#even though there's a lot of “yeah you can totally be that”

[ilikekidsshows]

I think for me at least the difference between Adrien’s problematic behavior (harassing Ladybug even after she’s rejected him several times and even something like telling Marinette to take the high road regarding Lila which I know got him a lot of flack with the fandom) and Marinette’s behavior is that we actually see Adrien growing past said behavior. He does eventually move on from Ladybug and come to be happy being just a good friend and partner to her. (Sure it’s partly because he ‘falls’ for Marinette but we’ll not get into that here). He also realizes he was wrong about the Lila thing and actually threatens her to get her to fix what she did to Marinette in that one episode and tries to tell Alya and Nino the truth about her.

Meanwhile Marinette not only gets worse over time but the show bends over backwards to try and justify said bad behavior nor does she ever receive any real consequences for it.

For me that’s a large part of why I’m okay with Adrien’s bad behavior and not Marinette’s and I don’t think the two can really be fairly compared due to such circumstances and the way the show handled both of them.

---

Yeah, like, the writers also eventually made Cat Noir take responsibility for all of Paris thinking he and Ladybug are a couple and they made Adrien take responsibility for everything done against Lila, be it not confronting her directly or confronting her directly, since he actually makes comments on both approaches that can be taken as apologies. Adrien doesn't just apologize and “clean up his act”, he takes full responsibility over others’ similar actions as well. Even before this, though, Adrien's faults weren't treated the same as Marinette's. Whenever Ladybug told him his flirting was too much, she was presented as the one whose feelings on the matter mattered the most and Cat Noir respected her no and backed down every time. He also valued her friendship even before he stopped loving her. Meanwhile, Marinette stopping her stalking of Adrien wasn't even fully stopping and she was shown as frustrated about it while making excuses over how she was totally justified. Her feelings over the stalking were given focus, but we never learn how Adrien feels about it. She also never valued Adrien’s friendship, calling it the “worst thing ever”. The Lila thing Adrien was right about, actually, I will die on that hill. The writers can’t even remember what Adrien said about Lila, since he makes contradictory statements about her.

As you said, Marinette's behavior keeps getting worse but she keeps getting validated. Even the abuse apologia has already been validated by both Tikki and Bunnix in the London special. They treat it as a morally equal option to not doing what she did and they also shrink what Marinette did (abuse apologia) into just “not telling the truth” (they don't even call it “lying”) to make it seem even more like she hasn't done anything too bad. Alix also frames the whole thing in a way where she's only focused on consequences, saying being truthful would have also have painful consequences. They're downplaying the heck out of what Marinette's done wrong, so, when that's combined with how her other flaws are viewed as 100% okay or nonexistent, I just can't see this as an arc where Marinette learns anything, instead of it ending with Marinette crying about what a terrible person she is again while being instantly forgiven, if she gets confronted with this being a mistake at all.

So, let's compare and contrast:

Adrien makes a mistake: takes full responsibility, doesn't make excuses, focuses on the feelings of the wronged party

Marinette makes a mistake: makes excuses, screams and cries about how bad she's feeling until she gets coddled, talks over the wronged party

The writers are so consistent about ignoring anything Marinette does wrong or having her get instantly validated for her mistakes that I have no faith in her villain arc actually being anything close to one instead of of it just being a way to make Marinette the one who suffers the most from Gabriel's death and her “not telling the truth”.

[hailthegodsong]

QUIET

One Shot ~ Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: When Christmas shopping becomes too overwhelming, Jake takes care of you. A/N: We’re gonna pretend Christmas hasn’t passed and that i’m totally on time for a festive fic.

Content Warnings: Overstimulation, loud noises, bright lights, anxiety, anxiety attack, panic attack, hyperventilation, pet names, comfort, fluff, emotional hurt/ comfort.

𓇢𓆸

The mall was an absolute riot of Christmas cheer. Sparkling lights cascaded from every ceiling fixture and carols blared from unseen speakers. The scent of cinnamon and pine mingled with the faint tang of cardboard, lingering from the backrooms of shops, sorting through the overwhelming influx of Christmas arrivals. 

Jake adjusted his scarf and glanced at you beside him, his expression softening as he took in your wide eyes and rosy cheeks, coloured by the cold.

“What’s the game plan?” he asked, his voice warm and slightly teasing. “Are we attacking this place with military precision or just winging it?”

You laughed, though it sounded a little nervous. “Let’s just start with the gift list and see how it goes. We’ll probably end up winging it anyway.”

Jake grinned, his hazel eyes twinkling. “I like it. A little chaos is needed for Christmas shopping anyway.”

With that, you began your stroll through the mall, weaving through crowds of shoppers. Jake’s hand found yours, his fingers lacing through yours naturally. His grip was steady, grounding, and you were grateful for it as the wave of people walking opposite threatened to pull you away in the current. That, as well as the overwhelming noise and lights pressed in on you. The flashing LED displays in store windows, the jingle of bells from a Salvation Army volunteer, the overlapping snippets of conversation. You took a deep breath to ground yourself.

Jake walked you into a store and stopped at a display showcasing an array of novelty socks. “Sam would love these,” he said, holding up a pair with tiny bass guitars printed on them. “And look, these ones have bigfoot’s wearing Santa hats. That's like– perfect,” he exclaimed.

You forced a smile. “Yeah, those are cute.”

Jake tilted his head, his long, dark hair catching the glint of the overhead lights. “You okay, Honey?” he asked, his voice genuine.

“I’m fine,” you answered quickly, adjusting your scarf so that it wasn’t so suffocating. “Just... a lot going on, you know?”

He nodded sympathetically. “It is pretty loud in here, isn’t it? If it gets to be too much, just say the word. We can bail and come back later.”

“Thanks,” you said, squeezing his hand. His calm, quiet nature was one of the things you loved most about Jake. He could make any situation feel lighter, even with a light up santa singing jingle bells in your face as you left a shop full of novelty socks.

You moved on, stopping at a bookstore where Jake eagerly browsed the second hand music section in the back corner, flipping through records with reverence. The quiet atmosphere of the space was gentle, and Jake's enthusiasm was rather infectious. For a while, it distracted you from the sensory overload right outside the door. 

“Okay, I think that's all we’re gonna find in here,” Jake commented, a record tucked under his arm as he took your hand and made his way to the front desk. As you left the store, you were bombarded with the harsh reminder of the noise outside. How many people were here? It seemed like every person in the city had decided to come to this mall on this day to do their Christmas shopping. 

