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#that's my bad
little-pup-pip · 5 months
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can u do a babyre pastel moodboard? (fem leaning)
Absolutely!!
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hollywoodsargeant · 8 months
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boyish - chapter 7 12.8k words | 61.5k words total | loscar
He thinks about himself as if his entire life were put into spheres suspended above a criss-cross of sticks, and wonders if he pulled out the one in Logan’s shape, if it would all come crashing down. If the feeling in his throat is anything to go by, he thinks it would.
hello. no more vague posting about how i’m crying or struggling or giving logan a girlfriend here is for all intents and purposes entirely too many fucking words. THAT'S LIKE THE ALL OF SHARK BAIT... goodbye forever. this is the end. and it's actually not even 3 am rn which is a feat in and of itself all that aside please enjoy <3
+ as always here is a link to chapter one if you would prefer :)
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sam-loves-seb · 3 months
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as long as you love me so
Ian gets his hands on Mickey’s hips, running his palms up and down his thighs. He’s quiet when he says, “I’m really glad we’re doing this.” Mickey’s brow twitches. “Making dinner?” “No. I don’t know.” Ian shrugs, tilts his head and thinks about it. “I mean… yeah?” He laughs. “Just like, staying in and doing shit together. It’s nice.” Mickey raises his brows. “We do that almost every night.” “Yeah, but it feels different this time,” Ian says, kissing his jaw. “That’s ‘cause you’re sentimental as shit.” Ian shakes his head, grinning. “Don’t act like you hate Christmas. I know you like this just as much as I do.”
// post-canon: christmas eve, just the two of them
12 days of gallavich -- day 9
[ ao3 | ko-fi | etc ]
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unbidden-yidden · 5 months
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ok i think you SERIOUSLY misread my comment saying "so brave". it was sarcastic and derogatory. i didn't think i needed to write a whole thesis about why it's bad on my reblog, it seemed really self evident based on the content and context of the post.
making a mockery of missing children is heinous and sickening, and these people are showing how pathetic they are by swapping posters. how fucking brave of them to paint innocent children with horrible words, that shit is fucked up. like what normal person does this??
so please delete that response to me, it's hurtful and i don't appreciate being called "dirtbag left" especially when my blog blurb thingy clearly states i'm jewish and pro-israel + pro-peace. i'm sick of ANYBODY getting hurt and killed over this because NOBODY is happy or thriving.
Hi, did you see my follow-up? I am so sorry, I see how that comment could be misread as directed at you, but it was not intended that way. I was reblogging in agreement and adding on, not directly replying if that makes sense? I have unfortunately had several people that I've had to block following me who *did* think that was okay and I wanted to remind folks that I will not tolerate that. I know your comment was sarcasm and was never worried about you. I just literally didn't even think about how my response could be read as directly responding to you as if you were being serious, but after you responded I see how it could look like that. I apologize, truly. You are someone I've always respected and would not think you would think like that.
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mads-schubert · 2 months
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Please don't put early access spoilers in the main tags (+ you'll probably get more people interacting with your art if you wait for the actual episode to be out anyway)
Hey anon,
I assume this is in regards to the Protocol stuff. I don't have early access, so I don't know what you're referring to in regards to spoilers/early episodes.
I wait till an episode is released (on Spotify because that's where I listen to tmagp) and then I wait even further till the following week before I actually post the episode design.
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ghouljams · 9 months
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he cant eat me any day if ykwim😋🙏
this is really on me, it's my fault we're all gonna get eaten
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thetomorrowshow · 1 year
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mirrors
empires superpowers au
another esh au for ya :) this story takes place about 4 months after the end of ‘poisoned rats’.
cw: poor self-image, scars, past abuse
~
Jimmy shouldn’t look at the mirror for too long.
He knows this. He knows that he has bad mirror days, and that mirrors are always risky anyways, but this morning he gets out of the shower and just stares at himself.
He’s horrendous.
