#dumb meme i spent way too long on

[holopossums]

Bandwagon with the ROTTMNT favorites ahoy!

[vagueconfusion]

am putting this in the main tag because I Spent Too Damn Long On This Dumb Joke

anyways

@blue-lollipops-and-ice-clouds you mentioned in the tags of, uh, something? about a countdown to the next ritual/tour so I Made A Site

anyways if anyone has any pictures of Vessel laying on the floor at Red Rocks or planking in Chicago or such send them to me/add them in a reblog and i'll. like. rotate them out? or just add a bunch idk i have to make something to eat

edit: or other pics of the band that have similar vibes maybe idk no guaranteed use by I might Make A Collage

[maevesweirdart]

very serious and real homebrew mtg card

(Image/card description, for anyone who needs it:

The card is titled Loss and costs 4 water mana. It is blue. The artwork is a digital collage of seven resized copies of the Counterspell card illustration made by WanderLink on Deviantart. The card’s type is Legendary Instant and the subtype is “old ass meme lol.”

The details and abilities read:

“Whip this card out right as your opponent reaches for what you think is their strongest card. If you guess correctly, then the following occurs:

- Their card is countered and sent to the graveyard.

- Deal 1 damage to your opponent.

- Deal 1 damage to any one of your opponent’s creatures (if any are summoned).

- Deal 1 damage to any of your opponent’s artifacts (if there are any).

If you guess wrong, however, then Loss goes in the graveyard, along with your strongest summoned creature.

Reaction time is key here. If you play this card after your opponent has played theirs, Loss does nothing and goes back in your hand.”

Flavor text reads:

“‘It’s time to test the power of this fully operational anti-gamer billboard.’ - Fictional lawyer Jack Thompson, as quoted in the Ctrl + Alt + Del animated series”

End description.)

[goblin-enjoyer]

*draws something for the first time in a while. “Man I suck at drawing! Maybe go back to being good at it if I draw more!”

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

*doesn’t draw

“Oh I got a neat idea for a drawing! Surely I have gotten better by now!” Loop post

[willowser]

you had only to look at me—

part one.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 7.4k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, oral (f!receiving), m!masturbation, lots of "first time" talk, more angst, more virgin bakugou.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

you and bakugou avoid each other just like you did in middle school, only it's a little too easy this time around.

he's terrible at texting back in general, and because you're not initiating any conversations on your own — or sending funny memes or bringing up all might in some capacity — the radio silence draws ever on and on.

the closest you come to interacting with him is getting a snapchat from his mom, his figure in the background at their kitchen table. all you can see is the floof of his hair and the outline of his shoulders, but you're so bothered by the fact that he's home and didn't tell you that you don't even respond.

it officiates things in a bad way; he's really, actually not speaking to you.

and it's — fucking annoying.

at least in the past the distance was mutually and wordlessly agreed upon; you didn't talk because you were busy or didn't have time or anything new to say, but whenever he's come home — because he so rarely does — bakugou has always made his usual, god-honest attempt to irritate you.

and he still is, but this time he's doing it all wrong.

you go through the five stages of grief rather quickly, jumping from denial to anger overnight. several times, you type out something to text him, each message different than the last:

i know you were at your mom's jackass ☠���

it's really not a big deal and i think we should just forget about it, if that's what you wanna do ?

if i crossed some kind of boundary with you then i'm sorry and i won't say that again so you better call me before i put your baby pictures on the internet. i'm serious.

you're my best friend and i don't think it's weird that it happened. if you're being dumb because you're embarrassed, then don't be because i thought it was really hot

unsurprisingly, you don't send any of these and instead just stew in your own aggravation. lunch with him after the whole thing had been just as empty and awkward, and you think he chose the place near your apartment just so you could walk home and he didn't have to spend another second with you.

three months go by, which isn't long compared to other stints you've spent not talking to one another, but this one drags. like a lot. the only good that comes from it is that you graduate from anger to acceptance, finalizing a future without him in it.

except for the few times he invades your brain like a little parasite, red-faced and shuddering, gripping you like a lifeline, and then your stomach flips so hard that you feel sick and it takes genuine effort to check out of that daydream and back into a bakugou-less reality.

and then he shows up at your apartment, uninvited.

his mom hosts a sunday dinner that you don't go to, for several potential reasons. one would be that you'll have to see bakugou and pretend like nothing's happened even though you're still a little peeved; two is that you'll both ignore each other, and that'll reverse all your progress because he's been ignoring you already.

three is that he might not show up, and then you'll have to pretend that it doesn't bother you all night long.

none of that sounds better than watching trash television and falling asleep on your couch, so you tell mitsuki that you're very sick and very sorry, and that you'll make it up to her later.

because of this, the first thing bakugou says to you after you swing the front door open is, "you're supposed to be fuckin' dead."

suffice to say, you're surprised to see him; still outfitted in his hero costume, mask shoved up his forehead so that his hair is wilder than usual. there's kohl smudged around his eyes, messy, and they look brighter and harsher because of it.

there's also a family-mart plastic bag in his right hand.

"what?"

he just grunts, eyes snapping over your figure, dressed down in a too-large sweater and athletic shorts meant for running even though you've never done so in them.

in his hands — still gloved — the plastic crinkles obnoxiously as he holds it out. "old hag told me to bring this to you."

a can of low sodium soup, two apples, gatorade, and something over-the-counter for nausea. there's something else at the very bottom that you don't get the chance to inspect before he interrupts with his big, fat mouth.

"y'look fine to me, so why the hell didn't you go?"

you frown at him and — don't know what to say. clearly, it seems he's going the pretend-it-never-happened route, which is infuriating because he could just as well have done that months ago. even still, he won't hardly meet your gaze, staring for only a moment before rolling his eyes and huffing, sticking them anywhere else. if you peek close, real close, you'd say his ears are a little red, but maybe you're just looking for — something.

you shrug. "didn't feel like it."

he shakes his head like that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, eyebrow arched. "why the hell not?"

"because, bakugou, i just didn't feel like going, i don't know what else to tell you." you huff, shrugging again when he doesn't say anything. "thanks for the stuff. is that it?"

his lips twist as he thinks, giving you another once-over before sighing. under his tank-top, you watch how his chest expands, the grimace that ripples over his face as he reaches a hand to lightly feel at his right side. "need your help with somethin'."

now you're just being petulant; you snort, raising your eyebrows as his eyes narrow at the sound. "me? are you joking? you need my help with—"

he groans loud enough to drown you out. "y'gonna let me in or y'just gonna run your mouth?" and so you step aside to wave him in wordlessly.

the backpack on his shoulder dumps to the ground by the door and he strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place, despite the fact that he's never been here before. you've lived in the unit for a year, but meetups are so infrequent and showing it off to him was never considered — until now; watching him shuffle through the bag on the counter, your nerves spike at the reality check.

alone together, again. in your apartment. well after dark.

that image of him is so — invasive, sweeping in at the worst times: between your legs, face as red as his eyes, the little moan he kept trying to swallow. how embarrassed he seemed when you asked if he felt good, if you felt good, and the fact that he still admitted it despite everything.

your entire body blazes like a flame to gasoline, and you try to focus on what else he's taking out of the bag, oblivious.

does he think about it at all? the way you have? at the root of the situation, that's what has been most bothersome: is he grossed out? simply embarrassed? does he feel taken advantage of? did he enjoy it and just doesn't know how to say it? the not knowing is driving you insane.

"i got—" bakugou awkwardly angles his body, gently touching at his side again. in his hands is a simple pack of first-aid supplies, like a wound wash and bandages and medical tape. "need you to change this shit for me."

"oh?" is all you can manage to say, still distracted, and whatever is obvious in your voice has his eyes snapping to you from across the kitchen, adam's apple bobbing. you clear your throat, struggling for normalcy. "the hell did you do?"

he's — going to take his shirt off. clearly, by the way he stretches out his shoulders and then slowly reaches behind himself to grab the material by the back, carefully pulling it up over his head with a low, stinging hiss.

bakugou's always been a lean kid — guy — but pulled so taut like that, after years of working out muscles you didn't even know he had, he looks — stupidly shredded, and the slow reveal of his tight stomach is not helping you to focus.

you just never realized how hot it was, because you never looked at him like that. until recently.

his mask comes off with his shirt and he tosses both onto the kitchen counter — again, as if he pays the bills here — and his hair is a mess and he usually doesn't care, but he runs a hand through it several times before finally looking back at you, eyes outlined in black.

"y'gonna help me or...?" he shrugs, trying to appear impassive — but it's too obvious; something's shifted, for the both of you.

you don't trust your voice anymore, so you just shuffle over to him, frowning at the dirty, worn bandage that's already unsticking from his skin. with his teeth, he pulls off his gloves and it's a wonder why he even wears them, really, because his hands are filthy underneath, covered in soot and black-stained grease.

standing like he is, arm slightly raised, you can see all his sweat, muscles shifting under his skin as he breathes, and his hairy armpit is staring you in the face and you don't know when he stopped being 12 and started being 20 and when he became such a man. it's not fair, that he should suddenly be so — attractive.

