony. The tenderness and hurt push on it until you can hardly stand it; half expecting pus to be seeping out in pale yellow heaps because the pain feels so real. 

There are no exit wounds. There are no breaks. There is no humanity or personal identity or room for self-discovery. 

A peacemaker is all you will be and all you will ever accomplish, and you’ll never say it out loud but it’s fucking exhausting. 

Being the peacemaker is something Natalie Berzatto never fucking asked for, yet here she is, playing project manager to her haywire (and sometimes freakishly obsessive) baby brother’s blind-eyed throw of a dart that manifested itself in asking Uncle Jimmy for an eight hundred thousand dollar loan with the promise to have it completely paid back within eight months. 

She’s not one to rain on a parade, but it’s hard to keep marching when your entire life has been putting out the fires of overly ambitious business ventures during unmedicated fits of mania. She had seen it with their dad, with their mom, and with Mikey. Carmen is the last needle needed to complete the fucked up haystack that engulfs their family. 

She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down. 

Natalie has never thought of looking into Botox until now; when her face is set in a permanent scowl and her resting heart rate nears triple digits. Pete had been telling her for the past three weeks that she was doing amazing; that this was an impossible task to complete stress-free, and that the stress was “good” because it meant that she cared. 

Sometimes she doesn’t realize that not everyone has a mom who drives the fucking car through the den during Christmas Eve dinner nor does everyone have a mom who moves all the furniture to the backyard before having to leave for their oldest brother’s high school graduation. Not everyone has an older brother who blows his head off and doesn’t leave a note and not everyone has a younger brother who would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his body and had his mouth that was spewing hurtful insults by the dozen.

Stress does not mean that you care. Stress means that your eyes are staring at the fucking Sun trying to see where the other shoe is getting ready to drop because there’s always another disappointment and always another phone call to make to the pharmacy for more SSRIs. 

Needless to say, Richie calling Neil “lard ass” on an antagonizing loop after he had pointed out the wrong wall was being destroyed was the last straw. Well, that and the fact she found a new patch of white hairs colonizing on her hairline the other morning. Constant shouted insults, gray hairs popping up overnight, and the colossal secret of a new infant making its arrival into the chaos in October weigh heavy on her. And she absolutely cannot afford to lose her cool and become the kind of bitchy and mean she knows that she’s capable of. 

Your phone number sits inside the LED-lit text thread of a friend she had known in high school. Becca was the older sister of Claire Cantor whom her little brother may have or may have not had a pathetic crush on years ago when he was in high school. 

She feels kind of grimy doing what she is; offering up information about Carmy to Becca to give to Claire who apparently thought her baby brother was the bee's knees (which, if she saw the way he was acting right now, Natalie knows she would run the other way). She doesn’t even think Carmen has the capability to think of anything outside of the restaurant and the menu and how royally fucked they all are. 

She can feel the dull ache of guilt in her chest that comes with knowing how unlikely anything is to come from this, and how wrong she is for pretending like her telling Becca where he grocery shops or if he has a girlfriend or if he was currently looking for someone to date would somehow tether Claire to a world where her and Carmen are a “thing” (because apparently “boyfriend and girlfriend” is too permanent of a word for Chicagoan twenty-somethings to use). 

But she’s doing it for the sake of everyone else! It can’t possibly be as gross and low-lived as she feels it is. 

Becca Cantor is insufferable and can only be taken in small doses, but she’s also a big wig junior partner at one of the most lucrative law firms in Chicago. Natalie hates blowing smoke up people’s asses who don’t deserve it (and in Becca’s case certainly don’t need it), but she desperately needs help and knows that she needs to figure something out before she fucks herself in such a deep hole that she couldn’t attempt to unfuck herself if she tried. 

Your official title is “junior associate” and you had been working at Becca’s firm following your graduation from Northwestern’s Pritzker School of Law a couple of years prior. Becca had said you were amazing; freakishly smart, funny, and hardworking. She also mentioned that you were the best kind of junior associate; the ones that know when to shut the fuck up and when to get the fuck out of the way. The addition added before the text conversation ended was how you were looking to get your foot into the hospitality legal field, and how you were willing to do anything concerning that for free fucking ninety-nine if it meant you would have some experience. 