From the electrical burn down his side and inner thighs to the neat letters across his chest that read Property of Xornoth, every part of his body is horrible. He finds each iteration of the word Pet, each place where skin was grafted, each slash of a knife. If he cranes his neck around, he can see in his peripheral the blurry image of whip marks that criss-cross his back, the last few letters of the curious little bird scars.
And as Jimmy stares at the marks, eyes boring into the place on his stomach where PET is spelled out in big letters, he can’t help but feel the world tilt a little.
He’s a pet. He’s a bad pet. He left his master and tried to live a life like a normal person, but he can never be normal. He’s never been normal. He needs a master, he needs his master.
His master—Xornoth is dead, Jimmy tells himself firmly. He’s not—he’s not a pet. He’s Scott’s boyfriend, and he’s his own person, and. . . .
Pet. Property of Xornoth. It hurts. It hurts Jimmy’s head to look at, feeling wrong and right all at once. He’s a pet. He’s—he’s Jimmy. The Canary. No. Not the Canary. Solidarity. No, just Jimmy. Well, Solidarity in emergencies.
Solidarity happens sometimes. If he’s Solidarity sometimes, that means he’s not Jimmy all of the time. He’s Jimmy sometimes. He’s a pet sometimes. He doesn’t—he needs—
“Jimmy?”
Pet. Curious little bird. Mine. Pet. Property of Xornoth. Pet.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door. Jimmy jolts for a second, takes in his surroundings. He’s—he’s . . . pet. Property of Xornoth. Pet.
“I’m coming in, I need to brush . . . Jimmy?”
Jimmy doesn’t quite manage to tear his eyes away from the mirror, where they’re fixated on his scars. He swallows around the lump in his throat and one hand comes up from where it rests at his side, lightly tracing the three letters on his stomach.
“Okay, we’re not going to do that today,” someone grunts, and then Jimmy’s being gently pivoted until the mirror is totally out of his view and he’s—
He’s in the hallway of his house. His house he has with Scott. Scott’s beside him, has just walked him out here.
His eyes fall down to his stomach, to the skin graft scar just above his knee and the letters above the other one—the burn down his side and the letters down his front—
Then he’s hit in the face with something soft and he automatically puts his hands out to catch it, finding a shirt. Sweatpants hit him a moment later.
“As much as I enjoy the view, you’ll feel better with clothes on,” Scott tells him, and Jimmy knows he’s right. He pulls the shirt (long-sleeved, bless Scott) over his head, then wriggles into the sweatpants, all in the middle of the hall while Scott brushes his teeth behind him.
It’s like a band has been removed from around his chest and he can begin to breathe again. Breathe he does, and the world tilts again and goes blurry for a second and he realizes just what had happened.
He groans, sinks down against the wall until he’s landed on the floor. Scott shoots him a sympathetic look, swishes and spits into the sink. “Doing better?”
“I’m tired now,” Jimmy grumbles. “I just got up. The shower woke me up, and now I’m tired again. This sucks.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” Scott says in between rinsing out his mouth. “This is the fourth time in two weeks, though. Should we pin the towel over the mirror again?”
A towel had been pinned over the mirror during the early days of Jimmy’s recovery. Seeing himself had launched him into a panic attack regularly, so discussions with his therapist had led to this suggestion. They’d removed the towel just a month ago.
“I guess.” Jimmy sighs loudly, scrubs at his eyes. “I thought I was getting better.”
“You know what Nora says. Recovery—”
“—isn’t linear, yeah, I know,” Jimmy finishes. He just wishes it was. “Two steps forward, one step back and all that. We sure that scar treatment isn’t an option?”
Scott hums, looking over at Jimmy from where he’s rubbing lotion into his face. “It might be, but you’d have to let a doctor examine the scars first. And I don’t think we’re there, yet.”
He’s right. Jimmy had had to be doped up to even tolerate a dentist appointment last month (which had led to a bad spiral of feeling like an animal taken to the vet). He hasn’t set foot in a hospital or doctor’s office since that first month after getting out, and that month had been a long blur of distress and additional trauma.
“If it helps, I love the way you look,” offers Scott, exiting the bathroom to sit on the floor beside Jimmy. “Scars or no, you are a snack.”
