slowly crawling out from little illness with this
they're dancing🖤 they're happy🖤(especially her)
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You wide-eyed girls
You get it right
totally self-indulgent. I'm biting on her arm rn.
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sylvanas making sure her wife actually sleeps and doesnt only eat mana buns while burning the midnight oil like "jaina i dont do either of those and somehow you're still worse at it than i am"
theyre in love your honour
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jester: *severe food poisoning*
everyone: if you're going to shit or vomit please do it outside
beau: *goes with her and holds her hair back*
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i’ve written a few other hc/life series fics that have all been posted anonymously on ao3 and while i think i’m still gonna post them anonymously i have decided i want the tumblr numbers so here. have some wingfic. set at the end of hermitcraft season 8, following the end of last life.
Scar finds Grian on top of his moon observatory, because of course he’s perched up there. Grian’s always liked high places.
He’s just put the finishing touches on his dark corner of Midnight Alley— which is looking amazin’, if he does say so himself— and wanted to show Grian to see what he thought. But Grian hadn’t been anywhere he could usually be found, whether that be in his starter house, the G-Train, or even in one of his little stripmines. Scar had almost messaged the whole server before he remembered that Grian had started spending his nights watching the moon grow larger and larger and fished out another stack of fireworks to go check the observatory.
And there he is. He isn’t even looking through the telescope bit; just perched on top of the structure with his face turned up to the sky. With the moon so large it casts his face in an eerie glow. It’s pretty. (Grian is just generally pretty, but Scar usually pretends he doesn’t notice.)
He tries to make as much noise as possible when he lands so Grian isn’t too startled, but earns himself a squawk anyway. “Scar!” Grian says, and flushes a little. His wings, extended behind him, ruffle in the way they do when he’s feeling self-conscious. “What are you doing still up?”
(read the rest on ao3)
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// Oh man I forgot about this gif from some old Slavic cartoon that served a partial insp for Sion 🥺
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the little hairs on the thigh and upper leg. do you hear me.
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Thinking about Brain rubbing Pinky’s back when he’s upset 😭
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i wanna sleep on a pillow made out of jensen's voice in city grown willow
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continued from @6cular
It truly is an awful experience dealing with Satoru getting sick, and Suguru never in his life wants to ever re-experience this. For two reasons : the first one being how incredibly much more insufferable his friend could be, and the second, he was scared.
Suguru has never seen Satoru this ill. Or at all, for that matter, and of course Shoko has to be away for some medical training the moment Satoru's immune system decides to plummet.
He tries his best to take care of his best friend, wringing out cold wet towels and placing them on his forehead, changing them whenever they get too warm. Making him drink water, giving him medicine, making sure he's eating...
He doesn't seem to be getting better, but at least he isn't getting worse, either. That is until Shoko comes back only after a couple of days, thank fuck, and she heals him.
A deep sigh escapes past Suguru's lips when he comes into the taller boy's bedroom next and finds him sitting, eating on his own, smiling at him albeit tiredly. He feels a pressure in his chest lift off, and at his friend's quip, he knows for certain he's better.
« If anything, I'm surprised not even your own brain melting can keep your mouth shut, » he quips back, though it's clear in his tone and his soft expression he's glad he seems better.
Still, Suguru makes his way over and pushes Satoru's fringe back, pressing his palm to his forehead to make sure his temperature isn't at the very least through the roof.
« I'll bring you some tea. »
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