#the cropping is off but it’s fine this is fine

[mattsmiddlepartt]

Chanel

Warnings: pet names. (Babydoll, doll, kid, ect.) Frat boy. One annoying girl. Fluff at the end. Jealousy. I think that's all.

!frat boy chris × !innocent reader

The bass from the frat house speakers reverberated through the night as Chris pulled you closer by the waist. You weren't the usual type to hang around frat houses, but tonight you stood out in the best way. Your fitted white top and pastel pink skirt caught everyone’s attention—and Chris’s, most of all. You looked effortlessly gorgeous, your style a stark contrast to the chaos around them.

“You sure you’re good, babydoll?” Chris asked, leaning down so his voice reached your over the noise.

You gave him a soft smile, your eyes shining under the dim lights. “I’m fine, Chris. This isn’t as intimidating as you think.”

Chris smirked, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Alright, kid. Just stay close to me, yeah? Don’t want these clowns getting any ideas.”

You nodded, letting him guide you through the throng of people and into the main living room. Once inside, Chris found a seat on a worn-out leather couch and tugged you down onto his lap, his arm looping securely around your waist.

“You always this clingy?” you teased, adjusting her skirt as she settled into him.

“Only with you, doll,” he shot back with a grin.

She shook her head but leaned into him anyway, her arms loosely draped around his shoulders. Chris didn’t waste time, getting straight to business as people started approaching him. One by one, they handed him cash, and he discreetly passed off little baggies. You watched quietly, your fingers occasionally tracing patterns on his hoodie.

It wasn’t long before trouble walked up.

A blonde girl in a too-tight crop top and ripped jeans sauntered over, her heels clicking against the floor. “Chris!” she exclaimed, her voice loud and syrupy. “You’re a lifesaver. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Chris didn’t even flinch, pulling a baggie from his pocket. “What do you need?”

The blonde leaned in, completely ignoring you. “Oh, you know, the usual. And maybe your number while you’re at it?”

You stiffened in his lap, your fingers freezing mid-pattern. Chris immediately noticed, his jaw clenching as he handed over the baggie.

“Yeah, no,” he replied flatly, his tone leaving no room for debate.

The blonde pouted. “Oh, come on, Chris. Don’t be like that.”

“I’m good. Later.” Chris’s voice was sharper now, and the girl huffed before storming off.

As soon as she was gone, you shifted, sliding off his lap. “I’m gonna grab some air,” you muttered, not meeting his eyes.

Chris frowned, reaching for her wrist. “Babydoll, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, pulling away. “It’s fine.”

Chris let you go, but the rest of the party felt off. When they finally left, you were quiet, your gaze fixed out the car window. Chris could feel the tension radiating off you, and it was driving him crazy.

“Alright, kid,” he said as he pulled into a nearby lot and parked. “What’s going on? You’ve been weird since that girl came up.”

You turned to him, your expression unreadable. “She was all over you, Chris. And you didn’t exactly push her away right away.”

Chris blinked, then scoffed. “Are you serious? Babydoll, I wasn’t even looking at her like that.”

You crossed her arms. “It didn’t look like that from where I was sitting.”

Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, kid, I don’t care about her. I don’t care about anyone else. You’re it for me, alright? You’re my girl. Always.”

Your resolve wavered, and Chris seized the moment, leaning in to tilt your chin up so you had to look at him.

“You really think I’d trade you for someone like that?” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Not a chance, doll. You’re mine. End of story.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you finally let out a small laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

Chris grinned, pulling you into his chest. “And you’re a pain in the ass, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Back at his place, you curled up beside him on the couch, your head resting on his chest. Chris ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Still mad?” he asked quietly.

You shook her head, your voice muffled against him. “Not anymore.”

“Good,” Chris said, pulling her closer. “You’re stuck with me, babydoll.”

Taggies + inspos!: @bernardsbendystraws @muwapsturniolo @chasekeithh @stvrnioloslvt @sturnioloszn @sweetshuga @mattserenity @mattsbrowser @mattspleasure

* edited a bit!

[olderthannetfic]

Knitting question!