"you're disgusting," you tell him — and mean it — and it's met with such hot and irritated surprise that you have to keep talking before he explodes. "you should probably take a shower before putting on a new bandage."

it's road-rash up his right side, still shiny and wet and blood red. still raw. just looking at it is enough to make you cringe.

bakugou huffs, exasperated. "okay, gimme a towel then."

"i didn't mean take a shower here!" you squawk, taking a step back as if to further yourself from the suggestion.

detonation imminent; bakugou curls his hands into fists and the same muffled warning you've been getting your whole life crackles. "okay," he says, voice thin and razor sharp. "you're coming back to mine then?"

your whole life flashes before your eyes — or at least the few minutes it took for him to lose his shit between your legs. "what? no, why would i?"

"i need your help with this, dip-shit!"

"you're saying there's no one else that can—"

"if you want me to fuck off, just say so!"

things go silent, startlingly so. totally still, except for the rising flush across his face, one that you used to read as annoyance but are now translating into something else you never could have expected from him: embarrassment. it's starting to give you whiplash, how much you're discovering despite knowing him all your life.

"closet is at the end of hall," you say in surrender. "bathroom will be on your left."

bakugou mutters a quiet, angry little "jesus" before stalking back to the front door to get his bag, and then he's disappearing into the dark of your apartment.

you slump down on your couch and — struggle. watching the tv and absorbing nothing; it's a rerun anyway. the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry washes over you as the shower spray sounds in the background, followed by a low-timbered swear and the clatter of several bottles against the tub.

it's easy to butt heads with bakugou. you don't think there is any other way to interact with him, really, because he's so argumentative and that used to be okay, but now things are — off. you don't know what he's doing, what he wants, why he's here and in your shower when he could be at home or getting patched up at his agency. all the conclusions you can come to are frightening, a little, and they're hard to fathom; is he — does he want more?

is this just because he's a guy that got some action and is looking for a second round, or is this because it's you?

this stupid situation has only added an unnecessary amount of drama to your life, and you think maybe the pretend-it-never-happened route is the smartest path, even if you can't stop thinking about him and the strength coiled in his biceps, in his shoulders, and how tall he's become and — when did he lose most of the baby fat in his face, and when did he get such a sharp jawline?

how much is he working out, to get his body like that? he used to be a skinny, scrappy little thing and now — he can probably lift a truck over his head. must run all the time, though he's always been active, and you've never looked before, but you wonder how nice his ass is.

what he looks like under the shower, soapy and wet.

furiously, you blink out of your daydream, feeling like a foreign body in your own skin; if someone would have told you only a handful of months ago that you'd be having weird, sensual thoughts about your best friend, you would have laughed so hard you'd cried. or puked.

but if anyone else stands in that picture with him, your heart squeezes painfully. traitorously. already, you've shared so many memories with him; the start of elementary school, learning how to swim, giving each other equally bruised faces, staying up all night to study for important exams, tackling middle school graduation side-by-side, him making himself at home in your first apartment, just as you had done in his.

the devil on your shoulder asks: what's a few more firsts?

it seems like the shower stops in record time, but when you hone back in on the tv, the episode has changed and new drama is settling in. distantly, the rattle of the doorknob is more aggressive than it needs to be and when the echo of a swung-open door trails down the hallway, your heart suspends in your throat. never have you had to think this much just to be around him, and it's bothersome.

clean and relaxed, he's — softer; you spare a quick glance at him when he comes to stand beside the couch, distracted by the show on screen, and his hair is damp, starting to stick out again the more it dries. his muscles aren't made of marble anymore; still there and rippling, but he breathes calmly and his skin is baby smooth, tender. you eye his tummy and the line of fine hair running down into the waistband of his sweats, and do your best to ignore the sudden desire to kiss right above his belly-button.

"since when are they talking again?"

just as he looks at you, your gaze shoots back to the screen, eyes narrowing as you try to rapidly remember what's happening in the day-to-day for stay-at-home, pro-hero wives.

"uh," you blink, distracted — and he notices, "what do you mean? they've been hanging out, like, all season."

bakugou watches the tv in silence, occasionally glancing down to the bandage in his hands as he carefully spreads it out, as he dampens the towel with the antiseptic and dabs at his wounds. 

"even after she hit on whatshername's husband?"

"yeah, that was a misunderstanding," you frown at him but he doesn't see it. "remember when they went to that dinner party and all hell broke loose because—"

his flat look serves for a rude interruption. "they go to a lot of fuckin' dinner parties."

"i know, but," you scoff, annoyed, "have you even watched this season?"

bakugou scoffs, mocking and over-dramatic, "yeah, as if i've got all day to sit on my ass and watch your stupid girly—"

"you're watching it right now."

"because you've got it on!" he huffs when you sink into the couch, resolutely trying to ignore him. “start it over then, if you’re gonna cry about it.”

you gape up at him, going as far as to pause the show so that maybe he’ll acknowledge you and all your annoyance; he doesn’t. “start it over? this is, like, episode 26!”

“so? got a hot date or what?”

he’s not at all interested in the answer and that’s obvious when he spins around and holds out the bandage expectantly, staring down at the scrape — glowing red and angry, a mirrored wound you can feel scabbing across your own skin; itchy and irritating. 

finally he looks at you properly, frowning softly and — you see him then, can feel the tension lining his body as you carefully tape on his bandage. trying to hide how uncomfortable he is, though you he’s never had to do so with you in all of — forever. it’s nauseating, and again you're struck by the image of him, only now it's of the horror that had been on his face afterwards, at what you’d done.

it pushes everything over the edge; quietly, so that your voice doesn’t expose anything, you say, “you haven’t spoken to me in three months.”

silence weighs in the air immediately, heavy, and you watch him try to appear unbothered, shrugging as he stares back at the unmoving tv, jaw tight. “phone works both ways.”

“yeah, but,” your hands drop as he steps away to pull on a loose shirt, and you curl your fists into your own. just as he has. “i’m always the one having to reach out—”

“so why didn’t you?”

“what?” frustrated, you massage your temples, trying to soothe the nuclear headache threatening to incinerate you. “are you seriously trying to—”

“what’s the big deal?” he huffs, slumping down into the far corner of the couch before cringing, swearing as he gently touches at his bandage. “you’ve gone longer than that without talkin’ to me, so…”

the tone of his voice is infuriating, as if this is somehow all your fault — and maybe it is, because you shouldn’t have crossed such a boundary with him, but — he can be such a dick.

“it’s not just me bakugou, you could have just as easily picked up the phone, too!” your teeth grind when he shrugs again, leaning his head against his fist as he looks anywhere else. it almost looks like guilt that's dragging his expression down, but you know better than to assume he could feel such a thing. “you always—”

“jesus, if i always do this—”

“shut up for a second, damn!” and then because you can’t stand the stupid look on his face, you kick him in the thigh for good measure; it garners a warning glare, his teeth bared.

he easily catches you by the ankle when you try to kick him again. "tell me what the big fuckin' deal is."

"the big deal? oh, you mean besides the fact that you totally came in your pants?"

it stuns him for a second, eyes wide and face pale, before he's yanking you across the couch, narrowly avoiding the knee aimed for his gut. "you—fucking—!" a smack lands across the back of his head when he ducks and he plants a heavy hand over your face, forcing you to close your eyes and turn away.

"you're gonna blow my head off!"

"if i wanted you dead, you—" he intercepts the hand you blindly reach up with, crossing it awkwardly over your chest so that you're pinned down like a wild animal. "you would be!"

"kiss my ass, katsuki." you snark, and it does something to him, your use of his first name, because he's still for a moment before sitting back and collecting your wrists correctly, to hold against the couch arm above your head.

"you're such a fucking—" he swoops in so low that his nose almost brushes yours and he grabs the front of your sweater with his free hand, like he's gonna shake you down for some lunch money. "fuck, i could just—" and then he groans long and loud, so annoyed he can't find the words.

