#it's soooo good though

[charlotterenaissance]

and if i said bowling for soup's cover of i melt with you was the best song ever? i'd what? be right?

[soosoosoup]

Oh Funk Branch Au by @bbc-trolls, I never stopped loving you

[amygdalae]

social faux pas: standing up from the dinner table to scream about dragon meat

[shakingparadigm]

they are sooooo cute

[somegrumpynerd]

A little animation I made of Dream and Nightmare for fun, it's pretty short and simple but not bad for my second go at animation I think ^^

The music is from here, I highly recommend listening to the full thing cause it's so beautiful!

Quick explanation for the song and a gif version under the cut

So when I was first dipping my toes into utmv stuff like a year ago, I made a slideshow for my sister with a bunch of au Sanses, let her guess what kinda vibe she thought they had and then gave her a list of names/ aus to see if she could figure out who was who (she did surprisingly well and I'm proud of her).

Well, when I first showed her pictures of Dream her immediate reaction was "this guy looks like he's from zelda" and it's just always stuck with me. Somewhere along the way I started headcanoning Dream playing some kind of instrument when they were kids and when I heard the pan flute version of zelda's lullaby everything kind of fell into place.

So here they are, having a little moment of peace finally, brothers together again c:

[fishpea]

some 2019/2020 fluttercord & uhhhh what’s their ship name—

[angryaromantics]

@mossy-aro made an excellent post, that can be found HERE, on the subversive nature of aromantic positivity, and how negativity can damage the community and “we should focus on building, improving, and nurturing ourselves and each other (construction) as opposed to destruction.” 

I wholeheartedly agree, but I wanted to talk about ‘negative’ feelings a bit more. The type of negativity Mossy was largely discussing seemed to be the ones that stemmed from self-hatred. “I hate being aro.” “This is so hard, I wish I was normal,” etc., etc. This negativity, no matter what personal place it comes from, can and does damage the aromantic community. 

Negativity spreads, we’ve seen it in online spaces before, and we’re seeing it now. Being aromantic can be hard, so it’s frankly easy and understandable, that the bombardment of negativity would harm individual aromantic people and the community as a whole. Being an online community, we’re pretty insular, which can make the negativity feel particularly inescapable. 

I would argue, however, that the negative feelings themselves aren’t an issue that needs to be corrected. There’s a reason you feel that way, and it’s likely rooted in some real-life issues either on a personal level or on a societal way. It’s not your fault, and you shouldn’t feel bad about it. 

The  issue arises when you share those feelings without examining the root cause of the feeling. You hate being aro. Okay, but why? Is it a sense of isolation from your peers? Is it the cost of living for a single person in your area? What is it about being aro that you find difficult enough that you hate it?

A post that reads “I hate being aro” is always going to have a negative impact, whereas a post like, “I find being an aromantic person isolating,” opens up the start of a conversation. You’ve made progress, but even going from Point A to Point B, I think Point C would be an even more useful place to be. 

You find being an aromantic person isolating, but why? What specific thing do you find isolating? Is it the lack of real-life connections you have with aromantic people? With Point C, the conversation becomes the start of an interrogation with an intra-community issue. 

We have now gone from “I hate being aro,” to, “I find the lack of aromantic community outside of online spaces isolating.” Besides the harm reduction that interrogating these negative thoughts clearly performs, the biggest difference between Point A and Point C is that Point C is actionable. You can take real, actionable steps in forming in-person communities, both on a personal level, and as a community. 

“I hate being aro,” gives you no actionable steps, even in the figurative sense. It only serves to spread your negative feelings. Negative feelings, sadness, fear, rage, all have their place both internally and within your community. But, you need to think critically about what you’re putting into the community, and interrogate where that feeling is coming from in the first place. 

All aromantic feelings have the potential to be fulfilling on a personal level and even, as Mossy said, be harnessed “as a form of protest and political power.” We can use these negative feelings to improve ourselves, and our communities. They can be just as fruitful building blocks as aromantic joy.

