#its hurt/comfort tho so

[ritz-writes]

Spotlight Macaque sings his feelings feelings away.

One day (not sure when in the story it is) he's feeling like shit, remembering his old life. Specifically remembering his relationship with Wukong. So, he goes to the theater at like one in the morning cuz he can't sleep. He goes up onto stage and just stands there for awhile, staring at the empty seats. Eventually, he plugs his phone in and starts to play the instrumental of Kindergarten Boyfriend.

He feels embarrassed when he does stuff like this, but it helps him get his feelings out. His friends say its not healthy for him to keep stuff like that in, after all. But he doesn't want to explain the situation to anyone, doesn't want to say any of it out loud, so instead he sings alone.

Except he's not alone. He's not the only cast member that goes to the theater in the middle of the night. Two others, B and E (you two will have names at some point i promise) were there trying to get a move down that E was having trouble with. They left for awhile to take a break and get some drinks, and when they came back it was too the sound of Macaque beginning to sing.

When Macaque sings alone, especially in a place where he feels safe, everything else melts away. Normally, he'd be able to hear them walking, hear the two girl stop just before exiting backstage, hear their heartbeats. But all he focused on was getting his feelings out.

B and E immediately knew he was singing about his ex. They could tell the song hit close to home for Macaque, based on his body language and the way his voice strained every now and again.

"Certain boys are just for kindergarten. Certain girl are meant to be alone."

Macaque's voice cracks here. He has to take a deep breath and steel his nerves, actually skipping the 'but I believe that any dream worth having' line in order to get his composure back.

Just when he's singing the last notes, E's shoe squeaks, finally alerting Macaque to the fact that he's not alone. E panics, explaining that they didn't mean to eavesdrop, but they didn't want to interrupt. Macaque's eyes are wet when he turns around and tries to come up with some excuse, tries to leave so he can die of embarrassment back at home, but B just walks over and pulls him into a hug.

"If he hurts you again, I'll kick his ass," is all she says.

Macaque tries not to cry, he really does, but then E joined in and, well...

It's been a good few years since he had a shoulder to cry on.

[itz-pandora]

There's only one person I truly hate with all my being

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Marks

(Masterlist)

girl help i can't stop making bonus content

this is set right around Part XIII, in regard to the “I should probably give you more visible marks.” comment.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, obedient whumpee, somewhat reluctant whumper, dehumanization, power imbalances, physical abuse, minor blood, brief drug mention, death mention)

==============

He got approximately ten million fucking emails calling him an arsonist, or telling him that the experiment is an accident waiting to happen, or asking why he was letting the A-bomb walk around off-leash, why he was letting the bomb walk at all. Accusations he wouldn’t dare repeat. It was all so stupid. Delta was good. Paris never worried about him fragging. But the appearance of insubordination was damning all on its own. It was not a good situation.

Unfortunately, the messages kept coming. From staff he actually respected, too. People he needed. He didn’t even know how word reached them that quickly. He sometimes forgot just how scared they were of Delta. It had never been a popular project. That night, he received many requests for him to be killed outright. Not fucking happening.

Fucking Nezu telling him what to do with his fucking psychic. He was more mad about that than he ever could have been at Delta. That was why he’d gone easy on him. It gave him serious pause whenever his wants overlapped with Nezu’s — sometimes enough to evaporate them completely. He really wasn’t in the mood.

Something had to be done though, by the time the next meeting rolled around. They had to know that Delta had been punished for it, that Paris didn’t just let him get away with everything.

Delta didn’t fight him on it — not that he’d expected him too. He kneeled in front of the desk like he’d been asked. Paris leaned back against it, hitting the pen a few more times than he needed to. 

Delta looked bad. That day had been the only time Paris had ever seen him cry — even weeks later, he hadn’t seemed to recover from it. His eyes were still so pleading, in a way they’d never been before. It was unsettling.

Paris readjusted the only ring he wore on his right hand. It was sapphire — and it was clean. There wasn’t any reason to drag it out. He tilted Delta’s face up a little, tucking the slick hair back behind the webbed fin of his ear. 

“Hold still.” He didn’t want to hit his eye by accident. The jewel was sharp.

