#this cannot be good for my health

[been-taking-muay-thai-classes]

A Day for Silly Love Songs

I have no idea what posessed me to write this at 2AM, I blame the Wings and youtube for recommending me love songs. Anyways enjoy this valentine's day Jamil x gn!reader I made in a rush. As always, if you notice any mistakes no you didn't

The Prefect always thought Valentine’s Day was just a commercial thing back home, a holiday made to sell specials, food and perfumes at a “discounted” price. They were more of the idea that love, be it for friends or family or lovers, should be expressed all year instead of just this one particular day.

Still they couldn’t help but miss the gaudy decorations of red, pink and white that often took over the world during this time of year, the silly love songs that people loved to dedicate each other and the loving messages friends left in the chats.

The Prefect also knew Valentine’s Day wasn’t a thing in Twisted Wonderland. It became obvious when February came and no heart-shaped decorations nor red, pink and white ornaments filled the campus nor the internet pages Cater and Idia were so keen on showing them.

No trends related to love or friendship, no complaining about loneliness or happy couples, nothing to show liking or disliking this particular date.

So, naturally, they didn’t take it personally when the freshmen received their gifts on the 14th wondering why the sudden affection. The Prefect didn’t explain, simply giving a 'I just felt like giving you all a little something for being such good friends'. After all, the whole history behind Valentine’s was complex and frankly quite separated from how it was celebrated in modern times and they didn't have the time nor the energy to explain why such a holiday was of any importance. All they cared about was giving their friends a little token of their appreciation.

Some of the upperclassmen also were confused. Ruggie and the Octavinelle trio in particular seemed intrigued but cautious about needing to return the favor. But they all smiled upon learning the gifts were just that, gifts. Ruggie in particular was very happy about receiving free food, no matter how small the bag of cookies was.

Malleus meanwhile was ecstatic to get a present from his friend. The wooden charm, painted a beautiful purple, was elegant in its simplicity and the fae was more than glad to attach the little charm on his magical pen. 

So on and so forth, the Prefect gave everybody a little trinket to show them their love. Even the more reclusive Idia got a little something.

However, there was one person who was yet to receive anything from the Prefect. And he had surely noticed by now.

Jamil Viper was stretching along with the rest of the basketball club, preparing for the training ahead, but he was having a hard time focusing with Ace and Floyd talking nearby.

‘Heee so Shrimpy gave you candy too? No fair! I thought my gift was special!’ 

‘Hey don’t look at me like that! You’re seriously freaking me out-’ Ace was interrupted by Floyd suddenly standing up and approaching him with a menacing aura, to which he responded with darting out of his reach and into the court. Floyd chased him, laughing all the way, and soon the rest of the club was shouting at them both to encourage the race, hoping to either see Ace outrun Floyd or be caught by him. 

Jamil was honestly done. He could feel a headache forming from the stress as well as he could feel the frustration of hearing around campus how everybody was getting a gift from the Prefect. That’s it, everybody but him.

Was it something he said? He knows he’s been busy lately what with helping the Scarabia students get back to studying and settling back in the dorm after the holidays, and also the whole ‘Crewel wants to make sure you all have the basics down pat, so we’ll be having weekly tests until March’ but he didn’t think he’d been neglecting you so much. He still went over to the cafeteria on a semi-regular basis to give you the “leftovers” -food he totally cooked specifically for you to enjoy- he had. He still made some time on his schedule to teach you and Grim a little bit of History or Alchemy or Ancient Curses because he knew how much you struggled with it. Merciful Sands, he even made his best effort to walk a certain route, different from his original one, to and from class everyday just so he could make sure to say hi to you every day.

As Floyd, Ace and some of the other guys started playing something completely unrelated to basketball, Jamil decided he had better things to do than stay here and do nothing. So he promptly grabbed his things and left without a word.

