#oh my god sorry this post is so long

[kensatou]

you think YOU had a bad day at work?

bonus: sid shrieking "no!!!! NO!!!!!" loud enough to be heard in the stands and on camera

[four-pointed-leaf]

happy pride month

[ewwww-what]

The moment when you find exactly what you were looking for (it was your best friend the whole time)

(close-ups below & my commission info)

[doomedclockworkdotmp3]

heeyyy gaaanggg

the pose and the background of the album version (left) are based on oingo boingos only a lad album art. not cause i think he has anything to do with it but just cause ive been wantin to draw that pose for like. weeks and i didnt know who to put there. so why not my latest bug man.

[mossfeathers]

oh btw im hoping and praying for bigb on a larger 3-4 person team this time around pleas eplease please please pleaseeeeee i NEED to see more dynamics with him. hes just a chill guy. let him commit unspeakable crimes with other horrible people.

[0ddbugs]

Redline: Mama Duck part 2

Hunee was pretty intense--

previous | @tmntredline | next

[sammygender]

thoughts on how the sam & dean part of the fight before sam left for stanford went !

i am addicted to thinking about precanon so thank you for this <33

i think people r generally way too optimistic about how that initial seperation between them went. dean is awful to sam about stanford even years after he left and years after he came back!! hes still very visibly angry about it in s5 which is NINE YEARS after he left in the first place and refuses to even tolerate the idea it was a good moment for sam. i cannot comprehend how people think 22 year old dean had the emotional maturity to even let sam go without a fight, nevermind be supportive about it.

like. theres this amazinggg art on here of sam hitchhiking to stanford and all the comments are like 'erm that black eye would be from JOHN actually!' (side note but it is so funny to me how spn fans decide john hit them based on implication (which i agree w... to an extent...) but dean hitting sam onscreen multiple times somehow translates to 'DEAN WOULD NEVER DO THAT'. erm. okay.) 'nooo dean would've given sam a lift!'

and like. what show are you watching. if dean would've given sam a lift he would've done it to the bus station in moody silence and then locked the doors of the impala so sam couldn't get out to catch his bus to stanford and they would've started physically fighting for the car keys and dean eventually wouldve let sam get them and sam wouldve left. or something. but it would not be some sweet brotherly moment bc that directly contradicts canon <3

i do think the worst of the fight is between sam & john - that's always what's implied in canon - and in my head dean's just standing there stonefaced maybe refusing to even talk to sam until theyre left alone somehow and he breaks. but i also think dean hits sam at some point, will always have the image in my head of sam showing up to stanford w a bloody nose and fending off questions. (internally hes like no my dad didnt do this it was my brother so its fine. <3.) theres a scene like this in one of my fics so im just drawing from that. but. like....

idk how dean/john finds out. if dean found out before john, i think dean probably wouldve run to him about it in an attempt to get sam Not To Go as much as it would be nice if he didnt, so i reckon they have to find out at about the same time. i think sam is unsure what to expect from dean, who of course (as far as we see both in flashbacks and in canon) alternates between genuine care and support and angry, desperate possessiveness. he probably hopes for the best and expects the worst and gets the worst.

there r definitely lots of different ways it could go....maybe sam tells dean and dean tells john. maybe sam tells john without telling dean at all and thats how dean finds out which totally wrecks him. maybe sam tells them both at the same time. maybe sam never tells them and they find the acceptance letter. this is why stanford fight is sooo fascinating. i feel like i could write five different versions of it and all would be possible/interesting.

but whichever way, i just dont see dean as contradicting john. he generally Doesnt Ever precanon, this is established, he admits it himself, thats why its such a huge moment when he defends sam at the end of s1.....sam going on about dean 'protecting him' is 1. more subtle and probably to do with dean being the one to shoulder most of johns emotional baggage than the heller misinterpretation of 'john hit dean but not sam and thats what this means!!!' (tho i am sure dean did genuinely Protect sam sometimes including from physical violence. of course he did. this isnt to discredit that..i just emphasise the Sometimes.). and 2. partially just classic Sam Rewriting History (u always protected me from dad, from lucifer....girl he did those things very little certainly not always. know your worth sam winchester).

so if dean gives sam a very angry lift (to a nearby bus station...there is absolutely zero fucking way hes driving him to stanford and tbh i already find this quite unlikely but possibilities r interesting) its on john's say-so or at least not disapproval. which like. sure maybe. john certainly is concerned about sam's safety even after he kicks him out, checking up on him at stanford etc, id believe that hed want to ensure sam Gets there even if the fight ended up so bad he told sam he couldnt come back. tho hes stubborn and i dont think hed say it. so maybe itd be a case of dean kind of picking up that that's what john wants and complying even though right now half of him wants to never see sam again and the other half wants to tie him to the radiator so he can never leave. sorry i am literally brainstorming fic ideas in this ask answer now.

anyway....SORRY id say long ass answer as always but this is actually INSANELY long......sorry guys im about to embark upon getting tested for adhd and maybe then my rambles will be, while not shorter in length, more cohesive? tldr fandom is wrong dean is an absolute ASS during stanford fight. obviously sam leaving devastates him and how does dean cope with devastation or perceived abandonment do we think?? hm?? he is just as angry as john for the same and different reasons. and thats really so much more interesting than him being Secretly Supportive. <3

[sparrowchute]

do we enjoy animation memes here chat

[starleska]

Rolando x Reader headcanons? You know you want to 😤

oh my god YESSSSSSS i would be delighted!!! 🙈🙈💖💖💖 warning, this one is a teensy bit NSFW, of the 'Rolando would quite like to devour you, mind and body' variety 😉 tws for canon-compliant fearmongering, fearplay, invasive behaviour, mild body horror and and general monsterfucking 👀 (i mean, y'all saw the episode, you know what you're in for-)

Rolando x Human!Reader headcanons 🐟💖

🐟 the people who darken the door of the One Star Wonder are always at the end of their tether, and Rolando wouldn't have it any other way. each one is more pathetic than the last: delicious morsels dripping with depression, anxiety and jealousy, and their bubble-headed selves all caught up in their oh-so-human concerns. Rolando greets each one with the same greasy charm, yet he makes sure to flavour his guests with just one too many inhuman gaffes. an incorrect turn of phrase here, a flash of too many teeth there, and before long, he has successfully unsettled his meat. so the night You step over the threshold and greet him with a warm, unknowing smile, he grinned right back, sure of a particularly tasty meal.