He backhanded him hard across the face. Harder than he would have normally. It needed to bruise.

Delta’s head was forced sharply to one side. His hair fell back in his face, totally obscuring it when he looked down at the floor. He didn’t outwardly react, but his next breaths came out shallow and shaky. Yeah, that hurt. 

Paris cupped his face again, moving it back up to examine the injury. It’d landed where he wanted it to — a thin cut right along his cheekbone. He could see the spot where the bruise would form over the next couple hours. Delta winced. Paris gently smoothed over the flushed skin with his thumb. 

“I’m sorry.” Delta’s voice was quiet. It was all he would say recently. 

“I know.”

It was hard to be mad at him when he was so clearly repentant. When he was being this good about it. Paris released him. He’d planned on hitting him across the other side of his face as well, in the interest of covering all his angles. It didn’t feel worth it anymore.

“Hand.”

Delta placed his hand gingerly into Paris’s own. Paris tightened his grip around it, supporting the palm beneath so that it’d absorb the full force of it. Knuckles facing up. Paris reached back for the ruler left out on the desk.

It cracked down hard against his knuckles, fast enough that he didn’t really have time to flinch. His injured hand reflexively tightened around Paris’s in the aftermath; it was the only real physical reaction he’d had. His claws dug painfully into Paris’s hand, not yet breaking the skin.

Paris released his grip on the hand. Delta’s hand relaxed and the claws withdrew, but he didn’t pull it back like he’d expected. He just left it resting there in his grasp.

“Other one.” 

He offered it without resistance. Same routine. Paris brought the ruler back down over his other hand, watching as the first signs of bruising appeared upon them. He placed the ruler back down and released his grip on Delta’s hand. 

“Done.”

There wasn’t much else to do, really. Delta was always dressed in long sleeves and ceremonial garb. For the most part, only his face and hands were exposed on vanguard days. It was enough, though. His expression alone was enough. If he just stayed like that, he’d be fine.

Delta folded both of his hands back into his lap, bright purple and blue against the pale white of clothes. His hair fell messily in his face, but parts of his eyes were still visible. He was still looking at Paris in that desperate, shell-shocked way.

“…Easy. You’re fine.” Paris didn’t know what to say to make him normal again. “The sting will be gone in a few minutes.”

For the hands, anyway, though the numbness would remain. The mark on his face would hurt a lot longer. 

Delta nodded slowly. A small amount of blood appeared by the cut. 

Paris gestured for him to lean forward again. Delta did so, cringing a little. Paris pressed a tissue against his cheek to stop the bleeding. He sighed as it bled straight through.

“…You want a bandaid?” He offered. The bruise would still be visible beneath it. 

“Yeah.” His voice was barely audible. He took the tissue from Paris, keeping the pressure there. 

Paris disappeared for a moment, loudly knocking shit over in the overfilled medicine cabinet. He came back with the split bandage. Delta held still as he applied it over the cut, smoothing it out against his cheek. It was pale white, the same color as his clothes, standing out sharply against the dark blue of his skin.

“…Thank you,” Delta said quietly. Sweetly. It fucking killed him sometimes.

Paris felt something strange in the pit of his stomach. He ignored it. He made a small, noncommittal noise as he discarded the paper into the trash. 

Delta touched the side of his face gently with the newly discolored fingers. Bruises on bruises. He put his hand abruptly back into his lap when Paris looked at him, as if he’d gotten caught. 

“We’re done.” Paris waved him off, sliding the ruler back into the drawer. The pen was starting to kick in. He was getting lightheaded. 

Delta rose slowly, giving something like a curtsy before he left. Or maybe his legs were just unsteady. Paris didn’t really care. 

The door closed quietly. Paris slid the lock shut. He pressed his forehead against the wood grain. Definitely lightheaded.

……

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[instantpansies]

not me adding deep symbolism and rich imagery to my perry the platypus tunglr games crack fic

[ickyguts]

fucked up edgy ass fanart for a concept I have (I want to do a comic for it at some point!)

CW DRUG USE:

 The idea is that on days where Flippy is particularly on edge (losing his grip on fliqpy and afraid he's gunna hurt someone), Flippy resorts to taking a bunch of his sleep aid/painkillers to sedate him.