Jimmy snickers, shoves him playfully. “Thanks, but that wasn’t the problem today. It was just . . .” he gestures helplessly, “just the words. The whole . . . ownership feeling. It sucks.”
Scott’s quiet for a moment before murmuring, “I’m sorry.”
“Nah, it’s fine,” Jimmy shrugs him off. “‘S just my brain being stupid. I don’t believe it—” doesn’t he?— “but it sucks. I’ll be okay, really.”
Scott doesn’t look too sure about that, but he gives Jimmy a quick peck on the lips and stands, stretches. “I’ve got to head out on patrol, but give me a call if you need anything, yeah?”
Jimmy nods—believably, he hopes. He stands as well, follows Scott back to the bedroom, sprawls out across the bed and watches Scott get dressed. He wolf-whistles loudly when Scott pulls off his nightshirt, showing off his defined abs, then even louder when he slowly strips his sweatpants off, waggling his eyebrows seductively.
“Woo! Major, you’re so dreamy!” Jimmy cheers in a high-pitched voice. Scott snorts in laughter, takes a few more moments to spin slowly, then gets back to actually getting ready for work.
“Love you!” he calls over his shoulder, securing his cape in place, as he leaves the bedroom.
“Hey!” Scott pokes his head back around the corner, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yes, love?”
Jimmy crosses his arms, sticks out his bottom lip. Scott knows what he’s done. It’s a crime. Jimmy should have him arrested.
He takes pity on Jimmy after a moment, swooping back in for a long kiss before sliding out of the room.
“Love you!” Jimmy shouts after him. He hears a kissing sound, then the front door slamming.
And he’s alone. Alone with the marks on his skin.
If Jimmy was stronger, actually recovering properly, he’d call his therapist, ask for an appointment sooner than Friday. But Jimmy’s not strong. He’s never been strong. He was easy to break, after all.
He traces the letters on his stomach, hidden by one thin layer of clothing. He’s not free yet. He may never be free.
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ask-runaan-anything · 10 months
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What do you miss about Rayla the most?
Her trust.
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helria · 1 year
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Like Clockwork - Illumi
Word count: 1612 | Link to AO3 | Contents: Mild/Non-Graphic Smut | Pairing: Illumi x Nameless Female Character (reader/oc, your choice)
Summary: Despite his line of work and less than sociable demeanor, Illumi will never fail to make time for his wife.
Excerpt: His hair cast shadows on her face from the way he leaned over her frame, giving her every single ounce of his attention as he lingered for a moment longer. “My love,” he would say to her, touching his forehead to her own. “Is there anything you'd like?”
Every evening, like clockwork, her husband would return to a clean house. There would be no food left for him on the table. No dirty dishes in the sink. He would move silently through the rooms after disposing of his tools and removing his outdoor clothes, cleaning himself of any trace of his career. He would count down every minute that he spent beneath the water before exiting the shower and drying himself off. He wouldn't bother to get dressed before returning to their bedroom with nothing but a towel around his waist.
And every evening, like clockwork, she would be waiting there for him.
Dressed in nothing but a silk robe bought with his ill-obtained fortune, hands resting lightly on her lap as she stared blankly at the clock. Knowing that he would come to her at the same time of every day. She would look over at the sound of the door closing behind him, standing without a single word and walking towards him as if under a command. Her hands would rest beside his waist. His lifted to take a light hold of her jawline, tilting her to the perfect angle for a kiss. She knew how long he would linger, which distance he would pull away, even how subtly his low eyelids would lift.
His thumb would run along her cheek, wedding band pressed against her jaw. Slowly admiring the woman before him. His gaze would lower before meeting her lips again, subtly tapping his forehead against her own as a warning before moving to someplace else. His hands gradually traveled to her hips before reaching the sash that held her clothing shut, pulling it off in one swift motion as the fabric fluttered open. He would take a look at her. Looking for any signs of doubt. She only ever returned his gaze with a resigned, silent acceptance, never once being less or more.