🐟 "Well, aren't you a precious little thing!" Rolando cooed, working in a lascivious gaze in the hopes of making You squirm. You stammered out a flustered thanks, and asked him if he had a room for the night. Rolando was dizzy; he could smell the indecision on You like pheromones, those little top notes of apprehension and fear, and it was all he could do to not clamber into your brain right then and there. "I've got just the room for you, dear, right at the back. And don't let anyone here give you shit under my watch. How abouts I escort you there myself? I'd hate for some filthy pervert to gobble you up along the way." before You could protest Rolando slipped around the desk, pressed a spindly claw into the small of your back and ushered You down a damp, ill-lit hallway.

🐟 as he guided You under the broken lights, Rolando's piscine gaze drank in the contours of your form. he'd played carnal games with humans before—desperate creatures that they were, their strangled whines as pleasure bled into pain never failed to amuse him. yet he'd never been so struck by the beauty of your kind. "So, what brings you to my malign establishment?" Rolando asked, as he carded his fingers through your hair. You shivered, but didn't pull away...a response which confused Rolando, but gave his Infestor heart a quiet thrill. You told him that you'd been kicked out of your home, and electricity shot down his back. he couldn't wait any longer. "Poor love...how could anyone be so cruel? Don't you worry your pretty little head. Tonight...you're all mine." 🐟 the few remaining lights in the hallway burst, and Rolando slipped into the blackness. You cried out in confusion as something cold and wet seized around your ankle and yanked You to the floor. chilling laughter echoed around the hallway, where it reverberated off impossible dimensions, like the hotel had yawned open to swallow You. "Oh, aren't you a hoot?" Rolando cackled. "Such fear...such excitement...what a delectable combination." Rolando's yellow-green eyes flashed in the dark, and the deathly edges of his teeth glimmered with saliva. You tried to run, but he dissolved into the dark and snatched at your shadow, tripping you with ease. Rolando's inky, gelatinous form drooled up your side and pinned You to the floor by the wrists, neck, and ankles.

🐟 "Running ain't the smartest move, sweetheart..." Rolando hissed, "...but boy, is it fun!" his monstrous tongue curled around your earlobe and invaded the delicate flesh of your ear itself, lapping in a way far too wet and obscene. You curled in on yourself, trying to make yourself small enough to escape, but Rolando's invertebrate form slipped between your joints and stretched out your limbs until it hurt. one dirty yellow light flickered into life above You and illuminated Rolando's sickly smirk. "Golly," said Rolando, putting his head on one side. "By now, normally I've got 'em screaming and wailing...but save a few sweet little sounds, you're quiet as a mouse." he wrapped himself around your face and breathed a blasphemy against your lips: "If I didn't know better...I'd say you're rather enjoying this." 🐟 a litany of protests tumbled from your mouth, but all they did was make Rolando laugh harder. "Don't deny it, sugar! I see everything tucked up inside that nasty little brain of yours...and fear ain't winning this race, honey." a nail as sharp as a blade tucked itself under your chin, and curled, tilting your face up to his. in the dark, Rolando's smile gleamed with bad intentions. "Tell you what...how about we play a game? You try to keep those lovely lips of yours shut..." a slight sting, and Rolando draws back his claw to admire a rivulet of blood. "...and I see how long it takes to make you scream."

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | Rebellion Series | Caution

Part one of the Rebellion Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: By some miracle, you get saved from the consequences of your own actions. You’re reluctant to join a supposedly good cause. What happens when the good cause is not so legal? And what - or who - is your soft spot?

Warnings: Angst, fluff (?) and mentions of sex.

Words: 34OO

You have started shaking again. With every tremble of your body, the restraints around your legs and arms seem to tighten and you shudder even more at the awful memory of that feeling. It took weeks for the shaking to stop. Weeks of being locked up into this modern dungeon until you were nothing but silence and numbness.

You knew the rebellion could end in death, knew the consequences would be catastrophic, but at least you’d stood for something, fought for something. And you would choose death any day over the endless silence of this prison. You know for a fact that you’re surrounded by an ocean, but no matter how hard you listen, you cannot hear the wild sea crash. Can only hear the low hum of the air being circulated through your metal cell.

And today, approximately three months after the start of your sentence in the most secured prison on the planet, you have started shaking again. It can hardly be because today of all days, your brain has decided to make you go completely insane. That would be too random. Which means–

Your head snaps to the window, spotting the other cells. Empty. This floor is reserved just for you alone. Because apparently you’re too dangerous to interact with anyone. They even got machines bringing you your daily sustenance. An empty floor like every other day, yet something seems different. Something’s off.

A metal door flies through the middle of the circular space connecting all of the cells and you stiffen. You look at the ground again, keeping completely still. Maybe they don’t know that you’re here. Oh God, oh God, oh God. No, they can’t get to you. Not again.

The destruction clangs through your body and you tremble violently, curling up as much as you can and staring hard at the floor. The cold metal ground blurs with images of the rebellion. The things you gave up, the energy your summoned and wasted, the people you lost. The blood, and pain, and screams and– and– and…

“She’s in there. Grab her and then we get out of here.”

“Steve, I–”

“And hurry up, we don’t have much time!”

Two combat boots step into your vision and the stomps echo in your head, booming you back to reality. But not quite. Your eyes vibrate with fear and you swallow the nails in your throat. Then a pair of knees appear in front of you and a black gloved hand reaches forward. It hesitates, then retreats. As if choosing not to touch you. Wise choice.

“Hey.” The voice is low. And smooth as liquor.

But you don’t look up, focusing on trying not to tremble more and taking the firm contraptions wrapped around your shins and forearms as the protection they now are. Maybe this is another nightmare. It’s different from the ones you usually have, but black gloves… They had black gloves, too. And those firm boots. They may have kicked you in the stomach with those boots once. You don’t remember.

“I’m here to get you out,” the voice speaks again and you can only listen to the tone of voice, the way it sends a shockwave through your body and lessens the violent trembles. “Look up for me.”

You ignore him and focus on your breathing.

“Is she coming?” That first voice. Impatient. Panting.

The male before you turns to the centre of the floor and gives a frustrated sigh, “She’s pretty out of it.”

Before waiting for the other man to respond, he turns back to you and studies you. Even though you don’t see him, his stare burns right through the flimsy clothes they put on you. He lets out a soft sigh and flips out a knife from the holster at his waist, still kneeling before you. You stiffen, preparing yourself for the sting at your throat as they finally decide to get rid of you, but he tries his best not to touch any bare skin as he saws through the materials binding you together.

