#but it makes sense 2 meeee

[sophsicle]

"I don't have anything for you to fix James," Regulus shrugs helplessly. "I only have things for you to endure."

[thefirstknife]

More of Eramis experiencing being treated fairly, thinks it's all a heinous trick.

Girl.

Crab confronted with the reality that humans are not all evil, contrary to the indoctrination by the Witness and hundreds of years of animosity between us, ends up confused, convinced this is an elaborate trick to kill her. More at 11.

[lemonlimestar]

she needs to fight!!! here’s my redesign for anita :)

i felt like something was lacking in her costume and i wanted to take a stab at redesigning her so! here she is!

explanation will be under the cut :]

when i started this redesign, i knew i wanted to incorporate her cultural background a lot more. she is implied (i don’t believe they outright specify it) to practice specifically haitian voodou & both of my parents practice african traditional religions. so, i talked to my dad about different ways to connect that to her costume and he brought up west african masquerades.

i was sent many, many videos (thank u dad 🫡) of masquerades as well as celebrations of junkanoo, which is a festival that started in north america rooted in west african festival traditions & they both have bright colors & masks that i felt really lent itself to the empress costume

i knew i wanted to keep her general silhouette, but i tweaked it to better suit the masquerade & festival costumes e.g. her glove and boot cuffs being flipped.

the stripes were a common aspect, and i based the masks more on junkanoo than masquerades just because of the important meanings behind masquerading that i am not qualified to apply to a dc comics characters ajhdjsja. i also made her under armor a lot more yellow to have less people confuse it as her skin? which i’ve seen a few times.

speaking of, now onto her actual appearance. i think anita has a very cute design, but like many non-white comic characters , it is a bit of a struggle. but! that’s an easy fix.

first, i gave her knotless french curl braids, bc all the black vigilantes i draw have to have protective hairstyles apparently lmao. but also it’s a nice mix of the braids she wears in yj sometimes and her usual hair. yippee

(+ i just made her empress hair a wig, bc it’s very much more convenient & plays into the festival costume aspect)

and, finally, i made her skin tone a lot deeper bc, especially compared to her white teammates, her skin is super gray 😭 which is common for a lot of brown comic characters unfortunately. i could’ve just made her og skintone more saturated but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it’s a free country.

and that’s a wrap :^) ty to anyone who actually sat through my rambling! if anything came off unclear i’ve open to questions about it. bring back anita fite 2k24

[welcome-leon]

Okay I NEED to talk about the Resident Evil 'Viral' campaign bc it makes me insane dfsjkhsdj I'm gonna have to split it up by each commercial to talk about them individually so prepare for longpost but I can't get my mind off it.

If you don't know, Capcom had a series of live-action promo videos for RE5, depicting Chris in various moments following the events of the game. If you haven't seen them, the clearest quality ones I could find are by Shiny Gamey on YT, with the first video being here (otherwise the most popular YT results are 144p - 360p lol)

CW: All videos have lots of intense flashing lights/images, and focus heavily on mental illness. TW: Video 4 "Bridge" has imagery of suicide and self-harm, and video 5 "Back" has hints of suicide.

TLDR; these commercials aren't canon, but god I find them interesting. The videos focus on Chris' rapidly declining mental health and obvious PTSD (alongside hallucinations and psychosis), with each clip showing his sanity deteriorating. They paint a picture where the events of RE5 fundamentally changed Chris in a way he cannot control - more than that, showing him far more vulnerable and human than the determined hero we usually see him as. These commercials make RE5 seem way scarier than it is because it's showing the hero suffering from just surviving - Fear You Can't Forget - and man I wish Capcom would lean further into the psychological horror of it all.

So one thing I noticed with this series is that I think it follows the themes of the stages of grief. I think each of Chris' voiceover lines carry this motif in each video, and it further illustrates just how heavily the events of RE5 are weighing on him. I think it's open to interpretation as to what he's grieving - his own sanity, the lives lost from Wesker's actions, Wesker himself, or maybe just a part of Chris' identity that is so drawn and tired of it all that it simply disappears. Either way, death as a whole is a theme explored here, and I find it very fun and interesting that the stages of grief seem to make an appearance too.

(1) Ceremony

In the first video, Chris is shown accepting an award at a BSAA press event some time after Kijuju. There's a lot of press involved, and Sheva is standing in the crowd. A general (maybe? Some kind of commander) gives a speech about Chris' heroism, and gives him a medal. When Chris is about to give his acceptance speech, the flashing of the cameras trigger a flashback where he re-experiences some of the events of the game (this is just gameplay footage, the 'commercial' part of these videos). You can also see scribbled words, in flashes, appearing across his speech papers. When the flashback ends he drops his papers, and when Sheva picks them up from the ground, the pages have no scribbles visible.

The thing about this one for me, aside from introducing the concept that Chris is Not Okay, is the way Chris' internal monologue contrasts with the words from the general. "There's more to being a hero than saving lives," are the opening words to this scene, spoken by the general, and he goes on to commend Chris for his bravery and valour. The general is very openly calling Chris a hero. And yet, Chris' voiceover line is, "It's amazing how far you can get in life by destroying the lives of others."

While it would make sense for him to be referencing Wesker and bioterrorism as a whole, contextually it's apparent that he's referring to himself - by the last video, it's made clear that Chris' voice lines are all a part of one monologue, but I'll get to that later. Here, he is on stage receiving a medal after ending innumerable lives in Kijuju, and while his superiors call it 'saving' lives, Chris calls it 'destroying'. The way he says the line sounds dull, emotionless, and it sounds clear he has no pride in the lives he takes, BOWs or not. I just love that detail to his character, his awareness of his own role in ending the lives of the victims of bioterrorism, the fact that he still views the monsters he kills as lives taken. It feels very canon-Chris to me, despite not being a canon video.

It's also worth noting that shock and denial are considered the first stages of grief, and while it's not a big theme in this clip as much as the others, I still think his voice line showcases his disbelief. It definitely sounds like he can't believe the route his life has taken to lead him onto that stage. Maybe it's not a lot to sink your teeth into, thematically, but there's elements here that contribute to the theme of grief in the video series overall.

(2) Date

This commercial shows Chris on a date with a woman, and it seems like everything is going well. The woman reapplies her lipstick in a compact, while Chris gets a video camera and asks the woman to confess something (side note, Chris wtf sjkdfhkjh). The woman tells him, "I don't know, I'm probably guilty of something." She moves the compact she's holding and Chris has a flashback when light reflects off the mirror into his eyes. When he comes back, the woman is gone, and Chris finds the napkin the woman was using covered in words similar to the first commercial written in lipstick. The voiceover line is, "Death is nothing to be proud of. And survival is sometimes worse than death."

Guilt and pain is the second stage of grief, and I think both are very apparent here. The woman is about to record her confession, and she states she's probably guilty of something - it stands to reason Chris might be thinking of his own confessions, his own guilt. And Chris' internal monologue, after a flashback of violence and death, says, "Death is nothing to be proud of," implying that it's something to feel ashamed of. Again, the point is hammered home that Chris doesn't view his experience in Kijuju as something heroic - he is constantly aware of the weight of death, regardless of who he kills. This line is also spoken alongside the visual of Chris looking into a broken mirror, a symbol of his shattered sense of self, which only amplifies the idea that Chris really feels like he has lost part of himself - is it part of his identity, or his sanity? Both? Probably both.

"And survival is sometimes worse than death." Is Chris talking about believing the psychological effects of RE5 are a fate worse than death? I think so. He's just had a flashback and lost a date that was otherwise going really well because of it, and keeps seeing these words popping up in places they weren't before. It's this line that encompasses his pain, right beside his guilt as it should be. The fact that he's viewing his existence after RE5 as being 'worse than death' is a very potent thing, considering that he should be feeling somewhat normal now that he's back in his real life.

And that's what strikes me the most about these videos - the idea that despite all the horrors we see these characters experience in the games, despite the fact that the good guys always win, despite the fact that these missions always have a beginning and an end, it's the aftermath of the game events that are worse. The idea that even with everything Chris has gone through, in these videos he's telling us that his own brain is worse. I find it chilling, and very compelling.

(3) Claire

This scene shows Chris and Claire hunting an enemy through a factory. Chris' voiceover line is, "Why did I have to go? Why couldn't it have been someone else?" The siblings shoot the enemy and it falls, and it appears as though they're in some kind of mission training. They have the following conversation.

Claire: "So. I heard that the company shrink thought—" Chris: "So Claire Redfield listens to shrinks now?" Claire: "I'm just asking how my big brother's doing, you jerk." Chris: "Don't worry about me, I don't need any saving." Chris then has a voiceover line: "But I do need to be saved."