Intellectually I know failure is fine. I'm a beginner! I'm learning! Mistakes are part of the process! But I find it really hard not to be demotivated by projects not turning out how I want

I spent all this time and materials on this and it's just kinda shit?

Did you experience that/have any advice?

--

I definitely experienced that when I first tried knitting. I don't remember, but I suspect it's why I drifted away from the craft for nearly two decades.

I have a couple of semi-failures from my current re-entry into knitting. I intend to frog or partially frog them and re-knit, but there are other projects I care more about that are taking priority so far.

Right now, I love watching youtube videos with little tricks to improve one's knitting or deep dives into technical matters. I find information on fiber fascinating. I think that has helped me avoid many of the problems I experienced the first time around. Even if I run into an issue now, I can probably redo the project to make it how I want.

I think the first thing to figure out is how it's kind of shit. Yes, yes, you're a n00b, but there are lots of reasons projects turn out shitty. Some issues require a lot of practice. Many issues require reading a blog post explaining some technical thing and instantly upgrading your knowledge.

--

For example:

When I first got back into knitting, I got some pretty green yarn and made a Medieval-looking hood. I had no clue how alpaca behaved or that it would be waaaay too flowy for the look the pattern was supposed to have. I was also knitting the pattern with the wrong size of yarn, needle, etc. It turned out way too big for me and a formless blob. It was also itchy.

A year or two later, I threw it in the dryer, and now it's an epic rainy day hood. It's mostly not itchy because the felting stuck down all those hairy ends. It has a lot more body now because it's felt instead of flowy hand-knit alpaca. (And, hey, it's even more Medieval since those hoods were often felt but not often knitted as far as I could tell.)

What went wrong here was mostly that I knew fuckall about fiber. I knew I was making it in some randomass size and didn't really care that it was too big, but I didn't know it would slither off of me due to alpaca's drape. I didn't need practice: I needed someone to tell me how alpaca behaves.

--

Example 2:

I knit that Owls sweater and didn't like how it had no shaping... so I winged it. I ended up with really bizarre shaping because 1. I had no idea what I was doing and 2. I didn't close the underarm holes until the very end, so the sweater appeared to fit when I tried it on.

I could open the underarms back up and knit a separate piece for them, but I realized that I dislike the fabric overall. I knit it on a too-big needle (in my opinion). I thought I liked that looseness in my swatch, but I have changed my mind. I was also worried about running out of yarn (since it's a used yarn that I won't find again), but I had tons left over. I also think I want it more cropped. The yarn has a sort of nasty texture but beautiful color, and I knit quite a tight (and thus scratchy) sweater. I don't think I wet blocked it though, so that might fix the texture.

What I should actually do here, assuming I don't just get rid of the thing in favor of better yarn, is frog it and reknit from the top down, reversing the pattern and not having a phase with the underarms open like that. I should also knit it at a tighter gauge but with a little more positive ease, and I should trust that the stretchiness of wool will make it conform to my body just fine without a lot of shaping. Before any of that, I should wet block it and see how the texture changes.

I don't really consider this a permanent failure. I like the Owls themselves. I can easily just knit this again and get a sweater I want to wear... possibly a cardigan, now that I think about it. The yarn is a relatively robust wool that will be fine being frogged and reused, and knitting it gave me more experience with finishing a whole sweater. My various fuckups taught me things about both knitting and my personal taste.

I guess it could be demotivating because it took a while, but on that bigass needle, it really didn't take that long. I would probably always have knit multiple sweaters from this pattern. I see more than one in my future anyway.

Experience was an issue here, but it wasn't experience with the literal act of knitting. My tension was fine. It was more that I fucked around and found out.

--

Example 3:

I made a self-drafted BTS sweater out of another batch of used yarn that I'll never get more of. I love the body. the sleeves are too tight in the upper arm, and my bizarre-ass design for the top of the body means that the sweater wants to be a boat neck but also fit differently in the sleeves and... gaaaaah. The tight sleeves don't feel bad, but what they do do is make the whole sleeve slide down my arm weirdly because of the fit issues around the boat neck.