The relief of pressure from your skin make you feel so uneasy, you nearly throw up, but a gentle hand covers your arm and you finally look up. Warm, dark blue eyes connect with yours. Below heavy brows and above the faintest cluster of freckles. His mouth is soft and pillowy and his bone structure is otherworldly symmetrical.

“It’s okay,” he tells you gently and offers you a smile that you can tell doesn’t come to him naturally. “Can you walk?”

He pulls you to a stand with a firm, but comfortable grip and you instantly stumble on your feet at the weight suddenly put on them. One arm flies around your waist and hoists you into his side as he catches your fall.

“Okay, okay,” he grunts with a gentle laugh. “I got you. Let’s get the fuck out of here, alright?”

Your throat feels like sandpaper as you hobble along with the wall of a male dragging you along, “Who are you?”

He spares you a brief glance and smiles once more, following ‘Steve’ out of the building and onto an air craft that is way too loud. “Bucky. We’re here to help you. Or I suppose you’re here to help us, little rebel.”

…

Steve gives Bucky a knowing glare, only breaking it by daring a glance at your bedroom door which you have been effectively hiding behind for weeks now. “You know I can’t go in there, Bucky.”

“You know I won’t let you,” Bucky answers drily with a shrug. As opposed to his best friend, Bucky hasn’t stopped staring at your door.

“You’re not even hiding your possessiveness when it comes to her,” Steve breathes through a laugh. That makes Bucky finally look at his friend.

“I’m not possessive,” he says matter-of-factly. He’s not even offended, just practical. “I’m protective. The last thing she needs is all of the nosy people in this tower swirling around her when she doesn’t trust a single soul.”

“Has she started to trust you?”

Bucky has to keep from wincing at Steve’s question, and he clears his throat. “Sure,” he lies.

If Steve caught the lie, he didn’t let on. It was as much of a dismissal as he was going to get. After watching his best friend walk off to do captain things, Bucky braces himself to step into your room. He has no hope that his interaction with you will be any different than the previous ones.

“Another day of convincing me to be your weapon?” you nearly snarl when he walks into your room.

If Bucky is entirely honest, he thought you would have turned into this damaged girl that would morph into a wild animal as you worked through what had been done to you. He didn’t really expect this perseverance and defiance from the woman he saved from that prison. But he supposes he should have seen that question coming. It wasn’t his best work; starting that day he saved you with all of the things you could be doing for them. Why they had saved you. Simply for their own gain. Or that is how you understood it, at least…

He has never been good with words. That has always been Steve’s thing. Bucky was reliable physically and he paid attention. He never had to use many words to make his point. Yet you keep asking these questions – rhetorical, he thinks – and you keep giving him this penetrating stare until he answers. Which is a sure way to make him fuck up, because how do people do that? Bring sensible thoughts into words and make it make sense?

Especially when the woman asking said questions is so damned… pretty.

“It’s time for you to get out of this room,” he tells you plainly. It seems the tactic of ignoring your questions is effective. It only took him six days to figure that one out.

He strides over to cross the room, not sparing you another glance in your chair in the corner, and rips open the curtains. The cat-like hiss coming from you has Bucky nearly biting back a smile. He turns and watches you stand from your chair, stalking over to him with your chin high and a scowl on your face. He raises an eyebrow with amused intrigue.

“And what, exactly, will I be doing outside of my room?” you ask.

He dips down slightly, but you keep the proximity. “Whatever you want. I don’t care.”

“If you don’t care, why hunt me out of my room?”

He shrugs, “Captain’s orders.” He isn’t entirely lying.

“Why isn’t the captain telling me himself?”

Bucky smirks and leans even closer, making you feel his minty breath fan over your face. “Because I’m the only one who isn’t scared of you.”

You snort at that and roll your eyes before breaking away from him. “I’ll get dressed.”

Bucky tries his hardest not to look too stunned as you retreat into the bathroom. A deep sigh leaves his lips as he paces through your room in wait for you to get ready. It takes a whole lot of effort to muster a smirk when it comes to his interactions with you.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” he asks quietly.

Just as quietly, the house responds, “Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Has she asked for anything from you? To contact friends or family, or other information?”

“No, she hasn’t.”

“Does she have anyone left?” he tries, chewing his lip as he dreads the answer.

“Not that we’re aware. Mr. Stark had me run a background check, but she seems alone. No sign of anyone missing or deceased. No sign of a network at all.”

Bucky doesn’t know why that feels worse in his chest and he swallows. “Alright, thank you.”

A few moments later, you step out of the shower and find Bucky lounging in the chair he found you in, leafing through one of your books. Just as you’re about to check whether he has gotten his hands on one of your smuttier books, your eyes snag on the clothes laid out for you on the bed.

You pause long enough to make Bucky look up from the book. “Did you… Did you seriously pick out this underwear for me?”

Bucky eyes the lace panties dangling from your fingers and shrugs with a smirk. A smirk had never looked so enticing, but you sharpen your stare on him. “Do you prefer the grey, cotton ones in the back of the closet?”

You grit your teeth and scowl at him again, before morphing your mouth into a vindictive smile. “Why? Don’t you?”

His eyes dance at that. “Wouldn’t make a difference to me.”

And it’s the way he said it, with so much casual amusement and… promise. Heat rises to your face and you duck your head down. Snatching the clothes from the bed, you retreat back into the bathroom to get dressed.

…

The rest of your conversations had been purely functional as Bucky lead you down into the building where Steve was waiting. Bucky rolled his eyes at his friend’s horrible attempt at hiding his surprise. Steve hadn’t seen you since the day they came to save you, he must have never expected Bucky to be successful in his retrieval.

Bucky also hadn’t missed the meaningful look Steve then gave him that indicated he tucked away some valuable information. The information being that if they ever needed to get you to do something, Bucky is the way to get you to do it. Why? Steve seemed to have his theories and Bucky didn’t like it one bit.

However, for now he doesn’t care. Instead, he sticks by you after you reluctantly agreed to join Steve on a walk.

Strolling down the path through the surrounding woods, Bucky catches himself bracing for a fight every time Steve gets a little too close to you. He doesn’t like it. The last time he was this sensitive to proximity, he had just ran from Hydra. He’s seen other traumatised people before, but this feels different. And instead of listening to your and Steve’s conversation, he tries to figure out what it is. He supposes it’s because you have no survival instinct. In the few videos he’s seen of your rebellion and the encounters he has had with you the past weeks, you see danger or conflict and run straight toward it. Nothing scared or cautious about you. It sets his nerves on edge.

