#dont know what else to tag but know that im

[geodetojoy]

oh i don’t even know what it is im scared

IM CRYING

OH YEAH

i was in the back room and was like. “huh. im a minor. i should know this.” *click*

np tags

@just-watching-dont-worry @charbeloved @kli-kli @krisse33 @jooberzzz + anyone else :3

Let’s play a game

Everyone post the most recent picture in your camera roll. You only get one sentence to justify yourself if you wish. This one is mine.

My boyfriend is rly good at Latin, so I was looking up how to say ‘I love you’ but found this instead :)

Your turn!

@bookmovietvworm

@myfairkatiecat

@i-am-a-fish

@valtsv

[creatingblackcharacters]

Some of my thoughts for your conversation about inaction towards antiBlack/racist behavior in shared online spaces (particularly fandom).

1. "I dont see it / I dont go here" - this was my first thought/defensive reaction and in reading others responses I think its a shared one.

Tumblr is perhaps unique in how purposely you can shape your experience and limit what you interact with. Blocking someone just cause is fully acceptable and expected here.

So, when Ive seen depictions of 'Black' characters that made me go, "Mmm idk man" its been my policy to just block and move on. Less chance of seeing a racist in the tags I like in the future *shrug*

Now on other sites perhaps there is some consideration that could be given to not wanting to boost something racist via interaction...but that's not how Tumblr works. Furthermore your reminder that seeing things go unopposed is the problem hit me like a frying pan to the face. Because...yeah duh.

We know the 'social rules' of this platform, you report/block the porn bots, you dont spam tags for engagement (or report if you see it), add image descriptions, reblog things you like etc. Would it be so hard to leave a simple comment on the things you want to see be changed?

2. "What if I do it wrong/I dont know this fandom/Not my place to speak?" - I firmly believe the main reasons people dont meaningfully engage with posts here or on other platforms is two fold: Responses and Outting.

If you were to post a mild comment saying for example, "Hey, feels kinda weird how you're only talking about this Black character being violent in this show. Why dont you check out this blog post by CBC, a Black artist who really digs into this topic more?"

Now you are expected to 1. 'deal' with whatever that persons response is and 2. Anyone an see and respond to what you said.

I think we generally expect random stranger interactions on the Internet to be unpleasant but, like if we are putting the focus on caring about Black people in out spaces...shits already 'unpleasant' for them.

Its time to start firing fireworks off in our neighborhoods to keep the rents low so to speak. You, non-Black folk (i.e me), dont have to wage endless comment battles with someone who wont listen. Just stating what you are seeing is enough, its marking that post for other people coming along. Forcing the question, "Y'all are we cool with this?"

As for messing up/having a record of things you said someone else might take issue with later on. Yeah but thats already happening whenever you reblog anything.

If you actually spoke out of turn just say, "Im sorry thanks for letting me know" and move on with your life. Otherwise folks on here will actually harass you over your shipping preferences so your rolling those dice already. Why not do it for something better worth it?

3. A Note - Genuinely thank you for posing these thoughtful question and just honestly expressing your frustration/hurt. It helped me think more deeply about some old habits.

Thank you!

Hm. And you're welcome

[papple]

Tea party!

Little Dream has a fondness for goopy brothers, it seems.

One Small Dream by @calcium-cat

Shattered!Dream by @galacii-gallery

Molten!Dreams by @orbital-inclination

Dream Tournament hosted by @nashdoesstuff

[riskhour]

jizzie as flynn rider and rapunzel,, ignore the shitass quality i dont know why its so bad im gonna tweak out

[1cafezinho]

Hello everyone,

Brazil is underwater, and we come here asking you for your help.

As some of you may know, the state of Rio Grande do Sul (RS) has been getting torrential rains since last Monday (29/04/24).

In four days, it has rained 436,2 millimeters (17,2 inches), which’s triple the normal amount in a month, which is 140 millimeters (5,5 inches) 

More than two great rivers in our region had their volume duplicated, or sometimes, triplicated in size.

This means all the cities that are close to these rivers ended up completely underwater

There were more than 110 towns flooded and the estimate is that more than half a million people have been affected by this climate disaster. There are also thousands of people who are arriving in my city (the state capital, Porto Alegre) as climate refugees, coming from communities displaced by the floods.

Through this unprecedented tragedy we have been really happy to see entire communities mobilizing to help others. Still, there are people who have lost everything, especially those in marginalized communities living in precarious, unsafe and unsanitary housing.