Part of why the upper arm area is so tight is that I was worried I'd run out of yarn (which I did) and I wanted a balloon sleeve rather than a straight one. The yarn is so stiff that the balloon part is weird, and the two other purple yarns I added for the lower sleeve look weird. I should have reversed their order because one matches too well, and now it just looks like I ran out and had to add a last inch in a random other yarn. I have most of those two skeins left hanging around and a sweater that fits strangely.

Also... it needs hand washing but is shaped and sized to be worn against bare skin, so it gets stinky after a few hours of wear because I am a sweaty, sweaty person.

In this case, I wouldn't redo the body: this silk blend will look less nice after frogging, and I already roughed it up a lot knitting the damn thing the first time. I knit it starting at the top, so the weird fit across the shoulders is mostly here to stay.

However, I'm pretty sure the bad fit on the sleeves can be fixed by ripping back and adding a bunch of width up top. I can also start with the flowier other two yarns and maybe have bands of this stiffer one that I used in the body. I suspect the weird body fit is fixable by changing what the sleeves are supposed to be doing.

This is another case of fucking around and finding out, so I'm not too disappointed in it. I did wear it to Yoongi's concert too, and it was gorgeous, if too hot.

I do realize now that I hate boat necks, but I think I can put up with this one if the sleeves aren't constantly sliding out of place.

And if fixing the sleeves doesn't rescue this, I might attempt some surgery one of these days, but that's more of a pain in the ass, so that will definitely have to wait.

--

Now, my guess is that your "kind of shit" is not "I freehanded a sweater two seconds after getting back into knitting because I'm a crazy person, and I messed up the shaping".

The more common problems are things like:

Not realizing that you should block or not blocking aggressively enough, so your stitches look way more uneven than they need to, the shape is weird compared to the example pics in the pattern, etc.

Using assy bind-offs so the edge looks amateur instead of polished. (You can go back and fix this.)

Failing to swatch, and now you've knit the wrong size.

Picking a fiber that just cannot do what you want it to—usually seen in people trying to avoid wool and not getting that 99.999999% of trendy patterns are written specifically for wool. I have an ancient sweater from college that looks nothing like the example in the book because all I could afford was big box store acrylic. Never again the plastic horror!

Buying patterns from a size 0 lifestyle blogger aspirational knitwear designer with no boobs and a great photographer, then feeling dumpy when trying the thing on under crappy lighting. This one usually requires a little more self confidence and some bust darts.

Making things in plain stockinette in a light color and smooth yarn like cotton that shows EVERY SINGLE TIME your tension wasn't machinelike. This is unfixable. Don't do this.

--

If you're using mohair or alpaca, frogging may be more trouble than it's worth, but you often can reuse the materials. Granted, you've still sunk that time in, but the materials don't always have to be wasted. That might help it feel more like time you spent practicing and less like a complete disaster.

I'm a very product-focused knitter, so I don't really have practice pieces. I'm knitting to have a Thing and I want to wear that Thing, so I get the disappointment if you don't end up wanting to actually use what you've made.

But that also helps me not get totally demotivated. I still want that Thing and now I have a clearer idea how to make it.

So... what are these "kinda shit" projects anyway? What about them do you not like?

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 37 - Um???

So. That happened? UM??!?

On AO3.

Jesus fucking christ fucking lord holy fuck oh god oh god. You lost your whole mind.

You’d felt so small and weak. Had scrubbed at your skin with your nails in that ice-fuck stream until your nails started to hurt.

Then remembered the mushrooms growing outta Astarion’s arm and what if them spores just drift along in the air down here?

You got practice crying silently. All y’all farmstead kids learned it quick. You never grew outta it. Not camped out on Sasha’s couch, not in the group home she helped you find, not even when her organization helped you find a closet of a studio apartment with two garbage bags full of dollar store supplies they all pitched in to help you with. The walls in that place had been so thin, and drawing attention is always, always bad. Nothing chums the water better than audible crying.

But Astarion got fucking elf vampire ears. And he heard you anyway. Brought over a too-tight shirt that rolled up your belly to make a fucked up crop top straining at the seams. And then he gave you armor.