A target startles them and Claire shoots, the muzzle flash and the glint of the bullets sending Chris into a flashback. When he comes back to himself, the word Kijuju is written on the wall behind Claire in what looks like blood. Chris mutters "No, no," to himself when he sees it, visibly frightened, but Claire can't see what he's seeing. She asks if he's okay. The tagline plays, and the final clip is Chris staring at his own hands with the training mannequin in the background.

Oh boy, Chris thinking "Why couldn't it have been someone else?" really gets me 😥 Chris has already been through so much, and I could be wrong but I'm not sure if he's ever expressed his displeasure at the direction his life has taken before (in the previous instalments of the franchise, I mean). A big part of Chris' character is his steadiness, his guidance of others, and his determination to see the mission through. He's always so reliable in everyone's eyes that for him to be overwhelmed with the burden of responsibility is just so... ugh. And it's literally shown in this same clip, where he states outright to Claire that he doesn't need saving, then his inner monologue directly disproves that. His thoughts are crying out for someone to help him, and yet he resolutely takes action that goes against his own wants. Does he do that because he thinks he can't ask for help? Does he think he doesn't deserve it?

The third stage of grief is bargaining and anger, and it really shows in his voice line. Him asking "why me?" doesn't come from a place of petulance or entitlement, it comes from a place of pain. A sense of anger at the circumstances leading to the loss is a normal part of grief, and bargaining is a way for the brain to try and gain a sense of control over an uncontrollable situation. The fact that he has those kinds of thoughts at all just shows how much pain he's actually in - we all know he would never let anyone else go find Jill and Wesker on his behalf, that's just not who Chris is. And yet, he falls into the natural mindset of trying to retroactively bargain like any of us would. If he hadn't gone to Kijuju, then he wouldn't be feeling this way. If it had been someone else, then he wouldn't need saving. Why did it have to be him?

And then there's the ending, a solid confirmation in this series that Chris is hallucinating the word Kijuju over and over again. His past haunting him, not just in flashbacks but in reality too. Idk man, I know Resident Evil isn't a psychological horror series and it's probably intentional for them to make that distinction from other survival horror games (e.g. Silent Hill) but this kind of stuff is so spooky and I love it. The fact that this is a promotion for the game is so incredibly smart to me, because it makes the viewer wonder at what Chris possibly could have experienced for him to be reacting this way in the aftermath - Chris, who has only ever been shown to be very competent, calm, and determined. Ugh. So good.

(4) Bridge (TW talk of suicide and self-harm)

The clip opens with the sounds of an engine and some frantic driving. His VO line is, "I hope there's something waiting for me out there." Chris stops his truck on top of a bridge and approaches the railing. He looks out for a moment, then climbs up onto the edge. "No matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to escape my memories." The flashing light of an alarm triggers a flashback. When he comes to, he's sitting near his truck. His jacket is gone, and he's shaking. He sees his fingers are covered in blood, and when he looks at his arm he sees Kijuju scratched into his skin. "I guess the more horrors that get seared into your brain, the less likely you are to forget."

I was not prepared when I first saw this one, let me tell you, and I still get sad watching it 😔 The imagery speaks for itself I think, and it pretty solidly captures the fourth stage of grief, depression. It appears Chris drove to the bridge with the intent to take his own life, and it was actually the flashback that brought him back from the edge. It very much encompasses his line, "No matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to escape my memories." He is quite literally trying to escape his memories, his life, and it is quite literally his memories that prevent him from doing so.

The first part of his voice line for this commercial seems to be his hope for an afterlife? And that kinda just hits home even further - he hopes there's something better waiting for him, something far away from the memories. Although, considering the rest of the series and the guilt he clearly feels, maybe he hopes for absolution. Maybe he hopes for his sins to be punished. Hm.

As a little note, I have no idea if the Kijuju on his arm was meant to be scratches or not. It looks like it's been painted on, but his fingernails are bloody and there's dripping blood, so he obviously got the blood from somewhere. It could also be a hallucination, like the other written words. Unclear. But it takes the decline of his mental health to a whole new level - not only is he suicidal, he's also harming himself in his fugue state. Poor Chris :(

(5) Back (TW talk of suicide)

The final commercial begins with Chris' voice. "There are some things you can't run from. And there are some things that never die." The camera pans over a room filled with items that seem to resemble parts of RE5, including statues and plants. It's unclear where this is, but it seems like Chris is living there. Chris is sitting, clothed, in a bathtub, talking into a receiver. "The human brain is a complicated bitch; once an image is burned in, it's scarred there forever."

The TV screen in front of the tub randomly turns on, and Chris grabs a handgun from beside him to shoot the TV, which triggers a flashback. Sheva runs through the area and pulls him up from the tub, where he had slumped over facedown in the water throughout his flashback, and he aims at her with the pistol before he realises who she is. She grabs him a towel and tells him, "We got a new assignment." Chris gets up and appears to be himself again, getting ready for the mission while Sheva looks at the walls covered obsessively in writing. Over and over, it reads, They are in Kijuju. It's clear she can see it this time. As they leave the area, Chris' voice line is, "I can't keep letting my memories get the best of me. Luckily, the best way to get rid of old memories is by making new ones."

So there's a lot going on here I'm not fully certain about tbh. I think this is meant to be Chris' home, or at least a current place of residence. The way the place is decorated makes me think Chris is so far gone in his memories that he's started making the area around him mimic Kijuju, with all the plants growing off the walls and the sculptures. The fact that the place looks like an abandoned factory is unexplained though. Chris is sitting in the bathtub talking into a recording device; it looks to me like a landline phone, and I suspect he's recording a voicemail. That, alongside the handgun next to him on the tub leads me to believe he's recording a suicide note - and it seems like all the voice lines in the previous videos are all part of this one recording.

The final stage of grief is acceptance, but I think this video turns that acceptance on its head a bit. "Some things you can't run from, and some things never die." The lines themselves make him seem accepting of his own memories, of the fact that these events will haunt him - in the context of the clip though, his possible second suicide attempt, maybe he's trying to explain to someone why he couldn't try to attempt to live with the memories. And yet, the moment Sheva tells him they have a new mission, he's up and back on his feet, Chris Redfield once more, and with the final voice line things are ostensibly all fixed again. Acceptance. Sure.

But there's no real resolution (not that I would expect one in a commercial series like this) and it would defy the core intent of these videos for Chris to be All Okay again. He's not okay after RE5 - that's the point. Fear you can't forget. What the viewer needs to know is that Chris Redfield is going to carry on and do the next mission like he always does, and isn't that just the sad truth of Chris' entire character? It's that exact theme that leads to Chris' weariness in RE8, asking himself when it all ends. Despite the final lines that seem to shoehorn the entire series in a neat package, I think the fact that despite his clear mental health issues he still gets up and gets the job done is far more telling about the tragedy of Chris' character.

The writing on the walls really makes me think. They are in Kijuju. 'They' being Wesker and Jill, but it's odd that Chris would obsess over that specifically after RE5, seeing as he's already saved Jill and killed Wesker. But then it makes me wonder about those 3 years Chris was looking for them. 'They are in Kijuju' would literally be the thought that started it all, the reason why the events of RE5 happened in the first place. 'They are in Kijuju' would be an obsession, even in his right frame of mind. He'd spent so long looking for Jill that this phrase being seared into his mind makes sense to me. (I mean obviously this would moreso be a big teaser for fans to understand what RE5 is likely to be about, but still.)

Idk man, these clips, while not being canon, fill a void for me about Chris' wellbeing after everything he's been through. He's experienced so much, carried so much, that to see him truly suffer in the aftermath of such a gruelling mission is just kind of cathartic? He's human, and his body and mind aren't infallible. He might be able to make it through the toughest experiences alive, but that doesn't mean there are no consequences. And frankly I just love this approach to promoting a horror game - showing the aftermath is such a smart way to do it. "Look at how the protagonist reacts to living through the RE5 experience! Don't you wanna know what caused it?" That's just good marketing.

Anyway to anyone who made it this far - thanks and hope you enjoyed my rambles 😅🥰

[starbound-sda-comic]

When I made the Mori and Juniper coffee pic a couple people on Instagram asked to see a comparison between their dynamic in Dorm Days (they're 18/19 years old) and current day around the time Starbound comes around (when they're around 23/24 years old). They're two people that go through a lot together and a big part of their story is them trying to get past their own hang-ups (Juniper being closed off and making assumptions and Mori being naïve and navigating her people-pleasing tendencies), especially in the beginning when they're really sensitive around others. So when they do get through their issues, they're much more open to becoming friends.

