#nervous. abt this one.

[persephoneprice]

24 days of mentors // day 3

sejanus plinth.

playlist.

carlos song - noah kahan

falling - harry styles

jigsaw - conan gray

favorite fics.

in the change of the present (we shape the future) by cat_inthe_hat

god will, but i won’t by sadalmostlesbian

sejanus plinth is #tired-of-your-bs by tumblingbackpacks

headcanons.

he’s always been a mama’s boy, but used to be close really with strabo as well. sej shares a lot of hobbies with his father ( ie. cards, shooting, & reading)

sej is an extremely kind, patient, and caring person. he’s also angry, confused, and desperate- at least in his later teenager years.

he always used to help his ma make bread. she never made it again after he passed.

[maskedinfinate]

Woe, mermay moonlily be upon ye!!!

This was heavily inspired by @yamujiburo and their own mermay art!! (sorry for the @ :[ !!!) please check out their art if you havent!! They are SUPER COOL!!!!!!!!!! :D

[hinamie]

色彩 [Shikisai]

[hg-aneh]

demonic tantrums and aziraphale’s nanny arc

[astergore]

yeah (transcript below)

transcript:

stan: these red lights take forever huh?

stan: pumpkin i'll let you in on a little secret.

stan: when there's no cars around, red lights are only a suggestion.

stan: the world's your oyster, kid.

mabel: duly noted, grunkle stan.

dipper: uh guys i

dipper: i don't think that's how it works.

dipper: great uncle ford help me out here

ford: actually i have to agree with them.

ford: there's simply not enough time in the world for Traffic Laws.

ford: Hit the gas Sweetie

[juicywizards]

modern day saint sebastian

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[suntails]

💀⚔️

[theloveinc]

I also like the idea of Bakugo coming home from a long, overseas mission only for you to be surprised when you meet him at the airport cuz he’s twice as beefy and four times more scary looking.

[why-the-heck-not]

20.12.23, wednesday

My main hobby is just procrastinating in any way I can. The plan was to make a cup of coffee and then start working. What actually happened is that I watched a 3 part video series (by james hoffmann ofc) on Aeropress coffee and made a few cups with different variables. Still not sure if I found The Recipe for me, but it’s getting better (tho I don’t love the coffee beans I have)

[sparrowchute]

Happy pride month!!!! I provide nothing but doodles im sorry in advance

(I use she/her for both Hofnarr and Gonne, pls be respectful of that in tags/reblogs!!)

[hellagator]

Greta says!

Little stray mammals get eaten!!

[solargeist]

i jsut wanted to draw Xelqua calling kid Grian(Evo ?) his flea !!!!!!

[magicofrobin]

jason todd did not pray. not seriously he wasn't religious, not really. he'd never believed in god before and now wasn't the time to change that but — as the numbers ticked down, creeping closer to zero & the blood started to fill his lungs, he prayed the hardest he ever had. begging who, or whatever was listening; please let it be painless, please let it be quick, please please stop the pain i don't want to die, please let him make it in time, please let him save me. he prays until it stops resembling anything close to what he learned the few times his mom took him to church and starts sounding more like what it really is: a scared little boy crying out to his father to save him.

the timer reaches zero. he only feels the blast of heat from the explosion for a moment before everything fades into nothing and the bird with clipped wings dies alone.

[warlocksoup]

masterlist | main masterlist | taglist

chapter one

now playing: unfold by the forth wanderers

Osamu tried to snatch it away, once he noticed that Sakusa saw. But he was just a second too late. And it wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. Sakusa saw. 

“Erased?” he repeats back, holding the card stock pinched between his fingers, eyebrows drawn together. “What the fuck does this mean?” 

“Exactly what you think it means,” Osamu replies pointedly, ripping the notice right out from between Sakusa’s fingers. The left corner of it slices the outermost layer of skin on his thumb. “She doesn’t remember you. It’s like you never met to her,” he explains, stuffing the card in his back pocket, expression hardened. 

Sakusa is positive he’s not hearing right. He can’t be. It’s loud, a football match on in the living room and Osamu’s got something going on the stove that is sizzling and popping and it must be impacting his hearing. Because Sakusa cannot fathom it, cannot imagine a reality where it’s like he never met her. He shakes his head. “No, that’s not-” 

“It is, man,” Osamu cuts him off. He sighs, and then turns his back to Sakusa, attention now on whatever it is he has on the stove. “Look, I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how she is. It’s not-once she makes her mind up about something, that’s it.” 

Sakusa knows how she is. He doesn’t need to be told anything about her. Not by anyone. Especially not by Osamu.

He shakes his head. Osamu turns his back on him again. “She wouldn’t do that,” he whispers, like he’s trying to convince himself. But his fingers are shaking and throat is constricting. Because Sakusa knows exactly how she is. He knows too well that she would. But still, he says it again, like the more he utters it, the truer it will become, “She wouldn’t do that to me.”

