#it's the tiniest of things

[qiinamii]

we'll do fine.

[tinapaysmp]

S1E29, Scott's pov: I know it's improv but Scott saying "I always hurt people" is interesting. Like, sir wdym? You haven't hurt anyone with those powers until now with Gem. Like, what happened in your childhood that make think like that?

[scintillatingshortgirl19]

house's little laugh as wilson openly flirts with him through an MRI microphone is Doing Things to me

[akajustmerry]

god. the way jacob anderson delivers those lines in the finale, "would I have been stronger sooner? would I have resisted lestat 2 decades later?- snatch the candy, be the man in the different suit.but the suit changes nothing. and again, I'm kissing lestat on the altar..." GAH. he's so good he's so fucking good it drives me crazy. it's so hard to make really poetic dialogue like that sound like natural speech, but jacob does it so gut wrenchingly well, plays it like these are questions louis asked himself over and over for decades and he's almost sick of asking them as he picks apart each minute of his life where he might have made a different decision that would have changed everything. the way he whispers, "but the suit changes nothing" like it's still a shameful admission followed by a defeated "and again I'm kissing lestat on the altar" like he knows he would have done it no matter what and it's always on loop. Jacob is just so good. this show will lose so much without him in a protagonist role.

[0vergrowngraveyard]

i feel like it was only a matter of time before i did something with de-aged tails

[chitinleg]

got him off-balance!

[daily-sifloop]

Gimme that toxic yaoi….. give me Loop being the absolute worst (pretty please)

Day 60: I don't think you mean it. Your affection.

[newttxt]

scheduling the toxic/doomed retainer yaoi so it doesnt post on robins bday…

[shoot1ngst4r]

dare i say Billy Hargrove?

the misunderstanding of Billy as a character is genuinely my roman empire, it’s been on my mind for years but idk if anyone will wanna listen😭 (i’m open to conversations btw)

[cursedappendage]

Someone had probably already pointed this out but I just love this little detail (Prisoner on the left, Damsel on the right)

In this specific shot of The Princess ripping her arm off, the background in the Chapter I before The Prisoner is very detailed and much darker, sharper, and clearer.

While in the Chapter I before The Damsel, the background is more undefined, it's much brighter, blurrier and fuzzier.

Also The Voice of the Smitten says this line:

UGH I LOVE THIS GAME AND ITS SMALL DETAILS

(Edit: Also I forgot to add but it's this specific shot of her pulling off her arm that blurs the background, afterward when she smiles at you the background is back to normal. It's like tuning everything out to ignore the horror of her pulling off her arm, and just focusing on her beauty)

[canisalbus]

In portuguese there are no neutral pronouns at all... Even objects, species and verbs have gender!

Some random examples: Tree, house, lamp, wall, clothing, capybara, walk... all female

Paper, floor, soap, dog, cat, shoe, smell... all male

This confused me a lot as a kid when in translated media the animal characters that were referred to as one gender due to the species was actually another. Some words can be slightly altered to be the opposite gender though.

.

[houndfaker]

girl is everything ok

[sourpeachsayshi]

*taps mic* satoru gets hard really easily (he's just sensitive, okay?) - and when you're at home he'll have no shame walking around with a boner and asking you if you can just help him out a little.

[sunlit-mess]

this is such a vague question but how do you keep drawing even through depression? i just end up lying around and then i feel bad for not drawing and not improving. its really admirable to me that you still create art even when times are rough. do you have any tips or advice for that?

I don't really know what to advise bc I'm a pessimistic, cynical person

And much like Hazbin Lucifer who has an attachment to creating ducks as a coping mechanism, I have an attachment to drawing. I struggle to express myself and never had any healthy ways to cope EXCEPT drawing. I'm obsessed with creating art in general. Hate and pain are what keep me on gear like some built-up GRIT and the unexplainable feeling of surpassing an imaginary crisis or future I've yet to conquer. And the pen is like my only beacon of hope to remind me I have a mission to fulfill. (OA I know, ahahaAHA It's PRIDE and POWER, I don't fkin back down easily)

(This is from a harsh perspective)

So my advice would be: FIND A WAY TO STAY DETERMINED. Improvement is not spoonfed. It's never easy. Never consistent.

Feel like absolute shit, like a failure, like the biggest regret of the universe but never let it crack your purpose of being. Other people can be there to support you, yes but no one is going to save you or help you better but YOURSELF. All the decisions and the work will come from you, and as unfair as it may seem, it's the truth. You are HERE for a reason. You don't know? Then it's your journey to find it and you'll soon realize. Swallow your fear and self-pity, and GET UP.

[flowercrowngods]

It's unreal. The light is streaming in through the windows, the curtains still drawn to block out the midday heat, tinging their living room in golden hues that match so well with the light grey fabric of their new sofa.

Eddie should probably snap out of it and head over to the windows, open the curtains and let the light in, and with it the warmth and fresh air of a surprisingly wonderful day.

It's March, he hears the echoes of Steve's giddy voice a week or two ago. Everything's better in March.

Eddie didn't agree then, and he's not sure he agrees now, but he must admit there is something magical about this moment.

