#maybe that’s a selfish thought

[pixies--dust]

Every now and then I visit queering the map and get emotional

[itsdefinitely]

TUMBLR LEGWND ITSDEIFNITLEY ALSO DRAWS SANDERS SIDES?!?!???

i dabble

[tricksterringmaster]

me and you now, little one.

[malenjoyer]

I just had a passing thought about my own stuff from an outsider POV. I wondered if anyone who’s not a huge fan of dick questions why Dick Grayson in most of the stuff I post…

Why all of a sudden Dick Grayson is the bus driver- because I hired him!!! I want to see him! I’m gonna put him in everything!

[critter-wizard]

ep 43 had me tearing up in a fucking shopping centre ‼️‼️

b+w alt version that I truly couldn't decide if I liked it more . Also I included a lot of thoughts in the tags but they're somewhat incoherent<3

[huginsmemory]

Reading journal 3 again is a reminder that... Well Ford is kinda an asshole towards Fiddleford. It's not just Stan. Like he's so focused on himself and his project and his ambition that anyone/thing else blurs out (him disregarding Fiddleford's nervousness around the gremloblin because he wants to sketch it, and when it goes sideways, him talking about the safety of the project parts BEFORE how Fiddleford was doing in his journal, multiple times. Priorities much?) and he's demeaning towards Fiddleford's own project (which ends up being wayyyy more important then Ford's discoveries)... Like damn Fiddleford, u left ur wife and young son for this guy?

[zorlovinghue]

Kim Rok Soo is that one friend who got nearly no pictures of themselves in their own phone.

Always those close (shush) to him, maybe report documents and monsters (obviously). And what little presence he had in his phone is the group pictures his hyungs sent to him, which he'd acknowledged that it feels nice to be a part of it, secretly.

Lee Soo Hyuk and Choi Jung Soo going NIS mode and passionately collecting every single picture of their lovely dongsaeng just because he won't, and because they knew Kim Rok Soo would sulk (fxcking furious) if he find out those embarrassing and surprisingly silly sappy pictures they took whenever possible.

They don't want to break his little bubble, so they always make sure to send the best shot they have (no single shot since Kim Rok Soo hates it, apparently it's possible to see a genuine disgust and disappointment on that ever-present stoic face). The massive amount of pride whenever Kim Rok Soo's eyes would linger for seconds longer, both hands holding on his phone and the small tugged on his lips when he thought they wouldn't know is absolutely worth the effort.

Well, Lee Soo Hyuk and Choi Jung Soo may be a poor secret keeper, but this one is certainly an exception. Until their dongsaeng let loose of his wall enough, until they succeed in showing him that he's precious as he is, and that there's nothing wrong with him so he shouldn't be ashamed of taking a selfie of 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 with 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦—they'll be content with just this much.

[hyuckswoman]

hey!! so i think i might quit tumblr? (i won’t if a singular person tells me not to /half joking)

this whole rant is kinda selfish of me but tbh i’m starting to grow out of kpop and i think you guys can tell bc (here comes the selfish and greedy part) i get a lot less engagement than i did with down bad? which is also normal bc i’m less consistent right but i still lowkey got less engagement before i dipped

and to those of you that do engage with my posts just so you know i look forward to your comments every time and i giggle and i’m sorry i don’t respond but it’s bc idk what to respond?

also i feel like a lot of people just aren’t interested in my story which is completely understandable but yea i feel like if i make content that you guys don’t want, what’s the point of making it yk?? so yea i don’t really know what to do

and the thing is i like posting and i have fun making my stories but i do get discouraged sometimes (and i compare myself to other stories on here too like… i never did that before lmao) but ig i gotta remind myself that people are just less interested and that’s okay?

but yeah lmk if you want me to keep posting updates with game on or if you’re interested in what i have to post, otherwise idk maybe this is a goodbye?

[authorafterhours]

I can see Will keeping Hannibal’s calcified heart as a keepsake if he outlived him.

