#enjoy some pain

[quibble-auk]

@thebrokenmechanicalpencil

Yeah, I slipped and had to break the scene I had into two… I have the other part half written already so it should be done soon (hopefully)

But this was the scene that’s been spinning around my head and then I got an idea to make everything way more painful. Your welcome. I’m a terrible person.

More Dropmix death trials let’s go.

—

Jeopardy hated silence.

Especially this kind—the kind that settled thick over everything, heavy with tension and the faint, unspoken hum of something unraveling.

The washroom was still damp with steam, condensation clinging to the metal walls. Dropmix had asked to be cleaned up before the call—wanted to look his best, he'd said with a tired sort of pride. Jeopardy hadn’t argued. He’d always be willing to help. And he needed a bit of cleaning anyway and the triplets would want to see him, after all. Not just hear him.

Lyre, Virgo, and Libra had been told about his condition earlier that cycle—Comet and Coo had delivered the news of Dropmix’s impending end gently, but Jeopardy knew it still hit them hard. The small pretenders had been deviated when they heard, and Dropmix had extended the offer to call them in hopes of trying to ease that pain. A video call, something that they hadn’t done in ages.

It wasn’t as simple as dialing in. The triplets had to request access to the Ark’s long-range broadcast system, since personal communications couldn’t support the signal. Ratchet was quick to agree, letting them use the transmitter in the medical bay for privacy.

They scheduled the call right away, during a time when the old medic could get the room cleared.

Jeopardy had managed to dig out their own old long-range broadcaster without too much trouble. And it was already warming up in the other room, the signal link to Earth prepped and waiting. Which had left them with enough time to wash off.

Unfortunately, like most things in Jeopardy’s life, nothing could ever go according to plan.

The universe couldn’t just let him have a good thing—it was taking Dropmix away from him after all, one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

The young mech was currently focused on a stubborn patch of grime tucked deep into a seam near Dropmix’s shoulder, humming quietly to himself—he couldn’t help himself, the lack of music was just as unsettling as before. His fingers worked with care, the cloth soaked in a diluted solvent and warm water, gently scrubbing at the seam. There was no tension or awkwardness between them, they had done this hundreds of times by now.

That’s why Jeopardy felt the shift before he saw it. The subtle way Dropmix spaced out, his movements slowing. He hadn’t thought anything of it though. The medic had learned that Dropmix found the physical contact involved with bathing with another soothing—it was the kind of touch he liked, firm and heavy. So, Jeopardy continued with his work, noting the shift but not addressing it.

Which was his mistake, he should have stopped then.

The larger mech's arm stopped moving. His hand, which had been scrubbing at the plating on his other arm, dropped to his side with a faint metallic clink. Jeopardy casually looked up to Dropmix’s face, expecting to see him relaxed, but was startled to find the old mech glaring—not at him, but at his own arm, like it had done something unforgivable. His expression was blank and furious all at once.

That was when the low growl began.

It rumbled from deep in Dropmix’s chassis, vibrating through the air in a way that made Jeopardy freeze mid-motion. The gladiator hardly ever growled, not without a good reason, and for a brief moment Jeopardy was worried that Dropmix might try to do something with how intensely he gazed at his own arm. The cloth slipped from the young mech’s hand and landed with a soft wet slap against the floor. He opened his mouth to speak—but he was too late.

In a single motion, Dropmix snapped his head toward him, lips pulling back to reveal his teeth that he had filed down ages ago. But the lack of sharpness didn’t matter. He was still a gladiator equipped with a powerful bite force. That hadn’t changed.

Jeopardy didn’t react fast enough. Metal clamped down on his hand with a sickening crunch, as Dropmix’s hands grasped his arm, once clawed digits digging into his shoulder. Pain flared hot and immediate through Jeopardy’s arm. His emergency lights flickered on from the shock—flashes of amber strobing briefly against the walls—before he managed to suppress them, his jaw clenching tightly with effort.

The medic didn’t yell, he couldn’t.

He knew what this was, Dropmix was confused—a symptom of his Cybercrosis. This confusion had been their first sign that something was wrong, an incident similar to this one had altered them to the issue. But last time there had been music to stop the gladiator’s confusion from becoming aggressive. This time there wasn’t.

He stayed still, even as sharp agony laced through his limb. Dropmix’s eyes were unfocused, unseeing—staring straight through him as if he were somewhere else entirely. Despite everything, Jeopardy didn’t pull away. He needed to be calm, take a breath and address this like he would a patient. Calm and collected, he could let his own internal panic and pain prevent him from helping.