He’d been right there. Hadn’t made fun of you, or even acknowledged it (thank fuck). Just quietly helped you lace up (and you ain’t gonna think about how stupid you look in this, still bursting out along the edges).

On the inside, you was stripped down to nothing. Felt like somebody split you open and scooped out your insides with a rusty fucking spoon. And you remembered him leaning in, and he’s been after you for weeks and weeks and you just…you wanted to feel something that wasn’t small and pitiful.

It ain’t nothing like your first kiss. With him. All caught up in your own head back then, full of panic and shame and trying to analyze everything and figure out what you was supposed to be doing.

This…is nice. His skin is warmer than the cave air. Probably because his breath smells metallic. You don’t let yourself think too hard about that. He’s right there. Fills all your senses. Scent of blood, yeah, and that weird basement smell. But also that perfume or hair oil, and that bright, kinda spiciness you inhale deep into your lungs (maybe if you can suck down enough of that, the molecules can replace the sad, whimpering molecules you’re naturally made out of).

Then you ain’t getting enough air. Everything goes haywire. Your lips seem to buzz and your whole face goes sensitive, almost ticklish.

When his fingertips brush your cheek, a bone-deep shudder runs from the top of your head all the way down to your pinkie toes. Takes a major detour along the way to slam between your legs.

Jesus fuck. No wonder people get stupid about this. It’s like…like…crack cocaine, is what it is. You want to grab him and haul him to you. Run your hands over his face and bury your fingers in his hair (jesus, it looks soft). Want to mash your face to his and breathe him all the way in and you ain’t even tongue kissing this time.

He came back. He ran a goddamn birdshark into that camp from god knows where and he saved your ass and gave you armor. Now he’s kissing you and you can’t fucking breathe.

Then he pulls you closer and your thoughts turn to mashed fucking potatoes. All of the shit, the hurt, the humiliation; all of it gets buried under the onslaught of dopamine and good god almighty, his lips is soft and you could try tongue. That would be fine, and then he does that and you’re actually throbbing in your nethers and does that make you easy, oh who the fuck cares—

He breaks off. You stand there, blinking stupidly at him.

“Sorry,” you say reflexively. For touching him? For breathing on him? For daring to insert your presence into his awareness? You don’t even know.

He only smiles, all soft, and his fingers brush your hair and your skin almost bursts into flames. “No sorry.”

He stays like that for a long moment, fingers of his other hand still knotted through the lacing of your armor. It’s long enough you lean back to get a better look at his face.

He releases you. Blinks. Looks to the lizard and says something ending with “Move this way, darling.”

Because them drow ain’t gonna let you off after stealing their stupid crystal coordinates and their reptilian pony. Astarion helps this thought by nudging your mind: the burst of green light that hit you. Hadn’t hurt, and you thought it was a magic misfire. But he saw the X shimmer above you. It’s a tracking spell.

He helps you climb back up. There’s a bit more room now that he ditched his man-sized capri-sun. You ain’t sure what to think of that, so you bury it for now. Y’all gotta go.

He seats himself right behind you, this time. You do your best to shove down the instinctive flinch (y’all just had your lips on each other and you can still fucking taste the man).

Then you take up the reins, give the lizard a heal nudge (they’re trained like horses, interesting) and off y’all go.

Two steps in, and Astarion’s hand taps the front of your armor.

May I, he wonders.

Oh. Right.

That’s like, protocol for riding double (without a man getting drained to death between you). People ride like that on motorcycles.

“Ye-aw,” you say. It comes out more accented than you intend.

Your face could still light a match, you reckon. Kinda glad he’s behind you, so he can’t see that. Then his arm snakes around your waist, just enough to secure himself, and your ears go hot.

Jesus fucking lord, you are so screwed.

***

You come to at the thin, warbling wail in the distance. Almost launch yourself right outta the saddle. But the arm around your waist tightens and holds you down. Astarion eases up the second you take a deep breath.

“Far, far over there,” he says, by way of drawing out the “over” part of the verb that makes up that phrase. Over the group chat (now a private chat, because you can feel the others in the distance but don’t want that kind of audience now) he adds that drow outpace a walking lizard when they run, but the lizard vastly outpaces drow when it runs. Y’all put some good distance between y’all at that initial retreat.

