#or just enjoying their friendship either

[celestair]

just read the new chapter of nagi episode... as much as i love reo and sympathise with the feeling of being a second choice way more than id like to admit... this aint about him.

like yeah he grew up having the world at his feet so probably not the easiest lesson to learn but he needs to learn it at some point. he wants everything to be about him but also reduces himself to being nagis right hand man instead of his own person because he feels like he has ownership over nagi in some way and like i said before in my other post, those two are just going backwards now.

the codependency isnt even something you can ignore anymore. this is why i hate how they reunited. what happens next time nagi wants to grow and learn with someone else? reos just going to feel like its not fair because he "owns" nagi which... i mean do i really have to explain more than that? reo please learn that everything is not about you, and you can be separated from nagi and be your own person. its okay.

[finleycannotdraw]

Goldenheart question. Who do you think proposes? Ballister or Ambrosius?

Bonus on how they would do it? ✌️🌈

OKAY SO. I thought about this for like five minutes. decided something. and then I changed my mind like five times. and then I was like “hmm. fic time”

I know you just asked for my thoughts but I hope you enjoy this!!

Ballister had a plan.

He loved Ambrosius. Of course he did. He’d loved him when they were classmates at the Institute, loved him when they snuck onto the roof at night to talk, loved him when they became knights, and loved him when the wall came down. He’d loved him for as long as he could remember, so of course he loved him when he looked up from his crossword puzzle and saw Ambrosius dancing in the kitchen, wearing a pair of Ballister’s pajama pants, holding a pancake batter-covered spatula and looking more carefree than he’d looked in months.

He’d marry Ambrosius in a heartbeat. He’d get on a train right then and elope with him if he asked, but he thought his partner deserved something bigger, something romantic, something grand and joyful after all of the stress and responsibility he’d been shouldering since the Director’s demise.

Hence, The Plan.

Nimona had been… mostly helpful. Ballister approached her one afternoon, after Ambrosius had left for work, and sat down across from her. Since the three of them had moved into an apartment together, Nimona had gotten much more comfortable relaxing, which warmed Ballister’s heart.

“What’s up, boss?”

“I want to ask Ambrosius—” he began, and Nimona sat up straight, immediately invested.

“To marry you?” she exclaimed. “Yes. Do it. Why haven’t you done it already.”

Ballister blinked. “I thought you’d be more hesitant about this,” he said slowly. “You used to hate him.”

Nimona waved her hand dismissively. “Ehhh. The past is the past, and all that jazz. Speaking of jazz—”

“No.”

“Ugh, whatever. You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I didn’t need to.”

“You’re horrible. Anyway, I hated him when all I knew about him was that he cut off your arm. That was before I’d lived with you guys for a year. And it would be pretty hypocritical of me not to be open to changing my opinions about somebody. He makes you happy. You should totally marry him.”

Ballister smiled. “Thank you, Nimona.”

She scoffed affectionately. “Sure, boss.”

And a plan—namely, The Plan, which was the whole point—formed.

Nimona and Ballister flew all over the city looking for parks and possible activities, such as restaurants or shows. Most people had gotten fairly used to the pair of them flying around, Nimona sprouting wings and carrying Ballister above the streets, so they didn’t worry about staying out of sight.

If Ambrosius noticed or thought it was suspicious that Nimona and Ballister constantly went out together and didn’t talk to him about any of it, he didn’t comment. The three of them still had their movie nights and game nights, and Nimona and Ambrosius still had their terrifyingly intense card games (War, Go Fish, Crazy Eights, and several games Ballister had never heard of) that Ballister was forbidden from joining, so altogether not much had changed.

One thing that did change, though, was how often he paused, watched Ambrosius do something completely ordinary, and thought ‘I want to marry this man.’ It happened more and more with each passing day, until Ballister very nearly proposed to him when he walked into the apartment and found Ambrosius standing with his feet on two separate chairs, about three feet apart, holding a collection of colorful paper streamers above his head while Nimona, in the form of a small monkey, perched on the top of his head and put them in place on the wall.

Ballister stared at them for a long moment before he said, very confusedly: “There wasn’t a more efficient way to do this?”

Ambrosius and Nimona turned at the same time, both looking quite delighted despite their precarious position atop the chairs.

