This Is Cool!!! I Love The Design For Bad And The Overall Creepy Tone! This Is So Good!

A lil about me!

As I’ve become more active on Tumblr I decided to make a little about me post.

-For what to call me, Dream or Dreamcatcher works!

-She\Her.

-I’m an ace, demiromantic, lesbian.

-My heritage is from a ton of places, but I look mostly Italian.

As for -DO NOT INTERACT-

-Bigoted people in anyway(Transphobic, homophobic, racist, ect)

-Exclusionist(Ace/Pan/Bi phobic ect)

-Anti-anti/pro-ship.

-Support bluelivesmatter.

-Support or excuse pedophilia, racism, abuse in any form.

-Needlessly toxic(Hating just to hate on someone or something)

Try not to burst into tears at the opening lines of I Bet On Losing Dogs challenge: Impossible

come get your fem alpha pst pst pst @doodleshrimps

small vkaz food i wrote, may be ooc or a bit off from canon details i just really wanted/needed some comfort ! please don’t come after me

1.7k words, fluff

it had been months. the pen still felt unnatural in his hand.

he found his fingers drifting to the wrong side of it, the friction of the ball point against the paper jolting his wrist at the wrong angle and causing the pen to streak across the lines or to slip from his shaking grip again and again. the neat, looping half-cursive script he had prided himself on was gone too, replaced by angular, jittering print letters he tried his best to keep small, but matching the 12 point on his paperwork made his words look like watercolor blotches to his clouded vision. the white and blue-black mingled together into incoherent blemishes of ink when his face was anywhere farther than inches away from the page, sliding it back and forth to read with the side of his palm. it made him thankful for his private office, when he rested his forehead on the desk in defeated frustration after failing to rid himself of the instinct of trying to move the empty sleeve on his right.

he squinted at the signature he had just made his best attempt at penning. his nose wrinkled at his jagged, jittering loops on the z and the l’s. the paper was completely blank 10 minutes ago, now covered with the same name written over and over again, each with varying degrees of smoothness and accuracy to what it was a year ago. he wasn’t getting any better. it was poetic in a cruel way — the kazuhira miller that was left now was war torn, a rough and uneven hollowed out shade of what he was a few years ago.

or maybe he was just pissed that he wasn’t left handed.

the door to the outside cracked open and the sudden flood of light into his dim office made him close his eyes in pain, scrambling for his sunglasses while he frantically shoved the paper full of signatures under some folders.

“sorry,” came a familiar voice, one that still sent a jolt of adrenaline down his spine every time he heard it. just like switching hands, he still hadn't gotten used to snake not being dead.

"'m busy," he muttered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and tucking stray bits of hair into his hat and behind his ear with his thumb. i barely sleep and i still end up with bedhead. fucking unfair.

“you haven’t left your office for over 24 hours.”

“i said i’m busy.”

snake paused. “have you eaten?”

he didn’t answer. he didn’t see the point in lying, but admitting he liked the dull ache at the bottom of his stomach seemed like oversharing.

snake shook his head. he was never one to lecture, of course, but he had grown used to kaz’s habits at this point. he understood it at its base level, the craving to feel pain to fill the emptiness, or drown it out — same difference. he tread lightly, but his boots still left a trail of dirt on the freshly swept floor, leaving kaz to sigh softly as snake knelt next to him, sitting back on his heels but leaning forward enough to be close. before kaz could say anything about the mess his wrist was gripped in metal fingers; gently, tenderly, like snake was handling a butterfly. he didn’t know if it was because of his lack of sleep, or if he just wanted to be held, but kaz didn’t put up any resistance to his chair being angled towards snake and his hand being placed in a cold, prosthetic one. his fingers twitched instinctually as they brushed against the screws and bolts in the joints but settled quickly as snake leaned closer, his face coming into clearer view as their faces hovered inches away, tilted softly, lips parted, a moment in time frozen before a tender embrace. for someone that lived in the past, and someone that fought for the future, it was out of place that they spent so long in stasis.

“your hair’s getting long.” snake’s eye darted to the blonde locks starting to fall back into kaz’s face after being so hastily pushed back. he felt guilty for letting himself become so disheveled, for letting his stubble grow in patches on his neck and letting the bags under his eyes deepen from semi-permanence to borderline scarring.

kaz mumbled something to the affirmative, wishing for the hundredth time today that he had his other arm so he could brush his hair back again without having to leave snake’s hand. he let it tickle his forehead, clumped together with sweat and the pomade he used to keep it manageable.

“right. go wash up in your sink. i’ll be in in a minute to cut your hair.” the words were an order, but his tone was one of concern and caring, a lilt in his usually firm tone.

kaz blinked. “come again?”

“i wasn’t asking.” he pushed himself off the ground leaving kaz’s hand to drop to his side empty, dusting off his pants for a moment before reaching for kaz’s cane behind him. “c’mon.” he rested the bottom on the floor and tilted it towards kaz’s hesitant outstretched hand with a slight smile. “someone’s gotta take care of you if you won’t.”

reluctantly, he gripped onto the crutch and pulled himself up, staggering for a moment before snake’s hand on his shoulder steadied him. he couldn’t feel the chill of the metal but it still sent shivers through him, a ghost he had almost been able to move on from. at least, that’s what he had tried to convince himself, that he was capable of moving on.

the weight left his shoulder as he limped to the bathroom, thankful his glasses hid his watering eyes. he slammed the door behind him and leaned his weight on it, letting it support him while he buried his face in his hand.

