#my brain is struggling i hope this is good

[leroiestmortvivelareine]

Nora ties me into knots (aka, my complicated thoughts about Kevin/Andrew part 2)

One of Nora’s most genius ninja moves is serving up something inexplicable then leaving it relatively unexplored. It bothers you, like a splinter in your brain, until you’re forced to puzzle it out for yourself.

For example, I always thought Andrew’s bargain with Kevin was nowhere near convincing enough to explain such fanatical levels of devotion.

From Andrew's viewpoint, I mean. I imagined Kevin's side of it in a previous post.

For one thing, Kevin offered exactly what Neil offered right from the start - ‘I believe in your talent, let’s get enthused about exy’ - but Andrew wasn't buying when Neil was selling. Even though Neil was every bit as passionate about exy as Kevin and (according to Andrew himself) a more natural talent.

I read the ec and I thought, ok, it makes slightly more sense with sexual tension between Andrew and Kevin, and yes the remnants of kandriel are still visible even in the final version. But Neil is basically Andrew’s kryptonite so why was it a great deal coming from Kevin but unworthy of consideration coming from Neil?

And yes, of course, Andrew initially refused Kevin too… but at some point it went from refusal to fanatical devotion to Kevin and that’s the link I struggle with.

Andrew was underwhelmed by Kevin only ever striving for 2nd best. So why did he take Kevin’s offer so incredibly seriously?

Is it because Kevin actually did leave the Nest and strike out on his own? Did that earn Andrew’s respect?

Or was it just the closest thing to salvation Andrew thought he was likely to find at the time?

(I think Kevin’s lack of… (what? conviction? self?) ultimately set a limit on how much Andrew could invest in Kevin. Especially compared with Neil’s fierce determination to survive and to grasp what he wanted with every last shred of his being.)

And why, assuming Andrew was so devoted to Kevin as the ghost of future exy, did he fight Kevin tooth and nail in the present? Was it all a test? Is anyone really so self-destructive that they are simultaneously doing all they can to sabotage their best hope by testing it to destruction while at the same time praying it won’t break?

Well yes, if their ability to trust is as utterly destroyed as Andrew’s was. Yes. He wasn’t committing to anything that wouldn’t stand up to seven different kinds of hell.

At the same time Andrew wasn’t stupid enough to entirely sabotage a potentially good thing. He stepped up when he had to.

And then we’re told Kevin was wise enough not to fight for scraps but to wait Andrew out.

But how did Kevin figure out what was going on in Andrew’s head? Because honestly I don’t think Kevin’s as perceptive as he thinks he is.

Did someone tell him? The most likely person to have that level of awareness is Andrew. Did Andrew warn Kevin it’d be a rough road and hope he’d hang in there? (Knowing Andrew, he’d have conveyed this via a third party, like Wymack.)

Which sort of suggests that a lot of the deal with Kevin was really Andrew negotiating with himself.

Andrew must have been grateful at a bone-level that Kevin’s faith held strong through all of the testing. But even so, it wasn’t until the queen tattoo that Andrew’s final verdict came in on Kevin and his promises. And by then it wasn’t Kevin who received his fanatical devotion.

So I get why Andrew accepted Kevin’s offer - but still I ask… why such mad intensity?

Maybe it’s just the Andrew thing to not do anything by halves.

Or maybe it wasn’t really about what Kevin offered. Kevin needed support, and that made Andrew feel needed.

[eiightysixbaby]

thinking about asking the boys to take your virginity 🥴

ugh, god. I love this.

You don’t need to ask Eddie twice. As soon as you pose the question, he’s scooping you into his arms and kissing you. “I’m flattered you want it to be me, sweetheart,” he says after you’ve asked. “We’ll take everything at your pace, ‘kay?” And oh god he’s so sweet about it all, his goofiness easing your nerves. He’s treating you like a queen, doting on you extra just making sure you’re thoroughly aroused for him. He kisses you everywhere, lets his fingers work their magic on you as he reminds you how fucking special you are. He soothes you through any of that initial discomfort, holding himself back from going absolutely wild over how good you feel around him. He makes you laugh during any of the awkward moments, nose brushing yours and capturing your lips in kisses to relax you. When you start to get more comfortable, start making little noises of pleasure for him he just about dies, so excited to be the first person who gets to have you like this. “You’re my fucking favorite thing in the world, you know that right?” he’s murmuring into your ear as he rocks slowly into you.

