#okay soapbox over

[opiotes-hyperfixations]

Okay back to Minish Cap here for a second but I LOVE how Vaati’s fall into wickedness is explained as “he became fascinated by the evil in the hearts of men” (or whatever the exact quote is.) To me, that goes far beyond just describing someone who’s chosen to become a bad person, but instead suggests a deeper reason behind it, possibly even some kind of traumatic experience he underwent at the hands of humans (or other Minish- or some combination of the two.) To me, the subtext is that he witnessed, or experienced, some unfathomably evil act and was deeply scarred by it, to the point that he lost faith in humanity and began to feel like “what’s the point? Why not become just as evil as they are?” and i LOVE that

[sparring-spirals]

folks. im about to post perhaps the most soapboxy. lengthy. pseudo-philosophical. unecessary essay length answer to an ask i've ever written. i apologize in advance, understand if everyone decides to skip past it, and also request that if you do read it and vehemently disagree, that you do not direct ire towards the asker who probably did not know i was going to compile an essay in response to a single question.

anyway. as always. hope folks are well. also no one let me get on a soapbox again (jk none of you can stop me and i might do it again).

(srs tho i AM a little sorry. oops)

[cuteniarose]

Book 1: Korra, Mako and Bolin get electrocuted in the water at the probending final – are completely fine, walk it off within 5 minutes

Book 3: Ming-Hua gets electrocuted through water in the caves below the Northern Air Temple – dead, apparently

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[stars-in-my-damn-eyes]

God okay at risk of sounding like an uwu tumblrina with the most lukewarm takes ever... jokingly being a dick to your friends can be funny in moderation but at some point you have to realise if thats All You Are Doing then that's genuine mistreatment & perhaps even abuse, and also a really good way to lose all your friends. Like i dont know what edgelord (teen or adult, idc) needs to hear this but if you're really big on being mean to your friends and consistently refer to them with insults and "jokingly" bully them and crack jokes at their expense and keep trying to wind them up or get a rise out of them on purpose For The Memes. Then i am sorry but you're not their damn friend. And I hope to god they realise they shouldn't be yours before you do them actual lasting psychological damage.

[postsetstoner]

Op is right.

When I moved from Chicago (not perfect by any means but they had 5-20 minute waits at bus stops in certain places at certain times) and tried to take the bus in Baltimore it was unbearable to take the bus.

I had to buy a car that I couldn’t afford to avoid getting to work hours early or hours late bc when a bus has a 30 minute wait, often the bus won’t come or they’re late, and you have to plan your whole day around it. My bus had an hour and a half wait, and my alternative was walking around Baltimore at 4-5 in the morning.

I talked to my mom about it, bc she had worked placing disabled people in jobs in Baltimore and she told me that regularly folks at her job would start at their client’s house and just start walking around within a 15 minute walk to find their client a job bc if they had to take the bus they wouldn’t be able to keep the job!

I’m so serious public transportation is such an intersectional issue bc you have to have a base threshold of a lot of money on hand just to get access to the same Jobs as people in white neighborhoods, much less access to food when your neighborhood is a food desert, a place to rest when your neighborhood doesn’t have parks/benches, etc etc etc. You’re systemically fucked.

Fight for 5 minute waits. Fight for bus lines on every street corner. Fight for busses that are wheelchair accessible. I want busses lined up back to back forever so Everyone can get around.

I think your busses at bare minimum need to run every 15 minutes if you want to claim that public transit is a viable option in your city.

[ryn-city]

"you cant just live your whole life on disability" ......why not? im. disabled...

[laughinglynx]

.

[transhulklings]

How the fuck am I supposed to go from journeys end to the fucking Christmas special!!!! I am so depressed!!!!! Donna come back!!!!!!!

[hrrtshape]

okay, and i say this with love, but what other way is there to shift consciously???? genuinely. shifting is knowing you shift. that’s it. that’s the whole thing. you shift because you know you do, at least in the long-run. no twelve-step method, no elaborate choreography. just the understanding that you are always moving, always slipping through realities like it’s second nature.

and fine, let me brush upon the whole “antis // peope who don't know about shifting still shift and they don’t even believe in that” thing. because. yeah. sure. people who don’t consciously believe in shifting can and do STILL shift. but that doesn’t mean they’re somehow bypassing loa. it honestly just proves it. they shift because they don’t agonise over it. they don’t hesitate. they just go. unlike some shifters who overthink it

the whole reason they shift without trying is because they aren’t contradicting themselves every five seconds. no overcomplicated logic loops, no doubt spirals, no “but what if i’m doing it wrong?” just a subconscious certainty. and that is still loa. it’s not a loophole. it’s the blueprint.

people get weird about loa, as if it’s some separate entity, when really it’s just the foundation. the bedrock. it’s not a method, it’s the mechanism. saying “i’m in my dr” and being there? that’s loa. that’s manifesting. that’s shifting. it’s all the same thing.

adding onto this as i edit, and i swear i’m not trying to be that blogger, standing on a soapbox, waving a manifesto in your face. but. like. when people say “i’m not using loa”……okay. then what are you using??????? genuinely. walk me through it. step by step. show me the process. because at some point, every single method, every single approach, every single “i just woke up there” moment. all of it, boils down to assumption.

confidence + assumption = success

and listen, if there’s another way, i’m all ears. truly. anything to make it simpler. but every explanation i’ve seen still circles back to the same principle. at some point, you have to believe it’s happening. you have to decide it’s happening. and that? that’s law of assumption.

[rororowyourboat18]

My headcanon (heart-canon) that Mickey is Ian’s peace goes hand and hand with my headcanon that he is also Ian’s safe space. 

Mickey is the safe space Ian needs when dealing with bipolar episodes.