Jake swung the bag back and forth in one hand, the other holding yours tightly as his eyes took in what each store had to offer. 

“Josh’s gonna love this. Swears he’s been looking for it forever. I think he’s convinced it doesn’t exist anymore,” Jake laughed as he peered into the bag again, eyeing the vinyl casing. 

You made a small sound of agrement, jaw tight as you willed yourself to breathe through the anxiety now running through you. Why was it so loud?

“Where next, Honey?” Jake asked, and you glanced up at him in confusion. 

“I thought you had the list?” you questioned. Jake slowed to a stop, and somebody slammed into you as they walked past, seemingly unknowing as they laughed at something their friend had said, the sound piercing your ears. 

Jake took your arm and pulled you away from the current of shoppers and to the edge to the walkway, up against a glass shopfront. A huge, mechanical polar bear activated from inside the window, likely on a motion sensor and detecting your presence, as it began to wave its paw back and forth, flashing LED lights from its face. 

You swallowed harshly, trying to shake the overwhelming motion and noise as Jake stared down at you. 

“I thought you had the list?” he asked, raising his voice over the christmas songs blaring from the speakers and the loud chatter of people as they passed, echoing in the large space.

Your eyes darted to his anxiously, chest feeling a little tight as you realise you must have lost it, “I don't–”

Jake lifted your arm between you and twisted your hand gently so that your palm was facing upward, clenched tightly around the now crumpled piece of paper.

“Oh.” You loosened your palm and unfolded the list. “Sorry.”

He tentatively reached his hand out and brushed a lone piece of hair from your cheek, and tucked it behind the curve of your ear. 

“‘S okay, Honey. You alright over here? We can go home if you’re feeling a little overwhelmed, remember?”

“No, no. We’ve barely been here an hour. I’m okay– really. Just, maybe we could go get some water or something?” you suggested. You really didn’t want to go home. Now that you were there, you may as well have gotten the daunting task done and over with in one go. 

Jake looked at you sympathetically, concern etched into his gentle features as he nodded. 

“Okay, if you’re sure. You just tell me if you want to leave,” he instructed with raised eyebrows. You nodded and took his hand again. 

As you joined the crowd of people again, Jake led you through the mall to the closest food vendor, pulling a bottle of water out of the small fridge and waiting in line for purchase. Glancing at the length of the line, Jake untwisted the cap and handed it to you to drink while you waited. 

You offered him a ‘thanks’ and drank in silence, sipping lightly as your eyes watched people go by. 

You managed to calm yourself a little in the wait, Jake wrapping his arm over your shoulders, the weight like a warm blanket that kept you safe from whatever threatened you in this Christmas overloaded mall. It also helped when you rested the side of your head on his arm, his thick winter coat muffling the overwhelming noises– at least in one ear. 

After paying for the water, and a soft pretzel by Jake’s request, you both returned to your gift list. You thought you had somewhat gotten over the feelings of anxiety and overstimulation, the noises only a mere annoyance and bright lights only marginally irritating your vision as you made your way through Christmas themed shops filled to the brim with shoppers like yourselves. Alas, as the next hour wore on, the crowded aisles and relentless holiday cheer began to take their toll.

Determined not to ruin the day, you pressed on, clenching your teeth as people walked by particularly close, their voices practically shouting into your ears over the christmas music. 

The lights seemed brighter, the music louder. The jostling of strangers felt more intrusive, and the smells— spiced candles, sugary treats, hot pretzels— were overwhelming. Your chest tightened, your breaths coming faster despite your efforts to stay calm. 

“Do you think your mom would like this?” Jake asked, holding up a beach themed snow globe, no doubt picking it as your mother lived by the coast. “Or is it too tacky?”

Before you could open your mouth to respond, a high pitched voice panged next to your ear, making you jolt, and wince a little in discomfort. 

“Excuse me, are you Jake Kiszka? Could we maybe get a picture?” the voice asked, and you turned to see two girls, only a few years younger than you, eyes alight with excitement as they clutched their phones to their chests. 

You forced a smile to your face as Jake said hello. You didn’t mind when fans came to take photos, but in this moment, it was the last thing you needed. The girls gave you a small greeting that you barely heard over the jingle bells tune blasting over the store speakers. You offered to take their photo with Jake, finding difficulty in getting everyone in frame with how congested the space was, the backs of people pressing up against you suffocatingly.

After you’d taken a few photos, Jake sensed your discomfort and kept the conversation light– polite, but nothing like the attention he usually gave his fans, and it wasn’t long before you were alone again. Well, as alone as you could be in a store full of people.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Um, what was the question again?” you asked. As a fitting punctuation to your question, a child in a nearby stroller wailed in a high pitched cry. You blinked, tilting your head and bringing your palm to your forehead. 

Jake began to speak to you, but the words blurred, and your thoughts jumbled, tangled in a mess of bright, neon Christmas lights. Keep it together. You’re fine. It’s just the mall. People do this all the time. Not to mention it had been you who insisted you stayed, so you were in no position to freak out now. 

The child screamed again— sharp, piercing, unrelenting. The sound cut through your head like a knife, shattering your tenuous hold on control. The world tilted, the edges of your vision darkening as panic set in.

You were dimly aware of Jake's hand on your arm in the mess of your awareness, but you were in no position to address it. Chest beginning to heave, you brought your hands to your ears, drowning out the infuriating sound of Mariah Carey as her high pitched voice belted through the shop speakers. 

You were suddenly moving, Jake's arm now wrapped tightly around your waist as he guided you out of the shop and through the crowd with surprising efficiency. It was a good thing you were so close to the main entrance of the mall, as you found yourself quickly emerging into the cold December air, the crispness biting but refreshing after the stifling chaos inside. 

The air cleared your mind momentarily, enough to cue you in on the sound of your ragged breaths, chest heaving as you hyperventilated. Jake hastily led you to sit down on a quiet bench tucked away from the main entrance and crouched in front of you, his hands on your knees.

“Breathe with me,” he said softly, his tone steady and reassuring. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Like this.” He demonstrated, his breaths slow and deliberate.

You tried to follow his lead, but your chest felt tight, like a band was squeezing your ribs. You hesitantly reached for your throat, the red scarf that donned your neck now squeezing you, suffocating. Jake reached up and unwrapped it from your neck, bunching it in his hands as the cold air hit your skin. It was refreshing, and helped to bring you back to the present, but your breaths refused to let up, chest caving with each heave. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you shook your head, frustrated and embarrassed.