Medical programs hummed to life in the back of his processor.

“Dropmix,” he said softly, voice steady despite the tremor in his fingers. “I’m Jeopardy.” Some part of him hoped that the introduction would be enough, but he knew better. He kept his tone deliberate and clear. “I’m a medic. I was helping you wash off.”

“Dropmix, I’m Jeopardy,” an introduction, some part of him hoped that it would be enough to get the other to release his arm. It didn’t. “I’m a medical officer. I was helping you wash off. Are you ready to be done?”

The dark mech didn’t move.

His eyes didn’t refocus. His grip didn’t loosen. The only thing that changed was the faint tremor starting to ripple through his plating, a subtle quiver that Jeopardy wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t close—if his hand wasn’t still trapped in the older mech’s mouth. Dropmix let out another rough growl, though it was quieter, more uncertain.

The medic took another deep breath, trying to keep his own armor from trembling, fighting against the rising panic. Dropmix didn’t mean it, he would never hurt Jeopardy, he was just confused. He needed to help the older mech walk through his thoughts, make sense of his disoriented state.

“You didn’t like it when I touched you there,” Jeopardy spoke softly, each word slow and clear. He needed to keep things as simple and easy to understand as possible. He continued trying to reassure his mentor, “That’s alright. We can do something else now.”

Dropmix still didn’t move for a moment, his eyes slowly moving over Jeopardy’s frame as he processed the words. But his grip loosened, jaw eventually going slack as he pulled away. His large hand didn’t move from the medic’s shoulder, but his fingers didn’t dig into the plating anymore. The gladiator blinked slowly, his expression shifting to something less aggressive and more lost—though clarity didn’t return.

Jeopardy shifted carefully, sucking in a sharp breath as his injured arm protested against the movement. He cradled it against his side, fingers twitching from the aftershock of being crushed. The bite mark was deep. Cracked plating. Joints crushed. Energon smearing over the surface. But nothing unfixable.

His jaw clenched as he fought back a shiver. He knew Dropmix didn’t mean it, but it still hurt. It didn’t stop the way his spark ached with the knowledge that his mentor—the closest thing to a father he knew—had hurt him. Jeopardy sucked in another shaky breath, his uninjured hand gently tapping a soothing rhythm onto his own plating. He weakly nodded. “Yeah, let’s… let’s get dried off now.”

Dropmix didn’t react, he only blinked again slowly, blankly staring down at Jeopardy. The silence that followed was thick. Wrong. The kind of silence that should’ve been filled with the soft lulling of Dropmix’s ever present music. It sat heavy in the air as the gladiator slowly revived his hand from Jeopardy’s shoulder. His vocalizer clicked a few times as his expression twitched—he was struggling to piece together a thought. He seemed to give up on words and nodded instead, a frustrated grunt escaping him.

“You don’t have to speak,” Jeopardy soothed, trying to keep his voice level despite the tremble creeping into his frame. “It’s a bit frustrating for you right now. That’s alright. We can just go sit down.”

Jeopardy reached out again. Carefully. Cautiously. His good hand hovered, then settled just below Dropmix’s elbow. The gesture was slow, telegraphed—meant to be seen, even if Dropmix wasn’t seeing much at all. The gladiator didn’t pull back or react anymore than a low chuff. Jeopardy tried to gently guide the older mech out of the shower.

He didn’t move to follow.

Instead, he looked down at his own hands—still half-curled like they expected to find resistance. He flexed them slowly, watching with mechanical detachment as if they weren’t even his.

Then, abruptly, he let out a low, almost pained whine. His hands shook as he pulled away from Jeopardy’s touch. He backed up one step, then another—until his back thudded into the corner wall of the washroom. He stood there, staring at his own limbs like they were strangers. Like they had betrayed him.

“Don’t,” Jeopardy said quickly, alarm flooding through him as he took a step forward. “Don’t do that. They’re just hands. They made a mistake. That’s all it was.”

Dropmix weakly shook his head, his focus entirely on his hands, slowly turning them over to inspect. He let out a small grunting noise as he did, brows furrowing with concentration. His expression twitched before he finally spoke, voice ragged and hesitant, “My claws? Where did they go?”