The two would make their way over to their vast bed as his arms wrapped around her waist. His hands traveled in such familiar patterns that she no longer felt surprised. He sat beside her as she sat against the sheets, head lowering to her shoulder to fully push the fabric off. He was always careful with undressing her no matter how many times he saw the exact same sight, patiently guiding her arms out of the loose sleeves and making sure to slide his hands along whatever was exposed. Telling her that he'd known and loved everything that he saw.
Her robe would fall against the floor with a soft sound as he gradually worked his way around her self. Their posture would steadily give way until she lay against the sheets, his body always positioned on top of hers. He would reach over for her hand without looking. It only ever rested in the same place, waiting to feel his frigid touch and loosely lace their hands together. She would gently rub her thumb against his own to show her faint reciprocation of his love. Only then would he take it as a sign to continue.
With his soft touch and tender care, she couldn't help but let herself relax beneath him. Whatever stresses she'd acquired during the day would all unravel in the night. Her thoughts would be consumed by him and him alone, cementing her as his lover for what felt like the thousandth time. He held and savored every noise that reached his ears before going to search for more. Even with such a firm routine that they found themselves following, it still held the very same amount of pleasure as always.
Her hands would twitch as if on instinct whenever their bodies reached a certain point, his head lifting to meet her gaze as she reached for his waist's towel. Tossing it aside, they shared a look of purely wordless confirmation yet again. Her hand would lift to hold his face, her lips closing for a swallow before parting to share one more kiss with him. He let her palm guide him forward until they met. As if asking for her permission, he would gently hold her side and slide his touch along her thigh until she nodded subtly.
And he would hold her hand again, feeling her tightly grip his palm until the pressure subsided. Her eyes would squeeze shut until she felt comfortable enough to let out the breath she held. He waited to see the faint glimpse of her irises once they slowly drifted open another time, head lowering to kiss her cheek as his body began to move. It never failed to earn a soft sigh from her lips. A single faint movement of air that sent a shiver down his spine.
Her thoughts would start to blur together. She was able to predict every event up to that point, each subtle movement of his hands against her skin, and yet her train of thought would always be derailed at the same point of every night. He had tailored every single one of his actions to suit her needs, taking note of her reactions as the woman he had chosen once and for all. The one that showed him what it truly meant to treasure another.
They both went into their relationship while viewing it as nothing more than a false front. An agreement between two parties for the better of them both. He never thought he could love her. She thought she knew he never would. She spent her time with him while viewing it as nothing more than a business expense, and yet after a certain point, she found herself thinking of him in her off time. Letting herself slip deeper into the depths of night. She found pleasure in the sweet love he made to her, longing for his company and enjoying when it was there.
He felt the same, in his own way. His love for her changed from something he felt obligated to say to something he meant from the bottom of his heart. He would look at her as she laid exhausted beneath him, taking a towel to wipe the sweat from her body before reaching up for her face. His palm rested against her cheek as she gazed tiredly at him, blinking unevenly until he made her eyes drift shut. She placed her hand over his knuckles and traced gently along his skin as he touched a kiss to her lips, brushing her hair behind her ear with just the tips of his fingers.
His hair cast shadows on her face from the way he leaned over her frame, giving her every single ounce of his attention as he lingered for a moment longer. My love, he would say to her, touching his forehead to her own. Is there anything you'd like?
Her answer would differ from time to time. Something to drink, a light dessert, a scented bath. He would do everything without question, however trivial or needlessly specific it was. She would smile and give him her thanks despite how he never reacted either way. Her gratitude felt unneeded, and yet, touching. A warmth would spread through his body for a reason he didn't understand. He could understand objectively the kinds of connections formed between individuals, but he had always seen himself as immune to such weaknesses. None of it ever made much sense to him.
He'd be reminded of such questions every time he looked at her. Each time she'd place a fragile arm around his waist and lean warmly against his side. Closing her eyes in a display of honest trust. He consistently judged others for their shortcomings when it came to emotionally-fueled mistakes, yet whenever he looked at her, and whenever she would fumble the same human things... He couldn't bring himself to see her in a different light at all. She would still look so perfect to him. Even more so, if he would let himself admit it. She had a strength that only came with the same vulnerabilities he never showed. Her world was different than his own. Fundamentally so. She always welcomed him inside however clueless to it he was.