"yeah, well—"

"shut up," he lightly knocks his forehead into your cheekbone with another dissatisfied sound, letting out a heavy sigh as he sinks his face down into your neck.

all your muscles tighten on instinct, waiting for the sharp bite that's due any second — but his fingers only uncurl from the material of your sweater, slowly slipping around to tangle into the hair at the nape of your neck. his pull there is a little tight, enough for you to know he's got you, but not so much that you're head is aching; you can't imagine you have a sensitive scalp, anyway, after growing up around him.

you want to say something — which is an annoying realization because now you feel like too much of a talker — but you just focus on the heave of his chest over yours, the breath that moves through him. the minute jostle of his hips as he settles further into the space between your legs, almost comfortable. the slight swell of something unfamiliar against your inner thigh.

bakugou presses his face a little further into you, warm, and the tip of his nose drags along the column of your throat. successfully sedating you, distracted by the feel of his parted lips against your skin.

your body is hot all over, very suddenly; the sweater now feels like a death trap and hopefully you don't smell weird, though it's never been a worry before, not around him, and your adrenaline is rushing and you're kinda tired of acting like you don't know why that is.

fuck pretend-it-never-happened. it's been a long three months.

he's almost entirely pressed against you, but there is a small gap of space that closes when you open your legs a little wider, hitching them around his waist as his breath stutters against your neck.

it's happened so quick, so effortlessly yet again; you give a purposeful roll of your hips upward and are lost in him all over.

only — it's different than it was before because straddling his lap hadn't done much for you, but now the weighted outline of him is right against your center and the pressure that drags across you sends tingles up your spine and has your toes curling in your socks. when you let out a tiny gasp at the stomach-flipping sensation, tension coils in every curve of his body and the grip around your wrists and in your hair only tightens.

you can't help it; you let out a "katsuki" in the same heady tone as you did in his apartment and it has him falling easily into the slow grind you've been unable to stop thinking about. what shifts across his face is obvious, against your throat, like the scrunch of his brow and the slow drop of his mouth. he tries to muffle his breathy "oh" into your skin, but it echoes throughout your entire body, has an ache beginning between your thighs that he's already soothing.

the nip comes then, teeth sinking gently into your neck as you weakly cry out in surprise, but it's only for a moment before his tongue — wet and heavy and wide — is tasting over your jugular, lips closing around your skin as he sucks experimentally. you let out a proper moan then, squirming against his hands and up into him so that the pressure doubles for the both of you.

katsuki finally relinquishes your wrists, carding his hand down your body before coming to squeeze your hip, your thigh, locking your leg tight around his waist. "yeah," he rasps, voice deeper than you've ever heard it as he presses his forehead into yours. "how do you fuckin' like it?"

being bitten, he means, vengefully, but you're spread open beneath him and he's rutting the hard length of himself against you roughly, eagerly, and panting open-mouthed and you tighten up at the aggression in his tone and in his hands and his very being and —

"fuck," you gasp, loud and wanton, "fuck, katsuki—"

and then you are kissing your best friend.

the boy from down the street that always ruined your hair and taught you where to place your thumb if you were gonna throw a punch. that used his empty pen cartridge to blow spitballs at you and mocked you for losing crane games, even though he ended up giving you the stupid stuffed animal anyway. that had to be king of the castle, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield. that demanded you be his queen, weeds he picked for you woven carefully into your hair by his hands.

katsuki kisses like he's shy — another term you've never thought of in relation to him and all his fire and brimstone; it's slow and a little delayed in comparison to what his hips are doing, as if he's in his head too much and is trying to figure how to move his lips and when. tentative and chaste, until you run your tongue along the seam of his mouth and pry him open a little more.

it's making you hungry; that possessiveness from before is creeping back in, eager to have him in ways nobody else has. you arch into him, biting at his lips and sighing into his mouth as goosebumps break out across his skin.

with a slant of his head, he deepens the kiss and you can feel his nostrils flaring, the fingernails scratching against your scalp, the bruises he's probably leaving on your thigh. he lets up only to breathe, panting into your ear when he begins to bite and suck on your skin again; your earlobe and neck and even the cut of your jaw. like maybe he's hungry, too.

you fist a hand into his shirt just to tug it up his body, feeling the strong contract of his stomach when your fingers ghost against him. katsuki gets the hint quickly, rising up to his knees to tear the material off — much more harshly than he did before, which has you eying his crinkled bandage — and you move fast to take advantage of the new space.

it gives him pause when you yank down your shorts, pulling your legs back to slip them off and fling them somewhere across the room. his face goes red again, and his heaving chest, too, and his eyelids flutter as he takes in the sight of your flimsy, damp cotton underwear. you start to pull the sweater up your stomach, but he's watching so intently — so ravenous — that you get shy, without a bra underneath the too-hot fabric.

in any other situation, katsuki would have grabbed onto this moment, your hesitation, and held it over your head to come back and poke at. cataloged this little weak spot for future arguments, but now —

not once has he ever been gentle with you in anything; it's enough of a surprise that that's even a possibility for him, for the two of you, but he presses his body back into yours and kisses you deep, calloused fingers tracing over the new skin exposed to him. he doesn't try to push the sweater up any further, but one hand slips up your back, to splay between your shoulder-blades like it had before, and he's so close and you've never known him to be this — careful. with anything.

"y'r so—" katsuki rolls his hips again and groans, whispering against your lips. "fuckin' soft."

his sweatpants are still on and you don't know why, but when you reach down to help tug them off, he grabs your wrist before they can go too far.

he presses the heat from his cheeks into your own, like he wants to share it. "you done this before?"

"have you?"

he frowns at your non-answer. "i asked first."

you have. three times, technically, though a phantom pain echoes in your stomach at the memories, and you feel an odd emptiness in your chest that makes you really glad to have the sweater still on. your answer leaves you a little ashamed, under his gaze, and you purposely turn from it. "would...that bother you?"

before, you wouldn't have cared, didn't care, nor were you even thinking of him when it happened. wherever he must have been; u.a, probably, getting ready to make his lifelong dreams a reality while you trusted a boy that didn't look at you the way katsuki is now. that didn't hold you and touch you and kiss you the way your best friend has.

he scoffs, though it doesn't sound as careless as it usually does and he squeezes his eyes shut so you can't read them. the truth that's hidden there. "no," he lies, "why would—" but he doesn't finish, just sighs.

"it was awful anyway," you tell him, offering a small smile when he peeks down at you. he doesn't say anything, so you kiss him once, twice, until his tension is melting away. "should have been you."

the grip on your thigh turns almost painful and he grinds into you so roughly that you both gasp, loud in the tight, barely-there space between you. "yeah," he rasps, sucking another bruise into the hollow of your throat. "fuckin' should have."

you try to imagine it; eighteen and nervous, naked in front of him for the first time since you were seven and got into paint from his mom's workshop, when she made you both strip down in the same room, furious. how different he might have been with you then, how much more unsure. kinder than your ex, without a doubt, even for katsuki, and he probably wouldn't have even gone through with the whole thing, considering how uncomfortable the first time is.

or maybe it wouldn't have been, with him; maybe he would have looked into it, taken the time to wind you up the same way he is now so that you were eager and wet and ready. looking down at you with his wide, almost-black eyes in the dim light of a table lamp. another first to share.

"if i'd have just," he huffs, allowing his sweats to slip down past his hips. shoulders trembling when he makes you moan out his name again. "fuckin'—grown a pair 'n told you—"

the weight of him becomes more obvious, the straining bulge he's rocking into your core, and seeing it is — really getting to you; wearing such tight boxers, you can tell just how close the pink tip of him is to his waistband, nearly peeking out from just how hard he is.

it takes a shrug to get him out of your shoulder, so you can press your lips back to his. "can still be you, katsuki," you breathe, biting on his bottom lip until his tiny frown is gone. "if you want, it can still be you."

for a minute, he indulges himself in the greedy kiss you're giving him, testing strokes of his tongue against your own as his hips stutter out of rhythm — but it's when your fingers brush through the hair at the base of his stomach, trying to slip a hand into his boxers, that he's gasping into your mouth and pushing his body up and away.

determination settles over his face then — along with his vibrant flush — and he doesn't say anything as he grabs you like it's nothing and scoots you up the couch so that your back is pressed to the arm, propped up. once he settles between your thighs, he just rests his face into the plush of your stomach — which is humiliating and has you squirming, but the firmness returns to his hands; holding your hips so that you'll still, so that he can kiss right above your belly button, just as you wanted to do to him.

heat flares in your own cheeks — and down your chest and in your ears and searing on the back of your neck — when you feel the first puff of his warm breath against your underwear, where you're sensitive and slick and aching.

this is completely new to you; your ex-boyfriend probably never considered tasting you here, certainly not with the same desire that's painted across katsuki's face. you have to slap your hands over your eyes and bite your lip, embarrassed, suddenly, at how desperate the simple press of his mouth to your underwear makes you.

"hey, hey," katsuki grunts, pinching at your hips until you peek at him through your fingers. the highlights of his cheeks are crimson and his eyes are black, glaring with an intensity that makes you shiver. "it's my fuckin' turn."

to make you fall apart, he means, just as he had.

at the first hot drag of his tongue against the material, you squirm, leaning your head back so that your expression is hidden. another grunt comes from him, you think in dissatisfaction, but he continues, laving until your mouth is falling open and the fabric between you is drenched.

he's gone just long enough to be replaced by the ghost of his thumb, touching you much too-gently. hunger has you stealing another look at him, watching behind your hands as he stares, blatantly, at the mess he's already made of you, stroking the pad of his finger against the sodden material in interest.

discovering; a curious swipe over where you're aching has you sighing and trembling and his eyes jump back up to your covered face, open mouth curling into the faintest smirk as he does it again and again and again. it's bullshit — how quickly he's figured you out, almost as if your body was meant to be unraveled by his hands — but then again, it didn't take you long either, did it?