Jeopardy swallowed, the lump in his throat thick. His mentor's voice was thick and almost slurred—he was disoriented, beyond confused. It was painful to watch. The medic took a small step forward, hands outstretched like he was approaching a wild animal. Dropmix had gotten rid of his claws before Jeopardy ever got the chance to meet him. Filed them down or ripped them off, Jeopardy didn’t know. But they were gone now, leaving only blunt fingertips behind.

“They’re... gone now,” Jeopardy said softly, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. How would he explain this with confusing or panicking the older mech? Jeopardy’s voice remained gentle as he stepped closer, inch by inch, keeping his movements deliberate. “You had them filed down. You don’t fight anymore.”

Dropmix shook his head once more, a small noise escaping him—one of frustration, of confusion. He shifted slightly, adjusting his balance from one leg to the other, his hands flexing again. The sight of his hands—stripped of their former weaponry—seemed to haunt him in a way that nothing else could. His eyes narrowed and another growl rumbled from his throat. His voice came again, softer, almost as if he were speaking to himself, but more agitated than before. “They’re mine.”

The young medic nodded solemnly, finally close enough to gently grasp the larger hands in his own. Dropmix didn’t protest, his gaze softening as he looked up at Jeopardy, who tried to smile softly. His hand still stung but he could push off the pain until later, until the confusion had passed and the bot before him got to be Dropmix again. Then Jeopardy would let himself break, but until then he needed to b remain steady. “I know. But you didn’t want them anymore.”

For a minute Dropmix was silent, blankly staring at Jeopardy. Then, he chuffed again and leaned forward, forehead pressing against Jeopardy’s own in an affectionate manner. The medic let his eyes close for a moment, allowing himself that brief second to breathe into the contact. His playing trembled as he tried to soothe his own tension and anxiety.

The touch was grounding. Familiar. Dropmix was still there, even if he was buried beneath layers of static and fog. This wasn’t the kind of clarity they used to share, but it was still real. Still his. The gesture—the press of foreheads—meant something, even now.

“I’m here,” Jeopardy whispered, their frames barely apart. “Let’s go sit down.”

Dropmix didn’t speak. He stayed pressed close, quiet and still, and Jeopardy felt a faint hum vibrating through the older mech’s frame. It wasn’t music, not quite, but it was something adjacent—a fragment of melody, an echo of a familiar song. It resonated low in his chassis.

Jeopardy smiled softly, humming along with Dropmix as he slowly guided him out of the washroom. He kept the other’s hands held in his own, dismissing the slickness of Energon and the sting of his injury.

The hallway was dim, quiet save for the hush of the ventilation systems and the steady whisper of their movements. Jeopardy led with slow, deliberate steps, guiding Dropmix toward their living room.

Dropmix followed without resistance, his eyes unfocused but not hostile. That fragment of a tune still pulsed faintly through him—off-key and incomplete, but unmistakably his. It was still that familiar soothing lullaby that he would hum when Jeopardy got too caught up in his own mind. The medic returned it, guiding him to the couch and helping him sit down.

He had less than an hour until the family of Pretenders back on earth would try and call. It was entirely possible that Dropmix would recover from the confusion in time for it, the episode may end before they call, but there was no guarantee.

All Jeopardy could do was hope.

[tawnysoup]

Finally now that the comic is fully public on comicfury, I get to share it with all of you here, too <3

If you enjoyed, please consider supporting by buying a PDF of the comic on itch.io: https://tawnysoup.itch.io/home-in-the-woods

[arcanegifs]

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 2x08 - “Killing is a Cycle” ↳ "Some people are really misunderstanding the dialogue before the scene in the cell" | (essay link)

[buttercupshands]

So.

Act 5, huh?

Oh, and that.

"You can start breakdown now."

Finished the game couple of days ago and had some thoughts I needed to process a little. Like. Yes.

So anyway I actually didn't plan this and just wanted to redraw some sprites to just make sure I understand how to draw Siffrin correctly (still working on that!)

What did I learn from this? How fun it it to draw on a canvas that literally doesn't let you draw with colors without some layer cheating when necessary. Never tried it.

The beans. Sleeping beans.

Basically what happens when you want to sleep AND draw. Draw characters sleeping on your behalf.

Doesn't help, but at least it's cute.