That’s where you come in. We need money. Money to buy food, clothes, medicine, basic hygiene products, mattresses so that refugees have a place to sleep, basically everything.

Right now, the biggest demand is drinkable water: my city is almost completely out of water, because the water treatment stations have been flooded. 

We understand that you may be able to give very little, but also what is little to you means A Lot more to us. Just a dollar is enough to buy 5 liters of fresh water. 

Here are the links for international donations: 

(these donations are managed by people I know and trust. if you can, donate to them and not the government, but I’ll include that below as well. we don't trust the government to do anything right now, basically) 

This is another option:

Government donations:

And here is some international news coverage of what’s happening:

PLEASE share and donate anything you can. Everything is greatly appreciated. 

[divorcedwife]

to the centre of the city in the night, waiting for you

[jhopezwrld]

summers in the air, heavens in your eyes

pairing: jack schlossberg x reader

summary: sex on the beach with your boyfriend jack

wc: 1.3k

warnings: smut!!! oral (f receiving), swearing, p in v sex, kinda public sex (pls do not have sex in public or on the beach u will get sand in ur vajayjay), terrible ending

a/n: WELL... listen i've been in love with jack schlossberg since like 2016 and everyone is finally realizing he's hot as fuck so here we are and i have no regrets. enjoy sinners <3

minors do not interract plz! xoxo

the air was thick and warm, the humidity making your hair stick to the back of your neck. your boyfriend jack lay beside you on his back. his eyes are shut as he basks in the sunlight. there are streaks of white on his cheeks from the sunscreen you slathered on him before he ran out to the ocean, eager to surf. a headband you lent him pushed his dark hair back, and his soft skin was now slightly darker than when you arrived that morning. 

“i can feel you staring at me, y’know.” 

he says, reaching a hand over to pinch your soft thigh. you giggle and playfully smack his arm. “didn’t realize it was weird to stare at my boyfriend.” you retort. he cracks his eyes open and turns his head to look at you. he smiles softly and opens his arms, beckoning you to sit on top of him. you comply, moving so you’re now straddling him. his large hands find home on your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into the skin there. 

“hi, pretty girl.” he moves a hand to cup your cheek and tugs you down to kiss him. your mouths meet gently, moving in tandem. his tongue prods at the seam of your lips and you open them for him. he explores the inside of your mouth, groaning at your taste. “tastes like strawberry.” he mumbles between kisses.

the hand lying stagnant on your hip moves to the tie holding your bikini bottoms together, twirling the strands between his fingers. you pull away and his head chases you, silently asking for more. “jack, we’re technically in public, anyone could see us like this…” you tell him and he rolls his eyes. jack sits up and you shift down on his lap. he brings his mouth to the shell of your ear, licking it before whispering to you “seems pretty empty to me, baby.”

you look around, doing a sweep of the area to make sure it is truly empty. the beach was mostly private, a secluded location in front of the beach house that jack had rented for the weekend for the both of you. there was no one as far as your eyes could see. technically, you were on private property. if anyone saw you two together, it was practically trespassing. throwing all of your worries away, you lean back into him, connecting your mouths once more. 

he smiles into the kiss, pulling you as close to him as possible. his strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you directly on top of his arousal. you groan at the feeling and grind your hips further into him. before you can protest, he flips the both of you, lying you on your back. he moves his mouth to your neck, lathering hot and wet kisses and leaving purple blemishes in his wake. he shifts down slightly, pressing kisses into your collarbones and between the valley of your breasts. 

his hands again reach for your bottoms, and jack looks up at you for permission. as soon as you nod, he slides them down your hips and slips them off, throwing them onto your towel. his hand slides up the length of your thigh, stopping at the innermost part. he hums and leans down, pressing a kiss to your pubic bone. “so pretty down here, honey.” he mutters to himself. 

with that, he devours you. his tongue snakes out to caress your clit. one hand holds your hips steady, while the other slithers down to your slit, slipping his middle finger inside of you. the pleasure you feel is burning hot, a fire that begins to burn in the pit of your stomach. a strangled cry wrings its way from your lips as jack adds a second finger. his fingers move earnestly, knowing exactly what you like and how to drag you to your peak. 

“please, jack. it’s so good. i’m so close” you whine, pushing your hips into his warm mouth. he doubles his efforts at that, sucking your clit into his mouth and quickening his fingers. you bring a hand down to his soft hair, pushing his headband off. his dark locks fall into his eyes, but you’re quick to hold them back yourself. he moans into you as you tug at the strands. 