"katsuki," you hiss, digging a hand into the hair at the crown of his head, tugging on it until his smile is dropping and his eyes are lidding. your body is on fire and your legs are trying to close around his head, hips squirming as he toys with you, like the little brat he is.

deadly serious, he grabs your underwear and holds it tightly in his fist so that you can wiggle one leg free, and then he's tugging it out of his way and devouring you whole.

it's sloppy, the mixture of spit and slick as runs his tongue through you, wet and wide, and you're so sensitive that you squeak out in surprise, fingers tightening. a groan punches from deep in his chest and your hips buck at the vibration of it, drawn so tight already.

"oh my—" you gasp, dropping your other hand from your face to grip the couch; eyes closed, you're somewhere else entirely, lost in the clumsy swirl of pleasure between your thighs.

katsuki raises his head to breathe, reaffirming your grip in his hair by wrapping his fingers tight over your own. at the shiny sight of his mouth, you can't help but to whimper with a needy roll of your hips, until he's simply sticking out his tongue and allowing you to ride it, to use it as you need to. it's embarrassing, how desperate you are, but his eyes are knife-sharp and trained on you and you've never experienced anything like this.

he moves then, slipping one hand further up under your sweater, cupping your breast carefully as his lids flutter — and the other is shoved between his hips and where they're pressed into the couch. you tighten up at just the idea of him rutting into his hand while kissing your messy slit, moaning openly, head falling back as your eyes start to roll.

this is — fuck — you've never been so turned on in all your life and it's driving you crazy; at one point in time, the thought of bakugou like this would have grossed you out, but now you think it's only like this because of him. anyone else wasn't right, not the way he is, and he's maybe a little impatient and unwieldy, but it's katsuki. between your legs with his mouth on you — something he wanted — and his fingers are brushing over your nipple and the other is down his pants, wrist flexing and —

"fuck, oh fuck, i—" you try to sit up, chasing blindly after the high, but he forces you back down. a long groan is muffled by your skin and when he lifts his chin just a little, a glob of spit falls off his lips and the sight makes your toes curl before he presses back into you and sucks.

everything goes blank as you free-fall into him and you cum quietly, muscles so taut in your body that your voice can't even squeeze out of your throat. the minute you're able to breathe, he's biting a mark into your thigh and yanking you back down under him, lips slick against yours.

tasting yourself on his tongue has you coming out of the heady haze, ravenous; katsuki helps you to shove his boxers down, though he can only gasp tightly when he grinds against you, coating himself.

"'m not—" his soft hair tickles your face when he shakes his head, arms trembling beside your head. "i won't be able to—"

"keep going," you breathe, smearing your mess over the tip of him and down his length as he groans. "i don't care, keep going."

he smashes his lips to yours, though he's only able to meet the pump of your hand a few times before dropping his forehead to your shoulder, spine curling, fingers digging into your hair. katsuki swears long and low, eventually letting out a soft sound you wouldn't have expected from him as his entire body tenses and he spills onto your stomach.

"goddamn it," he moans into the fabric of your sweater, weary, after a long moment. "now 'm fuckin' tired."

and for some reason that makes you laugh, though the lust is dissipating and your nerves are trembling at the memory of how this ended last time. katsuki pulls away suddenly, making your stomach drop, and he doesn't look at you as he detangles himself, awkwardly shuffling away from the couch and out of sight.

you frown down at the mess on your stomach, the way it's pooling in your belly-button — and you'll be damned to let him leave you like this, but just as you finishing reciting over and over what you want to say, he appears, towel in hand.

it's still damp from his shower and you tense on instinct, waiting for him to start twirling it with that stupid grin on his face, but katsuki only arranges your legs so that he can sit between them, carefully wiping you off as his cheeks burn. and you just watch him, the way he runs a hand over your skin to make sure he got it all before helping to finagle your underwear back on properly.

then he just looks at the tv, unmoving. if he's trying to appear casual at all, it's a piss-poor job — but he's never been able to keep his fat mouth shut for long.

the look he gives you lacks its usual heat, though you can't tell if that's just because he's drained or if he's withdrawn for another reason. "what now? six months, a year before you talk to me again?"

and you're annoyed all over again.

"what?" you return his weak glare, sitting up properly so that you're right in his face. "are you kidding me? you didn't talk to me either."

"the hell did you want me to say?" he scoffs and — you could slap him, for ruining everything so quickly. wipe that stupid look off his face with your fist. "'sorry i busted a nut, you free for dinner?'"

"yeah!" the shrill tone of your voice makes his eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in the air, incensed. "that sounds wonderful in comparison to coming home and avoiding me."

"i didn't avoid you," he mutters, though his eyes drift back to the tv. "just didn't have shit to say."

"bakugou," you slap your hands over your face for the second time, though this one is much worse than the last. "how is that fucking fair? what did you want me to say?"

and now — his eyes are full and furious, mouth curling down into an ugly frown that you've so rarely had the pleasure of seeing on his face; every time his mother made you go home and when you told him you weren't gonna try to test into u.a. when he overheard your girl friends teasing you for liking an older boy in your school.

when he was losing you, you realize.

"'m not doin' this shit with you," he mutters, definitive, before swiping his shirt up off the floor and standing. "not doin' this bakugou shit."

"oh my god," you groan, rising, too, because your stomach is twisting at the thought of him leaving again, no matter how angry he's making you. "what does that even mean?"

you trail him as he stomps into your kitchen to grab his work shirt and mask from the counter, trying to interrupt him at every turn, and the scowl on his face only grows when you shoot to stand in front of the door, just as he reaches for his bag.

"you can't—"

"this," he seethes, gesturing to you and then himself before gritting his teeth so hard that they should shatter. "this is why i didn't wanna fuckin' talk to you."

you knew he didn't. the minute lunch ended and when you made out his shape in mitsuki's snapchat: you knew. but hearing it from his mouth is as much of a confirmation as it is a kick in the gut.

there's more he's struggling to say, mouth shifting as he chews on the words and the skin of his lips. his gaze jumps from you to the door to something on the counter before he's swallowing again, staring down at you with brand new eyes.

the light in the kitchen makes them shine, angry and sad. "i can't—" he sighs, nostrils flaring like he's mad at himself for struggling. "go back to bakugou, not after—" a vague hand waves toward the couch. "maybe this is just, i don't know, whatever to you, but i — fuckin' can't."

tell me what the big fuckin' deal is; earlier, he'd demanded it of you, why the silence mattered so much this time when it didn't seem to matter before. in the midst of your anger, you didn't think twice about his wording but now —

he wanted you to say it. katsuki wanted to hear you say that it hurt to be without him for so long, and he kept his distance because he was afraid that you wouldn't.

"you're so stupid," you mutter it quietly, and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, enraged, but before he can get another dumb word out, you loop your arms around his neck and just �� kiss him.

not crazy or wild or lust-driven, just your lips to his, slowly working him out of the shell he's tried to hide behind.

the bag in his hand hits the ground with a soft thud and then his arm is wrapping around your back, tugging you to him as he finally breathes and opens his mouth — and lets you in.

when you cup the sides of his neck, katsuki inhales sharply through his nose, pulse jumping under your fingers, and his lashes flutter against your cheeks as he opens his eyes. he pulls back enough so that you can stare at each other and you realize that eyeliner is still clinging to his lids, making him seem sharper than usual.

you're a little stunned, then, at how beautiful he is. 

"i can't go back to bakugou either, dumbass." gently, you knock your forehead into his, smiling at the pout on his face. "you've totally screwed that up for me."

"yeah, well," he huffs, "about time. only took you all my goddamn life."

"sorry i'm late."

"what else is new?" he rolls his eyes and you squeak, indignant, before sticking your tongue out at him, patience worn thin already.

you expect a bite or a pinch to the cheek or another rough violence that falls along the lines that have made up your relationship thus far — but instead there is only something soft that reflects in his eyes and the shy kiss he presses to your lips, something that he's kept safe just for you, guarded, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield.

[crabbunch]

for @mcyt-aro-week - day 4 - aplatonic/space

Here's the thing: Ken doesn't... love people.

Not that he minds them or anything! He enjoys talking with people, and there are people who he knows well enough to call his friends, and in general, he likes people, he really does, he just...

He doesn't love them.

He's spent a lot of time thinking about it, too. What love qualifies as. What gives him the right to finally, definitively say no, I will never love anyone in any way, ever.

Maybe it's not a right at all. Maybe it's just something he can do. It's not like it's hurting anyone.

It had started with Wato- because before that, he had been alone, or at least distant enough from other people that it wouldn't have made sense to love them. Or maybe it would have- maybe other people would have. Ken doesn't...

