#for a couple of reasons

[strawberriemarswrites]

CHAPTER NINE

Chapter Summary: With the weight of suspicion lifted, you can hang out with Bartolomeo in peace. Well, hang out... among other things... Pairing: Bartolomeo x F!Reader Rating: Explicit (18+ only, NSFW Chapter; PiV sex, lots of biting, eating out, coitus interruptus/pulling out) TW: Other than references to the stalking that's been going on, none <3 enjoy~ Ao3 Link: Chapter Nine (5,095 words)

Bartolomeo’s apartment layout was a mirror image of yours. The tidiness was anything but. While it was free of trash, likely thanks to the frantic clean-up he did before letting you in, it was still a bit of a disaster. The kitchen counter was overflowing with mail, some of it just empty envelopes. The pile was accompanied by a key tray filled with change, two lighters, and a set of keys joined together by a jolly roger keychain. Turning toward the living room area, you were greeted by the sight of various clothes scattered about. Some draped over the couch, others on the floor, while the majority was piled onto a battered armchair.

Then your gaze fell on Bartolomeo, who was scratching the back of his head as he picked up some of the discarded garments. “Sorry, it’s still pretty bad. I uh... I wasn’t expectin’ anyone over.”

You smirked. “You don’t strike me as the type to clean up for just anyone.”

As his skin flushed and he continued bundling clothes into his arms, you silenced the part of your brain that insisted he was the type to break into apartments. He was the one who offered to hang out after all, making it so you didn’t have to impose it upon him. If he really was the culprit, would he really risk letting you in where you could find evidence?

You let your eyes wander once more, this time landing on his TV stand. There were dust imprints from the consoles he had let you borrow, but he still had one on the bottom shelf with different games stacked beside it. To the left of his setup was a tall bookshelf with more games, and a few shelves of DVDs. Curious, you wandered over.

Bartolomeo was doing an exceptional job at not visibly freaking out. You were here. In his apartment. Alone with him. He wished it could have been better circumstances — if he’d had more time to prepare he would have better hidden his dirty clothes. And got his shit off the counter. Maybe even put clean sheets on his bed. You cooked for him, he could have probably made something for you. He wasn’t the best, but he could’ve made like... omelets. Those weren’t too hard. It was just a matter of not letting the fact you were finally in his apartment distract him.

He could do that. Easy. Totally. Definitely without burning the eggs.

He’d probably just end up burning the complex down instead, if the fact that he couldn’t stop staring at you was anything to go by. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you looked over your shoulder, catching him in the act. 

You giggled, “What? What are you looking at?”

Bartolomeo shook his head. “N-nothin’. You uh. You wanna watch something?”

You shrugged, returning your attention to the options. “I was just being nosy, but sure.” You then picked up Screamoff the shelf and stuck your tongue out at him, asking in your best gravelly voice, “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A smile slowly crept across his face as tension rolled off his shoulders. He could do this.

After setting up the movie and a playful argument over who would pay for takeout (which Bartolomeo won, holding his phone out of reach with one hand and keeping you back with the other), you were next to one another on the couch. There was plenty of room to sit on opposite sides, but it somehow felt... right, sitting closer to him. You wondered if it was partially from guilt, and you wanted to be closer as a way of apologizing for your suspicion.

Deep down, however, you knew it was because despite that, despite being “just friends”, you still had it bad for him. You decided from the moment he was cleared of guilt to lean against that boundary, if only just a little.

For his part, Bartolomeo was trying to lean against it as well. The close proximity made his heart race, and he summoned up the courage to let an arm drape across the back of the couch, propping one ankle onto the opposite knee. The mere inches between his arm and your back was enough to send sparks through his nerves, and he resisted the urge to let his arm fall onto your shoulders. Not yet.

The hair on your neck stood, feeling his arm behind you. Slowly, you let yourself relax, the warmth radiating from him drawing you closer as you sank into the couch. When the food arrived you assumed he would retreat back into himself, but surprisingly no — he would lean forward for a bite, and every time he sat back his arm returned as well. Gradually, over the course of the film, you found yourself leaning even closer, your hand brushing against his leg.

