#i fucking hate numbers

[nekohrine]

nanowrimo day twenty eight: wrote a very silly scene and I'm not sure if I'm proud of it

[snotrockett]

numbers are not flat in my head. they are not on a piece of paper they are floating around freely getting all flipped and scrambled . i can’t work with them

[obsessive-clown]

If one more number is presented to me on a paper I swear I’m going to

[weirdglassthing]

Don’t give a mouse a cookie but it’s don’t give an artist a canon detail about a character anyways torbeks favorite movie!!

Sorry for inactivity but I’ve got some FIRE things coming up 🫡

[stvrlitsky]

[papanowo]

get a grip loverboy !!!

[laurrelise]

one of my favorite quotes in any season, any episode of the umbrella academy is in s2e2 when elliot held up a huge shotgun and screamed “are you or are you not an enemy of the people” and five just nonchalantly said “really depends on the people”

[scoobydoodean]

[ithinkimauggie]

Mm, yes... The one you call Benrey...

I've been advised by my employers that, his true nature is on something of a "need-to-know" basis...

And you, Doctor Freeman, do not need to know...

ayo fuck this painting lol have another cropped vers

[bunnyboy-juice]

NO MORE ASSOCIATING THINGS WITH FEMMES ONLY BECAUSE THEY ARE PINK!HYPERFEM FEMMES ARE GREAT AND I LOVE YOU CAMPY FEMMES WHO EMBODY PINK BUT ALSO JESUS CHRIST CAN YOU GUYS NOT GO MORE THAN ONE DAY W/O TRYING TO SHOEHORN FEMMES INTO BEING ONLY PINK UWU BABIES. I AM FEMME AS IN GRASS AS IN DIRT AS IN TREE BARK AS IN WEEDS SPROUTING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK CEMENT. FEMME AS IN GENDER NONCONFORMITY AS IN FUCK YOU MY FEMININITY IS WHAT *I* SAY IT IS. FEMME AS IN DEPTH AND DARKNESS AND WARMTH AND TERROR. FEMME AS IN CAVES. FEMME AS IN LIGHTNING. FEMME AS IN AN AMALGAMATION OF TRAITS THAT I HAVE DECIDED ARE FEMININE REGARDLESS OF WHAT SOCIETY SAYS. FUCK IS IT THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND?!???

[redvelvetbunny]

so, a dog runs up, bites you and then just disappears?

just some magical asshole dog in the forest?

yes luke exactly what you said

[seance]

You don't belong here. You don't know anything about us.

[manofbeskar]

[m1d-45]

snapshot

summary: short, soft moments with your lover, featuring tighnari and neuvillette (separately) in that order.

word count: ~1k composite

-> warnings: big mention of bugs in tighnari's ! none shown but theyre discussed, as are bug bites. none for neuvi.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

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

< masterlist >

bug bites were common among forest rangers. a special bug repellent was included in every pack, a black bottle with plain instructions. tighnari put effort into making it easy to apply and easier to understand, constantly finding new ways to promote its usage. if gone untreated, even small beestings can become serious. add onto it the fact that he was the one that inevitably had to treat them, and he had every motivation to ensure it was used. he made sure that spares were easily accessible, included demonstrations in training, and emphasized the importance of proper application before every patrol.

so why in teyvat did you keep getting bit?

every time, without fail, you returned from patrol scratching your wrist or ankle or wherever you inevitably got bit. and every time, he had to be the one to drag you to the medical hut. at least if you acknowledged the severity of the situation and brought your injuries to him on your own, that’d be understandable. he understood that the feeling of lotion wan’t bearable for everyone—he was in the process of transforming it into a mist to make it even easier—and he’d be happy to find ways to keep you inside if that was the case. there was no shortage of small chores to be done, and with collei now in full recovery, you could easily take her place.

but no. of course not. that would be too easy. his partner happened to be the most stubborn ranger on the squad, with the worst affinity for bugs he’d ever seen.

“how does this always happen to you?”

you shrug, pulling his mint plant off the shelf and beginning to tear off a few leaves. part of him is proud you at least know the proper treatment, though it’s quickly overshadowed by the angry swelling on your hand. he takes the leaves and nudges you toward the chair, searching his drawers for the rest of the poultice.

“how long ago did you get bit?”

“maybe half an hour.”