“c’mon, sweet girl. cum for me, lemme taste it.” 

and you do. your orgasm rips through you almost violently. your hips twitch and your moans are unrestrained. his mouth relaxes and instead presses soft kisses against you as you float back to earth. he travels up the length of your body until he reaches your face, kissing your temple, cheek, and the corner of your mouth before kissing your lips. you could taste yourself on his tongue. 

his hips press into you, grinding into your naked body. he brings a hand down to quickly pull off his bottoms, jerking himself off quickly before spreading your legs. aligning himself with your hole, he pushes into you slowly, allowing you time to get used to his impressive girth. it was no secret that jack was extremely well-endowed, and no matter how many times you had sex with him, it was always an adjustment in the beginning. 

he eases into you slowly until his pubic bone is flush with your ass. he pulls back steadily, rocking back into you with restraint. “s’good, baby?” he asks. his accent is thick and his words are slurred slightly as he loses himself in pleasure. you nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. “it’s so good, you’re so big.”

jack speeds up his movements, slamming into you. his breathy moans invade your ears and you can feel him twitching inside of you. he pulls out of you and taps your thigh, signaling you to change positions. he lays on his back as you throw your thighs over his hips, pushing yourself down onto him again. 

he throws his head back, gripping your hips with a bruising force. if you weren’t so fucked out, you’d tell him to ease up so as not to leave finger-shaped bruises in your skin that could be so easily spotted. but the only thing that was on your mind was bringing the both of you to your orgasms, so you got to work. planting your feet, you begin to bounce on him. he thrusts his hips in time with your movements, pushing into the soft spot hidden inside of your walls. 

“god, baby. you’re so good at this. just made for me, huh? perfect little pussy that only i get to fuck.” 

you clench your thighs around his waist as you feel your climax approaching. “yeah, i’m made for you, jack. m’your girl forever.” you gasp. as if he can sense how close you are, he brings a hand up to your clit, rubbing it in quick and tight circles. he pounds his hips furiously in time with your movements. you feel him spasm inside of you, warm spurts of his spend painting your walls. that brings you to your second orgasm, convulsing above him. 

you collapse onto his chest, attempting to catch your breath. he wraps a weak arm around you, breathing heavily into your ear. the two of you come down in silence. as your breathing evens out, he presses a loving kiss on the crown of your head. “you ok, baby?” he whispers into your neck. “tired” you mumble, nestling farther into him. he tightens his hold on you before shifting to sit up, still inside of you. 

“let’s get you inside, sleepy head. we can take a nap together.” 

he lifts you off of him, and you whine at the sudden emptiness you feel. he pulls up his swim trunks and stands, grabbing your towel and wrapping you in it, guiding you back into the house to lay down and enjoy the rest of your peaceful evening together.

[ladybeug]

I drew the same comic twice because I didn't think the first one was funny enough. I don't know if the second comic is funnier though??

Here's both of them

Side by side because i couldn't decide which one to put first - knowing the punchline changes the experience?? pick your adventure. read either one first.

which ones funnier i honestly can't tell

[stil-lindigo]

a non-comprehensive guide to my favourite characters in claymore, the best manga you've never read (more under the cut)

don't know what I'm talking about? here's a crashcourse.

[calistra1star]

just this

[radioactive-mouse]

i keep thinking about like. how the brutality levels vary between seasons and how secret life is the natural culmination of everything these people have been through and the watchers pushing everything to extremes. i’m going to try to articulate how crazy this makes me

3rd Life: god. 3rd life was a clear cut war. we haven’t seen a season since where nearly everyone has such an intense devotion to their chosen faction. the fact that there’s no precedent that they’re coming back next season, the fact that as far as they know, dying means staying dead, makes just how much they’re willing to go down with the ship that much more heartbreaking. grian ended the season exactly how it was played by damn near everyone else— i love you, i would do anything for you, i would rather die than keep going without you. the season of widows.

Last Life: and then they come back. and then ending things isn’t an option. and all of a sudden it’s not a war, it’s a death match, and damn is the competition is vicious. deaths are more often than not a vague, impersonal thing— not get away from my king, my husband, my charge— just the flash of a knife and a quick sorry, just playing the game! if 3rd life told you to hold the ones you love close, defend them to your last breath, last life urges you to burn that love out of your chest entirely.