He walked fast and tense, with a determination and purpose that made most students move out of the way immediately. He reached the Scarabia kitchen in record time, and put on his apron to begin gathering ingredients.

Oh so you want to give people food? But not him? The rational part of his brain told him the Prefect had either forgotten or given his gift to Kalim to pass it later, but the emotional side wanted to remind the Prefect of their bond. He was the guy they kept messaging in the middle of the night with the pretext of not being able to sleep. He was the guy they kept calling first thing in the morning to make sure he’d slept well and have a nice breakfast before class. He was the guy who returned all that affection tenfold with little details that he both hope you would and wouldn’t notice because he loves you but he has so much trouble admitting his feelings.

So now, he’s preparing you a dessert. He knows it's your favorite, and while he would have liked to make this with more time over the weekend, make it really tasty and beautiful and surprise you with it on Ramshackle, maybe even have a date while you shared the food right now he needed to remind you just how much better he was than the rest of the students at this school, and how well he understood you. 

Kalim was just getting back from his own club activities when Jamil was preparing to leave. ‘Ohhh what’s that? It smells soooo good!’ The shine on his eyes denoted how eager he was to try the dessert, but Jamil had no time to lose, he was on a mission ‘I have to hand this to someone, but there’s some leftovers from lunch if you get hungry’ and just like that he was gone. Kalim didn’t even have time to ask who it was for or where exactly the leftovers were.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Prefect sat in the Ramshackle living room, staring at the one gift they had been unable to give. Grim had fallen asleep from a food-induced coma, so he couldn’t bear witness to the defeat and shame on the Prefect’s face.

‘Ugh why can’t I do something so simple? It’s just a box of chocolates, why do I have to make such a huge deal out of it? I already gave everyone else things, and nobody thought anything weird’ sighing, the Prefect dropped their weight back onto the couch and laid there for a few seconds, thinking.

The heart shaped box, which they had to make by hand as Twisted Wonderland didn’t have such decorations, looked surprisingly good despite being carried dragged around campus all day. In fact, the Prefect was pretty certain that if they looked inside, the assorted chocolates of the various flavors they could remember from back home would also be intact. So why was the box still here instead of with its intended owner? 

As much as the Prefect hated to admit it, it was because they knew this gift was different from the others. All of the others were just little trinkets, with much love and some money put into them but barely the same time, effort and dedication that this one had required. And all because the Prefect had somewhat hoped to find Jamil alone at some point and confess their feelings with this gift. But as they walked around campus, the nerves and fear of rejection got the better of them.

After all, Jamil often joked about how troublesome the students here were, or how he was always worrying about his juniors and doing things to help them out (even if it they hadn’t asked for help), or how stressed he was lately with all the tutoring lessons or helping students recover their usual sleep schedules. The Prefect could tell it was all getting to him,  to the point his replies to their usual texting and calling had shortened to a few one or two-word answers. 

No, right now wasn’t the right time to confess. Jamil had enough on his plate, the last thing he needed was to consider someone else’s feelings and stress about rejecting or dating someone. And the Prefect certainly didn’t want to think too hard about the possibility of rejection and what that would mean for their friendship. 

‘Welp, guess I better get rid of this. Not like I’m gonna use it anymore’ as they stood up and gave themselves a single, determined clap, the doorbell rang.

‘Hm? Who could it be at this hour?’ looking around the room, the only things here were theirs and Grim’s ‘Odd, I don’t think the guys forgot anything’

The Prefect approached the door, thinking that perhaps Malleus had dropped by to go sightsee some gargoyles. Instead, as they opened the door, they were greeted by the man of the hour. Jamil Viper, whose panting, flushed cheeks and slightly disheveled appearance, revealed he may have been running here.

‘Jamil? What’s going on?’ The Prefect made to grab him by the shoulder but he stopped them with a raised finger. He took a few deep breaths, and when he was confident in his ability to speak, replied ‘I don’t know what I did to be ignored out of everybody today, but I brought you something to hopefully fix it’ 

Just then, as Jamil raised teh bagged food, did they realize he was carrying something. Their eyes widened and their cheeks flushed, but nevertheless they let him in.

