#though i’d love to

[prtfrmhrtbrn]

hello hello :) as we all know i am a pretty committed rosewater-er but that does not make me immune to jegulus fever. which is relevant to… what, exactly? the new fic i posted!

it’s an au based off the place beyond the pines, a 2012 ryan gosling movie (that my brother is rabid for and wouldn’t get out of my brain afyer he made me watch it). regulus is a stunt biker at a circus and james is a one-night-stand from a year ago :)

it’s only the beginning of it- i’m having an actual life currently, but it’s not going very well, so i’ve put it up now, because as things are going i can’t see myself finishing it- but it… might get continued? i’m unsure! either way i only posted it because i love the tone. if you read it & enjoy it, i’d love to hear about it!! <33 that’s all, thanku for reading this silly self promo :)

[notherpuppet]

Wanted to see this image in motion, lil animation!

[slfcare]

the most difficult thing about growing as a person socially, as in getting out of your shell and noticing that you are, is that there will still be times when it doesn’t feel like you’ve grown at all! times when you can’t really connect with anyone around you, times when you fail to enter into an existing conversation, times when you say the wrong thing (or nothing at all when in hindsight you probably should’ve). but that’s also kind of the best thing, because that’s the thing that helps you realize that sometimes, it’s not you or your lack of skills or any shortcoming. sometimes certain environments just aren’t for you and certain people aren’t your people, and that’s okay. that’s human. it’s okay to not feel the progress you have made all the time.

[chloesimaginationthings]

You're version of Elizabeth is really sassy lol

At the end of the day, she’s still Michael’s little sister

[grimst4rs]

smart sirius black headcanons to balance out the other people who feel the need to dumb him down to make remus intelligent (both can be intellectually cultivated!)

really good at debating and, if the class piques his interest, he will debate with anyone about anything. his favourite person to debate with is lily evans; he likes watching her rile up

stem person. he’s particularly good at maths

made up a lot of the spells that were used in creating the marauders’ map (both he and james were into spell-making)

extremely good at writing essays; most of them tend to be quite a bit over the required length and bring a lot additional information

however, he prefers the practical approach, and he’s extremely skilled, especially in casting spells and apparition (he was the first in their year to apparate, after a few lessons)

reads as a hobby

extremely talented at wandless and nonverbal magic. he had it mastered a long time before he was taught it, and he surprised his charms and defence against the dark arts teacher with the ease wandless and nonverbal magic came to him

horace slughorn tried to recruit him into the slug club, but he declined (he found the idea boring and unappealing, especially being around members of the society he disliked)

a particularly skilled duellist, even when he moves with grace and elegance through the battlefield

experimented with runes (both tattoos and on his wand) and charmed his wand so that only he could use it if he placed his fingers on it a certain way

charmed his bike (he made it bigger than it was before) and he did the work to make it fly

highly developed critical thinking skills

great strategist

[bloobydabloob]

Whiteboard Aradia too. Why not

[stargirl092]

Songs Lucy dacus writes about men are like “yeah I dated this guy when I was 13 and he sucked what a fucking loser” and “I will jump out of this car and walk home 4 miles in the snow” but the songs she writes about women are like “hey, I will kill your dad if you want just give me the word” and “if you marry your dumbass boyfriend I’ll throw my shoe at you on your wedding day”

[prettyboynightwing]

the sun

the moon

[inkyrainstorms]

The Martian Stan AU - The Beginning

“Is that it?” Stan asked, his voice burning and rising like the coming tide, vicious and overwhelming and inevitable. Ford’s shoulders tightened involuntarily, and he threw his brother as scathing of a glare as he could manage. Couldn’t Stan see that this, Ford’s problems, were important? “You call me all the way here after ten years, just to tell me to get as far away from you as possible?!”

If Ford was any less exhausted, if the hole in his left hand and the hole in his heart  were any less gaping, and the fresh scrapes and cracked fingernails ached any less, he might’ve taken a step back to apologize. To explain that it wasn’t about what Ford wanted, or what Stan wanted. It was about stopping Bill, and saving the world.

If Ford were a different man, he’d reconsider his approach and find a way to fix the chasm that seemed to yawn wider with every word that came out of each of their mouths. But as it was, Ford was not a different man. He couldn’t even fix himself.

So Ford instead felt indignation sting like hot coals in his gut and urge him to step forward, closer to Stanley. His brother took an involuntary half-step back. “Stanley, you don’t understand what I’ve been through!”