Steve is so smitten when you ask him, so honored that you trust him with this. “Are you sure? We can wait as long as you need to, there’s no rush…” but you’re insisting that you want it, that you’re ready and that you wouldn’t want your first time to be with anyone but him. You know what you’re getting into, he’s huge and you’re honestly nervous about how he’s going to fit. Steve himself is apprehensive as well, telling you over and over to let him know if he has to stop or slow down. He’s as gentle with you as he possibly can be, groaning when that first inch of him is inside of you. “You’re so perfect. Feel so good, my god,” and his praise makes you giddy, helps you feel more confident in taking all of him. You’re both seeing stars by the time he’s fit himself fully inside of you, and he’s just soooo vocal with you. Moaning and praising you nonstop. He’s so sick with adoration as he watches your eyes struggle to stay open with each of his thrusts. He tells you again and again how pretty you are, how gorgeous you look while you let him take you. If he makes you finish the first time, he’s extremely pleased with himself, finding it so important that you have the best experience possible.

Sweet boy Jonathan is probably genuinely flustered when you ask him, he’s so unbelievably excited but he’s blushing like crazy when you get the words out. “You’re sure? You really want to?” he’s hesitantly asking, holding your hands in his and squeezing them. Once he’s got you sprawled out in waiting on his bed, he’s hovering over you, hands massaging every inch of your skin that they can reach. His touch is soothing while also making you grow needier, whining for more. He eats you out before fucking you, wanting to get you nice and wet and not being able to resist having a taste of you. The way his hands grip your plush thighs and his face buries into your cunt as you reeling, it’s so clear how much he loves making you feel good and your heart pounds in anticipation. He’s slow as he starts to push into you, his fingers brushing your hair out of your face and stroking your cheeks, smirking when you dig your nails into his back. He can’t stomach the thought of hurting you, and he’s kissing the worry lines on your forehead as you adjust to the stretch to fit him, shushing you softly and reassuring you that he’s got you. “I’m here, angel. You okay? Need me to change anything?” he’s asking you, and you’re shaking your head no, pleading with him to just keep going.

[mochiwrites]

It’s dark out.

Moonlight casts a softness over the server that isn’t there during the chaos of the day, creating something uncanny and uncomfortable for a game such as this one; softness. It’s not something that lasts, not something that comes naturally here. And yet the moon remains with its soft glow, gentle light sitting around them all like a blanket.

It’s dark out, and it’s hard to see.

It’s just Skizz and him now, their third no longer tied to this Hell. Grian is stuck between jealousy and relief. There is no break for someone like him, no reprieve or rest. The pain of it all doesn’t stop when his lives run out, when he leaves this place—it only continues. It wraps around him, sinks into his skin, his heart. It digs its claws so deep in him that it leaves a permanent mark on his memory. He’s unable to forget any of it.

He has to tiptoe around Skizz when leaving, avoiding stepping on the arm the guy has thrown out to the side of his body. His loud snores grate on Grian’s sensitive ears, and the quicker he escapes the better. He tucks his wings in close as he climbs the bridges, Mumbo’s ecstatic voice ringing loud in his ears with each creak of wood under his feet. Grian holds onto the railings, but his grip is weak, loose.

He doesn’t need to ask himself where he’s going, or even think about it, really.

When he reaches the last of their bridges, he heads up the mountain. It almost feels familiar, like he’s done it one, two, three times before. Cherry blossoms drift to the ground around him, uncaring of the somber air that Grian carries with him. He almost wants to stop and shout at them, can’t you read the room? I lost my best friend today! But he doesn’t. He ignores the tranquility of the petals, ignores how he squishes some under his feet.