[suddencolds]

insatiable appetite [1/?]

sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have written—and also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head

ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)

special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently

—

Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)

—

For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.

There’s this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before they’d gotten together officially, and some more—this is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.

All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishable—but only nearly.

Now, Till is here for dinner—it’s a dinner they’ve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Till’s recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.

When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, he’s wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Till says. “Traffic here was the worst I’ve ever seen it, swear to god.”

“Was it cold outside today?” Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.

Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Colder than usual, for this time of year.”

“Strange,” Ivan says, just to be difficult. “But the weather forecast says it’s the same temperature today as yesterday.” 

“It’s probably just windier today,” Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.

“Your voice sounds a little off, though.”

Till clears his throat with a scowl. “You must be imagining it,” he says. “It always sounds like this.”

No admission, then. That’s fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.

It’s a nice restaurant—worth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The server—who leads them to their table in a small, private booth—is wearing a suit.

It’s a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he won’t be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.

They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till instead—Till, who’s seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face. 

Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquid—has he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps it’s a good thing that they work at different offices—Till at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting company—because Ivan certainly doesn’t think he’d be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that. 

It’s not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, it’s discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...

“What are you thinking of ordering?” Ivan asks.

“I can’t decide,” Till answers. He turns the page again. “It’s between the ribeye steak and the… snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?”

“Not from their Yelp reviews,” Ivan says. “You know, if you really can’t decide, I can flip a coin.”

“I’ll pick,” Till says. “Why? Hungry already?”

He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. There’s a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, he’d probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.

“Your taxi did take forever to arrive,” Ivan says, by way of explanation. 

“Did you really wait that long?”

He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, “Not at all. But you know, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

Till rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “There was a meeting that ran late. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Is that also a part of your new position?” “I guess so, yeah.”

“I can see why they were eager to promote you, then,” Ivan says. “How productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?”

Till snorts. “Not that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.”

He sniffles again. “Okay. I think I know what I want.” The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion. 

“At long last,” Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. “I’ll call over the waiter.”

He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.

“A spiced apple cider,” Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. “Hot, if you can.”

That’s new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though he’ll drink tea without complaint if it’s offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively “small” cold turns into…

Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, there’s a… strange something to Till’s expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.

Ivan swallows hard. He should look away. 

He should, but then, Till’s breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Till’s voice in it. He should really look away.

Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Till’s shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:

“hhH-Ih!! hiHH-’IESCHH-eew-!”

God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. It’s the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. It’s not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.

For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad they’re in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.

“Bless you,” he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. It’s a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isn’t sure he can keep what he’s feeling off of his face.

Truthfully, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure a whole night of this.

The problem here is that Till—Till, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can remember—has no idea about Ivan’s… relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.

“Thanks,” Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand. 

Ivan can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. “Don’t you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that we’re inside?”

Till freezes. “Y-You know what,” he says evasively. “It’s pretty cold in here.”

Ivan tilts his head in question. “And just how do you plan on eating like that?”

“I’ll take it off when our food comes.”

“I can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if it’s a problem,” Ivan says. 

“It’s not a problem.”

Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.

When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above. 

“What are you—”

Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Till’s forehead. As expected, it’s warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable. 

“Just how long were you intending to hide this?”

Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. “Hide what?”

Shouldn’t it be obvious? “The fact that you have a cold.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Till says, slowly.

“Hmm.” Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. “We could’ve called a rain check.”

This time Till really does roll his eyes. “For the reservation we planned weeks ahead?” he sniffles again. “That just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?” 

Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Till’s scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.

Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

So uncooperative. “Let me see,” Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Till’s hands away from his face, and then—because the restaurant is dimly lit—tilts Till’s face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light. 

Till’s nose is redder than usual. He’s probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. There’s  a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.

“What’s there to see?” Till says, a little crossly.

“Your face, since you’ve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,” Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.

