#i was listening to mitski

[mocahstar]

painting for funsies

[completelymindfucked]

John sucks in a ragged breath through clenched teeth at the way Sam melts against him at three in the morning under the influence of gifted whiskey to ease away the nightmares plaguing that little head, fitting perfectly into every curved line of John's battered body like he was made to be there. Those soft exhales of whiskey tainted and toothpaste lingering breath tickling his throat are nearly his undoing. For a split second with Sam curled so trustingly close, it's like being transported back twenty years with Mary in his arms.

The resemblance tugs a wounded sound from somewhere deep in John's chest, breaking past every barrier to spill out into the quiet room. He's wanted this for so long, ached to hold his boy and breathe him in and never let go. Unable to help himself, John tips his head fractionally to nuzzle into Sam's hair, inhaling that unique scent that belongs to Sam alone until it fills his senses. His arm curls tighter, broad palm splayed possessively over the small of Sam's back to hold him locked against every hard plain and hollow of John's body.

He knows this is wrong, twisted in so many ways. But just for tonight, as Sam breathes easy in his arms, John will allow himself this small comfort and pretend. Pretend his boy means something far more than fathers should ever crave of sons. Pretend they have all the time in the world, and this simple intimacy could last forever between them. For now, it will sustain John through the darkest nights to come. This moment frozen in time, where at last he and Sam seem to fit together as one, will fuel him endlessly.

[arinmoss]

painted Chappell again :3

[generaltraitor]

"I miss you more than anything," is the sentence of all time. I miss you more than anything. More than getting to stay up as a child. More than my first pet. More than my dead relatives. More than my first grade best friend. More than the places I can't go back to. More than the time I won't get back. I miss you more than anything.

[e-ryn]

Apaixonar

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

I remember the nights were you yearned, begged, cried for my love as if you was a mutt whining for food. God, how you annoyed me; I hated you; I only stayed with you because I felt bad for you. No one was going to love, desire, long for you. It was only right for me to be the one who would shower you with love, to be your knight in shining armour, because if not me, who else would love you?

No one. The answer is no one, you are not a person who is loved. You are not a person who is desirable. You are not worthy of love. Not from your family, friends, and especially not from me. The truth is, even I didn't love you.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Yet, as I stand here, the rain crying with me, I only wonder if you was the one who was worthy of love, and I, was the one who was not. If I was the person who is not desirable, loved. I wonder if you were the one who was staying out of pity, because I am the person who is now yearning for your love, yet I know it would not be replicated, because the truth is.

A dead person can not love.

[blanc-ci]

He’s gotta analyze why the song gives him such an intense emotional response

[impish-baby]

Angst idea...

Being a child of divorce, one of your parents going on to start a new family and basically abandoning you. False promises, forgotten events, a shattered heart, something that will take a very very long time to heal.

That's not the case for their new kids though.

Birthdays are always celebrated, they don't have to beg for hugs, it's like your parent is a completely different person for them. Or maybe you're just not as loveable.

Step/half siblings being cruel growing up... not wanting to share their parent with you, when they were yours in the first place!

Always told to be more mature, to be the bigger person, that you can't be selfish. Eventually breaking down and giving up on ever having a relationship. You're not wanted and that's fine, they're happy without you.

Maybe seeing each other years later at a family Christmas party, siblings coming up like you're fucking friends? Trying to hug you??

They have the nerve to look hurt when you grimace and shove them away, glancing between each other as you storm off.

Getting cornered by your "parent"... what damm right does your donor have to talk to you like you're still theirs..

[caladhyiel]

The smell of hair dye reminds me of a place yet unsaid. Every time I dye my own hair black or another more fantastical color, I do not see myself in the mirror but my mother. Who I helped dye her hair since I was 15. And even days after, when my own hair still smells of chemicals I see my mother, who I hated and now love, stand behind me and help me dye my hair for the first time when I was 13. Even when we are hours apart, this shared performance of self expression, brings me closer to her and her own experiences.

[lilly-townshend]

[koipudding]

whenever you argue with jing yuan, he sits there so patiently and waits for you to finish your rant, leaving you tired out and a crying mess at the end. After all is said and done, he pats your head softly, large calloused hands cradling your face .

He coos and whispers your name, and assured that he won’t anger you like this again, and reassures that you are his treasure. Jing Yuan carefully explains his side, his perspective until every doubt, every piece of guilt and sadness is wiped from your face, and you fall asleep listening to his honeyed voice.

the next day you’re given his credit card and a few berry-pheasant skewers during lunch.

[k9wa]

⟁ TOUCH. ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — yearning for sensations long forgotten behind cool steel and blue blood.