I have no idea what was going on in my mind as I drew this. Feels like a fever dream of 'I want to sleep' at 4 am and 'Hm...' of thinking random things

Also that phone craft sign. Still too funny to imagine. I had to.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Fever Whump Details

Being just as — if not more — uncomfortable closing their eyes and resting as they are keeping them open; because every time they close their eyes, they get caught in a never-ending loop of thought that is just incomprehensible enough to manifest itself as a brightly-colored whirlwind behind their eyes that is more of a bad trip than a fever dream.

Being unable to breathe through their nose forces them to breathe through their mouth, which leads to their becoming severely dehydrated, which leads to feeling nauseous and like their heart is moving their entire body with every beat.

Not being able to talk, but having just enough energy to periodically swear under their breath and say “oh god”

Not being sure if they have a stiff neck from the fever itself, or from pretzeling themselves into uncomfortable positions because of the discomfort

Regretting their life decisions

Feeling like their eyes are getting cooked in their skull because they’re so hot

Knowing they need to spread out their limbs and cool off; but being unable to get their body to stop shoving their hands down their pants or into their armpits to seek warmth

Still being painfully thirsty no matter how much water they drink

Getting nauseous from drinking water

Chugging apple cider vinegar water to get rid of the flu and then having the most awful acid reflux an hour or two later

Having a scabbed over wound that didn’t faze them at all when they received it; but now that they’re sick, makes them gag to look at it

[nightghoul381]

I'm in pain :)

You gonna make this right anytime soon.... I don't want that dumbass all alone for too long you see...

Seriously though that last bit saved me from completely falling apart. To know he has no intentions of letting things stay the way they were, well it's so good.

Also, A OR B, you said OR Michelle.... not AND

The Princess and The Merchant AU

WC: 1,396

A/N: My brain and fingers wanted to add another part into the AU I created but done in Silvio's POV, the main story only takes place through Emma's eyes. This is at a turning point in the AU where she learns of him being a prince.

"You're..—a prince?"

My shoulders flinched, and that wasn't an easy thing to get me to do by any means. But out of anyone to overhear the conversation, why'd it have to be you? Why now? I wasn't ready for you to know. Hell, I never wanted you to know. I don't claim that part of myself. But in our fair time together, I've kept a lot from you. I was the exact thing you were tryna stay away from and I knew it too. But I was selfish. I turned, my eyes wide with surprise upon hearin' your voice and seein' that look on your face.

You wore your cloak again, the one you often wore to escape the seein' eyes of royalty that stalked your every movement to come and see me in town at my stall. I was just talkin' to one of Valerio's guards that often comes to check on me, even though I've told the rotten mutt I don't need the assistance; I knew I had a bad feelin' about tonight, you must've heard the guard mention my status because even under the glow of the lights and the full moon, your expression was unmistakable— it was the look of betrayal.

I could see your shoulders shake, your palms hugging your fingers in a tight hold - you were always an open book, even now.

"'Ey, listen, I—" but I didn't see THAT coming. Before I could even utter a word further of explanation, your hand rose and delivered a swift open hand smack across my cheek. It rang in my ears and stung at my face, turning it to the side completely. For a dainty, little princess kept inside a cage to read endless amounts of books, I couldn't deny your strength. But fuck, that hurt. Of course I'm going to scowl! I've never had someone disrespect me so blatantly before. "Why you—"

"How could you lie to me!"

Those words stopped me in my tracks. The night was young as the moon shone overhead but only fellow merchants and a few stragglers were paradin' around buying wares and closing shop; I felt all of their curious stares on us and all I could think of was your safety. I couldn't give two shits if their attention was on me, but if a royal guard patrolling catches wind that you're outside the palace, we'll both face hell. I moved quick to cover your mouth, dragging you with me into an alley out of sight as you fought me the entire way; you may be strong, but you're not as strong as me. And before I even got a chance at letting you go, I felt sharp teeth enter the bottom of my palm. "Fuck!" You quickly put distance between us that felt like miles apart.

"Get your filthy hands off me! I can't believe you! After.. after all the time we've spent together! I— I gave myself to you! You were my FIRST. I— I thought you were different, Silvio! But you've just been lying to me this whole time! Was any of this real?" You were shooting verbal shots left and right but instead of dodging their bullets, I took everything you said head on, allowing each of them to puncture at gunpoint, all directly aiming at my heart.

Shit, when had I become so soft? For once, I stayed silent; I couldn't find the words to express how I felt. I didn't sit around thinkin' about shit like love or how I made some woman feel. I was always on the move, venturing off from coast to coast, seeing the world and making a profit. A life as a merchant didn't anchor me to a designated spot for long; even if I chose this lifestyle, I didn't choose this life. Abandoning my status wasn't by choice, but by disownment. Fighting to keep it was a waste of time and being freed from royal chains was a breath of fresh air. I didn't have to worry about anythin' but myself.