And it's not a quick progress; it takes years to forge the friendship they have in the second pic. Don't get me wrong, I love stories that have the two main characters hit it off immediately and they just have a few speedbumps along the way. But I think the interesting part of a story like this, where neither is exactly open at first, is that they both grow and learn despite being thrown together unexpedtedly.

[kringelorde]

if I have to replace my oil pump before summer ends I’m going to start mailing GM parcels of piss

[leclerc-hs]

fille stupide - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: request from anon, in which you don't know French and a stranger helps you find your way back home Warning: 18+, SMUT, mean charles, degradation, some French (badly translated please correct me if needed), smut, smut, smut.... Word Count: 1808 Author's Note: I can't stop writing smut??? I think I hit every area the anon wanted!!! xo hope you like it lmaoooo also I wrote this so fast so it might not be my best work but I couldn’t sleep so I decided to write to pass the time. UPDATE: Also I just want to give a major shoutout to @dannyramirezwife for checking the translations for me!! It seriously means the world to meeee PART 2

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

DESPITE MONACO'S REPUTATION as one of the smallest countries in the world, you found yourself defying expectations by getting lost. The common assumption that such a compact place would be easy to navigate proved to be a misconception, as Monaco’s intricate streets and unique layout presented a challenge, turning what seemed impossible into a reality. Your reality.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The murmur of students passing by echoed, their conversations blending into a linguistic symphony of French, a language foreign to your ears. The decision to pursue the International University of Monaco, a place where the native tongue was French, felt like a bold and ambitious choice at first. The picturesque landscapes, the allure of the Mediterranean, and the prestigious academic reputation had drawn you in. 

However, as you stood outside the building, the reality of linguistic barriers hit you with full force. It seemed like every conversation, every announcement, and every piece of information was enveloped in a language you struggled to comprehend. Although, most knew English, it wasn’t the standard, and you were not yet adjusted to it. 

Panic surged through you as you hurriedly navigated the winding sidewalks, desperately trying to locate the building housing your apartment. Your focus was solely on scanning the towering buildings, hoping to spot a familiar one. The urgency of the situation compelled you to dart forward, not paying mind to those surrounding you. It was a recipe disaster, leading you to collide right into the body of another person.

“Mon dieu,” My God. The man said with a slight annoyance in his tone. “Regarde où tu marches!” Watch where you’re walking!

As the words were proclaimed, your eyes locked with a man’s gaze. He was the most stunning individual your eyes have ever beheld. His physique was tan, sculpted and taut, with biceps stretching the seams of his t-shirt. A pair of black sunglasses perched confidently on the bridge of his nose, adding an extra layer of allure to his presence.

You had absolutely no idea what he was saying. Although by the look of his furrowed eyebrows and tightened jaw, it was evident he was far from pleased. He removed his sunglasses, unveiling a pair of narrowed eyes.

Embarrassment tinged your cheeks as you stammered, “I’m so sorry!”

Under his scrutinizing gaze, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of smallness. His eyes, which you presumed to be green, were veiled in fury, making it difficult to discern their true color, yet undeniable captivating in their intensity. 

“Tu parles Français?” Do you speak French? A sly grin stretched across his lips slowly, reveling in your bewilderment. “Stupide, stupide fille,” Stupid, stupid girl. he added, savoring the moment.

Gazing downward, you focused on your feet, idly brushing your hands across the bottom of your white sundress. The garment was short, adorned with a little tied bow between your breasts and flower details.

“I’m a bit lost.” You muttered. “Would you be able to help me find my place?”

“I ne sais pas,” I don’t know. He persisted in speaking French, despite knowing you couldn’t understand. It felt as if he aimed to humiliate you, to provoke a sense of frustration or anger deliberately.

“Évidemment, je peux. Fille stupide.” Of course, I can. Stupid girl. He was mocking you and you didn’t even know it.

You let out an exasperated groan and sidestepped to make way for him, muttering a small ‘nevermind.’ However, as you moved, he followed suit, intentionally blocking your path and halting your movement.

“You shouldn’t be wearing dresses so short,” his fingers gently toyed with the thin strap of your dress. “It’s a bit windy for them.”

You felt the goosebumps rise on your skin from his touch alone. You frowned, “So, you do speak English?”

“Oui, la plupart des gens le font.” Yes, most people do. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as he continued speaking in French. While you acknowledged the need to learn the language, it felt like he was intentionally being cruel rather than helpful. “Are you in University?”

You nodded briskly, eager not to waste any time, especially since he finally seemed willing to be helpful.

“Most of the students live this way,” he mentioned, his hand wrapping around your wrist as he began to walk, essentially pulling you along with him. The touch of his skin against yours stirred butterflies in your stomach. Despite the fact he was insanely hot, you struggled to concentrate, almost forgetting the fact that he was behaving like a total asshole. 

He muttered French phrases to himself throughout the entire walk, small laughs escaping his lips while you remained clueless about what he was saying.

“Je veux te manger.” I want to eat you out.

“Tu t’habilles comme une salope.” You dress like a slut.

“Je vais te détruire.” I’m going to wreck you.

You weren’t sure what it was. Whether it was delusion from exhaustion or simply the undeniable sex appeal of the guy, the words, even though you didn’t understand them, strangely aroused you. 

Guiding you through the streets, he steered you into a lobby of a building that finally seemed familiar. “What number are you?” he inquired, referring to your apartment number. 

“Why would I give a stranger my apartment number?”

He scoffed, “I’m Charles. Not a stranger anymore. What’s the number?”

You didn’t give him the information because he convinced you that easily. It was more because he knew the area better than you. 

“0217? I think.” You replied, not entirely certain. The rush of your first day at university had left you with little time to settle in and memorize details. He didn’t seem to have much patience as he led you quickly up the stairwell and in front of a door with the numbers 0217 on it. You pulled out your key and unlocked the door, smiling as you finally pushed it open with success.

“Come in and have some water before you go,” You offered. It was the least you could do to express gratitude for his assistance. Your apartment was sparsely furnished, with only a mattress on the floor and several boxes scattered about.

“Sorry for the mess,” you bent over to pick up two water bottles from the case of water, your lace underwear with tiny hearts all over them peeking out for Charles view. He groaned loudly and unashamed.

Fatigue weighed heavily behind your eyes, but a persistent ache tugged at your stomach, insisting on the need to fulfill it.

“Mon dieu, j’ai besoin de t’avoir.” My god, I need to have you.

You rolled your eyes at the man as he said yet another sentence in French, handing him the water bottle. Rather than taking the water bottle from your hand, he grasped tightly onto your forearm and pulled you into him, the shock of his grasp causing you to drop the water bottle.

You felt your stomach tightening with need as his hands were on you once again. It was sick really. How this big of an asshole could turn you on so much.

“Rule number one, you can only roll your eyes when my cock is stretching your tight little pussy.” The scent of his cologne made your knees week. It was embarrassing. How quickly he was able to affect you. 

A soft gasp escaped your lips at his words, and your heart raced rapidly in response. He towered over your small frame, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at your flushed skin. A dead giveaway to how badly you were aching for him.

His hand swiftly pulled the strings of the dress, giving him full access to your breasts. He slipped his hand into it, pinching your nipple between his middle finger and thumb.

“On the bed.” His tone was demanding and authoritative, treating you like you were the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. Treating you like the slut that you were. “On your hands and knees.”

You rushed over to the bed, falling to your hands and knees, turning your head to look up at Charles behind you. Once he makes his way over, he grabs your hair and pulls you so your back is flushed to his chest, pulling your mouth to his. His tongue slips its way into your mouth, devouring you. The process is not entirely sexy. It’s urgent. Frantic. As if neither of you could have enough of one another.

He pulled away and spoke gruffly, as if he was angry with you. “Doesn’t even know a lick of French, stupide fille.” Stupid girl. He remarked, switching off between French and English.

Your dress was so short that he didn't even need to move it to see your panties. The dainty little hearts had him foaming at the mouth. So fucking cute.

“Fucking salope.” Slut. He pushes you back down, letting you fall back onto your hands as he pulled his pants down, freeing his cock.

You felt your mouth water at the sight. Just like him, his cock was beautiful. Perfectly smooth and dripping with pre-cum. You moaned as he pressed the head of his cock to your lace covered pussy, teasing you with it. You felt yourself growing needier, trying to push yourself onto his cock for more friction. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” He groaned, pulling your underwear to the side, and spitting directly onto your pussy. He did it as if he was spitting on the sidewalk, with no care and no respect, shoving two fingers into your heated center. He wasn’t gentle in the slightest. He was greedy, taking whatever he wanted from you. “Pathétique,” Pathetic. He sighs, shaking his head, "Such a cock slut."