But when he and Wato had hit it off and started hanging out more, they'd also started telling him I love you. It had been casual, easy to miss- see you tomorrow, I love you, goodbye- thrown in a jumble of words, and Ken had replied easily enough.

He hadn't meant it, though.

The thing was- he'd always hated it when people saved the sentiment for romance. He wanted to be able to throw it around in whatever context he wanted- it's just that he was lying. And it felt... uncomfortable.

So he doesn't love people. It's just- a thing, a fact about Ken that people know if they're close enough to him. Ken likes escape rooms and prisons, Ken can fit 24 marshmallows in his mouth if he really tries, and Ken doesn't love people.

The problem. That is making itself clear to him now, though.

He never told Wato- not really. They just kind of fell into it together. Ken never realized anything and neither did Wato. That's how it works with everyone. He doesn't give a- a disclaimer, before he goes out and makes friends- oh, hey, before we hang out too much, just wanted to let you know I'll never love you- and it doesn't matter, because his feelings don't have to effect his actions at all! Eventually, the pieces fall into place, and everyone just knows that Ken doesn't love people.

But. Ken has known Wifies for several months now. And he doesn't seem to have gotten the memo.

It's not Wifies fault! It's probably a little bit Ken's fault, but he doesn't know how to explain it to Wifies. He's never explained it to anyone! He doesn't know why it's bugging him, anyways, because shouldn't things be okay as long as Ken knows that this isn't love? But Wifies doesn't know, and he looks at Ken like he expects him to love him, and it's really kind of the worst.

So really he just needs to bite the bullet and text him.

Ken throws his com across the room and slumps to the ground, tail twitching.

Here's the other problem: Wifies looks at Ken like he hung the moon over the stars, which is weird, because Ken didn't even do anything special. He did the bare minimum to help him out, and now Wifies treats him like some saint. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He doesn't want to hurt Wifies, though- he's the kind of person who'd take it the wrong way if Ken told him that he didn't love people. He's still... he doesn't think of himself as a person, sometimes, and Ken wants him to be happy and know that Ken doesn't hate him or think badly but argh-

He doesn't love him.

Ken stands up again and starts pacing, tail lashing furiously. He doesn't want Wifies to feel like he wasn't- good enough for Ken, or anything dumb like that, but he doesn't want the misconception to keep going. He doesn't want-

There's really no reason to be this upset. Sometimes he wonders- if he's making too big of a deal over it, because if it doesn't make a difference whether he loves someone or not, than why is he so hung up on it? It's just- there's something in his stomach, and it twists around when people expect him to reciprocate, because he can't, and- and-

Ken scoops up his com again and opens up his chat with Wifies. He frowns down the meme he sent a couple of hours ago, and snaps it shut. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't even want to say anything- it's just that letting things continue like this feels unbearable sometimes.

It's cruel to Wifies, to keep up the charade, and it's cruel to himself, and Ken-

Well. He's not a selfless person. He's actually really greedy, and overly critical, and he knows that, he knows his flaws, but he doesn't think this- this has never been one. The avoidance, though- maybe when he says I don't want Wifies to blame himself he means I don't want Wifies to blame me, and that would be bad of him. Selfish.

Because Wifies deserves to know that Ken doesn't love him.

Ken takes a deep breath, and opens his com.

<Ken> hey btw i dont love people

<Ken> just letting you know

That sucked! He shuts it again and flops onto the cold, unforgiving floor. He's not going to open the com again, because he doesn't want to know what- oh, it flashes, presumably because Wifies has replied, and his stupid, traitorous hands open it back up without his permission. Don't they know that curiosity killed the cat?

<Wifies> Oh, okay?

<Wifies> I'm not sure what you mean by that.

Aaaaugh explaining things is awful! Ken brings a finger to his mouth and bites down on it as he types with his other hand.

<Ken> like i dont love you

<Ken> but its not because you're you or anything just cuz i dont love anyone

<Ken> its just. a thing i guess. and i thought you deserved to know.

He drums his fingers anxiously against his cheek as little dots bubble down and back up again. Wifies is taking a long time to respond- but he always does, because he types like a grandma, so Ken is reading into things too much. Unless he's not.

<Wifies> Oh, okay, I see.

<Wifies> Thanks for telling me!

What does he mean by that!!!!

Ken huffs, and stands up again. It's not a problem. Wifies seems happy enough, and Ken being unable to fathom the way his brain works is nothing new. He-

<Wifies> I've just got one question, though.

Huh?

<Wifies> Why'd you call me 'my Wifies' if you didn't love me?

<Ken> what? what does that have to do with love?

<Wifies> Oh. Nothing, I guess.

Well! Whatever. Ken throws his com at the wall again- a couple of sparks fly out, which means that he probably broke it this time, but that'll be a problem for future Ken, because he already solved one problem probably mostly tonight, and that is far exceeding his daily problem-solving quota.

[schrodingerscougar]

The Heartbreak Prince (Alex Keller x f!reader)

Note: Okay, Chad Michael Collins is 44, so if we say Alex is 35-45, and you read this like the reader is in her early 20s, there might be a small reference to what you might consider grooming if you squint. In my head, Alex is 35 and the reader is around 30, but who am I to tell you how old she is?

Be a good girl for me.

Alex always took it on himself to keep you in line when you were ready to do something stupid or reckless. He had been like that since you were a kid, although the way he warned you changed drastically as you grew older.

Your brother didn't notice, or rather didn't want to notice, but his best friend was always extremely flirty with you. He touched your body every chance he got, placed soft kisses on your head, or simply gave you a ride home after a night out and spent the whole trip trying to make you smile and laugh.

Tonight he said these words when an ex of his showed up in the bar where you were drinking with your friends. You had never understood what he liked about her, the stereotypical dumb blonde who always tried to sound smart, but usually ended up saying something stupid. Alex deserved better, you were sure of that, and you hoped he knew it too.

“I always see your friends here, but you're never with them,” she complained with a pout she probably expected to look cute on her.

It wasn't cute. At all. And from the look on Alex’s face, you could tell he thought the same. His blue eyes were focused on the woman in front of him, and you could see his jaw tighten as he considered what to say. Their relationship got a nasty end, with a certain incident that divided your little group.

He traveled a lot because of his job–whatever it truly was, he never told you–but that relationship ended because she kissed some random guy at a party. Molly said it was an accident, then the story changed and she tried to turn herself into the victim by saying she felt neglected.

“What can I do for you?” Alex asked her eventually, his voice perfectly neutral as if he was talking to a stranger.

You didn't look at them, instead you focused on the screen of your phone and only listened to the conversation. That was more than enough for you, the least you wanted was witnessing a car crash. Because you knew the girl would throw a fit, either blaming Alex again or begging him to take her back.

She didn't respond right away and you heard a gasp leave her lips. Normally you would've assumed she was thinking about what to say, but knowing her, you quickly dismissed the idea. As if. Biting the inside of your cheek to keep a smile from appearing on your face, you opened a messaging app and began to send Alex some memes.

His phone beeped in front of him and he took a quick look at the screen. Out of the corner of your eye you watched as he turned it upside down and placed it on the table with a smirk. Then you felt his foot bump into your leg, and soon he spread his legs wide enough to be able to press his thigh to yours.

“What are you doing?” you wrote him as if he would answer now.

But to your surprise he picked up his phone and typed a short response. “Watch this.”

So you did as you were told and turned your head to face him. The corner of Alex's mouth turned upwards before he reached out to take your hand, long fingers lacing with yours as if this had been a common occurrence. Your breath caught in your throat which didn't seem to bother him. In fact, this only made him more determined to make it look like you were dating.

“Are you joking?” Molly asked hysterically, causing your friends to grab their drinks and walk away. “I always hated the way this snake tried to get your attention, even when we were dating.”

Alex rolled his eyes at this. “I don't know what gave you the idea, it was the other way around,” he told her cheekily, then leaned over to place a kiss on your head.

And you were sitting there, being dragged into a fight you didn't want to be a part of. While you tried to pay attention to anything but that conversation, the gears in your brain began to turn. The other way around? You had always assumed it was meaningless flirting from his part. But maybe he was only saying this to annoy Molly.

“I love it when you're such a good girl for me,” he whispered in your ear to bring you back to reality, and his lips touched your skin to make your brain short-circuit.

Only now that you looked up did you notice that Molly had left without a word, leaving you there alone. “Alex, what the hell?” you demanded as you moved a little away from him.

“What?” he asked innocently as he took a sip of his beer. You punched his upper arm with an angry look on your face. “Come on, you can't say this wasn't a long time coming.”

“Nothing happened.”

Alex let out a laugh before he put a finger under your chin to make you look at him. “Which is a shame.”

Before you could say anything, he leaned forward to kiss you, his lips gently moving in perfect sync with yours. Damn it, you didn't even realize you kissed him back. But it felt good, so good that you didn't want it to end. Maybe he was right. Maybe this really was a long time coming.