As soon as Mickey found out that Ian was bipolar, he immediately took it as just another one of his responsibilities.  It was a given to him that they would deal with it together.  Fiona suggested having Ian committed, but Mickey was not having it. Yes, it would be tough to deal with, but Ian is not a burden to him, and they would work through the episodes together.

When Ian was manic, Mickey provided a safe environment for him have his episode.  When Ian wanted to kill the homophobes, he helped rein in the “crazy” and provided an alternative.  Instead of murder, just your regular old run of the mill blackmail would do.  He didn’t try to stop Ian because he knew that wouldn’t be possible, but instead helped him through his episode in a manner that was less risky.

I just know that if he would have been around during Ian’s Gay Jesus era, Ian wouldn’t have ended up in prison.  Mickey would have helped him accomplish his goals in a less destructive manner while he found a way to express his concerns over it being a manic episode.

Because, unlike others, Mickey’s first reaction is NOT to ask about meds, but instead to observe and see how he can help Ian through whatever he is going through.  We see this when he observes that Ian is feeling down about losing his shitty warehouse job.  He does ask about meds but only after spending the entire day together and giving Ian something else to focus on.  Mickey knows that sometimes Ian needs him to be chaotic so Ian can get out of his own head and focus on whatever nonsense Mickey is doing.

However, Mickey knew when it was time to get outside help. The summer that they were living together he researched, and he was willing to ask Lip more about looking for outside help.  When Ian did the porno Mickey was mad because of the cheating, but I also think he realized that he could no longer provide the safe space Ian needed.  Ian went and did this extremely unsafe thing in a place where he, Mickey, couldn’t protect him.   

Mickey allows Ian to have feelings and emotions.  He doesn’t immediately label Ian’s joy and energy as mania or label his sadness and anger as a depressive episode. Mickey observers and tries to understand Ian.  Just because Ian is bipolar doesn’t mean that he can’t have extreme emotions like any other person.  It doesn’t mean that he can’t have an off days.

So Mickey Safe Space Milkovich, knows his husband and understand that sometimes he has to be a concerned husband and sometimes he has to be the shit-talking, bitch-slapping piece of south side trash Ian fell for.

Okay time to get off my soapbox 🤗

[steddieasitgoes]

he can't sit with us (or maybe he can?)

written for @steddie-week Day 4 prompt: Trade Rating: T | wc: 2651 | no cw thank you to @stevethehairington and @thefreakandthehair for beta-ing this one for me!! Read on ao3

Eddie is amped up. 

Lunch has always been his favorite part of the school day, but today is going to be an especially good one. Not because of his lunch — he forgot to grab the sandwich he made last night so he wouldn’t forget, and he’s been out of lunch credit for weeks now, so he’s shit out of luck on that front — but because today’s the day he unleashes his latest rant on the hivemind that is the Hawkins High student body. 

It’s taken him weeks to work out everything he wants to say about the giant mall they’re building a few blocks from Main Street that everyone and their workaholic fathers are excited about. The one that led to the demolishment of Hawkins' second-best trailer park — Forest Hills being the best, obviously. He even asked Wayne’s advice on what he should say since his uncle has way more experience going against The Man™ and The Man’s™ People. 

He’s pretty proud of what he’s come up with. Sure, it’s a typical Munson rant that goes on a personal tangent in the middle about how Sam Goody and Tape World are probably going to put Jet’s Jams out of music. And okay, yeah, Jet’s Jams is the fucking worst most of the time and only ever has the top 40s bullshit in stock, but at least Eddie has some pull with good ole’ Jet and can bargain with the dude to order a metal record or two every once in a while. You think Sam Goody is going to take his advice? Not a chance in hell!

But then he’ll get back on track and get into the educational stuff that Wayne talked to him about. At least, that’s the plan; all he has to do is stick to the bullet point list he scribbled out in Ms. O’Donnell’s class thirty minutes ago, ignoring whatever the fuck she was going on about at the front of the room. 

It’s going to be great. Definitely one of his best lunchtime soapbox speeches. Hell, maybe this will be the one to actually wake some of his peers up. Capitalism is the real devil here. Not him. 

He’s bouncing with adrenaline and nerves as he saunters into the crowded cafeteria, ready for his moment, ready for—

What the hell? 

Eddie stops midstride when he spots Gareth and Jeff waving at him from a table in the middle of the room. Again, what the hell? That’s not their table. Not even fucking close. 

Eddie doesn’t believe in the social hierarchy of high school cliques, but he does respect the lunch table distribution system Hawkins’ operates under. And he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that tables in the middle are destined for the so-called elite. Not his Dungeons & Dragons club and the other lost sheep stragglers he’s accumulated over his extended high school career.  

They’re supposed to be sitting at a table on the outskirts of the room. The one by the windows, with the art kids to his right and the drama kids to his left. The weirdo, outcast corner. 

And yet, there they are in the middle of the room at a table usually occupied by the so-called elites and anyone else they’ve deemed worthy of their company. 

“This isn’t our table,” Eddie says, slamming his hands down with enough force to knock Gareth’s brown paper bag over, taking his unopened Dr. Pepper can with it. 

Gareth scowls, righting the can. “Now I see why you’re a super senior. Of course, it’s not our fucking table!” 

Eddie intertwines his fingers before pillowing his chin against them. “Okay then, Gareth the Great, tell me why we are sitting here.” 

“Our table is occupied,” Jeff supplies. 

“Occupied? Everyone knows that’s our table! Is this person new? Have they recently had a lobotomy?” 

This time, it’s Freak who speaks up. “No. He knows. He probably just doesn’t give a shit. A table’s a table or whatever.” 

Or whatever? Fat chance. A table hasn’t ever been just a table in the hellscape that is Hawkins High. Still, Eddie can’t help but be curious. There aren’t many people who would willingly sit at a new table this late into the school year. It’s a ballsy move.