You’ve just got to interrogate your own feelings or you risk doing detrimental harm to the aro community, and none of us want that. This is where we live. 

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

THERE WAS NO PLACE IN NATURE WE COULD MEET ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; it’s never fun to run into an ex; especially when the ex in question is your unfairly handsome high school sweetheart. and just so happens to also be a wanted mass murderer.

word count; 3.3k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, geto-typical angst, exes to [redacted], lots of longing, geto is kind of a cunt but also disgustingly charming, reader is understandably upset, biblical imagery (i just think he’s so serpent coded), curse user geto is his own warning tbh

a/n; i wanted this to be a drabble so bad but it ended up just a little too long for me to get away w it so … :’3 yeah. i hate suguru geto (said w affection)

the moon is out.

in the shadows of the street corner you find yourself in, seated comfortably on the sidewalk, it’s a welcome distraction. something to look at, in the midst of your loneliness; the evanescent glow of the moon, illuminating your solitude.

a solitude soon to be broken. shattered into pieces, battered and bruised beyond recognition, jagged shards littering the asphalt. digging into the soles of your shoes.

”hey.”

for a second, you think you must be dreaming.

the figure obscuring the light of the lamp post in front of you is familiar. too familiar, a little too dear for your liking. as you grasp your shitty cup ramen, seeking the warmth seeping through the polystyrene, all you can do is stare. blinking dumbly, drowsily.

geto looks something like a bad omen.

sharp facial features, even sharper eyes. so dark they almost shift from an amber-tainted cedar into an obsidian black — two abysses, staring into your soul, beckoning you closer. they were always enchanting, but now you think they look almost hypnotizing. not at all in a good way. dark hair frames his face, cascading down his back, longer than you remember it being. and he’s wearing robes.

still has those fucked up bangs, though. of all the things to keep.

the gears of your mind turn, endlessly, untangling the mess of thoughts inside your brain. ensuring you that no, you are not hallucinating, and no, you didn’t fall into a deep slumber somewhere between the moment you exited the convenience store and sat down by one of tokyo’s empty street corners. this is real. a reality you can’t comprehend, can’t even begin to process.

what stands in front of you is a ghost. but ghosts don’t exist, can’t be seen, can’t touch the living.

(so how is he able to haunt you like this?)

what eventually jolts you out of your silent stupor is not the questioning tilt of his head, nor the suffocating sensation of your heart crawling up your throat, but the feeling of soft fur against your leg. the stray cat you met further down the street meows at you, sweetly, trying to get your attention. you think she must be asking for more grilled fish.

so, completely ignoring the apparition in front of you, you turn to reach for the little plastic bag you bought as a midnight snack — digging out a bit of fish for the kitty to enjoy. she seems happy, settling down by your feet. purring softly.

geto watches, eerily silent. 

(maybe he’s upset that you’re ruining his dramatic entrance. you hope so.)

finally, you have no choice but to look at him. a lump forms in the back of your throat, clogging up a little more for every second spent falling into the trap he’s laid out for you, trailing over his moonlit features with your tired gaze.

mouth full of noodles, staring holes into his attire, you narrow your eyes. suddenly disgruntled.

his lips quirk up. ”something the matter?” he asks, and you can’t even begin to describe how much you hate his voice. how devastatingly deep it is, during the late hours of the night, even deeper than it was back in high school. 

slurping up the soggy noodles, you lean back a little, licking some broth off your lips. finally meeting those abyssal eyes. 

”… i was gonna say those robes look like shit on you,” comes an exhale, weary, ”but you actually kinda pull them off. that’s…” 

a beat. you struggle to find the right word. 

”annoying.”

geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, and you find a hint of familiar amusement in the vague crinkle of his eyes. barely visible crows’ feet. then he’s moving — plopping down right beside you, robes fluttering with the breeze.

