#kept fALLing aslEEP

[wordwings]

*kicks down your door* It might seem like a plot hole that no one thought about the possibility of Dracula being invited into the asylum by Renfield (or any other patient) but actually it speaks to the way Renfield’s personhood is being denied mainly by Jack Seward, but also the rest of the crew in part through their reliance on Seward’s expertise. Which also ties into the way they have decided to shut out Mina at the very same time. It literally just did not occur to them that the patients living in the same building as them would have any claim to the residency that allows someone to grant the permission a vampire needs to enter a home. But of course the asylum is the patients’ home just as much as it is Jack’s! They live there! In short this fatal blow dealt to the heroes at this crucial juncture comes about through both their sexism and their ableism. Good night. *puts your door back on its hinges again and leaves*

[dailyheavymedic]

day 48

(13/15)

[pontevoix]

tsukishima grimaces again, shifting a bit to pinch at kuroo’s side & to make space. that way, at least, kuroo wouldn’t make his arm fall asleep — tsukishima can pretend that this is a type of stoicism or tolerance in the face of boundaries that keep blurring. but still . . . it is an embrace, loosely formed & indecisive where it falls

when he finished karasuno, his professional plan had still been venturing just past surrender. instead of getting a degree in something nondescript & settling into a career that meant nothing memorable, he countered his plague of indifference — he feels it like a grim reaper, shuffling alongside things that felt too much like early onset & promising no future. so it had been a daring thing to shuffle through university paperwork & course catalogues; it had been daring to presume that even if he was guaranteed dissatisfaction . . . at least he could choose things for himself. at least he could want for the sake of wanting.

his professional plan had still been venturing past surrender. he tried out for the university team & called it recreation & thought that it would end there.

but the city suited him — sendai is the city of the trees, & so it felt like a natural place to form new habits. reluctant runs by the riverside, self-imposed promises that grocery shopping should happen on tuesday evening, walks back to his apartment that guarantee him ten to fifteen minutes for a phone call conversation he won’t bring himself to be able to have otherwise. he has a favorite spot to stand at the train station in the morning, & he watches the clock as he scrolls on his phone —- satisfied with the realization that his schedule is his own.

this self-possession not a new thing, because he had been accustomed too often to the solitude of mismatch schedules in his family home — but it is his. they are his habits, his decisions, his preferences. the train will come, regardless of where he stands, but he has chosen to stand here.

it’s rewarding to know that he can establish a home for himself, that he is capable of it.

comfort starts to be enough, then, to tempt him past surrender — it’s impulse born from the adrenaline of knocking shoulders with his teammates that he agrees to join tryouts for a team within the professional league, that he agrees to situate himself more firmly within want.

it had been a difficult thing to try to talk about. before the try outs, his thumb had hovered over yamaguchi’s name in his text messages & tried to imagine how he could articulate that he was entertaining a world in which he had been wrong for years — that recreation was not enough, that he wanted deeply for the sendai frogs to choose him, that he did not want to be dissatisfied.

he sent a different text message instead. for instance, he messaged hinata, whose physical distance made him more accessible & whose inclination for conversation made tsukishima certain that he would take the message as a type of provocation or challenge for insight.

[ txt ] sendai’s teams looking good

[ txt ] lol

then later fidgeted with his fingers when he told akiteru later that he was going to try out for the frogs with his university team because it was good practice. he said nothing of himself, nothing of his intentions.

& then he hadn’t known how to handle the victory. he hates losing more than he likes winning, so it prepares him poorly for trying to communicate that he has chosen to be competitive. that he has chosen an additional responsibility because he wants to win.

it feels easier to tell hinata or kageyama because they’re always in the currents of competition; they know the thrills. it’s harder to tell yamaguchi, harder to tell akiteru because it’s something that he has to admit in person. it’s something he has to confess to those who have seen him sink to his lowest.

the lowest is something they don’t call by name. yamaguchi never needs to, because he’s so accustomed to roundabout pathways & to anxiety that bubbles over. he always lands on the right way of building a conversational balance that is an equal exchange.

akiteru tries to name it & hesitates because it sits in him too & takes another form. he’s nostalgic in a way that kei never was, & he had handled sadness like turbulence in a way that kei never had. the thing that they don’t call by name is something that akiteru had felt; it was something that kei refused to feel.