He figures it’s a scorned drama kid or drumline member — there’s always drama in those groups; someone is always fucking someone they shouldn’t be, horny assholes. But when he turns to get a glance at this intruder, it’s not a butthurt outcast taking up court at the table, but rather Hawkins' very own Fallen King, Steve Harrington. 

For the third time, what the hell? 

“Did you tell him it’s our table?” 

“No! He’s Steve Harrington! I don’t think he’ll appreciate a couple of nerds telling him to move.” 

“And we value our lives too much to mess with upperclassmen,” Gareth says, mumbling something about learning his lesson the last time he tried something stupid like that. 

Eddie rolls his eyes before scoffing loud enough to startle the nearby table of cheerleaders. He wiggles his fingers in an innocent wave before focusing his attention back on his friends. 

“Please, Steve is all bark and no bite. And he hasn’t been Steve Harrington in a while.” Eddie raises his voice several octaves, batting his eyelashes as he says Steve’s name. “Now he’s just Steve Harrington,” he says, shrugging his shoulders with a nonchalance he never would have expected to use for someone of Steve’s former status. “He’s just some guy whose girlfriend dumped him for an artsy loner.” 

“It doesn’t matter, man! You don’t mess with people like Harrington,” Jeff says, shaking his head. “I’m sure it’s just like a one-time thing or something. It’s not like any of his friends are sitting with him. Maybe he’s just fighting with them.” 

Jeff has a point. Steve is alone. Sitting at the table all be himself, poking disinterestedly at an apple sauce cup. He’s not cowering or trying to make himself smaller like most people would do if they were stuck eating lunch alone, but he’s not making a show of it either. He’s just there. Minding his own business, staring out the windows Eddie has spent all five years of his high school career looking out off. 

“Those sounds like quitting words, Jefferson,” Eddie taunts, turning his attention back to the group. He makes a show of looking each and every Hellfire member in the eyes when he speaks again. “Are we quitters?” 

The entire table groans, a few shake their heads. Gareth, always the brave one, throws a chip at Eddie’s head that he manages to catch in his mouth. And people say he’s not athletic! 

“Since we’re not quitters, what should we do about this unlawful infiltration?” 

“I don’t know if it's an infiltration,” Freak says. “We just like traded tables without a verbal agreement.” 

“That’s worse than a seize!” 

“I don’t know, man. You’re the one that’s all fired up about it. Why don’t you go over there and ask Harrington to give it back to us.” 

“You know what,” Eddie says, pushing off the table until he’s standing. “I will.” 

With the same gravitas he entered the cafeteria with, Eddie saunters over to Steve. The sooner he gets this table thing handled, the sooner he can get on with his lunchtime diatribe — see Mr. Vance, I do listen in English class, old bat.

Eddie’s not a quiet walker by any means — he’s had enough pillows thrown at his head from Wayne for the way he stomps around the trailer in the mornings — but he manages to sneak up on Steve. Maybe it’s because his eyes are trained on a squirrel running up a tree in the distance, mumbling encouragements as the poor thing struggles to make it up. 

Huh, Harrington’s a squirrel fan? Who knew? 

Eddie’s watch chirps, a reminder that there are only ten minutes left of lunch. Jesus H. Christ! He’ll have to do an abridged version of his speech now, but it should still be enough to get his point across. That is if he manages to get Steve to trade tables with them without a fight. 

“Fancy seeing you here, Steve,” Eddie says, loud enough to startle Steve out of the squirrel watching. “What brings you to my humble abode?” 

Steve glances up at him with a look of disinterest he seems to have perfected in his fall from grace. And honestly, as much as Eddie hates to admit it and would never say it out loud unless he was being waterboarded or some shit, this new version of Steve really works for him. 

“Your humble what?” Steve asks, dropping his disinterest to look up confused instead. 

His brows pull together, scrunching up his forehead in a way that should be unflattering but is honestly sort of endearing. And his head is tilted to the side like a confused animal — something Eddie has a lot of experience with, given his unofficial status as a trailer park animal rescuer. Eddie’s so lost in studying Steve’s confusion that he forgets to actually respond, which like, is new territory for Eddie. He’s never one not to talk. 

“Look, man, I don’t know what you want, but could you just spit it out so I can go back to enjoying my lunch?”

Eddie’s personality returns to his body in an instant. “Enjoying your lunch, you say?” He takes a second to glance at Steve’s lunch tray. A measly bite has been taken out of the cardboard the school passes off as pizza. The side of congealed mac and cheese sits untouch and his apple sauce cup is open but still perfectly intact. “Doesn’t look like you ate at all, Steve.” 

“Seriously, Munson, what do you want?” 

Eddie tsks and yanks the seat next to Steve away from the table before not-so-gracefully falling into it. He kicks his feet up on the table a moment later, the toe of his boot knocking against the carton of milk he’s willing to bet Steve also hasn’t touched. Though he can’t really blame him for that one. Milk is not a lunchtime beverage, and no amount of dairy propaganda is ever going to change that. 

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Harrington, this is my table.” 

“I didn’t know the cafeteria had assigned seats.” 

“Bullshit, you didn’t,” Eddie growls, throwing his hands up in the air. The move forces him to lose his balance, chair wobbling on two legs under him, threatening to give out and dump him on his ass. Definitely not the lunchtime show he was hoping to give today. But before he meets his demise, Steve extends his hand, steadying the chair long enough for Eddie to drop his feet and reclaim his balance. “Thanks.” 

Steve grunts in response and goes back to staring out the window. 

Fucking squirrel. 

“Look, Steve,” Eddie says, getting straight to the point this time. “I don’t know why you decided to switch tables today or why you decided my table was the one you suddenly wanted, but can we please just switch back?” 

