#but like at the end

[milky-fixx]

thinking about being in a relationship with both scaramouche and tartaglia

tw/cw: 18+ only pls, possessive behavior, degradation, dirty talk, light bondage (not sfw content isn’t till the end though; mostly sfw)

both men are possessive. scaramouche doesn’t like to share his toys, tartaglia doesn’t like to lose, especially in love. but they—begrudgingly, after many arguments and fights—come to an agreement. they are two of the top-ranked fatui harbringers after all, skilled at negotation and conflict de-escalation: they would rather have you in some manner, than not at all.

they prefer dates spent individually. both tartaglia and scaramouche have a hard time with cohabitation and—quite frankly—being cordial with each other. but because both of them are busy individuals,  they have to settle for any time they can spend with you—and that often entails a shared date. on these dates, tartaglia likes to make quips about who’s stronger, a better lover, etc.  scaramouche understandably gets pissed. but when tartaglia gets a little too handsy with you, perhaps even trying to seat you in his lap, scaramouche is quick as lightning. he clamps a hand around your wrist, his gaze fierce, his insults harsher than the thunder plaguing inazuma. yikes.

tartaglia is the one with the silver tongue. he likes to shower you in compliments, praises; mostly because he likes seeing you flustered. but also, truthfully, because he finds it even more entertaining to rile up the balladeer. 

scaramouche stakes his claim in a more subtle manner: his hand on your thigh, as he hurls the snidest, most derogatory jabs at the youngest harbringer. (you’re his toy after all; he’s merely being a gracious god, sharing you with a foolhardy, overconfident human.)

(scaramouche does seem particularly affronted though, when after a date, a random passerby sees you and tartaglia hand-in-hand, and comments on what a cute couple the two of you make. meanwhile him? a farmer nearby mistakes him—and his short stature—as your younger brother. he spends the rest of the night fuming.) 

tartaglia though is much more stable in a romantic relationship. er, as stable as a harbringer comes. he knows his worth, he knows you like him enough. he does have a problem with jealousy, especially when he already has to share you. anyone who dares lay a hand on you or make a move on you is swiftly dealt with, and never head from again. you’re his, whether or not anyone recognizes it. 

but scaramouche? he hides it beneath his insults and anger, but deep-down he is afraid that you’ll leave him. that you’ll find some flaw in his design—just like his creator did. and one day he’ll wake up, and you’ll be gone. that, or you decide that you only want to be with tartaglia. that fear makes it hard for him to open up.

so when fights happen, scaramouche only knows how to escalate. he’ll say things he doesn’t mean—you mean nothing to me, you’re just a toy. were you really stupid enough to think i felt something for you? he pushes and pushes, and one day he thinks you might get tired enough of him to leave. if that’s the case, then so be it; it’s better that he cut things off first, before you had the chance to.

tartaglia surprisingly is the one who initiates reconciliation between you two. his easy manner, his way with people, the fact that he isn’t afraid to confront even his superiors. he is the one who encourages you two to make up. 

in the bedroom, they’re both intense, greedy lovers. scaramouche demands your utmost submission to him. he wants it all: your mind, your body, your devotion. he buys you a collar and leash, and has you wear it almost every time. yanking on your leash as you blow him.

tartaglia is more fluid. he’s much more a dom than a sub, but he does enjoy sitting back and watching the balladeer have his way with you. jerking his cock with one hand, he’ll add commentary now and then about how good you are with your mouth, about how he wishes it was his cock you were deep-throating right now; he bets you would choke on it, about how the balladeer looks like he’s about to blow his load all over your cute face.

(in terms of size, tartaglia is much bigger than the balladeer—in every sense. scaramouche is determined to be a better fuck though; he makes it a point to fuck you into oblivion every chance he gets. there are certain positions, after all, that are much easier for you to handle with his more reasonably-sized package. he’ll stare tartaglia down as he fucks into you, daring him to do it better. 

and of course, tartaglia always takes him up on that challenge.

the two of them end up spending hours competing in the bedroom, you as their unwitting victim. whoever fails to make you cum the most has to watch you get fucked by the other the next time around.

(it’s often tartaglia who fails, but in his defense, he gets turned on watching you get fucked by another man.)

needless to say, you’re grateful the fatui have the funds to buy such lavish and comfortable beds. because you spend the rest of the day after one of these sessions completely and utterly fucked out of it.

[cordspaghetti]

really factual recounting with no embellishments whatsoever

[spitblaze]

[guy who doesnt watch shows voice] yeah ive been meaning to watch that show

[unsung-idiot]

don't show him modern technology; it won't end well

bonus under the cut:

[pjharvey-moved]

making fun of americans is pretty much always ok if youre not doing it in an edgelord “you guys have so many school shootings” way or acting like we’re the only country that has racism. but like posts about americans and hamburger get me every time

[squidflavoredsoup]

mama n her babies

[ered]

Here’s my take on the whole audio books vs. reading:

Oral tradition of storytelling predates written ones by millennias, and honestly, which one you like is just a personal preference.

The actual difference is

when listening, you have no idea how to write characters’ names

when reading, you have no idea how to pronounce characters’ names

hope this helps!

[redstonedust]

yknow AI art has ruined an entire genre of painting to me, i saw one of those smooth anime-realism pieces and immidiately thought ''ugh, AI art'' until i noticed it was posted by an established deviantart user 6 years ago. like ive never been a huge fan of that genre but it looks like a pretty difficult style to master and i feel bad for the artists who specialized in anime-realism only to have their entire market jacked by people typing keywords into midjourney.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The math just adds up!

[lazylittledragon]

can't believe we're all adults being forced into the club penguin level of censorship in 2024

[taffywabbit]

they should invent a new type of "staying in bed for 2-3 hours after you wake up repeatedly opening and closing apps on your phone" where it makes you feel awesome and energized and emotionally fulfilled

[kensatou]

i'll let phie-san say it:

[kavaleyre]

• The Hanged Man •

“Compared to what Falin went through? This is nothing.”

[trudlejack]

(+part 2)

[asteroidtroglodyte]

5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.

But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.

Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.

For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.

But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.

Happy.

It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.

Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.

It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.

A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.

5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.

It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.

Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.

I’m a Rescue.

She gave me a Home.

And, so, I gave her a Family.

It seemed fair

This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.

don’t give up yet, ok?

It could get good, even.