Then one day, that was just another day for me, I met you: Emma.

Once I started to see tears weld in your eyes, I couldn't keep my gaze on ya any longer, I had to look away. The guilt was just eating away at my stomach and I started to feel sick. If I was being honest with myself, it was a deserved scolding and I was left with two options: push the best thing that's ever happened to me away for your sake, or come clean and try to fix this stupid misunderstanding. The answer was obvious.

"—Ha! It took ya this long to notice? 'Nd I thought you were smart. Guess ya proved even me wrong. It didn't mean a damn thing to me, ya were just another easy woman to lay with to bide my time before I leave again. What? Did'ya think you were special? That you tamed the untamable? This isn't your books, lady. Fairy tales ain't real. I lied about everythin'. Better get back to your palace and your mutt of fiancee, if you know what's good for ya." I kept a firm, yet convincing, smirk of a mask on my face as my words laced with thorns started encasing your heart whole.

I maintained eye contact when I spoke; I wanted my words to eat you alive, to make you never want to associate with a man like me again. And upon seeing the utter disbelief that danced in your irises, I could tell it worked but ya were searching with hope for something else. You were searching for the actual truth that I was keepin' under lock and key, away from the rays of your eyes. Sorry.. it has to be this way—

"No... you— you said," you stopped yourself from speaking as the tears started to leave the prison in the corners of your eyes. I'd seen you cry before, but fuck, not like this. I can't let my mask fall. Your chest rose heavy in breaths under the cloak you adorned as it matched your tears. "I never want to see you again. Fuck you, Silvio, I hate you!" And there it was, the sailor's tongue you've always known and kept hidden because it would've been improper for a woman of your stature and status to be speaking. You've only ever allowed your guard down with me yet, here I was, taking your heart like a rose from a bush and letting it fall to the ground, stepping on it beneath my shoes.

You ran. And I watched as you went, still with that smug smile etched into my lips. But it was the moment you were far away enough did that smile falter, fast. It had to be this way - the old fart would have my head if he knew about the relationship we shared. I may be disowned from the royal court, but he'd be quick to hang me from the gallows if he caught wind that I fancied you: Valerio's fiancee. I'll figure out a way to fix this, but I needed the time to think and pushing you away would create that space. I hope ya wouldn't hate me forever - but ya won't be marrying my brother. I'll give you your wish of a free life from the courts. I just couldn't find it in me to be honest with ya yet. I needed a plan, I needed to set it into motion.

I looked down at my hand and glanced over the bite mark you left; normally, I would've created a whole scene over somethin' like this. But you were different from any woman I've met through the many seas I've voyaged; I swore to make you mine. I clenched that fist in thought before digging into my pocket and pulling out the bracelet you made for me. I still carried it everywhere for luck. I tossed it into the air before quickly snatching it, bringing it up to my lips for a kiss as my eyes closed, focusing all my energy into you. I quickly returned it back into my pocket before headin' to a bar to cope with my actions tonight, to steel myself from tryna chase you down.

Give me some time.. Emma. I didn't forget our promise, and.. I'm sorry.

taglist; @nightghoul381, @yvelk, @celiciaa, @drachonia, @aquagirl1978, @here-for-gilbert , @alvieeru , @exhausted-courtroom-mom , @scummy-writes , @randonauticrap , @widowbunny , @jozhenji , @maries-gallery , @misty-moth , @violettduchess, @ikemenlibrary

[pigglepiephi]

That was a really great episode of P10L!

All the angst was totally grounded in the narrative so far - the continued consequences of parental abandonment, WaKlao’s unhealthy relationship unraveling, Yotha’s failure to communicate leading to him pushing Gun away completely - it all built and interwove so nicely from the proceeding eps!

Definitely my favourite episode so far!

[acowardinmordor]

So you know how lots of kids get dumped into foster care when their parents are either not around or deemed unfit? And you know how lots of religious groups and religious get approved as foster homes despite being cruel? And you know how the Midwest of America is/was super not great for anyone queer in the 80s? And how sometimes if people couldn’t get store bought conversion therapy, homemade was fine?

Before Wayne finds out that his brother and sister in law have lost custody of their kid, before he raises hell and rips up the system to find him, Eddie goes into the system for a few years.