Out of every request she ever gave him when he asked, his favorite of them by far was the one that came from exhaustion. You, Illumi. When she would confess her affection in such a roundabout way, smiling at the blank way he stared back at her in return before lowering to her side. Holding her against his deceptively muscular chest. She would ask questions about his day that no one else had ever bothered thinking of. She couldn't care less how succinct or eloquent he decided to be. It meant enough that he was willing to answer, the vibrations inside his chest being her favorite, familiar sound.
His heart was fainter than anyone she'd ever heard. She had been told the trait ran in his family. He would let her run through all of her questions until she trailed off to silence, sleeping soundly enough for him to leave her side without waking her. His first priority was finding clean clothes to dress the both of them in before tidying the room and fixing up the bed's blankets. Her arms would instinctively move around him as soon as he returned to her side. It made him pause without fail whenever he felt her embrace, having to tell himself that it was how she showed her affection. Those kinds of displays were more than rare in his life leading up to her.
But once he met and welcomed her into his life, they felt impossible to live without.
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eldritch-nightmare · 5 months
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my greatest character flaw today is that i keep forgetting x-virus exists
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badwolf92 · 2 years
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Help! I just beat the AWE dlc for control. And it was the scariest one. And it's late at night. And I'm home alone. And something just fell off the wall in my parents bedroom. Fuck my life.
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high-holy-daze · 5 months
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nvm it turns out I'm an American Jew who fell for the propaganda
a my friend put it "American news media go nuts defending Israel, that's how you know almost none of it is true"
Jews still deserve a homeland but fuck Netanyahu and fuck Israel in its current apartheid state
Free Palestine
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ehslye · 1 year
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the silver moon & the golden sun
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changeling-rin · 2 years
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(Hello Anon!) Hello, three things, A. I think if Mask died he would just show up as a ghost, say spoilers, and refuse to elaborate further. B. Question about the AU what do you consider Gomess (Majora's Mask) a living curse, the Grim Reaper, a demon/monster etc? (I think it would be cool if the Hero's Shade was able to stay a specter due to the fact that he beat death its self as a child.) C. Is the Happy Mask Salesmen an elder God? (I finished reading the whole think, and its really awesome) :)
A) you're probably right
B)...how long has Majora's Mask had a name??? Also, I am of the opinion that it's a demon (Hero's Shade is nebulous right now, because he's part of that Issue that Mask and Ocarina are having and whether or not he'll resolve into solidity depends on whether or not the timeline settles correctly after all this Demise business is over with)
C) The Happy Mask Salesman is whatever lets you sleep at night (but I have my own theories!)
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laurelwinchester · 1 year
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Are you still working on that babyfic with Dean and Laurel??
i absolutely am!
it's my main november fic right now. priority number one. (which is why the next htlgi installment is probably going to be late, although i should have a htlgi interlude to post in december, just fyi.) i'm hoping for a late december posting date but it might be more like january, which might even fit the vibe better because the fic takes place in january.
but yes i am definitely working on that d/l fic! i'm having a blast writing it. the word count is already out of control. it still doesn't have a title. i've been doing lengthy research on small details that don't matter. i've already thoroughly traumatized some characters. i've added completely unnecessary horror elements to an already stressful situation. we've got cameos from helena, babs, and zinda coming. there's a snowstorm. dean keeps very proudly referring to himself as a malewife and nobody has told him that this does not mean what he thinks it means. it's great! i'm just here to have a good time and to make sure that no one else does.
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kirigear · 1 year
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Forget the cars why is a homeless person existing near you such a problem? Explain that without sounding classist
i obviously do not think it is bad to exist near homeless people, i was listing it as an example of a ridiculous and overblown fear. car-centric culture and many drivers also tend to disparage public transport because of the possibility of seeing poor/homeless people, which i also think is ridiculous. i was not expecting that post to blow up and didn't think i had to clarify that
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