Some chests come into view, right at the center of the mountain. He passes by the three parrots, some bit of him happy to see them untouched. He’d have to fix them up himself if they were damaged (and knowing looks would be sent his way the following morning).

He knows he shouldn’t be surprised that no real infrastructure is up here. No base for safety from the night, a small farm or two. At least he’s learned to put torches down to ward off mobs.

Grian moves closer to the center, finding no one else around. Lizzie probably went off to see Joel, and Jimmy… who knows with him, really. That doesn’t matter much to Grian, not in this world where his brother is dead to him.

His eyes roam over to a pink bed, and ah.

Scar is awake, as if he were waiting for him.

Grian’s feathers ruffle slightly as he avoids making a big deal out of it, stalking toward him. The scarred man doesn’t say anything, simply scoots over some to make some room. Grian is quiet as he pulls the blanket back, sliding into place. In this world, he hates how perfectly he fits with Scar. It makes it hard to hate him, to commit to being enemies with him. How is it that Grian can so easily promise his own flesh and blood that he’ll kill him until he’s out of the game—but he can’t keep to being enemies with Scar for more than a session, if that?

It’d be… so much easier if Grian could just hate Scar. If he could kill him without mercy like he does with everyone else and go back to a world where hating Scar is never a need nor an option.

It’d be safer, if Scar hated him too.

(It would’ve been safer for Mumbo, too.)

Rough fingers card through his hair kindly. Grian burns. Something primal and angry and hurt claws at his chest. He lashes out much like a wild animal would, despite having sought Scar out on his own. “I hate you,” he tries to say, tries to keep any emotion out of his voice, tries to mean it.

(He couldn’t help Mumbo. But maybe here—)

Scar’s gaze softens, lacking any hurt. It only serves to frustrate Grian further. “You don’t.” He sounds so confident, so certain of it, like it’s some kind of universal truth that everyone has accepted except for Grian. “I don’t think you could hate me if you tried.” He’s smug.

“I can, and I do,” Grian argues with him, glaring.

“Mhm, and that’s why we’re best friends, huh?” Scar lifts a brow. “Why you gave me the mace and only wanted to ally with ol’ Scar instead of the Bamboozlers. Or why you’re here in my bed, gripping me like I’ll poof.”

“It was an underhanded kill.” Stop looking at me. “I would’ve done that with anyone.” Stop knowing me. “Your bed is the closest.”

Scar’s fingers in his hair don’t stop, soothing and gentle. It feels wrong. “But you didn’t. You wouldn’t have if it was TJ or Pearl.” His lips curl with amusement, “You can’t fool me with any of that.”

Grian doesn’t answer, and Scar doesn’t push.

Instead, he’s tentatively pulled closer, an arm sliding over his waist. It feels so familiar, in a different home, in a tower. Grian can almost imagine the sound of a llama bleating nearby. He huffs some frustrated noise, and lets the familiarity tug him in. He selfishly takes the comfort Scar gives him, as if they hadn’t been at each other’s throats just a few days ago. But Grian is selfish, and he takes what he wants. Scar is selfless, and is happy to give whatever Grian needs.

He exhales silently, right against Scar’s buttoned shirt. He doesn’t speak, so Scar does it for him, giving him an out. He always gives Grian some kind of door. “I put you back to 100/100 reputation with us.”

Grian can’t help but snort. “Did you put the heart back too?” Contradiction after contradiction.

“Oh, that was only for your name. No offense to Skizz but he and I aren’t like that.” Scar’s hand drifts down to the middle of Grian’s back, right between his wings. “I’ll show it to you tomorrow.”

“You probably shouldn’t,” Grian huffs, “might just explode it again if you kill me.”

“Probably. I’ll show it to you anyway.”

Grian rolls his eyes in return. “Better not betray me again then.” It wouldn’t be Scar who does it.