“Hey,” Jake said gently, tilting his head to catch your gaze. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just focus on me, alright? Forget the mall, forget everything else. Just me and you.”

His calm presence was like an anchor, and gradually, your breathing began to slow. Jake kept murmuring reassurances, his hands never leaving your knees, keeping you close, but not physically overwhelming you with his touch. When you finally looked up at him, breathing somewhat even, your face flushed and tear-streaked, he gave you a small smile.

“There she is,” he said softly. “Feeling a little better?”

You nodded hesitantly. “Yeah. Thanks. I’m sorry…”

“Stop that,” he said, his tone firm but kind. He straightened a little to reach up and wipe the tears from your cheeks with the heel of this thumb. “You don’t have to apologise. Let’s just get you home, okay?”

You nodded again, grateful beyond words. Jake wrapped an arm around you as you walked to the car, his touch protective but never overbearing. Once inside, he turned on the seat warmers and handed you a bottle of water from the glove compartment, before throwing everything you’d bought that day into the backseats haphazardly.

“Drink this,” he said. “And let me know if you want to talk or just sit in silence.”

You didn’t answer, but you knew you didn’t really need to. The ride was quiet. You rested your head on the door, body twisted in a way that Jake's hand could reach your knee from across the console, rubbing soothing circles onto the skin. You guessed it was as much a comfort for you as it was for him, no doubt worried sick about you. 

By the time you reached home, the tension in your chest had eased somewhat, though you still felt drained. Jake helped you out of your coat and shoes by the door and guided you straight to the couch, where he draped your favorite blanket over your shoulders.

“You stay put,” he said, stroking back hair and kissing your forehead. “I’ll handle everything.”

True to his word, Jake took care of the little things. He first brought you a warm cup of herbal tea to sit with, not boiling so that you could begin drinking from it immediately. Returning to the kitchen, he then made your favorite plain pasta dish, buttered just the way you liked, and brought it to you with a glass of water. 

He settled in beside you on the couch, and pinched a piece of pasta from your bowl. 

“Up to watch something or would you like to just sit in silence for a little bit longer?” he asked, hand at the back of your head as his fingers nimbly graced your scalp through your unruly head of hair. 

You peeked out the living room window to the garden, where the sky was beginning to darken. 

“Maybe we could just get ready for bed? My clothes feel heavy,” you suggested, your voice weaker than you’d intended. 

Jake guided you into the bedroom with quiet care, his hand resting at the small of your back. He turned on the bedside lamp, its soft glow illuminating the space with a calm, golden light.

“Here we go,” he murmured gently, steering you toward the edge of the bed. “Sit down for a minute, okay?”

You sank onto the mattress, your limbs heavy with exhaustion. Jake crouched in front of you, his hands lightly resting on your knees, hazel eyes searching yours with concern.

“Talk to me,” he said, his tone soft, coaxing. “How’s my girl feeling?”

“I’m just tired,” you whispered, avoiding his gaze. “And embarrassed. I ruined the day.”

Jake frowned, his thumbs brushing slow circles against your knees. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he said, his voice firm but tender. “Please don’t ever think that. I hate the idea of you pushing yourself so hard that you feel like this, especially when I’m right here.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he stopped you gently, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Hey, no excuses. You don’t have to power through anything for my sake, okay? You… you really scared me back there. I’d rather leave a million malls empty-handed than have you feeling like that again.”

“I just… didn’t want to disappoint you,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

Jake’s expression softened even further, and he leaned in, resting his forehead lightly against yours. “You could never disappoint me,” he whispered. “Ever. I mean that. I just want you to be honest with me when it’s too much. You don’t have to carry those feelings alone.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Jake caught it with his thumb, wiping it away as if it had no right to be there. “I’m not mad at you,” he said, his voice warm and full of conviction. “I just care about you too much to see you struggle like that.”

His sincerity melted away the last bit of your resistance, and you nodded weakly. Jake smiled, a soft, reassuring expression that felt like a balm. He straightened and pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment before he went to the dresser, pulling out your coziest set of pajamas and holding them up.

“Here’s the plan,” he said, his tone lighter now, coaxing a tiny smile out of you. “We can either shower off the day first or you get into these pajamas and we crawl straight into bed– whatever you feel like.”

“Is it gross if I say just pajamas?” you asked in a mumble, your face flushing with self-consciousness. 

Jake stepped towards you, shaking his head. “No, it’s not gross. You could never be gross to me, Honey, not even if you tried,” he said gently. “You’re exhausted. Let's just get into bed, ‘kay?”

You nodded and took the neatly folded pajamas from his hands. While you changed, he busied himself with small, thoughtful tasks— adjusting the thermostat to a temperature he knew you liked, fluffing your pillow, even turning down the corner of the blanket on your side of the bed. When you emerged from the bathroom after relieving yourself and brushing your teeth, he had a new, warm mug of tea and a glass of water waiting on the nightstand.

“Tea’s not too hot,” he said as he handed it to you, watching to make sure you took a small sip before setting it down. He didn’t stop there. He gathered your clothes from the floor, folded the throw blanket you’d draped over the armchair earlier, and left briefly to make sure the house was locked up and lights turned off. They were little things, but they added up to a wave of comfort you hadn’t realized you needed.

Sliding under the covers, you sighed, the bed enveloping you in warmth. Jake settled beside you, his arm slipping around your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“You up for watching something?” he asked, his voice low and soothing. “Or just quiet for now?”

“Quiet’s good,” you murmured, leaning into him. “Maybe I’ll fall asleep…”

“Good,” he whispered, brushing his fingers through your hair. “That’s the goal.”

As you closed your eyes, you felt Jake shift slightly, tucking the blanket snugly around your shoulders. His hand rested on your back, his touch steady and reassuring.

“You’re okay, Honey,” he murmured. “Whatever you need, I’m right here.”

And with that, the lingering tension from the day began to fade. Wrapped in Jake’s quiet care, you let yourself drift off, the weight of the world easing with each steady breath beside you.

