#>10.

[zorangezest]

doodles i accumulated while watching transformers prime

bro the poor bots in this show and their horrible fates. remember how skyquake got murdered and resurrected and then left to roam the shadow zone as a dark energon zombie for the rest of the foreseeable future

[bruciemilf]

Absolute “can my friends and I have a sleepover” energy

[mbohjeezart]

Hermit a Day May: Day 20, Gem, Personification of Luck!

And here's her full portrait without the text and background:

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

resident evil body types... :3

[carebeardean]

Charles has always left Edwin little notes slipped between the pages of his favorite books, in his science equipment, places he knows Edwin loves. Just silly things—post its that say “hi Edwin :)”. doodles of Edwin with his nose stuck in a book. reminders to stock up on wolfsbane. but.

Then, post canon, Edwin tentatively starts dating people. And it’s ridiculous, because Edwin’s right there, all the time, but Charles..misses him a bit. And his heads a mess, and he can’t sort out what the hell he’s feeling most of the time, and whenever he tries to say any of it out loud it comes out rubbish.

So. He writes down some of the shit he can’t say right, and because he’s a coward, hides them so he doesn’t have to see Edwin’s face when he reads them.

then Edwin starts writing back.

Neat lilac blue little envelopes appear in Charles coat pockets. In his bag. Once, in his shoe? Some nights, Edwin will clear his throat and mention something from a letter, offhand, like they’re just picking up conversation, and Charles can pretend they are. That they always have talked about the basement, the belt, the nameless fear that chokes him every time Edwin walks out the door with someone else on his arm.

Sometimes he can’t. The words get stuck in his throat. Edwin’s not mad, he’s maddeningly, stubbornly kind about it, which is worse.

Some nights they trade. A secret for a secret. Charles learns about the novels Edwin used to hide under his mattress, about all the lonely years before Charles got there. About Simon.

Meanwhile, Edwin is losing his mind, because Charles has accidentally stumbled onto what was a fucking courting ritual in his time. Love letters were something engaged couples treasured for years, kept and reread over and over. (Edwin does. keep them in a special box, will take one out and trace the words, tuck it in his breast pocket for courage).

Edwin would rather have to reattach a limb again than lose Charles trust, all the dark and beautiful things he shares with Edwin only. He knows—knows Charles doesn’t mean to make him fall more in love with him.

[superfruitland]

i've officially lost my mind

[secriden]

Something about how Fadel’s first instinct after he finds out the full extent of Lily’s betrayal is anger at Keen and then later guilt and anger at himself.

Something about how Fadel never even considered the possibility of her being his true enemy when his ex disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Something about how Fadel — fastidious, paranoid, cautious Fadel — refused to noticed any of the red flags until the accusation was put into words and something in his brain slotted into place because suddenly all the things he has been ignoring for years made sense.

Something about how thoroughly effective Lily’s brainwashing was because Fadel desperately wants to have a mother, wants to be treasured and protected and loved with gentle and soft hands.

Something about how Style gives that to him without thought or prompting, all instinct to reach out with a delicately soft touch, because his love for Fadel enables him see true, to see the broken heart Fadel tries so hard to hide behind a harsh exterior, before Fadel has even uttered a word, and in so doing, loves Fadel with all the careful tenderness that he so richly deserves.

(Something about how Fadel trusts Style so fully that he does not show the slightest bit of hesitancy or caution when Style touches him so intimately.)

Something about how Fadel was searching in all the wrong places for someone to simply hold him, and found it instead when he wasn't even looking, in the arms of the most unlikely and wonderfully perfect person.

[loveisactivated]

This is more like a pre-wedding shoot.

[timothvy]

wuh luh... wuh.. <3

[gunsatthaphan]

let them handle you it 🫡

[howmanyholesinswisscheese]

obsessed with mumbo's crashout at permitmaster 2.0. flawless. no notes. zero commitment and IMMEDIATELY backtracked on his words

[krabatdog]

westerosi gentle parenting

[stolligaseptember]

at the exact moment in time when damen is thinking this he also can't even admit to himself that he's even mildly fond of laurent

[female-eren]

The argument that we should no longer have sports leagues for men and women, instead sort everyhing by height/weight/muscle mass is crazy because do you know what categories would be the most effective sorting system with the least amount of random outliers? Male and female sports

[too-many-lavellans]

9:52 Pavellan -- (please don't tag/comment with your inquisitor, thanks)

[lamnwar]

MDNI 18+

Daiki knows he's being stupid. A real idiot for the way he feels.

It's just a piece of fabric, for fuck's sake!

A blue silk robe you bought on your latest trip to China, handcrafted by an old artisan with so much love and talent that you didn't mind spending most of your souvenir budget on it. Something about the little details – the cloud shaped pattern on the cuffs and collar, the deep pockets that keep your hands warm, the flowers and branches embroidered in gold thread – it was too gorgeous not to buy it.

But god, does Daiki hate it. It stems entirely in his unreasonable jealousy for the cloth, his insides burning when he sees how it wraps around your body. The blue silk cord around your waist, holding it together. The way it drapes your shoulders so delicately. The way it clings to your chest, your nipples perking through the fabric.

That should be him. That should be his hands on your waist, holding you tight. That should be his fingers on your shoulders, taking in the softness of your skin. That should be his mouth around your perked nipples, sucking on them till his jaw hurts.

His cock aches in his boxers every night and morning, when you roam around the house in nothing but that blue silk robe, so carelessly doing your thing. Watering your indoor plants, choosing your outfit for the next day, making yourself a cup of hot beverage to warm your insides the same way that godforsaken robe keeps you warm outside. And then you climb in bed, your thighs that Daiki loves so much peeking out of the slit, and you lean towards him, the robe opening just enough to show your bare chest under it.

That's when he loses his mind. He can't take it anymore. He well knows he sounds insane but if Daiki could be anything, he'd be that blue silk robe. Wrapping your body and touching your skin at all times. He grunts, pulling you into a wild kiss as his fingers untie the robe in frustration.

Get out of this thing, cling to me. He's feral, and you're confused. What on Earth is your boyfriend so mad about? He's hovering you, taking the sight of your naked body, the sapphire fabric splayed under you, your hair contrasting with the colour.

Fucking you as the fabric glides under your every squirm. Oh god, you're such a beautiful thing to look at. The shine in your eyes, the sweet songs of your moans. And Daiki's big brown hands, roaming every inch of you, kneading your breasts while he pounds into you with the kind of force that makes your mind go blank. It might be the best sex you've had in a while. And he smiles, a spiteful smirk on his lips as he sees how you cling to him, that cute little voice of yours begging. More, Daiki, more! It might be that, as a personal preference, you'd take your boyfriend's skin against yours over any piece of clothing.

Daiki Aomine: 1. That stupid blue silk robe: 0.