Bartolomeo wasn’t entirely sure when his heartbeat became louder than the movie, but he knew it wasn’t from the rising tension on screen. He could feel you inching nearer, whether you meant to or not. He was determined not to make the same mistake he had before at the diner — if you were uncomfortable, he trusted you would correct yourself or say something. And if you did, this would be a rare moment that he’d get to be so close. At least while you were awake and aware.

By the time the movie was done, you were almost completely against him, your head near his shoulder and your hand pressed between your leg and his.

Both of you separated, faces beet red as Bartolomeo took the trash to the kitchen and you skittishly retrieved the DVD. You glanced over your shoulder before pulling out your phone and quickly texting Robin,

“Any chance you can bring my keys tomorrow morning?”

The response came quickly, “Having fun?”

“Maybe? We’re watching movies. He almost had his arm around me.

“Even if it doesn’t... go anywhere. I might just crash on his couch.”

Another moment passed, then, “Tomorrow works.

“Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. Call if it changes.

“Have fun~”

Your heart skipped a beat. Hopefully you would, if you weren’t misreading things this time. Even if it meant you had to be the one to make the move.

Bartolomeo took in a deep breath, leaning against the kitchen counter. This was agony. It was nice, receiving the light physical contact that he did, but the pain of leaving things unspoken much longer was going to kill him. If he didn’t do something now, he never would, and he would spend who knows how long pining, and watching, and following, and breaking in...

And doing anything to keep other people from having you.

He took another deep breath, straightened his back, and turned around. Now or never.

“Well, Robin won’t be able to get my keys until tomorrow morning,” you sighed, turning your attention back to the DVD shelf. “Anything you wanna watch?”

He stepped out of the kitchen, feeling his heart beat heavier with each step toward you. “Nah, you’re the guest. You pick.”

You shrugged, running a finger along the titles, lingering on a few — Boondock Saints, Pirates of the Caribbean, Jaws — before pulling out Silence of the Lambs to read the summary. Half way through, you felt a warmth against your back.

Bartolomeo’s chest rose and fell as he wrapped his arms around your waist, bending just a bit to press his head to the top of yours. “Been thinkin’ lately. About you.”

You let out a shuddering breath, your heart racing. “W-what about me?”

His hold tightened, pulling you closer to him. “How I’ve been wantin’ to hold you like this for a while now.”

You gently put one hand on his forearm, swallowing. “How long?”

You felt his chest heave again and his breath huffed down your neck. “Since we got to talkin’, back when you first moved in.”

The movie case slipped from your hold and clattered to the floor. This whole time? As long as you have? Little moments began to creep into your mind. The way he seemed to flush at the slightest contact with you. How frequently he took time out of his day to talk to you. Every time he called you “sweetheart”. And then the bigger things — the creep at the bar and the jerk who harassed you on the train. Bartolomeo had gone out of his way to protect you. And when you were stood up by Cavendish, he was there to comfort you.

You suddenly felt ridiculous for having misread the signs.

Slowly, you managed to turn in his hold, his forehead now pressed to yours. His eyes bore into you, amber irises like crackling flames. Unable to stop their trembling, you lifted your hands to either side of his face, your thumbs stroking his cheeks as you tried to calm your rapidly increasing heart rate. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I dunno. Guess I was nervous. You’re so... you’re so cute. And good. And soft.” He averted his gaze, his cheeks turning warmer. “And I’m not any of those things.”

“Barto...” You tried to lean into his line of sight. “You’re definitely cute — you’re helping me harbor a cat, and I hear how you talk to him.” Your thumb traced the lines of his face tattoo. “You made a creep drug himself and punched some jerkwad’s lights out for me. If that’s not good, I don’t know what is.”

He cracked a lopsided grin. “Still not soft.”

“You don’t have to be.” You brushed your thumbs over his cheeks again. “Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He swallowed the thick lump in his throat. “I’ve been holdin’ back for a long time. Now you’re here, and I like holdin’ ya like this, and I don’t wanna ruin it.”

“How could you ruin it?”

The flames in Bartolomeo’s eyes flickered as he finally looked at you. “...’cause I wanna ruin you.”

Your heart fluttered, a sensation that rapidly descended to your stomach, then swelled to an ache between your thighs. With a deep breath to steady yourself, filled with confidence now knowing the truth, you were going to do what you had been wanting to since you met him.

Your hands moved behind his neck as you lifted yourself on your toes to kiss him.