& it’s harder, too, to tell them because finding a high does not prevent a low. the prospect of confessions & growth guarantees a spell of days of heavy limbs, heavy tongue, heavy soul. a part of him is certain that he is grateful that it’s the weekend when he tells them — he doesn’t yet have a need to email excuses for the way that he’s losing track of scheduling —- & a part of him forgets gratefulness.

it makes him feel as though he’s lost even when he’s won. yamaguchi gets so excited that he smacks tsukishima upside the head, despite tsukishima’s protests — akiteru threatens him with the sentimentality of wet eyes, & tsukishima tries ward him off by shoving a second serving of their shared dinner towards him. they avoid a crisis & sink back into their routine anyway —- at that time, tsukishima had been paying some rent at akiteru’s apartment. the prospect of student housing had threatened too much stimulus & scraped anxiety against his skin, & akiteru has always been inclined to accommodate him in ways that tsukishima would rather not admit that he has needed.

but the city suited him — sendai is the city of the trees, & so it felt like a natural place to form new habits, to choose a career for the sake of wanting. he starts renting on his own, drawing out his university years so that it turns more feasible alongside museum work & sport. his grumbles sometimes that his wallet is wearing thin & disguises that it’s a real source of stress. there had been little guaranteed when he was split between two part-time jobs, split between refusing sponsorship deals ( & certain that he has few prospects for sponsorships ), split between residual classes, & split at the ends with the understanding that even now, he does not want to try a roommate.

roommates threaten too much noise, too much extra scrutiny. even without cause, he prefers the idea of his anonymity.

even so, a thin wallet hadn’t yet enough cause for regret —- & that’s promising in his too-small apartment that always smells a little like the neighbor’s laundry soap. the space turns home to preferences — window blinds & lamp light rather than overheads; a pile of blankets folded neatly over the back of the couch, though they are too numerous; a stack of textbooks & recreational reading that he repurposed into a table beside the too small couch.

he’ll move, maybe, when work turns full time — for now he is too tall for his apartment, & kuroo is too tall for his apartment. still, it had been the natural place for them to greet each other, to know each other after years of expectations established between peers & competitors —- after years of expectance established between those who knew each other from a distance.

but again, there is that embrace that isn’t much of anything. kuroo’s breath still settles against his grasp. tsukishima bites his cheek, & he’s made to think of every gamble that they never had.

even if boundaries are not yet drawn, they are everything not yet established. they are stupid in youth; they are a one bedroom apartment that wants to be twenty-two meters squared. they are still looming closer in ways that means confessions & conversations soaked in sentiments not properly translated. tsukishima’s ears keep turning red, & he listens to kuroo tell himself as he is.

hindsight always comes into play. tsukishima realizes in sporadic bursts that he, too, had looked at kuroo as a leader ( or at least partly defined by his leadership ) —- in those early days when text messages were a thrill, there had been a lot unknowns & imaginative assumptions of other that never meant anything until now when it’s friendships born-again & born-natural : english practice & arguments that don’t make sense & horrible movies & dramatics for which tsukishima never asked.

kuroo takes up an appropriate amount of space in tsukishima’s apartment. he’s intrusive sometimes in ways that tsukishima hasn’t yet learned to mind, even now —- when couch cushions sink at an uncomfortable angle that makes tsukishima sit crookedly as kuroo brings himself to his knees & chases dramatics.

tsukishima doesn’t have much patience for theatricality, so he takes advantage of his hand’s positioning still to try to pinch at kuroo’s side a second time.

but it’s too late, tsukishima thinks, when kuroo’s face is too close to his —- it’s a guise of jest, & that still doesn’t detract from the warm spread of kuroo’s breath against his cheeks. it doesn’t detract from tsukishima’s increasing awareness that his ears are red, that they might stay red forever.