⠀ OR

⠀ — you two can get along every once in a while.

⚠︎ mechanic!reader, rev comfort, boothill is a bit of a yearner, can you guys just fucking kiss already. gn reader wc 1.5k.

“you’re less obnoxious than usual,”

your voice snaps boothill out of his daze, eyes blinking quickly as he re-registers your hands in his torso messing with a few wires.

“you sick or something?”

the cyborg keeps his gaze down, watching the careful and precise movements of your hands, actions long practiced and refined. 

it's a little surprising when a flirt or some quick quip doesn't follow your comment— only a small huff of air through his nose as boothill leans further back onto his palms.

“nah. i'm fit as a fiddle.”

you spare a glance up, right eyebrow raising just a tad. you don’t believe him, and boothill’s too clocked out to notice your distrust.

though you don’t comment– not until the cavity in his stomach is closed up and all his pieces are back in place.

“that should be better,” you wipe the oil off your hands with an old rag hung from one of your belt loops. “how's that scratch healing up?”

boothill again is pulled from his thoughts by your voice, cybernetic hand subconsciously moving to the mostly scabbed and healed over cut on his jaw— the one you patched and gave him an earful for getting in the first place.

“‘s fine,” he runs his fingers over it as if he could feel the roughened skin. they linger over it just a little too long. “barely there anymore. we all done here?”

it's another comment that leaves you with a weird feeling in your gut— he always hung around, dragged out his repairs longer than they needed to take just to spend more time with you. to mess with you, ruffle your feathers while you pretend you don’t know exactly what he’s doing. it's almost disappointing when he expresses his eagerness to leave. not to mention the lack of his usual vibrato or high energy is a tad unsettling.

he tries to sit up from your work bench, but your palm against his chest pushes him carefully back down and keeps him seated. unbeknownst to you, boothill actively chokes down the simultaneous urges to swat your hand away and clutch onto it. did you know how insane your touch that he couldn’t even feel was driving him? did you know that he’d had his teeth grit since stepping one boot into your shop— the shop that he was only able to enter after giving himself a firm slap to his own forehead?

“what's with you?”

you folded your arms over your chest, eyes focussed calculatingly on the cowboy sitting in front of you. though the brim of his hat covers a good portion of his face, and his head doesn’t seem too keen on lifting. 

“what’s that s’posed t’mean?'' boothill doesn’t bother looking up, as expected.

“you look like a kicked dog.” 

boothill scoffs. “ain’t no sugar coatin’ it with you, is there?” 

“cmon,” you sigh, unfolding your arms to place them down on your table, caging either side of the cyborg’s hips. you give a slight lean forward as you put your weight down on them, and once more boothill’s caught between pushing you away or grabbing your shirt and pulling you closer. 

“talk to me, it’s weird seeing you all quiet.”

“ain’t you the one always tellin’ me to shut up?”

“boothill.”

he tilted his head back with a quiet groan, steel thumb rubbing at one of his temples. it's embarrassing, really, what he’s so hung up about. 

his thoughts drift to your hands on either side of him, that although calloused and stained with oil you’ll never be able to quite fully get out from under your fingernails, are still soft. human. not exactly delicate but not…clunky. or heavy.

he’s never really been one for vulnerability. where would he even begin? he’d hardened his interior to match the abrupt loss of his fleshy exterior. he didn’t feel he had a choice to do otherwise. now he’s left with the hyper awareness of just how bulky and inelegant he is— it’s not who he was before, not what he had. it never will be. 

“…just missin’ the way i used to be, i s’pose. i dunno.”

his eyes still dodge yours, pulling the brim of his hat down to block out your face from his peripherals. 

“just…forgettin’ things. how things feel against my fingers ‘n whatnot.” his words are half murmured, hesitant behind his lips.

if boothill had a stomach, it would have tightened and churned at your lack of a response. now he just feels silly, like you’re about to laugh in his face for the little bit of himself he’d just bared to you.

“not that i’m moppin’ about it or nothin’,” he quickly tries to save with a clear of his throat. “i mean, this ol’ hunk’a metal come in handy now and again, don’t it?” boothill straightens up a little bit, voice evening out. 

he’s still waiting for you to say something. literally anything— to give a half assed acknowledgement and let him go or call him an idiot. he eagerly awaits for you to just get either over with.

but rather than option a, or b, or even c to z, what he receives is your hand on his cheek, guiding his head to look back forward at you. 