His teeth made it a tad awkward at first, but after a moment, when he realized what was going on, he began kissing back — then his mouth fit perfectly against yours. He moved his hands to your hips, his grip almost too tight, and you felt his tongue push against your lips. You gladly granted access, both of you sighing between each other’s mouths as he slid inside. You let out a soft moan that ended in a squeak as he pressed his teeth into your lower lip. He then abruptly pulled away, leaving you dizzy and breathless as he leaned down and began placing soft kisses all down your neck, in between each one breathing out “please”.

Your core ached a little harder as you lifted one hand to thread it into his hair, the locks silky between your fingers. After he nipped at where your neck met your shoulder, you pulled at the base of his scalp, leaning into his ear.

“I want you to ruin me.”

You were swept up into his arms before you could utter another syllable.

With a startled shout you held tight to his shoulders as Bartolomeo carried you to his room, stealing another heated kiss from you, and another, and another, before he lowered you onto the edge of his bed. Your pants were gone all too quickly and discarded somewhere in the room as he sank to his knees between your legs, trailing more kisses down your right thigh, then the left, before nipping at the underside of your knee.

“I’ve wanted you so fuckin’ badly,” he sighed as he peppered more kisses on your skin.

You nodded, breathless. “I’ve wanted you, too.”

Bartolomeo’s heart clenched and he looked away, his voice wavering. “Don’t — don’t go sayin’ that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.” You tangled your fingers in his hair and tipped his head back. “I’ve wanted you since we met.”

You could swear you saw his eyes water, and he lifted your legs over his shoulders, kissing your thighs again. “Please, please, please let me have you.”

Another flutter in your chest shot right down to your loins. “I’m yours.”

A soft moan rolled through his chest and he bit down on one thigh, making you throw your head back and cry out. He sucked on the skin there, his teeth pressing into the soft flesh and threatening to puncture, the sharp pain of a forming bruise sending pleasurable shocks through your nerves. When he finally let go, a dark hickey was left behind, trailed by a string of saliva and just the faintest bit of blood where his teeth managed to break through.

Bartolomeo then spread your legs just a bit further, stroking one thumb against your covered folds, his eyes shining in the dark room. “I’m gonna take good care of you.”

You giggled, “You talking to me or my cunt?”

His gaze flicked up to yours, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Both.”

The responding laugh quickly melted into a heady moan, your eyes fluttering shut as Bartolomeo ran his tongue over the outside of your panties. The barrier between his mouth and your core was torturously thin, the warmth and wetness of his tongue seeping through the fabric and mixing with yours. You felt the tip nudge against your clit, making you shudder and whine. He repeated the action, going slower and pushing harder against the fabric, just barely teasing your entrance.

Your grip on his hair tightened and he groaned, looking up at you. He only paused for a moment, before he pulled the fabric of your underwear aside and gave another long, languid lick to your folds. You bit back a shrill whine, falling back against the bed and holding his head with both hands, rolling your hips to meet each stroke and shivering every time the tip caught the edge of your entrance or pressed against your clit.

Bartolomeo relented, placing kisses along your hips and letting your legs drop from his shoulders. Agonizingly slow, he dragged your underwear off, his eyes flicking between your blissful face and the sight of the warm, dripping pussy before him. He could hardly believe this was happening — part of him was terrified he’d wake up and everything that had happened up to this point would be a dream. But the feel of your soft thighs in his hands, the smell of your slick, the dark hickey he left on your skin, all of it reassured him this was real. You were real. And you were right there for the taking.

He dove right back in, pushing your knees further apart as he devoured your cunt. His fangs dragged against your outer folds while he caught your clit on his front teeth, the sharp edges drawing forth a scream from you as your hips jerked upward. He lifted your legs over his shoulders again and held your hips down to the bed, pinning you in place as he teased the sensitive bud.

After letting loose another scream, you brought one hand to your face, biting your knuckle to keep from being too loud. A smart move, given you nearly screamed again when his tongue slid inside of you, his nose and the cold metal of his septum ring taking its place near your clit. With every arch of your hips, his grip seemed to get tighter, pressing you down more firmly to the mattress as he continued his onslaught, occasionally circling his tongue around the rim of your entrance before slipping right back inside.