[delacyrose224]

Late Night Talking

Pairing: Lee Minho x reader

Genre: Fluff, established relationship

Word Count: .9k

Author's Note: Song of the day is Late Night Talking by Harry Styles!

---------------------

“...do you miss me?”

It’s so quiet, you almost think you’ve made it up.

“What?”

Minho clears his throat softly and repeats himself.

“Do you miss me?”

He looks at you earnestly, but can’t hold eye contact for very long before he’s glancing off to the side, running his fingers through his long hair making it even messier than it was to start off with.

You smile, though he doesn’t see it.

“Of course I miss you. Who else can I bother on a daily basis?”

A small smirk works its way across his face as a signature glint of mischief sparkles in his eyes.

“It better just be me. If not, I’ll start sending you those memes you hate. And spam you with pictures of Jisung.”

You roll your eyes, huffing out a laugh.

“Ah, so that’s who you’ve replaced me with since you can’t bother me in person.” Though you’re joking, Minho notices the small frown on your face, even through his phone screen.

“You know I miss you, right?” His face is devoid of any joking, complete earnestness coloring his expression (and his ears, which are turning pink). “I’ve never felt this way about anyone this quickly.” Minho is matter of fact, succinct when it comes to his feelings. That’s how you know he’s telling the truth.

“Minnnnnn…” You hide behind your hands, embarrassed. One of the reasons the two of you had bonded in the first place was because of your difficulties in sharing deeper emotions.

He’s got a full blown smirk on his face now. “Glad I can still make you flustered, even from thousands of miles away,” he laughs. “How was your day?” His eyes soften, genuinely interested in what you have to say.

“It was…dumb, to be honest.”

“Tell me why.” Minho lays across his bed in the hotel room he’s sharing with Changbin, propping his phone up against the pillows.

“Well, I was running late this morning to start things off. Maybe because I made a stop to see your kids…” you laugh. Minho can feel his heart skip a beat in his chest at the mention of you caring about his cats.

“And then once I got to work, I ended up spilling coffee on myself-” You see Minho’s mouth start to open in protest, but you cut him off. “I didn’t burn myself, I just stained my new dress, don’t worry. But then I had meetings most of the day, and you know how my students sometimes just try my patience. But then I came home and changed into comfy clothes and watched a few episodes of that new show we talked about before. And here I am, talking to you-easily the best part of my day.” You smile softly at the man in front of you.

“Well one, I’m sorry you had a bad day. Two, did you put stain remover on your dress? Three, how dare you start that show without me. Four, this is the best part of my day too.”

“You’re worried about the stain on my dress?” You can’t help but laugh-what other man would be so concerned with laundry?

“Well, you spent your hard earned money on it!” he huffs, brows knit together in agitation.

“Yes, Mr. Clean, I put stain remover on it and immediately put it in the wash. And you said you didn’t like period pieces, that’s why I started it without you!”

“Well, I wanted to watch it with you,” he pouts.

“Fine…I’ll rewatch the first episode with you,” you concede. 

“Right now?” Your eyes widen.

“Do you have time right now? Where’s Binnie? And you had a show earlier, you must be exhausted!”

“Not exhausted enough to not spend time with my best girl. And Binnie’s just left to go to the gym, he won’t be back for a while.”

Your cheeks flush at his pet name for you, but you’re excited to spend more time with Minho. After a quick setup and syncing of the show you were going to watch, the two of you settle into your respective beds.

It’s just as good as the first time…well, as much as you sit through. 45 minutes in, you’re both nodding off, and before you know it, you’re sound asleep.

—-------------------------------

A bright beam of sunlight hits your face, forcing your eyes open. 

“What…happened?” You push up onto your elbows, rubbing out sleep out of your eyes, only to flop back down on the bed in protest. A deep groan comes from next to you, but there’s no one there.

Shoving your hands underneath the covers, you search until you grab your phone from the tangle of blankets. There on your screen is Lee Minho, yawning with long hair almost completely covering his face.

“Hi sleepyhead,” you giggle, watching him push the long strands out of his eyes.

“Hi love,” he yawns. “I’m guessing we fell asleep watching that show last night?” You nod. “Guess we were both more exhausted than we thought.” He lays his head on his hand, smiling softly at you.

“You’re smiling an awful lot lately, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard not to when you’re around.” His smile widens, his eyes staying just as soft as before.

“You keep this up, and Stay is gonna figure out something’s up. The cold Ice King is melting,” you laugh.

“I think they’d be happy that I’m happy,” he muses, then starts to frown. “I have to go get ready for a schedule soon before Chan yells at me…can we do this again soon? In person?”

You nod.

“...it’s a date, then.”

-----------------------

Taglist: @alpacaparkaseok @hyungieyoongi @derinxfam

You can find more of my work here!

[ravenmoodle]

i spent way too long on this dumb meme so now you all have to look at my cringe ass children and how very dated a lot of their inspos are.

Also HERE is the original.

you should all also do it so i'm not the only one showing off my brain rot- mostly for Soul Eater... unfortunately it changed my brain chemistry.

[jolikmc-stuff]

Sibling Bonding at Castle Wily by Jo Li KMC at Tumblr

I had a really dumb idea to celebrate @kaitlinexe's birthday, this year. And, despite my best efforts… I somehow managed to not only find the ambition to draw it, but draw it in acceptable quality, too!

Happy Birthday, Kaitlin! And welcome back to Tumblr!

(More info and whatnot under the Read More.)

Albert Wily, Forte, "Rockman" series and related characters and concepts created by Akira Kitamura and Keiji Inafune for Capcom Co, Ltd. Background from Rockman & Forte by Capcom Co, Ltd. Dr. Wily pose based on art from Rockman 2: The Power Fighters by Capcom Co, Ltd. Thundergirl and Forte pose based on "Young Women Laughing in a Photo Booth" image by gettyimages Thundergirl created by and © KaitlinEXE Art drawn by and © (I guess?) Jo Li

··· ᵗʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᵃ ˡᵒᵗ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵒᵖʸʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᶦⁿᶠᵒ˴ ʰᵘʰˀ

—

Did You Know?™ This is the first time I've ever drawn Forte. I think I've drawn Dr. Wily before, but it was a long time ago.

Anyhoo. You might be wondering what this idea is all about and why I said it was "dumb". Basically, it's Thundergirl and Forte doing the "girls laughing meme" — wherein two or more girls laugh about some nuanced trait of someone they know, or just laugh in general.

As to how I came to this idea, Thundergirl is (fan-)canonically one of Wily's "adopted" 'bots, according to lore. Forte, of course, didn't accept her as a "sibling"… at first. Luckily, she and Forte eventually started bonding over Wily's misery. So, I somehow combined that bit of info with this meme, and that's about it. (:

Thundergirl and Forte went through quite a few revisions before I got them "right". Since I was basing their pose on that "girls laughing" image, I had to accommodate for their height difference since they're both "kid-sized".

I think Thundergirl looks too tall here, but I've done far worse, I suppose. I kind of wish her lightning emblems were a bit more visible, but once I decided Forte should be the one in front, I kind of committed to stuff getting hidden. It's worth mentioning that her outfit comes from a Rockman 30th Anniversary (I think?) redesign Kaitlin did around that time. It's basically her usual outfit, but with detached sleeves, a visor, and I think one or two more add-ons. It's not a design that stuck, which is kind of a shame. I like it!

As for Forte? Eeeeeh… I could do better, but I spent way too much time on him and wanted to get this done before tomorrow. I also wasn't sure if I should add the trim to the bottom of his armor since he's leaning forward. I think it looks equal parts wonky and okay. I also made a conscious decision not to give him his warpaint as it would have conflicted with the laugh-induced teardrop.

I also shamelessly doodled over a certain sprite from Rockman 2: The Power Fighters, then drew the rest in from scratch. I didn't even resize him or anything. It's a 1:1 ratio. How utterly lazy of me~

I think that's about all the trivia for this piece.

For making it this far, you get a version of the image without text! Aren't you the lucky one~?

[julymarte]

Friendship

(you can find this pic without the walltext in the #meme redraw tag in my blog)

So the other day i made THIS post so i thought i'd share more information about their relationship

Taru might end up a lil in the shadow of her more popular friends but she really is the glue that keeps them together somehow, starting from the beginning...Taru and the twins pretty much grew up together they are more than just childhood friends they are almost relatives you know when you call the parents of your childhood friends uncle and aunt even if you are no way related? That thing. they are pretty much cousins- when they were children they were almost inseparable they almost spent more time together than with their siblings ( both the twins and taru have younger sisters, they also have a close bond). growing up the friendship with Nakir grew more than the one with Uri, they are still very good friends but other than gossiping and having some walks and chit chat around the market they don't do much else, with nakir instead they share the same 1 braincell if there's something dumb or risky be sure that they will team together and do it anyway for the thrill of it. Both Nakir and Taru did feel pretty sad when they had to be separated for 8 long years when she enrolled the Red Moon Academy(might do a post about the whole merc system one day let me know if you'd like to see it) and they most likely made other friends Nakir out and Taru inside of it but none as meaningful as what they have so upon their reunion it was an immediate decision to become teammates and work on missions and assignments together.