“We’re just mixing it up!” they both replied. Ballister looked around. The living room was covered in party decorations and newspaper, and Ballister thought he’d never seen more glitter in his life. He pictured Ambrosius buying a basket full of glitter for whatever party Nimona was planning on throwing, and wouldn’t have been surprised if his heart actually melted.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked.

“I asked Nimona when her birthday was,” Ambrosius explained. “She said she didn’t have one.”

“And if I do, I don’t remember when it is,” Nimona added. Ambrosius threw his hands out to the sides in an emphasizing gesture.

“Which means she’s never had a birthday party,” he continued. “So we decided that today’s her birthday and we’re having a party.”

“Which is just going to be like a normal night except with decorations,” Nimona said. “The glitter was Goldilocks’ idea.”

Ballister raised his eyebrows, and Ambrosius shrugged unabashedly, then turned back to finish putting up the streamers.

Marry me, Ballister thought.

Within the next week, he had everything figured out. He’d looked at the weather for the next few days, planned where they’d go and when, and had even bought a ring, which he’d hidden in his extra pair of running shoes and shoved under the bed. If Ambrosius noticed that Ballister seemed extra nervous or more likely to become agitated if he spent too long in the bedroom by himself, he didn’t comment.

So yes. Ballister had a plan, and it was much more concrete than ‘something something something, we win’. He didn’t have a script, but he had just about everything else. Nothing could possibly get in his way now.

Or so he thought.

One night—there was nothing particularly special about it; they’d had dinner with Nimona, danced and laughed while cleaning the kitchen, and kissed while getting ready for bed—Ballister and Ambrosius were snuggled up together under their blankets. Ballister’s prosthetic arm was hanging from its charger on the wall, so he couldn’t hold Ambrosius as close as he would’ve liked, but the blond knight was lying with his head on Ballister’s shoulder, which gave him room to wrap his left arm around his partner’s back.

Ambrosius moved to tangle his legs with Ballister’s and gave his middle a squeeze, causing Ballister to smile up at the dark ceiling. If he paid attention, he could hear quiet music through the walls from Nimona’s room, and the moon was shining brightly through the window. Ballister carded his fingers through Ambrosius’ hair and breathed deeply.

Ambrosius, after several minutes, pushed himself up onto his elbow so that he could see Ballister’s face. Ballister’s arm slid naturally to rest around his waist, and he wished he had his prosthetic so that he could tap Ambrosius on the nose. Whenever he did so, Ambrosius’ face would scrunch up in the most adorable way possible, and Ballister had no choice but to kiss him.

“Hey,” Ambrosius whispered, as though Ballister hadn’t already been giving him his full attention.

“Hi,” he said in the same quiet tone, and matched Ambrosius’ answering smile. They bumped their noses together and giggled, and Ambrosius flopped to the side, landing on his own pillow. Ballister freed his arm and laced their fingers together, and Ambrosius brought their joined hands to his lips, then rested them on his chest and stroked Ballister’s hand with his thumb.

“Bal?” he said, tilting his head to the side to look into Ballister’s eyes, which he was quite honestly struggling to keep open.

“Hm?”

“Will you marry me?” Ambrosius asked softly, simply, his gaze full of love, exactly the way Ballister had been fighting the urge to ask him for weeks.

“Oh, come on!” he exclaimed, and got out of bed to grab the ring box from his shoe, forgetting that Ambrosius had no idea what he was doing until he sat up, looking worried.

“Bal?” he said again, this time much more guarded. “I’m sorry, what—”

“I was going to propose to you!” Ballister interrupted, opened the box, and shoved it towards his gobsmacked partner, who stared at it in utter shock before looking back to Ballister’s eyes. “I had a plan! And it wasn’t ‘something something something, we win’!”

Ambrosius’ eyes were shiny. “Was it more like, ‘something something something, marry me?’”

Ballister laughed surprisedly and leaned over to plant a kiss on Ambrosius’ lips. “Yes,” he said. “Well, no. I didn’t have a speech.”

“Hence the something-something-something,” Ambrosius teased. “You know, you never answered my—”

“Yes, good Gloreth, yes, I’ll marry you,” Ballister interrupted again. “Though I think you could’ve inferred that from learning that I was going to ask you the same question.”