𓇢𓆸

Tag List: @allof--mylove @frogkiszka

Complete the google form here to be added to my permanent taglist for any future fics! (Or let me know any other way you like best)

[mandalhoerian]

i've been in the far orbit of this argument for a while and I'm really baffled why people can't be understanding of each other's perspectives and i'm sorry for what you're going through...

i want to have a little break-it-down for reblog's sakes if anyone wants to put this in their blog because there is MUCH to be said about the non-MC and you are the MC angles. spoiler alert: there is no wrong answer. it's about respect & understanding.

you are the main character

This perspective is all about inclusivity and self-insertion, which is honestly such a big draw for otome games in general. The idea is simple: you’re not just playing a game--you’re imagining yourself in the game. Your avatar is customizable, so you can tweak your appearance to reflect how you see yourself, or even how you want to see yourself. It’s like being dropped into an isekai where you’re not just some regular person--you’re someone special.

and HEY, who doesn’t want to imagine themselves as this badass, idealized version of themselves? In this game, you’re a cool hunter, you’ve got skills, you’re navigating this wild sci-fi/fantasy world with monsters and powers & oh yeah, you’ve got a literal aether core in your chest. That core isn’t just a plot device, it’s a metaphor for potential, for becoming something more. The game practically screams, “Hey, this could be you! Look how powerful and capable you could be!” It’s empowering in a way, and I totally get why people love this angle. It’s fun to imagine yourself as the one charming the LIs, holding your own in battle, and rising to the challenge of this world.

For people who vibe with this, it’s about escapism and self-expression. You don’t want to read about someone else being awesome, you want yourself to be awesome. It’s the ultimate power fantasy.

key word: power fantasy. which brings me to

you are NOT the main character

The argument here is that while the game tries to sell the MC as us, it just......... doesn’t land for a lot of players. Let’s start with the fact that this is a Chinese game, and the default character design is heavily rooted in East Asian beauty standards. Which is fine. It's their game, I'm not complaining I'm just telling it as it is. Yes, the skin tones are inclusive, and I’ll give them credit for that, but the body type? The facial features? The overall aesthetic? It’s not exactly universal. I mean, take a good look at my big fat ass and tell me how I’m supposed to feel immersed when the MC looks like a dainty stick figure who’d snap in half if she ever actually tried to fight (despite all the "abs" talk.) Like, she’s cute, sure, but she’s not me. And definitely not you. (Don't talk to me about "she has to look like that because she's a hunter, remember". all of us know that's not the case. it's about beauty standards.)

And then there’s the way she acts. Oh boy,,,,,,,, Sometimes it feels like she’s actively trying to make the worst decisions possible. It’s one thing to be flawed, flaws are human and relatable, but there are moments, especially in the Sylus arc, where I’m sitting there like, “Girl, what are you doing?!” She makes choices that I would never make, and it pulls me right out of the story because it’s not even a matter of imagining myself in her shoes anymore. It’s like watching a character in a TV show make a bad call, and you’re yelling at the screen, but it’s not like you can change what happens. That's okay, though, it's not a sin. She has her own personality, her own reactions, and her own story, and while that makes for a compelling narrative, it also makes it really clear that she’s not us.

For people who lean toward the “non-MC” argument, it’s frustrating because the game is selling this experience as one where we’re supposed to see ourselves in the MC, but she’s written in a way that feels so disconnected from how many of us would act or feel. It’s hard to immerse yourself in a story when the character representing you feels so far removed from who you are or who you want to be.

so what?

Honestly, I think this boils down to what you’re looking for in the game. If you’re someone who loves the “you are the MC” vibe, then you’re probably willing to overlook or even embrace the gaps between you and the character because the customization and the overarching narrative of personal growth are enough to make you feel seen. But if you’re in the “non-MC” camp, then every time the MC makes a cringe-worthy choice or the story reminds you that she’s more of a predefined character than a blank slate, it’s going to take you out of the experience. (This was me in "No Defense Zone", I had to put my phone down and do laps around in my room out of second hand embarrassment.)

Maybe the real issue here is that the game is trying to have it both ways. It wants to tell a story with a strong narrative and a compelling lead character, but it also wants to let players insert themselves into that story. And honestly? That’s a tough balance to strike. It works for some people, but for others, it ends up feeling like a half-measure that doesn’t fully satisfy either camp.

At the end of the day, I think it’s okay to feel a little jealous of the MC because, in a way, she isn’t us. She’s her own character, living her own life in this world, and we’re just along for the ride. And whether you see her as “you” or as “another character,” what really matters is how much you’re enjoying the story. So let’s keep discussing it, but maybe we can stop tearing each other apart and harrass people over it. It’s okay to love the game for what it is—or even for what it isn’t.

Guys I may be mentally insane but ... Why do I low-key feel jealous of MC when I see clips of the upcoming cards... Especially the Sylus one..

IK SHE'S MEANT TO BE US BUT 😭😭

[starhvney]

Hi, this is my first time sending a request ever. I hope I'm doing this correctly. ':3

I'd like to order a mys Laurence, some tea with cinnamon on top and a blueberry turnover, please, and thank you! (love your writing so much♡)

𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟓: 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫!!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: romantic tension, hurt/comfort, character is sick.

𝐚/𝐧: thank you so much for the kind words! it means a lot that you liked my writing enough to make a request. i hope you love this one, too! ^^

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

A long, dramatic groan leaves Laurance’s paled lips. The brunet was laid back on his bed like a sickly Victorian child, hand placed over his heart as if this was his last moments on his deathbed. There was no suave attitude or air of self assurance he always seemed to have; just the mushy, helpless form of what you think either might be your crush or an imposter.

“This is it. It’s over for me,” he rasps, turning his head to the side and wincing when his headache spikes again.

You can only sigh.

He was usually so self-reliant; always on the mature side and insisting on always taking care of you and everyone else instead of him. So the fact he had called you for rescue through his sick, slurred voice over the phone was enough for you to know he really did need help. Though, he totally seemed to be milking your pity for him, for whatever strange reason he had…

Still, you were surprised at how he was acting when you got here. You hadn’t ever seen him so weak before, the poor thing laying across his bed halfway like he’d barely made it back to the mattress before collapsing. This cold was seriously kicking him in the ass. It did make you feel bad, but you also couldn’t deny the fluttering in your chest that he wanted you of all people to take care of him and see him so vulnerable.

You bring the back of your hand to his forehead when he groans again, his eyes fluttering shut as he practically melts at the contact. His skin undoubtedly was much too hot to the touch.

“I seriously feel like I’m dying,” he whines, hand coming up to your wrist to keep your cool hand on him. “Please save me.”

Despite his tendencies for random playfulness and flirtation, even the way he was acting now was something you hadn’t seen before. Seriously, what was with him…?

…He should probably take some more medicine. It’s clear his fever was making him act this way, you conclude with a light sigh. Another almost inaudible whine leaves his lips when you pull away to stand and make your way to the door.

“Wait, where are you going?” His hand flops over the side of his bed as he reaches after you.

