#because i can Not have my own actual art on my body forever

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 107

thinking about putting this guy on my body permanently. as a treat.

[vasquez-rocks]

i know most ppl haven’t seen it yet but wanted to write something abt how annoyed some of the critical discourse abt I Saw the TV Glow is making me. MAJOR SPOILERS below the break, be warned!!

so idk i’ve seen so many reviews of the film positing that it’s about the dangers of obsessive fandom and overidentification with fictional characters, esp vis a vis real life self-actualization/coming out. (like, essentially every review has some of this in it, from what i’ve seen.) and, like: i don’t think that’s wrong, but i also think it’s massively underselling what schoenbrun is doing here. the metaphor of the show’s bleed-over is so smart because works in both directions at once.

like, in one direction: when maddy asks owen to come into the show by burying himself alive, you can read it as her asking him to abandon his real-life responsibilities, and the material facts of his real life body, in favor of a fantasy life where everything is already fixed. she’s inviting him to skip over the hard, messy work of transitioning and to sink even deeper into the analgesic obsessions he uses to numb his dysphoria. in this interpretation, it’s, like, the equivalent of overprioritizing “transition goals” instead of actually medically/legally/socially transitioning if that’s what you want, living forever in the ideal instead of taking difficult steps to change the material. (also, uh, if you don’t think she’s literally correct about the nature of reality, she is in fact asking him to kill himself. there’s that.)

BUT! it also works the other way. when maddy tells owen that the show is real, that their lives are just the buried dreams of dying girls in another life, she terrifies him by confronting him with something he’s always known about himself: he was supposed to be a girl. what she proposes is radical, dangerous, seemingly unhinged, and based on a childish fixation: all the things scared closeted trans people worry transition is, basically. on a more figurative level, too, the feeling she’s telling owen is real – that his real life is just a dream within a dream, that his home is not his home, that he belongs somewhere else, that he is supposed to be SOMEONE else – is something so, so, so many closeted trans people have felt before, myself so much included. when he sobs in the shower, yelling “this isn’t my home!” at his dad, i felt a sense of identification stronger than i’ve almost ever gotten from art before. when maddy finally calls him isabel, it’s the gentlest thing i can imagine.

in this read – which i do love, while thinking the other one is simultaneously true – it’s less “come sink deeper into delusion with me instead of dealing with your own life” and more “it’s going to be terrifying, but that childish dream of being a girl you once held wasn’t childish, and it can be real if you’re courageous enough.” he says he runs away from the football field because he thinks maddy’s not mentally well; it takes very little analysis of subtext to figure out he’s running away because he’s afraid of how much he wants what she’s offering. and, of course, the idea of the visible world being an illusion laid atop the world in which one is one’s truest self is a classic trope of trans cinema going all the way back to the matrix. (also: while i’m pretty death-of-the-author-pilled in most media analysis, it kinda seems like schoenbrun themself has interpreted the film in this way, as they’ve spoken at length in interviews about how, to them, transition felt like asking to be buried alive.)

all of which is to say: i think the film IS commenting on fandom, obsession, overidentification, and the ease with which queer people can sink into art as a way to dissociate from real life. but i think it makes the film so much more cynical and so much less tender to treat it as the ONLY read of the film’s relationship with the pink opaque. art, especially the sort of slow, metaphor-laden art schoenbrun makes, is best when it is complex and productively contradictory. the pink opaque is a problem, and an escape, and a fantasy, and it’s real, and one day isabel is going to wake up.

[heartcereql]

heaven is a place on earth with you

art donaldson x fem!reader || soft moments in your fresh new home

cw: smoking, minor cursing, no use of y/n (1240 words) a/n: writing about my sweet baby art during finals bc why not

you swore you could have stayed like this forever. tangled in silky bedsheets, soft rays of light that tingled on your face, body pressed against art's. one of those moments you wished you could pause and settle in for an eternity.

the mattress was on the floor, and cardboard boxes were scattered all around your apartment. your apartment. it felt blissful to say it. a life awaited you there, between the beige and baby blue walls that screamed for another hand of paint. it was far from the ideal, but it was perfect because it was yours. art's and your world. didn't it sound so pretty?

you looked over at him. eyes closed, lips slightly parted, his head a blond mess of curls and his skin warm despite the moring breeze that slipped inside the room through the opened balcony. art looked otherworldly. he always did, in your eyes. and you felt like the luckiest woman on earth with him, because he looked at you, because he touched you, because he loved you. because he felt for you what you felt with him.

and you two were fucking living together. the thought was enough to bloom a grin on your lips. a pure, joyful smile that made you want to jump and dance all around. pressing a feather-like kiss to his temple, you sat up, careful to untangle yourself from his arms and slinging over one of his standford t-shirts.

you reached over to your bedside table- well, the brown leather suitcase on which you had left some stuff. a provisional nightstand, let's leave it at that. you took a cigarette out of the box, holding it between your lips as you grabbed the lighter and your sketchbook and pencil.

the cool air of the early morning greeted you as you stepped out onto the balcony, goosebumps appearing all over your skin. you lit the cigarette with the pink lighter art had gifted you on your fourth date, all that time ago, when you mentioned you kept losing all your lighters. it was safe to say you'd kept this one. it had fake rhinestones forming your initial on one side. you recalled thanking art with a very excited hug and an even more excited peck.

"you made it?" you had ask him, the glint in your big eyes almost matching the glimmer of the rhinestones under the streetlamp. when art nodded, you gushed, hugging him again. "it's beautiful, art, i love it."

"i'm so glad," he smiled. you looked ethereal, all the eagerness painted on your face, cheeks rosy from the cold, babbling about how sweet you found it.

"hey, do you have any more rhinestones left?" you asked.

"yeah, yeah, here," he handed you the stickers, watching you start putting some more on the other side of the lighter. "what are you-"

but he was shut as he guessed the shape of his own initial, a very shimmering 'A'. once finished, you showed it to him proudly.

you both broke into laughter, cheeks flushed and hurting from the smiles, but it didn't matter. not when you felt so safe around him. and certainly not when he pulled you in for a kiss.

taking another drag of the cigarette, you traced your fingertips against the initials on the lighter. call it luck or fate or whatever, but none of the rhinestones had ever unstuck from where you both had originally placed them.

you sat on the beach chair that you'd placed on the balcony last night, before getting trapped between art's arms and lips, and getting lost in him. tipping the ashes off of the end of the cigarette, you opened the sketchbook. it was actually another of art's little thoughtful gifts that he loved to give you, and you loved to receive.

on the first page of it was a sweet little dedication art had written.

'for my angel girl, so you can be an artist and carry me always with you (get it? because i'm ART and you're an ARTist? so funny, i know.) love you forever baby <3'

it always made you smile when you read it, and reach over to kiss him for no apparent reason, leaving him a curious, flushed mess.

on the page you were currently at, there were some seashell doodles from your last trip to the beach. art had picked them out for you, and peered through the whole process with his head resting on your shoulder. beneath the collection of seashells was a watercolor drawing of art's beautiful, dual colored eyes, and a little sketch of a couple of figs.

looking over, your eyes settled on the pastel colored laundry your neighbors in front had hanging and swaying lightly with the dawning breeze.

your traces were fast but precise. soon, the laundry was replicated under your pencil. shirts and pants and socks and even a bra. the cigarette dangled from your lip, forgotten amidst your concentration.

you were so absorbed in drawing little daisies on the socks you didn't hear the sheets rustling as art stirred awake, or his soft footsteps as he approached you. thus, when you heard his voice, you were startled for a second.

"hey, artist."

you turned to him, eyes big. the movement was so sudden the cigarette fell to the floor.

"hey, art," you smiled, setting down the sketchbook and pencil and standing up to greet him.

his hands were on your waist in no time, pulling you in for a kiss. you nuzzled your head onto the warmth of his chest, running your hands on his back.

"morning," you looked up to him. art smiled. god, that smile. it drove you crazy, made you weak at the knees. your soft fingertips drove up to trace his smile lines, trailing down to his jaw in no time.

he tucked some strand of hair behind your ears, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "were you drawing?" art asked, spinning you around so you both faced the view, his arms around your waist.

the sky was not fully blue yet; pink and purple hues shining over the horizon.

"mhm," you hummed. "i want to colour it later, will you help me?"

"of course, baby," he mumbled, pressing kisses to your cheek.

it was something silly you two did sometimes. after pouring you both some coffee (you made it for art the way he liked, as he prepared yours as he'd learnt from several coffee dates), you'd pull out some colour pencils or sharpies and paint the little doodles you had drawn.

"hey," art whispered. "we live together."

you smiled. "yeah, we do. it's perfect."

art huffed at that. "the walls are on the verge of falling apart. and the people from the bar downstairs were noisy as fuck. and the shower-"

"shut up," you playfully hit his arm, rolling around again to face him once more. "it's you and i. sounds perfect to me."

he gifted you another smile. "you're right. it's ours. that's more than enough."

was this your own personal heaven? you found yourself thinking that often, as you got lost in his always tender eyes, or the sound of your laughters together, or the tingles he left on your skin, or the way you loved each other. as he lifted you up and carried you inside for your first breakfast at your place, you were sure of the answer. yeah, of fucking course it was.

