—my bloodless moon, my swollen bed of stones. ©
a highly private + friends - preferred multimuse feat. original and canon characters. by fraise. ( 20+ , any prns ) do not take information.
Cosimo Galluzzi
One Nice Bug Per Day

JVL
Claire Keane

TVSTRANGERTHINGS

Love Begins

Janaina Medeiros

tannertan36
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

Kaledo Art
$LAYYYTER
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sheepfilms
Show & Tell
dirt enthusiast
we're not kids anymore.

shark vs the universe
d e v o n
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@7hell
—my bloodless moon, my swollen bed of stones. ©
a highly private + friends - preferred multimuse feat. original and canon characters. by fraise. ( 20+ , any prns ) do not take information.

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on any other day, the tv studio would be bustling with life. akechi finds the comparative lack of activity unsettling, though a smile remains fixed on his face as he navigates the space. he wanders through one empty corridor after another, and he was just beginning to wonder if he’d gotten his schedule wrong — unlikely, he double and triple checked it every morning — when he spots someone, and better yet, someone familiar.
“mashita-san, how fortunate that you’re here,” akechi greets as he hurries up to her, “do you know where everyone went? i swear, this place is like a ghost town today…”
@7hell, call.
in the midst of flashing lights, gravure posters, and a distinct, distorted melody— kanami mashita finds herself utterly perplexed in these past thirty minutes. to be frank, it's not good being confused; even more so to be off schedule and make ms. ochimizu mad— anyone mad for that matter. without her around, she doesn't stop worrying her jutted lip, nor silences the groans whetting her throat that'd go rectified. a photoshoot at noon leaves the dressing room vacant, the marigolds wilted in its crystalline vase by her vanity grown morose, a foul stench unlike anything other than their former pleasantry. it never left her senses even after she surveys around the sharp corners of the building... until there's a finally a face that aren't mere reflections of her disarrayed self; one with soft brown hair and calm eyes instead.
oh thank goodness. thank goodness!
' akechi-san! ' kanami exclaims, bounding towards the other with a fleet to her step, almost barreling towards him past meeting halfway. at his query, her trembling hands never leave by her chest as they curl further inwards, wide-eyed and leaned in despite her initial relief. ' gosh, no! i was going to ask you, actually! i know that our companies had a group event today, but i wouldn't think they'd up and get without us... right? hehe... ' the girl's frantic gaze softens from their crescents to meet his own, with a silent hope he'll notice the silent call for his assistance within them... it's not a coincidence after all. ' or do you think we really didn't get a memo, or something..? '
look at that smile !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
in the small hours of a winter morning, my loneliness wraps itself around the insecure curl of my body, cold and brittle, breaking under the slouch of my spine. it hurts to keep myself upright these days. my lips are worn and chapped; rest has not spared me a kiss in weeks. it could get worse, my reflection tells me, rattling against the bus window where my head hits the glass. i pick at the skin around my nails. a quieter damage.
i must be an easy read. the sun’s light catches my eye: “ don’t worry. you won’t feel like this forever. ” @7hell this kid, already with so much baggage. doesn’t he know?— that the world will grind him up?— destroy him for what he carries inside? there’s nothing left. there’s nothing left. i tug the bill of my cap down.
“ things have to change sooner or later. i know that much. ” my throat is a foreign shelter for such a disused voice. “ how much more i can take of this— that i’m not sure of… (a pause) i’m supposed to be the one telling you this. you’ve still got time. ”
shouichi could tell she'd been apprehensive this whole way back, and by his own pensive silence, he's been deluding his own emotions as well. a sack of groceries remains soundly settled upon his lap; it takes two large arms to embrace it close into himself because of its weight, and it's almost therapeutic this way to feel grounded in some regard. it's the same when dawn's glow through the bus window leaves him squinting, but sunlight's warmth caresses the plush of his cheeks, to where he'd forgotten how cold its been these days. he's grown inclined to the belief there's another day which comes to everyone... perhaps it’s for aya's sake to keep up these emotions, but for himself as well. a delicate, faraway smile blooms from the corners of his lips, rosy and free-formed in simple routine, leading a glance to their reflections.
' if i have time, so do you, ' the rider begins, ' the fact that you’re sitting by me shows you've come a long way. i look up to you for that, aya-san. ' knowing his companion beside him, the sun will not shine even on a cloudless day— he's well aware of that restlessness. it's where his gaze flits down to the floor, and recalls the rumble of the tires under his feet and the vibrations carrying upwards to his skull. this proof of feeling anything at all, even if it’s a routine commute to accompany her back, is rewarding nevertheless.
' i'm not sure anyone knows how long they'll go on for, but isn't that kinda exciting? that kind of ability to keep going even if you're not sure of it? ' the muted sound of contact upon the window leaves him pondering if she'd realize it as well.
bold what applies to your muse : k
alcoholism. amnesia. anxiety. appetite loss. binge eating. co-dependence. cynicism. defensiveness. denial. depersonalization. depression. derealization. devaluation. displacement. dissociation. drug abuse. emotional detachment. flashbacks. flat affect. guilt. hallucinations. hypersomnia. hypervigilance. hypocondria. idealization. insomnia. intellectualization. introjection. isolation. low self esteem. narcissism. night terrors. obsessive compulsion. overeating. panic attacks. passive aggression. paranoia. phobias. projection. psychosis. rationalization. regression. repression. restrictive eating. risky sex. self-harm. somatization. splitting. sublimation. suicidal ideation. sleep walking. suppression. thousand yard stare. triggers. trust issues. violence. whiplash temper.
tagged by: stole it...