‘Um, I don’t know what to say Jamil… um sorry, I promise I didn’t mean to ignore you all day’ Jamil walked in and quietly left the food on the table, careful not to wake Grim. He turned to eye the Prefect, not fully believing their words but too infatuated not to. 

‘So then how come everybody got gifts today except for me?’ at his accusatory words, the Prefect flushed even harder, the tip of their ears growing hot with embarrassment. Instead of answering with words, they simply grabbed the heart-shaped box and gave it to him, hoping this would suffice as an answer instead of having to admit so soon to their feelings.

Jamil eyed the box curiously, growing flushed himself upon noticing the…peculiar shape of it. He carefully opened it to see the assortment of colorful and well-crafted chocolates inside, as well as a handwritten list of flavors corresponding to each shape and color on the back of the lid. 

‘Uhhh’ all of a sudden, Jamil didn’t know what to say. The speech he had rehearsed on his way over, to try and make the Prefect see how he felt and possibly choose him as a boyfriend, was completely gone from his mind. ‘is this what Floyd was raving about?’ 

‘No, I- I made these myself, the others gifts were bought’ their voice was wavering between being strong and weak, as if they had to overpower the need to protect their heart with the love they felt for him.

Jamil took the box and began reading some of the flavors with curiosity, and seeing his rising eyebrows, the Prefect added ‘these are from back home, at least the few flavors and shapes I could remember better’ Immediately Jamil smiled, soft and fond. Oh, a piece of your world? Just for him? Was he truly that special to you? He ought to find a way to repay this thoughtful and kind gift tenfold. But first, he needed to make sure of something.

Letting the box on the table, he opened his own gift to you, revealing the delicious dessert he’d made. Although not quite as good as a professional chef’s would be, he was sure it would taste amazing. And so were you, from the smell of it.

‘I made this for you, because I thought maybe you were upset we- I haven’t been paying- able to spend much time with you’ he coughed a little, trying to regain the strength of his voice and his resolve ‘I figured…well we could eat together and catch up a bit…if…if that’s quite alright with you, Prefect’ and how could they say no? When he whispered their name with such softness, such reverence and delicacy, as if saying it any other way would break them, break him. 

The moment truly felt like taken out of a cheap rom-com movie, but that only made their own determination stronger. ‘I would love that Jamil…’ they stepped closer, slowly entering his personal space. Timidly, asking for permission and giving time to reject, they closed the gap between them with a small, chaste kiss to the corner of his lips. The moment felt perfect, they took it in for the few seconds it lasted. And then, when Jamil didn’t respond, they stepped back in a panic.

Was it too much? Had they read the signs wrong?

Jamil was frozen, face completely flushed and breath gone. They looked at him with concern and he looked at them with fear. And then confusion. And then realization. And finally embarrassment. Quickly he his his whole face with his hoodie, mumbling something about wanting to be cool on their first kiss.

The Prefect had to laugh, it was an honest reaction not meant to embarrass him further, but it clearly had that effect. So, they had to grab his hands gently, pry them away from his hood strings, slowly peel the hood down and hold his cheeks tenderly. Their eyes denoted all the love, warmth and longing they had for him and Jamil hoped his showed the same.

With one last loving kiss, they sat down holding hands to enjoy their treats together before Grim inevitably woke up from the smell of food. 

The Prefect always thought Valentine’s Day was just a commercial thing, but maybe there was a bit of romantic magic to this day after all.

[icyzedd]

no one warns you about the dangers of obsessing over fictional characters

[stormyoceans]

sitting at my desk at work trying to answer emails literally shaking crying throwing up only one hour to the vice versa preview and my heart is about to beat out of my chest IM AN ADULT

[edenfenixblogs]

Does anyone feel like they are living with a a body on a light switch-like toggle between their sympathetic nervous system and their parasympathetic nervous system?