As for Pravaal...Him and Taru met for a very short time before she entered the academy but we need a little context here, mercenaries in the kingdom of moon are actually a lil bit different from what one may imagine while thinking about a regular merc, some of them have gathered quite the fortune and gained a title on par as nobility ... some are more on the fancy snob side others more on the military side...Taru's family on the part of her mother is one of them(on the military side), Pravaal is a noble sure but he has technically no ties with mercenaries aside from his runaway father most likely being one BUT a couple of merc nobility with ties with the academy offered to give him shelter after he reached out for help from the academy after fleeing from home when just a kid so, for a couple of years, they were eachother's only friendly face at those booooring adult meetings.Taru's sister seemed to enjoy them while both Taru and Pravaal used to spend their time making fun of the snobby rich elders and finding ways to prank them, he would be pretty shy about it back then but she wouldn't hesitate to take the lead on the mischief... they met again when she graduated and to her surprise he and Nakir knew eachother too cause they had been training together for the purple class, she did not expect them to have developped a rivalry tho XD (and of course she had no idea to what happened with Uri) It's just thanks to her that the three became a trio, one day Nakir and Pravaal were arguing on who would take a specific mission and she just proposed " why don't we go together" they reluctanctly accepted but it ended up being a big success, the chemisty of the party was a bit unstable at first but even tho Nakir and Pravaal deny it, they are a pretty good team. And after a good mission what's best than a niiiice celebration at the Twiin moons, they sure have become regulars at that (shady) pub and it's not rare to see them hand around there- but yeah good things don't always last, have you ever had that one friend that disappears after they get a special other? well this is kinda what happens here except their drifting away is not much cause they don't hang outtogether anymore but cause they LITTERALLY MOVE TO OTHER WORLDS, she of course has the means and will go see them but it's always kinda bittersweet

[lordoftablecloths]

vent post i guess i dont know i just wanted to write stuff down instead of just go ing to bed and crying over it you can just scroll past it

im fine im sane im noramal im so unbleiveably cringe ,, the only person i have irl- fuck, or even online for that matter- to show the dumbass things i write is my silly little dumbass younger brother who doesn;t understand what im trying to get at and i guess its not his fault, i seriously doubt he's spent unhealthy amounts of time making various short scenerios in his head about charcters he came up with and eventually trying to give them a story and write little things about them in google docs because where else am i supposed to put this and its just ,, he doesnt know wht im trying to do and i dont know how to explain it to him because the "history" i gess behind it is so fucking complicated by now that these characters arent even the same characters as they were when i originally created them, other than some physical attributes and their names and he just knows them as the random cringe shit i made up in middle school but so many years have passed by now that these stupid fuckers whose only purpose to serve is to make me stop remembering that i exist and ive gotten too attatched to them because who else was i supposed to get attatched to when i was going through an identity crisis at the time- and, quite frankly, still fucking am- and it was so much easier to pretend i dont exist and just project my flaws and insecurities and underlying subconcsious thoughts into these charactes that no one knows about except me and oh god im just created a long ass vent post on tumblr that no one's going to read and no one understands the story behind fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck whatever ill go ahead and post this unfinished thing because no one's going to get it either way ill probably delete it later if it doesnt get buried under reblogs

dont think too much about this i just got sad because my brother was giving me a bunch of criticism on an outline of a story i was working on- which is fair, i need to take criticism- but he only knows the characters in it as their semi-formed cringe versions so i chickened out half way and now i feel bad because i was really proud of this thing for the whopping span of like one day before i decided to show it to another human person instead of letting it rot away inside of me like i usually do and now i feel bad about my writing skills

im trying so hard to just take his words with a grain of salt because this kid does not have nearly as much experience with writing as i do, but i feel like im copying too many of my inspirations (DnD, generic fantasy story about defeating evil creature, silly tropes, etc,,) which sucks because that was just like the first two pages of the outline and theres nine fucking pages and like the second half of it was what i put the most effort into and i felt like the ideas were really origianl but i could make myself let him naturally get to that part of the outline because i was starting to feel really bad and wieerd and oh god he is looking at ideas i havent ever expressed to another human person even though i am very familaiar with because i came up with them and they havebeen in my head for at least a year or two by now and have been haunting me ever since so instead of skipping ahead to the parts that were really good in my opinion but would have made no sense without context i just told him to piss off i gues s

i dont know. i feel dumb. i feel stupid. ive put so much effort into this stuff and the concept that ive been wasting my time feels like too heavy of a weight to handle. god none of this porbobably nmakes any sense ,,,,,,,,, i guess this is why i feel miserable when the fanart and shitpost memes i post get a comically larger audience and attention than the art relating to my silly goofy ocs, because these stupid fucking characters are all thats keeping me going . call me cringe, but is it still cringe if the concept that maybe i too can be around people that love me and instead of having to like me in spite of my faults love me for them keeps me from fucking killing myself is it still cringe?

if a tree falls in a forest and no one's around, does its fall even make a sound? (shit piss fuck sorry i dont remember the original quote and all i can remember is tha t one line from that one musical i dont remember what it was)

if an autistic moron that cant even talk to a cashier without having a panic attack makes a universe full of fictional characters of his own cfreation then an alternate universe, then several alternate universes, then a spin off from that original universe and etc etc but its all just on google fucking docs and no where else except deleted excerpts from a dead wattpad account, did he ever even create anything at all?

its pointless. its all so fucking pointless. its a waste of time. why do i do this at all. its so fucking pointless. it makes no fucking sense. you cant just make a story with characters in it, then make a fucking fantasy au of that universe with the same characters but with different designs and wildly different personalities and then make a whole fucking complicated lore-filled story about the fantasy au version while the original universe's story is still left mostly unfinished like forget about a first draft of the text i havent even finished the first ddraft of the outline yet buckarooooooo

okay fuck you guys thats all i want to tell you im going to go pretend to myself to try to go to sleep and then cry now

[crusherthedoctor]

As someone who has long decided to stay away from the fandom (and even the franchise to an extent) I have to say that what gets me the most is not the fandom's penchant for insulting and even harassing others who hold dissenting opinions, that's been a thing since forever, but rather how... justified it has become.

The Sonic fandom has spent so much time sunk neck deep into negativity, wether it was older fans hating the newer stuff or how the media has treated the series, that it has become utterly obsessed with countering any form of negativity....by stamping it out with really negative behaviour and then proceed to think it's doing God's work or something.

There's something....unsettling about this, not to mention just how childish and downright shallow it is to even end entire friendships over dissenting opinions on a blue Hedgehog.

Then again I don't think it's simply the presence of dissenting opinions, it's the insecurity that comes with coming face to face with them, the idea that you feel dumb for Liking something that others are pointing out is really flawed, and so people aggressively attack others just so they no longer have to feel insecure.

They think it's okay when they're the ones doing it.

This has influenced the current state of the fandom in more ways than one. Sonic fans have become very insecure about being fans of Sonic, to the point where I reckon it's why stuff like the zombot arc is considered Deep and Mature. And they've grown very quick to beat IGN to the punch and become their own Arin Hanson, actng like being a fan and enjoying the franchise is a terrible crime that needs to be atoned for, and that the franchise as a whole is nothing but abominable garbage and if you like it, then you must be suffering from Stockholm Syndrome (unless it's the comics, which are naturally singled out as the one good thing of the series).

We've seen fans act high and mighty, yet they reveal themselves to be flaky, ending long friendships just because the other person felt differently about something. "Too negative", they'll say, but only when it's you and Flynn/IDW; they can rant about their favourite punching bags all they want.

As for the harassment, the excuse of dealing with too much negativity is exactly that: an excuse. I know this because as someone who doesn't like Frontiers, hates IDW, has criticisms with games like SA2 and Unleashed, doesn't like Soft!Eggman, and likes the Pontaff games in spite of their shortcomings, that's given people a lot of motivation to give me endless hassle over the years, which continues to this day. They tell me to kill myself because I don't like Ian Flynn's work and unearned reach. They mockingly compare my status as a "mere" fanfic writer to fans who are said to have more impressive talents, like art or translating. And although I have the keen sense to not have an account on Twitter, I know they've brought me up from time to time in hushed whispers on there, as if I shot Bruce Wayne's parents.

And I've felt it. I've felt the misery that comes with all that, so I know how it feels when you're surrounded by said misery. But I never used it as a reason to start harassing people myself. I've never done that, and I never will. All this time, I've only ever given my honest thoughts about what I like and don't like, made a few memes on the side, and call out fans on their bullshit and double standards. That's not harassment, no matter what people who call you a bigot if you think Shadow crying gushers is OoC would have you believe. That's being real.

