#i love them too much not to share

[daikon-dishes]

Breathing | Wanderer x OC

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, Wanderer's perspective, hopefully, this reflects canon Wanderer Note: I know what you're gonna think when you read my oc's name and I want you all to know that Frieren means "freezing" in German.

The air was warm and gentle, filled with the fragrant scent of flowers swaying in the breeze. They were in a secluded field in Liyue, far from the bustling markets and stone-paved paths. Golden, orange, and drops of blue blossoms stretched out around them, a sea of color beneath the setting sky. The birds sang their final songs, the squirrels hid the last of their nuts, and the spirits began to whisper hushed melodies across the stretch of land—it almost seemed like they were the only two people left now.

Wanderer lay on his back beside Frieren, his gaze fixed on the sky above. Somewhere nearby, a few Glaze Lilies swayed, their soft blue and white petals reaching toward the heavens. He had always found Liyue's landscape a bit too lively for his liking—the constant sounds, the chatter of merchants, the clamor of the harbor, the towering heights of each mountain—but here, lying amidst the flowers of Qingce Village with Frieren beside him, he found a rare pocket of tranquility.

His hat rested on his chest with his arms laying flatly on his side. The grass tickled his skin and the orange flowers kissed his porcelain cheeks but from the corner of his eye, he watched Frieren, who was lying quietly next to him. She was staring up at the sky too, her eyes half-closed, perhaps lost in thought or connecting the glimmering stars in the sky like a puzzle. Her breaths were slow and steady, a calm rhythm he found himself noticing.

He didn’t need to breathe. He wasn’t human; he was a puppet—an imitation of life. Breathing was more habit than necessity for him, a learned gesture to blend in with the living. But now, with nothing but the whispering wind and the occasional rustle of petals to disturb the peace, he became acutely aware of the difference between them. How carefully she breathed as if savoring the freshness of the wind. Her breaths were real, each inhale and exhale a testament to her existence. He could feel her pulse against his wrist where their skins barely touched, gentle and rhythmic, almost like watching the ocean's tide.

And, unconsciously, he began to mimic her. He drew a breath in as she did, then released it when she did. At first, it was a clumsy attempt, like a child repeating a tune they had heard or taking their first steps on the soft clay ground. But as he continued matching her pace, breath for breath, it became… something else. Something more.

He didn’t even realize he was doing it until he caught himself holding his breath, waiting for her next inhale so he could match it—his pupils blown wide and focused entirely on the way her chest rose and fell with each breath. He furrowed his brow slightly, suddenly aware of the absurdity of it all. He didn’t need to breathe. It wasn’t necessary. So why was he doing it? Why was he trying to sync with her?

Another breath, another exhale.

He tried to tell himself it was a distraction, something to occupy his mind as the moon took over the night sky. But the more he did it, the more he became aware of her—of the rise and fall of her chest, the soft sighs she let out, the way her lips parted slightly with each breath, and the way her eyes closed when the winds would pass the lands to make the trees sway and the flowers bow. His gaze shifted away from the brilliant sky, drawn to her and the golden stars in her blue eyes. There was something inexplicably soothing about the sound of her breathing, like a lullaby he had never heard but felt he knew by heart. He didn’t realize how much he had tuned everything else out until all he could hear was her.

Matching her breaths started as a curiosity that became a game, then a challenge, then something he didn’t quite understand anymore. It was intimate in a way he wasn’t prepared for, a closeness that wasn’t physical but felt deeper than any touch. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to do it, but he did. Maybe it was because it made him feel… connected to someone, in some small, strange way. As if by breathing in tandem with her, he was more than just a puppet, more than just a construct. As if synchronizing with her made him human. A wanderer.

“What are you doing?” Her voice broke the silence, soft but tinged with curiosity. He hadn’t realized she had noticed, her eyes now focused on him and twinkling with wonder as if he was a prophet brought by the heavens to announce a message from Celestia.

His eyes flickered up to meet hers, tearing his eyes away from her parted lips, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure how to answer. For once, he was rendered speechless, the nasty bark he had prepared dying on the tip of his tongue. What was he doing? “Nothing,” he muttered, turning his gaze back to the sky, a faint flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. He could practically hear the stars giggling at his predicament, amused that he got caught. “Just… thinking.”