Bartolomeo looked up after a particularly hard twitch of your hips, seeing you biting your knuckle. He growled softly, an action that sent pleasurable ripples up your spine, before pulling away, trailing wet kisses up over your hips and stomach. Stopping just above your navel, he released your hips to reach up and pull your hand away, pushing himself up onto the bed to straddle you. As he pinned your wrist beside your head, he took your chin in the other hand, looking down into your lust-hazed eyes with a mix of adoration and danger.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low, his grip on your wrist flexing. “I wanna hear you.” He then leaned down to your ear, continuing, “I want everyone for miles to know you’re my girl.”

You couldn’t help the sharp whine in your voice, “Barto, please.”

He chuckled, nuzzling your cheek. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

His nickname for you took on a whole new meaning, knowing how he’d meant it, hearing it in that husky tone. With a shuddering breath you said, “More.”

He released your wrist. “Sit up against the headboard.”

You nodded, scooting yourself backwards and upright, taking his face in your hands to kiss him again. He responded in kind, his mouth covering yours as he again slid his tongue past your lips, and you tasted yourself on him. You were so occupied with the kiss that you hardly noticed the hand drifting down between your thighs until his fingers circled your clit, making you throw your head back again with a needy cry. Electricity fired through every fiber of your being, your hips arching up to meet his hand and attempting to grind against it. All the while he kissed down your neck and shoulder, leaving soft bites in his wake and dragging his teeth across your skin.

It was only when your hands fell to his shoulders that you realized Bartolomeo was, annoyingly, still clothed. With a frustrated groan you pulled at his shirt, tugging it up to expose his midriff. 

A low laugh reverberated in his chest and he kissed your cheek. “Relax, sweetheart. I get it.”

He removed his fingers from your folds and sat back on his knees, towering over you as he slowly pulled his shirt over his head. Your heart leapt to your throat, your gaze drifting from the tattoo on his toned chest down to the dusting of happy trail peeking out from his jeans. All too eager to respond in kind, you whipped your own shirt off and tossed it aside, before pausing to make eye contact. His eyes were wide, watching you with utter fascination as you slowly unhooked your bra and let it slide off your shoulders, finally fully naked before him.

He looked you up and down, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his eyes getting misty again. “Fuck... you’re beautiful.” He nearly collapsed on top of you as he buried his face in your neck, breathing in your scent. “How’d I get to be so lucky?”

You giggled, threading your fingers in his hair. You both would’ve been luckier if you’d known sooner, you thought. If either of you had actually said anything, maybe you could have been coming home to this every day for the past few months.

You could come home to it every day from now on.

With a desperate groan Bartolomeo shoved his jeans and boxers down his hips, kicking them off the bed as he pulled you down by the waist to lay fully flat against the mattress. He cradled your face in his hands and kissed you again, smothering you with more as he covered your cheeks and trailed them down your neck, each one gracing you with little scratches as his fangs caught your flesh. You dragged your nails down his back and he responded with a guttural moan, his hips bucking and pressing his length against you as a result. You gasped at the heated contact, looking down between your bodies.

Oh shit. He really was long. You couldn’t resist reaching down and taking his shaft in your hand, sighing at the weight and velvety feel. 

Bartolomeo let out a choked gasp, his eyes widening before squeezing shut as he bit down hard on his lip. Fuck, fuck your hand felt so much better than his, so small and soft in comparison. You gave him a squeeze and he practically yelped, burying his face in your chest to stifle the sound.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he whined, rolling his hips forward and making his cock slide in your hand. “You feel so good.”

You stroked along his length, the resulting moan from him vibrating your ribcage. You lifted your hips, pressing his cock between your body and hand, crooning, “You’re supposed to say that after you start fucking me.”

He smiled and lifted his head, caressing your cheek with the side of his hand. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

His other hand covered yours and helped guide himself down, slowly sliding along your slick folds. The pressure of his length against your core was torment, making you ache with each teasing stroke. You lifted your hips again, trying to catch the head of his cock on the opening of your cunt, whimpering with each attempt.

Bartolomeo bit his lip again, hard enough to draw blood. It was taking every ounce of restraint he had not to shove into you — he wanted to savor this moment, knowing you were as desperate for him as he was for you, drinking in every needy whine and frustrated rake of your nails on his arms and back. But he was also so much bigger than you... he thought he’d be fine girth-wise, but length? He’d likely bottom out before you even reached the base.