Loud moans left your mouth as he stroked where you ached with his fingers before removing them and replacing them with his cock. 

“So fucking tight,” he hisses, his fingers grabbing onto the skin of your ass to add leverage as his continues to push deeper. To push harder. Your pussy squeezes him harder as he utters the words. “Tu aimes ça?” You like that? He muses on, “You like hearing what a tight pussy you have?”

“Dirty fucking slut.”

His hand reaches out and forces your head down onto the mattress, limiting your breathing. He’s completely unhinged. His hips relentlessly pounding into you. Fucking you like he’s mad at you. Fucking you like he hates you. With every thrust, a loud moan escapes your lips, echoing off the empty apartment walls.

“Come on my cock,” he demands. “Squeezing me like you’re going to come.” He states. You can hear the smirk in his voice. 

You feel yourself choking on your moans as it hits you. You’re now leaping over the edge of your orgasm. “That’s it,” he soothes, talking you through as you release all over his cock, but he doesn’t slow the roll of his hips into you. He pulls your face up from the mattress, his hand holding you up by the back of your neck. You’re completely limp, practically nothing but a toy for him to use. 

“Charles,” you’re yelling his name repeatedly.

At the sound of your voice yelling his name, he quickly pulls out and comes undone, releasing all over your backside. He collapses beside you, both of you trying to catch your breath. You both lie there, unmoving, just staring at each other.

“You should really learn French.” He laughs, a smug smile forming on his lips. You can’t help but laugh in response. 

“Maybe you can teach me?” 

“Peut être.” Maybe.

[whosjunglejim4322]

Home, at last - Tangerine

Warnings: mentions of BLOOD & ANGST And tooth rotting FLUFF because (canonically he is a loverboy TO ME and it is important to ME), mentions of murder, because well yeah...uhm anyways, Tan doesn't know you know but you know. You know?, Lemon is in deep shit (he just doesn't know it yet), domesticity bc once again (it is important to MEEEE)

He's the only one other than yourself that has a key. It doesn't frighten you when you hear the jingling in the doorknob, or the rough, slow scuff of boots against your creaking apartment floor. You've grown accustomed to the rhythm. Of his footsteps, of the heat of his body when he crawls into bed.

You don't ask questions.Tangerine has proven to be a friend, a provider, a committed lover. If and when he can. It's all you've ever asked of him. And all he's asked of you is to welcome him with warm, comforting arms when it's late and he needs a place to get proper rest that doesn't leave him waking up with a paranoia that he might get got. You know?

In the two years that you've had this arrangement, he's been a perfect gentleman. He never comes in your home bloodied or battered, save for the occasional bruising or stitch. Usually well beyond healed, or close to it. Never wakes you up intentionally. Makes sure to kiss you goodbye in the morning if he has to leave early.

From this, a routine has been born.

Keys clink behind your door, the knob being gripped with heavy hands and then turned before the door creaks open. A shuffle of sorts, his boots coming off with the roughness of his heel prying the other shoe off instead of just untying the laces.

You're roused from your sleep, limbs buzzing as you stretch your fatigued muscles. You sit up, tired eyes adjusting to the dark. You're hazy from sleep. You expect him to come in at any moment, to lazily push the door open and begin stripping his clothes that he then folds and places on the nightstand next to his assigned spot on the bed.

Why do you take your shoes off like that but fold your clothes when you take them off? Makes no sense.

He's heard it so many times that while the first syllable is rolling off of your tongue, he knows what you're going to say.

But the moment doesn't come. The silence is all you hear, and for a moment you wonder if you've been missing him so much that you've fully hallucinated his arrival. God.

You rub the heels of your palms into your eyes, willing away the bleary feeling and the spots that cloud your vision from staring into the dark for too long. The covers are suddenly too heavy and your throat aches with the need for hydration.

It takes genuine effort to pull yourself out of bed still. You grab your phone from the nightstand on your side, 2:00 AM.

Your fuzzy slippers scuff against the floor as you walk towards the door, you've still never learned to pick your feet all the way up. The small hallway smells of the caramel wax melts you had burning in your kitchen just before you went to bed, and lingers as you round the corridor.

"Fuck!"

It's whispered to yourself in a moment of panic, not anticipating the hulking silhouette on your old sofa, splayed out with one leg perched on the back and the other dangling off of the side. Your hands are clutched to your collarbones, more specifically to your metaphorical pearls.

It's him, of course. No mistaking it. But he's not snoring obnoxiously, and his head lifts just enough for you to see messy curls bounce against his forehead in the pale light of the moon that streams from your balcony windows.

"You scared the shit out of me," you're still whispering. For whatever reason. "why are you in here? Come to bed."

As you get closer, the scent of dirt and the unmistakable twinge of blood clouds the caramel wax melts. That concerns you. The scent shouldn't be that strong. And Tang would never come here if he were that badly hurt. Wouldn't want to worry you. Right?

"M'sorry. Didn't know know where else to go."

Your heart sinks to the depths of your stomach. His voice sounds hoarse, forlorn. You're moving towards him within the blink of his blackened eyelids, throwing yourself on your knees and finally sobering to the reality of the scene before you.

"Oh my god, you're hurt."

He chuckles sorely, and the shaking of your hands intensifies.

"Just got the taste beat out of my mouth darlin', that's all. No open wounds."

You reach towards the coffee table to turn the quaint old lamp on. You love antiques, must be why you keep me around. He'd say.

"Oh, how relieving Tan, Fuck."

He wasn't lying. He's more battered than you've ever seen him, pale skin colored purple and blue with splotches of crimson across his face and knuckles and forearms and - if there's no open wounds this must not be his blood.

The look in your eyes causes his ribs to ache more than they already are, like he's being kicked with someone's fucking steel toes all over again. You're scared. And he's not sure if it's for him or because of him.

In his right mind, he wouldn't have let you see him like this. But he's never in his right mind when it comes to you. Not ever.

"I'm gonna get the first aid kit. I don't know what else to do. Obviously you should go to the hospital but no, why would you do that? That's what any sane person would do-" you rise from your kneeled position, rambling like a mad woman. You're distressed beyond belief, taking a sharp breath in of surprise when he grasps your wrist. It doesn't keep you from getting up like he thought, and you slip through his fingertips.

"I mean what the fuck is this? You're hurt. You're hurt bad." You're angry now, tripping on your way to the kitchen, loudly rummaging underneath the kitchen sink.

"I'm sorry love, ah shit, I really am-" he sits up, clutching his abdomen.

"I don't need you to be sorry," you're running back with the kit, unzipping the pack and throwing supplies on the table with as much grace as a circus clown. "I just need you to be okay."

Your trembling hands attempt to unscrew the antiseptic, but the sudden tears streaming from your eyes blur your vision. You wipe them away viciously with the back of your hand, over and over till your face stings.

"Hey, hey." He's firm in his tone.

Two calloused palms blanket the top of your knuckles. It's a silent reminder that he's here. He's whole. He's home. You look up at him and it genuinely takes your breath away. Like the bruises and scrapes aren't even there anymore. Like the smoke has been whisked away from your vision.

Crystalline irises, plush pink lips, a mustache that desperately needs to be trimmed. You're in awe, and the feeling never really goes away. You rise from your kneeled position, climbing beside him with the antiseptic and handful of cotton rounds clutched to your chest like a vice.

You calm yourself, examining his face. It feels obscene, forbidden to see him like this. It's like a sucker punch to the gut. You're a little bewildered at the fact that he's still one of the most beautiful people you've ever seen.

He rests his back against the couch, officially surrendering. You push his wild tufts of hair back, and as your nails scrape his scalp his head lulls with the movement. Your hands are a prophecy, and he is being fulfilled in earnest like this. Silence drowns the space between you two while your tears dry. It's welcoming. He drifts in and out of consciousness as you dab and wipe at his face.

You're taking care of him like he's the most precious thing that exists. It's an encapsulation of affection and tenderness, one he's never known in his life. Not from a mother, nor a lover for that matter. A couple years ago, the thought would make him sick. Letting anyone that close? That would be suicide. But with you it is wholeheartedly redemption. His eyelids flutter open and closed, open and closed, dark lashes kissing his cheekbones.

Ten, twenty, thirty cotton rounds. He's lost count, and the heap of them soaked in alcohol and blood on the floor is unguessable.

"Here. Take it."

"Hmm? Oh, thank you."

He throws back the four Tylenol and gulps down the glass of water, sighing in relief at the welcome of hydration and the erasure of copper in his mouth. He attempts to wipe the stray droplets from his mouth and chin, but your soft hands clap his thick wrists and place them in your lap. He keeps them there.

And before he can blink again, your warm lips touch his.