© heartcereql, 2024 || thank you for reading ! 𓆩 ♱ 𓆪

[euovennia]

oh oh - and if it’s not too much trouble to ask, an addition to mom/dad friend simon, maybe another hc where reader takes a bullet for him and he’s like "why would you do that" and she’s all like "because your my friend" and he’s like "🥹" rubbing my hands together deviously

so for anyone new, this post is a continuation of this request, but it can be read as a stand alone if you so choose! i will say simon may be a bit ooc but you've already been besties forever so it's fine. thank you to the anon who requested this, i hope i did it justice. now please, enjoy <3

so by this point it's become well established that you and simon are pretty much a package deal

one can never be seen without the other trailing too far behind

unless of course one of you (usually simon) is actually trying to do their job

but even then you both have a tendency to hover

well

the hovering is usually done by simon who will take it upon himself to sit somewhere in the same room as you while you work

but you're more direct in your approach

which basically means you have no hesitation in pulling up a chair and talking his ear off

depending on his mood/what he's working on he'll either slide something your way in hopes of distracting you into silence or he'll take part in your mindless chatter

it's usually the latter much to the annoyance of price whose come to notice that simon tends to submit his mission reports just a tad later than normal when you're around

but he doesn't dare say anything because he's just happy simon finally has someone to keep him company

even if it does mean him missing a deadline here and there

now with the amount of time you two spend around one another, there was the small concern that you two may become a bit more reckless on missions together

but honestly?

that couldn't have been farther from the truth

as much as you like messing around with simon, you're very aware that your line of work requires your full attention

so, despite how hard it can be at times, you limit your jokes and general shenanigans to the bare minimum so you can get the job done

and obviously it goes without saying that he does the same by shedding the name simon riley and becoming the infamous ghost

it was a bit startling for the team to witness this change at first

they honestly thought you two were mad at each other

but after the mission was said and done, you and simon started hanging out again and it just kinda clicked

simon probably uses you as an example to soap to be honest

anyway, point is

you both know how to keep your friendship out of the way in the field, you've practically mastered the art of it

but the moment you see him get into a knife fight with an enemy soldier on a mission, you can't help but worry

and you can't help the way your worry morphs into panic as you see a tiny red dot plant itself on his body as he finally drives his knife into the neck of the rival soldier

and you certainly can't help the way your feet seemingly begin to move on their own as you sprint toward ghost and practically ram him into the ground

and you most definitely can't help the yelp of pain that drops from your lips as you feel a searing hot pain rip through your lower abdomen

so much for those bullet proof vests

simon looks up from his position on the ground, knife in hand and ready to stab it into the poor soul dumb enough to tackle him like this

but then he sees you

he sees your face, eyes wide with shock and mouth agape

his eyes trail down your body and he swears his world nearly crashes as he stares at the dark red spot currently staining your shirt

he can only fear the faint sound of yet another gun going off before you're tumbling onto the ground

he snaps out of his daze to catch you and he can't help but feel horrified upon seeing another bullet wound lodged into your thigh

he can hold in his cry of agony and heartbreak as your breathing soon becomes labored and your eyes fill with tears

he gives your struggling form a once over before sucking in a sharp breath and dragging you to a nearby hill that was littered with enough rocks and boulders to offer shelter from the incoming storm of bullets

he settles your head onto his lap as he harshly barks out words you can't even begin to understand through the comms

you can barely register the way his hand gives your face a small smack

your eyes connect as he pulls a roll of gauze from his tactical backpack, "come on, kid. don't do this to me. just a bit longer."

even with the searing hot pain that was overruling all your other senses, you can't help but smile

you grab onto his inked forearm and he stops as he looks back at you, eyes wild and frantic

"hey simon?"

"what?"

"thanks for putting up with me."

your eyes begin to flutter open, a small hiss of discomfort escaping your mouth as you cringe at the bright overhead lights

you make a move to bring a hand up in front of your eyes to shield yourself form the harsh fluorescents, but stop your movements when the lights suddenly begin to dim

confused, you begin to look around the room only to see simon standing by a wooden door with his hand on what you assumed to be a light dimmer

he stares at you through the eye holes of his balaclava, "better?"

you offer him a nod paired with a small smile and open your mouth to offer your thanks but stop when he puts the lights back up to their full brightness causing you to let out a groan

you open your mouth once more to vocalize your complaints and throw a half-hearted insult his way, but stop when you hear the heavy footfall of simon's boots making their way over to your hospital bed

he comes to a stop by your bedside as he glares down at you, a swirl of emotions darkening his already hardened gaze

after giving your eyes a few moments to adjust he speaks, "you're the stupidest person i've ever fuckin' met."

your eyes widen as your jaw goes slack, "excuse me?"

he leans down and stops just a few inches short of your face, "i said you're stupid and i'd yank you off the field myself if i could."

you can feel your heart drop at his harsh tone but decide to soldier on, "you're in a good mood today, aren't ya?"

his eyes narrow and a growl of anger and frustration escape the lips hidden by his mask, "don't give me any of that shit, you know what you did."

you sigh, "i'm in a hospital bed, simon. i don't think i could've done any–"

you don't even get to finish your sentence before he's interrupting you, "why'd you do it?"

you stare up at him, confusion and annoyance evident on your face

"simon, what are y–"

he scoffs, "the fucking bullet! you took the fucking bullet! why'd you do that? what made you think that was a bloody good idea? do you have any fucking clue what you put this team – what you put me through?"

oh

right

your expression melts into one of sheepishness as you attempt to get in a word, but stop when simon decides to continue

"i had the situation handled, i could've taken care of myself! i'm smart, i'm capable, and i have years more experience than you do so tell me, i can handle myself! i don't need you steppin' in and throwin' yourself in front of bullets! you coulda fuckin' died!"

"simon–"

he points a finger in your face as he continues on with his rant, "no, you don't get to call me that, not anymore. from here on out, you either address me as ghost or lieutenant, nothing else until you can learn how to handle yourself on the field. we need soldiers, not daredevils. do you understand?"

you exhale, "no."

before he can continue with his angry tangent you sit up with a painful grimace and grab the pillow the pillow your head once rested upon and fling it at him

he narrowly dodges it and stares at you with a mix of rage and pure disbelief with a glare that practically screamed, "what the fuck."

hit block limit again. i'm afraid this may become a habit. anyway.

taking his silence as your cue to speak, you do just that, "okay fine, you're right. i probably shouldn't have tackled you down like that and taken a bullet for you, i probably should've remembered that you're a fully capable man with more experience than me, and i probably should've remembered that the field is no place to be playing favorites. you're right, i should've kept that all in mind but–"

you let out a small sigh as you avert your eyes to the think blanket draped over your body, "when i saw that gun pointed right at you i...i couldn't bring myself to care about any of that. at that moment, all i saw was you in danger and i couldn't have that so i did what i did. you can reprimand and punish me all you want for doing it, but i don't care. i stand by my actions."

simon eyes you for a few moments longer before grabbing onto a chair nearby and settling it beside your bed

you watch as he sits down with a small sigh, his eyes never leaving yours

"why?"

your brows knit together in confusion

"why what?"

"why'd you take a bullet–no, why'd you take two bullets for me? you and everyone else on this team know i could've handled it, so why?"

you frown, "because you're my friend, simon. why else?"

once those words leave your mouth, you're greeted with his blank ghost stare

again, he's just 👁️👁️

and you feel a small wave of concern wash over you

like

this is the same man who was torturing you with the bright fluorescent lights and lecturing you to hell just a few minutes ago and now he's just staring at you

still and silent as ever

you almost ask if he's okay, but stop yourself when he brings his large hand up to the edge of your hospital bed and begins inching it closer to yours before eventually resting it over yours

it's quiet for a few moments longer before he speaks in one of the quietest voices you've ever heard from him, "you took that bullet cause i'm your friend?"

you can't help but soften your own voice as you respond, "my best friend."

upon hearing you say that, simon can just feel the small well of tears that begin building up in his eyes

and as much as he wants to fight them off, he just can't

you, already being able to sense the internal war he's got going on inside his head, simply turn your hand so you can grip onto his and give it a firm squeeze

and by god he hates you for that

because now he can't help but disconnect your hands in favor of surging forward and wrapping his arms around you

you swear you can feel the small rumble of his shoulders as he tries and fails to conceal his quiet sniffles but you decide to overlook it because oh my god simon 'ghost' riley is crying in your arms and it's all your fault

so you decide it's best to just hold onto him as tight as you possibly can

he notices this and he just melts

what did he do to deserve you?

what overpowering force of life felt that he was good enough for the sunshine that is you?

who gave him the honor of being blessed with you?

he's not sure but quite frankly, he doesn't really care

not when you're holding onto him like your life depends on it

not when you pull back from the hug, look into his eyes, and offer him the brightest smile he's ever seen

and certainly not when you grab onto his hands and speak in that sweet honey voice of yours, "i'll always take a bullet for you. i can't lose you, simon."

jesus christ you're going to make his heart burst

he sucks in a small breath and squeezes onto your hands, "i can't lose you either, kid."

you only smile, "you won't, i'm always gonna be here with you."

words that once would've annoyed him to no end now set his cold heart alight

"you fuckin' better."

your smile widens and you lean forward to capture him in yet another hug

with his arms wrapped tightly around your body and you pressed up against him, he can't help but smile

it's definitely nice to have a friend

:)

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter thirty-eight — why couldn't it be mini-golf? (💋)

[[ALL WRITTEN CHAPTER]]

The dinner party was quiet for the first part.

But not the kind of quiet that would have made anyone into a bad type of uncomfortable. No, it was the kind of quiet that usually hangs heavy in the air with a clear path to stop it. But that path mentioned was definitely not going to be brought up anytime soon, nor even uttered.

The "path" being the eventual contemplation of both your and Kuni's relationship. Or..."relationship"? You had no idea. And frankly? You were too annoyed by Venti's chewing to even think about it right now.

There sat the bodies of Hu Tao, Thoma, Aether, Lumine, Heizou, Yanfei, Ayaka, Xiao, Kazuha, Venti, Kuni, and you at a very long table with what felt like it had no end in sight. Only sounds were the soft clinking of silverware against the china and the eventual murmur of someone to another. It was similar to faint ripples disturbing the surface of the pond.

Venti, seated next to you, was eating away with an unbothered look, feasting at his second dish of the hot pot with numerous amounts of meat. "Oh my god," He said with his mouth full, exaggerated smacks and crunches that seemed to echo louder than the previous ones, grating irritably on your nerves. "Brilliant. I mean, who came up with this?!"

"Been a thing for...forever, actually." Kuni's eyes dulled as he replied with the most unamused tone imaginable, swirling his chopsticks in the soup stock.

"Do you live under a rock?" Hu Tao's eyes narrowed, ever the lively one as she plopped a piece of well marinated pork in her mouth. "It's a common thing, not very new, dumbass."

"Ohhh, no. Don't go and try and make me look like the dumbass." Venti pointed. "Scara~ I know that you were too lazy to try and think of an actual dinner for us out of your busy schedule, but it really reminds me of how creative you can be anyway. I mean, a steamboat?! Your mind! Can I still call you Scara?"

"No." He replied flatly, not even looking up from his bowl.

"Where did you find this?" Venti marveled. "Genius invention, if I do say so myself. Like, watch this." And with that, he put the raw piece of beef inside of the boiling hot broth.

The beef had bubbled inside of the broth, cooking the meat almost instantly. The rich aroma was wafting throughout all of the visitor's nostrils, leaving a tempting bubble of juice that lightly coated the beef he pulled out, making your own mouth water despite your annoyance.

"You wanted to show us... you cooking meat?" Ayaka asked, her voice tinged in a genuine and curious way, wondering if there was an end confirmation to this. Unfortunately, there wasn't, and the rest of the table sighed.

"You know what guys, the art of cooking is lost on a lot of people, don't expect you to know about it. I wish that you could see how philosophical every thin slice that goes into your mouth is, but I'm not your own eyes." Venti threw his hands up in defense.

"Venti...when the pot is at a very high temperature, the meat inside of it usually tends to cook after a few seconds. That's how it works." Aether slowly told him, to which Hu Tao narrowed her eyes in a death-like stare.