Scar’s eyes hold understanding. Grian almost wants to reach in and tear it out, replace it with the hatred he wants Scar to feel instead. He only digs his fingers into Scar’s shirt. “I’d be a fool to betray you after getting you back today.”

After getting you back.

Grian should be the one saying that. “Whatever,” he mumbles in return. He clings to Scar, allows himself that small mercy, that small kindness. Lips brush his hair.

“Sleep well, G.”

Neither of them say anything more.

[caeslxys]

I’ve mentioned this elsewhere but it feels relevant again in light of the most recent episode. Something that’s really fascinating to me about Orym’s grief in comparison to the rest of the hells’ grief is that his is the youngest/most fresh and because of that tends to be the most volatile when it is triggered (aside from FCG, who was two and obviously The Most volatile when triggered.)

As in: prior to the attack on Zephrah, Orym was leading a normal, happy, casual life! with family who loved him and still do! Grief was something that was inflicted upon him via Ludinus’ machinations, whereas with characters like Imogen or Ashton, grief has been the background tapestry of their entire lives. And I think that shows in how the rest of them are largely able to, if not see past completely (Imogen/Laudna/Chetney) then at least temper/direct their vitriol or grief (Ashton/Fearne/Chetney again) to where it is most effective. (There is a glaring reason, for example, that Imogen scolded Orym for the way he reacted to Liliana and not Ashton. Because Ashton’s anger was directed in a way that was ultimately protective of Imogen—most effective—and Orym’s was founded solely in his personal grief.)

He wants Imogen to have her mom and he wants Lilliana to be salvageable for Imogen because he loves Imogen. But his love for the people in his present actively and consistently tend to conflict with the love he has for the people in his past. They are in a constant battle and Orym—he cannot fathom losing either of them.

(Or, to that point, recognize that allowing empathy to take root in him for the enemy isn't losing one of them.)

It is deeply poignant, then, that Orym’s grief is symbolized by both a sword and shield. It is something he wields as a blade when he feels his philosophy being threatened by certain conversational threads (as he believes it is one of the only things he has left of Will and Derrig, and is therefore desperately clinging onto with both bloody hands even if it makes him, occasionally, a hypocrite), but also something he can use in defense of the people he presently loves—if that provocative, blade-grief side of him does not push them—or himself—away first.

(it won’t—he is as loved by the hells as he loves them. he just needs to—as laudna so beautifully said—say and hear it more often.)

[tunastime]

hiccuping tears into the shoulder + ranchers by chance?

hiccuping tears into their shoulder (1087 words) (x)

For the first time in a good, long portion of his life, Tango despises how silent the night gets. It's not without its natural noise—the balmy, sticky humidity and breeze in the grass, or the crickets, the cicadas quieting down, the sounds of animals rearranging themselves to a comfier sleeping arrangement. He should be doing the same, but he's sitting on the edge of the bed, his spine a rigid line. He can feel the blood in his body, he can feel the spaces where his muscles connect to each other, with every breath he can feel his lungs separate out the oxygen. It's at the very least startling, and at the very most, he feels like he might dissolve on the spot if touched. 

Tango knows how death feels—painless respawn and a few seasons of a life game behind him, but to feel someone else die, too. The echo of death alongside your own. He didn't like that! Not good at all. All his blood and heartbeat-y things are rushing around in his ears. He doesn't even hear Jimmy the first time he speaks up from the other side of the bed, with how his voice scrapes out.

"I didn't know they were aiming for us," Jimmy says.

"Of course not," Tango says, furrowing his eyebrows. "I know you didn't."

He's still looking at his hands, running his thumb over the lines in his palm and pushing into the tiny bones and muscle there. Jimmy flexes his hands like he can feel the pressure and bones moving around. He watches him fold his hand tight around each other and slump, pulling his shoulders to his chest. His breath squeezes in his chest as Jimmy deflates tiredly.

"I just don't want you to think—"

"I'm not gonna think this is your fault, alright?" Tango says, frowning at him. "Why would I?"