He stands there dumbly, his whole body feeling like it’s stuck and his heart beating too quickly to be comfortable. Osamu sighs, frustrated, fed up. “Can you just, can you just try to forget about her? It’s just gonna cause a whole bunch of problems if you try to fight your way back into her life again. And the last thing she needs is more problems from you.”

✶⋆.˚

Sakusa lays awake, sheets kicked off his legs and a thin layer of sweat on his neck. The blue that emits from his phone screen baths him light as his thumb eagerly scrolls through the minimal, unhelpful Lacuna Inc. website.

The slightly sliced up layer of skin from the stock card scrapes against his phone screen. It’s mindless corporate garble, freeing yourself from the shackles of your memories, moving forward in life without emotional scars, removing the deadweight of the past.

Each word widens the gaping hole in his chest. Is that what he was to her? Some festering, rotting emotional wound she had to remove? He feels his breathing quicken, and he drops his phone down by his side in favor of staring blankly at the ceiling.

Gone. He’s just gone from her life. He can recall every detail of her. Sakusa knows everything about her, and he always will. He carries her close to her chest like she’s a rib. She’s everywhere, everything. He wouldn’t give her up, not for anything. But she did it so immediately, so eagerly. She took Sakusa and she made him nothing. Not even a memory. Not even a second thought. Just nothing.

Sakusa closes his eyes. He just cannot accept that.

✶⋆.˚

Recorded 08/09 @ Lacuna Inc., 08:45AM

“Why is it that you want Sakusa Kiyoomi removed from your memory?”

“It’s just like, he’s everywhere. He’s in everything I see and everything I do. He’s become this voice inside my head, and I can’t get rid of him no matter what I do. It’s like he’s invaded every part of my life and it just hurts. I can’t live like this. I can’t keep going on just like,  carrying him around with me. I just want him gone.”

✶⋆.˚

She places his coffee down on the counter between them and smiles the way you would at a stranger. “For Sakusa,” she says, sweetly, politely.

He takes it and tries his hardest to brush his fingers against hers in the transfer, but she’s quick to pull her hand away. Sakusa stands there for a moment, lingering as he holds his coffee, giving her the opportunity to say something.

She says nothing. Like he has been every single day he’s been coming here. His shoulders deflate a bit as he moves to turn on his heel.

“Y’know,” she calls after him, and Sakusa freezes, those deflated shoulders now stiffened, and he turns back around to face her.

She’s smiling at him, coy and intrigued. He recognizes it. He knows it. He knows that look on her face and it makes his heart leap to his throat. Sakusa swallows before he answers. “Yes?”

She places two hands on the counter and leans in his direction. Sakusa feels like he can’t move. “I can’t figure out why you come in here everyday.”

Sakusa hopes his hands not shaking when he holds up the hot coffee she just made for him. “I like the coffee,” is his simple reply.

“Yeah,” she nods, “and that’s why you throw it out in that trash right out there the first chance you get?” she teases, using the tip of her chin to gesture towards the trashcan that sits right outside the coffee shop.

Sakusa burns red. He didn’t think she’d see that. He didn’t think she’d noticed him. He can’t think of anything to say, so he says nothing.

“At first I thought you were coming here for me, but that can’t be right, since you never asked for my number,” she sighs, studying her fingers and how they’re splayed out on the countertops. “Which is kind of a bummer for me. I’d really like to give you my number.”

Sakusa face feels hot, and he can’t imagine how stupid he looks, burning red and caught, nervous like some stupid kid. “You would?” he questions.

He doesn’t feel like himself. He never really felt like himself whenever he was around her. Not before, not now. Something about her has always made him feel undone. She smiles, and he’s disarmed. “Yeah, I dunno. It’s just something about you. I’ve thought so ever since you first came in.”

There she is. Overly familiar. Not a trace of embarrassment. Not a single part of her ashamed or hesitant. He always loved that about her. That was always the way she loved him. Bold and unabashed. “Something about me?” he echoes back.

“Something about you,” she confirms with a gleeful nod of her head. “I just feel like I need to know you, y’know?”

He knows. Sakusa knows.

taglist: @wyrcan @causenessus @lunasfics @19calicos @ciderscape @mollyrolls @sunsribn @savemebrazilhinata @geektastic84 @dailyakira @cupidsblonde @dazqa @lialia3945 @yxcntruu @baylz @deluluforcarlos55 @sleepystrwbrryy @winniethepooh-lover @miiola @scxrcherr @moonlightjade @superboywife @madiexuberant @alexithemiyatic @evening-latte @kiyoramen @acowboykisser @mayharrison500 @osaammuu @uhsakusa @renardiererin @cheriisae @honeyfewr @nazwrites-2002 @jadeoru @asrinchin

[serv0z]

boooo tumblr not letting me put this under the original wip i posted smh. Anyways ndkfkf people told me to just tag bam this time so @bamsara hai :3 WE'VE REACHED DANCING FRAMES!! but ive been at this for like 5-6 hours now so break time :3