Then he moves, and you realize he had both arms around you, and you was full on slouched against him. Dozing mouth open, judging from how dry your tongue is.

Good lord.

Your bladder gives you a good out. He hops off and helps you slide down (the last time you rode a horse was as a kid, until the Pastor received word from the lord that it diminished the feminine delicacy girls were born to exemplify).

The insides of your thighs is sore. Gonna start chafing, especially in a fucking skirt. You’d like to waddle far enough away Astarion can’t hear you relieve yourself, but that horn still warbles in the distance, and that stupid man can hear a pulse at a hundred feet.

You make it quick. Don’t got no rags to wipe yourself down, and you’re gonna burn this fucking skirt the second you find some goddamn pants.

Then you have to walk back to Astarion, the both of you knowing all of that, and climb back up and pretend everything is peachy keen.

He still loops both arms around you. Keeps his grip loose enough even as you nudge the lizard into a bizarre, alligator shuffle.

Are…are you a couple now? You don’t know the protocol on this between humans from your own culture, let alone Middle fucking Narnia with vampire elves. Maybe his folk don’t got a concept of, like, going steady. Or maybe Astarion (and his dozens of lovers) just aren’t into all that.

What if this was a mistake? You read it all wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time (though usually you’re in the other seat). It was adrenaline and nerves and the come down from, like, trauma. That makes people do weird shit. Like kiss a man. Like kiss a murder hobo of a goblin man who knew you all of a week before he tried to have sex with you.

He’s just…what did he call it? Having fun. Can’t mean much to him.

Right?

You’d be an idiot to think a kiss meant anything. Children do that to each other, even on the farmstead.

Shit, you don’t even know what it could mean. What you’d want out of it. If you’d want out of it.

(He came back for you.)

Y’all depend on each other down here. It’s group survival.

(He said he would leave you, but he came back with a birdshark and got you out.)

Survival bonding. Hardwired instinct to form a group when scared. That’s what let humans survive all kinds of disasters.

(He singled out that drow who hurt you without you saying a damn thing. And he killed Charbroil all slow, too.)

That’s sociopath behavior. Cat behavior, actually, which is about the same thing (and you like cats). The man is interested in not dying again, and getting some tail—

“Darling,” he says. Holy god his voice is right in your ear.

You really hope he doesn’t notice the quiver that shoots down your spine. But he probably did, because 1. That is precisely your luck and 2. He’s right against your back.

How is he having that effect on you?

(You’ve been feeling it the whole time, huh.)

No, you have not. You would have noticed.

(Been building like water trickling out under a dam. A drip, drip, drip eroding soil, excavating a cavern, hollowing the earth.)

No. He’s funny and fucked up and interesting, but you meet plenty of people, especially recently, that meet that criteria.

(Weakening the ground until it finally gives and the whole thing collapses in on itself and swallows a house whole. That’s you, babygirl.)

“Fuck off,” you say.

And finally notice the bottle Astarion wiggles at you, next to your head. It’s almost the same color as a healing potion, but in a slightly larger container and with a deeper hue.

“Sorry, what?” you say.

“Drink this,” Astarion says.

Y’all should save it—

“Darling. Drink.” He ain’t gonna hear talk about saving just now. You’re still recovering, and you both need to get to safety.

The bones of your hands still ache. The beds of your nails tingle in a way that makes you think of tissue decay and nail beds blackening and falling off.

You sigh and slam it back. Let Astarion take the bottle from you (and shout when he tosses it over his shoulder). But you ain’t gonna turn around to get it. And it does soothe the tingling. Brings warmth back to the pads of your fingers.

So you sigh and settle in. Nudge the lizard into a run. This time, Astarion clings to you. Tucks his face against the back of your neck and his breath fans over you (goosebumps sweep up your arms and down your chest) and you try to tell yourself it’s just to make y’all more aerodynamic.

[aspaceformbf]

🥕

1. Magus would help me or accept/accommodate whatever cycle of negative behaviour i'm going through.

As for others, he's more than willing to ignore or cut them off if they're affecting us.