Over and over, gently, serenely.

Slowly you move from his cupids bow to the high arches of his now blemished cheeks, his forehead, between his relaxed brows. If a human body could melt from touch, he'd be a puddle of the goopiest, grossest most lovesick flesh known to man. Maybe the only one known to man. He hasn't checked the stats on spontaneous combustion as of late.

"If the other guy isn't dead already, I'll kill him myself."

Inhale once. Exhale once. Or is it inhale twice, exhale three times? He's forgotten how to breathe. Ringing fills his ears and only dissipates when the thundering of his heart becomes so loud that's the only thing he can hear.

"Sorry, come again?"

It doesn't even sound like him, and maybe under different circumstances you'd even chuckle and tease him about it. His voice breaks and everything.

Blue irises become obsidian in shock. Jaw slack as he stares at you. Your fingers begin undoing his dirty dress shirt, starting underneath the two that are already undone. You can already see the blossoms of blue and purple the more his skin is revealed, and your stomach turns uncomfortably.

"Throwing this in the whites basket." You say, as if he's even remotely concerned with why you're stripping him out of his clothing. He watches with a sort of wonder, a curiosity as to how this conversation is going to go. A fear twists deep in his gut, like a jagged blade. His Adams apple bobs as he swallows, and he realizes that he's scared.

This feeling he's struck with, is actual fear.

"Last year. That trip to Sydney you took with Lemon." You're down to the last few buttons, offering the beginnings of an explanation so he can stop staring at you like you've just killed his puppy.

"He sent the confirmation photo to the wrong person. Me. You were uh...behind the uhm...the guy. On the floor. Your lower half was behind him, anyways."

You pull the garment off of his broad shoulders, and luckily it's already untucked so it's easy to pull it off of his body with the way he's sitting. You toss it behind you, intending to worry about it at a later time. You're not sure if he's even breathing anymore. The rise and fall of his chest has lessened exponentially.

He's deathly still.

"Grandpa was in Special Forces. When I was a kid, my cousins and I would ask him how many people he'd killed. Of course we were too young to know how extremely fucking inappropriate it was to ask a veteran about the people he'd shot."

You smile at the memory, only because of the irony. This specific moment in time, under these circumstances. Your fingertips graze over the valleys of muscle, the ridges of tendon underneath his skin. It's hard not to get distracted.

"I don't think you're innocent. But I...I don't think the people you're killing are entirely innocent, either, you know? I mean, if you're an assassin, it's not your job to go after the good guys."

You finally look up to meet his eyes. You're not sure what you expected. A deer in headlights, a moth to a flame, a lamb in the lions den. Maybe all of them combined. A reverence washes over him like cool water, and the air between you two is as still as steady water.

"Are y'gonna leave me?"

It's the first thing he says. And it doesn't come from a conscious part of himself. If he were in any rational state of mind he'd be yelling, screaming, maybe not at you but at the mere thought of his brother fucking up that badly, not only risking his career but...but you? You. No no that's too much to bear. It doesn't even seem like it should exist in his realm of thoughts, or reality at all. It's excrutiating.

So yes, the first words out of his mouth are uttered with the voice of someone Tangerine hasn't been in a very long time. Someone who's vulnerable. Someone who actually has something to lose. Someone who can't fathom the thought of being abandoned, but more so, being without your presence in his life.

And just like the angel you are, you cup his face in your hands. Delicately, as if you're not holding a killer in your hands.

"No, silly. I think if I was going to do that I’d have done it already.” You push the sweat dampened curls from his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. He looks so incredibly vulnerable. Somewhat innocent in the unintentional pout of his bottom lip.

The blood has finally returned to his face, to his limbs. It's like he's a tin man slowly being oiled in all the right places until he can move and function correctly, normally. A small part of him is still waiting for you to run away.

His world isn’t sweet. It isn’t soft. It isn’t kind or understanding. So this is all sort of perplexing for him, accepting that you’re here, still.

You stay right where you are, and his hands reach out feverishly to pull you closer, closer, closer. You're spreading your thighs and stretching your legs so that he can seat you on his lap - big, strong arms holding you like he's never received affection before. Or been able to give it at all, for that matter.

"You knew. All this time? Un'fuckin believable."

You lean in to kiss him once again, but he meets you halfway - consumed within the feeling of your love, your tenderness.

He stares up at you with stars in his eyes, breathless to the full extent.

He has never had a real home. But he's realized, on this thrifted sofa in a room that smells like you and caramels, that he's found it in his arms.

[midnightwriter21]

Distant~ (Tanjiro x Reader Angst)

characters: Tanjiro Kamado x reader, zenitsu x reader (platonic), kanao x tanjiro (no kanao hate pls🙏🏻)

warnings: angst, unrequited love

AN: here is the very long overdue part 2 for the Tanjiro angst Open Wound! I've decided to turn this into a short series so there will be another part or two after this! If you haven’t read the original click the link before reading this one!

open wound (part 1)

until now (part 3)

As you flee the scene, Tanjiro stares at your retreating figure in shock. He’s broken from his trance at the feeling of Kanao’s soft hand covering his.

“Go after her.”

“I… what?” He asks confusedly.

“She’s your best friend and she’s hurt. We hid this from her for too long. Go after her. Explain yourself or you’ll lose her,” she looks at him expectantly.

Tanjiro sighs as he stands and runs in the direction you fled, “Your right. I have to find her.”

After a few minutes of frantically searching for you, Tanjiro finally spots you in the distance. He quickens his pace as he calls out to you. You continue to run, your feet pounding on the ground with each step. Tensions build up as Tanjiro closes the distance between you two. He reaches out to you, calling out your name as you continue to flee in tears.

Finally, he catches up to you and grabs you by the shoulders. "Wait! Please, let me explain!"

You whip around to face him, yelling, “Explain? You have to be kidding, Tanjiro! What could you possibly need to explain? I saw everything!”

“Stop yelling at me and listen!” He exclaims.

“No! I don’t want to listen to you, or talk to you, or see you right now! I want to be alone!” You jerk yourself out of his grasp and begin to walk away from him again.

“Y/n, please just hear me out!” Tanjiro begs.

You sigh as you turn to him, defeated and upset, “Just give me some time, Tanjiro. I just need to process some things, okay?”

Tanjiro frowns but nods in agreement, “Okay… but we have to talk about this.”

You nod back, “We will,” and then you head home for the day.

As you walk the path towards your home, leaving Tanjiro behind, you hear rapid footsteps behind you accompanied by the screeching voice you’ve become so fond of, “Y/N!!! WAIT FOR MEEEE!!”

Laughing slightly under you breath, you turn as the lightening user comes into sight, “Zenitsu…”

He slides to a stop in front of you,expression full of pity, “Hey y/n…”

You smile at him sadly in response before continuing the walk home.

He walks beside you in a rare moment of silence before finally breaking it, “I’m sorry…”

You blink, surprised, “Sorry? why would you be sorry?”

Zenitsu looks at you, eyes wide, “He still hasn’t told you has he?”

Feeling you heart rate begin to pick up you question the blonde, “Who? Tell me what? Zenitsu you better start giving me answers right now. What is going on?”

As the two of you arrive at your home, Zenitsu, uncharacteristically quiet, places his hands on your shoulders and guides you to take a seat.

He starts softly, muttering to himself, “Tanjiro is my friend. But so are you… you deserve to know.”

Heart sinking you ask, “Deserve to know what? Just spit it out please.”

Zenitsu takes a deep breath, “Tanjiro and Kanao have been together for months. They’ve been hiding it from you because they know how you feel about Tanjiro.”

You breathe a humorless laugh, "Of course... It all makes sense."

"Y/n? Are you okay?" The blonde asks hesistantly.

Another laugh, "Yeah, I'm great. All of the pieces are coming together now. He's been acting differently for months. He doesn't eat lunch with me or train with me anymore, we haven't gone on a mission together recently either, and he's been so... distant. I don't know how I didn't see it before."

Furrowing his eyebrows in concern, Zenitsu reaches out to pull you into a hug when you're interrupted by the familiar squawking of your crow.

"Y/N L/N!", She caws, "REPORT TO MOUNT KUMOTORI! DEMON SIGHTED ON MOUNT KUMOTORI!"

A soft sigh escapes your mouth accompanied by a sad smile as you stand, "Well, I guess I have to leave."

Zenitsu looks up at you concerned, "Be safe, y/n."

"I'll try." Then you're off.

[inu-jiru]

Jazz's "Apology Tour" ramble

Episode was trash, let's go.

First off, the whole "Fuck Blitzo" party is so stupid to me, like you're telling me this 30-something year old man had intimate relationships with ALL these demons and HE was the sole thing that ruined ALL of them?

