#but it’s actually kind of comforting

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[lemonpips]

love when the tumblr for you page just decides i’m into something. throwing several posts in a row at me about something i have never even heard of.

[mayasaura]

I don't wanna further hijack that poor poll, but the thing about Harrow's schizophrenia is that it's canon. The author has confirmed it, and shared that it's based on her own experience.

It's a pretty obscure bit of canon, so of course there's no shame in not already knowing, but that's why I'm so obnoxiously persistent about letting people know.

Whatever else is up with Harrow, autism or cptsd or any number of likely headcanons, she is also schizophrenic. I feel like that's too important to be handwaved away as a difference of opinion.

[ryllen]

x

[muyru-iru]

Commander Fox: I was rejected too, Bly. It happens to everyone once in a while. Commander Bly: HOw?! You never loved someone out of your range! Commander Fox: I tried to send a decommission request for myself. It was denied right away. Bly (as a brother): ...Fox. Why.

[icewindandboringhorror]

On average, what is the total MONTHLY amount that you spend on dining out*?

*(This doesn't only count going out to restaurants, but also stuff like picking up fast food to bring home, getting a coffee on the way to work, getting a premade sandwich from a grocery store deli during lunch, buying a quick snack from a convenience store or food cart whilst walking somewhere, ordering a pizza or any other food to be delivered to your home, etc.)

*(If you often dine out in groups/as a household: calculate and divide the costs so that you get a Per Person average. This is for YOU individually, NOT the total household/group costs)

(I'm sure polls similar to this have been made before (very common topic), I just haven't personally seen one that I can remember, so, I was curious to do my own! I was discussing this with a group of people today and it was very interesting to see how widely the number varied between individuals. :0c )

(Reblog for bigger sample size if you can, and feel free to explain your answer in tags if there's anything extra to add!)

[turbo-tsundere]

Kokichisake-onna

*Happy anime narrator voice*: “And thus, Kokichi has once again successfully evaded the dread of emotional openness!”

Also here’s a random selection of derpy concept doodles for this comic :)

Thank you byeeeeee

[s0fter-sin]

the 141 recovering brainwashed!soap but he’s just a shell of his former self; never speaking, never moving without orders. he never even blinks; just stares straight ahead with his unnatural green eyes.

empty.

but ghost can't accept that.

price and gaz can't stand watching ghost torture himself day after day; visiting soap in his cell for hours at a time, trying anything he can think of to bring back his sergeant.

he shows him pictures of the 141 but soap thinks he's being given targets and moves to eliminate them before ghost stops him. he brings him his journal, tries to trigger his innermost thoughts and feelings he never shared with any of them, but after he reads it, soap summarises it like he's giving a mission briefing. impersonal.

cold.

it's late when ghost finally calls it; low and defeated after another long day of being stared at with eyes that don't see him. he isn't thinking when he pulls his mask off and harshly scrubs over his face, grinding his palm into his eye.

"don't worry, johnny; we're still fixin' each other's problems," he promises, little more than a whisper as he tries to summon the energy to leave johnny behind. again.

he pushes himself to his feet, his hand on the door handle when-

"what's my problem?"

ghost freezes, something like grief - something achingly closer to hope - chilling him. he slowly turns and though soap is still starring ahead, there's a faint light in his altered green eyes.

"the mask," he forces out. "take it off."

he knows there's no way to remove the mask - the muzzle - from his sergeant's face. it's too high-tech, even for them; the biometric scanner too advanced for any bypass they know of.

it's just another way he's failed him; bringing him home still bound in their enemy's chains.

soap- jolts; a sharp, almost painful looking flinch jerking his body.

"show my face?" and his voice has changed; no longer the monotone delivery that's haunted ghost's every waking moment.

it's smaller. uncertain. recollection of a memory half-destroyed.

"yes, johnny," he breathes.

soap moves unprompted for the first time since they found him; running his finger along the edge of the muzzle where his skin bulges from the pressure, half-visible scars hidden beneath the harsh metal.

"ugly," he murmurs.

ghost immediately shakes his head, almost stumbling back to the table; haphazardly throwing his mask on it. "quite the opposite," he insists.

it doesn't matter if he has no lower jaw left at all; johnny could never be ugly in his eyes.

agonisingly slowly, soap's eyes shift to the mask. he takes in the balaclava and hard shell skull like for all the times he's looked at it since his rescue, he never truly saw it. his lids fall in less of a blink and more stage curtains closing; slow, heavy, requiring effort and no small amount of strength to open once more

"good... to see you again..." he trails off, his hand shifting up to the top of his shaved head; nails digging unforgivingly into his scalp

"simon," ghost finishes for him; that horrid grieving hope tearing at his heart

soap's fingers flex and a drop of blood trails down his forehead, over the ridge of his nose to catch on the muzzle. "s-simon..."

his nails dig deeper, the drop falling to the table just to be followed by more and ghost aches to stop him but he's terrified to interrupt him. terrified to lose him now when he's so close to something.

soap's bloodied nails scratch down the crown of his head, following the line of his stolen mohawk until they come to rest on the back of the muzzle and ghost's heart drops.

they can’t get it off.

they can't get it off and he doesn't know how to explain that to soap; doesn't know if he can stomach watching soap pull at the monstrosity holding him captive, the inevitable bloodbath as the edges cut into his skin.