”well, thank you.” he hums; crossing his legs.

the silence that festers around you is odd. not quite suffocating, nor especially fragile. definitely not comforting. it’s familiar, yet different, and it hurts a bit more than it should. but you choose to look at him, out of the corner of your eye, and he looks right back at you. still smiling that eerie smile.

when your eyes settle on the particular cloth wrapped around his torso, you just barely manage to bite back a taunting chuckle.

”a gojo-kesa, huh?” you grin, and geto doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t miss the meaningful glint in your eyes, either. ”you miss him that much?”

”just a coincidence,” is all he answers. smiling, but you think it looks a little stiff.

your grin widens, for a second, before settling back down. a sad transition. you let it go. 

”whatever you say, geto.”

at that, he visibly reacts. barely noticeable, but it’s there — a twitch of his lithe fingers, an unknown something that flickers through the scope of his iris. when he looks at you, a neutral smile is playing at his lips. 

”ah. i take it we’re not on first name basis anymore, then?” he asks, casually, hiding a tinge of something mildly displeased.

a shrug. you pick at what’s left of your ramen with your chopsticks, a little too nauseous to enjoy it. ”call me what you want. i just don’t see suguru when i look at you, y’know?” leaning forward, you begin to pet the kitty by your feet. ”he was sweeter.”

geto smiles. almost a grin, but not quite there. a chuckle spills out from his lips, and something about it irritates you. ”was he?”

”yeah,” you nod. without hesitation. a summer-stained memory blooms behind your eyelids, but you try not to look at it. all you catch is a glimpse of cherry blossoms. ”you just seem bitter.” 

the grin that finds its way onto your lips is self-deprecating. a shadow falls over your face.

”guess we’re in the same boat, huh?”

a hum buzzes in his throat. he casts a meaningful glance towards your hand, scratching behind the cat’s ear. ”oh, i don’t know about that.” his smile grows with the drawl. ”.. you seem just as sweet as always.”

to your grave annoyance, you can’t control the way your face changes at his words. a twitch of your lips gives away your discontentment, and something sour settles on the tip of your tongue.

(your blood begins to boil, beneath your skin.)

geto sighs, suddenly, filling the tense silence between you — a little theatrical. ”ah, but that’s a shame.” he turns to you, soft pout playing at his lips. ”i was hoping i could hear you call me suguru again…”

”— i was hoping you’d come back.”

a beat.

somewhere outside your vision, a crow takes flight into the night sky. swallowed by darkness, melting into that sea of black. no longer perceivable, by you or the world.

”but you never did,” the polystyrene of the plastic cup crinkles beneath your fingers. your eyes look dull. ”so what the fuck do you want, exactly?”

…

”i heard.” geto rests his jaw on the heel of his palm, gazing at you with those piercing eyes. like he’s trying to see inside your brain. ”… about your decision.”

”ah,” a grin splits across the curve of your lips, showing off the white of your teeth. ”of course. that’s what this is about, huh?”

with groggy movements, you throw away your nearly-empty cup of noodles, haphazardly aiming towards a trash can across the street. it bounces off the steel cover, landing on the ground with a soft thud. leftover broth spilling out across the pavement. geto doesn’t bother to hide his amusement, lips twitching upwards before he sends a curse to eat it from the asphalt.

you furrow your brows in embarrassed annoyance.

a moment passes, and something in you knows that he’s waiting. it’s like you can practically sense it, like it’s etched into your bones. the same way you always knew exactly when he would begin to get impatient during your nightly convenience store runs back in high school — after you had spent about ten solid minutes struggling to decide what kind of chips you wanted. 

”what can i say?” you lean back, palms against rough concrete, breathing in the midnight air. ”you inspired me.”

geto tilts his head. smiling. always, always smiling. he smiled at you the day before he massacred that village, too. ”oh?”

with a deep breath, cool air courses through your body. burning your lungs. ”i realized being a sorcerer is completely fucking meaningless,” you exhale through your nose. ”and that trying to change that fact is even more meaningless.” 

a wicked, rueful grin rests on your lips. ”so i left.”

geto doesn’t say anything. you continue, voice dripping with venom.