…huh?

he feels frozen. your hand is so warm, it’s making his head feel fuzzy. it’s different than the occasional touch to his face from you, one to tilt his head up so you can see his neck or a lift of his eyelid to check on his eye.

it stays in place, long enough to make the area of his face you’re touching begin to warm as well. his eyes are locked with yours now, slightly wide and filled with uncertainty. he silently prays his cheeks aren’t blue.

“you can still feel here, right?” your question is so…innocent. it’s as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. your thumb slowly smoothing over his cheekbone is enough to make him feel utterly weak.

“���yeah. yeah, i can.”

he’s daring enough to put his hand overtop yours, keeping it in place. you smile slightly at that— not a teasing grin like usual, but a genuine one.

“you know,” your other hand brushes his bangs out of his eyes. boothill’s never been touched like this before, like he’s fragile.

“you don’t have to hide stuff from me.” right now, your voice is the most comforting thing he’s ever heard. he's blanking– you’re the only thing filling his senses. the smell of oil mixed with your body wash, the way you look at him as you speak, every part of it is so…grounding. it’s almost foreign, a sensation long forgotten behind layers of metal and code.

“i ain’t hiding things from ya, sugar plum.”

“quit it with that, okay?” 

your brows furrow lightly as you lean dangerously close. boothill can feel your slow, calm breaths fanning his upper lip. he resists the urge to gulp.

“i know you. probably more than you think.” you tilt the brim of his hat up gently, keeping it out of the way. it’s true, no one’s ever seen him in the ways that you have. comfortable, a little smitten, on and off malfunctioning.

“i don’t like seeing you upset,” boothill’s circuits stutter once your forehead rested against his. “so just talk to me next time.”

it’s not a request, but it’s not a demand either. perhaps “invitation” is a more fitting term.

“can we…” boothill clears his throat softly again, fingers lightly tightening around your hand. “do you reckon we can stay like this for a lil’ while then?” 

you nod.

“okay.”

you pull him a little closer, enough to place your cheek against his and give it a gentle nuzzle.

you’re warm. you’re soft. you smell good, feel good. he doesn’t want to let go.

one of boothill's arms snakes carefully around your waist, and slowly your chest is pulled flush against his while you’re stood between his legs. his face finds itself comfortably hidden in the crook of your neck, all while your thumb gently tracing the shell of his ear is enough to have him purring like a cat.

“you feel nice,” boothill says quietly, voice a bit rough. the rasp is endearing as always. “real nice, sugar.”

neither of you are sure how long you stay there, nor does boothill know when his hand began clutching your shirt as if he was afraid you would pull away. but the gentle whirl and hum of his internals are oddly soothing– like a built in white noise machine that puts your mind at ease.

boothill could have sat there forever, really. nudging his nose against the smooth skin of your neck and gripping tightly at what little physical feeling he had left.

you silently ponder kissing his temple, boothill silently ponders kissing your cheek. neither of you act.

“thank ya.” boothill's voice is nothing above a whisper. “been a while since…y’know.” 

you nod slowly, fingers idly twirling a piece of hair that hangs over his ear.

“you’re sweet when you wanna be.” you can’t help but tease him just a little.

“cmon now, i’m always sweet for you, ain’t i?” and he can’t help but throw a flirt back.

⠀ MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[barnespls]

I could stare at your back all day…

[floydtheflorist]

Doomed lesbians

[somvras2]

Just how many stars will I need to hang around me / To finally call it Heaven?

[bread-that-draws]

Flowey’s so funny and has me so fucked up like he’s a talking flower. He tries to kill you upon your first interaction. He is ten years old. He is damaged beyond repair. He’s a flower named Flowey. He’s become friends with every single character. He’s killed all of them countless times. He knows everything about everyone. He doesn’t care anymore. He takes care of his mom when she can’t take care of herself. He’s killed her before. He doesn’t care if you kill her. He thinks she’s trying to replace him. He just wants to be himself again. He wants to destroy everything. He hates you. You’re the only one who understands him. He wants his best friend back. He’s terrified of them. He believes in kill or be killed because he died by giving mercy to the wrong person. He believes himself to be the wrong person. He doesn’t understand when you show him that kindness he showed others, even when you know he could kill you for it. He’s tried every route. He asks you if you have anything better to do when you try to do the same. He’s a direct reflection of the player. He’s a fucking talking flower named flowey and his only voice line is by Ronald McDonald and his officially licensed plush does a little dance for you

[youngpettyqueen]

like ok ok ok youre telling me that in the episode where one of the major themes was love and friendships transcending realities and being consistent in multiple universes I got to see Julian and Garak (each from a different reality) find each other AND fall in love and get married and flat out say they'll follow each other to any reality and they dont care where they are so long as theyre together and im supposed to just GO ON WITH MY DAY AS NORMAL