Jimmy sighs. His jaw works.

"Cause it usually is," he grits. Tango scrunches his nose on instinct, recoiling out of habit before he manages:

"That's not fair, man."

"This whole game isn't far!" Jimmy huffs, waving a hand about.

"Sure but—"

"But nothing, Tango. I just—I can't lose and drag you with me. That's more than not fair."

"I don't care."

"I care."

Before Tango can argue, though, he tastes the faintest hints of anger and frustration at the back of his mouth fade. He watches Jimmy's face contort as he tries to come up with a better sentence, something he probably thinks Tango deserves. Maybe an apology. 

Tango just looks at him. He kind of feels bad, that little bit of gut wrenching cold that trickles in, but mostly he's just confused. Jimmy's words bat around in his brain like dust particles. Dust bunnies. He definitely assumed they were done with this. That maybe Jimmy made peace like he did—though really he hadn't had that much time to make peace, if he's being honest. He's still bitter. He's sure a lot of people are still bitter. But in terms of Jimmy's whole situation? It's not like it could be helped. They just had to be careful. So Tango was being careful, and Jimmy was taking what Tango thought was a calculated risk, so he was mad, sure, but he couldn't really stay mad for a long time. So he takes a long breath and sighs it out his nose. It still tastes surprisingly reminiscent of smoke.

"So what are we going to do?" he asks softly. Jimmy inhales.

"I don't know," he says. "Go to bed? Wake up and start planning?"

Tango hums plainly. He likes that idea. The small spool of feeling in his chest that must belong to Jimmy gives a little tug, like it wanted to take him down with it. 

"Yeah," Tango says, voice coming hoarse. "Yeah, I think so."

For a moment, Tango runs his tongue over his teeth, runs his thumbs over the seams of his knees. He sighs, and then he leans into Jimmy's shoulder with a definitive huff. He's tired. From the ache in his bones, to the breathlessness of dying, to just taking in Jimmy's stress. Man. He's exhausted. Jimmy snorts quietly. He feels him press his cheek against Tango's head. The hand Jimmy had been fiddling with in his lap ends up at the base of his spine, splayed over the fabric. Tango squeezes his eyes shut.

"Thanks Tango," Jimmy says shakily. He sounds like he's on the knife's edge of crying, so Tango fumbles out a hand and lands it solidly on his knee. It's not a terribly comfortable thing to stretch one of his achy shoulders or biceps that far but he does anyway, and Jimmy huffs out a damp laugh. "Guess I'm just... pissed off."

Tango snorts.

"If you think you're pissed, just wait until they rile me up," he says into the fabric of Jimmy's shirt. Jimmy laughs. Tango tries to hold in a grin that he also smothers into his shoulder, but fails. Jimmy's hand skips over his knuckles and squeezes the hand on his knee.

"Sure thing, Rancher," he teases. Tango makes a half-suppressed noise of indignation, squeaking as he bolts upright. He nearly knocks into Jimmy's jaw as he untangles himself with all the grace of a cat trying to weasel out of someone's arms. 

"I'm just sayin'," he grumbles, crinkling his nose. "You seem like you're in a better mood though."

Jimmy sighs, rounding out his shoulders. 

"Think so," he says, working his cheek between his teeth. Tango feels the sensation of prodding in his mouth. Bleh. "Think so."

"Probably a good idea to make good on that sleeping... thing,” he says, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. He barely stifles a yawn as Jimmy stretches, twisting his tall body around in a way that feels surprisingly pleasant to Tango’s stiff muscles. He can’t imagine, especially with the way Jimmy holds all his emotions in his shoulders, that his upper back is doing him any favors. Jimmy makes a little noise in confirmation as Tango turns, attempting to make ample space for him in the small bed. He knows they’ll end up back to back at some point, but as he lies down, shoulder to shoulder, an easy comfort rolls over him. Sure there’s all the red blood rushing around in his ears, and sure he feels it right up on his skin like a bad rash, but for now, next to Jimmy, he shuts his eyes.