Natalie sits with her lower lip worried between her teeth and her hands one tick shy of shaking. Her heart beats erratically despite lounging on her couch with the lights off and a re-run of That 70’s Show playing softly in the background. She makes a mental note to bring up the high resting heart rate at her next OB appointment. 

It’s because she’s pregnant. Yes. It has to be because she’s pregnant. 

She shouldn’t be nervous. It would be absolutely ridiculous to be nervous. She’s not nervous. 

She already ran the idea past Sydney and she agreed that they absolutely needed a lawyer in their back pocket. With all of the tax records fucked beyond belief, new workers being hired who actually knew their worth and wouldn’t tolerate not having an actual employement contract, and the lack of permits under their belt currently, a lawyer wouldn’t hurt if getting one turned out to not be as helpful as anticipated. Besides, Becca had said you were doing it for them pro bono which in turn meant free fucking nintey-nine. 

But Natalie had lied to Carmen about how much some fluted cocktail glasses cost to ensure that they purchased the cheaper ones so that she could run the numbers and figure out a way to put you on the payroll. Pro bono or not, you’re doing them a huge favor and part of her can’t put the peacekeeping to rest. 

Her fingers type and untype a novel of characters. She can’t seem to relax her mind enough to articulate what exactly she wants to say. She has one shot to not scare you off and not lose her mind in a fit of fiery rage and not have everything turn to shit and it be her fault. She has to be perfect. 

Fuck. She is nervous. 

Hi! This is Natalie Berzatto. I’m one of Becca Cantor’s friends and she referred me to you. I’m working on opening a restaurant and would like for you to swing by and discuss some things about it if you’re open to that! Please let me know. I’m looking forward to hearing back from you soon! 

Nat’s finger hits the blue “send” arrow in the rounded box of her phone screen the same time she pushes a gag to the back of her throat. She used to work at a marketing firm for Christ’s sake. Cold contacting people isn’t anything new and she’s usually not one to shy away from reaching out to anyone in her personal life first. But she can’t help the fact that she’s never been able to swallow the artificial bubble gummy niceness of reaching out to a complete stranger for the first time. She feels stupid and knows that she sounds even stupider but tries not to think about it. 

Besides, keeping everything together is never easy and she knows that she would be selfish for letting her discomfort prevent her from doing what she knows is best. 

Her breath is stuck in her chest as she eyes the open text thread to an unsaved number; her blue text message staring at her menacingly and breeding contempt as the seconds pass. She gasps loudly whenever she sees the gray bubbles pop up beneath it. Pete pokes his head into the living room with a tea towel in his hand and one of the ceramic plates they had eaten dinner on in the other. His eyes wear concern but he knows better than to confront his wife. Natalie was anything but sugary sweet when she was stressed and the influx of hormones as of late have not been helping. 

You see the message as soon as Natalie sends it. The unknown “312” number finds its way into your notifications and your eyes read over the words in a frenzy. You know that you’re intelligent. You graduated from law school for fuck’s sake, but for some reason you absolutely cannot comprehend the text you’re reading. 

Firstly, you were sure Becca hated your fucking guts. She was a junior partner that everyone hated being assigned to because she pushed all her work onto the associates and nothing ever seemed to be good enough for her. Part of the reason you had to take work home tonight was because she sent you an email with enough passive-aggressive undertone to know that these edits needed to be done now; never mind the fact that the time she took to type out the seven and a half page report about the original report probably took up so much time that she could’ve done the task herself. But yet you replied kindly and have been working through your brain fog and finger cramps since arriving home at six in the evening five hours ago. 

Secondly, hospitality litigation was absolutely above your pay grade. You had taken one elective course on it during your 2L year and did a two-week internship before the start of 3L simply because one of your friends wanted to go on vacation and needed to find someone to cover for them. You know jack shit about hospitality law and you don’t even know why Becca Cantor, of all fucking people, would be so willing to recommend you when she couldn’t care less if you lived or died. 

But of course, you can’t say no. You can never say no, and if this Natalie person was desperate enough to reach out to you via text at 11 PM on a Wednesday, she definitely needed help and needed it now. Besides, you would tell her that you do not need to be paid and if whatever she needs proves to be way too advanced for you, you can always help her find an attorney that knows what they’re doing.

Right? 

It definitely doesn’t mean that you’ll pull an all-nighter and research every aspect of hospitality law in Illinois that you can get your hands on. . .Or look up every department dealing with food and management regulations in the state. . .Or try and look at precedent cases. Your firm gave you unlimited access to West Law. Might as well use it for something slightly more interesting than trusts, estates, and contracts. 