Bucky is well aware of what Steve is telling you and he has to refrain from rolling his eyes at the careful way Steve tries to coax you into their plan, when earlier that week they had not been nearly as careful as they calculated how to get you involved. But even Bucky had to admit that they needed you – specifically, everyone who would follow you into the grave. When Stark had shown him the videos, he was perplexed as to how you got such a huge following when what you fought for was so terribly dangerous. But one look at those sharp eyes and one deep command from you, and Bucky had seen it. That unwavering will and that brilliant brain that was always calculating. Steve could learn a few tricks from you on being a strong leader. And considering Bucky wildly admires his old friend, that is saying something.

They need you. Bucky knows it, too. They need not just someone with great leadership skills and a loyal following, but someone that does it out of empathy for the people mistreated by the system. Because that is who they’re going to be fighting – the system.

Again.

…

“You haven’t said anything about what Steve told you,” Bucky says on your walk back to your room. The offer to escort you back to your room hadn’t been entirely selfless.

“I need to think about it,” you murmur, deep in thought.

Bucky suppresses his sigh of sympathy. They are asking you to join a cause you were so passionate about, and that after failing so miserably last time. He can barely imagine the things you must have witnessed and endured with your last upraise. How you had gotten so influential that the government decided to treat you like you were a super-human and punished you accordingly. You had been put in the same prison as Wanda. Wanda. That is how powerful you were.

“It can’t be easy to revisit everything after all that’s happened,” he resigns and you blink from your thoughts to raise your eyes to his face. You study him and it takes all of Bucky’s might not to shift under your assessing gaze.

Then you speak up, “I’ve always done the right thing. Steve knows I can’t walk away from it…”

Bucky smiles at that. “Just like him.”

Your eyes narrow at that comment, but Bucky finds no venom in the look. You continue, “Sacrificing my life for the cause was never an issue. But to lead others into that same fate again?” The guilt had eaten you alive. All those people that had gotten arrested, split up from loved ones, hurt– worse…

Bucky interrupts your thoughts before they get a hold on you by clearing his throat. “Tonight, we have dinner with everyone. You’re welcome to join if you’d like.” Your heavy stare on him makes him quickly add, “Don’t give me that look. There will be no talk of overthrowing the government. Just dress fancy.”

The snort of a laugh that comes from you feels lighter to Bucky than he’d like to admit. And to ease the tension, he forces another smirk to his face. You narrow your eyes again warily, “What.”

He shrugs, turning to leave you alone at your door. Then he winks. “Let me know if you need me to pick out some underwear for you.” And then he’s gone.

Bucky hangs onto that cockiness all the way until dinner, where the entire group has showed up. Even Thor said he’d show up for a drink. Barton flew in from his family home to join the group as well. He remembers a time when he’d felt more than uncomfortable around this group of people. But so much has changed. They all saw him as a great asset to the team and even relied on him more and more to supervise the missions. He’s at home with them now. Heart swelling with affection, he listens to his friends – his family – laugh in the kitchen while they pour the drinks.

And then all of their faces turn into one direction, some of them pulling taut, few of them giving warm, comforting smiles. Bucky follows their gaze and it is like someone punched him in the gut, air whooshing out of his body. He doesn’t really know why – other than the obvious fact that you look ravishing of course. But he looks at you and clears his throat to welcome you to the group.

Natasha beats him to it though and it has Bucky’s hackles rising. She shoots him a knowing smile and then he backs off. His pride wounded like a cat booped on the nose. Natasha is good at it, charming people until they feel comfortable. Or take their pants off. But there’s an easy smile on your face – one Bucky knows is at least slightly forced – and you blend in with the crowd easily.

Suddenly, Sam’s at his side. “I know what you’re thinking,” he grumbles with his eyes on you and Natasha, followed by a swig of his beer bottle. “Those two together can only mean trouble.”

Bucky can only grunt in agreement.

…

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Natasha drawls with a guilty smile.

Barton shakes his head. “The poor schmuck didn’t stand a chance. There is no way you could have taken him if you hadn’t slept with him the night before.”

Natasha shrugs. “Look, a girl has her needs. He met them and the next day he met his fate.”

“Really, Nat?” Steve nearly cringes and Bucky reins in his laugh. “The guy’s moral compass was straight from hell and you decided to sleep with him?”

Natasha barely manages to open her mouth before you decide to pitch in, raising a glass to her. “I get it. Terrible morals do add a little spice in the bedroom.”

Nat clinks her glass with yours and mutters a ‘she gets it’, but Bucky’s eyes are searing through your skin. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised at such outrageous claims coming out of your mouth. There is nothing innocent about you. Good, yes. Innocent? No. Yet perhaps it isn’t ‘surprise’ that is warming his body from the inside out.

Conversation flows easily between the Avengers and the food Tony had made easily beats the Brooklyn comfort food Bucky usually seeks out. Cheeks turn rosy from the drinks, voices get louder, lights get dimmer. Bucky has to really look to be sure what he’s seeing. You, relaxed and happy. Such a stark contrast to the woman he found in the prison. No wonder you’re so good with people. People make you good.

He can barely manage his smirk however, when he notices the strain in your body to keep from looking at him. Why you are so adamant to avoid him, he can’t really tell. But this is now your weak spot, so he cannot help but tuck the info away for later.

The night carries on and everyone switches places, catching up on endless memories and adventures and being surprisingly considerate to include you in most conversations. Bucky ends up at the head of the table, you on the seat closest to him, both listening to Sam. You listen closely and Bucky can only assume you have some relief from being actively distracted from him. And being the arrogant bastard he knows he can be, he ‘accidentally’ brushes a knuckle over the back of your hand that’s resting on the table. He watches you stiffen and swallow, but like a true rebel, you show no other sign that it affected you.

A few more stunts like that had Bucky pressing his knee to your thigh under the table and it takes everything not to pull away from it. So you gaslight yourself to let the touch ground you. To absorb his warmth and relax even more into the touch. And if you guess it correctly, the way you respond to Bucky’s touch is not what he expected… So you find yourself having the upper hand again.

And if you’re going to join these people in their cause, what’s a little game with your menace of a saviour?