[inkskinned]

you were raised in comparison.

it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.

you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.

you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.

what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.

it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.

you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.

you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?

a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.

you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.

it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.

something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.

[tragicvampireromanceisland]

they are SILLY!!! and CUTE!!! and UNDERRATED!!! that is all!!! 💛💚

[padfootastic]

my sirius & harry thought of the day:

harry kept that firebolt alive for all 137 years of his remaining life through sheer willpower and magical strength. he did not let a single twig of it die off. not only was he absolutely unhinged about taking care of it, not letting anyone near it after 5th year, but he also basically single-handedly reinvented the field of broom-crafting just so he could keep his godfather’s gift to him alive. he didn’t do anything with this skill, basically driving everywhere who knew him spare bc !!! ‘harry do u know what u just did? most brooms don’t last over 6-7 years, not even a fraction of that if used at the pace and frequency as u. if u could just—‘

and he just flat out shuts them up bc how does he tell them that the reason his firebolt is still alive is bc sirius’ love runs thru it and harry would die himself before he let it bc he can’t lose the last piece of sirius he has left. he cannot perform this miracle on any other broom, tho he can probably make the single best non-sirius-gifted broom that the WW has ever seen just bc of how extensive his knowledge is now

and the thing, right, is he doesn’t keep the firebolt locked up in some display like some artefact. sirius would’ve never wanted that. his dad would’ve hated it. brooms were meant to be flown. so fly, he does. wonderfully. it’s forever his primary broom and he puts it thru all the paces, keeping up with all sorts of newer, flashier, pro models w utter ease.

it’s like this: when he uses this firebolt, it feels like perhaps he has his godfather back for just a second. and harry is forever weak to that feeling.

[takethelx3]

I was just scribbling A Hug because I'm trying to practice drawing multiple people at once (in one space) but somehow Timkon carved themselves out of the stone

[monpalace]

ships .. (ocarina of time/majora's mask) link/reader, fierce deity/reader.

content .. the boys (separately) with a reader who feeds them well, and the fruits of their loving labor.

warnings .. unedited. no pronouns used (you/your). reader is implied to have more meat on their bones (vaguely). reader is in their housespouse era and they aren't even married (legally). non-graphic vomit and forgetting to eat mentioned (link). link and fierce deity are taller than reader. fierce deity is named aram for writings sake. reader is implied to be a god of sorts (fierce deity). fierce deity is literally my oc at this point.

notes .. my schnookums thought they could have big cheeks and get away from me? my cutie patooties thought that i wouldn't write about them eating right? my pookie bears thought that i wouldn't fulfill my duties as their #1? my baby faced sweethearts thought i wouldn't spend 2hrs looking for pictures like those? my favorite white boys? my honeybuns? my hollywood stars? my sugarpies?

i'll eat them. omnom

LINK has always been rather thin. That was especially the case when he was a child. Something about a Kokiri child's diet not fitting what a Hylian needed always kept him frail.

When you both were children, he had quickly gotten used to you plucking his arm when it was idle to compare his lack of fat to your surplus.

(He never minded. He always looked forward to being reminded why he put one foot in front of the other every day during his fight against Ganon, or repeated cycle after cycle when it came to Majora.)

(Funnily enough, you had always made fun of him for being shorter than you as a child as well. You always mentioned he needed to drink more milk and eat more cuccos so he'd one day pass you.)

It was when you were able to cook more than simple meals and wouldn't risk burning down your cottage that you would invite (force) Link over more often than you already have.

Link had always tried to limit his visits to when he absolutely needed to. Free food, bed, shelter, care, supplies, clothes, bathes (the list was endless), and whatnot were always appreciated, but he never wanted to become to comfortable lest he wake up one day (or night. Or afternoon. His internal clock was always ruined when it came to sleeping at your cabin) and decide not return to the world outside.