Personally I don't strongly believe that, but I don't think i would spend much effort trying to change a person.

2. Yes. He is fine with adopting. He is fine not having any kids too. As long as we are together.

3. Magus thinks he's too tall as it is. I don't know what his growth pattern was like.

5. I think he has some crops in his backyard.

---

🍅

1. He does somewhat take care of his health diet-wise, but he does really like sugar and can eat a lot of it if he is in the mood

3. He doesn't care what people think about him if they're not me. On the outside I think he does look scrawny and sickly, what with the eyebags.

Tumblr YB wishes he had more weight and muscle, but i like how he looks so maybe Magus is a little less self conscious in that regard.

4. Tumblr YB takes great care of his teeth and has dollar store cologne.

Magus has lots of clothes, cosplays and a bunch of wigs and prob does some makeup sometimes too. He wants to look good for me and thinks about catching my attention.

5. Magus lives alone so he doesn't really have to think about sharing with others. He would like to try to Cook for me if we were together, hoping to see a look of enjoyment on my face.

---

🥒

2. (Remembers the cuts on YBs body) It would be nice if he would cut himself less.. or avoid violence more..

He would definitely disregard his wellbeing for my sake. He is pretty impulsive sometimes. I think he would jump off a cliff and pull out his own teeth for a kiss on the cheek.

Vegetable Symbolism OC Questions!

A little list of OC questions based on the symbolism of Vegetables in the interpretation of dreams. This is not intended to be an exhaustive list of all cultural or symbolic meanings, but rather just a small selection for entertainment, rather than educational, purposes. It may, however, encourage you to make a salad.

Carrot: Growth, Fertility, and New Beginnings.

Does your OC believe that someone needs to hit rock bottom - or at least suffer the full consequences of their poor choices - before they can be helped to make positive changes? Or would they spare no effort in trying to help a friend or family member they percieved as trapped in a cycle of negative behaviour?

Does your OC wish to have children of their own? Would they ever consider adoption? Or is it important to them that they have a birth child to carry on their lineage? If they do not want children then how do they respond to being asked about it?

At what age did your OC stop growing? Did they go through puberty notably earlier or later than their peers? Would they have quite liked to have grown a little more?

Are there any festivals or cultural traditions related to fertility in which your OC participates? If they have chosen not to continue these traditions then what was the reason? How do they feel about any fertility rites or practices they have encountered in other cultures?

Has your OC ever been involved in farming or agriculture? Or have they tilled the earth in a more modest setting? What is their view of food production in society? Is it something they understand and value? Or do they make little connection between the food they eat and the labour required to produce it?

Tomato: Nourishment, Vitality, and Love.

Does your OC seek out calorie-dense or highly nutritious foods to enhance their physical performance and survivability? Or is the taste or presentation of food as important (or more important) than its health-giving properties?

Does your OC find it easy to believe that they are loved? Or are they suspicious of ulterior motives? Perhaps they fear that once someone truly gets to know them then they will be repulsed or horrified? Or maybe they find it hard to imagine how anyone could not love them...

Is your OC generally seen by others as being healthy and fit? Or are they often sick or beset by mysterious aches and pains? Do they rather enjoy the attention that comes with being unwell? Or is it important to them that they are seen as strong and healthy?

Does your OC take care of their appearance? Do they apply beauty treatments or take potions or supplements to enhance their looks? Do they do this to appear alluring to others? Or purely for their own satisfaction? Are they entirely honest with themselves about this?

Does your OC enjoy preparing and cooking food for others? Is feeding other people a way they show love and nurture others? Or is making food something they avoid? Perhaps they tend to ensure they get the lion's share of any food they make, and grudgingly leave only the gristle and scraps for others?

Cucumber: Healing, Rejuvenation, and Self-Care.

Does your OC have any gift for healing? Was this always something they felt drawn towards? Or something that they adopted later in life? If they have no abilities in healing or medicine then is this something they regret? Or do they see healing as the province of weaklings and those who lack the gumption for combat?

Does your OC give much thought to looking after their own health? Are they careless with their own well-being? Do those around them encourage them to take better care of themselves? Or are they actually in need of others to push them into taking a few more risks - be they physical or emotional?