”i’m a civilian now,” you purr, mocking, a sardonic coo on your tongue. ”does that bother you? feel like killing me?”

…

his smile looks a little off, now. tilted in a direction you don’t want to recognize. you don’t care to examine it further, don’t care to figure out if it might look just a little bit sad, because that’d only hurt more.

so you look away.

a click of his tongue. then he speaks, with that honeyed voice, raspy and husky. almost a groan. ”well, i can’t say i approve.”

he’s looking at you. sharp eyes digging into your skin, dissecting you, a million words he expects you to grasp from that look alone.

”you’re better than them,” he states, matter-of-factly, and you try not to squirm when his eyes trail over your features. ”worlds better.” his voice sounds almost motherly, a twisted concern that makes you cower a little. like he’s scolding you. a crease between his brows.

”i don’t like the thought of you surrounded by these animals.”

a huff pushes past your lips, but it sounds shakier than you’d like it to. you hope he just chalks it up to the chill of the air. then again, when has he ever made anything easy for you?

”what, you got a problem with cats now?” you reach for the little furball licking grilled fish off the concrete, picking it up. cradling it close. ”gonna go on a cat-killing spree?”

an amused exhale. geto narrows his eyes. ”funny,” he hums, but his eyes say you know what i mean.

it takes you a moment to regain control over your breathing. there’s still something tense in your shoulders, and your heart still feels a little like it might jump out of your throat and crawl into his lap. the stray cat slips from your grasp, moving towards geto, curiously sniffing at his robes. he looks at it with no ill intent, and it puts you at ease.

”well, i appreciate the concern, buddy,” you pat his back, trying not to flinch at the contact. trying to appear relaxed. ”but frankly, i don’t give a shit. i actually like my job, unlike literally every single sorcerer on planet earth.”

geto stills.

”.. buddy?” he echoes, ignoring every other bitter word you just graced him with. for some reason, he actually seems visibly bothered. ”i’m buddy now?”

you click your tongue. muttering, tiredly. a little exasperated. ”.. what else would you be?”

and then he smiles, again. only this time, it looks oddly genuine. the same as you remember, framed by cherry blossoms and the fizzle of youth.

his movements are smooth. like he’s completely unguarded, like this situation doesn’t bother him in the slightest. elegant, in the way he leans back, palms on the concrete to support his weight. keeping eye contact with you, all the while.

when he speaks, his voice has a sweet tinge to it. nostalgic, maybe. wistful. if you hear a touch of longing, you choose to ignore it.

”i seem to recall you calling me baby quite a lot,” he hums, and you stiffen. gritting your teeth. eyes darkening, but he continues. ”what else was there? angel, i think… it was sweet.”

then he’s leaning forward. scratching the cat under its chin, gently. ”ironic, though.”

an inhale. then, an exhale. they’re a little shaky, a little meek, but at least they make the lump in your throat feel less like it’s blocking your windpipe. air fills your lungs, but it tastes like nothing at all. 

something like sorrow simmers in your eyes. or maybe more like fatigue. god, you really want to cry.

(you wonder if he gets some sickening satisfaction out of seeing you like this, out of breaking you. maybe it just makes him feel rotten. you don’t know what you’d prefer.)

”suguru,” you murmur, at last. voice dripping with exhaustion. defeated, the sigh that flows from your lips. ”why did you come here?”

…

”join me.”

the words spill out into the open air, slicing the silence in half. heavy. a request, not a question. against your better judgement, you turn your head to meet his gaze.

”we could use you,” he says, and there’s hope in those keen eyes. he maintains his distance, but for some reason you still feel like prey being sized up by a predator. like he’s weighing your value.

a chuckle slips from your lips, but there’s no humour to it. ”use me…” you echo, a tired murmur under your breath. ”you're just straight up admitting it, huh? kinda refreshing.”