“What you’ve been through!” Stan kept talking even as Ford pushed past him, fury etched onto every word like a brand. “No, no, you don’t understand what I’ve been through! I’ve been to prison in three countries, and I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car!”

He got up in Fords face when Ford turned back, his brows drawn low and finger jabbing into Ford’s abdomen. He didn’t realize it, because of course he didn’t, but he’d pressed right into one of the bruises on Fords ribcage from his trip down the stairs earlier that day. Ford grit his teeth and glared back.

“You think you’ve got problems? I’ve got a mullet Stanford!”

Why couldn’t Stan take Fords problems seriously? Was he really cracking jokes at a time like this? 

Ford couldn’t take it anymore. 

Oblivious to the dangerous precipice Fords stability had drawn close to,  Stan got bitterly sarcastic. “Meanwhile where have you been? Holed up in your fancy house in the woods and living it up, selfishly hoarding all—��

Ford went still. If he’d been a slightly different man, a slightly more composed man, perhaps, he’d have fired back another jab at his twin, because how could the man that ruined Fords life and betrayed his complete and total trust call him selfish?

There was a different voice, at a different time altogether too recent and a lifetime ago. His monstrous Muse, his most trusted friend, taking his body on a fucking joyride and then having the gall to look him in the eyes and say “YOU’RE PRETTY SELFISH IQ”. 

Ford had just kept on weeping blood. 

As it was, Stan didn’t get a chance to finish his rant. He was much too busy receiving a solid punch to the face and staggering back against the force of it. For a moment, all was quiet. Ford was shaking, he realized distantly, staring blankly at his brother. His knuckles stung from the impact.

Stan took more time to recover than Ford would’ve thought, but when he finally did, it was with a new layer of dark fury that Ford hadn’t ever seen from him before. Stan lowered the book from where he’d clenched it to his chest, and pulled out a lighter. “Fine.” He whispered roughly, though it echoed in the cavernous room anyway. Louder, then, “Fine! You want me to get rid of it so bad? I’ll get rid of it right now!”

A challenging fire burned in Stan’s eyes, and with a flick, it burned in his right hand too. Ford’s journal dangled above the hungry, all consuming light. 

Ford couldn’t breathe. Every piece of himself he’d had to let go of, that he’d lost to Bill and all that he was giving up to rectify his own mistakes, all to see Stan get rid of part of his life’s work right before his eyes. 

How dare he.

Ford let out a guttural shout and lunged for the book. Stanley, evidently not expecting this, stumbled back and tried to move the lighter before Ford and him could get burned from it in the tussle.

He only partly succeeded. Ford hissed at the momentary new pain shooting up the underside of his hand as he tried to grab for the book and Stan flat out dropped the lighter in response. His brother faltered for a split second, his brow creasing. 

“Sixer, I—“

Ford didn’t let him finish. The second he heard the nickname, some part of him blanked out entirely, and the buzzing in his ears sounded like an angry hornet in his skull. “Don’t,” he grit out, and he’s sure his voice was much too thick and angry and he wasn’t being rational but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Call me that!” 

When Ford lunged for the journal anew, he tackled Stan to the ground as his brother instinctively tightened his own grip on the book. Ford’s book.

“Why not?!” Stan cried out, trying to pry Ford off of him and only succeeding in rolling the two on the ground away from the portal. Ford couldn’t figure out if he sounded more hurt or concerned. The hurricane in his chest kept him from thinking on it too much.

Ford let out a wordless grunt in response, as the two of them, having grappled up to stand, slammed straight through the door and Stan tried to pin him down onto one of the control panels, before Ford managed to gain enough momentum to roll Stan off of him. They were throwing punches and shouting insults they probably didn’t mean, and after a minute long struggle where they surely broke every damn thing in that control room —and good riddance, Ford tried to think but he was too tired to think much at all— Stan had shouted with all the ferocious desperation of a drowning man, “why can’t you listen to me, damnit! You ruined my life!”

Ford had retorted, because of course he did, with “You ruined your own life!” as he finally got a good grip on the book and kicked Stan away with enough force to shove him against the side of one of the control panels. 

Stan’s scream was abrupt and guttural and horrifying. It cut through the haze in Fords mind with all the precision of a scalpel, dropping a rock of dread into his gut. Ford backed away as quickly as he could, and didn’t even register his journal slipping through his slack fingers to land facedown on the ground. He felt sick.