They’ll make this time count for something, at least.

[girlfox]

peeks my head in ,

[blown-to-kingdom-come]

okay maybe this guy still kinda rules

[johnslittlespoon]

You're A Dog (I'm Your Man)

Ch. 5/8 – 'I Count My Time In Dog Years'

[WC: 27K | Gale Cleven/John Egan, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Requited Unrequited Love]

John Egan loves like a dog.

[AO3 LINK]

[skitskatdacat63]

Some matador studies :)

+ ref pic I like but couldn't even attempt to draw 😭

[imeriayapping]

hey!!! how are you doing?

ohmygosh for the liloscar imagine liam having a seat in the alpha tauri and logan and oscar don't have a proper friendship anymore and liam and logan get super close since they were team mates in f2 (i think??? i dont follow them unfortunately but ill read anything you write all ur ideas are fantastic) and then oscar gets jealous like that should be me so he goes to logan and they get in an argument abt this and they both basically declare their love for each other and then logan gets all confused and shaken up because he thought he had a good thing with liam going on and now his feelings are all confused to he talks to liam about it and he says he likes logan too but they want to focus on their careers so they put a pin on it or smth and then later on oscar finds liam in a little breakdown because of his seat and the rumours if he's good enough to move up to rb or if he's gonna be replaced mid season and oscar knows how it feels like to never have ur seat confirmed to move up and basically being treated like shit bc of alpine so he goes and comforts him and liam's like huh ohmygosh how nice and he grows feelings for him too so they all like each other and bam: relationship

and then there could be little snippets of ppl on social media posting abt them because they keep their relationship public but private so they never say anything abt it and ppl just speculate and it's never confirmed

sorry for the ramble, have a lovely day 💕

Don't apologise for your rambling it was amazing to read!!!!

But i would probably go a bit different about it, maybe Logan got that second alpha tauri seat so now they can actually spend time together while his friendship with oscar went a bit still. It takes effort from both sides to keep up texting or meetups and getting into f1 made it harder for them. And then there was last year with Williams that hit Logan pretty hard so keeping in touch was hard. Oscar not really reaching out first, too wrapped in his own team did affect this too.

So now Logan is constantly in close proximity to liam and they are back to their f2 flirting and all that. Oscar mostly see that online in pr vids that they make or something like that and it annoys him because it wasn't like that even with Alex so he gets snappy in any interactions they have which is strange and highly unusual for oscar.

And one too many comments bring logan and oscar into some far away location, maybe even one evening when they stay in the same hotel or something. At first it's very still and tense conversation, but then oscar let something slip and it actually angers logan bc he wasn't there for Logan when everything was shit and liam did so there no reason for him to act like this. Then he admits his feelings not noticing the slip bc of how furious he is. Oscar answers also very heated that he in fact also have feelings for Logan and it all goes on.

They don't do anything about it because Logan needs some space to think but now they at least acknowledged attraction between them which is something

Logan talks to liam about all of this bc they both know that something is there but just never talked about it. And above all else liam is his friend so they literally just talk about it like "i know that i like you and that you like me too but here this thing with oscar and i have no fucking idea what to do" and in the end they decide to just wait till summer break when they can have some uninterrupted time together and see what will come from that

And then happens part with liam breaking down (maybe because he already with rb for so long but now that logan is also here they have practically same treatment and not really any prospects for rb seat bc yuki now have it?)and oscar and liam open their eyes toward eachother and then they all actually get to the relationship part during summer break hehe

[daily-whistlepaw]

daily whistlepaw until ah becomes PoV day 1167

I think I finally understand how people feel when around a crush, can't say I enjoy it

[legobiwan]

Cut Scenes #1

Sometimes you have really good ideas, but they just. don't. fit. into your story (no matter how hard you try to push the triangle into the rectangle hole). So, as I get back on the writing horse (heigh-yo silver and all that jazz), have a continuing series of cut scenes that will likely never find a home. (Also known as, why am I giving these guys such an angsty backstory? I'm sorry, Mario and Luigi, one day I'll write you something that isn't my usual brand of melodrama. Maybe a baseball story because do I have ideas about who'd they be rooting for in 1980-whatever. Also, let's hope that some of these future cut scenes will also involve my Star Wars stuff, as well).