Till scowls at him, but there’s no heat to it. “You see my face every day.”

“On the contrary, I don’t see it nearly enough,” Ivan says. “And you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?”

Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Till’s cheek. 

But then, Till’s breath hitches. “Wait,” he says. Panic flashes through his face. “Ivan, move, I—”

Oh. Well, seeing as there’s no way he’ll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like he’ll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Till’s mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHheh-! HHh’EIITShHh’yYiew!” he gasps sharply. Two? “Hh-! hHiiH’DSSCSSHh-IIew!”  

The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifying—all of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivan’s waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Till’s breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.

Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god it’s so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him. 

“Bless you,” he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps it’s a miracle that he’s still able to talk at all. “Some cold, hmm?” Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.

Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running. 

“Do you have no self preservation? It’s as if you want to catch this,” Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.

Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.

[sleepinginmygrave]

do you ever feel uhm left out no matter what

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

thinking abt these two again. i need to be sedated

knight!sugu who sacrifices you to save the world thinking he has no other choice. who instantly becomes enveloped by a guilt so heavy it crushes him.

prince!gojo who sacrifices the world to save you with a smile on his face. who tells you to find him in your next life as he watches the stars go out one by one.

[uncanny-tranny]

And another thing that gets me about the human condition is how we weren't even meant to survive this world alone - humans with humans. We chose to trust certain animals, to nourish them, to be symbiotic with them, to love them like we love ourselves. I think a lot of people talk about how selfish it is for humans to take advantage of animals, but I think that's too simplistic. It's closer to friendship - if you do not foster the relationship, then it simply won't go anywhere, and I think the implication that animals can't ever know anything for themselves, for their survival, is also human-centric and selfish (selfishness not inherently being a bad thing).

It's just nice to know that we want to be around people - we want to be around comfort and security and safety so much that we now have animals by our side. Every time I cuddle with my cat, I think that we weren't meant to survive this world alone; she is shaped to fit in my chest, and my arms were made to wrap around her.

[barbrububble]

Mouthwashing spoilers

I really like how the game makes the player feel when playing Curly and still thinking he crushed the ship. I kept looking for signs that he is unwell enough to decide on murder-suicide. He is dishonest on his psych eval. He has a lot of trouble sleeping. He complains a lot. The stairs to the cockpit stretch almost to infinity - does he not want to be there? Does he not trust himself in there? (What's with the sea of blood?) Oh he does want a change of career... but is also wary of it. Now they're all fired. "I just want to be in a place I don't want to fucking escape from! "

And then no, Jimmy did it. All the inner turmoils of Curly were just that and were only "telltale signs leading to the tragedy" in my eyes because I already "knew" what was going to happen. Now it feels both like a play on my expectations as a player and a portrayal of rich inner troubles still being within normalcy.

And also why I dislike people blaming Curly for not recognizing Jimmy's potential to fly off the rails. The clear signs are only clear postfactum. A person can even be toxic, can be capable of harm and assault (which yeah, Curly didn't properly recognize) and still snap in a way that surprises you - or never snap that hard after all.

[tapeworrmart]

So I have consumed that whole SH2 remake James' mental illness and SA theory document and I gotta say.... It fits. I can really see it. My eyes are open. I wouldn't put it past a game like that to make suggestions in that direction.

Also printing the Silent Hill 2 novel off to read as we speak. I'm normal about that guy and his trauma I swear

[hersurvival]

You are alive -

You open your eyes each morning

And breathe just like the rest of us.

But do you live?

Or do you fight every night

Just to get out of your own mind,

Desperate to escape the past?

Exhausted day in and day out,

Distracted, your head swirling

With thoughts better off

Forgotten?

Talk to me,

I don't understand where you go sometimes -

I search and search

But I have lost the word to utter

When you give up,

When you wish to end the game of hide-and-seek.

I just want you to come back to me.

Olly olly oxen free.