And how did Verosika even find out about Stolas? Like I know Ozzie's happened, but how'd she hear about their "breakup" (they weren't together but whatever, show)?

Why the FUCK does Verosika care about Stolas being an uwu sad victim of mean old Blitzo aside from everyone being written to want to huff Stolas' sad boi farts?

Why is no one trying to kill Stolas like in Loo Loo Land, like suddenly we're just cool with the oppressive racist now (who am I kidding, the rank system doesn't exist anymore unless the "meanie supremacist" characters bring it up I guess)?

Don't think I'm trying to be "Blitzo's#1Bitch69" or anything, but Season 2 is just so gross in how they've written him. Either he's the big bully meanie for hating his abuser, or they've had him commit the most out of pocket atrocities (like possibly SAing Stolas since he was technically drunk or the circus incident or the shit he pulled with Verosika because what the fuck kinda trauma makes you steal someone credit card for horse riding lessons???) that they just gloss over because fuck having Blitzo actually progress normally or Stolas taking actual responsibility for his own actions, let's just speed through everything so it's back to Stolitz City, don't think about the implications. I just can't stand itttt, I still like and pity Blitz to an extent but his writing is killing meeee

Stolas, stop whimpering about being wanted YOU HAVE A KID WHO HAS STILL NOT APPEARED SINCE SEEING STARS WHERE IS SHE?

Am I really hearing that people are hating the dude flirting with Stolas like come on yall STOLITZ IS NOT OFFICIAL YET CHILL

I've honestly started skipping through episodes, like I can't fucking listen to "WAHHHHH BLITZO I WANT YOU TO WANT ME" for the millionth time, I wish this episode could've just been Blitzo and Verosika facing their issues or something I just don't wanna see this owl loser act like a victim anymoreeee

Man really said "when have I ever been condescending?" SEASON ONE???? How about every time you grab his face and call him out of his name and watch him be shot at while demanding he come over one a month? Oh, but when Blitz starts doing it back it's "Oh I'm uncomfortable ooOoOoo stop it Blitz hnnghhh I don't like it :C :C :C", like whatever man.

The Striker comment was dumb and wrong but that's because Stolas is dumb and wrong

Honestly I feel like I'm repeating the same points I and others have made in the past so all imma say is, I hope Octavia and Stella are enjoying their off-screen and better written adventures together. I'm gonna draw some AU stuff now to give my eyes something better to look at.

OH I forgot to talk about Verosika, uh, she was there? I honestly think she should just get over herself at this point, idk when she and Blitz broke up but what the fuck is it about this clown that she was so enamored over where she's this hurt? I can get being mad about her credit card and Blitz being a lazy partner but if that's the case, I fail to see how they got to a point where she got his name tatted on her arm. Idk it's weird

The Mayweather shit or whatever her name is was pointless and made no sense, like "I want you to kill this woman who made me attempt to kill her and myself but now we're dating" like? Hey Vivzie if yall can callback to that why can't yall call back to Stolas being a creep huh?

EDIT: They really made that fuckass "it's hell" excuse canon, huh? Like, it doesn't even make sense in the context of Blitz saying that, like people say "it's hell" because Biblically speaking, it's where those who truly oppose God in order to live a life of wickedness go as just punishment. Blitz the equivalent of a regular guy in Hell unlike the Hazbin characters, he shouldn't understand that there's a better alternative to Hell because he's not human and never had any opportunity to learn about Heaven or God (unless it's just in their DNA or something idk who knows with this show)

[firestorm09890]

rambling about the org xiii orchestra art

as someone in an orchestra for real

(from here)

I can’t tell what instrument Larxene has. I thought it was castanets and someone else suggested egg shakers but both are not traditional orchestra instruments so it’s really just weird

neat that both Xaldin and Lexaeus are playing the BIG percussion instruments, and both Axel and Saix are playing woodwinds (harp is a stringed instrument too so i make no comment on the strings)

There’s no [x]ylophone pun unfortunately because those huge tubes indicate that’s actually a marimba both Xion and Roxas are playing. There is however a pun in the fact that it’s a KEYboard instrument. also they’re just adorable

actually I just remembered that instrument names aren’t common knowledge, here they are:

Xemnas is the conductor/orchestra director; Xigbar on saxophone, Luxord on trumpet, and Marluxia on trombone (that’s our brass); Axel on flute and Saix on.... it’s hard to see but I think that’s an oboe (woodwinds); Xaldin on timpani, Lexaeus on bass drum, Larxene on... something??, and Roxas & Xion on marimba (percussion); and then Vexen on harp, Zexion on violin, and Demyx on double bass (strings)

Marluxia why are you holding a flower I know you have an aesthetic but you need both hands to play a trombone

There are 3 main instrument sections (kinda) that are the “obnoxious know-it-all” instruments, stereotyped as generally having a superiority complex over the other sections because they’re soooo important look at meeee carrying the melody: the trumpet for band, the 1st violin for orchestra, and the soprano for voice (and the secret 4th, the flute for woodwinds). With that said, of course Zexion would play violin

And following both that and his Mystery Gear in 358/2 Days, it would have made more sense thematically for Xigbar to be playing the trumpet. however the saxophone is the funny meme instrument so it still works

There is NO WAY Demyx is a double bass player. It’s the only instrument besides percussion that you have to stand up for (though some orchestras do have the bassists sit on stools), and it’s much more work to actually PLAY than the other string instruments, by virtue of being much bigger. they tend to play less than most other stringed instruments, sure, but if you want to be sitting around not doing much you’re best off picking a different instrument entirely, especially since string sections tend to require more unanimity in playing than the brass/woodwinds/percussion since there’s more people playing each part

harps are rare to include in compositions. they’re very nice and melodious though. idk what this says about Vexen

generally there’s not enough percussion players to cover every single instrument which means that Larxene is definitely running around to cover all the small parts (whatever she’s holding, it’s definitely percussion)... actually with Xaldin Lexaeus Roxas and Xion in percussion as well she might not have to but she is the speedy one so

--

I hope what Saix is holding is an oboe and not a clarinet because if it’s an oboe we get some more symbolism, as well as some very nice... dynamic between his instrument and Zexion’s :)

you see, the oboe is the instrument that tunes the entire rest of the orchestra. whatever the oboe’s A sounds like will be the A the ensemble matches. one could say it’s the most important instrument

HOWEVER, the first chair of 1st violin is nominally the most important instrument- that’s the “concertmaster”, and they get to walk on-stage after everyone else (but before the conductor, obviously). they’re also important for real- based on the repertoire they’re basically guaranteed to have at least one solo. they sit at the very front, right next to the conductor. in my orchestra the concertmaster has a little biography in the program along with the conductor’s

there’s actually multiple rounds of tuning- the first couple it’s the oboe doing their thing and the other non-string instruments matching, and then the last round the concermaster matches the oboe, and then the string instruments match the concertmaster.

and that’s all so very interesting, isn’t it

and finally

Xemnas is 100% a garbage conductor. To the audience he looks very cool, doing all his sweeping motions, but it’s impossible to follow as an orchestra member, so you’re really on your own because the conductor is not conducting properly and not giving helpful cues

[airborneice]

sooo two days late here's my thing for @sketchbookweek Day 2 - Past/Future / Hilda

uhh this one is a fic, unfortunately for everyone. the fic part is. under the cut. I'm gonna go hide in my fridge now byeee

In which Hilda reflects on how life has changed since she left the wilderness.

———

The wilderness never seemed to change, when Hilda returned there. Sure, new plants sprung up and new creatures made their homes there, it was one mountain short and a few woodland paths had become overgrown in her absence (which made trekking through them more fun, actually), but everything that mattered was still there.

The trees cast dappled patterns on the ground the way she remembered as she made her way underneath them. The grass felt the same underfoot, just like when she’d walked these paths as a child, even after all these years. There was the same gentle breeze rustling her jacket and catching in her hair, the same sense of peace that settled in her soul, that told her she was back where she belonged.

It was all just as it had been the day she left. Well, except for one thing - 

“You’re it!”

Hilda jumped as something small and pink crashed into the back of her leg, slightly knocking her off-balance. Before she could react, her little sister bounded away from her, taking off up the forest path.

“Wha - hey!” Hilda called after her with mock-indignation, while Mattie ran further up the trail, giggling gleefully.

“You can’t catch meeee!”

Hilda grinned. “Oh, it’s on,” she said, getting ready to break into a run. Before she could move, she heard Mum’s voice ring out behind her.

“Hilda, just don’t go too far, okay?” She called, making Hilda turn her head. She and Kaisa were standing at a fork in the path several yards back, but in the quiet of the forest, her voice carried easily. “We’re going to find somewhere to set up the picnic.”