Double Life: but everything slows down eventually. no more dying for the one you love— just learning to live with them. double life is about knowing that when you die, you will go together, hand and hand into the dark. a soap opera, the players joke. a small kindness, the universe replies. again, pearl wins the same way everyone else lost— no, not yet, please, just give us a little longer together, i’m not ready, i’m so sorry—

Limited Life: but the clock, unyielding, ticks ever onward. and god, everyone is starting to feel it. that sick, nauseating feeling of dread creeping up on them: what if it never ends? what if this is it, this is all that’s left for us— tearing each other apart over and over and over again, and for what? for a show? to feed those hungry things lurking in the dark? we’ll give them a show. bombs rain from the sky, the world shaking under the weight of it. there isn’t a thing left by the end that’s not rubble. we’re all doomed! the players cry, laughing with nothing but nihilistic, unrestrained joy. none of it matters! we come back again, and again, and again, have a little fun with it! light the fuse, collateral be damned. when death means so little, what’s the point in pretending they don’t take a little joy in it? we settle this like grian and scar before us, scott jokes, armor and weapons tossed to the side. are you insane? martyn thinks, remembering the hollow look that would wash over grian’s face when he thought no one was watching. it ruined him. it will not ruin me. this is a death match for a reason.

Secret Life: and here it is. the natural conclusion. this season is candy colored, the map dotted with cute pink houses and silly builds, the players all running around doing these ridiculous tasks. it’s so easy to forget how bloody this season was. unclosing wounds, bruises that don’t fade, the sting of fire or falling from a simple misstep. the hurt never goes away, but it gets easier to ignore— distract yourself with something silly to pass the time: spyglasses and frogs and the ugliest house you’ve ever seen and matching leather jackets and the doghouse and the relationSHIP and a weird tunnel full of doors and secret soulmates and god it’s almost, almost, enough to forget how much it all aches, how much the grief weighs on you, how many times someone you love has died, sometimes to your own blade. almost none of the grudges you hold are real by now, not really. not when you’re going to live and die with these people for as long as the hungry, many-eyed things delight in your suffering. you love each other, in the strangest way— sure you’ve all killed and betrayed each other in a thousand different ways, but at the end of the day, they’re all you have. clinging to each other in the face of the vast, unknowable horrors that drive you to slash each other to pieces. it’s still a game, after all. they’ve gotta figure out how to be good sports about it eventually.

[muzzleof-nemesis]

big big thanks to tumblr for bringing the boop back so all the trans women and anti-zionists you unjustly terminated can get their badges back :) anyway, here's a list of verified fundraisers i've been sent recently that need donations. all are under 20%, and this one in particular is at 0%. if you can sit on tumblr and watch numbers go up, you can go to a fucking gofundme and make numbers go up.

[stiffyck]

hermitcraft au where the hermits just all live in the same building. beef and iskall are neighbours and argue with each other through the walls over the stupidest shit.

grians appartment is constantly flooded. no one knows how he does it or why.

mumbo gets locked out of his appartment like every day of the week and has to climb through the window because hes embarassed constantly asking for help.

scar and stress smuggle animals into their appartments even tho theyre not supposed to. god knows how many cats stress got from the streets. no one knows how scar managed to get a horse into his appartment.

i have no more ideas right now but thats it.

[miwtual]

im so fucking tired of the disrespect gifmakers get on the gifmaker website

[napolean-but-cringe]

Fionna and Cake episode 7 Spoilers

ahem, Allow me to point out the obvious here

SIMON WAS RIGHT, WITHOUT HIM, MARCY GET FOUND BY SOMEONE ELSE. SHE DID GET TO LIVE IN A BIG CASTLE. SHE DID GET SERVANTS THAT FOLLOW HER EVERY COMMAND.

BUT WITHOUT HIM, MARCY DIDN'T GET THE LOVE AND SUPPORT OF A FATHER WHO TAUGHT HER HOW TO BE KIND AND LOVING.

WITHOUT HIM SHE INHERITED A WORLD THAT WAS EVENTUALLY DOOMED TO BE DESTROYED BECAUSE SHE NEVER BECAME A VAMPIRE HUNTER. ENEMIES WITH SOMEONE THAT SHE WOULD HAVE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH, MAYBE ALREADY DID.