Anyway, Cut Scene #1, from an ongoing SPM fic I'm working on that's going to be a Mario POV during the events of Mr. L because apparently I cannot shake this storyline from my head.

--------

Yes, they had fought, had hurt each other, even. But never with the intent to truly do harm, to damage the other in a way that couldn’t be taken back, couldn’t be assuaged with a mumbled apology or mended with a desperate hug. 

Only once had Luigi attacked him with intent, with raw violence, but even then…

Luigi was stalking through the apartment, overturning papers and books, opening drawers and cabinets and closet doors with wild and noisy abandon. He emerged from the bathroom with a long, metal pipe, which he gave a few experimental swings, nearly taking out a stubby beige lamp perched on the edge of a ring-stained coffee table.  

"I'm going down to Red Hook and dealing with them," he muttered at Mario, "them" being the men who had plucked their father’s plumbing business right from under their noses, the deal finalized not even an hour after Dad's body had been laid in the earth. 

Like hell he is, Mario thought, picking his way across the cluttered floor as Luigi was busying himself wrapping the last roll of electrical tape around the base of his improvised weapon. 

Brick wall, Mario told himself, recalling his nickname from high school as he took position in front of the apartment door, crossing his arms against his burly chest. It didn't matter how much abuse Luigi hurled at him, he'd be a brick wall. It didn't matter if Luigi hated him forever, he'd be a brick wall. It didn't matter if Luigi started throwing punches, or tried to send his head over the right field wall of Shea Stadium with that damn pipe. Mario was going to stand there for the next twenty years if that was what it took. Because his baby brother was being an idiot and was going to get himself pounded into next year - or worse - by the Marinellis and their goon squad if Mario let him leave this apartment.

It went as badly as he expected, Luigi making the leap from insults and curses to spitting and threats, rushing at him, pipe brandished over his head.

Mario let it happen. He let his little brother slam metal into cheap plaster. Let him pound his fists against hard muscle and fragile bone. Let him carry out his rage again and again until they both collapsed into a sweaty, panting heap on the tacky linoleum floor, Luigi half in Mario’s lap, sobbing into his brother’s bloodied, torn shirt.

...but even then, Luigi had been acting out of hurt, out of anger and pain. Not staring Mario in the face, cackling wildly about the end of the world while calling a gigantic laser-shooting robot to his side.

[serandipity]

Schedule update: Starting today, I will only be writing at work. I want to use my time after work to invest more in doing art / reading / playing video games / hanging out with Benji. My mornings before work are taken up by cleaning / errands. This means I might be a little slow to get to things, but you're always free to poke me in the dms. I have an internal system I use on what replies need to be written in a day, however I can never really guarantee work will be slow enough for me TOO write. Things might be a bit slower for the next couple of weeks as a bunch of stuff happens, but you can always bonk me on the head and ask me for something.

On the plus side: if I get my brain to work more art for the blog! :D Thanks for your patience. I do have those doodle requests I asked for awhile ago and want to finish. Thanks for your patience on that. :)

[the-trans-dragon]

The longer I am alive, the more my brain replays that scene in Lilo and Stitch where the scientist is watching Stitch fret around at night, and the scientist says something like, "poor thing, doesn't even have fond memories to keep it warm at night" or something

As a kid, I didn't realize how comforting memories could be, and I rarely had the luxury to create them.

I am glad I survived. It would have been easier, with fond memories to comfort me during painful times. I have many now, though, and they are indeed good company.

[witherbythesword]

.

[sanchoyo]

I WOULD get the most awful itch to write after months of not rly writing (tm2 scripting doesn’t count) during artfight huh 😔