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i found this treasured gem in my camera roll of a commission @7hell requested and my heart swelled with overwhelming love for them even more than it normally does ( the lovely artist was @/kesobun on twt <3 )
🎲 sho and wakana hehe
there’s a countenance to violet hues of grief, and it is replaced by a sullen kind of fondness given time... concealed into nothing, and abiding by nothing. he finds the stifling feeling in the stark-white hospital room, and it is unavoidable as it is unforgiving. there’s an reciprocated, eerie silence in the way shotaro's hand cards through her hair, a wooden comb trails after the path curated by his smoothed-down fingers. even as the strands of noir get caught in tangles at ends, they evidentially get brushed out, losing collective pieces along the way. it resembles them: matted, festering, then unfurling... coming undone at the seems, abdicated in the process bound to only them, and the roles they have both have played. here, she granted permission to him, and only this once.
the inhospitable air commands the space, and grows increasingly thicker... it's to where shotaro isn't sure if he's even breathing, while wakana looks better than she did yesterday. there's a supple glow which tinges her fingertips with pink warmth, placed delicately down on the plush of her lap, slowly reprieved from a life of only porcelain... but that isn't the case, is it? the bed springs creak from a body lurching, but it's never hers. it's only playing house, or playing dolls, in better words. for the sake of her comfort, he had relinquished his stifling tie, placed his hat upon the stool by his side, and wears his best manners in place. the window has been opened today as well, but fuuto's breeze is watchful, dismissive of any hard work that's to be in vain. princes wakana smells good. it's a feminine freshness, but because it’s a fragrance the detective cannot pinpoint from his fleeting thoughts, it's left untouched under the meat of his tongue, held between his teeth. the facility's hallway smelled unlike here... she must've retained her grace, due to how the room looks brighter now, too. he recalls how soft her hair is, and how she breathes is reassuring. she’s alive from a price paid, nothing goes without a sacrifice. it's then where the detective smiles softly, all incessant thoughts stilled by relief in contrast to the vile truth: thank goodness. thank goodness she's alright. thank goodness.
but somewhere in the distance is a presence that isn't either of theirs, and he wonders if he's watching his sister be taken care of by his request, a pass of the baton or under his over-preened wing. with it in mind, an exhale unpins itself from his lungs... feeling indebted by the lack of a mirror in their vicinity. he cannot bear to see himself right now, how exhausted he must look... this isn't like him, not at all, when there's still an undeniable avoidance glazed in the backs of his eyes. instead, his haggard gaze remains down-turned, focused where the sunlight paints shadows of her back, and of himself... it's an unrequited abyss that he cannot plunder into when wakana's sigh doesn't go unnoticed. they're both cognizant of routine motions, beyond the perpetual strife they've endured this past year. indeed, right now, they're a caricature of domestic bliss... and he begins to wonder if he is played for a bigger fool than he already is.
however, shotaro doesn't mean to crumple his wound grip at a strand's end, nor does he mean to tremble when he releases, either. he's almost hesitant to handle her any further than this. even when he bleeds at the pads of his fingertips, he obediently laps it up at her signal. this is what's meant for him, because wakana doesn't tip-toe over his reluctance, she wears it instead— a hospital robe in guise of a wedding gown. shotaro wonders if it’s a metaphor for the both of them, where unrest settles in the deep pit of his core... ah, i must be sick, too.
' ... you look beautiful. ' shotaro mutters past his doubt, rehearsed with a lit of powdery admiration. his tongue doesn't move elsewhere in that regard... frayed by a red flame that can't be blown out. he pushes the nausea aside, now's not the time to get her worked up. the stray strands of hair seemingly fall from around his index finger, cognate to free-flowing silk— to how no matter how he may tend to keep control, it slips away effortlessly in the end from his white-knuckled hold. it goes without saying, how she doesn't reply, but continues to stare off to the other side of the wall. she knows it well by now what he's waiting for.
it's a metaphor of you and me. you've kept this part of you beautifully intricate for so long. this is how i knew you, and yet, i don't know you.
as shotaro hooks his fingers around tresses once more, kept in place, the comb is delicately placed upon the bedside table... his fingernail lightly cascades over her overtly soft skin, until the back of wakana's neck comes into his tremoring sightline. suddenly, he's at a loss. the man had never seen this part of her before. it's bare, none of her accessories beguile him nor the presses. here, she's as vulnerable as he is, and he's unsure if it's inherently to be revered or adverse to. while he's gulping down dryly, his heart skips. it feels like an eternity passes by as the man wavers there for a moment, his breathing grows featherlight while he moves barely further down— perhaps this is a test of courage, letting his lips finally timidly press along the center of her nape, leaving quickly as it came. it's curtained for her as he lets go... that intimacy becomes veiled behind a warm, transitory pandora's box.
they both don't say anything. they do not move. it would be far too tragic to speak anything more... he picks up the comb, and repeats it all again.
... if only the wind could pick up as well.
' y'know, i don’t expect you to know these things, fuuta... ' well, in retrospect, i don’t expect you to know anything at all. juien's voice cuts through their mutual silence, detached and preoccupied with the thought in mind. his fork waves loosely in the air, akin to a conductor’s baton, until the prongs seemingly point at the other prisoner in question... to think, he had to wrangle kajiyama fuuta from the confines of his cell to spend quality time in the past; rather, correct prior misbehavior he felt inclined to take measure on. it’s because of this fact that juien’s fingers rap on the supported flush of his cheek, gaze never fleeting from his. here, it’s less confrontational, and more lip service— he wants to share a late meal with him, and nothing more.
' but i'm not going to eat you. you're too big, and i don't like when whatever i'm going to eat bites back. so, stop looking at me like that. ' before i reconsider, that is. @fazuzu
grasp - hasueru ♡
unbridled elation claims eru's delicate features upon recognition of a familiar, beloved face ( and rather rapidly approaching, at that ?! ) , extending her arms in their direction as hasu raced over to catch her once within close proximity, laughter rising from deep within her lungs and bubbling out, surrendering herself into a fit of delighted giggles the moment hasu made impact like a missile, lifting her up with ease and spinning on her heel to twirl together.
it was improper, outright indecorous, to express physical affection within the eyes of the public, but maidenly morals were the least of eru's concerns at that moment.
' ryuzaki - san !! hello !! '
𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 & 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ↪︎ grasp . run to my muse & jump into their arms .
Toma? Why are you here? How did you find us? It's a pain to explain all of that.
SPEC: Birth 『SPEC〜警視庁公安部公安第五課 未詳事件特別対策係事件簿〜』 (2010)