"But what about the journey of that high temperature cooked meat?" Venti continued, his tone almost as philosophical as his aggravating chewing. "The laughs, the memories, the stories, preparing this meal together. That's...what makes this dinner more special than others. Our first."

"And our last." Kuni rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "I didn't let you guys into my house just for him to give us a TED Talk on the importance of family time. Just eat the fucking food and save us the theatrics."

"There's no point, he's just going to keep at it." Yanfei sighed in defeat. "He knows what he did. This will never end as long as we're all alive."

"Yeh? What did I do that was that awful?" Venti raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a pout. "Because what I did do was put those two together at a dinner table right now. You're welcome, by the way." He poked the direction towards you and Kuni.

"He's got a point..." Thoma let out a small chuckle, gaze flicking to the both of you. "You're both being civil right now. Most times you'd just try to bite your tongue whenever you were around each other."

"That's so not true." You scoffed. "I'd say I was very civil. Me, at least. Can’t say the same about others."

"Yeah? Throwing me under the bus now?" Kuni shot you a withering glare. "You asked me out first, don't think I don't remember when we were about to get in the car."

"Hey, quick tip for when you're stuck in conversations you don't want to be in: being proactive helps. Being a fake flirt helps. Someone had to break the ice, and it wasn't going to be you." You shrugged.

"By flirting with me?"

"I mean, it got your attention, didn't it?" Hu Tao replied, leaning back in her chair. "You're smitten."

"I am not smitten. I have intense feelings that should be mutual." His eyebrow quirked up, a hint of amusement softening his features. No matter how defensive his tone was, he knew he couldn't believe anything he said. "You shouldn't be chastising me anyway. I already made myself clear before you got here that I hate the shady shit."

"And I made myself clearer that I didn’t want anything from you right now, no?" You retorted immediately, head shooting towards him with a glare, tone clipped and snippy. "You'd be smart not to bring it here."

Tension rose to a great extent as your words began to make everyone uncomfortable, with the exceeding silence and awkwardness that ruminated between you and Kuni. It was pretty much just the two of you that were giving off an aura like no other. Safe to say that even Venti's attempt of getting the both of them to ease up from what they eventually have to do was a failure.

You glanced at Venti after he began to start moaning despite this, and sighed inwardly. Only he of all people could manage to make eating a piece of meat sound like something else. You threw your chopsticks back on the table, it causing a metallic thud. "Alright. I think I'm done."

"I'm sorry that I'm trying to bring liveliness that you all lack right now. Why is so quiet anyway?" Venti asked, his eyes looking around at everyone's suddenly shifted demeanor.

"You shouldn't be encouraging Venti to be loud, Thoma." Lumine hesitated in her words, trying to disengage the situation. "Let's just do an exercise. We'll say something really nice about the person next to us, and if you have nothing to say, you're going to stay here and help Kuni pick apples as a summer job."

Heizou shot up immediately, slamming his hands down on the table. "I have nothing nice to say about anyone here. Fuck all of you."

"Fat fucking chance. Sit your ass back down." Kuni snarled.

Kazuha frowned, furrowed brow betraying his own confusion. "What did we do...?"

Lumine squinted at him, taken aback by his words before pressing her lips together. "You have to play the game first to decide that, jackass."

“Well, this game already isn’t very fun.” Heizou blurted, saltily sitting back down. “Easy enough for nobody to jump me here though, I’ll take all the compliments I can get.”

"I’m glad that Kazuha and Thoma are sitting next to you and not me.” Hu Tao’s eyes dulled. “I’d blow my brains out before I ever compliment a child trafficker.”

“Okay, good thing we’re not starting with you, then.” Lumine argued with the both of them. “Fuck,” She muttered under her breath, composing herself before she had to speak again. “Then, since you’re one of the last letters of the alphabet, You go first, Xiao.”

Xiao picked his head up, his sharp eyes scanning for the person next to him who just so happened to be Venti. “Oh,” He paused, the rest of the table waiting for his response as Venti excitedly bounced in his seat. “I don’t want to play.”

Venti’s shoulders dropped. “Are you kidding? C’mon, you can’t think of anything?”

“Said he doesn’t want to play, this is our group therapy dinner where consent is the Hail Mary. No compliments for you, too bad, so sad.” Hu Tao stuck her tongue out playfully.

“Your attitude right now is the main reason that one of these days you’re going to get scammed so bad by a pyramid scheme that you’re actually going to start believing the Tupperware you’re selling is valuable. It’s not. It never will be.” Venti squinted.

Hu Tao sat there for a minute, looking into the other’s eyes before scrunching her nose up. “Are you okay? That was extremely specific.”

The rest of the table was silent, until Lumine sighed quietly. “Okay…Xiao, can you at least try to come up with something so we can move on? You don’t have to do it again, this is just a one time thing.”

“I’m grateful,” Yanfei gritted her teeth inwardly. “Never thought I’d have to be genuine anytime soon. Why couldn’t it be mini golf?”

He let out a slow breath, clearly reluctant to even participate in this obviously forced exercise. The more he stalled, though, the longer it was going to take to ebb how uncomfortable it is. “Venti,” He began, voice steady but devoid of emotion. “Your music is very refined.”

Venti clutched at his own heart, making a sound like he just got punched in the gut. “I’ll take it. That’s so cute of you.”

“Yeah! This is a really good exercise for us! We haven’t gotten the time to really appreciate each other as friends.” Thoma smiled. “Go ahead, Venti! Say something nice about (Y/N)!”

“Right.” Venti turned his head to you, trying to fully grasp what he wanted to say. It left eye contact with him very unsettling. “Hm…no matter what happens to you, you’ve still proven that you deserve what you have. Keeping that energy lead you to many people wanting to be around you in result. You should be grateful for that.”

You couldn’t help but stiffen at his words, letting out a small smile tug at your mouth in return. “That really means a lot, Venti. Thank you.”

You took a minute to sink in Venti’s words before you slowly turned to the person who you dreaded giving a compliment to right now— Kuni sat there perfectly. His head rested gently on his head as he leaned against the table with his elbow.

“You…” You stammered on your words, trying to look in your mind for something, anything, you could say that wouldn’t compromise your position. But you knew that despite everything, you liked him a lot. He did prove that he was into you a long time ago, you just didn’t want to admit it. “I like…uh…”

You were unsure how to respond. And Kuni knew that too, so he took the lead. “I think you’re the only person who’s brought me joy in more than just a platonic situation. Being around you is something special to me, I’d rather it not go to waste fighting.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, wanting to look agitated, but his words were so genuine that you were put on the spot. You felt tears brimming up in your eyes in return, trying to hold your eyes open to shun them away, only resulting in them returning tenfold.

You quickly stood up from your seat, bitterness running down like waterfalls. “Excuse me.” You murmured, before rushing off to an undisclosed room.

The rest of the table was silent after that, looking around at each other awkwardly. From what was supposed to be a comfortable exercise turned into something entirely worse than expected. Especially since they all had a feeling that it would go wrong with you sitting next to him.

Kuni groaned, his head hanging and his back pressed firmly against the chair. “Fuck,” He drawled, feeling his patience wear thing. “So fucking annoying.”

“Go after them.” Thoma said amongst the quiet, a warm smile on his face. He knew that even though he wanted to go himself, there was someone who was planning to be with you for a very long time. “You’re good. We’ll all be here when you come back.”

Kuni hesitated, to which Kazuha smiled and nodded. “You said you had Mario Kart, right? We can just play that if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Hu Tao was one of the first people to stand up, shooing Kuni off with her manicured hand. “Go. Bye! We’re going trashing on your expensive equipment for three hours.”

No matter how much he wanted to kick everyone out, he was given a small reminder as to how they’re the main reason why you haven’t given up on him. Unfortunately. So he didn’t say anything, leaving towards his bedroom, the same room he heard you lightly sobbing in.

The room both of you found yourselves in were dimly lit and a complete contrast from the kitchen. It was quiet, but the quiet here was different and heavy and thick— almost suffocating him. You sank down into a plush armchair sat in the corner of his room, sitting in silence with yourself until now.

You didn’t bother looking up to see who it was, you knew who it was. Kuni’s footsteps were light and soft enough to tell you that, he took the seat opposite you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. You were forced to look at him.

He looked beautiful from up close, his features naturally pairing together with the rest of his face. His jawline a perfect structure, his eyes soft enough for you to stare into his violet pools. His hair light and feathery, strands of it sticking in small clusters.

“Tell me what’s going on.” He sat back, mustering up a mix of concern and patience on his face. “I already told you I’m not going to fight with you anymore.”

You wiped your eyes candidly, the back of your hand leaving residue of your tears. A hiccup broke your speech, “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Your wetted eyelashes brushed against your cheeks as your eyes squeezed shut. “You’re too patient now.”

“Didn’t learn it in a night.” He absorbed your words like they were all that he was able to get in that moment. “I mean, I still have no idea why you came around even this quick. You don’t have a reason to stay by my side as much as I do for you.”

“Oh, of course. Because it’s always different for you. You’re still trying, just like you did when you hated me, it’s confusing. You’re so…fucking confusing.” You looked up again, meeting his eyes with defeat. He was going to be in your life whether it was a friend or a lover, and with the more days that pass with him in it, you start to feel yourself teeter back and forth. “You’re not going to give up, are you?” Your voice was weak.

His eyes never left your face, tentatively taking your hand in his. “I had to get used to the idea of potentially never seeing or talking to you again when I left.” He paused, sincerity striking his face, more of an intense look than usual. “I never want to go through that again so long as I owe it to you. It’s cowardice, and I’d rather face you myself.”

“When will you not owe it to me?” Your heart was hurting, beating faster than it could ever. “I never wanted you to be indebted to me, you did that because you felt guilty, so just squash it already.”

At every second he stayed quiet, the brighter it dawned on you his intentions. He wanted to be by your side as long as possible. “Then it’s all done,” You stared at the hand holding yours, his warmth and steady hands with his skin slightly bulging with his veins, a black ring on his middle finger. “No more games. No more pretenses,” He said calmly. “I want you. More than I wanted anything.”

“Yeah.” You said slowly, a sense of cautious hope blooming in your chest. “I think I kind of do too.”

Swallowing hard, you tried to gather your own sense of resolve here. But all that you were able to even think about was how close he was to you…and the fact that you wanted to suck his face off.

The silence this time was a comforting one, understanding of each other that was unspoken for. He leaned in close to your face, the heat of his breath slowly lingering on your skin, making you ache in a passion you’ve never felt before even when Childe was trying to pursue you.

“Can I?” He whispered.