”that’s not what i meant.”

he inches closer. slowly, as if trying not to scare you. reaching out, to brush through your bangs, his fingertips ghosting over your skin. tangling them between your locks, inserting himself into your space. testing the waters. 

you don’t look at him, completely still. barely breathing. like a wounded animal.

”i want you there,” he says, and it comes out almost as a whisper. ”with us.”

unable to resist the temptation, you indulge in a single brief glance his way. his eyes look warm, and his lips look soft as they part.

”with me.” 

there’s a devotion to his voice when he continues, one he’s always had. one you thought you’d always be able to trust. ”i’ll create a world where you can be happy,” he vows. ”i swear it.”

a moment passes.

(you swallow thickly. it takes everything you have not to burst into tears. when you remember how he brushed you off, back then, it gets a little easier. when you remember all the skipped meals.)

”.. like you give a damn.”

geto smiles. you loathe how soft it looks, how similar it is to the one suguru always had. when you used to eat your ramen too quickly and started choking on it, and he brought a palm to your upper back, patting it gently. he’d chuckle, and tell you to slow down, and the softness of his smile would almost be enough to distract you from the amusement in his eyes. 

”my love.”

you flinch. breath drawing back at the base of your throat, heart screeching to a halt, and some part of you emerges; the shy, sweet kid you used to be. hanging on to his every world. like he was your sun, your guiding light. back when that purr of my love had you blushing furiously, not choking back a string of curses.

it’s sudden, and you can’t react the way you want to. you want to kill him for calling you that. for thinking he has any right to call you his, anymore.

but that sweet, naive, innocent little kid still exists. even if you want to pretend otherwise. it’s there, somewhere, that part of you — peeking out from behind the curtain. and it stops you from saying anything that might hurt him.

(it’s so hard to hate him when he calls you that.)

if geto notices your inner turmoil — he must — then he doesn’t mention it. you don’t say anything, but you hope the amused, harsh exhale you partake in is signal enough for him to cut it off. now.

yet he continues. there’s love in his voice when he speaks, barely contained. if he’s trying not to hurt you he’s doing an awful job.

”… i never stopped thinking of you,” he whispers, so low you almost miss it. ”not once. i left for you, not just for myself.”

and, despite every part of your being resisting it, a sweetness settles on your tongue. so sweet it’s sickening; the thought that maybe he’s telling the truth, maybe he really has been thinking of you. maybe you’re more to him than just a means to meet an end, or a memory yet to be buried.

geto looks at the moon. bathed in moonlight, he looks a little like a god. like something reverent. his voice is honeyed. low, like a secret.

”this world doesn't deserve you.”

silence.

a subtle anger trickles through your veins, a kind of fury, subdued, carefully tucked away. sparking to life inside the depths of your eyes when you look at him. bitter, given everything. but your voice still comes out sounding something like a plea.

”and you think you do?”

another smile. this time, it looks a little sad. remorseful, maybe. ”… let me prove myself.”

his touch burns. the pads of his fingers against your cold skin, cupping your cheek. slithering down to grasp your hand. and you’re pliant, unable to react. just sitting with that aching hollow feeling in your chest.

”i wasn’t worthy, back then,” he hums, bringing your hand to his lips. ”but now…”

a kiss to your knuckle. featherlight. reverent. you try not to shiver, but when he says your name, dragging each syllable out, like they belong on his tongue —

a chill runs down your spine.

when he speaks, you feel his warm breath on your skin. it’s dizzying. ”i’m not the same suguru you once knew,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. and devotion, frighteningly sincere. ”unlike him — i’ll never let you go.”

what a twisted desire. he wants to take you with him, drag you down to hell. the suguru you knew wouldn’t put you through that. but maybe you’re even more twisted, for wishing he had; for wishing he had taken you with him, ten years ago, instead of leaving without a single goodbye.

geto’s voice is soft. coaxing, like he's handling a frightened mouse. join me, he whispers, and you think of eve. when you look at his mouth you think you see serpents’ teeth behind his lips.