“half an-” he twisted open the tin with too much force, sighing. “and you didn’t come back immediately why?”

he can hear the smile in your voice. “it wasn’t that serious.”

“…what color was it?”

“yellow.”

“really?”

“and striped. probably a wasp.”

he didn’t know how you had the energy to be sassy, tearing the leaves into shreds and mixing it into the tin. your eyes were red with tears and you hissed when he spread the medicine over your wrist, clearly in pain. the area around your bite was hot to the touch, and he could feel his ears pull back in worry.

“why do you insist on going on patrol?” why do you insist on getting hurt?

“it’s not a big deal.” i don’t care about my pain.

“it is.” i do.

he wiped off his hands and grabbed a roll of bandages, wrapping your hand. your fingers flinched whenever he pulled it too tight. how could you insist on putting yourself at risk like this?

he taped down the end, holding your hand in his. “if it gets too itchy, come back to me, okay?” will you let me care for you?

“of course i will.” i’ll try.

he brought your hand to his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

maybe this time, you’d mean it.

rain was common in fontaine. gutters lined every road and fountains sprayed wherever there was enough room to put one. carved bricks channeled water out of the plazas, every inch of the city designed with rainfall in mind. steep roofs fell over wide awnings, thick greeting rugs in front of every building. when it rained, it poured, though no puddles lay in the streets. sharp lights cut through the dense fog hanging over ivory walls, lighting up the city even when the clouds blocked out the sun.

but the world did not come to a standstill merely because the weather asked it to. boots were sold covered in waterproof wax, many-layered skirts designed to flick off water in a single twirl. fashion was as beautiful as it was untouchable, the very idea of something being vulnerable to waterlog appalling and confusing. who would create such a thing? who would wear it without an umbrella? and, entirely separate from that: who would ever consider leaving the house without an umbrella?

umbrellas were as vital to fashion as they were to the ever-changing weather. they came in every color and shape, made to match every conceivable outfit one could wear. and if, by some miracle, you couldn’t find one that did, there were a plethora of boutiques offering custom embroidery. the steambird was eager to comment on the shifting designs across officials’ umbrellas, trends flowing in and out of their fashion column like the tide. everyone who worked in the court that had stepped outside on a rainy day—which was about as common as the sun rising—had their appearance meticulously documented; unless they refused being in the paper, of course, in which case other less-reputable sources picked up the story instead.

all were reported on, making the front page if not the headline. all, but one.

the iudex did not carry an umbrella. he also declined to entertain any questions as to why, merely stating that simple fact and moving on with his day. his hair clung to his face, even his suit darker with water. he walked down the less crowded roads so he wouldn’t bump into anybody, seeming entirely unbothered by the rain. sometimes he’d turn a palm toward the sky, as if checking that it was still there, and then continue on his way.

you always hated this habit of his. no matter how many times he insisted that he wouldn’t get sick, it was always worrying to open your door and find your lover soaked from head to toe. no water slips from him to your floors, not even from the soles of his boots, the click of his heels and your worried tone the only sound in the house. it was already late as it was, and there was no point to fuss about details at this hour.

“what happened?”

he shed his coat, suspended droplets hovering in the air around him. “the marechaussee phantom were called to mount automnequi; a melusine was badly injured by a rogue mek, and a fisherman had to pull her from the sea. i paid her a visit after work.”

that would explain things. he lets you wipe off his face, careful not to smudge the eyeliner that never seems to fade. already, the rain was beginning to let up, lightening from a downpour. rain in fontaine was as fickle as it was frequent…

“is she alright?”

“of course. the gardiennage provides excellent doctors.”

“then there’s no need to worry.” cupping his now-dry face in your hands, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “she’ll be back in her feet in no time.”

the slightest of smiles crossed his face, his hands keeping yours on him. outside, the skies were clearing, pale blue quickly streaming through the clouds.

perhaps umbrellas would fall out of fashion soon, if rains could cease before they truly had the chance to begin.

[izzyspussy]

the fact that they made it illegal to make ads louder than programs on tv in 2010 but haven't updated it to apply the same regulation to streaming. who do i have to call.

[dismas-n-dismay]

The amount of times Marcille will suggest blowing shit up with her magic is pushing me to the edge, like girl if you just wanna explode some shit it’s fine but not everything can be solved by using the Fuck-You-Pipe-Bomb spell when we’re in danger