“Stanley! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” 

For a few, horrible, horrible seconds, Stan laid there, slumped and unmoving from where he’d hunched onto the floor. The burn— the brand on his shoulder looked angry and hot against his skin. It had burned clean through his coat and shirt.

Ford took a few hurried steps closer, shaking so hard he could barely walk, when Stan groaned. “Stanley…” he started, but trailed off as Stan pulled himself to his feet. His eyes were darker than Ford had ever seen them before. Stan was shaking too.

“You really want your dumb mysteries that bad?”

And Ford wanted to say, no, no he didn’t, because Stan still held his shoulder stiff as he could and his grip was knuckle-white where he’d used it to brace his arm against his side, because Ford had branded his own twin.

But the words stuck in his throat, because he realized with a start that Stan and him weren’t the ones shaking. The room was. His eyes shot to the portal.

His magnum opus and his curse, his Dadaleus’s Labyrinth, was activating. 

A sudden movement from Stan snapped Fords attention back to his injured, angry brother. Ford took a few cautious steps out of the control room and held up his hands placatingly as Stan advanced. His brother was blocking the doorway, but Ford needed to get in there, he needed to activate the shutdown procedure. “Stan, please,” he said weakly, not sure what exactly he meant. Let me through? Wait? Let me help you?

He didn’t get the chance to find out, though, because Stan continued talking, hefting up the journal he’d evidently picked up from the floor while Ford was distracted. “Well you can have ‘em” Stan said viciously, and Ford could hear the pain in it clear as day as he moved to shove the book into Ford’s hands.

Ford dodged Stan attempt, careful to not touch Stan’s injured shoulder, and weaved around him. “Stan, please, wait.”

Stan laughed, turning around. His grin looked painful. “I’m tired of waiting, Si— Stanford. I really am.”

Ford didn’t have time for this. His heart ached in ways Ford didn’t have the time to decipher as the humming in the room got louder, and he turned to move back to the control room. “Just a moment, Stanley, I just need—“

When Stan latched onto his arm and tried to whirl Ford back around, Ford reacted on pure instinct and deep seated paranoia, that kind that can only be born from aftermath of pure devastation. He followed the momentum and shoved Stan back as hard as he could, turning and sprinting to the control room before Stan could recover and try to stop him again.

“Stanford?”

He never got there. Stan’s voice, suddenly small and scared, ground Ford’s pace to a halt. The humming was louder now, reverberating through his chest. 

“Ford, what’s happening?”

For a terrible moment, Ford didn’t turn around. He just stared at the door of the control room as if he could stop time if he tried hard enough. He didn’t want to see. Seeing made it real. It meant his worst fears had become true, it justified the cold sinking in his chest. 

“Ford!”

Ford whirled around and let out a hoarse cry. There Stanley was, greasy hair floating in a halo around his face, one hand outstretched and the other holding Ford’s journal tight to his chest. Ford had pushed him over the danger line.

The look on his twins face was worse than Ford could’ve ever imagined. 

The anger had drained out of him, the closer he floated to the all consuming blue light of the portal. The was naked terror in his eyes, and he cried out for Ford again.

“Stanley! Hold on, please!” Ford said, before making another break for the control room.

He needed to shut it off right this instant.

“Hold onto what, brainiac!?”

“I don’t know, Stanley! Anything within reach, just don’t let yourself go through the portal.”

Ford input the shut down code. He input it again. He then realized that they’d knocked the cords out of alignment and frantically began adjusting them from where they were wired into the top of the control panel. Shit, they really broke everything in this room, didn’t they?

The third time he input the code, the light flashed green, and the keys made themselves known on a panel adjacent to Ford’s position by the window.

Three keys. Of course. Why did he have to make it three keys, all turned simultaneously?

Metal screeched in the portal room, and when Ford dared to glance up between trying to maneuver himself to turn all three keys, a jolt of horror swept through him and nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Stan has nearly entirely consumed by the light now, clawing at the edge of the portal he’d managed to reach. Ford cursed himself when he realized that the metal plate Stan was holding, as well as  over a dozen others, were loosening to the point of nearly falling off entirely from the main frame. The other objects he’d scattered across the floor of his lab, everything from basic tools like screwdrivers to bigger machine parts floated through the portal at increasingly high speeds.

Ford wouldn’t need to do anything, he realized, and it wasn’t the comfort he wished it was. The portal was destabilizing. Judging by the erratic pulsing the portal light was doing, it’d be closing soon.

Ford ran out of the control room and stopped short just as Stan locked eyes with him again. 