“To get you some soup or something so you can take more medicine. You’re burning up.”

“No! No, I ah��� can’t be left alone. I’ll die.” he quickly says, lips pouting as he nods insistently, wincing once again as he does. “A terrible, lonely death.”

You deadpan, eyes searching over his pale face. His eyelids and nose were tinged red, and the usually sharp gaze he always had was now glazed over, eyebrows pulled together pathetically. He was being dramatic, for sure, but he really did seem miserable.

“You’ll die in the five minutes I’ll be gone?”

“Yeah. Just… stay here for a little bit.” he mutters, his chest heaving as he holds back a wheezy cough. “I can wait to take medicine for a little longer.”

You curse at how easily you give in, the smug look that briefly flashes across his face making you want to shake him around. That wouldn’t exactly help the situation, though, so you simply sigh as you sit back next to him.

“It’s true that men turn into big babies when they’re sick. You’re acting like a child,” you mutter, voice unable to hold any sternness. “Seriously, I’ve never seen you act like this.”

“I just… want to be next to you for a while.” He looks up at you, swallowing as his face grows paler, eyes shutting. “Ugh… and I really do feel awful.”

You frown, reaching up to his clammy cheek. This whole situation felt much too intimate for two friends. It was like you were his doting girlfriend or wife instead. A moment passes as you shuffle through your confused thoughts, this closeness between you throwing your poor heart through a loop. As if he already didn’t do it enough on his own without trying.

You clear your throat, shaking your head as you return your focus. Those thoughts needed to be put away for now, especially with how faint he was seeming to become.

“Thank you, by the way,” his hoarse voice speaks up, hand reaching out to grasp yours. “I know I’m being a pain.”

“You aren’t being a pain. I wanted to do this,” you reassure, pressing your lips together as you glance down at your connected hands. “This is how I know you’re sick out of your mind. Where’s the Mr. Confidence everyone’s used to?”

“Mph… don’t have enough energy for it,” he mutters, before a small smirk makes its way onto his lips. “But I did have enough to get you to come fuss over me. It may have cost a bit of dignity, but it’s so worth it. You should’ve seen how your face looked when you ran in here...”

“And the truth comes out,” you strain to say through the flustered wave that washes over you, quickly pulling back and walking back to the door as your heart pounds against your rib cage. “I’m getting you that soup now.”

“…Wait! Please, come back!”

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

taglist: @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @valentique @arienic @dazedbydeath @theaquaticplant @starsbrightly @kalegrinch @izzybella1807 @marst4rz

[maybeamiles]

Goddamnit i cannot write even the most character focused unspicy sex scenes I just kinda die a bit inside having to make these guys talk about sex in a reasonably healthy way

And ya know what this isn't going in the tags be warned fellows we're having frank discussions of sex and sexuality if you don't know what sex is you should probably not read this.

Okay so like, I have a character that is a sex-repulsed asexual. And I'm torn on what direction i want to take his sexuality when he finally has a partner who is cool with whatever. A sex neutral asexual, if you will.

Originally, i wanted this couple to be very sexual because I am a horny asexual and I kinda hate that horny asexuals aren't asexual enough. But as I've been writing this character, an interesting pressure point showed up. He's the heir to a hereditary monarchy, and part of that job means having kids, because otherwise the monarchy will go away. So making him sex-repulsed and giving him a very sexual fiancee puts a lot of pressure on him and emphasizes the alienation i want him to feel for the first half of the story.

Then there's the fact that his mentor draws very deliberately on fundamentalist Christianity when it comes to his beliefs, including the belief that sex is bad (but also not having kids is bad).

All this gives my character an interesting mix of feelings. He genuinely doesn't want sex, but he also has a libido. He feels shame about having a libido, but also shame at not wanting sex. He's surprised that other people want sex too, and feels guilty when he "ruins the fun" for those people. (We will unpack this dw).

Now here's the dillema I'm facing: i genuinely did not want this character to be sex repulsed, it just happened, and now i dont want to change it because its such a good feature of his character. And i want to explore what sex could be like for him, how he could wrestle with his shame about sex and his sexuality and come to a place of acceptance that works for him. The LAST thing I want to do is write him to be disgusted by having a libido, even though I've seen that sentiment shared among sex-repulsed folks. It just wouldn't suit the story I want to tell, and again, I also want to write about horny asexuals. Or at least asexuals who are cool with sex.

Right now, my thought is maybe my character wants to experiment. Like maybe, after getting a well deserved break from all the pressure he's under, he decides he's ready to try sex on his own terms. Maybe he learns that he's okay with certain kinds of sexual activity, but not others. Like watching a partner masturbate, for example, but not penetrative sex. Maybe he wants to keep his clothes on, or maybe he wants to only focus on his partner and not himself (tbh that last part was an aspect of his character before he was sex-repulsed).

Essentially, write the least (idk the word. The thing where the best sex is penetrative and about 2 people orgasming) sex you can possibly think of. Most unsexual sex scenes. I like this solution. It gives me a chance to explore other ideas of sex that I find interesting. But it also might be bad ace rep and I feel weird about that.

Oh and then there's the dillema of "why would his PARTNER know more about different kinds of sex or have a healthier relationship to it???" But that's a question for another time.

[fossilizedhysterics]

guess who finished tlok tonight and immediately had this come to him in a vision!!!!

[sir-fenris]

It is time :D, oh how I love to yap about chapters.

Lot's of feelings, emotions, feelings, emotions-

-

He had hoped for something that might give his life a perfect symmetry. He wanted any sense of justice to fall back on, though he knew well enough not to truly expect it.

Yeah, well... you searched for justice a bit too late, mate. Delta is already gone. Your guilt is not going to vanish by projecting Delta's impression onto Johanna. Justice and atonement aren't gonna fall from the sky.

But I like where this is going, so keep on :)

He did not dare reach for them here in the dead of space. He’d be no better off once he was out of the chains. Paris knew, with total certainty, that he would not beat her in a fight. He didn’t even think he could do it healthy anymore, some new flinch mechanism that made him so tired of hitting and of being hit. He certainly could not do it in the thralls of withdrawal, not with the cracked rib and the hole through his hand. No opportunity presented itself. He was scared to.

Honestly... fair. Very much fair. Being scared to try in a situation like is is honestly fair.

It embarrassed him just how badly he missed Delta.

Aw... 🥺. How can Paris inspire so much hate and pity in the same measure?

Like. Congrats. You miss the captive you abused, beat up and used every single day for no reason. You only miss him when he's dead and you're sad. Congrats, asshole.