“I’m good here.” 

He tears his eyes away from the window for long enough to glance at his former table, where Gareth and Jeff are using straws as lightsabers without a care in the world. Steve snorts, and Eddie stiffens; he really, really doesn’t want to have to fight anyone today, but if Steve’s willing to be a dick about his friends in front of his face, well, fight, he will. But then Steve’s face softens, and he shakes his head in amusement. 

“Looks like your friends are good where they’re at, too. Though the lightsaber skills could use some work,” Steve teases. “Are we good then?”

“No, we’re not good!” Eddie shouts, trying his best to keep his brain on task. We’re here to get our table back, not ponder why Steve Harrington suddenly has a soft spot for nerds because what? “That’s your table, man, and this is ours. You’re going to upset the fragile balance of this place.” 

“Shouldn’t you be thanking me or something? I thought upsetting the balance was your life goal.” 

How dare Steve Harrington read him like that.

Since his dramatics haven’t worked, Eddie opts for the truth this time. “I have no interest in sitting in the middle of the damn cafeteria where everyone can see me and my friends just to cause a little societal unrest.” 

“And I have no interest in being forced to sit in the middle so everyone can stare at me while judging me and my mistakes.” 

Oh. 

The truth shouldn’t be all that shocking. Anyone who has eyes has witnessed Steve’s fall from King too well; Eddie’s not sure there is a word for what Steve is now. He’s not a pariah or an outcast, not smart enough to be a nerd, and the rumor is he quit basketball, so he’s not a jock. He’s just… lost? 

Steve groans, running a hand over his face for a second before his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “Can we pretend I didn’t say that?” 

“Uh, sure?” 

“Look, Eddie, I’m not going to trade tables with you, but if this one means that much to you, I don’t mind sharing.” 

“I thought you said you don’t want people staring at you?” 

“I don’t.” 

“Okay, well, sitting with the Freaks of Hawkins is definitely going to get people staring and talking, and honestly, you might even have to dodge a punch or two just for being in our vicinity.” 

“I’ll survive.” 

For the first time in his life, Eddie has no idea what to say. On one hand the idea of sharing a table is so preposterous he’s convinced he might be dreaming right now. But after a quick pinch to confirm that he is awake, he goes back to weighing his options. Sharing a table with Steve isn’t ideal, but sitting in the middle of the fucking cafeteria is a death sentence. He might be able to hold his own with the upper echelon of Hawkins High, but his ragtag group of friends isn’t so scrappy. 

And then there’s the lost sheep of it all. 

Eddie’s spent most of his high school career looking after lonely high schoolers. Whisking them under his wing, giving them a safe space to eat lunch or a club to hang out at after school to avoid having to walk back home alone. He thought he’d become somewhat of an expert at it, but it seems Steve Harrington has managed to slip through his cracks. 

Eddie would be the world’s biggest hypocrite if he didn’t at least try with Steve. It’s not like he has to join Hellfire or anything. All he’s really asking for his a spot at their lunch table. 

“I have one condition.” 

“Of course you do,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. 

“Actually, I have two.” Steve chuckles and motions for Eddie to get on with it already. “One, you can’t make fun of anything that happens at the table. We’re weird. You know it, we know it. We’re allowed to tease each other about it. You are not.” 

“I wouldn’t do that. Not anymore.” 

Eddie nods. “And two, you have to give me your dessert every day.” 

“Every day?” Steve balks. “You can have my applesauce and pudding cups, but I’m not giving you Friday’s chocolate cake.” 

“Guess you’re going to have to go back to sitting at the fishbowl table then.” 

Eddie watches as Steve considers this for a moment before his shoulders heave the world’s biggest sigh. “Fine.” 

Without warning, Eddie pushes away from the table, the legs of the chair screeching against the linoleum. His lips twitch at the corners, pulling into a genuine smile as he stands and offers Steve his hand. “Welcome to the Freak table, Steve.” 

[emmyrosee]

okay so, this evening has not been fun for me, so ofc I’m gonna try coping via escapism 🤩

and as always you are absolutely NOT obligated to write it. I’m so serious, if you don’t want to there’s absolutely zero pressure emmy, I’d completely understand one hundred percent.

very long story short, I got my grades back for this semester and despite doing soooo much better overall this year than my first year and not failing a single class this time around, unless I get a miracle it’s looking like I’m going to have to be asked to withdraw from my university for a whole year ☹️

and as someone who got straight As from elementary til my last year of high school/made school my whole life, this is just an enormous blow to any self confidence I had finally built back up. I was doing better mentally and finally feeling a bit like myself again and I’ve just felt so sick with anxiety all evening because I don’t even know what to do anymore. If they decide to ask me to leave, it’ll make my chances of medical school even slimmer than they already were and I can’t help but feel like a bit of a failure and like I’ve just ruined my future despite knowing it’s not all true and I still have options :(

it’s so hyper specific and I’m so so so sorry abt that, but would it be possible for some comfort + tons of fluff with kuroo possibly? I just want to be babied a bit by this fictional man LOL. I feel like he’d know exactly what to do and how to get my mind off of it until I inevitably get that email :(

anon <3

My love, I am so sorry you’re having to go through this, and I am here, to PERSONALLY, tell you that you are far from a failure, and you should still be proud of yourself for getting so far. It’s okay to have bumps like this that halt your dreams, and it doesn’t make you any less deserving of continuing to chase those dreams. And hey! Use me as an example! I went from being a mechanic for four years and being fired for being so terrible (yes that is an actual thing that happened) then I went to college for writing; and now I’m a licensed esthetician with a focus in makeup artistry! There is no such thing as a dead end, no such thing as a closed room, just keep treating yourself gently and reminding yourself that this is far from over, your dream is still more than obtainable with some time and it is more than okay.