[marsbotz]

i need them to explode btw

[youredreamingofroo]

On Repeat

// Click for HQ

Whew,,, I finally finished these! Thank you @elderwisp / @elksun / @living-undead / @dejasenti99 AND @yukikocloud FOR THE TAGS!!!! Holy wow :0

Tagging :

@circusjuney / @butteredfrogs / @mmonetsims / @flovoid

@birdietrait / @venriliz / @retrotrait / @mattodore

plus anyone else who wants to do this! Also feel free to ignore esp if you've alr done this, idk who has and hasn't im sorry 😭😭

// Extras under the cut - below is very long, so open w/ caution if you don't wanna scroll a lot 😭

This has taken the piss outta me (albeit fun), so i'm kinda just gonna explain how I think the featured line in particular is akin to the OC/Ship and not the entire song... as much as I'd love to 😭 Also it's just SUPER hard (for me) to find songs that I relate to my OCs, lyrics as well so skdjhnsjk

Roo's Song Oil & Water by Origami Button "When did I become like the ones I never thought I'd welcome in my home"

The above line in particular is quite literally Roo in the current story/character arc- He's looking at himself from a third person view and going "Oh. I am what I hate." He's looking at his old self, in college, and how he treated Leo, to now, looking at his present self and seeing the way he creeps on Leo, how he clings to him despite being several states over. Roo looks at the progression of his stalker-ish behavior, his obsession, how it went from just general clinginess that Leo could bear, to something completely unbearable after 7 years of no contact, it saddens him. So taking it quite literally, if he was at his own door and he knew how awful he was, he would slam the door on himself. A painful self reflection for him :')

Leo's Song Truth or Dare by Ricky Montgomery "Hiding in the closet, trying not to vomit, didn't even want it"

The entire first verse for this song can be applicable to Leo. As a teenager (15-16), Leo went HEAVY on drugs as a form of escapism from his parents, of course they'd always find him and get on his ass HARD for doing that shit. After a while of being sober, Leo started going to house parties, great idea- Flash forward to his third house party, and he finally cut his year long sober streak for drugs. as many as he could fit in his body. He had terrible influences around him so they encouraged him to do this shit, it didn't take long for his body to feel the god awful effects of taking so many drugs, so he ended up in the bathroom for a while- He tried to hold back the vomit because he was,,, partially enjoying his high, but he couldn't hold it back for long and ended up passing out, but not before nearly gutting himself from vomiting so much. Cut forward in time, and people got worried, bashed open the bathroom door and found Leo's unconscious body slumped over the toilet 🙃 Obv he came out fine, but it's a major moment in his life, because looking back on it, he realizes that wasn't what he wanted, he just wanted attention, he wanted to be cool, he wanted to be rebellious, but he didn't want to (nearly) kill himself. The render isn't one-to-one with the situation, but the lyrics are accurate so :3

Onia's Song Bloodstream by Soccer Mommy Scene used in render "Now a river runs red from my knuckles into the sink and there's a pale girl staring through the mirror at me"

Overall, the song talks about how the artist (Soccer Mommy) has lost her childhood innocence and how she wants to go back to her childhood and putting Onia's Sheep in Wolf's clothing motif aside, Onia misses being a child, and misses not knowing the pain and burden of being the complete opposite of what her parents wanted, so she spirals over this a lot, and like the lyrics say, "a river runs red from my knuckles into the sink," She tends to lean towards harming herself, in this case, her hands, and her knuckles- I can't draw or simulate blood in either blender or GIMP, so the red light is supposed to simulate the blood-sodden sink that she's standing over, and of course, "pale girl," is Onia, she's staring at herself, but additionally I like to think she's staring past the mirror, or staring through it (wink wink), she's spacing out and thinking about who she should've been, or who she could've been.

Hero's Song Following Eyes by Soccer Mommy "An awful feeling started creeping over me and what I saw was like no horror I had seen"

I'm keeping this short and sweet. It's not easy to find a song (that I like) that's about being haunted or cursed so. I had to re-use her song from her intro post, which isn't bad, but I did hope to find a new song kdsjhnsjk Anyways. Hero's cursed, pretty much anywhere she goes, she is forced to perceive ~the horrors~, sometimes she's forced into a blank space, a void (SOMETIMES,,, not a lot,,, rarely moreso), where she'll be tormented for who even knows how long, this moment in particular, she was walking along this catwalk in the dark, she eventually felt something that felt similar to someone dragging their fingers up your spine, in a moment of fear, she turned around and just. saw. She looked onto this,,, being, what she saw was "like no horror I had seen,,," Although to be fair, the creature isn't all that horrifying (which in my defense.. I'm a blender novice so </333)

The Hiraeth Song Nomu by Good Kid "Four eyes entwined draw four separate lines and none of them point to you"

I think this song overall is a perfect example of Roo and Leo's relationship both after Leo's confession and after Roo tried to reconnect with Leo. After Leo confessed, he tried to keep their relationship going, but it didn't work out, so he gave up (Roo didn't realize Leo was pulling such a weight and he just let their friendship fall out) After Roo tried to reconnect (aka the CURRENT storyline), Roo has been trying to keep things together and has been trying to make things work, but Leo has long-since given up on their friendship as a whole. Now in terms of the lyric above; Post-Confession, every conversation they had together would not be the same, they couldn't look each other in the eyes, their eyes would connect momentarily and separate almost immediately; Nowadays, if they WERE to be living together or near each other, they just would NOT be able to talk to each other, because Leo would be fed up with Roo and trying to avoid as much eye contact and general verbal+physical contact as possible with him. Roo, on the other hand, is just terrible with eye contact so he would have a terrible time trying to engage in eye contact with Leo.

The Ithanel / It's All Wrong Song From Eden by Hozier "Babe there's something broken about this but I might be hoping about this oh what a sin"

Ithuriel and Nanel's entire relationship is inherently toxic, they are not toxic to each other, but the underlying (or moreso, the OVERWHELMING OVERLYING) dangers of this relationship makes it toxic, broken in a way. Nanel risks her life going to see Ithuriel outside of work-related interactions and Ithuriel risks her life by just. seeing, talking to and loving Nanel. Whether they know (they do) or care (they dont) about these dangers, they still want this relationship, they live on, literal, prayers that they are not caught and that they can continue to love each other in peace, but overall, their relationship, in the eyes of the heavenly council (ehhh W.I.P term for IAW lore stuff), is a sin, and nothing but a sin.

Ithuriel's Song What You Mean by Rome Hero Foxes "Cause every little god damn thing you do makes me wanna get close to you"

The lyrics speak for themselves... Ithuriel is very dedicated to Nanel, and literally every waking moment of seeing and knowing Nanel drives Ithuriel up the walls because she loves her so much.

Nanel's Song Future Me Hates Me by The Beths "It's getting dangerous, I could get hurt, I know, I've counted up the cons, they far outweight the pros."