Ambrosius laughed tearfully, and Ballister kissed him again.

“I’m not taking your last name, though,” he added moments later. “As funny as it is.”

“Nimona would kill you,” Ambrosius agreed. “So would I, probably. I don’t want to keep my last name either. It made for some good jokes, but other than that—”

“Well, Boldheart is nice, but it wasn’t my birth name. You know the Queen gave it to me at the ceremony because somebody—probably the Director—said that Blackheart sounded too dark for a knight?”

“Right,” Ambrosius mused. “What should we do, then?”

“We could combine our last names,” Ballister suggested. “We could be Ambrosius and Ballister—”

“Goldenheart,” Ambrosius finished, and wrapped his arms around Ballister, shaking with laughter, tears, and joy. “I love it.”

“I love you,” Ballister told him, and there was very little talking for the rest of the night.

When morning came, they headed into the kitchen in their pajamas and found Nimona already up, sitting at the table with her headphones on. She appeared to be drawing—likely another action scene with herself as a large animal with Ballister and/or Ambrosius as her murderous accomplice—and didn’t look up as they entered.

“Morning, Nim,” Ambrosius said as he made his way to the coffee machine.

“Goldilocks.” She acknowledged him with a nod, then raised her eyebrows. “Sleep well?”

Ballister held his crossword puzzle up and hid his face behind it while Ambrosius nearly dropped the coffee pot. They both knew that Nimona was over a thousand years old and there was probably very little she hadn’t seen, and even less she wasn’t aware of, but she was so good at acting like a teenager that it was quite easy to forget. She watched their awkward reactions and snickered, but her eyes widened as her attention zeroed in on something on or beside Ambrosius’ hand.

“So, who snapped first?” she asked pleasantly, a wide grin forming on her face.

“Me,” Ambrosius admitted without turning around. “Wait. Who snapped first? You knew he was planning—”

“You knew he was—” Ballister began too, and they both stopped and stared at each other.

Nimona just burst out laughing.

[princess-of-purple-prose]

Fish, 7 (For your prompts! ❤️)

Hi, anon!! Thank you for the prompt, you were the very first one to send one in! 7 was, again, the wildcard, so I randomly generated a different number to land on Yue Qingyuan (from Scum Villain)! I have no choice but to dedicate this to @bytedykes, because I told her about this prompt and she said “yqy pet fish mental health speedrun” and we went, uh, a little insane about it. Enjoy some yuefang, folks!!!!

“Mu-xiong,” Yue Qingyuan says. “I’m sorry to bother you. Are you available?”

“Yue-xiong is never a bother,” Mu Qingfang says warmly. “And I am, actually, yes. Is everything okay, Yue-xiong?”

“I think I need help.” A bit dramatic, perhaps, and Yue Qingyuan hates to trouble Mu Qingfang on a rare day off, but Yue Qingyuan and impulse have never been the best combination, and he would appreciate a second opinion.

Mu Qingfang’s voice turns hard. “Where are you? I'll come right away.”

“What—?” Yue Qingyuan stares at his phone like the blank call screen will tell him why Mu Qingfang suddenly sounds so serious. “I'm at home, but—”

“I'll be right there,” Mu Qingfang says, and hangs up.

Yue Qingyuan stares at his phone for another second, then lifts his gaze to his sparkling new aquarium. His new betta, white and black and resplendent of fin, stares back. Was his crisis of faith about his viability as a fish owner really so deserving of such urgency…?

—

“So,” Mu Qingfang says. “This was your emergency?” He looks about as unimpressed by the betta as it does by the two of them.

Yue Qingyuan feels obscurely like he’s being scolded. Mu Qingfang is one of the nicest men he knows, but that just means that his censure takes the form of a blunt instrument of mass disappointment.

“In my defense,” he points out meekly, “I didn’t say there was an emergency. Mu-xiong just assumed.”

“That’ll teach me,” Mu Qingfang huffs, but at least he looks amused. “Yue-xiong should get used to asking for help more so this gege doesn’t have to panic every time he does ask.”

Yue Qingyuan’s mouth almost drops open. He can only hope his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “Er—well, I asked this time, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Mu Qingfang allows, looking something horribly close to fond. Yue Qingyuan swallows and tries to hurry on.