‘ dangers of taking a protege, if you can call at that. they tend to turn cannibalistic, ‘ tsukishima offers. his tone is always his — too deadpan, too joking, too incontestable. all things that make him charming, all the things that make him less than charming. still, he offers the challenges he can because they came from childish roots.

he looked at kuroo as a leader when team rivalries framed their interactions, when adolescence scoffed at every connection.

but kuroo’s breath splays over his skin, & it leaves little room for prior conceptions of leadership —- here’s a man with, with so many pieces of him that are too ready to be unkempt, ready to stick out at odds. here’s a man who can’t say the right thing, who seems to feel too much.

& tsukishima hates to admit that he understands the appeal. here too is a man shrewd eyes, with the clean jaw, with the capacity to exchange barbed wire & thorns. tsukishima watches it happen, watches it unfurl in the way that kuroo performs a ‘ broken heart ‘ —- tsukishima finally manages to pinch kuroo’s side in reprimand, because he can rise to a challenge too.

still, the challenge is lost when kuroo settles against him & makes a pillow against tsukishima’s thighs. it detracts from old adolescent accolades to leadership & celebrates instead the charm of two men, new to adulthood & uncertain in its trajectory. they are grounded then in a similar trajectory.

the equilibrium that they tease out is a tempting thing. what do i get when i win, tsukki?

tsukishima is caught between 1 ) wanting to reprimand him for calling him tsukki because admonishment is muscle memory now a & 2 ) wanting to sketch the shape of kuroo’s cheekbones, of the bridge of his nose with the pad of his index finger.

he likes that sort of thing, doesn’t know he likes that sort of thing — to know a person’s shape so well that it becomes its own language with passing touches & familiarity

he retracts his hand for a moment, & it hovers for a second — awkward & indecisive & conscious of danger.

‘ i’m interesting enough, ‘ he says, because he’s always been good at shrouding himself in a cloud of arrogance that might pass as confidence. he’s even better at keeping his tone sideways & cool —- a challenge for action, even if it were framed as could-be neutrality.

he’s interesting enough, good enough that he should be enough of a win.

still, he entertains kuroo’s provocation — kuroo prods at his chest, & tsukishima rubs at the afflicted area with his indecisive hand to prove a point.

‘ if you win, then i’ll go to shibuya. to one of those arcades you were talking about, ‘ he decides & shrugs & keeps trying to find his point of neutrality. but the red at his ears keep giving him away, more so when he glances down & sees too much vulnerability ( undefined ) written against kuroo’s features.

it’s enough to make tsukishima relent a campaign of an indecisive hand. he pats kuroo’s cheek twice ( still awkward ), & his touch is soft enough that he at least promises something is heard.

he likes that sort of thing, doesn’t know he likes that sort of thing — to know a person’s shape so well that it becomes its own language with passing touches & familiarity.

uninvited, his thumb curves a path over kuroo’s cheekbone.

‘ is that good enough reason? ‘ he pauses & speaks into a grey space - whether being interesting is good enough reason, whether mundane promises are good enough reason. still, he keeps his tone cool. he’s good at that.

akemi demands a lunch date a week after his graduation. he doesn't like sushi very much  ––  his sister loves it though  &  he doesn't turn down a free meal, so he learns to tolerate it  &  has his go-to's so that it's at least an okay experience. besides, if he doesn't meet up with her she'll track him down  &  make sure that he finds his way to the restaurant. so instead he saves her the trouble  &  glances over the menu for his favorites, orders himself a nice helping of california roll, dragon roll,  &  shrimp tempura roll.  for a moment he debates the allure of saki but gives it up in favor of the look that akemi shoots him  &  knows that this will be a lunch full of company but also an interrogation.

truthfully, he's known it's been coming.  it almost makes him laugh that his parents have chosen to let her have the discussion instead of them.  then again, he holds akemi's opinion high in standards, so perhaps they think that it'll carry more weight coming from her. 

he leans onto his elbows on the table, crosses his legs a little firmer underneath him,  &  allows steel chopsticks to come down around a crab rangoon, pulling it onto his small plate.  the appetizer is set between them as if it'll hold promise of truce  &  white flags, but tetsuro knows better than that. 