 Fliqpy sits like this for the next few hours, confused, fucked up, and out of it.

[persy-r-bozo]

[habizuh-studios]

digging through wips is always fun... i really need to keep them in a folder or something. ANYWAY! here's one i did for LINK CLICK/SHIGUANG DAILI REN :) look through tags for TW's!!

It was hard for the girl in the partly red skirt, who had collapsed to her knees and clutched her hands to her chest, crying her heart out at the sight. She wouldn’t hold the paper- the note, the last gift- the last thing that Cheng Xiaoshi would ever give them. Her tears would stain it and it would become unreadable, she would say later. But now, she was wailing and sobbing and wondering when she teased him too much, or didn’t give him enough. Wondering if she had been nicer, kinder, even, that then her little brother would be where he always slept, alive and well on the bottom bunk upstairs. It was hard for the boy with the white hair, who stood there blankly staring up into the dead man’s eyes as if they held all the secrets to the universe. Maybe he had a delayed reaction or didn’t want to cry in front of him, even if Xiaoshi couldn’t see his tears, but he looked up at the rope around his neck with dry eyes, wondering when he messed up. He should have seen the signs, he shouldn’t have pushed him as hard- he shouldn’t have brought him over the edge, he should have pressed harder for the answers- But he’s selfish, and next time, he’ll go into his life like it’s the only thing that matters to him. And he is. Lu Guang doesn’t know how long he spent looking up at his body, nor why he stayed long enough for Xiaoshi’s funeral. Looking back, he would probably guess that he needed closure for this timeline, but looking at the open casket with Xiaoshi’s closed eyes and the rope burns around his neck doesn’t feel very satisfactory. At least if he looks at the body just right he can pretend that Xiaoshi is just asleep, and will wake him up tomorrow with a concerned look on his face asking him what happened. Lu Guang doesn’t know how Cheng Xiaoshi always knows, but he does. ___ It was the little things at first. Lu Guang knows he was pushing hard, but he didn’t think it was that much at the time. That was probably the point where he started acting off- The chief of police had given them a photo based on a murder case in order to find evidence of a man named Da Haoran, who everyone believes to be the murderer of Jing Fang, though there is little to no evidence. Of course, the price wasn’t a low one, and Xiaoshi agreed.

[raineandsky]

#18

Considering the agency sold the heroes to the public as the protectors of the people, they sure are violent.

Most of the run ins the villain has had with heroes recently have all ended with him having to escape the moment he gets opportunity. He’s had to nurse bruises and scrapes and cuts and deep wounds and near broken bones on multiple occasions by now. They never used to be this bad – they’d just incapacitate their opponents enough to arrest them, but a policy must have changed somewhere. Now they beat villains into the ground as hard as they can and they don’t even stop there.

He’s the definition of can run can’t hide – he narrowly evades death time and time again, and yet his reputation has made him a person of interest. He’s long since left the business of villainy, simply minding his business and going about his day when heroes try to start fights with him. He’s basically gone into hiding because of it, and on the days he’s forced outside he tries to keep his wits about him for any lurking do-gooders. He’s well out of touch with his pride and competence that came with being a criminal – and being good at it.

Instead of the smug expectancy that used to come with happening across a hero in the streets, all he feels is dread as the hero stalks down the road towards him. “Out a little late, [Villain]?” she greets coolly. The villain backs away slightly, and she grins at his response. “Oh, we’re not scared already, are we? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“I– I’m not scared,” he defends, and he cringes at the obvious stutter in his voice. “I’m trying to eat my dinner tonight without my jaw hurting, is all.”

His attempt at a show of confidence is falling flatter by the second, and the hero is clearly revelling in his fear. “Oh, don’t worry.” She leers dangerously closer, and the villain takes another subconscious step away from her. “The food in jail is just slop. No need to chew anything that could hurt your precious jaw.”

“I’m not going to jail. I’ll be eating solid food at home with my unpunched jaw that doesn’t hurt.”

“This is a lot of warming up, isn’t it? Why don’t we skip the small talk and get to the dancing, hm?” The hero asks, her fist already balling as she continues approaching. He’s trying to think of a way out, but the best way out is past her, down the narrow alleyway. Maybe he could turn down this street, but it’s a deadend. It just delays the inevitable.