The breath you had was swept away by his tantalizing voice, nodding slowly at his request. It wasn’t like the last time where the anger and frustration was taken out on the love they pressed into the kiss. No, this one felt a lot better than you ever would have imagined.

The kiss that followed with your words was fluffy at first, the meeting of lips that quickly grew deeper as the months and months of progress they put into their entire history together was no longer at its standstill anymore. His hands snaked across your body, also with an aching desire nestled in his chest.

He tasted amazing on your lips, and you pressed yourself against him in a swift movement, swapping seats gradually. You were dazed, if your eyes could have hearts in them, they would have already.

You didn’t recoil, or protest, or fight him every step of the way anymore. Your tongues danced together in a passionate tango, its foreign-like actions to you making your eyes bleary with love. You were melting into him, no matter how much you didn’t want to give him that satisfaction.

It looks like you have a lot more to explain to your fans than expected.

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @kunisnaomi

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari @suniika @littlesliceofcheese @yumejo89

@liuaneee @franaby @tiddieshakeshownu @mimi3lover @kavineyah

@kittywagun (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

[abominable-space-they]

A modern Lulaw au in which Law is a tattoo artist at a long established well respected tattoo shop owned by the Donquixote Brothers, Wild at Heart

Law's been trying to convince them to hire traditionally trained piercers to open an internal dedicated piercing studio forever but Doffy doesn't like any idea that isn't his so he keeps shutting Law down

As a compromise Rosinante starts booking extremely well respected, highly trained traveling piercers both to show Doffy it would make money and to give him a chance to imagine it was his idea all along

Luffy is a traveling piercer who's considered a huge legacy kid celebrity in the body mod community

He was born to, adopted and taught by pioneers in modern body modification. His dads are The Revolutionary Dragon & Sir Crocodile themselves.

Because Luffy's so huge in the scene, Rosi books him for the whole summer season instead of just a couple weekends

Rosinante likes Luffy's tenacity and the total lack of fucks he gives high society and their rules. If there is anyone with the skill, clout, and charisma to convince Doflamingo, it's this kid

When Law meets Luffy, he kinda hates him at first.

Luffy is dressed like he's going to the beach in late fall. Flip flops and a sun hat! Who dresses like that?! And he's way to childish for his age, way to casual with everyone, to disrespectful to the art of body modification. And to top it off he's always moving around, bouncing, bopping, and talk talk talking. Within 20 minutes of their meeting, he asks Law to take him clubbing so he can get familiar with the local queer music scene.

Law says no of course

Luffy asks again

10 million times

(Law's not tempted to just do it, he's not, he hates popularity obsessed scene gays, Luffy obliviously is one. Ugh!)

Then it's time for Luffy's first piercing appt. The client is some youngish kid. It's his birthday and he wants a piercing to celebrate being old enough to legally get one.

Luffy locks in, befriends the kid instantly, asking all manner of questions. He finds out that the kid got a job and worked after school to save up for Luffy's fee for months. He's barely scraped up enough money for a basic piercing with the basic jewelry.

Luffy's calm, confident, professional bedside manner shocks Law. He's so gently reassuring and soft spoken. It's dumbfounding to watch. It's like Luffy got body swapped with some other mature adult responsible piercer.

Before he'll even do the piercing Luffy sits down and keeps talking to the kid till he finds out what the kid actually wanted pierced, what jewelry he dreamed of and he upgrades it for free.

Afterwards Luffy gives the kid high protein snacks and a drink out of his own back pack.

When the kid hands over his card to pay, Luffy only charges him for the snack

Law: you can't just hand out free piercings, my uncle will have your head on a platter, and I for one don't feel like listening to the screaming

Luffy: Don't worry so much Lala. I paid for it. I'm not afraid of Mingo and I'm not shorting anyone.

Law: that's not my name... You know what? Nevermind. Why would you bother to upsell him and then pay for it out of pocket?

Luffy: Silly Lala, I wasn't up selling him, I was giving him what he really wanted. He's a kid. He should spend his money on making his dreams come true. Studios charge to many fees. It's why I don't really work in them. Don't worry about me so much. I won't starve to death paying for one little piercing. It's fine.

Law: Don't be ridiculous, I'm not worried about you starving to death.

Luffy, grinning like mad at him: cool. I'm hungry too. We should get something to eat before I actually do starve.

He's just to charming in such a casual sincere way... And now Law understands why Luffy is basically a folk hero, why everyone who meets him, loves him. Now going clubbing with him doesn't sound so bad.

Law: hmmm well don't go crazy waiving fees, you still have to pay your chair fees. I'll pick up the next one you just absolutely have to comp. There's food in the back for now... and I'll pick you up at nine. If I'm taking you dancing, we need to eat first. I've seen the way you put food away, constantly and like you're starving. I'm gonna feed you before you end up at some leather bar stuffed with tequila and poppers

Luffy: Leather Lala? Ooh. I didn't know we were on poppers terms. I'm a good boy, buy me dinner first. I'm hungryyyy

Law, malfunctioning in embarrassment: I am buying you dinner! I just said that! I mean... You know that's not what I meant.

Luffy: no no you asked me out, you you wanna fill me up and work me out, you started it. I'm invested now. We have to do it. We have to go on a dancing and dinner date.

Law, pretending he isn't ecstatic: fine... Just be ready at nine, I'll make reservations somewhere nice for dinner

It's the Baratie, of course it's the Baratie.

Sanji knows them both. Luffy is his boyfriend's best friend and practically lives at their place.

He and Law are both from up north, they dated way back when they were both trying to force themselves through academics. They both quit college to apprentice in the arts they loved, and decided they were better off as just friends.

They were just to much alike in all the wrong ways

They stayed friends over the years though they're both to busy with their adult lives to see each other to much

Sanji takes one look at Luffy and Law together and cackling evily, calls Nami immediately to tell her that he needs to place a bet that Luffy gets engaged or married within two years.

Nami is livid that he won't share his insider information, Luffy doesn't even date like that

Sanji: Well he's dating now Nami my sweet and totally reasonable beloved best friend. Wait till you see them together. I just know you'll agree with me.

Law, not incidentally does get invited to family dinner that weekend. He begrudgingly accepts

Luffy is ecstatic, he's already decided he's keeping Lala forever and if his real chosen family gets along with him, that makes it even easier.

It's fate. They're gonna be together forever.

Five years later when Doffy & Rosi retire to travel. Law & Luffy rename Wild at Heart, Two Wild Hearts Ink & Steel.

Luffy has his own dedicated piercing studio where he comps almost every single piercing because he just adores people so much.

He can't help himself.

Law never minds anymore. Luffy's infamous family loves to come in and pay it forward for months worth of bookings anyway... and it makes Luffy happy to do it

It turns out, Luffy being happy makes Law really deeply spiritually happy

He'd do a lot more then give up a little pocket money for that smile

He doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed about it anymore

So what Luffy wants, Luffy gets

Thank god Luffy's favorite thing to get is Trafalgar Law, forever.

They're very happy

Doffy swears hiring Luffy was his idea

[wiltkingart]

as another fruity tguy i really REALLY love the way u draw men so so much i see your work and i feel warm from head to toe cause you make trans men so beautiful. i can feel in every work that you love transmascs and being a tmasc and it comes thru in every paintstroke to me.

sorry to hijack with a big paragraph but last anon rly spoke to me and i wanted to share my experience if its ok

to last anon-- my journey is perhaps different from others but for me when i started T i also felt like it was the most important, life or death thing, but after spending time on T i found that even if the results werent as Manly as i was hoping for originally, i suddenly found myself in love with the simple fact that i had changed and my body had changed in a way that was on MY terms, even if it wasnt """perfectly passing"". since then ive found that not having T or having to lower my dosage was no longer painful or frightening.. im not sure how else to explain it other than At First, it felt like the testosterone was trying to fight Against the woman that Was my body, to sort of Transform it completely into this Man, but one day i just suddenly realized "oh. im not fighting anymore. and im actually pretty happy" and even tho i wasnt Perfectly masc by a long shot there was suddenly.. peace. i fell in love with my patchy body hair and my funny voice and my weird dick and then to my own suprise i found myself falling in love with the things i used to hate and wanted to get rid of. i suddenly loved my boobs (i wanted top surgery for YEARS before t) i loved my eyelashes, i loved the way my body looked in womens clothes, and i still loved being a man. im still a man and happier with that than ive ever been, but im more feminine now than i really ever have been! and its because suddenly being a man and having this mans body was something that belonged to ME, not to anyone else. this happiness and this body were on MY terms!!! so anon, i hope that you can try hormones and you get to explore the changes that bring you joy and that you find even more joy in the things you never expected before. but if you dont get hrt? youre still one of us always. i hope you will still find the love in your heart for yourself and the man you are regardless. peace and love and trangenderism ❤️

just want to add on that i relate heavily to your part about "falling in love with the things i used to hate and wanted to get rid of" because my chest was one of my biggest source of grief pre-T and could not imagine a life for myself without top surgery, and even injured myself from binding too much. but something about being on hrt and finally seeing and experiencing myself with more masc features (and living my life as a guy, in my own way) gradually flipped a switch in my brain and i started to love my boobs. and then when i stopped T i was worried and scared i would lose that love, but now i actually love them more than ever (if my art wasnt indication enough hehe). there's so many ways to be trans, and be a man, and i'm so grateful i gave myself the patience and space to explore that, and that i can continue to explore and experience joy with it. peace and love and transgenderism forever 💙

[fitgirlfemdom]

✧∘* ✧･ﾟwelcome to my page!✧∘* ✧･ﾟ

this is my current nsfw/18+ tumblr for my horny rants and rambles. enjoy your stay!

who are you?

i'm fitgirl, and i'm a 20-year-old female metalhead with a fucked-up side i share here. i've been a long-time lurker of kink content on here, and i finally decided to take the plunge and make my own page. i mainly make written works or post my abs cause apparently people like those

i consider myself to be homoromantic bisexual. i relate heavily to men and would have sex with them but i'd never marry one :P i'm attracted to men, women, enbies, trans women, trans men, and everything in between. i do not have a genital preference

can i send you pics of my body / give you money / request services outside of conversation?

all degradation and fetish/feeder DMs require a one-time $10 cashapp fee to $fgffund or i won't respond

this isn't because i feel like i'm better than you or something. i literally cannot financially afford spending hours DMing people eloquent paragraphs when i could be working my 9-5. maybe you can change that?

main kinks:

-degradation / praise -bimbofication / domestication -dumbification / iq loss -slobbification / incelification (is that a thing?) -weight gain -breeding / pregnancy -cucking -humiliation (mainly public hehe) -femdom -mind break / mind control -hucows my beloved

basically anything where someone loses control or gets worse. i'm a dom and lowkey a stone butch so i like when the above is done to others, not myself

kinks i'm picky about:

-cnc (needs to be combined with something else or i find it boring) -extreme pain/guro (only specific areas of the body and this blog is not for that side of me) -crossdressing (bikinis, bras, panties are hot--anything more and i don't care for it sexually) -piss + vomit (in very specific fucked-up situations, maybe)

hard no's:

-shit, bodily functions, etc. (if it's in a fic i'll still read it, but if it's the main focus or in graphic detail it turns meoff) -inflation (does not include rapid weight gain. i mean like the fuckin balloon shit on deviantArt) -vore (okay i just don't understand this one i'm sorry) -anal (i watched 1 Man 1 Jar when i was 14 and got immediately turned off forever)

non-kink stuff / interests (if u care):

-metal (Pantera, NIN, Slipknot, Children of Bodom, Sybreed, Fear Factory, Slayer, Iron Maiden, Gojira, Tool, Opeth, Wintersun, etc.) -industrial (KMFDM, aktivehate, Overseer, the Prodigy) -berserk [manga + 1997] and other medieval fantasy (TES series, DnD, Baldur's Gate) -digital art

i hope you enjoy reading my posts, and if you don't, i hope you have a good day! <3

DISCLAIMER: NONE OF MY POSTS ARE POLITICAL! IF YOU BELIEVE ANY OF MY POSTS ARE ADVOCATING FOR A SPECIFIC POLITICAL CAUSE, YOU ARE INCORRECT! DO NOT DM ME ABOUT MY POLITICAL VIEWS! THIS BLOG IS FOR PORN AND NSFW! MY POSTS ARE NOT: PRO-MISANDRY | PRO-MISOGYNY | TRANSPHOBIC | FATPHOBIC | HOMOPHOBIC | PRO-RAPE CULTURE | PRO-LIFE | PRO-CHOICE MY POSTS ARE: FANTASY! I DO NOT ACTUALLY BELIEVE MEN ARE SUPERIOR TO WOMEN/WOMEN ARE SUPERIOR TO MEN! IT JUST GETS ME HORNY!!!1!1

thank u! <3

[ssruis]

Wrt the people talking about the new set as fan service: my initial reaction was also “oh cute” & moving on, but after carefully reading the full arguments of the people who found it distasteful, I agree with their points. I’d normally link or post screenshots of the points made, but since the Prsk fanbase apparently is jumping people over this on twt I don’t feel comfortable doing that. To summarize and add some of my own explanation:

> everything in gacha games is fan service, which doesn’t have to necessarily mean it’s sexual - ode for the pure of heart featuring rui/touya (popular with female audience) looking very princely was fan service. The white day knight/fantasy theming is fan service (popular & well loved aesthetic). Fantasia squad was fan service for the players who like the male characters, etc etc.

> I don’t feel like arguing about all of the cards, so I’ll just point out what bothers me about the most egregious example (Rin’s card)

When considering art, you have to consider the deliberate choices the artist made, and what messages they are trying to get across with the atmosphere they have created.

Why choose the maid aesthetic? Why make these cards a player pov? Why choose framing that (using the grid composition, contrast and lighting from the window, the way lines direct the eye) makes the points of interest and emphasis Rin’s face *and* butt? Why choose that pose, with Rin looking over her shoulder, with a surprised expression and prominent blush? Why is the posing reminiscent of art of vintage pin up girls (or any other similar art movement)?

It’s male gaze. The answer is male gaze.

The male gaze is often just associated with overt sexualization, but that’s an overly simplified definition. The male gaze can also be portraying women in positions of servitude (most often within the home), emphasizing body curves (even through clothes), voyeuristic povs, emphasizing cuteness/demure-ness/shyness, etc. It’s about the (assumed male) viewer having power over the female subject.

Rin is cleaning, the light from the window heavily highlights her butt, the framing of window itself specifically draws the eye from her head to her back to her butt using contrasting colors/light/point of interest, the parallel lines in the piece direct your eyes down her body (Japanese audience, reading image from right to left). If the emphasis was on the action she is doing, rather than her body, the light source and brightest colors would be on the other side of the image, the duster would be brighter, as would the objects/set pieces she’s interacting with.*

Sexualization/male gaze isn’t restricted to the very obvious “woman sexy posing in a bikini” image, and having that viewpoint will only serve to limit the ways you understand art and artist intention. It’s similar to taking “all art is political” to mean “all art is either republican or democrat” and responding “well that’s stupid and you’re stupid.” You’re missing the point.

I’m a little disappointed the knee jerk reaction here seems to be “you’re wrong and you’re actually a freak who sexualizes minors for pointing this out” here, especially because the point of calling this out is to say that it’s distasteful to do a card like this for a character who is, despite not having a canon age, pretty much portrayed as younger than the main cast (making her 15 or younger).

Nobody is saying “this set sucks you can’t like it if you like it you’re problematic and project sekai should be cancelled forever”, it’s just something to keep in mind. You don’t have to agree with the argument, but acting like anyone pointing this out is insane isn’t fair or justified.

> also just as a side note: maid cafés have a pretty long history of sexualization, with the emphasis/appeal of having power over the workers and them being your servant while dressed cute. I don’t entirely think this set was going for a maid café look, but I do think it’s something to be mindful of.

> *it’s a little hard to articulate/explain this, and my knowledge on how much the average person knows about stuff like this is skewed due to my own education in art/art history/design/etc. If you find this confusing, I’m willing to explain more in detail and specifically point out what I’m talking about.

> I have a different post on the taisho/daisho romance elements, which is an entirely different discussion, so I’m not bringing that up here.

[isawken]

disco elysium and transmasculinity:

i don't want to be this kind of animal anymore

there is no such thing as an inherently masculine trait, only those which we have culturally prescribed to be masculine. muscular, tall, strong, stoic. self-destructive. repressive. angry. unhinged. violent. addictive.

Disco Elysium markets itself with the tagline “what kind of cop are you?”. to put it bluntly: you get to choose what man you want to be. the actual gameplay mechanic is the game keeps track of your dialogue choices and, among other RPG things, neatly divvies them up into 4 main Cop Categories: Sorry Cop, Apocalypse Cop, Superstar Cop, Boring Cop. after some time establishing your identity you can branch off into 3 other copotypes: honor cop, art cop, and hobocop. These are all exactly what you think they would be.

a supremacist stands tall, immovable, shirtless, tattooed, in the way of one of your objectives, and if you let him he will tell you all the ways your body betrays your degeneracy. all the indulgences you make, with drugs and alcohol and sex, are allegedly clear as day written across your reddened swollen face. you are not a man. you are pathetic. a pair of women reassure his divine masculinity even when he admits his impotence. there’s no denying it: that’s one man of a man right there.

your former detective partner is an eternally scowling pockmark faced asshole. he approaches every interaction with you with a nice solid baseline of aggression. if you choose to put your points into something called “espirit de corps”, you get small vignettes of his previous actions. in one of them, it’s joked that you two are near-marital in your relationship. in some of them, he worries about you. muttering under his breath, mostly to himself, not unkindly. but he certainly never shows that to you face to face. 

two old men play pétanque outside every day by the sea. they have done this for years. they have known each other since they were kids. one is a fascist, the other a democratic socialst. if you’re nosy, you can go to the watchman’s post and find a picture of him, his socialist buddy, and a young woman whose attentions they supposedly both vied for. if you decide to become a fascist, the game gives you something more. your abilities Pain Threshold, Composure, Endurance, Volition, Conceptualization, and Inland Empire take turns showing you tiny slices of a truth viciously stamped beneath the heel of his brilliant boot. a love for his dear hated socialist. and when he dies, that socialist tells you the same. but they never told each other. never even came close. because how could you?

harry dubois wakes up face down ass up covered in piss and vomit and full of foggy confusion after drinking himself into amnesia. he's tall, he's got giant arms, a proud beer gut, and he's self-destructed himself into literal oblivion. this pitiful bastard doesn't even remember his own name. the first person he encounters outside of the hotel room in which he fucked himself up beyond his limbic system’s reach tells him at some point during his bingeful weekend she heard him scream, "i dont want to be this kind of animal anymore". you don’t know why you said this. but after a while you have some pretty good guesses.

i could talk forever about the unique circumstances of growing up as a girl in modern western society. but i have nothing interesting to say that hasn't already been said much more eloquently. learning to hate my body, learning to be afraid, learning that you need to want to be consumed. the eternal unpacking of all the issues a patriarchal society burdens you with. it never ends. but i've at least reached a point where i've done my base legwork. i know the oppression i've fought. it is nameable. i have labeled each and every patriarchal burden like a so many papers in a filing cabinet. few are going in the shredder, but at least they're known. next to that filing cabinet, i have a big pile of loose papers slowly sliding off a desk with the word "masculinity" in neon lights flickering above them. i want to dive into those papers. but the thought of it fills me with such apprehension. i've always wanted masculinity. i've purposefully adopted affectations to make myself more stereotypically masculine. most are hilariously shallow, and not exactly innovative. i smoked camels for 8 years. i drink my coffee black. i picked up a nice little alcohol habit. i've shoved down more feelings than i would ever willingly admit in the hopes to appear unbothered. I’ve told myself to “man the fuck up” my fair share of times. none of it got rid of my hips or my tits or my anxiety or my painfully high pitched voice. i’ve quit smoking. i sometimes think i should start again for many reasons, but one is in the hope that my voice will drop. just one octave. at least. it’s silly, i know. believe me. i know.

when harry drags his sorry ass out of that hotel room, he isn't free of his past. he has shadows in his mind reminding him of the things he's forgotten. shadows that still influence his views of masculinity. there is no way to truly escape the bitter leaden paint stuck to the inside of your mind so violently applied by our beloved patriarchal society. there is a hilarious dialogue option where, if you so choose, you can proclaim that you would never let anyone androgynous touch your hair. because the “others” (unnamed) would laugh at you. here we have a man who cant remember his own name, but he is certain that he absolutely cannot under any circumstances have a non-manly haircut for fear of mockery and rejection by his peers. how many coats of that leadened paint must have adhered to his poor, poor limbic system that even when he’s forgotten the concept of money, he still knows about the boundaries of masculinity.

 as harry tries to be a good person (or a fascist or a doom prophet or a disco superstar) he cannot really shake the pieces of himself that make him him. and he meets another bastion of masculinity, kim kitsuragi immeasurably measured, willful, and kind (for a cop), he helps you rediscover the world around you as you try to rewrite your tabula rasa'd self. he is firm, but nice. he lets you make your choices and mistakes. and he only stops supporting you when you start fucking up like, literally everything, and indulging in racism. naturally, there is a lot of fanart of them kissing, and yearning. both are beacons of masculinity, different sides of the same coin. where harry is physically imposing, kim is slight. where kim is calm cool and collected, harry will break down crying after a brief conversation with his necktie. but both are undeniably masculine. i mean, they’re cops after all. what more masculine profession is there?

as kind as kim is to you in your lowest possible state, it can be easy to overlook the ways in which he is not kind. when you tell him you think you really, seriously, need to go to the hospital, seriously kim i can't even remember my name i think i could have brain damage, kim responds with the equivalent of "walk it off" by encouraging you to start working on the case and see if that makes you feel better instead. it is in this light that you recognize which affectations of his are conscious posturing. his fitted jacket and trousers, matching the uniforms worn by air brigades in a past war. his careful collection of tools he keeps in his beloved kineema. his vast knowledge and care for the car itself. looked at in a certain different light- you know the one- you could see these traits being the result of a very careful construction. he found pieces of overt masculinity and decided to subsume them as a defense. a bolstering, a reinforcement of chosen masculinity.

there are so many different flavors of masculinity that the game offers you to experience and explore yourself. you decide whether to value them. you can follow in mister phenology’s footsteps and try to build yourself into a supremacist ideal. maybe that will make you happy. you can also chase after a barely-coded homosexual man, who makes you stutter in most available dialogue options. even if that may make you happy, you don’t get to pursue it. you can think for 20 hours about the "homosexual underground", but you can't join it yourself. you can however join fascism. interesting how harry is more susceptible to fascism than homosexuality. interesting to prod and poke at his masculine limits.