This is semi-foreshadowing, but Nanel knows that her and Ithuriel's relationship is forbidden, wrong (not cuz its gay necessarily,, 😭), and the way Ithuriel's heavenly role works means that their relationship status and every interaction outside of a required interaction is a risky game of one or both of them being punished and sentenced to death. But ! Nanel loves Ithuriel wayyyy too much to let how insanely dangerous their relationship is to get in the way of them loving and being with e/o.

Nirvana's Song 1999 by Beabadoobee "And I'm not wasting time again, closure instead of s^x, and I'm not wasting time again" Idk if I need to censor s^x but i am justttt in case...

Oof, Nirvana... Nirvana has always been sxually active, she's always had one-night-stands with other men, she's tried to continue things after that ONS, but it never works, she's tried to have relationships with women, but they just use her for s^x. She's tired of wasting time with people who just want her for her body, she's tired of s^x, she just wants, well, closure, she wants someone who will love her for her, she wants a relationship without s^x, or at least isn't s^x-focused, she just wants to know someone will love her past her body. Although aforementioned is all just a habit so she will unfortunately end up right back where she started and continue this uncomfortable and sad spiral.

[fairyofshampgyu]

he’s literally so beautiful and handsome

[rox-of-iu]

hulloo, i am here once again with cultivate....but not the usual one (~_~;)

so funny thing! i had most of these already done from before, but felt a bit silly so i didnt post them. but then (spoiler) we got Tao Ying in his fresh new look and like.. i had to draw him and post the rest of the gang along with him hksfh. so here, the sillays

🍑Tao Ying

🐉Qing Mushu

🦆 The Empress

🐗The General

aaand more sillies of the goobers

aaaaand thats it hdjhdsjfhds so sorry for the long post lmao

characters yoinked from @neonghostcat cultivate

[kittycatcorner]

shows up to give you the coffinchain challenge

Please be more careful when you cross the road You’re a perfect arrangement of rickety bones

Stray cats.

Peter had always likened the apprentices to a group of stray cats, in his mind.

At first it was out of distaste. They were a nuisance; a band of drifters slinking around the alleyways, catching their quarries unaware. The quick, sharp jab of a hypodermic needle might as well have been the efficient killing bite that a cat might deliver to the throat of its prey. They worked in the shadows, occupying all of those lonely abandoned buildings and reworking them for a new, twisted purpose. 

Then, begrudgingly, he’d found himself wrapped up in Mark Hoffman. Chasing him, hunting him, hellbent on bringing him to justice, then on killing him, then on understanding him, then…

Well, Peter didn’t know what he was doing now. 

All he knew was that sitting in his apartment, in varying states of composure, were three of Jigsaw’s disciples. 

Dr. Gordon sat on his couch, eyes trained down as his hands worked on bandaging a fresh wound on the arm of his younger accomplice. Stanheight sat quietly and allowed for the medical attention with little fight. Hoffman himself sat on the floor, back leaned against the couch close to the other two. 

Peter remained standing, trying not to buckle at the absurdity of his situation. In true stray-animal nature, he had made the mistake of allowing Hoffman into his home once, twice, thrice, and now he’d come back with friends. 

‘Don’t feed the strays’, indeed. 

Accept that he did know the other two, at this point. The polite Dr. Gordon was well-spoken and direct; Peter had found him infuriating in the beginning. He was a hard man to interrogate and an even harder man to intimidate, as level and unflinching as he was. Unlike Peter, he never seemed to let his anger get the best of him, and he seemed to know that. Dr. Gordon was a man who always seemed very aware of how much more control he had in the conversation. It was enviable. 

Then there was Adam Faulkner-Stanheight. Mouthful of a name. It was strange enough for Peter to wrap his head around the fact that the kid was alive, let alone working with Jigsaw. He was angry- had more rage in his scrawny little body than what felt possible. Stupid and impulsive, Peter had found him annoying. Just a petulant adolescent who had gotten himself into bigger trouble than he yet realized. 

They’ve come a long way since then. Both apprentices had grown on him, maybe because they reminded him of himself in their amalgamate qualities. The cold, callous bluntness of the doctor. The white-hot temper of the kid. The way he had never seen the former so gentle nor the latter so complacent until now, as they patched themselves together on his bloodied furniture. 

Peter had been reluctant to welcome them all inside. It was bad enough to shelter one serial killer, but now three? It reminded him that everything he’s been doing as of late is against what he once stood for. Fuck, it would solve a hell of a lot of his own problems if he didn't care. If he’d let them all rot, make them regret thinking that Peter would risk his own hide just because he's been friendly with them. Dr. Gordon and Stanheight had seemed to understand this too. Their expressions had been apprehensive, looking ready to flee like the animals they were. Peter wonders how long ago he would have given chase. 

Hoffman had spoken, then. 

“I didn’t-” His voice was shot and exhausted. “I didn’t know where else to go, Strahm.” 

And just like that, Peter took them in. Those words were all it took. Hoffman limped inside on a bad leg and described some sort of police-raid, premature. John Kramer and Amanda Young hadn’t even been there, so it had just been the trio, and they were forced to flee. Unable to go far on foot in their current state, Hoffman had brought his injured companions here. To Peter. 

Why did that make something strange stir within him? 

The three of them were soaked to the bone from the rain. Peter watched Hoffman sluggishly attempt to remain alert, but every so often his head would lull and come to rest against the soft thigh of Dr. Gordon. If the doctor noticed it, he didn't say a word as he continued to diligently work. He looked tired. Stanheight was putting on the best brave face he could manage, but Peter’s keen eyes caught his shoulders trembling, only eased when Gordon’s hand came to rest on one and rubbed gently. They all looked so tired. 

Unable to watch any longer, Peter finally broke the silence. 

“So why are you still doing this?” It took everything in him to not fidget idly as he spoke, brows furrowed at the three men. 

All eyes were on him quite suddenly, sharp as they regarded him. Three clever pairs of observant eyes that all screamed out ‘I know more than I’m letting on' to Peter. He held their gazes, muscled arms crossed over his chest. 

“You know what I’m talking about.” He scoffed, lip curling. “What’s the point of doing the old man's dirty work when he just lets things like this happen to you?” 

Silence.

Hoffman broke first. He laughed, eyes closing as he rested more fully against the couch. It was good-natured but ultimately dismissive. 

Dr. Gordon frowned at Peter, one brow quirked as if he had asked them something incredibly naive. Like he expected Peter to know already. 

Stanheight didn't react. Not outwardly, anyways. He only stared, something new and strange glittering in his eyes that Peter couldn't place.

“What,” Peter grit his teeth, an edge to his voice. Less of a question and more of a prompt. 