He does his best to turn down any seconds, or thirds, or fourths, or fifths, and so on you may offer him when he does stay long enough for you to finish whatever extravagant meal you made just for him.

Past experiences often make him sick (with trauma or physically) and result in him vomiting his food, but there's always more from you to replace what he had just eaten and the meal before (if he remembered to eat it).

What he can't finish at the table (or on the sofa, or in the bed), he takes with him when he leaves. Link is respectful in all meanings of the word and hates to leave anything to waste.

When it comes to thanks, he either finds ways to help around your cottage or brings back items from new regions for you to cook. Whether it be repairing the busted bathroom door you've been complaining about before fixing your water faucet so the pressure is what you want it to be, or bringing back a spice the Gorons specialize in you've mentioned wanting to try, Link typically feels his gifts fall lackluster when compared to your treatment of him.

(He trusts your skill and creativity enough to know you won't poison him on accident. He never brings back any recipes or instructions either if it's not a dangerous material.)

(He's always excited to try whatever new dish you've concocted, so his only condition is that you wait for his return to cook whatever it is he brought you. "A celebration, of sorts," he calls it.)

A look in a lone puddle had told him his cheeks had gotten fatter. He supposes he now understands why he was refused entry into one of the pubs when he had to retrieve Malon and Cremia's uncle.

He had noticed that the details of his arms were less visible through his shirts when a Goron had pinched one,— not in the same way you did when you were younger— he had mentioned that he had an amount of muscle and fat to be proud of before asking him to join a tournament. Any attempts prior to were quickly shut down.

During a day of horseback archery with the Gerudo, the sweltering sun had gotten to him enough that he had to remove his tunic and the shirt underneath to feel some sort of relief. One of the women who were training him took a look at his stomach and nodded approvingly, mentioning that he should praise his soon-to-be spouse for feeding him so well.

The last nail in the coffin came when he was riding Epona into Castle Town. His tunic felt uncomfortably small and his tights (curse those damned tights) felt as thought they were stretched more across the expanse of his thighs than they usually were.

He's back in your cottage when he finally vocalizes his thoughts, preferring you to any other tailor or seamstress in the country. "I've gotten to big for my clothes," he either sighs or signs to you while eating. His gaze held a thousand yards in them, idly watching his clothes move with the wind.

The tunic, hat, tights, boots hang outside the window on a string connected to your shed. They had to be washed after a (admittedly well-planned— even if they don't think) ambush by a hoard of chu-chus.

You throw a hazy look to them before returning to the bowl you were tirelessly mixing. You were making dinner, he thinks, or maybe it was in preparation for the big breakfast you were making with the variety of bread from the Gerudo he brought back.

You'd already given him a large snack earlier.

The thought makes him look down at the plate in his lap. Every spot of it was filled and piled with bread, and eggs, and meats, and jams. He couldn't see the white bottom of it even as he pushed and prodded around.

He takes a bite of it gratefully.

"I saw you before you left not even three days ago. You fit everything fine enough to me." At some point you had stopped stirring and held the bowl out to him. Link grabs something off the plate and dips it in without a thought, eating it before responding with a hum of approval. "I can make adjustments to then, if you'd like."

You leave the bowl with him before attending to something on the stove.

"Please," he responds, halfway through another bite of the (what he now recognized as) Gerudo bread and cocoa dip you had made. "Different pants would be nice, though. It'd be a nice excuse to finally get rid of those tights." Both tasted sweet by themselves, he realized, but left a calmer aftertaste that he'd like to savor.

"You've always hated the tights," you hum in response, moving from the stove to the coolers that he'd built you after bringing you a large fish that only lived in Zora's Domain. "What would you want to move on to now? Leggings? Shorts?"

Link watches you remove a pitcher from one of the coolers. He isn't sure how long it's been in there (he doesn't even remember watching you make it), but he assumes you took some ice out so the pink liquid wouldn't freeze over into complete ice.