But also... Fuck. How sad it is that one of the most honest, 'friendly' relation he had, was with that same captive. How sad that this captive had more sympathy for him than most people in his life. How sad that while he's being taken to his death, one of the only people he misses is Delta.

I have conflicting emotions with Paris' sentence. It's kinda adorably pitiful, bit sad, and makes me exasperated and angry at him.

All the same, her fingers had been lined with white gems that morning. They were impossible not to notice as he’d brought her hand up to his lips. He’d have done anything for her then. The memories bled out into the edges of his dreams.

Awww. Paris view of Lorelai also inspire many feelings on me, but at least this one just makes me thing Paris is being adorably pitiful. Lorelaaaai, come back to us :'( Paris is so much better with you around... and I wanna know more about you. Our duo is separated :(

Johanna dreamed of something cold and breathing beneath the soft wet earth. She had the nightmare often. Big walls and little hands. A playful pulsing in each of them, turned violent and mean over time.

She dreamt of a small box. She dreamed of a pulsing that grew into a frantic pounding — and a loving flesh that always come backs. It came back her no matter how many times they tried to kill her.

Johanna dreamt of a hole dug deep into the earth. She’s had the same nightmare since she was twelve — and though it gets better, it never really goes away.

.........Was she fucking buried alive? Am I tripping? I read this 3 times. Was she buried alive as a kid???

Honestly, kinda confused with the rest of the words, but now I'm really curious.

"A loving flesh that always comes back", wtf? Johanna?

“Did you know Martino?” he asked.

...wait. wait. Wait. WAIT. HOW DID I FUCKING MISSED THIS? Is Johanna from Beldam Institute????? Wtf? How did I not noticed that before?

You freaking liar, you said St. Holly's Prep! :0

Oh my fucking God, I'm gonna re-read every single chapter in all 3 series after this. I need to remember every detail.

Immediately, he knew it was a mistake. He had about three seconds to flinch before she’d crossed the interior to him and hit him as hard as she possibly could. The intention had clearly been to knock him unconscious, but he’d recoiled fast enough that she mostly struck the side of his jaw. He gasped, sure for a second it’d been broken. There was no time to recover in between the blows. He only shielded his skull as Johanna slammed the cleat into his side, over and over again, breathing heavy. She tore his arms away, gripping the collar’s chain just to slam his head back into the wall, pinning him there.

OH MY GOD SHE DID. SHE DID. SHE FUCKING DID.

Martino knew Johanna. Oh god. Johanna knew Martino. GOD. My mind.

And honestly? If I was in Johanna's place and someone just said his name, I would flip in anger too. Very reasonable anger. I would ban the name "Martino" from my life too. Bitter fucking asshole, that old man. Can't imagine hiw many bad memories she has of him, but definitely want to read every single one :3. And it must be a strong link to the Institute too. Like. How the fuck did Paris know the name of a doctor there, yk? It must have been a shock. A bad one.

But ouch for Paris. Actually winced a bit for him.

“Are you mad at me?” Paris asked. He was stupid and chastened, both knees drawn up to his chest.

... Gosh, I agree with Delta. He can be very pathetic, though I don't like using that word because it feels too mean. So pitiful. He's pitiful.

Really? You're projecting THAT hard, buddy? Why does it matter if she's mad at you, come on, is now the time to worry about that?

“Did you know him? Delta. One Zero Seven.” Paris asked quietly.

...

...Oh. Oh.

If Martino didn't make me flip enough...

I love how Paris starts with "him" before clarifying who. Because the "him" was clear for him.

And I do not believe her at all. Wasn't Delta like... the kid used to threaten other kids and all? One of the ones that lasted? Huh. She might be telling the truth, but I don't believe her.

And one thing. I still remember that when she said her name to Paris, she said it like it was meant to mean something. Idk if I'm forgetting something or if that still has no explanation. But honestly Johanna always confused me a bit. I think I really do need to re-read Crash out once again. Keep it fresh.

And uhhh... just a question. Was her hair ever green?

“What was it like?” he asked. There will be no other opportunities to ask, no other ways to know. He wondered if anyone else who went to that school was even alive anymore. Delta wasn’t. Was Johanna alive, really? 

He looked at her and he could not tell. 

Yeah, well, you could have asked Delta before, asshole. But keep on. Ask more. We want to know too :D

Is Johanna alive? Honestly can't tell either. She confuses me a lot, and after that burying alive thing I'm really not sure.

Except that all the previous times, he did not have a knife wound piercing straight through the flesh of his hand. A white bandage had been bound tight around it ever since he’d been rescued. It still held. She’d seen it, of course. She had to have known. She didn’t care. 

They must not have either.

You met Martino, Paris.

They did NOT care.

Paris offered both hands without resistance, surprising himself. Would she have forced him to if he hadn’t? For some reason, he didn’t think so. If he wasn’t playing along, he thought, she might just give up.

........ Hello? Paris, I'm actually concerned about you, my guy, wtf? Your behavior was ALWAYS concerning, but right now I actually want you to have a recovery arc, because wtf. You need help.

And I don't mean it in a mean way, Paris lately is actually being so pitiful that is hard to not want him to have a hug and rest and a full meal.

I read Destroyer and Rubies and hate him so much (with exceptions, sometimes he was.... half decent). Then I read Rubies and he's pathetically pitiful and sad and- 😀 hello?

(Tbf, he already was before, but... yk what I mean)

He still tried to be steady as the belt came down against his hands again. Again. Again. He resisted the automatic curling of his fingers in an effort to protect himself. It was really nothing. He’d had so much worse. He didn’t know why he was crying so badly. 

Again. Again. He lost track, letting his vision blur just the same as the count. All the nerves in his hand were beaten almost numb, stinging. He couldn’t keep the tremor out of them. 

Johanna grumbled in frustration, pulling the belt back to her side. She was fumbling with the end of it.

...Hm. Why do I feel like she kept hitting because he was crying? He asked how things were in the Institute, and as far as Delta told us repeatedly, the Institute punished them for crying and all.

Idk. I felt like thay was why she was frustrated, might be wrong.

“You don’t fucking ask when it’s over.” She barked.

Yeah, Paris, don't you remember how Delta acted 🙄. Just kidding. Actually felt a bit bad for Paris. Fuck him for making me want to give him a hug.

“You don’t understand!” She yelled. It was infantile. And it was wrong. He did.

Then again, he doubted she was even talking to him.