“Thinking?” she repeated, her tone gentle but probing.

“Yeah,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Thinking.”

A silence fell between them again, but it was different this time. She didn’t press further, and he didn’t offer any more explanations. But as they lay there, side by side in the field of flowers, he found himself still matching her breaths, each inhale and exhale a silent promise he didn’t quite understand. A proclamation of a feeling he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

For once, Wanderer allowed himself to be still, to let the moment linger without trying to analyze or dissect it. Perhaps, in this fleeting moment of stillness, he wanted to be someone who had no need for the past nor sense of meaning. There was something oddly comforting in this simple act of breathing, of just existing, even if it made no logical sense to him. And as they lay there, breaths synchronized and in union, he couldn’t help but feel that, somehow, this simple act meant more than he could ever put into words.

[barghest-land]

drawings from paleo expedition to dagestan, done right on the trip. sometimes messy when it was cold and rainy, but i won't correct it. i think it's cool to leave it just the way it was done, and not retouch it after. there will be more drawings later, but those will be done from home

[sketchy-tour]

I need him to bury me in affection right now

[justaz]

im not a fan of modern merthur but the idea of them meeting in modern times and introducing themselves to each other and them laughing and bonding over their names being connected to the myth of king arthur and camelot is just so cute

[ariariari-freehounreal]

When the test subject they told you was aggressive is actually just angsty and autistic

.

I figured if Wheatley were a human he would probably be part of a team that cares for test subjects. Which involves basic medical checkups and general wellness checks. Maybe in Chells case, since she’s so anti-social, he was tasked to be a sort of companion so they could get more information out of her for testing purposes. :3 he’s classified as a nurse and has basic training in it. But he’s not making sense because he’s kinda scared of Chell at first. She just thinks he’s weird and kinda smells bad.

.

I have a hc on why Chell is a test subject I’m just gonna try to write it here

Basically her mother was too young and poor to raise a child so she felt it better to put Chell up for adoption. The orphanage she was raised in was being used by aperture to scout out children with certain “exceptional skills”. They noticed that Chell was highly intelligent and a great problem solver, but had no interest in spending time with others. She had no friends. And none of the other children noticed or cared when she left. She was probably adopted by a high ranking scientist and raised for the specific purpose of testing. She has little concept of social norms or things outside of aperture because she was taken from a “normal” environment so young. [like. Before she was 10 maybe? Idk.] but it doesn’t mean she’s dumb or anything, she just doesn’t really get it yk. Sorry if this is actually so stupid and embarrassing ignore me

[ohitslen]

Living together.

The snail video if you are interested :)

[revenantghost]

For those curious, yes, Nightow's gotten his amazing Tristamp Vash figure, and, predictably, he's in love and gushing about it the same as he used to in the Trimax bonus author comics [x]

Bonus [x]:

[dreamofcamelot]

Someone contact the bbc I have Merlin season 6 right here

[odetojupiter]

so, we know that abuse and victim responses to abuse are very central to aftg, but what i find interesting is how other characters respond to the victim’s reactions, especially when it comes to mourning their abuser. there’s something about kevin mourning riko, aaron mourning tilda, neil mourning mary, andrew mourning cass, thats so important to me because it really truly highlights how even when people are united through similar traumas, the differences in their situations makes it impossible to fully understand the relationship a person has to their abuser. neil, aaron, and andrew are united through the abuse, neglect, or - what the fuck is the word i’m thinking of? permit? condone? i mean, knowingly allowing it to happen and not intervening - stemming from a maternal figure. but neil can’t understand why andrew would hold on to cass for so long - he refused to let her go until aaron came into the picture. and andrew can’t understand why aaron would mourn for tilda, potentially viewing aaron’s grief as a betrayal of their promise. and they all ridicule kevin for his reactions to riko. of course, neil and andrew are also abused by riko, but they still can’t understand the complicated relationship between kevin and riko because, at the end of the day, they just weren’t there.

i mean this is primarily an observation but i really love how trauma and trauma response is depicted as nuanced, complex and overall just difficult to understand from an outsider perspective in the books. it reads as really real, and though it can be frustrating when a character doesn’t understand a different character’s response, you have to understand that their perception of said character’s response is warped by their own experience of abuse.