He watches you try to take a cup from one of the cupboards, watching you struggle to grab his favorite one from the higher shelves.

He stands from the chair sat just outside the kitchen (he liked to watch you cook when you had the time), placing the bowl and plate on one of the many cleared counters (you liked to clean as you worked), and grabs the cup for you.

Link lowers his head with his hand when he hands the cup off, head resting upon the crown of yours as he watches you pour the pink liquid into it, idle arms wrapping around your waist as he makes some slick comment about eating enough milk and cuccos for your liking.

You don't elbow him in the stomach like you might have when you were younger and he doesn't hold the cup above your head teasingly like when he was younger to (— then again, he had to climb a counter to get it out of your reach.)

Instead, you wordlessly pass the cup back to him and he wordlessly drinks it despite not knowing what it was.

He likes it, as he does all your works, and notes how it was both sweet and sour. A taste that fills both his childhood need for sweet all the time and his older palate's need for other tastes.

Handing the cup back, Link tilts his head so he can press a kiss to your crown. "Anything you'd think I'd look good in," he finally responds, the flavor of the moment leaving a tooth-achingly sweet taste on his tongue.

ARAM is often humbled in your abode.

He may have acted arrogant to others in his younger years and horrifyingly aloof now that he's a more seasoned god, but he never failed to (willingly) crumble to his knees when in your presence during either times of his life.

He had no need for the sustenance mortals require, prayers and whispers of his name were always good enough for him, but he'd kiss the ground you walk on if it meant you'd bless him with another food you've created (he already does).

Aram is the provider to your fire-lit home, an arrangement the two have been living by for as long as he can remember.

He is the sword to your shield. The arrow to your quiver. The moon to ever burning sun (which he did create for you, after all). The wound for your gauze. The life to your world— and one cannot live peacefully without the other.

Your food had quickly become an addiction to Aram. He'd eat as much as often as he could, giving little response to when questioned why he loves it so much.

("Because it comes from your hands," he once explained hours later when you were sleeping. "Your hands, that create all. That nourish all it touches and replenishes all that is extinct. I am your antithesis, and I must destroy that which I love."

(You never had the heart to ask again.)

He has enough sense to slow his eating around you. One concerned comment about him choking was enough for him to indulge in needless your wishes, but a question regarding its taste had him eating like a mortal.

His relationship with food prior to getting hooked onto yours was brief and filled with obligation. He never ate to feel full, only to make the people he was fighting with shut up and leave him out of whatever conversation they were having.

It never lingered in his stomach like a warm fireplace that others had described it as. It never made him warm and filled with love. It never gave him the energy he needed to keep fighting.

It just went through his digestive tract (why did he even have one?) and disappeared like an heavy smog finally dispersed by a strong gust of wind before he had to fight again.

When a war was over, you always came. You took the battle-shaken soldiers away when it was their time and healed their ailments if they were able to withstand everything. You went through war-stricken cities and set everything as they should have been. You feed and clothe and bandage and sew and reunite and Aram isn't sure why he lingered.

He's seen the effects of what you can do long after you've left. He knows of the good you're capable of doing just as much as he knows the bad he can cause.

He craves your touch when he sees it at its peak. He indulges himself when he sees it first-hand.

Aram understands what the soldiers mean when you beckon him closer and offer him food, uncaring of how he stands tall above all else.

The soup warms his insides. The flavor resides on his tongue hours after he's finished it. His energy, though far from depleted, had made him feel as though he were a youngling again.

He craves more.

The addiction to your presence and your food (and subsequently, you) had started then. It's an event he could easily recall when asked, one he would happily recount to you if you ever forgot where his devotion to you started.

Meeting after a war or battle had become frequent enough that he had finally learned your name; not some silly alias those who followed you often referred to you as. He felt like one of those lovesick children soldiers talk about, tripping over himself and his words.