After Wayne finds him, he immediately rebels against all the things they insisted he do. He listens to satanic music and he finds dungeons and dragons and becomes as much of a freak as possible. Because those are the pieces he feels safe reaching for. That’s the stuff they lectured about and reminded all the kids not to touch. That’s what’s safe.

The stuff they really wanted to crush down and smother is too broken for Eddie to rebel against. Not right away. Not a few years later when he starts to think about it more. Not when he tries to like girls his junior year and fails at it.

The things they did to him when he was a kid and gave them the slightest indication he might be queer are too deep in his bones.

Even when Steve comes out, and Robin and Will. Even when they’re supported and loved, even then, he can’t break that hold. He doesn’t repeat the words that echo in his memories, he knows it would hurt his friends. He isn’t unsupportive, but he can’t even think about himself that way without feeling sick.

And maybe Robin and Steve aren’t paragons of queer inclusion and are actually sharp about. Because it’s so obvious to them that Eddie is gay. He flirts with Steve constantly and he has never stared at women or girls, no matter how hot they’re considered or how topless they are. They’re confident. So confident they kinda pressure him. It’s with the best of intentions, since they both felt so much better about themselves after coming out and finding allies.

They know Eddie was in the foster system for a little while, and that Eddie hated them, but to Eddie, they didn’t do anything beyond the normal scale of shitty guardians. He doesn’t think of it as conversion therapy. To be honest, it wasn’t. It was Aversion therapy. He never really got a chance to recognize anything about himself before they started grinding that identity into dust.

It comes to a head when they’re all a little crossfaded and hanging out at Steve’s. Nancy, Jon and Argyle are there too, everyone laughing teasing each other.

Eddie always sits next to Steve and he always leans close when he teases, when he jokes, when he flirts. It’s so so obvious to everyone, and Steve knows everybody in the room is some kind of queer. It’s safe. He knows it’s safe.

Steve closes the distance, kisses Eddie. It’s a question and an invitation. Do you want this too? Do you like me? Can I kiss you again? Longer? Harder? It lasts a short few seconds.

Eddie shoves him away, hesitates, and then breaks Steve’s nose. He’s out the door and gone before the others have gotten past their initial wtf reaction.

The only reason Eddie is still in town the next morning is because Wayne was home when Eddie got there. He got a fragment of an explanation, and stole the keys to Eddie’s van when he passed out after a panic attack and breakdown.

[as-dreamers-do]

when Ame and Eursulon see Suvi having her breakdown and Ame's response is "Suvi!" and Eursulon's is "Sky!" 10/10 subtle character moment no notes all respect

[heuldoch7b]

unsure if im gonna finish this or not, so i share a little preview

[precambrian-sea-pancake]

When you’re obsessed with both Epic The Musical and The Odyssey…

And having to deal with both the gatekeeping Greek mythology fans and Epic fans who treat Epic like it’s the original story…

You wouldn’t survive the asylum where they raised me

[tardxsblues]

TWELVE AND CLARA IN SERIES 9

When something goes missing, you can always recreate it by the hole it left. I know her name was Clara. I know we travelled together. I know that there was an ice warrior on a submarine, and a mummy on the Orient Express. I know we sat together in the cloisters and she told me something very important, but I have no idea what she said, or what she looked like, or how she talked or laughed. There's nothing there. Just nothing. Are you looking for her? I'm trying. Well, she could be anyone, right? You don't know who you're looking for -- I mean, she could be me, for all you know. There's one thing I know about her, just one thing -- if I met her again, I'd absolutely know her.

[firethekitty]

[squid-socks]

The double standard that exists for chronically ill people and normal people with caffeine is fucking nuts. Normal people will need 3 cups to get through the normal tired but im not even allowed a cup to get through my fatigue tired👀👀

Make it make sense👀👀

[ickyguts]

zombie flaky for the soul

[pepperpixel]

+ Butch 4 Butch +

(Except neither one of them is rlly that butch but holy fUCKING SHIT THAT SONG IS LITERALLY THEM… the version of them I made up in my mind palace… it’s them.)

Anywayyyy. Yeah! Have a tagr art dump..! aka, those vibes when you, out of a series of moments of temporary insanity, end up finding, taking in, nursing back to health and eventually falling into a tangled messy yearning situationship w the asshole tsundere alien who tried to destroy your entire planet… rlly extremely relatable vibes!!