Neither of you are actually speaking to one another, let's be honest. Traumatized duo using one another for trauma-guided behavior. Just great.

He tucked himself further into the far wall, unable to stop crying or to even be silent about it. She did not speak to him again for the rest of the night.

...*sigh*.

Alright, Paris. You earned a hug. Come here 🫂.

Amazing chapter, as always :D <3, thanks for writing this story, eager for the next one.

And indeed thanks @floral-comet-whump for heping making Beldam Johanna canon, cause- WOW. That make me stare at the screen for minutes. I did NOT see that coming.

Now I gotta re-read everything, because my mind is.......... Wow. This chapter did flips with my head.

(Forgive any typos, I think I've been writing this for over an hour 😀)

-

Crash Out - Joey

(Content: past abuse, whumper turned whumpee, beating, implied child abuse, claustrophobia mention, addiction mention, retraumatization, crying, guilt, self harm?, blood, brief weight talk)

Still shaking, still sick, Paris stared up blankly at the ceiling again, for want of anything better to do. The manacles chafed at his bare wrists, leaving a thick band of raw skin beneath. He’d gotten used to it.

“Did you go to a school when you were little?” He asked Johanna without looking at her.

Without looking back from the control panel, she answered: “I’m not that fucking stupid, am I?”

He shook his head — and the movement of the collar caused the chain to click against the tile.

“No. I mean, like, a special one. For psychics.” He explained vaguely. 

“I went to St.Holly’s Prep.” She answered curtly.

“Oh.” He deflated. 

He had hoped for something that might give his life a perfect symmetry. He wanted any sense of justice to fall back on, though he knew well enough not to truly expect it. His hand traced the collar again, taking slow and steady breaths. He breathed easier when he was flat on his back. Any sudden motion made him feel like he might faint, so he didn’t move at all. The lock picks were burning a hole in his pocket.

She’d missed them, somehow. She hadn’t been very deliberate in the pat down — and at this point, he was all angles. His own hipbone had been as hard and as pointed as the metal. 

He did not dare reach for them here in the dead of space. He’d be no better off once he was out of the chains. Paris knew, with total certainty, that he would not beat her in a fight. He didn’t even think he could do it healthy anymore, some new flinch mechanism that made him so tired of hitting and of being hit. He certainly could not do it in the thralls of withdrawal, not with the cracked rib and the hole through his hand. No opportunity presented itself. He was scared to.

The stygian depths appear every time he closed his eyes, dark blue, teeming. He was scared. Some ancient dread was settling onto him, sharp-toothed and feral. He missed Delta. 

It embarrassed him just how badly he missed Delta.

But when he dreamed, mercifully, it was of Lorelai. It was a frozen morning and the last night’s rain had crystallized against the pale bluegrass. Her hair was undone, hanging in limp curls against the fabric of her sweater. It was the last morning before the break. He’d given her clovers and coffee and jasmine perfume. He’d have given her anything, but he knew the wealth humiliated her. It was an affront for either of them to even wear the uniform.

All the same, her fingers had been lined with white gems that morning. They were impossible not to notice as he’d brought her hand up to his lips. He’d have done anything for her then. The memories bled out into the edges of his dreams.

His heart was all the way empty when he awoke. Lorelai was safer without him than she’d ever be with. It was cold comfort. He’d left her alone and limp in the dirt.

There was no day or night to follow, but the ship’s lights had dimmed. Paris thought it was another hallucination, another dream he couldn’t shake — but the soft sound of crying permeated and echoed throughout the ship. His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. 

She was whimpering in her sleep.

~

Johanna dreamed of something cold and breathing beneath the soft wet earth. She had the nightmare often. Big walls and little hands. A playful pulsing in each of them, turned violent and mean over time. She smiled because she could, because they always liked her. She smiled too wide and laughed too hard, some screw knocked loose, faulty wiring from having been hit in the head one too many times. A nervous laugh. Wide, pleading eyes.

She dreamt of a small box. She dreamed of a pulsing that grew into a frantic pounding — and a loving flesh that always come backs. It came back her no matter how many times they tried to kill her.

Johanna dreamt of a hole dug deep into the earth. She’s had the same nightmare since she was twelve — and though it gets better, it never really goes away. She woke up with her eyes still blotted with tears and for a minute she had forgotten where she was. 

From across the room, the captive prince stared at her unblinking, and she knew he had heard everything.

~

Several hours later, when they were both wide awake, Paris tried again.

“Did you know Martino?” he asked.

Immediately, he knew it was a mistake. He had about three seconds to flinch before she’d crossed the interior to him and hit him as hard as she possibly could. The intention had clearly been to knock him unconscious, but he’d recoiled fast enough that she mostly struck the side of his jaw. He gasped, sure for a second it’d been broken. There was no time to recover in between the blows. He only shielded his skull as Johanna slammed the cleat into his side, over and over again, breathing heavy. She tore his arms away, gripping the collar’s chain just to slam his head back into the wall, pinning him there.

But Johanna looked so lost. All her anger was thick with confusion. Her eyes searched him, up and down, as if something in his body might tell her.

“How-“ she asked desperately. “Who-“

Paris shivered, retreating, hiding his head again. It hurt. His ribs were so tender he could’ve cried. She released the chain around his neck, staggering a few steps back.

“Don’t say his name again,” she warned.

Paris nodded.

~

“Are you mad at me?” Paris asked. He was stupid and chastened, both knees drawn up to his chest.

Johanna sighed, sitting up against the starboard wall of the ship. She tossed a tennis ball idly, only occasionally glancing at the autopilot to see they were still on course. She did not dignify him with a response. 

“Did you know him? Delta. One Zero Seven.” Paris asked quietly.

It felt like it’d been ages since he’d said his name aloud. The sound of it hovered in the air, seemed to echo in a way the other words had not. He still remembered the numerals that followed, though by the time he first learned them, they’d lost all their usefulness. But to her, those numbers must have meant something. It’d be the only way to distinguish them.

“As if I’d remember any of them.” Johanna rolled her eyes.

Paris quieted, tucking his face back down into his arms. He only peeked up at her as she stood up, moving to check up on the air filter. 

“Do you hate me?” he asked.

He was surprised when she didn’t laugh. She only sighed again, eyes flitted up to the ceiling as if she was considering it.

“I didn’t before. I think I’m starting to.” She decided.

“Is that why?” He looped one finger in the collar, tugging it.

“Nope.”

In return, she tapped one finger to his nose, booping it gently. He still flinched.

“That’s just business.”