Still he remains rooted to the spot, leather jacket heavy on his shoulders, his hands hidden in the sleeves of it, just in case this really is a dream. Just in case someone will come in and snap him out of it, take away their couch and leave an eviction notice.

It's dumb. But Eddie doesn't deal well with things that are unreal. Things that he knows aren't meant for him. Things that he knows he only gets in this one play-through of his life, while millions of other Eddie Munsons are out there in parallel universes who never get to even lay eyes upon a couch this nice. Let alone buy it. From their own real adult money.

It's a corner sofa, the fabric light grey, and he remembers it being harder than it looks. Solid. Just perfect for both their fucked up backs, scar tissue pulling if they sit wrong for too long, phantom pain and muscle aches coming in hot when all they want is to just relax and enjoy a lazy evening.

Eddie bites his lip, trailing his eyes along the pristine fabric, the pillows lining the back of it, the flawless stitches keeping everything in shape.

They have a couch now. A sofa.

It's so fucking unreal.

He drops to the floor right then and there, sitting with his back against the wall, and never once taking his eyes off their sofa. It feels important to look at it for a while. It feels important to wait for Steve. It feels... It feels like maybe he'll ruin everything if he goes and sits on it now.

And it feels really fucking big.

At some point he hears the front door opening, their lock going so smoothly now that Steve fixed it with some graphite, and the sound makes Eddie smile. That's another thing that's unreal. The key barely making any noise, the lock not rattling, the door not creaking and cracking. Eddie pulls a strand of hair between his lips, the smile feeling too silly for this room, for this home, for everything he gets to have now.

For all the tiny things that matter now. All the tiny things he gets to have, turning the key's smooth slide into an allegory of everything he ever wanted but never dared to hope for.

The slide of curtains, the click-click-click of the window handle being turned to let the air in. The breeze of fresh spring air dancing around his nose.

It's all a little much. It's so fucking addicting.

And then Steve. Socked feet coming to a stop beside him, a hand landing in his hair, a voice that's so endlessly warm and fond and maybe a little worried sounding from above him, "Hi, angel."

"Hi," Eddie says, tearing his eyes away from their couch to meet Steve's. The sunlight from the windows hugs him, making him glow. Eddie smiles. He smiles and smiles and never wants to stop.

Steve hums as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, and Eddie weaves his arm through Steve's legs, holding onto his knee.

Everything feels a little less silly now. Like every time Steve doesn't question his little moments of sitting on the floor and just staring at things.

"We have a couch now," Eddie says, because it feels important to point out. Because Steve isn't looking at it.

"We do," he hums. "I got the call earlier. Thanks for helping with that, baby."

Eddie nods again, leaning his cheek against Steve's knee and trailing the couch again with his eyes. It looks brighter now that the curtains don't turn the room into something out of a sepia-type movie anymore.

Steve's hands comb through his hair, massaging his scalp a little with his nails. It's nice. It's warm. It's pretty.

And it's so unreal.

"I'm twenty-four," Eddie says then, and some part of him wants to carve that into the fabric. He won't. But maybe he should carve it somewhere else. "And I own a couch. It's a little crazy."

Steve comes to sit down beside him, their shoulders pressed together and he links their hands, resting them in his lap after a brushes a kiss to Eddie's knuckles.

"Why's it crazy, angel?"

He shrugs, resting his head on Steve's shoulders and curling into his warmth some more.

"Most of my life I never thought either of those would happen, y'know."

Another hum, followed by another kiss to the crown of his head. Another smile.

"But you did it," Steve whispers. "You made it. And we've got a couch now."

"We've got a couch now."

Saying it out loud doesn't make it feel any realer. It only makes his heart race and his eyes prick.

"I love you," he says, finally looking away from pretty grey fabric to meet prettier hazel eyes. "I love you so much."

Steve leans in, kissing the tip of his nose. "I love you. Thank you for buying a couch with me."

And it occurs to Eddie then that Steve understands him. Sitting there on the floor with him, hearing his words and listening to those unsaid, understanding Eddie on such a fundamental level that it should be scary. And it is, sometimes.

But he's not scared now. Because they have a couch. And they have pretty curtains that keep the light outside and still turn the room into something magical. And they have a lock that only needed a bit of graphite to let the keys glide smoothly.

And they have each other.

They stay on the floor until Steve's stomach growls, and they eat dinner with their backs against the couch and Eddie's feet in Steve's lap. They hold each other close after dinner, just breathing each other in as the breeze blows around them.

In the end, Eddie is the first to sit on the couch, with Steve standing between his legs and giving him a scalp massage in silence. In the end, Eddie buries his face in Steve's stomach to hide the tears, and Steve lets him.

Because this is real. And he gets to have this. They both do.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid@hotluncheddie @gutterflower77@auroraplume@steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important@stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround@pukner@i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic@bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)

[writing-for-life]

Dream—Miguelanxo Prado

The white streaks of youth (in both hair and clothing). The ruby was created by a Dream who looked pretty much like Daniel. Which is both incredibly heartbreaking (in many, many ways) but also beautiful…