(you're almost sure he notices it. and you're almost sure his smile widens, lips curling up, as if preparing to open his maw and swallow you whole.)

a sickening sense of resignation roots itself somewhere in your gut. 

you pull your hand away, and he lets you. the loss of warmth hits you like a freight train, but you aren’t sure you could think clearly with his skin on yours. when you part your lips to speak, only air comes out, just barely forming a sentence. like there are no more words to say. like the world stopped spinning around you both a lifetime ago.

”i don't love you.”

…

for just a second, his smile falters. 

”no?” he hums, and you wish it didn’t hurt so bad to see him hurt. his eyes carry a kind of patience, something gentle. ”it’s fine… these things take time.”

a bitter chuckle. ”like you’d know anything about waiting,” you spit, and it comes out sounding venomous. a phantom ache sprouts in the spot where his lips touched your skin.

geto closes his eyes.

”you don't need to love me,” he says, finally. kind. you hate that he still sounds so kind. so understanding, like nothing you do could be wrong in his eyes. ”as long as you're beside me, that's enough.” 

he turns to look at you, and his smile looks very real, for a moment. impossibly fond. ”i have two daughters. i’ve told them about you,” he smiles. ”my family… you’d like them. i know they’d like you.”

dark clouds cover the moon, suddenly, and a shadow falls across you both. illuminated only by the streetlight. in the distance, you hear a car whooshing by.

”don’t stay at the bottom,” he beckons, and your name slips from his lips again. soft, his tongue bending around the vowels. coaxing. stirring your heartstrings like a puppeteer.

then he’s standing up, dusting off his robes, large hands smoothing down the fabric. turning around, towering over you; obscuring everything else. all you see is him, under the glow of the lamp post. a halo of artificial light.

”come. let me show you the world we can create.”

he gives you a sweet smile, two abysses gazing into you. the promise of something twisted, new, forbidden. you think of red skin and yellow flesh; the bite of sin.

and for a second, you see it. the world. a world where laughter comes from the bottom of your gut, and the trees are always ripe for picking, red apples hanging from the branches like glowing rubies. a world where sweetened fruit never give way to rot.

paradise.

geto stretches a hand out towards you. fingers unfurling, one by one, like a blooming camellia. close, right there in front of you, so close that you’re tempted to take his hand in yours, let him carry you away. burn everything else to the ground. 

(you think of the serpent. you think of god.

only one of them banished eve.)

”so,” he smiles. ”what do you say?”

[cozylittleartblog]

diversity win your spam emails are queer

[kitamars]

enmi gintoki…………… orz

[madamemiz]

votv is really clever in how it makes you care about dr. kel as a protagonist despite that he barely has a tangible presence in the game

for the first few days, aside from a name in an email, you don't have much to go on. there are what appear to be fun/nerdy stickers on his suitcase and he brought emergency toilet paper and a plushy with him to his solitary job in the middle of nowhere. so he's maybe a bit practical, a little quirky, but those are just crumbs of information, and these sort of first person games tend to lean a little more on the self-insert side anyway. without much else to go on, the next handful of quiet days proceed with you easily slipping into his shoes, forgetting he exists as the protagonist. you're doing the job, you're cleaning your base, you're getting creeped out by every random noise. you live here now. the game is clever about making you care about the base too, but that's a post for another day

time passes, and little by little, you notice small details that add up. the strange and specific nightmares about work and drowning and mannequins. the roaches you can eat with no ill effects that give you a food boost to boot. the clumsy tendency to trip and fall over pretty much anything, the pickiness over food

you save up enough to get a kerfur, have the bright idea to check their camera while they're in the room with you, and there you see it in the camera; not you, but him. maybe he looks the way you imaged, maybe he looks completely different, but suddenly you're very aware that dr. kel exists