" have you decided what you're going to do?  scouts aren't going to wait forever if you're putting together a reel to send them  &  there's still testimonials that you'll have to get from coach nekomata. "  akemi's voice is pleasant as she reaches forward  &  grabs her own, delicately nibbling at the edge of the fried wonton wrapper as her sharp gaze cuts his way.  for what it's worth, testuro takes a big bite out of his own just to spite her, just to save face for a little while longer as he tries to work it around in his head.

this has been coming since they were knocked out by karasuno  &  he knew it.  logically he knew that they've have questions  ––  would he be going pro?  he's never talked much about it, nor has he talked about attending college on a scholarship to possibly take that further.  every time the conversation is brought up tetsuro expertly dodges past it  &  magically has some meeting that he has to attend;  kenma is calling, i have to go, you know how impatient he can get.  in truth, his phone hasn't rang much since losing; kenma's name does come up more often than not, but outside of that it's more or less just bokuto that texts him, along with a few from tsukishima when he feels the urge rise up. 

they all handle their losses in their own ways; testuro has never been one to let it take over every inch of him, has never been the one to tuck his head  &  cry because it's never been that serious.  he's never wanted to lose, sure, but he's never felt it in the same way that some do.  he doesn't think that makes him less of a player  ––  he just thinks that he has found moderation over the years in how losses  &  wins add up.  

he also thinks that he's a little numb from the fact that nekoma is no longer his.  the team is turned over to kenma  &  the others; he is a captain without a team, a memory only in name  &  in the number on his jersey inside of his closet.  that sits heavier than he wants to admit to himself, even on those days when they're good days.  some days his fingers run along 01  &  he thinks of the blocks that he missed, thinks of the serves that he could've saved.  he thinks of rallies going entirely too long.  he thinks too much of those training camps  &  watching potential blossom in a team that had had everything pushed against them.

the numbness hasn't escaped his chest.  he's unsure of if it ever will, or if there's always going to be this numbness that settles within him when he thinks of volleyball.  it's been a part of him for so long now  ––  since he was a child, since he had learned to spike  &  had simply received a ball.  coach nekomata had seen something in him  &  to have him there throughout his entire career in high school?  it feels like his faith was ill placed  ––  it feels like he hasn't fully ever earned it.  how can he call himself a captain when he couldn't lead them toward a championship in the reality of it all?

his lips purse  &  he loses his appetite for the fried delicacy.  he sets it back down on his place  &  keeps his eyes averted; akemi is patient to a fault, but she will not let him slide for much longer.  her patience is that of a tiger that is slowly circling its prey, ready to leap at the last second  &  take it by surprise.  his sister has always been sharp  &  good at what she does; he supposes that's why she's gone the lawyer route, why in just a few short years she's already begun to make her way into a place in a local firm, wins already on her back.  a keen eye for details  ––  &  an even keener eye for bullshit. 

so kuroo doesn't even bother to try  &  fight his way through something pathetic like an excuse, because she will see right through it  &  that'll be another conversation that he doesn't need.

" i'm not going pro.  i'm thinking of putting applications in for sports management. "  there, just rip the bandaid off. 

the table is silent for a solid minute before akemi sets her chopsticks down  &  he feels the spot between his shoulder blades prickle.  he doesn't want to answer questions about it  ––  it's not like he's happy with his choice, but every single time he thinks of heading back onto the court he feels like there's a heaviness there that he can't shake.  maybe it's just taking a loss too hard, maybe it's just his own insecurities bubbling up  &  wrapping their hands around his throat.  either way, this is a consolation prize  ––  he had liked helping out bokuto with tsukishima, had liked finding the potential in kenma  &  needling him until he had no choice but to love the sport.

so finding potential can be a good thing, a safe thing,  &  it can be a good idea.  so he goes with it.

" are you going to really be able to be around the sport  &  not be part of it? "  a keen eye that works around details.  akemi's face is neutral when she looks at him but an eyebrow slowly begins to raise.  she knows him too well, has exposed all the raw edges to his nerves that he doesn't want to acknowledge, not now. 