“So—not an emergency, but I do want your opinion,” he coughs out. “I’m having… doubts. About the fish.” Mu Qingfang’s eyebrows contract. Yue Qingyuan rushes it out. “Do you think I should keep it?”

“Yue-xiong…” Mu Qingfang looks politely incredulous. “Why does my opinion matter? The fish is already yours, isn’t it? If you don’t think maintaining its upkeep will be feasible, that’s one thing, but… Surely Yue-xiong did the research before getting it?”

He doesn’t sound judgemental, but Yue Qingyuan feels his cheeks warm. “I did, but I wasn’t planning on getting a fish; I was only admiring the tanks. There was a salesperson who was… very insistent.”

Mu Qingfang regards him doubtfully, which is fair. Yue Qingyuan towers over most people he meets, and his bulk only further adds to the impression of immovability. It’s only when he opens his mouth that it becomes clear how spineless he actually is.

Yue Qingyuan falters. “I had thought… I thought it might be nice.” The bettas had seemed so majestic in their tanks, iridiscent monarchs of false grass and plastic coves, and Yue Qingyuan had thought, wildly, that one might be rewarding to keep, might breathe a touch of life into his immaculately sleek living room. The whole affair hadn’t even been expensive by his shiny new standards, forget difficult to physically arrange. It was only when installation and set-up for his new aquarium had finished and he was left to watch that jewel-bright being swim disaffectedly through its new home that doubt had seized him, all-consuming and black. He had, admittedly, panicked a little after that.

(Yue Qingyuan’s apartment is very large, and very clean, and very empty. It holds the barest amount of decoration and muss to qualify as lived-in rather than a snapshot from a magazine ad. The fish may, in fact, be the only thing in the entire place which really qualifies as his. No wonder Yue Qingyuan wanted to jettison it from his life as soon as he got it.)

Mu Qingfang’s expression hovers between concern and simple confusion. “I’m sure Yue-xiong will be a more than adequate caretaker,” he says, more gently than Yue Qingyuan and all his neuroses probably deserve. “What’s this really about, Yue-xiong?”

Ah. There it is. Being the mildest person of Yue Qingyuan’s admittedly sharp-tongued social circle doesn’t preclude Mu Qingfang’s wit from being as keen as the scalpels he works with.

“I don’t…” Yue Qingyuan falters. How to express to Mu Qingfang how manifestly unfit Yue Qingyuan is to care for any living creature at all? He changes tack. “I think he hates me,” he admits dolefully.

Mu Qingfang stares at him for a long time, long enough to imply that he’s reevaluating certain opinions about Yue Qingyuan’s intelligence. “Yue-xiong, with all due respect to your new pet—it’s a fish.”

“Fish have emotions!” Yue Qingyuan argues. He flushes at the volume at which it comes out, and at the way Mu Qingfang’s eyes go wide-eyed in startlement. But the salesperson had been very insistent about that, as well. “Bettas are intelligent animals. They dislike certain colors, apparently, and they’re very sensitive—ah, to environmental disruptions, that is. And—”

Mu Qingfang’s eyebrows are still high, but his face has relaxed into a smile. “It sounds to me like you like it quite a bit already. Isn’t that reason enough to keep it?” His tone curls with sudden mischief. “Have heart, Yue-xiong—you’ve hardly known each other for a day! Give it time to adjust to you, and I’m sure you’ll win it over as surely as you do everyone else.” And he grins, sure and easy in his trust that Yue Qingyuan won’t fumble and shatter something so small and monumental as a life that he could cup in his palms.

While Yue Qingyuan is still dazed by that, Mu Qingfang’s eyes alight with interest. “Ah, Yue-xiong—what have you named it?”

“...”

Mu Qingfang’s face falls as devastatingly as it had lit up. “Yue-xiong…”

“Mu-xiong is aware that I was unsure of whether or not I’d keep him!” Yue Qingyuan is terribly aware that his ears are now heating up to match his cheeks. Mu Qingfang’s ensuing laughter does not help with that matter.