then you start to get a glimpse of how other people perceive him--croissants snuck on the drone for him by a friend who brags about her cooking, sushi snuck to you by another friend who calls him an asshole and says she misses him, both of whom are presumably his colleagues and both of whom seem worried for him. the smiling plushie of him the arirals gift if he gets on their good side, their note calling him cute attached to it along with an ominius offer of help in bad times. kerfur calling him a dumbass if he makes them do the reports twice, but also leaning down to his eye level to happily get pets

he's endearing in an odd sort of way, and people in-universe care about him. you start to care about him, which makes it all the more troubling when he makes pained sounds when he falls from too high, or starts coughing out of the blue. makes you wince when he falls off the radio tower or gets launched from the atv. makes it downright horrifying when he's caught by a wisp and torn apart limb by limb while you as the player can do nothing but watch

you find yourself wanting him to succeed, to be safe, to get out of the situation he's found himself in. or at least, i do. there isn't a ton to go on aside from some environmental storytelling and a breadcrumb trail of personality tidbits, but I personally find that trail to lead to an interesting and compelling character with enough wiggle room for further interpretation. i'm very excited to see what else we learn in future updates

[raven]

RAIDEN OH NO! AMV (YOUTUBE)

[titsthedamnseason]

eras tour lookbook: my favorites edition

[raineedayss]

when the new upload has the streamer acting terrified for his life and speaking in a hushed whisper only to immediately manically scream insults at the Thing that was chasing them once they realize that, for now, they’re safe and also has them slowly getting more and more irritated and fearful and very clearly insane from getting torn apart again and again but yet not being allowed to die only escaping with his body not his soul>>

[omaano]

If Anakin gets his Vader shadow, then Maul deserves a reminder of Lotho Minor as a treat (to me) for the Hades AU

[littleplantfreak]

Dreamcatcher (sfw)

(or who has dreams, nightmares, and anything in between)

Sakura has dreams and nightmares, although most of the time he only remembers snippets. Prone to gasping awake or shooting up into sitting position during nightmares. The type to have dreams about his friends and feel like they’re at fault for what happened. Once he had a dream Nirei stole his food and he wouldn’t let Nirei sit next to him during lunch the next day without telling him specifically he better back off his sandwiches.

Whenever Hiragi has a nightmare, stomach cramping follows. Whether it’s his stomach causing them or them causing further stomach distress, he’ll never know, but he has tea and medicine to settle down before trying again. Mumbles in his sleep on occasion, and it’s really kind of cute.

It’s no surprise Umemiya is a dreamer. Sure maybe once in a blue moon he’ll have a bad one, but for the most part they’re really weird and silly. Loves to talk about them at breakfast the next morning, recounting his time flying with a penguin, or being chased by trolls. He remembers the whole thing usually, though he’s such a deep sleeper that once he’s worn himself out enough and has one of those big, drool inducing rests, he just sleeps with no dreams to be had.

Suo is vague, beats around the bush, and generally likes to joke around. When he tells his friends he dreams in black and white? He’s actually telling the truth! He doesn't have good or bad dreams often, but when he does, he likes to laugh about them in the morning. Something about them looking like he’s watching an old movie makes them all the more funny.

Kaji has nightmares more than dreams, but mostly he sleeps without either. He’ll be in a shit mood the next day though, because the nightmare will have him tossing and turning, trying to find the comfiest spot on the bed that seems to have disappeared in the hour or so it took him to be woken by it. Another sleep mumbler. He can actually sleep with his music blasting in his ears pretty easily too!

Kotoha dreams most of the time. She’ll exchange sleep stories with Ume, but hers always seem to be a little tamer than his. Has a diffuser that cycles through colored lights she’ll put on if she has a dream she deems ‘not great’ and a stuffed dragon her siblings got her that guards her dreams on the nightstand next to her bed. Sometimes she’ll have it on the pillow next to her for no particular reason; it’s just soothing (and so soft and cute.)