" i'll be fine. "  it's said with a shake of his hand like nothing more needs to be said. 

his body falls back into tsukishima's side with a quiet oof that falls from his lips, his side smarting from the pinch that had been leveled there.  his tongue presses against his cheek as his arm wraps its way around him, makes space so that kuroo can stay where he is but so that he can breathe too.  for a moment, kuroo forgets how to breathe  ––  he's pretty sure tsukishima can feel it, the way his heart stutters with the way that his arm is pressed against the pulse of his neck. 

he wills his thoughts to quiet. 

" you're right, you know.  the thought of starting over, having a new team, letting them down on the court  ––  i wasn't ready for it. "  a shrug of his shoulders that jostles them both, but he allows him a piece of himself.  he allows himself to break off a piece of importance, of quiet acceptance that he has been keeping locked down for too long now.  it's why he's sluggish with his papers  &  the work that he does four days a week here, the ones that tsukishima sometimes looks over  &  scoffs at, a soft tsk before he instructs him of where his math is wrong.

sometimes kuroo gets it wrong just so that he'll correct him. 

he hasn't touched a court much since he's lost to karasuno.  sometimes he helps kenma practice, but it's rarely on a court  ––  it's in the backyard or along the river like they used to, the sounds of tokyo quieting their thoughts as the ball bounces between arms  &  leaves the telltale marks of athletes in their wake.  

the thought of starting over without kenma at his side, without even lev by his side, it makes something uncomfortable tighten in his chest.  he never thought he'd be the type for sentimentality when it came to teammates; they change constantly because that is the nature of sports.  it is a business on the undercurrent, no matter how much someone wants the team to stay the same.  but something about being the one that has to walk away hurts more than he thought it would  ––  &  he hasn't figured out a way to seal up that ache in himself yet.

so he comes here four days a week  &  watches horrible movies  &  pretends that learning english is an absolute pain.  in reality it's become like home  &  as much as he hates to admit it, it might be starting to thaw out the part of him that's felt cold  &  detached for far too long. 

the weight of tsukishima's arm around his neck feels like an anchor that's bringing him back to the world that he keeps finding himself floating away from.  his head aches in the right way when he thinks about volleyball when tsukishima is near  ––  &  he isn't entirely sure what that all means.  he's not sure what he means when he feels his own pulse against the warm skin against his neck  &  wonders what it would feel like if he just turned slightly  &  pressed his lips against it. 

a gasp leaves his lips though that bokuto would be proud of  ––  the dramatics clear as he spins slightly, presses his knees into the couch that still ache from hitting the court far too often.  he's too close to tsukishima's face now, his hand moving down his shoulder blades with the change in position. 

" you are breaking my heart.  i can't believe you want go against me.  i've taught you, my little protege,  &  now you repay me like this? "   he has learned more from bokuto than just volleyball, his eyes widening dramatically  &  his bottom lip quivering ever so slightly.  there's a frustration in his huff as well  ––  the thought of going against tsukki, the old spark starting to work its way up in his chest despite his best efforts.

for the first time in years, tetsuro feels a little more alive than he had before, feels a little bit more like himself  &  like he wants to feel the court beneath his feet once more.

he allows his body to fall, head colliding with muscular thighs that have been built from years on the court  &  keeping in shape.  the promise of the heat that leaks through pants makes him shiver slightly, but he tilts his head up, lets his bangs fall over his eye a bit more.

" what do i get when i win, tsukki?  because you gotta make this interesting for me. "  his hand comes up, prodding at tsukishima's chest directly in the middle.

he would go either way; the spark that's been lit is starting to ignite into flames, familiar trajectories  &  plays beginning to work its way through his head like they had before.  for the first time in a long time, the part of his mind that has been trying to build a wall around volleyball in order to protect the memories, starts to come down.  it starts to yield to the sledgehammer that tsukishima easily wields. 

he thinks that akemi would see through his bullshit with this, too.  if it had been anyone else telling him that he was going to play, he wouldn't have succumbed so easily.  but it's tsukishima,  &  he finds that he has a hard time denying him anything.

it's dangerous.  it's dangerous because he knows why he would grant him anything he wanted. 

it's dangerous that when he looks up from this angle, he feels stupid, starstruck in a way that leaves him feel like a sixteen year old with a crush once more.  back then it had been with a loser who was tactile  &  knew how in the hell to cheat his way through a boss fight but draw it out at the same time when all kuroo wanted to do was go outside.