andrew bounced from home to home, never had stability, so obviously he held tight on to the first mother-figure that didn’t outright hurt him. his self-worth was probably low enough that he thought living with drake was a fine price to pay to keep cass.

neil only ever had his mother, and he’d willingly accept her harsh hands because he believed she was just keeping him safe from the very real dangers that were closing in on them.

aaron was dealing with an addiction, and so was his mother; he was equally dependent on her to avoid withdrawal as he was scared of her anger.

i don’t really have a point anymore but you get what i’m saying

[deoidesign]

"I'm the dog they put with cheetahs to keep them from going crazy in captivity" x "I'm the cheetah that is threatening to go crazy" 4 ever

(I make a webcomic about them)

[lemongogo]

trimax sketches

[ruporas]

soft (and some bittersweet)

[willowser]

you don't know how much comfort your dragon king bkg drabble has given me ever since you posted it!! i keep reading it i love it sm 🥹

as it turns out, the man bakugou is — a bit harder to handle.

he sleeps like a heathen; you once thought the dragon bakugou to be a bit lazy, with how often he tended to curl up in the fields of grass, warm under the sun, but now — it would seem his little human form needs significantly less rest.

almost up all hours of the day, and when he does finally lay down, he's everywhere. a mess of limbs: one thrown carelessly out to the side and the other bent at an angle you can't believe doesn't hurt his joints. his head stays tucked into you somehow, either buried in your neck or pressed against your ribs — or you'll wake to find him nose-to-nose with you. he still snores like a dragon, however.

you're also beginning to wonder if there is a bottom to the pit of his stomach. he ate much before, whole fields of things, but you expected that appetite to dwindle, at least a little, now that his stomach has decreased considerably in size. and in number ? you're not even sure how many stomachs a dragon has; that's not something that was mentioned in the fairytales.

it burns through him quickly, gives him more energy than he needs, and it doesn't ever seem to affect his weight much. already, he's huge and thick with muscle and eating as much as he does never dulls the severity of his cut abdomen. not that you're looking all that much.

— not that you have a choice not to, as he seems to have little-to-no understanding of —

the door to the bathhouse kicks open, with enough force that you already know who it is without ever turning to look. you try not to shriek when you see him, because he seems to like that in some evil, impish way.

you've been alone to wash so far, thankfully, as the inn you'd managed to find was small and far enough out from the nearest kingdom that the occupancy was low — enough for you and your little brute.

the man bakugou comes to stand in front of the bath, blinking and huffing against the steam. finding clothes for him was — nearly impossible, and so the trousers you'd found hanging on someone's line outside fit above his ankles, a bit too tight around his waist. instead of a shirt, you've wrapped him in a scratchy linen, swaddled him up like a baby to cover the small smattering of scales that decorate his body, almost like freckles from the sun, though they gleam just as bright and red as they ever have. no matter his form.

a horn has started to sprout, on the right side of his forehead, and you've done your best to cover that, too.

you have no idea how long this man thing will last. if it's permanent or if he even has control over it. the last thing you need is for him to switch back, somehow, while you're in the middle of feeding him, absolutely demolishing whatever tavern you're in and calling all of king todoroki's guards to attention.

bakugou grunts, almost sleepy, and tosses a fat, weighty sack onto the edge of the bath. it jingles a certain jingle that makes your heart stop.

"oh, allfather—" you move for the edge, awkwardly keeping one arm against your chest despite the fact that he's seen it all by now. when you peek inside and confirm your fears, you lob it back to him furiously, as if it were a steaming potato. "where do you keep getting this stuff?"

things have started to turn up, miraculously. shiny things — like coins and rings and gems. things he could not have simply found rolling around in the dirt.

"go put it back!" you hiss at him, and the tone of your voice makes his frown deepen. you never realized how pouty he was, when he was still a dragon.

you think he understands you, and you're pretty certain he just chooses not to listen; instead of doing what you've told him in the slightest, he simply dumps the coin-purse to the floor, and then lets his linen and stolen trousers cover it as he unceremoniously undresses.

the biggest issue that you would say the man bakugou poses is — his complete lack of understanding of personal space.

