#but fleshed it out today

[dovewingkinnie]

genuinely so excited to share this new story im making but its gonna be a bit... must figure out The Lore a bit more

[mitchievousness]

hey what the FUCK is up with the svsss flesh creatures??????

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: injury mention / jokes about death / ]

Love when people depict Leo like-

Leo, covered in grievous wounds and having several broken bones: Ew, Staten Island? Anyway lmao that sucked-

Leo, with a paper cut: My LIFE is OVER I am SUFFERING I am DYING I leave all my comics to Mikey, Raph gets my posters and figurines, April can have everything else in my room, I guess Dad can have my swords, Donnie you get NOTHING until you admit I was RIGHT back when-

[limonjarritos]

I think if Rody didn't have Manon to obsess over and therefore for Vince to make her into food for Rody I still think Vince would go cannibalism route. Like I think we're talking Vince giving a small piece of himself to be eaten by Rody as a form of love, just want to make that clear. This man is not normal.

I also think if Rody did have an obsession with Vince, he would have given a piece of himself for Vince to eat. He is all about giving the most to his partner even at the detriment to himself. He would hand over the whole of himself.

[hinamie]

Boob window aside, having an avatar who fucking sucked is such a cool idea???????? The possibilities and the worldbuilding consequences???????? Your minds??????????

(also im not sure how i'll cope with waterbending megumi, the concept is making me go 😭💙😭💙😭💙😭)

HFJJGF YA sukuna....a symbol of peace...in charge of maintaining the spiritual balance of the world............truly What cld go wrong (lots) . Fire nation absolutely reeling they want to reroll so bad he did them so dirty

also re: waterbender megu ,,, heeeeheeeehhehhehehe ok listen. ik this means nothing coming from me bc im chronically obsessed with megumi no matter the context but . let me just say tht out of everything we have planned, the stuff with megumi is BY FAR my favourite :)

naturally it will still hurt tho :3

[fastcardotmp3]

welcome to dot drops something that's been sitting in her tumblr drafts for 4 months Saturday I hope you enjoy your visit mwah! Steddie; Ballet AU; Dancer!Steve; mentions of cancer treatment; 1.5k words

Dress rehearsal is supposed to be a mess.

That's the point of it, really, to get all the mistakes out of your system and start the actual show run with a clean slate. Or at least, that had been the point of which they'd all convinced themselves when Steve was the one performing.

Bad dress meant good show, or so the old adage went, and so at least there was some ease of worry with the collective understanding that it won't happen on the night within the company.

That was the case when Steve was a student, when he was an apprentice, even during his time in the big leagues at Joffrey, but right now? At the end of a truly abysmal dress in this run-down theater on the edge of a town from which he'd once run away?

Steve is not the performer. He's the guy in charge.

And so he spirals.

He'd never wanted to be a director or an instructor or the head of a studio like this. It had never been in his plans. Steve was a man of action, where the people who do these jobs are the brains behind the operation.

Steve knows how to work hard, how to force his body and even his mind into submission until he gets the steps just right, but this? These past six months back in Hawkins temporarily helping out?

(God, please let it be temporary.)

He's not built for this. He's sitting center stage after everyone has left with only half the house lights to illuminate his misery and he's not. Built. For. This.

Not built for being a mentor or a leader or a role model; not built to handle the strenuous nature of his mother's legacy; not built to carry the name she's made for herself as a teacher and a choreographer and a shaper of young dancers.

Steve's not built for it!

They'd had a shitty fucking dress.

"Hey, uh, you gonna be a while? I kinda need to close up for the night."

The voice echoes across the empty space, bouncing off the high ceiling and straight up to land on the Marley floors at Steve's feet. The stage isn't built for dancers, much like Steve isn't built to be here, so they'd had to pull up the floors from the studio and drag them halfway across town just to roll them out here.

"Hello? Are you, like, alive up there?"

Steve sighs. "Yeah," he calls back, catching sight of the figure talking to him at the back of the theater, the young guy who runs the place and who Steve met a grand total of three days ago. His name is Eddie and he dresses more like he's running a music venue than a local community theater, but he's mostly stayed out of Steve's way so far. "Sorry, I'll get outta your hair."

"Sure," Eddie says, but he's just sort of leaning against the back wall by the window to the sound and lighting booth without an ounce of urgency to him as Steve drags himself to his aching feet and lugs his three separate bags of show stuff onto his shoulders.

There's an energy to an empty theater, one which has held a performance and one which now holds the ghosts of that performance, which tugs at the anxieties sitting buried deep beneath the more immediate ones.

Fears about his mom's health, about what will happen to the studio if she doesn't win this particular battle, about what will happen to him.

There's an energy here in the creak of the steps which lead down off the front of the stage and there's an energy to the plod of Steve's sneakers up the long, racked aisle between the seats.

There's an energy, but it's also not empty, is it.

"Hey, good show, dude," Eddie says, pushing off his wall as Steve grows nearer. "Like, talented kids you've got there."