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where's boochie the duck
grilled :(
late but happy fathers day to io and tae <3
dread and contentment melt together nauseatingly the longer this passage continues without end. it's a stifling labyrinth of dampened intentions. it's toothed proximity. like this, there's only so many ways shotaro can turn away from his gaze. eiji's eyes bore heavily into his back, as if to skewer right through him. to drive deeper than this. so much so that he's close to colliding with it when he stops. his stride had become more akin to pursuit rather than being lead. chasing rather than following. tender and suffocating. even when shaken back to his senses, he doesn't back away.
" um.. thanks. " he utters, halfheartedly. there's a gnawing dissatisfaction in this kind of reassurance. it's almost enough to make him wish he'd said nothing at all. perhaps whatever unraveling guise of closeness they'd upheld would be more pristine. the undercurrent of bitterness eats away at his conscious like moth - bitten wool. he pretends not to grasp the implications of that last statement. it settles pervasively in the back of his mind. " ah... " he sighs, light and faraway. " you're the one going through something painful right now, but you ended up cheering me up instead. " his voice lowers, soft enough not to echo along the walls. as if confining this exchange to the two of them, no matter how empty and desolate this place were. " you really are an amazing senior... "
his body lurches forth, huddling himself from the nostalgia and the overwhelming presence which looms over. praise is a bitter pill which grows ineffective at its misuse. now, he’s digging into scabbed-over wounds for a chance to feel the aftermath. it's just a tug of a lead that’s stiflingly tight, an infection that won’t improve in the end. you’re the one going through something painful right now. right, and what would i give to breathe from your complacent pity.
his haggard gaze squints forward, the darkness ahead is a dizzying assault to the detective’s senses. but even that sense of the unknown alludes to a comfort he seeks; to not be seen or regarded by him, nor anyone else. eiji is a relentless doppelgänger that no otherworldly lookup can solve, trailing right after his shadow. i know how you feel. so, he’d found another weakness? that's not good, not at all. shotaro's body almost staggers by how forcefully he turns to face the rider. ‘ i don't want to hear it. how would you know how i feel? have i even said anything about it? ‘ his intonation is equally as hushed, bordering to a hiss. those emotions fizzle out like soda pop, but is it honestly a liability to amend for it? doesn't eiji find delight to be a physical haunting he's unable to purge out? is he happy like this, when he gets right to the point? the detective’s blood boils, vision dims, and that answer is clear enough; he won't know what he's thinking, and he never will.
onward, every direction he looks upon remains a copy of the previous room. the grated floors hold them up from an interminable abyss, but there'd be relief to plummet into a certain nothingness. he knows where they must part, it’s sooner than later. ‘ ... up ahead, there’s two ways we can go. it’s better to split up. you go one path, i’ll go the other one. understand? ‘
hi. fuck ice. here is how you can help families affected by unlawful deportation
edit: and FUCK LAPD. here is how you can help bail out protestors who are in the trenches, facing mass arrests and putting their bodies on the line.
will update this with verified gofundmes being distributed by the community:
father detained while working his job at orange county car wash: gofundme
Google Doc and Excel spreadsheets with immigration resources here:
Here and here
Other currently active links and gofundme pages
Urgent Aid for LA families of 14 detained: gofundme
Help my family reunite - immigration justice: gofundme
Help fund my dad's immigration fees: gofundme
shotaro’s the kind of guy who leaves his face/front guarded and yet got attacked twice from the back so easily. it’s not a coincidence that his mentor went out the same way trying to protect philip and sho first and foremost instead of himself in an area where it’s open season on them. its easy to cover up his sentiments head on in all its honesty/hypocrisy, in contrast, he can’t lie when he’s facing away, and can’t tell true emotions of others or himself either. his back is the most open part of him. something something so naive he’d get stabbed in the back one day… that kindness will get him killed something something