Ahem. Let me get off my soapbox PFFFF-

——-

Last night, you refreshed your emails who knows how many times, staring at your computer screen on the verge of hyperventilating for what felt like hours- and it might have been; your brain can’t process how long it was right now.

Your bottom lip was tight between your teeth, the hand on the mouse pad trembling, waiting in anticipation, tight with nerves. Your other rested a fist on your lap, waiting for the results and occasionally wiping a rogue tear that falls.

There’s a soft rapping on the door, but you don’t turn to face it. You merely keep refreshing.

“Hey,” tetsuro whispers, and you hear his feet padding into the room, and when he gets next to you, he crouches down. Once again, you can’t spare him a glance. “Any updates?”

You stay silent. He winces, “I’ll take that at a no…” he lays a warm hand on your back and gently rubs it in circles, “it’s okay baby. We’ll figure it out, we always do.”

“Tetsuro, please,” you whimper, not quite in the mood for a pep talk. “I’m going to puke right now, my life is in flames and crumbling around me, I’m so nervous, please. Save the pep talk, I can’t handle it right now.”

“I'm sorry,” he soothes. He doesn’t say anything further, just rubbing your back in slow, firm circles with his palm, blinking his golden eyes up at you warmly, lovingly.

You feel your body cramp from being under his loving touch, suddenly dawning on you just how long you've been sitting in the chair, inert and unwilling to peel your eyes from the email inbox. You suddenly become hyperaware of how your legs feel numb, your fingers are cramped and your eyes are burning. It's the first time in hours you've taken a break from your refreshing to scrub at your eyes, breeding a wetness to try and soothe the sting.

You hear Tetsuro sigh, "why... don't we go to bed, angel?"

"No."

"But-"

"I can't," you whimper. "Not now. Not yet-" your breathing picks up as you look at him in despair, chest fluttering and heart pounding as you try to breathe. He furrows his brows and shushes you softly, big hands moving to cradle your cheeks and force you to look at him.

"Baby," he says softly, but firm enough to ground you. "It's late. They're not going to send it this late at night. And if they do, we'll deal with it when we wake up tomorrow. But I'm almost certain they're not going to send it to you this late. I promise, okay?"

You let out a shaky sigh and look at the time: 22:43. It's far too late to be thinking, to be worrying, and you'd much rather breakdown in the comfort of your own bed, than alone in this wooden chair.

But you do know that, no matter what, Tetsuro is going to be right next to you, rubbing your back and cradling you close.

When you say nothing, Tetsuro slowly stands up and scoops you in his big, strong arms, "come on, angel face. Let's get some rest." You thunk your head against his chest and fist your fingers into the collar of his shirt, letting him carry you to the bathroom where he plops you down on the countertop.

He grabs your toothbrush and some toothpaste, and gently tells you to open, which you sleepily do. He's extra careful, making sure to get every tooth he can, scrubbing softly as to not make you uncomfortable. Silence, save for the bristles on the toothbrush, fills the room, the corner of Tetsuro's tongue sticking out in focus.

"Okay. Spit," he says, moving so you can comfortably turn your head and spit the froth out. Skincare comes next, and his touch is even softer as he massages in every product you use.

"Good girl," he whispers, picking you back up to carry you to bed. "My good girl. Good, brave girl..."

You drift off in his arms at his praise, not even feeling the way he gets you into pajamas or gets you under the covers, the exhaustion of the constant high of anxiety weighing you down.

Waking up this morning, your bones feel like bricks under the wall of your muscles, barely able to move under the force of it all. Your skin feels like paper, so hyper aware of it now that you’ve had the time to come down from your anxious state. You blink up at your ceiling, eyelids tight as you do, and you continue to stare and let your body wake up molecule by molecule, inch by inch. You feel it coming to life, and you slowly bring your hands up to press the heels of your palms into your eyesockets to force the rest of the sleep out of your eyes.

When your hand then drops next to you, you feel yourself grow saddened at the lack of warmth. Tetsuro’s been out of bed long enough to let his side cool down, and it makes you want to cry at the idea of being alone right now.

You never should’ve shut him down last night. All he wanted to do was help, and you shut him up and made him feel bad, now he’s not even in bed with you anymore, and you feel tears sting at your eyes again, this time out of anxiety of making him upset, and-

“Ah, you’re up.”

Your guilty, howling mind shuts up as soon as tetsuro’s body makes its way into the doorway, smiling and stirring his tea with a spoon. “Good morning, babygirl.” He takes a step into the bedroom and before you know it, he’s at your side, sitting on the bed next to you. He uses his free arm to wrap around you, but not pull you to his chest. “Did you sleep okay?”

“No,” you whimper, voice croaky. He nods and lets his thumb rub up and down the curve of your shoulder. “I’m sorry I yelled at you last night.”

His brow cocks in confusion, “huh?”

Now, finally, you turn to face him, “I snapped at you… I told you to-“

“You told me you didn’t want a pep talk,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s okay. You’re allowed to tell me that my words might not be the most helpful. I’m not going to get mad at you for that. It’s not like you told me to shut my ugly ass up- you’d never do that, I’m too pretty.”

This, for the first time in what feels like days, has you crack a smile. You let out a small laugh, breathy and barely there, but he smiles proudly all the same, pulling you in for a hug now. “You’re a goof,” you murmur.

“And you, need to eat something,” he whispers against your head, and you deflate in his arms again. “Don’t you protest me, you know you have to eat something.”

“‘M not hungry,” you say.

“I know, but you didn’t eat last night, and I let you sleep in-“ at his words, your eyes flick to the clock on your nightstand, red numbers flicked onto 10:24. “You have to have something.”

“But-“

“I know,” he says. “Do you want something sweet, or savory?”