“what kind of cop are you” is a loaded question. harry is rebuilding himself from the ground up as a man. and how funny is it to learn that is inextricable from his profession.

what do you find inextricable from your gender? what of those traits make you happy? what of those traits make you want to throw your fucking shoe through a god damn window and punch the bathroom mirror and scream and scream and scream and scream?

i want to emerge from a hotel room, at my lowest point, and have the power to rebuild myself from scratch. i want a cool man who i maybe want to kiss guide me with a gentle yet firm hand. i want to have large arms, and a proud beer gut, and a stupid beard, and i want to destroy a hotel room and drink myself into a beautifully tragic state. i want to have non-political body hair. i want to get stared at for my gaudy tie and green snakeskin shoes instead of my tits. i want become a different kind of animal.

[not-goldy]

I was listening Taemin's Guilty and am I the only one who hears a subtle hint of "Lie" in it? Its a damn shame we haven't gotten another song like Lie by Jimin. He would absolutely own a track like that cause I could actually hear him singing Taemin's Guilty. And he would have ate that song & choreo up. Wwe already seen what Jimin could with that cause we saw that temptress at work during that Guilty challenge that he did with Taemin. That is what I have been wanting so badly from him during his solo work. Give me sultry Jimin & some kick as choreo that only he can pull off and we will watch others struggle to try to recreate. Give me Guilty, Give me WHO ft JK 2.0. Give me Under The Influence. Give me Earned It. Give me I'm A Slave For You. Please I beg Jimin.

Eh?? Subtle hint???????

The said hint

Its the concept of the song, the tempo, mentioning Lie directly etc

He's been compared so much with Jimin in the past because they had similar sounds and style and I honestly thought Jimin would be making music in that genre forever but I'm glad he went the other route of evolving his own unique style too.

Lie and Guilty are two of the greatest Kpop hits and I recall when Guilty came out fans were making mashups of the two songs and all it was epic.

Two amazing talented singers and musicians.

I actually like Taemin's music. Guilty reminds me in part of his Advice with his signature hook and all but I do see the similarities with Lie also.

You see, you have to be patient with Jimin. He needs to make music that feeds his soul and that comes from his soul first. His best hits are songs he'd searched deep inside him for. He has his own idea of what he wants his discography to look like, he has his own musical journey he is on. He's an artist and an entrepreneur and he gotta test what makes money what don't what needs money and what don't.

You want lie, well he's done Lie and he's moved on to other things too. Perhaps he's not in the same mind frame he was in when he came up with Lie and Promise.

Remember how Tae kept making melancholic songs and I told yall my boo single and depressed and then he started with the happy songs and said welp dude went and got himself a girlfriend.

Jimin is happy 😊

He is is a good place he wants to spread that joy and love. He wants to celebrate that love let him. He's not gonna conjure fake deep wounds and sing about the trauma he doesn't have anymore. Taemin is out here singing about using people, breaking hearts to a good rhythm and we love it. Not all art comes from a dark place. What he is doing is art too and I'm tired of people expressing dissatisfaction with it.

He said he's finally free and he means it yall are just some tortured souls walking earth. And not to psycho analyze yall but you were drawn to the wounds he had and now that it's all healed you can't relate. Don't you think it's why we victimize him the most? Poor boy who got bullied by his younger team mate, half his own Fandom hates, his company hates him, Billboard hates him, every body hates him- and yet he isn't crying about it in songs, he isn't leaving the said man or his company and we are confused as to why.

Whywhy.... tell em that it's human nature. Why why

This is where I start singing Michael Jackson on yall

Not everything he puts out there will resonate and that's fine. It's still good music. Its just coming from a different place now.

Not everything gotta be so intense yall need to learn to be happy

Sultry Jimin will come in due season. It's summer time baby enjoy the sunshine- pan intended

[accessible-flatland-art]

[ID: White bubble text on a black background that reads, "Please describe your art! I am too disabled to keep up with you all!". Next to this is an original Flatland character, Hauntlight, an Irregular line who has many bends, and whose back end branches out into a narrow fork. It has a white glow on its outside, and its insides are filled with simple blobs of different shades of purple and pink to show its internal organs. End ID.]

The goal for this blog was feasable when it was only a few people posting, but now with the sudden surge of new fans posting undescribed art every single day, I literally have no hope of keeping up unless other people start describing their own art, or at least adding descriptions to other people's.

If someone adds an image description to your art, copy and paste it into the original post. It should be in the same format as the one on this post: Plain regular text with no italics, color, or bold. Describe what is in the image. Pretend your friend's internet isn't working and the image won't load for them.

A plain text image description is more accessible than ALT text alone, because tumblr is glichy as all crap, and even if the ALT text is working fine today, it might not be tomorrow, or a few months from now. For several months they literally had the ALT text be white text on a neon purple background. Do not trust tumblr's staff to keep their accessability features actually accessible. They break this site all the time. Plain text in the body of the post itself, like all of this whole post is, is less likely to be broken by glitches and changes to the site.

Image descriptions are for blind and low vision people the way subtitles are for the deaf and hard of hearing, as well as people with brain damage who can see fine, but still struggle to process images.

Learning to describe your art will make you a better writer and artist. It will allow disabled people to appreciate your art. It will make this fandom, and any other fandoms you make art for, more welcoming for disabled people, and will make the internet overall more accessible.

Please start adding plain text image descriptions to your art. There are hundreds of tutorials on tumblr alone you can find, and many blogs dedicated solely to creating image descriptions that you can follow to see more examples.

Image descriptions should go directly below the image they are describing, above any other commentary. Do not put them at the very bottom of the post if the image is the first thing in the post.

Also, do not put anything you wouldn't be okay with losing forever under a read-more. If you ever delete the original post, change your username, or have your blog terminated, everything under a read-more will be deleted forever, because the link breaks.

This is why image descriptions should not go under read-mores unless the images they're describing are also under it.

Please add image descriptions to your art before you post it. I could slowly work my way through the fandom's posts when it was only a few people, but this is just becoming unmanageable and I don't want to have to give up from being completley overwhelmed.

Make image descriptions for your own art. Make them for other's art. At the very very least, when someone makes one for your art, add it to the original post. Please. Irregulars are in this fandom too.

[eightstarr]

hi zoe! after your last ellie post... i can't stop wondering about how your ellie and abby were like when they were in highschool. i fully believe ellie got side bangs bc she wanted to look like chloe price. (she looked like justin bieber)

anyways i love you (not in a gay way ofc.)

-penis cat anon

omg i had so much fun thinking about this!! i love you too but in a gay way because i'm gay. i'm sorry to have to tell you like this in front of all these people 😮‍💨

and no actually i think ellie wanted to look like justin bieber :) i can see her being a fan ngl. she looks like she has the weirdest gender envy and justin bieber would've been like her dream body to be in when she was 14

as for her as a student i think i've mentioned this before but i think ellie loveddd history so much! i can also see her being really good at math but not even realizing it. art class was okay but she likes to do art at her own pace and IF she feels like it so i think she would've hated assignments. like don't tell her what to do!! she's only picking up a pencil if she wants to!!! otherwise she's putting no effort in, so sorry about it

socially i think she was the kid that gets adopted by the nice pretty girls because she's funny!! they love her <3 i can see her not really having very close friends until she's older though! i feel like she was more closed off than she would like to admit for a really long time, but she's way better now. it's a work in progress!

abby as a student is like fascinating to me. i could think about it for hours. i think the obvious thing is that she was really incredibly, amazingly, annoyingly good at everything. but she's so cool!! how can you hate her? she has one best friend and speaks to literally no one else but if you drop your pen she'll pick it up for you, you know? that's abby

but she's so mysterious like i can't even tell you what her favorite subject was!! and i don't think she knows either like she's just naturally a good student and by the time she's high school age, she just views all of it as simply the steps that lead to the next thing (she's had a life plan since she was 7) (it's written in pink crayon) (her dad has it framed). but that doesn't mean that she hated school! she has lots of fun with her friend and grows a really lovely connection to sports and makes sooo many significant bonds with her teachers. she thinks about them sometimes and writes them really nice emails that could make grown men cry

and yeah there were like 85 people that had a serious crush on her but if you went to high school with her and bring it up she'll be like "???? what do you mean??" she's silly <3 i can talk about her forever and i think it shows, my bad :)

[chronicangel]

be cute, be dumb, be wise, be young

Link to this fic on AO3. Words: 3009 Date posted: October 20, 2024 Summary:

“Pacifica, tell me you didn’t get a tattoo just to seduce me,” he groans. “I didn’t,” she says, extremely matter-of-factly. “I got a tattoo, and now I’m seducing you.”

This is based on @flxnce's tattoo artist/barista AU, which is so so good and you should check it out!!

“Are you sure you want to put this on your body forever?”

“Oh shut up. You and Mabel have practically been harassing me to get a tattoo for the last six months and now the first idea I come to you with, you try to change my mind?” Pacifica glares at him, and it’s not quite as intimidating as it was when she had black hair, but he holds his hands up in surrender anyway.

“Not trying to talk you out of it!” He says, and his face flushes at how fast it peeps out of him. So it’s still a bit intimidating. “I just don’t want you to regret it and get mad at me or anything.”