Yue Qingyuan is not very good at holding onto things. More often than not, he makes a mess of whatever he’s set his clumsy hands to, lets it fall right through his scarred fingers. But Mu Qingfang’s words ring through his head: Isn’t that reason enough to keep it? And, well, isn’t it? Surely Yue Qingyuan is adult enough to follow through on this. Maybe happiness can be look like his new betta swimming up to the tank to observe the new colorful form moving in front of it, can come as easy as Mu Qingfang quipping that his knowledge about fish is clearly lacking and vowing casually to read up on bettas to be a better fish uncle.

Yue Qingyuan buries a smile and walks over to let Mu Qingfang know that bettas can be trained to follow fingers around. The betta’s clear preference for Mu Qingfang over Yue Qingyuan is as good a marker of intelligence as any fun fact the pet shop worker could have given him. Yes, Yue Qingyuan thinks with a smile—he thinks he’ll be keeping this after all.

[pigeonclaw]

I think the boys should snuggle

[crazy-fangirl2524]

Seeing people reacting to tsc and them getting shock over things I thought was obvious and I was getting annoyed until I realised maybe not everyone reread aftg like a million times and have read most of the analytical posts and yeah maybe I am the problem instead

[squishosaur]

hey man. i'm just saying. why would we put inexperienced teenagers with over-inflated egos and obvious emotional issues into combat classes and make them claw their way to the top of their dorms and expect things to just run smoothly. who actually thought this

[kuromi-hoemie]

feel like I've genuinely spent at least a quarter of my day too horny to think. i was going to do some kind of art today but I've been thinking about the boy...

[finnpeach]

Sand and Dust - Trigun Stampede

Yeah... I don't have any words for this one really. Vash has been living rent-free in my head and I need to get all my ideas out before I forget them, so please enjoy this hiding/allergy scene that definitely should've happened but unfortunately didn't. Set between episode 4 and episode 5. I love this little family and Vash duh <3 Comments and tags and feedback are always loved and appreciated as well ☺️

After their escape from the worm, the band of journalists and outlaws stop at an desecrated shanty town to search for fuel and supplies. It's small, with only a few buildings standing as proof that people ever lived here. The place looks like something out of a horror movie. 

Meryl is the only one who wants to keep going. Something about this place doesn't feel right to her. “The radar says there’s a populated outpost fifty miles from here. We shouldn’t stop here, it looks abandoned.” 

“I’d like to stretch my legs,” Roberto says, one of the first to hop out of the vehicle. Wolfwood and Vash follow shortly after. “And it looks like it’s three to one, newbie.“

“We won’t be here for long,” Vash reconciles gently, opening Meryl’s door for her. “It’ll be better to search here first, in case the next outpost isn’t welcoming.” 

Meryl grumbles something about wanting to go one day without getting shot at or eaten by something before she hops out of the car, following behind Roberto. 

“Vash and I will search the shops for supplies. Roberto, you and the kid find some fuel for the car,” Wolfwood says as he lights another cigarette, his cross weighted across his back. “Meet back here in forty five minutes.”

The two groups split up and head in opposite directions. Roberto and Meryl walk towards what looks like a service station while Wolfwood and Vash search a dilapidated store for bullets and supplies.

“This place looks like it’s been abandoned for years,” Wolfwood says as they saunter inside. Golden flecks of dust dance through the air, like shimmery diamonds. Just the sight makes Vash’s nose itch.

Wolfwood kicks over a box and rummages through the contents. “Wonder what happened.”

“There’s no plant here… but it doesn’t seem like there ever was one to begin with. Maybe  they just couldn’t keep supplying the town.” Vash looks around the store. The windows are shattered, the shelves toppled over in a heap. The place has been ransacked, either by bandits or something else.

He starts to investigate for any information or signs of life while Wolfwood kicks another box over. Vash's gaze lands on deep, long scratch marks on the floor that lead out the door. They’re about a meter long and are cut deep into the wood.

“Was someone dragged out of here…?” It doesn’t look like an animal made this. He looks closer at the walls. There’s smatterings of blood near the baseboards and pieces of the wallpaper have been ripped apart. More signs of struggle.

Suddenly, the earth begins to vibrate, deep and slow. Vash freezes as the walls begin to shake and the broken glass on the floor starts to chatter. Dust billows off the tops of the shelves in waves. 

Vash slides quickly over to the broken door and presses against the wall, peering outside. Something is here.