20 questions. It’s something he does after a fit of your anxiety to try and make your life just a hair easier, decisions quicker, and your day just a bit brighter because you’re getting exactly what you want. He claims he used to do it with kenma, hence why he’s so good at it.

“Uhm…” you shrug, “why not both?”

“Both?” He echos. “Okay. Do you want fruit?” You nod. He nods with you. “Okay. How about a bagel?” You nod again. “Okay. With some cream cheese?” You shake your head and he clicks his tongue, “butter?” You shake your head again, “okay. Uhmmmm-“

“I want to do it,” you mumble, and he presses a kiss to your head.

“You sure? Because I can whip something up-“

“I have to do it. I have to put the toppings on my bagel.”

He nods a final time and squeezes you close, “okay. If you need any help deciding, I’m right here, okay? I’ll be cutting your fruit.”

You hum and slowly swing your legs out of the bed, stretching and mewling from the force. When your hand instinctively darts for your phone, he clicks his tongue, "leave it. You don't need it right now."

"But-"

"I told your family to text me if they need you. Your phone is on do not disturb. Leave it there, babe." He swings his own long legs over and extends a hand out to you, wiggling his fingers enticingly for you to hold. When you grab three of them, he smiles and slowly leads you into the kitchen.

The news is playing on tv at a low volume, there’s a discarded blanket on the couch, and you quirk a brow in intrigue, “tetsu, how did you know I was awake?”

He shrugs, “my life shifts when you wake up for the day. I feel it in my soul.”

“Ew.”

“Shaddup.”

You laugh again, smiling a weak smile as you plop down at the table. He makes his way to begin cooking your bagel, popping it in the toaster before making his way to cut up your fruit. You sigh and play with your fingers, wondering if you should make conversation, or let silence rule, and you sigh shakily before opening your mouth to speak. “What’re you going to have?”

“I, my love, already ate some toast with some apple jelly and butter.”

“Oh.”

“But I’m going to pick at some fruit with you, because I don’t want you eating alone.”

“You don’t have to do that-“

“I know,” he hums. Then, he turns to face you with a smile. “I want to.”

Your heart flutters as you smile at him, looking down at your fingers to distract yourself. Usually, you’d be scrolling through your social media, checking apps and emails, but since he forbade it, you’re left to listen to him sing softly and the newscaster drone on and on. After a few short minutes, your bagel pops, and he plates it with some sliced fruit and places it in front of you, before kissing your head and grabbing various toppings for it.

Breakfast drags, but in a comforting way, where it drips by so slow like honey, syrupy sweet as Tetsuro talks. He talks about everything and anything, about the game Kenma's going to stream for charity, and the funny meme he sent the streamer- or funny to Tetsuro at least, as allegedly Kenma left him on read. You find yourself eating at his company, and before you know it, your bagel, juice, and fruit is gone. You look down at your plate in surprise, and he wiggles his brows at you, "feel better, angel?"

"Uhm... yeah," you say, almost confused. "I didn't think I was that hungry."

"I don't care how you thought, I'm glad you ate." He stands out of his chair with a stretch, "you still hungry? I can make you another-"

"No," you sigh. "I... I really should check my email-"

"Not until I give you a bath and a massage."

You quirk your brow, "you're going to give me a bath and a massage?"

"Of course," he chuckles, "If you're too anxious to give yourself some self care, that's plenty fine, but that means I'm going to give you self care." He shrugs, "those are just the rules."

"Do you even know how to give a massage?"

"Bokuto and I used to massage each other after practice all the time." Your brow quirks higher, and he holds his hand up, "don't ask. Just trust me."

"Can Bokuto give me a massage?" You tease, giggling at the way he gives you a fake smile and a high pitched "no," to tease you.

He presses a kiss to your head, "I'm going to go run the bath, why don't you get changed and meet me in there?"

"Okay," you hum. He nudges your nose with a finger before stalking down the hall to the bathroom. When your hear the tub running, you make a dash towards the small office room for your laptop, nervous to check your email, and-

"I took it out!" He calls, followed by a cackle.

"You're an ass!"

"It's your favorite ass, though!"

You grumble and make your way to the bedroom to get undressed per his request, stealing one of his oversized shirt to conceal yourself until the tub is filled. You stalk into the bathroom and blush under the way his eyes glaze up and down you, "fuck, I love you in my clothes."

"Back off, I'm about to bathe," you snort.

"Yeah, but I can still find you hot." As the tub fills, he adds a scoop of epsom salt, and a splash of bathing bubbles, large bubbles brewing on the surface of the water. You smile and watch them shape and form, the sweet smell filling the air around you. You feel excitement brewing inside of you as you watch him turn off the water and push himself up and off the floor with the edge of the tub, "should do it, baby. I'm gonna let you soak, I'll set up for a little massage after, make you nice and comfortable.

"Okay," you mewl. He presses a kiss to your lips and makes his way to the door. "Hey, Tetsu?" You say, reaching for his hand, which he takes happily. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, babygirl," he whispers. "You know that." He pinches your cheek and leaves the bathroom for you to relax.

The bath water is warm as you soak in the epsom salt, feeling your muscles loosen and relish in the combination. You bury your face in the bubbles and close your sleepy eyes, letting the smells lull you into a state of relaxation. Your head is still heavy with anxiety, but your heart is full of love and warmth for your boyfriend.

You're not sure how long you were floating in silence, lost in the bubbles and oils, but he gently knocks on the door, "you okay? Haven't heard you for a bit."

"Yes," you mewl, stretching. The water is now chilly and the bubbles are mostly gone and you rub your hands over the surface of the water. "Is the massage stuff ready?" You tease, looking at your hands and wincing at how pruny they are.