Beside her, Kaisa shifted the picnic basket she was carrying in her arms, watching Mattie ping-pong around the woods with an amused expression.

“You know you’re about to be outrun by a six-year-old,” she pointed out helpfully.

Hilda stuck her tongue out at her.

“Yeah, we won’t go too far,” she called back to Mum, turning on her heel and locking eyes with the six-year-old in question.

Mattie, who seemed to have come to a stop while the others were talking, shrieked in delight and took off running. Hilda shook her head fondly. Maybe being in the wilderness really was doing some good for her. They hadn’t been able to play like this back at home. 

“Hey, wait up!” She called, running after her.

Mattie pivoted on her toe and fixed her with a grin.

“Nope!”

Hilda wasn’t sure what else she had been expecting, really.

She ran after her at a leisurely pace - making sure to stay just slow enough to let Mattie get a decent lead - watching as the girl ducked in and out of bushes and getting the odd spike in heart-rate as she tripped over a tree root and righted herself at the last second, only to take off again. She’d gotten quite far ahead now, to the point she was barely visible through the expanse of trees. It wasn’t as if Hilda had to worry about losing her, anyway, not with her high-pitched giggles carrying through the trees like some kind of sonar. That child couldn’t be stealthy to save her life.

Until Mattie ducked out of sight, and the laughter stopped.

Hilda came to a stop for a moment, feeling the silence grow uncomfortably heavy.

“Mattie?” She called out, to no reply. 

Cautiously, Hilda picked up the pace, pushing past the now thinning-out trees. She knew from experience that there was nothing dangerous - or at least, nothing that dangerous - out here, but this felt off, to say the least. Laughter and shouting she could deal with, but as far as she could remember, “quiet” was not a word that ever appeared next to Mattie in a sentence.

Turning the corner though, she could suddenly see why. Instinctively Hilda slowed to a halt.

Of course. Of course it was here.

Up ahead of her, where the trees thinned out, was the Northern Elf County. And just behind it, even more tattered and broken than she remembered, lay her old house.

The wilderness had almost fully reclaimed it now. Moss and lichen covered every inch of the decaying boards, the remaining wreckage of pipes and wood sunken into the earth. Weeds had sprung up around it, including a blue nettle which had woven itself through the debris like a fine thread. If it hadn’t been hers, she might not have known it used to be a house at all.

Just in front of it stood the small form of her sister, seemingly locked in place. Hilda watched as she stood there a moment, not moving an inch. Then, slowly, Mattie turned her head to look back at her, a slightly fearful look in her eyes.

“Oh - oh,” Hilda hastily closed the gap between them, putting an arm around her sister, which the child promptly latched onto. “Hey, it’s okay!” She said quickly. “It’s not scary.” She smiled at her reassuringly, knowing Mattie wouldn’t fear it if she didn’t. “This is just my old house.”

Still clutching her sleeve, Mattie blinked, the frightened look in her eyes melting into something resembling curiosity. She looked between Hilda and the ruins, a tiny crease forming on her brow. Then - 

“It’s quite small,” she said quietly.

Hilda snorted.

“It was bigger when I lived in it,” she replied, dropping down roughly onto the grass. Though she still looked unsure, Mattie followed suit, crossing her legs under herself while maintaining a grip on her sister’s arm.

“It used to be a little cabin,” Hilda explained. “Our great-grandad built it. It’s where me and Mum lived before we moved to Trolberg.”

“…Oh,” Mattie replied, looking again at the heap. Her grip on the sleeve had relaxed, and Hilda exhaled in relief. It was a good sign Mattie was speaking a bit more, even if a little confused-sounding. Now she thought of it, Hilda wasn’t entirely sure she’d talked about her old life to her little sister before. It had all been over long before she had been born, after all.

Beside her, Mattie tilted back on the grass, staring at the ruins as if trying to picture them as something other than wreckage and moss. But she looked more curious than confused now.

“Did you like it there?” She asked.

Hilda followed her sister’s eye-line to the wreckage, and sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

She sat back on her hands, the grass soft under her fingers, and lifted her gaze to the horizon that was so achingly familiar.

“We always had the best view of the woff-migration,” she said, noticing with a smile how her sister perked up immediately (and making a small mental note to find a good spot for woff-watching later). “And it was always so peaceful out here. It felt like it was just me and Mum and Twig in the whole world.”

“Why did you leave then?”

“Oh, um,” Hilda paused for a moment, wondering if this was straying into too-scary-for-a-six-year-old territory. “Well…” she hazarded, “... a giant kind of trod on our house. Accidentally,” she said. “It was sort of my fault, I was trying to help him find someone - that sort of thing doesn’t happen anymore, though,” she added quickly, seeing her sister’s eyes had gone wide.

To her relief though, her words didn’t seem to have the impact she’d feared. After a moment Mattie just hummed thoughtfully, turning back to the cabin remains.

“That’s sad,” she said quietly.

Hilda hummed softly, watching the spot on the horizon that had once been hidden behind the cabin roof.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Yeah, I was pretty sad about it for a while.”

A stray breeze ruffled the grass around them, making the blue nettle sway. If she squinted she could almost still see what it had looked like before, the patches of warm amber light that shone from the windows at night and the spot where Twig would curl up by the fire. They were probably sitting right where she’d met a troll for the first time.

Beside her, Mattie shifted slightly, bringing her swiftly back to reality.

“Oh, but  - I mean - it wasn’t all bad,” Hilda added quickly, wondering if this might also be a bit much for a six-year-old. “I still got to go on adventures. And I got to meet Frida and David, and Tontu and..”

Hilda trailed off, lost in thought. Now she thought about it, so much of the life she knew now had only come after they moved.

In the wilderness it had just been her and Mum and Twig, and she had never wanted - never even contemplated - anything more. But from there her family had only grown. First with Alfur, then Tontu and…then Kaisa, and sometime later down the line, Mattie too. Somehow, despite spending her life bringing home all manner of strange creatures to join the household, that had been the biggest surprise. Not just the slightly scary witch from the library coming to live with them (which, yeah, to begin with had felt kind of weird), but how much things had changed with her.

It had taken a while, of missing the wilderness and feeling awkward about all the changes going on, but before long she’d had to admit that life was better with this new family in it.

Little moments were coming back to her, as she sat there in the grass in the afternoon sun - Mattie had gotten bored and got up to investigate the elf village by this point, tip-toeing around the tiny houses with the utmost care - not moments from her life in the cabin, but what had come since. What couldn’t have been if they’d stayed.

…Struggling through homework at the kitchen table last thing on a Sunday night with Kaisa (in theory helping but usually just joining her in staring at her textbook in despair). Forlornly muttering something along the lines of not being smart enough for this, only for Kaisa to take her head out of her hands to look at her with a glare that could bore through steel.

“Hildie. I studied advanced transmutation magic to the nineteenth level and I have never in my life seen something as fucking complicated as this,” she deadpanned, while Hilda subsided into giggles. “Seriously. I’m going to hex your maths teacher.”

…Sometime after they had returned from the Fairy Isle, standing at the doorway of the flat, open-mouthed, watching as Mum reached for a book off the high shelf with her feet not quite touching the floor. Opening her mouth to call out in excitement before feeling a gentle tap on her shoulder.

“You know she’ll only worry that other people might see,” Kaisa whispered, having somehow silently appeared beside her. Kaisa turned her gaze back to Mum, a loving look in her eyes, and Hilda had the distinct impression that she hadn’t been the first to notice.

“Let’s just let her have this, for now.”

…A year before that, hovering uncertainly by her parents' bedroom door, the morning after they had left for the hospital, excited and a bit scared and a well of emotions stirring in her chest. Mum and Kaisa calling her in with hushed voices and her climbing onto the bed in the early morning sun, cuddling up to them and the bundle in their arms and being assured that everything was fine, Mum was fine, and “Why don’t you say hello?” and… everything stopping as she laid eyes on her sister for the very first time. 

Coming back to the present moment, Hilda watched as her now more grown sister cautiously approached the blue nettle and very gently ran a finger over its petals. How strange that something beautiful could grow out of so much loss.

After a moment of inspecting the nettle, Mattie turned back to Hilda and pointed at it excitedly.

“Hildie! There’s a blue nettle!” She called.

“Oh wow, really?” Hilda called back in feigned surprise. “Is that good?”

“Yep!” Seemingly satisfied with what she’d found, Mattie started making her way back towards her, carefully dodging the elf houses as she went.

“Tildy says they’re good for magic, but I didn’t want to take it because…” She paused as she stepped over the final elf house, teetering a little as she cleared it. “...Because there’s only one and the elves might like it being there.”