. . .

“tell me if you want to take a break.” snake gently nudged kaz’s head down so he could shave the fuzz on the back of his neck, his flesh hand softly tracing the lines and tendons of his jaw to his shoulder.

“you’ve changed.” kaz’s tone was flat and his expression blank but he could feel his heart in his throat. what caused him, now that he was partly machine, to learn tenderness? nine years ago, he hit me and it felt like a kiss.

“have i?” snake had asked him to take off his glasses so the legs wouldn’t get in the way, but he still couldn’t see the way kaz’s clouded eyes were deep in thought, fixed on the sink drain where bleached locks of hair spiraled down and started to clog the hole. “maybe nine years in a coma will do that to you.”

it felt like kaz had been punched in the gut, sick and reeling in the implication. brain damage. had he really suffered enough brain damage to love me back? was that it? “mm, yeah,” he whispered, his voice shaking.

“you alright?” snake put down the scissors, the serrated blades making a soft clink on the porcelain. his face hovered next to the other’s close enough that his beard tickled kaz’s cheek. he watched him in the mirror, studying him and wondering if kaz could do the same, to appreciate the beauty of his sloping cheekbones and hooded eyes and slanted brow awash in the blue-white bathroom bulb. “i need you to be alright.”

the i need you echoed in his mind. i need you. he had fluctuated between believing snake had never needed him, and that he was indispensable for over a decade. he didn’t even know which he would rather believe; that he was useless and snake enjoyed his company, or that he was a valuable asset and he never mattered. was i need you synonymous with i love you? kaz had stayed by his side for the better part of 20 years, lying at his bedside, watching morning dew collect on the iridescent white petals of the star of bethlehem flowers that lined his hospital windowsill, and he still had no idea what he meant to snake. i need you. they had kissed, but never held hands. sometimes kaz had daydreamed about a life where he had known snake as john, where they were 13 years old and nothing bad had ever happened to them. he had grown up in a small american town, never touched by the deep, festering scars of war, and he had a hallway crush on the pretty boy with the blue eyes. instead, he had pulled the pin on the grenade and died, bringing snake down with him.

“kaz?” snake’s voice came again, softer, almost a whisper.

“i’m fine,” kaz sighed, “i’m always fine.”

snake paused, blinking his single eye slowly, watching kaz’s gaze dart from the drain to the mirror, catching a glimpse of his white pupils for a moment, glimmering with the threat of tears — kaz would see them as a threat. “course,” snake hummed, quieting his breathing to take in the muffled sound of the a/c from the next room and kaz’s gentle breaths, a symphony to his ears. he was glad he was alive. he was glad both of them were alive.

“snake, what are you—“ kaz was silenced as snake’s arms wrapped around him from the back, a bearish hold with his hands crossing gently at kaz’s collar, thumb grazing softly back and forth across the bone. he closed his eye and sighed, kaz’s half-hearted squirming quickly ceasing. i need you. the hug made kaz’s heart beat to a rhythm he could barely keep up with, his thoughts racing even faster. he relaxed, a tension he barely realized was there flooding out of him, relishing the support of the other man as he gently swayed, taking advantage of the fact that he was the perfect height for his head to rest on kaz’s shoulder and his chin to fit in the hollow of his neck. his hair — still sweaty, but kaz didn’t mind — grazing against his jawline as grass on a warm summer day. kaz let go of the sink and brought his hand up to snake’s, lightly holding onto his fingers. he leaned his head to the side to press against the other’s, closing his eyes to take in only the warmth and the comfort of the moment.

“yeah, i’m alright.”

Happy Mermay y’all.

I just had a Dragon Age related dream.

I was dreaming that I was playing DA2 as my Hawke, taking place right after the Boom. I can’t remember if Anders had nothing to do with it this time or if no one knew, but some templar snatched Anders so the Kirkwall Crew had to save him. Everyone on the team was there.

When we got in I remember the dialogue wheel, one option said something like “no don’t do this, he’s a brother to me, let him go” and the other one I can’t remember.

Romanced-Fenris said something but I can’t remember.

Maybe I’ll turn this into a fic, who knows

It’s called

Hive Trauma

For me it’s my Riskrunner, my first exotic. I started playing semi-recently so it was my first. Using it ever since

Guardians, what is YOUR weapon?

Im NOT asking which is your best weapon to clear a room or kill a god. I’m asking which one you would NEVER delete even if it’s not the best or even very good. I don’t care if it’s an exotic, legendary, a rare or even uncommon or common OR EVEN IF IT WAS SUNSET. I don’t care if it’s super popular or a weapon nobody knows about.

Which weapon out of your entire arsenal feels like it’s YOURS? Like it’s special and unique and that it only feels right in your hands? The one weapon you would call a true friend if it was a person.

Reblog with your answer and maybe a pic and explanation of why you feel that way about it.

If this pops up while you’re scrolling, I wish you unconditional love and massive success.

Day 5, color. Here’s a newish DND character, she has no name yet though. She’s part of a homebrew race I’m workin on.