he feels the heat drawing to his cheeks dangerously  &  swallows hard  ––  this is dangerous because he keeps finding it harder  &  harder to hold himself back, to not just blurt everything that keeps rolling itself around in his head. 

tetsuro bites his lip harder  &  feels his throat go dry.  glasses  &  the upturn of a nose shouldn't look as good as they do.  his head shouldn't feel so good, heavy  &  light at the same time. 

tetsuro had thought that he had been in love before, with kenma  &  the infatuation of knowing someone so intimately.  

this is different though.  this is the same feeling he gets when he hits a block  just right.  it's the same feeling he gets when he steps onto a court  &  feels the weight of a match on his shoulders.  

he realizes that he's only ever fallen in love twice:  with volleyball  &  with kei tsukishima.

both are beyond dangerous.  both have the power to break him in so many different ways. 

[remxedmoon]

save me bonnie isat… bonnie isat… save me…

woah what!!! isat fanart with color??? preposterous. greyscaled versions under the cut!! (and also the last doodle without the crusty old drawing next to it!! incase you want to use it for anything)

anyways. uh. scampers away like a little rat

[losersolace]

nico di angelo can sleep ANYWHERE. he’s like the kid at weddings who puts 2 chairs together and curls up under the speakers with his shoes on and all and sleeps like its nothing. in contrast, will solace (being a son of apollo) has amplified hearing and has to spend like 3 hours tossing and turning bc a dog barking a mile away is keeping him awake + once the sun is up there’s no way he’s falling back asleep.

this also reflects on their appearance the morning after. will has the worst bedhead ever, he tries everything to fix it but it kinda stays there the whole day. nico wakes up with weird hair on the side he slept on but he shakes it out and it immediately falls perfectly like he’s a disney princess. BUT he does get puffy eyes + dark circles while will looks well rested even though he got 4hrs of sleep.

[peatchoune]

(6/?) idle chat

[cordiallyfuturedwight]

seventeen months of kim seokjin messages for @jinstronaut

inspired by jin's monthly messages and em's daily gif series ♡

[dueling-jesters]

The m-abortion zootopia fancomic spoof wasn't actually accurate. I think White Spy would be supportive, if not more than supportive.

This one's mainly a joke, but done to clear things up. Hope the last bit isn't too suggestive for this site.

[multiheadcanons]

TF2 MERCS AND HANDS

scout: long fingers. calloused palms. strong grip. long nails. softer than you’d think because he keeps them wrapped in bandages. small scars litter the tops of his hands. knuckles starting to knob up from the constant breaking and fracturing from various fights. warm, if not weirdly sweaty. dexterous fingers.

soldier: rough, calloused hands. thick, knobbed fingers. cold. only has a strong grip on his guns. it’s hard for him to get a full grip on anything else. nails bitten to the quick. thick skin around the nails where he bites at the skin as well. his hands are almost useless to him. does grip exercises.

pyro: pyros hands are scarred from various flames they’ve gotten too close to. wide set palms with short fingers, soft when you don’t think about it. nails painted with a soft, glittery polish. strong grip. dexterous. generally moist with a strong lotion for their constantly cracking skin. almost feels like a toad?

demo: well maintained hands. short, well filed nails. long fingers, narrow palms. comfortably warm. callouses on the fingers of his dominant hand where he holds his pencils too hard. takes a lot of handwritten notes. firm grip, and dexterous. has to be to not blow himself up.

heavy: huge. fuckin. hands. and they’re so cold. they warm up quickly, but it’s like touching snow. the tops of his hands are scarred, but not gored. plenty of meat on his palms and knuckles. has a thick scar that leads into the lines on his palm. it’s hard for him to not see it as an omen.

engineer: short, thick hands with sausage fingers. they fit his body nicely. short, clean nails. comfortably warm. he does his best to maintain his hands, they are his livelihood. he’s got some small scars on his palms. he’s expressive with his hands. frankly engie always looks like he is in a more relaxed state when he is in motion.