[more-than-a-princess]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐏 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖

I like to be called: Rae

one thing you should know about me: Ooh, I haven't actually answered something like this in awhile! So perhaps a few things then. The main one, I suppose, is that I Am Not Fast (just like Baymax). I have a full-time job, family, other hobbies, and I'm getting some health issues under control outside of RP, and so I'm prone to utilizing my queue most of the time. Alongside with how much I tend to write and the time it takes to write starters and replies (and research, and plot, etc), I tend not to post too much each day but I post consistently. Please be patient when looking for a starter or reply from me! In most cases, I will tell you if I'm no longer feeling muse for a thread or if I want to end an interaction. If you're someone who prefers instant replies or starters to asks and threads, I'm not a great roleplay partner for you (same goes for one-liner or one paragraph replies/starters, too!). I also try not to take on more threads than I can handle, so those I have active threads with won't be waiting months for replies while asking for more memes/starters (this is a pet peeve of mine!). Besides all of that, I try to be around to plot and chat as much as I can, but with the aforementioned things outside of RP I'm not always around or able to do so: sometimes I'm at work or needing to be working, sometimes I need to be writing, etc. I'm not ignoring you: I will usually reply back to questions or messages on tumblr and discord, but it sometimes slips my mind. You're always welcome to ping me again if you think I've missed something!

thing you should know about rping with my character(s): Respect goes a long way, but perhaps the biggest issues I run into while playing with Sonia is that sometimes muns have assumed the following things about my muse: she's not smart/she's an idiot, she's easily romanceable/shippable due to her friendly personality and aforementioned supposed idiocy, and if she's not in love with a muse that it's a slight against a ship in general. I tend to keep 'canon divergent' in my bio just to address these points specifically, as I've seen them be common interpretations of this character in the DR fandom and, personally, I don't agree with them nor do I choose to write Sonia that way. The most important thing I can stress about Sonia is that Sonia is a sheltered, pampered person, but she doesn't want to remain that way. She's not a snob (unless you are a member of the upper class and look down on those poorer and/or less fortunate than you) and she wants to engage with as many 'normal' aspects of life as possible. She does get some phrases mixed up, particularly slang, but as she grows up her proficiency with Japanese is much better, so there's less slip-ups in her adult verses. Additionally, she's far less naïve in her adult verses just for the fact that she's spent considerable time away from home at this point. The sheer amount of skills she has listed in canon (many of which never show up in the game, unfortunately) isn't something that someone dumb or dim-witted could possibly pull off. She is booksmart and relatively athletic, but her common sense and artistic talents? Mostly terrible (and that's not even mentioning her culinary skills, or lack thereof). Sonia is also a slow-burn romantic muse with a lot of responsibility and familial/duties baggage that comes with being in a relationship with her. I pull a lot of inspiration for her family and for Novoselic from both real life and royal-inspired fiction, and I understand and respect that some of the views of her family and country are, at first, very close-minded and potentially uncomfortable for some muns.

joy to work with: See all the mutuals I'm writing with on my blog! Yes, them! But on a more routine basis, it's rare that a day passes that I don't at least chat with @cantillat and @quickdeaths for a little while. I admit I'm not the easiest person to chat about whatever with or gush about muses, mostly due to limited time and offline commitments. But Sin and Bryn are very understanding about that and patient with me, which I appreciate. I also throw inspo at @dcviated when I see it and chat with @orderbourne and @obfuscatingveil a little more often recently. But otherwise, yeah: check out my blog and see the blogs I'm threading with? Yes. Those blogs. I like writing with them! I will say though: plotting usually equals more detailed replies, as I can plan for certain scenes and situations that are coming up in the storyline.

first language:  English, some French. I may have retained a little Latin and Japanese from my school days, too.

age range: under 13 | 14–17 | 18–22 | 23–25 | 26–29 | 30+ | 40+ | 70+ 

am I okay with nsfw?: yes | no | some nsfw (depends entirely on the ship/muse/mun writing said muse)

my favorite/most common thing to rp is: angst | adventure | fluff | smut | crack | action | plots | AUs | violence | darker themes | other

this rp blog: does contain ooc posts | doesn’t contain ooc posts | occasionally contains ooc

tagged by: technically Bear tagged me in this

tagging: You, if you're looking to avoid writing replies or any other pressing commitment.

[delusion-of-negation]

thanks to your post i discovered that nightmare disorder is a thing and i can now give my experiences a name (yay!), i thought i was the only one haunted by visions and demons.

yee, chronic nightmare disorder is a bitch, it can be co-morbid with ptsd but also a thing on its own or with other disorders, and it's the bane of my existence. the universe said "fuck your entire waking life", and chronic nightmare disorder said "and ye shall know no peace". I've had it my entire life - some of my earliest memories are nightmares, not my very earliest memory but I've been having them for as long as I remember and my family also remember me having them my whole life. I met a kid on the bus recently who told me he also doesn't sleep because his dreams always are horrible. it's a lot more common (and a lot more serious) than people think. it always pisses me off when shows want to make a character's nightmare sound serious so they call it a night terror, because nightmares are "just what kids get" and thus aren't serious (spoiler alert but they're serious for kids too, and night terrors are serious too), but nightmares and night terrors are different things - in a night terror you scream and flail and thrash about and stuff, but you wake up with no memory of doing so or of what you were thinking/dreaming at all, or very occasionally almost no memory of it (contrary to the misunderstandings of the writers of a particular show, that doesn't mean "some people always remember them clearly", because if you remember them consistently then you're having nightmares and just happen to also move in your sleep, what it means is anybody might occasionally have an individual night terror that they remember a teeny snippet of, the reason for this difference is that they happen in different sleep phases where memory is stored differently iirc), while nightmares are much less likely to result in as much movement while you're asleep, a little if you're prone to that otherwise, but nightmares are usually very vivid and you usually remember a lot more of them and clearly, in fact relatively often people struggle to "come back to reality" for a while (hence things like spending periods of time paranoid you're still asleep, or the time a family member of mine who also has it spent a while convinced their spouse had eaten our pet, because it happened in their nightmare). so when shows depict what is very clearly a nightmare, then call it a night terror to make it sound Grown Up and Serious, it bugs the hell out of me on every level, especially when they outright demean nightmares explicitly as "just scared kids" or whatever - it's wrong, it hurts kids struggling with this, it leads to adults with it not using the right language with doctors and/or shaming themselves and/or not even knowing it's A Thing, etc. so I am glad to have helped you find a name for the Visions and Demons, and I'm sorry to rant about the dumb people who don't have this issue and think it's silly childish shit and that we should just Grow Up and realise It's Just A Dream (gee whiz I wonder why the "vivid horrifying dreams, filled with agony, preying on your weaknesses" disorder makes "just a dream" not as comforting as it is to someone with "normal" dreams), so much so that they'll also misinform people on this and an equally serious disorder. then again, at least nightmares didn't become a meme like sleep paralysis, every time I'm lying awake frozen solid with my teeth crumbling painfully to bits in my mouth I'm like "damn sure is great that people know how serious and painful this condition is". sorry. I haven't taken my meds properly and I'm angry about everything. I'm as haunted by people not understanding that actually going through hell almost every time you fall asleep has Psychological Downsides, as I am by going through hell when I fall asleep, so us fucked up bitches gotta stick together and support each other, okay? your brain is a fucky bastard who is mean to you in ways you don't deserve, and anybody who acts like you're a pussy for being freaked out by the meat sack that knows all your weaknesses creating a torture universe for you can catch these hands. I'd fight the meat sack but that would hurt you so I can't.

[hartshorn-and-isinglass]

Day... ahhh fuck how many days has it been since I started this project... 276. Even though I'm technically no longer counting.

I took nearly a week off to spend my spoons on finishing that outfit and now we're back, I guess.

I'mma be real with you here. Between the outfits, and the health issues, and chasing down medical professionals... I've contemplated abandoning the Meme Shit until next year. It feels like music-wise I should be taking some proper time to focus on the fundamentals, design my prosthetic, and modify my shoulder rest rather than keep losing sanity points trying to nail all these double stops. I have zero sense for how dumb it is for me to take another month on this thing. But at the same time... I guess I won't know exactly how dumb an idea this was unless I follow through. I know you all probably do not care whether or not I do this anyway and this is all just me building this up way too much in my head, ugh. But after all this time I've spent on it... I feel like I should try for a recording even if it's just to say: hey, I arranged this thing, it's fun in a stabbing-yourself kind of way, would any other violinists on here like to also take a crack at it? Honestly if I can find someone else to cover it better that would make me so happy.

Meanwhile I am having the worst time breaking in this A string. Tonicas do stretch a lot but this string in particular also feels like it keeps slipping out from under my bow when I do double stops, I don't know how else to describe it. I'm not sure if this is normal and I'm only aware of it because of the particular demands I'm putting on this string right out the gate. Sixteen years is a long time to forget stuff...