She rolls her eyes and blows a cloud of smoke in his face in what he guesses is supposed to be a retort, but it’s hard for him to be anything but mildly annoyed about it because that was his cigarette a few minutes ago. “Look, I’m not gonna get into the whole tragic backstory or whatever to make this make sense to you. I thought it was a cool idea.”

Dipper wonders if there is a tragic backstory or if she’s just speaking metaphorically. He’s noticed that she doesn’t talk about her family. He figured they just weren’t close and didn’t think prying much further would be polite, but now that he’s been presented with the possibility that there’s something messed up about it, it connects some dots.

Before he can ask, she holds the cigarette back out to him, half-gone with the filter covered in her lip gloss. “I thought you were quitting,” he grumbles, taking a long drag while she just smirks at him. There’s not much left after that, and he puts it out on the railing. There’s no ashtray and he doesn’t want to litter, so he stuffs the butt in his pocket, where he’ll probably forget about it until it’s time for laundry and Mabel yells at him. “Why do you want me to do it, anyway? Wouldn’t Mabel be better for that sort of thing?”

“I’ve seen the tattoos you guys do. Mabel’s art is amazing, but your lettering is better.” Somehow, she manages to say it like none of that was a compliment, though she doesn’t make it sound like an outright insult either, so it’s at least better than it would have been a few months ago. He knows that she thinks his art is good, anyway, because he’s seen the way that she stares at his arms when he’s in short sleeves and he can’t think of any other reason she’d do that. “Do you not want to do it?”

She looks vulnerable in a way he’s never seen. She’s not making eye contact with him, and she picks at a loose thread in her ripped jeans, threatening to make them look a little less intentional and a little more ruined.

“Yeah,” he says somewhat absentmindedly. Then, realizing that that’s the wrong answer to the question she actually asked him, he adds, “I mean, yeah, let’s do it. Why not? I think my book is a little tight this week, but—”

“Oh, there is no way you’re getting me on that table during daylight hours for this,” she says, and he stares at her for a second.

“Uh, what?”

“I am not doing this in front of Leo, let alone a bunch of strangers. Don’t you have a tattoo gun at home or something?”

“Well, yeah, but my apartment isn’t exactly up to code for—”

“Don’t care, didn’t ask.”

He snaps his mouth shut, cutting off his lecture about sanitization and how he could lose his license if anybody heard about this. It’s not like he didn’t do his own tattoos in his bathroom when he was 18 years old and thought he knew better than the health department, and it’s not like his apartment is some sort of crack den or anything. Mostly, though, he just doesn’t want to have this argument with Pacifica when she’s clearly determined to do it no matter what he says.

It turns out that his apartment is within walking distance of hers. He shouldn’t be shocked, since most of Gravity Falls is within walking distance of most of the rest of it, but he is, a little. It feels like they should have met sooner.

Mabel isn’t home, which is a blessing. There is no way that she could be normal about this. He doesn’t know where she is, though, or when she’ll be back, so he gestures for Pacifica to follow him to his room.

This is the first time in his life that he’s ever regretted not listening to Mabel when she lectures him about tidying up his room. There’s all sorts of papers and soda cans at varying degrees of fullness littering the surfaces of his desk and his dresser, and he’s got various articles of clothing strewn about the floor.

“Wow, you live like this?”

His embarrassment immediately gives way to annoyance, and he shoots her a glare over his shoulder. “Okay, I don’t have to give you a tattoo just because you’re in my apartment.” Still, he picks up a few pieces of laundry and tosses them into his hamper as they pass. He knows the gun is on his desk somewhere amongst all of the mess.

It takes a few minutes of digging, but he manages to find the tattoo gun his great uncle had bought for him to practice with when he was 17 and decided that he wanted to go into the profession. His parents had not approved, but since when did his parents approve of anything Grunkle Stan did? And it worked out in the end, didn’t it?

Of course, he almost drops it when he turns around to see that Pacifica has taken her jeans off, standing in his room in a t-shirt, underwear, and a flannel she’d stolen from him about two hours ago like it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to be doing. Fortunately,  he’s fumbled a lot of things in his life, so he’s able to catch it before it hits the floor and breaks.

“Um,” he says, his voice at least an octave higher and his face so red it burns. “I guess you can lay on my bed?”

If he wasn’t prepared for the sight of Pacifica half-naked, he’s definitely not prepared for the sight of Pacifica half-naked and laying on her stomach on his bed, her arms folded under her cheek, face turned so she can look at him over her shoulder. “Is the staring a part of the tattoo?” She asks, with a raised eyebrow and a tone that says she definitely knows it is not.

“I’m mapping it out,” he bluffs. He keeps that excuse in the back of his mind as he runs his eyes up and down her legs. Pacifica is not especially tall, but her legs are proportionately long. He can understand the appeal of the tattoo she’s asking for, at least in an abstract sense. If he was her, he’d want to draw attention to his legs, too. And it’s definitely going to draw attention.

He grabs her ankle and pulls her leg into his lap, or at least, he tries to, but she lets out a single snorting laugh and jerks her leg away from him. He raises his eyebrows at her, and she turns her head to hide in her arms and his pillows. “Sorry. Ticklish.”

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” She doesn’t answer him out loud, just nods against her arms and settles her leg in his lap. When he grabs her ankle this time, her muscle barely flexes under his fingers. “This isn’t going to feel great,” he warns.

To Pacifica’s credit, she doesn’t seem to react to the pain very much. When the needle first makes contact with her skin, he hears her hiss through her teeth, but after that she lays as still as anyone who’d gone under the gun a thousand times. The other thing he’ll credit her with is that the design she’s chosen for her first tattoo is extremely simple, all lines and letters. She didn’t give him a specific font, so he writes it in his own handwriting, and he tries not to think about the fact that his handwriting is going to be on Pacifica’s body forever.

When he gets up to the back of her knee, he offers her a break, but he’s a little surprised when she takes it. “Can you get me a glass of water?” She asks, and when he stands, she adds, “Or maybe a beer?” He laughs, which he knows is what she really wanted. Pacifica knows him and Mabel both too well to think there’s beer in their apartment. Mike’s Hard, maybe.

She sits up to drink her water, bending her leg so her calf isn’t against his sheets. He appreciates it, though mostly because he doesn’t know what kinds of germs are on his sheets to cause some sort of infection. When was the last time he washed them?

“Maybe you should let me wash and wrap those before we get started on the second half?” He suggests.

“You’re the expert,” she says with a shrug, and something about it strikes him as odd. It’s only when he gets back with the stuff for it that he realizes she hasn’t made a snarky comment since she took her clothes off.

“Are you doing okay?”

She tilts her head at him, flexing her leg like she’s testing out the muscles. “Yep, everything seems to be working fine,” she confirms. He just stares at her for another second, and he’s not sure if her face falling is because she realizes what he means or she realizes that she can’t pretend she doesn’t know what he means. “I’m okay,” she says.

“But?” He asks. There’s something about her tone… He doesn’t have the words for it, but he can hear it. There’s something wrong.

She heaves a dramatic sigh. “Well fuck, Dipper, can I just say I don’t want to talk about it?”

“Of course you can,” he says, faster than he means to. She doesn’t have to tell him anything that she doesn’t want to. But he’d like her to talk to him.

She stares at him for another second, and then her eyes drift over to his desk, and he feels another surge of embarrassment. He should have tidied it up after he found the tattoo gun, but he was so eager to get back to her, and then she wasn’t wearing any pants and he kind of forgot about everything else. “I still don’t want to get into the whole tragic backstory,” she says with a warning tone, and he holds his hands up in surrender as if he’d asked. “But my parents were—are the worst. And I guess this kinda feels like taking my body back from them. It’s… cathartic. It’s weird.” She laughs.

“I think a lot of people feel that way,” he says. Of course there are always the people who never thought that hard about it, the people who come in on impulse, but more often than not, he sees people who are very conscious of their bodies.

She looks down at the marks on her leg, twisting it around experimentally. “Is this the worst of it?”

“I can’t lie to you, the back of the knee is gonna suck. Like, one of the worst parts of the whole body to get tattooed suck. But it’s all uphill from there.”

“Guess we’d better get it over with then, huh?”

“No going back now,” he agrees. She sets the glass of water down on his end table, still half-full with marks from her lip gloss on the rim.

He holds her leg down against the bed while he works on the back of her knee, and he can feel her push up against it a couple of times. The only thing that keeps him from fucking the tattoo up is his own expertise, but he’s not about to scold her about it, not until it becomes a real issue anyway. That’s the reason that she asked him to do it, anyway, isn’t it? Well, this and his handwriting, he guesses.

He gets so absorbed in the work that he almost doesn’t notice the fact that he’s working his way up Pacifica’s leg, his fingers sinking into the flesh of her thigh. The room is quiet—just the soft buzzing of the tattoo gun and their breathing. Well, mostly Pacifica’s breathing. Dipper’s breathing is never more steady than when he’s working on someone, but his ears catch on every sharp breath and gasp she makes.

“Almost done,” he says in a way that he hopes is reassuring as he works on the last of the lettering under the swell of her ass. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been here—he thinks it can only have been an hour or two. All lines and letters, it seems impossible that it could have taken any time at all. He knows the only reason it feels like any time has passed is that it’s Pacifica he’s working on.

When he pulls away and immediately sets about getting it cleaned and wrapped, he glances up at her face to check in on her again. “Still doing good?”

“Do you worry this much about all of your clients, or is it just because we’re friends?”

“You know, I think that might be the first time you’ve ever admitted out loud that we’re friends,” he teases.

She gives him a curious look—not curious as in she looks curious, but curious as in he has no idea why the fuck she’s looking at him like that. “We’re friends,” she says, voice soft. Something catches in his chest. His breath? His heart? He’s not sure. “Of course we’re friends,” she adds, and he’s suddenly very aware of his hand against the back of her thigh.

He clears his throat and pulls away from her. “I think that’s, um, pretty much all taken care of,” he says, looking anywhere but at her while his cheeks burn. “You can remove the bandage after 24 hours, but make sure to moisturize it whenever you wash it and—” She reaches out to rest a hand on his arm, and his eyes flick over to her.

“Dipper.” She’s sitting up now, her leg bent up again to keep it off his sheets again even though the tattoo is all bandaged up.

He watches her leg slide around so she’s on a knee instead, and he barely has time to look up at her face before it’s right up against his and oh. She’s kissing him. She tastes like coffee and cigarettes and lip gloss, which are all flavors he’s extremely familiar with—some moreso than others. After a second of hesitation, he slides a hand up to cup her jaw while he kisses her back, and she doesn’t waste any time in climbing over him.