Steve scoffs before he can help himself and then pinches the bridge of his nose in a grimace for not being able to help himself.

"Uh, yeah, thanks," he grits out, thinking about his bed. Thinking about how he never made time for dinner and he has to be here early again tomorrow.

"Wow, resounding confidence on this one," Eddie snorts, and when Steve opens his eyes it's to genuine amusement, genuine curiosity in the tilt of a head and furrow of a brow.

"No, just," he shakes his head, "you should see 'em when they're really on their game, y'know?"

Eddie hums, and when did Steve come to a stop right in front of him? He's leaving. He has to leave. Go home. Think about all the spacing corrections he needs to fix tomorrow and run through with the girls before show time.

"Bad dress, good show though, right?"

Steve startles. Maybe a little too visibly because Eddie is actively holding back laughter at the sight of him.

"What, I've worked at a theater for four years and I'm not supposed to pick up a thing or two about the ballet?" he snarks good-naturedly. "Caroline, the lady who did your job before you, she was a chatty one, taught me everything I know about Giselle."

It's a knife between the ribs. It's a soothing sort of heat, like from a roaring bonfire.

"You--" he clears his throat, "you know Caroline?"

"Highlight of the job honestly, before she retired," Eddie shrugs.

"She didn't retire."

"Oh. She...?"

"Chemo," Steve doesn't know why he's saying it all so willingly, why after months of trying to run the studio without having to talk about how's your mom doing, sweetheart? he's opening up to this stranger with the curly hair and curious eyes. But he knows her. He's-- Well, he knows her. "I'm just here to-- to fill in until she can come back. So."

Eddie is studying him now. Curious eyes turned intelligent, knowing, sad with the weight of realization.

"You're the wonder boy," he says on a breath like oh, I get it now.

"The what?" Steve balks.

"Her kid," Eddie says like it's simple. He's leaning against the wall again, like he's not planning on getting back to work anymore, "she was-- Shit, man, she loves the hell outta you. Oh, you should see my son, he's in Les Corsaire this season! Oh, my boy, he's just gotten promoted to soloist, he'll be a principal in no time! Oh, the talent on him, the--"

"Okay, okay, Jesus," Steve cuts him off, a half-hysterical laugh bubbling up out of his chest in the process.

"You should tell her I say hi next time you see her," Eddie isn't remotely deterred by having his little, lilting performance derailed. There's a softness to him that deserves a smaller space, walls less prone to echo.

"I will," Steve nods. His bags grow heavy on his shoulders.

"And you should chill out a little bit," he says, this time with the kind of glint to his eye that needs a bigger space, needs to be up on the stage to the point where it has Steve floundering, "y'know, about the the shitty dress that, between you and me," he leans in conspiratorially, close enough to feel the heat of his breath, "wasn't really all that shitty."

Steve sucks in a breath.

It strikes him somewhere old, the reassurance, somewhere young deep inside of him. The comforting from a mother that if he just works hard enough he’ll land that double tour in fifth some day soon, the unbroken promise that she would never give him special treatment as the son of the studio owner, but that she would never hesitate to reward him when he’d earned it on his own.

It strikes him because no one tells you how little reassurance the guy in charge is ever offered and it strikes him because it’s been such a long day and it strikes him because—

“Hey, have you had dinner yet?”

Eddie’s eyebrows lift high on his forehead and Steve sees it, the attitude on this dude that his mother absolutely would have loved in an instant. There’s a performer in there, even just in the brief interaction they’ve shared so far. There’s a spotlight pointing inwards and a show begging to be dragged out.

“No,” Eddie drags out slow and curious, “you offering, ballet boy?”

Steve needs a sounding board and he needs another set of eyes and he needs his mom to be okay and the show tomorrow to prove that he can handle this for her if she’s not, but maybe what he needs most right now, on the other side of a spiral in a dark and echoing theater, is this.

“Meet me at Benny’s in thirty,” he says simply as he makes his way for the door. “Since you’re such an experienced test audience.”

Eddie’s responding laugh is bright and his eyes glitter with curious amusement and maybe this is what Steve needs because maybe all of this is one big rehearsal at a big new life in and old small town.

And maybe this is his chance to make a mess of it. At least until the real show starts.

[nedeii]

[tomaturtles]

Kawoshin Week Day 6: 2928/Post 3.0+1.0 + Meeting for the first time in years!

I just think that. Shinji growing up to be taller than Kaworu and hitting him with the realization of time moving forward and them not being doomed teenagers anymore

[xia0ming56]

This is the comic equivalent of a crack fic

[songofwizardry]

the thing you need to know about me is that I turn into a little feral animal when given any quantity of fruit. I will attack that mango with my teeth. I will devour that custard apple, seeds be damned. I will decimate that plate of strawberries. no fruit is safe from me at any time of day. my primate ancestors look down at me and nod approvingly.