You’re unusually pensive for something you know you would love to do. The ongoing battle as of late has been the dispute between seeking joy and wading in practicality; happiness or falsified peace? 

You rub your eyes with a roughness that would make your optometrist cringe. You know that staring at your computer screen five hours after your contracted work hours ended was the culprit for your dry eyes, but the hours you need are not going to bill themselves. Getting up to get your eyedrops will have to wait.

Replying to Natalie cannot. 

Your fingers type and untype; the feeling of texting back an unknown number foreign and unnerving. 

Thanks so much for reaching out and thinking of me! I would love to. What dates and times work for you, and where would it be best for us to meet? 

The text stares at you on your phone screen. Why do you sound so. . . corporate? Boring? Infantile.

She could probably tell you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about at all. The feeling of defeat rises in your throat but you ignore it and hit send instead. You’re trying to be better about that; letting your fear of uncertainty keep you from taking action. You’ve come to realize that the hard part isn’t doing the thing. It’s actually sitting in the aftermath of the “thing” and waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. 

You bite your lip so hard it begins to bleed and throbs with each pulse of watery blood that fills your mouth. The gentle suck you give it to stop the bleeding makes it partially numb. 

Fuck you, Becca. Fuck you, Becca. Fuck you, Becca. 

Natalie chirps when your text illuminates her screen. She gasps and sits up; startling Pete who had settled next to her after finishing the dishes. Her eyes curl up in the same way her lips do. 

Fucking finally. 

The world no longer feels like it’ll fall apart.

[fake-married-my-dead-fiance]

Marry My Husband Text posts, 1/?

[persephonaae]

TERFs GO AWAY I’m nonbinary and as this is a look that is about exploring my own identity, gender is included in that. I’m not a woman, I am not your “divine feminine”. An edit I wish I didn’t have to make.

Here are some of the pictures of the Minoan/Mycenaean look I did yesterday! Mind you, it's all very generalized since I haven't made any clothing studies from these time periods yet, so I had just grabbed random clothes and jewelry from my closet that I could at least pass off as the ~vibe~ . I went for a pretty simple interpretation of makeup back then and ended up not really putting a whole lot on my face before the decorative elements, just a very thin amount of white foundation, but even so I figured my skin is pretty pale as it is that if this were historical I probably would have just been fairly bare faced anyway in a similar fashion. I tried to stay pretty close to how makeup might be applied back then and not go too anachronistic, and if I did it was for photographic or artistic purposes (namely, light contouring on my nose not for any sort of like, modern feature minimization, but to make sure my own Greek ethnic features weren't flattened by lighting levels or camera perspective)

Overall this was a really fun exploration of historic culture! Seeing the finished makeup on myself kind of brought over this cultural euphoria for me, even though many things have changed since ancient Mediterranean civilizations, there's almost a feeling of sameness in exploring the history of your heritage and seeing someone who looks or feels like you in ancient art. (But also a brief little disclaimer: the Mediterranean has been an extremely diverse region for thousands of years! I'm just one way of looking and that absolutely isn't representative of all people of Greece, neither then nor now!) I want to explore more historical fashions within this realm, and next time try a more extreme version of the makeup, something that feels more on the ceremonial side than casual like this one.

[north-noire]

When the Marionette finds itself awake in a workshop room, she soon comes to a realization there was more going on to what had happened to the child she was assigned to protect.

Hidden Hands Chapter 6 is out! AO3 Fic Link Here Previous Chapter Beginning Chapter

Hey, I would appreciate it if you reblog this post! I try my hardest for this AU fic, so reblogging it and being able to share it goes a long way!

[spotaus]

If you're still accepting requests, you could draw Cross x Lust?

Hello anon! Definitely still accepting requests! And I need you to know that this request literally short-circuited my brain, because I rendered all of these doodles 🙏

Cross X Lust was Not on my bingo board of things I'd draw, but the combo just settled in my head and felt Super Right and I got to sketching and realized I really liked their energy and just... didn't stop drawing! Thank you SO MUCH for the request! (They give me the vibes of Cross being the one who insists on being chivalrous and very protective, while Lust gets some freedom to relax and be himself and get pampered a bit! Idk if I explained it right, but it makes sense in my brain-)