“Wolfwood,” he hisses, searching for him in the store. The undertaker appears silently beside him, like a ghost, and Vash nearly yelps in fright at the surprise.

“We’re being hunted.” Wolfwood’s breath is low and quiet. “Another worm, or something of the same size. See the sand over there?” He points to the enormous, sharp ridges rising like waves at the edge of the town. 

Vash gasps when he realises where it's crawling to. “It’s heading for Meryl and Roberto—“ He moves to lunge towards the door, but Wolfwood is quicker and shoves him roughly against the wall, his hand pressed tightly to Vash’s chest.

“Idiot! Do you want to get swallowed up again? If they hide and keep quiet, it won’t know they’re there. We just have to wait it out.” 

Vash heaves an irritated sigh but relents. Wolfwood is right. The worm might know they’re here, but as long as they stay put, it should pass on. He tries not to imagine the poor human who made those scratch marks on the floor, a helpless victim for the worm’s appetite. 

They wait, pressed against the wall as the sand starts to shift towards the store rather than the service station. Even though it's now headed for them, Vash feels hope blossom in his chest at the fact that the worm has changed course from Meryl and Roberto. He shuts his eyes and sniffles, eager to get out of this dusty store. 

The earth rumbles again, sending sheets of dust and sand off the shelves again. The aftermath hangs suspended in the air directly around Wolfwood and Vash, surrounding them like a fog.

Vash rubs at his nose. The itch that blossomed in his nose when they walked into the store has become more persistent, rooted. His eyes are starting to water and he can feel his throat becoming tight as the dust enters his sinuses. This is not a good time for his allergies to act up. He tries not to breathe, but that just makes the itch worse and makes his nose start to run. The rumbling gets deeper as the worm approaches. It feels like there’s a tingling, burning fire in his sinuses. He presses his head back against the wall, breath catching in his chest as the itch becomes too much to hold back.

“Hih… hh… hihhh…!” His eyes slip shut as he hitches, eyebrows pinching together in sneezy irritation. He’s going to—!

“H’NDKT!” Suddenly, there’s a warm hand pressed against his nose, pinching his nostrils shut and forcing him to stifle. He releases a shaky breath and opens his teary eyes to see Wolfwood staring daggers at him.

Don’t. You. Dare. He seems to say with his gaze. Wolfwood's hand is still clasped around Vash’s nose.

The worm rumbles past them, the vibrations growing lighter as it moves on. 

Now that the imminent danger is out of the way, Wolfwood releases Vash and grabs him by the collar of his jacket, pulling him up so that Vash is just dangling in the air by Wolfwood's fists. He chokes in surprise and grips his wrists.

“You dumbass! You’re going to get us killed!“ He hisses, pushing Vash back against the wall. 

“S-sorryhh… ihht’s the duhh.. duhhst…- heh! H’IGKT’uh! Hih’IGKTsh!

Wolfwood has dropped his grip on Vash’s collar to press his hand around the blonde’s nose again and catch the two sneezes. They both freeze as the rumbling of the earth comes to a sudden halt. They've been heard.

They’re chest to chest now, silent. The only sounds Vash can hear are their heartbeats pounding rhythmically in their chests, waiting for the inevitable.

In an instant, the worm races back in their direction again and the earthquakes resume in greater intensity.

Wolfgang presses him so tight against the wall that Vash can barely breathe. They need to stay silent. He can only drink in small sips of air around his hand, which is probably for the best because every breath just ignites the itch deeper in his sinuses. He rubs his nose against Wolfgang’s hand, desperate for relief. He’s so itchy. He has to… he’s going to—

“Vash—” Wolfgang stutters as he watches Vash’s features twist again. This is a battle that Vash is going to lose.

“H’ihTSSHHhiew!” Vash sneezes loudly against Wolfgang’s hand, unable to hold the sneeze back despite the support. Wolfgang curses under his breath as the spray coats his hand and pulls his hand back, readying his cross. The rumbling of the earth intensifies.

The itch has multiplied in his nose, flecks of dust and sand pressing themselves deeper into his sensitive nostrils. He sneezes again, and again, and again.

“H’TSCHhh! H’ITSCHh’tssh! Hh-ih… H’aHTSSCHhh’ue!”