“Nothing, nothing. Apologies, Mr. Strahm.” Gordon sighed, turning his attention back to his handiwork. He appeared to nearly be done with the worst of Stanheight’s injuries now. “It’s just… not that simple.”

“Not exactly the kinda job you can put your two weeks in for.” Hoffman corroborated, a smirk tugging at his full lips. 

Peter felt his face burn hot, and he huffed in frustration. “You fucking- Don’t play dumb. Don’t act like it’s a stupid question. I’ll throw you back out onto the fucking curb.” He jabbed a finger at Hoffman in particular, who for his part did indeed shut his mouth. “You listening? Good. What I’m saying is that John Kramer is one demented old man. What is actually stopping you?” 

This time, the quiet was punctuated by Hoffman and Gordon exchanging an uncomfortable glance. After a moment, Hoffman shrugged and ran one hand through his damp, messy hair. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of, uh, checks ‘n balances.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow skeptically. Hoffman continued. 

“Information is power, etcetera. Kramer keeps basically everything on a need-to-know basis. Including, I dunno, who you’re workin’ with half the time. Hell,” He rolled his eyes, and lazily raised a hand behind his head to pat Gordon’s arm. The doctor made an annoyed noise in response, shifting away from him. “He only told me about these lovebirds when he needed help lookin’ after ‘em.” 

“I’m still mad about missing out on a trip to Mexico.” Stanheight quipped. His voice was softer than normal, but Peter supposed it was a good sign that he was speaking at all. He wasn’t used to the younger man being so quiet. 

Gordon straightened up a moment later, gently patting down the new bandages and brushing some of the hair from Stanheight’s face. “There you go.” He sighed. The warmth in his tone was so palpable that Peter had the distinct feeling it wasn’t meant for his ears. Despite being in his own apartment, he somehow felt he was intruding. “Get comfortable, alright?” 

Peter watched as Stanheight pulled himself to his feet, stopping short just a little ways away from him with an awkward shuffle. Gordon patted his thigh and spoke his next words like they took all of his energy to say. 

“Your turn.” He didn’t even bother to look at Hoffman. The detective grinned anyways, wasting no time in clamoring up into Gordon’s personal space and slinging his leg across the man’s lap. Gordon shook his head disdainfully, but carefully began rolling back Hoffman’s torn pant leg anyways. 

Peter guessed he wasn’t the only one that Hoffman lived to irritate.

“Christ, Mark.” Gordon sucked in a sharp breath, and Peter’s shoulders stiffened as he took a step forward to look. His stomach sank despite himself; from where he was standing Hoffman’s calf looked like a bloody mess. Peter’s a man who’s seen more gore in his line of work than anyone should hope to see in their lifetime, and yet here he is, staring in alarm. It was unlike him, and woefully he could only attribute his own uneasiness to the owner of the calf. 

As if he could read his mind, Hoffman looked up towards Peter. “Hey, it’s just-” He winced, hissing in pain as Gordon began to clean the wound. “It’s no big deal- no bullet inside. Just grazed me.” 

“You were shot?” Peter balked.

“Grazed,” Hoffman corrected. 

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose in a quick-rising frustration. Hoffman was impossible. 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Gordon’s voice was little more than a growl as he spoke through gritted teeth. “You took an unnecessary risk. Do you think I enjoy patching you back together? Honestly, if I didn't know any better I’d assume you were trying to get your sorry self killed.” 

Dr. Gordon’s tone left the detective bristling. “Don’t tell me how to do my job.” He scoffed. “Hell, I don’t bother you when you’re workin’ in the sickbay. Why don't you just- fuck!” 

Hoffman yelped at the unceremonious splash of disinfectant. Gordon gave him the sort of well-practiced fake smile that only a doctor could.

“My bad,” he murmured, unapologetic. 

Peter decided he’d seen enough. He turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen, telling himself that he was just stepping aside to get ice in case the doctor needed some. He knew it wasn't the truth, though; he scolded himself quietly as he leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his graying hair. 

The truth was that he couldn't keep standing there, staring at Hoffman’s leg injury. 

It’s ironic, because it feels like not too long ago that Peter would have done anything to put a bullet in Hoffman. Now the thought makes him feel… queasy. And a bit confused. 

Peter found himself comparing the apprentices to strays again.

He couldn’t get the image of roadkill splattered on the side of the highway out of his head. 

From what he knew of John Kramer and his cult, the apprentices were expendable parts. It doesn't even sound like they can trust each other half the time. One wrong move or fatal mistake would be all it took. Peter wasn't even sure how long it would take him to know something had happened. 

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps so quiet that he knew exactly who they belonged to before turning around. Stanheight stood at the entryway of his bare-bones kitchen, watching him. He’s probably spent the least amount of time alone with him. 

“What is it?” Peter’s frown deepened.

The kid didn't answer immediately, instead coming to lean against the wall beside him. He was quiet for a moment, and then shrugged. 

“Wanted to check on you, I guess.” He answered simply. 

“Check on me? In what way do I need checking on?” Raising a brow, Peter gestured towards the living room. “Look at you three, for fuck’s sake.” 

Stanheight held his hands up defensively. “Hey, hey, I just- I get it, alright?”

Peter didn't know what that meant. He stared down at the shorter man, scowl ever-present, silently prodding him to elaborate. Stanheight’s expression was… almost sympathetic, but his eyes had that same strange look from before: the one that Peter couldn't place. 

The kid was easy to underestimate, Peter knew it from his file and from his current involvement. He wasn't about to make that mistake with him. 

“Sucks, doesn't it?” Stanheight finally said. He was muttering now, glancing once over his shoulder to ensure they were still alone. “One thing to know what they're doing and another to see them come back with blood and bits of their skin hanging off.”

Peter felt his stomach turn. “No,” he lied. “If Hoffman’s gonna be reckless and get himself killed then so be it.” 

“No matter what you or anyone else thinks, I’m not stupid.” Stanheight laughed dryly. “You don't gotta lie to me, okay? I’m on team Peter here.” 

“Are we forgetting that you’re one of ‘them’ too?” Peter steeled his gaze, unamused. 

Stanheight grimaced. “I mean- kind of. Not really.”

“‘Not really?’ What’s that mean?” 

“I- like- like I’m with them but I’m not one of them. Old Johnny-boy has never and will never give a shit about me. Not exactly in the running to be his heir or whatever the others think will happen.” Stanheight huffed, rolling his eyes as he explained. “Pretty sure he wouldn't even notice if I went missing if it weren't for the pictures ‘n schedules I go and get for him.”