“Stanley!” he called, another desperate idea beginning to form in his panic addled mind as he scanned the room for spare rope and found none. The spare rope from the first portal test must’ve gotten caught in the portals expanding gravitational pull. His brother was barely a shadow in the light now, but Ford knew Stanley had heard him. “If you toss me the journal, I can—“

“The journal?” Stan gasped out, frenzied. “Is that still all you care about!?”

“No, no, if I just had the instructions, I could fix—“ this, fix everything. 

The screeching of metal and thundering of the portal reached a deafening crescendo, and Ford could see Stan open his mouth to interrupt, to say something, assent or argument or—

But Ford didn’t get to find out what Stan would’ve said. A particularly violent jolt shook the metal frame of the portal, and Stan, with a wide-eyed final look that Ford didn’t know how to decipher, slipped.

His brother disappeared into the light just as the portal collapsed in on itself with enough concussive force to send Ford crashing to the ground. He slammed onto his back hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

Silence fell over the room. It was dark.

Ford stared at the ceiling above him, then dragged his eyes, slowly, painfully, to the portal. 

The deactivated, half missing and half obliterated portal.

For a long, long time, Ford sat in the dark under the full weight of every bruise and scratch and burn he’d sustained, and it was like he was underwater, head swimming with nausea and pain and bewilderment. He was numb. 

A faint plip-plop sound echoed suddenly through the deathly silent basement, and Ford squinted at the sound through his crooked glasses, trying to identify the source. 

A dark substance stained the edge of the portal, right where Stan had been holding on. Ford watched blankly as the liquid slowly rolled along the curve of the portal entrance, before reached a jagged gap in the perfect circle and slipping through. It slid down the jagged and crumpled panels, weaving until it gathered at the tip of a particularly jutting sheet of metal. 

Another drip.

Another.

Ford shifted closer, simply trying to breathe. He pointedly didn’t think about how the other side of the portal had driven Fiddleford to seemingly the brink of madness in moments, he didn’t think about the glimpse into the Nightmare Realm Bill had given him when he first revealed his true hand, and he certainly didn’t think about the final look Stanley had given him, grief and rage and betrayal all rolled into one.

He finally got close enough to see the liquid for what it was. It wasn’t oil, like he’d figured, like he’d hoped and prayed with every inhale and exhale to the gods he didn’t believe in. It was too thick, congealing with familiar splatters on the floor. It was a deep crimson.

Stan must have cut his hand on the metal with how hard he’d been holding it, Ford realized, and the thoughts were the first crack in the dam Ford had buried himself beneath. This was Stan’s blood.

Stan was in the Nightmare Realm, bleeding from one hand and burned on the other shoulder and begging for Ford to do something, asking Ford what was happening because he didn’t know, because Ford didn’t tell him, and—  

It was all Fords fault.

All of it.

Oh Moses.

The dam creaked with warning, a death rattle and a laugh rolled into one, before Ford was swept into the undertow.

Ford had killed his own brother.

All alone in the dark basement with the machine he’d turned into his brother’s grave, Ford buried his burnt, bloody hands in his hair and bowed his head until it hit his knees. All alone, Stanford Pines cried for the first time in years.

Alternate Titles: The Worst Conversation Ever

Or: Ford started disassembling the portal early and everything went to shit accordingly.

Tags! @aroace-get-out-of-my-face @pleasantartisanhottea @empressofsamoyeds @littlelilliana15 @pinefamilycatsau @thejaxindianrizzler (I saw your comment in the og post and it made me laugh cause I was in the middle of working on this when I noticed it) (I hope you don’t mind the tag :))

if I missed anyone I’m sorry about that! The tag is always a fair option to follow too (#martian Stan au)

[shellxrls]

the funny thing ab rafe (that most ppl may not agree w me ab) is that depending on how you want to interpret his gaze, he can easily look in love with whoever he is speaking to. & it's the exact way so many riara shippers get away w justifying rafe's feelings for kiara:

however it's only because drew is a person with naturally very glassy eyes and the stare he does for rafe is intentionally one that makes him look constantly inebriated (low lids, squinted eyes, etc). rafe is also used to mocking people, he thinks it gives him supremity, and so he likes to smirk/nod to patronise the other person, it’s not an act of subservience or attraction (the opposite in fact).

anyways i think that combination is easily confused with lust or love when he's just rlly fucking high and deranged lol.