“You absolute dipshit!” Wolfwood shouts and punches him in the chest. Vash grunts against the blow and leans against the wall. Any remaining glass on the window shatters as the worm screams beneath the sand.

Wolfwood grabs his machine gun cross and rips off the fabric, twisting the cross across his shoulders. He takes aim as the worm peaks above the sand with a roar. The building shakes and the ground starts to give way beneath them.

“Run!” Wolfwood kicks Vash in the ass out the door, sending him falling on his face and into the sand. He sneezes again but scrambles to his feet as the worm rams its enormous neck into the store.

Wolfwood fires off a round at the giant beast’s head, leaping towards solid ground before racing after Vash. His bullets make direct contact and penetrate the beast's hide. The worm roars and sinks back into the sand, bloodied and angry. The earth shakes again.

“If we survive, I’m going to kill you!” Wolfwood smacks the back of Vash’s head as they near the vehicle. Roberto and Meryl are already in the front seat, searching for them.

“Drive!” They both shout as they tumble into the backseat. Without missing a beat, Meryl shoots the car forward and they take off. 

Vash is in the middle of a sneezing fit as they drive away from the town, holding his head in his hands. "H'idTSHh! Heh... H'ipTSHhhiew! Hih-hih-hh..! H'ITSSHhhh'ue! Snfff..."

He takes a deep breath and slumps against the seat, exhausted, but not before one final, "Huh.. hahktschh..." It's no more than a release of air and is a testament to how tired he is. He snuffles again and scrunches up his nose as the itch subsides.

"Enough! Will you shut up already!" Wolfwood snaps, pressing his body tight against the car door. He looks like a sibling who wants to do nothing more than to get away from his younger, annoying brother. Anger rolls off of him in fiery, unrelenting waves.

In the rearview mirror, Meryl watches as the general store sinks into the sand and the worm rises above again, its cries splitting the sky. It decides not to follow them, luckily.

“Jeez. No wonder that town is abandoned,” she says, turning on the radio. “I told you guys we shouldn’t have stopped there. We could’ve been swallowed up again!”

“Blame needle-noggin over here,” Wolfwood mutters, pressing a cigarette to his lips. He casts a glare at Vash out of the corner of his eye, who is pawing at his irritated nose.

“I told you I’m.. I-hh.. h’ITSHHiew!” He sneezes again, the spray catching Wolfwood’s thigh. “Sndff! I told you I’mb sorry!” 

“I don’t care! And would it kill you to cover your mouth?!” Wolfwood punches Vash’s arm and turns to glare out the window, mumbling something about how disgusting Vash is and how he wishes he’d left him with the worm. Vash just smiles and rubs at his arm, chuckling sheepishly.

“Hey, boys, no fighting. Be nice,” Meryl chides, angling the rearview mirror to look at both of them. 

Vash gives her a shy smile and waves, his nose a bright rosey pink. Wolfwood glares at her reflection and flips her off before turning his attention out the window again. She laughs, and turns up the radio as they race across the dunes of sand.

[malikselfindulgence]

HII I TRIED 2 DRAW LI [@marblesrambles 's lmk s/i!!] AS A SONIC CHARACTER !! Top two obsessions mashed together I heart Li very much

[grey-has-rusted]

what they don't tell you about life is that it's hard. woe is me

[floorpancakes]

im having thoughts about gay people again

[void-tiger]

Trying to keep a lid on it but. Yeah. Literally don’t know what’s it like to NOT be platonically neglected IRL my whole damn life, only that I know this One Person doesn’t deserve to be at the epicenter of it anymore than I deserved to have been at the epicenter of theirs a year ago now.

…why am I like this. Why are we like this.