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DIAMOND NO KOUZAI (2023-?) by hirai oohashi
he’s pinned in place by those words, just for a moment. a lull as still and thick as the unforgivingly curdled air. shrouded eyes affixed on him with a muted and cavernous stare. right now, it wasn't as if it mattered how they looked at each other . . . but it still feels wrong. he brings filthy air into his lungs in a heavy drag like it could dispel the rigidity from his posture, the oozing tar polluting his hidden gaze. he’s still upset about what just happened, after all . . . eiji forces out a vague sound of agreement before bounding over to catch up, though cannot bring himself to walk at shotaro's side, to match his stride. instead he remains a couple paces back, trailing after at his heels like a faithful hound. strung by some unseen and fragile thread. tether, shackle, leash. eiji's tugging the other end taut and ruthless, like always. branding flesh - deep sores into the both of their hands. this isn't enough to shake him loose.
" sure, okay. " it's placid. overripe with subordination. tenebrously agreeable. " i haven't really been fighting anymore like you have. . . " eiji instinctually scratches at his covered cheek. as if he were nervous. as if it didn't all come back as easy as breathing. " i don't want to drag you down or anything. "
the ambiance of footfalls is one shotaro’s far accustomed to, the echoes of what is absolute lies deep within the throes of his mind. he's known it all. should he feel proud of it? accomplished? spite and indignation snaps its jaws, when he'd want to lick his lips, full and satisfied that he's become someone dependable as he’d wished— someone worth following. despite those efforts, they’ll turn around in the end. that's why he refuses to listen any further, shakes his head, and presses on. there's no more time for wishful thinking. the gate ahead opens, and beyond it is no light, but a frustrating, perpetual darkness as before. eiji’s timidness pulls him from the waves of dejection, letting his feet tether into a stop and his tongue click. as if there were an unknown force hindering his pace cast behind him... it gets even harder to breathe.
‘ you aren't. ‘ it’s spat out, folded with fact and empathy. every misguided ounce of trust and lies is short in comparison to eiji's reliability, concealed hand, and blade. that's all he can depend on now. he can't do this alone... so how long has it been since he’d last faced him like this properly? ‘ you’ve always been strong, that’s why i know that you won’t drag me down. ‘ shotaro's palms clam up from behind added layers, a dry swallow in place of warmth... like he could still feel it. ‘ you shouldn’t be the one worrying about something like that. ‘ how unfair it is to feel this way.