Briefly Hilda remembered the last time she had tried to take a plant from an elf settlement without permission, and had to agree.

“Yeah, I think that was a nice thing to do,” she told her. Mattie smiled, then plonked herself down by Hilda’s side again.

“So…” Hilda said, once her sister was settled. She nodded her head towards the ruins. “Not scary?”

“Nope, not scary,” Mattie replied, a hint of pride in her voice. “I bet it was nice there. Blue nettles only grow in nice places.” She was quiet for a moment, then - 

Hilda felt the familiar weight of her sister leaning into her arm.

“Sorry your house got stepped on, Hildie” Mattie said softly. “ ’Specially after you were nice to the giant. It’s not fair.”

“Aw, Mattie,” Hilda smiled, wrapping an arm around her little sister and pulling her to her side. Mattie snuggled in, contentedly burying her cheek in Hilda’s jacket. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

She turned to look at the girl beside her, all bright eyes and a curious smile. It was hard to believe she’d had a life before where she wasn’t in it.

“You know…”

Hilda lifted her gaze, laying eyes on her old house and, for the first time, feeling something other than mourning. Something much warmer and kinder, and unshakingly certain.

“I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

[zifey]

invader tenn in the human au! this is based on all i know about them (three things LOL)

but since i didn’t get to include a drawing of it, i imagine the sir unit situation from megadoomer would be them having like a bunch of rowdy younger brothers or something, just considering gir is zims little brother in the au it just makes sense 2 meeee

[if-lost-please-return-to-maliksi]

ROUGH AROUND THE EDGES - FINAL PART (ANGST VERSION)

part 1 here.

part 2 here.

A/N: PLEASE DON'T READ THIS ONE IF YOU HAVEN'T READ PT.1 AND PT. 2 YET. TRUST MEEEE.

Disclaimer: I do not own Maliksi, or Makisig (the Tamawo bros). Full Credit goes to HC - @ask-emilz-de-philz. Please check out their blog for amazing art and the wonderful world of Planet Puto.. All involved characters are adults. This might or might not be a self insert, please don't come for me.

You are very scared and confused, wondering why this is happening now. You have managed to safely go home this late almost everyday. Why now of all times?

His voice is oddly familiar and calming to you- not in a sense that you've already talked to him before but the way he talks to you is as if you've known him for a long time, as if you two were friends...but how is that possible? You were certain that this is the very first time you've met him.

"Excuse me...can you please explain what is happening?" You softly asked, trying to choke back tears so the other man who's chasing you won't hear it.

Maliksi sighed. "I don't even know if you'll understand it right now. I have to take you somewhere safe first, Amor-"

"I'm not...Amor.

My name is Y/n.

I have a Lola named Amor though."

Maliksi quickly shot you a glance, examining your face in the illuminating light provided by the full moon- indeed, you look like Amor, that one human he somewhat liked being around with, but you're not her.

"H-how long has it been since Y/N left?"

"Twenty years, Bunso. It's been twenty human years already."

Maliksi sadly nodded, looking up at the moon, not knowing how to react- yet he knew he was feeling a lot right now. A feeling he can't quite explain.

Just like that..

In a blink of an eye...

....that's all it took.

"I....see."

"I still have to take you to safety though. Please don't be afraid, I won't let anything happen to you."

Maliksi took your hand and led you to safety- the home he shares with his Kuya Makisig in the Lost City. He can't risk you being tracked and followed by Bangkal who is still trying to look for you in that dark road. He'll have his Kuya Makisig have a word with that tamawo later.

"Amor- your lola...Is she still alive?"

"She was sick and she...passed away last month."

Makisig had to stop walking as it took a few seconds to digest the information he just heard.

He was a little too late.

No. Not by a little.

For him, it was months of denying his feelings while sulking in his room in Biringan. Yet it was twenty. fuckin. human. years.

If only he was not foolish enough to be blinded by all the rage and hate he carried for centuries...

Maybe he'd been actual friends with her.

Maybe he'd be brave enough to let go of his walls and talk to her nicely instead of always acting rude.

Maybe he'd been able to tell her how her kutsinta will always be his favorite. How he enjoys playing video games with her.

Maybe he'd been able to tell her how she makes him want to let go of all the pain and anger he has....how she makes him want to be better..

His grasp on your hands became tighter as he tries to keep his breath steady, not wanting to cry infront of someone.

"Are you lola's friend?" You softly asked as you slightly stared up at him. "She'll get sad in the afterlife if you cry, so please don't cry." You whispered, yet the cracking of your own voice betrayed you.

Maliksi tried to clear his throat- a pitifull attempt to get his composure back. "Was she happy before she...passed?"

Did she atleast become happy in this lifetime?

"She was. She's the coolest and sweetest lola ever. She always liked spending time with me and my brother, she basically raised us. She loved cooking and we didn't even know how she knew how to play videogames, but she does!" You smiled as you reminisced the fun times you had with your favorite lola.

"Your lolo...the one Amor spent her life with...did he loved her right?" Maliksi asked in a voice softer than a whisper.

"Lola didn't marry. My mom, is Lola Ligaya's only child. She's lola Amor's older sister." You tilted your head as you explained. Your lola never married nor entertained anyone. Your other relatives were utterly disappointed since no one expected that Amor will be the one to grow old alone and unmarried since she's beautiful and is just the sweetest woman you'll ever meet.

"We always teased lola before, how she's got a cold heart and she never fell for any man's charms even after having many suitors but she'll just answer the same thing over and over again."

Maliksi's eyes widen as he felt his own tears slowly streaming down his cheeks. This might just be the first time he's ever cried again in centuries. He didn't even know he could still cry, much more over a human.

Amor, didn't found love?

She didn't fell inlove.

She grew old...alone.

As fickle and short her human life is... yet she didn't found one person...

"Don't look like you pity her!" You softly chuckled.

"Lola Amor didn't seem to mind that she didn't have a husband. Want to know what she always told us whenever we tease her?"

Your voice snapped Maliksi's attention back to reality as he turned to look at you. You smiled- you were beautiful, the spitting image of Amor, just with a beauty mark on your chin instead of Amor's beauty mark under her left eye.

You took a deep breath, placing your hand tenderly in your chest where your heart beats, before reciting what your lola used to tell you and your brother- word by word, with the same smug yet sweet tune she always used:

"I did fell for someone's charms.

I know it.

I know how falling in love feels. I just can't remember who that lucky bastard is...

I might not remember him, but my heart and soul will know him once we meet again."

-x-

((DAMAY DAMAY NA TOOOOO;; char, labyu all mg mhiemaaa))

Art by: @ask-emilz-de-philz, that's their OC, Maliksi the Tamawo. Please support them <3

[the-flys-buzz]

oh! yeah its. very likely im lactose intolerant. but its fine. i tend to consume dairy products either way. no matter how much my organs hate me for it....... but euh. no? i dont think im sick? and im also not sure ive seen jake ive been. very engrossed in my phone most of the day so.

KABOOM! He’s back!! Tada William! You have your dads again !!!

Did Steven fall again? Yeah. It’d be funny.

@ask-steven-stevenson

WASWAWA!!!!!! WELCOME BACK DAD!!!!!! i missed you. again. to the shock of no one.....

hes flapping his hands!!!!!! he has to make up for the lack of wings somehow.

[proseka-headcanons]

akito will sometimes go to ena's door and just knock a couple of times, until ena answers with her own knocks on her desk

1 knock - fuck off

2 knocks - im okay but still fuck off

3 knocks - u can come in i SUPPOSE.

they havent been doing it as much recently but whenever they were both little, ena answered him by knocking back as a joke. akito took it seriously and now they have a knocking system😭 most of the time ena will either scream or knock. no inbetween the shinonomes are not normal !! /j

i also like to think whenever akito was in elementary, ena's hair was long at one point and he learned how to braid hair just for her, and often would braid ena's hair whenever he had a bad day at school or something. akito still does the hair braiding for ena, but really can't as her hairs short, but he's started doing it to an (in which he gets teased and they start fighting halfway thru but whatever) too. he definitely finds it therapeutic to do it

— bracelet anon (my name now ig😭)

THEY SO FUCKING WOULD THIS IS REAL TO MEEEE OMG

AMD FOR THE SECOND ONE THAT IS SO CUUUTE!! do you think he sometimes braids his and vbs's hair too 👁️ 👁️ - mod ena

that has to be true, them just having random things and different ways to communicate that only make sense to them

and the second, wait no bc i also find braiding so therapeutic and i often braid like small strands of my own hair (too short) or like other ppls.

i love and cherish shinonome sibling bonding with my entire life tho - mod aki