He's curious to you, an admirer more than a stalker, fortunately. When he wasn't on the battlefront, he was always hovering around as you worked, busying his hands with whatever task you've given him after noticing his lack of mortality.

You treated him well; doing so even after the era of wars were long gone and he was seldom needed. You cared for him as though he were one of the many wounded soldiers with no family to return to once all was done and said— and to an extent, he was.

He's eating when you bring attention to his softer thigh.

You were reading to him, a romantic thriller that held as much of his attention that your captivating voice did. His gaze focused heavily on you, watching as you lick your lips after each page, how your eyes rake over the page to ensure the tone you speak the next sentence in is correct. He notes how you shift less often, how he doesn't have to move you further up his lap so you can lean against his stomach.

"It's not as painful to sit on you anymore." Aram doesn't think that line was in the book, but he doesn't mention it. It dawns that you were talking to him when you look up, using your finger as a bookmark as you closed the book around it. "Have you gained weight?"

He's a big man; it's a fact he's known since the beginning of his existence. He has large arms, muscles well know for how he snatched prey up to bring back to you. His height made it a simple feat to reach into the trees and capture any avian you wanted to experiment with that night. His legs that would stomp on any fish swimming downstream during a day at the lake you suggested.

He was sculpted by the Goddesses themselves. If they hadn't meant for his body to change along with his lifestyle, they wouldn't have designed him to dough.

(He'd never be ashamed in the fact either. He was contented knowing he had someone to dote over him constantly; a sentiment he had gained after recalling a conversation with wedded soldiers.)

(Also, the prospect of defacing what the Goddesses had long since disgraced was exciting, in a way.)

Aram doesn't look at himself, already well-acquainted with his body as his brow raises in amusement. "You feed me well, My Grace," he responds with a peck on your temple, "I would hope to become more comfortable for your pleasure." He refused to stop eating as he indulged you in conversation, the leg you sat on jumping once in place of his busy hands.

You hum that sweet, quiet hum of yours that Aram has come to associate with your contentedness (he aimed to hear to several tomes every day). Removing yourself from his lap, discarding the novel to the side as you raise your hands to cup his cheeks. "It suits you. You look healthy. Happy."

"Did I look ill before?"

You don't fluster as you might have like in your younger years. He's honored to have grown alongside you, reminiscent of the older couples you've both watched and escorted when he was still an active god.

The same filling feeling your food gives him fills his heart. The lingering sense of peace that he felt since meeting you dancing through his body when your thumbs rub the apples of his cheeks, the softest and fondest gaze anyone's ever given him in your eyes.

"No," you answer in a quiet voice only he'd be able to hear. "Never. You've always looked perfect."

And Aram has never been more thankful that he separated himself from the Goddesses as he preens under your touch. Never been more thankful that he lingered after the war was done. Never been more thankful that he had readjusted his psyche to more readily accept your gifts and affection.

He frees a hand to cradle to back of your head, a threat to all that aren't you, and brings you beneath his chin in a protective gesture. "As have you," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "And as you always will be."

[franticfloralfrenfern]

More ddvau by @kitsuneisi and @xmaruu11 because the guys have taken over my brain

[nebulaedaniel]

im actually so normal and chill about dan and phil that i put wad on my tv on the lowest volume when i go shower so dan can get attention and feel supported without me crying my eyes out at the ending

[ame-to-ame]

still working on tweening and etc but small self-indulgent sneak peek hehe

[steffyanie]

anyway i took my cat in for a checkup and the vet said she was the most gorgeous cat she has seen all week.......... ....

the cat:

[lesbianwyllravengard]

Alright I'm no longer playing nice I will now be instantly blocking everyone who posts/reblogs "reblog this post if you XYZ/reblog this post or else XYZ will happen/if you don't reblog this post then you're XYZ bad thing". It's fucking atrocious that we're still preying on guilt trip tactics let alone OCD/paranoia. Fuck off.