medic: that man got horror hands. loooong, thiiiin, egregiously big hands. please keep the gloves on. keeps his nails longer than anyone would feasibly want their doctors nails, but at least he keeps them filed. ice cold, all the time. they’re hauntingly beautiful. his hands are unscarred, he takes incredibly good care of his hands. also expressive with his hands. they look better in motion than they do still. and frankly; an idle hand on the medic is the devil’s paradise. it’d be better to give him a gun to play with.

sniper: finally, some regular fucking hands. real blocky. nails bitten to the quick. clammy. that’s why he keeps his gloves on. he’s got some gnarly scars on the tops and palms of his hands. nasty long fingers, gives him some crazy reach with his big ass armspan. his knuckles are starting to knob up from the wear and tear battle has on his hands.

spy: he’s got hand model hands. well maintained, yet frail nails. he keeps his nails short because they break so easily. thin fingers. hands are veiny, but unscarred. soft palms. very effective pointer and hand communicator. warm. quite a few beauty marks on his hands. his favorite is the one on his trigger finger. it’s why he wears gloves. his hands are very distinctly his.

[pointyfruit]

Buuunnyy yaayy

Picrew Tag Game Time!

This is the cutest picrew I've ever seen

Tagging: @slenders1ckn3ss @lychhiker-writes @itsrainingunicorns

@dyrewrites @abalonetea @forthesanityofsome @raindroppoetry

@ajarofpickledtears @the-ark-awaits @actualblanketgremlin @astras-rambles

... And everyone else who wants to! [though maybe start a new post if this one gets too long]

[goddessofroyalty]

Share with the class some of your favorite young revolutionists/parents Vander and Silco headcannons.

Despite all the stress and busy-ness of their lives during those early days it's actually some of the simplest times of their lives because the goals, especially their long-term ones, are so clear to them and it does feel like they are making progress towards them even if it's slow (victories definitively feel sweeter and less complicated). And while people are starting to join on to their cause they aren't being looked at to be the leaders and make all the decisions.

Vander tries to bring little gifts home to Silco when he comes home. Not everyday and nothing big. But especially if a smuggling shipment has something in it that he thinks Silco would like (and it's large enough that one thing missing won't get noticed) he'll bring it home for Silco. If it's food he won't try any himself until he's given it to Silco.

While the number of actual toys their kids have is minimal (as in dedicated "this is a toy purchased for a child" and not "this is some rubbish this child has taken home") there is a constant stream of books going through the house. Few stay in their possession indefinitely but it's are something they keep their eyes open for whenever trading with sailors travelling through or generally in the things that pass through their/Benzo's hands. If they want their children to stand on equal footing to those in Piltover they will do the best they can to educate them.

They're a weird mix of being very paranoid protective parents and also very blase ones. And there is logic to it (much more protective against outside threats to their kids vs blase to kids doing dangerous things) it is a bit funny to think about. But also they are very on the same wave-length in what to be protective vs blase about despite never really talking about it.

There's not many photos of them at that time but in just about every one of them they are doing something that is not advisable with a baby/young child also in frame (smoking, cleaning blood of gauntlets, sorting through stolen goods).

They are a very intense relationship especially in the early days. So the kids are just as likely to witness them having a full blown in each other's face yelling match as they are them being obnoxiously affectionate with each other. Sometimes the yelling matches end with the obnoxious affection. Both sides of this actually get more intense as the years go on. It kind of all becomes Background Noise for the kid.

They've made arrangements for if they end up dead or in Stillwater. And I think between them and Benzo there's a rule that if they are doing anything big one of the three stays home (which clearly continues to when they're older - Benzo isn't out the night of the bridge).

[riovidalharkness]

Wow! If I had a nickel for every time Aubrey Plaza played a sapphic witch, I'd have two nickels-- which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice. Right?

[wraithsoutlaws]

shit aint so bad.

[nenoname]

[rocko-newjeans]

It's Cal's birthday today! He can have one (1) slice of cake.

[ddejavvu]

Just took the bus home from school and on my walk the neighbor’s cat was standing on top of their backyard wall meowing at me to come pet him so I climbed up the little fence outside their yard and he was SMUSHING his little orange head into my hand I literally thought he was gonna fall bc he was melting everywhere 😭😭