The hero takes a shorter step forward to lean into her swing. The villain barely manages to duck out of the way, feeling the air whizz by him as her fist passes by a hair's breadth. He goes to return the gesture but he doesn’t get the chance. The hero’s other fist punches into his gut, and he doubles over with the explosion of pain the contact brings. Here it is, he thinks distantly. The beginnings of another narrow escape and another agonising evening recovering.

The villain only gets to get back upright when her fist returns to connect with his face, sending him tumbling to the side and onto the floor. The world is spinning, his daze fixed blurrily onto the red splatters on the pavement in front of him. Is that his?

There’s a hand on his shoulder. He turns to throw it off but the hero is already on him, shoving him onto his back and pinning him to the ground below. The gravel is digging into his back, the stickiness of his own blood on his face making his head swim. It takes a moment to realise the warm feeling on his neck are her hands.

Fuck, she’s faster than the other heroes. It’s been less than a minute and he’s already at this point. He always found in the past that there wasn’t much escaping once it got here, and with the ferocity of the heroes recently he doesn’t stand a chance–

“Please…” The word tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it, no more than a hoarse whisper. He makes a vain attempt to push her off of him. “Please, I don’t want to die.”

The hero snorts, the sound grating in the haze of his own pain. “You wish I’d kill you. There’s no getting away from me tonight.”

His struggling only gets more frantic at the nonchalance of her voice. She hasn’t struck yet; why not? What is she gearing up to do? She says something smoothly but he doesn’t hear her – can’t hear her – over his own shallow breathing and the scraping of his boots against the pavement. He has to get out, right now. She’s going to kill him. He can’t die. Not yet.

“Easy, cowboy.” The hero’s voice finally breaks through the distressed fog of his mind. His neck is cold where her hands have released him, and she’s kneeling next to him instead of over him, her hands gripping his shoulders worriedly. He wastes no time scrambling away from her as soon as he gets his wits about him.

“I’m– I’m not like that anymore,” the villain blurts. “Please, please, please, don’t kill me.”

She gets to her feet, a frown creasing the features of her face, and she closes the space he just opened between them without a thought. He tries to clamber to escape her advance, but his back connects with the wall behind him and within a second her body is boxing him in, crouching entirely too much into his space.

The villain can feel the warm tears streaking his face, but he doesn’t care enough to stop them. “Please–” It’s all he seems to be able to say right now. “– I didn’t do anything. I just– I’m not– I don’t want to die.”

“I can tell.” The hero scrutinises him, but not cruelly. Her gaze is soft, concern lining her expression. “What’s going on, hm? What’s got you so scared of me? I know I’m a hero but I’m not the scariest guy out there.”

“You– you’re not going to kill me?” The question asks itself before he can stop it, and her eyebrows raise disbelievingly.

“Am I… meant to?” she asks confusedly, and she blanches when the villain’s eyes widen in predetermined terror. “But I won’t! I’m… I’m not going to kill you. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Everyone’s been trying to kill me.” He brings a hand to wipe at his nose, staring in grief at the red streak that it leaves on his skin. “Something– something’s changed. No one’s aiming to just arrest us anymore. We’re all on– I don’t know, a hit list or something.”

The hero hums. “I know the agency’s been coming down on you guys harder recently. I’m kind of old school though, so I’ve stuck to my ways. Other people seem to have taken the new orders more to the extreme.” She pulls a tissue out from her pocket, tipping his head back to start wiping some of the blood off his face. He flinches at the contact, but she just tightens her grip on him to keep him steady. “I assume you’ve met some of them.”

“Yeah…” is all he can be bothered to say, and the two of them fall into a not quite tense silence. The hero carries on gently cleaning what she can of the blood, and the villain sits with obvious nervous rigidness as she works.

“Some of the heroes are poor excuses of morality. I think they just wanted an excuse to go around punching people,” she says lightly once she’s finished, scrunching the now crimson tissue into a ball. “If you come across them and they give you a hard time, you just let me know, okay?”

“How do you expect me to–” The villain is cut off as she presses a piece of paper into his hand.