"It's been ready, I didn't want to bother you," he snickers. “Come out when you’re ready, just wanted to make sure you were alive.”

“I’m alive, I’m coming,” you call, getting out of the tub to dry yourself. You take your time drying off, trying to enjoy the last little bit of warmth clinging to your skin. You leave the bathroom to get dressed into some clean pajamas, smiling as tetsuro busies himself with the whole massage set up. “Candles? You spoil me.”

“There’s a lot of smells going on,” he says with a face.

“I know I can tell,” you hum. Getting dressed, you slip on a pair of his boxers and a shirt, and you make your way to the bed to wait for him.

“Alright-“ he pats the bed for you to crawl on top of. “C’mere, let me pamper you.”

You giggle, “you have been pampering me!” Regardless, you swing your legs onto the bed and lay on your stomach, squeaking as he straddles you and cracks his knuckles.

He lays a massive paw on each of your shoulders, using his thumb to splay and press the muscle under his force, and your eyes cross in the middle and flutter in relaxation. They work in circles to press into the muscles, before laying flat on your back to dig his heel into before his fingers press and roll back up to your shoulders.

Thick fingers roll over the knot in your right shoulder, no doubt from the refreshing of the page for hours on end last night. You whine and bury your face in the bed, and he hums, "I know beautiful, I almost got it."

"Feels good," you murmur.

"Told you it would," he says softly. “You need to trust me.”

“I think I trust you too much,” you snicker. Tetsuro says nothing, merely offering you a laugh through his nose as he continues with the massage.

Your body twitches as the tips of his fingers dig into your side as part of the massage, but your snicker doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend. “Something wrong?” He hums, doing it again.

"Tetsu!" You giggle, reaching behind you to try and stop his wrists, "that tickles!"

"That's crazy, I'm not tickling you," he snickers, and it's hard to tell if he's lying or not. "I mean, I can tickle you, if you want-"

"No!" You squeal, and your laughter turns choppy as he uses the sides of his hands to playfully chop up and down your back, making your body instinctively let out bumpy noises from your mouth.

“Quite an attitude on ya today,” he taunts, before hooking his fingers up under your arms, making you shriek, “okay, now I’m tickling you.”

Your mind spins from the sensory change, the signals in your brain cross, but one thing is for certain:

The email is far from the front of your mind.

And it feels good to laugh.

[angels-heap]

And it shouldn't be! Not dunking on anyone specific, but I'm going to take this opportunity to get on my soapbox and say I am so fucking baffled by this recent fandom trend of insisting that your favorite ship is/should be canon and that this somehow makes it "superior" to other ships.

First off, shipping is a fun hobby and a lens through which we can interact with the deeper themes and context of a piece of media, not a competitive sport.

And especially in the case of ships like freehoun, where the characters are super flat and barely interact in canon, it is objectively bizarre to pretend there is or could be any actual ship text or subtext between the two. Knock it off with that shit. However, that doesn't mean you can't ship them. People have shipped pairings that are not and never will be canon since forever, and that's... fine? Arguably kind of the point?

And in all honesty, would you (again, general you) even want freehoun to be canon? Even if Valve randomly decided to upend/retcon every single character choice they've made thus far to sideline Alyx and make freehoun canon, do you think it'd be... good? Do you think a bunch of game devs who have been tasked with creating a FPS game with a vague plot and universal appeal will portray this dynamic in a better, more respectful, or more interesting way than a community of queer fans?

No, they obviously wouldn't. For the same reason, I don't really want Valve to make freemance (which is arguably canon) any more textual than it already is, because I much prefer my vision of the ship over anything a game company could possibly create.

And that's okay. That's what fandom is for.

Replaying Half Life 2 for the first time in a while (for... reasons) and man, I really and truly do not understand how people are convincing themselves there's some sort of canonical homoerotic subtext between Barney and Gordon. There's barely text between Barney and Gordon. I went in fully conscious of the fact that Barney is a one-dimensional character with less than 10 minutes of voice lines and I was still struck by how flat and plot-devicey he is.

Don't get me wrong, I love that Barney's blank slate-ness allows us to flesh out his character in fanworks, but I refuse to believe that anyone who actually thinks Valve intended to convey romantic tension between these two has played the same game I did.

[selkiemaidenfae]

okay i'm back on my anti sprusilla soapbox because you cannot convince me drusilla loved him back.

partway through season 2, literally watching passions as i type. (yeah i know what's coming lol.) she thinks nothing of cheating on him, doesn't care about his moods, frequently chooses angelus over him, and overall seems very uninterested in him when she's not relying on him or treating him like a plaything.

like??? i get villain couples, i love villain couples. but everything i've seen so far makes me think that spike was head over heels and dru was just like "yeah this guy will do whatever i ask, i'll keep him."

[critterbitter]

HELLO HI ID LIKE TO ASK WHAT PROGRAM AND BRUSHES YOU USE CUZ IM LITTERALY EXPLODING EVERYTIME I SEE YOUR ART

actually actually... *pulls out whole stack of paper*...I have. a FEW,, a good few,, questions to ask. they are not many I swear 😇

OK SO FIRST OF ALL HOW DO YOU DRAW SO FAST???? everyday I log onto Tumblr I always see something new from you and I get very very happy. But then I start to question my own existence because not even I CAN SPEED RUN ART LIKE THAT. AND SO SPECTACULARLY TOO

Last question! how do you color and make it look so well?? just. How. I need to know. This is a CRY FOR HE-

anyway thank you for being one of my favorite artists that always feed my brain rot, pls keep making amazing art because like a little yamper I will follow behind and stay updated.

(Stands there)

Response and thoughts under cut!

First question! What art program I use!

Mostly procreate, along with a handful of brushes! (Specifically the Jing Set and some custom stuff, which is really just a circle brush with the shape changed to a square.)