“Barto,” you groaned, digging your nails into his back, “stop teasing and fuck me.”

“Ohh, shit.” He slowed his hips, lining up his head with your opening. “Say that again.”

You put your hands on either side of his face, looking into his fiery eyes. “Fuck me, Bartolomeo. Please.”

“That’s my girl.”

With that, he plunged his cock inside.

Your scream caught in your throat, the burning stretch of your walls a sweet relief from the torture. He pushed in slow, inch by blissful inch, stopping just shy of your cervix. For a moment, you both stayed there, adjusting to each other and staring into one another’s eyes. Bartolomeo then pulled his hips back, then snapped them forward again, pushing in as far as he could go. He was right — he wouldn’t fit to the hilt. But he was going to be damn sure to enjoy as much he was able to drive in to the fullest.

The next thrust sent spots scattering into your vision, and you finally let out the scream trapped in your chest, clenching tight around him. His groaning grew almost feral as he picked up speed, once more burying his face in your neck and biting. You shrieked, unsure if the sharp pain was him sucking at the skin or his teeth breaking through it, but combined with the feeling of his dick bullying its way as deep as it could go, you were more than willing to endure anything he decided to do with you. Even if it meant letting him eat you whole.

Bartolomeo let go of your neck with a satisfying pop , laving over the dark bruise he left behind and tasting the traces of blood there. His hips stuttered — shit, he hurt you... you tasted so much better than he ever dreamed — but he couldn’t stop. From how tight you became when he released his bite, you weren’t letting go of his shaft any time soon, regardless. Good. He needed this. He needed you.

“Mine,” he rasped, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

You whimpered, your eyes watering as you met each thrust, hooking your legs around his waist to draw him in as deep as he could go. Your name fell from his lips with every thrust like a prayer, occasionally broken by the deep husk of “mine”.

The tension in your gut finally snapped and you saw white, screaming Bartolomeo’s name in his ear as you held tight, your cunt spasming around him. Fire flooded your veins, spreading across your back and down again through your legs. He wasn’t far behind, his prayer devolving, “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He abruptly pulled out, his orgasm ripping through him like lightning as he came, his seed spilling over your stomach and thighs. He quickly sat upright and took hold of his cock, pumping out the last of it onto your mound, unable to stop a bit of drool from dripping down his chin onto you. You whined and writhed beneath him from the sudden loss of contact, but in hindsight it was for the better, considering neither of you had protection.

Panting, Bartolomeo collapsed beside you, one arm draped over your chest and pulling you close as he peppered your face with kisses. Breathless, you returned some of them, struggling to keep up in the post orgasm haze, but relishing every time your mouths connected. 

After a few more placed to your forehead, he shakily stood from the bed, holding your face in his hands.

“Stay here,” he muttered, giving your cheeks a soft squeeze. “Please — please stay right here.”

You laughed, taking hold of his wrists. “I’m not going anywhere.”

This time he couldn’t help it. A few tears slid down his face and he kissed your forehead again before parting and rushing to the bathroom. He nearly tripped running back with a hand towel, truly terrified that you weren’t going to be there, that you’d fade away. But there you were, splayed out on the bed with your eyes closed, a pretty smile on your face.

When you opened your eyes and directed that smile at him, he melted, crawling atop the mattress to kiss you again as he slowly wiped away the mess he made on you. You sighed, letting yourself relax as he cleaned.

Once he was done he pulled his bedsheets over you both, staring down at you with wide, watery eyes. You couldn’t help but laugh again, stroking your thumbs over his slightly dampened cheeks. “Everything okay?”

Bartolomeo couldn’t stop the words if he tried. “I love you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you saw your smile reflected in his eyes. “I love you, too.”

He pulled you close to his chest as you fell asleep, holding you as tight as he could without hurting you.

He was yours.

You were his.

Finally.

You awoke to find you and Bartolomeo lying diagonally across his bed, with him holding you close to his chest. His teddy bear he didn’t want falling off. You let out a content sigh, at first tempted to snuggle down closer and enjoy the heat radiating from him.

Unfortunately, your bladder demanded release, and his hold was just a little too firm to wriggle your way out of.