"show my face," soap repeats.

"johnny..." ghost begins weakly, reaching out to him but he doesn't know how, doesn't know if he even should-

the muzzle clatters onto the table.

the biometrics they couldn't bypass, the fingerprint they needed that they were so sure belonged to makarov.

it belonged to soap.

how cruel to torture him with freedom he didn't understand he could take; didn't even understand he could want.

just the kind of sick game makarov loves.

ghost doesn't know what's louder; his heart pounding in his ears or the long, uninhibited breath soap takes.

his eyes fall shut as he leans his head back with it, the blood still dripping down his face as he straightens through his exhale. his lower jaw is a mess of scars where he fought against the previous iterations of the muzzle, the corners of his lips cut through and cracked.

but the green in his eyes is duller; that light sparking brighter as blue struggles to break through the glow.

ghost's never seen anything so beautiful.

"good to see you again, johnny."

[imgoingtosetmyselfonfire]

and if i told you my new interest is the new fairly oddparents.

be warned the tags are a psychoanalysis of his character

[krasnyel]

the weak dogs

[pettyprocrastination]

House Husband

tw: somnophilia, consensual non-consent

Thinking about something happening with KORTEC that requires Konig to go into hiding indefinitely. Like full on faking his death, changing his name and adopting an entirely new personality.

That personality namely being your new husband.

When the team reaches out to you about the notion you shoot it down immediately- your job is to help create new identities. Passports, ID's, entire backstories to be slipped into government databases as if they had been there for years- but not playing house to a 6'6 Austrian in your sleepy suburban home.

Eventually you acquiesce, making a marriage licence and a believable story for your neighbors about the sudden appearance of the man who looks over your shoulder each time you open the door.

Thinking about how he accepts this new reality almost immediately and with little to no complaint. You'll expect to clash with him daily but instead you wake up to the smell of coffee and breakfast in the morning with him already doing the dishes. The contract killer is entirely too comfortable playing husband and wife because why shouldn't he? He's spent his entirely life being a complete recluse and now he's close quarters with a beautiful woman and a wedding band on his hand for God knows how long instead of waking up as the asscrack of dawn to run drills- he'll be milking this for as long as humanly possible and as far as you'll allow him.

It's slow at first. He's tentative- trying to see where your boundaries lay with him. When a well-meaning neighbor shows up on your to ask about your wearabouts, you feel his hand slither around your waist- eyes boring into the person standing in your doorway until they leave. Days later when you leave the house for work he insists on walking you out to your car and pressing his lips to your cheek is a chaste kiss goodbye with a promise that you'll have a good day at work. That's what a good husband would do, after all!

A week later he asks to stay in your bed- the measly twin in the guest room has done nothing but aggravate old injuries and cause a twinge in his back. You feel so bad seeing this downright gargantuan man try to fold himself into such a tiny space that you allow him into your own- pleasantly surprised when you wake up to his broad chest as your pillow and firm arms wrapped around you in the dead of night as well as his insistence that he sleep on the side closest to the door, lest anybody in search of him breaks in while you sleep.

You rationalize the sensation of his tongue greedily ravaging your cunt as it pulls you from your peaceful slumber because isn't that what good husbands do? What kind of man would he be if he left you wanting? Maybe he'd notice your lingering gaze or heard your muffled moans in the shower as you tended to your own desire spurred on by this kind-hearted but still dangerous shadow that had happily clung to you for the past month.

It's all you can do in return to spread your legs wider and curl your fingers in his firey hair, meeting your husbands eyes as he groans at your taste.

[throwawayblog-thrwaway]

not voting isn’t “burning the system down” you absolute dipshits. if you actually wanted to burn the system down you’d literally be burning down the homes of congressmen, but most of y’all don’t actually want that, you just want to roleplay as a radical online for cookie points from the other members of your self-righteous hypocritical circlejerk.

your glorious revolution isn’t coming because you’re too goddamn chickenshit to actually revolt. go and actually fucking do something or just shut the fuck up

[ratshells]

I do not trust Leander w the information about the MC’s hands like at all!! like, I just figured that the information about the hands was payment for the room because knowledge is currency and whatever but… other than that… what is he going to do w that information. Because if you do Vere’s little route, he says that word about your hands can easily get you locked up or killed like him. And Leander is the only one who knows what you’re capable of.. and has shown his manipulative side (multiple times),, so what is keeping him from using the hands thing as a “gotcha” for the mc to keep them from ruining his reputation (bc you know damn well you’re gonna see something unsavory w him bc there’s no way he’s not doing some fuck ass shit on the low). like idk i think that telling Leander of all people this info will bite the mc in the ass somehow.

[shouts-into-the-void]

I'm obsessed with the potential dynamic of Jeremy/Andrew actually

[ohitslen]

Uni AU where Kni and Vash have an argument and Kni is like “so what? Are you just gonna walk away from the issue???” And Vash just goes “YEAH ACTUALLY I AM” and just walks out of the house and leave Kni there sooo bewildered

Vash drives to his house and feels so accomplished and good about standing up to Kni and then cries inconsolably on the living room floor where Wolfwood finds him and lays down in there with him while he scrolls through his phone. He says nothing until Vash has let it all out and they go to buy burgers and eat them on the sidewalk

[puppyeared]

doodles of my fav sillies

anton belongs to @poicyss