~

It ate at him. He turned restlessly within the chains. There was nothing to do and only her for company. She was taking him to be killed, to hurt the whole time he died, to be mutilated and changed. All his future seemed an endless void. All he could focus on was the past.

“What was it like?” he asked. There will be no other opportunities to ask, no other ways to know. He wondered if anyone else who went to that school was even alive anymore. Delta wasn’t. Was Johanna alive, really? 

He looked at her and he could not tell. 

She stood up from the console, visibly irritated at the fact he was still taking. Or maybe she just didn’t like his choice in conversation topic. Either way, he’d pissed her off.

“You want to know what it was like?” She asked incredulously.

He sat up and nodded his head. For a second, she just looked tired. She undid the belt from around her waist.

“Hands out. Now.”

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before. He’d gotten his knuckles rapped millions of times, had the cane brought down against each part of his body. None of it ever helped. By the time he graduated, he knew it was more about anger than it ever was about correction. This was no different.

Except that all the previous times, he did not have a knife wound piercing straight through the flesh of his hand. A white bandage had been bound tight around it ever since he’d been rescued. It still held. She’d seen it, of course. She had to have known. She didn’t care. 

They must not have either.

Paris offered both hands without resistance, surprising himself. Would she have forced him to if he hadn’t? For some reason, he didn’t think so. If he wasn’t playing along, he thought, she might just give up.

He held both palms facing upward. It was what he was used to, what he assumed she wanted, and he was willing to turn them if it wasn’t.

The belt was folded over. He kept still.

It was worse than he thought it’d be. He gasped in shock and pain at the sting. He’d been comparing it to the wrong injuries, expecting the wrong kind of pain. The belt hurt his right hand about as badly as when it’d first been punctured, about as bad as an arrow through his fucking ribcage. His eyes watered immediately.

He still tried to be steady as the belt came down against his hands again. Again. Again. He resisted the automatic curling of his fingers in an effort to protect himself. It was really nothing. He’d had so much worse. He didn’t know why he was crying so badly. 

The belt swung again. He only pulled his hand back just to quickly wipe at his eyes. She got mad.

“Paris,” she hissed, exasperated, and he couldn’t remember her ever using his name before this. “I can make this a lot worse for you and you know it.”

“Sorry,” he muttered as he offered the hand back.

Again. Again. He lost track, letting his vision blur just the same as the count. All the nerves in his hand were beaten almost numb, stinging. He couldn’t keep the tremor out of them. 

Johanna grumbled in frustration, pulling the belt back to her side. She was fumbling with the end of it.

“…Are we done?” he asked weakly. 

The belt buckle hit him square in the face, drawing a pained gasp from him. He reeled to the side, barely catching himself. Blood dripped readily from the gash in his cheek. In shock, he moved two finger up to touch it. Wet. Warm. 

“You don’t fucking ask when it’s over.” She barked.

He kept his eyes trained on the ground, half-curled away from her. The impact had whipped his head to the side and he did not correct it. 

He heard her readjusting the belt. For a second, he really did think she was finished. He let himself be fooled twice.

The buckle struck him again in the shoulder. It produced much less of a reaction than the strike to the face did, but he still cried. It was worse when he couldn’t see it, but he knew better than to try and turn around. He twitched at each new impact.

“You don’t understand!” She yelled. It was infantile. And it was wrong. He did.

Then again, he doubted she was even talking to him.

The metal snapped at the bare skin of his arm, once again at his back. He shifted one shoulder up to shield his still-bleeding face and endured the hit for it. It was only then she seemed to tire. It didn’t matter. He was sobbing. Though he tried to do it quietly, there was so little he could focus on besides his own misery. The effort was futile. He hardly noticed whether she was there or not, whether the beating had even stopped.

He tucked himself further into the far wall, unable to stop crying or to even be silent about it. She did not speak to him again for the rest of the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~

thank you to @floral-comet-whump for getting me to canonize Johanna being from Beldam!!! that was always supposed to be the implication w her character but i wasnt sure about making it explicit until they had the idea of her being an experiment that beldam tried to kill and ended up BURYING ALIVE. that was too tasty to leave as subtext >:)

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @whump-queen

[howtodisappearcompletelyand]

20/10 stars little guy

[seaofreverie]

I knew about the post concert depression but no one told me about the post concert constant feeling of AAAAAAAAAHHH that lasts days and makes everything much more bearable and beautiful and some sort of ethereal type of hope is restored into the world, or maybe it's just the "seeing your favourite band after first thinking that it would never happen and later spending many months waiting for it all the while fearing that it wouldn't happen after all because of circumstances outside my control or feeling like it was too beautiful and wonderful to be true so ofc it wouldn't come true" part of it all

[front-facing-pokemon]

[firstroseofspring]

thinking pondering to me john torres is like. what if u met a woman. with confidence and dignity and a strong moral backbone. you meet and she makes a distinct impression with her honesty and her frankness and she seems like she's always sure of what she wants and what she needs and she's so different from anyone else you know and thats exciting and she's exciting and she likes you specifically you. and you don't think much of you but it feels good to be liked by someone like that. you love her of course. you marry her. of course!

[fruitsyrups]

ive crossed over into an alternate dimension where side profiles are somehow sometimes easier to draw than other angles. bodies in side profile however... nooo thank you...

[babisawyer]

I would assume that misty is going to kill and eat showtunes so I want to forgive her for everything, but since it seems like she just became showtunes 2.0 I simply cannot.

[mechahero]

@viopolis asked-🧸!! asks for neurodiverse muses (accepting!) [ 🧸 ] - What stim toys or comfort objects do your muse use if any?

Lambda has a few! He's got a fidget spinner (because he likes seeing it spin and spinning it) and some squishies. He usually gets the ones shaped like food!

As for a comfort object, it's the cat plush he used to have prior to getting turned into a cyborg and picked up when he went back home to get his stuff.

[seventh-district]

*puts a photo of me in between two random photos i took of the sky today, not because they go together whatsoever but simply so any poor soul that happens to scroll across this post won’t be jumpscared by one giant image of me taking up their entire dash* :)

also yes those are the Everything Stays shoes that i wear far too often and i thought about Moon and flustered my damn self when i was putting them on today and if you want to know why i thought of him specifically… well, you’re just gonna have to read Ch. 4 of ES when i post it on Thursday and you’ll find out 😊

[eebie]

oo you wanna say literally every thought you've ever had about your ocs soo bad (wants to know what their deal is)

ugouguhghhgnnnghhhhh ^ My thoughts on them