“Barto?”

He hummed, burying his face into your hair.

“Barto, I need to pee.”

He sighed, his breath tickling your neck as he muttered, “So go pee.”

You snorted, tugging at the arms around you. “Kinda need you to let me go first.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“You’d rather I pee the bed?”

He nuzzled the shell of your ear, purring, “Sounds kinky.”

“Eugh, gross !” you laughed, now squirming desperately to get out of his hold. “Not even remotelyappealing!”

He chuckled and lifted one arm to release you. “Go piss, girl.”

It took an embarrassing amount of effort not to laugh too hard as you ran across the hall to the bathroom. When you returned, Bartolomeo was sitting on the edge of the bed, the blanket half-draped over his lap doing little to disguise his morning wood. Sunlight managed to peek through the curtains, outlining him in a warm glow. His hair was a mess, half of it hanging over his face until he pushed it back with a yawn. When his eyes met yours, he smiled. Even with his fangs, the expression was soft, and brimmed with adoration.

How did you ever think he didn’t love you?

You smiled back and moved to stand between his knees. He took your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over them before he suddenly laid back, pulling you down with him. You squealed, giggling as he began peppering your face with kisses, trailing them down your neck and back up again. You pushed against him, fighting to sit back upright, but his arms kept you close, denying you relief from the onslaught of affection. He barely left enough room for himself to speak between kisses.

“I wanna—” chu “—spend every day—” chu “—just like this.—” chu “—Don’t wanna—” chu “—spend—” chu “—a single—” chu “—second—” chu “—without you.”

After a few more kisses, Bartolomeo paused, then sighed. “Now I gotta piss.”

“Guess you’re gonna have to spend just a few more seconds without me.” You kissed along his jawline. “Think you’ll survive?”

“I guess,” he whined, giving you one more squeeze before getting up. He gave you a wide, almost dopey smile at you over his shoulder as he left, then leaned back into the doorway and quickly said, “Stay right there. Gonna be right back.”

Another giggle bubbled forth from you as he darted off. With a happy sigh you shifted on the bed to lay on it properly, one hand slipping underneath his pillows. Your palm touched a different fabric than the pillow case, and your curiosity piqued. Curling your fingers you rolled onto your back and pulled the mystery fabric out, holding it over your head.

A small, light purple t-shirt, with the words “Bite Me” across the front in black, drippy font.

The bed fell out from beneath you. Everything in your periphery melted away. You sat upright, sliding your legs off the bed as you stared at the shirt in your hands. Your shirt. The one you lost not long after moving in. And it smelled like your perfume. How did it smell like your perfume? The shirt had been missing for months, it shouldn’t have still smelled like you.

Your stomach lurched. The world around you began to spin just a little too fast as a horrible chill crept up your spine. Movement out of the corner of your eye drew your attention to the door.

Bartolomeo was standing at the threshold, still as stone.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you asked a question you already knew the answer to.

“Why do you have my shirt?”

[herrling]

i should've known that. should've used to it already. somehow it's natural, Soph. ppl are just like that. it's gonna happen in any fandom that is of a fem-targeted game, let alone an otome.

...why there's ship content/ccxcc shippers in an OTOME game 😭

[heavencasteel420]

I do feel pretty confident in saying that Joyce is gonna (not super literally) kick Laura Cunningham’s ass before the story is through.

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[theshadowrealmitself]

I like to think that Vulcans who come to understand that Humans just can’t try to process emotions the same way as them, it’s just healthiest to let it out in harmless ways, decide that venting and stuff should be taken just as seriously as Vulcan’s meditation time, and will encourage the Humans around them to complain about what’s upsetting them

People who are used to aloof Vulcans who avoid Humans at all cost running into one comforting a Human

“-and then they said my cheesecake was subpar, and they didn’t even bring a dish!!!”

“The purpose of this event was that every participant brings a food item of sorts, correct?”

“Yeah!!”

“And they did not follow this rule while insulting dishes that were brought?”

“Mostly just my dish but yeah >:(“

“How illogical”

“That’s what I’m saying!!!”

[chloesimaginationthings]

Vanny's type in FNAF is so obvious...