“Mnh… Mabel. I didn’t hear Mabel get home, but I don’t know when she’s—”

“She’s not coming home tonight,” Pacifica says hurriedly, her mouth hardly an inch away from his, and he blinks a few times.

He pulls away even though she whines about it. “Pacifica, tell me you didn’t get a tattoo just to seduce me,” he groans.

“I didn’t,” she says, extremely matter-of-factly. “I got a tattoo, and now I’m seducing you.”

“Then how do you know that Mabel isn’t coming home tonight?”

“Because I texted her while you were getting me water. Will you stop talking?” And, well, she doesn’t exactly give him a lot of room to argue. He doesn’t especially want to argue about it, anyway.

When he wakes up in the morning, closer to noon than usual, he hears the shower running in his ensuite bathroom, and it takes him just half a second to figure out who’s in it before he remembers, shit. Oh, shit. He gets up and scrambles to start putting his clothes on, whatever’s closest to the bed regardless of how dirty or clean it might be. He’s got boxers and one leg of jeans on before the bathroom door opens and steam comes rolling out of it.

She’s wrapped up in one of his towels, and that visual alone is enough to make his cheeks flush. (It shouldn’t be. He’s seen her naked, now. He’s done things to her. But it is.) “I was starting to think I killed you,” she teases, and he blinks a few times.

“Huh?” He says dumbly. Then, “Oh. Right. Because I…” He gestures vaguely at the bed behind him, but trails off. He’s staring. He should stop. He doesn’t.

She just stands in the doorway of his bathroom for a long minute, and he wonders if he’s supposed to be doing something here. He doesn’t… It’s not like he’s got no experience here, but he doesn’t have an abundance of it. “Do you like it?” He eventually manages to ask.

She looks confused for a second, and then her eyes drop down to her leg. “Oh.” She turns to let him see it, and the whole thing is visible with the length of the towel. She already took the bandages off, but he can’t find it in him to scold her.

Trailing up her leg are a series of lines with labels like “prude,” “flirty,” and “slut.” When she had told him about the idea, she explained this picture she’d seen circulated on social media a decade ago that had stuck somewhere in the back of her mind since. It was like a reclamation, she’d said. He’s not sure he gets it, but it’s hard not to let his eyes trail up her legs.

“Yeah,” she says eventually. His eyes snap back up to her face guiltily. “Yeah, I think I like it.”

[voidarchivefiles]

Ancient void practices

I went through some success stories and tagged the ones that entered the void through yoga nidra and lucid dreaming cos these two ancient practices have always fascinated me since they're deeply centred around our state of consciousness and are also known portals to out of body experiences/shifting/the void. Read them if you need some motivation! Also see my recent post on lucid dreaming if you're interested in entering the void through that.

Anyway, if you have doubts about the void, I think a great anchor is leaning into practices that have roots dating back to ancient times and researching them and of course, reading more widely than just Tumblr. When you do this, you'll know that this state isn't something that was invented by Tumblr and has existed since.. forever because well, it's pure consciousness lol. And the void/turiya/samadhi has been known way before Neville's time. From my research, it's the main goal of yoga practitioners as well but they pursue it for the purpose of enlightenment and peace as opposed to manifesting desires.

The rest of this post is a dump of interesting excerpts from my research on yoga, samadhi and turiya and its links to manifesting, reality shifting and the void state. You can also do your own research although there's no need to overdo it :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This extract seems to be talking about reality shifting/manifesting/instant creation. I am curious on where we could learn more about yogis doing this!

Trapped in Your Own World Many yogis have created their own worlds and been trapped in realities like this. I am going into an area which is a twilight zone, but there are many yogis who have created their own world around themselves. A yogi goes into a cave and actually creates his own universe and lives there. This is not a joke. He creates everything that he wants – his own kind of planets, his own kind of earth, his own kind of everything – and lives there very happily. A universe is contained inside the cave. You can create a whole universe in an atom’s space because “here and there” and “this much and that much” are a creation of the mind. There are many yogis like this, but they are no closer to realization than you. He lives in a different world, that is all. He is probably more caught up than you, because he is also the creator. He has learned the art of creation. This does not become an ultimate release. This just becomes a different kind of action, a different way of doing things. An artist draws a new world on a canvas. A yogi actually creates it. The artist’s creation is two-dimensional, whereas the yogi’s is three-dimensional. This is more deceptive. An artist can get so involved in the world he is creating that he starts believing it is true, and it is true for him. A poet believes that whatever he writes is the truth. Similarly, a painter deeply involved in what he is doing believes what he is painting is the truth. When two-dimensional things are like this, if you create three-dimensional things around yourself, you are definitely going to be more caught up with them. Source

To be honest, I have no idea what the difference is between samadhi and turiya in yoga terms. I tried looking into it but it's still not clear to me. If you research into both terms, they come up with very similar definitions.

Yoga nidra and the void (turiya)

By means of Yoga Nidra, skilled practitioners seek to access Turiya, not just when in meditation or absorbed samadhi states, but in all variations of consciousness- encompassing waking, dreaming and deep sleep. They seek lucidity in all states. Yoga Nidra is a powerful practice that guides us beyond mind and in fact turns mind upon itself where its obscuring nature is dissolved to reveal the inner Light that is perennially Bright, with eyes closed or open. Source

What is turiya?

Source: Radiant Rest: Yoga Nidra for Deep Relaxation and Awakened Clarity by Tracee Stanley

Turiya is not a state apart from the grosser states but pervades all levels of reality as superconsciousness. Ramana Maharshi interprets turiya as the natural state that permeates the other states, the only whole reality. The Mandukya Upanishad discusses turiya as pure consciousness, which is indescribable, incomprehensible, and unthinkable by the mind, but ultimately realized as the one true self. Source

The four states of consciousness are jagrat, svapna, shushupti and turiya. Jagrat is waking consciousness, svapna is the dream consciousness, shushupti is the deep sleep consciousness and turiya is higher consciousness which is beyond all previous states. Entering the state of turiya requires inner silence. It can be achieved when the mind is free of mental blocks and bondages with time and space. The goal of yoga and meditation is to achieve turiya, where oneness is felt with the universe. Source

There are three states only, the waking, dream and sleep. Turiya is not a fourth one; it is what underlies these three. But people do not readily understand it. Therefore it is said that this is the fourth state and the only Reality. In fact it is not apart from anything, for it forms the substratum of all happenings; it is the only Truth; it is your very Being. The three states appear as fleeting phenomena on it and then sink into it alone. Therefore they are unreal. Source

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @imogenkol and @thesingularityseries thank you both <3

Got a few things i'm working on right now, I am all over the place with my WIPs lately. But first some art:

On vacation this week and with the little in preschool I can delve into some major line art with this piece because I have the time and the patience. (saved the weapons for very last because I hate the intricacy of them and the body armour took enough time) Thinking this one will likely stay grey scale rather than color.

And some writing, a little snippet from the end of chapter 1 of "Penumbra" aka the Ladyhawke AU:

Dusk begins to settle, the sun fading through the shivering oak leaves that rustle in the wind. Striations of coral and tangerine blend like watercolours in the sky, dripping into one another as the trees darken into silhouette in the foreground. The last calls of the birds are a witness to the coming night and Price’s hackles begin to rise. He’s on edge, a common occurrence the closer the moon comes to rising. He needs a place to settle, to rest, travel can wait once more for the harsh light of the sun.

“We’ll make camp,” he says offhandedly, over his shoulder to his newest companion, the first one who can actually answer back in years. 

Pulling on the reins he slows Nikolai’s gallop to a saunter as they look for a clearing, and through a thicket of trees, an old serfdom farm comes into view. In the falling darkness it’s hard to tell whether the farm is in a worthwhile state or whether it's worn to nothing but rotted wood, there’s little else around for shelter and the prickle of his nerves down his spine and his clenching knuckles tell Price there’s no point in looking further, time won’t wait any longer for him. The closer they get it's easy to see that the roofs of every structure have caved inwards from the deluge of rain received in the winter, shingles crumbling, walls splintered and bowing under the pressure of standing stable without any upkeep. They’ll make do for one night, carrying on in the morning. Tying Nikolai to the nearest sturdy oak tree, Price unloads the pan and pot for cooking, ordering Garrick to go collect the firewood. 

Alone at camp, he unloads the final saddle bag, pulling the tiny lamb from inside it and cradling it in his strong arms. A calloused finger caresses the underside of the animal’s chin as large eyes stare up at him. Heart squeezing in his chest, his brow furrows as he looks down at the little being in his arms, so totally reliant on him. He wishes he was deserving of the trust she gives him – he knows he’s not. 

Carrying his most prized possession over to the barn, Price places the woolly creature down on the cloak he has draped on the hay for her. A large hand that covers nearly the entire head of the lamb strokes softly, his thumb drifting upwards along the snout against the soft wool between dark mirror-like eyes. “Rest well, my girl,” he whispers in a husk. His armour sits tight on him as muscles begin to expand and shift with the coming night, as the first stars begin to twinkle his chest swells and his back wants to hunch. He hates this in-between stage, where he can feel himself slipping away, losing himself to an instinct that isn’t even his own – everything that makes the man falls by the wayside as the silver light of moonglow threatens to overwhelm the dying sun. Stripping himself of his last vestiges of clothing, folding them neatly, handling them with the pride and respect they deserved, he packs them away. Left bare, the chill of the night settling into the scars on his skin and the patches of hair that start to sprout from him, he looks over at the little lamb resting curled up. He sighs, knowing the time will come where once more he’ll have only a fleeting moment with her. A sight for sore eyes that lasts for a fraction of a second before they are once more separated. It never gets any easier, a constant burden that follows him – Always together, forever apart. 

The sun finally dips down, darkness blanketing the world and crickets begin to chirp as the quiet of night takes the helm, and before him as he reaches out his hand, watching it transform into a massive paw with black sickled claws, stands the woman he’s been aching for every day for the last five years. Unable to touch her, his heart pounds in his chest and he could nearly weep at the sight of her beauty. It’s his fault they’re trapped like this, he’s done this to her, and he could scream at the curse that hangs over their head like the executioner’s axe. She’s his whole reason for living and this is what they’ve been reduced to: a yearning that can never be ended, a lifetime of heartbreak, a loss worse than death.

But the pain relieves itself, because in the blink of an eye he is no longer a man.

tagging: @carlosoliveiraa @strangefable @cassietrn @finding-comfort-in-rain

@cloudofbutterflies92 @theelderhazelnut @josephseedismyfather @la-grosse-patate @g0dspeeed

@simplegenius042 @voidika @kyberinfinitygems @direwombat @statichvm @clicheantagonist

@tommyarashikage @aceghosts @inafieldofdaisies @raresvtm @justasmolbard