ALL BECAUSE SIMON WASNT THERE TO GUIDE HER

AND YET AS SEEN IN THE EPISODE HE CLEARLY DIDN'T PUT ON THE CROWN WHEN HE DIED, THEREFORE HE HAD TO WEAR THE CROWN FOR HIM TO DO ANY OF THIS, DOOMING HIMSELF TO INSANITY.

[m1d-45]

bloodletting

summary: a budding god needs a place to test their new powers, and childe was always a little too eager to lose a fight... a match made in heaven!

word count: 1.7k

-> warnings : minor AQ spoilers ? just like, general gi plot.. fairly graphic depiction of blood + other injuries (might be classed as body horror???). generally obsessive tendencies (childe <--> you). i cannot stress this enough, reader is 110% a sadist.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

power was not something that came easy. it was fought over, stolen, defended with teeth and claw, tides of blood shed just so one could have power over another. social, physical, financial; no matter the leverage it provided, power was hard won. to give someone power was to admit defeat, a certain death that tartaglia had learned and taught more than his fair share of times. nobody undeserving of power ever held onto it for long; it was an acknowledgement that you were better, that you deserved it, that you’d won. power was a fickle resource that childe would kill to keep, only ever laying down his blade for a precious few.

the tsaritsa, of course. his fellow harbingers, skilled both on and off-field, who themselves could rival the archons. his family, for whom he’d happily give the world.

and naturally, who would be more worthy to hold power than you?

you, not just a god but the, the highest authority across all of teyvat. you bore a hundred names and a thousand monikers, your worship the one thing the world could agree on. granted, nobody could quite agree on how, but that was fine. childe did not need external powers to tell him what to do. he knew, in his deepest heart, that he had gotten it right.

he knew—and, on occasion, flaunted—that he was your favorite. of all the vessels you had chosen, you returned to him time and time again, wishing on his stars until his vision gleamed. his bow shone with power, even his weakest weapon more than enough to push his strength to new heights. part of him wondered what he could do if you’d granted him swords, or a claymore… but that was speculation for another time. didn’t it say something that you had still chosen him at his weakest?

the thought always made him smile. thick in the heat of puppeteered battle, before the sun to after dark, your presence was a constant in his life. at every altar, with every offering, when his hands stung from the rash of leather and his blade was covered in rust, your name a prayer behind blood-soaked teeth. he could not remember a time when his pocket was not weighted with a charm.

his devotion was no secret. he wore your bow with pride, entirely phasing out his other weapons. it didn’t matter that he was technically more controlled with them, for you had chosen this path for him. your word was his guide, a polar star through bitter nights.

he did not doubt when your presence ebbed or flowed. who was he to dictate when or where you spent your attention? no, his faith did not waver. it had no reason to. he waited patiently, going about his regular duties, lingering in snezhnaya for no other reason that he just felt like he had to.

who was he to question to buzzing in the back of his head? who was he to decline when he felt an instinct to leave, to go for a trip far past the city gates? who was he to think himself better than the guiding light that had never led him astray?

for you, he was whatever you needed. and so he went, armed with a thick coat and snowboots, hands shoved deep in the pockets to hide the slight shake. down the main road, an arbitrary turn into an alley and down an abandoned path, into a part of the city he’d never traveled. but a golden thread had tied itself around his heart, pulling without hesitation. he easily hopped over the fence gate, not bothering with hauling it open through the snow. the path beyond was covered in a thick layer of powder, his foot crunching through a foot of it before hitting solid ground. still, he continued.

snezhnayan winters were not warm. they bit and dug into every gap in your clothes, stealing away the precious warmth within. and yet, with his half-done coat and incomplete guard, he was not cold. or, rather, he couldn’t feel it. his hands were pink with frost, stiff at the knuckles, but he couldn’t feel the resistance. his body was not important, not now.

the snow began to thin. it fell from his knees to his shins to his ankles to his toes, until he was face to face with a thick wall of bramble, impossibly overgrown. he was beginning to overheat in his jacket. twin blades made quick work of the wall, and the sight behind it easily dispelled any breath left in his lungs.

the air that washed out of the bubble was thick and heavy, like a humid spring instead of snezhnayan woods. his breath came in short gasps, a shameful wheeze that he hoped was missed beneath the howling snow. he didn’t want you to see him as weak, as someone so easily tired by a short trip to a falling star; he didn’t want you to think of him as anything other than his best.

but you didn’t push him away. you helped him up—his head was buzzing with delusion, he could hardly see, when had he fallen to his knees?—and brushed the snow off his hair, not pushing him away when he leaned into your touch. he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could barely collect himself enough to recognize that he needed to get you inside, away from the wilds.