Second question! How do i draw so much!

Okay so. I am. Ahhah. Unemployed,,,,? No, I do freelance illustration, but hmm. A studio job would be nice.

i graduated college last year and I’m very used to eight hour art shifts. The body sort of remembers to keep working, even though I no longer have storyboards or visdev homework to do.

Also. The hyperfixation is a deep vast tunnel I STILL have not seen the end of the light to, good golly. (I have dreams now about the kids committing shenanigan crimes. I wake up in cold sweat and write them down in a journal. It’s like being the mouthpiece to an angry god.)

So the overall gist is: I was trained to be a storyboard artist with a visdev background, and I’m using that higher education to draw funny muppets because my brain’s funny.

I also DO have a queue, and I’ve been treating this as a sort of inktober project. I am definitely going to slow down soon though! Maybe. Hopefully. Ah… (sheepishly drops my kofi here)

Third question! How do i color!

I. I, uh. I dont know man the coloring demons have a grip on my soul and i just go along for the ride. But also, if it helps, i prefer to limit my pallets to only a few colors at a time. Lighting is king, so if you can figure out if you want to focus on either on your lights or shadows, you’ll have a much easier time composing. That, and symbolic colors— idk, something hits different about art drenched in gold with a tiny hint of a man staring into the blinding horizon, or a green leafy environment with a single dot of artificial red. I also like using blue and purple for shadows, and I’m a big fan of muting colors with only one or two that pop— one of the reasons why I was so attracted to submas in the first place is because from a design aesthetic, they’re both super funny muppet men AND really cool train guys that have a limited pallet and thematic apparel.

Overall response! THANK YOU SO MUCH. This goes out to a BUNCH of people who sent me inbox queries— sorry for not responding, it’s a tad overwhelming because some of them are story questions even I don’t really know will go yet, and others are words of praise and I’m selfish and like scrolling through the inbox to look at them when I feel down. I am more of an artist who sits in the corner and sprouts like a potato rather then a branching vine who socializes, but I really do see people’s responses and they make me go :)))))

Okay ramble over. Thanks for coming to the soapbox, and good luck on creating!

[prodbyton]

stepping off my perv!riize soapbox because fwb!Eunseok crept into my mind. fwb!Eunseok would be such a trip. he's super great in bed (duh) and is just such a sweetheart that people would expect you to fall for him. it wouldn't even be difficult to do. he's everything a girl could want in a man, yet you still never saw him in that way.

Eunseok on the other hand... (anyone that has been around you two for longer than 2 seconds: so, you're in love with her, right? Eunseok: nuh uh!! same person: fuck you mean nuh uh!?) he's literally obsessed with you. he's always texting you. always buying you random presents. you know how there are a million and one couple holidays in Korea?? he's not so subtly celebrating everyone with you. like,,,, the couple allegations get crazy, but EUNSEOK'S the one embarrassed about it when it's his fault in the first place.

you never wanted to cross the line bc you knew going into this that it was just sex and occasionally hanging out. the more often you two hung out, the more you started to fall for him. you started to push away, but he kept being so sweet, kept seeking you out, kept buying you gifts, kept taking you out for fancy dinners, kept loving you.

the whole situationship thing reached a peak one night after another lovely "not a date" date with Eunseok. the second the two of you entered his apartment, he had you pushed against his door, his mouth crashing into yours. before you know it, he's hitting it from the back in a half-assed doggy because you can barely hold yourself up, it feels so good. the closer you get to cumming, the more wobbly your arms get. that is until you give up and flop onto your belly. Eunseok fully pushes himself on top of you, his chest to your back. all you can hear is his breathing, groans, and babbling in your ear. he just kept repeating "you're so good for me" "you feel so good" "needed you so bad". you started to zone out, focusing on how good you felt, until you heard the words "i love you so fucking much" pass his lips. you both froze. he pulled out and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. you turned over and the first thing you saw was how red his ears were. you go to touch his shoulder and he turns around with red eyes and starts rambling about how sorry he is and how he crossed a line. you kiss him to shut up before whispering a soft "i love you too" back.

okay,,, this ended up wayyyyyy more fluffyish and longer than i intended. anyways, here's kinda pathetic!fwb!Eunseok! coming next: maybe perv!Sunchan? maybe perv!Anton? maybe something else entirely??? I DON'T EVEN KNOW!! 😱😱

-🎀

eunseok losing the idgaf war deep in pussy is crazy but real af… like he’s so in denial about his true feelings in fear of you not feeling the same so he doesn’t even realize how the fwb turned into a situationship until he’s wayyyy too deep to turn back, and his nonchalant act coming to bite him in the ass the minute he gets a slight realization that he’s so close to having you but could lose you so fast of he didn’t act now. he’s planning on taking you out and then confessing but he gets so distracted by your beauty and then once he’s inside you those three words just leave him without him realizing and you’re both like 🫣🫢🤨

but this whole time you were waiting for eunseok to finally just claim you as his instead of playing with your emotions like he’s been doing these last months, like who takes their fwb to a 5 star restaurant and gives her a hello kitty money bouquet… eunseok lock tf in please

also the dick? is fire…. you aren’t going anywhere when eunseok fucks you completely stupid every time even when he’s slow, forcing you to look at him while he makes you cum basically a soul tie atp and he doesn’t want you fucking other people, even if you two weren’t together and he’s not fucking anyone else either. tells you his cock is the perfect fit for your pussy and anyone else would be a waste of time <3

after his pussy drunk confession you two talk it out and finally make it official and he finishes what he started and goes back to giving you the best dick of your life as your boyfriend 🙂‍↕️

kinda looking forward to perv sungchan but ill take all your ideas no matter what they make me lightheaded in the best way possible 🎀 anon