[cherrygarden]

,

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads

This Dark Descent

YA fantasy in a world of political unrest & war

a girl whose family ranch is overcome with debt, and her only option to save it is to win the dangerous magical horse race - but she’s not allowed to use an enchanted horse

and a girl who uses illegal magic without a license, and can make undetectable animal golems

both are brought together by a rich heir who has a plan to help them both - in exchange for helping him

Jewish folklore; demidemi & questioning MCs

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Sometimes I watch/read a piece of media, and even when I don't ship something I can see that these people are meant to mean a lot to each other or have some sort of profound relationship. It's a relationship that is never labeled as siblings, nor is it labeled as romantic

And I gotta say, you guys need to be able to reconcile the fact that not all relationships will be easily sorted into "siblings" or "lovers", or even "siblings" or "lovers" or "just friends"

Headcanons, fanon, things you personally like to read into for fun, all of those things are neat. But genuinely. It's fucking annoying reading meta of a relationship where the characters are canonically friends or teammates and are shown to mean something to each other, and people assume that these characters having a familial relationship or being basically lovers (the exception is if the essay post itself is dissecting their relationship for interpretive reasons. Like, for example, if you're making a case for why people would ship a thing or what would make someone read two characters as in love) is baseline canon that everyone should accept as true.

It is imperative for you to be able to dissect strong or meaningful relationships in media (if you fancy yourself being or becoming skilled with it) by looking at it for what it is and picking it apart instead of assuming that it must be canonically familial or canonically romantic when the media in question has only ever labeled these two people as either "friends" or "coworkers"/"partners"/"party members"

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 19 / 31 * PLAYING HOOKY 」

10:15

Hill Valley Courthouse

“Good morning, Citizen Wilson,” Edna says curtly, a dangerous look in her eyes as she exchanges the expected pleasantries. Today’s smile is sharper than usual; today she has fangs instead of teeth, Goldie notes quietly—something that kicks his self-preservation drive into high gear because nothing good happens when the viper bears her fangs—and adjusts accordingly, proverbially twisting himself out of reach of that venomous bite of hers.

Mama used to tell him he was too perceptive for his own good. That he had a smile that could charm even the Devil himself and a tongue coated in silver.

It sure served him well back in law school. It would’ve made him a damn fine lawyer. It makes him excellent at his job now and keeps him out of trouble, mostly.

He knows what has put her in a sour mood before the explanation even comes out, which it inevitably does with alarming speed and disgust well before he can return the greeting. “I have urgent business to discuss with my husband, but I see his office has been untouched all morning. Have you heard anything from him?”

Goldie gives her the same bright smile he always does, flashing perfectly white teeth. “Good morning, Citizen. Lovely morning, isn’t it?” Edna’s mouth twitches at the edges but she says nothing, favouring expectant silence as she awaits the answer to her inquiry.

His mama taught him right. Taught him the value of honesty and virtue. That lying should be avoided unless it was the lesser of whatever two evils were placed in his path and then when he used that silver tongue of his, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Right now, he knew exactly what he was doing, lying to the most dangerous person in Hill Valley. And he knew exactly what would happen if he got caught.

But knowing what would happen if he didn’t, well, that left only one conscionable choice of action open to him.

He didn’t know all the details. Emmett had refused to elaborate on that meeting with Citizen Martin McFly, even after the usual prodding that often got him to open up and share some of his woes knowing they would be held in the utmost confidence.

‘It’s too dangerous to get you involved. The less you know, the less Edna will be able to try and force out of you.’

‘You’re planning something, aren’t you?’ Emmett says nothing and Goldie sets down two cups of coffee, sweetened with an additional cube of sugar each from their secret stash to cut the bitterness of the last few days. ‘I’ve been around long enough to know that look in your eyes.’ When Emmett’s brows fly up, he continues, ‘that’s the look of a man having a crisis of conscience.’

For a moment, he thinks a weary sigh is the only answer he’ll receive. ‘Let’s just say he forced something out into the open that I’ve tried to not think about for the past decade or so.’

But he was able to intuit enough of it based on the scraps of knowledge he did have.

Whatever he’s up to, whatever the reason Citizen McFly had for racking up a Demerit count that should have sent him straight to the Citizen Plus ward and whatever the truth was behind that memo that suddenly appeared on his desk overnight, Goldie knows in his heart that his absence today has everything to do with the kid.

He only hopes it's worth it.

So, Goldie lies expertly and efficiently, thankful for his long-time familiarity with Edna and her methods and Emmett’s forethought and preparedness, inasmuch as could be fabricated in an official memo left with him without revealing the true nature of whatever it was that consumed him. Without that, navigating the live minefield littered with Edna’s follow-up questions and scrutinising glares would have been near impossible.