Peter is quiet for a moment. 

“Why stick around?” He asked softly, already knowing the answer. 

The kid just snorted in lieu of answering, and the two fell into silence once more for a couple of seconds. 

“Glad that Mark has you.” Stanheight suddenly murmured, thoughtful. 

“He does not ‘have me’.” 

“Maybe you can knock some sense into him.” 

Peter scoffed, looking elsewhere. “You’re frustrating, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” Stanheight laughed, “I’m not kidding, though. It always freaks me out how Mark gets when he’s like…” 

Raising a brow, Peter waited for him to sort out his thoughts. 

“Like, when he gets hurt, right? He just- just runs off. Or he’ll go and get hammered on the other side of town and when we find him he’s a mess.” 

At that, Peter’s shoulders went rigid. He was aware of Mark’s habits, his unhealthy coping mechanism. He hadn't thought about who else might know, how deeply it might run. He hadn't thought about how often Mark must be alone. 

When he looked back at Stanheight, he realized the kid was staring at him intently. There was concern in his expression, but also something fierce. 

“John’s really messed him up. Worse than he was before all of this.” His voice was low, almost cautious. “All of them. Lawrence, Mark, Mandy, none of them deserve this. You know that, right?”

Peter’s mouth felt dry. “I…” 

Straightening up again, Stanheight stepped closer to Peter. Before he could see it coming, a smaller hand took his own and held it, inspecting it. “I think Mark needs you.” He said, “maybe all of us do. So you gotta take care of yourself too.” 

Something confused seemed to bloom in his chest then, an uncertain warmth that he could feel rise up to his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he couldn't decide on anything to say. 

“Just think about it, ‘kay?” Stanheight let go of his hand again and started to leave the kitchen, pausing for just a moment to look back at him. “Oh, one more thing.” 

“What is it?” Peter’s voice was hoarse. 

Stanheight gave him a grin that didn't meet his eyes. “Welcome to the family.” 

Then he was gone, Peter’s protest to that statement dying on his lips, and Peter was left to think on everything he said. 

Hoffman needing him. Hoffman hiding himself away in dark corners to nurse his wounds. Improperly set bones and too much bandage. 

Stray cats.

Peter’s family used to have cats. His sister’s cat had been an old, white, raggedy thing that she named Alfredo. When Alfredo passed away, he had hidden under the bed and refused to come out. Peter thinks he remembers reading somewhere that pets do that on purpose, so their humans don't have to see them die, but it's been years and his animal knowledge is limited. 

Peter wondered how hard it is to socialize a stray cat. To reintroduce it to domesticity. 

He stepped out of the kitchen, lingering at the entryway, and watched the apprentices from where he stood. Gordon seemed to have finished with Hoffman’s leg, speaking to him in a quieter tone than before. To his surprise, Hoffman looked like he was listening. Stanheight was on the couch with them now, leaning his head onto Gordon’s shoulder. 

Peter found that he wished he could freeze this moment with the three of them in it. The bubble of safety that was his living room felt far away from everything Jigsaw. Maybe they were always meant to be here, on soft furniture, and not crouching amongst rusted pipes and jagged metal. 

Tamed. Domesticated. 

He sighed through his nose and walked around the couch, three sets of clever eyes on him again as he caught their attention. Now that he was there, he could see that Dr. Gordon had just begun to wrap up Hoffman’s leg and he silently motioned to ask for the gauze, kneeling down between them.

Understanding the gesture, Gordon handed it over, smiling at Peter warmly enough to raise his body temperature by a degree. 

“Strahm-” Hoffman started, bewildered, but Peter simply began wrapping his leg neatly. 

“Shut up.” He grunted. “Let me help you, stupid.”

[crimeronan]

alright. WHAT is a Raven Cycle. What is this story about. All this time seeing you pointed about these people, but it took me ages to figure out what the "trc" tag even stood for -- that poll you just reblogged in fact. I'm ready. Give me the pitch.

HI.

the raven cycle is a series of four books by maggie stiefvater: the raven boys, the dream thieves, blue lily lily blue, and the raven king. there is a follow-up trilogy called the dreamer trilogy made up of three books: call down the hawk, mister impossible, and greywaren.

(my 'cdth' tag is my tag for the sequel series, which i like even more than trc.)

it's a YA modern fantasy series set in a small town in rural virginia. the series focuses on a gang of five teenagers (a sixth joining in book 3/4) who are all dealing with various magic bullshit in their lives. one is looking for a dead welsh king along a ley line in the mountains of virginia, because legend says that the king can be woken and grant a wish.

the problem is that this boy, gansey, is going to die.

we know this because the one girl in the group (sorry women. there are more women in cdth i SWEAR), blue, saw his ghost on st mark's eve. which means he will die within the next year. why did she see his ghost?? because he's either her true love, or she killed him.

or, you know. both. if you're a girl who's cursed to kill your true love with a kiss. as she is.

blue does not want to kill anyone. blue also does not want gansey to be her true love. they get off on the wrong foot entirely and she decides he's the devil for a little while. blue is overall having a bad time with the world and her place in it and the fact that she's the only non-psychic person in a family of psychics, And Also She Doesn't Want To Kill Anyone.

so the question is -- for all four books -- what..... would make her kill gansey. how is gansey going to die.

gansey's three other closest friends are boys in varying states of emotional turmoil.

ronan, who is where my URL comes from, is a suicidal bipolar maniac alcoholic who spends all of his time trying to kill himself. and is also magic as fuck. and hiding it. and going out street racing with a guy who wants to eat him. and they're kind of fucking about it. they technically never fuck except like. they're kind of fucking about it

adam is a trailer trash kid paying his own way into the elite boarding school that gansey & ronan attend. his dad is physically abusive to the point of adam's life being in constant danger, but adam refuses to accept gansey's offers of help or safety, because he's determined that nobody else ever Own him.

noah is a quiet kid with a violent past that gansey cares about very deeply, getting into all of his backstory involves major book one spoilers but it is. Rough.

the plot points in the series are complicated to explain because there's a lot of mythology and strange worldbuilding and psychic bullshit and magic all going on and playing off each other. but the series is about these five kids being in a giant pseudo-polyamorous relationship and loving each other and hating each other and wanting each other and killing each other.

it has some of my favorite relationship arcs of all time in any media, ever, and also it like. taught me how to write. LOL. so if you're here from the owl house (??) or from a different fandom and you like how i talk about characters and how i write character conflicts and character arcs and character relationships....... U Get All Of That Shit In The Raven Cycle.

and that's it!