[tazmiilly]

fucking hell man

[bluegiragi]

brief.

early access + nsfw on patreon monster!AU masterpost

[hinamie]

i'm on an itafushi kick and i am making it everyone else's problem

[marskid11]

love is pretty stupid

[airoarts]

I know several other people have redrawn that one official cloudtail & brightheart art but i wanted to take a crack at it. Hire me harpercollins.

[ID: a digital painting of Cloudtail and Brightheart from Warriors in a semi-realistic style. Cloudtail is a fluffy white cat with blue eyes, and Brightheart is a ginger-and-white cat with one blue eye and heavy scarring on the other side of her face, including an empty eyesocket, shredded ear, and part of her lip torn away to reveal her teeth. The cats are facing towards the viewer, looking happy, with Brightheart leaning her head into Cloudtail's muzzle. They are in a field of tall grass with mountains visible in the background and a tree with a few leaves looming over them. End ID]

Original below the cut for comparison

[ID: a painting similar to the first one, but Brightheart and Cloudtail are drawn in a more realistic style, lacking expression, and not leaning into each other. Brightheart has much less ginger on her pelt and her scarring is reduced to a few scratches on her eye. End ID]

[egophiliac]

YOU MANIFESTED THE TWEEL CARDS CONGRATS

YOU'RE WELCOME EVERYBODY!

seriously though I was probably like. 60-80% thinking we'd get at least one tweel for chapter 10. but I was NOT expecting it so soon! both of 'em! in August! a shame we're not getting a Coral Sea event after all...but I guess I can be resigned to that and ALSO excited for getting shiny sparkly glowing(!!!!) mertwins along with Azul fighting his inner demons and going right for the eyes! AHHHH I CAN'T WAIT

(also heeeey I recognize that rowboat... 👀)

[triviallytrue]

The state of affairs in Palestine

EDIT: This post is now more than a week old. Updated post here.

Israel has ordered an evacuation of northern Gaza over 24 hours. This order affects 1.1 million people. The UN believes this is completely impossible.

Israel's president has said that civilians in Gaza are complicit in Hamas' attacks.

Reminder that around 40% of Gaza's population is 14 or younger.

Egypt has closed its border to Gaza refugees.

The US state department has asked diplomats to avoid talking about ceasefires, deescalation, or an end to violence.

The Israeli Air Force claims to have already dropped around 6000 bombs on Gaza in the past week.

For context on that last stat: when the US destroyed Mosul (in a rapid intensification of its air war) it dropped around 500 bombs a week.

More than three quarters of Israelis blame the Israeli government for the attack and ensuing war, and more than half believe Netanyahu must be removed from power.

[agentravensong]

thinking about how the extra area added on to a pacifist run of undertale, the true lab, is about alphys's past mistakes. how it ends with the story reaffirming that, despite the pain she's caused, the thing that matters is that she has now made the choice to do the right thing. she's still worthy of her friends' love.

thinking about how undertale doesn't expect the player to get a pacifist ending for the first time. how it's more likely than not that the player will kill toriel the first time they battle her, how lots of players don't initially figure out how to end undyne's fight without killing her, etc. what it expects — not even expects, really, but hopes — is that the player, if they care enough, will use their canonically acknowledged power over time to make up for those mistakes.

no matter how many neutral runs a player has done before committing to the pacifist run, the thing that matters to the characters, to the story, is that you've chosen, now, to do the right thing.

compared to alphys, the player honestly gets off lightly, in that you're the only one (other than flowey) who really remembers any harm you might have caused. and any direct guilting the game could have done about it is long past at this point. instead, as undertale often does, it makes its point via parallels: alphys caused harm, and she knows it. she has committed to being better. in doing so, she has unlocked for herself a better ending to her story. and she deserves it. she's forgiven.

those structural narrative parallels are all over undertale, if you know where to look. and that's one of the things that makes it so fuckin' good.

[willowcrowned]

I do think there is something particularly heartbreaking about Jawbone coming to Adaine only after she's managed to fix her problems herself. Like—Jawbone so clearly wants to be her father, and Adaine (out of love for him!) refuses to let him be one.

Children are meant to be burdens to their parents, and Jawbone knows that. But Adaine doesn't. So by trying to avoid being a burden, she's keeping him from being able to love her the way he so badly wants to.

[ducksdontdraw]

two good birds having very different mornings 😊