"bakugou!" your voice wavers, shocked again by his nakedness. as if you haven't seen it all by now. "no, you — get out!"

but he does the exact opposite, which is hop into the steaming water, ignoring the arm you hold out to keep him away as he saddles up beside you. skin against scales, pressing a nose into your hair to huff out his annoyance, to make it something you can feel.

if anyone were to walk in right now, they would — probably think the lie you'd told the innkeeper was true. that you are a simple traveler and this is your mute, over-sized husband.

regardless, you think this behavior isn't polite. especially in a public bathhouse.

"bakugou," you try again, turning your face away as you speak to the wood-paneled wall. "i'm taking a bath, you have to wait your turn."

all you receive in response is another huff against your ear and a low rumble of disagreement from his chest.

he has yet to speak back, and has only used inhuman sounds as his points of conversation. the only word you've ever heard him utter is oi, which he does when he really thinks he needs your attention. you're starting to wonder if he's named you that in his head. oi.

curiously, you turn back to him and the movement has him pulling his face from your hair, just enough that he can look down at you, too. watch you, with the red-rippled sea in his eyes.

they're — amazing, you will admit. just as bright and detailed as they always have been. fit for a fairytale told by the fire, veiled by the soft-ash of his lashes. he watches you through them, half-lidded, and you wonder if it's something other than fatigue that has them so heavy.

"do you know what i'm saying?" you ask quietly, voice lacking the firm heat you want it to. instead it's heavy, too, weighted by something soft and unfamiliar and frightening. "can you even understand me?"

bakugou doesn't respond, not with a huff or a rumble or ever a purr, like the one he let out on the night he lay over you by the lake. you've only heard it sparingly since then, oftentimes in his sleep when his face is pressed into you.

you try not to frown at his silence, try not to let it disappoint you because it shouldn't; he's a dragon afterall, and you're not sure what it matters. the little horn protruding from his forehead catches your eye and you reach up to touch it gently, watching him blink away the water that drips from your wrist — and then he's turning into you again, too close.

beneath the water, you feel his hands skate up your bare thighs, wrap around your waist until your chest is pulled flush against his. you feel his huff, again, against the damp skin of your neck but it's slower, lighter. not laced with his frustration. some unknown thing you feel guilty for liking.

you drop your hand to his hair, rushing full force into all the damned things you've thought about doing but have been too afraid to. he's soft between your fingers, and you trace your nails lightly against his scalp until he groans quietly; a new noise, one you don't know how to translate.

your fingers stop when they brush upon little spines that have grown at the base of his skull, that have started to trail down the center of his back.

suddenly, tangled up in the bath with him, you wonder how much time you have left.

bakugou huffs again into your skin, a little fiercer this time, and it's because of his light jostling that you realize how rigid you've gone. you try to relax so that he will, too, though you must not do a convincing job, because a sharp nip comes to your earlobe.

"ow!" you squeal, but he doesn't let you go far, not even as you try to jerk away from him. in fact, the harder you try the more his teeth show: into your cheek and the point of your jaw and then dangerously low on your neck.

it's not until you finally freeze that he stops, huffing again, with a warmth that burns more than the steaming water.

and then, very quietly, he grumbles, "shitty wife," into your collarbone, just before biting you again.

[forcedhesitation]

astarion origin playthrough worth it just for all the extra moments where he does the "sad wet cat" face

[sakitenyoyo]

A Kieran and Pecharunt outfit design for Pokemon Masters that I drew back in December/January! THEY ARE MADE FOR EACH OTHER!!

I do think that it looks much more like a summer holiday alt outfit instead of a Sygna Suit... But I was just very inspired by the tale of Momotaros so I wanted to make my Kieran x Pecharunt fit have a samurai look!

I did redesign the outfit about a month later just to give it more detail and pecharunt shape language. Me and my indecisiveness go brrr. At least I like the new version a lot more in terms of design (so when am i gonna draw the new design digitally? probably NEVER lmao)

[capcollector]

sorta companion piece to these doodles

something that’s crossed my mind in the context of deacon and bunny getting together/starting a family. how do you react when two ppl you really respect but maybe don’t exactly Love say they’re having a kid together.