“Just call,” is all she says. She turns to disappear back down the street without another word, leaving him sitting there – miraculously alive and relatively unharmed. She even tried to help.

He unfolds the paper, careful not to stain it red, letting his eyes trace over the numbers inside. He’s lived his life in fear of the heroes, of what their agency lets them get away with. But he has a protector from the inside now. Maybe at some point he’ll be able to go outside without always looking over his shoulder.

[kittykatninja321]

Speaking as a personal autonomy enjoyer I hate the way the fanon conception of “lazerus pit rage” not only treats Jason’s actions as not his own but also his feelings as not his own. To me personally even if there was no evil green Jacuzzi and no Talia, the question of “why is that clown not a funny ass corpse” would still come up and there’d still be some hard feelings about Tim. Just probably with less killing and maiming

[a-dash-in-the-middle]

i don't know if i am horrible at communicating when i want a little attention or when i feel forgotten, or if people just in general never think it is about them because in their mind all of our needs are met and i am venting about everybody else?

[ieatwormsandtheytasteverygood]

Guess which bitch now has room on its phone for instagram for the first time in like 3 years. This is only good bc now we can post art there again.

Not that instagram is nice to artists or anything. Just that our art tumblr is so very tiny and unused. Gonna probably have to clear it out somewhat when I finally get around to posting art.

[killuaisaprincess]

kiss it better

Killua’s small fingers grab his shirt, and he sobs.

“I-I’m sorry…”

Gon shakes his head and carefully kisses Killua’s wrist.

“No, I’m sorry, Ki.”

He lifts Killua’s chin.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you, okay? You’re my world.”

Killua stops and hiccups, eyes wide.

“H-Huh?”

[iwakuraz]

trust me if you could see all the amvs I am constantly planning out in my head you'd be sooo impressed you'd probably get up and clap for me with a smile on your face. unfortunately I sit so uncomfortably so its difficult to draw haha yeah . thats my excuse thats the excuse of the day

[achillesisnotcomingdown]

CW unconventionally sh

Do you think Nico ever uses shadow traveling as a kind of sh ?

Sometimes he purposely shadow travels too much, for too long, not by necessity but just to then feel himself fade away.

Because for a few instants it's like he doesn't exist anymore, like he erased himself from the world and it feels right. Or maybe is it the adrenaline that follows being so close to disappearing, for an instant he feels glad to be alive.

[jils-things]

my portrayal of soul catcher 💭

before you continue: any latinos who are reading this (hi friends) who feel the need to correct me on what i might say about dia de los muertos PLEASE SAY IT because im indulging in your holiday like a barbie doll and you gotta tell me if im ruining their dress so i can correct my mistake 😖😖😖 ive done a bit of research before making this but im prone to misinterpretation 👍👍👍

so soul catcher to me is a grim reaper, it just makes sense because his idle animation is him escorting a soul with what seemed like a marigold petal (you know, the flowers that are heavily associated with this holiday) and ive read that sta. muerte is known to deliver souls safely into the afterlife. so that's what he is to me. but at the same time he's also someone Helps separate the soul from the newly departed's body - something that a grim reaper does. they don't tamper with the cause of death, they just help direct the soul where it should be :] these two concepts go hand in hand to me :3

also i really like how his costume description reinforces this concept of souls :3

in my last soul catcher post (with eidolon) i mentioned how eidolon is also this wandering spectre/undead gal that has gotten some rumors spreading around the locals. i like to think that once soul actually got to meet her and tried to "separate her soul" from her body (its... his "job" anyway...) it didn't work because she's partially alive. you cannot take away someone's soul when they're still alive... but also at the same time, she isn't? it was truly a curse. it was a very perplexing issue to him - and even if he wanted to help her be free of her conundrum ... it really wasn't possible. it's like, the curse has higher power over her right to the afterlife

so, she was truly doomed to be stuck where she is today. there's no way to undo it, not even with the superior magic that soul has. so the least he can do is let her know that he's there to be her friend, and he'll keep her company - maybe for eternity.

[cheeseboi420]

Hoping to finish chapter 1 within the next couple of days,, then its straight to work on chapter 2! In the meantime, to tide yall over, some random quotes and excerpts i stole off pinterest that ive been using as inspiration for Of A Feather!