[linkedin-offficial]

happy easter! have some characters from a story im working on. (+ sweet)

[kandicon]

*writes the same exact headcannons in slightly different scenarios over and over again*

[neil-jostenminyard]

me with every scrap we get about neil or andrew/neil in the sunshine court

[madamelebeau]

I have never been so excited to have someone stab my ribs for an hour or so. <3

[zentriii]

Dating your enemies sibling

SakuAtsu or OsaSuna (you decide cause I can’t lol)

sakuatsu it is :D

Kiyoomi stretches languidly on her bed. She’s got the day off today and finally has a moment for herself after finishing up her chores. All she wants to do is watch anime with her girlfriend until it’s time for lunch.

“Omi-chan!” Atsumu singsongs, walking out of her bathroom in nothing but shorts and a tank top. Kiyoomi pretends like she can’t see her tits through it and rolls onto her stomach with a groan. She’d rather stare shamelessly, but Atsumu’s ruthless with her teasing and they’ve already had to change her bedsheets once today.

Atsumu drops down and plasters herself over Kiyoomi’s back, undoubtedly pouting at Kiyoomi lack of affection.

“Ugh you’re all wet, did you even dry yourself off?” Kiyoomi wreathes under Atsumu, hoping that there isn’t an Atsumu-shaped water stain across her back.

“Course I did,” Atsumu squawks. “Sides I wanted to ask ya-”

“No.” Kiyoomi cuts her off. Atsumu’s been asking her for the same thing all day- impressive given that the day’s not even half over- but her answer isn’t changing. Kiyoomi does not want to go to Osamu’s housewarming party next week.

A part of her is proud that she was able to afford her own home, that Onigiri Miya’s become a successful chain. But every other part of her is still a first year university student and unable to process her embarrassment and let go of petty resentment.

If Kiyoomi doesn’t think about it, it doesn’t matter.

“Pleaseee,” Atsumu whines softly in her ear.

Kiyoomi flips them over and straddles Atsumu’s lap before Atsumu can clock how off kilter that left her. It’s a last ditch attempt of changing the topic, but she takes advantage of the towel Atsumu dropped on their bed and works it through her hair.

She tsks. Atsumu’s a filthy liar; her hair’s absolutely not been dried.

It’s painfully unfair how healthy it is with the way she takes care of her hair. Which is to say, Atsumu does not. Hasn’t even heard of the concept. Kiyoomi hates her a little for it. Atsumu won the genetic lottery with naturally thick hair and she doesn’t even know it.

Kiyoomi doesn’t realize when Atsumu wraps a hand around her waist until she squeezes gently. It’s an Atsumu-thing: fiddling with whatever’s in her hands. Kiyoomi wonders for a moment if there’s anyone else in the fucking world whose lap she could sit so comfortably in.

“Fine,” she sighs.

If Kiyoomi can’t go her whole life closing her eyes to everything she doesn’t like, she can at least hold Atsumu’s hand about it. Acquiescing isn’t so hard if she’s not alone.

“Really?” Atsumu perks up, light dancing in her eyes. Kiyoomi’s just a girl- how could she ever not feel like she’s at the top of the world with Atsumu looking at her like this?

Kiyoomi’s still Kiyoomi though, for better and for worse. She’s not throwing herself into the deep end without an out. “I’m not staying the whole time- you can if you want but I’m going to leave early.”

Atsumu’s got mischief in her eyes and Kiyoomi already know she’s already worked her way under the lines she just drew. “Then let’s go to Samu’s for lunch today.”

What.

Atsumu must read the disgust-slash-confusion off her face because she immediately goes to sell her point. “If ya don’t wanna come to dinner with everyone, we can just crash at her store. What’s she gonna do? Kick two payin’ customers out?

Kiyoomi wants to dig her nails under Atsumu’s skin and rip the smirk off her face. She’s been got and knowing her, Atsumu’s only gonna keep pushing.

They’re too similar for her to not.

She'd rather deal with Osamu without being in front of the rest of Atsumu's family though so Kiyoomi snorts, “You’re on being-a-menace duty.”

“That’s just my everyday babe,” Atsumu winks horribly. She looks ridiculous and Kiyoomi will never tell her that. She keeps her girlfriend’s goofiness close to her heart. It might be an open secret between their friends, but she’s the one who gets to see it everyday.

There’s only threads of hope that today won’t be a shitshow of petty and snide comments between her and Osamu but at least Atsumu can step in before they can go too far. That’s a hope Kiyoomi can count on at the very least.

“Alright, let’s go now.” Kiyoomi abandons her comfortable seat in favour of looting through Atsumu’s clothes for one of her hoodies.

Atsumu groans and flops onto her back dramatically. “Now?”

“Yes now. I don’t want to deal with the lunch rush that’ll come later. Get your lazy ass up.”

“Yer cruel so Omi-Omi,” Atsumu whines as she gets up anyways.

“Are you finally realizing?” Kiyoomi teases. Honestly they’re both horrible. It’s half of why they work.

Atsumu just laughs in her face.

Kiyoomi isn’t suddenly optimistic or anything, but she isn’t dreading going to Onigiri Miya’s as much. She can be mature about this.

[quietlyblooms]

hypnotizing you to write me fluff and tension…