What makes your OC feel rejuvenated after a particulary difficult or exhausting time? A hot bath? A cold drink? A bout of particularly vigorous lovemaking? Or just a nice long sleep?

Does your OC take enough rest generally? Or do they push themselves hard despite being in need of time to recuperate? Do others notice this? Does anyone pass comment?

Does your OC feel energised by spending time with others? Do they struggle when alone for extended periods? Or do they find themselves depleted by too much social interaction and often find themselves in need of some time by themselves?

Onion: Hidden Truths, Repressed Emotions, and Deep Secrets.

What has been the greatest revelation that your OC has experienced? To what degree did this new knowledge upend their previous understanding of the world and their place within it?

Has your OC any secrets which they keep from others? Are these kept only from those outside their inner circle? Or are there some secrets to which none but they are privy?

Does your OC have some feelings that they push down deep within themselves? Perhaps feelings of resentment? Or pangs of grief? Or burning sexual desires? Or do their emotions constantly come bubbling to the surface regardless of any efforts they might make to suppress them?

Is your OC talented at extracting secrets from others? Do they do so through charm and persuasion? Or through intimidation and force? Do what end do they seek this hidden knowledge? Purely for personal gain? To better understand the world? Or out of sheer nosiness?

What is something that your OC generally keeps from others - even those to whom they are close? Is this due to shame? Embarrassment? Fear of rejection? Or something nastier and darker by far?

Lettuce: Emotional Balance and Inner Peace.

Is your OC generally even-tempered? Or are they quick to anger or easily brought to tears? Do others feel they need to "walk on eggshells" around them for fear they might fly into a great rage or collapse into a blubbering heap? If so, then are they themselves aware of this?

Does your OC evince a great calm and focus during times of crisis or disaster? Can they keep their head amidst the clamour and chaos of an emergency situation? Or are they easily thrown into a panicked state?

Has your OC ever got into a fit of laughter from which they struggled to recover? What was it that they found so funny? Is it a memory on which they look back fondly?

Does your OC ever deliberately wind themselves up by focussing on bad memories or bitter resentments? Do they do so in order to harness their anger that they might overcome a challenge? Or perhaps to aid them in combat? Or would such things only serve as a distraction from their work?

Does your OC practice any meditation techniques or cultural rituals designed to centre them and bring them calm? If so then where did they learn these approaches? If they do not practice such things then would they benefit from doing so?

[wormontwostrings]

the let’s make phos suffer club

[andy-clutterbuck]

requested by Anons

[piningpercussionist]

Did this sketch the other day; pls take my humble offering,,,

(Minor) alt versions and a meme under the cut-

You can thank Volt for that one btw.

If I were to post it separately the caption would probably be something like "Stealing my (in denial) lesbian roommate's boyfriend!! (It's for her own good)" or something idk sgfjsjdhf

[the-bi-space-ace]

Trying to write and all that is on my mind is:

Echo in a crop top Echo in a crop top Echo in a crop top Echo in a crop top Echo in a crop top Echo in a crop top Echo in a crop top ECHO IN A CROP TOP

[leverage-ot3]

[hella1975]

so there's a reason my new job got back to me so quickly about my application and that's bc it's an absolute fucking shambles like actually perfect timing for me to decide to rewatch the bear bc i have never more felt like ive been thrown into a broke on-its-knees establishment trying to crawl its way up the ladder where i am somehow a godsend to them. my old job was crazy and shambolic in the sense that the industry is just Like That but this one?????? insanity. every 5 mins i am questioning what im doing with my life. ive already had a walk-in fridge moment

[samjosesharks]

[funger-rips]

Fear and Hunger - Cahara Walking Sprites + naked version

[jadetheblade4]

What do I call these emotions? Are they wanted or unwanted?

[dreamertrilogys]

didn’t take any fit pics but lowk i’m slaying…baggy ass black jeans + cult classic charli xcx tshirt that i cropped + black sunglasses + star carabiner

[rainbowcaleb]

A little pen sketch of Caleb 🧡

[syrcus]

lazy arcadion glam gpose 👍