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 31

My beloveds are here to send off Whumptober <3 It's been a truly incredible experience to not only stay on track with, but to actually complete. I still can't believe I did that. I'll be continuing some of what I started here, just give me a minute to rest my typing fingers <3

Content warnings for: mental health evaluation, mentions of suicide, and suicidal ideation.

Therapy

“Seriously?”

“Come on, Dec. Lay down, relax.”

Declan frowned and reluctantly reclined back on the couch, resting his head against the arm.

“On your back…”

“I could not give less of a shit, Hasan.”

“You can’t calm down when you look at me.” Hasan crossed their knees, settling a clipboard in their lap. “This is supposed to be a therapeutic environment.”

“Therapeutic my ass.”

“Yes, darling? Shall I give it a massage?”

“Shut up.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes.

“A spanking then, love?”

“Fuck off, Hasan!” He shot up and bared his teeth, but they ignored his discomfort.

“How often would you say you experience little or no pleasure in doing things?”

“Every single second I have to deal with your sorry self.”

Their clothes rustled and something clinked on the coffee table next to him. His eyes flicked over to see Hasan setting down their belt, the heavy buckle meeting glass.

“Tell the truth and I won’t use it today. Or anything else for that matter.” Well, his attention was piqued but he still leveled his gaze, glowering. “Now tell me again. How often do you experience little or no pleasure in doing things?”

“What kind of things?”

“Let’s say hobbies. Watching television, playing games, and so on.” They were clicking their pen in the silence.

“Probably half the time,” he mumbled.

“Would you say several days this past week, or more than half the days?”

“Picky much? The latter.”

“How often have you felt down, depressed, or hopeless?”

“It’s a little hard to separate my mental health from your influence.”

“Estimate, my dear. You’re stalling.”

He was, but his question didn’t come without merit either.

“Every day then.”

“Do you experience trouble falling asleep, staying asleep, or sleeping too much?”

“Sometimes. Depends how much you torture me.”

“Touché. Have you been experiencing tiredness or low energy?”

“Constantly.” The pen circled another number. “You know I’ve done this a million times before, right? I know I’m depressed.”

“You told me before that you were in remission.”

“Something like that, at some point. I’m not perfect.”

“I didn’t say you should be. I want to understand your state of mind, sweetheart. Have you had a poor appetite or been overeating?”

“Not really. Probably no.”

“Alright. And do you feel bad about yourself? That you’re a failure, or have let people down?” 

“No, Jesus, you just want me to talk about being miserable.”

“Declan.” They raised a brow, flicking the belt buckle. “Truth. Now.”

“...sometimes.”

“Interesting.”

“Don’t interesting me-!”

“Have you had trouble concentrating on activities?”

“Yeah, on weekdays. Always checking the goddamn time for some reason.”

“And how about speed? Are you moving so slowly or so erratically that others would have noticed?”

“That’s a question for you, isn’t it?”

“What answer would you expect?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“I would agree. And in the past week, have you had any thoughts of hurting yourself, or thoughts that you would be better off dead?”

“I think you hurt me enough for the both of us, Hasan.” Declan crossed his arms and turned away, staring into the cushions. “Circle the one and leave me alone.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Excuse you?”

“You know precisely what I’m asking.”

“No, asshole. No I don’t. But if you wanna pink slip me, then be my guest.”

“Just covering my bases.” Hasan stood, picking up their belt.

“Woah! You said you wouldn’t!” He shoved himself back into the couch, watching with wide eyes as they threaded it back through their belt loops.

“I did indeed.” They fastened it and picked up the clipboard, tucking it under their arm and tapping it again with the pen. “We’re going to keep that in check, whether you like it or not.”

[flawedandfatteengirl]

I don’t know why exactly but I just can’t seem to pick up ANY book that doesn’t have an emotionally unstable/ morally grey girl as the main character