that was power. to so effortlessly take over every thought in his head, to hold his mind in your hands and pull it into your liking, that was the power he adored you for. gods were figureheads of power, a physical incarnation of their dominion. a god of the entire world would only naturally have power to manipulate that world to their liking. how blessed was he, that he could be the first you made yours.

he was with you when you first stepped into zapolyarny palace, looking around at the chandeliers and fine tile. he opened the door for you to her majesty’s throne room, sucking in a sharp breath as you brushed by. he was by your side when the tsaritsa swore you her fealty, delicately placing the gnoses in your hands.

and oh, how he’d fallen to the floor right then and there, dizzy from the wash of power that rolled off you in waves, an ocean that he willingly dove into. the floor was cool beneath his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin as sweat quickly began to bead. he didn’t bother pushing himself up on his hands, teeth sinking deep into his lip again to control his panting breath. copper bloomed over his tongue, filling his mouth and clogging what remained of his senses.

dimly, he was aware that he was being pathetic, that this would surely change your mind about him. he heard your voice, faint through the fog of his mind, your wisdom lost to his own inadequacy. and yet, despite his weakness, every part of him was tuned into you. he knew it was your hand whispering across his shoulders, he knew it was your influence that stole the breath from his lungs. he knew it was you, because it was always you. you were all he could think of, and now you were finally able to leverage your full power over his self.

he’d woken up in a hospital bed. saline dripped into his arm and the lights pierced his eyes, his head full of snow and iced over. and yet, the moment he was cleared for release, he found himself desperate to be back to your side, racing through the tiled halls of the palace and following the urgent burn in his chest. you would have been right to turn him away, to deem him too weak to stay by your side, but you didn’t. you smiled when he lost his breath and laughed when he wavered, brushing off his concern. you invited him with you—his lungs burned with the need for oxygen—as you twirled the gnoses between your fingers, as if they were toys or paperweights rather than objects of divine power.

divine to him. child’s play to you. a courtyard of snow was cleared in an instant, ripples of pyro melting permafrost while keeping the flora beneath intact, a lazy show of power that pulled little more than a slight hum from you in response.

he wasn’t so much a fool as to think he could teach you everything, or even something, about being divine. and yet he clung to your side like a sailor in a storm, watching as you grew familiar with the elements. he watched, stubborn and weak, as you stopped hesitating.

flowers bloomed as you walked by, crumbling to ash with the slightest look. electro jumped from your skin to his, a painful spark that drew his mind from his head, finally seeing your amused eyes instead of just mindlessly staring. you could—should—have just left him behind, but you didn’t. you instead asked for his help, taking his hand in yours and leading him to a quieter hallway of the palace. you didn’t comment on his thundering pulse despite the fact that you could certainly feel it, tracing a finger along the crease of his palm.

“i wonder…”

a claw of geo cut across his skin, a sharp sting that quickly welled with blood. he barely felt it, watching with detached awe as it filled up his hand, sliding over the edge and dripping to the floor. you didn’t show any emotion, just… watching. his heart beat in his hands, a pool collecting on the floor, and still, you just watched. your other hand moved over the surface, barely an inch away, the blood collecting in a bubble beneath it. with a hum, your fist tightened, pain lighting up his arm. a strained grunt slipped between his teeth, hand flinching closed, brushing against the ball of his blood you had pulled from his veins. his hand was stained red, shaking in your grasp, minutes stretched into hours.

all at once, it dropped, forced back into his body as forcefully as it was removed. with a snap, the skin stitched itself shut, and you were again dragging him along like a child did their favorite toy.

you did that a lot. pull him aside and experiment with whatever new reaction you had discovered that month, week, day, hour, watching his reactions with unabashed delight. and he let you. every time, without fail, he eagerly followed, knowing full well he’d end up rigid with lightning or with ice crystals studding his throat. it was worth it, though. you always fixed him up, squeezing his hand with a whispered ‘good job’ that never failed to make him dizzy.

it didn’t matter what you did to him. it never did. even when his mind was hazy with pain and he couldn’t quite stand on his own, he never regretted it. unconsciousness licked at the edges of his vision, burning black stains that lingered even after you stopped, but he never once hesitated.

if you asked him to jump, he’d ask how high. if you felt like holding him underwater, he’d cherish every bruise. to be kept as a toy was still to be kept.