[bibbsy]

failed kiss attempt

[waywardstation]

Pokemon Masters’ new photoshoot feature is so much fun lol

[leek-e]

My drawing of the kids of Stugo :) I’ve only seen the first episode but it was very fun. My favourite character so far is Merian <3 she is so funny, I love her massive blazer and highly strung nature.

[disxcoartz]

yeah uh. they’re actually a polycule u HAVE to believe me mr john spooky month told me himself trust me Bruh

[hmsdoodlin]

(22) Heart and Soul <3

Long ramble under the cut

I’ll be honest I have no idea why these two resonate so much with me, they barely interact in the album one on one. But I think they’re really cute and I’m kissing them on the tops of their heads. They have so much potential.

(Please don’t crucify me for any of this, I acknowledge that some of my takes may be ooc. This is all based on interpretation and whimsy. Soul is hard for me to characterize.)

My version of Soul is tired. He’s driven to drastic decisions that he does not want to do. He loves his Heart and his Mind with his entire being just as much as he hates them, they’re him! They’re a package deal! But in Cacophony Heart and Mind are far too absorbed with their rivalry to really acknowledge him unless it’s to turn the argument in their favor. He feels ostracized and used, more like something to be fought over than a friend. I think he’s really lonely.

And then you have Heart. Someone who yearns to be understood but struggles to express himself in a healthy way. He craves for unity just as much as Soul and Mind do, but ultimately crumbles beneath his own perception of the others and his loathing. He wants to love, he has the capacity to if he is the entire emotion spectrum, he just can’t express it right now because of everything going on inside his head.

Soul really needs a hug and to feel loved -> Heart really needs a hug and to feel understood

Both are incredibly lonely in their own ways, but they also have the ability to be mutually beneficial for each other in Cacophony.

Assuming Soul is half and half of both sides, he’s able to understand and at least sympathize with Hearts point of view. He doesn’t agree with it, he can see past all of the twisted perceptions, but he’s able to provide the sympathy/understanding that Heart needs. No matter how small. And in turn Heart is able to provide that brief feeling of togetherness and unity. Heart is most likely the easiest to connect with on a surface level, and therefore the best option for when Soul is feeling down and hopeless.

Heart thinks the entire world is against him, he believes that Mind and by extension Soul hate him and want him gone. Soul is able to quell the moons worries, at least for the night. Soul believes that his sides hate him just as much as they hate each other, he wants them all to get along. Heart can provide that feeling of unity, physical touch acting as a form of reassurance and communication. He can pretend that everything is good for a moment and that the warm body beside him is how it’s supposed to be.

I headcanon Mind as touch adverse and Heart as very physical, so Soul is the perfect middle ground! Heart and Soul are able to connect on a very emotional level, and therefore have an easier time showing affection and being close. Lots of cuddles! Lots of comforting! They don’t have to talk, there’s no pressure, they can just hug and everything melts aways. They want to keep each other safe and happy.

Their relationship is so appealing because there’s no barrier between them. They can connect with and understand each other on a very emotional level, switching seamlessly between comforter and comfortee in most scenarios.

I have a lot to say about them in an angst sense, but it delves a bit too far into headcanons and is incredibly long. That’s a discussion for another time, I’m trying to focus on the positives of their dynamic here. Heart and Soul angst absolutely cooks though, trust.

I may be delusional. But in my HEART and in my SOUL they are very close. They share the same night sky! The moon orbits the earth and controls the tides! You can only see the stars when it’s night time!!!!

(Quickly going to clarify that I personally accept a lot of different interpretations of Hearts blindness as canon, I generally like and accept most headcanons even if they conflict with eachother. Soul blinded Heart? Cool. Mind blinded Heart? Epic. Heart was always blind? Awesome. I personally don’t really care and I think all of them can be true simultaneously. Why the hell not, time does not exist on a linear scale. I don’t agree with Soul being 100% an abuser though, he’s just as much of a complicated victim as the other two.

I personally like the idea that Heart did it to himself in apathy the most. Doodle Heart has subscribed to that, as will all/most of my interpretations of him. My Soul didn’t hurt him in that way. And I think he was actually quite mortified when he found out.)

Be silly be goofy, do whatever the hell you want, at the end of the day this is my own personal point of view. They swim in my brain like little amoeba and have rerouted all my nerves. I’m definitely more inclined to be soft on them so take everything I’ve said with a grain of salt. My ass is biased. On my hands and knees begging for more content of them though. PLEASE.

On a less serious note. I think Heart is Souls little guy. He love him :(

[nireidi]

Mushroom Ear Cuffs and Hair clips now available from Spore and Sparkle